Walking Seperate Paths - Chapter VII

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 VII:

Manhattan, Bistango’s at 29th and 3rd: 6:04 p.m.

“Explain to me why we’re still here.” The words were slurred, but definitely recognizable, and Finn sat back to avoid the alcoholic fumes wafting in his direction.

“We’re here because your too-tall, badly dressed, pasty self can’t hold his liquor. This place has amazing food, and I figure that if it looks appetizing, you’ll get enough into your stomach so that I don’t have to carry your bony self home.”

Munch glowered at him, and swayed ever so slightly. “I’m not drunk. I’m never drunk. I don’t even know what it would feel like to be drunk. I’ve got good genes, and I’m-”

“What you are is a Jewish boy whose mother never let you at the Manishevitz.” Finn gestured to the waiter, and said discreetly, “No matter what he says, don’t bring him any alcohol with his meal. I’m trying to sober him up.” The waiter smiled, and nodded, and within minutes, he had deposited a rather large plate of bread on the table. Finn smiled. This kid was definitely getting a tip, and Munch was gonna pay for it.

John stared blearily at the bread in front of him, and begrudgingly took a piece. He reached for the butter, but Finn pulled the plate away.

“There’s something they teach you in Alcohol 101, and that’s never to sober up on fats and oils. And last time I checked, butter definitely counts.”

This time, the look was definitely a glare. “And can you explain to me how come you seem to be so well versed in alcohol? Or did that just come as extra knowledge from the narcotics beat? And why the hell aren’t you as drunk as I am? I took this hard, but you’re a parent. You-”

“What I am, and how I drink is none of your goddamn business. Now, because I tolerate your pasty whiteness, I’m gonna be nice. Am I upset? Yeah, I’m a whole lotta fucking upset. Seeing that kid, lying there, just about ripped my guts out. I’d kill the man who hurt my son. I would consider life in jail a fine penance because God wouldn’t give a fuck if I killed a baby rapist. God would probably pat me on the fucking back once I got up there.”

John seemed a bit more steady as he replied. “Look, that still doesn’t explain a few things. I still don’t understand why Benson and I would toss our cookies and you and Stabler are still all there. Why is that?”

Finn didn’t look at him, and his hands clenched his thighs. He waited a bit before answering. “You ain’t never been a parent, Munch, and you’re never gonna understand. When I held my son for the first time, I knew then and there that I’d die for him. It didn’t matter if his mother and I fell out of it or stayed together, or if he was gonna grow up to be the Son of Sam. I knew that I’d die for that kid, and every time I see one of these cases, I die a little more. Right now, I’m pretty sure Stabler feels the same way. There are no tears left for me to cry, John. I’m dead inside. I died with those kids, the same way I’d die for my son.”

He said no more, and John took his time to process this information as the food made its way to their table. Finn plowed into his, and John slowly began to eat, waiting until each of them had really eaten to say anything more.

“What was up with last night? I don’t mean the case, I mean everything else. don’t you think it’s a little odd that we got shoved into this case when it’s technically Brooklyn’s call? There wasn’t any ID on the kid, and there certainly wasn’t anything to connect him to Manhattan.”

Finn picked up his water, and scowled. “Look, before you even have to go into one of your conspiracy theory bullshit deals, stop right now. This time, for fucking once, I agree with you. None of the tag team was there, Warner didn’t know what I was talking about when I called her before, and she doesn’t have the body. I DO think that’s odd. And I think that everything going on with the Captain today was odd too.”

“Do you have any idea who called? I know he was out of there pretty quickly and everything is just working up too strangely.” Munch asked, signing the reciept.

“Nope, not a clue.” Finn answered. “Although, I do have a feeling we’ll find out soon enough. This may not be a conspiracy, but I’d be willing to bet you that we won’t like it when we find out about it.”

They stood, pulling on their coats. They were almost a half a block down the street when Munch spoke again. “Hey Finn?”

“Mmm?”

“I’ll bet you a 20 that says Benson and Stabler hook up by the time this is all over.”

Finn smirked. “You’re on.”

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

Oswald Maximum Security Prison, Albany, 6:22 p.m.

Please, oh please fucking Christ, just right there. He was in heaven, he was flying, he was over the moon, and please just right THERE. He threaded his hands in Toby’s hair and practically bit through his lip as he came. Toby choked, just slightly, and pulled back, swallowing as he did, kissing his way up Chris’ chest as he pushed him further back into the wall in the laundry room. The space was cramped, but the smell was a nice change from the sweaty smell of men and dirty laundry, and the heat from the dryer against his back was perfect, massaging into his muscles as it thudded softly behind him.

They were kissing, and his lover pulled his sweats up gently, tucking him inside as he kissed him. This was perfect. This was the closest thing he could have to heaven, and he knew it. He’d die to protect it, and he’d already killed to protect what was his. He’d fought for Toby, won his trust and his love, and he wasn’t going to let any of the fuckers in here take what he had won.

