Luck of the Draw

by Kikkimax

 

 

With equal parts laughter and victory and tears of bitter defeat, controlled chaos swept the courtroom after the last thud of the gavel.  In a quiet fit of pique Detective Stabler plucked the badge displayed on his front pocket and folded it into its leather case as he rose numbly to his feet.  The urge to fling it across the room and walk away was strong, but he knew from experience the feeling would pass.  Eventually.  He’d done the best he could but it hadn’t been good enough this time and there would be no appeals for the victim.  There never were.

 

“I can’t believe they let the bastard walk,” Olivia Benson swore beside him, shaking with the force of her indignation.  “It’s not your fault, Elliot,” she added guiltily.  “The whole thing was a travesty and the way the judge let them twist your testimony was reprehensible.  She’ll burn for this one if there’s any justice at all.”

 

“There’s not,” Elliot muttered.  “Let’s get out of here.” He led the way past the defendant’s jubilant extended family, outwardly ignoring the personal taunts hurled at him by the youngest brother.  As gratifying as it might be to pound the preppy little twerp into the ground, he knew it would be costly in the long run.  

 

It was harder to disregard the accusing stares of the other family.  Their faces exposed pain that wouldn’t go away, not until the wrongs committed against their dead daughter, sister, mother, and wife were righted.  And obviously, that was never gonna happen.  The law had turned a blind eye to their plight and Elliot suspected more blood would unite these two families sooner rather than later.  And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about that either.  

 

He kept his expression blank and his eyes straight ahead as they joined the bottleneck of people swarming out the packed courtroom’s doors.  Feeling physically ill with disgust at the defendant, the judge, the jury, and most of all at himself, he clamped his jaw tight.  For a brief, panic-filled moment spewing his lunch on the lady in the bright pink pantsuit in front of him seemed like more than a remote possibility.  His gut relaxed a little as he finally cleared the crush of bodies and all but bolted down the hall for the nearest exit, barely aware of Olivia meeting him stride for determined stride.  

 

Without warning his flight was interrupted as he was thrown solidly against the nearest wall.  “What the fuck are you doing here?” a well-dressed stranger demanded furiously, grabbing him by the shoulders.  “How the hell did you get out of Oz?”

 

Olivia responded immediately, coming to her partner’s defense by attempting to shove the attacker away.  “Let him go!”

 

“Liv,” Elliot warned as he unexpectedly yanked the surprised man forward by his expensive lapels, catching him in his own trap.  His face a portrait of cold fury, Elliot never blinked as they glared at each other eye to eye.

 

Alerted by the scuffle a uniformed court officer pushed his way through the gathering crowd of gawkers.  “What’s the problem?” he inquired with his hand hovering over his weapon.

 

“This jerk assaulted my partner,” Olivia reported angrily.

 

“FBI,” the man declared as he released Elliot, who grudgingly relinquished his hold as well.  With the exaggerated caution of a man not wanting to get his head blown off, the assailant stepped back and reached into the inner pocket of his suit for his shield.  “This man is an escaped felon…”

 

“What?” Elliot barked out a stunned laugh.

 

“This man,” Olivia corrected acidly, “Is a highly regarded detective with the NYPD.”

 

“A cop?  No,” the man denied as he studied Elliot again.  “No freakin’ way.”

 

Elliot huffed and straightened his jacket.  “It’s okay,” he told the bailiff as he opened his wallet to his police identification and handed it to the alleged federal agent. “No blood, no foul.”  The officer gave them another once over then did what he could to break up the onlookers before heading back to his post.

 

“Satisfied?” Olivia asked, still seething as the bewildered Fed continued to gape at Elliot’s ID.

 

“This is impossible,” the agent stammered, shaking his head.  “The resemblance is uncanny.”

 

“Honest mistake,” Elliot shrugged as he abruptly reclaimed his wallet and stuffed it back into his pocket.  “Let’s get out of here,” he repeated to Olivia, ushering her down the hall.

 

“Don’t you at least want to get his name?” she balked for a second with one last glower over her shoulder before she acquiesced.

 

“What for?  It’s not like I never threw anyone against a wall.”

 

Olivia snorted her agreement.  “Yeah, but you’re not usually so forgiving.  I’m surprised after what happened in court you didn’t take his head off.  I wanted to.”

 

“I noticed.  Honestly, the mood I’m in right now if I had come out swinging I’m not so sure I could’ve stopped,” Elliot admitted.  They traveled the last few yards in somber silence, the unjust verdict once again hitting home as the noise of the media circus outside grew louder.

 

“What a crappy day,” Olivia sighed as they stepped out into the bright sunshine.

 

The FBI agent watched them go, his mouth still hanging open.

 

***

 

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.  

 

***

 

Two weeks later

 

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 candidly 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 as if 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 spat out sarcastically as he stood up, “Helen or Alice?”  He turned his back on them and moved over to the window to stare into the empty 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, 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 completely sympathetic 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’re 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 to the infirmary where we’ll step in and pull you out to 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.”

 

***

 

Other Gemini traits include: adaptability, ingenuity and cleverness. They are a mental sign and therefore logical, even brilliant at times, possessing a great deal of charm. However, it is important to remember that the symbol for this sign is twins, and that not all twins are alike.                                  

                                                                                               ---Augustus Hill

 

 

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 a 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 without a shower.  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.

 

“Safehouse sweet safehouse,” 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 thumbprint into 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 one-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.  “Alice couldn’t bear to choose,” he told them without turning around.  “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 Chris 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.  “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 eye.  “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 a 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.”

 

Taylor swung the door 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 his hands up 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 safehouse, 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 safehouse.”

 

“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, 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 the 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,” 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 half-baked 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 pull 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 experimentally.

 

“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 exactly what worries me,” Chris rebuked seriously.  “Remember, it’s okay to say fuck every once in awhile.  In fact it’s fucking 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 one-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 backed out of the room and allowed the door to close.  Taking a deep breath, Olivia moved to the side of the cot.  Even up close, the illusion held.  In another place, with no prior knowledge of the situation, she would have sworn under oath that the sleeping man was Elliot Stabler.  As she bent closer to study the features she winced at the purple bruise blossoming on the right side of his forehead.  Suddenly she found herself staring into eerily familiar blue eyes.

 

“Sorry,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing slightly as she stepped back.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”  

 

“Door buzzer,” Keller explained with a yawn before propping himself up on an elbow to assess his latest visitor.  A slow, predatory grin spread across his face.  “You must be Elliot’s partner.”

 

“Yeah, hi, I’m Olivia.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Olivia,” Keller crooned, offering his hand as he swung his feet off the cot and sat up.  “I’m Chris.”

 

“Chris,” Olivia echoed as she gripped his hand in a firm shake.  

 

Seemingly amused, Chris brought her fingers to his mouth and brushed them against his lips in a whisper of a kiss, never losing eye contact.  He reluctantly released her hand when the door buzzed again and Fuller bustled into the room balancing three cups of coffee.  Keller shot the agent an annoyed look but Fuller was oblivious as he deposited the cups on the table and pulled a chair out for Olivia.

 

“Detective Benson brought you lunch,” Fuller exclaimed, waving Keller over as he moved the carryall to the floor.

 

“Yeah?” Chris asked eagerly as he got up and stretched before following Olivia to the table.

 

“I brought a roast beef and Swiss and a pastrami,” Olivia said as she opened the paper bag and sorted out the sandwiches.

 

“Let me guess,” Fuller grinned at her.  “Those are Elliot’s favorites.”

 

“Are they?” Chris asked in surprise as he settled in the chair across from Olivia, leaving Fuller standing.

 

Olivia nodded and smiled when Chris picked up one of the coffee cups and took a cautious sip.  “Yeah.  Which one would you like?” she asked as she began to unwrap them.

 

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Chris shrugged as he rubbed his belly in anticipation.  “Both are a treat.  You chose.”

 

“How about half of each?” Olivia proposed.  “We do that a lot.  Me and Elliot.”

 

“Sure,” Chris agreed readily, pulling one of the unwrapped sandwiches over and trading half with Olivia.  “This is great.  I’m starved.”  He took a big bite of the pastrami half, making appreciative sounds as he chewed.  “Elliot get off okay?” he asked Fuller when he swallowed.

 

“Everything’s going according to plan,” Fuller promised as he hovered at Olivia’s side on the pretense of drinking his coffee.

 

Self-conscious of all the attention, Olivia took a bite.  

 

Keller, too, openly studied her as he wolfed his food down.  “You’re not what I expected,” he said as he polished off the first half of his mixed sandwich, wiping his fingers on a napkin Fuller produced from the bag.

 

“No?  What did Elliot say about me?”

 

“He said not to call you a girl and that if I got out of line you’d kick my ass.”

 

Olivia laughed.  “That sounds like something he’d say.  So what were you expecting?”

 

“Angie Dickinson,” Chris quipped, the seductive grin back in place.

 

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

“Oh, I’m not disappointed, believe me.”

 

“I rather liked Angie Dickinson,” Fuller piped in, earning a set of hard stares.

 

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Keller asked as he started in on the rest of his lunch.

 

“Actually, no.  I’m yours for the afternoon.”

 

Chris exchanged an aggravated look with Olivia that was so well-known to her she choked slightly as she began to laugh.

 

“What?”

 

“This is so surreal,” Olivia said, shaking her head.  “I just can’t believe there are actually two of you.”

 

***

 

“Sit,” Taylor ordered as he pushed Elliot towards the bench in receiving, causing him to stumble.  In spite of the shackles that linked his ankles to his cuffed wrists Elliot’s quick reflexes helped him recover but he glared at Taylor as if he’d hit the deck anyway.

 

As Elliot sat, the hack in charge took one look at his bruised face and picked up the phone.  “Keller’s back,” he reported.  “You’d better get the warden down here though, he looks pretty beat up.”

 

“You got something for me to sign?” Taylor asked.  “We’ve got places to be,” he added, including Johansson who lingered quietly by the door holding an oversized envelope with the name Keller written on it.

 

“Oh hell, no,” the guard refused.  “You don’t go nowhere ‘til the warden gets here.  He’s in a meeting right now so you might as well get comfortable.”

 

Taylor sighed and sauntered over to sit by Elliot, making a show of slapping him on the shoulder jauntily.  “Looks like you get the pleasure of my company a little longer.”

 

“Fuck off,” Elliot growled at him, twisting out from under his hand and sliding down the bench.

 

“Now Chris, don’t be that way,” Taylor goaded, certain the anger wasn’t entirely part of the act and loving it.

 

Twenty minutes later the inside gate opened and Warden Glynn unhurriedly entered the area.  “What’d I tell you, Taylor?” He asked as he stopped to get a good look at the mark above the prisoner’s right eye.  “I said if you didn’t bring him back in one piece I’d have your ass.”

 

“He’s in one piece,” Taylor defended himself casually.

 

“But not uninjured.  What happened?”

 

“He fell.”

 

“Keller?” Glynn asked.

 

“I fell,” Elliot confirmed in a blasé monotone.  

 

“You fell or someone ‘helped’ you fall?  Don’t worry about this prick, you can tell me the truth.”

 

“I tripped on the shackles this morning,” Elliot insisted.  “But it’s not like anybody tried to catch me.”

 

“Take him to the infirmary,” Glynn ordered the guard who obediently bent to unlock Elliot’s chains.

 

“He was already seen at the hospital,” Taylor supplied, snapping his fingers at Johansson who stepped forward to hand him the fabricated medical records.  “Everything you need to know is right here.  He’s got a mild concussion with a little memory loss, but they said that’s only temporary.  He’ll be fine in a couple days.”

 

“Infirmary,” Glynn told the hack again before turning to Taylor.  “Sign the paper and get the hell out of my prison.”

 

“He’s already been medically cleared,” Taylor pushed the paper package into Elliot’s newly freed arms as he got up.  “Just send him back to his cellblock.”

 

“Around here, I give the orders,” Glynn yelled as he stormed over to the counter to grab the clipboard and shove it under Taylor’s nose himself.

 

“Keller …” Taylor warned under his breath, latching onto his sleeve to keep him in place.

 

Elliot leaned forward and whispered into his ear.  “You either trust me to do this or you don’t.  I’ll handle it.”

 

Taylor hesitated briefly then let him go, watching as Elliot joined the guard by the gate that led deeper into Oz.  Hastily scratching his name on the form Glynn held out to him, he collected Johansson and headed the other way, back to the real world.

 

“Think about me,” Elliot called after him with mock affection.

 

“I always do,” Taylor muttered without slowing down.

 

“What did you say to him?” Glynn asked as he handed the clipboard back to the receiving officer, following Elliot when the gate opened.

 

“I told him to have a nice day,” Elliot lied, holding back a shudder at the sound of the iron bars clanking shut behind him.

 

***

 

Having finished his own lunch and a good portion of Olivia’s, Chris eased back in his chair and chatted her up, ignoring Fuller to the best of his ability.  “Tell me about my nieces and nephew,” he requested.

 

“Ah, I don’t want to overstep my boundaries here,” Olivia hedged.  “Maybe Elliot should do that.”

 

Chris scratched his chin thoughtfully and sighed.  “You’re probably right,” he agreed.  “I don’t want to cause any trouble.  It’s not like I’ll ever get to meet them anyway.”

 

“Elliot would probably bring them up some time if you wanted to get to know them.  They’re great kids.”

 

“I’m sure they are.  But maybe they’re better off not knowing their Uncle Chris the jailbird,” he pondered philosophically, covertly checking Olivia’s response.  “They’ve got other aunts and uncles, right?”

 

“It’s a big family,” Olivia confirmed, not quite falling for the ‘poor, poor, pitiful me’ routine.

 

“That’s good,” Chris nodded, carefully gauging the lack of sympathy, chalking it up as a lost cause and moving on to a new topic.  “So, tell me about you and Elliot then.”

 

“Not much to tell.  We work a lot so we’re together almost all the time.”

 

“You get along?”

 

“Most of the time, but not always,” Olivia conceded honestly.  “Don’t get me wrong, Elliot’s the best.  He’s a great partner, hard working, loyal; I never have to worry whether he has my back or not.  But he gets a little overprotective at times when he just won’t accept the fact that I can take care of myself,” she added with an annoyed glance at Fuller.

 

“They say cops being partners is like being married, even when it’s two guys,” Chris led her, eliciting a head nod of agreement.  “You two ever … you know, do the horizontal cha-cha?”

 

“Keller,” Fuller butted in with a disgusted groan.  “At least try to behave.”

 

“No offense,” Chris offered.  “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“We don’t fool around.  Elliot’s the most married man I ever met,” Olivia informed him matter-of-factly.  “Just because a man and woman work together doesn’t automatically mean they’re sleeping together.  Only a shallow minded, chauvinistic …” she stopped mid-rant and assessed the amused expression of the man across from her.  “Why did you do that?”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Push my buttons.”

 

Chris pursed his lips for a minute as he thought then smiled again wryly.  “I don’t know,” he shrugged.  “To see if I could?”

 

The door buzzed and the guard stuck his head into the room.  “Taylor needs to talk to you right away,” he told Fuller.

 

“I have to take this call,” Fuller announced, fully expecting Olivia to follow him to the door.

 

“So take it,” Olivia retorted, not getting up.

 

“I’m not leaving you in here alone.”

 

“I’m not alone.  Chris is here.”

 

Fuller frowned as he looked at Keller.  “That really is my point.”

 

“What exactly do you think I’m gonna do in front of your cameras?” Chris complained.  “The guard is one scream away and according to Elliot, I would be the one doing the screaming anyway.”

 

“I realize you’re just trying to cover your ass, Agent Fuller.  But I assure you I can handle myself with a perp, even unarmed.”

 

With an exasperated harrumph Fuller held up a finger and backed toward the door.  “Fine, but if anything untoward happens while I’m out of the room the FBI will not take responsibility,” he warned then stepped out into the hall with the guard.

 

“I thought he’d never leave,” Chris commented, turning a mischievous grin on her.  “But you didn’t leave.  I must be forgiven then?”

 

“I suppose, just don’t do it again.  I’m on to you now,” Olivia warned.  She tried not to return the smile but Chris was obviously so pleased with himself she couldn’t help it.  He reminded her of a naughty schoolboy who got away with looking up the teacher’s dress.  She wondered if Elliot ever grinned that way.

 

“Lunch was really nice.  What else did you bring me?”

