A/N: Well, here it is! I think this is where I'm going to leave it (at least for now). Please don't forget to review and let me know what you thought, and, of course, enjoy!

Frank flinched as Krieger's gun went off once, twice, three times, leaving his ears ringing. "No!" he shouted. He heard Krieger and Halim stumbling around in the dark. Someone bumped into the table and some of the instruments hit the floor with a metallic clang. Just as his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, bright lights flooded the room, blinding him once more. Krieger had found his way to the car and turned on the headlights.

Nancy was gone. Frank felt his knees weaken with relief at the sight of the bloodless, bullet-chipped concrete where she had been sitting. He spotted a hair pin on the floor near the table. Nancy Drew strikes again.

Krieger kept his gun drawn, eyes sweeping the aisles of clutter. "There's no back exit, Miss Drew," he called quietly. "All you're accomplishing by hiding is making me angry."

No answer. No noise at all.

Krieger padded over to the first aisle.

"He's starting at the front, Nancy!" Frank called, for the dual purpose of alerting her to Krieger's position and covering any noise she might make as she moved. Even though he expected it, the blow to his midsection from Halim's pipe left him struggling not to vomit.

Krieger gave him a murderous look and stalked toward the next aisle.

The chain holding him up tightened for a moment, then loosened, a distinct tug. It took Frank a moment to realize what that meant. The chain was attached to something in the room, the winch the Halim had used earlier to raise him off the ground. He closed his eyes to prevent them from tracing the chain to its point of origin…and Nancy's hiding place.

There was a thump and a tire bounced across the room. Krieger rounded on it and shot first at the tire, then at where the tire appeared to have come from. The first bullet came within feet of Halim, who shouted at Krieger angrily. In the back of his mind Frank registered that Halim did know a bit of English, although apparently not much fit for polite company. There was another tiny jerk in the chain. Nancy was lowering it silently, link by link.

His feet touched the ground, and nothing had ever felt so good. He gave the chain above his head another slight tug. That's enough. The chain stopped lowering.

He kept his aching arms above his head, trying to move his numb fingers enough to get the blood flowing again. Neither Krieger nor Halim had noticed he was loose yet. It was all on him now, all about timing.

Halim had his back to Frank. His gun was holstered on his belt. Krieger was nearing the back of the garage, would surely discover Nancy's hiding place momentarily. Frank knew what he had to do, their only chance… if his numb fingers would cooperate.

Krieger glanced back at him. Before he realized what he was seeing, Frank leapt into action, looping his cuffed hands off of the hook, snatching Halim's gun from his holster, and stumbling back, keeping both Halim and Krieger in the gun's line of fire. Fiery pins and needles seared through his hands as he thumbed off the safety. His arms were shaking as he pointed the gun, but his voice was steady. "Drop the gun, Krieger."

Krieger's face was red with fury and he seemed, for a moment, like he might not surrender. Adrenaline thrummed though Frank's exhausted body. He would shoot if he had to.

"Drop it!"

Frank started at the sound of a harsh female voice, an American voice, coming from behind him. Krieger dropped his weapon.

So did Frank. He hadn't heard the garage door open, but the garage was suddenly swarming with police officers. At their head was the woman who had spoken, a familiar woman, Dominique Moreau. Frank blinked as she strode past him wearing a tactical vest and a jacket emblazoned CIA, pulled a set of handcuffs from her belt, and handcuffed Krieger where he stood.

A similarly-attired Isabelle came up beside him. "You alright?"

"I… don't know." He was sore and bruised, that was for sure, and probably had a few broken ribs, but worst of all he was confused. "You're CIA?"

She nodded. "Agent Liz Henderson, at your service. We've been tailing Krieger for weeks. Didn't expect a handful of teenagers to come all the way over here to do our jobs though… you guys have some explaining to do."

Frank nodded. "We will." He was so grateful for the rescue, he'd tell her everything she wanted to know, and happily. "But first, my friend is—"

"I'm here." Nancy had appeared as suddenly as the agents. She looked wan and disheveled, the handcuffs still hanging off one of her hands. It felt like it had been a week since she'd put on that silk dress to crash the senator's banquet, but it had only been—he checked his watch—a little more than twelve hours.

She didn't meet his eyes as she held out her free hand to Agent Henderson. "I'm Nancy Drew," she said. "Or so I'm told."

