Author's Note: I think there's just a little bit more to set up of the old cases before diving into the larger one that is the plot for this one. I have a tendency to develop novel's worth of alternate universe backstory when trying to create one story, and so I am hoping that I can cover enough of that in a few of these set up scenes and more flashbacks rather than attempt the novels I know I won't complete.

Also, Ned's friends are new creations for the sake of this universe, and I have a reason for that but it's spoilery...


Dreams and Unpleasant Truths

"Another conversation about Hardy?"

Nancy forced a smile, just glad it was her father asking her and not someone else. Some would give her grief for not rushing off the moment she'd heard about what happened to Frank, back when he was still in the hospital, and others had pushed her to go when she'd heard that Frank had retreated into his room, but as much as everyone and everything seemed to tell her to be there for her friend, she knew that at least one person was annoyed with her since she kept taking calls from Joe at all hours.

Her father came over and put a hand on her shoulder. "You know, for all you keep saying you're too close to the end of this case of yours to stop now, for all it matters to Ned... Maybe you should just take that trip to Bayport."

She shook her head. "I can't just rush off—and Joe did say that Frank had made progress. He left his room, showered, and asked about a case. Besides, this is important, and not just to Ned. He lost a good friend, but more people could be hurt or die if I stop. I can't."

"Nancy—"

She ignored the worry in her father's voice. "I have spoken to Frank himself. He was... detached, but he wasn't completely unaware of what was going on. He even offered advice on my case after bullying me into sharing it as a distraction. He was very helpful, actually."

Carson nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less from one of the Hardys. They're too much like you—cases before anything else. Still, it seems to be distracting you despite your determination to finish your own case."

She winced. "I don't..."

"Don't what?"

She ran a hand through her hair. "Ned brought me this case. He begged for my help, and the more it has dragged on, the more Frank—what if something happens to Ned because of me? It has before. It could happen again."

"You'll do your best to stop it and to see them all through it," Carson told her, putting a hand on her arm. "Now you might want to get some rest. You need it."

She smiled for him. "Thanks, Dad."


Callie's eyes were dull, almost sightless, but he knew she could see. He wouldn't be bleeding now if she couldn't. He didn't want to think about that, didn't want to believe it. This wasn't her. She wouldn't do this. Callie wasn't a mean person, not malicious, and she wouldn't have tried to harm anyone—especially not him.

Even if a certain kiss or two might have meant he deserved it.

"Callie, don't."

Tears rolled down her cheeks even as she moved forward with the knife in hand. "I have to."

"No, you don't. Something's wrong. Something's making you act this way when I know you wouldn't. This isn't you."

Callie didn't answer. She just struck with the knife again, and though he should have been able to dodge it, he didn't. Pain laced through him, and he finally reacted like he would in any other fight. He took her arm and twisted it, trying to get the knife from her hand. Bones snapped, and someone screamed, and he saw the look of horror on her face.

Frank jerked awake, hand on his side where he'd been stabbed, reminding himself that the pain was in his head, just a phantom, a figment of the fear and paranoia—and the guilt. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself and hoping that no one had heard him this time. Waking his family with his nightmares had become routine by now, but he still hated it.

He would have found somewhere else to live if he hadn't figured they'd put him in a psych ward with a suicide watch first. He couldn't say he was proud of his behavior after what happened with Callie, but he hadn't been able to pull himself together as he had in the past. Other times, other crises, he'd managed to focus on what needed to be done and do it, but this time was different. He couldn't explain why—it shouldn't have been. He'd endured worse, seen worse, investigated worse, but somehow this had taken him down.

He supposed it could have been a culmination of everything that had come before, but since when was he so... weak?

"Are you guilt tripping yourself again?"

Frank ran a hand over his face. "How long have you been there, Joe?"

"Long enough," Joe said, coming into the room. "In case you're wondering—and I don't think you were—"

"I woke you. Sorry."

Joe snorted. "You could make that sound a bit more believable, you know. That was the weakest sorry I've heard in a long time, and that's with me investigating criminals for a living."

It was Frank's turn to snort. "We don't actually get paid for that."

Joe managed a weak smile. "No, we don't, but then if we were in it for the money, we'd be the wrong kind of people for it. It's the thrill of adventure that gets us, right? The chase?"

"The puzzle," Frank said, since that was what actually drew him in. He was more analytical than Joe, spent his time piecing together the small things and letting them form the whole. It gave him a sense of completion.

Joe took a breath and let it out again. "You want to tell me about it?"

"No point. It's the same as it always is."

