Frank wondered exactly who he had pissed off so badly to find himself now driving through the snow-frozen Bayport streets on Christmas Eve searching for his concussed younger brother with a barely dressed, gay bartender named ‘Hank’ (short for hankie panky, he was assured) riding shotgun.

He’d felt bad for the other man when the tow truck driver refused to give Hank a ride, and found himself offering the forlorn bartender a lift. Hank had been delighted. Frank? Not so much but he did kinda feel bad for the other guy. After all his car got trashed on Christmas Eve and, according to Hank, he had no one he could call.

“So what’s your brother look like?” Hank asked as he leaned forward in the seat and peered out the front window as if he expected to find the missing Hardy walking right in front of the van. “Is he tall, dark and delicious, like you? Or did you hog all the good stuff?”

Frank stifled a groan. Damn Chet and his timing. Hank had overheard enough of Frank and Chet’s conversation when Chet called to tell Frank he was at the Hardy house, to figure out something was up and insisted on helping. Apparently the word ‘no’ was not in his vocabulary and an extra set of eyes would be helpful…so with only slight reluctance, Frank had given up the argument and here they were. Batman and his lively Gay Wonder….

“Eighteen. Six foot. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Leather—”

“Oh stop. Stop!” Hank screeched and Frank yanked the van to the side of the road and slammed on his brakes

“Did you see him?” his neck craned as he looked around for his brother but Hank was just shaking his head, his mouth set on ‘pout’.

“That’s not nice!” the passenger exclaimed, every word dripping with hurt. “I thought you were different.”

“Excuse me?” Frank was confused.

“Eighteen? Six foot? Blond hair, blue eyes? Leather?? Talk about every guy’s – okay maybe not every guy – but talk about some guys’ dream guy.” Tears – tears? – sparkled in Hank’s dark eyes and he howled, “You’re no better than the tow truck driver!”

Frank just stared at Hank and blinked. He blinked again, reached across and turned up the heater. Maybe Hank was hypothermic…. And then he got it…. Huffing, he undid his seatbelt, ignored how Hank’s hand shot to the passenger door handle, lifted his butt and fished out his wallet. Muttering under his breath, he found the small family picture he kept there and passed it to Hank. The other man hesitated and then took the picture; his eyes skimmed over the attractive family of four and then his mouth made a huge O; Frank waited. After a moment, Hank passed back the photo and blushed. “So, uh,” he licked his lips. “Is he straight too?”

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

The next time Joe came to his senses he was sitting in a huge, overstuffed chair in a modestly decorated living room with a cold mug of something brownish in his hands. Ovaltine™, he guessed.

His head ached and he had to consciously tighten his grip on the mug to keep from dropping it on the floor. Carefully, he leaned forward, placed the drink on the heavy coffee table in front of him and tried to remember how he got there.

Again, his hurting head drew a blank. The last thing he remembered was being in a car with two elderly women. Boy and wasn’t that a weird memory…?

Frank. He needed to call Frank. Maybe his brother could make some sense of all this.

But first he’d have to find his leather jacket –

“You didn’t finish your drink,” Gladys scolded lightly as she hurried into the living room carrying a tray of something. Joe’s nose wrinkled up – gingerbread cookies? His stomach lurched and he instantly held up a hand, this would not be a good time for cookies.

“Now, now, none of that. You need something to help settle your stomach and these are gingerbread cookies,” the elderly woman ignored his feeble protest. “Ginger is good for upset tummies.” Tummies? Joe winced. He definitely needed to call his brother. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any ginger ale, so I whipped up a quick batch of these.”

Joe suddenly felt like an unappreciative schmuck. “Ah, thank you,” he managed and took one off the tray. They were still warm. “They smell…good…” his stomach lurched, but good manners first.

A smile lit up the old woman’s face and Joe felt himself smile in return. He nibbled on the corner of the cookie as he glanced around the living room again. This time he noticed that there weren’t any Christmas decorations up. Not one.

“Not a fan of Christmas, huh?” he asked casually knowing that not everyone held Christmas in the way he and his family did.

“What?” it was the woman’s turn to be confused and then she too looked around the room. Her smile dropped from her face and her blue eyes saddened. Joe felt a new kind of unease in the pit of his stomach. “Actually Christmas is my favorite time of year.” She picked up the mug from the coffee table and sighed. When she looked at Joe again, he saw the ache deep in her eyes. It sucked his breath away. “This is the first year we haven’t decorated…”

Although he knew it wasn’t his place to ask, his normal consideration was dampened by his head injury and he blurted out. “Why?”

“Oh you’re not interested in the troubles of a couple of old women,” Gladys insisted as she gave him another cookie and turned to leave the living room. “There’s a phone in the hallway if you have some one to call, if not, you’re welcome to stay here until you get your feet under you again – we don’t have much, but you’re welcome to what there is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to help Myrtle in the kitchen.”

Joe frowned as he watched her leave. Again his eyes took in the bare furnishings and wondered what he could do to help.

First things first, though; he needed to call Frank.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

“Aren’t you cold?” Frank had to ask as he put his signal light on and turned to go down a long alley. He really hoped that he wouldn’t find Joe there – three and half hours and counting…

Hank shifted on the seat and the sleuth made a face at the sound of a naked butt cheek being shifted. “You get used to it.”

“I dunno,” the dark haired Hardy admitted. “I just don’t get it. Why only a vest and chaps? It is December…don’t you worry about frost biting something you don’t want bitten?” He reddened as his choice of wording sent Hank howling.

“Oh man, Frank, you are absolutely precious,” the other man cooed once he’d managed to settle down. “Actually I don’t usually dress like this – I’m more a velour track suit kinda guy – but I was working late last night and just crashed at the bar instead of trying to drive home. You know what they say? Doctors bury their mistakes, bartenders drink theirs…and what can I say? I’m a lousy bartender!”

Frank laughed and shook his head. He couldn’t wait to introduce Hank to Joe....

Joe…

The nineteen year old sobered immediately. Oh God, little brother…where are you?

And as if in answer to his prayer, Frank’s cell phone rang.