hardy boys fan fiction

TRUE COLORS
 hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by

STORMWATCHER

Chapter 3

 hardy boys fan fiction

THE CHAPTERS

INTRO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

EPILOGUE

The next morning, Joe wandered downstairs around ten o'clock, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He hadn't slept very well; he was used to a certain amount of noise in the house at night, but last night had been different. Somehow, the knowledge that the big window downstairs was merely covered over with a sheet of thin plywood had made the creaks and groans of the house seem more threatening. Joe had had some difficulty in drifting off, and he had woken several times, feeling uneasy despite knowing that Dad was sleeping in the living room as a safety precaution. It was, he admitted dryly to himself, hard not to feel nervous after such an incident. But in the bright light of the summer day, his anxiety had faded to the point where he could almost forget it entirely.

Just as long as they didn't have to do it again tonight...

"Good morning," Mom said as he sat down at the table. She looked tired, too, and there were dark rings under Frank's eyes as well.

"Mornin'. Where's Dad?" Joe asked through another yawn, reaching for the cereal box.

"He went to pick up Aunt G from the hospital," Frank answered, glancing up from the paper with a smile. "She called about half an hour ago and said she was ready to leave."

Joe considered that as he shook cereal into his bowl. "She's ready to leave, or the doctor says she's ready to leave?" he asked, and Mom and Frank both laughed.

"Exactly. Your father's gone to find out which it is, and if they are ready to discharge her, he'll bring her on home. I've called the glass people and they'll be by this afternoon to put in a new pane."

"And then we can get the alarm people out," Frank muttered as Joe poured milk over his cereal.

"The sooner the better," the younger boy agreed, setting the milk down and reaching for a spoon.

"Will you want any toast, Joe?"

"Hmmm...I don't suppose there's any bacon left?"

"I told you he'd smell it," Frank said to Mom, smiling. "Yeah, we saved a piece or two for you."

"Only a piece or two?" Joe sighed. "In that case, I might have to have some toast after all."

"It's in the kitchen, dear, on a plate next to the stove."

"You mean I have to go fetch it myself?" Joe did his best to sound put-upon.

"He figures things out quick, doesn't he, Mom?"

Joe got up and went to get his bacon, pretending to grumble and trying to control his smile. Breakfast usually was an amusing time, not just for the banter but for the things that the half-awake family would do. The blond boy grinned, remembering the time Frank had accidentally poured milk over his waffles, and the time Mom had put creamer in the syrup jug instead of her coffee cup. Sometimes it seemed that only Dad ever woke up alert. The seventeen-year-old sat back down at the table, putting the little plate bearing two strips of bacon beside him, and started the business of eating the bacon, finishing the cereal, and buttering a piece of toast. He had just scooped up a pat of butter and was preparing to spread it on his toast, when he realized he was not holding toast and barely caught himself in time to keep from spreading the butter on his bacon. Hastily laying the half-eaten strip of crisp meat on his plate, he grabbed up the toast, feeling his ears grow warm. Fortunately, neither Mom nor Frank seemed to have noticed.

He was almost finished eating when the phone rang, startling all of them. Mom got up and went to answer it; Joe turned back to his second slice of toast and resumed his attempts to read the sports section over Frank's shoulder. Sometimes Frank decided to be obnoxious about it and tried to block Joe’s view, but today he allowed the younger boy to lean on his shoulder and mutter about the various teams. A moment later, though, both boys looked up in surprise as the kitchen phone slammed down; a second after that, Mom hurried into the dining room, her face white. "Get ready to leave, fast. Your father's been in an accident, he's badly hurt," she said tautly, gripping the back of the chair she'd been sitting in.

Joe leaped to his feet; Frank shoved the paper onto the table and stood almost as swiftly. "When, how?"

"They just brought him in a few minutes ago. Gertrude was in the waiting room- identified him- it-"

Joe exchanged a single horror-stricken look with Frank, then hurried to Mom as she stopped speaking and lifted her hand to her mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling cold and frightened. For a moment she leaned against him, and Joe felt- with a slight sense of relief- his brother's arms encircling both of them. "It- was a car accident, they told her that much. He's in surgery," Mom went on after a moment. "They wouldn't- didn't take the time to fill her in on- on details."

"It'll be all right," Joe said as firmly as he could, and cursed himself as he heard his voice tremble. "Dad's tough. And remember, Mom, Auntie's a bit of a pessimist." He felt her take a deep breath and gently push him away, looked down and saw her try to smile.

"Go get ready, boys."

"C'mon," Frank murmured, and Joe felt icy fingers pluck gently at his shoulder. He turned and obediently followed Frank up the stairs, his legs less steady than usual. The older boy didn't say anything, but his chilly hand remained on Joe's arm, supporting him when he stumbled on the top step. As they reached Joe's room, Frank looked over at him with an approving expression, gave his shoulder a squeeze, then let go and hurried down the hall. Joe ducked into his room and grabbed the first pair of matching socks he saw, then sank down on his unmade bed to pull them on. His insides were knotting with tension; he knew Frank's glance had been for the reassurence he'd given Mom- but what if he was wrong? What if realism was called for, not optimism? What if...?

