AUTHORS: Aim, cybella7@aol.com Brian, webmaster@christopher-meloni.com Dimples, dkellergrl@aol.com Jen, JennaStan@aol.com Wifey, sacsl@aol.com
ARCHIVE: Yes, please. At Em City, Complete Kingdom of Slash, Wonderful World of Makebelieve.
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere else, just ask first.
RATING: R. Language and a bit of extreme violence in the beginning.
FANDOM: OZ./L&O:SVU
PAIRING: Numerous
SPOILERS: A mix of Seasons One - Three of OZ; Season One of L&O:SVU.
SUMMARY/NOTES: This round robin was from the brilliant mind of Brian, while on the Smut Puppies thread this past fall. I think the premise was a "what if" that paired our favorite ex-lawyer/former alcoholic/former heroin addict with a particular stud muffin detective from NYC, who looks very similar to a oh-so-sexy inmate of OZ. DISCLAIMER: Oz and its characters belong to Tom Fontana, Barry Levinson, Rysher Entertainment, and HBO. L&O:SVU and its characters belong to Dick Wolf, NBC Studios and USA Studios. Please, don't sue us. We just wanted to spread a little love. "Is that so wrong?"
FEEDBACK: If constructive, yes. If not, no. Life's too short.
Elliot Stabler couldn't stop thinking about the Schillinger case.
Well, he couldn't stop thinking about the suspect, at least. Tobias Beecher, a former convict and current drug abuse counselor had been in Elliot's thoughts for hours now. He hadn't been so affected by a case before since his rookie years. After a year and a half of being in SVU, his partner - Olivia Benson, had finally gotten a grip over her emotional reactions to the cases that they received. Now, it seemed that Elliot was the one who needed to get back in control.
It was the suspect, not the victim, who had kept him from sleeping. The two words that kept repeated in his head were "pain" and "frustration"--the pain and frustration the ex-lawyer must feel over his past, both before the sentence he's just served in OZ and after. Beecher was trying to get on with what was left of his life. The man deserved a second chance to make things right. Yeah, he'd been convicted of vehicular manslaughter; he was a former alcoholic, not to mention a former heroin abuser. But, he was still a person.
For the first time in his life, Elliot found himself wondering whether he had the wrong suspect.
It had been over 5 hours since he and Olivia had first interrogated Beecher about where he'd been and what he'd been doing during the time that the victim, Jason Schillinger, was sexually mutilated and murdered. Benson arrived at the crime scene first. The victim's one-room apartment looked like WWIII had just happened. Everything was in disarray. At first, it looked like a basic robbery case, but that fell by the wayside once the cop who collared the case found the victim's body parts scattered in each room, with the victim's genitals stuffed in his mouth. that was when they'd called in SVU.
Earlier that day, Elliot and Olivia had found out that Tobias Beecher was the victim's drug counselor and surrogate father figure. They'd found his telephone number in the victim's wallet. Brian Cassidy, ran a background check on the name, and found out that Beecher had been released on parole on May 31, 2001. He had stayed in Baltimore for about a year and a half, trying to get visitation rights for his children, and only left after he finally realized that his kids and his remaining family didn't want anything to do with him anymore.
Now, Elliot Stabler couldn't sleep at all.
The night after interrogating Beecher, he'd had this dream. That was nothing new for him. He'd always had dreams: about his job, his life, Kathy and the kids, their future. What was different and disturbing about this dream, however, was that he hadn't had this particular one since he married Kathy. Since he was in college.
In the dream, Elliot was always in his dorm room, in the middle of the night, and there was...a guy in his bed. With him. He didn't know why the person in the bed with him was a guy, but that fact never seemed to bother him. Instead, it always felt somehow...right. Peaceful. *Normal*. Like it was meant to be. He never tried to open his eyes in the dream, though he wanted to--a sense of fear overwhelmed him over the prospect of finding out who was with him. But he could feel the other guy's hands all over his face and body, touching him, caressing him, making him feel special and cared for. Wanted. Loved.
Then he heard something. A voice. He knew that it was the other man's voice calling him: "Elliot."
He turned on his side, away from his phantom, feigning sleep. The voice repeated his name and Elliot felt the gentle touch of fingers on his bare shoulder...
He sat up with a start, only to find Kathy sleeping on her side of the bed. The whole rest of the night he tossed and turned, his flesh burning for the weirdly familiar touch of his phantom lover.
Who was the dream man? What did it mean? Why would this dream have come back now? Why did Elliot feel so lost when he woke, and found the dream man not there with him? What did Elliot want from this phantom love--and what did *he* want from Elliot?
_______________
Olivia Benson kept looking at her watch. It was around 10 o'clock in the morning, and Elliot had never been this late before. She'd noticed that he'd been looking a bit *ragged* for a couple of days, but some cases made you feel like you'd been through the wash and rinse cycle.
