When Ned saw George's name flash on his caller ID, his stomach sank. The case had taken too long already. A call almost guaranteed that they weren't on the way home.
"Hello?"
"Can you get here?" George's words were rapid, nearly piled on each other, in an anxious whisper.
"Did it happen again?"
George paused. "I wish," she replied.
That sick, desperate feeling lurched in him again. "I'll be on the next flight."
--
It had very nearly become a joke between them. Nearly, but not quite.
The first time Nancy had set out to retrieve a vulnerable woman from a cult, she'd ended up becoming its leader. It had been out of necessity; she had realized that she'd have to depose the person in charge to get out. But it had never quite crossed over into something that they could just laugh off, not the way it had been when Nancy had been crowned queen of practically every Emerson dance she had attended.
This... this had felt very different from the beginning, and Ned would have insisted on accompanying her, if he hadn't been in the middle of a crucial work project. While doing her research, preparing for this retrieval, Nancy had made Ned a sort of cheat sheet, and he set to memorizing it immediately, as soon as he had booked his own flight.
The cult was patriarchal in structure, based on a set of very strict rules put in place by the founder, who was... well. No longer present. Nancy was pretty sure that the current leader had imprisoned or killed him, but she wasn't sure and his absence hadn't been explained to the other members. Those strict rules, though, were still there, and couldn't be changed. To change them would be to deny the godlike powers of the creator.
And Nancy had made Ned a key.
Bess and George could support Nancy and the woman she was saving; they could put resources in place for a rescue mission. But they couldn't just walk in and use their authority to get her out.
All Ned had to do was bluff his way through it. As long as he had everything letter-perfect, he could pull it off.
He had to pull it off.
The cult's location was remote, and Ned chafed at the delay, using it to read and re-read the packet Nancy had made for him. After he landed he had to charter transportation to the port, then figure out the unmarked location.
If he could have, he would have chartered a plane and had a unit of special operatives rappel down and start taking captives, but given everything else... Nancy had cautioned against anything like that. She didn't want the cult leader to resort to violence, and Ned didn't either.
Ned could see the strain on Bess's face instantly when she recognized him at the door of the room she and George shared, and they hugged each other hard. "I'm so glad you're here," she said, tears trembling at the edge of her voice.
"Me too." George's expression was fiercely angry. "If I'd been able to figure out a way... they're keeping her locked up and guarded. I was really hoping that when you got here, we could tell you that you wasted a trip, and..."
Ned gave her a hug, too. "Thanks for calling."
George gave her a lopsided smile. "There was nothing else to do. I didn't know what to do. And I hate this."
Ned didn't bother saying that they all did. "All right. Tell me how to get there."
"What are you going to do?" Bess asked, her brow furrowed slightly.
Ned's smile was humorless. "She left me an 'in case of emergency,'" he replied. "I'm gonna hope to God it works."
He dressed in a long-sleeved black polo shirt and khakis, the "uniform" the higher-ranking members wore, and George served as his chauffeur. He had his notes in a slim leather portfolio, and did a few last-minute checks to confirm he had the rules completely memorized. The ones that applied to him, anyway. It was like learning another language, and the stakes were so high...
But, if his bluff worked, he'd be able to stare down or intimidate anyone who dared question him.
The entrance, a gate standing over the rough path with an armed guard on either side, was constructed from what looked like freshly-split wood. Ned would have called it more symbolic than anything else, if the growth on either side weren't thick enough to prevent travelers from avoiding the stop. The guards were stone-faced.
The first test, and at the end of a nasty-looking pair of guns. Ned's pulse sped up, and he rolled down his window but made no other move.
Arrogant, entitled, absolutely infallible. It didn't exactly feel great to put on the persona of a rich thirteen-year-old, but given everything Nancy had learned about the cult, it made sense.
The guard who approached the car pointed the gun directly at Ned, and didn't say anything. When no bullet hit him, Ned relaxed marginally.
"Apollo sent me." Ned jerked his chin toward the gate, and he lowered his voice to a menacing growl. "Now."
The guards exchanged glances. Of course Ned's arrival was unexpected, but he'd invoked their absent leader. The rules stated that he had to be obeyed, without question.
"Code?"
