"You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged. Oh, I realize it's hard to take courage in a world full of people you can lose sight of it all. And the darkness still inside you makes you feel so small." True Colors

Frank had planned this in the same careful, methodical way he planned everything. Before school, he had gone to the boat house and loaded the Sleuth with the all-important food. Then, with Cathy, they climbed on and went to the middle of the lake, where they drifted.

"This is so beautiful, Frank." Cathy breathed, looking up at one of the cliffs that dotted the shore. Frank, too, glanced up, the grabbed for the steering wheel, getting them closer to the middle, away from that particular rock face. "What's wrong?"

Frank stared at her for a second; surely, she had to remember. But, as always happened, Frank reminded himself that she hadn't been there, so she wouldn't know. "A year ago, Joe was kidnapped. He was left in that cave to die. We found him within a few days, but…" he let his sentence trail off. Joe had been unconscious, had been this close to bleeding out from one of the many wounds inflicted on him. "I just don't like to be close to there. Bad karma."

Cathy huffed, her expression annoyed. "Why do you always talk about Joe?" she complained, edging closer to Frank. "Even when we're not around him, you end up bringing him up."

Frank had never realized this, but he did talk about Joe a lot. Most of his stories included his younger brother. "He's my brother. And he's my best friend. We spent all of our time together up until his accident." Frank ran his hand through his hair, guilty, frustrated. "He was a good detective."

Cathy stared out at the lake, biting into her sandwich, thinking about this. "He's kind of a screw up, isn't he?"

Shooting a look at his girlfriend, Frank tried to quell the anger that boiled up automatically at the slight. She doesn't know Joe. She's new. Frank kept up that mantra until he was able to take a deep breath, preparing to straighten the girl out. Because she couldn't be more wrong.

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Looking down, Frank slid it out to read the text message displayed on the screen: JOE IN HOSPITAL. COME ASAP.

"Oh, God." Frank murmured, reaching for the ignition with one hand and replying with the other (ON MY WAY, BE THERE IN 10) while saying to Cathy, "sorry, love, but we have to cut this short."

Cathy huffed, though a flicker of a smile might have ghosted across her face before she assumed the appropriate features of worry, "what's wrong?"

"Joe, he's in the hospital." A myriad of circumstances flew through Frank's mind; Biff and Joe, the car flipped, trapped under two tons of metal. Joe, being caught in a random crossfire inside of Mr. Pizza. Joe, falling forward on his suddenly inadequate legs and rolling. "Damnit!"

There had been a couple of nights interrupted, back when they were doing cases. A few dates, even, had been put off temporarily because Joe had been kidnapped or beaten or drugged. Once he'd been stabbed while on a case, and Frank had been inches from him. Another time, he'd been nearly suffocated while sleeping in the hospital.

The boat was at the dock within four minutes, and Frank had it secured in another two. He sprinted to the car, thinking of thugs and car accidents and a boy whose legs weren't nearly as strong as his heart. He threw open the door just as Cathy appeared on the other side, panting.

"What's the rush?" She asked, her voice low, coy. "You'd think there was a fire."

Frank could only stare at her. "He's my brother, Cathy." He said, all the explanation that was needed, and slid into the car, twisting the keys in the ignition as a pouting Cathy moved into the passenger seat.

Before he even got into the hospital, he found Chet, also running in, his prized yellow jalopy parked unevenly near the entrance of the hospital. "What's going on, Frank?" he asked, his voice high and uncertain. "Is he okay?"

Frank could only shake his head, needing more information. "Tony and Biff were with him. I was out." He was so upset at himself for that, so guilty that he'd left his brother, who had been too withdrawn all day, right after he'd been attacked.

Together, he and Chet pushed open the hospital doors, stepping into the familiar chaos of the emergency room, Cathy a few steps behind him. Tony was collapsed in one of the seats, his head in his hands, still wearing his Mr. Pizza uniform. When Frank shouted his name over the din of the room, he stood up and crossed the space between them with a few large strides.

"Biff is with him…he got taken to the back as soon as we arrived. All I've been able to figure out is that he needed to have his stomach pumped."

Frank gaped at him, mind flying. "Why?" He couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice, as much as he wanted to. He himself had gone through that painful, embarrassing experience after being poisoned by a criminal. It wasn't pleasant, and left one feeling nauseous and ill for days afterward.

Tony could only shrug helplessly, his small frame appearing even smaller. "He passed out at Mr. Pizza...we were just playing Scrabble." He ran a hand through his hair. Had all of Frank's friends picked up that habit? "Then he was on the floor…shaking…he vomited a couple of times before the ambulance got there." Tony shook his head.

"The EMT's asked if he'd taken any medications lately." Tony said quietly, staring at Frank, past him, dazed. "I told them that he had…that he'd been taking pain meds since the accident, and that he'd just gotten them switched that day. They thought that, maybe, he'd gotten the doses mixed up, or the doctor gave him something too strong for him to stand."

Again, Frank could only gape, stare, attempt to comprehend. It was Chet who finally asked, his voice scratchy and high, "you mean he overdosed?"

Quick to placate his friend, Tony said, hands up, "No…seriously, Biff is in there with him and he's totally okay."

Frank's hands seemed permanently glued to his head, so often they were in his hair. "My parents told me to look out for him." He snorted, thinking of the past week. "He's…gotten his hand suspiciously crushed, been beaten up by an overweight Senior while I was standing right down the hallway. Now he'd overdosed." Suddenly, he whipped towards his girlfriend, who had been standing quietly while they talked. "You gave him his meds. How many did he take?"

