Sputtering and holding his now aching face on the floor, Cragen stares at up at Crabb with utter confusion. "Inspector Crabb, what on Earth—"

"Y'don't really know me yet, ey?" Crabb tilts her head, rolling her shoulder as she stands over him. "Don't understand why I'm here, what my problem is? And, y'see, I could tell you. Give you the whole bloody speech about what you do down the line, about how I know you're Cecil Cragen and not Tom Broadfoot, but I ain't gonna. 'Cause frankly, you don't bleedin' deserve it."

"Special Inspector—"

"Nope," Crabb says, and jams her foot down against his torso to knock the wind out of him. She's not usually the type to actually kick a guy when he's down, but this is different. "No questions. No answers. Nothing. You ain't worth the damn dirt on my shoe let alone my breath."

She considers dragging him back to his feet to punch him again, but... no. She jabs her foot down a little harder and then just steps away.

As satisfying as it would be to actually beat him to a pulp, Crabb has principles. And beating a man to a bloody pulp outside his orphanage where there's a bunch of kids nearby doesn't really align with those, even if everyone will forget.

But by the look on her face as she comes back towards Valdis, she's still pretty damn fucking satisfied.