A/N: It seems like I'm always saying this, but I truly do apologize for the lengthy delay between updates. Some of you have sent me PMs asking me when I'm going to update, and I really do appreciate the gentle nudging. Unfortunately, real life often has to take a backseat to writing, and mine has been particularly rocky lately. Still, I hadn't forgotten about you guys or this story. The good news is that I've already got the next chapter after this one written as well, so after some editing, it should be up soon!

Thank you all, as always, for your reviews and continued support. If it wasn't for you readers and my wonderful betas, I don't know if I could have stuck with this story as long as I have. You guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: After twenty-two chapters, it should be clear…I don't own 'em. If I did, Tom Cruise and Ben Stiller would NOT be allowed anywhere near the Hardy name. I'm just sayin'…

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By mid-morning, the waiting room was brimming with friends and family of the Drews and Hardys. Fenton and Carson had both been given clean bills of health and released first thing that morning. Laura Hardy had arrived shortly after nine, and had immediately been swallowed up in her husband's arms. Chet had arrived soon after Laura and had approached Joe immediately, saying nothing but pulling him into a brotherly embrace. Nancy had borne witness to this rare display of affection between the friends; she knew that if anyone even came close to understanding exactly how Joe was feeling about his brother, it was Chet. After everything that had happened between them, it had been a relief to see that closeness returned between the two men.

Nancy looked up now during a pause in her conversation with her father to fondly survey the occupants of the waiting room. Laura and Fenton were sitting close to each other on the sofa, their hands entwined. Joe had joined his parents, sitting on the armrest of the sofa next to his mother with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Though Nancy was too far away to hear their conversation, she saw Joe say something that made Laura laugh, and his father gave him an approving nod over the top of his mother's head.

Chet was sitting on the coffee table across from George and Bess, gesturing wildly with his hands, with both girls looking very entertained. Nancy caught the words "cow", "Iola", and "markers" and figured that Chet was regaling the girls with stories from the farm. She just shook her head at the enamored look on Bess' face, smiling to herself at the comfortingly familiar expression. She had been so happy to see her friends, not realizing until that moment how very much she had needed them. Joe confessed to her after their arrival that he had called them, knowing how concerned they had been about Nancy and her father. Even after hearing that Nancy and Carson were both alright, Bess and George hadn't hesitated in taking the earliest flight out to be with Nancy, and to wait with the rest of their friends to receive word on Frank's condition.

Watching both girls now, chatting with Chet, Nancy said a silent prayer of thanks that they had also made it through this ordeal unscathed. She was also happy that Chet had decided to come to the hospital. In fact, he hadn't hesitated when Joe had called him, arriving in record time. Nancy had been the one to encourage Joe to call Chet earlier that morning. He had been reluctant, not because he didn't want Chet there, but because a part of him had still been hesitant to involve his friend in any of this even further after everything that Chet had been through. But as Nancy had gently reminded him, friends were important at a time like this, and Joe obviously felt the same way or he wouldn't have called Bess and George for her. And despite everything that had happened, Chet was still one of their closest friends, and he had a right to know if one if his friends was injured and in the hospital. It had been that argument that had finally convinced Joe, and Nancy was glad for it.

The conversations in the room continued to hum around her, and Nancy took comfort from the sound. They quickly stopped however, when Dr. Amy Masters stepped into the waiting room, followed by a distinguished looking man in his late forties. He was wearing a white coat identical to Dr. Masters', which led Nancy to believe that this was Frank's surgeon. She rose quickly to her feet and saw that everyone else in the waiting room had done the same. The man nodded at the room in general and gave them a small, tired smile.

"I'm Dr. Warner, Frank's surgeon. Mr. Hardy has been moved from post-op recovery to the ICU. I'm happy to report that his condition is stable for now, although we will be monitoring him closely for the next twenty-four hours. He's been through a lot, and he sustained considerable injuries, but he's young and strong. I have high hopes for his full recovery."

There was a moment of silence as everyone collectively released the breaths they had been holding. Laura sagged against her husband, tears of joy streaming silently down her cheeks. Nancy felt her own legs go weak with relief, and Carson wrapped a steadying arm around her waist. Then everyone seemed to begin talking at once, and Dr. Warner held up a hand with a bemused look on his face.

"It's unusual for us to have a patient with this many well-wishers here for support. I know you're all eager to see him, but I'm afraid I must insist that you limit your visits to only ten minutes at a time and respect the visiting hours of the Intensive Care Unit."

"Is he awake?" Joe asked.

Dr. Warner shook his head. "No, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. The anesthesia alone can take a while to wear off, and after that, being unconscious can often simply be a way of the body healing itself. We will, of course, continue to monitor his vitals closely. If he still hasn't regained consciousness within twenty-four hours then it may be a cause for concern, but not right now."

