Walking Seperate Paths - Chapter XI

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 XI:

Oswald Maximum Security Prison, 7:47 a.m.

“Who the fuck are you?" Chris' voice shook with anger, and more than a little fear.

Elliot's eyebrows hit his hairline, and he actually staggered. The tone of the voice was his own, and to hear it coming from someone else was more than a shock, it was a bomb.

"I'm Detective Stabler. Who the fuck are you?"

"Ok, this is NOT helping." Don's voice cut through the dialogue.

"Please, Captain, tell me this is a huge fucking joke, because I really don't know what the fuck is going on."

Augustus Hill:

Ok, Freeze Frame. Ok, now before ya'll end up throwing shit, just sit back, and listen. I’m gonna play a little Rod Sterling here. Let’s skip the Twilight Zone and move right to the deep shit.

Every single day of every single year of your life, you've been unique. Perfect. No one else has had your experiences, seen the things you've seen, done the things you've done. You are perfect in your uniqueness from it all. What then, would you say to be struck with the picture perfect tableau of yourself, walking in the door?

Would you be astonished? Probably. Curious? Definitely. Envious? Maybe. But in the case of one Christopher Keller, fear is a major role player. What would you say to the man wearing your face? Would they make a better 'you' than you? How do you teach someone to be you when they already are. Alright, back to the beginning...but keep those thoughts in mind...

~~~

Oswald Maximum Security Prison, 7:23 a.m.

“George, can I talk to you for a minute?” Cragen’s voice was low, deliberately pitched to avoid the echo in the hallway.

“Sure, what’s up?” Huang turned, and they pressed even closer to avoid being overheard.

“Look, you saw what Elliot looks like. Lenny’s been really closemouthed, but I know that he’s worried about Stabler too. I don’t think it’s such a bright idea to throw all of this down on him at once. He’s been out of his mind with that case at the bridge, and we all know that the last thing he needs right now is to have to deal with an ex-con twin brother coming out of the woodwork. You want to leave a man with as many issues as he has behind these walls? He’s going to get himself killed. What the hell am I going to tell his wife, or Liv? They’ll both have my balls.”

George’s voice was wry, but not without understanding. “I know it’s going to be a lot to process, but in some strange way, I think that this might actually be a good idea. You saw how Keller presents himself physically. He’s overt, angry, very self aware, and very intimidating. I think that it’s about time Elliot gets a chance to toss the gloves to the side and have a chance to come out swinging. We spend so much time as law enforcement officers dealing with the products of other people’s aggression. We’re taught subconsciously that physicality is wrong. It reminds us too much of the OTHER. He’s been bottled up for so long, Don. He needs to let his aggression out.”

Cragen was quiet, slowly processing the information. “This isn’t a gym, Doc. This is OZ, and I don’t need one of my best getting himself killed in here trying to play the hero.”

“Keller has his own alliances, Captain. You don’t survive for this long in a place like this without them. We’re going to be leaving Mr. Beecher in here with Elliot for at least a week, then we’ll remove him. Beecher can help acclimate Elliot to the alliances, enemies, and typical prison do’s and don’ts.”

He paused, and for the first time, his own face showed his exhaustion.

“This is our best chance, Don.”

“I know, it’s what everybody keeps telling me. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

~~~

The press of too many bodies in such a small space was overwhelming, and for the moment, Chris was grateful for the extra space, no matter how minute, that being in the bed gave him. He lay, sprawled out, arms crossed behind his head, shirtless for the time being. He made no attempt to understand it, but he definitely knew how to use his body to his advantage. People were all the same. Just throw that last bit of sex in there, no matter how tiny a measure, and the reactions were immediate, and uncomfortable. Well, if he was going to have to lie here in this bed like a fucking invalid, then he was going to make them all a little uncomfortable.

Cahill started, and Chris smirked. He was the dominant. He noted with satisfaction that they’d all left a bit of space between the bed and themselves. Pussies.

He tuned everything but the important stuff out, security measures, red tape, acclimatizing, yadda yadda yadda. He’d leave that shit to Beech. His eyes focused on the man against the wall in the back of the room. Briscoe. His eyes hadn’t left Keller’s once, and he hadn’t said anything. Chris almost wished he could hear his voice again, try to place it with the one in his mind, a vague recollection almost too distant to even remember.

He was dragged quickly out of his musings by Beecher’s voice. “Look, Mr. Cahill, I don’t mean to be rude, but none of what you’re saying is actually giving us any answers. I get the distinct feeling that our asses are on the line here, and your complete lack of information that actually PERTAINS to this case is only a tactic I’ve used with my worst cases on the bar. Trying to deliberately confuse to intimidate only works with idiots, and I’m definitely not an idiot. So let’s speed all of this along and get to fucking point. I have two distinct questions that require immediate answers.” He paused, slowly scanning the room.

Chris was definitely proud. His bitch had balls, and if Beech could shit on the face of the leader of the Aryan Brotherhood, then this little prick was nothing more than road kill. Beecher continued.

“One, you haven’t said anything about where you’ll be taking Chris and myself after we leave OZ. If you don’t want us to be seen, or recognized, it had better be somewhere fucking brilliant. Two; everyone keeps alluding to this replacement. That’s fine, allude all you want, just do it on your own time. We have nothing but time left here in OZ, and if you want help, then you’d better work with us on our timetable. Just give us the facts.”

