Hardy Boys Fan Fiction at the HDA - With This Ring

The morning dawned cool, gray and misty, making it feel more like fall than mid-summer. Frank stood in the living room of Joe and Vanessa’s apartment thinking if felt just as depressing in here as it did outside. Usually the cozy little apartment was as light and full of life as its occupants but this morning the atmosphere reflected their somber moods. While Vanessa had made at least a half-hearted attempt, giving Frank a wan smile when he’d arrived, Joe had no intention of even trying to make that kind of effort. He was obviously moody and brooding and didn’t care who knew it.

As she moved about the kitchen Frank couldn’t help but notice how many times Vanessa’s gaze drifted to her left hand and her bare ring finger. Each time she did the blanket of sadness that surrounded her seemed to be drawn that much tighter. When Joe came out to say goodbye, her eyes lit up for a split second and she rushed into his arms, making Frank marvel at how they so often still seemed to be in the throes of new love rather than a couple who’d been together for seven years. But her happiness was gone as quickly as it had come, shadowed by the dark cloud that hung over her and would remain until the ring that meant so much to her was returned.

Joe and Vanessa didn’t say a word; they simply looked at each other, their foreheads pressed together. Frank looked away but couldn’t help but glance at them once or twice, still fascinated at how they seemed to be able speak entire conversations without uttering a word. Not wanting to intrude, he walked to the door and stood with his back to the younger couple, waiting. A moment later Joe brushed past him and reached for the doorknob with a muttered, “Let’s go.”

Frank turned and threw Vanessa a wave. “Bye, Van.”

“Bye,” she said. The reluctant smile she mustered for him touched something in Frank. For just a second he thought maybe he understood a little better the burning need that drove Joe’s single-minded passion to get her ring back.

“So,” Frank said, once he and Joe were in the car. “How’re you feeling this morning?” Checking both ways, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the office.

Joe rubbed his eyes, wincing when the movement pulled on the stitches in his forehead. “Lousy,” he replied and then leaned back and closed his eyes, ‘Joe-speak’ for “Leave me alone.”

‘Okaaaay,’ Frank thought and although he didn’t attempt any further conversation, he did glance at Joe periodically thinking his younger brother did indeed look ‘lousy’.

Assuming he hadn’t been inspired to call Fenton in the middle of the night and confess, Frank mused that in addition to his physical injuries, Joe was nervous about the inevitable confrontation with their father when Joe finally did attempt to explain himself. Something Frank was admittedly curious about since, even though he got more information than Fenton had, he was certain there were quite a few details he still didn’t know about.

The drive to the office was made in silence. As soon as Frank pulled the car to a stop in the driveway, Joe got out without a word and made a beeline for the front door of the house, heading straight for the kitchen and the sanctuary of Laura’s motherly love and concern. How Joe got hurt wouldn’t be as important to Laura as the chance to make sure his injuries were relatively minor. After a perfunctory admonishment for him to be more careful, all she’d want to do was hover and mother him. And Frank was sure Joe would drag that out as long as possible before facing the inevitable.

‘Yeah, suck up all that maternal affection while you can, Bro,’ Frank thought, walking towards the office. ‘Once you spill the beans I don’t think Dad is going to be feeling too forgiving.’

Frank stopped to chat with Mrs. Gresham for a moment then went to his own office and turned on his computer. He checked his email, responded to the messages requiring an answer and then, after stopping in the small kitchenette to pour himself a cup of coffee, continued on to his father’s office.

As soon as he crossed the threshold he took one look at his father and seriously thought about finding Joe and telling him to run for his life. Fenton was staring at a piece of paper in his hands and looked nothing short of furious.

“Hey, Dad,” Frank said, sliding into a chair at the conference table. “What’s wrong?”

Fenton looked up, his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes blazing with anger. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” he yelled. Stalking over to the table, he held the piece of paper out towards Frank. For a moment Frank simply stared; his father was so furious that the paper was shaking in his hand. “Your brother! That’s what’s wrong!”

