Walking Seperate Paths - Chapter IV

Title: Walking Separate Paths
Author: Tara
Rating: R/NC-17 (m/f, m/m)
Pairings: Benson/Stabler, Stabler/Beecher, Beecher/Keller, Keller/m
Summary: This is technically an AU: We know that OZ is definitely in NY, and Stabler’s wife Kathy hasn’t left yet. This is set around OZ Season 5. A child prostitution ring leaves Elliot with new answers to his own origins, and redefines a new meaning for family. I suck at writing Summaries, but this is one of my better pieces of fanfic, so enjoy.


CHAPTER IV

Manhattan, the Present: 10:59 a.m.

There were definitely days when John Munch really resented being a cop. However, no matter how he’d approached it, mentally, socially, psychologically, he knew that he really enjoyed his job. He was far too narcissistic to honestly say that he didn’t get a thrill out of every case he’d helped close, every homicide victim he’d avenged, every rape victim’s relief when he got to tell them that he’d collared their attacker. He’d spent too long in this business, and yes, it was a business, to be effected by much of anything any more.

He’d seen some of the worst cases in the department, and with the possible exceptions of Lenny Briscoe, and Cragen, he knew more about keeping a cool façade than anyone. John knew quite a bit about death, and he’d seen all kinds of people die; children and parents, old and young alike. That was what made this whole damned scenario so difficult. He should have been the first one to be the leader, to be the façade everyone needed, and he had fallen apart like some rookie cop. That boy’s body was a sick picture in his brain, burned there for the rest of eternity as a disgusting reminder of his own inadequacy.

The loose padding in his chair was a painful reminder of how bony his ass was. He shifted uncomfortably, watching his partner and Elliot talking in low tones over by Elliot’s desk. They were both as tired and as worn as he was, and yet, there was a feverish mania in their postures, a tightly clenched look as though they were both about to pop. He spared a glance to look across the desks at Olivia, who was sitting facing him, her eyes as tired looking as his felt. She was slumped in on herself, none of the innate mania in Elliot or Finn present there. She looked defeated, and horrified. He supposed they all did.

There was definitely noise going on all around them, phones ringing, other cops milling around, getting coffee, answering phones, getting files and having conversations. None of them heard any of it. It was as though a bubble had settled over them all, cutting them off from any contact except each other. The other detectives had avoided them completely, settling into patterns completely around the perimeter of the four desks, so that no one would actually have to bisect their paths.

It would have been amusing under any other circumstances, but there was too much going on here, a desperate waiting that seemed to suck them all in, their eyes moving everywhere, anywhere, just waiting. John wasn’t unused to waiting, he had spent many hours before just sitting on the sidelines, watching, waiting, putting together his own observations about what was actually going on around them.

Right now, there were two definite things going on that needed explanations. Cragen’s early exit had been one, and there was definitely something fishy in that. John loved to look for the conspiracy in everything, but there was something wrong here.

By all rights, that case under the Verrazano should have been left to the Brooklyn SVU, and since there had been no ID connecting the boy to Manhattan in any way, technically, the case fell out of their jurisdiction.

Even if they were asked on the scene as consultants, the area should have been swarming with other SVU teams, and M.E. Warner’s absence had been particularly noted. There was no reason for them to be there. They had been given the case anyway. Why?

Cragen’s leaving had startled them all, and his explicit instructions to “sit tight” until he’d gotten back had definitely raised John’s suspicions. Even if Don had been upset about a call from the brass, he’d known that they would have divided the work load in his absence, starting with breaking things down and going over them piece by piece.

They still had no idea who that boy was, or what he was doing there, and the case was definitely an SVU contract, the position of the body and the physical abuse guaranteed that. Why would he tell them to wait? What could be the purpose? Or, rather, whose purpose were they serving by waiting on this case?

