13. ♞ FIGHT NIGHT

       LATER THAT NIGHT, Phoebe and Michael waited nervously. They both knew that the fight was going to happen anytime soon, the duo dreading each passing minute. One of them could easily get hurt during this, or both. Neither wanted the other to get hurt, not thinking about themselves in the moment.

       "Michael?" Phoebe whispered calmly, toying with her hands nervously. She was sitting cross-legged at the head of the bottom bunk. Michael turned to face her in his spot at the foot of the bottom bunk. He saw all the signs that she was nervous and scared, he knew them all by now.

       "Yeah?" He whispered back, putting his head in his hands and sighing. Phoebe gulped.

       "This is gonna sound stupid, but I'm actually really scared right now. I'm freaking out, Mike." Phoebe admitted vulnerably, biting her bottom lip and taking deep breaths. Michael turned fully to face her, putting a hand on one of her knees.

       "Hey, its not stupid. It's gonna be okay." Michael reassured. Phoebe looked down at her lap, her breathing heavy with fear. "Hey, look at me." Michael cooed softly as if to not scare her any further. "Look at me, Bee." Michael tried once again. Phoebe sighed, looking up at Michael.

       "What?" Phoebe asked in a quiet whisper, so quiet she was surprised Michael had even heard her. Michael smiled at her, moving his hands to grab hers from her lap.

       "We're gonna be okay. Alright?" Michael said. Phoebe gulped, unsure of what to reply. "I won't let anyone hurt you, you know that." He quietly reassured, comfortingly rubbing the backs of her cold and clammy hands with his thumbs. Phoebe sighed.

       "Okay, but what if you get hurt?" Phoebe wondered quietly, looking back into her lap. Growing up, Michael had quickly learned that Phoebe often avoided eye contact when she was nervous or scared. He grinned, moving his head lower to meet Phoebe's tearful gaze.

       "I won't." Michael stated confidently, even though he knew he couldn't promise that.

       "But what if you do." Phoebe pressed.

       "But I won't." Michael repeated. "We'll both be okay. I promise." Phoebe grinned, finally lifting her head to look at him.

       "You can't do that." Phoebe voiced with a frown. Michael cocked a brow in confusion at her response.

       "Do what?" He questioned.

       "Make promises you can't keep." She said, "You don't know what could go down tonight. One of us could get hurt, or we could both get hurt." Phoebe pointed out. Michael sighed. He knew she was right, but he still didn't want her to be so afraid. In that moment, he regretted ever bringing her into this mess. 

       "Why are you so stubborn?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll watch out for each other, okay? Stick together, and we'll be fine." Phoebe sighed and nodded.

       "Okay." She finally said, taking deep breaths to calm herself. "Okay." She repeated more quietly. "Thank you." She said with a smile. Michael smiled back.

       "You say thank you a lot." He pointed out, as if he didn't already know that about her. Phoebe rolled her eyes.

      "And you're a smartass who doesn't realize he is also stubborn as hell." Phoebe pointed out with a laugh. Michael smiled, glad to see her feeling at least a bit less afraid.

       "Maybe, but I'm certainly not as stubborn as you are." He teased in return. Phoebe laughed again, bringing a flutter to Michael's chest.

       "Sure, okay. Whatever sprinkles your donut, Scofield." She said with a chuckle. Michael cocked a brow and chuckled.

       "What?" He asked between laughs. Phoebe smirked.

       "Whatever sprinkles your donut." She repeated. "Whatever rows your boat. Whatever bakes your cake. Whatever sizzles your bacon. Or do you prefer something weirder, like, whatever turns you on? Or, whatever tickles your pickle?" She said with a smirk. Michael rolled his eyes.

       "I prefer the former." He said.

       "I prefer the former." Phoebe teased, mimicking his voice. "I bet you prefer the latter, Scofield, the weird ones." Michael shook his head and laughed, trying to hide the blush creeping onto his cheeks. Their moment was interrupted when an officer shouted into the cell block.

      "Heads up seven-up, cons! Stand at your gates!" He instructed. Phoebe gave Michael's hand a frightful squeeze and he gave her a sympathetic smile in return.

       "It's okay." He repeated in a whisper. Phoebe nodded, releasing Michael's hand as all the cell doors opened and all the inmates stepped out.

       "About to jump off, fishes." Another inmate taunted from the cell besides them as soon as they stepped out. Phoebe gulped, eyes wide. Michael ignored him, looking over at Phoebe before looking at all the other inmates. Phoebe watched Charles Westmorland step out of his cell with his beloved cat in his arms, her heart aching for the older man. Phoebe turned her attention back to Michael when he gave her a soft nudge. She looked at what Michael was staring at, seeing C-Note step out of his cell, giving the duo a glare and a smirk. Phoebe turned to look down when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, seeing an inmate step past the line outside of his cell.

       "Ballard, get back on your number!" The officer demanded, but the inmate ignored him, smirking. Phoebe watched Charles fearfully take a few steps back into his cell, holding his cat close. "I said, get back on your number, Ballard!" He demanded again, but it was useless as suddenly all hell broke loose. The inmates began attacking one another, shouting and screaming. Phoebe's breathing quickened nervously, her heart racing as she reached for Michael's hand. Michael gave her hand a tight squeeze, turning in their place to hide in their cell, when suddenly an inmate rushed to their side and grabbed Michael's shirt in his hands.

       "Wait! Stop!" Phoebe pleaded, but it was no use as the inmate forcefully pushed Phoebe aside, making the back of her head painfully ram into the cell door's thick bars, and threw Michael over the edge, making him land with a thud on the bottom level. Phoebe toppled to the ground, holding a hand to the back of her aching head, only to feel warmth on her fingers. She shakily pulled her hand away and in front of her face, seeing her fingertips coated with blood. She gasped and whimpered, watching inmates stab each other and throw each other around, some others cowering in their cells. Phoebe pushed herself to try to stand, but her back ached from the harsh impact with the bars. She was sure she was gonna get trampled by the passing inmates, but she was then picked up by an inmate and helped into her cell, the inmate sitting her on the bottom bunk.

       At first, she didn't know who'd helped her, she hadn't payed attention, but then she looked up and froze as she stared straight into the eyes of someone she thought she'd never see again. The man who had been watching her and Michael for days since they'd arrived.

       "C... Cameron?" Phoebe asked in disbelief. She watched Cameron Connors take a rag from the sink in the cell and soak it.

"Are you okay?" He asked. Phoebe remained shocked.

"Cameron?" She asked again, not believing what she was seeing. Cameron sighed, wringing out the rag and turning back to her.

"Yeah." Cameron said, standing in front of her. "Give me your hand." He demanded. Phoebe gulped, slowly handing him her blood covered hand. Cameron grabbed her hand gently, wiping her blood away. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I think..." She voiced. She stared at Cameron. "What are you doing here?" She asked quietly.

"Long story." Cameron deadpanned. "Let me see your head." He demanded again. Phoebe shook her head.

"I'm fine, I need to find— Michael." Phoebe began, but was interrupted when Michael stumbled into their cell, his shirt and hands covered in blood. He held tightly onto something and Phoebe sighed in relief. It was the bolt that T-Bag had taken. Michael had it.