believe a lie

The day Fernando Sucre met Michael Scofield was just like any other day in prison. The sun was shining, and they got to enjoy an hour of it. The food was still crap, but they ate it because it was there. A new fish joined the pond, big deal.

But there was something different about this one. Sucre knew it the second he laid eyes on Michael. This guy had a look about him, like he knew things. Now, Sucre would be the first to admit that he was not a smart man, but he felt that he was a decent judge of character. And while Michael had the tattoos of a tough guy, he didn’t really play the part very well. Just beneath the surface, Sucre could see a calm and calculating mind.

This boy did not belong there.

Being cellmates with Michael, Sucre quickly learned a few things. One, that Michael was Lincoln Burrows’ younger brother, and two, that Michael had a set on him for sure. Taking on Abruzzi was a stupid thing to do, and he paid for it. Lying in his bunk above, Sucre listened to the deep breaths coming from Michael as he dealt with the pain.

When Sucre was sure Michael was asleep, he climbed down from his bunk and peered in at his cellmate. Michael laid on his bed, on top of the blankets, one arm hanging over the edge, his long fingers brushing against the concrete floor. The other arm was across his chest, his hand clenched into a fist and resting just over his heart. He let out a small sigh, and for a second, Sucre glimpsed a lonely little boy.

Whatever else was going on here, Michael Scofield was not meant for prison, no matter how hard he tried to convince everyone that he was. Without thinking, Sucre reached out towards Michael’s face, his fingers coming within millimeters of touching the smooth skin of his cheek. At the last second, Sucre pulled back, startled at his actions.

He climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He didn’t know what drew him to Michael. All he knew was that if Michael wanted him to believe a lie, he would.

Without question.

~end