Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds
TWELVE – Prospects Damage the Effect
Rating: PG-13 (Harsh Language)
Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Berlin
Characters: Marcus Dixon, Jack Bristow, Eric Weiss, Marshall Flinkman, Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Sark, Steph Mariani (ElizaDushku), Simon Walker, Allison Doren, McKenas Cole, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Michael Vaughn, Marianske Kafka (Naomi Watts) mentioned Arvin Sloane, Dr. Barnett, Sydney Bristow
Length: 5,293 Words
Marcus Dixon sits at the desk in his office, reading over the notes and observations the new analyst to join the team made after her meeting with Arvin Sloane. He, of course, witnessed the entire exchange, but the perspective the young woman takes is an interesting one. She hasn't been working with these people, but for a few hours, and isn't exactly blinded by Rambaldi, like everyone else. The fact that she thought Sloane was lying when talking about Rambaldi shows is a true sign of the useful perspective she has. And Dixon is engrossing himself in this case, concerned for the well being of this particular agent, Sydney Bristow, more than he ever has been before. She is the last person he'd ever wish this kind of thing on. The outcome of his own children's kidnapping is probably why the Covenant decided to go this route. They have come to the conclusion that they can get the CIA to do anything if all they do is threaten lives.
He's also reading the forty-page report the new analyst did on the two men that the Covenant wants released a few months ago. The words and information are filling his mind, because he's obsessing over this case. He can't see why he wouldn't be obsessing over it. He's finding that he's going back into the same mindset he had when Sydney died nearly three years ago. The things that this woman has been through for her country amazes him every day of his life. And when he thinks she's had too much and she's about to break, she's always there, throwing herself back into the line of fire. He can't help but think of the moment she volunteered herself to wear the collar with the deadly toxin in it, keeping his own daughter from suffering anymore. And it's true, Sydney Bristow is his hero.
Dixon looks up at the sound of a soft knock on his door. It's Jacqueline, the woman who in a normal office environment would be called his secretary. "Director Dixon," Her words are soft, trying not to interrupt him. And he smiles at her, letting her know that she's not interrupting, and he's available. "Agents Bristow and Weiss just showed up, and Arvin Sloane was just released at the airport to go back to Zurich." She informs him. And Dixon nods, standing. He quickly secures the buttons on the front of his suit jacket, leaving the report on his desk, and walks out. The second his eyes fall on the two men standing in the main work area of the Joint Task Force building, he feels relieved. At least they made it back safely.
"Jack, Weiss." He says, nodding his head as he walks over, letting them know that he has been awaiting their arrival. Weiss looks like something is entirely off, which it is. He looks normal for the most part; save for the fact that his face relays the guilt and shock he most certainly is feeling. Jack on the other hand has that same urgent look on his face as he always gets whenever Sydney goes on any mission. And it wasn't until his own kids were kidnapped and in the direct line of danger that her ever began to understand the wrinkles blazed into Jack's features. The stress this man must go through is immeasurable, Dixon can't even begin to fathom the restless nights filled with worry.
It was one thing when Sydney and Dixon were partners. Yes he felt for her and cared about the decisions she made and the danger she was in, but he always had faith that she was a good operative and would be able to get herself out of a tough situation, if it were to come up. However, the second Dixon saw his own daughter being used as a negotiation piece he began to understand the way Jack must feel. The fact is that this man knows his daughter is a good operative and has to have faith in her abilities. But on the other hand, bottom line, he is still her father. And this is still his littler girl who is being thrown to the wolves for the sake of their country. He looks up as he hears Jack begin to speak. "Has Sydney or the Covenant made contact yet?" He questions. And Dixon knows he's not going to get any emotion out of the CIA agent, at least not right now, because this time is about work.
"No, we haven't received any contact." And Dixon knows without the words being said, that Jack needs some time alone with him in his office. So he hesitates, before turning, Jack already taking off in the direction of the secluded discussion to commence. "Weiss, have a debrief on the mission in my hands by the end of the day." And Weiss nods, leaving. Dixon then turns, walking to his office. Once inside the door, he finds Jack in his seat, rifling through the notes.
