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serafina20Fic: Sona
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Michael and Mahone form an alliance in the hell known as Sona.
A/N: Sorry it's been so long. This part wouldn't come. So, um... when last we left the boys, Michael was sick, Tony was scared, and Alex appealed to Sara for help.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35
The next day, Michael was worse. He only woke for short periods of time, and even then, he wasn’t fully conscious. Just enough to shuffle to the restroom, leaning heavily on Alex, and to sip little bits of water. He didn’t seem to know where he was or who Alex was. He didn’t seem to know anything at all.
To make matters worse, Tony had awoken with a headache and fever. He was cranky, snapping at Alex, swatting his hands away. When the breakfast bell rang, he’d gone out, only to come back fifteen minutes later empty handed. He’d gone to the corner, curled into a ball, and fallen into a deep sleep. He hadn’t woken since.
Alex didn’t know what to do. Out of sheer desperation, he’d gone to a guard.
The guard had been unimpressed. “Inmates get sick. Shouldn’t commit crimes if they want better healthcare.”
“You could be facing an epidemic here,” Alex said, frustrated. “Tony was fine yesterday. Now he’s sick. Who knows who else will get sick. With something like this, it could be you.”
The guard shrugged. “This stuff never spreads to the guards. But, fine. I’ll get an aspirin.”
“They need a doctor.”
“Next Tuesday, doctor come.”
“Next Tuesday, they both could be dead.”
The guard shrugged again.
Sara wasn’t any more help. “I’m trying,” she said when she and Alex met at the fence. “I’ve talked to the people at the American Embassy. I’m trying to get in contact with a dozen different civil rights groups. I’ve got an appointment with the warden for tomorrow. I’m doing what I can, Alex.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But it’s not enough. He’s getting worse.” Alex rubbed his eyes. He felt lost. Hopeless. If Michael died, he had no idea how he was going to survive. “Look. Call the FBI. Ask for Richard Sullins or Felicia Lang. Tell them it’s about me. Tell them.... tell them I really need a favor, and I’ll do anything.”
Sara nodded. “Is there one you trust over the other?”
“Felicia.” Alex shook his head. Rubbed the back of his neck. “Felicia I think will help. Sullins has more power, though. More authority.”
“Well, then. It’ll be up to her to convince him. You have her number?”
Alex nodded and rattled it off from memory.
Before she left, Sara grabbed the fence. Reached in for his hand. “Take care of yourself.”
He gave her a facsimile of a smile. “I’ll try.”
He past six obviously ill inmates on his way back to the cell. One was puking up his guts on the hot, dusty dirt. Another was huddled in a corner, face hidden, moaning about the light. The others were listless, glassy eyed, sweating, and pale.
“Tony,” Alex said when he got back. He crouched beside the boy. Shook him. “Time for some water. Wake up.”
Nothing.
“Tony.” He shook harder.
Tony’s head lolled to the side. His body flopped as if he had no muscles.
He knew. Even without checking for a pulse or listening for his breath, Alex knew. Tony was gone.
He swallowed back the sour tang of defeat. His eyes remained ruthlessly dry. He couldn’t give in. Couldn’t care. Couldn’t... or else he’d go insane.
Michael was breathing. Raspy, shallow breaths. Alex wet him down. Forced water into him. Held him. Michael’s body was an inferno and Alex was sweating profusely with the contact.
He didn’t care. Michael was the only thing he had left to hold on to.
“Your boy’s got it, too, huh?” the hated drawl greeted him, drawing Alex out of the stupor he’d sunken in to.
Alex blinked. Looked at T-Bag, who was standing in the doorway, lounging against the bars. He looked, of course, perfectly healthy.
“This thing is spreading like wildfire. Everywhere you look, men is going down. Seen it happen before. Some dirty foreigner gets thrown into prison, next thing you know, bam! Neck pain, stiffness, fever. And everyone gets lined up for their meningitis shot.” T-Bag clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Shook his head. “Not here. Lost of vermin have to die before they gonna do anything about it.”
“Go away, T-Bag.”
“You might as well let me have him. He won’t even know.”
Alex set Michael down and slid from behind him. Fists clenched, he stalked to the other man. “You’re inoculated, so what? You want me to kill you with my bare hands?”
He got that snake-like grin in return. “Boy. I cannot wait until the population consists of you, me, and a handful of others. We will have our fun then.” He licked his lips, glanced over at Michael, then turned and left.
Alex went back to bed.
