Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story follows "Nine Days' Wonder".

6 June
SVU Squad Room

"It's prohibitively expensive to track down the millions of undocumented immigrants already here. That's why the government wants to insert RFID chips in the rest of us—we're all sheep happy to be led by our noses if it makes our lives easier and our taxes lower.

"Once we're chipped, get near a border with an implanted chip, you're scanned and nothing happens. Try it without a chip and ZZZZZZZZT! Drone aircraft fry you with their lasers."

John Munch leaned over his desk and wagged a finger at his partner.

"I'm telling you—Halliburton already has the contracts; it's only a matter of time…."

Fin didn't look up from the jacket he was reading.

"I know where I'd have 'em shove your chip."

His cell rang. Fin answered it, turning away from John in search of quiet. John spun his chair looking for new audiences. Elliot had the day off and Olivia was in court; that left Otten and Sofarelli, who were examining crime scene photos at their desks.

They must have coordinated their outfits today; both of them in dark blue suits and pale blue shirts. At least Couch doesn't have lace on his collar; otherwise, we'd never tell them apart.

"Hey, Brooklyn—you're an immigrant. What do you…."

Otten looked over her shoulder at him. "I was a U.S. citizen at birth, Pikesville."

She turned back to the photos and missed Munch's flinch at her answer. His silence, however, was noticed by her partner.

"Wow—you shut him down completely."

"Sauce for the goose," Judith said. "If he can't take it, he shouldn't dish it out. I still say something was removed from that wrist. See the way the sleeve has ridden up on the wrist? Do you think--"

Her cell phone chirped. She handed the photo to Couch and answered it.

At his desk, Munch leaned back in his chair and studied the air above Otten and Sofarelli's desks.

She's supposed to get fed up and transfer out or retire, not fight back. If this is the way it's going to play….

He glanced over at Cragen's office, making sure that the captain had not returned from his meeting at One Police Plaza. Questioning Otten already had attracted Olivia's attention….

"Uh, John—are you planning to buy Judith a negligee?"

A raised eyebrow and a small retch had not ended the conversation.

"Then you might consider quitting your interrogation before you get to her clothing sizes. It's getting old."

Fortunately, my muttered "So's Otten" didn't reach Liv's ears. She'd have run to Cragen and tattled—females always stick together. Fin also doesn't like how I treat Otten—of course, she bribes him with muffins—and now I've got Liv on my back. I need to be more covert….but I also need to find out what else Otten dug up about me….

John made a mug of tea and sauntered over to Otten's desk, the corner of which made a perfect rest for his rump.

"So, Detective Otten—have you been reading my jacket?"

She turned her wide blue eyes up to meet his. "No," she asked. "Why would I do that?"

Because you want me the hell out of here.

"Because I'm handsome and fascinating."

"Undoubtedly. No, I had dinner with an friend and your name came up. He told me that you were from Pikesville, were on the job in Baltimore, then left it to come here. That's all."

That's all, my ass. Now you know you have seniority over me—NYPD doesn't count my time with Baltimore's finest. Who ratted me out?

"Really? And who was your dinner companion?"

"Rey Curtis."

Curtis? Yeah--young kid partnered with Lennie for the Jannaway, McBride, and Egan cases—oh, fuck, the Egan case. I spent that one awash in bourbon thanks to visions of Lennie and Gwen joined in orgiastic pleasure. I'll bet Curtis loved telling that story.

"Yes. I remember him. Didn't he leave the job because his wife was ill? I think Lennie said something about that."

Judith nodded. "Deborah has multiple sclerosis. She's in a wheelchair most of the time. Rey's now deputy chief of security at Williamsburg College—better hours and decent benefits. I'm sometimes jealous."

Of the wheelchair or the bennies?

"I'm sorry to hear that. Curtis was good to work with. I wouldn't have pegged you two for friends, though."

"Family connections—he was at the Three-Seven with one of my cousins and his daughter babysits for my son's girls. That's one good thing about being around for so long; you build quite a network of friends."

She shot him a swift glance through her eyelashes and paired it with a smug smile.

"Haven't you found it that way?"

'Around for so long'? Don't give me that—you just transferred from Brooklyn; you're starting over the same way I did. I ran from bad marriages and broken dreams. What are you running from?

"Friendships aren't built in a day. However, one grows old and if one stands still too long. You were in Brooklyn for how many decades?"

Her smile faded. Her stare went hard and straight at him. Munch returned it in kind from behind dark lenses.

The standoff was broken by a photo waved between their faces.

"How about an opinion?" Couch asked him. "Based on this photo, Judith thinks someone took something from the victim' s wrist. What do you think?"

John took the photo from Sofarelli and examined it thoroughly. He glanced at Otten.

Damn it, she has good eyes. I could disagree with her—say that I don't see it. Some skel might go free, but the mistake would be hers; it's her case….

He handed the photo back to Couch.

