Chapter Text
anyone else but you
It's George who notices first, shooting a glare at Ace, who returns the look cool and calm. She holds in the outburst perched on the tip of her tongue, not wanting to drop the hammer on a subject no one else in the group seems to have picked up on. Nancy vacating her spot within their circle, hand clasped against Ace's wrist ever so briefly, a goodbye expressed without words spoken.
“You gonna tell me what that was about?” she asks later, when Bess has gone home for the night, and Nick is outside on the phone
Ace doesn't turn to acknowledge the question, focused instead on the pots and pans dropped into the sink, and reaches for the scrub pad resting against the faucet.
“Tell you what?”
Her scowl is instantaneous, never quite understanding how he can be so chill about absolutely everything.
“Nancy,” she continues. “Her hand. I mean her hand was on your-”
Ace finally looks over to her, expression giving away nothing.
“Are the two of you a thing?” George demands, folding her arms.
Ace's attention refocuses on the biggest pot in the sink, scrubbing a few circles before replying.
“By thing you mean-”
“Dating,” she cuts him off. “Are you and Nancy dating?”
Steam rises from the spout, as George's foot taps against the linoleum, knowing conversations with him are near impossible at times and she's about to express that fact very loudly when Nick comes rushing back into the kitchen.
“Ted called me,” he informs.
George's focus shifts to him.
“Why is my little sister calling you?”
“Because apparently, you didn't answer your phone.”
George pats her pockets for the device, only to find them empty.
“Shit,” she mutters. “What did she want?”
Nick shoots a glance to Ace, who is now washing the next biggest pot.
“Your mom, uh...”
George groans if frustration.
“Tell me on the way.”
She juts a finger at Ace.
“To be continued.”
He looks back in time to see Nick offer a confused look, but doesn't have time to ask before he runs after George.
-
Bess is checking her lipstick, back turned to Ace and Nancy, with compact held high in hand. She nearly drops it, thinking she's seen something she can't possibly have seen, and despite turning around quickly as she can the moment has passed with Nancy heading for the door.
“What,” she begins, pointing at the girl's retreating back. “Was that?”
Ace looks to her with an arched brow, hands in pockets, unsure how to proceed so says nothing at all.
“No,” Bess gasps dramatically. “No, no, no. You can't possibly be-”
She looks to the front door, just as Nancy pushes past it, bell ringing with her exit.
“I mean of course you could,” she carries on. “Not that it wouldn't make sense. Quite the handsome couple you would be, if that's indeed what you are.”
Ace offers no commentary, watching on as his friend dramatically tries to figure out the nature of the moment she witnessed.
“Are you?” she questions, stopping directly in front of him.
“Are we?” he replies, dragging out the vowel.
“A couple!” she insists. “You and Nancy!”
He takes a breath.
“Don't deny it,” Bess counters. “That girl has been through hell these past months, and I swear I just heard her giggle.”
Ace merely shrugs.
“She kissed your bloody cheek!”
He smirks.
“What?” she demands.
“Nothing,” he assures. “It's just, the British really comes out when you're excited.”
Bess swats his arm playfully.
“I want details,” she insists. “Every little one. That's your penance for daring to keep this from me.”
-
Ace pats the top of the passenger door, before backing up a step, as Nancy drives off. He watches the car leave the parking lot, then turns to walk back into the Claw, and pauses at Nick standing on the steps. His eyebrows lift with a question he doesn't ask, eyes darting to the exit where Nancy's car was just a moment before.
“You two are getting close,” he comments as Ace approaches.
“Yup,” Ace replies, opening the door.
He heads toward the kitchen, Nick moving in step behind.
“I gotta ask man,” he begins, earning a turn of Ace's head his way. “Are you okay with it?”
Confused, Ace merely looks at him.
“With?”
“Being kept in the dark with things,” he elaborates. “Knowing that no matter how much you want to understand when it comes to another person, sometimes they just won't let you.”
Ace thinks on that a moment.
“I know if she chooses not to tell me something there's always a reason,” he informs. “And that, when she's ready, the reason will come later.”
Nick looks surprised.
“Really?”
Ace shrugs.
“Usually.”
“Oh,” Nick accepts with a nod. “She uh... She didn't really do that. With me.”
Ace rests a hand briefly on his shoulder, then makes his way to the kitchen.