"No time for that," he growled at himself, hauling on his sneakers, tying them as fast as his fumbling fingers would permit, and scrambling down the stairs to where Mom waited impatiently at the front door. Frank thumped down the stairs a few seconds later and a minute later they were on the way.

The drive seemed interminable, the search for a parking spot impossibly frustrating, and the waiting room was a good deal more crowded this morning than it had been the night before. It took several minutes for them to find Gertrude; the older woman was sitting in one of the chairs, next to a small table. Her face was very pale and she didn't seem to register their presences until Mom was right in front of her. Joe traded a worried glance with his brother; that wasn't like their aunt at all, and it didn't bode well. If she was this shaken up, how bad was it, really?

"Have they-?" Mom began anxiously.

"No, nothing. No one's come down and the nurses don't know anything. Or won't tell," Gertrude said quietly.

"What about the police, have they come yet?" Frank asked anxiously. Their aunt simply shook her head. Joe realized she must be still in shock; seeing their father carried in injured, when she was expecting him to walk in and take her home, had shaken her severely.

Mom must have realized the same thing, for she sat down in the chair beside Gertrude and took the old lady's trembling hand. Joe had never really thought of his aunt as old, but now, looking at her thin, lined hand in Mom's graceful, smooth one, it hit him rather hard. "Tell me how it happened," he heard his mother say, and forced himself to pay attention to his aunt's softly-spoken words.

"I was waiting in a chair over there- closer to the door- wondering what was taking Fenton so long to get here. I almost went to the phone to call again, thinking perhaps he'd been distracted, but I was afraid that if I did, he'd come in and not see me and get worried. So I waited, and after- oh, it must have been forty minutes after I called- I heard an ambulance leaving." Gertrude paused to sigh. "It came back very quickly, and I thought it must have been a false alarm, but then the doors opened and the two men came in, pushing the stretcher. There was...there was a man lying on it, and they- it was so quick- they rolled him past, holding one of those oxygen-pump bags to his face, calling for- equipment. They- it-"

Joe slowly sank into the chair on the other side of his aunt. Cold- he was so cold, so scared. He wanted to tell her to stop speaking, to say nothing more, but he couldn't make the words come out.

"They took him over to the processing area, and then they stopped as some machine or other was brought over- they took that bag off his face and then I saw- I saw- I got up and came over as quickly as I could. They were taking his blood pressure, and there- his- he was bleeding, coughing blood-"

Joe sucked his breath in, saw his mother's face turn whiter and her body sway. Frank, his skin the color of ashes, reached out and clutched Mom's arm tightly. She didn't seem to notice. "And...then?"

"He- I don't know if he recognized me. He looked at me, but they were all working around him. They made me leave, I told them it was my brother but they made me leave, a woman came and made me sit down. They took him away... I called you. And no one...no one- I asked the nurse to tell me when she knew anything, but I don't know if she will."

A heavy silence descended on the little group. Joe felt his heart pounding, his body shaking with a dreadful chill, his muscles tightening with dread. The voices and activity around him seemed muted, blurred; the only reality was Aunt Gertrude and her terrible words, Mom's pallor, Frank's wide, scared dark eyes. "He'll- be all right." Joe had no idea where the remark came from, hardly realized it was himself speaking. "Dad's a fighter- a survivor. He'll be all right."

No one replied.

***

Frank Hardy sank down on his bed, closed his eyes, and let out a long, tired breath. 'The worst day of the summer,' he thought dully, lifting his hands to rub at his face. 'No. Of the entire year,' he amended.

He, Joe, Mom and Auntie G had just come home from the hospital. Dad...Dad wouldn't be coming home for a while, maybe as long as a week. But at least he would be all right. He had woken from the anesthesia long enough to recognize his family, though he'd been unable to speak due to the tube in his throat... Frank let his hands fall, trying to suppress a shiver and failing. He'd never seen his father look so frail, so- hurt. So totally unlike the strong, tall, alert man that he was.

The teen lay back on his bed, turning with a start as something flickered outside the night-dark window. What time was it, anyway? Lifting his arm, he gazed at his watch until the numbers made sense: nine-thirty-eight. Lowering his arm, he heard a distant rumble of thunder. 'Lightning,' he thought vaguely, unsurprised. It had been a hot day- hadn't it? He didn't know, they'd been in the hospital all day, in the air conditioning- but the night air was thick and sultry and there was no moon.

Closing his eyes again, Frank found himself reliving the day. Waking. Breakfast. Aunt G calling to be picked up from the hospital. Dad leaving. Teasing Joe. And then- the call from Auntie that had sent them hurrying to the hospital, the long hours of waiting while Dad was in surgery, the arrival of the police...

"As far as we can tell, it was no accident. We're having the car towed right now and we should have a report by this afternoon, but Mr. Hardy's car was the only one involved. From the skid marks, he spun out going around a turn, went into the ditch and flipped over. We'll be looking at the brake-line and steering...he called it in himself, on his cell phone...very sorry this happened, let us know how he's doing."

