Fic: Breathe Love (17/18)
Nov. 22nd, 2006 09:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Breathe Love (17/18)
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17 overall
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 4,105
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: I'm so prolific when there's no school to get in the way! Lol. Lots of canon scenes this chapter but honestly, I couldn't remember the details so expect a lot of AU thrown around too. I couldn't find a transcript or anything online :( Thus I had to make up their lines, which I will gladly correct if I ever get my hands on the "Brother's Keeper" episode. Then here's my biggest issue with this chapter: *SPOILER ALERT* in BL I had Veronica tell Michael about the $90,000 before Lincoln was sentenced to death, instead of after like in the show. So when Michael says "He is where he is because of me", Lincoln isn't really anywhere yet, certainly not in prison. *END SPOILER* So that's lame but honestly? I wasn't about to write two scenes with Michael and Veronica interaction, it'd be too boring and I just know my writing would get bad. So there's my caveat for any potential suckiness that may follow. I tried hard with this chapter but I don't know if it's up to snuff with other ones : /. Anyway. Oh, and there's going to be one more chapter left and then a short epilogue. Ok done! Feedback = love.
Summary: Michael has always wanted his brother, and Lincoln has to wrestle with the responsibility of a reciprocated love that can never be... or can it? Spanning two decades, this story attempts to explain Michael/Lincoln within the confines of canon.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 17
2 years later (November 2004)
Lincoln... Linc. Hey, hello?
Michael waved his hands in front of his older brother’s face. No reaction.
Hey, can’t you see me? I’m right here, hello?
No reaction. Lincoln turned towards him but his eyes grasped nothing. He turned back around and took a drag off his joint.
Linc, god, can’t you see me? Hello! Lincoln!!
“—Linc,” he gasped, hands clutching the pillow underneath him. He rolled over onto his side, away from the uncomfortably bright light filtering in through the window.
Michael blinked. He struggled to pull his mind out of the murky water of subconsciousness, fought to banish the image of his older brother, unseeing and cold.
Alright. He was awake now.
“Fuck, not again,” he grumbled to himself. He pulled the sheets back from his bed and lumbered towards the bathroom.
It’d been nearly two years, nearly two years of this dream. It came and went as arbitrarily as the Chicago breeze, changing its colors and nuances as easily as a chameleon, but one thing always stayed the same. Michael would always wake up when Lincoln turned to look at him, turned to look through him.
The thought of those empty gray eyes cast a shudder through Michael’s frame. He plodded into the shower and switched it on, letting it warm up as he relieved himself.
Two years, with no end in sight. This was Michael’s existence now, living on the periphery of his brother’s life as he watched the only person he ever truly loved destroy himself through dubious business and chemicals. Unable to do a thing because two years ago, Lincoln had made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with Michael. At least, not in the way the younger man needed it.
Oh, Lincoln still wanted his little brother in his life. But just as that, his little brother. A guy to call when he needed bailing out, an uncle to his son when they would get together for the big holidays, the ones where everybody needed to just hold it together for a night or two so that LJ wouldn’t suspect exactly how broken his family really was. Lincoln wanted Michael, but in all the wrong ways.
Still, Michael gave. Hadn’t pressed his luck, but gave nonetheless. Drove his brother’s sorry ass home from the bars, lent him money when he couldn’t cover his rent, got rid of the drugs from Lincoln’s apartment when the man was too strung out to notice. But the drugs always reappeared. Like fucking ants or mice, the little innocuous baggies would show up underneath the futon mattress, in the far corner of a shelf, or when it got really bad the white powder would be hanging out on the kitchen table as if it had a right to be there.
Michael put up with it because he loved his brother, no matter how infuriating he was sometimes.
Still. A man could only give so much without feeling the consequences.
Resentment was a dirty little word Michael tried not to think aloud, but that word would catch up with him whenever his brother’s caller ID showed up on his cell phone, whenever he was diligently mending the seams of where Lincoln was falling apart. Resentment, darkened with a shadow of disgust and a side of the incessant question, why, why did it have to be like this? And when that came around, Michael forced himself to blame the drugs and the bottomless hole of bad business surrounding Lincoln. It was easier to pin everything on something tangible, something that he understood. He tried not to listen to the voice that said it was you, you drove him crazy, Michael. He did it to get away from you.
Michael tried to convince himself that that was just the low latent inhibition talking. He knew he had a problem with guilt-tripping himself, the psychiatrist had said as much when he was younger. Didn’t make the thoughts go away, though, and nowadays he had nobody to chase them away.
Testing the water, Michael deemed the shower ready and stepped in, letting the hot rivulets wash the residual sleepiness out of his body. He soaped himself efficiently before rinsing off with a natural sponge. Got out, toweled off, dressed, and then locked his apartment before heading down the elevator to the garage. Another day, another stack of work at the office. Life went on.
-----
You want out Sink? I’ll give you an out.
As if he could trust the motherfucker. But two days later Dernier had handed him the keys to his Aston Martin, telling him to keep the car if he backed out on his word. Oh, there was no question that Dernier could just as easily persuade Lincoln to do the hit, then stab him in the back and pocket those keys right back, but it didn’t jive with Dernier’s style. He liked to stab people in the chest, where they could see the weapon protruding from their body with Dernier’s warm hand still on it. Dernier wasn’t going to back out of this.
The only question was why? Why was Dernier giving him the chance to get away? In any case, Lincoln had learned early on not to ask questions and just be grateful for what he was allocated. So he took the keys.
He knew some bad shit was about to go down. No way in hell would the Texan trade a lifetime of good, solid work for one kill, unless the kill was too hot to take care of personally.
Lincoln had never done this before. He wasn’t made of steel and sadism like Dernier was, Lincoln just wasn’t cut out to be a murderer. But when you got right down to it, it was only a matter of him versus the hit. And as natural instinct dictated, Lincoln would have to kill in order to reclaim his own life. Hell, nobody ever said things were fair.
