Prison Break fic

[serafina20]

I've written nothing but query letters for the past month or so, so I decided to go ahead and play with that idea I had eons ago about doing "Prison Break" from the beginning, only with Alex instead of Sucre.

It's as yet untitled. This is just the pilot episode



"You be good in here, got it?" Sucre said as he stripped his bed. "Try and keep your head down once in a while."

"I always keep my head down," Alex Mahone answered. "It's how it keeps getting kicked."

Sucre snorted.

"You take care out there. Be good. No more hitting up liquor stores for date money."

"Cross my heart, I'm going straight this time." He straightened and ran his fingers over his heart. "Getting out of here, first think I'm gonna do is propose to Maricruz. Getting on the Stanton Island ferry, and when we can see the Empire State Building… bang. I'm down on my knee, asking her to be my wife."

"Got a ring?"

Sucre shrugged. "I'll work out the details later."

A CO appeared at the door to their cell. "Sucre. Let's move it. Release day."

Sucre shouldered his backpack and turned to Alex. "I'm serious, Alex. Try to stay safe in here. Stop fighting."

"I'll stop fighting if they stop attacking. Trouble is, they'll stop attacking when I stop being an ex-lawman." He shrugged. Held out his hand. "Thanks. And good luck out there."

Sucre took Alex's hand and squeezed it. "Yeah, well. Good luck in here. Adios, man."

Alex let go of Sucre's hand and watched the other man leave. The cell door shut a moment later, locking him back in.

He sighed. Fell back onto the bunk and kicked his feet up on the frame. The usual noise of men talking and shouting, TVs and radios in cells, COs barking at inmates.

Ten more years. Ten years of this. Sucre was at end of his sentence when Alex came in, and was released a few months early due to "overcrowding" issues. For having run on a platform of "frontier justice", Tancredi had bowed pretty quickly to the legislators demand to release any non-violent convicts nearing the end of their sentence to ease the crowding issue.

Good news for Fernando Sucre. Not so good for Alex, who had lucked out on getting Sucre for a cellmate. In a maximum security prison, finding a cellmate who was as easy going and jovial as Sucre was unexpected. The man was a rarity, and he'd made the first few months of Alex's incarceration much easier.

If Alex were a praying man, he'd give it a shot, asking for a similar cellmate the second time. But he wasn't, so all he could do was stare at the ceiling and wait.

* * *

Ah, fuck, Alex swore mentally when his new cellmate was let in. Just what he needed: a baby-faced beauty with "please rape me, T-Bag" written all over his fucking face.

So much for keeping his head down. Unless he handed this kid out on a silver platter, no way was Alex going to be able to avoid the fights over him, no matter how much he might want to. It was just inevitable.

The kid swallowed and set his sheets and blanket on the bottom bunk. "Hi. I'm Michael Scofield."

"Alex Mahone." He held out his hand and they shook.

The kid was looking him over, eyes slightly squinted as they ran over Alex's body. They lingered a moment on the faded bruise around his eye; the cut on his neck, before traveling down. Assessing, dissecting.

Alex did the same. Kid was probably around thirty. Short buzzed hair, slightly out of shape. Fingers were long and graceful, and there was a slight callus on the middle finger of his right hand. He looked… preppy, somehow. Standing in a jail cell, a sort of smirk on his face, he looked like he just walked out of a college classroom or business meeting.

Apparently finished with his examination, Scofield moved around Alex to the bunk. As he began making the bed, Alex leaned against the wall. Watched him.

Every movement the kid made was precise. Careful. He laid out the bottom sheet and carefully tucked it in, smoothing it down until it was flat and tight. The second sheet was laid out with the same meticulousness and economy of motion. It spoke of years of practice and routine.

"So," Alex said after a moment. "What are you in for?"

Scofield was on his knees, tugging at the blanket, trying to make it hand evenly. "Armed robbery," he said.

He really didn't look the type. Or, rather, from the way he was acting, he didn't look like the type to be caught. Robbing a bank took a lot of planning and precision. As Scofield was now carefully arranging his toiletries on the sink at precise angles. His pillow was centered in the middle of the bed and he'd actually gotten the unevenly cut blanket to hang evenly off the side of the bed. This man should have been living large in another country off his stolen money.

