Gemini, the sign of the Twins, is dual-natured, elusive, complex and contradictory. On the one hand it produces the virtue of versatility, and on the other the vices of two-facedness and flightiness. The sign is linked with Mercury, the planet of childhood and youth, and its subjects tend to have the graces and faults of the young. When they are good, they are very attractive; when they are bad they are more the worse for being the charmers they are.
---Augustus Hill
 

Chris Keller carelessly folded the last tee-shirt and dropped it on top of the rest of the clothes in the small wire basket. As much as he hated doing laundry it gave him a handy excuse to stay away from his new roommate who, except for meals, hardly ever left their pod for obvious reasons. It wasn’t just an ugly rumor that rapists and pedophiles didn’t fare so good in prison. The little shit had a virtual bull’s eye painted on his ass and he damned well knew it.

Sort of the way Chris knew without looking that Tobias Beecher was still eyefucking him from his spot in the common room at the one table that had an unobstructed view of the laundry facilities. Casually he glanced over his shoulder to confirm his suspicions, returning the smoldering stare in spades. Just another day in the never-ending game of cat and mouse, except you never really knew who played which role until one of them got caught.

"Why don’t you two just fuck and make up already?" Ryan O'Reily suggested acerbically from his perch on top of one of the washers.

"All in good time, O'Reily," Chris assured with a leer. "Beecher likes to be pursued. I like the chase. This shit’s just foreplay to us."

"Sick fuckers," Ryan lamented.

Chris mischievously bounced a wadded up piece of paper off O'Reily’s head then gathered his basket and swaggered out of the room in his usual slow-motion strut. He took a convoluted route to the stairs which happened to take him directly by his former podmate’s table.

"How’s your girlfriend the pedophile?" Beecher taunted as Chris approached.

"Fuck you, Beech," Chris drawled lazily, barely slowing down, "You’re just jealous."

"Yeah, right." Toby scoffed.

Chris stopped and leaned in close, whispering huskily into Beecher’s ear. "Don’t worry, baby, I’m saving myself for you."

Beecher flinched and pulled away, pretending not to be affected by the hot breath of the man he hated to love, fooling no one, not even himself. "Bitch," he muttered as Keller laughed and strolled away.

Not doubting for a minute that Beecher’s eyes never strayed from his back, or at least his backside, Chris worked it all the way up the stairs and along the walkway to his pod. When he reached his door he dropped the act when he realized his roommate was sprawled across the lower bunk.

"Hey, asshole, get off my bed," he warned dangerously, tossing his basket of clothes aside.

The asshole in question moaned pitifully between wheezy breaths and tried to reach out to him with a bloody hand.

"Ah, crap," Keller swore before exiting the pod to lean over the rail. "Hey Murphy," he called to the head hack. "Somebody airholed the baby-raper. Hurry, he’s bleedin’ all over my stuff." After the announcement he slipped back inside to see if he could salvage at least his pillow, but it was already covered in blood.

Em City exploded into activity as the alarm sounded and every available hack hit the cellblock yelling ‘lockdown’. Inmates scrambled toward their pods before the SORT team could arrive but hung around outside until the last possible second in the hopes of seeing something good. Jeers and cheers and chants of ‘baby raper’ bounced around the glassed in walls.

Chris put his hands up and backed out of the way as the newest hack rushed into the tiny room, Murphy right on his heels.

"What happened?" Murphy asked, a little out of breath as he squatted beside the bunk by the victim’s head.

"I didn’t see nothin’," Chris stated immediately. "I was doin’ my laundry and when I got back I found the little prick this way. It’s fresh though, he can’t bleed like that for long."

The wounded man gurgled in panic and Murphy gave Chris a dirty look for the cold assessment but couldn’t disagree. "Hang on, Fletcher," he muttered anyway. "You’ll be fine."

The other hack seized the closest thing he could find, which happened to be one of Chris’s freshly laundered tee-shirts, and clamped it over the hole in Fletcher’s throat.

"Hey," Chris protested. "I just washed that."

"Keller, wait outside," Murphy ordered as the guard added another shirt to the first one which was already beginning to soak through, completely ignoring the complaint.

"Hey!" Chris repeated even louder. He reacted without thinking and punched the kneeling man in the back of head, knocking him into Murphy and taking them both down like dominos. On cue two more hacks flew through the door to grab him, forcing him out of the pod and onto the landing. In typical Keller fashion he kicked and screamed every step of the way as even more guards jumped in to subdue him.

Pandemonium exploded as the now locked up prisoners stomped and yelled and beat on their cell doors in a frenzy of excitement, undeterred as the SORT team finally arrived and took up defensive positions. Somehow four hacks managed to get Keller’s writhing body down the stairs without killing anyone in the process. As the medical team arrived through the gate Chris was dragged out, still fighting with every fiber of his being.

"Chris, calm down," Toby pleaded from inside his pod, his fingers splayed across the front glass helplessly. "Please don’t hurt him," he begged quietly, resting his forehead on the door as the struggling form finally passed out of sight and the uproar of the inmates slowly began to wind down.

As soon as they entered the squadroom Stabler took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. By the time he began the ritual rolling up of his sleeves Olivia was already glancing around for the captain, certain he would want an update on the current case since they’d been gone half the morning. She spotted Cragen through the open blinds of his office along with two men in dark suits. One of them turned and looked directly at her.

"Elliot," she said softly. "That guy look familiar?"

Pausing as he minutely loosened his tie Elliot narrowed his gaze. "Yeah, didn’t we bump into him at the courthouse after the Wellington trial?"

"Only you would call it a bump," Olivia smirked. "I wonder what he wants now."

"Let’s find out," Elliot suggested as he picked up the file he’d dumped on his desk and moved toward Cragen’s office. He tapped on the door and opened it without waiting for an invitation. "Jared Bethea is dead," he announced as he openly assessed the captain’s visitors. "Probably retaliation for the drive-by that took out Albert Wellington last week."

"You got a perp?" Cragen asked in spite of the audience.

"Wellington’s teenaged brother looks good for it," Olivia supplied, arriving at Elliot’s elbow. "Coincidently he was picked up a couple hours ago for suspicion on a B and E at a neighbor’s apartment last night. They’re holding him at the three-six."

"Yuppie run amok," Elliot quipped. "One of the items stolen was an unregistered 38 that might be our weapon. We’ll know for sure when the ballistics report comes back."

"Okay," Cragen responded thoughtfully. "Olivia, take Munch and get down there to interview the kid."

"What about me?" Elliot inquired coolly as he handed Olivia the folder.

"Come in and shut the door."

The partners traded wary glances then Olivia nodded and reluctantly backed out while Elliot did as he was told. He sauntered around the desk and positioned himself behind and to the right of his boss, facing the men he would have known to be Feds from their attitudes alone. Leaning almost casually against the bookshelf he raised an inquiring eyebrow. "So what can I do for the FBI?"

"Gentlemen, as you already know, this is Detective Stabler," Cragen introduced him to the men staring holes in him. "Elliot this is Special Agent Fuller…" Elliot nodded to the senior agent then turned his most intimidating scowl on the other man. "…and this is Special Agent Taylor."

"We’ve met." Elliot smiled without a trace of warmth, but Taylor’s return grin was almost giddy.

"That’s why we’re here," Fuller confirmed.

"I never laid a hand on him," Elliot stated calmly. "If I had, I doubt he’d be here now to complain about it."

"Elliot."

"It’s quite all right, Captain. In fact we would like to take this opportunity to officially apologize for the unfortunate incident. And we certainly appreciate your understanding on the matter, Detective Stabler," Fuller said smoothly then turned expectantly to Taylor.

With a roll of his eyes Taylor launched into an obviously rehearsed statement. "It was wrong of me to physically assault you. Thank you for not pressing charges."

"Whatever. But I’m sure you didn’t just come here for damage control," Elliot accused as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why don’t you save us all some time and cut to the chase?"

"We want you for an undercover op," Fuller volunteered earnestly. "We need your help."

"Because I look like some escaped felon," Elliot surmised, shifting his focus from Fuller to Taylor and back.

"Not escaped, it turns out. Keller’s still in the pen right where he belongs, but when I saw you it caught me off guard. I honest to God thought you were him," Taylor explained, sounding excited again. "Like I said, the resemblance is uncanny."

"That doesn’t mean I can pass for him. Anybody who knows the guy would figure out I was an imposter pretty quick."

"Ordinarily I’d say you were right about that," Taylor conceded. "But you are nothing short of a dead ringer, way too close to be a fluke. So I checked it out."

"Meaning you checked me out," Elliot growled unhappily.

"Does that worry you, Detective?" Taylor goaded.

Elliot shrugged impassively. "I got nothin’ to hide."

"Why don’t you sit down, Elliot," Cragen said, looking uncomfortable as he got up and offered his seat to the detective.

Elliot seemed taken aback by the offer, like his internal alarms had suddenly gone off, and looked for a moment like he might actually refuse. Finally he took a deep breath and settled into the captain’s chair. "Nice," he commented as he made a show of bouncing a few times to test the cushion.

Cragen allowed a self-depreciating smile but still wore the look of someone who was about to break some really bad news. He sank a hip down onto the corner of his desk and made a ‘get on with it’ gesture to Taylor.

"You’ve got twins." Taylor stated as he abandoned his seat to present his case, reminiscent of a prosecutor stalking a courtroom.

"Uh huh."

"Identical?"

"Fraternal; a boy and a girl. But you already know that if you did your job."

"Twins run in families, or so I’m told."

"Look, if you think I’ve got a long lost twin out there somewhere you’re mistaken. I’m the third of six children," Elliot explained as he saw where the conversation was headed. "I guarantee my mother didn’t accidentally lose count and misplace a kid."

