"Detective Stabler! What a pleasure!" said the brunette, broad smile playing across her lips in what could be called a shit-eating grin. She stood, one hand resting on a cocked him, the other clutching a small gray piece of technology. A tape recorder.
"Sara," replied the detective tersely, broad arms coming to rest across his chest. As was his fashion, Stabler didn't bother hiding his animosity for the woman before him. The woman pouted in mock hurt for a moment, before planting herself on the edge of his desk, one leg crossing over the other. She was obviously stepping over some sort of boundary, sitting atop the man's desk, but if she cared she sure as hell wasn't going to show it. "Now, don't be like that, Detective. You'd think I killed someone…" she stated, one finger tapping her chin idly.
"Did you?"
"Ah. The man's funny, ladies and gentleman. Give him a gold star."
Stabler's frown seemed to deepen, if it was ever possible, and he leaned back in his swivel-chair. "What do you want?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he took in the woman. "I'm a good boy. I've got clean hands. What have I done to deserve the New York Post's finest?"
The reporter raised a brow, mimicking Stabler's stance by crossing her own arms. "Don't flatter yourself, man. It's not all about you." Blue eyes lifted from the detective and scanned the room, searching. The place was quiet, if it was at all possible. It was seven according to the digital clock's luminescent face that sat upon Stabler's desk, and it seemed that many of the officers in the precinct had gone home. Whatever Sara had been looking for, however, she didn't seem to find it, and her eyes ended up on Stabler's face again. "I'm not…"
"Here for me. Right. Then what…"
"Do I want?" she asked, a grin coming to her face again. "You're new guy. Er… what's his name…" the woman paused, hand diving into her leather side bag, papers shuffling.
"Lake?"
Sara snapped her fingers, looking up. "Right! Chester Lake? Yeah."
"Someone called?"
Both Stabler and Sara's head swiveled around, the large frame of SVUs newest coming into view. In one hand was a large coffee cup, Starbucks, and in the other a newspaper which was hastily discarded on the man's desk as he made his way over to the two. Stabler frowned, lifting one hand in the woman's direction. "Detective Lake, Sara Greene. Sara, Chester." He looked upward at Lake. "Sara is a reporter for the Post."
Lake's face remained fairly indifferent, though brows might have canted upwards slightly. "Is that so…" came a slow response.
Sara, having found what she had come for, hopped up from her desk, smile plastered across her face. One hand, the one without the recorder, was shoved forward in salutation. "Pleasure to meet you, Detective." Lake took the hand and gave it a brisk shake, looking to Detective Stabler. It was obvious by his questioning look that he was beginning to grow a bit disconcerted.
"Er, you, too. What can I do for you?"
"You can talk. I think Manhattan deserves to know their new detective, what with-"
"Sara." It was Stabler. Standing, he grabbed the coat off of his desk and turned towards the woman. She paused, high-wattage smile faltering ever so slightly. "Don't make an ass out of yourself," he said finally, giving her a frown before nodding at Lake, donning his jacket, and exiting. Lake frowned now, looking from the door to Sara, then back again.
"Am I missing something?"
"Ah, the man's a walking time bomb. I'm sure you've noticed."
Lake paused. "Well, I don't-"
Sara smiled, catching him. "You hesitated."
"That doesn't mean-"
"What does it mean?" she asked, giving the recorder a click and holding it up to the man. An enticing nod of the head was given. "Come on. I want to help, not hurt. In a way, I'm kind of like you."
Lake was obviously fighting some sort of mental battle. After a moment, however, he sighed… the woman didn't seem all that bad. Hell, she was kind of cute. Still, though, Stabler didn't like her, and although the man could be a prick sometimes…. well, he was often right. Something was off. He lifted his cardboard cup. "I'm out of java. You can tag along if you want," he said finally, despite his previous thoughts.
Clicking off her recorder, she grinned. "Peachy."