"What happened? Getaway car get a flat?"

Scofield turned from the sink and narrowed his eyes. "Didn't make it out of the bank. Police came while I was trying to get them to open the safe."

Alex furrowed his eyebrows. "You went in…You went in while the bank was open?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"What?"

He really didn't seem the type, but Alex simply shrugged. "Nothing." He went to the bunk and pulled himself up. His puzzle book was open on the bed. He picked it up and began working on it.

"What are you in for?"

"Murder."

"Really?" Doubt dripped off the word.

"Killed a man and buried him in my backyard. Planted a birdbath on him."

Scofield cocked his head. "You buried him in your backyard?" Doubt was still there, now with a hint of trepidation.

"Yup."

Silence. Then, "Why?"

"Because he really pissed me off."

Scofield got the message. He dropped his line of questioning. Moved to the bars and leaned against them, gazing out.

Alex glanced up before going back to his puzzle. They stayed like that for about ten minutes before Scofield began attracting attention. Men started shouting at him, asking him what he was looking at. Catcalling.

Scofield, though, didn't seem to notice. He was zoned in his own world by the looks of it. Either that, or he hadn't watched enough prison movies to realize that he was the Fish everyone kept referring to.

"You might as well have a seat," Alex finally said. "Nothing to do here but serve time. You…"

Scofield gasped suddenly, jerking away from the bars. From below, a howl went up. Men began to shout.

Alex jumped off the bed and came up behind Scofield. He could hear the kid panting, see his pulse racing, the vein in his neck throbbing. Alex pushed up close to look over Scofield's shoulder.

Down below, a man lay bleeding out as the COs barked orders and fought to herd cons into cells.

"Welcome to prison, kid." He fisted Scofield's shirt. Tugged him away. "Get used to it."

"How?" Scofield shakily lowered himself to the bunk. Put his head in his hands.

"Don't look out the bars. Keep your head down, do your own time. And ignore it." He grabbed his puzzle book and ripped out a page. "Here."

It took a minute, but Scofield finally looked up. He gave Alex a lopsided smile as he took the puzzle page. "Thanks."

"No problem." Alex climbed back onto his bunk and went back to the puzzle.

The kid seemed all right. Might not be too bad after all.

* * *

Couple hours later, they were let out onto the yard for fresh air. Alex really hated this time of day. He liked being outside in the fresh air and being able to move around somewhat freely. But it was on the yard he had the most trouble. Men looking for a fight sought him out, COs with an ax to grind came after him. No matter how hard he tried to blend into the background, the fact was, he was tagged. He might as well as had "Former FBI" tattooed on his forehead before he arrived.

Scofield was tagging along with him, which was fine. Despite his initial trepidations over the kid's looks, it wasn't going to happen on the yard. Generally, people gave fish wide berths until meals or showers. Besides, T-Bag was serving time in the SHU, and he was the only guy with enough balls to start something sexual on the yard.

Okay, time for the nickel tour. "Kid. See that?" Alex gestured vaguely at the basketball courts, weight pile, and benches.

"Yeah."

"Stay away."

Michael snorted. "Got it."

"And see that?" He pointed to the guard tower.

"Um. Yeah."

"Stay. Away."

"From the COs?"

Alex shrugged. "They're the dirtiest gang inhere. Only difference between them and the cons is their badges." He couldn't help the disgust that filled his voice. He may have been a lawman gone wrong, but at least he'd only put down a murdering psychopath. He'd snapped, which was different from being crooked.

Scofield was studying him again. Analyzing.

He raised an eyebrow, silently asking if the kid wanted to make an issue out of something.

He didn't. Just let his gaze slide from Alex and zero in, hawk-like, on a figure sitting on one of the free territory benches.

"Who's the pet lover?" he asked in the tone of voice that said he already knew.

"Name's Westmorland."

Scofield nodded. He was studying Westmorland like he was a strange specimen.

Alex decided to fuck with the kid. He didn't quite get what Scofield's deal was, but there was obviously a lot more going on than a simple bank robber learning his surroundings. While Alex was trying to figure it out, he'd play a little.