Taylor smiled as he stopped his idle pacing and planted his hands on the desk to lean into Elliot’s personal space. "I know your story, Detective. Probably better than you do."

Elliot didn’t flinch and didn’t rise to the bait so after a moment Taylor backed down and resumed his wandering.

"Early June nineteen sixty-one the budding Stabler family took a little vacation upstate to see the falls. A good time was had by all until the seven-month pregnant Helen unexpectedly went into labor…"

"Heard it," Elliot interrupted dryly, rocking back in the chair and wearing his patented ‘you’re boring me’ interrogation face.

"I’m sure you have, but it’s good. Let me tell it," Taylor insisted cheerfully. "Robert Stabler, being the practical man that he was, drove back to the city to take the two mini-Stablers to Helen’s mother while poor Helen suffered through twelve hours of hard labor all alone. Sadly, by the time her husband returned Helen had already delivered a stillborn baby girl."

"That’s not true," Elliot denied instantly, sitting upright in the chair.

"These are certified copies of the birth certificate and the death certificate," Fuller said gently as he passed two pieces of paper from his briefcase across the desk. "They named her Hope."

Elliot quickly read the documents once, then more carefully the second and third times before returning his stunned gaze to Taylor as he picked the story up right where he’d left off.

"Strangely enough the couple arrived home less than a week later with a male infant which they presented as their son, Elliot. No one ever questioned it. Why would they? Helen left pregnant, she came back with a baby. And the story fit perfectly since you were such a little fellow; after all you were supposed to be a preemie. I found out twins are notoriously small. Did you know that? Of course you did. What were yours? Five pounds apiece? Six, tops."

"Yeah, very interesting, but circumstantial at best," Cragen noted irritably as Elliot ran a shaky hand over his face.

Fuller produced another paper which Elliot waved away as he studied the desktop intensely. "Since Keller wasn’t given up by his birthmother his birth certificate hasn’t been altered as Detective Stabler’s was when he was adopted," Fuller said as he handed the document to Cragen instead. "As you can see Keller’s still shows a multiple birth. I’d call that pretty damning evidence."

"Especially since these two identical strangers were born on the same day in the same hospital," Taylor continued either not knowing or simply not caring what effect his words were having on the man whose life he was dissecting. "I gotta admit I put in some overtime on this one, but once I discovered that, the rest was easy. All I had to do was compare the mothers’ medical records. I’m sure what I found will erase any further doubts." Taylor smiled and paused dramatically.

"Finish this or I walk," Elliot said in a rough voice without looking up.

Taylor sighed, realizing his oratorical skills were not being fully appreciated. "After they took away her dead baby Helen was put into a semi-private room with a young unwed mother who had just given birth to twin boys. Her name was Alice Keller, by the way. The women roomed together for three days and when they were discharged from the hospital, each left with one baby. Those are just the facts; the details of the arrangement aren’t in the medical records but we can speculate. One mother grieving over her loss, another frightened at the looming nightmare of caring for two infants alone, with no money. All in all, I’d say they came up with a win-win solution."

"So you see, Detective," Fuller summarized, "You can pass for Keller. Taylor knows him very well and if you fooled him, you could fool your own mother."

"Which one?" Elliot drawled sarcastically as he stood up, "Helen or Alice?" He turned his back on them and moved over to stare into the interview room.

"Why don’t you give him a minute," Cragen suggested as he attempted to show his guests out.

"Yeah, well, we’d like to. Unfortunately the reality is we’ve got a bit of a time crunch here," Taylor argued, not budging from his spot next to the desk.

"Get out," Cragen insisted as he opened the door.

"I’m sorry it had to go down this way," Fuller offered sincerely as he gathered his papers and got up. "I know we pulled the rug out from under you, Detective Stabler, but we really do need to know something soon."

"I’ll do it," Elliot blurted out without turning around to face them.

"You don’t even know what it is yet," Fuller cautioned. "You might not be so eager after you hear the details."

"I said I’ll do it."

"Elliot, they want to insert you into the Oswald State Correctional Facility," Cragen protested as he shut the door a little harder than was strictly necessary. "As a prisoner."

"You’re sure we’re identical?" Elliot asked, pivoting enough to look at Taylor.

"Physically if not psychologically," Taylor nodded enthusiastically. "I mean Keller is a brutal serial rapist and murderer."

"God," Elliot breathed. He closed his eyes and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead for a minute as he struggled with that morsel of information.

"That’s no reflection on you," Taylor offered sympathetically if a little late. "We don’t know why your twin turned into a killer and you didn’t. Maybe nurture is stronger than nature. Or maybe you do have it in you to be a sociopath but it never got switched on. Who knows?"

"Keller’s crime was felony murder during the commission of an armed robbery. He has never been convicted of rape," Fuller retorted, trying to salvage the situation.

"Yet," Taylor insisted obstinately. "It’s only a matter of time."

Elliot’s jaw tightened as he opened his eyes. "When do I meet him?" he asked, dismissing Taylor completely as he turned to Fuller. He swallowed before he could get the next words out. "My brother?"

"Meet?" Fuller questioned as he sat back down. "No, that’s not part of the plan."

"Keller, that’s his name, right?"

"Christopher Keller, yeah, but you don’t need to meet him for this. There’s no time."

"How can I pull this off if I don’t at least interview him? Just because we look alike doesn’t mean we act alike or talk alike."

"Don’t kid yourself, Stabler, you’re not gonna get some happy little family reunion here," Taylor objected. "Keller’s the worst of the worst. You’ll be nothing but another mark to him."

"That’s enough, Taylor" Fuller interrupted the tirade. "I believe you have an appointment to keep."

The two agents glared at each other for a full minute before Fuller nodded pointedly toward the door. Taylor spared Elliot a disgusted look then grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he left in a huff.

"Tell me what you want me to do," Elliot requested.

"I’m sorry Captain Cragen, the details of this operation are ‘need to know’," Fuller said apologetically, still smooth as silk. "If you don’t mind…"

With one last look at Elliot, Cragen followed in the pissed off agent’s wake and quietly this time, closed the door behind him.

"If you go through with this or not, what I’m about to tell you can’t leave this office," Fuller stated as he finally dropped the diplomatic veneer and got down to business. "Taylor doesn’t even know this much. He’s got his own agenda."

"Which is?"

"We’ll get into that later. Right now I need your promise."

"All right," Elliot agreed as he returned to Cragen’s chair without a second thought. "You have my word."

Fuller scooted his own chair around the side of the desk and drew Elliot in with a gesture. Paranoia was evident in his posture as he clung to his briefcase and began to speak in a low tone. "I have an informant in Oz who’s been collecting evidence on a certain well known Mafioso for the last eighteen months. However several attempts on his life in the last few weeks have lead us to believe he’s been found out. They currently have him tucked safely away in protective custody.

"But now every time I try to send someone in to retrieve the information something goes horribly wrong. It can’t be coincidence; not for the last six attempts at contact. Even the last deep cover agent I sent in as a prisoner was killed within hours of his arrival. I’ve come to the conclusion that someone on the inside is working against me. That’s the only reasonable conclusion and frankly, I don’t know how high this thing goes."

"So how is getting me killed gonna help?" Elliot couldn’t help but ask.

"No, that’s the beauty part of this setup. Keller is a known entity. Sure he has his own problems but messing with the Mob isn’t one of them. He’s beyond suspicion for intelligence work for the FBI, thanks in part to Taylor’s crusade against him."

"Which we’ll get into later."

"Yes."

Elliot rubbed his eyes tiredly. "So what’s the plan?"

"We’ll extract Keller tonight and let the prison grapevine circulate the rumor he was taken by the FBI for interrogation, which will be mostly true. Then we put you in tomorrow with a cover story about a mild head injury with some memory loss. That should explain any slip up you might make."

"How are you going to explain the head injury?"

"Dangerous criminal, accidents happen."

At Elliot’s dubious expression Fuller hastened to add, "You’ll only be in Em City for a day, hopefully less than that. As soon as you make contact you’ll fake a seizure or pass out or something and they’ll send you back to the hospital, supposedly, and we’ll make the switch again."

"Em City?"

"Yeah, Emerald City, that’s the experimental cellblock where Keller is housed. It’s also where my informant will be transferred from protective custody the day after tomorrow. That’s why we’re running out of time. There’s a strong Mafia presence in Em City and we don’t think he’ll last very long if his cover really has been blown."

"So why not stop the transfer?"

"I have no authority to do so and even if I did, if I step in now I risk tipping off whoever is working against me. Besides if he stays in solitary we’ll never get the information."

"So you don’t really give a damn about your informant."

"You won’t either after you’ve read his file. But he’s nothing compared to the scum I’m trying to bring down."

"This sounds personal," Elliot mused.

"Isn’t it always?" Fuller asked candidly. "In law enforcement we all eventually develop our own private demon; that one case that won’t let us go. This one is mine. Taylor’s is Keller. That’s what he wants out of this; for you to collect incriminating information on Keller while you’re in his skin."

"He wants me to rat out my brother."

"Listen, Taylor came to me with this cockamamie idea at a time when I was rapidly running out of options. I owe him. You don’t. As far as I’m concerned you can do whatever your conscience tells you to do about Keller. Just know going in that your brother is far from innocent."

"I got that, thanks," Elliot said with a sigh. "That’s why I need to see him. To find out if he’s really as bad as Taylor thinks he is."

"I have files here with everything you need to know. You don’t have to put yourself through that."

"Sorry. That’s the deal breaker. I have a face to face with Keller or I don’t go in at all."

"Okay," Fuller gave in a little too easily. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a handful of folders which he deposited on the desk as he stood. "Go home and study these. They contain everything you’ll need to know. I’ll send a car for you in the morning."

"Not to my house," Elliot objected as he rose to his feet as well. "Have them pick me up here at the station; I have a few cases I need to clear with my partner."

