Alias fic: Strange Bedfellows (8/12)
Story Title: Strange Bedfellows
Chapter Title: Barranquilla
Fandom(s): Alias
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,070
Summary: One minute Eric Weiss is covert operations coordinator with the NSC. The next, he's hiding out deep in South America with a baby that isn't his and no idea when, or if, they can stop running for their lives.
Author’s Note: Fic origin here.
Strange Bedfellows
Chapter VIII: Barranquilla“Ella es hermosa. Al igual que su padre.”
“Sí. Su padre.”
“Bienvenido a Colombia, Señor Phillips. Y tú, pequeña.”
“Gracias.”
A drive, a safe house, a gun, a postcard.
Not yet.
He’s pretty sure Sydney would hit him, Vaughn would give him a slap shot to the nads, and Jack would kill him for doing this, but he’s losing his mind being either cooped up in a half-assed safe house or hiding out in the rainforest.
They’d been in other countries that had beaches-hell, South America has all of a couple of countries not surrounded by water-but he’d never had the opportunity to go see them. You know, that life endangerment thing.
But Isabelle’s two and a half, he’s been able to spend longer amounts of time in each place, and he’s half-convinced she’ll turn out mentally deficient if she, too, doesn’t get out. So he risks the hypothetical wrath of Isabelle’s family, secures a hat on her head to protect her face, and sets out for the nearest shore.
When they reach the water, he has to blink a few times to be positive he’s not looking at some Photoshop. The water is impossibly blue and clear, clearer than any beach he’d ever seen. There’s a smattering of people, but not many which, really, is best anyway. He glances at Isabelle who regards the water with fascination, and grins.
“All right, Isabelle,” he says, “I’m gonna put you down and we’re going to walk over this way, okay?”
Walking-running, rather-being old hat by now, they make it to where the waves meet the shore within moments, and he brings her in just far enough so her ankles are submerged. She giggles at the warm, salty sensation, squidging her toes in the sand.
“This feels funny!” she laughs, bending down to pick up a handful of sand and watching it fall through her fingers in awe.
“We’re on a beach,” Weiss intones.
“Beach,” Isabelle repeats obediently, committing the word to memory. Pointing out at the sea, she states, “Water.”
“Yeah,” allows Weiss, “but when it’s all salty and big like this? It’s called the ocean.”
“Oh,” says Isabelle, scrunching up her face. “Ocean.” A pause, then: “Can I go?”
Weiss chuckles. “Not too far, Isabelle. It looks pretty, but it can be dangerous, too.”
He really hopes she takes his word for it, because there are hardly any waves, and he thinks he sees dolphins jumping in the distance. Not exactly the poster child for rip currents and bloodthirsty sharks.
But he looks at her face, at her pleading green eyes, and sighs. “All right. But just a little.”
He picks her up and wades further in, stopping when the water comes up to just under his chest. He’s certain it doesn’t drop off for a while, but he’d like to err on the side of caution. It’s one thing to be here and have everyone think nothing of you, that you’re just an average father and daughter. It’s another to be rushed to a doctor and have to answer questions because you nearly drowned.
It’s deep enough for Isabelle, though, and she positively glows as he gently helps her paddle around. She gazes into the water and points at the small, brightly-colored fish that dart around Weiss’s shins, asking him what their names are. He’s not anything close to an ichthyologist so he just rattles off characters from Finding Nemo, figuring she won’t know the difference.
He doesn’t realize how long they’re out there until he notices the sky has turned from blue to a faint orange-violet. Isabelle isn’t pleased about having to leave the water, but she doesn’t exactly have the strength or size advantage, so she merely pouts her lip and reluctantly hangs onto Weiss’s shoulders as he brings them back onto the beach.
Once he’s clear of the waves, he sits down with Isabelle on his lap and points out at the horizon. “The sun’s about to go to sleep,” he explains. “See how the sky is changing colors?”
Isabelle tilts her head up to look at him. “Why?”
He’s not an astronomer either. “Because…it wants you to see something pretty before it turns off the lights.”
