AN: Hello, all. I've been writing fanfiction for a couple years now, but this is my first Friends fic. I've crossed it over with Law and Order: SVU in a couple chapters, but it's predominantly all 'Friends'. Please read and review! If you love it, tell me. If you hate it, tell me how I could make it better. I love getting suggestions and constructive criticism, but please don't flame me.

Timeset in the story is a little different; it's SVU in present time, but Monica and Chandler's twins are 16.

Warning: The story, being crossed over with SVU, does involve sexual assault, and is more dramatic than most Friends stories. Certain parts could be triggering of intense or painful emotions. The first chapter does contain semi-graphic rape, similar to what you would see on SVU. Please use discretion.

Disclaimer: Friends is property of Crane/Kauffman/Bright. I'm just playing with the characters for a while. SVU is property of Dick Wolf. Not mine, not mine, not mine. Et cetera.

The Bing Residence

Westchester, New York

Saturday, October 17th, 6:35 PM

Chandler Bing sat in his kitchen, working at his laptop, and watching his wife as she talked on the phone with Rachel.

"How's Emma?" Monica asked, smiling at her friend's stories about her eighteen-year-old daughter.

It was hard for both Monica and Chandler as they realized that their own children were almost grown now. At 16, Jack and Erica had just begun their junior year of high school. Chandler had been relieved as he had watched Jack begin to date with little to no inheritnece of Chandler's girl-trouble. Monica had watched her daughter go through her first high school years much like Rachel had.

"Erica and Jack?" Monica said into the phone, "They're great. Jack's at a football tournament for the long weekend, and Erica's in the city tonight...I know, they grow up so fast!"

Chandler smiled as Monica continued to talk about their children, then returned to his work. How could any one man be so blessed? He'd been given so much; more than anyone needed or deserved.

Monica's eyes caught his, and together they shared a moment of gratitude; a moment of joy at where their lives had brought them.

---

Manhattan, New York

9:40 PM

Erica Bing's POV

I laugh as Chelsea cracks another joke about Brad, the guy who keeps trying to date her, even though she's been dating Bobby for seven months now.

"Well, should we go in?" Chelsea asks me, gesturing to her father's building.

Her father and step-mother are on this organic food spiel. Everything, virtually every food product in their house, is soy, wholegrain, and other such things. And I suddenly want candy more than anything.

"I'm just going to run to the cornerstore, grab some snacks. Wanna come?"

"Tell ya what," Chelsea says, "You go get some snacks and I'll go find us a movie to watch. You have your copy of the key?"

I nod, and we walk our seperate ways.

I smile as I walk the two blocks to my favorite candy store in Manhattan. Thanksgiving isn't too far off. My family has always celebrated Thanksgiving in a rather eccentric way. Mom makes a dinner which she and Jack eat. However, my father, always having hated Thanksgiving for reasons he refuses to tell me, eats grilled cheese sandwiches. In more recent years, still daddy's girl at heart, I've done the same.

I should grab some Velveeta; make a late-night snack for me and dad tomorrow. Catch up. We used to do that every Sunday...mom would go to the gym, and out for dinner with her friends, and dad would make me, Jack, and himself grilled cheese, and then we'd all watch a movie.

We haven't done that in forever. Mom still goes out on Sunday nights, but Jack's always off doing sports things, and I'm always with my friends, and dad...

What was dad doing these days?

We had a fight on Thursday night, and I didn't even say goodbye before I came here with Chelsea. Our relationship has changed so much since I've turned sixteen. We're still close, but we have so many fights. It never used to be that way.

A navy van is pulling up beside me. The back door is flying open; a man jumps out of it. I try to conceive who he is. I must know him from somewhere, why else would he-

He has a knife in his hands, and before I have time to react, before I have time to scream for someone to help me; that I don't know this person, he is behind me, holding the knife at my throat.

"Get into the back of the van." He says.

The knife at my throat leaves little room for disagreement. I get into the van, and go to the back. There are four men- one driving, one in the passenger seat, one sitting on the ground at the back of the van, and the one with the knife. He's holding it to my shoulder-blade now.

I don't want to die. Please, I'll do anything, I just don't want to die.

The four of them laugh, and I realize that I said that out loud. I'm cowering in the furthest corner of the van; cowering and pleading. The one with the knife puts it down on the seat beside him. He kneels beside me, stroking my hair.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me?" He asks.

He's ripped off my tank top; is kissing and fondling my breasts.

"If you're good for all of us," He says, starting to undo my pants, "Maybe we'll let you go when we're done."

No, God, please...don't...don't...don't...

---

11:00 PM

They threw me out of the van when they'd finished. It's dark. I'm in an alley. It's so cold...so cold...my clothes are ripped...I'm shivering...and I can still feel them. I still smell them. I want them off me.

I want my parents. I want my parents more than anything. I want to be home, in Westchester, eating some of mom's cooking and laughing at one of dad's stupid jokes.

I'm walking towards the street; staggering.

"Help me!" I plead, crying out, "Somebody please help me!"

I'm falling. I'm too weak to move. It hurts too much, and I'm going to be here until-

A man has caught me, and instinctively, I scream.

"It's alright, sweetheart, it's alright," The man says, his grip on me still firm as I attempt to stand, "I'm just going to help you over to a bench, okay?"

