Author's Notes: I know, I know. Two in one day. But I had both history and maths today, which basically means twice as much free time!
Who cares about sin and cosin, anyway?
The Heart of Things
For Wentworth Miller/Michael Scoffield
You can break me out of prison anytime.
At the heart of things, you are a woman. Sometimes it is lost beneath the layers of professionalism and reckless bravery, but no human that is human can be made of stone and there are cracks in your statue. No one has ever quite been able to draw this femininity from you like him; your coworkers thought that you admired the hero, the statuesque, red-and-blue-spandex clad, 6'4" champion of truth and justice—but mostly you just loved to hear him laugh.
And now he stands in the open doorway, and you can feel his fatigue as clearly as if it were you own. "What are you doing?" You ask, but you already know the answer.
"I have to go back."
Richard looks at back, at you, at him, at Jason. You want to say you could die and I love you and I think you have a son. But all you can manage is, "You're hurt," a fact which you know he will ignore.
You watch him step backwards, into the clouds, into air that's too thin to breathe (or maybe it's just you) and remember the way he looked on your balcony, all those years ago, the tiniest hint of smile as he said, I like pink. I like pink very much, and you'd known then that it was going to be him, forever.
(Until Jason. Until Richard. Until you realized that he wasn't coming home.)
Richard doesn't say anything as you climb back into a seat, clutching your son (his son) in your arms. You know what he wants to ask. "Why did you lie?" Or possibly, "Do you still love him?"
You wonder if you would tell the truth, or silence him with a kiss.
"Be safe," you whisper, and perhaps Jason thinks that you are speaking to him. But you know that know that Superman always has one ear trained in your direction, and if those words are not enough, "I need you to be safe."
You know that he can hear you. You only hope that he will listen.