Well, here you go. The last chapter and it's a long one. Thank you to everyone for their wonderful comments and support. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I will give the boys some rest for a bit before I torment them again
The First Noel
Chapter 10
"Okay," Laura said quickly, moving towards the man, desperate to make sure that he didn't hurt Joe any further. "We'll go with you." She felt her husband's gaze on her and gave him a reassuring nod, trusting in him to somehow get them out of this – eventually. Wordlessly Fenton followed.
Satisfied, Rigado moved out of the way to let the detective and wife go first but as Laura opened the door, she stepped back in surprise as Cecil and Gertrude stood there – Cecil's hand poised to knock. He blinked in shock when he saw the man now standing behind Fenton.
Quickly the gunman stepped back to the small bed and aimed the gun at the unconscious child. "In here NOW! One wrong move and it'll be bye-bye Joey."
"JR!" Cecil said, his face pale and disbelieving as he hurriedly followed the desperate man's instruction, Gertrude right behind him. "What are you doing? Haven't you caused this family enough grief?"
"Grief?" Rigado cried, "What the hell do they know about grief? Or even you, old man. The world is handed to you on a silver platter while guys like me are left hanging, begging for a handout."
"What are you talking about?" the older man asked – genuinely confused – as he held his young friend's gaze. Behind them, Gertrude reached out and grabbed Laura's hand, as the younger woman could not tear her eyes from the gun threatening her little boy's fragile hold on life; Fenton stood poised beside them, just waiting for his chance. Rigado would slip up and when he did the detective would be ready.
"All I wanted was enough money to pay Fat Eddy the money I owed him – but no, you had to go and make things complicated," Rigado sneered at Fenton. "You should have just given me the money and then none of this would have ever happened."
"Money?" Cecil actually scoffed, "This is about money?"
"What the hell did you think it was about?" JR demanded. "A prime parking spot?"
"Well no," the older man admitted, "But – I…" he paused and his face hardened, "How much?"
"How much what?" The gunman played dumb as he pressed the gun against Joe's head and enjoyed the horror that filtered across the faces of the boy's family.
"Money, JR. How much money do you owe?" Cecil clarified, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. If Rigado pulled that trigger…
"Ten thousand," Rigado admitted, his gaze shifting nervously towards Fenton and then back to Cecil. The hand holding the gun was steady, though.
"I'll give you the money," Cecil immediately offered, ignoring the shocked gasps from behind him.
"What?" Now it was the thug's turn to be shocked. "You got to be kidding, old man."
"I don't kid when it comes to money," the bingo caller stated. "Now put that gun down and step away from that poor child—"
"Oh no," Rigado growled, "I'm on to you. Offer me the money knowing you won't have to pay it because I'll be in jail? I don't think so."
"You silly child," Cecil snapped in an uncustomary show of anger, "if I offered the money then I fully intend to see you have it! This way there won't be any fatal 'accidents' while you're behind bars. Now give up this charade and move away from that boy!"
"Why?" Rigado demanded, stuck between belief and disbelief, "Why would you do this?"
"Because your mother was a dear friend of mine and I would do her memory a huge injustice if I let something happen to you that I had the power to stop—" Cecil admitted, moving slowly towards the gunman. "And because I know money is exactly that – just money. Painted paper. It can't buy you the truly important things in life but if it will keep you alive JR, you can have it."
"I don't understand." The man let his gun hand fall. He was still holding the gun but it was no longer pointed at Joe. "You have everything."
"No I don't," Cecil admitted, stopping right in front of the younger man. "I don't have the same privileges in life that you do, my young misguided friend."
Rigado snorted but before he could say anything the older man continued, "I won't live to be an old man JR." He paused and then continued, his stomach twisting as he knew how much it hurt Gertrude to be reminded so bluntly about all this. "Look at me. Take a good look at me and tell me what you see."
"I see you," JR said, shrugging his shoulders and not understanding what Cecil was getting at.