‘Uh-oh.’ Frank thought. Fenton referring to Joe in the third person, not even saying his name was not a good omen. Frank took the paper and saw it was a fax’ed copy of the statement Joe had given to the police the night before in the emergency room.

Trying to ignore Fenton’s incessant pacing and mumbling, Frank read it becoming annoyed with Joe himself. ‘Looks like you left out a more than a few details last night, little brother!’

“He almost got himself killed!” Fenton suddenly yelled, waving his arm angrily and causing Frank to flinch at the outburst. “He’s not a kid anymore, he knows better than to blow his own cover like that!”

Sam walked in with coffee in hand, stopping abruptly when he saw Fenton. He hesitated in the doorway and raised his eyebrows at Frank in a silent question. Frank motioned him forward, grinning when Sam glanced at Fenton and then gave Frank a look that said “Do I have to?”.

Frank pointed to the chair next to him, trying not to laugh when Sam kept his back against the wall and did his best to appear ‘invisible’. When Sam dropped into the chair, Frank handed him the paper murmuring “Joe’s statement from last night.”

Sam sipped from his coffee cup and read silently, while Frank listened to his father’s rant. Yes, Joe was wrong, both in letting himself be seen and then lying about it – ‘Or at least not being entirely truthful,’ Frank silently amended. And Fenton had reason to be angry, but Frank saw through the anger to what was beneath it. Fear.

Joe’s injuries turned out to be the kind that looked a lot worse than they were but Fenton hadn’t known that when he arrived to find Joe covered in blood. It may have taken only a few seconds for Fenton to get to Joe’s side and talk to him, to see that he wasn’t dead – or very close to it – but those few seconds had seemed an eternity, with only the worst possible scenarios in mind. Serious head trauma… catastrophic brain injury… Finding out that Joe had brought it on himself, had tried to take down one of the thieves, had allowed himself to be seen, Frank could easily understand his father’s fear-driven fury.

“Well, that was an interesting read,” Sam murmured to Frank as he laid the statement on the table.

“Ya think?” Frank said sardonically as he continued to watch his father.

No longer yelling, Fenton was still pacing the room from one end to the other, his temper simmering just beneath the surface. Frank was wondering what, if anything, he could say that might calm Fenton a little before Joe arrived when they all heard Joe’s voice from down the hall greeting Mrs. Gresham. Fenton stopped and stared at the open office door, looking like a lion ready to pounce.

As they heard Joe’s footsteps, Sam leaned over to Frank and murmured, “I think this is going to get ugly…”

Joe walked in, mumbled a good morning and made a beeline for the small coffeemaker on the corner table. He slowly refilled the mug he’d brought in with him, adding milk and sugar, drawing the process out as long as possible. Frank watched his brother and realized Joe was stalling. He saw Joe’s shoulders heave up and down then he took a deep breath and turned around.

Frank let out a small sigh of relief. Joe was going to fess up of his own accord without having to be prompted or pushed into it. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out so bad after all, he thought, looking at Sam hopefully. The glimmer of hope was obliterated when Fenton stalked across the room, snatched the paper off the table mid-stride and stopped abruptly just inches from Joe, so close the youngest Hardy took a few steps back.

“What the hell you were thinking?!” he bellowed, shoving the paper at Joe.

Frank winced as he watched Joe’s expression change quickly from one of startled surprise to heated defensiveness. Joe had been wrong, no question about it, but Fenton not giving him a chance to explain and apologize before laying into him was all it took for Joe’s anger to match his father’s.

Before Joe could even open his mouth, Fenton threw the paper back on the table. “You were supposed to get the plate number and call in! That’s it!”

“I did call in!” Joe snapped.

“And then you blew your own cover!” Fenton yelled. “What were you thinking, Joe?!”

“I was thinking they were right in front of me and I wasn’t gonna let them get away without getting something we could use!”

“You could have very easily been killed!”

Frank slunk down in the chair, wondering if he should take cover or try and play peacemaker. He glanced at Sam, who’d taken the same ‘defensive’ posture and was now watching Joe and Fenton, his head swiveling from one to the other as if he were watching a tennis match.

“Oh, please,” Joe muttered rolling his eyes and Frank winced, knowing that would only infuriate their father even more.

