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The townhouse wasn't quite an hour outside DC, and it had the faintly depersonalized look and almost imperceptibly stale smell of a place that was rarely occupied by its owners. It was quite nice, clean, well-stocked, and Ned had seen exactly one photo that didn't look like a stock photo that had just been included with the frame at the store. The seasonal touches were all generic, mostly just warm gold lighting and artfully flickering flameless candles.
Nancy had fallen asleep during the drive, and he had carried her upstairs to a very nice bedroom, slipped off her jacket and shoes, and tucked her under a blanket. A part of him had very much wanted to spoon up behind her and hold her tight, but he was too keyed up.
He wanted to talk to her. Three weeks of—so, so much. Fear, grief, desperation, hope, anxiety. He wanted her home, but apparently that wasn't possible, not yet.
Thick velvet drapes in dull gold shut out the winter night, the glare of snow between the street and the front door. The flat-panel television was mounted above a gas-log fireplace, and Ned found the remotes for both. There was something comforting about watching the logs light, even if it wasn't as satisfying as when he started a fire at the lake house, watching the flame lick up the curls of newspaper and catch.
He pressed another button and some thin strips he had taken as purely decorative lit up, all soft golden light, almost like an echo of the logs. He considered turning on the television, but he already knew that he wouldn't pay attention to it, and he wanted to hear if Nancy called out for him.
What would happen, if he put her back in the car and drove away with her? Were there cars parked outside, people watching?
Ned didn't know everything that was involved, only that Carson had called Marilyn Kilpatrick and she had been involved somehow, that three days later Nancy had been on the way back home. He had no doubt that Senator Kilpatrick had been involved in this weekend pass, this place being available for them.
It was a safe house, he realized suddenly. The generic decorations, the door upstairs with the keypad. Of course they would let people stay here sometimes, to give it the appearance of just another rental property, where strangers coming and going wouldn't be remarked on. The fully-stocked dry goods. Just far enough away from the capital.
What the hell had happened?
He had had time to take stock of the kitchen, to consider whether they might want to order out or not—if they were possibly being watched, he didn't think that would be a great idea—when he heard a stair creak faintly, and then she appeared. Her hair had been pulled back into a low ponytail, but she still wore the clothes she had slept in, and the firelight caught a slight mark on her skin, a scar he didn't recognize.
"Hey."
She met his gaze, and fear and exhaustion showed in her eyes before she reached up to rub her temple. "Hey," she murmured, and descended to the living room.
He met her at the foot of the stairs, opening his arms, and she came into them immediately, burying her face in his neck and drawing in a deep breath. He held her tight, just feeling her heart beat.
"Hungry?"
She chuckled. "I bet you are," she murmured, and kissed his cheek. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," he said, and the words were the understatement of the year, but he wasn't interested in sparking that anxiety again. "C'mon."
They settled on a quick makeshift version of chicken parmesan: frozen breaded chicken breasts, jarred marinara over spaghetti, parmesan powder. They sat down to eat it at the small, clean table.
Nancy glanced around. "So, this place..."
"Safe house," Ned declared, picking up his fork. "You think?"
She considered and nodded, and because he was watching, he saw her shoulders tense up a little. "It would make sense."
Ned tried his first bite. It wasn't his mother's or Hannah's, but it would do, especially with the cold just perceptible at the edges of the room, and the promise of envelopes of hot chocolate.
After a few bites, Nancy put her fork down and sighed. "I can't believe I missed the wedding."
"Me either," Ned replied, searching her expression. "I think everyone was expecting you to walk in, and then once the vows were said—well."
She touched her temple again, and then her fingertips glanced over that scar he had noticed. "There was nothing I could have done, but I still feel like a complete asshole," she murmured.
"So what did happen?" He waited a beat. "If you feel like you can talk about it."
Her lips quirked up in a quick humorless smile. "That's all I have done," she murmured, and picked up her fork to twirl another bite of spaghetti.
"The book I found belonged to Alli's grandmother, and she wanted me to meet her," Nancy said. "I think you know about that."
Ned nodded, keeping his expression neutral. She had called to tell him about that, but maybe, for her, everything had blurred together since that night.
"Alli's grandmother lives—" Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat. "The village was part of the country fifty years ago, but now it's in disputed territory. Alli and her parents travel it a few times a year, and it never seemed to be much of a problem. All the fighting usually was mostly an hour's drive away. Alli noticed a few more soldiers on the trip, but she said it was nothing to worry about. And I should have known, then, but..." Nancy shrugged helplessly.
"We stayed overnight, because we were there so close to dinner, and she wanted to give Alli a shawl that had come from her own mother, and the next morning..." Nancy glanced away.
"The fighting wasn't an hour away anymore."
Nancy nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. "We were rounded up. Alli vouched for me, and I ended up translating. We were kept near some hostages. I tried to memorize everything I could, asking for people's names, sneaking water or food where and when I could."
He saw her swallow and falter again.
"That sounds incredibly stressful."
She nodded. "A few times, I... from what Alli told me, I figured out that a few of them were trying to figure out if I was worth being made a hostage, if I could be used as leverage, but they apparently talked themselves out of it. I was just 'an American,' and honestly, that was better than the alternative. The conditions were rough but we weren't tortured."
