The blonde ADA strode briskly down the precinct hallway. The tension in her jaw wasn't exactly helping her headache, but she couldn't stop gritting her teeth. Cabot loved the detectives; Benson and Stabler were genuinely good friends. But they had perfected their partnership almost a little too well. When the two of them joined forces, she couldn't help but take it a little personally, irrational though she knew that was. Being strong-armed into requesting a warrant that probably wouldn't pass muster was just salt in the wound.

She was already kicking herself for caving in so easily on the Jansen case; the evidence was flimsy, and she wasn't certain she felt comfortable pushing for a search of his apartment. But somehow, Stabler and Benson had wrangled an agreement out of her, and Cabot knew her boss wasn't going to be happy about it. She pushed down her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose, wondering where the nearest drug store was. Aspirin would be really useful right about now.

"Tough, isn't it?"

Cabot spun around and pushed her glasses back up quickly, almost defensively.

It was Huang, leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his charcoal gray suit. His black overcoat shrugged almost off his shoulders; only the splash of a yellow tie stood out.

"Excuse me?" Cabot asked.

"Being the odd one out," he clarified. Huang's dark brown eyes quickly scanned her face as he approached her, but his expression remained as implacably compassionate as ever. "As opposed to one of the boys – or girls – in blue."

Her frown diminished slightly. "I suppose you would know."

"I've had to rain on a few parades myself," he said ruefully. "I think I recognize that look."

"Yeah," Cabot conceded sourly. "I'm afraid they were ready with umbrellas this time."

They pushed open the precinct doors and walked out into the afternoon Manhattan sunshine. The ever-present roar of traffic blaring by surrounded them as they strolled down the narrow city street.

Cabot's blonde hair flew in the sudden breeze. The light and air were mildly refreshing, but the noise aggravated the pounding behind her eyes.

"What happened?" Huang asked gently, tightening his long black coat against the wind.

"Oh, it's just the classic DA-police conflict." She exhaled. "They're sure they've got their perp, and they just can't see how a judge or jury might see differently. And of course, if I tell them their case isn't strong enough, suddenly I'm not on their side."

"I know how that is," Huang said dryly.

"Thing is," Cabot continued, "juries just don't think the same way as cops. A detective could be convinced beyond all doubt that someone's guilty, but they just aren't factoring in what the defense is going to do with it. I mean, I'm trying to present as tight a case as possible. If there are holes, you can bet the defense is going to fill them in in a way we don't like."

Huang nodded. "It's easy for investigators to lose objectivity," he said. "Although, of course, it's not hard to see why. They do the legwork – the interviews, the searches, the arrests. They put themselves on the line in a way most of us don't. And then people like you or I come along..."

"And we tell them it isn't enough," Cabot finished, a grim smile quirking her lips.

"It's not the easiest dynamic to walk into," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed absently, letting out a long, slow breath. She felt her body beginning to unclench.

"But you – and hopefully, me too – are necessary for exactly that reason," Huang continued.

Cabot felt him watching her. She stopped and turned to face him. "What does that mean?"

"You bring objectivity," he explained. "You have a perspective they don't."

She blinked, taking his words in. "I suppose that's true."

"They probably do have an excellent feel for who's guilty and who's not," Huang went on. "But that 'feel' just isn't quite enough if it isn't refined by reason."

"Yeah," Cabot conceded with a small, but genuine, smile. She eyed the doctor appreciatively. "I suppose that's part of our job."

"Try not to let it get to you too much," he said. "At the end of the day, these cases would never get to trial without your work."

"Well, thank you, Doctor," she said in surprise, feeling herself flush at the unexpected compliment. "I hope you realize that goes for both of us."

He chuckled modestly. "I'd like to think so, anyway."

She laughed. "It does."

They began walking again, silent for a long moment.

"I do have a name, you know," he finally said.

"What?" Cabot asked, startled.

"You called me 'Doctor,'" he clarified, but a coy smile took the sting out of his words. "Granted, I racked up enough loans in medical school to earn that title, but..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said immediately. "George." His given name felt strange in her mouth, but not necessarily unpleasant.

"Well, it's no problem, Alex," he replied, his eyes flickering cautiously. He glanced at his watch and pulled a face. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment right about now..."

"Of course," she answered. "Hey, I..." she gestured vaguely. "I appreciate it."

Huang grinned. "Anytime."

Cabot nodded slowly. "Thanks."

He inclined his head toward her briefly, then turned and strode down the street.

As she watched him go, Cabot smiled to herself.

Her headache had vanished.