Finally, after quick showers, they reassembled in Frank’s room with the first-aid kit, two delivered, jumbo pizzas, and a bowl of ice cubes provided by their kindly hostess. Laughing, the three compared their battle scars.

Most of Kiwi’s injuries didn’t show much; he’d taken most of his abuse from Joe – a hard punch to the stomach, a bruise on his jaw where the younger Hardy’s fist had connected, and his calf bore the marks of the hammer punch. Frank had scored highly, however; a huge bruise was developing on their friend’s scraped elbow, where it had come into sharp contact with the concrete floor.

Joe’s cut lip was still painful, but the swelling had gone down slightly. His temple was turning a lovely shade of purple, but he insisted that an ice pack was all he needed, to be fine by morning. As long as he could eat, he assured them, he was fine.

"It’s you I’m worried about," he informed Frank, biting gingerly into a slice of pizza. "I don’t like the sound of those dizzy spells, not at all!"

"I said I’d let a doctor check me over, and I will." Frank said huskily. He cleared his throat and winced as he tried to swallow the pizza.

"Frank – I don’t remember your voice sounding quite so deep." Kiwi observed. Both Hardys blinked at him in surprise – and then realized they’d left something rather important out in their hurried explanation of the previous days’ events.

"He wasn’t just hit on the head in the woods, Kiwi." Joe said somberly. "He was – show him, Frank."

Reluctantly, Frank pulled down the collar of his turtleneck. The deep blue bruises showed up clearly on his fair skin. Kiwi peered at them, then let out a low whistle of consternation.

"Aw, man! Frank, did that bloke try and strangle you too?"

"Yeah – I guess so, but I don’t remember." Frank admitted, rolling the neck of his sweater back up. "I keep thinking I’ll remember what happened…but so far, nothing."

"Let’s get you over to the hospital." Joe prodded. "I just hope they don’t want you to stay there…."

"I’m not staying there, no matter what they want." Frank assured him. "It’s been three days since I was hit; whatever’s wrong has got to be getting better, right?"

*****

"I hate emergency waiting rooms!" Joe fretted, as he sat slumped on a chair next to Kiwi, tapping his thumbnails together in a definite case of the fidgets. "It seems like we’re always in one, for one reason or another."

"Goes with the territory of investigative work, I guess." his friend murmured, appearing more relaxed than the nervous younger Hardy. Kiwi was slouched in his seat, head back and eyes closed drowsily. His long legs were stretched across the walkway, ankles crossed. "Don’t worry, Joe – Frank’ll be out in a bit, and things’ll be hunky dory, you’ll see."

Joe just gave him a glum look and went back to fidgeting.

In the examining room, Frank was perched on the edge of the examination table, legs swinging, feeling a bit fidgety as well. He was apprehensive that the doctor might ask him to remove his shirt, and he had no intention of exhibiting those choke marks to a physician! He summoned what he hoped was a cheerful smile, as the door opened and the young ER resident entered, reading the chart.

"Frank Hardy? I’m Dr. Davidson." He shook hands with Frank, briefly. "So you took a bang on the head playing football a few days ago, and now you’re having dizzy spells and headaches, is that it?"

"That’s right," Frank replied, sticking to the story they’d concocted to account for his injury. "Most of the time I feel fine, but when I move my head too quickly, I get dizzy."

The physician checked Frank’s eyes and ears, had him track a tiny light, and then gently felt over his skull, checking for any signs of a fracture. Frank couldn’t restrain a wince when the bruise on the back of his head was touched.

"That’s going to be sore for a while," the doctor commented. "I think we’d better get an x-ray, just to be sure, but I’m fairly certain there’s no fracture. It looks like you suffered a concussion, though. The recurrent dizziness is a common symptom."

Frank felt relief flow through him. A concussion I can live with! Meekly, he followed a nurse to the radiology department, and submitted to having his skull x-rayed. While waiting for the results, he was allowed to lie down on a bed in an empty examining room, and was nearly asleep when Dr. Davidson reappeared.

"Doesn’t look too bad, Frank." The physician clipped the negative to a viewer and pointed at it. "Here’s where you were hit; you’ve got a fairly extensive bruise there, and a little residual swelling. Nothing to indicate fracture, though." He smiled. "So what I want you to do is take it very easy for the next few days; no more football, or anything like that. The headaches and dizziness should subside in a day or two. If they don’t, get back here and let us take another look at you."

"Okay – thanks." Frank stood up, anxious to be on his way. "I can go, then?"

"I’m going to give you some pain medication samples." The doctor said, and took a couple of small foil packets from the pocket of his white jacket. "Take these as directed, if your head starts aching badly." He favored the impatient Hardy with a keen glance. "I mean it, no rough stuff for a week or so." he emphasized.

"I won’t." Frank promised, hoping he would be able to keep that promise, and made his escape as quickly as he could.

Returning to where Joe and Kiwi waited, he smiled reassuringly into his brother’s anxious eyes. "It’s okay – I don’t have to stay."

Kiwi twitched and opened his eyes in surprise. He’d been dozing, despite Joe talking to him. "What did they say, dude?" he asked, jumping to his feet.

"Concussion – no fracture." Frank replied briefly. "He said to take it easy and gave me some tablets to take if my head starts aching too much."

Joe sighed with relief, wrapped his arm about Frank’s shoulders, and squeezed for a moment. "In that case – let’s get out of here!" he said, and led the way towards the exit doors.

Joe drove them from the hospital back to the bed-and-breakfast, the three of them talking animatedly all the way. The Hardys were curious as to what their friend had been up to in the three years since they’d last met – and they were especially curious about the radical change in his appearance!

"So? I got my hair cut – what’s the problem?" he complained, objecting to their teasing.

"Oh come on, Kiwi! To be fair, it’s a little more than just a hair cut!" Joe laughed.

"Yes!" Frank agreed wholeheartedly, and gripped Kiwi’s bicep testingly. "Where on earth did these come from? Three years ago, you were a lanky streak of nothing!"

"That was Rob’s doing – nothing to do with me." he replied vaguely, crossing his arms and gazing out the window.

"Meaning, you got Rob to do the reps, and you just sat there growing muscle?" Joe said sardonically.

"Well, no…." Kiwi replied, his voice trailing off. Both brothers remained silent, waiting for his explanation. Frank looked pointedly at their friend. "Okay, okay, I’ll tell you why – but it’s embarrassing."

"Oh, good." Joe snickered.

Kiwi glared at Joe before going into his explanation. "I don’t know whether you remember what I was like back in England – for instance, when Martin Grantham shot Alan Black?"

"How do you mean?" Frank asked.

"I mean, how I froze – couldn’t move."

"Yeah, but that’s only natural; it was your first experience—"

"But I didn’t get any better, dude! Faced with a dangerous situation, I kept…well, shutting down – and you just can’t do that in our game!"

Joe shrugged his shoulders in tacit agreement.

"I felt the Randalls were constantly carrying me, physically speaking, so I decided to do something about it, including a bit of martial arts. Rob was a huge bonus – he pushed me, made me do the work, stopped me from shirking, in an attempt to drum that cowardice out of me." He looked out of the corner of his eye, daring either brother to make a comment.

Both Hardys were laughing now. "So, did it change you?" Joe inquired sweetly.