Work Text:
Still here
“So, High-school,” Bess chirps, “must bring back so many memories for you two!”
Ace just shrugs, Nancy follows suit. Both of them mutter something in the negative. Nancy assumes that they only differ in the realness of the indifference they express here, with his probably being real and hers absolutely being pretend.
Because the truth is, being back here does feel really, really weird and she’s trying hard to not over-analyze why that is.
Really, really weird as in: confusing and wistful and embarrassing and triumphant, like she has somehow both fallen short of fulfilling her potential and achieved more than she could have hoped for at the same time.
When she is successfully not over-analyzing, she tells herself that those conflicting feelings have nothing to do with the present and everything to do with the fact that she must have stood in this parking lot a million times before. Back then when this used to be her world, when everything seemed simple and she knew exactly how the world worked and who she was.
Back when a very different set of people kept her company.
(Plus, somewhere else there’s a different story written, one that centers around the fact that Ace was there, all the time, and that she did not even—)
Bess isn’t content with them being so lame and uncommunicative, instead, she tries to elicit a response by way of by firing a barrage of keywords at them:
“Come on! There has to be something: intrigues, pranks, the one crush that you never told about your feelings out of fear it might destroy your friendship...”
Nancy’s unhelpful stomach flips and she tries hard to keep her face blank. Like always, when she is ruffled and seeks comfort she involuntarily focuses on him.
Bad habit, that.
“Epic heartbreaks, maybe?” Bess finishes, hopeful.
A shadow flickers across Ace’s face, but quickly disappears. Nancy shoves her hands into her pockets and quickly averts her eyes, acting like the bit of fluff on her sleeve is suddenly the most fascinating thing she has ever seen.
Ace says: “Happens to the best of us, I think.”
At least his voice sounds even, almost indifferent.
It’s been a few weeks since Amanda broke up with Ace, and Nancy doesn’t even know for sure if he considers his heartbreak to be “epic”. All she does know is that everything feels kind of up in the air. Nancy has done the decent thing and offered him the mandatory sympathetic ear (of course she did, that’s what friends do!), but it was somewhat in passing, before ending her shift at the Claw; and just as naturally, he has not picked her up on it.
Well, she knew he wouldn’t. Either he’s going to sort it out himself or, if anybody, it’ll be Bess he’ll open up to.
Not her.
That’s okay, it’s just not like that with them.
(And maybe, just maybe, Ace has tried to change this dynamic, weeks ago, and she thanked him by pushing him away, by dropping all those variations of “I don’t care who you think I am”, “my fooling around is none of your business” and “your worries bother me” at his feet.
The fact that they are now both aware that she wasn’t herself when those words came out of her mouth doesn’t change the fact that she still remembers saying them and he still remembers hearing them.)
So Nancy has turned to her powers of observation and found that Ace at least seems to be his usual self, maybe a little withdrawn, a little preoccupied, but that doesn’t have to be a result of his breakup. After all, there’s been enough going on.
A few times he has even caught her watching him and made a dry comment.
And then there’s the selfish part of her that is secretly grateful that he hasn’t talked to her about his heartbreak. For him, she would be able to listen to him mentioning everything he misses, everything that hurts, everything he has lost; but if he did, then she would have to know.
Bess has noticed her blunder, so she quickly backpedals.“At least a terrible haircut? Embarrassing fashion fails?”
A change of subject seems very much in order, so Nancy decides to provide that and remind them all what they are here for: “As fun as dwelling on our respective, glorious pasts sounds, I don’t think any of this is going to help us with the ghost.” For good measure, she throws her arm up a little while talking, putting her energetic, plucky detective persona on: “You know, the ghost who has lost her face. Remember, you were the one who found out that we needed to come here to uncover it’s identity.”
While Nancy is pretty confident that she has managed to distract Bess, she can’t say the same about Ace.
He seems a little irritated, and because she knows him well it’s almost like he wonders why she’s putting on this act.
Which, as she is very aware of, happens to be pure wishful thinking.
Besides, Nancy is not actually faking her briskness, she’s just laying it on a little thick. It’s what they all need, they need to talk about something else and they are really here for the ghost.
Still, the look on Ace’s face is very distracting.
(Like there’s a riddle he needs to solve.)
“Right, but who says we can’t do both? Find the ghost and take a little stroll down memory lane?”
“I do.” Nancy tells her friend firmly, before she links arms with her and starts dragging her across the parking lot. “And now let’s go find George and Nick.”
She feels Ace’s eyes burning on her back.
&
It doesn’t take them long to find each other. After some catching up and assigning tasks, the crew leaves the parking lot and sets out for the school building.
