Thaddeus regarded the quivering man in front of him with a fair amount of admiration. He didn't understand the need to feel that all men were below him. All humans, were of course, inferior both genetically and in their very nature. But it was stupid not to respect his foes, to underestimate the men he sought to conquer. Why conquer anything devoid of value, anyway?

No, despite the fact that this man was bleeding out before his eyes, swollen in the face from various beatings, he had yet to scream, yet to cry. He hadn't begged for mercy, even though it was hardly the most pathetic thing he could do. This man, a respected member of the Venetian city council, lie there dying with as much quiet dignity as he could muster in his weakened state. Thaddeus respected this. Mortality was something he did not take lightly, and any victim of his that faced their own death with some bravery or defiance earned a place in his memory. Most just spent their last moments wailing.

This dying politician wheezed his final breaths and then was still. The flightling looked down on him for a moment, then turned to two of his followers, who'd watched the prolonged, bloody execution with fear and awe. With a nod, the two went about properly disposing of the body- or in this case, expertly setting the man's house to look like this was suicide. The police, now effectively owned by Thaddeus, would "investigate" the death in a few hours, after the cleaning lady or the man's wife came home and found him.

Now that today's business was taken care of, they were one step closer to owning Venice's local government. Their prisoners had slowly increased over the past few days- ever since the "leaks" of information that had reached the press, they'd had to be more careful about snatching people off the streets. No matter. Soon they would have enough to proceed with their plans. That is, if Apollo Clark and his beloved beneficiaries didn't try to interfere again. Thaddeus had upped the ante, sending every spare member of his family out into Venice and Valero Notte looking for them. When his original search party did not return or send back word, he'd personally gone to investigate, and had quickly found the wreckage of the speedboats and even the bodies of some of his followers, which he fished from the water before the Valero Notte authorities showed up.

It was an understatement to say he was angry, but he knew that either the objects of his fury had either skipped town for good, or were trying to think of some sort of plan of attack. If they did in fact flee the country, then he didn't see the use in giving them much thought until he had Venice under lock and key. If they were actually planning an offensive, he would be ready. That's not to say he didn't send dozens of spies all over Italy, looking for the flightlings and their human friends. He did, and was hoping that he would soon be able to murder them all personally. But he knew that obsessing over a few insignificant enemies would distract from the bigger picture. Deep down, he felt sure that he would encounter them again, and soon.

He stopped in the bathroom of his victim to wash the blood off of his hands. He hadn't intended to take the man's soul, but it was a needed pick-me-up. Despite his age and power, he was not exempt from the need for heavy, uninterrupted sleep, and the implementation of his plans demanded more time and energy than he'd originally expected. But it would all be worth it when he could call Venice his once again- the way he had centuries before.

…..…

It took a full day and a half before Victoria was coherent for any real amount of time. But during her extended rest, her wings had already begun to heal. The one that was broken was now almost completely set, though sometimes the slightest motion was painful. The burned wing was taking much longer to bounce back, but at least she was no longer in a constant state of agony.

Apollo insisted that she not move too much; that she stay in bed, but Victoria wanted to be there when Tim woke up... Which happened to take three whole days from their arrival at Simon's house and his close brush with death.

In fact, McGee woke to find all five of his favorite people staring down at him with equal mixes of worry and relief.

"Hi," he said, trying to sit up. Ziva pushed him back down before he could hurt his ribs further.

"No moving," Victoria said with a smile. "You hurt your side. Badly."

"What happened?" McGee asked. Ziva handed him a glass of water and made sure he drank the whole thing while they explained the attack on their escape attempt.

"You don't remember any of it?" Tony questioned.

"Well…I remember the first two, then something hit me…."

"It was some sort of fireball," Victoria said. "It almost killed you."

"You were hit in the wing too, I'm afraid," Apollo chimed in. "Though it seems to be healing nicely. I'd say you'll be able to tuck them away in a few days."

"A few days…?!" Tim tried to turn to see the damage, but Ziva pushed him down into the pillows again. "Ok, ok, I'll just move my head." He did, though it wasn't the gruesome sight he'd expected, mostly because the injured area was wrapped in fresh bandages. He started to notice the dull pain in his torso. "How bad is it? My ribs feel..." he didn't miss the looks that everyone gave each other. Even Gibbs seemed to hesitate at the question. "What?"

"You almost died, McGee," Ziva admitted. "You lost a lot of blood."

"Luckily you share a blood type with Agent Gibbs," Apollo said. "He gave you some of his."

Tim looked at his former boss in surprise. "Thank you."

Gibbs gave the softer version of his smirk and a near-imperceptible nod, while DiNozzo spoke for him. "Let's not make it a regular thing, McGee."

