Six months had passed since Hummel and Lopez had joined the squad and Olivia was more than pleased with the results. Granted, there had been a lot of fanfare and quite a bit of scoffing in the beginning, but as time passed and fruit had been borne, no one could argue that her newest recruits were less than anything but superlative detectives.

Hummel and Lopez's clearance rate had leveled out at above ninety-five percent. They were the most successful partnership in the borough and in every SVU department in the City. They had already earned two citations of merit from 1PP and the brass bent over backwards to keep them happy. Sure, it meant there was more than the usual scrutiny upon her, but Olivia was frankly happy for the interest.

And the fact that she could bask, even unwillingly, in their reflected glory didn't hurt. Lopez and Hummel had made it clear more than once to the higher-ups that she was instrumental in their success. She didn't believe it to be true, but after the first three times, she had given up trying to dissuade them to claim otherwise.

It was rather nice, she thought, to have the support of the big guns. She'd never a recipient before; certainly not as a detective and definitely not since she had become command. All of a sudden, people with more bars on their sleeves than she could count wanted to take her to lunch. She was invited to give speeches to political bigwigs and had offered several guest lectures at the academy. She hated almost all of it, but couldn't deny the results.

Her budgets were now always approved, as was overtime. The Mayor knew her by name and sight and often asked for her input on cause célèbs, even if they weren't her cases or had no special victim. She was wading into the political machine against her will, but she was surviving. What had once been one of her greatest fears had become something almost bearable.

Amaro was naturally furious, of course, but that was really no surprise and Olivia was past caring. She didn't know whether his problem was that he believed he was being upstaged by upstarts or if he had an inferiority complex. She knew his situation at home was untenable; his wife had initiated divorce proceedings, they had been finalized, and she had gone for sole custody. Thankfully, she hadn't gotten it.

Unfortunately Amaro's past mistakes were well-documented and had lent considerable support to her cause. He was a hothead. He had more than one note in his file for brutality. She had guessed Amaro and Rollins had been an item, but apparently it had run its course and Amaro hadn't been the one to break it off. He was making things difficult for Amanda and appeared to have no regard for his treatment of her, which was pissing Fin off in huge ways.

Fin had always been protective of his partners, but he was almost parental with Amanda who, surprisingly, didn't find his support annoying or cumbersome. They worked very well together, complimented each other's best traits and smoothed out each other's rough edges. Her forensic skills coupled with his street smarts made them a formidable team, and while they might not have enjoyed the success of Hummel and Lopez, they were regarded somewhat as superstars within the precinct.

Hummel and Lopez had become her eye in the hurricane and she honestly didn't know how to feel about that. She'd never had to rein them in as she had Amaro and, in some circumstances, Fin and Amanda. Hummel and Lopez just went quietly about their business, closed cases, and then went home to do whatever it is they did. She still wasn't sure just what that was, really. She knew almost nothing about their private lives.

In fact, she really didn't need to manage them at all. They knew points of law better than most attorneys and their methods had never been challenged in court. They were a prosecutor's dream. Evidence was always bagged, tagged, and unrefuted. Hummel was a star on the stand. He kept his cool, always, and remained completely unruffled, despite the best efforts of some of the more assiduous defense attorneys. His calm demeanor and profile abilities made him a valuable witness.

The cases on which he was lead detective were those that most often requested a deal, just because the defense didn't wish to cross-examine him. He'd only had to recuse himself from a case once, and that was because Alex was prosecuting and wanted no conflicts of interest. Casey loved him. Barba absolutely adored him. Kurt had earned him four major convictions that brought a lot of press and accolades. Barba always sent flowers.

Hummel often took the lead when their cases went to trial. Lopez was just as competent but more fiery. She wasn't the hothead Amaro was, but she was passionate and had no compunction about calling out defense attorneys on their perceived racism, sexism, or privilege when they tried to bait her. Her performances went over well with juries and the press worshipped her, but she had come close to being censured more than once. She had been held in contempt three times and was always more than content to sit in jail and wait until the judge bowed to political and internal pressures to release her.

