Author's Note: Thank you so much to BMSH, ErinJordan, Max2013, Cherylann, and sm2003495 for the kind reviews to start out this story!

Two weeks later, Frank entered the familiar brown brick office building, pausing in the small foyer to collect his nerve. For years, he'd planned on finishing up school and coming to work here every day, but now that wasn't quite what he wanted. No, that wasn't true. It was what he wanted, desperately, but it wasn't what he needed. At least not for a while…

He scrubbed his hand over his face, banishing the lack of sleep, and squared his shoulders slightly before knocking on his father's closed door. "Dad? Can I talk to you for minute?"

"Hmm? Oh, Frank. Hi." A rustling sound of papers came through the door. "Give me a few minutes and I'll meet you in your office, okay?"

Frank nodded and wandered away, not considering the closed door between him and his parent blocking the view. He surveyed his desk, tucking the one wayward pen into the top right drawer. Even with his tendency toward neatness, the complete lack of anything at all on the maple surface was unusual. Certainly, it was a marked difference from the amorphous mound that may or may not have contained his younger brother's desk. The desk had been there originally, of course, but Frank couldn't recall the last time he'd actually seen it. A year ago? More?

He was still contemplating that when he felt his father's stare. Frank looked up, accepting the offered cup of coffee silently.

Fenton decided to wait, recognizing whatever Frank wanted to say wasn't casual. The detective looked very much like an older version of his son, down to the brunette waves and the fingers that swept through them absently, but Frank was fidgeting and clearly hadn't slept, in weeks if he was honest. Fidgeting was a normal part of the Hardy world – if you were assessing Joe. For his older son, it was extremely uncommon.

"Dad, I need…"

"I'm here you lucky people…"

Frank had finally decided to speak when his brother's good morning bellow rang through the space, halting his attempt. He drew a deep breath; secretly glad he wouldn't have to do this twice.

"Um, so what's going on?" The blond paused inside the entry to the sibling's shared office space, instantly sensing his presence was an interruption of something important.

"I think Frank was just about to tell us." Fenton went to one of the navy tweed chairs in the end of the room, gesturing at his sons to sit down. Joe complied immediately, tossing a bag of donuts on the top of his messy desk on the way by.

Frank took a bit longer, pondering the chair like a forest log that ought to poked with a stick to check for snakes before deciding it was safe to sit down. "How did you decide to join the military when you finished school, Dad?"

Fenton quickly swallowed the coffee he was sipping, stifling a sudden urge to choke. "Are you, ah, thinking about doing that?"

The brown head shook. "No. But could you answer the question, please?"

Fenton infinitesimally unkinked his spine. "I wanted to get away from home, I wanted to do something important … and I wanted the challenge, I suppose. And to be blunt, my father and I didn't get along all that well. He was opposed to any sort of police work for me, even though that's what he did. I knew that if I spent a few years in the military I could earn enough money with the GI Bill to pay for the Academy or whatever else I might decide I wanted to do."

Frank nodded. "But when you left the military it was eight years later. And you didn't go straight to the policy academy."

"No, once I got there, I found I liked it more that I expected. I also met Joseph, and that started a pathway into more clandestine operations." Fenton paused, glossing over exactly what those operations had entailed. His sons knew as much about that as anyone who hadn't been there ever could, and had more past exposure to similar circumstances than he cared to admit. "And naturally meeting Joseph led to meeting Laura." A small smile tugged at his lips.

"I went to work with colleagues from the military when we got out as a continuation of intelligence work, and I might have stuck with that, but Laura wanted me home more. I also had some qualms about how we accomplished some of that work. I decided to go back to where I started and enrolled in the police academy. You know the rest."

Joe shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with where this conversation seemed to be going. He loved his Uncle Joseph, but usually his name coming up led to trouble. "What are you thinking about, brother of mine?"

Frank sighed, standing up. "Actually, I'm done thinking. I called Uncle Joseph yesterday. I need to take a prolonged leave of absence, or I'll quit if you prefer. I'm going to work for him."

Joe sprang up, fighting an irresistible urge to do… something. He had crossed the space to his brother before he realized it. "Frank! You can't just…"

Fenton rose as well, carefully placing himself between his sons and raising his hands for silence. "Are you certain, son?"

"I am. I'm sorry." Frank stood there, eyes flicking from his father to his younger and more volatile brother.

"Ok." The older Hardy nodded, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath that mirrored his son's. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. He clasped his child by the forearm, squeezing it tightly. "Ok, but don't quit. Take as long as you need."

"Thanks, Dad." He relaxed only slightly, warily glancing at Joe.

"Dad, can we have a minute?" The blond seemed tense, but no longer on the verge of combustion.

Fenton gazed carefully at both of his children before shrugging. "I could use some time to figure out how to break this to your mother, anyway. I'll be back before lunch."

Joe waited until his father left the office to speak again. "Sorry."

"For what? Even I'll admit it's a bit drastic. I need to be away from the life I thought I was building. It's like having a sweater on that's too tight. Everyday it tightens a little more and now I flat out can't breathe. I just need to... to.. GO. "

"I know that." Joe flopped into one of the chairs again, seemingly boneless. "I know you need to get away from here for a while, although admittedly I had thought you might go finish your PhD, or take a three-month sailing trip around the Caribbean, or… I don't know. Part of that life was Dad and I and work, too. You sure this is what you want?"

