Author's Note: Has anyone noticed the most awesome characters have serious daddy issues? There's Tony and Gibbs and Ziva and Max just from this story, not to mention the other thousands of characters out there in both television and books. I don't know, just an observation...

Anyway, here's the next chapter, and thanks goes to all my amazing reviewers (yet again)!

Disclaimer: I shouldn't even have to say it -_-


Chapter Seven

"Fang?" Agent Fornell asked in confusion.

I nodded, "Yes, Fang. He's about six feet two inches tall, black floppy hair, olive skin, black eyes, broad shouldered."

"Don't forget the wings," chimed in McGee jokingly. Myself, Tony and Ziva gave him an excruciatingly sharp look (like, I'm surprised it didn't draw blood), except for Gibbs.

"We can trust him Max, he doesn't have that bad of judgment," Gibbs reasoned.

Fornell groaned, "I'm still sending the alimony checks."

Confused and impatient, I continued on, "Anyway, did you see him?"

The FBI guys shook their heads.

I huffed, "He was here at one point, and considering this is an FBI safe house, that's kind of hard to believe the FBI's never heard of him."

They all stared at each other for a moment before one of the other guys (fair-haired and built like a quarter back) thought of something, "There was a break-in ten days ago here."

I considered that a second and then nodded, "That makes sense." I turned on my heel and headed out the door. I was walking down the sidewalk when the rest of them caught up.

"Does this Fang character break-and-enter a lot of places?" Fornell asked suspiciously.

I laughed, "We all did."

The little bald man's eyes took on a glint I would recognize in every policeman, security guard, and government official in the U.S.A., "That's illegal you know."

I smiled, "Only if you get caught." We'd reached the car and I turned to the NCIS members, "Obviously he's not here, I have the list, I can go on my own from here. You don't have to come, it's not your responsibility, and you shouldn't get hurt trying to find him."

They all stared at me for the longest time like I was an idiot.

"I understand I still have to testify," I defended myself, "even though no one's going to believe me anyway, but I'll be back in time for that, I promise."

They continued to stare.

"I'm serious, I can handle this on my own. I appreciate everything you've done for me, but you shouldn't risk your necks for me."

"Max, you do realize we didn't have to come here with you today, right?" Tony asked, enunciating carefully like I was slow-witted.

I nodded.

"Why do you think we did?"

I sighed in exasperation, "Only God knows why feds do anything they do."

Ziva laughed, "Is it wrong that I am starting to like her?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Four hours later, I was sitting in the back of a van with Tony driving, Ziva riding shotgun, and McGee occupying the seat next to me. As I sighed for the sixth time in twenty minutes, Ziva spun around in the seat with a threatening glare.

I copied her look, "That might work on some people Ziva, but not me."

She grimaced, "Then stop your sighing!"

I crossed my arms over my chest, "I'm willing to negotiate," I said sweetly.

Her eyes narrowed and I caught Tony's suspicious look in the rearview mirror, "And what would this deal entail?"

McGee snored loudly next to me and I considered squeezing his nose; but since he hadn't done anything to me, I decided not to. "You let me fly for an hour, and I'll stop my annoying habits."

"No," was the immediate answer.

I sighed, making it an exaggerated gesture and rolled down my window all the way. Twenty minutes of sighing, humming, and sticking my head out the window later, the van was jerked to a halt along an empty stretch of backwoods dirt road.

"Get out!" Tony shouted in exasperation.

I smirked in self-satisfaction and flung open the door. I threw my windbreaker back in the vehicle and shook out my tawny feathered wings. Damn that felt good! Tony pulled away with a strict order to fly above and in front of them and to get back in an hour. I agreed hastily, anything to fly again.

With a powerful sweep of my wings, I launched myself in the air. My wing twinged in discomfort, still sore from the bullet, but it was totally worth the rush of fresh air over my body. I made sure to stay in the agent's line of sight, but other than that, I didn't keep any boundaries. If I felt like doing loop-de-loops through the air, I did, if I wanted to glide, I did, if I felt the sudden urge to fly backwards, nothing stopped me.

I didn't care how idiotic I looked from down below, I was free.

-X-X-X-X-

"She's beautiful up there," Ziva whispered in awe to the van in general, but since McGee was sleeping, only Tony heard.

He bobbed his head, "Certainly in her element."

"What do you think of her?" Ziva had formed many opinions of Max, none of which seemed to remain for long.

