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Attendance Mandatory       
by Forbes

All Things Not Being Equal

Stabler stared at the department mail shot on his desk. It took a good few minutes for him to gather his wits enough to look across the room. Two faces held expression similar to the one he knew was plastered all over his own. Disbelief and disgust.

Fin leaned back in his chair and threw the letter across the desk. "Jesus Christ! Who the hell thought up this crappy waste of time?"

"Human Resources," Munch sighed, neatly folding his copy of the letter. "That is, if the letter heading is to be believed."

"What is it?" Olivia reached across the desk, trying to snag Elliot's letter. He pulled it out of her reach, scowling. She clicked her fingers. "C'mon, El… Give."

"No, it doesn't concern you." Elliot glanced down at his NYPD Formal Directive for training. He winced and eased himself back in his chair.

"Of course, it all might just be a huge leg-pulling exercise." Munch pushed his glasses up his nose. "You know, to see who's gullible enough to turn up at the designated time and place."

"Well, I sure as hell ain't goin'." Fin grunted.

"Going where?" Olivia stood and marched over to Fin's desk, giving Elliot an evil stare. She picked up his letter and scanned, a faint smile twitching her mouth. "Oh, I see."

Elliot scowled harder. "See what? What is there to see?" He held up the paper, shaking it. "All you see is some crappy attempt at a joke."

"You sure?" She squinted at the page. "Looks pretty official to me."

"It's a steamin' pile of horsesh…" Fin trailed off as he caught sight of Cragen walking towards them. "Hey, Cap'n."

Cragen reached their desk, looked from one face to the other and raised an eyebrow. "I take it you read the directive?"

"You mean this is for real?" Elliot's chair legs thumped to the squad room floor.

"I'm afraid so. It's a blanket instruction for all PD employees."

"All *male* employees," Olivia corrected, the smirk broadening into a grin. "I think it's a great idea." Four pairs of male eyes stared at her. "I mean, let's face it, guys. You could all do with a spot of sensitivity training." She looked from around the room at the blank faces. She laughed. "Oh, come on! Think of it as a morning off work."

"A morning wasted, you mean," Elliot grumbled.

"Y'think we could get away with cuttin'it?" Fin crushed his letter into a tight ball.

"Sounds good to me." Elliot reached behind himself and grabbed his jacket. "Shame, but we gotta go catch the bad guys." He grinned. "Let's go be 'sensitive' on the streets." Slipping his arms in his jacket, he nodded at Fin who stood up.

Munch cleared his throat. "Sorry to rain on your parade, guys, but I don't think we're going to be cutting anything."

Fin and Elliot turned to look. Cragen was standing with his arms folded over his chest, his eyebrows almost tied in a knot on his forehead.

"Aw, c'mon, Cap!"

"You gotta be kiddin'!" Fin and Elliot's voices met in a tangle of whining pleas.

Cragen shrugged and shook his head. "No way. If *I* have to go, then I'm damned well making sure you lot go."

"You're required to attend, too?" Munch sounded mildly amused. "How fitting!"

Cragen gave him a nasty look. "Yes, I have to attend, whether I like it or not. And so do you."

Fin threw his hands in the air. "This crazy, man! We got cases comin' outta our asses – we don' have time for this shit!"

Cragen raised an eyebrow at the language, but didn't rise to the bait. "All cases are suspended for the morning. This course is mandatory." Cragen looked at him. "But then, you know that; you all read the letter."

Elliot pointed to the doorway. "You could look the other way. Hell, you could come with us, Cap'n!"

Cragen raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes, Detectives, we have to just bite the bullet and do things we're not particularly interested in." Cragen extended his hand towards the squad room door. "After you, gentlemen."

Olivia watched as a silent battle of wills between the Captain and the other men played out in front of her. It was a good three of four minutes before a small sigh from Fin signaled defeat. All three began to make their way towards the door, each receiving a raised eyebrow from their captain. They looked for all as if they were going to an execution, or maybe a trio of recalcitrant children being dragged off to the Principal's office.

She picked up one of the discarded papers and waited until they were almost out of the door before speaking. "Guys? You forgot your letter." All four men turned and looked at her. None of them said a word, but the message was loud and clear.

She grinned and waved them as the left the squad room. Looking down at the paper in her hand she read the heading, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could be a small and rather nosy fly

NYPD DIRECTIVE: All male employees are required to attend today's seminar in Conference Room 5.

SUBJECT: Tackling Sensitivity and Gender Issues within the Workplace.

ATTENDANCE - MANDATORY.

Chapter 2

Insensitivity Training

Approaching the doors to Conference Room 5, Elliot straightened his shoulders and tried to get in a positive frame of mind about what was going to be the biggest waste of time and energy since staple-counting for the auditors.

He held the door open for Cragen, trying not to sigh as he passed by. "After you," he muttered. He and Fin exchanged pissy looks as they followed him in.

"I get the distinct feelin' I ain't gonna enjoy this one bit," muttered Fin.

"You think?" Elliot scratched his neck. "I tell ya, if we have to start holding hands or chanting, I'm outta here."

Fin stopped suddenly and stared at him. "Holdin' what?!"

Elliot shrugged. "I heard about one of these things from a guy in the Bureau." He leaned in to speak in hushed tones. "He told me they had to recite poetry and sing."

Fin reared back, his face contorted in disgust. "What the hell?!" He made a rude noise. "Somebody please tell me what the hell is the point in makin' policmen *sing*?"

"Actually, this may not be as utterly pointless as you assume," Munch told them as he pushed between them. "You never know, we may learn to conduct ourselves in a whole new way."

"Conduct this," Fin replied, slipping a rigid finger under his partner's nose.

Munch raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for making my point, Detective."

"Yeah, well if you ever decide to *make* a valid point, I'll be the first to…" Fin started to say.

"For the love of God, children," Cragen sighed, ushering the three of them forward into the room. "Will you *please* behave? For a couple of hours?" He shoved them forward into the room.

Moving to the back of the crowd, Fin did a neat side-step to the left so that he wasn't standing in front of Cragen. Stabler read the other man's moves like a textbook on bad behavior. He didn't want those stern eyes burrowing into the back of his head all morning, either. He took a step to the right. The door snicked shut behind them, taking all hope of slinking out unnoticed.

"Welcome, gentlemen."

Peering around the heads in front of them, the detectives regarded the tall woman in the center of the room. She clapped her hands and beamed at the sea of faces.

