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Disclaimer: The Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, and all related characters are owned by the Stratemeyer Syndicate. No copyright infringement is intended.
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At times it seemed that Frank Hardy's entire existence lay slumbering and ready to disintegrate under a thin layer of misassumption. There were those who firmly believed that he loved his job, those who just knew he had found mutual satisfaction with his wife. Those who thought he still believed in God, or even only in man. Up until only hours ago, he had even liked the assumed life he led.
Crumpling one more piece of paper in his hand, the twenty-eight year old owner and CEO of Hardy Boys Technology swallowed one more scream as he rose, shoving the squeaky old desk chair he'd kept since high school away from his garishly expensive desk. The paper, before being trash, had been a new letterhead design, and like all of them, a stabbing insult.
Grabbing his briefcase, he headed to the main reception area, tapping on the secretary's desk and shoving the ball of pulp over her shoulder. "Do I look like a boy, much less boy in multiple?"
Carefully mirthless eyes surveyed him as his assistant turned. "Been a long day, hasn't it, Mr. Hardy?"
"Yeah." Releasing a sigh, he headed for the entrance, glancing at his watch. "Go on and close the place when you finish up with that."
"I remember Christmas in New York as a lot more seasonal than Christmas in California."
"Huh?" Propping the door open, he paused halfway out.
"Your wife…I've seen at least a dozen calls go through your line unanswered this afternoon. You should skip the empty condo and try the airport instead."
"It probably wasn't anything urgent." The defense came automatically, his mind already on other things. "She just likes the phone. And anyhow, I probably can't reach her."
Plucked brows rose in feminine effrontery. "It's a week til Christmas. With very little respect, Frank, why are you in California acting like an old suit with nothing but money lining his sheets and his brain cavity instead of the intelligent, thoughtful, doting husband we both know you used to have the potential to be?"
He snapped his jaw shut after a long stare, brows furrowing. "I have a company!"
"So?" Standing, the blonde made her way to his side. "You design software. You fix technical glitches, and crummy small ones. Nobody has died yet because you spent a few days off the job. You don't deal in death any more, Frank. All you have to worry about is life, and you've managed to do a pretty lousy job with even that."
"You know what?" Jabbing a finger at her uplifted nose, he frowned. "I liked you a lot better before you took to being my psychiatrist, Ness."
His brother's former girlfriend clearly tried and failed to hide a grin. "Go home, Hardy. You might catch her. Kiss some snow for me."
Shaking his head wryly, he succumbed. "I still can't say no to you..."
"We know." A tongue darted out briefly as Vanessa returned to her desk. "That's why I say what she won't..."
"…and a merry Christmas to you and Phil as well." Letting the door slam shut, he forced a grin and jogged down the stairway to the car waiting patiently below. Always one step ahead of him, she'd even secured the transportation. "Let me guess…" He stuck his head through the open window between front and back. "LA International?"
"Mrs. Cohen had me stop by your residence to secure luggage from the housekeeper." His shaggy-haired young hippie of a driver affirmed. "You're stuck for it, Mr. Hardy."
Joe always warned me about marriage, he thought ruefully. Just not about the women peripherally involved. Swallowing the sobering memory, he shrugged off his suit jacket, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt. It had been one hell of a long winter.
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"Bess, stop that." Tilting his head on the mound of pillows he propped against, Joe Hardy tried and failed to focus on the pacing ball of energy a few feet away.
His old friend slowed in her steps, eyes diving up to glance at a wall clock and immediately falling back to him. "It's midnight. You should be asleep."
"I was…for a while. How long, anyhow?" Shifting to prop up on an elbow, he sighed.
Rubbing at her forehead, Bess Marvin sat in a nearby wing chair, ankles crossed nervously. "I think I'll wait and tell you that when I'm sure you're up to…"
"This is me, Joe. I'm not going to die of a heart attack." He snapped, resettling his blankets. "And I doubt I'll ever want to go to sleep again now that I'm up, so you can probably forget about the coma part too."
She settled a faint frown on him. "Frank should be the one to bring you up to speed."
"Doesn't look like he's here, now does it?"
"That isn't my fault!" She retorted before standing again and pacing anew. "I left a message or two. I'm sure he'll be on his way here as soon as he knows you're awake…if he bothers to check his voice mail. He probably expected me to be on a plane back to LA by now."
"LA?" Staring thoughtfully, he took in the sleek style of dress and fitness. "You bought into that whole acting business like you always wanted?"
"Oh, I act a little." Wistfulness marred the worry briefly. "I'll never earn an Oscar. I've been doing more writing lately…indie screenplays, a magazine column or two."
"That's right; you took a couple of writing courses in River Heights." His brother had always shaken his head at the idea of pretty Bess Marvin looking away from her shopping bags and boyfriends long enough to put thought to paper, but Joe had always known there was something a little deeper in there, seen something…maybe what George and Nancy had always seen.
Nancy.
"Bess…" He began, mouth snapping shut as the door opened and one of his many doctors strode in. This one he hadn't begun to like yet, much less trust…too brainy and aloof. Kind of like Frank most days of the week.
