Chapter 83 — Mark Secured
Faced with his suit-and-tie colleagues pressing him for an answer, Michael Scofield simply shook his head.
"Neither," he replied, taking a calm sip of his drink.
"Come on, man, you've gotta choose one!"
"The HR blonde? Please."
"Michael's never been into blondes."
Veronica's voice cut in, ending the debate before it spiraled further.
Michael turned—his expression instantly softening when he saw her.
"Veronica. Hey."
"How are you, Michael?"
"I'm alright. And you?"
As he spoke, Michael's eyes shifted past her, noticing the man standing behind.
"And this is…?"
Veronica gestured between them.
"Well, introductions. This is Michael—my ex's younger brother.
And this is William, a friend."
She deliberately skipped over client.
No matter the profession, dating—or even being seen with—a client rarely looks good.
William offered his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Michael."
"Likewise, William."
They shook.
William, without changing expression, placed a mental marker on Michael.
He remembered the timeline clearly:
after this bar encounter, it wouldn't be long before Lincoln Burrows was framed for assassinating the Vice President's brother—sentenced to death and thrown into Fox River.
Three years later, Michael would rob a bank on purpose, get himself locked up, and break his brother out.
And among the men escaping alongside them?
T-Bag. Franklin. —names William already knew personally.
Once they reached Utah, following that spiritual mark would let William swoop in and take his shot at the five million bucks.
Efficient. Clean.
All he needed to do was wait.
After the handshake, Veronica hesitated for a moment, conflicted.
"Michael… how's Lincoln?"
Michael blinked—caught off guard.
"You two haven't talked?"
"No. Not in years. It's like he vanished.
Is he… alright?"
Whatever else she'd become, Veronica wasn't from the South Side gutter.
Her moral compass hadn't rusted away.
Caring about an old love—someone she grew up with—was only human.
Michael fumbled for words.
"He's… the same as ever."
He didn't want to get into it.
Veronica inhaled slowly, nodded, and forced a polite smile.
"Alright. I won't keep you then.
See you around."
She walked away with William, the drink in Michael's hand trembling just slightly as he watched her go—past regrets tightening behind his eyes.
Seeing Michael unwilling to speak, Veronica didn't push further.
It was the past, after all—and people had to keep moving forward.
At least, that was what she told herself for now.
Because later—when Michael was certain Lincoln had been framed—Veronica would call off her engagement, throw away the life she'd built, and plunge headfirst into the case…
only to end up dead for it.
So yes—pretending she didn't care about Lincoln was a lie only ghosts would believe.
William, however, couldn't care less about Veronica's lingering feelings.
Everything he'd done tonight was for one reason: the system's mission.
And now that he had earned Eagle Eye Vision, his chances of surviving a new world had risen significantly.
His mind could only hold so many storylines—no way he'd remember every film or TV plot he'd ever seen.
Shameless was the exception; William had been a true fan in his previous life, rewatching it enough times to imprint the story into his bones.
---
They slid into a booth after leaving Michael behind.
"Looks like you're still hung up on your ex."
William teased, raising an eyebrow.
Veronica rolled her eyes in response.
William chuckled.
Just then, their drinks arrived.
He lifted his glass toward her.
"To our meeting."
"Cheers."
Their glasses clinked, whiskey cooling the tongue, citrus and mint leaving a clean bite on the air.
William suddenly remembered something.
Tonight—in the original story—Lincoln called Michael shortly before the assassination attempt.
Michael didn't pick up… and that final rejection pushed Lincoln to pull the trigger.
William remembered it vividly, but not because of the assassination—
...because that call ruined Veronica and Michael's hookup that night.
That detail burned into his brain forever.
Now that William had stepped in, Veronica obviously wouldn't be going to Michael's apartment.
So that phone call—
would Michael still ignore it?
William paused, then snorted inwardly.
Why was he even thinking about this?
If the timeline shifted and Michael stopped Lincoln, William would just retrieve the spiritual mark and move on.
Finding DB Cooper's daughter outside the prison was still an option.
She was dying of cancer, if he recalled correctly.
Offer to cure her in exchange for the five million dollars?
William had no doubt DB Cooper would cooperate.
Having reasoned it out, he tossed thoughts of Michael and Lincoln aside.
Two men vs. the beautiful woman sitting across from him?
Unless he'd suddenly turned gay, there was no contest.
They drank.
They flirted.
They leaned closer—until the night led them back to Veronica's apartment.
It was smaller than Bianca's place—unsurprising.
One had clawed her way up as a lawyer, the other had a family-funded medical degree and a middle-class cushion.
Different starting lines meant different ceilings.
None of that mattered tonight.
He wasn't here for the décor—he was here for the reward.
He'd slept in far worse places—Fiona's tiny room included.
---
"Want something to drink?"
Veronica opened the fridge and looked back at him.
William didn't answer.
He simply stepped behind her, slid his arms around her waist, and drew her close.
"What I want… is you."
The fridge door remained open.
Neither of them closed it.
(Again the Lord of Censorship has arrived.)
Five hours passed like smoke through moonlight.
---
[Ding! Mission complete —
Intercept Veronica Donovan & Sebastian Balfour's rendezvous.]
[Reward acquired: Eagle Eye Vision]
The reward secured, Veronica collapsed into sleep, completely spent.
William quietly dressed and slipped out of the apartment.
No emotions involved—just business and instinct.
And American manners—twenty-plus years in this country had taught him at least that.
He shut the door gently.
Inside, Veronica's eyes fluttered open—barely.
She tried to move, but her body felt drained, too weak to lift her head.
Her gaze rolled toward the doorway, trying to follow where William had gone…
but exhaustion won, and she slipped back under.
---
Outside, snow began to fall.
William shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the Illinois Institute of Technology.
His stamina was running sky-high these days.
If not for Veronica being too exhausted to continue, he certainly wasn't done.
Shame.
---
Meanwhile, back at the precinct—
In a cell, T-Bag clung to the bars, eyes bloodshot, voice hoarse from repetition:
"Find his M4! He hid it somewhere!
He's got an illegal automatic rifle! I'm telling you—he's armed!
ILLEGAL! IL–LE–GAL– GUNS!"
But no one was listening.
Snow fell quietly outside, muffling Chicago's night.
And William walked on.