Because everybody else is so busy, Ace and Nancy end up falling behind.
George and Nick are having one of their lively “arguments”, complete with George having a very strong, very negative opinion on something and Nick trying to soften said opinion.
“Don’t these people have anything better to do? I mean other than loitering around our old High School just because there’s some kind of party going on?”
“Well, it’s probably their old High School, too. Plus--” Nick checks the invitation email, “it says the School is celebrating its centenary, so they are probably here for that, as well. Also, Horseshoe Bayers can’t be choosers, with all the festivals we’ve been unable to have.”
Bess is dividing her attention between texting someone (who, as she insists on telling them multiple times, is very much not Addy), taking part in the discussion at hand, and trying to start a new one about indispensable wedding preparations.
Which leaves the two of them, and Nancy is not over-analyzing or reading anything into that.
They walk in companionable silence (which is the label she attaches to the whole thing) until Ace clears his throat:
“Everything okay with you?”
Nancy huffs. “I think that should be my line.”
He seems to consider the idea for all of three seconds, before he shrugs vaguely. “Maybe, but you seem to need it more.”
Nancy marvels at how he has learned to read her like that, and how she still manages to keep her biggest secret from him.
Friends, she reminds herself for the umpteenth time, they are friends. Good friends, vital friends. She wouldn’t know how to be without him anymore.
Which is exactly why she cannot risk losing him.
Maybe one fine day she’ll wake up and all those feelings that keep her from breathing and cause her to swirl will feel like a fever dream, and Ace will just be a friend to her again. Just a member of the crew and she’ll love somebody else and—
(Funny, how the thought of such a day contains no comfort for her.)
But even when she cannot talk about everything with him, there’s still plenty she can share, plenty he’ll understand.
Hesitantly she plucks at the shoulder strap of her bag. “I don’t know. Being here...It’s just a lot.”
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, Ace waits until she is ready to continue.
He does that.
Nancy takes a deep breath. She knows he won’t judge her or laugh at her, but saying these things still feels embarrassing, so she tries to make her admission sound like half of a joke:
“I have changed so much since then that...old Nancy could probably walk past me and I wouldn’t even recognize her.”
Ace passes over her halfhearted attempt at evasion.
“Nancy, usually you don’t simply walk, you stride past something or someone.” He says it so matter of factly, like this is the most basic fact he is spelling out here.
Time for her least favorite mantra: that the fact that he does notice and care does not mean that he feels the same way she does.
“Also...I would recognize her for you, and even point her out for you.” He gives her a wry smile, one that has her stomach flutter before he adds: “That’s how helpful I can be.”
Nancy trips over her own feet. Sometimes he says those things, things that sound like promises, things that make it really, really hard to remember her mantra.
(You would have to be by my side to do that.)
“What about you, Ace?” Another attempt to change the subject, because she forces herself to remember. “Do you have that one big memory that being here has brought back?”
“One?” He repeats slowly, rubbing his shoulder, while suddenly appearing hesitant, like there’s something he cannot quite take hold of “Yeah, maybe.”
She waits for him to continue, but whatever he might have added is lost to George’s outcry: “Aaand we’re back at the old tomb.” She extends the middle finger towards the building “Guess what: I still hate it here.”
Without Nancy even noticing, they have come to stand in front of the school.
George turns to beam at Nancy accusingly. “I cannot believe you talked me into coming back here!”
Deep down, being back here also has her feeling more than a little queasy, but that doesn’t stop Nancy from reflexively defending herself.
She might not have the same intense feeling of hatred, but until a few days ago, her plans also very much did not involve attending her old High-school’s centennial.
But with Horseshoe Bay being Horseshoe Bay, she has been forced to rethink; a new mystery has presented itself, one that said centennial might just hold the solution to.
It had all started out nice and simple enough; with Carson tasking Nancy with finding a very human offender. A client of his had apparently had her credit cards stolen and somebody kept using them at vintage boutiques and antique shops in the area. Some investigating on Nancy’s part later and she had ended up with the knowledge that the cards weren’t the only thing stolen from the lady in question. Some kind of supernatural entity also used her face when going on those shopping sprees. Bess had done some research at the Historical Society, Nancy had compiled a list of all the things the ghost had been piling up so far, and together, the crew had figured out that this particular ghost apparently has an interest in fashion and music from the sixties, baseball, and the kind of sports medallions and prize cups school award to students.
And their old High-School.
Nancy crosses her arms over her chest. “Then let’s get this over with as fast as we can.”
Since their internet search for dead people from this particular time frame was been unsuccessful, they are now here.
