Chapter Text
Of course the elevator is out of order.
The sign stating such is scribbled on in permanent marker, with 'always' written before out, and 'fucking' before order. Classy, Nancy muses before pulling the phone from her pocket, and double checking the information given just yesterday. Fifth floor, room twenty-seven. The stairwell is located just to the left of the broken lift, and she sighs, having not planned to ascend five flights of stairs when arriving.
Admittedly, she's a little out of breath when reaching the fifth level of the building, walking down the hall and counting off door numbers until she reaches the right one. There's a particular knock she was instructed to give, and for a moment Nancy considers ignoring that because it feels a little silly, but does follow through with shave and a haircut.
“Password?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.
Nancy rolls her eyes. This guy has clearly seen too many spy movies in his lifetime, but once again, complies with the request.
“New England clam chowder,” she gives.
For a moment nothing happens.
“Is that the red or white?” comes the voice again.
This time Nancy scowls, rapping impatiently on the door with the bottom of her fist.
“New England clam chowder is always white,” she states irritably.
The door pops open then, Nancy's still clenched fist barely stopping before coming in contact with the guy's chest, as her eyes lift to meet his. Not what she would have expected from a computer nerd type, that's for sure. Clean shaven with long blonde hair, a button up shirt with polar bears all over it, and bright blue eyes that look very amused at her impertinence.
“Well if it isn't Nancy Drew,” he says, looking her up and down. “If I'd known it was you coming, I would have prepared a lobstah suppah.”
She is rarely taken by surprise, and for a moment simply gawks at him trying to place where he could possibly know her from, wondering if she should know him in return. She's only a freshman, two weeks into her second semester at Columbia, and hasn't taken on many cases that would give a reputation to proceed her.
“Horseshoe Bay High,” he fills in of her blank look. “Class of 2016.”
That does nothing to jar any kind of recognition loose. If they ever crossed paths, she does not remember. (Which she absolutely would have.) He steps aside allowing her into the room which, once again, defying her expectations of a tech type. It's spotless for one, bed made and shelves organized neatly, the garbage can tucked into a corner is not even full.
“And you're Ace,” she says with her back to him, still looking around.
“Yes,” he returns. “I am he.”
She cranes back to catch his eye.
“Got a last name?”
He smiles.
“Sure do.”
Nancy scoffs softly when he doesn't elaborate. Right then, to the business at hand.
“According to my roommates friend of a friend, you're the best computer guy on campus.”
That smile is still there.
“Tell your roommates friend of a friend, I'm flattered.”
Nancy shakes her head, despite the smile she feels threatening to pull at her lips.
“And according to that same person,” she goes on. “You are not above looking into places you probably shouldn't be on the internet.”
He folds his arms.
“Is that something you're opposed to?”
Nancy shrugs.
“Not something I've really thought about,” she admits. “But Chase Manhattan Bank is certainly not going to let me look into a customers records without some kind of warrant. Which I do not have.”
Ace nods, and appears to think a moment.
“I could get you one,” he offers. “But I bet the shrewd bankers down in the financial district would never mistake you for a cop. So hacking the database it is.”
He walks over to a laptop perched atop a small table against the wall, and sits on a small cushioned stool, then proceeds to type faster than she's ever seen someone type before.
“Name?” he asks.
“Archibald Ashton Andover, the third.”
The typing comes to a halt, as Ace turns to look at her with a raised eyebrow.
“I know,” she concedes. “Stinks of old money and nepotism. Which let me tell you, after meeting the guy, is definitely the only reason he's a student at an Ivy League school.”
“Then why help him?”
Nancy asked herself that already. Couldn't find a reason other than first world problems, to dismiss it.
“Because he's probably innocent.”
Ace goes back to typing.
“What am I looking for?”
Nancy peers over shoulder, sees nothing but lines and lines of code that she can't begin to understand.
“Irregular and unauthorized transfers. Money that's quickly deposited and withdrawn.”
“Sounds like money laundering.”
“That is what he's afraid of.”
“You sure he's not trying to get one over on you?”
Nancy takes offense.
“If you if you really know who I am,” she states. “You wouldn't have to ask that.”
Ace turns to look at her again.
“My apologies.”
