He hadn't been entirely comfortable with going out with Danielle. Until she had sensed that, maybe, and pointed out that they were just friends. No pressure. No expectations. And then she made some sort of veiled allusion to the few dates he'd taken her on before his reunion with Nancy, reminded him of how, at one time, there had been some history still left for them. It was their third, again; a bad number for them, she joked, and he laughed along with her, over the bottle of wine he'd ordered. Remembered the way she had appeared to him, back then, during the time he had almost convinced himself that he would never see Nancy again, but now he was certain. Danielle was wearing a navy dress, open-toed shoes, lips bright and laughing up at him. She was hanging on his every word, but he knew that, expected it, was almost nearly drinking it in. But he didn't order dessert to split with her, they paid their share on the check, and when they pulled up at his hotel room she did ask him, eyes bright, a grin across her lips, whether she could come in. Made some joke about it, in fact. Much later he didn't remember exactly what they were doing. He was looking for something, standing between the twin beds, and Danielle was standing, laughing up into his eyes, on her heels, their bodies close together, her green eyes up into his, his face relaxing into an answering smile. When she reached up, grabbed him by the collar, brought his face down to hers, and kissed him. -- "Come on in." She stepped back, her eyes down, away from his face, then walked toward the kitchen. He stared at the soles of her bare feet as he followed, afraid to look around and feel the darkness rush in, close over his head. The curtains he had chosen at her behest, the furniture that had been his and hers, the couch where they had watched television and kissed and touched each other like hormonal teenagers-- He cleared his throat. "Okay." He couldn't pinpoint what about her was making him uneasy, but he felt on edge. Her hair was in a casual ponytail, her shirt untucked and falling to her thigh, her jeans' cuffs rolled up above her bare ankles. Her eyes. She looked so tired. She wrapped her too-slender fingers around a warm mug of tea standing on the kitchen bar and stared down at it, her gaze wide and unwavering. Then she looked up, startled. "I'm sorry. Do you want something to drink?" He directed his gaze at the lower right cabinet. The last time he had been there, a menagerie of glowing glass bottles would have met his need. But maybe those bottles weren't there anymore, maybe she had sipped cocktails while laughing at something her boyfriend had said, maybe his hands had been everywhere and had smudged Ned's fingerprints from every surface in their house. "No. Thank you." Nancy sniffed, swiped under her nose. Ned's eyes wandered up to hers, unwilling but unable to stop, to the dark pink rims. "The--the babies are upstairs. I'll go get them." At the foot of the stairs he paused, watching the movement of her hips as she climbed. The upstairs was shrouded in darkness, broken by the fading afternoon sunlight. The house, their house, her house, was so still, so quiet. He followed her up without knowing why. Picturing another man's clothes discarded on the bathroom floor, on the floor of their--her--bedroom. Another man following her into the pale yellow nursery with its twin cribs, the nursery he had repainted the week before their wedding. Ned felt something terrible and dark rising in him as he watched her bend over the crib, so so quiet, her fingertip sliding over their daughter's forehead in a touch soft as a whisper. She straightened and walked back into the hallway, beckoning him back, passing so close to him that he could feel her breathe. "They're asleep right now," she whispered, and for the first time she met his gaze. The darkness filled everything, every crack, every bit of breath in him, the space between his teeth, between his fingers. Everything. The center of his brain was dark red. His bones were hot. His fingers closed around her shoulder and he slammed her into the wall. Her gaze didn't waver from his. "Ned, I--" "Shut up." Obediently her mouth closed. She looked down at his mouth briefly, her eyes filling. Her lower lip trembled once, but she took a slow, audible breath and met his gaze, misery in her own. "Tell me why you did it," he said, the darkness in his words, his voice trembling. "Tell me what happened, why you did this." Nancy shook her head, her voice just below a whisper. "I can't." Ned's rage rose, and as his frustration became an audible moan Nancy darted an anxious gaze at the cracked nursery door. He marched her down the hallway, to the next door, his grip iron on her unresisting arms. "Why did you do this?" He slammed her into the wall again, momentarily satisfied by the solid sound of her body striking the unresisting surface, the twinge of pain across her face. "Ned, I--" His gaze caught silk gleaming in the darkness. Her cotton shirt covered a smooth camisole trimmed in lace, against her flushed skin. She followed his gaze and he jerked open her shirt. "What, is he coming by later? Were you just getting ready for him?" He could feel blood flooding his face. She squirmed under his grip and he redoubled it. "Please let me go," she whispered. "I'll touch you anytime I damn well please." Her mouth fell open and a tear slid down her face, down her throat, to the opening of her torn shirt. "Don't hurt me." "Because he doesn't like bruises, does he. You told me that." He looked over, at the unmade bed, and swung her with him. "Do you fuck him there, in our bed?" And his voice was trembling. And his face was hot and wet with sudden treacherous tears. Nancy reached down and finished unbuttoning her shirt, and he watched, the darkness pounding with his heart but holding his tongue still. She drew a trembling breath and then touched his shirt, hesitant, then steady as she unbuttoned his. "No," she murmured. Her tongue peeked out as she licked a tear from her lips. He tasted the salt as he kissed her, pressing his mouth hard against hers, and she didn't resist. She reached down and tugged his shirt out of his pants, but when she started to unbutton them he grabbed her hands and forced them to her sides, still kissing her. "No, no," he whispered, his face wet with their mingled tears. "No, this shouldn't be happening." She tilted her head. "But I want you. I don't deserve you, I know, I know how much you want to hurt me." He grabbed her again and held her hands behind her back, and her mouth opened, her head tilted back. A fresh wave of tears slipped down her cheeks. "Nancy, God--" He released her and was silent as she stripped, her wrists still