As they had previously agreed on, they split up. Nancy will find out where the old yearbooks are kept, and the others will swarm the school to gather information, they will check alumni walls and search for plaques honoring the memory of somebody who has died relatively young, then text Nancy any name that seems promising.
&
Nancy rests her forehead against dusty book spines and groans in frustration. To say she hasn’t been successful would be an understatement. By now, she has checked five or six possible suspects, and since none of them matched all the established criteria, the ghost remains faceless and she remains stuck in here.
It’s of scant consolation to remember that they are going to free a woman from a ghost and that she has volunteered for yearbook-duty (she had reasoned that she’s after the added bonus of avoiding running into any old acquaintances that way, which is half true anyway).
For the hundredth time she checks her phone, but she hasn’t gotten any new texts.
Impatiently, she starts pacing back and forth, trying to think of something else to do. She has piled up all yearbooks from the sixties on the table, she has the list of names that didn’t match and the list of things the ghost has been after.
To keep herself occupied, she has even pulled out her own yearbook, which is now resting unopened on the table because she has not been able to bring herself to have a look at the girl who got voted “most likely to catch a serial killer” and “most likely to run the FBI by the age of twenty-one”.
(That didn’t turn out as planned anyway.)
The storage room door opens.
It’s Ace and he comes bearing gifts.
“I’ve got coffee of dubious quality for you.” He declares, as he hands her one of the two plastic cups.
Nancy takes it. Smiles blandly. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
It’s one of those things one just says without thinking (even when it’s, like in their case, quite literally true) and yet it has a strange effect on him. Ace seems to tense up, and quickly takes a step back, away from her.
“I think you are being a bit premature here.” He sounds oddly distracted and she can’t really read his expression, but whatever it is that’s on his mind, he seems determined to shake it off, because he forces a smile and adds, “You haven't tasted that brew yet.”
For some reason, this feels like he is making a peace offering when there hasn’t even been a fight. Eager to play along, Nancy rectifies the coffee related omission and quickly has reason to grimace.
“You’re right. Your rinsewater at the Claw might have more flavor.”
He nods gravely. “Probably tastes a lot better, too.”
They are quiet for a moment and Nancy assumes that the weird tension has been dissolved.
She also remembers that she should probably, definitely ask him why he is here instead of searching for clues, like they agreed on.
Which she will do, in a beat. Just not now.
For now, they will be two friends who share a coffee break with terrible coffee.
It would be nice if her heart could see it the same way and stop pounding like crazy. Nancy tells herself that it’s probably just overreacting the way it does because he’s so close and because this is so unusual, for recently, they have just not been alone with each other for longer than a few minutes and almost never without a clear reason.
Ace clears his throat, “I’ve also got an answer for you. From when we got here.” He seems tentative, like he questions whether returning to this topic is even worth the effort, but apparently decides to go through with it anyway. “Because there is one thing I particularly remember.”
He looks her in the eyes. “You.” Ace shoves his free hand into his pocket. “You used to stride past me a lot, Nancy.”
His voice is thick and his eyes are soft and it feels like he has just pulled out and unfolded a memory he is inexplicably fond of for her to see.
Just like that, Nancy risks losing the ground under her feet.
(Is she starting to imagine things or did his eyes linger on her lips just now?)
“You remember that?” Her own voice sounds shaky, incredulous. Nancy is trying hard to think reasonable thoughts, thoughts that are worthy of a detective, but all she can get a hold of is an awkward, incoherent mess, something like: You do remember me, why would you remember that?
Ace nods, again. He is not going to make light of his words. Not now, not later.
Make of that what you will, his eyes seem to tell her. His wonderful, deep, intelligent, expectant eyes.
Now Nancy has to avoid them.
Because she cannot do this, she cannot just make this information what she wants it to be. She cannot risk misunderstanding him.
Bewildered, she briefly wonders how they got here, how it’s possible that a moment ago they had been peacefully complaining about coffee and now she’s staggering on thin ice that she has to be careful not to fall through.
Nancy finds herself babbling on, ignoring the lump in her throat as she waves her hands around. “What can I say? I was always on a mission, always searching for the next mystery that needed a girl detective to solve it. In any place other than Horseshoe Bay I might—“
She hears him draw in a sharp breath.
To shut herself up, she gulps down some of her drink, and if the coffee wasn’t so terrible and lukewarm, she would certainly have burned her mouth.
“You don’t have to do this.” His voice is flat, but there is an underlying edge of disappointment to it. “I just wanted to tell you. Since you asked.”
Suddenly, it seems painfully obvious that steering the conversation back into safe waters will not be possible.
She can hear what he really means to tell her loud and clear: I’ve been open and all I get in return is your caution, you pulling up a front. Just like you have been all day.