"Code?" Ned repeated, disdain curling his lip. "You've caught a spy. Why the hell else would I be here. Don't make me repeat myself."
The guards opened the gate, and Ned could tell how hard George was gripping the steering wheel as she proceeded through it, her foot pressing a bit more firmly than necessary on the gas pedal. The wheels practically spun on the loose gravel of the "roadway" before catching.
"It's gonna be fine," Ned said, just loud enough for George to hear—if her heart weren't pounding in her ears.
"I'll believe it when it happens."
They had joked before that Nancy had nine lives. As long as she had just one more...
The cult members had established a camp, a loose cluster of rudimentary buildings and tents in a clearing near the shore. Initially Ned had imagined a lush tropical paradise, dense with foliage, vines, vegetation—and, he hated to admit it, maybe some indigenous people nearby who were either willfully ignoring or somehow suckered into participating in the cult's antics. He didn't see any of that here. The clouds were low and gray, and the gray extended to everything, the tall leafless trees, the winter foliage blanketing the ground. According to the dossier Nancy had assembled, most of the cult members were white people from modest to well-off families, not the vulnerable, cruelly exploited people he had expected—though maybe they were just vulnerable in a different way.
Ned and George passed through another checkpoint, but the previous guards had clearly radioed ahead. After a cursory check, they were waved through.
Now, for the real test. Ned kept a hold on the portfolio; he hoped that it lent his appearance a more official air, but he also knew he just might have to consult it in a pinch. After a beat, George slid out of the car to join him, but she kept well out of his way. The chauvinism of the group meant she had to stay quiet.
The cult members were streaming in and out of the clearing, delivering armfuls of kindling to what looked like a planned bonfire.
Ned managed to disguise his weakening knees by briefly glancing his fingertips against the side of the car. Nancy needed him. Maybe they were just building an overly enthusiastic cooking fire.
They weren't. He knew that.
The cult members didn't look like gullible idiots. If anything, they could have been transported off the streets of any major city: all about Ned's age, most of them white, some of them still sporting the washed-out remains of brightly-colored dye jobs. They looked like they were just on a massive camping trip.
The gate Ned walked under bore a stylized sun, thirteen rays, the engraved design shining thanks to some inlaid metal.
"Croft," Ned called, his voice firm.
Croft, the de facto leader, glanced up from some intense consultation with three other men. His complexion was fair under ruddy, sunburned cheeks, his hair bleached a lighter shade of blond than the stubble of his beard. He was solidly built, and while he was trying out a polite smile, it came nowhere near his pale eyes. His black polo looked fresh, his khakis nearly so, his boots shined.
Ned didn't know why he'd been expecting some barefoot, unkempt messiah-type, but Croft looked closer to a covert ops guy than a vague, spaced-out hippie.
"You from Apollo?" Croft's tone didn't give anything away: no sarcasm or skepticism, but no friendliness either.
"He heard about the bubble." That was the term they used for anyone causing trouble in the group, a source of turbulence. "I'm here to take her in."
Croft searched Ned's eyes, then shook his head. "We have it handled."
Ned took a small step closer. "I didn't realize you'd suffered a head injury, or that you aren't hearing properly. This isn't negotiable."
"There's a full moon tonight."
Ned felt a sudden thick lump in his throat, but his awareness of it was distant, thanks to his anxiety level.
"If she makes it through, her blood will bless this site."
Ned's own blood was boiling. He hoped he was just channeling it into intensity, to make his performance more genuine, especially given this wrinkle. "You've begun."
Croft nodded. A smile had turned up the corners of his lips. There was nothing pleasant in his expression. Nothing benign. "As a representative of Apollo," Croft said, watching Ned closely, "you'll want to participate."
At that moment, Ned felt himself—snap. It was painless, nearly imperceptible, and a relief to have someone else in control. "As a representative of Apollo, her treatment is my responsibility," Ned replied coldly. "If you've decided on the ritual, I'll carry it out."
Croft bared his teeth, but he had opened this door. By invoking Apollo as he had, Ned outranked the other man. "Surely you'll want to rest. It's a long journey."
Maybe the former leader was still around, but Ned wasn't about to bet on it. It had been a damn long trip, even from wherever Apollo supposedly was.
And every second Nancy was in custody meant the potential for more abuse.
