After making an appointment for later that afternoon, Elliot and Olivia sat in the car. She turned on the AC and nudged him. "Should we get going?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "Let's go."

"What about them?" she questioned, looking over at the house.

"Screw them. I'll be back anyway." he muttered, turning his head to look out the window.

Olivia nodded and started the car.

"Off to OZ we go," she heard him ground out, under his breath.

Elliot was met by a wide eyed, elderly woman. She took him in, shocked. Shaking her head, she whispered, "You look exactly like him, Detective."

He gave her a small smile, "I know."

Sister Peter Marie led him through halls and cells, voices of the condemned echoed in his head. He felt physically sick. Steadying himself by placing a hand on a wall, he took a few calming breaths before continuing on. Sister Peter Marie paused outside of the room that held the death row inmates. "Here we are, Detective Stabler. I'll be back to check on you two, if you don't leave early."

Before he could ask why he would do that, she fled quickly and a guard pushed him forward gruffly.

Elliot took a deep breath and attempted to relax his nerves. He adjusted the sling that held his left arm, and rolled his neck until it cricked. The guard opened the door leading to death row, the clanging of metal against metal echoing the concrete room. Elliot fought off a chill although a trickle of sweat made it's way down his back, and took another calming breath. He stepped in and ignored the remark the guard muttered under his breath. He walked down the aisle till he found the right cell.

Elliot took up a position in between the two cells, unconsciously afraid of being too close to the inmate behind him, and in front of him. He watched as recognition lit up the other man's face as he stood up slowly and made his way over to the bars.

Sam cast him a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded. He casually placed his hand in between the bars and leaned against it, resting his chin in one as well. Pointing to Elliot's visible Marine tattoo on his right forearm, he claimed, "I see you got a new tat without me."

Elliot didn't make a sound, but remained studying his twin brother with an expressionless face. Sam was shirtless, wearing only navy blue pants. His upper body was littered in bruises and ugly scars, and his tattoo on his left bicep irked Elliot. Sam didn't deserve to have that tattoo.

After a brief moment, Elliot shook his head slowly. "Sam, what the hell happened to you?"
The other man didn't move a muscle, except to widen his toothy smile. "I go by Chris now, bro. Christopher Keller."

Elliot's eyes widen a little. He cocked his head to the side. "You took mom's maiden name? Why?"

Chris's eyes darkened a shade. "The Stabler name is tarnished because of that sick fuck of a father we had," he growled, spitting out the name as if it were disgusting to him.

Elliot reacted by baring his teeth, and fighting the urge to step forward. He swallowed roughly as he said, "The Stabler name is tarnished because of you, you son of a bitch."

Chris didn't take offense to the name, but instead threw his head back and laughed. Elliot had to stop the bile from rising up into his throat. His brother was a sociopath, his brother was sick. Chris's eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned as far as he could from the bars.

"That's right, I'm a son of a bitch. And you know what Elliot? I'm a bitch too. Did'ya know that? I fuck guys all the time, and they fuck me. You wanna hear how all those men moan and groan-"

"Shut the hell up you damn fag!" Elliot shouted as he took a menacing step forward, his fists clenched at his side. "You're a sick fuck, Sam. You deserve to be behind bars, and you sure as hell do not deserve the Stabler name."

Chris's face lit up with another lazy smile. "Chris," he sang in a nearly mocking tone, "My name is Chris."

Elliot's body shook with rage and disgust. "You're dead to me, Sammy, you're dead to all of us."

Turning on his heel, and careful to stay in the center of the room, Elliot stalked off. Chris's smile faded a little, but he kept it plastered on as he shouted at his retreating brother's back. "Bye, bye El! Give the kid's a kiss from their Uncle Chris!" He couldn't help but grin even wider when he saw his brother's back tense up from his catcall.

With an exaggerated sigh, Chris pushed off the bars and swaggered over to his musky smelling cot. He plopped down on it, and cradled his head in his hands. A whistle from across the way caused his head to jerk up.

"Whadda ya want?" he demanded, watching as the other inmate waggled his eyebrows and grabbed at his crotch.

"That brother of yours is cute, think he'd come back for another visit?"

Chris bit his bottom lip and sneered. "Fuck off, he's a cop."

The inmate placed his hands in the air, as in surrender, and laughed. "Sure, sure thing Sammy boy."

He leaped off the bed and got as close to the bars as he could. Glaring at the other man, he growled, "Chris, it's fuckin' Chris. Get it right ya chickenshit."

"Ooo, I'm scared. Whatcha gonna do from all the ways over there?" he jeered, ducking as a shoe was thrown and scratched his head. "Hey!"
Chris shrugged, "That. I'm gonna do that."

"Shut up in there!" a guard cried out, before flicking a switch that turned off the lights.

He sighed and found his way over to his bed again, his mind in a confused state. After a few moments, Chris found himself in a deep slumber.