"We'll be landing six minutes ahead of schedule."
Ned looked down at his hands on the tray table. His fingers were trembling.
He had dreamed about this so many times, and had been so devastated by waking to find it wasn't true, that he was afraid to believe this. It had been three days, but a part of him still thought it was possible that he had just hallucinated it all, that he would wake up on the scratchy industrial carpet under the light of that single bulb again.
He had tried to escape so many times. With every transfer, every jump in his "ransom," it had been harder and harder to endure. Every attempt to leave had meant tighter control and more supervision, until he had succeeded in convincing his latest captors that he had given up. This last time, making it to the embassy—
Washington, D.C. was spread out below, rapidly approaching as the plane descended, and Ned watched it all, feeling lightheaded and skeptical. He wasn't sure when it would feel real. It was like a muscle that had been held tense for so, so damn long that he didn't know how to relax, couldn't remember how it was to relax.
Someone in the chaos of the last few days had mentioned therapy. Ned couldn't imagine it.
How did you end up—
Eight months. Nearly a year. Everything that made him who he was had evaporated, and he had failed so many times. He wasn't sure who he was anymore.
His stomach clenched as the wheels touched the runway and the plane bounced slightly.
He was back. The embassy had been American soil too, but this... absurdly, he felt a prick behind his eyes, in his throat. It was as though he was safe, an illusion that he had fully bought into, before. Now, he... God, he wanted to believe it.
The illusion seemed to fully coalesce as he exited the skyway to see his parents waiting for him. The months away had been a nightmare and starting now, he could be the son they knew. All he needed to do was remember how.
"Ned." His mother was weeping.
They clung together, the three of them, with the drone of announcements and the chatter and traffic of other passengers flowing around them, rendered imperceptible by the furious intensity of their reunion. How strange. Some nights, Ned had been reduced to his own heartbeat, the throb of his pulse, his mantra of steadily waning hope.
He would return to them. He would find a way to come home.
As his back ached, hands cramped, eyelids scraping exhausted grit—he had dreamed himself back here.
His mother choked back another sob and regarded him with shining eyes. "You must be hungry."
He had no appetite until they were in the closest airport restaurant, and then he was ravenous. Minestrone soup in a bread bowl, a modest portion of lasagna, and another of spaghetti with meatballs. He knew he would regret it soon—he was still adjusting to having full, regular meals again—but it was comforting.
The sky had been bleeding purple for an hour, and by the time the server took his father's card with a smile, the world beyond the plate-glass windows of the airport terminal was shrouded in darkness, punctuated by the halos of taxi headlights, construction lamps, streetlights. Night had been the worst time, until the sun rose, and then that was the worst time.
In the darkness, that was when he had been snatched, and Ned huddled into his brand-new winter jacket as they walked out to the street and hailed a taxi, scanning their surroundings over and over. Travelers wheeled out suitcases, groaned in frustration, grunted as they hefted luggage, laughed as they murmured hasty goodbyes. Ned had spent so long keeping his expression and demeanor neutral and carefully blank that it was hard to let himself feel the love and relief and joy of seeing his parents again, and even harder to show it.
The wind was bitterly cold, and even as he ducked into the welcome warmth of the taxi, he scrutinized the cab license, looking for anything amiss. He didn't yet have a replacement phone, only a temporary one he kept clutched to him while he slept, a lifeline that he had sorely missed while captive.
Dreams had been his only freedom, and the slimmest hope that he might escape had kept him going, even once he had realized that any efforts to locate and liberate him had apparently failed as many times as his own attempts had.
He was torn between wanting to reassure himself this was true and leaving it unquestioned, in case it wasn't.
The hotel was a glowing tower, rising above the piled dirty slush of old snow like a mirage. Ned stood on the sidewalk, understanding that for his parents, there was no anxiety attached to this, that he would be safe. But most of the places he had been kept were renovated hotels, and it was incredibly hard to force himself to walk in. He found his palm rubbing the back of his neck and almost groaned.
He would be fine. He would. It was beyond him for now, though, to even imagine how that might be possible.
Once he was inside, the tightness in his chest eased a little. The doors opened easily and there were no guards here, inside or outside. He could walk out.
He had had a dream, once, early, before almost all the dreams just became panicked versions of his then-current hell. He had dreamed of being wrapped in Nancy's arms, her hair trailing over his cheek, her chin at the crown of his head, her fingers stroking through his hair. He had been able to feel her breathe and the smoothness of her skin under his and—
Had she been looking for him? She had to have been.