It had been more an hour after the officers left before the doctor had finally come down, pulling Mom aside and speaking to her in low tones... Frank scowled, opening his eyes. Did that fool doctor think he and Joe were children who had to be protected from reality? Their father was injured, they had the right to know how badly, what his chances were. But there had been no point making a fuss; even their aunt had simply waited instead of walking over and insisting on being informed then and there.

"Your father- they had to repair his lung where one of his broken ribs punctured it. He was lucky, he broke three ribs and cracked two but it could have been- much worse, so much worse. They're keeping him on a respirator to make it easier on his lung, and he's going to be here for several days, maybe a week. He's going to need to take things very slowly and carefully until he's healed, and he'll be vulnerable to respiratory infections for several months. He also suffered a blow on the head, but that was mild, not even a concussion."

Frank could still hear his breath go out in a whoosh of light-headed relief, still feel Joe's thump on his back and the younger boy's voice saying, "Didn't I tell you he'd be okay? Didn't I say he was a fighter?" Always the optimist, always with the I-told-you-so, and Frank had turned and wrapped Joe in a bear hug, grateful beyond words for the way his brother had staunchly offered them hope and encouragement despite his own fear. And then they had been allowed to go up and see Dad, two at a time, Joe going in with Mom and Frank guiding Aunt G into the room, mindful of her bandaged arm and shaky steps. Dad hadn't regained consciousness for a long time, though. Not until well after they'd reluctantly gone down for supper around five o'clock and come back to wait some more had he shown some signs of stirring.

"Hanging in there okay?" a voice broke through Frank's thoughts and he turned to look at Joe, who was standing in the doorway. Frank lifted his hand in silent invitation and the blond boy moved across the room, settling onto the side of the bed.

"It's hard to see him like that," he replied bleakly. "But I keep reminding myself how much worse it could be." His hand lifted to touch his cheek, where his father's chilly hand had briefly rested. "At least he knew us..."

"Yes." Joe sighed, glanced at the window as thunder rumbled again. "There's a message on the answering machine- two, actually. The glass people came and, of course, didn't find anyone, so we need to re-schedule that."

Frank nodded, remembering the plywood covering the gaping hole in what had been their bay window. "Think we better keep watches tonight?”

"Think so, yeah. And the police called."

Frank sat up quickly. "And?"

"Someone messed with the steering. They're not sure exactly how yet, but the fluid was about half gone and the wheel itself was misaligned- they haven't decided if that was from the impact, or if someone actually messed with the steering column. But either way, it was definitely no accident." Joe's eyes met Frank's, and there was something dangerous in those blue depths, something that met a chord in Frank's suddenly accelerated pulse.

"We're going to find whoever did this," Frank said after a moment, wishing he had words to vent his sudden fury.

"Damn right," Joe agreed in icy tones, his hand grasping Frank's. "Whoever’s doing this, they were content to harass us while Dad was gone, but now that he's back, they're playing nasty- and we are not gonna let them get away with it."

Frank gave his brother's hand a sharp squeeze, then took a deep breath and asked, "Mom okay?" He'd made sure Aunt Gertrude was comfortable in her room before coming up to his own, knowing Joe was keeping an eye on their mother.

"She's still a little shaken, I think, but she's a lot calmer than she was. Looking over the mail and all- she found one of her catalogues," Joe replied, his face losing the look of grim determination.

Frank smiled slightly, then blinked as light flickered outside his window again. "I hope we don't lose power."

"Me too, that's always such a pain." Joe glanced over at the clock on Frank's desk and remarked, "Almost ten. Why don't you sleep, and I'll wake you up around two?"

Frank gave him a grateful look, then nodded, giving in to a yawn. "Might want to dig out the candles first, just in case." He drew his hand free as Joe stood up from the bed, then got up himself and pulled the covers back.

"Good idea."

Frank kicked off his shoes and reached down to pull off his socks. Then he went to his dresser to get out his nightclothes; when he turned around, he saw Joe still standing near the bed, frowning. "What is it?"

"I'm-" Joe began, and stopped as thunder rumbled loudly. "I'm wondering if we ought to be staking out the place from the outside. See if we can catch anyone sneaking in to do more damage."

Frank glanced over at the window as lightning flared again. "Think they will, tonight?"

"If they don’t know Dad's in the hospital, they might think it’s a good time to try something else." Joe paused, obviously not pleased at the thought. "And even if they do know, they might be figuring it’s a good time to break in. While the alarm’s off."

The older boy nodded slowly. "I don't think you want to be hiding out in the bushes, though, not on a night like this."

"No! Definitely not," Joe answered wryly. "But I was thinking- maybe in the garage. They went in there last night to mess with Dad's car...and if they do try to get in, they'll probably come that way. Easier than trying to get past the deadbolt on the front door, and pulling the plywood off the window would make a lot of noise."

