Grow
by TeeJay

Characters: Michael Scofield and Sara Tancredi
Rating: PG13
Summary: In the wee hours Michael and Sara have a discussion about certain parts of the human anatomy. No, not THOSE parts! Sheesh! Gutterbrain! :o)
Setting: Early to mid season 4
Author's Note: I hate it when people use this as an excuse to get away with mediocre writing style and lame plot, but I'm still gonna say it: This is my first Prison Break story. And I hope it doesn't have to come across as an excuse. I have plenty practice in fan fiction writing, just not yet in this particular fandom. Originally, I wanted to write a serious and dark MiSa story, but this came out completely different, once the characters started talking in my head. Long story short, I hope you enjoy this little piece. Leave me a review if you do, they're always appreciated.

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It was quiet. For once. They both liked the early mornings, the time when everyone else was still sleeping—or pretending to be. Occasionally they would hear the patting of feet around the warehouse if one of the group had been sought out by their own demons before dawn, eliminating every chance of much needed sleep.

Sleep was something that came in short supply these days. And both Michael and Sara knew what it meant to be deprived of it by their demons. The kind that would seek you out at night and grab hold of you and keep you in their throes.

It had become a pattern for them to wake up next to each other in the small hours of the night. Sometimes they would succumb to their passion and make love, sometimes they would talk, and sometimes they'd just lie there and drink each other in, communicate without words.

This morning, they had woken up and read in each other's eyes that they both wanted the same thing. Before they knew it, their lips were on each other in a first gentle, then much hungrier kiss that would quickly turn into the heated collision of their naked bodies. It had been tempestuous but also intensely intimate. They were still getting to know each other, and their physical bonding was a part of that.

It was a fleeting second where Sara longed for a cigarette after, once she had caught her breath. But looking at him in the half dark quickly sated her thirst for substitute pleasures.

He turned his head in her direction and noticed the small smile playing on her lips. His sometimes piercing, sometimes so soft blue eyes sought out hers. "What's so amusing?"

Her hand went to where the stubbles of his hair formed the dark shadow that covered his head. She traced the hairline on his forehead where it formed the little cusp that was just one of those things she loved about him.

"I was trying to imagine how you look with hair."

He feigned hurt and it almost made her laugh out loud.

"What? I have hair!" he protested.

"All of a fraction of an inch. I mean real hair. Have you ever grown it out?"

He had to smile now, thinking back to his teen years. "Please don't remind me. When I was 16, I looked like Lenny Kravitz. It was kinda embarrassing."

She chuckled. "Really?"

He nodded. "Believe me, you don't wanna know."

"I'm curious now. So, is it curly?"

"Too curly."

"You're making me wanna see it," she teased him, drawing imaginary patterns on his head with her forefinger.

"You seriously want me to let my hair grow?"

She nodded slowly with a cheeky look in her eyes. "Maybe I'm gonna hate it, then you can shave it off again."

"Have you ever worn yours short?"

She raised her eyebrows. "You want me to cut my hair?"

"No!" he said quickly. "No, I was just wondering."

"In my early twenties. If you looked like Lenny Kravitz, I looked like Pink."

"Including the color?" he asked.

"No. God no. I was never that adventurous."

"Shame. You got me curious too."

Her gaze on him was determined and her voice serious. "I'm sorry, Michael, but I'm not gonna dye my hair pink."

He laughed a quick laugh. "Relax. I wasn't going to ask you to." He took a strand of her hair of her hair and twirled it between his forefinger and thumb. "I like your hair the way it is."

"I'm glad," she whispered, taking his hand in hers, slowly tracing kisses along the back of it down to where the scars on his arms started that had only barely started to heal.

He drew in a longing breath, knowing what was to come, and enjoying the brief flutter of butterflies in his belly.

"Dammit!" rang a voice from outside the boat that they both recognized as Mahone's.

He sighed. It would be one of those days. One of those days where he wouldn't be able to finish what he had started, where he would be interrupted at every step along the way. And always when he was trying to get alone time with the woman he loved.

"Let me go look," he said, slipping out of bed, his eyes scanning the floor for his boxers and jeans.

She took his hand before he could completely pull away. "Do you have to?"

He knew she was trying to be playful, but the gravity of the world outside this boat had just filtered in through the cracks, slowly reactivating the rational part of his mind.

"I'm sorry," he just whispered, then smiled. "I'll make it up to you."

As he put on his long-sleeved shirt and went to leave the boat, he turned around for a last look at her. She put her hands a few inches above her head, indicating a voluminous hair style.

He couldn't help but smile and pointed at her, mouthing, "You're on." Silently he prayed, "Please don't let her be into Afro look."

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