It had been a dark and stormy night. Now the lights were out and the wind was a gale, surrounding the house with a perpetual unearthly scream.
Ned lit another of his mother's favorite jarred honey-vanilla candles and left it in the bathroom, then paced back to the door. His parents were safe at his aunt and uncle's house, and he should go to bed; there wasn't much else to do.
But he felt on edge. He hadn't been able to reach Nancy earlier, and they hadn't been able to totally make up after that—that disagreement. It hadn't been a fight; it hadn't reached that level of intensity. But it still felt unresolved, and so he paced, wishing that he knew where she was so he could go there now.
She had the sense to come in out of the rain, though. Wherever she was, she was almost certainly safe, warm and dry, while... well, here he was.
The rain was coming down so heavily, and the wind was howling so loudly, that he nearly dismissed the knock at the door as debris or tree branches being blown against the house. He peered through the front glass, but there was no light on the front porch save the occasional strobing flash of lightning, and the faint movement he detected could have been anything.
The slam of knuckles against the wood was louder here, though.
Ned pulled open the door and his cautious greeting died as a whisper as a figure shot past him to stand on the hallway rug, and Ned immediately closed the door to keep more rain from splattering on the hardwood. The cluster of candles on the entry table made a small halo of warm light, and via that flickering illumination he made out a dark sopping-wet rain jacket, soaked through and dripping, over jeans and boots. The figure was a head shorter than Ned, and probably slender.
Then the hood was tossed back to reveal long hair darkened by rainwater, a pale forehead gleaming from the downpour, wet black lashes over sapphire-blue eyes.
He sucked in a delighted breath as his heart skipped a beat. The dim light—that had to be why he hadn't known her immediately. "Baby, are you all right?"
She was staring at him like she was in shock, and her eyes were already gleaming with tears. A pair of them fell down her wet cheeks. "Oh my God," she whispered, searching his eyes.
"Nan?"
She sucked in a trembling breath, and then she had her arms up over his shoulders.
He had thought there would be an apology, from one or each of them—but thanks to whatever had happened to bring her here, that was apparently the last thing on her mind. Ned returned her kiss eagerly, registering dimly that her jeans were as wet as the rest of her, that she was shivering and her skin was cool.
"Come on," he murmured, holding her tight before lowering her to her feet again. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes. I'll build a fire."
She nodded, tugging at the wet cuffs of her sodden coat.
A sudden crash of thunder came hard on the heels of the unearthly-white lightning that forked the sky, then vanished, casting Ned's neighborhood in shadow again.
The offer was made innocently enough, and she draped her soaked clothes, all of them, near the fire and accepted the old t-shirt he proffered. It swallowed her whole, and Ned saw that the firelight traced new hollows in her cheeks. Nancy kept stealing glances at him as she towel-dried her hair and tested the temperature of the mug of tea he had heated for her using the camp stove, her expression warm and grateful. Maybe she had thought he was still upset, that he would just slam the door in her face.
"Better?"
She sat, legs tucked under her, and gazed steadily at him. Both her hands were wrapped around the mug, and all of her seemed bowed toward it in her reluctance to lose any of its radiant heat. "Much," she said, and smiled.
"Do you want to talk? Did you have an accident?"
He saw a flicker in her expression then, or he thought he did; the firelight wasn't the best for nuance, only ambiance. "N—No. Not yet. I'm so tired." She shuddered.
It was the simplest, most natural thing in the world for him to make her a comfortable nest of blankets before the fire, and then to join her there so he could wrap himself around her and rub feeling back into chilled limbs. Everything that came after was just as easy.
"I can't lose you," she whispered at one point, when they were hungrily kissing in the near dark, when he realized the shirt was no longer between them, that her breasts were bare and her stiff nipples were brushing against his chest.
"You won't," he swore. "I love you."
"I love you," she moaned, and he heard desperation in it. "I love you so much."
She palmed him and Ned shuddered, surging against her touch. He couldn't take off his underwear fast enough, and then they were sealed together, almost frantic with need.
He thought, fleetingly, of the condoms upstairs, but she was begging him, rolling him onto his back, grinding her plush, slippery inner flesh against his cock, and his bed might as well have been a thousand miles away. The urgency was unbearable, and she was intoxicating and insistent, all of her, with every stroke and brush and caress.
He had dreamed of this, wanted it, for so long that he couldn't quite believe this was happening. She sobbed in something between relief and ecstasy and—
Homecoming.
There was no hesitance or reluctance or doubt in her, and he—
He was inside her, and everything else melted away.
Her first thrust, as she enfolded his entire length in the slippery heat of her, made Ned's eyes roll back. He groaned, his palms on her hips, rising and falling as she rode him.
"I love you," he gasped, fighting to keep his control. It was almost impossible.
She gazed down at him in the firelight, and when their gazes caught and held, Ned felt a surge of arousal so strong that he bucked under her. Her cheeks were wet with fresh tears, and she was sobbing still. "I love you," she said, her voice cracking. "Oh my God."
He had his jaw clenched when he slid his thumb between her lips, and their gazes were still locked, so he saw the flash of delight when he brushed over her clit. "Come," he groaned, urging her with rapid strokes. "It's so good, baby, come."