John’s thoughts drifted against his will to the scene of the crime. He was still ashamed at having lost his stomach in front of Elliot and Finn, and the fact that Olivia had done the same didn’t do anything to assuage his annoyance. From a purely psychological stance though, he did wonder at Elliot and his partner’s reactions. Each of them had reacted with a similar kind of horror to his own and Olivia’s, but neither one of them had tossed their cookies at the scene. Instead, they’d closed in on themselves, naturally gravitating towards each other.

Was it because they were both parents? Was it because of their similarity in age and thought patterns? Or was it something else entirely? John was almost unsure about whether he wanted to know at that point, but he did know that unless something happened, and soon, Elliot was going to jump off the deep end, and Finn was going to jump in right after him.

They both had a sense of vigilante justice that was foreign to John, and at times, to Olivia. Canting his eyes upward, he studied Olivia out of the corner of his eye. She was watching Elliot as John was watching her, each focused without trying to be seen staring.

He definitely wasn’t too old to admit that Liv was beautiful, and he had definitely been around long enough to know that she was in love with Elliot. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, but he had seen many people in all stages of love and physical attraction. Personally, he derided the love of the opposite sex, he’d been burnt too many times, but there was definitely something in Liv’s eyes that gave her away, and her attempts to not get too close were obvious to those who knew how to look. There was something more than the physicality of it, and John would have bet any amount of money that he was right. He’d talk to Finn about it, maybe get some decent odds on Olivia and Elliot hooking up at some point.

The phone ran right next to his ear, startling his out of his reverie. The noise was loud in their little bubble of silence, and he could practically taste the tension shift around him as he picked up the reciever.

“Munch.”

“John, it’s Don, look, it looks like I’m going to be here for a while. They’re not giving up much very quickly, and the Feds are all over this like a fly on shit. I’m stuck here until someone can tell me what’s going on. Listen to me, please Munch, I know you all are still there waiting for me to give you some information, but I can’t yet. I do know that all of you have been up all night, and that you need to sleep. Tell the others that I want them to take the day. Go home, get some sleep, fuck, get drunk, do whatever the hell you want, just get out of that office till I call you back in.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but was met with, “That’s an order, John, don’t make me ring you and Elliot up for this. I know your fondness for listening to directions. Oh, and tell Olivia that home means home. I don’t want to come back to find her sacked out on the junkie beds. Go home.” Cragen hung up in his ear. Suddenly the silence seemed even louder than the ringing had before.

He turned, and met Elliot’s gaze. He hadn’t even been aware of Finn and El moving, but they were there, right next to his desk staring at him.

“Well?” Elliot’s voice was tight.

“The Captain wants us to take a day, and go home.” He could see Elliot shaking his head, and added, “He says its an order. Don’t send your tin up for something stupid, Stabler.”

He looked at Olivia. “He also wanted me to let you know that home means home. No sleeping on the cots upstairs.”

Elliot was the first to leave, coat dragging from one hand as he stalked quickly out of the office. Olivia was the next to follow, zipping up her coat as she went, her head down.

John hadn’t even noticed that Finn hadn’t left until he looked up to see him still standing there, holding John’s coat out to him.

“You know, I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping any time soon, but I do know a very good reason to go drink when I see one. I‘ll buy you one.”

Finn nodded, and they left together, leaving the world behind.

Manhattan, Columbus Avenue, 11:34 a.m.

Elliot stared at the wheel in his hands. His knuckles were white against the rest of his skin, and seeing this, he let go of the wheel, his hands in his lap. The blood hurt as it started to pool in his fingers, a tightness of pins and needles making his nerves ache. He didn’t know why he was here, and he didn’t even remember driving here, a scary thought, considering that he’d navigated Manhattan traffic on autopilot.

He felt more tired than he’d even been in his life, and suddenly, the real world, his family, his wife, his kids seemed a million miles away. He remembered suddenly the conversation with his daughter the night before…

“You know, Dad, I’ve been giving a career in Criminal Justice a lot of thought. I could make a difference, help people.”

