Written for ulstergirl for a challenge over at livejournal.
I hope everyone enjoyed the holidays!
The wind thunders violently against the cracked, thin glass of the hotel window, the city lights barely visible through the falling veil of snow. Nancy uses the word hotel loosely, as though the crumbling building classes itself as such, the lack of cleaning staff and the stream of men who come and go from certain rooms at all hours of the day and night would suggest something completely different. The room, with it's peeling, yellowing wallpaper and festering squalid bathroom is disgusting and if not absolutely vital to her cover for the case, Nancy wouldn't have stepped into the room without full body protection. It's cold, the usual festive cold snap having driven the temperatures down to well below zero but much like cleaning, heating seems to be another unnecessary extra here, the clientele obviously accustomed to finding other ways to keep warm.
Her stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies at the mere thought of what her investigation would entail tonight, Nancy risks another look over at her boyfriend, who is sitting up rigidly on the velvet strewn bed, the tight set of his jaw and his stony expression indicating to her that Ned was (if it was even possible) angrier than before when she had sat him down and spelled out her plan to him. He had barely uttered a word in the hours since, choosing instead to stare blankly at the dust covered television screen, flicking aimlessly through the few available channels.
"I have to do this, Ned," Nancy tried again in a pleading voice, desperate for him to validate what she was about to do, though she knew it was wrong. When he doesn't reply, Nancy turns back to the cracked mirror with a sigh, carefully applying a layer of clear gloss over her already blood-red lips. Despite the snow and frost lying thick on the ground outside, her skin is deeply tanned, the result of almost an entire bottle of fake tan, the evidence of her efforts streaked all over a greying frayed towel. The make-up packed onto her face is thick and her now blonde hair is piled up in a very complicated series of knots and Nancy hardly looks anything like herself anymore.
Rummaging through the untidy tangle of clothes heaped in her suitcase, Nancy pulls out a ridiculously short black dress and the effect is almost complete. Just a quick dusting of glitter to her already gleaming limbs and the flimsy scrap of material for a dress tugged over her equally flimsy underwear and Nancy is good to go. Her breasts are pert and are, at least in Ned's eyes perfect but Nancy is momentarily self-conscious, remembering the much larger, presumably surgically enhanced assets of her counterparts. The sheer black push-up bra is serving it's purpose and making her breasts appear quite voluptuous but the thing is that the bra is just that, a trick of the eye, a temporary measure and Nancy doesn't know what she will do if she has to take it off.
She hopes it won't get that far.
Bending over to tie the thin strap of her patent black shoes around her ankles, Nancy is suddenly conscious of Ned's eyes on her. Goose pimples rising on her skin, she gazes tentatively around, catching a brief glimpse at the look on her boyfriend's face before his eyes meet hers and the moment is lost, Ned resuming his defiant viewing of the staid television show, doing anything but give her even a moment's notice. From the heated glances Ned sneaks when he thinks she isn't looking, Nancy knows he wants to touch her. She doesn't usually look like this, Nancy being normally more of a jeans and ponytail girl but Ned obviously likes the short dress and stiletto heels combination and Nancy can't help but feel turned on, every time she feels his eyes bore into her skin.
Slicking on a shiny layer of gloss over her already overly red lips, Nancy steps closer to the mirror, giving her make-up a critical inspection before reaching for her coat. The purple coat is short but even so, belted up, her dress disappears far under the thin material, giving the appearance that she was wearing little or nothing underneath.
The coat is Ned's undoing. Nancy knows he is still mad; the smoldering anger still visible in his eyes. But, as though drawn to her by some sort of invisible force, Ned is forced to temporarily swallow his discontent and pushing himself off the untidily made bed, is suddenly behind her, his brown eyes meeting her blue ones as they stare heatedly at one another in the mirror. Neither one is willing to make the first move but the inches of bare, tanned skin poking out from beneath the coat prove too much and suddenly Ned is pulling her close. His gaze is focused totally on Nancy as he tugs the belt a little too sharply and the coat comes undone, her carefully plumped breasts heaving under the too tight dress.
His lips are on hers then, smearing carefully applied gloss onto her face and Nancy doesn't care, just moans in pleasure as Ned pushes her roughly against the wall.
"You know, I can't let you do this,"
His voice is softer than before and his eyes are gazing into hers pleadingly.
"And how, exactly, do you think you are going to be able to stop me?"
The tone in Nancy's voice is intentionally teasing and she knows it isn't fair. Nancy might tease Ned about him locking her in the room and distracting her with hours of sex but they both know, that she will pursue her investigation to the ends of the world if necessary, even to the detriment of their relationship. She's done it before, plenty of times. Ned knows the score.
