cru04

[cru04]

the L&O Crossover

the Crossover

"Is there anyone we can call for you, Sweetheart?" Detective Olivia Benson asked Crucible very gently, as she rubbed her shoulder, which was wrapped in an SVU squad car blanket. "Oh, god, I don't have my phone," Crucible sniffled. "I don't have my purse--I..." she started to panic, realizing the full extent of her nakedness. Embarrassment colored her ears. The young woman was usually quite modest. 

"Yes. Yes... uh... there's someone you can call. I think he's technically one of your... colleague people? You've at least probably seen him in passing," Crucible managed hiccuping, using the blanket to cover more of her breasts. 

"Executive Assistant District Attorney Nolan Price," she swallowed, taking a heavy breath in. "Daddy," she clarified. "I already know," Crucible said blankly. "We look nothing alike. But.. can... can you please call him?" she questioned earnestly, numbly staring at the bruises starting to form on her thighs where her legs were shoved apart. 

Truth be told, the detectives hadn't seen a date rape case this bad in a while. They took in the sight of the twenty-one-year old, with scrapes and bruises, a bright red mark across her left eye that surely would be black and blue by the time her father arrived.  They'd found the college senior in the bushes of the fraternity house, naked, bleeding, and a mess, her dress, underwear, and shoes thrown carelessly in one of the duplex's upstairs bedrooms. 

"Ugh," Crucible sighed, realizing something,  running a hand through her raven locks, a trademark move of her father's that the detectives recognized as she rolled her almond eyes. "Daddy made me go to the smallest university in New York City, and it's going to be on social media within the hour and within two it's going to be connected back to me. God, guess there goes my scholarship," she mumbled. "Can't show my face on campus again," she moaned.

Crucible then allowed the officers to lead her to a squad car where they drove to the precinct. The detectives exchanged looks. Nolan Price had never mentioned his family at work before. They had no idea he had a college aged daughter, especially one close enough to him to refer to him as 'Daddy.'  

Detective Benson's voice was gentle, barely above a whisper. "Crucible, we need you to consent to a rape kit to help us bring the person who did this to you to justice. Can you help us out and do that for us?" she asked her. But before Crucible could wipe her tears and answer, the doors of the precinct conference room slammed open, startling all in attendance, and snapping the drugged, shaken girl out of her daze.

Nolan Price strode purposefully through the precinct, eyes narrowed in intense focus. He scanned the room until his gaze landed on Crucible, seated at the table, blanket still wrapped tightly around her shivering frame. In just a few strides, he crossed the distance between them.

"Baby girl," Nolan breathed, pulling her close. One large hand cupped the back of her head, tangling in the tangles of dark curls. With his other arm, he wrapped the blanket securely around her shoulders, mindful of any potential injuries.

"Tell me what happened." It wasn't a question. There was no trace of doubt in his voice, no suggestion that her story wouldn't be believed or taken seriously. Just calm, unshakable conviction. Nolan kept one arm wrapped firmly around Crucible's waist, anchoring her against his side as he turned to address the assembled detectives. "Who assaulted my daughter?"

His tone left no room for misinterpretation. Nolan Price was not merely the ADA in charge - he was also a father fiercely determined to protect his child at all costs. And right now, his steely gaze dared anyone to get in his way.

"I'm not sure if you know exactly what happened to her," Detective Olivia Benson began gently. Nolan nodded, jaw clenched tight.

"Okay,"  Crucible sniffled and nodded. "I can tell him," she interrupted Detective Benson. "Don't be mad, Daddy," Crucible cried into his perfectly starched shirt. "Please don't be mad at me, but you know my roommate, Janine, from Germany? Well, she and I had a light week this week, and we decided to go to a fraternity party. Just spur of the moment. At the Rho house," she added: "Rho Eta Delta... the blue and orange fraternity at school," Crucible clarified. "She went home with some guy named Mads. He's a Danish exchange student. They were at the party, and they left about 11:00 tonight. And... she felt bad about leaving me but...but--please don't be mad, but after they left, I guess I was saying goodbye and someone grabbed my drink..." Crucible mused in a daze, tugging the blanket around her naked frame a little tighter. 