 

“Elliot asked for the stuff out of his locker,” Olivia explained as she picked up the carryall and set it on the table to open it.  “Let’s see, we have soap, shampoo, a towel, clean tee-shirt and sweatpants, shaving cream, although they confiscated the razor.”

 

“Damn.  I really need a shave, too.” Chris got up and began to gather the toiletries in his arms as Olivia unloaded them from the bag.  

 

“There’s also some deodorant, aftershave, toothpaste, and a toothbrush.  Can you think of anything else you might need?”

 

“No, this is great.”  Chris went into the bathroom and unceremoniously dumped the items into the sink of the sterile looking white bathroom.

 

“Oh, no shower curtain,” Olivia noted as she followed him to the door.

 

“Yeah, that would block the piss-cam,” Chris pointed out as he turned to the tub and opened both taps.  “It’s not a problem though.  I can’t remember the last time I had a real bath.”

 

“All you need is some Mister Bubble,” Olivia teased.

 

Chris grinned up at her as he adjusted the water temperature then set the plug.  When he rose to his feet he smoothly stripped out of Elliot’s sweatshirt and tossed it onto the back of the toilet.  He had several knuckle shaped bruises coming up along his back which he took a moment to check out by looking over his shoulder into the metal mirror above the sink.

 

Olivia noticed the marks but since Chris didn’t make a big deal out of them she didn’t ask.  She remained impassive and even surreptitiously checked out his six-pack, but balked when he opened his pants.  “I’ll go,” she offered.

 

“Am I embarrassing you?” Chris asked, pretending to be concerned for her even as he metaphorically threw down the gauntlet.  

 

“No,” Olivia denied.  She clearly read the challenge and vowed not to choke, although the small room was beginning to feel a little warm, what with the steam rising from the tub and all.  “I just thought you might like some privacy.”

 

“Privacy?” Chris scoffed, peeking up at the security camera.  “What’s that?”

 

“Right,” Olivia agreed nervously as he stepped out of the jeans making a half-assed attempt to fold them before he laid them on the closed toilet lid.  His underwear quickly followed and he made no move to cover himself as he dawdled at the sink picking out the soap and shampoo.

 

“I wonder if they’ll let me have the razor later under supervision?” he asked casually as if he weren’t completely exposed to a woman he’d just met.  He took another minute to examine his own reflection in the mirror before seeking out Olivia’s eyes.  “Do you think Elliot is attractive?”

 

“You’re fishing,” Olivia accused, trying in vain to keep her gaze eye level.

 

“You’re too smart for me,” Chris smirked, fully aware of the difficulty she was having.  He milked the situation further by offhandedly stroking his fingers lightly down one magnificently formed butt cheek, drawing her stare down with his hand.  “So you don’t think he’s good-looking at all?”

 

“Of course I do,” Olivia gave in with a sigh, jerking her head back up when she realized she was gawking at his ass.  “What woman wouldn’t?”

 

“Have you ever seen him in the buff?”

 

“No.”

 

“Here’s your chance.”

 

“I have no desire to see Elliot naked,” Olivia denied, forcing herself to relax as Chris shamelessly turned around to face her.  

 

“You know you want to.  Come on,” he breathed seductively, “Be honest.  What do you think?”

 

Olivia swallowed then boldly allowed her gaze to wander briefly before returning to his face.  “Very nice,” she remarked, determined not to let him win.

 

“Thanks,” Chris said as he brushed by her closer than was necessary but without actually touching her.  He stepped over the side of the tub, hissing at the hot water that already reached mid-calf.

 

Olivia flinched at the smell of body odor but choose to ignore the heat rolling off his skin.  “Careful,” she taunted as he gingerly settled in.  “You wouldn’t want to burn the boys.”

 

“I like you, Olivia.” Chris sighed contentedly, leaning his head back and bending his knees up enough to let the still running water rise over his chest.  “You don’t take any shit.  Tell the truth, you bust Elliot’s balls all the time.”

 

“Not all the time.”  Olivia knocked the dirty underwear to the floor before refolding the jeans and sitting on the closed lid holding them in her lap.  “I haven’t decided if I like you or not.”

 

“You haven’t left yet, either.”

 

“No, I guess I haven’t.”

 

***

 

“Doctor Nathan,” the guard called as they entered the infirmary.  “The warden wants you to have a look at Keller.”

 

Elliot glanced around but didn’t see any faces he thought he should know even though almost every eye in the place was on him, with the exception of the two closest patients who were either asleep or in comas.  Of the other three inmates scattered around the large room two were propped up in bed and one sat on a bedside commode in full view of everyone else, all passed the time perusing various nudie magazines.  Two correctional officers looked somewhat bored as they stood together talking quietly at the far end of the room as another inmate pushed a mop bucket by them on his way out.

 

“What’s up?” an attractive Latino woman asked as she appeared out of a glass and wire office.  “Oh, Keller,” she exclaimed when she saw him.  “What happened to you this time?”

 

“Hi, Doc,” Elliot greeted since she seemed to be on familiar terms with him, although Chris hadn’t mentioned anything about a woman doctor.  “I’m okay.”

 

“Let me be the judge of that,” the doctor insisted, already pulling out a penlight as she advanced on him.  “Did you lose consciousness?” she asked, checking his pupils.

 

“I don’t know, I don’t really remember,” Elliot fed her the scripted line as he handed over the packet of phony doctor’s notes and head films, “Maybe for a minute or two.”

 

Nathan made disapproving clucking noises as she took the envelope to the nearest light-box and began to pull out the films and hold them up one by one.  “It looks like they did a head CT.”

 

“That’s the X-ray machine where the table goes through the tunnel?”

 

“Yeah, it is.”

 

“That was cool.”

 

“I’m outta here, Doctor Nathan,” the hack interrupted as he turned to go.  “Hey Keller, I think you’ve still got clothes in the locker at Ad Seg.  I’ll see about sending them over.”

 

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” Elliot replied, earning a double take from the CO before he left.

 

After taking a moment to review all the films, Doctor Nathan went to a cabinet and pulled out a hospital gown. “You know the drill, put this on.”

 

“Why?” Elliot asked.  “I’ve already been poked and prodded all morning.”

 

“Because the warden said so,” Nathan replied adamantly. “And because I’m responsible for you now and I want to check you out myself.”

 

“Where?” Elliot asked with a resigned sigh as he glanced around for a partition or curtained off area.  

 

Nathan looked at him strangely then waved a hand at the ward.  “Pick a bed.  I’ll be with you in a minute.”  She gathered his chart and took it to the office to read while he changed.

 

Since the FBI hadn’t taken an infirmary visit into consideration Elliot was suddenly glad his brother was such a talented con man and had insisted he cover his Marine tat.  Elliot feigned nonchalance he didn’t feel and remembered to strut over to the first bed, not because it was closest but because there was no one in the bed next to it.  Everyone who was awake watched him as he unzipped the jumpsuit.  

 

“Fucking perverts,” he complained as he kicked off Chris’ boots.  

 

“What’s a matter, Keller?  You go and get all shy on us?” a burly, heavily tattooed inmate jeered from further down the row and across the aisle.  “We just want to see what the Feds did to ya.”

 

Elliot stripped off the top of the jumpsuit and did a slow three-sixty to show off his unmarked chest and back.  “Sorry, asshole, they didn’t touch me.”

 

The other man huffed in disappointment then went back to his skin mag.  The hacks lost interest as well as did the man on the toilet who made a production of wiping his ass.  However the small, effeminate man two beds down still stared at him in rapt attention.

 

“Do you mind?” Elliot asked irritably.

 

“Not at all,” the man gushed, his face lighting up as Elliot bit the bullet and stepped out of the jumpsuit.

 

Thankful the bed was at the right height to hide his missing tattoo if not completely cover his manhood, Elliot picked up the gown and slipped it on properly with the slit in back.  “Do I know you?” he asked just to make sure his bases were covered.

 

“Not yet, but I have high hopes.”

 

“Easy there, Cupcake.” One of the hacks unexpectedly entered the conversation.  “Keller’s out of your league.  Way, way out of your league.  He’d have you for breakfast.”

 

“Promises, promises,” the smaller man purred.  “Keller, huh?”

 

“Gerald, at least wait for the stitches to come out before trying to make another date,” Nathan lectured as she reentered the room.  “Hop up there,” she told Elliot.

 

Tugging the back of his gown together, much to Gerald’s dismay, Elliot climbed onto the bed to sit with his legs hanging over the side facing the doctor.

 

“How do you feel?” Nathan asked as she placed her stethoscope over his heart.

 

“Headache,” Elliot admitted truthfully after a brief pause to let her finish listening.  “Not too bad.”

 

Nathan nodded and removed the earpieces from her ears leaving the stethoscope dangling from her neck then reached for his arm.  “What about your elbow?”

 

Elliot shrugged.  “It’s fine.”  He pulled away when she tried to unwrap the ace.  “It’s fine now but if you start messing with it it’s just going to hurt again.”

 

“Don’t be a baby.  I need to look at it.”

 

“It’s just a little hema … hema …”

 

“Hematoma?”

 

“Yeah.  The doctor said to leave it wrapped tight for the next twenty-four hours.”

 

“And you always do what the doctor says,” Nathan harrumphed as if she knew better.  “Can you tell me what happened?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“Your chart says you fell, but I don’t think so.  I’d expect to at least see some abrasions on your chin and nose and maybe even a split lip if you really hit the sidewalk face first.  The bruising is so clean it looks more like someone hit you with something.”

 

“I don’t remember.”

 

“Hmmm.  What’s your prisoner ID number?”

 

“98K514,” Elliot recalled without hesitation.

 

“Who’s the President?”

 

“Doctor Nathan,” Elliot sighed.  “I already played this game today.  I know who the President is, but I can’t tell you what I don’t remember.  And I don’t remember what happened.”

 

“Is that the only thing you’re fuzzy on?”

 

“No.  I’m having a little trouble with faces and names, too.  But that’s all.  Otherwise, I’m fine.”

 

“Oh come on, Keller, something is obviously not right with you.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I can’t quite put my finger on it; you’re just not acting like you.” Nathan narrowed her eyes as she studied him.  “You’re jumpy and nervous and where’s all your usual brash charisma?  If you don’t flirt with me soon I’m going to think you’re mad at me.  I think something happened that you’re just not willing to talk about.”

 

Elliot sniffed and glanced over his shoulder noting Gerald was still ogling him.  “You’re imagining things.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Nathan disagreed, catching him by the chin and forcing him to look at her.  “If they did something to you, you need to tell me.  Will you open up to me if we can talk in private?”

 

“You’re not afraid to be alone with me?”

 

Nathan looked genuinely surprised.  “You’ve never given me any reason to be scared of you.  You’ve always been a gentleman, in your own way.”

 

“There’s really nothing to tell,” Elliot persisted.  He was actually relieved to find out his brother wasn’t a total cad in spite of his propensity to screw with nuns, figuratively speaking.  “I’d just like to go to my pod and lie down.”

 

“Hey Keller,” another hack called out as he entered the room.  “Here’s your stuff.  For the record I ain’t your fuckin’ valet.”  He dropped the work pants, a pair of holey socks, and a white wifebeater onto the bed and wandered over to his fellow COs to shoot the breeze.

 

Elliot ignored him which seemed to be the expected response as no one batted an eye.  “Can’t I just get some Tylenol and go back to Em City?” he requested.

 

“We’ll see,” Nathan said doubtfully.  “Lean forward and let me listen to your lungs.”  As Elliot complied she loosened the gown then warmed the bell of her stethoscope before placing it on his bare back, moving it every few breathes.  “Okay, get dressed and we’ll talk about what to do with you,” she allowed as she stepped back.  

 

When Elliot got off the bed and turned away to reach for his pants she stopped, reaching out to touch his lower back with her hand.  She sucked in an involuntary breath then glared at him for a second before averting her eyes.

 

“What?” Elliot asked, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor.

 

“Get dressed and come this way,” she ordered quietly as she backed away then practically bolted through a set of double doors.

 

By slipping the pants on under the gown, Elliot managed to keep his thigh hidden and his pride intact.  But the only one still paying any attention to him was Gerald who blew him a kiss with a little fingertip wave.  Elliot smirked and shook his head at the bizarre but harmless flirting.  Forgoing the holey socks he pulled on the boots then tossed the gown to the bed and slipped the undershirt over his head as he followed the obviously spooked doctor.  When he spotted her in a doorway just down a short hall she looked up at him grimly and stepped inside.  He couldn’t imagine what he might have said or done to set off the odd behavior so he entered the small examination room slowly, more than a little apprehensive.

 

Standing on the other side of the exam table, Nathan stared at him like he had grown another head.  “Close it,” she said.  As soon as the door was shut she took a deep breath and calmly inquired, “Who the hell are you?”

 

“What?”

 

“You want to play it that way?  Fine.  I think I’ll order a DNA test,” Nathan challenged, barely keeping the anger out of her voice.

 

Elliot leaned against the doorframe and shrugged.  “Go ahead.  It’s just a needle stick, right?”

 

“Unwrap your arm,” she demanded.

 

“Why?”

 

“Just do it or I’ll call a CO to do it for you.”

 

Taking a gamble that the doctor had so many patients with tattoos she wouldn’t be able to keep them all straight, Elliot unhooked the little metal clips and slowly unwound the ace.  Nathan came around the table and stood in front of him.  As the ink came into view the look of confusion on her face turned into amazement then fear and Elliot knew he’d lost that bet.

 

“Are you into body art or something?” Elliot asked without actually acknowledging anything.  “I know you can’t recognize every prisoner by their tats.”

 

“No, but I know Keller.  I fought hard to save his life when he was stabbed in the back.  He spent weeks in here recovering, the whole time trying to charm the pants off every female in sight no matter how bad he felt.”

 

“What tipped you off?” Elliot asked, finally conceding he had been compromised.

 

“You are a remarkable facsimile, but you don’t have any scars from the stabbing.”

 

“The devil is in the details.  We weren’t anticipating a physical; we thought the medical records would cover it.”

 

“Any other doctor probably wouldn’t have noticed,” Nathan admitted.  “But I’ve always had a soft spot for Chris.  Is he okay?”

 

“Yeah, I give you my word, he’s fine.  He’ll be back in Oz before he wants to be, that’s for sure.”

 

“How is this possible?” Nathan asked, reaching out to touch Elliot’s face but then pulling back at the last minute.

 

Elliot smirked.  “We’ll never know for sure but I suspect it all started in the backseat of a car somewhere, or maybe a seedy motel room.”

 

“Twins,” Nathan surmised.  “No wonder you didn’t balk at a DNA test.”

 

“I know how it works; the state never would have let you run one.  It costs too much.”

 

“So, you’re an FBI agent?”

 

“No, but I am a cop.  Look, this has nothing to do with Chris so you don’t have to worry about that.  I should be able to do what I came here for and be out of here by tomorrow afternoon.  But if you tell anyone about me, and I mean anybody, you’ll probably get me killed.”

 

“I have to tell the warden something.”

 

“Tell him I have a head injury and you sent me back to Em City to rest.”

 

Nathan looked around desperately, unsure of what to do.  “How do I know you’re not up to something illegal like an assassination or something?”

 

“You’re going to have to trust me, just like I’m going to trust you.  My life is in your hands, Doctor.  Please, do the right thing.”

 

Releasing a pent up breath, Nathan rubbed her hands down the front of her lab coat.  “You want something for your headache?  I’m assuming of course that the bruise is real.”

 

“It is.  Tylenol would be great.”

 

“So what happened?” Nathan asked, indicating his forehead as she unlocked the medicine cabinet and pulled out a large bottle of pills.  

 

“Chris head-butted me,” Elliot explained, holding out his hand as she shook out three tablets.  “He didn’t think I looked like I could have a head injury.”

 

Nathan smiled, but it faded fast.  “Do you even know what you’re getting in to?”

 

“No idea,” Elliot retorted as he popped the pills into his mouth and dry swallowed them.

 

“I’ll have a guard take you to Em City,” Nathan finally agreed.  “What should I call you?”

 

“Call me Keller.”

 

“Okay.  Good luck, Keller.  Please don’t show up in my infirmary bleeding.”

 

“I’ll do my best.”

 

***

 

       There are broad distinctions within the Gemini character. Inseparable as two sides of a coin, those born         in this sign can be dazzling and irresistible or inconstant and irrational. But one thing is certain; Gemini         are seldom what they seem to be.

