One small note, in case anyone isn't aware, I am a major get-Joe girl so please don't complain when you start to read one of my stories and realize there is going to be Joe in some sort of trouble; be it emotional or physical because that is what I like to write ; and I don't really care what everyone else is writing or how prevalent something might seem in the fandom since their AU's are not mine so it is not connetected. And really? Comments to the such really do not do anything to inspire.

So…if that's not your liking you won't like the story

Okay, one other small note, I don't write Nancy Drew. She has her own universe and I like to keep her in it.

I just thought it would be fair to give ya a heads up :P

Enjoy!

The First Noel

Chapter 2

Fenton Hardy stood by the Christmas tree and looked down at the sleeping boys. As predicted, the children had not lasted much past ten-thirty but he was hesitant to move them so soon. They looked so peaceful.

Both boys were lying on their sides facing him, Joe snuggled up against his brother's back as Frank was on the outside, one hand under his cheek and the other resting over the one Joe had draped over his side. Fenton wished the lighting was better so he could take a picture, but all the lights had been turned off and only the glow of the fireplace and tree lit the room.

This was Joe's first Christmas with them and Fenton sincerely hoped that it would be one of those special ones that the little boy would never forget….

------

"Told you," a gruff voice spoke quietly behind the young investigator; startling him as he had not heard his father coming back into the living room. His mother and Laura had already gone to bed, anticipating an early wake-up call first by a turkey and then by two excited children – Francis had gone to let the dog outside for the last time before bedtime. "Poor little bairns would never last 'til eleven, let alone much longer."

"Yeah you did," Fenton sighed, a fond smile playing across his handsome face, "but one of these years I'm going to be right."

"Not in my lifetime," Francis scoffed, good-naturedly, and then placed his hand on his son's shoulder as he came to stand beside the younger man and looked down at the sleeping children. Neither said anything for a few moments until Francis spoke again. "Them boys are brothers for sure… No doubting that." His hand dropped and he indicated Frank, "You want to take him up to bed – I'll bring Joey."

Fenton nodded as he carefully scooped up the child and then moved towards the stairs, giving his father access to the younger boy.

Francis leaned over and gently slid an arm beneath Joe but stopped when the child's eyes flew open and he recoiled slightly from the old man.

"Whoa, easy, Joey," the ex-cop soothed; not really expecting this reaction but not really surprised by it either. He knew the child had been living in a state-run facility for the past few months and might be skittish for a bit. "It's just your Poppy." He moved slightly so the little boy could see Fenton, who had stopped and turned around, Frank still in his arms, at the sound of his father's voice. "See, there's Daddy and Frankie."

"Joey?" Fenton called out softly, "Are you okay, son?"

The little boy looked at his father and brother before his gaze returned to the man standing in front of him. He slowly nodded.

"Sorry," the child murmured as he pushed the blanket off his small body and cautiously stood up. He looked at the tree and sighed but never said anything, obviously disappointed that Santa had not been here yet and now they were being taken to bed.

Francis held out his hand and after a moment, the child took it and let himself be led up the stairs and into the cozy room he was sharing with Frank. After tucking the boys into their bed, the men quietly closed the door and went back downstairs to lock up for the night and then put out the presents.

The dog stayed behind, having chosen to crawl up between the young brothers and stretch out in their bed.

"What do you know about the boy's past?" the ex-cop asked his son as they worked quietly.

"Not much really," Fenton admitted, "his mother is dead and no one knows his father. Joey's been a ward of the state for the past couple of months – that's pretty much about it. Why?"

"No reason really," Francis said passing his son the gifts to put under the tree. He paused as his gaze flickered towards the stairs. "State-run facilities are awfully hard on the younger ones."

Fenton followed his father's gaze and nodded as he stood up. "They are," he agreed and then added, "but Joey's a good kid and is already starting to relax around us."

"I've no doubt," Francis admitted as he regarded the display of presents beneath the tree. His face warmed with affection, the older man smiled, "It's good to have you home again Fenton…I'm proud of you, son."

