Chapter three – Silence Is The Only Power He Had Left

A/N: ONCE AGAIN A MILLION KUDOS FOR FRAIDYCAT FOR BETAING. THIS STORY IS FLOWING SO MUCH MORE SMOTHLY WITH HER WORK! THANKS FOR REVIEWING. PLEASE CONTINUE TO REVIEW. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAY, "UPDATES ROK?"

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Oswald was taken by surprise at Frank's sudden sprint, but he gamely juggled pizzas and attempted to keep up. "Easy, Killer," he gasped, catching up at last. "What's the matter?"

Frank's face was deathly pale again, and he was staring at a man who was staring back through the open door of the elevator. Oswald was pretty sure from the suit, the guy was a lawyer. Or maybe one of those Italian crime bosses...Dom Perignon, or something. The elevator door started to close, and the man reached out to stop it, taking a menacing step toward Frank and opening his mouth to say something. Oswald immediately pushed in front of Frank and glared. "Back off, dude," he commanded. "We'll wait for the next one."

The other people on the elevator were getting impatient, so the sharp-dressed man tried to look over Oswald's shoulder to throw Frank one last look, and let go of the door. The two young men watched the floor indications above the door light up for a moment before Oswald sighed and led the way to the other elevator in the lobby. He pushed the "up" button with his elbow and regarded Frank. "Dude. What was that all about?" He waited a few seconds, and then looked solemnly down at the top pizza box. "Like I expect him to answer, by now." The pizza box had nothing to say either, and eventually Oswald, Frank and pizzas made the trip up to the bullpen, listening to the sounds of silence.

When the elevator spit them off at their destination, the tiny parade made its way to the breakroom. By the time the boxes were on the table, the room was swarming with Agents lined up at the coffee pot and the soda machine. Oswald noticed that Larry had shown up while they were gone as well, and he smiled and greeted the professor.

Frank timed his stealthy grab for a slice of pepperoni pizza when he was sure no-one was looking. He was relieved when he carried it to a quiet corner to eat -- until he looked at it. Suddenly, he remembered the last time he had eaten at home.

Flashback

Frank looked at Joe, who seemed uneasy about something. Fenton and Gertrude were going on about something. Frank wasn't sure about what. Laura ate her meal in silence. Frank's attention was diverted from Joe by an especially loud protest from his aunt.

"Are you sure?" Gertrude snapped loudly. "Sending him to Jeff's has helped so much, you know." She glanced at him, clearly embarrassed. "Well, it was helping, until... I just think he needs to be with us for a while. Sending him away again could ruin everything."

"Of course I'm sure," Fenton shot back. "I'd trust this man with my life." He looked exhausted, but Frank didn't care one bit. "Alan might as well have a PhD in child rearing! You think Charlie was easy?"

Joe spoke up before their aunt could reply. "Dad, he's sitting right there, and you're talking about him as if he's a mule, not a person!"

"Joseph, this is none of your concern!" Fenton raised his voice angrily to his youngest son. Joe flinched, and Frank winced when he noticed a bruise on Joe's neck that he hadn't had yesterday.

Still, his little brother held his own against Fenton. "Yes, it is," he said hotly. "If Frank goes away again, I'm going with him this time!"

"What we do with Frank is not your concern," Fenton's voice became a menacing growl. "Now shut up and eat your damn mashed potatoes before I send you to your room, and take you there myself!"

End Flashback

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Frank stared at his one pathetic piece of pizza and tears pressed the back of his eyes as he wondered and worried about Joe. He looked toward the table and was surprised to see that most of the boxes were empty already. How long had he been gone?

He jerked a little, startled, when Don suddenly turned from the trashcan Frank had hidden behind earlier, where he had just thrown away a paper plate. Wiping his hands on a napkin, Don addressed the room at large, asserting his leadership. "Okay, everyone. Let's get back to work. Oswald, I want you and Charlie to try to decipher the computer files. See if you can figure out where all this 'talent' is coming from. Megan, I want to know where the hell they're getting massive amounts of that gardening shit. David, I need you to find anyone Jackson's been in contact with – I don't care if it's his barber, bring in anybody. Everybody. Colby, get me Jameson's credit record, pronto."

Frank watched the flurry of activity around him and he was both impressed and concerned. Everyone seemed to know how to do what Don wanted, and they were all heading somewhere...but Frank knew something none of them did. The well-dressed man in the elevator was a top player in the organization, and he was right here in the building. Frank had been surprised when Oswald had managed to make the guy back off – he had expected to be killed in the lobby. He knew these people would kill to keep their secret. He had seen them kill before.

Flashback

"I can't believe you'd rat on us, Jason. I can't believe you told that swipe of a cop what was going on. You should know better than that by now -- you couldn't have believed either one of us was going to survive this! I'm probably going to wind up as dead as you will! You brought down this arm of the organization!" Benny shouted, pointing the gun nervously at Jason's head. His own words rang true in his ears, and the gun was shaking. He swallowed, hard. "You aren't my brother anymore," he screamed, and almost before he realized it, his finger convulsed, squeezing the trigger.