A loose group of the cult members had formed a ring around them, all casual, listening without appearing to listen. The women in the group bore the marks of superiors' displeasure, on their faces and arms: fresh and fading bruises, for the most part. Some wore strips of red cloth knotted over biceps, to note the displeasure of some higher-ranking member, always male.
Ned hadn't understood how anyone, but especially any woman, could join any organization so blatantly, proudly misogynistic, and Nancy had shrugged. "Most of the situations we move in bear some misogyny," she pointed out. "For some women, this is just an affirmation of the self-hatred they've already internalized. And to be told you're lesser, that you need to completely submit your will to someone... better... well, there's some appeal to that. How can you fuck up if you follow orders?"
Still. Pretending to respect any man who could be so disrespectful rankled Ned. Being able to treat Croft like the absolute waste of space he was, was nice.
"Are you sure she's in any condition for what you have in mind?"
Croft sputtered a bit as Ned marched toward two basic structures flanked by armed guards, the only two in the clearing. At an elemental level, her condition didn't matter, as long as it wouldn't end with a man finding he was fucking a corpse.
Get her out, grab a gun, march her out...
Kill Croft. That was singing in Ned's blood and it was hard not to let the intense, visceral anger take over.
Because these assholes had exactly one ritual tied to a full moon. The participants were generally willing, if anyone who had been brainwashed into a cult could be said to give informed, uncoerced consent. Nancy wouldn't have consented at all to a public group rape the original leader had thinly veiled as a fertility ritual.
She had been held captive, likely starved, certainly drugged. She was a pariah here, and the men, likely all the men, would delight in punishing her for her "sins." The question of whether she would make it through wasn't an idle one, and the public nature of her punishment would discourage any other women who might have any idea of escape. If they were this foolish, they could expect similar treatment.
The guards had guns. Ned's rage wouldn't shield him from bullets, even though it felt strong enough to do that. More importantly, his rage wouldn't shield her.
Ned's hands clenched into fists as soon as he saw her. She was the love of his life, and she had been forced into a small wooden cage like an animal, with a guard seated beside her, a gun trained on her. He could barely perceive the motion of her chest to show she was still alive and breathing. She was so pale, and even in the faint light Ned could see the bruises—at her throat, her upper arms.
"Much like everything else, you've done a piss-poor job," that cold persona snarled at Croft. "Get me two guards. She needs to be purified."
"I know that. We have plenty of time."
Ned turned an ice-cold glare on him. "To revive her before moonrise? What, were you just going to dump her on the fire and be done with it? Apollo wants to speak to her, find out who sent her, and you're trying to kill her." Ned folded his arms and turned to fully face the man. "What does she know that you're so desperate to hide, Croft?"
Croft bristled. "It's a hard site. We're doing the best we can here. Which Apollo would know, were he here."
"He is," Ned said, gesturing at himself. "Two guards. My staff will help. There's a waterfall nearby that will be suitable. While they handle it, show me your shrine. How many have you brought in since establishing here? Have you set up a headquarters in the town, at a permanent location yet? He wants to see the books."
While Ned could sense that Croft was still skeptical, there were too many witnesses, and Ned's requests were more than reasonable. As George helped the guards carry Nancy's unconscious body out to the car, Ned feigned interest in the records, forcing himself to pay close enough attention to point out discrepancies, to pepper Croft with additional questions to keep his attention elsewhere.
"How many have been put through cleansing since your arrival?"
"Everyone. Everyone's been through it." Croft gave Ned a strange look.
So close. He was so close to having her free of this. One false move and he'd be shot, bleeding out on the ground, watching helplessly while they dragged Nancy back into her makeshift prison.
He couldn't fuck up now.
"At amber level?"
Croft's mouth closed with a click. "Tomorrow we can begin," he replied. "After tonight's ritual."
Ned nodded, casting a deliberately casual glance over at the car, where a pale George sat in the driver's seat. "We'd better get a move on. Select two alternates, in case she doesn't survive the purification. See if you can redeem yourself, after this total fuck-up. I'll be taking her to Apollo tomorrow."
Ned had to fight himself to keep from sprinting to the car. One guard sat at Nancy's side; the other was in the front seat.
Fine. Two against two was better odds anyway.
Ned forced a cold smile. "Shall we," he murmured, and his heart lurched when George put the car in gear.
