A/N: Kudos to Fraidy Cat for beta'ing (I think that's how it's spelled.) This story would not be possible without her. She's helping me stay on track, and helping me keep it as realistic as it gets. A million kudos to her. Anyway. Thank you for all the reviews! This chapter's a little short… Sorry.

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Frank was sitting in the breakroom playing on one of Charlie's old computers when a medium-height, dark-haired man stepped into the room.

"Hey, whatcha doin' with Charlie's laptop, dude? You his student, or something?", he demanded. "Or did you freakin' steal it? I don't like thieves! Dr. Eppes' saves important stuff on those things!" Frank's face turned white as his face paled. He shrank behind the trashcan, staring at the wall. He refused to look at Oswald or anyone else who entered the room.

Thankfully, Charlie picked that minute to walk into the door. "Hey,
Oswald," he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Glad you could make it."

"Yeah, no problem." Oswald scratched his head. "Don't you hate coffee?"

Charlie smiled. "Don't like it very much. Working with the FBI, I've learned to tolerate it -- but why do you think the creamer's always gone from the teacher's lounge?" Charlie sighed and took a sip of the too-hot coffee. Startled, he set it down. "Anyway, I need your help."

"What's the matter?"

"Well, you remember the first time you were here? Somebody's involved in a whole bunch of stuff, and I think your prowess as a statistician can help on this one."

"Really? Cool. I'm going to need more detail on that, but before you launch into your explanations, who is he?" Oswald jerked his thumb towards Frank, who was still huddled in a ball behind the trashcan.

"Frank," Charlie replied, not letting his face show the hatred he felt towards Frank's father. "My dad's volunteering to foster him for awhile."

Oswald perceived his reticence, however, and decided it best to drop the subject. "Right. So about the case?"

"You remember your baseball algorithm, which picked up players who used steroids, right?"

"Of course," Oswald said. "I don't forget things that easy." He puffed up slightly. "Especially when I write them!"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued, "this situation is sort-of like that. A group of criminals is selling drugs, but they are very well hidden. For example, they're selling meth, crack, and I think even steroids. I know they are selling more. Anyway, these drugs have all been linked to the same origin, and are the cause of twenty-seven deaths, so far. Don mainly wants the drugs, but of course, if we can shut down their entire operation…. Each specific kind of drug is hidden in another part of their organization. For instance, the meth might be hidden in the forced labor part."

"Damn," Oswald muttered, looking at Charlie's paper. "I guess I could do something with that."

"Oh, geez," Charlie muttered, looking at his watch. "It's six o'clock –
I promised Don I would run out and get some pizza about twenty minutes ago. Would you do that for me before you get started? And take Frank with you? I think he's getting on Don's nerves..." -- he glanced at the still-cowering boy -- "and it looks like Frank's not too comfortable here, either. Frank, this is a friend of mine. Oswald. You'll be safe with him."

Oswald's brow furrowed. Seemed like a strange way to introduce a person, to him. "I guess," he finally shrugged. He took another look at Frank, and sighed. "Come on, Frank. Let's go."

Without a word, Frank extricated himself from behind the trashcan and followed Oswald. He remained silent all the way to the vehicle. Oswald kept glancing at him and frowning, trying to remember where he had seen the kid before. A photo in the Eppes house, maybe? The two took their seats and buckled up. As Oswald started the car, his mind suddenly flashed on an L.A. Times article he had seen. Frank and another boy had flanked PI Hardy. Oswald snapped his fingers and looked at Frank excitedly. "That's it! You're Hardy's kid, aren't you?"

At the mention of the name Hardy, Frank shrunk down in his seat as far as his seat belt would allow, refusing to look at Oswald.

Oswald could tell he'd upset the teenager, and he felt badly about it. "Easy man, I ain't going to hurt you -- I don't have anything against your dad."

Frank finally looked at Oswald, trying to judge what he thought he saw, but he decided he couldn't take another chance and slumped back down in his seat instead.

Oswald tried again. "I don't bite," he said, in an attempt to make the kid laugh. It didn't work, though, and Oswald finally put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. The two made the trip to the pizza parlor in an uncomfortable silence. Oswald carefully pulled into a parking slot, cut the engine, and tried once more. "So, what do you think -- pepperoni, mushroom and sausage, cheese, and onion? Each 'large', of course. I mean, dude, that sounds like enough to feed an army! I think Charlie could eat a whole cheese pizza by himself, because he's probably forgotten to eat the last two days. Megan doesn't really like cheese. Or anchovies." Oswald knew he was rambling, and stopped talking. Frank still didn't speak, so Oswald led the way out of the car and into the restaurant.

Oswald was nothing if not persistent. While they were waiting for their order, he looked sideways at Frank. "So,", he said. "How do you know Charlie? You seem a little young to be one of his students." Confronted with a direct question, Frank began to let his eyes search frantically around the room, as if he needed to find a way to escape. Oswald's kind eyes darkened in sympathy, and he had a sudden flash of insight. He leaned back a little in the chair. "Are you in trouble?"

When he received no answer from the teenager, Oswald sighed. "Man, I know all about 'trouble.' I was always in trouble. Mostly at school -- 'til I dropped out. My old man died a while ago, but he used to beat me every day when he was drunk. Or worse. Then, I finally got away from that and nearly got myself killed with fantasy baseball, of all things. That's when I met Charlie. He's a good dude. All the Eppes are cool."

Still nothing. Oswald shuddered. If Frank's story was worse than his, he wasn't sure he really wanted to hear it anyway. Soon their order was ready. Even though Frank wouldn't speak, he readily put out his hands, and he helped carry the pizzas out to the car. He was thinking about what Oswald had said, and was on the verge of breaking. He felt like a fool for even considering trusting someone again, but this silence took an unbelievable amount of energy. He was exhausted.

When they finally re-entered the FBI building, balancing the boxes between them, Frank took a brief look around the lobby. Then he made his first important decision since he had been sent to stay with Alan Eppes.

He fled for the elevator to the bullpen.