Here it is, I have enough finished to start posting. This is the base of my crossover stories, I hope you enjoy. Pleas comment and comment often. love to hear them.

As Always, the characters and TV shows belong to their respective owners, distributors and studios. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the characters and the fine talent that makes them come alive each week. All names are the properties of their respective companies and manufacturers. Nothing in here is mine except for the original plot and original characters.

Please understand that in expressing my own creativity with your characters I am merely expressing my affection for your work. So please sit back and read the story of your ideas used in a free entertainment environment written by a poor, broke amateur and laugh at my ridiculousness.

Ms. Harmon, Ms. Katic, Ms. Hartigay, and Mr. Meloni, as an admirer of your work I have tried to stay true to your portrayals and still have some fun while being respectful in every way.


Prologue

LETO –A ten day event held the day before Armed Forces Day to Memorial Day,

In 2008 the dates were May 16 to May 26.


"…and speaking of Springfield, its back again. The 8thannual Law Enforcement Tactical Operations Expo hosted by the Springfield Arms Corporation. A tradition started in 2000 originally to show the Arms Manufacturers appreciation for our city, county, state, and federal men and women in Law Enforcement.

After the first two years being held in the LAPD Swat Facility, the event became so large that Springfield began searching for a new facility to host this event. Which lead to the purchase of Ft. Lincoln outside of the arms manufacturers' home town of Springfield Illinois in April of 2001. Realizing the potential uses as a training facility, Springfield arms poured $680 Million in renovations, turning an old neglected military installation into a top grade testing station and training facility. However Springfield Arms has since reminted a name for the fort in a statement by CEO Gilbert Huff on May 17th, 2003…

'Every aspect of running a corporation like this requires a certain amount of flexibility. To have one thing that performs a specific function and be adaptable to function differently. The Purchase of the old Fort Lincoln was one of best and most forward thinking decisions that I have had the pleasure of being a part of. Because it was once a Military arsenal, its layout and facilities are ideal for ballistics, fragmentation, arms development, training, durability and a truly wide variety of sciences pertaining to freedom and defense. But let us not ever forget the true reason for its purchase, to host Springfield's annual Police and Federal Agent appreciation event. As CEO I have the honor and privilege of thanking you for your services and we thank you for coming to the Law Enforcement Tactical Operations expo.

'So without further ado, on behalf of Springfield Arms, the Department of Defense, the Department of Justice, and all of our vendors and supporters, Welcome to LETO 3 and welcome to Fort Justice.'

Since then, LETO has become the premier event for law enforcement personnel. Hosting has always been done by Springfield, but every year they open the fort to all manufacturers of tactical equipment. Names such as Glock, Sig Sauer, Five-Seven, Browning, Smith and Wesson, and Mossberg have become common place at the event. Along with newer names to the event like US Armor, Blauer, TacOne, Remington, Osh Kosh Defense, and even the big three autos in Detroit have been rumored to be sending their latest edition police vehicles to this year's gala.

LETO 8 is again being held at Fort Justice, outside of Springfield Illinois, the opening ceremonies will be held on Armed forces Day and will continue on to Memorial Day."


Chapter One

May 13th, 2008

BPD Division One - Homicide Bullpen

Boston, MA

"Really?" The husky female voice rolled out across the room. Yet again, the owner of that voice leveled a malevolent glare at a dark skinned detective with the shaved head. "If you put half as much effort into your cases as you do in these lame ass jokes you might actually close one once in a while."

Jane Rizzoli used her left hand to slide a pen out of her desk drawer and flicked yet another offensive object into the garbage can she held in her right. Once finished she loudly tossed the can back under the printer and plopped down in her chair. Trying desperately to ignore the snickering behind her, she ran her hand through wild dark curls that fought combs as hard as she fought for justice.

