Simon and Apollo searched for hours, flying all over the city. Jude Damien was nowhere to be found.
"I'd say he skipped town," Simon said as they landed back in the library. By now the rain had stopped, though some water had leaked through the hole in the window. Luckily, the window seats were only slightly damp, and none of the books were ruined.
"He'd better," Victoria said. "The amount of destruction he could wreak on Valero Notte..."
"He may be reckless, perhaps even a little crazed, but he wouldn't be so unwise as to kill anyone here again," Apollo said, straightening the feathers on his wings. "He knows we're here now."
A startling thought came to McGee. "Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs. They should know."
He went off to the living room to call them, to warn them about Damien. He called Ziva's cell phone number, which was surprisingly ingrained in his memory from his life before.
The ex-Mossad agent answered on the first ring.
"Hello?" a quiet and slightly confused voice answered.
"Ziva! It's me."
"McGee!"
"Yes-" at that moment, he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Oh jeez. I'm sorry, Ziva, I didn't realize that it was so early."
"That's alright. I am always awake by six. So is Gibbs. Only Tony is still asleep. But why are you calling this early?"
"It's about the two flightlings we caught yesterday. The younger one's name is Jude Damien. He got away from us."
"Got away? How?"
"Turns out he's...different. He can bend steel."
"But I thought you all can't bend steel."
She didn't mean to group all flightlings together by saying this, but McGee winced at the statement. "You're right. We're not supposed to be able to do that."
There was some muttering on the other end, then Ziva was saying "McGee, Gibbs wants to talk to you."
Tim heard crackling on the line, then Jethro's gruff voice. "McGee."
"Hey Bo-" he paused. "Hey Gibbs."
"What happened?"
McGee proceeded to tell his former boss everything that transpired the night before.
"Are you sure the cage was steel?" the NCIS agent asked.
"Positive. I tried bending it myself. It wouldn't budge."
Gibbs was quiet for a minute, having nothing else to ask. So he just said "thanks McGee," and handed the phone back to Ziva.
"McGee?"
"I'm here, Z."
It was nice to hear him call her that. Only a few weeks ago, she believed that she'd never hear him call her that again.
"We are leaving Valero Notte tonight. Maybe we could meet before then?"
"You're leaving?" he didn't understand why he was so disappointed in that. "Are you going back to DC?"
"No, actually, last night we called Vance to tell him everything. He decided to give us some time off. We are going to Venice for a few days."
"Oh," McGee said. Venice was only a few minutes away by boat or by flying. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be great. What time are you leaving?"
"We are taking a boat to get there. It leaves at six thirty."
"How's five o'clock? We can meet at that cafe right by the harbor."
"Excellent. We will see you then."
...
Several hours later, the team was loading their suitcases onto the boat, which was preparing to leave an hour later.
The cafe they'd planned to meet at turned out to be closed, so Tim stood outside, waiting for his friends to meet him. The Clarks were well known in Valero Notte, and many people stopped to personally greet McGee.
When Tony, Gibbs and Ziva found him, he was speaking with a young woman who must have been one of Victoria's fully human friends. It was plain to see that she was utterly captivated by his eyes, since she never broke eye contact with McGee the entire time they spoke. However, she must've been in a hurry, because she moved on just as the NCIS agents approached.
"Well, McGee, looks like you've been taking advantage of your new abilities," Ziva smiled.
"What? Oh, no, she's just a friend of Victoria's," he said, his cheeks tinged red.
"She looks like she wants to be your friend too, Tim," DiNozzo grinned.
"Anyway," McGee said quickly, changing the subject. "What're you guys planning to do in Venice?"
They launched into a discussion of sights to see in the floating city, which ended up lasting for almost the entire hour. When it was almost time for them to leave, McGee reached into his pocket.
"I have some things for you," he said, taking out three little wrapped packages.
"You shouldn't have," Ziva said, unwrapping her gift. It was an exquisite necklace with an odd looking charm.
