Note: This story contains adult language, adult situations, and violence; if the prospect of that upsets you, please don't read.

"We need to talk."

Ned saw Nancy's face fall, just a little, during the very brief glance he gave her. He was finding it hard enough to make himself speak; he had found it almost impossible to get on the elevator in the lobby of her father's building.

"Okay," she said, giving him a smile that managed to crack his heart. She swept her long hair off her shoulder and glanced over at her coat. "Meet you at the coffee shop in ten minutes? I just have something I need to finish up here."

"Sure," he agreed, holding her gaze for just a second longer. He could tell she wasn't sleeping; whenever he called, she was always tracking down another lead, always swearing she'd call him back. Always.

But it was still hard.

Carson Drew happened to be walking through the reception area as Ned made his way back to the elevator, and the man was positively glowing with pent-up energy, his keen eyes sparkling, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal bare forearms. "Ned! Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, sir," Ned replied, shaking his hand, forcing himself to meet Nancy's father's eyes. "How's the case?"

"Oh," Carson said, drawing in a long breath, smiling. "Oh, it's a beast. And I'm loving it." He tapped Ned on the shoulder. "I know I've been monopolizing a lot of Nancy's time, but she's been invaluable. It's like having a spare brain in the office. We're like this." He twisted his index and middle fingers together.

To his horror, before Ned could gracefully excuse himself from the conversation, Nancy walked out of the inner office, pulling her hair out from beneath the collar of her jacket, flashing him a slightly nervous smile. "Ready?"

"Sure."

Carson had been drawn into a racketeering case, after the state's attorney's office had had the lawyer set up a suspect client. He was going to turn state's evidence in the case, but he had also, due to his close association with the case and his knowledge of their activities, become involved in the case.

"Involved" was quite the understatement. "Involved" was also quite the understatement when it came to Nancy's participation. For the past two months their conversations had never been longer than five minutes.

He hadn't been counting until he'd met Anna.

Ned hadn't been planning on telling Nancy any of that, but it spilled out, when she was sitting across from him, the color slowly draining out of her beautiful face, her mocha slowly going cold.

"I care about you. You know that."

"But you don't even want to try working this out?" He could see the tears gleaming in her eyes, and had to look away when she swiped at them, the moisture revealing the dark circles under her eyes, the ones she'd tried to hide with concealer.

"When's the last time we talked? Really talked?"

She dragged her hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face, letting it fall in a tousled curtain. "So that's your answer?"

"You and I both know that until this case is over..."

He could tell that she didn't want to be crying, and that she was entirely unable to stop. "It'll be six months," she said, and her voice was wavering.

"I just... I feel like we need to take a break."

"You mean you want to be free to date this girl you just met." Her face was flushing. "Ned, I love you. I'm sorry, I'll make more time. I will."

He shook his head. "I don't even know how many times you've said that," he said quietly. "I know you mean it. And we both know... Nan, I'm just, I can't do this right now. And I think if you're honest with yourself, you'll see that it's not working for you either. I'm just holding you back."

"Ned, you aren't," she said, desperation in her voice, and they both heard it. She cleared her throat and looked down at her cold coffee. "I'm sorry. You... you want to take a break."

He nodded. "And maybe, six months from now... I don't know."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "It is easier when you don't promise anything, isn't it."

He felt his throat thickening. She looked so defenseless, so heartbroken, and he dug out his wallet to leave cash for the check before he made a mistake, changed his mind.

"I do care about you."

"You can't," she whispered. "If you did, it wouldn't be like this."

In a month, he hadn't stopped wondering about her, worrying about her. He'd spent years doing it; expecting to get over it so quickly had been unrealistic. He was seeing Anna and it wasn't really working, but it was working enough. She was beautiful, calm and self-assured, and rarely pressed him for anything. It was enough, for her, that he was the best catch of the guys she knew. It was enough, for him, that she was beautiful and calm and didn't make any demands on him.

And she wasn't Nancy, but he hadn't expected her to be.

Tina Howard, twelve years old, was reported missing three months after Ned broke up with Nancy. Tina had been staying after school for flute lessons, and at some point between four and five o'clock that Tuesday, that gray Tuesday, she had been taken, vanished.

He saw Tina's parents on television, pleading that anyone who knew anything about their daughter should come forward, and he thought of Nancy. Thought of her with her lower lip trembling, tears in her eyes, quiet devastation written on her pale cheeks.

