Prison break michael and sara meet again somehow regina

''Prison Break'': Sara and Michael have a moment |

prison break michael and sara meet again somehow regina

[Source] Sara Scofield (nee Tancredi) is a prison doctor and the love interest of the In their first meeting, Sara had sensed that Michael was different from the Michael had stolen the keys from her, Sara distances herself yet again from him. Feb 6, ''Prison Break'': Sara and Michael have a moment A moment fans have it was good to see Sara smile again, but that smile was short-lived. Feb 5, Post Mortem: Arrow Bosses on Sara's Surprise [Spoiler], Felicity's Backstory But her past will come back to haunt her: Katrina Law will reprise her role as Plan: Beauty and the Beast's Spring Break, New Slots for Three Shows Meanwhile, despite her stint in prison and the collapse of her .. Mike says.

Blue by pinkpearl89 reviews She distinctly remembers other colors being a part of her wardrobe — reds, plums, greens — and yet, when she looks down, all she sees is blue. T - English - Chapters: Set in early season 2. Private Practice - Rated: T - English - Romance - Chapters: Like she can handle having one of her own.

So she decides it's time, and takes the plunge. Another exploration of Charlotte havin' a baby - with much less stress and drama than the other work-in-progress. Set sometime after season 5. Five Minutes to Midnight by so caffeinated reviews Finding out that Michael is still alive and has been held by The Company for four years might be life-altering for Sara and Lincoln, but it's also just the beginning Second in a series.

Follows "Into the Dark. M - English - Adventure - Chapters: It's tougher than they imagined. Into the Dark by so caffeinated reviews In some ways, Michael is dead for days.

In a lot of the same ways, Sara and Lincoln are too.

Michael Scofield meets his son(mike)

First of a series of four stories. T - English - Angst - Chapters: Set during "Killing Your Number. Three years after the events of Silence of the Lambs, news of a scandal within the FBI sends Hannibal back to Clarice in the middle of the night. Not safe for work, family, or kiddos.

Cooper's a big believer in rewarding that kind of effort. Takes place after 5. M - English - Romance - Chapters: Perhaps asking for a red-head for the night? Lecter - Complete Rainy Day Activity by katemm09 reviews It's pouring rain outside and Michael and Sara need to some how pass the time. K - English - Adventure - Chapters: He hires the best agents to protect her.

No one is safe. It's a MISA fic! A little bit T-Bag centred. Broken by nursepower reviews Sara never thought she could be broken until everything went wrong. AU since the end of Season 2. They can be tricky! A little Misa angst plus a little Misa lovin' is simply the best kind!

Loz is a girl, who is to cross paths with non other than Theodore Bagwell AKA T-Bag, this is a muture fan fic, so does contain scenes of a sexual nature, you have been warned!

Michael is sick; Sara takes care of him. He decides to go to Panama There he founds Sara He's gunning for her love, but she keeps moving out of range… Prison Break - Rated: T - English - Humor - Chapters: One for the Courthouse.

Please read and review. Kellerman loses his patience with Sara during his interrogation Michael determines to find her before its too late. Sara Tancredi interacting with the many different inmates of Fox River. Each chapter will feature a different character. A Redbreast in a Cage reviews When Emma Swan, a young psychology student, decides to write a thesis about prison, her discoveries threaten to overthrow her entire life, especially when she is brought to have several interviews with the serial killer who terrorized Storybrooke: But then, falling in love with a volunteer from one of her charity programs wasn't part of the plan.

Rated T for sexual situations in later chapters. The title is from Guns and Roses. Kellerman Home Invasion reviews Sara is six months sober and enjoying some time away from Chicago, in a remote cabin in the woods, when the Fox River eight break into her habitation looking for a place to hide, and Sara becomes a prisoner in her own house.

Chemistry sometimes hits where it's least expected.

prison break michael and sara meet again somehow regina

But war looms on the horizon. All he wants is to save Emma Swan from the clutch of his enemies. But what's a doomed romance to the world of vampire politics?

Asylum reviews Sara works as a doctor in an asylum when Michael Scofield is admitted into her institution. Diagnosed as a monomaniac, he is convinced an evil 'company' is trying to kill his brother.

When Sara accidentally becomes involved in the conspiracy, she has no choice but to believe him and hope that, together, they can make it out alive. Head hanging low, his cheek brushes against your skin as he nestles against your neck. He envelopes you, closes you both off to the outside world, to all that is real, all that was black and white.