But a part of her had thought about it, Ned understood, from that lingering fear in her eyes. She hadn't been entirely sure of the outcome. The faint purple shadows just beneath her eyes, the slight hollowing in her cheeks—maybe she hadn't been entirely starved, but maybe that had only been thanks to some meager ration. Or maybe she had given away most of her own food to those who were given less.
"There was some fight, and then Americans came in, asking for an exchange. Alli and her family and I were allowed to leave."
But her lips tightened, and Ned wondered about who hadn't been allowed to leave.
"And now they won't let you come home?"
"It's debriefing," she explained. "Everything I remember about the facilities where we were kept, who I saw, what I heard. That's all we've done, since I came back. They show me photos and ask if I recognize anyone. And I know that it's already starting to blur, and probably there will be one last meeting where they tell me the dire consequences of talking about what I went through. And another session or two."
"Session," he said, a hint of a question in his voice.
She forced a smile. "Just some mild PTSD," she replied.
Mild. He hadn't really heard that word applied to it. He wasn't sure it truly could be.
"They didn't—hurt you?"
"That's what I thought," she said, reaching up to brush a tear away before he could even register it was there. "They didn't torture me or starve me or anything. I was roughed up a few times, but other than some scratches and bruises, and—I don't know. Anxiety, I guess. After what I saw other people going through, this felt like it was hardly worth mentioning, but they were sure I have it..."
As was Ned, looking at her now. Maybe all the briefings were allowing her to work through it, to allow her to give it some purpose.
The enormity of it wasn't lost on him, but Ned recognized it again: how she pushed herself, how nothing could be the worst if she came through it. He, here, safe, had been afraid to sleep too deeply in case he missed a call about her; she might have feared everything around her.
She swept a wisp of hair, possibly imaginary, from her cheek and gave him a small smile. "So it shouldn't be too much longer."
He held her gaze. "I want you home, but if you need to be here a while longer, I'll stay," he said. "And how could you not, after—everything."
"I wish I were home too," she said. "Tell me about the wedding."
He took another bite of his dinner, considering. "Have you seen the pictures?"
She shook her head. "No phone," she said. "I have to get a replacement."
Ned pulled out his own phone and navigated to the photos. "I took them... well, thinking I was being an idiot, that you were going to walk in..."
Nancy's eyes started gleaming as she swiped through the photos. "She looks great," Nancy whispered. "Was she furious?"
"Of course not," Ned said immediately. "No. We were all just so worried about you. We couldn't get anyone to tell us anything. I wanted to fly over, but your father told me not to, that he would find out what he could. We knew where you had been, but when he asked someone to check on Alli, no one was home. But of course they wouldn't have been."
She wiped her eyes. "I don't even know which day it was," she whispered. "Oh God. It doesn't... It just feels like it couldn't have happened. Like I had to have been there."
"Yeah," he murmured. "It felt impossible that you weren't."
"She looks amazing. And Dave looks great." Nancy sniffled, wiped her nose, and glanced up at Ned. "Did you go out? The night before? I know you were planning to..."
"For a little while," he said. "Not for the whole night. I—I couldn't stay away from the phone, thinking that you'd call. That someone would call and tell us something. I couldn't sleep. I'm not sure I have slept, since the day your flight arrived without you."
She held his gaze, and her eyes were swimming again.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm so sorry. I would have done anything to get you out of there, and—there was nothing I could do."
"That's the thing about it," she murmured. "I wouldn't have traded places with you. I wouldn't have had anyone there, not in my place especially. When I try to sleep, I think of the people who were left behind us, who didn't have a senator to pull some strings. I think of the—" She glanced away.
After they had put everything away, when they were on the couch together, she looked through the photos again, lingering on one Ned had taken of Bess alone, and another of Bess and George with their arms around each other. "That shawl was meant for Alli's wedding," Nancy said softly. "A happy day. I don't..."
Ned slid his arm around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
"Do you ever feel like there's another version of me... maybe of us. The ones who don't miss dates and don't miss—weddings—"
He kissed her forehead. "What you're saying is there's a version of us who isn't us," he replied softly. "I think of you helping Alli and I know that's part of who you are. That you did all you could while you were there and you're still hurting anyway, and I did everything I could and it still wasn't enough, but you're here and eventually it will be okay. Somehow. There will be other nights. There will be the first night we're back home, and that's gonna be amazing."
She chuckled softly. "We're in a safe house just outside DC," she murmured. "I'm on a weekend pass from the hospital and there's probably a car of agents out front. I was supposed to be by Bess's side at her wedding and that's a day I'll never get back."
"Which sucks," he agreed. "And you could have been hit by a car, or your flight delayed, or any of a dozen other things could have happened. We'll get together with everyone and they'll be happy to see you. When the wedding video comes back I'm sure Bess will have you over to watch it with commentary and popcorn."
She sniffled. "Yeah," she murmured.
Ned shifted, and when his lips brushed hers, she melted. Then she shifted, moving onto his lap, cupping his cheek. "How many cameras do you think are in here," she whispered into his ear.
"Safe house," he whispered back. "All the cameras should be outside."
"Good point," she whispered, and captured his mouth in a long, deep kiss.