Rendezvous

Truth and Consequence

"This isn't going to feel good," Sara said in a low gruff voice. Her throat still burned from her tears earlier and her words felt like sandpaper as they escaped her mouth. She leant sideways a smidgen, plucking a freshly purchased bandage from the first aid kit and tearing into the package.

"I have a high tolerance for pain, you know that," Michael sighed, his voice low and steady, almost annoyingly so in the wake of their near death.

"You do," Sara confirmed quickly. Her voice was almost snippy, cutting through the dark motel room like scissors. Sara's shoulders relaxed and she slumped a little in the rickety wooden chair opposite Michael. "And you're not a diabetic are you?" she whispered, almost afraid to raise her voice in the unknown surroundings in case they were found.

Michael was silent before her, perched on the edge of an off white comforter which had definitely seen better days. His white shirt had lost its crispness and was grubby with grey smears all over the fabric. One of his sleeves had been rolled up to expose the fresh wound on his forearm, dried and crusted with his own crimson blood as it rested on a brown hand towel they had found in the bathroom. At her words, Michael lifted his head and nervously twisted his fingers together inches from her body.

Neither spoke with words, just eyes as they stared into each other's souls. Michael lowered his head confirming Sara's question with a silent answer and she snorted a laugh through her nose. "Right," Sara quipped, tearing her gaze from Michael's. Angry, Sara reached forward and positioned Michael's arm in her hand, his soft skin tingling hers, reminding her of how much she had wanted to do this for so long. Michael watched her hands intently as she smoothed her fingers over his skin, dancing around the gaping cut as she poured peroxide onto it.

It stung, Michael wasn't going to deny it, but he gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes closed loosely. He inhaled deeply, losing himself in the shadow of the curtains as they splayed across the wall, grey and barely moving, just like the ones hanging in the window. Michael clenched his fingers into his palm as Sara leant over her own arm to snatch up a piece of gauze. Silently she dabbed at Michael's arm with the edges of the towel, applying pressure as she did so, before cleaning the blood from Michael's arm.

"Michael tell me something," Sara began quickly, never taking her eyes from his arm where she pushed and wiped at the wound frantically, staining the gauze pink in her hands. "You think there's a part of you that enjoys this?" she added dryly with a sigh of frustration.

"Peroxide in an open wound? No." Michael said flatly, clearly in a larger amount of pain than he had anticipated. A smile crept across Sara's face but she did not look up as Michael took a chance and looked up at her. Sara's smile faded and she spoke again.

"I mean escaping from prison and..." she paused, reached behind her to place her scissors back on the makeshift trauma table and continued. "...being on the run, and then the danger and the fear, and the rush and all that..." Sara's words were a flurry, tumbling from her mouth, filling the space between them. Sara briefly closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she remembered her own dangerous rush that came every time she held a needle to her arm. That same dangerous rush that made her hold a needle to her arm. She stopped and peeled her eyes open to meet Michael's.

"It, uh..." Sara paused again, ashamed by her thoughts that had been so blatantly smudged across her face. Michael bit his lower lip and rolled it between his teeth as he waited for the words he knew were coming. "It feels to me, like chasing a high..."Sara paused again, taking in the unmoved expression of Michael's face. "And...and I know what that's like, and..." she paused again, contemplating her words as Michael's stare intensified into her. "...I should know better by now."

Michael took in Sara's wide-eyed revelation, listening to her words as they languidly drizzled monotonously from her mouth and sent a shiver up his spine. On the one hand, Sara was right. There was a line at Fox River, one Michael had crossed the afternoon he kissed her, but here, in this place, there were no lines. It would be so easy to reach across and kiss away Sara's sorrow and there would be no one to catch them this time. No rushed love that would forever leave them both wanting more. Just the two of them in a dimly lit motel room that charged by the hour and the light cast from the solitary window to guide the way.