Prison Break Oneshot in Four Parts: In This Room, In This Place Part One

[jesterladyfic]

Title: In This Room, In This Place 1/4
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Every scene between Michael and Sara in S1-even those they didn't show us
Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break. Some lines and the title are from the show
This timeline may differ from the show. I took every definite date from the incarceration to break out...things like the execution date-and figured out how many days were in between everything. I fleshed out the scenes we are given and figured out how many other scenes to write in between, taking into account scenes like the fence talks, the riots and days Michael wouldn't have been able to go to the infirmary. It makes the most sense to me, I'm sure, but I tried to give it a fluidity to go with the season.
Also, my medical experience is zilch. All I know I learned from Sara-so hopefully that doesn't seem too jarring.
ETA: I wrote this back in 2009 and posted in on my fic journal and was pleasantly surprised by its reception by the PB fandom, but I felt it really needed a lot of editing so I did a major overhaul on it. Unfortunately, the USB I was using got corrupted and I hadn’t had a chance to save it anywhere, for a few years now I’ve held on to it, wishing I could get those words back. Finally I gave up and overhauled it again.



April 10

It was odd to see her in person. He’d studied her picture many times, cataloging her beauty and ideals away into his plan, but the real thing surprised him more than he felt she should have. She was alive and more than just a picture he held in his head.

She worked over his arm with brisk efficiency, speaking in a professional tone.

“Tattoo looks fresh.” She took her hands from his arm. “Hold that. I guess being a diabetic you don’t mind needles.”

“I’m Michael, by the way.” It was easy to smile at her. This room wasn’t like the rest of the prison. She wasn’t anything like the other residents.

“Scofield. I read your report,” she replied, not even looking up.

“And you are?”

“Dr.Tancredi will do.”

He used his prior knowledge even as he smiled at her insistence on formalities.

“Tancredi like the governor? You’re not related, are you?” Her slight grimace would have answered his question even if he didn’t already know the answer. “Hmm, wouldn’t expect to find the daughter of Frontier Justice Frank working in a prison. As a doctor no less.”

“I believe in being a part of the solution, not the problem.” She’d given him the perfect opening.

“Be the change that you want to see in the world.” He loved her reaction. “What?”

“Nothing. That was just my senior quote.”

Time to put on the charm.

“That was you?” he said. “This whole time I was thinking it was Ghandi.”

Her laugh was worth it.

“You’re very funny. Sit tight. Put direct pressure on that. I’ll be back in a second.” He watched her leave with a strangely pleasant feeling inside. Prison should be all red hair and needles. It would make it infinitely more bearable.

When she came back he tried to build on the connection he felt hovering between them.

“So how do we play this? You hook me up with a three week supply?”

“Nice try. No hypos on the floor.”

“I’m the furthest thing from a junkie, trust me.” She didn’t even flinch when he used the word.

“I got news for you, Michael; trust means absolutely nothing inside these walls.” There was a hard tone to his voice that he didn’t like as well. “The only way you’ll be getting that insulin is if I’m the one administering it.”

“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then,” he said, focusing on the bright side, for him anyway.

“I guess so.”

She didn’t seem to mind or was that his imagination? Still, he had the feeling these visits would be the highlight of his stay in Fox River.

April 11

“You went to Loyola.”

She looked a bit shocked when she said it. It made sense; after all, she had to know there was something different about him. He wouldn’t fit with anyone’s idea of inmate likelihood. Even he didn’t see it in himself.

“You’ve been checking up on me,” he said. It made him feel pleasantly surprised.

“I like to get to know my patients. I went to North Western. Graduated a year after you did.”

Of course he already knew that, but it’s one thing to know something and another to have somebody tell it to you themselves.

“Maybe we met before. You know, drunk, out at a bar somewhere.” Since he didn’t tend to get drunk at bars he doubted it.

“I would have remembered.”

A faint flush went through him at her words.

“Is that a compliment?” he teased.

“No. Hmm.”

She was good at multi-tasking, he could see that. She could study charts and refuse inmate charm at the same time. Likely something she’d had to become accustomed to since starting work at Fox River. He hoped it was harder than usual today.

“What?” He didn’t even have time to feel disappointed.

“Your blood glucose is at fifty milligrams per deciliter. That’s hypoglycemic. Your body’s reacting to the insulin as though you’re not a diabetic. Are you sure it’s Type 1 Diabetes you got?”

“Ever since I was a kid.” He’d known this was coming. That Pugnac needed to get to him soon.

“All right. Not experiencing any tingling sensations, cold sweats?” He shook his head, the lie coming easily as it often did these days.

