A/N: While there is a lot of action in this story, some of it comfortable, some not, it is a revisit to Rao and Clipboard's world, after all, but the beginning is a bit more introspective. Both halves are there for a reason, shaping the characters into how I see them several years down the road. Bear with me.

CHAPTER 1

"Not the trumpet lilies. They made him sneeze."

The diminutive gentleman sat on the edge of his desk, eyes lowered in sympathy for the bereft mother in front of him. "Mrs. Hardy, that's not a factor…"

A sharp look from the petite blonde he'd known for years stopped him. "I'm sorry, Laura. No lilies." He turned to another page in the over-sized book of photos. "Maybe something more like this, then?"

Laura gazed at the arrangement, a spring forest conglomeration of red bud branches, pussy willow, dogwood, ivy, and fern. Images of a dark haired boy romping through the woods slammed into her, effectively erasing the other man's presence. When she finally answered, the soft words seemed intended for the child in her memory. "He'd like that."

The funeral director waited, eventually clearing his throat to draw her back to the present. "This is the one, then. I'll take care of it. I think that was the last thing we had to select, unless you want to review the order of service again?" Seeing the minute shake of her bowed head, he stood and offered her his arm. "May I walk you out?"

"Yes, thank you." Laura exited the building with a suppressed shudder, wishing she'd taken Fenton up on his offer to drive her. Between choosing the hymns and the flowers, the afternoon had seeped a weary gloom into her that wouldn't lift. She doubted the casket and headstone selection had been any easier for her husband. Sinking deep into the driver's seat of her car, she sat immobile for a long time before returning to Bayport Memorial.

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"Joe? You awake?" The soft voice wove its way within the subdued lighting of the hospital room.

Joe groaned, rolling over and listlessly opening his eyes. "I'm awake."

Vanessa crossed the tile floor and sat beside the bed, gathering her boyfriend's hand into both of hers. She carefully avoided the protruding IV, brushing her thumb over faintly bruised skin. Unsure what to say, her voice eventually muted to a tentative tone quite unlike the laughter that generally lurked about her. "Oh baby, I am so sorry. I knew he was sick at the airport, but…" Her words trailed into a sniffle.

Joe stared at the watery grey eyes, floundering for anything to say and coming up dry. Needing to escape the scrutiny, he pulled her down to his shoulder, free hand anchoring in the ash blonde tresses.

She wormed loose too soon, again studying his face. "Are you ok?" She swiped her tear away, shaking her head. "That came out wrong. I know you're not ok, but Joe, if there is anything I can do… anything… at all…"

A sick roll of his stomach gripped the younger Hardy. "Ness, I… I can't talk about this right now."

She nodded, wishing there was something more to do to console him. "I'll go then; for a while, anyway. Is Dr. Bates going to let you out for the funeral?"

"Letting isn't involved. I'm going, either way." He fell back into silence, empty gaze staring out at the linear planes of the hospital parking deck.

Vanessa trailed a finger through the edges of his hair before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "I'll be here when you're ready, Joe." She slipped out into the hall, wondering if that time would ever come.

Fenton slid into the same chair two hours later, stroking his son's blonde waves to wake him. The action unfortunately resulted in a clamped vice grip that instantly numbed his wrist. "Easy, Joe. It's just me."

The hand fell away after a few bemused blinks, followed by half a smile. "Hey, Dad. Sorry."

"It's ok. Long day, huh?"

"Yeah. Mom left again a half hour ago and Vanessa and Biff have both been in. How much longer do I seriously have to stay here?" Joe shifted in the bed, never thrilled to be in the hospital under any circumstances.

Fenton shrugged, somehow conveying sympathy with the gesture. "I don't think Dr. Bates could justify keeping you much beyond the day after tomorrow anyway, so we're planning on having you discharged early that morning. That gives you tomorrow here to rest. The funeral's at eleven Monday and we'll pick you up on the way to the church."

Joe jammed his head backward into the pillow stuffing, allowing it to engulf part of the angry frustration roiling in him. "Well, unless you want to stop off for pancakes or something. I could always hail a cab and meet you there, if I'm allowed out of the wheelchair, that is."

"Joseph!" The name hissed forth from his father.