Frank ran his hand through his hair, considering that. "True, but let's make it fool-proof. Rig our own little attention-getters. We can put a tripwire on the front porch, and maybe hook up something to the plywood- give 'em a bit of a shock if they touch it."

"Or set off a radio, like we did that one time," Joe suggested with a grim smile.

"Works for me. Let's get to it before that storm gets any closer."

***

The next morning, both the teens were not much more than half awake. The storm had passed fairly early on, but the night had remained squally, wind and rain whipping through, dying away, and then returning. The morning had dawned overcast, and even now a residual band of clouds was drizzling on the area. "At least it brought the heat down," Joe grumbled to his brother over his pancakes.

Frank stifled a yawn and nodded. Both of them were relatively accustomed to getting only half a night's sleep, but neither of them enjoyed the heavy feeling of fatigue and irritability that inevitably came the next day. A nap during the day helped, but it also threw off their sleeping schedules. At least, it threw off his; Joe had the enviable ability to fall asleep just about anywhere, any time. "We'll have to get some sleep this afternoon if we want to stay up again tonight," he remarked.

Aunt Gertrude looked up from her teacup and crossword. "Nothing happened?" she inquired. Frank noticed that she seemed greatly improved, though she was still more subdued than usual.

"No. We didn't really expect it to, with the weather so bad, but we didn't want to take chances," the dark-haired boy explained.

"Well, your mother and I will be going in to the hospital as soon as we're done," his aunt said, "but the glass people are coming back today and someone needs to be here. If you two will stick around and wait for them, you can nap before they get here and join us in the hospital later."

Frank exchanged a look with his brother, who nodded quickly. "Sounds like a good plan. Where is Mom, anyway?"

"And how's your arm, Auntie?" Joe added, a touch of concern in his voice.

"Laura went back upstairs to get ready. And don't worry about my arm, it's fine. Your father's not the only tough one in the family," the woman assured them. For the first time, Frank noticed that Gertrude was wearing an elbow-length pink blouse that neatly hid the bandage on her upper arm. She placed her teacup in the saucer and regarded the crossword booklet for a moment, then shook her head and closed it. "They make these things too easy nowadays. I remember when you actually had to think to get the clues. 'Rick in Casablanca'- well, everyone knows who played him!" She stood impatiently and went up the stairs, calling, "Laura, are you ready yet?"

Frank looked over at Joe, who looked back at him. "Maybe not quite everyone," the younger boy ventured quietly.

"Maybe not," Frank agreed. "I don't remember even seeing it."

"Glad I'm not the only one. Now if it was a question about Terminator, Star Wars or Lord of the Rings..."

"Or the Die Hard series," Frank agreed wryly, thinking of his brother's penchant for action movies. Joe took another bite of pancakes and nodded, and both the sleepy boys fell quiet until the women came back downstairs.

"Good morning, loves." Mom came over to give both of them a hug and kiss. She, too, looked a great deal better than she had the night before; still tired, but no longer pale with exhaustion and stress. "Your aunt says you'll wait for the window repairmen?"

"And when they're done, we'll come to the hospital," Joe agreed.

"All right, thanks boys. It'll be a big help, and I think we'll all feel better when that's taken care of."

"Give us a call to let us know how Dad is?" Frank requested.

"Oh, and be careful going out, we rigged that tripwire on the front steps," Joe warned.

"Maybe I better go take it down before Mr. Quimbley comes by with the mail," Frank remarked, getting up from the table. It was pure luck that no one had gone out to get the morning paper yet.

"Yes, we don't want the poor man breaking his neck to get our mail to us," Gertrude said dryly. "Or anyone else, for that matter."

"I'll take care of the window," Joe offered, standing as well.

"Okay."

Ten minutes later the boys- having dismantled their safety precautions and been hugged and kissed farewell by both women, sat back down to discover that their pancakes had turned cold. Joe took his into the kitchen to heat in the microwave, but Frank- regarding the minor portions remaining on his plate- sighed and concluded he was finished. "I'm going back to bed," he said wearily as he brought his plate into the kitchen. Joe took his plate from the microwave and turned.

"Go ahead. Soon as I eat this, I'm doing the same thing- we can clean up after we snooze."

"Auntie would have a fit, but I'm with you. I'd be sure to drop something and break it," the older boy agreed as Joe moved past him to the dining room. Frank put his own plate in the dishwasher and returned the milk and orange juice to the refrigerator, then turned his back resolutely on the mess and made his way back upstairs to his room. He was asleep within minutes of lying down.

"Frank, wake up."

"Ermmm?"

"Wake up, the glass people are here."

Frank opened his eyes and blinked up into his brother's face. "Glass?" he repeated sleepily.

"To repair the window?"

"Oh, yeah." Frank slowly sat up and his eyebrows went up as he looked at his desk clock. "One-fifty? Feels like I was only asleep for a minute or two. You sleep?"

"I was out like a light." Joe grimaced, ducking his head. "Had some trouble drifting off, last night..."

"Me, too," Frank heard himself admit. "Probably didn't get much more than an hour or two."

