A/N: Just in case there was any doubt, the season premiere made this AU.
:)
*** Will smelled popcorn as soon as he opened the door. He walked into the still lit living room and sighed. Francie lay on the couch, an afghan covering her. The blue screen told him that she'd been watching DVDs. He walked over and noticed the case on the floor--"His Girl Friday."
"You said it made you want to be a reporter," his wife whispered behind him.
He clicked off the TV and turned to look at the beautiful woman who had agreed to marry him almost seven years ago. The mother of his son. And she now knew that he had been living a lie the entire time they'd been married. "I haven't watched it in years."
"Why?" Francie whispered as she rubbed her eyes and sat up.
"Honestly?" Will picked up one of their overstuffed pillows and sat down on the other end of the couch. He leaned his chin down onto the pillow. "It makes me uncomfortable. Reminds me of what my job as a reporter was supposed to be, what I imagined it to be, and how I actually turned out."
Francie leaned forward and picked up a glass of water from the coffee table. She took a sip, and Will knew she was wishing it was whiskey. She was ready to talk; Will just wished he was more ready to answer.
He was drained. After a night of no sleep, he'd spent the day following false clues in between meetings with bureaucrats who didn't understand the game. Even those that did understand, didn't offer a lot of hope. Everyone was putting their faith in one man being able to help them, but so far he had been impossible to track down.
"You're always winning awards and getting praised--"
"But I'm not honest, Francie. Not to my readers. I tell them what the CIA lets me; at least most of the time. Sometimes I have time to investigate a local story, and I get to share everything I find out, but--" He shook his head. "It's just not the way I thought it would be. I'm supposed to be an observer, but most of the time I'm part of the story, even if I don't report that I am."
Shaking her head, Francie stood up. Then, she sat back down with a sigh. She asked, "How did you get involved in all this Will? How did Sydney? When did she become a spy?"
Will saw the hurt in her eyes, and realized that she was also hurt that her best friend--the woman she'd shared everything with--hadn't shared everything with her. Will sat up straight and rubbed his forehead. "She was recruited in her freshman year."
"Of college?
Will nodded. "Yeah."
Fran closed her eyes. "I knew when I transferred back here that she didn't seem the same. More confident. Excited. I thought it was school. Idiot."
He leaned over but she jerked away before he could touch her. "Francie, you're not an idiot. She was trained--"
"You both lied to me for years, Will, and I never even suspected it." She stood up and took in a deep breath. "So, how did you get involved?"
He sighed. "I did what Sydney asked me not to do. What you asked me not to do." She stared at him. "I kept researching Danny's death. Remember me talking about Kate Jones?" Francie shook her head. "Well, she was supposed to have flown out with Danny the night he died. Kate Jones was one of Sydney's aliases. One clue led to another which led to another, and the next thing I'm know I'm being rescued from a Paris nightclub by a red- wig wearing Sydney."
She started pacing a few steps. He could see all of her emotions playing on her face. Concern. Confusion. Frustration. Stopping, she stared at him. "Have you ever used 'pillow talk' to get information?"
It took him a moment to even understand the question. "What?"
He could see that Francie's hands were shaking as she crossed her arms. "Everyone at work could tell that I wasn't myself today. Margaret thought you were cheating." She looked at him through sparkling eyes. "Have you?"
He ran his hand through his hair. "No," he finally answered. He looked away as he finished explaining. "I was ordered to once. I almost did. We were both half undressed before I pulled away." He forced himself to look at her. "I couldn't go through with it."
He didn't tell her about the risks he took to get the information another way. She didn't need to know that he almost died, or that the CIA had been furious with him for risking himself in such a foolish way. Weiss, his handler, had understood though. "I'd rather take the riskier choice, too, Sir, than to cheat on my wife. If Collette ever found out, she'd kill me in a far more painful manner than K-Directorate can even think of," he had told Devlin. He had said it in his usual joking manner, but Will knew Weiss's wife. Collette was not a woman to cross.
He saw doubt in Francie's eyes, and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. She had never doubted him before, had never known that maybe she should. She walked over to the window and leaned her forehead onto it. "Did you ever sleep with Sydney?"
His breath rushed out of him. He couldn't believe she was asking this question. More than anything he wanted to lie, and not only to protect her from more pain. "Yes," he said, watching her back muscles tighten. "Once. In Berlin."
She gasped, and Will stood up. "It wasn't--" He ran his hand through his hair and struggled to explain Berlin. He didn't want to talk about it; he wanted to forget. "It wasn't like--Francie, it wasn't about sex."
