A/N: Much gratitude to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter: ChrisCorso, Cherylann Rivers, Al, MargaretA66, novembershowers, and sm2003495. And to Nan girl (nice name!) for following.

"A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man." —Don Vito Corleone

Saturday, August 28, 2021

Nancy woke up groggy the next morning, still fully dressed, prompted by nature's call. She stumbled out of bed and blinked blearily, had another pressing thought that she might kill for a glass of water, and then froze when the room came into focus. This bedroom was foreign to her, the other half of the double bed blessedly unoccupied. Fortunately, her purse—with all its usual contents untouched—lay next to the bed. Then memories of last night returned to her; or, at least, the few memories that weren't lost forever to alcohol-induced haze or unconsciousness. Where was she?

Nancy opened the bedroom door and peered out a crack; then, seeing Biff, she said, "Oh, thank God," and rushed into the bathroom. A few moments later, she audibly thanked Jesus when she saw a cup on the bathroom sink, and guzzled water until she began to feel bloated. Then she grimaced at her appearance and attempted to fix her hair and wrinkled clothes the best that she could. Fortunately there were no marks on her. Her brief tryst in the alley had been unwelcome, once she'd realized it was with a stranger, but not violent.

When she emerged, Biff was frying something delicious-smelling at the kitchen stove. "Grand entrance last night, Nancy?" Biff called to her without turning around. A cup of coffee sat at the kitchen counter, evidently meant for her, and Nancy gratefully sank onto the stool in front of it.

"Sorry about that," Nancy responded sheepishly. "And thanks for taking me in."

"Any time. It happens to the best of us." Biff slid the contents of the frying pan onto a plate and put it in front of her. "Hope you like veggie omelets. You want water, or a painkiller?"

Nancy declined and focused on her food. "This is exactly what I needed," she said after a big swallow. "Thank you so much, Biff, you're a lifesaver."

Biff sat down catty-corner from her. "Anything for you. I've always wanted to find some way to pay you back. You got me involved with the gang."

Nancy laughed, then winced. By some miracle, she didn't have a headache; still, her head did not appreciate any sudden movements or loud sounds. "You give me too much credit for that. I think you all would have ended up friends even without my interference."

Biff slid a piece of paper in front of her. "Michael Prito's phone number," he explained. "He had to carry you in here last night. He's been up my ass all morning, asking how you're feeling. I promised him you'd contact him."

"I'll get a checkup and a scolding, I'm sure," Nancy joked, though she knew it would be about more than that. "I'm not surprised that Frank's not here. He told me last night that he had an appointment at the college today. He must have had to walk to his parents' house to pick up the Honda."

"Yeah. Oh, and Frank told his parents you were here last night, and fortunately they didn't ask any questions. Frank slept on the couch."

The irony was not lost on Nancy. She'd woken up in Frank's bed this morning after all.

Nancy wrapped her hands around the warm cup of coffee. Soon she felt the caffeine seeping throughout her system, warming her and waking her. She and Biff discussed their first mystery (which they'd needed considerable adult help to solve), his little sister Mary's antics during the couple of months when Nancy had babysat her, the boring classes they'd shared.

Then Biff glanced at the kitchen clock. "Stay as long as you want, Nancy. I've got an appointment with a lady friend."

It was time to put whatever limited clout she had with him to use. "Biff," Nancy said, laying a hand briefly on his forearm to keep him in place, "I was very sorry to hear about what happened to your father."

A troubled frown creased Biff's brow, and his posture slumped somewhat. Biff was truly huge, 6'5 of solid muscle, yet those two adjustments made him look like an uncertain kid. "It was a shock from hell," he said, his eyes unfocused, possibly looking into the past instead of the present. "My whole life, I'd thought I would be happy if something happened to him, but I'm not. It's just...the end. I never wanted him back in our lives, but I guess part of me was holding out for a fucking apology, you know? I think we earned that much. Now there's no chance of that—not that I really wanted to hear his voice again—I don't know. I know stuff like that only happens on Oprah. But I'm still glad he's gone, since he can never, ever come after my mom again."

"It brings up so many emotions, all at once," Nancy commented. "And every one of them makes sense."

