He drags her out for a drink, because he can and because it's the end of the day, and they both need a drink. He half expects her to fight him on this, but to his surprise, she doesn't, and he can't help but think if she's wondering if she's really cut out for this after all. So he sits across from her, and looks at her for a moment, before speaking.
"We don't get to pick the victims," he remarks, and isn't speaking of the murder that started this all in the first place. She looks at him and nods.
"You told me," she replies quietly, and then, "I don't know what I was thinking."
Suspicions confirmed. She has been wondering whether she's cut out for this or not. He shakes his head at her.
"If you keep thinking that way, you'll never figure it out," he says. "Trust me, I'd know. I didn't think I'd make it, either."
"But you've been in for seven years already," she says, parroting facts that Cragen told her when she first transferred, or rather volunteered, in and found out who she would be partnered with. He sighs.
"Time doesn't make it any easier," he tells her. "Every time you think you've seen it all, something new comes along."
"And we're left wondering what the hell is wrong with the world, right?" she asks, dryly, and finds herself surprised when he laughs.
"Yeah, we're left wondering," he says. "It's all we can do…and sometimes, it's the only thing that helps."
She looks at him with raised eyebrows. "How does it help to wonder what's wrong with the world we're living in?"
"That's not what helps," he says. "What helps is wondering what it would be like if people didn't do the things they did, and thinking on it until whatever it is that you're feeling goes away."
"But it never goes away," she points out, and he nods.
"No, it doesn't." He pauses, and then looks at her for another long moment before continuing. "There's a reason why this unit is all volunteer."
"Because not everyone can handle the pressure," she said wryly. "Let's face it, Stabler, either we've got serious issues or we're in this to make a difference."
"Or both," he says, quietly, and there is a note of something in his voice that makes her not want to push the subject, especially since they haven't known each other for very long yet.
"What made you come in?" she asks, finally, and hopes she isn't crossing the line by asking him this.
"Some stupid thing that happened in high school," he says. "And the fact that I have a family…four kids…I don't want them to have to see what I do."
"You can't keep them innocent forever, you know," she remarks, and knows all too well about what she speaks of. He gives her a sideways look and a half-smile that makes her think this partnership might just work.
"I know I can't, but I can sure as hell try to keep it that way for as long as possible," he says, almost amused by this as he goes on. "What made you come in?"
And suddenly she feels that sinking feeling that she knew she was going to feel, because she hadn't wanted him to ask. But at the same time, she knows it's only fair because he gave her an answer, and now it's her turn to give him one.
"My mother," she says after a while, without looking at him. "She was…raped, back in 1967 and well…here I am."
He stares at her then and she wonders if he's judging her, but then he nods, slowly, and speaks.
"You want to find justice for her," he says, more of a question than a statement, and she nods, too, because in some way of her own, she really does.
"It's not…only about that," she admits, and continues before he can say anything. "The kids, you know?"
And he does, because it was one of the harder lessons he had to learn when he first came in, a lesson that's stuck with him even though every time they get a child case, it hurts more than he cares to think about.
"We don't get to pick the victims," he says, again, because he can think of nothing else to say.
She nods. "I know."