This was ready to be posted a while back, but I kept sitting on it...and in the mean time I've accumulated a lot of silent readers, so in return, two chapters in this update!


CHAPTER SEVEN

A select number of cellular phones around the nations beeped with one message.

From: Unknown

Message: Find light.

. : - : .

Don was frustrated. The progress on the case was slow but he was also glad, ever since the last incidence of James Iverson, which may or may not be related, there had been no more reported shootings that fit their profile. He was frustrated because that meant that Helm and Williamson could be the only targets and Charlie was in possible danger by association. But they'd found no leads and no more shootings meant that the perpetrator was still out there, but it didn't feel like the prep was biding their time. The shootings could have been someone with a grudge with the military in general and moved on from the targets, as there were no unusual movements around and from both victims in the past days, or the shooter had realized that killing the soldiers would not achieve their goals in any way and stopped the shootings.

And on the side other cases piling up that and unless there was some kind of breakthrough, they were going to have to close the current case as unsolved and move on to others where they could actually make progress.

"I might have found something." Megan said suddenly from her station. They stood by as she pulled the printing documents off the printer and flipped through the pages. "I don't know if this has any relevance but dig back into their pasts far enough and they all seemed to have served in the Frynd-Sign Company."

Colby interrupted, "The band of misfits?"

They turned to him.

Colby looked around to see he had their attention, "I don't know much about them. They were before my time, but if you spend time in covert ops you heard about them: a company of eccentric soldiers who were under the command of an even more eccentric leader. But there are stories of how they pulled off some crazy maneuvers, and survived impossible odds. Apparently they had an unconventional approach in their strategies, but I don't know anymore then that."

"Unconventional?" Megan repeated.

Colby shrugged, "What the rumors say, but you couldn't always trust what they said about the Frynd-Sign."

"And why's that?" Don asked.

"Well," Colby began dryly, "half the time we weren't sure if the Frynd-Sign company even existed. And if they did we weren't sure if any of them were sane. The stunts they pulled could have made them certifiable. They were also supposed to be commanded by a woman." Colby shrugged at their stares, "It's the military. A decade ago, that high up and in covert-ops? Anyways it's like half the company was immortal; people would swear they should have died several times over as the missions they took seemed more often then not suicidal. People still don't know how they tracked their members, because they always seemed to find their lost teams. Some the stuff they did was legend. Soldiers wished to be assigned to Frynd-Sign and hoped that they never were."

Don flipped through the pages then inserted them into a folder on Megan's desk, "Well there's your proof. They exist," he spread the photos of Gregory Williamson's slung arm and Victor Helm's bullet wound on top, "and they're just as human as the rest of us. Now that we've found a connection, run it. I want to know why they might be targeted and go talk to all three of the guys again, ask them on the new angle. Also, see if you can ask your friends in the military about it Colby."

They all nodded in acknowledgement and the ex-army soldier waited until his boss was out of ear shot. "He sure knows how to bust a boy's dreams." Colby muttered.

David smiled and knocked him on the shoulder in support.

. : - : .

"We're not heroes; we're soldiers. We're not the ones to go out in a blaze of glory; we're the ones who are never remembered. Do your job right and we don't even exist." Krythan stood tall in front of the new band of troops, initiating them into the Company. "We're ghosts. We are covert-ops. If you're looking to be remembered-" Krythan paused, giving them a disparaging glance, "get out."

The assembled soldiers watched her in varying emotions but none broke formation.

Krythan gave them one last moment and continued, "We do not tolerate insubordination. We do not tolerate stupidity. I will suffer no so-called heroics. Yes – I command this Company. If you have a problem with that I give you this offer: fight me, take me down and the Company's yours–" Blue eyes were ice, "but you better make sure I stay down. Otherwise you will never walk away standing or ever get back up again."

Silence.

"First and last objective: complete the mission." She paused, "First and last objective: get out alive." She let them soak in the contradiction, "If you can't do both, you don't belong here. This isn't training camp and this isn't your home-away-from-home. You wonder why you're here?" She looked at the curious eyes staring at her, "Ask yourself: who wants you dead?" Her lips curled up, "This is Frynd-Sign boys. We take the hardest, most difficult, and improbable missions. We are given the dredges and take in the worst. You are here because no one took you, you are here because no one wanted you - you are here because someone wanted to get rid of you and threw you our way."

