accomplishment of an objective - part two

Michael went through his daily routine as though everything in his world was still correct. His co-workers knew nothing of his family, except that he didn’t seem to have any. He was a private person who rarely accepted the invitations to go out for after-work drinks and dinner. He didn’t date, and he had no close friends.

He liked it better that way. He didn’t want to get attached to anyone. It was a lesson he’d learned young, after his father had walked out on them, and his mother had died. Lincoln had tried to be a good role model for Michael, but soon gave up after deciding that Michael placed him on a pedestal too high for mere mortals.

Michael went through life without causing waves. He did all the things he felt he was supposed to do. Finished high school at the top of his class, went on to college and graduate school, and landed a job with a prestigious engineering firm. He excelled at his job, but he brushed off the praise because to him, it didn’t really mean much.

To say that he simply existed was something of an understatement. The only times he would come alive were when he would take his nephew, Lincoln’s son, out to a baseball game or hear from his brother. But in the past few years, those calls from Lincoln had slowed to a trickle, and then erupted in a flurry of trial dates and lawyer fees.

Michael paid for everything, but in a way that no one would know it was him. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of Lincoln. No, that wasn’t why. He would just as soon avoid being in the public eye, and Lincoln understood that.

For three years after the verdict was handed down, Michael had poured thousands of dollars into the hands of expensive lawyers who could do nothing to help. It angered him, and it ate away at him, a little at a time. He felt he should be doing something more. He felt like he was letting Lincoln down.

When Michael was informed that Lincoln’s final appeal was coming up, and after that, there would be no more chances, he fired the private investigators he’d been paying and took up the search for the truth on his own. But he kept running into brick walls at every turn. He’d find something that would seem to lead him down a correct path, only to stumble over a tight-lipped politician or a suddenly amnesiac potential witness.

It was then he decided to find a partner. He needed someone trustworthy and with a nose for the truth.

He chose Chloe Sullivan. But first, he did some checking up on her. His research took him all the way back to her high school days spent in Smallville, Kansas as editor of her school newspaper. She seemed to have a slight love of the unexplainable, and a fierce need to seek out the truth at all costs.

From Smallville, she moved to Metropolis where she attended Metropolis University and graduated with a degree in, surprise, surprise, journalism. After college, she worked for a year at The Daily Planet, but left when the Chicago Tribune, noticed one of her articles and hired her away. She was quoted as being fine with that, since her cousin Lois Lane had already nabbed the spotlight there.

Michael knew she counted the billionaire Lex Luthor and fellow ace reporter Clark Kent as friends. While this could come in handy later on, Michael didn’t want to include too many people. Lex Luthor had ties to powerful politicians and from what he’d seen so far, Michael was convinced that politics played a large role in Terrence Steadman’s murder.

He would have preferred calling her to set up a meeting, instead of going to her place of work, but she didn’t answer her home phone and he refused to leave a message. So he chose to see her in person, on her turf. Early morning seemed the most logical time, before the newsroom was crowded with people and when her mind was clear and fresh for the day. He wanted her full attention.

She had literally leapt at the chance to have an exclusive story about Lincoln, and Michael was instantly hesitant of her. But after listening to what he had to say, and when he leaned in close to talk to her and she didn’t move away, he knew he’d made the right decision in seeking her out as his partner. She was strong and eager, and willing to work with him.

That had been yesterday morning. He’d told her to gather all her notes on Lincoln’s case and he would contact her with plans to meet somewhere to discuss them. She agreed, and they parted ways.

It was just after six pm the following day, and Michael had been home for 5 minutes when there came a cheerful knock on his door. Frowning, he moved across the hardwood floor and peered through the peephole. Much to his surprise, there stood Chloe Sullivan. She smiled and raised a brow.

“Are you going to make me stand out here all night?” she called.

Michael opened the door and pulled her inside, quickly shutting and locking it behind her.

“What are you doing here? I was just about to call you,” he said.

“Sorry. Couldn’t wait. You said time was of the essence, so I took the initiative and tracked down your address. When I saw you enter the building, I followed you in.” She stepped into the apartment and dropped her bag on the kitchen counter. Then she took off her coat and folded it, placing it next to her bag.

