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His arm wrapped around her pulled her even closer-- They'd spent way too much time apart and now all Michael desired was to be as close to Sara as physically possible. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he sighed happily. This was the pure definition of a dream come true.

For the first few weeks being held captive, he had tried, truly, had tried to remain 'dead'-- to disappear for good and not cause his family any more problems. He didn't want them to be in danger because of him, but it was impossible. There was no forgetting them, there was no moving on, not when he thought about what he'd left behind all the time. A wife, a son, a brother-- he'd tried to let them know that he was still alive and in need of help.

But each and every one of his attempts had been intercepted, until he'd almost lost hope... But then, he had found it. A blind spot-- someone he did not hold any positive feelings for at all but T-bag had been the only one not being actively watched by Poseidon. His only chance to get out of his prison and go back to his family.

& it had worked-- Michael could still barely believe it, but it had worked. And he had it back now, the life that had once been stolen from him.

"It doesn't feel real, not yet-- " he admitted, closing his eyes for a second and enjoying the warmth of her body against his own. "But honestly if this is a dream, I hope I never wake up." His words were followed by a soft chuckle.

"I know we're kind of having a moment here and I definitely don't wanna ruin it but... There's just one thing that's making me nervous. I really want to be a good father to Mike but... I've missed so many important milestones in his life and now I'm just not sure how to make up for that." Was there even a way to make up for that?

#writtentragedies #never thought i'd see this face again (verse 01; feat writtentragedies)#i know queue want it to be true (queue)

She chuckles at his sentiment, threading her fingers through his as she settles in a little bit more. She'd happily live inside this dream for the rest of time. At least if he's here, in her arms, that means no one can take him from her ever again.

She wonders if she's going to feel like this every morning for the rest of their lives. If she's going to be a little more indulgent, a little slower to get out of bed, because it means getting to have a little more time with him. Because there were thousands of mornings that they were supposed to have just like this one. And they'd been robbed of those opportunities. She's not sure if she'll ever willing pass up that opportunity again.

At his next statement she turns her head so she can look at him once more. She thinks about it for a second. About all the things he missed. Mike's first steps, his first words. The first time he held himself up. His first day of school. First soccer game. All of the firsts that Michael hadn't had the opportunity to be there for.

He hadn't even gotten to be there for his birth. If someone had told her all those years ago that one day Lincoln Burrows would be the person holding her hand in the delivery room, she wouldn't have believed them. Not by a long shot.

"You can't make up for it. We can't get that time back." No matter how much she wishes they could. "But you can show up for him now. Be there when he needs you. You can be in the crowd at every soccer game, every school play, every awards ceremony. Just show up for him, that's the best start you can have." It's all Mike's ever wanted, anyway. For his father to be around for him.

wanted plot

one of our muses is immortal, and after some time ( maybe decades, maybe centuries ) they meet someone who is the spitting image of their long lost love

#is it the same storm or has something changed; ooc

targaryenofrph

Okay but please give me a plot where "I'm a mob leader and you've accidentally ended up in my crossfire, hurt, and witnessed one of my crimes but I can't bring myself to get rid of you so here's a bright idea. How about you marry me for a couple of years and once the marriage is over I'll pay you a large stipend for the rest of your life but also this means you can't rat me out for anything you saw."

#i wish i knew back then what i know now ( wishlist )#( this could be very interesting )

wanted plot

our muses were together in a past life ( or multiple past lives ), when they meet each other in their newest life, only one of them remembers the other

#i wish i knew back then what i know now ( wishlist )#( i am aware this is very vague )#( but i love these kinds of plots )

don't mind me, just about to post some plot ideas

#is it the same storm or has something changed; ooc #( can never have enough threads )#( can never have enough aus )#( they are very vague )#( but i would love to have these kinds of plots )

writelikeyouarerunningoutof

Despite the fact that the smirk was still playing on her lips, Sharon was focused. She hadn't survived as long as she had in a job as dangerous as hers because she got distracted easy. She hadn't taken her gun out, hands free yet for plausible deniability if anyone walked in.

"There's always a way out." Her smirk gentled into an expression more calm. Her tone was soothing, meant for reassuring than for overconfidence. "Do you trust me?"

