Email: jch114@hotmail.com

Website: none at this time

Feedback: Yes, this is my first POV fan fiction.  I'm looking forward to some feedback; give me some constructive criticism if needed.


Distribution: I don't mind, but please email me and tell me the web address of your archival site

Disclaimer:  Francie, Will, Charlie, Sydney, anything Alias related is the property of Touchstone, JJ Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, ABC.  I don't own any of this at all. Don't sue me.


Summary: This is about a potential romance between Francie and Will.  CONTAINS SPOILERS.  If you have read Wanda from E Online's spoiler in regards to the Vegas episode, you get where I am going with this.  If you haven't, this is the basic idea.  Charlie's singing wasn't the only secret he was keeping from Francie.

A/N:  They are out of Vegas. WHOHOO! Anyway, thanks to everyone for the fantastic feedback, it's been a blast.  Special thanks goes to Nicole for the strong comments and suggestions.  It's true, Nic, strong comments make me a better writer.  This is the last chapter in this story; I will continue this after the new episode airs.  The UST will be resolved to an extent in the next part of this story.  Oh yeah Harry Connick, Jr.  was/is a very popular jazz singer from the 1990's. He sings with a full orchestra some times. He's also from Louisiana.

-Francie's POV-Driving back to L.A.

I watch Vegas grow smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.  Will glances at me from the corner of his eye.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, but are you sure we can't stay?  We could assume new names and identities. I'll be Martha, and you can be John."

"Martha?" he chuckles, glancing at my midriff top and faded jeans. "Somehow I don't think the name Martha fits you."

"Very funny," I say sarcastically, punching him in the arm.

He sticks his tongue out at me and turns on the radio.  He flips the dial a few times and stops at a jazz station.  Harry Connick, Jr's smooth Louisiana-bred voice comes over the airwaves.

I look over to see Will drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the song.

"Harry Connick fan, huh?"

"It's a guilty pleasure of mine.  One of my first assignments was to review one of his concerts.  I'll admit it though, I had never heard of him until that concert.  Needless to say, after I heard him perform 'Stardust,' I was hooked."

I'm surprised by his revelation.  He's a jazz fan, not only that, but he's a fan of one of the best jazz singers out there.  This is good stuff.

"So let me get this straight, before you were 'Will Tippin, Investigative Reporter,' you were 'Will Tippin, Music Critic'?"  I can't help but laugh.

"Hey! I was very good," he says, laughing over the music.

"You'd have to be, since you said you had never heard of him until that night. So how did your review for the paper go?"

"Umm…let's just say my editor thought that my journalistic skills would be better served doing investigative reporting."

"Uh-hm.  You begged her for your job didn't you?"

He smiles.  "Guilty as charged." 

"You mind if I turn this music up a little bit?"

"Go ahead: don't tell anyone, but I'm a fan of his, too." 

He smiles, turns up the radio, and rolls down the window.  "Let me know if the air gets to be too much, ok?"

"The air feels great, Will, so you don't have to worry about that at all."  A cinnamon fragrance scents the air, and the warm sun relaxes me like I haven't been since this hellish weekend started. 

My eyes start to feel heavy.  [I] This desert air is really getting to me. [/I] 

"I know that I'm a horrible passenger, but I am feeling really sleepy."

"You don't have to stay awake.  I can drive us home."

"You sure?"  My eyes are getting heavier.

"Fran, I'll be fine. I'll just pop in a CD and we'll be home before you know it.  Get some sleep."

I smile faintly at him as I drift off to sleep.

-Back in L.A.-

-Will's POV-

The drive home was pleasant.  Fran's a quiet sleeper.  She even had a small smile on her face when she was asleep. I even pulled over for a little while to watch her. She'll never know that, of course, but it was calming for me just to watch her sleep. 

We pull up in front of the apartment she shares with Sydney.  I can see Fran's candy red sports car and I can see Sydney's pulled up behind it.  It's good that she's here; I didn't really want to leave Fran by herself.

"Fran?" I nudge her lightly.

"Hmmh…" she moves slightly in the passenger seat.

I lean in closer to her.  "Fran, we're home."

She opens eyes, startled, "What?"

"We're home." 

She pulls the passenger seat up and her face falls.  "That we are."

"Hey, why the long face?"

"Last I remember we were driving in the desert.  It was so quiet, so peaceful. I know the minute I get in there, Syd will have questions that I'm not so sure I'm ready to answer." 

"And you don't have to answer them, Fran," I say quietly.

"I know I don't, but she's still my best friend.  I don't like to keep things from her." 

She looks at me like she has something else to say, but changes her mind.

"Well, thanks for everything, Will.  I really appreciate it."  She opens the car door and starts to get out.

I shouldn't feel like I'm saying goodbye to her forever. I mean, I know I'll see her again; it's Fran, for crying out loud.  I just feel like if I don't say or do something, we will have lost the great time we had in Vegas.

"You like big band music right?"

"Yeah, I do. Why?" she asks me over her shoulder.

[I]Here goes nothing.[/I]

"Some of the perks of working at the paper is that I get tickets to events that we cover before the general public, and, well, there is charity event at the Beverly Hills Hilton."

"What does my love for big band music have to do with a charity event at the Hilton?"

"It's a 1940's theme party.  Everyone is required to dress up a la 1940's.  There will be a big band and everything.  I usually wouldn't go, but I have two tickets at home, and I really would like for us to go."

Even though I can't see her face, I can hear the smile in her voice. 

"I'd love to go, Will. Thank you for asking me."

Sydney steps out the door of their apartment and waves.

"There's Sydney.  I'd better go, Will."

"Yeah, you'd better.  I'll call you later this week to give you all the details."

"I look forward to it."  She gets out of the car, and goes to the trunk to grab her bag.

"Thanks again, Will. For everything," she calls over her shoulder as she jogs up the walkway.

When she gets to the door, she turns back and waves goodbye.

Satisfied, I drive down the street.  I can't wait to see her again.