He smells of high-end soap and designer cologne and top-shelf whiskey. You breathe deeply and you find it, that salty, spiced scent—his scent—that lies beneath, and you wonder what would make him want to cover that up, even though that's what he's done from the beginning—cover things up, mask them. It's too much for you. You can't escape and you can't just turn away.

prison break michael and sara meet again somehow regina

His breath is ragged, hot on your neck, and it tingles its way down your spine. You feel just as dizzy as he is intoxicated. Shaking, you wait for somebody to answer, just like the first time you asked it in the infirmary. Wait for me, he replied. This time you want to answer before he does. It won't always be like this. I won't always be like this. It couldn't possibly be. His voice is tight. Your mouth falls open preparing to speak, but you can't even breathe.

All you can do is tremble under the weight of the tension, the pressure, and the length of his body pressing against yours. For the second time tonight, you realize that he's his own collateral damage. I can't rescue you. They stripped me of my authority to heal.

I wanted to be with you and it's killing me to know you'll never believe that. You can't be his anchor when you're barely treading water. He licks his lips, he trembles. You should've fled earlier.

You may have negotiated your way out of positions like this before. But this is the first time you've been in front of Michael Scofield, and he's not accustomed to being denied.

You can't speak, you can't breathe, and … One thing?

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You just wait, captive. Wait for me, it won't always be like this, whispers in your mind. The heat of alcohol and desperation and desire roll off him and heats his cologne.

The sweet smell of 18 year old single malt on his breath affects you as surely as you drank it yourself. Head spinning slightly, you let go of the wall and hold on, fisting his shirt at his waist, transfixed on every breath and heartbeat.

You know what's coming. You can feel it in the tensioned hum of his muscles and in the strained grumble in his chest when he speaks. When you look in his eyes—and he won't finish with his demands until you do—you know you're powerless to do anything but what he wants. And you know what he wants because you want it, too.

It would go like this. Larger than life, he'll tower above you and consume the space in between. He'll put on his jacket and pull you close, molding you to him. He'll escort you out of the shadows and down the street, calling, Taxi! He'll hover over you possessively, then he'll reach down to unlatch the rear passenger door as the cab rushes up, all without dropping his intense gaze. His hand will fall to your back as he guides you in.

You'll give him plenty of room in the car, and he'll let you, at first, under the auspices of the driver. Even so, his presence will be overwhelming. As you look outside the window, your heart will pound, your flesh will tingle, and it will all settle achingly and insistent down low and high up between your legs. You'll know exactly where this is going. He won't be able maintain this level of decorum and decency for long, though. He'll caress and stroke, grasp and kiss your hand, devour you with his darkened, hungry eyes.

You'll be entranced, and you'll realize later that this is why he wouldn't allow you to drive. He'll pay for the cab and then exit. He'll reach back and say, Take my hand, just as he said once before during the riots. So you will and, just like that time not so long ago you'll wonder if you are being pulled out of the proverbial hot pan and into a consuming fire.

You'll take the key out of the lock and he'll push open the door in a demanding gesture — ladies first. Polite as it may be, he's also not allowing you an escape. He'll follow right behind you with a gentle push on your back leading you on in.

There'll be enough light filtering in through the uncovered windows, so you won't bother with lights. He'll notice the space and the high ceilings and the molding because that is who he is and what he does.

''Prison Break'': Sara and Michael have a moment

You'll note he seems to approve, and you'll be pleased because this space might be the one distinction you have left. The TV will still be on. When Michael's and Lincoln's images fill the screen, you'll fumble for the remote. But he won't say anything about it or your previous battle of words and wills. He'll focus solely and completely on you. He'll slip his coat off and he'll pull at the loosened knot on his tie.

In a swift move that will have him stalking behind you, he'll pull the remote from your hand while pulling you flush against him. He won't turn off the TV, but he'll deftly manage the mute button, and you'll both be bathed in a halo of flickering and shifting blues and greys. You'll let him turn you around as he pushes you, pulls you toward the wall. Your coat and shoes will lay abandoned as he hovers over you, holding your head still while he pulls and drags his thumbs across your lower lip.

He'll licks his lips, barely getting his tongue out of the way before he captures you with a kiss of punishing, unapologetic intensity. It'll be all pent up need and want, entitlement, anger, desire, resentment, but want and need most of all. One by one, the buttons of your blouse will come undone with skillful economy and you'll feel the heat of him on your bare belly as he reaches underneath your arms and grabs the back of your opened blouse, stripping it from you, trailing his fingers down your back.

He'll still be mostly clothed as his hands are everywhere on you, but roaming too fast to satisfy any need. He'll lay kisses down your neck and shoulders, and he'll sink to one knee as he kisses around your navel and shimmies the waist of your unzipped jeans over your hips.