She turned to stare at him. "Not about sex? How can two people having sex not be about having sex, Will?"
He took a step forward. "When it's about being alive." He looked down into the eyes of his wife, and he saw a barrier there that had never been there before. "Syd and I--" He blew out a breath. "We--It was a hard mission." He shook his head, trying to get the screams out of his head. His and Sydney's and Jack's all mingled together.
He realized he was crying. "We thought that--Anyway, we just needed to be reminded that we were alive. It wasn't--"
Francie reached up and wiped his cheek. "I hate it. I hate knowing that you were in pain, and that I didn't know. What has hurt you? What has excited you? You used to be so open, or at least I thought you were. I thought we shared almost everything. Now I know that we hardly shared anything."
"Francie, I've shared everything that's important."
She looked at him with disbelief written across her face. "Will, you've been hurt--"
"And it doesn't really matter," he told her. "It's a job. I do it well. I'm proud of it. But what really matters is right here. With you and Johnny."
"I feel like you're a stranger, Will," she told him.
He took her hand in between his. "I understand, Francie. I really do; I felt the same way when I found out about Sydney."
Francie stared at him. "Really? Will, we're married. As much as you cared for Sydney, I'm hoping that we're a hell of a lot closer. We have a son together! A son I just realized today was named after Jack Bristow."
She pulled her hand away, and his arms fell by his side. "Jack did a lot for me, Francie. He kept me alive, protected me from my own actions."
Francie shook her head. "You have this whole life that I never even--"
Will opened his mouth just as cell phone rang. His fingers itched to toss it against the wall. He watched his wife's shoulders slump. "Answer it. I know you need to be there for Syd."
"Francie--"
"Answer it," she said again. "I do understand. But as soon as this is over--"
"I'll be your slave," he joked as the phone continued to ring. He reached over and squeezed her shoulders as he kissed her forehead. The fact she didn't flinch gave him hope that she might be willing to forgive him. "Tippin," he said into the phone.
"Will," Sydney's voice rang out over the tiny earpiece. He could hear the excitement in her voice, and he felt his own heart start to race. "We've tracked him down. He's in San Francisco, and our plane leaves in an hour."
*** Will smelled popcorn as soon as he opened the door. He walked into the still lit living room and sighed. Francie lay on the couch, an afghan covering her. The blue screen told him that she'd been watching DVDs. He walked over and noticed the case on the floor--"His Girl Friday."
"You said it made you want to be a reporter," his wife whispered behind him.
He clicked off the TV and turned to look at the beautiful woman who had agreed to marry him almost seven years ago. The mother of his son. And she now knew that he had been living a lie the entire time they'd been married. "I haven't watched it in years."
"Why?" Francie whispered as she rubbed her eyes and sat up.
"Honestly?" Will picked up one of their overstuffed pillows and sat down on the other end of the couch. He leaned his chin down onto the pillow. "It makes me uncomfortable. Reminds me of what my job as a reporter was supposed to be, what I imagined it to be, and how I actually turned out."
Francie leaned forward and picked up a glass of water from the coffee table. She took a sip, and Will knew she was wishing it was whiskey. She was ready to talk; Will just wished he was more ready to answer.
He was drained. After a night of no sleep, he'd spent the day following false clues in between meetings with bureaucrats who didn't understand the game. Even those that did understand, didn't offer a lot of hope. Everyone was putting their faith in one man being able to help them, but so far he had been impossible to track down.
"You're always winning awards and getting praised--"
"But I'm not honest, Francie. Not to my readers. I tell them what the CIA lets me; at least most of the time. Sometimes I have time to investigate a local story, and I get to share everything I find out, but--" He shook his head. "It's just not the way I thought it would be. I'm supposed to be an observer, but most of the time I'm part of the story, even if I don't report that I am."
Shaking her head, Francie stood up. Then, she sat back down with a sigh. She asked, "How did you get involved in all this Will? How did Sydney? When did she become a spy?"
Will saw the hurt in her eyes, and realized that she was also hurt that her best friend--the woman she'd shared everything with--hadn't shared everything with her. Will sat up straight and rubbed his forehead. "She was recruited in her freshman year."
"Of college?
Will nodded. "Yeah."
Fran closed her eyes. "I knew when I transferred back here that she didn't seem the same. More confident. Excited. I thought it was school. Idiot."
