J.M.J.

Author's note: Hello and thanks for reading! This one-shot is both part of the World War II AU and a Christmas story. It follows immediately after "Upon a Snowy Midnight" (as in a few hours later), so if you don't want some major spoilers, I recommend that you read the rest of this story arc before this one. It is a little bit religious in tone, so that is something to keep in mind. Thank you again for reading and for possibly leaving a review! I would especially like to thank Drumboy100, as you have really encouraged me to add a few more stories to this arc. I will, I'm sure, add some more in the future, but my next project is a Nancy Drew story which will begin publishing at the beginning of January and then I will get back to the White Roses series. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

If We Weren't Broken

December 25, 1944

The last time Nancy Drew had been awake at five o'clock on Christmas morning was probably when she was twelve or thirteen, just before sleep came to have an appeal even over presents. But this Christmas, there was something far better than presents keeping her awake so that she had only dozed now and then. Ned Nickerson was home.

She could hardly believe it. Two and a half years earlier, when Ned had gone to fight in the War, Nancy had never really believed that he wouldn't come back. She had gotten herself and him into so many dangerous scrapes over the years, she had almost subconsciously gotten the idea that she and her friends were invincible. She knew they weren't, but she still somehow believed it. She had been a bit worried and lonely, but for the most part, the War had just been something to get through and then the rest of their lives would be in front of them.

Then, in August, the news had come: Ned had been killed in action. If some giant had used his club to batter the entire world to pieces, Nancy would have hardly been more devastated. Suddenly, there was no future to look forward to on the other side of the War; only a long, empty corridor of time that she would now have to travel alone. What was worse was that they had received no news at all about how it had happened, and Nancy's active imagination had filled both her real dreams and her daydreams with images of every possible, horrible scenario, each one worse than the last until she couldn't bear to be awake and was afraid to go to sleep. Looking back, all those months were just sort of numb. She couldn't even remember, really, how she had made it through day to day.

But none of that mattered now. She had left it all behind her last night when the impossible had happened. It had all been a mix-up after all. Ned was all right, and better still, he was home. Nancy smiled just to think of it that, at this very minute, he was under the same roof as her, peacefully asleep and in no danger whatsoever. Then a terrible thought crept into her head. It had been so sudden—he had literally shown up at the Drews' front door when they still thought he was dead—there had been no letter or telegram to prepare them. That had been a mix-up, too, or had it? What if the whole thing had been nothing but a dream?

Nancy knew it had been no dream, but she had to reassure herself about it. She got up, slipped on her robe, and went down the hall to the door of the guest room Ned was using. She cracked it open an inch or two, just so she could look inside, and when she did, her heart stopped for a second. The bed was empty. Perhaps…No, it had been real. The bed had been slept in. Ned had simply gotten up already.

Nancy softly closed the door and went downstairs. She drew a breath of relief at once. Ned was standing at the darkened window, looking out at the snow as it reflected the moonlight, for the moon hadn't set yet. She went to him and slipped her hand in his.

Ned must have heard her, for it didn't cause him to start. He turned and looked at her with a small smile. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I was too excited to sleep," Nancy replied in a low tone. She didn't want to wake anyone else. In addition to her father and Hannah Gruen, the Drews' housekeeper, Nancy's friend, Helen Corning Archer, had also stayed the night. "What about you?"

Ned patted her hand and then looked out the window once again, his smile fading. "I couldn't sleep."

Something in his tone told Nancy that it wasn't simple excitement that had kept Ned awake. "Are you all right?"

Ned didn't answer directly. "The bed was too soft. Do you know how long it's been since I've slept in a real bed that's not on a ship or a train? I was trying to think. It's been almost a year."

"A year?" Nancy repeated. "Wow. Well, I guess you'll just have to get used to it again."

"Yeah. I guess so. At least, maybe I can when all the other fellows are home again. The ones who will get to come home, anyway."

"Hey, if there's anyone who shouldn't be able to sleep thinking about all those other fellows, it's people like me who haven't done anything. You've done your part. You should rest easily now."

"That's why I can't rest easily now. Oh, Nancy, you don't know what it was like. The things I've seen. The things I've done." Ned settled his weight against the wall beside the window and closed his eyes. Nancy saw a tear on his cheek reflecting the moonlight just before he brushed it away.

"Hey," Nancy said gently, resting her head against his shoulder. "It's okay. Whatever happened, it's over now. You can leave it behind."

Ned pulled away from her, which surprised her even more than the tear had. "You don't understand, Nancy. I don't know that I'm the same man I was when I left. I…I mean, I am, but…I've been through hell, Nancy, and I'm not so sure anymore that there's any coming back. Maybe there could be if I had just been an observer, I could walk away, but the things I've done…" He stopped, unsure how to continue.