"God help me, I will kill anyone who tries to take my daughter from me, ever again." And Dixon lets the door click shut.
Eric Weiss is exhausted. He needs coffee, really a jolt of any kind. And he is quick to Marshall's office - knowing the man always has caffeine around. "Flinkman." He states opening the door. And Marshall is startled, dropping the gadget he's working on. He turns, his eyes behind bifocals.
"Agent Weiss!" He states, excited. "You're back!" And Weiss nods.
"Look, Marshall do you have any..." He trails. "I need caffeine." Suddenly Marshall is up off the stool he's been sitting on, to a small mini fridge located beneath the long desk he uses.
And he pulls a can out. "Mountain Dew." Weiss nods graciously, opening the carbonated drink. And he then takes a long drink, Marshall thinking that he might finish off the whole thing all at once. But he pulls it from his mouth, smiling. "Have you met Elle yet?"
"Who?" He asks, just before taking another drink of the soda. He needs this kind of jolt. And Marshall reaches into the refrigerator, pulling out another can. He puts it on the desk, awaiting its need from Weiss.
"She's a new analyst, assigned to this task force a couple of hours ago." Marshall states. The other man raises his eyebrows. "Actually, she's right out there with Will, now." The shorter man states, and Weiss turns, looking out the window, squinting and ducking at the same time, to get a better look.
Weiss's eyes dance upon the woman standing next to Will Tippin. He can only see her from a side view, brown hair pulled out of her face in a frustrated or even stressed bird's nest of a bun - a pen stuck inside it. And she has black-framed glasses, wears a light blue blouse and a black skirt. She and Will are speaking to one another, her hands moving as she talks. And they've both suddenly stopped, just standing there thinking. He figures they're looking for himself or Jack. And Weiss stands up straight, glances at his reflection on a mirror, which resides on one of Marshall's cabinet doors. And he looks like he feels - exhausted. He wears a deep charcoal gray pin-striped suit, slimming of some kind, and in spite of his face or hair, he looks like his normal self in the office.
"I'm going to go introduce myself." He states, grabbing the unopened can of soda. "Thanks Marshall." And with that, Weiss exits the office. He hopes to himself, that the man he knows as 'Tippin' will notice him. He doesn't want to approach with out reason. And he's relieved when he hears his name.
"Agent Weiss!" It's Will. Thank God. He acts as though he's pulled from a train of thought, looking up at Will. And he walks over, slowly, carrying a soda in each hand, suddenly feeling stupid. "Thirsty?" And now he's cursing Will. Why couldn't he have just ignored the joke this one time?
"Caffeine." Weiss responds.
"I have some iced coffees in the joint refrigerator for our offices, Will. I can go get some if you need caffeine, Agent Weiss." The woman he has yet to meet is already offering things to him, smiling the entire time.
"Those were your iced coffees?" Will asks her. And she nods slowly. "Sorry." Weiss feels out of place. There's, of course first, the vibes that Will is sending to the woman he has yet to be introduced to, that Weiss finds to be putting him off, uncomfortable. And of course the pearly white grin coming from the woman, directed at them both. And Weiss thinks that maybe this girl is putting it on a little too thick. "Oh, I feel so rude." Will suddenly says, chopping up Weiss's thoughts. "This is Elle Williams, she's an analyst on our task force. Elle, this is Agent Weiss."
"Eric." Weiss states. And he struggles for a moment, to hold both cans at once, holding his hand out for her to shake. And again, there's that smile, while she returns the gesture. It's like she knows just when to speak and not speak, and always to smile like that. He's finding that it's hard to spot something a person would not like about her. And because of that, Weiss has decided he does not like Elle. Does not like her one bit.
"Hi Eric." And her voice is even on cue, as some one would expect her voice to sound. "It's a pleasure to be working with all of you." He wants to scoff. Pleasure? This job is not a pleasure. This job is a stressor, a hazard to one's health. This job is nothing to be happy about each morning, nothing to smile like that about. This job will consume her whole, and maybe that's why he doesn't like Elle. Maybe that's why he doesn't want her on this task force, because she'll end up being a liability. Or maybe it's those eyes that seem to be consuming his mind. "Would you like me to go get that coffee?" She asks. And maybe he doesn't like her willingness to comply - those actions usually leading to that of shady and suspicious. But this girl couldn't double cross a fly, making her the best choice as mole. Or maybe he doesn't like her because he can't think straight anyway.