Lunch came and went. Dinner. A couple more men died, judging by the shouts. A riot started somewhere, spread. Alex didn’t join. Stayed in the cell, using a spare mattress to barricade the door. Tony’s body lay moldering in the corner.
And still he hung on to Michael.
Until, finally, Michael stirred. “Lincoln?”
Alex sat up. Hovered over him. “Michael. Michael, you awake? How do you feel?”
“Lincoln. Where is he? Did they.. did they get the chair working? I tried... to stop...”
“You did. Michael, Lincoln’s fine. He’s alive. You got him out. He’s fine.”
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. His face crumpled in despair. “Linc.”
“Michael, it’s Alex. Babe, come on. Look at me.” He tapped Michael’s face. “Open your eyes, dammit!”
Michael opened his eyes. Blinked blurrily at Alex. “Alex,” he muttered. “Like... like you’re in my mind.” He inhaled sharply, pain on his face. Trembled violently.
Then, he was still.
“Michael. Michael!” He shook the other man. “Michael!” Hit him. Bit him. Shook and punched and screamed and curse until all he could do was hold the other man and sob.
* * *
Alex sat up, heart pounding. Sweat beaded at his temples, rolled down his face. His stomach twisted and, for a truly terrifying moment, he was afraid he was going to throw up.
The dream clung to him like a shadow. Michael, dead. Tony, dead. Everyone dead and help arriving too late.
Michael lay on the bed. The moonlight flooded through the window, illuminating his face. Pale and still.
Heart in his throat, Alex reached out. Placed his hand on Michael's chest.
His heart beat steadily under Alex's hand. Air filled his lung, in and out. Slowly and surely.
Thank God.
Alex let out a sigh. Ran his hand up to Michael's forehead. Felt.
The fever had gone down. Maybe. If touch was to be believed. Alex had stopped trusting it hours ago. Whenever he felt Michael's forehead, he always seemed to be burning up. Burning hotter. He was convinced it was well above dangerous, but then Michael had woken and been coherent for awhile.
Of course, he'd gone to sleep soon after, but… but that was okay. Sleep was what he needed.
Alex hated this place. With every fiber of his being. After Sara had returned with more supplies, Alex had flat out told the guard he'd gotten the bag from that he suspected Michael had meningitis. Instead of doing something to stop an epidemic from sweeping through the prison, he'd gotten a shrug and a vague promise to get a doctor in the next day.
If Michael really did have meningitis, half the prison could be dead the next day. Sonofabitch spread fast. Of course, Alex was fairly sure Michael didn't have it. He was just dropping disease names, hoping to get someone in. Anyone.
Michael stirred. Moaned softly. His eyes fluttered.
"Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"You awake?"
He exhaled. Yawned. "Maybe." His face scrunched up. He rubbed his forehead. "My head hurts."
"Sorry."
Michael opened his eyes. Licked his lips. "I have to pee."
Alex sat up and held out an arm. "Come on."
He helped Michael sit up, then to his feet. Michael wavered for a moment, hand clamped hard on Alex's shoulder.
"You're not going to make it to the bathroom," Alex said. "We put a bucket in the corner, just in case."
Michael's nose wrinkled. "Don't make me do that, Alex. Please."
He said nothing. Allowed Michael to take a few shuffling steps toward the cell doors. Stop. Wince.
"Fine. Bucket."
Alex allowed himself the luxury of a small, smug smile. This time, he wrapped his arm around Michael's waist. Took as much of Michael's weight as he could, even though it wasn't as if he'd hurt his ankles. He was just tired and achy.
Michael's cheeks turned crimson as Alex steadied him in front of the bucket. Even though it was nothing he hadn't seen, Alex looked away as Michael relieved himself. Hummed softly.
"Okay," Michael finally said. "I'm done."
"That wasn't so bad, was it?"
There was no response. Together, they shuffled back to the bed, Michael groaning as he sat back down.
"Where's Tony?"
"Digging. I wasn't sure how safe it would be, but he insisted. He said he didn't want to sit here and worry, that he wanted to do something. So, he went." Alex stuck his hand in the food back and pulled out an orange. He began to peel it.
Michael closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. "He should be okay. He won't get so deep that the ceiling will cave on him. I don't think. And I don't think anyone's figure out that we're going over there. So." He sighed. "I mean, he won't be in any more danger that he would be over here. I mean, when he's not with us."
"Probably not." He handed Michael an orange slice. "You feeling any better?"
