The next morning was a hot, dusky day. The air was thick with humidity, though it seemed that all nearby storms had blown through the area for the time being. It was the kind of day that made everyone tense just from the pressure, the mantle of tension that rested on every set of shoulders.

Nevertheless, the mood inside NCIS was rather upbeat, especially given the gruesome nature of the two crimes the MCRT were hard-pressed to solve.

At least, Ziva felt rather upbeat. She was the only one in the bullpen so far, so the mood was governed entirely by the fact that she'd had a good night's sleep and a very successful morning run. Traditionally, either Gibbs or McGee would be in next, and finally Tony would join them, just barely on time. Most of the time she and Gibbs took turns arriving first in the mornings, with Tim occasionally beating Ziva to the bullpen. However, Jethro's things were already on his desk and the boss was elsewhere, probably to find good coffee. And a few minutes closer to the start of the workday, it was not McGee who joined her in the bullpen first, but Tony.

DiNozzo also seemed to be in a good mood, newly energized and ready to face the day.

"Morning, Ziva," he said before continuing to hum to himself.

"Good morning, Tony," the Israeli agent replied as she came around to approach his desk. "You are in a very good mood today."

"I had a good night's sleep," he said, cheerful.

"I can tell. I am surprised, especially considering I did not leave until late last night…and I noticed you stayed to talk to Victoria for a while after I left."

"As a matter of fact I did, Zee-va," the senior agent stood up straight from his desk and looked down at his friend, extending her name as he often did when they bantered. "I happened to stay behind for just a couple of minutes."

"Really, a couple of minutes? Is that all it takes?" she sassed back.

"That's all it takes to ask whether she was also having nightmares and feeling jumpy," Tony said, one eyebrow quirked. "And considering I startled her when I went back in, I'd say the answer is yes, no matter how much she tried to change the subject."

"Perhaps she just didn't want to talk to you anymore?"

"Come on," he teased back finally, his chin tilted up and his face taking on that cocky look. "Who doesn't want to talk to me?"

"Give her time, DiNozzo," Gibbs said as he walked in behind them. He hadn't specifically heard who his agents were discussing, but the last bit of the conversation provided enough context clues, and honestly? He really just wanted to mess with his senior agent a little bit.

"Thank you, Boss."

"Where's McGee?" Jethro asked.

"I'm here, sorry," Tim said quickly, entering the bullpen, bearing coffee for everyone. "There was a line."

"Thank you, McCafé," Tony held up his coffee in a quick cheers. Ziva took hers with a kiss to Tim's cheek. None of the other agents mentioned that he looked jittery and tired, even if it took him an extra minute or two to get settled and comfortable at his desk. Gibbs looked up at his junior agent, and almost pulled him aside, but ultimately decided to wait until later in the day, when everyone had scattered to their tasks and he was alone with the younger man.

"So what've we got?" Jethro asked, and his agents officially sprung into action for the day.

"No suspects for either CPO Moore's death or Michael Coleman's," Ziva said.

"The one thing those cases have in common."

"Actually," Tim answered DiNozzo's pessimistic declaration, "I was thinking about it all last night, and I have a few things I think you guys should see."

He went to work at his keyboard and soon two lists came into view on the bullpen flatscreen.

"So Moore was found in the park by a stream and we're pretty sure he was dumped there, right? And Coleman was killed on his evening run. Besides the fact that they're both flightlings found in parks, and both have connections to the military, there's almost nothing else connecting them. Except for the other thing we know that they have in common."

When he received blank stares, he went back to clicking, and pulled up case notes, this time on his personal screen so that no one walking by might accidentally glance over and see the information. "Neither of them hunted humans. They mostly surrounded themselves with human friends, roommates, and significant others —and Coleman was only really connected to other flightlings when they were his family."

"Lots of flightlings do not hunt humans, McGee," Ziva reminded her friend, but he just made a small huff through his nose to signify that he of course knew this.

