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Roebuck Garden Apartments, Philadelphia The man paced up and down the length of the carpet. His hands hung at his sides, squeezing in regular fists, never quite relaxing. Twelve paces to the wall, turn, twelve paces back. Over and over he paced. There was no need to count his steps; he knew the dimensions of the small hallway by heart. His head hung down, staring without seeing the grubby blue floor covering. "Coming, coming, coming," he muttered. "Ready, or not." The moonlight that dared to slip between the slats of the blinds gave the sweat on his skin a silky gleam. Lighter marks, evidence of long years spent testing sharp things on his skin, shone in the moonlight. Countless lines along arms, legs and stomach gave the appearance of stripy camouflage in the dim light. He stopped abruptly and looked down at the knife on the hall table. The moonlight slithered along the curve. At last, he smiled. "Coming, coming, coming, Daddy; ready or not...."
SVU Squad Room,16th Precinct, New York Narrowing his eyes, Detective Stabler lined up the target with deliberate care. Slowing down his respiration to control the rise and fall of his shoulders, he swallowed. The slightest miscalculation at this point would be a disaster; he couldn't afford to allow himself any margin for error. The shot had to be clean, decisive and on target. There would be no second chance. The moment came. He held his breath, fired… and missed. Six feet away, Munch barked out a laugh. "What do you call that? You couldn't hit the side of a barn, Stabler!" Fin grunted. "Yeah. Smooth shootin’, man." Elliot threw his best glare across the table. "I'll have you know I held the Sharpshooter Record three yearsin a row in the Corps." Munch rocked back on his chair with uncharacteristic laughter. "My, my; do I detect the aroma of Bad Loser?" "Asshole," Stabler muttered. Olivia held up her hand. "Now, now, children; play nice or I’ll tell Dad." She grinned at her partner. "You have to admit El that was pretty crappy shooting." The scowl deepened. "He put me off." Munch plonked his chair on all four feet. "And how, precisely did I do that?" "You moved at the crucial moment." "Oh, please! You're just pissed because all ours actually went IN the trash can, not two feet to the left." He grunted. "Yeah, well; you were obviously just lucky." Fin shook his head as he reached for his coffee mug. "Jeez, Elliot, you really are a sore loser. Did this crazy-ass competitive streak show up in your psych evaluations?" Elliot grunted. "Probably." Still grinning, Olivia watched as Elliot stomp across the office to retrieve the paper-clip. The agonisingly slow morning suddenly didn't seem half so bad for some reason. No going out in the cold for lunch today. Thanks to lousy marksmanship, that was now officially Elliot’s job. Her partner muttered testily, obviously having trouble picking the little thing up. "Ever thought of using these?" Munch asked, holding his spectacles out towards Elliot. Olivia smiled at the noise Elliot was made in reply as he sighed, finally getting the clip between two fingers. He regarded it with disgust. Fin tilted his head. "Best of three? Cap’n won’t be back for a few." Elliot looked from the clip to the grinning faces around him. He pursed his lips and threw the clip in the trash. "Nope." Allowing the others to revel in their triumph for just a moment longer, he raised an eyebrow. "Couldn't be sure I'd be able to let you guys win more than once." Munch's grin dropped off his face as his mouth fell open. "What!? You..." Elliot smirked and held up his hands. "Chill; calm down; I'm not tryin' to get out of buying lunch. A deal's a deal." He grabbed his suit jacket and slipped it on. A little voice inside him was scolding him for being a sneaky bastard at what he was about to do, but he ignored it and straightened his suit. He turned to look at the other three and raised his eyebrows. "Okay, then. Lunch." Olivia felt a tickle at the back of her neck. Something wasn't right; all of a sudden, her partner didn't look like a sore loser. "So, that’s a tuna salad and mineral water for you, Liv; turkey on rye and cheese salad for you two, yeah?" Munch scowled. "You did not LET us win, Detective Stabler." "Sure, whatever you say, John." He paused as he reached the door. "Oh, I nearly forgot. You might wanna make a move..." He looked at his watch. "Looks like you'll be attending that meeting with Cragen by yourselves." "Huh?" Munch glanced over to Fin, his face blank. Benson looked at the clock, her eyes widening as she heard the penny drop in her head. "Elliot Stabler... Don't you dare ditch..." He grinned from the doorway. "Won't be long." Three voices followed him down the stairs. "STABLER!" Benson could have sworn there was a chuckle in among the hurried footsteps disappearing down the hall. She swallowed the yell threatening to bubble out of her and grabbed her jacket. Bastard! What a sneaky, devious, conniving bastard. By God, if it was the last thing she did, she promised herself she was going to find a way to make him pay for cutting the meeting.
SVU Squad Room Straightening the papers in front of her, Benson glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes to get to the deli, ten to order and fifteen more back to the office against the main drag of traffic. He should be back any minute. She tightened her lips in anticipation and glanced over the squad room. Munch met her eyes and wiggled his brows. Fin studied the folder in front of him, lost in the papers. The meeting with the Captain had turned out to be rather interesting, after all. She was really looking forward to filling her partner in on all the details she had agreed to in his absence. The scheduled budget and finance agenda had been cancelled at the last minute. She smiled to herself. There were times when she imagined God had an amazing sense of humor. Maybe He'd been watching the paperclip contest and decided to give them the chance to teach Detective Stabler a lesson in fair play. Crisp footsteps and a jaunty whistle echoed up the corridor, bringing a grin to her face. She began a countdown in her head. Ten... Footsteps nearer. Nine... Whistling changed to a cheerful tune. She composed her expression. Eight... Stabler came in the Squad Room, dumped the paper lunch bag on the desk and shook his jacket off, grinning. "Hey, guys. Meeting go okay?" He glanced over at the other two, his grin widening. "Damn, wish I coulda been there." "It was a very good meeting, actually. Finance and Budget was pulled," Munch said, wandering over to the desk to retrieve his lunch. "Oh?" Stabler delved in the bag and handed him Fin’s food, too. "How come?" Seven...Six... Olivia took a steadying breath and battled to keep her voice even. "Oh, seems that an unusual case has come up that required urgent attention. Four Philly SVU guys flew in." "Yeah? Wow." He handed her lunch over. He turned and grabbed his sub, his belly growling in anticipation. He perched on his desk, unwrapping one end quickly. Benson watched him take a huge bite. She enjoyed watching him eat; he always consumed his food with good-mannered gusto, eating with a relish that was both masculine and endearingly childish. Five... Lokoing down at her desk to cover her smile, Olivia cleared her throat. "It appears that a spate of assaults in Philadelphia have been flagged, via several high-placed senators and the DC mayor, whose son just happened to be one of the victims." "Uh-huh." Stabler took another huge bite, listening with half an ear. He'd picked the melted cheddar and steak laced with succulent ripe tomatoes and lettuce. Jesus, it was so damned delicious it was all he could do not to groan in appreciation. He nodded vacantly, wiping his chin. She raised an eyebrow as a tomato seed ran down Elliot's chin. He caught it with his napkin, never pausing as he chewed; his expression vacant. She had a feeling he wasn't really paying attention to what she was telling him. She mentally shrugged. He would be paying attention soon enough. "So?" he said, swallowing. "What's the angle? How come Philly SVU isn't handling it?" Benson shook her head. "Too close to home. And as it turns out, this unit was considered better suited to head the op. Seems we’re the only team with the requirements." Stabler frowned. "Yeah?" Munch peered over his glasses. " Seems we have the officers that fit the parameters, so we were asked us if we were willing to volunteer." He paused, waiting for Elliot to ask the obvious. Four... "Volunteer for what?" The door to Cragen's office banged open and the Captain strode out, sliding his arms into his jacket. He glared. "Elliot. Nice of you to join us." "I was just..." "Yes, I can see what you were 'just' doing." He gave the food in Elliot's hand a pointed look. Elliot lowered the sandwich, chewing slowly. "I'd appreciate it if you'd 'just' consider your priorities a little more carefully, in future." Elliot swallowed his mouthful. "Yes, Cap'n. Sorry." Munch and Olivia glanced at each other and grinned like kids. "And if you'd have been present along with the rest of your colleagues, you'd know that we've volunteered to set upan undercover operation to see if we can create a scenario to lure the perp. The Philly PD hasn't got the right detectives to fit the bill and their Mayor's getting antsy, what with it being an election year." He scratched the back of his neck. "In addition to the experience, it should garner the Unit a few brownie points with our own mayor. And Lord knows we can always use that." "Amen," Munch muttered. Cragen glanced at him. "This op..." Stabler indicated with his sandwich that the Captain should go on. "We working under the Philly office, or independantly?" He'd been to Philly a couple of times and while it wasn't high on his list of vacation destinations, outside of the squad room was outside, nevertheless. He wondered how badly Kathy would freak out when he told her he was going out of town. Cragen raised his chin to point. "This Unit is going to lead the Philly guys. We've got point on this." Olivia watched the Captain stare at Elliot, his eyes glittering with hidden amusement. "And with the assurances of the rest of the team that you would completely endorse their volunteering for the job, we're moving out tomorrow." Stabler nodded enthusiastically. "Great." Some action at last, he thought. After a week of unaccustomed inactivity, he was just about climbing the walls; however as much he enjoyed the peace and quiet he relished the chance to go out on a case. Moving to stand beside Benson's desk, the Captain glanced down at the file in front of her; the same one Fin was studying with grim determination. Flicking the page with a finger, he ran his eyes over the bullet-points highlighting the requirements of the taskforce, the cover story, details of the job and the photos of the past nine victims. "In all of the previous cases, one half of the victim pairing had been a man of color,early to mid forties, more specifically, a black man with a goatee. There aren’t many men in an SVU that fit that description." Olivia smiled across at Fin, who glanced up them and pulled a face. She flicked her eyes up to where Elliot was perched on his side of the desk. He had relaxed enough to resume eating in front of the Captain. A thread of lettuce stretched from his mouth to what was left of his dinner. It pulled and snapped, slapping a smear of mayo on his chin. Olivia winced. He wiped his napkin over his chin and waved the remains of his sub in her direction. "So we're workin' as a team inside Philly jurisdiction?" Benson grinned then straightened her face. "Oh, it's team work, alright, Detective Stabler. We're going to be working very closely, in fact." She glanced down and bit her lip as a strangled choke of laughter from Munch shot across the room. Three... Her mental countdown started up again. Elliot glanced at the other man. "Yeah?" Munch nodded, tilting his chin at Olivia. She read the message in those sharp eyes. Timing was everything. This was going to be priceless. Stabler sighed softly, glancing from one to the other. "So you gonna let me in on the details? Or are you two just gonna sit there grinning?" Nodding, she looked up at him and arched an eyebrow. "By all means, Detective Stabler, let me fill you in." She rested her hands on the folder and looked him straight in the eyes, not wanting to miss a moment. "Fin fits the physical profile for all nine of the victims; or rather, the remaining half of the victim pairing. The perp appears to select his victims based on the physical attributes of this man, regardless of the other person." She leaned forward. "In each case, it seems the target is abducted and assaulted in order to punish Fin’s character by proxy. Unfortunately, the assaults are escalating, hence the urgency." Stabler nodded. He was down to his last couple of bites of sub. Damn, he wished he'd bought two. "So you and Tutuola are gonna be the lure?" He paused, and spoke quickly before stuffing some more food into his mouth. "Where do Munch and I fit in? Friends, workmates, or just surveillance?" Benson watched the last but one bite disappear into his mouth and counted off the seconds. She wasn't sure she could say the words without laughing. Two... One... Clearly puzzled by the long pause Cragen looked curiously at Olivia, then spoke. "Actually, Elliot; Olivia's set to be the work colleague and John’s on wire-tap. We decided in your absence that you’d be perfect going as Fin’s live-in lover." olivia sat and watched in silent satisfaction as lettuce and a healthy gobbet of tomato sailed across the room as Stabler first inhaled sharply, then proceeded to choke on his food. The others watched as he coughed and spluttered into his napkin, turning several interesting shades of red.
Chapter 2 On the streets of Philadelphia The man behind the wheel of the grey Camero scoured both sides of the street, his head swivelling back and forth as smoothly as any tennis spectator. He spotted a parking space and slipped the car across the traffic, fitting it snugly between two trucks. He climbed out and squinted in the sunshine, pulling a pair of shades from the pocket of his long-sleeved shirt. It was going to be hot again. Good. He liked the warm. It relaxed people. They left their windows open in the warm weather.Smiling to himself, he began to walk up the slight hill towards the park. The south of the city was new to him, but he'd give odds that this was where Daddy had chosen to hide this time. As he walked, the curved knife fit comfortably in the side pocket of his combat trousers, bumping against his leg with each step. He hummed along in time with the gentle taps on his thigh, looking into every store window, searching every open doorway. He was here somewhere. He could always find him, no matter how well he hid. He smiled happily to himself as he walked.
Laramie Street, Philadelphia Stabler sighed and stared up the road. Damned traffic. He glanced at his watch. Eight thirty five. They were supposed to have been at the store by eight thirty. He hated being late. "We're not gonna to get there any faster the more you look at your watch, fool." Tutuola snapped. Stabler glanced over and sighed again. "And you gotta do that?" Elliot’s brows rose. "What?" "That dumb-ass sighing ev’ry two damned minutes." "I'm not..." he began, closing his mouth at the look on Tutuola’s face. Stabler gazed out of the window as the car inched along the side streets of Philadelphia. What a fucked-up, butt-hole of an assignment. He wondered who the hell he'd pissed off to get lumbered with this. He bit back another sigh. Yeah; like he didn’t know. In some karmic way he guessed it served him right for deliberately throwing the paper-clip contest. Mind you, after Kathy’s reaction when he told her he was going out of town on an assignment the week of the twins’ parent-teacher conference, he’d have thought he’d suffered enough. He grimaced and shifted in his seat; that couch had definitely seen better days. He glanced at the man sitting next to him and rolled his eyes in silence. The car crawled another three blocks in silence. As they passed a bagel stand on 6th, Tutuola gave a sigh of his own. "Man; if you got a problem with this gig, then you best say so now." Stung by the tone, Stabler bristled. "I don't have a problem." "Well, from the cat-piss look you've had on your face all morning, not to mention all the meaningful sighs, sounds to me like..." "No. I'm fine. I just..." He waved a helpless hand. "It’s just I hate traffic. I hate being late." He pressed his lips together and gave a rough semblance of a smile. "That so?" Tutuola gave him a long look. "Yeah." The rode in silence for a few blocks, then at yet another set of lights, Fin shook his head. "Liar." Elliot looked over in surprise. "What?" "You heard me." "Yeah I heard you – I just don’t know…" "Like hell, Stabler. Don’t gimme that crap. You’re just about turned inside-out by this, ain’tcha?" Elliot’s mouth opened in a passable goldfish impersonation. Fin glanced over and nodded. "Yeah. Thought so." He adjusted his grip on the wheel, both hands wringing the black vinyl tightly. "Tell me something, man; is it me, or the gig in general?" Raising his eyes to the roof of the car, Elliot sighed at being busted. "I’m that obvious?" "Clear as fuckin’ day, Detective," Fin replied grimly. "Damn…" Stabler stared at the grubby velor. Great. According to Fin he was either a racist or a homophobe; terrific choice. "Look, it’s not you, man. I promise. Kathy gave me holy hell about missin’ the twin’s school meeting…" Fin flicked a wry glance across. Elliot raised his eyebrows and sighed yet again. "Okay, okay. I guess the case has got me tied up in knots like some dumb insecure asshole. I just don’t know if I can do this, y’know? I’m married…" He held his hands out in front of him. "I have kids; how the hell am I supposed to act ‘gay’?" "I ain’t exactly jumpin’ for joy at the prospect, either." Elliot looked doubtful. "Don’t seem to bother you, though." Fin grunted. "I just don’t wanna give Munch any ammunition, you dig?" Elliot couldn't help himself, he sighed. "I hear ya." He had watched in amazement as Munch rubbed his skinny hands together in unrestrained sadistic glee as the rest of the plan had been finalized. The older man seemed to think the set-up was the funniest thing since a three-legged backward dog race. He gazed out of the window with narrowed eyes. This was going to be the longest undercover op. he'd ever been unlucky enough to take part in.