Letting out the breath she was holding, she dropped her hand and tried to focus on her emails. It wasn't like she couldn't deal with the stereotypes of being a woman in a male dominated profession, she could. She could also deal with assholes like Detective Darren Crowe insinuating that she slept her way into a detective's badge. She knew the truth, she earned it. She could even handle the attacks against her sexuality, found less though they may be. Crowe loved to make her the butt of his gay jokes. But the only thing that really gets under Jane's skin, when he turns those accusations against the ME.

The Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Dr. Maura Isles, is the epitome of feminine beauty in a truly testosterone driven environment. Having a gorgeous head of honey blond hair and beautifully toned body that was constantly wrapped in the most glamorous and perfectly cut dresses that cost more than Jane makes in a month, Dr. Isles always looked regal and unapproachable, and ready for the next photo shoot in the latest fashion magazine. Though Jane's romantic interests are not with women, even she could admit (at least to herself) that Maura Isles was both gorgeous and alluring.

So when she came back from lunch to find that stupid rubber finger sitting on her desk she really didn't think a lot of it, until she read the toe tag attached to it.

In handwriting not Maura's, "J- Heard about your breakup, thought you'd like to keep the most memorable part of your girlfriend. Don't worry, her body will never be found. Love, M"

It took nearly a full 30 seconds before Jane could move, fearing her anger might land her back into Lieutenant Raymond Marquette's office, again. The surly commander of their division didn't like issues, such as one of his detectives laying out another. So Jane bit her lip and swallowed her pride and let it go. Or at least she was trying. Punching out detective Crowe ranked second on her list of nightly recurring fantasies, right between sex with Gerard Butler, and hanging out with Godsmack.

She had almost managed to get over it when Lt. Marquette walked by, "Rizzoli, in my office!" He shouted without even breaking stride from the elevator to the door. He opened the door and left it.

Jane glanced at Detective Barry Frost, Her newer partner. His wide eyes brilliant against his deep brown face. He mouthed to her, what did you do?

As she got up she shrugged in an "I don't know" gesture. Quickly she marched into Marquette's office.

Frost shook his head, I really like working with Jane but does she have to get in trouble every other day. Frost straightened up as his desk, worried for the fifth time this week if Jane's issues with the Lieutenant were going to somehow backlash on him. When he had been partnered with her eight months ago, he had been excited about it. The so called "Bitch with the Brass Balls" was a force to be reckoned with, and it took Frost all of two days to learn that this woman knew more about solving murders than his last two partners, who had a combined total of 53 years in Homicide.

Even though he was in prime of his youth and in great physical shape, he often found himself being left behind when they were chasing down running suspects. Jane however, was now two years into her thirties and despite her being a woman, she still out ran him and out tackled suspects. Almost every aspect of working with Jane had caused Frost to push himself, mentally, and physically. Except computers, he had her beat there. Frost smiled to himself; at least I bring something to this team.

"Think LT (pronounced "el tee") might toss her out of here this time, and then you can get a real partner, Frost." Crowe laughed as he headed for the coffee pot, "a real partner who has real balls."

I should leave it alone. But Frost knew the truth, he liked his partner. He looked up to her and learned from her. The things she did and the directions she took were the stuff real cops didn't get. So he let Crowe walk passed, planning his move, "She's got bigger balls than you, and she's twice the cop." He watched carefully as Crowe poured the dark liquid into his cup. His eyes not missing a single detail of Crowe's movements, just like Jane taught him.

"You'd rather work with a dyke who likes pissing off the LT? You're going to have a really short career my friend." Crowe chuckled again as he started the trek back to his desk. Frost turned in his chair but remained seated. He wanted this to look like an accident…


Jane stepped into Marquette's office casually as if nothing could be out of place in the world. Secretly her heart had sped up, but she couldn't say why. She really couldn't think of anything she had done wrong. Steadying her voice she spoke, "You wanted to see me, LT?"

Lt. Raymond Marquette sat his six foot two inch frame down on the edge of his desk. The wood protested audibly at his 248 pounds. "Shut the door."

Jane turned away and blanched as she reached for the door. After returning, she stood in the center of the office, worrying the scars she bears on her hands. She took a deep breath and waited.