Unfortunately, it was much easier to slide cool metal keys into his pocket than it was to murder somebody point-blank. And when Lincoln got around to thinking about it, thinking about the logistics of looking a man down the barrel of a gun, it scared the fucking daylights out of him.
Lincoln was not cut out to be a murderer. But it would happen, nonetheless.
-----
10 hours later, 11:00 PM
“Michael,” Lincoln licked his lips, tried not to let the cold shivers pass into his words. “Can you—can you get over here? I’m freezing my fucking ass off.”
Lincoln finished the message and ended the call with a quiet beep, then tucked the phone back into his leather jacket. Slid down the pole he was leaning against and sat down on the concrete, facing the front gate of his apartment.
Fuck, it felt like all the heat in his body was getting absorbed by the hard sidewalk beneath him, sucking warmth like a vacuum. His ass felt like a fucking ice cube.
Where the hell are you, Michael?
On the other side of the city, said person was situated in front of his television, remote in hand and about to turn the volume up when his phone rang, vibrating against his thigh. Michael shifted up a bit, pulled his cell phone of out his pocket and checked the screen.
Lincoln.
He was about to press the little green button when at the last moment, he changed his mind. It was 11:00 PM on a weeknight, which meant that Lincoln was probably at another local bar, too wasted and fucked out to catch himself a cab. So of course, he figured he’d hit up the little brother, the sentimental one who would put down his evening and plans just to haul his ass across town so he could drive his older brother home.
And usually, Michael would do it. But maybe it was something in the air, something about how the soft white flakes had begun to drizzle down outside his window and how comfortable he was inside his heated apartment. Something about just being a normal guy, sitting on the couch and watching John Stewart crack political jokes on Comedy Central that made him not pick up the phone.
Or maybe it was the fact that he really didn’t feel like driving twenty minutes away just to find his brother at Beckett’s or Bar 12, arm slung around some skanky woman with cleavage spilling out of her top. Didn’t feel like looking into those bleary drunken eyes, so similar to the ones he’d see in his dreams. Hated the way these women threw lustful, knowing smiles at his older bother, hated the smell of discount perfume that would hang around the two like a cloud of poison. The next time he caught a whiff of imitation Cool Water, he swore he would retch on his brother’s shoes.
By the time he’d finished imagining Lincoln’s reaction to having vomit on his pant cuffs, the phone wasn’t ringing anymore. Michael tried to watch the program, tried to follow the satirical snippets of Capitol Hill footage but couldn’t concentrate. An electronic jingle let him know that a voice mail had been left, so he snatched the phone up, typed his password in and listened to it.
Lincoln’s voice filtered in through some rustling noises and filled Michael’s ear with husky, drained words. He detected a shiver jolting between syllables and assumed that his brother was outside; the idiot didn’t own anything warmer than a leather jacket. He automatically looked out the window and narrowed his eyes in dismay at the white snow that was starting to come down more steadily.
It was a short message. Short and demanding, arrogant like he was so sure Michael would be there within the half hour.
And it was true, Michael was so close, had even half-gotten out of his seat to grab his winter coat but then he resolutely told himself Not tonight. Didn’t keep him from padding to his laptop though, where he wiggled the mouse to wake up the screensaver and quickly checked a weather site for that night’s temperature.
Satisfied that his brother wasn’t in mortal danger, that he would just be really fucking cold for an evening, Michael turned the monitor off and returned to his spot on the couch.
He watched the program and the one after it until midnight before shutting the TV off and getting ready for bed. Until then, Michael couldn’t stop looking out the window, tracking the progress of the snow outside.
Not tonight, he told himself.
-----
The next morning
Lincoln hadn’t caught a wink throughout the night. Whenever he’d started to pass into unconsciousness, a violent shiver would jerk him awake. So instead, he passed the interminable hours in a comatose state, huddled underneath the overhang of his apartment building to at least keep the snow off of him. He pulled his hands from underneath his armpits and rubbed his face, trying to see if any nerves were left. Nope, nothing.
“Rough night?” A voice rang through the still, empty alley. “I got your message, what’s the problem?”
Took you long enough. Lincoln looked up. “I lost my keys.”
Michael stepped forward and dropped the brass keys onto the concrete with a jangle.
“Where’d you find them?” Lincoln stuck an arm out and picked them up, finding the metal warmer than his hand. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“About four feet away.”
“I must have dropped them.”
The younger man’s eyes tracked Lincoln’s face as he stood up creakily. Such a fucking mess, Michael thought. “I have to get back to work.” It hurt to see this so early in the morning. “Speaking of which, I heard you got fired a few weeks ago. What was it this time?”
Too early for this, Lincoln reflected similarly. “Do you really wanna know, or are you just enjoying the view from your high horse?”
“You know what I want?”
Lincoln shut his eyes. He really wasn’t awake enough to deal with this.
“To not have to be the older brother for my older brother,” Michael bit harshly. Lincoln relaxed in relief.
The younger man watched the tension leave his brother’s frame as any potentially difficult conversation was bypassed and fucking hell, it pissed him off that Lincoln preferred this. Preferred Michael dodging their unresolved issues rather than standing his ground and saying what he really wanted. Pissed him off that his older brother actually preferred Michael turning around and stalking away, which is what he promptly did. That was the only thing he was allowed to do anymore.
-----
A few days later
It’d been a difficult week. Deadline next Thursday and the collaborating project manager had just quit, which left Michael alone to push the building into creation. And goddamnit, he wasn’t even getting overtime for the extra hours and late nights he’d put in lately.
But for the time being, it was Friday night, eight o’ clock and just the right time to treat himself to a hard-earned drink without the weekend crush of bar hoppers showing up to ruin his peace.
He packed up his briefcase, went down to the basement level and got into his car. Within ten minutes he found himself in front of Loop, a bar that was a little trendy for his taste but he figured he could catch the comfortable work crowd at this early hour.
Walking in, he noted that it was a little congested but he found a spot at the bar easy enough.
“What can I get you?”