The slamming against the glass outside didn’t even register in his ears until Toby pulled back from him suddenly, straightening his clothes as he did. Mineo was standing outside, slapping his nightstick against his thigh, looking at them with disgust. Catching Chris’ eye, he said, “Keller, Beecher, Glynn wants to see you. Get your fucking clothes on and let’s go already.” His muttered “Fucking faggots,” was not lost on Chris however, and he made sure to take his time, deliberately readjusting his cock in front of the C.O., smirking at his discomfort.

“What the fuck does Glynn want, Mineo, huh? Care to give me a preview?”

To his credit, Beecher didn’t say a fucking word, just glared at the hack as he stepped behind them. They continued up the hallway and stairs, each lost in his own thoughts. Chris was puzzled, but not about to admit it, and since he was definitely not going to admit his ignorance in front of the half-assed hack, he was going to keep his mouth shut until he could talk to Toby quietly.

Beecher walked, his head high, as he too tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He hadn’t done anything recently that he could think of, and he knew without a doubt that Chris hadn’t done anything worthy of a special meeting with the Warden either. Keller was too cocky, and he knew that Chris would have bragged about it, at least to him, by now. His mind quickly flashed through different possibilities, and one face quickly rose to mind.

Schillinger.

The little Aryan fuck had been looking smug as a fly in shit recently, but there hadn’t been any gossip to let anyone know what was up. The Aryans had kept to themselves, and there was definitely something brewing. If Toby had a whit of common sense, he already knew that whatever was going on concerned Chris. He just wasn’t sure how.

As they stepped into the outer office, Chris flashed a blinding smile at Floria, who smiled back. Her eyes fixed on the bulge in his sweats, and flashed back down to her computer. Chris smirked. Toby smirked as well. He could have told anyone that Chris took forever to lose a hard on; he needed to come two or three times before it was gone for good. Toby’s ass knew this from personal experience, but he was definitely amused at the look on her face.

Mineo waited uncomfortably with them. Chris took this moment to lean against the wall by the desk, one leg bent and pressed against the wall behind him, his arms crossed over his chest. Toby knew that this move was deliberate. Not only did it give Chris a look of nonchalance, it emphasized the bulge between his legs. Oh yeah, Chris, real subtle.

They waited, as Floria buzzed inside the office, announcing their arrival. There wasn’t any answer, and Chris began to chew his bottom lip. The door next to him opened suddenly, catching him in the elbow as it moved.

“Fuck! Jesus Warden, if you’d wanted to fuck with me, wouldn’t the hacks have done a better job?” He sneered, rubbing his elbow.

Leo Glynn ignored him, addressing Beecher instead. “Tobias Beecher, Chris Keller, please excuse me. I’ve been in and out of meetings all day. Please come inside.” He held the door open for them, and waited for them to step inside.

Toby had been a very good litigations lawyer at one point, and knew the definite perks of having a power office. This room had been refurnished in warm tones, far different from his last view of it. Leo’s desk gave him a good eye for the whole room, and the table in the center was a new addition, as were the people sitting at it. Sister Pete smiled at him, and Father Mukada nodded, but Tim McManus was looking decidedly cranky.

Chris eyed the expensive furniture and lavish surroundings with an appraising eye. <Most of this crap is worth a mint. Warden must have some extra money he’s snorting out of somewhere.> He was pointedly ignoring the men at the table, although a few of them were flat out staring at them. He took a look out of the corner of his eye. NO, they weren’t staring at them, they were staring at HIM. He was uncomfortable, but only Toby knew how off center he really was. Out of sight of the table, Toby’s hand slid up to touch his back briefly, before it lowered. It was ok, Toby was here, and he’d deal with whatever these fuckers wanted.

The Warden cleared his throat. “Please have a seat.” He motioned to two empty chairs on his right. Chris stalked over to a chair, and threw himself into it, his legs splayed out, hands on the table. Toby was more reserved, but just as impassive. The two of them looked each man in the face, and were more than a little amused to see at least two of the men look away from their gaze.

Leo sat, and addressed the man to his left. “Sir?”

He was older, and had a voice that commanded attention. As he spoke, Toby was reminded briefly of his father, but the man’s words brought his attention back to Earth almost immediately.

“Gentlemen, my name is Assistant District Attorney John Cahill. I work in conjunction with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, helping them to prosecute criminals against the state.”

Toby’s eyes flicked to Chris. <He’s behaving for now, but I don’t think it’ll last very long. He’d better get to the point.> Beecher had heard of Cahill, and was pretty sure that his father knew the man.

Cahill continued, “The reason that I am here today, sirs, is to offer both of you a deal. This is a one time offer to lower both of your sentences in exchange for help and information that we’re hoping you can give us. You must agree now, and agree to sign these terms and conditions before we agree to tell you anything else. The material we have to tell you is sensitive, and we cannot afford to break our chain of information in this case. Do you agree to these terms?”

Chris smiled calculatingly, and stretched his arms out across the table. “Well, I don’t know now. How much of my sentence are we talking about here? And, while we’re at it, why don’t we discuss how much life and limb I’m gonna lose here by talking to the Feds.”