He helps me to a bench, and I start to cry as I sit. He kneels down in front of me.

"My name is Elliot," He says, "I'm a police officer. What's your name?"

Slowly, my eyes meet his. They're a deep yet clear blue; a vivid colour. They're like my father's. Maybe that's why I feel like I can trust him.

"Erica," I say softly, "Erica Bing."

"Erica," He repeats gently, almost like an afterthought, "Can you tell me what hapened to you?"

I don't want to say it. It makes it real. It makes the van, and the knife, and all four men...if I say it, there is no more denying it. I don't want to say it. Instead, I start to cry even harder. I don't have to say it. He guesses.

"Were you raped?"

It all comes out at once.

"I was walking to the store and they pulled up in a van and they had a knife and they told me if I was a good girl for all four of them, they might let me go once they were done, and I didn't want to and I said no but..."

This is where I can't seem to say it. They did it anyway. I said no, screamed no...and it happened anyway. It was like the more I screamed; the more I struggled, the more they enjoyed it. The more I cried the more they laughed, and the more I begged for mercy, the more violent they got. I can't say it. I won't say it. I'll just cry it out.

Elliot is shushing me; trying to tell me that it's over, and I'm safe, and that he can take me to an emergency room to get medical help. I nod slowly, my mind not processing the words as quickly as I want it to. My mind is still full of pleas for it to stop, still full of what happened, still pleading to get him off of me.

"I need to take a shower,"

"Alright, just let me take you to the ER, we'll get evidence taken care of, and then you can shower."

"I need him off me," I plead, trying to stand, "I need them off!"

I stand too quickly and I'm almost falling. I keep trying to walk, anyway. I don't want to be here. He can't help me. He doesn't know what I need. I don't need an ER full of doctors and nurses who are just going to touch me even more. I just need a shower, and my bed. I want to get every last trace of them off me, and then I want to sleep under as many quilts as I can find to cover me, and forget everything.

"Erica, these men deserve to be punished for what they did to you. Let me help you."

His voice has taken on an almost fatherly note. I look back.

"Let me help you." He repeats, his voice decidedly paternal now.

Slowly, I turn and walk back.

---

11:37 PM

Monica Bing's POV

I've feared the phone ringing at this hour from the moment I welcomed Erica and Jack into the world, with my husband beside me. It was Chandler who answered it.

"Hello...yes, this is her father..."

It's Erica.

"...Is she okay?...What happened to her?...No, you'll tell me now!" My husband yells the last word, punching his bedside table.

He's always been protective of his little girl. He didn't want her to go to the city this weekend. Not without family. I'd had to convince him that it was time to let her go.

Look where it's got me.

"We'll be there as soon as possible."

I'm wide-awake, staring at my husband, every thought in the world speeding through my mind. Is she dying? Is she hurt? Is she scared?

"Erica's in the hospital."

"What's happened?"

He's crying. He never cries, but he's crying.

"I don't know, Monica. All they'll tell me is that her condition is stable, and that she couldn't call herself because she was receiving medical attention."

I don't want it to be true. It can't be true. Bad things, painful things...happen to other people's daughters. Not mine.

"She's in her room, Chandler." I say, getting out of bed, "She's sleeping."

I walk to her room. Her mauve walls, full of photographs, awards, and posters. Her white bedspread.

Her empty bed.

Chandler walks up behind me, his arms wrapping around me just as I begin to weep.

"She's sleeping. She's in the house somewhere, I know! She's just asleep! "

I turn around, into my husband's arms, resisting him.

"I'm just asleep!" I yell, "This is just a nightmare! Wake me up!"

"Monica." Chandler says, his arms wrapping even tighter around me, leaving no room for resistence, "She's not asleep. She's not in the house. She's in the ER, and she needs us right now."

This time, it hits me. My little girl is in a hospital, scared, and going through God only knows what...alone.

The next time I realize anything is happening, we're already driving down the highway.

---

12:05 AM (October 18th)

Saint Helena Hospital

Erica Bing's POV

They've finished the sexual assault exam. They're getting ready to stitch up my back. Can I roll over onto my side, facing the detective? Is it painful? Am I ready?

Questions swirl around me like air. My answers form themselves, independant from my true thoughts. Elliot is sitting at my bedside. I wince as the doctor begins cleaning the cuts on my back with alcohol, and Elliot takes my hand in his own. I smile soflty; try to, at least.

"You remind me of my dad." I say softly, and he smiles, squeezing my hand tighter as the stitches begin.

"Yeah?" Elliot says, smiling, "Why's that?"

"His eyes are like yours."

"I've got a daughter close to your age," He says, "Are you close with your father, Erica?"

"Very." I say softly, "I wish he was here right now."

"He'll be here soon," Elliot says, rubbing my arm reassuringly, "What's your favorite thing about your dad?"

What is my favorite thing about my dad? His jokes? His goofy accents? That he can pluck my eyebrows better than the beautician at mom's salon, somehow without causing me any pain whatsoever? Grilled cheese? His irrational fear of Lord of the Dance?

The answer comes to me, and for the briefest of moments, it takes away the pain.

"I guess the way I feel when he hugs me," I say, "Like nothing in the world could hurt me."

More to come! Please review.