Frank perched on the edge of the facing seat, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'm sure. You know you have to start a PhD before you can finish one, right? As much as I'd like to sail around for a while, or study criminal computer skills some more, I need something that is going to consume every second of my thought process."

"There are easier ways to do that."

"And I've tried them." Frank's hand snuck up through his hair again. "You weren't wrong the other day when you said I've been working twice as much as you or Dad – and both of you work more than three normal people. So far all I am is tired."

Joe snorted. "Five months with no sleep will tend to do that to you."

"Yeah." Frank stood up again, starting to pace. "Anyway, Joseph has offered both us the chance to come work for him several times, and it's about time I took him up on it."

"I could…"

"No, Joe. I need to go on my own, ok? Besides, Dad's getting used to having some extra help around here."

"There's always Sam."

Frank shrugged ever so slightly, more a motion of his eyebrow than his shoulder. "There is. Are you telling me you deep-down-in-your-bones want to do this?"

The younger Hardy started to speak, paused, and started again. "No. Are you sure you have to?"

"Yes."

Joe shifted in his chair, intently studying the wood grain beneath his feet. Long minutes passed before he raised suddenly intense sapphire eyes. "Then ok. But come back, Frank."

"Of course I'll come back, Joe, you know that. I'll come back and work here, I just need to clear my head."

"People take a walk to clear their head, bro." Joe stood up, continuing to stare at his sibling. "You're likely to get someone else clearing yours with a glock."

"I'd promise that's not going to happen, but I don't think you'd believe me. I do promise I'll come home. Give me a year."

Joe clamped down on a million errant thoughts and schooled his features into a passable imitation of encouragement. "I'll hold you to it."

.

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**aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp*aldp**

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"Hey! Get your tail over here."

Callused fingers rapidly finished braiding the hair at the nape of his neck, clubbing it back out of his way before he shoved a 9mm into the back waistband of olive drab pants. "Whatever, Sanchez. What do you want anyhow?"

Sanchez looked at the muscular bare-chested man looming behind him before stabbing at the newspaper laying on his cot with a grimy finger. "Thought news from home might take your mind off this heat."

"Hmphff. Doubt anything can do that." Still, he grabbed a threadbare tank and pulled it over his head while he ambled over to other soul in the canvas tent. Seemed like the whole world was vaguely steaming in this endless rain. "What news?"

"There. Isn't that the kid you're always checking up on?"

He stared at the picture for long minutes, scratching his fingers through a thick brown beard. "Yeah. Pretty sure that's him."

It was a society page post from the New York Times, noting the engagement of an attractive pair of young people. Sometimes their boss threw the two New Yorkers a bone and sent a newspaper. Unfortunately, it was also four months out of date.

Sanchez looked at the other man for second, then grunted. "You wanna cap him or something? He's better lookin' than you, must have better luck with the ladies."

The man smiled, the simple act transforming his gaunt face. "Something. And he always has, Sanchez, always has."

"How long since you've been home, anyway?"

"I talked to my folks before we started this run, so about the same time as your newspaper, I guess. Looking forward to being able to get back in touch."

"Nun-uh, idiot. In person, face to face, sittin' at your mom's table havin' some pie, at home?"

The other man deflated a little. "Too long. Two years, more or less."

"You do get breaks like the rest of us snowflakes, right? So, go home!"

"Yeah, yeah. I do get break time. There's just never a great time when everything's cleared up. Not like I see you running home to Mommy."

Sanchez let out a booming laugh. "Least you got one. You looking to clear up the international drug trade, human trafficking, information for sale, or are you waiting on the trifecta of all three at once?"

"And wouldn't that ruin everything for us? I can't even get in touch with anybody until after we finish this run for Marcus, so there's not much point talking about it."

"Hmm, well I guess I could try to hurry up my sales pitch this time. You ready to move in the morning?"

He surveyed the minimal amount of gear he'd have to toss in his duffle. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He snatched the newspaper and returned to his cot, determined to some how get some sleep among the oppressive hundred-degree humidity. Tomorrow morning, he and Sanchez had some business to conclude, then hopefully he could think about getting home, even if it was just for a few days. He laid down, one hand trailing to the ground and encountering a soft rounded curve. He grinned looking down at the form bunked in the mud beside his bed.

She was still awake, ebony eyes glaring at him above the strip of tape over her mouth. She wore a filthy black sports bra and shorts, and a length of rope circled her waist and encased both wrists. She'd long since stopped trying to free her hands to reach the tape or tug the rope loose from the frame of the cot. Midnight black hair that might once have been in a French braid now snuck down in a hundred tendrils, snarling across the deep almond tone of her face.

"Go to sleep, girl. We're going to meet your new owner soon enough."

Sanchez laughed. "Why are you still trying to talk to the merchandise? Tramp probably doesn't speak a word of that Spanglish crap you spew, anyway. Bad enough you actually enforce the no sleeping with 'em policy."

"Hey, it's Marcus's rule, take it up with him. And my Spanish isn't that bad." He curled up on his side, one hand on the waist of the bound young woman below his bed, rough fingers curling around the rope, and the other wrapped around his handgun as he settled in to sleep. Neither one entered his dreams, though. That privilege fell to the newspaper article folded below his pillow. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton Isaac Hardy proudly announce the engagement of Miss Vanessa Kay Bender and their son, Mr. Joseph Benjamin Hardy…

Even if it is four months coming; good for you, little brother, good for you. You deserve it.

To be continued: