Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace
This story was originally written for a story contest on another site. The story could be about anything, but at some point, one brother had to handcuff the other. So, this bit of silliness is my take on how that might come to be. It is timeline consistent with my series, but reads fine as a stand alone. (The only story of mine not consistent with the series is Tread Softly.) Oh, and many thanks to everyone that made this a contest winner the first time around.
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Date Originally Posted: June, 2009
Plot Blurb: Sometimes, the big days of life just don't go as planned... Even if you're Frank.
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Nah, I'm done, Joe. Admit you lost and let's go home." Frank sat on the curb, head down, using the tail end of a grey T-shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. He'd have teased his brother further if he'd had the air for it.
The brother in question might have been more convincing in his request to continue the basketball game if he hadn't been sprawled flat on his back on the asphalt court, panting. "I didn't lose if the game's not over."
"Ooo-kay. Can you even sit up?"
"Course I can sit up. I'm psyching you out, letting you think I'm tired." Joe could feel his breathing even out, but honestly doubted he could manage so as much as another dribble. Frank didn't look like he could either. While both of them were competitive by nature, Joe couldn't remember the last time Frank had been so out right aggressive in his determination to win. Especially in a simple game of one on one with his brother.
Neither moved for another five minutes, letting the midday sun seep into muscles already starting to feel sore. Frank finally levered himself off the sidewalk, silently offering a hand to his year-younger sibling. The walk back to their shared apartment was fairly quiet as well, but at least it was companionable. Frank had been annoyingly up tight for days.
Joe really had no idea why. Frank's university graduation had been two weeks before, and he'd seemed thrilled. The valedictorian speech that everyone except Frank had realized he'd be giving ages ago went off without a hitch and graduate school work was still two months away. Joe's half of the apartment was a wreck, but Frank was used to that.
The last time Frank had snapped at Joe this much had been four years ago, when college had been starting rather than ending. The brothers had casually talked for a few years about going to Bayport University and sharing an apartment. Somewhere along the way, though, Frank had changed his mind and wanted to explore Ivy League schools. It took him weeks to work up to telling Joe, generally driving everyone in a fifty mile radius nuts in the meantime. Once the idea was out in the open, they'd worked out a compromise, with Frank going to Columbia and Joe to NYU. Both were close enough to Bayport to allow them to help their father with the occasional case – and the schools were close enough to each other that Frank still had to put up with Joe's dirty-sock strewn housekeeping.
They were actually working on the research for a case now. Or rather they would be, if Frank could settle down and pay attention. Today before noon alone he'd been to the lobby to check the mail, twice, gone to the corner market for iced tea, for a second four mile run, and stopped working to reorganize the hall closet. When he'd mentioned surveying the neighbors about re-arranging the potted trees in the building foyer, Joe drug him out to play basketball. Frank obviously needed to clear his head, and Joe really wasn't in the mood to sleep on the sidewalk when their neighbors threw them out.
They entered the lobby, Frank eyeballing the clearly offensive plant arrangement while Joe jabbed at the elevator button. Joe stepped back, feigning an interest in the fig trees until his brother ambled into the elevator. Joe gave him a shove toward the back of it and took off across the lobby at a run, flinging open the stairwell door.
"Race ya!" Joe bounded up the steps, catching a glimpse of a smile on Frank's face before the doors closed.
The elevator reliably deposited him on the fourth floor and Frank stepped out, just in time to be plowed into by a sprinting Joe. Keeping his balance was a debatable thing, and by the time he was sure he still had his feet under him Joe was leaning heavily on their doorframe, gasps audible from the other end of the hall.
"Told you," Joe stopped for a breath, "I wasn't tired."
"Are you two? Grow up." Frank grinned in spite of the comment, shaking his head at his sibling.
"Ten, at least."
"Six, maybe. I'm going to take a shower."
An hour later they were sitting on the floor at the coffee table, which in Manhattan student housing square footage was most definitely also the office, workbench, and dining room. Insurance statements littered the surface, spilling onto the tan shag carpeting. The carpeting was pretty much the only decorating feature they completely agreed upon. They both hated it.
"All these claims are fraudulent, but I still don't see anything linking them." Joe tapped his pencil on his front teeth, not aware he'd spoken aloud.
"Then you're not looking hard enough, Joe."
"Hey! Not like you've found it either."