The Schillinger case. As Elliot had told *her* so many times before, "You can't pick the vic." Jason Schillinger, 24 year old junkie. A sex-crime victim with numerous counts of solicitation and robbery on his record; he wasn't exactly an innocent.
As Olivia started looking through the case file again, Elliot stumbled into the precinct. Last night's dream was still playing through his mind, but he couldn't talk to Benson about it, and he sure as hell couldn't talk to his wife. Actually, he and Kathy hadn't been talking or doing much of anything for the last few months.
Maybe it *was* the case, after all--the brutality of his murder had certainly caused even Stabler's stomach to churn. But his sleepless nights were not about Jason Schillinger. They were about something else entirely.
Those dreams and restless nights were about the suspect, Beecher. Tobias, Toby, Tobe. The dream, a mist of gold--Toby's hair glinting under the interview room lights. The sky when they first picked him up for questioning, a clear and shocking blue. Toby's piercing, pained-filled, lost soul eyes, the color of that same sky. And his voice, the voice in Elliot's dream--but softer, more fearful. more...longing.
Olivia couldn't put the picture of Schillinger's corpse down. He was just a kid, but the years and the drug abuse had aged him until his body looked like he was around the age of 40. Too many scars, cuts, bruises. Too many risks, taken to supply his habit. It looked like he had struggled with his murderer for a while though, like he'd given him a fight to the end. Jason Schillinger wanted to live.
She was used to this kind of victim. Being a member of the Vice Squad for six years, you had to get used to seeing dead people with no family, no friends, no one to identify their corpses. She'd thought that by transferring to the Special Victims Unit, she would be able to make a difference in her job. That this job would make her life somehow different.
But it hadn't worked out that way at all. From her very first case, she'd known that she had made a mistake. She couldn't separate herself from those women's pain and anger, from the murderous rage they'd turned on their rapist. How could they go on after what had happened to them? The need to go on, to survive was so powerful. Could she have done it? Could she have been as strong as they had needed and tried to be? As strong as her own mother? She'd never really been able to face that question, because she was afraid of what the answer might have been.
Olivia knew that Stabler was being patient with her, more patient than she really could have expected any partner to be. She was supposed to keep this job on her own merits. She knew she was a good cop, as capable as anyone else in the unit, but sometimes the frustration boiled to the surface and she lost her temper. She wondered how Stabler managed to keep things so under control.
Between the two of them, he was the old hand, so she supposed that--long ago--he had somehow been able to get over the same problems she was having now. Somehow, that idea made her feel better, made her understand that she could keep depending on him for support.
Looking across at Stabler now, though, she realized something really was different today. He was gazing off into the distance, tapping the end of his pen absentmindedly against his teeth. He seemed not just tired, but distracted. Somehow, he wasn't giving everything he could to this case. And whenever he thought she wasn't looking, Olivia saw him staring at a photo--The file mugshot of their prime suspect, Tobias Beecher. For once, Stabler seemed to have forgotten the victim, and become mesmerized by the suspect.
Elliot had a gut feeling that Toby Beecher couldn't be guilty. He wasn't a killer, not in the traditional sense. Not a cold-blooded one. From his criminal record, Elliot knew that he had recently done a four-year stint down in Maryland for the hit and run killing of a little girl. He also knew that Toby had had some problems during his stay in Oswald Maximum Security--OZ, they called the place--but he didn't just act like a hardened criminal.
_______________
"Do I believe in *what*?" Stabler's eyes crinkled at the corners as he stared at Beecher. It was their second interview, conducted this time in THE ex-lawyer's home.
"Reincarnation, Elliot...may I call you Elliot, Elliot? Rebirth of the soul. One man living a thousand lives..."
Olivia watched as her partner's well-built frame shifted in his chair, obviously made uncomfortable by the question. Beecher's blue eyes stayed locked on Stabler's, as she looked back and forth between the two. Was she missing something? It was almost like she was intruding on a moment, or more like she wasn't even in the room. Fuck that. She leaned in, pushing herself into Beecher's line of vision.
"We're not here to discuss metaphysics, Mr. Beecher. A young man has died-the son of the man you hated more than life itself. According to your file, Vern Schillinger really did a number on you back in Oswald."
Beecher threw back his head and laughed, blue eyes hitting the ceiling, like he was sharing a joke with a higher power. Next to her, Benson could almost feel the knots inside Stabler uncoil as soon as Beecher broke eye contact.
What was going on with them? She wondered again.
"Vern Schillinger did more than 'a number' on me, Ms. Benson. He burned a swastika on my ass. He raped me repeatedly. He got my prison lover to break my arms and legs. But then again, I did a number on ol' Vern, actually...a number *two*, that is."
Beecher laughed at his own joke, and flicked a glance at Stabler. Stabler smirked. Olivia, annoyed, stared Beecher down until his twinkling blue eyes reluctantly settled on her. Suddenly she felt it, too: Heat. Intensity. Like he'd seen into her core and laughed at what he'd found there. Now it was Olivia's turn to squirm.
