Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
Sara had just given Mike his dinner and tucked him into bed. Of course, he had questions, and she felt it was important to explain a few things after hearing what Michael had said. Poseidon had brainwashed their son, and Mike had called him “Dad” over the phone, right in front of Michael. That was something she needed to fix.
When she brought her son home with Sheba and Lincoln, she decided it was time to talk to him. The three of them together — he knew Lincoln well — would help him understand and believe them. She had explained it in words a child could grasp, even though Mike was remarkably bright for his age, that Jacob was responsible for his father’s disappearance, and that he had stayed away for years because Jacob had threatened both her and Mike.
She also explained that everything Jacob had told him about his biological father was a lie, and that she and Lincoln would never let anyone near him if they thought that person might hurt him.
“But Jacob was in our lives, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, that’s true, but not anymore. When I went to Greece recently to take care of your father, he explained everything to me, and when I came home, I confronted Jacob right away. You need to understand, Jacob stole seven years of your father’s life and my life too. I know it’s hard to believe, because he was kind to you.”
“He was kind, but not always around. Sometimes I felt like he didn’t care about me, because when it was just the two of us, he’d stay in his office and only talk to me to ask what I wanted to eat.”
Sara took a deep breath, feeling anger rise in her chest. How could she have been so blind?
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You should’ve told me. I didn’t know it was like that.”
He shrugged. “You seemed distracted sometimes, so I didn’t want to make you sadder.”
Sara smiled — he was so much like his father. She checked her watch. It was beginning to be late.
“Listen, I’m going to leave you with Sheba and Lincoln, okay? You can ask your uncle any questions you want about your dad, and he’ll answer you, alright?”
Mike nodded and asked where she was going.
“I’m going to find your father, see if he’s okay. If I bring him home tonight, I want you to remember everything we told you, alright? Your dad is a good man. We’ve been through a lot together, and I had you with him for a good reason.”
“Okay, I understand.”
“I know you do.”
Sara kissed him on the cheek, then turned toward Lincoln and Sheba.
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing. Lincoln, I need you to stay with them. Just in case.”
She’d spoken the last words in a lower voice. Lincoln nodded.
“Can I ask you to throw away everything related to Jacob in this house, please? Photos, clothes, anything.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Sheba said.
Sara grabbed her phone to call Michael. It went straight to voicemail. Her heart skipped a beat, and she jumped into her car, heading toward the hangar.
When she arrived, there were still two police cars on site — but no one else. From the corner of her eye, she spotted the Mustang Michael had driven there, but he was nowhere in sight. She hurried toward the officers.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for my husband — him.”
She showed them a picture from a recent video in Ogygia, and they told her he had been taken to the nearest police station for questioning by the CIA.
“Thank you,” she said quickly.
She got back into her car, heart pounding. She wasn’t going to lose him again — not after finally having him back. She forced herself to obey the traffic laws so she wouldn’t get pulled over and waste precious time. After what felt like an eternity, she reached the police station and went straight to the front desk to ask which room Michael was in.
“Over there. Please wait outside. The director of the CIA is questioning him,” the woman said.
“The director of the CIA?” Sara repeated, stunned.
The woman nodded.
Sara stood outside the door, straining to catch fragments of conversation — she could make out Michael’s voice and another man’s, but not the words. She wished she had brought the sound amplifier she’d bought for Mike a few weeks ago.
Her heart was racing. What if they arrested him again — sent him back to prison for the robbery, or for escaping? She thought about the exoneration papers they had all signed — almost all — seven years ago. Twisting her fingers nervously, she paced up and down the corridor. She was dying to burst through the door, but she knew that would only make things worse.
So she forced herself to wait.
People around her were giving her odd looks — maybe they recognized her, maybe they thought she was crazy. She didn’t care.
Suddenly, a shout came from inside the room — Michael’s voice. She caught the words “I’ve shown you his face.” Her stomach dropped. Her fears were becoming real. The CIA didn’t believe him. They were going to imprison him again — or worse, release Jacob. Even with the blood Michael had left in the office as proof?
Sara wanted to hit the wall, to release the pressure inside her chest, but instead she took deep breaths, trying to calm down. Two minutes later, the door opened. Her heart skipped again. Michael stepped out, followed by a man she immediately guessed was the CIA director.
Michael’s face softened when he saw her.
“If you change your mind,” the man said, handing him a card.
Michael gave him a polite smile and took it anyway.
“I’ve got more important things to take care of right now,” he said, glancing at Sara.
Then the man turned around and walked away down the hall. Sara looked at Michael and took the hand he offered.
“Let’s go,” he said.
It took her a few seconds to process it.
“You’re free?”
“Yes.”
He showed her a document — an official exoneration signed by the CIA director himself. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, his hand resting against the back of her head, just as he used to.
They walked out of the building hand in hand, and she thought that nothing could ever tear them apart again.
“Lincoln and Sheba are at home with Mike,” she told him as they pulled up in front of the house. “I talked to him. I think he understands, but it’ll take some time.”