Krythan stood back, crossed her arms, and waited for them to contradict her. Anger, defiance, and shame coiled in the assembled eyes but they stayed quiet. "But once in a while, we also get the best." She motioned to the side and Charlie meekly stepped forward, feeling every pair of eyes on him as he made his way to stand beside Krythan. "Once in a while we get the fucking incomparable. This is Charlie Eppes, and he is your superior; strategic commander; and as far as you need to be concerned – he is your fucking god if he says he is. If he wants you to camp out in the middle of nowhere in the sweltering dead lands for three days waiting for an ambush – you do it. If he tells you to run in a straight line through live enemy fire – you do it." Charlie felt himself flushing at the incredulous stares as Krythan continued, "And if he tells you that you're coming back alive from an out numbered, underpowered, black-listed suicidal mission – you are."

She paused as the soldiers blinked.

"He's is Frynd-Sign's Tactician and he's going to show us what fucking kind of jewel-in-the-rough you are. Listen to us and maybe you'll become someone worth something."

. : - : .

Late Monday morning and Charlie lined up for coffee in a popular local café near campus. The store was small but it made really good coffee and the lines weren't so long that the prodigy mathematician minded waiting, if it looked like a long wait he would just open a notebook to scribble on, as he was doing now.

Numbers were always present, always there. Numbers were everything and everywhere, and that gave immense comfort to Charlie because numbers never went missing; only waiting to be found. They didn't fade away; they didn't disappear like how people seemed to do sometimes. Numbers never perished, like another great man had done a few days ago. Numbers weren't mortal and Charlie didn't ever have to mourn them like he had spent all of yesterday with Greg as somewhere another member of Frynd-Sign was lowered to the ground. Charlie's hand was shaking, the variables on the paper becoming misshapen, and he clenched the pen tight; turning away from that train of thought to focus totally on the equations.

An older businessman in a suit stepped in line behind the university professor and he crowded forward as the line moved and more people went to stand behind him. The pen paused as a warm hand settled a comfortable weight on the low dip of Charlie's back. The shape and contour of the appendage was familiar and the presence behind him, beloved. Charlie tried not to tremble, emotions and shakes just underneath the surface, waiting to break free. The line moved and the hand applied a steady force to carry Charlie's weight forward but never lost contact.

Vahn.

Charlie took care to breathe and not sob, face directed downward at the page, curls falling to obscure bright shimmering eyes. His jaw clenched and unclenched.

"I'll meet you in your office." Low words murmured into his ear before it was suddenly his turn to order.

The hand pushed him forward to the counter where Charlie placed his order, keeping his head down for fear of unsettling the barista, and it took every bit of control in him when he received the coffee and turned to walk away, not to twist and look at the man behind him with every hope and fear in his eyes.

Walking away without looking back was something Charlie always found hard to do.

But soon he was sitting in his office because duty wasn't new, and neither was this game. Placing his cup down he carefully arranged his papers on the desk and closing the drapes to block out the bright afternoon sun, swiping the black boards, he made himself look busy. When he sat Charlie focused intently on the documents in front of him so that he looked totally absorbed and people pausing by took one glance before deciding that they would be ignored and walked away.

Today there was no FBI agent standing outside or just inside the office door, as there had been no signs of the mysterious shooter continuing the campaign and the LA office couldn't afford to spare its men to guard for non-emergency parameters.

Walking down the hall a young university undergraduate had his shoulders hunched underneath the weight of the books in his backpack, black hair falling into his face as he darted casual glances right and left to make sure not to bump into anyone as he read his advanced mathematics book. Turning the corner into the math wing where the professor's offices were located he barely knocked on the door before stepping in and closing the door behind him, to ensure a private conversation between him and the professor.

Charlie looked up, half ready to apologize to kicking the student out and half with his heart in his throat because he knew who it most likely would be.

Charlie had always been good at probability analysis.

Walking from the doorway to the chair the student let his windbreaker and backpack slide off and gained several inches as he straightened his shoulders. A fair face became beautiful as the man look up and intelligent blue eyes shone with deep intelligence. The passable young man turned out to be a man well into his prime with striking features that made him unforgettable.

"Vahn." Charlie breathed as he got up and stepped into the older man's arms.

"I'm glad you're well." The other man whispered back.

Charlie shook and clenched his hands tight in the material of the shirt. He made a sound, but it was neither high nor low and broke out in sobs.

The tears he had been holding back yesterday and ever since the news that Gryffin Beck had fallen last Friday under an eruption of fire and a rain of bullets, broke free. Vahn rocked him gently as the emotions came pouring out. When Charlie stepped back a patch of the other man's shirt was soaked but it wasn't very noticeable in the black shirt. Charlie sniffed and rubbed his sleeved over his nose and face.

A long familiar hand settled on top of the curls and brushed them back in a nostalgic intimate gesture. "Better?"

