~*~*~*~*~
Again?

Michael chuckled, guiding Airwolf into a swift flight out of Van Nuys airspace. Outraged air traffic controllers were blasting the frequencies, professional calm breached enough for them to sound mildly annoyed. "I think we've caused enough damage for one day."

Fun!

"Oh, yes." He was grinning like an idiot. He knew it. This was joy and glory and pure power under his hands; turbines weaving their rapid beat around his own heart, wind on rotor blades like a breeze tugging at his fingertips.

Fun was a tame description.

Something whispered at the edge of his senses; from Airwolf, and from... somewhere else. Watchfulness. Wariness. And an amused, shared glee.

String. Cait and Dom could reach him through Airwolf. Only Hawke could touch him directly. "What's he want, Lady?"

His answer came in a wash of shifting perceptions; a recalculation of angles and flight paths, sudden attention to aircraft he'd previously dismissed, acute knowledge of just how much time it would take to scramble fighters from Edwards. The most probable paths of local fliers traced themselves over his mental map of the area, altering the best routes of escape from moment to moment.

Combat assist, Airwolf stated, serene as the world wavered around him. Noted: Michael, Archangel qualified pilot. Noted: air combat time limited to engineer's position. Providing backup.

"Lady, don't...." Fear clawed at him; he was holding the controls, and yet - it wasn't him. He didn't see targets when he flew, he didn't know exactly how to swat fellow aircraft from the sky-

The world snapped back to normal. Wordless apology reached him, tinged with String's not-quite-hidden exasperation.

Potential combat situation, Airwolf reminded him, puzzled. She used every tool at her disposal, trusting her pilots to know when to stay her hand. If her pilots chose not to use her capabilities... that was their prerogative.

Yes, Angel, Archangel admitted. It is. And when it came to combat flying, Stringfellow Hawke was the best there was. Period.

"All right." A thin whisper, making its way around the lump in his throat as he wove through the hills near Van Nuys. "Teach me how to do this."

~*~*~*~*~
Breathe in, breathe out. Taste the diesel tang of airport haze; taste air's echo in other lungs, a clean, crisp bite of purified air spiced with just a hint of extra oxygen.

"String."

Speed the other's reflexes with your own, ingrained patterns overriding the impulse to fall back, distract, plot.... Move, Michael! Don't calculate. Hold the collective. Light, light, yes... that's not fast. She'll tell you when it's too fast. Ride the radar. Don't worry about those pine branches; you've got a good foot of clearance and they'd bend before you knew you touched them. Hold her! She knows the way home, but you have to pick which way's best. Sort your contacts. That's a traffic chopper. That's a corporate jet. That's one of Pendleton's eyes-in-the-skies, way off his reservation; stay low and blend with the ground clutter.

You can do this, Michael. Trust her. Trust yourself.

"String."

Feel the subtle shift as Michael moved from an agent's might-happen to pilot's here-and-now. Breathe relief, as fear faded into a hunter's exaltation, as Airwolf's pilot accepted the power at his command-

"String!"

Blue eyes blinked open, focused on the work-worn hand waving in front of his face. "Dom?"

"Sheesh!" The mechanic rolled his eyes, imploring the fading afternoon light. "Thought you'd checked out on us for good."

"Just visiting." String glanced across asphalt, where Caitlin and a muttering Rivers were shaking the last shards of glass out of dustpans into the garbage can Jo had shoved into place. Just beside the hangar door Sinj and Le Van were having a discussion; a serious one, by the thin line of St. John's mouth. "I miss anything?"

Dominic's grin spread ear to ear. "Oh, nothin' much. Just a bunch of Feds hauling tail faster than Father Frank out of Queenie's place."

A dark brow lifted. "That slow, huh?"

"Huh! No respect, that's what you got. Decent man of the cloth, and you gotta rib him...." Dominic let his voice drop, making sure Sinj couldn't catch a glimpse of their lips. "What the heck were you doing, anyway? I felt the Lady kinda - brush over-" He waved a frustrated hand, trying to find words. "She was mixed up with you and the white wonder, I could tell that much."

