---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After getting a good night's rest, Oswald walked from the garage into the kitchen, shivering slightly in the early morning air. He was surprised to find Don, Alan, Charlie, and Frank already downstairs, crammed around the table. Charlie was talking math to Don while Frank was nearly finished setting the table. "'Morning, Alan," greeted Oswald.
"Good morning, Oswald," Alan smiled. "How are you doing, today?"
"Good," Oswald replied. He looked pointedly at Don. "I told you that Don would come home last night."
"Yeah, if you count 2:00 a.m. as last night," Charlie yawned, taking a huge bite out of the breakfast muffin.
"Charlie, save that for breakfast," Don said, snatching it out of his hand and finishing it off.
"You're no better," his brother retorted. As soon as the eggs were ready, Alan got out some of hot tea and gave everyone but Frank a cup. Frank, who was now docilely and silently in his place at the table, had orange juice. "How is the case coming?"
"It's exhausting," Don said. "It's also weird. I mean, how are they hiding the drugs so well, and why are the drugs killing people? Not that street drugs are ever good for people, but you'd think they would want repeat buyers, or something." He spread the jam on his bread.
Larry walked down the stairs in his jeans and a white shirt. "Good morning, Alan. Sorry I'm late."
"It's okay, Larry. Don instructed me not to wake you," Alan said, hastily getting Larry a plate. Everyone crowded even closer to make room for one more.
Frank watched everyone around him, mildly picking at his food. He hated mealtimes at his house. They were either loud or violent, at least as of lately. Suddenly, the telephone rang.
"I'm expecting a phone call from Fenton. Why don't you get it, Frank?" Alan asked kindly.
Frank shrunk down in his seat and shook his head. Don, who was closest, heaved himself out of his chair, walked over to the wall phone and plucked the receiver off the hook. He was as unwilling as Charlie and Frank to talk to Fenton, so he just pulled the cord until he could reach his father and shoved the phone at him. Alan frowned at his son's rudeness and spoke hastily into the mouthpiece. "Hello?"
Oswald looked at Frank, wondering if he was having some of the same problems at home as he himself had. "What's the plan for today, Don?" He spoke lowly so he wouldn't disturb Alan, but the older man was rising from the table anyway, wandering as far as the telephone cord would stretch toward the dining room.
"Well," Don said with a sigh, "Pick up where we left off yesterday, I guess. There isn't much else we can do."
"Are you still going with the theory that it's the same organization?" Charlie asked. "Because that talent – well, what talent they are getting – they are getting it from multiple places."
Don groaned. "Multiple places?"
Charlie looked at Oswald and shrugged. "We're still working on it."
"Fine," said Alan, walking back toward the base of the telephone and replacing the receiver. He was still perturbed at Don, but he smiled at Frank anyway. "Joe says hi," he conveyed, and Frank's face lit up. He even smiled at Alan before getting up and leaving the table.
"Well," Alan said to no-one in particular as Frank left for his room to get ready, "I guess we can consider that progress."
------------------------------------------------------
Later that day Don once again had everyone back to work. Frank was definitely impressed; everybody listened to Don and didn't question his orders once. He knew this was the FBI, but still.
Once again he stayed out of the way in the breakroom, although he was unable to concentrate on the computer, or on the book Alan had insisted he take along. Just before lunch, Oswald tracked him down. He looked tired, and he opened the refrigerator to take out of bottle of water.
Uncapping it, he drank deeply before he spoke. "Hey, Frank," he finally said, "in about thirty minutes we are going to go out and pick up some pizza again. What kind do you want?"
Frank looked at him, wanting so badly to talk to him, but not quite sure he could. Oswald shrugged. "Cheese? Meat lovers?" He listed about a dozen, but received no answer from Frank. "Okay, then," Oswald said, giving up, "we draw at random." He left the room then to go find Charlie, and ran into the Brothers Eppes in the hallway. Like a puppy, he turned and followed them right back where he had just been.
Don and Charlie were arguing over something, and they both had that tone in their voices that warned most people to seek shelter. Oswald blundered right in. "Guys!" , he started, "Calm down! We're all on the same side here, right?" He succeeded in momentarily silencing the brothers, but neither one of them looked happy about it. "Look," he went on, almost pleading now, "we don't even know this for a fact, yet, okay? All we know is we think they are kidnapping people – teenagers – to make the drugs." He hated to watch these guys fight. Sometimes, it was as if neither one of them had any idea how lucky he was to have a brother.
"You've got to get me more," Don growled, mostly at Charlie. "Where is the main hunting ground? A high school? A YMCA? City basketball league?"
Charlie shoved his way through the breakroom door first and rubbed his pounding forehead. "Don't you think I would tell you that, if I knew? Are you accusing me of holding out of you for some reason?"
Oswald literally popped in-between them and looked helplessly at Don. "We're not sure," he admitted. "But we've narrowed it down to the Bronx. You know – in New York?"
Don sighed. "Last time I checked, L.A. didn't have one, Oswald. Both of you, keep working on it!" Don had barked, and he saw Oswald's face fall. He immediately felt guilty on two accounts. He felt terrible for making the kid feel bad; he knew everyone was working as hard as they could. It also nagged at him briefly that he hadn't hesitated to take his frustration out on Charlie.