"You know, he'll deny it, but there is really D.B. Cooper."

"Really?"

"Yup. He parachuted out of a plane thirty years ago with one point five million dollars in cash. Disappeared off the radar, but that's him. Just under a different name."

"He doesn't look the type."

Alex snorted and shook his head. "You should talk."

Scofield smiled before turning away. His gaze swept over the yard, taking things in. He walked a few steps away from Alex and crouched.

"What are you doing?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. I’m looking for someone." He rose and turned back to Alex. "His name's Lincoln Burrows."

"Linc the Sink?"

"That what they're calling him now?"

"No, it's just something I like to call him," Alex said, rolling his eyes. "He's in segregation. Death row. Come on."

Alex led Michael across the yard to the strip of fence that faced the death row cons. Lincoln Burrows was crouched by a wall in his cage, staring blankly off into the middle distance.

Scofield went to the fence and linked his fingers though them. Tightened them, his whole body pressed against the fence. A naked look of longing was on his face and his breathing picked up.

"What, is he your lover or something?"

"Brother."

He hadn't seen that coming. "Your brother?"

"Yeah. Is there any way I can get to him."

"No. The only time they get out is for chapel and PI."

"PI?"

"Prison industry. But you won't get that since John Abruzzi runs it."

The fingers tightened further. "John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi?"

He nodded. "John Abruzzi, John Abruzzi." Alex leaned against the fence and studied Scofield. "So. Your brother killed the vice president's brother. Loses all his appeals and ends up here. You rob a bank and get thrown in the same prison. Different last names; do they even know?"

Michael shook his head. "They didn't ask."

"Except for when they asked for names of next of kin. If I remember correctly, Burrows was orphaned when he was a teen. Your mom not take him in?"

"Same parents. Dad left before I was born, so my mom went back to her maiden name. When's chapel?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Come on." He tugged Scofield away from the fence. "We need to move or we'll start attracting attention."

With visible reluctance, Scofield allowed himself to be pulled from the fence. He followed Alex back onto the main part of the yard, where they stood for the rest of the time, not talking. It wasn't until the signal sounded for them to return to the cells, Alex spoke.

"You're not planning anything stupid, are you?"

"What?"

"To get to your brother. Or to save him. You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

Scofield blinked. Cocked his head and gave Alex a look. "No. No, I'm not planning anything stupid." He turned and walked away.

Well. That was fucking reassuring. Great.

* * *

"What'd do on the outside?" Alex asked as Scofield brushed his teeth. Light's out was in ten minutes, and Alex had already finished washing up. He was trying to concentrate on his novel, but Scofield distracted Alex with just his presence.

He spit in the sink and rinsed out his mouth. "Worked at a gas station."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on it."

"You don't believe me."

Nothing in Scofield's tone implied it was a question, so Alex didn't bother answering.

"What'd you do?" Scofield finally asked.

"Kindergarten teacher."

There was a suppressed laugh.

"It's just about as plausible as you working at a gas station."

Scofield cleared his throat. "I was a structural engineer."

The plot thickens further. Alex rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. "You're a structural engineer, and you choose to walk into a bank in broad daylight to rob it?"

He had his arms crossed over his chest as he gazed steadily at Alex. "I make sure buildings are structurally sound. They forgot to cover bank robbing in my classes."

Yes, but they must have included how to read blueprints somewhere. And a man who knew how a building was designed hardly need walk through the front door to rob it.

But Alex didn't point that out. "Don't structural engineers make a fair amount of money?"

"Maybe I didn't rob the place for the money. Maybe I was just bored."

"That why you got the tattoo?"

Scofield smile. "What did you do on the outside, Alex?"

"FBI," he answered after a moment.

The other man actually seemed to pale slightly. "You were in the FBI."

"I was. Fugitive apprehension was my specialty."

An eyebrow raised. "Really? Were you any good."

"None better." He wasn't bragging; his record spoke for itself.

Scofield nodded, his brow furrowed. "So, you, what? Got tangled up chasing a fugitive, couldn't catch him, and when you did… shot him?"

"I wanted to tear his throat out, but it was easier to shoot him point blank."

