Work Text:
This is not the first time Sara has thought a man in her care as a doctor at Fox River looked handsome. It happens sometimes and she ignores it. They're cons. And she is a professional. Not to mention the explicitly stated rule: "Do not fall in love with an inmate." Nothing has ever happened, or even begun to happen. It's not like any of them ever meant anything to her, or the ones that glanced back wanted anything more than a pretty face.
But this is different. Michael is different. (And also he's not handsome, he's gorgeous, thank you very much)
It's not just the way his soft voice is something she could listen to for hours, or that crooked knowing smile making her heart flutter, or those steely eyes that somehow convey warmth instead of the beautiful icy green-blue of their irises. (Of course it's not those things that make you want to kiss him. Because that would just be ridiculous, Sara.)
It's the kindness. It's the way he looks out for those who have no business being under his protection. It's the way she sometimes suspects (in the darkest recesses of her mind, and only when she's bored,) that he only got arrested to be with his brother. (Because he doesn't seem like a bank robber, and she's met a few)
But Michael Scofield has secrets. (Why does it always feel like he doesn't intend to stay very long? Like he has... plans. Ones a man in prison really shouldn't have...)
It's not just the identity of the person who cut off his toes (She swears if she ever finds out who it was, doctor's oath be damned, she's going to discreetly inject them with cyanide.)
Sometimes his smiles don't reach his eyes and he looks like he's a million miles away, thinking about something so important, lips tight and face pensive. (She really wants to kiss the worried expression off his face in these moments)
She would ask, but she knows she's not going to get an answer. (One of the things she liked about him first was that he wouldn't lie to her. He could have, it would have been so easy, but he didn't. Doesn't. Won't.)
Sometimes after he's said something to make her smile, she catches him watching her with an almost wistful look on his face, and it echoes her own thoughts. 'What if?' What if I had met you somewhere else? What if I could spend all day just getting to know you, what if I could trust you?
And Sara wants to trust him, but she can't quite. Not until she knows the secret behind those guarded eyes and long silences.
She desperately wants to know what his secret is. God, she wants it almost as much as she wants— (him.)
She wants to know all of his secrets, every inch, from head to toe.
She wants to discover them, casually, leisurely. For hours.
The secrets, of course.
Not him.
The secrets.
Or at least, that's what she tells herself.