She looked out of her window into the bullpen, unsurprised to see Hummel and Lopez already hard at work an hour early. They were both obsessed with their first case at Manhattan SVU, which had regrettably gone cold. They had worked the clues to exhaustion but, unfortunately, the assailant appeared to be transient. He had never again struck in New York, for which Olivia was thankful, though she empathized with their frustration.

They had never managed to unearth any similar attacks in VICAP, but one of Kurt's contacts in Interpol had found the signature in several of Europe's capital cities. Their case was apparently the only one in the States. Kurt's profile offered that the perp was most likely a member of some foreign navy; a search of the records indicated that nine different ships had docked in New York that week, with a suspect pool totaling over three thousand men. It was the proverbial needle in a haystack, not that it stopped Hummel.

He had taken the lack of closure hard and felt as though he had personally failed the victim. Despite the fact that Chloé Champaloux had absolved him completely, he was offended by the stalling of the case and continued to spend his free time pursuing it. Olivia understood the obsession and didn't have the heart to reprimand him. Besides, he wasn't accruing hours looking into it and what he did in his off-time wasn't her business. She suspected he had paid for Champaloux's return ticket to Paris but, again, it wasn't her business, so she said nothing.

Lopez was just as dedicated but her zeal was tempered. She doubted they would ever find the assailant, but she did whatever Kurt asked, entering the profile and forensic results into every criminal database she could find. Even if the asshole was never caught here, the information could still lead to an arrest elsewhere. Then extradition was a possibility.

The weird thing was, Olivia was positive both Hummel and Lopez knew more about the case than they admitted. Their search parameters were so specific, far more than for which the account and sketch could account.

But that was ridiculous, certainly. The victim was positive her attacker was unknown to her and the sketch was so detailed that if she had recognized the perp, she would have identified him.

So what was it that Hummel was so sure he knew?

It was odd. They were odd.

They produced tremendous results, always backed up by irrefutable evidence, but some of their leaps of logic totally escaped Olivia's understanding. Hummel and Lopez claimed hunches, but she felt these were excuses more than anything. She had to sign off on all of their reports and had questioned more than once how they had arrived at their conclusions. When she brought it to their attention, they redrafted their reports and the edits always made sense of their process.

But Olivia had a phenomenal bullshit detector and knew something was off. That she hadn't dug deeper, hadn't ever really called them on it, suggested to her, at least, that she really didn't want to know the answers.

She watched with an interested eye as Amanda and Fin breezed in, Fin and Kurt exchanging some complicated handshake greeting only they understood. She was pleased the men got along so well. She had been initially worried that Fin's gruff demeanor would put Kurt off, but Fin had expressed his appreciation for Kurt's method. Kurt liked Fin's approach and no bullshit policy. They worked well together when they were infrequently paired and appeared to be actual friends.

Santana and Amanda worked well together too, but their relationship was one of colleagues rather than friends. In contrast, Kurt and Amanda got on like a house on fire and spent a lot of time together off the clock. Santana didn't appear to be jealous, for which Olivia was thankful. The one piece of personal information she had been able to ferret out was that Santana's wife had a ticking biological clock and Santana wasn't really too interested. From what Olivia had been able to gather, Kurt was somewhat caught in the middle.

Nick sauntered in and greeted the others, Kurt only perfunctorily, and flirted heavily with Santana, who was disgusted. Frankly, Olivia was disgusted, as well. Santana was happily married and Nick was being a real asshole with his disrespect. She sincerely hoped he wasn't one of those idiot men who felt lesbians could change by being introduced to the right penis. The last thing she needed was Lopez filing a sexual harassment charge, because Olivia knew she would be supporting her female detective in the claim.

She supposed it was time to take him aside again and up the ante. His complete dismissal of Kurt and general surliness of the man in general was obnoxious. Olivia didn't know if Nick was homophobic or if he just resented Kurt and the friendships he enjoyed with women, but she didn't much care either. His behavior was beginning to fray at the edges of the rest of her team and she wasn't about to abide it.

She sighed and gulped down what remained of her coffee.

Two hours later, Kurt finished the report on their most recent case and gave it a final read.

