Vanessa stood outside Joe’s room, trying as hard as she could to peek in. He had just been brought up after having come out of surgery, and she found herself barely being able to breathe waiting to see him. As he had been wheeled into the room on a stretcher, she caught only the faintest glimpse of him, and how he had looked---pale, bandaged, attached to IV’s—was enough to almost make her pass out. She knew that only immediate family was being let in, but she didn’t care; no one would stop her from seeing Joe.

Trying to make herself less conspicuous, she wandered briefly down the hall, far enough to keep an eye on his room and also just far enough to make her appearance less noticeable. That’s a joke, she thought, trying to not choke as emotions fought their way to the surface. How could they NOT notice me?

Hand shaking, she reached into her jean pocket and pulled out a tissue, dabbing at her eyes and the tears at their corners. God, this had been the worst day of her life. After the attack, she could barely concentrate on what had been going on. She heard gunshots, saw Joe fall… and then she must have passed out, unable to bear the sight, the thought, that her boyfriend was gone.

She was awakened, she didn’t know how much later, in a hospital room. Somehow, she had gotten there. Her head ached, her hand throbbed from, she later realized, where the hot tea had scalded it. But she was here, and she was alive. But it was only if Joe was alive and okay, too, that she knew that her life would still be worth living.

In what seemed like hours, she had been “treated” and dismissed with the warnings of what to look out for. She had a mild concussion, but the terrible bruising and cuts on her face looked a lot worse than they actually were. Still, she had bandages covering her right cheek and chin, and a huge white gauze pad over her right temple. That, along with the wrap on her wrist, made her feel like a walking mummy. Or maybe one of those toilet paper brides that got wrapped up at bridal showers and had to be unceremoniously touted around in the “best dress”. She had been planning to suitably mortify Callie and had once giggled at the thought of it. Now, realizing what she looked like and what she had been through, she wondered if she would find anything funny ever again.

Even after she’d been released, she couldn’t find any peace. No one would tell her anything about Joe or what had happened, and she had been interviewed—more like descended upon—by what seemed like every detective on the Bayport police force. Well, not every detective; hers was still missing, and she desperately needed to find him. It had only been through a series of lies and some investigation of her own, along with a phone call to her mom, who DID know what was going on, that she had procured Joe’s room number. Her mother, always understanding, had told her to go see him, even before she, herself, could see Vanessa. She knew the pain of losing someone she had once loved as well.

Now, amid strange glances that the nurses had given her, she tried to be as subtle as she possibly could, looking as conspicuous as she knew that she did. When a particularly irritating nurse looked about to call security, she had told them that she was Joe’s sister, and that they had been involved in an accident together. Thanking God silently for the lack of communication in hospitals, the nurse finally let her stay, but she didn’t know how long her luck was going to last.

Seeing several doctors and nurses finally exit Joe’s room, she moved, painfully slowly, towards it. At that moment, she saw the elevator door open with Frank and Fenton standing there, waiting to exit.

Fenton saw her first. Rushing towards Joe’s room with Frank at his heels, he stopped quickly, grabbed Vanessa, ignoring how terrible she looked, and hugged her to him. Motioning Frank with one arm to enter Joe’s room, he saw his eldest son disappear. He felt Vanessa trembling, tears on his shirt, as she clung to him tightly. “It’s okay,” he said softly to her. “Joe’s okay.”

“Ahem.”

Annoyed, Fenton glanced over his shoulder at the nurse who was staring at him.

“Yes?” he managed, still holding on to Vanessa.

“Mr. Hardy, Joseph’s father, I presume?”

“Yes,” he answered again, trying to maintain his composure. He desperately wanted to see Joe, to make sure he was all right; and, at the same time, he needed to comfort Vanessa, to ensure her safety, physically and emotionally, as well.

The nurse nodded toward Vanessa, seemingly a bit confused, as though she was trying to prove a point, but was wavering in her resolve. “She says she’s your daughter.” She awaited a response.

Furious, Fenton stared at her. “Yes, she is.”

And he meant it with every fiber of his being. The girl in his arms had saved his son’s life once, a long time ago. She had revived his spirit, brought joy back into his life. In the years they had known each other, he knew he had become a father-figure to her, since her own father’s tragic loss so long ago. She’d often, embarrassed at first, come to him for advice. Later, having developed a comfortable ease with each other, she’d tease him or get on his case about something that even his sons wouldn’t dare to. As much as he loved Callie, and he did, he and Vanessa had formed a close bond. And she was as much a daughter to him now as he knew she would officially be in future years when Joe finally came to his senses and married her.