--
Hell was a droning roar.
Nancy cringed, drawing in on herself, and whimpered at the pain. All of her hurt; Croft and his guards had taken a certain degree of pleasure in methodically beating her, demanding confessions, demanding that she admit all the sins she had committed against them, and soon she had been babbling anything to get them to stop... but it hadn't stopped. It had only paused for a while.
The light hurt. Everything hurt.
"Hey." Ned's voice, soft and gentle, and the brush of his fingertips against her brow.
Well. So this couldn't be hell.
If Ned was here, then maybe... maybe.
She opened her eyes. She was on a plane; that was the droning sound, the pain in her ears. Tears leaked down her cheeks to her neck, and in her confusion she saw Bess and George, Ned's handsome dark eyes, and—
Leila. The woman she had gone in to save. The last time Nancy had seen her, she was vanishing toward a faint trail, and Nancy had felt a hard blow before the darkness.
"She's okay?"
Ned nodded, stroking her cheek. "And you?"
She had heard what Croft had been saying, what they'd been planning for her. In a handful of her more lucid moments, she had started considering what she might to do escape their plan, even if she couldn't find a way to leave.
But Ned had come to her, and as much as she hurt, at least she knew that hadn't happened to her.
"Where..."
"We're going home, baby. You're safe. We're going home."
Nancy rolled onto her side and then Ned was pulling her into his arms, tight, holding her as she trembled. The letdown was intense, the realization that it was actually over.
Unless this was really a cruel dream, some kind of disassociation to keep her from realizing what was actually happening to her.
"Tell me you're real. That this is true." She couldn't seem to catch her breath; every time she gasped in a lungful of air she could smell Ned's aftershave, and then she felt Bess's stroking hand against her back, and the painful sob that had been choked in her finally broke.
"It's real," Bess said, her own voice muddy with tears. "We tried so hard..."
"I know," Nancy reassured her, as she gripped Ned hard with one arm and reached for Bess with the other. The three of them hugged tight, and Nancy couldn't help whimpering in pain at the pressure against her bruises, but this felt real.
George came over too, and Bess reluctantly let Nancy go; Ned wasn't going to budge, apparently, and Nancy had a feeling she might break down in hysterics if he did. "I can't believe what they were going to do," George said, her voice cracking.
"I would have killed them first," Nancy said.
She would have tried. But she would have died in the process, and that would have been its own relief.
She drifted in a half-dazed state for the rest of the flight, and once they touched down, Ned gently transported her to a car and rushed her to the hospital. Bess and George took turns filling the medical staff in on recent events, while Ned held her hand. Given her state, the doctor put her on an IV to replenish her fluids, while they tried to determine the extent of her injuries.
She stayed for an entire day, and Ned was by her side for most of it. Her father visited, Hannah visited, Bess and George practically lived there, but Ned was there almost every time she drifted off and jolted awake again, terrified that she would close her eyes and be back in that small cage, awaiting another round of beatings, demands, pain.
Once the doctors pronounced her better—she wasn't quite good as new, that would take a while, but at least she was no longer malnourished and dehydrated—Ned didn't even ask; he loaded her into a cab and directed it to his apartment. She couldn't have argued with him, even if she had wanted to. She still felt completely wiped out.
In that strange twilight, she roused enough for her timed medication doses to keep her pain manageable, but sank into an exhausted, relieved sleep in his arms. She felt completely turned upside down, sometimes literally; she was disoriented and time blurred, looped back on itself, repeated and distorted and repeated again. Scenarios she had planned while terrified and drugged played out in her mind over and over as though they had been real, with minor changes, with cast changes, with masks and sudden shifts—
And then Ned moved and she clung to him, burrowing like a terrified child, horrified in and by her weakness.
It had been a long, long time since it had been this bad, and she knew it was some toxic combination of her panic, the drugs they had forced her to take, malnutrition, the desperation of her situation, all of it. Resigning herself to a terrible, meaningless death. Because she had. She had seen, felt, tasted her own death, and that was never easier. Every damn time, in fact, it felt a little harder.
"Shh. Shh, baby, I'm right here. You're safe. I'm sure the storm will be over soon. Shh."