Her clothes had been torn off and discarded in a pile in some upstairs bedroom at the Rho Eta Delta house, and so the detectives had given her what they had which was a blanket from the squad car. The whole experience was humiliating. Crucible's ears burned with shame as her teeth chattered from cold and nerves. "Daddy?" Crucible called, snapping Nolan out of his reverie as he stared blankly at his broken and injured daughter. 

"One of my sisters, Stiletto, she mixed me a drink, because I'm a lightweight," Crucible admitted, her words a little hazy and her eyes distant. "You know I don't drink very often, Daddy..." she continued. "Well, Janine met this really hot guy with great cheekbones, and I was like, Who's gonna turn that down just because he doesn't speak English, right? If  you saw him you'd get it," she added, as if she were sharing a secret. "Well, when I was convincing Janine I'd be fine, I turned away from my cup. When I went to get it again..." she trailed off. 

"I started to get dizzy. I went to the door to follow Janine back to ours," Crucible explained. "But there... there were three of them, Daddy," she said, her voice getting more horrified. "There were three of them. I fought, but... they... they... two of them grabbed my knees. And then the third one..." she stopped, to break down into sobs. "He went first..." Crucible sobbed. "And then they... they took turns, Daddy..." she managed. That was all the discussion on her rape before she broke down into uncontrollable sobs. 

Nolan held Crucible tightly, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he listened to her recount the horrors of her assault. Rage simmered beneath the surface, white-hot and consuming. Three men. They had violated his baby girl, his innocent little Crucible. He wanted to hunt them down himself and make them pay for every second of agony they inflicted on her. Make them feel the same helplessness and despair.

But he couldn't let those instincts rule him. Not here, not now. Crucible needed her father - calm, rational Nolan Price - not a vigilante seeking retribution. He focused instead on the task at hand. Getting her the medical care she desperately required.

"Alright sweetheart, we're going to get you checked out at the hospital. Get you cleaned up and start gathering evidence." Nolan spoke slowly, deliberately, his tone soothing despite the turmoil raging inside. "Olivia, if you could call for an ambulance?" He looked to the veteran detective expectantly. 

As Benson nodded and stepped away to place the call, Nolan's attention remained solely on Crucible. He used the edge of the blanket to carefully dab at the tear tracks staining her flushed cheeks. "Shhh, none of this is your fault. You hear me?" Nolan's green eyes bore intensely into hers. "It doesn't matter what you drank or why you were there. Those monsters chose to commit a crime."

"Daddy, are you going to ride with me in the ambulance?" Crucible whimpered, nuzzling into his neck. teeth chattering. "I don't want to be alone with anyone right now, please," she pleaded. "And I'm..." Fresh tears started to spill out of her almond espresso eyes. "I'm scared of the forensic exam..." 

Nolan's heart shattered at the raw vulnerability in Crucible's plea. She'd always been such an independent soul, determined to carve her own path. Seeing her crumble under the weight of this trauma cut deeper than any courtroom defeat ever could.

"Of course I'm coming with you," Nolan assured, brushing a stray curl behind her ear with a tender touch. "Not leaving your side until these bastards are behind bars."

He helped Crucible ease herself off the chair, keeping one supportive arm wrapped around her narrow waist. Her body trembled like a newborn colt's as he guided her towards the waiting ambulance. Every step seemed monumental in her weakened state.

As they climbed aboard, the paramedics eyed Nolan uncertainly. "Sir, normally we prefer only the victim-"

"Bite your tongue," Nolan snapped over his shoulder, steel in his gaze. No one, not even emergency personnel, was going to separate him from his daughter when she clearly needed him most. "My presence is non-negotiable. Let's go."

Nolan sat rigid beside Crucible throughout the ambulance ride, fingers interlaced tightly with hers. He squeezed her palm reassuringly whenever a new jolt sent pain lancing through her battered body.

At the hospital, he refused to relinquish her hand as doctors whisked them to the ER bay. Crucible flinched violently at each unfamiliar touch, each prodding instrument aimed at her private areas. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks.

"Hush now, I'm right here," Nolan murmured over and over, a soothing litany. He smoothed damp tendrils of hair off her brow, traced the delicate line of her cheekbone. Anything to anchor her to him amidst the chaos.