The elevator was half panes of clear plexiglass, half mirrored, and Ned distracted himself from the persistent buzz of anxiety by studying his reflection—and feeling a different anxiety rise. Thanks to his diet, or lack thereof, and the limited exercise, his cheeks were hollow, his skin paler. He felt lesser. He had known he was weakening, but that had been when his return home was theoretical.
He had been disappointed about everything. In himself, for not escaping sooner. In Nancy and his parents, for not finding him. In himself, again, for not avoiding the trap in the first place, for not instinctively knowing how to get out, after everything. It was as though he had been training his entire life for that, and he had failed utterly. So many attempts, so many messages sent, so many pleas for help—for nothing.
And now, he was disappointed in himself for not being the same person they would have remembered. Being cocooned in others' pity was definitely not a feeling he was familiar with, or one that he wanted. But he could barely imagine himself as anything worth their pride.
Misery, nervousness, cautious joy... he felt sick once his parents had gone to their set of rooms, shedding the heavy coats and boots, and that same anxiety at seeing short industrial carpet and the endless line of doors to infinite rooms, to cells, to hell. The nauseating plunge to his stomach when he thought for the hundredth time, this is the dream, this is the nightmare, this is—
The door swung open and then Nancy's arms were around him, and she was sobbing.
He had wanted it for so long that it had almost calcified in him, his desire and need for her, protected so the bleeding tender ache didn't tear him apart. The shell cracked and all that mattered was this moment, as the bone cage of it crumbled. He was with her and she was happy to see him. Her panted, frantic monologue was all gratitude and relief and love, her words overlapping, half obscured by sobs.
He realized, dimly, that he was holding her tight, a few inches off the ground, and that he wanted her. More than the perpetual buzz of reminder that they were apart, of constantly knowing he was incomplete and weakened by their separation. More than that first night in his bed, when he had been coming out of his skin with need—because he hadn't ever truly believed that he could be held captive for more than a day at most. The boundaries of their life had been infinite.
He didn't think they would ever have killed him, but his despair had made him consider it a few times. How long until he gave up, stopped trying to escape or seek help? Until he believed there was no help coming?
How long until he gave up on his parents, his friends, her?
The relief and desperation had him kissing her hungrily, and she returned his kisses with equal ferocity, continually stroking his hair, his shoulders, his back. Their momentum had him bumping against something—the arm of a couch—and then they parted, both breathless, cheeks wet.
"Ned." Carson Drew's voice was deep and serious, pitched to deliver reassuring gravity. He clapped Ned on the shoulder, and then Ned saw in his face—
Not the judgement some part of him had been expecting. Relief and gratitude. Pride.
His feelings were too raw to do anything else; he swung toward the older man and was wrapped in his arms, with Nancy's arm still around his waist.
"I'm so sorry." Ned wiped his eyes.
Nancy shook her head. Her own eyes were gleaming; her hair was a little longer. With a shock, he realized again that she wasn't the same person he had known eight months ago. There had been cases. There were things that had happened to her that he didn't know.
He'd had nightmares that she was with someone else, someone who mistreated her, but in his clearer moments he recognized it as misguided fantasy. He wasn't around to protect her, but she was also strong-willed and unlikely to be in a relationship with someone who abused her.
The worse nightmare involved her being in a relationship with a good, kind man, and gently telling Ned that she had moved on and he couldn't fault her for it.
From the look on her face, Nancy had been devastated by his captivity.
"We're sorry," she told him. "Every time we almost had you, they took you somewhere else. They knew we were getting close."
"Your parents—"
James cleared his throat. "We paid the first ransom. It didn't matter. They told us the ransom was a lie, but it was our only shot."
Ned's eyes filled again. He had never known. The price of his ransom had always risen.
"The authorities recovered seventy-three people, thanks to you," Nancy told him. "Thanks to all those messages you sent. Every time I would hope they were finally in time to get you." She sniffled. "I went along one time, the only time they let me, and we were so close that your bed was still warm."
It was almost, but not quite, worse to know that. He had wondered if anyone cared. And she had. They all had.
Nancy smiled. "You're a hero."
Eventually they sat down, the relief clear in their bright, almost manic conversation, and the shell that Ned had built around himself continued to fall away, but he was exhausted by the enormity. He had been holding a tremendous weight, and now it was gone. He was only beginning to realize that his muscles were still straining with effort.
He could see the sun. Tomorrow they would fly home and he would see the sun. He was surrounded by the people he loved, and safe. He could start to relax.