Weiss shakes the thoughts. He knows that he's going to have to work with this girl. And judging by her presentation hours earlier, she is on top of her game. She's a smart girl, and she's doing a good job. He was even informed that she earlier questioned Sloane - by herself. And Weiss is definitely impressed. "No thanks, I'm good." He answers. Weiss surveys the room for a moment, eyes searching for a familiar pair. "Do either of you know where Michael Vaughn is?" He questions. And both Will and Elle look to one another, before returning eyes to him. The smile is gone.
Maybe what he doesn't like about Elle is that he can picture finding her and Will Tippin slipped away into a closet, hungrily kissing and pulling clothes from one another. Yes, that's what he doesn't like. That is it exactly. Call him jealous, but maybe Weiss has a thing for Will's claim. And as he watches the body language, he wants to tell Will to just piss all around her to get the marking of his territory over with. No. This is going to be a problem. This is not good.
Simultaneously six heads snap in the direction of the door as it slams shut, Steph just inside, rage burning in her eyes. "You," She growls, her sights set on Sark. And she's slow, picking up one of the infamous daggers Abs loves to throw, walking in his direction. She's always slow when she's dangerous. "You fucked me over." And she's feet away from Sark, still walking in his direction. She twirls the dagger in her right hand, watching it spin, then looking back up into his blue eyes. "You did this." And then she's there, standing right before him. No one is moving or making a single sound. They're all just watching seeing how far she'll take this. "I have half a mind to think you set this up. It wouldn't be the first time you double crossed the people you're working for." A sharp in take of breath and she had the knife to Sark's neck, pressing it to the flesh, reopening the wound the owner of the knife had created earlier.
"Well, Julian, you've double-crossed your own teammates? I must say I'm disappointed in you, just a little." Cole isn't standing, because he knows he shouldn't - not now. Not while Stephania is holding the knife. "But I'm not surprised, young man, just disappointed. Makes the rest of use who have been in the game for as long as we have wonder how you've survived. I would say not on your good looks... but no, that's it, isn't it?" And of course it seems like Cole has known all along - Cole has known all about the playing, and double crossing and shady-ness Sark has been pulling for weeks with this group of people. And he only let it continue, so that Sark would dig his own hole. Maybe.
Steph looks over at Cole angry. "Ya know what McKenas? Not right now. This is not your battle." And she turns to Sark, slowly, pressing the knife harder to his skin, yet not turning it on the blade. Not yet at least. "This one is my battle. And Sark is mine, not yours." And at this point, if Sark were a religious man, he might be praying. But he's not, so he's standing with his lips pressed together, an annoyed headache looming in the left hemisphere of his brain. Damn, he thinks. And he needs some aspirin. He wonders how the woman might react if he were to ask her to continue this exchange later.
Her eyes are burning with rage, and she's pressing her body to his. "You fucked me over, Sark." She glares, wanting so desperately to take her rage out on his sorry self. "You fucked me over!" She leans in with the bold words, pressing the knife to emphasize her meaning. He should have known better. He shouldn't have kissed her or messed with her train of thought. He knew it would trip her up. And she thinks that maybe he planned it. "What is she to you?" Her words are low, burning his flesh. "Tell me!" She yells.
Sark waits as she lightens up on the blade so he can speak. "You care do you? Aiden's right over there you know..." Cole raises an eyebrow. Wrong move. And Steph pulls the knife from his neck completely, swiftly sticking it along his wrist, at the same time as she kicks her leg around pulling his feet out from under him. And suddenly he's on his back, the inner part of his left wrist bleeding from the one-inch laceration right near his thumb, and Steph's stiletto clad foot on his chest. She's been taking tips from Abs, he thinks. And Sark knows that the wound is nothing, but a scratch, just to prove her power. He knows he needs to give something different this time. He knows that if he messes up again things won't be so easy to recover from. "She's nothing to me, but a pawn in our operation," He coughs out, her weight heavy on his chest.