Laramie Park, Philadelphia Benson closed her eyes and enjoyed the morning sun on her face as she sat on the bench in the park around the corner from the store on Laramie. It was nice, just having the time to rest quietly and soak up the warmth. Normally she would be stuck in traffic, fighting her way to the precinct by now. She smiled to herself. Thank you, God, she muttered silently. Thank you for the chance to get some sunshine on my face. Thank you for the chance to try a slice of ordinary life, and thank you for giving me the chance to watch my partner squirm, big time. She grinned in the morning sunshine. It had taken Stabler a good fifteen minutes to stop choking on his food, and she had enjoyed every second of it, sitting calmly in her chair, only taking pity and fetching him water when his eyes filled with tears and his breath came in huge spastic whoops. She'd patted his back, but refused to pick up the half-chewed mess on the floor. No way was she touching that. Truth be told, she'd rather enjoyed the chance to pat and rub comforting circles on his strong back; she made the most of his discomfort. She smiled at the memory. A very nicely muscled back indeed, thank you. Not enough to lift her dress, but nice, all the same. He might be her partner, but she was a woman, and she wasn’t blind; but had to admit, she enjoyed the revenge more than his latissimus dorsi. It had taken him a good deal longer than fifteen minutes to pull himself together enough to ask for more details about the case. And that was only after they'd had to assure him a dozen times that no, it wasn't a joke. His obvious disquiet had pricked Fin’s temper, and he’d gone from sanguine about the case, to grumpy and snarky in about five minutes flat. Ever ready to leap into a sensitive situation with all the tact of a Ballet-dancing Rhino, Munch had proceeded to throw sharp little comments in Elliot's direction, questioning his commitment to the job and sexuality and ability to portray 'gay' effectively. She and Fin had watched like a fascinated meer-kats as Elliot and Munch snapped comments back and forth, until Cragen had bellowed at them both to grow up. Elliot had gone very quiet after the bawling-out, and the fact that he didn’t touch his chocolate donut said everything about what pretending to be Tutuola's lover did to his Catholic sensibilities. Olivia guessed that was the last time Elliot Stabler was ever going to wriggle out of a staff meeting. She thought it would probably take him longer to reconcile himself to the fact he was being an asshole than it would to having to act ‘gay’. She glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes to spare. The store was supposed to open at nine. She'd wander along in a few minutes time. She tipped her head back into the warm sunshine to enjoy it for just a little while longer.
The Wormhole Bookstore Stabler closed the door to the store and glanced around. Everywhere he looked there were books. Floor to ceiling books; on shelves, ledges and on every available surface. There were even books in the doorways. His forehead furrowed up. "Jesus... What a shambles. No wonder this place was up for sale," he muttered. He picked his way across the store floor. "Lucky for us," Tutuola said. He flicked on overhead lights. "Otherwise we'd have been looking around forever for a place to base the op." Stabler grunted, running his finger over a dusty cover. "It's gonna take days to clean this place." "Gives us plenny of time to get the place up and running, then." Stabler thought about giving the other man a dirty look, but reconsidered. He didn't want to piss him off any more than he knew he already had. He had tried very hard to convey that it wasn’t anything personal about Fin himself that made him act the way he had; merely a knee-jerk reaction to the whole idea. A ‘jerk’ reaction, he thought to himself as Fin brushed past him. He wasn’t a homophobe; just pissed at being dumped on by the others, was all. At least, he hoped that was all. "You get the bags, baby; I'll unlock the upstairs." Stabler's eyebrow twitched slightly at the endearment. Tutuola tilted his head and stared him down. "Better get used to it. Can hardly call you *Detective Stabler*." "I guess not… Sweetie’." Stabler smiled, hoping to make some small recompense for his previous attitude. He grabbed the door handle and tugged it open. The bell clattered noisily as he stepped into the sunshine. Beeping the Bureau SUV he grabbed two of the bags and began to lug them into the store. They were going to have a fair few hours of work ahead of them, setting up microphones, cctv cameras and monitoring devices around the place, let alone tackling the considerable layer of dust. Somehow, John Munch had engineered the better deal in this whole mess. Typical; he got to sit on his ass in some cosy hotel room, listening in on them playing store-keepers. Tutuola joined him as he got down to the last few cardboard boxes. "I took our bags upstairs," he said. "But I reckon we should concentrate on getting the equipment sorted out in the store first. We can unpack our personal shit later." They worked in silence to unload what was supposed to be their new life into the store. The random scattering of books distressed Stabler beyond belief. How the previous owners could have run a business with the place in such chaos was beyond him. Four children in one small house had never created as much mess as this. "Shit..." he muttered. "Where the hell do we start?" "Cleaning up would be a plan, guys." Benson stood in the open doorway. She smiled at the look on her partner’s face. She could imagine the horror running through his mind at the mess. She wondered if Tutuola was as freaked out by it all, or if ‘neat’ was just a Stabler thing. "Ah... Hi, Liv." Tutuola hesitated for just a second, then smiled very slightly, as if trying out the expression. "Welcome to The Corner Bookstore." He glanced at Stabler. "We hope you'll be very happy working here." Benson smiled and inclined her head, slipping into role. "Oh, I'm sure I will." She nodded over to Stabler. "El... Morning. Everything okay?" He shrugged and blew out his cheeks. "I guess." Placing her purse behind the desk, she looked around. Nice. It was an old-fashioned store, crammed full of intriguing corners and crannies. Just the kind of place one could lose oneself for a few hours. These places were a dying breed, but she loved them. "What's the apartment like?" she asked, jerking her chin up to the ceiling. "Ain’t the Ritz," Tutuola replied. "But it's cleaner than down here. We'll cope." Stabler ran his finger along the top of the desk, wincing. He had not been impressed to discover that he and Tutuola were going to have to take up residence above the store, rather than someplace else. He knew the look on his face when he heard Benson was going to have an apartment in a nice duplex down the street had spoken volumes. Rubbing her hands together, Benson glanced about. "Okay then. Let me see if I can dig up some dusters and polish. If I'm going to working here, I think we need to sort it out, don't you?"
Chapter 3 The Wormhole Bookstore It took the better part of the morning to vacuum, polish the exposed surfaces and attempt to pick up some of the random piles of books. They worked in shirtsleeves, mostly in silence, getting hotter and in Stabler's case, more tense by the hour. Olivia imagined his steady stream of vulgar language would be tickling Munch to death. Occasionally, Fin glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. She would look at Stabler muttering and cursing as he stood with yet another armful of books, looking hopelessly around for somewhere to stack them, and smile to herself. It was obvious the whole thing was wearing away at his last nerve, she thought with unashamed glee. She watched slyly out of the corner of her eye as he reached up to place the books on a top shelf. The material of his tee shirt pulled out of his waistband, and she wondered briefly if he was regretting wearing long sleeves in this heat. She pulled her eyes up away from his midsection as he sighed and scratched his head, leaving his hair a short, mussed mess. She sneezed daintily in a cloud of book dust. "Bless you," Tutuola said. "Thanks," she sniffed, sliding a large encyclopedia into place on a shelf. There was a small wireless transmitter lodged on the shelf above it. "Can you see that?" she asked him, stepping back. Fin stepped up and squinted. "No... I don't think so." He pulled the book out and looked again. "Nope, you done a good job." A loud thud came from behind one of the shelf stacks, followed by a muffled, "Fuck it!" Benson exchanged a glance with Tutuola. "Goddamnit!" Stabler appeared around the corner wiping his forehead on his arm. "I swear there is no freakin’ logical order to this place whatsoever." He flopped down on a chair. "Is it all getting to you?" Benson smiled, with mock sympathy. Stabler growled and rubbed his face. He looked up and sighed, unaware he had left a swathe of dirt down his cheek. "Shoulda hired a proper cleaning team." "No way. We need to establish ourselves as owners here asap," Tutuola told him, passing him a handful of paperbacks. "Here. Make yourself useful." Stabler dropped them onto an ever-growing pile of lurid covered books with a begrudging huff. He hated this place already. It was messy, disorganized and just about the last place on earth he wanted to be this week. God knew how much groveling he was going to be doing when he got home. A bunch of gas-station flowers wasn't going to cover leaving Kathy to attend the twins’ school conference. She really hated those things. He wiped his itchy nose on the back of his hand. He could murder a beer just about now. "Anyone hungry?" he asked hopefully. Tutuola paused. He pursed his lips. "I could eat." He jerked his chin at Olivia. "You?" Benson nodded. "Sure. It'd be good to have a break." "Great." Stabler stood, rubbing his hands. "What's the order, then?" He looked from one to the other. Fin shook his head. "I think Liv should go." Elliot’s face fell. "We need to be here, just in case." "In case of what?" Tutuola shrugged. "You never know who might be passin’ by; looking in." Stabler sighed. "We can't stay joined at the hip the whole time, you know." "I guess not. But indulge me." The corner of Tutuola's mouth twitched. "You never know what might happen when you're not around, do you, Sweetie?" Benson smothered a laugh. She gathered up her purse and took the orders for food. There was a deli a block and a half away that looked good. A slow walk there and back in the sunshine sounded very nice indeed. Never mind the dust and mess, she needed a break from Stabler’s scowl. When she returned with the food, she saw Elliot had pulled what looked like an old park bench out from around back and dumped it down on sidewalk in front of the store. He was sitting stretched out on it. Tutuola was staring at him with a frown, hands on his hips in classic 'tough guy' pose. "You allowed to do that?" "I ain’t movin’ it back," Stabler said, folding his arms. "Look, if the sidewalk police make a complaint, then I'll shift it back, but until then, it stays, okay?" Tutuola glared at him. "Hell, it might as well stay where people can sit down, drink coffee and read in the sunshine." He grinned. "Think of it as an asset to the business, man. Makes it more 'user-friendly', y’know?" Benson suspected that what he actually meant was that he wanted to be able to eat his lunch in the sunshine and not inside that dusty old store. "Relax, Fin. I hate to admit it, but he’s right, it looks kind of cool out here." She sat down and dished out the lunch parcels. Unwrapping and biting into her lunch, she silently stared at the passing traffic, tuning out Fin’s grumbling. Stabler inspected the inside of his sandwich carefully, fishing things out and laying them on the wrapper. He heard Benson sigh beside him. "And what exactly is wrong with your food?" "Nothin’," he muttered. He took a bite, looking up the street, his brows lowered far enough to almost cover his eyes. He could taste the nasty green shitty stuff he'd picked out; she knew he hated pickles – was this another subtle punishment for the paper-clip contest? He glared at the street, chewing wondering if he was going to be able to get through this assignment without coming unhinged, shooting himself or anyone else. Fin dropped down at the end of the bench next to Stabler, who glanced over then shifted to allow the other man more space. "Stay where you are," Tutuola told him, unwrapping his food. "Huh?" "I said, stay where you are. It reads better." Stabler frowned, looking at the bare three inches of space between their legs and swallowed the last of his mouthful. "Huh?" "I think Fin means the body language," said Olivia, smiling. Stabler glanced over. "Body...?" He trailed off. "Oh. Yeah..." He looked back at Tutuola who stared back at him, his mouth full. Stabler nodded and shrugged, concentrating on his food. "Hey..." All three looked up. Two beat cops walked up to them. The older of the two police officers tilted his head at the store. "You people the new owners?" Tutuola swallowed his food, stood up and offered his hand. "The name's Fin. Me an’ Elliot are openin’ up the place." He tapped Stabler on the foot.The officers took turns to shake Fin's hand. Stabler waved from the bench. "Olivia’s gonna be workin’ here, too." She waved. "Hi." "Well, here's wishing you guys luck. I'll be glad to see the place up and running again. This was always kind of a cool place to hang, you know?" "Well, we’ll do our best to make it cool again. Won't we, El?" Stabler swallowed his mouthful. "Yep. Sure will." "Is this okay?" Tutuola indicated the bench. The cop shrugged. "I guess. You might wanna bolt it to the floor, or take it round back at night. Otherwise it’ll get posted through your window. Know what I mean?" He nodded. "Sure thing." Stabler bit back a grin. Tutuola sounded so damned serious. He stood up and brushed the crumbs off his jeans. Time to make an effort. "Should be openin' up in the next couple of days, guys. Why don't you come back and see us then? Grab a coffee and take a look, see what you think? We'd appreciate you keepin' an eye on the place when you're passin' by." The officers nodded. "We might just do that," the one said. "Okay then." The younger cop nodded towards the store. "What kind of bookstore are you aiming for?" Tutuola frowned. "How d’you mean?" The cop cleared his throat. "Well, you know... Is it gonna be a... Um, 'minority' place?" He pinked up. Fin shook his head. "Hell, no. It's just going to be the same old regular bookstore like before." "But a damn sight tidier," Stabler muttered. "Oh. I just thought when you said he was your ‘partner’..." The cop trailed off, clearly embarrassed. Stabler stared, just catching up with the inference. "Actually..." He stepped closer. "Fin IS my 'partner' partner." He swung his arm around the other man’s shoulders and hugged him briefly to his side. "But we're not running that kind of specialty store. Just a regular one, aren’t we, gorgeous?" "Okaaaay. I see," the policeman said slowly. Stabler gave Fin’s shoulder one last squeeze and dropped his arm. "See you in a couple of days, then?" "Sure." The cops started to walk away. "Take care. Nice to meet you guys." Tutuola watched them go then turned to Stabler. "You tryin’ to be funny?" he began, a warning tone in his voice. Stabler sighed. "I was just tryin’ to get on board with this, you know? Getting with the program?" Tutuola regarded him with a grim look. "On board is one thing; callin’ me shit like that…" Elliot rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "I can’t win, can I?" Fin watched the other man stalk back into the store and sat heavily on the bench. He glanced at Benson, smirking next to him and narrowed his eyes. "What?" he threw at her. Olivia shrugged. "Nothing." He grunted and sat back down. He could practically hear Munch’s maniacal laughter from here.
Roebuck Garden Apartments, Philadelphia He had found Daddy. No matter how hard he tried to hide, he always tracked him down. Clothes and addresses might change; the company might change, but he always found him in the end. In a sparse lounge, the man sat naked and cross-legged, smiling as his hands made the well-practised sweep along the curve of the blade. Not long, now. Coming, coming, coming Daddy; ready or not.
The Wormhole Bookstore "So what d'you think about dinner, then?" Stabler washed his hands under the faucet in the kitchenette, the early evening sunshine slanting through the window, making him squint. "You wanna eat with us?" he asked Benson as she passed him a hand towel. "Well..." She tilted her head and looked over at Fin. "I'm not sure. Maybe you two should go eat by yourselves. After all, you two are the 'couple' and I'm just the help." She smiled. "We could order in," he suggested. "Or we could go out to eat and start getting ourselves known in the neighborhood," Tutuola said, entering the kitchenette. "Good thinkin’, girl." Stabler pouted, his back to the other two. He was tired and irritable. All he really felt like doing was sitting, feet up with a plate of take-out on his knee and watching the box; not going out for a meal "Okay then, if we're all done for the day. I'm going to make a move," she said gathering up her purse. "Can I call a cab for you?" Fin offered. "No, thank you all the same. The apartment is only a minute away." "Don't forget to get receipts if you do decide to go anyplace, though." She laughed softly. "Oh, I won't. Uncle Sam can spring for all my cab rides on this one." She turned to Stabler. "Right. I'll see you tomorrow. Bright and early, around nine?" He nodded. "Oh. More cleaning. Yay." Benson laughed. "Don't be such a misery. You were moaning that we hadn't been out of the office for a while. Now you're out. Enjoy." She flicked her gaze over to Tutuola as she spoke. Stabler glared at her. "See you tomorrow, Liv," Tutuola said as he ushered her to the store door. "Sleep well." Benson turned and smiled. "You too." Tutuola rolled his eyes. "I doubt it. But I might get more sleep than someone I know." Benson laughed. "I'll bet. G’night." She put her bag over her shoulder and walked away up towards her temporary home. She had already got her evening planned. A long bubble bath while she defrosted a portion of lasagne, then bed with her new book. She smiled to herself as she wondered what kind of evening Elliot was going to have. Not quite what he imagined, she thought. She grinned. She didn’t think he’d been upstairs yet...
