Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU. It belongs to a genius named Dick Wolf. No profit is being made from this story.

Elliot had been downing Mountain Dew since midnight. It always drove him crazy….no matter how much of the stuff he drank, it never quenched his thirst. In fact, it only made him thirstier. He had bought a 12-pack during his lunch break….he covered it up by saying he was buying it because his kids were coming next weekend.

The clock now read 2:15 am. He yawned so hugely that his jaw popped and scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. Come on Dew….don't fail me now. He was counting on the caffeine buzz to get him through the last few miles.

After what seemed like an eternity, Elliot finally saw the sign he was searching for: Saint Leo Correctional Facility….5 miles.

He pulled off of the interstate and turned onto a side road that was extremely dark. Turning on his high beams, he slowed his speed and cautiously followed it. After about ten minutes, barbed wire came into view.

His hands began shaking as he pulled up to the gate. The guard on duty looked at him in suspicion, striding up to the window. He looked mean….Elliot figured if he had to sit up and watch a prison at two in the morning, he would probably be mean, too.

"Help you?" the black man said gruffly.

The fear decided to invade at that moment, and Elliot felt his heart start to race frantically in anticipation. He stared at the man blankly, tightening his sweaty fingers on the steering wheel. Dear lord…what the hell am I doing here?

He fumbled clumsily for his wallet and handed it to him. The man opened it, revealing his badge and identification. He looked back at Elliot in surprise as he returned it.

"Go ahead," he said, pressing a button.

His mouth had gone dry, and all he could do was nod and give the man a tight-lipped smile. The iron gates opened, and he drove through.

John thought he was dreaming when he heard the phone ringing. The high-pitched noise crashed into his dreams and he awoke in a fog of confusion. He groaned and covered his head with his pillow, but it wouldn't stop. Reluctantly, he rolled over and fumbled for his glasses.

"Munch," he said gruffly as he looked at the clock. 2:30 am.

"Sorry to wake you," was the first thing Fin said. "Cap just called…another man was found dead at The Matador about a half-hour ago."

"Damn it," he groaned, but sat up anyway. He scrubbed his face harshly. "Don't these scumbags ever sleep?"

Fin was in no mood to hear his partner's complaining…not at this hour. "Call
Olivia," he said shortly. "Meet you there."

"Why-?" His partner cut him off abruptly, and left John with a dial tone. "Good morning to you, too, Sunshine," he mumbled, disconnecting. He dialed Olivia's number.

Olivia was a light sleeper, and was instantly alert when the phone rang. "Benson," she said quietly, grabbing it.

Munch explained to her what had happened. "On my way," she said, slipping out of bed. She pulled on the jeans she had left sitting on the chair. "Has anyone called Elliot yet?"

"Not yet," he replied.

"I'll do it," she said. "See you there."

His cell phone jangled as he was locking his truck. Reaching into his pocket, Elliot glanced at the number on the caller ID and hesitated. If Olivia was calling him at this hour, it could only be about a case. He glanced from the phone to the building looming in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, Elliot pushed the silent button and put the phone back into his pocket.

"What the hell, Elliot?" Olivia grumbled as she drove toward Harlem. After her second try to his cell phone went unanswered, she hung up and dialed his home number. It rang ten times with no answer. She hissed in frustration and slammed the phone shut. Is he trying to get himself suspended?

The others were there by the time she arrived. She tried Elliot once more before getting out of the car, with no success.

Cragen was standing with the other two in the alley. She wryly noted that it was a different alley than the one they had been to before.

"What've we got?" she asked tiredly.

Don turned toward her when he heard her voice. "Looks like we have a pattern here," he said grimly.

She noticed that several CSU technicians were milling around the dumpsters behind him. A lump on the ground was covered by a white sheet. There was a trail of blood leading from the dumpsters to the spot where the body was. Several technicians were crouched next to the lower portion of the body, and Olivia could tell by the position of the victim's feet that he was face-down.

Olivia looked Munch, feeling oddly nauseous. "Heineken?" she asked, swallowing hard.

He met her gaze, understanding what she was asking. His voice was tight as he answered, "Smirnoff."

Elliot took a huge breath as he gripped the front door handle. His gut was screaming at him to turn around and get the hell out of there. Expelling the air, he stepped inside.