"Thank you for attending. I'm sure you're all going to take something valuable away from this session." She spread her arms out. "My name is Cherie, and I'd like you all to please open your minds and leave your pre-conceived ideas about team-building exercises behind you. This is going to be a completely unique experience." She moved around the room as if on wheels, seemingly taking a bead on every man present, weighing them up.

"We're all here today to promote a more healthy approach to your interaction within the workplace. And let me tell you, I guarantee your experience here will carry over into each and every day, enriching your interaction with your fellow man."

She looked just too damned pleased with herself, Stabler thought. He jammed his hands into his pants pocket and leaned against the wall. How was a woman supposed to teach *guys* about male attitudes? That was a crock from the start. He looked her up and down. And just who the hell wore tie-dye and sandals anymore?

"What we're aiming for today, is to challenge the inherent attitudes and responses that most adult males carry around with them."

Oh Lord... damned touchy-feely hippy-crap. Stabler grunted and slouched further down. There were a million things he'd rather be doing. And none of them involved getting in touch with his feminine side, or whatever the hell this flake had planned for them. He let his disinterested gaze wander around the room. He hadn't been in this one before. Looked exactly the same as conference room number 4, but in beige. He watched Fin doing the same bored décor-checking as himself. Munch, surprisingly, seemed to be paying attention.

"...and in challenging these behavior patterns, we hope to break through and re-define your responses to them."

Stabler smirked as he caught Fin's rolled eyes. He could practically hear the other man's voice: 'Psycho-babble bullshit - redefine my *ass*'. Fin caught his eye and mimed a yawn, making Stabler laugh silently. It took him back to High School, messing around at the back of an algebra class. And the way it looked, this was going to be about as much use in his life as algebra had been.

Chapter 3

Hands Together, Now

This was definitely surreal, Stabler thought. Standing in a circle with your co-workers, all of them shifting uncomfortably, all looking either at the floor or the ceiling; holding hands. Christ knows what they must all look like. Thank God Liv couldn't see them. They'd never hear the end of it, standing like a bunch of pre-schoolers. Did the Department make the female workers go through this torture? It was sexual discrimination, if they didn't.

He glanced to his left. Detective Wilson stood rigid, his gaze locked on the wall opposite, his hand clasped tightly in Stabler's as if to prove he didn't have a problem with being made to hold another man's hand. Stabler smirked. Oh, Detective Wilson had a problem, all right. Every now and then the hand clasped in his trembled. Wilson hated this. Hated it with a passion. The man who told an endless stream of gay jokes in the locker room wasn't coping well with this at all.

Mind you, Stabler decided, he'd rather hold hands with a raging homophobe than a trout. On his right, Detective Millar from Vice had a grip about as pleasant as a dead fish. All damp and limp. Stabler didn't want to think about whether the man was sweating through fear or excitement. He sighed again. 'Challenging their issues'. What a crock of shit. Why couldn't guys just be left alone to be guys? No big deal. Who the hell wanted to hold hands with another man, anyway?

"....and relax." Around the room, hands were dropped with varying degrees of haste. Detectives grinned sheepishly at one another. Stabler tried to resist the urge to wipe his right hand on his pants' leg. "There, now. That wasn't so bad, was it?" The beaming woman cast her eyes about for dissension. "As I told you before, there is nothing to fear from physical contact with another man."

Someone across the room snorted and several Detectives sniggered. Stabler smirked. That had to be Fin. He had watched the two guys forced to hold hands with Tutuola endure a glare that would peel paint. Good job they had to leave their guns behind. Munch, on the other hand, seemed to take perverse pleasure in grinning suggestively at the men on either side of him, those shaggy eyebrows dancing up and down in wicked glee. He watched as the two men sidled away from him. Munch caught his eye and grinned. Elliot shook his head and wagged finger.

"I have to say, I'm sensing that holding hands made some of you uncomfortable. Am I right?" Silence echoed in the room. Bright eyes under a mass of frizzy curls scoured the faces before her. "There is no shame in admitting that, gentlemen, only shame in refusing to challenge that emotion." She paced around the circle. "There is a pervasive attitude among men of your generation, and indeed of the generation before yours, that any contact with another man that doesn't involve violence is wrong." She paused in front of Stabler's part of the circle. "A kind of juvenile Junior High attitude."

He swallowed guiltily but maintained eye contact. With a brief smile, Cherie moved on. "And this is simply outdated and prehistoric." She threw her arms out. "We are in the twenty-first century, gentlemen! Time to move on!"

Time to move out and get on with some real work, Stabler thought. He glanced down, gave in and wiped his hand.

Chapter 4

Disrobed and Disturbed

"Okay...." Cherie swept around the circle in a flounce of purple tie-dye. "I'd like you all to take off your jackets and ties. Let's take away those badges of office, leave the official constraints of government behind and get comfortable." She clapped her hands. "Hurry. Undo those tight shirt collars!"

No-one moved for a moment, then in a reluctant mutter of furtive glances, Detectives began to slip jackets off and self-consciously loosen their ties. A pile of articles grew on a table. Conscious of how creased the ones on the bottom of the pile were going to be at the end of the session, Stabler hung his jacket on a chair, stuffing his tie in the side pocket. He already had more laundry chores than he could cope with..

This woman might be just this side of nuts, but at least this particular move met with his approval. He unbuttoned his collar, then after a moment's consideration, slipped another through its hole. Screw it. If he was going put up with this touchy-feely bullshit, he was at least going be comfortable. He began to roll up his sleeves.

Next to him, Fin leaned in. "I ain't takin' anything else off. She can go 'official constraint' herself some other place."

Elliot grinned. "Oh, c'mon. You know you love it."

Fin gave him a sour look. "There's a time an' a place to lose the threads, man, but trust me, it ain't with thirty other guys in the same room." He threw his jacket over Elliot's.

"Actually, I find this all rather refreshing," Munch said, squeezing past to fold his jacket onto the table. "You have to admit it's liberating to be able to hold hands with your fellow man and not expect a punch in the nose."

Fin winced at him. "There's something seriously wrong with you."

John raised an eyebrow. "What's so wrong to crave physical contact?"

"All depends who with," Fin muttered.

"You mean, 'with whom'," Munch corrected with a smirk.

"Marvelous!" Cherie called across the room, interrupting Fin's snappy reply. "We need to shed the outer layer that binds the inner man."

Stabler and Fin exchanged a glance and Elliot wondered if Ms. Cherie had been checked for mind-altering drugs lately.

"Now then, can we please get into groups of four? I have something I want you all to try." She laughed. "I know you've all done things like this before in NYPD training, so don't be shy."

