Fic: What Might Have Been

[serafina20]

Title What Might Have Been
Author: serafina20
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Pam/Mahone/Michael (in all combinations)
Summary: How might things have gone if Pam and Alexander had never broken up?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
Part 9



I woke up hours later, cocooned in warmth. Well. Heat. Between the blankets and the body wrapped around, it felt like an inferno in my bed.

Pushing blankets from my body, I rolled over. Michael made a soft noise of protest when I dislodged his face from where it'd been pressed into my neck. I stroked his tense face with my fingertips, easing frown lines away until it was slack and relaxed once more. After a moment, he rolled over and snuggled against Alex.

Smiling, I bent over and gently kissed them both. Then, careful not to wake them, I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom.

As I showered, I replayed the images of what had happened earlier. Michael, pink and panting under Alex's ministrations. His mouth underneath mine, warm and passionate. The sounds he'd made. The way he'd tasted. The promise of something so much more...

Earlier, it'd been all about him. And he'd needed that. Badly. For at least three years, he'd been living solely for someone else. He'd turned his body into a bulletin board for the love of his older brother. And who knew how often Michael had done anything for himself before that? I certainly didn't know him well, but I had a sense about him. The sense I got was that he put others before himself so much it was could be detrimental to his health.

Alex, I knew, would have information on him. Medical records and the like. I wondered if he'd allow me to look at whatever file he had. Or if he'd be to angry if I simply... took them from his briefcase and had a look for myself.

The boys were still asleep when I got out of the shower. Michael had his face in the crook of Alex's neck now. Alex's hand was on Michael's back, moving slowly every few minutes in a gentle caress.

I wanted to draw them. No, sculpt them. They way their muscles rested under their skin, and the contours of the bones... I wanted my hands to create each line and sinew in marble or clay.

With a sigh, I left them to their sleep. They both needed it. And I needed coffee.

Lincoln was in the kitchen. There was a mug of coffee and a plate of pancakes in front of him.

I hesitated in the doorway. His eyes met mine. He didn't say anything, simply sat there and looked at me, coffee in hand.

Finally, I stepped inside. No way I was going to be intimidated in my own kitchen.

"There's pancakes in the oven," Lincoln said, breaking the silence. "They should still be warm."

"Thanks. Where's Aldo?"

"Upstairs. Sleeping. I wasn't tired anymore, and figured he could use a break. It's been quiet."

He had to have noticed his brother was missing by now. Even he couldn't be that clueless. Why wasn't he tearing the house apart?

"Michael in with you two?" he asked when I sat.

I nodded. "He is," I said, the words coming out more defensive than I intended.

Lincoln nodded. Sighed and stabbed at his pancakes. "He sleep?"

"He's still asleep."

"Good." He continued to mangle his pancakes. "I can't believe I.... I'm surprised your husband let me stay in this house after what I said."

"What did you say?"

"Michael didn't tell you?"

I sipped my coffee. "No. He just said he was having problems sleeping. Disturbing you."

Lincoln snorted. "He kept moving right up against me. And kicking me. I pushed him away a few times, tried to ignore it. But, by about the tenth time he woke me up, I snapped. Told him to get off my ass and stop fucking kicking me. And then, when he apologized, I told him to stop apologizing and just cut it the fuck out."

I winced. "Ouch."

"I didn't even realize he'd gotten out of bed until I heard the door open. Then I realized what I was saying. I tried to apologize and tell him I wasn't thinking, but he just told me to go to sleep and left." With great force, Lincoln slammed his knife through the center of his pancakes. I heard the metal hit porcelain and winced. I hated it when my plates got scratched. "I'm a fucking asshole. You were right."

Great. Now I had the burden of all the Burrows-Scofield family problems on my shoulders, simply because I told Lincoln a version of the truth as I saw it.

I bit my lip. Put my hand on Lincoln's arm. "No, I wasn't right. Not completely."

"Don't. What more proof do you need? I'm an ass who doesn't trust my brother. He was beaten yesterday, for me. Thrown in prison, for me. Turned his body into..."

"A work of art," I interrupted.

He looked at me.

I shrugged. "It is. And it may not have been who Michael was before, it it's a part of him now. And here's the thing, Lincoln. What Michael needs right now, what he needed earlier? It's not something his brother should give him."

"He needed a place to sleep."

"He needed someone touch him," I countered. "To calm him down. To make him feel like a person. Like man."

Lincoln swallowed and pushed pieces of his food around the plate. "I don't make him feel like a person?"

"He's your little brother."

He shrugged.

"No, it matters, Lincoln. They way you two relate to one another is dictated by your relationship. He worships you, that's so clear. You're his brother, the only father he knows, and, right now, the reason for everything he does. That makes the way he relates to you much different than he'd relate to anyone else. Same for you. You're under a lot of pressure, whether or not your acknowledge that. Maybe you do feel that part of this is due to you..."

"I *never* asked him to give up his life for me!"