The bedridden young man smiled, but it quickly faded when he realized that Victoria's wings were out, taking up a ton of space at the foot of the bed. Obviously she couldn't fold them away- it was clear from their wrappings that they were badly damaged, but they were stretched almost to full length behind her, drooping onto the floor. As if she couldn't move them at all. "What happened to you?" he panicked.

"It's nothing," she began, but Apollo and Tony both frowned at her. Even Ziva looked incredulous. "Okay, so some damage was done to my wings. Only my wings. I wasn't lucky enough to get hit all over like you were," she teased.

The memory of her flying next to him, yelling at him to turn around, returned to McGee. She'd been hurt trying to keep him from getting killed. "Sorry," he winced. "I thought it was only the two of them…"

"It was," Victoria sighed. "At first, anyway."

"It seems we were trapped," Apollo said. "The two men flying over the harbor must have alerted the rest of their comrades. They engaged you just to get you up into the air."

"So that they could shoot us down," Tim nodded, understanding. All eyes were still on him, which was becoming uncomfortable. "…Where are we, by the way?"

"Simon's house. We're borrowing it for the moment while he's in Africa."

Since they'd killed or shot down every enemy that had been sent after them, there was no one to trail them as they sped away from the wreckage. That, paired with the fact that Thaddeus didn't know about Simon's home, gave them a temporary sanctuary from the hunt that was surely going on in Valero Notte. Even though Simon's mansion was technically within Valero Notte's city limits, it was actually removed from the more traditional, ancient setting of the little town. It sat behind a small peninsula made up of jagged rocks; even though it had a view of the water, it took a long stroll down a flight of steps to get to the dock from the house. The property was practically hidden from view, which would buy the escapees a week at the least while the D'Amico family tore Valero Notte apart looking for them.

"I only worry about the damage they've wrought on the city now that we're not there to stop them," Apollo said. "But the important thing is, we're safe for now."

"What are we going to do?" Tim asked.

"Let us worry about that, McGee," Gibbs said, speaking for the first time since he'd opened his eyes.

"Yes, you need to rest some more," Ziva said.

"She's right," Apollo agreed. Seeing that he was about to protest, he continued. "You're outnumbered. The more you relax the faster your body will heal itself."

He actually did feel rather sleepy… but after they left him alone, he couldn't help but contemplate the changes that had come over his little family. Because really, what had started out as two separate families had somehow become one odd mix of mismatched individuals. They seemed to be much more at ease with each other- though near death experiences would do that. Even Victoria appeared to be as comfortable with Tony and Ziva as she was with him. Tim got the feeling that she had come almost as close to death as they claimed he had. But he knew she'd never tell him how badly she was hurt. He'd have to ask Ziva or Tony later...

Now that they were more or less safe, the world seemed to slow down again. Although they were constantly watching the skies, they felt (almost) secure in their haven. The five (Tim was not allowed outside of the house, as enforced by everyone else) could even take walks around the sprawling property, something they all took advantage of. This place was so far removed from Venice, and even Valero Notte. It was clean and new and breezy; the gardens were so well tended and full of flowering bushes and fruit trees that one could get lost among them. Acre upon acre stretched out in every direction, which afforded Ziva lots of runs. It was so different from the close quarters and the ancient stones of Valero Notte. Definitely magical and beautiful in its own way, but different. Truly it was like a retreat. Even better was the massive house, built fairly recently and in a modern style, with all of the latest conveniences a home could have. The swimming pool was built to look like a natural tide pool, matching the actual tide pools down by the dock, where the little yacht sat in the sun but out of sight from anyone who might fly directly overhead. The way the land and rocks had formed was the perfect protection, and created a lovely little cove perfect for anyone who needed to get away for a while.

So it made sense that Tim would end up there, the first minute that he was allowed to go off by himself, exactly one week from the day they'd arrived. It also made sense that Victoria would already be there, looking for a little alone time of her own.

"Hey," he greeted when he saw her, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"Hey!" she smiled cheerfully. "Looks like you escaped the house. I'm surprised you found this place so soon."

"It's beautiful," he said. "I didn't know you'd be here. Sorry."

"It's fine," she said, staring down into the water from her perch on a large rock. McGee sat next to her and watched the water, which was choppy. Clouds had gathered and it was clear that bad weather was coming.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"I'm fine. Sore, but fine."

When he'd first seen the frightening, raw mess of skin on his ribs, he didn't believe Apollo when the older man assured him it looked much better than it had. But Gibbs had corroborated. His wings had almost completely healed, so that morning, Apollo allowed him to fold them away, which he did with relief. They had started to ache from him holding them up all day.

Victoria, though healing rapidly, still couldn't fold her wings, so she had their weight rested on another rock behind her. He hadn't yet seen the damage that had been wrought on them because of the bandages that covered almost every inch of skin, bone and feather.

"Ziva told me you shattered one of your wings," he said. "And that your other one was almost destroyed."

"I don't remember too much of what happened after we got here," she admitted. "I just remember that my wings hurt…that Tony and Ziva helped save them. They probably would have fallen off or something."

Tim said nothing, not sure how to respond. But their thoughts were already turning to another matter. For the past week the primary concern was Tim's, (and to a lesser extent, everyone else's) healing. Now that the two injured flightlings could move around of their own accord, the six were starting to worry about the next step. They still felt guilty at the idea of leaving Venice, and now Valero Notte, to Thaddeus' whim. Something had to be done, it was clear. On the other hand…they were probably no longer fit for the job. Apollo was the only one of the flightlings capable of any real physical activity. The three NCIS agents were almost outgunned just by the small group sent to capture them. Attacking the D'Amico mansion would be suicidal and ineffective. They'd be mowed down before they reached the front door.

Apollo hated the idea of running, but was far more concerned with the lives of his kids (and even the NCIS agents) than he was with whether or not Thaddeus considered him a coward. Africa was suggested yet again, as was Paris or London. Nobody wanted to go back to America yet, as it was seen as totally abandoning the people of their beloved city. No, they just needed to rest and regroup, possibly gather more weapons or more knowledge before they rushed headlong into battle.

Meanwhile, neither had forgotten their roof-top conversation, even though it felt like years had passed since they'd spoken about it.

"I don't know why he thinks killing is natural to us," Victoria said after a minute, not needing to name the man in question. "Because…well, if we do descend from angels like they say, then there shouldn't be an instinct to kill…should there? And even worse, if it really is just some genetic anomaly that created a whole race of people like us…what would that have to do with killer instincts?"

"Well if we're able to reach into someone's chest and take their soul, I think more than genetics is involved."

"Ok, but if we needed them to survive, then you and I would have died by now. If the impulse were instinct related…instincts only usually develop if they're necessary to survival."

After a moment's thought, Tim asked, "Do you…ever look at someone, and think, 'I am so much more powerful than this person. I could kill them easily. Too easily.'"

Sensing his distress, Victoria leaned her head on his shoulder. "We talked about that. We all have darkness…." Feeling that he didn't really agree, she added. "When I first found out about my strength, I trashed a car. With my bare hands."

Tim couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. Through her own sheepish giggling, Victoria continued. "It's true. I was angry and hurt and scared and there was a car in the alley next to my apartment and I tore it apart. Punctured the tires, ripped off the bumpers, the whole nine yards."

The idea of his docile, peace-loving friend tearing apart a whole vehicle only made McGee laugh more. "That's not the same as killing someone, though."

Victoria became serious. "I was taking out my anger on the car. If someone had interfered I might have killed them, even if by accident."

Tim sobered up. "Maybe it just feels natural to him because he's been killing people his whole life. Because most of his power probably depends on souls at this point. Like you said: steroids."

"We still don't know exactly what it is he's trying to accomplish," she said. "Why keep all of those humans for a later time? Why not kill them now?"

"He's probably got some sort of ceremony planned. You know how Apollo said they tried to initiate him with a ceremony? He seems to like having his followers be officially recognized as part of the family."

Victoria sat up in surprise. "I think you're right…but that still doesn't explain why he doesn't just kill them and initiate members as they're captured. He's too smart to spend all of his resources on theatrics. And it doesn't explain why he feels the need to control everything that goes on in the city."

They sat in silence, neither coming up with a logical explanation for the evil man's actions. But they were even further from taking him down as they had been a week ago. At least back then they weren't injured and could live in peace without a price on their heads.

…..

A few hours later, and the sky was almost black with rainclouds. McGee stared at the steel bar he was holding, willing it to bend under the force of his hands. He'd found some scrap metal in Simon's garage and helped himself to it. Even though no one really said so, they all knew that war was coming. Or at the very least, some sort of showdown with D'Amico. And if he could possibly will his already-impossible capabilities to increase to another level, closer to Thaddeus' powers, then he was going to try.

Tony watched on as his friend began to sweat.

"You should probably stop, Probie. You just started walking around today. If you tear a stitch or something you could kill yourself."

"I'm fine," Tim panted. "And you haven't called me Probie in ages."

"Old habits. Last time you looked this helpless you actually were a Probie," the older man quipped. "What are you trying to accomplish here?"

"Remember when we talked about how D'Amico gets his power from souls, even though it's not necessary for us to take them? I was wondering if I could maybe practice until I got stronger. Without having to kill anyone, I mean." But he dropped the piece of metal dejectedly. "Guess not."

"Is being able to bench press a car not enough, McCaptain America?" DiNozzo asked.