Marquette watched her carefully. Although he admired Rizzoli's bravery, he still didn't like that she had taken "The Surgeons" scalpels in her hands and her neck and refused anything more than basic psych evaluation. He pushed her constantly, hoping she would either crack here in HQ, where no one else could get hurt or show that somewhere she had gotten help dealing outside of the department. As far as Marquette was concerned, she was an unknown with a gun. As Lieutenant, he needed to know, one way or another. Still, she was a good cop and a great detective.

"How's the hands doing, Jane?" He said. Watching her like the cat in front of a bird cage.

His use of her first name put her on the defensive, more so than when she walked in, "There good, LT. Forget about them most of the time." Jane made a conscious effort to stop rubbing her hands.

"Good." Marquette eased himself up to walk around the desk, "Got some changes around homicide and I wanted to get you clued in." He eased his large build into his overburdened chair.

Jane felt her heart stop. He's going to fire me. I'm the best one here and he's going to can me because I got tits. She forced those thoughts out of her head. Allowing herself one deep breath, she met his gaze levelly. She would not show fear, ever. Silently, she stared at him.

THERE IT IS! Marquette thought as he met Rizzoli's eyes. Those chocolate eyes that burned into his, daring him to do whatever it was he called her in for. Let's see if she'll crack.

"Detective Korsak is coming back to Division One Homicide." Neither eyes wavered, "You going to have an issue with that?"

Jane willed herself not to flinch at her ex partner's name, the only person who ever saw her weak, and broken. "No sir."

For those few seconds everything other than the others eyes faded from the room, one set of blues were probing, looking for weakness, the other brown ones determined to show none.

"You sure, about that," Lt. Marquette asked. "Cause I know that business with Hoyt couldn't have been easy to deal with."

Jane's eyes turned to anger at the mention of Charles Hoyt, but it was only for an instant. Anger is better than fear. Marquette thought. She just might make it.

"Yes sir. I'm sure. I have dealt with my issues with Hoyt. The bastard is behind bars and justice has been served."

"Good." Marquette broke the stare, "I got a job for you."

Jane cut him off, "Sir, with respect, I'd like to stay in homicide."

"It's temporary," his look stopped her cold, "as in ten days. May 16th through the 26th."

Jane gaped at him, "That's only three days away!"

"Have you ever heard of the LETO Expo?" Marquette asked, ignoring her outburst.

"I think Korsak mentioned it once." Jane rolled her eyes, "Like a cop seminar or something."

Marquette smiled, the gesture seemed to soften him somehow, and Jane felt the tension easing from her body. He gestured to one of the chairs.

"It used to be something like that but over the past eight years it evolved into something else entirely. There are the usual seminars on techniques and procedures but it has a lot more to offer. Showcasing all of the latest technology and equipment for Law Enforcement as well as every major arms manufacturer and body armor company will be there. Lt. Logan from the armory is heading up there to evaluate his next purchase for BPD. If I were you, I'd offer your experience to him while he checks things out."

Jane shifted uncomfortably, "LT, I really don't think this is my kind of thing."

"You're going, Rizzoli." Marquette stated, "Sergeant Hill is on medical leave due to a motorcycle accident and the commissioner told me to send someone." He pointed two fingers at her, "I chose you because you've never taken a vacation day that wasn't forced. So it's you."

"LT, seriously? It's not like this is going to be a vacation." Jane complained, "I'll take a weekend off or something."

Marquette stood up, eyeing her with annoyance, "It's what you're going to make of it, and you're getting ten days off, Paid round trip, no BPD responsibility but a full pay check. I wish I could go in your place but since I can't, might I suggest you enter into one of the shooting competitions, or the patrol stunt course or some other fun, adrenalin causing activity? In any case, you're on leave at this moment so grab your gear, head to the armory and sign out your tactical kit. "

Jane slunked down in her chair "I'm not going to get out of this am I?"

