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Title: Scofield's Shadow
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael Scofield/Alexander Mahone
Warning: Gratuitous use of the word "shadow". Set during season 3



Michael fled the ring that had been penning him in, the shouts of bloodthirsty men ringing in his ears. Blood thundered through his veins and his head spun, the image of Alex brutally killing Michael’s opponent replaying in his head.

He wanted out. Out of the ring, out of Sona, out of Panama, just out. Out before the inevitable happened and Michael was killed.

For now, he just ran. Off the yard and into the bowels of the prison, hoping that if he moved fast enough, he’d escape Lechero’s wrath. Oh, it wasn’t a permanent solution; the man wanted Michael dead. He’d already proven that he’d break his own rules to get the job done. For now, at least, Alex had subverted his plans. For now, Michael would keep his life for a little while longer.

The prison was a labyrinth, twisting and turning every which way. He ran, past the cells, past crowded rooms. He ran until he found a dead end, almost slamming into it in his haste.

A hand touched him on the back.

Michael leapt into the air, twisting.

“Woah,” Alex said, hands up. “Calm down, Michael. You’re safe now.”

He pulled back, pressing his body against the wall, cringing away from Alex. “Am I?”

Alex looked at him a moment before letting out a snort. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that. You didn’t have to kill him.”

“Yes, Michael, I did. Christ, you cannot still be so naive as to think both of you were getting out of that fight alive.”

“You told me to go for the kneecap. To take him out of commission.”

He swiped at his forehead. “Because I knew the game was going to be rigged. The minute it looked like you had the upper hand, Lechero was going to break the rules somehow.”

“And then you’d swoop in.”

Alex spread his hands and cocked his head.

Michael closed his eyes. Scrubbed at his face with both his hands. “I don’t need you to watch my back.”

“Obviously I do. I don’t know what you did to piss Lechero off…”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You don’t have to do anything to piss people off, Michael!” He grabbed Michael’s chin and squeezed. “It’s that Goddamn smug smirk on your face. Pisses people right off. You come waltzing in here, looking like that, no wonder you painted a target on your back.”

Michael pushed Alex away from him. Looked away, panting and trying to catch his breath.

“Like it or not, I am your shadow until I get a trial. They try to kill you, I kill them.”

“And it’s so easy for you to kill.”

“Thank God one of us can do it.” When Michael looked at him, Alex rolled his eyes. “Don’t start with me, boy. I do what I have to do…”

“Yeah, killing David and Haywire was so necessary. Like killing my father was necessary!”

Alex grabbed Michael by the throat and pushed him against the wall. “Don’t act like you don’t understand the Company,” he growled in Michael’s ear. “You did what you had to do for your family, and I did what I had to do.”

“I didn’t…”

“You let T-Bag loose. All those people he murdered are on your head and don’t pretend that they aren’t.” He let go of Michael’s throat, but didn’t move away. One hand gripped Michael’s wrist, the other rested against the wall. “For you information, I tried to get out. After Kellerman shot me, I handed in my resignation. And you know what they did?”

“I don’t…”

His hand tightened around Michael’s wrist. “They ran down my five year old son in the street like a dog.”

Michael closed his mouth. Swallowed. Unbidden, the image rose in his mind. The thud of the body rang in his ears.

Alex’s mouth quirked at the edges. “You know what they’re like. They framed your brother. They killed LJ’s mother and framed him for it. So tell me, Saint Michael, how much of a choice to you really think I had?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Because he knew Alex had never had a choice. Deep down, he’d always understood, and it’d become more and more clear on the run how much power the Company had. How everyone at its mercy was fated to stay at its mercy.

And yet… He couldn’t forgive Alex. Not for his father. Not for David. Not for killing everyone… everyone but T-Bag.

He couldn’t forgive Alex for not cleaning up Michael’s mess.

Like he did today.

He let out a long breath. The tension that had been wracking his body faded slightly, shoulders softening, stomach untwisting. “It’s not going to matter. What I say. To a jury or a judge. They won’t believe me. They’ll think you coerced me somehow.”

“Let me worry about that.” He was shaking. Michael could feel the tremors in his body, where it pressed against Michael. In his hand, where it gripped Michael’s arm.

“I’m not going to survive long enough to testify anywhere.” He said it softy, like a confession. A secret that he hadn’t been able to admit before now.

Alex leaned closer, bringing their heads together, mouths inches apart. “Let me worry about that.”

This time, the tremor went through Michael, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from lowering to Alex’s mouth.

A predatory smile crossed Alex’s face. He pressed, briefly, against Michael’s body, then stepped back, letting Michael go. “Try to stay out of trouble for a few minutes.”

Michael watched as Alex walked away, hands twitching, body jerking. And he pressed himself against the wall, waiting for his legs to turn back from liquid to solid.

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