Hey, guys. I'm so sorry for the long delay. I started a new position at work a few weeks ago and it's been a lot more stressful than expected. Ridiculously so. Anyway, only one more chapter after this one. I promise it won't take me a month to post it! And thanks for all the reviews - they've brought me a lot of smiles. You guys are awesome.

Chapter 15

Fenton Hardy stood in the terminal, staring out at the lights of the runway guiding planes in safely in the darkness. Unable to see the call numbers of the planes in the dark of night, he glanced at his watch and resumed pacing in front of the large glass window. If everything went according to plan, they should be arriving any minute now. A smile flickered across his face. He was immensely proud of his sons; their investigative skills were even more impressive than his had been at their age. Still, he hated being out of contact with them this long; if anything had gone wrong he wouldn't know about it until…

"Hey, Dad!"

Fenton turned at the sound of Joe's voice and smiled. He saw Frank first, holding the hand of a dark-haired boy with wire-rimmed glasses slipping perilously close to the end of his nose, who was groggily plodding along next to Frank. Joe was a few steps behind them, carrying a small boy with blonde hair who was fast asleep, his head nestled against Joe's shoulder. For a moment he was struck with a feeling he couldn't quite place. Not déjà vu exactly, more like a glimpse into the future. Joe and Vanessa had made no secret of the fact that they wanted children – several of them. Fenton felt as if he had just been given a preview of what their future might hold, and he liked it.

"Any trouble?" Fenton asked, walking alongside his sons through the terminal.

"Yes."

"No."

Frank and Joe answered simultaneously, then exchanged surprised looks.

Fenton raised his eyebrows, bemused. "Yes or no?"

"Joe got shot," Frank announced quickly.

Joe scowled, shifting Jamie's dead weight on his shoulder. "I did not get shot. I got dinged."

Fenton looked at Joe pointedly. "And the difference between dinged and shot is what, exactly?" If Joe was here cracking jokes, he obviously wasn't hurt too badly. Still, given Joe's medical history and the fact they'd been out in the woods for three days gave Fenton cause for mild concern.

"Shot leaves a hole," Joe replied. "Dinged leaves a…"

"Ding?" Frank supplied helpfully.

Joe threw his brother a withering look. "Don't worry, it's fine, Dad. Florence Nightingale here made sure it was cleaned, slathered in antibiotic ointment and re-bandaged daily."

"Good," Fenton nodded at Frank in a silent thank you.

Joe grinned at his brother, hefting Jamie up a little higher. "Yeah, thanks, Florence."

Frank looked at Fenton and then rolled his eyes. "Welcome to my world." He glared when his father laughed out loud. "Hey, I've spent three days alone in the woods with these kids! I deserve a little – no, a LOT – of sympathy!"

"You mean the Bingham boys?" Fenton looked first at Jamie and then down at Ford, who had yet to utter a word.

"No!" Frank said agitated, jerking his head towards Joe and Jamie. "Them! Three days, Dad! Three days, with no escape! One of them was always yammering at me! And sometimes they double-teamed me! One of 'em in each ear! I got it in stereo!" He narrowed his eyes when Fenton laughed even louder. "Hey, don't let that angelic little face fool you." Frank gestured towards the sleeping Jamie who, in slumber, looked the picture of innocence. "That kid is ten times worse than Joe ever was. A hundred times worse," he amended, as Fenton chuckled. "Opinionated, demanding, talks a mile a minute. You can't even get a word in edgewise. They would've driven you over the edge the first night! I think I deserve something for putting up with that."

"Something like what?" Fenton teased. "A bonus?"

"A bonus. A mental health day." Frank glanced at his brother and smirked. "Combat pay."

Joe looked at him, horrified.

Laughing out loud again, Fenton put a hand on each of his sons' shoulders. "I'm glad you two are back. It's been pretty dull without you."

Fenton leaned forward slightly, peering into the darkness. He slowed and then pulled into a long dirt road on his left. A moment later a large, two-story farmhouse came into view.

The SUV came to a stop in front of the house. Joe undid his seat belt and leaned over to unhook Jamie's. The small boy stirred and opened sleepy blue eyes, lifted his head and looked past Joe out the window.

"Where are we?" he asked groggily.

"Home." Joe opened the door, climbed out and stretched.

Jamie leaned down and looked warily at the farmhouse. He scowled. "That's not our house." Scooting out he stood next to Joe, taking Joe's hand. "Where's my mom and dad?"

Fenton got out of the car in time to hear Jamie's question. Frank and Joe had regaled him with Jamie's exploits while they were in the wilderness but at that moment Jamie sounded like a scared little boy.

Ford suddenly appeared on the other side of Jamie, putting a comforting arm around his younger brother and looked up at Fenton. Fenton stopped and stared in astonishment. He'd seen the physical similarities between the Bingham boys and his own sons, but watching them now he felt as if he were looking at Frank and Joe fifteen years removed. "Are they inside?" Ford asked.

Fenton smiled. "Yes."

As he followed the foursome up the porch steps, Fenton noted the way Jamie leaned in close to his brother and how Ford reacted by pulling his little brother closer. He smiled thinking of the many times Frank and Joe had interacted that way as children. Watching Joe, he realized the memories were also tugging at his son's subconscious. Joe had turned, looking for his brother. Frank reached out and gave Joe a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

They stepped inside and Frank found himself face to face with a Federal agent. The man looked past Frank to Fenton, who nodded. The agent moved aside, allowing Frank and Joe to usher the two boys inside.