"The point is, Ms. Benson...Elliot...that I gave ol' Vern as good as I got. I got my ultimate revenge when I walked out of that hell alive, knowing that ol' Vern still had another forty years to go."
The blue eyes swung back to Stabler. Stabler wasn't even trying to look away, now.
"If you're looking for a killer, what can I say? It's not me."
Olivia turned away, disgusted. They wouldn't get anything from this man. Not with no evidence. Not today.
In her haste to gather her things, however, Olivia missed the look-that same look that Elliot had seen somewhere before. It was a smile, half elf/half imp. And Elliot knew, immediately, she wasn't meant to see it, either. It was all for him.
Beecher said softly, "See you soon, Elliot."
Then Beecher closed his eyes, and the connection was broken.
_______________
As they walked to their cars, Olivia put a hand on her partner's shoulder, curious to see if he was still under the strange spell he seemed to be under in Beecher's apartment.
"Elliot, don't let him get to you."
Stabler just smiled at her, his eyes bright.
"C'mon Benson, he was putty in my hands."
Olivia knew her partner well enough to tell when he was lying to her. Normally, she'd confront him. Today, she somehow knew it would be best to let it pass.
_______________
Elliot walked into his kitchen, hanging up his keys on the rack. Kathy, enmeshed in fixing dinner, didn't look up from her cooking.
"Welcome home honey," she said.
Elliot tried to remember the last time those words were said with warmth, instead of familiarity and a hint of bitterness.
He walked towards her back, clasping his arms around her waist. He buried his face and nose in her neck, smelling the scents of perfume, the kitchen, the kids. He hoped the memory of those smells could carry him through tomorrow's interrogation, through those blue eyes.
_______________
In the viewing room, Elliot and Olivia watched Toby Beecher's actions closely. No obvious signs of cracking under pressure. He looked down at his hands, walked around the room, occasionally looked into the two-way mirror. Even with walls between them, Beecher's stare pierced the shell Elliot usually put between the perps and himself.
Tobias Beecher projected a "don't screw with me, I've seen the worst and this ain't it" persona, leaving Elliot to wonder if anything they ever said or did could break him down. Elliot wondered if he even *wanted* to break Beecher down.
"Elliot, if we try one more time, we'll break him."
Elliot looked at Benson, questioningly. "Are we sure he's the one?"
"Yeah, I'm damn sure. You were sure yesterday. This guy's a nut, he gives me the creeps. 10 times out of 10, you'd feel the same. What's with you and him?"
Stabler cast a downward glance toward his feet. Olivia drew in a sharp breath, realizing, yet not wanting to know.
"Elliot, maybe I should work this case alone."
"No."
"Just from that...vibe...between you two yesterday, I can tell it's getting out of..."
"No!"
The anger in his response surprised them both. Olivia spoke again, with more force. "Elliot, you're too personally involved."
Stabler smirked. "Kind of like the way *you* get personally involved with three quarters of the cases that come through here?"
No response. Both detectives stayed silent for a few moments, until they heard a tap on the glass.
Beecher.
"Hey, I'm getting lonely in here!" He called. Then gave a laugh partially maniacal, partially gentle.
Olivia walked back into the room briskly, trying to create an air of intimidation. This air fell apart when she realized That Beecher hadn't even noted her presence. His eyes stayed locked on Stabler--and, to her dismay, Stabler's seemed just as drawn to Beecher's.
Olivia stepped between them. "Mr. Beecher...."
"Why can't Elliot talk to me alone?" He replied.
"Because *I'm* conducting the interrogation right now. Does that scare you?"
Beecher grinned at her. "No. I think you're pathetic--BUT he fascinates me. He's so intense, if I put a hand on him, he'd burn me. Yet he hides it under a cool facade."
A smirk emerged from the man being discussed, as he finally spoke. "I could say the same about you Mr. Beecher."
Beecher smiled in return. "Please. Call me Toby."
The soft vocal inflections in that sentence made Elliot's insides turn to jelly.
Never breaking eye contact with Stabler, Beecher sat down at the table. Olivia sat on the other side, Stabler standing several feet away.
Olivia cleared her throat trying to bring them both back to the topic at hand. "Tobias..."
Beecher turned his gaze on her, glaring, with the intensity of a thousand suns. "*You* can call me Mr. Beecher."
Olivia thought she heard a faint laugh from behind her, but chose to ignore it.
"Mr. Beecher, your history with Vern Schillinger includes a pattern of violence."
"I've never denied that."
"At one point, Vern's son, Andrew Schillinger, was a prisoner in Oz. Your cellmate, correct?"
Beecher answered quickly, trying to force the words out. "Yes".
Both detectives saw his cockiness and self-assurance quickly drain away. Both had different reactions. Olivia wanted to move in for the kill-but Stabler walked to Beecher, standing close to him.
