I Should've Stayed in Bed

by Withoutwords

Rating: teen
Tags: Random, Slice of Life, Crossover, Human, Main 6, Lyra, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Other
Length: 5985

MLP/NCIS, wacky hijinks in Ponyville.

Special Agent Timothy McGee is a federal agent, an author, and apparently some sort of plaything for the cosmos. How else could he wind up accidentally skipping work because he's stuck in a cartoon village full of talking ponies? And how exactly is he going to explain this to his boss?

MLP:FiM meets NCIS. Rated teen for language and spillover from NCIS.

Published 2012-07-08 17:34:01 UTC
Last updated 2012-08-05 01:58:01 UTC

Everything Happens to the Probie

Most unicorns did not use incantations. Or runes. Or potions. Unicorn magic was usually kept solely to the realm of pure spellwork. Those spells were themselves usually spontaneous and simple. So it made perfect sense that the specific magic Lyra wanted to use would require two straight days of preparation, followed by an hour-long incantation in a room decorated with runes, over an obscenely complicated potion.

Luckily, living in Ponyville had its perks. Zecora was more than willing to mix the potion for her, and Twilight Sparkle had insisted on drawing the runes and helping her memorize the incantation. The prep work had to be done by herself, but that was about it. Rarity even let her use an empty storeroom at Carousel Boutique so she didn't have to worry about clearing out a room at home.

Lyra trotted happily down the street, her saddlebags thumping heavily against her sides. The prep work was all done and today was the day- finally, her greatest wish was going to come true. Years of research and study, and it had all come down to this.

Lyra stepped into Carousel Boutique, giving Rarity a polite nod of greeting on her way to the storeroom. The door was closed and locked; Lyra lifted the key from her bag and unlocked it, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Twilight Sparkle's work was impressive, to say the least. The floor was dominated by a huge circular design, a fragmented spiral within a fragmented spiral. Bold runes swung outward from the circle, trailing up the wall in eight sweeping lines that met in another, smaller circle in the very center of the ceiling, even trailing down the cover of the lantern hanging there for light. To Lyra's eye, everything was perfect to a hair's width.

Lyra lifted a small covered pot from her saddlebag and set it in the middle of the floor, on the only tile not covered in runes. She removed the lid, and the air began to fill with the rich scent of cinnamon and cloves. The lid went back into her bag, which went back out the door, leaving only Lyra and her potion. She stood over the pot facing north, inhaling deeply. She should ask Zecora to mix up a simpler version to use as an air freshener.

No, don't woolgather! she ordered herself sharply, shaking her head to clear it. She closed her eyes, taking another deep breath.

“Onn wa catora ven. Hoshna con vembris conna.”

-|-

“DiNozzo, witness statements. Ziva, pictures. McGee, you do sketches.”

Timothy nodded, turning back to the van to collect a measuring tape, sketch pad, and pencils. Work was work, and he'd gotten used to the horror he saw from time to time in this specific line of work. He didn't think he was unflappable by any stretch of the imagination, but he could handle sketching a murder scene or two without losing his lunch, at least.

Tools at hand, he stepped very carefully over a pool of mostly congealed blood to measure the wall, note its dimensions, and start adding in the blood-spattered chair and desk.

Tibbs had seen a lot of crime scenes in his day, he thought as he worked, the back of his mind slipping into the role of narrator while the main part was caught up in inches, feet, and milimeters. This wasn't the worst at all, but there was something about it. Something that was, in its own way, horrifying.

Someone bumped into his shoulder, sending his pencil skittering across the paper and leaving a dark, ugly line. He sighed, identifying the person as Palmer from his quick apology, and started erasing.

The scene sketch began to form in rough boxes and outlines over the grid, each detail painstakingly recorded, while Tiimothy's inner monologue bloomed into the realm of pure fiction. Affairs were cheap in the world of writing; it took imagination to make them interesting enough to sell.

Not that he let the fantasy distract him. He was good at his job, and he wasn't about to let Gibbs catch him daydreaming. He caught sight of a soft light reflected in a fragment of shattered mirror and immediately shut down his storyline, turned toward it.

“Hey, Boss?” he called, taking a step toward the wall, where he could see a faint aqua-green circle. “I think you should come look at this!”

Photography was much faster than sketching, and Ducky wasn't one to hang around once the body was cleared for removal- he hadn't realized he was alone in the room.

The circle brightened and expanded. Timothy stepped back, carefully closing the sketchpad. He moved toward the door slowly, as if the circle was sentient but somehow wouldn't notice him as long as he didn't move too fast.