-
Nancy's arms wrap easily around Ace's neck, before she smiles in a way he likes to think she only does with him, leaning against her car in the parking lot of a grocery store that closed five minutes before their arrival. George had given them a hundred bucks to clean the store out of Old Bay seasoning, because the Claw's delivery would be delayed by nearly a week.
“So,” she begins. “Our mission has failed.”
“You don't seem that upset.”
Nancy shakes her head.
“I tried telling George it was too late,” she assures. “But, you know...”
Ace nods.
“You are rarely wrong.”
That smile again. It stirs something within him.
“And I highly doubt Quick Stop carries seafood spices.”
Ace thinks on that a moment before agreeing. It's nice. Taking a moment like this. Just the two of them without a murder mystery, or supernatural threat looming over their heads. Where the prying eyes of their friends, who now look upon every interaction between them with a newfound scrutiny, since their pairing had been realized by all parties involved.
“You know everyone knows,” he states vaguely. “Right?”
“Obvious from the moment Bess and George cornered me in the ladies room, and wouldn't let me out until I promised not to break your heart.”
Ace smirks.
“They did?”
Nancy nods.
“It was very intimidating.”
He smiles.
“I can tell them to back off,” he offers. “If you want.”
Nancy laughs in return, letting her head drop against his chest.
For a moment neither says a thing.
“I like it,” Nancy states. “Being with you. It's... Nice.”
Ace's lips brush the top of her hair.
“Nice is good,” he agrees.
/\
just a quiet moment
A cup of coffee is placed on the table, Nancy's head shooting up from the position where she must have nodded off, while Ace stands there calmly sipping from his own mug. Gathering her bearings Nancy shifts in the booth, vinyl groaning with the movement, as she glances out the window to an overcast morning.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“A little after seven,” comes his reply.
Four hours sleeping upright in a restaurant booth certainly explains the stiffness in her arm and shoulder, as she tries rotating them both, and hisses against pins and needles. Steam rises off the coffee, and it smells wonderful, which makes her lean closer to get a better whiff.
“Did everyone-”
“Go home?” Ace fills in. “Awhile ago, yeah.”
She keeps rolling the numbness from her arm.
“But not you?”
Ace drink from his mug.
“Wasn't going to leave you here all alone.”
Something about that makes her smile, flexing her fingers one last time, and braving to take hold of the coffee cup. Another quick inhale of its aroma, before blowing on it cautiously, and taking a tentative sip. Eyes widen with the realization that it's made as if she'd poured and mixed the cream and sugar herself. Those eyes then lift to him, still standing stoically without a care in the world.
“Two sugars, one cream,” he gives. “I pay attention. One might even say I'm observant.”
Nancy nods with the acceptance of this new fact.
“Noted.”
Briefly, she wonders if he's noticed the way they keep getting paired off lately. How the group splits into preset teams that leave Nick, Bess, or George occasionally on their own, but Nancy and Ace are a duo no one interferes with. Or if that steadfast observance of his, has not gone overlooked on her part. That she appreciates the consistency in which he both respects, and recognizes her boundaries, and how she operates within them. That he comes always through, no matter what life or death situation they may fall into.
She takes another sip, glancing out the window to a sun barely visible behind a slew of clouds, then pats the seat next to her from him to join. There is no hesitation on his part, sliding easily into the booth next to her, offering cheers with the mug in hand.
Their arms brush against one another, and she leans easily into the contact, head dipping against his shoulder a quick moment. He drinks from his coffee and doesn't comment on this new physical connection, not that she expected he would. That he takes whatever she gives with a grace she never thought capable in another person.
“You're a good egg, Ace.”
Though she can't see his reaction to the compliment, a smile surely pulls at his mouth.
“Hope so,” he gives. “Bad eggs tend to smell.”
She can't help but pull away at that, a bewildered look upon her face, but then he just smirks at her and she finds herself beaming in return. What is she going to do with him? She wonders. What is she going to do with this fondness for his presence that just keeps growing the more time they spend together? Feelings she will inevitably deny, until a point comes to where they kiss for a flurry of differentiating reasons, and discovers said denial was all for naught.
Looping her arm through his, she lets her head fall back against his shoulder, for once letting a quiet moment be enjoyed. When his head dips to rest against hers, a flush spreads easily across her cheeks, as a sigh of contentment escapes.
