"... Mom! Mom!" Called the baritone voice from the kitchen. Sara's motherly footsteps approached, hands on her hips.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Do you want macaroni and cheese or pasta?" He asked, not looking at her and focused on seasoning the chicken to his best ability.

"Macaroni and cheese. You've failed, Michael!" She said, peeking over his shoulder to find the chicken, "We had a deal, no meat for a week and you failed." She pointed.

"Technically, I didn't."

Sara paused.

"Uh, yeah you did." She slipped into the wooden kitchen chair with a condescending smile on her face.

"Give me a second. I've got to put this chicken in the oven." Sara waited patiently to see if her son had some kind of evidence to expose her deeds. He washed his hands, dried and pulled out his smartphone.

"How do you explain this?"

Sara's eyes widened at the image of her sneaking a piece of fried chicken into her watery mouth by the kitchen sink. At the angle it was shot, it looked at as if the camera was so conveniently placed above her in the corner. Yet another defeat by her 19 year old son. She scoffed, giving up before she started to defend herself.

"Looks like we can't give up the meat in the house, so why try? Right?" His sly voice coated the room and he slid back to the counter rolling in his victory.

"Alright, alright, alright... you got me. Great, now I'm going to have watch one of your crazy animes. For how long again?"

"A week of anime. You'll be fine. Boy, I'm sure glad I set up those cameras. I knew you were going to crack, mom. It's okay." He laughed.

"Oh joy. This should be interesting."

A knock at the door stopped their conversation, and Sara headed to open it. Lincoln stood with a large, overwhelmingly heavy box and he placed it down on the floor without greeting Sara.

"What's-what's all of this?" Bewildered, she watched Lincoln's deep breathing.

"It's MJ's tools. I had to clean out the garage and it's been a pain in the ass. Found his box, figured Mikey needs it. Is he here?" Sara closed the door, and snooped into the box briefly.

"He's in the kitchen. You know how he loves to cook."

"Hey, kid." Lincoln affectionately patted his nephew's back.

"Hey Uncle Linc. How's it going?"

"Good, good. How's school?" Lincoln casually found his way to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer.

"School is school. Nothing new. I received a third scholarship today."

"He's been doing so great in school." Sara said, proudly as she leaned on the archway of the kitchen.

"I figure I snatch a couple of scholarships and grants so it'll be easy on mom."

"Honey, we have more than enough. Don't worry about me." She said, placing a nurturing peck on his cheek.

"Just like his dad..." Lincoln blurted out; Sara felt a tingle in her stomach. Anytime Michael is even remotely mentioned, she still sees the vision of his reddened lips uttering the very words she'd never wished would be said.

"Yup... just like his dad." Sara sat in the same chair and Lincoln joined her.

Michael stared down at the pasta with an unsettling feeling. The other night, he had a dream about a shadowed man standing over his bed saying "Have" repeatedly. He wondered if the man would say anything other than that. Awkwardly, he felt this man was extremely familiar. He pulled himself out of his thoughts and turned to his uncle.

"How's the wedding plans going?" He asked; Lincoln's stressed sigh clarified they weren't sailing so smooth.

"Ah, Sofia's been walking around aggravated ever since she found out about the twins. Fighting with me, she says my life is my job and I need to be home with her more often. Which, is true but, I mean someone has to bring the bacon home right? ... And everytime I come home I have to go back outside because she ate up all the food. She's like jabba the hut." Michael chuckled. Anytime Michael asked Lincoln how he was doing, a therapy session would commence but Michael didn't mind. He loved his Uncle's honesty and for that, he tried to help him through his issues; whatever they were.

"She's scared. I mean, you guys are having twins. That'll scare the hell out of me. She feels alone because you're rarely around. If you spend more time with her, work with the wedding planning, and then she'll tone down the fighting. She just might have you in mind before she pulls out the next twinkie and save you some." He joked.

"... You should be a psychiatrist. You're good at this kid." He replied and took another swig from the beer.

"Maybe you're right... it'll work. Buy her something thoughtful. Something that she likes, because she wouldn't be expecting that. Roses, chocolate; it's all cliche. Think way back to revitalize the relationship. She'd feel special." Sara had a twinkle showed she was delighted to hear her son speaking like a true gentleman.

"Good idea, kid."

"I know. You should stay for dinner, there's no food in your house. You'll be starving with a crazed pregnant woman." Michael's sardonic chuckle made Lincoln laugh.