Joe nodded. The boys were quiet for a moment; from downstairs came the sound of voices and unusual noises- thumpings and creakings and less identifiable sounds. "Might as well head down and take care of the breakfast stuff, so we can leave quicker," Joe ventured after a while.

"Yeah." Frank slid out of bed, paused long enough to be sure he looked reasonably presentable, and then followed his brother downstairs. The workmen greeted them briefly and turned their attention back to the job of installing the new window; the boys got busy clearing the table and scrubbing the pancake griddle. The worst part of the job was the empty batter pitcher; the residual batter had hardened and it took a lot of elbow-grease and soaking to get it clean.

"That always makes me wonder," Joe said wryly, regarding the pitcher. "If it gets all hard like that in the pitcher, what's it doing in my stomach?"

"Being digested, silly. It's different; it's cooked," Frank reminded him.

"Maybe." Joe shrugged as he closed the dishwasher.

"Besides, even if it wasn't, your stomach doesn't digest with water; it uses acids, and no pancake stands a chance," Frank reminded him.

"Well, that's true." The younger boy sounded amused.

"Guys?" came a voice from the living room. "We're done here- you want to check it over and sign the work-order?"

"That was quick," Joe murmured, leading the way into the living room. "You all are fast," he remarked to the workmen.

"Lots of practice," one of them replied, holding out a form. "We got all the shards out and cleaned up the old putty, it was getting moldy and that old stuff isn't as weatherproof as the newer fixatives. It'll take about a day to dry solid, so try to keep things from rattling the windows if you can."

"We'll make sure no earthquakes visit," Frank assured him, grinning, and the three men chuckled.

"We made a recommendation at the bottom for your folks; they might want to consider having a storm window installed. We put in a pretty thick sheet, and it's shatterproof- it'll just crumble, not splinter- but a double layer will help keep the heating and cooling costs down. Trapping air in between layers, you know, will act as an insulator, and the company's offering a twenty-five percent discount if you have it done within ten days of any repair work."

"We'll tell Mom and Dad, they've been talking about having storm windows put in for a couple years now," Frank mused. He took the offered pen, signed the form, and handed it back. The man tore off a copy and gave it to him; the other two gathered up a few obscure-looking tools and departed. After a few more pleasantries, the third man followed and Frank closed the door behind them. "Mom didn't call, did she?" he asked suddenly.

Joe turned his head, then pointed to the answering machine that sat on the small end table near the sofa. The light was blinking; Frank hurried over and pushed play.

"Your father's awake this morning, still pretty groggy, but he's in good spirits. We’re waiting for the doctors to come in and give us a complete report. Oh, boys, don't feel obligated to clean up the kitchen, we should have done that before we left, since you were up all night. Hope you're getting a nap before the glass people arrive... See you later, and if anything happens, I'll let you know right away."

Frank let out a sigh of relief and felt Joe's arm go around his back. He lifted his hand and gave Joe's already-tousled hair a gentle rumpling. "That's good to hear."

"It sure is."

Both of them were quiet, sharing the sense of relief, then Joe made a sound like an amused snort. "Now she tells us not to worry about the cleaning up."

Frank chuckled and tousled Joe's hair again. "You get lazier every day."

"I do not, I just hate dishes."

"And mowing lawns and vacuuming and everything else that resembles a chore, no?" Frank let his hand drop and gave his brother an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders, grateful once again for Joe's light heart and easy humor. "C'mon, bro, let's get to the hospital and tell her we got the message about an hour too late. Maybe we'll get an extra dessert out of it."

"Now you're talkin'!"

***

"Which room was he in again?" Joe glanced at Frank as the teens entered Bayport's General Hospital, taking a deep breath of the blessedly cool air-conditioning. It wasn't as hot outside as it had been the previous day, thanks to the thunderstorm, but it was still very warm, and the humidity had increased.

"I don't remember. I guess we'll have to ask." Frank led the way to the reception desk; Joe followed, feeling bemused. It was rare for his brother not to take note of details like room numbers and parking spots. The fact that Frank hadn't made an automatic note of their father's hospital room meant he'd been too distracted- too upset- to pay attention.

"Mr. Hardy? He's in one-twenty-two. Left to the elevators, second floor, halfway around," the man at the desk said quickly, and turned to his buzzing phone. The boys, dismissed, proceeded to the elevator alcoves on the left side of the room.

"Have you ever noticed that when you get directions in a hospital, they aren't very helpful?" Joe remarked quietly as they halted in the alcove. "Like if we didn't know the elevators were here, we'd already be totally confused."

"Yes, and 'halfway around' doesn't make sense until you get up there and see how the place is laid out," Frank agreed as the doors slid open and several people stepped out. The boys hurriedly got in and Joe pushed the '2' button. The doors pinged and closed, shutting out the noise from the waiting room. The floor rocked a little as the large steel box was drawn upwards, then the movement stopped and the doors slid smoothly open. The boys stepped out and looked around, getting their bearings. "One-ten," Frank remarked, pointing to his left.