And he didn't call her. Because he knew the trial preparation was still going on, and he knew that in a few months they might try to start again, but it would always end this way. It would always end with him sleeping alone.

She ended up calling him, though, suggesting that they meet at the Starbucks near his apartment, and, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say, he agreed.

"I just wanted to catch up." She smiled at him and it was like no time at all had passed. He smiled back.

After Anna he'd started dating Cindy, who, he'd discovered the night before, was very good in bed. Even so, when he looked at Nancy, he felt that same old protectiveness rise up in him, the desire for more, more of her, more of her time and attention.

He was still fond of her. He knew he always would be.

"You didn't say we couldn't be friends."

"I didn't," he agreed, with a little smile. "We are still friends. Always will be."

She grinned. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"So how's the case going?"

She widened her eyes at him, all false wounded innocence. "What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that why you wanted to see me?" He maneuvered the stirrer through his cup's lid, looking at it instead of her face. "I seem to remember that seventy-five percent of our time was spent talking about cases."

She made a face at him, this one more sincere. "Don't start," she begged.

"I wasn't," he lied. "I'm sorry. What's been going on?"

"Eating, sleeping, and breathing this case," she sighed. "I really need to take a break."

"Is that an offer?" He glanced up and met her eyes, and regardless of what he'd spent half the night doing to Cindy, he felt that spark again. She was the first to break their gaze, toying with a sugar packet instead.

"I don't know." She smiled. "I guess I was hoping that you had some free time, maybe?"

He was quiet for a minute. "To catch up, yeah," he said quietly. "But... what I said still stands."

"You don't want to be with me until the case is over."

He gave her a pained smile. "There's always gonna be a case," he said. "It took a long time for me to realize that. I guess it's that... I will always be your friend, Nan. I will. But I can't see a place for myself in your life."

She kept her head down and rubbed at her eyes, as though he hadn't known her long enough to tell she was brushing away tears. Dark patches under her eyes. "I didn't... call you about that. I'm thinking about taking another case."

He knew it before she said it. He knew it and the fear was pricking up his spine before she opened her mouth.

"Tina Howard's parents called me, they say they have nowhere else to go."

"It's been more than forty-eight hours." His voice sounded harsh, even to him; he cleared his throat. "Nan, it would be hard even if you didn't have your dad's case going on."

"I know." She started ripping bits off the sugar packet, her voice softening to something conciliatory. "Believe me, Bess and George have already said all this."

"Even if you don't believe me, believe them." His brows drew together in concern. "Nancy, I mean it. Leave this to the cops."

"I can't," she said softly.

"Nan—"

"You didn't hear her voice," Nancy said. "I have to try."

He put his hand on hers. "Be careful."

"I will," she promised, and smiled at him.

He made his excuses and they walked outside, his fingertips still glowing from the warmth of her touch. "Seriously. Please don't do anything dangerous."

"Maybe I wouldn't, if..."

She softened the words with a smile, and he answered with one of his own. "Don't try to give me a guilt trip," he chastised her. "Because you're reckless by yourself, twice as much with me around. Don't even try to deny it."

She rested her hand on his upper arm, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek. "Behave yourself, Ned."

"Are you?"

She didn't protest innocence this time. "Eat, sleep, and breathe, remember? You were right about that, at least." She glanced down. "I have a suspicion you'd be too hard to get over, Nickerson. So I haven't even tried."

He suddenly found it hard to swallow. "Take care of yourself. I mean it."

She smiled. "I'll do my best."

Her hand slid down his arm and when they parted he didn't look back.

He hated himself for that, later.

That night, after Cindy had gone home, he steepled his fingers behind his head and watched the blue light from the television play over the ceiling, and tried to remember why it had seemed like such a good idea to leave her. Anna had been pleasant enough, Cindy had a mouth like a sailor and a tongue like a porn star, and he was sure there'd be another girl, another girl. And that none of them would be like her, ever again.

He squeezed his eyes tight shut and dry-washed his face with his palms. Because he did want someone to settle down with and there would always be another reason she couldn't. And he knew he was right, and he knew she knew it too. She was special. Just not for him.

Even though the thought of her with anyone else, the knowledge that she hadn't found someone else yet, made him feel strangely light.

He closed his eyes, a small smile on his face.

Three days later she was gone.