/\
in shadows
A shadow moves eerily along the wall, as Nancy slaps a hand over her mouth to keep the terrified gasp from slipping past her lips. It moves like ink somehow came alive, slithering along brick and mortar, looking for her. For them. Ace is just as scared as she, but somehow manages to keep his stoicism in check, so as not to get the duo discovered.
They share a quick look, despite the low light that surrounds, each somehow instantly aware of the others thought. How many angry ghosts could one small New England town really have? It's not a statistic they're both particularly interested in knowing, but at this point, it borders on the ridiculous.
It shouldn't be a surprise that uncovering a money laundering ring, greed an everlasting factor in murder, revealed a few dead bodies along the way. But is it so bad to wish for petty thieves every once in awhile? Some kind of organized pet snatching scandal? Cases from those detective books she read as a kid, simple mysteries with subtle interwoven layers, that always get wrapped up with a nice pretty bow at the end?
Smart Girl Detective never had to deal with ghosts. At least not the ones actually screaming for revenge from the afterlife. Rather, a corrupt small town businessman pretending to be one for the sake of driving down property values.
“I think it's gone,” Ace whispers.
He hasn't commented on the fact that she's held a death grip on his hand since that thing flashed its wavering form. Just as she hasn't that he squeezes back just as hard, anytime their heart rate happens to spike.
They've dealt with the with the spirit world before, so what is it about this particular phantasm that conjures such dread? As angry as Dead Lucy was, Nancy never thought her mother's astral form would actually deliver harm. And the Agleaca, savage as her machinations could project, was just trying to collect on a price they tried to skimp out on.
This guy though. David Edinger. A certified CPA and by all accounts a stand up citizen, before the lure of quick cash lead down a slippery slope to his demise.
“No,” Nancy denies, hair still standing on end. “It's waiting.”
Waiting for them to crawl out from their hidey hole it (thankfully) hasn't found.
Ace doesn't second guess her judgment. Nor pleads that they make a run for it anyway. That his trust in her is somehow deeper than the trust she has in herself.
“I'm sorry,” she offers after a moment.
He looks to her, confused.
“For what?”
Lots of things Nancy doesn't say. For being the proverbial wrecking ball to her friends small town lives. That her demand for answers tends to overshadow the very real risk of consequences that stem from such a need. That they could have died dozens of times before this moment, and yet still allows their help, rather than place the risk solely on her own shoulders.
Sorry that despite all the bravery she is claimed to have, emotions are the one thing she freely runs from, and the thought of death is shockingly less terrifying than admitting to him she might want to be more than just friends.
If it wasn't so dark he might be able to see all of this written on her face. Which he can do with astounding ease most days. Instead he squeezes her hand in reassurance, and the simple gesture is incredibly calming considering the circumstance. He knows how she feels. Somehow he always does.
“I go where you go.”
She's thought about kissing him before. Several times actually. Whenever he says things like that. The quiet reassurance that he is by her side no matter what. That he will be as long as she wants him there. That in this moment, she's incredibly grateful he is.
It's stupid.
It's so ridiculously stupid to kiss him here. Now. With a literal ghost wanting to do them harm. But she does it anyway. To say thank you. For this. For everything. To finally tell him without ever having to say the words. Words that may never form, because how many would it take, to have him truly understand the depth in which she appreciates what exists between them?
He pulls away, and for a fleeting instant she's full of regret.
“Ace-”
“I think it's gone,” he says again.
But this time he's right. She doesn't see it, and whatever internal warning system detects its presence, no longer feels it.
“Right,” she agrees.
They need to go. To find their friends and warm them. To solve this case before anyone can get hurt. He doesn't move though, and neither does she.
“When this is over,” he begins. “Maybe we can, uh, do that again. If you want.”
She wants. It's ludicrous much she wants, but doesn't trust herself right now to do anything but nod. He stands first, and pulls her along with their hands still clasped together, as they look in opposite directions just in case.
The coast appears to be clear.
They run.
/\
all i know is that i don't know
“He just,” Nancy tries to explain, unsure how, because clarifying it to someone else means it's clear to her. Which most certainly, it is not. “Snuck up on me.”
