Work Text:
9.07am
“Thank you for joining us, Miss Drew.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Nancy says in a thoroughly unapologetic tone. It’s only the politeness Kate instilled in her from a young age that prompts her to say sorry at all; the voice she says in it, monotone and just on the edge of sarcastic, is all Nancy, or at least this new Nancy who feels simultaneously numb and on the verge of breaking down at all times and has managed to land her in Saturday detention for the first time in her formerly illustrious school career.
“For future reference – not that I expect to see you here again,” Miss Lawson reprimands. “Detention starts at nine on the dot.”
Nancy offers a half-hearted, close-mouthed smile as she slumps into an empty seat at the central table in the library.
She takes in her fellow detentionees and internally groans; the guy with the long hair works at The Claw and always smiles sunnily at her when she passes him in the hall. She can’t really be bothered to recall his name, especially when she registers that the third seat is occupied by George Fan.
Personally, Nancy has nothing against George, unlike her (former) friends who always had a snotty word to say about her weird goth look or penchant for boys college age and older, both behind her back and to her face. Not Nancy, obviously, although that’s never stopped George from giving her dirty looks and making snide comments. Even in her current mindset, Nancy has personally never said a bad word about George, but the other girl doesn’t seem to care, roping Nancy in with the others.
“Your task today is to tidy the library. Our librarian has been off with flu for the past week, so there’s plenty to do. The returned books will need cataloguing and putting away and the whole place could do with a deep clean. I trust you’re all mature enough to do this without too much supervision, so I’ll be in my office getting some marking done.” Miss Lawson instructs, ignoring George’s exaggerated eyeroll. “Cleaning supplies are in the cupboard. Detention finishes at 3pm and I’ll come check in before then. Am I understood?”
Nancy nods, eyes glued to the table, assumes George and the upperclassman do the same.
“Good. Get to it.”
Nancy heaves herself out of her seat but doesn’t get far.
“Nancy, a word, please?” Miss Lawson beckons her over to the doorway; Nancy can feel George glowering at the back of her head as she slouches over, probably assuming she’s getting some special treatment. “I know it’s been a difficult time for you recently, but I noticed you didn’t hand in your assignment. And now you’re in my detention? This isn’t like you, Nancy.”
Nancy bites the inside of her cheek; she’s been on the receiving end of this conversation a few times over the last few months, from her ‘father’, the editor of the school newspaper and several teachers, including the principal when he informed her she was to attend detention when she was caught skipping class and leaving the school premises for the third time that week. She knows it comes from a place of concern, but every time the worried expression is stifling, chafing at the numbness until it becomes irritated and raw and makes her feel the only emotion she seems capable of at the moment; anger.
Tamping down on the desire to lash out, Nancy shrugs, not meeting Miss Lawson’s eye.
“I guess I just don’t know who I am anymore.” She tries to sound light, but can’t modulate her tone and it comes out flat instead.
Miss Lawson’s brow creases and Nancy can feel the irritation rise like bile in her throat.
“I should get started.” She says quickly, before her teacher can poke further. “Those books won’t put themselves away.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, turning on her heel to march back towards the shelves; she’ll take George Fan’s glares over pity any day.
9.27am
“So,” The guy – she’s pretty sure his name is Ace or something equally stupid – pipes up after twenty minutes of stony silence. “What did everyone get busted for?”
George sighs loudly. “Defacing school property.”
Nancy hadn’t been planning to answer, but when they look at her expectantly, she shrugs. “Truancy.”
“Oh please.” George scoffs. “You’re Miss Goody Two Shoes, girl detective, straight A prom queen-“
“Not true. She got a B in Spanish last semester.” Ace comments, idly.
Nancy and George both turn to him, eyebrows raised.
Undeterred by their odd looks, he continues stacking books, speaking to their spines rather than the two girls staring at him. “I got caught hacking into the school database to change some… unfair grades. Senor Diaz can be a real bully to his students and his marking is super unfair, so I thought I’d fix it.”
“You’re a modern-day Robin Hood.” George snarks.
“Also, Nancy can’t be prom queen because the dance isn’t till next week.” He finally glances back at her, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If I was going, I’d vote for you though.”