Thunder crashing outside, so loud it had to be under a mile away, lightning strobing through in white-blue flashes so abrupt they had her heart lurching into her throat. The utter stillness... the power was out, and the darkness was tangible, a soft weight, a pulsing swell of brown-violet.
At night, she hadn't even had the moonlight, just her own memory and her own terror.
She couldn't see Ned. She could hear him, his familiar voice, but arms around her in darkness—her heart sped up, and the panic that she was barely keeping contained kicked into overdrive.
She sucked in a breath so quickly that it was its own soft cry, and Ned sat up, realizing the problem, reaching for the candle he kept close by just for such emergencies. The scent of sulphur in the oppressive dark was enough to make her gorge rise, but Ned touched the just-flared candle to each wick in turn, and the warm light was barely enough, but it was enough.
"More?"
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
The darkness was pressed back a few more inches with each new candle, and he even rushed out and returned with a lantern swinging from one clenched fist, the swinging arc of it playing over his pinstriped boxers. He placed it on her side of the bed as the rain lashed against the window, driven by howling gusts.
She couldn't seem to get warm outside his arms. At night, she'd had no blanket, nothing to wrap around her.
God. Before, she could just dismiss it like a nightmare. Now, today anyway, just closing her eyes was enough to make the nightmare of her experience replay again, again, misremembered, half-remembered.
"Nan...?"
She shook her head, then buried her face in her hands. In the morning, it would be better. It had to be. But for now, it felt like thick tar, sucking at her limbs, binding her tight. Twining around her ribs and squeezing tight, clenching her heart.
"Hold me," she said, her voice shaking, as she squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to keep the tears in. She wasn't this. This wasn't the woman he had fallen in love with. "I'm so cold."
He crossed to her, and she relaxed marginally when she was in his arms again, when she was able to see him and feel him and hear him. She was in flannel pajamas—she didn't remember that happening, but the fabric was well-worn, smooth against her skin—and she held him tight, nestling into him, until their bodies were perfectly matched. He held her too, stroking her back, her hair, his breath warm against her temple.
"It'll get better," he promised. "It'll be better. I'm sorry."
She frowned. "You didn't do anything," she murmured. "It wasn't your fault."
"If I hadn't had to stay here..."
She moved to look into his eyes. Oh, the candlelight playing over his skin gave it a soft warmth, and she loved the sight of it. She loved him more than she had ever found the words to explain. And seeing the pain there, his regret, she couldn't bear.
"Baby," he murmured. "I wish I'd burned it down on the way out."
She gave him a weak smile. "I wish you had too," she admitted. "But maybe they'll leave, given time. I don't know. I know Croft is a sadistic asshole and I hope someone takes him out soon."
"Maybe the police report will help."
She shrugged. She had no faith in that. If the police had taken any of it seriously, she wouldn't have needed to go in to get Leila out. "I'm alive," she said softly, and settled against him again. "It will get better. You're here with me. I love you, I'm sorry... it's taking so long..."
"Hey, you're due a week," he said. "A month. To work through this and everything else. You can't honestly think I'm looking down on you right now."
"I'm looking down on myself." She buried her face against his shoulder. "I hate feeling this way."
"He took you somewhere bad. It'll take you a little bit to get back. You're safe; I swear to God you're safe. Just rest."
--
Ned couldn't say that he was afraid of what would happen, were she left alone; he just didn't want it to happen. Hannah was happy to come over and stay with her, and she arrived before Ned had finished dressing for work.
If it were up to him, he would have taken time off and just stayed with her, but he also couldn't imagine how that conversation with HR would go. "Yeah, I need some family time off. My girlfriend went undercover in a cult and she's working through some residual stress. You know. The usual."
Ned was distracted all day, and kept in contact with Nancy during every break, making sure she was all right, asking if she wanted anything he could bring home for her. He was able to work in relatively short bursts, was able to put on an unexceptional expression, was able to pretend that he could think of anything else.
He had been through a lot, with Nancy. He had seen her at her lowest, her most upset, her most injured. He was sure that by most metrics she had been through worse than this, but he also believed that she was due... well, if not a breakdown, at least some time. She had pushed herself through so much, and being held in such desperate circumstances for so long would have cracked anyone.