George and Bess share a look at this response. It not filling the gap they hoped it would. This not quite confrontation over the nature of Nancy and Ace's burgeoning relationship. (If you can even call it that.) It makes her curious, as most things do, why their sudden need for a definition? Perhaps because she herself demands answers, when it comes to questions that may or may not be her business?
Or maybe because they witnessed how things ended with Nick. Not wanting to see another friend left to the wayside because of a few emotional barriers and personality flaws. Or worse Owen, stopped in its tracks on account of death, even if that was more unfortunate circumstance than fault.
“He does that,” Bess offers in understanding.
George looks like she concurs, but folds her arms and rolls her eyes, in lieu of a reply.
Nancy smiles cautiously. It may not be the explanation they want, but at least it appears to be acceptable.
“Look,” she begins again. “You want an answer I don't have-”
“But you love getting answers,” Bess cuts her off.
“Yeah,” George interjects. “It's totally your thing.”
Nancy's mouth drops slightly, not knowing how to respond. Perhaps not wanting to let them in on the countless moments, she's found herself looking at Ace as if he were some kind of unicorn. That his steadfast earnestness and fierce loyalty, slowly but surely, sparked the tiniest of feelings within her heart. How his kindness and compassion, left her envious at times, because in comparison the level in which his radiates simply lacks on her side.
Or how he reached out one day, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, like it was just something he did. And she, in moment of bravery or stupidity, leaned over and kissed him square on the lips. How he grinned at her like it was just something she did. Like this was something they could be. As freely and easily as he seemed to stroll through life.
“I could love him,” slips out before she can take it back, both Bess and George's eyes widening to saucers. “I mean, really really love him...”
Bess takes a step forward, but Nancy stops her with an upturned palm.
“Why does that seem to terrify you?” she asks.
Because those she lets close inevitably disappoint. Or she herself disappoints. They get hurt, she gets hurt, or they die and she... She's left to solve their murder. Or course she can't say that, standing there with the two of them staring. Luckily her phone rings, and she answers it so quickly, it clearly flings from her hand onto the floor.
“Ace,” she says, shooting a glance to both girls. “Hey.”
George and Bess share a look off his name, but neither mutters something to the other, and Nancy is heading for the door before either one of the can begin to interject.
“Right. Yeah, that thing.”
He'd finally convinced his Dad to let her look at some old case files. Just to tie up some loose ends with another mystery that had fallen into their laps. She doesn't bother to share it with the girls, because they wouldn't believe her anyway, probably thinking it's a booty call even though that's far from his style. Wait, where did that thought come from?
“Huh? No I didn't forget, I just-”
She glances back at the pair, watching her every move, and shrugs awkwardly before exiting.
“No, nothing is wrong.”
Nearly to her car, Nancy gives one last glimpse back to reveal they've wandered over to the window, still looking on. “I'm on my way.”
/\
stolen moments
It's little things.
Like Ace leaning over to kiss the top of her head, when she's sitting at a table refilling salt shakers in the Claw, as he's about to head off to help his Dad with some computer related problem down at the police station. How her cheeks flush as if she's a schoolgirl with a first crush, because it's just so sickly sweet, she doesn't know how else to react.
“Hey,” she calls him back, after he's taken a few steps away, puckering her lips briefly.
Pride is taken in the smile it puts on his face, as he returns to kiss her properly goodbye, then is off again without further interruption. She sighs happily, still unsure how to deal with the feeling, but letting it resonate none the less.
A throat is cleared behind her, Nancy's eyes widening with embarrassment that anyone would have witnessed the moment, and turns cautiously to see George standing there with eyebrows raised.
“The two of you are disgusting,” she states flatly, then wanders off to the office.
-
When she reaches out to hold the end of Ace's jacket between her fingers, it is not a conscious act.
He's close enough to touch, but the moment feels inappropriate to do something like hold his hand, when the group is formed in a circle on the beach. Brainstorming how to break the case of an ancient shipwreck, that had sent a dozen souls howling toward Horseshoe Bay, despite the fact that they and their ship had been dormant under the sea for centuries.
Ace found records in the Harbormasters database, about a salvage operation that had stumbled upon an ancient galleon called the Golden Wreathe, while actually looking to reclaim a slightly less old cargo vessel that had capsized sometime in the forties.
“Why doesn't anybody in this town leave the dead to rest?” George asks rhetorically.