He liked paperwork. It had become something of a ritual for him and he was soothed by the practice. After editing the last sentences, he printed out a copy for him and Santana to sign and then turn over to Sergeant Benson. He scrawled his named on it and passed it to Santana, who grunted, shoved the last of her donut in her mouth, and signed it, not even bothering to read it.

Kurt pursed his lips. She never read them. It didn't really bother him; he supposed he should be flattered by the level of trust she evinced in him. And she was lazy.

He gave her the stink-eye. She offered a cheesy grin, a half-masticated Boston cream pie on full display, and batted her eyes. His eyes tightened as he heard Amanda and Fin's soft snickers. He smiled and rattled off something in Spanish. Santana choked on her donut as Nick snorted his coffee and winced even as he burst into hysterical laughter.

"What's so funny?" Olivia asked.

"Paperwork," Kurt drawled.

She blinked. "Yeah, okay."

"What's up, Liv?" Fin asked.

Her eyes darted leftward. "Carisi's transfer was approved."

They stared at her.

"Not my call."

They stared some more.

"He's not that bad."

Santana rolled her eyes. "I'll pick up some puppy pads during lunch for when he sprays."

Fin threw back his head in laughter. Olivia mustered more restraint.

"Come on, guys," she pleaded, though her eyes danced with mirth, "give him a break. Give me a break."

Kurt tilted his head. "The brass is making noise."

She gave him a quick look that spoke for itself.

Amanda sat up straight. "They giving you trouble?" she asked her boss.

Santana narrowed her eyes. "We're doing well, garnering major press. My guess is they want you to take the lieutenant's exam or they'll install one of their cronies."

Olivia sighed. "Pretty good guess and, yeah, that's about the gist of it."

The others took a several moments to consider the consequences of not having Olivia in charge.

"So do it," Amanda said, shrugging. "You nailed the Sergeant's exam."

"I've never wanted a political career," Olivia argued. "The higher up you go, the less policing you actually do."

"But the better policing you can make happen," Kurt said. "I understand it's not ideal, and I'm sorry you're being roped into this, but quite frankly, you're exactly who they need. Who we need. You not only care about the work, Sergeant Benson, but about the workers. We all know how rare that is."

Olivia pinked as the others nodded their heads.

"Whatever you decide to do, Liv," Fin began, "we got your back."

"Hey, guys!"

They looked over to see a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Dominick Carisi standing at the edge of the bullpen, holding a box of his personal possessions and all but wagging his tail in joy.

Kurt grimaced. "You all owe me," he hissed. He stood, plastered a welcoming smile on his face, and strolled over to their newest recruit. "Good morning, Sonny. Welcome to Manhattan SVU."

Sonny beamed and bobbed his head, eyes softening. "Hi, Kurt," he said shyly. "Thanks."

Fin narrowed his eyes in concern. "What the fuck?" he hissed.

"Yep," Santana said through gritted teeth. "Carisi has a crush."

"Oh, no," whispered a wide-eyed Amanda.

"Is that why he transferred in here?" a suddenly protective Nick demanded. "To make a play for Kurt?"

They all turned and stared at him. Since when was he concerned on Kurt's behalf? Since when did he call Kurt by name?

"I didn't know he was gay," Olivia said.

"He's not," Santana answered curtly, "and this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Kurt attracts people regardless of sexuality. They fall in love with his mind, with his competency. They start out wanting a mentor, but then it turns. When Kurt can't give them what they want, when what they want confuses or upsets them, the fallout is never good."

Olivia frowned. "Fin, keep an eye on this. If Carisi oversteps, let me know. I'll take care of it."

He nodded.

Santana turned startled eyes on her.

"This isn't Chicago," Olivia said. "I don't know what happened to you both there, but this is my squad and I take care of what's mine. We've got a good thing going here and I'm not about to let some overenthusiastic puppy from Staten Island interfere with that."

Santana didn't thank her, but her gratitude was obvious.

Meanwhile, Carisi was gently nudging his new desk over toward Kurt's own. "How about lunch? You can catch me up on what I need to know."

"Carisi," Olivia interrupted, "you'll be shadowing Tutuola for the foreseeable future. He has the most seniority and will get you up to speed."