Sure enough, Fenton took another step forward. Joe stood his ground and stuck his chin out defiantly and Frank wasn’t sure if that was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

“What if he’d swung that bottle a little lower? What if your reflexes weren’t quite fast enough? What if he caught you in the neck instead of the arm? You would have bled to death before anyone even got there!” Fenton yelled, waving his arm for emphasis. “You didn’t follow the plan! You were rash and impulsive. You took a risk and didn’t consider the consequences and look what happened!”

“I don’t care!!!” Joe cried out his anger matching that of his father. “This isn’t just anybody, this is Vanessa’s ring. The one I had specially made just for her! That’s worth taking a risk for!”

“NO ring is worth risking your life for!” Fenton snapped, his voice shaking with the fear of what could have happened. “I don’t care if this is Vanessa’s ring, if I can’t trust you to act like a professional then you are off the case, do you understand me?”

Joe’s eyes grew wide for split second and then narrowed dangerously. “Like hell I am,” he growled. “You can’t keep me off this.”

“When you act like a ten-year-old I can,” Fenton said, his voice low. “And I will.”

Joe looked stunned for a moment then lashed out, pointing a finger at his father. “I promised Vanessa I’d get her ring back and I will no matter what! With or without your help!” He spun around to leave, when Fenton grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop.

‘Oh, crap,’ Frank thought, wondering if they’d reached the point of no return when Sam leaned over towards him. “How about you grab yours, I’ll grab mine and we go to neutral corners,” Sam said.

“Deal,” Frank agreed, relieved. He and Sam got up and walked around the table. Sam quietly moved up behind Fenton as Frank approached Joe, both still so engrossed in yelling at each other they didn’t even notice. Frank caught a few words in the tirade – “Childish”, “Over protective”, - and rolled his eyes as he approached his brother warily. The younger Hardy was quite animated, waving his arms as he shouted. Frank bobbed and weaved and finally got close but had to duck, narrowly missing being smacked in the head by Joe’s hand. Frank took Joe’s arm – forcefully – startling his younger brother.

Sam put a hand on Fenton’s shoulder and firmly pulled him back a few steps.

Frank dragged Joe from the office, calling out that they’d work on tracking down the sticker Joe saw on the car’s bumper and never looked back.

…

“Sit,” Sam ordered his friend, pointing to a chair. Fenton glared at him for a moment, resistant, and finally sat down. Sam pulled out a chair next to him and took a seat, listening quietly as Fenton continued to grumble about Joe.

“I can’t believe he’s acting so childish. And petulant?” Fenton asked in mock disbelief. “He could write the book! He won’t listen to anyone, he’s still a loose cannon…” his voice trailed off as he ran out of steam.

Sam leaned back in the chair and stared at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, it’s not all his fault.”

“Don’t tell me you’re defending him?!” Fenton stared at him, stunned.

“No, of course not. He was wrong - but he knows that.”

“Excuse me?!” Fenton said, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Did you not hear him, attempting to justify what he did?”

“Yes, I did but he was just reacting, Fenton,” Sam said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows on the table.

“To what?” Fenton demanded.

“Not what…” Sam smiled, “who.”

Fenton stared at his friend having no idea what he meant. “Who?” he repeated, puzzled.

“Yeah, who,” Sam smiled. “And that who would be you.”

Fenton’s jaw dropped. “Me?! What did I do?”

Sam held his hands up placatingly. “Look, we both know I have no experience when it comes to being a father but I just think maybe if you’d given him a chance to come clean and apologize before you laid into him… It’s just a thought. And you really can’t lay all the blame for that temper on him.”

Fenton’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Oh?”

Sam shrugged and leaned back in the chair, grinning. “He takes after his old man.”

Fenton stared at him, momentarily surprised and then slouched down in his seat, looking at Sam sourly. He folded his arms over his chest and, in Sam’s best estimation, pouted, causing Sam to snicker.

Fenton glared at him malevolently. “Shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam gave him a salute. “Shutting up, sir.” And then he laughed out loud…

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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.