Chapter 10: Even Heroes Need A Parachute

Don had managed to calm the younger boys down, a little. "Look," he reasoned. "We already knew Collig was dirty, Frank. Now that we know what Joe told him, it should be a little easier to use that information to bring him down."

The calm sureness of the older man seeped into Frank, and eventually, he felt himself relaxing. He even must have fallen asleep, although he couldn't really remember getting ready for bed. The next thing he knew, the pungent smell of strong coffee was waking him up. Joe was curled up on his side on the edge of the bed closest to the door, and Frank smiled. The two hadn't shared a bed since Joe was still in diapers! Frank knew that Don had intended to pull out the foldout couch for one of them, last night, so sharing the guest room had not been necessary. Joe must have wanted to be near Frank as much as Frank craved being near Joe, right now.

Frank scooted off the other side of the bed and grabbed the small duffle bag they had brought with them to Don's apartment, last night. As he passed by Joe on the way to the door, he couldn't resist pulling on a toe that stuck out from underneath the blankets. Joe always slept with one foot outside of the covers, as if he had to be ready to hit the floor and run at any time. The image made Frank's grin fade. The way Fenton had shoved the kid around all his life, he probably actually felt that way…

Joe stirred and blinked a groggy eye at him. He always woke up easily, too, and Frank was getting unhappier about his brother's sleeping habits.

"'smornin'?", the youngest Hardy yawned, and Frank yanked on his toe again and forced himself to grin.

"Dibbs on all the hot water," he teased, turning towards the door again. Joe's pillow thumped him solidly on the back as he made his way into the hall, looking for the bathroom he couldn't remember using the night before.

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Don wasn't much of a cook – and he had no problem with that. That's what his Dad's house was for. At least when he put some $12.00 steaks on the barbecue, he generally didn't forget about them, so he was ahead of Charlie.

So, the FBI agent didn't feel badly at all, as he stood in the kitchen and sipped at his morning coffee, having just plunked a box of Trix cereal onto the small eating island between Frank and Joe. The boys had picked it out themselves at the store the night before, and he had remembered milk, so they should be happy. As for himself, another quart of high-octane java and he would be fine until lunch. He leaned against the counter and watched them banter, even arguing over the toy in the box, and smiled into the coffee cup. It was going to be a hectic and hard day for them, once they all got to the Bureau, and he was glad to see that they were a little more relaxed than they were last night.

Had Don known who was walking down the hallway at that moment, he would not have been smiling.

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"Keep eating, I've got it," Don commanded at the knock on the apartment door. "It must be Colby and Oswald…" He glanced at the kitchen clock as he passed the boys and headed down the short hallway. He automatically checked his hip for his weapon. It shouldn't be Colby, Don had asked him to bring Oswald directly to the office. It was always possible they were early, and Oswald nagged Colby into letting him see his new friend first – or maybe it was Charlie. Don's face brightened. He hoped it was Charlie. Maybe his brother found a way out of the house!

The last thing he was prepared to see through the peephole, when he looked, was a uniformed LAPD officer – and Fenton Hardy. Startled, he backed away from the door a little and looked at the boys' backs, then back to the door. "Guys. Get in the guest room. NOW!" Even though Don was hissing, something made the command sound like a scream in the small apartment, and instantly both brothers were on alert. Over the last few days, Frank had learned that there was generally a good reason for people to jump when Don issued an order, so now he grabbed Joe's arm, dragged him off the barstool and down the hall. They slid past Don without question.

When he saw that they were safely tucked away back in the guest room, he stepped up to the door, unchained it, turned the lock, and pulled it open a few inches. His solid body blocked all entrance to his apartment. "Fenton. Is there a problem?", he asked, calmly.

Don tried not to register shock when Hardy lunged forward and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. "Where are my sons, you bastard?" His eyes moved to the holster clipped at Don's hip, and he looked at the officer. "He's armed. Dangerous!"

The officer finally stepped forward a little and shrugged at Don apologetically. Dispatch had said the suspect was an FBI agent, and by the book, he should have insisted on his weapon right away. This was how cops got killed, after all. Still, this was one shitty way to end a shift. "Please don't move your hands toward your piece, and just answer me. Are Frank and Joe Hardy in this apartment?"

The needle of Don's hinky-ometer blew off the gauge, and his heart sank. Careful to leave his hands in clear view, he answered clearly. "Yes. They spent the night here. Mr. Hardy agreed to that arrangement. He's a guest of my father's."

The officer turned to look at Fenton. "Is that true?"

Fenton backed away from Don a little and presented a shocked face to the policeman. "Yes, I'm a guest at Alan Eppes, but no, no, I NEVER said this madman could take my children!" He even managed to tear up, a little. "That's a preposterous lie!" To any man who didn't know better, he would look and sound like a terrified, loving father. Don was almost convinced himself.

The officer sighed. He twisted his hat in his hands. It was a moment before he finally spoke, and even then his voice sounded nervous. "Agent, please use two fingers of your left hand to turn over your weapon until this matter is settled. And I'll need to see the boys."

Fenton moved a little farther away from the officer, shaking his head angrily. "This pervert doesn't deserve any kid-glove treatment! He's had my sons all night, God knows what he's done to them! I'm a respected private investigator, and I DEMAND to SEE MY SONS!"

The officer accepted Don's service weapon and shrugged again, almost imperceptivity. "Just call them," he instructed gently. "Don't move away from the door. Please."

