Hello everyone! I know I've already put a chapter up, but I'm stressed about the US election, so I thought some of you might enjoy a distraction. I'm not saying why I'm stressed, and I'm not trying to start a political debate, but there's always time for Francy, right?

Don't forget to review or leave a little comment. How are you going? What are your plans for the rest of the week? Just leave me a little something and I'll shut up and stop being so needy :D

Chapter Eight:

When Joe lumbered out of the guest room the next morning, he noticed the tension in the air. Frank was at the stove, making eggs. And Nancy was stubbornly spooning cement colored oatmeal into her mouth. Neither of them looked at each other.

Weird. When they'd been at the family home in Bayport, Nancy and Frank hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. They'd always shared an attraction but since their last case, they'd been inseparable.

"Good morning, Joe!" Frank said too loudly. "Want some eggs?"

"I've just made a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?" Nancy asked. Her voice was also strange and thin like it had been stretched out taut.

Joe looked between them. He was too tired for this. He'd barely got any sleep. And he had an itchy ass. He just wanted to lie in a bit longer with his Switch, or the latest bodybuilding magazine he'd bought at a gas station on the drive last night.

"Okay, mom… dad…" he said, trying to hide his irritation. "Stop faking. It's fooling no one. What's going on? You know, apart from last night's weirdness?"

"I'm going into the office," Nancy said at last, getting up and scraping her uneaten breakfast into the trash. As she stood, Joe noticed that she wore a smart, fitted skirt suit.

"Already? I didn't think-"

"Well, they've invited me to start. Unlike you two, the FBI doesn't seem to think I'm too fragile. And they're actually qualified to make that assessment. You know, given that they're world leaders in psychology and all that." Oof. Nancy's sarcasm could cut a diamond.

Joe opened his mouth in a retort, but Frank shot him a look.

Okay, so they'd hashed this out already. Joe was suddenly glad the guest room was down the hall. A shouting match wasn't what he wanted to wake up to. Not that he could imagine Nancy or Frank ever raising their voices. They'd just give each other glacial looks and speak in cutting voices, laboring over each syllable.

"I'm starting late today, so I thought I could catch you up on the case," Frank said, scratching the back of his neck. "And you can tell me about dad's assignment, too."

"Sure." Joe relaxed a little. "That sounds fine."

After Nancy had left, Joe rejoined his brother in the kitchen, freshly showered.

Frank had made a fresh pot of coffee and warmed up his eggs and was sitting with his paper open before him. He had his glasses on and was engaged in what he was reading. So much so, that he didn't notice Joe hovering in the doorway.

"Mm? Help yourself to food and stuff. My house is your house. All that," Frank said absently. "There's bacon. I know you like that."

Joe did. "I appreciate the sucking up, bro, but you don't need to. I know you and Nancy are a couple now. A proper couple. I don't need you to pretend nothing has changed. I just…" he fiddled with his knife and fork. "… I guess I was tired. And it's all so different. Since Dad… Family is important to me. But I have to adjust. And I will. Don't worry."

Frank pushed his paper away. "No, I know. I'm not sucking up. But you made me realize that I need to make more of an effort. With both of you. There's no reason we can't be a family."

"Okay, now I feel like you are mom and dad. You can stop that."

"Sorry, I just…" Frank rubbed his stubble.

And Joe realized his brother was tired. He didn't normally notice stuff like that (Frank was Frank, his big bro) but he saw his brother's hollowed-out eyes and thin lips. "Hey, it's okay. You're just looking out for all of us. But we can look out for ourselves. You're worried about Nan, and you should be. But she was never going to take kindly to your intervention."

"I don't know what else to do. I also can't just sit back."

"So, we stick with our plan. This case."

Joe stabbed a finger at the tiny story in the paper, which took up a meager paragraph. "Mia Robinson- Teen Last Seen at Williamsburg Address," he said, reading the headline. "What do we know about her? You know, apart from the usual "she lights up a room bullshit." What's she like? Where could she be?"

"I did some googling last night," Frank admitted. "After you and Nance went to bed. "I looked her up, but there's not much. I found the usual: Facebook, Instagram. All that kind of thing. But she doesn't post heaps. She mostly advertises parties, brunches. God, she has a lot of meals out with friends. And she volunteers at an animal shelter. But she's not the usual type to disappear. She doesn't seem to be involved with drugs or sex work. In fact, one of her latest posts was about how "Shirley Temples are underrated" would you believe it?"

Joe screwed up his nose. "A pretty girl like that? I would not."

Frank pushed back his chair. "Want to go get a coffee?"

Joe glanced at his half-empty cup, confused.

"From the shop where Mia works? They might have some more ideas, because…" Frank waved a hand at his laptop. "The internet is failing me."

Nancy pushed through the glass double doors into the FBI's NYC HQ. She'd been before when working on a case in the big apple. But this time felt different. She had a desk with a nameplate, now. At the check-in desk, an agent pointed to her desk, amongst a sea of chrome and clacking keyboards.

Self-conscious, Nancy sat down, removing her blazer and draping it over her chair. She opened her laptop and logged into the new network. Then, as she sat, waiting for her files to load, she rested her head in her hands and tried to breathe.

It hadn't been an especially long walk from the subway, and Nancy was in good shape. But she felt her heart fluttering in her chest.

Get a grip, Nancy, she thought. You're just stressed out after the last twenty-four hours.

"Hey girl!" a loud voice said in her ear.

She started and turned to see her friend Finn standing beside her. He had two Starbucks in hand and a smile that stretched broadly from ear to ear. It slipped slightly as he took in her pale skin and faded eyes.

"You alright?" he asked. "First day nerves?"

She nodded wordlessly, reaching for the cup. "I'll take that."

"Thank god. It was getting heavy."

Yeah. Right. Finn McNamara was up to his old tricks, acting like it was her who was doing him a favor, not the other way around.

He leaned against her desk. "So, what do you think of the new office?"

Nancy shrugged. "It's fancy. Nicer than Quantico. But still an office."

"Come on. Even you have to admit it's nice. It definitely beats the scuffed old desks we got when we first finished at the academy." Finn grinned again and handed her a folder.

"…My case?" she asked hopefully.

"Sorry. It's work stuff. You know, what we're paid for."

Nancy frowned. "Okay. But I'm kinda working something here."

"Yeah. I am too. But my supervisor says no dice. Not until you have something better. There's no evidence we have a serial killer in Brooklyn, so we'll just have to keep an eye out. Besides, we don't want an SK, right? You're still enjoying your domestic bliss?"

"Sure."

Finn frowned but Nancy held up a finger as her cell rang and she answered it.

"Sergeant Shulman," she said.

"Ms. Drew, I'm just calling to let you know that Leah Martin's ex Brett Warner has been charged with her abduction and murder. So it looks like we can put your serial killer theory to bed after all."