//------------------------------// // Meanwhile, in the Real World... // Story: I Should've Stayed in Bed // by Withoutwords //------------------------------// Timothy wasn't sure why he wasn't in the middle of a fit of hysterics at the moment. Any rational person who found themselves in his situation would probably indulge in an extended freak-out. A more delicate soul might even have just passed right out. Yet here he was, letting a tiny white unicorn with the voice of a Manhattan socialite make him an entirely new outfit while she chatted companionably about the weather. Maybe he'd just gone numb in self-defense. He wouldn't be surprised. When confronted with complete insanity, the human mind could just shut down to keep itself sane. Rarity worked pretty fast; it couldn't have been more than half an hour when she announced she was finished with his new shirt, and he learned his first lesson about pony modesty. Namely, they had none. Rarity was across the room from him, so he wasn't prepared for her to do anything to him. He hadn't really noticed that she was operating her sewing machine telekinetically, and it took him a minute to realize that it wasn't a ghost trying to pull his jacket off him. No, that was the huge-eyed, innocent-looking marshmallow unicorn. And she didn't stop with just his jacket, either- she began magically unbuttoning his shirt as it was the most natural thing in the world. “Rarity, you don't have to help me undress!” Timothy protested, trying to keep his shirt closed. Magic was a persistent little bugger, though, and a lot stronger than a technically non-physical force should be: buttons kept coming undone. “I don't mind at all, dear,” Rarity said, apparently completely misunderstanding his distress. “We'll just get you out of those... rags and into something that deserves to be called a uniform.” Relentlessly, she continued to strip him. Great, he thought as Rarity defeated his shirt and went to work on his undershirt. I'm being forcibly undressed by a mini horse. Why me? Along with having no apparent concept of modesty, Rarity seemed completely unversed in the phrase 'no means no'. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a little inappropriate voice that sounded a lot like Tony. It was cracking bad jokes about horseriding. Thank God Tony isn't here- I'd never live this down. -|- Ziva pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, taking off her hat and toying with the brim. She told herself firmly that she was not stalling, just composing herself before the inevitable. Of course, it would never take her a full three minutes to compose herself, but she would insist it had if anyone caught her at it. Once she couldn't even fool herself into thinking she needed to be any more composed, she opened her phone and dialed Gibbs's number, lifting it to her ear. Gibbs answered on the first ring. Ziva detected a note of irritation in his voice, as well as an undertone that could only be described as worried. “Any sign of him?” “No,” Ziva reported. “There is no sign of a struggle, no drag marks, no blood except what was already there. The only way in or out is the door, and no one saw him leave. He is not answering his phone, either. It is as if he has vanished into pure air.” “Thin air,” Gibbs corrected. “And he didn't. McGee would not just abandon his post- something had to have happened to him. Find him, Ziva.” He hung up without another word, and Ziva snapped her phone closed, pocketing it. She was concerned, too; DiNozzo might be distracted or wander off without telling anyone, but never McGee. The only time McGee had shirked his duties was to protect his little sister, and even then he had e-mailed to tell NCIS he would not be in. This was very unlike him. She turned on her heel and went back inside. There must be something she had overlooked, and she would find it. She would find it if it took her all night. -|- By the time Rarity was finished with him, Timothy found he felt slightly violated. The clothing Rarity had made for him was lovely, but she'd insisted on dressing him herself, no matter what he said. And there were certain parts of his anatomy he'd felt distinctly uncomfortable being viewed. Still, he could handle a little psychological violation, and as had been mentioned, the clothes were lovely. The shirt was made of some sort of tough, supple cloth with no discernible weave. The jacket and pants were made of the same cloth, but somehow thicker and slightly slippery. He'd had occasion recently to sink a lot of money into a very fine wardrobe, and none