Alias fic: Strange Bedfellows (11/12)
Story Title: Strange Bedfellows
Chapter Title: Santo Domingo
Fandom(s): Alias
Rating: PG
Word Count: 418
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 Notes: Fic origin here.
Strange Bedfellows
Chapter XI: Santo Domingo“Ella es hermosa. Al igual que su padre.”
“Sí. Su padre.”
“Bienvenido a la República Dominicana, Señor Iverson. Y su hija…los niños son lindos cuando duermen, eh?”
“Sí. Gracias.”
A drive. Normally Weiss would wake Isabelle, normally she never falls asleep until they get to the house, but he doesn’t have the heart to rouse her.
A safe house. It looks like all the others, and he lays her down on the coverlet gently.
A gun. He slips it under the pillow.
A postcard. Weiss exhales heavily.
Soon.
It’s just one word shorter, and the word itself is not that different than notes before, but at the same time it’s monumental. Weiss reads the word over and over as if it’ll say something else if he studies it enough. It doesn’t, just glares at him menacingly, and he sits on the edge of the bed. While Isabelle’s conscious he never lets himself show his exhaustion, but when she slumbers, he allows himself a few moments to sag his shoulders and rub his hand over his face. He’s forty-six years old-this stress is not appreciated.
He glances over at Isabelle, at her angelic face while she dreams, and wonders if he should tell her of the note.
No, he decides after a moment. He may not technically be in the spy game anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s somehow lost touch or forgotten. The note means Sydney and Vaughn are alive-by God does that make Weiss ache with hope-but it doesn’t mean they’ll still be alive an hour from now or a month or a year. There’s no reason to build Isabelle up only to have her come crumbling down again.
Weiss takes a lighter out from his jacket and flicks on the flame, holding it to the edge of the paper. Within seconds it’s reduced to fluttering pieces of ash, the message that brings both hope and desertion gone. He wants oh so desperately for Sydney and Vaughn to come back, to come for their daughter-he’s wished for little else over the past eight years-but even more than that he doesn’t want to see Isabelle get hurt.
Kicking the cindery remains under the bed, Weiss climbs onto the mattress, pulling Isabelle into his chest like always. She squirms at the movement, but then settles in, her delicate hand wrapping around his wrist.
It takes him a while to fall asleep, but when he finally does, he dreams of smoke and fear and four letters that mock him.
Soon.
Next
Chapter Title: Santo Domingo
Fandom(s): Alias
Rating: PG
Word Count: 418
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 Notes: Fic origin here.
Strange Bedfellows
Chapter XI: Santo Domingo“Ella es hermosa. Al igual que su padre.”
“Sí. Su padre.”
“Bienvenido a la República Dominicana, Señor Iverson. Y su hija…los niños son lindos cuando duermen, eh?”
“Sí. Gracias.”
A drive. Normally Weiss would wake Isabelle, normally she never falls asleep until they get to the house, but he doesn’t have the heart to rouse her.
A safe house. It looks like all the others, and he lays her down on the coverlet gently.
A gun. He slips it under the pillow.
A postcard. Weiss exhales heavily.
Soon.
It’s just one word shorter, and the word itself is not that different than notes before, but at the same time it’s monumental. Weiss reads the word over and over as if it’ll say something else if he studies it enough. It doesn’t, just glares at him menacingly, and he sits on the edge of the bed. While Isabelle’s conscious he never lets himself show his exhaustion, but when she slumbers, he allows himself a few moments to sag his shoulders and rub his hand over his face. He’s forty-six years old-this stress is not appreciated.
He glances over at Isabelle, at her angelic face while she dreams, and wonders if he should tell her of the note.
No, he decides after a moment. He may not technically be in the spy game anymore, but that doesn’t mean he’s somehow lost touch or forgotten. The note means Sydney and Vaughn are alive-by God does that make Weiss ache with hope-but it doesn’t mean they’ll still be alive an hour from now or a month or a year. There’s no reason to build Isabelle up only to have her come crumbling down again.
Weiss takes a lighter out from his jacket and flicks on the flame, holding it to the edge of the paper. Within seconds it’s reduced to fluttering pieces of ash, the message that brings both hope and desertion gone. He wants oh so desperately for Sydney and Vaughn to come back, to come for their daughter-he’s wished for little else over the past eight years-but even more than that he doesn’t want to see Isabelle get hurt.
Kicking the cindery remains under the bed, Weiss climbs onto the mattress, pulling Isabelle into his chest like always. She squirms at the movement, but then settles in, her delicate hand wrapping around his wrist.
It takes him a while to fall asleep, but when he finally does, he dreams of smoke and fear and four letters that mock him.
Soon.
Next