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i. black leather catsuit
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Myka hisses. She’s gone pretty red, but Claudia isn’t actually sure whether that’s from rage, embarrassment, or sheer unadulterated lust.
“Hello, darling,” H.G. says cheerfully. “I thought since you lovely detectives were going to all the trouble of arresting me, I might as well dress the part. What do you think?”
Myka makes a few inarticulate noises and leans rather heavily back on her desk.
“Oops,” Claudia says, sidling over to Myka’s side. “I seem to have lost my grip on this cup of water! Oh, no, it is spilling all over your white shirt, Myka.”
Pete gives her a thumbs up. “Nice acting!”
“Huh?” Myka says. She seems a little distracted, Claudia notes with glee, and doesn’t even react to the water, though it must be pretty uncomfortable. “Uh-huh, sure, Claudia, okay.”
H.G. smirks. “Oh, look, I dropped something,” she says and very, very slowly turns and bends over to pick it up.
“Oh, god,” Myka says.
Claudia puts her hands together and looks prayerfully up to the heavens—or at the very least, the pencil Pete managed to stick into the ceiling last week. “I take it all back, lord. Good things really do happen.”
ii. prostitute sting chic
Myka is silent for a full half hour after H.G. leaves the precinct, while periodically, all across the room, cops have to stop work to put their heads in their hands and shake with suppressed laughter. Claudia’s pretty sure she hears someone whisper, “Oh, look, I dropped something,” sending at least ten more people back into hysterics.
Myka slams her hand down onto her desk, potentially breaking a pencil. “That is it.”
Claudia exchanges a look with Pete over their desks. “Come on, Mykes,” Pete says. “They’re just laughing about H.G., uh, looking really dumb in that catsuit.”
“Oh, I will catsuit her,” Myka hisses and stands up very abruptly, marching away from her desk.
Claudia stares after her with wide eyes. “God,” she says, “I hope so.” She and Pete simultaneously rocket out of their seats and practically run after Myka’s retreating back.
When they catch up, Myka says, “Claudia, think you can arrest her for something else soon?”
“Uh,” Claudia says. “Sure. Anything that happened that day I was bodyguarding, like we said.”
“Great,” Myka says. “Dickinson over in Vice still owes me a favor.”
Claudia watches her walk away and turns to Pete. “Dude.”
“I know, right?” he says. “You get the criminal, I’ll get the camera?”
“It’s like you read my mind,” she says and takes off running for her squad car.
--
“Claudia, I know I said I was looking forward to my inevitable arrests for whatever you chose, but don’t you think an actual mugging is going a little—” H.G. trails off and comes to an abrupt halt halfway into the precinct. “Detective Bering.”
Claudia peeks around H.G., trying to get a good look, and bites her tongue, hard, to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter.
“Oh, hello, Helena,” Myka says, turning around. Slowly. Her voice is mild, but her eyes are narrowed just a little too much, and there’s a glint in her eyes that Claudia usually sees right before Myka slams a piece of evidence down in front of a criminal. “Claudia got you in for something again?”
“Detective Bering,” H.G. says again, but her voice has gone from stunned to deeply appreciative. Her posture relaxes, becoming loose and languid, and Claudia steps to the side to watch her run her hand through her hair and then toss it over her shoulder. “May I enquire as to the occasion?”
“Occasion?” Myka says, all innocent, like she doesn’t know. “Of your arrest?”
“Of your wardrobe,” H.G. says lightly, like they’re at some kind of garden picnic instead of standing in the middle of a police department, mid-arrest.
“Oh, this?” Myka says, plucking at her bodice. It slides at least an inch lower, and Claudia is standing close enough to H.G. that, garden party or not, she hears the sharply indrawn breath.
“You can’t pretend it’s exactly your usual style,” H.G. says, her voice admirably even, but her mouth is open a bit, and she swallows a little too hard.
Myka shrugs. The words ‘heaving bosom’ immediately spring to the forefront of Claudia’s mind and refuse to leave. “I owed Dickinson in Vice a favor,” she says, which incidentally, is the exact opposite of what she’d said not an hour ago. “He asked if I’d help out with a solicitation sting.”
