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"I half expected to find you in Zihuatanejo," Alexander said.

The closed eyes parted, just a crack, to reveal stormy grey eyes that glimmered through impossibly long lashes.

Michael smiled. "I thought about it. Believe me. The irony. Not to mention the homage. But, in the end, hanging out on the beach, taking tourists on fishing trips never really appealed to me."

Alexander eyed the run-down shop behind Michael. "And this does?"

"Dream come true."

"Says the ex-engineer."

"It was another life." He opened his eyes all the way. The hammock rocked gently, and Michael just laid there, looking at him.

That gaze has always been so intense. Alexander could remember the first time he felt it: at the cemetery, the first day of the chase. It wasn't until later--the elevator, the state fair, the shopping center--that Alexander had been able to identify the strange crawl of his skin, as if something was seeping into him, possessing his soul. But, in retrospect, that was where he'd first experienced it. Experienced the sheer force of Michael Schofield's eyes.

Michael moved. He rose gracefully and stretched, contentment in every fiber of his body. Once done with the full body stretch, he stepped forward, away from the hammock. Towards Alexander until he was within a more intimate range.

Alexander stayed where he was. It was a challenge, the movement, the look on Michael's face: eyebrow raised, lips quirked. Another game for them to play now that the biggest had ended.

"You look good," Alexander finally said, breaking the silence.

He did. Thinner than he used to be, but still as beautiful as ever. And not one minute older than the last time Alexander caught a glimpse of him. Still as young as the pictures of the boy at his graduation. The young man, making a name for himself as a structural engineer. The man whose brother was on death row.

The convict who orchestrated the most elaborate prison break on record. And got away with it.

The same. And yet, different. A different person. One in jeans so old, so threadbare they hung from his hips, dragged at his bare feet. One whose tattoo doesn't look so out of place underneath an open blue shirt and against tanned skin.

Drawn to him without conscious thought, Alexander stepped closer. Lightly--reverently--he touched Michael's arm. Traced the carefully inked lines.

"I've looked at it so many times," he said. "Memorized it. Walked it in my sleep. And still..." His voice trailed off.

Michael wet his lips. "You were the first one to figure it out. Well," he amended with a self-deprecating smile, "the first sane one."

Haywire. Alexander had talked to the man once when he was caught. Asked him about the tattoo. Received a detailed drawing and an uncomfortably amount of detail of the way it rested on Michael's body. For someone with such a tentative grip on reality, the man could wax poetic with the great ones.

With some effort, Alexander pushed the memory away, instead focusing on the man in front of him.

It was incredible. "Brilliant." He tore his eyes from the tattoo, back to the fathomless blue.

Michael was looking at Alexander with an expression of amusement mixed with wonder.

"You found me."

Alexander nodded. "I found you."

Another moment.

Then...

He couldn't say who moved first. One moment they were two distinct people and the next, they were trying to merge into one.

Their mouths met. Clumsily. Teeth knocked.

Alexander stumbled backwards from the force of Michael's body. He was eager. Alexander hadn't really expected that. He hadn't been sure what to expect, really. When he'd picked up the trail, he'd just come, needing to finish what had been started so long ago.

Michael kissed like someone unaccustomed to the task. Mouth opened too wide. Teeth scrapping. Tongue darting awkwardly, unsure what to do.

Strange. The mind was so brilliant. The package so beautiful. The body inexperienced.

"Shhh," Alexander soothed. He placed his hands on either side of Michael's face and took control. Poured his admiration and attraction into it while guiding the blundering tongue to show him what to do.

Michael made a noise. His hands gripped at Alexander's arms.

When the pressure went from welcome to painful, Alexander broke the kiss. "Can we go inside?"

"Yeah." He stepped back. Hesitated. Took Alexander's hand and led him inside.

The store was cluttered and dusty. It was a fix-it shop--fitting for a man with Michael's talents. Broken clocks, TVs, computers, toasters, and other items littered the counter and floors. Murals adorned the walls with pictures no less intricate than the portrait that painted his body.

Michael changed the sign on the door from abierto to cerrar and pulled Alexander further into the room and up the stairs in the back.

His bedroom was a different story. Clean, neat, cozy. A blue and white checkered quilt was spread over the double bed, pillows plumped and set against the wall. There was a rug thrown over the wood floor. Pictures the ocean and sunsets adorn the wall. A small framed photo of Lincoln and his son was on table next to the bed.

"This is nice," Alexander said.

"It's home." And he sounded happy.

And Alexander, who had nothing, who had quit his job in a fit of righteous indignation, envied the man who had given up everything for his brother.

"Jesus," he breathed, shaking his head.

Michael cocked his head quizzically.

Alexander just shook his head again. He took Michael back into his arms and kissed him. Told him all he couldn't say. All he couldn't form the words for.