"Yeah." Charlie said hoarsely.

Charlie had never been very good at distancing himself from the other soldiers in the Company. Whenever someone died, went missing in action, or suffered a severe injury, his emotions always burst out. When the Company was hurt Krythan would get angry, Vahn retreated further into himself, and Charlie cried.

Instead of returning around the table Charlie seated himself on the edge of the table and Vahn settled into the chair, letting long legs stretch out to either side of Charlie's feet.

"What was your last mission?" Charlie finally asked after long moments of comfortable silence.

"Someone in the Senate was selling confidential information." Vahn revealed quietly, "We traced it back to Senator Kinsey but he has lots of corporations and various figure heads backing him. I infiltrated his household through a fund raiser he hosted, but while there Krythan noticed something and before I could pull out, they traced the radio frequency back to Krythan. She disconnected the communication before they could find who was on the other end and we've been separated since."

"That was…"

"12 days ago." Vahn told him.

12 days ago. Greg was shot exactly 6 days ago on last Tuesday, but Krythan's ring arrived by post and Greg would have had to had advanced notice to plan the trip. Victor would have needed time to request leave as well. So approximately some time between 12 to 7 days ago Krythan suspected that her Company might be in danger.

"What did she notice?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know." Vahn replied, disquieted. "She didn't tell me. But it was something important."

It had to be. Krythan was never easily distracted and she always carried out the mission, to blotch one was a very rare occurrence and that was usually because of other people's mistakes.

"What was the information?"

Vahn looked at him.

Charlie stared back but the other man was unwavering. Charlie's hand gripped the edges of his table, knuckles going white. "Vahn." Charlie whispered, "Don't make me call Bob."

The older man didn't sigh but wry amusement tinged his tone. "That man loves you too much."

"Does he?" Charlie tried saying lightly.

"No." Vahn said somberly. "If he didn't we would have never left you with him."

While Krythan and Vahn were in the military, they were first CIA agents. They had only entered the army chain of command through an unusual set of circumstances. While they were in the military on loan from the CIA, sometimes they still got assignments when they were convenient or inconvenient if it fit their skills best. On those times in the field Krythan and Vahn would leave Charlie with the Company or if they were on one of Charlie's consulting projects the two agents would shuttle the prodigy into the company of the best guarded individual.

Robert Tompkins having the privilege of being both a man of high standing as the Assistant Director of the NSA, as well as requiring the services of Charlie's analytical mind, was often the chosen man of choice. Being an old acquaintance of Krythan's, the first time it occurred she had knocked on the Assistant Director's door, pushed the young boy through, politely enquired if Charlie and Bob could keep each other company, and thanked them before walking out and disappearing down the hallway with Vahn. Both men stared at the closed door in silence before smiling at each other, Charlie rather nervously.

It happened several times but it worked out well, Charlie allowed Robert to work in silence as he worked on his own equations. Robert was on hand when Charlie needed clarification on the consultation assignment and Charlie was a very logical mind for when Robert was tiring and had to discern facts from political babble. The two men enjoyed the other's company and it became a routine. Soon they became friends and were each other's allies in times when political opposition tried to corner them.

Krythan and Vahn always made sure Charlie was protected, sometimes they were overprotective, almost never allowing him to travel anywhere alone, but they also gave him every freedom. They followed him but they never told him where he couldn't go. They left him with the Company and Robert but he was free to roam the base or the buildings. He wanted to see the site of where the damage occurred and the plot of land was lined with Frynd-Sign soldiers and snipers on high but Charlie walked haphazardly through the sand, soil, and grit for hours without interruption.

He never knew how much he appreciated that and treasured it until walking away and going back into civilian life; until working with Don and they argued over and over about Charlie's skills, where he should practice them, whether it was safe, how much trust Don put into Charlie's math but not in Charlie.

It had almost been suffocating, feeling boxed in by Don's need to compartmentalize everything in his life. Being distrusted about his competence, about where Charlie should practice his skills: behind a desk and closed doors because it wasn't safe.

So make it safe! Charlie wanted to yell but never would. Because he couldn't tell Don how once upon a time Charlie had walked unafraid in a field of spilled blood, shattered encampments, and scattered rain of bullet shells while Don was still learning what the true ricochet of a gun was.

Once upon a time Charlie had been safe, safer then Don could make him.

Safer and more loved between the Company and the high friends and consultants and Krythan and Vahn.

"Vahn." Charlie beseeched.

"The Senator was selling the information on how to make a nuclear bomb." Vahn said calmly, "And where to find the materials."

"That's…that's treason?" Charlie choked out. "Who, who was he selling it to?"