He'll trail kisses lower and lower still until he mouths the soft cloth of your panties over the V between your legs, all softness and hot air. You'll have that moment of female panic where you'll judge what you think he might see as he stands and his eyes rake over your body on the way up. Unconsciously, you'll cross your arms hesitantly, but he'll brush your hands away and clasp your fingers between his.

He'll pull one hand to his mouth and kiss your palm while placing your other hand right over his heart and the inked sword blade the demon unwaveringly wields at his chest. He'll slow things down. If you want him, it's clear you'll need to make the next move. He is nothing if not intensely patient. He'll give you the time to decide and even make you think you had a choice. It won't take too many shallow and panting breaths to capture his lips, as if there was no decision to make at all.

He'll take your hand and lead you across the room. You'll pass by the corner table at the end of the couch. Your heart will drop a bit—you don't want to do this here, not over the back of the couch. But he'll turn back, pulling you flush against him as you kiss and stroke and caress your way down the hall with him to your bedroom.

You'll slip your hands inside his opened shirt, over his shoulders, pushing the fabric down his arms. His sleeves of tattoos will be slowly revealed in the shallow light, peeking out of his t-shirt from deltoid to wrist, a dark strip of lines and figures showing themselves at the hem of his neckline.

You'll not have seen his tattoos since he lay blanketed in angel-white linens after the surgery you performed on what you know now to be his accidentally self-inflicted shoulder wound. He'll cross his arms, tug at his t-shirt and lift it over his head, uncovering them all to you. Your hands will be roaming before he can even drop his shirt to the floor.

You'll trace the dark patterns between his collarbones and wrists, those covering his chest and sitting low on his hips, the angels, the demons… You'll be momentarily mesmerized. When you finally catch his gaze, his eyes will be consuming and unrelenting. Maybe he'll be self-conscious like you were a moment before—a moment of ex-con panic where he'll judge what he thinks you might see. But that's not the case. The tattoos don't define him.

They were just a means to an end. He exudes confidence and desire, and he'll wait for you to get your fill before he'll lay you down on the bed. He'll leave you there momentarily as he unbuckles his belt and slides it from the loops at his waist. You'll wonder what he's thinking as he stands there and fingers it while he rakes his gaze over you.

Ultimately, he'll discard it with the rest of his clothes before he collapses on top of you with his knee pushing its way between yours. He'll pull a condom packet from the pocket of his pants he just left strewn on the floor.

You'll have a passing thought that this condom was meant not for you, but for the blonde from the bar. But he'll not give you time to worry about that as he shifts his weight and you nestle him in the curve of your pelvis, your limbs tangling with his. You'll wake later, freely his, entangled in his arms, his lips hot and moist against your skin. He'll push the sheets down, uncovering you with his caresses and teases.

Momentarily, he'll leave you as he heads into the bathroom. You'll hear a couple of drawers slide open and shut, and he'll come out with your box of condoms.

His look will be penetrating and deep, demanding and dark. He'll say the first words he's said since the cab ride—These are ours now—as he takes out a packet and tables the box. You won't have to agree. It will just be. He'll notice you've since covered up in his absence, and, Tsk-tsk, he'll warn as he pulls back the sheet. He'll climb in behind you and maneuver your position until you're on your back and sheltered beneath his weight.

Once again, it's all need. He'll lick and kiss and tease until you're panting and whimpering. Eventually, he'll clasp your hands, drag them over your head and pin them down with one of his—he won't even need the belt.

He'll lift one of your legs high against his hip, cradling it from behind your knee as he thrusts. He'll say things like, Look at me, Sara, which you'll do, and, You're mine, Sara, which you already know. And you'll come apart just like that, no control. Barely holding on, he'll say, Fuck, baby, in a hoarse voiceand follow right behind.

Hours later, you'll finally make it out of bed. Days later, he'll still be there, always within arm's reach. You'll run errands together, cook, pay bills, make love.

You'll start new rules—again—like never eating after 6, and you'll never drink, and never eat chocolate. He'll give you rides to AA meetings and your public service and to meet your probation officer. He'll help you dodge the paparazzi and the news, and he'll stay true to his word—he'll never do interviews. Somehow, the applications to reinstate your medical license just show up in the mail and you'll find you actually have the bravery to fill them out. You'll doubt where all the courage came from.

Weeks later, you'll become aware that you feel more beautiful than you are, seem smarter than you are, you're more confident than you should be. A realization will follow you softly at first, then it will come to weigh on you like a ton of bricks—you've started to hope. You've started to hope, and it's because of him.

