I do not own Airwolf or MacGyver. I'm simply borrowing their worlds and characters from MGM and Belisurio. All original characters are mine.

(First published on , I decided to edit and clean up the story before posting it to Ao3. Most of it will be the same, just cleaned up the grammar and punctuation, perhaps eliminated or expanded upon a few things or rearranged the sequence of how it appeared on .)

What would happen if Stringfellow had a daughter that he gave up for adoption? What if that same daughter crossed paths in her childhood with a certain MacGyver?

This is the story of how Cheyenne MacPhearson learned who her real father was and inherited her father's estate. To help her out, she turns to someone who helped her when she was younger and had nothing left to lose.

This is her story. I will warn the readers that venture into this story that this first 'book'/'installment' of this story can be rather slow at times. This sets up her world, her issues, her background, etc. Introducing a character into established 'world' can take some time, so bear with me. But please keep reading since this sets the tone for the other installments.

Disclaimer: I do not know a thing about Air Force hierarchy, standards, protocol, fighter jets/pilots, etc. I had no Beta reader for this installment. If there are those with knowledge of the above stated items and feel what I've written is way off in such a situation, please pass over it with a grain of salt. This story was meant to have the feel of the TV shows where often times, such things were 'glossed' over.

Without further ado, please, enjoy!

Chapter 1

March 21, 2008

Los Angeles, California

John Cliner stared at the chipped gold lettering on the frosted glass window as he jiggled his key in the lock of his office door, the tumblers finally releasing. The lettering 'Cliner Estate Planning' reflected back at him, catching the morning sun as he opened the door to his small, two room office. He gave a quiet sigh as he bent down to retrieve the mornings' newspaper off the floor where it had landed after being shoved through the mail slot. He unfolded it with a one handed flick as he hobbled over to the coffee maker in the small reception area. Setting his worn briefcase down on the table by the coffee maker, he flipped the switch on the appliance to start a fresh pot, thinking how it was the only thing that made coming to the office enjoyable.

He looked around at the shabby wallpaper and the brown couch protected by a cracked and well-worn plastic cover, remembering the way it had once looked new and stylish when he first went into business for himself thirty-five years earlier. Looking back at the paper, he scanned the front page as he waited for the coffee to finish. Upon hearing the last few drips fall into the pot, he folded up the paper, tucked it under his arm then poured his first cup of the day before picking up his briefcase and heading into his office.

Laying his briefcase down on the large desk, followed by the newspaper and cup of coffee, Mr. Cliner reached over to push the button on his computer, starting it up like he did every morning. The motions he went through were so ingrained that he didn't have to think about what he was doing as he unlatched the briefcase, taking out his lunch to put in the small mini-fridge tucked into a corner under a stack of old files. He heard his computer making its normal clicking and whirring noise as it started up the process of loading his files and preparing his list of activities for the day.

The dot matrix printer, half-forgotten on a shelf next to his desk, sprang to life and began chattering away as it printed a document. Mr. Cliner jumped slightly, his head whipping around to stare at the ancient printer, almost shocked that it still worked. Looking at his computer screen, he watched as an old software program he'd used until a few years ago begin loading. Moving towards the printer, he tore off the sheet of paper, giving it a slight flick to chase the dust off of it.

System Check – Activate validation system on File 88-765221

File 88-765221:

Estate of Stringfellow Hawke: Twenty year hold released - validating recipient of Estate directive.

Stringfellow Hawke: Deceased, March 21, 1988 – Trauma sustained from explosion

Client Directed Line of Succession for Estate:

Dominic Santini: Deceased, March 14, 1988 – DOA from explosion. Note: Business and all business assets (Santini Air Service) of Dominic Santini willed to Stringfellow Hawke per instructions of Estate

Saint John Hakwe: Brother - Deceased, December 2, 1992 –Trauma from skiing accident

Stringfellow Miller: Son –Deceased, June 6, 1994–Mother and Son killed by drunk driver

Saint John Van Lin Hawke: Nephew – Deceased, September 11, 2001-Died on Flight 97

Caitlin O'Shannessy: Friend – Deceased, May 4, 1988 – Died in movie stunt helicopter crash

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III: Friend – Deceased, May 16, 1988 - Killed in line of duty

Marella Callehan: Friend – Deceased, May 16, 1988 – Killed in line of duty

…. Activate secured file….

Cheyenne 'Red' MacPhearson: Daughter – Born: January 30, 1975

Marital Status: Single

Current Location: Nellis AFB, NV.

