Title: In Darkness and Hope

Rating: T/PG-13, though I might up it due to subject matter.

Disclaimer: If I wrote it, it wouldn't be published because it would be locked in endless revision.

Pairings: This whole thing is centered on a friendship between Nancy and Frank. A friendship and a bit more, though there may be mentions of others as well along the way.

Summary: Nancy's meeting with her new neighbor forever changed their lives, uncovering a twisted web of kidnapping, murder, and abuse. A bond was formed then, one that seemed like it could last through anything, but time and distance might have weakened it, and what was broken before might not be able to be fixed again. Very AU, and not a pleasant one, not at first.

Author's Note: So, despite making progress the last few days post migraine, today I could not get any writing out of me except this battle that I did not want to lose, but... I did. People who have read Love in Subtle Clues will recognize future parts of this from pieces I did for numbers seven and nineteen. This is that universe, though in greater and more horrible detail, for all as much as I still intend to imply most of it.

However, that said... this universe does deal with kidnapping, abuse, and... child pornography. As in... one of the characters was involved in it completely against his will. So. Yes. That is why I wasn't going to write this, but... I did.

So... While I don't intend to go into detail there, things here will touch on that and it is a big part of how this universe came into being and is shaped. It will be referenced and things will hint at it.

I almost skipped all the way to the future, but I let that be the lead-in, as that is something perhaps hopeful, and also because this universe could get out of hand. Still, in the first part, it will be rough for a couple of kids. I think that's enough warning for now. I hope.

Once Bitter, Once Sweet

"You sure you're up to this, Drew? You know it's not my idea, right?"

Nancy was tempted to laugh. She didn't know that it should be funny to hear her superior like this, apologizing to her for the inevitable—federal involvement—since in the first place, most wouldn't, and in the second, it wasn't that good of a sign that he deferred to her as much as he did. She'd built a formidable reputation as a detective when she was still a child, yes, but she knew that wasn't the same as the kind of experience a man in his position should have. She had been fortunate, and luck wasn't skill. She had intuition and used it, but that wasn't the same as training and degrees, all things she had now but didn't make her feel much better about the way she was treated sometimes, like she was still that hometown heroine.

What she'd done as a kid was stupid, and while she couldn't regret it, she knew it was more circumstance that lead to her breaking that case open than anything she'd done—she knew in some ways she'd been more trouble than help, and she still hated herself for that. She didn't deserve special favors or anyone treating her like she should be in charge of this department when she remained woefully unqualified.

"I don't want the feds involved," Nelson went on. "I don't, but there's not much—"

"They have resources we don't, and if what we suspect is true, this is crossing state lines and that alone makes it a federal case," Nancy reminded him. "It's fine."

"You better mean that," Nelson said. "You're the one that's stuck working with them. I hear they're sending a team and—damn, they're already here."

Nancy could see four people in Nelson's office, three men and one woman, two of whom looked bored beyond what their professionalism should allow them to show, one who seemed impatient, and one who kept out of sight, even in the middle of a police department. Interesting.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Nelson called, putting on his schmooze voice as he entered his office. "I was just getting our liaison here up to speed. Detective Drew here has had lead on this case since day one, but she was out on a bit of medical leave at the end. She'll be working with you on this end—that is the deal as I understood it—and that way we all get through this with reputations intact and less feathers ruffled, am I right?"

"If you say so," the woman said, not impressed by Nelson's act. She gave him a thin smile that said she knew she had the jurisdiction here and would shut him out if she wanted to, which Nancy didn't want to happen—this was her case—but she knew she could play along better than Nelson could, and what she couldn't fix as a liaison, she'd find her own way to finish, regardless of what it took. "I'd like to get started as quickly as possible."

"Of course, Agent...?"

"Alexander," she answered to the implied question. She pointed to the men behind her in turn. "McKay and Conners and Hardy."

Nancy tried not to jerk when she heard the name. It wasn't that uncommon, but Joe had sworn that he was going into the business with his father like he'd always intended and—Oh, hell. It was Frank.

Without meaning to, her mouth went dry at the sight of him. Years had passed, hardening that scrawny kid who'd scrunched himself up as small as possible to avoid being seen—or hurt—into a man without any sign of physical weakness. She wanted to say he wasn't as tall as that the last time she'd seen him, but she knew that wasn't true. His frame had filled out more, and she thought he might have pushed it, training and working hard to be more of the muscle mass his brother had always been easily.