"Andrew died of a drug overdose. Did you have any involvement in his death, Mr. Beecher? Vern ruined your life. He raped you. He stole what little innocence and self-respect you had left. Maybe one dead kid wasn't enough?"
Beecher averted his eyes. "Please, stop". The words were choked, said on the verge of tears.
"You already killed a little girl, and this was in the "nice" years. So why *not* waste two of Vern's children? They were scum anyway, just like their father. Right?"
Beecher didn't respond. His head faced his lap, hands covering his eyes. The sobs came quietly. Olivia sat in silence, feeling a not-so-small amount of satisfaction. Stabler, meanwhile, kneeled beside Beecher's chair, his hands on Beecher's arms.
He spoke softly. "Beecher. Toby, everything's going to be OK. Listen to me. Toby..."
Beecher slowly removed his hands. His eyes fixed on Stabler's handsome, concerned face. The tears still welled in his eyes, glistening pools of blue.
Elliot wanted to drown in those eyes. He wanted to stare at those features forever. How could a man go from complete bitterness to ultimate fear in the blink of an eye? Elliot wondered which side of Toby Beecher truly existed, and which didn't--whether each glance, each withering comment and laugh, had been a put-on. If he got to Toby as much as Toby had already affected him. And deep inside, Elliot knew the answer had to be yes.
As quickly as a flash flood, Elliot felt barriers breaking down inside him.
He'd married for companionship, out of complacency. Until now, that had satisfied him. He'd never felt this type of heat from a single stare. In all of his life, in all the people he'd met, he'd never felt so totally consumed by another person. The expression of pain and lust on Toby's face went straight to his heart, then to his groin.
Falling into the depths of those blue eyes, he broke his last barrier. In front of his partner, Elliot Stabler violated all the rules of procedure, as well as all the rules he had set for himself.
He kissed a suspect. He kissed another man. He kissed Tobias Beecher.
_______________
Neither Olivia or Lieutenant Cragen, watching from behind the interrogation room's two-way mirror, could believe their eyes. Elliot Stabler, SVU's most stable detective--husband to a beautiful wife and father to four beautiful children--was in the throes of a full lip-lock with a suspect. A *MALE* SUSPECT!
Cragen started to bang on the glass, trying to get either one of his detectives' attention.
Olivia just stood there, paralyzed. She felt shock, amazement, disgust--and, though she wanted to deny it to herself--a little twitch of envy.
_______________
The two men sprang apart, instantly. Elliot swung away from Toby, his breath ragged in his chest, and caught a glimpse of their reflections in the two-way mirror. Toby, his hand tentatively extended, was still trying to maintain body contact. His own form, supported by rock hard biceps, was hunched over the interrogation table. Elliot looked into Toby's reflected blue eyes.
Haunted.
Like his own.
He didn't know where to look to get away from those eyes.
Toby tried to reach out to him as he whispered his name. "Chris..."
A jolt of recognition went through Elliot at the sound of that name-and at that moment, the door burst open, with Cragen entering the room. His face, the color of an exploding tomato.
In his facial expression, anger and embarrassment warred for the high ground.
"Elliot...My office. *Now*." He swung to Beecher. "You, sit. We're nowhere near through with you." _____________
Olivia entered the bathroom, and headed straight for the sinks. She ran cold water on a paper towel, then swabbed the back of her neck, hoping to cool whatever heat was building up inside her.
Stabler had kissed a suspect. The *male* suspect. In the interrogation room. In front of the lieutenant.
The look in Beecher's eyes (and he had looked straight at her, as though his Superman vision was peering through the two-way mirror and straight into her chest) had frozen her in place, a wooden soldier in someone else's war.
She didn't understand. She had witnessed every single contact between those two men. For God's sake, there had only been two others--hadn't there? Had Stabler met with Beecher on another occasion? Unlikely. They had just gotten the case five days ago. Five days wasn't enough time to forget you had a wife, four kids, decades on the job and a murder to solve...was it?
The paper towel was still wet, but now warm, having absorbed her heat. She sighed, tossed it in the trash. Fuck. What to do now? The choices ranged from bad to ugly. Try to stop Cragen from ripping Stabler a new asshole...or to do some ripping of her own.
Into Tobias Beecher.
______________
Cragen just kept glaring at Stabler. He had never seen him lose control over an interrogation before. NEVER. He waited for him to explain himself and his actions. He wanted to hear any kind of valid excuse as to why one of his best detectives had just *kissed* their prime suspect.
Elliot, meanwhile, kept pacing back and forth from Cragen's desk to the door. He wanted simultaneously to put as much distance between himself and Toby as he could, and to be as close to him as possible. His mind was racing between disgust and desire. He knew that his boss was waiting for him to speak, but he couldn't think of anything reasonable to justify or explain his actions.
"I don't know what happened in there." He whispered, finally, his back towards Cragen.