Nancy took both his hands in hers. "Ned, there is nothing you could have done that could ever change the way I feel about you."

"You don't know what I've done."

Nancy held her breath and looked into his eyes. She wondered just what it was that he felt so guilty about. She knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be unforgiveable. She was tempted to ask, but perhaps Ned would rather she didn't know.

Ned had looked out the window again by now. "You know, I spent two Christmases over there. It didn't really feel like Christmas, so it was okay then. I mean…It's different here. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe Christmas and a guilty conscience just don't go together."

That last comment gave Nancy a thought she had never had before. She caught Ned's hand. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"There's something I need to show you. Go put on boots and coat."

"You mean, outside? Isn't it a little early to go anywhere?"

"It's not too early for this. Come on."

At Nancy's insistence, Ned followed her upstairs. While Nancy went into her room to change into clothes that she could wear outside, Ned went to his own room and changed back into his uniform. It was the only clothes he had with him, and it felt more natural than the pajamas which he had borrowed from Mr. Drew. Then he met Nancy at the door. She had written a note for her father, Hannah, and Helen and picked up an unlit candle and matches. Then they went outside into the early morning darkness. The snow from earlier in the night had stopped completely, but the moon was beginning to set now and soon it would be practically pitch dark.

"The darkest hour is just before dawn," Ned murmured, quoting the proverb.

"Maybe," Nancy told him, "but it only means the dawn is on its way."

She led him down the street and then turned a corner. It took about fifteen minutes, but finally Nancy stopped in front of the church. Ned looked up and saw the cross on top of the steeple, outlined even against the dark sky.

"What are we doing here?" he asked.

of the church. "And that."

She walked up to the scene and paused in front of it. She lit the candle she was holding and set it down in the stable so that it cast a warm glow inside. It was a large nativity scene. The figures were about three and a half feet high and painted so well that they almost looked real. The Baby Jesus was a little oversized in comparison to the other pieces, being nearly the size of a real newborn. He was a separate piece from the manger, and so he could be picked up without the manger. That was precisely what Nancy did, picking the statue up and cradling it in her arms like it was a real baby.

"What are you doing, Nancy?" Ned asked. He was still keeping his distance a bit. If he had felt before that Christmas was something he didn't have a part in, intruding on a nativity scene was even worse.

"Come on," Nancy urged him, and wouldn't say anything else until he approached. When he finally did, Nancy kissed the baby on the head and then handed it to Ned.

"You know," Nancy said, after watching him a moment, "I've never thought of it before how appropriate it is to have a nativity scene right under a steeple with a cross atop it. I guess we all get so wrapped up in decorations and presents and everything that we forget what Christmas is really about."

"You mean love and family and all that?" Ned asked.

"Not exactly. That's better than decoration and presents, but it's not what Christmas is really about. I think we forget that Christmas is about the same thing as Easter. You said that Christmas doesn't go with a guilty conscience, but if we didn't have guilty consciences, we wouldn't have needed a Savior, would we? If we weren't broken, there wouldn't be any Christmas." Nancy put a hand on Ned's elbow.

A small smile crossed Ned's face as he looked down at the baby in his arms, but there were tears in his eyes as well. "That's true."

"That's what Christmas is really about: being saved and forgiven and healed and starting anew. In fact, you're exactly the sort of person who Christmas is for." Nancy rested her head against his shoulder again.

"That helps," Ned admitted.

"But you still have to forgive yourself, too," Nancy added for him. "You can't accept that you're forgiven if you don't think you deserve to be. It'll take some time. You can take all the time you need."

Ned nodded and continued to stand there, deep in thought. All the horrors and hardships of the past two and a half years still crowded around him, pointing accusing fingers and reminding him of things no one should have had to see, but somehow their grip on him was beginning to loosen. They weren't a part of him. At least, they didn't have to be. Nancy was right beside him, and when he was ready, she would listen patiently and forgive him anything. And even before that, there was the Child in his arms, who, though perfectly innocent, knew everything that Ned had done and seen and suffered without having to be told. Ned knew that what he was holding was only a statue, but somehow having even just that statue look at him with those joyful and forgiving eyes brought a peace deep in his soul.

Finally, after standing there a long time, Ned realized he had grown cold and stiff and that Nancy probably was, too. "Maybe we'd better go home."

"All right," Nancy agreed, feeling strange as she moved for the first time in so long.

Ned reverently placed the Baby Jesus back in the manger. Then he took Nancy's hand and they started walking toward home. He noticed that the first gray line of dawn had appeared on the eastern horizon.

Nancy saw it, too. "It's officially Christmas morning now."

"So it is." Ned squeezed her hand. "Merry Christmas, Nancy."

"Merry Christmas," Nancy replied. "And welcome home."