“Gibbs?”

He heard footsteps and the sound of the screen door opening, but by the time Gibbs made it into the house, the only evidence that Timothy McGee had ever been there was a tape measure and a broken pencil in the middle of the floor.

-|-

Lyra wasn't sure what she'd been expecting when she gasped the last line of the incantation, and to be perfectly honest, she didn't much care, as long as she got some result. A solid hour of non-stop chanting, standing in one place in the stuffy little storeroom, had left her pretty exhausted.

For a minute or so, nothing happened. The only sound was Lyra panting, the only movement her heaving flanks and trembling legs, and she wondered if she'd messed up somehow. She did not look forward to having to go through this again...

But after a minute, something did happen. The runes all over the room began to glow, brighter and brighter, until Lyra had to close her eyes. The light was so bright it stung even through her eyelids, and there was nowhere she could turn her head to escape it. As the light somehow continued to brighten, she heard a faint voice, indistinct and garbled, as if she was hearing it from a long way away.

Then there was a loud thud, and the light suddenly vanished, leaving multicolored spots dancing across Lyra's vision. She shook her head and blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear her vision, and when she could finally see again, she discovered she was nose to nose with a human.

In a lot of ways, it wasn't what she'd expected. For one, it was much, much bigger. Not counting her horn, she was slightly shorter than the human, and it was sitting down. It probably couldn't even stand up straight- the ceiling would get in the way. Another surprise was that it was wearing clothes. The clothes weren't particularly fancy, but they didn't seem as if they'd be much protection, and they were uniformly drab and dark except for four letters emblazoned in white.

Still, a human was a human, and Lyra wasn't about to be picky with her dream sitting right in front of her.

“Hi!” she said excitedly, bouncing slightly on her front hooves. “I'm Lyra.”

“Um... Hi. Lyra.” The human looked around, its odd face looking confused. “I'm McGee. Timothy. Timothy McGee. It's... um... nice to meet you?”

“You can speak!” Lyra exclaimed happily, bouncing on all four hooves now. “I knew it! I knew humans could speak!”

Timothy McGee moved back until it ran into the wall and just sat there, staring at her like a lump, until the door opened.

“Lyra, dear, I heard you talking,” Rarity said, stepping in. “I just wanted tooooh, my Celestia!”

“It worked, Rarity!” Lyra said unnecessarily. “This is Timothy McGee.”

“It's... awfully large,” Rarity said thoughtfully. “Are you sure it's a human?”

“Yes, I'm a human,” Timothy McGee said. “And I'm not an it, I'm a he. Ma'am.” The last was an afterthought, but a respectful one. “I don't suppose either one of you can tell me what's going on? Where am I?”

“In my shop, dear” Rarity said, stepping out into the hall. “Come out- it's awfully cramped in there. Lyra, darling, come with me to the fitting room, please!”

Lyra glanced at Timothy McGee, then shrugged and trotted after Rarity, leaving her human to get himself out of the storeroom. If he was anything like most stallions, he'd be embarrassed to be watched, anyway.

As soon as Lyra stepped into the fitting room, Rarity kicked the door closed and leaned against it. “He cannot stay here!” she exclaimed.

“But Rarity-!”

“No, no buts, Lyra. I know I said I'd be willing to house your human, but you told me they were our size- I do not have room for such a... a... large creature. I'm sorry, but he'll have to stay somewhere else.”

Lyra sighed, pawing at the ground with one hoof. Rarity was right, of course- there was no way somepony as big as Timothy McGee – that was a really cumbersome name; she needed to find a way to shorten it – would be able to stay here. The rooms were just too small, the ceilings too low. In fact, she couldn't think of a single place in Ponyville big enough for a human right now.

“Let him stay here just for a few hours?” Lyra asked. “I'll have to find someplace else for him, and it's better if he doesn't wander off.”

Rarity nodded. “Yes, of course, dear,” she said. “See if Applejack will let you use her barn- it should be large enough. I'll entertain your guest.”

“Thank you, Rarity!” Lyra said, nuzzling her affectionately before hurrying to the door, stretching into a full gallop as soon as she hit the street.

-|-

Rarity took a moment to compose herself before following Lyra out of the dressing room at a much more decorous pace, and found Lyra's human hunched down next to one of the dress horses, examining a half-finished formal cape. He turned as she entered the room and smiled.

Despite his intimidating size and alien physique, Rarity suddenly decided she wasn't nervous about him at all. His smile was open, inviting, and a bit... shy, as if his only goal was to put her at ease. In fact, she felt slightly guilty for her initial frightened reaction.

