See Prologue for Disclaimer, Rating and Author's Notes
A/N 2: Fair warning. This chapter's long (nearly 5,000 words) and very angsty. It does contain descriptions of the deaths of law enforcement officers (though, not in as much detail as an R-rated movie). If such descriptions bother you, you may want to skip this chapter, and I'll try to recap at the beginning of the next one. Also, some of the details about the Marshals have been researched, while others I have pulled out of thin air to suit the story.
Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf
Chapter 2:
The shoulder, was Hawke's first thought, as he carefully ignored Cait's teasing little dig about what he should and shouldn't have noticed. He now knew without having to ask for specifics that the injury happened while she was with the Marshals. That she was hurting was blindingly obvious to him, but she wasn't letting them see any more than she could help. String knew she didn't want to share that pain yet, stubborn enough to try and handle everything on her own. Then again, Hawke wasn't one to call her on something he did himself, though there was something so vibrant about her that he didn't want her going down his path. Part of her would die if she tried to shut everyone out… like part of him already had.
'An old friend,' she said. Aw, damn. His voice was soft when he spoke. "Villers was a Marshal, wasn't he?"
The laugh that escaped her spoke volumes to Hawke about her pain. "He watched my back for three of those five years, Hawke. And now, I have to deal with the suspicion that he's part of the reason I buried most of the rest of my team. Those calls I made before we headed up here… those were me asking questions that no one thought to ask before. Questions we didn't ask, because it didn't even occur to us that a member of our own team might be sellin' us out, particularly since he was the first one shot by that nutcase. I still don't know for certain, won't until I get some answers… but given that Robert tried to kill me just the other day… Let's just say, I won't be as surprised now as I would have been then, and a lot of things are more easily explained than they used to be, if Robert turning on us was the missing piece to the puzzle."
She fell silent, and Hawke glanced toward Dom, seeing the growing anger in the older pilot's eyes. String shook his head to clear it of a few old ghosts, and took a seat on the couch, close enough to where Cait rested to offer comfort if she wanted it… not so close as to make her feel she'd been backed into a corner. In the quiet, he mentally reviewed everything that had happened in the short amount of time he'd known Caitlin. If she'd been accustomed to working with a team – and then that team suddenly was gone – a lot of her actions started to make a bit more sense. He couldn't even manage to offer a protest to her more reckless choices at the moment, because there was nothing in him to say he wouldn't do… or hadn't done… the same kinds of stupid things when he came back from 'Nam without Saint John. This was a pain he recognized and understood all too well.
Hawke waited in silence, watching as her fingers traced a path behind Tet's ears. He was used to silence… but not from her, and not from Dom, and at the moment, the only sound in the cabin was the crackling fire. It made him uneasy, but it wasn't up to him to break it now. The next step had to be Cait's.
The next words she spoke were in a rasping whisper, and Hawke saw Dom move closer so that he could hear. "First two years in – after training – were as a pilot, prisoner transfer flights… we called 'em 'Con Air.' I had the dubious honor of escortin' some of the most disgustin' examples of humanity you'd ever hope to avoid. In training, our instructors hadn't hesitated to give us examples of how our families could be threatened because of what we do, and who we come in contact with, and they went over ways to minimize what risks there were. I did what I could. Dyed my hair dark. Asked for and obtained permission to use my grandmother's maiden name, instead of O'Shannessy, which was a little too unusual, and easier to track than I liked. Dropped the Texas accent for a touch o' Ireland. Since I used it all five years, it's just as easy to slip into now as that Texas drawl."
Hawke could see a bit of a smile on Cait's face, and presumed that there were some happy memories in those first two years somewhere. Cait took a deep breath, and kept petting Tet, with no objection whatsoever from the hound, who had his eyes closed in what Hawke could only assume was utter contentment.
Hawke moved to the hearth and crouched to add another log to the fire, watching as it crackled and the firelight played over what he would have considered a serene image under other circumstances – beautiful woman sitting on the floor by the family dog, father figure leaning against the couch. It'd be downright homey if he didn't suspect that Cait was reliving more than a few memories of what was probably her own little slice of hell. He looked to Dom just in time to see the older pilot start to say something, and shook his head quickly. Now is not the time to push… not when she's actually talking, even if it is more slowly than usual. Dom shot him a glare that let Hawke know he didn't appreciate being 'shushed,' but other than that, took it with good grace. Hawke wasn't sure how long that would last.
Straightening, Hawke moved to the bar and poured a glass of wine for Cait, shoving back the momentary thought that she may actually prefer something with a higher alcohol content – like whisky. He wanted to ease the tension a little, not run the risk of getting her drunk.