"You see a tall man – too tall maybe. Long arms. Long legs. Narrow face. Rather average, if not older looking than my years suggest….But what you don't see is that I have a condition, an inherited condition – Marfan Syndrome. And because of that, I see a cardiologist more frequently than any man my age should; I suffer stomach problems, vision problems; chronic pain – and each time I go see a doctor I'm terrified that he's going to tell me my time is near….My body is sick, JR, and all the money in the world won't give me what you take for granted. Your life…and your immortality…" He glanced at Joe, his face sad and remorseful. "You say I have the world handed to me on a silver platter but you are mistaken, my young friend. It is you that has had such opportunity and withered it away by not seeing what was right in front of your face….What I have is hereditary, born with me, and as I would not wish it upon my own children, it will die with me…" He held out his hand. "Give me the gun JR, and I will give you the money." He snorted. "For all the use it's been to me… It can't save my life but just maybe it can save yours."
A tense silence radiated in the room as Fenton, Laura and Gertrude watched the drama unfold. Laura's fingers tightened around Gertrude's hand as she heard Cecil's candid admission about himself and his health. And suddenly it made so much sense it hurt, as to why, after all these years, this proud woman had finally let herself fall in love with him…his decision to never have children must have been as painful as her decision to never risk her heart. And yet in the end, they had found solace in each other; a consolation to the fates that life had so cruelly cast at them.
Laura glanced at her husband and saw him swallow hard and knew he was just as affected by the words. And suddenly they were no longer Cecil and Gertrude but Romeo and Juliet; star-crossed lovers. Theirs was a love that would end alone, but until then…until then they could have their happily ever after. If they got out of this room alive.
And then Joe Rigado let the gun drop harmlessly to the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as a wave of dizziness overcame him and the world swam sickeningly. "Oh God I'm so sorry." Collapsing, he was surprised when Cecil moved to catch him.
"I know," the older man simply said, "I know."
------
Meanwhile…back at the house…
Agnes helped Francis adjust a sleeping Frank into a comfortable position on the couch before the man stood up and stretched, groaning lightly as he worked the kinks out of his back.
"You okay?" Agnes asked as they moved into the kitchen so they could talk without disturbing the child.
"No," Francis said as he rubbed his neck. He had fallen asleep with Frank for a while and his body was now reminding him that it didn't particularly like the position the old man had been sitting in.
"What's wrong?" his wife asked, looking at him with concern on her face.
"I'm old," the ex-cop grumbled, "useless…worn out…run down—"
"Cantankerous? Outdated? Past your expiry date?" Agnes offered helpfully, smiling at the look her husband shot her.
"Enough helping," he scolded as he sat down at the table and accepted the cup of coffee she offered.
"So what's the plan?" Agnes asked, sitting down across from him.
"What plan?" Francis feigned innocence.
"Oh please," the woman scoffed, "you can't tell me you haven't figured out a way yet to get Frankie in to see Joey."
"That would be against hospital rules!" the old man protested, "And you know how I am about rules—"
"Yes I do," Agnes interrupted, "and that's why I'm asking you what you're planning. I figure I should know ahead of time in case I have to make bail or something for the two of you."
"Aggie!" Francis cried out in indignation, "I'm insulted! Whenever have—"
"1972. Miami. It was hot night on the boardwalk…" his wife promptly stated, and the ex-cop held up his hands in mock horror.
"One time! One time, I say, and it's held against a guy for the rest of his life!"
"You asked, " his wife reminded him, taking a sip of her coffee, "Now spill, Francis – what are you going to do?"
Sighing in defeat, the ex-cop let a crafty little smile steal across his face. "I'm going to arrest him."
"Arrest who?" Agnes was afraid she already knew the answer…. And she did.
"Frankie."
------
"Dang-nabit." Francis grunted as he sucked in a deep breath and tried to button up the front of his shirt, "What'd you wash this with? Dang thing's shrunk."
"More like you've expanded," Agnes commented as she watched in amusement while her husband tried unsuccessfully to put on his old police uniform.
