This is a scene that's been nagging me for a while. It's a flashback of sorts related to a conversation that Nancy and Frank had in Disappearing Frost, though that's not required reading to understand this :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. I do own a candle warmer and a giant-sized bag of rabbit litter.

Saying Goodbye

Nancy wearily closed the front door behind her after stepping into the apartment. The mission had been long and draining. She didn't think she would ever get used to killing people with her bare hands. At least with guns, she didn't always see their lifeless faces, she couldn't feel their bodies go slack. Even if the bastards deserved it. But when she got right down to it, if it was her or them, it would be her every time. She had too much to live for.

She put her keys on the designated hook in the kitchen, noticing not for the first time the sparseness of the décor. There was a lone dishtowel hanging on the oven handle and a slightly crumpled picture attached to the fridge with a plain, black magnet. That's all. They had been living there for almost a year, but she hadn't been home enough to ever truly unpack, let along go shopping for decorations.

Nancy wandered silently down the hallway, no longer noticing how much her spy life transferred into her regular life. She couldn't begin to count the number of times she'd unintentionally snuck up on Ned and scared the daylights out of him.

Pausing outside the closed bedroom door, she dreaded what she'd find on the other side. They were supposed to fly out to his grandmother's a day before. Grandma had been sick, so they were going to take care of her and the house for a weekend. Because of her, they had missed their original flight. She couldn't contact him mid-mission, so she wasn't able to tell him to go on without her. She doubted he would have anyway, too worried about whether she'd make it home this time. Nancy hated his worry – it was the worst part of the job. But she didn't let it overshadow how much she loved everything else. She couldn't make herself care enough about Ned's feelings to give up her life's work, horrible as that was.

Surely, Ned would be angry. He'd fume at her, the only way he really expressed his feelings, and she'd quietly repack her suitcase. They'd silently go to Grandma's, but then they'd let it go. She wasn't looking forward to the cycle, but that's how it always went.

Sighing, Nancy turned the knob and pushed open the door. Ned was perched on the edge of the bed, several suitcases surrounding him. He looked up at the sound, and she saw an expression in his eyes that she'd never found there before. She couldn't name it; she was afraid to.

"It looks like you over packed for just a trip to your grandparents."

"Nancy." The single word was quiet, like ice. Fear pricked her heart at the sound of it.

"Ned?"

He pushed a suitcase over, creating some space on the bed. "Come sit down." Even more ice if possible. Dry ice, Nancy's exhausted mind attempted to joke. She sat, leaving inches between them. It felt like miles.

"You're late."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. I got caught up in this situation, and I couldn't just – "

"I don't want or need your excuses anymore, Nancy. They never did me any good in the past, and that won't change." His cold voice had taken on an edge, now like an icicle, causing Nancy's own temper to flare.

"They aren't excuses, they're explanations! Things come up that are out of my control, and there is nothing I can do about it."

"You mean, traipsing across the world with men who get you so much more than I do? You mean, just having to take assignments that last weeks at a time?"

Was he really bringing up the Hardys? Bad move. "Don't even make this about Frank and Joe, or any other of my previous partners. This is about you and your insecurities! You can't handle that I'm successful at something I love and you're stuck behind a desk all day. Well, you made your choice!"

"I like my job, I do, even if you can't fathom why, so leave that out of it. What I don't like is never knowing what my girlfriend is doing, or who she's doing it with."

"You could learn to trust me, Ned. It has been years. Trust that I believe in us."

Ned ran a hand down his face. "It's not really about the guys. I mean it is, a little, but I can't keep sitting here, waiting for you to come home, hoping you do."

"What am I supposed to do, take a desk job like you? Give up all the good I'm trying to do? These things find me, you know that. So I just turn it all down? Would that finally make you happy?"

"No, of course not. But can't you just get out of things when they start getting dangerous, when you've already been away for weeks?"

"You know if I do that, I die. I see things through or I could die." Like this last time. But she couldn't tell him that.

Ned was silent for a long time, and Nancy waited, every muscle in her body tense.

"Well, I guess that's just it – that right there." He paused, then continued, "I can't keep worrying about you constantly, every day. I can't do this anymore. We can't do this anymore."

A sharp coldness froze deep into Nancy's chest. Break up? The idea didn't compute. Did he really mean the words coming from his mouth? They'd had talks similar to this before, but it felt different this time, and she had to be sure.

"What are you saying, Ned?" She spoke with a voice barely a whisper as she pushed the words out.