                                                                                                                 ---Augustus Hill

 

 

“So how’s the newest project coming?” Beecher asked Busmalis as he studied his cards, well aware his next door neighbor had started a new tunnel.

 

“Shhh,” Rebadow cautioned, glancing around to see if anyone was listening.  “Don’t talk about it, it’ll jinx it.”

 

“I’m having trouble with a pipe, actually,” Busmalis replied, ignoring his podmate’s warning.  “How many cards would you like?”

 

“Just one,” Beecher said.

 

“I fold,” Rebadow responded unhappily.

 

“Dealer takes two.”

 

“Beecher,” Hill interrupted the three-handed poker game as he rolled his wheelchair up to the table, tipping his chin toward the gate.

 

Toby looked up and sighed in relief when he saw Keller saunter inside, apparently unharmed except for a nasty bruise on his forehead and a bandage below his right elbow.  He quickly hid the grin that threatened to surface and looked down at his cards, knowing without a doubt Chris would be headed in his direction.

 

“Keller, you survive your little vacation with the FBI?” Pancamo greeted from the next table as Chris passed through.

 

“Ah, fuckin’ Feds,” Chris replied with a dismissive wave as he continued to walk.  “What a bunch of amateurs.  Huh?”

 

The big Italian laughed his agreement and Keller made a beeline for the stairs without so much as a glance in Beecher’s direction.

 

Hill raised an eyebrow as Toby threw his hand down.  “I’m out.”

 

“Why’d you fold?  You had two pair,” Busmalis pointed out as he turned the discarded pile face up.

 

“Leave him alone.  He’s got other things on his mind,” Rebadow chimed in.  

 

Sparing a scowl for both of them, Toby got to his feet and followed in Chris’ path.

 

“Real subtle, Beecher,” Hill called after him as he gathered the cards.  “Anybody wanna play gin?”

 

Toby ignored the jibe but made an effort not to take the stairs two at a time.  As he reached the top Keller was just disappearing into his pod.  He progressively quickened his pace and practically ran the last few steps to the door of the cell.  Chris spun on him in surprise with his fists clenched as he crouched slightly in a defensive posture.

 

“It’s just me,” Toby soothed, holding out his hands to show that they were empty.

 

“What the fuck, Toby?” Chris sighed, not sounding all that relieved but making an obvious attempt to relax.  

 

“I don’t want to fight.  I just came to see if you’re okay.”

 

Chris kicked off his boots and wandered over to the small locker to dig out a pair of socks.  “Two days without socks, I think I got a blister,” he replied as he sat on the bottom bunk and put them on, wiggling the little toe that stuck out the hole in the left one.

 

“What did they do to you?” Beecher asked anxiously as he did a quick visual inspection looking for further damage.

 

“Aw, you know.  Same shit, different day,” Chris shrugged, lying back on the bed and draping his uninjured arm across eyes.  

 

“Somebody hit you.”

 

“Yeah.  I don’t really remember, though.  So who’s my new roommate?”

 

“Oh, ah, some freak named Dwayne Halstead.”  

 

“Dwayne?  You’re kidding me,” Chris peeked out from under his arm.  “Dwayne?  Not another damned pedophile I hope.”

 

“No, he’s in for first degree murder.  At least that’s what he’s claiming.  He’s never been in before so I think that’s just what he’s telling everybody to establish a rep.”

 

“Oh, joy,” Chris replied as he covered his eyes again. While not exactly unfriendly, his usual passion of love or hate, whichever he happened to be feeling at any given moment, was absent.  

 

“I know you didn’t kill Fletcher,” Toby rambled, grateful for a chance to carry on a civil conversation with him no matter how distant he seemed.  “I told McManus it wasn’t you.”

 

“They didn’t really suspect me anyway.”  

 

Toby hung around the door even after Chris stopped talking and appeared to be drifting off to sleep.  “I washed your bedding,” Toby said to rouse him.  “And your clothes.  There was blood everywhere.”

 

Suddenly Chris was looking at him again, not quite suspiciously but certainly with his guard up.  “Why’d you do that?”

 

“I didn’t think anybody else would.”

 

After an uncomfortable pause Chris cleared his throat.  “Thanks.”

 

Toby fidgeted for a minute.  “Are you really okay?” he finally blurted out.  

 

“Sure.  You know me.”

 

“You must be Keller,” an ugly, middle-aged man with a fake New Jersey accent replied as he appeared in the door behind Toby.

 

“And you must be Dwayne,” Chris drawled distractedly, reaching up to play with a string hanging from the mattress above him.

 

“You can call me Stone.”

 

“How do you get Stone out of Halstead?” Beecher asked as he stepped out of the way.

 

“That’s just my prison nickname.”

 

“You been here what?  Two weeks?  How’d you get a name already?” Chris laughed.  “Cause you sure as hell look like fresh fish to me.”

 

“Look, I heard stories about you,” Dwayne said, sounding defensive and more than a little scared.  “I heard you got a temper.”

 

“Nah, I don’t have a temper.  Do I have a temper, Beecher?”

 

Toby huffed as he moved even further into the pod to get away from Dwayne who was starting to sweat.  “Temper?  No, not you, Chris.”

 

“I just wanna say if we’re gonna be bunkmates I don’t want no trouble,” Dwayne explained nervously.  “You know, I heard … things.”

 

“Things.  Well just don’t test me and we won’t have a problem.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Dwayne agreed nodding his head fervently.  “I’ll just stay outta your hair.”

 

“You do that,” Chris said, seemingly still fascinated with the string.

 

“Dinner!” a hack shouted from somewhere down below.  

 

“See ya,” Dwayne muttered, making a break for it.

 

Toby grinned maniacally. “Bye-bye, Stone.”

 

“Later, Dwayne,” Chris replied softly without even glancing at the retreating man.

 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” Toby asked, turning to Chris.  “We could sit together,” he added hopefully.  

 

“You go, I just wanna rest.”

 

Toby frowned and took a really good look at his former podmate.  Being out of Oz had obviously done Chris some good as he had a more color than usual but overall he appeared a little shaky.  

 

“Yeah, you rest,” Toby advised uneasily before walking out, still not sure if he’d been dismissed or if Chris was hurt worse than he let on.  Murphy passed him on his way down the stairs so he lingered on the last step and watched the hack disappear into Chris’ pod.  

 

“Beecher, get your butt in gear if you want to eat,” the CO at the gate called to him impatiently as the last few prisoners streamed through.

 

Knowing Murphy wouldn’t hurt Chris for no good reason, and certainly not for revenge, Toby sighed and headed for the chow hall.

 

***

 

Elliot took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to calm his nerves.  Not even half an hour in Em City and already he couldn’t shake the one man Chris was convinced could blow his cover.  His stomach rumbled but he thought missing a meal while waiting for lockdown was preferable to getting a shank in the back from Chris’ spurned lover.  

 

He was amazed how harrowing it was just being locked up, knowing he was not in control of any aspect of his life until he left this place.  Knowing he was surrounded by the scum of the earth who would gladly bleed him dry just because of who he was.  Sure they had discussed it.  He had known exactly what he was getting in to; at least he thought he had.  But the reality far, far exceeded his expectations.  Never could he remember feeling such leaden fear in the pit of his stomach when not actually under fire.  

 

After a minute or so his heart finally began to ease its frantic beating but he couldn’t quite calm the tiny tremble in his hands.  When a shadow fell through the door he jumped involuntarily.

 

“Easy, Keller,” the head hack advised as he entered without an invitation and leaned against the wall next to the sink.

 

“Murphy,” Elliot greeted, the cop in him overjoyed to see a guard instead of another prisoner.  “Sorry about the thing with the rookie,” he immediately apologized to get off on the right foot.

 

Murphy huffed a short laugh.  “I think you taught the kid more in thirty seconds than he ever learned in school.  Still, I wanted to send you back to finish your stint in the hole but Nathan vetoed that idea.”

 

“Yeah?  What else did she say?”

 

“She said no gym, no work detail, and to keep an eye on ya.  I told her if you needed a babysitter she should keep you in the infirmary.”

 

“You sending me back?” Elliot asked edgily.  The last thing he wanted was to miss his window of opportunity to get to the informant.

 

“No, I’m sending you to dinner.”

 

His heart jumped into overdrive again but Elliot tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice.  “I’m not hungry.”

 

“Did it sound like I was asking?” Murphy grouched.  “Nathan was real insistent that I should take care of you, so that’s what I’m trying to do.  I know you got beat down but you gotta get back in the swing of things.  The sooner the better.”

 

Realizing he had no choice, Elliot swung his feet off the bed and stood.  At the abrupt movement his vision grayed and he swayed dizzily.  He grabbed for the upper bunk but if not for the strong hands under his arms he would have gone to his knees.  

 

“Keller!”

 

Elliot rested his head on the top mattress for a few seconds and breathed through the nausea while Murphy continued to steady him.  As soon as the vertigo passed he pushed away from the support and stumbled to the sink.  

 

“I’m okay,” Elliot insisted as he turned on the tap and splashed his face with lukewarm water.  “Just give me a minute.”

 

“That’s it.  You’re going to the infirmary now.”

 

“No.” Elliot wiped his face with a towel.  “You were right; my blood sugar must be low.  I just need some food.”

 

“They didn’t feed you?” Murphy asked skeptically.

 

Elliot thought about the way Taylor had kept Chris hungry while he interrogated him and almost answered in the affirmative.  But he realized most good law enforcement officers would be loath to believe a story like that of their brothers in blue, especially coming from a con.  “I felt sick after the fall so I didn’t eat,” he lied instead of telling the half-truth on his lips.

 

“Let’s go,” Murphy ordered as he herded him out of the cell. “You go eat but I’m still telling Doctor Nathan what happened.  I’ll get Mineo to take you to dinner and keep an eye on you.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” Elliot protested knowing a personal guard might be safer but would only bring unwanted attention.

 

“Stop arguing and move.”

 

***

 

By the time they reached the cafeteria Elliot realized not all the guards were as easy going as Murphy.  An older CO followed wordlessly behind him, cranky and aloof, giving him a helpful shove in the right direction every time Elliot paused to get his bearings.  Blueprints were one thing; the cold gray halls of Oz were quite another.  

 

As they entered the big open room the first person Elliot recognized was Beecher who was throwing out the remains of what appeared to be a hastily eaten meal.  He stopped and stared at Elliot as Mineo deposited him at the end of the very short line of prisoners waiting for food.  

 

Looking angry and hurt, Beecher headed straight for them. “I thought you wanted to rest?” he asked accusingly, keeping his voice low as he leaned in close.

 

Elliot shrugged unhappily and glanced around.  “Murphy had other ideas,” he explained.

 

“Oh.  Okay.  I’ll wait for you then.  I wanted to talk to you about moving back in ...”

 

“Move along, Beecher,” Mineo interrupted.  “You know the rules; no loitering in the cafeteria.”

 

“I know, I was just …”

 

“Move,” Mineo ordered gruffly, leaving no room for further discussion.

 

Uncomfortable with the look of absolute longing Beecher fixed on him Elliot turned his head ostensibly to see what was for dinner.  When he glanced back Toby was storming out of the room.

 

“Aw Keller, you broke your girlfriend’s heart.  Again,” Mineo taunted.  “You think you can make it back to Em City by yourself?”

 

“I think I can manage,” Elliot replied as he took a paper tray and held it out for some mixed vegetables.

 

Mineo grunted his approval and walked away.

 

“K-boy!”

 

Elliot took a dinner roll and a juice then moved along to the chicken nuggets.

 

“Keller?” the voice repeated sounding slightly worried this time.

 

Glancing up, Elliot realized the man holding a pair of tongs over the last few pieces of deep fried, over-processed chicken had been speaking to him.  “Hey, O’Reily,” he responded after quickly sorting through the pictures in his head.

 

Ryan dished out the remaining nuggets onto his tray as he looked him over.  “You’re really out of it.  I guess the FBI worked you over pretty good.”

 

“Nah,” Elliot sighed.  “One lucky punch is all.”

 

“So you didn’t tell them anything.”

 

“About what?”

 

“Right.”  A slow smile spread across the Irishman’s face.  “I wasn’t worried.”

 

“Sure you weren’t,” Elliot scoffed as he moved away, certain he didn’t want to know what Chris had gotten up to that Ryan wasn’t worried about.

 

On his way to the nearest open table a couple skinheads sneered at him, blocking his path until one of them bumped him hard enough to slosh some of the runny vegetables out of their neat little compartment into the chicken.  Knowing instinctively he couldn’t let the challenge pass unanswered Elliot shot out his free hand to grab the jerk by the throat.  “Watch it, asshole,” he snarled.  “I’m in a real bad mood.”

 

The guy glared back at him but broke away just as a hack started their way.  “Dead man walking,” the other Nazi threatened, backing off as well.

 

“Fuck you, you hairless bastards.”

 

“That’s enough,” the guard instructed as he pointed his nightstick toward the exit to make sure the two retreating men actually left.  

 

Elliot acknowledged the hack with a nod then settled at the empty table and began to pick at his food.  All the while he kept an eye on the prisoners around him as they polished off their meals and left.  No one else approached him.  The fare was bland but filling and he ate all of it in spite of the recurring nausea.  Petulantly he hoped Chris’ head hurt as bad as his did, because the Tylenol hadn’t even taken the edge off.

 

By the time he was finishing up the room was almost empty and the workers behind the counter had already made a big dent in the cleanup effort.  He lingered over his juice to allow the halls time to clear before heading back to Em City and watched the scurry of the kitchen staff.

 

“Cyril, wait for me,” O’Reily ordered a man with long blonde hair who hovered near the door.  “I got some business to take care of,” he added before disappearing into the back.

 

“Ryyyaaannn!” the big man wailed.  “I gotta go!”

 

As a father of four Elliot recognized a pee-pee dance when he saw one.  It was somewhat disconcerting to watch it performed by a grown man until he remembered one of the O’Reily brothers had a brain injury.  As he got up to throw out his tray he internally debated helping the guy find a safe place to take a leak.  Chris had insisted he should keep his head down and mind his own business no matter what, but he couldn’t really see the harm.  Just as he made up his mind Cyril bolted out the door.  

 

He realized the man-child had a lot more experience with prison life than he did, but Elliot dropped his tray in the trash and followed anyway just to be on the safe side.  As soon as he stepped out the cafeteria door he heard the sound of frightened whimpers and instinctively knew things had already gone sour.  Glancing to the right he witnessed Cyril being cornered in an alcove by the same two shitheads who had harassed him earlier.  

 

“Leave him alone,” Elliot shouted to draw the attention of any nearby guard to the ominously empty hallway.

 

“Hey Keller, we were waiting for you.”

 

“Yeah, take a number; we’ll be right with ya as soon as we finish with the retard.”

 

 “If you want me then let him go,” Elliot reasoned as he stalled for time, hoping fervently that someone would walk up any minute.  The food hadn’t really helped and he was still lightheaded.  He didn’t think he could fight both men at once without breaking his promise to Doctor Nathan.

 

“Ryan,” Cyril sobbed quietly as a yellow stain quickly spread across the front of his white work pants.

 

“Hey look!  The retard pissed his britches,” one of the Aryans crowed triumphantly.

 

When the other man spun around to point and laugh, Elliot took advantage of the opening and slammed the creep face-first into the wall, effectively taking him out of the game and evening the odds.  The guy’s buddy was on him instantly, brandishing a sharpened toothbrush.  Elliot blocked the blow with his left forearm but was knocked down by a blur of white before he could throw a punch.  Finding himself slumped against the wall he watched through a woozy haze as Cyril thoroughly pounded the unresisting man.  

 

“Cyril!” Elliot yelled as soon as his head cleared enough to speak.  He dodged the flying fists and grabbed the frenzied man around the waist pulling him off his apparently half-dead mark.  

 

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” Elliot consoled as he lowered the simple man to the floor.  Cyril clung to him with bloodied hands and began to weep, calling piteously for his brother.  He patted Cyril’s back and rocked him gently.  So much for minding his own business he thought, hoping Chris would have done the same thing under similar circumstances.  

 

***

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Rebadow asked out of the blue.  

 

Beecher looked up, ready to bite his head off when he realized the old man wasn’t talking to him but to his podmate who had disappeared shortly after dinner.

 

“The warden gave me permission to marry Norma,” Busmalis explained anxiously as he pulled up a chair.

 

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Beecher butted in impatiently.

 

“I do, I do!  More than anything.  But I had to make promises.”