"Making sure Michael didn't bite off more than he could chew if Edwards got touchy." String stretched, feeling a host of small aches from a body left ignored just a little too long. "Man doesn't know how to fly combat. Yet."

Dominic hmphed. "You're not gonna teach him from on the ground."

"No." String stood away from the wall. "I think-"

Rivers slammed his dustpan against the can lip. "What the hell was that?"

"Mike," Jo pleaded.

"No!" Rivers waved off explanations. "I know what I saw. I know it's not possible. And I know I saw it. So you tell me what the hell was that?"

Sinjin's gaze slid across glass-dusted asphalt to String's. "I think we'd better take this inside, little brother."

~*~*~*~*~
"Four agents in the emergency room. Two vehicles in the shop. Possible harassment suits from the LAPD. Complaints from every man, woman, and roach in the Van Nuys air control tower. Howls of outrage from every legitimate business that flies out of Van Nuys and probably a few that should've kept their mouths shut before the DEA knew they were there." Special Agent in Charge Huntley tossed down a sheaf of paperwork. "And worst of all, no evidence."

Daphne stood at rough attention, headache throbbing under the bandage taped to her temple. The doctors didn't think she had a concussion, but she was under orders to avoid aspirin for the next twenty-four hours, just in case. My case. My responsibility. "Sir, we can't find what's not there. The place is clean."

"The hell it is!" A fist crashed to the steel desktop.

Don't flinch. And don't back down. "Sir, there's nothing there."

"Two years ago," Huntley said, almost under his breath.

"Sir?"

Fingers clamped on the edge of his desk - but when Huntley looked up, there was weary sanity in his eyes. "Two years ago, Wyeth. We've got witnesses - had witnesses, before someone conveniently lost the interviews. A Santini Air JetRanger was involved in a train heist of ammunition, missiles and jet-fuel. All things that damn helicopter's supposed to need." Fingertips turned white. "Only we got hauled off the case because someone in Washington got cold feet. No evidence, they said. They've got alibis, they said. Santini Air is clean." With an effort, Huntley turned loose of polished steel. "You tell me, Agent Wyeth. If they're clean, why did all our files on the case mysteriously disappear?"

Hotshot stunt pilots that stonewalled rather than talk. People whose only alibis were each other - or a set of conveniently uncheckable receipts.

Blue eyes that knew how to hunt. How to kill.

"Santini Air's someone's pet project, Wyeth," Huntley said, echoing her thoughts. "And things like that shouldn't happen in this country."

"Sir." Daphne chose her words carefully. "I believe they are hiding something. But if evidence existed on the premises, we would have found it." She hesitated. "And two years ago, St. John Hawke wasn't even in the United States."

"No. We were after his brother then," Huntley said candidly. "Only rumor said Stringfellow handed off the helicopter after the CIA brought St. John back. Took us this long to track down which CIA agent was involved. And now we've shown our hand, going by the letter of the law." He kneaded his brow, sighed. "Times like this, I hate being one of the good guys."

~*~*~*~*~
"Who was flying the Lady?" Mike demanded.

Caitlin winced. Despite a temper that had passed boiling, left simmering gasping in the dust, and was currently neck-and-neck with flambé, Mike had kept quiet until their equipment could verify the Feds had left no little presents behind. But Mike wasn't the real problem.

"I'd kind of like to know that myself," Sinj said offhand, eyes level as drawn steel. As they had been, ever since Dominic had opened a wall panel to pull out some of the same bug-detectors Jo had gotten out of the hidden compartment in her locker.

Yeah. There's the problem, Caitlin thought. Half of it, anyway....

String's voice was just as dangerously calm. "A friend."

"A friend knows where the Lair is?" Rivers exploded. "A friend knows her security codes? A friend-"

"Mike." Jo had a pair of pliers in a pale grip, keeping herself between Le Van and the incipient explosion. "Uncle Dom?"

Sinj didn't shift his gaze. "Who?"

