For Seftiri, the Limer Goddess. I hope that she will be pleased and not offended? *g*
He couldn't help but notice her. In fact, more than a few heads turned as she sauntered gracefully past, seeming not so much to walk, as to glide effortlessly. He didn't see her until she was a few feet in front of him, gracing him with a view of the long, shapely curve of her back and hips. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a sleek French twist.
She was wearing Prada, classic black and white, the stylish cut of the suit hanging and clinging in all the right places. A pair of three thousand dollar Manolos completed the picture. Munch couldn't help but smile at the vision of poise and beauty. He picked up his pace, eager to see if the face matched the rest of the picture.
She paused at the window of a small boutique, a hand coming up to casually pat down a stray strand of hair, ruffled by the light breeze. Munch strolled past her, glancing to his left as he walked by her. Their eyes met, both widening in shock and surprise.
“Casey?!?” He couldn't help the slight squeak in his voice.
“Yeah, it's me. Dammit, Munch, what the hell are you doing in Boston?” Casey asked, clearly upset at seeing the NYPD detective so far from home.
“Cousin's kid's bar mitzvah,” Munch answered succinctly, still marveling at the gorgeous sight before him. “If you don't mind my asking, what the hell happened to you, Miss Doolittle?”
Sighing deeply, Casey decided to unburden herself.
“You think that I enjoy all the comments, all the jokes, all the cracks and remarks that I get on a daily basis? You think that I like dressing like a color-blind courtesan? Or that I really actually walk that way? God, Munch, you of all people should know a front, a cover when you see one!
“I'd seen Alex Cabot, I knew her style and I wasn't about to walk into that squad looking like I was trying to be Alex Cabot. So I decided that you were all going to have to learn to love me and respect me, warts, lime green and all.”
Nodding sagely, as if Casey were revealing to him to identity of the second shooter on the grassy knoll, Munch grinned his odd twist of a grin.
“Well, it worked. God knows, you almost blinded us some days in the process, but you pulled it off.”
“Yes, I did. But you know, occasionally, I really want to wear some of my real clothes, and not try to walk in those cheap-ass shoes that make me look like I've been in the saddle all day. So, I go out of town. I never thought that I'd ever see anyone I knew,” Casey sighed.
“Don't worry, Counselor, your secret is safe with me. On one condition, of course,” Munch reassured her.
“What's that?” Casey asked, justifiably paranoid.
“You ever been to a bar mitzvah?”