A Million Arms Around Her
Title: A Million Arms Around Her
Author: wrldpossibility
Characters: Sara Tancredi/Michael Scofield, Original Character (no, not one I've already created)
Word Count: 1205
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None. Completely Post-series
Summary: She's five years old the first time she goes on a real vacation.
Author's Note: I seem to be in a fic-writing frenzy today. I had a tiny inkling (whoa, spontaneous pun...you'll see why) of an idea for truly two years, before I even began writing PB fanfic. The Summer Vacation challenge at pbhiatus_fic reminded me of it. It's completely AU, post-series Michael and Sara, but written from an entirely different POV for me. So go easy on me please. *g* Written for the challenge above.
She’s five years old the first time she goes on a real vacation.
On the plane, she sits between her mom and her dad and puts on the headphones she finds in the seat pocket in front of her. She fiddles with the buttons on the side of the armrest until music floods her ears, and she grins. One song blares, another is all piano (she knows because she takes piano) and she keeps flipping until there’s a loud beep in her ear, interrupting something with a very twangy tune, and a man’s voice fills her head, telling her it’s her captain speaking. Her captain! She presses the headphones more tightly to her ears with the palms of her hands--they keep slipping off her head--and cranes her neck out past her dad into the isle. She saw the captain earlier, standing near the front in his perfect uniform with big gold buttons and patches in the shape of wings, and she hopes he’s out there again. He’s not. Instead, a movie about the airplane begins playing on the screen in front of her, and she watches that for a while. Her dad does too. He reaches into the same pocket where she found the headphones and pulls out a colorful picture of the airplane. (It’s a 747. She knows because he told her earlier, while they were standing in line waiting to walk down the little tunnel to get onboard.)
Here, he says now. Look with me. He spreads it open on his lap, and she studies the glossy paper while he points out each feature of the plane in time with the video, one finger tracing the emergency exits while he prompts her to find them around her. She has to unsnap her seatbelt--her mom looks over--and sit up on her knees, but she finds them all. Her dad smiles at her and then studies the diagram a little longer.
*****
At the hotel, there’s a pool shaped like a huge Easter egg, and she stands on the deck, trying not to stomp her feet impatiently while her mom lathers on sunscreen. She hates sunscreen--it smells like coconut, which she hates--but if she doesn’t wear lots of it, her dad says she’ll turn bright as a lobster in ten seconds flat.
He won’t though, she thinks resentfully. He never burns, but still, a minute later she sees him come out of their room wearing a long-sleeved white shirt with his shorts. Her mother sees, too. She gives him a quick look--she knows that look--and then says something to him in an undertone that she can’t quite hear before patting her on the bottom and telling her, Go, go! Swim! I’ll be watching.
She does watch…she can see her eyes on her as she swirls idly in her pink and yellow inner tube in the center of the pool, but she’s also talking to Daddy with what looks like a serious face and he’s saying something back, and she’s frowning.
She frowns, too, squinting in the sun. She likes her mom to smile. So does her dad. She watches as he reaches out and touches her mom’s cheek, and then he’s taking the shirt off in one quick roll of his shoulders and he’s diving into the pool. She watches his approach under the water…through the filter of aqua blue and sunlight, the pictures on his skin shine nearly purple. They remind her of one of her cousin LJ‘s photos, developing in a tub of liquid in his studio, floating just under the surface as the lines form and the colors bleed. Her dad’s back dances and blurs just like that as he pushes through the depths, and she just has time to think he looks like a painted seal before he’s grabbed her toe and she’s closing her eyes and laughing as she tries to splash him.
They swim together around the pool…once, and then twice, and when they finally get out, she sees why he wanted to wear the shirt. She always does. You miss nothing, her mom always says, and it’s true. There’s no reason to miss anything if you just keep your eyes open. There’s a group of boys standing at the steps of the pool--big boys, but younger than LJ--and they whisper back and forth as her dad collects her ring and takes her hand. They’ve already turned toward Mom when one of them calls out to them.
I like your ink, he says in a burst of bravery, and the others all agree loudly while her dad just nods to them and three or four other people sitting on deck chairs turn to look at them. He notices--her dad misses nothing too--and scoops her up and holds her to him, saying something about her not burning her feet, but she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck anyway and lets her wet swimsuit soak his chest and stomach. She’ll never figure out why they look--everyone, everywhere--especially when he’s with her, when he’s with Mom. After all, he’s always had these drawings on his skin, her whole life long.
He plays with her ponytail as he walks and she watches his long arm curve through the air. Ink, she repeats, and she giggles. Those boys were funny. Ink like octopuses, with eight arms to grab you.
She feels his laugh start at his belly and roll over her skin. That’s right, he tells her, and then they’re back at their own deck chairs, dripping on Mom‘s legs. What’s right? she asks and her dad winks at her before grabbing her too, and then they’ve dropped down onto the chair and they’re both in her lap and all three of them are wet and laughing and everyone is still staring at them, but now, they’re sort of smiling. Even the boys by the pool.
That night, she goes to bed under strange-feeling crisp white sheets and the sound of her parents talking on the balcony. They’re not whispering anymore though, they’re murmuring softly in a lilt that turns up at the edges, and just from her tone, she can tell her mom is not frowning. From the vantage point of her pillow, she can see their hands intertwined, and after a minute, her dad leans forward and she can catch a glimpse of his face as he pushes her mom’s long hair to one side and kisses her shoulder, his eyes briefly closing.
She thinks again of water and ink and octopuses, and when she closes her own eyes, it’s as though there are a million arms around her, not just eight. Her head sinks even further into the pillow, and her mind is slowly drifting in lazy arcs…around and around the pool as the water laps the tiles. She lets herself float, and the last thing she thinks before waking is that eight is too many. There are four arms here, just for her, and four is enough.
Author: wrldpossibility
Characters: Sara Tancredi/Michael Scofield, Original Character (no, not one I've already created)
Word Count: 1205
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None. Completely Post-series
Summary: She's five years old the first time she goes on a real vacation.
Author's Note: I seem to be in a fic-writing frenzy today. I had a tiny inkling (whoa, spontaneous pun...you'll see why) of an idea for truly two years, before I even began writing PB fanfic. The Summer Vacation challenge at pbhiatus_fic reminded me of it. It's completely AU, post-series Michael and Sara, but written from an entirely different POV for me. So go easy on me please. *g* Written for the challenge above.
She’s five years old the first time she goes on a real vacation.
On the plane, she sits between her mom and her dad and puts on the headphones she finds in the seat pocket in front of her. She fiddles with the buttons on the side of the armrest until music floods her ears, and she grins. One song blares, another is all piano (she knows because she takes piano) and she keeps flipping until there’s a loud beep in her ear, interrupting something with a very twangy tune, and a man’s voice fills her head, telling her it’s her captain speaking. Her captain! She presses the headphones more tightly to her ears with the palms of her hands--they keep slipping off her head--and cranes her neck out past her dad into the isle. She saw the captain earlier, standing near the front in his perfect uniform with big gold buttons and patches in the shape of wings, and she hopes he’s out there again. He’s not. Instead, a movie about the airplane begins playing on the screen in front of her, and she watches that for a while. Her dad does too. He reaches into the same pocket where she found the headphones and pulls out a colorful picture of the airplane. (It’s a 747. She knows because he told her earlier, while they were standing in line waiting to walk down the little tunnel to get onboard.)
Here, he says now. Look with me. He spreads it open on his lap, and she studies the glossy paper while he points out each feature of the plane in time with the video, one finger tracing the emergency exits while he prompts her to find them around her. She has to unsnap her seatbelt--her mom looks over--and sit up on her knees, but she finds them all. Her dad smiles at her and then studies the diagram a little longer.
*****
At the hotel, there’s a pool shaped like a huge Easter egg, and she stands on the deck, trying not to stomp her feet impatiently while her mom lathers on sunscreen. She hates sunscreen--it smells like coconut, which she hates--but if she doesn’t wear lots of it, her dad says she’ll turn bright as a lobster in ten seconds flat.
He won’t though, she thinks resentfully. He never burns, but still, a minute later she sees him come out of their room wearing a long-sleeved white shirt with his shorts. Her mother sees, too. She gives him a quick look--she knows that look--and then says something to him in an undertone that she can’t quite hear before patting her on the bottom and telling her, Go, go! Swim! I’ll be watching.
She does watch…she can see her eyes on her as she swirls idly in her pink and yellow inner tube in the center of the pool, but she’s also talking to Daddy with what looks like a serious face and he’s saying something back, and she’s frowning.
She frowns, too, squinting in the sun. She likes her mom to smile. So does her dad. She watches as he reaches out and touches her mom’s cheek, and then he’s taking the shirt off in one quick roll of his shoulders and he’s diving into the pool. She watches his approach under the water…through the filter of aqua blue and sunlight, the pictures on his skin shine nearly purple. They remind her of one of her cousin LJ‘s photos, developing in a tub of liquid in his studio, floating just under the surface as the lines form and the colors bleed. Her dad’s back dances and blurs just like that as he pushes through the depths, and she just has time to think he looks like a painted seal before he’s grabbed her toe and she’s closing her eyes and laughing as she tries to splash him.
They swim together around the pool…once, and then twice, and when they finally get out, she sees why he wanted to wear the shirt. She always does. You miss nothing, her mom always says, and it’s true. There’s no reason to miss anything if you just keep your eyes open. There’s a group of boys standing at the steps of the pool--big boys, but younger than LJ--and they whisper back and forth as her dad collects her ring and takes her hand. They’ve already turned toward Mom when one of them calls out to them.
I like your ink, he says in a burst of bravery, and the others all agree loudly while her dad just nods to them and three or four other people sitting on deck chairs turn to look at them. He notices--her dad misses nothing too--and scoops her up and holds her to him, saying something about her not burning her feet, but she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck anyway and lets her wet swimsuit soak his chest and stomach. She’ll never figure out why they look--everyone, everywhere--especially when he’s with her, when he’s with Mom. After all, he’s always had these drawings on his skin, her whole life long.
He plays with her ponytail as he walks and she watches his long arm curve through the air. Ink, she repeats, and she giggles. Those boys were funny. Ink like octopuses, with eight arms to grab you.
She feels his laugh start at his belly and roll over her skin. That’s right, he tells her, and then they’re back at their own deck chairs, dripping on Mom‘s legs. What’s right? she asks and her dad winks at her before grabbing her too, and then they’ve dropped down onto the chair and they’re both in her lap and all three of them are wet and laughing and everyone is still staring at them, but now, they’re sort of smiling. Even the boys by the pool.
That night, she goes to bed under strange-feeling crisp white sheets and the sound of her parents talking on the balcony. They’re not whispering anymore though, they’re murmuring softly in a lilt that turns up at the edges, and just from her tone, she can tell her mom is not frowning. From the vantage point of her pillow, she can see their hands intertwined, and after a minute, her dad leans forward and she can catch a glimpse of his face as he pushes her mom’s long hair to one side and kisses her shoulder, his eyes briefly closing.
She thinks again of water and ink and octopuses, and when she closes her own eyes, it’s as though there are a million arms around her, not just eight. Her head sinks even further into the pillow, and her mind is slowly drifting in lazy arcs…around and around the pool as the water laps the tiles. She lets herself float, and the last thing she thinks before waking is that eight is too many. There are four arms here, just for her, and four is enough.