This story is based on this prompt over at livejournal:

Nancy Drew, Nancy/Ned. After Ned finds out about Nancy's relationship with Mick, he breaks things off with her and doesn't look back. Ten years later his wife is killed, and Ned begs Nancy for help in finding out what happened to her. Along the way they find there's still chemistry between them. Ned may or may not have children from his marriage and Nancy may or may not be in a relationship, possibly with Frank Hardy.

Enjoy!

She's got to be here, she's got to be here, was Nancy's sole thought as she edged along the grimy grey corridor. Under the cracked and flickering fluorescent lights, she could occasionally make out the random patch of graffiti, between the ominous and sudden spells of dark. Laura, a five-year-old kindergartener, had been abducted almost a month ago from her mother's yard in a northern suburb of Chicago, and despite a massive manhunt by the local police force, the child hadn't been located. After initial suspicion had been lifted from the girl's wayward mother, the investigation had shifted onto a local woman who had been spotted loitering around the child's home at the time and was described as strange and unpleasant by many of the concerned neighbors. The fact she hadn't been seen in recent weeks and that her house had been rather obviously hastily vacated, cast all the more suspicion. Extensive investigation had finally tracked the little girl to this crumbling, dilapidated block of apartments, mostly occupied by vagrants, drug addicts and other people long withdrawn from functioning society. It was, in fact, the perfect place to get by unnoticed, Nancy surmised grimly, as she surveyed her less than salubrious surroundings. The people here had enough problems of their own to deal with to bother poking their noses into anybody else's business.

The building was utterly devoid of the usual hustle and bustle characteristic of such an extensive apartment block. No children ran through the corridors, playing elaborate games of hide and go seek or chasing a rogue ball down stairs. No men stood around trading cheap jokes and humorous tales and certainly no women paused in doorways, exchanging pleasantries and making idle chatter. In fact, many of the apartments were boarded securely up, the previous occupants long gone.

Agent Aaron Thomas motioned silently with his hand, gesturing towards a blue painted door, the paint flaking off to reveal what was once a vivid crimson red. His gun cocked menacingly, the FBI agent paused at the door, motioning at Nancy to stand aside.

"Ma'am, FBI here, clear the door, we're coming in," Aaron called in the characteristically calm, strong voice that defined his personality, before aiming a strategic kick at the door. With a splintering crack, the creaking hinges gave way and the door fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Tensions mounting, Nancy and Aaron swarmed the tiny two-room apartment, their efforts rewarded when they spotted the tiny blonde-haired girl, her green eyes wide with fear as she zoned in on the threateningly pointed guns. The white haired lady protectively clutching the child was softly spoken and had a face far kinder than Nancy expected for such a seemingly menacing character.

"Please, don't shoot," she pleaded, panic-stricken, her eyes darting around the room as though hoping an escape route would miraculously appear.

"Ma'am, nobody here wants to see you get hurt. Let the child go and this will all be over," Nancy reassured the fearful woman gently. Though the woman appeared unarmed, Nancy knew from experience that it was dangerous to be over presumptuous in a situation like this, so she edged cautiously forward, her gun pressed reassuringly close to her hips.

"You care about Laura, don't you?" Nancy commented pointedly, spotting the scattering of rather neglected toys, one-eyed teddy bears and ratty-haired dolls, and the colorful, childish scribblings pinned proudly to the wall. The child had also maintained her endearing plumpness and had obviously been well fed, her appearance immaculate, her golden locks neatly brushed and plaited.

"Laura's better off with me," the distraught woman declared fervently, tightening her hold on the youngster, the child yelping in pain as her tiny wrist was crushed under the force of her grip. "That mother of hers doesn't give a damn about her kids, letting them wander the streets at all hours, not to mention the string of men she has back at the house every night. Believe me, she's far better off here where she's safe and I can mind her."

"I know you want what's best for Laura," Nancy wheedled the older woman, not wishing to antagonize her further. "But the best thing for her is to be with her family. Her sisters and brothers miss her terribly and are crying themselves to sleep every night. Is that what you want?"

"No," she answered stonily, though her expression was softening.

"If there's problems in the family, social services can help, things can be done, but this is not the answer." Nancy finished softly, hoping she was appealing to the woman better senses.

"You're right, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed openly, her resolve crumbling as she released the little girl. Laura, confused and terrified, ran crying into Nancy's arms.

"Can I go home now?" she asked through her tears, clinging to Nancy as Aaron cuffed the defeated woman.

xxxxx

"You did good in there, Drew," Aaron winked with a grin, leaning in close and whispering discreetly in her ear, conscious of the proximity of the rest of the team. "Looking forward to tonight, I hope."