 

“What kind of promises?” Rebadow narrowed his eyes.

 

Busmalis looked around then leaned in closer.  “I had to promise not to dig any more tunnels.”

 

“But we’re halfway there!” Rebadow protested, throwing up his hands.

 

“Shh.  We have to fill it back in.”

 

“All that work.”

 

“I promised.”

 

Rebadow pulled off his hat and tossed it to table.  

 

“Please, Bob,” Busmalis pleaded.  

 

Letting out a breath, Rebadow slowly nodded.  “Sure, sure.  We’ll start tonight.”

 

Busmalis beamed.

 

“Well I’m glad somebody’s found a little happiness around here,” Beecher muttered sourly.

 

“So what’s the matter with you?” Rebadow asked, putting his hat back on as he turned his attention to Beecher.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“It’s Keller,” Busmalis replied knowingly.

 

“It’s not Keller,” Toby snapped.  “I’m fine.”

 

“Keller’s giving you the brush off.  We all saw,” Rebadow agreed with Busmalis.

 

“It looks to me like the man might have a headache,” Busmalis pointed out.  “That’s certainly a nasty bruise.  I’m sure the interrogation was brutal.”

 

“So you don’t think it has anything to do with me?” Beecher asked sheepishly, realizing how self-centered he sounded.

 

“Did he start a fight?”

 

“No.”

 

“Did he tell you to fuck off?”

 

“Busmalis!” Rebadow scolded in shock.

 

“Did he?”

 

“Well, no,” Toby admitted.  “He just acts like … like his head hurts.”

 

Rebadow smiled softly.  “So leave him alone for a couple of days and then approach him again.”

 

“I can’t.  If he’s really hurt he needs someone to watch his back.”

 

“So do it from a distance,” Rebadow advised.

 

Toby huffed softly to himself.  “I’ll try.”

 

***

 

“What the hell?” a hack questioned as he rounded the corner.  

 

“Keep it down,” Elliot advised tersely as Cyril crowded even closer to him.  “You’re scaring him.”

 

“Scaring him?  It looks like you guys beat the hell out of these two.”

 

“They jumped us.  It was self defense.”

 

“Sure it was,” the CO agreed sarcastically but didn’t seem inclined to press the issue.  “I need a medical team in the hall by the cafeteria,” he requested via radio as he knelt to check the worst of the fallen men for a pulse.  

 

“Cyril,” Elliot whispered to the fair head pressed against his chest.  “Cyril, do you know who I am?”

 

Cyril nodded and sniffled.  “Chwis,” he muttered with a timid lisp, completely incongruent with the man who had just beaten the crap out of his tormentor.

 

“That’s right,” Elliot said, swallowing the lump in his throat.  “Come on.  Let’s go find Ryan.”

 

“Okay,” Cyril agreed tearfully.  He got up and headed for Emerald City, pulling Elliot along with him.  Wanting to get back to the relative safety of the cellblock, Elliot didn’t point out that if Ryan had come out of the cafeteria he would have seen them and stopped.

 

“Hey,” the hack called out after them.  “This ain’t over.  Don’t wander off.”

 

“I already told you what happened,” Elliot replied over his shoulder as he tried to keep up with a desperate, Ryan-seeking Cyril without getting his shoulder yanked out of its socket. “Besides, you know where to find us.”  

 

When they were almost to the gate Elliot heard rapid footsteps coming from behind and grabbed Cyril by the shirt to slow him down long enough to see if there was any danger.  “Cyril, there’s Ryan,” he said when he saw who was running towards them.

 

“Shit,” Ryan cursed breathlessly when he reached them, checking out the blood.  “I saw the Aryans.  What the fuck happened?”

 

“Bad men,” Cyril explained getting misty eyed again.  His lip quivered as he released Elliot to go to his brother.  

 

“Did they hurt you?” Ryan asked in a dangerous voice.

 

“They didn’t touch him, this time. But you need to do a better job of watching out for him,” Elliot warned.

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Ryan retorted, turning his fury on Elliot.  “He’s hardheaded sometimes.  I told him to wait!”

 

“He had to pee!”

 

Cyril shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably as Ryan finally looked down and noticed his saggy wet pants.  “Aw, Cyril,” Ryan moaned miserably.

 

“Chwis saved me from the bad men.”

 

“He did, huh?” Ryan asked, glancing at Elliot who glared back at him.

 

“Let’s go,” Mineo ordered as he appeared in the hallway from parts unknown to herd them back to the cellblock.

 

As they walked Cyril babbled to Ryan incessantly and Ryan made the right noises at the right times but his thoughts were apparently somewhere else.  Listening to the one-sided conversation Elliot realized Cyril had been abused by the Aryans at least once before and they had gotten away with it.  

 

The thought of the naive man getting gang raped made him feel sick and he vowed to do something about it when he got out.  Unfortunately, he had no idea what that might be.  He had no jurisdiction over anything that happened in Oz.

 

“Open!” Mineo called out when they reached Em City, acting as if he’d been with them the whole time.

 

Murphy looked down from the guard station as they passed through the gate.  “Keller, McManus wants to see you.”

 

“Aw come on.  I’m covered in blood and piss,” Elliot protested, earning a hard look from Mineo.

 

“Why?  What happened?” Murphy repeated the question of the hour.

 

“Tussle in the hall,” Mineo provided as if he’d been there.  “Nobody got hurt.”

 

“If you don’t count the two skinheads who jumped Cyril,” Ryan said nastily.  “I’d say they got hurt.”

 

“I meant our guys.”

 

“Yeah.  Where were you again when it happened, Mineo?”

 

“Shut up.”  

 

Murphy watched the byplay with interest.  “Okay, Keller, hit the showers first but then get your ass up to McManus’ office pronto.”

 

“Shower?” Elliot balked.

 

“Mineo,” Murphy continued, dismissing Elliot as he turned to his subordinate, “Why don’t you come up here and give me a report.”  

 

Ryan smirked at a thoroughly pissed off Mineo then slapped Elliot on the shoulder.  “I owe you one, K-boy,” he said.  “Come on Cyril, you need a shower, too.”

 

Dinner sat ever heavier on Elliot’s stomach as he made his way through the common area to the stairs.  So far he hadn’t had a lot of luck keeping his pants on and now Murphy had ordered him to the showers.  He knew he was a walking bio-hazard but wondered if he could get away with a quick rag bath at the sink without appearing out of character.  Somehow he doubted it.  Blood might not bother him too much but Chris didn’t seem like the type to shrug off getting someone else’s pee on him.   

 

Unaware of the gory handprints that stood out in stark contrast on the back of his white wifebeater he glowered at the people staring at him, including a wide-eyed Beecher who immediately got up to follow as he passed by.  Hopeful thoughts of showering alone before Cyril and Ryan showed up suddenly grew dimmer.

 

“Not now, Toby,” Elliot said as Beecher fell into step with him on the stairs.

 

“What happened?”

 

Elliot rolled his eyes and sighed.  “Fucking Nazis were messing with Cyril.”

 

“And you helped him?”

 

Stopping in his tracks Elliot rubbed his eyes.  “Christ.  Is that really such a hard thing to believe?”

 

“No,” Toby answered cautiously.  

 

“Cyril shouldn’t even be in here,” Elliot ranted, continuing his ascent with Toby right on his heels.  “What the hell were they thinking?   He can’t take care of himself in this cesspool, there are fucking predators everywhere.”

 

“Welcome to Oz,” Toby replied with a snort.

 

“Seriously, Beecher, shove off.  I gotta get cleaned up.  McManus wants to see me.”

 

“Since when do you jump for McManus?”

 

Heaving another heartfelt sigh, Elliot turned to face Toby as they reached the top of the stairs.  “What do you want from me?” he asked earnestly.

 

Taken aback, Toby searched his eyes, slowly raising a hand to stroke up Elliot’s arm.  “I want us to forget all the bad shit and get back to where we were.  You want that, too, you just won’t admit it.”

 

Elliot flinched away and headed for his pod. “I can’t do this right now.”  He didn’t look back but knew he was no longer being followed.  When he got to his door he turned to find Toby staring at him, leaning against the rail by the stairs and waiting patiently.

 

“Dwayne,” Elliot greeted indifferently as he entered the cell, finally noticing the blood on his shirt as he tugged it over his head.  “Don’t worry, it’s not mine,” he offered casually to the horrified man on the top bunk as he waded up the fabric and tossed it into the corner.

 

“Oh, that’s good,” Dwayne muttered feebly as he climbed down from his perch. “I’ll just let you have some privacy.” Giving Elliot a wide berth, he slipped out the door.  

 

Elliot shrugged as he kicked off his boots and found a towel.  He washed his hands and forearms thoroughly then after a quick look around he turned his back to the glass front of the pod and stepped out of his pants.  The second he was naked someone burst into the room behind him and shut the door, scaring the shit out of him.  

 

“Jesus!  Don’t do that,” he squawked as he spun around.  He grabbed the towel and hastily wrapped it around his waist.

 

“Are you okay?” Doctor Nathan asked with the air of a woman who’d seen it all and wasn’t impressed.

 

“Shouldn’t you be looking after the Aryans?” Elliot asked haughtily, trying not to look as embarrassed as he felt having been caught with his pants down, literally and figuratively.

 

“They’re fine,” Nathan smirked.  “One of them is on the way to town to have his jaw wired together and the other refused treatment by a member of one of the ‘mud races’.  He’ll be singing a different tune when the adrenaline wears off and he needs something for pain.  Sit down and let me look at you.”

 

“Honestly, I don’t have a scratch on me,” Elliot assured.  “I’m a hundred percent.”

 

“That’s funny.  I heard you were dizzy and white as a sheet before dinner.”

 

“Murphy,” Elliot grumbled as he finally took a seat on the lower bunk.  

 

“I take it the head CT was a fake?” Nathan asked as she pulled a chair opposite him and took out her penlight.

 

“Yeah.  I think the Bureau actually keeps those things on file for ops like this.  Do you always make house calls?”

 

“When I have to,” Nathan replied offhandedly as she flicked her light in one eye and then the other.  She frowned and did it again.

 

“What?”

 

“Any nausea with the dizziness?”

 

“Some.”

 

“I think you have a concussion.  I’m pulling the plug on your little operation.”

 

“You can’t do that,” Elliot protested.

 

“You can’t look after yourself properly with a head injury,” Nathan argued.

 

“Yeah?  Tell that to those two skinheads,” Elliot pointed out.  He conveniently forgot to mention that Cyril had inflicted the majority of the damage while he was incapacitated and slumped against a wall.   

 

“At least let me put you in the infirmary tonight.  I’ll release you first thing in the morning,” Nathan offered as a compromise.  

 

“Will they transfer any prisoners in here tonight?”

 

“I doubt it.”

 

Elliot shook his head.  “I can’t take the chance.  How about I check in with you first thing in the morning?”

 

“You’re one stubborn son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

 

“Like I’ve never heard that before,” Elliot grinned, glancing up to see Beecher talking to Dwayne outside the pod, watching him worriedly.  “Doesn’t he ever give up?”

 

“He loves you,” Nathan teased very gently.  

 

“Yeah,” Elliot sighed as he scratched his head.  “I think Chris might love him, too, judging by the way he talks about him.  I don’t want to mess anything up for him but I don’t want to have to play footsies with Beecher either.”

 

Doctor Nathan laughed at that then sobered.  “People do strange things in the name of love.  I believe Beecher really does love Keller even though he has every reason not to.  Please don’t hurt him if you can help it, he’s been through enough.”

 

Seeming to know that they were talking about him, Toby opened the door a crack and stuck his head in.  “Is everything all right?” he asked.

 

“He’ll be fine.  Just give us another minute,” Nathan requested politely.

 

“Sure.” Toby backed out and moved to the rail to pick up his conversation with a slightly panicked Dwayne, no doubt giving him all the gruesome details about how Keller broke both his arms back when they were podmates.

 

The doctor opened her bag and pulled out a new ace wrap.  “Let’s change that,” she said.

 

Elliot glanced down at his arm and noticed the dried blood.  “Are you going to check on Cyril while you’re here?”

 

“Is he hurt?” Nathan asked, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before starting to unwrap the soiled bandage.

 

“His knuckles are pretty banged up.  He’s scared.  They raped him, you know.  Before.”

 

“I know.”

 

“He doesn’t belong here,” Elliot swore, getting angry again.  “Somebody really screwed up.”

 

“Do you know why Cyril is here?” Nathan inquired calmly as she turned and dropped the old wrap into the trash.

 

“You mean what’s he in for?”  Elliot dropped his arm and turned his body just enough to block their view as Beecher and Dwayne moved forward to try to get a look at the nonexistent injury.  Ryan O’Reily joined them at the door, staring inside intently.  “Yeah, let me think.  I’m pretty sure he’s doing life for first degree murder.”

 

“Well your recall seems intact.”

 

“I’ve been a cop for a long time.  I remember stuff like that,” Elliot whispered into her ear as she leaned forward to rewrap his tattoo, well aware of the overt attempts at eavesdropping from outside.

 

Ryan rapped on the door crossly but the doctor ignored him.  “The man Cyril killed was Preston Nathan, my husband,” she said quietly.  “Ryan put him up to it.”

 

Shocked, Elliot met Ryan’s murderous gaze through the glass.  “Why?”

 

“Because people do strange things in the name of love,” Nathan repeated, looking up at Ryan.

 

“Gloria,” Ryan called as he opened the door.  “Cyril needs you.”

 

“I’ll be there in a minute.  Go wait in your pod.”

 

“Oh hell, no,” Ryan refused.  “I’m not leaving you alone in here with Don Juan.”

 

“Hey,” Beecher complained, defending his loved one. “He’s not bothering her.”

 

“Somebody having a wing-ding and didn’t invite me?” McManus asked as he strolled up.  “Doctor Nathan doesn’t need an audience.  Break it up.  O’Reily, go see about your brother.”

 

Ryan glared at McManus before leaning back into the pod.  “Hurry up.  And no more whispering,” he warned before stalking off.

 

“Beecher?”

 

“I’m going,” Toby grumbled.  He waved at Elliot and seemed very pleased to get a hesitant wave in return as the doctor finished with his arm.  Then Beecher did as he was told, but only went as far as the top of the stairs.

 

“I live here,” Dwayne whined when McManus turned to him.

 

“You need to get out more,” McManus insisted.  “Go play chess.”

 

“I don’t know how to play chess.”

 

“You’ve got half an hour until lockdown.  Go find something to do or I’ll tell Keller you said bad things about him.”

 

Dwayne fled without another word.  Shaking his head, McManus entered the pod.  “What’s the diagnosis?”

 

“Mild concussion,” Nathan replied as she handed Elliot a bottle of pills.  “You can have two of these every four hours but don’t overdo it.  Even Tylenol is dangerous in large doses.  I’m sorry I can’t give you something stronger but we don’t want to mask any symptoms.”

 

“I understand,” Elliot replied as he accepted the bottle.

 

“I want a guard to check him every two hours,” Nathan continued, turning to McManus.  “Have them ask his name and number.  If he doesn’t answer or sounds slurred get him down to the infirmary.”

 

“If we need to do all that why don’t you just admit him?  You know it’s not our responsibility to …”

 

“Tim,” Nathan cut him off.  “The welfare of the prisoners rests with all of us.  The COs have to walk a beat anyway.  It’ll take thirty seconds every two hours.”

 

“Yeah, but …”

 

“You’re telling me they’re not capable?”

 

“No, I just thought …”

 

“It’s just a precaution.  Keller doesn’t have to be in the infirmary for this.”

 

“Okay, okay.  You’re the doctor,” McManus gave in reluctantly.

 

“You’re tough,” Elliot smiled, looking directly into the Nathan’s eyes.  “Thank you,” he added meaningfully.

 

“You’re welcome,” Nathan responded gravely, holding his gaze.  “Remember you promised to see me first thing in the morning.  If you’re late and make me worry, I’ll hurt you.  If you don’t show I’ll hunt you down and put a catheter in you.”

 

“Okay,” Elliot agreed quickly.  “I’ll be there.”

 

“I mean it,” Nathan warned, pointing a finger at him as McManus opened the door for her.

 

Elliot cringed as she left.  “Why do women doctors always use the catheter threat?”

 

“Because they know how us guys react when it comes to safety of our dicks,” McManus snorted in amusement.