Cragen stared at Elliot's back, amazed and confused. "Well, I know we can both agree on *that* remark!"
Stabler finally turned to face Cragen, his face ashen. "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, LT. How can I explain this to my wife? My kids?"
Cragen directed his visibly shaky detective to a chair, as he replied, "I know that you've been having some difficulties at home, and I appreciate that you've kept those problems away from your performance here. But I don't know how to handle this situation, either."
Elliot looked at Cragen in surprise. He had thought that no one else knew about him and Kathy.
"Sir--"
Cragen raised his hand, cutting Elliot off. "How am I going to explain this to the AD's office? What's going to happen to this case, if we do find valid evidence against Beecher in the murder?"
Elliot shook his head. "I don't think -"
Cragen smirked. "At this point, Elliot, I don't care *what* you think. You've put us in a compromising position here. Tobias Beecher could charge the city, this department and you with coercion. Not to mention sexual harassment--in the handling of this case." __________
Beecher's eyes scanned Benson as she entered, no sauntered into the room. She locked into his stare and didn't look away. He was familiar with that look in her eye: DETERMINATION. She was going to try and 'break him'. Well, Detective Benson, two can play this game. I've learned from the best player.
Vern used to stare at ME like that, especially when Andy was MY podmate.
She sat down across from him. "Well, Mr. Beecher, I really enjoyed your performance today."
"Oh, really--do you want some pointers?" Beecher asked her, with a smirk. ____________
Stabler ran out of Lt. Cragen's office like a bullet. Down the steps, rounding a corner, passing the stairs, through the double doors--
("You could be facing sexual harassment charges...")
--into the precinct room, grabbing the jacket, rifling for the keys (the keys, the keys where the *fuck* were his fucking car keys--there)--
-- through the lobby, bursting past Cassidy, sending the rookie's papers flying, in a wide berth around the interrogation room--
("Chris...")
--down another flight of steps, now two. Out the front door--
Sunshine. Pavement. Street noise. A honking cab. A siren. A dog barked.
Elliot slowed, then stopped...then breathed. The first breath he'd taken since all but inhaling Tobias Beecher, his scent, his eyes, his mouth...
"You fucking cocksucker! Move your fucking car!"
The shrill voice of a cabby startled Elliot from his thoughts. He suddenly realized he was in his car, at a stand still in the middle of the street, in front of the station house, in New York City. 30 minutes away, his wife was chopping vegetables in the home he'd carved out for them and the kids after years of breaking his back and his balls on the force.
And he'd almost just kissed all that goodbye, literally--thanks to one deep, long and perfectly wet moment with a man he'd met five days ago. A man he'd felt like he'd known his whole life. _______________
Benson's sigh of annoyance was deafening. "Look, I'm not here to amuse you! I need to know your whereabouts on March 15. If you need me to refresh your memory, that was about FIVE days ago. Exactly five days since you've met *my* partner, Detective Stabler."
She wasn't going to let this guy get control over her again...well, she *hoped* that he wouldn't get control.
Beecher licked his lips. "Oh yes, *your* partner. I wonder where he is right now. Shouldn't he be in here, handling this questioning?" He somehow knew Det. Benson probably always let Elliot be the primary in their cases, and he was going to let her hang herself a bit more.
He hadn't had a chance to manipulate anyone like this in over two years now--and that part of himself, that *person*, would always be with him now. _______________
Kathy Stabler pinched the bridge of her nose with a callused thumb and forefinger, trying to ward off the headache she felt building. Elliot had said he'd be home at six. It was eight fifteen. Goddammit! She wasn't a human stopwatch, but when someone tells you they'll be home at six, to be ready--to "look good, sugar," cause he was gonna make it special...when that same someone tells you to take the kids to the sitters, maybe make it a sleepover, because this night was just for the two of you... you tend to look at your watch.
She tugged at her blue dress, glancing at herself in the mirror. Not bad. Tight. Tighter than she'd like, but pretty damn good-looking, for a mother of four.
Pretty damn good-looking, for a woman who was slowly but surely, losing her husband.
When Elliot had hugged her from behind yesterday (trying to reintroduce tenderness into a relationship that had gone hard and practical before the first child was born), Kathy hadn't known how to react. She'd stiffened, then forcibly tried to relax...which had made her even more tense. Elliot could feel it, she knew. He knew every inch of her, and she was constantly amazed that that familiarity had not yet bred contempt. How come she couldn't be as easy with him as he was with her?
But when he'd suggested they spend the next evening alone, it was her turn to read the tension in his body, his words. What was this about? They hadn't had an evening to themselves in years. Didn't he *know* what a hassle it was, finding a sitter, booking reservations, finding a show or movie or play that wouldn't make her sick or put him to sleep? But suddenly it hit her in the pit of her stomach. Elliot was scared. And Elliot was feeling guilty. This last-ditch effort at candles and romance meant he was thinking of straying again.
