A/N: I realized this morning that poor Calleigh gets passed around an awufl lot in this fandom--she's been paired up with Eric, and Ryan, and Horatio, and Jake, and Speed when he was alive... And then I go and add my two cents :-P Here's a little piece of friendship fluff for you, although I suppose if you looked hard you could read it as romance. Either way, have fun with it and let me know what you think!

Sharp Dressed Man

"Thank you, Mr. Wolfe." Horatio turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, off to investigate the latest lead in the case, leaving Ryan staring after him.

He was still rooted in place a few minutes later when Calleigh passed him. "Hey Ryan," she called as she moved, giving him a cursory wave on her way to the DNA lab. When he didn't respond she paused and did a double take. "Ryan? You okay?"

Her second question dragged him from his musings, his eyes still locked on Horatio's now-departed form. "Yeah, I'm…I'm fine. Why?"

"You just look like you have something on your mind, that's all," she answered.

He tore his eyes away and focused them on Calleigh, studying her closely as he wondered how to respond. Should I tell her? After a long moment he relented. "I, uh, was just thinking that maybe I need…to update my wardrobe a little," he confessed, lowering his voice and running his hands over the front of the sweater vest he was wearing. "I mean, when I was in Patrol I always had my uniform so I didn't have to worry about what I was gonna wear. But when I transferred to the Lab, I had to start dressing up…and all I had were these." He gestured to his clothes as he spoke, his face a mask of embarrassment.

"What's wrong with what you're wearing?" she asked. "It looks fine to me."

As soon as she asked the question she saw the answer in his eyes. It wasn't so much about the clothing as it was fitting in with the team. Looking at him a bit harder revealed something else to her, hidden inside his hazel eyes—a touch of hero worship for the boss, like a little boy for his older brother. "I've had these since I was an undergrad," he said aloud. And compared to Horatio's suits… "I look like a kid who wants to sit at the grown-ups' table at Thanksgiving."

Calleigh smiled at the analogy. "You look fine, Ryan. Really. But if you're so worried about it, why don't you hit the mall after shift tonight? It's open 'til ten."

He drew his eyebrows together in serious thought and took a step closer to her. "Do you think…would you mind…?" He lowered his voice another few decibels. "I could really use some help…"

Her smile grew. "I'll meet you in the lobby at six."

"Oh, thank you so much," he responded, the relief evident on his face.

He was waiting for her at the appointed hour, pacing in a small square a few feet from the elevator, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. As he paced he occasionally withdrew a hand and ran it over his face or through his hair.

"Nervous?"

Her voice carried cheerfully across the expanse of the lobby and halted his pacing. "No," he hedged, glancing at his hand and aborting yet another pass over his jaw. "Just, uh, waiting patiently," he offered with an apologetic smile.

"Well, wait no more."

They headed out of the building and, as Calleigh had suggested, to the mall rather than a specialty story or a high-end clothing store where Ryan would have been even more uncomfortable. As though on a mission, she led him through the maze of shops until she found the one she was looking for, then ushered him to the men's section.

"Here you go," she said, waiving her hand Vanna White-style. "Where do you want to start?"

"Here," he decided. "I want to start right here and just look around. Then we can move down to the next section…"

She smothered a smile at his left-brained linear shopping technique and dove in to the racks nearest them, pulling out shirts and sport coats and pants that she thought Ryan might like. He gamely waded through the racks with her, nodding his approval or wrinkling his nose in displeasure at her choices. Eventually he got more into the spirit of their little field trip and began to pull out articles of clothing on his own with some enthusiasm. They made their way around the store in Ryan's sequential pattern, loading their arms with things for him to try on.

Finally they sought out the men's dressing room, Calleigh close on Ryan's heels even as he crossed the threshold in search of an empty cubicle. He stopped abruptly in his tracks and glared at her. "Calleigh, you can not be in here!" he hissed in a harsh whisper.

"Relax," she grinned. "I'm just helping you carry stuff. I'll wait for you over by the mirrors." He took the pile of clothing she held and placed it on a stool inside the cubical, raising an eyebrow at her and refusing to close the door until she retreated.

She plopped down in a chair in the open area of the room, listening to rustling noises and zippers accompanied by a chorus of dissatisfied grunts and sighs. "You okay in there?" she called, wondering briefly what she would do if he wasn't.

"Yeah," came the short reply.

"You don't sound very happy," she responded in her best I'm-not-really-prying voice.

There was a pause before he answered. "I don't know if this is a good idea anymore."

"Why not?"

She heard a frustrated exhale. "I just don't think this is working."

"Well come on out here and let me see," she prodded.

Another perturbed sigh emanated from the cubicle before Calleigh heard the door squeak open. A moment later Ryan appeared, his eyes refusing to meet hers as he came to a stop in front of her.

She looked him over, taking in every detail of his ensemble. The black pants seemed to fit well, as did the crisp white dress shirt he left open at the collar. He had topped it off with a black suit coat and leather belt. "You look great!" she grinned. "So why are you so unhappy?"

He frowned into the mirror. "I look like Horatio."

The statement surprised her and she found herself studying him more closely, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. After a thorough examination, she rendered her opinion. "Yeah," she agreed with an amused twitch of her lips, "you do."

"See? This is a bad idea." His hands went to his head, raking through his hair again as he rolled his eyes at his reflection.

"No, no, no," she returned quickly, standing and moving toward him. "I think we had the right idea, we just need to…Ryan it up a bit. Let's see what else we picked out…"

She followed him back to the cubicle and, despite his protests, entered the little changing room, sorting through the items hanging from hooks and piled on the stool. Several minutes later she had, with his active participation—"I like my jeans, Cal"—put together several less Caine-like outfits for him to try.

Withdrawing to the waiting area again, she listened to the rustling of fabric and whirring of zippers, wondering if round two would turn out better than their initial attempt. When he stepped out in front of the mirrors again, she knew they had gotten it right this time. He was wearing a new pair of blue jeans and an untucked pale green dress shirt that brought out the green in his hazel eyes, finished off with a jacket colored somewhere between khaki and off white.

"Oh, I like that," Calleigh smiled appreciatively. "And you look a lot more relaxed."

"I am," he told her with an emphatic nod, his hands going to his hips. "I like this better. It's nicer than those godawful sweater vests I've been wearing, but it's not so Horatio-esque."

"And it looks good on you. You're going to have to beat the girls off with a stick," she chuckled.

He turned to face her, a pink tinge creeping into his cheeks. "You think so?"

"ZZ Top had it right," she smiled brightly. "Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man." Her eyes swept over him again and paused when they reached his feet.

He caught her expression and panicked. "What? What's wrong?"

She politely smothered a giggle, eyeing his threadbare white socks and flashing back to the rather beat-up Oxfords he'd worn. "We're hitting the shoe department next."