Stabler pulled a face. This was going to involve more physical contact, he'd bet his left nut on it. He took a couple of steps away from Millar. No *way* he wanted to get any closer to fish-boy. Uh-uh. He's pass on that, thank you very much. He slunk along the edge of the room to stand between Fin and Munch.

"All sorted?" Cherie clapped again. "What I would like to try is probably going to be somewhat familiar to you all. It's an exercise in trust." Stabler hoped whatever she had planned wasn’t going to involve anything too strenuous. With any luck there'd be a little more hand-holding, some chanting, maybe some New-Age male bonding and that would be that. Out in time to catch lunch down at Mario's on the corner.

"Good. That's wonderful. Now, what I need are volunteers." With a swoop, Cherie reached out and snagged John's arm. "Your group will do magnificently."

"Certainly." Munch beamed at her. "Pleased to assist you, Ma'am."

Cherie nodded. "Thank you." She crooked a finger. "And the rest, please." Stabler and Fin hung back. Maybe she didn't mean... "*All* of you, please."

A pair of strong hands settled in the small of their backs, and shoved them forward. Behind them, Cragen smirked at the look on both faces. With a sinking feeling, Stabler stepped the rest of the way forward, his hands in his pockets. Cherie smiled at him and pulled him towards her by the crook of his arm. She didn't let him go until he reached her side.

"And what's your name?"

Stabler cleared his throat and made a concerted effort not to glare. "Detect..."

A shiny fingernail darted out to touch his lips. "No... Not your title, position or rank. Just your name; your given name, sweetheart."

A spasm of discomfort crossed Stabler's face at being referred to as `sweetheart' in front of his colleagues. He was sure he heard a snort from someone. And he could just bet who that was.

"Elliot," he muttered with all the grace of a fourteen year old boy. Cherie beamed at him. "Welcome, Elliot." She turned to the others. "And your friends?" There was a strained moment, until subdued replies were muttered at the floor.

"Fin."

"John."

Behind them, Cragen hesitated.

"Yes, you too, dear."

Cragen cleared his throat. "Um… Don," he muttered.

Cherie nodded enthusiastically at each name. "That's super, gentlemen! Now, don't be shy, or embarrassed. We're all friends here."

No. We're not, Stabler thought sourly. We're co-workers, not bosom pals, who *really* don't want to be here. He glanced up and caught John's eye just as he winked, twitching a teasing brow. Stabler narrowed his eyes in return.

Cherie clapped her hands. "Just relax. It's going to be a lot of fun!"

Somehow Elliot very much doubted that.

Chapter 5

Challenging Behavior

Cherie swooped towards them and grabbed Fin's arm, pulling him around until he was facing the others.

"I spoke before about the misconceptions and inherent restraints that modern society has imposed on men…" She sighed and shook her head, as if deeply saddened. "It's such a pity that one half of the population feels unable to share and express physicality in the same way as women."

Elliot stared at Fin standing in front of them. The other man was rolling his eyes and pulling faces as Cherie spoke. It was all Elliot could do not to crack up. He threw his gaze to the floor, for fear of bursting out laughing. He could hear Cragen growling quietly next to him; and the sound added to the torment.

"Oh… I can see you understand what I'm saying, don't you, honey?"

Elliot looked up at the ensuing silence. Shit… She was addressing him. He glanced side to side, but there was no help forthcoming from his colleagues.

"I… um… " I started to say, clueless.

"Yes, I know. It *is* very sad," she nodded, agreeing with whatever she thought he was trying to say. Elliot pressed his lips together and bit his tongue.

Fin grinned at him.

"But I'm here to change all that." She grabbed Fin's arm, wiping the smirk off his face in the process. "Today is going to be the first day of the rest of your lives, for most of you. Today, I'm giving you permission to change your whole outlook on life." She looked carefully at all three men standing in front of her, and reaching some mysterious conclusion, pulled Fin towards Munch. "Hug him." She instructed John.

Munch looked blankly at her. "Huh?" he said with less than his usual eloquence.

"Hug him. Put your arms around this man and hold him tight."

Elliot bit down on a smirk at the look on Fin's face.

"You want me to…?" Munch cleared his throat and held his hands out.

"That's right." She placed her hand in the small of Fin's back and shoved him forward. "It's perfectly okay. No-one will think any less of you." She peered around at Fin's face. "Of *either* of you, for that matter."

Elliot watched Munch give a slight shrug and reached out to put his hands on Fin's shoulders. "Here goes my reputation," he muttered as he pulled Fin's unyielding body in. Elliot snickered gently at the expression on Fin's face as a pair of long arms enveloped him. He reluctantly returned the gesture.

"Gentlemen…" Cherie announced, waving her hand at the two SVU detectives, locked awkwardly in each other's arms. "This is what I want to see from all of you. Experience the feeling of holding another man in your arms without censure, without pain, without guilt." She clasped her hands over her chest and beamed, stepping away. "I guarantee you'll all find it liberating."

Elliot could hear low muttering from the entwined couple.

"Liberating or not, I swear I'm gonna shoot your skinny ass if I feel either of those hands movin' south, y'hear?"

Munch huffed. "Oh, stop complaining. You heard the woman; without censure or guilt, remember?"

"Yeah, well… You can be *damned* sure there's gonna be pain if you…"

Elliot watched Munch's hand slide down the other man's hip, an evil glint shining in his eye.

"Don't you fuckin' dare!" Fin snapped, jerking his arms tight enough to make Munch grunt. "You wanna carry on breathin', you move it back."

"Picky, picky," Munch sighed, replacing his hand. "So repressed," he said with mock sincerity.

"Okay… you two, that was wonderful, thank you." Cherie touched Fin on the back, and he wriggled out of John's grip. He glared at both his partner and Cherie, who missed the poisonous look altogether. "I'd like everyone to begin, now. Hug your group. Feel the pleasure of physical contact."

Elliot turned to Munch. "You live dangerously, don't you?"

Munch shrugged. "I try. But then I'm also more amenable to alternative concepts. He held his hands out. "Shall we?"

Elliot shrugged and stepped forward to accept his hug. It was okay, he thought, hugging back. No biggie; almost like hugging one of his brothers. Although none of his brothers wore glasses that poked him in the side of his face. He pulled away and rubbed his temple.

"Ow," he complained. "You stab everyone with those?" he asked.

Munch smiled. "I usually take them off – but then, I usually take everything off." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"God, spare me," Elliot winced. He stepped back and straight onto someone's toes.

"Ouch."

Elliot turned. Cragen winced and shifted his weight.