Tell him, Caitlin pleaded silently. He's your brother, String. Trust him.

String shook his head minutely. Turned toward the Stearman. "Think we should pull the guide wires."

"Don't you turn your back on me!"

"And why the hell not?" Caitlin burst out. "You did it to us!"

"Cait-"

"Stay out of it, String," Dominic growled, gray-streaked brows low and stormy. "Two of you're too stubborn to listen to me and too hard-headed to listen to each other, the both of you! So just keep your lips buttoned and listen to her!"

Aw, hell, Caitlin groaned silently, feeling two fiery blue gazes fix on her. It was a wonder she didn't incinerate on the spot. Now what do I say?

She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. Dominic had tried gentle. Michael had tried reason.

Time to throw off the kid gloves and smack two Hawkes between the eyes.

"All right, you." She jabbed a finger String's way. "Sinj made his own choices. He went his own way. He trusted somebody he shouldn't have, sure - tell me you've never done that. Almost half his life he's been with the Company, and you expect him to be the big brother you think you remember? It don't work that way and you know it. It's not his fault people stay alive around him and die around you!" She held back an instant, plunged straight into the minefield. "It's not your fault Gabrielle died!"

String lunged for her, rational thought gone; jerked to a halt, Dominic's hands clamped on his shoulders. "You listen!" the heavyset Italian snarled. "Listen, or I swear, I'll deck you here and now!"

Don't stop, Caitlin told herself, sweat stinging her eyes. Don't even slow down. "And you." She swung the finger Sinj's way; like a laser, like the guns on the sleek craft she wished she were flying right now. "Sixteen years, people told String you were dead. Michael thought you were dead. Dom thought you were dead. Sixteen years String kept looking for you anyway, 'cause he had a feeling you weren't. No facts. No leads. Just a feeling." Caitlin shook her head, angry all over again. "Damn it, I've worked missing persons cases, Sinj! You know how that eats you up inside? The searching? The waiting? Even the hope, 'cause you know you could be dead wrong. Worse, 'cause you know you might never know."

Caitlin sucked in a breath, suddenly weary beyond belief. "It breaks people, Sinj," she finished, stuffing shaking hands into her jeans pockets. "Dom couldn't hold the pieces together anymore, and String didn't have anybody else. If Michael hadn't decided he could use a suicidal helicopter pilot...."

"Archangel," Sinj said flatly.

"Michael," Caitlin flung back, fury dredging up one last scrap of energy. "Michael flew the Lady today."

Silence. She heard String's harsh breath, the rustle of satiny blue polyester as Dominic finally let go.

Right. With Sinjin looking like that at the mention of Michael's name, String wasn't going to swing at her. But maybe you should've held on, Dom. If he goes for Sinj....

"How?" Rivers asked, bewildered. "He's half-blind...."

"He's good," Jo said candidly. Still poised to move, as she watched her team leader and his brother face off. "You should check his Company file. He's almost as good a pilot as he is a spy."

"An' speaking of spies..." Dominic favored Locke's team with an aggravated glare. "We got those Feds buffaloed for now, but you know as well as I do they're gonna be back. You're supposed to do this for a living. Think of something." He latched onto String's arm, hauled gently. "Come on. We got birds to get in the air."

~*~*~*~*~
"So this is what you call a stakeout?" Tizne's voice crackled over the radio.

Perched two-thirds of the way up a massive pine tree, Zorra didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Fortunate for her clan brother that he was stationed a kilometer away. From the look on Isabel's face, the agent would have cheerfully pounded his head through a handy wall. "Easy," Zorra murmured. "How likely is it that our prey will have-" She searched for the English word. "Radio scanners?"

"In this town?" Isabel rolled her eyes, gloved hands gripping hard on rough-barked branches. "Very."

"I would catch you, if you fell."

Fingering the harness that bound her to the tree trunk, Isabel smiled. "I know. But I'd rather focus on the job than the height."