Fenton nodded at the man. "Thank you, Doctor."

Dr. Warner smiled. "You're very welcome. I take it you're Frank's parents?" he asked, directing the question at Fenton and Laura.

"Yes, we are," Fenton responded, squeezing his wife's shoulders.

"If you'd like to follow me, I can take you to the ICU to see Frank now."

Fenton nodded again, then turned to Joe, who was standing at his side. Joe shook his head in response to the silent question. "You guys go ahead. I'll…I'll go see him after you're done."

Fenton knew his son well enough to understand his hesitation. Joe wanted to see his brother alone. The bond between his boys ran deep, and Fenton respected that bond enough to not push Joe any further. So he just gave Joe a reassuring smile. "We'll be back soon."

With that, he and Laura followed Dr. Warner out of the waiting room.

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The ten minutes allotted to his parents for their visit with Frank seemed to crawl by infinitesimally slowly to Joe. He watched the minutes tick by on the black and white analog clock mounted on the wall of the waiting room, the red second hand barely seeming to be making any progress. He sat alone on the loveseat previously occupied by his parents; his friends seemed to sense that he needed his space and granted it to him unquestioningly. Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the waiting room again, and he leapt to his feet. Fenton and Laura walked in, his father's arm wrapped around his mother's shoulders even more tightly than before. Dried streaks of tears glinted on Laura's face under the fluorescent lights of the waiting room, but her expression was calm. Still, the knot twisted in Joe's stomach did not loosen. Fenton caught Joe's eye and tilted his head in the direction that they had come from.

"Frank's in room 42, down that hallway."

Joe nodded silently, the knot in his stomach leaping to his throat. He followed his father's directions, down the sterile white hallway lit with more of the harsh hospital fluorescent lights. An empty stretcher stood against one side of the hallway, and across from it was room number 42. Joe stopped in front of the dull brown door, his gaze fixated on the floor, studiously ignoring the slim rectangular window that gave him a glimpse into the room beyond it. He wasn't ready to see his brother, needed to brace himself for the sight of him. But he didn't know how to prepare himself. He and Frank had both been in the hospital before; it was one of the hazards of the job and always had been. But never had the real possibility of losing his brother hit him this hard. Gone was the illusion of invincibility that had been one of the perks of being foolishly young. If there was one thing being in the FBI had taught Joe, it was that life was perilously fragile, regardless of whether you were one of the good guys or one of the bad guys. And now it was his own brother who had had such a close brush with death, and Joe had no idea how to deal with that.

Well, going through that hospital door would be a start.

With that thought, Joe squared his shoulders and reached for the cold metal handle on the door, opening it very slowly to avoid disturbing his brother. However, with one glance at Frank, Joe realized that the precaution had been entirely unnecessary. His brother lay unnaturally still in his hospital bed, his skin nearly the shade of the sterile white sheets beneath him. Frank's eyes were closed, and as Joe drew closer, he was unnerved to see how translucent the skin appeared on his brother's eyelids, the stark pink veins in them adding the only bit of color to Frank's face. A clear breathing mask covered his nose and mouth and thin plastic tubes ran out of his arms and hands. There was a small, grey plastic piece that covered the tip of Frank's index finger on his left hand, and the wire from it ran to a heart monitor. The slow, steady heartbeat on that monitor gave Joe a small bit of reassurance; if it weren't for that rhythm, Joe wasn't sure he would believe that his brother really was alive. As it was, seeing Frank like this had shaken Joe up more than he would have cared to admit. Until that moment, Joe hadn't realized how much he had always counted on his older brother to just bethere. To just be around, with his cool logic and warm kindness. He hadn't realized how much he had counted on his brother's strength, until he had seen him looking so fragile.

Joe sat down heavily in the thinly padded chair beside Frank's bed, feeling the warmth in it left by one of his parents. His hand reached out towards his brother's automatically, but he hesitated, seeing the IV needle sticking out of the back of Frank's hand. Instead, Joe settled for lightly touching the back of his hand with his fingertips, then withdrawing his own hand to curl into a fist on his thigh. The knot was back in his throat, strangling him, and he looked away from his brother to try to ease it. But there wasn't much else to focus on in the room. The only other furniture in the room besides Frank's bed and the chair that Joe now occupied was a high, narrow table at the foot of the bed that held a salmon-colored plastic jug with water condensing on the outside, and two matching cups sitting next to it. There was a small television set mounted in the far right corner of the room, its gray screen a blank void. The only window in the room was behind Frank's bed, but the blinds were closed to keep out the bright glare of the late morning sunshine, instead suffusing the room with a muted glow of light. And that was really all there was to the room. Finding no sufficient distractions anywhere, Joe forced his gaze to return to his brother's still form. He forcibly swallowed past the knot in his throat.

