Disclaimer: NCIS characters and situations borrowed; varying license taken with historical persons. Victorian universe courtesy of Sequitur.

A/N: I really have to hand it to Sequitur once again: so many of the reviews here have been as much about this steampunk universe she created as are about this story – with good reason. What I wouldn't give to see these characters on the screen, acted out by our 21st century cast. Sheer brilliance to put the team in this era!

Reviews, as always, treasured and taken deeply into account ... (and geez, after a couple hours writing this I end up talking more like them than me ... eep!)

A PERSON OF SOME CONSEQUENCE

Chapter 9

McGee stood blinking for another moment, too many thoughts vying for his attention to choose just one, but his eyes had a will of their own as they moved up and down the Lady's form, clad as it was, not in the more proper attire of wide, satiny skirts and yards of silks in which he'd seen her before, but in cloth and leather fencing garb which was made to fit nearly as a second skin – a man's skin, McGee's thoughts tumbled – allowing him to see the slim, fit figure he'd secretly imagined was there all along. Whether or not such a manner of dress was acceptable and proper for a woman where she came from – and Timothy had no doubt that the Lady Ziva was a proper and well-bred woman, frightening as she might be – seeing her as she was, her body so beautifully fit and free of petticoats and ...

"McGee?"

At his thoughts, Timothy blushed mightily, and the realization that not only must she indeed carry all the knives and other weaponry to which Anthony constantly alluded, but that also, in all likelihood, Ziva David was equally as deadly without any weapon in hand, given what he had just witnessed, made his mouth instantly dry. He could say nothing.

"McGee," she tried again, walking nearer, her mask under her arm at her hip and a tiny smile playing her lips. "What brings you here? Gibbs?"

Reminded of his mission, McGee immediately dropped his eyes from her graceful shape to the ground and nodded. Finding his voice, but feeling his cheeks still burn, he spoke in a rush, careful not to embarrass them both by looking at her in her ... her partial state of dress. "Yes, m'Lady; he and Anthony need your help with an investigation. It is of the utmost urgency and secrecy, and ..."

"McGee, take a breath," she urged, "we will not move any faster if your brain is running too fast to tell me what we're about."

He would reflect later that she must have been making to soothe him or quiet his anxiety, but when the Lady placed her soft, small hand on his arm – the one he'd so recently seen wielding a quarterstaff with cunning and deftness – he felt his already speedy pulse jump into an even faster pace. Whether that reaction came from the intimacy of the woman's touch, as she stood before him, boldly clad in men's fencing togs, or from the certainly of her ability to slay him as he stood, he would never know. For Gibbs' sake, however, and for Anthony's – and for the sake of his own, upended pride – he forced himself to think past her touch, take a steadying breath, and speak again. "Anthony received an engagement this morning to investigate a murder – a private investigation, from ... someone of rather public renown. The information provided to us has been severely restricted. And compromised. Gibbs asked me to slip away while our benefactor was otherwise engaged, and to bring you this."

He had retrieved the small, folded note he'd shoved low in his pocket and now thrust it hurriedly at her. Lady Ziva took the note delicately and opened it to skim the words quickly. Her eyes narrowed in response to the words she took in, but looked back to McGee and said evenly, "shall we go inside, Mr. McGee, and discuss this further?"

Timothy nodded, grateful that whatever the note said it apparently communicated to her the need for discretion, lest anyone with keen ears be about. And, he realized guiltily as he followed her, lest anyone of ill-breeding be about to leer at the striking form of the woman, now striding toward her home with a bold, carefree step, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her appearance was far too daring for her quiet little street.

Leading McGee into her home through the servants' entrance in the back, McGee noting that her avoidance of the front entryway might reflect a bit more concern about propriety than he had originally thought, if she did so to avoid the prying eyes of her neighbors, Lady Ziva spoke as soon as they were inside. "Do you know who these persons are, McGee, with whom Gibbs and Anthony have been dealing?"

He nodded as he followed the Lady into her kitchen, watching as she set about to fill her own kettle and put it on to boil. "Yes, I went along this morning them," he said quickly, "and after a brief time was sent to fetch Dr. Mallard, to bring him along. It was Marlborough House to which we were summoned, and where the body lay. We have met with only one person in all of it – his Serene Highness, Louis of Battenberg."

She barely paused at that, not looking to him or changing her course, but Timothy noted a slight stiffening of her movements, as if she was more on alert with the news. "And the victim?"

"Lady Margaret Danforth."

The Lady turned to him abruptly, her eyes widening at his words. "Lady Margaret? Murdered?" At Timothy's nod, she asked, "in Marlborough House?"