"I gave him the recommended dose." Cathy said. "Two pills. Maybe the dose was so much stronger than what he was used to that his body rejected it?"

"Maybe." Tony said, nodding, and just as the word came out of his mouth their names were called over the loudspeaker, followed by a room number. Frank was in the lead, nearly sprinting in the right direction; he knew all the shortcuts, having been in the hospital far too often.

It didn't take them long to find the room, and they just managed to squeeze inside, Frank, Biff, Chet, and Tony gathering around the bed, Cathy somewhere in the background. The boys seemed to fill the tiny room to capacity, seemed to make Joe, thin and ashen looking on the bed, even smaller.

"Hey, bro." Frank put a hand on Joe's arm, fighting back the emotions raging within; regret, anger, sorrow, worry, pain. Joe smiled back tiredly.

"You know, I managed not to wind up here after Brent. It's, like, the universe wanted me here." Joe laughed a little. "They say I can go home tonight, though."

The doctor, who had disappeared beneath the bodies of the teenagers, materialized, young and even more exhausted-looking than Joe. "Joseph had his stomach pumped, which is a pretty painful procedure. The toxins should be gone from his body, but nausea and a slight fever are to be expected. I would suggest he rest for most of the day tomorrow." He stumbled towards the door, tossing over his shoulder, "a nurse should be in here shortly with a wheelchair and papers."

As soon as he was gone, Frank knelt next to Joe, coming down to his level. "What happened, Joey?" he questioned, not able to entirely keep the residual fear from his voice. He could see that his brother was relatively unhurt compared to the scenarios he'd been running in his head, but he had to be sure.

Joe shrugged, uncomfortable. "I was feeling dizzy most of the night. Biff was kicking my ass at Scrabble. I was only able to eat a slice of pizza." His words were broken up as the boy struggled to remain awake. "Then…it just got black. Like someone had slipped me chloroform." Which had happened enough times that both knew the sensation, the distinct smell. "And when I came to…they were putting a tube down my throat."

His hands were twitching. Frank smoothed Joe's hair, matted with sweat, and noticed again that his brother was suddenly small, delicate, light. Before, he'd wrestled, had been a first-string football player, had run track. He'd been a hundred eighty pounds of unreserved muscle. Now…he was perhaps down to a hundred twenty, a hundred ten. Too small, too tiny for his still-long frame.

Biff broke the following silence. "I won Scrabble, Joe. By a hundred and sixty-four points." He smiled a little, but it was broken around the edges, cracking with guilt, with helplessness. "The word was Falling."

Joe's laugh turned into a cough midway. He glanced up at Tony, fidgeting in his polo, and grinned the old, boyish smile. "Still on duty, Tony? How are you going to get to school if you run off every time a customer passes out?"

"That happens a lot less often when you aren't around, kiddo." Tony said back, then looked at his watch. "Besides, we're closed by now. Or at least I hope Nicco closed up." Tony said, referring to his fourteen-year-old brother, a kind, deaf boy.

The nurse walked in with the chair and handed Frank a clipboard with a stack of papers. Frank sighed, mentally preparing for the phone call to his parents when they got home, explaining Joe's injuries and the hospital expenses. The boys began fussing over Joe, nudging him into the chair, all exclaiming over his weight; Chet even offered to bake him one of his world-famous anything-goes cakes.

Cathy came and took the clipboard and pen from Frank's hand. "I'll take care of this, you get Joe home." She smiled at his bewildered look and kissed him. "Not exactly the best date, but I'll deal. We'll go out soon, without interruptions."

Frank smiled, forgetting about the girl's insensitivity earlier in the evening and believing her instead to be a Godsend. "Thanks, Cath. I'll make it up to you, I promise." He retrieved his brother from the guys, who were beginning to wheel him down the hallway, Biff making sarcastic car noises that were causing Joe to laugh/wheeze.

As Frank took the handles, he squeezed Joe's shoulder. "Stop scaring me, Joe. I'm getting too old for this."

Joe looked up at him, a goofy smile spreading over his features, probably from the drugs and exhaustion. He pointed, giving a bad Patrick Stewart impression, "Warp five, Mr. Worf. Engage." He coughed, and everyone laughed, nerves now reduced to shreds.

Frank said goodbye to the others in the parking lot, thanking Biff and Tony for taking care of Joe and assuring them that, no, he would not force Joe to go to school the next day. It was Biff's joking opinion that Joe was getting hurt on purpose to get out of school. "I'm on to you!" He called, getting into Chet's jalopy. Tony had driven the Hardy's van to the hospital, but he got into the car as well, letting the brothers ride home alone.

In the car, Joe was nodding off in the passenger seat. Frank glanced at him and mused, "I wonder how high your meds were that they made you that sick." He was suddenly angry at the doctor. "I mean…you almost OD'd on them."

"I know." Joe murmured, his head tucked against the window. "I couldn't believe Cathy when she said the dose was six pills. I guess it was a few too many." He twisted, trying to get comfortable, as Frank stared at him.

Frank pulled the van over to the side of the road so he could stare at Joe head on. "Wait…Cathy gave you how many pills?"

Joe looked up at him, eyes unfocused, bleary. "Six. She said that you'd said that was the recommended dose. Why?"

Shaking his head, Frank went over the scene in his mind, when he'd asked Cathy point-blank how many pills she'd given his brother and she'd replied, easily, confidently, "two."

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