
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4485215.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Alias_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Isabelle_Vaughn/Julian_Sark, Sydney_Bristow/Thomas_Grace
  Character:
      Julian_Sark, Isabelle_Vaughn
  Additional Tags:
      Post-Canon, Alternate_Universe_-_Future, Future_Fic, Underage_Sex,
      Underage_Drinking, Background_Character_Death
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-08-02 Words: 2593
****** The Calm Before the Storm ******
by alittlebriton
Summary
     Spoilers up to 5.08. Future-fic. Based on the assumption that Sark is
     DA's age, I've paired at 41 year-old Sark and a 17 year-old Isabelle,
     for my sins, along with Syd/Tom. Storms occur when heat meets cold.
Isabelle pulls at her dress, trying to get some air between the clammy fabric
and her equally clammy skin. It is far too hot for this time of year. She takes
a furtive drag of her cigarette and tries to ignore the sounds of laughter
coming from the building behind her. She was happy for her mom, she really was,
but she didn’t see why this wedding was such a big deal. Her mom had been with
Tom for over ten years, so it wasn’t like their commitment to each other was in
question. But her mom had said something about her never getting to her
weddings, and then she went out to see Grandpa Jack for a while, and when she
came back, Isabelle had ignored her red eyes.
She drags her heel against the asphalt outside the hotel and wishes that she
would feel more like she belonged. Tom is great, was great, when he and her mom
first hooked up, but by then Milo had been two years old and a total tantrum
thrower, so he had had his hands full looking after his son. And Sydney was so
protective of Milo, even though he was a boy and could totally look out for
himself, and Izzy had felt left alone again. Just like that night when she was
four and her mother had been making this wailing noise in her room and she had
crept in to stroke her mother’s hair. She had asked her mom why she was crying,
and her mother had told her that her grandmother had died.
Then things had begun disappearing from their house, sports magazines, and
clothes, and then a large pile of letters that Izzy didn’t dare read, and one
day she caught her mother on the phone saying that it was finally over, that
they had caught up with him. That they were both dead. Izzy had backed away
slowly, avoiding the creaky floorboard without even thinking about it, and had
gone to have a long hard think in her room. Izzy didn’t mention her father
after that, and it was like his absence settled over their house, blanketing it
in silence, as her mom didn’t mention him either.
Then her mom got pregnant, Tom claimed responsibility and they officially got
together when Milo was two. No one questioned it except Izzy in her own head,
when she thought how surprised her mother was by Tom being in her house, by his
familiarity, as if she had never noticed Tom in that way before. Which is
impossible if you think how Milo came to be in the world. And so now here she
is, dressed in light green silk, stealing a quick nicotine fix before she has
to go back inside and have people remark how much she’s grown, can’t believe
she’s seventeen now, and doesn’t she look like her mother? Uncanny isn’t it?
Except for the green eyes of course. And then they trail off and find some
excuse for walking away and Izzy could curse her father for dying and leaving
so much broken in his path.
She hears the sound of soft footsteps coming down the drive towards her and she
whirls around and puts her cigarette behind her back. Prays her hair doesn’t
catch fire. She’s never seen this man before, but he’s dressed in a suit, so he
must be a guest. Probably a friend of Tom’s, although he looks younger than
Tom, early to mid thirties maybe. Not a trace of silver in his hair, but then
this guy is blonde and it is reasonably dark out here, except for the lamplight
that illuminates parts of the drive.
“I won’t turn you in. Please, continue to kill yourself through cancer”.
British, she knows now, and sarcastic too.
“Thanks”. She takes her hand out from behind and sucks on her cigarette, eyes
flashing defiantly. The man chuckles softly.
“And with that look, you gave away your identity. You must be Sydney’s
daughter. Isabelle, right?”
“Izzy”, she means to say dismissively, but it gets tangled on her tongue
because she’s looked the man in the eyes and their blue-ness startles her into
blurting it out. Like the teenager she is, she thinks.
He smiles at her and leans against the wall next to her. She gets a whiff of
spices and oranges, something exotic and very male, and her skin gets
goosebumps in the eighty degree heat. She grinds her cigarette out beneath her
heel, and crosses her arms defensively. She gets the feeling she’s caught in
the calm before the storm, that he’ll entrance her with his looks and words
while extracting exactly what he wants from her - and he does want something,
she can tell. He’s the kind of man her mother warns her about.
