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02 January 2009 @ 12:21 am
Prison Break - Remote Controlled  
Title: Remote Controlled
Author: clair_de_lune
Characters: Lincoln/Sara (implied Michael/Sara)
Timeline: Season 2
Category: Het
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~ 1675
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: The three of them are on the run, but Michael seems to believe that they don’t need to know what’s going to happen next. Lincoln grumbles his disapproval; Sara is stubbornly silent in hers.
Author’s Note: Many thanks to badboy_fangirl for the beta. Any reaming mistakes are mine.

They’re sitting on the floor by the foot of the bed.

Michael left them in the motel room and went to get ‘some stuff’. He didn’t specify what kind of stuff, it’s not like the three of them are on the run and need to know what’s going to happen next, right?

The three of them are on the run, but Michael seems to believe that they don’t need to know what’s going to happen next. Lincoln grumbles his disapproval; Sara is stubbornly silent in hers.

The motel bedroom is crappy. What’s even crappier is the fact that the TV has only two channels: there is a boxing match on the first and a movie on the second. Lincoln wants to watch the movie; Sara would rather put the match on. Because the movie is Escape from Alcatraz and seriously, she just went through the real life version. Lincoln would rather avoid watching the boxing match since he gave and received more punches during three years than he cares to acknowledge.

She thinks that she should be nervous. She’s locked up with Lincoln Burrows, sentenced to death and on the run murderer. Well, sentenced to death and on the run convict actually. The ‘murderer’ label was stuck on him a bit too hastily.

He thinks that he should be uncomfortable. He’s locked up (it’s all relative) with Doctor Tancredi who’s in this mess because she decided (it’s all relative too) to help them.

During the last couple of days, they discovered that they got along quite well. Enough to elicit a hint of annoyance from Michael (and Sara wonders if being locked up in a crappy motel bedroom with a two channels TV set is some sort of retaliation). Them getting along quite well is really a good thing: given the situation, she would hate to discover that Lincoln is a total jerk. He’s nice, almost friendly, politely careful and doesn’t comment on her bad hair cut or the wound on her forearm. He merely asked if she needed help changing the dressing.

Except right now, they’re fighting over the remote control – it’s still subtle but probably won’t stay that way very long. Lincoln grabs the remote that lies next to her and changes the channel. He doesn’t let it go. She decides not to get bogged down in the possible psychological connotation of the phallic meaning of the remote control and just points out, very quietly, “I was watching.”

“The match?”

“Anything but a story about guys breaking out of jail. If it’s a boxing match, it’s a boxing match.”

She takes back the remote from him and flips channel. Match. He reaches out and tries to retrieve the small object, but she bends backwards and escapes him. Surely he could try to take the thing back by force, but she would call him a bully. Thing is, she would be right.

He tries nonetheless and things get out of hand quite quickly. Very quickly, even. When he pulls her hair (what’s left of it after the rough way she cut it anyway), she widens her eyes in surprise.

“Hair? You pull hair? What the heck are you? A girl or a caveman?”

He thinks that whatever the answer to that question may be, it’s meant to be insulting and decides that, for this very reason, the doc deserves no special treatment from him. He wants the remote; he’ll have the remote.

Or you know, maybe not. She stretches her arm above her head, under the bed, out of his reach. He pounces on her (and can’t slip his shoulder under the bed far enough to grab her hand), she wriggles beneath him to get rid of him and he can feel... and... and also... and um... three years... It wasn’t a good idea; it was even a stupid idea. It wasn’t an idea at all, actually, since he didn’t think. It’s amazing how fast things can go astray when... three years...

She says “Ouch!” when he rests his hand near her and pulls her hair again, this time around because of mere clumsiness, “Jeez!” when he bumps his nose into hers (and he thought she liked boxing...), and a word he won’t say aloud when he kisses her. Well, ‘kiss’ is the official, technical word because actually, it’s quite painful when you underestimate the distance and... whatever. Just like his previous actions weren’t thought out, that one isn’t entirely willing, it’s just controlled by... three years...

However, you still can consider, he muses, that it’s almost friendly as long as no tongue is—

All right, if you rely on the no-tongue criteria, it’s not friendly anymore. She struggles under him and he struggles on top of her. They can’t really understand how it keeps going on when each of them is desperate to stop everything, but it keeps going on. It’s a fact. It keeps going on and on and on. He thinks it’s rather pleasant, but he’d better enjoy it before Michael learns what happened, tries to beat the crap out of him, hurts himself in the process and needs Sara stitching him up again.

OK, ‘again’ was a mean thing to think: as far as he knows, Sara hasn’t stitched Michael up since Fox River at least.


Michael... Michael...

Shit. Michael. Sara. Michael. Yuck. Yuck. Three years. Shit.

She slaps her hand (her free hand, the other one is still clutching the damn remote) on the floor near her and he wonders whether she’s acknowledging her defeat or signaling her disapprobation.

She slaps her hand on the floor near them to let him know that she needs oxygen and that her shoulder, stuck under the bed, is starting to hurt. As for the rest, it’s not unpleasant per se, she admits, but it’s really not the model of brother she’d ordered. With that in mind, she has two options:

Firstly, she can punch him in the shoulders with her fists which, given their respective builds, would be about as efficient as, let’s say, digging into a wall with a dessert spoon to break out of jail.

Secondly, she can hit him with her knee and, by doing so, break among other things her Hippocratic Oath.

Actually she has a third option. She bites. Hard. He lifts his head up.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he grouses around his bitten, stinging tongue.

“Just what I was about to ask you.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

He doesn’t mean her biting him. He means what lead to the biting.

“Too much sugar. What is wrong with you?”

He watches her with a weird expression on his face and starts to lift up a hand...


... three fingers up.

“OK,” she cuts him off. “OK.”

“Three years, doc. Some reactions are instinctive.”

“OK! I got it. Can you get up? You’re squashing me.”

He shifts to sit on his haunches. She crawls up a bit and leans against the end of the bed. He extends his hand. She looks at it with caution then with exasperation when he asks, “Are you going to give me the remote now?”

“No. You’re Michael’s brother.”

“You won’t give the remote because I’m Michael’s brother?” She squints at him and he thinks that she could be tempted to throw the remote at him. “And you’re his girl.”

“I’m not his girl.”

“Then the two of you made a pretty good imitation yesterday.”

He barely has the time to bend sideways; the remote lands next to him. Unusable. The batteries bounce in one direction, the hood in another and a few buttons burst in the air. He whistles sarcastically.

“Honestly, I’m glad that you’re his girl, not mine.”

“I am not his girl.”

“Then why do you mind that I’m his brother?”

She quirks her eyebrows.

“You’re his brother, you think I’m his girlfriend and you do that?”

Huh. She has a point. Once again he lifts up three fingers to remind her... but she doesn’t seem to pity him now. He thinks she looked softer in Fox River. Of course, it was before Michael hoodwinked her, before her father was murdered, before she was almost killed and before some Secret Service agent used water torture on her. A lot of befores. He casts a glance at her and all he can think is once again: Michael. Yuck.

She gets to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

“To brush me teeth.”


The way she looks at him implies that if she hadn’t already thrown the remote at him, she would now. If he must be totally honest, he has to admit that the brushing the teeth thing is not a bad idea. He wouldn’t mind following her lead actually.

When she comes out of the bathroom, with her teeth brushed, she’s calmed down. He has too, and he’s sitting on the bed, against the pillow, perusing through the Bible he fished out of the night table drawer. On the TV, the match is playing.

“Um, so, Doc, if you want to watch the match...,” he kindly offers.

She gazes at the destructed remote and then at the beat-up buttons on the TV set.

“You can’t change channel anymore, can you?”


For a few minutes, she watches the match as if it's the most interesting thing she's ever seen, despite the terrible reception on the old television. When one of the two boxers hits the other so hard that his mouth piece flies out, she winces in sympathy.

“We won’t tell Michael about that, will we?”

Lincoln barely looks up from his Bible.

“Not unless you want the three of us to have a long, painful and boring discussion.”

Michael opens the motel door a few minutes later. Sara is sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring at the TV, her fists clenched with anxiety and pressed against her lips. Lincoln is at the other end of the bed, apparently enthralled by his reading.

Michael lifts his eyebrows and quite logically asks, “What happened?”


Fics love to be commented.
Current Mood: sleepysleepy
jendilljendill on January 2nd, 2009 02:12 am (UTC)
LoL... "What happened?" I love it!
Clair de Lune: pb - trio2clair_de_lune on January 2nd, 2009 07:58 am (UTC)
Aren't they incredibly naive to think that Michael won't notice anything?!

Thanks for commenting :)
tokenblkgirl: Prison Break: Lincoln Sleepstokenblkgirl on January 2nd, 2009 09:09 am (UTC)
I loved the argument over Sara being Michael's woman, that made me smile. And it's just like Linc to consider hashing over the events with his brother a waste of time, he's just so black and white about those things. At least, that's how I like to think of him anyway. :)

I really enjoyed this story. *smiles*
Clair de Lune: pb - lincoln saraclair_de_lune on January 3rd, 2009 04:55 pm (UTC)
And it's just like Linc to consider hashing over the events with his brother a waste of time

He's not very talkative anyway, right? And yet I imagine that it would be an interesting discussion *g*

Thanks for your comment :)
BTW, obviously, I wasn't refering to this story when I mentioned a not happy Lincoln/Sara fic in another entry ^_^

Edited at 2009-01-03 04:55 pm (UTC)
nefeliciousssnefeliciousss on January 2nd, 2009 04:57 pm (UTC)
Amazing!The explanation about why each one wanted to see each channnel was very funny!
Clair de Lune: pb - lincoln saraclair_de_lune on January 3rd, 2009 04:56 pm (UTC)
Thanks a lot! I'm glad you found it amusing :)
ladykaru: Adorkableladykaru on January 2nd, 2009 08:12 pm (UTC)
Ha, loved Lincoln on this one. And Lincoln and Sara's discussion after the 'kiss' was pretty funny LOL.

*sighs* I miss season 2 and them on the run and Sara trying to define what she is to Michael...
Clair de Lune: pb - lincoln saraclair_de_lune on January 3rd, 2009 04:56 pm (UTC)
And Lincoln and Sara's discussion after the 'kiss' was pretty funny
Poor Lincoln. She probably just confused him even more ;)

*sighs with you* I miss so many things fromS2...

Thanks for dropping a note :)