"Of course," Nancy smiled, enjoying the closeness between them. With work and family commitments, it had been sadly dwindling in recent weeks.

That their relationship was strictly professional was a facade both worked equally hard to maintain. Aaron had just come out of a messy divorce, his marriage fallen victim to his hectic work schedule and long, grueling hours. His complicated home life involved playing sometime dad to his five-year-old son, as well as constant aggressor to his embittered ex-wife who ensured Nancy and Aaron's relationship was anything but easy. On Nancy's part, she feared people's perception of her would change once they found out she was involved with a more senior agent, that they would see her as different and as getting favors from management when the opposite was probably true. It was difficult enough being a woman in such a male-dominated environment without having that complication in the mix. On a more personal level, Nancy also knew her father wouldn't approve of the considerable age gap between them, much less the circumstances of the relationship, and it was far easier to shrug and laugh off prying questions than admit to the truth. So, their involvement was kept deliberately casual, dates infrequent and sporadic, usually confined to the privacy of each other's apartments; and while Bess bemoaned their tentative status, it suited Nancy just fine. Work as an FBI agent didn't suit the restraints and binds a properly functioning relationship would require, with dates cancelled at a moment's notice, vacations indefinitely postponed while a rampant serial killer was tracked down; Aaron understood. An ordinary boyfriend, the kind who would bring her flowers and candy and take her to the movies, most certainly would not.

Collapsing at her desk, Nancy sighed wearily, her aching head resting comfortingly in her hands. She hadn't seen the inside of her apartment in over two days and meals that weren't peeled from a plastic wrapper or poured from a can were a distant memory. Feeling horribly sticky and exhausted, Nancy suddenly yearned for a long, hot bath, perfumed with some of the expensive oils Bess liked. In a rare fit of enthusiasm, Aaron had promised to take her for dinner in some fancy upscale restaurant that boasted a much lauded head chef and an equally long waiting list. Thinking of the night ahead, Nancy smiled; it had been ages since they had spent any real quality time together without case files scattered between them. After spending the previous days suffocating in suits, Nancy quickly decided on a green silk dress, a recent purchase she had yet the luxury of wearing. Her cell phone buzzing angrily on the desk pulled Nancy from her reverie.

"Aaron," she sighed happily, twisting a loose coil of hair around her finger as she greeted her partner. "I was just thinking about tonight. What time do you want to pick me up?" At the answering silence, Nancy's heart sank.

"Nancy, I'm so sorry, but it's Jack," he mumbled apologetically, and Nancy could almost hear the strain in his voice. "He's caught the chicken pox and he's screaming for me. I'm going to have to go be with him. I'm sorry, I really am," he added after a pause, sensing her disappointment.

"It's okay, I understand," Nancy reassured him dejectedly. She did understand, but it was still hard to be constantly treated as an afterthought. "I was just really looking forward to it, that's all."

"I know, I was looking forward to it too," he whispered tenderly. "Look, Nancy, I've really got to go, but I promise we'll do this another time, maybe this weekend."

Faking a half hearted response, barely bothering to keep the disappointment from her voice, Nancy hung up, knowing the raincheck was just another empty promise Aaron couldn't keep and wondering when exactly she had become the type of girl who hung around waiting for her man to come home to her instead of it being the other way around.

When the phone rang again almost immediately, Nancy grabbed it eagerly, her mood darkening as Lindsay's familiar voice bubbled over the phone.

"Nancy, I know you've had a really tough few days and you're about ready to crash but there's a guy down here to see you and he says it's urgent."

"You've got to be kidding me," Nancy sighed in disbelief. "I haven't slept in days and my bed is calling me; believe me, there's nothing more urgent than that."

Though at times she griped and complained bitterly, Nancy knew what she had signed up for when she joined the FBI. The job was all-consuming and try as she might to keep some separation between her work life and her personal life, it was becoming increasingly difficult. Files lay stacked on the coffee table, crime scene photos taped to the fridge door. Even the sanctuary of her bedroom provided no escape; often the distressing details of a case spilled over into her sleep, casting dark shadows on her dreams.

"I know," Lindsay murmured sympathetically. "But he says he knows you, I guess you two used to date or something. He's really cute," she added temptingly.

"Seriously?" Nancy asked, her curiosity piqued. "Who is it?"

"Ned Nickerson," Lindsay confirmed teasingly. "Shall I send him up?"