Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

This story was originally written for a Christmas story contest on the HDA site in 2007. It is set before the story series which begins with September Song, and contains only canon characters. I tend to write a lot of Christmastime stories, so will probably post several over the next few weeks, all of which were written prior to 2011. They are all quite short; this one has three chapters total.

An Angel at the Manger

By EvergreenDreamweaver

Chapter 1

"Joe, could you get the Nativity set out of the storage closet upstairs for me, please?" Laura Hardy's voice was becoming tentative before she reached the end of her request, for Joe's immediate response had been a hard-eyed stare and an almost subvocal growl of distaste. "I mean...if you wouldn't mind – if it wouldn't be too much trouble..."

Oh dear...seventeen-year-olds can be so difficult, she thought to herself, even while admitting that Joe had good and sufficient reason for the way he was acting, whether he was 7, 17 or 37.

Laura wished Fenton was home, not because she thought he could deal with their younger son any more successfully than she could, but merely for support. Unfortunately he was out of town for a few days, working on a case.

Hesitantly she eyed her younger son, wishing that she'd followed her first impulse and simply retrieved the Christmas crèche set herself, since he obviously didn't wish to be bothered and had no interest whatsoever in Christmas preparations. It had been made very clear to them all that Joe didn't want to participate in Christmas celebrations this year.

But...the Nativity set! Joe had always been the one who fetched it from storage at the beginning of December; he had considered it his own special Christmas task. Laura fully realized that his heart wasn't in it this year, but she'd wanted to include him; wanted to make things like they'd used to be, like they'd always been.

Wanted Joe to be like he had used to be.

#####

The Hardys' Nativity set was one Fenton had bought on a brief trip to Europe and brought home the Christmas before Joe was born. It had been an extravagant purchase for the young police officer, but one he had never regretted making, for it was a very special present for his expectant wife and young son. Laura was nearly overwhelmed by her husband's thoughtfulness and the set had been a cherished part of the Hardy family's Christmas celebrations ever since. It was an extremely large and detailed creation, having in addition to the Holy Family members, numerous angels, shepherds, oxen, sheep, a donkey, a stray dog or two, some Bethlehem villagers, and the visiting Magi with their camels. There was even a stable. And unlike most sets of this type, the Baby could be removed from his manger-bed before Christmas, until the time was appropriate for him to be there.

As soon as the boys were old enough to understand the concepts of 'careful' and 'handle very gently' they were introduced to the beautiful decoration, and were allowed to look and touch – under supervision at first, then later, as they pleased. A young Joe had insisted that each member of the family identify with one of the figurines, and stated firmly that he was the shepherd lad with curly light hair and a baby lamb slung across his shoulders.

Laura, her eyes twinkling with mischief and careful not to say it when Fenton's sister Gertrude was around, conceded that she felt a kinship with the Innkeeper's Wife, what with people dropping in unannounced and staying for long periods of time!

To their amusement, Gertrude also chose the Innkeeper's Wife, stating tartly that she felt like all she did was cook for people who were seldom around when mealtime arrived, and wash their dirty laundry. All were very careful not to mention to Gertrude that she and Laura had chosen the same character, and in later years Laura had decided that a fair-haired angel with hands outstretched in welcome was a good second choice.

Frank considered another of the shepherds 'his,' and the boys insisted that the tallest of the Three Kings was Fenton's alter ego. "After all, Daddy," a five-year-old Frank had argued, "you're a really wise man, aren't you?"

Fenton didn't have the heart to dissuade them of the notion.

#####

Joe gritted his teeth to keep another growl from escaping and heaved himself off the sofa. "Sure, Mom, I'll get it for you," he said, sighing in his most put-upon manner – and then kicking himself for it. He should at least pretend to have some interest in their traditional Christmas preparations, shouldn't he? Even if his heart wasn't in it?

"Thank you, honey," Laura said softly. "Take your time; there's no rush, although I'd like it set up by sometime tonight."

Morosely, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and went to the guest room at the back of the house. A large double closet in this room held most of their Christmas décor for the other eleven months of the year, but emptied out during December. The Nativity set was always one of the first things to be taken out.

He closed the door to the room firmly, not desiring any company. Not Aunt Gertrude, not his mother – not even Frank. Despite his stoic demeanor Joe had a feeling that this small Christmas task might be his undoing – which was the main reason he hadn't wanted to do it.

He'd been trying so hard to keep up the impassive façade – he really had. It had been nearly three months now, three long, agonizing months since Iola Morton had died in an exploded vehicle which had turned into a fireball and incinerated his long-time girlfriend in front of his very eyes.