"No problem. Get some sleep," Fuller advised as he shook Elliot’s hand. "You’re gonna need it."

As soon as Fuller was gone Elliot opened the first folder and gaped at the photo on top. Any lingering doubts of Taylor’s fairy tale were swiftly swept away.

"You don’t have to do this," Cragen said reasonably, standing in the doorway.

"Yeah I do. But not for them."

Cragen nodded as he closed the door. "They told me you might have a twin but until Fuller pulled out those documents I don’t know that I really believed them. I’m sorry I didn’t give you some kind of heads up going in."

"There’s no way you could have prepared me for this," Elliot said, sliding the black and white picture Cragen’s way.

"Holy cow," Cragen exclaimed. His eyes went wide as he examined the very familiar face made only slightly less recognizable by the cocky grin. The wife-beater undershirt revealed a muscular bicep with a stylized crucifix. "Right down to the tattoo."

"You know, you hear stories about twins separated at birth who drive the same kind of car and name their kids the same names and buy the same kind of toilet paper…" Elliot trailed off as he looked away.

"But you never expect it to happen to you," Cragen finished for him as he rounded the desk to open the bottom drawer and pull out the forbidden bottle kept hidden there. "Forgive me for saying so Elliot, but you don’t really seem all that surprised."

Elliot laughed bitterly as he picked up a handy coffee mug and held it out. "When you look at the old family portraits you know what you see? You see a lot of people with soft Irish faces and then this," he pointed to his own prominent features.

Cragen wordlessly opened the bottle and poured two fingers into the cup.

"I was the difficult child, the inflexible one. Always odd-man-out in any family squabbles. And nothing I ever did was good enough for my old man," Elliot sighed and took a deep drink which made his eyes water suspiciously. "I don’t know how I missed the signs all these years."

"You were loved," Cragen pointed out.

"I was given away."

"Well that’s four hours of my life I’ll never get back," Munch complained as he and Olivia came through the doors and headed for their respective desks.

"Get a confession?" Fin asked, looking up from the report he was typing.

"Hardly. The kid lawyered up so fast I’d swear he had the guy on retainer. Come to think of it, having a rapist for a big brother, he probably did," Olivia said as she took a seat. "It’s not gonna matter, though. The stolen gun is a match for the murder weapon and his prints are all over it. And now we’ve even got an unbiased witness who saw the whole thing."

Fin raised an interested eyebrow. "Unbiased. Meaning not a Bethea this time?"

"Meaning the little punk is going to have his dance card full at Rikers," Munch elaborated.

"Sweet."

"Fin? Where’s Elliot?" Olivia asked worriedly.

"The captain took him home," Fin replied, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. "After he gave him a couple belts outta that bottle nobody’s supposed ta know about. I’m not sure but I think Stabler gave up his gun and badge."

"Why?" Olivia gasped. "What happened?"

"Don’t know. They was both upset."

"Were they angry?" Olivia pressed.

"Nah, not mad, just… I don’t know exactly. It looked like Stabler was in shock or something. The door was open for a second when I first came in before Cragen slammed it while he was hollering about Oz."

"As in: ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’?" Munch asked in jest.

"As in the big house," Fin corrected with an aggravated scowl at his partner’s sometimes bizarre sense of humor.

Olivia frowned as she picked up the phone and dialed Elliot’s cell. When he didn’t answer after several rings too many she punched in his home number. "Kathy?" she asked when a woman answered on the first ring. "Oh, hi Maureen, is your Dad there? This is Detective Benson." Glancing up as Fin and Munch gathered around her, Olivia waited for her partner to come to the phone. "Elliot, you okay?" She asked at last then chewed her lip as she listened for a minute. "Yeah, all right. I’ll see you then."

"Well?" Munch asked as Olivia hung up the phone seemingly lost in thought.

"Uh, he says there’s nothing wrong and he’ll see me first thing in the morning to go over our current case files but then he’s going to take a few days off. Actually he sounded a little uptight."

"When doesn’t he sound a little uptight?" Munch questioned, throwing his hands up in supplication when he received a baleful look from Olivia.

"You know what I think?" Fin asked rhetorically as he didn’t wait for an answer. "I think those G-men are lookin’ ta plant him up at Oz for some deep cover shit."

"Oz," Olivia parroted as she tried to recall exactly what the agent had said that day in the courthouse. What she remembered didn’t make her feel any better. "Yeah, Fin, I’m afraid you might be right."

He wasn’t very hungry so it couldn’t be feeding time and there was still at least a week or two left on his month long sentence in the hole, so the sound of the lock disengaging came as a surprise. Chris looked up with moderate interest when the door swung open. Completely comfortable with his own nudity he remained sprawled against the damp brick wall as the hack whose name he could never seem to remember walked in and tossed him a jarringly orange jumpsuit in lieu of his clothes.

"We takin’ a trip?" Chris inquired without making a move.

"You are," the hack replied flippantly. "Hurry up, we haven’t got all night."

"Speak for yourself," Chris said as he finally stood, slowly stretched one muscle at a time, then sorted out his briefs. He held them up but didn’t put them on. "It’s night? What time is it?"

"Two a.m. Come on, Keller, get dressed," the guard sighed, glancing irritably over his shoulder as one of the other prisoners began to beat on the wall and yell for no particular reason. "Don’t make me come in there," he warned and was rewarded instantly by silence.

"Where am I going?" Chris asked insinuating with a gesture that he wouldn’t cooperate until he got some information.

"I don’t know for sure," the guard provided to rush things along. "There’s an FBI agent signing you out for some special lineup or some bullshit."

"Signing me out? So now I’m a fucking library book?"

"The warden ain’t too happy about it either."

"Yeah right, poor Leo," Chris scoffed, finally pulling on the underwear. "He’s just pissed about getting dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for this crap."

The hack smirked and shrugged but wisely gave no verbal agreement that might be used against him later.

"At least it gets me out of the hole." Chris paused after stepping into the legs of the jumpsuit and looked at the wall, certain the Aryan in the next cell had been hanging on every word. "Did you get all that, you Nazi fuck?" he shouted before poking his arms into the armholes.

"Fuck you, Keller," came the quick response that more than confirmed the accusation.

"Yeah, fuck me, dickhead," Chris muttered with a sudden foreboding as he zipped the front halfway then pulled on his boots leaving the laces hanging. "Let’s go," he told the hack as he scratched at his scraggly beard. "Warden Glynn needs his beauty sleep."

"You should talk, you look like shit," the guard noted as he tossed Chris his St. Dismas medallion and watched him kiss it reverently before slipping the chain over his head.

"You think I look bad?" Chris laughed as he shuffled out of the cell, "Smell me."

In spite of a restless night Olivia found herself at her desk an hour early pulling up the database for the state inmate population. She hadn’t been able to shut off the cop part of her brain until almost dawn trying to come up with any logical rationale why this particular FBI agent would approach her partner again. Time after time she came up with the exact same reason Fin had suggested. They wanted Elliot to go into deep cover, only not as prisoner X; they had someone specific in mind for him to impersonate. ‘The resemblance is uncanny.’

Going straight to the search engine she entered the code for Oz and then Elliot’s general description. Before long she was scanning through the results, glancing briefly at each photo before moving to the next. Still, the process proved to be time consuming.

A couple dozen mug shots later hushed voices caught Olivia’s attention. When she looked up and spotted Elliot in jeans and a sweatshirt she noted he hadn’t slept well either. That Kathy was with him, in and of itself, was no big deal as Captain Cragen had taken Elliot home yesterday so he’d obviously needed a ride. The fact that Kathy’s eyes were red and puffy and she appeared mad as hell and beside herself with worry all at the same time drew Olivia’s stomach up in knots. She tried not to stare as Elliot spoke quietly to his wife, folded his wedding ring into her hand, and then tenderly kissed her good-bye. Kathy clung to him for a minute then wiped her eyes and fled the building.

When he turned and saw Olivia, Elliot seemed a little embarrassed by the display but turned all business as he lay down a stack of manila folders off to the side and settled in at his desk. "You’re early," he commented as he began sorting various files and notes.

"I had a rough night," Olivia baited.

"Yeah?" Elliot bit, not hiding his concern. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing much. It’s just my crazy partner is going undercover in a maximum security prison as a convict and I’m afraid he’ll get himself killed."

Elliot’s face hardened as he looked around the empty squadroom to make sure no one was listening. "Who told you?"

"You did," Olivia shot back crossly. "Up until now I was just guessing."

Leaning back in his chair, Elliot studied her for a moment before offering a slight nod of his head in grudging respect. "Nice move," he complimented as he got back to organizing his case notes. "I hate to say it but the Remberton thing isn’t going anywhere but back to the cold case file," he sighed, laying one notebook aside and moving on to the next.

"If anyone finds out you’re a cop…"

"They won’t," Elliot interrupted the thought tersely.

"How the hell do you think you’re going to manage this?" Olivia pressed. "It’s ludicrous for you to try to be someone else."

"I swear it’s not as nuts as it sounds," Elliot muttered offhandedly as he began a search through his desk drawers for God only knew what. "I’m sorry; I can’t give you the details right now."

Olivia openly glared at him but the effect was wasted as he never even glanced her way. "When are you going to stop beating yourself up about Sharon Bethea?" she asked after the silence stretched into minutes.

"This isn’t about that." Elliot slammed his top drawer shut and fully focused his attention on his partner.

"Isn’t it? Come on, Elliot, that’s what every move you’ve made in the past two weeks has been about. The trial is over but you’re still obsessing over it like it’s your personal cross to bear."

"Those two families are killing each other," Elliot pointed out irritably. "It’s the Hatfields and McCoys all over again."