"I love you,"
Ned looks resigned for a moment, wondering possibly, if he's always destined to cave in at those words but then he pulls her into his arms and Nancy knows she has won. Not that she had any doubt that she wouldn't. The way things play out in their relationship is so painfully predictable that she has never even considered that there would be another outcome.
Ned's lips pressed against her neck, Nancy closes her eyes in contentment as his tongue slides wet and hot along the soft skin, his fingers working expertly on the series of small, intricate buttons commanding the dubious responsibility of holding the miniscule dress together. Time is slipping away and Nancy doesn't care; though she probably should considering the stiff warning she had been issued with earlier that day. But Ned's touch is intoxicating as is the feel of his hand snaking eagerly underneath the thin black dress and cupping her breast, his eyes alight as he discovers the newly purchased underwear; sheer black mesh being another weakness of Ned's.
The last of the buttons finally popped open, Ned practically rips the offending dress from Nancy's slim frame before pushing her down forcefully onto the bed. Her legs are splayed provocatively open and Ned can't take his eyes off her as he kicks his way out of his jeans before taking position on the worn red velvet throw beside her.
"You're so beautiful,"
Smiling at the emotion behind Ned's words, Nancy leans in and kisses him gently, raising herself to a kneeling position so their faces are level. Ned's arms then wrap tightly around her bare body, Nancy shivering in anticipation at the mere proximity of him. Their kisses growing in intensity, Ned fumbled with Nancy's bra impatiently until it came undone, his expression one of almost awe at the feel of her now bare breasts squeezed against his chest. Pulling back for a second, Nancy held Ned's gaze as she pulled off the last remaining piece of underwear with enticing last barrier between them removed, Ned loses no time pinning Nancy impatiently against the bed, her eyes closing in sheer ecstasy as he enters her slowly and deeply.
--
Though she's trying very hard to appear to be composed and in control, Ned knows that it is just that, an act and Nancy is in reality completely terrified, her grip tightening on his hand the closer they get to the club. Her make-up is perfect and her skin is gleaming and soft but there's a slight hesitance in her movement and in her words that Ned is positive wouldn't be noticed by anyone but him.
Christmas had barely crept into these forgotten streets, a few spindly lengths of tinsel strewn across a window being the most elaborate of decoration. But they were together and the sound of their shoes crunching through the clean blanket of snow would be enough to conjure up some sense of festive happiness if it wasn't for the threat of what the next few hours would being.
They are rounding the last corner and Nancy suddenly drops his hand, swallowing hard as she stares determinedly into his eyes. There was always a plan and this time it involved Nancy walking in alone to a place that Ned hoped wasn't as ominous on the inside as it appeared on the faded, seedy facade of the outside.
"I have to go, Ned,"
By her mere stance, Ned knows Nancy feels awkward and self-conscious in the too-high shoes and the ridiculously short dress. (Though inwardly, he thinks Nancy looks incredibly fucking hot in the little black dress and knows exactly what he'd like to be doing to his girlfriend, if it wasn't for the damn case.)
"You've got to promise me you won't follow me into the club."
She leaves the sentence hanging in the air but Nancy must think he's insane, if she thinks he's not going after her into the club. But he smiles at her all the same, swears that he's going to wait for her at the hotel, makes her promise to keep herself safe. All the usual bullshit. But no matter what Nancy says, what logic she throws around about overly suspicious doormen and the importance of keeping a low profile, there's no way in hell he's going to let her walk into that hellhole on her own. That was the infuriating thing about Nancy, sometimes. She worries about missing girls and stolen art but never gives even a second thought to her own safety; Ned being the one who is always charged with that particular responsibility.
Watching her long legged stride disappear around the corner, Ned feels sick. He should never have allowed her to put herself in so much risk. Nancy is gone and now even her trail of footprints are disappearing, the neat line of imprints being quickly swallowed up by the ever mounting snowfall.
--
Rick's office is a drab grey affair with pinups of some particularly voluptuous blondes taped over the peeling paint. The carpet has seen better days, holes worn into the almost threadbare pile and his desk is a chaotic mess; receipts and mail piled up high on the desk amongst stinking overflowing ashtrays, the man seemingly incapable of running any sort of organization system.
There's a glint in his eye that Nancy's not exactly sure she likes as Rick gestures to her to take a seat. She can feel his gaze sweep the length of her, his eyes resting finally on her breasts and it's not a casual glance, the one a man will often chance when he's passing a woman on a busy street or in a club. No, this stare is deliberate, lingering and though Nancy feels like lashing out and kicking him firmly in the balls, she quickly decides against the move, remembering exactly the circumstances that had led her to be in this very office and how she must appear to be for Rick.