Michael shrugged a shoulder. "Don't know. I don't feel as shivery as I did. Maybe my fever's gone done. I feel like crap, though." He opened his eyes. "No one else has caught whatever I have, have they?"
"Not that I know of. I'm keeping my eye on Tony, though.
"Is it from crawling in the sewers?"
"I don't know, Michael. I told one of the guards you had meningitis, trying to see if we could get a doctor in. He said maybe tomorrow. Sara's trying, too. Offering her services. If she talks to the right people, maybe she'll be able to make something happen."
Michael wrinkled his nose. Accepted another orange slice. "This is a mess."
"It was never not one."
"I know." He finished the orange. Rubbed his head. "My head hurts."
"You said that. You took Tylenol earlier. Not sure how much earlier, though. The sun was just going down." He looked at his wrist, even though he knew there was no watch. Just a force of habit that he couldn't get rid of. "Sara gave us four. Want to take the rest? I'm sure you'll be fine."
Michael took another orange slice. Chewed it, then nodded. "Okay."
Alex dug in the bag for the medicine. Passed it over to Michael.
Michael took it and gulped down half a bottle of water with it. Then, after wiping the back of his mouth, he gulped down the rest. "I feel disgusting. Wish I could take a shower."
"Good luck. I'm not carrying you."
"I know." He sighed. Moved so he could lean against Alex, head resting on Alex's shoulder. "When I was a kid, when I'd get sick, Mom would draw me these baths. We had a great bathtub. Deep, long. She'd fill it up with warm bubble water, bring in music. I'd stay in there until the water got cold, just relaxing. Feeling all my muscles unknotting until I felt better. Not great, but so much better." He sighed.
Alex slipped his arm around Michael. "I wish I could draw you a bath. Wouldn't be the same, though."
"I know." Michael snuggled closer. "It's been a long since I had that. Lincoln tried a few times, but he never got it right. None of my foster parents could be bothered. If I was sick, I had to stay in bed, that was that. They'd bring in the TV, but that wasn't what I wanted. When I was sick, I was sick, you know? I couldn't concentrate on anything."
He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Tell you what. The moment we get out of here, I will draw you the warmest, deepest, most bubbled bath you've ever had. I'll even get in there with you, make sure you don't fall asleep."
Michael smiled. "I think I like that." He found Alex's hand. Threaded their fingers.
Alex squeezed Michael's hand. "You should eat something else. We've got an MRE that says chicken and dumplings on it. Might be kind of like chicken soup."
"Might be similar to food, too."
"Ah, they're not that bad. Better than the crap this place is giving us." Alex got up and went to their stash of MREs. As he walked back, something occurred to him. "You think you might have picked up something from the food?"
Blurry, red-rimmed eyes looked at him. "Maybe. Except I'm not vomiting and I don't have diarrhea. And you guys have been eating the same stuff and aren't sick."
"Tony's probably used to it by now. I was sick the other day." He ripped open the package and set up the flameless heater. "Maybe it just hit you harder. You've been under a lot of stress."
"Really? I hadn't noticed." He was shivering again, rubbing his arms and his hands together. "I can't be sick. We need to get out of here."
"Maybe you getting sick will be our ticket out."
Michael didn't even crack a smile. He looked desolate. Hopeless.
Alex swallowed his sigh. Leaving the MRE where it was, he crawled over to Michael. Straddled his legs and took Michael's face in his hands. "Don't do this to yourself," he said. He leaned forward. Kissed Michael lightly once. Again. Rested their foreheads together. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. You're not helping yourself."
"I feel like crap. I feel like I’m dying."
"You aren't dying."
"Come on, Alex. The chances of…"
"You engineered one of the greatest prison breaks in history. You evaded federal agents and a company so connected, they got a president into the White House without much trouble. You out thought me. You did all that, and this is not how you're going to end. You are not going to die in some Panamanian prison, Michael. You hear me?"
Michael sniffed.
"Do you hear me?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "I hear you."
"Good." Alex kissed him again. "You're going to eat. Then, I'm going to give you a sponge bath, and you're going to go back to sleep. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you'll feel better. There will be a doctor who will give you some pills, and you'll get even better. And, in a couple days, you'll be back to digging. Got it?"
"Got it."
He pressed their lips together one more time before pulling away. The meal was ready, so he lifted it from the heater and handed it to Michael.
Michael was giving him a kind of goofy smile.
"What?"
"A sponge bath?"
Alex grinned. Licked his lips and ran his eyes over Michael's body. "Just call me Nurse Mahone. Eat."
