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Bookstore Blues      
by Forbes

Chapter 1

Roebuck Garden Apartments, Philadelphia
Wednesday, July 12th, 4:45am

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
Thursday, July 13th, 11:45am

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
Thursday, July 13th, 1:05pm

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
Friday, July 14th, 3:00pm

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
Saturday, July 15th, 8:35am

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
Saturday, July 15th, 9:45am

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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Saturday, July 15th, 9:02am

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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Saturday, July 15th, 12:50pm

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
Saturday, July 15th, 5:50pm

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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Saturday, July 15th, 6:30pm

"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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Saturday, July 15th, 7:00pm

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
Saturday, July 15th, 8:00pm

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
Upper Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Saturday, July 15th, 8:05pm

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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Saturday, July 15th, 10:45pm

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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Sunday, July 16th, 1:25pm

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
Sunday, July 16th, 4:45pm

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
Laramie Street, Philadelphia
Sunday, July 16th, 6:45pm

"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.