Instead, she smiles sweetly and shrugs off her coat, though her stomach turns over in disgust at the frank look of appraisal on the club owner's face.
"How old did you say you were again, Becky?"
His eyes practically light up when Nancy confirms the answer she knows he wants to hear. Eighteen. That was how old Claire and Jane had been when they had gone missing; both girls runaways, both girls drug addicts of various kinds.
Claire's sister still had regular contact with her and swears Claire would not have just left without at least letting her know where she had gone. Jane's mother had a similar story and though both family members had brought their concerns to the police, it seemed the NYPD had a less than compassionate view towards what was to them just another missing drug addict.
The two girls had run in different circles, had different dealers and as far as anyone knew, had never even met. The only definite, solid link between the blondes was that both had an interview for a waitressing job in a club with a man known only as Rick.
"You danced before, Becky?" he's suddenly quizzing her eagerly, though the lecherous way he looks at her tells Nancy he's far more interested in previewing what's under her dress.
"Yeah, in a club back home in Chicago," Nancy finds herself lying easily, the act of deception almost second nature to her after years of going undercover for various cases. With careful deliberation she uncrosses her long, tanned legs and Rick's eyes bulge visibly at the tantalizing sight.
Through casual conversation with some of the club's dancers, Nancy had learned that Claire and Jane weren't the first girls to go missing; another blonde teen named Sharon having disappeared after only two nights on the job. Rumors had been rife and suspicion had been heaped on the sleazy Rick but without a body it had been all to easy to explain the disappearance on just another messed-up kid, too far from home.
"How about starting right now?" Rick finally manages, his eyes reluctantly returning to meet Nancy's gaze as she crosses her legs with a defiant flick.
Nancy doesn't like where this conversation is going but she maintains a semblance of calm all the same. The plan she had concocted involved completing the interview with Rick while somehow gaining his trust and at worst, returning to work at the club with at least Ned for back-up.
"Now doesn't really suit," she shrugs but Rick doesn't care, dismissing her objections with a mere wave of his hand.
"All the new girls dance for me," he informs her so matter-of-factly, he could have been simply telling her about . "It's the most important part of the interview,"
"I don't think so," Nancy disagrees, beginning to stand up when Rick pushes her back roughly onto the chair.
"Sit the fuck down, bitch," he snarls at her, a menacing tone creeping into his voice as he stalks over to the door and turns the key in the lock. "You're not going anywhere,"
Nancy is strong but Rick is most definitely stronger, the outline of his carefully honed muscles bulging through his cheap shirt. Even so, Nancy thinks she might still get away but the stiletto heels and the tight dress put her an immediate disadvantage; as does the locked door, the key of which is now tucked securely in Rick's pocket.
iNed, help me/i, she thinks, her mind battling to somehow find a way out of this shit hole. At the feel of his clammy palms creeping over her bare skin, Nancy wants to get sick but instead lashes out, screaming loudly and kicking wildly, Rick howling in pain as one kick in particular makes violent contact with his stomach.
"Fuck," he moans in agony, momentarily clutching his stomach before straightening up and facing Nancy, pure venom in his eyes. "I think someone needs to show you exactly who's in charge around here,"
"You lay a hand on me and I will scream my fucking head off," Nancy promises in a tone that boasted of far more bravery than Nancy actually felt. "The cops will be here in two minutes flat and I don't think this is the kind of establishment that you want the NYPD crawling all over."
"The cops. You must think you're on Fifth Avenue, Princess,"
Rick was actually openly laughing now, her threat apparently completely hilarious. But the menacingly glint in his eyes isn't nor is the semi-automatic gun he is suddenly producing from a drawer in his desk.
"Ready to do as your told?" Rick is demanding tauntingly and Nancy just nods mutely, the threat of the gun outweighing all others. At the feel of his hand creeping down her bare thigh, she just closes her eyes and prays it will all be over soon.
--
The bar is a dark and dingy place, the majority of the clientele gulping down the flat, overpriced beer as sleazy as the red-hued surroundings. Velvet seems to be a theme here, faded, threadbare lengths of the material strewn across the walls and covering chairs and tables, the scene reminiscent of something out of some low budget horror movie. It's not a comforting thought.
Taking a long drink from his beer, Ned looks again anxiously at his watch, as he had done so every minute for the past half hour, wondering where the hell Nancy is.
Every girl that passes, he glances hopefully at her, expecting it to be Nancy but it never is. The girls though almost all blonde and blue-eyed never morph into being his detective girlfriend.