bearing the red marks from his fingers, her upper arms glowing with warm, fresh bruises, all from him. He breathed through his mouth as she took his clothes off, and then she pulled back the covers. "He's never touched me here." Ned didn't lift his feet, but slid them over the carpet until he was facing her, standing over her as she sat on the bed, her face tilted back to see his. "We shouldn't." She grasped his hands, her touch light, and slowly leaned back, pulling him on top of her, surrounding her body with his. "It's always been you," she whispered. "You've always been the only one I wanted. Don't leave me right now. Don't leave me alone. Don't hurt me again." He kissed her, her face wet under his, her body shaking with sobs under him. The darkness dispersed as night fell, as she forgave the bruises, as his body found its way into hers. And Ned woke in his cold bed, alone, shaking, his face wet with tears, unable to sleep. -- The nightmare stayed with him. When he woke, he thought it would be to her face. During the day he found himself reaching for his cell phone, unconsciously, an unsteady sense of peace in him that he hadn't felt for nearly half a year now. When his group met for a round-table discussion he could still feel it in the back of his head, like a blurred memory. But they had never made up from a fight like that. Not after the children had been born. And even when Danielle spoke to him, the words seemed to be coming from far away. -- Her husband's name was on her lips when Nancy woke. She turned her head and expected him to be beside her. She could remember him there, so clearly. He had been so angry, angry at her for betraying him, and she had told him over and over that she hadn't, she never would, but in her head it was all bound up with Jean and the way she had expected and known he had wanted to react to her admission. But he couldn't. And there had been evidence, proof, backing up what he'd halfway believed and expected to happen all along, but somehow, in the dream, she had diffused his anger again, had convinced him to stay with her, if only for a little while. She had known that if he left, again, she would be exposed and vulnerable to it. And now he was gone. She was in the same pajamas she'd worn to bed. The babies weren't in the nursery, they were in the crib beside her bed. Nancy threw her arm back over her eyes and wished for dreamless sleep. Hana, noticing her movement, cried out in hunger, and Nancy stifled a groan as she tossed back the covers. Amy was at the table downstairs, her hair plaited into two brown braids on either shoulder, a pair of denim shorts pulled over her purple and green swimsuit. She was eating a bowl of sweetened cereal, her legs kicking at the rungs of her chair. After breakfast they were all to set off for a day at the local water park. Amy had been looking forward to the trip for the week since Hannah had had the bright idea to go there. Nancy glanced at her cell phone. The screen was dim. It blinked back at her, strong signal, network secure, no new messages, text or voice. She sighed, inwardly. Amy liked the minivan. She liked riding in the front seat, adjusting the air conditioning so it blew the hair which had escaped her braid off her forehead. She liked holding the map and announcing turns, holding the overpriced bottle of soda Nancy bought at a gas station in the cupholder instead of between her bare thighs. She liked that she was able to see the towering signs of the waterpark before Hannah, and could shriek and gasp with excitement. She liked making tugging motions at the truck drivers, getting them to blow their horns. She didn't know that Nancy knew the turns to the waterpark as well as the back of her own hand. That Nancy had been there with Ned before, with Bess and George, in string bikinis and ludicrous floppy hats and thonged sandals, buying overpriced nachos and sharing threadbare towels, their hair stiff with chlorene. She didn't know that Nancy was often smiling along with Amy at the truck drivers, and the sight of the two of them was what caused the prolonged horn blasts over the sounds of traffic. That, and the triangle bikini top, bright and filled to capacity. She didn't stay away from her cell phone too long that day. After a brief tour of the more exciting rides, Amy spent most of the day splashing happily in an inner tube around the slow-moving river ride. Even Hannah joined her for a few cycles. Nancy and Hannah had erected a large opaque umbrella over the babies, and Nancy lay beside it, sunning herself, ignoring all the appreciative glances thrown her way. The wedding ring on her finger turned the skin to comparatively pale gold beneath, against her tan. Despite the dream she felt peaceful. She'd resisted the idea at first, but maybe this was what she had needed. A day to lay back and relax and forget (but she couldn't, not with her silent phone on a corner of her blanket, out of the sunlight and the reach of their children) for a little while. But that wasn't it, that wasn't right. She felt like she did when she'd just hung up the phone with him after a pleasant conversation, one that had ended in the promise of a bottle of wine with dinner and more afterwards. The kind of conversation they hadn't had in months. Maybe they would never be friends again. Nancy turned over, onto her stomach, palms flat on the blanket and her chin against them. The idea of that, an old idea now, but one that had not yet stopped hurting. In a very basic way she and Ned had never been friends; in another, he'd been the best friend she'd ever had. He'd been attracted to her from the first, and she to him, and it was more than physical, more than mental or emotional or anything so simple to explain. He knew her inside out, in ways Bess and George never would, and that intimacy had been missing long before he had left her with an empty house and an accusation even her memory could not fully disprove. It was an echo of that, of the shared familiarity, that kept her glancing at her cell phone, waiting for a call or message that, in the end, didn't come. So she fed the babies, her skin warm and dark to the touch, as Hannah and Amy made some concoction out of banana pudding and grated vanilla wafers and banana slices. Hannah even, with a wink, served her a drink with a paper umbrella skewering a pineapple and cherry. Amy was delighted to receive one as well, and finished her shirley temple in record time. By bedtime she was angry at herself for believing, even for a moment, that he was going to call. That she would have been weak enough to pick up the phone and read the message or hear his voice, if he had. And that the thought of it was enough to set her heart pounding. -- Ned bunched the pillow under his head, unable to sleep and unaware that on the other side of Chicago his wife felt the same. *If it were true...