By the time everyone was ready to go, the rain had slowed to a gentle mist. With the rocky terrain the way it was, Simon's property did not benefit from the distant glimmer of Valero Notte's lights. This didn't mean everything was shrouded in darkness: the house, the garden, the pool, the walking trails and the path to the dock were all lit up with electric lighting. It was just a courtesy for his human guests, as Simon's night-vision was as good as any other flightling's. Still, heavy clouds covered the moon and stars like a thick blanket, so what little light they did have appeared hazy through the mist. On any other day it might have appeared beautiful and calming, the way the everything seemed bogged down by water and atmosphere. But it meant bad news for the little band of travelers.
Since flying was very much out of the question for Tim and Victoria, and since it seemed just a bit awkward that the three flightlings should carry the three agents in their arms for several hours until they reached the border, they all agreed that more traditional methods of travel would have to suffice. Taking a taxi from Simon's house was a bad idea, since they would have to drive through Valero Notte to get anywhere else, and surely at least a dozen of D'Amico's disciples were prowling the city looking for them.
All that was left was the little yacht, they'd borrowed from Apollo's friend. The friend in question was still out of the country, but after a quick phone call in which Apollo explained the situation, he waved away any apologies for the damage. He assured the eldest Clark that he didn't care; that their safety came first and that they could sink the thing if it meant saving their lives. He also insisted that the six join him in Spain, where he was staying for the time being. Apollo thanked him and assured him that they might head that way after stopping in France for help.
However, the weather was making everything difficult. Sure, the clouds would give them extra darkness, but the stormy weather was making the waves rough. It wasn't so bad that the boat couldn't navigate the water, but as McGee looked at the way the yacht rocked against the current, his stomach churned. With his seasickness, this was going to be an unpleasant experience. And that wasn't the only problem. After the battle of the Valero Notte harbor, the boat had suffered some serious damage. But during their free time at Simon's home, Gibbs and Apollo had set to work repairing it. The yacht could have stood for a new coat of paint or even some new fiberglass, but between Jethro's experience with woodworking and boats, and Apollo's strength, the two men were able to make her seaworthy, at least for the trip they were planning to undertake. The idea was to carefully trace the Italian border until they were close enough to taxi the rest of the way. None of them had their passports with them, but the agents had their badges. If they were stopped by customs, Gibbs planned to call Vance to pull some strings and get them across the borders safely. The team had pulled much grander operations in very dangerous parts of the world- there was no reason they couldn't stroll out of Italy, a country that had no problem with the United States. At least, that was the idea. But they had to get going first.
"You know, McGee, we still never got to show you around Italy," DiNozzo grinned as they packed their belongings into the boat.
Tim snorted. "Maybe next time we're here, when we're not running from people trying to kill us…although this will be my first time in France, too. You and Ziva could show me around when we get there."
The two stepped onto the dock and walked up the path to the house.
"The last time we all went to a foreign country together, it started with you getting shot and ends with us fleeing the country in a boat."
"The time before that, we were taken hostage by terrorists, tortured, and rescued Ziva. Who was thought to be dead."
Tony chuckled in spite of the situation. "I think there's a pattern here."
"Why can't we live normal lives?"
"Come on, McGee, it's been more than a decade. We've never been normal." DiNozzo frowned. "…When this is over, were you planning on coming back to NCIS?"
Tim slowed to a stop, staring out into the water. They hadn't brought up whether or not he'd be going back with the agents since their encounter in the church. God, that felt like ages ago.
"To be honest, I hadn't even thought about going back to America. I mean…" he sighed. "I don't know. My family already thinks I'm gone, don't they? It might be better if it stayed that way, especially for their safety. Besides, I couldn't hide certain things from them. My eyes…" he trailed off. "I am curious about my family history, but I don't know if I really want to know the answers to all of my questions."
"What, are you afraid you might find some things out about your mom or your dad?"
McGee nodded, and when he spoke, sarcasm laced his tone. "I guess I'd know if my dad was a flightling. He did hug me once when I was four. I would have changed then, right? Besides, even if it wasn't my dad, it would kill me to know I descend from soul-stealing monsters."
"Hey," Tony interrupted sharply. "You are not a monster, no matter who you're related to. And even if your family was nothing but flightlings, that doesn't mean any of them have ever stolen a soul…if I've learned anything from all of this, it's that more flightlings are good than evil." It looked like Tim was about to argue, so he continued. "Don't fight me on this, McGee. You know I'm right. Even if everyone in your family were murderers, that doesn't mean you are."
