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Jack McCoy opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times as he got his bearings: sky. Clouds. Trees. He was lying on his back in the grass. He took a slow breath and exhaled, then sat up, wincing as his head began throbbing.

"Are you okay?" a familiar voice said anxiously.

"Fine," he grunted, deciding he didn't need to stand just yet and wondering exactly what had hit him. He lowered himself back to the ground and only then looked to whoever was addressing him--and froze.

"I should get help," Mike Cutter said.

"What...?" Jack began fuzzily, and the other man looked steadily back.

"Take it easy," he advised.

Jack blinked a few more times, now wondering not only what had hit him, but how hard. Finally, he sat up again, with more success.

"Easy," Mike said again. Jack looked at him obliquely.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he asked. "Little John?"

Mike's brow furrowed and he looked down at his clothes. "It kind of looks that way, doesn't it?" he responded. "But if I'm Little John, that makes you...."

Jack sighed and didn't respond directly. "What'd you do, hit me with your stick?"

Mike looked at the staff he was holding. "That's got to be it," he said. "I mean, Robin and John meet up by having a quarterstaff fight."

"Then this is Sherwood Forest." Jack shook his head carefully, trying to keep the throbbing to a minimum. "Come on; there's got to be someone else here."

"This is dumb," Cy Lupo complained. "I mean, come on. Red? In the middle of a forest? And why am I wearing tights?"

"I dunno, man," Ed Green replied distractedly. "Maybe this is some sort of bizarre Robin Hood fantasy or something."

Cy stopped dead in front of a fallen log. "I am not a merry man!" he objected loudly.

"It appears you are today," another voice responded dryly, and the detectives jumped, both groping for pistols that weren't at their hips. Jack McCoy emerged from the underbrush, dressed in green. "And I so appreciate your pointing out the tights," he continued sardonically.

Ed sized him up. "All right ... you're Robin Hood, Cy's Will Scarlet...."

"Mike's Little John," Jack continued, looking down--Mike chose that moment to climb to his feet--"and apparently you're Friar Tuck."

Ed almost suppressed his horrified expression.

"Have you met anybody else?" Mike asked.

The detectives shook their heads.

"Damn," Jack said, disappointed. "I swear my stomach is eating itself."