"Who ever pays the highest price."

Charlie swallowed and the implications. "That's dangerous."

"He's definitely willing to protect his own interests."

And Krythan was on the run from this man. Charlie reached up and gripped the ring through his shirt. Vahn watched the hand rise and clutched below the collar. "Trust her Charlie. Trust us. We know what we're doing."

Charlie took a breath and slowly pulled the chain out, the silver ring dangling from the length.

Vahn's eyes were dark.

"She hasn't made contact?" Charlie whispered.

"Not yet." The older man replied, "I'm going to keep searching and keep ways open."

"If you get me the mission parameters and forward me the blue print of the house and surrounding areas, with the information about who and what profession they were in attendance I can do some basic calculations and-"

Vahn stood up and threading a hand through the curls, cupping the back of Charlie's head, he tilted it up and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "I want you to stay safe. You don't owe your life to Krythan."

"And you do?" Charlie rasped.

"I have something I need to prove to her." Vahn replied in that quiet tone. "I can't die until that happens."

"Vahn…"

"They're tracking the members through internal networks. Right now they've only gone after the prominent members, and we sealed all the records of the ones who left for civilian life. You're also now affiliated with many various teams and organizations. You're connection to Frynd-Sign Company is minimal; it's buried underneath everything else. It's safest this way. Don't do anything to bring yourself to their attention."

"I'm not abandoning you." Charlie refuted, eyes stinging, "I'm part of Frynd-Sign too. I'm proud to be part ofph."

Charlie was cut off as the other man leaned forward and kissed him. Charlie let his mouth widen and Vahn explored and revisited the familiar grooves and soft crevasses of the younger man. Charlie shuddered and pulled himself tight against his old lover. Vahn tucked Charlie into the unyielding lines of his body and Charlie tilted his head and let himself melt into the support.

They fit. They had almost always fit.

They separated only when the need air was too demanding to ignore. They breathed heavily and Charlie's eyes fluttered closed as Vahn brushed soft kisses over the lids.

"You are part of Frynd-Sign, never doubt that." Vahn murmured.

"Why did you make me Third?" Charlie's voice came out timid, "Why did you ever think I would do a good job?"

"Because you do. Because you are. Alpha-Bravo-Charlie, Charlie."

Charlie choked on a laugh. Krythan was Alpha unit, Vahn was Bravo. Charlie was Charlie. "That's a stupid reason." Charlie whispered.

"Well then," Vahn lips trailing over the skin of his cheek, brushing up the lines of his face, "how about because you're the third of us. You're the last one to finish our triangle. The strongest shape."

Charlie collapsed, holding on tight to the conviction and strength beneath the words.

"Does it matter why?" Vahn asked, "You're a part of us. Part of Frynd-Sign. Not of the Company. Of Frynd-Sign." We love you.

Charlie clenched his eyes to the unvoiced but blatantly clear words. "I want to make you proud." The both of you.

"Silly boy." Vahn chided, "You already have."

"Vahn." Krythan.

"I can't be here Charlie," and Charlie wasn't sure who was speaking to him anymore in those low tones but affectionate words, Vahn's lips sneaking down the lines of his neck but breath flowing over the silver ring on the shallow of his collar bone. "The Company will come for you. Lead them as you see fit. They'll protect you."

Charlie moaned, calloused fingers sweeping up under his shirt and up the sensitive skin of his back; legs falling apart to frame a strong, solid thigh. "Please." He whimpered.

He didn't know what he was begging for, and it's been so long since someone had touched him liked this. So sure, strong, familiar, knowing and proprietarily. He missed this. He missed being touched. He missed being allowed to touch as he racked up Vahn's shirt and slipped his own hands onto smooth skin.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay, my baby boy." Vahn soothed and Charlie realized he had tears gathering in his eyes, droplets sneaking out under his lashes.

His emotions were haywire and his body was strung tight. His mind was hazy with too many thoughts but all his body wanted release, rutting against the solid warmth of the other's body.

"Just let it go. Just let it all go." Vahn murmured, flicking open the button of Charlie's jeans and pulling the zipper down. "I wish we had a bed, you're always so beautiful undone."

Charlie gave a strangled noise, and moved once, twice, three times before his vision erupted into white, then black.

When he woke up he was laid out on a makeshift couch, as comfortable as the pull out and all the cushions in his office could make him, a jacket covering him; alone.

He reached up to curl his fingers around the still warm ring and breathed in the spicy scent of Vahn still lingering on the jacket.

Lead them as you see fit. They'll protect you.

"Alright." Charlie breathed. "Alright."