He could see his little brother now, leaning against the wall behind Oswald, still rubbing his head. Don never intended for Charlie to make himself sick with a migraine, or something, dammit... Per his usual modus operandi, Don found himself unable to confront the problem head-on. He looked instead at his watch.
"One o'clock already? This place is going to be littered with starving consultants, soon. Oswald, sorry if I push too hard – maybe a break will help. Why don't you and Frank go after pizza again?" Charlie was scowling at Don now, and he knew he should apologize to his brother as well. Hell, maybe they should all get a little fresh air.
"No problem, Don," Oswald assured him, and he tossed a smile at Frank. "Come on, dude – maybe you can point to something on the menu!" Frank had been watching the brothers with apprehension and growing fear himself, and was more than happy to follow Oswald out the door. He felt safer around him than he did around anyone else right now. As they rode the elevator to the lobby, Oswald suddenly elbowed him. Frank looked up startled, and Oswald grinned. "Side bet. Pick one. Who do you think is going to say he's sorry first?"
------------------------------------------------------
At the pizza parlor, Oswald teased Frank again about pointing to the
menu. He wasn't really surprised when Frank remained silent. Oswald
sighed and planted Frank at a table near the take-out counter, then
approached a waiting cashier gripping a tattered menu and Don's credit
card. "One of those," he began, pointing, "and two of those…gimme one
of these, too, and maybe that one…"
Frank listened and almost smiled. Maybe Oswald was too hungry to be in charge of the food. His own stomach grumbled a little, and instead of smiling, he stared at Oswald's back and frowned sadly. Oswald seemed like such a nice guy. Frank wanted to trust him badly, but what if Oswald was a hidden member of the gang? The gang had plenty of hidden members who could get to anyone, anywhere – like Fenton. But then again, Fenton was pretty much a top-secret guy.
His mind had wandered so far afield that he jerked, startled, when Oswald sat down at the table opposite him. Oswald noticed the frown and the subsequent fear, and looked at Frank with a quiet empathy. "Why won't you talk, man? You're surrounded right now by people who want to help you – good, solid people, like the Eppes – you don't have to be afraid, anymore." Oswald could tell Frank had reached the point where not talking was harder than talking; but, maybe he just didn't know anymore how to break his silence.
Oswald made one last observation. "I know it's hard to know who to trust, dude. And these Eppes people? Almost too good to be true – especially Alan. But you've got to trust someone, sometime, don't you? Doesn't this hurt you more than it protects you?"
To Oswald's horror, he saw a tear glisten in Frank's eye. He backed off immediately. "Hey. What do I know? Just ask Don, today, and he'll tell you – not much of anything!"
The two sat in silence until it was time to collect the pizzas. Oswald grew more and more uncomfortable, telling himself he was an idiot to try and force the kid into anything. On the way back to the Bureau, Oswald was distracted enough to drive like a maniac. About halfway back, they passed a patrol car on the side of the road. Oswald's mind registered the fact that the driver pulled over should have been him. He took a deep breath, lightened his foot on the gas pedal, and thanked his guardian angel. No doubt Don would not validate a speeding ticket.
Driving slower seemed to help him think more clearly, and soon he found himself trying again to reach his silent young companion. "So, Frank," he began, "I was wondering. Charlie said he probably won't need me tomorrow, and if he doesn't, do you want to go to the movies with me? There's this one I want to see, it's called 'Cheaper By The Dozen 2'. I know it's a lame comedy and all that, but I like that kind of stuff. So if Alan says it's okay, you wanna go?"
Frank shrugged, so Oswald took that as a "yes" and felt a little happier as he parked and the two took their precious cargo up to the bullpen. His mood plummeted again when they found Don and Charlie back at it – or still at it?—in the break room.
Charlie was standing near the refrigerator, shouting at Don, who sat at the table and drummed his fingers on the top. "I told you, Johnson's not involved! There's somebody else , and I don't understand why you're fixated on Johnson! Where's the supporting data? I mean come on, DON! Have you not been listening to a thing I've said?! There's a single mastermind behind all this, and they're looping all the organizations together! Statistical probabilities indicate that the same individual is responsible for recruiting and maintaining the teenage cooking crew!"
Don shouted right back. "There can't be just one mastermind, Charlie – this isn't 'Spiderman', or something! Look at your numbers, man, you're all about numbers! We have over 50,000 people linked to this operation. There is no way in hell one person is controlling all that! Why don't you just stick to your assigned research and let professionals solve the actual case?"
Charlie stiffened and glared at Don. "These aren't just my numbers. Oswald and Larry have reached the same conclusion, independently! And I'll be happy to leave whenever you want me to!"
Standing in the hall holding six pizzas between them, Oswald looked at Frank. So much for either one of those guys saying he was sorry to the other one. Frank was pale and his eyes were wide. It looked like he hated arguments as much as Oswald did. Os was happy to help Charlie, and by extension, Don and the FBI, whenever he could – but it didn't sound like anybody was very happy, right now.
He swallowed and hoped he could talk Alan into letting Frank go with him the next day.
Maybe he could do a better job at helping him.