Chapter 4 Upstairs at the Wormhole Bookstore Stabler stood at the top of the stairs, his bag in one hand, looking from left to right in the vain hope that another door was going to miraculously appear. He looked from bedroom to bathroom and back again while a single word rattled around in his head. ...shit... "Are you going to stand there all evening?" Fin asked from behind. Stabler jumped slightly. "Um... No." "Well, hurry up so we can go find a place to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He squeezed past Stabler and opened one of the two doors. Damn, Stabler thought. Damn. How could he have neglected to ask how many bedrooms there were in this dump? He scowled. Great. Now he was stuck sharing a room. The other man probably snored like a tank. He stomped across the landing and stopped, his eyes widening in dismay. Oh, this just got better and better. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed softly. Of course there would be just the one bed. "You want the left or the right?" "Huh?" Fin waved at the bed."Bed. Left or right side?" Stabler shook his head. "I'll take the sofa if it's all the same." Tutuola's arms crossed over his chest. "There ain't one. And it’s not all the same, actually. Look, I don't know what's going on in your head, Stabler, but you need to re-adjust your attitude." "Elliot." Tutuola frowned. "What?" "Don't call me Stabler." He threw his bag on a threadbare armchair. "The name's Elliot," he said, scoring a tiny point. Tutuola's arms folded over his chest. He glared across the room. "Whatever. Now how’s about you shift that bug from up yo’ ass and get over yourself, *Elliot*." He narrowed his eyes as Stabler's mouth dropped open a touch. "You’re attitude is startin’ to seriously piss me off, man." Biting back several sharp comebacks, Stabler counted to ten. "I don't have an attitude." "Really?" The word practically dripped. "Really." They stared at one another until Tutuola slowly inclined his head. "Fine. You don’t have a problem. Glad to hear it." Elliot rubbed his eyes in the silence that howled between them. He knew he owed Fin an explanation at the very least; and if he were brutally honest, an apology. He let the breath and tension hiss out of him. "Look, man. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm just tired." "Yeah?" Fin cocked his head. "Yeah. Tired, and in a shit load of trouble at home for taking off an' leavin' Kathy at short notice." He grinned ruefully and shrugged his shoulders. "Y'know how it is." Fin looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay." He placed his alarm clock on the bedside table and jerked his head. "It's cool. I'm goin’ to the john." He turned and left the room. Stabler groaned and dropped down on the edge of the bed. Fuck, he thought. Nice going, Elliot. Way to piss off the man he had to share a bed with. He rubbed his tired eyes again. At this rate, it was going to be like those fight-nights in bed with Kathy; two rigid bodies lying motionless, both balancing on the very edges of the mattress with a chasm of ill-feeling between them. He flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. How come God hated him so much that he wasn't willing to put him and Benson undercover? Surely that would be easier to handle. He lay there and thought about sharing a bed with Olivia, lying under the covers in their nightclothes, legs bare, jumbled up together and sleep-warmed, and felt the stirrings of something in his jeans. He closed his eyes tightly and pushed any erotic thoughts firmly away. He refused to entertain thoughts of his partner in such a way. And now was really not the time to get caught sporting wood. He put one arm across his eyes and forced all inappropriate images of his work partner out of his mind.
15, Plaza Apartments, Philadelphia Benson laid back in the hot bubble bath and groaned softly. The heat melted into her bones, washing away the stress of the day. She hadn't cleaned and tidied as hard as she had today in a very long time. She swished the water with her aching arms. No... Make that 'never'. Not even tidying her student apartment at the end of the final semester had been that tough. Today had been a revelation. She’s known Elliot was a tidy man, one that liked order in his life; she just hadn’t realised HOW much he liked that order. Or rather how much he hated chaos. She scooped water and dribbled it over her belly. Neat was one thing; anal was another. She wasn’t sure she could stand living with someone like that. She smiled to herself. Just as well she didn’t have any leanings towards her partner in that way. She seriously doubted she had the patience to deal with any man that tightly wrapped about mess, however easy said man was on the eyes. She didn't know if her partner’s choice of clothes was a conscious attempt to blend into the whole 'gay' thing or not, but whatever his reasons were for wearing a shirt that looked at least a size too small, it did wonders for his body. If ever there was a man born to wear a tight shirt, it was Elliot. And the jeans! She grinned, rubbing bubbles into her skin. What he did for a pair of Levi's had to be seen to be believed. In fact, she had been 'this' far from whipping out her camera phone to send her old college mate, Heather a butt shot. She had to admit, her partner had one hell of an ass. A rear-end that belonged on a man half his age. She closed her eyes and blew her breath out from between her lips. Jeez... Heather would have pitched a fit. She always had been a leg and butt woman. Even Benson was impressed, and she was primarily a chest girl. And what a chest it was. She stared at the ceiling, the memory of Elliot Stabler's masculine pecs dancing in her mind's eye. That shirt had been so tight across the chest that in certain lights, she’d been able to make out the shape of his nipples. She recalled a long-gone boyfriend who jogged every last drop of sensitivity right out of his with tight running-shirt friction. It had been no fun at all to scratch at that man’s chest. She idly wondered if Elliot had sensitive nipples, then quickly ducked her head under the water to stop her mind going any place else squirmy regarding a man she had to face in work.
Inside the Squat and Gobble As both men were starving, they decided to visit the eating place closest to home. There would no doubt be plenty of opportunity to venture further a field later in the case. Easing into a table for two at the Squat and Gobble, Stabler perused the menu with a brief, practiced eye. He knew exactly what he wanted. He glanced at Tutuola. "You want a recommendation?" Tutuola glanced up. "Sure." "Try the Steak Royale with seasoned fries, mixed salad with onion and mushrooms." "You know the menu?" "This was one of my favorite places in ‘Frisco. Had to watch out how often I ate there, or I'd have been a real fat-ass." Tutuola nodded. "Okay. I'll go with that. Make it two." Stabler waved the waiter over, ordered for the two of them, complete with a couple of Bud Lites and an order of garlic bread. Tutuola chuckled when the waiter moved away. "What?" "Garlic bread." "So?" Tutuola shook his head. "Nothing." Stabler studied the amused face for a second then snorted. "Yeah, well, I kinda guessed neither of us is going to be worryin' about any breath issues later." Tutuola sat back and smiled slightly. "Small mercies." The beer eventually arrived and Stabler took a long swallow before setting it down. "So I don't have to worry about my virtue, then?" He hoped he was only partly joking. Fin raised an eyebrow. Stabler waved a hand, embarrassed at his lame attempt at humor. "Forget it. I'm tired." He stared at the mirror behind the bar area for a long time, listening to the music and trying to relax. Eventually, Fin spoke, deliberately ignoring the previous comment. "There should be two guys from the Philly office in her, somewhere." He looked at the crowd. "Wanna play spot the pig?" Stabler choked on his mouthful of beer. He looked up, stunned. Tutuola regarded him with solemn eyes. "We might be on a case, Stabler, but I reckon we can kick back some. Actually..." He lifted his glass and an eyebrow. "These beers constitute a violation of regs." Grunting, Elliot shrugged. "I figured one lite wasn't gonna send either of us into a drunken haze. Besides, we worked hard enough for it." He drained the rest in one long swallow. "Amen to that. So. Who d'you think it is, then?" The fifteen minute wait for their order was spent guessing which of the patrons were officers. Neither of them could agree on the candidates. Tutuola voted for the fat guy sitting with the woman in green, while Stabler was convinced the two pencil-necks in suits fit the bill. Stabler was pleasantly surprised to find Fin had forgiven him enough to be good company. In fact, the evening hadn’t been half as bad as he had thought. He felt a snick of guilt that he'd been dreading the whole thing. The situation was comfortable, like spending a regular evening out with a friend, which he guessed was what Tutuola essentially was. The food was every bit as good as he remembered from the west coast and they ate in comfortable silence, both reluctantly ordering soft drinks in deference to duty. Stabler gazed into space and wondered how the conversation and evening would have differed if Benson had been his partner in this situation. Maybe she'd have let him order for the both of them. He doubted that, but he would tried, regardless. Maybe they'd have had fun, pretending they were on a date. Maybe he'd have tried to make her laugh, and maybe she'd have let him. He was sure they were comfortable enough with each other to pretend to be lovers. Hell, he was comfortable with all his squad; things shouldn’t be any different just because he was here with Fin and not a woman. He felt a stab of guilt at his earlier behavior and knee-jerk reaction. He could be a real asshole, sometimes. "Fuck!" Elliot jumped slightly at the sudden word. "What?" Fin’s eyes narrowed to slits. "Over there." Elliot turned his head. "Jesus! Don’t look now!" Elliot sighed. "You said to look!" "Damn! I didn’t mean ‘look’." "Oh, like I’m supposed to read your mind, now?" Fin grinned, evilly. "Yo’ ma bitch, ain’t ya?" Elliot’s eyes widened. He felt a grin starting to tickle the corners of his mouth. Fin jerked his chin up. "I see one nasty, scrawny-assed butt sittin’ at the bar." Elliot rolled his eyes. "No way." "Yep. Large as life and twice as ugly." Fin shook his head. "He’s got some brass ones, showin' up here." As if on cue, Elliot’s phone rang. He shared a sour look with Fin and flipped it open. "Whaddya want, Munch?" he sighed. From across the room and down the phone line, Munch sighed. "Whilst I realize stony silence and bored expressions are the mainstay of a long-term relationship…." "Been talkin’ to your ex-wives again, John?" Munch’s voice continued, ignoring the interruption. "You two look about as involved as my grandfather’s slippers. Try to make conversation with each other, if not actual red-hot monkey-love across the table." Elliot’s mouth dropped, his eyes bugging. "You…" Fin reached over and snatched the phone. "Listen to me you pervy-assed reptile; whatever you’re sayin’ to him ain’t worth the oxygen you’re wastin’. We all know you’re just tryin’ to get a rise outta him." Munch chuckled. My dear Odafin, *you’re* the one supposed to be getting a ‘rise’ out of him." Munch cut the connection, leaving Fin tight-lipped and seething at being left without the means to snap a comeback. "Fuckwad…" he ground out. "I’m gonna whup his skinny ass when this is over!" Elliot smiled despite himself. "Man, he really knows how to press buttons, don’t he?" Fin just glared. Laughing suddenly, Elliot pointed a finger across the table. "In fact, you two are more like an old married couple than we are. Maybe you and John shoulda been doin’ this." Fin drew his lips back from his teeth ready to bite back. "Excuse me – would you gentlemen be requiring dessert?" the waiter asked, hovering hopefully. "Yeah." Stabler nodded, forcing himself not to laugh out loud at Fin’s strained expression. There were going to be words spoken between him and Munch when they all got back, he'd take bets on that. He glanced over his shoulder at the display counter; he’d had his eye on the Supreme Chocolate slowly rotating behind glass since they came in the place. There was only one piece left by the look of it. "Sure." He looked up at the waiter. "I'll take that chocolate thing..." Tutuola made a disappointed noise. "Damn. I was gonna order that." Stabler looked over. "Oh, well..." His good manners battled with his belly. "No..." Tutuola held up a hand. "You take it." He reached for the menu. Stabler saw a way to assuage his earlier wriggle of guilt. "Nah. S'okay, man. You take it." "No... You got there first." "Um... If I might suggest..." They both looked up at the waiter. "I could put it with a double portion of ice cream and two spoons." He shrugged. "You could share." Stabler shook his head and opened his mouth. "Good idea," Fin said, putting the menu down. "That's great. Thanks." The waiter smiled and walked away. Stabler raised an eyebrow. Tutuola just stared calmly. "We're a couple. Couples do things like that." He raised an eyebrow of his own. "Remember?" Stabler frowned. "The case, or about being part of a couple?" Tutuola merely looked at him for a long while. "Is it me, or are you amazingly touchy?" Stabler wanted to say 'both', but they'd probably end up snipping at one another again, so he held his tongue and just shrugged. Fin sat back in his chair eyeing him across the table. They waited for their dessert in silence. "Here we go, guys." The waiter put the plate down with a flourish, oblivious to the atmosphere. "One Supreme Chocolate with double ice cream. Enjoy." Both men stared at the dessert, neither wanting to make the first move. Almost a minute passed before Stabler muttered: "Oh, fuck it," and reached for a spoon carving off a large chunk and stuffing it in his mouth, daring Fin to comment. He worked the food with his tongue, his mouth barely able to contain the amount of chocolate dessert inside. Fin lifted an eyebrow, took his own spoon and helped himself to an identical piece. He sat staring back at Stabler, one cheek bulging. Wordlessly accepting the challenge, Stabler scooped up another huge spoonful, stuffing it in. Tutuola swallowed and did the same. A tickle of amusement scratched at the back of Stabler's mind. He swallowed, licked his lips and nabbed some more. Tutuola matched him. They stared at one another, both struggling to eat around grins. Stabler took a lump of ice cream and poked it in his mouth. Tutuola did the same, then instantly dropped his spoon, pulling an agonized face. He grabbed at his jaw, shaking his head violently from side to side. Stabler recognized a 'sensitive tooth' moment and laughed. Ice cream immediately slithered down the back of his throat, choking him. He threw his spoon down and slapped his hand over his mouth, desperate not to spray the table with melted Chunky Monkey. His eyes filled with tears as freezing lumps jiggled down the wrong pipe. He tried to cough with his mouth closed. Ice cream bulged between his fingers. Tutuola took one look at the mess and began to laugh, snorting loudly, caught between pain and jags of laughter. The remains of the dessert lay abandoned on the plate as the two men struggled to swallow the contents of their respective mouths; eyes streaming, mess threatening to shoot down two sets of nostrils. Stabler recovered first, pulling in great whooping breaths, his face tear-streaked and red. "Jesus!" he gasped, reaching for his napkin. He wiped his mouth and eyes. "God..." He looked up at a silent Fin, still locked in a private battle with the contents of his mouth. A thin dribble of ice cream had wandered down his chin and he had turned an interesting shade of brown. Stabler gave a strangled laugh, clearing the last of the liquid from his throat. He scrubbed at the mess on the inside of his one hand. "Want I should thump you on the back?" he offered with a grin. Tutuola shook his head and slowly took his hand away from his mouth. He pulled in several shaky breaths. Blinking wet eyes, he looked down at the mess on his palm and grimaced. With his clean hand, he reached blindly for a napkin. Stabler watched his hand flap about on the table and took pity, handing him the square of tissue. "Christ..." Tutuola muttered, wiping his eyes. Stabler laughed. "That has gotta be the funniest thing I've seen in a long time." He shook his head. "I thought I was gonna choke to death at the look on your face." "Thanks," Tutuola said, scrubbing his hand. "You looked like you'd swallowed a cup of cold puke." Tutuola pulled a face. Stabler chuckled, watching as Fin mopped himself up. As the other man threw the tissue back on the table, Stabler opened his mouth to point out a smear of ice cream he'd missed. It was tempting to keep quiet and let the normally cool guy walk around with food on his face, but his better nature nudged the vindictive thought aside. Without saying anything, he reached across with another napkin, steadied his face and gently wiped Tutuola's chin clean. He grinned at the stunned expression and silently scored a point. "Missed a bit," he said, winking. Tutuola's mouth worked silently a moment. "Um... Thanks." Stabler raised a cheeky eyebrow. "Gotta remember to stay in role, huh?" Fin's jaw worked silently from side to side. Inside his jacket, his phone rang. Silently, he opened it up, the whole time his eyes not leaving Elliot’s. The voice chuckled down the line. "A lovely moment, gentlemen. I just about filled up…" Fin closed the phone without speaking and slipped it back in his pocket. "Let me guess," Elliot sighed. "I’m definitely gonna rip him a new one." Stabler chuckled and tilted his chin at the remains of the dessert. "Wanna finish that?" Tutuola shook his head. "No thanks. I've gone off it." "Me too. Inhaling the stuff kinda turns you over, huh?" He leaned back in his chair as the waiter approached again. "You guys want to order coffee?" Fin cleared his throat. "No thanks, we’ll have it at home." The waiter smirked. "I'll get the check, then." He wandered off, a knowing expression on his face. "Well, I think we’ve well and truly established our ‘relationship’," Stabler said, jerking his head over to where two waiters stood openly discussing them at the till point. They settled the check, adding a healthy tip to ensure they’d be remembered and walked back to the store in silence. Gazing up at the night sky, Stabler inhaled the air. "Seems cleaner than DC." "No shit." They walked a little while more without speaking before Elliot glanced over. "I don't have to hold your hand, do I?" Tutuola looked at him. "Did you want to?" Stabler pulled a face. "Not so you'd notice." "Then no. You don't hafta." They walked a little further in silence before Stabler couldn't resist pushing it. He glanced sideways. "Disappointed?" Tutuola regarded him blankly. "Absolutely devastated." Stabler threw his head back and laughed.