"It's good to be home," the detective admitted, not referring to the house, as this was not the one he had grown up in. It was the company that made 'home', and they both knew it. A flush of color filled his cheeks as he added, "And thanks, Dad."

Satisfied that everything was ready for Christmas morning, father and son went upstairs together and then to their respective rooms.

------

Joe opened up his eyes and stared straight into a pair of warm brown ones set in a fuzzy face. "Merry Christmas, Sam," he whispered to the dog as he lay quietly in the bed for a few more moments, listening intently for the sounds of anyone else being up, but hearing nothing. On the other side of him, Frank was still sleeping, and the younger boy had no idea if he should just go ahead and wake him up or not.

His face crinkled in a frown. Although he and Frank got along very well and Joe had taken an instant liking to his new sibling, there was still so much he didn't know about the six-year-old, and he didn't want to do anything to make Frank not like him anymore. So he just lay in the bed and waited – although being only five and knowing that Santa Claus would have come by now, it was difficult at best to wait, and against his own will, his body fidgeted beneath the coverings. It was his constant little movements that finally woke the older boy.

"IT'S CHRISTMAS!" the dark-haired child shrieked excitedly as his eyes flew open. Grabbing the startled blond boy in a tight hug, Frank half-pulled him off the bed. "Merry Christmas, Joey! Come on! We gotta make sure Santa's been here!"

Needing no further encouragement, Joe slithered out from beneath the blankets and chased after Frank as he raced out of the room calling out to everyone to get up because it was Christmas.

Joe couldn't help but laugh at his brother's excitement even as it matched his own, and within moments other bedroom doors were being opened by adults – housecoat-gowned and slipper-footed.

------

"Merry Christmas, Frankie. Merry Christmas, Joey!" Laura called out, smiling at the retreating forms of her sons as they hurried down the stairs. Sam brushed by in his haste to catch up, nearly knocking the blond woman off the stairs; her husband's quick reflexes steadied Laura and then pulled her close for a quick Christmas kiss.

A definite air of festivity ruled the house….

Joey hit the bottom step a second behind his brother and then froze. Sitting in the living room, at the end of the couch, was someone he had never seen before.

The woman, tall and stern-looking, had dark brown hair pulled back in a bun and bright blue eyes, partially hidden by glasses. She was just finishing a cup of tea and raised her eyebrows questioningly at the children, but before she could say anything Frank ran over and gave her a quick hug. "Auntie Gertrude," he said, "Merry Christmas."

The woman's stern countenance melted as she smiled fondly at her nephew and tousled his dark hair, "Merry Christmas Frankie—" she looked across at Joe who was still standing at the foot of the stairs, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her smile extended to him, "And this must be Joey…Merry Christmas, Joey."

"M-Merry Christmas," the little boy stammered softly, jumping slightly when Fenton laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Joey…son… This is my sister, Gertrude," he did a more formal introduction, "Your Auntie Gertrude." Giving the child a nudge to get him going again, Fenton quickly crossed the distance and gave his older sister a quick hug as Joe moved towards Frank.

Frank's pajama-clad bottom half was now barely visible beneath the huge tree even as he called out for the younger boy to 'get here – you gotta see this'. "Glad you made it Gert," Fenton said releasing his sister.

"I wouldn't have missed this for the world," the woman assured him as their mother, Agnes, came out of the kitchen and shook her head at the lot of them. The smell of cooking turkey wafted out behind her.

"Sleepy heads," she chided, "I've been up for hours now."

"Oh Mother," cooed Francis, the last one down, "no one speaks 'turkey' like you do or else I'd have conversed with the bird myself."

"Indeed you wouldn't have!" Agnes returned and then smiled, "Now that Gertie's here and everyone is up, I think it's present time."

Although mostly engulfed in a Christmas tree, Frank heard her magic words, and within moments the cozy living room floor was littered with brightly colored paper….

------

Fenton wrapped his arms around his wife as they watched the two young boys pillaging under the tree. He squeezed his bride and whispered in her ear, "Are you happy, darling?"