"Your name is ah...Anet, is it?" Propping up on elbows and suppressing the first smile of the day, the younger Hardy squinted at the gold-plated name badge pinned to the crisp white lab jacket she wore. "Sounds..."
"I came to the States seven years ago when my husband transferred to medical school in New York City. I have since finished my own degree." The doctor flashed a white-toothed and very knowing smile at him.
"Well, Doctor Mrs. Anet...when can I get out of here?" Falling back in frustration as both she and Bess pressed a hand on his arms to push him downward, he glared.
"All in good time, Mr. Hardy…there are tests to be run and counseling sessions to be attended." Turning, Anet began placing files and instruments back in her bag.
"I'm not crazy!"
"You were in a very near comatose state for an extended amount of time...after suffering extreme trauma. It would be foolish to expect no lingering psychological effects." She reprimanded with only a brief glance back.
"But..." Taking the opportunity to push Bess away and sit upright, he floundered for words, stung that his innate charm had failed before even beginning to succeed. "Do you know what they've been feeding me today? I want pizza."
"Joe!" His old friend cried, shooting him a silencing frown. "Aziza is right, and the diet is for your own good. Besides, the last thing anyone needs is you collapsing or going berserk in the middle of Prito's Pizza Parlor."
"Prito's Pizza Parlor?" Brow shooting up, he considered. "I have been under a while, haven't I?!"
"It's just going to take a little time to adjust." Bess responded quietly, grabbing his hand and squeezing. "We'll get you through."
Turning his head sharply to stare out the frost-edged window, he sighed. "If I take whatever tests you need and agree to counseling sessions later, do you think I could at least be home for Christmas, Doctor? What is it, a few days away?"
"I'm uncertain..." The golden-skinned resident began, brows drawing up.
"I think it would be better that way." Bess noted, releasing his hand and meeting the other woman's gaze. "It's a short drive to the hospital if anything happens, and Joe's brother is EMT trained. He'll be in good hands...family hands."
The doctor smiled brief surrender. "Allow me the opportunity to further converse with my associates and we will see, Mr. Hardy." Slipping out the door, she shut it quietly, and the lock latch echoed in the cool silence.
"Well…" His remaining companion rubbed her palms together. "I can promise you it's a lot warmer at home."
"Early corpse preparation..." He offered, wincing as she jerked visibly. "So I still tell lousy jokes."
"Don't worry, we've missed them." Smile returning, the blonde plumped his pillow and studied him. "You're still throwing out surprises, hmm? The last time you woke and then slipped back away the doctors placed your chances of coming around again at next to nil."
"I doubt the candy striper I tried to choke was sad." Watching as she began pacing, he took time to stare at detail. Despite the glitzy veneer, Bess wasn't just gaunt, she was exhausted, circles under her eyes, a twitch in her shoulders. They'd been in the same room together waiting on tests and doctors for most of the day and he hadn't seen the slightest trace of the bubbly young woman he'd known, flirted with…
She shook her head again, russet blonde strands falling across the darkness of her sweater. "She wasn't a candy striper…a reporter, a snoop for some newspaper out west."
"Oh. Are you sure she wasn't Brenda Carlton in disguise, after a story and a comatose but drop dead gorgeous guy and Hollywood starlet? I can see the tabloids now, 'Beautiful Bess pines by the bedside of her comatose lover…'"
A pale shadow of a giggle broke. "Thankfully, I'm not that famous, Joe. No, it wasn't Brenda, though she could have been an awfully likely protégé."
"I think I've missed that." Passing an arm over his eyes, Joe inhaled shakily.
"What?" Pulling a chair close to the bed and sitting, she leaned forward, blue eyes worried and misted.
"Your laugh…even Brenda Carlton."
"And gorgeous foreign doctors, too, I guess?"
"Hey." Arm dropping, he offered an offended look.
"I'm not fooled." A smile worked its way into her voice. "Underneath all that civilization and physical maturity lurks the old skirt chasing kid Joe…he was sleeping and resting up for the hunt...that's all."
"Maybe." He met her gaze head on. "But what happened to the old happy go lucky Bess I knew and…what happened to her, Marvin? What's she waiting on?"
"She grew up, Joe, like a lot of people." His old friend straightened, heading for the door. "I'm going to get one of the interns to help you shower while I go talk to Anet."
"Bess." Catching her wrist, the younger Hardy shook his head. "We have to talk soon."
"I know." Smoothing a strand of hair against his face, she smiled. "But we also have to take things one step at a time."
"One step at a time." He agreed softly, bitterly.
The deceptively slim woman in his arms weighed him down, and he struggled through sleepiness to execute the simple function of walking. Vision blurring, Joe Hardy tightened his grip, trying to remember whether the needle had actually broken skin, wondering what she could have given him, and how the hell she had gotten it. He decided that he didn't like her stillness, silence; as if she'd been so convinced he would kill her she'd just gone ahead and died of fright. It was something he thought Nancy Drew might do, just to smack his ego.
He shook her wrist and a vague moan echoed. Releasing the breath he barely realized he'd been holding, Hardy again moved forward with his cargo, one precious step at a time…
