A/N: I'm not sure how much we'll be hearing from her, or how much I'D like to see of her, but if TPTB decided she was important enough to give her an episode… I'm not going to argue with them. Although my take on her might be slightly different, though…

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DEVON – BEAUTY

Now that walls have fallen down, we're not equal anymore; how much you've got, how much you're worth…

To say that I knew it was over before it had even started would be to state the obvious. But I had to give it a try. I had some things to prove to myself, and if I'm honest enough, to prove to the brutes I work with, as well.

I guess I could blame Messer for the whole thing, although that wouldn't be playing fair. Aw, hell, who am I trying to fool here? I don't' play fair, so I'll blame Messer and be done with it. Bottom line was, most of the squad had heard about our player antics, but had yet to actually see me put the moves on someone and I was getting plenty of heat from it. I know. Childish. But it bothered me. There comes a time when all the jokes about you "alleged" charms and the gay references start rubbing you the wrong way.

So when I saw her at the hockey game I decided to take my chances.

It was obvious she wasn't there to root for the police or the fire department. She was there simply for the publicity of having attended a charity affair and for the curiosity of seeing how the other half lived and partied.

She wasn't all that smooth in her approach. The line she gave me about wanting to know if the blue in my eyes was for real or if I was wearing contacts was a bit… lame. But hey, there she was, a perky blonde fawning all over me while the rest of the force just looked on with a green tinge on their faces and decided to overlook that flaw.

I made a huge show of giving her my card before heading for the showers to shower and change, and she acknowledged it with a kiss on the cheek. I hate the feel of sticky lipstick on my face, but I knew there was this perfect pouty imprint in red for the rest of the world to see, so I fought the urge to wipe it off.

I won't go into the all sorts of comments that received me once I made it into the locker room, let's just say that not one of them had to do with the 20 or so shots I had just stopped. The next day I was at my desk, listening to yet another joke at my expense about how I was going to sit around forever waiting for a call that wasn't coming, when the phone rang. The smirk of satisfaction in my face could not be erased for hours, especially since I managed to score a date with her loud enough for everyone who cared, and didn't, to hear.

Our first date wasn't so bad, as she asked me to go to yet another charity event. After the first couple of hours or so, I knew exactly how trophy wives must feel, except that I hope the guys who show up with them on their arms and their cronies are more discreet about them than these society girls. It was sorta flattering to find out many of them thought I was good looking enough to ask if I was a model or an actor or something like that; but it ran thin very quickly and it was replaced with annoyance at their reaction when they found out I was a police officer. Perhaps they've seen one too many reruns of "NYPD Blue" or something like that, but the gun and handcuffs comments got to be a tad… too much for me.

But at least those were better than the off-hand remarks about me being a blue collar. I knew right then and there that I'd never fit into her world and I was certain there wouldn't be a follow-up date. Not when her girl friends couldn't get past the fact that someone that was "such a looker" (their words, not mine) actually worked for a living, and when her male friends eyed me suspiciously, asking over and over again if I wasn't working undercover, or narcs, or fraud… talk about a dirty conscience!

Much to my surprise, she asked to see me again when I dropped her off at her place. Only this time around she wanted me to take her someplace I'd normally go on a regular date. Movie, dinner, drinks and pool. She was all for it. Except that she'd never been to an old neighborhood movie theater ("Don't you have Cineplex around here?"), was not big on eating meat ("Don't they serve salads as main dish?") , was amused by my choice of drink (black Guinness, is there another kind of drink?) and upset by the lack of hers ("Can't believe they can't make appletinis…"). As for the pool… she'd only seen it played in the movies, and was more than willing to let me show her how to play… as long as I had my arms wrapped around her.

I complied. The same way I complied about walking her all the way to her apartment. The same way I complied when she pushed the stop button at the elevator and proceeded to make out. I may be a hero for some, but I sure ain't no saint, and my dating life had been… slow… since the bombing, so I wasn't complaining.

I thought I'd never hear from her again after I refused to go into her place for a night cap. So I was kind of shocked when she asked me over for drinks at her apartment after she was done with yet another benefit. I'm not stupid; I know perfectly well what drinks at her place on a third day meant. I slipped a couple of brand-new condoms on the inside pocket of my coat on the way to pick her up, and I knew my understanding was right when we started making out in the living room.

It wasn't the most thrilling experience of my life. She was more into being pleased than into pleasing, but I wasn't going to look at a gift horse in the mouth. She attempted twice to remove my undershirt and I stopped her both times, and she seemed content to limit herself to run her hands all over my ass. I was content with that, as I didn't' want to go into details as to why I didn't want that shirt removed…

Then we got interrupted by the whole James bond wannabe lunatics. And my relationship with her had to come out to the open. And since I was at her place and not exactly fully clothed, I did the gentlemanly thing and called her my girlfriend instead of calling her my date. My friends were a tad surprised at that, and tried not to be too judgmental about it, but I could see it in Stell's sarcastic smile when we were finishing processing her place searching for clues. She gave me this knowing look, as if she had hoped I was a better man and I felt like a chastised kid for that

So maybe that was what closed the deal. That, or Devon's inability to see why I couldn't cough up 500 bucks at her beck and call to go to yet another fundraiser. Nor could she understand why I wouldn't take her offer to "lend" me the money so we could go.

It was nice while it lasted. She's not a bad kid, and I'm sure she'll make some guy very happy one of these days. Except that guy ain't me. Sure, she was great looking, and she had money to spend on whatever whim suit her fancy, but… I don't know. Maybe I've been around those lab geeks too much, but these days I find myself looking for something with a little bit more substance… I don't object to pretty, as long as it has a good head atop those pretty shoulders.

All in all, I proved what I set out to prove. I still have what it takes to get the girl, and it seems I have enough good looks about myself to even manage to snag a society girl. I proved to the jerks I work with I'm still a man's man, going the James Bond route, from excelling at a sport to getting the girl to wearing the tux.

I also proved to myself that I don't really fancy blondes…

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"La Belleza" by Luis Eduardo Aute was just the right song for Devon. Don't let the title fool you. The song has nothing to do with external beauty as something to be praised, but more as something to be pitied and used as bargain coin… any questions why I though it was fitting? Hmmm… thought so…