A/N : Guys, I'm back with another chapter! I'm sorry this one took me so long, but I was actually kind of stuck after writing the previous chapter. Because I was like : 'okay, they've gotten a package from Michael. What is it and how did it get there?'. Then it came to me, so I wrote it down - tadaa! I really hope you'll like it.

Please let me know?

Xo, as always
and an extra X to Ana, she knows why. *smiles*

Michael

"Leave us."

Michael's eyes opened at the demanding voice, because even though it was not directed at him, it was directed at the goons who were blocking his doorway. They were hesitant to leave him, so the man repeated his order. "Leave us. I'll call you when you're needed."

His prisoner sat up straight, his elbows on his knees and a weary expression on his face. "What do you want from me?"

The man walked in and, before he spoke again, pressed his finger to his lips, motioning for Michael to be silent. Next, he reached overhead to the bookshelf and extracted a device from behind one of the worn covers. Smashing it to the floor, he crunched it under his foot to make sure it was truly dead. He systematically did the same to every other boobytrap, until – Michael supposed – the room was clean of any kind of audio and/or video device.

"Do you know how long I've been working for your mother, Michael?" His gaze seemed to cut right through the younger man, the anger and frustration tangible in the air that surrounded them. "Over four years. I've been by her side, her second in command for that ammount of time. Like a dog I've followed her around and kept her safe. The last thing I need is for an inexperienced pup with fleas all over him to come around and take my place in her bed."

It was a sneer filled with contempt, but Michael couldn't distinct whether it was directed at himself or at Christina; all he knew was that he hadn't wanted to be 'man's best friend.'At least not where his mother was concerned.

"I never wanted to be her accomplice. You know that." He was surprised how calm his voice sounded when at the very minute he spoke he had a coded message to his own clan hidden right underneath his pillow.

A short nod. "I know. So the reality of this situation is that I want you gone as much as you want to be back with your own kind." It was amazing how this man defined good and evil as if he were talking of species.. Darwin… the survival of the fittest. He wondered which species, then, would be the one to go extinct. "There's also the fact that the Scylla operation is getting way out of hand."

Inside Michael's brain, something happened. Dots were connected. The process of it was so real to him that he could almost hear the sound of it, the subdued click inside of currents of hurried thoughts that always tried to find the true meaning of things, and acts and words.

The man picked up Michael's nearly empty glass and toyed with the liquid inside. "You were in that meeting, you know what I am talking about."

"You mean Christina's feeble-minded plan of unchaining another World War?"

He set the glass down. "Yes. So that book that you have…" he motioned towards the bed, "right there, you can give it to me, and I'll make sure Sara gets it." At Michael's alarmed look, he grinned. "I'm head of security, Michael. I had this room bugged and I watched your every move on the screen inside my office. Do you really think you'd get away with it so damn easily? Hand it over. I'll see that she gets it."

Michael leaned backwards, placing all his weight upon his hands that were placed behind his body, on the hard mattress. He eyed the man sceptically. "And…why should I trust you again?"

"Because you have no one else, Michael. It's either me, or the mice that wander in the attic."

He paused. It was true, he didn't have anyone else to help him in here, but then again – this man had walked beside his greatest enemy for so long, it was hard not to question his honesty. His loyalty. "If you help me, then your position as second in command will be ruined anyway. Why bother?"

"Because if we do this," his fist cliffed the air, harshly connecting with the palm of his free hand in a sign of revolution, "if we bring her down, she's going to need someone to help her climb back up, Michael. And if I'm the one to do that, I'm not going to be second in command anymore."

"..you'll be first." Michael pinched his brow. "So, you're basically saying that if I help you become the new leader of the very thing I'm trying to fight, you'll help me bring down my mother."

"I'm saying, Michael, that if you help me do exactly that – I won't be your enemy anymore. I can be the one who sets you free. You and your family. But to do that, you're going to have to trust me."

-

Sara

She wondered how it was even possible for him to get his hands on something as simple as a post envelope. How he could have bought – or stolen, the line of conscience had blurred a little – this small object without being seen. Still, as she tore it apart, she decided not to care. All that mattered was that it was a sign of life, a prospect of an answer – and a tangible reminder of hope.

She took the small object out of its case and held it up for all of them to see: a book. Self snorted a little but was punched in the gut by his most loyal, his most disgusting companion. Sure, Teddy knew exactly what a book could do to a man's life. It had been a stupid little bird book that had granted him new opportunities – the possibility of a life as a whole different, and a commonly respected man. Cole Pfeiffer. P F E I FF E R.

"What do you think it'll say?"

Sara shook her head. "Nothing much to get from the title." It was a book on architecture, on "Foundations of Society". She carefully opened the cover and let her eyes scan the pages.

