Archive of Our Own ^beta

The woman in his arms stirs, one hand on her swollen belly as she struggles to sit up. “Fernando?”

He bats away an invisible insect from his cheek. “Hmmm?”

“There’s a boat tying up at the dock.”

The frame of the swinging chair thumps against the wall behind him as he jerks upright, his pulse racing. He gets to his feet, one hand shading his eyes, the other reaching protectively towards the woman sitting behind him. “Go inside, okay?”

“Who is it?”

Her voice is thin with fear, and he forces himself to speak quietly. “I don’t know, baby, which is why I need you to go inside.”

She takes his hand, hauling herself awkwardly to her feet. Five weeks until her due date, and she looks as though she’s ready to burst, a ripe summer fruit left too long on the vine. “Maybe they’re just lost?”

“Baby, please-” He ushers her through the front door of the small house that has been their home for the last five months, then turns to face the small wooden jetty. Narrowing his gaze against the sun, he feels his heart lurch. The man walking towards him is too tanned to be a ghost, but it doesn’t make it any easier to believe what he’s seeing. “Holy shit.”

Michael smiles. “Hola.”

Sucre feels the laughter bubbling up inside him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Before he knows it, his feet are moving and he’s hugging the other man, slapping his back hard enough to make him cough. “What the hell are you doing here, man?”

His former cellmate gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry it’s taken so long, but it took me a while to track you down.”

Sucre fights the urge to pinch himself, or maybe he should just rub his eyes. He looks towards the jetty where the sleek white boat is docked, then back at Michael. There are so many things he wants to say, but in the end, he decides to keep it simple. “Want a beer?”

Michael grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He watches Michael shake Maricruz’s hand almost reverently, looking at her with faint disbelief, as though he can’t believe she really exists. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Maricruz smiles at him. “I’ve wanted to meet you, too.” She glances at Sucre, one dimple flirting with the soft curve of her cheek. “I need to thank you.”

Taking a beer from Sucre’s outstretched hand, Michael looks puzzled. “Why?”

“You gave Fernando back to me,” she answers simply, and Sucre feels his chest expand with warmth.

Michael glances at him, then back to Maricruz. “I may have helped, but he did most of that himself.”

Sucre finds himself shifting from foot to foot, curiosity winning out over the need to be polite. Glancing at Michael, he puts his hand on the curve of Maricruz’s hip. “We’re just going outside to talk, okay?”

She gives him a knowing look, but only smiles. “I’m going to take a nap.”

They sit on the front steps and drink their beer, the silence stretching out between them. After a few minutes, Michael sighs. “I’m sorry to bust in on you like this.” His gaze looks beyond the boat tied up at the jetty. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He tilts his head towards the front door behind them. “That you were all okay.”

Sucre takes a long sip of beer, but his mouth still feels dry. “It took us a while to get here, but we’re doing good now.”

“She looks great,” his friend murmurs. “When’s she due?”

“I’m gonna be a daddy in five weeks time,” he replies, unable to stop the grin from spreading across his face at the mere sound of the words.

Michael smiles. “Been a long time coming.”

Sucre clinks his bottle against Michael’s. “You said it, papi.” He studies the man he was beginning to think he’d never see again. He looks exactly the same as Sucre remembers, and for some reason that makes him smile. “What about you?”

Michael looks startled. “What do you mean?”

“Life treating you okay?”

Visibly relaxing, Michael nods. “I started up a new business venture a couple of weeks ago, doing freelance design.” He shrugs. “Not sure how it’s going to work out, but it’s something I really want to try.”

Sucre thinks of all odd jobs he’s had in the last six months, each one more menial than the last. He hasn’t wanted to do a single one of them, but they're what he needs to do. “You gotta pay the bills somehow, man.”

An odd look flickers across his friend’s face. “That’s sort of why I came to see you.”

Sucre stares at him, his pulse spiking. He’s told himself for months that there was no hope, no chance, and now he’s almost afraid to believe the promise glittering in the other man’s eyes. “No way.”