 

“True,” Elliot laughed as he popped open the bottle and took out three tablets.

 

McManus eyed him curiously.  

 

“Look, I was on my way to see you but Murphy said I had to shower first.  Then Doctor Nathan got here,” Elliot said proactively as he went to the sink to get a handful of water to wash down the pills.

 

“I understand that.  But I did want to talk to you about your field trip with the Feds before lockdown.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Glynn is steamed about the FBI shaking you down on his time.  He wants you to testify to a grand jury.”

 

“Why?  He let them take me.”

 

“They weren’t supposed to rough you up, let alone give you a concussion,” McManus explained.  “Whatever they threatened you with, we can protect you.”

 

“Sorry, I can’t help you.”

 

“Come on, Keller, you can do this.  You turned in Schillinger for the attack on Beecher and got the whole Aryan Brotherhood on your ass.  This is cake.”

 

“Listen, Taylor says I fell, Nathan says I didn’t.  I could have been run over by a fucking bus for all I know,” Elliot replied objectively.  “You want me to make something up?  Fine.  What’s in it for me?”

 

“You really don’t remember.”

 

“No.  I don’t.”

 

After another long, assessing stare McManus finally sighed.  “I believe you.”

 

“Really.”

 

“Yeah.  I think if you had the chance to fuck with the Feds you’d take it.”

 

“I would.  You know I would.”

 

“All right, I’ll go tell Leo he’s out of luck.”

 

“You do that.”

 

“It smells like piss in here,” McManus said, wrinkling his nose as he moved to the door.  “Is that you?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going to take a shower now.”

 

“Better hurry,” McManus advised on his way out, “It’s almost time for count.”

 

Elliot looked around for shower shoes but slipped back into his borrowed boots when he didn’t find any.  He adjusted his towel slightly higher to hide the scars that weren’t there then grabbed some soap and tried to remember exactly where the showers were.  Since he hadn’t planned on stripping down publicly, he hadn’t thought the location of the shower room to be especially important.  Unfortunately, now it was a problem.

 

At the top of the stairs he picked up his shadow.  

 

***

 

Keller lay on his back and looked at the ceiling.  As tired as he was he couldn’t sleep, not even after his long, hot soak.  Man, it felt good to be clean again.  He took a deep breath of his brother’s aftershave, oh the little luxuries of the real world.  

 

And then there was Olivia.  After the initial ‘getting to know you’ phase they had settled into an easy rapport, talking about anything and everything.  Mostly they had talked about Elliot.  They were both concerned about him, but neither would come right out and say it so they tiptoed around the topic all afternoon.  In spite of the undercurrent of worry, Chris had enjoyed himself immensely.  

 

He’d never forget the look of shock on Fuller’s face when he came back in to find them deep in conversation, what with Chris being bare-assed naked in the tub.  “What?” Olivia had asked with the perfect balance of innocence and bitchiness that dared the agent to make something of it.  Chris decided right then and there she was all right for a cop.

 

Fuller left them unsupervised for the rest of the visit, except for the few minutes he allowed Chris to use Elliot’s razor.  Oddly enough, he’d never had to shave in front of armed guards before.  Olivia had found the overkill to be hilarious and had laughed herself silly, causing him to nick himself as he chuckled along with her.  He hated to see her go, but she promised to come back in the morning to see him off before they made the switch again and brought Elliot home.

 

Elliot.  Chris’ thoughts always returned to Elliot.  What would their lives be like now if they’d grown up together?  Would he have turned out more like his brother?  Less driven by his own selfish wants and needs?  Or would he have brought Elliot down with him and ruined both their lives?  The questions kept him awake, haunting him with what might have been.  

 

***

 

“Are you going all the way to the showers with me?” Elliot asked as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, using the pause to decide which way to go.  

 

“Yes,” Beecher informed him matter-of-factly.  “Doctor Nathan doesn’t just show up in Em City for no good reason,” he added, talking fast and leaning in close so no one could listen in.  “If she’s worried, then you’ve obviously got a problem.  And if I see that, so does everyone else.  That makes you vulnerable right now.”

 

Chris had been right, the man was smart. Realizing he wasn’t going to get rid of him, Elliot decided to put Beecher to work. “So … what?  You wanna guard the door for me?”

 

“If that’s what you want,” Toby answered, pleading with his eyes to help.

 

Elliot set his jaw and nodded.  “Okay.  Lead the way,” he said, solving his second dilemma as well since Beecher actually knew where the shower room was.

 

“Okay,” Toby agreed with a happy little huff.  Elliot followed him through the common area then they turned to the right.  

 

“I won’t be long,” Elliot said as he disappeared into the washroom, glad to see Toby had taken him at his word and stopped at the door.

 

Kicking his boots off, Elliot cursed his brother for the lack of proper footwear.  “If I get a fungus, I’m kicking your ass, Chris,” he muttered under his breath as he walked barefoot into the communal shower, still wearing his towel.

 

He picked a nozzle in the middle and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature before draping his towel over the tile half-wall.  Keeping his back to the room he soaped up as quickly as he could without getting his ace wet.

 

When footsteps sounded on the floor, he knew it could only be Beecher.  He turned slightly at the waist as he rinsed off but kept his right leg back, hopefully obscuring the view of his unmarked back as well as his missing tattoo.

 

Toby laughed.  “This reminds me of our first shower together.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“You know.  You had that cast on your arm with a plastic bag over it.  You said ‘it’s a bitch takin’ a shower with this baby’ or something like that.”

 

Elliot glanced at his bandaged arm he was holding at an awkward angle out of the water.  “Yeah, I guess so.  I thought you were gonna watch the door?”

 

“Cyril and Ryan are coming,” Beecher explained.  “Ryan looks like his dick might still be out of joint; I don’t want to leave you alone in here with him.”

 

“Yeah.  That fucking ingrate,” Elliot swore, meaning it as he shut off the water.

 

“You know how he is about Doctor Nathan.” Toby shrugged, helping out more than he knew by tossing Elliot the towel.  “The same way you are about me.”

 

Without bothering to dry, Elliot covered himself with the towel just as the O’Reily boys entered the room.  “Nice hat,” he teased Cyril with a grin, finally turning all the way around.

 

“It’s a shower cap,” Cyril replied seriously, picking the nozzle closest to the door.  “Ryan don’t like me to sleep with wet hair.  It gets rats in it.”

 

“Yeah, uh, K-boy,” Ryan sniffed guiltily.  “Sorry about before.  I just don’t like to see anybody flirting with Gloria.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Elliot shrugged as he came around the short wall, playing it off lightly.  “You know I’ve only got eyes for Beecher.”  The second the words left his mouth he knew he was in trouble.  

 

Toby’s face flushed red but he broke into a sappy grin like a kid who got more than he’d asked for on Christmas morning.  “Is that right?” he asked flirtatiously.

 

“Ah, fuck,” Ryan complained, turning away.  “Don’t start that shit in front of me.”

 

Faking a laugh, Elliot bent for his boots.  He froze when Toby touched him on the same spot Doctor Nathan had told him there should be scars.  

 

“You heal well,” Toby exclaimed fingering the wet skin.  “I haven’t seen your back up close for a long time.”

 

Elliot hurriedly shoved his feet into the boots.  “I got good genes,” he quipped, straightening up and moving away.  “You probably wouldn’t see the scars at all if you didn’t know where to look,” he added hoping Toby would just go with the suggestion that there was actually something there to see, realizing too late it sounded a lot like an accusation.  

 

“Yeah,” Toby agreed huskily.  The look of culpability that crossed his face spoke volumes.  “You’re probably right.”

 

“Come on,” Elliot said, feeling like a shit for getting Beecher’s hopes up when he didn’t really know how Chris felt about him.  “Let’s go.”

 

Toby stopped him at the door, glancing back to see Ryan talking to Cyril.  When he leaned in for a kiss, Elliot slid a hand up between them, almost touching his lips.  “Toby,” he sighed.  “We need to talk.”

 

“Chris,” Toby hissed urgently.

 

“Just listen,” Elliot beseeched, keeping his voice low as he fought the urge to back away.  “I don’t remember, okay?  Our first shower, I don’t remember.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean I’m trying,” Elliot struggled for the right words.  “I’m trying to say and do what everybody expects me to so nobody gets suspicious, but there are so many things I really don’t remember.”

 

“Because of your injury?” Toby asked, brushing his fingers lightly along Elliot’s bruised forehead.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Does Doctor Nathan know?”

 

“Yeah, she does.  She says it’ll all come back to me, but I think she’s a little concerned or she wouldn’t have shown up like that.”

 

“Yeah,” Toby agreed.  “So what do you remember?”

 

Elliot rubbed his face with both hands.  “You know, faces, names … feelings.  For the most part.”

 

“But you don’t remember actual events?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Do you remember why we were fighting?”

 

“No,” Elliot stammered after a brief pause.  “You know, that’s kind of why I’m hesitant to make any promises.”

 

“What about Ronnie?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Barlog.  Ronnie Barlog, your old buddy …”

 

“Count!” Murphy shouted causing the few prisoners remaining in the common area to shuffle off toward their pods.

 

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Toby declared.  Unexpectedly he grabbed Elliot’s face and planted a firm kiss on his mouth before dashing off.

 

“God,” Ryan declared in disgust, brushing by the stunned cop.

 

“Bye, Chwis,” Cyril said with a sweet smile as he tagged along behind his brother.

 

“Night, Cyril,” Elliot mumbled.  He shook his head as he wiped his lips and started for his pod.

 

“Move your ass, Keller,” Mineo called from up above.  Elliot smirked at him and continued at his own pace, flippantly giving the finger to the prisoners making cat calls from the sidelines as he held up count.  A move Chris surely would have been proud of.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Beecher watching him.

 

***

 

After count Elliot pulled on a pair of threadbare briefs under his towel then got dressed as discreetly as he could before going through Chris’ things.  He stayed away from the stack of letters from various ex-wives and lawyers because he didn’t actually want to snoop, and he sure as hell didn’t want to accidentally run across anything incriminating.  He just wanted some insight into the life of this stranger who was undeniably his own flesh and blood.

 

In the end, the only thing the spontaneous inventory told him was that Chris played chess, was something of a pervert, and desperately in need of some new socks and underwear.  

The methodical search took a whole five minutes then Elliot had nothing to do but thumb through his brother’s eclectic porn collection and listen to Dwayne chatter nervously.  Four mind-numbing hours later the lights finally went out.  

 

Letting out a breath, Elliot collapsed onto his bunk without bothering to get undressed.  He’d made it through his first day in Oz with a whole lot of luck and a little help from a lady doctor.  He made a mental note to send Nathan flowers as soon as he got home.  Well, right after he kissed Kathy and the kids anyway.  

 

In spite of a few minor bumps, the operation so far had gone fairly smoothly.  Since Nathan had ordered no gym and no work detail all he had to do the next day was sit around and wait to scope out any new arrivals.  The initial anxiety he felt upon being incarcerated was starting to fade and he felt reasonably safe enclosed in his little glass cage as he closed his eyes.  

 

Sometime later the body in the upper bunk started to move.  Elliot tensed, ready for a fight but didn’t give away the fact that he was still awake.  Scrawny white legs appeared in front of his face right before a body dropped gracelessly to the floor.  In the dim light Elliot watched in appalled fascination as Dwayne used shaky hands to tug off his boxers.

 

“Dwayne?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Dwayne cleared his throat and wiped away tears.  “I’m ready.  I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t hurt me.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ve, uh, I’ve never been, you know … I’ve never taken it up the ass.  But that’s good, right?  You’ll like that.  Oh, and I don’t have any experience with, uh, what’s the term?  Giving head?  I practiced with a banana after lunch though,” Dwayne rambled in mild hysteria.  “But that didn’t really work out because it made me vomit.”

 

Horrified, Elliot sat up abruptly causing Dwayne to jump back and smash his bony hip into the sink.  “Ow,” Elliot winced in sympathy.  “Dammit, Dwayne, put your shorts on,” he ordered gently as he looked away.  “I can’t talk to you when you’re naked.”

 

The frightened man scrambled for his discarded underwear and put them on so fast the slit ended up in the back.  He stood there crying silently and made no move to fix his mistake.

 

“Sit down,” Elliot told him and Dwayne obeyed instantly by dropping to the hard floor like a bag of cement.  “I meant in the chair,” Elliot sighed in exasperation as he physically pulled the fool up and sat him on the edge of the bed.  

 

Dwayne flinched hard at the touch and sat stiffly but he stayed put so Elliot sat in the chair and scooted around until they were face to face.  “Dwayne, what are you in for?  And don’t tell me murder because that’s bullshit.”

 

“A hundred and eight counts of fraud, embezzling, and, ah, tax evasion,” Dwayne mumbled.  “I’m a CPA.  Uh, I was a CPA.”

 

“Yeah?  Lucky for you I don’t fuck accountants.”

 

“I’m not your bitch?” Dwayne asks dumbly.

 

“No,” Elliot laughed, “You are definitely not my bitch.”

 

They both jumped when a light swept through the pod and a guard rapped on the door.  “Keller, name and number.”

 

“Keller, Christopher, 98K514,” Elliot replied dutifully and loud enough for the guard to hear him.

 

“Good.  Now break it up and go to sleep.  I’ll see you in two hours.”

 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Elliot said as he got up.  “Now get the hell out of my bed.”

 

Dwayne didn’t have to be told twice, but he climbed into his own bunk with less of the overwhelming fear that had been coming off him in waves.

 

Elliot lay back down but couldn’t help but think about all the horrible things that would probably happen to a defenseless geek like Dwayne during his stay at Oz.  It was a minor miracle he hadn’t already been gang banged in the showers, although by the smell of him, he didn’t visit those facilities often.  

 

He finally managed to stop thinking and fall asleep but not long after the hack was back rapping at the door.  “Name and number, Keller.  Hey, I even gave you a clue.”

 

***

 

Beecher paced restlessly back to the door to peer up at Chris’ darkened pod.  Apparently Keller was sleeping like a baby between visits from a hack every two hours which Toby had witnessed at ten, twelve and a few minutes ago at two.  Confused and feeling inexplicably stood-up, he leaned his cheek against the wall and continued to stare at the empty spot where Chris usually lingered after lights out to watch him.  He was never really sure if it was love or hate that drew him there but it was a reassuring constant and he missed it more than he thought he should.  

 

His disappointment was bad enough but now it battled with a jealous suspicion that he’d somehow been replaced in Keller’s affections.  Surely Chris didn’t want to screw the ugly twit he was now rooming with.  And it wasn’t like Toby hadn’t done his dead level best for the last week or so to scare Dwayne away from any thoughts of pragging himself to Chris for protection.  Not that he thought Chris would go for it even to get his dick sucked every night, but still, the possibility existed.  

 

And what was with the odd vibes he’d been getting from Chris since the FBI had dropped him back at Oz?  In some ways he was more open and comprehensible than ever before but mostly he seemed at a loss with only fits and starts of his usual personality showing through.  The overpowering, almost palpable spark of passion was gone from his eyes replaced by wariness and uncertainty.  Maybe Keller’s obsession with him had finally run its course.  Maybe it really was over.  

 

Or maybe Chris had been telling the truth and didn’t come to the window tonight because he didn’t remember.  That bothered Toby more than the thought of him boffing Dwayne.  It worried him.  If Keller lost his edge he’d be a dead man in no time.  He had too many enemies to forget.

 

A metallic clank drew Toby’s attention to the floor.  He’d heard Busmalis and Rebadow tunneling before but this sounded different.  Suddenly there was a muffled but terrified shriek and the ominous sound of rushing water.  

 

“Guard!”  Toby shouted as he beat on the door.  “Help!  Somebody help!”

 

“What the fuck?” Toby’s most recent podmate asked blearily as he sat up in the bottom bunk.

 

Toby ignored him as usual and continued to pound on the glass until he caught the attention of a passing hack.

 

“What’s the matter with you, Beecher?  You’re gonna wake up the whole cellblock.”

 

“Over there!  Look over there,” Toby urged frantically.

 

The guard shined his light into the next pod then grabbed his whistle and blew it long and loud to summon assistance.  Immediately the overhead lights flashed on and hacks came running as prisoners woke to the commotion and ran to their doors to see what was going on.  After shouting to the tower to unlock the old men’s pod, several COs disappeared inside.