"Il suo guarisce è il luogo nel torto arginato!" Abs, in Italian. She always opts for the language when she's angry. And Sark doesn't speak the language the way he should, though he can tell what she's saying. So, he thinks, maybe her foot is in the wrong place. And Steph has definitely been taking tips from Abs.
The Italian woman's head snaps to the younger woman. "So che faccio, Abigail." Italian is not Steph's native tongue and it amazes Sark that it isn't. She speaks it so beautifully, so naturally. He figures that is what happens when one spends thirteen years with parents where one spoke the language at home, English during their life in the world. And then years after that living in Italy, with grandparents who only spoke Italian. And he mentally translates, I know what I'm doing, Abigail.
"Ya know, I think I should probably interrupt this about now..." Cole is about to stand.
"Shut the hell up McKenas!" And she throws the knife in the man's direction. He ducks, though it is nowhere near his head. And the knife comes to a halt on the hard marble floor, landing yards from their superior. No, not enough tips from Abs. Abs would have made her mark. And Abs wouldn't have discarded her only weapon.
Abs is outraged. "Lei l'idiota! Lo Stephania, lo scopo, non lancia la sua sola arma!" Steph turns and looks at her with fire growing in her eyes. And the words are just as Sark thought - words on aiming and arming.
"Ha chiudeto l'inferno su! Questo è il mio combattimento!" Steph is angry. It's her battle. Sark seizes his opportunity, grabbing the woman's leg, flipping her to the ground. She lands on her tailbone - hard. And suddenly he's regained control, flipping the woman, wrists behind her back with his knee. And he leans in to her ear, his free hand brushing her face. Now it's his battle. He's not going to take this mutiny, over throw of power, lightly. This is his team, and they had better know it. Sark will not go down with out a fight.
"Again this is where I'm going to step in and interrupt." McKenas is about to stand, and another knife has suddenly been thrown in is direction, landing hard in the wall only inches from him. Abs.
"Let them finish." She growls.
"I seem to get the impression that you all are forgetting my status as your superior." Cole states.
"Care to remind me?" She taunts easily. She can take Cole and they both know it. Hell, every single person in the room, from the two silent partners at the chess board, to the woman pinned to the floor, knows that Abs can take Cole.
"Listen to her McKenas, or your new leader here suffers." Sark pipes in.
And suddenly Aiden is interested. He knows Sark needs no weapon to do as he may to the woman on the floor. He knows Sark can do far more damage with his hands than with a knife or a gun. "Get off of her now, Sark," And he's pissed at Abs for saying they should finish. When the hell she became a part of the backbiting he does not wish to know. This is chaos. But Sark knows his pull within the Covenant hierarchy. And the blonde man stands, letting the Italian woman up. Sark knows what Aiden can do - because he's felt the man's wrath tonight.
"She didn't say a goddamn word about Black hole, you bastard. I was off tonight, she now knows my tactics and we're all fucked because of you! We're all fucked because you told me to be careful with her." Steph is laying it out for everyone to know. Steph is throwing Sark's game back at him. "What the fuck is she to you?"
Allison lets a heavy breath leave through her nose. "A game." She states as though she found it in a textbook. "Women are games to him, didn't you know, Steph?" She raises her eyebrows, a pointed look spread across her face. And Sark is ignoring the statement.
"I'll have you know, Ms. Mariani, that the woman in that interrogation room is a highly guarded member of the CIA, and her father will hunt each and every single one of us down if we don't fulfill our end of the bargain. She is here to be our poker hand - our Royal Flush - and if we harm her in anyway, we're done."
"So why the hell kidnap her in the first place Sark if you know her daddy so well, Mr. Lazeray?" Steph again, anger painted in her words.
Cole stands, frustration burning from with in. "No, this is where I interrupt." He states. And he watches the way Abs reaches for the knife in the holster at her ankle. He ducks, rushing over to Sark and Steph, out of her line of death. "She's here because we have all been given orders for her to be here, don't make me explain that part again." He states. "So, right now the bull s stops. Sark, you're done. You will stay here, to fulfill your part in this operation, but you are no longer leading it up. In-" He looks down to his watch, "five hours your new Omega arrives, so until then Steph and myself will head up operations." And he looks at her confused face.
