When the school year started, signs had started to appear. Flyers asking about interest in a new fraternity on campus. They didn't say much, really. The name, a website for more information, and that it was meant to be a society specifically for gay men. They lasted for a few weeks, but the term got rolling and they vanished. Little was heard beyond that. It's the way things went. Guys thinking they can get something started, they get in over their head, and it fades away. Barely anyone even knew who was running the thing it seemed.

Another term rolled around. There was chatter in certain circles about the new guys. A dozen or so of them were petitioning to become official. Most thought it wouldn't happen. They were certain of it. Who the hell wants a gay frat house? That's not at all the sort of "brotherhood" they were after, right? Some nervous laughter, followed by crass jokes about what their initiations would be like. But still, not much seemed to happen.

Winter rolled on, putting a dampener on most obvious activities. There were a few announcements with the letters the new guys were using, small things. Holiday parties, clothing drives, things like that. More jokes. What sort of lame parties would a bunch of gay guys throw? There were what, five of them?

Then spring spread across the campus. Everyone itching to get out. There were rumblings from the new house. Yes, House. Not only had they received official status, but the school gave them a house. Within walking distance of Teddy's domain, in fact. With weather improving, they were organizing a party. Not just any party, a block party. To anyone who didn't know what they were about, it sounded like the standard sort of affair.

Billy, their newly minted president and one of the men who was part of the very initial few, wanted to extend an olive branch to their near neighbors. To prove there should be no hard feelings between new and old houses. He'd already invited every other frat formally, but this one had been a little intimidating. And that was saying something from a guy who spent his life in Scotland, where brash and rude lived in that part of the world. Dressed in an old tshirt advertising a fictional beer, and a pair of ratty jeans torn at the knee, he knocked firmly on the door of Delta Psi Beta. He stood back, gripping a handful of flyers. It wouldn't be as bad as he'd heard. Would it?

It wasn't often that Billy let those he'd trap walk free. He'd play with them until they were all used up, then dispose of them. Or they were unable to pass his little tests. More than a few just swallowed a handful of pills rather than face what he'd do to them. But Mike was different. Special. So Billy got curious. After he'd played with him for long enough, he still wasn't used up. And he hadn't stuffed the pills into his mouth. So now came the rarest test of all.

He'd made plenty of promises of keeping Mike well stocked in his vices, and for so much cheaper than Kelly ever could do for him. But sitting in his usual perch in that dive bar, he wasn't shocked, but mildly surprised when just a few days later Mike walked in. He'd expected at least a month to pass before he'd see the boy again. A token effort of resistance.

Billy could have done the deal then and there, but he couldn't resist toying with the man. So he followed the same processes as before. Getting him out to the truck. Driving far, far from the bar. Only this time when they stopped it wasn't the side of the road or an old warehouse. It was a house that had seen better days. The place Billy currently called home.

He led Mike inside without a word. Tossed his coat over an old arm chair. Went into the kitchen to grab a drink. All without a word. Just waiting to see what Mike was really after. He couldn't have gone through his stash already, could he?

Billy was still worried about Tim. He'd been worried since leaving the last time. He had hope, but he still worried. He'd extended his stay as long as possible, until he was sure Tim could stand on his own. He'd intended to come back much sooner, but between and extra long mission and pressure from Higgins, it was harder to get more time. He kept in touch with Tim when he was state side, almost every day. Doing everything he could to be there for the deputy without physically being there.

His flight had been delayed for weather, so when he finally landed, he texted Tim the hotel information. It would be a bit before he could even get off the plane, get his rental car, and get to the hotel. Cold weather and holiday travel was slowing everything down. By the time he did finally reach the hotel, he felt like he'd been dragged behind the car rather than having driven it. He looked forward to just wrapping his arms around Tim and sinking into that big soft bed.

When he arrived at the hotel, the desk clerk made a comment that didn't sit right with him. "I thought there were only going to be two of you." Off handed and of no consequence to the clerk. Billy tried to tell himself that Tim probably had someone like Raylan with him when he checked in, but his instincts didn't sit well with that. Trying to push it from his mind, he headed up to the room. Tim had been fine the last time they'd talked. He would be fine now.

Still, it was with some caution that he unlocked the door. He just wished the mechanism wasn't so loud. He pushed the door open, peering inside, hoping he'd find Tim and someone else from the Marshal's office just chatting or watching TV.

Billy stepped out of his building hands shoved deep into his pockets. Even without anyone really knowing his face, he still wore sunglasses and kept his head down. If it weren't the middle of a hot summer day, he would have added a hat and a high-collared jacket as was demanded of him.

He wasn't happy. Far from it. They were in the heart of New York City. Just like he'd always dreamed. He was selling records like crazy. He had droves of fans. Always top of the charts. More than most people could ever achieve at the young age of 22. But it all seemed like it was happening to someone else. Because he only ever saw the studio or his home. Even after moving to New York a few months ago, he still didn't actually see anyone who liked his music. Because he was forbidden from performing. From even having his photo on his albums. Not even his real name appeared anywhere. He was billed as "CHAOS" and nothing more.

He wasn't supposed to even be outside. His manager forbid it unless he was present as well. But he was off dealing with some business for the day and Billy couldn't stand staying cooped up another moment. He bought a copy of Rolling Stone off the news vendor and ducked into a coffee shop. He found a dim corner away from everyone else as he sipped at his drink. He shoved his sunglasses on top of his head as he flipped opened the magazine. He was after a specific article, listed on the cover.

"True CHAOS" the headline yelled in bold, red letters. The subheading added "Fans and journalists alike demand 'Who is He?!'" The article went on to detail the mystery surrounding his own career. Statements from fans. Attempts to stalk the studio. Pleas for information. An analysis of his music trying to guess at what his accent when when he wasn't singing.

Billy scrubbed at the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand.

"Let's give him a chance," Billy had insisted to his team in getting their new assignment. Their operation was getting messier and messier with each step, and was circling back to the states. A consultant the director had called this guy, involved with the feds. The rest of ODS were suspicious. They looked at the guy's history and all felt h'd be a liability. Billy saw something different. He saw an asset. Someone wickedly smart if he'd pulled off everything before he was 21. It was more than most career criminals could manage in their entire lives.

So it was Billy who was forcibly volunteered to be the face of the meet of this supposed consult. Dorset wasn't ready to trust the guy. For all he knew this was another step in the pattern. But Billy wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, anyone who could pull off successfully impersonating a doctor, a lawyer, and a pilot in actual practice was worth checking out.

They'd picked a diner with large windows and clear lines of sight so the others could be on standby. Billy sat in a booth in his usual dark grey suit reading over a paper and stirring his coffee. A fedora, perched atop his head, was pulled just low enough that he could watch beyond his table without being obvious. In his ear he could hear the whispered doubts and worries of his team mates, hastily interrupted by Casey's curt voice announcing that Frank had been spotted approaching the diner. And promptly reminding Billy how terrible an idea this was. Billy just smiled softly and sipped his coffee.