A/N: Only one more chapter to go after this one. Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing and giving such a warm welcome to a first time 'poster' here. :)

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Chapter 11

Frank taxied the small plane to a stop, leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time all night. Unbuckling his seat belt, he walked quickly towards the rear of the plane ignoring Whitley, who was still wedged on the floor between two rows of seats. Stopping next to Joe's seat he crouched down in the aisle and looked at his brother, concerned.

"How's he doing?" Frank asked Vanessa softly. Joe looked terribly pale, his breathing labored.

Vanessa shrugged and looked at Joe worriedly, gently stroking his cheek. "He passed out right after we turned back. At least his shoulder has stopped bleeding."

Frank's eyes strayed to his brother's shoulder and the blood-soaked jacket. He swallowed hard and squeezed Joe's leg. "You're gonna be okay, bro," he said softly.

Frank stood as someone pounded on the door of the aircraft. Walking to the door, he turned the latch and pushed the door open. Two police officers and two EMT's rushed up the short set of stairs. "Gunshot victims?" one of them asked.

"Him first," Frank said, pointing to Joe as he stepped aside to let them in.

Looking down he saw Ezra Collig, Con Riley, several more uniformed officers and his father, who was staring back at him anxiously. He felt someone take his arm and turned to see Vanessa looking at him, her tough façade rapidly disintegrating. As her eyes filled with tears, he wrapped an arm around her and hugged her tightly. The dam broke and she suddenly began crying, sobbing as she clutched his jacket.

"It's all over now, Van," he said softly, rubbing her back. "Joe's gonna be fine…you're fine…everything's okay." Glancing back down at his father, Frank realized he wanted – he needed – to know how Joe was, but the small plane was rapidly growing crowded with police officers, EMT's and various pieces of medical equipment, so he was waiting patiently on the tarmac. "Come on," he nudged Vanessa towards the door.

Vanessa stiffened and turned back towards Joe; she didn't want to leave his side. And Frank knew exactly how she felt. Logically he knew Joe was safe now and that he'd be fine. Yes, he'd been shot and lost a fair amount of blood, but even Frank could see it wasn't fatal. Yet his heart was telling him not leave his brother, not to let Joe out of his sight. It had been close tonight…too close…

Frank took a deep breath, refusing to allow his imagination to run wild. Joe would be fine and the best thing he and Vanessa could do for Joe right now was get out of the way. "They'll take good care of him, Van." Frank tugged on her arm. "Come on, we need to give them room to work." Wiping her eyes with a shaky hand, Vanessa nodded and let Frank escort her down the steps.

Before he had both feet on the tarmac, Fenton was next to him looking, Frank thought, very scared. "How is he?" Fenton asked, his face clearly showing how worried he was.

"He'll be okay, Dad," Frank said trying to reassure his father so the details might not seem quite so bad. "He's got a bullet in his shoulder. It's been bleeding off and on," Frank reached out and squeezed his father's shoulder, seeing him pale even in the dim light given off by the planes running lights. "Dad, he'll be okay," Frank repeated.

Fenton nodded, not looking entirely convinced. Then he looked at Vanessa, whose pastel colored parka was stained red across the front, and Frank thought he saw his father sway slightly. Just then they heard a noise from just above them and turned towards the sound. The EMT's were carefully descending the stairs, balancing a stretcher between them, Con Riley and a uniformed officer assisting them.

Fenton, Frank and Vanessa stepped aside and watched in silence. When they reached solid ground, Fenton rushed forward and Con signaled the medics to give him a moment. Frank watched, his heart aching, as Fenton stood next to the stretcher and stared at his unconscious son. Reaching out, he rested his hand gently on Joe's forehead and continued staring. Finally he leaned over and whispered something in Joe's ear then straightened up and stepped back. "Thank you," he said huskily to the EMT's.

"Is she coming with us?" one of the medics asked Frank gesturing towards Vanessa.

"Probably a good idea," Frank agreed, looking at her. "You should get checked out…and you can ride in with Joe."

That was more than enough to convince her and Vanessa hurried along next to the stretcher, her hand resting on Joe's leg.

A few moments later, Hurley and Whitley were escorted from the plane. Hurley was placed in the second ambulance and Whitley in the back of a police cruiser, the three vehicles forming a strange caravan with sirens blaring and lights flashing.