"You don't know that," Tim said weakly, seeming very tired under the strain of this concept.
"You aren't a jerk even though your dad is," DiNozzo quipped, hoping it would make his friend grin.
It worked. A small smile graced McGee's face. "I used to be scared that I would end up like my dad. But I'd take the urge to emasculate midshipmen over the urge to murder them any day."
The two chuckled and continued up the path to where everyone else was continuing to pack and clean the house.
"Alright," Apollo said as he entered the kitchen where everyone else had gathered. "It's 11:45."
Gibbs stood and wordlessly surveyed the little group. Then, with a nod, he led them out the door, Tony right on his heels. Ziva was behind DiNozzo, and she hadn't even crossed the threshold of the door when something collided with the two men, and they were thrown to the ground.
Ziva summoned her fastest quickdraw and fired at the specter, who turned around and snarled at the agent. It was a young woman, no older than twenty-one, though her wild eyes and feral hisses made seem older somehow. Ziva fired again and this time the bullet hit its mark, hitting the girl, (for she really was just barely an adult) and ending her life instantly.
"Are you alright?" Victoria asked, helping Tony and Gibbs up while Tim and Apollo scanned the skies with horror.
"Fine," Jethro grunted as he stood.
"There's more coming, I'm sure of it," Apollo said, his eyes never ceasing their search. But between the heavy clouds, the mist and the large stretch of wooded terrain made hiding from sight very easy. If there were more coming, it was beyond even his impossible vision.
"Get to the dock," Tim ordered, turning to the three NCIS agents.
"We're not leaving you, McGee," Ziva said. "If we go, you're coming with us."
"We don't have time to get away," he pleaded. "If we drive off, they'll follow us. You need to get down to the cove. They won't look for you guys there."
Apollo pointed to the sky, about three hundred yards away. "Here they come."
He was right. Well over two dozen flightlings we flying their way. The large pack of flightlings came well equipped; many had guns, though some had chosen to fight only with their bare hands.
"How'd they find us?" Victoria asked in horror.
"No idea, but we need to move," Tony said, running down to the dock. He jumped onto the boat and grabbed as many guns as he could hold before heading back to the others. He handed a huge weapon to Gibbs and Ziva accepted another clip of bullets. Tim didn't know how to use the odd, modified guns hunters commonly used, so he took a small sig, the same kind he'd once used as a field agent. Apollo and Victoria refused the guns, preferring to fight with their hands.
And suddenly, they were upon them.
Gibbs fired in rapid succession, and the first line of adversaries fell out of the sky. The rest caught on quickly and began dodging out of the way of the bullets. Even though four different weapons were pointed at the sky, there were still so many flightlings left when the group landed and began shooting back at their targets. A young man threw himself at Ziva, and the two wrestled away while another man slammed into Apollo. Victoria dodged a hail of gunfire, Tony ducked out of the way of a large pair of wings. All hell broke loose.
Ziva shoulder checked her assailant and the two fell back into the pool. This might have been a dangerous disadvantage to Ziva, were it not for the fact that flightling feathers were a disaster when wet. The man thrashed around the deep end, trying to get his sopping wings in check, while the ex-Mossad agent deftly climbed out of the pool, grabbed the gun she'd dropped and turned back to shoot at her opponent before going to help Gibbs, who had a young man backed up against the house. This flightling looked far more innocent and less predatory than the others, and with one look at the two agents who had him cornered, the kid, (for he couldn't have been more than twenty years old) threw up his hands in surrender.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I don't want to kill you. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. Please…"
Ziva and Gibbs shared a suspicious glance, unsure if the boy was just putting on an act to get them off guard. But he was sincere and while they were distracted he took off, flying not in the direction of Venice or even Valero Notte but over the cliffs and out of sight. It was clear he had joined the D'Amico family not truly understanding what they were or just how vicious they could be. The two agents watched him go in surprise, then turned to the fighting at hand, knowing that the rest of their attackers would not be so benign. They saw Apollo singlehandedly taking on a handful of flightlings and ran to help.