“Who are you?”, and Izzy flushes the moment the words come out of her mouth. “I
mean, I’ve never seen you around my mom before.”
He continues to smile as if she hadn’t been amazingly rude, and says ”Julian”,
while extending his hand for her to shake. Which she does, having found her
manners.
“So how do you know my mom?” Izzy wishes she wasn’t so curious sometimes, that
biting her tongue would work instead of just causing her pain. Julian looks
away for a moment, and then meets her eyes again, no more smile.
“I used to work with her. And then…I moved to a rival agency and the
competition got the best of us, so we haven’t spoken in a few years.”
“Oh.”
“I came to see her get married. It was a promise I made to a mutual
acquaintance of ours, that wished she could be here.”
“Why isn’t she?” She really can’t stop herself.
“She died.” Julian replies, as if her curiosity was her right, and that he
would do all he could to answer her questions calmly. As if he was in control.
“Oh”, she says again, because she can’t think of anything else to say. She
bends down to retrieve her champagne from where she left it on the floor and
sips at it, not too sure whether she likes the taste, but pretty sure she likes
the feeling.
“So tell me about yourself, Izzy. What do you do, what are you interested in …?
I would love to get to know the daughter of Sydney Bristow.”
“I’m applying for colleges. Journalism major.” She pauses, but he doesn’t seem
to want to fill the gap, so she goes on. “Only east coast schools.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I want to get the hell out of this city and its heat. I want to be
closer to Europe. And what with Tom being here, and Milo pretty much being the
apple of mom’s eye, I figured she wouldn’t really notice if I were gone.” Izzy
shrugs to let him know that she’s cool with that, knows that it totally gives
her away.
“I doubt that’s true.” Julian says this as if it were gospel. “Your mother
loves you, I’m sure. I can’t imagine her favouring one child over another.”
“She doesn’t ‘favour’ Milo, she’s just more protective. Everything’s about
him.” Izzy looks down at her feet to escape his scrutiny and kicks her toe
against the drive. “She wants me out of her sight because…” She trails off,
unsure if she should continue, but Julian looks at her with big sympathetic
eyes, as if he understands. She takes a deep breath.
“Did you know my father?” Julian raises an eyebrow and looks slightly shaken,
as if he were seeing a fleeting spirit.
“Yes, and I can say right now that the only thing of him I see in you is his
eyes, so don’t go thinking that your mother can’t stand to look at you because
of the memories.” Izzy’s mouth, at the end of this vehement sentence, is
hanging open. She’s pretty sure she looks as astounded by that outburst as he
is. It’s just that he collects himself first.
“How did you know that’s what I think?”
“It’s written all over your face. Your very beautiful face that is just like
your grandmother’s, in case you ever wondered where your cheekbones come from."
“Wow. You know the whole family. How the hell does a stranger that I just met
know more about my family than I do?” She’s kinda angry now, jealous of what he
knows. Wishes once again her mother told her more.
He laughs and throws his hands up in surrender at her stance, looking her up
and down and stepping back a pace.
“But that temper is all your mother’s. I’ve known parts of your family for a
while. And I can say right now that you are very special. Perhaps more special
to some than your brother.” Izzy’s brow furrows.
“Special to who?” Julian steps back towards her, and his expression alters,
eyes flashing darker. The storm is coming, she thinks for a second before
brushing it away from her mind.
“Now that would be telling.” Julian leans in and takes her champagne glass, but
he doesn’t move his body away. She can feel her anger fading, but the warmth in
her stomach that it brought stays and spreads to between her legs at his
proximity. “I think you have had quite enough to drink.” His face is so close
to hers she can see the tiny lines creeping from his eyes, and exactly how
crooked his bottom lip is.
“Maybe” she whispers.
“You drink a lot with your boyfriend?” He murmurs the question into her ear,
and his cool breath makes her nipples tighten.
“Sometimes. But we broke up.” She has no idea why she’s telling him this, or
why her body is propelling her backwards and his body follows. Or maybe it’s
the other way around.