of it compared to this. Rarity had chosen to mimic the cut and color of his uniform, with dark blue and rich cream instead of black and white. She'd even faithfully reproduced the NCIS logo in elegant stitching in all the right spots, flecked with subtle silver threading here and there. He could see Rarity in the mirror, watching him expectantly with a bright smile, and he decided he forgave the borderline sexual harassment. “Well? Do you like it?” Rarity asked eagerly. “Yeah,” Timothy said, turning around. “Everything's amazing.” Rarity... squeed. Not squealed, squeed. He hadn't know that was a real sound. “I'm so glad you like it! I can't wait to make you something even fancier!” Timothy was saved from having to respond to that by the sound of a bell ringing brightly from the front of the shop, followed by hoofbeats. His unwitting rescuer turned out to be Lyra, trailing another pony. This one was bright orange with blond mane and tail and a cowboy hat. The cow... pony took one look at him and let out a low whistle. “Well, I'll be,” she said, sounding straight out of Texas. “You wasn't kiddin' about the size!” Lyra nodded, smiling. “See? I told you, the barn is about the only place in Ponyville he'd fit. Timothy McGee, this is Applejack. She lives on Sweet Apple Acres, and she said you can stay in her barn.” If he hadn't been inwardly numb, he would have had to laugh. The Texas pony named after an alcoholic beverage made from apples worked an apple farm. That was hilarious. “Looks like Rarity's been havin' fun with you,” Applejack continued, blissfully unaware that Timothy was laughing hysterically in the back of his mind. “We best get you out of here before she gets ya into some sorta fashion show.” Timothy nodded. “Yeah, that would be great. Not that I don't appreciate the clothes,” he added quickly, not wanting to hurt Rarity's feelings. “I do, really, I just... it's... there's a lot to process. Sorry.” “Not at all,” Rarity said, making shooing motions with her forehoof. “Don't forget your bag and book, dear.” He nodded again, picking up his discarded uniform. Lyra saved him the trouble of looking for his bag by bringing it to him. “Thanks,” he said, looping the straps over his shoulder, digging out his cell phone more out of habit than anything else. “Wow- twenty-six missed calls?” He scrolled through the missed calls list, noting that all 26 calls were from Tony, Ziva, Abby, and even two from Gibbs. They must be worried, to call him so many times... Rarity and Lyra both jumped into the air with a startled yelp as the phone rang. Timothy fumbled it for a moment, surprised he got service wherever he was, and managed to answer on the third ring. “Hello?” “McGee?! Oh my God, you answered!” Abby exclaimed, almost bursting Timothy's ear drum. “Where are you? We're all so worried! Even Tony! He says he's not, but he's doing that thing where he gets snappy and starts drinking actual coffee instead of those crappy latte things he likes so much, so I know he's worried, and Gibbs even made Ziva stay behind instead of working on the case, so you know he's worried, and I'm so worried I can barely think!” “Abby, how many Caf-Pows have you had?” Timothy asked. He couldn't help but smile at something so familiar as Abby's inability to only speak one sentence at a time. “Six,” Abby said. “I think it was six. Wait, do you mean all day, since you went missing, or in the past hour? Because I've only had two in the past hour, but six since you disappeared, and I had another one this morning. Does the one I'm drinking now count? Why am I talking about Caf-Pows? I need to tell Gibbs I found you! Where are you? I'll come pick you up. Wait, I can't. Gibbs will pick you up. Did I tell you how worried he is?” “I would love to, Abby, but I have no idea where I am,” Timothy said, sighing. “I don't even know how I got here.” “No! McGee! I can't go tell Gibbs that! He'll... he'll glare at me!” “Gibbs would never glare at you. Gibbs loves you. Okay? Just calm down. Just... just tell Gibbs I'm okay, and I'll call back when I know more, okay?” “You better,” Abby said threateningly, and he could just see her pout-glaring. “And don't miss anymore calls!” Timothy laughed. “You're the best, Abs,” he told her, hanging up. “Um, Timothy?” Applejack asked, shifting nervously. “Why were y'all talkin' to yerself?” -|- I must admit, I'm surprised to find so many fellow bronies who are also fans of NCIS. I have never had a story in any fandom with the sort of explosive initial popularity this one has, so I hope I don't disappoint you guys. ^^;