Asunder 7

Author's Note: Hi everybody. As always, thank you so much for the reviews to the last chapter from Cherylann, max2013, BMSH, Caranath, ErinJordan, and sm2003495; it means a lot as I try to get back in the swing of writing regularly after a very difficult last year and bit. Reviews make me smile!

This chapter is a bit of a transition between the start of this story and the action of the middle, so bear with me.

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Frank grinned at the familiar blue metal keys in his hand, shaking his head at his brother. "I can't believe you moved in here."

Sneaking past his sibling into the apartment that was now his, Joe shrugged. "It was bigger than my place. Besides, I told you I kept it a year ago."

"Yeah, you did. It just didn't sink in." Frank sank into the grey sofa, gazing around his former living room at his mostly elegant furnishings. "I see your favorite chair made the trip."

Joe smirked. "Of course it did. Your furniture needed some life, some beauty, some je ne sais quoi…"

"Some fleas, more likely." The squat blue and orange plaid chair in question sat there imitating a rumpled lump, a small tuft of stuffing protruding.

"Hey!" Joe bristled indignantly before breaking into laughter. "So, you going to let me tell anyone you're here?"

"Give me an hour, then we can go to Mom and Dad's. Might be better if I slept over there anyway; there's not much room here. Are there still any of my old clothes here? Everything in my bag is about the same as what I'm wearing."

"Most of your stuff is at Mom and Dad's, but the hall closet is still packed." Joe pointed at the tiny closet in the equally stunted hall.

Frank nodded, selected a few things, and headed into the bathroom.

He glanced at Joe after emerging from the shower, dressed in a button down but still sporting ripped jeans. "Better?"

Joe looked at the clean-shaven face and inclined his head. "You look more like you and less like Grizzly Adams, anyway. I thought you were going with the khakis."

Frank frowned. "I was, but they're too loose. Maybe you could pick me up some pants?"

"You really didn't bring anything that fits?" Joe gave his brother an incredulous look.

"Not that doesn't make it look like we're casing the place. Dad might be good with it, but I suspect the haircut is going to be enough for Mom."

Joe snorted. "Lack of one, you mean. But I see your point. I take it you aren't making any public appearances in the next few days."

"Probably best not to. Not hiding out exactly, but I'd rather not be the talk of the town, either."

"What gives? You said you're going for reassignment, but you also said you're in the middle of something. And now you're lying low…"

"Just a feeling I guess."

"Thought that was my department." Joe waited, inviting him to say more.

Instead Frank frowned slightly. "I thought so too."

The silence stretched a minute before he visibly shook it off, starting to run his fingers through his hair. "Maybe I should pull this back."

"Yeah, it hides the scar better."

Frank startled for the second time in as many minutes, staring at his sibling.

"Of course I saw it, Frank. You may be the one playing Agent, but the rest of us haven't gone stupid." He threw a questioning look at his brother. When nothing followed, he arranged his features into a placid façade. "I'll be back with new pants."

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Frank ducked a roundhouse punch and skipped backwards a few steps, assessing his options. His opponent was considerably taller and almost certainly stronger, although seemingly more comfortable with his fists than his feet. Frank launched a kick, but it fell short, leaving him woefully overbalanced. A quick hit to his left shoulder followed, causing his arm to droop.

The other man took advantage, rapidly punching the shoulder again before sweeping a kick at Frank's knees. Hardy fell with more acceleration than his adversary could have predicted, tumbling to the earth.

Frank let the collapse carry him farther than expected, rolling backward from his knees to his spine, while his hands planted palmward on the ground behind his shoulders. He sprung upward suddenly, both feet striking the collarbone of the man looming above him.

The other man grunted as he hit the ground, as much from Frank landing on his chest as his collision with the earth. Frank pulled his right fist back, ready for another blow.

"Unnnccclleee." The wheezed word hung there, panted through gasps for air.

Frank's respiration wasn't much better. "Wh-What?"

"Uncle."

Frank sat back, sliding onto the grass. "Geeze, Hooper."

"Geeze?" Biff shook his head, removing the headgear. "You're the one that turned a little exercise into the damn mixed martial arts championship."

Frank grinned, wiping a trace of blood from his lip before unwrapping the tape from his knuckles. "Nah, just a friendly sparring match."

"Um… sure." Biff stood, offering Frank a hand up before walking back into the Hardy home.

"Chet?! Why don't you and Joe keep Biff entertained while I grab a shower? Unless he wants to use the shower downstairs?" Frank called out as he came through the door, seemingly more relaxed than the night before, having mostly survived his mother's greeting and a long talk with his father.

Joe watched his brother go up the stairs, not saying a word until he heard the water start. "Welcome to my world. You ok, Ox?"

"Yeah. Remind me never to tick him off, though, will ya? I mean, I think you might still take him in a fair fight, but I also don't know that he does fair anymore. What has he been up to, anyway?"

Joe tipped his head to the side, thinking. "About what you'd expect."

"Hasn't he told you more than that? It's been two years." Chet chimed in, casting a worried glance up the stairs.

