"Let me finish.But, as you point out, that is physiologically impossible. Haircut? No, same titian locks in the same places, which is good, because if they werent, I'd be driven to desperate acts against your hairdresser. Or myself. I love and depend on your hair, Kay Howard."
"Well, as long as you don't flip out or anything," Kay said, dryly."And titian makes me sound like Nancy Drew. Nancy Drew never won at arm wrestling, but she had a perfect clearance rate."
"You're blushing. You're so hot for Ripper you can't see straight."

"It's the makeup. Joyce made me over."

"Nope, that's the pink of unrequited passion. I used to get it myself sometimes, before I became a hardened shell,"
"Does anybody ever go for that Mr. Lonelyhearts bit of yours?"

"Some. Then they get to know me. Then they scream and throw things."
Kay laughed. "I'm so glad my desperate loneliness amuses you. After this we can go to the shelter and kick puppies."

."And titian makes me sound like Nancy Drew. Nancy Drew never won at arm wrestling, but she had a perfect clearance rate."

I t heart erika!

"His butt is too well-defined. Straight men have saggy butts or no butts at all, as God intended."

WE'RE NOT WORTHY!

(beaming with pleasure) "No, but you should hear yourself. In the grocery store(she imitates him) Hmm, soup for one. I make a fabulous pesto. In the library 'Is that book any good? I hear page 200 is really hot.' No, you don't. You make my quickie, half-assed version of Mrs. G's pesto that she's probably rolling in her grave over cause I don't do it right."

"In my defense, a surprising number of books have sexy page 200s," Munch says.
"Lucky for you. You need a new act, Munchkin."

"At least I have one. You play second fiddle, mostly."
"I keep hoping to get beyond all that. His parents, where we went to high school, who cares?"
He leans over, gets in her face. "Hey, Kay, how's my breath?" She feels the warm air on her face.

"I'm not sure I like where that mouth has been, buddy. Maybe I should get hazard pay."
He's kidding, right, she thinks.

He takes his glasses off. Man, she thinks, he's not joking.

"It's not where it's been. It's where it's going. Live for today, babe."
"You did not just quote Buffalo Springfield."

" My Bartlett's is at home, honey. And you make it harder when you laugh."
"Make what harder?"
"Not that...the whole thing."
"So, did you bring your Funk and Wagnall's....Jeez, what was that? I sound like you!"
" I thought you'd never ask." And he kissed her. Kay couldn't believe it, especially how quiet he was being. The one thing that shuts him up, no wonder he chases it so much. "Can I touch it?"

"Touch what?"

"Your hair. I've always wanted to touch it. That wasn't the only part, but the most surprising."

"What are you talking about? You held it back last New Year's."

"But you were drunk and puking then. It doesn't count."

"You're such a sweet talker."

" I thought you didn't want the sweet nothings."

"Well, yeah, but I don't wanna talk about vomit, huh? Guys."
And she unclips her hair. "Knock yourself out."

"It's not where it's been. It's where it's going. Live for today, babe."

"You did not just quote Buffalo Springfield."

BWAH!

"Can I touch it?"

"Touch what?"

"Your hair. I've always wanted to touch it. That wasn't the only part, but the most surprising."

"What are you talking about? You held it back last New Year's."

"But you were drunk and puking then. It doesn't count."

(dies from the perfection of this)

erika, what are you doing to me? You've got the One True Homicide here; if you throw Luther Mahoney into any of this, all my memories of H:LOTS as it was are likely to roll over and disintegrate.

Aw shucks. But I really am nervous about finishing that. I'm still learning how to write The Sex. And also, there are loose threads from here to Charm City. Or at least, Sunnyhell. And any story about Mahoney has to wait for: a. TNT or some other channel to pull its head out of its ass. b. The last DVD's to come out. And I think after this story, I might take a break from the fic thing. The way I do it, it's too consuming. (And I'm still mad at my mother for pulling me out of that to inspect the fresh artichokes last night. Susie Bright does not have these problems.)

How do you know Susie Bright doesn't have these problems?

ALso, does that mean you're going to write some original fiction? Because I could live with that...

I don't. I'm just kvetching. "Shakespeare didn't start out this way, blah, blah." But I'm sort of guessing she doesn't live with a mom impressed by an 88 cent artichoke. (they were in fact quite excellent, but that is not the point.) And she was like " You're quiet tonight." And I didn't really want to say "I'm trying to help Munch and Kay score. And I do write original fiction, but compared to this fic, it is anemic and sad(not tragic, sad like puny. I don't know what's missing from it, but something is.) But I will not be finished with this till November or something probably, and by then probably besieged anew with bunnies. Unless, of course, I find something else to keep me up nights...

Anytime you want to do some original work and send it to me for beta and editorial purposes, girly, I am right. there.

But would you respect me in the morning?