* He had put off Danielle for the evening, barely noticing her disappointed pout, the pit of his stomach still unsteady when he remembered the sudden startled moment when she had pulled him down and pressed her lips to his. And even though he had told Danielle that he never wanted to see Nancy again *he doesn't like bruises does he* he could still see her in that darkened bedroom, camisole glowing under her shirt, tears staining her cheeks. Could remember her pleading with him not to leave her. Bruises. That wasn't Michael, that was Jean. *i know you want to hurt me* He did want to hurt her. Impossibly badly. But it also scared him, how much he wanted this patently impossible thing to be true. That night was when he called Strathman. That night was when he found out that Nancy hadn't been back to see him since just after Christmas. But the rage at that discovery was soon replaced with the persistent sensation that there was a string around his finger, reminding him of something important. Something he hadn't done. *don't leave me* He still couldn't sleep. He was in a meeting on Monday, while the girls were with her, he was bored and drawing a line of alternately shaded triangles on the very important looking pad of legal foolscap on the table before him. His pulse rushed in his ears as he found himself writing, She said she would be too busy but she was always gone. She had always been gone. And even after he had started suspecting her of infidelity, she had kept up the fiction, saying her sessions with Strathman had gone well. Ned sat up straighter, and Brad across the table noticed, shot him a look. Thursdays. He remembered Thursdays when Nancy had clung to him, overaffectionate, brushing off any concern about missing her appointment. He remembered to look in her eyes when she had said that her sessions had gone well. That hadn't been subterfuge. That had been fear. He pushed himself back from the table before he thought, and Brad's already concerned look turned to one of alarm. He stared at his watch, waiting for the break. -- She was in the grocery store when her cell phone emitted a sharp tone, indicating that someone had left her voicemail. Her stomach began a slow flip as she looked down at the tiny screen. She held off until she was in the car, afraid that if she listened while in the store that she would burst into tears. She fiddled with the radio, adjusted the air conditioning, then grabbed her phone and called up her voicemail. "Nancy." His recorded voice was solemn. Her heart sank. She thought about hanging up, her sight blurring as she gasped in a breath. "I want to see you," he continued, and she heard the same tremble in his voice as she felt in her breath. "This afternoon. Let me... let me know." He cleared his throat. "I need to see you." She pressed her fist to her mouth as his message ended. Amy was in the backyard running around in the sprinkler, screaming, a thin blonde-haired girl running around with her. Nancy watched them through the glass doors to the backyard, as she stepped into the kitchen. Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table going through a cookbook with paper and pencil at her hand. She looked up as Nancy pushed the door open. "What's wrong," she said immediately. "Ned wants to see me," she said, then took a breath. -- She drove too fast and arrived fifteen minutes early, then sat motionless in her car and thought about turning back. She ran her fingers through her hair and put the top up on her convertible. Once she actually forced herself to leave the car, she found it nearly impossible to lift her feet or even look over at the park. She felt angry, afraid, and the slightest, the slightest bit hopeful. Mostly angry, though, angry at what he had done, angry that she had come running at his call. But the hope was enough to bring her there. She drew a deep breath, all the way down to her toes, and started walking into the park. Ned was already there, his hands shoved in his pockets, and she drank him in despite herself, her anger draining away. He was pacing. But when he caught sight of her, time seemed to stop. Everything seemed to stop. Her steps shortened until she was still, staring at the man whose ring she still wore. She could see new, fine lines on his face. His hair was a bit longer. Faded jeans and a dark t-shirt. The expression on his face was the one she had imagined he would have when he came to their door and said he was sorry for all he had put her through and wanted her to take him back: the slight rise in his eyebrows, the warmth of his eyes, the hesitant curve of his smile at seeing her. The almost hungry way he looked at her, after spending a month apart, memorizing her again. But his left hand was ringless, for the first time in a long time. *Ned,* she thought, and there was agony in the single syllable, but she could not force herself to speak it. It lay on her lips heavy, and as he stared at her, his own silent lips parted. She looked almost the same as she had in his dream. But she had dressed carefully for him this time, no frayed cuffs or loose button-down on this version of his wife. Smooth form- fitting brushed cotton sleeveless top, tailored straight-cut pants ending in sensible thick-heeled shoes. No necklace gleaming around her neck, but the rings, the all-important rings that he'd believed would keep it from ever happening again, still glowed serenly around the ring finger of her left hand. Hair pulled back, black leather purse bouncing lightly against her hip. The usual summer tan gleaming on her skin. But her face looked thinner, and even her makeup could not hide the smudged shadows just above her cheeks. Nancy let herself imagine for a moment how it would feel to throw herself into his arms, to let him hold her. And then she remembered how he had told his attorney to treat her, the mateless ring on her finger, and she found the strength to still her legs. "Nan," he said. "Hey," she said softly. She felt the same weak-kneed sensation he'd been able to create in her since they had met, ten years before. "Thought you said you never wanted to see me again." He half-smiled at his feet. "Yeah, well," he said. "No, really," she said. "I thought our children would never see us in the same room and we'd have to divide up funerals and graduations until one of us died." He looked up at her. "Did you really think that?" She closed her eyes briefly as he stepped close to her. "It's not like that's how I wanted it. But your lawyer was very clear." "I was hurt," he said. "Now I am," she said, amazed at the steady tone