Trooper Station - Sheriff's Office, Saturday Morning

[solesofmyfeet]

You'd think by now, Vimes would be used to the oddities of Fandom and how they could make a man do unfortunate things. Like flirt and drinkBut no. That would have been too easy for this morning

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[colourfulscents]

That squeak was usually a comforting sound, particularly in times of stress, but Angua didn't usually have a massive headache when that squeak was produced. Nor was she typically curled up under Vimes' dress, in a state of semi-undress that would make even that most creative of people scratch their heads in befuddlement and claim, "I've got nothin'."

The first squeak woke her up, and she cracked an eye open in a reluctance to accept that she was where she thought she was. The second squeak, however, just inspired a low groan, bordering on a whimper, and she closed her eye again.

Maybe, if she went back to sleep, this could pass reality into a dream, and then she'd wake up in a different reality where this wasn't happening.

[solesofmyfeet]

The whimper was enough to get Vimes off the desk and looking for his damned shirt so he could face this nonsense properly.

With a shirt on.

And possibly his badge as well.

And not talking about anything that clearly hadn't happened.

[colourfulscents]

A hand moved out from underneath the desk, a hand looking for a very crucial part of continuing forward with the day.

Shirt. Shirt. There had to be a shirt around here--

Angua's fingers curled on fabric and dragged it under the desk. It was a shirt, but very clearly not hers. This would be a Vimes shirt.

"Bloody hell," she said before she could help it.

[solesofmyfeet]

Of course Angua had to break the careful, sanity preserving silence.

"Sergeant," Vimes said, clearing his throat.

[colourfulscents]

Hand went up.

"Your shirt, sir," said Angua.

[solesofmyfeet]

Right then.

Vimes snatched that away from her, putting it on quickly. And then realizing it was torn all the way down the front. "Thank you, Sergeant."

[colourfulscents]

"You're welcome, sir," said Angua, trying not to notice the excessive formality in titles rather than any suggestion of ridiculous name-usage. '

There was a pause, one in which Angua half expected to be filled with a squeak.

"Don't happen to have an idea of where mine might be, by chance, do you?"

[solesofmyfeet]

It took Vimes a moment to look down at the desk obstructing his view of her. And then around the room. And then to realize that meant she was without clothing under there.

He really needed to find that shirt now.

It had, somehow, ended up on the one lamp in the room. The odds of this happening were actually ridiculously high when the uncomfortableness of the morning after was taken into consideration.

"Sergeant," He stuck with, holding the shirt in the general direction of her and the desk. Not looking at all.

[colourfulscents]

"Thank you, sir," said Angua, and she meant it, taking the shirt and feeling still grateful for just how long just her arm could reach.

Of course, once she got the shirt, she encountered another problem. The underside of desks were fine places to curl up and sleep, apparently, but they didn't afford much room if one was to pursue a dignified reclothing of one's self.

There was a thump, followed by a grunt, followed by, "You need a bigger desk, sir."

[solesofmyfeet]

Vimes was just going to face the door now, thank you.

"I'll take that under advisement, sergeant."

[colourfulscents]

Angua, either trusting on Vimes' intelligence or decency or just sensing the change in direction, went ahead and crawled out from under the desk, felt just about every inch of her cry out in argument as she got to her feet, and winced at the pain. She made herself a bit more presentable for a woman standing in her boss' office and then took a look around the room, which was a big mistake.

What the bloody hell happened here? Another wince, a failed attempt to keep back a groan, and her hand went to her head. Second thought, never mind, she didn't really want to know...

[solesofmyfeet]

"Right." Vimes cleared his throat, straightening his posture up to something a bit less 'horrible walk of shame' like. "There must have been something horribly wrong with the coffee yesterday."

That made them insane.

[colourfulscents]

That look driving into Vimes' right now was the best indication that everything was definitely back to normal again.

"Right," said Angua. "I'm sure it was the coffee."

[solesofmyfeet]

"Exactly," Vimes replied, clinging to this last hope of sanity. Clinging.

[colourfulscents]

Angua looked around again, since she was pretty sure that I was wearing bottoms when I came in here last night, wasn't I? wasn't on the list of things Vimes wanted to hear right now.

"Right, then," she said, figuring she didn't exactly need clothes when she had fur and a doggy door that seemed incredibly brilliant right now. "See you Monday?"

[solesofmyfeet]

"Monday," Vimes confirmed with a nod that wasn't really aimed at her but at a spot on the wall over thatta way.