“Make yourself at home,” Michael said dryly. “How did you find out where I live?”

“I have my ways.”

Michael just stared. Chloe shrugged and said, “I took down the license plate number of your car and went to my source at the DMV.”

“Very clever. Tell me, how many sources do you have?”

“More than I’ll ever use, but it’s nice to have them on speed dial.”

She turned around and took in the sight of Michael’s apartment.

“Sparse, but clean. I’m impressed,” she said. “I expected tell-tale signs of a bachelor pad.”

“How do you know I’m not married?”

Chloe grinned at him. “No ring. And also, no records of any marriages or divorces on file anywhere.”

“You’re very thorough.”

“Thank you.”

Michael stood by the sofa and watched Chloe make the rounds of his kitchen and living room area. She stopped near the computer he had set up by the balcony doors and ran a hand over the many photographs and articles he had taped to the wall beside the desk.

“You’ve been at this awhile,” she said, her eyes roving over the papers.

“Too long. It’s time to pin down some answers.”

“All right then. Shall we start?”

Michael’s mouth twitched. He was as eager to get going on this as she was, but this was not what he’d planned at all. His apartment was his sanctuary, kept private from everyone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a guest, much less a pretty woman standing in his living room.

“Mind if I change clothes first?” he asked.

Chloe waved a hand at him and sat down at his computer.

“Can I start her up?” she asked.

Michael frowned, and she gave him a look and said, “Hey, if we’re going to do this, go after the whole conspiracy theory angle, we’ve got to trust each other or we’ll never get anywhere. Obviously, you want to trust me, or else you never would have come to me.”

“You’re right,” Michael conceded, pulling at his tie to loosen it. “Go ahead.”

Chloe rubbed her hands together and booted up the computer. Michael hurried down the hall to his bedroom and changed from his tan colored suit to black pants and a burgundy button down shirt. When he came back to the living room, he found Chloe frowning at the computer screen.

She looked up as he approached and tilted her head. “You always dress like that?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Professional. Don’t you have any jeans?”

“Sure I do. I just prefer not to wear them while I’m conducting business.”

“So this is strictly business then,” Chloe said, her mouth curled up in a small grin.

Michael answered by saying, “Mustard seed.”

“Pardon me?”

“I assume the reason you were frowning just a minute ago is because you couldn’t come up with the correct password to open my files.”

Chloe blinked. “Oh. Yes.”

“Mustard seed, no spaces,” Michael said.

She typed in the password and was granted access.

“Would you like some wine?” Michael asked, walking over to the kitchen.

“I’d like some food, if you have some,” Chloe said. “I’m starving.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard and her eyes never left the screen.

“Ah yes, food.” Michael opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. “How about beef and bok choy?”

Chloe’s eyes suddenly appeared over the top of the computer. “Uh, well, I was thinking more along the lines of take out or delivered pizza, but sure. Beef and bok choy.”

While Michael worked to prepare dinner, Chloe checked out each and every piece of information he had saved on his computer. Comparing that with what he had displayed on the wall, she was beginning to understand why he felt there was more to Lincoln’s case than simple murder. After 30 minutes of looking over his notes, Chloe’s sense of smell picked up something fragrant and wonderful coming from the kitchen. Her mouth watered and she got up to check it out.

“You did all this?” she asked, unable to hide the surprise in her voice as she took in the sight.

Michael finished spooning the stir-fried mixture of vegetables and beef onto a bed of bok choy and set the wok back on the stove.

“An easy meal,” he said. “Would you mind draining the noodles?”

Chloe tried to maneuver around him, but the kitchen was small, and her hip bumped against his, causing her to step off balance. His hands were suddenly on her waist, steadying her. She couldn’t deny the thrill she felt as he touched her, and she realized she didn’t want to. Michael Scofield was a very attractive man, and she would be a fool to think otherwise.

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and throaty.

