Here we are. The sequel to What Was Lost. I really hope you all enjoy this collection of short stories. I am going to try and keep them in chronological order the best I can but that might fall apart down the line. If people have ideas for what they would like to see, feel free to put them in the reviews. I can't promise they will be included but I will try my best.

This story is going to discuss child neglect and abuse. There is also going to be violence toward children in the story. Please do not read if this is something that might cause you distress.

I hope you all enjoy!


Joe was woken up by someone moving about his room. He sat up sharply, reaching for something on his bedside cabinet to use as a weapon. He knocked over the two framed photographs he had set up there in his blind fumbling.

Before he managed to grab something, however, he had recognised the intruder.

Laura Hardy.

It took Joe a moment to remember where he was. He was at the Hardy house, waking up after his first night with his new old family. It had been four weeks since the shocking revelation that he was really Joseph Hardy, abducted at four years old after a car accident. Four weeks of dealing with the police and social workers and lawyers.

He had moved in with the Hardys the day before. They'd had a quiet evening, watched a film, ate a meal together. Joe had done a spot of unpacking when he went up to sleep, struggling to switch off in an unfamiliar room.

"I wanted to see if you wanted any help getting unpacked," Laura said, apologising for waking him up. "Or if you wanted me to pick up any shelves or order any extra furniture."

Joe shook his head, reaching for the photos he had knocked over. Then he stopped himself, choosing to leave them lying down.

"Do you need more coat hangers for your wardrobe or..." Laura began, trailing off when she saw that Joe hadn't even begun unpacking his clothes.

She turned to him with an understanding smile. Joe held her gaze, watching her move across his room.

"Do you want me to help you get settled or would you prefer to do it alone?"

Joe told Laura he would prefer to unpack by himself before wincing at the hostility that had taken over his voice.

He had never really cared about his belongings. Much of the expensive stuff he owned had been bribes from the Bramptons to apologise for not showing up. And Joe had been under no illusions about the apologies. They weren't meant for him. They were meant to be public displays of how good they were are parents and how bad they felt about not spending time with him. He had never really put much value on his things.

But then his life had fallen apart and it seemed like the material possessions he had were one of the only things he would get to keep from his old life - and he wasn't even getting all of them. A lot of his stuff was going into storage because the Hardys simply had no space for it and what Joe did have space for had been carefully selected. Suddenly he was left with only the stuff that meant something to him and the stuff that would be useful. It had become infinitely more precious.

Of course, Laura and Fenton were working on a way of getting more of his stuff to Bayport. But that would take time.

"Thank you for the offer," Joe said, woodenly.

Laura smiled at him, making her way over.

"You should get some breakfast before you make a start," she said. "And I am going grocery shopping later if you want to come. You can show me which are your favourites."

Give and take. Everyone had been telling Joe that, reminding him that they were going to have to find compromises, settle on the middle ground. They had told him over and over again that his life was going to change dramatically. He didn't want to go grocery shopping. A part of him just wanted to hunker down in his bedroom and not come out until he was ready to face them all. But he told himself that wasn't fair. He needed to give them a chance. And it was best to just hit the ground running, keep going. He had survived being hunted through New York. He'd been threatened by all sorts of gangs, lived through so many dangerous situations. He could handle the Hardys.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'd like that," Joe said.

He was so focused on pulling himself together he didn't notice Laura moving toward his bedside cabinet. She knelt right next to him, picking up the dropped photographs. Immediately she froze.

The first was entirely innocent. Joe was sitting on a speedboat, grinning, dressed in a wetsuit with scuba gear resting at his feet. A Californian sunset made the scene look particularly beautiful and Laura would have absolutely adored the photograph if it had not been marred by the sight of the other photograph she had picked up with it.

The second photograph was of two figures sitting at a desk in what appeared to be the office of some sort of shop. Joe was one of the figures, perhaps a year younger than the boy who sat in his bed before her. He was sitting in a smaller chair, looking like he had been peering over the shoulder of the other person at some sort of account book or piece of paperwork, but his gaze was turned up like someone had just called his name. The man at his side was one Laura recognised from photographs: Marsden.

The man who had taken her son from her.

They were both smiling, both looking like they belonged there. She found herself thinking of a similar photograph she had taken of Fenton and Frank. They had been looking at some reports on counterfeit coins and Fenton had challenged Frank to see if he could spot the differences between a real coin and a fake. She'd called their names as they worked, got a photograph of them catching her gaze and smiling. It had felt like a photograph that had captured the essence of father and son.

And Joe had a picture just like that with Marsden.

"I… I didn't… I don't even know why I've got it up there," Joe said, reaching for the photographs.

He felt his heart beginning to race. He had known it was stupid the moment he had put the photographs out. But he had made sure they faced away from the door, not thought anyone from the Hardy house would go into his room.

Flight instinct kicked in. He didn't want to fight his mother. He didn't want to be punished. He just wanted to run. And maybe, if it was still early, Frank would be in his room across the hall. He would know how to defuse the situation.

Joe stopped himself. It wasn't like Frank had the best relationship with Marsden. He would probably be just as furious as Laura was about the photograph.

"I'll pack my things. You call the social worker," Joe said.

It seemed like the best solution. Maybe… Maybe down the line Joe would be able to convince them that it had all just been moving too fast, that he had needed time and he was ready to once more try being a Hardy. So long as he did damage control.

Because he could just tell no one was going to be happy. He could imagine how Fenton was going to react to him practically having built a shrine to a criminal in his room his first night there. It would be best if he got out before he caused even more trouble.

Laura carefully put the pictures down, ensuring they were standing. She sat on the bedside him, collecting her thoughts.

"Joe, I don't want to call the social worker. If you want that, I will but this… The photograph changes nothing."

Joe stared. Laura reached out, playing a hand through his ruffled blond hair. That had been the thing that had startled Joe the most once he had learnt about his family - how his hair matched Laura's. Even when thinking about his biological parents when he had believed they had died in a car accident he had never believed they would look just so much like him.

"Marsden was a big part of your life and you have every right to feel complicated feelings about him. It sounds like he was the only real parental figure you had. If you need a photograph of him, then you can have one. If you need to have some sort of contact with him, me and your father can work out a way we can do it safely. You just tell us."

Joe wanted to speak. He wanted to come up with some clever, witty response but he didn't have one in him. All he could do was stare, slack-jawed.

Because she wasn't angry.

Laura sighed. She let her hands drop, turning her gaze toward the photograph on the side. Then she turned back to Joe. She took his hands, rubbing his knuckles.

"I have complicated feelings about him too," she told him. "Because I will never forgive him for taking you from me, for making me believe you were dead. All those years I will never get back… But… he could have abandoned you. He could have left you with the Bramptons and then you would have had no one. Or he could have turned you into a criminal and thrown you to the wolves the first time someone came after you. He took you from me but he kept you safe long enough for us to get you back."

She picked up the photograph. Joe watched her. He knew it was wrong, knew he should have more faith in her, but he was waiting for her to reveal it was all an act, that she didn't understand. He waited for her to smash the frame against the bedside cabinet and drag him out of the house, throw him onto the streets. Instead, she traced his face on the picture.

"You look happy," she said. "What is he showing you? Do you remember?"

"The account books," Joe said, focus never leaving Laura.

She met his gaze, blue eyes matching.

"Oh? You good at Math?"

"No," Joe admitted.

"Me neither," Laura chuckled. "When your father first started up his detective firm, he tried getting me to do the accounts. Somehow I worked out that he both lost money and made money that first month."

"I'm not that bad," Joe grinned, shuffling closer to Laura.


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