Sorry for taking so long to update! But I'll be churning out a few more chapters in the next few chapters. (I'd like to finish this story soon!) This is just a short little transition chapter; the following chapters will be longer. Enjoy!

...

Despite the violent storm going on outside, everyone slept peacefully all through the night. The bad weather continued into the morning, and when the four younger members of the group awoke in the lounge, it was almost as dark as it had been when they drifted off to sleep the evening before.

Ziva stirred first at her usual ungodly hour and blinked until her eyes were once again accustomed to the dim lighting. Everyone else was still asleep; Tony was sprawled out in his chair, Victoria had her wings wrapped around herself like a blanket. McGee had rolled onto his stomach in spite of his injuries, and at some point over the night his wings had opened, draping themselves over the floor and across several pieces of furniture. Flightling wings were massive- something Ziva never truly grew accustomed to. Still, she wasted little time staring, instead using her ninja skills to slip out of the room and towards the kitchen. It was far too stormy for a run, but that didn't mean she couldn't get a pot of coffee started.

Surprisingly, it was Apollo, and not Gibbs, who awoke next. Despite the need for such heavy sleep, he'd been restless for the past few days. Even with this storm he knew their days of safety were running short. They weren't far from Valero Notte and sooner or later, they would be discovered if they stuck around. Besides…they needed their freedom. Simon's lush, well-tended property was like the Garden of Eden, but house arrest in paradise is still house arrest. He went to the kitchen and after a warm (if quiet) greeting to Ziva, Apollo fixed himself a cup of tea before heading back to his room, where he could watch the choppy waves smash against rock. If his companions were willing and able, then Apollo knew that their best bet was to head to Rome, and possibly on to France, where old friends of his might be able to take them in. It would be wise to have a real medical professional look at Timothy's ribcage to make sure they were truly healing the way they were supposed to. (It was bad enough that both Tim and Victoria's wings would go without further treatment than what he could provide.)

Gibbs entered the kitchen and, though of course it didn't show, he was delighted to see that Ziva had already set a pot of coffee going. After a good morning to his agent, Jethro sat at the kitchen table. The two watched the rain pour in silence while lightning flashed through the sky.

A particularly large crash of thunder sounded over the house, rattling the windows in the lounge and waking Victoria, who stretched out from her curled up position on the window seat and glanced down at her wings in surprise. The fact that they'd wrapped around her without too much pain was a good sign. In fact, they looked and felt so much better that she immediately got up to find Apollo, who examined the healing wounds carefully.

"If they don't hurt when you move," he said, massaging her wings to feel for any remaining broken bones. "Then I think you should be fine to fold them away. I suppose the sea air's been good for your injuries."

"Thank god," she breathed, folding her wings away and wincing at the cracks her overworked bones emitted.

"But absolutely no flying for at least another week," Apollo warned. "It might be a good idea not to unfold them at all unless you absolutely have to."

She nodded but wasn't all that bothered by the demand, instead sighing in relief and reaching to rub her aching shoulders. It wasn't necessarily a pain to walk around with one's wings out, but when they were stretched to full span and carried off of the ground straight behind her, it put an unfortunate amount of strain on Victoria's already injured muscles.

"I'd take a hot shower and relax today," he finished with a concerned frown. "Unfortunately in allowing your wings to heal, you've slowed the recovery of everything else."

"I'm fine," she assured him with a small smile, squeezing his hand before turning to go. "Though I do think I'll shower and lie down…"

On her way out, she passed Tony and McGee. "'Morning, you two."

"Hey, your wings are folded up," Tim noticed with a grin. "Feeling better?"

"Much. But I'm gonna go rest anyway."

DiNozzo and McGee both watched her go before continuing on to the kitchen, where, thanks to Ziva's large pot of coffee sat waiting. Everyone was now awake, but it didn't matter much given that the storm kept them all inside, and eventually they all found some activity to entertain themselves (even if that activity was just napping or watching TV.)

For Tim, this was a good chance to recharge and spend some much needed alone time with his thoughts. That morning, he'd gone through the few items he'd managed to bring with him in their escape from the Clark house. He and Victoria had thrown some treasured things into a backpack, which had miraculously survived the violent boat ride to Simon's house. Among those belongings was the little book that Apollo loaned to Tim on his first day in the Clark house- the field guide that Darwin had painstakingly created after decades of research and living with a flightling spouse.

It seemed that the question of flightling instinct was as old and as trying as the very similar "nature vs. nurture" debate that humans have been grappling with for most of history. Darwin's field notes questioned the claim that flightlings have an instinct to murder, as he mentioned that his own wife never felt even the slightest urge to kill. The scientist went on to point out the fact that in an animalistic sense, humans are just as much predators as flightlings. With the exception of these winged creatures, mankind is very much the top of its food chain. Perhaps, the book suggested, the bloodlust was only an intensified version of human hunting instinct.

These notes worried McGee. If even Darwin couldn't explain the evolution and instinct of flightlings, then who could? His old degree in biomedical engineering popped into his mind, and Tim suddenly wished he could run some blood samples under one of Abby's lab machines. Would his DNA resemble that of a human? Surely it must, or he would have been discovered by now…someone had to know these answers, but as McGee was acquainted with very few scientists who also happened to be flightlings, he would have to do the research himself someday. When all of this was over, he vowed to ask Simon if he could visit that flightling hospital in Africa- there had to be a doctor there who could answer his questions.

…Though would the answer to the instinct question ever be provided? How could it? Morality and instinct can't be looked at under a microscope- neither can the soul. How does any man weigh in on these things?

But if he really was descended from angels, who are by definition heavenly beings, then perhaps flightlings were in fact more qualified to weigh in on such matters.

