Washington DC, Washington, Russell Senate Office, 2019

The rooms and halls that made up the offices of Sen. Charles Marsden were a mass with people. Chaos reigned. Twenty staff members were struggling to answer all the incoming calls, while another ten staffers confronted the multitude of reporters hanging around outside. A dozen others shuffled paperwork and undertook damage control.

Charles shut the large mahogany doors of his office on them all. He needed a break from the noise and general business of it all.

This story was only a day old and already his perfectly engineered and manufactured ship was sinking.

And we've yet to hit the approaching iceberg! This ship may just be brought down by two fucking faggots… especially if the FBI don't catch them soon! Oh the irony!

His peace was short lived when Chief of Staff, Oswald Page, knocked once and entered without waiting for the okay. Approaching his 15th year as Charles' right hand man, Oswald was one of the few staff able to forgo such pleasantries.

"Which one of us is going to gun down the press, Os?" Charles joked. "You or me?"

Oswald laughed. "Better hope they haven't found a way to bug your office, Charles. I shiver to think of the fodder they'd write with thatstatement as ammunition."

Oswald was his usual calm and collected self; faultlessly dressed; tan shoes shined so bright you could see yourself in them; and strawberry-blonde hair neatly close cropped.

Ex-military, this was the perfect man for Charles to have by his side in a political crisis. Over the years in office, the senator had come to heavily relay on his closest aide.

"Just how bad is it?" Charles asked, sitting with arms crossed on the edge of his desk.

Oswald took a seat in the visitor chair and zipped open his leather binder; close to bursting with reams of paperwork.

"Bad," he replied. "And getting worse, I'm afraid. They're already asking for your resignation on the Hill."

"Shocking!" Charles scoffed, not at all surprised by this development.

Oswald pulled out a fax and read a quotation, "So unthinkable are these allegations that even if proved unfounded, to even be associated with an act so sub-human affects the way we perceive a person's characters and makes that person unfit to govern."

Charles grimaced. "Who said that?"

"Jason Cross. Who else?"

"He must be rubbing his hands in glee!" Charles spat in disgust.

"Yip. He's going to use this to his advantage all he can, of course. Doing the same thing you would, if the tables were turned."

"Always playing fair, right Os?"

Oswald smiled brightly. "One of us has to keep this office on the straight and narrow!"

"Ha… ha…" Charles wondered over to his drinks cabinet and spent a moment deciding between scotch and brandy, finally settling on the latter. "Drink?"

Oswald waved his hand. "No thank you."

As Charles popped the lid of his crystal decanter, his chief of staff buried his nose in all the information he'd spread out over Charles' desk; using that strategic brain of his to search for a solution to their current predicament.

Charles just hoped the man could plug the leak. And fast!

Oswald pulled another sheet of paper from his pile and once more began to read aloud, "I do hope the senator saves himself and his office any further embarrassment and takes the decision to step down voluntarily."

Charles shook his head. "Let me guess… That was Dempsey!"

"That's the right answer! Spin the wheel!" Oswald sang, in perfect imitation of a gameshow host.

A silence fell between them except for the sound of ice clinking in his glass, as Charles swirled the honey liquid within. Usually during their briefings, Oswald would lead the way with various issues of office. But considering the gravity of the situation, he seemed content to allow Charles to control things this time.

Finally Charles asked, "I don't suppose anybody's standing by me?"

Oswald answered with a look that said it all.

Fat chance!

In the game of politics, survival greatly depends on with whom you associated. At the moment, Charles's golden hue was tarnished meaning colleagues would soon start leaping off the conservative's campaign band wagon.

And it was just his luck too that there should be nothing else out there to keep the media entertained. The unfortunate truth was that the public believed everything the media told them. And at that moment, the press weren't exactly in any hurry to portray Charles in a good light.

"I want Marsh crushed!" Charles grouchily announced, slamming his glass down on the window sill as he stared at his hard-earned view of the Capital Dome.

"You want him to lose the appointment to become FBI director?"

"No!" Charles scowled, blowing an exasperated puff of air. "I don't give a shit about the directorship! I want Marsh's fucking head on a plate!"

Oswald narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Just what are you implying?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Os!" Charles demanded, spinning round. "What else do you expect me to do? Sit around and wait for that man to destroy me?"

"It's a mistake," Oswald told him, slowly growing irritated. "Marsh has the full support of the public and is a great favorite of the president. If anything happens to him, the press will clamor for answers! How many times do I have to ask you to stick on the right side of the law, Charles? Every time you stray to the other side of the fence, I'm the one left picking up the pieces!"

Charles slumped in his chair. "So what? I just sit and wait it out?"

"Politically, I think that would be for the best." Oswald shrugged. "With any luck, something big will hit the press and they'll focus their attentions elsewhere. Leave Marsh to win his prize. Once he's director, he'll be happy and all this... will simply run its course and fade into memory."

Charles carefully regarded his chief of staff then stood fast, slamming his palms into the desk. "To hell with what's politically correct! That son of a bitch messed with my presidential campaign, something I've treasured my whole life! It's something I've sacrificed and bled for, Os! There's no way I'm just going to sit here now and allow that excuse for a man to destroy all I've worked for!"

Oswald shook his head as a sign of defeat. He knew when Charles was in this frame of mind, there was next to nothing that could change it.

"I should have found a way to make Marsh disappear when I had the chance!" Charles continued. "I shouldn't have allowed him to gain this much power! It's time I finish him once and for all."

Oswald closed his eyes. He was well aware of just how far the senator was willing to go for a win. Just as the senator was well aware of Oswald's personal policy of "don't ask don't' tell".