Isabelle seems to accept the answer, facing forward again. “I like purple. Purple’s my favorite color.”
“You know, purple is the color of kings and queens,” Weiss mentions casually.
Isabelle gasps and turns right back around. “So I’m like a princess?”
Weiss smiles. “You’re exactly like a princess.”
Isabelle claps her hands in happiness. A breeze ripples over the beach and catches her hair, blowing the long brown strands into Weiss’s face.
“We should probably get you a haircut soon,” he comments, noticing it reaches down to her waist.
This doesn’t go over well. “Princesses,” Isabelle announces haughtily, “do not need haircuts.”
Weiss doesn’t object, but he doesn’t assent either, deciding this way Isabelle wouldn’t be able to accuse him of reneging on a promise if and when he takes her to a barber. Silence falls as the two watch the sun continue to descend, the sky stained a fusion of magenta, gold, and burgundy.
“Watch closely,” he says to her when the sun is nearly set. “Supposedly when the top of the sun hits the ocean, there’s a flash of green.”
Isabelle’s eyes widen as she commands herself not to blink. She holds her breath as the sun begins its final plunge, determined to see what Weiss never has. Just as he thinks they missed it or that it didn’t appear, suddenly a brilliant, emerald-hued light blinks out at them, lasting for a scant second before disappearing.
It’s enough for Isabelle though. “You were right, Uncle Eric, you were right!” she exclaims.
“Of course I was,” he says lightly. “I’m hurt that you think I would lie to you.”
Isabelle rolls her eyes in a way that’s so similar to her father’s it makes Weiss’s heart constrict. “Can we go to the beach every day?” she asks.
He’d like nothing more than to say yes, to appease her, but he knows he can’t swear something like that. “We’ll see,” he hedges. “We’ll try.”
Isabelle wriggles down to rest her head on Weiss’s thigh, staring out at the darkening sky. Weiss absently detangles her salt-ridden hair, doing his best to pretend for as long as he can that this is just a fun vacation and not a reckless jaunt.
Next
Chapter Title: Barranquilla
Fandom(s): Alias
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,070
Summary: One minute Eric Weiss is covert operations coordinator with the NSC. The next, he's hiding out deep in South America with a baby that isn't his and no idea when, or if, they can stop running for their lives.
Author’s Note: Fic origin here.
Strange Bedfellows
Chapter VIII: Barranquilla“Ella es hermosa. Al igual que su padre.”
“Sí. Su padre.”
“Bienvenido a Colombia, Señor Phillips. Y tú, pequeña.”
“Gracias.”
A drive, a safe house, a gun, a postcard.
Not yet.
He’s pretty sure Sydney would hit him, Vaughn would give him a slap shot to the nads, and Jack would kill him for doing this, but he’s losing his mind being either cooped up in a half-assed safe house or hiding out in the rainforest.
They’d been in other countries that had beaches-hell, South America has all of a couple of countries not surrounded by water-but he’d never had the opportunity to go see them. You know, that life endangerment thing.
But Isabelle’s two and a half, he’s been able to spend longer amounts of time in each place, and he’s half-convinced she’ll turn out mentally deficient if she, too, doesn’t get out. So he risks the hypothetical wrath of Isabelle’s family, secures a hat on her head to protect her face, and sets out for the nearest shore.
When they reach the water, he has to blink a few times to be positive he’s not looking at some Photoshop. The water is impossibly blue and clear, clearer than any beach he’d ever seen. There’s a smattering of people, but not many which, really, is best anyway. He glances at Isabelle who regards the water with fascination, and grins.
“All right, Isabelle,” he says, “I’m gonna put you down and we’re going to walk over this way, okay?”
Walking-running, rather-being old hat by now, they make it to where the waves meet the shore within moments, and he brings her in just far enough so her ankles are submerged. She giggles at the warm, salty sensation, squidging her toes in the sand.
“This feels funny!” she laughs, bending down to pick up a handful of sand and watching it fall through her fingers in awe.
“We’re on a beach,” Weiss intones.
“Beach,” Isabelle repeats obediently, committing the word to memory. Pointing out at the sea, she states, “Water.”
“Yeah,” allows Weiss, “but when it’s all salty and big like this? It’s called the ocean.”
“Oh,” says Isabelle, scrunching up her face. “Ocean.” A pause, then: “Can I go?”
Weiss chuckles. “Not too far, Isabelle. It looks pretty, but it can be dangerous, too.”
He really hopes she takes his word for it, because there are hardly any waves, and he thinks he sees dolphins jumping in the distance. Not exactly the poster child for rip currents and bloodthirsty sharks.
But he looks at her face, at her pleading green eyes, and sighs. “All right. But just a little.”
He picks her up and wades further in, stopping when the water comes up to just under his chest. He’s certain it doesn’t drop off for a while, but he’d like to err on the side of caution. It’s one thing to be here and have everyone think nothing of you, that you’re just an average father and daughter. It’s another to be rushed to a doctor and have to answer questions because you nearly drowned.
It’s deep enough for Isabelle, though, and she positively glows as he gently helps her paddle around. She gazes into the water and points at the small, brightly-colored fish that dart around Weiss’s shins, asking him what their names are. He’s not anything close to an ichthyologist so he just rattles off characters from Finding Nemo, figuring she won’t know the difference.
He doesn’t realize how long they’re out there until he notices the sky has turned from blue to a faint orange-violet. Isabelle isn’t pleased about having to leave the water, but she doesn’t exactly have the strength or size advantage, so she merely pouts her lip and reluctantly hangs onto Weiss’s shoulders as he brings them back onto the beach.
Once he’s clear of the waves, he sits down with Isabelle on his lap and points out at the horizon. “The sun’s about to go to sleep,” he explains. “See how the sky is changing colors?”
Isabelle tilts her head up to look at him. “Why?”
He’s not an astronomer either. “Because…it wants you to see something pretty before it turns off the lights.”
Isabelle seems to accept the answer, facing forward again. “I like purple. Purple’s my favorite color.”
“You know, purple is the color of kings and queens,” Weiss mentions casually.
Isabelle gasps and turns right back around. “So I’m like a princess?”
Weiss smiles. “You’re exactly like a princess.”
Isabelle claps her hands in happiness. A breeze ripples over the beach and catches her hair, blowing the long brown strands into Weiss’s face.
“We should probably get you a haircut soon,” he comments, noticing it reaches down to her waist.
This doesn’t go over well. “Princesses,” Isabelle announces haughtily, “do not need haircuts.”
Weiss doesn’t object, but he doesn’t assent either, deciding this way Isabelle wouldn’t be able to accuse him of reneging on a promise if and when he takes her to a barber. Silence falls as the two watch the sun continue to descend, the sky stained a fusion of magenta, gold, and burgundy.
“Watch closely,” he says to her when the sun is nearly set. “Supposedly when the top of the sun hits the ocean, there’s a flash of green.”
Isabelle’s eyes widen as she commands herself not to blink. She holds her breath as the sun begins its final plunge, determined to see what Weiss never has. Just as he thinks they missed it or that it didn’t appear, suddenly a brilliant, emerald-hued light blinks out at them, lasting for a scant second before disappearing.
It’s enough for Isabelle though. “You were right, Uncle Eric, you were right!” she exclaims.
“Of course I was,” he says lightly. “I’m hurt that you think I would lie to you.”
Isabelle rolls her eyes in a way that’s so similar to her father’s it makes Weiss’s heart constrict. “Can we go to the beach every day?” she asks.
He’d like nothing more than to say yes, to appease her, but he knows he can’t swear something like that. “We’ll see,” he hedges. “We’ll try.”
Isabelle wriggles down to rest her head on Weiss’s thigh, staring out at the darkening sky. Weiss absently detangles her salt-ridden hair, doing his best to pretend for as long as he can that this is just a fun vacation and not a reckless jaunt.
Next