"Which is why I'm still working on it instead of making useless comments."
Great, grouchy Frank was back. This was one doppelganger alien that could go away and return his brother any time now.
"Fine." B-ball didn't last long; maybe the direct approach was best. "Is something bugging you?"
Frank looked up, replaying the last few minutes in his head. "Sorry, Joe. I didn't mean that."
"I don't care about that, but you've been edgy for days. Something up?"
"No. And I'm not edgy." Frank lowered his eyes, well aware of his brother's talent for reading anything hidden there.
"Frank-"
"Can we just get back to sorting this out? Dad expects us to have something done before Friday."
Joe sighed; whatever it was apparently wasn't getting settled today. "Sure, no problem."
The next morning started out no better. An attack of insomnia had struck during the night; either that or they'd been invaded by cleaning happy gremlins. All of the paperwork was neatly stacked on the file cabinet in the corner and the kitchen and den were spotless. When Joe realized there were traces of brass polish on the doorknobs, he decided it really was time to talk.
"Frank?" No answer. Maybe the middle of the night frenzy had led to sleeping in. "Frank?! You up?"
Joe rapped a knuckle against the door to his brother's room. When there was no response after the third knock, he let himself in. The bed was empty, comforter tightly tucked in all around with a precision Joe found certifiable. A glance around the small room revealed no evidence that Frank had slept at all, and his running shoes were notably missing.
The opening of the front door interrupted any further thought on the matter.
"Back from your run already, Frank? I thought we were going together."
The dark haired Hardy shrugged, peeling out of a drenched shirt. "You weren't up."
"It's only seven AM now, how early did you go out? Did you sleep at all?"
"I got a few hours. If the run's that big a deal, I'll go again. Get your shoes."
Joe bit his lip, uncharacteristically careful in choosing his words. It wasn't that he couldn't be diplomatic. It was just that conversations with Frank generally didn't require it.
"It's not a big deal, I can run later. This is the third night you haven't slept, though. I'm not going to ask you what's wrong, because that hasn't gotten me an answer, but can we quit pretending that nothing is?"
"Nothing's wr-"
"Frank-"
Frank crossed to one of the chairs, flopping down with a huff. "Really, nothing's wrong. I've been thinking about something, that's all."
Joe sat down across from him, searching the dark eyes. "Something worth talking about?"
"No… Yeah… Not yet, ok?" Frank rested his elbows on faintly bouncing knees, head lowered and fingers laced in his hair.
"Clear as mud, as they say." Joe hesitated; getting the feeling this might be a good time to actually respect his brother's privacy, but needing to be sure. Given what all the Hardy's did for a living, privacy wasn't always a good thing.
"This have anything to do with our case?"
Frank's head snapped up. "I wouldn't do that."
"Not unless you thought it was safer for me. So, does it?"
"No. It's nothing to do with this case, or any other case. It's nothing to do with you, either. Can you just give me a few days and quit asking questions?"
Joe smiled. "No asking questions when you admit something's up? Asking a lot of a mystery hound, dude."
"I'm pretty sure you can do it. We'll enroll you in a support group or something." The grin on Frank's face was the first genuine one in days.
Joe made it three days before he asked again, which would have been terrific, but Frank only made it two. After forty eight uneventful hours, the snipping was back. Well, mostly uneventful. Joe wisely didn't comment when the doorknobs got cleaned again, and he was fairly sure he'd reworked their budget to accommodate a doubling of the running shoe allowance. This morning, though, brought the return of Mr. Hyde.
"I don't see why the halls are off white. Either paint them a color, or don't. White is supposed to be clean. I bet this looked dirty before it was dry." Frank traced a finger over the drywall, grimacing in distaste. The walls were item forty-three at a rough guess of things that didn't suit him today.
"Yeah, you'd think they'd do something about that." Joe didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in his voice or the roll of his eyes.
"Could you be serious? It's ugly. I still think we could organize the tenants and get some work done around here. And it wouldn't kill you to clean up your room, while we're at it."
Joe counted to ten in his head, determined not to be baited. "You aren't planning to change your master's program to interior decorating, right? Or union organization?"
"What? Of course not." Frank frowned. "I just want this place to look presentable come Saturday."
Saturday. This was becoming a lot less mysterious. "Callie's seen a mess before."
