The End of Somniferous Days

Author: Keren Ziv
Spoilers: Right before the S1 finale. Let's face it, I can do anything I want with the Will storyline before that. Just because I'm Little One.
Rating: Aww, nothing bad. At worst, PG-13 for swearingness.
Summary: What will happen to Will Tippin now that he knows about the CIA and not about SD-6? Who will be in charge of his fate? Could it be the same who are in charge of Syd's fate? ATY-AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias

sang-froid, also sangfroid sang-FRWAH, noun:
Freedom from agitation or excitement of mind; coolness in trying circumstances; calmness.

Sang-froid is from the French; it literally means "cold blood" (sang, "blood" + froid, "cold").

"Is he alive?"

"Yeah. It hit his left shoulder. Nothing important was damaged and he'll regain full use of his arm within a year at the worst. Might be a little stiff until then."

"They could have killed him."

"But they didn't."

"Why?"

"I think it was a warning."

"A warning?"

"A warning for Jack Bristow, maybe, to stop dragging the little reporter through everything. Or maybe a warning for Tippin himself, to keep his nose out of what it doesn't belong in."

"A warning for Sydney, maybe, that they know who her friends are?"

"Don't ever let Bristow hear you say that. She's taking this all too personally as it is."

"I don't know how to break this to you, but it is personal."

"Just don't remind Bristow. She's playing the martyr card a little too handily these days. I expect her one day to just give it all up. And then we'll be stuck with putting her in witness protection only to watch her die when SD-6 catches up with her."

"You have such a great outlook on life. If you didn't work so hard on the Bristow Project, I'd say you were truly apathetic on whether or not Sydney died today."

"I never said I cared whether she lives. I just care whether she gets her job done first."

"What about Tippin? Do we send him into the Program?"

"Naw. He wouldn't like it and I'm sure Sydney would rebel. Let's give him a nice job in the agency. He can start out small. It'll satisfy the reporter in him, to have national secrets, and who knows? Maybe he'll actually be an asset to us one of these days."

"You're all heart."

"Thanks, but I'd rather say it's just my sang-froid."

"If you say so."

The first thing he noticed when he woke was the pain. A low throbbing in on his left side, just below his head, it felt like. Struggling to open his eyes, Will tried to discern just where, exactly, he was. Ah, there was a machine. Was he in a car shop? Had a car fallen on him? It didn't look like a car shop. It was too clean. What other place had machines but was clean?

"You're awake." Somebody was talking. Who was talking? Will managed to turn his head slightly. It felt like it weighed three times its normal weight. Maybe this man had something to do with his heavy head and the soreness under it. Had the weight of his head caused this soreness? Will tried to talk, but found he could make nothing but scratching noises. "You have a tube down your throat to help you breath. Nothing that you really need anymore, but we had some men come in more seriously wounded than yourself and we're currently short staffed. It doesn't hurt. I'd take it out, but I'm not a doctor."

The man was beginning to come into focus. He was tall, that was apparent even if he was sitting in a chair. Will tried to remember how tall he himself was but found that he couldn't. He'd been the same height for years and now the number was gone. He tried to frown, but it was too much of an effort.

"Who am I?" the man asked. Will hadn't actually been thinking that, but it was an obvious question. Maybe if his head hadn't been so heavy he would have thought of that. Was something sitting on it? Could he lift his arms to check? Will found that he couldn't. "I'm Frank Johns. I work in the United States intelligence agency. You can call me Agent Johns or Johns, but never Frank. You haven't earned that yet."

Earned the right to call this stranger by his first name? What had he said about intelligence? Was he bragging about his high IQ? Will found it hard to keep his eyes open. He was tired. Would this man go away and let him sleep? He blinked and realized he couldn't un-blink. It was so nice and warm here, and his head wasn't heavy anymore. Just a little while longer and then I'll wake up, he thought.

"Good-bye, Mr. Tippin. I will see you when you are more . . . " The voice faded into the background.