When he returned to the couch, Cait took the drink from him with a nod of thanks, sipped at it for a few moments, and continued on. "The three years after that were with WitSec… Witness Protection and Relocation. Sometimes we guarded the witnesses during the trials and set up new lives for them after; sometimes, we just took over security after the trial from whatever federal agency had been handlin' it prior to that and set them up somewhere else, as someone else. Most Deputy Marshals who are with WitSec… they get some witnesses who are entirely innocent people, and some who are scuzzballs who only trust Feds because doing so is better than endin' up dead when their bosses find out what they're up to. My team, though, we were special. For one, we were a team. Typically, Marshals would work in pairs, not packs, but our bunch… we were different. We were a team of seven Deputy Marshals, each of us with a very unique skill-set, gathered together for one purpose. We only, ever, protected witnesses who were children. Terrified, traumatized, extraordinarily courageous children, who had targets on their backs, and were well aware of it. Forty-three children and their families… or what was left of them by the time their protection fell to us. All kept safe, all watched over and given new names and new homes where they couldn't possibly be found again. Three years with my team, and barely more than a scratch between the seven of us. It could have made us arrogant. It could have made us cocky and overconfident. It didn't. Jack never let us forget that one slip-up could mean the death of a witness… or a team-mate. If we weren't on an active case, we were in the gym or at the range. Firearms qualifications and close-quarters combat… not too much different from my childhood."
A ghost of a smile touched her face, but was slowly replaced by a shadowed look in her eyes, and tears sliding down her cheeks that she didn't appear to notice. Hawke caught the tipping wine glass before it could slip completely from her hand and break, placing it on the coffee table. He heard and temporarily ignored Dom's whispered, anguished "Mamma Mia" as he gently wiped Cait's tears away. The blank look in her eyes was entirely too familiar to him, and he wondered exactly how much raw pain that bubbly exterior had hidden.
Cait blinked, and rested her head for just a moment against his shoulder before straightening up, taking a deep breath, and visibly shoving the pain back again. "Forty-four was not our lucky number. It wasn't in the slightest the fault of the witness, though there's nothing I've been able to say that could convince the poor kid of that. Kiddo was a lot like you, actually, Hawke… still is, as far as I know. Musician, borderline genius, and utterly fascinated with anythin' that flies. We introduced ourselves when we first took over the case. Kiddo looked at us and said, 'Please, for your own sake, just walk away. You don't know him. You can't fight him, and everyone who's ever tried to protect me has paid for it. He can make a kill-shot from half a mile away, and be long gone before anyone can figure out where the shot came from. Just walk away. I don't want any more people dying because of me.' Even given everything that happened after that, I wouldn't change anything my team did to protect that kid. 'Walk away' wasn't in our vocabulary, and I am damn proud of that."
Hawke hadn't moved from his position, crouched in front of Cait. Dom had soft-footed around the couch and taken a seat while Cait was talking, and Tet was snuggling up close, to offer what comfort he could. Hawke knew the tale would only get uglier from here, but he would have enjoyed meeting her team. Other than Villers, seems like they were good people. Far as she was concerned, they were family, and that's still a gaping wound. What little might have been scabbing over before, Villers just ripped back open. I wish I could shoot him down again.
"Cait, you don't have to do this."
"Yeah, Hawke, I do. I can't tell you everything. I can't name any of the witnesses; I can't even mention age or gender… but I can remember my team with you. I was cleared to tell it, and the two of you've been cleared to hear it, by the only two people who knew me then that I still trust unconditionally now. My gut says I can trust you and Dom… but after what happened with Robert, I needed a bit more than my gut to go on. And, instinct or no, I did still need to get the okay to tell you. Hell, Hawke, you and Dom were both military. Same basic rules apply here. Too many lives depend on me not screwin' up… and on keepin' my life with the Marshals completely separate from anything I do now. If I hadn't gotten the clearance, I couldn't have kept workin' for Santini Air, not if you were gonna push for answers. The secrets I keep protect people who can't protect themselves, Hawke, and I couldn't risk anyone gettin' those secrets outta me… no matter how much I wanted to stay."
Hell, this explains a lot. She's not afraid of me, never has been, even though most people with sense are when they realize they've been asking questions I don't want to answer. She may push for information on the Lady, but never too much, always backs off when we say 'What helicopter?' even though she knows perfectly well I'm Airwolf's pilot. And no matter how fascinated she is by the Lady – what pilot isn't? – she'd shelve that curiosity and back away in a fraction of a heartbeat to keep the oaths she's already made. But she didn't come here looking for Airwolf, not really. She wants a team again. She wants to keep protecting people with someone she trusts at her back.
Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf~~~Airwolf
Oh boy, kiddo, when you bury pain, you bury it deep. String holds on to his, keeps it close like his best friend, but you… Cait, you lock it behind a door, and cover that door up with pretty pictures, but you're bleeding inside every bit as much as he is. Dom looked at the two younger pilots and wondered what else he'd missed about this newest employee of his… newest family member, if he was reading things right. Despite String's talent for pushing people away, he hadn't been able to do it with Caitlin. Dom had seen the connection between them almost from the first moment he'd laid eyes on the red-headed cop… and noticed where String was looking. And he knew trouble was heading their way when that same cop had somehow known who was flying the Lady… even if String had said she was just guessing. She'd slid right past those walls his boy had up, and Dom wasn't sure there'd be any keeping her out now; he didn't think he wanted to.
Dom shared a quick look with String, knowing that they'd be having a chat of their own a little later, before turning his attention back to Cait. It was easy for him to see that she was having trouble finding the right words, and even for the short amount of time he'd known Cait, that was unusual. He'd never seen her at a loss for words until this mess with Villers… though, now that he thought about it, she'd said a lot without really saying much, all things considered. Until tonight, he'd known next to nothing about her past. He hadn't asked, and for all the talking she'd done, she hadn't actually volunteered any family information, and sure as shootin' hadn't said anything about her time in the Marshals. Though, he could understand that last bit.
She's still being cautious, because she never knows who might be in a position to overhear the wrong bit of information… and why in the name of all that's holy am I thinking like Archangel?
Looking at Cait, he noticed that she'd closed her eyes, maybe battling back the memories, maybe deciding that she didn't want to do this anymore after all… he didn't know. "There were seven of us," Cait said, eyes still closed. "We buried four. For understandable reasons, I highly doubt there'll be enough left of Villers to bury, and I'm not at all certain I'd actually want to be at his funeral, if there was. He was the first one taken down by my favorite nutcase, a bullet to the knee that made certain he'd never be cleared for field work again. It took the rest of us by surprise in some ways. We'd been expecting a sniper, but Villers… Robert… wasn't exactly in a leadership position on our team, so we never could understand why he was the first one taken out. And then it was quiet… weeks where there was nothing. No anonymous tips, no fortunate glimpses, not even a note from the slimeball gloating about how he'd gotten the drop on us."
She took a deep breath, and Dom noticed her hand reaching… whether for the empty wine glass or something else, he wasn't sure. Then String moved just enough to take hold of that hand, and her fingers tightened around his for just a moment, before she opened her eyes and started in again. She didn't let go of his hand, and he didn't pull away. "Robert worked his way up to crutches during those quiet weeks, and talked Jack – our team leader – into letting him get back in the game from the office. He could help coordinate communications, run background checks – heck, he even offered to do our paperwork for us. Anything would do, so long as it was work and he could keep busy. And since it's the exact same thing any of the rest of us would have said, we swallowed it – hook, line, sinker. Equals dead fish."
"And since he was working communications and part of your team…"
"Yeah, Dom. He knew exactly where we were and what we were doing, every moment of every day. We weren't the only Marshals protecting this particular witness, since the case involved some high-profile names, but apparently only our team was considered a threat by the sniper. I've been told I should think of it as a compliment. Well, actually, I've been told that three times… once by said nutcase, and twice by men I respect. Seems if people want to kill us, it means we're doin' something right."
"Jack was next, after weeks with no hint of any trouble. Bastard didn't kill him, but Jack's got a permanent set of wheels, now, and it was a long while before he could wrap his mind around that. Thank God for Shannon, who finally managed to convince the stubborn Jarhead that she'd rather have a husband in a chair than no husband at all. We stayed on the case, in direct contradiction of policy and procedure, and probably anything resembling common sense. Our team was down two field-capable officers, neither of whom would ever be field-capable again, one of whom would never walk again. The rest of us, stubborn, noble idiots that we were, weren't about to trade the kid off to another protection detail and slip off with our tails between our legs. What I didn't quite get is why we were allowed to stay. It wasn't really our call, and we could have been ordered off… but that order never came. Of course, in defense of our Supervisory Deputy Marshal… he might have realized we'd stick with the case against orders if we had to. Maybe he just figured reprimanding an entire team wouldn't really be worth the trouble. I don't know, and I never had the chance to ask."
"Sniper got him, too?"