"It’s not your fault. Who’s to say this feud wouldn’t have started even if Wellington had been found guilty." Olivia waited for a response but Elliot tuned her out again, already opening another drawer to paw through. "Do you even know his name?" she asked sullenly.

"Who?" Elliot asked without looking up. "The con?"

"Yeah."

"Keller, Christopher, number 98K514, convicted June 16, 1998," Elliot recited off the top of his head. "Felony murder, 2 counts attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery, driving while under the influence, reckless driving. His sentence is eighty-eight years, but he’s up for parole in only fifty."

"Sounds like this Keller’s a bad boy," Olivia commented as she typed the name into the database.

Elliot waited for the audible gasp. "He’s my brother," he explained when Olivia finally turned to him in amazement. "We’re twins, actually. Look, it’s a long story but I promise I’ll tell you everything when I get back. Right now I want to make sure I’m not leaving you in a lurch. Okay?"

"Okay," Olivia agreed halfheartedly, taking another good look at the image on her screen before switching it off. She got up and moved around to Elliot’s desk, trying to be supportive. "What have you got on Sheila Wong? Didn’t you interview her a few days ago?"

"Yeah, here," Elliot said as he picked out a notebook and opened it to show her.

Twenty minutes later they were mostly finished with the open cases when a young redheaded man in a suit came in. He startled as soon as he saw Elliot but quickly gathered his wits and offered his hand. "Detective Stabler, I presume," he said. "I’m Special Agent Gary Johansson."

Elliot nodded and shook his hand. "This is my partner Detective Benson."

"Ma’am."

"Can you think of anything else you might need?" Elliot asked Olivia, pointing to the stack of notebooks.

"I’ve got your keys if I need in your desk," Olivia shrugged feigning a relaxed attitude she didn’t feel. "Don’t worry about me."

"Ditto," Elliot urged quietly. He gathered the stack of folders he’d come in with in one hand as Olivia gave him a firm squeeze on the other. He attempted a reassuring smile then turned to walk out without another word. Agent Johansson tried not to stare but was clearly fascinated by Elliot’s appearance as they left.

When they were gone Olivia went back to her desk and started her own investigation on one Christopher Keller, oblivious to her coworkers as they began to arrive some time later.

"So you really didn’t know?" Johansson asked after they got off the expressway and entered a residential area.

"Really, Agent Johnson, I didn’t," Elliot assured apathetically. He leaned his head back on the seat in the standard FBI four-door sedan and gazed out the window, discreetly storing away each twist and turn of the route for future reference.

"Uh, it’s Johansson, but hey, call me Gary. I’m nothing but a glorified taxi driver on this op anyway. I don’t mind though. The company cars are a lot nicer than mine and I do like to drive. But I was on the detail that picked up your brother last night and we had to take one of those crappy prisoner vans because Taylor wanted at least six of us to go get him."

Elliot’s ears perked up but he didn’t let his interest slip into his voice. "Oh yeah? Six agents to pick up one guy?"

"Overkill if you ask me."

"Sounds like it. So what was Keller like?" Elliot hated himself for asking but the need for information seemed to be growing by the minute.

"Smelly," Gary answered with a laugh. "I’m glad I was driving and not in the back with him. Apparently he’d been in Ad Seg for like two weeks. You know, Administrative Segregation? Like time-out for naughty prisoners?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Anyway, the warden was pissed," Gary continued to chatter amicably. "He said the whole setup was hinky; didn’t like one of ‘his’ prisoners being carted off in the middle of the night. I didn’t think he was gonna let us take him but Taylor pulled him aside and quick as a wink we were on the road."

"Taylor got something on the warden?"

"I doubt it. He probably threatened to wake up the governor or something. Keller said it was all for show anyway."

"How was he really?" Elliot pressed again more intently. "No jokes."

"He was cool," Gary assured. "I expected him to be a real bad ass the way Taylor talked about him on the way down there, but he was actually very sociable. And funny as hell; he cracked on Taylor a couple good ones during the ride. I thought Taylor was gonna pop a blood vessel before we got here. And I do mean here," he added as the car slowed and they made a left hand turn into a private drive before stopping.

As Gary punched in the code to open the gates Elliot made a mental note of the address. A minute later they were parking in front of a moderate sized older home in a very private setting.

"Safe house sweet safe house," Gary announced as he shut off the engine.

Elliot got out of the car and followed the younger man up the short walkway. Gary pressed his thumb to a hidden reader and within a couple seconds he was able to open the door. He ushered Elliot into the large, unfurnished foyer.

Footsteps echoed on the marble floor and Fuller appeared in the doorway of the empty sitting room. "Elliot, I see you made it."

Shrugging off the overly familiar greeting, Elliot got down to business. "Where is he?"

"Upstairs."

Not wasting a step Elliot trotted up the curving stairway. Reaching the top he was vaguely surprised to find that the residential feel of the house had given way to a guard station and viewing area. The wall length two-way mirror revealed a maximum security facility with accommodations for one guest.

"Are you carrying a weapon?" a female agent asked as she stepped out from behind the desk with a handheld metal detector.

"No," Elliot replied, glancing past her as she swept him with the wand.

"Thank you, sir."

Elliot brushed by her absently and moved to look into the combination interrogation room and cell beyond. A man with dark, cropped hair sat with his back to the glass as Agent Taylor browbeat him from the other side of the small table. The neatly made cot in the corner had clearly not been used.

Fuller stepped up beside Elliot and turned up the volume on the speaker.

"…that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re a stupid cocksucker, because I do," an eerily familiar voice finished a thought. "I just meant that you’re more devious than I gave you credit for."

Taylor laughed as he got up from the table. "So glad you approve, Keller."

"I get the whole no sleep, no food… no fucking information thing," Keller continued sounding tired but not especially stressed out. "But you gotta know I’m gonna yell and scream about my civil liberties as soon as I get back to Oz."

"Is that true?" Elliot asked Fuller in alarm as the exchange continued on the other side of the glass. "You haven’t fed him or let him sleep?"

"Taylor insisted he be allowed to use the extra time for an interview."

"This isn’t an interview. Depriving a prisoner of basic needs amounts to nothing short of torture from where I’m standing."

"He hasn’t been here that long, Detective. Certainly not long enough to be considered inhuman."

"I want this to stop," Elliot warned with an edge of anger in his tone. "Now."

Fuller sighed and rapped on the glass to get Taylor’s attention. "Tell me, Elliot, would your position be the same if the interviewee weren’t your brother?"

"I believe that surprise I told you about is here," Taylor taunted Keller as he went to the door on the inside of the room. "Open," he called out and was quickly buzzed out into the connecting hallway.

Keller turned in his seat curiously, his face finally coming into view. "Whoop-de-fucking-do," he commented wryly, getting up to approach the mirror. "How ya doin’?" he asked, seeming to look beyond his own reflection.

Elliot swallowed compulsively as he got a good look at the man he hadn’t been in contact with practically since he left the womb they’d shared. Keller rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin and muttered something about killing for a shave before meandering back to his chair.

"So Detective," Taylor started in the second he was let out into the viewing area. "I’m dying to know; did you call your mother last night?"

"Shut up, Taylor," Fuller snapped.

"I want to know how they decided who got which baby. One child would grow up in a good family with security and a future and one would survive practically on the streets getting by any way he could. There but for God’s grace sits you, my friend," Taylor rhapsodized.

"That’s a little simplistic, isn’t it?" Fuller argued as Elliot ignored them and continued to stare through the glass. "We don’t know that they wouldn’t have still turned out the same if their positions had been switched."

Taylor shrugged. "What do you think, Stabler? Are you more than a few bad life experiences away from being a serial killer?"

Elliot cut his eyes at Taylor, suddenly looking every bit as threatening as his brother was purported to be. "I’m filling charges as soon as this is over."

"For what?" Taylor asked incredulously.

"For the way you treat your prisoners."

"Keller’s fine," Taylor insisted. "He’s better off here than he was six hours ago. They had him in the Hole for killing his roommate. That’s nothing but concrete walls and a bucket to piss in."

"He punched a guard," Fuller corrected at Elliot’s grim expression. "He’s not even a suspect in the other man’s death."

"Does he know? About me?"

"We haven’t told him anything," Taylor shrugged. "How uncivilized of us."

"I want privacy," Elliot said as he reached over and turned the volume back down.

"We can’t leave you alone completely, but we’ll leave the sound off," Fuller offered as a compromise. "We don’t have any idea how he’s going to react so there’ll be a guard in the hall."

With a nod of acceptance Elliot moved to the door and waited to be buzzed in. "I did call my mother last night.  I'll spare you the personal details but she said Alice couldn’t bear to choose," he told Taylor dispassionately. "They flipped a coin."

"Wow," Taylor uttered as the door clanked shut behind Elliot. "Talk about the luck of the draw."

Sprawled in his chair, Keller idly scratched his crotch and glanced over at the oh-so-tempting cot in the corner. Time didn’t mean much in the hole and since he was already awake when they snatched him out of Oz he wasn’t even sure how long it had been since he’d last slept. Basically he figured the makeshift bed was just a tease anyway. Taylor hadn’t let him anywhere near it and he seriously doubted his ‘surprise’ was going to involve forty winks.

Chris didn’t trust Taylor as far as he could throw him so when a shadow passed in front of the window on the door he mentally shored up his resolve not to let the fucker get the upper hand in spite of his own rapidly dulling wits. As the buzzer sounded and the door swung open he lazily turned his head as a lone figure stepped just inside the room and stopped. In the fraction of a second it took to register what he was seeing his jaw dropped and he froze in place, acutely aware of his own heart as it pounded frantically in his chest. A silent minute stretched into two. Neither man moved as their gazes remained locked.

When the initial shock began to wear off Chris forced himself to take a deep breath to clear his head as he climbed to his feet. "I’d hate to wake up to that ugly mug in the mirror every morning," he finally deadpanned. "Oh wait … I do."