“You guys have Balvenie?” He asked, tugging his sleeves up a bit and setting his elbows onto the counter.
“’Fraid not.”
“Well, just give me your best scotch,” Michael replied. The bartender soon returned with a clean glass filled with amber liquid and Michael took it gratefully, swirling the liquid before taking a mouthful.
A soft voice broke through the din of the bar.
“Michael?”
Michael looked up from his drink and was surprised to see Veronica Donovan seating herself on the empty bar stool next to him.
“Veronica. What are you doing here?”
“Just getting a drink, it’s been a long week.”
“Yeah, I think I know the feeling,” Michael replied, smiling at the pleasant coincidence. The both of them did work downtown after all, he supposed that they were bound to bump into each other sooner or later.
The two of them exchanged small talk, basking in the company of a childhood friend that they hadn’t seen in too long. It’d been months since Michael talked to Veronica, and he hadn’t even seen her since last Christmas despite the two of them going about their daily lives within a thirty-mile radius.
It felt good, Michael realized as the older woman flashed her never-changing smile at him. All teeth and upturned lips, nothing like Lincoln who smiled with reserve, a hint of sarcasm simmering beneath it.
Surprisingly, Veronica didn’t bring up Lincoln at all, which suited Michael just fine. This was enough, just chatting with an old friend in a bar, the both of them still in their corporate getups and discussing their jobs.
Veronica ordered herself an apple martini and he smiled at that. It was wonderful how at least some things in life stayed constant, such as the brunette’s lifelong preference of vodka drinks.
“On me,” Michael cut in, sliding a tenner towards the bartender. Veronica raised her eyebrows in response with a cheeky grin.
“Where’d you learn manners like that, Michael? Certainly not from—,” she said, before suddenly faltering. “Not from your brother.”
Michael inwardly flinched. They’d been having such a great time, pretending to be normal. He took another sip of his scotch.
It made sense though, that the two of them couldn’t exist without the presence of Lincoln to tie them together. From childhood Lincoln and Veronica had been inextricably linked, going from best friends to high school sweethearts and back again over the decades. In fact when Michael thought about it, looking at Veronica was almost like looking at pieces of Lincoln; the way he used to twirl her dark hair around his fingers, the apple of her cheek that Lincoln always liked to thumb when he was teasing her.
Veronica leaned in to make herself heard over the growing noise of the bar and Michael smelled vanilla on her. He remembered how he used to hate that smell when Lincoln would leave the bedroom, the scent all over his strong neck and chest and Michael would think to himself, Lincoln is not supposed to smell like fucking vanilla.
It wasn’t so bad now though, because just the small inhalation of Veronica’s fragrance was enough to evoke images of a teenaged Lincoln, poring over the macaroni and cheese directions as he made dinner for his girlfriend and little brother.
Veronica subconsciously toyed with the cocktail napkin as she talked, pushing papered streams into them with her French manicured nails. Michael looked at the tearing paper and remembered the diners where Lincoln would roll up the remnants of Veronica’s napkins into spitballs and pelt unknowing bystanders with them, garnering amused giggles from the three of them.
“—said, right?”
Spurred by the sudden silence, Michael looked up from her shredded napkin and made eye contact again. “I’m sorry, I was kind of zoning out.”
Veronica grinned good-naturedly. “Am I boring you? It is a Friday night after all, you probably don’t want to sit here listening to me complain about my coworkers.”
Michael watched her tuck her hair behind her ear as she tipped her cosmopolitan and kicked back a good half of her drink. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d ordered a second drink.
“In a rush?,” Michael asked, amused.
“No, not at all,” she replied, pulling another napkin out from the dispenser and dabbing her lips at where the vodka had spilled out a little.
“Did you want to get out of here then? I can see the twenty year olds filtering in,” Michael commented, gesturing at the group of scantily clad girls who were getting their IDs closely examined by the bouncers.
“Sure. Let’s get out of here.”
It took a little while to get back to Michael’s apartment due to the night crowd but the time was filled with reminiscing and easy banter. Michael was fighting Veronica for control of the radio when he pulled into the garage, where he parked and they got out of the car, still arguing over the song that had just been playing.
When Michael finally reached his flat, Veronica was definitely feeling the affects of her empty stomach combined with the second cocktail. She had long been reduced to pawing at Michael’s chest in mock objection to something or the other, though neither had really been keeping track.
This must have been how she looked to Lincoln, Michael thought hazily as he pushed the door open and ushered her inside. Veronica gave another snort of indignation at something and Michael couldn’t help but laugh back at the strange noise she’d concocted. She stumbled over her the doormat and Michael automatically caught her.
He didn’t know how or why, but with that single flush of contact the atmosphere changed. Maybe it was the dim, blue lighting of the dark apartment, or maybe it was the alcohol that coursed through both their bloodstreams, but Veronica was looking up at him through dark, sultry lashes.
This must be how Lincoln felt. Michael gripped her bare arms, though the need to keep her steady had long filtered away.
Suddenly Michael realized that, pinned underneath Veronica’s alluring gaze, this was the closest he’d felt to Lincoln in a very long time.
His eyes flickered down to her pink mouth. How many times has he kissed this? Maybe from sheer osmosis, a little bit of Lincoln was left on her skin, a little of Lincoln’s mouth lingering in vague, insubstantial existence. A little of Lincoln’s aura quietly clinging to Veronica’s body, muted through the years. He knew that these thoughts were complicated and possibly just a byproduct of sensory overload, but in that still frame of time, everything made perfect sense.
Michael leaned down. Veronica’s eyes fluttered closed.
His cell phone rang with an explosion of noise and Michael jerked from the tickling vibrations against his upper leg.
After shaking his mind out of the moment, Michael found himself glad for the intrusion since he had just been on the verge of doing something very important, possibly with very negative consequences. Michael pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID.
Lincoln. Of course.
God damnit Linc, he grumbled inwardly, shutting the thing off and plunging it into his coat pocket. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s—it’s okay,” Veronica stuttered, taking a step back until there was a decent amount of space between them. “What was it anyway?”