She tipped her head back, the firelight gold on her still-damp reddish-blonde hair, and sobbed out her pleasure. Ned stroked her faster, and her hips trembled.
She came with a loud, shrill cry, and Ned cried out in relief as he finally let himself follow, spending himself inside her and realizing only then how completely he had fucked up.
"Fuck. I have condoms upstairs, I—"
She was panting like he was, but when she tipped her chin back down and met his gaze again, she was smiling—but her eyes were still shining.
"I love you," she whispered, and leaned down.
And when she kissed him, it felt like a kick to the heart.
--
Ned's neighborhood was humming with activity. Downed limbs were being dragged to trailers and pickup beds, chainsaws were growling, leaves and debris were being raked into piles. A portion of downed picket fence was being righted. The storm drains were gurgling. The sky overhead was a bright blue, cloudless and perfect, and the air was already warm, warm enough for her to have the Mustang's top down.
Nancy parked in front of Ned's parents' house and, swallowing, swung out of her car. No one was working in the yard here; a few limbs were down, but the house appeared otherwise intact. Quiet.
She picked up the paper bag and tray of coffees, squared her shoulders, and went up to ring the bell.
It hadn't been a fight; it had been the beginning of one, though, and had left her unsettled. Breakfast would hopefully smooth things over.
Ned answered the door wearing a pair of sweatpants that were slung low on his hips—and nothing else. He looked tired, but happy; his jaw was lined in stubble.
If she didn't know him better—
"Oh, I—you didn't have to do that," he said, taking the tray and stepping back so she could come in. "The power's back on. I would have made us coffee."
Nancy's eyebrows flicked up. A nest of blankets, crumpled from use, was on the rug in front of the fireplace.
Ned groaned in delight on his first sip of coffee. "This is so good."
She smiled, searching his expression. No hints that he was mad at her. "Thought it would make a good apology. Glad I was right."
Ned lowered the cup and dragged a hand through his dark hair. "I'm the one who's sorry," he said, glancing away before meeting her gaze. He looked somber. "Did you go to a pharmacy?"
Nancy's brow furrowed slightly, and she slowly shook her head. "Did you need something from a pharmacy?"
Ned frowned. Then he took another long sip of coffee.
"Are you hurt?"
Ned glanced from her to the blankets. "There was a storm last night," he said.
Nancy nodded, taking a sip of her coffee, though her stomach was churning. She felt the vibration of something approaching, something painful.
"I thought you were hurt."
Nancy shook her head. "Just brooding over you," she replied. "That dumb almost-fight. But a few trees came down and there was running water down the road, and I thought it was best to wait. —The case is over," she added, belatedly.
Ned was staring at her, hard. Then he shook his head and finished his coffee. "That was a hell of a dream," he said.
"Oh?" The tension in her belly relaxed a little.
"You came over, completely drenched and shivering. Last night. The power was out so I built a fire and you hung up your clothes to dry. We ended up having sex."
Nancy chuckled, though her cheeks were a little pink. "So why ask about the pharmacy?"
"Oh. No condom." Ned gave his head a little shake, then opened the bakery store bag. "Oh, hell yeah."
Nancy strode into the den, toward the nest of blankets. "Right here, huh. Sounds very romantic."
"It was. You were great, by the way." Ned took a bite of blueberry cream cheese danish.
Nancy chuckled again, crossing her arms.
"Let me pick this up before my parents get home." His shoulder bumped against hers, gentle and affectionately, as he reached for the quilts.
An Emerson t-shirt fell out.
Ned's brow furrowed.
"Took it off in your sleep?"
He shook his head. As he picked up the blankets, he shook his head again, glancing at the shirt.
The hairs on the back of Nancy's neck rose.
"In the dream," he said, his inflection almost flat, "your hair was a few inches longer. There was—I'm pretty sure there was a scar on your shoulder. Big. Maybe from a bullet."
Nancy reached up to rub her shoulder, as though to reassure herself it wasn't there.
He sighed. "Let me dump these in the laundry room, brush my teeth, get dressed. Did you have time to hang out? This morning?"
She nodded and smiled, and tipped her head back to accept the kiss he was bending down to give her. When he nodded toward the den, she picked up her coffee and the bag and sat down on the couch to wait.
So what if he'd had a dream where they'd had sex? She knew he wanted it; they had talked about it. She was nervous about it, though, and he had absolutely never pressured her about it.
It wasn't like he had cheated on her.
So why did it feel like he had?
She turned to the end table beside the couch to find a coaster and saw a sheet of paper folded in half, her name jotted on the outside.
The handwriting was very nearly her own.
Three years from now, in July, you'll be in NYC and you'll take a case to find a stolen scepter. Diamond the size of a baby's fist at the top. It will be stolen from a set of items destined for auction to benefit a children's hospital in London. Ned will come up to surprise you, and he'll offer to help you on the case.
He bled to death in my fucking arms.
We were going to be married that September.
I came to warn you, but I missed him so much. And I know that anything can happen, that it might happen regardless—and I fear that, when I return, my past won't have changed. But I really, really hope our future does. Maybe in a year I'll be looking down into the face of our child.