He frowned, "She's seen way too much for any sixteen year-old. I don't know how she hasn't fallen apart yet."

"She's strong."

"Of course she is, but it takes more than strength to get through life," Tony said, "You of all people should know that."

"I know, but strength will get you farther than anything else."

Tony wanted to argue, but decided against it. "I don't care how tough that girl has, she watched her dad less than 24 hours ago die."

Ziva was filled with the sudden, gut-wrenching memory of seeing the blown-up safe house, blood everywhere and her own father missing. She stayed silent.

Tony, however, felt the need to fill the silence, "Even you couldn't be that cold seeing your father die." He seemed to realize it was the wrong thing to say moments after it left his mouth.

Ziva decided to let him slide and responded to his comment, keeping her gaze firmly on Max, flying high in the sky, "No, I could not. That is one reason I worry about Max. She isn't normal, other than her obvious differences, she does not respond like a normal teenager."

"Do you think something's wrong with her?"

She considered, "Life has just been too hard on her."

-X-X-X-X-

I sighed and wrestled my knotty hair into some semblance of order as we approached the second location on the list. This one was a farmhouse, permanently occupied, which made me wonder why Fang would choose to go here.

"So is Fang your boyfriend?" Tony asked from the passenger seat. McGee had taken to driving, Ziva took his place, and Tony hers.

I blushed a little, "No, or he was, but I guess not really if he left."

Tony smiled, "Don't get too worried, there had to have been a good reason if he left."

I grimaced, oh believe me, I went through every possible reason for his departure, and I hated every single one. "Maybe," I said instead.

"Turn here McGee," Ziva said.

The van made a right into a gravel drive that led to a small little farmhouse. The barn was almost as big as it was, and the shed not far behind. Still, it was nice, with a tended flowerbed, freshly painted shutters, and a homey front porch. I couldn't see Fang breaking in here at all.

We all got out of the car, and this time no one argued with me about coming to the door. Then again, guns weren't drawn this time either. Tony knocked on the door, and we waited in tense silence for the door to open.

Finally, it did, revealing a tiny woman in her late fifties behind the screen door. She looked the classic farm wife, wearing a floral printed dress with a pale pink apron covering the front and wiping her flour covered hands on the hem of it. "Can I help you?" she asked in a tiny voice with a country twang.

The three federal agents flashed their badges, "Mrs. Weber, we're Agents David, McGee, and DiNozzo, from NCIS, and we'd like to ask you and your husband a few questions."

"Oh," she squeaked, "of course," her hands swiftly undid the latch on the screen door and she let us in.

The living room was just as country classic as the rest of the place, she pointed us to the couch and chairs, "Please, have a seat. Do you want something to eat, or drink?"

"No thank you, ma'am," Tony's said politely.

"One moment then, dear, let me get my husband." She skipped off to the kitchen, where I heard her whisper, "Harry, there are some government agents out there that want to talk to us. What did you do now? Are you stealing cable again? So help me God, Harry, if—"

"I didn't do anything, sweet pie, come one then, don't leave 'em waiting."

Mrs. Weber returned with her husband, a balding, portly man, in tow. "This is my husband, Harry. Harry, this is Agent's David, McGee, and DiNozzo." She glanced as me, "What's your name deary?"

I ducked my head in greeting, "Max."

McGee cleared his throat, "Now that introductions are done, we need to ask you a few questions."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Have you ever seen a boy, sixteen years old, six foot tall, with dark hair and eyes?" Tony questioned.

The couple shared a look, "Of course! Nicholas is his name, he stayed here for a day a week or so back," Harry answered.

The agents looked at me, making sure this Nicholas person was Fang, I nodded. Who knew he'd still be using his old fake name?

Mrs. Weber looked concerned, "He isn't a fugitive is he? I knew we shouldn't have let him stay! I told you Harry—"

"No, no, Mrs. Weber," Ziva reassured her, "he isn't a criminal, we just need to find him."

"Can you tell us anything about his stay?" Tony asked will scribbling on a little notebook.

"Sure can," said Harry, who I was beginning to see would be the more helpful of the two. "Nicholas came here, what? Six days ago? Yeah, six. It was storming pretty bad that night and he just showed up on our door step, asking for a place to stay the night."

"And being the good folks we are," Mrs. Weber put it, "we couldn't refuse a handsome young boy a place to stay. Polite boy he was too, knew his manners."