Everyone shares a look of agreement off the statement.
“Yeah but,” Nick interjects. “Just finding a shipwreck doesn't automatically set ghosts free. If it did the entire east coast would be a never ending haunted house.”
Bess chimes in that vessel had been carrying a wedding present for a nobleman in the colonies, some kind of giant emerald held in a necklace of silver, when a storm blew the ship off course before finally sinking off the coast of Maine.
“Sounds like the kind of totem a bunch of angry ghosts would attach themselves to,” Ace offers up.
Nancy's hand bunches in his jacket when he speaks, and he looks to her with the hint of a smile, before focus is shifted back to the group who are looking at the two of them warily.
-
It's a rare quiet evening, when Nancy and Ace are sitting on the couch in his living room, watching a monster movie from the fifties she isn't familiar with. Nancy's head rests comfortably in the crook of his arm, while it extends over her shoulder, very much the cuddled couple that just a few months ago she never would have imagined they'd be.
Neither of them has said anything in nearly twenty minutes. Normally such silence and inaction would drive Nancy crazy. There is always something to do. Some case to solve. Some wrong to right. But it doesn't. His calming influence affecting in such subtle ways, as having the patience for a movie night with her boyfriend.
As if sensing these thoughts within in her, Ace glances down the moment she looks up, and the pair break into simultaneous grins.
“I know this isn't really your thing,” he begins.
“It's fine,” she's quick to cut him off. “I mean, good. This is really- It's good.”
His gaze turns mildly scrutinizing.
“I'm serious,” she assures, giving his side a squeeze.
He waits, knowing she'll keep going if she wants.
“But sometimes,” she continues. “It feels like I don't deserve things like this.”
Ace doesn't ask her to define what exactly 'this' means.
“Like, if I let myself slow down, even for a moment, the universe will just catch back up and knock me around some more.”
Nancy's eyes fall closed as Ace presses a kiss atop her head. The gesture becoming somewhat of a trademark of his affections.
“The way I see it,” he says. “The universe has wronged you a lot more than you have the other way around.”
He does not elaborate on these wrongs, but the laundry list runs through her mind.
“And it is okay,” he goes on. “More than okay, to let yourself have a little quiet time, watching cheesy horror movies with me.”
Her chin nudges into his chest, mumbling something he cant quite hear.
“Huh?”
She groans against his shirt, exhaling loudly.
“Nothing.”
He doesn't press, not that she thought he would, turning back to the movie.
“This part is really awful,” he states. “You should pay attention.”
She doesn't, shifting up to kiss him instead, and is met with no objection.
/\
nights in New England
Nancy talks in her sleep.
While this doesn't exactly surprise Ace, he wasn't expecting to be woken up at, what time is it? Reaching for his phone proves to be more complicated than it should be, not wanting to disturb the slumbering girl cuddled against his chest, as his arm extends as far as it can go to reach the device left on an end table.
Four-thirty in the morning.
Wait, what time had he fallen asleep?
Wait, is he in Nancy's house?
Wait, Nancy is talking in her sleep. Which is how this situation began basically. He glances down to her, face smushed into his shirt, still mumbling against him. It sounds like... Groceries? Concentrating on the words doesn't really make them any clearer, despite what books and TV lead you to believe, but he's pretty sure she just said salt.
Kosher salt, specifically.
Ground red pepper. Paprika. Heavy cream, three tablespoons.
Oh.
It's a recipe for crab cakes.
Thinking on that a moment, he's never known Nancy to cook, and wonders if it's something her Mom used to make. Or, if she picked it up from talking to Jacques the chef down at the Claw.
Sliced green onion. Breadcrumbs.
He's not supposed to wake her up, is he? Or is that dangerous? No, that's sleepwalking.
One egg white. Mayonnaise, two tablespoons.
Lifting a hand he runs it carefully along her hair, thinking it best to let her keep sleeping, even if the continuing recital of the recipe is now making him hungry. Sighing, he lets his head rest against the couch, eyes closing to the sound.
Parsley. One tablespoon, finely chopped.
/\
noble sacrifice
“So,” Bess begins, reaching over to pull a stray thread from Ace's jacket, before flicking it into the chilly night air. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
Ace watches the thread float around a moment, before losing sight, turning to his friend with a questioning look. Her eyes flick to the bandage on his head. The mystery of a string of bank robberies solved, ended with flashing lights and sirens, their friends talking to each other or the various police officers on scene. Nancy in particular, is talking to Lisbeth next to a cruiser, while Bess and Ace are seated on the back of an ambulance.
