When Tim entered her lab early Wednesday morning, Abby practically flew at him. "Timmy! Oh, Timmy! I'm so glad to see you! I'd heard you were injured! Oh, your poor head! Does it hurt much? Is it true that someone tried to assassinate you? Didn't they offer you sick time off work? Or comp time? Tony says you're secretly King of the Leprechauns; King Timothy; is that true? Aren't you a little tall to be a leprechaun? Are you going to be famous? Do I need to curtsey now when I see you?...Answer me, Tim!"
He paused. "Somewhat. Sort of. Sort of. No. No! Yes. I doubt it. A hug will do."
She digested this, then smiled. "You've been practicing!"
"Yes, I'm trying to improve my memory." He reached into the pocket of his suit coat. "Tony said you might want this for your new museum."
She lovingly handled the shattered pieces of what had been his cell phone. "Oh, Tim!" she breathed. "This is spectacular! Your loyal phone gave its life so that you might live...!" Her lips trembled a little. "It will have a place of honor in my museum!"
Abby hugged him, which he thought was a nice way to start his day.
- - - - -
The prince sat calmly, drinking coffee, and reading USA Today in the Director's inner office. Suddenly he looked up. "I would like to go downstairs, to speak with Agent McGee for a moment, before he comes upstairs." Only the duke, Kerstin, the two bodyguards, and the director were in evidence yet. One of the bodyguards rose. "No, please sit, Rudolf," Prince Friedrich said. "I am certain to be safe here, in a building with so many special agents."
"I would hope so," Jenny said, smiling. "You are welcome to visit the squad room, Your Highness."
He made a slight bow to her, and departed, alone.
Tim's desk was not hard to find – Tim had mentioned its location yesterday – but no one else was there yet. Friedrich sat in Tim's chair; resisted the impulse to spin it in, for he was not at home. He noticed a small magnet clinging to a metal drawer. On it, a 1950s-style smiling woman held a china cup of coffee. The legend read: I haven't had my coffee yet. Don't make me kill you. Friedrich smiled. This was a man after his own heart.
"McGee! You're in early, aren't you? I thought you were taking more time off."
Friedrich looked up at the speaker; a striking young woman with long, dark hair that rippled below her shoulders, and eyes the color of caramels. She was dressed casually, but exuded an inner strength.
She then saw his NCIS visitors' badge and the fine cut of his suit, and realized her mistake. "Oh, I – I'm sorry. I thought you were –"
He rose and bowed. "The mistake was mine. I did not mean to, ah, pass myself off as Agent McGee. I am Friedrich of Nordhavland, at your service, gnaedige Frauelein (gracious miss)."
Ziva was never flustered; ever. Until now. "Ah...ah...it's an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness." Was that the correct address? "My name is Ziva. Ziva David."
"Frauelein David. You are also a special agent of NCIS, yes?"
"Not exactly. I am a Mossad officer; here on a liaison program." She smiled; couldn't help smiling. The prince had ceased looking like McGee to her. Instead, she saw his strong will and quiet, but forceful, bearing. He seemed kind and was certainly charismatic.
"You are Israeli, then. My country has entered negotiations with yours for a, ah, 'brain drop' program."
Ziva smiled more. She'd been in this fix too many times. "I'm not sure that's the right expression. I'd thought at first it was a 'raindrop' program, but that made no sense. Perhaps the expression is 'brain swap'. As in, swap people of high skills."
"Yes! I think that is the term. We give visas for a few years to some of your people, your scientists, and you do the same...I have trouble with the English expressions, sometimes. Do you?"
"All the time, Your Highness. Though I sometimes think it's the Americans who make no sense." They both laughed.
Gibbs appeared. "Your Highness? It's almost 8."
With a bow, the prince said, "Until we meet again, Frauelein Officer David," then left with Gibbs.
Ziva still had that heart-melting smile in her mind as she sat down, humming. So that is royalty...
- - - - -
Since the Director needed her office back, Friedrich, Steffen, Kerstin and Tim took another large room on the second floor. Tim turned on the room's video projection system, and the four of them watched the tapes from yesterday; stopping them frequently to comment. There were many trifling, but possibly important, things to notice. For one thing, Tim pointed out that Friedrich would ball his left hand into a fist when he was trying to concentrate on something while he walked – an action that Friedrich didn't even know he was doing. Thank heavens we're both left-handed, Tim thought. It would be that much harder to try to reverse all his actions.
They went on, reviewing the tapes over and over. By 10:30 Tim was already on his fourth cup of coffee; determined that the caffeine would do for him what it was supposed to do. Then, knowledge in memory, Tim tried mimicking Friedrich's movements, under the direction of Steffen, who was filming again. Later they would watch the tapes and critique them. Kerstin volunteered to upload them to YouTube; Friedrich volunteered to draft her for the Nordhavland Navy, of which he was commander.
"You have a natural acting ability, Young Tim," said Steffen. "Perhaps you should have gone further with it than being a stick of butter."
