A/N: So I attempted to get over my writers' block on Front Cover by writing out one of those one-shots that's been floating around in my mind, and it turned out much angstier than the stuff I usually write... And sorry if I didn't quite manage to get the characters, well, in character. Nan and the Hardy Boys are a little hard for me to write these days. But at least I'm writing something. Hope you like it anyway. Please R & R!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

"Nancy. It wasn't your fault."

She remained silent, staring at the floor, lost in her own thoughts. They had been sitting in the hard plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room going on three hours now, and she hadn't shifted positions even once.

Taking one of his friend's icy hands in his, Frank tried again. "Nobody blames you, Nan. Least of all Bess and George."

No response. For a moment, at least. Then Nancy lifted her head. She straightened up in her chair, gently untangling her fingers from Frank's. "That's not the point." she told him, almost in frustration, her red-rimmed blue eyes staring into his brown ones, trying to make him understand.

The harsh gaze Nancy was giving him made Frank wonder if getting her to talk was actually progress or not. It was times like this when he wished he and Nancy really had the psychic connection everyone said they did. "Nan, you heard the doctor. They're going to be fine. No real harm done." He half-wished Joe was here; his brother was much better at sorting out emotions than Frank. Frank was the go-to guy for help with math problems and crossword puzzles- it took his little brother to understand loss and feelings and girls with tear-streaked faces. Sometimes Frank envied Joe: what good were book smarts in situations like this one?

But Joe wasn't here. He was busy doing things, being the calm one for once. Identifying the kidnapper from a lineup down at the police station. Giving a statement. Calling Bess's and George's parents to let them know that their children were safe, albeit being treated for minor bruising and malnutrition at Bayport Hospital. Letting Frank and Nancy have the "space" he thought they needed to talk, cry, kiss, work things out... whatever.

A nurse entered the waiting room. "Nancy Drew? Frank Hardy?"

Frank nodded, looping an arm around Nancy's waist to help her to her feet. "That's us."

"You're the ones who checked in Elizabeth Marvin and Georgia Fayne?"

Nancy nodded this time, refraining from correcting the woman on the subject of her friends' given names, which they hated.

"Well, we've got good news. Both girls have extensive bruising from the ordeal, but no serious ones. All internal organs are intact and their brains are functioning as normal. We've got them hooked up to IVs to rehydrate them, and feeding tubes as well, but they should be fine and ready to be released in a matter of days." The nurse smiled, noting the looks of relief on the faces of both teens. "Oh, and by the way, Miss Fayne has just woken up. We usually wait for the families to get here to admit visitors, but in light of the situation..."

"We've called their parents. They're on the way." Frank promised. He checked his watch. "But they've still got at least an hour and a half's worth of driving before they get here, so...?" He let the statement trail off as a question.

"Yes, you may see them."

Frank kept his supportive hold on Nancy's waist as they made their way down the bleak white halls to Bess and George's hospital room. Nancy wanted to pull away, wanted to isolate herself, but having someone to lean on felt so good, she couldn't bring herself to step out of his grip.

"Nancy." a soft voice croaked upon their entering the room. George Fayne, one of Nancy's best friends, lay in the bed closest to the door, looking up at Nancy and Frank with shining eyes. A few feet away lay Nancy's other best friend and George's cousin, Bess Marvin, still sleeping soundly.

"Oh, George!" Nancy gasped, rushing forward. Frank faded back against the wall as Nancy sat next to George and embraced her carefully, trying not to put her in any more pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." George rasped, sitting up against her headboard. "You came through for us once again." Sitting up, the purple and yellow bruises on her arms were that much more apparent, as were the hollowed circles under her wide, dark eyes and the gaunt, thin frame of her usually healthy-looking face.

But I also put you in danger. Nancy thought. It's my fault you were in trouble in the first place. That man kidnapped you, beat you, starved you, all to get to me! Don't you understand that? She kept the thoughts to herself, knowing that speaking them aloud would only make George angry. She had had this fight with her friends many times, and they always insisted that accepting the risks of her job was their choice, and that her friendship was worth anything life threw at them. Every time her casework put her friends in danger, every time one of them got hurt helping her catch a criminal, every time one of them was targeted just for being someone she loved, her friends forgave her. But Nancy knew one day something would happen that they wouldn't forgive her for. And how could Nancy forgive herself?

"Stop that." George said suddenly. "Stop thinking that."

Nancy's eyes met her friend's guiltily. "I wasn't." she lied. She flashed a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and picked up George's hand, gently running her fingers over the cracked skin and bruised, protruding knuckles. "How are you feeling? Can I get you something? An extra blanket? A glass of water?" A can of mace? A bodyguard?

"Thanks, Nan, but I feel a lot better now. I'm good."

"I'm glad." Nancy sighed and nodded thoughtfully, standing and making her way to the other side of the bed to gaze at beautiful, blonde-haired Bess. Her stomach clenched painfully as she took in the sight of the sickly-looking black eye marring Bess's delicate features. The sheets were down at Bess's stomach, revealing a waistline significantly smaller and frailer than it had been when Bess was kidnapped almost a month ago, accompanied by hints of a matching ribcage. Bess finally lost those five pounds she's always going on about. Nancy thought thickly. And then some. She reached down and pulled the blankets back over the sleeping girl.

Frank and George were staring at her warily. She wasn't watching them, but she could feel their eyes on her back. "I'm sorry." she whispered down to the girl in the bed. She was afraid she was going to lose it. Eyes suddenly brimming with tears, she whirled around and fled from the room, yanking the door open and colliding with blond, handsome Joe Hardy.