“You know I adore this little group of ours,” she carries on. “As I'm sure each of us does. But I'm not so sure how many of us individuals are willing to take the butt of a gun to their head for another's protection.”
Ace merely shrugs.
“Better than them shooting Nancy,” he states.
Bess gasps.
“Was that your intention?” she questions. “To get that thief to shoot you instead?”
Ace doesn't look at her.
“How noble,” she admits. “Dreadfully, stupidly, noble. What would we have done? Had they actually shot you?” Choking back tears, she resists the urge to smack him soundly, voice dropping to a whisper. “What would I have done without my plantanchor?”
Ace reaches for her hand.
“I'm sorry.”
She squeezes it tightly, sliding a little closer to him, and resting her head against his arm.
“Yes well,” she sighs. “I suppose that further reiterates my point.”
“About?”
“About your not telling me that you're in love with Nancy.”
He neither confirms, nor denies. Which is inherently frustrating. Really, most days she has no bloody clue how his mind works.
“I trust her,” he gives instead. “A lot more than I should sometimes. But I know-”
“What you feel in your heart,” she finishes for him. “Even if you can't admit it to me, at the very least, do it for yourself.”
“Bess-”
“And don't tried to feed me some nonsense about her not feeling the same way. Honestly, how can you not notice the way she looks at you? All that time you spend together? Yes, you trust her. But can you sincerely tell me, that same trust does not exist for you?”
They're quiet a moment.
“So,” he wonders aloud. “How does she look at me?”
Bess chuckles softly.
“Like you hang the moon.”
Ace's arm shifts to wrap around her shoulder, grateful to have such a friend after yet another near death experience.
“Buck up and kiss her one of these days, yeah? I can't imagine she'll object.”
He snorts a laugh.
“Sometimes, I'm still not used to you being English.”
/\
gratitude
If this were any other moment, she might have thought, oh.
If this were any other time, she might have looked, hello.
If her life weren't at all surrounded with enough drama to fill a library worth of books, Ace's steadfast earnestness might have gone unnoticed. But the cute guy with a luxurious head of hair, washing dishes while she waited tables, offering a relaxed commentary the on mundane existence of restaurant life would have caught her eye.
Like he does now.
Standing there in the room of her former paramour, offering an ear to listen, and maybe a shoulder to lean upon. It strikes her in a way she doesn't expect. Breaking through a heart surrounded by death and darkness. Lies and cover ups. Truth always wanted, but full of regret when given.
If this were any other circumstance, she might moved, thanks.
Into his arms with her head pressed against his chest, letting the tears that have built up like a dam waiting to burst, to flow freely. Instead she merely looks at him, an appreciation welling up inside to rival those tears, and finds she can state at least that much.
“I really appreciate that.”
It's hard to think of the last time she'd actually felt gratitude. How foreign it seems, given to him, weighing her down ever so slightly to the right.
“If I find the words, I will share them with you.”
And that's it, the moment passed, he doesn't ask or offer anything more. But she takes note. Something is there between them. Hopefully it still will be, if and when she's ready to pick it up.
/\
down the line
They don't die.
George and Nick don't drown. Bess doesn't get set alight. Ace doesn't end up on a hook. Nancy doesn't fall off a cliff.
They don't die, despite being precariously close to edge of a cliff, the spot they stand not claiming a second in Lucy's bloodline tonight. Their debt paid with a sacrifice all promised to never speak of again. The sea is black, with the moon's reflection slashing across the surface, each one in the group taking a moment of contemplation for the events they just went through.
“Okay,” George states breaking the moment. “I am getting the hell out of here.”
She takes off without looking back, and Nick is quick to follow. Bess shoots a look to Ace and Nancy, before pointing to their retreating friends.
“I sort of came with them,” she gives. “So maybe I should...”
Moving to catch up with the duo, Nancy and Ace are left standing on the cliff side, he with hands in pocket, she with arms wrapped around herself.
“So that was-”
“Never to be spoken of again,” Nancy cuts him off.
“Right,” Ace agrees with a nod. “My bad.”