He returned to his apartment and listened to the status report his mother delivered in hushed, warm tones, his gaze straying over and over to Nancy. She was wearing sweats and a thick, fluffy robe, her body tensed into a tight ball, and her brow was creased. In her sleep, it pulled her back. While her defenses were down, she was there again.
She hadn't eaten much. She had tried to rest but jerked awake several times, breathing rapidly, tears standing in her eyes. Apparently things hadn't been much different for Hannah that morning, before she had needed to leave and Edith had taken over. Nancy had taken all her medication doses without fail, but from everything they were telling Ned, she had been pensive, distracted, upset.
He couldn't say that he had expected anything different, but he was still disappointed for her. He didn't know how to help; he only knew how to be with her, to comfort her when she allowed him to do so.
Comforting her wasn't something she often needed, or wanted. She did everything she could to remain independent, to set herself apart. He still felt a pang of remembered shame when he thought of the first case she had accepted after they'd met that meant she would be alone, and his panicked certainty that she would find herself in some impossible situation and they would never see each other again. He had wanted to find her, surround her, cocoon her in softness and protection, and never let her out of his sight.
That wasn't who she was. If he were honest, that wasn't who he was either. He trusted her completely. He believed in her. He knew she was incredibly strong, unbelievably talented, preternaturally lucky.
But that artifact of panic lingered, and maybe because she had been so lucky, so capable, so strong before, something like this knocking her feet out from under her was even more of a shock to her system. She hadn't had to cope with this kind of loss very often.
Ned had picked up dinner on the way, and he sat down in his favorite armchair once his mother had departed. Nancy still slept, and now she was frowning. He turned down the volume on the television and just gazed at her.
He wasn't often able to do this, to just gaze at her without her gaze being locked to him, at least temporarily. Often she ducked her head, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, brought her head back up to cast a shy self-conscious smile his way. Over time he had trained himself not to direct his full intensity at her, aware of how uncomfortable it seemed to make her.
She was beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.
He'd heard other guys discuss her, just inside his earshot, and he knew that his love for her colored his view of her, but he also understood that she didn't see herself as beautiful. If she contained an ounce of vanity, it had nothing to do with her looks and everything to do with underestimating her ability to outsmart and outmaneuver criminals. She had endless, seemingly reckless faith in that.
He studied her. Clear skin, her nose and cheeks and temples lightly dusted with freckles, reddish-gold hair shining and pulled up. Apparently Hannah had cajoled her into a shower, and likely helped her take it, given how unsteady and easily unnerved she had been. Her hands were clenched into fists. Her full lips, generally so quick to smile at him, were pinched, turned down.
Her neck.
He'd seen her injuries, or at least he hoped there hadn't been others. The bruises were beginning to advance to a deep, angry purple, haloed in yellow. He had to stop himself from wincing whenever he saw them, and if his caress approached one of them, he made it as gentle as possible.
The bruises would fade. He'd stopped believing that was all it would take.
Ned was three bites into his dinner when Nancy groaned in her sleep, turning onto her side. He felt foolish for a second, but not when his quick movement meant he saved her from rolling off the couch onto the floor.
She was warm—too warm. He would swear that the fine beads of sweat at her hairline hadn't been there when he'd walked in.
The moan returned, and became a hoarse cry that she shushed herself, panting. Her eyes were still shut, tight shut, as though trying to block out what she alone could see.
He knew how she woke, and while he wanted to hold her tight, he knew she might thrash. He moved her to a clear place on the floor and laid her down, cupping her cheek.
"Nancy," he whispered. "Honey. You're safe. It's okay."
She cried out again, that same hoarse, heart-wrenching sound. His thumb stroked over her cheek, porcelain-smooth and so soft. "Nancy," he murmured.
Her eyes opened, sightless for another terrible moment, lost in that hell. She was panting, and then she focused on him. Her blue eyes filled with tears, almost instantly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "God..."
He stroked her cheek again. "Shh. It's all right. You're safe."
She reached up, sniffling, and rubbed the palm of her hand over one wet eye. "How long..."
"I haven't been here long. I brought us dinner. Whenever you're up for it."
She started to push herself up, and he helped her, seeing how she winced. She groaned. "I hate feeling this way," she muttered. "Napping most of the day. Ugh."
Ned nodded. "Maybe tomorrow morning you'll be reset."
