Author's Note: So I went into debate mode with myself, unsure if I should include the part here that was originally posted as Love in Subtle Clues number nineteen. I tried just writing it from Frank's perspective and said that was fine, but then I decided I wanted both points of view there, so sorry. There is some repetition. I just couldn't pick one version over the other because they both had their reasons and their place.

And should there be a spoilery disclaimer thing? I don't know if I should say it, but there is something I would tell everyone about the father Frank keeps talking about. I'm just not sure if it would detract from the story or not.

This story makes me insane... I'm still not sure I should have ever written it, and it's so horrible in the first part with what's going on... *sigh*

Friends and Fears

Worst fears.

Frank had them, probably had more of them than most people he knew. Part of that was how he'd been raised—if he could even call it that, since he'd lived a horrifying nightmare—and the rest of it was his job and the danger he knew was out there, for strangers and people he loved all at the same time.

Coming back to River Heights, dragging up all of that past, that was a worst fear. He didn't want anyone to know. He hated the pity, felt sick about the scorn, was tired of people saying they understood when they had no idea what any of it had been like, and being law enforcement made that all worse. He was either a liability or something to be handled like glass, easily broken.

Sometimes he felt that way, but he hated when they turned that on him, when they acted like he couldn't handle any of this because of what he'd been through as a child. Like that made him weak and pathetic. Sure, he felt like he was at times. What they didn't understand was that something like that... it either broke you completely or it made you one of the strongest people there ever was. He didn't feel strong, but that was what Joe said—that Frank had managed to come through it, and surviving made him tough, tougher than any of the others because no one should have gone through what Frank did. Doctors and therapists had said he'd made considerable progress and should be proud of how far he'd come, since he could have been locked in that same old pattern of fear and doubt all his life.

He still had nightmares, didn't think those would ever stop, but he wasn't as skittish as he used to be. He hadn't been able to look at anyone, didn't think that they wouldn't hurt him because everyone he'd ever known had hurt him—with one exception, the one that had changed everything and tilted his world completely on end.

Because of her, he knew there was still good in people. He knew what life was actually supposed to be like, and she was so absolutely fearless when they were younger that he'd wanted to be like her—later like Joe—but he'd never quite reached that point. He just stopped jumping at shadows and people who made those shadows, finding a way to be normal or pass for it.

He'd shed his dependence on Nancy, and though it was almost as hard, he'd slipped away from his brother as well, needing to step beyond the shelter of family and their way of buffering him from the world. He knew they were all protective of him, but he couldn't let them treat him like something that would be broken all his life.

So the FBI. Traveling for work, never having time to adjust and get comfortable with people or places because that was too simple and too easy. He had to break those patterns and prove to himself and everyone that he could do this.

He'd thought it was working. He'd just come off one of the worst cases they'd had since he joined the bureau, one that should have pushed all his triggers and made him into that same old skittish mess but didn't. It made him angry, and he wouldn't be surprised if he got suspended when that review was done, but he didn't care. He'd stayed on his feet. He hadn't broken down and given into the past.

Only as soon as he hit River Heights, he was ready to do it.

This place. This damned place.

And seeing Nancy didn't help.

Hell... it hurt.

Fifteen Years Earlier

Nancy sat down next to the boy at the tree, giving him a smile as she did. She wasn't sure she'd see him today—he'd missed yesterday and the day before, and she was starting to get worried about him, especially since she didn't think he ate anything except what she was able to sneak him. He was small and thin and she wasn't sure if he was older than her or younger.

"Hey," she said, taking out some of Hannah's cookies and holding them out to him. He reached for one and stopped, curling back up against himself and shivering. He had lost color there, and she thought he was sick. "What's wrong?"

He shifted, closing his eyes. "I shouldn't be out here. He'll get mad again."

Nancy thought "he" was the boy's father, but there were a lot of men coming and going from that house, and she didn't like the looks of any of them. "Is he home?"

"No. Not right now. He left me with... with the one that always falls asleep when he's done."

Nancy frowned, but she didn't want to spook him and make him run like he did the other day, not when he was sick and maybe hurt. He seemed to be in a lot of pain. "I'm Nancy. You didn't tell me your name yet."

"I... I don't know... It's... whatever they want to call me."

She shook her head. That was wrong. "What does he call you?"

The boy swallowed. "I... As a name or what he really says? Because I don't want to repeat what he calls me. It's... It's mean and makes me feel... sick."

Nancy knew she had to do something about this, though she didn't know what, not yet. She could tell her dad about this house and what she'd seen, and she'd get him out of there. She swore it. "Should we pick a name for you?"

He frowned. "I... It might be Frank."

"Okay," she agreed, smiling at him again. "I can call you Frank. I'm glad I met you. Did you want to take Hannah's cookies with you? I don't need this many, and I know you liked them last time."

Frank lowered his head. "Can't. I'll get in trouble."

Nancy checked her watch. Her father wouldn't be home for hours yet. "Maybe you should come with me to my house and—"

"No!" He scrambled to his feet, and she could see a dark mark on his side through the white of his shirt. He took a step and stumbled, and she rushed over to his side. He wheezed a couple breaths, and she was worried he wouldn't get back up again. He looked up at her. "If I go with you, he'll hurt you."