Nancy peers over the edge, for once not seeing the echo of her birth mother's death, or her own. Just the ocean below, crashing against the rocks as it always does. Ace remains stoic at her side, letting Nancy have her moment, and smiles softly when it passes. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the car keys, and jingles them at Ace.
“Need a ride?”
He looks at her, confused. They'd arrived together before the big showdown, so it would stand to reason she would give him a ride home without having to offer. He shrugs, rather than convey this confusion aloud.
“Sure,” accepted with another smile.
She doesn't move though, gazing up at him in a way he's only begun to notice, and steps forward as if she's going to embrace him but stops herself instead.
“I still haven't found the words,” she says.
He wasn't expecting that. For her to bring it up, even if just to say that she still can't talk about Owen or her birth parents, without provocation.
“Maybe you never will,” he replies. “And that's okay. I'm here either way.”
Tears well in her eyes, and he knows it's not because of what he said, but still feels guilty as if the responsibility lies with him. He reaches for her, doesn't stop himself as she had, and knows it is the right move when she slides readily into his arms.
She cries easily after that and he absorbs them as best he can, knowing it's not because of words she can't find but the ongoing nightmare these past few months has been, letting his cheek rest atop her head. Eyes close against the waves crashing below, offering unyielding empathy, as all the pent up sorrow finally releases from Nancy.
Then just as soon as it begin, she pushes back to wipe away any residual tears, sniffling but smiling genuinely at him.
“Thanks,” she gives. “I really needed that.”
Nodding, he lifts a hand to caress her cheek, thumb wiping away a residual streak.
“Missed one,” he states.
That smile grows wider, her own hand moving to cover his, and new words cannot be found for this moment forged between them. Each understanding there can be more. Will be more. A little further down the line.
/\
slight of hand
“We need a key card,” Nancy laments. “If we ever want to get into that storage room.”
A storage room in the hospital basement, supposedly where a clever drug dealer, has some kind of siphoning operation for medical grade painkillers going on. Nancy isn't totally convinced the word of a detoxing morphine addict could be counted as reliable, but Ace didn't seem the harm in taking a look, and she was most likely going to end up here regardless. Getting into the basement is easy enough, but of course every door inside has a magnetic lock requiring a key card.
They make way up into the hospital proper, planning to lift one off a staff member somehow, though that part of the plan isn't quite clear yet.
“There's one,” Ace informs, nodding his head toward a security guard standing in front of a vending machine, with an ID card in plain sight clipped to his belt.
“Okay,” Nancy confirms. “The question is how to get it?”
She sighs.
“Where's Bess when we need her?”
Ace doesn't answer, walking toward the security guard, as Nancy's eyes widen while she reaches out and just misses to pull him back. Even now, after they'd gotten to know each other a lot better over the past year, she can never quite put her finger on how his brain works.
The security guard can't seem to make his mind up over what snack he wants out of the machine, while Ace casually comes to a stop behind him, as if he's simply waiting for his turn. The guard turns back to offer a look of apology, and Nancy can't help to bite her lip at the interaction, while Ace says something she can't quite hear.
The guard laughs, a deep baritone echoing down the hall, before turning back to the machine and pressing a few buttons. It happens so fast, she almost misses it, Ace lifting the card easily off the guard while he bends down to retrieve his snack.
He points the bright yellow package at Ace as if to say thanks, before walking off in the opposite direction, and Nancy watches as her partner in crime reaches into his own pocket for some loose change.
Offering up the candy bar to Nancy on his return, Ace shrugs when she shakes her head no, and slips it into his jacket for later. She can't help but look at him with a bit of wonder, because he manages to keep doing this, surprise her in the most confounding of ways.
His eyebrow quirks in an unasked question, and she doesn't hide the smile that comes, reaching for the bottom of his jacket to tug him along.
“What did you say to him?” she asks as they backtrack to the basement stairs. “To make him laugh like that.”
“Bit o' honey,” he answers evenly. “So good in my tummy.”
Nancy snickers at the old candy jingle.
“It was,” he goes on. “What we in the biz, call misdirection.”
She shoots back a look.
“So you're a magician now?”
“Not a magician per se,” he gives. “More slight of hand. Card tricks. Stuff like that.”
It's both unforeseen, yet not at all, that he would be capable of such things and never let on.