"Sorry, Cap." He grinned and held his arms out. "Hug ya better?"

Cragen looked him up and down. "Do I have a choice?"

Elliot shook his head. "Nope. Doesn't look like it. C'mon, I'll be gentle with you."

Cragen grunted. "Oh, for goodness sake." He grabbed Elliot, hugged him hard then pushed him away. "There," he said. "All done."

Elliot smiled, but couldn't bring himself to comment. The contact had shaken him to the bones; the brutal, four second embrace had been like replaying one of few hugs he'd gotten from his father. The familiar sensation of a man holding him like he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible shot through him like broken glass. The achingly familiar scent of shaving soap seemed to go hand in hand with an almost unbearable sadness. He thought he was done with being hurt by the past, but the memory danced in and sucker-punched him. He looked down at the floor to compose himself. He really didn't want to start thinking about his dad right now, and he certainly didn't want to think about Cragen in those terms at all.

Somewhere across the room, Cherie called out. "Women have the opportunity to experience this feeling between them as an almost automatic birthright, It's time you claimed that right for yourselves! Feel it! Feel how good it is!"

There were a number of less than subtle grunts from around the room. Elliot raised an eyebrow. The exercise may have gone a long way in proving Cherie's point about barriers between men, but it just proved the birthright of rough-housing and drinking beer was plenty good enough for him. He glanced over at Tutuola. "How's your feminine side comin' on, man?"

Fin drew his teeth back from his lips. "About two seconds away from bein' on the rag, thank you for askin'."

Elliot burst out laughing. "That mean I don't get any of your lovin'?"

"Fuck you," Fin replied and grabbed Elliot around the neck. Shoving his hands behind Elliot's back, he locked them together and squeezed as hard as he could. "How you like *that* lovin', bitch?" he laughed.

Elliot struggled against the near death-grip for a while, before admitting defeat and wrapping his arms around Tutuola's body.

"Great, man," he gasped into the side of Fin's neck. "Be even better if I could fuckin' breathe." He could feel laughter rattling around inside the other man and gave a wicked squeeze of his own as payback. They laughed as they grappled, each straining to squeeze as hard as possible, pulling each other to tip-toe.

"Fuck!" Fin gasped, releasing his hands and pushed Elliot away. "That was harsh, man!" he complained, rubbing his sides.

Elliot pointed at him. "So how'd you like *that* lovin', bitch?" he threw back, resisting the urge to hold his own sides.

Fin grunted and moved to stand next to Munch, giving Elliot the evil eye.

Chuckling, Elliot shook his head. He didn't consider himself too tightly-wrapped in the personal space department, but all this man-on-man clutching and grabbing was seriously starting to get on his nerves. To say nothing of the bruises he knew he was sporting on his ribs from Tutuola's clinch.

"That was wonderful!" Cherie swished around the room, touching the odd shoulder, patting arms. "Simply wonderful! You all did sooooooo well! I'm impressed." Stabler rolled his eyes, gave in and rubbed his ribs. Yeah, just wonderful. He looked up to see Fin still glaring over at him. He winked.

"In fact, I'm so impressed with your responses, I think we're ready to move this up to the next level sooner rather than later."

Elliot sighed. Great. Another level.

Chapter 6

Sitting Bull

Taking a grip on the table in the middle of the room, Cherie shoved it away with more strength than any of the men would have given her credit for. "What I want you all to do, is find a partner to work with. A person with whom you interact on a regular basis, okay?"

Stabler stood still and watched as the Detectives around him milled around, laughing, grabbing one another, pairing up with each other. They all seemed to have a colleague in the room. Munch and Fin automatically teamed up, and even Wilson and Millar found themselves partners.

Stabler stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes following the process, watching with detached interest. Maybe Cherie the Cheerful would let him disappear as he had no-one to team up with. Yeah. He could do that. Early lunch. Pulling his hands from his pants, he grinned and started towards the chair holding his jacket.

"Hoping for an early lunch, Detective Stabler?"

Stabler froze, his hand on the chair. He looked up. "Well, yeah, I guess," he said, pulling the collar of his jacket towards him. "Seeing as I don't have a partner to team up with." Cragen grinned; a disconcerting sight. Stabler didn't think he'd ever seen that particular expression on the man's face before. His hand stilled. They stared at one another.

"What?" Stabler said finally, his voice unsteady.

"Oh, but you do have a partner, Detective." The grin widened. "Me.

Elliot's eyes widened. "But..."

"We interact together regularly. I think that qualifies." Cragen reached out, pulled the jacket from Stabler's hand and laid it back on the chair.

"But..." This wasn't what Stabler had in mind. Not by a long shot. This wasn't going to get him a bologna sub with salad and mayo any time soon. Bad enough he was seeing his boss with two buttons open on his shirt, but with this huge grin on his face, he didn't look a bit like the man who barked at him from behind a big desk. You weren't supposed to *ever* see your boss' chest hair peeking out from the gap in his shirt. Too much information.

His eyes flicked across the room to where Fin and Munch stood grinning at him like two crazed meer-kats. He pulled a face at them. Fin pointed his finger like a gun and mimed taking a shot.

"Everyone paired up? Lovely. Let's get started. You all need to find yourselves some space." Elliot watched Cragen move away from him and contemplated making a break for the door. He had just convinced himself he could make it when the bald head whipped around and stabbed him with a glare and gave sharp flick of his head.

Sighing, Stabler shoved his hands back in his pants and trudged forward. He was hungry and had a dull ache in his sides. He didn't want to be doing this attitude-adjusting shit. His attitude was fine the way it was. Pissy.

Cherie kicked her sandals off and crumpled to the floor in a billow of material. "Everyone take off your shoes and sit on the floor, okay?" She smoothed her skirt around her legs. "I want you all to take five minutes to rest. Gather your thoughts. Reach your inner peace and centre yourselves." She closed her eyes.

Around the room, thirty men stared at this gangly creature, all cheesecloth and beads, sitting like some tie-dyed Buddha on the floor. It took quite a few minutes of staring, but eventually, and very slowly, shoes were removed, and around the room, police officers sank to the heavy-duty carpeting.

Stabler watched as Cragen bent to untie his laced up shoes and toe them off, placing them carefully under a table. With an audible grunt, the big man lowered himself to the floor and sat with his legs crossed, looking up. His eyebrows raised. Well? They seemed to say.

