"No comment," Joe said stoically as reporters immediately crowded around him, sticking microphones and flashing cameras in his face. Who are these people? He thought angrily as he deftly pushed his way through, ignoring the persistent and endlessly pestering questions. He had to practically push his way through the throng of people, and he found himself biting his tongue to keep from giving the press a piece of his mind.

This is outrageous! You people don't know a thing about me! He thought in rage. Still the bloodthirsty reporters and journalists let off a question after another, some too personal Joe could feel his cheeks burning as he rushed to the open door. Bloody reporters!

"Joe, how did you get involved with-"

"Mr. Hardy, how do you feel now that you-"

"Joe, tell us how it felt like-"

"Frank, where are you?" Joe whispered helplessly, once again dread threatening to consume him.

Frank felt like his lungs were bursting. But he kept on running, pushing himself further every time he felt his pace slowing. The wind against his face and hair was so strong Frank felt almost physical pain, and that combined with the screamed protests of his muscles did nothing to console the pain in his heart. Frank kept on running. He needed to run. He had to get away from it all. Vivid images flashed through his mind...Joe cutting his finger, Joe throwing up wretchedly, Joe refusing lunch...

"Hey!" someone shouted when Frank nearly rammed into him. But Frank didn't care. Oh Joe, why didn't you tell me? Why? Frank pushed forward blindly, his vision so blurry with tears Frank could no longer rely on his eyes to take him home. His legs were doing it on their own, his aching, cramping legs were taking him home. Though it was a long way from the courthouse to their home, he couldn't wait for the trial to be over for the day. He couldn't stay there anymore. He just couldn't. Not after what had happened.

His lungs screamed in protest, begging for air, and just as Frank felt he was about to pass out, he forced himself to stop. Gasping heavily, Frank groped blindly and at last, he clung to a telephone post for support, his heart pounding like crazy. Hands reached out to him, voices asking him if he was alright, but Frank ignored them all. Betrayal and hurt and shock collaborated to bring more fresh tears to his eyes. No, Frank commanded himself. Not now.

Like a wild animal, Frank pushed the hands supporting him and scrambled to his feet again, his eyes wild and crazed. Run, Frank, run, he told himself and he did exactly that.

Frank, where are you? Joe wondered in desperation. He'd searched the whole courthouse but there was no sign of his brother. Checking the parking lot, Joe was perplexed to see the family car with which the Hardys had come still parked in their slot. Where could Frank be?

Joe broke into a run, and would have continued running if only a painful twinge in his abdomen didn't stop him. Wincing, Joe held his side as he craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of his brother among the throng of people walking by. No sign of Frank. He couldn't help feeling worried for his brother. He knew Frank would definitely not take the news well, but running away was not what Joe had expected him to do. Still, Joe was not surprised.

"Are you okay, Joe?" a voice asked from behind. Joe whirled around and found himself staring at his father who was looking very concerned, the unmistakable fear hidden deep behind the anxious brown orbs. The court had been adjourned for the day, but even if it hadn't, Fenton had no intention of staying, not after both his sons had stalked out of the courtroom, both obviously very upset. Laura was beside him, her face pale and haggard. When they saw Joe standing amidst the rush of people, they instantly knew that he was looking for Frank.

"Dad, Frank's gone," Joe said. A knowing look passed between father and son. Then Joe's face crumpled. Fenton and Laura rushed forward and Joe buried himself in his parents' embrace.

Frank burst into Joe's room and though his chest still heaved and his breaths still rapid from his long run, he stood still for a second. Unusually neat, Joe's room looked more like a shrine than a room. All his books were stacked neatly in the shelves and there wasn't a stray piece of clothing in sight; everything was hung neatly in Joe's closet. Suddenly Frank had a terrible feeling. The room was too neat; it was as if Joe had gone and packed all his things. To go somewhere, a little voice in his head said.

No, Frank mentally berated himself. Joe would never-go. He's going to stay here. He's going to stay here forever. Pushing all the terrible thoughts from his mind, Frank went to the dresser first. In the first drawer were Joe's CD player and his CD collection, also arranged neatly instead of strewn in disarray. More than a little disturbed now, Frank pulled open the second one. His eyes went wide. His hands shook as he lifted a thick, hard-covered book. Living With HIV, A True Story, by Joan McPherson. Wait, there's another one, Frank thought, alarm and dread rising in his chest. Cancer: How To Deal With It, by Dr. Gina Henderson, MD. Frank dropped both books like they were burning coals. Suddenly it all seemed surreal. This is a nightmare, Frank thought as he numbly pulled the last one open, swallowing hard as he prepared himself for whatever he was about to see.