His heart pounded in his ears with every echo of his footsteps on the tiled floor. The hallway had no signs directing him anywhere. He stopped at the first door he came to and knocked.

A man in a guard's uniform opened it and looked at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

A lump had formed in his throat, and was growing into the size of a softball. "I…um…" He swallowed. "Um…I'm looking for the warden." Fumbling for his pocket, he took out his badge again, holding it out in front of him like it was a shield. "I just need to ask him a quick question."

The guard was still eying him suspiciously as he took the radio off of his hip. "Glen," he said into it.

"What is it, Evans?" came the crackly reply.

Evans examined his badge. "There's an Elliot Stabler here to see you," he said. His voice sounded almost accusatory. "NYPD."

"Where are you?" the man on the radio asked.

"Station 6," Evans replied.

"Be right down," came the reply.

Turning down the radio again, Evans handed Elliot his badge back. "He'll be coming from that way," he said abruptly, pointing a hand to the left.

"Thanks-" Elliot started to say, but the man shut the door in his face before he could.

Nice guy, he thought wryly, walking down the hall.

A minute or so later, a door at the end of the hall opened. A man who looked to be in his late 50's came through, dressed in a white uniform. "You the cop who wanted to see me?" he asked.

Elliot nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Yes…sir," he said. "I actually just-"

"You aren't from Parole, are you?" the man cut in, brushing past him. He started walking away and Elliot had to almost run to keep up.

"No," he answered quickly. "I'm a detective with the Special Victims Unit in Manhattan. The reason-"

The older man turned on his heel abruptly and cut him off again. "Look here, son," he said. "I run a tight ship here. I have 1200 inmates to keep track of. I don't have time to give you the names of every person here who may have been sexually assaulted."

He turned around again and unlocked the door they were standing in front of. "Now as you can see, things are very busy here," he said. "I'll make sure to send a statement once it becomes clear who filed this charge."

Elliot's temper was on a short leash as it was, and his exhaustion wasn't helping. The man moved to close the door on him, and his restraint snapped.

"Hold it!" he yelled, planting his body against the door. "God damn it….would you just listen to me?"

The warden looked at him in shock, which quickly turned to anger.

Elliot sighed deeply and closed his eyes again. "Please sir," he said softly. "I'm sorry….I know you've got a job to do and I promise I won't take long."

The man was still looking at him warily. "I'm not here on behalf of the city," Elliot continued. "This is a personal visit, sir."

The warden suddenly noticed the condition of the man standing in front of him. He looked bone-tired and defeated.

"Come on," he said, finally. "My office is through here."

Elliot sighed in relief and followed him into a large office.

"You want some coffee?" he asked, pouring a cup. Elliot shook his head and the warden took the cup for himself. "What can I do for you, officer?"

Elliot didn't bother to correct him. "There's a man here who is serving a fifty-year sentence for murder," he said. "Our files say he is eligible for parole next week."

The warden logged onto his computer. "What's the guy's name you're looking for?"

"William Sanford," he said anxiously. His heart began pumping wildly again as the warden looked up the information.

The warden stopped typing and was looking at the screen. "William Michael Sanford," he murmured. "Convicted in '74…represented by a Douglas Arthur?"

Elliot's eyes lit up. "Yes," he said excitedly. "Yes, that's him." Gotcha, you bastard. He leaned forward and looked intensely at the warden. "Would it be possible for me to speak to him?"

The man looked at him in surprise. The cop looked so eager, like he was about to pounce on an unsuspecting prey. He was silent for a minute.

"Son,' the warden said. He looked at him with trepidation. "William Sanford died of a heart attack five years ago here in prison."

Elliot was shocked into speechlessness.

He mumbled an apology to the warden as he was racing out of the room. Sprinting down the hallway, he managed to make it outside before he began heaving.

There was little the detectives could do at the crime scene, and Cragen was more anxious about their op the next morning. He instructed Munch and Fin to come in ready to go undercover, and told them all to go home and get as much sleep as they could before the morning.

Elliot was thankful for his police tags; he was doing at least 80 mph all the way back to Manhattan. He pulled into the precinct parking lot at 6:30 am and went straight upstairs to the crib. He collapsed on a bunk without even taking off his coat.