The visitor took an uncertain step forward and allowed the door to click shut behind him but made no move to get any closer. A guard peeked through the small pane of safety glass to make sure everything was okay then turned away.

Suddenly furious, Chris spun toward the mirror. "What the fuck are you up to, Taylor? ‘Cause this shit ain’t funny." He pounded the glass wall twice with the side of his clenched fist hard enough to unknowingly cause the two men on the other side to jump back in concern.

"Christopher."

His quietly spoken name instantly deflated his anger and forced him to spin back around. Chris pressed his shaking hands to the glass behind him and his eyes burned suspiciously bright. "Elliot?" he whispered as his brows drew together in doubt. "Is it you?"

"Yeah," the other man answered hoarsely, unable to hide his surprise, "You knew?"

Chris nodded mutely and Elliot parroted the gesture without thinking. Another awkward moment passed as they continued to gape at each other.

"I didn’t …" Elliot finally started to speak at the same time Chris began, "Ma said …"

"Go ahead."

"You go."

Their words tumbled over each other and they both stopped to stare again. To break the stalemate Elliot pointed to his doppelganger who shrugged and began again.

"Ma talked about you as far back as I can remember. She even made up stories about us and stuff."

"Oh," Elliot mumbled feebly. "I didn’t find out until recently. I guess it never occurred to me that you might already know."

They repeated the nodding ritual, both sending distrustful glances towards the mirrored wall.

"How’d you find out?"

Elliot shook his head and managed a strained chuckle. "I ran into Agent Taylor at the courthouse a few weeks ago. He thought I was you."

"No shit?" Chris blurted out as he turned to face the mirror with a big smile. "I’ll bet that chapped your ass, huh Taylor?"

"He can’t hear you," Elliot replied frostily. "The sound is off."

"Don’t bet the farm on that one," Chris smirked, confident in his not totally unfounded paranoia. He relaxed a little as he moved back toward his seat, searching for something to say. "So, uh… what? I don’t even know where to start. You grow up around here?"

"Queens," Elliot said seeming troubled as he stepped forward, keeping the table between them. "If you knew about me, how come you never came looking for me?"

"Queens," Chris huffed softly as he sat down. "You were a lot like Santa Claus. Ma wasn’t always right in the head. Sometimes the lights were on but nobody was home. At some point I just stopped believing in you."

Elliot sat heavily in the other chair and rested his forearms on the table in front of him. When Chris reached tentatively for his hand he pulled it away, sending the clear message he didn’t want to be touched.

A wounded look crossed Keller’s face but he covered the hurt by leaning back in his chair and continuing in a more nonchalant manner. "Ma always planned to take you back, you know, when things got better."

"You mean she planned to kidnap me."

"She said God would forgive her because a family should be together. Lucky for you, things went from bad to worse from one step-father to the next."

"What about our real father?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. If she knew who he was she never mentioned it to me. I don’t know about you, but it’s kind of fitting that I’m a bastard."

"That’s crap," Elliot scoffed as he distractedly scratched his ear. "And you still haven’t explained why you never came looking for me."

Chris sighed wearily. "As I got older Ma got depressed more often than not. She talked about you less and less and the last time I asked about you she said you were in a better place. I thought she meant you were dead. How the hell was I supposed to know she meant Queens?"

"Where is she now?"

Chris blinked then rubbed his fingers hard against one eyelid. "She died when I was twelve."

"How?" Elliot rasped out, his icy façade beginning to crumble.

"I’m not sure. I was in juvey at the time and nobody would tell me anything," Chris muttered, also losing the battle to stay detached. "Artie, that was my last step-father, he said she died of a broken heart because I wouldn’t stay out of trouble."

"That’s not true," Elliot defended angrily. "It wasn’t your fault she died. What kind of jerk tells a little kid that?"

Chris allowed a small smile at his brother’s suddenly protective attitude. "Artie was shit for a father but he was a first-class grifter. He taught me a lot, said I had a natural talent for the confidence game."

"You’re saying he taught you how to be a con man," Elliot clarified. "How old were you?"

"Ah, don’t blame Artie for the way I turned out, I was a rotten kid."

"Even if you weren’t exactly an altar boy you were still just a child."

"Who says I wasn’t an altar boy?" Chris challenged in an offended tone.

Elliot stared at him in disbelief. "You were an altar boy."

"Briefly," Chris confessed. "What can I say? It didn’t really work out. Hell, by my second week I had already made a priest cry and a nun swear."

"So they kicked you out?"

"Let’s just say we came to mutual understanding. Ma still dragged me to church all the time, at least until I was old enough to put up a fight. You gotta know she did her best with me. I was just really hard to handle. What can I say? I still like to fuck with the clergy whenever I get the chance."

"Please," Elliot winced, "don’t tell me any more about that."

"Hey, at least one of Ma’s boys turned out good."

"You’re assuming a lot."

"I don’t think so. I’m bound to be the evil twin in any given scenario. So, you’re not a Fed?"

"NYPD."

"A cop, that figures. No, that’s good," Chris backpedaled at Elliot’s affronted glare. "Ma would be real proud of you."

They stared at each other again in silence for a moment then Elliot sighed and leaned forward as he offered his hand. "Sorry I was such a prick. I’m still getting used to the idea that my whole life has been a lie. I didn’t mean to take it out on you."

Chris didn’t hesitate as he eagerly grasped Elliot’s outstretched hand and squeezed it. "I can’t believe you’re really here. But I have to warn you, if Taylor did arrange this little get-together he only did it to use you to get to me."

A harsh rap sounded from the other side of the mirror but they ignored it.

"I know," Elliot said. "I won’t let him."

They heard the outer buzzer and both looked at the door irritably, their hands remaining clasped. "Still think they weren’t listening?" Chris asked.

"They promised. Assholes."

"Cocksuckers."

The inner door buzzed and Taylor swung it open but didn’t enter. "Let’s go, Stabler."

"Stabler? That’s your name?"

"Yeah," Elliot replied as he let go of Chris’ hand and got to his feet. "I’ll be right back."

Chris got up as well and trailed him to the door. "I don’t know what you’re up to," he told Taylor, "but it ain’t gonna work."

"Shut up, Keller."

Elliot grabbed Taylor’s arm as he passed him. "Let’s get this over with."

Taylor shot a scowl at Chris then allowed Elliot to steer him down the hallway. When the guard stepped into the doorway Chris held up his hands and moved out of the way as the door slammed shut. As a ‘fuck you’ to Taylor he went to the cot and lay down to wait for his brother’s return.

"I hated to rain on your parade there, Detective," Taylor goaded as they passed through the hallway, "but we need to get this show on the road."

"You’re just afraid if you leave us alone for too long we’ll form some kind of emotional bond and I won’t be inclined to screw him over for you," Elliot retorted.

"Don’t be ridiculous. Even if you wanted to, which I’m sure you don’t, you wouldn’t be able to form any kind of real bond with a sociopath like Keller."

"He’s my brother."

"Given your line of work I’d say he’s your worst nightmare," Taylor argued, getting in Elliot’s face when they stopped to be buzzed in to the viewing area. "Don’t try to protect him from justice through some misguided sense of family. You don’t know this guy from Adam."

"Don’t presume to tell me how to feel about him," Elliot growled back, not giving an inch.

"Taylor," Fuller warned as the door opened. He clamped a hand to the younger agent’s arm and reeled him in. "Give it a rest. You’re wasting valuable time."

Elliot followed and Taylor glared at him before turning his gaze to the window where he spotted the reclining figure on the cot. "Get him up," he told the female agent who obediently moved to the speaker.

"No." Elliot intercepted the woman by placing his hand over the intercom button. "If you want my cooperation, this ends now," he said going over Taylor’s head to Fuller.

"Fine. Let him sleep," Fuller agreed.

"This is my operation …" Taylor started to protest as his cheeks flushed a deep red.

"I beg to differ," Fuller interrupted, appearing on the verge of losing his cool. "I’ve let you push the envelope on this but enough is enough. Stand down. If you can’t do that I’ll have you removed."

Taylor blinked in angry surprise, his lip twitching with a rejoinder he didn’t have the balls to say out loud. "Yes sir," he finally ground out between clenched teeth.

"Now Elliot, if you don’t mind we really do need to get down to business." Fuller tried to hand over the files Elliot had left in the car that Johansson had later gone back to retrieve.

"I have conditions," Elliot informed him as he pushed the folders away.

"Oh for Pete’s sake," Taylor mumbled, pacing to the window and back as he tried desperately to keep his temper in check.

"Go ahead," Fuller urged sounding reasonable even as he glanced at his watch.

"First of all I want Taylor to leave Keller alone for the duration of his stay. No interviews, no interrogations, no more harassment."

"Fuck you," Taylor swore earning a hard look from Fuller. "Now you’re interfering with my job. I can’t believe you’re falling for Keller’s shit after only ten minutes alone with him."

"Second," Elliot continued unabated by Taylor’s tirade, "I’m going to call my partner to bring some things for him."

"This is a Federal safe house, not a freakin’ Holiday Inn," Taylor objected. "And you’re not authorized to tell your partner anything."

"Benson’s a damn fine detective," Elliot replied gruffly. "She’s already it figured out. I guarantee she’s not going to compromise your safe house."

"Oh please," Taylor uttered under his breath in disgust.

"I want her to have access to Keller while I’m gone. And if I find out he’s been further mistreated I am going to file charges."

Fuller nodded his agreement. "I think those terms are acceptable."

Taylor threw up his hands and stormed off towards the stairs before making an abrupt about face and coming right back. "What about my case?"

"Taylor, Keller’s not even up for parole for fifty years, it’s not like he’s going to get away. Your case will keep," Fuller soothed. "If he’s guilty it will come out eventually."