For a moment, that look holds.
“This might take awhile,” he informs, breaking it. “I can just text you when I find something.”
Nancy has no problem with that.
“Sure,” she replies, heading for the door. “Wait, don't you need my number?”
Ace smirks, but keeps his eyes on the screen.
“I can get your number.”
Nancy scoffs at him again, but exits the room without saying more, and is not even halfway to the stairs when her phone buzzes with a message.
Pretty good, right?
/\
“Was he cute?” Bess asks the second Nancy walks into their dorm.
She doesn't dignify that with a response, dropping her bag to the floor next to her bed, before taking a seat with a sigh. Bess is waiting tentatively, and Nancy merely lifts her brows as if to ask, what? Not that she isn't astutely aware a barrage of questions is mere milliseconds from coming her way.
Bess Marvin, British national, though she hid that fact for the first few weeks of their cohabitation with the excuse of working on her American accent. She had Nancy fooled dead to rights, not that she was suspicious in the first place, her skills of observation a little overwhelmed by moving to the big city from small town Maine.
Drama major, though she didn't get into Julliard, and her ridiculously rich family couldn't bare the scandal from one of their own attending a state school like NYU despite its theater program being slightly more revered than Columbia.
“I don't see how that's relevant,” Nancy rebuffs.
Bess' eyes light up.
“Hardly a no,” she teases.
For some reason Bess is dead set on having the complete American college experience she's seen in movies, and is quite insistent on dragging Nancy along for the ride. She's tried to fix her up with at least a dozen different guys since their meeting (even though she herself holds no interest toward them), has said yes to every single party invite ever given, and the more Nancy resists the more Bess charges forward without a care in the world.
“He's an odd duck,” Nancy gives, rolling her neck. “Computer wiz who dresses like a surfer, despite being from my hometown.”
Bess delights in this fact, and Nancy instantly regrets giving it.
“How serendipitous.”
Nancy falls back on her bed.
“It's just a case, Bess. He'll either get me the information I need or he won't, and then I'll probably never see him again. Not every chance meeting is the plot to a romantic comedy you're hoping to costar in.”
“Oh Nancy,” Bess sighs dramatically. “Don't you know?”
Nancy lifts her head so their eyes meet.
“All the world's a stage.”
/\
Ace does come through with good intel, and it turns out Archibald Ashton Andover the third's own father was using his son's trust fund to filter through some extra assets he didn't want the IRS or SEC to know about. Definitely a one percent problem that Nancy can't begin to care about, but Archie does fulfill his payment promise and her meal card will be taken care of until graduation.
She doesn't expect to see Ace again. Never noticing him around campus before the day she went to his room, nor in the previous years they apparently lived in the same town, and attended high school together. So of course, sees him practically every day after being given the report on the Andover's. Whether it be in a hallway heading to class, noticing him trekking up the steps at Butler Library, or literally bumping into him on the subway platform at 116th street.
“Hey Nancy Drew,” he greets casually.
“Hey,” she echoes, then apologizes for knocking against him.
He is none too bothered about that, eyes darting down the tracks, then back to her.
“Where you headed?”
Nancy can't help the grimace that comes.
“Off Broadway for a performance of 'Twelfth Night with a modern twist' by some theater company my roommate made friends with.”
Ace looks at her blankly.
“She's a drama major.”
“Right,” he acknowledges. “But you don't share her love of the arts?”
Nancy shakes her head. “Not really.”
“You're still going, though.”
“She is not someone it's easy to say no to.”
This brings about a smile on his face.
“What about you?” she inquires.
“Korea town.”
She waits for him to elaborate, and continues when he doesn't.
“Any particular reason?”
“Buddy of mine got a shipment of blast processors from family back in Seoul. I'm going there to negotiate for the release of one.”
It's Nancy's turn to stare blankly.
“Computer thing,” he gives.
“Right,” she accepts with a nod. “Good luck with that.”
-
“You should have invited him!” Bess exclaims, once Nancy (regrettably) informs her that she ran into Ace waiting for the train.
The thought never entered her mind because she doesn't even want to be here, let alone would subject someone she barely knows to... Whatever this turns out to be.
“He had an errand,” she dismisses. “Some computer chip, thing. Sounded very important.”