He stripped Michael's shirt and dropped it on the floor. Ran his fingers down Michael's spine, following the path he'd memorized long ago. Walked the map made of skin and ink. Skirted the scar tissue that erased part of it. Tasted salt and skin. Imagined he could taste the tang of fear and desperation left over from the ordeal Michael had been through.

Michael's hands clutched at his hips. Haltingly, he pulled Alexander towards the bed. His breathing came quickly--excited. Nervous. His fingers kneaded Alexander through the fabric of his shirt, almost like a cat, but instead of transmitting contentment, they told Alexander of Michael's excitement. His trepidation.

They came to an abrupt stop when they hit the bed. The shock of it broke them apart.

Breathing quickly, heart pounding, Alexander looked at Michael. His face was flushed, eyes bright, lips parted as he panted. Passion was written clearly across his face, the face Alexander had rarely seen look anything but intense and thoughtful. Scared, at times.

Happiness was an expression viewed only in photographs taken Before.

"Are you all right?" he asked. He traced his hand over Michael's neck, down his chest. His fingers danced around Michael's nipples, drawing a shudder from him.

"Yeah." He licked his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine." He leaned forward and kissed Alexander. It was still clumsy and any confidence had waned with having to initiate, but sweet.

Placing his hands on Michael's shoulders, Alexander gently guided him down onto the bed. Michael went willingly, head tilted back to keep contact.

Once Michael was stretched over the bed, Alexander set about to doing what he had wanted to do since cracking the code: worship the acres of painted skin.

He started slowly, mouthing along the top, just below his collar bone. His fingers traced the frames of the windows inked on the arms, sliding down to the soft skin on the inside of Michael's elbows.

"Oh," Michael gasped. His eyes flew opened as Alexander caressed along the crease.

"Sensitive," he said. He licked the tip of a wing on Michael's pectoral, then moved to lavish attention properly on his inner elbow.

He really was sensitive. All Alexander had to do was breathe over his skin, and Michael was shuddering. He made small, soft noises, muffled, like he didn't want to make any noise at all, but couldn't help it. It was incredibly arousing.

Sweat beaded along Alexander's forehead. His skin grew hot and seemed to tighten.

As he kissed back up Michael's arm, Alexander unbuttoned his shirt. Before he could take it off, though, Michael had his hands on Alexander's shoulders. They moved restlessly, back and forth, not sure where to go, what to do.

It felt good. He kissed Michael on the mouth, sucked on his lower lip. Drew another sound out of Michael's throat, and a sudden buck of his hips.

He ground into Michael's hips, against the hardness there.

Michael gasped. His hands flew away from Alexander. One grabbed a pillow. The other went to his mouth, where he bit down.

"Don't do that," Alexander admonished. He pulled the hand away.

Almost immediately, the pillow slammed over his face.

"That's worse." He yanked the pillow away and pushed Michael's hand back. "I'd rather you make noise."

He smiled faintly, chin quivering. "I'll keep that in mind."

Alexander smiled back and traced Michael's lips with his fingers. Then he bent over to continue his worship.

The pattern was too intricate to explore every inch. For now, he contented himself with the broadest outlines. The sword and the devil and the angel. The window panes on Michael's sides were perfect for Alexander to run his thumbs down, and produced the most delicious shivers.

The tips of the wings dipped beneath Michael's jeans. Alexander's hands hesitated at the zipper. He looked up to check for permission.

Michael's eyes were squeezed shut and he was biting his fist once more.

"Michael." Alexander pulled the hand away from his mouth. "Michael, do you have any condoms?"

He frowned and opened his eyes. They were hazy, unfocused. "What?"

"Condoms?"

It took a moment for the word to make the connection in the genius brain. When it did, his frown deepened. "No."

Well. Damn.

He flicked the button open, slid the zipper down. "How long has it been since you've had sex?"

Another pause. Another frown. "Six years?"

Which put it before.... "How did you... I mean, you're... You escaped with a convicted rapist. How did no one..."

His lips quirked. "The plan gave me leverage. And protection. I'm clean."

"Me too."

"Good."

Alexander smiled. Then the smile melted away and he said, "I'm still having problems believing..."

"Alex, I can talk or I can do this. Not both."

"Of course. Sorry." He bent his head and placed a kiss over Michael's belly button.

Michael inhaled sharply. Underneath his jeans, his cock, which had softened during their talking, swelled again.

Alexander quickly divested Michael of his jeans and underwear.

"I half expected..."

"Are you kidding?" Michael snorted. "I put up with the pain that I had to. That? Wasn't necessary."

"I understand." He took Michael in hand.