"Yeah, she has, because I've been living the last twenty two years with you!" Frank slammed the door to the apartment, leaving a surprised Joe in the hall fumbling for his keys.
He unlocked the door, crossing the floor to his brother. "Did you and Callie have a fight before she left for the beach? Not like I haven't noticed you not calling her this week. You've had your cell phone in and out of your pocket more than a gopher peaking out of its hole. That's what this whole mess has been, isn't it!?"
Frank stared at him, but said nothing.
"Whatever." Joe ran a hand over his face. "But if this is all about Callie, could you stop taking it out on me?"
Joe stomped his way back out into the hall, all the way out of the building before he realized he had no idea where to go.
Great thing about New York City – there's always something to do. Four hours of wandering later, Joe went back home, finding Frank scribbling notes on a spiral bound pad. A pad that disappeared under a cushion as soon as he heard the door open.
"Joe, I…"
"Frank…"
Joe laughed softly at the spontaneous attempts at conversation. "You first."
"I'm sorry." Frank's expression was almost sheepish. "Not one of my better weeks, huh?"
"Not so much. Things ok with you and Callie?" Joe and Vanessa had the occasional argument, but Callie was a whole different situation. If Vanessa wasn't to the point of throwing things at you, she was going to be over it in an hour. Frank said she was hot tempered, Joe preferred to think of it as spirited. Callie, though, was far quieter, slow to become angry and slower to get over it.
"We didn't fight, Joe. It's just with grad school, I'm committed to two more years here in the City, and Callie's moving back to Bayport. It's a lot to think about, that's all."
"It's only a couple of hours. As busy as you've both been the last four years, I'm not sure it will be all that different." Callie had been attending New York University along with Joe, and he probably saw as much of her lately as Frank did. "I'll admit when Vanessa decided to stay in Bayport for school, I was disappointed, but we've made it work."
"Not all that different? You're probably right, but what if I want it to be different? What if this way isn't working all that well for me?"
Joe pursed his lips, always a sign he was thinking. "Then it sounds like you better talk to Callie."
"Yeah, guess so."
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Saturday morning was beautiful, one of those days when even the air seemed to vibrate with the energy of summer. The sunrise run through central park was wonderful and Joe thought Frank had come to terms with his moodiness. He could only hope it lasted once Callie returned tonight.
As the afternoon wore on, Frank started to fidget, circling the apartment, picking up the same knickknacks and dusting them for the third or fourth time. If Joe didn't know better he'd say his brother was nervous.
"Joe?"
"Do you and Vanessa have plans tonight?"
"She's been completely tied up with that graphics project and I haven't gotten to talk to her about it, actually."
"Uh, could you have plans?"
"Need me out of here for a while to talk to Cal? All you had to do was ask."
"Thanks. Could you, um, maybe… Your room, ah.."
Joe snorted. "Callie typically doesn't spend all that much time in my bedroom, bro, but if you're aiming to change that…"
Joe's duck was a hair too slow to miss the pillow that slammed into his head.
"Hey, hey, ok. Geeze. I'll clean it."
Joe called Vanessa, promising to make the drive to Bayport with some takeout, then set in on the chaos of his room. Maybe a small backhoe would be an option. The first clattering of dishes didn't overly concern him, especially when Frank's 'oops' followed close on its heels, but the third crash raised an alarm. Sliding out from the barricaded foxhole better known as under the bed, Joe made his way into the kitchen.
Frank was on his hands and knees, picking up slivers of glass and tossing them into the waste bin.
"Oww!"
Joe arrived just in time to see his brother nibbling on the edge of his thumb.
"Cut yourself?"
"Not badly. Dropped a plate."
"I heard that. Let me see your thumb."
"It's fine."
"Then you won't mind me seeing it."
Frank sighed and extended his hand. The thumb really was a mere nick.
The nick wasn't what caught Joe's attention. "Your hands are shaking."
"No they're not." Frank jerked the hand back, wrapping it in a paper towel.
"Either you're shaking, or I'm hallucinating, and since I didn't just break a plate, I'm thinking it's you."
"Think what you like." Frank resumed picking up the shards, making more of an effort to still his fingers. "Can you help me finish up the cleaning? I have a few errands I need to do, too."