Bess sighs in that disappointed mother way, whenever Nancy resists her offers or suggestions, looping their arms together and guiding her toward the entrance.
“Come along then,” she insists. “The theater awaits.”
/\
The next time she runs into Ace it isn't physical, spotting him at a coffee shop a few blocks away from campus. After giving her order, she wanders over his table.
“Hey Nancy Drew,” he greets.
It's not the first time he's used her full name, but her brow furrows in curiosity as to why, and she does find herself asking once the seat opposite of his is taken. He contemplates a moment, as if he'd never realized that little tick was happening every time he said hello.
“Probably my Dad's fault,” is the answer he gives.
Nancy waits for more.
“He's a cop,” Ace fills in. “So you can imagine how someone with your skill set and plucky can do attitude would be a thorn in the departments side.”
Nancy can't help but smile with pride at the statement. One he matches easily.
“It was not a rare occasion at my house,” he goes on. “Where he'd come home irritated and wave his arms around in frustration. Oh, that Nancy Drew!”
He accompanies the declaration with a series of hand gestures, which Nancy takes note of, and he notices her noticing.
“He's deaf,” Ace informs. “So, sign language.”
Once again, he accompanies the words with their signed counterparts. Before she can say anything to that, her name is called, so she rises to go collect her drink then returns to the table.
“It's kind of funny,” she begins. “Two denizens of Horseshoe Bay both ending up at Columbia.”
Ace nods in agreement.
“The odds don't normally favor that, do they?”
“Any particular reason you chose it?” she asks.
For a brief second it looks like he doesn't want to answer the question, and Nancy wonders if somehow she overstepped but old habits die hard, though eventually he does provide a response.
“Didn't make MIT,” he admits. “And going all the way to California for Caltech felt too far away from my family.”
Nancy's eyes widen with shock. “This was your fallback school?” comes out incredulous.
She had been wanting to go to Columbia since planning for college became a real life goal. All those trips to New York with her dad on business. Falling in love with the city, and knowing that somehow, someday she would end up here. Sure she had fallback schools herself, but the very idea this was not the pinnacle of aspiration is one that never entered her mind.
It must show on her face, because he's smiling at her in a way that makes her look swiftly down to her coffee.
/\
At some point it stops being happenstance.
Their constantly crossing paths.
They make plans ahead of time, to hang out on purpose. Whether it be in one of the libraries to study together, the coffee shop, or just sitting around the Low Steps and talking. Once they headed down to Little Italy for pizza Ace swore she would never want anything else after trying.
Bess won't let up every time Nancy goes to spend time with him though, and one day she just snaps.
“He's not my boyfriend,” quickly denied as her roommate once again suggests otherwise.
“Of course not,” Bess replies, playing along. “He's just a boy you spend an inordinate amount of time with. One that makes you smile every time your phone buzzes with a message from him. One who-”
“Bess!” Nancy cuts her off. “Come on, what is it with you? Why are you so intent on hooking me up with random guys, or pushing me into a relationship with one of the few I actually do like?”
Bess balks at the accusation, but can't deny the truth of it, having tried to steer Nancy toward a dozen or so suitors since they became roommates. Nancy took it with benign amusement for as long as she could, but now that she's doubling down on this burgeoning friendship, it suddenly isn't funny anymore. Especially when it doesn't seem like it is something she herself wants, with the amount of hook ups she's gone through. (Not that Nancy felt the need to keep track of, but couldn't help to. Fifteen to be exact. All of them tall, pretty brunettes, who are not looking for something serious either. Clearly indicative of a type, not that she would ever point it out.)
Nancy waits for any kind of answer, but Bess turns her gaze to the floor, mumbling something unintelligible.
“What?”
“I think you're lonely,” Bess reiterates clearly. “I think you're the loneliest person I've ever met.”
Now it's Nancy's turns to be taken aback, jaw dropping just a little, as her eyes go wide.
“This gift of yours. The detective thing? It makes you keep people at such a distance, and I-”
“Thought it was your job to fix that?” Nancy interjects. “Fix me?”
Bess is quick to backpedal, that really not being her intention at all.
