TITLE: HAUNTED

AUTHORS: Aim, Brian, Dimples, Jen and Wifey

ARCHIVE: Yes, please. At Em City, Complete Kingdom of Slash, Wonderful World of Makebelieve.

DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere else, just ask first.

RATING: R. Language and a bit of extreme violence in the beginning.

FANDOM: OZ./L&O:SVU

PAIRING: Numerous

SPOILERS: A mix of Seasons One - Three of OZ; Season One of L&O:SVU.

SUMMARY/NOTES: This round robin was from the brilliant mind of Brian, while on the Smut Puppies thread this past fall. I think the premise was a "what if" that paired our favorite ex-lawyer/former alcoholic/former heroin addict with a particular stud muffin detective from NYC, who looks very similar to a oh-so-sexy inmate of OZ.

DISCLAIMER: Oz and its characters belong to Tom Fontana, Barry Levinson, Rysher Entertainment, and HBO. L&O:SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC Studios and USA Studios. Please, don't sue us. We just wanted to spread a little love. "Is that so wrong?"



HAUNTED
by Aim, Brian, Dimples, Jen and Wifey

Elliot Stabler couldn't stop thinking about the Schillinger case.

Well, he couldn't stop thinking about the suspect, at least. Tobias Beecher, a former convict and current drug abuse counselor had been in Elliot's thoughts for hours now. He hadn't been so affected by a case before since his rookie years. After a year and a half of being in SVU, his partner - Olivia Benson, had finally gotten a grip over her emotional reactions to the cases that they received. Now, it seemed that Elliot was the one who needed to get back in control.

It was the suspect, not the victim, who had kept him from sleeping. The two words that kept repeated in his head were "pain" and "frustration" --the pain and frustration the ex-lawyer must feel over his past, both before the sentence he's just served in OZ and after. Beecher was trying to get on with what was left of his life. The man deserved a second chance to make things right. Yeah, he'd been convicted of vehicular manslaughter; he was a former alcoholic, not to mention a former heroin abuser. But, he was still a person.

For the first time in his life, Elliot found himself wondering whether he had the wrong suspect.

It had been over 5 hours since he and Olivia had first interrogated Beecher about where he'd been and what he'd been doing during the time that the victim, Jason Schillinger, was sexually mutilated and murdered. Benson arrived at the crime scene first. The victim's one-room apartment looked like WWIII had just happened. Everything was in disarray. At first, it looked like a basic robbery case, but that fell by the wayside once the cop who collared the case found the victim's body parts scattered in each room, with the victim's genitals stuffed in his mouth. that was when they'd called in SVU.

Earlier that day, Elliot and Olivia had found out that Tobias Beecher was the victim's drug counselor and surrogate father figure. They'd found his telephone number in the victim's wallet. Brian Cassidy, ran a background check on the name, and found out that Beecher had been released on parole on May 31, 2001. He had stayed in Baltimore for about a year and a half, trying to get visitation rights for his children, and only left after he finally realized that his kids and his remaining family didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

Now, Elliot Stabler couldn't sleep at all.

The night after interrogating Beecher, he'd had this dream. That was nothing new for him. He'd always had dreams: about his job, his life, Kathy and the kids, their future. What was different and disturbing about this dream, however, was that he hadn't had this particular one since he married Kathy. Since he was in college.

In the dream, Elliot was always in his dorm room, in the middle of the night, and there was...a guy in his bed. With him. He didn't know why the person in the bed with him was a guy, but that fact never seemed to bother him. Instead, it always felt somehow...right. Peaceful. *Normal*. Like it was meant to be. He never tried to open his eyes in the dream, though he wanted to--a sense of fear overwhelmed him over the prospect of finding out who was with him. But he could feel the other guy's hands all over his face and body, touching him, caressing him, making him feel special and cared for. Wanted. Loved.

Then he heard something. A voice. He knew that it was the other man's voice calling him: "Elliot."

He turned on his side, away from his phantom, feigning sleep. The voice repeated his name and Elliot felt the gentle touch of fingers on his bare shoulder...

He sat up with a start, only to find Kathy sleeping on her side of the bed. The whole rest of the night he tossed and turned, his flesh burning for the weirdly familiar touch of his phantom lover.

Who was the dream man? What did it mean? Why would this dream have come back now? Why did Elliot feel so lost when he woke, and found the dream man not there with him? What did Elliot want from this phantom love--and what did *he* want from Elliot?


~~~
Olivia Benson kept looking at her watch. It was around 10 o'clock in the morning, and Elliot had never been this late before. She'd noticed that he'd been looking a bit *ragged* for a couple of days, but some cases made you feel like you'd been through the wash and rinse cycle.

The Schillinger case. As Elliot had told *her* so many times before, "You can't pick the vic." Jason Schillinger, 24 year old junkie. A sex-crime victim with numerous counts of solicitation and robbery on his record; he wasn't exactly an innocent.

As Olivia started looking through the case file again, Elliot stumbled into the precinct. Last night's dream was still playing through his mind, but he couldn't talk to Benson about it, and he sure as hell couldn't talk to his wife. Actually, he and Kathy hadn't been talking or doing much of anything for the last few months.

Maybe it *was* the case, after all--the brutality of his murder had certainly caused even Stabler's stomach to churn. But his sleepless nights were not about Jason Schillinger. They were about something else entirely.

Those dreams and restless nights were about the suspect, Beecher. Tobias, Toby, Tobe. The dream, a mist of gold--Toby's hair glinting under the interview room lights. The sky when they first picked him up for questioning, a clear and shocking blue. Toby's piercing, pained-filled, lost soul eyes, the color of that same sky. And his voice, the voice in Elliot's dream--but softer, more fearful. more...longing.

Olivia couldn't put the picture of Schillinger's corpse down. He was just a kid, but the years and the drug abuse had aged him until his body looked like he was around the age of 40. Too many scars, cuts, bruises. Too many risks, taken to supply his habit. It looked like he had struggled with his murderer for a while though, like he'd given him a fight to the end. Jason Schillinger wanted to live.

She was used to this kind of victim. Being a member of the Vice Squad for six years, you had to get used to seeing dead people with no family, no friends, no one to identify their corpses. She'd thought that by transferring to the Special Victims Unit, she would be able to make a difference in her job. That this job would make her life somehow different.

But it hadn't worked out that way at all. From her very first case, she'd known that she had made a mistake. She couldn't separate herself from those women's pain and anger, from the murderous rage they'd turned on their rapist. How could they go on after what had happened to them? The need to go on, to survive was so powerful. Could she have done it? Could she have been as strong as they had needed and tried to be? As strong as her own mother? She'd never really been able to face that question, because she was afraid of what the answer might have been.

Olivia knew that Stabler was being patient with her, more patient than she really could have expected any partner to be. She was supposed to keep this job on her own merits. She knew she was a good cop, as capable as anyone else in the unit, but sometimes the frustration boiled to the surface and she lost her temper. She wondered how Stabler managed to keep things so under control.

Between the two of them, he was the old hand, so she supposed that--long ago--he had somehow been able to get over the same problems she was having now. Somehow, that idea made her feel better, made her understand that she could keep depending on him for support.

Looking across at Stabler now, though, she realized something really was different today. He was gazing off into the distance, tapping the end of his pen absentmindedly against his teeth. He seemed not just tired, but distracted. Somehow, he wasn't giving everything he could to this case. And whenever he thought she wasn't looking, Olivia saw him staring at a photo--The file mugshot of their prime suspect, Tobias Beecher. For once, Stabler seemed to have forgotten the victim, and become mesmerized by the suspect.

Elliot had a gut feeling that Toby Beecher couldn't be guilty. He wasn't a killer, not in the traditional sense. Not a cold-blooded one. From his criminal record, Elliot knew that he had recently done a four-year stint down in Maryland for the hit and run killing of a little girl. He also knew that Toby had had some problems during his stay in Oswald Maximum Security--OZ, they called the place--but he didn't just act like a hardened criminal.


~~~
"Do I believe in *what*?" Stabler's eyes crinkled at the corners as he stared at Beecher. It was their second interview, conducted this time in THE ex-lawyer's home.

"Reincarnation, Elliot...may I call you Elliot, Elliot? Rebirth of the soul. One man living a thousand lives..."

Olivia watched as her partner's well-built frame shifted in his chair, obviously made uncomfortable by the question. Beecher's blue eyes stayed locked on Stabler's, as she looked back and forth between the two. Was she missing something? It was almost like she was intruding on a moment, or more like she wasn't even in the room. Fuck that. She leaned in, pushing herself into Beecher's line of vision.

"We're not here to discuss metaphysics, Mr. Beecher. A young man has died-the son of the man you hated more than life itself. According to your file, Vern Schillinger really did a number on you back in Oswald."

Beecher threw back his head and laughed, blue eyes hitting the ceiling, like he was sharing a joke with a higher power. Next to her, Benson could almost feel the knots inside Stabler uncoil as soon as Beecher broke eye contact.

What was going on with them? She wondered again.

"Vern Schillinger did more than 'a number' on me, Ms. Benson. He burned a swastika on my ass. He raped me repeatedly. He got my prison lover to break my arms and legs. But then again, I did a number on ol' Vern, actually...a number *two*, that is."

Beecher laughed at his own joke, and flicked a glance at Stabler. Stabler smirked. Olivia, annoyed, stared Beecher down until his twinkling blue eyes reluctantly settled on her. Suddenly she felt it, too: Heat. Intensity. Like he'd seen into her core and laughed at what he'd found there. Now it was Olivia's turn to squirm.

"The point is, Ms. Benson...Elliot...that I gave ol' Vern as good as I got. I got my ultimate revenge when I walked out of that hell alive, knowing that ol' Vern still had another forty years to go."

The blue eyes swung back to Stabler. Stabler wasn't even trying to look away, now.

"If you're looking for a killer, what can I say? It's not me."

Olivia turned away, disgusted. They wouldn't get anything from this man. Not with no evidence. Not today.

In her haste to gather her things, however, Olivia missed the look-that same look that Elliot had seen somewhere before. It was a smile, half elf/half imp. And Elliot knew, immediately, she wasn't meant to see it, either. It was all for him.

Beecher said softly, "See you soon, Elliot."

Then Beecher closed his eyes, and the connection was broken.


~~~
As they walked to their cars, Olivia put a hand on her partner's shoulder, curious to see if he was still under the strange spell he seemed to be under in Beecher's apartment.

"Elliot, don't let him get to you."

Stabler just smiled at her, his eyes bright.

"C'mon Benson, he was putty in my hands."

Olivia knew her partner well enough to tell when he was lying to her. Normally, she'd confront him. Today, she somehow knew it would be best to let it pass.


~~~
Elliot walked into his kitchen, hanging up his keys on the rack. Kathy, enmeshed in fixing dinner, didn't look up from her cooking.

"Welcome home honey," she said.

Elliot tried to remember the last time those words were said with warmth, instead of familiarity and a hint of bitterness.

He walked towards her back, clasping his arms around her waist. He buried his face and nose in her neck, smelling the scents of perfume, the kitchen, the kids. He hoped the memory of those smells could carry him through tomorrow's interrogation, through those blue eyes.


~~~
In the viewing room, Elliot and Olivia watched Toby Beecher's actions closely. No obvious signs of cracking under pressure. He looked down at his hands, walked around the room, occasionally looked into the two-way mirror. Even with walls between them, Beecher's stare pierced the shell Elliot usually put between the perps and himself.

Tobias Beecher projected a "don't screw with me, I've seen the worst and this ain't it" persona, leaving Elliot to wonder if anything they ever said or did could break him down. Elliot wondered if he even *wanted* to break Beecher down.

"Elliot, if we try one more time, we'll break him."

Elliot looked at Benson, questioningly. "Are we sure he's the one?"

"Yeah, I'm damn sure. You were sure yesterday. This guy's a nut, he gives me the creeps. 10 times out of 10, you'd feel the same. What's with you and him?"

Stabler cast a downward glance toward his feet. Olivia drew in a sharp breath, realizing, yet not wanting to know.

"Elliot, maybe I should work this case alone."

"No."

"Just from that...vibe...between you two yesterday, I can tell it's getting out of..."

"No!"

The anger in his response surprised them both. Olivia spoke again, with more force. "Elliot, you're too personally involved."

Stabler smirked. "Kind of like the way *you* get personally involved with three quarters of the cases that come through here?"

No response. Both detectives stayed silent for a few moments, until they heard a tap on the glass.

Beecher.

"Hey, I'm getting lonely in here!" He called. Then gave a laugh partially maniacal, partially gentle.

Olivia walked back into the room briskly, trying to create an air of intimidation. This air fell apart when she realized That Beecher hadn't even noted her presence. His eyes stayed locked on Stabler--and, to her dismay, Stabler's seemed just as drawn to Beecher's.

Olivia stepped between them. "Mr. Beecher...."

"Why can't Elliot talk to me alone?" He replied.

"Because *I'm* conducting the interrogation right now. Does that scare you?"

Beecher grinned at her. "No. I think you're pathetic--BUT he fascinates me. He's so intense, if I put a hand on him, he'd burn me. Yet he hides it under a cool facade."

A smirk emerged from the man being discussed, as he finally spoke. "I could say the same about you Mr. Beecher."

Beecher smiled in return. "Please. Call me Toby."

The soft vocal inflections in that sentence made Elliot's insides turn to jelly.

Never breaking eye contact with Stabler, Beecher sat down at the table. Olivia sat on the other side, Stabler standing several feet away.

Olivia cleared her throat trying to bring them both back to the topic at hand. "Tobias..."

Beecher turned his gaze on her, glaring, with the intensity of a thousand suns. "*You* can call me Mr. Beecher."

Olivia thought she heard a faint laugh from behind her, but chose to ignore it.

"Mr. Beecher, your history with Vern Schillinger includes a pattern of violence."

"I've never denied that."

"At one point, Vern's son, Andrew Schillinger, was a prisoner in Oz. Your cellmate, correct?"

Beecher answered quickly, trying to force the words out. "Yes".

Both detectives saw his cockiness and self-assurance quickly drain away. Both had different reactions. Olivia wanted to move in for the kill-but Stabler walked to Beecher, standing close to him.

"Andrew died of a drug overdose. Did you have any involvement in his death, Mr. Beecher? Vern ruined your life. He raped you. He stole what little innocence and self-respect you had left. Maybe one dead kid wasn't enough?"

Beecher averted his eyes. "Please, stop". The words were choked, said on the verge of tears.

"You already killed a little girl, and this was in the "nice" years. So why *not* waste two of Vern's children? They were scum anyway, just like their father. Right?"

Beecher didn't respond. His head faced his lap, hands covering his eyes. The sobs came quietly. Olivia sat in silence, feeling a not-so-small amount of satisfaction. Stabler, meanwhile, kneeled beside Beecher's chair, his hands on Beecher's arms.

He spoke softly. "Beecher. Toby, everything's going to be OK. Listen to me. Toby..."

Beecher slowly removed his hands. His eyes fixed on Stabler's handsome, concerned face. The tears still welled in his eyes, glistening pools of blue.

Elliot wanted to drown in those eyes. He wanted to stare at those features forever. How could a man go from complete bitterness to ultimate fear in the blink of an eye? Elliot wondered which side of Toby Beecher truly existed, and which didn't--whether each glance, each withering comment and laugh, had been a put-on. If he got to Toby as much as Toby had already affected him. And deep inside, Elliot knew the answer had to be yes.

As quickly as a flash flood, Elliot felt barriers breaking down inside him.

He'd married for companionship, out of complacency. Until now, that had satisfied him. He'd never felt this type of heat from a single stare. In all of his life, in all the people he'd met, he'd never felt so totally consumed by another person. The expression of pain and lust on Toby's face went straight to his heart, then to his groin.

Falling into the depths of those blue eyes, he broke his last barrier. In front of his partner, Elliot Stabler violated all the rules of procedure, as well as all the rules he had set for himself.

He kissed a suspect.

He kissed another man.

He kissed Tobias Beecher.