“I see,” H.G. says. Claudia wonders if she actually does. “Well.”
“Well, what?” Myka says, leaning back so she can half-sit on her desk. The bottom of her skirt rides up at least four inches, and Claudia sees H.G.’s eyes dip down and linger.
“Well,” H.G. says again, in a—a sex voice, that’s what that is, Claudia wishes it weren’t, but some things can’t be changed just because you wish you didn’t know what your friends sound like in bed.
Myka smirks. It’s a little predatory, but judging by the look on H.G.’s face, she doesn’t mind all that much. “You know, Helena, you’re going to have to finish a sentence at some point.”
“Detective Bering,” H.G. says, slow and silky. She’s standing in the middle of the room, and she still manages to project an air of insouciant wall-leaning. “Believe me, the sentence I want to finish isn’t fit for polite company. But, on the other hand, if you’d like me to, far be it from me to deny—”
“That’s all right,” Myka says, breaking in. There’s finally a slight flush rising in her cheeks, but her voice is still unhurried. “You should at least try to control yourself.”
“I can’t imagine how you would think I could do anything of the sort,” H.G. says. “Especially considering…. Well.”
“Can’t you come up with anything new to say?” Myka says, raising an eyebrow.
“How about the same thing you’ll be hearing all night?” H.G. says. “I mean, I’d certainly pay to eat you out.”
Myka’s cheeks flare even redder, but she says, “Why, Ms. Wells, I do believe that counts as solicitation. You know, you can be arrested for that.”
“Really?” H.G. says. “Well, in that case, we’d better not tell the police.”
iii. cosplay
“What,” Claudia says faintly. “I mean, what.”
“I know this isn’t for me,” Pete says, “but I would just like to say: damn. And also, Mykes, thanks for being so weird about your girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Myka says, but it sounds more automatic than anything else. Certainly her eyes aren’t anywhere near Pete, it seems unlikely that her attention is.
Claudia is mostly just impressed that she managed to form a coherent sentence.
“What?” H.G. says innocently. “I’m thinking of getting into costuming, and I thought I’d experiment a little.”
“You,” Claudia says. “You are wearing strategically placed foliage. And nothing else.”
“Poison Ivy has always been one of my favorite characters,” H.G. says, smiling beatifically.
“She would be,” Myka mutters. She looks simultaneously furious and absolutely overcome with lust.
Claudia snaps a picture of both of them. For the wedding slideshow.
iv. sexy police calendar
“Mail delivery,” Claudia says cheerfully when H.G. opens the door.
H.G. stares at her. “It’s Sunday,” she says.
“Yeah, and?” Pete says. When H.G. just turns to him and raises an eyebrow, he pouts. “Oh, come on, you’ve got to say it. It’s so much better when someone with the accent says it.”
H.G. snorts, but she’s smiling, so Claudia’s pretty sure she’s charmed despite herself. “There’s no post on Sundays,” she says. “Shall I rub my hands together in glee as well?”
Pete fist pumps. “Nah, that was good. I loved it.”
“I’m delighted for you,” H.G. says. “Now, this delivery is…?”
“Oh, yeah,” Claudia says, nudging Pete in the side. He obligingly holds up the camera. “Just a little something from us to you, as our very favorite criminal.”
“How sweet,” H.G. says, gingerly taking the large envelope Claudia holds out. “Will it explode?”
“We wouldn’t take film that,” Claudia says.
“Yeah, that would be tasteless,” Pete agrees, nodding seriously.
“You don’t say,” H.G. says, but she pulls out the calendar anyway.
“I recommend skipping straight to September,” Claudia says. “You know, your birthday month, and all that. Think of it like a present.”
H.G. looks up at her, back down at the calendar, and takes a deep, fortifying breath before she opens it. There’s a long moment of absolutely dead silence.
“Well.”
“Yeah,” says Claudia happily. “We thought you’d say that.”
v. formal wear
“You know, I almost expected you to come in naked,” Claudia says. “I felt like that was the only way this could escalate.”
“Yeah, this kind of feels like a downgrade,” Pete says, though he’s still got the camera up.
“You are wrong,” Myka hisses, and then she immediately looks embarrassed. “I mean. It’s a good outfit. Not that I know what you’re talking about. Downgrade from what?”