“Of course not!” she assures. “I just thought that... I mean, oh bloody hell, what do I mean?”
Nancy doesn't let her find the answer she seeks, grabbing her bag and rushing out the door, despite the calls for her to come back.
-
She's stared at the same page for nearly twenty minutes, unable to concentrate, Bess' words cycling through her thoughts over and over again. Ace has picked up on this, shooting a few concerned looks her way, but doesn't try to pry it out of her. Knowing she'll only talk about something when she's good and ready. It's one of the reasons she finds it so easy to be around him.
Finally she shuts the book and leans back in her seat, groaning in frustration. She can feel his eyes on her again, and when she meets them, sees nothing but calm patience.
“Bess thinks we're dating,” she blurts. “Wait, no. That's not right. Bess thinks we should be dating, because I'm lonely? I'm the loneliest freaking person she's ever met?”
Ace pushes the book he was reading away, folding his hands and considering how to respond. In doing this, Nancy sees something in his expression she doesn't like.
“Do you agree with her?” is tossed out like an accusation, but of course he doesn't regard it as such.
“No,” he denies. “But you are a very guarded person.” Throwing up a quick hand when she's about to object, he continues on. “That's an observation, not a judgment. Because all those things you've done? Catching kidnappers, and stopping drug dealers while still a kid. They leave a mark whether you realize it or not.”
He's speaking from experience, Nancy realizes. Though he's just like her in that he'll never expand on such a thing unless he wants to.
“You've seen things, Nancy. People at their worst. The true ugliness we're capable of. A person who doesn't know you like that, might confuse it for loneliness, because they can see the walls you built around yourself but have no idea why they're really there.”
Anxiety swirls into her stomach at being seen like this, the only other person allowed to get close was George back in high school. Her first instinct to cut and run, maybe never talk to him again. Followed by the regret that she let Bess in enough, to where even she could see something wrong with her. That aptitude and determination come at a cost of social graces falling to the wayside. No matter how much she's tried to hide that part of herself, it can been detected by someone who stood there long enough to look.
“Her solution might not have been the best option-”
Nancy scoffs loudly at this.
“-but I think her heart was in the right place. She just wanted to do right by you.”
She chews on her lower lip.
“I didn't ask her to.”
Ace smirks.
“Sometimes friends will try without you having to,” he gives.
Nancy's fingers tap nervously on the book she'd closed.
“Do you think we should be dating?” she asks.
That smirks of his stretches into a smile.
“I wouldn't be opposed.”
Nancy rolls her eyes, but finds herself matching it.
“Maybe I wouldn't be, either. You know... opposed.”
Ace looks back down to his book.
“Okay.”
They manage to get some studying done, and when finished Nancy isn't quite ready to face Bess, so she accompanies Ace back to his dorm where the offer of watching a movie was presented. He's got a single, and she wonders (not for the first time) if his extracurricular activities had anything to do with such good fortune.
She doesn't mean to fall asleep, but her eyes start getting heavy halfway through Chinatown, and nodding off against Ace's shoulder while huddled together at the top of his bed isn't the worst thing in the world. It's nearly two in the morning when she comes to, checking her phone to relay the time, it the only source of light in the room. Though she can't see his face once the screen dims, he's out cold, but her shifting to get off the bed stirs him up.
“Hey Nancy Drew,” he teases sleepily.
Rolling her eyes, though she knows he can't see, Nancy nudges his shoulder before finally rising to her feet. He fumbles for the lamp on the bedside table, both squinting against the sudden harsh light, as she looks to the door.
“I should head back to my room.”
If he objects, nothing shows on his face, but the offer of an escort makes her smile. Reaching into her bag, she pulls out a stun gun and snaps it on for effect.
“I can take care of myself,” she assures.
“Never doubted that,” he tosses back. “But a gentleman still offers.”
It brings out a laugh, as she finally steps toward the door, Ace shooting up quickly from the bed to open it for her like the gentleman he proposed to be.
“I'll see you tomorrow?” she asks once out in the hall.
“Seems likely,” he replies.
Nancy pushes up on her toes, kissing him goodnight because she had a feeling he wouldn't. When his hands lift to cup her face and keep her there a little longer, she can't help to wonder if she might have been wrong about that.