When the last ambulance pulled away, Frank tiredly sank down on the bottom step of the plane's open door. As the siren faded into the distance and the red lights disappeared around a corner, Frank felt all the emotions he'd been keeping at bay for the past few hours suddenly rebounding on him. Not knowing how badly Joe had been hurt; not knowing if he'd be able to make it onto the plane and do something to help his brother; wondering if he'd celebrate this Christmas – and every one from here on out – as an only child…Frank felt his eyes start to burn. Unable to get a handle on his emotions, he dropped his head in his hands, trembling.

'He's okay. He's alive. He's going to be fine,' Frank told himself, desperately trying to regain control.

"Frank?"

Frank snapped his head up, not having heard anyone approach. He saw his father staring down at him, his eyes welling up with tears. Reaching out, Fenton clutched Frank's shoulder and gently tugged on his jacket, wanting Frank to stand up. Pushing himself up, Frank stood eye to eye with his father, his eyes widening in shock when one lone tear slid down his father's cheek.

"Thank you," Fenton choked out, pulling Frank into a hug. "Thank you…"

Slowly Frank put his arms around his father, suddenly calm. "Don't worry, Dad," Frank said softly, patting his father on the back. "Joe's gonna be fine."

oooOOOooo

Laura stood anxiously just inside the emergency room doors, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Periodically, she'd walk to the door and look outside, willing the ambulance carrying her injured son to suddenly appear. Beside her, Andrea Bender put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"They're going to be fine, Laura," she said, trying to offer a little support.

"I know," Laura whispered, her voice shaky. "I – I just need to see him for myself."

Andrea hugged her tightly. "I know…I know exactly what you mean."

Moments later a siren sounded in the distance, rapidly growing louder, until it stopped with a final, earsplitting wail just outside the door. Red strobe lights fell across the room, giving an eerie effect to the brightly colored Christmas decorations the staff had put up. Laura and Andrea leaned forward, trying to see what was going on outside and trying their best not to rush forward in search of their children.

Suddenly the automatic door opened and a shaky looking Vanessa walked in, an EMT holding loosely to her elbow. The first thing Laura noticed was that her light blue parka was heavily splattered with blood.

'Joe's blood,' she thought, shaking.

"Vanessa!" Andrea cried out rushing forward and grabbing Vanessa in her arms.

"Mom!" Laura heard Vanessa's muffled sob and watched the emotional reunion, feeling a twinge of envy.

Suddenly a stretcher appeared behind Vanessa and Laura sucked in a breath. The EMT's expertly steered around the crying mother and daughter and Laura got her first look at her son, his face so pale he almost blended into the white linen. She gasped and rushed forward, only to be restrained by one of the EMT's.

"Please," she clutched his arm pleadingly. "He's my son."

The man looked at his partner, who nodded and the two discreetly stepped back.

Laura grasped the rails of the stretcher, looking down at Joe, her eyes drawn to the blood-soaked jacket. Reaching out she gently stroked his hair, tears filling her eyes. Leaning down, she pressed her lips gently to his forehead, letting them linger there for a moment, not wanting to break her only connection to him. When Joe moaned and moved his head, she straightened up slightly.

"Joe? Honey? Can you hear me?" she said softly, touching his cheek.

Slowly, glazed blue eyes opened, trying to focus on her. "Mom?" His voice was soft and uncertain.

"I'm right here, baby," she replied, reaching up to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Joe looked at her and blinked. "S'okay, Mom," he mumbled as his eyes slid closed again. "Don't cry…I'll be home for Christmas."

Laura tried unsuccessfully to choke back the tears as Joe was wheeled away and disappeared behind the closed emergency room doors. Watching through blurred vision, she felt a strong, familiar arm encircle her shoulders. Turning, she buried her face in her husband's chest and sobbed.

oooOOOooo

"One, two, three."

Joe felt himself being lifted and moved from the stretcher he'd been on to a more stable surface. Still more out of it than in, he laid there listening to the medical personnel working around him. He groaned as he heard and felt the leather jacket being cut away from his body.

"Are you okay?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"S'my favorite jacket," Joe mumbled miserably.