He leaned over but she jerked away before he could touch her. "Francie, you're not an idiot. She was trained--"
"You both lied to me for years, Will, and I never even suspected it." She stood up and took in a deep breath. "So, how did you get involved?"
He sighed. "I did what Sydney asked me not to do. What you asked me not to do." She stared at him. "I kept researching Danny's death. Remember me talking about Kate Jones?" Francie shook her head. "Well, she was supposed to have flown out with Danny the night he died. Kate Jones was one of Sydney's aliases. One clue led to another which led to another, and the next thing I'm know I'm being rescued from a Paris nightclub by a red- wig wearing Sydney."
She started pacing a few steps. He could see all of her emotions playing on her face. Concern. Confusion. Frustration. Stopping, she stared at him. "Have you ever used 'pillow talk' to get information?"
It took him a moment to even understand the question. "What?"
He could see that Francie's hands were shaking as she crossed her arms. "Everyone at work could tell that I wasn't myself today. Margaret thought you were cheating." She looked at him through sparkling eyes. "Have you?"
He ran his hand through his hair. "No," he finally answered. He looked away as he finished explaining. "I was ordered to once. I almost did. We were both half undressed before I pulled away." He forced himself to look at her. "I couldn't go through with it."
He didn't tell her about the risks he took to get the information another way. She didn't need to know that he almost died, or that the CIA had been furious with him for risking himself in such a foolish way. Weiss, his handler, had understood though. "I'd rather take the riskier choice, too, Sir, than to cheat on my wife. If Collette ever found out, she'd kill me in a far more painful manner than K-Directorate can even think of," he had told Devlin. He had said it in his usual joking manner, but Will knew Weiss's wife. Collette was not a woman to cross.
He saw doubt in Francie's eyes, and he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. She had never doubted him before, had never known that maybe she should. She walked over to the window and leaned her forehead onto it. "Did you ever sleep with Sydney?"
His breath rushed out of him. He couldn't believe she was asking this question. More than anything he wanted to lie, and not only to protect her from more pain. "Yes," he said, watching her back muscles tighten. "Once. In Berlin."
She gasped, and Will stood up. "It wasn't--" He ran his hand through his hair and struggled to explain Berlin. He didn't want to talk about it; he wanted to forget. "It wasn't like--Francie, it wasn't about sex."
She turned to stare at him. "Not about sex? How can two people having sex not be about having sex, Will?"
He took a step forward. "When it's about being alive." He looked down into the eyes of his wife, and he saw a barrier there that had never been there before. "Syd and I--" He blew out a breath. "We--It was a hard mission." He shook his head, trying to get the screams out of his head. His and Sydney's and Jack's all mingled together.
He realized he was crying. "We thought that--Anyway, we just needed to be reminded that we were alive. It wasn't--"
Francie reached up and wiped his cheek. "I hate it. I hate knowing that you were in pain, and that I didn't know. What has hurt you? What has excited you? You used to be so open, or at least I thought you were. I thought we shared almost everything. Now I know that we hardly shared anything."
"Francie, I've shared everything that's important."
She looked at him with disbelief written across her face. "Will, you've been hurt--"
"And it doesn't really matter," he told her. "It's a job. I do it well. I'm proud of it. But what really matters is right here. With you and Johnny."
"I feel like you're a stranger, Will," she told him.
He took her hand in between his. "I understand, Francie. I really do; I felt the same way when I found out about Sydney."
Francie stared at him. "Really? Will, we're married. As much as you cared for Sydney, I'm hoping that we're a hell of a lot closer. We have a son together! A son I just realized today was named after Jack Bristow."
She pulled her hand away, and his arms fell by his side. "Jack did a lot for me, Francie. He kept me alive, protected me from my own actions."
Francie shook her head. "You have this whole life that I never even--"
Will opened his mouth just as cell phone rang. His fingers itched to toss it against the wall. He watched his wife's shoulders slump. "Answer it. I know you need to be there for Syd."
"Francie--"
"Answer it," she said again. "I do understand. But as soon as this is over--"
"I'll be your slave," he joked as the phone continued to ring. He reached over and squeezed her shoulders as he kissed her forehead. The fact she didn't flinch gave him hope that she might be willing to forgive him. "Tippin," he said into the phone.
"Will," Sydney's voice rang out over the tiny earpiece. He could hear the excitement in her voice, and he felt his own heart start to race. "We've tracked him down. He's in San Francisco, and our plane leaves in an hour."