Tim only smiled. He'd never thought he had any acting talent at all...but then, he hadn't tried to do any acting since he was a teenager and clumsy at everything. If Life had taken a different turn...
Lunchtime came, and even the fifth cup of coffee didn't help. Tim was desperate for sleep and begged off a lunch expedition with them. When the others left, he went to a smaller conference room next door, and, leaving the lights off, stretched out in a very comfortable leather chair; falling asleep instantly.
It seemed only moments later when the lights came on. It was Gibbs, who bore a sandwich and a soda, and sat down next to him. "I was wondering where you were. Eat this."
"Thanks, boss, but I'd rather sleep..."
"I know, but you need food to keep going. Two more days, and then you can sleep all weekend." Gibbs gave him a long, studious look; one that made Tim uncomfortable. It was as if Gibbs was reading him below his skin. "Are you going to make it to the weekend?" Gibbs asked.
"Well, sure! This is so much fun!"
"I didn't ask if it was fun. Who hasn't dreamed of being royalty? I asked if you can hold together."
"I can do it. It's my job to do it."
Gibbs rose, and said in irritation, "That's the CIA talking. You work for NCIS, not them. Remember that!" He went out.
But only I can be the prince's double. It's up to me. I won't back down. I won't give up. I won't let Freddy down.
- - - - -
The afternoon was spent in more mimicking. Tim and Friedrich paced the room together until Tim had the posture and the movements down pat. He handled objects the way Friedrich did; practiced facial expressions (fortunately, not too different from his own); met people's eyes the way the prince did; waved the way he did.
So far they were free of CIA interference, though that couldn't last forever.
- - - - -
On and on, as Wednesday slid into Thursday. German lessons. Dictation lessons. Lessons in Friedrich's accent. Nordhavland history, customs, modern society. Protocol lessons. Current Nordhavland slang – not that the prince would use it, but Tim should know it when he heard it. The royal family history, the direct line of which they insisted he memorize back four generations – fortunately, the families weren't large. Nordhavland's natural resources and trading. The prince's hobbies, likes, and dislikes. Even the name of an old girlfriend the prince had dated for a few years, before she broke it off. Someone might ask about her.
Tim now required all the coffee and Diet Coke he could drink to keep going. Just one more day, and then I'll be free for two...
- - - - -
Tim voluntarily had lunch on Thursday; burgers from the McDonald's. Gibbs and the rest of his team were out, so he and Kerstin ate at Tim's desk in the squad room; a break from the windowless room upstairs. "So how long have you been working for Freddy?" Tim asked her.
"Since I finished at university. The family had long made it known that the job would be mine if I wanted it. Freddy and I have always been good friends; we played together as children. He is only a year older than me."
"But – are you from Nordhavland? Your speech and your name sound different..."
"You are, ah, perceptive, Tim. I live in Sweden, although I hold citizenship in both countries. My name is Swedish. I lived in Nordhavland for seven or eight years while growing up. It's quite a beautiful country."
"Your red hair, up in braids like that. You remind me of...what is her name?"
"Pippi Langstrumf...you say 'Longstocking'." She laughed. "Yes, she was my heroine when I was a child. Sort of a nine-year-old Swedish Wonder Woman."
"She was so strong she could lift her pony over her head. I admired that," said Tim, and added hurriedly, "I read the books to my little sister when she was small." Over her knowing laugh, he changed the subject. "But you're Swedish, and yet a cousin to Freddy."
"Yes, of course." At his surprised look, she said, "Tim, I have heard that many Americans can trace their ancestors to several countries, isn't that so? Well, that's the case with my family, and several other royal families as well. Quite often royalty had to go outside its country's borders to find a marriage partner – or sometimes that was done for political reasons. Our King – of Sweden, I mean; Carl XVI Gustaf – his family, the Bernadottes, came from France when Karl Johan took the throne in 1810. And Queen Silvia is from Germany. So we are all of mixed nationalities."
"So are you and Freddy really distant cousins?"
"Oh, no; he just says that. We are...let me see, you would call it 'second cousins once removed'.
Tim tried to remember how that worked out, and gave up. "How far down the line are you to inherit the throne?"
"What a question! I try not to think of that." she laughed again. "It's your job to keep Freddy safe so that I don't get any closer to the throne!"
- - - - -
Friday Tim awoke, aching, which even a hot shower couldn't wash away. He took more ibuprofen, tried to shake the drowsiness from his brain, and came into work with the largest cup of coffee he could find.
But he seemed to have built up a tolerance to the caffeine. He couldn't shake the pain, and felt little moments of dizziness, and also moments when he totally zoned out. He could feel his body wanting to shake; he forced it not to show. Just get through this day; it's only 12 hours...
At mid-afternoon break, he went down to his desk, finding the squad room vacant. Tony was seen heading for the elevator. Tim started to get some mints from his desk drawer, when suddenly the room spun around him and he felt enveloped in a giant sack. As was perhaps inevitable, he fell to the floor, unseen, and there laid still.