"Expanded, my butt!" the man scoffed as he took off the shirt and tossed it on the bed, his face a bit red from exertion.
"That too," the woman chuckled as she picked up the discarded shirt and started to put it back on the hanger. She appraised her frustrated-looking husband and felt her heart pang with sympathy – she knew he never took this into account when he thought up his 'brilliant' plan. "Do you really need to wear the uniform?" she asked.
"Well it would help," Francis admitted, scowling at the topless reflection of himself in the mirror. He flexed and frowned. "I don't recall being so – so 'loose' before." he plucked at the flesh that used to be formidable triceps. "When the hell did this happen? And why wasn't I informed?"
His wife rolled her eyes and came to stand behind her husband, looking at his reflection in the mirror. She smiled. "Don't fret too much, Francis. You'll always be my beefy-boy."
Francis blushed and then turned to look at her, muttering under his breath as he did so, "That's the problem…too much beef." He sighed and added, "I'm still out a shirt."
"And pants," his wife pointed out, noticing that he was still in his pajama bottoms.
"Tried them too, but liked breathing too much to keep them on," the retiree confessed, slumping down on the bed and scrubbing his face in annoyance. "How in the world am I ever supposed to face Frankie again? He's counting on me to pull this off! I'm the worst grandfather in the whole world," Francis added dramatically.
Agnes tried to keep from laughing at her melodramatic soul mate. She reached out and touched his shoulder, "Well, you could be an undercover cop – I hear they don't wear uniforms much."
Instantly Francis's eyes lit up. "Of course!" he said, springing to his feet and giving his wife a big hug, "that's even better! What would I ever do without you?"
"Perish the thought," Agnes quipped dryly and then reached into the closet and plucked out a white shirt and navy blue tie. When she saw the look of horror cross Francis's face she shrugged, "What? You were planning on wearing plaid or something? Now get dressed and I'll get Frankie ready. Your good coat is downstairs. Hurry up, Francis. Fenton said that they were going to let Joey wake up this morning and I don't want to miss it."
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" the man said hopping on one foot as he whipped off his pajama bottoms and started to put on a pair of dress pants. "Not exactly how I planned to spend New Year's Eve," he grumbled as he did so.
Agnes hurried down the hall to make sure her grandson was ready.
Ten minutes later, the trio left the house and headed towards the hospital.
------
Everything hurt. That was the first thing Joe noticed as he slowly regained consciousness. Around him, he could hear muffled voices but they still seemed too far away for him to make out what they were saying or even who they were.
The fleeting image of a dark-haired young boy with almost black eyes, smiled at him and was then gone, replaced with a sucking darkness that threatened to suffocate him, pulling him down into a dark, cold hole –
'Frankie' he thought as anxiety filled his body, 'where's Frankie?' The child was overcome with an irrational terror that this had all been a dream and as soon as he opened his eyes, he'd find himself back in the boys' dorm of Foundling Hall – a state-run facility for children – and that he'd open his eyes to his mirror image smirking at him.
William would be pleased that his latest torment had left the younger boy in so much pain.
'No, please,' Joe mentally whimpered. 'I want Frankie… Frankie's my brother now – my real brother…'
In an instant he made a decision: if Frank was a figment of his imagination – if the whole Hardy family was just a dream…then the small child never wanted to wake up again. And with that thought lodged firmly in his mind, Joe squeezed his eyes shut and refused to wake up.
------
"Ready?" Francis asked as he knelt down in front of his grandson outside the hospital and slipped a pair of handcuffs on the small boy. The cuffs weren't child sized and dangled rather uselessly on the thin wrists.
Frank nodded; his dark eyes as somber as they had ever been.
"Okay." The ex-cop stood up and straightened his tie. Agnes had already gone inside while he gave the child last-minute instruction before they infiltrated enemy territory. "Remember, Frankie. You gotta stay focused on the task – no matter what! You are the baddest six-year-old in the whole damn state. You are mean," the child narrowed his eyes menacingly. "You are ill-tempered," Frank's lip curled up in his best scowl. "And you are no one to be messed with." The boy actually growled.