He’d almost dropped his mug of coffee, spilling just enough of it into his lap for him to miss the grin that passed between mother and daughter. Maureen broke into his shock by laughing, and for the split second he had before he realized he’d been duped, he registered pride, awe that something so amazing could have made its way from him.

He glared at his wife, who was smiling behind her hands at his expense. For a moment, everything was as it should be, and last night had been one of the few times he could remember recently when tucking his kids into bed, reading a story to his son, and making love to his wife had not seemed so mundane. He remembered holding her in his arms as she’d shuddered around him, biting his shoulder to prevent her sounds from making their way into the kids rooms.

It was all over now, and he was beginning to see it. He couldn’t go home and tell his wife what he had seen; he couldn’t tell his kids about his day at work over dinner. It was all a farce now, playacting at having something normal at night while he battled demons in the day. Sometimes he’d wanted to come back from work and fuck his wife, bend her over their kitchen table, the bed, a chair, and just expend his frustration with the world into her.

He knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t even be able to bring himself to tell her what was really bothering him when he went home to dinner that night.

He really didn’t know why he had parked in front of Liv’s apartment building either. He almost didn’t want to know why he was here. Why could he talk to Liv, and not his wife? Why did he not mind hurting Liv with his fear and his anger and his doubt? He didn’t know, and at that moment, he didn’t care. He shut off the engine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oswald Maximum Security Prison, Albany, 12:00 p.m.

Cyril was tired. He’d had nightmares all night, and Ryan had sung to him again, something that Cyril was almost positive that he remembered from something, someone else. Ryan had finally fallen asleep against him, his snoring making it even harder for Cyril to sleep. Finally he’d gotten up to get some water when some movement outside had attracted his attention. Someone in the pod across the way was moving in his bunk. He’d decided to step away when something caught his eye, and he realized dimly that the person across the way wasn’t alone. He was kissing his pod-mate, and he looked like he was enjoying it.

Cyril didn’t understand. Boys weren’t supposed to kiss boys. Boys were supposed to kiss girls, like Dr. Nathan. He wondered if Ryan had kissed Dr. Nathan like the two men were kissing. He didn’t know why they wanted to kiss, and he was startled to see one of the men drop to his knees and suck the other one into his mouth.

He’d squirmed, and didn’t know why he suddenly had very tight pants. It hadn’t felt good when those bad men had done those bad things to him, and he’d bled a lot. Crawling into Ryan’s bunk, he’d stayed there until sleep overcame him, tuning out his thoughts on those two men across the way.

Now he was tired, standing over the juice bottles, handing each man who walked by a bottle. Beecher passed by, Keller right behind him, and Cyril noticed Beecher’s relaxes smile at him, and his blush when Keller pinched his ass. He didn’t seem to think it hurt. He looked like he was enjoying it. Cyril’s eyes followed them as they sat down and laughed together at something Hill had tossed their way.

“Ouch!” His head hurt and he rubbed at the back if it before turning to glare balefully at his attacker.

Chucky Pancamo chuckled, his beefy arms crossed over his chest as he regarded Cyril. “Stop watching the fags, bitch, and serve lunch. You don’t have time to waste jerking off to the crazy and his prag.”

Cyril nodded, even though he hadn’t understood. Why were Keller and Beecher fags? He knew that Beecher had been married and so had Keller, and Ryan had told him that fags didn’t get married. Was it because they like to kiss each other like a man and woman kissed each other? Did Beecher let Keller do those things to him that Cyril had had done to him by Schillinger? He hoped not, because it hurt.

