Post by Audio Pineapple on May 11, 2007 0:51:37 GMT 1
(Thanks due to Laura who got me over my writer's block I've had for over a month with this but innocently selecting 'Sara' as a random character 
)
Okay, so I probably shouldn't be putting up another serial until Crashing is finished but I can't see that finishing any time soon and I can't get this plotline out of my head! This is set very early season two and is AU because it annoyed me that Abruzzi died.
Prologue
All he’d needed was for the plane to have waited a minute longer.
“Michael?”
One more minute and everything would have been fine.
“Michael?”
One more minute and he’d have been out of the country.
“Michael…”
One more minute and Abruzzi would have been out of the country.
“…Can you hear me?”
One more minute and everything would have been perfect.
“Michael!”
One more minute and he wouldn’t be here.
A sharp pain across his face brought Michael out of his daze, blinking rapidly to reveal where he was, a dingy motel room in Iowa, just over the border from Illinois. He saw Lincoln raise his hand, ready to hit him and he realised where the pain had come from. “Did you hit me?”
“I slapped you; there’s a difference.”
“You slapped me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I leave and have a shower, I get back and you’re sitting on the floor lost to the world. What the hell happened?”
Lincoln’s question reminded Michael that he was still holding the envelope in his hand, he’d seen it pushed underneath the door, thinking that it had been sent to the wrong room. Nobody was supposed to know that they were there, he’d tried so hard to hide them, to blend in and as far as he knew the clerk didn’t care enough to even glance at them as long as they paid in cash. So when he’d seen that it was labelled ‘Michael Scofield’ he’d panicked, torn it open haphazardly and crumpled when he saw what was waiting for him.
“Who sent this?” Lincoln had grabbed the empty envelope away from him, his face suddenly ashen when he saw the label. “Come on, get your things; we’re leaving.” He sighed heavily, grabbing a half-eaten chocolate bar and a rain-sodden tee-shirt as though it could be considered packing. “I knew we shouldn’t have stayed here two days; it’s too dangerous. We need to keep moving until we get to Panama.”
“We’re not leaving.”
“Get your things Michael.” It was an order, said in a voice so direct and annoyed that Michael would usually have obeyed automatically.
“No. We don’t need to run, it’s from John.”
“Abruzzi?”
Michael handed the note to Lincoln, trying to stop his hand from shaking as Lincoln read it aloud; “‘stay where you are and wait for further instructions…’ What the hell is this about?”
“Turn it over.”
“‘…You will give me Fibonacci…’?”
Michael handed the last piece of the package to him, a polaroid photograph of Sara, tied to a chair with a blindfold over her eyes and a gag across her mouth with the remainder of the message underneath “…or she dies.”
So, any thoughts?
)Okay, so I probably shouldn't be putting up another serial until Crashing is finished but I can't see that finishing any time soon and I can't get this plotline out of my head! This is set very early season two and is AU because it annoyed me that Abruzzi died.
Prologue
All he’d needed was for the plane to have waited a minute longer.
“Michael?”
One more minute and everything would have been fine.
“Michael?”
One more minute and he’d have been out of the country.
“Michael…”
One more minute and Abruzzi would have been out of the country.
“…Can you hear me?”
One more minute and everything would have been perfect.
“Michael!”
One more minute and he wouldn’t be here.
A sharp pain across his face brought Michael out of his daze, blinking rapidly to reveal where he was, a dingy motel room in Iowa, just over the border from Illinois. He saw Lincoln raise his hand, ready to hit him and he realised where the pain had come from. “Did you hit me?”
“I slapped you; there’s a difference.”
“You slapped me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I leave and have a shower, I get back and you’re sitting on the floor lost to the world. What the hell happened?”
Lincoln’s question reminded Michael that he was still holding the envelope in his hand, he’d seen it pushed underneath the door, thinking that it had been sent to the wrong room. Nobody was supposed to know that they were there, he’d tried so hard to hide them, to blend in and as far as he knew the clerk didn’t care enough to even glance at them as long as they paid in cash. So when he’d seen that it was labelled ‘Michael Scofield’ he’d panicked, torn it open haphazardly and crumpled when he saw what was waiting for him.
“Who sent this?” Lincoln had grabbed the empty envelope away from him, his face suddenly ashen when he saw the label. “Come on, get your things; we’re leaving.” He sighed heavily, grabbing a half-eaten chocolate bar and a rain-sodden tee-shirt as though it could be considered packing. “I knew we shouldn’t have stayed here two days; it’s too dangerous. We need to keep moving until we get to Panama.”
“We’re not leaving.”
“Get your things Michael.” It was an order, said in a voice so direct and annoyed that Michael would usually have obeyed automatically.
“No. We don’t need to run, it’s from John.”
“Abruzzi?”
Michael handed the note to Lincoln, trying to stop his hand from shaking as Lincoln read it aloud; “‘stay where you are and wait for further instructions…’ What the hell is this about?”
“Turn it over.”
“‘…You will give me Fibonacci…’?”
Michael handed the last piece of the package to him, a polaroid photograph of Sara, tied to a chair with a blindfold over her eyes and a gag across her mouth with the remainder of the message underneath “…or she dies.”
So, any thoughts?