Joe. That thought brought him back to the present as the nurse slinked away. Releasing Vanessa, he gently put both his hands on the sides of her face and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. “You’re okay,” he said softly.

“I… I want to see Joe,” she managed.

“Me, too. Let’s go,” he said, but paused one more instant. “Van?”

“Hmmmm?” she choked out.

“I meant what I said there. You’re okay… and you’re my daughter. AND…” He continued evenly, but Vanessa saw the anger in his face, heard it in his voice. “No one hurts my girl.”

With that, he led Vanessa into Joe’s room, needing to make sure that his boy was okay, too.

** ** **

Hours passed. Collig had come and gone, promising to return as soon as everyone was ready to help out in the case any way he could. Any residual anger he had expressed in the waiting room seemed to disappear when he caught sight of Joe… of Vanessa… and, leaving everyone to themselves, he slowly made his way out, stopping only to look at his cell phone and scroll through the numbers. When WAS the last time he had called his daughter?

Andrea Bender, Fenton’s “sister,” sat beside Vanessa, holding her hand. She had brought an old sweatshirt for Vanessa to wear, since her blouse was no longer in one piece. The thought of what almost happened to her baby made her angry… made her terrified. Still, she couldn’t force Vanessa to go with her back to her house. Vanessa’s heart, and her home, belonged elsewhere now, she noted, looking at Joe Hardy lying on the hospital bed. As visiting hours approached their close, she leaned over, hugged Vanessa tightly… and left.

Callie had managed to sneak into the room when Nurse Ratched, as she came to think of her, wasn’t looking. She had done her best to comfort Frank, who seemed almost unable to speak when he looked at his brother. She’d held Vanessa as she cried, recounting everything that happened… a scene so vivid that Callie still felt sick to her stomach when she thought about it. Frank had finally fallen asleep, utterly exhausted from being up for over two days straight.

Slowly, she moved away from him, stopping only to bend down and kiss the top of his head. With a quick hug for Vanessa and Mr. Hardy, and a promise to sneak back in first thing the next day, she quietly departed, praying that with the light of morning, things would finally get better.

Fenton watched all the people who loved Joe so dearly gather around him. Vanessa looked heartbroken; Andrea looked stunned; Frank was speechless. Callie looked like she’d seen better days as well. With a deep sigh, he leaned back and rubbed his eyes, taking one last glance at Joe and wishing, more than he thought he would, that Laura was there with him. Sometimes, even he needed a little support, so that he could just concentrate on supporting everyone else.

The night dragged on.

** ** **

Haze. Confusion. Joe struggled to open his eyes, fighting the nauseating sense of dizziness that he felt. Something had happened. What? God, he was TIRED. He felt his lips move, murmuring, “Got to sleep.” Who he was talking to or why he was speaking, even where he was, was unclear to him. He felt himself nodding off.

Then, it hit him, raining down on him as drop by drop memories came flooding back. The case. The police station. Arguing with his brother. Laughing at the apartment. Sleep. Gunfire. Vanessa.

“Vanessa!” He gasped as he opened his eyes at once. Panicked, he looked frantically around the room. He was in a hospital; he saw it at once. There was his brother and his dad, but they weren’t who he was looking for.

Then he felt it. Turning painfully to one side, he saw Vanessa’s face, bandaged, tears streaming from her eyes. “Van?” he croaked.

“It’s okay. WE’RE okay,” she said in answer, leaning down and resting her head on his shoulder. Reaching up to stroke her hair, he could only manage, “We will be, babe.”

And sleep came once more.

** ** **

Three days later, Joe was considerably better physically, although he was more fired up than he could remember. Not since Iola’s death had he felt such fury; Vanessa had been hurt, and NO ONE got away with that. He’d find out what happened or he’d die trying.

Wincing, he reached down and gingerly rubbed his side. Letting out a small sigh, he leaned back against the pillows. The doctors had told him that he’d been shot in the side and had suffered some minor internal damage. The real danger had been from blood loss, but, thankfully, he had been brought to the hospital on time. He had also come perilously close to dying--- for real--- as a bullet had grazed his temple. Hughes had meant business.

Hughes. The very image conjured images for him that he could barely hold back. The thought that someone—anyone—could put his hands on Vanessa and terrorize her was enough to make him blind with rage. Over the past few days, he’d been filled in on what had happened; the role of Hughes, the role of Daley. He was still unsure of what to make of that whole thing. The guy had saved his life, risked everything to make sure that he and Vanessa were okay. At the same time, he’d almost gotten them killed by his stupidity by leaving in the first place. Still, he had to admit that everyone made mistakes, and he wanted to talk to the cop personally and thank him. He was sure he’d arrange time to do that.