"I was going to tell you as soon as you got home today. I didn't mean for us to argue the way we did. When you didn't come back yesterday, it hit me that I could easily spend my whole life just like that – waiting, worrying, wondering. And then I realized that I won't. I can't do it. I'll never be happy. I know that sounds selfish, Nan, I do, but I don't know what else to do. That's not a life, and certainly not one I want, for me or for us."

A single tear slid down Nancy's cheek towards the end of his speech. She knew he worried, but truly, she'd never bothered to think about how much, or how her lifestyle affected him. She'd always been so concerned with how much she felt she was being held back by him. Thinking that way now made her stomach turn over with guilt.

"I can change." Her voice broke on the last word, and the dam holding back her sobs broke too.

She felt her body being pulled by comforting, familiar arms until her body fit into the side that was permanently dented to fit hers.

"No, you can't," Ned sighed. "And really, I would never forgive myself for making you try. I love you, Nancy Drew, girl detective. I love who you are, but sometimes, it's not enough."

A drop of water hit her head, followed by another. Ned's tears.

"I'm so sorry." It was inadequate, but all she could think to say.

"I know. I am too."

Nancy wrapped her arms around his waist, unwilling to let go. As soon as she did, she knew it was over. As long as their arms stayed put, so would he. So would they.

She heard him sigh, a shaky, horrible sound, before he wiped at his face.

"Nancy," he whispered, his voice like quiet destruction. "It's time for me to leave. I have to catch that new flight."

Her arms tightened of their own volition, but Ned stood up anyway. Reluctantly, she let go as he moved. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss on her forehead. Perhaps he was as unwilling to leave as she was to let him.

But then he gathered his things and started slowly for the bedroom door. He turned around to face her just before slipping away.

"You know, I'll always love you. But you're better off without me holding you back. Goodbye, Nancy Drew."

And he was gone. A few seconds later the apartment door softly clicked open, then shut. A perfect punctuation to their relationship.

It hurt to have his parting words be her own thoughts flung back in her face, even if he didn't mean it that way. She couldn't help but think this was all a mistake – Ned would be back in five minutes, saying he was wrong. They were Nancy and Ned, practically an icon. This happened to other, weaker couples. Not them. But the time ticked by with no return.

After ten frozen minutes, the tension went out of her body and she slumped to her side on the bed. Sobs racked her small frame. She'd never felt so completely along in her entire life. Never felt so hopeless. Her muscles ached from the mission, but the pain was a shadow of the feeling pouring out of her broken heart.

She needed… she didn't know what. To break something? To eat chocolate? No, to talk to a friend. She fumbled her phone out of her back pocket, then scrolled through her contacts with clumsy fingers. Bess and George would normally be her first choices, but they were both on a family trip in a remote cabin – much to Bess's chagrin – with limited service. She had no idea who she could call instead. She continued scrolling, barely making out the blurry names.

Pausing on Frank Hardy, she wondered how strange it would be to call him. Not, she decided, and pushed call before she could second guess herself.

"Yeah, hello, who's this?" A whiny, female voice answered.

Another piece of her heart broke off. "Oh, wrong number," she said, and hung up quickly. Either Frank changed his number and didn't tell her, or he was with Whiny Voice. She wasn't sure which was worse. Didn't want to think about it.

Utterly defeated, she shoved the wet hair out of her face. Desperately needing a friend, she did the only thing left and listened to the phone ring in her ear. Then a voice answered.

"Joe Hardy."

Frank Hardy watched his brother slip back into the living room. They were home visiting their parents for the weekend. After getting a call, Joe had excused himself, saying it was important but personal.

"Everything all right?" He couldn't pry, but his curiosity was piqued. He was a detective, after all, and Joe was rarely so secretive about much of anything.

"Yep. A friend just needed to talk. I think she'll be okay after some time." It didn't escape Frank's notice that Joe hadn't met his eyes once since his return.

"A girl, huh? Anyone I should know?"

"It's not like that, Frank." Really not like that, Joe muttered to himself. "She's just a friend. Don't worry about it." He plopped down on the couch and grabbed his coke can. "Now fill me in on the game."

Frank paused, then let it go and answered. Joe was keeping something from him, he was sure, but he'd done everything short of flat out asking, and he was above that. He had to accept that whatever Joe wasn't saying, he did it for reason. It would all come out eventually. Of course, he didn't realize that it might take a few years…

I apologize for the somewhat depressing tone. Too over the top? My first written break up scene, so please let me know! Reviews are always appreciated :)