“I’d like to run some tests the next time you’re in. The last thing I want is to be doing is administering insulin to a man who doesn’t need it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay.”

His second trip to the infirmary had not been as pleasurable as his first, but there were still many days to come before they would be forced to end, providing he didn’t get forcibly ejected because he didn’t really have diabetes.

April 12

“How are you this morning, Doc?” he asked.

“I’m a little behind. And apologetic actually.” She hurried into the infirmary tossing his file on the table.

“What for?”

He looked pleased to see her and she felt flushed, but decided to chalk in up to her frantic morning.

“I just had a look at our supplies and we are all out of kits for your test. I could just do it manually but it would take long enough to be arriving just when the next supply got here.” She glanced over to see how he would take it and frowned. He looked like he’d never heard such good news.

“No worries here. Take your time,” he said easily.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said uneasily. “I’ll keep giving you your shots, but I’m gonna need you to monitor yourself closely. If you feel anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, let me know immediately. I’ll keep a watch on your glucose levels. We’ve got to be sure here.”

“Definitely,” he said, the perfect picture of compliance.

She returned with his needle and deftly swabbed his arm.

“Don’t you take breaks?” he asked quietly while she administered his shot.

“Not as often as I’m required to by law,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. It wasn’t often a con could give her rational conversation instead of trying to impress her with his bravado or terrify her with his rap sheet.

“Well, it’s not like I’m on good terms with the law at the moment.” He gave her another smile and she returned it. His smile made him seem even more out of place in his prison blues. It also did strange things to her insides. She hastily finished his shot and busied herself with clean up. She could almost feel his eyes on her and it was suddenly unsettling. “Can I go now?”

“Sure, you’re all good.”

There was a warning bell going off in her head and she figured the only way to keep it from coming true was by ignoring it.

April 13

He was waiting for her again today, having had plenty of time to do what he needed to do before she got there.

“There’s no news of the shipment just yet, Michael. I’m sorry to keep you on pins and needles like this. No pun intended.”

He smiled from his position by the window. He admired her attempts to put her patients at ease. Even if those patients were convicted criminals.

“Do I seem that disturbed?” He moved to sit in the chair.

“No, but I’d hate for the efficient reputation of Fox River to suffer a blow on my watch.”

“Like I said, take your time.”

It was taking longer than calculated to get his Pugnac. He’d known he couldn’t plan everything from the outside, but he was starting to wonder how much he would have to blindly figure out on the spot.

“Well, if I were you I’d be anxious to find out if I was getting those needles for nothing.” She pulled out the needle and frowned, writing something down on her sheet.

He followed her line of sight and saw his hand was slightly shaking. That couldn’t be a good thing.

“Why would I want to be out in the yard with the cons when I could be in here with you?” he asked quickly for distraction.

She bowed her head and concentrated on preparing his shot, but he saw the slight blush.

“The me that comes with needles?”

“Especially the needles,” he teased.

“Oh, and why’s that?” She looked as if she didn’t know why she was encouraging this particular train of conversation.

“Isn’t it every man’s fantasy playing doctor with a beautiful woman?” He wondered if that may have been too much. His flirting skills had grown somewhat rusty in his obsessive research over the past few months.

She coughed slightly and he could see she was trying not to laugh. It impressed him, even as his ego deflated slightly.

“Michael, anyone would think you’d been locked away for ten years using a line like that.”

“What can I say, Doc? You turn a man’s head.”

“Well, now I’m gonna turn your arm, so just put pressure there for me.” She kept smiling until they finished the appointment and he left, slightly less cocky than when he’d come in, but he heard her laugh more fully as he left.

It made him feel good. She had to get a lot of bad pickup lines, probably too obscene to repeat. Hopefully it was refreshing to get something so corny.

April 14

He seemed very quiet today. She wondered about how he was doing fitting into the prison. Someone with his background and personality would seem like an easy target for a lot of the cons. It wasn’t something she supposed she should be thinking about, but his looks probably didn’t help either; that and the growing racial tension she could see in all the inmates.

“You doing okay today, Michael?” she asked, trying to feel him out.

He stirred himself, as if sensing her unease. It was like he had a part to play and no matter how he felt, he had to play it. That made her feel somewhat disappointed, because if it was an act, it hadn’t seemed like it needed much effort before.

“Fine,” he said, a sad imitation of a smile on his face.

“You just seem a little out of sorts. I was looking forward to another bad line today.” That made him smile fully and she ignored the flutter from her insides.

“Why, Doctor, you flatter me. Touching concern and a liking for my verbal wit. You really do give the full treatment.” He grimaced slightly, apparently not satisfied with his choice of words.