It will destroy you to lose him.
It has destroyed me.
PS. You have nothing to be afraid of. It won't hurt. If you wait until we did it'll be at Fox Lake and it will be one of the most memorable weekends of your life.
Also, Bess isn't allergic to macadamia nuts yet, but it will happen next year. Don't let her try to play it off. Take her to the hospital.
"Nan?"
Her face felt cool; she was sure she had paled. She glanced up to see Ned looking at her in concern.
"Maybe it wasn't a dream," she said slowly.
"What's that?"
She handed it over, and Ned read it through twice, his brow furrowing.
"You didn't write this."
It was barely a question, but she slowly shook her head anyway.
"Even though it's your handwriting. And I know I didn't." He held it up to the light. "But there's no way."
She gazed up into his face. "So you had a very detailed wet dream and someone practicing my handwriting decided to leave a creepy note for me at your house on the same night."
Ned made a quiet sound, then sat down on the couch beside her, staring into the distance. "That's the only explanation."
"You had sex with my doppelgänger last night."
"I…" Ned dry-washed his face with his palms, scrubbing the heel of his hand against his clean-shaven jaw. "She was you," he whispered. "I would have sworn she was you."
Nancy shrugged, gazing into his troubled face. "Well, if that note's true, she was," Nancy pointed out. "But she also wasn't me."
Ned growled. She could tell he was replaying as much as he could remember, searching for clues.
"Hey," she said, and touched his hand. "It was a dream. And if we're in New York in three years, and I'm asked about a stolen scepter…"
"You'll call the Hardys and let them handle it."
She snickered. "Let's not do anything rash," she said. "But I… I'll just be a lot more careful."
Ned glanced down at the paper again. "Fox Lake, huh," he murmured.
"And it won't hurt," she muttered.
They glanced up at the same time and met each other's eyes. A shiver of awareness and arousal slid down Nancy's spine.
"Dream you, um…"
"Was great, you said."
"And definitely not ambivalent." Ned shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. "It had to be a dream. Because if it wasn't…" He looked stricken, and he shifted his weight back and forth, looking like he wanted to run, like he was thrumming with nervous energy.
"Then the ghost of Christmas yet to come might have come here to get pregnant by you," she said, once Ned had entirely trailed off.
"There's that. Which, given everything else, seems unlikely. But there's also… you and not-you."
"She was experienced."
Ned nodded. "She knew… what she was doing."
Nancy blushed again. "Then you knew she wasn't me," she whispered.
Ned shook his head. "A part of me… babe, it was you. And I treated that woman like she was you. It's only looking back now… when she walked in, I didn't immediately know her. Just these tiny things. But it really was… like a dream." He sighed heavily and sat down again.
"So. Would you? Do what she did?"
"I'm presuming you mean the absolute least probable explanation for all this."
He nodded.
"I… I don't know," she said. "It's like 'would you rather be a fire-breathing dragon or a wood nymph?' They're both impossible. This situation is impossible."
"And your answer isn't legally binding, Carson junior."
She snorted a laugh. "If I lost you after planning a life with you, if I considered myself responsible, I… if I found a way that I thought might head that off, yeah." She shrugged. "If someone fired a bullet at you and I could take it, I would," she said, more certainty in her voice.
"Jesus. Talk about guilt potential."
Her smile was quick and humorless. "We've probably both had our share."
"Either way, I'm sorry about…" He gestured.
She shook her head. "Technically it was assault," she pointed out. "You were unaware of who she was and your consent was based on an assumed identity. And… she was me." She shrugged. "Any DNA… God, listen to me. It's like arguing about whether I'm a reincarnated witch."
"You aren't?" Ned laughed when she reached for a throw pillow and lightly smacked his arm with it.
"I'll take that for a compliment. Anyway, in this ridiculous case, you wouldn't have one. The DNA would be mine." Nancy paused. "Although the better question is: if I could travel through time, why do I remember two world wars."
Ned shrugged. "Maybe because you don't remember three. Who knows."
She moved a little closer to him. "How am I gonna live up to myself?" she whispered. "It's pretty damn intimidating."
Ned laughed. "I told you how I see our first time," he said. "Last night wasn't it. It was… a speed run."
Nancy burst into laughter. "'Wham, bam…'"
"Something like that. Maybe she didn't know how long she would have, and I fell asleep after. I don't know. Regardless… we haven't had our first time. I just had a sneak preview of…" His expression softened, and he cupped her cheek. "A person I hope you'll never be."
She searched his eyes, then closed her own, sliding her arm around him as he kissed her. It was slow and sweet, and imbued with such love that her eyes pricked with tears.
"Make me a deal," he murmured, nuzzling against her. "If Bess suddenly is allergic to macadamias…"
"We get married the next day," she vowed, and Ned laughed.
"It's only logical."
She snorted and combed her fingers through his hair. "You told me slow and sweet and wholeheartedly wanting it," she remembered, searching his eyes.
He nodded.
She leaned forward and kissed him again, just as deeply. "That sounds perfect."