Chapter 5 Upstairs at the Wormhole Bookstore They climbed up to the room above the store, each carrying a mug of coffee. Stabler wished he could have doctored his with something more interesting than skimmed milk, but one Bud Lite would have to do He sat on 'his' side of the bed, unlacing and toeing off his boots. He could hear Tutuola pissing in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and splashing water. He was tempted to rush getting undressed so he could be under the covers before the other man got back in the room, but he stamped down on the feeling and forced himself to undress normally. He was a grown-up. He would not allow this to bother him any more. He folded his clothes and put them neatly on the dresser, keeping his boxers on, adding an old Harley tee shirt against the chill. Tutuola stood in the doorway. "I left the light on for you." "Thanks." Stabler padded across the room and slipped into the bathroom, deliberately not looking at Fin in his boxers. He took care of business, washed up and brushed the last traces of the chocolate off his teeth. When he returned to the bedroom, Tutuola was already in bed, draining his coffee mug. He hurried to the other side and slid under the covers, shivering slightly. "Cold?" Stabler wriggled down. "God, yeah.I guess they didn't bother to run to heating upstairs." "Showering is going to be interesting, tomorrow." "Jeez." Stabler shuddered. "Tell you what, I'll let you have first wash. See if you can warm the place up for me." Tutuola snorted. "Call yourself a Marine? In my day, we always showered in cold water." Stabler grunted. "In your day… What's that? Back in the early fourteenth century?" Silence greeted that comment and Stabler re-ran what he'd just said, glancing up to see Tutuola gazing down at him. "Oops," Stabler muttered. "You have a great line in pillow talk, Detective Stabler." Stabler pulled the covers higher and batted his eyes. "What? No 'Elliot' any more? I'm hurt." "You're hurt?" Stabler grinned. "Don't tell me you're sensitive about your age." "I could be." There was a hint of amusement in the deep voice. "I don't usually get insulted by those I sleep with." Stabler laughed as the light was turned off and the bed moved as Fin wriggled down under the covers. They lay in silence for a while, listening to the ticking of the water pipes and the occasional bark in the streets below. Stabler, motionless on his back, the edge of the sheet tickling his nose. He was wide awake and bone-tired, and the same time hyper-aware of another person lying very close to him. The bed felt tiny, although he was sure that was just his imagination. He sighed softly. There was a huff of sheets as Tutuola turned to face him. "You know, I can hear you thinkin’, man," he growled. Stabler smiled, despite himself. "You can?" "Loudly." "Uh huh?" "It's keeping me awake." Stabler almost laughed. "What am I thinking, then?" "You're wondering how it makes you feel, sharing your bed with another man." That did make him laugh. "Actually, no." "Shit! You liar." "No, really." Tutuola grunted. "I don't believe you." Stabler shrugged, deciding he didn’t really have anything to lose by being honest. "I'm actually tryin’ get over the fact this is scarily like being at home; lyin’ in bed, not speaking or touching." He hoped that didn't make his marriage sound too pathetic. Thankfully, the other man said nothing to that little revelation. Stabler cleared his throat in the silence. "So what’re you thinkin'?" "Hell… I'm wonderin’ if I'm safe." Stabler turned his head, not sure if he heard that right. "What?!" "Well, you know... Abstinence can make a guy pretty desperate." Stabler's mouth opened in shock, then caught sight of gleaming teeth. He shook his head, wondering at the sly sense of humor. "Oh, man, you're safe," he said. "More than safe; trust me." He turned over onto his side and curled up, a faint grin on his own face, feeling a teeny bit more relaxed. "You sure ‘bout that?" "Absolutely positive. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep." He could hear Tutuola chuckle as he closed his eyes and drifted away.
The Wormhole Bookstore Benson rolled her eyes and pushed her sleeves up again. "So you don't want this one?" she said. "No, I wanted the FOURTH edition. This is the THIRD." The elderly man waved the book under her nose for emphasis. "Well, then I'll change that for you," she said, taking the tome and stomping around the desk to the non-fiction section. Scanning the titles, she muttered gently under her breath. "Having trouble?" Stabler grinned down at her from four steps up a ladder. "No," she snapped. "Uh-uh..." A finger wagged at her. "Your nose is gonna grow if you tell lies." He passed her the third edition of 'Soft Fruit Growing by Season'. She snatched the book from him. "Thank you." It was official. The case was barely hours old and things were seriously getting to her. The place was airless and stuffy, lacking in any kind of air-con save an open door. It didn't help that Stabler had decided to wear a pair of skin tight black jeans today. Another pair that hugged his ass like a second skin. Added to that was a tight sleeveless tee shirt with the words 'Hot Dog' scrawled across the chest, and you had a recipe for disaster and a headache. It was terminally unfair that the man had the physique her legs trembled for - attached to a colleague’s head. The combination was a paper-cut and lemon-juice on her libido. She stalked back to the customer with Stabler's ass from a whole new perspective burned into her brain. She hadn't seen it from quite that angle before and could have lived happily without that visual. She banged the book down on the desk. "Third edition," she snapped, tapping the amount into the till. "That's thirty two-fifty." The elderly gentleman looked pointedly at her. "Thirty two-fifty... Please," she amended. The man paid, and with a nasty look, turned and walked out. Benson sighed. It was too hot for this. "Drink?" Fin offered her a long glass. She gave him a thin smile and drained half of the water in one swallow. "Thanks." She wouldn't have believed it possible, but they were up and running the business on the second day. It had been Tutuola's idea that they just throw the doors open amid the tidying to see what happened. To her surprise, there had been a steady stream of passing custom. Sunday custom that had added to the oppressive heat and shortening of her temper in equal measure. Elliot came up and leaned loosely on the desk. She watched him take a long drink from his glass. Benson stared at the way his throat worked up and down. Why wasn’t he dying of heatstroke the way she was? "Wassup?" he said after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. She arched an eyebrow and he grinned. "Okay, okay. Bad grammar. But you know what I mean." "I'm fine." Tutuola walked past as she spoke and tutted. "Yo, man. That sounds like trouble." Benson gave him a look as he passed. "Actually, if you must know, I'm hot, tired, and absolutely not impressed with the service industry, thank you very much for asking." "Wow." Stabler lifted his leg and perched on the corner of the desk. Benson was glaring at him in a way that made his guts twitch; she looked about three seconds away from giving him a right hook. "So you're not going to be handing in your notice and starting up your own retail outlet, then?" He could have sworn there was a split second when she was going to tell him to fuck off, but good manners won out and she just pursed her lips. He wanted to reach over, tuck that tiny bit of hair behind her ear and kiss her on the nose for being so ruffled, cross and cute, but was sure she was in the mood to be patronized. "Actually Elliot, that prospect fills me with about as much joy as trying to teach you a decent grasp of the English language." Fin winced. "Ouch." Benson looked Elliot up and down. His cool as a cucumber demeanor didn't help her temper any. Neither did the lop-sided grin. She scowled. "Just out of curiosity, what, precisely is *that* supposed to mean?" she snapped, pointing at his chest. Stabler looked down. "Huh?" He stared down at himself. "That." He shrugged, pinching the lettering between two fingers. "Dunno. It's one of my kid brother's. He left it last time he came over. I guess it's some kinda surfing thing. I should have mailed it back, but I forgot." He pulled at the lettering. "It's a bit tight on me, but I reckoned it would kinda fit the bill. Considerin'." He winked at her and struck a muscle pose, flexing the biceps he'd worked hard at creating. With a family background that meant the men tended to lean more towards the 'skinny' end of the scale, it was a major achievement that he had any definition at all. "What do you mean; ‘considering’?" "Hell, you know - bein' as I'm supposed to be..." ..." He grinned and flapped a hand up and down. Tutuola walked past without breaking stride. "Yo, bitch! You sho’ are one hot-lookin’ piece of man-flesh." Benson's eyes bulged as she turned and gawked. Had she just heard what she thought she'd heard? Fin stood at the counter, calmly wrapping a book. He handed it to a young man waiting. "A man should never mix work with pleasure, you know?" he said to the guy, who laughed and handed over several bills. "Chance'd be a fine thing," the kid said, grinning and looking Stabler up and down. Benson smiled slightly and watched the color crawl over Stabler's face. He suddenly busied himself with a paper bag. Served him right. Taking the remains of her drink, she made her way back to the non-fiction section. That'd teach him to be so damned cocky. She sincerely hoped he was shitting himself in case Tutuola actually meant what he said. If there was any justice, Munch would be making duplicate copies of that remark to replay whenever Elliot got an attitude. She slid a book on the shelf and let the smile broaden into a grin. Damn. She'd love to be a fly on the wall at bedtime tonight. Straightening the books, she allowed herself a moment to wonder what exactly the two men were wearing in bed. Full neck-to-ankle pj’s, or commando? She grinned. Yeah… Like that was gonna happen. "I don't believe it!" The deep voice cut into her thoughts and she turned her head. A large man with a stomach that spilled over his belt stood in the queue of customers, all eyes and open mouth. Benson looked to see what he was staring at. "It's never you, Stabler?" The man bellowed. "Oh my God, it is!" Elliot's head snapped up. He returned the large man's stare for all of three seconds before a crooked grin spread over his face. "Jesus wept... Look what the damned cat dragged in." Stabler put the paper bag down and moved around the counter. "Pauly Davies! You old fart!" The man laughed as Stabler mimed a punch at him, warding it off with a mock slap to Stabler's face. Benson's eyebrow twitched at the ritualized male greeting, and wondered for the millionth time why a simple hug or handshake wasn't good enough for the opposite sex. "How're ya doin'?" The accent spilled out of Pauly, thick as New York smog. "I'm good, I'm okay." Stabler slapped his friend's shoulder. "God, it must be nearly..." "Ten years?" "Geez, I feel old." "You *are* old, Stabler." Stabler grunted. "Yeah? But at least I kept." He looked pointedly at Pauly's gut. The other man laughed and patted it. "What can I do? Julie keeps me fed well." "You can say that again!" Stabler laughed. Pauly waved the book he was holding. "So what the hell ya doin' in Philly, Stabe?" There was a marked pause. She watched several emotions cross Elliot's face. He glanced at Fin, standing behind the counter, the people in the store and looked over to Benson. A frown crossed his face and he leaned in to speak quietly. "Elliot..." Fin interrupted before Stabler could say anything. "Can you wrap this?" The warning was unspoken but clear. Stabler hesitated, stood straight then nodded. "Sure." He turned to his friend. "Just hold your horses, a moment, Pauly. I gotta take care of this." He rounded the counter and wrapped the sale, glancing at Pauly, as the older man stood looking around, taking the measure of the place. The customer left the store and Stabler’s friend stepped up placing his book down. Fin picked it up. "That's fourteen seventy five, please." He deliberately not engaging the man in conversation about Stabler. "Nice book," Stabler said, slipping it into a bag. "Still readin' up about Gettysberg, huh?" "Oh, sure. Since I retired I've been building this big scale model out in the garage." He laughed. "Drives Julie nuts." Stabler smiled. "Some things don't change." "So anyway, Stabe..." Fin cleared his throat. "That’s fourteen seventy-five, please." Pauly glanced up, obviously taken aback at the brusque request. He dug in his pocket. "Me and the man. go way back," he said to Tutuola, sorting out the bills. "We go way back to his wet-behind-the-ears days on the job." The coins were counted, agonizingly slowly. "Paul was the sergeant at my first station house." Stabler grinned. "You'd never guess it, though." Pauly made a gun with his fingers and fired it. "I could still take your skinny ass." Stabler laughed. "Yeah, Pauly. Sure ya could." He slapped the last quarter down. "So... Whad are ya doin’ in Philly?" The silence was deafening. Benson could hear it from yards away. She took in a sharp breath. Shit. Stabler stood with his mouth partway open, eyes wide. The people in the queue seemed to be taking inordinate interest in the conversation. She took pity and moved to head off any more questions. "Elliot? Did you want the travel guides in the non-fiction, or someplace else?" She smiled winningly at Pauly. "Oh, excuse me... I'm sorry." She leaned closer. "Got to stay on the right side of the boss, huh?" She winked at him, hoping to distract. Pauly smiled a toothy smile. "You sure do, Missy." He glanced at Stabler. "Don't tell me you threw it all in for a bookstore, Elliot?" Stabler nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh. Yeah. Couldn't take the pace any more." He scooped up the money and handed it to Fin. "You want a coupon for the deli up the street, Pauly?" He waved a little slip of paper in quiet desperation. Pauly ignored him and wiggled his eyebrows at Benson. "Your boss, huh?" He grinned. "Trust the old dog to hire such pretty staff." Benson batted her eyes at the ex-policeman and smiled. She could see Stabler shoving the bag across the counter. "You'd better watch yourself, pretty lady. If I know the Stabe...." "Actually..." she smiled. "Elliot is the perfect gentleman to work for." Pauly laughed. "Ha! Before you know it, he'll be makin' you an offer you can't refuse!" "Actually, the business isn't just Elliot's," Fin said. From the corner of her eye, Benson could see Stabler start to cringe. "Yeah; that so?" Tutuola squared up and folded his arms over his chest. "It belongs to both of us. We're partners." Benson waited for Pauly's reaction, but none came. Instead he laughed and snapped his fingers. "Well, big guy, you might wanna tell this little lady to watch out; this dog can make a move as quick..." Fin's arm came up and draped over Stabler's shoulder. "I know. He made one on me." This time the silence absolutely howled across the counter. Benson watched Elliot’s face change color as Tutuola squeezed him tight and grinned. "An’ you're right," he said. "He is a dog. A real *hot* dog." Disloyal to her partner or not, she couldn't help a little snick of laughter in her throat. Stabler looked as though he would rather be cut into little pieces and fed to the wolves than be cuddled by Tutuola in front of an old buddy. Slowly looking from one man to the other, Pauly's mouth opened as wide as his eyes. Stabler reached a hand across the counter, his shoulder still gripped tight in Fin’s grasp. "Pauly... Look..." But the large man shook his head and stepped back, his hands up, warding off. "God, Elliot..." He swallowed. "I don't know what to say..." Stabler's face contorted. "Aw, Pauly, it's not like..." Fin's hand came up from his shoulder and ruffled Stabler’s hair. "S’okay, babe," he said. "I know not everyone knows." Stabler turned very slowly to look at him, his eyes almost completely shadowed by his brows. Fin just grinned and mimed a kiss at him. Pauly made a squeaking noise then reached to snatch his book. "I, um..." He moved away. "I gotta go. I'll see ya around....Maybe." Stabler snatched his head away from under Fin's hand. "Wait, Pauly..." Olivia watched the ex-cop back up, turn and flee from the store, pausing to glance back once before hurrying away. She had an idea Pauly wouldn’t be discussing the Civil war with Julie, that night. She glanced back at the two men and thought that it might be more interesting to hear what Elliot would be saying to Fin.
Roebuck Garden Apartments, Philadelphia The man cleared the last of the equipment into the hold-all and snapped the catch together. Nearly time. He glanced at his watch. The last customers would be clearing off now. He had just enough time to drive over there and watch. He liked to watch them before he stepped in to their lives and reminded them how ill-mannered it was to hide from him. Mind you, there was an added element, this time. Not so much a loose cannon, as a dash of seasoning to the dish. Consequently, he needed a little more time to work out the finer points of how things were going to play out this time. No matter. It might be quite fun to vary the way he punished them this time. He took the knife from his pocket and tested the edge on his forearm. The blood welled up at the merest whisper of contact. He smiled. This was going to be good.