"I suggest you all get to bed." And he feels like he's their father. Damn them and this bull s. "Whose? I don't really care."
Weiss stops just as he reaches the jail cell. And there's Vaughn, lying on his back on the small bed, hands behind his head. Weiss shakes his head, smiling, taking a breath. "Ya know," He says, and Vaughn's head has snapped up, looking at him. He wonders if that's shame or if maybe Vaughn sees the same humor in the situation. "I always knew we'd be meeting like this eventually." And Weiss shakes his head, again, smiling, trying not to laugh. "With these metal bars between us, of course. But what's funny about this, Mike, is that mental picture had me in jail, drunk, and with something like 'Soy Bomb' painted on my stomach." And now Vaughn is laughing, standing from his prior position. "No really, I've always wanted to streak..."
"Oh God," Vaughn shakes his head walking over. And he stops just on the other side of the bars, smiling, looking down for the moment. "I've been in here for over eight hours." He states. And Weiss is laughing now. They both see it - the humor and irony of Michael Vaughn behind bars. And it's good for them, because otherwise this conversation might be a lot harder than it already is. Otherwise this entire day might be a lot more difficult than it as been.
And suddenly Weiss is silent for a moment, seriousness looming. "So," He stops, and waits, to make sure that Vaughn is listening, in spite of the fact that he already knows he is. "Are you going to tell me what it is that you did to be put in here, or am I going to have to go ask Dixon?" Vaughn nods. He'd rather have this conversation directly with Weiss, as opposed to him hearing the stories about how he 'raged' from the gossip bunnies that run around every office building. And so he stands for the moment, trying to pull his words together, to explain this in the best fashion he can. But he can't.
"I lost it." He states. And the look on Weiss's face is at first serious, and then not so much. "I don't know, I hadn't had any coffee and I was still pretty pissed off about Jack pulling me from the mission. And then when... what happened to Sydney actually happened I instantly blamed Jack, made a scene. And of course then when I was told to go to Dixon's office..." He stops, and he wonders if that's a smile he sees forming on Weiss's face. "I threw everything off his desk. He got pissed, threw my ass in here." Yes it is a smile on Weiss's face. And the man is laughing to himself. "I had to have a talk with Barnett about my 'Jack Bristow Issues'."
"I'll bet she got an ear full." And it's a laugh. A laugh is coming from Weiss right now, while Vaughn is trying to explain what happened to him. An actual, real, laugh. But then there's a laugh coming from Vaughn, because damn it, this is funny.
"Oh she got more than an ear full." Vaughn states, and evil chuckle escaping his mouth. And Weiss raises an eyebrow in his direction, curious to what he means. "Well Lauren came to see me a few hours ago, just before the 'Good Doctor' got in. And," Vaughn pauses, considering his words. He doesn't know how to sound classy explaining the actions. So he opts to sound like a man. "I think she has a thing for bad boys... I've never seen her act that way, practically throwing me down on that bed. And Weiss, her ass was all up in the air when Barnett showed up." And now the laughing isn't discrete. The laughing out right, loud, boisterous, and comfortable.
Weiss shakes his head, smiling. "So when do you get sprung?" He questions, loving using the jail terms.
"That is exactly what Lauren said! Only of course she emphasized the final word in a different way..." Vaughn stops talking, wondering if he's gone too far. And Weiss is still just laughing. No, hasn't gone too far. "I have no idea when I get out of here. When Dixon decides that I've learned my lesson."
"I hardly think groping your wife is a good way to learn your lesson." Weiss answers. And it's like it's always been between these two men; A friendship to last a lifetime. Nothing could ever come between them, because they decided long ago that they weren't going to take anything that didn't need be, to seriously. Unless it's work, it's to be taken with a grain of salt. Their lives are already too dramatic as it is, so why make it worse. "And I assume that I don't have to clean the cheese nips from my couch, Lauren is quite pleased with your recent incarceration?"
Vaughn nods, still laughing and smiling. And maybe for the time being, he's stopped worrying about Sydney. Maybe not. "I feel bad though," He starts. And Weiss sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn't want to have the obligatory conversation about Ms. Bristow just yet. "I had my freak out in front of some little girl." Weiss lets the breath out. No, not conversation just yet. "I forget her name, she's an analyst."