"So, you're not coming home?"

"Not yet." Frank tried to keep his tone level and businesslike. "We're supposed to stay in Chicago a few more days in case the CIA needs to debrief us any further. Since Nancy's still in the hospital, Agent Henderson thought it would be easier to work out of the Chicago office for the time being."

"I thought she was doing better."

"She is." Frank answered. Nancy's recovery was about the only good news he'd had this week. "We'll probably get the okay to leave in a day or two."

There was a long pause. "And when you do come home… how will it be, Frank? With us?"

It had clearly cost Callie a lot to ask the question, and Frank knew he owed her an honest answer. "I don't know, Callie. This whole situation… it's really messed with my head. I'm confused, and ashamed, and I'm feeling a lot of things I shouldn't be feeling, and none of that is fair to you… Do we have to do this over the phone?"

"Yes!" Callie burst out. "You don't get to just leave and just do these things and then push me off to the side until you're ready to deal. You don't get to do this on your timetable. I deserve to know it if my own relationship is about to fall apart!"

A palpable pain was throbbing in his chest. "I'm sorry, Callie. I'm really sorry."

"You're saying… you're in love with her?" Her voice cracked, but she powered through.

"Please don't ask me that, Cal."

"…Does she love you?"

Everything about that question hurt. "I don't think so." Frank said tightly. "After everything that's happened, the fake marriage, the lies I told her… And she still has Ned."

"Good." Callie said, and hung up the phone.

Frank listened to the silence for a long time before setting down his cell phone. He swung his legs up onto the bed in the Chicago hotel room he was sharing with Joe, conveniently located in proximity to both the CIA office building and the hospital where Nancy was still recovering.

He looked over at his laptop, sitting open on the bed, browser tabs open to a variety of news stories about their Egyptian debacle. The near-assassination of a U.S. senator, and the ensuing CIA investigation into the senator's illegal dealings and terrorism connections had made national headlines, overshadowing the role of a couple of small-town detectives in the whole thing. But a few of the smaller newspapers and tabloids had picked up on their sensational story.

'Americans Return to Chicago After Falling Prey to Bomb Smuggling Scam.'

'Teen Detectives Rescued After Unwittingly Aiding Terrorist Bomb Plot.'

'Local Woman Recovers Memory After Amnesia, Fake Marriage, Bomb Assassination Plot.'

Frank sighed and shut the screen on the disheartening headlines. They'd made it through this time by the skin of their teeth, but he didn't know that he'd ever felt so bad, so foolish, about the resolution of a case.

The electronic lock clicked and the door swung open. "Geez, Frank. It's like a cave in here." Joe pulled back the blinds and let the afternoon sun spill across the bed, making Frank blink and shield his eyes. Then Joe turned on the thermostat; with a click, heat started pumping into the chilly room. Last, he pressed a bag of fast food against Frank's chest.

Frank sat up quickly, dropping the bag on the nightstand before it could stain his clothes. "Would you just leave me alone?"

"Uh, no." Joe said, sitting down on the other bed. "What's up with you these past couple of days? What—" He studied Frank more closely. "What happened?"

"Callie called." Frank admitted. When Joe's eyebrows shot up, Frank raised a hand to head him off. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay…" Joe said slowly. "I assume Nancy was featured in this conversation…?"

"Joe." Frank said in a warning tone. Despite himself, he couldn't ignore the smell of the hot, greasy fast food sitting next to him. He hadn't realized how hungry he was.

"Frank." Joe responded in the same tone. "You can't hide from this situation forever. It happened, it's over, and you're just making it weirder by avoiding talking to Nancy."

Frank unwrapped a hamburger and took a bite. "I don't think she wants to talk to me, Joe. I lied to her, I took advantage of her memory loss, I nearly got us killed. She must hate me. Ned's probably standing in front of her hospital room ready to beat me up if I come within a hundred feet of her."

"Please, Frank." Joe scoffed. "You didn't take advantage of anybody. I saw the way she was with you. If anything, she's the one who took advantage."

"She had a severe head injury, which I believe is a valid excuse for her strange behavior." Frank shot back. "What's mine?"

"Uh, Frank? I hate to point this out," Joe responded, "But her behavior wasn't really that strange, and neither was yours. That's basically how the two of you always act together." At Frank's incredulous look, he clarified, "The fond touching and tender looks? The mind reading? The weird chivalry that she sometimes lets you get away with? The 'we-shouldn't-we-mustn't,' 'will-they-won't-they' of it all?"