“Way.” A slow smile curves Michael’s mouth. “Charles was telling the truth.”

Sucre leaps to his feet, filled with the sudden urge to punch the air, then drops back onto the step, feeling as though he’s just been dusted in itching powder. “You’re fucking kidding me?”

“No.”

“You found the money.”

Michael looks as though he’s trying not to laugh. “Yes.”

Sucre leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Five million bucks.”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit,” he exclaims for the second time in an hour, and Michael grins.

“So you can understand why I’ve been trying to track you down.”

“So, how much-” Sucre breaks off, embarrassment and adrenalin washing over him in equal amounts. “Shit, sorry man, I didn’t mean to just come right out and ask.”

Michael chuckles. “I understand, believe me.” He glances over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Uh, almost a million US.” He turns to give Sucre an anxious look. “If that’s okay?”

“If that’s okay? What, are you fucking crazy, man?” Laughing, Sucre gets to his feet again, no longer able to sit still and not implode. “I gotta tell Maricruz.”

“Didn’t she say she was going to take a nap?”

One foot on the top step, Sucre hesitates. “Oh, yeah.” He sinks down beside Michael once more, his feet tapping an impatient beat against the wooden step. Staring at the boat at the jetty, he suddenly puts two and two together. “I guess that explains your mode of transportation, man.”

Michael shakes his head. “That’s just a loaner, trust me.”

Sucre studies the boat, then shoots his friend a teasing grin. “You sailed that thing all the way from Punta Chame by yourself?”

Michael blinks. “You know where I live?”

He nods. “Found out a couple of weeks ago.”

Michael looks down at the beer bottle dangling from his hand. “Right.”

Sucre’s heart sinks at the unspoken question, and he quickly elaborates. “You've seen my girl, man. She's almost ready to pop, and I'm not turning my back for one second until that baby's born.” He puts his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Besides, I’m still a wanted man, remember?” he reminds Michael in a mild tone, careful to keep even the faintest hint of reproach out of his voice. He can't deny that he envies his former cellmate his exonerated status, but that's his problem, not Michael's. "I figured the last thing you needed was an escaped con hanging around."

Michael turns to look at him. “About that whole wanted man thing-” His gaze is clear and steady. “What would you say if I told you there might be a way to fix that?”

Sucre feels his jaw drop. “Are you messing with my head, man?”

Michael’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m serious.”

Sucre grips the neck of his beer bottle a little tighter. “How?”

His friend sighs. “It’s complicated, and we’re still not sure it will work, but -”

“We?”

Michael gives him a smile. “I have a very good lawyer.”

Sucre thinks of Maricruz, lying asleep in their bed, her arms curled around her belly. His throat tightens. “I’d have to do some time, right?”

“Probably.” Michael looks unhappy. “Maybe six months, maybe less.”

Sucre rubs his hand over his face. An hour ago, he’d been enjoying an uncomplicated afternoon in the sun. And now, well, now he’s talking to Michael Scofield about life, and that’s never been a simple thing. “I don’t know, papi.”

“Just something to keep in mind, okay?” Michael’s gaze scans the endless blue water of the horizon. “In case you ever get tired of living in paradise.”

Sucre’s sigh feels as though it’s been dredged up from the soles of his feet. “She never says anything, but she misses the city. I know she does.”

“Where are you working at the moment?”

Sucre stares at him, taken aback by the swift change of subject. “Why?”

Michael gives him an exasperated look that’s all too familiar, but he smiles as he drawls, “Just answer the question, will you?”

He grins. “Lumber yard a couple of miles outta town.”

“Do you like it?”

Sucre looks at him. “What do you think?”

Michael picks at the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail, his expression meditative. “Before Fox River, did you like what you were doing? Your job in Chicago, I mean.”

Sucre frowns. Sometimes he finds it hard to remember life before Fox River. “The gardening job?”

Michael quirks an eyebrow. “I thought you told me it was landscaping.”