#writelikeyouarerunningoutof #interactions - verse tbd #i know queue want it to be true (queue)

Sara wants to believe that. She wants to believe that there's always a plan, there's always another contingency. But that's getting harder and harder these days. Every turn seems to lead to another disaster. Another botched plan.

She should've never gotten involved in this.

Trust is not something Sara has ever bought into easily. Trust is always temporary in her experience. There's always a line to be crossed, a promise to be broken. Trust has always been a finite commodity. Now is not any different. But if trusting her means she gets out of this alive, then that's what she'll have to do.

"I do." She says, although it sounds false to her ears. "I just don't think this is going to end well."

"Sara-- take it easy." Instinctively, he leaned forward, his hand reaching out to catch her in case she lost her balance and fell-- but he stopped mid-action, hand lingering in the air. So close yet not quite touching her arm, as he had no wish to get her even more worked up.

By the looks of it, postponing this conversation wasn't an option. Okay then... "Fine, I'll explain it all to you, but like I said-- it's a long story. You might want to sit back down." Michael accepted defeat, but at the very least tried to convince her to go back to bed-- He was no doctor but he guessed you didn't really need to be one to be able to tell she was in no condition to be standing up and walking around just yet.

He grabbed a chair, pulling it closer to her bedside before sitting down, scratching the back of his head in a clear sign of nervousness. Where to start...

Looking down at his clasped hands in his lap, Michael cleared his throat. "My brother, Lincoln Burrows, was sent to death row for a crime he didn't commit, Sara." He began, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. This was most certainly not one of his favorite subjects to talk about, always made his chest feel tight.

"There was this organization called 'The Company', they framed him for murder. They made it look like he had murdered the Vice President's brother. They did such a good job that for a while, even I believed Lincoln was guilty."

"But I talked to him and he swore he hadn't done it-- My brother may be a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. Besides, he was the only family I had left, the one who had taken care of me my whole life so I knew I had to do something, I had to break him out of that prison. I couldn't let him die, I couldn't let him pay for something he hadn't even done."

"So I studied his case further, started planning... Oh I did a lot of planning before attempting to rob a bank and firing a gun there-- I made sure not to hurt anyone, obviously. It was never my intention to hurt anybody, Sara. I just wanted to save my brother and it so happened that your workplace in Fox River was the perfect escape route."

She rests a little more against the bed, but she doesn't sit down on it. It's a stupid, somewhat spiteful move. It's a small thing, but she doesn't want to give him what he wants. It sucks, especially when the throbbing in her head makes it feel like the world is spinning a little. But she doesn't care.

She listens to his story. She knows that happened, she knows that Burrows was framed. All of the articles, ones that have been amended or told in retrospect, have made it clear that Burrows had been set up. That an Agent involved in the conspiracy had come forward and testified. Testified at her trial of all places.

She can understand why he did it. She can understand that he clearly loves his brother, he wants to protect him. But it doesn't explain enough. Because she doesn't know how she could possibly trust him, not if their first encounters with each other were built on lies.

"Was I in your plan from the beginning?" She asks, almost not wanting to know the answer. She's not sure what would make her feel better. Would she find comfort in knowing that maybe it just played out that way? That she was one of many instances of collateral damage in Michael's plan. "Were you playing me from the start?"

She read the articles, read that Katie had told the cops that Sara had a thing for Scofield. But it just doesn't add up. She'd always kept a professional boundary at work. She'd never let anything go that far with an inmate. That's not her. She'd never do favors for an inmate, or let her feelings cloud her better judgement.

"People still got hurt. Your intentions don't matter." Her legs are starting to feel weaker, so she lowers herself down onto the edge of the mattress. "I just don't understand why I would leave the door unlocked for you."

"And I don't understand how I could forgive you for any of it."

Luckily, Lincoln was home and quickly said yes to looking after Mike once Michael had filled him in on the current situation. & normally, the kid loved visiting his uncle-- This time, however, there was no enthusiasm on his face and he was awfully quiet. It broke Michael's heart to see his son like that, but unfortunately there wasn't much he could do about it. He could only hope his brother would somehow be able to distract the boy, even if just for a little bit.