Satisfied, the man placed a hand around his grandson's arm. "Okay boy – let's go see your brother!"
Agnes turned around in the entranceway and almost doubled over laughing at the image of her young grandson being led towards the hospital in handcuffs. The look on his face was priceless. 'The only thing missing', she decided, 'is a bit of foaming at the mouth!'
Shaking her head, Agnes hurried past the security and triage desks towards the elevators. As much as she would love to hang back and witness this, she was afraid her presence might somehow ruin their charade. Besides which, she hadn't seen her younger grandson since the prior evening and she was very anxious to get upstairs.
As the elevator door closed, the woman finally let out the laughter she had been holding inside since seeing Francis' first try to get into his uniform this morning. Still chuckling a few moments later when the doors opened to let her on Joe's floor, Agnes paused long enough to wish the nursing staff a happy New Year, and then went into her grandson's room to wait. If all went according to plan, Francis and Frank would be joining them shortly.
------
"I'm sorry sir," a woman's voice called out as Francis brushed past the triage desk and towards the elevators. Wincing, he plastered a charming smile on his face and turned to meet the young security guard he had just nodded at only moments ago. "Children under twelve are not allowed on the ward floors. It's a hospital policy."
"And a damned fine one at that," the man agreed, keeping a hold of his grandson's arm. "If all kids are like this punk, you might want to consider rising that age, actually."
The security guard looked shocked as she seemed to notice the handcuffs for the first time.
With the fluidness that came from a lifetime of experience, Francis flashed his old badge at the girl and said tersely, "Detective Winchester, but you can call me Dean."
"Well Dean—" the young security guard never stood a chance as the man cut her off briskly.
"If you'll excuse me I have to be on my way." He punched the button to call the elevator. "I gotta get this kid to the precinct as soon as possible. Oh, don't let this innocent little face fool you, this one is the mastermind behind a major crime syndicate – I'm lucky I even caught him without taking some major damage to myself!" He leaned in close to the guard and said conspiratorially, "Mind you, don't let that get out, as I plan on milking this for all it's worth. Not every day you get to take down a major crime lord." The elevator doors slid open and Francis pushed Frank inside before backing in himself. "Anyway, keep up the good work – I'll put in a word for you at the station. Bye!" The door slid shut, leaving the young security guard to just stare at it for another few moments before shaking her head and turning back to her desk.
Any thoughts she might have had about checking this out any further quickly fled when a drunk man with a busted cheek went loco in the waiting room.
-----
"Easy peasy," Francis said, giving Frank a big smile and wink. "Next stop, Joey's room!"
The child beamed up at him – his hero worship for his grandfather cemented for life.
Things did not go as smoothly as planned, though.
When the elevator doors opened and the pair got out, Francis made a bee-line for Joe's room, pulling Frank along with him. His hand was just reaching for the door handle when a familiar voice called out to them.
"Mr. Hardy? Frankie?" Grimacing, the man slowly turned around to see Dr. Beckman hurrying towards them. "What are you doing here?" she asked the little boy.
"I'm under arrest," the boy said good-naturedly and then, remembering that he was supposed to be a crime lord, he growled at her and added, "so you better stand back 'cause I might bite!"
Amused, the doctor opened her mouth to say something when the child sneezed, promptly slipped one of hands out of the handcuffs, wiped his nose, and then put it back in the restraint. "And my name ain't Frankie. It's Sam—" he winked at his grandfather, "Sam Winchester!" He figured if that name was good enough for his grandfather, it was good enough for him.
Francis groaned and shook his head. The jig was up…but to his surprise the doctor laughed. "Well then," she said, "I'd better not stand in your way, Sam." She looked at the man and winked before walking away.
Not bothering to question this unforeseen turn of events, Francis grabbed Frank's arm again and pushed open the door to Joe's room. "Come on squirt," he whispered, "let's go see your brother."
Frank never needed to be told twice.