"He's written some things in the margins," she told them. "India. China. Scylla = Weapon." She turned the pages one by one, always telling her companions exactly what he had written down. It was never more than one word, but somehow, to her, they made sense. She let out a shaky breath when the last sign came into view. "World War."

"How about those tiny dots and numbers?" The scent of Teddy Bagwell right next to her ear almost made her recoil in disgust. She snapped the book closed, marking her territory. "Those are for me."

"Right, and we're just supposed to take your word on that?" Self uttured in disbelief. "I- It could say something about us, it could say something important and you could just keep it to yourself.. how's that for teamwork?"

"Because I would deliberately try to undermine you, is that it?" She stalked over to him and held her face menacingly close to his. "I want Michael out of there far, far more than you do, Don. And as for keeping things from people, do you really want me to remind you of that time where you turned and stabbed us in the back?"

She rolled her eyes when his fingers clutched the edges of the book, pulling it into his own body and away from her. "It's a code he uses only to get in touch with me. How would you like for me to read your personal mail?"

"Don, just give it to her." Lincoln's gruff voice seemed to have an effect on the former agent, at least, because he reluctantly let go. God, she could clearly see that he wasn't used to being overthrown by a woman.

"Thank you." She cast him a sly, victorious grin and walked into another room, her cellphone clutched in her hand.

"WATCH YOUR BACK." Michael had written her. Clearly, Don Self wasn't the only one with trust issues.

-

"The thing I think we should work from, is this." Alex motioned towards the words written on page 53, which were an address somewhere near Miami and a date. Tomorrow. "We should go find out what that is, where that is, and how we're going to get in that building without being seen. Lincoln, Sara… would you be okay with doing that?"

"What's the rest of us supposed to do in the meantime?" That slow drawl would be the death of her one day. It reminded her of all those times in the infirmary when he had tried to come on to her, humming while she dressed his wounds. It despised her, and even then she had wanted to do nothing more than slap the grin off of his face. "Twittle around and come up with a routine?"

"We'll go look for guns." Alex explained to him. "Ammunition. Ropes, badges, uniforms or bags of potatoes, whatever we might need." She could tell he was losing his patience as well. "Or are you not up for such a task, Bagwell? We can always leave you here. Twittle all you want, for all I care." He grabbed his jacket and walked towards the door, knowing the little birds would follow him in a heartbeat.

-

"So how are you doing?"

Sara lowered the binoculars and smiled at Lincoln. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing."

He shrugged in that way that only he knew how. A shrug filled with indifference, in which also wisdom and hope resided. "Somehow, I think I should have known. Not that she wasn't my real mother and that she and Aldo would belong to a secret organisation which would tear me apart, but that.." he swallowed. "I don't know. Maybe we are just so different, like it was even when we were kids, that I knew we weren't really related."

"You're his brother in all the ways that really matter, Linc."

"Am I?" Lincoln shook his head. "I was the rebel, I was the reckless one… if I hadn't been, there'd been no way they could have ever framed us for this."

"That's not true and you know it." Jotting down something on her notepad, she was surprised to hear the next words to come out of his mouth.

"Well, at least you guys found eachother." He leaned over her to glance across the street, to the cement building that they would try to break into. "That's something good to come out of this."

She laughed breathlessly. Compared to all the suffering that was happening around them, finding Michael had been more than a good thing. He had been the best thing ever to happen to her, and after she saved him – they could start a whole new life together. "Yeah."

"So, do you think we can pull this off?"

"Sure we can." He reassured her. "But Sara, maybe you should –"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm pregnant, Lincoln. Not disabled."

"Maybe they have bulletproof vests designed especially for your…condition."

Sara chuckled. "Yeah. Maybe."

-

What she saw when they came back into the appartment, scared her. Enormous ammounts of ropes, guns and bullets were scattered on the black and white tiles, littering the glass coffee table. The blueprints to the building were taped on the windows and pictures of the security guards she had only just seen patrolling the grounds, hung next to them.

She excused herself from Lincoln's side and walked away to get cleaned up. She couldn't remember a single time when her reflection had looked so worn, so thin and so unhealthy. Drawing her fingers over her face, she pushed the tap open with the other hand and let the ice cold water cascade on her wrist. It was a trick that she had learned when she was young: the feeling of spikes of just-that-little ammount of pain shooting through her veins calmed her. Pushed the tears that were forming away, because all that she could think about was how cold it felt, and how utterly alive she knew she was, in that very moment. The water was colorless…and there was no blood.

Not yet.

So? What did you think? Did you like it? (ooooh, please tell me you did! Cookies? Cookies! -- I've just bought a recipe book called "500 cookies" and I promise to make you the ones with three kinds of chocolate if you review! Promise!)

Xo, as always!