"How bad was he?"

Alex thought a moment. "Your brother killed one man and wound up on death row. The fact that he's there and Shales just got life in prison shows how screwed up our justice system is." He shrugged. "Truth be told, I did this world a favor. Shales raped and killed about twenty-five women before he was put away. While I was chasing him." He shook his head. "I have no regrets." Well. Except for losing his wife and son, but that was better left for another day.

Silence fell. Below, a CO called lights out. There was a loud click and darkness fell. As always, the darkness seemed to mute the noise.

Scofield finally pulled away from the wall. The bunk creaked as he climbed onto it, sheets and blanket rustling.

"You must know all the tricks, then. About fugitives."

"Pretty much."

There was another creak. Then, "Night."

His eyebrows shot up. It'd taken him and Sucre months to grow used to each other. Months before they exchanged pleasantries like that. "Night," he said back after a minute. No, this wasn't summer camp, but still. It actually was kind of nice.

* * *


Alex was almost done with his book when Scofield got back from visiting the infirmary. It only took a glance to see the kid was looking much worse than when he'd left.

"What's wrong?" he asked, closing his book.

Scofield went to the sink and began splashing water on his face. "Nothing. I'm fine. Just a little warm."

It was warm, but that wasn't it. He looked pale under the flush. His hands were shaking.

"Why are you seeing the doctor again?"

"Diabetes. Got an insulin shot."

"Are you having a bad reaction or something? You can get the guard to take you back."

Scofield shook his head. "No, I'm fine. It'll be fine."

He looked like he was about to puke.

Alex reached for his jacket hanging on the end of the bed. Pulled out a pack of crackers he'd been saving. "Eat something. And aim for the toilet if you puke, or else you're cleaning it up."

"Thanks." Scofield tore into the crackers and sat on the bed. He let out a huge sigh as the bunk shifted and creaked.

"How long have you had diabetes?"

"All my life."

"You sure about that?"

Crunching answered him.

There was a sudden rap on the cell bars. "Get it together, Scofield. Pope wants to see you."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "That's interesting. Warden doesn't usually take the time to greet every new inmate. What'd you do?"

Scofield crawled off the bed. He was rubbing his eyes, looking like he had a headache. "Nothing. I don't know why he wants to see me."

"Maybe he heard about you sidling up to Abruzzi earlier in the yard."

Scofield looked at him.

"Just because I was playing chess with Westmorland, doesn't mean I didn't see you waltzing up to Abruzzi. Trying to buy your way onto PI?"

"Something like that."

"With what?"

"Why are you so interested, anyway? Seems like the moment I stepped into the cell, you've been nothing but questions." Scofield had his eyes narrowed again, studyingAlex.

Alex shrugged. "Let's just say, somethings about you aren't quite adding up. Just trying to figure you out. It's not like there's anything else to do."

"I'm not one of your fugitives. I'm not a puzzle."

"No. And, yes."

"Let's go, Scofield." Cell door opened and Scofield was led out.

His eyes stayed on Alex's until they could no longer see one another.

* * *

Michael managed to get the rest of the day without having to see Alex again. After his meeting with Pope, Michael had been called to the visitors room to meet with Veronica. Both those meetings had been painful. Michael wanted to badly to fix that poorly propagated Taj Mahal model. He'd do it for free, for no reason, just for the sheer joy of working on it.

But he couldn't. At least not yet. If there was anything he needed from Pope, he'd cash in that chip. Until then, the Taj had to sag.

As for Veronica… He loved her. She was like a sister to him, had always been there. And, yes, she knew him and had figured out what he was doing. At least, partly. But there was no way for her to actually know. To understand that it wasn't just that he was here to be with Linc and not even because he thought that, maybe, perhaps he could save Lincoln. Michael was here because he knew. He had it all planned out, every detail of it.

And, so far, all the pieces were falling into place. He'd gotten into the prison of his choice. He'd made contact with Abruzzi and the infirmary. This was going to work.