I blinked and sipped my coffee to mask the surge of anger his response provoked in me. When I was calm, I set the mug down. "Of course you didn't. And, no doubt, you wish that Michael were still in Chicago, safe from all this. But you still helped raise him. And I imagine there was a part of you that felt resentful of him when you couldn't make ends meet and he was making thousands. So, even though you want him safe, I'd understand if you did feel a little as if Michael was simply doing what was owed you. But, more than that, now that he's given up everything for you, you must feel as if you need to live up to that. That's a lot of pressure. For you and for him. And while you love each other very much, there are things you can't give each other."

"I'm assuming you're talking about sex," Lincoln said dryly.

"Not just sex. A safe place. He can't allow himself to fall apart in front of you. And you must have seen how close to the edge he's been lately."

He nodded. "He's been snapping more and more lately. There were a couple times I was afraid he'd completely lose it and throw a fit, like he used to when he got too overwhelmed." Lincoln sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I should have been there for him."

"Lincoln, you are there for him. But today, he needed Alex and me. Or at least someone who wasn't blood. He needed someone to hug him and stroke him and draw him out of his mind and just give him a place to relax. And if it'd been you, he wouldn't have been able to fall apart as completely." I shrugged. "In a way, you did him a favor."

"I guess." He looked up at me. "I still don't like it. You two are married. What the hell do you need with my brother? He doesn't need this."

"Actually, I think he does. At least right now." I crossed my arms on the table and leaned forward. "Alex and I have been together for over thirteen years. In that time, we've never strayed. Never been unfaithful, not even when we first got divorced." I held up my hand to stave off his questions. "He divorced me because he wanted to protect me, but we couldn't stay away from one another. The point is, there's never been anything missing from our relationship. Until now. Until Michael. I don't know why, but it's how I feel. How we feel. And Michael seems to feel the same. If he changes his mind, that's fine. That's life. But he's not being forced to do anything he doesn't want. Isn't being coerced or threatened. We just... all want one another."

Lincoln scowled at what used to be his pancakes. "I guess I should be happy for him, huh? I mean, I'm not exactly the poster child for tradition and law and all that. I've made my living stealing and selling drugs to supplement whatever crap paying job I'd been able to find. Missed my kid growing up. Drove my brother crazy a few times. But on the other hand, I'm Catholic and this is wrong."

"Well, I'm not. And I don't care if the church thinks it's wrong. I don't even care if the government says it's wrong. None of us are related and none of us are hurting anyone else. And maybe some people need more than the traditional family of one husband or one wife. Hell, look at homosexuals. You can't tell me a gay man is inherently bad just because he loves another man rather than a woman. Or do you feel that way?"

Lincoln shook his head. "I've had too many friends who swung that way to think that. I did when I was younger, but..." He sighed. "It'll just take some getting used to, that's all. I've never seen Michael with someone. Not since he was a teenager."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's never been very... sexual, I guess. Every once in awhile, he'd talk about people he was seeing, but it never lasted more than a few weeks. Not that it surprised me. With his condition, it has to be hard to get comfortable with people."

"Condition?"

He rubbed his face and took a drink of coffee. "It's called low latent inhibition. He doesn't perceive the world like most people. He sees... well, everything. Not just the form, but how it's put together. The function. Each and every part. It's something of a gift and a curse, depending on what's going on in the mind. People with mental diseases, like schizophrenia have it, and it's a detriment. They can't separate it all. But if you're a genius like Mikey..."

"When you said you drove him crazy a few times, you meant literally, didn't you?" I asked.

The convicted murderer actually blushed. It was cute. "Well. Close to. Not my finest hours, but when I turned eighteen, I really thought I'd be able to handle raising him. I mostly did okay, but Michael needs... structure. Or he did when he was younger. Probably still does, but he can handle things better now, you know?"

"He's more mature," I said.

"He was a scarily mature kid, though. Sometimes it was like he was the adult, and he was taking care of me." Lincoln sighed and picked up his fork again. "I did my best. What I could. But I'm not structured. Wasn't. Especially at eighteen. I'd come home at different times, or forget to shop. Forget to pay bills. Come home drunk or high. He tried to cope, but a couple times he just... lost it." He stabbed his pancakes again. "Some older brother."

"You were in a bad situation. And he's fine, now."

Lincoln gave me an eloquent look.

I shrugged. "He's an intelligent, capable, loving young man. I think he's perfect."

"You've known him for three days," Lincoln said. "And you have stars in your eyes."

I shrugged and got up for more coffee. "Well. I think that's a good thing when you may be falling in love."

There was a thump behind me. When I turned, Lincoln had his head on the table.

"You okay?"

"I need a drink. I was convicted of murder, almost executed, broke out of prison, saw my son get hit by a car, and now my brother is in a ménage à trois with an FBI agent and his incredibly hot wife. I deserve a drink."

"Well. Since you complimented me, you can have whatever you want. Beer's in the fridge. Scotch, vodka, tequila and the rest of the harder stuff is in the living room above the breakfast bar. Have yourself a party."

"We're having a party?" Alex asked. "Seems rather irresponsible."

"You're wife is falling in love with my brother," Lincoln growled. "And I need a drink."

"Ah. Well, that seems logical." A few seconds later arms wrapped around my waist. Lips pressed into my neck. "Hey beautiful."

