Hello! Another thanks to my readers, and A little shoutout goes to my reviewers earthdragon and Crawcolady for always being spot on- thanks for reviewing you guys!
It's interesting how perfectly boring a human murderer seems after finding out that a winged monster from some sick nightmare has destroyed your best friend's life.
The case at hand was wrapped up in the next day and a half. The mugger admitted to killing Miller; he tended bar at a popular watering-hole near the station.
He and a friend slipped the occasional vial of phenytoin into an unsuspecting patron's drink to cause a bit of disorientation, then followed them home and jumped them. They had never intended to kill Miller, but the man was violent when drugged, and they had to fight back. The prisoner agreed to exchange his partner's address for alleviated charges.
They were back home in Washington D.C. within the week. Tony and Ziva tried to forget that they never got to go sight seeing with McGee.
The young agents for the most part kept to themselves, just as Gibbs had suspected they would. When they returned to work, Ziva kept her eyes cast down unless looking directly at someone, and DiNozzo turned his back to Tim's desk as much as possible.
Vance was informed, naturally, and he had to construct a story about Tim being killed in the line of duty. There was a funeral, and a surprising amount of people showed up, though Tim's father didn't deign to make an appearance, which only increased Gibbs' hatred for the man.
Abby showed up in Gibbs' basement several times that week, to sit, talk, cry and drink. Jethro began work on a new boat in McGee's honor. He would have constructed a coffin the same way he did for Mike Franks, but there was no body, and the reminder was just too painful.
His two agents, however, had yet to show up in his basement. At first, Gibbs feared that they blamed him in some way. But he didn't blame them for being angry-when your life is rocked as hard as theirs had been, it isn't a surprise to retreat into yourself.
It had been a week after McGee's funeral by the time Tony and Ziva ended in the basement. Unsurprisingly, they showed up together. But instead of sadness in their eyes, all he saw was anger and conviction.
He put down his drill and turned to face them, letting them speak first. The two younger agents shared a glance before DiNozzo looked at Gibbs and spoke.
"I want to hunt," he said with such a resounding finality that Jethro couldn't argue.
"So do I," Ziva said, stepping forward.
Their father-figure knew that he wouldn't be able to persuade them not to become hunters, but he felt old and tired at the thought of it. What he feared would happen actually happened: he had led his team to give up their lives for a hard new career of killing and being killed.
"It'll be dangerous," he sighed, knowing it wouldn't matter. It didn't.
"We don't care."
He could move this time, that was certain. Before his eyes were even open, he could feel his legs stretching and his feet flexing.
His upper chest hurt, as well as his shoulder. There was a dull throb in the back of his head, but he was otherwise fine.
He was on a soft bed. Or was it a couch? Only way to know was to open his eyes, so he did.
He was on a couch. Looking around, he didn't recognize the room, but was in awe of its size and grandeur.
Some sort of stone tiles covered the expansive floor, which glowed as it reflected the moonlight pouring in from the skylights. Though the room was rectangular, part of the ceiling was a great dome that was held up by sturdy columns. A few tables, chairs and couches lined the perimeters of the room, along with tall exotic plants that traveled up the walls. Electric lights placed strategically around provided a luminous aura without intruding on the classicism of the space. It was classy without being tacky or overdone, and it struck Tim that this place, whatever it was, must've been over a century old at least.
He slowly sat up, ignoring the soreness he felt in doing so. The blanket that had covered him fell away from his torso- he wasn't wearing a shirt...or shoes...his pants were still on, though.
"Glad to see you're awake," an unfamiliar voice said.
Tim jerked around to see a stunning young woman standing at the foot of the couch. Seeing his panicked expression, she put her hands up in a gesture of peace.
"Relax, it's ok. I know, must be a shock. Do you know who you are?"
"Uh...yeah, my name's Timothy," he said, worried that he had to contemplate the question for a moment. "Tim McGee."
"Good," she said, relaxing and coming to pull up a chair next to the couch. "Your memory is still intact."
"I'm sorry, I don't think it is..." Tim admitted. "Do I know you?"
The woman grinned assuringly. "No, you don't. Don't worry. My name's Victoria. You're in Valero Notte, Italy. You're clearly American...do you remember why you came to Italy?"
"No..." he said. "What's going on?"
"Oh good, you're awake," a strong male voice said, as a distinguished-looking man came through a door nearby. "Feeling any better?"
"His memory is scattered," Victoria said. "But he knows his name, at least."