When he did, Michael's head fell back. Eyes shut. So responsive, but, then, it'd been six years. Alexander could tell Michael wasn't going to last long. He stroked until Michael was completely hard, then bent down and took him in mouth.

Michael groaned through gritted teeth. It sounded guttural. Animal. His hips bucked, gagging Alexander.

He took Michael's hips and pushed them back down. Held him, even though Michael strained and arched. His hands were braced against the wall. His body heaved with heavy gasps. A high whine escaped his throat.

The taste was unfamiliar. It'd been years since he'd done this. His jaw ached, but he liked the way Michael's cock felt against his tongue. The way it fit over his lips, filling the inside of his mouth. The bitter taste of precome.

Michael's body jerked suddenly. He tensed and grunted as he came.

This part was not so good, but Alexander swallowed what he could. The rest dripped down his chin. He wiped it off on his shirt.

"Wow."

Alexander smiled. Moved so he could stretch out next to Michael. He stroked Michael's chest, but stopped when Michael flinched.

Michael looked at him and smiled sleepily. "I'd forgotten how good it could feel. The last time... it was a series of disappointments. I just stopped, sick of it."

"Glad I could please."

He blushed. "You're not even undressed." Michael pushed at Alexander's shirt.

He obliged and stripped it off, tossing it onto the floor. "I didn't come here for this. I mean... not directly." He lay back down, head propped on his fist.

Michael turned to face him and mimicked his pose. "I didn't send the clues for this. At least, not directly." He smirked. "But I think it was inevitable."

Alexander nodded in agreement. "Michael, can I ask you a personal question?"

His smirk deepened.

"Right." He couldn't seem to stop tracing the patterns buried in the tattoo. "Do you have a sexuality?"

Michael didn't answer for a moment. Then, "When you were chasing us, I would have these fantasies. The danger and the stress and everything got to me, but it was so... hot somehow." He touched Alexander on the face, at the corner of his eye. "It was like you could see through me, you know? No one has ever done that. And it was hot." He blushed and lowered his eyes. "Lincoln made fun of me, in calmer moments. Said I'd changed. I never... really got into masturbation all that much when I was a kid. Lincoln had to teach me, because I just didn't... But when we were on the run..."

"But other than me?"

He sighed. "I do. I mean, I spent most of my early twenties thinking I was asexual. I just wasn't into it, not like everyone around me. I barely noticed people like that. But then I met someone and... I realized I wasn't." He licked his lips. "I want people, just not as much as most people. I have a really low sex drive. Which tends to be a problem, which is why I don't much do relationships." He shrugged. "Not to mention the whole brother-convict-bank robbery-escaped felon thing."

"I imagine it puts a damper on things." He circled Michael's nipple with the tip of his finger. "What about Dr. Tancredi?"

He lowered his eyes. "I was in love with her. Still am, I think. Not that I've seen her since..." He licked his lips. "Anyway, it's probably better this way. She seemed to be a woman with a healthy sexual appetite."

"A person would be willing to put up with a lot to be near someone like you." On the other hand, given what Alexander had learned of Michael's self-esteem and his intense desire to please everyone, Michael would also be willing to put up with a lot to be near someone he loved. He wondered how often Michael had allowed himself to be coaxed into bed when he really didn't want to be there.

No wonder he seemed to view six years as nothing.

Michael snorted at Alexander's comment. "Right." Slowly, he reached over and let his fingers wander the expanse of Alexander's chest. "Why are you here?"

"What do I have left?" That sounded bad. But honest. He shook his head. "There was so much corruption. And not just that. That poor kid. What he went through. What I helped put him through." Could he ask? Did he have the right?

He had to. "How is he?"

The stormy eyes flicked up to meet his before dropping down to continue his examination of Alexander's chest. "LJ is doing all right. He's still in therapy, and Lincoln says that he's doing well in college. Still has nightmares. Still has problems. But he's doing all right."

Alexander closed his eyes. Sighed. "I made myself memorize the reports of what happened to him while locked up. Waiting trial for the murder of his parents. A murder he witnessed. All because some bitch wanted..."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I was part of it."

"And, in the end, you were part of the truth. You succeeded in revealing the truth, in freeing Lincoln and LJ."

"Not you."

"I'm guilty. I did the robbery. Worse, I freed murders and rapists from prison." Such guilt. Heavy. A sin that wouldn't ever wash away.

"To save your brother."

"I sold my soul." Michael shrugged, but it didn't negate the pain etched across his face. "It's why you didn't come for me until you were far enough removed from the FBI."

"I didn't get any clues."

Michael smiled. He hesitated, then shifted until he was draped over Alexander. "Alex," Michael whispered against his mouth, "you always had all the clues you needed." He took Alexander's hand. Placed it against his chest, over his heart. Pressed the fingers into his skin.

Alexander smiled.

Fin