Characters: Lincoln and ?? (Gen, Crack, Humor)
Summary: Lincoln finds that he and a certain man of mystery have a lot in common.
Author's Notes: It's Season 3—the crack just writes itself. Inspired by some online discourse at Television Without Pity, and for the wonderful rosie_spleen-- I hope this will cheer her up when she gets a chance to read it.
It's even hotter than yesterday outside the fence, but Lincoln still waits. He's come every day since Michael was sent here, first out of loyalty and worry, and now from the need to make sure Michael hasn't forgotten that L.J.'s life is on the line.
There's a commotion back inside the building—Lincoln can't quite hear exactly what—and then someone finally steps out and walks toward him. The problem is, it's not who he expects.
"Why are you here?" he asks as the figure approaches. "I came to see my brother."
"Sorry. Michael sent me, actually. He wasn't in the mood to come out just now, but he said we should meet, that we'd have a lot in common."
"Who the hell are you?" Lincoln is flummoxed.
"Ah," the man says, rubbing his hand across his hair. "That's the question, isn't it? Who am I really?"
"I mean, I like to say I'm a fisherman, that's what I tell people. But am I more than that? What's my secret? Which side am I on?"
"I'm the MacGuffin, that's it. I suppose that's all that really matters."
Oh. Lincoln has been there, done that, and lost a lot of sleep over it. "I see what Michael meant. I was the MacGuffin in Season One."
"Really. Is that what happened to your hair, then?"
"What do you mean? I did this myself." Lincoln checks, but it's still good—hardly any stubble.
"Oh, right," the man falters. "Never mind, then—carry on. You were saying?"
"You must be Whistler. Why exactly does the Company want you out?"
"Can't say really, not sure I know. Does anyone know, I mean has that part been decided? Was there a MacGuffin in Season Two?"
"Yeah." Lincoln rolls his eyes at the memory. "It was a bag of money— or a quest for exoneration, I was never quite sure."
"And how did it turn out?"
"Lost the money, got a pardon, and then Michael wound up here for no particular reason. Almost like a conspiracy was involved."
Whistler shudders. "Those are the worst." He looks like he's remembering something, or would be if there was anything to remember. "So, your brother's going to save us then?"
"He saved me, he'll save you, and then L.J.'ll be okay too. And then I can go back to being hot and drinking tequila."
"When were you actually hot?"
"All last year! The camera loved me!"
"And was that before all the sweating and the problem with the hair?"
What's with all the crap about the hair—the guy's starting to sound like Michael! "Just make sure you do your part to help Michael out, you hear me Whistler?" Lincoln stops suddenly, struck by uncertainty. "What is your part, exactly?"
"Trading barbs and mutual frustration, unresolved sexual tension…"
"That's my baby brother you're talking about!"
Whistler throws up his hands, takes a step backward. "It's not as if it's my idea. I can't even get a backstory!"
Lincoln thinks about that, remembers blueberry pancakes and a scene by the lake, remembers drug habits and a gun in a parking garage, and some long-ago baseball game seen with his father. "Yeah, I hear you."
"So, I'm sorry but I've told you all I can, at least for now. I'll do my best to help your brother, and I'll try not to let the sex thing cross the line. All right?"
It's the best Lincoln can hope for, when he's not in SONA himself and especially with the mood Michael's in right now. But he doesn't have to like it. "All right," he agrees finally. "Tell Michael I said hi."
"Will do." Whistler smiles with mystery and a certain rakish charm as he turns to go back to the building.
Whatever that look is all about, it sets Lincoln off. All right, that's it, he thinks. Kindred spirits or not, I've had it—I'll definitely be banging your girlfriend!
His step is lighter as he signs himself out and then walks to the car. He's got worries and stress and a lot of open questions, but a woman like Sofia is the kind of distraction he finds more than welcome at a time like this…
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