Joe circled the table, trying desperately to burn off some nervous energy while not breaking Phil's concentration. His gaze turned frequently to the clock. They were so close, yet time felt like it had slowed to a crawl. The others found ways to occupy themselves as Phil's eyes flickered between the two papers and Joe paced like a restless tiger. Chet worked on his quilt, carefully pinning together pattern pieces; Tony alternated between staring at Phil and smoothing out crumpled pieces of paper he picked up off the floor.

"Mr. Hardy, can I talk to you for a minute?" They all jumped at the unexpected sound. Dr. Finley had entered the room completely unnoticed. "Nothing's wrong," the doctor said as four sets of worried eyes turned in his direction. "I've been asked to speak with you about a course of treatment, that's all."

Joe nodded at his friends, and they filed slowly out of the room, papers and projects still spread out over the table. "Okay, doc," Joe said, frustrated at the interruption, "what's this about? I thought we were going just to talk to him for a while before trying any treatments."

Finley looked down at the clipboard in his hands. "Your mother tells me that you're Frank's health care proxy. Is that correct?" Joe inclined his head, wondering where Finley was going. "Your parents have approached me about possible treatment options." Finley's brown eyes met Joe's blue ones. "Mr. Hardy, we have no way to know how long your brother has been catatonic, and the longer he remains in this condition, the more difficult it could be to bring him back." He paused and took a deep breath. " As I said on Friday, given his physical state, I don't feel comfortable administering medication to him, but ECT is still an option."

Joe's head snapped up. "Doesn't ECT cause memory loss? Why are we even talking about this?"

"It can," Finley admitted. "Generally, the loss is minor and temporary. Most patients recover the lost memories in time."

"In time," Joe repeated. "No. Frank wouldn't want that. He's spent too much time on this case not to be able to trust his memory." He shook his head, confusion showing on his face. "My parents asked about ECT? They know Frank. There's no way he'd allow that. Messing with his mind isn't an option I can even consider."

"You hold the proxy, Mr. Hardy," Finley reminded him. "Nothing can be done without your permission."

The door opened, and both men looked up as Laura Hardy entered the room. "Joe, did the doctor..." Her eyes found Finley's and filled with tears as the man averted his gaze. She turned away, and Joe could tell she was crying. Finley gently patted her shoulder as he left.

Joe had thought nothing could be as bad as the shock and fear he felt when he saw Frank being pulled from Hansen's basement, but he was wrong. This was worse. He was trapped between trying to decide what would help his brother – and ease their parents' suffering – and what Frank himself would want. He was being ripped in two. He crossed the room and hugged his weeping mother. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't."

"He's been gone almost a year," Laura sobbed, "and now I can see him and touch him, but he's not there. He doesn't know I'm here."

"I know. I'm sorry," Joe said, his voice breaking. He needed to explain. "It could affect his memory. I can't mess with his brain, Mom. He'd kill me if anything went wrong."

Laura's shoulders convulsed. With a start, Joe realized she was no longer crying; she had hiccoughed out a laugh. She pulled out of the embrace, lifted her chin, and looked her younger son in the eyes. "He would, wouldn't he?" she said, smiling through her tears. "I'm sorry, dear. It's just..."

"I know." And he did.

Joe spent the rest of the day in Frank's room with his parents. As much as he wanted to stand over Phil, watching as each letter appeared on the page, his parents needed him. At the end of the day he drove them back to their hotel, took a shower, and slept in a bed for the first time in three days.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Before sunrise Tuesday morning, Joe was back at the hospital heading straight for the conference room. It had been over twelve hours since he'd left, and he was counting on Phil's having deciphered Frank's message long before now. He strode into the room and was shocked to find it occupied by only one person. Kara Malone stood in the center of the room, her back to the door, a cell phone at her ear.

"Nice of you to drop in, Agent Malone," Joe growled at her, anger flaring in his chest. "So much for your being concerned about my brother's safety." He slammed his jacket on a nearby chair. "Where the hell have you been?"

Surprise replaced anger as he looked at her face. The emotion that had appeared so briefly during their meeting a month ago now blanketed her face. "I've been in Boston," she retorted. "At Dana Farber. Visiting my sister."

Joe stepped back, shocked. Even he had heard of the Dana Farber Cancer Institute. "Your sister," he repeated, his voice faint. "Older or younger?"

"Older," Malone replied. "Not that it's any of your business."

Only now did Joe recognize the expression standing naked on Malone's face; it was a carbon copy of the one he'd been seeing in the mirror for months – hopeless rage layered with a thin veneer of despair. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerity coursing through the words, "I didn't know."

"No one knows," Malone responded, her voice hoarse. "You're the first person I've told."

Joe thought of Chet showing up early Saturday and taking care of details so Joe didn't have to, of Phil arriving not knowing if he would be blamed for Frank's capture, of Tony staying up all night making food Frank couldn't yet eat, of Biff calling several times a day to send support from another continent. "You should tell your friends," he suggested gently, "and your team. You're going to need them. I think you need them now." He took a step closer to her. "How long?"

"Does she have? Not long. Have I known?" Her eyes bore into his. "Since a few days before our meeting. It's why I set up the cover for you." Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, and she blinked them into her lashes. "Not my most professional move, but I knew I was losing Lynnie, and I was damned if I was going to be responsible for you losing Frank. Not if I could do something about it." She wiped her eyes and handed Joe a scrap of paper. "Your friends left you a note. They're waiting for you in his room."