And that was one of the reasons she loved this woman. Isabel would never be as strong or sturdy as one of the clan, but she knew how to minimize her vulnerabilities. Even turn them to her advantage-

Wait. Was that movement, below?

A whisper of steel and rubber, a trio of bicycles glided out of the deepening dusk.

Isabel's hand brushed her arm. "Do you see them?"

"Sí." The police department had little night-vision gear; Isabel had elected to rely on her eyes, and leave the heavy goggles to deputies who wouldn't be scrambling around in trees. "Three males. Old enough to know better." She heard a clink of steel on asphalt, caught the glimpse of blackened points as the young humans started spreading their trap. "They are the ones we seek."

"Good." Isabel triggered her radio. "Bird's Nest, CCS."

"CCS," came Sandy's even tones.

Isabel's lips curved. "You want 'em, come get 'em."

"10-4, Bird's Nest."

Isabel started unlatching her harness. "Call your sibs. Let's box these idiots before they can do something stupid. Like run."

Zorra chuckled, loosing a rapid patter of Spanish to draw Tizne and Seferina through the deepening night. Then it was seize her friend and leap into the sky, wings grabbing the thermal from the road to take them up in a watchful spiral.

"That's right," Isabel was murmuring under her breath, gaze fixed on what to her must be little more than shadows against starlight. "Stay right there. Tell yourselves how great you are...."

~*~*~*~*~
Dominic hovered over the cabin dock, gently swinging the skids back and forth inches from blue-gray fur. Never fails. Swear String teaches him to stay out here... "Move, ya flea-bitten mutt!"

Tet yawned, ears folding back; then the blue-tick tail flew up, wagging as he spotted his human in the copilot's seat. The hound bounded out of the downdraft, dark eyes cheerful.

"Dominic," Caitlin chided, laughing in the back seat. "He's not flea-bitten."

"Hah! Try sleeping on his rug." Dominic started powering down.

String finally stirred. "Dom."

Dominic waved a stern finger, knowing what was on the younger pilot's mind. Don't want me to play favorites? Too late for that, String. "Not one word outta you. Maybe I raised the both of you, but you're my partner. No way am I gonna leave you out here alone with strange company."

"And they don't come much stranger than gargoyles," Caitlin agreed, getting out. But the flicker of glance she sent Dom's way told its own story.

Yeah, Red, I know, Dominic thought soberly, listening to the sounds of a mountain night start to filter through slowing rotors. It had to be said. But Lord, we didn't need this. The man beside him was torn and bleeding inside. Leave him out here on his own, no knowing what might go wrong. He had visions of Hawke shutting the Lady out, vanishing into the night, pulling some damn-fool stunt that would end up with him in a broken heap at the bottom of some godforsaken cliff. There was a dark streak in String he didn't like to think about; a need to fly and kill that could turn inward if someone wasn't around to pull him out.

And they got to the cabin, and Dominic realized that - once again - someone else was a step ahead of him.

Michael sat drowsing in the palest chair, hat off, fire flickering in the hearth beside him, bad leg stretched over a low stool with a hot water bottle pressed against the white-clad knee. Two tabby-sized bundles of fur rolled underfoot, loosing high-pitched kittenish growls as they tumbled over the discarded rosewood cane. A third nursed steadily while Cuchilla licked her from head to dark-spotted tail.

String barely raised an eyebrow. "Turbos got to you."

"A minor price to pay, considering the stakes at risk," Archangel shrugged, not opening his eyes.

"Worked."

"Until they can come up with some other pretext to continue their investigation, yes." White-suited arms stretched, working a kink out of weary shoulders. "Hopefully by that time we'll have gathered enough leverage to send the inquisition elsewhere."

"Never thought I'd see the day I wished the government wasn't doing its job," Dominic grumbled, heading for the kitchen. String might stock the freezer with trout, but he knew where a steak or two hid out. Come to Poppa.

Michael nodded at the irony. "We have one advantage. The FBI's in the business of catching criminals. Legally."

String got down two skillets; one for steak, one for fish. "And you're not?"