Having dropped Mike off at Lincoln's, he headed home to get Sara's clothes. It didn't take too long for him to do that and soon enough he returned to the hospital-- he was back in his wife's room, placing the bag with some clean and comfortable clothes on the nearest chair.

He was about to step closer to the bed, greet Sara with a smile but the grim expression on her face made him stop in his tracks, immediately sensing the tension in the air as his eyes found her phone.

Of course, she'd do that. He should've known that as soon as she had her phone back, she would use it to try and get more information about herself-- about the past few years of her life. & of course the Fox River events would come up. Fox River was like a ghost, one that would haunt them forever, it seemed.

"You were supposed to be resting, you know." & that didn't look like resting, it looked like she'd been trying to give herself an even worse headache. "It's a long story. And quite complex-- I'm not sure now would be a good time to talk about that." He doubted she'd drop that subject so easily though.

"How about we make a deal-- You just focus on getting some sleep now and when you wake up, we'll talk about Fox River. I'll answer all your questions, I promise. How's that sound?"

It all sounds like bullshit if she's being honest. He's not going to tell her anything, she can practically guarantee it. This is just a way to kick this conversation further down the line. But she doesn't want to have this conversation later, she wants to have it now.

"It sounds like a promise you won't keep." Everyone's been trying to keep her calm, sedate, agreeable. Easy to deal with. But this isn't easy. It's not normal to wake up one day and find out that you've signed up to spend the rest of your life with someone who used you for their own gain.

She pushes up off the bed, despite the pounding in her head, and makes it to her feet. Her hand has a death grip on the bedside railing, as if that alone is enough to keep her upright. She wants to feel like they're on equal footing for this conversation. She wants to feel a little less like an invalid.

Because the way this conversation goes matters. It could very well be the difference between her signing herself out against medical advisement and grabbing a hotel room for the night. (Hell, she probably should've gotten that ball rolling while he was gone. Nothing he can do about it if he's not around to stop her.) She doesn't know how anyone could expect her to go home with this man. Someone she clearly can't trust.

"You're gonna tell me everything." She says, making it clear that she's leaving no room for argument. He's not getting out of this one that easily. She has a feeling he's pretty good at talking his way out of things. He has to be to still be a free man after all he's done.

"All of this is already hard enough to believe. Last night I went to sleep with no one to worry about but myself, today I wake up and I have a husband and a kid." It just sits wrong. All of it. She can't fathom how they got from point A to point B.

"I don't understand how I could fall in love with a man who was only using me because it was convenient for him." A man who put her in a position where she faced criminal charges. "I don't know how I'm supposed to believe that a man who would do something like that actually loves me."

She takes a step forward, her hand slipping from the bedrail as she stands in front of him. "So explain it to me, Michael. Tell me why I would willingly ruin my life for you." And maybe she'll consider believing him.

"Clothes, okay. I'll get you some clothes." Michael replied with a nod. He supposed this was a good way to get her to warm up to him, to trust him once again. Taking care of her needs, letting her know she could count on him.

& truth be told, he'd expected her reaction to hearing about her father's passing to be much worse. But perhaps somewhere deep inside of her, she still remembered about that and the grief had already been processed. A tiny flame of hope lit up in his chest.

Maybe some part of her still remembered him as well? He hoped so. He hoped that part, that version of her would come to the surface soon.

"Yeah, of course, sorry. Where are my manners?" He attempted to joke, but it was hard to manage a smile right now-- he was sure it must've looked more like a grimace. "My name's Michael. Michael Scofield. And-- " He pointed towards the armchair. "That's Michael Jr. or Mike for short."

A sigh escaped him. "I'll... see if my brother can watch over Mike for tonight, if he can, I'll drop him off at his place then go get your clothes. I should be back in about an hour." He highly doubted she'd miss him anyway-- To her, he was nothing but a stranger. That was... Hurtful.

"Come here, Mike. Say bye to your mother."

"Michael Scofield." It's a nice name. It suits him, she thinks. A small smile tugs at her lips as she looks at him. "Has a nice ring."