"He has, but it's his to share." Joe shared the anxious look. "He says he wants to be home, just has something to finish first. Wish I could convince to stay here."

"Let me try." Chet shrugged, a bit wistful.

Joe nodded, arms opening in a 'be my guest' gesture.

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Frank was back down the stairs in twenty minutes, grinning at his friends. "Can you guys stay for dinner? Mom's going to be back in an hour or so and promised to cook something for Joe and me… which probably means enough food for three weeks, minimum."

"It's because you're bloody skinny, Frank." Biff shook his head. "That's one reason I agreed to that sparring match of yours… I had to convince myself you weren't sick. Unfortunately, I have to get back to Philly tonight for practice in the morning."

Frank grimaced. "I'm not sick, just eating field rations. Hate that you have to go back so soon."

"Coach will not be happy if I'm not there. Heck he may not be happy with this new bruise collection, but at least I buy that you're not sick." Biff chuckled before pulling Frank in for a quick hug. "Try to be here when I come in for Christmas, ok?"

"No can do, sorry. Maybe in the spring…" Frank looked suddenly uncertain before covering it quickly with a smile.

Biff caught the variance, but decided this was between Frank and his brother. "In the spring, then. I gotta run."

"Yeah. Have a good trip back."

"You too. Bye."

"Bye." Frank waited for full minute after Biff walked out the carved front door and then turned back to his parent's cream and sage living room, catching a gaze between his brother and Chet. Joe disappeared into the kitchen before he could ask.

Chet settled into the striped sofa before waving Frank over to a chair. "So, did Joe tell you about Candace?"

A wide smile graced Frank's face. "He told me you're engaged and that she is a miniature force of nature."

"She is at that." Chet laughed. "Wouldn't let her hear the miniature part, though. The wedding's in February."

"Valentine's Day?"

"Apparently it was that or 'I could wait until hell froze over and some other woman chose to thaw me out' – and I thought all girls wanted to get married in June."

"Don't think you'd make a good popsicle."

"My thoughts exactly, so February it is. Joe's the best man, but I could do with another groomsman." Chet let the statement hang.

Frank bit his lip, searching for the right words. Once upon a time, he would likely have been best man, but that wasn't the problem. Joe and Chet had grown closer ever since the trip overseas their senior year of high school, so that wasn't it at all. "Chet, I'm honored, but I'm going back to work in two days. It wouldn't be right to promise I'll be here by February."

"There's an easy way to avoid that sort of schedule conflict, you know. Stay here."

Frank closed his eyes, debating with himself. "I wish I could."

"If you're still worrying about Callie, she hasn't been back. Joe says she's somewhere out west."

"It's really not that, or not anymore at least. I'll be there if I can… maybe save me a cummerbund?"

"Brave man having never met Candace and her love of lilac and teal checks." Chet picked up his glass of iced tea, swallowing a few sips. "Joe could use a little moral support, too, you know. I think he's half afraid my mother's going to throw him out."

"Still no better between the two of them, huh?" Frank was concerned, but there wasn't much he could do. Clara Morton had not taken it at all well years before when Chet didn't return from their trip to Southeast Asia… and she laid the blame for his imprisonment there squarely on Joe.

"Better would require acknowledging his continued existence. He tried to speak with her in town a few years ago, but she never even slowed down. I know he hasn't been to the farm in the years since graduation. I'm counting on her urge to maintain peace at the ceremony."

"She does know he's best man, right?"

"She knows. Doesn't talk about it, but she knows."

"Then hopefully everyone will keep their cool for the day and let you and Candace enjoy the wedding."

Chet nodded somewhat glumly, disappointed with his ploy. "I hope so. And Joe's a big boy, but I honestly thought if I wove that angle into it, you'd stay for his sake."

"I can't Chet. End of story." Frank resolutely shook his head.

"Even I can tell you're ready to come home! My wedding will be fine either way, but cut Joe a break here. He's worried about you."

"No need, and Joe is a grown man. A couple of hours of politely ignoring your mother is definitely within his repertoire." Frank's fingers made it through his hair this time, tugging the damp ponytail free.

"No more guilt trips about the wedding, then, but why will you not come home for gosh sake? You told him a year when you left – it's been two. The Frank I remember never would have broken a promise to his brother. Never." Chet sat back, watching his friend.

The brunette paused, jaw clenching and unclenching in rapid succession, both hands curling unconsciously into fists before he uncoiled them and placed them firmly on his thighs in an attempt to enforce calm. "I'm the same guy, Chet. This won't take long."

"Uh-huh. Right. Famous last words." The words were harsh, but the expression was not.

"Not Joe's at least." Frank stood, staring at nothing.

"Frank?" Chet rose, placing himself in Frank's line of sight. The nature of this conversation had suddenly changed, less of a disagreement but somehow more emotionally charged.

"Frank?... Earth to Hardy… Hey, no more flak, but what's going on?... I know that look… Frank?... Frank?!"

Frank's whispered response was only for himself, totally unaware of Morton four inches from his nose. "Dragging my brother into this is not going to happen again. It's not. Not again."

Again?

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To be continued: