Disclaimer:All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them is motivated only by my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for).

AN: This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretch the limits of that and totally suspend the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!!

(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…so if it's raining go take the washing off the line…don't just stand there telling me it needs doing)

Bobby is feeling very "grumpy" and not enjoying the sort of Halloween happens in the world I created for him…

TRICK OR TREAT

Bobby Goren loathed Halloween. For three reasons. Firstly it coincided with the end of the baseball season which always left him with a sense of mild ennui would persist through winter until the start of Spring Training. Secondly, his alternative TV viewing of the "Discovery Channel" meant his chance to learn interesting facts about "mummification" and "tribal customs of the Kalahari Desert" which might be useful some day, was interrupted. With a constant stream of premature urchins began ringing his doorbell around the 23rd October, none of whom either seemed to own a handkerchief or ever been taught how to use one. By parents he assumed were equally neglectful as to allow small children to go knocking on the doors of male strangers who lived alone in the first place. And the last reason was because of the "1PP Halloween Party" he tried and failed to get out of each year.

Bobby stood in the corner of the gymnasium glowering at the scene before him, an expression no one would notice on account of his "Darth Vader" costume. The same thing he'd worn last year thanks to leaving it so late to go to the costume hire shop and it being the only thing left would fit him. Or at least had boots size 13. Except he wasn't sure the way his big toes were cramping this pair might not be only 12½ and that was in addition to the fact their leather squeaked and creaked. The slightest movement set off a sound made the whole room think the gymnasium door had opened. It was probably sign of the current "budget constraints" that oil couldn't be afforded for the hinges. Either that or a set of bedsprings which meant he needed to take care about the pace he walked at. Too fast and he sounded like an enthusiastic honeymoon couple and got winks and grins people thought he couldn't see behind the mask.

It was a strange array of people before him and in some cases slightly worrying. Four technicians from CSU must have spent hours of publicly funded time constructing that facsimile of Mount Rushmore. Using plaster intended to cast shoe and tyre impressions and some sort of multiple shade, "tie dye" effect on yards of white nylon from "crime scene suits" they had cut up. No wonder the NYPD budget was in crisis and they were probably regretting the choice to all get into the one costume. Because it seemed two were meat eaters and two vegetarian and the two buffet tables on opposite sides of the room. But Bobby assumed, or at least hoped, that Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Washington might individually and certainly together, have negotiated a solution. One more seemly, dignified and "Presidential" than the scuffle breaking out in the centre of the gym floor.

A scuffle that with a scale model that size inevitably spread so that five cops from the Vice Squad got embroiled. At least Bobby assumed that's who they were. Either that or the "Village People Tribute Band" hired to provide entertainment. Though when he thought about it more closely, as the construction worker threatened to assassinate Lincoln all over again, someone had told him about five cops who got so "deep undercover" in The Village a few years back they resigned from NYPD to follow a musical career. When order was restored there was one casualty left on the floor rolling around.

Arriving in a white sort of robe with extremely long sleeves, Bobby had wondered at first whether it was a bad taste joke on John Munch's part to dress like an ill tailored member of the KKK, especially when partnered with Fin Tutuola. But seeing the straps attached to the sleeves he was somewhat relieved about ten minutes later to see Fin fasten Munch's arms tightly across and behind him with the buckles. So were most other people in the room who like him had expected it to happen to Munch for years. The only disadvantage for Tutuola, who was dressed as Spiderman, was that he'd had to carry round an extra drink with a straw and feed the helpless Munch pizza slices.

As the SVU detective writhed on the floor like Houdini unable to regain his feet, Bobby wasn't about to go over and help him. Not when one of his colleagues just ignored him and stepped over his prone form. But then he had the suspicion Elliot Stabler was using it as chance to show off his fake tanned and oiled thighs a little more in the "Gladiator" costume. The leather underwear of which, Bobby got the distinct impression when he went in the bathroom earlier, Stabler was either regretting or enjoying rather too much. It would have been insane to expect the man to have resisted the comment "I see the Empire struck back" seeing him costumed again as Darth Vader but Bobby had taken his revenge. And in a way didn't require the help of the Sith or rather the way half the SWAT team was outfitted.

