category: BtVS/Alias crossover
timeframe: Post "Chosen", post season 4 of Alias
characters: Weiss, Marshall, Jack, Xander, others
warnings: probably too unweildy to be believed
rating: adult
summary: Vaughn is comatose. Sydney is missing. Jack has a lead, which isn't such good news for Xander and the Watcher's Council

The man, no more than ten years Weiss's junior, twisted his arms in the handcuffs that held him to the metal chair. His head was bowed, but Weiss could still see the edges of the glaring hole where his left eye should have been.

Weiss had a lot to be thankful of in his life, but at the moment he could think of nothing he was more thankful for than that that eye had already been fake. When Jack had pressed his fingers against the man's face, Weiss had nearly bit through his own lip to stop a protest. The glass eye now lay, gleaming, on the table beside the man in the chair.

"Now." Jack stood over the captive, his face betraying none of the emotion that Weiss knew was broiling inside the older agent. "You're going to tell us where my daughter is."

The man in the chair hissed out a breath and lifted his head. The skin of his face was puffy and red where bruises were already forming. He spit out a small amount of blood, and shook his head. "I can't tell you anything."

"Pity." Jack leaned down to the bag at his feet. "I don't enjoy this, Mr. Harris. But we will continue until you tell me what you want to know."

The man leaned forward as much as his bonds would allow. "You don't understand. I can't tell you anything about your daughter. I can't tell you anything about my employers. Not I shouldn't. Not I won't. I CAN'T."

Bristow removed a pair of pliers from his bag and held them up to the single light in the corner. Weiss felt the blood fall away from his face even as his com buzzed.

"Um, Mr. Bristow?" Marshall's voice held all the fear that Weiss himself wasn't willing to express. "I know you, um, know what you're doing, and all, and you're, um, really frighteningly good at it, but maybe you should just listen to him? He's, um, he's a civilian as far as I can tell."

Weiss swallowed and stepped forward, speaking up for the first time since Harris had regained consciousness in the storage unit. "Marshall's right, Bristow--"

"This man," Jack grabbed Harris by the jaw, forcing his mouth open. "Knows what has happened to my daughter. That is all that matters to me."

Harris whimpered softly in Bristow's grip, then wrenched his head to the side. Jack allowed him just enough freedom to speak.

Harris stared up at the agent, fear clear in his lone eye. "You have absolutely no idea what you're involved in, do you?" Jack tightened his grip on the man's jaw, and Harris winced. "Oh god, and that's going to get me killed,"

"That's not. . . entirely true."

Weiss spun at the sound of a female voice in the storage unit, his gun raised. Something pushed him roughly back against the wall, and he choked back a scream as a knife materialized and slammed into his shoulder, pinning it to the wall.

Jack, too, had turned, and Harris's eye had opened extremely wide.

There was no one else in the unit.

"You are going to die." The disembodied voice continued in a casual tone. "But, see, so are your captors. So you should feel better about that, at least."

Jack reeled backwards as though he'd been struck. He swiftly regained his balance and scanned the room. "Who are you?"

Weiss hissed as the knife in his shoulder twisted slightly. He let his gaze flick wildly around the room. "Marshall, what the hell is going on?"

"Um, we're reading two heat signatures with you guys. They're--Mr. Bristow, look out!"

Jack spun again, leading with his jaw, blood streaming from his lips, then collapsed.

"You guys . . . um, you guys can't see them?"

"That would be a NO, Marshall!" Weiss tried to double up as a fist slammed into his gut, but the knife held him pinned. He wheezed painfully for a few moments, then straightened as much as he could, blinking to clear the spots from his vision.

"Marcy?" Harris scanned the room furtively for a few moments. "Marcy Ross?"

Weiss ran through a mental list of names, trying to find a connection, but finally had to admit he had no idea what Harris was talking about.

"Give the boy a prize. Tell me, how's Cordelia doing these days? Still as horrible as ever?"

Xander's head snapped to one side. "She's dead."

"Oh." The voice took on an exceptionally pleased tone. "Good."

"It--it must be some kind of new cammoflaging technique." Marshall's excited and nervous voice echoed in Weiss' ear. "That's amazing, you really can't see them?"