"Well then, we'll start at the beginning," the man said, coming to stand next to her. "You've met Victoria. I'm Apollo Clark. This is my home. You're in Valero Notte, Italy."
Even hearing it the second time didn't help McGee to remember why he was here. "...but I don't know either of you, right?"
"Not until just now," Apollo chuckled. "I was on a walk the other night when I heard you call out for help. I found you bleeding from the shoulder and chest. You had been shot."
"Shot?" Tim echoed. "Why...?"
"I don't know, but you seemed to be in a hell of a lot of trouble when I found you. So, I brought you home and we patched you up. This is the first time you've been conscious since then."
"Thanks," McGee said sincerely. "So, are you two..together?"
"No!" Victoria laughed.
"Victoria is my daughter. Well, surrogate daughter," Apollo said. "We're American, like you. That reminds me..." he pulled a wallet our of his pocket and handed it to Tim. "I hope you don't mind, we took it from you when we were cleaning your wounds. We wanted to see who you were."
Opening the wallet, McGee found very little save a driver's license, a rewards card to some restaurant chain, and currency (both American and European). He studied his driver's license carefully, and learned that not only was he American (he remembered that much by himself) but he was from Maryland.
"Does that help you remember anything else?" Victoria asked.
"Not really," he admitted.
"Sometimes visual cues help a person to regain their memory," Apollo said. "But sometimes that do not. Unfortunately we only know as much as you do."
"Why is my memory gone in the first place?" Tim asked. "Did I hit my head or something?"
He really looked at his saviors for the first time, and noticed that Victoria's eyes were a stunning sapphire blue. It was unnatural, their color...
"No," Apollo shook his head. He looked as if he wanted to explain something, but didn't know how to. "Oh, how do I explain...?"
Victoria turned to the older man. "Why don't you just show him?"
Apollo nodded and looked at McGee. "Tim, I'm going to show you something. Please...just don't panic, alright?"
He nodded, afraid of what he was about to see. His imagination wasn't disappointed, as huge feathery wings stretched out from his host's back. They glistened with an ivory tone in the moonlight, and their full span must have stretched twelve feet- twice Apollo's height. Suddenly, the man's oddly-colored eyes made sense, as they just made him look all the more powerful and frightening.
"Timothy," Victoria's voice called him from his shock. "Breathe."
He did as she said, taking in a forced, harsh breath. Tim watched her stand as Apollo tucked his wings- they seemed to disappear out of thin air.
"You too?" he asked shakily, feeling slightly lightheaded.
"Guilty," she said with an apologetic smile, letting her wings show as well. They were a pure white, and they must have stretched as far as Apollo's did, though Tim couldn't be sure.
"Are you..." he began, having to swallow out of nervousness. "Are you angels?"
Victoria smiled kindly. God, she sure looked like an angel. "No, we're not."
"Some of us think that we are descended from them," Apollo explained. "Which seems like the most logical explanation," he chuckled. "If not the most arrogant."
"What are you, then?" Tim asked.
"Well, humans call us Flightlings, but the term comes with a sort of negative connotation, as I'm sure you'll soon find out."
"Why?" he asked, noting the look of apprehension that sprung to Apollo's face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Tim! I forgot," he said, gesturing to Victoria, who folded her wings out of sight and gently took McGee's hand. Searching his face, she led him to one of the many gilded mirrors that hung over the side tables.
Tim looked from her to the mirror, and was frightened when he didn't recognize the face staring back at him. But after a moment, he realized that nothing had changed, only the color of his eyes. What was once a softer light green had sharpened into a striking emerald. They actually enhanced his appearance, he noted.
"What happened to them?" he asked, but quickly realized that the two were staring at him, waiting for him to come to the conclusion that his eyes were much like theirs.
"Wait," he said as his heart began to pound. "You mean I'm..?"
"Yes," Victoria said. "You're one of us, Tim. You are a flightling."
Time slowed down so quickly that he could practically hear the screech of nonexistent brakes.
He gasped out a simple "since when?" to which Apollo smiled.
"Since the night before last," he replied. "When I found you, I noticed your chest had a vague glowing light...that's the sign for a person about to become a flightling. The transition usually messes with your memory."
McGee was afraid to ask, but he had to. "Did you...did you turn me into one?"
"No," Apollo said. "It's not really possible to turn someone into a flightling. But usually people are born not knowing, thinking they're fully human, until they come in contact with another flightling. Your chest didn't start glowing until I grabbed your shoulder to stop the bleeding."