She nods as he tells her the rundown for the rest of the evening. She hadn't considered the thought of not being alone tonight. She probably should have. She's not sure how she feels about it. Yes, she's his wife. But to her he's just a guy. The father of her child, yes, but those are all the product of decisions Sara hasn't made yet.

She watches as Mike walks over to her bedside, he seems a little nervous now. She hopes in some ways that he's too young to fully understand what's happening. But by the look on his face she has the feeling he's a smart kid and understood exactly what the doctor just told them.

"Goodnight, Mike." She says as she reaches out and hugs the kid. It feels strange, but it also, in a way, feels like second nature. Like she's done this a thousand times before. She probably has. "Don't cause your uncle too much trouble."

She watches them go, feeling an odd sadness when she can no longer see them out her doorway. She hesitates for barely a second before she turns on her phone and, after swiping around for a while to figure out how to use this thing, does a web search. Starting with her father, wanting to how long ago he died, wanting to know how he died.

Then she makes the mistake of googling herself. She didn't expect to find much, probably just a few things in connection to her being Frank Tancredi's daughter. She didn't expect to see headlines discussing her being on trial, the charges being dropped, or the fact that she abetted in the escape of eight highly dangerous inmates from Fox River in 2005.

She certainly didn't expect to see that one of those inmates was Michael.

She falls down a bit of a rabbit hole, going through every article she can find. Reading any and every detail at her disposal. How did she let this happen? What could have possibly possessed her to leave the door unlocked for him? Furthermore, how could she have possibly fallen in love with (married, had a child with) a man who let her ruin her life for him?

When Michael comes back, the feeling she gets in her chest when she looks at him has evolved. Whatever safety her body might've felt before, it's gone now. God, what was she thinking?

She puts her phone down on the tray table at her bedside, screen displaying a true crime article breaking down the full story of the Fox River 8.

"Care to explain?"

She wouldn't even let the doctor call her 'Mrs. Scofield'-- the situation kept getting worse by the minute and though bad situations were no news to Michael, this one in particular was a little different from what he was used to. This time there was nothing he could do, not really, and it felt awful. The feeling that his hands were completely tied... It was horrible, he hated it.

He stopped listening after the doctor mentioned patients who never remembered anything at all, his thoughts spiraling, negativity taking over his mind and making it hard to breathe. What if Sara was one of the people who ended up never remembering? Would he be able to deal with that, would they be able to overcome that & fall in love again? Or would this be the thing that finally broke them apart once and for all?

Sara wasn't the only one with a headache now.

When the doctor was done talking to and examining Sara, he asked Michael to step outside for a moment, to give him a few instructions about the best course of action to take at the moment. & basically the best thing to do now was... Nothing. Well, according to the doctor, giving Sara time and allowing her memories to come back to her naturally was what he should do.

Okay, he supposed he could do that. But it wouldn't be easy, not when they had a child together-- and for 7 years it had been just Sara and Mike, now how was Michael going to explain to the kid that they needed to take a step back, give his mother space for her to recover, how would he tell the poor kid that now he'd be spending much more time with a father he still didn't know all that well than with his mom who had always been there with him?

What a mess.

He returned to the room, looking down at his feet, trying to regain his composure before speaking up. "The doctor said it'd be better if you stayed the night here, so they can keep an eye on you, run a few more tests to make sure you're well enough to go home tomorrow."

"Is there anything you'd like me to get you? More clothes, food, anything?" He asked then a thought occured to him, causing him fish her phone out of his pocket. "Here's your phone, by the way. You can't call your father though... He-- he passed away a long time ago, Sara. I'm sorry."

"I know that's not the answer you wanted to hear." The doctor says, and she watches as his gaze moves to the boy in the chair a few feet away. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's not your fault." She says, shaking her head. How is she going to get herself out of this one? She's never been the biggest fan of open-ended questions, or situations where she doesn't have at least a little bit of control. And now the only thing she can do is sit around and wait to see if her brain decides to give her her life back. God, this sucks.

She watches as the doctor pulls the man, her husband, out into the hallway. She feels a little like she can't breathe. She knows it's not an actual physical reaction. It's not a panic attack, her throat isn't closing up. This all just feels a bit too much, so much that it's almost suffocating. She'd like to run for the hills. Fleeing isn't the best plan, it probably isn't even a plan she can follow through on. Unless she decides to check herself out against medical advice. Which she knows is a horrible idea, but she's keeping her options open.