His beautiful angel turned around, held his face tenderly in her soft hands and smiled. "Fenton, what you have given me…first in Frank and now in Joey….I – you…" Tears filled her pale blue eyes; unable to put her feelings into words, she kissed him...and when she finally pulled away, her words were for him only. "Yes. I am…."

The detective sucked in a shuddering breath, unprepared for her emotional response to his question…or his own. If there had been any lingering doubt about their decision to adopt, it was lost in those three words…

Yes. I am.

And as Gertrude knelt down by the boys and helped Joe open one of his gifts, Fenton glanced at his parents. They were sitting together on the couch, his father's arm around his mother's shoulders, watching the boys – not just Frank, but Joe also. And he knew that any concerns he had had about his family's acceptance of his children was unfounded.

The only people in that room were Hardys…each and every one of them

------

The next couple of days passed in a blur of turkey and snow for Joe and Frank. A storm had settled over the area on Christmas Day and dumped over a foot of snow on them in less than twenty-four hours; and by the time it had snowed itself out, the land lay under a fresh blanket of two feet – deeper in some areas.

It was very picturesque and the brothers were anxious to get outside and enjoy it. Amongst a king's ransom in gifts, Santa had brought them new snowsuits – red for Frank, blue for Joe – new snowboots, hats, mittens, scarves…apparently the jolly old elf was very well aware of the impending weather.

Joe was still amazed by it all; the genuine caring and affection he received from his new family – both immediate and extended; the bountiful gifts and good cheer that enveloped the restored old house twenty-four hours a day; and the snow. It wasn't the first time the child had seen the stuff, but it was definitely the most he had ever seen. And as he grew more comfortable with his family, they began to see the real child that lurked inside the little blond boy they called 'Joey;' a mischievous light-hearted spirit, with an infectious giggle and wonderful sense of humor.

Fenton's father had taken to the child particularly, endeared by the sparks of wariness and fear that he sometimes glimpsed in the vibrant blue eyes, and spent hours with both him and Frank, talking, tormenting…teaching; recognizing and respecting the comfort zone the older boy represented to Joe.

The old man was awed as he watched the beginning of an intense bond being formed as a blossoming protectiveness by Frank was tempered by the genuine hero worship of him by Joe. The sun rose and set on the dark-haired boy, as far as the younger boy was concerned.

'Soul brothers,' the old man mused as he watched the children putting together a puzzle that Joe had gotten from him and Agnes. Frank seemed to have limitless patience for the younger boy, and the old man was amused to see the calming influence he had over Joe, as evident when the blond boy became very frustrated with the puzzle they were working on… but a few soothing words of 'Calm down. We can do this' from Frank were enough. Joe didn't look very happy but he did definitely take a deep breath and settle down.

'They give each other patience and perseverance,' he realized, startled yet unabashedly proud of the boys – these were his grandsons. And handsome, to boot.

His thoughts were interrupted when Sam started to bark and ran towards the front door. The ex-cop was a bit surprised, as Fenton had taken the women-folk into town for shopping and they weren't expected back yet.

"Stay here," he instructed the boys as he stood up and slowly made his way to the front door in time to see a silver sedan pull up out front and a man Francis had never seen before, step out. The man was about Fenton's age but a bit heavier set with curly black hair and a ruddy face. He rubbed his hands together briskly against the biting cold as he hurried towards the door.

"Hello," Francis greeted the newcomer, "Can I help you?"

"You most certainly can," the younger man said pleasantly, even as he glanced around. His apparent nervousness set off warning bells for the ex-cop. "I'm looking for Fenton Hardy."

"He's my son," the old man said a bit curtly, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Well no, I don't think so," the stranger said, still not meeting Francis' gaze. "Is your son home?"

"No, he's not." Francis was going to make this guy work for every piece of information he gave.

"Oh." The younger man seemed a bit taken back by his reception. "Well, can you tell me then, when he'll be home?"