of her voice. "Why should you be? You're the one who gave up on us." "I told your mouthpiece, and I'll tell you, I never slept with Michael. I don't care what Danielle made you see..." "I didn't mean that," Ned replied, though his eyes had softened slightly. "You stopped going to counseling." She laughed. "Right. Yeah, well, after you left it seemed a little pointless." "You haven't been since January." "What kind of joke is this?" "I've talked to the doctor. He hasn't seen you." Nancy flushed. "He's lying," she said. "Why would he lie?" "I don't know," she burst out, frustrated. "You thought I gave up on us?" "You didn't act like it was much fun to be married to me, there at the end." She shrugged and half-turned away from him. "That didn't mean I didn't want you there," she replied quietly. "I didn't give up on us. I didn't start seeing Michael, I didn't sleep with him, I didn't..." She felt tears of rage and frustration well up in her eyes, and covered her face from his sight before he could see them. "Come with me," he said softly. "What?" she asked, wiping at her eyes. "Come with me to see the doctor. Prove to me that he's lying, and I'll believe you." She glared at him, hard, her eyes still gleaming. "You believe him over me?" "What was I supposed to think?" "Maybe that one of us could actually be faithful to this relationship." "What good is faithful when I can't even breathe without you yelling at me?" "Look, I'm sorry, is that what you want to hear? Because I am, I'm sorry if whatever I did drove you away, I never wanted that to happen. My God, Ned... is this why you're with her now, because I yelled at you for not taking out the trash?" "And for not... wait, with *who*?" "You're with Danielle. And don't bother denying it." "I'm not..." He shook his head, feeling the ice water in his veins, certain she could see through it. "I'm not with Danielle. Now just, please, Nancy, come with me right now. Come with me to see the doctor." She stayed rooted to the spot. "Why are you lying to me," she said softly, unable to stop another tear from streaking down her cheek. "I'm not lying. And if you don't come with me right now and get this settled tonight, I am going to throw you over my shoulder and drag you there." -- "You weren't here." Nancy looked down at his appointment book, disbelief on her face. She took the page between her fingers, felt the weight of it. "You fabricated this." She looked up at Dr Strathman. "Why would you do this?" Ned's mouth was a line, and her gaze at him was desperate. "Get inside my head," she said to Strathman. "Prove it to him. Prove that I was here with you and not cheating on my husband." Once she was under she told it immediately, like a confession that could not leave her fast enough. Under the doctor's guidance she described to him and her husband Michael's seduction, the unwilling but total succumbing to him. She hadn't been anywhere near Strathman's office when she'd told Ned she would be. The notation Strathman had made when Nancy called in January to cancel the rest of her appointments until further notice, Nancy confirmed. She hadn't been able to tell Ned, but she had, on occasion, been able to resist the pull, and those were the nights she had spent with Ned instead of going to Michael. The string Ned had imagined loosed, but he felt a sinking in his stomach as he and the doctor exchanged glances. "He said he'd kill the baby." Nancy was crying and Ned was watching her, his heart beating uncomfortably hard, his face flushed and warm. "Who said he'd kill the baby?" the doctor asked. "Michael," Nancy replied. His voice came out harsher than he had intended; he had been silent during the abbreviated interrogation, because Nancy didn't trust him quite yet, not enough to be the one poking around with the flashlight. "Michael said who would kill the baby?" Ned asked. Nancy visibly shrank in front of them, into her clothes, into the seam of the couch, drawing her limbs in tight, pulling her head down. She was cowering, and her lips trembled forming words neither of them could read. Strathman glanced over at Ned, warning him from speaking again, then took her through a relaxation technique until she wasn't shaking. She took longer to answer the question, though, her fingers tracing meaningless patterns on the couch cushions, and Ned's hands gripped the armrests of his chair in white-knuckled dread. "Is Michael friends with Jean?" Ned could feel his skin crawling at the sound of that name, and Nancy responded the same way, shrinking slightly back again. But she nodded, lazily, like a child. "Michael is keeping me for him," she said, simply, and would not elaborate. Knowing the session was almost over, Ned held up three fingers, and Strathman nodded. "Did you ever sleep with Michael?" "No," Nancy replied. "Did you sleep with Jean?" "Not since last time, not since Ned came and found me." The doctor had damped her response to what she was saying so fully that she said the words with almost no emotion. "Have you slept with anyone else while you've been married to Ned?" She shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Not this time. No one else." Ned left the room as Strathman began to bring her out of it, flipping his cell phone open. He hadn't bothered to have the doctor ask the fourth question, the big one, bonus round, because he already knew the answer but he didn't want to hear it from her lips. *Jean used Michael to get to you this time, could he do it again? *Oh yes; of course, with anyone, anywhere, anytime, they say the word and I fall.* -- "Come back with me." They hadn't touched, had barely spoken since leaving the doctor's office. He had prescribed some pills to help her relax, and Ned had taken the scrip to the pharmacy, paid for it, and the clear orange bottle lay in the valley between her knees as she stared out the passenger window of his Jaguar. She had also been crying the entire time, with her gaze locked out the window, as though he didn't know the sound of it and wouldn't be aware as long as she didn't look at him. Hurriedly she brushed at her face, aware of the swelled red skin around her eyes, and glanced in his direction. "Why?" They had pulled up at the park, next to her car. Her hand was on the door handle. She was already fumbling for her purse. "I don't want you to be alone tonight." "You mean you don't want to be alone tonight," she shot back, but she hadn't opened the door. "I mean that based on what you said in there, you're in danger. I don't want you to be alone. There are already people watching our parents, and Hannah and Amy." "Oh, and you'll be the one watching me?" "Yeah." He had caught the expression in her eyes as she asked the question, and his heart sank. "Got a problem with that?" She scowled, but was still considering. "If that's true why don't you just..." She didn't continue. He trailed a fingertip down the back of her hand. "It's too soon." She nodded. She picked up the bottle of pills and shook them absently. "Too soon," she repeated. "Okay." -- Ned had a strange sense of deja vu as he prowled around his hotel room, smoothing the cover on the already-made bed, checking for extra pillows and blankets to use while sleeping on the couch, tidying the month's worth of clutter on his bathroom sink. She had asked him how long they were to use this arrangement, and he had been vague because he himself didn't know; as long as it takes was what he wanted to tell her, but he didn't know how long it would be and he knew that there was little point in leaving their daughters with Hannah while they waited in a hotel room for something to happen. Besides, maybe nothing would, maybe Ned's mere presence would be enough to scare Michael and Jean off, but Ned had his doubts. He couldn't go home, not like this. Once she arrived she told him that she would need to return to the house in the morning, because the milk she had left for the babies would last through ten o'clock at the latest and their shrink appointment was for eleven. Her red-rimmed eyes avoided his, and she changed for bed early, into a tank top and flannel pants. They watched television on the couch in his room, pointedly not touching, but when her tranquilizer started taking effect and her head lolled, he reached over without thinking and led her head to his shoulder. She fought him a little at first, but he was stronger, especially as her eyelashes fluttered. When he thought she was finally out he picked her up and carried her to the bed, put her under the covers and pulled them over her, sat down beside her and called the front desk for an 8 AM wakeup call. When he hung up the phone Nancy was blinking sleepily up at him. "Come to bed?" she asked. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I was gonna sleep in there." "Please," she said, then yawned, and he could sense no guile or pretense in her. She held his gaze for another long moment, and he finally gave in. The bedroom was dark and quiet, with only the sound of the air conditioner hushed in the corner, when he turned to her, watched her face for a moment, then cupped his hand over her cheek. "Nan," he breathed. "Mmm," she replied, barely moving. "I'm sorry it had to be like this," he murmured. "It isn't over," she said. She turned away from him and buried her face in the pillow. -- Her sleep wasn't easy. She had two nightmares, one on the heels of the first, and when he woke and tried to hush her, he wasn't sure if she was even aware of his presence. After the second one, when he had almost succeeded in comforting her again, she turned her face, eyes closed, toward him. "What made you come back to me," she asked, her diction slow and lazy from exhaustion. "I had a dream," he told her, stroking her cheek again. "Go back to sleep." She had another nightmare and fought him like a cat when he tried to comfort her. He finally wrestled her to her back and pinned her underneath him, her head whipping back and forth, and he kept one hand on her joined wrists and the other against her face as he whispered soft comforting things to her, reassured her that she was safe and he wasn't coming and everything was going to be all right, but she kept shaking, kept keening high unintelligible words that he couldn't understand. During her third nightmare was when the lock on their door clicked back with nearly noiseless motion; during her third nightmare was when the police detective who had been alerted by Ned's call down to the desk drew his gun and waited; and as Nancy begged her husband not to lose her again, the cop grabbed Michael Delgado as he broke into their hotel room. -- The cop, Officer Ryan, a friend of Ned's who owed him a favor, called him out of the room to tell him what had happened, to ask what Ned thought they should ask when they brought him down to the station. After Ryan left the room, Ned walked in to find Nancy sitting up in bed, sipping the glass of water he'd left on the table next to her side. "Nan?" She looked at him. "He's gone?" Ned nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on her. "Yeah." She put the glass down and slid down under the covers. "You just think that," she whispered. He stood motionless until her breathing evened out, then walked over and watched her until he was sure she was asleep. Then he walked out and placed another call. -- When Alex Cabot came to work the next morning, among her many voicemails were two messages. One from Ned Nickerson, just wanting to make sure that Jean was still behind bars and not eligible for parole or anything of the sort. The second was a slightly less coherent call from Officer Ryan's supervising officer. -- Nancy still didn't entirely trust him. He wasn't sure how much of it was due to good old-fashioned self-preservation, because of the way he'd had Paul treat her over the past month, his threatening to leave her over a night that he was beginning to believe she had no recollection of living. He'd wanted it all to be a bad dream. And in a way it was, but in that way the rest of their lives were slated to be a nightmare in themselves. She was across the table from him, cup of coffee at her right hand, a generous stack of blueberry waffles slathered in syrup before her. She had no appetite, and neither did he. Not for this. He was seized by a sudden urge to run away with her. Go back home, get the babies and as much as they needed to get by, and the two of them would vanish somewhere. Change their hair, their names, their jobs, all the things that were unimportant, all the facts that didn't change who they were. They knew enough languages like a native that it wouldn't be difficult to hide them in some provincial French town, some busy German city, somewhere, anywhere that he wouldn't dread Nancy picking up the phone and hearing Jean's voice on the other end, powerless to do anything but obey it. He was tired as hell and her tranquilizing pills didn't make for the most inspired of mornings. "You're going to leave again, aren't you." Her voice was low, melting into the echoing coffee cup as she took a singularly unenthused sip. "What?" he asked, surprised that she would come out and say it, and so calmly. "I said you don't mind if I leave, do you," she repeated, her eyes dull. "I need to go make sure things are okay with the kids before we go see the doctor again. You're welcome to come with me," she said, and at that he saw the first hint of anything near interest in her eyes. A very, very guarded hope. *You coward,* he thought. *At least you could have told her last night. You could tell her now.