Michael obeyed.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Michael and Mahone form an alliance in the hell known as Sona.
A/N: Sorry it's been so long. This part wouldn't come. So, um... when last we left the boys, Michael was sick, Tony was scared, and Alex appealed to Sara for help.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35
The next day, Michael was worse. He only woke for short periods of time, and even then, he wasn’t fully conscious. Just enough to shuffle to the restroom, leaning heavily on Alex, and to sip little bits of water. He didn’t seem to know where he was or who Alex was. He didn’t seem to know anything at all.
To make matters worse, Tony had awoken with a headache and fever. He was cranky, snapping at Alex, swatting his hands away. When the breakfast bell rang, he’d gone out, only to come back fifteen minutes later empty handed. He’d gone to the corner, curled into a ball, and fallen into a deep sleep. He hadn’t woken since.
Alex didn’t know what to do. Out of sheer desperation, he’d gone to a guard.
The guard had been unimpressed. “Inmates get sick. Shouldn’t commit crimes if they want better healthcare.”
“You could be facing an epidemic here,” Alex said, frustrated. “Tony was fine yesterday. Now he’s sick. Who knows who else will get sick. With something like this, it could be you.”
The guard shrugged. “This stuff never spreads to the guards. But, fine. I’ll get an aspirin.”
“They need a doctor.”
“Next Tuesday, doctor come.”
“Next Tuesday, they both could be dead.”
The guard shrugged again.
Sara wasn’t any more help. “I’m trying,” she said when she and Alex met at the fence. “I’ve talked to the people at the American Embassy. I’m trying to get in contact with a dozen different civil rights groups. I’ve got an appointment with the warden for tomorrow. I’m doing what I can, Alex.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But it’s not enough. He’s getting worse.” Alex rubbed his eyes. He felt lost. Hopeless. If Michael died, he had no idea how he was going to survive. “Look. Call the FBI. Ask for Richard Sullins or Felicia Lang. Tell them it’s about me. Tell them.... tell them I really need a favor, and I’ll do anything.”
Sara nodded. “Is there one you trust over the other?”
“Felicia.” Alex shook his head. Rubbed the back of his neck. “Felicia I think will help. Sullins has more power, though. More authority.”
“Well, then. It’ll be up to her to convince him. You have her number?”
Alex nodded and rattled it off from memory.
Before she left, Sara grabbed the fence. Reached in for his hand. “Take care of yourself.”
He gave her a facsimile of a smile. “I’ll try.”
He past six obviously ill inmates on his way back to the cell. One was puking up his guts on the hot, dusty dirt. Another was huddled in a corner, face hidden, moaning about the light. The others were listless, glassy eyed, sweating, and pale.
“Tony,” Alex said when he got back. He crouched beside the boy. Shook him. “Time for some water. Wake up.”
Nothing.
“Tony.” He shook harder.
Tony’s head lolled to the side. His body flopped as if he had no muscles.
He knew. Even without checking for a pulse or listening for his breath, Alex knew. Tony was gone.
He swallowed back the sour tang of defeat. His eyes remained ruthlessly dry. He couldn’t give in. Couldn’t care. Couldn’t... or else he’d go insane.
Michael was breathing. Raspy, shallow breaths. Alex wet him down. Forced water into him. Held him. Michael’s body was an inferno and Alex was sweating profusely with the contact.
He didn’t care. Michael was the only thing he had left to hold on to.
“Your boy’s got it, too, huh?” the hated drawl greeted him, drawing Alex out of the stupor he’d sunken in to.
Alex blinked. Looked at T-Bag, who was standing in the doorway, lounging against the bars. He looked, of course, perfectly healthy.
“This thing is spreading like wildfire. Everywhere you look, men is going down. Seen it happen before. Some dirty foreigner gets thrown into prison, next thing you know, bam! Neck pain, stiffness, fever. And everyone gets lined up for their meningitis shot.” T-Bag clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Shook his head. “Not here. Lost of vermin have to die before they gonna do anything about it.”
“Go away, T-Bag.”
“You might as well let me have him. He won’t even know.”
Alex set Michael down and slid from behind him. Fists clenched, he stalked to the other man. “You’re inoculated, so what? You want me to kill you with my bare hands?”
He got that snake-like grin in return. “Boy. I cannot wait until the population consists of you, me, and a handful of others. We will have our fun then.” He licked his lips, glanced over at Michael, then turned and left.
Alex went back to bed.