Meanwhile, Tony darted across the lawn, dodging gunfire and returning several shots, effectively knocking someone off the roof. The figure fell to the ground and was still. Something, or rather someone, pounced on DiNozzo's shoulders, and he was knocked forward. His face collided with the grass, though he didn't get a chance to be thankful for its softness, as the flightling on top of him had their hands pressed into his back. He felt the pressure of impossibly strong fingers, and remembered the pictures he'd seen of victims with those puncture holes in their chests, near their hearts…though this particular adversary was trying to reach in and rip out his spine.
Someone launched themselves at his attacker and the weight from his back vanished- though the hands that sought to kill him didn't go without a fight; a set of thin gashes were torn across his back, ruining his shirt and pulling streaks of blood, making him hiss in pain. Still, the cuts were shallow and Tony sat up to see Victoria, who'd rolled her new opponent off of him and now stood between the agent and his almost-killer. It was another woman, in her mid-thirties. Her dark eyes and panther-like body screamed savage and dangerous. She snarled at Victoria, but the younger woman returned with a hiss of her own, careful to resist the instinct to unfurl her wings in a gesture of agression. (They were still so weak that they would only give her more trouble.) The two threw themselves at each other, and DiNozzo groped around for his gun before straightening to see their adversary pinning Victoria to the ground. However, she reached up and shoved the woman off of her. A bullet from Tony ended their wrestling match and both stopped to catch their breath for a moment, the newly dead flightling at their feet.
"Thanks," DiNozzo said, and Victoria nodded, glittering eyes scanning him for any serious wounds, before she dashed off to help Ziva. The loud snap of wings being unfurled made Tony turn to see McGee engaging a vicious fight with two different figures. He moved to help his friend, but in the corner of his eye, DiNozzo saw Gibbs get knocked to the ground and realized their boss needed his help even more.
McGee suppressed a shiver as his wings stretched to full length; there were still a couple of spots where the feathers hadn't quite grown back just yet, exposing the delicate, raw skin to the night air. The movement caused the injury on his still-healing ribcage to flare up in pain, but he grit his teeth and ignored it.
There was a sort of animalistic beauty to the involuntary reactions flightling wings could have. They reflected their owners' emotions; they were more than tools but extensions of the bearer's soul. But they also revealed the darker, vicious urges inside…they only contributed to the argument that primal instinct ran strong within the flighting gene. Wings were weapons to be used in battle. Despite his gentle nature, and even despite his exposed wounds, McGee's wings bent up and out to full size. It was a sign of agression, of dominance, despite the fact that neither quality really fit McGee. It was completely unconscious- it warned his two opponents that this was a man with power and strength. And their own instincts responded; both men in front of him stretched out their own in challenge.
The duplicate pairs of barbed gray wings caught Tim off guard. They weren't as big as his, but the sharp, quill-like feathers on the ends of the appendages could cause serious damage if they became hooked into someone else's wings- or anyone's skin for that mater. He didn't have those, and it made him wonder if this was a product of stealing a ridiculous amount of souls, or if it was a genetic thing. His question was answered when he got a good look at the two men in front of him. The only thing different between the two were their clothes. They were twin flightlings….identical twin flightlings. The statistical rarity of this was so impressive, and even without having any physical evidence of the fact, McGee knew that this must happen so infrequently that he almost wanted to stop fighting and ask them about it. Their brilliant eyes were green; not his shining emerald, but a glistening olive color. On a human such a shade would look dull and almost gray or hazel, but on these flightlings the tone stayed consistently virescent and sparkling as they surveyed the darkness. These men only had shorter wings because they were shorter in stature- you could tell they were from a family rich in flightling bloodlines.
Unfortunately, the twins didn't feel like talking. One of them swung his wing at Tim, who just barely got out of the way in time. He pulled his wings tight to his back to keep them out of harm's way before returning with a punch. It hit its mark, and the man stumbled back, but his brother caught McGee's fist and squeezed, pulling the former NCIS agent to the ground. He flailed, his wings once again stretching out to help him break from his captor's hold. It worked- the man let him go, but not before the first brother rejoined the fight. The barbs in his wings hit their mark- catching at Tim's largest feathers. He was stuck, and he let out a short cry of pain. Still, this was nothing compared to when the shorter man grinned and pulled. One flap of the barbed feathers and huge gashes were torn in McGee's already-injured skin. This time his cry was much louder, causing Ziva to turn from where she'd just dropped yet another flightling. She dashed to help her friend, firing at each twin. She hit both, though neither hit was fatal. Still, it was enough to send each one to the ground for the time being; enough to separate those horrible quills from Tim's once-pristine wings, which once again spattered in blood. There was no time for anything more than a quick thanks before more flightlings were upon them. This fighting went on for what felt like ages, though it went on for only about a half an hour. It was a long time to fight, sure, but this was more of a battle. A battle so unevenly matched it was almost funny.
Surprisingly it was Apollo who took down the most adversaries this time. With his strength and his past with the D'Amicos, he had considerable experience fighting other flightlings even without the use of a gun. He ripped a hunting rifle from the hands of an opponent before using the butt to hit the man in front of him as hard as he could. (Much like the agents, the flightlings who'd come to capture them had an odd array of guns with them. The D'Amico house already had an old array of antique weaponry within its halls, and Thaddeus had made sure to equip his "soldiers" with modern, automatic ones as well.)
Tony took a punch to the chest and coughed in pain, very sure that he felt a rib crack. The wind was knocked out of him, and he fell backwards. Ziva was at his aid, however, and the two took down yet another flightling. She was injured too; blood ran down one of her arms, though in the darkness and misty rain he couldn't really tell where the source of the blood was located. They were all injured. Badly. Ten to one isn't really a fair fight, but the six fought valiantly. In fact, they did better than what might have been expected given their odds; each took down more than five flightlings, and for a moment it looked like they might actually win this fight and be able to make a clean break to the French border. But of course these hopes were unrealistic and after the half hour mark, things took a turn for the worse.
Tony was knocked to the ground, and one blow from a particularly angry flightling rendered him unconscious. Ziva was the closest, and fired at the man who'd hurt DiNozzo, but didn't get a chance to see if the bullet hit its mark. A pair of ridiculously strong hands wrapped around her, holding her arms down by her sides. If this were a regular human, even a large man, she would have been able to break the hold and take down her opponent. But as much as she tried, she couldn't wiggle free, and was promptly slammed to the ground for her trouble, jostling the unsightly open gash that started in her shoulder and ran down her arm.
A bullet nicked Victoria's arm, which caused her to gasp, and threw off her equilibrium. As much as she wanted to, she still had not unfolded her wings, sure that it would just be a vulnerability. But they suddenly snapped open as an instinctual move to protect herself and regain her balance. The fresh wound wasn't serious at all- in fact, it only just clipped her and drew a surprisingly little amount of blood. Still, in her distraction she'd let down her guard, and was tackled like a football player (no, without protection, this more closely resembled rugby.)
Gibbs was certainly not going down without a serious fight. Despite being backed up against the house by a handful of flightlings, he was able to take down two before the gun was wrenched from his hand and he was slammed against the house. Apollo quickly freed him by coming up from behind and killing the young man who had the agent pinned. But a barrage of gunfire tore open one of his wings and he fell with a cry. Gibbs turned to confront the source of the bullets, but found the barrel of a machine gun pointed at his throat. Rather than die a senseless death, Jethro obeyed orders and put his hands behind his head, already thinking of ways to get everyone out of this.
It was Tim who went down last. His gun had run out of bullets long before, and instead of interrupting his fistfight to politely ask for another clip, he'd been forced into hand-to-hand combat. He hated this. Even while these people were trying to murder his loved ones, there was nothing he despised more than killing others- doing it with his hands just made it feel all the more real. But luckily for him, he didn't have to kill very many, even if it was in self defense. No, when he saw that Gibbs was overpowered, he moved to intervene. However, a pair of hands gripped the injured area of his wings and dug their fingers in until he yelped and turned. Before he could see who it was, his attacker had him down on the ground, with the heel of their boot at his throat. He gasped, flailed and attempted to kick at the young man standing on his neck. Tim even punched the area behind the man's knee, hoping it would crumble under the force. But this person was unnaturally powerful, even for a flightling. He looked up into the flightling's eyes and realized it was none other than Jude, the young man who had broken out of their library, however long ago. With the oxygen deprivation starting to get to him, McGee absently thought of the little book by Darwin that he'd brought with him. It was in his backpack, which was now safely stashed in the boat for their almost-getaway. The light began to shimmer around the edges of his vision, and his eyes rolled back into his head.
The wind picked up, and although it didn't bring any more rain, the waves crashed into the rocks of the cove. The yacht drifted back and forth in the dock, waiting patiently to take its passengers to France.