Fin hid his grimace and knew better than to contradict her order. In the end, she was his commanding officer and he suspected she planned to make him her second whip. She wanted Carisi brought to heel quickly and he was the best man for the job. So he'd do it for her and for Kurt.

Sonny looked like a kicked puppy. Kurt showed no outward sign of relief, but his shoulders relaxed minutely.

"Lopez and Rollins, I want you to meet with Novak about the Kent case you caught last month. It's due to go to trial next week. Hummel and Amaro, you're up. There's been an attack in the Broadway Box on Forty Seventh Street, some dinky little theater. I'll text you the address."

They nodded at their assignments, not arguing despite their reticence at being paired off in these ways.

"I'll see you later?" a hopeful Sonny asked Kurt, who forced a smile.

"Of course."

"Hey, how you doing?"

Kurt turned toward him and smirked. "Just fine, Mister Tribbiani."

Nick smirked. "Seriously, though."

"I'm okay, Nicky. Don't worry so much about me."

Warmth infused Amaro's face, as it always did whenever Kurt used the diminutive.

"You're adorable," Kurt cooed.

Nick blushed harder. "Stop flirting," he chastised.

Kurt laughed. "Oh, Nicky, when I decide to flirt with you, believe me, you'll know."

"Are you sure this is necessary?"

"Yes," said a serious Kurt. "We don't want to give anything away."

Nick exhaled. "We haven't done anything wrong."

Kurt eyed him. "No, we haven't, but it would change things."

"Maybe for the better," Nick volleyed. "Look, man, I have joint custody thanks to you. She wanted to take my kids and move them clear across the country." He shook his head. "I don't know how you did it, and you're probably right that you shouldn't tell me, but Boston is at least in driving distance. I get to see my kids when I want and that's down to you."

"Children shouldn't be deprived of their father."

"But why do I have to keep acting like an asshole toward you?"

"Because the others would be weirded out if we were suddenly friends."

Nick grimaced. "If I hadn't been such a dick when you first got there … "

Kurt waved him off. "You were territorial. You were worried about Sergeant Benson's command position. I never took it personally." He blew out a breath. "We're good, Nicky, and it's not forever. The more often we're paired, the more often they'll see that we work well together and the more natural it will appear. Then we can show them we don't hate each other."

"Thank you for helping me," Nick whispered, face flushed. "I didn't realize how much I was letting the divorce affect my work."

"Happy to help. I've been burned before. I know how it goes." He shrugged. "You're good police, Nicky. We wouldn't be the same without you."

Nick felt a warm feeling unfurl in his gut. He opened his mouth.

"Don't," Kurt whispered. "Don't confuse gratitude with something more."

"You don't know what I feel," Nick hotly argued.

"I know that you're not gay, Nick," Kurt shot back, "and whatever you're thinking is dangerous. It would not end well. Drop it."

"What if I don't want to?"

"It takes two to play this game, Nick, and I'm not interested. I've been down this road before with someone who was once a very good friend. We got confused that it might be something more and it ruined everything. I won't do that again. I don't have that many friends and I'm not going to lose the ones I do have. You're too important to me."

Nick wilted. "You can't say stuff like that and not expect me to …"

"To what? Have sex with me?" Kurt shook his head. "You're confused, Nicky, and that's all this is. If I wasn't gay, this wouldn't even be an issue. You have no desire to sleep with your other male friends, do you?"

Nick was silent.

"Of course you don't. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean you need to be in order for us to relate to each other. I don't know where you got such an idea, but you need to stop it."

Nick gritted his teeth. Part of him knew Kurt was right, that he was being ridiculous and could very well lose what he was so desperately trying to hold onto. Kurt had become one of his best friends, perhaps even the best friend he'd ever had. He'd never been as close to another guy as he was to Kurt and, yeah, he was confused about how he was feeling.

"When Carisi …"

"Sonny is not an issue," Kurt interrupted, "nor will he ever be. He's not my type and he's not gay. He desperately wants to do well, to prove himself, and I think he has the potential to be a good SVU cop. He's smart, intuitive, and compassionate, but he's also reckless and overreacts. He's latched onto me because he views me as the least threatening member of the squad. That's all."