"God, what a bastard. And it turns out that he was even worse than we'd thought, did all kinds of shit. Did you hear that he was living a half-hour away from us for the month before, might have been planning to do something? I look at Frank's dad, and it's like—" Biff shook his head, as if attempting to shake himself free from his thoughts. "But jealousy isn't helpful, either. It's better to have no dad than a dad like mine. And sometimes I wonder about nature versus nurture...I wonder how much of his weaknesses are in me. But thanks for the condolences." He stood up and began gathering his books. "I've got to be on time for this study date—but don't worry, I've already done my studying, just in case no studying actually gets done."

Nancy knew that she couldn't keep him longer. "Give my condolences to your family, too. I'm sure they're feeling some of the same things that you are."

"Mary never knew him, of course. He left before she was born. My mom cried, she was so happy when she heard—imagine being such a douche that your wife is happy when you die—but the people from the local parish have really helped them a lot. My mom and sister became Catholics a few years ago." Biff shrugged on his backpack and winced when they heard the ping of a text arriving on his phone. "Get in touch with Michael right now, please? As soon as I leave?"

"I promise. Thanks for everything, Biff." As soon as the door closed behind him, she sent Michael a text, thanking him for his help last night, reassuring him that she was fine. He insisted on a face-to-face meeting, so she agreed to meet him in another hour for a ride back to Laura and Fenton's house.

Nancy nursed a second cup of coffee thoughtfully, then did the dishes. She remembered Biff as the class clown in high school, contrasted with how introverted, serious, and smart he was during one-on-one conversations. She gazed around the combined kitchen and living room areas—very clean, especially for a bachelor/student abode—and didn't need to question why Biff would want to live with Frank rather than Joe. Frank was unresponsive to her texts, as he must have been busy registering for classes. Making her decision without Frank, she grabbed her phone and tentatively pushed open Biff's bedroom door.

Nancy sighed and began to take pictures. Biff's small bedroom was obsessive-compulsively neat. While this would make the room easier to search, it would also make it easy for Biff to perceive that things had been moved. She took her time, using the pictures on her phone to put everything back exactly as she'd found it.

The closet and drawers received only a cursory glance. Nothing but clothes. There was nothing under the bed but a shoe box of pictures, none of which contained images of his father or anything that seemed significant to his father's murder. His textbooks contained no scraps of paper, and the only other personal touch was a stack of clipped-together letters in his nightstand drawer. They were written in a large, dramatic script, signed by Karen; topics started off neutral, complaining of the school cafeteria food and a particularly strict professor.

Nancy carefully returned the letters to the clip and the stack to the drawer when the topics became more intimate, even though it felt pointless and hypocritical to give up when she'd searched thus far. She'd have had no problem reading them if this were any other case, but she and Biff moved in similar circles. Frank could read the letters himself if he thought they were significant.

When the appointed time arrived, Nancy hopped into Michael's truck. Traffic was congested in downtown Bayport, as it was the tail end of the tourist season, and Michael silently concentrated on driving for the short, mile-long trip. He turned off the truck around the corner from the Hardys' home, so Fenton and Laura couldn't see them. He made an abrupt gesture, passing a hand over his eyes, and Nancy was surprised to see that he was nervous.

"I hope I did the right thing last night," he began.

"Exactly the right thing. I can't thank you enough."

"I'd heard that you were coming back to Bayport. I figured you wouldn't want me to bring you back to Laura and Fenton like that...the girls are out of town, and I guess I could have taken you to my place—"

"Frank's place was perfect."

Michael's eye contact was poor, and Nancy realized that he was attempting to assess her. She straightened and faced him so he could get a good look at her. "No hickeys, no bruises, no scratches. I wasn't attacked last night, Michael."

Michael's shoulders lowered in visible relief. His gaze was compassionate, intense. "So what did happen last night, Nancy?"

Nancy forced herself to consider the question, even though she did not at all want to think about last night. "Can you give me your version first?"

"Sure." Michael took a deep breath. "I stopped for a drink on the way home. I walked in and the guys were joking about our cousin Angelo who had gone in the back to check on a drunk girl, and neither had ever returned. My family certainly doesn't remember you from years ago, and I don't think you ever met most of them—anyway, I went to check it out, no one was in the hallway, so I checked the side exit, and your expression…" Michael shook his head slowly. "I don't ever want to see that look on any woman's face again. The look of an unwilling woman, waiting for the man to get done and get off."

"So you didn't hear me tell him no."

"No, you weren't saying anything at all. But I only looked at the two of you for a half second before I reacted. Fortunately I remembered just in time to punch Angelo in the stomach, not the face. Otherwise everybody and their grandmother would be asking him today why he had a black eye."

