Fandom: Prison Break
Title: Black Shadows
Characters: Sara Tancredi, Lincoln Burrows
Type: One-Shot
Category: Darkfic, Angst, Het, Alternate Universe
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1033 words
Warnings: Sexual Situations, Character Death
Summary: When devastation lies in your soul, your heart turns to dust.
Author’s Note: Written for chanchito_z's February Challenge at foxriver_fic. Happy Birthday my dear! I took a three-pointer: Het, Lincoln/Sara - only if one kills the other and I picked prompt #23 “the weight of a gun in a hand”.  
I would also like to thank the awesome rosie_spleen for the beta. *hugs her tight*
 

It starts with a bar. A drink. And a touch, that is neither innocent nor friendly.

The gesture is like a strong alcohol. Bitter. Intoxicating. Powerful.

There was a bar, there was a drink.

***

The scene takes place in an apartment. Hers.

He’s different. He tastes different. He feels different.

His hands are rough, unlike those of his younger brother. The way he touches her is nothing like she’s ever experienced before.

His fingers and palms are large paws that press, knead, crush, threatening to tear her apart.

He does not caress her. There is nothing gentle in the way he discovers and explores her body.

She has her back to him. Ever since they arrived at her place.

Her shirt and bra are scattered on the floor somewhere –it all happened so fast, too fast- and he is now fumbling with the fly of her jeans.

At this stage, he does not bother touching her elsewhere. Maybe that’s what she wants.

Roughly pushing her pants and underwear down – she barely has time to step out of them- he grips her hips tightly, his breath hot on the back of the neck.

Since the start of this deadly tango, her eyes remain closed. Like an animal, hunting and waiting to catch its prey, her auditory system reacts at the metallic sounds of his belt and fly being undone.

A second later, a cry escapes her pale lips as he invades her in one strong thrust.

Her lids are closed during the act, and her other senses suddenly seem to come to life one after the other.

His low grunts penetrate her ears like a desperate plea perforating her eardrums, and her stomach clenches against her own will.

His mouth tastes like a bittersweet drink –at least, what she can recall being one- and for a second, her mind drifts back to the bar. The drink. The untouched drink.

The small glass on the counter. The way the ochre liquid had seemed to call out to her, the way it had looked through the transparent surface.

The way she had been so tempted to let it slide down her throat, letting the heat of it linger there for a few seconds, before it started to possess her insides.

She has placed her hands on the white wall to steady herself, ever since they started this fight. It’s cold. Immaculate. Hard against her digits. And every push coming from him makes her think her bones are going to break. But she remains into position. To keep her from falling maybe –she’s already at the bottom- and to keep her from fainting for sure.

She can smell the poisonous aroma of alcohol coming from his heavy breaths, and the urge to taste his mouth again becomes unbearable, torturous, desperate and sickening.

He represents everything she doesn’t want, everything she wants to avoid. Everything that could lead her to a great fall.

Maybe that’s what she needs.

The firm grip of this man’s hands on her hips is like a shovel, burying the last memories of the delicate touch of a hand, the soft caress of an intense gaze meant for her, for her only. All of this coming from another life. Another man.   

And then, before she even knows it, it’s finished. And he’s gone.

Standing naked in her living room, bile creeps up in her throat and she tries hard not to throw up on the floor. The events that took place a few minutes ago are like a blur, and it’s like she’s walking among ruins and smoke, unsure where to step.

It’s dark outside.

***

Another bar. Another drink.

And still the same man, coming back to her. She doesn’t know if they’re playing, if this is some sort of game she hasn’t been able to understand. The rules don’t exist, and she feels that she’s only a pawn being moved by others.

As he follows her inside –her apartment hasn’t changed- she knows the dance is going to begin again. The feel of him is like sandpaper being scrubbed against her skin, and she is lost in a swirl of guilt and disgust.

When it ends, she can feel his look on her. Her lungs are burning, and it’s like she’s been running a marathon. She’s been running for too long now.

***

It’s here.

Grey, cold, heavy.

Similar to a quiet storm about to ravage and devastate the surroundings. It’s dormant, waiting to be grasped again, waiting to accomplish its mission.

The first time she held it, she felt relieved.

She felt protected. In control. Now she knows it’s only a matter of time before she starts using it for real.

***

Same bar. Habits die hard.

And she’s closing her eyes once more, taking refuge in the darkness behind her shut lids as the battle for oblivion begins again.  

Everything’s planned. She just has to hold it -just this once- and pull the trigger; and it will all be over. Because she’s losing her mind, night after night, haunted by a steely gaze stalking her in her nightmares.

Doing this will be her first step towards redemption, and for the first time, the blindness doesn’t scare her.

He’s right behind her –she hears him putting his pants back on- and then his hand comes to rest on her breasts, and the touch is almost too gentle to be taken seriously.  

The hot skin of his palms is moving slowly like a caress until it’s pressed on her mouth and nose.

He takes her in his arms, her back flush against his chest, and his grip tightens until he feels her body relaxing like a rag doll, boneless and numb.

Oxygen has left her lungs, and the beating of her heart has now faded into the night.

The expression of her face is forever engraved in his memory.

The way her eyes wide open –he hadn’t really noticed their color before- had expressed her surrender; how he had been eaten alive by her cold and lifeless stare, before delicately passing his hand on her face, hiding the horror of the world from her.
 
The bar no longer exists. But the ruins remain intact.