Chapter Three: Clothes Always Fit You

"Walk," Callen hissed. "Don't run. Don't let them see they've spooked us."

Deeks had this weird flashback of Michael Caine saying "don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes" in Zulu and forced himself to walk steadily behind Sam. He certainly wasn't about to look right or left, far less catch anyone's eye, white or otherwise. Ignoring the catcalls and wolf-whistles, he kept his own eyes firmly fixed on the pile of scarlet curls that adorned the top of Sam's head and, in particular, a stray ringlet that bobbed merrily behind his left ear.

"Now I know how prisoners feel when they're marched out to be hung before the baying crowds." Kensi found her knees were trembling by the time they reached the sanctity of Hetty's clothes store – or dressing-up box, as Deeks had irreverently nicknamed it.

"You think that was bad? Believe me, you ain't seen nothing yet. Just wait until we're dressed up and in full make-up. Then you'll know all about it." Sam was trembling with a volatile mixture of rage and embarrassment.

"I want to go back to LAPD. Right now."

"Wimp."

"You're just jealous because I've got a get-out clause."

"True. It still doesn't mean you're not a wimp."

"If I've got a choice between being a man in a dress or a mouse, the mouse wins every time." Deeks crossed his arms firmly.

"I do apologise." Hetty suddenly appeared from behind the curtain that served both as doorway and screen. "That was most unprofessional behaviour and I will make sure it never happens again. I'll be having a very stern word with everyone involved." After I've seen all the photographs.

She took step forward and surveyed them closely and fought a desperate battle not to laugh. In this Hetty was largely successful as the only discernable sign was a slight quiver of her lips. "Your friend has done an excellent job, Mr Callen. You are all indeed transformed." I'd never thought of you with peroxide blonde hair before, but it is really rather beguiling. Poor Mr Hannah looks somewhat porcine though. And doesn't Mr Deeks make a pretty girl? Such smooth skin. It's a pity about his eyebrows though, but nothing a little plucking won't sort out.

"He's made us look like freaks!" Kensi snapped. Her head was really pounding now and she wished she could unravel that stupid plait and go home.

"The job is only half done. Even the greatest artists need time to create a masterpiece." She pulled out a rail of clothing. "I think you'll agree Ms Jones has done a remarkable job." The slack-jawed expressions that greeted this statement showed that the team certainly agreed with the word remarkable.

"Which one is which?" Callen asked weakly, not sure if he wished to know the answer.

"This one is yours." Hetty pulled out a version of Marilyn's famous white pleated dress. "You'll have to shave your armpits, of course, as well as your legs." She held out the dress and Callen took it silently, along with the white shoes. He looked like a dog that has just realised he's about to be bathed and that there is no escape.

"What about his underwear?" Kensi asked. "Won't he need, err… falsies? Or something to fill out that neckline."

Hetty gave her a pitying look. "The dress caters for that, dear. There are inserts in the top, into which one puts these." She reached into a bag and pulled out a couple of pale pink silicon objects. "I believe they call them "chicken fillets" in the trade."

Kensi felt three pairs of male eyes descend upon her. "Don't look at me. Why would I know anything about them? I'm more than happy with what God gave me. I certainly don't need any help in that department."

"Yeah, right. Tell that to the Marines," a sceptical voice hissed.

She was almost certain it was Deeks, but unfortunately he was too far away to hit.

"Mr Hannah – I believe this one is for you." Sam tried not to shudder as he received the asymetrical, one-sleeved violet satin dress, with a wide skirt that fell to the floor. "Wasn't Miss Jones clever to find a gown that would cover your tattoo?"

"I'll be sure and thank her." He looked at the dress dubiously. "Isn't this going to clash with my hair?"

"It's called "colour blocking" and it's very on-trend at the moment. What?" Callen held his hands up in supplication. "So I read the women's magazines I find lying around the Mission, from time to time. It doesn't make me a bad person."

"Keep telling yourself that often enough and you might start to believe it."

Hetty decided to press on regardless. "And this is for you, Mr Deeks." She held out a pale green sheath.

"How cute – sea-foam green to match your slanket." Kensi was glad she and Nell saw Deeks in the same colour-palette.