She hates that she has to stay here overnight. She wants to go home. But, then again, the place she'd be going isn't somewhere she knows. The place that feels like home definitely has different tenants by now.

"Some clothes would be nice." She hates hospital gowns, hates the way they feel on her skin. Comfortable clothes would be nice, maybe then she'll actually be able to get some sleep tonight.

She takes the phone tentatively, letting the news about her father wash over her. She doesn't know how to process it in the moment. She thinks, briefly, that there's a version of her who has already processed this loss. "Thank you for telling me."

"I really hate to ask you this." She says, turning the phone over in her hands instead of looking at him. This is something a wife should typically already know about her husband. "But could you tell me your name?"

As Sara described what she'd done 'yesterday', his heart sank. Those events had most likely happened, yes, but not yesterday-- maybe 12 years ago or so. 12 years, that was a long time. Far too long. But he couldn't panic just yet, he should give her more time, a little space & she would remember. She'd remember that yesterday they had spent the day together, buying some more houseware for the house they had moved into not too long ago-- to have a fresh start. She'd remember that after shopping, they had picked Mike up from school and taken him to an ice cream shop.

Mike had been having a bit of a hard time making friends at his new school and so they had been doing their best to help him adapt to the new place and people. Last night they'd even let him pick what to eat for dinner and their day had ended in a pleasant atmosphere with the three of them sharing a pizza.

She would remember it all, right? She had to. ( Otherwise Michael would be absolutely lost ).

"No, Sara, I'm not happy." Far from it. He thought but didn't add, running a hand down his face. This amnesia had to be temporary, please let it be temporary... "Do you know who I am?" He regretted that question as soon as it had left his mouth but now he couldn't take it back, he could only brace himself for the answer.

He could feel Mike watching them from his spot in the corner of the room, sitting in the armchair like he'd been told to-- He was a smart, perceptive kid and Michael was sure he'd already noticed there was a problem here, and a big one at that. But he would have to talk to his son later, after he was sure what was going on himself.

"Okay, yeah, I'll go find the doctor. Just... It's gonna be fine, you're gonna be fine." At this point he wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure Sara or himself-- maybe both, really. "Mike, you stay here and take care of your mom, okay? I'll be back in a minute." With that he left, but a little over 5 minutes later, he was stepping back into the room, the doctor right behind him.

& now, he could only step aside and let the doctor work-- he could only pray somehow everything would end well.

"No." She says, trying to brace herself for whatever toll that's going to take on the man in front of her. "I know that I should. But I don't."

She feels a little bad as she says it. As if this is somehow her fault, as if she could've done anything to change this. She fell, hit her head. None of it is her control. She knows that logically. But it doesn't make any of this feel better.

She watches after him as he leaves the room. She can't even bring herself to spare a glance at the kid in the chair next to her. Because for all that talk about logic, the way she's feeling seems to defy it entirely. Because if this is her son, how could she forget her own child? What kind of a mother does that make her?

The doctor comes in a few seconds later, his face pleasant but she can see the concern that he's trying to hide. "Mrs. Scofield-." He starts, but Sara cuts him off. It's not her name, it may be another version of her's name. But as far as she's concerned, she's a Tancredi. She's never been a Scofield.

"Sara, please." She says. She also doesn't let him finish whatever he was going to say. She wants to skip the pleasantries entirely. She wants to cut right to the fixing her brain part of things. "Please tell me there's something you can do."

She's looking at her life right before her eyes. A son, who she assumes to be a husband. There's something important here. But she can't remember any of it. She doesn't feel any of it. She has an entire life she doesn't remember living. She wants it back.

"Unfortunately, this is not an exact science." He says, a pitying smile on his face. "Situations like yours are tricky. Sometimes the situation reverses itself, some patients experience some regaining of memory and there are others who never remember at all."

She sighs, leaning back in her bed. That's the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear. She wanted a clear cut answer, not a maybe. A chance is better than nothing, but she wanted a sure thing.