"Elle." And maybe Weiss said that too quickly. He wonders if he sounded eager or disgusted. Of course he was going for both. And Vaughn nods, giving him a 'yeah, I guess'. "I met her just a little bit ago. She's an interesting child." He wonders if Vaughn can still read him the way he used to. He wonders if Vaughn already knows where he stands. "How old is she? 16?"
Vaughn shakes his head, a stern look on his face. "You know how Dr. Barnett feels about mixing business with pleasure." He states in a fatherly tone, dripping in sarcasm. And it was expected that Vaughn could see right through him. He wonders though, if he's that transparent. "So what is she like? I think I heard a grand total of 17 words from the girl before I threw the chair across the room."
Weiss laughs. This is the kind of conversation he's needed all day. It's not that he doesn't like Jack Bristow - he just doesn't like massive amounts of time with Jack Bristow, when Jack Bristow is in one of those moods. Weiss actually wondered, on the flight, if his ears might start bleeding from the words. It's not like the old man talked a lot. No, it was just the way he would talk, silent for 20 minutes and then a sudden anger filled outburst. Maybe like Vaughn. "She smiles a lot. Said it was a pleasure to be working on this Task Force."
"She got promoted?" Vaughn questions. And he waits for a moment, thinking. "Wonder if I got demoted." And then there's the looming, uncomfortable silence between the two friends. Time for a serious discussion. "Is there any new news on Sydney?" Weiss shakes his head. And Vaughn nods in response. They both wait, thinking. "Are you saying no because I don't have the clearance to hear a yes?"
And Weiss smiles, reassuringly. "Honestly, if you didn't have the clearance, I think I'd still tell you."
The parking garage is dark, cold, silent and empty like it always is at Three AM. Not a single soul around. And then there are heels, clicking on cement. Sharp pointed heels, three-inch heels; heels that hold on knee high black boots. And there's a bounce in her step, danger and destruction burning on her eyes like a blazing inferno. She loves this Alias. She loves this red plaid skirt, tight white tank top, black leather spiked cuffs and of course the dark black make up. She loves the punk rock look she's sporting. She loves her blonde hair all teased with red and black highlights. But then again maybe her favorite part of this alias is the black open trench coat that's longer than her skirt. Yeah, that's her favorite part.
And it's funny that she's wearing these clothes. She doesn't even have to use this alias for a few more hours, when she flies to Berlin. But this is her one true pleasure. She is a spy. She is an assassin. She has so many notches next to her name. But she's always a beauty queen. She'll always be a woman, dressing up for fun. Just hours ago she was a security guard. Just hours ago she was dressed in military wear, an arsenal of guns and knives living in her grasp. And damn it, she still feels sore. That stupid bitch and her stupid father were more than she expected.
She works for the newly reformed K Directorate. A few years ago, when she was still training, the K fell, disbanded at the assassination of its leader. And when that happened a few splinter cells formed - which she joined. And just recently the K began to reform, under the instruction of two silent leaders. She was happy to know that she still has a home. Very happy to know that she has an organization to work for. She's now been walking for a while through the parking garage. And she wonders where this damn contact is. She wonders where the person who has the info for her next assignment is waiting for her. She stops for a moment, feeling a chill, wondering if this is an assassination attempt on her. It wouldn't be surprising. But she begins walking again. Bravery burns from within those that are worthy.
"You're nineteen minutes late." She turns, looking in the darkened corner. And suddenly a lighter is ignited, a flame in front of a face, and a cigarette. Female. Darkened, shaded features as the woman takes a long drag of the cigarette, and she's then blowing the smoke out forward, billowing upward. "You don't need me informing your superiors of this tardiness, do you, Mari?" And the blonde woman, Marianske Kafka, is all the way turned to face the woman with the cigarette in the corner. And the other woman steps out into the muted gray lighting, her face all a reveal. But Marianske would never forget that face. And she's just how she remembered her; smooth black skin, full red lips, and eyes that pierce souls. No. A person never ever forgets Anna Espinoza.