Fighting the urge to both flee and roll his eyes, Stabler shoved a toe on his heel and forced off a boot without undoing the laces, sending it skittering away. He noted the look of irritation on Cragen's face at the harsh treatment of the footwear and took perverse pleasure in doing exactly the same to the other one. He flopped down, knowing damn well that Cragen was just itching to say something about that. Probably something along the same lines as both Kathy and his mother would have.

"Okay, gentlemen," Cherie spoke without opening her eyes. "I want you to sit back -to-back with your partner. Lean your backs against each other. Take each other's weight and use each other's body to balance your own."

Stabler frowned. What the hell... He looked around at the others who were busy lining themselves up. Was he the only one who thought this was just plain dumb?

Three couples away, he could see Fin and Munch quietly bickering about something. Fin pushed at John's shoulders, Munch turned around 360 degrees to annoy him. Elliot grinned. He was jerked back to the moment by an elbow in the side.

"Wake up, Detective. Lean back." Cragen pressed his wide back against Stabler's, pushing him forward slightly. Elliot pushed back, annoyed.

"Oh, excuse me, you guys...." Cherie waved over at the two of them. "No rank. No delineation of position, please." She shook her finger. "We're not going to go there this morning, okay?." She smiled broadly at Cragen. "What was your name, again, honey?"

Stabler smothered a grin. 'Honey'? He didn't need to be facing the captain to know what expression would be on his face. The silence spoke for itself.

"Honey? I forgot your name."

He heard Cragen swallow.

"Don," the man said at last in a very tight voice.

"Well then, Don. I want you to call your friend by his first name, okay? We're trying to break down barriers between you guys right now, and you referring to your seminar partner like that, is counter-productive, you know?"

Stabler fancied he could feel a growl rattling through Cragen's back. "Okay?" The woman was relentless.

"I understand." He felt Cragen nod.

"So you're going to call him...?"

Stabler looked at his hands in his lap. God, he wanted to laugh so badly. Cragen being reprimanded by a refugee from a suburban PTA was just too good.

"Elliot." The word was coughed out.

"Marvelous!" She held up her hands. "And everyone... Relax against each other and close your eyes. Breathe together. In.... and out.....in...."

Stabler could feel Cragen's rigid back ramrod-straight against his. Relax? Yeah… That was gonna happen. He pushed experimentally and felt Cragen shove right back. Relax. Right.

"Let yourselves drift, gentlemen. Deep, slow breaths. Relax and allow yourselves to focus."

Stabler stared at the wall across the room. Focus on what? Focus on every breath his boss took... Each twitch of muscle that he felt clean through his shirt? Or should he focus on the smell of warm feet that 30 barefoot men generated? Jesus... This was a fuckin' joke.

"Lean back and let your mind take you somewhere that means a lot to you. Think back to a pleasant memory - one that makes you smile." The woman was truly relentless. Behind him, Cragen rested his head against the back of Elliot's so that he had no choice but to lean back or have his chin forced to his chest. Stabler sighed and closed his eyes. Might as well make the best of it, he thought.

Actually, he admitted to himself a few minutes later, this wasn't too bad. Cragen's back was warm and it wasn't any effort to stay upright, leaning against him like this. It'd been years since he'd sat on the floor like this. You got past twenty five and sitting on the floor wasn't so cool anymore. Had the last time he'd sat back-to-back like this really been at baseball camp? Him and Jimmy Davies; sitting in the middle of the field, eating their packed lunches. Bologna for him, peanut butter and jelly for Jim. He smiled. He hadn't thought about Jimmy in a decade or more.

He was dimly aware of Cherie droning on in the background of his mind, something happy-clappy or other. He let himself drift away, re-living that summer when he'd brought in the crucial home run, sliding in on his knees. The sunshine was hot on the back of his neck and the roar of the crowd echoed in his head as he gave his team the victory they'd worked all summer for.

"...nothing sexual about it at all." Stabler's eyes snapped open.

"It can be a very affirming way of connecting with a member of your gender. It's very beneficial in the work environment, I've had nothing but positive feedback about this." Stabler frowned. Feedback about what? Had he missed something? He felt Cragen shift behind him, moving. Shit. He'd spaced out. What now? The homerun and late summer sunshine faded in his head. He stared as Cragen moved to sit in front of him.

"Come on.... Elliot." Cragen frowned at him. "Get it together. Lie down."

Chapter 7

Lying Down On The Job

Lie down????? Stabler blinked. "What?

Cragen reached out and grabbed a handful of Elliot's shirt at the shoulder and began to force him to turn around. "Lie down, dammit."

"What the hell!?" Stabler struggled. He didn't want to lie down! He didn't want to be in this damned workshop upright, let alone reclining on the floor in front of his boss.

"Oh, just get on with it!" Cragen growled and twisted Stabler's body so he slipped off balance and went sprawling on the carpet. A big hand planted itself in the center of his chest, pinning him down.

"Christ!" Stabler strained against the other man. "Let me up!"

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" Cherie loomed over them.

Stabler stared. Upside down, she didn't look any less weird.

"Get him off...." He struggled.

Cragen sighed. "Jesus, man, just do what everyone else is doing and stop making such a fuss."

"Huh?"

Glancing one way then the other, Stabler saw rows of men, all staring at him. Each pair had one sitting, one lying with their head in the lap of the other. Even Fin and Munch seemed to be on the right page, the pair of them staring over at him in mild amusement. Munch waved from his position on the floor.

"Does this make you very uncomfortable, Elliot?" Cherie inquired solicitously. "Some men do have issues over relinquishing control." She made it sound pitiful.

"I don't have any damned issues..." Stabler began, feeling his face redden as he realized he was making a scene.

"I think you do." Cherie squatted beside them. Her head tilted to look at him. "Is it because you fear being submissive towards Don?"

He scowled. "No."

Stabler stopped struggling, but Cragen's hand stayed where it was. He could feel the heat of it through his dress shirt. He hadn't had time to hunt out a clean undershirt that day and Cragen's hand burned through the cotton like hot steel.

"Because if it is, you shouldn't worry. This exercise is just learning about caressing in a very non-threatening way."

Stabler's mind expanded then contracted sharply to focus on one word: `caressing'. "What?" he whispered. Caressing... When did that come up? Who said anything about caressing?? He didn't remember reading *that* word in the e-mail.

"Just relax." Cherie patted his shoulder. "Like I told you, this is a completely non-sexual exercise. It's all about making connections and bonding."

Stabler's mouth hung open. He'd just as soon go to a ball game or buy his boss a burger if there was any `bonding' to be done. Why did *caressing* have to enter into it? His throat made a dry clicking noise.

