out_there | PB Ficlet: Routines

Title: Routines
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: Alex/Michael
Rating: PG
Word count: 1,156
Notes:

carcinya said that Alex needed a backrub. Thanks to

sdwolfpup for pointing out that keeping the guys in-character was kind of important. And, heh, given that this is my seventh PB fic or ficlet, I think it's time PB fics had their own tag.

Summary: Everyone has routines, little habits to fill in spare time, to keep them connected and grounded. Michael tends to stay inside, do something with his hands like fold origami or play cards.

Everyone has routines, little habits to fill in spare time, to keep them connected and grounded. Roland stays up past midnight chatting on ICQ and AIM; Bellick reads tabloid magazines and always takes out the trash before he goes to bed. Sara wanders by the waterfront when she needs to get out, but she's never far from sight. Michael tends to stay inside, do something with his hands like fold origami or play cards.

Sucre and Linc exercise – do push ups and pull ups, lift weights and spot each other, calling out an equal mix of encouragements and friendly insults – proving the makeshift gym Self provided was a good idea. It reminds Michael of the prison gym, reminds him Linc and Sucre are the only two in the team who've spent months in a cell, but he likes hearing the easy camaraderie, the start of a solid friendship between them.

Alex exercises too. Sometime the weights, but mostly he runs until he's sweaty and puffed, t-shirt damp and sticking to his back. This is the first time Michael's seen him in there with Linc and Sucre. Michael's used to seeing Alex silent and narrowly focused, gritting his teeth and making the exercise an endurance test. He's not used to seeing Alex smirk, and match Linc insult for insult.

"Come on, G-Man," Linc says when Alex pauses, as Sucre almost reaches to help Alex put the weight back up, "do the agency proud."

Michael hovers by the doorway, watches Alex on his back, raising the barbell over his chest. Arms working as he lowers it slowly and lifts it again. And again.

"This isn't agency training," Alex shoots back, hissing in a breath and starting again.

"Give up if it gets too hard?" Sucre grins, looking down at Alex from the head of the padded bench. "Seems like the government."

"Not my area of government." Alex drags in a breath, but Michael's paying more attention to the way his biceps move with the weight. To the sheen of sweat on Alex's skin.

"FBI are tough, huh?"

Alex's grin is sharp and proud. "Former Army Ranger."

"Oh, yeah?" Linc might not sound impressed, but Michael knows that tilt of his head, knows that Alex just became a little more worthwhile to Linc.

"Gets hard? We don't give up." And now, Michael can hear the effort in Alex's tone, the growl as he pushes his own limits. "We shoot the bastards."

Linc and Sucre laugh, nodding at each other in macho solidarity, but Michael's watching Alex's face. He sees Alex glance over and acknowledge Michael with an exaggerated look of desperation and distress. It's gone too quick for the others to notice.

Clearing his throat, Michael steps into the room. "Sorry to break this up, but I need to run through some things with Alex."

As Alex hefts the barbell back up on its stand, Linc says, "Saved by the bell, man," but he offers Alex a hand to help pull him up. There's a part of Michael that takes comfort in this signal of Linc's acceptance. "You'll have to make good on your bragging some other time."

"Not bragging if it's true," Alex calls out over his shoulder, following Michael out. As soon as they turn the corner and get out of sight, Alex collapses against the wall. He runs a hand across his forehead and groans. "Remind me never to do that again."

"Do what?"

"Forget I'm the oldest guy in the room."

"You forgot that?" It's kind of funny, because Michael forgets that too. He did his research -- he knows Alex's date of birth, knows Alex was in the FBI before Michael hit junior high -- but he doesn't think of Alex in terms of years and age. He thinks of Alex as experienced, sure, but not old. "At least you're not as old and domesticated as Bellick," Michael offers.

"No, I'm older."

"Really?" Michael's surprise must show, because something catches Alex's attention, makes his eyes narrow dangerously as he stares at Michael.

"Only a few years," Alex says, trying to sound intimidating. If Michael didn't know Alex, he might believe it; a few months back, he probably would have. Now he knows this is Alex being playful, Alex trying to hide a smile. "I prefer to think of myself as the senior member of the team."

"You don't look that old," Michael counters, as seriously as he can.

"That's because I'm the fittest," Alex murmurs, sliding a hand around Michael's hip and tugging at him. As Michael steps closer, Alex reaches his other hand to Michael's shoulder and then grimaces. He pulls his arm back and rolls his shoulder. "Or I was, before I tried to match your brother in the gym."

Michael almost chuckles. "That's like trying to outswim the tide. Never figured you as the quixotic type."

"I've never attacked a windmill," Alex replies, stretching uncomfortably, "but I'm still going to feel that tomorrow. Any chance the next plan could involve me not having to move?"

"Doubtful. But this afternoon's could."

Alex's expression shifts from teasing to serious in the space of a heartbeat. "We have a plan for this afternoon?"

Even though he knows the others can't see, it's instinct for Michael to glance around before leaning in revealingly close, catching Alex between him and the wall. "I was thinking backrub. Sounds like you need one."

"Michael," Alex says, as if he can't think of anything better to say. There's something very flattering about the way Alex stares at Michael's mouth.

Michael smoothes his hands over Alex's shoulders, tilts his head to whisper right into Alex's ear. "I'm sure Sara wouldn't mind if we used the boat's bed for a few hours."

"Hmmm." Alex tangles fingers into the hem of Michael's t-shirt, scrapes nails low across Michael's stomach. "Close the door, stretch out in comfort and have your hands on my skin? I think that's my kind of plan. There might even be groaning involved."

Michael blinks. Pictures Alex face-down on the bed, imagines digging fingers into tight muscles, feeling Alex relax in stages. It's an appealing image, tempts Michael to edge forward, kiss Alex right here, catch Alex's lips with his.

There's a gentle pressure against his hips as Alex pushes him back. Michael steps away, and then hears the footsteps above them.

"Anyone seen my laptop?" Roland calls out. Michael guesses his location from the sound of his voice; he's pretty sure Roland can't see them. He glances at Alex, raising an eyebrow in question, and Alex shrugs back.

"The one you left by the stairway?" Alex yells back, sounding bored and disinterested as he smirks at Michael.

"I didn't leave it on the--" Roland says, and then adds, "Oh, hey, I did."

Alex rolls his eyes. He nudges Michael's shoulder with his as he pushes himself off the wall. "The boat?" Alex asks, and Michael nods and follows.