Disclaimer: I own nothing. And I'm not getting paid for this. Not even nineteen cents an hour.

A/N: This takes place in Season Two, after the episode Disconnect, which is the last episode I've seen, so if there are inaccuracies that are revealed later in the show, I apologize in advance.

"Why didn't you ever tell me, Michael?"

"I didn't know it was him."

They were still by the makeshift grave, wasting time they didn't have with emotions they'd be embarrassed about tomorrow. Michael almost wished Aldo Burrows had been the man who'd kept him in the dark, and not the man who'd saved him from it. At least then he wouldn't be feeling this loss. Loss wasn't part of the plan.

Also, now that he knew the truth, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd come by his guilt honestly. If Aldo could kill a man over a couple of bruises, then maybe Micheal's own innocence was a long lost cause.

"That's not what I meant," said Lincoln.

He was standing off to the side, facing away from the grave. He'd let Michael tie the shafts of wood into a cross, asked Michael if there was anything he wanted to say.

Michael didn't think that was entirely fair. After all, he'd never really had a father. Lincoln had known him for a few years, at least. But Michael knew both of them were feeling the same uncomfortable resentment for having to mourn a man they hadn't actually known.

"Why didn't you tell me about your foster father?"

Michael crossed his legs underneath him, the empty toe of his left shoe brushing against one of the rocks they'd piled on top of the mound.

"There was nothing to tell."

Lincoln turned to face him. "Don't. Don't do that, Michael. You always do that."

"Do what?" Michael was getting annoyed now, though he wasn't really sure why. That wasn't part of the plan, either.

"You act like it doesn't matter if you get hurt. You did the same thing when Abruzzi cut off your toes, when your back got burned. Like it's all part of the plan."

What Lincoln didn't get, what Michael couldn't explain, was that sometimes things happen that are just out of your control, and you have to come up with a new plan.

"You were just a kid. Some man locked you up and beat you. And you got mad at Dad for saving you. How messed up do you have to be to get mad at someone for saving you?"

"I don't know," Micheal's tone was light. "You seem pretty mad at me right now."