Nancy thinks she’ll be amazed if her name is even on the ballot, seeing as most of the prom committee is made up of her former friends. She’s also pretty sure the criteria for nominations doesn’t include being abrasive, flunking classes and becoming a walking black hole of misery, all things she’s currently doing which seem to have chased those friends away.
Instead of sharing those thoughts, she instead lands on; “You’re not going to prom?”
Ace scrunches his nose. “Not my scene.” He quips, before scooping up the stack of books.
The long dormant observational part of Nancy’s brain notes that his biceps flex obscenely; the newer, number part firmly tells it to shut up.
10.12am
“I can’t believe I’m missing a shift to do unpaid labour.” George mutters to herself, scraping gum off from underneath the computer banks.
“Me too.” Ace agrees, although he sounds much more cheerful about it.
Nancy is dusting the rows of old year books shelved across one wall when she knocks the last one, creating a domino effect until the maroon-bound tome on the opposite end topples clear off its stand. It opens mid-flight, landing with the pages facing up, the glossy paper reflecting the overhead fluorescent light.
She crouches down to pick it up, then freezes when she sees the page its open to.
Keen High School Faculty, 1999.
Her eyes are instantly drawn to the black and white photo of her mother, looking young and fresh-faced with her hair in a neat bun, smiling brightly at the camera. When she was growing up, people used to tell Nancy she had her mother’s smile, but she knows now that’s just something they said to cover the fact they couldn’t actually see any of Kate in her.
She scoops the yearbook up carefully, keeping the page open as she stares at the person she thought was her mother, as though the photograph of her can answer all her questions now the woman herself has gone.
“What’s that?” Ace asks, suddenly right behind her.
She jumps and snaps the yearbook closed, shoving the rest of them upright so she can jam it back onto the shelf. "Nothing." She says quickly, sharply, and moves briskly to the next shelf.
10.26am
The fifth time in as many minutes George side-eyes Nancy, she snaps.
Usually, something so petty wouldn’t bother her, but in the swinging pendulum of ‘emotional void’ to ‘feeling everything all at once’, George is unlucky to land when she’s drowning in the latter.
“Jesus, George!” She slams the pile of books she’d been about to carry onto the desk, making Ace jump and look over from where he’d been trying to log into the ancient computer. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
George blinks at her like she’s stupid, which makes Nancy’s blood boil – you can accuse her of amny things, but being stupid is not one of them.
“Uh, other than gossiping about my sex life and making me a social pariah?”
Nancy ignores the uncomfortable prickling of being called out, the pinpricks of truth in George’s words needling at her skin. “Oh come on…“
George rolls her eyes so hard it hurts.
“I never spread any of those rumours.” Nancy protests weakly, even as she looks back on years of hanging at the side-lines, never taking part but not stopping it from happening either.
George scoffs. “No. You just listened to your friends and smiled. Right?” She asks, icily. “Go to hell, Drew.”
She storms off to the far end of the library and Nancy watches her go aghast, before looking back at Ace for… support? She doesn’t know, but he also doesn’t offer it, twisting his mouth ruefully before turning back to the computer.
11.02am
The last half an hour has been spent in tense silence, apart from the odd keystroke and clatter from Ace at the desk.
Nancy sits on her haunches, dust rag bunched in her fists, staring blankly at the wall of undusted shelves before her.
She doesn’t know when she stopped being the kid who wanted to help everyone around her and became the teenager who wilfully turned a blind eye to bullying, but this is one attitude shift she can’t use her mom’s death as an excuse for.
Kate Drew did not raise her to be like that. Maybe kindness was passed down via blood and that’s why it her sweet nature wasn’t given to Nancy. Maybe her birth mom, whoever she was, had a mean streak that had fought against Kate’s gentle approach to upbringing and emerged as soon as Nancy was surrounded by her fellow catty teen queens.
She’s lost in her thoughts for long enough that she doesn’t notice the rhythm of Ace’s typing on the ancient keyboard slow, then stop entirely until a shadow passes in front of her.
Then he slides down the wall to crouch beside her, looking nonchalantly up at the wall she’s boring a hole in with her eyes.