“That’s what the sign on my boss’ door used to say.” Sucre lifts his beer to his lips. “Me, I just did a lot of digging.” He shoots Michael a grin. “Lucky for you, hey?”

They share a rueful smile, then Michael puts his beer bottle on the step beside his feet. “But you liked it, right?”

Sucre stares down at his hands, remembering the feel of rich, dark earth, the scent of newly laid grass. He remembers looking around him at the beauty he’d created with his own hands, and he feels a pang deep inside his chest. “Yeah, I liked it. Why?”

“You know how I told you about my new business?”

Sucre frowns, trying to connect the dots between his friend’s words. It’s a disconcertingly familiar feeling, but strangely enough, it’s also a good one. “Yeah?”

“I need to find a good landscape gardening business, help me snare some of the juicier contracts.” Michael’s studying him carefully, as though trying to gauge his reaction. “What do you think?”

Sucre feels his mouth drop open a second time. “You mean me?” He shakes his head, beyond confused. “I don’t got no landscape gardening business, Michael.”

Michael grins. “With almost a million dollars, you could.” He jerks his chin towards the tiny house behind them. “You could build a future for your family.”

Stunned into silence, Sucre can only stare at him. When he finds his voice, he stammers, “But I wouldn’t know where to start, man.”

“I’ll help.” Michael’s tone is quietly earnest. “I owe you a couple of favours, remember?”

Sucre looks at the beer in his hand, wondering if he’s drunk more than he realises, because he feels as though everything has been turned on its head. “I don’t know what to say.”

Michael nods, as though he completely understands, and Sucre knows he does. “Just think about it, okay?”

“I will.” Overwhelmed by the revelations of the last five minutes, he finds a distraction in studying his friend’s face, trying to see past the tan and the smile. “Uh, so, what else is going on with you, papi?”

Michael’s smile widens. “I’m good. Busy, I guess.”

“How’s your bro doing?”

“He’s great. He’s taken over the lease of a great little dive shop, and he and LJ live about half a mile from our place.”

Sucre grins at the word our, and wonders if he’s just discovered the reason for the smile. He's heard rumours, but he didn't known whether to believe them or not. “So, how's life with the Doc?” One look at Michael’s flushed face gives him his answer, and he chuckles, impressed. “Oh, man, you are too smooth for words.”

Michael looks more embarrassed than he’s ever seen him, and Sucre suddenly wishes for a camera. “It wasn’t like that.”

He’s tempted to prolong his teasing, but decides to take pity on his friend, at least for now. “I guess she forgave you for all the crap you put her through, right?”

Michael blows out a loud breath, and reaches for the bottle at his feet. “Mostly.”

“Yeah, they always like to keep something up their sleeves.” He glances towards the house with a wry smile. “Just in case, you know?”

Michael grins. “I do know.” His gaze slides once more to the horizon, this time as though he’s checking the position of the sun. “I should be heading back,” he says quietly. “It’s four hours to my place.”

Sucre suddenly feels bereft. It’s taken less than an hour in Michael’s company to remind him why they’d made friends so easily. It’s not just about the money, and he hopes Michael knows that. His friend – his best friend, he realises with a jolt - has walked back into his life, and he doesn’t want to see him walk out of it again. He wants to ask him about the others, if all the stories he's heard are true. He wants to share another beer and give thanks for the fact that they're both alive and that their girls haven't thrown them out into the street. “You don’t want to stay and have something to eat?” He frantically tries to remember the contents of their refrigerator. “Maricruz will be awake soon. You and me, we could have another beer-” He breaks off, because Michael’s shaking his head, and the last thing he wants is to sound as though he’s begging. “Sure, if you gotta go, no problem.”

“I’ll see you again very soon, I promise. Hammer out the best way to get that money to you.” Pulling a cell phone out of his jeans pocket, Michael smiles, his thumb poised over the keypad. “Wanna give me your phone number, Fernando?”

Sucre grins. “You bet, papi.”