A/N: I know it took a long time to get this chapter up…I promise, the next
ones will be faster! Special thanks to Nicole, your fantastic "beta-ing"
saved the day!
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Will's POV
Before I answer the phone, I glance behind my shoulder at the clock. Noon. I'm sitting in boxers and a tee shirt on my couch, eating Capn' Crunch and watching a rerun of Unsolved Mysteries. Hey, it is a Sunday.
I pick up on the second ring. "Will Tippin."
"Will, it's Francie. I need you to come over."
"Is everything okay?" I ask, concerned. I suddenly realize that I've been overly concerned for my friends lately: Francie's broken engagement and the ever present and multifaceted Syd dilemma.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just that…" she pauses. I hear a sigh, and then: "I found something weird in Sydney's room."
Sydney. My senses heighten and my back straightens up.
"I think you're going to want to see it," she continues cautiously, as if she doesn't want to say too much just yet.
"I'll be right over."
I place the phone back in its cradle and move to toss the soggy cereal remains into my sink, already cluttered with dishes that are long overdue for a good scrub. I quickly brush my teeth and put some jeans on over my boxers. I decide to change my shirt to one less wrinkled and lacking the "I- slept-in-this-and-never-changed" look. I grab my keys, running my fingers through my tousled hair on my way out to my car.
I barely notice L.A. whiz by. Before I know it, I put my car into park and climb out, greeted by the familiar, inviting house. Sometimes I think I'm here more than my own place. Before I can elaborate on that train of thought, or even knock for that matter, Francie opens the door and shoves a slip of paper in my face.
"It's a plane ticket stub," she says, not waiting for a question. "I found it rolled up in one of Syd's shirts in one of her drawers." My eyes scan the stub with Francie anxiously watching over my shoulder. "See the dates?" she asks. "They're the same dates as Syd's trip last week."
"Yeah," I agree distractedly, skimming the ticket. "What's weird about this? Correct address, matching trip dates…" I trail off, continuing to search the stub. Francie begins to say something when I notice. The name.
"Kate Jones," we utter at the same time.
A wave of fear hits me, followed by one of anger. I initially fear for Sydney, that she has discovered what I have, or worse, that she knows more. Then I realize it. If she knows what I know, they'll hurt her too. I shudder at a brief mental image of the masked men beating Sydney to a pulp. Okay. Now I'm angry.
Francie ushers me in the house, shutting and locking the door behind me. Francie never locks the door.
We sit down next to each other on the couch, both hovering over the crumpled ticket stub in my hand. Oh shit. My mind wanders back to when I told Francie about the investigation. She knows about Kate Jones, too. But does she remember? I glance over, studying her face. She exudes anxiety and confusion. She hasn't said anything about remembering the name, or how Kate Jones was linked to Danny. I sigh heavily, deciding that she doesn't remember. I turn my face back to the ticket and weigh my options. Remind Francie – or don't. Recalling my encounter with the masked men with licenses to kill, I decide not to. Instead I play dumb. "This woman has your address," I point out absently; we both already know that.
"I know," Francie replies, "but I don't know anyone with that name." Well, that's good. Now I'm sure that Francie doesn't remember. "But the dates are the same as Syd's. And it was hidden in her drawer. Don't you think that's kind of weird?"
"Yeah, that's weird," I agree, continuing to play dumb. "What do you think's going on?"
"No clue," she replies, dumbfounded. "Maybe Syd just picked it up in the airport, thinking it was hers. And then she forgot it was in her drawer," Francie urges, like she is trying to convince herself that this was all a simple accident, and coincidence. There's no way this is a simple coincidence. "But then there's the address…" Her forehead wrinkles in thought and frustration.
My conscience – or maybe just my reporter's instinct – tells me to find out more about this ticket stub on my own, without involving Francie. I try to quell that tiny voice, telling myself that I would rather be clueless than get Sydney killed. I unknowingly grasp the stub tighter and tighter out of frustration, until Francie snaps me back to reality. "Will! Let go of the ticket," she coaxes sternly. Realizing what I am doing, I loosen my grip and stand up.
"I've gotta go, Fran. Mind if I take this with me to look at?" The ticket once again feels my wrath as I tighten my grasp on it, not wanting Francie to say no.
She raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical about my sudden change in behavior.
"Go ahead," she replies, eyebrow still raised.
I offer a quick thanks, then rush out the door.
I start my car and gun the engine. Rushing out of Syd and Francie's neighborhood, I merge on to the highway towards downtown L.A. – towards my office. I pull out my cell phone and dial Rebecca's cell phone number. She's my new assistant. When she answers, I cut her off. "Hey Bec, listen, I know it's a Sunday but this is urgent. Get me anything you can linking a Kate Jones to a Sydney Bristow. Start with the airport."
