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Fenton had many regrets in his life - even the best detective couldn’t solve all cases, and there were still several that kept him up at night, wondering if he had done things differently, would he have been able to save that child, stop that robbery, keep his partner from injury…He tried not to dwell on it, having seen too many go down that path before.
In his personal life, his regrets were fewer. Sometimes a family holiday would be disrupted by a case, or he’d scared Laura by coming home in disguise, but overall, he had a lot to be thankful for. He had a loving and beautiful wife, a good relationship with his sister, and, of course, two handsome, talented, and intelligent sons who had followed him into the business.
If there was one major regret in his life, one thing he would change if he could, it was making his boys into detectives.
It wasn’t because they were bad at it, because they weren’t - they were absolutely brilliant, with a natural curiosity and a talent for making connections, as well as a keen athleticism that had aided them on many a case. They’d travelled across the world, making friends and connections everywhere they went, and had had experiences most people never would. He already trusted them with his most sensitive cases, and one day, they would far surpass him.
Yes, it was a dangerous life, and they’d had their lives threatened on many occasions. Sometimes, he’d even come close to losing one or both of them. Yet that wasn’t why he regretted it.
He regretted it because if on any of those cases, any of those missions, he’d lost one of them - he would have lost the other just as surely.
He’d taught them to be always rely on each other, trained them to be each other’s backup and best defence, and in doing so, had tied them so tightly together they would never allow anything to separate them.
Like now, when all three of them were tied to chairs in a basement because he’d wanted one of them to come with him to check out a lead, and they’d insisted on both of them coming. If not for that, one of them could have been home to raise the alarm when they didn’t return - Laura and Gertrude were far too accustomed to his late nights to notice one more, but either of his sons would have noticed his brother not returning on time.
It was too late to worry about it now, but he didn’t have much else to do while waiting for his boys to wake up from being chloroformed. Making some noise would have been useful, but between the gag and the probable concussion from being hit over the head once the gang realised there was a third man, he wasn’t feeling up to much.
Joe’s fingertips shifted, then immediately stilled. He was waking up, and was conscious enough to realise he was in danger. That was a good sign. It shouldn’t take long before Frank followed him into wakefulness, and then the three of them could figure out how to get out of here.
Joe’s eyes opened, subtly enough that even Fenton, who knew what he was looking for, could barely make it out. He moved his eyes from side to side without moving his head - nothing that could give away he was awake. Sometimes it worried Fenton that his boys were so good at this, but right now it made him proud.
Joe’s eyes reached Frank and stopped. Following his gaze, Fenton was surprised to realise Frank was now also awake, and the two of them were staring at each other, clearly communicating something, though Fenton had no idea what.
Their staring broke off, and Joe began to shift in his bonds, arms jerking slightly. If they were all restrained the same way, and Fenton had no reason to believe otherwise, Joe’s hands were duct taped behind his back to the back of the chair - harder to escape than rope or handcuffs. Handcuffs were awkward, but possible to escape with a good lock pick, and for ropes he’d taught the boys the trick of tensing their muscles when being tied up to make escaping easier. With duct tape the only real solution was something sharp and a lot of patience. In a plain room like this, there weren’t a lot of options.
Despite that, Joe was still moving like he was trying to escape. Fenton looked over to Frank, but Frank didn’t look concerned in the slightest. He just watched Joe with cool confidence, and when he noticed Fenton’s eyes on him, gave him what might have been a reassuring smile if not for the gag.
Something thudded, and Fenton’s attention whipped back to Joe. Somehow, Joe’s hands were now free, and he was untying the gag from behind his head. As soon as it was out he threw it on the ground, making a disgusted face. “I hate it when they use dusty rags. Can’t they at least spring for clean ones?”
Even as he complained, he was already hurrying to Frank, cutting through the tape tying his hands. Once Frank was free, Joe came over to Fenton, and Fenton craned to see how Joe had cut through the duct tape. Joe noticed, tilting his wrist obligingly to show off the little serrated blade. “Fits into a slot in my watch, and comes in handy for situations like this. Well, not if they take my watch,” he shrugged, “but sometimes we get lucky.” He knelt behind Fenton, and Fenton could feel the faint vibration as Joe sawed at the tape. “How’s the door coming, Frank?”