She swallowed and nodded, and he released her, turning back to the counter. Chloe took a deep breath and focused on the pot of noodles. With shaking hands, she drained the water and poured them into the bowl that Michael handed her. He carried the food to the table, which he’d set for two, and then pulled a chair out, nodding at her.

Wordlessly, she sat and allowed him to fill her plate and her wine glass. It seemed slightly surreal to her. She’d started the evening with the intention of hitting the facts and digging up some new clues about Lincoln Burrows. Never in her life had she imagined she’d be sitting down to a nice meal with Michael Scofield across the table from her.

“Let’s eat first, and then we can get started,” he said, picking up his fork.

“Sure, yeah.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Chloe couldn’t stand it any longer and asked, “Mustard seed?”

“What?”

“Why is your password ‘mustard seed’?”

Michael swallowed and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “‘If you have faith no bigger than a mustard seed, nothing will prove impossible to you,’” he quoted.

“That’s nice. What’s it from?”

“The Bible.”

Chloe felt her cheeks grow hot. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were a religious man.”

“I’m not. Not really. Lincoln used to tell me that you have to have faith that everything will right itself in the end. I was a junior in high school when I stumbled upon that verse, and by that time, my brother had already had run-ins with the law.”

“But you continued to have faith in him,” Chloe said.

“Sure. He’s my brother. Isn’t there someone in your life you’ve continued to have faith in, no matter what?”

Chloe’s mind flashed back to Smallville and her days running around with Clark. Slowly, she nodded.

“I see what you mean,” she said.

They finished dinner and Chloe insisted on helping with the dishes, but Michael told her not to worry about them.

“Let’s get to work, shall we?” he asked.

He brought over a chair for Chloe to sit on while he used the computer. They went over everything he’d gathered so far, and Chloe gave an excellent mini-presentation about all the information she’d learned from her various sources.

“I have a friend who works as a nurse in the prison infirmary. She hears things,” Chloe said, “and the rumor around Fox River is that Lincoln has quite a reputation.”

“As what?”

“His nickname is Linc the Sink, presumably because he brought down a very powerful man.” Chloe smiled. “Of course, he’s also quite solid and can handle himself against anyone that he comes up against in there, too.”

“You think he’s solid?” Michael asked.

“The guy’s got a neck like a ham hock,” Chloe said. “Obviously he got the brawns in the family while you got the brains.”

Michael said nothing for a moment, and Chloe felt bad.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out,” she said. “Sometimes, my mouth gets ahead of my brain, and I end up saying stupid stuff.”

“No, it’s okay. I suppose that’s what anyone would think if they compared us side by side,“ Michael said with a wry smile.

Chloe studied a page of Michael’s notes and grew quiet. Her brows furrowed, she dug through her stack of papers and with a triumphant, “Ha!” pulled one free.

“What is it?” Michael asked.

“Here, look at this. This article in the Sun-Times has a quote from the district attorney’s office saying that an anonymous tip from an unidentified female caller led police to Lincoln’s apartment where they caught him with the bloody pants,“ she said.

“Yeah, so?”

“But this article from the Tribune,” Chloe said, fumbling through her papers again, “this one has a quote from an officer at the scene of the arrest saying that the tip came in from a male caller!”

“What does that mean though? Couldn’t it be a slip of the tongue?”

Chloe shook her head. “I interviewed the officer myself. This is a quote from my article. At first he said it was merely an anonymous caller, and then I asked if the police could identify the gender of the caller. He said it was male, definitely male.”

Michael took the articles from her and read them. Chloe’s heartbeat kicked up a notch at the thought that they were really onto something here.

“Why would the district attorney’s office say female?” Michael asked.

“Either someone fed them the wrong information, or they had more than one tip. It was such a hectic night, male, female, what difference did it make? It’s as if someone wanted to make sure the cops caught Lincoln red-handed.”

“It was a set-up,” Michael mused, “just like he said.”

Chloe was practically bouncing off her seat.

“This is really big,” she said. “Really, really big.”

“So you believe me now?”

“I do, Michael. I do.”

“Good. Then let’s keep going.”

~end Part Two

onto Part Three