"What about the families of the victims?" Taylor demanded of Elliot. "Why should they have to wait?"

"I’m not going in there to dig up dirt on my brother," Elliot replied tightly. "However, if I inadvertently uncover something about your case while I’m in there I promise I’ll pass it on to you."

"Why? Because of your strong moral values? Your high and mighty ethics?"

"Because I’m a good cop," Elliot stated firmly. "I won’t ignore evidence."

"That’s good enough for me," Fuller approved as he held the folders out once again. "Now please, we need to move forward with this."

Elliot accepted the files. "And I need to make that call."

Fuller motioned to the agent at the desk and she produced a secured line. Taylor went to the window once more to unhappily view his prey for a moment then stalked off without a glance in either Elliot or Fuller’s direction.

Keeping his eyes on Taylor’s retreating back, Elliot dialed Olivia’s cell number. "Liv," he greeted as soon as she picked up. "I need a huge favor …"

Elliot’s first thought as he approached the cot and took in the way the strong features seemed softened and vulnerable in slumber was ‘I don’t look like that when I’m asleep’. His second thought was ‘who am I kidding’.

"Chris," he called sympathetically as he reached down to give the closest shoulder a shake.

Waking with a start, Keller clenched his fists and looked ready to swing. "Elliot?" he asked groggily as he took in his surroundings and relaxed.

"Yeah, sorry I can’t let you rest right now. I need your help."

"S’okay," Chris slurred as he sat up and rubbed a hand through his unwashed hair. "I’ll get all the sleep I need when I’m dead."

Grimacing at the thought Elliot moved to the table and tossed the file folders down on top of it as he took a seat. Chris went into the doorless bathroom and unselfconsciously took a leak in full view of the security camera. "What’s up?" he asked as he zipped up on the way over to the table.

"My partner’s bringing you some stuff to get cleaned up with. She’s going to take a long lunch so she’ll be here later."

"Your partner’s a girl?" Chris perked up considerably.

"Don’t let her catch you calling her that," Elliot warned. "And behave yourself or she’ll kick you ass."

Chris pulled off an innocent ‘who me?’ expression as he settled in his chair.

"Right," Elliot grinned back at him as he shoved the files over to him. "Take a look at these."

"Rebadow?" Chris asked as he randomly opened one folder after another. "Hill, Adebisi, Jackson … Beecher. What the fuck?"

"Those are short bios on all the current residents of Em City," Elliot prompted. "I need to know what kind relationship you have with each of them, how you interact on a day to day basis."

"Why?" Chris narrowed his eyes suspiciously and pushed the slim folders away. "What has Taylor got you up to?"

"I’m going into Oz undercover. As you."

Chris wrinkled his nose and sniffed but didn’t speak right away as he sat glaring at the mirror. Finally he turned to Elliot. "You know, you got it backwards. I should be Cain to your Abel. I’m the bad seed, remember?"

"I’m not betraying you," Elliot swore as he reached across the table. "This has nothing to do with you."

"Then what?" Chris asked angrily as he yanked his arm away.

"I’m going in to retrieve some information from an FBI informant, that’s all. I won’t lie, Taylor does want me to actively try to find something to nail you with while I’m in there but I told him to shove it," Elliot said, breaking eye contact on the last words.

"And if something negative about me happens to fall in your lap you’re just gonna look the other way?" Chris questioned distrustfully.

"If you’re innocent you’ve got nothing to worry about."

Chris laughed out loud. "Ah, see, there’s the rub, big brother. I’m lots of things, but innocent is rarely one of them."

"So you did rape and murder those men?" Elliot asked coldly.

"I have never raped anyone," Chris swore as he grabbed Elliot’s wrist and stared directly into his eyes. "I can’t say I never murdered nobody, that’s why I’m doing time and you know it. As for what Taylor said I did … don’t ask me that, ‘cause I can’t win in this situation."

"Because you’re guilty."

"No," Chris released Elliot’s arm with a little push and sat back heavily in his chair. "Because no matter what I say or do, even if I swear on our mother’s grave, you’ll always have that Taylor-shaped doubt in the back of your mind. I don’t ever want you to wonder if I lied to you so I’m just not gonna say anything."

"Okay," Elliot nodded solemnly. "I can see your point. Now try to see mine. I’m not trying to hurt you. In fact the more information I have going in the better things are going to turn out. For both of us."

"This is crazy," Chris retorted, shaking his head as he got up abruptly, knocking his chair over in the process.

"Look at us, Chris," Elliot said urgently. "It’ll work."

"It won’t," Chris spat out, swiping his hand across the table to send the files flying. "I’m sure you tell your perps horror stories about how bad it is in prison, but you have no idea what really goes on."

"You’re right, I don’t. That’s why I need you to brief me," Elliot explained, making no move to gather the scattered papers.

"Brief you," Chris huffed sarcastically as he paced around the table. "How’s this for a briefing? About the time you were trying on your powder-blue tux and fantasizing about making it to second base after the Junior Prom I was in Lardner getting my cherry popped by my Neo-Nazi cellmate."

"Are you serious?"

"Why would I lie about something like that? I don’t suppose you got a file on Vern Schillinger?"

"I don’t remember that name," Elliot stammered as he shifted through the few papers still on the table. "He lives in Emerald City?"

"No, but he delivers the fucking mail so I still get to see him every day even if I don’t run into him in the mess hall or the gym or the library. Oh, and by the way, the Aryan Brotherhood is out to skin me alive because I turned him in for an assault. They’ll kill you if they get the chance and even with this wealth of data from the FBI you’ll never even see it comin’. Obviously you didn’t think this through any better than they did."

"So enlighten me."

"Fuck that. I’ve been in and out of prison my whole adult life; you can’t learn this shit overnight. The Feds are setting you up for a fall. I’m not gonna help ‘em."

"I know I’m a prison virgin, but I’ve got your reputation to protect me."

"Virgin," Chris scoffed. "I guess that’s pretty appropriate. But how long do you think that’s gonna last? If you screw up bad enough my rep won’t mean dick. If anyone finds out you’re a cop the chances you’ll get gang banged before they kill you are pretty good."

"That’s not gonna happen," Elliot swore, starting to lose his temper. "I’m going in with or without your help."

"Don’t you have a family?" Chris asked quietly, his demeanor changing completely.

Elliot leveled a pissed off glower at him. "Yeah."

"Yeah? So I got what? Nieces? Nephews?"

"Three nieces, one nephew," Elliot provided although he was reluctant to bring his family into it.

"Christ. What about them? How can you even think about doing this?"

"Because it’s my job."

"Elliot, please. Just walk away," Chris pleaded. "Walk away from me and the Feds. Go home to your wife and kids and forget all about this shit."

Elliot stood and started to gather the files. "Thanks for nothing."

Chris leaned over the table and put his hand on top of the papers. "Then let me do it."

"They’ll never trust you enough."

"Taylor!" Chris called as he advanced on the mirrored wall and patted his chest with one hand. "I’m your man, send me instead. I’ll get the information. I’ll do whatever you want."

"It’s not Taylor’s call," Elliot placated as he got up and stood behind his brother. As their eyes met in the mirror the reality of their resemblance hit home in spite of the difference in facial hair. "Twenty-four hours, I’ll be in and out. Help me."

Chris closed his eyes. "It’s a bad idea."

"It’ll be okay. We’re gonna say I had a head injury. If I screw anything up that should cover it."

With a deep sigh Chris opened his eyes and turned around to face Elliot. "So there’s no way I’m gonna talk you out of this?"

"Sorry."

"How long do we have?"

Elliot glanced at his watch. "Less than an hour now."

"That’s not enough time."

"That’s all we’ve got. Let’s get started," Elliot urged as he bent to pick up the files from the floor. Chris reluctantly helped him and together they sorted the papers into a messy pile on the table.

"Who the hell’s this?" Chris asked as he pulled out the first bio. "I don’t know this guy."

Elliot pointed out the date. "Looks like he’s new."

"Oh yeah," Chris agreed. "I guess I was already in the hole when he showed up. He’s an ugly son of a bitch. Shit. I hope he’s not my new roommate."

"Yeah, I heard you recently had a vacancy. What about this guy in the wheelchair?"

"That’s Hill. He’s okay, we talk some. We hang out and watch Miss Sally."

"The kiddy show?" Elliot asked in confusion.

"It’s very educational," Chris smirked as he continued to sort through the pages. "Okay, Ryan O'Reily. We’re friends, sort of. He’s a good resource but don’t trust him too much. The only one he’ll really stick his neck out for is his half-wit brother Cyril." Pausing to sort through the papers to find the second O'Reily’s file, Chris placed another folder to the side. "Here, talk about a head injury, this guy’s really got one. He’s slow but he’s got a mean set of fists and he does whatever Ryan tells him to do."

Having already gone over the bios Elliot studied the photos only briefly then stacked them with the other file they’d already discussed.

"You should probably stay away from Ryan," Chris said meaningfully after a cautious glance at the mirror.

"What about, uh, Pancamo?" Elliot asked as he subtly nodded his understanding and moved on to another file.

"He’s the leader of the Italians. Hell of a boxer, Chucky the Enforcer. We get along okay, nothing too personal though …"

"No files on the staff?" Chris asked half an hour later when they got to the bottom of the stack, save for the single folder he still held back. "What? Your amnesia is gonna be that selective? You only gonna remember the prisoners?"

"The Feds must not have thought staff bios were necessary," Elliot shrugged. "The correctional officers change with each shift anyway, right?"

"Well yeah, but not day to day. We still know who they are," Chris retorted irritably. "Look, this is basically a con. There are only a few things in life that I’m really good at but working a game just happens to be one of them. The devil is in the details and these guys got shit for details. You wanted my help. I’m helping to best way I know how."