Lt Marquette shook his head, "But look at the bright side." Jane glared at him, "Attend one of the training courses and you get to tell Crowe that BPD is sending you to Springfield for specialized training."

Jane smiled despite herself; the LT knew about the finger gag and was unofficially backing her. She walked out of the Lt's office with a huge grin as she ran back to her desk to get her sidearm.

"Everything good, partner?" Frost asked.

Jane glanced around, "Where's Crowe?"

Frost hid his eyes, "He went down to the locker room to change his suit."

Jane smirked at her partner, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," His innocent face was betrayed by the smile creeping up, "Crowe on the other hand can't seem to walk from the coffee pot to his desk without tripping."

Jane laughed hard as she headed out.


May 14th

NYPD 12thPrecinct - Armory

New York City, NY

Adrenalin coursed through her veins as she finished signing the paperwork the desk sergeant had handed her. She had been looking forward to this all year. Ten days in Illinois, of all places. She tried not to fidget while the Sergeant filed her paperwork and inventoried her equipment. As she watched she went over the list in her head.

Secondary weapon, Glock 19 with surefire under barrel light and laser sight. Three empty magazines. Tactical Rifle, Springfield M-4 Carbine with surefire Barrel light and Sightmark laser scope, six empty magazines. Armor, Blauer bullet proof vest. Leapers Tactical equipment vest, Protech Delta 4 helmet with Motorola tactical radio…

Over and over she ran through the inventory, mentally placing them both on her body and put away for the ride out to Springfield. She had spent the better part of this week meticulously packing for her trip, clothing for 10 days, even though she knew she would have laundry services. Carefully cleaning and maintaining her service weapon. She even went down to her storage area to change the oil on her bike. Everything was well thought out and carefully made ready for this very day.

"You want a hard case or bag, Detective" The sergeant called out as he logged the last serial number on the ID card.

Detective Kate Beckett shrugged on her leather jacket. "A duffel bag would be best, Howard. I'm riding out this year."

Armory Sergeant Howard Marshall chuckled softly, "You ride out to LETO every year, I suppose I should just stop asking but I know the one time I don't ask, and you'll fly out." He gently placed each piece into a large black canvas bag and secured it with a lock. Sliding the whole thing onto a cart he grabbed a key and began pushing the mass out of the gun cage.

He handed her a clipboard and the key. "Have fun, Detective."

Beckett smiled warmly and signed her name and badge number and handed it back before lugging the large weight up onto her shoulder. "Thanks, Howard. See ya in two weeks."

As she made her way to the parking deck where she left her bike, she ran through her route to Illinois. Almost all of it was two lane back roads through Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana. Not that she minded that, in fact it's what she preferred when she rode. A smile was already reforming on her face as she thought of what was to come.


The black Crown Vic slid neatly into the parking stall next to the black Harley with silver inlays. Detective Javier Esposito looked over it as he rolled up the window. His partner, Kevin Ryan leaned over the driver's seat for a better view. Esposito whistled low at the sight. As he turned back to shut off the cruiser he was startled by his partners proximity. Shoving him back sharply, he glared at him.

"Dude, do you have to get so close?" Esposito groaned, "Seriously, you couldn't just get out and look?"

Ryan popped his seat belt off, "Sorry, man. That thing is awesome, couldn't help it." He pulled the door handle and climbed out.

Esposito scratched his head right behind his ear, Please don't let him drool on it. He unhooked his own belt and climbed out to find his partner crouched down next to the Softtail, eyeing the chrome longingly.

"Don't breathe on it, the owner will kick your ass." Esposito said as he ran an appreciative eye over the paint.

Ryan stood up sharply, "How do you know they'd even know where to find me?"

Esposito shook his head as he adjusted his jacket, "Some detective you are. Didn't you look at the plate?"

Ryan stared at him a second then walked to the rear, "KB 41319"

"And that doesn't mean anything to you?" Esposito waited, "Nothing at all?"

He watched with amusement as the younger detective tried to connect the dots, and failed. Finally taking mercy on his young friend, Esposito drew it out for him.