"Okay," Nancy said, helping him back against the tree so he could rest again. "Just... stay here. Don't move. Don't hurt yourself. We'll figure something out, I promise."

He looked at her, dark eyes full of pain. "Nancy..."

"Yes?"

"You..." He stopped, and she wasn't sure what he said after it was what he had started to say first, but she was just glad he was talking to her and not running away again. "Can I hold your hand?"

She nodded, slipping her hand in his. She scooted closer, helping him to lean his head on her shoulder. "We're going to make it so you're safe, Frank. I promise you that."

He shuddered, tightening his grip on her hand.

"Hey." He looked up at the voice, not understanding even though the girl was holding out cookies to him. He must have been dreaming, but he'd dreamt about the cookies ever since that day she gave him some, so he wasn't surprised to do it again now. Cookies and freedom. He liked those dreams. Better than the nightmares he always had—the ones he lived during the daytime. He reached for one and stopped, pain getting to him. They'd been so rough, every time, and he could barely move. Maybe this time he'd just die and be free of them. He'd like that, he thought. "What's wrong?"

Everything, he almost answered. He didn't say it, though. If the dream knew what he was, it would be a nightmare. He'd rather she never knew. He closed his eyes. "I shouldn't be out here. He'll get mad again."

"Is he home?"

"No." He knew his father was out for the day, and if he hadn't, he wouldn't be having any sort of break. That wasn't how his father worked. That man always made sure there was someone in the room, one of the others sometimes but not always. There was no rest, no sleep, just that horrible room and the cameras. "Not right now. He left me with... with the one that always falls asleep when he's done."

She frowned, but he knew he wouldn't explain that. He preferred that one over most of the men his father worked with, since he got some peace in between them as long as he was alone with that one. And since he seemed to be one of few his father trusted enough for that, sometimes it happened. Not often. His father was too paranoid for that. He'd make them move again soon. He knew that.

"I'm Nancy. You didn't tell me your name yet."

He stared at her. His name? Did he even have one? He was so used to them changing it for every movie they made that he didn't know if he even had one. He liked hers, but he didn't think any of them called him by his name, not even when they—he shuddered and forced himself not to finish that thought. "I... I don't know... It's... whatever they want to call me."

"What does he call you?"

Whore. He calls me whore. Nothing else, not unless it's for a film. That made him want to puke, but he swallowed it down. "I... As a name or what he really says? Because I don't want to repeat what he calls me. It's... It's mean and makes me feel... sick."

"Should we pick a name for you?"

He frowned, trying to remember what it had been before the last four moves. He knew that before there were as many men as there were now, before they'd left that one house where he had a bedroom as well as the video room, before his father only called him whore, he'd used a name. He barely remembered that, but he knew they didn't use that one for the movies. He didn't know why, but since they didn't, maybe he could use it now. "I... It might be Frank."

She smiled at him. "Okay. I can call you Frank. I'm glad I met you. Did you want to take Hannah's cookies with you? I don't need this many, and I know you liked them last time."

Frank didn't dare take them. If he got caught with them—he almost had been last time—then his father would know he got out and wouldn't let him be alone with the one that slept, and that guy, while still as sick as the others, didn't hurt him half as much. "Can't. I'll get in trouble."

Nancy looked at her watch. "Maybe you should come with me to my house and—"

"No!" Frank jumped up, not able to stay still with her suggesting that. She didn't understand. She didn't know what his father would do, but he did. He knew his father would be angry. He'd hurt her and then he'd kill her, like he had the other kids. Frank had thought, once, that he could have a friend, but his father had twisted all that up, and Frank swore sometimes he could still feel their blood or hear their screams, all the other kids his father had hurt...

He started to run back to the house where he knew he had to stay, to where he would be the only one his father hurt, but he fell, unable to move. He'd forgotten how bad he'd gotten hit yesterday. He hated that one. He wasn't like the sleeper. He really liked it when Frank screamed, so he did everything he could to make that happen. It wouldn't even have taken that hit, but the guy liked marking him up, too, and his father let it happen.

He wheezed, forcing the words out. "If I go with you, he'll hurt you."

"Okay," Nancy said, but she got him back over by the tree anyway, still not understanding. "Just... stay here. Don't move. Don't hurt yourself. We'll figure something out, I promise."

He looked at her, knowing she couldn't do that. His father would kill her. "Nancy..."

"Yes?"

"You..." Frank almost told her his father would kill her, but he couldn't. He didn't want her thinking she should do more. He had to get back without her stopping him. His father would make them move again, and she'd forget him, and that was okay so long as his father didn't kill her. "Can I hold your hand?"

He shouldn't have asked it, but he was scared again, knowing what his father would do if he knew about this, about her, and he knew he had to go back, but he hated that idea. He didn't want to get hurt again, didn't want anyone else to touch him, but she was different. Her hand was gentle. Holding it felt good, like he could almost dream he'd gotten away for good instead of one man's nap.