Chapter 6 The Wormhole Bookstore "You could eat with us," Stabler told her, his frame blocking the way between the stacks. "Makes no difference to the case." He glared across the room at Tutuola. The atmosphere between the two of them had been tangibly icy since Pauly ran out of the store. Benson didn’t think Stabler was going to be in a rush to get over his old friend's reaction. And for his part, Tutuola was annoyed that Stabler would have apparently risked an assignment for the sake of keeping up appearances to an old colleague. The afternoon had been awkward to say the least. Benson smiled slightly, her back to him as she replaced the Harry Potter boxed set. Could she detect a teensy-weensy bit of desperation in his voice? Was it just possible someone didn't want to be alone with his ‘partner’? She shook her head at him. "No, El. I don't think that's a good idea do you? You never know who's watching." Stabler made a rude noise. "Ah, c'mon." He sighed. "There's a great place just up the street." "No doubt." "Liv..." Yep, she thought. Definite desperation in that whine. "Fin won't mind." The name had a definite spit to it and Benson had a feeling the atmosphere would carry over to the meal, too. "Fin won't mind what?" A head poked around the corner. Benson smiled sweetly. "Elliot was just asking if I would like to join you for dinner." Tutuola held up the keys. "Just let me get the door." Elliot’s face alternated between glaring and pleading, and it was all she could do not to burst out laughing. Fin eventually came back came around the corner. "You know, I guess it’d be cool for us to go out as a group. She tilted her head. "Yeah?" "You know, like some kinda openin’ celebration. Whaddya think?" She smiled. "I think that sounds great. I suppose if this were a new business, we all might very well go out for a meal together." "Let’s do it, then." Fin suddenly looked up at the ceiling and spoke into the air. "We’re goin’ out for a meal an’ you’re most definitely NOT invited! You got that, shithead!?" She glanced at Stabler and mouthed ‘what the hell?’ Elliot just rolled his eyes and led the day to the door. Olivia followed him, slightly bemused. The case was clearly driving both men slightly nuts. She grabbed her purse and straightened her hair in the mirror on the back wall. "Okay. I'm ready. Where are we eating?" Fin held his arm out to usher her before him. "Yesterday’s place should be as good as any. It's halfway to your apartment, and the food's not bad." He turned and glanced upwards. "Go find a drive-in to feed yo’self at! I hear there’s a big graveyard downtown!" Olivia stood by the door her forehead wrinkled. "Is he okay?" she whispered to Elliot. "Yeah," Elliot muttered. He was still trying talk himself out of strangling the other man, and more disturbingly, he was beginning to sympathize with Munch. As they walked up the street towards the eating house, Elliot shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned, staring at the sidewalk. He could imagine the phone calls he was going to have to make to all the people Pauly was calling right this moment. He just hoped none of them knew anyone who might phone Kathy. He already had more than enough explaining to do. He lifted his gaze and stared at the little ponytail in front of him and fantasized snipping it off in the middle of the night and tossing it out of the window. He trailed after the other two as they walked past a grey Camero that had pulled into a parking space fifty yards from the store.
The Squat and Gobble "Dessert?" The waiter hovered. Benson sighed and nibbled her lip. She really shouldn't. Not after the large bowl of ice cream she'd demolished last night. "I can recommend the Chocolate Supreme," Fin said with a slight smile. He glanced over at Stabler. Benson wondered what that look meant. "Really?" She glanced at the illustration in the menu. It looked outrageous. "Well..." "It's real good. Though I think I'll go for the cheesecake tonight." "Okay, one cheesecake." The waiter paused. "Ma'am?" "Oh... go on, then. I'll take the chocolate thing." She handed the menu over and turned to Stabler. "What’ll you have, El?" He pulled a face. "Think maybe I'll skip dessert." "Would you like me to get an extra spoon, so you and your friend can share again?" The waiter grinned. Stabler narrowed his eyes. "No thank you. I'm good." Benson's eyes flicked from one man to the other. Stabler grunted. "Don't ask." "Oh, but I am," she said smiling, propping her elbows on the table. Stabler sighed and sat back, arms folded. His mouth remained shut. He wasn’t in the mood for teasing. Fin looked at Stabler, then at her and shrugged. "We shared dessert last night, is all. No big deal." Olivia laughed at the sour look on Elliot's face. "Well, I think it's very sweet," she said. She felt her mouth watering as her dessert appeared in front of her. "It was nothing of the sort," Stabler grumbled. Benson picked up her spoon, unable to resist teasing him a little. "Oh, but Elliot; you do make a lovely couple." Stabler opened his mouth to speak. "Precisely. And with that in mind..." Fin paused, looking Stabler up and down. "You might wanna get a little more in character." Elliot frowned down at the table. He still hadn't forgotten the look on Pauly's face. "Whadd'ya mean?" he growled. Fin sighed and rested his elbows on the table. "We are supposed to be lovers, remember? That usually means…" "Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me!" "You ain’t exactly killin’ me with your passion, Elliot." Stabler rooled his eyes. "Jesus Christ! Whaddya want from me?" "A little professionalism, perhaps?" Elliot leaned back on the bench seat. "What's that supposed to mean?" "Oh, I don't know… why don't you tell me what you think it means?" Fin challenged. Stabler snorted. "I guess you think it'd be professional for us to make out public!" Fin raised and eyebrow but said nothing. Stabler leaned forward. "Oh, no! Shit, you already embarrassed me in front of an old friend; there’s no WAY I’m gonna do that!" Olivia choked, laughing at his expression. Fin stared across the table as he slowly took a bite of his cheesecake. He swallowed and rested his spoon on the plate. "Actually, I am not suggestin’ we 'make out' as you so gently put it. Regardless of the assignment, I think that kind of public display from anyone is just nasty. I was just hopin’ that you’d look *less* like you're on the verge of shootin' me, an’ try to look a *bit* more like we're a couple." Stabler glared at him. "You sound like Munch," he muttered, hoping to offend. "An’ that face of yours looks like the back end of some nasty-assed cat. More like you want to poke my eyes out with a spoon than anything lovey-dovey." Stabler bit his tongue, unable to trust himself to not mention his thoughts on the scissors and the ponytail. "Yeah, well… I wouldn't hold your breath for anything 'lovey-dovey' happening," he said, glancing at Olivia's smirking face. Fin sighed. "I'm *real* thrilled to hear that; now if you could at least stop looking like you want to fuckin’ stab me to death, we’d be getting’ someplace. Las' thing I want is another abusive phone call." Stabler took a sharp breath and willed the frown off his face. Pulling a cleansing lungful of air in, he counted to twenty and rearranged his face. "Better?" he ground out. "Not much, to be honest." Fin sighed. He patted the bench seat next to him. "Here. Sit closer." Stabler clamped his jaw tightly shut and inched a mere fraction closer. Fin rolled his eyes. "That the best you can do?" Stabler fiddled with his napkin. "Look... I'm not good at public displays and stuff." Tutuola huffed. "Just imagine I'm your wife, then." Giving him a sideways glance, Stabler pulled a face. "In that case it's perfect that we'd be sitting here ignoring each other," he muttered. In the silence that followed the embarrassing admission, Elliot struggled with his masculinity, his pride, but mostly, his temper. Inside his head, a nagging voice was telling him that he was two steps and an apology away from ruining a friendship and fucking up a case with his snitty behavior. And that damned voice was getting louder and louder, drowning out whatever pitiful excuses he tried to come up with for the way he was acting. Eventually he sighed softly. He looked up at Fin. "Guess you think I'm an asshole, huh?." Fin smirked. "No… Y'think?" Elliot smiled ruefully. "Gee, Sweetie. I love you too." Fin laughed. "Aww, I forgive you, honey." He lifted a spoonful of dessert and offered it to Stabler with a wicked grin. "Here y'go, baby." He said, his tone heavy with teasing. Elliot grinned, acknowledging the gentle dig at his expense. But he mentally shrugged and leaned in to take the dessert off the spoon. As he did, a snick of an idea bubbled up in his mind. He'd show both of them that he could be okay with this whole scenario. Prove he was committed to the case; that he wasn't the least bit homophobic. He leaned forward, very slowly taking the gooey offering, his mouth sliding over Fin's spoon with shocking and deliberate sensuousness. He ran his tongue over his lips as he pulled away and swallowed, his eyes fixed on Fin's face the whole time. The other man blinked, clearly surprised that Elliot had called him on the challenge. Elliot stared right at the other man, very aware of how intense his gaze could be at close quarters. He gave Fin a mixture of his best interrogation glare, and 'fuck-me' expression. "Hey," he growled softly, narrowing his eyes. "C'mere." Fin's eyes widened. "Huh…?" Allowing a feral grin to spread over his face, Elliot leaned in, slid his hand around the back of Fin's neck and quite deliberately placed a kiss on his mouth. Fin's body went rigid, the spoon wilting in his hand as his eyes widened to alarming levels. He sat perfectly still, as if terrified to move in case Elliot took it into his head to do anything even more outrageous. Olivia stared at the two men, sitting in front of her, lips placed firmly together. She was shocked to the very core - her imagination taking great delight in showing her a lurid visual where the two men actually *were* lovers. The guilty thrill it gave her made her shiver. Jesus… She squashed the feeling down, vaguely ashamed of herself, but not embarrassed enough to avert her gaze. After what seemed like an almost indecently languid length of time, Stabler moved away, his mouth leaving Fin's with a very faint noise. He had a decidedly smug expression on his face. In contrast, Fin's face was the epitome of stunned shock. He slowly swallowed, then blinked, replacing his spoon very carefully on the plate. The silence between them danced up and down the table in a pink tutu and sling-backs, until eventually Fin's mouth opened to say something. "I guess… " He paused, cleared his throat and tried again without the croak. "I guess this means you're gonna be making an effort, from now on, huh?" Elliot leaned in again, grinning widely as the other man flinched slightly. "I guess it does." He whispered.
Outside The Squat and Gobble The man stared through the restaurant window pretending to read the menu. The three people in the corner booth were completely oblivious to him. They smiled, laughed and ate, unaware of the plans being made, oblivious to plans that were forming in his mind. He smiled. They’d know soon enough. It was almost time, and it was going to be so good this time. Daddy had been hiding and now the seeking was almost over.
Upstairs at the Wormhole Bookstore Stabler brushed his teeth vigorously, trying not to grin around the foam. Rinsing, he put his toothbrush next to Tutuola's and looked at it sitting innocently in the glass. Just like a regular couple playing house. The thought made his grin widen. "You drowned yo' ass, in here?" Tutuola shouted through. Switching off the light, Stabler hurried back across the bare floorboards into the bedroom. He hopped straight up on the bed, stepping over Tutuola's body. The man sighed. "You hafta do that?" "Oh, quit whining, the floor's too damn cold to walk around." Elliot flopped down and wriggled under the covers. Snuggling well under the blankets, he shivered dramatically and pulled them up to his nose. Fin lay looking at him, his chest uncovered. He shook his head. "What?" Stabler muttered. "You." Stabler snuggled deeper. "Whaddya mean?" Fin just gazed. "How did you ever survive basic training?" "I just don't like the cold, okay? Jeez!" "It's not that bad." "It's fuckin' freezing!" He rubbed his face in the pillow, generating some heat from the friction. Shaking his head, Fin reached over and turned off the light. They lay there silently, eyes adjusting to the dark. The ticking of the alarm clock counted out their thoughts. Neither of them mentioned the very large kiss-shaped elephant that sat on the end of the bed. Elliot kept quiet out of sheer cussedness, wanting Fin to be the first to call attention to it. He wondered why the usually outspoken man had said nothing. Consequently, the elephant just sat there in the silence, painting its nails pink. Eventually, Tutuola sighed. "I’m sorry about your friend, man." Stabler opened his eyes, surprised. "I didn’t enjoy embarrassing you." Stabler rubbed the side of his nose. "I guess not," he begrudgingly allowed. "Just gonna be a bitch trying’ to explain to him later." "He’ll understand. He was in the job, too." "Yeah, maybe. I just hope he hasn’t gone home and phoned the entire squad about me." Tutuola chuckled. "Worried about your reputation?" "Hell, yeah! I still meet up with some of the guys whenever I go back there." "The next get-together will be fun." Stabler groaned. "Christ. They’re never gonna let me forget this." "You really think your love-life is going to be the highlight of any conversation?" "I’m supposed to be a married man, for Godssake." Fin grunted. "Hell, it’s the 21st century; that don’t mean shit, no more." Stabler laughed softly. "That’s as maybe; but I’m more worried about them sayin’ I could have done a whole hell of a lot better." Fin made an indignant noise. "Excuse me! It ever cross your mind they might consider *me* the one aiming low?" Stabler chuckled. "Yeah, in your dreams." Fin moved around to organize his pillows until comfortable. He sighed. "You know, I gotta tell you, Elliot... I don't find the fact you're still wearin’ your socks much of a turn-on." Stabler grunted and wriggled his feet away. "Good. Go to sleep." While Fin busied himself getting settled, Stabler watched in the faint light as the other man put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Jesus, he thought, he was lying there without a shirt, totally unfazed by the freezing temperature in the room. Stabler flicked a glance at his chest and wondered if more body hair would help him with insulation. "What?" His eyes jerked back up to Fin's face. He felt the heat crawl into his own at being caught staring. He's just busted Locker Room etiquette 101 – thou shalt not stare at another guy's body. "Nothin'." Tutuola just looked at him with a blank expression. The 'waiting' expression. Just like the one his mother had as she stood waiting for him to confess everything. Elliot bit his lip. He wasn't about to admit to any stray thoughts about another man's body hair any time soon. "Go to sleep," he growled and shut his eyes. Eventually, the silence and the image of Fin's tense body burrowed into his head and screamed. He sighed and turned his head. "You're never gonna be able to get off, like that. Beside him, Fin grunted. "What?" "Someone as rigidly stiff as you in bed ain't sleepin' any time soon." Fin's body jerked slightly. "Fuck you! I ain't hard!" Elliot laughed. "I meant stiff with apprehension, Tutuola; nothin’ else." "Yeah, well. I can't tell with you." Pressing his lips together against more laughter, Elliot lowered his voice. "So, I'm thinkin'… Would a goodnight kiss help any?" "No, it fuckin' wouldn't!" Fin spluttered. Elliot laughed softly. "Then for god's sake, go to sleep, man. You're drivin’ me crazy." Fin grunted and pulled at the covers. "I'm drivin' *you* crazy?" he made a disgusted noise. "I'm not the one with mood swings." "Mood swings?" "One minute you're bitin' my head off, the next you're suckin' my face!" "It was just a little kiss." Fin grunted again. "Well, you might have asked, first." Elliot burst out laughing. "I'll bear that in mind, for the next time, you big prom queen." Grim mutterings about prom queens and asses, were delivered into the darkness, trying to pick a fight, but Elliot grinned and let him get on with it, closing his eyes. Ten long minutes passed before he felt the slight pull of sleep. He yawned and finally relaxed enough to start drifting off. He smiled lazily, then whispered: "G'nght, my darling." He felt Fin lift his head and glance over his shoulder. "Elliot?" "Yes, Sweetiepie?" "Fuck off."
Chapter seven 15, Plaza Apartments, Philadelphia Morning sunlight dribbling through the drapes tickled Benson awake. She rubbed herself into the mattress, the tattered remains of the dream dissolving away. She groaned and stretched. Damnit. Another filthy dream. That made three now. God knows why she was being plagued by erotic dreams, now of all times. She rolled onto her back and ran her hand down her body, grimacing in frustration. She glanced over at the clock. Twenty past six. Far too early to be getting up, considering she now lived within walking distance of her workplace. The thought of work brought a quick image of Elliot to her mind. God! Didn't the man possess any casual clothes that weren't sprayed on? It was just too much. Maybe she should have a word with him about his wardrobe... No. That wasn't a good idea. Maybe she should say something to Fin so he could have a word. No. *That* was just ridiculous. Elliot was just trying to blend in. Maybe he thought there was such a thing as ‘dressing gay’. After all, he and Fin were supposed to be a couple. Figured a guy'd try and look sexy for his man, wouldn't it? After all, they were supposed to be two guys living together... Two guys together. All the wicked implications of the whole scenario fluttered across her mind. She’d heard that gay guys usually went at it like greased mink… She groaned as a visual popped into her head to illustrate that particular thought. God! What was she doing, thinking such a thing about her colleagues? She shoved the mental picture firmly out of sight, but the image of last night's kiss peeked around the corners of her mind, refusing to go away. Both men would probably be mortified to know that she'd pictured them in such… ways. She swallowed and rubbed her face. Jeez! So *many* ways… She sighed and gave up, allowing the images to roar back into the spotlight of her mind. Sometimes, it was just easier to give in and wallow in naughtiness, she reasoned. Maybe she'd get sick of thinking about the whole concept. Yeah, right.