McGee hesitated. That had certainly been his assumption, at least until Gibbs suggested she had been killed elsewhere than the place where they saw her, and Dr. Mallard had confirmed as much upon his arrival. "I do not know," he admitted. "We were shown her body as she lay in one of the family's private rooms. Once Dr. Mallard's saw her, he said that she had not met her end where she lay, but had been moved there since her death. The Prince implied that it was where she was found. When I left, that was all that had been said."

"'Implied,' McGee?"

He nodded again. "He has told us next to nothing, and whether that's from lack of knowledge or unwillingness to assist in the investigation, I cannot say. I do believe – and I suspect Gibbs and Anthony believe as I do – that he knows far more than he has told us."

"Of that I have no doubt," she murmured, more to herself than McGee, then asked, "what about the police or the guards – has anyone else been called in?"

"No. And I think..." He was loathe to put too much stake in his own investigative hunches yet, without hearing the others' impressions to add to his own, but the Lady's own curiosity was clear and he'd had a strong feeling about it all, so dared, "he said he'd called upon Anthony to see if we could determine who murdered her. Not to discover who murdered her, but if we could identify him – maybe, then, to determine if an investigation by the authorities could do as well." At the growing understanding in the Lady's eyes, he added, "I think he knows ... or suspects ... who killed her, and wants to know if it can be found out. He allowed us only thirty-six hours, and why else a time limit but the need to report her death to the proper authorities – and her husband – before too much time goes by?" McGee urged, in a rush. "Why else just set us loose in the room where the body lay and all but dare us to figure it all out?"

"I see." Lady Ziva nodded and, as she looked back to Gibbs' note to scan its contents more slowly, pursed her lips in thought, but looked back to Timothy again, his face flushed with emotion at the events of the morning. "Did you have a chance to tell Anthony or Gibbs of your theory?"

"My ... I don't know that it's a theory," he blinked a bit, backing away from his earlier certainty, "but no, I was only with Gibbs for a moment when the Prince was not there as well, and it was then he bade me to hurry on to bring you this list and his message."

She nodded, and offered a small smile. "I think they both would be impressed with your deduction, Timothy, especially if you have not had the 'pleasure' of the royals' company before this." She took a final glance at the list and said, "I know several of those named here, some better than others, and know even more who may know them. Is there something in particular that I should be seeking?"

"Anthony and Gibbs think that the persons named there attended a dinner party there last night, but it is mostly Anthony's supposition, as the Prince had not yet provided us with the names of those in fact at the dinner, though he said he might. And he said in the most direct of terms that we were not to contact anyone who had attended, nor anyone employed at Marlborough House, so ... Gibbs wants you to do so." McGee wasn't quite sure what to make of Lady Ziva's slow, conspiratorial smile at that, but decided it bode well for an enthusiastic participation on her part, and continued, "he asks that you find out anything you can about the dinner, or Lady Danforth, or anything that can assist in determining who killed her, or where or how – anything that could assist in their investigation. He wants you to be discrete, under the circumstances, but use your own judgment about who to contact and how." He gulped in a breath of air, willing himself to settle down into his task and focus on the matters at hand, now that he had successfully found the Lady and enlisted her in the investigation. "And he said that I should assist you in any way I can. The Prince's time limit is narrowing – it was almost three hours ago now that he said we had thirty six. So I am at your service in whatever way I can best help you help Gibbs."

The Lady nodded, smiled, and glanced past Timothy's shoulder to the kettle. "Then pour us some tea as a start, McGee, whilst I go change into something more fitting our investigation than these clothes. I will be back down shortly."

"Lady Ziva – " Timothy stopped her, another warning on his lips as she turned. "The Prince also extracted our word that none of what we saw would be spoken to anyone outside of those at Marlborough House this morning, not without his permission. Therefore ... you were not to know of what I saw ..."

" ... and you said nothing of the kind to me," she nodded thoughtfully, then smiled back at him with a wise certainty that could rival any such look from Gibbs. "I shan't be long." With that, she turned and – he could hear, quite literally – bound up the steps like a stableboy.

Feeling a sense of relief that his most critical part in the adventure had been discharged, McGee went back to take the kettle from the fire and peer about for her teapot. His sharp ears caught snippets of the Lady's voice, clearly in conversation with someone, but he went about his task, assuming it was a maid or other servant with whom she spoke. He found a china teapot in the cupboard, lovely but comfortably worn enough to be for daily use, next to a set of teacups which he also pulled down. Peering about into the pantry, he didn't hear the soft footsteps behind him until he heard the tiny, rattling sound of a tea tin shaken behind him, and a now-familiar voice asking, "looking for this, Timothy?"

xoxoxoxoxoxox

The Prince's attention become increasingly torn between Dr. Mallard's narration of what he found as he examined the Lady Danforth, mixed as it was with reminisces of similar findings and what that augured for his findings in this case, and the patient, silent attention of Anthony and his mentor as the doctor's examination continued. Glancing back to them once again, clearly feeling a bit of the impatience Gibbs had observed earlier, the Prince glowered, "you have finished your investigation here?"