Joe grunted. He came over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. "You know... it's not really getting any better. You might be moving around now, but... I just... Is it enough?"

Frank didn't usually lie to his brother, and he didn't think he had much of a shot of convincing Joe right now. He shrugged. "This shook me, maybe more than it had a right to, but the only thing I can do now is... try to move forward."

With a nod, Joe fidgeted. "Gotta admit—you had me worried."

Frank knew that. He'd been aware of everyone's concern, but it wasn't easy pulling himself back from where he had been. He still wasn't sure what had given him the final push. Not something Joe said, not his father or mother, not his aunt, not a friend... He didn't know that it was a specific moment, but it was over, and he had left his room, started rebuilding his life.

"If you really want, though, we have a case," Joe said. He held up a hand. "Just a small one. Background check and surveillance. Nothing big, no terrorist threats or espionage or—"

"And you're trying to convince me to take it? Why would I want to?" Frank teased, getting a smile from his brother. Joe just watched him, unsure how to relax. "Easy, little brother. I think something boring and routine is best for now. We don't know how I'll react to anything more stressful, and we can't afford to risk me having a panic attack in a crisis."

Joe swore. "Damn it. How can you even say that? Like... like it's all rational and logical and fine that you don't know how you'll react in a crisis? Or have a panic attack?"

"I'm being realistic. Post traumatic stress is... It's reality for me now, not that it hasn't been there for us before. It just... hit harder than it has in the past. I can't explain that except..." Frank blew out a breath, closing his eyes. "Except... I was completely helpless in what they did to Callie, how much they hurt her to get back at me, and I... I know I didn't know that she had trigger words, that I'd activated them, that she... She did it basically on my orders. Repeatedly. And then..."

"Then you triggered the one that told her to kill you."

Frank shook his head. "Sometimes I think I should have found that one first."

"Are you insane?" Joe demanded, reaching over to shake him. "Why would you say that? She could have killed you."

"You know what happened when she tried," Frank reminded him quietly. "It would have been better. I could have stopped her then, could have spared her and the others..."

"This isn't your fault," Joe said. "How many times have you told me that about Iola?"

Frank met his brother's eyes. "And how many times did that work for you, Joe?"

Joe didn't answer, choosing instead to leave.


"Nancy?"

She stared at the man on the ground, aware of two dismaying possibilities both tied to the same horrible thought. That could have been Ned. It could have been him. She didn't know that she could react properly to that thought right now.

She felt a hand on her arm, and she blinked, looking over at the person who'd touched her. She should have been relieved when she saw him, but it wasn't relief she felt when she looked at him. It was guilt. She didn't know how to answer the questions all over his face.

"How did this happen?"

She swallowed. "Ned, I know he was your friend, and I know that you want to believe the best in the people you care about—"

"Nancy, he didn't do this. He couldn't have. He's on the floor, bleeding..."

Because of Nancy, Ned didn't say, still unable to believe the evidence in front of him. He was searching for another explanation, and she wanted to have one to give to him, but she didn't. She knew how he'd react. She hadn't told him about her theory, about what she suspected his friend of, all because she knew. She knew it would hurt him, and she knew he wouldn't want to believe it.

It didn't change the facts, and the fact was that Ned's good friend was not just guilty of any petty crime—he was a serial killer. A professional, one who did it for money. She hadn't thought it was possible, not at first, but she had found the answer to why one of Ned's closest school friends had died in a professional hit—he'd learned of his best friend and roommate's true occupation and had to die for it. She had thought the idea too wild, even for one of hers, and she'd looked into other theories first before returning to the impossible yet true.

"He tried to kill me, Ned." She couldn't hold that back any longer, not even for him. "I was lucky. He didn't see the table on the side of the chair or the cord under it. If he hadn't stumbled there, he would have killed me."

"Not Gary. He wouldn't have done that to Dean. Not him."

"Dean... He was the best. A real friend. I'd never had one of those before. I didn't want to have to hurt him," Gary said as he withdrew the knife. "Same as I don't want to do anything to you."

"You don't have to," she said, moving to place the couch between the two of them. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"I knew you were trouble from the start. From the moment Ned hooked up with you, I knew it was only a matter of time. Especially when he started complaining about you and those Hardy boys. One of you was bound to figure it out. I was just lucky someone sidelined them by taking out that girl he was dating."

Though Callie was not a friend, Nancy couldn't help being angry about that. "Frank's girlfriend is much more than a bargaining chip or a way to get to him."

"Is she? And what is Ned to you?"

She turned, stepping closer to Ned and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm sorry, Ned. I'm so sorry."