The mention of her late father made his blood run cold. The man had died so many years ago, hanged by a Company agent to make it look like he'd committed suicide-- Did she not remember that? Didn't she have any memories about that at all? That was not a good sign. It was a terrible one, in fact.

His tentative smile all but vanished & Michael cleared his throat, taking a moment to choose the right words. He had to be careful, very careful here.

"I do know where your phone is. It's right here with me, but-- " Keep calm, she needs you to keep calm. "Sara, I don't think you should call anyone before talking to the doctor. It looks like you're a little... Out of it, still. So let's wait for the doctor to come and take a look at you, alright?"

"I found it!" He heard Mike say in a cheerful tone before he came running back to his mother's bedside, drawing in hand. "It's you." The boy told Sara before handing her his little piece of art with a smile-- But he seemed to sense something was wrong too, as his smile soon fell.

"Don't you like it, mom?" Michael intervened, ruffling the child's hair. "Your mom is just a little tired, it's been a long day, buddy. Why don't you go sit down in that armchair and keep her company while I go get the doctor?" Although not looking too happy, Mike nodded in agreement and his father turned his attention back to Sara.

"Do you remember anything about earlier today, about what we were doing yesterday, actually-- what's the most recent memory you have?"

"I'm fine, it's just a headache." She says, waving off whatever he's trying to say. She doesn't need to wait for the doctor to call her father. She's done that plenty of times without the input of a medical professional. Well, a medical professional other than herself. "Why don't you want to give me my phone?"

She was already tense but this isn't helping matters. He's being cagey. There's something he's not telling her. She doesn't have to know him to know that. It's written all over his face. Something is wrong about this picture, something is very wrong. And she feels like she can piece it together. She's not an idiot, she can run the signs and symptoms in her head. She can tell what this probably is. But she doesn't want to believe it.

She doesn't want to believe that the people in front of her may be her family. That this is all hers, it just belongs to the her of who knows when. What has she lost? Can she get it back? What is she supposed to do with this? Because this truth feels like a bad dream. So denial, choosing to believe that it could be literally anything else, is far more comfortable than buying into whatever this is.

The tension of the moment is temporarily broken by the boy's outburst. She puts a practiced smile back on as the drawing is handed to her. It's not half bad, the kid has potential. "It's great, sweetheart." The endearment feels wrong as it falls from her tongue. But this kid thinks he's her mom, so she better act like it. She doesn't need to be the one to traumatize this child. "It looks just like me." With some creative liberties taken.

Then he asks her about this morning, about yesterday. And she remembers yesterday, she has the sinking sureness that her yesterday and his yesterday are two very different things.

"Yesterday." She says, trying to make a highlight reel in her mind of what her day looked like. It started the same as any other, waking up to her alarm, making coffee and taking breakfast to go. Getting to work with a few minutes to spare. "I was tied up most of the day. I left later than usual, I got caught up doing the intake for a death row inmate."

It's a gnarly case. The man behind the Vice President's brother's murder. He didn't say much, she tried her usual bedside manner. Kept things light. But she can understand how someone in his position wouldn't exactly feel like talking.

"Then I went home. Had some takeout, watched TV. Went to bed." She finishes, feeling very bored by the whole thing. She doesn't like having to explain herself, to feel like she's being interrogated, when she knows she's done nothing wrong. "Happy?"

On his way to pick Mike up from school, Michael tried to distract himself by listening to some music on the radio-- unfortunately that didn't help that much, the nervous feeling inside him kept growing, a little voice in his head telling him there was something terribly wrong.

Stop. Breathe. He told himself-- Sara was awake and she would be okay. Whatever she needed him to do for her to recover, he'd do it, of course. And in the end, all three of them would be alright. Their little family--

Speaking of family, he pulled up the car close to the school entrance and only had to wait a minute before Mike came rushing over. Right, he had to stay strong, keep a clear head for his son's sake.

"Hey, did you have fun at school today?" He asked once the boy was all settled in the car. Mike made a face and began to ramble about how school was never fun, which caused Michael to laugh softly. He let the kid talk for a while and then gently interrupted him to explain what had happened to Sara and to tell him that instead of going home, they'd go to the hospital to visit her.