“Did you make this, ma'am?” he asked politely, still smiling that engaging smile of his. “This stitchwork is amazing.”

“Why, thank you,” Rarity said, gliding over to stand next to him. “Yes, I made it- this is my dress shop. I fancy myself a bit of a fashionista.”

“You're amazingly talented,” he said, reaching out but not quite touching the cape. “The detail is just... perfect.”

“You're entirely too kind,” Rarity protested humbly, smiling. “Lyra's gone to find you better accommodations; I'm afraid what I had set aside for you just won't do.” She stepped back, studying him critically. “Much like your ensemble. Whatever possessed you to pick such a drab color?”

“It's my uniform,” he explained, blushing. Yes, he was definitely not somepony to be feared, or even to be wary of. “We kind of have to wear it.”

“I see,” Rarity said, trotting over to her store of fabrics. “Well, you'll be with me for a while, so we might as well do something useful with our time.”

“Um... ma'am-”

“Please, dear, call me Rarity,” she said absently. “I think a nice, rich cream will suit you best, don't you?”

“Miss Rarity, you really don't have to- I'm fine with these clothes.”

“Nonsense!” Rarity exclaimed, snagging her tape measure and sending it to take some measurements. “I cannot let such a unique opportunity pass me by! No one has ever made clothing for a human before: I'll be the talk of Equestria! Now hold still, please. I can't measure your rump with you wiggling like that.”

-|-

What is this I don't even.

Meanwhile, in the Real World...

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. ^^;

The Circus is Now in Town

“I wasn't talking to myself,” Timothy said. “I was on my- oh.” Of course they didn't know what a phone was. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen much of anything in the way of modern technology; even Rarity's sewing machine was an old-fashioned one, operated by foot. Hoof. Whatever. “It's... um... a device. That lets me talk to the people I work with.”

Lyra squealed. It wasn't quite Rarity's squee, but it was definitely close.

“How does it work?” Rarity asked curiously, cocking her head to the side.

“Well, it's...” he knew every technical detail of cell phone mechanics and operation, but... “Magic?”

To his surprise – though really, he should have expected it – all three ponies nodded, swallowing that explanation whole.

“I expect Twilight'll wanna see it once you're settled, then,” Applejack said. “Speakin' of, we best get you to the farm so you can get to it.”

“Not yet!” Rarity protested, rearing up slightly and stamping both forehooves. “I've barely even begun- this outfit is only a rough draft, as it were!”

“Rarity, really- this outfit is fine,” Timothy protested, but Rarity ignored him, already trying to remove his new jacket, muttering about 'finishing touches' and 'barely suitable to wear'.

Applejack walked over, leaning casually against his leg. “Don't bother- that one can't be reasoned with. Shouldn't be, either- nobody knows fashion like Rarity.”

-|-

“GibbsGibbsGibbsGibbsGibbs!”

Abby had a way with words. Namely, a way of making several words sound like one incredibly long one. She was able to make an entire sentence into a word packed with information, sandwiched between one word and the next, and it took a certain familiarity to be able to decipher it into something coherent without taking a moment to work through it.

“Gibbs, I found McGee!” Abby exclaimed as she tromped her way into autopsy, showing protocol her usual blatant disregard in favor of jumping right on Gibbs, completely confident that he could take the extra weight. “Well, not found, exactly- more, contacted. I still don't know where he is, but he's alive and he says he's okay- that's at least something, right?”

“Are you sure someone didn't just make him-” was as far as Jimmy got before a withering look from Gibbs killed the rest of the thought. “I'm... going to go reorganize the storeroom.”

“Yes, Mister Palmer- do that,” Ducky said, peeling off his gloves. “Timothy is a resourceful boy- I'm certain he'll land on his feet. Abigail, dear, have you run those samples I sent up to you earlier?”

“Well...” Abby said, which was confession enough.

“Timothy wouldn't want you to shirk your duties, my dear,” Ducky admonished, smiling indulgently. “Go on- back to work.”

Abby nodded, climbing off Gibbs and giving Ducky a hug before shuffling her way out.

“Send me a copy of your report,” Gibbs said, pulling out his phone and moving to follow her. “I need to make a phone call.”

-|-

Rarity pronounced him fit to appear in public after fussing with his new clothes for a few minutes, and Timothy was finally allowed to leave the dress shop.

It became obvious immediately that his being here was not going to be a secret. There was a multicolored half circle of ponies in the street, all of them staring at him. Not, he couldn't help but notice, in fear. Their expressions – surprisingly easy to read – were curious, excited, anticipatory, even shy in some cases, but not scared. Not even particularly wary. Even as cute as they were, if a talking pony turned up in DC, it would probably incite a nationwide panic.