"But that's the thing- neither one of them hunted humans, and neither one seemed to ever really worry about hunters coming after them. In Italy, the flightlings I met were always a little wary of hunters, even if they themselves didn't hunt humans, just because that's the social setup they have. They stick together in close, old groups and don't usually let in humans, much less people who are strangers. But here it's different. There are way less flightlings, even in small or historic cities. And they often blend in way more and just seem to incorporate themselves into normal life."

DiNozzo nodded absently, remembering Victoria's words from the night before about how local flightlings tended to blend in more than they did in ancient cities, where the locals were just far more accustomed to the macabre or unbelievable.

"You going somewhere with this, McGee?" Gibbs asked, a bit impatient.

"Yeah, sorry Boss. The point is, flightlings here have a different dynamic with each other, with humans, and with hunters. The ones that we've seen killed so far are the ones that weren't worried and didn't notice something was wrong until it was too late. And I'm not saying all hunters are fair and deliberate when deciding what flightlings need to be "stopped," but how often do you see flightlings —military flightlings— just hunted down for no reason?"

"Whoever got to them either does not know how to get to truly dangerous flightlings who kill, or does not care to know the difference," Ziva said. By her expression McGee could tell that she was starting to agree with him. "I think I remember Fornell telling us last year that hunters usually try to keep their kills quiet, and if not, other hunters might make them stop."

"And there's no way two deliberate hunts by an experienced hunter would make it to our attention. And, there's no way that it wasn't someone deliberately hunting flightlings, because Coleman's wings were cut off, and Moore would have been too strong and too well-trained from his Navy career to be taken down by a regular human who didn't know what they were getting in to."

"It wasn't a mugging because they left his wallet, and it wasn't an experienced hunter because they left his wallet," Ziva mused.

"But the most important thing is Rule 39," Tim said. Tony and Ziva both glanced over at Gibbs. He was right; there was no such thing as a coincidence. "Flightlings aren't really dying out, but they're a small portion of the population. I just forget that because it's all still kind of new to me. But there are few flightlings in the area, and almost no hunters. It can't be a coincidence that two flightlings were killed in the area this week with seemingly no reason."

Gibbs was silent for a minute as he deliberated what to do next. "You're right. Good work, McGee," he started, almost generously. "But it's not enough of a connection to take priority. It doesn't get us a lead."

Tim deflated a bit but did not look too surprised or discouraged. "Sorry, Boss. I'll look for more to go on when we have time."

Jethro nodded. "I'm gonna talk to Fornell again today. I'll see what he says about it. In the meantime, Ziva-" the whole bullpen seemed to snap out of this line of thinking and back into full investigation mode, "go talk to Abby and Ducky and see if they have anything new for us. DiNozzo, McGee, go trace Michael Coleman's jogging route and see if you can find any witness or something that will help us find that van from the security tape."

Gibbs got his gun and badge and headed towards the elevator as his agents scattered to do what they were told.

….

Fornell was busier than usual today, so Jethro did his friend a favor and went to meet him in the cafe out front of his office, coffee already ordered for each of them.

"You know, you could always just call me and we could talk on the phone like regular people," the FBI agent said as he took his drink and they settled at a table against the window. "Or do you really just want to see me that badly?"

Gibbs smirked but did not further acknowledge the friendly ribbing. "We got another flightling case."

"Two in a row? Jesus. Same perp?"

"No evidence of that, but McGee thinks so."

"Do you?"

"Yeah," the senior agent admitted. His gut was telling him the same thing that Ziva and Tim had discussed, but because they had absolutely no suspects and no definitive motives, there really wasn't much they could do about it just yet.

Fornell listened as Gibbs described the second murder, how they had very loose ties to the first case, but nothing more. When he was done his friend was quiet for a minute.

"There's no way two flightlings from military families just get killed in the same week by coincidence. But you're right- I can't see any other connection."

This reminded him of why Jethro was there to see him, and he changed subjects.

"I asked around like I promised, but no one knows anything about it. The only guys in the area I know that do hunt haven't recently. Said they hadn't picked up a trail in a while. I don't know about anyone else, and I haven't gotten any reports across my desk that seem flightling-related. I know that doesn't mean that there's no flightlings out there killing people, but there haven't been any conspicuous ones at least."

Gibbs paused, then looked out the window at the pedestrians going by. "Never occurred to me before now that a bunch of us going out at night and hunting people down without evidence might be a problem."

"That's because before now you didn't think of them as people. You thought of them as monsters," Fornell answered, unperturbed. "And sometimes, they are. You gotta admit that, Jethro."

McGee had made similar declarations in the past. And as his junior agent had learned, (and was still learning,) the fine line that flightlings could tread between person and monster was possibly swayed by instinct (Gibbs didn't know the details, just overheard Tim and Abby working on it every now and then) and overall, it was defined by choice.

"The ones that are murdered come to us and we investigate. The ones that go out and murder are caught in the act and stopped," Tobias continued.

"I don't have a problem with that. But only a few of us around here know the difference and what to do. There're people out there who will just kill who they want."

"That's a problem, yeah. But there are humans out there who just kill other humans, and we go after them, just like you're going after your guy who's been killing flightlings who never hurt anyone."

Well, that was true. He couldn't necessarily argue with that. But it still bothered him that just anyone could be a hunter without any regulation, and Fornell could see that. Still, neither of them exactly had an idea of how to change the situation. In the past, if a hunter ever went too far or started to get out of hand, other hunters would usually notice and step in. Or, more likely, flightlings would take notice and be even more determined to put a stop to it.

Gibbs had never really considered it before, but now that he personally knew and had lived with and fought alongside flightlings, now that one of his "kids" was a flightling, he realized that it wasn't just a switch flipped; that people with wings didn't just suddenly snap and morph into monsters. They made the choice and slowly descended into that state of being. On the other hand, he'd seen flightlings so murderous, so ancient and twisted and evil that they were in no way human; that their bones and their wings had gone brittle and their eyes fogged up like moonlight and though their faces did not morph, they took on this animalistic, heinous countenance. Surely those creatures, who stole souls from innocent humans and murdered indiscriminately…shouldn't they be stopped? Could they even be considered people anymore?

But what were they going to do? Set up a club? Deputize people and hand out hunting licenses to only those they approved of? The situation had always been thus: if a hunter only went after the most evil and dangerous of flightlings, kept it to himself, and did not cause problems, then everyone left him alone. And it wasn't like they were doing an activity that you could just be certified for off of the internet. Usually someone older and experienced took on a younger individual and trained them to do the work. If you were not meant to be doing it- if you were irresponsible and indiscriminate? Well, you were probably going to get yourself killed anyway. There was no registrar of people who knew about flightlings, no true "most-wanted" list for flightling crime, even if Gibbs, Vance, Fornell, and other more experienced hunters kept files and actually did research and treated their second life as though it were its own job. Even though there was a pretty accurate grapevine of local hunters- who's to say they were the only ones? There was no way of accurately finding out how many hunters there were in the area. They just knew there weren't many, but that wasn't a number.

It suddenly occurred to Gibbs that this was very similar to how McGee described flightling communities in America. The similarities in social structure between the prey and predators was striking. It was just a question of which group was what at any given time. And it did change, go back and forth, shifted as all such struggles do.

Funny how that worked out.

…...

Ziva hadn't had any luck in the hour or so that she'd spent in the lower floors of NCIS. Ducky was finishing up Michael Coleman's autopsy details, and while they had an idea of what kind of weapon had killed the boy, it wasn't enough to trace anything. No fingerprints were found anywhere on the body. Abby, for her part, had run the blood samples they'd picked up from Coleman's clothes through every database she could, but came up with no matches. If they had a suspect, they'd be able to match it. Until then, they were stuck.

Ziva had helped the forensic tech go back over every single inch of evidence they'd picked up from either crime scene, but came up with nothing. Abby also had a good estimate of what kind of weapons might have been used to shoot CPO Moore, but they didn't have enough information to pick one specific type of gun. Since there was no bullet found, they couldn't even begin to trace anything having to do with a weapon.