Lincoln assisted Sara in setting up the table for dinner and Michael flicked on the stereo system to play very smooth spanish music. He loved the Buena Vista Social Club; he'd often listen to their music while studying and it helped him perfect his spanish.

He stopped and stared at the fourth plate, "Someone's coming over?" a curious tone underlying his comment.

"Craig, remember?"

"Oh, him..." Michael continued to the kitchen and Sara following, intending on interrogating him.

"I know you don't like him... I get that. But, you should give him a chance. He's a really nice guy."

"Yeah, he is a nice guy. Real sweet guy. But, is he reliable? Is he dependable? Is he safe to have around? Can he be trusted? I have so many questions that need answering." Sara sighed. He turned to her with sincere eyes, "Look mom, I get you're fond of him. And I'm glad he's coming over tonight. But, don't expect me to let some random guy in so quickly. You're my mom, the first woman I've ever loved and if something happens to you, I have no problem having blood on my hands." Michael's love fueled arms wrapped around Sara and she noticed how bulky he got. Michael grew from a little boy with snot running from his button nose to a 6'3 man with chest hair. There were days she couldn't believe how fast he grew and that's why she embraced it.

"I know, honey. I know." She said whispering into his ears, sniffing in the scent of his Calvin Klein cologne. Compromising, they joined Lincoln back in the dining room with the food and a sudden light knock came from the front door. Sara went to answer. A lanky, considerably attractive hispanic male stood with a dozen of roses and a grand smirk on his face.

Michael rolled his eyes, "So typical." He murmured. Sara and Craig shared a hug and a small kiss before he entered the house.

"Where are you coming from?" Sara asked, analyzing his businessman attire.

"A board meeting. I've gotten tons to tell you." His utterance nearly irritated Michael; he had a posh demeanor about him.

You could have done better, mom. He thought.

"Craig, this is Lincoln. My brother and you remember Michael Jr." Craig shook Lincoln's rugged hands and they exchange a plastic smile. Michael nodded, gesturing a hello and didn't go any further.

"So, let's eat!" Sara said, excited and proceeded to sit down.

"Oh, sweetheart-"

Sweetheart?

"-Where's the bathroom? I've got to wash my hands." Sara pointed to the end of the first floor hallway and he made his way there.

"What kind of man washes his hands before eating?" Lincoln murmured to Michael.

"A joke, that's the kind." Michael scoffed.

"You guys! Cut it out." Sara hissed across the table.

"We're just pointing out the obvious." Lincoln's shrugged irritated Sara more but all she could do was laugh.

"Give him a chance." She stressed.

"Mom, stop. It sounds like you're trying to sell me something from a paid program."

"Ugh! Okay, fine!"

Craig appeared and sat across from Michael with a sardonic smirk on his face. Michael exchanged one as well.

"So, where are you from?" Lincoln asked, hovering over his food like a prisoner.

"I was born and raised in California. When I turned 3 my parents moved back here, to Panama and I've been living here ever since."

"Man, I miss California. Pretty cool place. Crappy traffic though."

"Yes, I'll be going back there soon. Maybe we can all go there for vacation." Craig's response itched on Michael to say something but he held back. He wanted to test the waters.

"What do you do again?"

"Ha, well, I have a few jobs: I'm the owner of a well established real estate company, owner of a law firm, and stock broker." Michael widened his eyes.

"Wow, so you never have any time. There's a lot of movement. How'd you get into it?" He swapped another bite from his chicken, peering into Craig's eyes, relentlessly.

"My father passed down the real estate company to me when I turned 18 after he passed away. Then, I just began to look into more opportunities and branched from there."

The fact that Craig had three businesses to run, washed his hands before eating, puts a tissue to cover his beer, and brought his mother flowers were all red flags to Michael. Craig wasn't the man for the job.

"Cool. How'd you two meet?"

"Lots of questions huh? Ha-ha. Um-"Craig cleared his throat a bit nervously, "We met at a charity convention. She was the prettiest girl in the entire building." Craig twinkled his eyes at Sara and squeezed her delicate hand slightly.

"You mean woman... she was the prettiest woman in the entire building." Michael corrected.

Awkward silence.

"Yes, precisely..."

"So, do you watch sports?" Lincoln asked, alleviating the weird moment.

The dinner had random moments of silence due to Michael's interrogative nature. Sara kissed Craig good-bye and stormed into the kitchen where Lincoln and Michael joked, drunkenly.

"Why'd you have to treat him like that?" She asked, hands clutching her hips.

"How did I treat him?" Michael's innocent tone aggravated Sara intensely.

"You know how, Michael. Don't play dumb with me. Why'd you interrogate him like that?"

"How else am I suppose to get to know the man that my mother's into, if I don't ask questions? You wanted me to give him a chance, right?"

"Right, but-"

Michael interrupted in a silky voice, "-So, I did. I don't see how this could be an issue. Do you want to know how he did?"

She stared with hooded eyes waiting for his answer.

"He did awful."

"How?!"

"Mom, there was a ridiculous amount of red flags in the whole conversation. He came with flowers, strike one. He washed his hands before using the bathroom-"

"THAT'S SANITARY!" She shouted.

"-That's strike two. He placed a tissue over his beer, that's strike three. He runs three companies. A man with a busy schedule like that isn't looking for a wife. He's looking for a booty-call..."

"Michael, you're being ridiculous! He was a good guy, you just want to hinder me."

"No. I'm trying to help you... my father didn't save us for no reason." Now, that comment shocked Sara and Lincoln both; Michael never mentioned his father. Besides being shocking, it also indicated that Michael had a little too much to drink.

"... My father, he saved me to protect you. I understand your desire for a companion. I get that. But, all I ask is for you to try not to disregard my opinion. If I see something that isn't right, I feel like it's only right to tell you what's not right." Sara stood there, in a fit of emotions. Not being able to respond, she walked off, leaving Lincoln and Michael alone.

"Hey kid, you're done for the night." Lincoln slide Michael's beer to him and finished the rest of it. Michael didn't argue.

"... You never mention your father... why not?"

"... I don't feel the need to wake the dead, is all. He's my father. That's all I know."

"No... you know more than that. He's a hero-"

"Okay, you don't have to give me the famous speech, Uncle Linc. I know what he did and who he was according to you and everyone else. You guys talk about him like I'm supposed to walk in his footsteps. I'm myself. I'm Michael River Scofield, Jr. I am my father's son but I am not my father." Michael's explanation brought light to the fact that everyone constantly compares Michael Jr to Michael Sr and how much that broke down Michael's identity.

"... I'm-I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't know you felt like that." Lincoln said, not looking in his nephew's eyes.

"... I have to live with the fact that I'm constantly being compared to him everyday, let alone I didn't have the chance to meet him... it's this hole in me that I can never fill. All I have are these pictures and a video of him... that's all I have to fill in the hole of the infamous Michael Scofield... and yet, I know I owe him my life for him saving mines. I feel I pay homage to him by being the best man I can possibly be. Being the best son, nephew, student... whatever. Just the best that I can be..." Michael had never spoken to anyone about how he felt until now, and luckily it was his uncle instead of some random girl whom he fell in love with and who'd leave him in the end.

"I understand." Lincoln changed the subject to Sofia to avoid Michael from being further filled with emotions. Michael had been stoic, just like his father. A man of very few words but the words were important. Lincoln said his good-byes to Michael and Sara and made his way back home.

"... Mom, I'm sorry I came off the way I did-" She shushed him, gleaming into his ocean blue eyes.

"I understand, Michael. I understand. No need to apologize." They shared a settling moment of silence, enjoying each other's company, "... Come on, you've gotten school in the morning. You should get ready for bed." They walked, hand in hand upstairs to retire for the night.

Afterschool, Michael swayed his tall walk to the Principal Hernandez office. The principal wanted to discuss his position as being the treasury of student government; that he had handpicked Michael specifically for that slot. He didn't trust any of the other students for that part.

"I'll be announcing your position to the student government tomorrow." Principal Hernandez said, with a beaming grin.

"Thank you Principal Hernandez, for this opportunity. I really appreciate it." He shook his hand.

"No problem, Mr. Scofield. You're one of our finest students. We need more students like you around here. Now, I'll see you tomorrow." They departed and Michael made his way to the student postal office. He had expected more news from his bank accounts and other student loans he would have eventually had to pay back. Flicking through the mail, his eyes laid onto a letter that was sent from a prison with very eloquent penmanship. Michael clutched onto the letter, and tore it open. His mind went blank and he shot open the letter that was folded into three sections. Before he read the letter, his eyes started from the ending.

Signed,
Michael Scofield, Sr.

His heart flushed to his throat.