A/N: I'm b-a-a-a-ck! That's right! Sequel time! I think a prologue is in order. But first, I'd like to thank you all for all the reviews on my previous fic! Thanks! Much love!

Reasons why I HATE funerals:

I hate dressing up. Ugh.

I hate over-expression of emotions. This includes long, mushy-gushy speeches and stories, muttered prayers for the dead, and worst of all, crying.

Lots of people, who were also crying (see #2). Who knew Jeb was so popular?

All the looks of sympathy. I mean, sure, the man raised me, and it's sad and everything. But he's been dead to me for a while now. Seriously, people, keep up!

There are more, but I think you now get my point.

As you may be able to guess, attending my late father's funeral service was not my first choice of super fun activities on my only day off in forever. Between solving case after case (which, given the Team's investigative skills and the Flock's supernatural ones, doesn't normally take too long) and teaching a secret school for retired mutant warriors in the mean time, I don't have much time to myself.

Rewind. Remember what I said about the secret school for mutants? Yeah, well, we started the Learning Center for the Supernaturally Talented (SCST) a couple months after we defeated Itex. You see, my Flock and I had Jeb and a television to teach us at a young age how to blend in with normal people. These kids, created only to be part of an indestructible army, had no one to educate them about the world outside their dog crates. Well, no one but us, that is. So, our buddies in the government lent us a castle-sized campus, books, and other school supplies like black boards and desks. Apparently, they were still feeling a little guilty about the whole letting-a-wacko-insane-scientist-hold-a-powerful-position thing.

Okay, fast-forward back to the present story. There were several sniffles as the coffin was lowered into the hole where it would forever lay prisoner. I looked up to see Nudge, clutching Angel's and Iggy's hands, was one of the culprits. Abby also emitted a couple whimpers, as she burrowed her face deeper into McGee's (now soiled by makeup) suit jacket. I couldn't figure out why, though, considering she had never even met my father. Well, I guess she was just one of those sympathy criers. Again: Ugh.

And throughout it all, there was this annoying tightening in my chest. It was like someone was reaching through my skin and seeing how hard they could squeeze my heart. I guess that was the young part of me that remembered Jeb lacing up my shoes, holding my hand when I had nightmares, and cooking me breakfast every morning. Stupid young me. Still, Jenny's solemn voice echoed in my head. "Your father was a good man." Jeb Batchelder was a lying, back-stabbing son of a gun, I reminded myself. I would not cry over him. I hadn't even bothered to dress up for this grim little shin-dig.

That morning, I'd thrown on dark-wash jeans, black converse, and an unstained, plain black t-shirt. I felt oddly like a female version of Fang. Speaking of whom, he stood next to me, squeezing my hand in an unnecessary comforting gesture. His strong jaw twitched as they lowered the coffin, but he made no other sign of discomfort. He almost looked bored.

Catching a third familiar sniffle, I glanced down next to me just in time to catch the Gasman hastily wiping away a tear. Smiling sadly, I ruffled his hair. Of all the things I hated about this funeral, seeing my family upset was definitely the worst. He looked up at me with glistening round blue eyes. His expression reminded me how young he was. I always seemed to forget, when he was helping the team chase bad guys and solve cases, that he was only eight. But now, he looked like any little boy who had lost someone: wide-eyed, innocent, vulnerable. It nearly broke my heart.

Unable to bear watching Gazzy cry, I glanced over at Tony and Ziva, who stood on the opposite side of Fang. Tony's arm was wrapped protectively around her waist, and Ziva cradled Elizabeth gently in her arms. The two of them watched in respective silence, while the baby (who was still the size of a four year old) looked around with wide, curious green eyes. Even with her brain being that of one four times her age, Elizabeth was still too young to understand what was going on. She didn't know that there was a dead guy in the coffin or that that dead guy was her biological father. For all she knew, her parents' names were Anthony DiNozzo and Ziva David. That was how we all aimed to keep it for now.

Gibbs' mouth was set in a grim line. His blue eyes were narrowed in an almost curious expression. Beside him, Jenny's bright green eyes slid to him, watching him carefully. They were standing a good four feet apart. It made me wonder what happened between them after that day in the hospital. No one ever mentioned it, mostly for fear of a major Gibbs-slap. I just didn't like to nose into other people's personal lives unless it was to my benefit.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice that sniffling people were silently filing out of the cemetery until Fang nudged me. "Hey, Max, it's time to go home," he said quietly.

Unable to conjure a response, I nodded stiffly and followed the others to the edge of the conveniently placed woods. This was where us birdkids would say our temporary goodbyes to the rest of the team, so we could fly home. As you probably already know, I'm not really one for cars. It felt really, really awesome to take to the sky. I smiled, enjoying the warmth of the noon-day sun as we soared over the city. There was something incredibly right about being in the sky with my family, knowing that we were headed someplace warm and safe. Somewhere far away from the horrors of our past. Of course, in my experience, something always just has to ruin moments like these.

For instance, a part-bat kid flying full-speed up to you, waving her arms and babbling frantically might spoil it. "Guys! Guys! Guys! Max! Max! Max! Bad news, very bad news! You have to get back to the mansion now!"

"Woah, woah, woah! Slow down, Echo! What's wrong?" I asked, attempting to be patient with the 10 year old.

"The mansion—it's being invaded!"

A/N: Yeah, that's right. I started off with a cliff-hanger. Deal with it. Annnyways, I know I said that this would be up by the end of the month and it's really late and really, really short! So let's just pretend that the month I meant was actually January, and I met my own deadline. The shortness is because I didn't want to start off with a really long chapter, or it'd be all boring explanation and description, which would get super boring. This chapter was a little boring as it is. Annnyways, hope you enjoyed! Please review if you can!

~Nudgalicious

P.S.: Do you like my new signature? I've started using it for reviews and now it'll be in my stories, so one realizes that it's me and not Max/unnamed best friend, with whom I share this account.