Then there was Alex Mahone. Michael hadn't expected to find someone as smart as he was in this place. Okay, maybe that was arrogant, but it was the truth. Michael rarely found people as smart as him, well. Anywhere. But to find someone as smart and observant as Alex…

With any luck, it'd be easy to persuade Alex to escape with them. In fact, it was crucial. There was a lot of work to do in the cell, and if Alex wasn't onboard, it'd make things difficult.

Which just meant that Michael had to figure out what Alex wanted. What was the key to getting him on Michael's side.

So far, Alex had been too busy trying to figure Michael out. Asking him questions, picking at him. It was unnerving. Kind of fun. Really, there wasn't any reason just to start laying things out. It wasn't time to tell him about the plan, yet, but he could give a little more information when Alex asked a question.

But it was more fun being studied. To watch Alex put the pieces together, see if it took him in the right direction. It was a welcome distraction from the undercurrent of violence and desperation that hung around the prison like a perpetual fog. As long as Michael focused on the plan and on Alex, he was able to block everything else out.

"The son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinners and be crucified," the Chaplain's voice broke into Michael's thoughts. "And on the third day rise again. And they remembered his words and so should you. Good day gentlemen, may God be with you."

Michael stood quickly, his heart pounding in his throat. He kept his eyes trained on Lincoln, moving towards him, waiting for him to turn around.

And then he did.

It was all Michael could do not to break out into a smile. To rush forward and grab his brother, to hold him so tightly he might never let go. One month. He had one month to pull this off, to save his brother's life. And, right now, standing in his prison uniform, chained at the wrists and ankles, he'd never seemed so fragile.

"Michael?" Lincoln shuffled forward, absolute disbelief written on his face. "Why?"

"I’m getting you out," Michael said softly, urgently.

"Burrows! Roll it up! Happy hour is over."

Lincoln shook his head. "That's impossible."

"Not if you designed the place it isn't." Then, as the CO moved closer, business on his face, Michael flashed Lincoln a smile before he turned and allowed himself be swept away with the tide of cons heading out.

Michael followed them as they went out to the yard. Those who hadn't gone to chapel were already out. He didn't see Alex, but he did see Westmorland sitting on the benches with his cat. Since those benches hadn't been in the off limits area that Alex had pointed out, he headed over.

As he did, he glanced down at the grate. The magazine was still there, but he didn't see the bird he'd dropped the day before. No matter; it'd get there.

"You're Charles Westmorland, right?"

"Do I know you?"

They bantered back and forth a couple minutes, Michael giving hints about his research on the man while letting Westmorland test what he knew. Westmorland was quick, witty, and it was fun.

"So. You know everything about me. Who are you?"

"Michael Scofield." He glanced at the cat and tried not to make a face. He didn't really like cats. Or dogs. Or any animals, really. But he had to make nice, so he asked, "How'd you get it in?"

He knew he'd said the wrong thing before Westmoreland even opened his mouth. The set of his shoulders and the tightening of his mouth set off alarms before he said indignantly, "First of all, she’s not an it. She’s Marilyn. And she’s a grandfather, back in the days when prisoners were allowed a creature comfort or two."

Time to change the subject. "I heard you were D.B. Cooper."

It was the right thing to say. Westmoreland's shoulders relaxed and he began petting his cat again. "Every new fish comes in here and the first thing they hear is that Charles West Moreland is D.B. Cooper. I tell you like I tell them. You want the Cooper story, I can’t give it to you, cause I’m not him."

"That’s too bad. Sort of wished it was. Man’s a legend." Plus, he had a ton of money that Michael needed to get his hands on. Luckily, all his research conclusively said that Westmoreland was D.B. Cooper. Which meant the money existed, which meant that whatever Westmoreland was saying right now was a lie to cover all that up.

Michael's attention was drawn back to the present as Westmoreland rose and said, "I'd put some grass between you and them if I were you." He left just as Abruzzi and his boys came up.

Damn. Abruzzi was spoiling for a fight. There was no way Michael could give him one; for all that Lincoln pounded on him when they were kids, Michael was never good with the fighting back. But, he was good at curling into small balls and protecting his head, so by the time Abruzzi had him on the ground, kicking with hard, steel-toed boots, Michael knew what to do. He'd gotten one good punch in, and that's what counted. Now, all he could do was wait.