"How long did he stay here?" I was getting excited, maybe he had mentioned where he was headed. Sure, we had the list, but something concrete would be so much more helpful at this point.

They consulted each other, "He left the next night, at around sunset. We tried to convince him to stay, but he was hearing none of it."

"Did F-Nick," I sighed at the memory of another slip up like that, "say anything about where he was going?"

They shook their heads, "No, he was real secretive about that, wouldn't tell us more than he was going south."

My hope died a little.

"Did he say, or do anything else of note?" Tony asked, still furiously scribbling away.

"Well, he ate an awful lot of food, even for a growing boy. And he talked in his sleep, something about a man by the name of Jeb, and his 'pets'. Nonsense talk to my ears," Mrs. Weber supplied.

Despite the fact that I was creeped out that she watched him sleep (must have to heard him talk), I was really grateful to these people. "Thank you so much," I shook each of their hands. "May we see where he slept?"

Harry nodded and led us to a spare bedroom, most of the furniture looked hand crafted, and the quilt on the bed most definitely was. It was sparse yet cozy. Looking at the bed, I could almost see Fang stretched out on his stomach, sleeping with his mouth slightly ajar, just like he used to. Harry left us alone after Ziva informed him we could show ourselves out.

The three agents went through the room foot by foot, examining every immaculately cleaned space there was. Ten minutes into the search, McGee found a crumpled up piece of paper under the bed. I snatched it from his hands practically before he knew he even had it.

In Fang's strong hand, was a sketch of the Flock; all of the original kids, Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Angel, Gazzy, and me. No Jeb or Ari or Dylan or Total, no one but us, our family. It was drawn so well I almost cried at the sight of Fang's intense eyes, Iggy's freckles, Nudge's frizzy hair, Angel's blue-eyed innocence, Gazzy's oh-so-mischievous grin, and my determined chin. It was incredible, and it was in a ball under the bed.

I flipped it over, looking for anything else; on the back was a short, brief message.

Max,

Something told me I should write this. I don't know rather I'm going crazy or not. If you don't see this then I guess no one will be witness to my psychotic ramblings. If you do see this, well then I wasn't so crazy after all. Anyway, I didn't know what to write, maybe this'll be enough. If you're looking for me, don't. The Flock needs you, I don't. I mean, that came out wrong. I do need you, but the flock needs you more. Oh, I don't know. Isn't it funny, I can never seem to say more than a sentence, but when I write everything comes spilling out? Or maybe it's just because of Mrs. Weber's lasagna, that lady's a horrible cook.

I don't know what else to say.

Fang.

"What is on the other side?" Ziva interrupted the silence softly, after the four of us had read the note.

I flipped it over again, handing it to her and collapsing on the bed. He was really alive. Yeah, I knew it before, but now, after seeing actual, tangible proof, it was different. He's alive! Fang, my best friend and flock mate, is alive! I felt like getting up and doing the jig, but after some thought, decided that probably wasn't a very good idea.

Tony was the first to look up from the picture, "Is this your Flock?" he asked quietly.

I nodded, "That was them."

"Which one's Fang?"

I came over and pointed him out, "That one. And that's Iggy, Gazzy, Angel, Nudge, and me."

McGee stared at me for a while, "Max," he began, and I knew I wouldn't like the question, "What happened to the rest of your Flock?"

I tried to muster a glare, but I really didn't have it in me, "Didn't Gibbs tell you?"

They all shook their heads, and Tony elaborated, "We asked a couple times, but he said it wasn't his place to tell us."

Okay, at this point, Gibbs might have been moving a little higher on my internal scoreboard. I had thought for sure that he had told them, that no adult would honor my wishes. Call it Peter Pan Syndrome, but I just didn't trust adults. "But you guys," Tony and Ziva, "were behind the glass when I told Gibbs everything."

Ziva nodded, "Yes, but before you started, when he told you he would not tell anyone, he made us cut the feed. The tapes were stopped and we could not hear or see anything."

Again, a few more points were added to Gibbs total.

McGee continued to look at me questioningly. I sighed, "My Flock, they all died. Fang and I are all that's left."

Silence and pitying looks followed my revelation. The last thing I wanted was pity.

Ziva, of all those here, seemed to understand that the most. Her brown eyes were quickly filled with determination, "Then let's keep looking for Fang."