"It's a bit… tight, isn't it?" Deeks looked at the dress in horror. "I mean, certain things are going to, um… show."

"Your legs aren't that bad," Sam said kindly. "Not really bandy at all."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. And my legs aren't bandy in the slightest."

"So you say. Some might beg to differ."

Deeks turned to Hetty with a piteous look. "That dress – it's going to show, well - pretty much everything."

"There's not that much to show, Deeks. Stop boasting."

"Shut up, Sam. Or I really am walking right out that door."

"Don't forget to leave your hair clip behind."

"Enough. Mr Deeks is actually making a very valid point."

"For once."

"Luckily, Ms Jones thought of that and has solved the problem for you. For all of you, gentlemen. And here is the solution." Hetty delved into her bag of tricks once again.

"Spanx?"

"Not Spanx, although rather similar. Ms Jones was able to ascertain that you put these on and then arrange yourselves appropriately." Hetty was rather proud of the way she phrased that. "So that everything is out of sight, if you get my meaning."

Deeks blanched, but managed a quick recovery. "Maybe Nell could come down and show me?" he suggested helpfully.

Hetty gave him an old-fashioned look. "I hardly think that will be necessary. The shop owner kindly provided some diagrams just in case any of you had any problems." They were somewhat graphic in detail and Callen felt his eyes begin to water.

"You really do think of everything. I don't suppose you've got razors for us in there too?" He held out his hand and was less than surprised when Hetty handed them out in total silence.

"Come on, show me mine." Kensi was resigned for the worst and was pleasantly surprised when she received a tailored black suit, with cigarette pants and tuxedo jacket, plus a white silk shell to wear underneath. "Way to go, Nell!" She looked at Hetty expectantly. "Where's my underwear?" She was wearing a black bra today, and it was well past its first flush of youth into the bargain.

"Not with that top, my dear."

"I thought you were perfectly happy with what God gave you," Callen said wickedly.

"I hope you cut your legs to ribbons when you're shaving."

Deeks was still surveying the pseudo-Spanx with considerable scepticism. "This is never going to work."

"You've got that the wrong way around. The real question is: will it work afterwards? Be sure and let me know, won't you?" Kensi grabbed her gear and ran off to the sanctity of the female shower room, leaving her colleagues to edge towards the male showers. The rest of their colleagues were either kind enough to pretend not to notice them slink past, or they were too terrified of what Hetty might do. Either way, at least this journey was less torturous that the previous one.

"She's got a point, you know." Sam looked at the diagram and winced. "How the hell are we supposed to walk?"

"Very carefully indeed."

"Remind me again whose bright idea this was?" Deeks pulled off his shirt and surveyed his armpit in the mirror. "Because this is wrong on so many levels." He picked up the soap and turned on the tap.

"Eric's. And once we get back, he's a dead man." Callen drew his razor down through the hair and then looked at the razorblade in disgust. "This is going to take longer than I thought." He rinsed it in under the tap and started again.

"Don't forget we've got our legs to do as well. Anyone want to tell me how you shave the back of your leg when you can't see what you're doing?" Sam stared at them in the mirror. "How can women be bothered doing this all the time?"

"Beats me." Deeks surveyed one naked armpit and shook his head in sorrow. "This is surreal. You are sure this is all above board? It's not just Hetty having us on?"

"Would I do something like that?" Hetty chided, popping up like a rabbit from a conjurer's hat. "Mr Callen, you're going to have to do something about that chest of yours too. While Marilyn Monroe received many compliments about her breasts, none of them were to do with any degree of hirsuteness." She departed abruptly, so they could not see the broad smile on her face.

"After we've killed Eric, she's next," Callen vowed, as he pulled the razor across his chest with a grimace.

"That sounds fair enough." Deeks had discarded his pants and slung his foot up onto the wash-hand basin to begin starting on his legs. "Jesus, you've got to be a bloody contortionist."

"Just wait till you try putting on the panty hose." Sam realised they had stopped dead in their tracks and were staring at him.

"We are not going to ask you how you know about that, are we Deeks?" Callen shook his head sadly.

"No way. I don't want to go there."

"In fact, we're never talking about this again. Understand?"

"Understood."

"This never happened."

"I wish."

"Me too."

"Just shut up and shave."