"Yeah...and this is- oh, this is one-oh-nine," Joe said quietly, moving a few paces further down the hall. "I guess we go the other way." Frank nodded and the boys both turned about, following the curved hallway around the nurse's station and down into the quiet corridors. "I see why he said halfway around, now," the blond boy commented as they reached room one-twenty. "It must end up back at the nurse's desks."

"Guess so." Frank stopped outside the closed door with the black '122' on it and tapped gently. A few seconds later, their mother pulled it open and smiled at them.

"Hi, boys," she murmured as they entered. "Everything go all right at the house?"

"Everything's cool," Joe agreed, giving her a quick kiss. "They made a good job of the window. Oh- and they said if you get storm windows put in within ten days, you get twenty-five percent off."

Mom looked interested, but didn't say anything as she led them over to the bed. Joe frowned at the noise of the respirator; he'd hoped the doctors would have gotten rid of that already. But the tube was still clamped in place over Dad's mouth and nose; his eyes were shut and he was still very pale.

"How is he?" Frank asked softly, regarding the motionless figure with a worried expression. Joe heard the slight tremor in his brother's voice and moved closer, touching Frank's arm lightly.

"He- had an unpleasant night. His temperature went up and he didn't get much rest," Mom whispered. "That’s why he was awake when we got here. They have him on an antibiotic, and they won't be taking him off the machine for a few days. It's just a precaution," she added quickly, glancing at them. "It looks a lot worse than it really is."

Joe nodded, accepting that, and glanced around the small, private room. "Where's Auntie?"

"She went down to get something to eat. I thought when she came back, I'd go."

"Oh. Who sent the flowers?"

"Flowers?" Frank frowned and Joe gestured at the two bouquets sitting on the radiator near the window. "Is that wise, having flowers in here? The pollen-"

"It can't affect Dad, not with the mask on," Mom said soothingly. "The assortment in the red vase is from Mrs. Radley and the other just arrived from Adelia Applegate- she was in earlier with Mr. Applegate. The poor man's on dialysis now, so while he was going through that, Adelia and Gertrude and I talked a bit."

"That was really nice of her," Joe murmured, taking in the bright yellow carnations and green ferns in the clear-crystal vase. "You wouldn't guess how thoughtful she is until you get to know her."

Frank didn't reply to that, just sat down in one of the several chairs near the bed. Joe moved to stand behind him and the room was silent, save for the whoosh of the respirator and the quiet ticking of the wall clock.

***

"Want to get some food?"

Frank started at the unexpected sound of Joe's voice and blinked himself back to the reality of the hospital corridor. Joe was standing in front of him, having just come out of their father's room; otherwise, the stark-white hall was deserted. Frank lifted his arm for a glance at his watch and blinked again when he registered the time. They'd been here for over six hours; he'd been sitting in the hall for nearly an hour and a half. All he'd meant to do was sit for a few minutes, away from the noise of the respirator, and drink a soda.

"Frank?"

"I'm...not hungry. You go on ahead, bro."

Joe's blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully, then the younger teen crouched beside him. "You sure? It's been a while since breakfast. I could bring something up-"

Frank shook his head, reached for his soda can, and discovered it was still half full. He also discovered that it had gone warm and flat. Grimacing, he looked around for a trash can. Joe took the can from his hand, stood, and walked down to the bathrooms several yards away. A moment later he returned, empty-handed. "Thanks," the older boy murmured.

"You're welcome. C'mon down," Joe coaxed, holding out his hand. "At least get something better to drink than stale soda."

Sighing, Frank reached up and let his brother pull him to his feet. His rear had gone numb from sitting on the floor for so long, and he wondered why no one had come up with the idea of putting benches or chairs in the halls yet. There was probably some ordinance against it, though- it might obstruct the corridor too much.

Five minutes and a tediously long elevator ride later, the boys reached the cafeteria, which was nearly empty and getting ready to close for the night. About all that was left in the way of food was a bunch of foil-wrapped sandwiches keeping warm under heat-lamps. Joe picked one labeled 'roast chicken sandwich', gathered a pack of pretzels and a bottle of juice, and went up to the bored-looking cashier to pay. Frank snagged a fresh soda, and then, considering, picked up a 'corned beef sub'. He really wasn't very hungry, but he knew he should try to eat something.

"Hungry after all?" Joe asked lightly as they sat down at one of the many empty tables.

"No, not really, but..." Frank trailed off and shrugged, sitting down beside Joe. Opening his foil-wrapped sandwich, he discovered a pile of corned beef and rather wilted lettuce on what looked suspiciously like a hot-dog roll. Shrugging again, he bit in and felt his stomach rumble at the unexpectedly good taste. Beside him, Joe was placidly munching a slab of mayo-covered chicken breast on a hamburger bun. "Not bad, considering," Frank allowed, putting the food down in order to open his soda.

"I've had worse at school," Joe agreed, and for a while the two ate in silence. When he was done, Frank crumpled his foil, drained his soda, and got up to throw them both away, feeling a lot better. Joe continued to crunch his pretzels for a while, offering the bag with a raised eyebrow, but Frank shook his head. “Feel better?”