"Thank you," he said, taking the paper from her. "Are you all right?"

"I will be," she said. "Go. You shouldn't keep them waiting." Joe stood, torn between needing to find out what Phil had discovered and wanting to comfort Malone. "If you try to hug me, Hardy, I swear I'll shoot you," Malone told him. "Go already."

Joe gritted his teeth. "I have no idea how he works with you," he muttered.

"That's funny," Malone threw back at him, "I keep thinking the same thing about you."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Phil and Chet both stood as Joe entered the room. Joe looked for Tony, shooting a questioning look at Chet. "He had to go to back. His dad couldn't spare him longer than two days. He'll call later."

Joe turned to Phil. "Well?"

Phil handed him a folded sheet of paper. "It's done. I'm the only one who's seen it. We agreed since it was addressed to you..."

Joe took the paper and went to stand by Frank's bed. Frank was awake, eyes open and staring at the opposite wall, fingers still gently moving. "Okay, 'bro," he said. "Let's see what it is you were so desperate to tell me."

"Joe, do you want us to leave?" Chet asked. "We understand if you want to be alone with him while you read it."

"No," Joe replied. "You guys did most of the work. You deserve to hear the results." With trembling fingers he unfolded the note and read it aloud. "Joe: If reading this, I'm alive can' t talk. Thank guys decoding, esp Phil. Tell him cover wasn't broken. Hansen thought I sold him out." Joe glanced at Phil and saw – despite Phil's obvious exhaustion – how much more relaxed their friend appeared. "7 or 8 flash drives safety deposit box First National Main. Phil decode. Give Kara. Details Hansen's operation. Key PO Box 2329 South. Make Hansen know who. Sorry. F." He lowered the paper, his eyes distant. "Jesus Christ."

"Who's Kara?" Phil's voice was quiet.

"Agent Malone. FBI. She's in the conference room." Joe started for the door. "She needs to know. He'd want her to know immediately." He winced realizing he was speaking as if Frank wasn't there.

Phil stood. "I'll give her the message. Then I'll get started on a translation program. He must have used the same code for the drives that he did for this. Something like this," he indicated the message in Joe's hand, "I could do by hand, but seven or eight drives? I need technology for that." Joe nodded his thanks and watched as Phil left, looking almost excited.

Chet shrugged his shoulders. "Geeks," he said solemnly. "So what do you want me..." he broke off as his cell phone buzzed. "Tony," he said, glancing at the number. "I'll get him filled in, then I'll call Biff and go get your folks." He flipped open the phone and followed Phil out the door, leaving Joe alone with Frank for the first time since Saturday night.

Joe sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted, despite his night's sleep. "How the hell did you keep all that in your head, 'bro? We all know you're brilliant, but isn't this showing off just a bit, even for you?" He looked over at his brother as he spoke, then gasped. Frank had turned his head towards Joe. His eyes were still dull and his face expressionless, but his hands were still for the first time since Phil's experiment with the laptop. Joe grabbed Frank's right hand and squeezed it gently.

"Frank, can you hear me? Kara's got the information. She's probably on her way to the post office right now for the key. And we'll make sure Hansen knows you're the one who brought him down. I promise." He kept hold of Frank's hand. "Frank, you did it. You don't have to hold on to the message any longer. We got it. Phil figured it out." He was babbling now, his voice getting louder with each word. "You need to explain one thing, though. 'Sorry.' Sorry for what? For getting kidnapped? It's not like that hasn't ever happened to us before."

"Three a.m... phone call." Frank's lips barely moved.

Joe wasn't sure if Frank had actually spoken or if his mind was playing tricks on him. He held his breath and felt Frank's fingers curling around his hand, applying the slightest pressure to Joe's own hand. "Frank, there wasn't any phone..." Sudden understanding flooded through his mind as he remembered his own words from months ago – Mom and Dad are getting a little tired of those three a.m. phone calls – "Oh. No. It was eleven a.m. this time."

Frank's shoulders relaxed. His eyes started to come alive as he struggled to focus on his surroundings. "Didn't... wake them?" His voice was a whisper.

"They were doing laundry or something." Joe said, too relieved to hear his brother's voice to feel exasperated at the question. "Jesus, Frank. Only you would be worried about what time our parents found out you were safe."

"That I was... in the hospital," Frank corrected. He blinked a few more times then turned his eyes to Joe's for the first time. He looked as if he was coming out of anesthesia, woozy and off-kilter. "Where are they?"

"Mom and Dad? They'll be here soon." He squeezed Frank's hand again, his heart skipping beats until he felt the answering pressure. "You had them really worried, 'bro." His voice cracked. "You had all of us really worried. When I didn't hear from you for so long, I thought... I thought." His breath grew ragged. "Damn it, Frank, I should've been there! I should've done something..."

"Joe, it's okay," Frank's voice was stronger now. "I'm all right. You did everything you could." Frank looked around the room, puzzled. "Where are the guys?"

Joe's eyes grew wide. He felt as if he had been hit in the stomach. "You heard us talking to you? Dr. Finley said you might." Frank shook his head. "Then how do you..."

"I just know," Frank interrupted. "Just like I knew you'd find me. And you did."