He doesn’t say anything, just carefully plucks the dust rag from her; without realising, she’d twisted it around her fist until the skin of her knuckles had turned white and her fingers tingle as the blood rushes back through them.
He stays silent, even as he rolls onto his tailbone, propping his back against the wall. A minute passes.
Then another.
Nancy is… not used to this. Usually if someone catches her alone these days, its with the intent to get her to talk – her dad, the school counsellor, teachers – try force their way into her head and get her to spill her precious, innermost thoughts like they have some right to them.
Sitting in silence with Ace on the gross library floorboards is… comfortable.
And for some reason, that makes the words that usually stick in her throat come bubbling up.
“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She finally admits.
“I don’t think anything is wrong with you.” Ace offers, which she thinks is pretty generous for a guy who only met her a few hours ago.
“My friends and boyfriend- ex-boyfriend would disagree.” She points out dryly. They’d all scarpered pretty quickly when she’d gone from preppy college-bound sweetheart to a crumbling mess barely holding it together. Apparently, there wasn’t room within their ranks for falling apart, so they’d closed up and left her behind. Or maybe she’d closed herself off – either way, she wasn’t in the crew anymore.
“Then maybe there’s something wrong with them.” He counters, decisively.
She looks at him, really looks at him, letting her observational brain out of the cage of numbness as her gaze sweeps over his face. He’s handsome in a kind of regal way, all strong lines and ridges but with the bluest eyes that soften everything.
“George is prickly, but she cares, about a lot of things, really deeply.” Ace shares, seemingly unphased by her silence as she analyses him. “But, as someone who has seen her train a lot of waitresses, she’s also more forgiving than you’d think. And someone it’s worth having in your corner.”
He’s so earnest when he speaks that Nancy feels a foreign pull at the edge of her mouth, like a twitch, and realises she’s smiling. It’s small, more of a quirk of the lips, but it feels like something - not a big crashing wave of emotion or the cold seeping of nothingness that she oscillates between daily. Something in the middle, not too big and not too small.
“You’re very wise, you know that?”
“Don’t be phased by my stoner exterior.” He quips, then gets to his feet, offering a hand to help her up.
She takes it.
11.31am
Nancy has never been very good at facing her demons; it’s probably why she’s lost in this endless cycle of feeling nothing then everything. But George isn’t one of her demons, Nancy’s own behaviour is, and she might as well take the opportunity of being stuck in the library for a day as good a time as any to make at least one thing right.
“Hey.” Nancy says, crouching down next to George where she’s dusting a bottom shelf.
She gets a flicker of a glare in response.
“I’m sorry.” She says, trying to scratch away at some of her numbness and infuse her voice to sound as genuine as she is. “You don’t have to forgive me or even acknowledge that I’ve apologised. I’ve been shitty to you and spent years justifying it by convincing myself it was all my friends, but by letting them treat you that way I’m just as involved.”
George’s furious dusting slows slightly, but doesn’t stop; she’s listening but not ready to let Nancy know she is.
Nancy lets out a half-hearted huff of a laugh. “If it helps, I don’t think they’re my friends anymore. But I’m also sorry I didn’t let myself see how terrible they were until it affected me. I should have set them straight years ago and I should have apologised to you then, too. I can’t take back any of that time, but if you want, I’d like to do better from now on.”
George stops dusting but keeps her eyes on the shelf.
“That’s, uh, that’s what I wanted to say, I guess.” Nancy finishes, not quite with aplomb, but at least with real feeling. “I’m really sorry, George.”
She gets to her feet and makes it a few steps away when George calls “Drew?”
Nancy turns to see George also standing, twisting the dust rag between both hands.
“Apology accepted.”
Nancy feels relief crash over her; it’s one of the first positive emotions she’s experienced in months and it’s almost overwhelming how hard the urge to smile is. That’s twice today she’s found herself doing that – must be something in the library air.
“We’re not hugging, though.” George says brusquely.
“Absolutely not.”
“And you can finish my half of the dusting.”
Nancy huffs something that could almost be mistaken as a laugh. “Sure, George.”
12.18pm
“Lunch break.” Ace announces abruptly, fishing through a battered backpack and pulling out a neatly packed Tupperware. He spills the contents onto the large table in the centre of the library, a cellophane wrapped sandwich with the crusts trimmed into tidy triangles, a perfect green apple and a smaller tub of cookies rolling out haphazardly.
“Jeez, Ace, your mommy make your lunch for you?” George snorts.
“Yup.” He responds with a hint of pride, dropping into a chair and reaching for the sandwich.
Nancy and George share a look, then realise they’re sharing a look and quickly stop.
Ace, oblivious, happily bites into his crust-free sandwich.
It’s… annoyingly cute, actually.
George slumps down next to him, fiddling with a takeout container emblazoned with The Claw’s logo.
“I know you don’t normally slum it around losers like us at lunch,” She busies herself removing the lid, not looking at Nancy even though her words are clearly meant for her. “But if you want to eat with us…” She trails off, leaving the invite open.
Nancy has spent the past several months eating her lunch alone, on the bleachers outdoors until it got too cold and she relocated to the very library she’s standing in now. It’s weird, actually, to see other people in her quiet spot, Ace cheerfully ploughing through his meal while George picks through her leftovers.
But it’s actually kind of nice to pull out the chair across from them, pulling her own tub of pasta primavera from her bag.
“Thanks.” She says quietly.
George shrugs but doesn’t hesitate to launch into a story about an annoying co-worker at The Claw.
Before he takes over the narrative, describing how the guy has no respect for the art of dish washing, Ace nudges a cookie towards Nancy’s side of the table.
1.17pm
“You know,” Ace sidles up to where Nancy is scrubbing graffiti off of chipped and stained desks. “My dad used to work in the police station.”
For the first time in over an hour (which is pretty much a record for her at the moment, constantly living in a state of discomfort and numb annoyance), Nancy bristles. Her shoulders rise to her ears and she clenches her cloth tighter, rubbing it over the wood with added force.
“He says you used to be there all the time, always doing the cops’ work for them.” He continues and despite herself, Nancy goes a little warm at the compliment.
Her sleuthing died the day her mother got sick, was buried along with her then trodden all over when she learned she’d never known the biggest mystery of all – her own existence. At the reminder of something she had managed to not think about for all of, oh about ten minutes, she feels her jaw clench.
“Were you bunking off because of a case?” He asks conversationally, not seeming to spot her unease as he takes up wiping the desk next to hers.
Nancy stares at the arrow-struck heart she’s scrubbing uselessly at, the thick black marker refusing to fade even as she doubles down on her wiping. The lines blur suddenly, embarrassingly, her eyes going hot and starting to sting.
“I’m just curious because- woah, hey.” Ace cuts himself off and she looks up to see him watching her carefully, hands raised cautiously. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry.”
Maybe it was the comfortable silence from earlier, maybe it was the smile he managed to coax to her face, but against all the odds she believes him.
“My mom died.” She blurts out, instantly horrified at herself. But Ace is unusually sweet and something about his openly honest expression has sent the words flying out of her mouth before she can stop them. He’s not even tried to pull down her defences or catch her out like the adults in her life do, just waited at the edge of her walls until she’s found herself looking over.
She abruptly turns away from him because fuck now she’s done it.
“Nancy…”
“But before she did, I found out I was adopted.” She continues in a rush, not wanting to hear his pity. “So my whole life is a lie and I don’t know how to deal with that, so I’m just kind of… not. Dealing with it. And sometimes it feels easier to do that not-dealing when I'm not at school.”
She waits for him to apologise, to offer saccharine words of false-grief, to try empathise with her even though he can’t possible know how she feels-
“That really sucks, Nancy.” Is what he says instead.
She looks up in surprise; he’s watching her with a sad little smile, but there’s isn’t that sense of being looked at like a caged animal she’s gotten used to recently. There’s something warm behind his eyes, but it’s not pity, not a rolling wave of ‘look how good I am for feeling sorry for you’. It’s more like warmth; like compassion.
“Sounds like you’ve been pummelled by life, recently.” He continues and yes, yes she has and he seems to understand that without expecting his words to miraculously cure her numbness and return her to normal. Everyone who has expressed concern before now seems to think the very act will fix her problem without them having to put the work in. “If you ever want to talk about it…” He shrugs, a little self-conscious. “I can be here.”
The raw patch inside of Nancy that usually rears up and lashes out doesn’t flare up; instead his words act like a balm, not getting rid of the pain entirely but soothing it a little, a cool salve over her hot temper.
She blinks the tears back, watches his expression soften even further until his smile is just the slight imprint of lines around his mouth. Even though its receding, the emotion behind it seems to strengthen, the feeling crawling into his eyes as they calmly look back into hers.
“I really appreciate that.” She says.
And she means it.
2.33pm
Ace logs back into the ancient looking computer on the librarian’s desk and starts playing music.
It’s a little tinny, fuzzy through the old speakers, but even George starts humming along after a few songs go by.
Nancy catches Ace’s eye and he grins at her when he sees her start to tap her foot.
Ten minutes later, they’re all dancing around the central table in the library, out of time and clumsy to the hard-to-hear melody. George even lets Ace grab her hand and twirl her under his arm before he uses the feather duster he’s holding as a microphone and does a dramatic lip sync along to the AC/DC track. He has them both in peels of laughter with his impression, hair flying, before performing an epic guitar solo.
They mimic his roaring crowd, hands cupped to their mouths as he dramatically leaps from a (recently cleaned) desk with a feather duster-mic drop.
Nancy catches George’s eye and grins; George doesn’t even pretend to roll her eyes when she smiles back.
After the AC/DC song ends, the playlist shuffles onto a cheesy rock ballad and Ace bows low to George.
“M’lady?” He offers her his hand.
She throws her dust rag at his face. “Okay, I’m out. I’ve got three shelves left to do and then I’m free.” She retrieves her rag from where it landed on Ace’s shoulder and disappears into the stacks.
Ace shrugs, twisting slightly to extend his hand to Nancy instead.
She accepts it automatically before her brain catches up to her; by the time it does, she tells it to shush. He has nice hands with long, nimble fingers which dwarf hers when they curl together. His arm goes around her waist to hold her politely, like a gentleman, a respectable distance between their torsos as he takes them through an exaggerated waltz, off-beat and out of time. He swings them wildly around the central table, just barely missing chair legs and wooden corners until he trips over his own feet.
Nancy can’t help it; she laughs, head thrown back, a horrible guffaw that she hasn’t done in months and usually hates the sound of but it makes Ace grin like he just won the lottery.
He slows his steps down, stops spinning them in favour of tucking himself a little closer, his chest just brushing hers. The comfortable silence descends over them once again, only broken by Ace faintly humming along to the track as they sway.
The song fades out and another starts, a riotous clash of drums and screech of guitar which sounds truly terrible through the old library speakers. Despite the up-tempo track, they continue rocking softly, gravitating into each other.
Ace tilts his head to one side, scanning Nancy’s face.
“What’s going on in that big old brain of yours?” He asks.
And truthfully, for once – absolutely nothing. It’s quiet in Nancy’s mind, no thoughts buzzing about investigations, no replaying the worst moments of the last year, no little voice prompting her dips in mood or reminding her of everything she has lost.
“I…” Nancy breaks his eye contact, choosing instead to fix her gaze on the neckline of his t-shirt, soft and stretched from wear. “I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun.” She admits, trying to stop her shoulders from curling in, an automatic motion to try protect herself whenever she says something vulnerable.
He adjusts his hand at her waist, fingers flexing slightly over the swell of her hip as he draws her in closer.
“I’m glad you’ve had fun. You deserve it, Nancy.” He says softly.
“You think so?” She asks, just as hushed, because for the longest time she didn’t. Didn’t believe there could ever be a time when she deserved anything but the endless swing between numbness and pain, forever hurtling in between the two until it ground her down to nothing.
“Mmm-hmm.” Ace hums his confirmation, releasing her waist to catch a finger under her chin and raise it until she looks at him again. The hair tucked behind his ear comes loose, brushing over her forehead as Ace’s nose brushes against hers-
“Wow, it looks great in here!”