Upstairs at the Wormhole Bookstore Slivers of morning sunlight through the drapes tickled Elliot awake. He blinked and sniffed, feeling sleep roll away from him. His nose itched. He made the move to reach up to scratch and found his hand trapped. Weighed down by a heavy arm, one that most certainly didn't belong to him. Eyes widened, all remaining traces of sleep fleeing. Fin was lying tucked up close behind him, one arm draped over his body. He could feel two hairy knees snuggled up into the backs of his legs and a hot chest touching his back. Oh, fuck.... He swallowed, all senses blaring. He took a breath, talking himself out of jumping out of bed like some hysterical virgin. In the distance, he could hear a dog barking at the faint wail of first one, then two sirens. Behind him, Fin's soft voice huffed into his ear. "Oh, listen, darlin’. They're playing our tune." Stabler gave a sharp laugh, the comment slicing through his initial discomfort. He turned his head to look behind. Dark eyes blinked solemnly from the other half of his pillow. "You are one very strange person, Tutuola." Fin grinned. "That's why they pay me the big bucks," he said, pulling his arm off and rolling away. Stabler uncurled and lay on his back, still looking at the other man. He wondered if he should comment on what had just happened. He considered the last thirty seconds. Actually, he supposed, in the grand scheme of things, nothing *had* happened. "You know..." Tutuola said, stretching like some big old house cat. "That was kind of nice." "What was?" "Waking up like that." Stabler blinked. "It was?" Tutuola looked over at him. "You hafta admit, it's kinda nice to wake all cuddled up to someone." "I guess..." Stabler said slowly, conceding that Fin did make for a very satisfactory hot blanket, if nothing else. He wrinkled his nose. "Mind you, my usual company doesn't have so much body hair." Tutuola laughed loudly. "Y’don’t say! Come to think of it, I've been to bed with women built better than you, Elliot, baby." He sat up and threw the covers back and strutted across the room. Stabler's eyes widened again. Was that an insult? "Hey!" He sat up. "What's that supposed to mean?" The bathroom door closed with a click and he lay there, perched on one elbow, frowning, undecided if he was hurt or just plain pissed off.
The Wormhole Bookstore How could a little store like this get so busy? Elliot looked at the sea of bodies between him and the door and bit down on a sigh. Benson was right. Retail stunk, big time. "Thank you, ma'am," he said to young girl and handed her the book. "No, thank you," she said, smiling widely, giving him a wink. Stabler grinned, feeling a little better as she walked away, a swing to her hips. He supposed there were some perks to working with the public. "Don't let it go to your head," Benson whispered, walking behind him. He glanced at her. "Hey, I didn't say a thing," he said, taking the next book. "No, but you were looking." Benson shook her head. "No harm in that," he grinned, leaning on the counter as she took a stack of coupons to place by the door. She stacked the coupons and ticked off another item from the list on her clipboard. Her partner wasn't wearing tight jeans today, thank god, but had gone with a pair of loose-fit cargo pants and a three-button shirt. She was both grateful and sorry not to have the eye-candy of the past couple of days. Mind you, maybe it was for the best, she was well on the way to terminal insomnia. Thank god the surveillance team hadn't wired up her imagination. She'd have given Munch something to talk about the last two nights. Or driven the poor man into therapy. As she reached the checkout point, she glanced up as Elliot was holding a book out to Fin, a big grin on his face. Just as the other man reached to take it, Stabler snatched it away, held it out again and snatched it back, laughing. She paused, wondering what was going on. "Elliot..." Tutuola growled. "Ha... too slow," Stabler said, whipping the book away with a grin. He winked at an older lady standing at the counter. "What d'you think? I should give the old man a chance?" "I think you should give me the book before I forget my manners and tell you exactly what I think of you," Fin growled. Stabler shook his head, grinning. "Man, he’s just so butch!" He put his hands on his hips and winked at the little old lady. "Don't you think?" Benson turned and gawked at Stabler What the hell...? "Well, I think he looks a bit too big and strong for you to risk pissing him off," the elderly lady said, looking Tutuola up and down. "You might earn yourself a spanking." Giving Stabler one last raised eyebrow, the lady took her book and tottered out of the store, leaving Benson wondering if she'd just been hit over the head by a pink two-by-four. She looked from one to the other, mouth open. What the hell had happened in the last 48 hours? Whenever she recalled Elliot's thoughts on being 'undercover and gay' she thought of his half-chewed lunch sailing across the office. Naturally, her mind rushed to provide several screamingly lurid suggestions for this change of heart, a number of which involved a pair of handcuffs and warm baby oil. The most insistent one involved her partner tied to the bed, being approached by Tutuola wearing nothing but his leather jacket and an evil grin. No... surely to God no... She was just being plain ridiculous. She shook her head to clear it, but a small bottle of baby oil stubbornly refused to leave her mind's eye. "Was that more with the program, boss?" Stabler asked with a grin. Fin nodded. "Much better. I could live without the ‘tude, but I guess it’s better than you with a face like a spanked ass." He narrowed his eyes. "But how ‘bout you mince over to that pile of reference books instead of flirtin’ with the customers?" Stabler pretended to huff. "Man, there's just no pleasing some people." Fin handed him a clipboard. "Get." Olivia watched Stabler's ass as he retreated, swinging his hips in an exaggerated parody of his usual swagger. Eventually, she tore her eyes away and looked up to see Tutuola staring at her. She blushed. He just carried on looking at her. "What?" she asked. "What’s with you?" His face didn't change, but she swore there was a smirk in there somewhere. "Nothing," she lied. "I just..." She cleared her throat. "I'm just glad Elliot is in such a good mood, this morning." "Y’don’t say." Tutuola stared across the store at Stabler. "Makes a nice change." He smirked. "Maybe I was successful in re-adjustin' his attitude." Olivia watched him strut away and tried to banish all thoughts of Elliot receiving 'attitude adjustment'. That damned baby oil slithered into her head again.
The Wormhole Bookstore As the afternoon dragged to a close, Olivia glanced at her watch and joined Fin in the stacks. "Hot one," she commented. "Who, little old me?" he said, glancing at her. Benson laughed, amazed at the change in the dour man she thought she knew. The retail environment obviously agreed with Odafin Tutuola. Either that or just the fact he was outside of his normal stressful job was doing wonders for his temperament. "Sorry to disappoint you but I was talking about the weather." He snorted good-naturedly. "Oh well. I'll always have Elliot." A burst of delight rattled out of her. "You..." She shook her head. "You're going to be the death of him," she laughed. Fin grinned. "I know." He brushed his hands together. "Okay. Let's see if we can clear this joint out. I'm starvin’ to death, here." Returning to the counter, he began to help wrap the purchases, unfailingly polite, very efficient. Benson watched for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of the two men working in tandem. Even though she and Stabler weren't keen on the idea of being storekeepers, Fin seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. His relaxed, easy-going manner was a revelation. She would never have pictured their tooth-grinding colleague as the amiable businessman. But there was the proof, smiling, chatting happily to the customers, a good-natured counterpoint to Stabler's more serious expression. Wonders would never cease.
Table 4, The Coffee Stop It was nearly closing-up time. The man sat in the coffee-store two blocks down from the bookstore and tapped out a little rhythm on the knife in his pocket. Coming…coming…coming…
Chapter 8 Outside the Wormhole Bookstore They stood on the corner of the sidewalk. "Are you sure?" Fin asked. "Yes." Benson nodded and hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. "I'm beat; there’s a chicken salad and a bubble bath with my name on them." "Okay..." He nodded. "Go chill." Elliot leaned on a streetlamp, his arms folded, looking at his partner. She looked tired, but there was a glow of pink around her cheeks that brought out the color of her eyes. The work might be crazy, but the respite from the grind of SVU agreed with her. In another life, another world he might have made a move on a woman like Liv. In a life without the risk to their careers, his marriage, and a harassment suit, perhaps. He wondered if in that world she'd give him a lecture and the cold shoulder, or if she'd just go straight for the knee between the legs. "How d'you fancy another slice of that chocolate thing?" he said. "I bet you could just go for one after you take your bath." He almost slipped off the edge of the streetlamp in shock at his own words. He felt them both stare at him and swallowed. "I mean we could drop it in on the way home." He licked his lips nervously. "If you like..." Benson stared at her partner. Where the hell had that come from? Was it really as suggestive as she first thought? She re-wound the words and considered them. No, she decided. It wasn't an attempt at double-entendre; just Elliot trying to be thoughtful. "Oh... I don't know," she hesitated. "One little dessert won't hurt. Besides, you worked hard enough for it." She wavered. "Go on." Fin nudged her gently. "I dare ya." Benson laughed. "Oh, all right. You talked me into it. Just this once." Elliot grinned. "Okay. We'll drop it in later. 'Bout nine?" She nodded. "Lovely. I'll look forward to that." She paused then turned. "I'll put coffee on, shall I?" "Great." "See you about nine, then." Benson waved them off and turned to her building, a smile on her face. She was suddenly looking forward to her evening more than she anticipated. It would be nice to entertain the pair of them. True, it was kind of twisted to be looking forward to socializing on a case, but it wasn’t out of the bounds of reason. She pushed the button for the elevator and hummed to herself. There was plenty of time to eat, bathe and get halfway decent before they got here. She pursed her lips and pondered as she entered the elevator. What to wear after her bath that was decent? She mentally ran through the limited wardrobe she brought with her, not paying any attention to the man that followed her into the compartment. She had a comfortable blouse that looked nice with the jeans she hadn't worn yet. That would have to do as she didn’t bring her dressing gown. Staring up at the ascending lights, she didn't see the gleam of a sharp edge as it slipped from the man's pocket.
Outside Plaza Apartment Building, Philadelphia Stabler juggled the dessert box, trying to hold the door without dropping it. Fin took the handle from him. "Here..." He pulled the door open. "It's gonna go everywhere." Stabler nodded and slipped outside, concentrating on his handful. He waited for Tutuola to join him and started walking up the street. "D'you think she wanted ice cream with it?" he asked. Tutuola gave him a sideways glance. "No... she wouldn’t expect you to carry ice cream too." "Yeah..." Stabler pushed the edge of the carry-out box down a little more firmly. "I guess." They walked in silence to where Benson was living. Fin held the door again. "Which floor did she say?" Stabler glanced at him. "I thought you knew?" "No." Fin cleared his throat. "Well...Cragen might have mentioned it, but I can't remember." Stabler rolled his eyes. "Great. Just great. Now what do we do? Knock on every door? Nice work." Tutuola gave him a withering look. "Funny that, but Detective Benson's new address isn't high on my list of crucial things to remember." "I'm just tryin' to be helpful." "Well, you're not." Fin sighed and pulled out his phone. He paused then hit a speed dial number. Stabler stood waiting. Tutuola flipped the cel shut. "No answer. She must have turned it off." Stabler frowned. "That's not like her." "Maybe she wanted to bathe in peace." "Well..." Stabler began, not a clue as to what he was going to say next. "I guess..." "Yeah." Tutuola snapped open his phone. "You're right." He dialled another number and waited, then spoke. "It’s me. Yes. Look, I need Liv’s apartment number." He sighed. "No, it’s not like that. You have a real nasty mind, man. Jeez, I have Elliot with me, too." He winced at whatever was being said. "That is just so *wrong*, you know that, don’t you?" He glanced at Stabler. "Hey… Are you taping this? Are you? Goddamnit, If I find a record of what you just said, I swear I’m gonna rip your…" He paused. Listening. "That's more like it, thank you. And I want you to know this is not over with, you hear?" He folded the phone and glared. "Apartment 15." He stabbed the elevator button with a vicious poke. Stabler took one look at his post-Munch expression and closed his mouth firmly. They stood waiting for the elevator in silence.
Inside Apartment 15, Plaza Building Benson didn't get that bath. Nor was it likely to happen any time soon. Pity, she could really do with it. She tried to stretch then stopped as the bindings holding her down pulled sharply. She winced at the sting of several small cuts on her arms. Across the room the man sat quietly. He hadn't moved for the past couple of hours. He just sat there, looking at her, tapping that curved knife on his knee. The knife he had used to subdue her, the knife he used to cut her. He had been squatting by the wall, motionless, the whole evening. His knife had long since stopped freaking her out, it was the fact that he hadn't moved, hadn't spoken that really frightened her. She was reminded of something from the reptile house that had scared her as a kid; some kind of lizard that just sat perfectly still until its prey wandered into its reach. She didn't know who he was, what he wanted. Was she just a random victim of a seriously fucked up mugging, or was this guy altogether something else? Was he the man they were looking for? That thought almost loosened her tattered grip on self-control. No; surely not. He couldn't have targeted them so quickly. Could he? Her eyes widened as the man stood suddenly and strode across the room towards her. She flinched as his hand thrust under her nose. She looked down at her own phone in his hand. "Call him." He said. Olivia swallowed and took a steady breath. "Call who?" The hand cracked out and back-handed her hard. Her eyes watered with shock and indignation. She sent him a furious glare. She hated being bitch-slapped. The man just stared back, impassive. "Call Odafin," he said. The name sent a bucket of cold water swirling down in her guts. He knew who she was. "What?" She stalled for thinking time. His knuckles cracked sharply into the side of her head. "Call him." A single tear of pain and anger slid from the corner of her eye, making her even more furious. She bit down on her lip and stayed silent, determined to stall. As if mocking her attempts, the doorbell rang. The man looked up, then back down at her. He strode across the room, looked through the security hole and turned back to her. He was smiling. The knife sliced quickly through her bonds, nicking her wrist slightly. Benson winced. "Answer it," he told her. She gazed back at him in mute defiance. Thoughts of screaming out and warning the two men ran through her mind. One word and they would kick the door down and enter, guns blazing for a heroic rescue. The man raised the knife and touched it under her jaw. "Open the door." Could they break in before he carved her a new mouth? The point pricked her chin. No, was the simple answer. "Let them in." She shook her head. "No; I can't." "Open the door, or I cut your throat and open it myself. You choose." The knife scratched the underside of her chin. "I just thought you'd like the chance to live a little longer." Olivia lifted her head up, thinking furiously. "Okay...okay." She stood up, rubbing her arms. Maybe she could give them some kind of warning, some signal. They both had ankle holsters. All they needed was a chance to get to them. Her own gun lay useless in her purse. The bell rang again. "Coming!" she called, moving slowly across the room. A signal... The man shadowed her, one hand holding her arm. He reached around and pulled the sleeves of her blouse down, covering the thin lines of blood on her arms. "No games; just open the door." The knife moved round and dug into her kidney for emphasis. He moved to stand behind her, using her as a shield. She unlocked the safety chain and slid the bolt, plan after plan crashing uselessly about in her mind. "Hey..." Elliot stood in front of her, a goofy grin on his face and take out box in one hand. "Chocolate Mailman; home deliveries a specialty." Benson stared, willing him to read her face, see the fright and the spots of blood welling through her sleeves. A sharp stab in the back jolted her. "C...come in." She moved back into the apartment, mentally apologizing to the two men. Elliot pushed through the doorway, balancing the takeout box very carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was drop chocolate all over the floor. Fin jabbed him in the back, reading his mind. "Careful, fool; don’t want to drop it on the carpet." Elliot held the box away from his body. "Where d’you want it?" "Wherever you like," Benson whispered. Stabler looked up; there was something wrong with her voice. In a half-second glance, he took in the man standing behind her, the