He wondered what it would be like to kiss another boy and have it be nice, like those two men from last night. Would Ryan be mad if he kissed another boy? Cyril thought so, and quickly turned his attention back to the bottles as Pancamo stepped into his field of vision again.

~~~

There was a hand sneaking up his thigh. Toby squirmed and smiled, even as he reached below the table to push the hand away.

“Chris,” he hissed. “Not here.”

Chris gave him a look that Toby supposed on anyone else probably would have been taken for shame, but on Chris it was just a mockery, and Toby could see the smile in his eyes.

“But honey,” Chris said, his voice moving up to a low falsetto, “I thought you loved me. Don’t I please you? Please don’t tell me that the honeymoon phase is over?” Eyelashes fluttering, he smiled, slowly and sweetly. His hand stayed on Toby’s thigh, kneading at the skin and muscle.

Toby smirked. Only Chris could get away with such obviously gay behavior in the presence of so many straight criminals. He had to admit that Chris’ touch was making him hard though, and he squirmed as Chris reached lower to fondle his balls with his left hand, calm cool façade in place as he continued to eat with his right.

He was not going to give in. He had more self control than this, and he wasn’t gong to let Chris drag him to some out of the way corner for a quick fuck. He hadn’t forgotten last night. He drained his juice in a gulp, almost choking as Chris reached even lower and started a slow dragging motion right under his balls. He was going to come, he was going to explode right there in front of the whole fucking cafeteria, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

Standing up, he grabbed for his tray, not even looking at Chris, knowing without having to know that Chris was going to be right behind him. They emptied their trays at the stand by the door and headed towards the laundry room.

~~~

Cyril watched them leave out of the corner of his eye, and sighed. He didn’t understand, and he guessed that if he really wanted to know he’d have to ask Ryan. Resigning himself to it, he finished clearing away the drinks, and made his way back through into the storage room. Ryan was smoking, leaning against the bins of canned tomato sauce.

He smirked. “If I have to eat one more fucking tomato I swear I’m going to bleed marinara like a fucking ginny. What’s up Cyril?” He studied his brother’s face carefully. “No one touched you or said anything to you did they?”

“No, Ryan.” He didn’t know what to say, so he just stood, waiting for Ryan to give him an opening.

Ryan knew something must be on Cyril’s mind. He usually jabbered on about anything and everything, asking question after question, so his silence told Ryan that something was definitely important.

“What’s going on, Cyril, huh? What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Ryan, I…”

“What? Just come out with it, already.”

“Ryan, does Toby love Chris?” Cyril’s hairnet was in his hands, and he played with it, avoiding his brother’s eyes.

Ryan whistled through his teeth, it would have to be this. He stopped himself for a second and thought. He’d have to approach the whole thing from an objective angle, if only for Cyril’s sake. He couldn’t possibly understand a lot of the social aspects of what he was asking, but he could give him enough information to understand.

“Look, Cyril, I don’t think that Beecher and Keller are gay. Wait, scratch that, I don’t think Keller is gay, but who fucking knows with Beecher. That man practically screams ‘make me your prag’.” He paused.

“Do I think that they love each other? Yeah, Cy, I think they do. I think they love each other because they need to love each other. This is OZ, and somehow, somewhere, every man has to have something to love, even here. Beecher and Keller found each other, and for right now they make each other as happy as they can be.”

Cyril’s eyes were round with this new information, but before he could say anything further Ryan continued. “What those men did to you, Cyril, that was rape. It wasn’t supposed to feel good, and what they did was wrong. You have to see that it doesn’t always have to be about rape, and that sometimes, men need to find release with each other, and right now, there’s only men here, and there aren’t a whole lot of fucking options.

Right now, you and I have each other, and we don’t need to find other people to love because we’ll always have each other. You have to remember that, okay? What those men do is a way for them to escape hurting for a while. If you ever hurt, I’m here for you, and I’ll help you, and you don’t ever need to find anyone else like those men do. I’m here, and I’ll always be here, Cy. I love you, and we’re brothers, and that’s what we’re here for.”

He wrapped Cyril in a hug, feeling his brother’s huge frame relax in his own. At least he’d managed to put it in a way that Cyril understood. And he’d meant it, every word of it. Because no matter where they were, they’d always have each other.


TBC...