And Kathy Stabler knew with whom.
Fingers trembling, headache raging to the forefront refusing to be checked, Kathy picked up the phone and dialed the woman she thought was her husband's latest obsession.
One ring. Two. A third. A click.
"Benson."
Kathy sighed. "Let me speak to my husband." _____________
Olivia held the phone to her ear, not knowing what to say. Did this woman have any idea what happened here today? When did she found out?---Olivia shrugged. She had problems of her own.
"Uh--hi, Kathy. I haven't been with him for at least three hours."
Olivia heard the derision in Kathy Stabler's answering snort. "I haven't been with him for *months*! Sorry, was that too much information? Nothing you didn't already know, though."
Olivia knew where this was heading. Kathy had been making subtle--and not so subtle--hints for months.
Olivia felt like screaming, *I'm not after your fucking husband! He's too busy seducing his suspects to give either of us the time of day.* Instead, she sighed. Again.
"I'm buried in a case, Kathy. Elliot'll show up. He's had a...rough day. "
She had hung up before Kathy could ask.
Olivia couldn't devote any more energy to anything but nailing Tobias Beecher's ass to the wall. As she put on her headphones and pushed play on the tape recorder in front of her, Beecher's voice flooded over and around her.
"Oh yes, *your* partner. Shouldn't he be the one here now? Handling this questioning...?" _______________
Olivia fiddled with the rewind and play buttons on the recorder. A barely audible sound passed by toward the end of Stabler's part of the interrogation. Olivia assumed that must be the kiss. She closed her eyes, and wondered what a kiss with Elliot would feel like. Soft? Hard? How far would he have gone with Beecher, if she hadn't been there? If they'd been in a hotel room, instead of an interrogation room?
Waking herself from these hazy thoughts, Olivia realized it was time to go home. Trying to convince herself that her fantasies were an important part of police business was as bad as her attitude in her first days with Stabler-the days when she tried to delude herself that checking out his butt as he walked across a room was akin to establishing partner rapport.
Before she left, Olivia mused on the name that affected Beecher the most--the one that'd made him go from rage to tears. Schillinger? Nah, too easy. Olivia surmised that the name *not* mentioned was the one to investigate. The prison lover.
After Stabler broke the kiss, when Beecher's defenses were eradicated, the former lawyer had whispered "Chris". The thought had nagged in the back of her head ever since, but she knew it was too soon to confront Beecher about it.
As she walked out of the building, Olivia made a mental note to herself to call Oz's assistant warden, Tim McManus, first thing in the morning.
Friend of a friend. Actually, Olivia was a friend of an ex-wife of his--but she still spoke to Tim every once in a while. He'd give her the answers on Christopher Keller.
Benson smiled to herself as she turned the key in the ignition. She'd made such progress since her first days in Special Victims Unit. When she leered at Elliot now, she could admit the real reason: He had the nicest ass in the whole precinct. _______________
The silence was deafening. Flickering candles burned, although Elliot couldn't tell which was seething more, the flames or his wife. The loudest sound came from metal forks clanking on china, followed by chewing. Finally, Elliot had to either speak or go out of his mind.
"Kathy, this lasagna is fantastic."
"The microwave thought so too."
"Maybe I should put a CD in, we can dance, listen to soft music?"
"Go ahead. Dance with yourself."
Elliot cringed at her iciness. More minutes of silence, which Elliot spent wondering if she'd actually intended to use "dance with yourself" as a double entendre, if she was angry enough to poison the food, if this night had just come out of the blue, or if it had been simmering for weeks. Finally, he decided to chance an apology.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make it home earlier."
"That's fine, even though *you* were the one who planned this dinner. You make a few feeble contributions, and I fill in the rest--wow, it's like a metaphor for our marriage."
"Honey, you don't mean that."
Kathy stood up, grabbing his plate and her own, avoiding eye contact. The plates were tossed into the sink, after which she turned on the faucet.
"I think you stopped loving me years ago." Sensing her husband begin to disagree, she spoke first: "Don't interrupt, please. That's fine, because I stopped loving you too. Romance and even sex became unimportant, since I had the kids and enough to fill my days. And at least I could fool myself into thinking the kids and I were a priority, what with all those *attempts* you made to come to school plays and PTA meetings. But even that's gone now. First place, the job--second, Olivia Benson--third, me and the children."
Elliot felt empty inside. He wanted to take Kathy in his arms and show her how much he loved her, or beg for her forgiveness, but knew any attempt would be futile. This had been coming for months, if not years. He could barely muster the strength to argue now.
"Olivia and I aren't having an affair."
"Affair is a pretty term; why don't we call it what is? Adultery."
"Call it what you want. We're *not* together."
Kathy shut off the faucet and opened the refrigerator door, putting the container back in. "I've known women like Olivia Benson my whole life. They come off as an enigma, a puzzle--so tough and hard, on the outside. Guess what? They're more simple and one-dimensional than any housewife could ever be. After she gets bored, she'll dump you...and you'll come crawling right back here."