When the captain arrived an hour later, he was surprised to see Elliot's truck in the parking lot. He went into the squad room and saw keys sitting on his side of the desk. Puzzled, Don headed upstairs, wondering if Elliot had gone home the night before.

He had tried calling him several times about the scene, and had gotten no answer.

He opened the door to the locker room and immediately saw Elliot sprawled on a lower bunk, completely knocked out. He was wearing his coat. Backing out, Cragen closed the door quietly and went back downstairs.

Olivia walked into the squad room at 8:45 and stopped dead in her tracks. She burst into a fit of giggles when she saw Munch standing beside his locker. He looked like something straight out of "Happy Days". He was wearing a black bomber jacket and his hair was gelled over.

He looked up when he heard her laughter and glared at her. She tried to say something, but ended up failing miserably as she burst out laughing again.

Fin walked in then and stopped as well. He looked at his partner like he had grown a third head.

Munch looked at him defensively. "What?" he asked.

He just shook his head, wearing a bewildered expression. "Dude…you have watched Grease way too many times."

Fin looked completely comfortable. He was wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and a Sean John sweatshirt underneath an enormous FuBu jacket. On his feet were loosely tied Timberland boots.

"Oh…and who are you trying to look like?" Munch asked, looking at his partner's attire. "Snoop Dogg?"

"That's enough, you guys," Cragen interrupted them. He came out of his office. "Get focused…now"

"Olivia." She looked at him when he said her name. "Go wake Elliot up….we need to get moving."

She looked at him in surprise, having no idea her partner was even there. Cragen jerked his head toward the second floor. Raising her eyebrows, she headed for the stairs.

Turning on the light, Olivia walked over to the bunk where her partner lay sleeping. She reached out and gently laid a hand on his back. "Hey," she said softly, rubbing up and down forcefully.

Elliot jumped out of sleep, whipping around in surprise. He looked blearily up at Olivia. "What-?" He groaned as his focus became clearer. "What time is it?" he asked groggily.

"Quarter after nine," she answered, moving back so that he could sit up.

He groaned again. "Fuck," he mumbled, forcing himself up. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and rested his arms on his knees as he dropped his head wearily in his hands.

Olivia watched him. "Did you go home last night?" she asked.

He shook his head, still covering his face. "No," he said. He paused. "Lizzie had a fever of 104 and Kathy took her to the emergency room."

He felt his face heat up involuntarily. He felt even worse about the lie when he heard her gasp. "Is she alright?"

Elliot winced behind his hands. "Yeah," he mumbled. "They sent her home at about 6 this morning. I was with her all night and didn't get a chance to go home…figured I could catch a little sleep up here."

"Good," she said. She turned toward the door and called over her shoulder, "Better get a move on. Cragen's anxious to get on this assignment."

He stood up and stretched, stepping into the bathroom. Running the sink, he brushed his teeth quickly and splashed water on his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and wrinkled his nose. God…I look like a heathen.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he bounded down into the squad room. Cragen eyed him in disapproval, and it took Elliot a minute to remember what he was wearing. Then he noticed the other two, and started to laugh.

"Don't start, Stabler," Cragen said sharply, and his tone meant business. For the first time, he noticed there were three unfamiliar men standing near the captain.

"These are Detectives Andrews, Payne, and Marino from Narcotics," Don said, gesturing to them. "We're borrowing them to help set this up. This is Elliot Stabler….he's our inside man."

One came toward Elliot while the others went to Munch and Fin. "You three are going to be wired to each other as well as to all of the surveillance teams," the one near Elliot said. He instructed Elliot to lift his shirt and started taping the device to the side of his stomach. "There will be four teams covering each of the alleys surrounding the bar. Captain Cragen and Detective Benson will be with us in the van across the street."

He finished taping and handed Elliot an earpiece, which he put into his ear. It was small enough that, when inserted properly, was nearly invisible. After checking to be sure the earpiece wasn't noticeable, he stepped back and nodded approvingly.

"The earpiece picks up all conversation within twenty feet," he said to all three of them. "Just talk as you normally would…there's no need to be discreet. We'll be able to hear you."

The three wired detectives looked at each other. Cragen had his face set. "Alright, guys," he said firmly. "Let's do this."