Frank was slipping a lock pick back into the seam of his shirt. “Done.” He tossed Joe an affectionate smile. “Good thing I’m already used to how loud you are, or it might have taken longer.”
His hands finally free, Fenton rubbed them to help relieve the stiffness, then stood. Or rather, tried to stand. His concussion was starting to look less ‘probable’ and more ‘definite’, because as soon as he stood he was falling back into the chair again, balance too off kilter to stay upright.
“Whoa, Dad.” Joe caught and steadied him, Frank coming across the room to help. “Are you alright?”
Frank knelt in front of him, peering critically into his eyes. “I can’t quite tell without a flashlight, but I think his pupils are uneven.” He looked up at Joe, not bothering to finish the thought. Fenton knew that they knew the symptoms of a concussion, probably even better than he did. For each other’s sake, they would have the list memorised.
Joe nodded as if Frank had added something else, then there was one of them at either side of him, helping him stand. Fenton still swayed once he was upright, vision momentarily greying, but with his boys on either side he stayed standing.
“Okay, Dad, I’m going to let go for a minute to get the door, but you’ve still got Joe here. Joe?“
“Yep. Don’t worry, Dad, I got you. We’re just going to step…now, there you go.” They took the step together, Fenton leaning heavily on his younger son to keep himself steady. Joe kept up a soothing chatter as they continued towards the door. “Frank’s finally admitting I’m the muscle of the two of us. Another step now. Either that or he thinks being one piddly inch taller makes him the better lookout, which I can tell you it doesn’t. It just makes him more obvious when we’re getting shot at. One more step, last one. There!”
“I could hear you, you know,” Frank said mildly.
Joe grinned. “I know.”
In other circumstances, Fenton might have joined in on the mild teasing, but he was still feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous, and without Joe’s support, he knew he wouldn’t be able to remain standing. All he wanted to do was get out of there. “Boys.”
At the mild rebuke, both boys’ smiles faded. “Don’t worry, Dad. I haven’t seen or heard anyone for the last few minutes, and this part of the building looks pretty disused. They may not even be here anymore.”
Fenton wasn’t quite convinced by Frank’s optimism. “Don’t be too hasty. It could just be made up to look abandoned, to deter suspicion.”
“I don’t think so, at least not this part.” He gestured towards a door further down the hall. “The dust and faded paint might have been faked, but there are are cobwebs on that door frame, and the hinge is so rusty it would be nearly impossible to open.”
“And you can see footprints on the floor,” Joe added. “Look, there are marks there where they must have dragged us. It would be odd for them to leave those marks if they’re trying to keep the place looking abandoned.”
Fenton looked down at the footprints, then swayed forward, his stomach jumping at the sudden movement. Both his boys grabbed his shoulders, keeping him upright. “Whoa, Dad!”
Fenton swallowed harshly, fighting the urge to vomit. Over his head, he was aware of Frank and Joe having a muttered conversation in half sentences, then Frank leaving and Joe’s arm coming around him, guiding him to the floor. It took another minute or two, but the nausea receded, and he looked up to see his younger son looking at him, worry bright in his eyes. “You feeling better, Dad?”
He gave a slight nod, careful of disturbing his stomach further. “I’ll be fine. Where’s your brother?”
“Gone to check out our escape. He’ll be back soon.” Joe’s gaze drifted towards the door, and Fenton realised not all the worry in his eyes was for him. Tears sprung to his eyes at the realisation that his boys loved him enough to split up even in their current precarious situation, and he dashed them away with the sleeve of his shirt, irritated at their presence.
Joe’s gaze was back on him. “Concussions, huh?” He didn’t wait for a response, slipping back into the same soothingly jokey tone he’d used earlier. “The weird emotions are the worst part, for sure. Last year I had a concussion that was really bad for that. Not nauseous, barely dizzy, but I wouldn’t let go of Frank - I was just worried about him, all the time.”
Fenton didn’t say anything.