"Frank…" His voice cracked on the name. Joe had always found the notion of talking to unconscious people somewhat silly, and felt rather ridiculous himself at the moment. But now he thought he understood why people did it; not because of the certainty that their loved one could hear them, but for themselves. It was their chance to say the things that had always been left unsaid, to someone who might be unconscious, but was at least, at the moment, still alive. And there was always the chance, the slim chance, that their words might be heard. No matter what Dr. Warner had said about the sleep being good for Frank, Joe would not truly believe his brother was okay until he woke up. So he tried again.

"Frank." This time his voice was steadier, stronger. "Frank, I don't know if you can hear me or not --" Joe stopped himself again, letting out a low, reluctant laugh. "Boy, did that sound clichéd or what?" He shook his head at himself, dragging a hand through his curly blond hair. "Look, I'm no good at this. But I figure I've gotta at least try. I know I've probably never said this, but you're…you're important, Frank. You're important to me." Joe shook his head again, hating how corny that sounded. He tried for humor instead. "Who else is going to keep me in line when I lose my head over some pretty girl, huh? I doubt Nancy wants the job." Then Joe arched his eyebrows at his brother. "And speaking of Nancy, bro, that's one worried girl you've got out there. You know, the sooner you wake up, the sooner you two can finally get together…God knows it's taken both of you long enough. And I can't wait to harass you about it. After all, what are little brothers for?" Referring to their sibling relationship had the breath backing up in his lungs again, the brief spurt of humor gone. "And I need my big brother, Frank. So just…just wake up, okay?"

There was nothing else to say. Joe sat quietly, watching the rise and fall of his brother's chest, and listening to the beeping of the monitors.

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Nancy watched Joe exit the ICU and walk down the hallway without saying a word to anyone. His face was pale, expressionless, and his blue eyes were devoid of their usual spark. He looked utterly exhausted. Nancy made to follow him, but stopped when she felt a light hand on her arm. Fenton stood beside her, his eyes on his younger son.

"Let him go," he told her gently.

"He shouldn't be alone," Nancy argued. "He's upset right now."

It felt odd to her to say those words about Joe, when he had been such a constant source of strength for her through this. But seeing his older brother had obviously taken a toll on him, and her heart went out to him. She wanted to be there for him, like he had been there for her. But Fenton shook his head.

"He just needs to decompress, and from past experience, I can tell you that he would rather do that alone."

Fenton squeezed her arm gently. "Why don't you go and see Frank? I'm sure Joe will be fine. If he's not back shortly, I'll go check on him myself."

Nancy nodded, still torn between her urge to make sure Joe was okay and her need to finally see Frank for herself. But deep down, she knew that Fenton was right. She had known Joe long enough to know that while he was often the more open of the two brothers, he was also the one who needed the time to brood alone when he was upset about something. So she nodded at Fenton and headed in the direction that Joe had come from, feeling an echo of Joe's emotions as she prepared to see Frank herself.

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Fenton watched Nancy's departure, lost in thought. He didn't hear Carson approach him until the other man held a Styrofoam cup of coffee out to him, its bitter aroma wafting up in wisps of steam. Fenton smiled his thanks as he took the proffered cup, his gaze shifting to his friend. He was surprised to see the hesitant look on Carson's face.

"Something on your mind, Carson?"

"Yes, but I'm not quite sure how to say it," Carson admitted ruefully.

"You and I have known each other a long time, Carson. And given what we just went through together, I hardly think you need to hesitate about saying something to me," Fenton told him dryly.

Carson nodded. "All right then. I wanted to tell you, Fenton, you and Laura, how sorry I am about what happened to Frank. He was injured while trying to save my daughter. I can't begin to express the gratitude I feel for that, and the overwhelming guilt that my daughter is alive while Frank is fighting for his life."

Carson had thought that it would feel as if a weight had been lifted from his chest once he finally gave voice to the thoughts that had been plaguing him ever since Frank had been shot. But if anything, it felt as if the pressure had intensified as he awaited his friend's response. Fenton appeared to be deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

"You know, Carson, when we were in that hotel room, and the kidnappers came and told us that Nancy had died in that explosion, I remember what you went through. I was there with you, but at the same time, I really wasn't, because I wasn't experiencing the same thing that you were. The rage, the grief, the utter void of the loss of a child. There was absolutely nothing I could do, nothing I could say to comfort you, and my heart went out to you. But at the same time, a small, selfish part of me was grateful that it wasn't my boys that were dead, that for the time being, they were still alive and out there somewhere. And I felt such a strong sense of shame for even having that thought while you were grieving, but I couldn't help it."