------
Joe lay as still as his hurting body and frightened mind would allow. Around him he could pick out the voices of Fenton and Laura – or who he hoped were his parents, but he just wasn't too sure; maybe they were strangers who sounded like them because he wanted them to.
"C'mon sweetie," one of the voices pleaded. "Come back to us." He was almost positive one was his mother.
"Please son, you need to wake up now," and that one, his father.
Maybe everything was okay. Maybe he could open his eyes and he'd be all right…then a warm hand took his own and Joe was jolted by the familiarity of that touch. That presence…
Finally opening his eyes, Joe looked right into his brother's face and – and it was Frank!
"F-Frankie," he managed to croak as his vision blurred with tears; a combination of pain and relief. This was his life – it wasn't a dream. And these people were his family; his real family…for now and for always.
And as his family crowded around him in an excited huddle, Joe clung to his brother's hand – there were no more maybes; he was going to be okay.
------
Satisfied that Joe was indeed going to be okay now, Francis and Fenton told Cecil they wanted to talk to him…in private.
Gertrude fixed her eyes firmly on her father and brother as they turned to leave. "Be nice," she warned them.
Fenton raised an eyebrow in playful indignation as Francis just scoffed, "Settle down, baby girl. We just want to talk with him – not tar and feather him…" he turned away from her and added, "that comes later."
Cecil gave the woman a confident smile and then followed the other two men out of the room.
"What do you think that's all about?" Gertrude asked her mother as soon as the door closed. She and Agnes stood at the foot of the bed, watching as Laura and little Frank spoke quietly to Joe. It didn't seem to matter to either of them that the younger child had already drifted back to sleep; they continued speaking to him, Laura gently stroking his pale cheek as Frank continued to clasp the limp hand, his dark eyes gazing intently on his brother's face.
"Don't worry yourself about it dear," Agnes said dismissively, "Your father likes Cecil."
"What about Fenton?" Gertrude heard herself asking as she thought about Cecil's trepidation in the car yesterday.
The older woman looked a bit surprised, "Fenton?"
"Yes. Does he blame Cecil for any of this? After all, if he hadn't mentioned anything to this Rigado guy about Joey's adoption, none of this would have ever happened," she admitted, a bit afraid of her mother's answer.
"Oh, Gertie," Agnes smiled gently and shook her head. "If your brother blamed your friend in any way, do you honestly think he'd let Cecil anywhere near his children right now? You know how that boy can be about holding a grudge."
The younger woman rolled her eyes – oh yeah, did she ever! Smiling, she nodded and turned her attention back on her nephews, knowing her mother was right. Of course she had known that herself, but hearing it from someone else allayed the irrational concern that had been tugging at her.
"Gertrude," Agnes reached out a bit awkwardly and touched her daughter's arm, drawing her attention back to herself. She spoke softly. "Are you okay with this – with Cecil's condition, I mean? He's going to die."
Wincing inwardly at her mother's bluntness, Gertrude sighed softly, "We're all going to die someday, Mother."
Agnes nodded but didn't say anything. What could she say? Gertrude was right.
"But in spite of that—" the younger woman continued so softly her mother had to strain to hear what she was saying, "I do love him. I know that in the end, it's going to hurt, but I – I can't live life for the end….I have to live it for the now. And in the now, I have Cecil."
The older woman felt a surge of pride rise in her chest for the remarkable young woman that her daughter had grown into. "You're much wiser than I ever was at your age," Agnes admitted, and then in an attempt to lighten up the seriousness of their conversation she added, "After all, I married your father!"
Gertrude laughed and shook her head. No matter how much she loved her mother, she didn't think she would ever truly understand her. But there were just some things that didn't require comprehension, and love, the young woman decided, was one of them.
------
Fenton and Francis led Cecil down to the end of the hall before turning to him.
Francis eyed him speculatively until the young man shifted under the scrutiny, than he just said rather gruffly, "If you break my baby girl's heart, I'll break both your legs." Satisfied when Cecil paled, he nodded to his son – it was his turn. The detective looked at his father oddly for a moment and then just shook his head in disbelief.
