Alias fic: Strange Bedfellows (9/12)
Story Title: Strange Bedfellows
Chapter Title: Caracas
Fandom(s): Alias
Rating: PG
Word Count: 615
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 IX: Caracas“Ella es hermosa. Al igual que su padre.”
“Sí. Su padre.”
“Bienvenido a Venezuela, Señor Carmichael. Y tú, pequeña.”
“Gracias.”
A drive, a safe house, a gun, a postcard.
Not yet.
He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he supposes his body simply refused to continue functioning after so little sleep and so much stress. He wakes up groggy but a little more rested, and reflexively reaches his arm to the side to feel for Isabelle. His hand touches only mattress.
Instantly his mind sobers and he abruptly jumps off the bed, searching around the tiny room for Isabelle. An icy chill comes over him as he realizes she’s nowhere to be found. He runs through the safe house calling her name, not even caring that his voice probably carries ten miles away, his heart racing and his brain going through various awful scenarios.
Someone’s kidnapped her.
She was killed.
I was drugged and she was dragged somewhere.
A lump forms in Weiss’s throat and he sits on the floor against the wall with his head on his knees. “I had one job,” he murmurs to himself. “One job and I failed…”
What would Sydney say? Or Vaughn? Or Jack? He can’t even fathom their faces.
Resolve overcoming the panic, Weiss stands up and heads for the door, determined to tear apart all of Venezuela, all of South America, to find her. He didn’t come this far just to-
“Uncle Eric?”
Weiss whirls around to see Isabelle traipsing through the back door, a half-peeled plantain in her hand.
“Uncle Eric, what's wrong?”
Eric takes a breath and rushes over to her. “Isabelle,” he whispers. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“Do what?” Isabelle asks innocently. “What did I do?”
“Don’t run off like that without telling me,” Weiss intones. “Do you understand? Running off gets people killed.”
He regrets his words the minute he says them, Isabelle’s eyes wide with fear. “W-What?”
Weiss shuts his eyes, telling his heartbeat to slow down. “I’m sorry,” he says gently. “But there are people out there who would want to hurt us, to hurt you. If you wander away like that, I’m not able to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re okay.”
Isabelle’s face is full of apology. “I’m really sorry,” she says with tears in her eyes. “But you were sleeping and I didn’t want to…I just wanted a snack…”
Weiss gives her a smile which belies his very slowly decreasing terror. “It’s okay. Just please don’t do something like that again. You can wake me up no matter what. I know this is a hard time right now, but you’ve got to trust me, all right?”
Isabelle nods and throws her arms around his neck. “Okay.”
Weiss squeezes her to him for a few moments, then separates. “Now,” he says with another smile, “how about you give Uncle Eric a bite of that banana, huh?”
Isabelle gives him a false glare, but holds out the fruit to him anyway. He takes a large chunk out of it, still not entirely used to the firmer texture. “It’s a plantain,” Isabelle corrects proudly. “There’s a difference.”
Weiss is pretty sure there isn’t, or one that’s negligible, but doesn’t dare correct her. “You’re right,” he says. “As usual.”
Isabelle grins, and the plantain excursion becomes both the first and last incident of its kind. Weiss knows she’s not fond of the arrangement, of having to bring her guardian everywhere she goes, but it’s the one subject on which he never wavers. Isabelle’s beseeching words and smile are not enough to overcome the nightmarish envisioning he has of her parents’ devastation. Or, worse, or her tiny body broken and bleeding.
Next
Chapter Title: Caracas
Fandom(s): Alias
Rating: PG
Word Count: 615
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 IX: Caracas“Ella es hermosa. Al igual que su padre.”
“Sí. Su padre.”
“Bienvenido a Venezuela, Señor Carmichael. Y tú, pequeña.”
“Gracias.”
A drive, a safe house, a gun, a postcard.
Not yet.
He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he supposes his body simply refused to continue functioning after so little sleep and so much stress. He wakes up groggy but a little more rested, and reflexively reaches his arm to the side to feel for Isabelle. His hand touches only mattress.
Instantly his mind sobers and he abruptly jumps off the bed, searching around the tiny room for Isabelle. An icy chill comes over him as he realizes she’s nowhere to be found. He runs through the safe house calling her name, not even caring that his voice probably carries ten miles away, his heart racing and his brain going through various awful scenarios.
Someone’s kidnapped her.
She was killed.
I was drugged and she was dragged somewhere.
A lump forms in Weiss’s throat and he sits on the floor against the wall with his head on his knees. “I had one job,” he murmurs to himself. “One job and I failed…”
What would Sydney say? Or Vaughn? Or Jack? He can’t even fathom their faces.
Resolve overcoming the panic, Weiss stands up and heads for the door, determined to tear apart all of Venezuela, all of South America, to find her. He didn’t come this far just to-
“Uncle Eric?”
Weiss whirls around to see Isabelle traipsing through the back door, a half-peeled plantain in her hand.
“Uncle Eric, what's wrong?”
Eric takes a breath and rushes over to her. “Isabelle,” he whispers. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“Do what?” Isabelle asks innocently. “What did I do?”
“Don’t run off like that without telling me,” Weiss intones. “Do you understand? Running off gets people killed.”
He regrets his words the minute he says them, Isabelle’s eyes wide with fear. “W-What?”
Weiss shuts his eyes, telling his heartbeat to slow down. “I’m sorry,” he says gently. “But there are people out there who would want to hurt us, to hurt you. If you wander away like that, I’m not able to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re okay.”
Isabelle’s face is full of apology. “I’m really sorry,” she says with tears in her eyes. “But you were sleeping and I didn’t want to…I just wanted a snack…”
Weiss gives her a smile which belies his very slowly decreasing terror. “It’s okay. Just please don’t do something like that again. You can wake me up no matter what. I know this is a hard time right now, but you’ve got to trust me, all right?”
Isabelle nods and throws her arms around his neck. “Okay.”
Weiss squeezes her to him for a few moments, then separates. “Now,” he says with another smile, “how about you give Uncle Eric a bite of that banana, huh?”
Isabelle gives him a false glare, but holds out the fruit to him anyway. He takes a large chunk out of it, still not entirely used to the firmer texture. “It’s a plantain,” Isabelle corrects proudly. “There’s a difference.”
Weiss is pretty sure there isn’t, or one that’s negligible, but doesn’t dare correct her. “You’re right,” he says. “As usual.”
Isabelle grins, and the plantain excursion becomes both the first and last incident of its kind. Weiss knows she’s not fond of the arrangement, of having to bring her guardian everywhere she goes, but it’s the one subject on which he never wavers. Isabelle’s beseeching words and smile are not enough to overcome the nightmarish envisioning he has of her parents’ devastation. Or, worse, or her tiny body broken and bleeding.
Next