It was now Nancy's turn to speak. It had gotten hot in the truck, and Nancy rolled down her window halfway. "I'd ordered a couple of beers, and your cousins kept buying me shots—"

Michael swore under his breath.

"—that I foolishly chose to drink. And after I came out of the bathroom, I felt an arm around me, helping guide me down the hallway. I was so loosened up from the booze that I started it, I made a move on Angelo first—"

"You thought Angelo was Tony. They're practically identical."

Nancy ignored Michael's interruption. "I was quite willing and eager in the hallway, but then, in the alley, I didn't want it any more. I couldn't feel my face, or my hands, I couldn't push him off me or twist out of it, I was trying to tell him to stop but I was blacking out and my mouth was incredibly dry and I'm not sure I could even make a sound." Nancy shook her head rapidly, trying to shake off the experience of last night. "Anyway, I'm not traumatized, I'm a strong person."

"It's okay if you're not okay," Michael said quietly. "Although I don't expect that you would choose me to confide in. You have girlfriends."

Nancy could handle the memories of the rough pawing and the pinching, but she sincerely wanted to forget the sensation of being trapped against the wall. "The bottom line is that it wouldn't have happened if I weren't drunk, and I will never be that drunk again in my life." She reached for the truck's door handle.

"I didn't ask to see you today in order to encourage you to blame yourself," Michael said irritably. "The guys shouldn't have sent you those drinks and they're going to hear about it from me. They've done it many times to many woman, just seeing what comes of it, and I'm going to stop by the pub and explain the definition of 'liability' to the owner. And Angelo knew that you were drunk, even though he was drunk himself. He's always been the badass of the family, but I wouldn't have expected him to be involved in something like this." He paused. "There should be some kind of consequence for what happened to you last night. I just want to keep it off the books. Let me take care of it privately."

Nancy removed her hand from the door handle. "As in, beat the hell out of him?"

Michael didn't respond.

Nancy appreciated his chivalry but also very much wanted to forget the incident. "I'd rather not make a big deal about this. If you're afraid of me causing a problem with your family, I couldn't report him without reporting myself, as I was underage drinking, remember? And if there were security cameras anywhere, it's obvious that I started it."

Michael looked frustrated. He took a long moment of silence, staring out of the windshield. Finally he said, "I talked to Angelo this morning, and he said he thought you wanted it. He's not going to mention it again, I'm not going to mention it again, our cousin who took him home isn't going to mention it again, and we might have nipped it in the butt. But I think we should take care of this, and then be done with it. You deserve it, plus, if Tony ever finds out about this—if he considers this to be an attempted rape against you—I am afraid that he would literally kill Angelo."

Nancy turned away in an effort to hide her smile. "Michael, Tony and I were a long time ago."

"Tony would do something, it wouldn't be good, it would affect the entire family, and you would be caught in the middle," Michael insisted. "My brother doesn't have the tantrums that he used to when he was a kid, but now he's a full grown, hot-blooded Sicilian man. And a karate master besides. If Tony finds out, I want to be able to tell him that I already handled it."

"If you were afraid of everyone asking questions about how Angelo might have gotten a black eye, how will you explain why you beat him up?" Nancy didn't wait for an answer. "Last night was a mess, and it's hard to assign each person a percentage of the blame. If you want to 'handle it,' you could... have a conversation with Angelo about consent. Tell him that consent should be enthusiastic, by both partners, every step of the way. Explain that just because a woman wants a kiss doesn't mean that she wants everything, and that she might change her mind."

Michael looked at her, an acutely worried, miserable expression on his face, and Nancy wondered how she could have possibly been afraid of him when she was younger.

"And you know," she finished, gathering her belongings and opening the truck door, "you aren't responsible for everything everyone does, says, or thinks. You're a good person, Michael."

Michael finally smiled for the first time since he'd picked her up. "Thank you, and I agree to your terms," he said as she got out and shut the door. "You'll call someone if you need to, Nancy? Promise me?" he called through the open window.

Nancy made the sign of the cross, blessing-style, both as a promise and to absolve him of further responsibility. Sometimes she thought of Joe as her impetuous younger brother, even though she and Joe were the same age, and now she wondered how her life could have been enriched with Michael as a wise, protective older brother.

Then she walked toward the Hardy residence, steeling herself for an afternoon of tough writing decisions whilst hungover and distracted. After taking a hot shower, of course. And tomorrow morning, first thing, she would check out the scene of the crime with Frank.