"Fenton--" But Fenton held up a hand to hold off Carson's interruption.

"No, Carson, let me finish. I'm still not proud of the fact that I felt that way, but what I learnt from that experience is that there's nothing wrong with being grateful that your child is alive. They're our children, Carson." Fenton's voice shook slightly, and he tightened his grip on the Styrofoam cup, causing the coffee to rise dangerously close to the edges. "Yes, Frank was shot while trying to protect Nancy. But I don't regret that…if anything, it makes me even more proud of my son. Nancy is alive, and I believe that Frank will pull through. My boys are fighters, just like your daughter." A glint of humor lightened the seriousness in Fenton's eyes, and he gave Carson a small, conspiratorial smile. "Besides, if Laura's womanly intuition is correct, there may have been more to Frank saving Nancy's life than mere chivalry."

It took a moment for Carson to catch on, given that he was still trying to process everything that Fenton had said, but when he did, his eyebrows went up all the way to his hairline. "You mean, Nancy and Frank…"

Fenton nodded, the smile on his face widening. "Yes. So you see, Carson, Frank's got all the motivation in the world to wake up and get better."

Carson laughed, for the first time in days, and that pressing weight on his chest was finally gone.

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A nurse was just exiting Frank's room as Nancy approached, her head bent as she made notes on the medical chart that she held in her hand. Nancy paused in the hallway, clearing her throat lightly to get the nurse's attention. The nurse looked up, a friendly smile on her face that went perfectly with her cheerful scrubs that sported grinning snowmen on the light blue material.

"Can I help you?"

Nancy tried to return the nurse's smile, but her anxiety wouldn't allow her facial muscles to relax.

"How is he?"

"Mr. Hardy?" the nurse questioned. Nancy nodded.

"He still hasn't regained consciousness--" as Nancy's face fell, the nurse added quickly "--but his vitals are stable."

"Do you know…when he might wake up?"

The nurse gave Nancy a reassuring smile. "There's no way to know for sure. But try not to think of it as him being unconscious, but rather as resting and healing."

Nancy nodded, not entirely reassured, but at least grateful that the nurse herself didn't seem too concerned. Surely if there was a problem the nurse wouldn't look so calm, would she? Nancy managed a small smile. "Thank you…"

"Angela," the nurse supplied.

"Thank you, Angela," Nancy said warmly.

Angela nodded, placing Frank's chart in the plastic holder beside the door. She started to leave, but then turned to Nancy again. "Remember, ten minutes per visitor." To Nancy's surprise, she then gave her a small wink. "But I won't be doing rounds again for another half hour."

With a little wave, Angela departed, leaving Nancy alone in the hallway, shaking her head ruefully at how transparent she had apparently become. She opened the door to Frank's room quietly, making as little noise as possible even though Angela had just told her that he was still unconscious. But she couldn't hold back her gasp as she saw Frank for the first time since he had been injured. Even though she had known the extent of his injuries and his current condition, she hadn't been prepared to see him looking so…weak. There were many words that she had applied to Frank Hardy in the time that she had known him, but "weak" had never, ever been one of them. He was strong, intelligent, brave, loyal, kind, handsome, full of life…not the pale shell of a man that was lying on that hospital bed, his breaths and heartbeats monitored by lifeless machines.

Nancy felt tears fill her eyes, and she walked over to Frank's bedside blindly. Up close, he looked even more frail, with hardly any color left in his face and dark circles smudged under his eyes. Nancy was struck by how much older he looked. Not just because of his injuries, but because of the time that had gone by between their teenaged years and now. His face had grown leaner, and there were the first hints of fine lines around his eyes that added to the appearance of intelligence that his face always held. Nancy smoothed her fingers over these lines delicately, then trailed them along the side of his face, tenderly outlining the curve of his breathing mask. One of her tears spilled over. There was so much that she wanted to say to him, but not like this. Not when he wasn't awake to talk back, to challenge her mind and her heart the way he always did with his own keen intellect and warmth. So instead, she settled into the chair beside his bed and slipped her hand into his.

"Do you remember, Frank, that you had promised me we would talk once this was over and we had found our fathers? We would finally get a chance to talk about us, to figure things out." Nancy squeezed his limp hand lightly. "Our fathers are safe, Frank. Now you need to get better, because you made me a promise, and I've never known you to go back on your word. So wake up, okay?" Her breath hitched, and her words tangled with the tears in her throat. So she settled for squeezing his hand again silently, prepared to wait until he awoke to say all the things that she so desperately wanted to tell him.

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