Bits and pieces of the chatter around him filtered through, though he didn't understand a lot of it. "Type and cross match….Saline….Two liters…surgery…anesthesiologist on call?"

"Joe? Can you hear me?"

Joe forced his eyes open and slowly looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Joe, I'm Dr. Carruthers."

"Hey," Joe said weakly, focusing on the sandy-haired man looking down on him. "How's it goin'?"

"I think I'm doing a little better than you are at the moment," the doctor smiled. "I want to explain what's going to happen, okay?"

"Gonna take the bullet out?" Joe asked, finding it took a great effort just to keep his eyes open. "Hurts like hell," he muttered.

"Yeah, I bet it does," Carruthers agreed sympathetically. "Once we get the wound cleaned up a bit, we're going to take some blood."

Joe scowled and managed to roll his eyes, causing the doctor to laugh out loud.

"We need to get your blood type, so we can replace what was lost," the doctor smiled, obviously quickly having taken a liking to his patient. "Then you'll go up to x-ray so we can get an idea of how extensive the damage is. From there we'll take you straight to surgery so we can get that bullet out, okay?"

"Sounds good to me," Joe mumbled. "Then I can go home?" he asked, trying to stay focused on the doctor, getting annoyed at all the people poking and prodding him and the way his eyelids suddenly seemed so heavy.

The man chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think you'll be in any shape to go home for at least a day or two," he replied, starting to turn away.

"No," Joe hissed, suddenly trying to sit up, letting out a cry of pain.

"Hey, easy, easy," Dr. Carruthers scolded, gently pushing Joe down.

Reaching up, Joe grabbed his lab coat and held on. "Hafta…go home!" Joe insisted, getting very agitated. "Promised…my mother…gotta be home…for Christmas!"

Dr. Carruthers took Joe's hand and gently removed it. "Okay, Joe," he said soothingly. "You just lie back and relax. We'll talk about it after your surgery, okay?"

"Goin' home," Joe mumbled his words beginning to slur as the painkillers and sedative he'd been given kicked in. "Wanna be home…for Christmas."

oooOOOooo

"Mr. and Mrs. Hardy? I'm Dr. Carruthers."

Laura jumped up from the seat where she'd been for the past few hours, sandwiched between Frank and Fenton; the three had waited mostly in silence for Joe's surgery to be completed. Frank had left for a short period of time to give a statement to the police, as had Vanessa. While Vanessa had insisted she wanted to stay until Joe was out of surgery, the girl looked overwhelmed and exhausted. It took some doing and Vanessa had fought them every step of the way, but finally they were able to convince her to go home. Laura had promised to call her first thing in the morning and let her know how Joe was and when he might be released.

"How is he?" Laura asked anxiously.

"He's in recovery now. The surgery went very well. The bullet lodged in his deltoid – the shoulder muscle – and stuck there, so there was no major damage to the shoulder joint itself or the surrounding tendons and ligaments," Carruthers smiled. "Athletes and those who are in excellent shape, like Joe, usually fare much better with any type of injury. The damage usually isn't quite as extensive and the recovery is quicker."

"Can we see him?" Fenton asked hopefully. While both Laura and Frank had spoken to Joe at some point, Fenton had yet to talk to his son. And even though he knew, logically, that Joe would make a full recovery, he wasn't going to be able to believe it with his heart until he could talk to Joe himself.

"We'll be moving him to a private room as you requested," the doctor stopped and checked his watch. "Probably in the next thirty minutes or so. You can see him then for a few minutes before you go home."

"Thank you," Laura smiled as Fenton echoed her and shook the man's hand.

oooOOOooo

Joe heard voices swirling around him, floating in and out of consciousness. He tried to focus, unsure if they were speaking to him and not really sure if he cared. Thanks to the painkillers he'd been given, he didn't really care about much of anything at the moment. Turning his head towards the voices, he tried to listen more intently.

"Joe?"

Someone was talking to him; someone familiar…

"Joe? Son? Can you hear me?"

Joe tried to respond affirmatively, heard some kind of sound come from his mouth and hoped it was a 'yes'. He felt a hand on his left arm and heard the voice again.

"Joe…open your eyes…." The hand squeezed gently. "Please?"

'Dad?' Joe thought, confused. It sounded like his father but then again it didn't. His father's voice could be strong, commanding, angry, authoritative, funny…but this voice didn't reflect any of that. It sounded…scared.