* But he couldn't. "Go ahead," he told her. "I have some other things to take care of too, but I'll meet you there." -- His phone was still silent an hour later. No missed calls, no messages. He hadn't heard anything since he had been informed of Delgado's capture. What he was really waiting on was a call from Alex Cabot, to let him know that even if Jean did still live, at least he was far enough away to do only this limited damage, this flailing of his arms through the bars, instead of the direct interference of his actual presence in their lives. He could still remember his wife startling awake next to him so many times, in a cold sweat, tears pouring down her cheeks, absolutely certain that he was in the room, that he was there, that he was coming, it was only a matter of time, the stubborn insistence that even if Ned couldn't see him that he was there. And in a way, he had been. "You're going to leave her, aren't you." Ned turned his head and met the doctor's gaze steadily. "I've been thinking about it," he admitted. "Why? She never slept with Michael, and the more recent difficulties in your marriage, the ones that started in the middle of her pregnancy, she's just confessed were influenced by Michael's interference." "It's not going to stop," Ned said, and hearing the words come across his lips, in his own voice, he knew it was true, knew that all Nancy's whispered warnings had been right. "He's going to send someone else, someone else, someone else, he's going to wait until I'm sick of this and my guard is down and until he's out, until he can be the one. Michael is keeping her for him, but I've taken care of Michael, and now I get to wait until there's another one. A teller at the bank, one of her operatives, one of our friends. I can lock her in our house, blackout, quarantine, make sure she never hears another human voice, sees another human face, but I can't. She wasn't made for that and I can't." "And that was what you promised when you married her, wasn't it." Ned slumped down into the chair, his head in his hands. "Then tell me what to do," he said. "You be the voice," Strathman said. "You be the voice she hears on the other end of the phone." -- When Nancy breezed in thirty minutes later, she gave them a tentative smile. "The kids are fine, Hannah's about to take them over to your mom's. So, ready to poke around in my head again?" Ned patted the couch next to him. "How about we talk about what happened last night." The doctor looked back and forth between the two of them. "What happened last night?" Nancy didn't remember any of it, especially not the cryptic remarks he repeated back. As they talked Nancy drew away from her husband, her lip curling down. "And Michael...?" she asked. "Is being questioned now," Ned replied. Nancy wrapped her arms around her torso and hugged herself. "Great," she murmured. "Nan, we... we have an idea," Ned said. "Something that could help, we think." "I can't do it," Strathman said. "It would be unethical. But Ned has expressed a deep interest in learning how to hypnotize." Nancy looked at Ned searchingly for a moment. "What?" she asked softly. He reached up and touched the side of her face. "Let me make sure he never gets in your head again." -- "Did you ever trust Michael?" Strathman asked, once she was under. "Not from the moment I met him," Nancy replied. "So how did he get in?" Her only response was a faint smile. "Did Jean make a way for someone else to get in?" She nodded, but didn't elaborate. "A word, a gesture, something you would know when you heard it?" She nodded. "Where am I right now?" "You can't get there from here," she replied, and Ned looked at the doctor. "Did you trust Jean?" She shivered. "That didn't matter," she said, her voice so low they could barely hear it. "Do you trust Ned right now?" She drew her knees up to her chest, her lip drawn down, but didn't reply. "Maybe?" "He's lying to me," Nancy said. "Not until he tells me the truth." Strathman shook his head at Ned. "Do you trust me?" She nodded. "Mostly." "Why only mostly?" "You're his friend before mine." "Why do you think that?" She shrugged. "If this doesn't work he'll leave me." "Do you think that or know it?" She turned her head, let it rest on her shoulder, the skin around her eyes creased in concentration. "He never thought it would be this way. I never wanted it to be this way. I knew he'd lose patience with it eventually. I knew when Michael took me under the first time that Ned would leave me. I knew it. And he did. If he can't fight it then he's going to give up and leave me alone to face it, and we both know I can't. "And because I know it, Jean knows it, and Jean is just waiting for Ned to realize there's no way he can win this." Ned touched his own face and his hand came away damp. -- "It's not going to be easy," Dr Strathman said. "You've been in here with her enough times, I could teach you to do it right now. But I don't even know what he's left in her head, what kind of minefields we're going to have to go through. And on top of that, Ned, she doesn't trust you, and I can't blame her. Not with what you just told me. Until she trusts you, there's no way she'll even let you in, much less let you be the only one she does." Ned smiled, bitterly. "And even if I'm the only one who can get into her head, he can still take her away from me." They heard her honk impatiently from the parking lot, and Ned shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks," he said. "The hard part's not over yet, Ned." *Because even if I did get her to trust me, she'd still find out about Danielle.* -- Nancy was first home. As Ned was negotiating the turn his cell phone finally did ring, and he grabbed it. Nancy was unlocking the door, although he noticed that she didn't touch the keypad first. He tensed, waiting for the squall of the alarm, but it didn't come. Nancy had made some comment about how Hannah wasn't accustomed to locking a keypad every time she left the house, and packing Amy and two babies into the car probably hadn't helped. "Ned?" "Yes," he replied, still staring at the keypad, his door ajar and chiming. "This is Alex Cabot. I got your message this morning, and I heard from Officer Ryan. Michael talked. Jean was planning a jailbreak, and Michael was going to get Nancy to him before he left the country. Is she with you?" "Yeah," Ned replied, climbing out of the car. "When we checked, Jean was gone." Ned's mouth went dry. "When?" "He's been gone all morning. Overpowered the guards and walked out. We haven't found any sign of him yet, he's not where Michael was expecting to meet him later today. And as far as Michael knows, there is no way to contact Jean. Where are you now?" "At the house," Ned replied. He reached back into the car and grabbed his gun out of the glove compartment, locked the car, and began approaching the door. "At our house. Send someone here." He heard her call something over her shoulder. "They're on the way," she said. "Is he there?" "I hope to hell not," Ned replied, and pushed open the door. -- Ned thought he was ready for it. He'd been in the situation once before, after all. But he wasn't. Not once he took it in. *This is what you would have left her to face alone.