Current Occupation: Major, Fighter Pilot, Test Pilot in Air Force

Last known form of communication: Cellular Phone - ### ### ####

….Activate Hold Release - Deliver Estate instructions and directive….

As he read the document, he blindly reached back to find his desk chair and lowered himself into it. Had it really been twenty years? He glanced down at the newspaper to verify the date before he gave a quiet sigh, turning back to read the document again. He dreaded the task that now lay ahead of him. Perhaps he should consider retiring once this file was completed.

March 22, 2008

Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada

"Enough is enough!" came a man's raised voice from down the hallway.

Those that had offices close to the Generals' knew this day had been coming and no one dared to walk past the General's door for fear he might redirect his frustrations at someone else.

There was silence for a moment before the General continued. "I have covered your ass for almost four years in hopes that you might get a reality check. My superiors are beginning to believe that I'm too soft on you. It's beginning to make me look bad. You have been passed up for promotion time and again because of your 'reckless' behavior." There was a thump of what sounded like a thick file dropped on top of his desk. "Insubordination, reckless endangerment of military equipment, disobeying orders and the list goes on and on," growled the General.

Again, there was silence from the person who was getting their ass chewed out. The Generals' secretary looked worried as she stood near Major Martin's desk, the Major wincing in sympathy as the General grew heated in his rant.

"I know what you've been doing Major!" he roared. "And I don't like it!" There came another sound of a thud from the office, but this time it sounded more like a fist hitting the file on top of the desk.

Finally, a low voice was heard asking something, but exactly what, the two down the hallway couldn't make out.

The roar of disbelief from the General's office in answer to the question made everyone instinctively flinch. "What do you mean 'And exactly what is that, Sir?' You know God damned well exactly what! You refuse to apply for promotions and when you think you might be offered one, you screw around, mess up and make it impossible to recommend you for one. It's a miracle that you've made Major and managed to keep yourself from being stripped of your rank. You told me when you first came in under my command that all you wanted to do was be the best pilot around, and by God, you are! You're a natural at it! You've got more medals and ribbons than half the general's on the committee and yet, you ignore those honors as if they meant nothing!" he shouted, but the last few words seemed to have a hint of pride to them, more than anger.

"But dammit Major, they are going to clip your wings this time and soon!" the General shouted even louder than before. It seemed that by getting louder, perhaps he was hoping something might sink into the 'thick' head of the person on the receiving end. "My superiors are leaning heavily towards giving you a dishonorable discharge. Oh and they can so don't give me that look. They have grounds on any number of accounts and I can't cover your ass anymore."

There was silence again as if the General was waiting for a reply from the recipient of the lecture. When he received no obvious response, he expelled a frustrated sigh. "You are to take two weeks of leave. You are officially grounded for those two weeks until the committee has made their decision on your latest stunt. You are to get off this base by tonight and away from those you 'buzzed.' There might be an attempt of retaliation, though they've been warned against any action towards you. I hate to even suggest this but you better take this time to clear your head, get your priorities straight and get your 'house' in order. It will be a miracle if they don't discharge you and the All Mighty will have to come down from on High just to save your ass if they don't."

There came the sound of a slamming drawer, the rustle of paper followed by the scratch of a pen. "I suggest you take these two weeks of forced leave seriously. You might consider looking for something outside of the Air Force for work because I cannot even fathom what the outcome of this committee hearing will be," growled the General.

"You are dismissed Major MacPhearson. I don't want to see you back here until the day before your hearing," he said.

The dismissal caused the secretary to quickly tiptoe out of the Martin's office and back to her desk. The slight rustle of cloth moving indicated MacPhearson salute before her booted footsteps were heard in the hallway as the Major exited the General's office.

The secretary saw the Major pause near her door, pulling out her hat from her back pocket and shook it a little to open it up. The secretary thought Major MacPhearson had always been hard to read. Her face was often set in a perpetual state of stoic contemplation. Whenever the secretary had seen her smile, it never lasted for more than a moment and looked to be more of a smirk than an actual smile. Her blue gray eyes were striking against her darker reddish skin, her gaze often appeared cool and calculating and in the years she'd known the Major, that expression had rarely changed.

The secretary was brought out of her reflections when she heard the stairwell door shut behind the Major, causing the General to shout for her to come take a memo. With a soft sigh, she grimaced at Major Martin as she walked by his office and he winced. She continued down the hall to the General's office with her pad of paper and pen.

TBC -