Preface

breached
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/43187106.

Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
F/M
Fandom:
Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Relationship:
Nancy Drew/Ned Nickerson
Character:
Nancy Drew, Ned Nickerson
Additional Tags:
Missing Scene, Mystery Stories, the ringmaster's secret, Established Relationship, Making Out, Hurt/Comfort, Trauma
Language:
English
Stats:
Published: 2022-11-21 Words: 1,563 Chapters: 1/1

breached

Summary

Missing scene from The Ringmaster's Secret. After Nancy is attacked, Ned realizes there will always be a next time.

Notes

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It was when Ned saw Nancy touch her neck and wince that the weight of it finally, belatedly hit him.

After someone had wrapped a souvenir whip around Nancy's neck and choked her to unconsciousness—how had Ned not known, not realized, he had been sitting right beside her—Ned had seen her, and for a heart-stopping moment, had thought she might be—

She's not. But it would have been so easy. Some foul chemical, the quick slash of a blade.

He had begged her to wake up, chafing her wrists, stroking her cheek, and she had revived almost immediately, sprung into action just as quickly—and then, his horror swamped by the rage that had risen as soon as he realized she was still alive, Ned had seen her eyes suddenly gleam with tears as she touched her neck in a quick convulsive movement, as though she needed to tear away the whip he already had flung away from her. She had wondered, quietly, whether she had somehow imagined it, but the terrible deep-red indentation across her throat was no figment of their imaginations.

But how absolutely horrible, that even for a second, she could think that such a nightmare had been invented by her own mind.

He had wanted to whisk her away from the circus, back to light and laughter and safety, and they had ended up at Bess Marvin's home. Nancy hadn't taken the time to conceal the brutal mark with concealer or a scarf, and it had immediately drawn comment from some of the other guests, who knew her and her reputation.

This was who she was.

For most people, nearly being choked to death by a souvenir whip while in the guest-of-honor box at the circus would be a one-time event, a story trotted out to horrify and titillate grandchildren, to be embellished upon during every whiskey-soaked regaling. For Nancy, by morning—

He didn't know for sure, but he supposed that near-death experiences had lost some of the novelty for her. Ned had been there for more than a handful of times Nancy's life had been in danger, and he would be happy to never witness another.

This case is too dangerous. Leave it to someone else.

But that would mean letting the villain win. That would mean expressing fear. And maybe Nancy's fear was that if she did back down, she would stop believing in herself. If she acted confident and unafraid, maybe she would become it.

Was it real?

What kind of toll did it have on her? Did she claw her way out of nightmares the way he sometimes did, or did she just relive the worst of it during daytime hours? Had she shoved it down so deeply and so completely that it just came through in snatches now?

Because to be her was to feign a sort of immortality. To behave as though the ropes suspended beneath her would resolve into a safety net instead of a gallows.

He could have lost her. Over a string of tiny charms.

Ned left his own glass nearly untouched, crossing the party to her, seeing her wince as she swallowed a sip of lemonade. The expression was fleeting and slight, but Ned winced in sympathy.

And then Nancy glanced into Ned's eyes, and something passed between them. She was clearly mid-conversation, pausing in the middle of some anecdote, but she held up a hand and gave her head a little shake. "A moment," she said, and smiled. "Mr. Nickerson?"

He offered his arm, and Nancy slid her own through it. They walked out as the other party guests shrugged and wandered back together, casting knowing glances at each other that Nancy and Ned ignored.

The light was burning over the back steps, casting the patio into shadow. The neighborhood was quiet, so quiet that he could hear the hiss and crackle of the streetlamp nearby. A breeze carried the smell of rain.

Three steps down and he turned to her, tilting his head down to gaze into her dark blue eyes. She was already looking up at him.

Ned's fingers trembled once, just a bit, as he brought his hand up. He didn't quite touch the dark, horrible mark on her neck; he didn't want to hurt her any more than she already had been.