In trying to avert risk, to protect what they have, she has caused a greater danger: the danger of pushing him away. Because he cannot understand why she is acting the way she does, because her reaction has hurt him which in turn hurts herself.
By holding the truth back, Nancy ultimately risks losing him and she will do anything she can to stop that from happening.
All of a sudden, it’s obvious what she has to tell him.
So she looks him in the eyes and says it: “Back then I had no idea what I was missing out on. Or rather who I was missing out on.”
Thankfully, she can be brave. Not just ordinary brave, but recklessly brave, consequences-be-damned brave. Not just in her actions but with her words as well, especially when she is not giving herself the time to carefully think them over.
“I know that better now, much better. And I—“ By now, she has probably turned a bright crimson red, but it’s too late to turn back anyway, so she just keeps going.
Nancy takes a final deep breath.
“Ace, I’d like to know you even better. I mean, if you want that, too.”
(Make of that what you will.)
The words hang in the air between them and for an unbearably long moment nothing happens. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears, faster and louder than probably ever before, and finally the unwelcome voice that insists on telling her that she has just made a terrible mistake and destroyed everything, because this is neither what he asked for nor what he wanted to hear, makes itself heard.
Then his whole face lights up. It’s not just a smile (although he does smile) it’s his eyes and, well, everything.
“Wow.” He grips the back of his neck “Have I ever told you how glad I am that you never stop surprising me?”
This time she has not been imaging it, for his eyes have definitely been lingering on her lips.
“Maybe we could, uh, try to change that.” He says, “The missing out part, I mean.”
Nancy returns his smile. “I would love that.”
(Are they going to kiss now?)
(Probably, definitely, hopefully.)
Alas, before either of them has a chance to move, the door is yanked open. At one hundred miles an hour, Bess comes rushing in, a million words coming out of her mouth.
“Nancy, why on earth aren’t you answering your phone? We’ve found her! I mean technically, that would have been George, but details. Who cares about those pesky little things anyway, right?” She leaps at the pile of possible yearbooks and starts digging for the right one. “Sixty-one, sixty-two...Her name is Alison Finlay and she was an exchange student. Died shortly after returning to Pennsylvania and she probably returned here because...Well, she did die shortly thereafter, so the time here was probably what she remembers best.”
Right, the ghost.
Triumphantly, Bess brandishes the right book: “Found her!” Only now does she notice Ace. “Wait, what are you doing here?” Her eyes dart between the two of them, and after a split second, she breaks into a decidedly smug smile.
“Oh, I see. Don’t mind me! Do go on!”
The fact that they have been found out without either of them saying a word (embarrassingly quickly at that!) is not exactly a compliment to anybody’s poker-face, but Nancy couldn’t care less.
What Nancy does care very much about is what their friend says next.
Apologetically, she says, “Oh, I’m sorry but...We kinda need a fourth person for the liberating ritual. It won’t be long, I promise…”
Having resigned himself to his fate, Ace follows her. “Fine. I’ll be coming.”
“I’ll just be clearing up here,” Nancy calls after them.
In the door frame, he turns one more time. “Later, okay?”
&
Some time later, and for the third time in a relatively short while, the storage room door is being opened.
For the second time it’s Ace and he almost blunders into the room.
“You’re still here.” He sounds breathless, like he ran here, and appears pleasantly surprised, like he had half expected to have missed her.
Nancy gives him a silly little mock salute. “Right where you left me.”
Nancy could say a lot more now. She could remind him that she was not going to let that happen, she could talk about how people who have gotten involuntarily separated from each other are supposed to return to the last place they had been together, or how the culprit allegedly always returns to the scene of the crime, or that she had known he would come find her here, but none of this makes sense.
None of this needs to.
Not when he is here and she is feeling all bubbly and giggly, excited and happy, and just a tiny bit embarrassed.
She smiles mischievously. “You left me no choice.”
He rubs his hands together. “I’d disagree and say it was the ghost of Alison Finlay that left us no choice.” With a few steps, he reached her. “Just want you to know, I’m going to get you out of here, Nancy. Away from all the unfulfilled potential and the hopes and dreams that have not yet been squashed by reality, I mean. But first—“
Ace reaches for her face. Carefully, tenderly, he smooths back her hair, sending a shiver down her spine. He does it slowly as if to let her know that she very much has a choice, should she not want this.
Nancy decides to remind him how this couldn’t be further from the truth.
“I like the idea of you getting me out of here.” She cups his face and pulls it toward her own, “But I think I want the thing that comes first even more.”
As it turns out, so does he.
So they finally kiss.
It’s the only thing they do for a long while.