She gave him a faint smile, her gaze focused directly at him for the first time since she'd returned to wakefulness. "I'm sure I look like a mess."
"I'm equally sure I wouldn't give a damn if you did."
For once, she demolished her entire meal, and even accepted his offer of dessert. He sat beside her on the couch as she nibbled on a chocolate chip cookie from the jar, a homemade batch his mother had brought over. Ned's arm was around Nancy's shoulders and she was nestled against him.
"Bad dreams."
"Yeah." She sighed. "And after today, doing almost nothing... I don't know how I'm going to get to sleep tonight."
"We'll have to find something to tire you out."
"And if you say a movie marathon, I'll punch you."
Ned chuckled. "Well, now I won't. I would say you could try out the exercise room downstairs, but I also think the doctor would put a note in my permanent record over it. I had to swear I'd make sure you didn't over-exert yourself."
"But exerting myself is fine."
"Within reason." He glanced over at her, but couldn't see her face. "No triathlons."
She shivered in mock revulsion. "Bess and I will definitely have that in common for a while. No, I thought we could try something... relatively gentle."
"Oh?"
"Maybe."
Ned's lips curled up. "I guess we'll just see how gentle I can be."
--
Her skin didn't feel like her own.
To some degree, it made sense. She was sore, tender, bruised. Her head was pounding from being sedentary all day, despite the pain medication.
But, on a more fundamental level, her appearance hadn't changed enough. She felt... smaller, somehow, on the inside. Weaker, defenseless. Her mind felt bruised and she was so exhausted, and that made things worse, because there was already so little standing between her and the nightmares.
She was too cold to give her wrecked body more than a quick glance, so she tugged on a long-sleeved shirt and walked out, trying not to wince at the pain in her side.
Ned was already there, shirtless, plugging in his phone. He glanced over and saw her, and she saw the quick frown that he so quickly smoothed away. Ned had never enjoyed seeing her hurt, and she knew that.
Maybe he wouldn't even be able to make it through—this.
She slid between the sheets, hating how her head ached as she placed it on the pillow. She didn't want to keep doing nothing, but she couldn't think of anything she wanted to do, other than this. For some foolish reason, her mind kept returning to this; she was in Ned's apartment, sharing his bed, and this had been forbidden and delicious for so long.
And she needed to know that he still wanted her. Foolishly, given how recently she had been hurt, how painful this might be with all her bruises. When she had imagined that her life might end near or inside that small cage, this was one of the fantasies she had allowed herself to vanish into, the idea of sharing Ned's bed one more time.
God. How different everything would have been, if she had known.
Granted, every case could be the last. She let herself forget that so often, but this case had done all it could to remind her.
Ned turned off the overhead light but left the bedside lamp on, and Nancy's heart skipped a beat as she watched him pull back the covers and slide in beside her. "I know you have a lot of bruises, and probably some of them I can't see, so if anything feels uncomfortable, tell me, all right?"
Nancy nodded. "Always."
Ned smiled. They'd had a version of this talk before their first time, and after he'd been helping her out on a case and been in a pretty nasty car accident as a result, she'd been able to give him a version of it, too. Every time, she felt just a little safer with Ned. She had trusted him so often, with her life, her heart, her body... and he had never betrayed that trust.
He moved over her and brushed gentle kisses over her eyebrows, her closed lids, her cheeks, her earlobes, her jaw, before kissing her mouth. They made out slowly, and then Ned shifted his weight, moving to tug her shirt up. The stroke of his lips over her bare breasts, the flick of his tongue over her nipples, had her moaning softly, burying her fingers in his hair in encouragement.
His hand moved in a slow, gentle caress, his fingertips tracing arcs and light circles over her skin, until he was cupping the join of her thighs. He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around him as he shifted to adjust the angle of his hand.
The sensation of his lightly calloused fingertip against her already-swelled clit, swirling the slick proof of her arousal against the tender button of flesh, made her pant harshly, tipping her chin up, her eyes sewn shut in pleasure. Her legs were open but she opened them wider, her hips shallowly thrusting. He brought her to her climax that way, as she turned her face to him and muffled her cries and sobs in his skin, as she dug her nails in his shoulder blade and shuddered, his finger sliding in and out of the hollow of her sex in sweet smooth thrusts. His thumb never stopped that firm caress against her clit, even once she had screamed her release.