“Yeah, like you don’t know,” Claudia says. “I can’t believe the two of you started a sexy outfit competition.”
“Mm,” H.G. says, draping herself on a chair. She looks like a magazine spread—pressed and clean and immaculate, perfect creases on her (definitely tailored) pants and slim tight fit on the vest that draws the gaze to just the right places. She’s left the tie undone and the top few buttons open, just enough to let the eye kiss the sharp angles of her collarbones.
It might not be Pete’s thing, but Claudia’s impressed, honestly.
“So,” H.G. says, drawing one booted foot up to rest delicately on the very edge of Myka’s desk, “who do you think is winning?”
“No one is winning,” Myka says, but her eyes are on the line of H.G.’s leg.
“I dunno,” Pete says. “I kind of feel like I’m winning.”
“Oh, man, same,” Claudia says with feeling.
“Shut up, Pete,” Myka says.
“What, just me?” Pete says. “Not Claudia? Come on!”
“Shut up, Claudia.”
“Narc,” Claudia mutters.
Pete sticks his tongue out at her.
“Helena,” Myka says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, Detective?” H.G. says, sweetly.
“Why are you…?” At this point, even Myka seems lost for words, and just gestures expansively.
“So incredibly gorgeous?” H.G. says. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
“Here,” Myka says. “Wearing…that.”
“Ah, yes,” H.G. says, and she drops two slips of paper on Myka’s desk. On Pete’s or Claudia’s, they’d be lost amid the clutter instantly, but on Myka’s, they sit there in almost complete isolation.
Myka looks down at them like she’s worried they’ll catch fire. “These are concert tickets,” she says, once she’s inspected as much as she possibly could without touching them. “For the New York Philharmonic.”
“Not just the New York Philharmonic,” H.G. says. “Lang Lang.”
Myka jerks her head up to stare at her. “Playing Rachmaninoff? Tonight?”
“Mm-hmm,” H.G. says.
Myka’s face does something incredibly complicated. “Helena,” she says, like it’s physically painful. “I can’t possibly—”
“I had an extra ticket,” H.G. cuts in smoothly. “My friend Woolly couldn’t make it. Something last minute. Claudia will have told you about him. I simply came here to see if there was anyone I could persuade to keep me company. Besides, I’d hate to see empty seats at a concert like this.”
“Christina—”
“—is at a sleepover and refuses to be dragged away for love or classical music,” H.G. says. “And far be it for me to keep her from something relatively normal for children her age.”
Myka reaches out like she wants to stroke the tickets, but she pulls back at the last second. “I’m not wearing—”
“There’s plenty of time,” H.G. says. “We could stop on the way.” She leans forward slightly in her seat, and her shirt gapes a little bit, which Myka definitely notices. “Besides, we could settle this, once and for all, don’t you think? Make it the final battle? Formal wear and formal wear?”
“Helena…”
H.G. leans back again. “Or you could just accept that I win, I suppose.”
“You do not.”
“Prove it.”
“Fine, I will!”
“Excellent,” H.G. says, leaping up. “Shall we be off, then?”
“Fine,” Myka says. “But just we’re clear—this is not a date.”
H.G. laughs. “Really, darling, must you always be breaking my heart like that?”
“I think you’ll survive,” Myka says drily. “Or will you be missing the concert?”
“Oh, no,” H.G. says. “I will gracefully expire afterwards, as is polite.”
“Oh, well, I mean,” Myka says. “As long as you’re being polite about it.”
“And will you be arresting yourself for my murder?”
“Manslaughter, Helena,” Myka says, getting her things. “Let’s not carried away.”
“Oh, yes,” H.G. says, “when have we ever done that?”
“Not once,” Myka agrees, reaching out to adjust H.G.’s—already immaculate—collar. “After you.”
“Darling, if you wanted to watch me walk away, all you had to do was ask.”
Myka laughs, shaking her head, and follows H.G. out of the precinct.
“Ten bucks say they go on a real date by the end of the month,” Claudia says into the silence that trails in the wake of their departure.
“Oh, Claudia,” Pete says. “Claudia, Claudia, Claudia. You are so on.”