"I have something that will make mom feel all better!" Mike exclaimed, with the optimism and certainty that only a child could have. "Oh, what's that?"

"I made her a drawing in art class today."

"That's going to make her feel better, no doubts. Make sure to give it to her when we get there, okay?" The little boy nodded and then Michael drove back to the hospital, hoping that seeing their son and receiving a gift from him would actually help her to some extent.

Eventually they reached their destination and Mike was the first one to jump out of the car, he waited for his father before going into the hospital building though-- behaving himself until he was told they were near Sara's room. That was when he let go of Michael's hand and started running.

"Mike, no running. We're in a hospital, remember?" He spoke in a firm tone but was ignored anyway. Oh well. He soon caught up with the kid, greeting Sara with a tentative smile. "Hey."

"School was boring. But it's Friday and I don't have to go there tomorrow so it's okay." Mike replied with a grin as Michael stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you give your mother the drawing you said you made for her in art class earlier, hm?"

As the boy went back over to his backpack to get just that, Michael looked at Sara, completely unable to hide his nervousness and worry now. "Feeling any better?"

She laughs. An honest to God laugh, no performance there. She remembers that being how she felt when she was a kid. When Bruce would ask her about her day after school. She used to live for the weekend. Sure, school came with friends and as an only child she loved that. But she didn't always love the learning and test taking part.

"That's one way to look at it." She says, a smile staying on her lips after her laughter dies out. This kid is charming, she'll give him that. And the responding smile on the kid's face is enough to tell her that she did this right. Said the right thing.

Then she hears the word mother and it's like her entire world shifts on its axis. She's always wanted to be a mother. To be a parent to someone than she had growing up. But that's for the future, like, a few years from now. When she meets the right person, when she's got her life a little more figured out.

She's mentally ringing an alarm bell. Wondering if she accidentally got dropped into someone else's life. Or maybe this is all some kind of elaborate dream. If it were a dream, she'd like to believe it'd feel better than this does right now.

"Yeah. My head is still killing me, but they gave me something for the pain." She tries to relax, tries to look like this is all normal. Maybe when the doctor comes in she'll address it. She's not sure if she's going crazy or maybe this guy is. Pretending that she's this kid's mother, all of this worrying about her. She doesn't understand. She's not sure if things will get better once she does.

"The doctor is supposed to come by soon. To figure out when they can send me home." She says, smiling as her eyes drift back to the kid as he digs through his backpack. A thought strikes her then, and so she asks.

"Do you know where my phone is? My father should've been here by now." Not that this would be the first time he's forgotten about her. But she'd like to think a hospital visit would actually register on his radar. Although, maybe not after all she's put him through. "I just wanna call and see if he's on his way."

Michael looked over at the monitor as it spiked, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. There was something... Off, he could tell. And it wasn't just the monitor leading him to believe that, it was the subtly but still noticeably way Sara avoided his touch, the lack of affection in her voice...

It was too soon to draw any conclusions though, he'd better go and get the nurse, let the professionals take a look at her first and foremost. "Okay. I'll go talk to the nurse and see if they can give you something for your headache... You hit your head pretty hard."

He stood up. "I'll be right back." As Michael left the room, questions started swirling around in his head-- Would Sara be okay? Or would things get worse and out of control before they got better, ( like usual ) ?

He did get the nurse to check on Sara, and as the older lady was doing her job and talking to his wife, he glanced down at his watch. It was almost time for Mike to leave school. "Sara, I have to go-- I'll pick Mike up from school. I'll take good care of him, you don't need to worry."

"I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

#writtentragedies #interactions - verse tbd #( this is long i apologize )

She played it safe while he was still in the room. Mustering up a smile, one that she hoped was at least a little convincing. She didn't know his intentions, playing along couldn't hurt. Once he's out the door she feels like she can breathe again. Her mind is racing to try and find some kind of plan. Sneaking out of here isn't an option, she knows that already. She hopes the nurse can at least provide a little clarity.

She watches with careful eyes as the nurse enters. The woman bears a polite smile as she approaches Sara's bedside. "Good afternoon Mrs. Scofield." She says, and Sara's brows draw together. Scofield? She opens her mouth, about to correct her, but the nurse doesn't seem to notice. "You took a pretty bad fall. Is it alright if I check you over?"