Elliot stared Kathy down, trying to mentally force her to meet his eyes. After a moment of resistance, she did.
"You'll never believe that I'm not having an affair. Is my word that worthless now?"
Kathy smiled a small, cold smile. "Yes, it is."
Elliot drew a shallow breath. What was the point of keeping it from her any longer? "Today, I kissed a suspect. A male suspect. It was the most passionate kiss I've had in years. Possibly the most passionate kiss I've *ever* had."
Stabler put special emphasis on the last sentence to deliberately inflict pain, a small percentage of the pain her lack of trust caused him. He considered apologizing, but realized he didn't want to. His wife had wounded him, without a hint of remorse. Her words alone indicated the death of the marriage--on her part, and his as well.
Kathy silently walked into the living room, grabbed a CD and shoved it into the player. She hit the track button a few times, then hit the pause button. Then she walked back into the kitchen, removed the tinfoil from the top of the lasagna container, and dumped the entire contents onto Elliot's lap.
Kathy then walked back to the CD player, hit pause again, and went down the corridor to their bedroom. A moment later, as the music started playing, a door slam echoed throughout the house.
As Elliot picked cold pieces of what used to be dinner out of his lap, he began to recognize the song playing in the other room. He could even guess at the CD title. Best of Hall & Oates. The song?
"Man-Eater". _______________
Earlier during that day, around 5:30 p.m.:
Beecher flopped down onto his couch with a tired sigh. He hadn't been in his one-bedroom apartment since 10:00 am this morning. When Benson and Cragen had finally released him, since they couldn't find any evidence to place him at the crime scene, it'd been 4:30 p.m.. The other detective, Elliot Stabler, had vanished after Cragen had called him into his office.
When Toby had first seen him, it had been beyond a shock. He couldn't *believe* how much Stabler--Elliot--looked like Keller. Like... Chris.
Beecher got up from the couch, and walked into the kitchen to get a drink. He wanted a *real* drink, but since he didn't have any Bourbon in the apartment, he put on the kettle for some coffee. As he walked back into the living room, he saw his half empty cup of coffee from this morning was still on the table. A stain had dried on the table from where he had spilled his coffee after realizing that he had Chris' twin in his apartment. He remembered that he had just poured that cup when someone had knocked on his door.
He'd almost passed out from the resemblance. Stabler had caught him before he fell and sat him down on the couch. He recalled that Stabler had asked him if he was okay--and Beecher had noticed he even had that same wonderful, sneaky little grin. ___________
Tim McManus juggled seventeen files, a wilting tuna fish and lettuce sandwich and--believe it or not--photos of yet *another* prison crucifixion. The third one in six months. The trail led back to the Aryans, and to Vern Schillinger, each and every time. But without proof---
His phone rang. After a moment of indecision, he dropped the tuna sandwich on top of the photos, and grabbed the receiver.
"McManus."
A husky voice flooded the wire--one he hadn't heard in awhile, but not from lack of trying.
"Tim, It's Olivia Benson. I don't know if you remember--"
"Olivia, of course, don't be silly. It's great to hear your voice--"
It was her turn to cut him off. "Tim, I need your help. I'm investigating the death of a young man named Schillinger. My prime suspect is a former resident of Oz, a Tobias Beecher. Does that name ring any bells?"
Tim picked up the photos in front of him, showing Nikolai Stanislofsky--a Russian Jew--staked to the gym floor.
"Yeah, like a fucking church picnic. Tell me what you got."
He listened as Benson outlined the specifics of the case, and he saw Vern's hands all over it. Although Beecher sounded like a good suspect, and he so hated to bust Olivia's little theory. BUT...
"Look, Beecher's one more in a long line of guys inside and outside Oz who have a beef with Schillinger. Even from in here, they've got long arms. Any of them could gotten to Vern in the last way that matters, by killing his only remaining son."
"But what about Beecher? What can you tell me about his old cellmate, Chris...Keller?"
McManus shrugged, though Olivia couldn't see him, and took a bite of the tuna. Rancid. He swallowed anyway.
"Keller's....a long story. You got time?"
"Shoot."
"No, not now, I gotta run. How bout dinner? Your part of town?" He heard the hesitation in her silence, and played all the cards he had.
"C'Mon, 'Livia. We can catch up on old times, and talk about Keller and Beecher. I guarantee it's a story you'll want to hear."
A sigh. Tim smiled: He had her.
"Eight o'clock. Pick me up."
She gave him an address; then--*click*.
Tim looked at the crucifixion photos. Could the latest Schillinger death have anything to do with Vern's recent activities? He'd think up something, anything, if it gave him and Olivia Benson a reason to spend long hours with their heads together. _____________
That same night, around 8:30 p.m..