 

Unable to see what was going on next door Toby glanced upward.  He splayed his fingers against the door as Keller finally appeared at the glass.  His breath caught for a minute when Chris shifted his gaze from all the action to his face.  He looked sleep mused and bewildered and his eyes only remained on Toby for a second before he looked away, but it was still a connection.  

 

Yelping in surprise when something cold and wet touched his foot, Toby looked down to see water seeping under the wall.  “Shit,” he swore, having no further retreat as the rising tide slowly overtook his feet.  “Guard,” he yelled again, pointing to the floor.  

 

The hack grabbed another CO and showed him the problem.  They checked a few more pods then one of them ran towards the guard station.  In the meantime Toby worked in tandem with his roomie and grabbed what they could out of their lockers and piled it on top of his bunk.  Less than a minute later the door lock disengaged.  

 

“Over here,” a hack instructed as he pulled the door open.  “Line up.”

 

Beecher’s podmate joined him in the middle of the common area, as did the two men from the other side of the flooding pod.  A thoroughly wet Rebadow was dragged from his cell and marched away.  Busmalis coughed and sputtered when he was pulled from the mouth of his tunnel by two equally muddy and wet guards.  They followed the soggy footprints leading out of Em City and disappeared beyond the gate as water continued to gurgle out of the hole hidden in the corner behind the toilet.

 

“What about us?” One of the Muslim prisoners asked.  

 

“They’re trying to shut off the water main right now,” a hack supplied irritably.  “Relax.  You’ll be back in your bunk shortly.”

 

“I don’t think so.  They’ll have to tear up the floor over here to fix the pipe,” another CO pointed out.  “We should probably send them to cellblock B until it’s finished.”

 

“I don’t want to go to cellblock B,” Toby exclaimed.

 

“Shut up, Beecher.  Nobody’s talking to you.”

 

“If you send me there I’m as good as dead and you know it.  Call McManus.  There has to be a way to keep us here.”

 

“I don’t need to wake up McManus.  We can handle this tonight and he’ll do what he wants tomorrow.”  The CO in charge replied testily as the bubbling water finally slowed then stopped.  

 

“So what do you want us to do?” another hack asked.  “We need six beds.”

 

“Okay, we’ve got one empty bunk here in Em City.  Butch and Sundance will probably be in the infirmary for the rest of the night and then in Ag Seg after that.  That leaves three of these assholes to find someplace to house for the next couple of days.”

 

“We will be welcome and safe with our brothers,” the Muslim prisoner volunteered for him and his cellmate.

 

“Yeah, okay,” the guard allowed.  “That might work.  You can hold all-night prayer meetings for all I care.  That leaves one more.”

 

“Keller won’t mind sharing,” Toby said, trying not to give away his nervous excitement.

 

“Oh hell no.  You two’ll be fighting or fucking by morning.  Pick another pod.”

 

“We won’t.  We’ll have Halstead as a buffer,” Toby urged.  “It’s only for a day or two, right?  I’ll be safe there.  Please.”

 

“Let him go where he wants,” the other CO interceded.  “It might be entertaining.  Besides one of them will end up in the hole sooner or later and solve our problem.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” the boss agreed as he turned to Beecher.  “But if you step out of line one time …”

 

“I won’t.  Neither will Keller,” Toby promised.  He couldn’t help but smile as he turned to look up at Chris.  Living in the same pod he’d get to the bottom of the latest Keller enigma in no time.

 

***

 

“What’s happening?” Dwayne asked, unconsciously pressing himself against Elliot’s back as he peeked around his shoulder.  Elliot shrugged him off and moved away a step.  Much to his chagrin Dwayne slid right along with him, oblivious to his annoyance and already seeing him as a source of comfort and safety in spite of the horror stories he’d heard.

 

“Calm down.  It doesn’t have anything to do with us.  They must have busted a water pipe,” Elliot surmised, watching as the two old coots were taken away.  “What a mess.”  

 

There was a short, animated discussion between the prisoners in the common area and a couple of the guards. When it was over Beecher turned to look up at Elliot with a broad smile.

 

“Uh-oh,” Elliot mumbled, suddenly getting a bad feeling.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh God, no,” Elliot prayed softly as the prisoners paired off with guards and began moving in different directions.  

 

“What?  What?”

 

Beecher’s podmate was moved down to the end on the bottom row of cells but Beecher himself, along with the two other prisoners, was marched toward the stairs.  

 

“Shit,” Elliot spat under his breath, trying not to get panicky.

 

“What’s wrong?” Dwayne asked again, getting even more wound up.

 

“I think we’re gonna have company,” Elliot replied as calmly as he could with Chris’ warnings of ‘stay away from Beecher’ ringing in his head.

 

The group paused at the top of the stairs and a cell was opened.  Both of the Muslim prisoners were welcomed inside with formal hugs all around.  As soon as the door was secured Beecher and one of the hacks continued around the corner and headed straight for the Keller pod.

 

“Oh no, not Beecher,” Dwayne protested wildly.  “He bit off a guy’s dick, you know.”

 

Elliot stared at his roommate in shocked disbelief.  “He did what?”

 

“You didn’t know that?  Everybody knows that.”

 

“Oh yeah, I must’a forgot,” Elliot mumbled unconvincingly, as if anyone could ever forget a little tidbit like that.  He closed his eyes and resolved himself to the situation.  There was nothing he could do about it without blowing his cover.  It was only for one night, he rationalized.  He’d collect the information and be gone tomorrow then Beecher would once again be Chris’ problem.  What could go wrong?  

 

Unfortunately, the internal pep talk did little to appease his worry.  In fact the effort it took to try to convince himself it was all going to work out made his head hurt.  He went to his locker and fumbled with the bottle of Tylenol, popping two of the tablets into his mouth.  By the time he’d swallowed a handful of water to wash them down the lock on the door clicked and a hack yanked it open.  Looking up from the sink he met Beecher’s steady gaze head on.

 

“Hey,” Toby greeted with a crazy grin.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Okay, girls, you know the rules.  Keep your hands to yourselves or somebody’s gonna spend some time in the hole,” the hack warned.

 

“I won’t touch anybody,” Dwayne blurted out, once again hiding behind Elliot.

 

“I wasn’t talkin’ to you, Halstead,” the guard replied as he gave Beecher a little shove into the pod and closed the door behind him.  “Do yourselves a favor and get some sleep.  Keller, I’ll see you in about forty minutes.”

 

“Can’t we skip our four o’clock?” Elliot asked wearily, so very tired.  “I’m awake now and I’m fine.”

 

The hack looked around and then nodded.  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

 

“Deal,” Elliot agreed as he pulled back the blanket and rolled into his bunk, not particularly caring what kind of sleeping arrangement the other two men came to.

 

“What’s all that about?” Toby asked as the hack walked away.

 

“Checking for brain damage,” Elliot muttered as he turned toward the wall and got comfortable.

 

Toby smirked.  “Yeah?  In your case, how will they be able to tell?”

 

“Funny,” Elliot sneered, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll take the floor,” Dwayne volunteered with an anxious stammer.

 

“Don’t bother,” Toby retorted.  Still clad in a tee shirt and boxers, he slipped in behind a surprised Elliot and rested against him back to back.  “We’ve doubled up before.”  

 

Elliot snorted in displeasure but made room anyway, getting unbelievably even closer to the wall.  He did his best to conceal how freaked out he was by the situation and tried to remember close quarters he’d shared on ships while he was in the Marine Corps.  Somehow, as Toby snuggled up to him, this wasn’t the same.  After a brief, wordless tussle with the blanket they settled down.  

 

Dwayne looked on in bemusement for a minute then climbed up to his own bunk.  “If you’re sure,” he offered one last time.

 

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Beecher told him with a contented sigh as he closed his eyes, rubbing his cold feet up and down Elliot’s covered leg for a minute to warm them.

 

Elliot stared down into Em City as a noisy crew of workmen came through the gate.  Some of the lights finally dimmed, but trapped against the warm body of his brother’s former lover, sleep was a long time coming.

 

***

 

Fatigue eventually won out over Elliot’s relentless headache and the unnatural, cramped position of his body.  When he finally slept the ambient noise of the cellblock found its way into his dreams, blending seamlessly with the images of violence and blood already in his head.  His brief respite from prison life was filled with echoes of the gate slamming shut and Cyril O’Reily’s terrified whimpers.  He muttered restlessly in his sleep but there wasn’t room to toss and turn.  Even if he wasn’t consciously aware of the arm that encircled him from behind, he stilled and leaned into the comfort it offered.

 

Just before dawn a light caress on his abdomen under his shirt teased Elliot from his exhausted daze.  When the roving hand moved down to massage the morning bulge in his pants he moaned and instinctively pushed into the touch even as he shook off the last vestige of another disturbing dream.  Hot breath quickened on the back of his neck as his button was undone and the zipper pulled down.  Fingers slipped inside the tight confines of his underwear and began to gently squeeze and tug his eager cock.  

 

The growing pleasure only added to his confusion as lips brushed insistently across his nape leaving the slight sting of … whisker burn?  Suddenly fully awake, Elliot froze as his eyes popped open.  The sight of the glass wall he was pressed against left him bewildered for another moment until his sluggish brain began to fully function.

 

“God, I’ve missed you,” a man’s voice whispered into his ear.

 

In a knee-jerk reaction Elliot tried to buck off his assailant but found himself pinned.  He grabbed the hand in his pants as hard as he could, inadvertently causing it to crush and pinch his own tender flesh.  “Get off me,” he gasped in pain as the missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place.  Oz, Em City … Beecher.

 

“Ow, fuck!  Chris?”

 

“Get the fuck off me, Beecher,” Elliot warned again, keeping his voice dangerous and low in spite of his rising panic.  Unable to move without increasing the agonizing pressure on his crotch he kept up an iron grip on Toby’s wrist and tried to force it away.

 

“Shit!  You’ve got me trapped.  I can’t let go until you do,” Toby said, sounding a little alarmed himself.

 

Against his gut reaction Elliot released the offending extremity and allowed Toby to yank his hand free and tumble backwards off the narrow bunk in the process. Elliot bit back a yelp of pain as he rolled onto his abused member to capture a stunned Toby by the throat as he sat up from the floor.

 

“Chris?” Toby managed to get out before Elliot added his other hand and compressed his windpipe.

 

Eyes wide, they stared at each other in a tableau of fear and fury.  Toby didn’t struggle until his air supply began to run short then he merely grabbed Elliot by the forearms and held on, appearing to accept his fate.  Elliot snapped out of his blind rage and forcefully pushed Toby away, his head missing the edge of the sink by mere inches as he fell.

 

Elliot dropped his head into his hands and the sound of both men heaving for breath filled the pod.  After a while he rolled onto his back and gingerly adjusted himself before zipping up, shaking as the rush of adrenaline finally subsided.  His face still burned hot with emotion; anger, embarrassment, and shame.  He could hear Toby getting up but he refused to look at him.

 

“Chris?” came a hoarse whisper.

 

“Don’t ever touch me again,” Elliot warned quietly as the overhead lights flashed on.

 

“Count!”

 

Wincing as he got to his feet, Elliot limped over to the door and pushed it open as soon as the lock clicked.  As he stepped outside he missed the uneasy stare-off between his two podmates.

 

“Not a word about this to anyone,” Toby told Halstead, pointing at him with a hand rubbed raw by the violent contact with Elliot’s zipper.

 

Dwayne nodded mutely and slid to the floor, following Beecher out.  They both gave Elliot a little space as they lined up on either side of him.

 

“Rough night?” the hack asked as he got a good look at Elliot.

 

“No.  Why do you ask?” Elliot came back coolly.

 

“The doc wants you in the infirmary first thing.  I’ll take you right after count.”

 

Elliot ran a hand over his face.  “Whatever you say,” he sighed wearily.  He wasn’t much in the mood for breakfast anyway.  Certain Beecher was staring at him, he refused to even glance in that direction.

 

***

 

As Olivia stepped out onto the back porch of the safehouse her breath caught in her throat and she did a double take.  Again.  Intellectually, she knew the shirtless man sprawled on the steps soaking up the early morning sun was not her partner.  The cigarette was her first clue.  Then there was the more casual slope of his shoulders, the relaxed, almost seductive pose of his body as he rubbed a bare foot along a clump of grass.  She doubted Elliot was ever that comfortable in his own skin and that thought made her sad.  It was a good look for him, even if it wasn’t exactly… him.

 

“Hey,” Chris greeted with a bright smile as his head lolled back to get a good look at her.  He snuffed out the last ember of his smoke and held out a hand to her, inviting her to join him.  “You came back!”

 

“I said I would,” Olivia replied, taking his free hand long enough to let him tug her down to sit next to him.  His other hand, she noted, was handcuffed to the rail, another grim reminder that he wasn’t Elliot.  The three armed guards who stood at tactical positions around the perimeter of the small, walled yard reinforced the observation.  “Aren’t you cold?”

 

“Nah,” Chris shrugged.  He pulled down his sweats enough to show off his bright blue underwear.  “In fact I was trying to catch some rays but they made me put my pants back on, the fucking prudes.”

 

“Nut huggers?” Olivia asked with a snort.

 

“Don’t laugh, they’re Elliot’s.  Although they are starting to grow on me,” he admitted mischievously.  “I’m thinking about stealing them.”

 

“Somehow I don’t think Elliot will want them back.”

 

Chris tried to look hurt but the sparkle in his eyes gave away his amusement.  “You’re probably right.  He seems a little uptight.”

 

“No he’s not,” Olivia defended instantly.  When Chris narrowed his gaze and pursed his lips dubiously she relented.  “Okay, maybe he’s a little uptight about certain things.”

 

“Like underwear?”

 

“I wouldn’t know.  I’ve been his partner for years and never even suspected he wears bikinis.”

 

Picking up the pack of smokes next to him Chris shook out another cigarette and stuck it in his mouth.  “Come on, Olivia, tell me the truth.  You’ve never even been tempted to investigate Elliot’s shorts?”  He asked as he held a disposable lighter close and bent to shield the wind as he tired to coax a spark.

 

Olivia cupped her hands around the lighter to shelter the small flame.  “I try to keep that kind of stuff off the job.”

 

“Thanks,” Chris mumbled as he puffed a couple times to make sure the end stayed lit.  “So you try to keep it off the job.  Sounds like you might have slipped up a time or two.”

 

“Never with Elliot,” Olivia assured, taking the lighter from him just to have something to do with her hands.  “He’s not the type to slip.”

 

“His loss.”

 

The door behind them opened and they both glanced up to watch Fuller come out onto the stoop.  

 

“Good morning, Detective Benson.  You’re here terribly early.”

 

“I just wanted to make sure Chris doesn’t need anything before I head in to work.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris said as he turned and settle back on the step.  He took a long drag and let the smoke curl slowly out of his mouth.  “What time do we leave anyway?”

 

Fuller paused a beat.  “We don’t.  Not today anyway.”

 

“What?” Olivia and Chris asked at the same time, their heads whipping around to face the agent.

 

“There’s been a complication.”

 

“What kind of complication?  Is Elliot all right?” Olivia questioned tersely.

 

“He’s fine as far as we know.  But according to an inside source there has been an unfortunate delay.  It seems that a couple of prisoners were attempting to tunnel their way out of Oz and accidentally broke a water main.  All transfers in and out of Em City have been halted until it can be fixed.  Elliot won’t be able to complete his mission until then.”

 

“Fucking Busmalis,” Chris swore as he flipped his cigarette away.  “I’ll wring his fucking neck.”

 

“Agamemnon Busmalis, AKA ‘the Mole’,” Fuller elaborated.  “Good guess, Mr. Keller.”

 

“It ain’t no big secret those old fucks like to dig,” Chris growled.  “Screw your operation; you get Elliot out of there now.”

 

“I agree,” Olivia said as she got to her feet.  “The longer he’s in there the more likely he is to be discovered.”

 

“We’ve put operatives in for far longer than this,” Fuller argued.  

 

“Undercover yes, but not posing as someone else,” Olivia countered angrily.  “He can’t keep up this charade indefinitely.”

 

Chris stood up slowly and pulled the cuff up the rail until he couldn’t advance any further as Fuller stepped back just out of his reach.  “You just remember what I told you,” Chris warned.

 

“Elliot knew the risks.  He’ll be in no more danger tomorrow than he is today.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” Chris snapped, lunging as far as the chain allowed him.  

 

As one, the guards jumped into action and ran towards them.  Olivia read the situation and stepped into Chris, wrapping her arms around him protectively.  “Calm down,” she whispered, trying to save him from the imminent beating.