"No, Marshall, it's like they're invisible."

Harris let out a single, barking laugh. "Exactly like that."

"That's incredible. I know the Austrailians have been working on some sophisticated cloaking techniques, but this is--this is miles above anything that's even remotely possible with today's technology. How--"

A fist slammed into the side of Weiss' head, and the earpiece crackled into static. Weiss hoped Marshall had to good sense to call in back up.

Even if this was a completely unsanctioned mission.

He was getting light-headed from blood loss from his shoulder. Laughter, both male and female, rang through his ears. A hand pushed Weiss back by the neck as the knife was wrenched halfway out of his shoulder.

He couldn't contain the scream when the knife twisted again, and plunged back through his flesh into the wall. As he blacked out completely, he heard the distinct sound of flesh meeting flesh across the room.

"You're right." The female voice was saying. "They have absolutely NO idea what they've gotten involved with."

72 Hours Earlier....

Weiss fiddled with the string of the yo-yo. What the hell else did he have to do?

Quick run down:

His best friend, one Michael Vaughn, was comatose from a bizarre car accident while on vacation with his fiance. The police supposed he just wasn't watching the road. What else would he have been watching? Well, the fiancé, of course.

The fiancé, Sydney Bristow, who'd disappeared shortly after being discharged from the hospital. The fiancé who, when she wasn't running around like a total nutjob because of some crisis, national or personal, was another close friend.

His co-worker and former boss, Marcus Dixon, was not comatose, happily, but still on a long road to recovery from wounds sustained in the line of duty, and was probably busy snogging the real boss, whenever he could get away with it.

His . . . other co-worker and former boss, Arvin Sloane, was locked up in the most secure maximum security cell the government could provide, after backstabbing said government, and then backstabbing his backstabbing allies, and back and forth until no one, possibly even the man himself, had any idea what side he was really on. Well, aside from his own.

The girlfriend, Nadia Santos, daughter of Arvin Sloane and half-sister of Sydney Bristow. (Girlfriend? Yeah. Girlfriend.) *Girlfriend in a coma, I know, I know, it's serious,*

And yeah, Smiths lyrics? Not where his brain wanted to be right now. Weiss sincerely hoped they found a cure for the bizarre zombie virus she'd contracted on her last mission. He really, really needed someone to cheer him up, just now, and Nadia was just what the doctor ordered.

The best friend's fiancé's dad, Jack Bristow, also Weiss' superior, was off god knows where, hunting down any and all leads on Sydney. There was a bit of deja vu on that one. Hopefully this time the hunt wouldn't land the man in jail.

What did that leave? That left Eric Weiss. And Marshall, of course. The presence of Marshall really shouldn't be overlooked. It was sad to think that the babbling tech-geek was the only thing that was keeping Weiss even remotely sane just then. Not to say that Marshall wasn't a friend, hell, Weiss had presided over his wedding, a fact he looked on with pride, and Marshall with no end of gratitude. But with just Marshall for company while they watched over APO's apple-store-ish offices and the CIA decided what the hell it wanted to do with the covert, deeply classified branch, Weiss found himself developing a horrific case of cabin fever. There were only so many times he could perform his entire range of yo-yo tricks before wanting to hurl the toy against the wall.

And wouldn't Vaughn and Sydney be shocked to see that: the goofy, carefree agent Weiss frustrated enough to take it out on a poor, defenseless object. Weiss squeezed the yo-yo and stared at the phone.

"Come on, guys, wake up. Call me. Let me know you're going to be okay. Let's get back to saving the world."

Weiss nearly jumped and screamed like a girl when the phone actually DID ring.

The voice on the other end when he answered it with a casual "Weiss," was not the last one Weiss had expected to hear, but it was up there.

"Agent Weiss. It's Jack Bristow. Meet me at the oil fields in ten minutes and bring Marshall."

"What's this about?"

"I've discovered a lead on Sydney's location. I'll explain at the oil fields."

"I'll be there." Weiss slammed down the phone and launched himself into a cabbage-patch dance of joy. Jack found Sydney. They were finally going to get something done.