If you love me | Alex Mahone

There were moments when Alexander wished that Jones would take charge of the operations; in that way, he wouldn't have to deal with so many assholes each day. But their dynamic was clear from the beginning: he was the face of the missions, the one who did the press conferences and the talking, and the one who had to deal with people like Brad Bellick. Not only the useless policeman was uncooperative, but Mahone noticed right away that Scofield was a hundred steps past him. But it was just a matter of time for Mahone to be a hundred and one steps closer to finding the escapees.

He turned to look at her. She was furiously drawing on her sketchbook, methodically copying Scofield's tattoos on the paper. He didn't know when or how she learned to draw that way, but it didn't matter. Occasionally, she would look at him, or rather to Bellick, giving him one of her signature death stares.

'Anything?'

'Nothing, he seems too confident.'

'So it's up to us. We contacted the tattoo artist; she'll be at the station.'

'After that, we need to go to Scofield's apartment.'

'Noted.'

'How are you doing with those sketches?'

'Almost done.'

He knew he was starting to obsess with Scofield, which, by experience, was never a good sign. But something about that structural engineer with tattoos covering almost his entire body didn't sit well with him. And if he was as bright as people said, every mundane evidence could be the key to destroying all his plans.

Fortunately for him, the tattoo artist was a very cooperative person. He got a better image of Scofield's personality and was convinced that the tattoos were more relevant to the story than just a form of expression. Just as the young woman left, Jones appeared through the door with the drawing ready.

'I thought that it would take you longer.'

'I didn't want to waste our time. I took out the larger designs and was left with something familiar.'

'It's a map.'

'Of Fox River. He had everything there, but that's not what caught my attention. If you are someone so smart to have everything planned to escape, you don't stop when you are out of the gate.'

'He knew what to do before, during, and after.'

Mahone took another look at the pictures. At first sight, they were nonsense drawings, words scribbled together in a gothic font, numbers here and there. One particular set of words caught his attention: English, Fitz, and Percy.

'What was the road we took to get to the Prison?'

'English Street, intersecting with Fitz and Percy.'

'One tattoo down, several to go.' He said, hanging the picture on the board in front of them.

'What we need to figure out is the order of events. I want to think that when he designed the tattoos, he had some sort of system, a code.'

'I think we both know what to search for in the apartment.'

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The emptiness of the room made him chuckle. Crime scenes like that excited his heart, and his brain formed spider webs at the speed of light. He immediately noticed the small holes on the wall, the product of several pins that once sustained papers, pictures, and more information that needed to be displayed as a whole. Information regarding a plan. He chuckled again because it was the same thing he liked to do. To be fair, Scofield did a great job: there were no papers left behind, not even tape residues or anything incriminating. Mahone watched as the other agents and detectives searched around the room for more evidence, but he knew it would be useless.

He hated the people that the bureau assigned to him. There were far too many individuals in that room when in reality, he only needed one. His blue eyes scanned the room for her. Unlike the rest of their "team," she wasn't frantically searching in every corner of the apartment for clues. She was immobile, watching through the window to a panoramic view of Chicago. As he approached, he noticed the small movement she made for him. It was very subtle, but Mahone was an expert in reading her; they almost needed no words to communicate, which was helpful because Alexandria would rarely say more than five words out loud in public. At close quarters, it was a different story, of course. He turned his gaze to where she directed. At least someone was using their brain that morning.

'I want divers down in the river.'

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

As they approached the storage facility in Oswego, they could already tell that the operation would fail. There were too many cops surrounding the storage unit where allegedly the Fox River's eight members were hiding; they were making a lot of noise, and there were not enough people checking the surroundings. Alexandria tapped the stirring wheel impatiently while Mahone did the talking. She knew that there were protocols they needed to follow, and collaboration with the local police was mandatory. But she wanted to analyze the tattoos more and decipher the hidden messages. They were at Scofield's apartment when they received the news about the new clue and left in a rush. The only picture she could take with her read, "RIPE CHANCE WOODS".

'I hate him as well, don't worry...' Alexander said as he climbed into the car.

'Not worried. Angry.'

'Still nothing on this place?'

The small wrinkle that formed between her eyebrows was enough to tell Alexander that she was thinking. He continued scribbling on his notepad, trying to find if RIPE CHANCE WOODS was an acronym, a hidden message, some encrypted coordinates, but nothing was coming up. She looked down at the paper occasionally, but the wrinkle wouldn't fade. They both knew that they weren't on the right track on that one.

'Are we sure it is a place?'

Just as those words came out of her mouth, an officer approached them. As predicted, Bellick's operative failed, but that didn't interest Mahone. The last name on the police officer's tag made his spider webs tense.

'Oh, that kid is clever. It's not a place, it's a name.'

'I've never heard the name Ripe before unless...'

It was one of those rare moments when Jones took off her sunglasses. Blue observed green intensely, and a whole conversation was happening between those eyes. The wrinkle finally disappeared. A slight smirk appeared on Mahone's lips.

'Let's go to the cemetery.'

The tombstone was simple yet pretty. Also, it was obvious that it had just recently been profaned. The dirt was unevenly distributed, and it looked freshly moved. Alexander was honestly mesmerized by the cleverness of the ex-convict plan. He turned to look to Alexandria to see if she was, well, okay.

Despite her inexpressive face he could tell she was more tense than usual. She didn't like cemeteries. Her eyes were fixed on the white cross across from the E. Chance Woods tombstone. He wondered if she would touch it this time, but her hands were tightly placed on each side of her body. He noticed some movement in the trees; it could've as well been a bird or a squirrel, but if his timing were correct, the most probable answer would be a man. He moved closer to Jones. Normally, she would snap out of it pretty quickly, but again, she hadn't gotten this close before. He knew that she would often "feel" him close, and that would be enough, but he decided to go with words for a faster result.

'Brie.' He said, his voice merely a whisper. 'Brie.'

A second sound alerted them both. At the same time, their hands reached for their guns, and with a slight nod, they began moving closer to the trees. This time, it was evident that there were people there—people who were running. Following the noise, Mahone and Jones started to run, but Alexander eventually told her to stop. They had arrived in a highly populated area, and they would be risking a lot entering there, so they went back to the car.

'Don't say you are sorry.' Mahone looked at her. 'I should've prevented it.'

Putting her shades on again, she started the car. 'We should go back to the station. We must see the tattoos and deduce where he will be striking next.'