Sandcastles (Prison Break Fanfic)

Chapter Seventeen

Sara never knew whether Michael was a cat or a dog person. In late October, she realized that Michael himself had no idea. Growing up, he had never been in one home long enough – or at least not in a home caring enough – to have a pet, and afterward, when he had a job and a place of a redundant size, he was too used to being alone to think of getting a pet. And of course, after he lost most of what he had and all of what could be, solitude was the one solace and the deserved tormenter.

Thus when their son hesitatingly asked if he could maybe get a pet, Michael was just a thrilled by the prospect. If Bryce had a specific pet in mind, his dad had no preference. So on one of those autumn afternoons when the leaves still adorned the world with warmth before sticking together in a slippery sheen on sidewalks, the three of them headed to the nearest animal shelter (Sara might insist that their son was barely like her, but the more time he spent with him, the clearer it was to Michael that the boy might see the world in a way that matched his father's, but he interpreted it and acted upon it with warmth and compassion matched only by his mother).

"The kittens are this way," the lady at the counter pointed to the right after Bryce had informed her that they were there to adopt a cat.

"No, I don't want a kitten," he clarified. "I want a cat no one else wants."

In the end, he chose a cat that was black without a blemish and missing his left eye. He named him Toulouse, after his favorite city in France, and they were inseparable from the moment the door of the cage opened and Toulouse made a tentative step forward, then another, his widened eye assessing Bryce's parents. He proceeded to meow quietly and, balancing himself on his hind legs, place his paws on the boy's shoulders, unwilling to leave his arms for the entire drive home.

A bed for Toulouse was put in the laundry room, yet somehow every night the door of Bryce's room was left slightly ajar. Under the stealth of the dark, four little paws jumped on the boy's bed and slept the night away curled in a ball by his legs.

The parents knew, of course, but didn't mind.

"Does this make us terrible parents?" Michael asked one night, too late a night for two working parents and too young a one for two lovers reunited after so long.

"Probably," Sara laughed in response.

Halloween was the first real holiday they would celebrate together as a family. Of course Bryce had heard people referring to his father as Superman but he never concurred with them more than when dad brought home two of the largest pumpkins the boy had ever seen. Regardless of his effort, he could do little more than watch in awe as dad picked up the knife – the big one, the one he didn't even like mom handling – and carved a two-teethed grin so skillfully no one would believe it was his first time doing it. In all honesty, this was all as new to him as it was to his son.

Of course Michael had celebrated holidays before. When they were kids, Lincoln hadn't exactly planned his juvie stays around the holidays, but the ones he was out, he got a turkey or a cake somehow, a tree of a respectable size and a box of baubles (Michael had a pretty good idea why they were all in different colors), even a couple of presents (though truthfully, Michael would prefer to get no present at all, since they meant Linc risking juvie, again). Later, both of them had tried for LJ. Even though all essential elements of a celebration in style were on every photograph LJ took, they all knew there were too many people absent from the table for the holiday spirit to truly descend upon them.

But now, as Toulouse jumped on the table, sniffed the orange pumpkins that had taken the spotlight usually reserved for him and climbed into one of them for his afternoon nap, Michael realized that for the first time, he had every reason for and no excuse against celebrating every holiday the calendar had to offer.