“Okay, okay- nobody crowd it!” a voice overhead ordered. Timothy looked up and discovered that unicorn wasn't the only pony variation here- the sky was full of adorable pegasi, in as many shades as the ponies on the ground. Some hovered, wings flapping lazily, while others perched on clouds, watching him.

The pegasus who'd spoken was pale blue in color, just slightly too bright to blend in with the sky. Her mane and tail, unlike every other one he'd seen so far, was more than one color: a bold six-banded rainbow, to be exact. She was very stunning, and very aware of her audience; she made a showy landing directly in front of him, flaring her wings and striking a pose.

“Hey, human,”she said. “The name's Rainbow Dash. Nice to meet ya.” She spent another second on the ground, then took to the air again, flying in lazy circles around him. “Rarity sure did a number on you, huh? Doesn't all that cloth get in the way? You look kinda big and clumsy to begin with- maybe you should strip.”

Timothy sighed. However long he was here, it was going to seem much longer.

-|-

Sweet Apple Acres was by far the largest apple farm Tim had ever seen. From the main gate to beyond the horizon, up and over hills, were thousands of trees. All lushly green, all sporting a heavy crop of ripening apples. His mind could barely comprehend how many trees must be down there, and how long it must take to harvest them all. It was just a little bit mindboggling.

The escort of curious ponies dwindled as they approached the main gate, until only Applejack, Rarity, Lyra, and Rainbow Dash were left to pass through it with him. That is, Applejack, Rarity, and Lyra passed through it- Rainbow Dash just flew right over.

There were two more ponies waiting by the small collection of buildings; one was large and bright red, wearing some sort of harness, and the other was an obviously elderly green one with her white mane pulled back in a matronly bun. Applejack introduced them as her brother Big Macintosh, and Granny Smith. Big Mac regarded him suspiciously, but Granny Smith just looked him up and down, turned with an audible creak, remarked that anything that big was probably hungry, and headed into what seemed to be the main house, leaving Applejack and Big Mac to show him to the barn.

The barn was large, a bit bigger than a one-story house. Outwardly, it was like every barn Timothy had ever seen. Inside was a different story, though.

There was no straw on the floor, for one. One wall was lined with neat bales of hay, but none littered the floor. The floor itself was polished wood instead of dirt. There were tools, but they were stored in one corner leaving most of the interior space completely open.

“No, Spike- that pile is for fleece blankets- quilts go over there!”

Against the far wall, underneath the hayloft, was the single most organized pile of blankets and pillows Timothy'd ever seen. Each stack was of a different type of blanket, further organized by pattern and then by color. The pillows were sorted by shape first, then color, then size. And in the middle of the... whatever you called the exact opposite of a mess... was a purple unicorn with a clipboard and quill.

“I do hope there's enough food,” the unicorn remarked, sighing and scribbling something on her clipboard. “Spike, is Pinkie Pie back with those cupcakes yet? We need to hurry- he could be here any minute!”

Applejack and Rarity exchanged knowing smiles, and Applejack trotted over, lifting a hoof and tapping the unicorn's shoulder. “Everything looks great, Twilight,” she said. “Don't it, Timothy?”

Twilight eeped, turning so fast she almost lost her balance. Applejack, without appearing to have to think, stepped in and steadied her.

“It looks very... organized,” Timothy said, smiling politely. “Hi. I'm Timothy McGee.”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight said. “Now that you're here, you can set everything up to your liking, and I-”

Rarity managed not to jump when Timothy's phone rang this time, but Twilight did a comical little dance of surprise and hid behind Applejack.

Timothy flipped the phone open and lifted it to his ear, but barely managed to open his mouth before the caller got the first word in.

“McGee, where the hell are you?” Gibbs demanded, sounding pissed.

“Hey, Boss,” Timothy said. “Like I told Abby, I really don't know where I a-”

“Find out,” Gibbs snapped.

“Boss, I- hey!”

The phone pulled itself free of his hand and floated through empty air to Twilight. Her eyes were wide and curious, and her horn glowed with the same violet haze that surrounded the phone. “What's this? Hey, it's making noise! How does it do that?” Timothy stepped over and made a grab for it, but she'd already moved it to her ear. “Ooh, it's a pony! Hello!”

Her expression froze for a moment, then her ears flopped down and her smile turned to a look of pure shock and horror. She sat abruptly and stared off into space, giving Timothy time to get his phone back. “Boss, what did you say to her?”