"Cecil," Fenton's tone was a lot less formidable. "I want to say thank you for what you did last night – if you hadn't been here, I'm not exactly sure what would have happened….But either way, thank you. I know it couldn't have been an easy thing for you to do."
Cecil nodded but didn't say anything, sensing the other man was not finished yet.
"You know, I don't think I've been very fair to you," Fenton continued appraising the bingo caller through serious eyes, "and I just want to say I'm sorry for that. In the couple of days I've known you, you've helped open my eyes towards a lot of things – especially my sister, and I hope that over time, we'll get to know each other a lot better. All of us." He glared meaningfully at his father, not impressed with the gun-toting hillbilly-father routine Francis had pulled on Cecil.
"What?" the ex-cop asked innocently and then huffed loudly, "Oh fine. You're just as bad as your mother, did you know that?" He addressed Cecil again. "You make my daughter happy, and you've stepped in to help my family a number of times now – that makes you okay in my books." He glanced back at his son, "Satisfied?"
"That'll do, Dad," Fenton grinned and patted his father's back patronizingly. "I wouldn't want you to explode from all this mushiness or anything."
"Good," Francis said, brushing his son's hands away and turning to go back to Joe's room. "Now come on, we got a New Year's Eve party to plan." He pursed his lips. "Hmmm…I wonder if it'll be just as easy sneaking that past the security desk…"
------
The next time Joe woke up, he was more alert and barely remembered his earlier consciousness.
"Oh baby," his mother immediately gushed, the smile on her face lighting up his soul as she bent over to kiss his forehead, "how are you feeling?"
"S-sore," the child managed, licking his dry lips, "and thirsty."
"I'll check with the nurse to see if you can have some water," Gertrude offered, quickly slipping into the hallway. Cecil smiled at Joe and then followed her.
"You're going to be pretty sore for a while," his father said, standing behind Laura and gazing down at him sympathetically. "When you fell into the well, one of the slats of wood that had been used as a covering, pierced your side."
Joe shivered at the reminder of what had happened, and felt Frank squeeze his hand. "That's why it hurt so much," he said, remembering the pain, the blood and the darkness.
"It's okay though," Frank said hurriedly, picking up on his brother's growing anxiety, "the doctor fixed you all up and you can come home soon!"
"Today?" the younger boy asked hopefully, not wanting to be left alone in the hospital.
"No, I'm sorry baby," Laura said gently, "you're going to need to stay in here for a couple more days so the doctors can make sure that you're getting better before you can come home." She paused and then added, "So we'll be staying at your grandparents' for a little bit longer – we don't want to be driving back to Bayport until you're feeling better."
"Oh," Joe said softly, looking down at the white sheet lying across his chest. He couldn't see the bandages that wrapped his midsection but he could feel their tugging with each breath he took.
"But don't you worry your little head about any of that." It was his Poppy who spoke this time and Joe glanced up, a bit startled to hear his voice. In all truth he hadn't noticed that his grandparents were there. Francis moved closer and squeezed his shoulder gently. "You won't be alone, champ. One of us will be here with you at all times. Just like we've been all along."
Joe blushed and smiled shyly. He still wasn't used to this kind of attention…but he liked it – not the being fawned over because he was in the hospital part, just the feeling that they did care part. It made him feel very safe…and loved.
When Gertrude and Cecil came back into the room, Gert was holding a cup of ice chips. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "you can't have water yet but you can suck on these." She gave the cup to Laura and watched as the young mother passed a chip to the child.
Joe sucked it, grateful for the instant relief it offered his parched mouth. He looked at his aunt – a fleeting memory of her in the well washed over him, and swallowing the ice chip he said, "You were there."
Now it was Gertrude's turn to blush. "I didn't think you'd remember that."
The child smiled at her – his brilliant blue eyes shining in his pale face. "I do. A little bit—" he paused and then added, "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me," Gertrude said, her voice huskier than usual.