So, they were stuck.

Ziva hoped that Tony and McGee would find something remotely useful while they were out. Gibbs also hadn't returned from talking to Fornell, so she was alone in the bullpen, left to contemplate the case and decide what to do with herself.

She wasn't left wondering for long, as her cell phone rang and she answered it to hear Victoria's voice on the line.

"Hey Ziva. I'm sorry to bother you. You have a second? It's about your case. Or cases, rather."

"Not at all. You actually called at the perfect time."

"Oh, good. I've been texting with Tim all morning but I didn't want to tell him anything just yet after last night's discussion about him. So I think I told you I had a friend who is a flightling doctor? Or, he's a doctor who happens to be a flightling and locals seem to know to see him or to go to his hospital for emergency medical attention. Anyway, he has a couple of patients who are flightlings who happen to be in the military. He obviously couldn't tell me their names, but he suggested I ask a friend of his about it to a friend of his who works at the Annapolis Naval Academy. Who happens to be a flightling. I was wondering if you would be interested in following up on this with me. I think he would appreciate speaking to someone from NCIS directly. If you're busy, we can do it whenever, or I could always do it myself. Or Tim, Tony, or Agent Gibbs could do it…."

Ziva looked at the clock on her computer. She had almost a whole workday ahead of her, no leads, and only a hunch to go on. Gibbs wasn't there to let her go, but she really wanted to go to Annapolis…

Her boss entered the bullpen at that very moment, and she Ziva asked Victoria to hold for a minute while she checked with him. After he listened to her relay Victoria's findings, he nodded. "Go."

"Victoria?" Ziva said into her phone. "Be ready, I'm on my way to pick you up."

A short while later, the two women were parking at the Naval Academy and Ziva was leading the way through the sprawling, stately but ever-quiet campus. The Naval Academy was built like a museum as much as it was a college, the shadow of two hundred years of duty and excellence cast over every ageless building, every monument. This was one of those places where the sheer amount of legacy and expectation made everything still and hollow and despite the duty and importance that drove people to this place, it was altogether scrubbed of emotion.

Still, it was very beautiful.

Victoria settled the badge on her blouse, suddenly embarrassed at her casual jeans. She had never been to Annapolis before and she'd hadn't expected to actually find herself at the campus so soon after she called Ziva. Still, the ex-Mossad agent was wearing her signature cargo pants and a black shirt, which made her feel better about her own practical clothing choice.

A few young officers, all men, walked by the two young men and Ziva caught their interested glances as they passed. "Ugh. Midshipmen," she muttered.

"I'm certainly glad you came here with me. I don't think I would have been so well received without a partner with an NCIS badge," Victoria said.

"I am very grateful that you arranged this," Ziva countered. "You didn't have to, but it is a great help."

Truthfully, Ziva was becoming more and more fond of Victoria. While she loved her teammates, they almost all happened to be men. Other than Abby, the Israeli woman did not have a whole lot of female friends, much less any half as fierce as she was. Victoria came close, at least in times of danger.

"Don't mention it. I'm happy to help."

They went to the political sciences building and found a hallway housing countless faculty offices.

"Room 105," Victoria murmured so as not to create an echo in the cavernous hall. Ziva walked on until she came to the room in question and stopped at the open doorway.

"Excuse me," she announced her presence. The older African American man behind the office's large desk looked up from his work.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Are you Dr. Bartel?" Victoria asked.

"I hope so, otherwise I'm in the wrong office," the gentleman chuckled and stood. "And you are?"

"NCIS Special Agent Ziva David," Ziva flashed her badge. "And this is Victoria Clark."

"We spoke on the phone earlier this morning," Victoria said.

"Ah, that's right. Doctor Steve Nacht's friend. Come in, have a seat."

When everyone had settled down, Dr. Bartel shuffled some papers out of the way and turned his full attention on his visitors. "Now, what can I do for you?"

Victoria looked over at Ziva, silently deferring to her as the lead in this interview. "We have some questions for you regarding two murder cases NCIS is working on. Both victims were flightlings."