~~~
Neither Olivia or Lieutenant Cragen, watching from behind the interrogation room's two-way mirror, could believe their eyes. Elliot Stabler, SVU's most stable detective--husband to a beautiful wife and father to four beautiful children--was in the throes of a full lip-lock with a suspect.

A *MALE* SUSPECT!

Cragen started to bang on the glass, trying to get either one of his detectives' attention.

Olivia just stood there, paralyzed. She felt shock, amazement, disgust--and, though she wanted to deny it to herself--a little twitch of envy.


~~~
V The two men sprang apart, instantly. Elliot swung away from Toby, his breath ragged in his chest, and caught a glimpse of their reflections in the two-way mirror. Toby, his hand tentatively extended, was still trying to maintain body contact. His own form, supported by rock hard biceps, was hunched over the interrogation table. Elliot looked into Toby's reflected blue eyes.
Haunted.

Like his own.

He didn't know where to look to get away from those eyes.

Toby tried to reach out to him as he whispered his name. "Chris..."

A jolt of recognition went through Elliot at the sound of that name-and at that moment, the door burst open, with Cragen entering the room. His face, the color of an exploding tomato.

In his facial expression, anger and embarrassment warred for the high ground.

"Elliot...My office. *Now*." He swung to Beecher. "You, sit. We're nowhere near through with you."


~~~
Olivia entered the bathroom, and headed straight for the sinks. She ran cold water on a paper towel, then swabbed the back of her neck, hoping to cool whatever heat was building up inside her.

Stabler had kissed a suspect. The *male* suspect. In the interrogation room. In front of the lieutenant.

The look in Beecher's eyes (and he had looked straight at her, as though his Superman vision was peering through the two-way mirror and straight into her chest) had frozen her in place, a wooden soldier in someone else's war.

She didn't understand. She had witnessed every single contact between those two men. For God's sake, there had only been two others--hadn't there? Had Stabler met with Beecher on another occasion? Unlikely. They had just gotten the case five days ago. Five days wasn't enough time to forget you had a wife, four kids, decades on the job and a murder to solve...was it?

The paper towel was still wet, but now warm, having absorbed her heat. She sighed, tossed it in the trash. Fuck. What to do now? The choices ranged from bad to ugly. Try to stop Cragen from ripping Stabler a new asshole...or to do some ripping of her own.

Into Tobias Beecher.


~~~
Cragen just kept glaring at Stabler. He had never seen him lose control over an interrogation before. NEVER. He waited for him to explain himself and his actions. He wanted to hear any kind of valid excuse as to why one of his best detectives had just *kissed* their prime suspect.

Elliot, meanwhile, kept pacing back and forth from Cragen's desk to the door. He wanted simultaneously to put as much distance between himself and Toby as he could, and to be as close to him as possible. His mind was racing between disgust and desire. He knew that his boss was waiting for him to speak, but he couldn't think of anything reasonable to justify or explain his actions.

"I don't know what happened in there." He whispered, finally, his back towards Cragen.

Cragen stared at Elliot's back, amazed and confused. "Well, I know we can both agree on *that* remark!"

Stabler finally turned to face Cragen, his face ashen. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, LT. How can I explain this to my wife? My kids?"

Cragen directed his visibly shaky detective to a chair, as he replied, "I know that you've been having some difficulties at home, and I appreciate that you've kept those problems away from your performance here. But I don't know how to handle this situation, either."

Elliot looked at Cragen in surprise. He had thought that no one else knew about him and Kathy.

"Sir--"

Cragen raised his hand, cutting Elliot off. "How am I going to explain this to the AD's office? What's going to happen to this case, if we do find valid evidence against Beecher in the murder?"

Elliot shook his head. "I don't think -"

Cragen smirked. "At this point, Elliot, I don't care *what* you think. You've put us in a compromising position here. Tobias Beecher could charge the city, this department and you with coercion. Not to mention sexual harassment--in the handling of this case."


~~~
Beecher's eyes scanned Benson as she entered, no sauntered into the room. She locked into his stare and didn't look away. He was familiar with that look in her eye: DETERMINATION. She was going to try and 'break him'. Well, Detective Benson, two can play this game. I've learned from the best player.

Vern used to stare at ME like that, especially when Andy was MY podmate.

She sat down across from him. "Well, Mr. Beecher, I really enjoyed your performance today."

"Oh, really--do you want some pointers?" Beecher asked her, with a smirk.


~~~~
Stabler ran out of Lt. Cragen's office like a bullet. Down the steps, rounding a corner, passing the stairs, through the double doors--

("You could be facing sexual harassment charges...")

--into the precinct room, grabbing the jacket, rifling for the keys (the keys, the keys where the *fuck* were his fucking car keys--there)--

-- through the lobby, bursting past Cassidy, sending the rookie's papers flying, in a wide berth around the interrogation room--

("Chris...")

--down another flight of steps, now two. Out the front door--

Sunshine. Pavement. Street noise. A honking cab. A siren. A dog barked.

Elliot slowed, then stopped...then breathed. The first breath he'd taken since all but inhaling Tobias Beecher, his scent, his eyes, his mouth...

"You fucking cocksucker! Move your fucking car!"

The shrill voice of a cabby startled Elliot from his thoughts. He suddenly realized he was in his car, at a stand still in the middle of the street, in front of the station house, in New York City. 30 minutes away, his wife was chopping vegetables in the home he'd carved out for them and the kids after years of breaking his back and his balls on the force.

And he'd almost just kissed all that goodbye, literally--thanks to one deep, long and perfectly wet moment with a man he'd met five days ago. A man he'd felt like he'd known his whole life.


~~~~
Benson's sigh of annoyance was deafening. "Look, I'm not here to amuse you! I need to know your whereabouts on March 15. If you need me to refresh your memory, that was about FIVE days ago. Exactly five days since you've met *my* partner, Detective Stabler."

She wasn't going to let this guy get control over her again...well, she *hoped* that he wouldn't get control.

Beecher licked his lips. "Oh yes, *your* partner. I wonder where he is right now. Shouldn't he be in here, handling this questioning?" He somehow knew Det. Benson probably always let Elliot be the primary in their cases, and he was going to let her hang herself a bit more.

He hadn't had a chance to manipulate anyone like this in over two years now--and that part of himself, that *person*, would always be with him now.


~~~
Kathy Stabler pinched the bridge of her nose with a callused thumb and forefinger, trying to ward off the headache she felt building. Elliot had said he'd be home at six. It was eight fifteen. Goddammit! She wasn't a human stopwatch, but when someone tells you they'll be home at six, to be ready--to "look good, sugar," cause he was gonna make it special...when that same someone tells you to take the kids to the sitters, maybe make it a sleepover, because this night was just for the two of you... you tend to look at your watch.

She tugged at her blue dress, glancing at herself in the mirror. Not bad. Tight. Tighter than she'd like, but pretty damn good-looking, for a mother of four.

Pretty damn good-looking, for a woman who was slowly but surely, losing her husband.

When Elliot had hugged her from behind yesterday (trying to reintroduce tenderness into a relationship that had gone hard and practical before the first child was born), Kathy hadn't known how to react. She'd stiffened, then forcibly tried to relax...which had made her even more tense. Elliot could feel it, she knew. He knew every inch of her, and she was constantly amazed that that familiarity had not yet bred contempt. How come she couldn't be as easy with him as he was with her?

But when he'd suggested they spend the next evening alone, it was her turn to read the tension in his body, his words. What was this about? They hadn't had an evening to themselves in years. Didn't he *know* what a hassle it was, finding a sitter, booking reservations, finding a show or movie or play that wouldn't make her sick or put him to sleep? But suddenly it hit her in the pit of her stomach. Elliot was scared. And Elliot was feeling guilty. This last-ditch effort at candles and romance meant he was thinking of straying again.

And Kathy Stabler knew with whom.

Fingers trembling, headache raging to the forefront refusing to be checked, Kathy picked up the phone and dialed the woman she thought was her husband's latest obsession.

One ring. Two. A third. A click.

"Benson."

Kathy sighed. "Let me speak to my husband."


~~~
Olivia held the phone to her ear, not knowing what to say. Did this woman have any idea what happened here today? When did she found out?---Olivia shrugged. She had problems of her own.

"Uh--hi, Kathy. I haven't been with him for at least three hours."

Olivia heard the derision in Kathy Stabler's answering snort. "I haven't been with him for *months*! Sorry, was that too much information? Nothing you didn't already know, though."

Olivia knew where this was heading. Kathy had been making subtle--and not so subtle--hints for months.

Olivia felt like screaming, *I'm not after your fucking husband! He's too busy seducing his suspects to give either of us the time of day.* Instead, she sighed. Again.

"I'm buried in a case, Kathy. Elliot'll show up. He's had a...rough day. "

She had hung up before Kathy could ask.

Olivia couldn't devote any more energy to anything but nailing Tobias Beecher's ass to the wall. As she put on her headphones and pushed play on the tape recorder in front of her, Beecher's voice flooded over and around her.

"Oh yes, *your* partner. Shouldn't he be the one here now? Handling this questioning...?"


~~~~
Olivia fiddled with the rewind and play buttons on the recorder. A barely audible sound passed by toward the end of Stabler's part of the interrogation. Olivia assumed that must be the kiss. She closed her eyes, and wondered what a kiss with Elliot would feel like. Soft? Hard? How far would he have gone with Beecher, if she hadn't been there? If they'd been in a hotel room, instead of an interrogation room?

Waking herself from these hazy thoughts, Olivia realized it was time to go home. Trying to convince herself that her fantasies were an important part of police business was as bad as her attitude in her first days with Stabler-the days when she tried to delude herself that checking out his butt as he walked across a room was akin to establishing partner rapport.

Before she left, Olivia mused on the name that affected Beecher the most--the one that'd made him go from rage to tears. Schillinger? Nah, too easy. Olivia surmised that the name *not* mentioned was the one to investigate. The prison lover.

After Stabler broke the kiss, when Beecher's defenses were eradicated, the former lawyer had whispered "Chris". The thought had nagged in the back of her head ever since, but she knew it was too soon to confront Beecher about it.

As she walked out of the building, Olivia made a mental note to herself to call Oz's assistant warden, Tim McManus, first thing in the morning.

Friend of a friend. Actually, Olivia was a friend of an ex-wife of his--but she still spoke to Tim every once in a while. He'd give her the answers on Christopher Keller.

Benson smiled to herself as she turned the key in the ignition. She'd made such progress since her first days in Special Victims Unit. When she leered at Elliot now, she could admit the real reason: He had the nicest ass in the whole precinct.


~~~
The silence was deafening. Flickering candles burned, although Elliot couldn't tell which was seething more, the flames or his wife. The loudest sound came from metal forks clanking on china, followed by chewing. Finally, Elliot had to either speak or go out of his mind.

"Kathy, this lasagna is fantastic."

"The microwave thought so too."

"Maybe I should put a CD in, we can dance, listen to soft music?"

"Go ahead. Dance with yourself."

Elliot cringed at her iciness. More minutes of silence, which Elliot spent wondering if she'd actually intended to use "dance with yourself" as a double entendre, if she was angry enough to poison the food, if this night had just come out of the blue, or if it had been simmering for weeks. Finally, he decided to chance an apology.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it home earlier."

"That's fine, even though *you* were the one who planned this dinner. You make a few feeble contributions, and I fill in the rest--wow, it's like a metaphor for our marriage."

"Honey, you don't mean that."

Kathy stood up, grabbing his plate and her own, avoiding eye contact. The plates were tossed into the sink, after which she turned on the faucet.

"I think you stopped loving me years ago." Sensing her husband begin to disagree, she spoke first: "Don't interrupt, please. That's fine, because I stopped loving you too. Romance and even sex became unimportant, since I had the kids and enough to fill my days. And at least I could fool myself into thinking the kids and I were a prior ity, what with all those *attempts* you made to come to school plays and PTA meetings. But even that's gone now. First place, the job--second, Olivia Benson--third, me and the children."

Elliot felt empty inside. He wanted to take Kathy in his arms and show her how much he loved her, or beg for her forgiveness, but knew any attempt would be futile. This had been coming for months, if not years. He could barely muster the strength to argue now.

"Olivia and I aren't having an affair."

"Affair is a pretty term; why don't we call it what is? Adultery."

"Call it what you want. We're *not* together."

Kathy shut off the faucet and opened the refrigerator door, putting the container back in. "I've known women like Olivia Benson my whole life. They come off as an enigma, a puzzle--so tough and hard, on the outside. Guess what? They're more simple and one-dimensional than any housewife could ever be. After she gets bored, she'll dump you...and you'll come crawling right back here."

Elliot stared Kathy down, trying to mentally force her to meet his eyes. After a moment of resistance, she did.

"You'll never believe that I'm not having an affair. Is my word that worthless now?"

Kathy smiled a small, cold smile. "Yes, it is."

Elliot drew a shallow breath. What was the point of keeping it from her any longer? "Today, I kissed a suspect. A male suspect. It was the most passionate kiss I've had in years. Possibly the most passionate kiss I've *ever* had."

Stabler put special emphasis on the last sentence to deliberately inflict pain, a small percentage of the pain her lack of trust caused him. He considered apologizing, but realized he didn't want to. His wife had wounded him, without a hint of remorse. Her words alone indicated the death of the marriage--on her part, and his as well.

Kathy silently walked into the living room, grabbed a CD and shoved it into the player. She hit the track button a few times, then hit the pause button. Then she walked back into the kitchen, removed the tinfoil from the top of the lasagna container, and dumped the entire contents onto Elliot's lap.

Kathy then walked back to the CD player, hit pause again, and went down the corridor to their bedroom. A moment later, as the music started playing, a door slam echoed throughout the house.

As Elliot picked cold pieces of what used to be dinner out of his lap, he began to recognize the song playing in the other room. He could even guess at the CD title. Best of Hall & Oates. The song?

"Man-Eater".


~~~
Earlier during that day, around 5:30 p.m.:

Beecher flopped down onto his couch with a tired sigh. He hadn't been in his one-bedroom apartment since 10:00 am this morning. When Benson and Cragen had finally released him, since they couldn't find any evidence to place him at the crime scene, it'd been 4:30 p.m.. The other detective, Elliot Stabler, had vanished after Cragen had called him into his office.

When Toby had first seen him, it had been beyond a shock. He couldn't *believe* how much Stabler--Elliot--looked like Keller. Like... Chris.

Beecher got up from the couch, and walked into the kitchen to get a drink. He wanted a *real* drink, but since he didn't have any Bourbon in the apartment, he put on the kettle for some coffee. As he walked back into the living room, he saw his half empty cup of coffee from this morning was still on the table. A stain had dried on the table from where he had spilled his coffee after realizing that he had Chris' twin in his apartment. He remembered that he had just poured that cup when someone had knocked on his door.

He'd almost passed out from the resemblance. Stabler had caught him before he fell and sat him down on the couch. He recalled that Stabler had asked him if he was okay--and Beecher had noticed he even had that same wonderful, sneaky little grin.


~~~~
Tim McManus juggled seventeen files, a wilting tuna fish and lettuce sandwich and--believe it or not--photos of yet *another* prison crucifixion. The third one in six months. The trail led back to the Aryans, and to Vern Schillinger, each and every time. But without proof---

His phone rang. After a moment of indecision, he dropped the tuna sandwich on top of the photos, and grabbed the receiver.

"McManus."

A husky voice flooded the wire--one he hadn't heard in awhile, but not from lack of trying.

"Tim, It's Olivia Benson. I don't know if you remember--"

"Olivia, of course, don't be silly. It's great to hear your voice--"

It was her turn to cut him off. "Tim, I need your help. I'm investigating the death of a young man named Schillinger. My prime suspect is a former resident of Oz, a Tobias Beecher. Does that name ring any bells?"

Tim picked up the photos in front of him, showing Nikolai Stanislofsky--a Russian Jew--staked to the gym floor.

"Yeah, like a fucking church picnic. Tell me what you got."

He listened as Benson outlined the specifics of the case, and he saw Vern's hands all over it. Although Beecher sounded like a good suspect, and he so hated to bust Olivia's little theory. BUT...

"Look, Beecher's one more in a long line of guys inside and outside Oz who have a beef with Schillinger. Even from in here, they've got long arms. Any of them could gotten to Vern in the last way that matters, by killing his only remaining son."