"Good man." She smiled down at him. "I knew you'd be okay with this." She leaned down to whisper close to his ear. "I usually find that it's the Alpha-males in the room who have the most trouble adjusting."

Stabler watched open-mouthed and upside-down as she pulled herself to her feet and clapped her hands. He stared at her upside-down ass as she walked away. Alpha male? He didn't know whether to laugh or be flattered.

"So, gentlemen. I want you to relax and take a few deep breaths. This is meant to be utterly non-threatening..." She glanced down and smiled at Elliot. "Allow yourself to accept that and I think you'll be surprised at how much you enjoy it." She looked around the room. "Partner A, place partner B's head comfortably in the cradle of your lap and rest your hands on his shoulders...."

Stabler felt Cragen re-arrange his head, waggling it this way and that. He frowned, not happy with the way Cragen was using his ears for leverage. "Hey..."

"Shut up and relax."

Stabler scowled. He asserted himself by wriggling around to make himself more comfortable under his own terms. He heard Cragen hiss and flinch as the back of his head landed somewhere soft.

"Jesus! Be careful, damnit!"

Pressing his lips together, Stabler squashed a grin. Now both of them were uncomfortable. Was this sort of dumb-ass thing covered in his job-description, he wondered as he lay restless on the itchy industrial carpet, trying to find someplace to stare that didn't involve looking up Cragen's nose.

What to do with his hands? He tried folding them across his chest, but that was uncomfortable. Pockets were out of the question. Sighing, he lay them either side of his body, wrinkling his nose at the scratchy feel of the flooring.

"... now Partner A, I want you to close your eyes and begin unbuttoning Partner B's shirt."

Stabler yelped slightly as Cragen's hands moved to his neck. He grabbed the large hands. "Hey...!"

Cragen's fingers gripped just below his collar tightly and Stabler tugged, grunting in protest. The bald head bent low over his, the shirt bunched tightly, pulling across Elliot's neck.

"For God's sake, Elliot," Cragen snapped quietly. "What the hell are you playing at?"

The words and single whiff of shaving soap summoned an instant of almost agonizing recall – his father's hands holding his shirt in a strangle-hold as he shouted at him in the driveway over a broken window. He flinched, remembering the hiding that had followed.

Stabler growled in the back of his throat, a confused mixture of pain and embarrassment. This had gone far enough. He'd had just about enough of all this touchy-feely, clap-happy liberal, tree-hugging fuckin' bullshit. He pulled Cragen's hands away and sat up sharply. They smacked foreheads together. Hard.

"Jesus!"

"Ow! Fuck!"

Stabler fell back into Cragen's lap, grabbing his head, wincing. Shit. Above him. Cragen grunted and swore again.

Cherie loomed over them, filling Elliot's line of sight with lavender colored beads and frizzy hair. She bent and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "You need to relax, Elliot. Fighting this contact is negative - it's creating stress."

No - it's creating a fucking great headache, Stabler thought, rubbing his hairline. He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side

"I'm just not comfortable with..."

"I understand." Cherie nodded. "Really, I do."

He glared at her. "I doubt that."

She smiled. "Oh, I do." Leaning forward, she spoke quietly. "You're not happy with this because you're translating Don's touch into something with a sexual agenda."

Stabler opened his mouth to strenuously contradict her, and felt a finger on his lips.

"No, let me finish. There is no agenda to this other than the touch of one human being to another." She smiled wider and whispered. "Even if secretly you wish there were."

His eyes bugged. "Just a Goddamned minute!"

"It's perfectly natural, Elliot. Don is a vital, attractive man. It's more than understandable."

Stabler felt himself flush violently. "I do NOT....." He glanced up at Cragen, mortified beyond belief.

Above him, Cragen grinned down. "Why, Elliot... this is so sudden."

The sight of Cragen's amusement at his plight infuriated him. Bastard was laughing at him, enjoying watching him squirm. He gritted his teeth hard enough to make his jaw throb.

"I don't... I mean I'm not in the least bit..." He shook his head violently, the words wedged firm behind his indignation and pride.

Cherie patted his arm. "Don't let this upset you. I know it must be a very new thing for you..."

"It's not a Goddamned new thing!" Stabler exploded.

She nodded. "Ah. I see."

Stabler blushed harder. "What I mean is..."

"Never mind. You and Don can talk through this later, but you really should try to move past the physicality of the situation." She looked at Cragen. "However, if this is making you both uncomfortable, then..."

"Nope." Cragen shook his head, still smiling. "It's fine. It doesn't bother me at all."

Cherie beamed. "Excellent. You're remarkably in touch with yourself, Don. I applaud you." Standing, she placed her hand on Cragen's shoulder. "Why don't you allow Elliot to dictate the pace?"

Stabler opened his mouth to let them know that his pace was getting up, getting dressed properly and getting out of there, but he was stalled by the sound of a muffled titter from across the room. Someone was laughing at him. Maybe Millar, or the Trout. Maybe it was Fin. It didn't matter who it was – the fact that they were laughing was enough to infuriate him. Stabler scowled. Damnit to hell.

Chapter 8

Hands-On Experience

"Do you want to take a rain check?" Cragen asked him in a voice devoid of accusation that somehow made Stabler feel worse.

He pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to relax. "No. I'm okay. Let's get it over with."

"Sure?"

Stabler glared up into amused eyes. "I'm sure, damn it. Get on with it."

Cragen shrugged and brought his hands up to the buttons on the front of Elliot's shirt. He began to pull one after another open. Stabler held his breath. It was just a shirt, and this was just a goddamned workshop exercise. He could do this. He shoved Cherie's stupid assumptions and the memory of the broken window and beating out of his head.

Cragen pulled the two halves of the material apart and Stabler felt a small shiver run through him as it freed from his pants, a flap of cool air trailing across his bare chest. Shit. He *really* wished he'd taken the time to get a clean undershirt from the laundry.

"Okay?" Cragen asked quietly, his voice too low for any of the other couples to hear. Stabler nodded. He screwed his eyes up tight and bit his lip. He could do this.

"Now..." Cherie's voice made Stabler jump slightly. "What I want Partner A to do is place your hands on Partner B and just rest there. Don't move for a moment; let him get used to the contact. This is something very different for him; for both of you. Most men never have the experience of touching another without either pain or guilt; without any other reason but just to lay hands on one another."

Stabler held his breath waiting for Cragen to place his hands down. He held on for what seemed like forever, and just as he hissed the air out between his teeth, the touch came.