Don tried to argue. "He's lying," he insisted. "This man is a suspect in an on-going FBI investigation, his PI business is just for cover! You can't let him have those boys!"

"That'll be up to the judge," answered the LAPD cop. "Right now, he and his wife share legal custody. Please call them. Don't make me ask again."

Don turned his head to look toward the guest room, and saw that Frank and Joe were standing in the open doorway. They had heard everything. He had a sudden inspiration, waved them forward, and appealed to the officer again. "They're right here. You can see that they're safe. At least ask them whether or not they were held here against their will!"

Fenton, still standing slightly to the rear of the policeman, allowed his eyes to glint when his sons stepped into view. He looked at Frank, tilted his head meaningfully in Joe's direction, and slowly drew his hand across his throat. Don did not miss this. He, in fact, had a brief second of panic. Frank won't lie. He knows I can protect Joe. He knows I won't hurt him, Don thought.

Frank freaked out. Panicked. Took a dive. He was terrified. Scared. His knees were knocking. No! I can't have him kill Joe. My only hope is to keep him safe.

Before Don could protest further to the policeman, Fenton stepped forward and started screaming again, pointing at Joe. "Look!", he said excitedly. "That's a fresh wound on his forearm, and my sons are obviously frightened. This sonuvabitch has been torturing them!"

He made a show of lunging at Don, but the officer held him back, with effort, and looked at the boys. "Frank and Joe? Go ahead, you can tell me the truth. Are you hear with your father's permission, or did this man take you by force?"

Frank's wide eyes traveled slowly from his father's sneer, to the officer's kind face, to Joe's speechless terror, to Don's almost pleading stare. He knew what he had to do. As an older brother himself, Don would eventually understand. He continued staring at Don, hoping to make him see that he had no choice, and how sorry he was. Tears filled his eyes. "Yes," he finally whispered. "This man took us from Alan Eppes' home, last night, and brought us here by force." He almost sobbed out the last sentence. "We don't want to be here."

The police officer looked stonily at a stunned Don. "Please step into the hall and place your hands behind your back. I'm placing you under arrest for suspicion of first degree kidnapping." When Don just stared at him, mouth hanging open, the officer moved in behind him, and literally pushed him into the corridor, securing his hands with cuffs as he recited Don's Miranda rights.

Fenton rushed past in a blaze of triumph and pulled both of his sons to him fiercely. "Thank-you," he breathed, turning his performance up a notch. "God in Heaven, Officer, thank-you so much!"

Don stood silently in the hallway, listening to his rights from the wrong side, and watching Fenton Hardy manhandle two kids who had already been through too much; teenagers who were standing like mute, broken statues. Don knew that eventually someone would believe him – he had the whole team to back him up, plus his father, and Charlie.

He was just afraid that by the time everything was straightened out with him, it would be too late for Frank and Joe.

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Charlie awoke in a basement much like the one he'd been in with Jessica. Hell, maybe it was even the same basement. He couldn't believe it. He'd finally remembered what happened, and now he couldn't stop remembering. He shivered, not even noticing the achingly familiar pain in his arm, swallowing hard against bile rising in his throat.

— FLASHBACK —

Charlie and Jessica walked downstairs to find Jessica's roller skates. "I knew I put them down somewhere!" She muttered out loud.

Charlie grinned. "I bet they're somewhere around here," he said, pointing to her old box of outdoor stuff. He dug in the box to find nothing. Disappointed, he turned around. Jeff clambered down the stairs.

"God-damn it, Jessica!" Jeff let out a string of cuss words Charlie had not heard before. Jessica flinched. Charlie turned to flee up the stairs, but Fenton's face was there, blocking him. He was roughly shoved back down by Fenton, and landed on in a crumpled heap on his arm. "Fenton, this stupid kid probably saw the box!"

Fenton cussed out loud. He then angrily turned to look at Charlie. "Son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be tutoring or something?"

"He – he was tutoring me," Jessica stuttered. Fenton turned to her and smacked her across the face.

"Shut her up," Fenton warned Jeff. Jeff nodded, and covered her mouth with his hand. Fenton moved menacingly towards Charlie. "Don't say a word," he ordered, shoving him into the wall – hard.

"What are we going to do?" Jeff panicked. "They saw the box, Fenton, they saw the box. I have all kinds of shit in that box! I was about to burn it!"

"We don't need to do anything rash, Jeff," Fenton said. He glanced at Charlie, who was cowered in the corner.

"Yes, we do! They saw it, I know they did!" Jeff was panicked now. His adrenaline was on full alert.

"Jeff. They're kids," Fenton said. "To them, it's just a box of papers." He turned towards Charlie. "Isn't that right?" He asked, twisting his arm behind his back. Charlie screamed as he heard something snap. Tears ran his face when Fenton finally let go.

"You probably broke his arm! We have to kill them, Fenton – we have to kill them!"

"We aren't going to do anything rash!" Fenton snapped. He glared at Charlie. "What did you see?"

Charlie couldn't answer through his tears. The pain in his arm hurt more then anything he'd ever imagined.

"I SAID WHAT DID YOU SEE?" Fenton asked. Charlie stared at him. "He saw a box of papers," Fenton said, turning to Jeff. "We're – Jeff, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to kill her," Jeff said. "Kill Jessica. She deserves it."

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"Nooooooo!" Charlie tried to get it out of his head, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. I can't. I have to. I can't. I can't. I can't!

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A/N: I will probably rewrite this flashback again. Herre's it for now.