Ned knows he can't do this for too much longer. He can feel eyes on him, watching him suspiciously, knowing he doesn't fit in here.
Where the hell are you, Nancy? Ned wonders feverishly, his eyes scanning the shabby space as though hoping the red strewn walls would somehow yield some answers.
What would Nancy do in this situation?
Apart from the main entrance, there were three doors, he noticed. One led to the restrooms; that he definitely knew but the purpose of the other two was less clear.
Seeing the doormen glare at him long and hard again, Ned knows he can't waste any more time fucking around in this hell hole. He has to grab Nancy and get out of here. Now.
Pushing away his mostly full glass of beer, Ned stands up, making to walk for the restrooms when he suddenly changes direction and heads for the first closed door instead, the grimy paint having long chipped off the grimy wood.
Gingerly trying the ancient, rusted door knob, Ned is horrified to find it locked, trying to block out the disturbing thoughts that filtered through his head that might explain the necessity of a locked door in a place where so little else was private.
"Nancy," he calls out and when he hears a muffled scream he knows he has found her, immediately kicking down the door with uncharacteristic violence.
The doormen are cursing him, Ned can hear the threat in their voices but he doesn't care. Storming into the stinking office, he finds Nancy, a man that had to be almost twice her age pinning her tightly against the wall, the look in his eyes changing when he turns to see Ned.
Rick, he presumes darkly, taking in the scene. There's a gun on the table and both men instinctively lunge for the weapon, Ned's position as quarterback for the football team giving him the upper hand and securing him the cold, hard metal.
Nancy looks terrified but otherwise relatively unscathed and Rick is lucky because the feel of the gun in Ned's hand is intoxicating and if there was so much as a bruise on his girlfriend's face, he would take pleasure in shooting the asshole and watching him slowly bleed to death.
"Thank God you're here, Ned," Nancy murmurs in relief, as she runs into his arms, the gun still brandished in Ned's hand their protection.
Outside, the snow is still falling silvery-white under the glow of the moon and the sky is mostly starless, their brilliance dulled by the heavy city lights.
"Did he hurt you?" Ned demands urgently, when they are finally secure in a passing cab, his heart only starting to beat again when they leave the flickering, red lights of the club far behind. They can't go back to the hotel, the potential of being followed back to the crumbling building too great to risk.
"No," Nancy replies tearfully, the heavily applied mascara now smudged across her cheeks. "But he would have," she admits after a pause, the words spoken so quietly, Ned almost misses them.
"You can't go back there, Nancy," Ned implores of her, the day already leaving him feeling like he's lived through a thousand battles and just about survived to tell the tale. "We're flying back to Chicago tonight. I've booked us on the red-eye."
Nancy looks like she's about to argue with him, a familiar defiance creeping into her eyes, before she gives in with a sigh, knowing Ned is right.
"Okay," she agrees uncertainly, resting her head comfortingly against Ned's shoulder, still feeling a little uneasy at the thought of having to tell the girl's families that she was unable to solve their missing daughters' deaths.
Ned on his part is just relieved that Nancy had agreed to come home to Chicago with him but a small part of him also knows that there will be other cases and other dangers and the battle won today is small in the context of all that. For today though, he pushes all that aside and just luxuriates in the knowledge that his girlfriend is at least for now, safe in his arms.
"Thanks for today, Ned," Nancy whispers then, her glazed eyes focused vaguely on the colored tangle of lights as they whizzed by. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come in,"
"I'm just glad you're okay," Ned murmurs softly, pressing his lips softly to Nancy lips. "I love you so much,"
"I love you too, Ned," Nancy smiles, enjoying the feeling of being wrapped tightly in his strong arms. "But I have just one more favor to ask you."
"What?" Ned demands warily, years of dating Nancy meaning that he knew her requests for favors were generally more dangerous than most girls. "Don't tell me you want to go back to that shit hole again,"
"No," Nancy replied with a small smile, gesturing at her miniscule outfit. "It's my clothes. I can hardly go back to my dad's looking like this,"
With all the stress of the previous hours, Ned had somehow completely forgotten about Nancy's stripper ensemble.
"Okay," he grinned, instructing the cab driver to pull up alongside the nearest mall before turning to Nancy with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"You better keep that outfit to wear for me," he whispered softly in her ear, the faint stubble on his face grazing her skin. "You in that dress, waiting for me in on your bed would make the best Christmas present ever."
"It's a pity then, I already got your present," Nancy teased him jokingly before reaching up and pulling him down to her for a kiss. "But I guess, saving my life, earns you some extra privileges," she considers, the dark night fading around them as their lips meet in a long and passionate kiss.