Knowing he would be released in just another day with a handful of painkillers to keep him company put a small, albeit transitory, smile on his face. He was looking forward to feeling nothing for once, and he knew it was good for him--- because after a few more days, when everyone would meet and try to figure everything out again, there was no telling how much passion, how much unrelenting anger, he’d let loose.

Unlike his brother, who tried with all his might to control his anger, Joe knew that he relished his own. It drove him; it inspired him. The one thing that separated him from his brother above all else was that Frank had never experienced a loss so deep that he was forever changed. A part—a small part—of Frank, still had that innocence, that belief that everything would eventually be okay. He’d seen Frank struggle with that idea; he knew Frank knew the realities of the world and could take care of himself; he realized that Frank had seen and tangled with the bad guys on more occasions than he cared to count. Still, Frank had never lost someone he loved. Frank didn’t have an Iola to inspire and to guide him. And Joe prayed he never would.

“Hey! Earth to Joe.” Joe looked up and smiled. His brother was looking at him with a mixture of concern and confusion. “You okay?” he asked, having a seat on the edge of the bed.

Immediately, Joe put a hand on his head and closed his eyes. Well, I might as well milk this for all its worth, he thought. “Yeah… I’ll make it. Do you think… you could…maybe get me some magazines, though? And this hospital food is pretty lousy.” Slowly, he opened his eyes, pleased that he’d managed to illicit such a weak tone. To his surprise, Frank didn’t move. He simply crossed his arms and had a strong expression of amusement on his face.

“I hadn’t realized that you were paralyzed,” Frank responded with a small smile.

“Oh… Oh,” Joe stammered.

“Look, little brother,” Frank went on, looking Joe directly in the eye. “You know I’d do anything for you. You scared the hell out of me.” He paused, making sure Joe understood what he was saying. “But—in the past three days, I don’t think I’ve ever done more errands in my life, and that INCLUDES wedding planning. So that’s it! If you REALLY need something, you know I’ll do it. But quit pretending that you’re incapacitated.”

“Sorry,” Joe mumbled, embarrassed that he’d been caught. Frank could make him feel more guilty than his own dad could!

“Joe?” Frank queried.

“Yeah?”

“It’s you, and normally I’d even be amused by it. But given what happened, it’s not funny. It really isn’t.”

Joe reached over and gave Frank a pat on the arm, sitting up straighter. Despite Frank’s reprimand, and firm place in big brother mode, Joe saw that Frank was really afraid, and he knew that he really had almost died. It’s just that everything had been so horrible, so serious, lately, that he needed to let off some steam.

“Sorry, Frank,” he replied, and he meant it.

“It’s okay,” Frank replied. With that, he reached behind him and threw a few magazines on Joe’s bed, along with a bag from Joe’s favorite deli. “Here.” He said with a smile.

“How did you—“ Joe began.

“I just did, Joe. That’s what big brothers are for.” He reached over and affectionately tousled Joe’s hair like he used to when they were kids. “You’re welcome.”

“I guess this means you love me, huh?” Joe responded, liking to make his brother squirm.

Frank shook his head and let out a sigh. “You’re okay,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I just needed a best man, or the wedding party numbers would be uneven.”

Joe laughed. “The horror, Frank.” Then, he went on, “So I guess things worked out with Callie, huh?”

Frank blushed. “What gave you that idea? The fact that she’s been to see you every day?” he asked.

“Nah—it’d be hard to stay away from me, no matter who you are. I’m a handsome guy, you know.” He reached into the deli bag, took a long slurp of the soda Frank had brought him, and immediately let loose a loud belch. He smiled.

Frank sighed, happier than words to have his brother back. “Don’t forget classy, Joe,” he finished, good-naturedly.

The brothers spent the next few minutes chatting, trying to keep conversation light. Finally, Joe said what had been on his mind.

“So,” he began, “Friday—we’re all meeting. Me, you, dad, Collig…”

“Nancy,” Frank added.

“But—“ Joe cut in.

“Stop,” Frank interjected. “Collig actually invited her in. We haven’t even spoken since the last meeting.”

He saw that Frank was serious; had changed. Joe nodded in silent understanding.

“Anyway,” Joe continued, “I just want you to know… what they did to Van… I WILL break this case and make whoever did --- that—pay.” He was surprised by the emotion he couldn’t help but to show in his voice, how his voice faltered at Vanessa’s name.

“No, you won’t,” Frank responded evenly, but deadly serious.

Shocked into silence momentarily, he heard his brother finish. “WE will make someone pay. You’re not doing anything alone.”

Slowly, and with unwavering determination in both of their eyes, the brothers shook hands.

It had begun.

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Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.