 

“I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you,” Chris threatened, pointing at Fuller until Olivia yanked his arm down and pulled it around her.  He swallowed compulsively and hugged her as tight as he could.

 

“Stop it!” Olivia shouted when they were surrounded and hands grabbed at them, trying to pull them apart.  “Leave him alone.  He’s not doing anything wrong.”

 

“It’s okay, back off,” Fuller ordered.  “Keller, release her now or I’ll have you shackled.”

 

Chris glared at Fuller over Olivia’s shoulder but slowly raised his free arm up and away from her.  Olivia didn’t follow suit but stubbornly held on to him.

 

“Detective Benson, please.  You need to cooperate if you wish further contact.”

 

“Elliot told me that was part of the deal, I have access to this man for the duration of the op,” Olivia reminded him.  “Or are you not a man of your word?”

 

“The situation has changed.”

 

“No it hasn’t.”

 

“Why do you even care?” Fuller inquired.  “Keller is nothing like his brother.  He doesn’t deserve your protection.”

 

“He’s right, you know,” Chris murmured into her hair, taking the opportunity to breathe in her scent one last time even as he kept his arms away.

 

“Shut up,” Olivia said, dropping her hands from his cool skin and reluctantly backing away a few inches.  “I’m not going to stand by and let them hurt you.”

 

“Honestly,” Fuller complained.  “If he behaves he’s in no danger whatsoever.  This is practically a vacation for him.  While he’s here he gets real food, sunshine, cigarettes, and a beautiful woman at his beck and call.  What else could a lifer ask for?”

 

“Sex, drugs, alcohol,” Taylor listed as he came outside, forcing Fuller to move over or get hit by the door.

 

“Fuck you,” Chris sneered at him.  “This whole thing is your fault.  Maybe I’ll kill you, too.”

 

“Chris,” Olivia objected.  “Don’t give them ammunition to use against you.”

 

“He doesn’t mean it,” Fuller said ingenuously.  “He’s just acting out.”

 

“He means it,” Taylor smirked.  “Don’t you, Keller?”

 

“Don’t,” Olivia insisted, laying her fingers against Chris’ lips to suppress his retort.  

 

Chris glared at Taylor then kissed Olivia’s fingertips and took the lighter from her as he moved to the bottom of the stairs, turning his back on all of them.  He easily lit up another Marlboro using only one hand.

 

“I think maybe you should get to work, Detective,” Fuller recommended in his usual mild-mannered tone.  “You don’t want to be late.  Let Mr. Keller finish this last cigarette then take him to his room,” he added to one of the guards before he pushed past Taylor and went back inside.

 

Olivia shot Taylor an annoyed look as he gloated then went down the steps to kneel in front of a reticent Chris.  “I’ll come back this evening and bring you dinner,” she offered.

 

“Do something,” Chris said softly.  

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know.  Tell somebody.  You’ve got to get him out of there.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Olivia promised.  

 

Chris crushed out his cigarette and pulled her in for a quick hug, releasing her before the guards could intervene.  

 

“Get up,” the closest guard instructed, tossing Chris the discarded tee-shirt.  “Sorry Miss, you need to go.”

 

“Detective,” Olivia corrected as she climbed the steps.  At the top she turned to watch the guards confiscate the lighter and thoroughly frisk Chris before unchaining him from the rail.

 

“Careful, I might have a blade of grass,” Chris mocked as he pulled on the shirt.  As soon as he was dressed they cuffed his hands behind his back.  

 

“You need to stop seeing your partner when you look at this guy,” Taylor advised Olivia.  “Keller’s a cold blooded killer.  This brotherly concern for Stabler is just an act for your benefit.”

 

Olivia met the pleading gaze looking up at her.  “Do something,” Chris mouthed at her again.

 

With a nod to Chris Olivia turned to go back through the house to claim her weapon.  “You’re full of shit,” she told Taylor as he opened the door for her.

 

***

 

Elliot shuffled into the infirmary, forcing himself not to limp.  His Johnson still hurt from the battering it took when Toby’s hand got caught up in his pants, but he’d be damned if he’d ever tell anyone about it.

 

Doctor Nathan practically met him at the door, her eyes wide; a little too wide for Elliot’s comfort.  “What?” he asked, ignoring the happy greeting called across the room from Gerald.

 

“I have to tell you something,” Nathan told him quietly as she led him to the exam room instead of to a bed.  She closed the door behind them then went to the stool and sat down before eyeing him nervously.

 

“Okay, now you’re starting to scare me,” Elliot said.  Wary of her expression, he leaned against the back of the door and folded his hands in front of him, projecting nothing but calm.

 

“I um, I called the FBI last night.”

 

“Why?”

 

Nathan twisted her hands in her lap.  “I had to be sure.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Elliot shrugged, relieved to know that was all that was bothering her.  “Who’d you talk to?”

 

“There was a bit of a runaround, actually.”

 

“With the FBI?  I find that hard to believe,” Elliot smirked irreverently.

 

With an amused snort of agreement, Nathan managed a little smile.  “Eventually I got to talk to an Agent Fuller.”

 

Elliot nodded.

 

“After a long song and dance he finally confirmed your story and asked me to relay messages to you for the duration of your stay at Oz.”

 

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.  I don’t want to put you in the middle of anything.”

 

“I’m already in the middle.  I promised I would help and I will, I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you or to Chris.  In fact I called Agent Fuller again this morning to give him an update.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No problem,” Nathan acknowledged as she got up to check him out, grateful he had taken the news of her small betrayal so well.  “Sit over here.  You look like crap.”

 

“I feel like crap.  I didn’t sleep much.”

 

“Yeah, I heard all about the excitement in Em City last night.  Now tell me what’s really wrong with you.  Is it your head?”  

 

“Nothing is wrong,” Elliot lied as sat on the stool with some difficulty.  “Let’s get this over with; I have to be back on the block before any transfers come in.”

 

“You don’t know?” Nathan paused to look at him as she clicked on her penlight.

 

“Know what?”

 

“We had an emergency staff meeting about it early this morning.  All transfers are frozen.  Nobody is going to be moving in or out of Em City until they can get the pipes fixed.  By the way, Fuller expects you to tough it out and stay no matter how long it takes.”

 

Elliot felt the color drain from his face as he went through a whole gamut of emotions in ten seconds flat, all of them bad.  He tried to put on a more composed face but Nathan had already read him.  When she knelt in front of him and placed a sympathetic hand on his thigh Elliot flinched.

 

“My God,” Nathan murmured, horrified for him as she instantly picked up on the classic reaction.  “Are you … are you injured?”

 

“What?  No!  It’s not what you think,” Elliot assured as he reached out and took the penlight out of her hand to distract her until he could get his head together.  He didn’t make eye contact with her as he turned it off and laid it aside.

 

“You know, I’ve been doing this for a long time.  Around here I’ve seen it all,” Nathan said very softly.  “I know a victim of a sexual assault when I see one.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” Elliot laughed at the irony and then cleared his throat.  “Actually, Doc, I’m a sex crimes detective.  I deal with rapist and their victims on a daily basis so spare me all the platitudes, okay?  I’ve heard them all.  Hell, I’ve said them all.”

 

“I won’t patronize you,” Nathan agreed reluctantly as she rose to her feet.  “Just know that I’ve been there, too.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Elliot stammered, taken aback by the unexpected revelation.

 

“I survived.  But I do insist that you let me examine you.”

 

“There’s nothing to examine,” Elliot swore, already telling far more than he’d intended.  “I was groped.  I freaked out and ended up racking myself with the perp’s hand.”

 

“How?”

 

“Jesus,” Elliot complained under his breath as he shook his head.  “I squeezed him, he squeezed me back.  Hard.  I … I don’t think he meant to hurt me, but I might have hurt him.”

 

“Beecher?” Nathan asked, her eyes going wide again.  “Is he still breathing?”

 

“Yeah.  But can you maybe check on him later?”

 

“Sure.  Are you bruised?” Nathan persisted, still not quite satisfied with his answers.

 

“It just happened this morning.  I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to look yet.”

 

Nathan stared him down.  

 

“No,” Elliot refused.  “You’re not gonna do it for me.”

 

“If you were Keller you would’ve already whipped it out for me.  He’s not one to miss an opportunity to be… examined.”

 

“I’m not Keller.”

 

“Are you sure you’re even related?” Nathan asked in exasperation as she pulled on a pair of gloves and picked up her penlight again.  “There’s not a shy bone in his body.”

 

“I’m not shy.  I just don’t want to poked and prodded any more than I have to.”

 

“Well you have to.  Look at me,” she ordered, turning her light back on.

 

Elliot let her check his pupils and then his reflexes.  “Am I gonna live?” he asked when she was finished.

 

“Not if you don’t let me complete this exam.”

 

“We’re done.”

 

“Uh uh,” Nathan argued, stubbornly putting her hands on her hips.  “You aren’t going anywhere until I’m sure you’re okay.  I have ample reason to admit you to the infirmary right now and I’ll do it if that’s what it takes to protect you.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” Elliot asked in disbelief as he stood, “You’re not gonna let me leave until you look at my unit?”

 

“Got it in one.  Now relax and drop trou, Detective.”

 

With a frustrated little growl, Elliot glared at her as he fumbled with his zipper.  When he got his pants open he eased his underwear down until he was fully exposed.  He set his jaw and stared straight ahead but couldn’t quite suppress a wince as she began to handle him.  In spite of his discomfort his penis readily jumped at the contact, still excitable from the earlier, unfinished business.

 

“Sorry,” Nathan muttered absently, bending forward for a better look.  “I know this is embarrassing but on the bright side; everything still works.  Maybe you are related to Keller.”

 

“In sixteen years of marriage I’ve never been fondled so frequently in such short amount of time,” Elliot complained, cringing at the feel of his half-hard dick when she let go and backed off.  He knew his face was burning as he rapidly tucked himself back in.  “Can I go now?”

 

The door opened and Tim McManus poked his head into the room.  His gaze rested on Elliot who flushed again as he finished zipping up.  

 

“Something I should know?” McManus asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Nope,” Nathan declared as she snapped off her gloves and tossed them into the trashcan.  “My original orders stand, but I want to see him twice a day.”

 

“Twice?” Elliot asked in annoyance.

 

“Yes, twice.  You can stop waking him up at night though,” Nathan said to Tim.  “I think we’re past the point of worrying about a bleed and he needs his rest.  Do you want an icepack?” she turned to Elliot to ask, glancing down at his pants.

 

“No.”

 

“Okay, keep taking your Tylenol then and I’ll see you this evening.”

 

“Always a pleasure,” Elliot grumbled as he opened the door wider and shuffled out past McManus.  “Did they get him?” he stopped to inquire, mentally updating his to-do list if they hadn’t caught the guy who had raped her.  Kiss Kathy and the kids, send flowers, find the bastard and put him away for the rest of his natural life.

 

“They got him.  He’s dead now.”

 

“Good,” Elliot replied sincerely before walking away.

 

McManus shot a puzzled look at the doctor then followed Elliot.  “Keller, wait up.”

 

“Keller!” Gerald shouted, waving madly from his bed and drawing the ire of some of his fellow inmates who were still trying to sleep.  “You be sure and remember to come up and see me some time.”

 

“Whatever you say, dear,” Elliot replied sweetly, sending Gerald into orbit.  Finally comprehending the social norms of polite society didn’t apply in Oz he blatantly adjusted his now fully deflated manhood and made a beeline for the exit.

 

“Chris?” an old man in the bed nearest the door called out.  “Have you heard anything about Agamemnon?”

 

“He’s fine,” McManus butted in before Elliot could even process what he was being asked.  “He’s in the hole which is where you’ll be as soon as Doctor Nathan clears you.  What have I told you about digging tunnels?”

 

“But we weren’t digging, we were filling it in.”

 

“Yeah?  Take it up with Leo, I don’t wanna hear it.”

 

Elliot bit back his own retort, realizing Rebadow was half of the reason he was stuck in Oz sharing a cell with a man who apparently wanted nothing more than to get into his pants.  “Take me back to my pod,” he said to the hack who had brought him to the infirmary.

 

“I’ve got him.” McManus dismissed the guard and ushered Elliot out the door.

 

Still too pained to strut and lacking a decent audience anyway, Elliot kept his head down and allowed himself to be herded along.  

 

“You want to tell me what really happened now?” McManus pressed as they walked.

 

“When?” Elliot asked, looking up uncertainly.

 

“With the FBI.”

 

“That again?” Elliot groaned.  “Nothing happened.  I’m fine, let it go.”

 

“If they battered you...”

 

“What does it even matter?” Elliot interrupted, planting his feet and forcing the other man to stop and look at him.  

 

“It matters,” McManus insisted.  “Look, I’m gonna let Beecher stay with you for the time being if that makes you feel any better.  At least you’ll have someone to talk to.”

 

Elliot couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that bubbled out of him.  “You’re all heart.”

 

“If you want, I’ll find another place for Halstead.”

 

“No,” Elliot blurted out.  He knew Dwayne was a piss poor safeguard against being alone with Beecher, but he was a safeguard all the same.  Then there was the fact that he wouldn’t survive in the general prison population for more than a day.  “You can’t just throw him to the wolves.”

 

McManus studied Elliot intently.  “What do you care?  Are you planning on pragging him or something?”

 

“Halstead?  Are you kidding me?  Have you seen the guy?”

 

“So he’s ugly.  Any hole in a storm.”

 

“Fuck you,” Elliot muttered in disgust and walked away.

 

Mystified by a compassionate Keller, McManus stared after him for a second before following.  “So that’s a no then.”

 

***

 

As he hurried to work Beecher thought surely Sister Pete had already heard about the situation in Em City and that she would probably attribute his tardiness to the broken pipe.  The truth was he could have made it on time with very little effort.  He chose instead to dawdle when the hacks let him back into his pod to get some clothes and a few other necessities.  In fact, he had stalled as long as he could hoping the angry red striations around his neck would fade given enough time.  Unfortunately, the longer he waited the darker the color became, finally deepening to a nice medium shade of purple.  

 

He knew he was screwed before he even opened the office door.  The hacks hadn’t given the bruises a second thought mainly because he hadn’t complained, but Pete was not a hack.  “Morning,” he muttered hoarsely as he hustled over to his desk, quickly turning his back on the observant nun.

 

“Good morning, Tobias.  I heard you had a little midnight adventure.”

 

“The flood, you mean,” Toby nodded as he turned on his computer then straightened and restacked the day’s worth of files while he waited for it to boot up.

 

“Actually, I meant when you asked to be housed with Chris Keller.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So it’s true,” Pete sighed, sounding disappointed with him.  “You really did request to be put back in a cell with that… man.”

 

“Yes,” Toby said softly.  “He needs someone he can trust to watch his back for a while.”

 

“Gloria says he reported some memory loss?” Pete inquired doubtfully as she got up and moved to stand behind Toby.

 

God how his throat hurt, Toby thought as he swallowed painfully and tried to play down his emotions.  “You sound skeptical,” he managed to say without giving anything away.

 

“This is Chris we’re talking about; the master manipulator.  I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that he might be up to something.”

 

“He’s not lying,” Toby breathed fiercely, finally turning around to glower at her.

 

Pete gasped as she saw the finger shaped marks around his throat.  “What did he do to you?”

 

“It was my fault,” Toby declared promptly.  “I touched him.  In hindsight I guess I shouldn’t have.”

 

“You touched him so he tried to strangle the life out of you?  That’s not acceptable and you know it, Tobias!  I’m turning him in,” Pete exclaimed as she raced back to her desk and grabbed the phone.

 

“Wait!” Toby begged, getting there a second later and gently wrestling the receiver from her hand.  “Please, Sister, just wait.  Let me explain.”

 

“Yes, please do,” Pete said haughtily, her nostrils flaring with anger as she stood toe to toe with him, looking up into his face.  “Explain to me how Chris tried to kill you and it’s all your fault.”

 

“He didn’t try to kill me.  If he’d really meant to do it, I would be dead.”

 

“Oh, so now he’s into torturing you.  Please tell me this wasn’t an attempt at erotic asphyxiation.”

 

“I … what?” Toby squeaked as he put down the phone and backed away.  “No!  And I told you, I touched him first.”

 

“Sexually, you mean?” Pete demanded.  “Are you telling me that you were the instigator?”

