Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: This is an SVU/ER crossover. You don't need to know both shows to understand the story. (Imagine this taking part when ER was in season 10.) Ships are to be determined for the SVU characters. Possible OE, if that's what you guys want to see (I don't have very many favorite ships for SVU). The ER ship will be Carby.
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, so comments (good and bad) are welcome. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Operator
"911, what is your emergency?"
The woman on the other end was sobbing hysterically. If she was speaking through her tears, her words were incoherent. The operator gave her co-workers a look of confusion.
"Ma'am," said the operator. "Ma'am, can you tell me your name?"
The woman swallowed several times, and took a shaky breath. "Maggie Wyczenski."
"Okay, Maggie," said the operator kindly. "Can you tell me where you are?"
Maggie became suddenly infuriated. "Who are you?" she shrieked. "Why do you want to know where I live? How do you know my name?" Her words disappeared in incoherent cries. The operator blushed; her coworkers had started to stare at her. Stupid first days…
"Maggie," said the operator calmly. "Maggie, you said I wanted to know where you live. Are you at your home?"
Maggie's anger vanished as quickly as it had come. "Why no," she said in a voice that was surprisingly calm. "No, I'm at a motel."
"And what is your emergency?" asked the operator in relief that she had finally gotten through to the question at hand.
Maggie took a rattling breath. "I was raped," she whispered.
Olivia Benson awoke abruptly to the familiar ring of her cell phone. Groping around blindly in the darkness, she seized it and glanced at the Caller ID. It was Elliot. Olivia looked at the clock on her nightstand; it read 2:37 AM. She groaned inwardly as she flipped open the phone.
"El," she croaked into the phone. "It's too damn early. What do you want?"
"I'm sorry," he said, and he sounded like he meant it. Unlike his partner, he sounded wide awake; tense, almost worried. "We have a vic in a motel room in Queens. She called saying she was raped. We're catching."
"Not that I don't care," said Olivia, "but why does this have to be done at this hour?"
"Look Liv," said Elliot impatiently. "She won't let the officers in – male officers," he said pointedly. "She needs a woman."
"What makes this one so special?" asked Olivia, as she began searching for some jeans.
Elliot frowned. "This one had a weird 911 call. She sounds bipolar." He paused, waiting for his partner to take in the information. "She needs someone to be with her. Please come down."
Olivia sighed. "You owe me big, Stabler."
"How about I buy you coffee for the next week?"
"The next month."
"Maggie, will you open the door?" called the police officer through the heavy wood.
Maggie shrieked from inside. "No! I won't let you! Leave me alone! Why have you come for me?" She said this all very fast. The officers exchanged glances. "Abby!" came the shrieking again. "Abby! Why have they come for me? Make them go away; make them go away, Abby! Abby, where are you?"
The officer knocked on the door. Maggie fell silent. "Maggie, we've sent for Special Victims. They'll be here shortly to help you."
Maggie appeared to be silent; the officers couldn't hear any more yells. They relaxed, waiting.
The clock read 3:03 when Olivia turned off her car outside the hotel. The parking lot was empty, save a couple police cars. Elliot was waiting for her at the entrance.
"She still hasn't let any of them in; I just got here. She probably won't let me in anyway. It's all you, Liv."
"I'm honored," said Olivia sarcastically as they began climbing stairs. "What's this I hear about bipolar?"
"The operator said the woman – Maggie Wyczenski is her name – had attitudinal changes while on the phone. Sad, one minute, angry the next." Elliot turned a corner. "This is the floor."
There was a crowd of police officers outside on of the doors. "Special Victims," announced Elliot as he approached. "I'm Detective Stabler, and this is my partner, Detective Benson."
"Benson, eh?" said one of the officers with interest. "Think you could get her to let one of us in?"
Olivia approached the door and rapped loudly. "Maggie, my name is Olivia. I'm a police officer here to help you. Will you let me in?"
There was no response. Olivia glanced back at the officers, perplexed. "That's strange," she heard one of them mutter. "She was screaming awhile ago."
"How long ago was awhile?" asked Elliot.
The young officer shrugged. "I don't know – maybe a couple minutes-"
Olivia frowned and tried the door. The handle was locked. "Maggie!" she called. "Maggie, open up!" She bit her lip in worry. "Are there any other exits from the room?" she asked the officers.
The officers shook their heads. Elliot stepped forward. "Bust the door; something's wrong."
BANG! The door was forced open. Olivia and Elliot rushed in, guns raised. Clothes were strewn on the floor; sheets were tossed against the wall. The room was an utter disaster.
"Touch nothing," said Elliot severely to the officers following him inside. "This is clearly a crime scene." He walked over to the bed. There was no sign of Maggie, but a pill bottle on the nightstand caught his attention. He read the label; it was just Advil, but the bottle was empty.
"Liv, check the bathroom!" yelled Elliot frantically. "Maggie?" he called, as he opened closets. "Are you here?"
Olivia knocked on the bathroom door, where a sound of running water could just be made out. "Maggie?" She tried the handle; it was locked. "Someone get me a coat hanger!" called Olivia worriedly. Elliot tossed her one from the closet as he ran over. She twisted it into the knob. The locked clicked and the door opened.
Olivia stepped uncertainly inside. "Maggie?" she called gently. Splash! Olivia stepped into a puddle of water. Elliot came up from behind her. The shower curtain was drawn. Olivia pulled it back in horror. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight in front of her.
Maggie was lying in the overflowing bathtub. Olivia stared at her in horror. Elliot bent down and took the limp wrist that was dangling from the edge. He gritted his teeth. There was no pulse.