Frank's eyes were on them as Joe quickly took Nancy's arms to steady her. He pulled the shaking girl to his chest, feeling her tears through his t-shirt, and glanced from a frustrated George to his confused and perpetually concerned older brother.

Frank wondered if he ought to stay with George or take care of Nancy, although it was obvious he didn't know what she needed. Joe answered his silent question by glancing down at the girl in his arms, then back up at his brother, mouthing, "I'll be back."

Frank nodded as Joe took Nancy's hands with one hand and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, leading her back towards the waiting room. He collapsed in the chair next to George's bed. That was weird.

"Joe will know what to do." George whispered reassuringly.

"I know he will." Frank muttered, almost to himself, before he turned his full attention toward his wounded friend.

"Nancy." Joe said her name over and over, pulling her into a secluded corner of the waiting room, empty except for one elderly woman with a newspaper. "Nancy." he lowered her onto a couch, brushing aside several year-old magazines, and sat down next to her.

She buried her head in her hands, her shoulders quivering with sobs. The elderly woman looked up at her sympathetically before going back to her reading, trying not to stare.

"Nancy." Joe wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a one-sided hug and trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation of her salty tears dampening the skin at the base of his neck. He rocked her slightly back and forth, murmuring comforting nonsense into her hair.

Her sobs slowed gradually until she was sitting still, in his arms, her face buried in his neck. She brought her arm up to wipe his neck dry with her sleeve, and Joe stifled a laugh, feeling much less miserable without the irritating wetness seeping into him.

Nancy felt him laugh rather than heard it and cracked a brief smile. "Sorry." she said in a watery voice.

"Forget it." Joe said lightly, waiting to hear her explanation. He wasn't disappointed.

"It's my fault." Nancy hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out, and she kept her head tucked beneath his chin, unwilling to face him, not wanting to hear his well-meaning but ultimately false words of "Of course it isn't."

Joe's mind raced. How many times had he cried and said those exact words? More than he could remember. "Yeah." he murmured, wondering if it was wise to give the one response he'd never had.

Nancy stiffened in his arms. "What?"

"I know." Joe said simply, absently tracing little circles on her back with his thumb.

"You do." Nancy whispered back, tears threatening to return. Whether it was a statement or a question, not even she knew. "Really?"

Now it was Joe's turn to stiffen. She could feel his muscles tense under her fingertips as he took a deep breath and said, "Better than anyone."

"I can't handle the guilt from constantly getting my friends hurt!" Nancy's voice rose unintentionally with the force of her statement.

"Yeah? Well, try handling the guilt from getting the girl you love killed!" Joe was actively trying to keep his voice genial, but it ended up as a strangled hiss.

The words hit Nancy like a punch to the stomach. Joe was talking about Iola Morton, who'd been killed in a car bomb meant for him and Frank. Nancy had never really thought about Iola much; she'd never met the girl and had always sort of accepted her death as part of Joe's past.

She pulled away from Joe, choking back the reaction she knew he didn't want. It wasn't your fault. No. It wasn't intentional, that much was true. Never intentional. But his fault? Yes. Nancy knew the story well enough to know that if Joe hadn't been who he was (an amateur detective and the son of a prominent private investigator), if Iola hadn't been involved with him at all, if Joe hadn't been flirting with that other girl like he had, angering his petite brunette girlfriend who flew out to the car, alone and hurt... Iola would still be alive. Perhaps the car bomb would have claimed Joe or Frank, or both, or even Frank's girlfriend, Callie Shaw. But Iola could have survived. It was partially your fault.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say. But that would be redundant. "How do you deal with it?" she whispered instead. "The guilt?"

Joe shrugged. "You live with it. You accept that it was partly your fault and partly uncontrollable, unknowable circumstances. You stop thinking about the what-ifs and the would've-should've-could'ves.

You move on and hope it never happens again, even though you know it will."

It was the saddest speech Nancy had ever heard. Joe turned his head to face her, and she stared into his clear blue eyes for a long moment. She leaned in to plant a comforting kiss on his cheek. Then, before either of them knew it, it was no longer a friendly peck; his lips were on hers, his tongue in her mouth and her arms twined around his neck.

The woman with the newspaper was called by the receptionist and stood, brushing by them without a word, still trying desperately not to stare at the couple as they kissed in the middle of the waiting room of Bayport Community Hospital.

A shuddering sigh escaped Nancy's throat as Joe gathered her into his arms, pulling her practically into his lap. Her eyes were closed when he pulled away breathlessly a second later, and the sight of her swollen lips and flushed face made him breathe even more heavily. "Nan..." he murmured quietly.

Her eyes flickered open and she licked her lips nervously, looking at the floor, the walls, anything but Joe's face.

"I'm sorry." Sorry about the kiss, not the words.

Nancy's gaze snapped to his. "Don't be." she said deliberately. "It's not your fault."

Joe blinked in surprise. "Not yours either." he replied, and both teens knew that they had both wanted it.

I love you, Nancy thought. Smiling weakly, she said, "I'm ready to go back in."

Joe returned the smile, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. He wasn't completely sure what had just happened, but it was the kind of situation he was happy to investigate. As they walked back towards Bess and George's room, Joe released her hand, giving Nancy the space he thought she'd want. He was surprised when he felt her fingers edging their way back into his grip.

"And, Joe?" she whispered as she reached for the doorknob of the hospital room with her free hand. "Thanks."

Anytime, Joe thought. And meant it.

A/N: Oh, my. I don't really think it helped clear up my block much. And my title... ugh. Sounds like the name of a Seinfeld episode. So not. But please, tell me what you thought. Reviews keep me writing!