[ Michael extends his hand a second time. His fingers are long and slender, freshly callused, knuckles scarless.
Michael isn't a fighter. He's barely a survivor. The success of his plan, and of his own survival, had always relied on the muscle of his accomplices. It's something that's never sat right with him, even as he wrung the blood, sweat, and tears out of them. Right down to the very last drop.
Before he'd made a name for himself as one of America's Most Wanted, before Fox River, before anyone had died in his arms, or as a direct result of his actions, Michael's only real mark on the world had been through his architecture, from behind the safety of his desk. Living his life logistically. Schematically. Efficiently. Following the blueprint he had created for himself, according to the needs of society, and his place within it
And then he had lit those blueprints on fire, and thrown them out the window, into the water, where the FBI wouldn't find them, and life became something more than a concept.
It became something that could be taken from him.
He doesn't expect James to take his hand, but he wants him to. Life was in the little things, words, touches, scents. All the sensations, and moments, you didn't realize were privileges until they were gone. ]
no subject
[ Michael extends his hand a second time. His fingers are long and slender, freshly callused, knuckles scarless.
Michael isn't a fighter. He's barely a survivor. The success of his plan, and of his own survival, had always relied on the muscle of his accomplices. It's something that's never sat right with him, even as he wrung the blood, sweat, and tears out of them. Right down to the very last drop.
Before he'd made a name for himself as one of America's Most Wanted, before Fox River, before anyone had died in his arms, or as a direct result of his actions, Michael's only real mark on the world had been through his architecture, from behind the safety of his desk. Living his life logistically. Schematically. Efficiently. Following the blueprint he had created for himself, according to the needs of society, and his place within it
And then he had lit those blueprints on fire, and thrown them out the window, into the water, where the FBI wouldn't find them, and life became something more than a concept.
It became something that could be taken from him.
He doesn't expect James to take his hand, but he wants him to. Life was in the little things, words, touches, scents. All the sensations, and moments, you didn't realize were privileges until they were gone. ]
Nice to meet you.