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“There was no inheritance money, Michael!”
Michael walks numbly back to his apartment, Lincoln’s words repeating in his mind over and over again.
“No inheritance money.”
All of those years Michael spent resenting his brother, looking down at him for his wasted potential, believing that he had fallen victim to his vices and never recovered. All the times he berated him for not giving LJ the life that he deserved or being the father that he needed. All the times he overlooked the work that Lincoln did, oblivious and ignorant, living in the lap of luxury, refusing to stoop as low as his brother.
He repeats every interaction he’s ever had with Lincoln over the years with the shifted perspective and a newfound clarity and the guilt claws at him painfully.
How could he? How could he leave his brother to fend for himself, even when believing what he did? Lincoln gave up everything to give Michael the chance at the life he leads and he…
He falls to his knees, clutching his chest as he struggles to find his breath. Michael curses his low latent inhibition, unable to block out all the peripheral stimuli around him that attack his senses as his thoughts create a storm in his mind.
He knows it’s a panic attack, knows it’s not a heart attack, but it doesn’t make it feel any less like one.
He feels gentle hands grab at him and he flinches away and they disappear. A calming voice continues to serenade him incomprehensibly until the ringing in his ears clears.
“Sir? If you don’t respond, I’m going to have to call 9-1-1—”
“Please don’t,” Michael gasps out. “God, this is… mortifying.” He turns and plops down in the grass, not caring how it will stain his dress pants, knowing his scraped up hands have already gotten blood stains on them that will probably be easier to get out than the grass. He props his elbows on his knees and holds his head in his hands.
“What are you feeling?”
“Embarrassed,” Michael says. He looks up and realizes that the woman is some sort of doctor and gets a rush of guilt. “Dizzy.”
“That’s understandable. You were hyperventilating. Anything else?”
“I’m fine.” When she cocks her brow disbelieving, he amends, “I’ll be fine. Just a panic attack.”
Her eyes are searching. “Do you… want to talk about it?”
“No, I really don’t.” He pulls himself up and she grabs his arm, steadying him.
“Do you live around here? I’d feel better if I could walk you home.”
“I’m just down the street,” Michael says. “Really, you don’t have to—”
“I insist.”
They walk together in silence.
“Do you work at Northwestern?”
“Fox River, actually.”
Michael’s brows shoot up. “The prison?”
“We prefer penitentiary.” She smiles tightly.
“My firm retrofitted Fox River,” Michael says.
“Yeah? What do you do?”
“I’m a structural engineer,” he says, smile falling as he remembers exactly how he was able to get to such career highs.
“That’s impressive,” she says. “I can’t even imagine what goes into that.”
“A lot of drawing. A lot of numbers. Not a lot of building.”
She chuckles. “I’m Sara, by the way.”
“Michael.” He shakes her hand and the touch lingers a moment too long. “I swear this isn’t some sort of pickup line, but… have we met?”
Her face falls. “I just have one of those faces.”
“No, you…” He snaps his fingers with realization. “You won a Humanitarian Award for your medical work in Cambodia.”
Surprised, she nods. “Yeah. I did.”
“I remember reading about it and thinking about how fantastic it is the sort of change that people like you can make. Sometimes I feel like my work will never amount to anything, not like that. Not in a way that actually helps people that matter.”
“That’s why I’m a doctor,” she says. “To help people.”
“I’m guessing you’re not a therapist.”
“No,” she says. “But I am a good listener.”
“What would you do if you found out someone you’ve been treating not fairly had lied to you, not about something bad, but about something so incredibly selfless that you realize how selfish you are?”
“Well,” Sara says, “that’s a very specific situation. But I’d say… just talk to them. Understand them. They have every right to feel how they do and to choose to not forgive you for whatever it is you did selfishly, but I have a feeling whoever this is isn’t going to condemn you for whatever it is you did.”
“He should. He really should.” Michael sighs. “It’s my brother. He… he gave up everything so I could have the life I did. And I didn’t know until now. And I’ve treated him like dirt when he…”
“Well,” she says, “I make it a habit not to treat anyone like dirt. So maybe you also need to do some looking into yourself about why you did that, especially to someone you so clearly love.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You’re right. God, you’re right. I need to talk to him.” He pauses his walking. “And this is my stop. Thank you, Sara. Really.”
“If you ever need to talk, I’m right down the street.”
“I might take you up on that,” he says. “Have a good night. Get home safe.”
“Good luck talking to your brother.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna need it.”
Lincoln forgives him even though he shouldn’t. Invites Michael over for dinner because LJ misses him.
And Michael knows that he will never take Lincoln for granted again and he would make it up to him.