Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break, Sara, Kellerman, Lincoln or Michael, sad, but I have to live with that.

Rating: PG-15

Pairing: Michael/Sara.

Summary: Kellerman, Lincoln, Michael and Sara are together and trying to run away from themselves.

Dedicated to Laura, who makes this possible.

I feel lucky of have known you.

Spoilers until 2x13, after that, just my imagination

Title: The little things.

Chapter title: Bilberrie pie

By Lylou

Insults, comments or reviews are always welcome.

- Don't make me lie to you...

-"What are you thinking about...?"

Michael's voice sounded low and sleepy in the room full of shadows, and after a few seconds, he thought that maybe he hadn't even said it audibly.

-"...Nothing."

When she finally answered, her voice was just a whisper; close to him in the darkness, half-muffled by the sound of the hot storm outside, with the warm rain beating the blinds of the motel room.

Again.

They were close to leaving Texas behind. During the day, the desert sun fell mercilessly over them and over their worn-out Ford.

But at night, the temperature declined sharply. It was then that she was glad for the feeling of warmth that his half-naked body under the blankets brought; or the now familiar scent of his skin next to hers in the bed.

It was still something that she was becoming accustomed to, but she liked breathing in the dark and feeling that all the air in the room smelled like Michael Scoffield...

But even with all of that, she didn't say anything else, just "Nothing".

It wasn't his damn business what she was thinking about.

Or maybe she didn't say the truth because she was thinking about him again.

About them.

Sara heard Michael sigh with frustration in the darkness, and couldn't help but think that maybe she had gone too far again.

And it was almost funny, because she had gone too far at least two times that night.

And the night before, and the previous...

It was easy to go too far, and get lost under the blankets in their situation.

Sara could still feel his urgent kisses upon her skin. It was as if he hadn't kissed her ever before. And his hot whispers at her ear, his low and guilty words at midnight...

It was like they could say any painful thing to each other in the daytime.

They could keep angry silences during those hours or exchange words full of hints and innuendoes.

They could keep with the lost glances outside the car window car, looking out at the landscape that disappeared fast under the wheels of their car or they could even pretend like the taste of betrayal in their mouth was something that they had never tasted before.

But the hardest and most frustrating thing of all, was that none of that seemed to matter.

None of it.

Because at nights, when the sun is hiding and they are finally out of the car, they share a dark motel room, a bed, more lies, desperate kisses, guilty sex and mutual regrets.

It was a dangerous and self-destructive way of life, and of love; but Sara knew that she always had been dangerous and self-destructive.

And Michael didn't seem awfully different.

She blinked in the darkness of the room, wishing in vain that that could distance herself from what they had become.

But Sara knew that she didn't get it because her voice still sounded sad and distant when she talked:

-"It is already time to go?"

Michael leaned slowly over in bed and looked at the green numbers illuminated on the alarm clock on the small night-table:

-"Not yet."

-"Michael... What is it that you miss more?"

Sara felt her voice sliding over the dark walls of that room as if she was just talking out loud. But she sensed him lying again in the bed, in silence and thinking about an answer.

An answer between what he wanted to say now, and what she wanted to hear:

-"I miss being innocent."

-"... I think we all miss the same thing Michael."

Sara heard her own voice a bit more distant and accusing than what she had wanted.

The truth was that she was tired of it all.

Tired of being mad at him, of being mad at herself...

Tired of being in a car with three men during the most part of the day; tired of having left behind hundreds of kilometers of dusty and dead roads.

She was tired of having left behind her old life and everything that she thought she once knew...

-"I miss not knowing what I was capable of... "

This time, his voice surprised her. It was low and a bit concerned, like as if he was finally able to find the words for something that he had spent years trying to say.

Sara wanted to console him.

It would have been easy…his body was just a few centimeters from hers. If she stretched her arm a bit she could touch his hand which was slightly tanned by the sun.

She could have held him and lay down on his chest until the daybreak Or passed her fingers over the tattoos on his skin and asked him in a whisper where exactly was their infirmary in that labyrinth of ink.

Or she could have imagined about how it could be in their new life... or about letting all the pain and the betrayal finally go.

But she didn't.

Because the pain and the betrayal, were the only things that could keep all of them alive now.

Both: Literally, and figuratively.

-"And you... What is it you miss most Sara?"

His voice sounded almost shy, and she knew that it wasn't just a simple question.

-"I miss... The little things."

-"We never have had time for the little things Sara."

-"...Maybe that's why I miss them."

Sara listened to him chuckling weakly next to her in the bed:

-"What?"

-"You miss the only thing that I can't give you Sara..."

She though about it for a second.

It was true.

Michael was capable of many things, but she doubted that he could turn back time.

-"...But maybe, after all this Sara…after the run, in a new life... "

-"In a new life Michael, you would still be you, and I still would be me…But with a nice suntan"

-"...That's not necessarily true..."