* Jean had his left arm up around her neck, gun in his right hand, barrel angled up so that if he pulled the trigger the bullet would travel nearly straight up, neatly avoiding him in the process. And she... *You would have left her like this.* And Nancy had indeed been here before, but this time her hand was not in a desk drawer, was nowhere near the carving knives or heavy kitchen equipment, that was all on the other side of the kitchen. Her back and his against the island, face pale, eyes wide. Ned's gun was out of sight, safety off, at the small of his back. "Shut the door." His voice was cold and held no charm, but it never had for Ned, anyway. Without looking behind him, Ned shouldered the door closed and deadbolted it. "Who have you called?" Ned licked his lips. "No one," he replied. Entirely true. "Put your phone on the table," Jean said. Ned reached into his pocket and put his cell phone on the hallway table, then stood motionless, feet shoulder's-width apart, hands hanging loose at his sides. "Is there a back way out of here?" Ned shook his head. His entire body felt like it was resounding with the overloud beating of his heart, and his head was painfully full, the way it felt when he was so hyped up on adrenalin that it was hard to think. All he had to do was wait until the cavalry arrived, he'd thought, but then he remembered the bright idea he'd had just after purchasing the house, to put bulletproof glass in the windows, to replace the door with a steel-cored safety version. Now that Jean was inside the impenetrable fortress, it was up to the two of them to get out of this mess. He knew by the look on her face that she had nothing up her sleeve. "Could he have a gun?" Jean asked Nancy, leaning his face in close to hers, so close she could probably feel his breath, and Ned had to fight hard to stay in control. She flinched back from him and didn't answer, her wide eyes on Ned, and when he tightened his grip on her Nancy swallowed and said just audibly that he might. Jean nodded at him. When she was in danger, when any of them were in danger, maybe because it had happened so often, they managed to function in seamless tandem, without the use of words or signals. Familiarity that five years apart hadn't been able to break, that a month of joint custody and self- recriminations hadn't been able to dispel. And there was no time for anything, no signals or blinked Morse code or mouthed words. The deadness was in her eyes. She was reaching for Jean's elbow. If she pulled it down and managed to disarm him, fine; if she managed to kill herself, fine. Leaving their house with him was not an option. Ned saw the policeman in his black kevlar vest and ballcap, with the laser sighting on his gun, visible through the kitchen window. He shook his head at all of them, but his eyes were on Nancy. Her hands stilled but did not reverse their course. *faint,* he thought. She blinked. He put his hand behind his back, Jean's grip tightened, the policeman took aim. Nancy closed her eyes and let herself fall. The sound of the gunshot was deafening. -- Simultaneous, as well. The weight of Nancy on his arm pulled Jean's aim, and when he pulled the trigger the bullet struck the wall near the ceiling instead of Nancy's chin. The two shots Ned fired punched neatly through Jean's neck and his right eye, and before Nancy's knees had struck the floor Jean was dead and she had pulled his corpse down with her. The roaring in Ned's head reached its highest pitch and began to recede as he walked over to the graceless bundle of warm flesh that had been human and pulled it off his wife, who had released a single scream in the few heartbeats' worth of time. What was left of Jean's head released a warm gout of blood that flooded over Nancy, and she let out a low horrified groan, her eyes wide and staring. He lifted her to her feet, and she buried her face against his chest, smearing blood over the grey fabric. The policeman at the kitchen window was jarring the glass with repeated impacts from the butt of his gun, trying to get inside. Ned managed to half-stumble and half-drag Nancy to the front door, where he snicked back the lock and let the force behind the pounding knock inside. She laughed then, suddenly, hysteria at the edge of it, and he lost his grip and collapsed with her against the wall next to the door, she was in his lap, her fingers dug into his shirt at the shoulders, his vision blurring into the marching black legs of the unnecessary hostage rescue team as they cleared the house. -- She looked like she'd been up all night. She also looked like an older version of Carrie on prom night. He'd made an effort at cleaning her face, but her hair was matted red with blood, it was in the curves of her left ear, and her eyes were wild, never staying on one thing for more than a minute or two. After a cursory check that confirmed what he'd thought, that she was in shock, and what he hadn't, that the nurse said he had a milder case but one nonetheless, he had loaded her into the car, away from the flashbulbs and the news cameras and the police going over the scene, loading the body bag. He called his parents with the brief message that they were fine, they would be at his hotel overnight, and Hannah could take the kids if they couldn't stay through the night. Then he turned his cell off. The clerk's mouth fell open at the sight of her. Her teeth were chattering, and most of her weight was against his arm as he led her to the elevator, up to his floor, into where he'd lived without her. The bed was made, plenty of fresh towels were in the bathroom. He unplugged the phone. She didn't make any response when he started taking her clothes off. He put her carefully sitting, facing him, on the lip of the tub, stripped off his own clothes, and started the shower running. "How did we get here," she asked thickly. Her hands rose to her hair, and she winced as she tried to pull a hand through it. "We came in my car," he said, taking her arm again, until she rose to unsteady feet at his side. She climbed in easily enough. He was tired, so incredibly tired, all the