Title: Grass Stains and Ripped Jeans
Author: knightshade
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: They aren't mine.

Summary: Michael finds the perfect use for the clothes in the back of his closet.

Author's Notes: All mistakes are mine. This was written for Tomy's 'Clothes' challenge.

Grass Stains and Ripped Jeans

Michael wasn't fussy when it came to clothes. His closet was filled with comfortable jeans, button-down shirts, and of course, his leather jacket. Or jackets really – they got ruined on such a regular basis that he was starting to think he should wait for a sale and just buy in bulk. He had a couple suits in case of funerals, weddings, or other formal occasions, and the obligatory pair of dress shoes that matched all of them. But he also tended to collect things in the back of his closet – clothes that he often thought he should just get rid of. At the moment though, he was happy he had never gotten around to it.

Michael ran his hand through his hair a few times to give it a messier, tousled look. He thought about limping a little but decided that was overkill. He skipped down the stairs, went out the Foundation's front door, and then circled back around the edge of the building.

His comlink beeped. "I wish you wouldn't do this," said the prim voice on the other end of the line.

"Sorry, pal, you don't get a vote this time."

"I can't lie if he asks."

"He's not going to ask," Michael said for what felt like the hundredth time.

"But Bonnie might."

"Kitt, I already told you, I don't expect you to lie. If one of them asks, I promise to accept full responsibility for my actions."

"But why is this necessary? Is your date really that important?"

It wasn't that his date was all that important. It was more the principle of it. As far as he was concerned, risking his life for the Foundation should be more than enough. He shouldn't have to go to fundraisers too. But he didn't feel like explaining that to Kitt again.

Michael rounded the corner of the estate to see the tents set up. People were milling around near the tents, dressed to the nines and sipping Champaign. He spotted Devon in the crowd chatting up an older couple that he didn't recognize. Michael picked up his pace, gave his breathing a shallow pant, and ignored the stares he got as he crossed the lawn.

"Hey, Devon," he said causing his boss to turn around. The look of horror itself was worth any repercussions he might have to face later. Devon's eyes tracked over his whole appearance with distain -- the tussled hair, the dirt he'd smudged on his cheek, the deliberately half-tucked shirt that was covered with grass stains, the tear in the arm of his jacket, and the dirty jeans that were ripped above the knee.

"Michael," he said with a forced smile that went perfectly with his patronizing tone of voice.

"I'm sorry, Devon. But some things came up," he said meaningfully. He was careful not to actually say i what /i things. It wouldn't be his fault if Devon assumed he meant the current case.

"I see," he said leaning Michael's direction and asking conspiratorially, "Is there anything you need?"

"Not right now. But there are a few things I need to take care of."

"Of course. Be careful, Michael," he said in a cheery voice that practically begged 'please leave before the other guests see you.'

Michael turned and smiled mischievously at Devon's companions who were not shy about gawking at him. "It was nice meeting you."

Then he hurried away before Devon thought to ask any more questions. He turned the corner of the estate with a spring in his step and a grin on his face.

Clothes may or may not make the man, he thought, but they definitely made the excuse.

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-knightshade
June 20, 2005