When Elliot asked for his help, since he couldn't remember the name of the guy in the movie that Russell Crowe portrayed. So Bobby thought he should be kind and told him. Which meant all evening so far the SVU detective had gone round the room declaring, "I am Gluteus Maximus Equus". It was comforting to realise just how many others in the room understood what it really meant and possibly shared his opinion of Stabler, when they sniggered and replied, "Yes we know you are Elliot".

But Bobby's minor enjoyment and the only kind he likely to get this evening was cut short. By Deakins, who was singularly disturbing dressed as "Dorothy", but at least the Cairn terrier he'd borrowed from the stray animal pound hadn't disgraced himself as yet. Unlike Captain Creagan who in a show of solidarity came as "The Scarecrow", got rapidly drunk and set himself alight falling on one of the pumpkin lanterns. He was only saved from third degree burns thanks to the prompt action of two guys from Robbery dressed as babies. Who used their bottles of milk to extinguish the flames. Bobby was tempted to say to Deakins "Why can't Elliot do it?" except it would have sounded rather first grade and petty.

A chorus of basso profundo "da da da dada da dada daaaa" accompanied every step across the gymnasium floor, as Bobby did as he was told in going to fetch the female officers from the locker room. An hour into the party none of them had been seen as yet and at least the singing drowned out the creaking of his slow and reluctant steps. They created a kind of "just getting started" rhythm, at least it was for him and one none of the female detectives was ever likely to enjoy, whatever their hopes and dreams were. Despite those indelible purple ink marker pen claims appeared in the ladies rest rooms all over 1PP after last years "Halloween Party". Duly reported by his loyal helpers in the contract cleaning crew who alerted him well in advance.

Not only to the false claims that Bobby/Darth Vader had taken them to "the dark side of the gym", but breathed asthmatically "Come with me Princess" in their ears before "getting out more than his light sabre". And that was only the start of the trouble, as he was then slapped with seven paternity suits on account of the "you're Luke's father" claims. The fact three of the babies were girls not acting as any deterrent to them all choosing that name it would seem.

It had taken DNA testing to prove that was all down to the group of seven motorcycle patrol officers who arrived en masse. Dressed with the intention of saving them all from "Calvera and his gang of Mexican bandits". Something else he'd had to explain to Elliot Stabler who seemed to think John Sturges a place in South Dakota and Kurosawa a make of Japanese car.

Bobby entered the female locker room with a squeak from his boots and grateful for the cloak he wrapped around him. To keep their gaze, sometimes felt like they had x ray vision, from both his "light sabre" and anything else safely tucked in the tight pants and going to stay that way. Thanks to the mask, almost tripping over six carelessly discarded broomsticks and sending five yowling black cats to the top of the lockers. Thirty-five, black robed females wearing pointed hats, throwing parts of amphibians into a steaming pot, reading from dusty books in unknown languages, injecting apples and constructing what looked a dollhouse from gingerbread. They all turned to him as one.

"Is that you Bobby?" asked Eames testing the broth with a spoon.

"No it's Anakin Skywalker" he muttered. He wished he'd shaved again before putting the helmet on as it was starting to itch as bad as his toes were cramping and thinking she was being a little heavy handed with "eye of toad" again.

"So what are you doing here my young Jedi?" she asked scaring him more than the Emperor in the movie ever did any kid.

"I've been sent to fetch you all to the party"

Olivia Benson put down another cat. "What party Bobby?"

"The Halloween Party"

"But that's not until tomorrow" said a female officer patting the bench beside her "You can come over here and use a little of your dark force on me meantime Bobby"

"No thank you" he said politely knowing he was more sexually attracted to Yoda than he ever would be to her had a sort of "wookie thing" going on with her hair "It's not tomorrow. It's tonight"

"He's right" said Eames checking her cobweb covered electronic organiser and tossing a couple of spiders into the pot.

"As usual" sighed a chorus of voices with a devoted breathiness threatened to extinguish every black candle burning in the room.

"Then maybe you should all start getting ready" he said as they began to fling open locker doors on endless Princess Leia costumes, suggested they'd emptied every hire shop in the Five Boroughs.

Bobby sang to himself in a familiar tune all the way back to the gymnasium. "I hate trick or treat, trick or treat…da da dada…"

AN I do not own any purple marker pens and my Princess Leia costume is currently at the dry cleaners…there was a "an accident" on it last night…