Frank glared at him. "This is my life, Joe, not a soap opera."

"What part of this sordid affair wasn't like a soap opera?" Joe pointed out. "The point is—and I acknowledge the irony that I am saying this to you—but your relationship drama is getting a little bit out of hand and even Bess thinks that you need to handle it."

"I don't know how to handle it." Frank crumpled up the burger wrapper and tossed it toward the trash can. It hit the rim and bounced out. "I'm not cut out for this. You saw the way she acted when we were coming home from Egypt. She made it very clear that she didn't want to talk to me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Frank. She was in shock after the CIA rescued you from the warehouse. Then there was the debriefing and the medical examination, and then the doctors gave her that medication that made her sleep all day and she's been on it ever since. She's had a lot to process. When would she have had time to talk to you?"

"That doesn't change the fact that I—" Frank started to argue, but was cut off by the ringing of his cellphone. The number was unlisted; he answered it. "Hello?"

"Frank?"

He froze at the sound of her voice.

Nancy gave a little laugh. "I called about six wrong numbers before I remembered yours."

Frank recovered enough of his mental faculties to speak. "Nancy, how are you?" On the other bed, Joe spread his arms in a gesture that said See? I was right, she does want to talk to you! At Frank's glare, Joe took the hint, mouthed 'shower,' and retreated to the bathroom.

"Better," she answered. "I…remember pretty much everything at this point. Including things I wish I didn't."

"Nancy…" Frank didn't know what to say. How could he begin to apologize for the thing he had said, the way he'd acted with Rebecca Addison?

"I just…" Nancy sounded frustrated. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, for the way I acted. I can't stop thinking about it, the way I carried on, flirting, getting angry with you when you tried to push me away." It all came out in a rush, and she sounded relieved as she finished. "I'm so embarrassed, and I hope you'll forgive me."

"What?" Frank was stunned. "Nancy, you were injured, confused. You didn't know what you were doing. None of that was your fault, it was mine. I should have stopped it, and I didn't. You were vulnerable and instead of being professional about it I let my feelings for you get in the way."

There was a long pause. "Feelings for me? Or Rebecca Addison?"

It almost sounded like she was… jealous. Of herself. Again. Suddenly he felt a strong need to see her. He jumped off the bed and grabbed his jacket. "There's no distinction." He told her breathlessly. "You're everything she was. And more."

"Frank." Her voice was equally as breathless. "How fast can you get here?"

He was parking his rental car in the hospital lot in twenty minutes flat. Now that he was here, doubts began to invade his mind and he slowed his brisk pace as the hospital doors whooshed open to admit him. The last time he'd been here, Nancy had been surrounded by friends and family: Carson and Hannah, Bess and George, Joe, Ned. A few of them, Nancy hadn't recognized. The doctors had taken notes. Ned had looked tense and exhausted.

Somehow, none of them were here now. Frank made his way to her room and rapped on the door before entering.

She was standing, facing the door, as if waiting for him. She wore a light blue robe over her pajama pants and thick white socks on her feet. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun and there was a fresh bandage covering her head wound. The bruising had faded since he'd seen her last. He wondered if she'd been standing there since they hung up the phone.

He cleared his throat. "I thought I might run into your dad here. Or Ned."

"I sent Dad home to get some rest and a decent meal." Nancy said slowly. She pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her robe. "Ned… probably won't be coming around for a while. I… asked him to give me some space."

"I… had a similar conversation. With Callie." Was all Frank could say to that. Her expression didn't change. A sense of gravity settled over the room.

"Well." Nancy took the first step forward. "Frank?"

Her lips quirked, just slightly, as she said his name, and a wave of something unnamable filled him, a rush of warmth and relief that made his throat tighten. "I missed having you remember me." He confessed, folding her into a hug. There was so much to say, so much to tell her, and yet, nothing that mattered now.

She clung to him tightly. "I've missed you, since I came back to myself," she said into his shoulder. "I missed us, what we had together, over there in Egypt. I started to question if any of it was real. I mean, I know it wasn't real, but—"

If Frank owed her anything, it was this. He answered the unasked question. "But I wasn't pretending."

She pulled away just enough to look into his eyes.

"I wasn't pretending either."