Warm. Cragen's hands were warm. Strange, but he'd expected them to be cold, for some reason. He didn't know why. Eventually, he opened his eyes and stared straight up at the ceiling, waiting to get used to the touch. The fruitcake was right, he grudgingly admitted. This was something completely new. He had only ever been touched by women. His mother, his sisters, his wife. He couldn't remember the last time any of the men in his family had touched him apart from a handshake. You couldn't really count wrestling or fistfights as quality contact.

Cragen's hands lay perfectly still on his chest. One on each side, broad fingers covering his nipples. Not a movement. Just lying there, waiting. Stabler waited, too. Waited for his heart to stop trying to escape from his ribcage. He felt himself blush again, wondering if Cragen could feel how fast it was banging away, and what the other man thought of it. Where all the other guys feeling like this? Maybe it was just him. He hoped not.

He counted the holes in the ceiling tiles, trying to calm himself down. He tried to imagine how Munch and Fin were coping with this crap. His mouth twitched slightly – was Munch enjoying this, or did he hate being felt up by Fin? It was no use, he couldn't visualize either of them getting into this. But then again, he couldn't hear them bickering, so they'd either come to terms with it, or strangled each other.

"...and Partner A, begin moving, now," Cherie whispered into the silent room. "Slowly touch the man in your lap. Feel his skin; take time to explore the texture of another man's body. Feel the bones, touch the muscle. Don't be afraid to be firm."

Cragen's hands moved slowly, as instructed. One hand then the other slid down to either side of the ribcage, the slight calluses tickling. Stabler held his breath again. This was seriously weird. He could feel all the rough bits on Cragen's hands, so unlike any other hands that had ever touched his body. Women didn't tend to have callused hands. Well, except for that one girlfriend he'd had in High School, but she was seriously into weights and worryingly, had more muscle than he did at the time. The relationship hadn't lasted long. He shivered as a roughed palm trailed lightly over a nipple. Fuck.

"...Partner B, don't worry, there is not way he can reach any lower than your navel. Nothing alarming is going to happen."

Don't bet on that, Stabler thought, his breath still wedged in his throat. Something alarming was most *definitely* happening. He wasn't sure, but he suspected he was beginning to enjoy this. And that was most definitely alarming. He inhaled sharply as strong fingers ran the length of his ribcage to sink into the skin of his belly.

"Okay?" Cragen asked again.

Stabler nodded, not trusting being able to speak without squeaking.

"This is a pivotal moment for both partners," Cherie told the room. "Take your time to assess how it feels. Don't be afraid to enjoy it. Give yourself permission to revel in the sensations."

Those blunt strong fingers were digging into his abdomen, pressing down just this side of hard, making Stabler grunt; then without breaking contact, lifted and moved to count every rib. He winced slightly as Cragen pushed against the sore areas Fin had given him.

As two rough thumbs stroked unexpectedly over his nipples, he pulled in a shaky breath and let it hiss out between his teeth. This was seriously, completely, and utterly fucking weird. But, if he was completely honest with himself, it also felt surprisingly nice.

Elliot wasn't sure how that admission made him feel about himself, or Cragen. But the most troublesome thought, was how it made him feel about his dad. To his amazement, he had no problem imagining these were his old man's hands, despite the fact he had never, ever touched any of his sons like this. Would more physical affection between them have made a difference to their relationship? The possibility that it may have done saddened him.

Cragen's nails scratched gently across his belly, tickling slightly. He grinned and arched into the touch, then paused, a little bothered that he was appreciating the touch another man's hands like quite as much as this. Damn, how weird was that?

Chapter 9

Admissions Department

"Most of you will be wondering about your sexuality around this point . Wondering how you can be enjoying this so much if you consider yourself straight."

Stabler winced. Damn that woman.

"...I want to assure you that this is most definitely normal; in fact to be able to acknowledge this emotion indicates an open, healthy attitude towards sex. You should congratulate yourselves on being the kind of man who is probably an excellent lover."

Unable to help an amused chuckle, Stabler grinned.

"That a relief?" Cragen muttered.

Stabler looked up at him, eyebrows raised. Was he broadcasting his thoughts to the entire goddamned room?

"...and if Partner A is allowing himself to touch Partner B in such a way as to promote tactile satisfaction, then he too is to be praised. The ability to give pleasure this way in any situation is the sign of strength, generosity and security in your own sexuality."

Stabler laughed softly. The woman was a master. Talk about positive re-enforcement. She probably even had Wilson desperate to stroke his partner into ecstasy. He sighed and closed his eyes again, amused that a few well-chosen words had given him the permission he needed to relax and enjoy what Cragen was doing to him.

Maybe going without an undershirt wasn't such a terrible thing, he thought as Cragen's thumbs massaged his large pectoral muscles. He expanded his chest slightly, increasing the pressure. Not such a terrible thing at all. He let himself sink into the floor, pushed down by the gentle feeling of warm hands on his skin.

Too soon, Cherie's voice interrupted the moment. "...and relax. People, that was marvelous. I could sense a lot of enjoyment in the room, a lot of satisfied partners." Cherie laughed. "I hope you can all admit to enjoying that as much as I think you did. I also hope that you will take this experience with you in dealing with all the other men in your lives." She laughed softly. "Not that I would expect you to undress and massage all your acquaintances..."

There was a polite snicker at that.

"But remember how you felt during the past hour; and don't be a hurry to maintain those long-ago learned and rigid areas of personal space. Don't be afraid of the casual touch from another man." She clapped her hands. "Thank you for you attendance, gentlemen."

The room began to move as couples separated to find shoes, jackets and ties, laughing with good natured ribaldry. Cherie moved to squat beside Stabler.

"And you, Elliot? Can you admit to enjoying what happened this morning?"

Stabler regarded her from the floor with heavily-lidded eyes. He was positively boneless. He knew he ought to be struggling to his feet, but was too relaxed to be bothered to make the effort just yet.

"Well..." he began in a slow drawl. "I gotta admit that was the first time any man has laid their hands on me *quite* like that."

"And?" Cherie peered at him with a tilted head.

Stabler shrugged slightly. "Whadd'you want me to say?"

"I want you to be honest with yourself." She glanced up. "And with Don. I'm sure he'd like affirmation."

Chuckling softly, Stabler put his hands to the floor and heaved himself out of Cragen's lap. He sat cross-legged, looking at one then the other.

"You gonna ask Don if he enjoyed it, too?" Stabler smiled, avoiding the question.

Cherie's eyebrow rose as if she knew exactly what he was doing. She inclined her head to Cragen.

"Well, Don?"