“Shut the hell up Keller, and sign the deal,” McManus barked. “Believe me, you want to sign it, and anything that gets you the fuck out of my face more quickly is fine by me.”

Keller stopped, momentarily taken aback. He was honestly out of his league, and he turned to Toby for advice. Beecher looked just as stunned as he did, but was more quick to recover.

“As you probably know by know, Mr. Cahill, I used to be a member of the bar myself, and I can’t see myself or Mr. Keller signing anything without a little more information, as well as time to examine the confidentiality agreement.” Beecher’s voice was flat, and his tone brooked no argument.

Cahill remained quiet for a moment before exchanging glances with another man at the end of the table. This one, self possessed and Asian, scrutinized Toby for a moment before nodding assent.

“Mr. Beecher, I am well aware that you used to be a lawyer, however at this time, you are no longer in practice-”

“-Just because I’m in here, sir, doesn’t mean my IQ has suddenly dropped sixty points. I’m well aware of my rights, and I’m well aware that you need something from us, both of us, desperately, or you wouldn’t have even bothered asking. You would have tried to force us to help you. I may no longer practice law, but I was a fucking good lawyer in one of the best firms in the city. Please don’t try to work over my head.” He smiled, bright and disarmingly, at the man across from him.

<God, Toby, I could kiss you right now, even in front of all of these fuckheads. I knew there was another reason I loved you.> This time, Chris smiled in triumph, as the body language of the other men told him that his lover had trumped the table. He sat back, and relaxed, fully prepared to let the brains of the outfit handle the show.

This time, the Asian man spoke. “What are you asking for, Mr. Beecher?”

He was stunned to have been given the choice, but Toby replied without hesitation. “I’d like my sentence commuted to community service and mandatory counseling, and Mr. Keller would appreciate having his sentence commuted to house arrest, for a maximum of five years with mandatory counseling, and 1000 hours of community service.”

“Is that all?” The man’s voice was more that a bit sarcastic.

“No, now that you mention it, my client would also appreciate it if all other charges against him would be dropped, forthwith.” Toby sat back, and threaded his hands together on the table. He’d received no outright objections. That was good. This whole thing was either going to blow up in his face, or it would be their ticket out. He waited.

Cahill looked like he’d choked on a frog, but Sister Pete smiled in his direction. Obviously she thought his move had been ballsy, but well played.

“We require your unconditional support, Mr. Beecher, and most specifically, that of your client. The Federal Government agrees to your terms given aid from both of you leading to arrests in this case.” Cahill’s voice was calm, but cold.

Chris straightened up, and his hands clenched. <Did he say what the fuck I think he just said?>

Toby was in full swing, and his reply was just as dry. “Well sir, given the precarious nature of whatever information it is here, I’d say that you really have nothing to lose by granting our very small request. I mean, you’ll be saving the state so much in the long run. However, I cannot give you my personal guarantee that we can do anything for you until I see documentation signed by yourself, as well as your superiors, granting myself and my client the leniency detailed in the terms we’ve just discussed. Is that clear?”

Cahill looked exasperated, but defeated. “We agree, Mr. Beecher. We’ll have the Warden’s secretary draw up all of the necessary paperwork, and for the moment, it will be signed by every man at this table, as well as yourselves. I’ll send it back to Albany for the signatures of the DA and Judge Taylor.”

Toby appeared satisfied, but continued. “Please have a copy of those documents forwarded to my father’s firm. I’m sure the address is on file.”

Cahill nodded. “Now that you’ve sucked the marrow out of my bones, Mr. Beecher, can we continue?”

Toby nodded an affirmative. One of his hands dropped beneath the table to squeeze Chris’ leg.

Chris was in shock. For the first time in his life, words had failed him. His mouth was dry, and his head felt like it was wrapped in cotton. He was going to be free. Free. Free. Free. The word danced around in his head like a balloon running out of air. He was so focused on his inward thoughts, he had to snap back when each man was introduced.

There were 2 cops, a G-man, and the DA. Ok, that was easy enough to keep straight. What obviously wasn’t straight was the little Asian guy at the end of the table, who kept staring at him. Every time Chris caught his eye, he’d avoid his gaze, only to look again when Chris turned his eye. Feeling just a bit slap-happy, Chris deliberately stared at the man, and licked his bottom lip. Yup, queer alert. That man couldn’t have looked more embarrassed. <Fucking pecker checker.> He looked at his hands, studying his nails. He probably would have tuned it out completely if a date hadn’t hit his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“-found in the summer of 1978, he was brutally beaten, raped and sodomized-” Chris began to tremble. “-Both of his arms and legs were broken-” He bit his lip. This wasn’t it, this wasn’t him, it wasn’t. “-He was hospitalized and his lower jaw was broken and wired closed-” His ears were roaring now, his trembling had become a shaking that had settled into his whole body. Toby had just begun to notice Chris’ odd behavior, when the next words hit the air, and burned themselves into his brain forever. “-one Christopher Meloni, aged 13, name legally changed to Christopher Keller in May 1983.-” Chris could just barely feel Toby calling his name before his head hit something hard.

Then all he saw was black...

TBC...