"I swear, this has to be a joke."

"Stop whining, McGee. You're the one who complains that you never get to go undercover."

"This wasn't quite what I had in mind!"

Abby grabbed a can of hairspray and spritzed it over her newly sculpted creation. The dirty blonde hair was pulled up in a beehive fashion with curls galore. Tiny hair jewels were dispersed about within the main, making it glitter in the light. It was a beautiful hairdo which would look wonderful on a beautiful woman.

Unfortunately Timothy McGee was not a woman.

"Tony goes undercover as a hitman; I go undercover as a drag queen," he grumbled as he stared at himself in the mirror. His gorgeous green eyes peeked out from beneath the bangs of his wig.

"It's flattering!"

"How so?"

"Timmy, there are very few men who can get away with looking good as a woman. Tony couldn't do it."

"Are you saying I look feminine?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm saying that you are good looking enough that you can work different kinds of looks." She grabbed the hairspray again and doused Tim's wig with it.

"You're just saying that to make me shut up."

"Mostly, yes."

Tim pouted his ruby red lips. The idea of wearing make-up had never even entered his mind. Now he was gussied up like a corner street prostitute. "How do women do this?"

"Do what?"

"All of this!" he exclaimed, gesturing to his new look. He had only been a "woman" for an hour and he already had a newfound respect for the other sex. The pantyhose itched and they had been such a hassle to get into that he didn't want to take them off again until the op was over. The straps of the silver bejeweled shoes were cutting off the circulation in his feet, not to mention the fact that the tiny rhinestones had scratched him. He kept forgetting to keep his legs together, which didn't bode well considering he was wearing a black mini-skirt. The glitzy red top was tight and formfitting. He had a feeling that the spaghetti straps were going to leave permanent indentations in his shoulders.

Getting made up had been a torture in itself. The foundation was sticky, the lipstick chapped his lips, and Abby had almost poked his eye out with the liner pencil when she had applied his eyeliner. The glue which held the fake eyelashes in place has mixed with beads of eye shadow laced sweat and was dripping into his eyes. It burned like hell. The wig was bobby pinned down so tightly that he could feel pulsations in his head.

"How do you girls manage to do this day after day and not go insane?"

"Lots of practice," she said teasingly. "Trust me, you'll get used to it."

"I'm afraid of that."

Another stream of hairspray was applied to the wig. Particles of it fell around Tim, causing him to wince. "Do you really need that much hairspray?"

"If you want the hairdo to stay put, I do." Another spritz of hairspray. "I've been around enough drag queens to what's what. I remember this one friend, Andy, was doing this show at Le Chat Noir and I'd sneak backstage and watch all of the guys do their make-up. Some of them made really hot women."

"It smells awful." Another spray surrounded him as he spoke and he felt particles of hairspray land on his tongue. "It tastes even worse."

"That's probably why it wasn't created for eating."

"Isn't this stuff flammable? I mean, one little spark and my head is going to explode into fire."

Abby's only response came in the form of a long stream of hairspray which continued for almost thirty seconds. When she was done, she stepped back and admired her handy work. "Okay, I think you're ready."

"Oh, goody."

"I'm going to give you this hairspray," Abby said, thrusting the can into Tim's grasp, "in case you start to deflate."

"And where am I supposed to keep in it?"

"Your purse," she told him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh…" he replied. He reached over and grabbed the black faux fur handbag Abby had given him and slipped the can inside. "So that's why women carry purses."

As Tim looked himself over in the mirror, his phone began ringing. "McGee."

"You ready, Pretty, Pretty Probie?"

The young agent practically had to bite his tongue to keep from offering up a retort. "I'm ready, Tony."

"Then you and Abby need to get up here."

Great, Tim lamented, Tony is never going to let me live this down. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the discomfort of the heels. It was strange to walk with his feet in that position. Granted, his movements couldn't really be considered "walking."

"Abby! I think I'm going to break an ankle in these things!"

AN: C'mon! You know you love the image of Tim in drag! Semi-long fic and, as per usual, one chapter per day!