adrenaline having drained out of him hours before. She was speechless. He washed her hair, gently, three times, the drain running red with it, he went over the inner curves of her ear with a washcloth and the tip of his trembling finger, he traced the line of her cheek and her shoulder blades looking for more of it. When he was finished with her and was standing under the shower head, his face tilted back so the water fell against his scalp, eyes closed, he felt Nancy put her arms around him, lean her face against his chest. He slipped his arms around her and felt her tremble with sobs against him. They stayed that way until the pads of their fingers were wrinkled and waterlogged, swaying softly, and when he turned off the water she clambered over the lip of the tub, pushed up the lid of the toilet, and sank to her knees, wretching. Tears stood in her eyes when she finally stopped, and looked over at him, shivering on the cold tile floor. "He's gone?" she breathed. Her husband nodded. -- She had never been so afraid in her life. Ned didn't look upset enough. And he was stalling for time. She knew that, just like she knew he was hiding something from her, but she couldn't figure it out. Nothing had been amiss when she'd walked in, nothing to tip her off, and she hadn't even had enough time to scream before he'd grabbed her. She swallowed against her dry throat and it spasmed, and she almost coughed, but the weight of his arm against her collarbone helped stifle the urge. She didn't want to upset Jean. In fact, a great deal of her mind was occupied by simply ignoring the fact that she could feel his breath against the curve of her ear *(again)* and she could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart against her back, and the feeling of terror those mere facts raised in her. Being so close to him was the panic, the frenzy that the nightmares he had given her caused deep in her chest, times a thousand, so total and consuming that very little seemed to make sense. Except she knew, somehow, that Ned's presence was the only thing keeping her from losing it completely. Dashing under Jean's arm, finding something sharp and just ending it. "*Ned--*" "Shh," came his reply. Her chest was tight with terror as she opened her eyes to their dark hotel room. She was wearing some of his clothes but didn't remember putting them on. Loose t-shirt and thin cotton boxers. He'd made her take the tranquilizing pills the nurse had given her, and she'd held her fingertips over his chest, the vibration of his speeding heart against her skin as he took a half-dose and talked her into laying down. She had laughed but hadn't been able to form the words matching her black amusement, *like we're making a suicide pact--* *Oh God, it hadn't been a nightmare, it hadn't--* She drew in a breath sharply and his arm tightened over her, pulling her to his side. "Nan, shhh, shhh, it's over," he whispered, pushing her hair back, the stubble on his cheek rough against her skin. "You killed him?" The tears she thought she'd run dry of were welling up again, nudging her voice up a pitch, making it waver, and she hated the sound but she couldn't stop it. She could feel him nodding. "Yeah," he breathed. "Because he was going to hurt me." "Yeah," he whispered. He pushed his hand in wide smooth circles over her back, until her breathing was slow and even. She rolled over and he nestled her to him, her back to his front, put his left arm over her and rested his hand on her stomach. She put her hand over his, felt the ring back on his finger, and fell asleep with a smile on her face. -- Ned was packing the next morning when his cell phone rang. Nancy was in the bathroom. Ned didn't recognize the number, so he silenced his phone until the voicemail would pick up. Thirty seconds later he received a text message from the same number, telling him to answer his phone. He picked it up this time, silencing his ring on its first tone. "Who is this?" he asked. "You have twenty-four hours to tell her." Ned flushed and found himself unable to speak. "If you don't, I will." He pulled the phone away from his ear, the call ended. All he knew was the voice hadn't been Danielle's. Not that Danielle ever would have done such a thing. He wondered if Nancy could trace the number for him, then laughed harshly. There was no more effective way of committing suicide, than to have his wife find the number of the person who could tell her-- *Tell her what, exactly,* some part of him asked. *That Danielle kissed you? That you two are friends?* But he didn't believe that. Danielle didn't believe it. And more importantly, Nancy wouldn't believe it. Because he had to tell her. He had a feeling the voice on the other end of the phone wouldn't stand for any excuses or justification. Save the deeper, more important lesson, that he would consider leaving his wife to the mercy of those he could not fight. Nancy opened the bathroom door. "Ready?" she asked, wide smile, the happiness in her eyes unmistakable. Ned forced a smile, his heart sinking. "Sure thing," he replied. -- The kitchen had been cleaned when they arrived. The countertop had been a red nightmare, blood had been seeping into the pile carpeting, but all that was left was a suggestion of dampness and darkness in the carpet next to the kitchen. The bullet hole left in the wall by Jean's unintentional shot had been covered over. Twenty-four hours. "Hey, let's go out to dinner tonight," he suggested, keeping his hands at his sides with an effort. Normally he'd be all over her, flirting with her, touching her cheek, brushing her hair back, but maybe she'd remember that later with fire in her eyes. He fought the urge to go buy a bottle of vodka, wine, rum, something, pour it down her throat, pour his heart out to her and beg her for forgiveness while she was too inebriated to realize what he was doing or deny him. "Okay," she agreed, looking up into his eyes. He realized that he wanted very badly to kiss her. Hannah brought their children back from his parents. To distract himself from doing anything she would make him regret, he took the babies upstairs, put them into their cribs, gazed down at their faces. They were calm. They had been fussy, angry, unable to be consoled for the longest time. Since he'd left. He heard his cell phone, but it was distant. Then he heard the house phone ring. His heart dropped to his feet. By the time he had pounded down the stairs, Nancy was staring blankly through the French doors, in the direction of her garden, tears standing in her eyes, telephone in her hand. "Danielle called for you," Nancy said, her voice trembling. Then she threw the phone so hard that it shattered on the linoleum of their kitchen floor.