Nick tightened his hands around the wheel and fell silent.

Carisi was an asshole, but Kurt's explanation made sense. As for the other stuff, well, maybe, but when he had caught sight of a nude Kurt changing in the locker room, the feelings that had stoked were anything but friendly.

He supposed he wasn't completely gay, but Kurt was being deliberately obtuse if he honestly believed Nick didn't want sleep with him. He involuntarily licked his lips, imagining his mouth on Kurt's cock. If that wasn't gay, he didn't know what the fuck was. Maybe it wasn't all rainbows and Broadway, but it certainly wasn't straight.

He heard a gentle cough and looked at Kurt out of the corner of his eye, smirking when he saw Kurt adjust his package and stare determinedly out the window.

So Kurt was interested. He was just trying to convince himself that he shouldn't be by arguing that Nick himself truly wasn't.

That was okay. Nick could be patient. He just had to continue laying the groundwork, show Kurt that they could be friends and possibly more. He had to stop pushing and let Kurt set the pace. But it was also time to start showing their colleagues that they were friends, that Kurt meant something to him, especially if that would deter Carisi. Some gentle, friendly touching probably wouldn't be amiss.

He didn't know what had happened to Kurt in Chicago, who had hurt him so badly, but if he ever got his hands on that asshole, he'd probably be sent up to Rikers for murder.

A knot of dread settled in Kurt's stomach as Nick pulled up the curb, which never meant anything good. He reached out with his senses and felt pain and rage, but they were vague, just out of his reach.

He slowly got out of the car and looked up at the theater marquee, suddenly desperate not to be there. He would've given anything not to walk through the double doors staring back at him like eyes.

"What's wrong?" asked a concerned Nick.

"I don't know," Kurt murmured. And he didn't. He also didn't want to know. He could feel his body struggling with fight or flight. He wanted absolutely no part of this.

Nick gently touched his shoulder. "They're waiting on us."

Kurt's face cleared. "Of course," he replied distractedly, squaring his shoulders and stalking forward.

What was this? It was like nothing he had ever before experienced. He wasn't the empath Santana was. Many people thought her unfeeling when the truth was she could feel the entire spectrum of human emotion. It was why she more often than not forcibly deadened herself to feeling. It wasn't healthy but it was how she coped, and who the hell was he to question her process?

"Amaro and Hummel," Nick told the beat cop guarding the door. "SVU. What do we have?"

"One vic, white female," the kid said, shaken. "Beaten pretty badly."

"Raped?"

"Attempted, but not successful."

"That's something, at least," Nick muttered, ushering Kurt inside.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Kurt's knees swung inward and he collapsed, the psychic remnants dripping from the cavernous space overwhelming him.

"Are you okay?" Nick demanded, hurrying to help him up. "Are you sick? Should I call a bus?"

Kurt tightly shook his head and waved him off. "Of course not," he snapped. "I just tripped."

Nick raised a brow. "Yeah? On what?"

Kurt said nothing and pushed forward, letting that sense of dread guide him toward the person who needed his help. He was glad Nick was here with him and not Santana. She always freaked out when he made any misstep, always so sure that he was solid. She drew her strength from him and panicked when he exhibited any moment of weakness.

And he did feel weak. He hadn't felt anything like this in years, since long before Chicago.

He shook it off and traversed the long darkened hallway toward the light which seemed to beckon him. It felt cold and sterile, unwelcome. He heard harsh whispers, pained gasps. At last he stepped into the room and immediately wanted to flee.

A woman was seated on a velvet bench before a makeup mirror, her stage costume ripped, bruises littering her arms. A large gash was seeping blood into a rapidly-blackening eye. She was missing a large hank of hair which had obviously been torn from her scalp. She was covered with a blanket and a paper cup of coffee was shaking in her hand, threatening to spill over any second.

She was almost sobbing, heaving great shuddering breaths as she tried to curl in on herself. A female officer was pressing her with quiet questions, but only upsetting her all the more. Her entire body was trembling as if in seizure.

Kurt stared dumbly, a cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

"Rachel."