Lunch came and went. Dinner. A couple more men died, judging by the shouts. A riot started somewhere, spread. Alex didn’t join. Stayed in the cell, using a spare mattress to barricade the door. Tony’s body lay moldering in the corner.
And still he hung on to Michael.
Until, finally, Michael stirred. “Lincoln?”
Alex sat up. Hovered over him. “Michael. Michael, you awake? How do you feel?”
“Lincoln. Where is he? Did they.. did they get the chair working? I tried... to stop...”
“You did. Michael, Lincoln’s fine. He’s alive. You got him out. He’s fine.”
Michael squeezed his eyes shut. His face crumpled in despair. “Linc.”
“Michael, it’s Alex. Babe, come on. Look at me.” He tapped Michael’s face. “Open your eyes, dammit!”
Michael opened his eyes. Blinked blurrily at Alex. “Alex,” he muttered. “Like... like you’re in my mind.” He inhaled sharply, pain on his face. Trembled violently.
Then, he was still.
“Michael. Michael!” He shook the other man. “Michael!” Hit him. Bit him. Shook and punched and screamed and curse until all he could do was hold the other man and sob.
* * *
Alex sat up, heart pounding. Sweat beaded at his temples, rolled down his face. His stomach twisted and, for a truly terrifying moment, he was afraid he was going to throw up.
The dream clung to him like a shadow. Michael, dead. Tony, dead. Everyone dead and help arriving too late.
Michael lay on the bed. The moonlight flooded through the window, illuminating his face. Pale and still.
Heart in his throat, Alex reached out. Placed his hand on Michael's chest.
His heart beat steadily under Alex's hand. Air filled his lung, in and out. Slowly and surely.
Thank God.
Alex let out a sigh. Ran his hand up to Michael's forehead. Felt.
The fever had gone down. Maybe. If touch was to be believed. Alex had stopped trusting it hours ago. Whenever he felt Michael's forehead, he always seemed to be burning up. Burning hotter. He was convinced it was well above dangerous, but then Michael had woken and been coherent for awhile.
Of course, he'd gone to sleep soon after, but… but that was okay. Sleep was what he needed.
Alex hated this place. With every fiber of his being. After Sara had returned with more supplies, Alex had flat out told the guard he'd gotten the bag from that he suspected Michael had meningitis. Instead of doing something to stop an epidemic from sweeping through the prison, he'd gotten a shrug and a vague promise to get a doctor in the next day.
If Michael really did have meningitis, half the prison could be dead the next day. Sonofabitch spread fast. Of course, Alex was fairly sure Michael didn't have it. He was just dropping disease names, hoping to get someone in. Anyone.
Michael stirred. Moaned softly. His eyes fluttered.
"Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"You awake?"
He exhaled. Yawned. "Maybe." His face scrunched up. He rubbed his forehead. "My head hurts."
"Sorry."
Michael opened his eyes. Licked his lips. "I have to pee."
Alex sat up and held out an arm. "Come on."
He helped Michael sit up, then to his feet. Michael wavered for a moment, hand clamped hard on Alex's shoulder.
"You're not going to make it to the bathroom," Alex said. "We put a bucket in the corner, just in case."
Michael's nose wrinkled. "Don't make me do that, Alex. Please."
He said nothing. Allowed Michael to take a few shuffling steps toward the cell doors. Stop. Wince.
"Fine. Bucket."
Alex allowed himself the luxury of a small, smug smile. This time, he wrapped his arm around Michael's waist. Took as much of Michael's weight as he could, even though it wasn't as if he'd hurt his ankles. He was just tired and achy.
Michael's cheeks turned crimson as Alex steadied him in front of the bucket. Even though it was nothing he hadn't seen, Alex looked away as Michael relieved himself. Hummed softly.
"Okay," Michael finally said. "I'm done."
"That wasn't so bad, was it?"
There was no response. Together, they shuffled back to the bed, Michael groaning as he sat back down.
"Where's Tony?"
"Digging. I wasn't sure how safe it would be, but he insisted. He said he didn't want to sit here and worry, that he wanted to do something. So, he went." Alex stuck his hand in the food back and pulled out an orange. He began to peel it.
Michael closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. "He should be okay. He won't get so deep that the ceiling will cave on him. I don't think. And I don't think anyone's figure out that we're going over there. So." He sighed. "I mean, he won't be in any more danger that he would be over here. I mean, when he's not with us."
"Probably not." He handed Michael an orange slice. "You feeling any better?"
Michael shrugged a shoulder. "Don't know. I don't feel as shivery as I did. Maybe my fever's gone done. I feel like crap, though." He opened his eyes. "No one else has caught whatever I have, have they?"