"KB, Kate Beckett, Badge number 41319. Two years we've been teamed up with Beckett and you haven't learned a damn thing, have you?" Esposito ribbed.

Ryan stood up straight and instinctively took a step back, "oh shit."

"Yeah, Oh shit." Esposito said. He nodded his head towards the building entrance, "And that's how she'd know."

Ryan turned around to find himself staring at a side of Beckett he'd never seen before. Her tall, lithe frame was clad in skin tight black leather pants supported by a meanest looking set of combat boots he'd ever seen. A slim black leather riding jacket with Kevlar pads covered the tight Harley Davidson baby-doll tank top, and the shoulder holster she almost never wore. Her dark chin length hair was pulled back low behind her ears, with a set of predator sunglasses perched on her nose, concealing those penetrating brown eyes. The large black duffel bag was slung low across her back.

Ryan shuddered as Esposito nudged him, "What do you want to bet that that bag is full of guns?"

Beckett stalked towards them like a trained combat vet, her very stance oozed badass. As she approached she lifted a finely shaped eyebrow, "You know boys, I'm a little old for the showy send off."

Using her foot, she lifted the lid on one of her saddlebags and pulled out a small gym bag with her free hand. She promptly dropped it on the cement floor and slung the heavy bag across the back seat.

Esposito chuckled as Ryan tried to explain, "No, we just came back from court. We weren't waiting for you or anything." He took a nervous breath, "We got distracted checking out your bike."

Beckett reached into the gym bag to retrieve a spider web bungee which she used to tie the bag down to the bike. As she began she glared at Ryan, picking up on Esposito's humor, "You know checking out someone's bike is like checking out someone's ass." She leaned over the bike to tie the far side.

Ryan's eyes went wide as he tried to stare at anything other than the very part of the conversation that was now pointed squarely at him. Esposito had to turn away to contain his laughter but not before catching the smirk on Kate's face.

Esposito loved this time of year. Every May, the ball busting, hardworking detective, let her hair down the week before she headed out to Illinois. It made for some great jokes and good times. Usually Beckett would head out to the local cop bar for a few brews before she left in the morning, but she already told him that she was heading out tonight. With a fourteen hour trip and the one hour time difference she figured she could make it right after midnight, leaving two hours of hanging out with her LETO crew tonight.

Ryan cleared his throat as he became focused on a scratch on the Crown Vic, "So ten days off in the woods of Illinois. Didn't figure you for much of a camper."

She laughed as she shoved the small gym bag into the gap in the saddlebag. Swinging one long leg over the Harley, she reached for the helmet, "I bunk in an old hangar with some friends."

"Really," Ryan turned to look at her steely gaze.

"Oh yeah," she said as she straightened up the bike and pulled back the kick stand, "We got running water and everything." She laughed as she started the Harley.

Ryan and Esposito watched as she backed up, stomped the shifter and roared out of the parking deck.

"Nice." Esposito said as he headed toward the elevator.

Ryan jogged to catch up, "What did I say?"

Esposito shook his head, chuckling as he boarded the elevator.


May 14th,

Kennedy International Airport - Domestic Departure Terminal

New York City, NY

The black GMC Savanna pulled up to the curb smoothly before stopping in a red zone. The airport police officer standing on the curb would have said something to the driver except for the vinyl NYPD shield and lettering conspicuously adhered to the sides and back of the vehicle. Instead the transit cop watched as the passenger doors opened, depositing a lean, well-built man with dark brown hair that receded from his forehead. His clothing suggested a plain clothes cop or a detective; a white button up shirt with a striped tie and matching suit jacket and pants of a more durable nature. As he straightened up to an intimidating six foot height he caught the eye of a luggage porter. As he approached with a cart the detective reached into the backseat and was handed a slim subtly patterned designer purse.

He laughed loudly, "I hate holding Kathy's purse in the mall and you stick me with this at the airport." He rolled his eyes and scanned the area for onlookers as he shifted the purse to his other hand.

