Transformation

Lestrade sighed as he tried desperately to find tights that would fit. Libby Frost was a well-built young woman, but her legs were not quite as muscular as his. And after repeated slip-ups with his razor, his legs looked like something out of a slasher film. Tights were no longer an option. They were a necessity.

He finally managed to find a pair that were not too snug, but he still felt a bit like he was trying to squeeze steak through a nozzle. He whimpered softly as he tried to sit. This would take some getting used to.

Peters giggled to himself as he helped him zip into the hot pink halter dress Frost had picked out. "It will go with your complexion," he had chuckled.

Lestrade wondered exactly how much experience his inspector had with cross-dressing. He decided he didn't really want to know.

Filling out his chest had proven to be quite difficult. Lean as he was, he had little natural material to work with. They had finally settled on a rather daring combination of bread rolls and silk handkerchiefs (presumably to prevent crumbs from itching his chest and causing him to blow his cover.)

"Never thought I'd be making baps from baps, sir," remarked Peters with a grin.

Lestrade groaned. "I'll make the jokes, Peters."

Libby herself had come over to do his makeup. She tried very hard not to giggle when she saw him.

"Oh, God, Greg. I am so sorry."

He smiled warmly at her. "It wasn't your fault. Though, honestly, I think your father will never forgive me."

She smirked. "It was worth it though, yeah?"

Not really, no.

He smiled, pained. "Yes."

Then there was only one step remaining. Hair.

He had spent hours at the wigmaker's trying to find some way to make his face look less masculine. He must have tried on a dozen styles before he'd settled on a chestnut updo. It still did little to weaken his manly jaw, but it gave him an air of a dominant sort of woman, and no one would question it as they would have questioned the long blonde hair that seemed to be in vogue with that particular subculture.

He looked in the mirror. Yes, all in all, it wasn't half-bad. He certainly wasn't going to win any beauty contests, but he'd survive one night.

"Here, try these on." Libby handed him a pair of hot pink kitten heels. He gulped.

"How the hell do I walk in those?"

"It's really not that hard. You'll be fine. Now hurry up. You were supposed to be at the club an hour ago. Gabrielle."

"Gabrielle?"

She smirked, handing him his new ID.

GABRIELLE BROWN

He smiled. "It'll be hard to get used to that. Good thing I only have to do this once."

As he staggered outside to meet the car, Libby turned to Peters. "Steven, you didn't tell him?"

He chuckled. "Nope. Poor sod. He has no idea what he's getting into."

"You're wicked."

"I know."