Tim frowned and put those thoughts aside. There were more pressing matters at hand. He'd read through the little field guide more than once in his time as a Clark, but McGee didn't recall ever reading anything about heightened powers due to stealing more souls. Flipping through the book one more time didn't yield any new clues either- that is, until he came to the back of the book; on the inside cover was a pocket that opened up accordion-style. It was meant to hold loose sheets of paper and miscellaneous notes. Gently so as not to damage the fragile book, Tim pulled a single piece of paper from the pocket and unfolded it.

There were only a few lines on the paper in Darwin's singular handwriting, which described his wife's uncanny ability to withstand extreme cold without complaint; that she became physically stronger after every childbirth she experienced; that her powers, for whatever reason, did increase over the years. Chills ran up Tim's spine. There was no report of Emma Darwin ever stealing a soul, yet these little notes seemed to suggest that her powers had, in fact, gotten stronger over the course of her lifetime.

Before he could take these thoughts further, a knock came at the door.

"Come in,"

"Hey McGee," Tony stuck his head in the doorway. "Team meeting."

Tim stood up, a small groan sounding from the back of his throat. He followed DiNozzo down to the hallway and into the kitchen, where Gibbs and Apollo sat at the table. Ziva leaned against the counter, where Victoria had perched.

"What's going on?"

"I was just discussing with Agent Gibbs about our choices for getting out of Italy safely," Apollo said.

"We're leaving?" Tony asked, surprised.

"For now," Gibbs said, though it was clear that he wasn't happy about it.

"As much as it pains me to leave behind Valero Notte, given the situation…" Apollo hesitated. "I'm afraid we're very much outgunned and outmanned. I have some friends in France who could help us, or at least give us some shelter until we have a better plan."

Victoria pursed her lips. "Couldn't we contact some more hunters?"

Apollo's frown deepened. "We could, though at this point I think we'd be risking their lives too…to be honest, even if we do decide to actually fight, I don't think now is the time. You and Tim both are still badly injured…and while I know you have some guns among you," he spoke to Gibbs, "I'm assuming we don't have enough firepower to raid the mansion."

Gibbs nodded and it was silent for a minute.

Ziva sighed, angry at the idea of running, but well aware that, truly, no one had a better plan. "When will we leave?"

"As soon as possible and during the night," Tony suggested.

Jethro stood from the table. "Everyone be ready to leave at midnight," he ordered before going off to his room to pack.

The remainder of the group shared glances before separating and going back to their rooms to prepare.

Tony and Ziva had stored most of their heaviest weaponry in the garage, and since it was separate from the house, that meant running back and forth.

It hadn't stopped raining, but Tim made things easier by extending his huge wings over them like large, feathery protectors. Sure, they were still sore and sensitive, but they kept the ridiculous amount of wind and rain from the guns and ammunition.

Despite the situation, Tony couldn't help laugh at his friends. Stumbling through the rain, with McGee as their personal, celestial umbrella- while they carried guns made to kill everyone with his genetic code. They were being hunted by a flightling warlord but here they were, giggling like children in a thunderstorm.

However, they wouldn't have been laughing had they known they were being watched.

…

Water lapped up through the sunken section of the floor. This was one of the few rooms of the first floor that wasn't a dungeon- it had been…well, Thaddeus didn't actually know. Sure, it was his home, but he'd been away from it for decades during his exile, when everyone thought him dead. And even in his younger years, he never bothered to come this far downstairs. It wasn't an elitist thing- he just had more interesting things to do than bother himself with his father's business on the first level. Okay, so his memory was a little shoddy on this room. It was a mess- the sunken floor, the molded rug... The few pieces of furniture that had been there were now broken and scattered around.

Many sections of the lower levels were like this. Even parts of the upstairs floors were falling apart, though they were far less revolting. A myriad of antique furniture, centuries' worth of art and personal effects were all stashed away in cavernous rooms. Sure, there was a heavy layer of dust that settled over everything, but these storage spaces were once halls and guest rooms and lounges- some still were devoid of electric lighting, but when necessary they could be lit up with dozens of candles that would fill up every corner with a warm, mysterious glow.

Despite the preferable conditions in these places, Thaddeus didn't leave the dilapidated room on the first floor. It smelled, but the moonlight reflected onto the water from the hole in the ground, and cast a watery pattern that danced across the walls. A neglected potted plant now grew as a vine up the stone and was only a few inches from making it to the ceiling. It was peaceful here, and while he was glad that his follower count was now close to a hundred, the massive house was crawling with flightlings. Even Thad needed his space every now and again…damn, were some of his soldiers annoying. They were all legally adults yet they were as untrained and unaware of the world as children.

These thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He growled into the quiet, patience already shortened by the disruption.

"Yes?" he answered through his teeth.

"Sir, we've found the Clarks and their human friends."

What a great way to pick up his mood; a terrible smile began to play at the corners of his mouth.

"Where?"

"On the far edges of Valero Notte, over the rocks. There are a ton of private residences in those mountains."

"Do they know they've been found?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent. Take more men than we sent last time. These people are more dangerous than you think."

"Yes sir...Should we take them alive?"

He thought to himself for a moment. "Take the two younger Clarks if you can. I don't care if the others survive. But I want their bodies."

"Yes, sir."

D'Amico took no chances- if he wanted someone dead, he saw to it himself or he made sure to see the victim's body. He'd made the world believe he was dead for years; he knew how easy it was to disappear.

And this time he wouldn't be calling Apollo to warn him of the impending attack. No, there was no bargain, no old debts in place. It was war, and this time Thaddeus wouldn't say a word to his old friend until they were face to face and he could see the light leave his eyes.

Best part was, now that he'd met Timothy and Victoria, Thaddeus knew exactly how to make that happen.