"Take a closer look, Al. See how the sleeve has risen up around the wrist? If the arm moved pre-mortem, or if it had been shoved post-mortem, then the sleeve would be pulled higher only where the arm was in contact with the pavement; friction drags it against the movement. But, if someone picked up the arm, wrapped their hand around the wrist and shoved the sleeve up, then the sleeve would rise evenly, exposing the wrist."

Couch ran his hand up his wrist, the first time wrapped around it, the second along the underside of his arm. He watched the action of his sleeve both times.

"You're right. It's a little thing…."

John glanced at Otten. "Perps catch the big things. It's the little ones that trip them up."

For his help, Otten gave John a slight nod.

Yeah, I hate you, too.

6 June
Council Room
Saints Peter and Paul Roman Catholic Church
Queens, NY

He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a faded blue surfer shirt and sneakers still sandy from a day at the beach with his children. He shared the room with an oblong oak table, fourteen padded chairs, a white board, a large crucifix, and a line of framed photos depicting priests who had served the parish.

Hell of a way to end my day off—waiting for Captain Cragen to show up and explain why I'm here.

Elliot Stabler paced the length of the room past the photos: Father Aberthany, Father Phelan, Monsignor Anselmi, Father Ferrell, Father Doyle, Father Donovan—to the rear, march—Father Donovan, Father Doyle, Father Ferrell….

He stopped to address the line of photos.

"You may be wondering why I brought you all here…."

"Sure as shit I'm wondering."

Fin spoke from the open door. He was dressed as he had been at work—black chinos with an olive and black patterned shirt left untucked. He walked over to where Elliot was addressing the photos.

"Y'aren't planning to turn me Catholic, are you?"

"Nope." Elliot's smile was more smirk than grin. "We haven't forced a conversion in centuries. Besides, John called 'dibs' on you."

"No way I'm turning Jew. I hear they cut you even if you're already circumcised."

An involuntary spasm tightened Elliot's thighs and he was certain the look on his face matched Fin's sour grimace.

"Why?" he asked. "I mean, if there's nothing there to—to…."

"Nothing gets cut off."

Both men winced again as Judith Otten entered the room. A black leather shoulder bag was the only change to her work attire.

"What's required," she told the men, "is a drop of blood drawn by a mo'el. It proves that, if the man had a foreskin, he would undergo circumcision willingly."

"But," said Elliot, "it's still gotta hurt."

"Consider becoming a Reconstructionist Jew. We're less likely to require it."

Fin folded his arms and glared at her. "I'm not considering it at all."

Elliot grinned at him. "Then I'll tell Father Dunleavy you'll be joining his Catholic information class."

Fin's scowl was worth the tease, especially when Elliot noticed Otten's puzzlement.

"That's not why we're here, is it?" she asked.

"Cragen arranged this meeting, not me. Of course…." His lopsided grin was pure evil. "Cap's Catholic, too."

"I'm outta here."

Fin spun on his heel. Judith's gaze shifted between Elliot and the door.

"Okay, I'll stop jerking your chains. I didn't know anyone else was coming. I don't know why I'm here. Cap didn't tell me anything."

Elliot took a seat at the center of the table and motioned Judith and Fin to join him. "We'll have to wait and see what he says."

Judith looked at Fin and said, "If he's lying…."

"I'll shoot him with his own weapon; you write the suicide note."

Fin took the chair across to Elliot and smirked at him. Judith sat next to Elliot, a similar sly smile on her face.

"Watch yourself, Stabler," Fin added. "You're outnumbered."

Elliot grinned back, accepting the ribbing as only fair. They sat in silence for a while, Fin eyeing the photos behind Elliot while Judith examined the large crucifix hanging on the wall at the head of the table.

"What did Cap tell you guys?" Elliot asked.

Judith said, "Just to come here. He left in a hurry for the Puzzle Palace around 1 p.m. and called mid-afternoon on my cell."

"Same here," said Fin. "According to Chloe, the Chief told Cap'n to haul his ass downtown ASAP."

Elliot added those two bits of info to the message from Cragen on his cell phone—"Be at Peter and Paul's council room by 7 p.m." Knowing that both Fin and Judith were equally in the dark troubled him.

We're all here without our partners—why? Did the Chief of Detectives make that decision? Did Cragen sign off on it? I'll bet we won't like the answers or the reasons behind them.

The hairs on his neck prickled.

Nothing against you, Judith, but I wish Liv were sitting in your chair.

He was about to say as much when Cragen came to the door, still in his suit and tie. The clench of his jaw and the fire in his eyes dared someone to cross him. Elliot heard a hiss, Judith drawing in a nervous breath, just as Fin whispered, "Dad's not mad—he's pissed."

This may be worst than we thought.

"Hey, Cap." Elliot greeted him. "You gonna tell us what's going…."

Cragen stepped into the room and the rest of Elliot's sentence died on his tongue. Behind their captain stood three more men, two in expensive suits, one dressed off-the-rack and carrying a stack of folders.

Oh, shit—we've got two chiefs and Ed Tucker, our favorite rat.