A/N: Written for pocketnympho and the prompt: Betty/Gladys cross-dressing. The twist is that Gladys is the one that cross-dresses.
A few weeks after Kate's departure, Gladys shows up at Betty's room with a small suitcase.
Looking incredulous, Betty says, "You're not moving in here, Princess."
Gladys would laugh at the idea of moving with an overnight bag, but she doesn't want to be rude, so she simply swans about with a self-satisfied smile on her lips, draping items of clothing over hat racks and bed posts.
It doesn't take long for Betty to realize there's something amiss, and she approaches the clothing, studying them and then picking them up and holding them in front of herself.
"These aren't your style of duds, Princess."
"But isn't that fun," Gladys says happily. "I borrowed them from… from my brother. I think he'd be happy to see them in use.
Betty walks over to wrap an arm around Gladys's shoulder, leaning their heads together. "In use how, exactly?"
"Well, we aren't going to build a snow man."
Tapping her fingers on Gladys's shoulder, Betty blows a hard breath up to her bangs. She cocks her head, still staring at the duds, and then shakes it. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."
Deflated, Gladys lowers herself to the bed and says, "Aw."
"Unless…"
Eyes lighting up, Gladys nods quickly.
"You're all but untouchable. If you were to wander out in men's clothing, I think there'd be a little more leeway for eccentricity." Warming to the idea, Betty smirks, and then nods. "Yeah, you can wear the duds. I'll dress like the lady I am."
Gladys snorts, but quickly goes to the bag and pulls out a gown fit for the princess of a very small foreign nation. She hugs it to her chest and spins around, then brings it to Betty and holds it up in front of her. "This is perfect for you. It's almost like I knew you would hate my idea."
"I would reassure you, but Gladys, it was a terrible idea."
Shrugging, Gladys is unperturbed and dreamy-eyed. "Still, we get to go out like a real married couple. A rich married couple."
"You've always been rich, Prin-cess," Betty says, heavy on the syllables. But she has to admit, deep down inside, that the idea of going out on the town with an actual date makes her all shivery. The fact that it's just Gladys makes it that much better. "Like practice," she says aloud.
Gladys smiles queerly. "Just like that."
Betty watches as Gladys drops her dress and pulls on her brother's pants and shirt over her underpants and brassiere. Although the shirt and pants are both cut for a straight silhouette, Gladys looks so absurdly feminine it's a joke, and the shirt gapes open between her breasts.
Like an appraiser, Betty circles her thoughtfully, making "Hmm" noises, while Gladys stays still like a stand-up doll.
"We've got to flatten those torpedoes of yours."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Gladys says matter-of-factly, then catches Betty on one of her rotations and waltzes a few steps with her. Betty humours her, dipping her head, before stepping away to rifle through her drawers. She comes up with handfuls of nylons, and gesturing for Gladys to take her shirt off, begins wrapping them around her chest. After that the shirt looks better, and Betty takes a step back to look.
She balls up a pair of nylons in her hands, then purses her lips and steps forward, slipping her fingers past the hemline of Gladys's pants and sliding the balled nylons down to her crotch. She hears Gladys's breath catch and looks up seriously, but Gladys's face is unreadable. Betty steps back again, nods, and then says, "Do you have the shoes?"
"Of course!" Gladys recovers fast. The shoes are about three sizes too big for her, but she slips her feet in and ties the laces as tight as they will go.
Showing uncharacteristic shyness, Betty decides to change in the bathroom. The dress is long and silky, probably hundreds of dollars more than she's ever spent on a piece of clothing. The reflection in the mirror seems to be mocking her, so awkward and ungainly, her arms bare, the shadow of her cleavage making her feel naked. Thankfully it's cool enough for a jacket, and maybe she can even get away with a cardigan buttoned to her chin—though knowing Gladys, probably not.
As she walks back into the room, she sees Gladys jumping up and down in front of the mirror, trying to see the full effect, and she looks so much like a child in (very well-taken-care-of, expensive) hand-me-downs that Betty can't help but grin. She walks up behind her and wraps her arms around her waist, lifting her straight up in the air.
"Better?" she grunts, and Gladys pats on her arm to tell her to let go.
Gladys turns and wraps her arms around Betty. "Thanks, Betts. Now let's do something about this hair."
Betty does what she can with clips and pins, trying to keep the bulk as high and flat as possible, after which Gladys firmly installs a dark brown fedora. She walks to the far corner of the room and plants her feet, pushing her hips forward and sticking her hands in her pockets.
She tries to keep a straight face, she swears she does, but Betty laughs helplessly at the sight. She's never seen a man so diminutive in every way. Even in the larger clothes, the lack of broad shoulders, the slimness of the limbs, and her very lack of height seem so completely obvious from here.
Feigning total confidence, Gladys shakes back her hair—well, her head, and strides toward the door. Just as she reaches for the knob, Betty puts her hand out and stops her, clasping her hand. She draws her toward herself instead, and Gladys's butch posture immediately softens. Betty takes her other hand and holds them both between them.
"I can't, Gladys. I'm sorry; it was a nice idea, but I just can't." Her voice is soft and sad, knowing she's letting Gladys down and wishing she could do anything else.
But Gladys just cocks her head and smiles gently. "Don't be silly. I wouldn't want you to do anything you weren't comfortable with. And this has been fun, hasn't it?"
Dipping her head again, Betty laughs just a little. "Yeah, it was fun. And you look… like a very handsome woman."
"Aw," Gladys says. "Does that mean we can't play pretend?"
Smile dropping away, Betty looks up with her brows beginning to furrow. Gladys raises her hands to cup Betty's face, smoothing her thumb over her eyebrows. With the same gentle smile, Gladys leans forward and kisses her, a brief press of lips to lips.
When she pulls back, Betty's face is the picture of heartbreak. Gladys drops her hands to Betty's shoulders and squeezes. "Betty, Betty. I just want you to be happy."
Betty kisses her in reply, but it tastes sharply of sadness and Gladys pulls away and wraps her arms around Betty's back.
"Help me out of this getup, then, and we'll go to bed." She sits on the edge of the bed and unbuttons her shirt, while Betty kneels before her to help unbind her chest. She's so close that Gladys kisses her again without thinking, and it says simply, Maybe someday you will be able to see me through the haze that is Kate. Because she isn't here, and I am. She smiles sadly and when they share the bed that night, there's nothing between them but fondness.
(In the morning, Gladys wakes to an empty bed and looks up to see Betty in front of the mirror in the men's clothes. She doesn't look excited, or happy; instead she stares bitterly into the mirror. She tries to flatten her curves with her hands, and finally just pulls the items off and stares at her body itself. She pinches at her hip angrily, and then turns away from the mirror and Gladys closes her eyes.
It's still early and Betty comes back to bed, stiff with tension, and all Gladys can do is press her body close and rub her hand over the spot Betty pinched. She nestles her face into Betty's neck and Betty sighs and relaxes, turning her body and wrapping her arms around Gladys.
It would be perfect, Gladys thinks; if…)