“See, there’s my line.” She smiled and concentrated on his shot. “Put pressure there.”

He complied silently as if not wanting to risk anything his brain might decide should come out of his mouth.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“No problem. I also have good news for you. The kits should be here by tomorrow so we’ll be able to get you tested.” Was it her imagination or did he look distressed?

“That’s good,” he muttered, pushing himself off the table, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders with tasks mounting higher and higher.

She watched him go as a frown line started to develop on her forehead. He worried her more than any inmate she’d ever met.

April 15

“How long does it take?” He tapped his fingers on the chair in a nervous rhythm.

“It used to take hours,” she replied, “but we’ve come a long way with the new glucose kits. This’ll take us ten seconds. Slide this strip into the meter then we’re good to go. I’m sure you know this, but the average glucose for a non- diabetic is about one hundred milligrams per deciliter. We see a number like that here and we’ll know you’ve been misdiagnosed.” She glanced up from the kit and observed him closely. “You seem nervous.”

“I do?” He straightened up, seemingly in an attempt to placate her suspicion. It wasn’t working.

“You’re sweating,” she observed.

“Must be the needles. I never really got used to them.”

The lie didn’t sound realistic, probably not even to him. Yet he didn’t seem like he would be a liar and it bothered her that she would think that about a convict.

“Somehow, with diabetes and that tattoo, I find that hard to believe.” She didn’t know why, but she didn’t like that he wasn’t being upfront with her. “Ah, bad news, I’m afraid. One hundred and eighty milligrams per deciliter. You are definitely a diabetic.”

His entire face lit up with relief.

“Do you need anything else from me?”

“Just an arm to stick a needle in.”

“Okay,” he agreed happily.

She looked quizzically at him and he hastily left, casting a look at the grate in the corner.

“See you,” she called after him. She sat there trying to puzzle out his reaction.

Katie entered the room as he left.

“Cute.”

“Prisoner,” Sara tossed the automatic response back. “I don’t know. There’s something strange about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I gave him the results of his blood test and there was this look on his face. It was, um…relief.” She knew it was going to bug her, but she doubted she’d ever get an answer.

April 15

While she had enjoyed getting to know him the past couple of days, this was not how she had wanted to continue the relationship. She rushed into the room firing questions at the guard and ordering them out. She leaned over to inspect his foot, murmuring soothing words.

“Okay, let’s take a look.” He reached down to grasp her arm as if unable to bear anymore pain. The pitiful gesture broke her heart and she continued to try and comfort. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” The sight took her breath away. She was used to blood, but the mutilation made her feel sick. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” He gasped out the word, and she wondered at his own ability to keep silent and not scream out the names in retribution for the hell his foot was in.

“This isn’t nothing, Michael. I need you to tell me what happened.” She’d never felt so abhorrent of the inmate’s code of silence, but his next words warmed her even in the midst of her frantic movements over his foot.

“Don’t make me lie to you. Please.”

The pain had to be making him feel unguarded and it was only after he said it that she realized both of them believed it. He really didn’t want to lie to her.

April 16

It still took all of her will power not to scold or chasten him for his decision to keep silent.

“No redness or swelling, so there’s no sign of infection. We’ll keep you on antibiotics for the next ten days.” She walked over to lean against the table. She had to try again. “Michael, you understand by law, I’m obligated to file a report if I feel like there’s been prisoner misconduct. There’s no way this injury happened by stepping on a blade in the gardening shed.”

He picked up his shoe and sock and began to replace them.

“If you file that report, things could get a lot worse for me.” He was already back to his confident, reserved nature. His face revealed nothing and she couldn’t help but feel the difference from the vulnerability of his earlier pain.

“They’re not already?” she asked.

“Not compared to what they could be. I’ve made some enemies.”

“Yeah… You scared?” She wanted to roll her eyes at his face. “Men.”
At least he could smile, but it wasn’t funny. Nothing about the situation was. “Okay, here’s what I think. I think you are scared and you wouldn’t be human if you weren’t scared in a place like this.”

He looked past her, as if trying to find a way to answer her dedication to justice and sheer tenacity. He spoke like someone who had a reason behind everything they did and were trying their best to explain that reason without actually sharing anything important. It was frustrating and heartening at the same time.

“When I was young, I couldn’t sleep at night because I thought there was a monster in the closet. But my brother told me there wasn’t anything in the closet but fear. And fear wasn’t real. He said it wasn’t made of anything just…air. Not even that. He said you just have to face it. You just have to open that closet and the monster would disappear.”