Sara felt him turning around in the bed and looking at her through the darkness, and she sensed something different in his voice…maybe a thin flash of hope.

As she felt his hand playing distractedly with her hair spread over the pillow, Sara couldn't help but think again about his desperate kisses at darkness even after a whole day of silence and painful looks between them. Or about his warm words against her ear...

And he knew it.

Somehow, Michael figured out what she was thinking about.

He always did that because… he was Michael.

And sometimes she couldn't help but ask herself if really, during less than three months together, if that man really knew her.

Sara could feel it in his voice when he continued whispering in the darkness, like he used to do, low and only to her:

-"... Because now we can go wherever you want Sara.

If you don't want a suntan... we can go to some place colder..."

She smiled weakly in the dark, and her voice sounded almost shy when she asked:

-"Would you do that Michael?

...Would you change your plans for me?"

Michael left his playful tone and his voice sounded a bit frustrated and more serious:

-"...I have done it before Sara..."

She felt the silence between them growing painfully in that half-dark room again, but as Sara was going to say something, she heard anxious knocks at the door.

Immediately Michael sprang from bed and walked to the door.

He leaned on the dark wall, next to the door and looked over at her in silence for a few seconds before to asked through the door:

-"Who is it?"

-"Its me... "

Michael sighed, frustrated, and his voice sounded angry compared to how he had been talking to her a minute ago:

-"What do you want?"

-"We are late... It's time to go."

But this last time, the voice at the other side of the door sounded a bit weaker.

Michael's voice, though, was still cold and low when he asked:

-"Where is Lincoln?"

-"He is out already."

Sara rose from bed, and walked to the small bathroom.

But before she could lock herself in, Michael had the chance to see her angry look and her half-naked body through the shadows of the room. She shut the door with a loud slam.

And he knew that another day of silence and pain had begun for them.

Michael then opened the motel door with a look of disgust on his face, and spoke cold and low:

-"Where is Lincoln?"

The man at the other side of the door looked inside the dark bedroom for a few seconds before he answered:

-"We were needing gas, so he went to fill the tape."

-"And you are here because...?"

Michael's voice sounded even more dark and disagreeable than what he had wanted, and he felt a sudden stab of bitter guilt on the inside. But then he thought again about Sara all mad and locked in the bathroom...

-"... Because we are a team now Michael."

-"... Sure."

-"Where is Sara?"

Michael gave him a fulminating look and gave no indication of answering him, but the man at the other side of the door continued:

-"Is she mad at you again Michael?"

-"Don't go there."

But he didn't seem to listen to Michael's cold tone, because he continued talking, and when he looked at his brown eyes, Michael could see something like a small victory in them.

-"You know Michael... I'm a bit worried for her.

She hardly eats lately... And I know her Michael, I know that she is always hungry. She loves Bilberrie pie...You know that about her?"

Michael ignored his playful tone and tried to act as if it did not bother him not to know what the man was talking about.

But it did matter.

It was something that Kellerman was used to doing.

Saying things about Sara…about the Sara that Michael didn't know; about the time and the small secrets that they shared in her apartment on the sofa, while Michael was too busy leaving her behind.

Paul had watched Sara during days, trying to reach her over Michael, and he had known more little and personal things about her than him.

To Michael, it mattered.

Because, discovering that there were things about her that Kellerman knew that he didn't, was almost worse than all her silence.

Like the damn Bilberrie pie thing...

Michael didn't know it and Sara had never told him. But it was just the kind of thing that people who sleep together should know...

Little things, like her favourite movie, the song that could make her cry, the first name of her mother... The little things.

"I miss the little things"

That man before him now, the man that could make that Sara slam the bathroom door, knew more things about her than he did.

And when Michael spoke again, his voice sounded cold and emotionless, as if he wasn't talking about it at all.

-"You're worried about Sara...That's funny, because I can still remember that she told me how you tortured her."

Kellerman looked at the floor, and with the orange light of dawn in that empty corridor, Michael could see the dark marks on his neck.

The dark marks where he had struggled him.

And just two days earlier he surely would have killed Kellerman if Lincoln had not stopped him.

-"I told you Michael...

It was just... business."

Kellerman's voice sounded distant, and there was something more that Michael could not recognise.

Maybe it was even a thin flash of regret...

But Michael didn't really care about it, because he spoke coldly again, looking at Kellerman's eyes and with a clear tone of threat in his voice:

-"Not for me."

Kellerman looked at the floor, thinking about Michael's last sentence, before speaking again, and for one moment, Michael heard something new and real in his voice:

-"I'll still worry about her."

-"She is not your business Paul…Not anymore."

-"That's not true Michael."

Kellerman got close to him and spoke surely in that half-illuminated corridor:

-"Ill worry, because she is our girl Michael."

Michael smiled without a bit of humor, and his voice sounded dark and cold when he whispered, slow and close to him:

-"There is no our in this Paul.

You should never forget that."

To be continued...

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