Their conversation became a soft lulling hush as he drifted off.
The second time he woke, it was to see Nancy smiling at him, her eyes shining. "Come on," she murmured, rubbing his shoulder. "Let's at least get you comfortable before you pass out again."
Her suggestion was very welcome, but once they were in his parents' suite and he saw the suitcase waiting for him, his throat ached with tears again. Clothes from home. His favorite sweater. An Emerson sweatshirt he wore practically all the previous winter.
He had lost all his clothes, all his belongings, eventually. Even his skin had no longer felt familiar.
He sat down on the bed and took a deep audible breath.
She sat down beside him. "I feel like I have no right to be here," she whispered, looking down.
He touched her hand. He wanted to say a million things at once; what came out was "Just try it. I'll tackle you before you reach the door."
She sniffled. "I'm so sorry, Ned. So damn sorry. I heard about what they were doing, from the other people who were freed. It sounds horrible."
"It was. I had no idea if anyone was seeing any of the messages I was sending. Any idea if anyone would be able to find me."
She searched his face, smiling sadly. "I should have."
He shrugged, then reached for her and pulled her onto his lap. They gazed at each other, spellbound.
"When you said…" He trailed off with a little shrug, his gaze locked to hers. "I thought I might come back and find you with a baby."
She smiled again, slightly, and shook her head. "It was just late."
From her expression he didn't think it was quite that simple, but maybe that had just been another devastating blow—or maybe it had been a relief. "So it was real."
Nancy tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly. "I..."
He shook his head a little. "Somewhere in there I wasn't sure anymore whether I had made it up. I... I didn't feel like much of anything was real. And that... that felt like something I could have convinced myself was true."
She drew a breath and stroked his cheeks. "I'm so sorry. That was real. I..." She looked away for a moment, and a tear streaked down her cheek.
It was too raw. God, he was very familiar with that. Her pain, his parents' pain, felt like a part of his, and Ned wiped the tear away.
"And I'm sure you worked other cases. Met new people."
She smirked. "Barely," she replied, and sniffled, then gave her head a little shake. "I harassed the law enforcement officers so much that I'm now banned for life from three provinces. And don't even get me started…" She shook her head, her lips a tight line.
"What?"
She sighed. "I asked everyone I could possibly think of to help. Called in favors. I was talking to a detective in Lisbon when he decided to 'comfort me.'"
Ned remembered who she was talking about, and felt his spine stiffen.
Her hands were loosely cupped at his waist, and she brought her gaze up to hold his. "I saw him coming in for a kiss and wanted to slap him. I almost did." Her jaw tightened. "Another two made passes at me, and one of the detectives in a precinct where you were held all but told me that he could speed things up if I slept with him. That was... well. I can't ever go back there again."
"Slap that one?"
She growled. "He wishes that was all I did."
Ned couldn't help it; he chuckled softly. "I missed you too," he murmured. "Every second."
Her gaze dropped to his lips, and he took the hint and tipped his head down. He felt her breathe in just before he kissed her, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, kissing him back.
There was a shock of awareness, of need, and Ned was holding her tight when she stood up on her knees, needing to be closer, needing him. They broke the kiss, panting, and he nuzzled her earlobe as she reached for her shirt.
Maybe it wouldn't be tonight—God, he had to be exhausted after a transatlantic flight, and he had fallen asleep twice already—but it would be soon. Her body seemed to buzz with it.
He was in her arms. It felt like a dream.
He moved to take the suitcase off the bed and she stripped down to her underwear, and when he returned to her they crawled under the sheets together. The lines of his body, lines she had known so well, were different now.
Her mouth was fused to his, his tongue sliding against hers, when he fumbled at the waist of her panties, then slid his hand inside.
She was too impatient to wait; she yanked her bra up, freeing her breasts, and felt the warmth of Ned's chest against her bared, pebbled nipples. She moaned as he cupped the join of her thighs, and she nuzzled against him, panting urgently, as he traced the seam of her lips.
That first brush of his thumb against her swelled clit had her groaning, and she pushed herself up a little on her knees, giving him space to maneuver. He obliged, kissing her again, groaning as the gentle probing of one finger found her slippery wet.
She registered dimly that it was all too fast, that they should take their time, but when he slid his index finger inside the plush tenderness of her, she rode his hand with bucking, urgent thrusts, unable to stop the instinctual grind of her hips. She sobbed when he rapidly stroked her clit.
"You did this while I was gone," he panted, his gaze hungry on her.
She flashed him a quick grin, putting away the sadness that had long accompanied her release. "And always thought of you when I came," she panted, knowing he would like that. "You're the only."
He was her everything, and failing to find him over and over had made Nancy doubt herself and her estimation of her own skill, if she couldn't even save the man she loved.
She reached orgasm too quickly; she wanted him to be inside her, and his fingers were, but she was stifling her cries against his shoulder, writhing and shuddering, and his erection was still between them. He had made no move to lower her onto his cock, but then he probably hadn't had time.
The enormity of her release, the relief after so much heartache, had her relaxing into sleep almost immediately, sprawled over Ned's chest, his fingers still inside her.
He was so strong, and she was awed by him. She had loved him before this, but desperation and the prospect of never seeing him again—
She had dreamed of this so many times that, in some irrational way, she needed this. She needed him in physical contact with her, so that she wouldn't wake convinced it hadn't happened.
When she roused, her head pillowed on his shoulder, the strip of light showing under the door of his room was gone, and the room was cooler. Ned's fingers were still inside her, and when she stretched, shifting into a more comfortable position, that contact had her breathing out a sigh.
She pushed herself up and stripped her underwear off, tossed her bra onto the floor, and sighed as she relaxed back into him, feeling his muscular arms slide around her. Their parents knew they had been sleeping together; her father wouldn't be frantically wondering where she was.
For that so-brief span of days, she had wondered if she was carrying their first grandchild. She had no idea if the stress of his captivity had caused the onset of her period, or if she had ever really been pregnant at all.
For all these months, he had wondered whether he would return to find her heavy with his child.
Somehow, not knowing, not for sure, had been worse. She had mourned and felt shallow for doing so, because she had been conflicted over the idea of a pregnancy in the first place; she had mourned Ned, had wondered if she would ever see him again, and had damned herself for her hopelessness. If only she had tried harder. If only she had moved faster.
But he was here now.
She was still drowsy, still loose and limp and relaxed, when she realized dimly that Ned had stripped off his underwear, that her leg was slung over his hip. She made a soft noise and shifted her hips, and God, she was dripping wet.
"Baby," she whispered.
"Yes," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, as his hand slid up her thigh to her hip.
She straddled him and they kissed as she pressed herself against his erection, shuddering at the shock of that contact. She was panting and they were nuzzling against each other, kissing, and then she gasped as she dragged her tender, slippery flesh over him.
Ned made a choked desperate sound.
There had been sweet afternoons of teasing each other, learning each other, but this wasn't that. He arched when she lowered herself onto him, and when he rolled them over so he was above her, she nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
She clung to him as he filled her, and she tipped her head back, moaning, keeping herself quiet in case his parents could somehow hear. It was one thing for them to know; it was entirely another to make it obvious. He found his rhythm and his thumb found her clit, and she silenced her cries, muffling them to whimpered encouragement.
She dimly thought of a condom, but they were past that, and it wasn't the right time for her to be fertile. When he lowered himself to her and kissed her again, deeply, she threaded her fingers through his hair and shifted the angle of her hips, then gasped sharply.
His body wasn't the same as she remembered, but it was him.
He was gasping, whispering how much he loved her, how much he needed her, his lips tracing the point of her jaw, the tender place just beneath her ear. She bucked under him and they both cried out, muffling themselves in each other.
Once she had come, once she was trembling and relaxing, he surged one last time and groaned, and she closed her eyes. He had spent himself inside her.
He was here. Tomorrow they would be home.
It would sink in and she would be complete again. One day she would wake and wouldn't be panicked, terrified that she had only dreamed he was back.
He sank to her and she held him as they panted their breath back, nestled into each other.
"I don't ever want to be away from you again," she admitted softly.
"Me either."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Let's get married."
He brushed a kiss against her earlobe. "I know what I'm supposed to say."
"Oh?"
"It's too soon, we should wait, we have time, all that."
"But?"
"Yes. God, yes, please. I want to wake up and see you beside me. Being away from you—it's like I have this bottomless well inside me that was nearly dry and seeing you here, now, I'm full again. I missed you so much. So, so fucking much."
She smiled, her lashes fluttering down again, a tear sliding down to touch her ear. "I feel the same way," she whispered. "I was so afraid. It still feels like this is a dream. I felt like I failed you." She stroked his cheeks. "Let me make it up to you."
He kissed her ear. "Oh, baby. You didn't fail me. But I can't deny I'm very interested in whatever you have in mind."
"It would be a lot like this. But louder."
"Perfect," he murmured, just before their mouths met again.