The sound of huffed breaths dissipated slowly. "I'm sorry! I just can't lie here and talk about Frank's funeral like I'm discussing last week's sports scores. I've started this eulogy fifteen times and so far all I've accomplished is confiscating the nurses' entire supply of ballpoint pens and crumpling enough paper to have the EPA swear out a warrant. The only way I could possibly use any more ink would be to open my own tattoo parlor!" The flare of anger fizzled into a defeated slump, followed by awkward silence. "I can't do this, Dad. I can't."

Fenton paced, back turned to his son and hands clasped while he schooled his features and let his own exasperation fade. His younger son had grown into a young man he was extraordinarily proud of – sometimes to the point that he mentally glossed over the hell the seventeen year old had been through in the last year. When he turned back around he was perfectly composed, an unnatural gravity in his voice. "You don't have to, Joe."

"Which part?" The words were understated now, almost meek.

The detective managed a wan smile for his child and reclaimed his seat. "Any of it - the hospital, the wheelchair, the eulogy. I still think this is the best plan, but it's up to you. I'm not going to insist.

"You and Mom wouldn't have any reason to come to the hospital if I suddenly get over my relapse." Joe raised an eyebrow, watching his father's face.

"No, we wouldn't." Fenton knew Joe was recommitting himself to the arrangement, and allowed him the time to do it.

"And splitting up later would be hard to explain."

"It would."

"So."

Fenton watched the acceptance settle. "So?"

"So... I've got a eulogy to write." Joe scowled at the chewed pen and yellow legal pad on the bed stand with an expression generally reserved for sworn enemies.

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Being dead sucks. Frank stared aimlessly out the eighth story window, wishing he could go back to sleep. At least that passed the time. The sound of a piano drifted through the wall, announcing his father's arrival in the chapel next door.

The warning wasn't necessary; no unwanted staff members seemed to be in the seldom used hallway, but Fenton wouldn't take the chance. Other than the two nurses he had personally vetted for the job and Dr. Bates, no one knew the identity of the young man in the hospital room around the corner from the chapel. Fenton Hardy entering the small sanctuary was unlikely to raise suspicion or even curiosity; all of Bayport seemed to know the younger Hardy son was hospitalized three floors below, struggling to recover from an infection in time to attend the funeral of the elder one. Little wonder the devastated father felt the need for divine solace.

Ending the dark Shostakovich melody, Fenton lifted his fingers from the keys, mind wistfully hearing more of Frank and Joe's earliest musical efforts than the piece he'd just completed. Pausing for a brief prayer, the detective cracked the oak and stained glass door. Seeing no one, and confident ample time had elapsed for the handpicked staff to stop him if need be, he left the chapel and entered the door to his right.

"Frank?"

"H-hi."

"How are you holding up?" His oldest child was still far paler than Fenton liked, and the stuttered speech was a painful reminder of a mere month before. Halfway around the world, would-be revolutionaries had jailed Frank and beaten him nearly to death before sentencing him to hang. His subsequent rescue by his brother had been neither quick nor painless, and after a lengthy hospital stay abroad, the Hardy family had returned to Bayport only five days earlier.

Frank ignored the question, forming his words carefully in the hope of getting them out intact. "How's Joe?"

"He's fine, you know that. He hasn't actually needed to be in the hospital for a couple of weeks now."

Frank nodded, satisfied nothing new had occurred with his year younger sibling. He supposed he ought to feel honored. Good cover story or not, he couldn't see Joe staying in a hospital bed or reduced to wheelchair jockey for just anyone. "Ch-Chet?"

Fenton looked away, understanding the single word question all too well. His sons' friends, Chet Morton and Biff Hooper, had accompanied the Hardys on what was supposed to be a tropical vacation. Instead a temporary coup on the island nation of Ranei had separated the group and Chet hadn't made it back.

"Nothing new on that front, I'm afraid. I'm heading back to Indonesia the day after the funeral. I promised Elias Dahl I'd come back in return for his assistance in getting you and Joe out of the jungle anyway, but I'm hoping once I'm physically closer there'll be some sign of Chet." Fenton opted not to tell his son that he was now also unable to locate Elias, a Network agent he'd had numerous dealings with in the past. While the two men didn't like one another, Fenton doubted the agent would ignore him without a reason.

"Joe's g-going."