Something seemed off. Frank had chosen not to elaborate on whatever his problem with Callie and the Bayport move might be, but it obviously wasn't casual. It crossed Joe's mind that maybe his brother's seven year relationship with the only girlfriend he'd ever had was at an end. Why else would he be so upset?
"I don't think we can afford for you to do any more cleaning – not at the rate the dishes are going." Joe stooped to finish the glass clean up. "I'll do the rest of the house cleaning; you go do your errands. Go for another run too, it'll calm you down."
"I don't need calmed down." Frank's reply was slightly muffled as he was already in his closet grabbing running shoes.
"Oh, and make sure you take the subway if you're going very far. You'll just crash the car."
"You're hilarious, Joe. Flat out hilarious."
"I try."
Joe had finished his room and the kitchen, plopping down on the couch to watch some baseball and wait for Frank to come back. He didn't need to leave for the Benders for another few hours, and the way Frank had been acting all day, he wanted to make sure his brother returned before that. Shifting a bit, something poked his hip.
Frank's notebook met his fingers when he searched for the offending object. Joe held the red pad before him, debating. He should just put it Frank's room. Yeah, that would definitely be the best thing to do. Any minute now, he'd put it in there.
Just as soon as he read it. Ok, maybe it was nosey. Maybe it was none of his business. Maybe it would tell him why Frank was such a wreck.
Le Bernardin
Masa
Jean Georges
Daniel
freesias
chenin blanc
A list. The has-to-be-shoved-under-a-cushion secret paper is a list. And since Joe knew his brother cared particularly for neither four star restaurants nor sweet wines, this was a list geared at Callie. What it wasn't was a list for someone that wanted to break up with his girlfriend.
Unable to resist, Joe let himself into Frank's room, pawing through neatly folded clothes and precisely aligned files. Eureka.
He carefully replaced everything, perfectly capable of duplicating Frank's neatness when he chose, with the exception of one small item. That he pocketed.
Frank arrived an hour later, vaguely uneasy at the smirk on his brother's face. Still, a quick survey of the den revealed nothing amiss.
"So, when's Callie getting here?"
"Uh, yeah, about that – She's probably tired from traveling. I'll just talk to her tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? No, Frank. You have driven me crazy for a week and you're making yourself sick. No cancelling. Now what time is she coming?"
"I don't have to cancel. I never got around to calling her today."
"Well, call her now. She could be here in an hour."
"No. It'll keep."
"Frank –"
"Drop it, Joe. I'm not calling her."
"Then I'll call her. You better head for the shower." Joe wrinkled his nose, noting Frank had evidently saved the jogging for last.
"Don't you dare!" Frank lunged for his brother noting he already had the phone in his hand. The ensuing scuffle was brief, Frank managing to pin his generally stronger sibling to the floor, but unable to pry the phone from his hand.
"Give me the phone!"
"No!"
"Joe – "
"At least call Le Bernardin to cancel. It's impossible to get a reservation there."
"You looked! That wasn't for public consumption."
"I didn't publish it in the paper, for goodness sake; I read a piece of paper on my own sofa. Call Callie."
"No. You like the dinner reservation so much, take Vanessa."
Joe wiggled out from under his brother, puffing on the floor. "Vanessa's not the one that likes freesias. Quit being a chicken."
"I am not chicken. I'll talk to Callie tomorrow."
"Bok- bok- bok-b-b-b-bok."
"Well, there's a mature approach to the situation."
"Almost as mature as hiding out from your girlfriend!"
The rapid fire conversation distracted Frank long enough for Joe to throw the phone at him and dart into his own room, snagging something out of his top drawer.
Joe walked back into the den, cornering Frank and forcing him back toward the kitchen. A Cheshire grin lit his face.
"Joe," Frank said cautiously as he looked at the shiny metallic object being held in his brother's hand. "Just what do you think you're doing with those handcuffs?"
"Helping you get past a little case of nerves, Frank."
Quicker than Frank would have thought possible, Joe pounced on him again, fastening the cuffs around his wrists as well as looping them through both handles of the refrigerator doors. As soon as he was certain his brother's hands were firmly secured behind his back, he stepped away.
"Joe?! Let me loose!" Frank jerked on his arms, finding while he could pull the doors open about four inches, that was about it. "This is ridiculous. Let me loose now!"
"No can do, brother of mine. You'll appreciate this someday."