"Yes, given the limits under which you would have us work," Anthony offered quietly, in a commendably neutral tone. "Unless you will allow us to look beyond this room, we have nothing more to do until Dr. Mallard makes his determination about the cause of Lady Danforth's death."

From the Prince's scowl, he was not pleased with the response, but Gibbs suspected it was less the content of Anthony's reply and more the circumstances of the moment, although he could not quite divine what in these circumstances was more upsetting to Battenberg than had been in those moments before. Possibly a sense that he was losing control of things? The Prince had initially asked for Anthony and himself; they'd managed to bring along McGee. He had demanded that none out of their circle be made aware of events; they had not only added Ducky to their number but had sent McGee off, without a minder, to bring him back to examine the body.

Perhaps the Prince was regretting his decision to involve them? Has he had second thoughts about engaging those with a reputation of being unconventional, even bending – or ignoring – the rules? Was this a clever idea he had that he found went awry, when his unconventional investigators refused to follow convention?

The Prince was not pacing, exactly; he was too disciplined to let such an outward sign of his agitation to surface. However, he had shifted his posture and position more than once, using his observation of the doctor's examination as a pretext for his restless movement. But only moments after his snappish question to Gibbs, he turned again abruptly, clearly at the end of his patience.

"Where is McGee?" Battenberg demanded.

As Gibbs began a slow shrug, making to look back toward the doorway again, Anthony stepped toward them and, with an inclusive glance toward the Prince, spoke deferentially to Gibbs, his voice again low. "I'll go look for him, Sir; if he is ill, he likely would prefer I be the one to observe his state than to have you..."

"No." Battenberg's eyes cut to Anthony as he barked his order, then wavered a moment, suddenly undecided. Looking to the doctor, who had only just turned to his notes again, scribbling away with a sudden, enthusiastic energy and a back-and-forth pattern of peering at the body and recording something of interest therefrom, the Prince then turned back to Gibbs. "Not him. You. Go find your man." His voice was low and menacing. "Five minutes."

Gibbs offered a nod, but then asked, "and if I don't find him in five minutes, Sir?" Gibbs asked, his face and voice completely neutral. "Do you prefer I come back here, or continue to search for him?"

The Prince's nostrils flared. "You will find him – and in five minutes."

Gibbs met the Prince's eyes and nodded once, turning to leave the room without a glance back to Anthony or the doctor. As Timothy had, Gibbs walked down the halls of the servants' entrance where they'd entered that morning, making his way out to the covered drive. Gibbs knew that, as opposed to Timothy's earlier exit, his own movements outside the house might be cause for observation – if the Prince could pull himself away from the body, and leave Ducky and Anthony alone in its company, long enough to either do so himself or enlist someone to follow Gibbs for him. And even if the Prince had installed someone else, prior to their arrival, to keep an eye out for them – doubtful, as the Prince did not seem to know of McGee's flight from the premises; if he had, he'd certainly not let anyone else out of his sight so trustingly – the quicker he could get away from the house and lose himself into the back alleys and crowded walkways of London, the better, in all events.

With a furtive glance along the drive and toward the stables, Gibbs walked, as quickly as could allow himself, along the wall of the house and around its corner, where he could follow one hedge into the next, and then the next, all along the opposite side of the house from where the body lay. One hedge to the next became one building to the next, and from shrubbery to alleyway, he darted in and out of covering forms, allowing him to double back or change course abruptly without being seen. Whether or not it was necessary, Gibbs followed his own lessons to the letter all the while keeping an eye out for a tail. He saw none, but with his course, Gibbs knew that if the Prince had arranged for eyes on him, or if he merely looked out of a window toward the grounds, Gibbs simply would not be found.

And over the five minutes he'd been given to find McGee – and for the additional twenty five thereafter – Gibbs took a circuitous route away from Marlborough House and the Mall and Prince Louis of Battenberg, on to do his own further investigation as he knew Ziva would soon be starting hers. And as he moved, he prayed most fervently that his hunch was correct, and that he had not just left his long-time friend, and his most trusted assistant, with someone who would use his considerable power and influence to punish them all, simply for doing what they had been engaged to do.

To be continued...