"But what about Beecher? What can you tell me about his old cellmate, Chris...Keller?"

McManus shrugged, though Olivia couldn't see him, and took a bite of the tuna. Rancid. He swallowed anyway.

"Keller's....a long story. You got time?"

"Shoot."

"No, not now, I gotta run. How bout dinner? Your part of town?" He heard the hesitation in her silence, and played all the cards he had.

"C'Mon, 'Livia. We can catch up on old times, and talk about Keller and Beecher. I guarantee it's a story you'll want to hear."

A sigh. Tim smiled: He had her.

"Eight o'clock. Pick me up."

She gave him an address; then--*click*.

Tim looked at the crucifixion photos. Could the latest Schillinger death have anything to do with Vern's recent activities? He'd think up something, anything, if it gave him and Olivia Benson a reason to spend long hours with their heads together.


~~~
That same night, around 8:30 p.m..

Beecher was wrapped beneath his covers. He was exhausted, and this was the first time he'd finally gotten some sleep since seeing Elliot five days earlier. He had just turned over and curled himself into a ball when he felt someone trying to wake him up.

"Hey, come on, Toby. It's time to wake up!"

He tried to shake the hand off of his shoulder. "No, let me sleep for a few more minutes."

The voice that responded sounded both tired and familiar.

"Tobe, you can't sleep anymore. The lights are up already, babe."

He instantly recognized the voice. He was a bit startled as he opened up his eyes: "Chris?"

Chris looked at him with his clear blue eyes, one of the biggest grins on his face, and said: "Yeah, it's me. Who else would it be?"

As Beecher smiled back at Chris, he leaned forward to kiss him, hands curving around Chris' neck, pulling their faces together. He could feel Chris' breath on his face. And as his lips met Chris'...

...he fell off the corner of his bed.

Beecher looked around, and discovered that he was on the floor of his bedroom. Alone.


~~~
"Wake up, Toby...."

Beecher could still hear the echo of Chris Keller's voice, even over the pounding of the sputtering shower nozzle and its erratic bursts of hot water. The landlord refused to do anything about the water pressure, so Toby was forced to rinse of all the suds he could in between scaldings.

Naked, he quickly scrubbed chest, arms, hips, thighs, that tender spot at the back of his knee. All with his eyes closed. He hated his body. He hated what had been done to his body. He couldn't bare to touch himself any more than was hygienically necessary.

Apparently, it was starting again: The dreams of Keller, seeing him in every face he met.

When he'd first laid eyes on Stabler, the rational half of Toby's mind didn't doubt for a second that his insane half was playing the ultimate trick again: transforming any man with a certain build, a certain glint in the eye, a certain measure of cockiness into the spitting image of Chris Keller. His rational half knew that his alter ego would pull this trick on him again and again, playing out his obsession with Keller in a thousand different ways. It had happened at least a dozen times before.

But this was the first time that the object of his delusion had kissed him back. Elliot Stabler had felt every thread of passion cording through Tobias' body, and had answered it, thought for thought. Eyes, body, mouth, so identical to Keller's--

Another hot blast hit Beecher, this time right in the groin. He jumped back, then forward, trying to turn off the burning stream. He exited the shower, toweling quickly: back, hips, thighs, hair, done. All without unfogging the mirror.

Just when he'd learn to live with the insanity, to make a pact with it, to keep his demons under wraps...it seemed his demons had a life all their own. And maybe he wasn't so crazy after all.

He began slipping on his clothes, an automaton caught up in the convolutions of his own thoughts. Elliot Stabler...

The phone rang. No fucking way was he gonna answer it. It was either Benson, wanting to rip him a new one, or Cragen again, begging him not to press charges against the station...

...or the doppelganger himself, Elliot Stabler. And he had no idea what the hell to tell *him*?

Toby exited his one-bedroom apartment, locked four deadbolts and hit the street. He could still hear the phone ringing, almost a block away.

~~~

No answer. Tim McManus put down the phone. He would have preferred to talk to Beecher before his meeting (let's call a spade a spade, Tim...it's a date) with Olivia Benson. But, oh well. When he saw her, he'd decide how much of the truth 'Livia needed to hear.

~~~~

Olivia Benson clicked off her blow-dryer, yanked open the bathroom door and listened. There. It *was* a knock. She checked her watch. 7:25. He was 35 minutes early! Good fucking Christ, she knew Tim McManus wanted to get in her pants, but could he be a little less eager? It was an old college trick, show up right when the girl might be getting out of the shower, and hope to get a little advance peek at the goods. She was still wrapped in a towel, but went to the door anyway. He wanted a peep show? Fine, it was nothing he hadn't seen before anyway.

She opened the door, already in the middle of an anger-filled sentence.

"---you could have at least---"

The words curled up and died in the back of her throat. It wasn't Tim McManus.

There stood Elliot, looking for all the world like he'd lost his last friend on earth. He was clad in leather, a broken-in jacket she'd never seen him wear in the year they'd been partners. It fit him like a glove, his muscles encased and moving anxiously beneath the calfskin. She couldn't help herself. Her intake of breath--the one she took each and every day she saw him but had hidden behind raised coffee mugs, discreet coughs or a quickly turned head--was visible, audible and tangible. Elliot Stabler was all male...and standing on her door step. She watched his eyes take in her half dressed state, slowly traveling over the terrain like he'd never noticed it before...and she watched him look away.

"'Livia."

He had to clear his throat to talk, his voice raspy like he'd been woken from a deep sleep...or like he'd been crying.

"I didn't know where else to go. Kathy kicked me out--well, not really. Technically she left, but she probably just went to get the kids. And she probably wouldn't want to see me when she got back. I'm rambling, I know--"

She opened the door wider, and put a soft hand on his arm, gently guiding him inside.

"Get in here."

Elliot let himself be led.



Part 2

Olivia sat Elliot down on her couch while she changed. The section of her closet lined with a few negligees and elegant, lengthy nightgowns caught her eye; as she rubbed her hand over one of the shorter lacy items, Olivia realized that in one of those gowns, she could seduce Elliot. Defenses down, his wife had left him--and if he'd kiss a man he'd only known for a few days, why wouldn't he sleep with his loyal, loving partner?

Unfortunately, some little voice in Olivia's head insisted on whining:

"Don't take advantage of the man!" So Olivia threw on her flannel bathrobe, cursed her little voice, and strolled back into the living room.

The first thing she noticed was the jacket, thrown over a nearby chair. Any chance of Olivia's libido lowering faded when she noticed the tight white t-shirt he had on, previously obscured by its leather folds, a shirt which only accentuated Elliot's broad upper torso. Olivia whistled under her breath, then took a seat beside him on the couch, her comforting arm enclosing his shoulder.

"Partner, has anyone ever told you that you'd look hot wearing a potato sack?"

"Only Kathy," Elliot replied, somberly.

Her attempt at levity having backfired, Olivia decided to head straight for the subject at hand. "So what happened? Why did she leave?"

Elliot stayed quiet, until he managed to gather up enough strength to say the words. "We had dinner. Kathy accused me of cheating...with you."

Olivia debated interrupting to tell him about Kathy's angry phone call, back at the station, but feared that if she stopped him, he wouldn't be able to speak again.

"I told her I didn't," Elliot continued. "I asked her if she believed me. She said no. Then...I told her I kissed Beecher."

Unconsciously, Olivia squeezed Stabler's shoulder, *hard*. "You did *what*? Are you insane?"

"It slipped out. I was angry. Why have you got that look on your face? You--you think she was right to leave me?"

"I'm just saying I understand her reaction. But give her a few days--maybe she'll cool off."

Stabler turned his gaze toward Olivia, the coldness in his eyes nearly frightening her. "There's nothing to save. I....I married her because I wanted a wife. My parents were picket fence people, and they wanted the same for me. So did I. A companion, a friend, a lover. Kathy fit the bill, she was pleasant, and a blonde. I've always had a thing for blondes, and--oh, shit....Toby's a blond, too."

He paused. "I didn't plan for my marriage to fall apart. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Then...I met Toby."

Olivia shook her head in disbelief. "Elliot, he's just some ex-con lunatic. You've only known him five or six days."

"You're right, none of it makes sense. But why *should* it? Olivia, haven't you ever met someone who shakes up your life? Someone who--with one glance, one touch, sends a jolt through your whole body?"

Olivia cleared her throat, briefly, before answering. "Y..yes. I have."

"I didn't ask to feel this way, Olivia. It hurts. I want him to go away--but on the other hand, I don't know what I'd do if he weren't there. I want to go back to normal, but...I want to feel this way for the rest of my life. Happy. In lo.."

Tears welled up in his eyes before Elliot could finish speaking. Olivia hugged him, hoping to share his pain. He began crying, tears staining the blue fabric of her bathrobe.

"Jesus," she said, trying to lighten the mood again. "This is such a strange role reversal. Remember when I was the one who used to cry at the drop of a hat, and *you*'d make *me* feel better?"

She hoped he'd laugh, but he just kept crying; Olivia reminded herself to buy a joke book, the next time she wanted to cheer her partner up. After a few more moments spent comforting Elliot, Olivia heard a knock at the door.

"Oh, crap. I forgot about Tim."

Stabler nodded for her to answer the door, dabbing at his eyes with the Kleenex she had handed him a second earlier. When she opened the door, an influx of red roses were thrust towards her face.

"Olivia, you're even more beautiful than I remembered."

"Tim, this isn't a good time..."

"Is that why you're dressed in the bathrobe? I thought we were eating out."

Before Olivia even had a chance to respond, Tim was walking into her apartment.

"Nice place; if we can't go out, at least let me sit for a few minutes. To--unwind. Please?"

"Tim..."

Her response dried in her throat once she saw the ashen expression on his face. Pointing toward the couch, McManus demanded: "Olivia...what the fuck is Chris Keller doing here?"


~~*~~
McManus had already stared at the man on the couch for a full minute before it finally sunk in that he *wasn't* Chris Keller.

"Tim," Olivia said, "this is my partner, Elliot Stabler. Elliot, Tim McManus."

Stabler stood, muscles uncoiling, shifting as he extended a hand. McManus shook it tentatively, sizing the man up now as potential competition. Shit! That grip. Tim had to check the impulse to flex his hand, cramped as it was after that bone-crushing shake. The resemblance to Keller was...startling, right down to the barely-sheathed cockiness and the fuck-you stare. Tim instinctively bristled, competitive testosterone rising to flush his cheeks.

"McManus. You run Emerald City, right?"

"Right...So. Olivia tells me you had a run in with Tobias Beecher."

Instantly, Tim watched the cockiness vanish from Elliot's face which was replaced by a furtive, embarrassed look at Olivia. Olivia returned the look, shook her head "no" almost imperceptibly, and Tim saw Stabler's uneasiness abate as quickly as it had come. Tim knew he didn't know the half of what this was about, but he did hold a few cards neither of them could even guess at. He decided to lay one on the table.

"I bet Beecher flipped when he saw you. You do know you're a dead ringer for his prison lover?"

**********

Meanwhile, Tobias Beecher wandered the streets of the city--but he couldn't go far enough to get Stabler's kiss out of his mind. He turned it over and over, comparing its intensity to that of Chris' kisses (and laughed to himself, as he did: "New from Hershey, Chris's Kisses!").

Chris had been all about confidence, leading Beecher down unfamiliar paths of affection and lust during their brief time together. Stabler, on the other hand--

Beecher stopped in his tracks. Stabler's kiss had been tentative, questing, questioning... something raw, yet oh so sweet. Obviously, it'd been the detective's first time ever kissing a man. At last, Beecher came to an intersection, thirty blocks from his apartment...but only two blocks from Elliot Stabler's residence. It hadn't been hard to find out where the detective lived; Beecher's old life as a lawyer hadn't been a total loss. He still knew how to find out things--like the fact that Stabler had a wife. Kids. A frog that died in a freak garbage disposal accident. The same wife who was probably home right now, making small talk with him, making dinner for him, making love to him...

Or maybe she wasn't. Not anymore.

Maybe he was alone.

Beecher only had to walk a few more blocks to find out.

~~*~~

Olivia closed the door after Tim left, and leaned against it. The dinner plans had evaporated, and Tim, after dropping his little bombshells had been smart enough to take his leave. Elliot laid out on her couch, hand over his eyes like he was trying to rub away the last hour of information. Olivia wished she could, too. Who would have thought that in a twenty four hour period she could go from hate to jealousy to pity for a man who was more than likely a murderer? Even after Tim's revelations, Tobias Beecher was more of a mystery than he'd ever been.

All that Tim had told them, of Beecher's life in Oswald, of his relationship with Schillinger, Keller...and Nikolai Stanislofsky, had thrown her for a loop, but it had sent Stabler into a tail spin. His strange connection to Beecher, instead of coming more into focus, became more and more abstract and bizarre, and Olivia could see her partner teetering closer to the edge.

"You believe that shit?"

His voice startled her. It sounded more calm than she'd thought it would. But that scared her even more.

"Old Tim always knew how to be the life of a party." She sat next to Chris. After a brief hesitation, she gently removed his hand from his forehead, and held it in her own. She tried to be comforting.

"So what did we learn? Nothing much that wasn't in his file, right--?"

Elliot shook his head in amazement. "It sounds a lot more horrible than it reads, 'Livia. So when this guy looks at me, he sees someone who's seduced him, got him hooked back up on booze and drugs, broke every bone in his body--all at the behest of his serial rapist, I might add--"

Olivia moved an imploring hand to his chest, feeling the rock hard ribs rise and fall rapidly.

"*You* had nothing to do with that. You didn't hurt him, you didn't rape him---"

Elliot smiled up at her suddenly. A sad, tired smile that nonetheless stopped her heart.

"Nah, I just kissed him. But I get to stand in the long line of other people that have mindfucked this guy."

"Forget about him for a sec. All this history. That explains his behavior. But what about yours? You walking away from a lot here. Your job--"

"I haven't quit--"

"--your wife, your kids, your job? No, you haven't quit yet--but I *saw* your face when McManus was talking, Elliot. You're this close to chucking everything...even me..."

She choked on this last statement, sensing more emotion, more *truth* in it than she would have liked to.

"...for a murderer," she finished, finally.

"We don't know for a fact that he killed Schillinger's kid."

Olivia wanted to shake him. Even after what McManus had said, Stabler still doubted that Tobias Beecher was their murderer? Tim had told them the ugly truth. Beecher and Keller had been lovers, blissful as two men in a maximum security facility can be. It couldn't last, of course--and what had happened next convinced Olivia Benson that Tobias Beecher was very much the murderer they were looking for.

~~*~~

His wandering led him back to the living room. He sat in a recliner, eyes fixated on a few bottles of wine stashed in a liquor cabinet. Any temptation to drink away his agony ended when he realized the memories would still be there, just blurred and unfocused by large amounts of alcohol. Just like the most horrific events, the ones he'd almost forgotten --events which had crept into his nightmares for too many months to count.

Stabler had brought all those buried memories back; not intentionally, of course. It was the face that did it: Chris Keller, with a badge. Those eyes, that smile, the thinning hairline. The two were perfect doubles.

Of course, Beecher had heard the old theory that everyone has a look-alike somewhere--he'd even seen his own look-alike in a magazine once, a patrolman from Baltimore, giving an interview about losing his eyesight in the line of duty. But he'd long since dismissed the article as a figment of his own alcholic imagination: too unbelievable, too much booze, all the usual excuses.

He *couldn't* dismiss Elliot Stabler, though--not the man, and not the pain and bliss the sight of that face brought him. Or the memories.

**********************

The days following Chris' return to Toby's pod had been magnificent, and all too brief. Beecher had helped Chris with his GED; Chris, in return, had given Beecher more love and loyalty than he ever imagined.

Back during the days preceding "Operation Andy", Beecher had been slightly amused by his first sight of Nikolai Stanislofsky. With roughly the same facial hair and at roughly the same height, if you didn't look closely, he and Nikolai could almost pass as twins.

