See Prologue for Disclaimer, Rating, and Author's Notes.

Chapter 1:

Michael Coldsmith-Briggs, III, codename: Archangel, sat in his darkened office early the next morning, considering what his friend had asked of him just the night before. The Deputy Director thought over his options. He understood Hawke's wish to search for his son, and certainly wasn't going to stand in his way, but recent events had made it clear to Archangel that his division had its own problems to straighten out at the moment. He'd been taken by surprise at his aide's attempted assassination of Tess Dixon, and would be looking into his own people for some time to come. The last thing he needed right now was another mole in the making. At the same time, Hawke was his friend, and Michael had no wish to refuse him the help he'd asked for.

Who could he trust with the task of looking for Hawke's child?

As a ray of early-morning sunlight worked its way through the blinds, Archangel thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he'd managed to stumble on the answer. There was one former member of his staff who'd never had even the slightest thought of betraying him, and in fact, had risked her own career with the FIRM to pull his butt out of the fire on multiple occasions, more than proving her loyalty to him. More importantly, Hawke would trust her, as much as he trusted anyone. She had taken a temporary leave to finish up her residency, but she'd been planning to be back with the FIRM full-time in the next couple of weeks. Even while she was on leave, Marella still held her clearance levels, and he knew she would find time to help with such a sensitive issue as this.

The spy had no doubt that in some respects, Hawke's well-being was directly proportional to the health and happiness of his son, and could only hope that whatever information his former aide might find would ease the pilot's mind on that score. Hawke had made it clear that if the child was happy with his adoptive family, he'd leave him there, and Michael knew without a doubt that the decision was based in the loss of the pilot's own parents when he was a child. Even without having laid eyes on his son, Hawke cherished him enough that he would not tear him away from loving parents, and Michael greatly admired the strength the decision must have taken.

Picking up the phone, he dialed a familiar number.

Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup

It was a somber and deeply thoughtful Hawke that Caitlin O'Shannessy found at Santini Air that morning. Dom had called the night before and given her a heads-up that something wasn't quite right with Hawke, but the older combat pilot didn't know the whole tale and wasn't one to gossip (old war stories were another thing entirely).

Still, Cait hadn't expected to see Hawke here this early. In her mind, that meant he likely hadn't had any sleep the night before, and was working at the hangar to distract himself from something… or someone… he didn't want to think about at the moment.

She didn't even have to look at his face to know it; the way he was standing was enough. The unconsciously defensive posture and the 'stay the hell away from me' body language was easy for her to read. Most sensible people would have obeyed those signs and given Stringfellow Hawke his space… but Caitlin wasn't most people, and she knew that if he'd wanted to be away from everyone, he would have gone home. He would have added to his stock of firewood or played his cello on the dock. Being here, at the hangar, meant he wanted to talk to a friend, and just wasn't sure how to start.

That left starting the conversation up to her. Well, it wouldn't be the first time.

She walked up behind him, moving slowly and being sure to scuff her sneakers on the hangar floor a time or two; the last thing she wanted to do was startle him. She watched, and waited until she saw his head tilt to the side and his hand place the wrench that he'd been using to make adjustments to the Jet Ranger back into the toolbox.

She smiled, laid a hand on his shoulder, and wasn't at all surprised when he moved to put that arm over her shoulders and tuck her next to his side in a friendly hug. She'd just about given up on the idea of there ever being anything of a romantic nature between them, but that didn't make him any less of a friend. Her hand slipped down to his waist, and she reached up to brush a kiss across his cheek.

"You okay?" Of course, she knew he wasn't, but this wasn't the time for a confrontational talk… though she'd been known to have those with him a time or two as well.

Hawke shook his head, turning eyes to Cait that she would swear were at the same time haunted and joyous, not a combination she usually saw from him. "I… ah, hell, Cait, I don't even know where to start."

She smiled at him, for just a moment – at least he's bein' honest about it, instead of tryin' to shut me out – led him to a nearby work-bench and proceeded to get them each a cup of coffee. Handing one to him, she took a seat at his side, and took in the morning, waiting, silent. He'd talk when he was ready, and she'd wait here until he was.

Of course, I don't have any intention of lettin' him leave until he tells me what's wrong, but he doesn't need to know that yet.

Caitlin watched as Hawke took a drink of his coffee, and then set it aside, turning toward her. She could almost see the thoughts running through his head, almost hear him go over what he was going to say and then change his mind before the words had a chance to escape. It made her a little nervous; she'd never seen him this uneasy.

My Lord, whatever's on his mind must be huge.

The flash of raw pain in his eyes was so strong, it almost took Cait's breath away, but then Hawke began to speak, and all she could do was listen. Listen as he spoke of a woman he'd loved. Listen as he spoke of the baby she'd carried… that he'd wanted, and she hadn't. Listen as he spoke of the day she'd told him that baby no longer existed.

All she could do was listen as he spoke of the events of the previous day, and learning that somewhere… somewhere, he had a son. And she knew, because she knew Hawke, that the sheer not-knowing was unacceptable and maddening. He would be every bit as driven to find his son as he was to find his brother, Saint John, still MIA after more than fifteen years.

Dom can't possibly know all this. There's no way he would have left String on his own if he had.

"What can I do? What do you need?"

"I need you to help me keep my promise, Cait. If he's happy with his family, I can't take him away from that… from them. They're good people, Tess said… and odds are, they don't have the enemies we do. I have to think he'd be safer with them, but it's been so long since I've had any family besides Dom… and you… that I might fight for him anyway. If he's happier there, I'll need you to help me walk away."

Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup~~~Wolfpup

Sunnydale, same day

A little boy crouched in the bushes outside his house, hoping to escape his father's notice. He was always angry now. The little one thought that it used to be different, before Mama and 'lyssa died, but he couldn't really remember.

"Alexander! Get back here, you little bastard!" The man's voice dropped from yelling to drunken mumbling, but the boy could hear him perfectly. "He should have died, not my wife, not my baby girl. Brat isn't even mine, and he lived through it."

The boy shivered as the man drew closer, knowing there was nowhere left to hide.