He nuzzled against her cheek, and she was still whimpering and trembling a bit as he kissed her again. "Okay?" he whispered, his breath warm against her earlobe.
"Yes," she sobbed. She belatedly realized her cheeks were wet.
He gave her a few minutes to recover, and then he began to slowly kiss his way down. He was taking her quite literally. He had every intention of tiring her out, bringing her to the trembling high of sexual release as many times as he could, to chase the nightmares away. The incredible pleasure of him nipping and sucking and licking between her legs had her arching under him, her eyes rolling back.
She drowsed, nestling herself firmly against him, and when she found herself straddling his thigh, rubbing her plush slick flesh against him, she gasped. Ned just gently grasped her hips and adjusted her angle, and she ground against him hard, in rapid thrusts, until she groaned in frustration.
On her next thrust, she was taking his fingers.
She groaned low, her thrusts hard, wanton, needy. She kissed him as she rode his fingers, rubbing her breasts against his chest, her lips finding his ear.
"Oh my God, yes," she sobbed. "Oh my God!"
"Come," he growled. "Come, gorgeous."
She had slept so long during the day that sleep should have been out of reach, but the exertion was tiring her out, and she collapsed against him, achingly aware that his fingers were still inside her. "Shh," he murmured. "Better?"
She nodded, her lashes low. "You," she mumbled. "You need..."
"I need you," he replied. "Shh."
She rested again, relaxing into a deep, dreamless sleep, her cheek nestled against Ned's chest. She felt it rise and fall under her, felt the incredible warmth of him, and his arms were wrapped around her. She was safe. She was okay.
When she woke again, half-dazed, realizing with a gasp where she was, she was under him. "Ned," she breathed.
Ned froze, his erection barely against her, and groaned. "Oh, shit, babe, I'm sorry..."
"Shh," she whispered, drawing him down to her. "Don't be sorry. Here..."
She drew her knees up, cradling him between her thighs, and with a moan of pleasure he sank to her. Nancy's back arched as he slid inside her, and she wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes.
His thrusts were slow, deep, and when he moved his hand between them and found her clit, she trembled. "Oh my God," Ned murmured.
"Yes," she breathed, tensing with his thrust. "Yes, baby."
Before, she had felt self-conscious about all of it. Whether she was wet enough or too wet, whether she was responding to him the right way, whether she could be doing this better. Now—Ned enjoyed it. She enjoyed it. That was all that mattered.
She whimpered, her eyes sewn shut, her body rocking with his. "Oh my God, yes, oh my God, I love you so much..."
"I love you." His voice was a harsh pant against her ear, and she shuddered. "So much, baby. You feel so good..."
Once he collapsed to her, gently, holding himself still and supporting almost all his weight for a few seconds before rolling off her, Nancy shivered with aftershocks and rolled to cuddle against him again, feeling the warm trace of their joining against her thighs, the memory of him sheathed tight inside her. She kissed his neck and he looped his arm around her.
"Better?" He was still a little out of breath.
"The best," she replied, panting too. "The absolute best." She paused. "Worth it."
"Worth it?"
She brushed the tip of her nose against his collarbone. "I imagined... that... well, what if the last time was the last time."
"If—if it had ended differently."
"Yeah."
Ned considered. "Well, I'd like to be arrogant and believe that every time is better than the last, but I know that's not true. I've never had 'last time' sex with you."
"Maybe we should."
He moved back a little, and even though they could barely see each other in the darkness, she could just make out the glint of his eyes as he searched her face. "No," he replied.
She reached up and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb over his lips, and felt him press a gentle kiss against it.
"Because, between us, there will be no last time."
She smiled, faintly. "That doesn't make sense."
"I'm in this forever."
"Until the end?"
"That's what I'm saying." He ducked in and kissed her, sweetly. "There will be no end. Not for us. Never for us."
She wrapped her arm around him. "Never," she breathed. "I love you."
"And I will always, always love you." He kissed her again. "Hope you're okay with that."
She was shivering a little, with exhaustion, with wonder, with the enormity of it. "No last time," she murmured, her lashes drifting down. "Only next time."
"Only next time," he confirmed, as she nestled against him again.