Still struck by the scene playing out before him, Fenton hung back for a moment, watching as a waterfall of memories cascaded over him.

Jamie huddled close to his older brother and moved tentatively, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings uncertainly. Ford pulled his younger brother closer still, also looking around. Joe had a hand on each of the boys' shoulders and Frank hovered behind the three of them, his gaze sweeping the long hallway in front of them as well as the surrounding rooms. It was only when Frank turned and looked at him that Fenton completely shook himself back to the present. He pointed down the hall. "Last room on the left."

Following his instructions, Joe nudged Jamie and Ford down the hall, stopping in the doorway Fenton had indicated. Forrest and Grace Bingham were seated on a sofa in the cozy looking room. Forrest was staring into the dying fire in the fireplace, lost in thought, while Grace appeared to be dozing.

"Daddy!" Jamie cried out. He flew across the room, launching himself at his father. Forrest Bingham snapped his head around, shock and relief fighting for control in his eyes. "Oh, thank God!" he choked out, jumping up just in time to catch the flying bundle.

Jamie leapt into his arms, wrapping his arms around his father's neck and holding on for dear life. "Daddy! Daddy!" Jamie repeated over and over again, soft sobs punctuating each word.

Fenton couldn't look away, his eyes riveted on the father-son reunion. Intense emotions swept over him; he felt breathless. A long-ago memory washed up and he could feel himself scooping a six-year-old Joe up in his arms and holding him tightly to his chest, swearing to himself he would never, ever let go. He heard a soft intake of breath and didn't even realize it had been him until Joe reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"Maybe we should leave them alone for a few minutes," Frank murmured, breaking the moment.

Joe held his gaze for a second longer then glanced back towards the emotional reunion. Nodding, he wordlessly left the room. Fenton quickly followed, needing a few moments alone with his own son.

Joe stood in the shower, letting the warm water cascade over him. After three days of washing in streams or with pre-packaged towelettes, he felt like a walking science experiment, and was happy to finally be reunited with indoor plumbing. 'Mmmmmm, if only Vanessa were here,' he thought with a smile.

Despite the late hour, he'd called her as soon as they arrived at the safe house, and burned up the better part of an hour talking to her and missing her more with each passing second. His grin widened as he recalled Vanessa's promise.

"When you get home," Vanessa said seductively, "we'll make up for every single minute you were gone."

Joe happily lost himself in the images that brought to mind. 'Oh, you bet we will.'

"OW!" Joe yelped and jumped away from the warm spray, his fantasy all but destroyed when the water hit the crease in his arm left by the bullet. Wincing, he reached to turn off the shower when he heard his brother's voice in his head.

"How's your arm?"

"When we get to the safe house, make sure you clean it really well. And put some antibiotic ointment and a new bandage on it."

Joe picked up the soap and gingerly washed the wound and the area around it, gritting his teeth as the soap found its way into the small crease. Carefully rinsing it and then twisting and turning, trying to get a good enough view to make sure it looked clean, Joe finally gave up and turned off the water. Stepping out of the shower, he dried off and ran a quick towel over his dripping hair.

Joe opened the first aid kit he'd brought in with him, pulled out a small plastic tube of antibiotic ointment, a sterile gauze pad, a roll of gauze and some tape. Applying the ointment proved to be no problem, nor did positioning the sterile dressing which, while hanging somewhat askew, stayed in place thanks to the ointment. However after several attempts to secure the pad in place with the gauze and hold it all together while tearing off and applying strips of tape, Joe finally gave up out of sheer frustration, unable to complete the task with one hand.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, Joe opened the bathroom door a crack, checking to see if anyone was in the hall. He heard muffled voices from somewhere else in the house and saw a shaft of light from a partially opened door down the hall, but no one else was in sight. Grabbing his dirty clothes, the first aid kit and various first aid supplies, he hurried across the hall to the room he was sharing with Frank, surprised to find his brother stretched out across the bed. He threw his clothes in a pile on the floor. "Thought you and Dad were comparing notes."

"I gave him the highlights," Frank said, with a yawn. "But I'm totally wiped. I just want to take a shower and fall into bed. Did you leave me any hot water?" He pushed himself up onto his elbows and glanced at Joe's arm. "Thought you were gonna put a bandage on that."

"Yeah, I had a little problem there. I washed it in the shower but trying to get the bandage on, hold it in place, put the tape on it…" Joe shrugged and grinned sheepishly as his voice trailed off. "Think you could gimme a hand?"

Frank shook his head, pretending to be put out. "The things I do for you." He stood and caught the small first aid kit Joe threw at him. "Have a seat."

Joe sat down on the edge of the bed. Frank repositioned the sterile pad and expertly wound it with the gauze, finishing it off with two well placed pieces of tape. "Thanks….," Joe smiled as Frank nodded, yawned again and headed for the door and his own hot shower. "…Florence."

Frank stopped mid-stride, started to turn around and then thought better of it. With a resigned shake of his head, he ignored Joe's laughter and disappeared across the hall.