Over a period of a few months, Beecher and Nikolai slowly became friends. Through checker games judged by Rebadow, through a love of classic literature they had both read long before Oz, through the inevitable cliques that cultivate. Nikolai was a part of the "non-clique" of Hill, Beecher, Keller, Rebadow, Busmalis, and Cyril O'Reilly. Nikolai had even taught Beecher a few Russian phrases, in case--as Nikolai often joked--"they ever ship us to a gulag".

Beecher offered Nikolai his friendship, because he knew what it was like to feel completely isolated inside those walls. And to his surprise, Keller didn't react with jealousy. An initial mistrust of the Russian quickly faded, and they became friendly. Both men shared a knowledge of killing without conscience, of *real* violence, that Beecher--even after killing Metzger--would never be able to comprehend.

The relatively happy times softened Beecher. He stopped looking over his shoulder every second, stopped peering in the corners for foes. A year after he reunited with Chris, therefore, he was poring over a row of books in the library, and paid scant attention when the guards ran out to attend to yet another emergency. Then he sensed something moving behind him, and it was too late.

When he turned, a fist slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A syringe was roughly pressed into his arm. Beecher expected to pass out; instead, the drug only made him groggy.

Fuzzy images showed a man pulling Beecher's pants down, then his own. Beecher felt himself being placed onto a library table. As his vision began to clear, Beecher recognized Robson.

"Y'see me, you little pussy? This time, I'm not goin' anywhere near your *mouth*."

One of the human mind's merciful features, as Beecher himself had once told McManus, is in its ability to block out the most unbearable traumas. And Beecher's mind--so fragile, so unreliable, during his previous tenure in Oz--suddenly became his protector, shutting down on him throughout the rape.

Beecher's next memories were of Keller running into the room, followed by Whittlesey. Keller grabbed the smirking Robson by the neck, and began squeezing. Even through his haze, Beecher noticed Whittlesey was simply standing by, doing nothing to stop the situation--not the actions of a frightened hack, but those of a savvy CO who realized this would be her only chance to help wipe out scum like Robson.

Whittlesey only leapt into action after she heard the crack: Keller had broken Robson's neck. Beecher could still remember Chris standing near the table, too afraid to touch him. The tears in Keller's eyes, his hasty "I love you, Toby!" as Whittlesey led him away, were Beecher's final memories of that terrible day before passing out.

Three days later, Beecher woke up. His first sight was Sister Pete's heartbroken face, full of pity and sadness, unintentionally combining to make him squirm with shame and despair. He escaped into darkness, yet again.

Two days after *that*, Beecher felt a strong hand tugging him out of the black and opened his eyes to see Chris sitting beside his bed, flanked by McManus and Murphy. Dr. Nathan stood on the other side.

"Chris...what...?"

"Shh. I don't have much time."

Beecher tried to sit up, but the internal injuries from Robson's brutal violation made it too painful. Suddenly, what had happened fell on him all at once. "Not again," he whispered, to himself. then: "Chris...oh God..."

Keller used his thumbs to gently wipe away Beecher's tears, whispering back: "Nik's moving into our...your pod. I have to go to solitary. Robson's dead, so you're never gonna have to worry about him again. Toby, I love you. I love you more than I've loved anyone in my whole fucking life. Please don't forget that. Don't forget me."

He kissed Beecher on the lips, briefly, and ran a hand through the other man's blonde hair.

"C'mon, Keller, let's go."

Murphy pulled Chris up, and led him out of the room. Keller turned once, mouthed, *I love you* again--then walked out of Beecher's life, eyes glistening as heard his lover's voice crying after him:

"No! You can't do this to me again, Chris! Chris, PLEASE..."

Toby sat there sobbing for a few minutes, then felt Gloria pushing a tablet into his mouth. She gave him a few sips of water, and watched as he swallowed. His last words before succumbing to the sedative were--

"...don't leave me."

Over the following three months, Kareem Said, Ryan O'Reilly and Nikolai had all banded together to protect Beecher from the Aryans. But it was Nikolai who had shared a pod with him, who had held Toby when he cried, who had made him look at himself in the mirror, who had helped him to stop hating and blaming himself. Beecher began to rely on Nikolai more and more, considering him his closest friend and protector.

During one of Toby's more coherent moments, he listened to Ryan's explanation of how those "Aryan fucks" had planned out his latest rape. Schillinger, who wanted to give Beecher a "going away present" in case he got an early parole, had created a diversion, letting Robson have his chance at revenge. Twenty minutes later, Vern had informed Keller about the situation in the library; he'd known what Keller would do to Robson, of course, but considered it worth the life of one dumb sheep to see two of his enemies go down.

With no one left alive to rat him out, Vern received hostile glares from McManus and a few other hacks, but no real punishment. He spent the next three months smirking at Toby as much as possible. The games of revenge had ended, however; Vern had declared check and checkmate, his bitter rival too emotionally and physically destroyed to fight back.

After those three months were up, Governor Devlin--in all "fairness"--finally decided to grant Tobias Beecher parole. The morning of Beecher's release, his last morning in Oz, Nikolai had hugged him, kissed his cheek, and whispered a single sentence in his ear:

"Schillinger will pay for what he has done."

*************************

Back in the Stabler home, meanwhile, Beecher found himself contemplating those last words. The same words which had eventually led him to a particularly torturous night--the last night of Jason Schillinger's life.

He shook himself, and considered having a go at the wine after all. But before he could get up and walk over to the cabinet, he felt a hand on his shoulder. As he jumped out of the recliner and faced his possible attacker, Beecher felt his head spin.

Chris Keller. Elliot Stabler. Elliot Keller. Chris Stabler.

Whoever it was, Toby acted on instinct--and wrapped himself in the other man's arms.



Part 3

Tim McManus reclined on Olivia's couch, making himself *very* comfortable. The sweatshirt had come off. She should get that air conditioning fixed, he mused as he flicked through the Jason Schillinger file on her coffee table.

The boy had been murdered, execution style. Obviously a message to someone and that someone was Vern Schillinger. He picked up the phone and dialed a long complicated string of digits. The gruff voice on the other end was at once no-nonsense and soothing.

"Murphy."

"Sean, Tim."

"Tim....you're ears ringing?"

"Why, who's talking about me?"

Murphy's laugh rumbled deep in his chest, and sent familiar tingles down Tim's spine.

"Who isn't? Heard Olivia Benson called you today. And, I'm lookin' at my watch here, Tim, so I think I got this right. You've been gone from Em City for over 12 hours. That a record, my friend."

"And that's cause for gossip?"

You could hear the mischievous smile in Sean's voice.

"Tongues will wag."

"Let 'em. I'm calling about something you told me little while ago. About Keller and Stanislofsky..."

***********

Olivia's car sped through the streets, siren off but not slowing for lights. What the hell. She'd tried to reach Stabler on the car phone but he wasn't answering, probably in a coma after the day he'd had. And if he couldn't hear the phone, he couldn't hear Tobias Beecher, should that psycho decide to finish what he started in Oz: To kill every remnant of the man who had systematically taken everything from him.

He'd killed both of Schillinger's sons and thanks to the prison machinations that fueled Oz, Beecher had been responsible for the deaths of most of Schillinger's mini Third Reich. The last man standing in Beecher's war against his arch-nemesis was Chris Keller. Who everyone from the fucking warden on down to the nun thought was Stabler's dead ringer.

She brought the car to a screeching halt in front of Stabler's building, and was out of the car so fast she almost lost a shoe. She checked her key ring-- Stabler's house key was among the dozen others that unlocked every door in her life. She dialed his number with her cell phone as she headed across the street and towards his home.

Five rings. Nothing. He wasn't answering the phone. Then she'd just have to go in to see that everything was okay.

*************

This was a lot more fun than he'd thought it would be. He expected to be riddled with guilt. With angst and remorse. With fear of being caught in flagrante dilecto with his pants down, legs up, and man's mouth boldly going where no man had gone before. He'd expected to be plagued with images of his wife flashing before his eyes with every thrust...

But there was none of that. Tobias was a very inventive lover, never letting Elliot out of the circle of sex and the senses that held him prisoner. Toby was pliable in the right places and hard as rock when and where Elliot needed it the most. It lasted for hours, swinging from playful wrestling to intense love making...to pure mindless fucking, then back to the jumping off point.

And through it all, Tobias never let Elliot doubt for one moment that this was about no one but the two of them, not Toby and Chris, not Beecher and Keller. This was in every way about exploring new territory. Conquering every mound of flesh while and surrendering everything.

And in it all, only once did Stabler think of his wife. Making love to Kathy had been seventeen years of restraint and constraint. Concern for her delicate form had always reined him in when his desires screamed to rove unchecked. Things he wanted to do, that she'd never do-- or had only done *once*, that time on their honeymoon, and then she'd spent the next two hours scrubbing herself in the shower.

With Beecher all bets were off, all bargains broken. Something had been unleashed in Stabler. And he couldn't wait to explore every inch of it.

Until he heard what sounded like at key rattling the lock of the front door.

__________

In a darkened infirmary, Nikolai Stanislofsky, hands and feet encased in protective wrapping, attempted to move his left hand. The tiny attempt caused him intense pain. In lieu of screaming, Nikolai bit down on his lower lip, and licked away the small droplet of blood produced. That Aryan monster had driven the spikes all the way through. Brutal, but effective. Nikolai smiled through the pain, because he knew the reason why Vern crucified him.

As much as Nikolai treasured Beecher's friendship, he had his own motives for punishing Schillinger. Before transferring to Oz, he heard rumors of Vern Schillinger murdering Vogel, and in a dehumanizing twist, hanging him upside down with letters scraped into his chest. Vern's reputation increased because of it. Nikolai fumed at the thought of Vern gaining fear and respect while stepping in the blood of one of his oldest friends.

At first, Nikolai feigned gratitude toward Ritchie Hanlon, the relatively nice and cowering man who confessed to the crime. And Ritchie paid for his own part in the deceit. But he wasn't the true target. Nikolai bided his time, for years, until he stumbled upon the way to get Schillinger: Destroy his last son. Jason Schillinger, the last of Vern Schillinger's pathetic progeny, had died a brutal death. And Nikolai was responsible. More directly than anyone had begun to realize. He only wished that Chris Keller were here to savor the victory as much as he did.

*************

Sean Murphy was a rock in Tim's life. Never in a true romantic relationship, more a series of flings, their friendship had always come first. Sean gave Tim a reality check when he needed it, stood by him when almost no one else gave a crap, and he had a great sense of humor.

Tim told Sean on more than one occasion that getting him a job at Oz was his only good decision in the past six months. Sadly, even this long-lasting friendship withered in the presence of Tim's minuscule amount of patience. After a minute of waiting, Tim began tapping his fingers on the wooden coffee table.

After three minutes, he wanted to scream "Did you drink Lake Erie?" into the phone, but realized the pointlessness of screaming into a phone when no one's on the other end. He was about to scream anyway when Sean finally returned.

"Jesus, what took so long?"

Sean grumbled. Tim McManus was the most impatient person he knew.

"Walking to the bathroom, taking a leak, returning. I forgot I needed to ask your permission before releasing bodily fluids."

"Sean, I wouldn't go near that one with a ten foot pole. Refresh my memory about Keller and Stanislofsky."

"One of my cop pals in the New Jersey area is currently monitoring mob-related activities. Stanislofsky popped up in a few old surveillance photos. Another face in the picture seemed familiar, so he ran it through a database. Whose name should pop up? One Chris Keller, or a helluva look-alike."

Tim nodded. "Good. I always suspected Keller and Nikolai got chummy a little too quickly. So they knew each other. Maybe they have a few mob pals outside prison walls who killed Jason Schillinger for them."

"My friend said Chris didn't show up in any other pictures, or any mob-related arrest records or transcripts. So he must've been smaller than small in mob ranking. But he did have a past with Stanislofsky, however brief."

Tim exhaled a deep breath. "He actually has a double. Isn't that weird? A cop. He's Olivia's partner, you remember Olivia Benson, right?"

"Sounds familiar. She had a nice rack."

"If you say that to her face she'll deck you. Anyway, her partner is the spitting image of Keller. And he's got problems, and she loves him, and I flirt like crazy and get no response." Tim was taken aback by the quiet, rich laughter on the other end of the line.

"What's so funny?"=20

"The image of you with that wounded puppy look on your face after she rejects your 50th sexual advance."

Irritated, Tim whispered, as seductively as he could in the early hours of the morning and suffering from lack of sleep, into the phone. "It's a good thing you could never reject *any* of my sexual advances. Remember when we were sharing a room on campus. . ..one particular Saturday night. . .no dates...too much beer, and we decided to figure out if strip poker could be fun with only the two of us? Or the last Super Bowl, on the couch, during the halftime show, when we took 'male bonding' to a whole new level?"

Sean looked down at his rapidly tightening pants and groaned. "Not the right time, Tim."

"Why not? Olivia probably isn't coming back anytime soon, and since you're acting assistant warden until I get back to Oz, that means you're sitting in my office. At my phone. Phone, plus two bored men, equals phone sex."

Sean sighed and looked at the closed office door. Now he remembered why Tim was fun to be around, even with his impatient streak and lack of any common sense.

"Alright, but I'm hanging up if anyone walks in."

"Oh yeah, that'll look really normal. So tell me Officer Murphy, what are you wearing underneath that tight uniform....."

An hour and a half later, Olivia still sat outside the Stabler home, afraid to leave her car. Why, she asked herself. Are you afraid of his reaction? Are you afraid he cares more about the knife-wielding lunatic than his partner? Go in there Olivia. You almost did once, got to the front door, and ran like a scared rabbit back to your car.

Thirty minutes later, she worked up the courage, walked to the front door, and put the key into the lock.

*****************

Beecher was in a satiated state of bliss. Protective arms were wrapped around him, and he'd just done things that would've driven him out of the room in horror 5 years ago. Actually, he'd done them twice. Almost nothing could take the feeling of warmth away.

Nothing but a frenzied shake from his lover.

"Toby, go hide! Kathy's home!"

When Toby refused to move, Elliot grabbed him by the arm, pushed him into a nearby closet, and kissed him passionately before shutting the door. As Elliot threw on his robe and headed out of the room, he heard Beecher mutter, "Have I landed in the middle of a fucking Three's Company rerun?"

Elliot gave himself a moment to prepare, before walking to the door. When the door opened, Olivia stood in the door frame, instead of Kathy.

Elliot felt a mixture of relief and confusion. "Olivia, what are you doing here?"

Meanwhile, Toby threw on his boxers and t-shirt and quietly walked toward the living room, standing behind a corner wall. To eavesdrop.

"Elliot, Tobias Beecher is even more dangerous than we thought. He stabbed his prison lover, Chris. Your doppelganger. McManus told me. And who knows how many other people he's butchered, including Jason Schillinger."

Elliot was struck mute, reeling, trying to take in what Olivia said.

Beecher ran into the hall, glaring murderously at Olivia. "That's a damn lie! You're just trying to sabotage me because you're jealous."

Olivia fixed her gaze on Elliot, at the same time as Beecher. Elliot looked at Olivia. "Why is he here?" Elliot turned to look at Beecher. "You don't believe her, that I killed Jason, do you? Do you?!"

Elliot decided to stare at the wood tile beside the doorway, under his feet, instead of the two rivals snapping at his heels. When he finally did speak, the words were simple.

"Holy fuck."

***

Sean kept hearing Tim's moans and infectious laughter like a chant murmuring throughout his ears even after he hung up from their *little chat*.

When he had finally put himself back together, he left Tim's office. He couldn't keep himself from smiling as he kept hearing both of their voices saying those words:

"Yeah, baby! Can you feel my hands on you? Can you feel me stroking your hot flesh?"

"Mmm, yeah! Please, faster please.."

"You feel so good right now, Sean. You always feel so good to me!"

"Oh God, I can't hold off much longer! Please!!"

"Yeah, that's it! Come, on! Moan for me! Come for me!!"

He still had a smile on his face when Diane walked towards him.

Diane smirked when she saw his smile as she asked, "Hey Murphy, Tim's off again tonight?"

"Yeah. I told him that we didn't need his watchful eye tonight. I thought that you switched to the day shift?" He asked.