“Your brother sounds like a smart man.”

His eyes pierced hers for a split second.

“He is. In here though, you face your fear, you open that door and there’s a hundred more doors behind it. And the monsters that are hiding behind them are all real.”

His words defeated her and she could only make a pitiful attempt at help.

“If you want I could recommend that you be sent to Ad Seg.” She already knew his answer.

“With the rape victims and the snitches.” He swung himself around.

“It would keep you safe.”

He stood up and she could see him mentally and physically preparing himself. That was twice he’d broken her heart now.

“Thanks, but I think I’d like to face the monsters on my own.”

It seemed wrong how much she admired him for the foolish decision.

April 17

She kept him waiting a long time. She was incredibly busy, but she also had not had much sleep the night before. Whenever that happened she was less able to keep her emotional guard up. It was her only weapon in this place and it was important to her. Plus, he seemed to manage to penetrate it even when it was on full power. What’d he do when it required more energy, she had no idea. But the man needed insulin and he needed a fresh bandage on his toes, so she went in to face him.

“How are you feeling today, Michael?” It was amazing how such a simple question could be so loaded.

“I feel a bit better. Thanks to your care.” He said the words quietly.

“I’m only doing my job,” she said slightly more curtly than she would have if she weren’t feeling so defensive.

“I know. But you care about your patients, I can tell. All of them. It’s not something you’d expect inside these walls.” So, he wanted to be serious today. That was just as much a danger as flirtation.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said quietly and proceeded to undergo their normal routine. She’d liked their routine, but it had a hideous new addition. She carefully unwrapped the bandages and tsked at the sight. “It’s a good thing we got to these in time. I’m going to wrap them and give you some painkillers.”

“You’re a great giver, Doc,” he said playfully, as if trying to lighten the seriousness that he sensed in her. No doubt he didn’t want her to have to focus on his feet.

“That’s me,” she played along. Maybe if she played she wouldn’t feel unguarded. “Lift up your shirt for me. I’m just going to check your vitals to make sure your system is doing okay after the shock it just got.” There was something in his eye, but she ignored it, turning away to get her stethoscope. She realized when she turned around that asking him to lift his shirt had been a bad idea. Even if she wasn’t attracted to him the tattoos were enough to make anyone sit and stare for hours.

He slowly lifted up his shirt as he waited for her, shifting uncomfortably. She had already guessed how much he didn’t like people looking at the tattoos. That much attention probably made him feel vulnerable and exposed. Another reason to wonder why he had gotten them at all.

“You okay there, Doc?” he asked mischievously.

She blinked and laid her stethoscope on his chest, aware that she had been staring at his chest and he’d known it.

“Don’t go getting ideas,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Those tattoos are intriguing.”

“So people seem to think.” His tone was non-committal and she got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about them.

“You’re all set,” she said and was relieved when his shirt was once again firmly encircling his waist.

“I’ll see you.”

He left and she stood there wondering how she could run through so many emotions in one fifteen minute visit with a man she didn’t know and was not allowed to under law.

April 18

Michael felt good today. Haywire was gone and his plan could unfold, including his chemical plans. A visit to the infirmary was just what he wanted.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Scofield,” Sara said formally.

“Hello.”

“How are you feeling today?” she asked.

“Well, good.”

She caught sight of his eye and it looked like she had to force herself to ask the question casually.

“What happened?”

“Uh, caught an elbow playing basketball.”

She looked angry, but she kept her tone professional.

“Uh huh. Mind if I take a look?”

“By all means.”

“You know, you’re going to get killed in here, right? If you’re not careful?” she asked, bending over him.

He found himself touched by her concern, but he felt too good today to be serious. She looked too good to focus on such small matters as his time in prison.

“I’ll make you a bet. I’ll bet you that when I get out of here, alive, I’ll take you to dinner…lunch…cup of coffee.”

“Michael, this…this charm act could be exactly what is getting you into trouble out in the yard.” He was properly chastened and she didn’t say anymore. “Lean forward.”

Michael complied, feeling slightly foolish. He supposed it was arrogant of him to think he could sugarcoat everything and have her swallow it. He’d seen too much of her to think so little of her.

***

The rest of the visit was conducted in silence. Long after he left, she sat there and wondered why he would make up such a story to her when everyone knew that Haywire had attacked him. Hadn’t Michael himself reported it to the guard? Why wouldn’t he want her to know such a thing?

Any other day his offer would have made her smile, made her feel uneasy, made her want to accept, made her question her self control. But not today. Today she was angry at how trivially he appeared to hold the value of his own life and confused about why he was determined to keep her out of it.