Michael snorted. "You know better than that, Hawke. We don't catch them, we outmaneuver them. Out-finesse them."

"Outshoot them," Caitlin pointed out.

A reluctant grin bent the blond mustache. "Occasionally, yes."

The redhead dove into the refrigerator for salad, voice echoing off the orange juice. "And you say you're not a combat pilot."

"I most certainly am not."

"So where's Marella?" Dominic wanted to know, dicing in garlic with the meat. "She dump you here on your lonesome?"

Finding the polished floor suddenly fascinating, Archangel mumbled something.

"Excuse me?" From the looks of interest he saw around the room, not even String's radar ears had picked that up.

Was that a trace of pink on that straight face? "She said," Michael enunciated clearly, "She didn't want me back in the office until the adrenaline wore off."

Caitlin broke first, giggling like a Texas schoolgirl at the thought of sly, cynical Archangel bouncing around on Airwolf's combat buzz. Dominic traded a glance with String, then added to the roaring laughter. Oh, Lady - you got him but good!

Mine, Airwolf agreed, self-satisfied as a kitten in a creamery. Shy curiosity reached toward him. Mine?

Anytime, anyplace, Angel. Dominic grinned, rescuing his steak before it seared. Anytime.

~*~*~*~*~
"And did you see the looks on their faces?" Tizne caroled, landing on the path to the cabin. "¡Ay, carumba!"

"At least they should think twice, eh, amiga?" Zorra's fangs gleamed as she set Isabel down.

Isabel brushed windblown hair from her face. Soaring through the night always made her heart race. The wind over her skin, the strong arms around her, the glory of stars overhead.... "If that doesn't make them think, I don't know what would."

"I hope she's well," Seferina said nervously, hopping onto the back porch. "I asked for them to leave her more bones. She needs them, to nurse cubs...."

"We heard you." Hawke appeared out of the dark doorway, face sober. "Keep it down. People sleeping inside."

Marella's boss, Isabel thought, noting the blond man buried under blankets on the couch. Half-blacked glasses had been put aside for a white eye patch; she glimpsed a trace of scar at the corner of the covered eye. Small pillows were a riot of peacock-blue and violet, padding his bad knee as he tossed in dreams. "What happened to him?"

String followed her gaze. "Explosion." He pulled blankets over the betraying pillows. "Long time ago."

"This is America," Tizne pointed out, as Seferina and Cuchilla greeted each other in a restrained, joyous duet of purrs. "They have treatments here."

"Yeah." The blue gaze was chill. "Why he can still walk." With a visible effort, he put away the old anger. "You planning to stay?"

Zorra traded glances with her clan siblings. "We will need to speak with the elders," she said carefully. "But I think - yes." She squeezed Isabel's shoulder gently. "This is a good place. With good people."

Well. That decision suddenly became easier. "I'll take the job." Isabel grinned. "Of course you know, if I found evidence someone was doing something illegal, I'd have to do something about it."

String toasted her with the last sip of a glass of pale wine. "Of course." Ceremoniously he turned the glass over, rinsed it out in the sink before setting it into the rack with three others. "Night."

Zorra glanced at her, alarmed, but waited until he and his hound were up into the loft. "Isa, you're not planning to-"

Isabel shook her head. "I'm not planning to pry, and they're not planning to wave anything under my nose," the DEA agent said frankly. "I swore to uphold the law. They swore to protect our country, and our Constitution. I think we can live with each other." She squeezed red talons. "But do me a favor?"

"What?"

"If, while you're out on patrol, one of you should just happen to see a black helicopter...."

"Sí," Tizne said warily.

Isabel gave them a wry grin. "Go the other way."

~*~*~*~*~
Names and translations from Spanish:

Cuchilla - razor blade.
Seferina - (Arabic) breeze.
Zorra - vixen.
Tizne - soot.
Hermana - sister.
Hermano - brother, sibling.
Señor - mister.
Mi amiga - my friend.
"¡Ay carumba!"- Depending on the context, can be anything from "Oh, wow!" to "Oh my god!"
Mi amor. My love.