Bartel frowned. "Would these murders happen to be Chief Petty Officer Moore and Michael Coleman?"

Ziva nodded, but Victoria looked surprised. "How did you know that?" she asked.

"CPO and the son of a Lieutenant dead in the same week? Word like that gets around. Not a whole lot of Navy boys are killed out of combat. Everyone hears about it when it happens."

"Did you know they were flightlings?" Ziva asked.

"No, I didn't know either of them personally," the professor replied. He opened his mouth to say more, but promptly shut it and got up to close his office door. When it was shut and he'd returned to his desk, he resumed. "All the flightlings I've personally known in the service I could count on one hand, and that's after forty years. Maybe one student every three years comes to the academy that I confirm as being one of us."

"Would you be able to estimate how many flightlings you think there are in the Navy?"

"In the entire Navy? I don't know…I mean, we're what, probably less than 1% of the world's population?" he looked at Victoria and she nodded before he turned back to Ziva. "Military life isn't really good for keeping a secret like that. So probably less than 1% of the Navy is flightling."

"You did, yes? You kept it a secret?"

"Barely. My CO wasn't one himself but I had to tell him about us when I was wounded. He was a good man and helped me keep it quiet. But you're living in close quarters, almost no private time…it's a miracle if someone doesn't find you out. It's not for everyone."

"Do you know any current students who are flightlings? Any active servicemen or women?" Ziva asked.

"None in this time zone. Why?"

"I am concerned that whoever killed Moore and Michael Coleman may have a very specific target- flightlings in the Navy, or perhaps any branch of the military. And their family members."

"I'd be surprised if whoever did it ran out of targets already. I don't know of anyone who fits that criteria in the area. Like I said, that's a really small minority."

The NCIS agent was quiet for a moment, and Victoria took this pause to ask a question that had been bothering her since they'd sat down.

"Would there be anyone, anywhere, that kept record of flightlings in the service?"

Dr. Bartel looked concerned. "No, I don't think so. The only people who would know anything about them would be doctors who perform physicals, and then all they could do is probably make a note about a pair of back scars and maybe excellent senses and strength. That's what happened when I joined. I said I got the scars from a childhood bike accident and they believed me. Or maybe they were just desperate for soldiers and I had perfect vision and hearing and they wanted to keep me around."

"I'm sure there's a database somewhere that can give medical personnel access to such records," Victoria looked at Ziva, who pressed her lips into a thin line.

"Most likely."

"Well if they knew little tells to look for in old doctors' notes, your killer would certainly have an easier way of finding targets. Like a barrel of fish," the professor said. "Provided they had access to those records, that is."

"Well, that is something to look for, at least," Ziva said. "It gives us a lot of possible suspects to sort through."

"One more thing," Victoria said. "Dr. Bartel, do you happen to know any other flightlings outside of military life? I am new to the area, and I'd like to get to know anyone more socially connected to others like us if I can- to see how gossip travels and if anyone may know anything that could help us."

"Well, unfortunately I don't, but my nephew does. I'll talk to him for you and see if there's anywhere in particular that you might find what you're looking for."

The two women thanked the elderly man profusely, leaving Ziva's contact information with him so that he could reach them if need be. And as soon as they'd stepped out into the hot sun, the NCIS agent started heading to the car.

"Let's get something cold around the harbor. I could use a water while we talk this over."

"Sure thing. You're the agent in charge here," Victoria said, which made her companion smile. When they'd gotten a water and iced tea, the two walked slowly towards the car while discussing the interview.

"I know I'm not an expert, but it seems like getting access to an enormous database of private medical information wouldn't be too easy."

"It won't be," Ziva said. "But we don't need to have access yet, we just need to know who does have access."

At this point, her cell rang and she answered it on the first buzz. "Hello, Gibbs. We were just-" at this she trailed off, and her eyes went wide. Victoria's advanced hearing should have been enough to catch what the lead agent had said, but before she even started to listen, the call had ended, and Ziva had become tense.

"What is it?"

"We have to go to the hospital. Now."