Frank nodded.

"Ready to go back up?"

Frank's stomach lurched and his spirits suddenly plummeted. Back up. To the room, to Dad, to the respirator, to the heavy tension that blanketed the sickroom. No, he wasn't ready, he couldn't face it again. "How do you do this?" he asked, turning wearily to face his brother. "How do you keep it from wearing you into the ground?" Of all people, Joe must be feeling it- more than Frank. But he was so calm, so- so strong. Mom's anxiety, Gertrude's fussing- they weren't upsetting him. Seeing Dad so frail and vulnerable wasn't making him flinch inside.

Joe put down his pretzel bag slowly, then shifted over and touched Frank's shoulder, his eyes full of understanding. "Big brother-"

"How do you do it?" Frank whispered, interrupting. "How can you stand it?" He felt himself droop as Joe hugged him.

"Oh, Frank- it's all right. He's going to be okay! He is, brother, he's going to be fine," came the murmur in his ear. "I know- it is hard to see him so- so different. And it's hard to see Mom worry. But-" Joe's hands pressed Frank back gently; the earnest blue eyes gazed into his own. "It really isn't as bad as it looks, or as it might've been. It's just all these precautions they're taking. He doesn't need that breathing machine; if they turned it off, he'd be fine on his own. They're only keeping it on to make it easier for him, less painful, help him heal faster. And he's pale because of the drugs, the anesthesia and the pain medication. And the lighting."

The afterthought made Frank smile ever so slightly. It was true, the light in the room seemed to wash the color out of everything. "I feel like I should be in there, with everyone, but Joe- I- I feel so- I feel like I'm letting him down, letting all of you down, but I don't think I can- I can't face it," he finally got out, his smile disappearing.

"Why? Why is it so hard?" the younger boy murmured. "You've seen him worse, Frank- a lot worse. Like when he was delirious with pneumonia. Or when he got shot with that poisoned arrow. He recovered from those, no problem, and this isn't nearly so bad. He broke some ribs, yes. His lung got jabbed. But they repaired it and he'll be well soon enough."

"Yes, but we weren't there so much, those other times," Frank explained after a moment or two of pondering. "We were running around trying to find the people responsible. Which is what we ought to be doing now, not hanging around feeling useless and- waiting." He propped his elbow on the tabletop and braced his head against his hand.

Joe frowned a little, obviously reflecting on that statement. "Well, true, we were running around," he agreed. "And I do want to find the jerks who did this- it's obviously directly against Dad, since they waited till he was home to get violent. But I thought...it just seemed to me like Mom might want us around some. You know."

Frank nodded, sighing. "I did feel bad about leaving Mom alone, when Dad had pneumonia," he agreed. "But since this isn't as serious...maybe she’ll be okay with it?”

“We can do both, you know. Keep watching the house at night to make sure they don't try anything else- and catch them if they do- and then come in to report to Dad and give Mom a bit of a lift. After we've had some sleep, of course. That way we're not here all the time, but we are around. And with some luck and persistence, we'll get the rats, too.”

Frank regarded his brother, not so much with surprise as respect. “That's a good idea, Joe. We should be keeping an eye on the place anyway. No telling what else these cowards might be planning to do-”

“And at least we can make it more difficult for them to carry out any more ‘pranks’ against us- or Mom and Auntie,” Joe finished, and the brothers traded a determined look.

"And maybe," Frank stood up, "we'd better head back and put this in motion- now."

"Right. I'll run up and tell Mom; you get the car out of the lot." Joe stood too, grabbing up his pretzel bag and juice.

"Roger that." Frank felt a surge of gratitude towards his brother as they hurried for the elevator, as much for Joe's encouraging words earlier as for his willingness to be the one to explain things to their mother now. It was this that made him turn to the blond boy as the elevator doors closed and say, "Y'know something?"

"Many things," Joe replied with a grin. "What?"

Frank hesitated, thrown by the smart remark, and the doors opened. "Tell you later," he compromised, and hurried towards the main exit.

***

'I hate stakeouts,' Joe thought crossly, shifting uncomfortably on the cool, smooth concrete that made up the Hardys' garage floor. 'There is nothing in the world more boring than a stakeout. Well...except maybe Mr. Dryson's history lectures. Especially when it's a repeat stakeout; then it's a really close race. I bet watching grass grow- or paint peel- or even the Shopping Network!- would be more interesting. And at least last night we were inside, not out.'

The teenager sighed, letting his eyes close for a few seconds to relieve the headache that was starting to throb in his temples, then re-focused on the closed garage door. He and Frank had tossed a coin to decide who would watch at the front door and who would keep an eye on the kitchen door. Since the access to the kitchen was through the garage, there was a certain benefit to this watch; namely, being under a solid roof. Even now, if he strained his ears, Joe could hear the soft drip-drop-pat of the slow drizzle outside tapping on the garage roof. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for his brother, sitting out among the bushes and probably totally drenched by now. True, Frank had put on rain gear, but rain gear never seemed to be made with the wind in mind. Joe knew from bitter experience just how wet one could become, even when thoroughly covered in 'water-proof' clothing.