They spring apart at the sound of Miss Lawson’s voice, quickly gathering up their abandoned cleaning supplies in order to look busy as she enters the library.
Nancy glances over her shoulder as Ace ducks to grab his feather duster and feels an unexpected swell of pride when she sees his ears are red.
3.02pm
Miss Lawson waves them out at 3.00pm on the dot.
“Thanks, Miss L!” Ace calls cheerily over his shoulder. “We’ll make better choices next time!”
“No, we won’t.” George mutters under her breath, plastic smile in place as she stiffly salutes their teacher.
“No, we won’t.” Ace agrees, still grinning. “You need a lift?”
“Nah, I’m gonna go meet my sisters.” George shuffles her feet, hiking her bag a little higher on her shoulder. “But I need to talk to Nancy for a sec.”
Ace nods genially, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets.
George blinks at him. “Alone, Ace.”
“Oh!” With a sheepish and frankly adorable smile, he wanders further into the school carpark.
Nancy watches him walk away, a weird fondness tugging in her stomach as he slouches towards his vintage car.
“Listen.” George says hurriedly, like she’s embarrassed to even be saying the words. “I know what it’s like to eat lunch on your own every day.”
Nancy flushes. “George, I-“
“So,” She continues, glaring at her for interrupting. “On Monday, if you’ve got no-one else to sit with… I usually eat lunch in the music room. And if you, you know, also happened to be there, that would be… cool. With me. I guess.”
Nancy swallows down the sentiment bubbling inside her, the fondness tripling and threatening to explode in profuse gratitude. Despite George’s earlier warning, she kind of wants to hug her. The numbness that has settled in her chest since Kate left her hasn’t gone away, per say, but the edges feel softer, ebbing away into a warmth that she didn’t know she was still capable of feeling.
Instead, she says, “Thank you, George.”
“Whatever.” George says crisply, cheekbones splotching with pink as she abruptly turns to leave. “See you around, Drew.”
Nancy watches her stomp away for a moment, pressing her lips together so she doesn’t grin like an idiot watching her glossy black ponytail swing away.
She finds her little blue car tucked away in the corner she likes, Ace leaning against the side, waiting for her. Their cars and Miss Lawson’s are the only ones left in the lot, but it still makes her feel a little buzzy inside to know he figured out which was hers.
“Hey.” He says, as if he’s just bumped into her and they haven’t spent the whole day getting together. He drums his fingers on the top of her car.
Nancy once again feels the alien stretch of a smile crossing her face.
“Hi.” She responds, mirroring his stance.
“Crazy day.” He comments nonchalantly.
Nancy raises an eyebrow. “Sure was.” She says, hoping her tone prompts him to spit out whatever it is that he’s hesitating over.
“So prom is next weekend.” He announces, unceremoniously.
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. Eyebrows raising even higher, she ducks her chin in acquiescence.
“I was thinking. If you wanted, we could- I mean, I could-“ He takes a frustrated breath. “I know your plans fell through, so if you were wanting to go- if you needed someone to go with - maybe, I- or we could, uh-“
“Ace.” She stops him, catches his nervously shifting eye with her own. “Are you asking me to prom?”
“Yes?” He confirms, uncertainly.
Her stomach swoops, thinking of their dance in the dusty library, the fuzzy speakers reluctantly spitting out music and mentally layering an image of prom over it; Ace in a suit, her in that blue dress tucked at the back of her closet since the day she renounced her social life, although granted still in their probably dusty school gym. Still, she can’t deny it’s a tempting thought, to have an excuse to get close to him again, to feel the numbness shrink even further in the warmth of his arms.
Even so-
“No, thank you.”
“Oh.” He says and though he looks crestfallen, he dutifully takes a step back, considerate to the last. “Okay. That’s cool-“
“But you could take me to dinner, instead.” Nancy suggests. His expression blossoms into one of surprise and she thinks it’s really quite beautiful; blue eyes widening, jaw softening until his lips part, his whole face lighting up. “I’m free that night, after all. Prom isn’t really my scene.”
He chuckles. “And a date with me is?”
Nancy smiles. “Yeah. Or at least I think I’d like it to be.”