"You’re right. At least you can give me a verbal rundown."

"Fucking Feds. Okay, so no pictures," Chris sighed. "Murphy, head hack, big Irish mug, you can’t miss him. He’s a little pissed at me right now because he turned into collateral damage when I put down the rookie the day somebody airholed my podmate. A little groveling to him on my behalf would be good," he added, batting his eyelashes.

"Grovel to Murphy," Elliot deadpanned. "Sure, I’ll put that on top of my to-do list. Why’d you hit the guard anyway?"

"Hey, I taught that kid a valuable lesson," Chris insisted stubbornly. "I may have even saved his life. He’ll never turn his back on a prisoner again, not even in an emergency."

"Yeah, okay. So why’d you hit him?"

"He messed up my laundry, the little shit. It’s not like I got a lot of clothes to spare and now they’re all gonna be bloodstained," Chris sulked. "Can we continue?"

Elliot waved his hand. "Please do."

"Alright, so the warden is Leo Glynn; he’ll be the big black guy in the suit and tie. I wouldn’t say he likes me, but he doesn’t have it out for me like he does some guys and that’s a good thing. Sister Pete. Oh boy, that’s another story."

"A nun?"

"Yeah, Sister Peter Marie Riemondo," Chris grimaced but quickly covered it with a fake cough. "She’s the resident shrink, little bitty thing, dark hair with some gray. I fucked with her head and she never forgave me."

"So you really do like to mess with the clergy."

Chris shrugged sheepishly. "There were extenuating circumstances this time. I try to be respectful for the most part, watch my language and not scratch my nuts in front of her, that kind of stuff. And it’s the damnedest thing, but I still automatically stand up whenever a nun comes into the room."

Elliot smirked and nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I think that’s a life long reflex after Catholic school."

"Yeah. Speaking of clergy, Father Mukada’s easy to spot, he wears a collar. Watch your step around him though. I don’t really trust him, but I may just be like that with all priests, I’m not sure."

"A throwback to your altar boy days?"

"Maybe. Then there’s Tim McManus, unit manager of Cell Block 5. He’s the one who named it Emerald City, it’s his pet project. Personally, I think he’s a baldheaded prick who likes to throw his weight around. Ignore him. The rest of the COs wear name badges so it shouldn’t be a big problem to tell them apart. I don’t go out of my way to socialize with any of ‘em anyway."

"What about this guy?" Elliot asked, reaching over to tug the last file out from under Chris’ hand. "Tobias Beecher?"

After rubbing a hand down his face Chris turned apprehensive eyes to Elliot, not bothering to try to hide his discomfort. "Toby. He used to be my podmate."

"Okay," Elliot met the solemn gaze straight on. "There seems to be more to it than that." He waited for a response but Chris didn’t seem ready to elaborate so he pushed a little. "I understand that men in prison form certain … relationships …"

"It was more than that," Chris said softly, for the first time seeming to be bothered by the ever present camera.

Elliot raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And now?"

"Now we just fuck with each other instead of actually fucking. We don’t have time to go into the details but in a nutshell I broke his arms and later he stabbed me in the back. Literally. Twice. At least he said it was him, I never really found out for sure."

"Wow."

"Just stay away from him. Beecher’s real smart, he was a Harvard educated lawyer before he killed a kid while driving drunk."

"I read that. I can’t believe they sent him to Oz."

"Yeah, he’s paid his dues. As bad as his own conscience fucked him over about it, he was Schillinger’s mark, too. And mine. If anybody figures out you’re not me, it’ll be Toby. Seriously, I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds out. He goes a little crazy sometimes … and he still loves me."

"I’ll be careful." Elliot checked his watch again as the outer buzzer sounded. He settled Beecher’s folder on top of the pile and gave Chris’ hand an understanding squeeze.

"This is gonna be a problem," Chris said as he rolled Elliot’s right forearm over to look at the Marine tattoo displayed below the pushed up arm of the sweatshirt.

"I’ll wear a long sleeve shirt," Elliot replied offhandedly as the inner door buzzed and Fuller came in with a large cardboard tube under his arm.

"That won’t work," Chris argued. "You’re wearing a long sleeve shirt now and I can still see it. You’re a pusher."

"What?"

"You’re constantly pushing your sleeves up. You’ve done it a dozen times today and you’re not even aware of it. The tat shows every time."

"Oh."

"Good call," Fuller praised as he uncorked the tube and pulled out several large papers. "We’ll put an ace bandage over it. That’ll fit in with the cover story that he got roughed up."

"Yeah, okay for that one, but what about this?" Chris asked as he unzipped his jumpsuit down to his belly and rolled his left shoulder enough to free it. "You’ll have to change out of your transport uniform eventually. Don’t count on privacy; most of the walls in Em City are glass."

Elliot exchanged an amused look with Fuller then tugged his sweatshirt over his head leaving it bunched up around his elbows as he turned slightly in his seat to show off his own left bicep.

Chris gaped at the body art so similar to his own. "Nice ink," he finally managed. "Is it real or did you get it drawn on for this?"

"It’s real. I’ve had it for years."

"That’s, uh, that’s … weird. What a coincidence, huh? Bet you don’t have one of these though," Chris said as he stood up and dropped his pants.

"A butterfly?" Elliot laughed when he spotted the small blue tattoo on the front of Chris’ left thigh. "Doesn’t really fit your image."

"Contrary to popular belief, I’m a lover, not a fighter," Chris retorted with a smug grin. "Looks like you’ll have to keep your pants on."

"I think I can handle that."

"Hope you don’t have to take a shit while you’re there."

"I brought blueprints of Oz for you to go over, but you might as well change while you’re already half-naked," Fuller interrupted, trying to get things moving in the right direction.

"Who are you again?" Chris questioned as he tugged the jumpsuit up his thighs far enough to sit down while he pulled off his boots. Meanwhile, Elliot slipped his arms completely out of the sweatshirt and kicked off his sneakers.

"I’m Special Agent Fuller. Ultimately, I’m in charge of this operation."

"Is that so?" Chris asked as he looked up. "Then you’re just the man I need to talk to."

"Feel free."

Once his boots were off Chris stood and stepped out of the jumpsuit. "I just wanted to say for the record that if you get my brother killed with this cockamamie plan, it’ll take more than prison walls to protect you from me."

"Chris," Elliot scolded, sending a concerned glance at the security camera.

"Oh good, we got it on tape," Chris went on unrepentantly. "You can go back and watch it again and again so you won’t forget."

"Nothing is going to happen to your brother," Fuller soothed, ever the diplomat even with a convicted killer. "You have my word."

"And you have mine," Chris assured, tossing the jumpsuit across the table. "Sorry about the smell," he said to Elliot.

Elliot slipped off his socks, then after a brief hesitation shucked off his jeans.

"Well would you look at that," Chris teased immediately when he spotted the bikini underwear. "A banana hammock. I guess you do have a wild side."

"Shut up."

"Sure, sure … just, ah, I don’t have any of those," Chris pointed out shrewdly, "So you really ought to lose ‘em."

"Who the hell is going to notice my underwear?"

"You’d be surprised."

"They do stand out, Detective," Fuller agreed, getting an eye full.

Elliot scowled at both of them as he peeled off the tight blue briefs.

"You can have mine," Chris offered with a smirk. He slipped a thumb under the elastic band of his white Hanes as he reached for the jeans with his other hand.

"Pass," Elliot grumbled, stepping into the jumpsuit commando. "Whoa," he replied as he and got a good whiff of the orange fabric. "This thing is riper than you are."

"Told you," Chris grinned. When they finished dressing, he put his fingers under the ribbed collar of the sweatshirt to grasp the chain around his neck. As he pulled it over his head he kissed the medallion then handed it over. "You’ll need this."

"Saint Dismas," Elliot noted as he examined necklace before putting it on, "The good thief of Calvary."

"Patron Saint of undertakers, criminals, and death row inmates," Chris provided with an unassuming shrug. "Hopefully neither one of us will ever be the latter, or in need of the former for a long, long time."

"Amen."

Fuller unrolled the schematics and weighted the corners down with folders while the twins traded shoes. "Alright Keller, take us through a normal day."

"Lemme see," Chris said as he shoved his feet into Elliot’s shoes without untying them. "Okay, this is Em City. My pod is in the penthouse, here on the end."

Elliot slipped sockless into the boots and leaned over Chris’ shoulder to get a good look.

"It’s time, gentlemen," Fuller announced after Elliot knew the layout of Oz backwards and forwards. "We have a schedule to keep."

"I’m ready," Elliot said as he took a final look in the mirror.

"Just remember the stuff I told you," Chris prompted nervously as he unzipped the jumpsuit a little then tucked the chain of the necklace under the collar. "You should probably stay in the pod as much as possible. And walk with a swagger like you got a set so nobody will fuck with you. It’s all in the attitude."

Elliot allowed the fussing for another minute then caught his brother’s restless hands. "I’ll be fine, Chris."

"Wait a minute, I got a few more things; uh, don’t be afraid to play the dumb con card. Say ‘I don’t know’ just like a little kid, it works. But don’t overplay the head injury thing. If the sharks smell blood in the water they’ll come to dinner. And just stay the hell away from Schillinger. And O'Reily. And especially Beecher …"

"Mr. Keller," Fuller sighed.

"You’re gonna get an ace for his arm, right?"

"I’ve got an agent picking one up now. He should be back by the time Elliot gets down to the van. They can wrap it on the way before they put on his shackles."

"All right, just one more thing," Chris said as he took Elliot firmly by the shoulders and turned him until they were face to face. "No one is gonna believe you took a beating from the FBI and got out of it without a mark on you."