 

“Yes,” Toby admitted reluctantly.  “Last night Chris asked me to back off.  He said he knows me but he doesn’t remember this thing between us.  He said he needed some time.”

 

“And you touched him anyway?”

 

“I know I shouldn’t have, but Keller associates emotional support with sex,” Toby tried to explain, searching her eyes for understanding.  “Actually, Keller associates everything with sex, but that’s beside the point.  I know it’s fucked up but that’s the way he is.”

 

“You just wanted to comfort him?” Pete asked, her face softening slightly in empathy.

 

“Yes,” Toby hissed in relief that she followed his reasoning.  “He seems so lost.  I didn’t know what else to do to let him know I was there for him.”

 

“I take it he didn’t appreciate the gesture.”  Pete walked around the desk and thumbed through her appointment book to make sure she had nothing scheduled.

 

“Well, I didn’t exactly wake him up and ask permission.  I just sort of took matters into my own hand, if you know what I mean.”

 

Pete didn’t bat an eye. “You gave him a hand job while he was asleep.”

 

“He woke up, freaked out, and we got tangled up for a minute.  When I was finally able to let go he grabbed me by the throat.  For a minute I thought he was going to kill me,” Toby shuddered, remembering the look in Chris’ eyes.  “In that instant I didn’t even recognize him.  He was in pain and furious, but under all that he was… afraid.  Of me.  No way would he ever fake that, Sister.  Not in a million years.”

 

Easing down into her seat, Pete fingered the edge of the desk. “Tobias,” she began thoughtfully, “I know you and Chris once had a very intimate relationship.  I don’t want you to violate any confidences, but I am curious.”

 

Toby blinked nervously.  “About?”

 

“Has Chris ever suggested that he might have been abused as a child?”

 

“You mean molested?  No, he would never admit to something like that.  Do you think he was?”

 

“That is the case with almost all sexual predators.”

 

“Don’t call him that,” Toby scolded evenly.  “I know what he did to me and what he tried to do to you, but he’s not a monster.  He’s not,” he added a little softer.

 

“Your capacity to forgive is impressive, Tobias,” Pete soothed, “but perhaps in this case it’s not wise.”

 

“And maybe in this case yours needs some work,” Toby shot back.  “He’s hurt and he’s scared.  And you won’t even try to help him because your personal feelings are in the way.”

 

Stung by the accusation and shamed by the truth of it, Pete turned to scrutinize the crucifix on the wall.  “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, clutching at her sweater.

 

“Just talk to him,” Toby urged, his voice already strained by the lengthy conversation.  “He’s not the same man who used you to get to me. You’ll see.”

 

Pete said a silent prayer then crossed herself before turning back to Toby.  “I’ll try,” she promised, getting a little misty-eyed.

 

“Thank you,” Toby said earnestly before sitting down at his desk to get to work.  As an afterthought he turned back to Pete.  “You do know that Chris was in a cell with Schillinger when he was only seventeen.  Could that be where this is coming from?”

 

“Could be, but I suspect it runs deeper than that.  Either way you should tread lightly.  If Chris truly has lost his memory, he may be reacting to some long buried feelings.”

 

“Flash backs?”

 

“It’s possible.  Human memory is a strange and wonderful thing.  We’ve barely scratched the surface in that area of research.”

 

There was a tap on the door as it opened slowly.  “Pete?”

 

“Gloria, what can I do for you?” Pete greeted as she surreptitiously wiped her eyes.

 

“Actually, I came to see Beecher,” Nathan explained, wincing when she got a look at him.  “Wow, Keller really did a number on you.”

 

“He told you?” Toby asked incredulously as she stepped forward and began to palpate his neck.

 

“Yeah, he was worried he might have hurt you, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.  Did you lose consciousness?”

 

“No.” Toby flinched at the light touch.  “Did he tell you the whole story?”

 

“Yeah he did.  Listen, Beecher, I would keep my hands to myself for a while if I were you.  Chris isn’t quite himself right now.”

 

“It’s funny, we were just discussing that very subject,” Pete replied.  “Are you sure this isn’t just a trick of some kind?” she couldn’t help but ask.

 

Nathan paused as she straightened up and laid a reassuring hand on Toby’s shoulder.  “Are you questioning my medical judgment?” she asked as she turned to Pete, avoiding the question altogether.

 

“Of course not,” Pete huffed in surprise at the doctor’s defensive attitude.  

 

“Keller will be back to normal in a couple of days.  Just give him some space,” Nathan advised Toby.  “You’ve got some soft tissue damage and it’s going to be a little sore.  If you need something for pain Chris has a whole bottle of Tylenol and I’m sure he won’t mind sharing since he feels so guilty.   But if your throat swells or you have any difficulty swallowing come see me immediately.”

 

“I will,” Toby promised as Nathan turned on her heel and left the office.

 

“Huh,” Pete offered at last, completely flabbergasted by her friend’s odd behavior.

 

***

 

Over an hour late, Olivia didn’t even stop at her desk as she entered the squadroom and headed straight for her commander’s office.  “Captain,” she called as she hesitated in the open doorway.

 

“What’s up?” Cragen asked worriedly, motioning her in.  

 

Olivia closed the door and took a seat.  “There’s a problem.  Elliot is going to be stuck in Oz longer than the FBI anticipated.”

 

“Is he all right?”

 

“They don’t know yet.  Chris, uh, his brother is concerned.  He thinks I should try to get Elliot out as soon as possible.  What do you think?”

 

“I think he never should have gone in in the first place,” Cragen answered seriously.

 

“Can’t we call someone?”

 

Cragen shook his head dubiously.  “One Police Plaza is hot for this operation.  They’re looking at it as the beginning of a newfound cooperation with the Feds.  They’re hoping it will work both ways.”

 

“At the risk of Elliot’s life?”

 

“They don’t see it that way.”

 

“We have to do something,” Olivia insisted.  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.  Long term someone in there is going to catch on.”

 

“I know.”  Cragen cleared his throat and lifted a file from his desk.  “I’ve been doing a little research.  This Keller is bad news.”

 

Olivia frowned as she accepted the folder but she didn’t protest and she didn’t open it.

 

“In fact the FBI likes him for a string of homosexual rapes and murders.”

 

“And they don’t have a single shred of solid evidence,” Olivia spat out, surprising herself by defending Chris at all, let alone so stringently.

 

If it surprised Cragen, he didn’t let on.  “Given the number of unsolved gay homicides in New York City over the years I think it would be remiss of us not to at least interview this guy,” he went on unaffectedly.

 

“Interview him,” Olivia parroted, quickly catching on.  “At Oz.”

 

Cragen met her eyes.  “Feel like a road trip?”

 

“I’m on it,” Olivia grinned as she fought the urge to kiss her boss on his brilliant, bald head.  Instead she jumped to her feet and hurried out the door.

 

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Cragen yelled after her.

 

“Liv,” Fin greeted as she rushed by.  “How’s Elliot?”

 

“I’ll let you know,” Olivia called back to him without slowing down.

 

***

 

Elliot stared out from his pod as he scratched his stubbly chin and contemplated a dry shave just to have something to do to take his mind off less pleasant thoughts.  But on further reflection he decided the cheap yellow Bic would probably just make his face itch even worse without soap and water so he idly ditched the idea.  For a while he watched the workmen below tear up the floor revealing part of the infamous tunnel but even that failed to keep him from dwelling on the one thing he really didn’t want to think about.  

 

With no one around he was tempted to try to phone home but the calls were randomly monitored and recorded and he couldn’t take the chance.  Frankly, he was bored silly and trapped with nothing to do except think about getting jacked off by another man.  Since there was no chance his mark would be coming anywhere near Emerald City for the next few days he knew was doomed to this fate.  He decided to see if Nathan would at least put him back on a work detail if not let him go to the gym.  It might be more dangerous, but rambling around inside his own head wasn’t all that safe at the moment either.

 

Looking back down he thought Em City might as well be a ghost town.  A couple hacks hung out along the periphery of the work area to keep any stray inmates away from the tools and the big gaping hole in the floor.  A few more wandered in and out of other locations around the cell block but the common area was empty. Even though almost all the prisoners had day jobs he couldn’t take advantage of the privacy for a shower while the water was still shut off.  And he was really starting to need one.  It sucked to be him.

 

Movement in the guard station caught Elliot’s eye and he watched Murphy hang up the phone and step out onto the landing.  “Keller, let’s go,” he called up to him, waving him towards the gate.

 

Even if he had no idea where he was going, at least he was doing something so Elliot didn’t complain as he headed for the stairs.  “What’s up, boss?” he asked when he reached the base of the tower after quickly crossing the commons.

 

“Riemondo wants to see you.”

 

The name didn’t ring any bells but Murphy acted like he should know what he was talking about so Elliot played it cool and followed the other hack who was waiting by the gate.  They walked in silence, threading through the halls until they came to an area that looked more like offices than a prison.  The guard knocked on a door then stepped back.

 

“Come in,” a woman’s voice called from inside.

 

Puzzled, Elliot glanced at his escort then turned the knob and opened the door to run face to face into Beecher.  Instinctively he took a step back.

 

“Chris,” Toby croaked out, sounding a lot like a frog.

 

Elliot flexed his fingers on his thigh but didn’t outright cover his groin.  Reminding himself that the incident had been more a case of mistaken identity than anything else he fought down the urge to punch the man. Then his eyes were drawn to Toby’s neck and guilt hit him solidly in the gut.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered through a dry mouth.

 

“No, it was my fault,” Toby confessed remorsefully.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to, you know, twist you like that,” he added taking a rueful glance at Elliot’s crotch.

 

“It’s better now,” Elliot answered, squirming under the unwanted scrutiny.

 

“Tobias, why don’t you wait in the hall,” the small, older woman watching the scene suggested.  By the tone of her voice it was not so much a suggestion as an order so Toby complied after another brief but intense stare deep into Elliot’s eyes.  

 

“Come in, Chris,” the lady urged as Elliot lingered in the door.  

 

‘Riemondo’ Elliot thought to himself again, still not making the connection.  He entered the office cautiously, jumping when someone in the hall, either Beecher or the guard, closed the door behind him.  He swept the room with a skilled eye looking for a clue to the woman’s identity. When he spotted the crucifix on the wall near the desk Chris’ description fell into place.  

 

The little bitty thing with some gray in her dark hair was none other than Peter Marie Riemondo, the psychologist nun who hated his brother.  “Sister,” Elliot addressed her guardedly, his own disdain for shrinks bleeding through.  

 

Pete looked taken aback.  “You didn’t recognize me,” she said in surprise.

 

“Sure I did,” Elliot denied after a beat, taking a chair that hadn’t been offered.  “What do you want?”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Chris,” Pete admonished as she went around her desk to sit down as well.  “I may not be as good at reading people as you are but I know when someone is out of their depths.  You had no idea who I was when you came into this room.  Did you?”

 

Elliot clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands.  “No, I didn’t,” he went with the truth.  Determined not to let her get anything further out of him he sat stock still and looked back up at her with his best poker face in place.

 

Resting her chin in her hand Pete watched him without another word, waiting him out.  But Elliot was game for a standoff especially since he had nothing to say.  In fact spilling his guts might prove to be downright dangerous.  He stared back at her emotionlessly.

 

After several minutes Pete cracked first.  “Am I to assume you don’t want to talk about it?”

 

“You know what they say about assuming.”

 

“No, what do they say?”

 

“It makes an ass out of u and me.” Elliot allowed himself a tight smile at her flustered expression.

 

“Clever,” Pete finally replied as she relaxed into her chair.  “Doctor Nathan assures me that the old Chris Keller will be back in no time, I guess she’s right.”

 

“Let’s hope so,” Elliot uttered ironically.  “Do you want to know how that makes me feel?”

 

“I spoke with Tim McManus,” Pete went on ignoring the sarcasm.  “He was curious as to what exactly you were doing in Gloria’s office with your pants down.”

 

Elliot went cold for a second then he smiled again and shrugged suggestively.

 

“Bullshit,” Pete challenged, surprising Elliot with the profanity.  “I suspect she was checking out the damage caused by Tobias’ misguided attempts at comfort.”

 

“Oh is that what that was.  See, I thought he was trying to get off at my expense.”

 

“No, he told me he only wanted to help.”

 

“Help himself you mean,” Elliot said.  “What did you tell McManus?” he asked abruptly, getting tired of everyone in his business.  He had always tried to be sensitive when he interviewed victims but he was developing a deeper appreciation for their loss of privacy.

 

“I think in this case it’s better if Tim were left wondering,” Pete replied impishly.

 

Elliot sniffed and nodded gratefully.  “Thanks.”

 

“Chris,” Pete said, getting serious again.  “I owe you an apology.”

 

“Stop,” Elliot insisted as he held up a finger in warning.  “This isn’t the time for that.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Look, Sister,” Elliot began thoughtfully, careful not to give too much away.  “I know you’re pissed at me but I don’t know why.  And please, don’t feel the need to fill the blanks because Doctor Nathan says it’ll all come back in good time.  In the meantime I’m kind of enjoying not knowing some of the things I might have done.”

 

“Fair enough,” Pete agreed after a moment’s deliberation.  “But we are going to have to discuss this bump in our relationship eventually if we ever want to get past it.  So let’s just concentrate on what happened with Tobias for now.   Tell me how it made you feel.”

 

“Are you joking?”

 

Pete rolled her eyes.  “I don’t want you walking around feeling like you were assaulted…”

 

“It wasn’t an assault,” Elliot interrupted, wanting to bite off his own tongue rather than continue.

 

“No, there was no malicious intent, I’m certain of that.  Nor do I believe you intentionally hurt Tobias.”

 

Elliot glared at her.  “I might have overreacted.  A little.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.  At the moment upon waking you really felt you were defending yourself.  Those are very useful instincts in a place like Oz.”

 

“Yeah,” Elliot agreed as he gave up the hard-ass routine and rubbed his eyes wearily.  “Can I go?”

 

Pete narrowed her eyes and studied him for another minute.  “I’m seeing something new in you, Chris.  You’re being very straightforward today.  I want to believe that under all your manipulations and self-centered neuroses that there is a good man who wants to come out.  Maybe that’s the man Tobias sees when he looks at you.”

 

Elliot crossed his arms over his chest and dropped his gaze.  He wanted Chris to be a good man; he needed to believe that he was despite all the evidence to the contrary.  “Can I go now?” he asked again, fighting to maintain his decorum.

 

“Of course,” Pete whispered, getting a little choked up herself thinking they had made some kind of real breakthrough this time.  “Why don’t you and Tobias go on to lunch?  I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”

 

Letting out a frustrated breath because he was certain she was right about Toby waiting just outside the door, Elliot focused on the crucifix above Pete’s head.  The only prayer that came to mind was the AA creed.  ‘God grant me the serenity,’ he thought.  “Later,” he mumbled to Pete as he got up and went to the door.

 

As expected, Toby was leaning on the wall making what passed for small talk in Oz with the guard.  Gossiping, Elliot presumed; the prison grapevine in action.  

 

Toby immediately straightened up and stared at him.  “Are you okay?”

 

“Sure.  She says you can go to lunch,” Elliot told him, conveniently leaving off the part about going together.  “Can I go back to my pod?” he asked the guard in the same breath.

 

The guard shook his head.  “No dice, Keller.  Murphy said to take you to lunch after you got done with Sister Pete.  He was very specific.  He said he was still your mother or some shit.”

 

“Are you sick?” Toby turned to Elliot worriedly.  “You’ve got to be hungry, I know you missed breakfast.”

 

Elliot didn’t really need the reminder since his stomach was nothing but a hollowed-out ache.  And the nausea was almost completely gone now, too.  The problem was:  he didn’t know just how much he would actually be able to eat sitting next to the guy who had had his hand wrapped around his dick only hours before.  He wished he could stop thinking about it but it tripped every guilty Catholic switch he had.  Worse was the homophobic fear that on some level he must have enjoyed it because his body had certainly responded to the touch even if his mind had not.

 

“Chris?” Toby pressed, breaking him out of his thoughts as he reached for him anxiously.

 

“I’m fine.  Let’s eat,” Elliot replied as he abruptly moved down the hall before the concerned hand could land on him.  Toby quickly caught up and grabbed him to turn him around.  Elliot tensed, automatically making a fist.  

 

“This way,” Toby said softly, leading him past the guard back the way they had come.

 

“You girls are so cute together,” the hack smarted off as he fell in behind them.

 

 

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