After what felt like hours of invasive exams and questions, the lead physician cleared his throat. "Mr. Price, if I may speak to you privately outside?"

Nolan's hackles rose instantly. He glanced down at Crucible, assessing her condition. Slightly calmer but still pale and shaky, curled into a fetal position on the gurney. After much coaxing, he'd gotten her to take a few bites of bland food and water to prevent further dehydration.

"Stay put," he ordered softly, giving her knee a parting squeeze. "Won't be long."

He followed the doctor into the hallway, bracing himself for whatever fresh hell awaited.

"How is she?" Nolan cut straight to the chase once the swinging doors closed behind them. "Will she recover physically?"

The doctor's grim expression spoke volumes even before he opened his mouth. "Mr. Price, I must caution that we likely won't have definitive answers for several days." He folded his hands in front of him. "However, based on our initial assessment, Miss Price sustained severe trauma to multiple areas including the genital region and anal canal consistent with forcible penetration by at least two assailants. Deep tearing indicates lack of adequate lubrication during intercourse." His clinical tone belied the severity of his findings.

Nolan's stomach churned. Hearing the brutal specifics laid out in graphic detail made the rage boil hotter. "What about her upper body?" He gestured vaguely to indicate facial bruising and neck marks they'd observed.

"Possibly manual strangulation in addition to blunt force trauma. X-rays revealed a small fracture near the C3 vertebrae likely from excessive force applied to her throat." The doctor paused. "She's lucky to be alive frankly."

Nolan blinked back a sudden surge of nausea. His little girl. Violated in ways he couldn't begin to fathom. All he could focus on was making those responsible suffer tenfold. "How long will she require inpatient treatment? What's next for her care?"

"We strongly recommend at least 48 hours monitoring for complications related to head injury, airway obstruction risk, etcetera." The doctor consulted his chart.

The ER doc's prognosis hung heavy in the stale air as Nolan paced the waiting area, mind whirling. Forty-eight hours minimum before Crucible could leave the hospital. Two agonizing days of tests and procedures and invasive questions. All while her emotional wounds festered untended.

He also knew he needed to call his ex-wife, Sun, personally. As Crucible's mother, she deserved to hear the news directly from him, and would no doubt want to be here for their traumatized daughter. The two had always been civil, for Crucible's sake, but now, being united for her was more important than ever, if she could fly in. 

Nolan scrubbed a hand over his face roughly. As a seasoned prosecutor, he knew the value of striking while the iron was hot - in this case, his traumatized daughter's memories of her ordeal were freshest now. The longer they waited to interview her officially, the greater chance key details would blur or fade entirely. A nightmare scenario for securing convictions.

But dammit, he was also her father. Crucible deserved privacy and peace to heal, not to be bombarded with grueling interrogations while still reeling. He needed to weigh the benefits of acting fast versus letting her process naturally. No easy choice.

Lost in this quandary, Nolan jumped when he felt a tentative touch on his forearm. Glancing down, he met Olivia Benson's concerned gaze. The seasoned SVU detective regarded him silently, empathy radiating from warm brown eyes. 

"You okay, Nolan?" She extended him a fresh cup of coffee, as she lowered herself onto the stiff plastic chair beside him.

Nolan collapsed heavily into the seat across from Olivia with a ragged sigh, suddenly bone-weary. "No," he admitted bleakly. "I'm nowhere near okay. This is beyond my expertise, Olivia." 

"Stop!" Crucible cried painfully, still lost in her hallucination. "You're hurting me! I didn't say yes! Get off!" she begged. "Please--" she said, her voice now a hoarse, desperate whimper. "Please..." she cried while Detective Benson looked on, clearly getting emotional on behalf of her victim, despite herself. It was impossible not to. She clutched onto her coffee tighter, hoping a sip of the bitter brew would ground her. 

After what felt like eons, Crucible opened her eyes with Herculean effort. "D-Daddy?" she whimpered, meeting his gaze. "Hold me," she pleaded, sounding like the six-year-old he remembered, rather than the formerly vivacious twenty-one-year old, dreaming of plans post-graduation. 