His eyes had changed the most, though, shedding the haunted look for one more jaded and bitter, and she almost winced, wondering what kind of work had brought that out in him and how he was even still doing it, still carrying a badge, afterward.

"Nancy."

The way her name rolled off his tongue was different, too, having lost a bit of that strange sort of reverence it used to have, that mixture of relief and pleasure and even a little pain, since she knew she still reminded him of the bad days, despite everything. To hear it now, with only guarded, grudging acknowledgment of the fact that he knew her—that almost hurt.

"Frank," she said, wondering how much she'd just given away with that single word—how she'd missed him, how she was glad to see him but scared, too, by the way things had changed, that she wasn't sure what had happened but that she wanted to fix it—in short, everything.

His lips tried to curve toward a smile, but he quashed it down. He turned back to the woman in charge, giving her a nod she seemed to expect. Alexander looked at Nancy once before turning back to Nelson. "We'll need your files and physical evidence. Point the boys in that direction, and we'll get out of your way."

Nelson nodded, leading the other two agents out of the room. Alexander leaned against the desk like she owned it, one of those people whose air of command was undeniable—and, frankly, impressive.

"I take it you two have history," she began. Frank and Nancy exchanged a look, and she knew he was just as much at a loss to explain their relationship as she was. Friends, but not friends, some strange mix created by a bond forged in the worst of places that she'd thought would never be broken, even with years and distance.

At least... not until she'd seen him again just now.

"It's complicated," Nancy began, glancing toward Frank again. "And a bit long—"

"It won't interfere with the case, since that's what you're actually interested in knowing," Frank said, "though I'd rather McKay and Conners weren't aware of any of the details."

"It would be difficult for me to give them any, since I have no idea what they are," Alexander prompted, and Frank must have given away something in his reaction to her words that disagreed with it. She shifted her posture, nodding in acknowledgment of whatever he'd let slip. "No details. Still, if you think they won't notice—"

"I know they will," Frank said. "I'm just going to let them make the same wrong assumption everyone does. Nancy was never my girlfriend."

Fifteen Years Earlier

Life was boring without any mysteries in it, Nancy thought, grumbling to herself as she left her house. The idea of spending an entire summer doing nothing while school was out and her friends Bess and George were away at a summer camp was horrible, and while she'd thought she had a perfect solution to that, her father hadn't agreed. She was only twelve, and he didn't think she should be working on any of his cases yet.

That was for when she was older.

She supposed this counted as pouting, and she wanted to prove she was older and could be trusted, but she felt like pouting, just for a little while. She was frustrated. After all she'd done over the course of the school year, she'd thought for sure her father would see that she wasn't just playing at being a detective, that she was good at what she did. She knew that solving a bit of theft at the school didn't seem like much, but that wasn't all she'd done. She'd found out about the altered test scores, stopped a bullying ring, and even proved that some of the cafeteria food was being replaced by disgusting substitutes that weren't really even food. Those were just the ones specific to her school.

She had found a few off campus that were worse, but those she'd had to pass along to the police as an anonymous informant. She'd wanted to do more, but she wasn't a fool. She knew she was not someone with superpowers. She was small, untrained, and unarmed. Still, those were her cases, and arrests were made because of her.

Didn't that mean she did a good job? She'd thought so, but her father's reaction confused her. She knew he didn't always like that she was involved in mysteries—when the bullies had turned on her, he'd been really upset and scared because he thought she'd get really hurt—and if she'd gone after some of the real criminals she'd gathered information on, she knew she would have been. Still, he'd always said he supported her, but he wasn't, not if he refused to let her in on a case. She could have helped in a small way—even typing up notes would be better than facing a summer's worth of nothing because her friends were gone and she had no work to occupy her.

She would have to go see if Hannah wanted her help. Nancy could try and learn more of her dishes. That would be something to do, and maybe it would be useful as well.

Nancy had almost turned around to go back inside when she spotted a different car outside her neighbor's house. That was the fifth this week—this one was red, the others were all black or white—and it had three men in it. She knew the others had just as many if not more, and none of them really looked like the type that belonged in this neighborhood. They always seemed to come, though.