"Not that I know of. I'm keeping my eye on Tony, though.
"Is it from crawling in the sewers?"
"I don't know, Michael. I told one of the guards you had meningitis, trying to see if we could get a doctor in. He said maybe tomorrow. Sara's trying, too. Offering her services. If she talks to the right people, maybe she'll be able to make something happen."
Michael wrinkled his nose. Accepted another orange slice. "This is a mess."
"It was never not one."
"I know." He finished the orange. Rubbed his head. "My head hurts."
"You said that. You took Tylenol earlier. Not sure how much earlier, though. The sun was just going down." He looked at his wrist, even though he knew there was no watch. Just a force of habit that he couldn't get rid of. "Sara gave us four. Want to take the rest? I'm sure you'll be fine."
Michael took another orange slice. Chewed it, then nodded. "Okay."
Alex dug in the bag for the medicine. Passed it over to Michael.
Michael took it and gulped down half a bottle of water with it. Then, after wiping the back of his mouth, he gulped down the rest. "I feel disgusting. Wish I could take a shower."
"Good luck. I'm not carrying you."
"I know." He sighed. Moved so he could lean against Alex, head resting on Alex's shoulder. "When I was a kid, when I'd get sick, Mom would draw me these baths. We had a great bathtub. Deep, long. She'd fill it up with warm bubble water, bring in music. I'd stay in there until the water got cold, just relaxing. Feeling all my muscles unknotting until I felt better. Not great, but so much better." He sighed.
Alex slipped his arm around Michael. "I wish I could draw you a bath. Wouldn't be the same, though."
"I know." Michael snuggled closer. "It's been a long since I had that. Lincoln tried a few times, but he never got it right. None of my foster parents could be bothered. If I was sick, I had to stay in bed, that was that. They'd bring in the TV, but that wasn't what I wanted. When I was sick, I was sick, you know? I couldn't concentrate on anything."
He kissed the top of Michael's head. "Tell you what. The moment we get out of here, I will draw you the warmest, deepest, most bubbled bath you've ever had. I'll even get in there with you, make sure you don't fall asleep."
Michael smiled. "I think I like that." He found Alex's hand. Threaded their fingers.
Alex squeezed Michael's hand. "You should eat something else. We've got an MRE that says chicken and dumplings on it. Might be kind of like chicken soup."
"Might be similar to food, too."
"Ah, they're not that bad. Better than the crap this place is giving us." Alex got up and went to their stash of MREs. As he walked back, something occurred to him. "You think you might have picked up something from the food?"
Blurry, red-rimmed eyes looked at him. "Maybe. Except I'm not vomiting and I don't have diarrhea. And you guys have been eating the same stuff and aren't sick."
"Tony's probably used to it by now. I was sick the other day." He ripped open the package and set up the flameless heater. "Maybe it just hit you harder. You've been under a lot of stress."
"Really? I hadn't noticed." He was shivering again, rubbing his arms and his hands together. "I can't be sick. We need to get out of here."
"Maybe you getting sick will be our ticket out."
Michael didn't even crack a smile. He looked desolate. Hopeless.
Alex swallowed his sigh. Leaving the MRE where it was, he crawled over to Michael. Straddled his legs and took Michael's face in his hands. "Don't do this to yourself," he said. He leaned forward. Kissed Michael lightly once. Again. Rested their foreheads together. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it. You're not helping yourself."
"I feel like crap. I feel like I’m dying."
"You aren't dying."
"Come on, Alex. The chances of…"
"You engineered one of the greatest prison breaks in history. You evaded federal agents and a company so connected, they got a president into the White House without much trouble. You out thought me. You did all that, and this is not how you're going to end. You are not going to die in some Panamanian prison, Michael. You hear me?"
Michael sniffed.
"Do you hear me?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "I hear you."
"Good." Alex kissed him again. "You're going to eat. Then, I'm going to give you a sponge bath, and you're going to go back to sleep. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you'll feel better. There will be a doctor who will give you some pills, and you'll get even better. And, in a couple days, you'll be back to digging. Got it?"
"Got it."
He pressed their lips together one more time before pulling away. The meal was ready, so he lifted it from the heater and handed it to Michael.
Michael was giving him a kind of goofy smile.
"What?"
"A sponge bath?"
Alex grinned. Licked his lips and ran his eyes over Michael's body. "Just call me Nurse Mahone. Eat."
Michael obeyed.
