Life, Love & The Forbidden

Make It Right

Michael sighed as he sat in the interrogation room, his forehead pressed to a cold steel table before him and his hands shackled through a steel ring under the table. He couldn't believe what was happening. He had saved the Governor's daughter and he had had him arrested for his trouble. Michael's breath condensed in tiny droplets on the cold table as he exhaled, his eyes closed and his breathing shallow.

Michael peeled his face from the table when a detective and a guard entered. The detective was slim and Michael followed him as he walked around the room with an unreadable expression. He wore his shirt with the top buttons open, no tie and a jacket that matched his pants. His hair was balding but combed over his head in a well-practised arch.

The guard rested himself by the door with his hands placed in front of him, one in the other. The keys on his belt rattled as he shifted his footing before staring at Michael, intimidating him with a cold glare. He looked at Michael as if he was scum, the lowest of the low, and he hated it. Michael felt discriminated and segregated for a crime he hadn't committed. This wasn't justice; this was political persecution.

The detective pulled another silvery chair identical to Michael's from under the table and sat in it, resting his hands on the table with his fingers interlocked. He glanced over his shoulder at the two-way mirror before commencing. "Michael Scofield, is that your name?" he glanced at some noted he had clipped to a board in one hand.

"Yes." Michael answered under his breath, his head flopping to one side as he studying the two-way mirror.

The detective leant back in his chair and lifted a page on the board slowly. The paper crumpled and nearly ripped. "I'm Detective Cray," he told Michael shooting him a glance. "Do you know why you are here?" he released the page of paper, which fell flat against the others and then he shuffled forward once more to stare directly at Michael.

"For a crime I didn't commit," Michael spoke low, his voice like a growl on his breath. The detective grinned sarcastically at his response and leant back again. Michael sighed with anger. He wasn't in the mood for games. "Look you can keep me here for as long as the Governor wants but you can't prove I raped Sara. If anything you'll prove I didn't," he said hurriedly in one breath.

"How well do you know Miss Tancredi?" Cray asked Michael with an implied look.

"I don't," Michael read his implication and told him unblinking with a stern tone. "We are friends," she said shortly.

"And you are aware that she is a minor?" Cray said in the same tone as before. Michael sighed and lowered his head so he was staring at the bare metallic table once again. His reflection was distorted and frayed in the metal finish.

"I am yes," he said quietly.

"Don't you think that is a strange friendship Mr. Scofield?" Cray asked him urging a response from Michael. Michael lifted his head to look into the detective's sunken eyes.

"What does it matter what I think," Michael began frustrated. "You have me chained to a table in the middle of the night. You obviously think I am guilty," he finished, sinking backwards in his chair until his back connected with the harsh metal surface.

The detective paused for a second before turning to the guard. "Thomas, help Mr. Scofield out of his restraints would you?" he flicked a finger towards Michael and the guard moved towards him. Kneeling at Michael's side he reached under the table and roughly grabbed for the locking mechanism. Wrenching his keys from his belt on retractable elastic, he put one small key into the lock and twisted. With a click the cuffs fell from Michael's wrists.

"Thank you," Michael told him rubbing his wrists as pink bruises began to form. Cray was obviously trying to build some kind of trust with Michael in order to trap him into confessing. Michael shot another glance at the two-way mirror as he continued to nurture is aching joints. "Did Governor Tancredi tell you I called him to tell him I had rescued Sara from being raped?" he spat, staring straight into the blackened glass.

The detective pouted as he read the notes before him. "At a party he sent her to no less," Michael laughed quickly with disregard for Frank's authority. Behind the glass Frank stood with clenched fists as his blood boiled under his aged skin. An officer next to him looked him up and down, his rigid posture a sign of his anger.

"Governor?" she questioned in a frail voice.

"Just..." he paused, clenching his eyes shut and shaking his fist at his side. "Do what needs to be done," she spat before storming from the room. In the corridor he paced back and forth, awaiting the arrival of Sara from the hospital with the female officer who has gone with her.

The door at the end of the corridor swung open and Sara walked through with the officer's hand around her back. She looked tired and fragile, her small body wrapped in a blanket that had Chicago Hospital printed in blue letters along one edge. Frank strode towards her and gave the police officer a weak smile before taking Sara in his arms.

"Are you ok?" he asked smoothly as he pulled her into a hug. Sara was squashed against his expensive dinner shirt as she struggled to free herself.

"I'm fine dad," he pulled her back to check her all over for trauma. She had a slight graze to one wrist but was otherwise fine. "I wasn't raped," she said relieved and her voice broke on the final word. "The kit was negative for sperm or even lubricant from a condom," she breathed hard, thanking whoever was looking out for her.

"Oh Sara I am so sorry, this is my entire fault," her father began. "I made you go to that party to forget about that idiot Scofield..."

"Michael isn't an idiot dad..." Sara interrupted him with a wide-eyed frowned. "He saved my life," she told him factually. Frank had been sitting in a police station for at least three hours and had had ample time to sober up. What had he done? Sara looked at him confused. "What is it?" she asked him.

Frank shook his head from side to side, and gripped at her shoulders. "I had him arrested," he murmured hating himself even more. It didn't mater who Michael was or how his daughter saw him. Frank had nearly ruined an innocent man's life with an undeterred rage and Sara would probably never forgive him.

"What?" Sara snorted in disbelief. She pulled away from her father's embrace feeling dirty and corrupt under his touch.

"Sara, I am so sorry," he took a step towards her and tried to coax her back to him. "I'll make it right," he assured her with a nod towards the door next to him. Sara eyes followed his nod and she stared at the door in shock.

"He's here now?" she blinked, pushing the blanket from her shoulders as she grabbed at the door handle. Her blunt fingers scraped the paint as she clawed for Michael, pounding the obstruction as she whimpered his name.

"Sara!" her father pulled her away but she pushed him off of her.

"Don't you touch me," she croaked through gritted teeth, her voice low with rage. Frank sighed at her as she turned from his, crossing her arms and pacing to the opposite side of the corridor. She stared at a bulletin board but nothing caught her interest. It was a simple distraction but she could do nothing but think of Michael. She spun on her heels and met her father's eyes. "Make it right now," she commanded.

"Ok," Frank agreed and headed towards the door he had come from.