“Why? Did he want to touch you?” And that voice is killing her, making her want
to dive into cool water just to get away from its heat.
“I let him touch me. I got bored. He was…”
“Immature?” Julian fills in the blanks as her eyes lock onto his, and she
thinks he hears the sound of smashing glass. Do you care? a voice whispers in
her head, and she knows what she is going to let him do anything he wants to.
“Did you let him fuck you?” And this he growls, and she wonders when this
turned from introductions to dirty talk. Izzy stumbles and is caught in strong
wiry arms that slide down her waist to her hips, crushing the silk beneath long
fingers, and she is on fire.
“Yes” she starts to say before her back hits the wall of the hotel and his
mouth finds hers and everything changes. She only tastes the coolness of his
mouth and the way his hands dance around her body, with more skill shown in
thirty seconds than her whole eight month relationship with Nick. She arches
into his touch and the beat of her heart speeds up to match the rhythm of the
party going on behind her.
Sex in a public place – at her mother’s wedding. And with an older man, as
well, her conscience admonishes her before she tells it silently to shut up.
His mouth is insistent, tongue sliding over hers so she moans, hands pushing
her dress up and seeking her underwear, cream lace French knickers her mom
bought her specially - ripped off in a second. Trampled in the dirt beneath
him.
One finger slides into her then another, and she is bucking and gasping into
him, his other hand crawling up to circle around her neck and push into her
hair. She reaches down and feels for his zipper: she has had sex up against a
wall before, but it was mainly to gratify Nick and only really because she
wanted to say she had done it like that. This is totally different, she thinks.
Julian knows exactly what he’s doing, no fumbling – no one has made her feel
this desperate for a man to be inside her before. A mixture of the forbidden
and three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach.
She undoes his trousers and reaches for him and then he is inside her, slamming
her pelvis against the wall with a groan that is the sexiest thing she’s ever
heard and then she realises it is a mixture of their voices together. He is
kissing her again, moving frantically between her legs and she feels the
pressure build until his thumb finds her clitoris and presses and her world
explodes in bright lightning. And then she is back on her feet instead of
having her ankles wrapped around his waist, and she feels something sticky
running down her thigh and she knows it is him. That thought is enough to make
her want him again and she clutches at his jacket, still off-balance.
He grins at her, looking like an ageless blonde devil, and kisses her once,
then bends to retrieve her panties and slides them up her legs.
“Well that was fun, if a little unexpected”, she says breathlessly.
“I wanted to do that since I first saw you out here, trying desperately not to
care that you didn’t belong in there with them.” She looks up at him,
surprised.
“Whenever you want, you call me. You want a job, I’ll train you. You’ll travel
the world and show everyone how special you are.” He hands her a card that has
a single phone number on it and nothing else. “You might find your place is by
yourself, or beside me. But it definitely is not here. Not with your brother.”
Her expression turns quizzical, and he adds, “Because he overshadows the real
you. The one everyone should see.” He adds this too hastily, she thinks, but
pushes the knowledge that he just twisted the truth from her mind. He bends to
kiss her again, drawing her tongue lazily into his mouth and making her knees
tremble.
“I would take you away from all this and show you what your heritage really
means”, he whispers. Then he lets go of her and starts to back up the drive,
leaving her in darkness, leaning against the hotel wall for support. He stops
underneath a lamp and the light forms a halo around him, and his eyes shine
with something like fervour and for the first time, Izzy can sense the danger
in him.
“But if you tell your mother about this, I’ll have to kill you.” His face is
deadly serious, and then it splits into a wide smile, and the shadow that
crawled across her soul for a moment disappears with the whiteness of his
teeth.
“Tell her that Julian said hi. And that she looked beautiful. But not nearly as
beautiful as her daughter.” And with that, he turns on his heel and walks
across the grass, away from the hotel.
Isabelle turns the card over and over in her hands, thinking furiously, trying
to ignore the throbbing between her legs and the drying liquid on her thighs.
Her place is not here by her brother. Milo is special. But not as special as
she is.
She looks back at the hotel, and through the window she can see her mom
laughing with Tom while Grandpa Jack looks at Milo with a wariness she has
never noticed before. She turns her head to stare into the darkness where
Julian disappeared and shivers in the warm May air.
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