"That's the Clark crest," Tim said.
"It is beautiful, McGee," Ziva said, putting it on.
Tony opened his to find a small leather bound notebook. It too had the Clark crest on it.
Gibbs' gift was perhaps the most impressive. It was a knife made for fighting, with an intricately carved wooden handle. It didn't have the Clark crest, but it did have Gibbs' initials on the bottom of the hilt.
Just as they were thanking McGee, their ferry's horn blew, announcing the loading of passengers.
"That's you," Tim said.
"You should come with us to Venice," Tony offered.
"I'd like to," Tim said. "I'm not exactly prepared to leave tonight, but I'll meet you there sometime before you go back to America. Call me."
"I will," Tony promised, stepping onto the ship.
...
It is a well known fact that Paris is the City of Light. And rightly so. The emotion, the soul, the very essence of Paris cannot be matched.
However, there is also nothing that compares to the soul of Venice. Like Paris, it can't be contended. It's in a league of its own; trying to compare the two cities would be useless.
Venice is La Serenissima: the Serene Republic. World travelers will try to describe the magic of the city, then shake their heads and claim that it can't do the place justice. And they would be right. It is the home of nobles, of royalty. (And, unknown to most, the former home of flightling powerhouses.)
The agents' boat pulled up to the dock, Ziva and Tony all but rushing down the gangplank like excited puppies. Gibbs followed after at his normal confident and efficient pace. It had been years since any of them had set foot in Venice. And much like the best and oldest cities in the world, it always evolves without ever really changing.
It was already dark when they arrived, so they decided to go straight to their hotel. Naturally, in trying to get the full experience, they hired a gondola to take them there. It was fun playing as tourists for once, and not as investigators or hunters.
There was an understanding that this wasn't really a vacation. In fact, it was off the books as far as Vance was concerned. But after everything that had happened in the past few weeks, no one would argue that they didn't deserve it.
They found themselves on the lounge on the roof of their hotel, after dinner. The view of the city at night was absolutely gorgeous.
"I haven't been to Venice since I was a kid," DiNozzo said. "It was before my mom died. We were here for some relative's wedding. I actually fell in the canal, and my dad had to jump in and save me because I didn't know how to swim."
The corners of his mouth turned up absently at the memory. Then he switched back to his normal self. "Did either of you see the Tourist? Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie. They go to Venice for a party and then they have a run in with these guys..."
Gibbs and Ziva listened and watched the sunset, more at ease than they should have been.
.
The next morning, the city was hazy and misty. A storm had rolled in over night, and had collided with a heat front. Where a massive tempest might have occurred, instead there was a city suffocating under extreme humidity and sweltering temperatures, very unnatural for the area.
Most visitors would have taken cover in their hotels for the day. Team Gibbs did not consist of "most visitors". Ziva dragged them to all of the Piazzas, and the three of them meandered around the canals and cathedrals, marveling at the architecture of the city. (Did Gibbs ever marvel at architecture? Maybe not, but he could appreciate it, as someone who spent hours woodworking in his basement.)
The mist was steamy and warm, and it caused Ziva's hair to curl up quite a bit. One could barely see ten feet in front of them, which made gondola rides much more exciting; each canal, especially the small ones, seemed to end in a curtain of fog. The street lanterns were turned on early to prevent any accidents, so glowing orbs of light cut through the mist.
At night, the heat dissipated but the fog stayed, and the atmosphere turned from heavy and exhausting to mysterious and magical.
"We should call McGee," Ziva said as they walked over a bridge and down one of the little streets with an actual sidewalk. "He can meet us tomorrow for the day."
"Looks like you're going to get your sightseeing trip with him after all," Gibbs said.
Though it was dark, it was far from late. People passed to and fro, everyone trying to either get home for the evening or go to dinner. The NCIS agents had been walking around all day, and were famished.