“I know. It’ll take me some time too.”
“He’s so much like you, you know? It’ll be fine.”
They got out of the car in silence, until Michael said:
“I have something to show you.”
“Alright.”
He turned on his phone’s flashlight and crouched above the storm drain near the mailbox. Sara leaned over to see what he was pointing at.
At first, her mind couldn’t process what she was seeing — then an oppressive wave hit her chest as she realized.
Dozens and dozens of paper cranes lay at the bottom of the drain, soaked and faded with time and weather.
A gasp escaped her mouth. She brought a trembling hand to her lips, eyes filling again with tears.
“How long…?” she whispered.
“Almost three years,” he said softly. “The first year in Yemen was hard. I was fighting just to survive. I didn’t get the chance to try to contact you.”
“It was Jacob who put them there. He certainly came to check the mail every day before I came home for lunch.”
Sara began to cry quietly — not just for the messages she had missed, or for the fact that she had never thought to look beyond that metal grate, but for everything it represented.
Jacob had stolen her life, Michael’s life, and Mike’s as well. He had taken everything from them. Now, all they could do was try to put the pieces together of what was left behind.
Michael drew her into his arms and gently ran his fingers through her hair.
“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Hand in hand, they walked toward the front door.
When they stepped inside, Sara didn’t let go of Michael’s hand. Lincoln, Sheba, and Mike were in the kitchen. The boy, already in his pajamas and holding a book, smiled broadly when he saw his mother.
That’s when she finally released Michael’s hand and pulled their son into her arms.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
Then he looked at his father. His eyes welled up. Sara squeezed his hands, confused, and glanced at Michael, who looked deeply pained by his son’s tears.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“I was mean to you,” the boy said, looking at his father.
“Oh, honey…” Sara murmured, brushing a hand through his hair.
Michael knelt beside her.
“No, you weren’t mean. You just believed what Jacob told you. He fooled us all.”
Mike nodded and wiped a tear from his cheek.
“It’s going to be okay, alright?” Sara reassured him gently. “He can never hurt us again. The FBI arrested him — he’ll never come back here. Now go to bed, champ. It’s late for you.
Mike got up, said goodnight to his uncle and Sheba, then followed Sara up the stairs. She turned to look at Michael and told him to come with them. The boy’s bedroom door was already open.
“Did you brush your teeth?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Good.”
She and Michael followed him in, and Sara tucked him in before switching on the bear-shaped nightlight. Mike clutched his book close to him. Michael noticed the word Animals on the cover and smiled faintly.
“No story tonight?” Sara asked, watching her son.
“No. Will you be here when I wake up tomorrow?”
Sara turned toward Michael — their son had asked him that. She silently prayed he would answer yes.
“If your mom doesn’t mind me staying, then yes, I’ll be here.”
She smiled.
“Of course,” she said, taking his hand.
“Okay, then,” Mike murmured, lying down.
“Are you going to bed too, Mom?”
“Not yet. I’m just going to check on your dad, make sure he’s alright, and bring him a few things. We’re right here, don’t worry.”
He nodded, closed his eyes. Sara kissed him on the cheek, and Michael lingered a moment, watching his son before following her out of the room. She left the door slightly ajar.
“He sometimes wakes up at night to use the bathroom,” she whispered, “so I always leave it open.”
“Alright.”
They crept downstairs quietly and found Lincoln and Sheba in the living room. Sara immediately noticed that they had, in fact, already gotten rid of everything. She felt a rush of gratitude.
“Thanks for cleaning up,” she said.
“We packed it all in the car,” Lincoln replied. “We’ll take it to the dump tomorrow.”
“Thank you. Um, if you’re hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge.”
“We already helped ourselves — we ate with Mike,” Sheba said.
“Perfect.”
Sara turned to Michael. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. I don’t have dinner anymore — I used to have just one meal a day.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand.
“My room’s upstairs, and there’s another guest room too,” she told Lincoln and Sheba.
They exchanged a quick look, and Sheba said she’d take her room. Sara nodded, then turned back to Michael.
“There are rooms down here too, and a bathroom. I’ll go get you some clothes. You look thinner, but I think your old things will still fit.”
“You still have my clothes?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I kept everything.”
Lincoln hugged his brother again, then he and Sheba went upstairs. Sara led Michael to one of the two ground-floor bedrooms. “I’ll be right back,” she said, before heading upstairs.
Two minutes later, she returned. He was in the bathroom, removing his shoes. She handed him a sweatshirt, a pair of sweatpants, a boxer, and a new toothbrush. He thanked her quietly.
She hesitated a moment, then closed the door behind her.
“Can I take a look at your wound?” she asked.
He pulled off his shirt. Sara’s breath caught — his body was different now. He’d lost a lot of weight since the last time she’d seen him. His ribs and abs were visible; his skin marked with bruises and scars. Her heart tightened at the sight.
“Are these recent?”
“Yes. Tonight, I think.”
She sighed, turned around, and opened the medicine cabinet to take out a sterile pad and some disinfectant. Sitting on the chair facing him, she poured a bit of the solution onto the gauze.