A slim feminine hand took his and the body it was attached to came out of the back seat, revealing the owner of that purse. The transit cop did a double take at the woman. Approximately 5'7", she had a very athletic build that was accentuated by the nearly black jeans and the low cut cotton t shirt that hugged every inch of the gorgeous figure. Chin length reddish brown hair that was lighter than the man's, framed a classically beautiful oval face set with deep brown eyes that seemed like they could read into your soul.

She reached into the van to pull out a small leather jacket that she slid on before relieving the detective of her purse, "Yeah but mine is a lot more subdued than that floral monstrosity your wife carries around." She watched him laugh with that intense gaze of hers.

As the porter approached, the woman walked around the van and opened the back doors. Inside were two heavily used NYPD blue equipment cases. The woman pulled out a duffel bag and a roll behind suitcase while the detective lugged the two hard shelled cases onto the cart. Once he was finished he glanced over to the Airport Police officer. He waved his hand, an indication to come over.

The transit cop looked around as he walked to the van, "Can I help you, Sir?" He said, hoping he hadn't been caught checking out the woman.

The man pulled out his badge, "Detective Stabler. This is my partner, Detective Benson." He tilted his head to the woman. "Could you contact the T/A Security officer in charge and have him meet us at the security checkpoint for Flight 604 to O'Hare?"

"Is there a problem, Detective?" He said.

"No problem, just procedure." The female cop said, "The Transit Authority likes to know when weapons are being loaded on planes."

The transit cop took a cautious step away, "Weapons?!"

Eliot Stabler shot a look at his partner, Olivia Benson, before continuing, "Relax. Its tactical weaponry and equipment assigned to us by NYPD but there's no ammunition."

Benson fired off a disarming smile, "Our equipment and travel arraignments have already been cleared by the NYC T/A so all we need is for you to call the T/A Police OIC to meet us at the security checkpoint." She turned her smile up to about a hundred watts and the transit officer tried to hide his, and failed.

He reached for his radio and called it in. Stabler and Benson lead the porter and the transit cop into the terminal. By the time they checked in there were four transit cops escorting them to the security office. A tall, wiry man was waiting in a holding room. Upon seeing them he greeted them warmly.

"Jacob Marks, I'm the Transit Authority Chief here at Kennedy."

Stabler shook his hand then stepped back to lean against the wall. Benson repeated the handshake but stood straight next to her partner. "Don't remember this being this much of an issue last year."

"I imagine not but we've had some missing luggage issues recently so I just want to confirm your inventory and security." The Transit cops set the two cases on the table. "So what do we have here?"

Elliot and Olivia reached into their pockets and pulled the keys to unlock the cases. Elliot flipped the lid, "Tac vests, helmets, standard body armor, AR-15s, pair of Glocks, radios. Basically a full tactical load out minus ammo."

Marks nodded as he noted the equipment in a note pad, "Where are you heading, again?"

Benson blew out an irritated breath, "O'Hare then Springfield."

Recognition filled Marks' ice blue eyes, "Ahh, Going to the LETO conference." He wrote more in his notebook before looking at one of the other cops, "Greg. I want you to ride with these cases and see to it they get stowed and secured on this bird. Don't let them out of your sight till the hatch is closed and they taxi out."

Greg nodded as he closed the cases. The two detectives secured their locks and replaced the keys in their pockets. As the transit cops took their luggage into the back areas, Chief Marks escorted them to the plane. After checking in with boarding, Benson reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a cell phone. As she flicked it open, she smiled, "Beckett just left the twelve. Said she'll keep the beers warm for us."

He laughed at the joke, "Remind me to get her a good six pack this year, something that really brings out the bitter when it's warm."

Marks stared at them as Benson shut down her phone. "Warm beer?"

They laughed but Elliot explained, "We got stuck with a busted fridge a few years back and swapped it with a friend's before she got there. But we forgot to take the beer out of the busted one. Our friend drank it out of spite, said she couldn't let good beer die over something as stupid as room temperature."