"Yeah, sure." She nods, somewhat distracted as the woman starts her exam. She spins the name around in her brain, over and over again. Scofield. She thinks, briefly, that they must have the wrong person. The wrong chart, maybe. She's never met anyone with the name Scofield.

She shakes her head, as if trying to clear her train of thought, when the nurse asks her to follow her finger as she moves it in a line through the air. Judging by the lack of reaction, Sara assumes she must be responding well to the tests.

She hears the man's voice again and her focus snaps back to him. She tries not to jump at the sound of it. She had miraculously, momentarily, forgotten he was in the room. Then he mentions he has to go. The relief she feels is near instantaneous. "Okay." She says, nodding carefully as she watches him go.

"You seem to be responding well, Mrs. Scofield. I'll talk to your doctor and see when we can discharge you." She says, Sara nods. She'd love to get out of here. Back to her apartment, where there are no strange faces, only four familiar walls.

"Um, my father." She starts, clearing her throat. "He's my emergency contact, is he on his way?"

The nurse looks at her then, something sad in her eyes. Like she knows something Sara doesn't. She doesn't like that look. "I'll check." She says, plastering on another polite smile but this one doesn't look nearly as convincing as the first. "And I'll get you something for your pain."

"Thank you." She says, starting to relax back into the bed. "Just, um, no morphine, please."

Sara doesn't know how much time has passed since the nurse left. She tried to get up out of the bed, got so far as sitting up on the edge of it with the covers thrown off. But her head started pounding so violently that she knew it'd be a bad idea to even try taking a step. So she laid back down, checked the room to see if any of her personal belongings were around here. If she could get a hold of her cell phone she could just call her father herself.

But she doesn't find anything. It's just her. All alone in this room. She doesn't bother with the TV, figuring the sound and the screen will just make things worse. So she rests her eyes, pretends she can just force the headache away by sheer force of will. But she doesn't get much time before she hears something approaching her room. The squeaking of sneakers on tile floor. A voice calling after someone, telling them to slow down.

She opens her eyes as the noise gets louder, grows closer. A few seconds later she sees a kid, a boy, no more than ten, standing in her doorway with a tentative smile on his face. She sends one back, figuring he'll move on in a few seconds. Whoever was calling after him will catch up and they'll continue on their way. But that doesn't happen. The kid walks into the room, taking his backpack off and placing it by a chair.

A little strange, she thinks. She's about to lean over, to ask him where his parents are, when she notices someone in the doorway to her room. The man from earlier. She watches the boy standing beside her bed very carefully. Something telling her that she needs to play this extremely carefully. The man had mentioned where he was going, she tries to pull it to the forefront of her mind. School! He was picking someone up from school.

"Hey." She says, trying to smile with some trace of warmth to her expression. "How was school?"

It was crazy how fast things could change-- how a perfectly normal and nice day could turn into a nightmare in the blink of an eye. Just when he'd finally started to believe everything was falling into place, and the two of them would get the happy and peaceful life they had wanted for so long now.

Perhaps some would argue Michael was worrying too much-- but how could he not? After all he'd been through, he couldn't help but have trouble seeing the bright side of things. & even though the doctors had told him Sara was stable and would likely wake up soon, he found it hard to keep calm-- the fact they'd also warned him she might experience severe confusion or memory loss once she did wake up had him pacing back and forth in front of Sara's hospital bed.

Something so simple, so silly, so mundane had brought them here. Grocery shopping-- she'd tripped and fallen as they were bringing the groceries inside, hitting her head hard. God, just let her open her eyes soon and let her be okay. He thought as he stopped his pacing at last, his gaze on her as she began to stir.

"Sara?" He approached, sitting on the edge of the bed, concern in his tone. "It's so good to see you awake, you got me really worried-- " As Michael noticed the look of utter confusion on her face, he decided to stop talking for a moment. She probably had a major headache and that was making it hard for her to understand him.

"Sara," he tried again, reaching for her hand. "We went to the store to get some groceries. Then we went back home and as we were taking the bags inside, you fell-- How are you feeling? Do you want me to go get a nurse?"