The Jumpsuit

Sharakh

Janine sighed and grabbed a tissue to scrub off her "evening" makeup. She'd been on a date--a good date--when her pager had gone off. The guys needed her.

 And for once, they needed her to act as a liaison between themselves and the world-at-large. No matter how flattering the strapless blue cocktail dress was, or how perfect her makeup had been, she would have zero credibility with the public looking like that.

So now she was in the laundry room, rummaging for one of Winston's clean jumpsuits to wear instead.

The one on top of the stack was Ray's. It would be too short, and Egon, who owned the next two on the pile, was so much taller than she that the sleeves would swallow her hands. The bottom three on the pile all bore the name "Venkman" on the chest. Damn. Winston would be the one who put away his clean laundry promptly.

She grabbed one of Peter's suits. He was a bit shorter than Egon--not as close to her height as Winston, but it would have to do.

A quick check to be sure the laundry room door was shut and she slipped her dress off over her head. The zipper caught in her hair, and she cursed again. She'd been planning to leave it in the up do she'd managed to coax it into-it would have been out of her face. Oh well. She quickly shrugged into the suit, zipping it to the chin and pushing the sleeves up. Another hamper of clean laundry yielded a pair of tube socks that covered her legs to the knees. If she was lucky, her gym bag was still in the car and she could grab her sneakers from it.

She padded back up to the garage and dug out the shoes, leaving her dress and heels on the seat then, feeling silly and oddly self-conscious in the borrowed clothes, she headed upstairs, pulling the pins from her hair as she went.

When Janine walked into the kitchen, Egon was the only one facing the door. He stopped talking mid-sentence, which made the other men turn.

"Janine...." said Winston in surprise.

"What are you doing in my jumpsuit?" asked Peter.

She blinked at him, and Egon said flatly, "You can't go out in public looking like that."

Her stomach knotted, and she sat down, annoyance on her face. "I knew I looked bad, but come on, guys..."

"Gosh, Janine," responded Ray, "you look..."

"You look," interrupted Egon in a harsh rasp, "like you just climbed out of Peter's bed."

She frowned. "What?"

Peter gave her a crooked smile. "Actually, it is a very good look for you."

Her voice was a mixture of shock and disbelief when she snapped "What are you talking about?"

Winston gave her a sympathetic smile. "You've got that 'just laid' look going on. It surprised us."

Her eyes widened. "Excuse me? 'Just laid'?"

"You look like someone kissed all your lipstick off," supplied Ray.

"Sexy hair, and smudged up eyes," added Peter. He leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Gotta say, I'm glad you picked my jumpsuit."

She frowned at Peter, not quite believing him. "Sexy?" A glance at the others showed no teasing, and it finally clicked. "Oh." She ran a hand over her hair. "I didn't realize. Don't worry, I think I can fix it."

"Good," said Egon, his voice a bit less stern than before. "Because you won't do your reputation or ours any good looking like that."

"Speak for yourself, 'gon," Peter replied, leering at Janine. "It's my suit, and even you can't deny she looks hot."

Egon flushed and said, "Back to more important matters..."

Janine smiled at Peter, who was pretending not to notice the timing of the subject change. "I'm going to go get presentable."

"Awww," he protested with a wink, then allowed Egon to draw his attention back to planning the bust.

Janine retrieved her gym bag, then made her way to the bathroom.  The sight that greeted her in the mirror startled her. She did look like a lot of Peter's dates did after being closeted with him for a few hours. She rolled her eyes and washed her face. Better, but not terribly professional, so she dug her lipstick out of the tiny evening bag and reapplied it.

No amount of brushing would tame her hair. The mousse she'd used on it worked too well. She rummaged in the gym bag and pulled out the bandanna that she sometimes wore from home to the gym on days when she had really bad bed-head. She put it on, fluffing her bangs out, and told herself she looked like she'd done it to be ready for action.

That took care of above the neck. She sighed at the way the jumpsuit hung on her, and looked through the gym bag again, hoping for inspiration.

She could at least put on her sports bra--then she'd feel less self-conscious, even if the suit didn't show anything one way or another. She unzipped the jumpsuit to the waist and squirmed into the garment.

After she got it on, she pulled the sleeves of the suit back up her arms, but a glance in the mirror stilled her hand on the zipper. The gray bra was styled like a tank top, perfectly decent for wearing in public. If she only zipped the jumpsuit part way, and tightened the waist a bit.... She smiled in satisfaction at the results. One female Ghostbuster, dressed to kick ectoplasm.