“Who was that, McGee?” Gibbs asked. Judging from his tone, he probably hadn't been all that nice.

“That was Twilight Sparkle,” Timothy said, closing his eyes and leaning against the barn wall. “And I think you broke her, boss.”

“Well ,she shouldn't've taken your damn phone. Who the hell is she?”

“One of the natives. They're harmless, boss, I promise. I'm in no danger.”

“Then get your ass back here- we have a case we're supposed to be working on instead of tracking down an AWOL agent who's decided to go fuck around with women named Twilight Sparkle.”

Twilight Sparkle climbed back to all wobbly fours and started slowly for the door, head hanging. Timothy didn't normally second-guess or talk back to Gibbs, having a great deal of respect and admiration for his superior, but seeing Twilight that down was worse than a depressed Abby somehow, and even in his numbed state of mind it was more than he could bear.

“She's not a woman, Boss, she's a pony,” he said, with maybe a bit more heat than was wise. “A unicorn, to be exact, who just wanted to know what a cell phone was, and she didn't have anything to do with me winding up wherever I am, so you shouldn't yell at her. Sir.”

Gibbs didn't say anything for a long moment. The silence stretched second by second, and if not for the fact that Twilight was still in the barn and looking ready to cry, Timothy probably would have broken down and apologized. At long last, there was what sounded like a muffled curse on the other end of the line.

“I have a case I need to be working on,” Gibbs said. “If you get yourself killed, I'll shoot you myself. Got it?”

“Got it,” Timothy answered, sighing with relief as the call ended and the dial tone kicked in. He'd been half afraid Gibbs would somehow manage to shoot him through the phone. He slipped it back into his pocket and cleared his throat. “Um... Twilight?”

Twilight turned to look over her shoulder at him, wiping at her eyes with one foreleg. “Yes?”

“Sorry about that. My boss is a bit... scary. He's just worried about me.”

Twilight nodded, suddenly all smiles. “I understand. Princess Celestia sometimes gets abrupt when she's worried, too.” She shook herself and lifted her head. “And speaking of Princess Celestia... C'mon, Spike- we've got a letter to send!”

A tiny round purple and green dragon came trotting out from amid the blankets, hurrying to Twilight and climbing on her back before she cantered out of the barn.

“You get settled,” Applejack said to Timothy. “I gotta go bring the cows around to the south pasture for the night.”

“And I need to get back to my shop,” Rarity added. “Do come by tomorrow- I should have your new outfit done for you.” She and Applejack left together, holding a conversation in whispers that included a lot of giggling.

Timothy sighed, stretching, and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it from a peg on the wall. He looked over his supplies for a minute, then hauled a bale of hay off the stack by the wall. With enough blankets, he could make a bed out of the hay.

“I'll get that,”

Timothy had honestly forgotten Lyra was still there, but he was grateful to have the heavy bale taken from his hands.

“Two across and three long should be big enough, right?” Lyra asked brightly. “Everypony in Ponyville chipped in a few blankets or pillows, so you should be comfy. I'll bring you breakfast from Sugar Cube Corner in the morning, if you want.”

“That would be nice,” Timothy said, helping Lyra set up the mattress and cover it with layers of blankets, then arrange some of the mountain of pillows. By the time they were done, it was just as good as his bed at home, if not better.

Lyra shifted from hoof to hoof, using telekinesis to fidget with the tie on her saddlebag. “Timothy?”

“Yeah?” he asked, sitting on the makeshift bed to test it.

“You're not mad at me, are you?” she asked quietly. “For bringing you here?”

Apparently, all ponies were blessed of the innate ability to be so unbelievably adorable that they could get away with murder.

“No, Lyra,” he said, reaching out and petting her mane. Hopefully that wouldn't offend her. “You just wanted to meet a human, right?” He smiled at her, glad to get an answering smile back. “If you want, you can spend the night here with me.”

Lyra's face lit up like the noonday sun, and she jumped up excitedly. “Yes! I'd love to! Let me go tell my roommate and grab some snacks, and I'll be right back!”

She was off like a shot before he could say another word. Timothy lied down and did his best to relax. It wasn't quite dark, but he had the feeling it might be a good idea to at least rest his eyes before Lyra got back, because she probably wouldn't be looking to get much sleep tonight.

-|-

The pacing on this chapter killed me. Several times. And I'm still not satisfied with it. Timothy's met some of the mane cast, made two unicorns smile, and told off his boss for being rude. And this is only his first day in Ponyville.