Beecher was wrapped beneath his covers. He was exhausted, and this was the first time he'd finally gotten some sleep since seeing Elliot five days earlier. He had just turned over and curled himself into a ball when he felt someone trying to wake him up.
"Hey, come on, Toby. It's time to wake up!"
He tried to shake the hand off of his shoulder. "No, let me sleep for a few more minutes."
The voice that responded sounded both tired and familiar.
"Tobe, you can't sleep anymore. The lights are up already, babe."
He instantly recognized the voice. He was a bit startled as he opened up his eyes: "Chris?"
Chris looked at him with his clear blue eyes, one of the biggest grins on his face, and said: "Yeah, it's me. Who else would it be?"
As Beecher smiled back at Chris, he leaned forward to kiss him, hands curving around Chris' neck, pulling their faces together. He could feel Chris' breath on his face. And as his lips met Chris'...
...he fell off the corner of his bed.
Beecher looked around, and discovered that he was on the floor of his bedroom. Alone. ___________
"Wake up, Toby...."
Beecher could still hear the echo of Chris Keller's voice, even over the pounding of the sputtering shower nozzle and its erratic bursts of hot water. The landlord refused to do anything about the water pressure, so Toby was forced to rinse of all the suds he could in between scaldings.
Naked, he quickly scrubbed chest, arms, hips, thighs, that tender spot at the back of his knee. All with his eyes closed. He hated his body. He hated what had been done to his body. He couldn't bare to touch himself any more than was hygienically necessary.
Apparently, it was starting again: The dreams of Keller, seeing him in every face he met.
When he'd first laid eyes on Stabler, the rational half of Toby's mind didn't doubt for a second that his insane half was playing the ultimate trick again: transforming any man with a certain build, a certain glint in the eye, a certain measure of cockiness into the spitting image of Chris Keller. His rational half knew that his alter ego would pull this trick on him again and again, playing out his obsession with Keller in a thousand different ways. It had happened at least a dozen times before.
But this was the first time that the object of his delusion had kissed him back. Elliot Stabler had felt every thread of passion cording through Tobias' body, and had answered it, thought for thought. Eyes, body, mouth, so identical to Keller's--
Another hot blast hit Beecher, this time right in the groin. He jumped back, then forward, trying to turn off the burning stream. He exited the shower, toweling quickly: back, hips, thighs, hair, done. All without unfogging the mirror.
Just when he'd learn to live with the insanity, to make a pact with it, to keep his demons under wraps...it seemed his demons had a life all their own. And maybe he wasn't so crazy after all.
He began slipping on his clothes, an automaton caught up in the convolutions of his own thoughts. Elliot Stabler...
The phone rang. No fucking way was he gonna answer it. It was either Benson, wanting to rip him a new one, or Cragen again, begging him not to press charges against the station...
...or the doppelganger himself, Elliot Stabler. And he had no idea what the hell to tell *him*?
Toby exited his one-bedroom apartment, locked four deadbolts and hit the street. He could still hear the phone ringing, almost a block away. ___________________
No answer. Tim McManus put down the phone. He would have preferred to talk to Beecher before his meeting (let's call a spade a spade, Tim...it's a date) with Olivia Benson. But, oh well. When he saw her, he'd decide how much of the truth 'Livia needed to hear. _____________
Olivia Benson clicked off her blow-dryer, yanked open the bathroom door and listened. There. It *was* a knock. She checked her watch. 7:25. He was 35 minutes early! Good fucking Christ, she knew Tim McManus wanted to get in her pants, but could he be a little less eager? It was an old college trick, show up right when the girl might be getting out of the shower, and hope to get a little advance peek at the goods. She was still wrapped in a towel, but went to the door anyway. He wanted a peep show? Fine, it was nothing he hadn't seen before anyway.
She opened the door, already in the middle of an anger-filled sentence.
"---you could have at least---"
The words curled up and died in the back of her throat. It wasn't Tim McManus.
There stood Elliot, looking for all the world like he'd lost his last friend on earth. He was clad in leather, a broken-in jacket she'd never seen him wear in the year they'd been partners. It fit him like a glove, his muscles encased and moving anxiously beneath the calfskin. She couldn't help herself. Her intake of breath--the one she took each and every day she saw him but had hidden behind raised coffee mugs, discreet coughs or a quickly turned head--was visible, audible and tangible. Elliot Stabler was all male...and standing on her door step. She watched his eyes take in her half dressed state, slowly traveling over the terrain like he'd never noticed it before...and she watched him look away.
"'Livia."
He had to clear his throat to talk, his voice raspy like he'd been woken from a deep sleep...or like he'd been crying.
"I didn't know where else to go. Kathy kicked me out--well, not really. Technically she left, but she probably just went to get the kids. And she probably wouldn't want to see me when she got back. I'm rambling, I know--"
She opened the door wider, and put a soft hand on his arm, gently guiding him inside.
"Get in here."
Elliot let himself be led.