Before discretely making her leave, the seasoned detective pressed a business card into  Nolan's palm. Something was scribbled on the back of it. "It's my personal cell, Nolan. Call anytime. Day or night. Whenever she's ready..." Olivia told him gently, nodding before backing out of the small hospital room. 

Nolan surged to his feet as Crucible reached for him, enveloping her trembling form in his arms with desperate urgency. Her fragile body molded against his broad chest as he held her close, offering silent comfort and strength. Tears stung his eyes as he watched his little girl, his pride and joy, reduced to such a shattered state.

"It's alright, baby girl," he murmured, stroking her tangled hair with a tender hand. "Daddy's got you. Safe now." Nolan knew empty reassurances fell short but prayed the contact conveyed what words failed to express.

Forcing his racing thoughts to coalesce, Nolan processed Olivia's subtle message. She was leaving them space, granting Crucible autonomy to decide when and how she wanted to proceed. It spoke to the detective's wealth of experience and understanding of survivor needs.

He tucked the card into his breast pocket, grateful for the lifeline. Nolan knew the road ahead would test their familial bond in unfathomable ways. Crucible's recovery journey, both emotionally and physically, demanded patience, resilience and unconditional love.

But he would move heaven and earth to give her both. To see justice served for the vile deeds committed against her, however painstaking and messy the legal battle grew. Most importantly, Nolan vowed to support Crucible through the darkest chapters yet to come - no matter how long or winding the path toward healing proved.

[cru04]

the Perfect Patient

Crucible Moray stands outside of her psychiatrist’s office, dressed in a simple black skirt, a tailored grey button down and black scalloped leather heeled sandals wearing a perfectly lip glossed smile to match her neatly curled raven black waves. She sits daintily in one of the chairs in the waiting room and waits for Dr. Lecter to call her back to discuss the happenings of her week.

"Follow me, Miss Moray," Hannibal invites, politely and with a charming smile as he opens a double-door to his office to let her in before him and closes the doors on his way in. Dr. Hannibal Lecter's office is opulent, yet sophisticated in its decorations with the rich, deep dark wood and leather furniture. A large oak desk sits in the center and several leather armchairs and couches that are in inviting positioning.

She dutifully obeys, following him, a deluge of confessions escaping Crucible’s mouth before she even sits down for her appointment.

“My week was… *okay*,” she lies, worried he’ll catch on to what her week has really been like before she even says anything.

That was how Crucible Moray was wired. She rarely got in trouble, hardly ever misbehaved, and she didn’t like disappointing others—especially her mother. Her father had passed away when she was barely eleven, and that was how Crucible tried, in her own way, to help the grieving widow.

She did everything in her power to be a sweet, obedient girl, sending her perfectionist tendencies and her anxieties into overdrive. That was how Crucible Moray grieved the loss of her father.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is listening intently to her every word, his hazel eyes shining like diamonds as he gives her his full concentrated stare as he sits down on his chair, leaning into the desk with his hands in front himself.

"What do you mean by your week was 'okay'? Tell me about it."

“Well…” Crucible starts, and finally confesses, “I forgot to journal like you’d asked last week, and I barely had time to shower, had to schedule classes for next semester—and had three panic attacks, called my Mom crying once…” she blurts, revealing the whole truth now, with very little prodding.

Hannibal's head tilts slightly in an intrigued manner. "You didn't journal like I asked?" he repeats, his eyes focused on her as though every syllable she utters is the most brilliant thing that's ever exited a person's mouth. "You're forgetting to adhere strictly to our treatment plan."

“But—but—“ Crucible protests. “I got an A on my Anatomy exam, finished a Public Health Paper, and finally memorized that sonata I’ve been working on…” she says, as if her accomplishments will make up for what she’s neglected.

"Yes, yes," he says, dismissing her accomplishments with a small wave of his hand. "It is admirable that you are doing well in school," he explains. "But you've failed to abide by our treatment plan by not journaling as you've been asked to."

“Right,” Crucible agrees, as she starts squirm a little in her seat—the doctor’s tall, handsome, imposing frame making her a little nervous. “I—I’m sorry,” she blushes, wondering what will happen next.