Joe didn’t seem to need him to. “I know, that’s Frank’s job, right?” He chuckled. “He’s the one who worries about me, and I’m the one who does hot-headed things that make him worry. But he’s got his moments too. That same case, he jumped from his bike onto a smuggler’s bike, grabbed the guy’s bag off him, then jumped off. I got so mad at him.” His smile slipped. “I do worry about him, probably almost as much as he worries about me. He’s my brother. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” His voice lowered, his gaze drifting down, talking more to himself than to Fenton. “I don’t think I could do anything. Not if I knew he wasn’t there anymore. I can’t even imagine it.”
Fenton felt a deep stab of grief, for himself, Laura, and his sons. He’d known that if he ever lost one of his boys, he’d likely lose the other as well, but it had never been so clear to him as now. He’d set them up for such dangerous lives, and now he might lose them because of it.
The tears trailed down as his cheeks again, but this time, he didn’t brush them away.
Joe noticed, quickly pulling back to his usual jokey self. “Don’t worry, Dad, Frank and I know how to look after ourselves! We’ll be fine.” He grinned at Fenton, and Fenton tried to smile back. He didn’t want to worry Joe, not while there was already enough for Joe to worry about. It was rare enough to have a glimpse into his son’s fears - he didn’t want to scare him off from ever opening up to him again.
“We’re always fine in the end,” Frank agreed from the doorway. He glanced at Joe with a slight frown, and Joe responded with a subtle nod. The exchange took only seconds, but Joe’s smile was already stronger for it.
Frank helped Joe up, his hand lingering for a moment on his brother’s arm, then the two of them levered Fenton to his feet. The nausea had subsided now, so while standing still left him dizzy, his stomach no longer threatened to rebel. With one of his arms around each of his sons’ shoulders, they started down the hall.
“Upstairs there’s sounds of people, but they seem to keep the lower part mostly deserted, so if anyone comes in they’ll think it’s abandoned,” Frank explained in a low voice. “Down this corridor there’s a door on the left that looks like it leads outside. It’s locked, but no alarm. Should only take a couple of minutes to pick it, but it’s just around the corner from the stairs.”
“Quiet voices, got it.”
They made it to the door without incident, and Frank quickly got to work, leaving Joe to support Fenton. Considering how practiced he was, Fenton wasn’t surprised that it took Frank less than a minute to be opening the door and peering out. “Looks clear.” Keeping the door open with one hand, he used the other to gesture Joe and Fenton forwards.
Footsteps from the stairs interrupted them. They froze, hoping the person would pass them by, but at the bottom of the stairs, the footsteps stopped. “Why’s there a breeze…?”
The footsteps came closer.
The three of them tensed. Frank pushed the door slightly further open. It would be better to escape unnoticed, but escaping under pursuit would still be better than retreating back into the unknowns of the building.
The footsteps stopped. “Collins, Maguire!” the voice called, sounding wary. “Get down here!”
Joe shifted slightly, gaining Frank and Fenton’s attention. “You think…?” He mouthed.
Frank shook his head. “Better-“
“-like Sullivans,” Joe finished, nodding.
They both turned to Fenton expectantly. All he could do was shrug, ignoring the way tears pricked at his eyes again. It was the concussion, that was all.
“Run now, make for another building,” Frank said, words more breathed than spoken. “Don’t follow the road.”
The sound of more footsteps thundering down the stairs was enough to tell them it was time to go. As quietly as they could, Frank held the door open while Joe helped Fenton out. Once they were outside Frank slung Fenton’s other arm over his shoulder, the three of them awkwardly hurrying out onto the street. They were in an industrial area, surrounded by old warehouses and mostly abandoned office blocks - Fenton had been there several times on various cases, and he was sure the boys had as well.
He was proven right a moment later. “That way.” Joe nodded towards an office building on their left. “Fire door is faulty.”
They stumbled towards the door. Fenton was very aware of how exposed they were, with no conveniently placed walls between them and their pursuers. Even worse, not only was he slowing them down, but with his boys’ arms around him, he was more protected.
Behind them, a door slammed open - the door they’d escaped through. “There they are!”
“Let me go!” Fenton tried to pull himself free from his boys. Even if he couldn’t keep up, it was better than all three of them dying.
Frank and Joe wouldn’t let go, pulling him along so fast he almost lost his balance, but it still wasn’t enough. Their pursuers were rapidly catching up with them.
“I’ll distract them, you get Dad to safety!” Joe tried to pull his arm away, but Frank grabbed his sleeve.