With an unforeseen wisdom in his voice, Joe just said, "Yes. I do."
For one brief moment Gertrude wondered if she had done anything to make him realize her own fear in that dark hole. But then, shaking her head, she doubted it. 'Nah, he's just an intuitive kid,' she decided.
The sound of the door opening made the Hardys turn to see a nurse coming into the room. The nurse looked at Frank as she moved past the family to check on Joe.
She just shook her head slightly, tended her patient and then moved to leave the room. Pausing briefly at the door, the nurse smiled at the dark-haired boy. "I have a sister, so I know what it's like." And then she was gone.
Frank let go of Joe's hand, stood up and faced his family. Looking more somber than he had ever in his young life, he said softly but firmly, "Can I talk to Joey…alone?" His eyes roamed over the faces of the adults in the room, stopping when they got to his grandfather's. His Poppy would understand…and he did.
With a few brief words, Francis ushered his family into the hallway to give the two little boys their time alone. He promised to explain but when he got them out of the room, he just shrugged and said, "It's a brother thing."
------
"Frankie?" Joe was worried, having no idea why his brother wanted to talk to him alone. What was he going to say? Was he mad at Joe for something? He still didn't know for sure what had happened to Frank after he fell in the hole – maybe Frank blamed him for that!
Frank sat back down on the edge of Joe's bed and looked at him.
The blond boy felt his heart just about pounding out of his chest as he waited for his brother to begin. And when Frank finally did, Joe was shocked. The first words out of Frank's mouth was an apology.
"I'm sorry Joey," the older boy said, his voice quivering a bit, "I made a promise to you – a sacred, big-brother promise – and I broke it!"
Joe didn't understand but Frank continued before he could ask. "I promised I'd never leave you and – and I did! I didn't want to! But that bad man grabbed me and stuck something in my face that made me fall asleep and then when I woke up I was sick and scared and I couldn't get back to you and—" he was crying now – rambling – his words barely understandable through his upset and grief.
"Frankie," Joe interrupted, shaken to see his big brother like this. A stirring in the pit of his stomach demanded that he do something to stop this. "It's okay. I'm okay, big brother – look at me."
The dark-haired boy was looking at him and just shook his head. "How can you say it's okay? I made you a promise, Joey – my very first promise to you – and then I broke it."
"No you didn't." Joe firmly rebutted. "You didn't leave me….You were taken away. That's different, Frankie – very, very different." An acute understanding of the difference lurked behind the blue eyes. "I'm just so happy you're okay. I don't know what I would do without you."
Frank reached out and took his hand again, squeezing warmth into the cooler fingers. "Me neither." He sniffed and scrubbed at his face, embarrassed by his display and relieved that his brother wasn't blaming him for not being there – for not being able to save him; for not being able to keep his promise.
The two boys sat together for a few moments without saying anything until Joe broke the silence. He sighed, "We never got to build that snow fort…"
"I know," Frank admitted, sounding just as glum, "and it would have really been something, too."
"Yeah, the best one ever," the younger boy agreed. He closed his eyes and lay back against the pillow; he was tired again and his side was really aching. "I'm glad you're here."
Frank's hold on his hand tightened briefly, "Me too. You can go to sleep if you want to. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?" Joe mumbled, already mostly asleep.
"I promise," the older boy assured him, a surprising amount of ferocity in his voice. If he had to hide under the bed, in the closet or the bathroom to do so, this was one promise he was not going to break.
It might not be a sacred big-brother promise, but it was still a big-brother promise nonetheless. And those were a serious thing.
------
Later that night when the clock struck twelve and the world welcomed in a brand new year, Fenton Hardy smiled down at his sleeping children: Joe in the hospital bed and Frank curled up beside him; he shook his head at the twisted irony of the situation. He had hoped that Joe's first Christmas with them would be one he would never forget…and it was; just not in the way Fenton had been expecting.
The young father just hoped that next year's holidays would be a lot less eventful…and maybe they were…
But that is another story, for another time.
The End