“You'll have to show me sometime,” she states. “How good you are.”
His lips purse, as he offers up the key card lithely between two fingers.
“Was this not impressive?”
Nancy clucks her tongue.
“In a shock kind of way,” she allows. “But I was thinking of something with more awe.”
“Something for the big stage,” he confirms with a nod. “Got it.”
The stairs to the basement are just ahead, and they both take a cursory look around to make sure they go unnoticed, before slipping through down them. The key card works easily on the door, and they are greeted inside by boxes of plastic viles, with some kind of machine that doesn't quite look like it belongs in a hospital.
“Looks like the intel was good,” Ace offers.
“Looks like,” Nancy agrees, reaching for her phone so they can snap a few pictures, but frowns when she finds something else in her pocket instead. Pulling out the candy bar, she turns to Ace, who is waving his hands back and forth.
“Ta-daaa!”
/\
three hours, twenty-one minutes
Nancy loves her car.
It's sleek. It's unique. It's quite possibly the only Sunbeam Alpine in the entire state of Maine. However sports cars are manufactured for fun, not long distance driving. While three hours and twenty-one minutes might not be entirely too long in retrospect, is certainly feels that way on her legs and back, Horseshoe Bay to Houlton a drive she wasn't expecting to make.
Ace doesn't complain. Not that she expected he would. But he does shake both his legs as if they'd fallen asleep, his tall frame tucked into the tiny bucket seats, as they exit the vehicle. The motel sign says vacancy, not that she expected otherwise, even if it might be the only one in town.
The pair share a look, and walk into the office together, securing a room for the night. The clerk has them sign their names into an old fashioned register, before handing them an actual key instead of a card, and focusing back on the TV show they'd been watching before the interruption. They have no luggage to collect from the car, this trip as spontaneous as chasing down any other lead in Nancy's detective career, following it to the only witness of a shooting in Horseshoe Bay nearly fifteen years ago.
A waft of stale air hits them as soon as the door opens, Ace reaching to the light switch, and the duo pauses at the sight of a single bed.
“We didn't specify,” he's quick to comment. “I'm sure they just assumed-”
“It's fine,” Nancy cuts him off. “I really don't feel like going back there and having to explain the need for two beds. Unless you-”
“No, it's cool.”
Nancy smirks at him, moving toward the TV and turning it on just to have some ambient noise in the room, before letting her bag drop on the stand next to it.
“I can take the floor,” he offers. “You know, in the sake of being a gentleman.”
Nancy glances at the carpet and frowns.
“I wouldn't let my dog sleep on this floor,” she insists. “We can share.”
Despite making the offer, Ace looks relieved he wasn't taken up on it.
“You have a dog?”
Nancy sits on the edge of the bed.
“When I was a kid,” she answers. “Togo. The sweetest little nightmare of a terrier.”
Ace laughs.
“I had a goldfish.”
They share a look, before Nancy pats the bed, and Ace moves to sit the opposite side of her.
“So we find this Cheryl Morton first thing in the morning,” Nancy declares.
“Okay,” Ace agrees. “But maybe...”
Nancy's brow lifts curiously.
“We can get breakfast before that?”
-
Nancy's eyes snap open, and for a moment she doesn't know where she is, or why she fell asleep in her clothes. The TV is still on across the room, some infomercial for a kitchen appliance that probably doesn't work exactly as advertised, and her head is most definitely not resting on a stiff motel pillow. Ace's chest rises and falls underneath her cheek, a slow and easy pace indicative he's out pretty good, and she hopes it's enough for her to move without waking him.
She doesn't move however, feeling oddly comfortable, despite the obvious discomfort of sleeping fully clothed in a two star motel. It's quite nice, actually. Especially if she ignores the fact that she subconsciously gravitated toward him in the middle of the night. Just like she ignores the fact that he volunteers to accompany her for all of their mysteries lately. That he didn't even hesitate to jump in the car with her, and drive all the way to a town mere miles from the Canadian border.
Taking a breath, she almost laughs, because he smells like the Claw. Salt, soap, and seafood. Like home. Eyes getting heavy once more, she wonders if they'll wake up like this in the morning, huddled together as if it's something they do now. His heartbeat echoes in her ear strong and steady, and she drifts off again thinking that this mystery building between them, is just waiting to be solved.