* * *

When Scofield came back from the infirmary the next morning, it was a repeat of the day before. Only worse. He was pale and sweaty, his hands trembling almost out of control.

"What's going on with you?" Alex asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why are you going to the infirmary for shots that make you sicker?"

Scofield had brought a granola bar from the mess, which he tore into now. He sighed around a mouthful. "I don't have diabetes."

He frowned, sure he heard that wrong. "You want to repeat that?"

He just got a look.

"Then why the hell are you getting shots?"

"I have my reasons."

"And they are?"

"Personal. Look, I'll tell you. I will. I just… can't right now."

"Kid. Everyone in here hates me. The cons hate me because I'm ex-law. The COs hate me because I'm a crooked cop in their eyes. It has been hell for me in here. From day one, I've been jumped, stabbed, pissed on, starved, and beaten by bulls and cons alike. They can all rot in hell as far as I'm concerned. You could … you could break out of here, and I wouldn't tell a soul."

Something flickered across Scofield's face.

"Holy shit. Kid. You're breaking out of here?"

"If all goes according to plan," he said softly.

Alex leaned heavily against the bunk, bringing his hand up to his face. Shook his head. "This about your brother?"

"He's innocent."

He shook his head, because, really, he didn't care. "How? Seriously, I'm not asking you to just spill your whole plan, but… how on Earth do you plan to do this."

He swallowed the last of his granola bar. "My, um. The firm I worked at ghost wrote the renovations of Fox River. I borrowed the plans."

"And memorized them?"

"Sort of." Scofield glanced at the door, then turned his back to it. Taking a deep breath, he tugged up the front of his shirt.

It took a minute, as Alex stared at the gorgeous tattoo inked on Michael's torso, he began to see the pattern underneath. "Oh my God. That's the…"

Scofield dropped his shirt. "Please say I can trust you."

"What was your plan? Had I been anyone else… What were you going to do about your cellmate?"

"I had a plan."

"A plan?"

"To see if they were trustworthy. I had it worked out. It just wasn't time yet. I had a few things to first."

"Like get shot up with insulin you don't need?"

Scofield nodded.

Alex rolled his eyes and sat down on Scofield's bed. "Michael. What if it wasn't trust you had to worry about? What if you'd gotten a rapist for a cellmate."

"Then I'd deal with it."

"You'd…you deal with it. Jesus Christ." He rubbed his forehead again. "Okay, so. I assume the infirmary is all part of your plan, so what are you going to do about this reaction you keep having?"

He blinked. "You're… You're… Um. There's a drug. Pugnac. It inhibits the production of insulin. I just need to get hold of it, and I'll be fine."

"Pugnac, huh. Is it legal?"

"Yeah. It's over the counter. Easy to get."

"Yeah, just not here. So. We need C-Note."

"C-Note?"

"Local pharmacy. I'm not on the best terms with him, but we get on. He's former military, a family man. We swapped stories one time we both ended up in the infirmary. Today on the yard, you can go to him."

Michael tugged at his fingers. Cocked his head and studied Alex. "So. That's it? You're on board?"

Alex shrugged. "Like I said, it's hell in here for me, and I'm looking at ten more years. If it were just any kid saying he had a magic plan to get out, I'd just laugh in his face. But you're different, kid. You might actually be able to pull this off." He rose and held out his hand. "So, yeah. I’m in."

Comments

[astro599.livejournal.com]

w00t! This is fantastic! Not only do I get to relive the whole series, but we get Alex from day one!

[serafina20.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you approve! I'm going to have fun with this. :)

[tuesdaeschild.livejournal.com]

This is what I call a proper Christmas present!! You writing PB; not just that though...you writing Alex and Michael!!

PB Canon is perfect for a little tinkering and you've tinkered with it perfectly!

Thank you for turning your attention back to these wonderful characters again, sweetheart! I shall look forward to the next chapter eagerly!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you!
*hugs*
Foxy

[serafina20.livejournal.com]

Merry Christmas! Glad you like your present. :) More will be coming soon. This is fun.

[hottie55555.livejournal.com]

OMg, I love this . Please kee it going .

[serafina20.livejournal.com]

More will come... soon. :) Thanks!