"Poppy, who is it?" Frank asked, coming up behind his grandfather. Francis grabbed his shoulder gently to keep the boy from going any further.

"Frank, go back in the kitchen," the old man said, a bit more harshly than he intended, but he didn't want his grandson anywhere near this guy.

"This must be Fenton's son," the man said quickly before Frank had a chance to leave, "he looks just like him." He flashed a smile that sent a shiver down Francis's back. "Funny thing how some boys look just like their dads and others don't."

"Yeah, real funny," Francis said, relieved when Frank listened to him and left the room. The boy shot him an uncomprehending look as he left, obviously confused by his grandfather's abruptness. Francis returned his full attention to the newcomer. "Fenton isn't here. If you'll leave your name and a number he can reach you at, I'll let him know you dropped by."

"Actually that won't work for me," the man said, shifting on his feet – it was damn cold out. "Do you mind if I come in to wait? It's very important."

Francis was hesitant, his every instinct telling him not to trust this guy, but then he sighed and stepped back, allowing the man to come inside. Sam growled softly and kept an unblinking eye on the man. "You can wait here," Francis indicated the bench next to the door. He was not going to let the stranger into the house any further than that, "with the dog." The ex-cop glanced at the dog, "Sam. Stay." Instantly the animal sat down, his brown eyes still fixed on the man.

"That's mighty nice of you," the stranger said – they both knew he didn't mean it. He struck out his hand, "Name's Joe Rigado, friends call me JR…sorry, I never got yours."

"I never gave it," Francis said, a shiver going down his spine at the name. 'Coincidence surely', he thought, 'Joe's a pretty common name.' Changing tactics, he shook the other man's hand briefly and when he spoke, his tone was much more friendly, "Nice to meet you JR – my name's Frank."

"Ah, like your grandson," JR said as he undid his coat and then sat down on the bench, "guess it's pretty common for people to name their kids after their dads – or granddads, in your case."

"Possibly," Francis said. He heard Joe laughing in the kitchen and felt torn. He wanted to go back with the boys, but didn't want to leave Mr. Rigado alone, either. His dilemma was solved a moment later when the boys came out of the kitchen and headed towards the tree, obviously to choose something else to play with, as Joe was carrying the puzzle box. The old man started to send them back to the kitchen but realized that would be unfair. Not wanting to upset the children, he decided this might work out best. He could be with the boys AND keep an eye on the stranger.

"What are you boys doing?" he asked them as he saw the younger child slide the puzzle box back under the tree. Frank was lost from view for a few moments as he crawled amongst the gifts, and then popped up with a book.

"Found it," the older boy said and then plopped down in the big chair next to the fireplace. He looked at his grandfather, a bit surprised to notice the stranger sitting on the bench next to the door. Neither boy had noticed him until now. "We wanted to look at my new book," he answered the question as Joe slid into the chair next to him, his blue eyes large in his face and looking slightly alarmed to see the man next to his grandfather. "So I'm going to read it to Joey."

"Joey," JR whispered, his dark eyes fixed on the little blond boy who seemed to shrivel under his gaze. Francis suddenly regretted letting this man into his house – he did not like the way Rigado was staring at the children.

"Boys, upstairs. Now. Frank, take the book and your brother. Read in your room." Francis' tone was curt and brooked no nonsense. Though shocked – as that was the tone his grandfather reserved for when he did something wrong – the older boy did what he was told. And within moments the two children, and the book, were upstairs and the door was heard closing.

Francis winced – they'd slammed it. 'Oh well', he thought, 'I can make things right with them later. First things first.' He glared at the stranger. "Okay, Mr. Rigado. Enough of this. I want to know why you're here and why you want to speak to my son. And I want to know now."

The younger man looked at him and then shrugged. For the first time he met Francis's gaze; his eyes were dark and cold. "You son has something that belongs to me. And I want it back."

"Oh, and what's that?" the ex-cop demanded, although he suspected he already knew the answer. He was right.

Rigado looked towards the stairs where the children had disappeared. He said only two words: "My son."

tbc