blood on her sleeves and the expression on her face. "Jesus…" The box dropped out of Elliot’s hands, tumbling in a slow arc towards the carpet. "Stabler!" Fin lurched, pushing him out of the way, trying to catch the box before it landed. The door slammed shut with a crack and the man’s hand moved up to hold the knife against Benson’s neck. The sudden noise made Fin glance up, fumbling as he tried to catch the box. It hit the floor, sliding open, spilling chocolate cake onto the beige carpet. Olivia felt a sharp stab of the blade. She called out before Elliot had the chance to complete them ove his was making to his gun. "Elliot, no!" Stabler’s hand froze halfway to his ankle holster. He stared at Benson’s face, his peripheral vision taking her face, the man and the blade. "No, wait," he whispered, terrified the man would take it into his head to push the blade all the way into Olivia’s throat. Fin, crouched over the mess on the floor looking up, assessing the man, the blade and the whole situation in a single glance. He slowly stood without saying a word, or moving for his gun. The man moved from behind Benson’s body and smiled. "Guess what, Daddy? I found you," he whispered. "I missed you, Daddy…" His face contorted. "Why d'you hide? It's not fair; I love you." The silence stretched out with the three Detectives frozen still in some horrible game of statues. At last, Fin slowly held out his hands. "Take it easy, man," he said softly. "Just relax." "Don't you tell me what to do! I *am* relaxed!" the man shouted. Benson jerked as she was poked hard in the back. Elliot straightened up. His eyes flicked from Olivia to the man, weighing up the possibilities, working out the distances, the chances he had. As things stood, it was all down to the man with the knife, and he was too close to Olivia’s jugular to be anything other than in complete control. The man was muttering to himself, words too soft for he or Fin to hear, but he could see by Olivia's reaction it wasn't a happy speech. Elliot was shocked to see the man's eyes glistening with tears. "You - sit down," the man instructed suddenly. "Over there." His bright eyes never left Fin’s as he jerked his head towards the dining chair. "Hurry." Fin slowly moved the few steps to the chair, his hands still out stretched. "Okay, I’m going." He glanced down. "Here?" "Sit down." Tutuola slowly sat. "Okay – Let her go, now. Okay?" Ignoring Fin, the man spoke to Elliot without taking his eyes from the seated man. He flicked his chin up. "Tie him." "What?" "Tie him. Use that tape." Stabler glanced down at the roll of silver tape lying by Fin’s foot. There were odd bits of the stuff lying on the floor. He had tied Olivia there, he realized. Tied her up while we were eating dinner. A sliver of guilt stabbed deep in his belly and the image it brought forth pounded behind his eyes, kick-starting a headache. He bent to pick up the tape. "Okay… But let her go, man. I’ll do like you say, but just let her go." The man shook his head. "Just shut up and do it." Stabler swallowed his anger and began to pick at the end of the tape as slowly as he could. "I’m doin’ it, okay?" His eyes darted from Olivia to Fin and back to the tape, any decent plan of attack as elusive as the stray end of the sticky tape. "Faster." Olivia grunted as she was rabbit-punched in the back. Stabler’s eyes narrowed; he took a step towards her, the urge to tear the man limb from limb overriding his common sense. "Don’t even think about it." The man smiled and jabbed another sharp blow to Olivia’s back. "You just do as you’re told, bitch-boy." Freeing up a long strip of tape, Stabler paused, reining his temper in and playing for time. If he could get his body between Fin and the perp maybe Fin would have the chance to reach his gun. "How d’you want me to do this?" he asked, side-stepping slightly. The way the perp was standing behind Liv, there was a chance Fin's body would be hidden from him. The sharp eyes narrowed at the question. "Just tie him up! How hard is that?" The man moved slightly, peering around Olivia's head. Stabler shuffled to the right. "Legs and hands?" "YES!" The man screamed. He shoved Benson forward, moving them both back into full view of Tutuola. "Just fucking tie him up! Quickly!" A thin line of blood welled up and trickled down the side of Olivia’s neck. Stabler was unable to tear his gaze away from the red streak on her skin, his pulse thumping in time with the mounting pressure behind his eyes. Olivia's blood… His partner's blood. The pounding in his head racked up a notch. "NOW!" Gritting his teeth, Stabler tore a length of the tape viciously. He knelt down and wrapped the sticky length around Fin’s left wrist. He looked down and locked his gaze on Fin. Flicking his eyes to the other man’s ankle, Stabler tried to communicate the possibility of grabbing the gun. A slight nod and Fin looked away and addressed the perp. "Why you doing this to us?" "Shut up." Fin took a breath. "Please. Talk to me." "I said shut up. You don’t get to talk, now. Not until I say you can." On the floor, Stabler picked and procrastinated over the tape, buying time. He pretended to struggle with finding the free end of the tape, moving his body to block the man’s view of Fin’s leg. "You…" Slowly, Stabler looked up. He raised his eyes in a way he hoped looked innocent. "Yeah?" "Finish it, or I’m going to finish her." The knife twitched and Stabler winced in sympathy with Olivia’s pained expression. "Don’t hurt her…Please." Mentally apologizing to Fin, he pulled a length of tape off and bound one leg to the chair. "Faster…" He pulled another stretch of tape off the roll and with a helpless glance at Fin, he quickly bound the other leg and wrist, making sure he wrapped the tape well above the ankle holster. He left a certain amount of play in the tape, and hoped that if it came down to it, Tutuola had strength enough to rip the restraints off. "Done," he said, dropping the tape to the floor. It rolled in lazy circles towards Olivia's feet. "Come over here." Elliot held his breath and stepped over the spilled dessert towards the other man. He had an idea about what was on the agenda and wasn’t at all keen to get within reach of this guy. "Let her go," he said, stopping a good 6 feet away. "Please. She has nothing to do with this. She just works with us," he said, jerking his head back. "I know." The man nodded. "Don't worry about her; it's really you I want. Come to me." Elliot swallowed. This was exactly the way the case notes had said it happened. The black man always got to watch what happened. All of the previous victims had been made to watch as each lover was sliced up. The victims had all survived so far, but the last one was never going to look any where near normal, even with the best plastic surgery. Playing for time, Stabler raised his hands. "Why me? What did I do?" The head bobbed above Olivia’s, jerking towards Fin. "He loves you." "So what?" "It’s not fair." The voice held a petulant note. "He shouldn’t; he should love me." "I'm sure he does," Elliot lied, playing for time. "Why don't you just ask…" The man's face contorted. "NO!" Olivia was unexpectedly shoved forward, her eyes flying open as she stumbled over the take-out box towards Elliot. She collided with her partner, grabbing his arms to keep from falling over. He held her to his chest for a moment, giddy with relief that she was away from that knife. "Are you okay?" he whispered, lifting her chin to look at the small cut. She nodded; relief and guilt flooding through her. His words brought time back into focus. She pulled away, ashamed at having been taken hostage. "I'm fine." The tape came sailing across the room, hitting Elliot on the foot. "Tape her arm to Daddy's," the knifeman snapped. "Now." With one last reassuring squeeze to her shoulders, Elliot gently pushed Olivia behind him. "No. I won’t," he said. "Do it." The man took step forward. "Do it now or…" With all the style of a street-magician, a small, snub-nosed gun appeared in his other hand, calmly pointed at Fin . "Or I make a nice neat hole in him." "Look, man - she’s not gonna do anything; let her…" "Tape her up – I want her to watch, too!" Elliot swallowed. "You don't have to do this." "Just fucking *TAPE* HER!" The scream made Stabler jump. He took a step away from Olivia. "You don’t want…" The gun went off with a crack that seemed out of all proportion to the size of the weapon. The sound of Olivia’s shout was shrill counterpoint to the shot. Stabler’s head whipped around. To his relief, Olivia was still standing, but there was a chunk missing from the leg of Fin’s chair, exactly between the armrest and the floor. A plume of splinters wavered in the aftermath, falling gently to the carpet. Fin’s face was screwed up, his eyes tightly shut, in an expression of more than just shocked surprise. A small stain spread down the calf area of his jeans. Shrapnel, Elliot thought. Nothing too bad, painful but not life-threatening. Stepping forward again, the armed man leveled the gun at Elliot's head. "I told you to tape her," he growled in a low whisper. "That was your fault." Turning back to face the threat, Elliot knew the scene was escalating beyond all control. This time it wasn’t going to be enough to just frighten the victim; just as Huang had predicted, the perp’s methodology was expanding, becoming more unstable. Taking a deep breath, Elliot glanced at Fin. "You hurt him," he said. "No… YOU hurt him," the man threw back. "I told you, it's your fault. You made me do it." The denial of responsibility was also something Huang had predicted. He'd said that the man's whole reasoning seemed based on the premise that he wasn't at fault for his actions. And that made reasoning with him far more dangerous. Stabler moved towards Fin, holding his hands out. "Let me make sure he’s gonna be…" "TAPE them!!" Elliot hesitated. "El…" Stabler looked over at the sound of Olivia’s voice. "It’s just a flesh wound," she said softly. "He’s okay." She had moved to kneel down at Fin’s side. The side with the blood, Stabler noted; the side which happened to house the ankle holster. She got down on her knees. "It’s okay. Tape me up." Her eyes widened as she glanced first at him, then at Fin's leg. Stabler nodded understanding and picked up the tape. She bent to rest her arm on top of Fin’s and he swiftly wrapped tape around the two limbs. Looking at her face, he watched as she flicked his gaze back to Fin’s ankle and nodded. He nodded back, knowing she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the first chance she got. But with any luck at all, someone in the building would have heard the first shot and was calling for the police already. "Okay?" Stabler said, looking at Fin. He nodded, his face impassive again. "Take care, man," he muttered. "You bet." As he smoothed the end of the tape down, he took a second or two to allow his fingers to rest on Olivia’s hand, where it lay on the top of Fin's. He gave their fingers a small squeeze, linking them together and winked. False bravado, but at least Olivia seemed to appreciate it, she gave him a brief smile in return. He stood up and turned to the man waiting for him. There was a smile on his face and an expression of anticipation that didn’t bode well. Elliot took a hesitant step forward, breathing deeply. Things were not looking good at all. Olivia watched as Elliot walked slowly across the room, carefully stepping over the ruined dessert. She felt an irrational pang at the waste and mess on the floor. Shuffling slightly, she moved closer to Fin’s leg, sliding her free hand down to floor level. As long as Elliot kept the guy’s attention from her, she could risk slipping her hand up Fin’s jeans to get the gun. Then all she needed was a split second’s clear shot and this would all be over. "What do you want from me?" Elliot said as he moved closer. Two more steps and he would be in range of that knife. That thing creeped him out more than the gun. Perversely, he feared the slice of knife more than bullets. "I don’t want anything from you." "Then why…." "I want something from *him*." Elliot paused and glanced over his shoulder. "From him? Why? What did he do?" Engage the subject… Engage the subject, he chanted in his head. Standard operating procedure - get the suspect to talk, diffuse the situation, diverting intent. That was the theory, anyway. The man held out the hand with the knife. "Come here to me." The blade sparkled as he twitched it. Elliot swallowed. "I’m scared," he said, wondering if he was role-playing any more, or just being honest. The knife flicked in invitation. "Don’t be. Come here." Elliot shook his head, shuffling his feet. "You’re gonna hurt me." "I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt *him*." The knife flashed again. "Now come closer." Moving one step to the right, Stabler took another forward, hoping to God he was giving Olivia enough time to get that gun.
Chapter 9 Inside 15, Plaza Apartment Building, Philadelphia As Stabler took the last step towards the man, Olivia began to move her hand up the inside of Fin’s jeans. It crept over the edge of his boots, over the top of his sock and up a warm leg to the edge of the holster. She kept her body absolutely still, her eyes fastened to the back of Elliot’s head, watching carefully. Pushing against the stiffness of the jeans, she eased her hand up, bending her wrist at a wholly unnatural angle as the jeans moved slowly up. The hand holding the knife darted out and grabbed the front of Stabler’s shirt, pulling him close. The tip of the blade stroked the underside of his chin, a whisper away from cutting the skin. Stabler inhaled at the slight scratch. He could feel the knife rasping over his evening stubble. His hands started to rise. "Hey…" "Quiet..." The man pulled him close and studied his face, the front of Elliot’s shirt still bunched in his hand. He seemed to be searching for something, scrutinizing every inch. Stabler held his breath. The tip of the knife was digging uncomfortably into his jaw. It felt as if it would slice into him if he dared to fill his lungs too deeply. He fought against swallowing the saliva that pooled in his mouth. "What have *you* got?" The man’s voice whispered. He squinted into Stabler’s eyes, his breath warm and stale. They stood, nose-to-nose, far too close for comfort, even without the sting of a blade. The man's eyes wandered up Elliot's forehead and down to his mouth, searching for something. "What makes you special? Why does he love you and not me?" Elliot stayed silent, unwilling even to breathe. Benson took advantage of the man’s fascination with Stabler to shove her hand almost brutally up Fin’s pant’s leg. She felt her knuckles skin a little on the rough material, but she reached the top of the holster. Her fingers scrabbled triumphantly at the handle of the little gun, struggling to pull it from its leather home. She frowned as they slipped over the smooth butt of the gun. What the hell? She risked a glance down. There was a dark stain on the outside of the holster, a patch of moisture that was making the gun slick. Blood, she realized with a start. Looking up at Fin, she could see the pain on his face, his eyebrows arched up, his lower lip clamped between his teeth. Shit. There was more blood than she anticipated, making it almost impossible to get a grip on the gun from her position. She rose a little on her knees. Across the room, Elliot arched his back, and lifted his head a fraction. Air rushed into his lungs making him slightly light-headed. There was a moment of blessed relief from the knife. "It hurts…" he gasped without moving his jaw. "Please stop…" "You’re not so pretty," the man informed Stabler with eerie finality. "Not like the others." Elliot wondered if his apparent lack of looks were going to be his salvation or his downfall. The knife sliced sideways as the hand holding his shirt swung out, pushing him sideways and downwards. Taken by surprise as the knife cut his skin with ice-cold precision, Stabler staggered, slamming to his knees, the breath driven from his body. He grunted with the impact and winced. There was a dull thud on his shoulder and he risked a quick glance sideways. The hand holding the gun was inches from his ear, the barrel staring back at him. One little twitch on the trigger and he was going to be minus most of his head. He could feel the slight trickle of blood on the underside of his chin and wondered how deep the cut was. His assailant stepped sideways and stood in front of him, and Elliot took the chance to slowly track his eyes to the left to look across the room. Olivia was kneeling up, frozen, her hand wedged up the side of Fin's pants leg. Elliot's stomach dropped in dismay. They both looked as guilty as hell. He frowned at her and shook his head minutely. Not now, he tried to convey. He mustn't see. She shifted her body slightly, trying to hide her hand. "Look at me." The man cracked the gun against the side of Elliot's head. He winced and pulled his eyes back. "What?" he snapped, unable to help his tone. The gun rapped his temple again, harder. "You need to look at me," the man told him, leaning down to stare into Elliot's face. "I need to be able to see what I'm doing." The knife slid back to the same place it had been before, the cold tip touching the raw wound. Elliot gasped, the pain needle-bright and sick-making. "Owwww! Please, shit… that hurts!" "Hush, now…" The man smiled and stroked the side of Elliot's face with the gun. "Don't speak." Across the room, Fin called out. "Hey, man; you're hurting him." Elliot winced as the knife dug deeper, the wound throbbing in time with his racing pulse. "It's me you wanna hurt, yeah? " Fin's voice grew louder, angry at being ignored. "Hey! I'm talkin' to you!" The man shook his head. "Shhhhhh, now, Daddy. No more talking. I need to show you something." He smiled down, his tongue nipping out to moisten his lips. "I'm getting real good at this." Elliot stared back, his mouth going dry.