She wondered why he asked her that question. "My aunt is staying with us now, so Glynn let me take my old shift back. Tim knew about the change. I guess he forgot to mention it to you."

"Yeah, I guess he did. He has been working long hours these past few months now." He replied.

She nodded in agreement. "Well, I guess he needed a break from here."

With nothing else left to say, an uneasy silence came between them as they ended the conversation.

With a lift of his eyebrow, Murphy ended the silence. "Have a good night, Diane."

Diane smiled as she replied, "Yeah, you too Murphy."

As he walked away from her into the locker room, he thought to himself. Diane had no clue about the extent of his and Tim's *relationship*. Yet, on the other hand, he's known everything about their little *fling*.

--------------

Whittlesey continued down the hall, on her way to solitary. Whistling softly. She knew more than Sean thought. She'd peaked in Tim's office five minutes before and gotten an eyeful of Sean's "handful". His eyes closed, head arched back, he hadn't seen her peak in, size up the situation and duck back out. Whatever. Images of Sean Murphy with his dick in his hand jacking off in Tim's office wasn't even close to the strangest thing she'd seen just this morning. And it wasn't even dawn.

The strangest thing? Now that had happened an hour before. Stanislofsky had been screaming Keller's name in the infirmary apparently delirious with pain. Gloria had thought maybe a quick visit would soothe her patient, and Diane didn't see what it'd hurt. She'd gone to rouse Keller in solitary but he was already wide awake. Naked. Fingers working furiously....crocheting! That had stopped her in her tracks. Crochet? Hmm. A sweater, maybe?

Keller caught her look. "Couldn't sleep...and you know what they say. Idle hands..."

Whittlesey unlocked the cell and motioned for him to come out. "Don't people just whack off anymore?" (Of course Sean had answered that question an hour later). Keller dropped his handiwork and slipped on a pair of pants. "Where to?"

"The infirmary."

Good, Keller thought as he headed down the hall, past a sleeping, mumbling Alvarez. He had news for old Nik and not all of it was good.

______________

Murphy looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He could see new lines and creases showing up everyday on his face. He was feeling a bit old. A bit tired. A bit lonely. When he first got the call from Tim, he was shocked. He hadn't heard from him in 8 months. That was right before the divorce from Nina was finalized. Tim had told him that the *trial separation* hadn't worked out. They had went away to Vermont for a little *skiing* that weekend. Then, 3 months later, Tim called him to say that he and Nina were trying AGAIN to make the marriage work. Well, it didn't work.

He thought Tim was going to come up to Albany to visit him. He usually did when 'things' didn't work out in his favor. He didn't expect a job offer. A change of scenery. A chance to be near each other. Life was good for him in Albany. He didn't need to make a change, but Tim made him an offer he couldn't refuse.

He wasn't jealous of Diane. Or, at least he thought he wasn't.

Tim had mentioned the *fling* with Diane about a year ago to him. Tim always had these *flings* when he was down and out. He remembered that at the time, he was involved with someone else as well. He guessed that Tim needed someone else to fill his shoes.

Carol, Elizabeth, Lisa, Sarah, Nina, Gloria, Nina (again), Diane and Claire Howell (which never crossed his mind at all.) Tim was like a broken record when it came to women. Sure, he would pursue them. Wine and dine them. Tell them everything and anything they wanted or needed to get them into bed. Hell, he even married Nina. He just couldn't get them or rather himself to stick with the relationship. There would always be a *problem* that would cause either Tim or whatever woman was involved with him to call it quits.

The women that he would ultimately choose were either (a) married (b) indifferent or (c) clingy. He usually lucked out with more a's and b's rather than c's. He hated being the dumper, the bad guy, or the other affectionate universal name THE JERK.

He screwed up big time with Howell though. Who would have thought that she would turn out to be a psycho?

Well, good old friend Sean was there, again to pick up the pieces of his shattered image and person. He was ALWAYS there. Tim was always there for him, too. They were always there for each other.

As he wiped the smirk off of his face, he said out loud to himself:

"Shit! Things have got to change!"

_______________

Nikolai Stanislofsky writhed in pain, but the drugs at least took some of the sting off. He heard a clinking of chains as someone neared his bed, and forced his eyes open. Over him stood Chris Keller, hands cuffed behind his back and Whittlesey at his elbow. Nikolai managed a smile.

"That is what I love about this country. You yell loud enough, and things happen."

Keller smiled back, and Nikolai swallowed instinctively. The man packed a punch, handcuffs or no handcuffs. Keller then turned those killer blues on Whittlesey, and motioned to the restraints.

"Can we get a little privacy here, Diane? And can these cuffs come off?" Diane sighed then complied. Chris rubbed his wrists and waited for Whittlesey to wander out of earshot. He then leaned to Nikolai, making sure his voice wouldn't travel.

"How you feeling, buddy?"

"Hah. Like Christ on the third day. Not so hot, my friend."

Nikolai squirmed again as a particularly clear wave of pain knifed right through the meds. Keller caught the wince and moved to soothe him. A hand running through Nikolai's hair, smoothing the lines of pain etched on his forehead. Nikolai eased back, welcoming the touch, surprised when it actually seemed to help the pain abate.

"I give you three guesses who did this and why."

****

Keller stared at Nikolai: that face, build, smile so like Toby's... he shook himself. No, he wouldn't do that again, project the image of his lover onto every man he encountered. But damn... it was all he could do not to think of Beecher in similar casts, so angry, not allowing him to even *touch* him in his worst time of need. But here was Nikolai. In need of a soft word, or touch. His words and touches.

"I know everything, Nikki. Just cause I was in the hole doesn't mean I don't know about Schillinger finding out that you had his son capped. And that he went after you. I also know why he didn't kill you."

****

Stanislofsky managed another half smile. "You Americans are so smart. I'm dying to know why I'm not dead, Chris. Tell me."

"To get to me. With Beecher gone, you're the last thing in this shit hole I care about."

The words hit Nikolai right in the chest, driving away all thoughts of pain. Keller continued, "And Schillinger knows it."

Keller now looked him full in the eye, meaning layering on meaning within meaning. "And he knows you feel the same way."

Stanislofsky swung his gaze away. No way was he going to admit anything of the sort to this cocky son of a bitch. To block the raw emotion that threatened to overwhelm him (it was the drugs, he knew, that were making him incapable of controlling this game) Stanislofsky launched a counter attack.

"Well. You are well informed. But I too hear things, even in this state."

"Oh yeah? What?" The cocky confident look Keller gave him made Nikolai even more determined to wipe the smirk off.

"*I* hear you have an identical twin in the New York police department. And that Beecher has taken an unusual...interest in this man."

Keller froze. And it was Nikolai's turn to smile, watching all of Chris Keller's two thousand scheming thoughts skid to a screeching halt.

_____________

Beecher and Benson glared at one another across the threshold of the Stabler home. Elliot Stabler stared at his worn carpet pattern for almost a full minute before looking at either one of them.

"I'm your partner, Elliot! I-I don't know what's been going on here--"

As Olivia choked to a halt, Elliot finally raised his gaze to his partner's, and got a mini-jolt at what he saw in the depths of her accusing gaze. Concern, anger, fear for his safety...and hurt. His eyes narrowed as he moved closer to her. Hurt? How could he have hurt her, unless...this was much more personal for her than he'd guessed. He closed his eyes, realization coming to him, hitting him like a truck. He said it again.

"Holy fuck."

He turned to Beecher, the man who had just flipped his whole world upside down, and felt the spell he'd been under lift. He'd just slept with the prime suspect in a murder. Even though his gut told him Toby didn't kill anybody, Elliot realized he had to get a grip. And that meant--

"Okay everybody out. Toby. Go home."

Both Beecher and Benson began babbling at once but Stabler held up a hand.

"Toby, my wife and my kids will be here any minute. 'Livia, just let him go."

Tobias was ready to argue, but one look at Elliot's expression halted the words. He had already dressed. He moved to the door.

"I didn't kill anybody, Chris, you've got to believe me."

Stabler had thought he'd gone numb but this last request pierce him right in the heart. Turning away from the sudden pity he saw spring up in Olivia's eyes, Stabler opened the door wider, and motioned his lover through.

"The name's *Elliot*, Toby." He watched what looked like a hundred emotions play across Tobias' face, the last being shame. Tobias moved past him, ready to make a wordless exit.

Elliot was just going to let him go, but he couldn't end the moment like that. He put a soft, restraining hand on Tobias' shoulder, and pulled him in for a soft, forgiving kiss.

As the kiss became everything, not even Olivia's presence registered. But all beautiful things come to an end, and the kiss dissolved when Elliot pushed Beecher away.

******

They were alone now, Olivia and Elliot. She couldn't believe what she'd just seen, even though she'd seen it twice in the last twelve hours.

She put a comforting hand on Elliot's chest, since words wouldn't come. He apparently understood.

"You don't have to think of anything to say. I don't think I'm capable of hearing a damn thing anyway."

But the anger welled in her, suddenly. Her hand of comfort balled into a fist, which she slammed into his chest, making him jump.

"You...lied to me! I would die for you, but you...would *lie* to me! I came here, thinking you were in danger! Not knowing what I would do if something had happened to--" No. This was the one thing he'd never know about her. How she felt.

She got herself under control.

"Maybe after this case--if you still want to be on it-- we should talk to Cragen about changing partners."

"Oliv--"

She didn't wait to hear it. She was gone.

******

Kathy Stabler and her four children piled out of the SUV and headed for the front door. The oldest raced for the door, oblivious to her younger siblings. Kathy sighed, having no idea what to expect when she saw Elliot.

What she certainly didn't expect was to see Olivia Benson flying out of their front door and running across the street, in tears.

******

Vern Schillinger despised bedpan duty. But the rare days, the days when he really made a difference in the world, were a gem. This was one of those days. A wicked smile crossed his features as he noted Keller standing by Stanislofsky's bedside. Chris was doing that intense eye fuck thing that drew Schillinger to him all those years ago, in Lardner.

"Tsk, tsk, the divorce must be final."

Keller did a 180 degree turn to face his ex-lover/ex co-conspirator/enemy, every impulse in his body telling him to go for the throat.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Poor widdle Toby would sob himself to sleep at the thought of you sniffing after another guy. Especially since Yakhov Smirnoff over there claimed to be his friend."

"The only hide I'm sniffing after is you Vern."

"Just like the old days."

"So I can compare you to Robson. Will you quiver helplessly, the way he did? Will the sound of your neck snapping be as loud? As satisfying?"

Schillinger snorted. "Try it, Chrissy, and you'll lose a hand. And to think, I almost bought that Ophelia impression you were doing in solitary. Since an illiterate could never follow my literary references, I'll explain. Ophelia is a character in Hamlet. Went crazy at the absence of her love. Of course, we both know Beecher was a lot more....flexible....than Hamlet."

The slightly weakened voice of Nikolai finally emerged. "I thought your kind only burned books."

Schillinger laughed. "Stereotype. To say that I burn books is as insulting as saying every one of *your* kind is a radiation-poisoned Commie who can't wipe his ass or find a paying job, but does have the time to wait 5 hours in line for a quart of vodka. Oh wait, that's true, isn't it?"

Nikolai attempted to sit up and finally gave up after a moment's struggle. Through his gritted teeth, he said, "In this slander of my mother country, I hope you haven't forgotten to mail out your - what do Americans call it. Father's Day cards."

The humor in Vern's expression faded. He moved beside the bed, dumped the contents of the bedpan, and put it back in it's place. While moving the cold medal object, he slammed it against the bandaged left foot of Nikolai. Hard. The howl of pain brought him a great deal of satisfaction. The cold blue eyes locked onto Keller's, daring him to make a move. Years of experience taught master and former pupil to read each other, whether they were sharing a pod or just sharing enmity.

Keller's chance for revenge passed, and Vern walked away, proud. He may not be the best-loved person in Oz, but he had respect, and he hadn't let himself fall in the Beecher bear trap Keller plunged into. Sure, he admired the insanity and rage hidden underneath Beecher's baby-face, and chuckled over the fact that his strongest opponent in Oz had been a fawning former prag. But at least he didn't spend his days and nights thinking of those blue eyes staring at him, the depths of heat and loathing poring into his skull, making him angry and excited at the same time.

At least he didn't have dreams of shoving that bearded pout against the wall and violating him, with Beecher begging him for more.

Not most of the time, at least.

***********************

The soft snores of Tim McManus greeted Olivia as she walked into her apartment. Soft snores interrupted by a loud door slam. Tim shot straight up on the couch, what hair he had left sticking in different directions.

"Wha...Olivia, you're back." 0

"Yeah, I'm back." Her keys were slammed down on the coffee table, and her coat thrown at, instead of into, a chair. The keys fell beside a $10 bill. "You dropped some money." Tim rubbed his hand over his eyes to wake himself up. "No, that's for my phone call last night. I made one while you were gone. Personal."

Olivia didn't respond, too busy wallowing in her rage. Tim knew he didn't need to ask how the visit with Elliot went.

"Are you OK Olivia? Need to talk?"

Olivia gave him that blank stare which hid her emotions, or almost hid them. When around her, Tim felt like a Titanic passenger heading toward the iceberg.

"It's really complicated, and I don't think you should get involved. I'm going to sleep."

Olivia began walking toward her bedroom, relieved Tim didn't try to be comforting or touchy-feely. She'd almost made it into the room when she heard his voice.

"Want some company?"

Yet another sexual proposition. Olivia opened her mouth to say no, then stopped. She sure as hell wasn't going to resolve her sexual attraction to Elliot by sleeping with Tim and she wasn't prone to sleeping with total strangers, but she didn't want to really be alone tonight. And at least this would stop Tim's constant badgering overtures.

"Fine."

Even a few rooms away, Olivia could feel the stupid grin which formed on his face. "Really?"

"Sure, but you're wearing a condom. You've been inside more pants than Fruit of the Loom."

His desires of almost a decade fulfilled, Tim bounced toward the bedroom, fully aware that Olivia was using him to quell her sexual desires toward Stabler. Tim could tell the difference between love and sex, and at this point, he was horny enough to not give a crap.

***********************

Kathy chose not to ask about Olivia until the kids were packed and off to school. They were thrilled to see Elliot, and he adored them. Kathy had decided to give the marriage another try because of her children. She didn't want them to grow up with divorced parents. The question finally came while Elliot sat at the breakfast table, finishing his coffee.

"Why did Olivia run out of here in tears?"

Kathy noticed her husband scrambling for an answer. If only he could admit the truth, that he told Olivia she had to leave because the wife was coming home. Their tryst couldn't continue. Instead, Elliot fed her another lie.

"She's having problems with her boyfriend. Came to me for advice, but it didn't work."

"Well, you can apologize to her in a few hours."

"I'm not going into work today. I feel sick."

"Did you have too much fun last night?"

Elliot ignored her remark, and she made no effort to apologize. He kissed her on the forehead before walking out of the kitchen. As he began to ascend the stairs, he yelled out, "I'm going back to sleep."

Kathy listened, processed, then began the task of finishing the breakfast dishes.

When Elliot reached the bedroom, his eyes wandered over the bed. Sheets rumpled, the smell of sex lingering on the cloth. As he changed the sheets, Elliot tried to go on auto-pilot. Shutting down was better than confronting the doubts in his own marriage. If he listened to those doubts, he'd be forced to acknowledge the part of himself that lost control last night, that found love and passion instead of repetition and strain. And when he acknowledged that, he'd have to realize that the presence of one crazy, lovable, frightening, erotic, sexy man split his world apart. A world that Elliot, if he listened to the doubts, may not want to put back together.



Part 4

Unlike Olivia and Elliot, Beecher had no rage or doubts. He had a plan.

The one benefit to having Vern as an enemy was the familiarity. Toby knew what he'd be dealing with. A hateful and vengeful Aryan who used and abused him. Not a wife he'd never spoken to, four children, and a bitch known as Olivia Benson. The jealous, bitter woman who was poisoning Elliot, *my* Elliot, Toby thought to himself, against him.

Beecher hated Olivia Benson at first sight. Too prone to outbursts and too damned cocky. She hadn't even bothered to look for other suspects in the Schillinger murder, because it didn't fit into her plans.

