Author's Notes: Just a fun, pointless little drabble, because I love the Will/Francie/Syd dynamic.
For Michael Vartan
Whom I am inexplicably in love with.
"He's a goner," Will says to Francie, taking a long sip from his wine glass. She arches an eyebrow at him, finger sliding back and forth across his arm. "The guy at Sydney's work," he clarifies. "The one she's been salivating over."
Sydney smiles widely from across the table. "What makes you say that?" She asks, as Francie climbs to her feet. She sashays to the kitchen and he smiles, eyes following her hips as they swing. He can hear her rummaging through the cupboards - for food or more wine, he isn't sure.
"Because you're you," he explains when Francie resurfaces. "It's inevitable that every male in your life spends a period of time in love with you -- myself included." Will presses a kiss to Francie's mouth before she can speak. "Don't get jealous, we can't help it."
"Too late," she says, once her lips are freed. "You've sabotaged our relationship. Things will never be the same."
"Way to go, Will," Sydney giggles, cheeks red from wine.
He shakes his head, grinning at the two women who now sit side-by-side. "I'm trying to give you some comfort here, Syd. And I'm telling you the truth. Just sit tight. This Michael guy will come to you."
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes upward. "No, you don't know Michael," she says, bringing her glass to her lips and sipping it periodically. "He's ... it's complicated." She pauses thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think that he wants to be with me, but then other times he does things that are just so -- so stupid that I want to punch him in the face and ... and quit, altogether."
"Quit?" Francie asks, eyebrows disappearing into her hair. "Wow, I like him already."
Sydney rolls her eyes. "Not now, Francie."
"Will you two stop joking for like, ten seconds?" Will cries exasperatedly. "I was trying to do something nice for Syd, and here are you are making a big joke out of it."
Francie waves her hands in front of her face, giggling drunkenly. "All right, all right, I'm sorry," she apologizes, sincere. "Please -- continue."
He shakes his head, complaining, "Now the moment is gone! I was just trying to tell you, Syd, since you seem really torn up about this guy, that I know he'll fall in love with you because it's impossible not to. You're kind and funny and generous and, of course, absolutely gorgeous, and if he's not already hooked then he's either a machine, or has no soul. Also, you're my best friend and I love you. And I think that's all."
Both his best friends stare dumbly. "Thank-you," Sydney finally manages to answer, and then Francie begins to giggle.
"I'm sorry," she says, trying to cover her mouth but failing to stifle her laughter. "Really. Syd, he's absolutely right. It's just -- well, you know. 'Thank-you'," she mimics.
"What?" Sydney cries, affronted. "What was I supposed to say? 'Right back atcha'?"
That seems to fuel her mirth, however. "No! It's only ... it's a little funny," she finishes, her laughter trailing off. "Or perhaps I've just had a little too much to drink."
"Or maybe you really are jealous that I've said all these nice things about Sydney." He winks thoughtfully. "To be fair, I give you sweet, sweet love all night long, and all Sydney gets is a little goodnight hug."
His words are well-received; both women collapse in fits of squeals. "Ewww! Will!" Sydney screeches happily. "Too much information!"
"Always the reporter," Francie manages, her words choked with humor.
Will grins. "Just remember what I said," he advises, tipping his glass in salute. "This Michael guy? If he ever sees you the way you are right now, Syd ... well. He's toast."
He tipped the wine back into his mouth. It was sweet, and that suited him fine.