It wasn't a question. Fenton studied the deep brown eyes in front of him, not liking what he saw. He liked it even less when those eyes fluttered closed, resigned.

"Frank? Joe's only going because you told him to. I know how much it means to both of you to find Chet, but I can get other help for that. If you need your brother here, he'll stay."

Frank rolled that over in his mind. What exactly was he supposed to say? That every time he drifted off, he saw Rao smirking at him, the thin bamboo pole in his hands raised for another strike? That the confines of his hospital bed reminded him a little too much of a cell too tiny for him to even stand? Or maybe that the constant throbbing in his arm made him forget it wasn't chained to a stone ceiling, literally broken and ripped out of socket? The scenes from Ranei swirled in an ever increasing pressure inside him, and he knew he'd have to let some of them out to stay sane. Soon. He couldn't imagine attempting that conversation with anyone but Joe. Maybe he couldn't attempt it at all. Sanity's overrated...

Yeah, I can hear it now. Don't go Joe, I know Chet's probably dying, but I'm scared to fall asleep and my boo-boos hurt, so you'll have to stay here. Oh, and by the way, I keep having nightmares you'll get yourself killed if you go over there again, so now I'm afraid of that, too. I'll try to get you a comprehensive list so we can sort through all my new phobias one point at a time… You want that alphabetically or in order of magnitude?... The sarcasm failed even inside his own head. He needed his brother, perhaps more than he ever had. Don't go back, Joe, please…

The brown eyes snapped open again, permitting his father a fleeting glance of the turmoil before a studied calm descended. Frank had perfected that trick years ago, deftly hiding his emotions whenever he chose. "It's n-not that Joe shouldn't g-go. Just that I sh-should be there."

Fenton sighed, knowing there was more to this than his son's inability to work a case, and also knowing Frank wasn't willing to discuss it. While he doubted any of the overseas threats had followed them back to the United States, he and Joe would be leaving a very incapacitated Frank behind. With another arm surgery and weeks of physical therapy ahead, Fenton had arranged an out of state medical facility to care for Frank. While the plan was well hidden, he also wanted to be sure no one had reason to look for his son, hence the upcoming funeral. Unfortunately, the ruse was hitting the whole family harder than they'd expected. It had so nearly been the truth.

"I'll tell Joe to stay."

"No. He c-can't let Chet down. B-bad enough th-that I am."

Fenton let his hand rest on Frank's good shoulder, shaking his head slightly. "You are not letting your friend down, Frank, and neither is Joe, whether he accompanies me to Ranei or not. The picture of Chet they sent you in Indonesia tells us he's still alive. Joe and Biff have given me every piece of information they can possibly remember about the island, and it'll be enough to find him. If Clipboard and his cronies had planned on killing him, they would have done it already."

Frank flinched at the name his brother had bestowed on the former army colonel that led the revolutionaries on the tropical island. While the legitimate government had managed to regain power, the officer and a sizable number of followers had escaped. The chain of events both before and after the short lived coup was convoluted, but it boiled down to the militia leader thinking Fenton and Joe knew a whole lot more about the other officials involved in the plot than they really did. Clipboard seemed perfectly willing to kill both of them to ensure their silence on the matter and a captured Chet had become bait.

"W-won't have to." Frank's comment was barely audible, leaving his father uncertain if he was meant to have heard it.

"What?"

"They w-won't have to kill him if wh-where they're keeping him is anything like where they kept m-me." Frank took a deep breath, dropping the guarded expression for a moment. "I c-couldn't have survived that h-hole this long, Dad. He'll d-d-die."

It was Fenton's turn to close his eyes briefly, surmising what the prison must have been like for Frank to admit that. "I'll find him, I promise. Even if he's, ah – I'll find out what happened to Chet, either way."

"Th-thanks."

Somehow Fenton didn't think he meant for finding Chet. "For what?"

"F-for not t-trying to lie and p-promise this will be okay."

Maybe Joe really should stay here. Joe had repeatedly offered, confused when his brother had all but ordered him away. "Frank, there's still a chance for Chet, remember that. Are you sure you'll be alright here without Joe?"

"C-course, Dad. I'm f-fine." The blank stare out the window resumed, leaving a disconcerted Fenton to quietly vacate the room.
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to be continued...