"Usually it would be more than enough. But I can't help fight D'Amico if he can lift a house. Or whatever it is he can do. He said something about channeling electricity….and I don't think I can lift a car, Tony."

"I watched Apollo pull the motor off of one of those speed boats. He tore it apart without breaking a sweat. You can probably lift a car."

"But channeling electricity? That's not something you can just train yourself to do. I'm not gonna play with jumper cables until they cease to shock me."

"So don't," Gibbs said, entering the garage to hear the last minute of their conversation. "You're not gonna stop him with force, McGee." Tim had never been one to use brawn over brain, and Jethro knew that whatever happened, his youngest wouldn't just use brute strength with Thaddeus either.

McGee nodded, though it didn't change the fact that he was worried. He knew Thaddeus' D'Amico's existence was no one's fault…yet he couldn't help but feel that his team wouldn't be in danger if he weren't a flightling. Apollo and Victoria would most likely have gone years without knowing D'Amico was back from the dead, had they not gone to Venice with him to save Ziva and Gibbs. It wasn't arrogant for McGee to realize that he was the original binding force between the flightlings and humans. Yes, they were all friends now, but again, it had started with their mutual worry for him. But he Gibbs was right. Thaddeus was centuries old, and had spent all of that time building up his strength to what it had become. It didn't matter if it came from souls or exercise or anything else- Tim wouldn't "catch up" with him any time soon. Violence wasn't the answer here…or at least, not the complete answer. It was going to take a lot of planning and forethought to end this reign.

Giving up on the idea of bench-pressing himself into heightened abilities, McGee followed the two people he trusted most back into the house. It had started to drizzle, and the impending storm drove Victoria inside from a walk around the garden. She was going a little stir-crazy and spent most of her time outdoors. It was probably for the best, since she knocked things over every time she entered a room and it was fouling up her mood. It didn't help that her hair was already starting to frizz up in protest to the weather.

"I swear if these wings don't heal soon I'm gonna…" she trailed off, not inherently aggressive enough to manage a proper threat.

"You'll what, wreck another car?" McGee suggested.

"Shut up, Tim," came the reply, though a smile now played at the corners of her mouth. She continued through the kitchen and went to her room to shower and change. Apollo entered the house a few minutes later while thunder groaned not too far away. This actually improved everyone's mood, as a storm meant that no one could fly- namely, no spies or soldiers sent by Thaddeus to find them.

Still, this pleasant downpour was a silver lining in a very bleak situation. Was this what they'd become? Runaways? Fugitives from a city in which they'd done nothing wrong? This made every fiber of the agents' righteous beings bristle. Apollo and Victoria felt no better.

As the sun went down behind the clouds, the grey sky turned a thick, foggy black. McGee, Ziva, DiNozzo, and Victoria sat in one of the most amazing rooms of the house: low ceilings, dimmed lights, lots of comfortable chairs, and big window seats looking out onto one of the secret sections of Simon's garden. Inaccessible except for a hidden gate, and walled off by hedges, the little plot was a rose garden, full of vines and thorns. It was usually adorable, but in the storm, with the rain running down the glass, it had a pleasant and misty aura.

Tim's wound was flaring up, not without a bit of pain, so he stretched out on one of the couches as they talked. Tony claimed an armchair nearby, while Ziva took one of the window seats. Victoria, unable to fit her wings in a chair, sat on one of the other window seats. The four talked about various subjects for a while until a comfortable quiet settled over the room. Victoria closed her eyes and rested her head against the glass, exhausted, not noticing the furtive but ardent glance Tony sent her way.

Eventually, everyone fell asleep in their spots. Everyone but Tim, who stared at the ceiling from his horizontal position on the couch. He sort of wanted to sit up, but he wasn't sure he could without causing himself further pain. It was bizarre- he'd gone his whole life without wings or strength, or any of his other abilities, but now that he was restricted from using them, it was as if he were completely crippled. He'd never been so strong in his life…and he'd never been so injured either. But compared to what he now knew he could potentially do, it seemed like nothing. He hadn't given it a thought until D'Amico had pointed it out to him. This was what Thaddeus wanted, which would be concerning, but McGee only thought of his "potential" when he thought about how it could be wielded to fight evil flightlings, not for hunting humans. However, he was starting to come to grips with the fact that he probably wouldn't ever reach such levels of power without giving up his own humanity. If murder was what it took to bend steel, Tim didn't want it. He might have continued to brood over how unmatched they would probably be, should they ever encounter D'Amico again, but a crash of thunder called his attention back to his surroundings. He could hear his friends' breathing, and was suddenly aware of how lucky they were to be alive, given the events of the past week and a half. It comforted him, and his eyes closed.

Outside, the wind picked up. Lightening flashed, illuminating the room, but safe and warm as they were, no one so much as stirred.