Tony and Ziva had shown up in Gibbs' basement like they promised, and true to his word, Gibbs was prepared to train them.
"Hey Boss- whoa, I've never seen this place look so empty," DiNozzo said, looking around. The woodworking project that was usually placed right in the middle of the room had been shoved to the corner, and was sitting there in the shadows covered by protective tarp. With it out of the way, the room was much larger than it seemed, and there was considerable room for learning how to fight.
Jethro put aside his mason jar full of Jack Daniels' and lifted a rather large pile of files, which he handed to his kids.
"What are these?" Ziva asked, opening them and flipping through them.
Before he could answer, the sound of the front door opening was heard, and footsteps on the stairs were drowned out by "for god's sake Jethro, you'd think you'd lock the damn door when you're training people to hunt."
Gibbs gave his trademark smirk as Tobias Fornell reached the bottom of the stairs.
"You bring the food, Tobias?"
"I said I would. And don't worry, it's not the Punjab Express this time," he said, handing burgers to Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs, then pulling out his own.
"Thanks," Tony said.
"We did not know you would be here," Ziva said.
"I heard about McGee, and I wanted to help you two," Fornell said, masking his kindness by rummaging through the takeout bag while he spoke. "Gibbs, why'd you have me bring two extra?"
"You aren't the only expert in the field," Vance said, entering the basement with Ducky on his heels. "That's why."
Fornell handed out the last two sandwiches, and the four older, experienced hunters scattered around the room to eat and look through files full of information on flightling threats in the area.
"First," Ducky said, before Gibbs could speak. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"It's a hell of a life," Tobias warned. "And once you start, it's pretty difficult to get out of."
"You think I didn't try that already?" Gibbs bristled. He more than anyone else hated that it had come to this. And the worst part was, he knew it was his fault.
"We are sure," Ziva said confidently, and Tony nodded.
"We want to keep people safe from these things," he added. The unspoken "and avenge our best friend's death" resounded throughout the room as if he'd screamed it.
Vance looked at Gibbs and raised an eyebrow. "Might as well start."
Jethro turned to a notebook on his workspace and tossed it to Tony, who opened it, Ziva looking over his shoulder.
"That's a field guide on hunting flightlings," he said. "Some of it is outdated, but it's important."
They promised to read it, then settled in to listen and learn.
"Flightlings are partially human creatures with wings, and amazing strength, with the ability to steal the souls of human beings," Ducky began. "They are supposedly descended from angels who interbred with humans, but as I told you before, no one knows for sure."
"The main thing is," Fornell put in, "they are at least part human. Meaning they have human weaknesses. Their bones can be broken, they can die. But they don't get sick, that we know of."
"It's pretty easy to tell who is a flightling," Vance said, pulling out another file and handing it to the little audience. "First of all, their strength."
"How strong are they?" Ziva asked.
"Strong enough to pull limbs off with their bare hands," Vance said grimly. "Strong enough to bend some metals, though steel seems to be a problem for them."
"Jesus," Tony muttered, paling at the thought.
"Also, their eyes. We think it has something to do with their genes and their melanin levels, though no one has been able to get close enough to a flightling to be study it," Ducky said. "Their eyes are vibrant and strange, often very beautiful."
"But don't think that someone's dangerous just because they've got nice eyes," Gibbs said, rolling his own eyes a bit.
"The most obvious is their scars," Ducky said, indicating another photo of a slain flightling, who had neat little puckered scars running halfway down their back, on either side of the spine.
"That's where their wings are," Fornell said. "They usually get scars, since they're constantly moving their wings in and out of their backs."
"It doesn't hurt them?"
"No, once they 'break in' their wings, it seems they can extend and hide them as much as they want."
"Ok, what else?" Tony asked.
"Flightlings live all over the world," Vance said. "Most often in urban, populated areas or in places where they have resided over many centuries-"
"Like Valero Notte?" Ziva asked, to which he nodded.
"Weaknesses," Gibbs began. "Include steel and fire. Their wings are their strong point, but they can be vulnerable."
"You take just one wing out of commission, and they're done," Vance said.
"Wait, what do you mean, fire?" Ziva asked.
"Their wings catch pretty quickly," Fornell clarified.
"And they are only as fast as the average human, on foot," Ducky informed.
"How many hunters are there in America?" Ziva questioned.
"There are more in bigger cities, like New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Detroit... some regions only have a few hunters, because there is less need," Vance said.
"The Midwestern states have so few flightlings that only one guy we know of actually hunts them out there. His name is John-"
"No, he's not hunting anymore," Gibbs said. "He was killed."
"Really?" Vance asked, surprised.
"Apparently, his two sons have the area now," Fornell said. "They pretend to be FBI guys. Gives me a hell of a lot of trouble from time to time."
Hours passed as the four explained previous hunts, good strategies, weapons, and former flightlings that had terrorized Washington DC in the past. DiNozzo and Ziva were amazed to hear that a handful of their past killers, and even a few victims, were flightlings.
When the lesson was ended for the night, everyone promised to report back next week for another 'class'. But Tony had one more question before they were done.
"How do they take souls?" he asked. They all went quiet, no one sure how to explain.
"Through the heart," Vance said hoarsely.
"They usually have to touch or grasp the heart to take a soul," Gibbs said. "We told you they're strong."
"Wait, they just...they puncture through the chest?! With their whole hands?!" Tony cried.
"They usually only use their fingers," Fornell said, looking at the ground.
"Remember your murder victim at Valero Notte, with the odd puncture wounds in his chest?" Ducky asked. "We know now that those were the doing of bullets, but often, flightlings can puncture through the chest with their fingers, and get to the heart. All while the human is still alive."
Ziva looked remarkably pale, while Tony had turned an unhealthy shade of green. Now they understood why these monsters had to be stopped, and could only imagine the horrors Tim must've gone through in his last moments...
After the rest had gone, Ziva and Tony sat at Gibbs' workbench, each with their own glass of whiskey. At first, none of them spoke, too tired and worn for conversation, until Ziva brought up the thing most on her mind.
"We want to go after the flightling that took Tim."
Gibbs sighed; he had known this was coming. Tony continued.
"From what you guys have told us, they pretty much stay in the same place. He's gotta be in Valero Notte still, right?"
"Maybe," Gibbs said. "He could also be in Venice, or Naples, or any other city in the country."
"It's worth a shot," Tony said, visibly distressed.
"Hey," Jethro said, lightly hugging Ziva with one arm, and putting his other hand on Tony's shoulder. "We'll find him."
They nodded solemnly.
...
A long while later, as they moved to leave, Gibbs stopped them. He didn't want to make them relive such a horror, but it might help to know...
"What did the guy who...took Tim...what did he look like?"
"He had these amazing light brown eyes. He was shorter than me, but not short," Tony said.
"He looked somewhat distinguished, Gibbs," Ziva said.
Fear gripped Gibbs from the darkest recesses of his memory. "How old did he look?"
"Mid to late forties," Tony said. "Goodnight Boss."
"Goodnight Gibbs."
Their team leader may have answered them, but he didn't hear himself. All he could see was a memory of darkness, and hear an angry hiss from a flightling that was currently dead.
At least, he was supposed to be dead. Gibbs had watched him die...right?
No, it could be anyone, he was being foolish. But those eyes weren't ones he'd ever forget, and how many flightlings had the decency to look distinguished?