Stepping forward, the small Asian that reminded Chris of Mukada picked up the chain of command where Cahill had left off.

“We’re sorry Mr. Beecher. These are the facts, as best as we can present them to you, and once I’m finished with the initial briefing, we’ll make all the necessary introductions. Cahill looked angry, but allowed Agent Huang to continue.

“We’re going to be making the swap this evening, during dinner. Since the main area of Oz will be empty while everyone is at dinner, Mr. Beecher can bring him up to speed with the layout of the area, and acquaint him with his pod. At this time, we will be removing Mr. Keller to a safe house that has been provided for this assignment. There you will continue daily sessions with myself and another on staff psychologist-”

Pete’s voice interrupted the conversation as she walked towards the bed. “I’d like to volunteer my services. Chris and I have already established a rappor, and I think that it would be detrimental to his mental health to proceed without someone he’s comfortable with. In Tobias’ absence I believe I am definitely the best replacement."

Stepping to the opposite side of Chris, she grabbed his hand. His left eyebrow rose, but he said nothing.

McManus exploded. “What the hell, Pete. You couldn’t stand Keller two weeks ago and now you’re risking your career here for the psycho? This is fucking insane? What about our classes, drug/alchohol counseling, and therapy sessions with the other OZ patients who need you?”

She stared at Tim coldly. “If you have such a problem with it, Tim, I can use my vacation, but I’m not going to make the same mistakes I’ve made before. Ray Mukada and I have already discussed it, and he’s offered to take my workload. That’s why he isn’t here. He’s working with Alvarez.” She paused to let it sink in. “I haven’t been sick in a while Tim, I think I’m about due for a raging case of the flu.”

McManus’ face was red and mottled with anger, but he didn’t say anything more. Turning abruptly, he stalked out of the room.

Chris couldn’t help it, he started laughing, and the sound of his clapping, quickly joined by Toby, echoed down the hall.

“We’re going to miss you, Pete, but everything’s ok with me. I’ll deal with Tim.” Warden Glynn quickly left the room as well, closing the door behind him.

“Don, can you go get Elliot?” Huang’s voice was calm, but Chris, who knew body language like he knew his own dick, was positive that the man was keeping a tense lid on his own excitement. The older man exited the room, and returned a few minutes later.

Gloria Nathan walked into the room first, stepping aside to allow another man to enter. He was struggling to pull his shirt on, and Chris laughed.

“Hey Doc, you’d better be careful that O’Reilly doesn’t find out you’ve been getting a leg up on the FBI, or he’ll shit bricks.” He saw the man’s face then, as he looked up, and then, there was only…Fear.

“Who the fuck are you?" Chris' voice shook with anger, and more than a little fear. Elliot's eyebrows hit his hairline, and he actually staggered. The tone of the voice was his own, and to hear it coming from someone else was more than a shock, it was a bomb.

"I'm Detective Stabler. Who the fuck are you?"

"Ok, this is NOT helping." Don's voice cut through the dialogue.

"Please, Captain, tell me this is a huge fucking joke, because I really don't know what the fuck is going on."

“You don't know. Fucking Christ, you're wearing my fucking face."

"Chris, stop it." Pete touched his arm, and he only half turned to look at her, one eye still on his own angry eyes staring back at him.

Overcoming his own shock, Toby lashed out. "Ok, let's all quiet the fuck down. Someone had better tell me what this is."

Elliot was too tired, and too shocked to listen. "Who the fuck are you to give me orders. Who the fuck is this guy?"

Huang stepped between the two men, momentarily breaking their eye contact. "I just need you both to listen to me for one second. Gentlemen, can you please give us a few minutes. Sister Pete, I'd like you to stay." The room emptied as quickly as it had filled, but Toby stood firm.

Pete sighed, and her tone was soothing. "Tobias. Everything's going to be ok, just give us a few minutes."

Reluctantly, he left the room, looking back at Chris as he closed the door.

Huang addressed Elliot this time, noticing that the man was swaying, very slightly on his feet. "Elliot, there's a chair over here, take a seat and we'll give you the information we have." Elliot sank heavily into a chair by the bed.

"He's my brother, isn’t he?" Elliot’s voice was soft, and he looked down into his lap.

“You aren’t any brother of mine, fucker.” Chris stood now, and he glared at the offender with his face. “I don’t have any fucking family. I never did, and never have. So where the fuck do you think you came from huh?” His voice was almost hysterical, and Huang could see the unshed tears in his eyes. Stepping close to where Elliot was sitting, George put a hand on his shoulder.

Sister Pete’s fingers gently interlaced with his, and Chris stopped his tirade long enough to look at their hands.

“Please, Chris, you have to do so much in such a short time. Please just listen to what we have to tell you.” She tugged him back to the bed, pushing gently against his chest. He sunk down the mattress, and his mouth closed. Burying his face in his hands, he struggled to compose himself, burying his own tears, and his fear. He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.

He was only vaguely aware of rocking, the springs making gentle squeezing noises as he rocked back and forth. He had a brother. He wasn’t alone. He had family. He had-

The hand on his back but not unexpected, but the heat was. He raised his face and looked into his own eyes. Tear tracks made their way down his brother’s face. The mattress sunk even more as the man sat down beside him.

He didn’t know it, but somewhere, something inside of him snapped. He could never fully explain the rest, but somehow, looking into his own face, he knew, and accepted...


TBC...