Still, Frank sort of deserved it; he was the one who'd insisted that they stakeout outside instead of inside, despite the weather. "It probably won't rain all night," he'd said. "And even if it does, they might consider it good cover- they might count on us not keeping alert just because the weather's bad. In fact, that might just be why they didn’t turn up last night- lulling us into a false sense of security."

Joe hadn't been able to argue the point, and wouldn't really have been too inclined to even if there was an opposing point. He was too relieved to see Frank getting some of his take-charge manner back, losing the uncharacteristic melancholy that had gripped him earlier that day in the hospital. He even would've- well, might've- taken the front door post without grumbling, if it had fallen to him. Or at least, not grumbling out loud, he decided after a moment. He hoped Frank wasn't sinking into despondency again, brooding about Dad...

The younger sleuth couldn't understand what it was about Dad's injury that was getting Frank so down. True, it was frightening to see Dad on a respirator, but the doctors had explained that it was just to ease the strain on his injured lung. Once you got used to that idea, it seemed a lot less scary. Maybe Frank just hadn't quite processed that yet. Or maybe- being a pessimist- he thought the doctors were fudging a bit, not telling them that the situation was actually worse, that the machine was really keeping Dad alive...

'Stop spooking yourself!' Joe shook his head violently, scowling into the darkness. The doctors wouldn't lie. They might hold back about possible complications, figuring there was no need to spread alarm when nothing had gone wrong- but they wouldn't say the machine was a precaution if it was really a vital necessity. 'Keep your mind on what you're doing: waiting for the jerks who sabotaged Dad's car. They must've done it when we took Aunt G to the hospital for her cut arm, after the police left.' Leaning over, he let his fingers rest on the walkie-talkie sitting next to him, then relaxed again. Frank would alert him if anyone approached the garage from the street, but if someone snuck into the back yard, they'd be able to get into the garage without Frank seeing them; a corner of the house blocked the side door from view. 'Unless Frank parked himself beyond the corner so he could watch all the ways...I didn't think of that.' Picking up the radio device, he switched it on and said softly, "Tell me something."

"What?"

"Where're you sitting?"

"In the bushes," Frank's voice came back dryly.

"I mean, which part? Before the corner or after it?"

"Oh. Right about on it, actually. That way I'll know when to go on alert. But I can't see the garage too well, it's getting misty- dark as a pocket, isn't that what you call it?"

"That's it, all right. Well, if it's any consolation, it's darker in here. No streetlights."

"No rain, either," Frank muttered. Then, more clearly, "Don't tell me the dark's making you antsy?"

Joe snorted. "The only thing that's making me antsy is the fact I'm sitting on hard, cold stone with nothing to do," he replied tartly.

"Sorry, bro." Frank sounded genuinely apologetic. "I didn't mean that like it sounded."

"I'm not too sure how else you could have meant it."

"I meant, if it's that dark, you'll have even more trouble seeing anyone who comes in."

"Oh." Joe felt his irritation subside. "Now that you mention it-"

A soft chuckle came across the walkie-talkie.

"Still raining bad?"

"Just drizzle, but I sure won't need a shower anytime soon."

"I can still hear Auntie fussing about the cold you're going to get." Mom and Aunt Gertrude had come home around nine and gone to bed at ten, at which point the boys had taken up their positions. Gertrude had scolded some after hearing their plan, which they'd outlined while getting organized for the stakeout. But Mom had given permission, warned them to be careful, and kissed them both before going quietly up to bed.

"Me, too. She'll probably half-drown me in orange juice tomorrow."

"Hmmmm," Joe agreed. "Say. What was it you were going to tell me?"

"Say what?"

"In the elevator."

There was a long pause. "Oh," Frank said at last, his reluctance plain, "that. Something better said indoors, directly, not over a walkie-talkie while sitting in a bush. Or a garage."

Joe felt his face flush. 'Something mushy, I bet.' "Something that requires particular timing," he ventured.

"Something like that."

'Me and my mouth,' the blond boy thought, struggling to control a sigh. He'd seen it, seen the subtle change in Frank's face when he said 'You know something?' and Joe had flippantly replied, 'Many things.' Something nice, some thanks or compliment, the sort of thing that always touched the younger teen and made him feel appreciated, cared about... "Changed your mind, huh?"

"I...not exactly, just...not now, okay, kiddo? This's supposed to be business, not- sentiment."

"I read you," Joe muttered. "Over an' out." He switched the receiver to standby and put it down again on the floor, thinking that the small enclosed space felt larger- and emptier- than it had a few minutes ago. 'At least,' he attempted to comfort himself, 'he called me kiddo.' Only Frank ever used that word, and only when he was speaking affectionately. Reaching for his wrist, he activated the tiny light on his watch. "Five past midnight? Man, this is gonna be the longest of all possible nights," he sighed, leaned back against the wall...and waited.

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