And you'll look at him and start to wonder what else the blush of love has aggrandized. After a while, your self-consciousness will sneak back in.

Sara Tancredi - Wikipedia

If his love makes you more than you are, is the inverse true? Does your love make him less? Doubters do doubt, and it'll leave its own blush of sorts—it taints everything, ruins everything, and you'll both stumble in the debris. You'll be more stressed, have more anxiety. You'll go to more AA meetings, if just to have some time alone. You'll argue more with him.

Sex will be less frequent—but he'll still press his body to yours, anchoring himself, as he senses the distance coming—and it'll always be in the dark because you'll not feel as sexy as he'll assure you that you are. And when your medical license finally does get reinstated, you'll argue that night and say you don't want him around anymore.

You can't say you're ruining his life, because that won't be enough to force him to let go. Instead, you'll accuse him of staying only because he's a rescuer, and you're fine now—not that you ever needed rescuing anyway, and that this is all Lincoln's fault so go blame him, and that quelling his lingering guilt about Fox River is no basis for a relationship.

And you'll say you never got attached because you knew it would never last. You'll argue and he'll plead, but he'll finally leave, if only because he'll think he can rescue things later.

Deep down, you'll know this is for the best. It's for his own good. And that night you'll skip your AA meeting.

The next day, he'll pound on your front door and say things like, Open the door, Sara, which you won't do,and, Please, Sara, which you'll ignore. And he'll fall apart just like that, no control.

Barely holding on, he'll say, Fuck, baby, in a hoarse voice… and return the way he came. Then you'll take it as a sign that you were right and that he never did love you when he isn't serious enough to break in and fight for you. He'll call… Please, don't hang up on me. Lincoln will call… Don't hang up, for fuck's sake, Doc.

You won't even bother with the voice messages. You'll venture out for a new phone with a new number at that tech shop right next to that liquor store. After all, you can't outwait fate. And that night you'll skip your AA meeting, too. He dares a touch to your cheek to wake you from your thoughts and you're plunged back into the present, into the quiet of the last-call hour and the dark of night.

You're a little dazed and quite confused as you brace yourself against the brick building with him towering over you, arms raised against the wall, shirt pulling across his chest. Overhead, the street lamp flickers off again and shades of grey instantly changes reassuringly to more black than white. He pulls back and levels his eyes on you, but you can't look him in the eye. But he doesn't lead you by the hand away from the shadows and down into the street to hail a cab.

He stays still, deadly still, ragged breathing and blood pounding the only sounds. Then I'll let you go. There are a lot of whys and a lot of whats. Why did he have to meet you there in that place? Because you knew you couldn't confront rehab—again, and because there you didn't have to make up rules. Because Daddy used you as a political tool, and Mom didn't care enough to stop drinking.

Because you might be Tancredi's daughter, but you'll be damned if someone thinks you're Frontier Justice Frank's girl. And because you killed a boy on a bike when you should have been able to help, but you were just a privileged trust-fund baby with a drug problem from a dysfunctional family.

Because you wanted to Be the Change. You wanted to change. Because you wanted to help. Why did you open the door? Because your ethics and principles wouldn't allow you what you honestly believed to be an innocent man to be put to death, and your spite couldn't let Daddy take that from you, too.

Because the first covenant of the Hippocratic Oath pledged you to do no harm nor take another's life in the name of political expediency. Because Daddy—the Governor, the public servant—was just a political tool and he refused to absolve you of all your past sins and intercede in time—the only time it really mattered—when it was the very real difference between life and death.

Because you couldn't be the one responsible for taking away the brother from the man holding your heart, your peace, your future. Because you wanted to help, and because he asked, and because he was the very real difference between life and death. Why did you try to kill yourself? Because you allowed yourself to be played again—you hadn't even seen it coming this time.

Because you constructed yourself precariously with order, tireless order, and did nothing but set order to a house of cards. Because he walked in and opened the doors of all the rules you designed and your house of cards swayed and collapsed in the breeze.

Because he said you were the only one who could help, and he said, Take my hand, and, Wait for me, and, It won't always be like this, then left you to face the monsters on your own. Because sobriety is overrated. Because you were the very real difference between someone's life—his life—even if it meant the death of yours. So aiding and abetting was the solution.

You opened the escape route. You left the infirmary door unlocked after you opened the narcotic cabinet door. You left the keys behind on your desk and walked out the front door of a federal penitentiary, never looking back. You shot up because First, Do No Harm only applies only to doctors who practice medicine, to those who can heal. You shot up because you wanted to Be the Change, but couldn't. You wanted to change, but couldn't.