Michael allowed the annoyance bubble to the surface. “Just Linc, probably too strung out to drive anywhere so he calls his personal chauffeur instead.”
“Michael, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?,” he asked defensively. “You know just as well as I do that he’s screwed up his life so completely that he needs to start bothering mine.”
“Yes, but…” Veronica protested, conflict in her eyes. “Cut him some slack, Michael.”
Cut him some slack? As far as Michael was concerned, Lincoln had already been coddled too much by his friends and family. “Why should I? How is it any different between us? We had pretty much the same setbacks, same opportunities growing up, only I chose differently. He made his own choices, Veronica.”
The brunette hesitated, caught in between definitions of loyalty. Should she keep Lincoln’s secret, or come to his defense? Observing Michael’s chagrined, accusatory expression, Veronica came to an eventual conclusion.
“There’s something you need to know, Michael.”
A pause. “What?”
She took a deep breath. This had been brewing for far too long. “Before you went to college, Lincoln took out a loan,” she stated slowly.
Michael froze.
“He borrowed $90,000 from a loan shark, passed it off as your mother’s inheritance.”
He felt his mouth dry out, swallowed hard.
“Michael, you are where you are because of your brother.”
No, this couldn’t… he couldn’t have not noticed something as huge as a $90,000 debt.
Michael stared back at Veronica with wide eyes, waiting for, willing for her to take back her words. She only stared back at him, pity and worry clouding over her face.
As vehemently as he tried, Michael couldn’t silence the increasingly loud voice telling him that everything fit, every action and decision Lincoln had ever made, it fit.
Michael flicked his eyes back and forth, searching Veronica’s troubled ones. “You’re telling me he is where he is because of me.” She lowered her eyes.
Oh god.
Something akin to hysteria rose up inside of him and he felt his mind crash into a static buzz. A deluge of memories crashed through his skull, pounded into new conceptions under the consuming light of the fact that Lincoln had sacrificed his life for Michael. And Michael thought back to every haughty word, every condescending tone he'd issued, and he couldn't amass it all, just could not digest how very fucking wrong he had been, what a complete and utter asshole he had become towards the only person who ever even mattered to him.
When Michael finally refocused his eyes, Veronica was gone. He couldn’t remember her leaving, but she was nowhere in sight.
A numbness started in his chest, grinding a blistered path down to his stomach and suddenly, it just hit him.
Michael made a dash for the bathroom and shoved the toilet seat up, throwing up everything he had in his stomach. After the bile had run out he kneeled there, retching in dry heaves long after there was nothing left inside of him.
When seemingly hours had passed and his body had stopped convulsing, he fumbled for the toilet handle and flushed down the contents. Along with the swirling water, he felt the numbness spiral away but all that was left was so, so much worse.
He unsteadily got to his feet, trudged to the sink. Turned the faucet on and rinsed his mouth out, then looked up at his reflection.
You are where you are because of your brother.
Studied his neat tie, expensive button-up shirt, silver cuff links with physical, tangible disgust. Glanced up at his face, was surprised to see wet trails that coursed down his cheeks.
Michael bowed his head and shoved his clenched knuckles into his mouth, muffling a choked sob that was unwillingly wrenched from his lungs.
I’m sorry Linc, oh god, oh god I’m so sorry
Michael squeezed his eyes hard, willing the tears to stop. Blinked them back and once more looked into the mirror. Steeled himself.
This was a turning point, he told himself.
I’ll make things right, Linc. I swear to God, I’ll make things right.
Back | Next
Pairing: Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: NC-17 overall
Spoilers: Up to 2.03 but mild AU throughout
Word Count: 4,105
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: I'm so prolific when there's no school to get in the way! Lol. Lots of canon scenes this chapter but honestly, I couldn't remember the details so expect a lot of AU thrown around too. I couldn't find a transcript or anything online :( Thus I had to make up their lines, which I will gladly correct if I ever get my hands on the "Brother's Keeper" episode. Then here's my biggest issue with this chapter: *SPOILER ALERT* in BL I had Veronica tell Michael about the $90,000 before Lincoln was sentenced to death, instead of after like in the show. So when Michael says "He is where he is because of me", Lincoln isn't really anywhere yet, certainly not in prison. *END SPOILER* So that's lame but honestly? I wasn't about to write two scenes with Michael and Veronica interaction, it'd be too boring and I just know my writing would get bad. So there's my caveat for any potential suckiness that may follow. I tried hard with this chapter but I don't know if it's up to snuff with other ones : /. Anyway. Oh, and there's going to be one more chapter left and then a short epilogue. Ok done! Feedback = love.
Summary: Michael has always wanted his brother, and Lincoln has to wrestle with the responsibility of a reciprocated love that can never be... or can it? Spanning two decades, this story attempts to explain Michael/Lincoln within the confines of canon.
For previous chapters, ( Click here )
Chapter 17
2 years later (November 2004)
Lincoln... Linc. Hey, hello?
Michael waved his hands in front of his older brother’s face. No reaction.
Hey, can’t you see me? I’m right here, hello?
No reaction. Lincoln turned towards him but his eyes grasped nothing. He turned back around and took a drag off his joint.
Linc, god, can’t you see me? Hello! Lincoln!!
“—Linc,” he gasped, hands clutching the pillow underneath him. He rolled over onto his side, away from the uncomfortably bright light filtering in through the window.
Michael blinked. He struggled to pull his mind out of the murky water of subconsciousness, fought to banish the image of his older brother, unseeing and cold.
Alright. He was awake now.
“Fuck, not again,” he grumbled to himself. He pulled the sheets back from his bed and lumbered towards the bathroom.
It’d been nearly two years, nearly two years of this dream. It came and went as arbitrarily as the Chicago breeze, changing its colors and nuances as easily as a chameleon, but one thing always stayed the same. Michael would always wake up when Lincoln turned to look at him, turned to look through him.
The thought of those empty gray eyes cast a shudder through Michael’s frame. He plodded into the shower and switched it on, letting it warm up as he relieved himself.