"I truly doubt that. You have no clue what I had planned for the evening. Unlock these."
Joe fished a small velvet box out of his front pocket. "Actually Frank, I have a pretty good idea. I also know you weren't going to do it."
Frank closed his eyes, a deep blush replacing the anger on his face. "Tomorrow. I can move the dinner reservation until tomorrow."
"You could," Joe nodded agreeably, "but I'm not convinced you're going to live that long at this rate. Besides, if you put it off again tomorrow and Monday, then Callie will be out of town again, this time for a month. And I, for one, am not living with you a month like this."
"I won't put it off tomorrow. Unlock these."
"You won't have any reason to put it off tomorrow, because you're handling it today." Joe dug through the kitchen drawer, selecting a roll of twine and cutting off a length. Opening the jeweler's box, he plucked out an elegant diamond solitaire, pausing a moment to stare at it. He threaded the twine through the band, and tied the makeshift necklace around his brother's throat.
"It's a beautiful ring, Frank. She'll love it." Joe pulled Frank's keys from his pocket, double checking that the handcuff key was still on the ring. Joe removed it, placing the key on the counter between the refrigerator and the stove. "Callie will see it there easily enough. Have a great evening - if you talk fast enough you'll still make that dinner. See you in the morning."
"Joe?! Joe, come on. Joe!"
The younger Hardy ignored his brother, throwing a few things in a gym bag. He had no intention of returning to the apartment tonight. As he left, Frank could hear him on the cell phone. "Callie, hi it's Joe. No, no Frank is fine. Look, can you come over…"
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Callie knocked louder, surprised when no one answered. "Frank? Joe? Open up."
"Cal?" It was on the tip of Frank's tongue to tell her to come back tomorrow. Unfortunately, if he did that after Joe's unusual call, she'd be convinced something was wrong. She'd worry, might even call his father. And he really didn't want to stand here all night. "Callie? Come on in."
"It's locked, Frank."
"Isn't that the truth."
"What? I didn't hear you."
"Never mind. Use your key."
Callie dug through her purse, glad she always kept the spare handy. Closing the door behind her, she looked cautiously around the den. "Frank?"
"I'm in the kitchen."
Callie darted in there, anxious to see him after her trip. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, arms wrapping around his shoulders and then sliding down to his elbows. She stopped abruptly when he made no move to hug her back.
She took a step backward, noting the rumpled t shirt and gym shorts. Frank was generally more particular than that, especially if he invited her to come over after a week's absence.
"Frank?"
He sighed, not seeing a great starting point to this conversation. "It's kind of a long story, Cal-"
Before he could finish she spotted the way he was standing, rapidly moving to his side and discovering the handcuffs.
"Frank! Are you ok? Who did this? Where's Joe? Is he ok? Should I call the police?"
"Callie, stop. No, don't call the police. I'm fine, Joe's the one who did this, and as to whether he's ok, I sincerely hope not."
"Joe did this? But, why?" Callie seemed to be checking Frank over, not reassured everything was all right. Her fingers made a quick path over his face to trail through his hair, her eyes never leaving his.
"That's sort of where the long story part comes in. I promise to explain it if you'll unlock these first. The key's on the counter." Frank tipped his head sideways toward the stove.
"Yeah, of course." Callie was a little flustered but leaned across his chest to reach the silver key laying there. Her shoulder grazed his chest, an unexpected edge jabbing her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to the hard object.
"FRANK! Is that? Is that?..." Callie sucked in a big breath, realizing she was well past making a fool of herself. Even so, she couldn't help an excited little hop.
A little hop that knocked her off balance, leading to a graceless scramble not to fall over. A quick grab at the counter kept her from falling – and knocked the key into the crack between the two appliances.
Callie looked at her boyfriend for long seconds before dropping her eyes back the platinum band at his neck. She made an effort at sounding less like an insane eighth grade cheerleader. "What is that?"
"It's an engagement ring, Callie."
"Yeah, I see that it is. Maybe the better question is whose is that?" At least now Frank wasn't the only one whose hands were shaking.
"This is so not how I wanted to do this, Cal. It wasn't supposed to be this way." Frank slumped a smidge, straightening when he realized there was no way he was getting to one knee. "The ring's yours if you'll have it." Frank paused, voice uncharacteristically husky when he continued. "Callie Shaw, I love you. Will you marry me?"