"Joe…please…" the voice pleaded, heartbreakingly soft.

Slowly Joe forced his eyes open, blinking owlishly as everything blurred together for a few seconds. He heard a sound – a gasp? A sigh? A broken sob? – and then the face staring down at him came into focus.

"Dad," he managed, his voice ragged. He stared at his father and wondered just how strong the painkillers he'd been given really were. Was his father actually… crying?

"S'okay, Dad," he mumbled, reaching awkwardly for his father, who grasped his left hand tightly. "I'm okay…" Joe repeated, softly.

And through the tears, his father smiled…

oooOOOooo

Frank felt his mother tug on his arm and glanced at her. She motioned towards the door with her head. "Let's give your father a few minutes with him."

Frank nodded, slightly confused, and followed her out into the hall. Glancing back into the room as the door closed, Frank's eyes widened. His father had reached up and brushed his cheek as if….

"Mom," he blurted out. "Was Dad...?"

"Yes, he was," Laura replied, smiling sadly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, knowing neither of her sons had ever seen her husband cry. "Honey, you have to remember, until just now the last time he actually spoke to Joe was before he left to go to Vanessa's for dinner – before all of this happened. You spoke to Joe on the plane, right?"

Frank nodded, still a little confused.

"He was alert? He knew who you were? He talked to you?"

"Yeah," Frank said slowly.

"And when they brought him in to the E.R. he regained consciousness enough to talk to me. He knew who I was…told me not to cry," she repeated, her voice catching. Taking a deep breath she reminded herself it really was okay to relax now; Joe would be fine. "Remember how you felt when you first realized it was Joe who'd been shot and taken hostage?" Laura said softly.

Frank shuddered. "Yeah, I remember. Scared…" But he hadn't really been scared. He'd been terrified. An all-encompassing, absolute terror. He wasn't sure he'd ever see his brother alive again. Frank wrapped his arms around himself, a cold chill sweeping through him.

"And when did that feeling go away? When did you know – really believe in your heart – that Joe would be okay?" Laura asked, rubbing his back gently.

Frank looked at her for a moment, bewildered. "When I talked to him…" And then it clicked. "…and he answered." Frank glanced back at the door, suddenly feeling very sorry for his father. While Frank had been worried for the past few hours, he knew it was mostly just his nerves on overload. Joe had talked to him, even joked with him on the plane. He no longer had that crushing, paralyzing fear that he'd never see his brother again – never speak to him...

Frank just now realized that while his father had seen Joe when he'd been taken off the plane, he hadn't been able to speak to Joe. By the time Joe had been removed from the plane, he'd lapsed into unconsciousness. Frank pictured the scene in his mind, saw his father leaning over the stretcher, whispering to Joe and Joe unable to respond. Unconscious on the stretcher Joe had looked pale, ghostly…dead….

'Oh, man,' Frank thought, his heart aching for his father. Fenton had spent the entire evening – Christmas Eve – all of it, terrified his youngest son wouldn't live to see Christmas Day. Just then the door opened and Fenton came out, his eyes red.

"He's asleep again," he said almost apologetically. Less than a minute ago Frank would have been annoyed that his father had 'monopolized' the few minutes Joe had been conscious and coherent. Now, seeing the way his father looked back at the closed door longingly, Frank wished it could have been longer.

Laura silently put her arms around her husband and held him tightly. Frank watched for a few seconds and then looked away, feeling as if he were intruding on a very private moment.

"I guess we can go now."

Frank turned back to his parents as his father motioned towards the elevator.

"You go ahead," Laura urged him and Frank. "I'm staying here."

Fenton looked at her, puzzled, and glanced at Frank. It wasn't as if Joe was in any danger or might take a turn for the worse during the night. "Honey," Fenton began. "He's sleeping. He isn't going to…he won't…" Frank watched his father tripping over the words, unable to say it – "He won't die" – out loud.

"I'm staying," Laura repeated, her eyes flashing. "My children have never been alone on Christmas Eve. They've never woken up alone on Christmas morning. And that is not going to start now." She fixed her husband with a look Frank knew all too well. There were times Laura Hardy was not to be challenged – and this was one of those times. "I'm staying."