Author's Notes: This story is dedicated to Claire.
Chris Keel surveyed himself critically in the mirror.
"Do you think this outfit is me?" he asked plaintively to his lover standing behind him.
Sam Curtis let his hungry gaze travel appreciatively up the tight, black denim jeans, the material accentuating all of Chris' assets. He licked his lips as his eyes continued up the lithe body. Then flinched as he took in the bright green and yellow striped turtleneck shirt covering her partner's upper body.
Seeing Sam's reaction, Chris' lower lip began to wobble as tears filled his eyes. "You don't like it," he wailed.
Sam hastily grabbed some tissues and rushed over to his soulmate, dabbing at the liquid swimming in those electric blue eyes. "Not at all," he soothed, dropping the damp tissues and pulling Chris into a comforting hug. "It's just a little bright for the jeans, that's all."
Chris merely sniffed in response, wiping his hand across his cheeks to remove the tears that had escaped despite Sam's efforts.
Eventually disentangling himself, Sam headed for their shared wardrobe. After a brief perusal, he pulled out a red turtleneck shirt. "How about this one?"
Chris pouted. "I wore that yesterday. I can't be seen in the same shirt twice in as many days. What would people think!"
Sam covered the rolling of his eyes by turning back to the selection of clothes. "How about this one then?" he asked as he pulled out a blue Armani shirt.
"Really?" Sam looked closer at the expensive designer label. "So it is. Sorry about that." He put the shirt back and rummaged some more. "This one?"
Chris' eyes widened as he looked at the black turtleneck shirt being offered up for inspection. His voice wavered as he turned away. "My mother gave me that right before she died." To Sam's dismay he heard the verbal tremor give away into a sob, the hunched shoulders indicating his lover's distress.
Dropping the offending garment, he once again enclosed Chris in his arms. "It's okay, sweetheart. Let it out. You'll feel better after a good cry."
They stood there for a few minutes while Chris composed himself once again. "Sorry."
"There's no need to be sorry. Just help me find you a shirt before we're late for work. I'd also still like to have breakfast before facing the bad guys, psychos and madmen of the world." Sam smiled down in to the face of his partner, and was rewarded by a small glimmer of humour.
"We wouldn't want you to skip your food, would we?"
"I don't know what you mean," Sam stated, making his expression haughty.
A giggle escaped Chris, as he reflected on Sam's well-known love of cuisine. "Whatever. Okay, let's get moving."
Malone looked up from the "For Authorised Eyes Only" document he was reading as agents 4.5 and 3.7 finally deigned to show up at HQ. Checking his watch, he saw they were an hour late. He shook his head in disgust and gathered up his ever-present ring-binder file of all his favourite top-secret documents, before heading towards them with a scowl on his face.
"Gentlemen! Nice of you to finally show up. I hope you have a good explanation of why you are so late."
Sam and Chris glanced at each other before Sam hastily explained. "Sorry, sir, we had to find the right colour turtleneck shirt for Chris' outfit."
His partner piped in. "And then Sam had to have his traditional brochettes de queues de langoustines au beurre blanc, pintadeau aux morilles, and of course, his poulet de la ferme au champagne for breakfast. And you know how long it takes to cook them, sir."
At Malone's stormy expression, Sam helpfully added, "It *is* the most important meal of the day, sir."
"Be that as it may, Mr Curtis, I would appreciate punctuality from now on."
"Yes, sir," chimed both men.
"It's a nice shirt, Chris. Good choice," complimented Backup from where she was standing off to the side; far enough away to still look busy on the computer while close enough to listen to the conversation.
Chris turned a radiant smile on her. "Thanks, Backup."
Sam merely glowered darkly at the slight built woman, jealous of Chris' attention being on anyone other than himself.
The sound of a throat being pointedly cleared, sliced through the casual conversation. As one, they all turned back to the nattily attired pin-striped man before them.
"If you've quite finished, we do have some work to do today."
"Sorry, sir," they all chimed once more.
"Mr Curtis, Mr Keel, I want you to check out the property at the edge of the famous Tuttledown bog in Straphire. We've received a tip-off that the owners are using the bog area to store illegal firearms."
"But, sir," Sam protested, looking down at his two-piece grey suit with matching belt and shoes. "This is a Van Leulen suit. I can't go tramping through mud dressed like this. I would never be able to get the stains out again."
Chris agree. "Same here, sir. This is the only cream turtleneck shirt I've got."
Malone exploded. "For god's sake, gentlemen. You are CI5 agents, not fashion models! From now on, I want to see you wear something more appropriate to work!"
Dead silence reigned.
Sam swallowed convulsively. "That was a bit harsh, sir. We can't help it if we're so gorgeous that the costume department dresses us up to kill."
In the background, Backup groaned at the bad Bond pun. Whilst beside Sam, Chris' lower lip started to wobble again as tears overflowed down his cheeks.
"Now look what you've done, sir," Sam glared reproachfully at his boss, gathering his lover in his arms. "You know how delicate Chris' sensibilities are. He's only just come to terms with having to threaten violence towards any suspects we have to lean on, and now you've gone and shouted at him." He held the trembling man closer, as sobs racked the thin body. "It's going to take me a couple of hours now just to calm him down."
Malone sighed in frustration at the weaklings that were recruited into CI5 in the current atmosphere of equal opportunity and political correctness. In his day, only the toughest battle-ready men joined CI5 -- those willing to put down their cordon bleu forks and wear unflattering army camouflage uniforms at a moment's notice. Throwing his hands up in defeat, he retreated back to his office to read his trademark file of top-secret documents once again.
Backup went back to trying to look busy on her computer, deciding to reprogram the radar to show unrealistic miniature explosions on the screen when any aircraft disappeared. After which, she then tackled the video-viewing software and its associated filters, making all footage infinitely resolvable to any magnification requested, regardless of the lack of pixel information present in the original video. Tired by her efforts, she then left work early and headed home for a relaxing bath.
While Sam, his arm still around the sobbing Chris, gently led his soulmate back to their car, murmuring something about a quiet afternoon rest, while visions of trying out the new five-star Italian restaurant that had just opened up down the road, danced in his head.
Summary: The following report falls within the category normally known as 'parody'.