Even in his darkest days, Beecher would never intentionally harm children and he really didn't want to hurt Kathy Stabler. Olivia, she's in a whole class by herself. He'd get her and he'd enjoy it. Not another murder, that was too risky and he didn't want to go back to jail. No, he would drive her away from Elliot forever.

As Beecher sat in an old chair in his one-room apartment, rubbing his chin, he giggled. The best part was, Olivia's downfall would be mostly self-inflicted, and she'd have no one to blame but herself.

______________

"Th-that's a great outfit, Olivia--"

This from Cassidy, the eternal rookie, despite his year on the force. Olivia brushed passed him without acknowledging the complement, on her way to Cragen's office. She did look good and she didn't need geek boy to tell her. She had taken extra care this morning in dressing. More lipstick than usual, and a skirt, not too tight, not too short, but leaving no doubt she had legs that went on for days.

"Cragen wants to see you!" Cassidy yelled after her.

"Well I want to see him first."

She rounded a corridor, erasing the small smile of the image of Tim McManus had brought to her lips. Last night had been a surprise. He was intriguingly...acrobatic...in his lovemaking and luckily the tight turtleneck she wore hid the bruises. Great thing about Tim, he was also a pillow-talker. And every word he'd said helped nail Tobias Beecher to the wall.

Olivia knocked on Cragen's door and entered without waiting. "Sir, I wanted to run some new info on the Schillinger case past you--"

She froze mid sentence, as she saw the stern faces that were in the lieutenant's office: Elliot, unshaven, raw and sexy, looking for all the world like he'd spent the night fucking his brains out. Munch, biting into an apple, then staring at it like it was the lone gunman on the Grassy Knoll. Cassidy entered behind her and sat next to Jeffries, who shot Olivia a look of pity before Cragen cleared his throat.

"There you are. Close the door."

She could feel Stabler's eyes on her, moving over her, willing her to look at him. She wouldn't.

"What's...going on here?"

The lieutenant cleared his throat again, obviously uncomfortable.

"It's about the Schillinger case."

Olivia nodded, finally casting a look at Stabler. She hated what she was about to do to him, but it was for his own good. For his safety, and possibly for his life.

"Good. Because I've found yet another nail to hammer into Tobias Beecher's coffin. He's our murderer."

Cragen held up a hand. "Whatever it is, give it to Cassidy and Munch. As of now you and Elliot are off this case."

Silence.

Because it hit her so hard, Olivia instantly knew her beef with Beecher was far more personal than she realized. And she knew instantly without being told that this was all his doing.

Sexual harassment.

Beecher had known she was going to nail him, and had gotten them removed from the case by threatening to charge the department. Well. At least Elliot would see the little scheming psycho for what he really was: a manipulative bitch who could twist any man, woman or situation to cover his ass. They were waiting for her to say something. Okay then. It was time to play the hero, to come in and fight for Elliot, erase the memory of her threat to forsake him. She alone had loyalties and ties to Elliot that no one could compete with. Not his wife of seventeen years and not his lover of the last two days.

And Olivia Benson made a decision. She'd fight for him in every arena.

"Listen. Elliot Stabler is the most honest, forthright man I know. He has worked with integrity since he's stepped foot in this department, and to question that, to question his ability to objectively handle this case is to deny the clearest truth there is. That nothing, *nothing* would prevent him from doing his job. Now, if Tobias Beecher, a convicted child killer and prison con man can derail this investigation with a sexual harassment charge against him..."

Cragen rushed to silence her. Munch raised an eyebrow. Cassidy raised two. Obviously the news hadn't made the rounds.

"No 'Livia. Beecher hasn't accused anybody of anything."

Cragen cleared his throat yet again.

"It was Elliot who requested for you specifically be removed from the case."

Heart suddenly slamming in her chest, Olivia barely heard Cragen's next words.

"He thinks you're too personally involved, to the point you might start...making connections that aren't really there. And I'm inclined to agree. So Munch and Cassidy are on it along with Elliot and Jeffries as consultants."

***

You get up early enough and you can get quite a bit done before noon.

Take Chris Keller's day for example.

That morning he'd been crocheting in a two Schillinger by four Schillinger solitary cell, but now, at 11:58am he was folding military corners into his bunk in a spacious berth in Emerald City. He'd even get the place to himself for awhile, but just until Stanislofsky was well enough to be moved from the infirmary.

All it had taken was a little talk with Tim McManus. The little cocksucker had been in a strangely chipper mood, making sexual innuendoes about female body parts, probably trying to prove to Keller that he wasn't gay, no matter how into Keller's kiss he'd been.

After Nikolai filled him in on this motherfucker, this *Stabler*, Keller hadn't known whether to resnap every bone in Stanislofsky's body, or cry on his fucking shoulder. Luckily Vern had come around, giving him an easy target to vent on. Keller didn't want the little Russian to see just how deep his carefully aimed knife had gone. Nikolai was so like Beecher in that way, stabbing him in the dark, getting through to the bone, even when Keller'd been expecting it.

Nikolai had given him an earful, including the fact that Stabler's partner had a crush on him, and would probably be gunning for Beecher's nuts. Nikolai didn't get into how he'd known all this, but Keller could connect the dots: McManus to Murphy, Murphy to O'Reily, O'Reily to Stanislofsky.

Keller couldn't quite read Nikki's motives for telling him. He'd thought Nikki was attracted to him, the slightest of flickers traceable in his voice, his eyes. But when the little Russian told him his plan, Keller had looked at him in a whole new light. The plan was all brain and balls, but if they could pull it off.... All Keller had to do was protect Stanislofsky from Schillinger while his bones healed, then Stanislofsky would offer him the ultimate prize in return.

Beecher back in prison. Back to Oz. Back with him.

So Keller had gone straight to McManus.

"You want me to move you back to Em City? No fuckin' way Keller. I don't want to be the one prying you off the gym floor with a bolt cutter two days from now."

"I didn't want to have to use blackmail Timmy, but I have to admit it'd make me feel good to wipe that fuckin' nut job grin off your face."

Tim kept grinning. "Blackmail? Please." He started to signal a guard when Keller moved in for the eyefuck.

"You ever heard of three strikes, McManus? I know for a fact you're bending over and sayin' hi to the captain with Sean Murphy. And I don't think you want a third sex-scandal flaring up around here. You let me worry about Vern."

The grin was gone. But Tim only shrugged. What did he care if Keller got himself killed?

"Fine. I'll move you back today. Guard!"

__________

The knuckles of Sean Murphy lightly tapped against Tim's doorframe. Tim waved his hand for him to enter. Sean closed the door behind him.

"Keller's moved into his pod. May I ask why he's back in Em City?"

"Plain and simple blackmail. He threatened to spill his guts about our....relationship."

Sean clinched his hands into fists, fingers digging into his palms. A childhood habit that never faded away, naturally brought out when confronted by the other years-long habit he'd never wanted to break: Tim McManus.

"How did he find out?"

Tim didn't answer, only stared back at him, hoping Sean could fill in the blanks.

Sean felt the fingers dig in a little further. "You think *I* told somebody? Let me guess, O'Reilly. Fine Tim. Picture this simple scenario. I'm walking Ryan to the gym, or back to his pod, or to your office, take your pick. We strike up a conversation. I say 'by the way, you know Tim, the man you hate and who helped to put you away for life? Every so often I shove my dick up his ass. Oh, and you were right, he's a cocksucker. So am I. Wanna join us?"

Tim laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. "It doesn't sound plausible, does it? I'm sorry."

The tenseness within Sean deepened. Be tough, stoic, don't show *any* emotion, because Timmy drops 'em like flies if it gets too personal. "I guess this means we should cool it for a while."

Sean's inner conflicts blocked his normally sharp senses, causing him to ignore Tim closing the blinds. A warm hand on his bicep finally broke him out of the self-protective walls.

"Quite the opposite. Keller's an expert at fucking with people's minds, reading body language, etc. He probably has no proof. If he does, he has no need to expose us now. If someone else knows about us, Keller won't let them tell, because he knows it would sent him straight back to solitary."

"Makes sense. But..."

Tim put his hands on Sean's shoulders, turning him around so they could speak face to face. Tim wanted him to comprehend every word, every facial movement.

"The past few years have been a living hell. I regret ever fucking that psycho Howell. Wangler's lawsuit was even worse. Then Beecher is raped again, paroled from Oz as a complete wreck. The inmates maim and kill at random, and most of them never get caught. You know what the two things are that I don't regret? Hiring you, and sleeping with you. As a matter of fact, I want to continue doing the last part. A lot."

Relishing the stunned expression etched on Sean's face, Tim moved in for a kiss, placing his hand on the back of Sean's head. Sean groaned at the facial hair bristling against the corners of his mouth. His strong hands unclenched and moved to Tim's back, grasping at the fabric of his sweater. When Sean began yanking off the sweater and t-shirt, Tim pulled away, gasping for air.

"Le..let's save this for tonight. Gives us something to look forward to."

"That's easy for you to say. I'm gonna have this dopey smile on my face all day, no one will know why. And every time I see you, it's going to take all my self-control not to do this.." he placed Tim's hand on the uniform-covered outline of his erection and groaned when Tim tightened his grip.

Tim shook his head, clearing his mind. "I get the picture."

Murphy began to leave Tim's embrace, and the office, but his mind clicked on one final question. After a moment, he worked up the courage to ask his query.

"Tim, I'm thrilled you said all this, but why did you? What caused it?"

Tim took a moment of his own to stare at the rugged features in front of him, the adoration he rarely acknowledged flowing from Sean's beautiful, warm brown eyes. Sighing slightly, he slowly ran his fingers through a brown patch of Sean's hair. "Let's just say watching Olivia Benson pine away for her partner made me appreciate what I have. What I've had standing in front of me all along."

_____________

30 minutes after hearing the words, <>, Olivia was still in shock. She couldn't even speak to Elliot after Cragen ended the meeting. Elliot betrayed her, a partner who did nothing but love him and tried to protect him. She busted her butt on this case, digging for clues, fighting a partner lovesick for the prime suspect every step of the way, sleeping with Tim McManus (well, that part had its own unexpected benefits she had to admit), and her reward was a sucker punch from those who were supposed to be there for her. Cragen, pulling her off of *her* case, Stabler picking an unloving wife and even a psychotic ex-con over her.

As she stalked away from her desk, Olivia passed by the interrogation room. Her enemy sat in the chair, completely alone, a taunting smile pointed in her direction. He won, she lost, and Olivia couldn't take it any longer.

*********************

When the phone rang in his apartment, Beecher had no idea the police would ask him in for yet another round of questioning. He didn't put up a fuss, because he couldn't have planned better timing.

His entrance was simple enough. Elliot avoided all eye contact, choosing to ogle Beecher when his back was turned. Poor Elliot didn't realize the experience of the other man. If Beecher could spend 2 or 3 years interpreting and analyzing each and every one of Keller's stares, he could certainly note a weak attempt at covertness from Keller's double.

Beecher overheard him talking to Cassidy, as Brian went on and on about all the people in Oz being crazy, including some Latino doctor who refused to let him question Nikolai, ordered him out of "her" infirmary, and had a look in her eye that made Cassidy fear for his safety. Beecher considered explaining the O'Reilly connection, but decided it would do more harm than good for Cassidy.

The interrogation, conducted by Munch and Jeffries, breezed by. He fed them half-truths, no truths at all, and picked at their mental psyches. Did no one bother to look in his file, realize he was a lawyer, and stop feeding him the same old lines? Munch was smart enough to put up a defensive wall, but after a few moments, Jeffries left the room in annoyance and disgust. She made the same mistake the many body-bag destined residents of Oz made, projecting an aura of toughness, yet leaving themselves wide open for someone clever enough to see through the facade.

A few moments later, Munch left as well. Ostensibly to go to the bathroom. Beecher recognized the latest retread of the "leave 'em alone to sweat it out" routine, and spent that time making faces and waving to the mirror, undoubtedly with Cragen on the other side.

Finally, contact. Olivia stood up. Toby fixed his icy smile on her, stared her down. As she ran into the interrogation room, Cragen hot on her heels in a fruitless attempt at damage control, Beecher's thoughts found the right words.

"How sad it must be to have your partner screw you over, when he's literally screwing me" leapt out from his subconscious.

Before he could open his mouth, a fist slammed into his jaw. He wiped away the blood pouring from the wound she made, and even in pain, managed a Beecher-patented sadistic laugh. His last words as Cragen dragged her out were:

"Game over, bitch."

**************************

Cragen was livid.

Olivia knew she had no excuse for her actions. She didn't bother to make one.

"This was completely out of line. We'll be lucky if he doesn't sue us, the department, the city, and the pigeons in Central Park."

"He's an asshole."

"I know that. He's also extremely intelligent one. He wanted you to lash out, and it worked. Olivia, if this were the first time, I might let it slide. But you've had a personality problem since day one. I think you need professional help. Whatever you choose, it's out of my hands. My kindest gesture is persuading the brass to allow you to choose your next assignment. Homicide, vice, robbery, auto, I don't care. Effective immediately, you are no longer a detective in special victims unit."

______________

"Let me get that for you."

Elliot tried to grab the cardboard box of Olivia's things, filled with twelve months of personal items she'd accumulated on the job. She shoved him out of the way, and hefted the box herself, refusing to exchange a word or a glance. If fury triggered adrenaline, shit, Stabler thought. Benson could've lifted a Mack truck.

Stabler trailed her through the station busy house, almost having to run to catch her. Once they rounded a corner and were suddenly alone, he grabbed her and dragged her to a halt.

"Olivia, please. Stop." She did. "Look at me." She wouldn't. She held her box of things between them like armor, eyes glued to the wooden nameplate that lay on top. Stabler grabbed hold of the load, and prying her fingers away, set it aside. His hands hesitated before finally landing on her waist, and he pulled her closer. And then a little closer. Moving one hand to her chin, he angled her face upwards, and stared at her until she was forced to meet his gaze.

And it was all there in her eyes. Anger first and foremost, but Stabler could see where the roots of that anger lay: in feelings for him he'd only just now guessed.

"I didn't know. Olivia..."

"Fuck you! You didn't know?! Well, you *still* don't know. You obviously have no fucking clue, Elliot."

"Hear me out. When I asked Cragen to take us off the assignment, I already knew that my feelings made this case way too personal. But you, I just couldn't understand why you had it in for Beecher. You were so over the top with your reactions to him, that I thought you were losing it too. We both had to get away from this."

Involuntary laughter escaped her.

"Well *we both* didn't get removed from the case. *We both* didn't get kicked out off the department! Just me." She tried to pull out of Stabler's grasp, but his arms tightened and his tone got tough.

"I didn't ask to be kept on the case. Cragen thought I should consult, just to give Munch and Jeffries some background info. That's all. If you hadn't slugged Beecher---" He stopped, and started again his tone going from attack to an almost awkward affection. "Livia, what you said today, defending me...that meant a lot. And no way have I given you half of what I got from you today."

He sighed. How was he gonna say this?

"If I had known that you... well, a whole lotta things would have been clearer. I wouldn't have kissed him last night, in front of you. I wouldn't have lied. I wouldn't have gone straight to Cragen..."

"Well, what is over is over, Stabler. You and I are no longer partners, we sure-as-shit won't ever be lovers, but you know what really makes me sad? That we may not even be friends."

And on hearing that, he realized that he destroyed something delicate, because he hadn't even known it was there. She must have seen something in his countenance change, shift or soften, because then she surprised him. Again. She pulled his face down to hers, and kissed him. She kissed him like she'd wanted to when she'd first laid eyes on him.

Kissed him like he had no wife and she had no worries. Kissed him like he was the last man on earth and she the last woman. And when she was done kissing him like that, she kissed him again. Through it all, Stabler's mind and senses began to reel. He felt himself responding, as the age old male to female connection awoke and stretched within him.

Twice in as many days, Elliot Stabler allowed the barriers within to crumble, and he kissed her back.



Part 5

Beecher held a pack of ice to his lip, but it didn't stop him from smiling at Cragen.

