Chapter Six: These Are Your Favourite Things

And writing this is definitely one of my favourite things! I'm also loving all your reviews - thank you to everyone. A little more madness for your delectation


As luck would have it, at that point the music changed to the perennial classic YMCA, which was hardly a song you could slow dance to. Sam grabbed hold of the Thai sailor's hand and did a neat manoeuvre so that he was pinioned between him and Deeks, a position he seemed entirely thrilled with.

"Come on." Callen held his hand out to Kensi.

"No way."

"Just one dance," he wheedled persuasively. "And we'll grab the Thai when the song ends." God, he loved the Village People. Especially the Indian. Maybe he could persuade Sam and Deeks that they could do a routine for the Christmas party? Sam would look great as the Builder and Deeks was a shoo-in for the Biker.

"I hate this song." Kensi let herself be dragged onto the dance floor with great reluctance. How could she get her funk off to a cheesy piece of 70's disco crap?

Sam soon learned that dancing in a wig, high heels and a long dress was a complicated matter. But at least, unlike Ginger Rogers, he didn't have to dance backwards. Just managing not to go over on his ankles was a feat in itself and every time he raised his hands above his head, he was in danger of knocking his wig off. As it was, it was already listing to one side and Kensi was very tempted to pull it straight. Except for the fact that she would have needed a step ladder in order to get anywhere his head. Apparently cross-dressing women not only didn't wear bras, neither did they wear high heels. She felt like one of the Munchkins in the Wizard of Oz.

The Thai sailor was apparently somewhat bemused by the actions, but was gamely giving it his best shot. His lack of successful was perhaps directly attributable to the fact that his eyes were firmly fixed on Deeks' false breasts, which were threatening to pop out of the top of this frock every time he raised his arms. Kensi wondered dubiously just how he knew the routine so well. Was there something he wasn't telling her? Did he make rather too good a woman?

Callen was making the most of his time dancing with Kensi, having the distinct impression that this would be the only dance he got all night. Leaping with gusto into the routine, and remembering a night from years ago in a club in Berlin, where he'd performed it solo, dancing on top of the bar to great acclaim and wearing only a pair of tighty-whities and his boots, Callen gave it everything he had, impervious to the fact that his own falsies were swinging to and fro in a contrary rhythm to the song. He'd show these guys what they were missing. There was only one small problem – he completely forgot to take account of the rather different underwear he was wearing tonight.

"What's the matter?" Kensi hissed seeing the ominously green tinge to his face, which contrasted grotesquely with the thick kabuki-like mask of make-up Hetty had plastered on.

"We might need to drop by the hospital." Callen felt sick. "I think I might have ruptured something. Or even both somethings."He wondered if he would ever be the same man again. Or even just a man. "I'm going to have to go to the restroom." I wonder how much damage a pair of control panties can do? I mean, they're pretty much made out of industrial strength Lycra. Could they cut off the blood supply? And what the hell do I put down on my insurance claim form?

"Don't be such a baby." It's only a pair of panties, for crying out loud. It's not as if he's wearing a thong and feeling like he's got dental floss cutting in between his butt cheeks. How much damage can a pair of Spanx do, for crying out loud? What are we talking about here – terminal VPL?

"Baby!" The Thai grinned at her as the music changed into Murder on the Dancefoor. "Justin Bieber – pretty boy." He looked adoringly up at Deeks, who was now getting his thing on once again and grinding away like a pro. All that he lacked was a pole, Kensi thought. She was definitely suspicious now.

Which just about said it all, as far as Callen was concerned. He limped off towards the restrooms and promptly found himself faced with a dilemma. What was the correct etiquette in such a situation? Did you go with the gender assigned to you at birth, or with your personal preference? After a moment's reflection, he plumped for the ladies, correctly reasoning that using a urinal was out of the question, given that it would not only involve a lot of unseemly groping and rearranging of vital parts of his anatomy, but perhaps more importantly would require him to hold his skirt up with one hand, while standing there with his panties and pantyhose somewhere in the region of his knees. And given the throbbing emanating from his nether regions, Callen was somewhat reluctant to expose himself to public scrutiny. No, he would keep whatever tattered remnants of pride he had left and make for the safety of a toilet stall, where he could do his business in peace and private. And also examine his genitals to see if there was any possible hope of salvation.

It took a while, and he managed to put his fingers through the left leg of his pantyhose, but at least everything still seemed to be functioning as it should, which was a considerable relief. Carefully rearranging himself, Callen took a deep breath and exited the stall.

"This is your first time, isn't it dearie?"

"How did you know?" All these years I've been going undercover and tonight I'm standing out like a sore thumb. This is mortifying.

The other man/woman/drag queen just gave him a sympathetic smile. "You keep on trying. You'll find the right look sooner or later. Just don't give up. We've all been there. You're a brave boy, I'll say that for you."

Left alone, Callen stared at his reflection in the mirror and tried not to shudder. What the hell had Hetty been thinking? And what the hell had been thinking to let her do this to him? It struck him that he'd fulfilled a long-held fantasy and was finally in the sanctum sanctorum – the holy of holies. He'd spent half his high school years fantasising about being in a women's restroom and now he was here Callen just felt crap, a complete failure. It wasn't that he wanted to be attractive to men – of course it wasn't that. It was just… Callen leant forward and let his burning forehead rest against the cool of the glass. "I want to go home," he whispered quietly. And then something clicked. It was too quiet, far too quiet. There was no reverberating beat, no sound of any music at all.

"Oh shit." Hauling up his dress, Callen pulled out his gun and slung his ID around his neck before exiting the restroom cautiously. The dance-floor was almost empty, except for a small group of people, standing in a huddle. Callen saw a flash of sea-foam green and a jaunty head of red curls and felt his heart sink.


Crack-fic bunny has now lured evil plot bunny over to his strange-smelling lair. I dread to think what they are planning. But they gave slushy plot bunny a lovely brownie this afternoon and he's been very sleepy ever since. It's all very strange and I just don't understand it at all.