He knows exactly why he really took the case, even though he isn't going to admit it to anyone else but himself.
The funny thing about it is that back then, he hadn't known what the hell he was doing, because he was still the rookie, the new kid in the squad. But he'd thought he'd known everything.
What the hell is wrong with you, StablerYou trying to get this entire thing thrown out the damn window?
Well, excuse me for not believing one word of that bullshit this person's feeding us now! You wanna nail this bastard or not?
Now, eleven years later, he regrets the argument more than he does never catching the guy, because ultimately, Matthew Broadus ended up in prison anyway.
And suddenly in the back of his mind, it's the end of 1991 again, and they're going into 1992, and he's back to being the rookie. The one who doesn't know what he's doing and still has to learn everything.
Two years is the average run in this unit, kid. I've been in for ten. Seen too much. I'm telling you now, Stabler, when you start seeing this shit after you close your eyes, you better get out while you can.
Why didn't you?
Naïve, eager, even, wanting to know more. Sickened by the crime scenes, by the sight of a teenage girl who was tortured and murdered.
And now the case is open again, but this time, he runs it with someone else, at the request of Debbie Cooper's parents.
All the while, he can hear the first time going around and around in the back of his head.
He's good for it, kid. He's gotta be the one we're looking for.
But it had been said time and time again, and soon, they'd had to shove the case to the back burner because there were so many other cases they could be worrying about. And somehow, Rosetti had been falling, falling so hard and so fast that none of them could see it. Not until after the case was broken.
You're drunk, Dave. Let me take you home.
I'm fine, kid. Leave me the hell alone.
He goes through the motions of this case because it hurts to think that Dave isn't there anymore, that he'll close the one case that haunted his first partner until the end.
Eleven years ago, Dave Rosetti stuck his service weapon in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
House phone ringing, stunned voice on the other side of the line, going into the shock, call the others, Elliot, please, just call the others, I don't…I can't….
Gwen Rosetti hadn't been a cop before her husband killed himself. She went through the academy a few months after he died, determined to pick up where he'd left off.
It's the only thing I have left of him, El, this department. I let that go, I'm not gonna have anything, and neither will our girls.
Munch's voice only barely registers with him, something about shoes, because they've been working this nonstop trying to get something, anything that will prove Broadus killed Debbie Cooper.
They get Huang to cooperate with them, which is good. They tried back in the early 90's to get the Feds to work with them, then, but they didn't.
Ah, screw 'em, kid, we don't need 'em. We'll break this on our own.
They got access to more stuff than we do.
Yeah, but we're the NYPD.
Bravado he never thought he'd ever have, because he was the nervous one, the one who didn't want to cross the lines, but that was then and this is now, and he'd fall on his knees and literally beg Alexandra Cabot to do something about New Jersey if he thought it would do any good.
But it won't, because Jersey's being stubborn, and they don't want New York to touch anything, and until they find the evidence they need, they won't.
I can't do this anymore, Elliot.
Blood runs cold through him now just like it did on that night when he was sitting in the precinct finishing the paperwork Dave had shoved at him, claiming that his daughter had something going on that he couldn't miss.
But the call had come from the Rosetti home. And he can't think about it now, because Broadus is in his face about how all his 'sweaty fumbling' earned him a lifetime of responsibility.
Bright red faces, screaming at the top of their lungs at being so rudely brought into the world, tiny hands wrapped around one of his fingers…the things that anchor him through the hardest days and nights…
He wants to see the crime scene photos, but Elliot isn't going to let him. Instead, he and Huang take turns, trying to provoke him, seeing if he'll break.
Eventually, Broadus does, flipping the table over to catch Elliot off his balance and slamming Huang into the wall numerous times, and there's blood and then there are alarms, and then there are guards.
Dave, wait. Don't do anything stupid, all right? I'm on my way now.
Words slurring together as a reply comes, the sound of a click, the feeling of blood running cold through his veins and desperation following behind….
He barely feels himself getting out and walking to where Cabot and her Jersey friend are, barely hears them.
Goes outside, hears the protesters who don't want the state to be able to kill Matthew Broadus, and Elliot finds himself thinking, rather viciously, that if anyone deserves it, it's that pathetic son of a bitch, but Jersey can't touch him because he's now on a ventilator.
But Debbie Cooper's parents are waiting. And he informs them of the case's closure, and the other circumstances, and then he walks off.
As he does, he hears the click again.
Dave, wait. I'm on my way.
It's too late, Elliot. There's nothing you can do.
Another click, and then a bang, and the sound of something he doesn't recognize echoing through the squad room as nothing but silence answers him.
This one is for you, Dave. This one is for you.