"Ziva, why don't you go into that cafe and ask if they've got a table for three," DiNozzo said.
"Why don't you, Tony?"
"Because you speak better Italian than I do," he admitted.
"Fine. But next time, you get us a table."
She went in to talk to the maître d' and Tony and Jethro waited outside. A soft breeze shifted the clouds away from the moon, which illuminated the mist, making it silvery instead of gray.
A chill ran up Tony's neck. Instead of feeling more at ease with the added light, he felt more exposed.
Like someone was watching him.
He was unable to expand on these thoughts, as Ziva came out to get them.
"They have a table for us," she said, then noticed DiNozzo's expression. "Are you alright, Tony?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, sorry. I was just lost in thought. It's nothing."
He let it go as they stepped into the restaurant. Their table was next to a window overlooking one of the larger canals. Gondolas and little private boats sailed by, and a large bridge carried people on foot safely across the green water.
Their meal ran like Italian time: slow, leisurely, and full of food. By the time they were finished, the crowds had diminished. There were still lots of people out, but most of the masses had retired for the night.
They paid and left, stepping onto the street.
"How should we get back to our hotel?" Ziva asked. "We can walk or take a water taxi."
"What if we walked to the Grand Canal and took a boat from there?" DiNozzo suggested, glancing up at the sky. Once again, the feeling that they were being watched crept into the back of his mind.
He hadn't noticed that he stopped walking until Gibbs and Ziva both turned back to look back at him.
"Tony?"
"Someone's watching us," he whipered. Ziva tensed and Gibbs' hand twitched discreetly towards his concealed weapon.
"Stay away from alleys and dark corners," the team leader ordered. "Get to the main canal, where there's a lot of people. Get a water taxi."
"Aren't you coming with us, Boss?"
"Yeah. But we're not going to have time for talking. Don't stop until you get to a crowded area."
His agents nodded. Who knew what was out there? It could be a flightling, a human...or there might have been nothing at all. It was better safe than sorry, in a situation like this. Gibbs wasn't one to be overly cautious, but he'd lost one team member to callous thinking, he wasn't going to lose another.
Ziva nodded and began to walk, Tony and Gibbs right on her heels.
They moved briskly, trying to get to their destination without arousing suspicion or making themselves stand out.
And it almost worked.
Almost.
The attack was so sudden it didn't even register in their mind until it was too late.
A dark figure grabbed Ziva and clamped a huge hand over her mouth and throat, preventing her from making a sound. Gibbs and DiNozzo yanked their guns from their coats and trained them on the new form, who was practically invisible in his black clothes and the dark. Ziva grabbed his hand and attempted to twist it around, which would send any other man to his knees, but the figure just coughed out a laugh. He was too strong; definitely a flightling.
Neither DiNozzo or Jethro had a safe shot, since the shadowy figure had Ziva in front of him. But that was really just a distraction. Two more figures crept up behind the agents and grabbed them. All three were pulled into the alley.
Tony couldn't even cry for help, as various punches and jabs knocked the wind out of him. He couldn't see, either. Pain gripped him and eventually he began to see only flashes of light- he was surely concussed. DiNozzo fell to the ground with a gasp, hitting the stones. He felt wet, warm liquid pooling around his head and didn't realize it was blood until the moment he lost consciousness.
..
It was only a few minutes that he was under, but when he awoke, Tony was absolutely alone. DiNozzo felt sticky with blood. His own blood. He seemed to be covered in it.
What had happened...?
DiNozzo was gripped with horror. Where were Ziva and Gibbs? Who had taken them?
He couldn't think straight, and it was so unbelievably cold all of the sudden.
The agent lurched to his feet, and was punished with an agonizing headache that nearly caused him to fall over. His vision tunneled and twisted as if he was high. Thoughts in his head couldn't put themselves together, but one thing was certain. He needed help.
Tony's mind could only come up with one answer.
Tim