"Boy am I glad I'm a lawyer."

"You were a lawyer."

"Tomato to*mah*to, I still know my rights. Still know that you can't slug a person with no provocation without paying a very heavy price."

"This isn't a negotiation situation. You're still a suspect, no matter what just went down here. You want to press charges? Fine. You may be doing it from prison."

"I would say take your best shot, but you folks have done enough swinging for one day. Am I free to leave, sir?"

"Jeffries! Could you escort Mr. Beecher to his car?"

Beecher knew not to push his luck any further. He got up to go. His last words to Olivia, "Game over bitch" were right. Game, set and match. She was off the case, off the department and off Elliot's ass for good.

As Jeffries walked him out, he tried to get a rise out of her, and laughed internally when she flushed and got angry. The two left the main room and as they entered the hallway, both stopped dead in their tracks.

Stabler and Benson in each others arms. Kissing.

Beecher watched in horror.

________________

Elliot broke the kiss, pushing Olivia away. He stared at Olivia confused, thoughts skipping through his mind at the speed of light. He could only think of how Olivia's kisses were so much like Kathy's. He did it because he felt obligated, guilty, not for love like Toby. Suddenly a familiar voice was brought to his attention and he turned to see Beecher with a look of hurt and anguish on his face, spitting out the words, "Oh, my God!"

Toby stared at Stabler amazed at what he had just witnessed. His mind only traveled to one memory of a time similar to this, the time when Chris kissed Schillinger right before breaking his arms and legs. Beecher's eyes welled with hurt as he turned and ran from the station hearing Elliot calling after him. Elliot followed Toby helplessly, calling his name, trying desperately to catch up to him. Olivia, stunned, ran after him yelling, "Elliot!" but as she began to run past Jeffries, a leg fell in her path, and she fell face first to the floor.

Jeffries simply smiled and said, "Oops!"

Elliot finally caught up to him and reached for Beecher's shoulder. Toby shrugged it off quickly trying to keep some distance between each other. Elliot turned Toby towards him, pleading for him to understand, "Toby..."

Beecher just glared at him in simmering silence and anger. Elliot pulled him in closer saying, "It didn't mean anything. I don't care for her like I care for...you."

As Elliot was saying those words, Toby moved his hands up to caress Elliot's face and they shared a passionate kiss.

Kathy Stabler drove by slowly in the family car taking a double take at her husband kissing another person. ANOTHER MAN! Her eyes grew wide, and she felt as though she was going to faint as she took in the scene in front of her.

After she picked herself and her crushed ego off the pavement, Olivia glared at Jeffries.

"Why did you trip me? Are you on his side?"

Jeffries rolled her eyes, brushing back her frizzy curls in a flippant manner. "Honey, I'm on your side. Stabler's married and screwing around with some nut killer who happens to be a man. In my book, that means he's taken."

"But I need to protect him from Beecher."

"If he wants to hang out with Leonard Bobbitt/Lionel Borden, that's his problem. I couldn't stand by and watch a woman throw herself at an unavailable man."

Jeffries grabbed the box of Olivia's personal items.

"Let's go Olivia."

Olivia stood still for a moment longer, a part of her not wanting to go, the other part relieved at leaving behind the weight being a member of special victims unit. Finally, she walked with her former co-worker toward the parking lot.

"Hey, Olivia, is he a good kisser?"

Olivia nodded with a smirk on her face.

"Yes. He's a great kisser."

"Damn, I knew it."

*******************************

Toby and Elliot continued kissing, oblivious to the dangers of kissing in a public place where any cop, any civilian, could see a detective playing tongue hockey with a murder suspect.

The kiss only broke apart when a car drove close to the duo. A slightly tinted window rolled down, to reveal the slightly angry, slightly relieved Kathy Stabler.

Elliot walked toward the driver's side window, remorseful expression on his face. Not for the kiss, but for the way his wife had to find out.

"I thought you were lying when you said you kissed another man. A lie to throw me off the track about Olivia. But it was the truth. For once, you actually told me to truth." Kathy laughed. "At least I don't have to worry about getting out lipstick stains."

Beecher found Kathy's nonplussed attitude more disconcerting than the fit he expected her to throw.

"Honey, I can explain. I.."

"Don't bother. Want to have a little fling, act like a slut? GO AHEAD. I'll be at home, with our children. Take a day to make up your mind which is more important, a prisoner, another man, who could be a serial killer or a rapist for all you know or the marriage and family we've built for 17 years. Just remember, Elliot, after tomorrow, it's over. No more second chances. I'll make sure you never see our children again. I will *not* allow them to be raised in an environment like this. Daddy and Daddy's little man-tramp. One day, Elliot, choose between us."

Before Elliot could even begin to respond, the tinted window rolled back up, and the SUV drove away.

Elliot felt himself shutting down, before he felt the cool hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go back to my place."

As Beecher and Stabler drove to Beecher's apartment, Stabler repeatedly admonished the other man to keep both hands to himself as he was trying to keep the car on the road. Beecher's failed attempts at unbuttoning the front of Stabler's blue jeans kept pulling Stabler's attention from the road. Beecher's only response was a wicked grin, and a peck on Stabler's cheek.

"I couldn't resist."

Both men were silent and on their best behavior, but Stabler finally asked the question that was nagging at him.

"You were so um...hateful...to Olivia, but why did you just stand there when Kathy insulted you?"

Beecher let out a heavy breath. "She has a right to be angry, Olivia doesn't. That bitch's only worry in life is finding the perfect outfits to show off her perky little implants. Your wife should be furious. I know what it's like to disappoint a wife Elliot. I just pray that your wife doesn't meet the same fate mine did. The pain and self-loathing of trying to figure out what went wrong. I still haven't gotten over it. I never will."

Elliot remembered, during one of the dozens of times he'd read over the files on Beecher, reading a brief item about Genevieve committing suicide. With the myriad emotional and physical problems which accompanied Beecher throughout his years in Oz, Elliot had no idea he'd still blame himself over the suicide of his wife. Overcome by compassion, he wanted to stop the car and hug Beecher, do anything to take the pain away. The least he could do was give condolences. But Beecher, tears glistening in his blue eyes, said no.

"Don't apologize for that. Not your fault. Death follows me around everywhere I go. Kathy Rockwell, Genevieve, Andrew Schillinger, Jason Schillinger. Since we're both here, I might as well tell you the truth about Jason. I didn't kill him."

Elliot sighed in relief. "I never thought you did, but I'm glad you told me."

"The pain of using your body to survive is horrible. I knew about his solicitation arrests and I knew his address. I wanted to help him, in any way I could. That night, I went to his apartment. I stood outside his door, looking in. No police, no concerned neighbors. He wasn't even speaking or moving. Some big guy was beating the living crap out of him. I heard the big guy mumble in Russian, I think, then I got the hell out of there. I assumed the police would suspect me, and they do."

Stabler nodded. "Not much to go on. Could you give a description of the guy?"

"No, his back was towards me and what's the point? The police blame me, and they'll find any means to pin this on me. We're here."

Stabler pulled the keys out of the ignition, got out of the car, and followed Beecher into his apartment building.

Walking up the stairs to the fifth floor, Elliot asked Beecher, "You walk this every day?"

"Gives me exercise."

Beecher opened his door and walked inside with Stabler following behind him. He swept his arms out in a dramatic gesture.

"Here it is, hovel sweet hovel."

**

The Schillinger-less, Oz-less, pitch-black joy of drugged sleep was bliss for Nikolai. No problems, no worries, no schemes or plans. No crucifixions.

A hand on his shoulder shook him. Nikolai shrugged it away. A second attempt, on the other shoulder, was similarly ignored.

When the hand brushed the insides of his hospital gown, traveled up his thigh, and firmly gripped his cock, Nikolai awoke. It took a herculean effort not to moan or scream out loud.

The hand snaked back out of the gown. Nikolai groggily noted a smirk on Keller's face.

"I bet that woke you up. In more places than one."

If Keller wanted to arouse his attention, it worked. If he wanted to bring a small amount of humor into an awful day spent in agonizing pain that worked. A more naive man might believe Keller used those methods to show his feelings. But Nikolai knew the gropes, the touches, were easily dispensed. Only the true affectionate gestures, the deep, loving kisses, risking his own life in the gym by stabbing Schillinger, were saved for one man: Tobias Beecher.

Nikolai tore himself from those thoughts and focused on the matter at hand.

"Are you here to discuss our plan?"

"Yeah."

"Have you come to a decision?"

"All my life, I've been a mostly selfish person. Fight and kill to survive. But Toby changed that in me. What if he's happy outside? What if he doesn't want to be near me?"

"How happy can Tobias be if he begins a relationship with a man who is your double? He misses you."

"What if Toby finds out we're the ones who brought him back here? I love Toby, but he can be dangerous when someone betrays him. No offense Nik, but some of your plans since you came to Oz haven't worked out too well. Getting stabbed in the neck, getting crucified. What if this one doesn't work?"

"Chris, I am not a perfect manipulator. I am not O'Reilly. But this is the only way to bring your Beecher back."

After a few moments of silence, Chris finally responded. "OK. I'll go along with the plan. I'll let you frame Beecher for Jason Schillinger's murder."

___________________

"What's the first step?"

At Keller's question, Nikolai had a small grin on his face. He'd heard Keller's fear about his role, but let it go slide.

"How many details do you really want to know? Trust me, my friend. The less you know, the better you'll sleep."

Keller's eyes narrowed, and Nikolai knew instantly he'd made a mistake, using the word *trust*. It was the one word that wasn't in either of their vocabularies and yet, it rang out like a bell in St. Petersburg Square, loud and hollow. Nikolai knew he'd have to play Keller carefully here, so the Russian smiled, and hit the two places guaranteed to affect Keller the most.=20

"I will tell you this much. In the last chapter, Papa Schillinger is dead, and you get the man. And if, as you say, something goes wrong, you'll be able to deny it all when you stare your precious Beecher in the eye."

It was all Nikolai could do to match Keller look for look, willing the other man to believe. When Keller suddenly blinked, Nikolai knew he had him. Of course he did. He had told Chris the absolute truth.

*******

Stabler looked around the stark one-bed room apartment and could see its slum lord's history as clear as if it had been written on the grime-coated walls. He'd seen it before of course, when they'd first come to question him. *They* being Olivia and himself when they were partners. Stabler rubbed his eyes and left them closed with images running through his head. Kathy's words and looks, Olivia's kiss all meaningless when he was anywhere near this man. He opened his eyes, gaze focusing on Tobias, standing before him.

Wordlessly, Beecher's hands went to Stabler's shirt buttons, already straining to rein in the torso that surged beneath.

A window was open. Music, something Afro-Cuban wafted in but Stabler only noticed because it kept perfect beat to the slamming in his chest. He tried to step back, and take it all in. Tobias, in a blue shirt, slightly off color to blue in his eyes. Loose black pants, riding low on his hip. Riding lower when Elliot undid the belt.

Beecher mirrored his movements, and when Elliot saw the now familiar hand move to his groin, he groaned in anticipation, and the groan turned into a growl when the hand slipped lower and grip him fully. His erection surged, powerful, in Tobias hand. Elliot gripped his shoulders, hanging on for dear life it felt like, while Toby's hands stroked and rubbed, cupped and fondled.

And the inevitable began again.

The apartment was small. The bed was only two steps from the door, and Toby had already taken them. *Led by the balls* The phrase popped in Elliot's head as Toby did just that, maneuvering him onto the bed, back to mattress in two deft movements. Elliot didn't know what happened to his clothes. All he remembered was, hours later when arching his neck, in exquisite pain as Toby's mouth came down on him, he'd seen his pants strewn on a lighting fixture. And then he was coming and coming, and then he saw nothing at all.

Exhaustion overtook him.

*******

Some time later, a car alarm went off, and Elliot jolted awake. Unfamiliar smells in an unfamiliar bed. Confusion, until the figure next to him stirred, refit his body perfectly to Elliot's, and buried his softly bearded face into Elliot's neck. Suddenly Elliot felt he knew exactly where he was. Were he wanted to be.

Home.

*******

Leo Glynn did not like it when prisoners thought they could dictate to him. Not since Peter Schibetta had Glynn felt he was at another man's beck and call. And Glynn didn't cry over what had happened to that one.

Now, Nikolai Stanislofsky was *asking* to speak with him, but there seemed to be no question that he would come.

And yes, Leo would come. He had to. Nikolai Stanislofsky held too players by the balls for Leo not to dance when the Russian snapped his fingers. Leo would come, and Leo would dance. Just this once to repay his debt.

********

Chris Keller was back in Em City.

He could *feel* them whispering, *hear* them staring. The bikers, the Muslims, the gangstas, the wops, the fags, the Jesus fuckers...and yeah, the Aryans. Chris could almost *smell* Vern lookin' at him, eyes trailing him from the pod to the weight room, the cafeteria, to the laundry. Keller had told McManus he could take care of himself, and he could take care of Vern.

Of course the last time he'd said that, he ended up with two shanks to the kidney. *But that wasn't Vern, was it?* His mind liked to taunt, play games with him ever since his time in the hole. *That was your beloved Tobias, Chrissy. The very same twinkle toes you want to tickle 'til death do you lovebirds part.* Was this his conscience talking? If so, how come his conscience sounded just like Vern Schillinger? He knew what Sister Pete would say, some shit about how Vern got to him young, and how all his negative thoughts took on the persona of the man who'd fucked him up the most.

The sister might be right.

But so was the Vern in his head.

If Niki's little plan worked, Toby must *never* know who set the shit up. Cause Toby would get ugly. His retaliation had escalated with each mindfuck. From a little shit in the face to mutilating Robson (rest in peace, half-dick) to stabbing his one true love. The only place left to go was murder. The next time someone fucked with Tobias Beecher, Chris Keller had no doubt that that *someone* would be stuck inside a body bag. Oh no. That wouldn't be Keller.

Nikolai had promised that Schillinger would die. But maybe that wasn't the last chapter. Maybe the last chapter was that all trace of what was about to go down...was gonna have to get it permanently erased.

*Little Nikita might have to die.* He couldn't tell if that was him or old internal Vern doing the talking. Keller would have to think about it.

Keller held his folder laundry and headed back to his pod. He passed Schillinger, the *real* one. Still looking at him. Before Nikolai's comment in the infirmary, Vern hadn't suspected that Chris himself (in the hole at the time) had anything to do with Jason's murder. Well that jig was up. Now Hitler Jr. stank of barely controlled anger, and Keller would have to watch out for him now. He'd need help.

*******

Keller nodded to Ryan O'Reily, who played an endless game of checkers with Augustus Hill. Ryan caught the look, and just smirked and nodded back. He'd been tracking the eyefucks between Keller and Schillinger all day long, and his own eyes narrowed as he worked through *all* the fuckin' angles. Ryan moved his piece, jumping three of Hill's pieces and sweeping them off the board.

"Checkmate."

"This is checkers, mothafucka!"

O'Reily laughed and stood up. He looked between Schillinger on one side of the room, and Keller going into his pod. O'Reily made a note of who might see him as he made his decision.

"No, it ain't Auggie. The game is always chess."

And he headed off towards Chris Keller.

____________

The protective arms wrapped around Beecher comforted him more every time he eased into them. He hadn't felt this complete since...Keller. Elliot was far less of a threat than Chris, and he felt safe in his arms. No limb breaking from this man. And Stabler was far from bland. Beecher didn't have the same level of excitement, the crackling energy, the mix of masculinity and femininity, violence and innocence, he felt with Keller. But Chris wasn't in the picture. Elliot Stabler was a more than adequate substitute.

A place in those muscular arms was the closest Beecher could come to paradise. Unfortunately, even he knew this was an illusion. A beautiful fantasy. Elysian Fields would burn to smoldering embers, the Garden of Eden would serve him an eviction notice. Leaving Beecher to a bleak and predictable future. To spend the rest of his life in that ugly little apartment. Alone. Depressed. Possibly drunk. Probably drunk.

It was with these thoughts Beecher turned out of Stabler's grasp, and slowly crept out of bed. Elliot woke when he heard a small whirring sound.

"Toby, I'm not into that type of thing."