"You know my stance, Charles. I cannot be involved in anything..."

"I'm not asking you to be. I have my ways as you well know. Just keep the hounds from my door as long as you can. That's all I need from you."

St Louis, Missouri, Mokabe's Coffeehouse, 2019

The coffee shop was perfect. It was tight and cozy; just a few small tables meant there weren't too many people to witness anything they shouldn't.

Chris sat right in the back, away from the windows; laptop open and fingers tapping as he searched through endless FBI files he was surprised he still had access too.

Frequently, he would anxiously look up toward the door, sighing and tapping his foot.

"Waiting for somebody special?" The overly friendly waitress topping up his coffee wore a name badge across one ample breast.

'Brenda' it read.

Chris couldn't help wondering with a slight smile, whether that was on purpose. Brenda's low cut blue top certainly was; along with the way she stooped lower than needed to execute his refill.

"Just some friends running late," he told her, trying to appear more relaxed than he felt. She had no idea how much he hoped that statement was true.

When Luke called Chris' cell from a payphone somewhere near Madison; and told him they'd decided to keep fighting, he'd almost cried.

After going into this thing so reluctantly because of the relentless fear he'd felt then and now, Chris now found himself with this overwhelming urge to see it through. He wanted justice, not just for Luke and Noah and their son, but for all his colleagues murdered that day. And then too for himself.

"Table for two?" He heard the waitress ask.

He looked up and felt the grin spread wide across his face and a lump form in his throat.

Luke and Noah looked like they hadn't seen sleep or a shower in days; two grisly vagabonds walking in off the streets. The blue scrub shirt Noah wore, not to mention the almost manic look in his eyes, meant Noah could easily be mistaken for an escaped mental patient.

But the two men mirrored Chris' grin and shared a stubborn and determined set to their jaw that told Chris the three of them were in this for the long haul; come what may.

Anything had to be better than the 'sort of' life they'd all been forced to live.

They shared manly hugs with solid pats on the back.

"It's so good to see you guys! Seriously!" Chris stressed. "I thought for sure you'd be done for!"

"We almost were," Luke replied. "I'm sorry it took so long to get here but we had to hitch rides. All our cash… everything… it was in the car…"

"I understand." Chris smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry about that now. I'm just… I'm so sorry about Leo…"

"Thanks for doing this, Chris." Noah sheepishly said; nodding his acknowledgement. It was obvious the subject of their son was just too painful for them to face that moment. "I'm sorry I was so hard on you back there but…"

Chris shook his head, trying to toughen up and hide the extent of his emotion. "You were right. I really wish I'd done something sooner… but… I guess I just needed somebody to give me that push…"

"Can I get you gentleman anything." The waitress smiled; unable to hide her surprise at the condition of the two men who'd joined Chris.

"Oh…" Luke licked his lips and looked longingly toward the kitchen.

It suddenly dawned on Chris that the two men were starving.

"Have whatever you want," he said. "It's on me."

Noah looked like he wanted to decline. But he had only to see the pleading look in Luke's eyes to relent. "Thanks."

They ordered two large breakfasts and grabbed an apple each to munch on while they waited.

Chris noted how close they stood together. Even when they eventually sat at the table, Noah shifted his chair so his thigh was in contact with Luke's. Often, they would look over at each other. They always seemed by some sort of silent and exclusive communion to be reaffirming and strengthening their bond.

Finally, they got down to business.

"I have some good news," Chris told them.

They both leaned expectantly forward at that; obviously desperate for anything good at all.

His heart bled for them; two men who'd been thrust into hiding as boys and forced to leave their son behind to chase what was effectively just the slim chance of hope. It must have taken a whole lot of guts to make the decision, Chris realized.

"Turns out we don't need to go all the way to Branson after all," Chris told them.

Both men sighed and Luke squeezed Noah's thigh.

"We don't?" Noah hopefully asked; looking too exhausted to make it to the door let alone miles across state.

Chris turned his computer screen so they could see the FBI strip logo showing across the top of the screen; and watched one set of blue and one set of brown eyes widen in surprise.

"Turns out my access codes still work on some of the files I shared with your father," Chris explained.

"What did you find?" Luke gasped, before taking two large bites out of his apple.

"I found plenty on the types of biological studies we were doing at the time; testing the affects of certain agents on the human body. Nasty stuff! Our job was to develop antibodies…"

"Antibodies?" Luke asked, eyes greedily following the plate of eggs and bacon Brenda placed before him.

"Yes. In case such weaponry was ever used on our soldiers or as part of a terrorist attack on US soil," Chris replied once they were alone again. "The government wants to be prepared to administer quick medical attention and know what they're up against. It's advance preparation."

Luke dug into his food like he'd never seen such a wonderful thing. But Chris still had his full attention. He drank in the information while he chewed.

"I see," Noah mused. "But why would Charles Marsden be so heavily involved? He was retired from the Army then."

"He was defense secretary at the time," Chris explained. "The FBI, the Army, DEA… Marsden knew how to work the halls of Congress to ensure guaranteed funding for certain projects."

He watched Luke and Noah with sympathy. They wanted information, but the strong impulse to eat seemed to be warring with their desire to listen to Chris.

"Eat, you guys," Chris told them. "Then we'll check into a hotel with good WiFi and you can both get some sleep."

Noah opened his mouth to speak, but Chris cut him off. "Not up for discussion! You guys are useless in your current state. Plus you stink… if you don't mind me saying so."

They both grinned and shrugged.

"It will do you both a world of good. And I'm going to need more time to go through everything, anyway."