Chapter 10 Inside 15, Plaza Apartment Building, Philadelphia The gun slid down the side of his face as the man brought the knife up to caress along the crease of Elliot's right eye. He could feel his lid starting to tremble in anticipation. He swallowed. No… This was no good. This was crazy. His heart picked up speed as the man leaned in slightly and narrowed his eyes, ready to make his move. Oh, Jesus.. no! Elliot felt the slight increase of pressure at the corner of his eye and freaked out. With no thought to risk or reason, his body shot upwards, legs propelling him upwards in an untidy lurch. He yelled out in panic, driving his body into the other's, shoving him backwards. At that moment, Elliot didn't care about the gun, didn't care about procedure, all he was concerned about was getting that knife away from his eye. The pair of them staggered in a tangle of arms and sharp curses, Elliot trying desperately to wrestle both the gun and the knife away from his body. He winced as the other man kneed him in the thigh, grabbed a handful of his shirt and shoved him to the side. As the two men slammed in to the wall, Olivia gave up all pretence of subtlety and rose up on her knees, pulling desperately at Fin’s gun. She swiped her wet fingers on his leg and grabbed at the butt of the gun. It came halfway out of the holster, snagged and slipped back. She gave a little whimper and tried again, pulling as hard as she dared. The last thing she wanted to do was blow Fin’s foot off in her haste. Grunting, she pulled the gun free and swung it around. "FREEZE!" she yelled, pulling back the hammer. "Don’t move!" She watched the man’s head whip round to stare at her in shock. That was about all the movement she was going to allow him. "Do NOT move!" she shouted, keeping the barrel as steady as she could with one hand. "Elliot? Are you all right?" Stabler’s head emerged from where he was squashed against the wall. "Yeah… I’m okay." He pulled sideways, tugging to get the man’s hand off his shirt. She allowed her eyes to flick towards her partner, wanting to check for herself. In the professional two second glance, she noted he was seemingly in one piece, apart from some blood on his neck. Her then gaze slid down his front to where his shirt was all bunched up, riding high on his body. It was this longer, completely less than professional glance at his bared torso that almost cost his life. Seeing her momentary distraction, the man pulled Elliot close, sliding the knife up towards his throat. Screaming out her fright and fury, Olivia pulled the trigger, sending a bullet smashing into the back of the perp's shoulder, instantly sending the weapon tumbling to the floor. Under the impact of the bullet, the man slammed forward into Elliot, causing him to squeeze the trigger of his own gun as his hand went into spasm. The second explosion shocked Olivia to the core. She leaped to her feet, almost dislocating her bound arm in the process. She screamed. "ELLIOT!" There was a soft groan from across the room, and the perp began to slide down the wall, his limp weight taking Stabler with him. "Elliot!" she cried again, scrabbling at the silver tape with frantic fingers hampered by the gun. "Elliot!" "Yeah…" The voice was muffled, but it was there. Olivia almost sobbed with relief. "El – speak to me!" "Just a sec…" There was a moment of grunting, and then Elliot emerged from underneath the unconscious body, pulling himself up, none too gentle about how he scrambled out. He stood up and glared down at the body on the floor. "Goddamnit…" he muttered, holding his chin. He pulled his hand away and inspected the mess in his palm. "Elliot… how bad're you hurt? Talk to me." She all but threw the gun down and tore at the tape on her wrist. "Bastard cut me," Stabler complained. He moved over towards them, lifting his chin to show the cut. Olivia stared at him. "You’re not shot?" "Uh-uh. Missed." He glanced up at the ceiling. "Neighbors might be complaining though." "You’re not shot?" she repeated stupidly, not daring to believe him. "No. I said I was okay." He frowned at her. "You alright, Liv?" Clamping her mouth down on anything damningly sentimental, she looked at her arm. "Don’t just stand there," she muttered, relieved tears pricking at her eyes. "Help me with this." She tugged furiously at the tape, keeping her face hidden, her fingers scratching the shiny surface. She glanced at Fin when his hand moved under hers. "Ow?" he said with dry sarcasm. "Sorry," she smiled. "I don’t like being tied up." His eyebrow rose. "An’ you think I do? What’s that bony-assed pervert been sayin’ ‘bout me?" Her laughter broke the tension and the tears that had threatened, receded - much to her relief. A second later, Elliot was back at her side with the knife in his hand. He sliced through the tape in a few quick strokes. He bent on one knee and peered at Fin’s leg. "Got you good, there," he said, lifting the edge of the jeans. Tutuola shifted his leg away. "I’m fine. Go secure the creep." Stabler looked up at him and grinned. "What, no ‘Sweetie’ any more?" Fin glared. Olivia moved to stand in front of Fin. "Quit ragging on him, El, he’s hurt. Go do your job before I hurt you, as well." Stabler chuckled and held his hands up in submission, moving away to sort out the motionless man on the floor. Olivia bent down. "Let me take a proper look at that leg." With a tight smile, Tutuola shook his head. "I’m cool. I’ll wait for the bus. But you’d better go and see to the suspect." He jerked his head to where Elliot knelt, applying pressure to the hole in the man’s back. "Don’t want the scumbag dyin’ before we get a chance t’arrest him, do we?" She smiled slightly; looking over to the crumpled heap. "Might save the taxpayer a few cents." "Yeah." They grinned at one another.
Chapter 11 Philadelphia Mercy Hospital, ER Dept. It took less than ten minutes for the emergency services to arrive. In that time, Olivia and Elliot managed to staunch the flow of blood from the suspect enough for the paramedics to stabilize and remove him from the scene in less than another five. Pretty good work, she thought. Shot and on your way to hospital in less time than it took to order in a pizza. She brushed her hands down her blouse, regarding the spots of blood with resignation. Ruined on first wearing; typical. At the local ER, it appeared that six-vehicle pile-up, a collegiate bout of food poisoning and a series of bar-room brawls had stretched resources to breaking point, making it necessary for both Elliot and her to sit either end of the same emergency bed. The doctor kept up a one-sided conversation while he cleaned all their cuts dabbing them with evil-smelling antiseptic, seemingly unhampered by the lack of response from either Detective. Neither needed anything more than a couple of adhesive stitches, although it had taken considerably longer to see to Olivia. She had squirmed slightly under Elliot’s scrutiny while the doctor attended to her. She would rather not have had an audience, but couldn’t find the words or heart to tell him to go away. He kept staring at her while fingering the edges of the dressing on his chin. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at him to leave it alone. It was late and the events of the evening had left her tired and scratchy. "You sure you’re okay?" he asked for the thousandth time as the medic left them. "I’m fine, El." "He cut your arms pretty badly, huh?" She turned to him, ready to let him know exactly what she thought of his constant questions, but he was looking at her with such a miserable expression on his face that her anger dissolved. "No, he didn’t. I’m okay, really. It’s superficial. Don’t worry about me." He sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair. "I don’t know. I can’t help thinkin’ about it. You spent a long time with him. Least a coupla hours." "It doesn’t matter." "We were safe eatin’ dinner and you were…" "Let it go, Elliot; I’m fine. That’s all that matters." He sighed. "It must have been pretty scary, though. I dunno, but I reckon you might…" She held up a hand. "If you suggest I need to see Huang I’ll go find that gun and shoot you, too." He smiled and held up his hand. "Okay, I get the message. You really *are* okay." "At the risk of sounding childish; I told you so." He laughed outright at that, and she enjoyed the sound. Scratching at the underside of his chin for a moment, he gazed around at everything in the little cubicle before finally looking back at her. "Actually, what I was going say, was that you might want some company, tonight; considerin’." His words stole hers. She had no idea what kind of reply he expected, so she just sat with her mouth closed, staring at him. "I mean, that is… If you didn’t want to be alone…You know, later after we get away, from here an’ all...." He seemed to run out of things to say in the light of her silence. She watched as he wriggled uncomfortably. "Are you suggesting I am too frightened to be alone, Detective Stabler?" He stared at her for a long time, before lowering his eyes. "No. I would never suggest that. I just didn’t know if…" "I’m perfectly all right." "Yeah. I guess you are." Holding back a sigh, Stabler studied his shoes. Gathering courage from the fact she hadn’t walked away or reached for her weapon yet, he looked up. "I just figured you might feel like talkin’, that’s all." His blue eyes held hers, blinking slowly. "We don’t hafta be any place for a while; maybe we could hang out." Olivia regarded him, momentarily panicking that there was an agenda behind the offer that she wasn’t seeing. He just sat there, staring at her with the most innocent of expressions that she instantly berated herself. Elliot was the most dyed-in-the-wool ‘good guy’ she knew. He’d more likely slip on a mini-skirt, sling-backs and go hooking on Broadway than cheat on Kathy. She smiled at the thought. "That would be nice." "Yeah?" His face lit up with a sweet expression of surprise. "Yes. Why not? I could use a hot chocolate to unwind about now." Stabler’s face opened up into a huge grin. "I think I can manage that. But first, I..." He pulled a face. "I gotta visit the john." "Okay. I'm going to..." She waved a hand down the corridor. "You know…" "Check in with the Cap'n?" "Yeah. And on Fin; I want to see how he's doing." She tilted her head and smiled as he hurried away. She slipped down from the bed and walked to the room where Fin was being treated, her body aching at the sudden crash from the adrenaline high. Peering around the doorway, she found Tutuola involved in a heated discussion with a white-coated doctor who looked young enough to make her feel about ninety seven. Munch stood, arms folded, watching with an amused expression; Cragen just looked resigned. "Hey, Olivia," the Cragen nodded. "Hey there." She stood with her hands on her hips and waited for her voice to register above the stream of outrage that was Fin. Eventually, he finished his tirade at the young intern and turned, jerking his chin with a small smile. "Hey, Liv. You been done?" "Yep. All done." "How you feelin’?" "I’m good. You?" Tutuola grunted. "I’m fine. I was just explaining that to this…" He arched his eyebrows. "…Doctor." The young blond woman sighed. "With all due respect, you’re not fine. As I have explained, you have several deep wounds that clearly need cleaning and an x-ray to ensure no detritus is embedded." Tutuola tried to stare her down. "I’m fine. I can get this looked at back home. Isn’t that right, Liv?" Benson glanced at the doctor and shook her head. "No, I don’t think that would be wise, Fin. You need to get it cleaned as soon as possible." "My thoughts exactly," Munch told her. "Do you know the statistics on post-traumatic infections…" "Can it, John," Fin snapped. "I’m not stayin’ here." Cragen stepped forward. "I would have thought the doctor’s recommendation was sound, Detective. You need to get the wound clean. Unless you relish a raging…" Fin opened his mouth but Olivia held up a finger. "No. He’s right, Fin. You need to have your leg thoroughly checked. I’m sure the doctor could do it now for you in the ER, but I think an anesthetic might make the procedure more comfortable." A spasm of distaste crossed Tutuola’s face. The intern nodded. "Your colleagues are quite right. There’s a risk of infection and that any matter left in the wound might become calcified." "Like I said," Munch sighed. "Why must you always question my better judgement?" "Maybe ‘cause you don’t usually have any?" Fin shot back. Cragen reached and touched his arm briefly. "Listen to her, Odafin; you’ve done your job. Let the doctor do hers." It was clear that by using his full name, the captain hoped he would get through to.the other man. Olivia supposed he had no authority to order Fin to stay in hospital, he was well within his rights to discharge himself. She didn’t relish the idea of an infection setting in if he delayed getting treatment. Eventually, Fin sighed and flopped his head back on the pillow. He stared up at the ceiling. "I suppose one night wouldn’t hurt any." "Good man." "You're making the right decision, Fin," she added. He glanced at her. "Thanks." Munch cleared his throat pointedly and Fin looked at him through slitted eyes. "Yours ain’t concern, you overgrown fruitbat; it’s malice," Fin snapped. John grinned. "Why thank you, my dear Odafin." "That wasn’t thanks, fool." Munch just grinned wider. "Whatever you say." Olivia smiled at the pair of them. "For what it’s worth, I think you made the right choice, Fin; despite John’s contribution to the equation." "Well, I guess that all things considered, I might get a better night’s sleep in here, than in Elliot’s bed." Both Cragen's and John's eyebrows hovered high on their foreheads, but both men held their tongues. Olivia smiled. "Really; why's that?" Shaking his head Fin rubbed his face. "This whole case has convinced me sharing a bed with Elliot Stabler ain’t my idea of a good time." Smothering a chuckle, Olivia leaned against the rail of the bed and exchanged a glance with a clearly fascinated Munch. "And why would that be? I mean…" She and John smirked at one another. "If it’s not too intrusive a question, of course." Tutuola looked at her from the corner of his eye. "Oh, yeah… Real funny." He turned to give John the evil eye. "To satisfy *your* morbid curiosity… I hate having the covers stolen at all hours of the night; there's a limit to the amount of snoring a guy can be expected to take without gettin’ out his gun; and let’s just say the man has very…" He pulled a face. "An’ I mean, VERY cold feet." Unable to hold back, Olivia laughed out loud, amused at the pained expression. "I see." Cragen smiled. "Am I going to see a detailed outline of your experiences in your report?" "Uh-uh." Fin shuddered. "Think I'm gonna need therapy to get over the places he managed to put the damned things." The laughter felt good after the evening’s trauma, and it was nice to see a wry smile creeping on to Fin’s face, too. "How’ it goin’, guys?" Stabler’s head appeared around the doorway. He grinned and came in. "Whassup?" Munch cleared his throat. "We were just discussing footnotes, Detective Stabler." Olivia looked at John’s impassive face and began to laugh again. "Yeah?" Elliot looked vaguely puzzled but didn’t pursue the comment. He walked up to the bed and peered down at the dressing on Tutuola’s leg. "So, how is it?" He made as if to lift the gauze pad. "It’s FINE!" Fin jerked his leg away, wincing. "Yeah?" "Yes, thank you." "Actually…" the intern began to speak but Fin held up a finger. "Yes, I know. Thank you." He sighed. "It seems I’m stayin’ here for the night." He narrowed his eyes and glared at the doctor. "That’s too bad." Stabler said sincerely. Munch perched on the edge of Fin’s bed. "Apparently, the surgeons need to go in there and dig out all the bits of chair." His long fingers made shoveling movements in the air. "Thank you, Detective, I appreciate your input," the intern said, wincing. "No problem." Munch shrugged, gazing around the room, missing her expression entirely. Cragen nodded at the open door. "I've spoken to the local boys and they’re happy to let you make your final statements tomorrow. I’ll let them know you’re not to be disturbed until you’re released later tomorrow. That okay?" Fin nodded. "Cool. I expect I’ll be ready after lunch." He looked at the doctor for confirmation. She nodded. "More than likely, if we can get going on that leg sooner rather than later," she told him with a tilt of the head. Sighing, Fin waved his hand. "Let’s get it on." Disengaging the wheel-lock on his bed, the intern looked pointedly at Munch until he got the message and stood up from the bed. She took the headboard and began to maneuver the whole thing towards the door. As it moved past him, Elliot rapped his knuckles on the rail. "Hey - can we getcha anythin’ before we go?" Fin shook his head. "I’m cool." He smiled slightly. "I’m actually looking forward to a decent night’s sleep." Stabler frowned at the oblique statement then shook his head, mystified. "Better make sure they give you plenty of pain relief, then." He looked back and forth from Olivia’s laughing face to Munch’s wide smile. Both were apparently saying nothing. He looked over to Cragen and raised his eyebrows. "What? What’d I miss?" The captain shrugged slightly. "Nothing, Detective. Fin was just telling us how you both managed to come to..." He cleared his throat. "You know, come to terms with the intimacies of the case." Elliot looked from Cragen's face across to Fin's. He could hear little snorts of laughter from Olivia. "Whaddya mean, 'intimacies'?" Fin shrugged. "Don't sweat it, man. I just told the cap'n I don't dig sleeping wit yo' ass." Elliot could feel an involuntary blush creeping up his face. "What've you been saying?" Olivia couldn't help herself. She leaned towards him. "Fin was just sharing things with us. Things that you do in bed, that he's not happy with." She shook her head in mock dismay. Color screamed into Elliot's face. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, nothing but a tiny sigh of breath escaping his tight throat. Olivia patted his arm. "It's okay, partner. Nothing will ever leave this room." It was all she could do to keep her face straight. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Cragen's hand come up to cover his mouth. "What the hell…" Elliot turned a pair of narrowed eyes on Fin. "What have you been sayin'?" The eyes widened and he nodded, understanding. "Oh, right. I get it. This is payback for the kiss, isn't it?" "Kiss?" Munch poured a world of innuendo into the one word. He grinned and leaned against the doorway. "This really is becoming more and more interesting. Do tell." Elliot glanced at him. "Nothin' to tell. I kissed him, is all." He shrugged. "Part of the cover." "Naturally," Munch nodded, raising one eyebrow. "That's *all*," Elliot answered the unspoken question. "Of course." "Don't sweat it, Elliot, man." Fin jerked his chin up. "I ain't gonna tell 'em the rest." He winked then looked up at the doctor. "Let's go, ma'am. I got places to be." Elliot opened his mouth to defend himself, but the bed wheeled past him. Munch reached out to place a hand on Fin's shoulder. "It's okay, Odafin. We understand how difficult this has all been for you." He shook his head and leaned down to mock-whisper. "I suspected you were very wrong to call Elliot 'one hot-lookin’ piece of man-flesh'. But I guess we all learn from our mistakes." Fin grunted. "Yeah, you got that right. I mean, it's downright *rude*, doin' that without a guy's say-so. " Munch shook his head, sadly. "You poor thing. I can only imagine how much tongue there was involved…" he sighed. "There *is* therapy available, you know…" Elliot stared after the bed as it was wheeled down the corridor, Munch trailing beside, keeping up a commentary of helpful suggestions. His mouth still hanging open, he turned back to the others. Olivia and Cragen were standing side by side, arms folded, both regarding him with solemn expressions. "I didn't ... I mean, it wasn't... I never..." He ran out of words as he watched slow smiles spread over both faces. Lowering his head, he pressed the heels of both hands hard into his eyes and watched the explosion of little lights behind his lids, groaning softly to himself. He could just hear the jokes that were going to be flying about in the office for a very long time. He had to admit, he had set himself up beautifully. That was the last paper-clip contest he was EVER going to take
part in. The End
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