TO BE CONTINUED…
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A/N: Don't worry, Francie will remember that Will told her about the investigation! It's all coming up soon…
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Will's POV
Before I answer the phone, I glance behind my shoulder at the clock. Noon. I'm sitting in boxers and a tee shirt on my couch, eating Capn' Crunch and watching a rerun of Unsolved Mysteries. Hey, it is a Sunday.
I pick up on the second ring. "Will Tippin."
"Will, it's Francie. I need you to come over."
"Is everything okay?" I ask, concerned. I suddenly realize that I've been overly concerned for my friends lately: Francie's broken engagement and the ever present and multifaceted Syd dilemma.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just that…" she pauses. I hear a sigh, and then: "I found something weird in Sydney's room."
Sydney. My senses heighten and my back straightens up.
"I think you're going to want to see it," she continues cautiously, as if she doesn't want to say too much just yet.
"I'll be right over."
I place the phone back in its cradle and move to toss the soggy cereal remains into my sink, already cluttered with dishes that are long overdue for a good scrub. I quickly brush my teeth and put some jeans on over my boxers. I decide to change my shirt to one less wrinkled and lacking the "I- slept-in-this-and-never-changed" look. I grab my keys, running my fingers through my tousled hair on my way out to my car.
I barely notice L.A. whiz by. Before I know it, I put my car into park and climb out, greeted by the familiar, inviting house. Sometimes I think I'm here more than my own place. Before I can elaborate on that train of thought, or even knock for that matter, Francie opens the door and shoves a slip of paper in my face.
"It's a plane ticket stub," she says, not waiting for a question. "I found it rolled up in one of Syd's shirts in one of her drawers." My eyes scan the stub with Francie anxiously watching over my shoulder. "See the dates?" she asks. "They're the same dates as Syd's trip last week."
"Yeah," I agree distractedly, skimming the ticket. "What's weird about this? Correct address, matching trip dates…" I trail off, continuing to search the stub. Francie begins to say something when I notice. The name.
"Kate Jones," we utter at the same time.
A wave of fear hits me, followed by one of anger. I initially fear for Sydney, that she has discovered what I have, or worse, that she knows more. Then I realize it. If she knows what I know, they'll hurt her too. I shudder at a brief mental image of the masked men beating Sydney to a pulp. Okay. Now I'm angry.
Francie ushers me in the house, shutting and locking the door behind me. Francie never locks the door.
We sit down next to each other on the couch, both hovering over the crumpled ticket stub in my hand. Oh shit. My mind wanders back to when I told Francie about the investigation. She knows about Kate Jones, too. But does she remember? I glance over, studying her face. She exudes anxiety and confusion. She hasn't said anything about remembering the name, or how Kate Jones was linked to Danny. I sigh heavily, deciding that she doesn't remember. I turn my face back to the ticket and weigh my options. Remind Francie – or don't. Recalling my encounter with the masked men with licenses to kill, I decide not to. Instead I play dumb. "This woman has your address," I point out absently; we both already know that.
"I know," Francie replies, "but I don't know anyone with that name." Well, that's good. Now I'm sure that Francie doesn't remember. "But the dates are the same as Syd's. And it was hidden in her drawer. Don't you think that's kind of weird?"
"Yeah, that's weird," I agree, continuing to play dumb. "What do you think's going on?"
"No clue," she replies, dumbfounded. "Maybe Syd just picked it up in the airport, thinking it was hers. And then she forgot it was in her drawer," Francie urges, like she is trying to convince herself that this was all a simple accident, and coincidence. There's no way this is a simple coincidence. "But then there's the address…" Her forehead wrinkles in thought and frustration.
My conscience – or maybe just my reporter's instinct – tells me to find out more about this ticket stub on my own, without involving Francie. I try to quell that tiny voice, telling myself that I would rather be clueless than get Sydney killed. I unknowingly grasp the stub tighter and tighter out of frustration, until Francie snaps me back to reality. "Will! Let go of the ticket," she coaxes sternly. Realizing what I am doing, I loosen my grip and stand up.
"I've gotta go, Fran. Mind if I take this with me to look at?" The ticket once again feels my wrath as I tighten my grasp on it, not wanting Francie to say no.
She raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical about my sudden change in behavior.
"Go ahead," she replies, eyebrow still raised.
I offer a quick thanks, then rush out the door.
I start my car and gun the engine. Rushing out of Syd and Francie's neighborhood, I merge on to the highway towards downtown L.A. – towards my office. I pull out my cell phone and dial Rebecca's cell phone number. She's my new assistant. When she answers, I cut her off. "Hey Bec, listen, I know it's a Sunday but this is urgent. Get me anything you can linking a Kate Jones to a Sydney Bristow. Start with the airport."
TO BE CONTINUED…
====================================
A/N: Don't worry, Francie will remember that Will told her about the investigation! It's all coming up soon…