Casey smiled at the joke.  It seemed like the levity he needed in the moment.  The gravity of the funeral, and then the assassination attempt, it had cast everything in shades of somber consternation.  His brow arched, amused when she spared him the finer points in women's attire.  "You look fantastic in stockings, though."  He admitted, a touch of rose rising in his cheeks as her hand slid over his damp skin, across the old scar.  This was more intimate than they'd had a chance to be since they'd been married.  Despite the uncomfortable, creeping, itching sensation of healing magic in the wounded flesh, it was just nice to feel her hands on his skin.<br/><br/>"I suppose if it means monster-assassins out of my past are going to show up and start putting holes in us,"  He began wryly, his hands rising to settle on his wife's waist.  "Then we're just going to have to get you trained to handle that sort of thing.  If you want to."  He added.  One hand rose from her waist, to the wound, hidden by her blouse, as his fingers gently touched on it through the fabric.  A flicker of worry sprang to life in his eyes, and he struggled to put it down again.  She was capable.  And she was an adult.<br/><br/>"I failed to protect you, today."  He said, quietly.  It had been eating at him since the gunfight.  "If I had been more accurate, or if I had been faster...  If I hadn't run, you wouldn't have been in danger."