"We're going to make it so you're safe, Frank. I promise you that."

He shuddered, knowing he had to stop her from that somehow. He was tired, and he could easily fake falling asleep on her, and that might be what he had to do. It never worked when he was trying to avoid his father, but she might think she could leave him for just a moment, and if she did, he'd get up and go. He had to.

"Should have had the cookies," she whispered, yawning. "Maybe the sugar would have made me less sleepy. You know you can rest if you want. It's okay."

It wasn't, and he knew that, but he couldn't explain that to her. So he let her fall asleep. And then he left, dragging himself back to his father and the punishment he knew was coming.

When Nancy woke up by the tree, she almost swore. She didn't understand why Frank would have gone back home, but she knew he had. She knew he'd gone, but he shouldn't have. She might not have seemed like much, but her father was a lawyer. He could get Frank away from there, get paperwork in place so that he never had to see his father again, and he'd be okay.

She turned and ran back toward her house. She knew that she couldn't afford to wait. Frank was in trouble—she'd seen how badly hurt he was—and she had to do something about it. She wasn't going to leave him to that, even if he thought he could go back and it would be okay. Maybe he was just scared or maybe his father said he was sorry, but men like that weren't sorry. He wasn't going to change. He was going to hurt his son again.

Nancy wouldn't let that happen. This wasn't just about criminals getting away with it. This was about her friend. She knew she barely knew Frank, but she didn't care. She knew he didn't deserve what was happening to him, and she was getting him out of there. Now.

She burst into the kitchen and frowned. "Hannah?"

Nancy went to the counter and picked up the paper sitting there. Gone to the store. Back soon.

She knew Hannah trusted her on her own, but she shouldn't have gone now, not when Nancy needed an adult to back her up. She reached for the phone, about to call the police, but then she stopped. If Frank went back, he might tell them that he'd walked into a door or something. He'd claim it was nothing because he was scared.

She'd seen her father's statistics about domestic violence, too, and she wasn't letting Frank be one of those numbers. She dialed her father's number instead, rolling her eyes at the universe and how against her it was when it went to voicemail.

"Dad, it's Nancy. Look... I'm not trying to panic you with this, but I made a friend... A neighbor boy who... Dad, he's in bad trouble. I know it. He's got bruises, and he's so scared, but he went back to that house again, and I know he's not safe. I'm going to get him out of there if I can. I think you should call the police if you get this, but I... I don't want it just to be some suspicions I had because I think he's so scared he won't tell them the truth about what his dad is doing to him, so I need to be there to see it with my own eyes. I'm sorry. I know there should be a better way and I should find it, but I can't not help him."

She hung up and went for her tools. She figured she'd have to break in next door, and she was going to do it. She had to get to Frank.

Frank heard the footsteps upstairs and winced. His father was back. He'd thought he was safe because the sleeper was still out, but he should have known. Nothing good ever stayed for long, even if good was just one guy snoring instead of holding him down for round two.

He curled up against the wall, knowing he should take off his clothes and get back into the bed where he belonged, but he couldn't make himself do it. He felt sick at the thought of it, always did. He did what his father said because not doing it was worse, but making himself get in there without orders wasn't the same.

He didn't want to do it. He couldn't. He'd be hit and forced down onto the bed as soon as his father came downstairs, but he still didn't move. Cooperating was so wrong, and he knew it was, even if he couldn't remember a time when his father wasn't doing this to him.

"Frank?"

He jerked away from the wall, shaking his head. "Nancy, you can't be here. You shouldn't. You have to go—"

"Not without you," she insisted, reaching for his hand. "I can't leave you here to be hurt. I saw the bruises. Don't tell me your father isn't doing that to you. You're not safe here, but I said I would make it so you were safe, and I will. My father's a lawyer. He can help. He can make it so you never have to see your father again. Come with me. Now."

"No," Frank said, trying to push her away. "You go. Now. If you don't, he'll kill you."

"He's probably said he'll kill you dozens of times, but if you come with me, he can't. You don't have to be afraid of him. He can't—"

"He'll kill you," Frank insisted. "He will. I know he will because he's done it before. He cut off one of their heads before. He's so... He's... Nancy, just go. Please. I don't want him to hurt you, but he will. He does it to all the other kids before he kills them. He'll do it to you. Go. Please."

She stared at him, but then she shook her head again. "Come with me. If we both leave now, he can't hurt either of us."

She tugged on his arm, urging him toward the door, and he somehow found himself stumbling along with her, knowing it was crazy but maybe she was right about her dad and maybe he could get away and not have to feel another man's hands on him.

He should have known better, and he did, but he let himself hope for a small second, and that second was too long. His father grabbed hold of him at the door, slamming him against the wall. "Where do you think you're going, whore?"

"Nowhere," Frank answered, just as Nancy threw herself at his dad.

"Get off of him. Leave him alone. You're not going to hurt him again."

His father laughed, picking Nancy up and scowling at her before he smiled. "Well, well, what have we here? A new toy to play with? How thoughtful of you, whore. I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun with this one."