He'd wanted to die too – and nearly had done so, first in a futile attempt to save Iola from the burning car and then in a hazardous endeavor to find and punish the ones responsible for her death. He'd thought that when he and Frank had been successful it would have salved his wounded psyche, but he was only half right. He had felt a bitter pleasure, all right, and vindication – but the heartache remained, for Iola was irrevocably gone, and all the revenge and justice in the world could not bring her back.

Slowly, he approached the closet and opened the bi-fold doors, scanning the shelves for the big box which held the treasured Nativity scene. Spotting it, he took it out of the closet and set it on the bed, then opened the folded-together flaps which held it closed. Carefully, piece by piece, he began to remove the contents, each figure shrouded in a protective covering of tissue paper or bubble wrap. Despite his depression he couldn't help handling them tenderly and smiling, for sweet memories crowded close, bringing back past, happier Christmases and temporarily banishing his current despondency.

There was Frank's shepherd, leaning on his crook and staring reverently downward. Frank had named him Daniel and invented a whole family and back-story for him. Joe gave Daniel an absentminded pat and re-wrapped him. He'd let Frank get out his own special toy. Here were the camels and the oxen and numerous sheep, bundled together in bubble wrap secured with tape. Joe didn't undo the bundle, merely set it aside on the bedspread and dug further into the box.

Where's my shepherd boy...? Where's Benjamin? Ah, there you are! Smiling, Joe drew out the figurine and unwrapped it, then held it in the palm of his hand. When they were little, he and Frank had used to argue about whether the lamb Benjamin carried was going to be a present for the baby. Frank was of the opinion that if one was visiting a new baby, one ought to bring a present, and since the lamb was right there handy, it seemed like a good idea for a gift. Joe, however, contended that the shepherd boy was merely bringing his lamb for the baby to see, not to keep. Sheep were valuable, and one didn't just give them away. After all, he reasoned, Mary and Joseph were merely staying in Bethlehem until they'd paid their taxes. They didn't even have any place to live, except this stable, and certainly wouldn't want to be saddled with a lamb to take care of as well as a new baby, if and when they found somewhere else to stay!

As Frank had done, Joe created a background for Benjamin. In his mind, Benjamin was the son of a weaver and the oldest of five children, having two younger sisters and two baby brothers, both of whom cried and fussed a lot. Babies were nothing new to Benjamin, but he'd come along with the other shepherds to see this one because it seemed like an interesting thing to do; more interesting than staying with the flock of sheep!

Setting Benjamin aside, Joe reached into the box again, removing more of the contents. He identified each, unwrapped some, left others alone. He unwrapped the manger, but when he found Baby Jesus nestled in cotton batting and bubble wrap he left the tiny figurine in its protective coverings. There were several weeks yet before He had to make an appearance.

A sudden thought brought stinging tears to Joe's eyes. With a pang of grief he recalled pre-Christmas of a year ago – when he had caught Iola's hand and dragged her up here to share in this little unpacking ritual. She had marveled at the beauty of the figurines, and been amazed at all the different animals and people in the set. She had cooed over the baby, placing him in the manger-bed and then taking him back out. And then she had found the angels.

"Oh Joe, look, aren't they just beautiful? Their faces are so sweet – and so serene! Oh, I like this one with the lute best...or no, this one, with the harp! Oh, look at the one with the lamb!"

"This one's Mom's," he had said, pointing out the welcoming angel with outstretched hands.

"It's beautiful. It looks like her." She had unwrapped another, and yet another angel, exclaiming over each in turn. "But why are they all blondes or redheads? Aren't there any brunette angels?"

He frowned, perplexed. "I don't know. I never thought about it. There must be angels with dark hair!"

But although they had looked carefully, not a true brunette-haired angel was to be found in the set. Golden-brown, red-brown, yes – but no black-haired angels with big brown eyes.

"Well, we know that some angels have dark hair, because you do," Joe had declared at last. "And you're my real, live angel!"

Oh God...he'd forgotten that. He'd called her his real, live angel. And now...and now...

With a choked-off wail of grief, Joe snatched up the cocooned Baby Jesus and shook the little figure hard. "Why didn't you save her?" he shouted in fury. "Why did you take her away?" Flinging it down, he picked up the little angel holding the lamb and cradled it close against himself, then buried his face in the pillow of the guest-room bed and began to sob; great wrenching sobs that made him feel as if he was being turned inside out, barely able to breathe through the suffocating pain in his heart. He cried all the tears he had been bottling up for the past three months – and then some.

At long last, exhausted by the paroxysm of anguish, Joe fell asleep, still clutching the figurine of the angel with the little lamb.