"I'm all right," she said, each word distinct and emphatic. "We'll find whoever did this."

"But there will be a next time."

Nancy's lips parted, but she closed her mouth again without speaking, as though she couldn't force herself to speak the lie. "Probably," she said, and turned away, taking two steps toward the edge of the bricked patio, the edge of the halo of light. A few eager moths bumped against the bulb, making small plink sounds.

Ned glanced over at the noise, then shook his head and let his breath out in a snort.

"Hmm?"

He shrugged in that direction. "I'm the moth," he told Nancy quietly, taking a step toward her, very aware of the distance between them. Her body had half turned away from his, but now she was facing him again, and the shadows turned her indistinct. Maybe the hollows they traced were illusory. Maybe she was untouched by the maelstroms she so often breached. Maybe she was the only calm.

"And who's the light in this?"

His lips curved up, briefly. His heart was beating hard, but this felt like the right place for it—shadowed stillness, unobserved, unwitnessed. Maybe tomorrow it would be unacknowledged, the rash action of two people celebrating survival.

"You," he told her, his voice just above a whisper. "Always, ever you. When I looked over and saw you—for a moment I thought—"

She was the one who stepped forward then, closing the distance between them, and when her thumb touched his parted lips, when her fingers cupped his jaw, Ned breathed in and watched her shake her head. "And I wasn't," she said, and she seemed to be trying to keep her voice light, but her eyes were gleaming now, more than they had been.

"But you so, so nearly were."

"A warning."

"A warning is a note," he retorted. "Someone lays his hands on my—"

At that they both stopped, drawn up, and she searched his gaze, her lips parted. She still had her hand on his face, and she was already so close, and he slid his arm around her waist, a frisson of pleasure sliding up his spine at the contact.

A taste. Just a taste of her, and he was lost.

"Your what," she prompted him, and she sounded breathless now.

He leaned down, emboldened, heartened when she didn't pull away, when she didn't protest, when her hand stayed where it was. When he heard that soft whimper, a plea, an abandoning. Her breath was warm on his lips, and oh, he gave her the time to turn her face away, to signal him if she didn't want this.

But she didn't turn away.

"My Nancy," he murmured, and then his lips were pressed to hers.

My life, my love, my reason for being. My heart, my desire, my angel.

All those times she had laughingly pulled away, protested that someone might see, someone might hear, had blushed and changed the subject, hadn't exactly dampened his enthusiasm, but it had made him wonder. She never seemed to want to put a name on what they were to each other, what they had, but Ned had also never misrepresented himself or his intentions. One day, once she was ready, and maybe it would be once he had graduated Emerson and found a place at a successful firm, there would be the expected words, the traditional ones. Maybe he would speak them while down on one knee, in candlelight. Maybe she would insist on driving to his parents' home immediately, to show off the ring he had placed on her finger. Maybe Carson's blessing would have to be asked and earned first.

Ned would crawl on his belly over burning coals and broken glass for that blessing.

But here, now, was the blessing of her, her presence, her still-beating heart. Her lips parted under his and another quiet whimper that undid him as, after a heartbeat of hesitation, she met and responded to his kiss. Maybe her eagerness was just relief at still being alive. Still being able to do this with him.

Her hand crept into his hair and Ned found the patio chair with only a little fumbling, and then she was on his lap, her skirt rucked up, her lips still pressed to his. Her cheek seemed to be radiating heat, and he smoothed her flushed skin with gentle strokes, tracing the line of her earlobe, her jaw, the nape of her neck, his other arm still wrapped around her waist and gathering her to him.

The alarm bells were there, but he ignored them.

Then she broke the kiss and they gazed at each other, lashes low, kiss-swelled lips parted, their faces level and her hand still in his hair.

"My Ned," she murmured.

Something cracked in the vicinity of his heart, then. Some thin protective shell that no one else had ever breached.

"One day," he murmured.

She shook her head, leaning toward him again, and he met her halfway.

"Always."

Afterword

End Notes

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