Blood spattered back on Benny, and he dropped the weapon, staring in horror at the gaping hole in his brother's shoulder. "God, what have I done?" he gasped. He watched his brother crumble to the ground, backing away, almost tripping over their prisoner. Suddenly remembering him, he reached down and jerked Frank to his feet, not noticing the tears streaming down Frank's face, or his terror.

"Come on," Benny urged frantically, dragging Frank toward the door.

Frank protested, wanting to help Jason, but the man was having none of it.

End flashback

Most of the people were out of the breakroom by the time Frank came back to himself this time. He shuddered and moved toward the table. With shaking hands, he dropped the untouched slice of pizza back into the box and knew, no matter how much he wanted to tell them what he knew, he could not. They would simply have to figure this one out without his help. The last Agent left the room, smiling back at him. Frank ducked his head and set about methodically cleaning up the small breakroom, which was apparently the victim of a hurricane Frank had somehow missed. When he was finished, he retrieved the borrowed laptop and sat at the table. He navigated back to the baseball game. Knowing now that Oswald had somehow been involved in its design game piqued his interest, but still, he found that he could not focus on it. He looked at the runner on third, and had one thought: They were going to find out about Fenton.

They had to. He wanted them to.

Somebody, somewhere, had to know that Fenton wasn't the saint he pretended to be, and that he was a part of a major crime organization.

Right?

Yeah.

Right.

Frank knew as well as anyone that Fenton was good at hiding his tracks. He tried again to focus on the game, but his attention was definitely elsewhere. About an hour later, at eight thirty, Oswald returned to the room. "Come on, Frank," he smiled. "I'm taking you home, under orders of Charlie. We're both to go home and get some rest."

Frank blinked up at him, slowly closed the laptop and rose from the table, clutching it to his chest as if it could protect him. Again he shadowed Oswald to his car. The young man was obviously a friend of the Eppes' and had been kind to him all day. Frank's mind told him Oswald was someone he could safely talk to...but he reminded himself that the risk was too great. He couldn't -- wouldn't -- allow Joe to be hurt.

Oswald seemed too tired to work at dragging Frank out of his shell anymore that day, and the two drove to Pasadena in relative silence -- not counting Nelly blasting out of the stereo. By the time they got to Alan's house, it was after nine o'clock. Frank didn't make any move to just walk in, so Oswald knocked on the front door. Soon Alan's smiling and relieved face was a few inches from his own. Oswald couldn't help smiling back. "Hey, Mr. Eppes!" he said.

Alan reached out and physically pulled him inside. "Once again, Oswald, my name is 'Alan'! I see you've returned Frank. Someone else checked him out, I believe."

Oswald laughed. "Yeah, Charlie is still down at the FBI offices, but he noticed how tired I was getting, so he sent me home and asked me to drop off Frank, on the way. Me and Frank have been hangin' some, today. It was fun. Charlie's cool and all, but he's a little old sometimes, you know?"

Alan shut the door behind them, laughing to himself. Oswald had no idea what 'old' was. "I'm sure," he deadpanned.

Oswald didn't even notice. "So anyway, I'm going back in tomorrow morning, and I was wondering if I could pick up Frank and take him with me?" He looked uncertainly at his silent companion. "If he wants, I mean. I guess it's kind-of boring, if you've got nothing to do once you get there."

Alan looked carefully at Frank, who showed no preference to either going or staying. "Did you enjoy yourself today, son?"

Frank's head shot up at the last word and daggers shot from his eyes, nearly knocking Alan backwards. With an obvious effort, he maintained his silence, glanced once at Oswald, and headed for the guest room at the back of the first floor.

Alan sighed. "Well. Almost got a rise out of him, didn't I?" Oswald shrugged, uncomfortable. Alan smiled at him again, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Os, I think spending time with you tomorrow will be good for him. But I don't want you driving all the way back to L.A., tonight. You look exhausted. There's another guest room upstairs -- Don's old room. Please stay."

Oswald was still staring after Frank, and he barely responded to the offer. "Garage is good," he said. "Don might come home with Charlie and need his room." He went on before Alan could work on him. "So what is it with this guy? What happened? He's doesn't talk to anyone, even Charlie. He's scared, man."

Alan sighed. "A gang attacked him about three weeks ago. Since then, he hasn't been talking. I'm assuming you know he's Fenton's son. Fenton Hardy, that is. Fenton and I have been friends since awhile back. I met him close to when Frank was born, I think. Yes. It was Frank, not Joe. That day, Don had broken his arm, so he was in the hospital having a cast applied. Frank was there with a small burn, and his father and I met at the cafeteria." He smiled sadly, remembering. "Both of our wives were out of town and we found ourselves bonding, two terrified and guilty fathers." He shook himself out of the past. "Anyway. A motorcycle gang Fenton was investigating on a case -- he's a private investigator, you know -- these men kidnapped Frank, and he's been having some trouble. So I volunteered to look after him."

"I see," Oswald said. He let the information digest. The thought of digestion made him think of food. The pizzas had been hours ago, and he was a growing boy. "Uh...Alan?"

Alan's smile brightened; thrilled that Oswald had finally used his name. "Yes?"

"Could I maybe take a bag of chips or something out to the garage with me?"

Alan started immediately for the kitchen. "Oh, no, young man. I'm sure we can do better than that."