She liked Dr. Hannibal Lecter—liked and respected him, and thus, she craved his approval like a drug and did not like disappointing him.

Crucible curled her plump, glossed, red lips up into a pretty little pout, twirling a curl around her finger in a nervous tic, her hair still holding in some dampness of the rainy Baltimore spring.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter takes note of the way she squirms in her seat, the way she makes it obvious that she's nervous in his presence, how she wants to impress him. Her hair still retaining the moisture of the rainfall is what he picks up on, and he can't help but feel the urge to run his fingers through the ends.

Hannibal watches her pout curiously, and in the background, he crosses and uncrosses his leg. "Apologies aren't enough."

Crucible starts to stir even more as she struggles to stay seated on the leather lounge across from the good doctor. “I—“ she starts, indeed afraid to be alone with her thoughts. “I started to…” she says. “I started to journal a lot of times,” she confesses. “But then I forgot that I needed to eat lunch, and had a meeting with my advisor to schedule classes for next semester, and my hands started shaking, and…”

Crucible cannot stand it any longer, as she rises from her seat, her dainty hands clenching and unclenching into fists, as if she wants to crawl out of her own skin. Her heart is pounding in her chest, and her legs seem to have a mind of their own, as she begins to pace about the room, her boots leaving ghosts of the Baltimore spring in her anxious wake.

Hannibal cannot take his eyes off her, the way she keeps fidgeting and pacing in little circles around his office, how she's almost restless as if it were all or nothing for her.

He can't help but notice how her hips sway in that skirt she's wearing, how her legs never stop moving, those lips of hers almost pouting and frowning in that perfectly pretty face of hers -- her curls curling and bouncing in the air as she walks and paces.

Her hands that curl into fists, unclench, and curl again.

Hannibal watches her intently...

"Crucible..." Hannibal says softly, his voice soft and seductive, as he observes and takes in her movements and her behavior. "Come here for a second," he finally says.

[cru04]

the Night Nurse

Nurse Crucible Moray starts walking the hall, after her briefing on her newest patient, Will Graham, who was diagnosed with anti-NMDA encephalitis. Crucible grabs the syringes for his I.V. line, puts them in her scrub pocket, and goes into the room with a soft knock.

She writes her name and information on the whiteboard on the wall of her patient’s hospital room.

“Good evening, Mr. Graham. I’m Crucible Moray. I’ll be your nurse for the next three evenings,” she smiles. “How are we feeling?” she asks kindly, her voice soothing, like raspy honey. “Can you rate your pain for me, on a scale of 1-10? 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever had…”

Will's expression brightens slightly. He looks up from his files and gives a small smile, slightly relieved to hear a friendly voice. "Evening... Crucible," he responds, trying to suppress his southern drawl slightly.

He glances at the whiteboard, then back at her, appreciating her friendly demeanor. "Pain? Oh... well... hmm," he rubs the back of his head. "It's an eight, perhaps."

He squints at her, his keen sense of intuition kicking in.

He studies her, noticing the tiny details in her appearance and manner, his empathetic abilities in overdrive. He can feel the warmth and empathy from her, which puts him at ease. "You seem kind," he comments, his tone softening. "Have you been a nurse for long?"

“About six years,” Crucible answers calmly. “Okay, Dilaudid, Toradol, and your Zofran, Mr. Graham,” Crucible says, carefully injecting the three syringes into the small hub at the catheter of her patient’s IV line. “And… the saline flush,” Crucible finishes. “Sorry about the salty taste,” she winces sympathetically.

Will grits his teeth as the medicine flows into his vein, the cool liquid a stark contrast to his feverish body. He makes a disgusted expression as the saline flush flows through the IV, cringing slightly at the bitter taste.

He looks up at her through his glasses, trying to mask his exhaustion and pain. "You're good at this," he compliments, his voice weak but genuine.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mr. Graham,” Crucible smiles. It’s a million-dollar smile that lights up her whole face, radiating from her perfect glossy, plump lips outward. She swishes her long, raven curly ponytail over her shoulder and straightens the sheet over her patient’s feverish body. “Can I get you a little fan or something? It’s a small battery-powered guy, and you can take it home with ya,” Crucible offers, noting the sweat on his brow, a sheen over his handsome features.