Frank felt his lips start to tremble and his eyes start to sting again. The last drawer was full of half-empty bottles filled with numerous, multi-colored pills and capsules. It wouldn't take a genius to recognize what those pills were. Drugs, Frank realized, these are all prescription drugs. Joe is really sick. Hearing Joe tell the world he had cancer was one thing, but seeing all these analgesics and painkillers was another thing. He's really, really sick, Frank realized with a heart sinking faster than a plunging elevator. Somehow the blatant truth really hurts more when it's staring at you right in the eye.

"Frank?" a voice called his name quietly from behind. Frank nearly screamed. Surprise quickly turned to anger when he saw who was standing at the door.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Frank shouted, lunging at his father. He grabbed Fenton by the lapels of his suit. He had never done that to his father before, but hiding something like this was the last straw. "You knew, but you didn't tell me!"

"Calm down, son," Fenton tried to reason with his son. "I can explain-"

"I don't want explanation. I just want to know why you've been hiding this from me!" Frank cried, his face red and blotched. "Mom knows about this too, doesn't she?"

"Frank, son-"

"Doesn't she?" Frank screamed, shaking his father vigorously. Almost instantly, Frank dropped his father and his shoulders fell as if his last strength had been spent. "Why, Dad?"

Sure that his son had calmed down somewhat, Fenton reached out to Frank but jumped back when Frank suddenly lunged at him again with a sudden burst of energy. "Answer me, Dad? Why didn't you tell me that Joe's sick?"

"Because I told them not to!!!" An angry voice shouted from behind. Joe Hardy stood at the door, gloating at the rummaged drawers and their strewn contents. His mouth worked, opening and closing like a fish out of water, his features contorting in rage mixed with apprehension and disbelief.

Frank stalked toward his brother and grabbed Joe's arm, practically dragging Joe off his feet into his own room, leaving their father standing there gaping in disbelief. Fenton was about to rush in after his sons when he saw a figure slumped at the foot of the stairs. Laura was huddled against the wall, her back toward him but Fenton knew she was crying from the way her shoulders were shaking. Apparently she'd watched the whole commotion, feeling utterly helpless and powerless.

My family is falling apart, Fenton thought in horror as realization dawned on him. My God, what is happening to us?

"Frank, I'm sorry-" Joe started to say but Frank held up a hand.

"Shut up, Joe." Frank's whole body was shaking. "Just shut up." Frank's harsh exterior crumpled and he sank down on his bed, burying his face into his hands. Joe bit his lower lip, unsure whether to just stand there or comfort his brother. He decided on the latter. Sitting down tentatively next to Frank, Joe gently wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, aware of how badly Frank was trembling.

"I'm sorry, Frank," Joe whispered again. "I am so, so sorry..."

"Do you-" Frank lifted his head a little, "have any idea how much it hurts, Joe?" Frank turned to look at him, his face pale except for two splotches of red on his cheeks. "Why did you keep this from me? I'm your brother," Frank whispered shakily, swallowing hard, willing himself to calm down. But it's hard to when you just found out that your brother has HIV AND cancer. "I have the RIGHT to know, Joe."

"And I have the right to be happy," Joe said, a little angrily. A stray tear had escaped and was now rolling slowly down his cheek. Joe furiously rubbed it away with the back of his other hand.

"What?" Frank turned. Did he just hear him right? Joe was staring at him intensely, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I'm dying, Frank," Joe said softly, his face ghostly pale under his blond hair. He tightened his arms around Frank when his brother suddenly stiffened. God, give me strength, Joe prayed again for the thousandth time when Frank started hyperventilating, his breaths coming in short, small gasps. "No..."

"And I want my f-final days to be happy, Frank. But how can I be happy, when everyone's grieving for me?" Joe's voice broke, and the tears came freely now, flowing down his face in rivulets. "That's why I didn't tell you, Frank. Because I wanted to spend more time with you."

Frank turned his face away, not because he didn't want to look at Joe, but because he couldn't bear to look at the expression of desperate longing on his brother's face. It broke his heart that he could still hear it in Joe's voice. "I wanted things to be as they were, back when things were normal. You, me, our friends, our family...If I were destined to die, Frank, I want to die happy."

At Joe's last words, Frank burst into sobs. He abruptly turned around and hugged Joe tightly, burying his face against Joe's shoulder. Awkwardly at first, Joe patted his brother slowly on the back but then, he rubbed Frank's back gently, consoling his brother as his sobs intensified. "Frank, it's okay...please don't cry..."

For what felt like eternity, Joe let Frank cry. For the past 17 years Joe had come to Frank whenever he had problems, even with problems he knew he could handle, just for the sake of being with his older brother, whom he had looked up to all his life. But tonight, Joe was the one comforting his brother, and he was not complaining.

Pain R