She watched as the men walked away from the door, pulling on their jackets as they did, talking and joking with each other with that look that she didn't like but couldn't fully understand. She shivered, not liking it. She saw them turn toward her and ducked back against the nearest tree, hoping they wouldn't see her.

Something was wrong with those men, and she knew it. She just hoped they hadn't paid much attention to her. She didn't want them to know she had noticed them or that she was going to find out what they were doing over there.

No way criminals were living next to her and getting away with it.

After watching the house every afternoon for almost a week, Nancy had her first big break in the case, though it wasn't one she found through her hard work or dedication. She wished that was true, since it would have helped convince her father, but no, it was an accident. She'd almost missed him in her hurry to get to her observation spot, and if she hadn't almost tripped over him, she might never have met him.

Nancy shoved the bag of cookies in her bag as she hurried along. Hannah was nice and supportive, always sending her with something for her stakeouts, and she loved that about their housekeeper. She knew she was fortunate to have her.

That was never clearer than when she came across him, huddled as he was against the tree. Though he wasn't making a sound, she thought he'd been crying, and the way he held himself, arm wrapped protectively against his stomach said maybe he was hurt. She wasn't sure if it was his arm or his stomach that was giving him pain.

He didn't seem to know she was there, though he shivered and curled up tighter like that might make whatever was troubling him go away.

"Hi."

He jumped, and she swore she'd never seen eyes like his. They were just ordinary brown, a little like chocolate, but the pain in them she could feel like her own. She pulled her bag close and managed to get her hand on the cookies. "Are you hungry?"

He stared at her, so she held out the cookie to him, and after a moment, he snatched it, eating almost the entire thing in one bite like he expected her to take it away from him. She winced. His clothes weren't torn or anything, and she thought he couldn't have come far because he wasn't dirty, so maybe he wasn't homeless, but if he wasn't, why was he so desperate? Shouldn't the people who gave him those clean, nice clothes give him food, too?

Or were they the reason he was hurting?

"Do you live next door?" Nancy asked, passing him another cookie that he ate almost as fast as the first one. "In that house?"

He looked over, almost like he'd never seen that house before, and he managed a small shrug. She gave him a third cookie, which he ate slower than the last two, but still too fast to actually enjoy it.

"I live there," Nancy said, pointing to her own house. "With my dad and our housekeeper Hannah. My mother's dead. Do you... do you have a family?"

He stared at the last part of his cookie. "I... No. Not really."

She offered him the bag of cookies. "Are you living with foster parents? I've heard that can be hard, but there's a girl I know in school that got adopted by hers they liked her so much and she loves them, so it's not always bad."

He lowered his head, stealing another cookie but not eating it.

"I'm home from school for the summer. We can talk any time you like or maybe even—"

"No. No talking. I shouldn't be out here. I didn't—" He jumped up, running away from her, and she could only stare as he rushed back into the house she'd been watching, the door slamming shut behind him. She put a hand over her own stomach, feeling sick.

Something was very wrong in that house. She just knew it.

As soon as he got back inside, he realized he was still holding the cookie in his hand. He wished he'd stayed—the girl seemed nice and the cookies were good, but he knew he couldn't. He knew he wasn't supposed to talk to anyone.

He knew what his father did to the kids he talked to, how he hurt them.

That he'd killed them.

He hit the wall before he heard anyone coming, and he could only whimper as he looked up at the man who was supposed to be his father. "Where have you been, whore? You know you're not supposed to go anywhere."

Trembling, he kept his eyes on the floor. He knew better than to look up and be defiant. "You told me... You said we were done."

"I said nothing of the sort. Don't you know better than to cause delays? Film, light, time, all of that gets wasted when you do this kind of thing, and you know what that costs me? Money. And when you cost me money, I have to make it up somehow, don't I?"

"Please," he heard himself beg. "Not that. Don't make me go in there with him again. He always hurts me, and that delays you more and—"

"Shut up. No one ever told you to think. You're good for one thing and one thing only, so get in there and get to it," his father said, shoving him toward the basement door, toward that room that wasn't a room but a mockery, a bed where he never got to sleep unless they hurt him too much.

He curled his fingers around the cookie and told himself that even if those were his last few minutes of freedom, they were worth it, if only for the food.