It was the worst Christmas in Frank's life.

As much as the Hardys did their best to be cheerful, smile and show delight over presents, the atmosphere was thick with outspoken sadness. Joe loved Christmas the most in the family – he was the one to fuss around Christmas tree and take care of music, he talked the most over Christmas dinner and his laughter was the loudest on Boxing Day. Frank appreciated his parents' efforts to make up for his absence, but they all knew it would take years for Christmas to become merry again.

Meeting his long-time friends was probably the best experience of the whole homecoming. He felt rather anxious to show up at the Mortons' after keeping a distance with everyone for months, but seeing Chet, Tony, Biff and Phil cheer at him as he appeared at the door melted the distance away.

"I'm sorry, guys- for being a runaway jerk," Frank said with an apologetic smile

"Nonsense," Biff replied and clapped his shoulder. "We all were rather runaway back then, truth be told, but we knew it'd been much harder on you than any of us… we'd understand even if you didn't show up today, so it makes it twice as great that you did," he watched everyone nod enthusiastically in agreement. "How has it been it out there?"

Frank came to sit on a sofa. "It's been… how do I put it? It's been very English – rainy, bad heating, awful food, separate taps for hot and cold water, having to look right on every corner and a million other things."

"You don't look disappointed," Tony noted.

"I'm not. Most of the time, at least. It was tough at first, but then you just get used to it all – not knowing your neighbors, travelling past crazily called tube stations…"

"Crazily called like what?"

"Like… Elephant and Castle?"

Biff snorted, "Elephant and castle in London? What do they smoke over there?"

"The area was called after a coaching inn, founded in mid-eighteenth century or so. I've no idea what they smoked back then to come up with such a name for an inn, but it must have been something heavy anyway."

"Speaking of smoking, you quit?" Chet asked.

Frank had hoped to avoid the question. "I'm…in the process," he answered ambiguously.

"Why did you ever start?" Biff wondered with a frown. "I mean, I know it's been tough and all, but there are other ways to help the stress and everything."

"Well, yeah, but… I don't know…. " Frank shrugged his shoulders.

"Does it actually help the stress away?"

"Like hell."

"So why go on?"

"They don't call it bad habit for nothing, do they? Seriously, guys, I'm…. I'll quit completely, I promise. Don't ever start, by the way. Doesn't make you look cool or anything. Bad for budget, too. Especially if you live in London."

"Threat of prostate cancer, too," Chet added with a meaningful look.

Frank raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I'm officially defeated. Give me a month and I'll be fine, okay? Really. So- what everyone's been up to?"

"The delights of student years, of course," Phil replied, making him sigh in relief for dropping the subject of smoking. "University life is great, but having to study just spoils all the fun," he added to everyone's understanding 'yeah's'. "Like, there was a moment when…."

Frank didn't hear the rest of the story, lost in a memory of some party when Joe had made one inhale of a cigarette "just for an experiment" and his face had cringed in disgust. "Do people actually pay to put such crap in their mouths?"

Frank paid for so much crappier things in a week after his brother's death, wanting to stuff himself with whatever just to lose contact with reality.

It was the eighth day after the funerals when he locked himself in the bathroom between the brothers' rooms. Sitting on the floor with a bottle of cheap scotch in one hand and a knife in the other, with his sleeves pulled up, he desperately wanted to trade his life for an end of such existence. When Fenton found him an hour later, the bottle was empty. He soothingly rocked his child in his arms, while Frank sobbed into his shoulder. The knife lay aside, untouched.

Some things, like decisions to live through the ordeal, are priceless indeed.

An outburst of laughter snapped him out of the reverie. There were stories he knew he'd never share with his friends.

Frank zipped his travel bag and looked around the room for one last time, not knowing when he'd come to see it again. With a heavy sigh, he walked outside and down the stairs to bye with his family. Seeing their sad eyes made him feel worse, especially when he said to them he'd come home more often. Maybe years later he would, but for now he was shamefully relieved to be leaving.

Once at JFK airport and past all migration procedures, Frank went to a coffeehouse to pass the time before boarding. It felt like running away again, but this time balanced between the pleasure of having his friends back and the weight of Joe's gift. He wondered how and when he was going to give it- Frank's birthday was in April, all major celebrations were months ahead of that fateful June, too. So the gift must have been for no particular occasion, but out of brotherly love and care.

Frank looked at "BBB" on his phone cover for the zillionth time. It was so much like Joe to do little things that meant a lot. Sometimes it left them both in troubles, but sometimes it left Frank wanting to cry in affection for his brother.

"Announcement for passengers for British Airways flight number 0112 to London Heathrow. Attention please passengers for British Airways flight number 0112 to London Heathrow. You flight will be delayed by two hours due to non-flying weather conditions. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Frank let out a sigh of exasperation. Spending another two hours in a duty-free area of JFK airport wasn't a tempting idea. Two hours, for God's sake!

Two hours?

He suddenly froze at the thought.

With trembling fingers, he searched through his wallet for the brownish piece of paper with Joe's order for the gift and read it again, his heart drumming in his chest.

"June 26 2009, 9-30 AM"

His breath caught in his throat.

The manager said Joe had helped the lady and drove off straight away. In fact, he was in such a hurry that his bad handwriting was worse than usual.

According to the police reports and witnesses' statements, Joe's car crashed at 11-30 AM. But the crash site was only 10 minutes away from the gifting shop.

Where was he for almost two hours before the accident?