Aiden James Scofield is 16 years old and as he sits at the kitchen counter, his 11 year old sister Isabella at a friend's house, he now understands alot about his parents. His family. Why their past is such a hushed topic inside the house. Why their pictures were in a few newspapers as he grew up, why older strangers looked at his uncle and father weird or the far off look his dad would give him when he saw the scar on his left shoulder or missing toes. Why his mother always wore a tank top while swimming, or the cries he heard in the middle of the night as a little boy - the result of his parents' nightmares which were infrequent now but still happened. Why his mom and uncle Lincoln would freeze up if his dad got a headache and the scars across his scalp.
Why even at his age, the teen would sometimes find his dad holed up in their bedroom, head in hands, tears in eyes, and his mom trying to calm him. His father would obsess over things the way the boy did over music, but until now he chalked it up to the fact of his intelligence. But now Aiden understood all or at least most of the questions to the Scofield family's history. And it all started 4 years before his own existence....
Just one more moment, that's all that's needed
Like wounded soldiers in need of healing
Time to be honest, this time I'm pleading
Please don't dwell on it, 'cause I didn't mean it
It was all a blur in slow motion and at the same time the speed of light. The pounding footsteps of guards and probably SWAT teams down the hall, sirens in the distance, the rush of their pulse in their ears, sparks from the wires. Setting down the wires carefully, he pushed her behind the wall and backed up. Leaning around the corner after sliding on rubber gloves, he took a deep breath and tossed the metal towards the wires, one end of the bar bringing it toward the other live sparks.
In the next instant they dove around the wall and covered each other against the blowout. Both holding their breaths and praying the other survived and the cops couldn't get them. Noises echoed, visions swam and hearts slowed as Michael Scofield tightened his arms around Sara Tancredi and their unborn child....
I cant believe I said I'd lay our love on the ground
But it doesn't matter 'cause I made it up, forgive me now
Everyday I spend away my soul's inside out
Gotta be someway that I can make it up to you now, somehow
Pain was all she could feel. No, it was more of her whole body aching. Flashes ran in front of her as her eyes fluttered open and shut. Shouts, voices she recognized but could not comprehend the words. A weight was settled on her, barely moving, and she knew it was her husband and he was unconscious. His clothes covered in soot, smoke and sparks flying around them. She struggled as she felt him being pulled away but couldn't call out. Now pain was registering, her ribcage, a bump to the temple. If she was thinking clearly she'd categorize their injuries and treat him for he had the worst of it. He was the one dying.
Suddenly the only thing Sara saw was bright white as the mumble of Michael's name fell from her lips as she passed out.....
She awoke slowly next time. Things filtering in one at a time. Slow beeps, muffled sounds, dim light beyond her eyelids, and a suffocating smell. Usually she could identify these items - she used to be a doctor - but right now all she felt was heavy fog. She felt someone, something, tugging at her hand, pressing something to her ear and then fingers pressing to her stomach. That's when one thing registered: panic.
'What if the Company had not been completely gone? What if they were captured again? What if they'd killed Michael and was now trying to take her baby?'
Despite the fog that still clouded her senses, she began to fight, instinct well-learned taking over. She felt her hand hit something flesh, heard a groan, and tugged at the I.V. Who knew what they were drugging her with?
Another hand was placed on her knee, stronger, she wouldn't put it past the General to have muscle men, so she struck out. A kick and a solid punch to the thug's gut. But this one barely staggered. She hit it again, crying out, and on the next try a firm but gentle grip was around her wrist.
It was then that a familiar voice filtered through. "Sara, Sar, it's Lincoln. Calm down, you're alright."
She looked up and it took a minute but finally focused in on her brother-in-law. "Oh, Linc," she cried and grasped his arm. "M-Michael....where is he? Is he ok? Did they take him? He's sick, Lincoln, he's sick again."
The fight was draining from her and pain now radiated from her ribs and busted ankle she had kicked out with. Hearing her cry, the big man lay her back against the pillows.
"Shhh...Sara, just rest, it's alright now. It's safe." He felt as if he was talking to Sofia after she awoke from the gunshot 6 months ago. He looked down at the red-haired girl who still hadn't released his hand.
When the nurses approached he felt as if he'd growl, becoming fiercely protective of the woman his brother loved. He truly looked at her as a little sister.
"Please. Just tell me - is he -?" she choked and he inhaled. God, he didn't even want to think of what she was asking. Too many close calls in too short a time.
"He's ok, he's right down the hall resting. He's alive and Sucre's with him making sure he gets the best care," Linc answered. "Right now, you have to rest too. You'll be no good to Mikey if you and Jr aren't up to shape. Ok?"
"It's over?" she whispered, falling asleep again. Man, why couldn't she stop that today? She didn't want to close her eyes until Michael was with her.
The older man smiled. "Yeah, Sar, it finally is."