“It’s going to be cold,” she warned, glancing up at him.
She was startled to find his eyes filled with tenderness — admiration, even. Quickly, she looked back down at his wound, feeling emotion rise in her throat and blur her vision for the third time that evening.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed the pad against his skin. He flinched slightly.
“Does it hurt?”
“No, just cold — like you said.”
She smiled faintly, let the product dry, then covered the wound with a bandage.
“You can shower with it; it’s waterproof,” she told him.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Michael, you need a full medical check-up. I have my practice — we can go tomorrow morning. I canceled all my appointments for the week anyway.”
He nodded, then pulled her into his arms. She wanted to hold him tight, to never let him go again — but she was afraid of hurting him, so she eased her embrace. He took her hands in his.
“Can I… stay with you tonight?” she asked softly. “Or would you rather be alone?”
“I’ve spent the last seven years wondering if I’d ever be able to sleep beside you again,” he said quietly. “Now that I’ve found you, I want to be with you.”
“Alright,” she replied with a small smile. “I’ll go use the bathroom upstairs and come back to your room.”
He smiled too, and she leaned in to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. He held her hands for a moment before she left, telling him to take his time — the water heater was big enough.
Sara showered quickly, checked in on their sleeping son, then returned to the bedroom. The shower was still running. She glanced around the room, scanning for anything Sheba and Lincoln might have forgotten, but everything was spotless.
Back in the day, he had always slept on the right side of the bed — in that little boat they used to have in the warehouse when they were looking for Scylla. So she settled on the left.
Looking down at her hands, her gaze fell on her bare ring finger, and she wondered where his wedding ring was. Jacob had probably forced him to get rid of it.
She sighed and thought back to the past four years she’d spent with Jacob. He had seemed like a father figure to Mike, a source of stability for her. But it had all been a lie.
She’d noticed, time and again, how he spent hours on his computer or locked away in his office, hardly spending time with her or Mike. She had just assumed he was a workaholic. But no — he had been busy manipulating Michael like a puppet.
And she’d been completely in the dark.
Tears blurred her vision again as the sound of running water stopped. She heard him dry off, brush his teeth, and then, after a few moments, the door opened and he stepped into the room.
She couldn’t help but smile when she saw him. It felt impossible — just two weeks ago, she hadn’t even known that the love of her life was still alive. And now, he was about to sleep beside her.
Michael smiled back and sat on the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes for a second, running a hand along the mattress as if savoring the comfort.
“How was it?” she asked gently, placing her hand over his.
“Good,” he said with a small chuckle. “It just took me a while to feel clean again, you know?”
“I understand.”
He laid his hand over hers, and for a few seconds, they just looked at each other. She could finally study his face again — the lines time had carved, the strands of gray in his hair. But his eyes still held the same warmth, the same softness.
She wondered if he still found her beautiful — the thought made her laugh quietly.
He smiled, amused. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just wondering if you still liked me… even with forty creeping up on me.”
He gave a low laugh. “You and Mike were the only reason I survived as long as I did. It took me years to plan my way back. I didn’t even know if you’d still want me.”
Those words brought fresh tears to her eyes. He said it because she’d remarried — and he needed to understand.
He reached out, resting his hand gently on her uninjured cheek; he avoided the one Jacob had struck, not wanting to hurt her.
“I remarried because I wanted Mike to have something close to a normal family,” she said softly. “I didn’t want him to grow up like you and me — without real parents. And ironically, Jacob seemed kind. Stable. I felt… safe.”
She let go of his hands, slid her arms around his neck, and drew closer.
“I’ve only ever loved you. No one else. Before or after. But I hate myself for letting myself get fooled — for letting him near our son, for letting him think, even for a moment, that he could steal us from you. I should’ve paid more attention — to that damn grate under the mailbox. But I really thought you were dead.”
Her tears fell again, but she forced herself to breathe. He was here. This wasn’t the time to cry.
He pulled her close and whispered her name — her heart ached hearing it, after all these years. She pressed her forehead to his, and their lips met in a soft, almost hesitating kiss.
Too soon, he pulled back.
“I don’t want to take any risks until I know I’m healthy,” he said quietly. “Things happened… in that prison… and…”
He didn’t finish. Sara looked at him, her mind spinning with questions, but she only nodded. She was already planning to run every possible test, to check for infections, to update his vaccines. She would treat him like a patient if she had to — anything to keep him safe.
“I just wanted to kiss you,” she whispered. “You need rest. And we have all the time in the world now.”
She leaned back, patting the right side of the bed.
“Right side’s still yours, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said with a faint smile. “Always.”
He laid down carefully, wincing a little. His back still hurt — the soft mattress felt strange after the prison cot in Yemen. He explained it to her, but when she started to fuss, he caught her hand.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll get used to it. Probably just age catching up with me too.”
“Maybe,” she teased gently, smiling.
He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. She nestled against him, taking his hand in hers.
And like that — hand in hand, heart to heart — they finally fell asleep.