Act 3, Scene 3

Gibbs and DiNozzo slipped silently behind the two spies as they made their way into the Throne Room. Hamlet had gone back to his 'crazy man' routine when the Players had reentered the room to break down the stage, and Gibbs had seen genuine insanity beneath the Prince's playacting.

The King was pacing the room, and the moment the two spies entered the room, he announced his plan to have them take Hamlet off to England. The lackeys agreed to the assignment and left, with DiNozzo on their heels. Gibbs hung around for a moment as Director Polonius wheedled his way into the room, announcing that Hamlet was going to Queen Gertrude's room, and that he'd volunteer to go spy on the conversation for the King and report back.

"Thanks, dear my lord," the King said wearily and with genuine gratitude.

When the Director had taken himself out, the King slumped against the table in the center of the room, looking like he needed a stiff drink. "O, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven it hath the primal eldest curse upon it, a brother's murder."

What? Gibbs started. He wasn't expecting to get a full-out confession. Although, it wasn't a binding one. The King didn't know Gibbs was in the room, and Gibbs hadn't read the King his rights. Rats!

"Pray can I not, though inclination be as sharp as will. My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, and, like a man to double business bound, I stand in pause where I shall first begin and both neglect."

Oh, boy… another soliloquy. Why can't these guys just get to the point? 'I Killed My Brother!' See, how hard was that?

"What if this cursed hand were thicker than itself with brother's blood? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow?"

I'd use bleach, myself…

"Whereto serves mercy but to confront the visage of offense? And what's in prayer but this twofold force, to be forestalled ere we come to fall, or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up. My fault is past."

Gibbs shook his head, aghast. You think announcing that you're done worrying about it is going to help? You're nuttier than your stepson!

"But, o, what form of prayer can serve my turn? 'Forgive me my foul murder'? That cannot be, since I am still possessed of those effects for which I did the murder; my crown, mine own ambition, and my queen."

All the motive in the world, and not a warrant in sight, Gibbs lamented.

"May one be pardoned and retain the offense? In the corrupted currents of this world, offense's guilded hand may shove by justice, and oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself buys out the law."

Oh, get to the point! You're the King, but you're not above the Law. I'll find some way of bringing you to justice for what you've done! Gibb vowed.

"But is not so above; there is no shuffling; there the action lies in his true nature, and we ourselves compelled, even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, to give in evidence. What then? What rests? Try what repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?" The King wrung his hands as Gibbs ground his teeth together in irritation. "O Wretched state!" the King wailed.

Yup… with you on that one!

"O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, art more engaged! Help, angels! May assay. Bow, stubborn knees, and heart with strings of steel be soft as sinews of the newborn babe. All may be well."

Wishful thinking, Gibbs grumbled as the King knelt, clasped his chubby hands together before him, bowed his head, and squeezed his eyes shut.

The door creaked, and Gibbs jerked to attention.

Hamlet slunk into the room. "I might do it pat, now he is a-praying, and now I'll do it!" He drew his sword, mesmerized by how the blade caught the candlelight and sent tiny slivers dancing around the room.

Gibbs tensed, for once in his life unsure about what to do. He couldn't let the Prince kill the King. Yet, the King had killed the Prince's father, and Gibbs knew what he'd do… or rather, what he'd already done… to someone who killed a loved one. Gibbs had everything he needed to get a warrant from Director Polonius and arrest the King on charges of murder, treason, and usurping the throne. The King would be deposed, the marriage annulled, and he'd spend the rest of his life in prison. Prince Hamlet would have his title and position restored to him, and the Kingdom would be a much happier place. However, Claudius killed Hamlet's father, and Gibbs knew the fury and hate that was eating away at the Prince's insides right now. How was life in prison a fair trade for the life of a beloved father? This is what the Prince had asked me to understand… I get it now. Can I do as he asked?

Hamlet's face had taken on a thoughtful look as Gibbs had been paralyzed by his mental quandary. He seemed to be in a quandary himself. Gibbs didn't ascribe to any particular religion himself, but he knew the Prince was Catholic. If Claudius was in the act of praying for forgiveness, Hamlet believed Claudius' soul would go straight to heaven, unlike the soul of his father, which hadn't had the benefit of Confession yet. "Am I then revenged to take him in the purging of his soul, when he is fit and seasoned for his passage?" Hamlet demanded. "No. Up sword, and know thou a more horrid bent. When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage…" He sheathed his sword, and Gibbs felt dizzy relief wash over him. With a look of disgust, Hamlet backed out of the room, leaving Gibbs to watch over the kneeling King.

"My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; words without thoughts never to heaven go," the King lamented.

So, he wasn't able to pray anyway… Good thing Hamlet didn't know that…