It was a lot to take in, but Tim was working to keep up.
"We understand, it's a shock," Victoria assured him.
"Do I have wings?" he asked quietly, and she nodded.
"How do I...?"
She led him under the domed part of the room- the area surrounded by the large circle of columns, where there was plenty of space away from the walls (where the more breakable mirrors and lamps sat.)
Letting go of his hand, Victoria stepped away. "This might hurt a bit, because your body isn't used to it. But it's instinct, and you'll adapt to it naturally, alright?"
He nodded, his heart beating faster.
"Just think about your wings stretching out from your back," Apollo advised, coming to stand next to Victoria.
Tim closed his eyes and let in a deep breath. Then he silently imagined two wings extending from his back and stretching out behind him. A tension began to build up in his upper back, and after a moment it turned to pain.
He gasped, thinking that the pain would be unbearable. Suddenly, his back seemed to break, and two huge wings did in fact leap forth, leaving him feeling shaky, but relieved that it was over.
It was bizarre, yet somehow totally natural. He could see what Victoria meant by instinct- suddenly, it was as if he had been missing an arm his entire life, and it was somehow returned to him. It was comfortable, almost familiar.
"You'll build muscle in your chest to balance out the weight," Apollo informed him. When Tim didn't respond, he frowned in concern. "Are you alright?"
Was he?
"I don't know," he said honestly, turning to look in the mirror. His wings must've been fifteen feet in span- more than twice his size. They weren't pure white like Victoria's or ivory like Apollo's, but they were their own beautiful shade of off-white. Somehow, they weren't flamboyant- they were understated. Somehow, they looked as natural as they felt.
Reaching back, he gently grabbed one of his wings and felt it. It was soft, but sturdy.
"They're just like any other bones. They're strong, but they can break," Apollo said. "And they can also heal."
"Is there anything else you -we- can do?" he asked.
"We can fly, if that's what you mean," Victoria said, extending her own wings. "I think you'll find you're also pretty strong, stronger than any human, anyway. Maybe more healthy. You're immune system is impeccable and you won't get sick. And your lifespan is probably double that of a human."
"But that doesn't mean you're indestructible," Apollo warned. "You can break, you can be killed. Wings are especially vulnerable to fire. You'll heal faster if you get shot, but humans that hunt flightlings have steel bullets and those are particularly destructive for us."
"Why do humans hunt flightlings?" Tim asked. Apollo and Victoria shared a sad look.
"I really wasn't planning on telling you everything tonight, but I suppose since you've asked..."
"Not all of us are good people," Victoria said. "Flightlings have bad reputations among the few humans who do know about us."
"There are certain ways to extend your life even longer, to make your wings more powerful, to make you stronger," Apollo began hesitantly. "To heighten their abilities, they consume the souls of humans."
"Really?" McGee asked.
"It's a horrid process for the human," Victoria said in disgust.
"How many of us do that?"
"More than half," Apollo shrugged. "Probably 75 percent of flightlings hunt down humans."
"It makes us all seem like soul-suckering monsters," Victoria explained. "Hunters will assume that you're an evil abomination, and they aren't swift in killing you. They usually take their time with it."
Tim failed to repress a shiver, shaking his entire body and making his wings quiver.
"How many flightlings are there in the world?"
"Probably about...15,000," Apollo said. "Less than the humans think."
McGee found himself exhausted once again. Finding out that you're not entirely human and that your kind is methodically hunted by humans will take a lot out of you. Victoria noticed.
"You're tired," she said. "You should sleep again."
"You are free to stay here as long as you wish," Apollo offered. "I have a book about us somewhere around here...I'll find it and give it to you in the morning."
McGee didn't bother to argue, but instead stared at his reflection in the mirror again.
"Why do my eyes look like that?"
"Something about our genes enhances the melanin levels in our eyes," she said. "There's a guest room right off this one."
She began to lead him there, but he hesitated. "How do I hide the wings?"
"Imagine them tucking away, and they will," Apollo said.
Within moments, the wings were gone, leaving behind two thin scars in their place.
"I'm afraid those are permanent," Victoria said, moving her long curly hair from her back, revealing two worn scars of her own.
"Fastest way to determine if someone's a flightling," she smiled. "Come on, you need rest."
Without even looking at the bedroom she led him to, he bid the two goodnight and entered, practically spilling onto the bed, asleep before he hit the pillow.