Beecher laughed his familiar laugh of gentility merged with insanity, succeeding again in sending a shiver of delight up Elliot's spine.

Beecher turned the bedside lamp back out, and crawled back into the warm covers.

"I wanted to take a photo of myself, for you. In case you forget what I look like. Just pull out the picture and voila: Instant Toby. The picture's going to look like shit, but at least it'll have my face."

"I could never forget you Toby. Please don't act like this is our last night together. We're not done."

Beecher grasped Stabler's hand, squeezing. "This is beautiful, but it isn't real. Kathy and the four kids are. Seeing her today made me realize that. Tonight has to be the last time."

Beecher suspected the other man would leave the bed, guilt-stricken at what they had just done. Or Elliot would promise him things he could never deliver upon. Instead, Elliot pushed him flat on his back, and straddled him.

"Just think of tonight Toby, nothing else."

Beecher was hard-pressed to think of anything *but* the man on top of him when warm lips pressed against his forehead, on his cheeks, his lips, Stabler's tongue briefly pushing into his mouth. The lips moved down, nuzzled on his neck, nipping into the flesh. Stabler kissed his collarbone, his chest, then, one at a time, took each nipple into his mouth. He bit gently both times, causing Beecher to moan and arch his hips, his erection bouncing against Stabler's stomach.

Stabler moved further down, toward Beecher's stomach, stopping to kiss the insides of his thighs.

Moving toward the end of the bed, Stabler lifted each of Beecher's legs, kissing each foot, running his tongue across the bottom of each. The action caused a gasp and a slight laugh. The kisses slowly began to trail up Beecher's ankles, his legs, Stabler's cheek brushing against the golden fur, until he reached his destination. A final smile flashed in Beecher's direction, and the words "This'll be a lot more fun than taking pictures."

Elliot's sentence was Toby's final coherent moment. As the other man took Beecher into his mouth, Toby arched again and escaped into a sensation of pure bliss.

*************************

*I hate this place*

As Leo walked through a hallway, he tried to remember when that thought had become so frequent. Once upon a time, he actually wanted to make a difference. To care.

With the political games, the horrible prison violence which grew by leaps and bounds on a yearly basis, the mind games, sapped Leo's optimism, apathy, and eventually the pessimism as well. What he had left was a numbness that grew with each passing day.

Leo knew the last bit of hope died when he killed Ardith's rapist. In a rare moment of sanity, a repentant Miguel told him the name of the real rapist: Guerra. Every molecule in Glynn told him not to even bother with charges or a trial. Instead, he went to Nikolai Stanislofsky, and sure enough, Guerra was dead. Leo didn't know how, or why, he didn't want to know. The only knowledge he had was the disgust that he, a presumably moral and dignified man, stooped to the same tactics inmates used. He could no longer think of himself as being superior.

Truth be told, Leo didn't even understand why he stayed at Oz. Perhaps the last raw vestiges of his idealism forced him to. Or he didn't want to turn his job over to Tim McManus, a sleazebag. If McManus ever found out what Leo did to punish his daughter's rapist, he'd give him the usual contempt hidden underneath compassion that set Leo's teeth on edge. The former peace between the two had mildewed into a stalemate, with both men having as little to do with each other as possible. Tim used his job to screw his way through almost every single female employee, and if Leo judged those quasi-discreet glances between Tim and CO Murphy correctly, Tim wasn't satisfied just bedding his female co-workers. Tim flaunted his promiscuity, he practically wrote "fuck me" on his forehead. Glynn realized the hypocrisy of judging his assistant warden, but it was one of the few pleasures left in his work.

Finally, the infirmary. After Gloria agreed, Glynn strolled toward Nikolai's hospital bed, hoping none of the dozens of eyes on him, especially Schillinger's, were suspicious of him. It was already suspicious enough when Nikolai was moved to a more secluded area of the infirmary.

Confronted with the smug, smirking Russian face, Leo did his best to appear in control of the situation. "Stanislofsky, we have to talk."

"Certainly Warden Glynn." Nikolai smiled, the smile of a man who knew he was the one truly in control. "Feel free to speak freely."

___________

Elliot wrapped a protective arm around Toby's sleeping form. *I'm home* he repeated to himself in sad echoes in his head, he was with the person he loved, he was where he was supposed to be but couldn't stay. He nuzzled Toby's neck with his nose and caressed the tender skin at his nape with a kiss.

Even though his only thoughts lingered to a utopian society where he could lay, holding Toby all day and wrap themselves tightly in the covers until the rest of the world disappeared around them. That was a fantasy and couldn't happen. He couldn't just grab Toby, throw him onto the mildew-smelling bed and ride off into the sunset.

He slid his body away from Toby's and climbed off the bed silently, walking to the bathroom. He traveled to the sink and washed his face in a stress-filled manner. He grabbed a towel and starred up at his reflection in the mirror. He ran his finger up and down a crack that split down the center of the mirror, a crack that had been won on a lonely night when Toby was depressed and drinking. Elliot lingered on his reflection, letting his hand drift on the darkened features reflected in front of him while his thoughts drifted to Kathy's words...How could he choose? He knew that if he did chose Toby, Kathy would make sure his relationship with his kids became nonexistent. But, if he chose Kathy he would just be submitting himself and Kathy to more pain and unhappiness in a marriage that died a long time ago. He starred intrigued by how the split in the mirror split his reflection straight down the middle. He used it as a metaphor for his life. Happiness or unhappiness, Kathy or Toby, man or woman. He starred until the reflection turned slightly a blur and he was awakened from his thoughts by Toby mumbling and reaching over to Elliot's side of the bed as he slept.

Elliot smiled slightly then the smile drained totally. He couldn't lose his kids, it would be like a part of himself died. But, a part of him was already dying as he got dressed, rubbing a hand through Toby's hair, picked up the photo and began to walk out of the apartment forcing himself not to look back.

____________

Olivia had expected a moderately nice house. Instead, the address Tim left for her was an apartment building. The events of the past few weeks should have taught her not to have expectations.

She casually glanced at the apartment number as she gave the door a brief knock. A moment later, Tim answered the door, rubbing bleary eyes, clad in a green bathrobe.

"Olivia. Is something wrong? Is this about Beecher?"

Olivia walked into the apartment, assuming Tim wanted her to come in.

"No, everything's fine. I'm off the case, out of the department."

"I'm sorry."

"It's actually given me perspective, a whole new outlook, all that self-analytical crap. I came by here to.."

"Tim, the water's still hot, but not for long. So.."

The voices of both surprise guest and overnight guest trailed off when Sean entered the living room. Wearing only a towel, stray droplets of water dripping onto the carpeted floor.

"Sorry, didn't know you had company."

Olivia felt herself growing uneasy, despite her familiarity with Tim and Sean's relationship.

"I was just going anyway."

"Don't go on my account, you're Tim's guest." 8 brief words, brown eyes which briefly ran up and down her body, and Sean departed.

After his retreat to the bathroom, Olivia realized she had no idea why she'd come here. Was it a hope buried in her subconscious, that she'd stop by and Tim would tell her she was the love of his life and propose? A sign that at least one man in the world cared about her, that she wasn't completely worthless to the opposite sex? Or did she want to have one, just one, friendly goodbye from a person?

"I should have mentioned Sean, but it's early in the morning, I'm still half-asleep."

"It's no big deal. I came by to tell you I'm leaving town for a while. My mother's vacationing in Europe, and I decided to take a leave of absence from the force and go with her. The change of scenery might do me good. So I'll be out of the country for 3 or 4 months."

Tim knew the futility in even a small attempt to ask her if she was making a decision too rashly. Olivia never listened to any advice but her own.

"Drop me a postcard, OK? Don't eat any of those French foods with weird names, even if they sound wonderful. When I went to France, I ate snails and was sick as a dog for a week."

Olivia and Tim shook hands, before he gave her a, "why so formal" look and they hugged.

"Thanks for everything."

"I'm glad I could be uh....there for you when your partner wasn't."

"Tim, I won't be able to forget that morning for quite a while. Even got the marks to prove it. Try to be more careful with Murphy, prison guards can't wear turtlenecks to hide hickies."

Tim blushed slightly, eliciting a laugh from Olivia. Not the happiest memory to leave town with, but a big improvement over her memories of yesterday. Olivia walked to the front door, only turning back once. "I hope he makes you happy McManus."

Tim gave her a wistful smile. "He does."

She left, closing the door behind her. Tim yawned, headed for the bathroom, dropped his robe, and walked into the shower. Sean finished up shaving in front of the mirror.

Tim talked over the hot water. "Sorry I didn't warn you."

"No problem. It's amazing, she hasn't changed. Still icy, still suffering from lockjaw, and she still has a nice rack."

Tim laughed, the sound echoing against the shower walls. "You aren't jealous, are you?"

No response. Tim thought the question had been drowned out over the water, and went back to shampooing what hair he had left

He jumped slightly when he felt the strong hands around his waist. Then the rich, deep chuckle reverberated into his ear.

"Jealous of her? Hell no. Besides..." Sean picked up the bar of soap and began running it over Tim's upper torso, "I'm the one sharing a shower with you. She's history."

***********************

Olivia picked her cell phone out of her purse while in the elevator. What was it with her and men? Did she acquire some biochemical gene causing all men in her life to suddenly jump into bed with other men?

The resulting mental images of what Cassidy and Munch could be doing at that moment made her shudder.

Going against her better judgment, Olivia dialed the familiar number to Elliot's house. One. Two. Three. Answering machine. "The Stablers aren't home right now..."

"Kathy Stabler."

"Kathy? I wanted to talk to Elliot."

"Sorry, Olivia, he isn't here. Good luck with the operation. He told me all about it."

"What operation?"

"The one to get that stick out of your ass."

*click*

Olivia glared at her cell and shoved it back into the purse. As the elevator doors opened, she stepped out, walking out of the lobby's front door, her taxi waiting to drive her to the airport.

As she stepped into the cab, Olivia felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Elliot Stabler, his bitch of a wife, and his bitch of a boyfriend were all just a very bad memory, a sign to Olivia of what happened when she cared too much.

As the taxi drove toward its destination, Olivia made a note to herself to never let that happen again.

____________

Nikolai tried to contract his left leg muscle. If he could move it, just so...it would rub against his cast, and soothe that pesky itch (one of the two thousand excruciating itches that plagued him in unscratchable places). Ahh--there--. He finally looked at Warden Leo Glynn, who stood over him (had been standing there for awhile), looking at him like he was a cockroach on his Sunday dinner.

"You want me to come back when you finish scratching yourself, Stanislofsky?"

Nikolai smiled. "I wouldn't want you to have to make another trip, Warden."

"Oh, this is the last trip all right." The warden leaned in low, voice pitched so low and deep that no one save God and Stanislofsky could hear him. "You better make it a doozy, because this is the last conversation you and I are ever gonna have."

"Don't repeat to me the very terms I set for you, Leo. I told you when I took care of your problem. One ask, gets one answer."

Both men suddenly clammed up as Gloria Nathan walked by. Nikolai read the suspicion in her eyes when seeing a man as big as Leo try to look inconspicuous and innocent. Laughable, really. Americans were always good for a chuckle or two.

When she passed, Nikolai got right to the point.

"I need to clear my conscience on a certain matter. I want to make a confession."

"And you want me to be your priest?"

"No. I want you to bring the guilty to justice. I know who killed Vern Schillinger's son. It was Tobias Beecher, with the help of a friend of mine. You want names--"

"Uh-uh. Won't fly. Uncorroborated accomplice testimony."

"Who needs testimony...when you have evidence? Reach under the pillow."

Again Glynn glanced around. His hand went searching...and found a stack of photographs.

Nikolai watched Glynn's face as he flipped through them. Glynn was good. Not even a twitching eyelash at the hard proof in his hands.

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

"There is a captain on the New York City police force. Cragen, I believe. He may show slightly more interest in these photos than you do."

"You realize these are enough to put Tobias Beecher away for a very long time?"

Nikolai smiled as he watched Leo mentally connect the dots. The big man finally spoke.

"Trials last a long time. Years. And he might not get sent back here."

"Do you think I need you to get these into the hands of Cragen? I know how to mail a letter, warden. Your favor to me is to see that Beecher comes back to Oz. Back to Em City."

Leo's face twisted with disgust, but his shoulders slumped in resignation. He put the photos in his suit pocket and turned to leave.

Nikolai called him back. "Warden! Could I impose on you to scratch under the right cast? Just below the knee?"

"You've got to be shitting me."

"Come! Don't you have the saying, you scratch my back, I scratch yours? Well I've scratched your itch, Leo."

Leo Glynn looked at the man on the bed and his face twisted again.

"I *hate* this place." Nikolai thought he heard him mutter as the Warden left him, straining to reach relieve his discomfort.

**********

The early morning sun directed beams into Beecher's eyes. In an attempt to block out the rays, he rolled over, hoping to find relief in the shoulder or chest of the muscular cop sharing a bed with him.

Instead, he came face-to-cloth with a pillow.

After a quick glance in the bathroom, Beecher realized Stabler had left. He didn't bother to look for a note, although he felt some small amount of satisfaction that Elliot took the photo.

Of all the times for the isolated man to become a hysterical puddle of tears, this would be the one. But Toby refused to break down yet again. Not for something he'd been expecting, something he'd encouraged. Elliot belonged with his wife and children, not with a deranged ex-con. The nights Toby spent with Chris...no...Elliot were fucking incredible, but they were temporary situations.

Beecher ran down the list of how to block out the monotony and boredom in his daily routine. With no Stabler to work on, he had to have one. Hire a male or female prostitute: Hell no. Beecher was an occasional drama queen, but not enough to want a severe beating or sexually transmitted disease. Besides, with his luck, he'd wind up in the hospital, treated by a Dr. Elliot Keller.

Charity work, or trying to contact the children who didn't want any contact with him when he made parole: Beecher's heart had already been broken enough the past few years. Seeing his children again would tear open a wound that had never fully healed. Charity work wasn't appealing either.

Finally, Toby came across the solution he'd tried to ignore, the one staring him in the face all along. He smiled. That was the perfect choice.

Scrape together a few dollars, buy a cheap bottle in a brown paper bag, and get rip-snortingly, Keller/Stabler forgettingly, pain-blockingly drunk.

______________

Beecher didn't know how long he'd been staring at the bottom of the whisky bottle, a bleary eye pressed to it's lip, hoping against the hope that another drop remained. Days (weeks?) had passed since Chris...? No. Elliot. Had left him. He'd gotten blindingly drunk but there wasn't enough liquor in the world to wipe away the truth. He was alone.

A little alarm went off on his computer, the one vestige of his former life that he'd tried to recapture. It was a cheap little thing, couldn't call it more than a word processor, but it had a clock on it, that chimed to remind him. It was Monday. The second Monday of the month. And this sobered him up suddenly, more than a cold shower or a hot cup of coffee, ever could.

P.O. Day. Shit. She would be around this afternoon--was it afternoon already? He had no clue. Better get one though, he joked with himself, and stumbled over to the window and cracked a blind, and wished he hadn't when a ray of stray sun burnt a hole though his cornea. He could feel it pierce straight to his cerebral cortex and he fell back on the bed.

Yep. It was afternoon.

Sure enough, seconds after he made this determination, there was a knock on the door. Beecher shot up, and from years of practice, did the six things every drunk learns to do in two point two seconds flat: tuck in the shirt, run fingers through the hair, fail his own hand-cupped breath test, swill scope, eye drops in his burning reds, then call out in a professional voice, "Just a minute!"

His P.O. was a woman. Jacqueline. New on the job, eager to help, eager to please, eager to be every ex-con junkie's best friend. He thanked Christ he'd pulled her. Especially now, because she would overlook this one infraction...and Beecher knew this would just be the first of many.

He schooled his features quickly in the cracked mirror. He went immediately from ruddy drunk to...hmm, morning exerciser, perhaps. He threw a towel around his neck and went to the door.

"I was just doing some push-ups--"

It wasn't Jacqueline. It was Detectives Cassidy and Munch.

"Tobias Beecher? You are under arrest for the murder of Jason Schillinger."



End of Haunted