It was dark in the Hardy household. After an evening filled with drinks, merriment and altogether too much food, both Frank and Joe had retired early. Their respective prides had had them pitted in a battle of wills against being the first to give into their injuries and admit that they were tired, which had resulted in Joe almost falling from his chair as the post dinner conversation had lulled him off to sleep. Laura had shepherded both her boys up to their old bedrooms, Vanessa supporting a yawning Joe as they bid goodnight to her and Fenton. It would be a rocky road to recovery. Bruises were already turning their sickly shades of yellow. Wounds were knitting together and bones fusing. Aches and pains would be the norm for the weeks to come but they were healing.

Fenton had promised his wife he would not be long up to bed, citing a need to go over some notes before he hit the hay. So he found himself, sitting in the darkness of his study but for a lamp which illuminated his features. His face drawn in frowning thought as he mulled over the events of the last few days.

He knew in his soul that the only course of action had been for him to take Stan out. If he hadn't pulled the trigger first then he doubtless would have lost Frank to the madman. But there was still a lead weight on his heart and his mind as he thought about the lives which had been lost in this case and the life which had been taken by him. To kill a man was a heavy burden to bear. Even one who was as crazy as Stanley had been. But he also knew with a dead certainty, that if he was ever in the same position again and one of his family was in danger, he would pull the trigger a hundred times if he had to. There was no doubt about it. The thought both frightened and comforted him.

Comforting because it was a morbid confirmation, albeit one he would have preferred to have avoided, that he would do anything for his family. Frightening because it showed him that on some level, every person was capable of killing another. But something would separate people like Fenton from people like Stan. Stan's heart had been full of bile and bitter hatred. The force driving Fenton was one which strived for justice against the evils of men like Stanley.

Leaning back into his chair Fenton sighed, bringing his hands over his face for a moment and rubbing them into his eyes. Standing he turned off his lamp, thoughts of Stan banished as he remembered with a thankful smile that he had his family with him under one roof for the evening. He would sleep well tonight.

END!

Well, that was a ride. Thanks to everyone who came along with it, and another thank you to the people who have taken the time to review. I will go back at some point and fix the problems which were pointed out in the earlier chapters. I've been learning as I was writing this one.

I've had fun messing about in Hardy land. I don't have any plans to write another unless some plot forms off in my peripherals. Might be I get a flash of a scene again and then have to figure out the rest as I go along...not the best way to write a story I guess but it kept me thinking all the way through!

Thanks again. Any comments or critiques are, as always, welcome!

Sarah