Two years, with no end in sight. This was Michael’s existence now, living on the periphery of his brother’s life as he watched the only person he ever truly loved destroy himself through dubious business and chemicals. Unable to do a thing because two years ago, Lincoln had made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with Michael. At least, not in the way the younger man needed it.
Oh, Lincoln still wanted his little brother in his life. But just as that, his little brother. A guy to call when he needed bailing out, an uncle to his son when they would get together for the big holidays, the ones where everybody needed to just hold it together for a night or two so that LJ wouldn’t suspect exactly how broken his family really was. Lincoln wanted Michael, but in all the wrong ways.
Still, Michael gave. Hadn’t pressed his luck, but gave nonetheless. Drove his brother’s sorry ass home from the bars, lent him money when he couldn’t cover his rent, got rid of the drugs from Lincoln’s apartment when the man was too strung out to notice. But the drugs always reappeared. Like fucking ants or mice, the little innocuous baggies would show up underneath the futon mattress, in the far corner of a shelf, or when it got really bad the white powder would be hanging out on the kitchen table as if it had a right to be there.
Michael put up with it because he loved his brother, no matter how infuriating he was sometimes.
Still. A man could only give so much without feeling the consequences.
Resentment was a dirty little word Michael tried not to think aloud, but that word would catch up with him whenever his brother’s caller ID showed up on his cell phone, whenever he was diligently mending the seams of where Lincoln was falling apart. Resentment, darkened with a shadow of disgust and a side of the incessant question, why, why did it have to be like this? And when that came around, Michael forced himself to blame the drugs and the bottomless hole of bad business surrounding Lincoln. It was easier to pin everything on something tangible, something that he understood. He tried not to listen to the voice that said it was you, you drove him crazy, Michael. He did it to get away from you.
Michael tried to convince himself that that was just the low latent inhibition talking. He knew he had a problem with guilt-tripping himself, the psychiatrist had said as much when he was younger. Didn’t make the thoughts go away, though, and nowadays he had nobody to chase them away.
Testing the water, Michael deemed the shower ready and stepped in, letting the hot rivulets wash the residual sleepiness out of his body. He soaped himself efficiently before rinsing off with a natural sponge. Got out, toweled off, dressed, and then locked his apartment before heading down the elevator to the garage. Another day, another stack of work at the office. Life went on.
-----
You want out Sink? I’ll give you an out.
As if he could trust the motherfucker. But two days later Dernier had handed him the keys to his Aston Martin, telling him to keep the car if he backed out on his word. Oh, there was no question that Dernier could just as easily persuade Lincoln to do the hit, then stab him in the back and pocket those keys right back, but it didn’t jive with Dernier’s style. He liked to stab people in the chest, where they could see the weapon protruding from their body with Dernier’s warm hand still on it. Dernier wasn’t going to back out of this.
The only question was why? Why was Dernier giving him the chance to get away? In any case, Lincoln had learned early on not to ask questions and just be grateful for what he was allocated. So he took the keys.
He knew some bad shit was about to go down. No way in hell would the Texan trade a lifetime of good, solid work for one kill, unless the kill was too hot to take care of personally.
Lincoln had never done this before. He wasn’t made of steel and sadism like Dernier was, Lincoln just wasn’t cut out to be a murderer. But when you got right down to it, it was only a matter of him versus the hit. And as natural instinct dictated, Lincoln would have to kill in order to reclaim his own life. Hell, nobody ever said things were fair.
Unfortunately, it was much easier to slide cool metal keys into his pocket than it was to murder somebody point-blank. And when Lincoln got around to thinking about it, thinking about the logistics of looking a man down the barrel of a gun, it scared the fucking daylights out of him.
Lincoln was not cut out to be a murderer. But it would happen, nonetheless.
-----
10 hours later, 11:00 PM
“Michael,” Lincoln licked his lips, tried not to let the cold shivers pass into his words. “Can you—can you get over here? I’m freezing my fucking ass off.”
Lincoln finished the message and ended the call with a quiet beep, then tucked the phone back into his leather jacket. Slid down the pole he was leaning against and sat down on the concrete, facing the front gate of his apartment.
Fuck, it felt like all the heat in his body was getting absorbed by the hard sidewalk beneath him, sucking warmth like a vacuum. His ass felt like a fucking ice cube.
Where the hell are you, Michael?
On the other side of the city, said person was situated in front of his television, remote in hand and about to turn the volume up when his phone rang, vibrating against his thigh. Michael shifted up a bit, pulled his cell phone of out his pocket and checked the screen.
Lincoln.
He was about to press the little green button when at the last moment, he changed his mind. It was 11:00 PM on a weeknight, which meant that Lincoln was probably at another local bar, too wasted and fucked out to catch himself a cab. So of course, he figured he’d hit up the little brother, the sentimental one who would put down his evening and plans just to haul his ass across town so he could drive his older brother home.
And usually, Michael would do it. But maybe it was something in the air, something about how the soft white flakes had begun to drizzle down outside his window and how comfortable he was inside his heated apartment. Something about just being a normal guy, sitting on the couch and watching John Stewart crack political jokes on Comedy Central that made him not pick up the phone.
Or maybe it was the fact that he really didn’t feel like driving twenty minutes away just to find his brother at Beckett’s or Bar 12, arm slung around some skanky woman with cleavage spilling out of her top. Didn’t feel like looking into those bleary drunken eyes, so similar to the ones he’d see in his dreams. Hated the way these women threw lustful, knowing smiles at his older bother, hated the smell of discount perfume that would hang around the two like a cloud of poison. The next time he caught a whiff of imitation Cool Water, he swore he would retch on his brother’s shoes.
By the time he’d finished imagining Lincoln’s reaction to having vomit on his pant cuffs, the phone wasn’t ringing anymore. Michael tried to watch the program, tried to follow the satirical snippets of Capitol Hill footage but couldn’t concentrate. An electronic jingle let him know that a voice mail had been left, so he snatched the phone up, typed his password in and listened to it.
Lincoln’s voice filtered in through some rustling noises and filled Michael’s ear with husky, drained words. He detected a shiver jolting between syllables and assumed that his brother was outside; the idiot didn’t own anything warmer than a leather jacket. He automatically looked out the window and narrowed his eyes in dismay at the white snow that was starting to come down more steadily.
It was a short message. Short and demanding, arrogant like he was so sure Michael would be there within the half hour.
And it was true, Michael was so close, had even half-gotten out of his seat to grab his winter coat but then he resolutely told himself Not tonight. Didn’t keep him from padding to his laptop though, where he wiggled the mouse to wake up the screensaver and quickly checked a weather site for that night’s temperature.
Satisfied that his brother wasn’t in mortal danger, that he would just be really fucking cold for an evening, Michael turned the monitor off and returned to his spot on the couch.
He watched the program and the one after it until midnight before shutting the TV off and getting ready for bed. Until then, Michael couldn’t stop looking out the window, tracking the progress of the snow outside.
Not tonight, he told himself.
-----
The next morning
Lincoln hadn’t caught a wink throughout the night. Whenever he’d started to pass into unconsciousness, a violent shiver would jerk him awake. So instead, he passed the interminable hours in a comatose state, huddled underneath the overhang of his apartment building to at least keep the snow off of him. He pulled his hands from underneath his armpits and rubbed his face, trying to see if any nerves were left. Nope, nothing.
“Rough night?” A voice rang through the still, empty alley. “I got your message, what’s the problem?”
Took you long enough. Lincoln looked up. “I lost my keys.”
Michael stepped forward and dropped the brass keys onto the concrete with a jangle.
“Where’d you find them?” Lincoln stuck an arm out and picked them up, finding the metal warmer than his hand. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“About four feet away.”
“I must have dropped them.”
The younger man’s eyes tracked Lincoln’s face as he stood up creakily. Such a fucking mess, Michael thought. “I have to get back to work.” It hurt to see this so early in the morning. “Speaking of which, I heard you got fired a few weeks ago. What was it this time?”
Too early for this, Lincoln reflected similarly. “Do you really wanna know, or are you just enjoying the view from your high horse?”
“You know what I want?”
Lincoln shut his eyes. He really wasn’t awake enough to deal with this.
“To not have to be the older brother for my older brother,” Michael bit harshly. Lincoln relaxed in relief.
The younger man watched the tension leave his brother’s frame as any potentially difficult conversation was bypassed and fucking hell, it pissed him off that Lincoln preferred this. Preferred Michael dodging their unresolved issues rather than standing his ground and saying what he really wanted. Pissed him off that his older brother actually preferred Michael turning around and stalking away, which is what he promptly did. That was the only thing he was allowed to do anymore.
-----
A few days later
It’d been a difficult week. Deadline next Thursday and the collaborating project manager had just quit, which left Michael alone to push the building into creation. And goddamnit, he wasn’t even getting overtime for the extra hours and late nights he’d put in lately.
But for the time being, it was Friday night, eight o’ clock and just the right time to treat himself to a hard-earned drink without the weekend crush of bar hoppers showing up to ruin his peace.
He packed up his briefcase, went down to the basement level and got into his car. Within ten minutes he found himself in front of Loop, a bar that was a little trendy for his taste but he figured he could catch the comfortable work crowd at this early hour.
Walking in, he noted that it was a little congested but he found a spot at the bar easy enough.
“What can I get you?”
“You guys have Balvenie?” He asked, tugging his sleeves up a bit and setting his elbows onto the counter.
“’Fraid not.”
“Well, just give me your best scotch,” Michael replied. The bartender soon returned with a clean glass filled with amber liquid and Michael took it gratefully, swirling the liquid before taking a mouthful.
A soft voice broke through the din of the bar.
“Michael?”
Michael looked up from his drink and was surprised to see Veronica Donovan seating herself on the empty bar stool next to him.
“Veronica. What are you doing here?”
“Just getting a drink, it’s been a long week.”
“Yeah, I think I know the feeling,” Michael replied, smiling at the pleasant coincidence. The both of them did work downtown after all, he supposed that they were bound to bump into each other sooner or later.
The two of them exchanged small talk, basking in the company of a childhood friend that they hadn’t seen in too long. It’d been months since Michael talked to Veronica, and he hadn’t even seen her since last Christmas despite the two of them going about their daily lives within a thirty-mile radius.
It felt good, Michael realized as the older woman flashed her never-changing smile at him. All teeth and upturned lips, nothing like Lincoln who smiled with reserve, a hint of sarcasm simmering beneath it.
Surprisingly, Veronica didn’t bring up Lincoln at all, which suited Michael just fine. This was enough, just chatting with an old friend in a bar, the both of them still in their corporate getups and discussing their jobs.
Veronica ordered herself an apple martini and he smiled at that. It was wonderful how at least some things in life stayed constant, such as the brunette’s lifelong preference of vodka drinks.
“On me,” Michael cut in, sliding a tenner towards the bartender. Veronica raised her eyebrows in response with a cheeky grin.
“Where’d you learn manners like that, Michael? Certainly not from—,” she said, before suddenly faltering. “Not from your brother.”
Michael inwardly flinched. They’d been having such a great time, pretending to be normal. He took another sip of his scotch.
It made sense though, that the two of them couldn’t exist without the presence of Lincoln to tie them together. From childhood Lincoln and Veronica had been inextricably linked, going from best friends to high school sweethearts and back again over the decades. In fact when Michael thought about it, looking at Veronica was almost like looking at pieces of Lincoln; the way he used to twirl her dark hair around his fingers, the apple of her cheek that Lincoln always liked to thumb when he was teasing her.
Veronica leaned in to make herself heard over the growing noise of the bar and Michael smelled vanilla on her. He remembered how he used to hate that smell when Lincoln would leave the bedroom, the scent all over his strong neck and chest and Michael would think to himself, Lincoln is not supposed to smell like fucking vanilla.
It wasn’t so bad now though, because just the small inhalation of Veronica’s fragrance was enough to evoke images of a teenaged Lincoln, poring over the macaroni and cheese directions as he made dinner for his girlfriend and little brother.
Veronica subconsciously toyed with the cocktail napkin as she talked, pushing papered streams into them with her French manicured nails. Michael looked at the tearing paper and remembered the diners where Lincoln would roll up the remnants of Veronica’s napkins into spitballs and pelt unknowing bystanders with them, garnering amused giggles from the three of them.
“—said, right?”
Spurred by the sudden silence, Michael looked up from her shredded napkin and made eye contact again. “I’m sorry, I was kind of zoning out.”
Veronica grinned good-naturedly. “Am I boring you? It is a Friday night after all, you probably don’t want to sit here listening to me complain about my coworkers.”
Michael watched her tuck her hair behind her ear as she tipped her cosmopolitan and kicked back a good half of her drink. He hadn’t even noticed when she’d ordered a second drink.
“In a rush?,” Michael asked, amused.
“No, not at all,” she replied, pulling another napkin out from the dispenser and dabbing her lips at where the vodka had spilled out a little.
“Did you want to get out of here then? I can see the twenty year olds filtering in,” Michael commented, gesturing at the group of scantily clad girls who were getting their IDs closely examined by the bouncers.
“Sure. Let’s get out of here.”
It took a little while to get back to Michael’s apartment due to the night crowd but the time was filled with reminiscing and easy banter. Michael was fighting Veronica for control of the radio when he pulled into the garage, where he parked and they got out of the car, still arguing over the song that had just been playing.
When Michael finally reached his flat, Veronica was definitely feeling the affects of her empty stomach combined with the second cocktail. She had long been reduced to pawing at Michael’s chest in mock objection to something or the other, though neither had really been keeping track.
This must have been how she looked to Lincoln, Michael thought hazily as he pushed the door open and ushered her inside. Veronica gave another snort of indignation at something and Michael couldn’t help but laugh back at the strange noise she’d concocted. She stumbled over her the doormat and Michael automatically caught her.
He didn’t know how or why, but with that single flush of contact the atmosphere changed. Maybe it was the dim, blue lighting of the dark apartment, or maybe it was the alcohol that coursed through both their bloodstreams, but Veronica was looking up at him through dark, sultry lashes.
This must be how Lincoln felt. Michael gripped her bare arms, though the need to keep her steady had long filtered away.
Suddenly Michael realized that, pinned underneath Veronica’s alluring gaze, this was the closest he’d felt to Lincoln in a very long time.
His eyes flickered down to her pink mouth. How many times has he kissed this? Maybe from sheer osmosis, a little bit of Lincoln was left on her skin, a little of Lincoln’s mouth lingering in vague, insubstantial existence. A little of Lincoln’s aura quietly clinging to Veronica’s body, muted through the years. He knew that these thoughts were complicated and possibly just a byproduct of sensory overload, but in that still frame of time, everything made perfect sense.
Michael leaned down. Veronica’s eyes fluttered closed.
His cell phone rang with an explosion of noise and Michael jerked from the tickling vibrations against his upper leg.
After shaking his mind out of the moment, Michael found himself glad for the intrusion since he had just been on the verge of doing something very important, possibly with very negative consequences. Michael pulled the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the caller ID.
Lincoln. Of course.
God damnit Linc, he grumbled inwardly, shutting the thing off and plunging it into his coat pocket. “Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s—it’s okay,” Veronica stuttered, taking a step back until there was a decent amount of space between them. “What was it anyway?”
Michael allowed the annoyance bubble to the surface. “Just Linc, probably too strung out to drive anywhere so he calls his personal chauffeur instead.”
“Michael, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?,” he asked defensively. “You know just as well as I do that he’s screwed up his life so completely that he needs to start bothering mine.”
“Yes, but…” Veronica protested, conflict in her eyes. “Cut him some slack, Michael.”
Cut him some slack? As far as Michael was concerned, Lincoln had already been coddled too much by his friends and family. “Why should I? How is it any different between us? We had pretty much the same setbacks, same opportunities growing up, only I chose differently. He made his own choices, Veronica.”
The brunette hesitated, caught in between definitions of loyalty. Should she keep Lincoln’s secret, or come to his defense? Observing Michael’s chagrined, accusatory expression, Veronica came to an eventual conclusion.
“There’s something you need to know, Michael.”
A pause. “What?”
She took a deep breath. This had been brewing for far too long. “Before you went to college, Lincoln took out a loan,” she stated slowly.
Michael froze.
“He borrowed $90,000 from a loan shark, passed it off as your mother’s inheritance.”
He felt his mouth dry out, swallowed hard.
“Michael, you are where you are because of your brother.”
No, this couldn’t… he couldn’t have not noticed something as huge as a $90,000 debt.
Michael stared back at Veronica with wide eyes, waiting for, willing for her to take back her words. She only stared back at him, pity and worry clouding over her face.
As vehemently as he tried, Michael couldn’t silence the increasingly loud voice telling him that everything fit, every action and decision Lincoln had ever made, it fit.
Michael flicked his eyes back and forth, searching Veronica’s troubled ones. “You’re telling me he is where he is because of me.” She lowered her eyes.
Oh god.
Something akin to hysteria rose up inside of him and he felt his mind crash into a static buzz. A deluge of memories crashed through his skull, pounded into new conceptions under the consuming light of the fact that Lincoln had sacrificed his life for Michael. And Michael thought back to every haughty word, every condescending tone he'd issued, and he couldn't amass it all, just could not digest how very fucking wrong he had been, what a complete and utter asshole he had become towards the only person who ever even mattered to him.
When Michael finally refocused his eyes, Veronica was gone. He couldn’t remember her leaving, but she was nowhere in sight.
A numbness started in his chest, grinding a blistered path down to his stomach and suddenly, it just hit him.
Michael made a dash for the bathroom and shoved the toilet seat up, throwing up everything he had in his stomach. After the bile had run out he kneeled there, retching in dry heaves long after there was nothing left inside of him.
When seemingly hours had passed and his body had stopped convulsing, he fumbled for the toilet handle and flushed down the contents. Along with the swirling water, he felt the numbness spiral away but all that was left was so, so much worse.
He unsteadily got to his feet, trudged to the sink. Turned the faucet on and rinsed his mouth out, then looked up at his reflection.
You are where you are because of your brother.
Studied his neat tie, expensive button-up shirt, silver cuff links with physical, tangible disgust. Glanced up at his face, was surprised to see wet trails that coursed down his cheeks.
Michael bowed his head and shoved his clenched knuckles into his mouth, muffling a choked sob that was unwillingly wrenched from his lungs.
I’m sorry Linc, oh god, oh god I’m so sorry
Michael squeezed his eyes hard, willing the tears to stop. Blinked them back and once more looked into the mirror. Steeled himself.
This was a turning point, he told himself.
I’ll make things right, Linc. I swear to God, I’ll make things right.
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no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 06:01 am (UTC)Anda I'm somehow happy, that Lincoln called Micheal, so that he didn't had done anything with Veronica~
But, hell, poor guy~ It must feel like hell, to be in someones debt like this Oo"
But the last sentence was a little ray of hope :D Like mostly ued in my Fandom, I love happy ends xD~
So maybe this would be one :D?
Whatever, you done well like always °_____°
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 07:19 am (UTC)I think that the Veronica scene is particularly strong. The way you combined those two parts - even if you say that you did it to be economical - resulted in a more poignant scene overall. Not just because of the doubling of events, because, let's face it, Michael almost kissing Veronica while they're drunk and single is hardly a crisis given the context of the story and the fact that they're not twelve. However, you wrote it well, and made it much more meaningful than the show did itself. In drawing those connections to Linc, you expressed subtly the powerful ambivalence between Michael's desire for his brother and the way he flirts with assuming/usurping his brother's role.
(That reminds me of something from school. In a discussion of Toni Morrison's Beloved, we talked about the idea of how a person whose desire for another is unfulfilled can begin to desire the person whom the desired desires. I apologise for that sentence and, yet, I refuse to edit it.)
... But back to my point: Aside from the doubling of events, the scene is more heart-rending than its source because of the painful dramatic irony: We know what happens immediately after that phone call, but Michael doesn't. We know before Michael does how close he and Linc come to squeaking by without all the forthcoming agony.
Anyway, I can't wait for Chapter 18 and the 12 part Epilogue. ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 07:57 am (UTC)I think that the Veronica scene is particularly strong.
I'm so, so glad it worked out. I wasn't sure, you know? Toying with canon like that, I felt like I was walking through landmines, like it would be so Easy to just fuck it up. And I love the way you justify it too, makes me very relieved that my intentions came through.
And that bit about Beloved, don't worry it makes perfect sense XD Although having (supposedly) read that book in class as well, we never touched upon that idea. It's certainly a neat one, and it conveniently validates my Michael/Veronica scenario. Woot.
We know what happens immediately after that phone call, but Michael doesn't. We know before Michael does how close he and Linc come to squeaking by without all the forthcoming agony.
Wow, you just made me feel so much better about the ending in one fell swoop.
Thanks for actually taking the time to read my garbled A/N and responding to all my literary insecurities. I love you ;___;
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 08:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 08:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 09:15 pm (UTC)Not if they were all vignettes of what - or who - goes down in Panama.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 09:31 pm (UTC)*dissolves into fit of giggles*
Girl, you are bad XD XD XD XD XD XD. That's so awful, yet so hilarious. Aaahahahahaa
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 10:33 pm (UTC)... says the girl with the bro-job avatar. ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-11-23 10:55 pm (UTC)That totally confirms it, I'm an angel. Ha.
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Date: 2006-11-23 11:11 pm (UTC)As if. You know he's just scooching around to get comfy before he dines.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 12:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-24 12:06 pm (UTC)More please :D
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Date: 2006-11-25 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 07:14 pm (UTC)You know, with your writing I always just get sucked into the story and I completely ignore everyone and everything else around me then xD I dunno how to explain it but I love it how you get the scenes so intense. And the feelings across so perfectly. I just love both Michael and Lincoln, and how you make their characters just so human. Hehe, they're so goddämn stubborn! Gotta love them although I would wanna beat some sense into them as well x)
And to tell you the truth, I enjoy this even more now that I actually know how the people there look like xD I've watched already two episodes of Prison Break! *victory dance*
hehe, and forgive me my babbling x) I'm hyperactive.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 02:55 am (UTC)Thanks for reading XD
no subject
Date: 2006-12-05 04:16 pm (UTC)Loving Breathe Love
Date: 2006-12-13 08:09 am (UTC)I started reading it at the prisonbreakfic website then the site closed and I couldn't find this story, so I went to linc-mike comm and I was so happy to find you posting there.
Re: Loving Breathe Love
Date: 2006-12-13 12:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 05:30 pm (UTC)Suddenly Michael realized that, pinned underneath Veronica’s alluring gaze, this was the closest he’d felt to Lincoln in a very long time.
His eyes flickered down to her pink mouth. How many times has he kissed this? Maybe from sheer osmosis, a little bit of Lincoln was left on her skin, a little of Lincoln’s mouth lingering in vague, insubstantial existence. A little of Lincoln’s aura quietly clinging to Veronica’s body, muted through the years. He knew that these thoughts were complicated and possibly just a byproduct of sensory overload, but in that still frame of time, everything made perfect sense.
As interpretations of that scene goes...that was fucking perfect!! Truly! You really caught Michael's thoughts there so bloody beautifully!! It all just falls perfectly into place! I love it!!
One more chapter and an epilogue to go. I'm going to be really sad when I finish reading it but finish I must!
Thank you for sharing this wonderful fic!
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 06:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-22 06:47 pm (UTC)