Benson cut in, "Ever since then, whoever gets there first unplugs the others fridge and put a six pack in it. It's an inside joke that kinda became a tradition."

Marks shook his head, remembering the last warm beer he drank, and then shuttered, "Horrible. You have a good flight, detectives." He turned and walked away, trying not to think about warm beer.

Stabler and Benson laughed as they boarded the plane.


May14th,

Springfield Arms Training Center - Building 283

Ft. Justice, IL

Sergeant First Class Colin O'Malley set the heavy dumbbell back on its rack before reaching for the towel draped across the bench he had been working out on. He flipped it open to a dry section before wiping the sweat from his cheeky face. He tossed it into the towel basket hanging next to the rack and walked over to the water station where his phone and shirt were. The persistent beep from his phone that indicated a text message is what had interrupted his last set of curls.

He flipped open his military issue Nextel and read the text from one of his favorite people. He laughed out loud at Beckett's words about warm beer for her NYPD Comrades.

He keyed in a brief response before setting the phone down and tossing his shirt into the basket with the towels. As he walked toward his room he looked around at the converted aircraft hangar that was his home. He had thought it was used as a garage but later found out that it had housed a single p-51 mustang fighter. A hold over from WWII, had the base ever been attacked and communications compromised, a single fighter could escape with news of the battle.

It was tucked deep into the woods on the opposite side of the airfield and the other hangars which gave him the privacy he liked. He converted the four offices on the back wall into two private guest rooms, each with its own stand up shower and latrine. He then added rooms with private baths on either side of the massive door. Last he built a loft overhead for his own quarters. The ground floor area was now T-shaped so he packed an impressive workout area in on the left and a small wet bar and lounging area on the right. The open center was where they were parking motorcycles, the only other type of vehicle permitted on the base besides the various golf carts and quad rangers available at the motor pool.

Colin climbed the steps to his loft and headed straight for the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and began to undress for a shower. Slipping off his combat boots and black cargo fatigues, he stood up to look at the scars across his back and right side in the mirror.

Jagged and ugly, produced by explosives and gunfire, it was a reminder of why he pushed for the better training. It was urban combat that had left him so marred. Not that he was vein about his appearance but he hated when others asked about them and he really hated the pity in their eyes when they did it, which was why he kept them covered most days. In his mid-thirties, O'Malley was tall, and covered in well-defined muscles and Irish and Celtic tattoos. As he stared at the tattoos he couldn't help but admire the one that Liv Benson had suggested.

On his right deltoid was an Irish cross with four equal lengths overlaying a Celtic circle. He had it for years before Liv, half drunk, said that it seemed to be missing something. Within a minute of conversing with her Irish catholic partner Elliot Stabler, she had it.

So now wrapped around the outside of the circle were the words "May the Lord keep you in His hand and never close His fist too tight." Since the cross had been in memory of his mother, he had initially been put off by her statement, but once he heard those words he remembered that it had been one of his mamaí's favorites when he was a kid. He thought it appropriate and explained the cross to her. So the next day he and Liv, while still nursing that hangover, had gone into town to see his tattoo man.

He chuckled to himself at the memory because what no one else new about was the small tattoo that Liv had decided to get in an area not seen except in a bikini. To his knowledge even her partner of ten years didn't know to this day about the little tigress tattoo that she carried low on her left hip.

Immediately his thoughts went to the one Kate had insisted on buying him two years ago. High on his left shoulder, just below a shirt collar was the green shamrock with a bright red lipstick kiss imprint over top of it, and tattooed in Kate's own handwriting "may the hinges of our friendship never grow rusty" he shook his head, chuckling loudly, before turning to his shower.

As the scalding hot water ran down his defined muscles, he smiled at the thought of his closest friends coming back. Always a ridged soldier and an unyielding instructor, O'Malley seldom let anyone in. But for ten days, he kept good company in Detectives Stabler, Benson, and Beckett. Three people with whom he could just be himself because no one put any expectations on him.