Cragen adjusted one on his suspender straps. "Yes," he said simply, without any hint of embarrassment. "It was... an interesting experience." He shrugged. "Not altogether unpleasant."

"So, Elliot?" Cherie watched as he stood up. She made no attempt to rise from her squat.

Stabler sighed, pulling the tails of his shirt together. Around him, other Detectives milled about, collecting jackets, slipping on shoes. He glanced down. Cragen and Cherie were still looking expectantly up at him.

"Jeez! Okay... okay!" He held his hands out. "I enjoyed it. Satisfied?"

Cherie beamed at him. "Absolutely! Mission accomplished!"

Rising up with disturbing fluidity, she swept across the room leaving Elliot and Cragen staring after her.

Stabler shook his head. He glanced down at Cragen. "Wanna hand up?" he asked.

Cragen arched an eyebrow. "You implying I'm too old to get up of my own volition, Detective Stabler?"

Stabler smirked. "It's `Elliot', remember?"

"I believe the seminar is over," Cragen growled, levering himself up. He gave Stabler a slow look, up and down. "And you might want to dress yourself appropriately, Detective."

Striding across the room towards the pile of jackets, Stabler watched Cragen bend to retrieve his shoes and slip them on. He remained standing with his shirt held loosely in one hand as Cragen fastened both shoes and slipped his jacket on.

"I want you to know, I think you did very well." Stabler turned. Cherie stood beside him. He was mildly surprised to find she was exactly the same height as him.

"You reckon?"

"Uh-huh. Very well." She nodded knowingly. "Can't be easy for you, working together."

Stabler looked at her with narrowed eyes. "We don't, technically. He's my boss."

"Ah."

Stabler frowned. "What does that mean?"

Cherie shrugged, smiling. "Nothing. I just thought your reluctance to allow him to touch you was based more on..."

Stabler held up his free hand. "Yeah... I kinda guessed what you thought." He winced. "But you're way off base, believe me."

"If you say so."

He looked at her sharply. He was sure he could detect a hint of amusement in her tone, but he decided he wasn't in a rush to call her about it. He just shook his head and started to move away.

"Yeah, well... thanks for the session. It was...." He pulled a face and cleared his throat. "Interesting."

She inclined her head. "You're more than welcome, Elliot. Maybe I'll see you at another one sometime."

"Yeah, maybe." Stabler smiled politely as he walked away. Not if he could possibly help it, he thought as he grabbed his boots and jacket. Shoving hard, he tramped down until his feet were inside. That *definitely* would have gotten him slap from his dad. He smiled to himself. Quite what Stabler senior would have made of the past hours activities, he couldn't imagine. And quite what his old man would've made of Cherie's assumptions about one of his sons, he didn't want to contemplate.

He fiddled with the bottom button of his shirt, following the crowd out of the door, idly wondering if Kathy would be shocked at Cherie's presumption, too, or if she'd think it like one of those Harlequin romances that she used to read. The age-old plot-line: `Falling for the Boss'. He grinned wider and shook his head. Nah. She'd think it was hysterical.

"What you grinnin' at? Y'think that shit was funny?" Fin appeared at his elbow, a scowl on his face watching as Stabler fastened his shirt.

"Oh, I don't know. It was okay, I guess." Elliot unrolled his sleeves. "I take it you hated every living second."

"You can bet yo' ass I did!" Fin scowled and shrugged his shoulders into his leather jacket. "All that touchy-feely crap." He shuddered. "Nuff to make guy wanna go out and pick a fight."

Elliot laughed. "Let me guess – Munch spent the whole time making comments?" Fin narrowed his eyes, his silence telling Elliot everything he needed to know.

"Actually, Elliot…" Munch wandered over, his shirt still partially open. "I feel absurdly grateful to be on the receiving end of Fin's ministrations." He grinned at them both.

Fin muttered something under his breath.

"I wasn't expecting much, but let me tell you, I was most pleasantly surprised." Munch tilted his head. "Our esteemed colleague has the most talented…"

Fin sucked his teeth in disgust. "Jus' shut the fuck up, fool."

Ignoring him totally, Munch laughed softly and began to button his shirt. "As I was saying, he has quite delightfully talented hands." Reaching to drape his tie over his shoulder, Munch looked Fin up and down, ignoring the evil stare. "*Really* quite talented."

Elliot raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Yeah?"

Munch nodded. "Oh, absolutely."

Fin looked from one to the other and blew out a disgusted breath. He flapped his hand at them and stomped away. They could hear his muttering clear down the corridor, the crowd parting to allow him through.

Elliot chuckled and glanced at John. "You really know how to yank his chain, don't you?"

Munch grinned. "What can I say? It's both a talent and a failing."

Elliot shook his head. "John, One of these days you're going to push just that little bit too far."

Munch shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not." He wriggled his eyebrows. "But it's such fun in the meantime, isn't it?"

"You know, it bothers me - what you consider 'fun'," Elliot winced and glanced back into the beige room. "That certainly wasn't my idea of a fun morning."

Beside him, Munch chuckled and nudged him in the ribs. "Oh, I don't know... looked to me like you and the Captain were getting along famously."

Elliot turned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Munch shrugged. "Nothing." He pursed his lips as Elliot stared at him. "Or indeed, it could mean everything."

Elliot's mouth dropped open. "What?!"

Munch just looked at him with faux innocence. "What?" he echoed.

"There wasn't a single part of the morning I enjoyed, okay?" Elliot protested, feeling himself blush as the lie left his mouth.

"Really?" Munch made the one word sound like a whole litany of suggestion and innuendo.

Elliot opened his mouth to verbally jump up and down on the other man, then paused, staring at the amused eyes behind the glasses. A light came on in his head and he knew his chain had just been pulled as successfully as Fin's.

"Jesus… You really are some piece of work," he muttered, shaking his head.

Munch grinned at him, and began to walk away.

"There's a name for people like you," Elliot called after the lean back, feeling like a complete dork.

"Quite probably," Munch replied with a cheery little wave as he turned the corner. "I think I'll just go discuss it with Olivia. She must be dying to know how our morning went."

Elliot rolled his eyes and sighed, following at a slower pace, in no rush to get back to the squad room. Olivia was going to have an absolute field day with the elaborate tale that Munch was going embroider for her. He was willing to bet money that by the time he got back to the squad room, there would be so many ribbons and bows on the story that Olivia would be booking them to lead the next Gay Pride Parade.

He began to button up faster, wondering if he could possibly catch up with Fin; he fancied some male bonding of the burger and beer variety.

The End

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