A/N Hello. We're back to Frank and Joe in this chapter.

Thanks for reviewing!

Disclaimer: I own nada.

Joe watched his brother absently as he lay with his back against the wall sleeping if only fitfully. The blond took in the dark circles under Frank's eyes and the way his clothes hung on his now thinner frame and wondered what had happened to him. He'd been gone for a year, dead, as far as everyone knew. Joe felt a pang of guilt in his gut; it felt like a knife has sliced through him. He hadn't looked for Frank, hadn't investigated his death, he just accepted it. Okay, so he went into denial, but he never actually did anything. There was no body. The police had concluded that Frank had been blown to smithereens judging by how close Frank was thought to have been from it. And Joe had just accepted it.

They had fought criminals for years, they had been kidnapped, tortured, hospitalized, and damn near killed, and not once had either of them accepted that they wouldn't make it out of every single case okay…until the cliff exploded and Joe threw that 'tradition' out the window. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to forgive himself for it. He had sentenced his brother to over a year of hell being forced to work for terrorists. Logically, Joe knew that it really wasn't his fault; that anyone who had witnessed what he had that night would've assumed Frank to be dead. But, Joe had never been one for logic.

Frank twitched slightly in his sleep and mumbled something before falling still once more. His brother didn't blame him. So, why the hell couldn't he forgive himself? Why couldn't he quench the feelings of guilt and anger when he thought of his own actions following Frank's death? He had been lost in a storm of grief and he couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on. Joe knew that he had been too mixed up to have done anything, and that even if he had thought Frank to be alive there was a strong likelihood he would've been unable to find him. Especially since everyone had thought him to be dead. The police had called it an open and shut case...his dad the great Fenton Hardy hadn't investigated, hadn't suspected anything was amiss. And, still, Joe couldn't stop beating himself up for not protesting, for not doing something. He knew it was irrational, that no one else thought it was his fault…okay, his dad had blamed him…but that was just because he was grief stricken…right? Damn it. He was not going to do this, he absolutely refused. Frank was alive that was all that mattered, period, end of story. Whatever had happened in between Frank's 'death' and Joe finding out he was alive didn't matter, because nothing was as important to him as his brother. Speaking of his brother, Frank had woken up and was eyeing his younger brother with concerned brown eyes.

"Joe?" He queried softly. Joe ignored the inquisitive look his brother was giving him.

"I was thinking about it, and I think Callie will get someone to look into where I disappeared too, she's stubborn that way."

"That's my Callie, head like a brick," Frank said smiling wistfully as he thought about how different things could've been if he had just thought before he acted that night. He had always been the responsible one, the one who didn't dare step a toe out of line, and for one night he allowed his emotions to control him and look where it got him. Kidnapped. Forced to do work for terrorists. Hell, now that he thought about it he was basically committing treason. This was great, just fucking great, a fine mess he'd managed to get himself into. What was he thinking? Seriously.

"Earth to Frank..." Joe waved a hand in front of his brother's face jerking him back to reality. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are worth much more then a penny," Frank joked with a mock glare.

"Be that as it may, you aren't getting much more then a couple pennies and a piece of lint out of me, seeing as I dropped my wallet back there." Joe replied.

"Ever heard of a lint brush?"

"Sigh…it seems you've yet to get over your OCCD…" Joe said shaking his head at his brother. Frank groaned.

"You're not still on about this…"

"I'm telling you, you have Obsessive Compulsive Cleaning Disorder!" Joe exclaimed.

"Is that the technical term?" Frank asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Joe replied haughtily. "I mean, you use a lint brush, clean your room, make your bed, put away your clothes…what is wrong with you?! And to top it off you always had an organized locker back in high school! That is just not normal!"

"Just because some of us didn't enjoy getting hit on the head by ten pound text books every time we opened our locker doesn't mean that we have a cleaning obsession. I lived in the same house as you after all!"

"I did not enjoy being hit on the head!" Joe exclaimed.

"Sure, sure, I do have to wonder though, did you get more head injuries from chasing criminals or opening your locker?" Frank taunted.

"My locker was the epitome of organization!" Joe replied.

"…"

"No really!"

"…"

"Don't look at me like that, just because you couldn't see the organization doesn't mean it wasn't there!" At this Frank raised an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh, because chucking your books in at high speed and slamming the door shut as fast as possible before they fell out again denotes organization and cleanliness…" Frank replied in a voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Yup, glad you agree, Bro." Joe said cheerfully. Frank sighed in a long suffering manner and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Joe's smile froze as it occurred to him that he hadn't smiled in ages, not since…since the incident, as he often referred to it. Joe shook his head forcefully clearing it of those thoughts. "Is it normal for them to leave you alone for this long?" There was no need for him to clarify who the 'them' was; it was painfully obvious to his brother about whom he had spoken.

"No, not usually," Frank answered. "Someone will typically pop in to check that I haven't miraculously escaped, fat chance of that happening, or to bring by some new assignment. They probably haven't been by because they're trying to figure out what to do about…" Frank hesitated.

"Me." Joe finished.

"Yeah." Frank replied awkwardly. Further conversation was put to a halt by the sound of voices outside the door. The brothers lapsed into silence and waited with bated breath wondering whether whoever it was would come into the room. After a few moments the voices ceased and the door to the room swung open. Joe felt his gut twist in apprehension wondering what they would do with him. A glance at his brother revealed that Frank wore an equally worried expression.

"The Boss has been thinking over our little dilemma," The man, who Joe recognized as 'Bruno' at least if they hadn't been using fake names during their earlier conversation, said. "And, he has graciously decided to keep you alive, you should be thankful."

"I'll try to control my gratitude." Joe answered sarcastically. He knew it probably wasn't the smartest think to mouth off to someone that was practically twice his side, but he had always been that way, speak first, think second. Fortunately, Bruno didn't seem to be all that smart, which meant he didn't pick up on Joe's sarcasm. Frank, however noticed it, and shot his brother a warning look.

"In fact, he has even been so kind as to find a job for you to work on," Bruno, or big brainless guy as Joe was fond of calling him, continued.

"What exactly is this job?" Joe questioned.

"You're going to be working on a very special project…you'll be right on the front lines, fighting for our cause." Bruno answered cryptically. Joe exchanged an apprehensive look with Frank. "I am not going to reveal any more for the moment. I am only to tell you that you will be remaining alive for the time being, until you fulfill your usefulness." Bruno continued. "Oh, Hardy," He said this time addressing Frank. "The boss has some more work for you, get up," He ordered. Frank sighed and awkwardly pushed himself up, his wrists still bound by handcuffs.

"You're going to need to uncuff me if I'm going to get any work done." Frank stated plainly. Bruno blinked at him before pulling a key out of his pocket and roughly grabbing Frank's wrists and jabbing the key in the keyhole. "What about Joe?" Frank asked.

"What about him?" Bruno replied.

"Uncuff him. It's not as if we have any chance of escaping." Brno paused and considered Frank's words before agreeing that the two didn't stand a chance in hell of getting past all the guards.

"Fine." He replied. "Come here, Hardy." He said nodding at Joe who stood up and held out his wrists to the terrorist/kidnapper. Bruno uncuffed Joe quickly before grabbing Frank above the elbow and pulling him out the door of the room and down the hall.

A/N Review, I shall update as soon as possible (meaning withing the next two-four days), if I haven't died in Driver's Ed, because if I'm driving that's an extremly likely possibility. Apparently, how badly I drive is the central topic of conversation in my friend's health class.