“No chance in hell!”
Fenton stumbled, surprised at the harsh words from his polite and even-tempered oldest son.
Joe growled, but didn’t try again, instead pulling along even faster. Gunshots rang out, and bullet holes appeared in the wall ahead of them - fortunately too far above their heads. It was difficult to aim at a moving target, Fenton knew, especially when moving yourself.
They were almost at the door now. Joe reached out in front of them, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open in one smooth motion. Frank used the momentum to pull them inside, then Joe slammed the door shut again with a loud bang.
The three of them collapsed against the door, out of breath and panting. Outside, the bullets roared, but they couldn’t make it through the thick fire door. “Pretty eventful three-legged race, huh?” Fenton tried to joke.
His boys weren’t listening. Frank had grabbed Joe’s sleeve again, pulling him over Fenton until the two of them were sitting side by side, pressed so close together they were almost on top of each other. Frank’s hand was still gripping Joe’s sleeve. “I’m not losing you,” Frank whispered fiercely. “Together, or not at all.”
“Together or not at all.” Joe’s voice was equally intense. They stayed leaning together, blonde head resting against brown.
Fenton leant back against the door, knowing with absolute certainty he had no place there. He could interrupt, tell Joe they never would have left him behind, warn him not to try it again, but anything he could say would do nothing compared to the white-knuckled grip Frank still had on his sleeve. All he could do was leave them to their moment.
The thud of bullets against the fire door stopped, though the gunshots continued a little longer before also falling to a halt. Not long after, someone knocked on the fire door.
Waving his boys down, Fenton stood. Frank and Joe had done enough tonight, he could handle this. Leaning against the wall, he pushed open the fire door. On the other side, Detective Con Riley was grinning at them. “Somehow, I knew I’d find the Hardys in here.”
Fenton couldn’t stop the wild grin taking over his face. “Good to see you, Con.” Relieved, he let his full weight rest against the wall.
“This one was Dad, not us,” Joe joked. He and Frank stood, still close enough their shoulders touched. “We were just innocent bystanders.”
Con gave him a look which showed exactly how much he believed that story.
It only took minutes before all three of them were out of the office building and on their way to the hospital - Fenton in an ambulance, Frank and Joe in his car behind it. They’d offered for one of them to go with him, but he’d seen the way they still hadn’t let themselves get more than a foot apart and knew he couldn’t accept. They needed each other more than he needed them.
Instead, Con rode with him, ostensibly to interview him while it was still clear in his memory, but really to keep him company. “How did you find us so fast?“ he asked. The industrial area was deserted enough he hadn’t thought anyone would have called the police, and it wasn’t on the regular patrol routes.
“Your wife and your sister.” Con grinned again, a flash of white teeth. “Gertrude said you might come home at all hours, but those boys know better than to worry their mother by staying out to all hours without calling to let her know. She called us to let us know you might be in trouble, while Laura called around to the boys’ friends, asking if they could keep an eye out for your car. Your boys have some good friends there.”
“They do,” Fenton agreed. Frank and Joe had told him of many a case that wouldn’t have been solved if not for some help from their friends, and he was grateful for every one of them.
“They set up a search pattern, driving all around town to try and find your car, and the Hooper boy spotted it in the industrial district. Seems the gang must have driven you back to their hideout in your own car, then parked it round the back of one of the nearby offices. Good thing Hooper is a thorough searcher, or we wouldn’t have been in the neighbourhood.”
“Good thing,” Fenton echoed, suddenly distracted by all the could have beens. If not for Biff Hooper, all three of them could have died tonight. Without the police to distract them, the gang would have opened the fire door, and Fenton wasn’t optimistic enough to think they would have been satisfied by tying them up again. Earlier than that, if not for his boys, both his boys, they wouldn’t have even escaped the room.
Fenton still had his regrets. He still thought if he’d never encouraged them to become detectives, they wouldn’t be in such danger. And, after tonight, he believed more than ever that if he lost one of his sons, he’d lose the other as well.
But tonight, they’d survived because of that reliance on each other. Working together, they’d been enough to escape, even with his injury slowing them down. And as reliant on each other they were, they still had friendships strong enough to send their friends searching through the city late at night to keep them from harm.
For now, that would have to be enough.