I turned. Kissed him, melting at the way his hand cradled the side of my face as his tongue played against mine. The way he stroked my hip and pressed me against the counter. "Hey," I whispered, stroking his hair. "How you feeling?"

"Rested." He kissed me again. "Horny."

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" There was the sound of stamping feet. Then a door slammed.

Alex grinned rakishly at me. "Think we're a little much for him?"

"I think he's reaching his limit." I kissed him once more, then pulled away. "Is Michael up?"

"He's getting dressed. I figured we should eat, then figure out what we're going to do."

"Lincoln made pancakes. They're pretty good." I pulled the plate with the stack from the oven and set them on the stove. Then I pulled out a plate for Alex.

"Good to know he's good for something." Alex pulled his pen from his pocket and shook a pill into his palm. "We're going to get through this, Pam. I promise you that." He swallowed the pill and chased it with coffee.

"And Michael?"

Alex shrugged. "We'll get him through the best we can. And then make sure we convince him that we really, really want to keep him."

"How do we do that?"

"Pancakes," Michael said, entering the room. "That's always a good way to start."

"Well, good. We've got those," I said, stomach suddenly churning. God, flushed rose and damp from the shower, he was even more beautiful than ever.

Michael grinned brilliantly at me. "Well, good. Then I'm already half convinced."

Alex hooked his arm around Michael's neck and gave him a kiss. "If I'd known all it took was pancakes, I'd've set a plate outside my office in Chicago and waited for you to come."

He smirked and lowered his eyes. "Pancakes and sex. And Pam."

"Well. Of course. Can't have one without the others," Alex said. He kissed Michael's neck.

"Don't." Michael pulled away. "You've got me all woken up now. I could ignore a lot before. If you keep doing that, I won't be able to concentrate."

"Woken up?" I said. I pressed a plate into Michael's hands.

He leaned forward and kissed me lightly. "It's been awhile," he said. "Since I've felt..." He blushed. "Even with Sara, it was mostly cerebral. Nothing like... like that." If he turned and redder, he'd catch fire.

"You needed it," I said. "Or something like it. You can get so tense. It's not healthy."

"I can work tense," he said. "I can concentrate. I can't if I keep thinking about... you. And Alex. I can't risk making a mistake, especially now with so much more on the line."

"We won't let you make a mistake," Alex said. "None of us. And face it, Michael. The chastity thing wasn't working all that well. You were getting sloppy."

"And having sex is going to fix that?" Michael asked wryly.

Alex smirked, eyes running slowly over Michael's body. "No reason to think otherwise. In fact, I think we need to try again. Just to make sure you're completely relaxed."

Michael licked his lips. Stepped in Alex. "Maybe this time, the two of you might get something out of it, too?" He kissed Alex's chin. Leaned over and kissed my neck. Then he sighed and leaned against me, resting his head on my shoulder. "See what I mean? You two are dangerous." He sighed again as I put my arms around him and relaxed further into my embrace. "I don't understand how two people can make me feel so safe and yet so scared all at once."

I stroked his back. "Haven't you ever been in love?"

"I don't know." He licked his lips and set the plate on the counter. "I thought I was with Sara, but the more I started to like her, the worse I felt every time I saw her. I was awful to her."

"I'm sure she..." I started, but Michael cut me off.

"She's in a coma. She overdosed on drugs. Because of me. Even if she does understand by some miracle, I can't... I will never be able to look at her without thinking about what I did to her." He sniffed and rubbed his nose. "I need to find a way to make it up to her. And I need you to understand the... the terrible things I've done." His eyes were on the floor.

I couldn't help wondering when the conversation had become so serious. How we'd gone from playful flirtation to... to Michael trying to convince us he wasn't worth being with.

I exchanged glances with Alex. He had his hand on Michael's shoulder and was rubbing it with gentle circles.

"Michael," I finally said. "It's not that I believe the ends always justify the means, but in this case.... You were working for the greater good. For something bigger than yourself. And Sara did make the choice."

"Sara didn't know T-Bag was going with us," Michael whispered.

I looked at Alex.

"The pedophile," he clarified. He slipped his arms around Michael's waist and kissed his neck. "Michael, whatever happened before, it's in the past now. We're all in this together now. Pam and I have no illusions about you. I hope you don't have any illusions about us. None of us are perfect."

"Except Pam," Michael said with a half smile.

"Well, yes. Except for Pam." I got a flash of silver-blue eyes and a crooked grin from my husband. "All of us have made mistakes. But we still want you, despite your mistakes."

Michael inhaled deeply. As he held his breath, he closed his eyes. His fingers played over Alex's. He sucked on his lower lip.

"Michael?" I said after a moment. I didn't want him to pass out.

He opened his eyes and exhaled. "I want you, too," he said, eyes on me, fingers twining with Alex's. "Despite your mistakes."

I smiled at him, relieved.

"All right then," Alex said. He turned Michael's face to him and kissed him gently. "Then let's not have this conversation again."

"Okay," Michael said, the word a promise. "Can I have my pancakes now?"

"Yeah." I handed him the plate and planted a kiss of my own on him. "You can have your pancakes."