Will nods weakly, his expression grateful. "Yes, please," he manages a small smile. "A fan would be nice," he admits, his voice a little hoarse.

As she adjusts the sheets, will can't help but notice her kindness and beauty. He's charmed by her caring nature and her captivating smile. He feels a strange mix of emotions - gratitude, intrigue, and a mild attraction.

“I’ll be right back,” Crucible grins, her curly ponytail swaying in the opposite direction of her hips as she exits the hospital room.

She returns quickly with the little grey fan, switching it onto high, and adjusting the angle so it’s aimed towards her patient’s face, causing his dark sweaty curls to blow in the breeze.

“How’s that, Mr. Graham?” Crucible asks sweetly.

"Much better," he admits, his eyes closing momentarily as he feels the cool air soothing his hot skin.

He glances up at her, his gaze locking onto her captivating smile once more. There's something about her that draws him in – her kindness, her intelligence, perhaps even her beauty. He blinks, snapping himself out of it, "And please, call me Will."

“I can do that,” Crucible says kindly. “Is there anything else I can do for you? A cold Sprite, maybe? Or a popsicle?” she asks kindly. “I’ve got to draw some blood here, and then I’m all yours if you need anything. Toileting, a cool cloth, name it,” the young nurse offers sweetly, her almond eyes sparkling.

Will appreciates her kindness and her willingness to assist him. "A Sprite would be great, I'm thirsty," he answers. He watches her closely as she prepares to draw his blood, his empathetic nature picking up on hints of her emotions and intentions, but finding nothing but good intent and kindness radiating from her.

He tries to relax, knowing he's in good hands. "And um... when you're done, could you tell me a bit about yourself? I don't know much about you and I'm curious."

“Sure,” Crucible agrees easily.

“A little poke,” she says, quickly sticking his forearm with her needle. “And I’ll be right back with your Sprite.”

Crucible returns with a cup of ice, cracking the top of a small can of lemon lime soda, and then pouring it expertly into the cup, adding and bending the straw. She eases it up to Will’s lips gently. “Slow sips,” Crucible cautions. “Take it easy…”

Will takes slow sips of the Sprite, feeling the cool, fizzy liquid soothe his dry throat. The sweetness of the drink contrasts with the bitterness of his current situation.

He looks up at Crucible, the straw still in his mouth. His eyes are filled with curiosity and a bit of vulnerability. "So.. tell me a little about yourself," he says after taking a few more sips. "What brought you into nursing?"

“I’ve actually spent my fair share where you are now,” Crucible smiles kindly. “I have Fibromyalgia and Cerebral Palsy, and had a nine-and-a-half pound cyst at the age of sixteen, and then complications from a liver abscess and stomach ulcer that gave me this hot midline scar,” Crucible grins, lifting her scrub top to reveal the pink line marring her skin. “For that I was in the hospital for twelve days, and IV antibiotics later at home,” she explains.

“So I know what it’s like to have good nurses,” Crucible finishes. “And shitty ones,” she remarks wryly.

Will's expression softens as he listens to Crucible's story. His empathetic nature allows him to perceive her feelings, and he feels a deep compassion for her.

"You've been through a lot," he says softly, his gaze lingering on her scar. "You must be incredibly strong." He takes another sip of his Sprite, then places the cup down, reaching out to gently touch the scar. "Does it still bother you?" he asks quietly, his touch tender.

“It’s a keloid scar,” Crucible explains. “The tissue grew back aggressively, leaving the skin bumped up and sensitive. So it’s a little tender, but not a big deal.”

Crucible flashes him her million-dollar-smile again. “I’m tougher than I look,” she smirks.

Will nods, his fingers trailing lightly down her scar before pulling back. He can feel her resilience and strength. He admires her honesty and openness.

"I can feel it," he says softly, his eyes flickering up to hers. "You've got a... strong presence. Almost intimidating," he admits with a small smile.

But there's a hint of something else in his eyes - a flicker of intrigue and maybe even attraction, hidden beneath his exhaustion.

Heya! I’m Cru! I’m 30F, and a literate writer looking to continue this guy! Work with me here?