He tightened his grip even further then head butted Elliot hard enough that they both went to their knees. As expected, Fuller was on him immediately and the guard from the hall joined in an instant later. Dropping to the floor and curling into a ball, Chris covered his head to ride it out.

"Stop it!" Elliot shouted when he recovered enough to grab the guard and pulled him off. "Fuller, stop."

Chris stayed huddled until the men moved away from him but as he unfolded another agent came charging into the room ready for a fight. Panting for breath, Fuller held up a hand and motioned the newcomer back.

"You okay?" Elliot asked as he knelt down, holding his own aching head with one hand while reaching for Chris with the other.

"Ow."

"You could have warned me."

"They wouldn’t have let me. Besides, it hurts less when you’re not waiting for it."

"You think so?" Elliot asked dubiously.

"Maybe not. At least we’ll have matching bruises."

Elliot laughed and helped Chris get up. "Gee, thanks."

"Are you okay, Detective?" Fuller asked worriedly. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No, but by the time we get there it’ll look like I might have needed one. That’s got to be the hardest damned head on the planet," he added as he pointed to Chris.

"Second hardest," Chris disputed as he rubbed his own forehead and opened and closed his jaw.

"That’s good," Fuller sighed in relief. "We can keep our timetable."

The brothers shared a look, realizing how much more concerned about his operation Fuller was than he was about them.

"Later," Chris said, surprised when Elliot moved in for a quick hug. He closed his eyes and held on for a minute, but let go as Elliot pulled away.

"Don’t worry," Elliot grinned. "I’ll be a model prisoner."

"Yeah, that’s what worries me," Chris rebuked seriously. "Remember, it’s okay to say fuck every once in awhile. In fact it’s mandatory."

Elliot waved as he let Fuller guide him out the door. The extra agent gathered the file folders from the table then trotted to catch up with his boss, but the hall guard took a moment to stare angrily at Chris before closing the door.

"Later," Chris repeated, looking toward the mirror.

"That was quite a show," Taylor replied as they exited the hall into the viewing area.

"Fuck you," Elliot muttered with a smirk as he kept on walking.

"You’re learning," Taylor approved as he fell in behind him. "What a great role model your brother turned out to be after all."

"Does he have to come along for the ride?" Elliot asked Fuller as they made their way down the stairs.

"He checked Keller out. For continuity it would be best if he checked you back in," Fuller explained. "Look at it this way, if he’s with you, you know he’s not here harassing Keller."

"What if he blows the operation on purpose?"

Taylor grabbed Elliot by the collar from behind causing them both to stumble slightly on the steps. "Despite what you think, Detective, I am a professional. I’m not going to compromise the operation just because you can’t see reason."

"Easy," Elliot warned.

Releasing him, Taylor smoothed the back of the jumpsuit. "I will not endanger you. Besides, I know Keller and I’m certain he’s been a very bad boy. You’ll bring me something whether you want to or not." He pushed past Elliot and continued down to the ground floor, barking at Johansson to get the van as he disappeared out the door.

"He is a good man," Fuller insisted. "I’d stake my reputation on it."

Elliot glanced back up the stairs. "You may be staking more than that," he replied.

Fuller followed his gaze then smiled and offered his hand. "Good luck, Elliot. Don’t drop the soap."

Beecher slumped in his seat at the end of the first crooked row of chairs in front of the TV only half-listening to the news. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement and shifted his gaze to see Rebadow nervously sidling up to him. "What?" he asked with a flicker of interest, tugging his headphones aside.

Instincts honed through decades of incarceration, the old man had a distinct talent for always knowing what was going on inside the walls of Oz. And he was usually eager to pass his knowledge on, within reason. Rebadow inclined his head and moved over to stand by the stairs.

Suddenly apprehensive, Toby quickly followed. "It’s Chris, isn’t it?"

"Keller’s out," Rebadow reported earnestly, practically busting at the seams to share his information.

"He can’t be of the hole," Toby argued. "He’s still got two weeks to go."

"No, no, no, not the hole … well, yes that, too. He’s completely out. The FBI came in the middle of the night and spirited him away."

Toby gasped involuntarily then forced himself to try to look calm when the nearest of his fellow inmates turned to stare at him inquisitively. "Are you sure?" he whispered.

"Beecher," Rebadow admonished gently.

"Do you know why?"

Rebadow shook his head and shrugged as he moved away.

Before Toby could even begin to think, Ryan O'Reily appeared at his elbow. "The Feds have Keller?"

"Yeah," Toby breathed. The wheels in his head obviously already spinning, Ryan headed for the phones but Toby clamped a hand to his arm. "You’d tell me if you found out anything, wouldn’t you?"

"You’d be the first to know," Ryan swore, his mask of indifference firmly in place as he slipped out of Toby’s grasp and sauntered away.

Toby leaned against the stair rail and sighed, knowing in his gut that O'Reily wouldn’t tell him anything. Even though he’d been on the outside of Chris and Ryan’s most recent and most deadly partnership he completely understood how Ryan might be a little tense while the FBI questioned Keller. He was a little tense himself, but for different reasons. He tried to swallow the lump of worry that threatened to choke him and hated himself for caring so much.

Olivia found the place easily enough; after all, Elliot always gave very precise directions. Getting in the gate however, proved to be a lot harder than she could have imagined. Starting with a phone call to Captain Cragen, then a fingerprint check to confirm her identity, and ending with the signing of a federal non-disclosure statement, she half expected to be asked for DNA before she entered the house.

Now cooling her heels in a big, empty room she held her partner’s gym bag in one hand and a paper sack with a subtle aroma that was making her empty stomach gurgle in anticipation in the other. Unfortunately, something had come up and she hadn’t been able to leave the squadroom as soon as she’d hoped. Given the forty-five minute drive and the time it took to grab the sandwiches from a nearby deli, it was now almost two o’clock. She was getting pretty hungry herself and hoped the Feds had given Elliot’s brother something to eat in the meantime.

She’d spent the morning tracking down and reading everything she could find about the convict and had to admit to being a little nervous about meeting him, and a lot intrigued. It seemed that between frequent stints in the penitentiary Christopher Keller had found time to marry and divorce three different women who by all appearances, at least according to the prison visitor logs, were still on good terms and even openly affection with him. One of them had even married him twice.

And yet the FBI liked him for a string of homosexual rapes and murders. The thought of Elliot’s own flesh and blood as a serial killer didn’t sit well. Knowing her partner, it was bound to be eating him up inside. So it had actually surprised her when he’d enlisted her help to extend an act of kindness to the twin he hadn’t even known about until yesterday.

Working with Elliot so closely for so long Olivia had caught glimpses of his dark side and she had no delusions that he could never kill anyone. If suitably provoked, she was sure he could. No one would ever dispute he had a temper. But he also had an innate goodness that transcended all that, kept him grounded. Elliot was definitely one of the good guys. What would it take to push him over the edge? She could only imagine.

"Detective Benson," a mild tenor voice broke into her reverie and she turned to see the distinguished, slightly graying agent who had been in the captain’s office the day before. "Hello, I’m Special Agent Fuller. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting."

"Hi," Olivia greeted and sat the gym bag down to shake his hand. "No problem. Is Elliot already gone?"

"Oh yes, he’s well on his way," Fuller replied as he picked up the bag and ushered her towards the door and the stairs beyond. "Oh that smells good. We would have already given Mr. Keller lunch but I knew you were coming."

"In that case I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner," Olivia said guiltily as they ascended the staircase.

"That’s alright; he’s been asleep ever since Elliot left. But I know he’ll want to wake up for your company if not the food."

"I doubt that."

"I don’t," Fuller flirted. When they reached the top he handed Elliot’s small carryall to the agent behind the desk who opened it and began a search, immediately pulling out the disposable razor and setting it off to the side. "I’ll need your gun, of course," Fuller requested politely. "And anything else that might be used as a weapon."

"Of course," Olivia complied and carefully sat the food down on the counter to unsnap her holster from her belt. As a second thought she tugged her belt free as well, letting Fuller take possession of them. The two-way mirror caught her eye and she startled to see Elliot asleep on the cot in the corner. Christopher, she mentally corrected herself, noting the facial hair although he was dressed in the clothes her partner had been wearing the last time she’d seen him.

"Ma’am," the female agent said as she finished with the gym bag and picked up the metal detector.

Still focusing on the mirror, Olivia held out her arms and was quickly scanned. When she reached for the sandwiches the other woman put her hand on the sack as well. "I need to check this, too."

"Sure," Olivia agreed and stepped back while the search continued. Her gaze once again went to Keller.

"I would be glad to accompany you inside," Fuller offered attentively, mistaking her wonder for fear.

"I don’t think that’s necessary," Olivia assured as she gathered the bags when the second agent gave the all clear.

"There will be a guard in the hall and I’ll be watching from here."

"This isn’t an interrogation."

"No, it’s just for your safety. But I do insist."

Nodding her agreement because he did have a point, Olivia reminded herself that even if the man looked like Elliot, he was a convicted murderer and she was going in unarmed.

"Can I bring you some coffee?" Fuller asked as he opened the door for her when the buzzer sounded. "Juice? Milk?"

"Coffee’s fine," Olivia tried to smile although she was already growing weary of the man’s impeccable manners. "Two, please." When Fuller raised an eyebrow she shrugged at him. "I’m just assuming. That’s what Elliot would want."

"I guess you know your partner well then," Fuller winked at her. "The whole twin dynamic is fascinating, isn’t it? I’ll be right in."

Frowning when she realized Fuller had wormed his way into the room in spite of her wishes, Olivia made her way down the short hallway to another door. The agent there regarded her suspiciously but buzzed her in without a word then stood in the doorway protectively as she made her way over to the table.

"I’ll be fine," Olivia dismissed him quietly as she set down her burdens.

The guard glanced at the unmoving prisoner then