Callie leaned into him, both hands on the side of his face as she kissed him. She put a finger across his lips when he started to say something else, reaching behind him to untie the string. She slipped the ring on her finger before she answered, blinking away a tear. "Yes. Yes, I will."
For several minutes the handcuffs didn't seem much of a hindrance, Callie happy to plant kisses along Frank's jaw, fingers again lost in his hair. Finally she pulled away.
"Cal? Where are you going?" Frank sounded vaguely breathless.
"For the key, silly. And I love you, too."
"Oh. Right." Frank had completely forgotten he was stuck. Actually he had completely forgotten everything, but then no one had to know that.
"Uh, problem. I can't reach it. Do you have a spare one?"
"Yeah, but it's with Joe. Can you see it?"
"I can see it fine, but my hand is too wide to reach."
"There's a yardstick behind the door; see if you can use that to get it out."
Callie nodded, retrieving the stick and then dropping to the floor. If she stayed to the left, the angle of the narrow opening was wrong. Laughing slightly, she moved to the right, leaning over Frank's feet and putting her face flat on the floor to get a better view. She scooted her knees forward under her, trying not to squash Frank's toes.
"I need another inch. Step over so I can get between you and the fridge and I might be able to get it."
Frank did so, trying that and thirty other maneuvers before they finally admitted there was just no reaching the fool thing. He'd somehow ended up with a foot on either side of her waist, one of Callie's hands around his ankle for balance as she stretched the other arm as far as it would go.
"Think you're stuck until Joe comes back, love. Sorry." Callie didn't sound sorry, interrupting the fit of giggles that had hit them both only long enough to kiss him some more. "What was that game with the colored circles to stand on? I'm about tangled up enough for that."
"I don't' remember. You know, we may have missed dinner, but the flowers and the wine are here. Guess you should at least have those."
"Trying to bribe me to leave you be, Mr. Hardy? Seems to me you are going to have to put up with me for the evening. Captive audience and all that." She winked at him, beginning to see some advantages to this particular method of proposal.
"Longer than that, I hope, Callie. Longer than that." Frank shook off the serious tone to return the teasing she was clearly enjoying. "Now that wine's in the refrigerator if you can reach it."
"And who's supposed to hold your glass for you when I do, pray tell?" Callie reached around his waist, worming her hand into the slight gap in the door he could create by leaning forward.
Frank jumped when she accidently tickled him, hopelessly trying to shift sideways when Callie felt the flinch and went to tickling him in earnest. "I'm sure we can work something out. Ooh, stop that! Callie, stop it… I'll not forget this you know…" Frank's laughter undermined his words. "You're a lot more ticklish than I am. You'll regret this!"
Callie raised an eyebrow as she twisted around to look at him, impish grin spreading ear to ear. "There's nothing about this evening that I'm going to regret, Frank Hardy. Not ever."
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Joe slipped in the front door about five AM, having noted Callie's car was still in the garage. She'd never stayed the night before. Then again, his brother had never proposed before. He'd just get a glass of water and sneak in his room.
His eyes met Frank's the minute he rounded the corner. He was leaning heavily against the refrigerator, exactly where Joe left him hours before; Callie curled around his feet, sound asleep. The navy pillow under her head was from Joe's bed.
"Hey, Frank." Joe kept his voice to the softest of whispers, figuring he stood a better chance of survival if he only had to deal with one of them at a time. "Wouldn't she let you go?"
"No, she thought it would be more fun to spend her first night as my fiancée sleeping on the floor." Frank smiled anyway. "She said yes, Joe. She said yes."
"Of course she said yes, knucklehead, did you really think there was a chance she wouldn't? And why are you still right there, exactly?"
"Cal knocked the key off and we couldn't reach it."
Joe immediately began rummaging in his pockets, selecting the duplicate key and unlocking the cuffs as he spoke. "Oh man, I'm sorry. Why on earth didn't she call me? I'd have come back."
Frank shook his hands, encouraging some form of circulation to return as he carefully stepped over Callie. "I know you would have, but we were, well, and I, uh…."
Frank's ears were red by the time Joe put a hand to stop the spluttered explanation.
"So, that means you're not going to kill me?" Joe cast a hopeful look at his brother.
"Oh, I'm still killing you. Right after I go buy a game of twister."
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FIN