"Not that I know of, Hawke, although the car accident that killed him was rather suspiciously timed. His death was… closer to the end, though. Quinn was taken out after Jack. He was the oldest of the group, probably the best educated of us. He had a Doctorate in Child Psychology, with a focus on trauma victims, which is why he'd been brought on board. No lack of practical experience, either. He had five kids, two of them adopted from… less than ideal situations. Quinn was their anchor, and our team's resident Mother Hen. One shot, one kill, and he was the first to go to his grave. Current count at that point… one officer dead, team leader out of commission, and a second officer – unknown to the rest of us – apparently a traitor. Three more to go."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dom caught sight of the clock, but didn't breathe a word at how much time had passed since he'd first tried to get Cait to come inside, so much earlier in the evening. Nothing short of gunfire would make him interrupt Cait now.
"Vasily was next. He was the American-born son of Russian immigrants, a natural polyglot, could pick up languages like you wouldn't believe. He usually acted as our translator whenever the witness or family members didn't speak a lot of English. Sniper took him out on his day off. Vasily had taken his little boy to the amusement park, figured the sniper wouldn't come after him in a crowd. One minute, he was making sure Dmitri didn't fall off his horse on the carousel. The next, no one could hear anything except a couple dozen screaming, terrified children."
"Santa Maria, he killed your buddy in front of his kid? In front of a whole bunch of kids? What kind of sicko was he?"
"Oh, Dom, this nutcase is in a league all his own. And he wasn't done with us, yet. After Vasily fell, we made arrangements for our witness, put the new identities in the system… and I took the kiddo and the rest of the family to their new home. And now, I realize the only reason we likely stayed in the air is because no one knew we were leavin' that night except Mason, our team's second in command. We knew there was a leak somewhere, just not where. We didn't suspect Robert because he was Team, one of ours. However, we couldn't say for sure that our communications system wasn't sufferin' an… infestation, you might say. So, we didn't run the plan through Communications, and didn't mention it to Robert because of the chance he might be overheard. I saw the family settled somewhere no one would know to look for them, and no paper trail between the old lives and the new. No one could track them unless they deliberately gave someone their real names… and none of the family members were likely to make that slip. By the time I got back, Mason was gone. A head-shot, like the others, when he was heading up the walk to his front door. The shot came from behind, and the exit wound took a fair portion of his face with it. His… was a closed-casket funeral. And then there were two."
Cait's face was pale – more than usual – and the strain was beginning to tell on her. Dom could almost see those grisly images flash in front of her eyes, like they had been for him. He'd seen bodies of soldiers that had been killed like her team second, and he'd never forget it… just like he knew she never would, and he wouldn't have wished that on her for anything in the world.
"The witness was safe and hidden from the world, until such time as the sniper could be caught for the kid to testify against him. He wasn't so much the type of criminal that hired killers, as the type that preferred to do the dirty work himself. And he was… as we'd seen… quite good at it. Our team was down to Jack – who, at that moment, was still wishing the nutcase had killed him outright – Robert, still in Communications, myself, and Jordan. Jordan was the one who had arranged the identities and the backgrounds. The minute he slipped them into the system, courtesy of the DOJ, they became legitimate. Entirely legal identities, deeply and perfectly back-stopped, both in terms of electronic and paper records, even sometimes making sure the family members were put into new 'editions' of the appropriate school yearbooks. Jordan died the same as the others… bullet to the head, in front of family. In this case, his wife of less than four months. And then there was one."
"Your shoulder." Dom's head snapped up at the softly-spoken phrase that had slipped from String. Her shoulder? What's wrong with Cait's shoulder? And how does String know about it… more importantly, why didn't I?
"Yeah. I was turning over every rock I could to find that snake, though the odds weren't exactly in my favor, and by this point, my search was off the books. The Supervisory Marshall had all but put me in protective custody myself… or tried to, anyway. I was… less than polite in tellin' him what I thought of that idea. I was expecting that the sniper would make a play for me soon, but I wasn't expecting what he actually did. Sometime after Jordan's death, he realized that the witness had been moved… and that there was only one person who knew where that witness was. He couldn't kill me, because I had information he wanted, information he had every intention of making me tell him whether I wanted to or not."
Cait paused and glanced around the room for a moment. Dom, following her gaze, realized that she was making note of the cabin's exits. Whether that was because she was partially lost in the past, or because the re-telling made her feel the need for some air, he couldn't tell, but he wasn't about to blame her for either one. She had more than enough ghosts in her past to fuel nightmares for the rest of her life. Cait gently moved Tet to the side, and moved to get to her feet. Hawke, still holding her hand, gained his feet first and pulled her up beside him, steadying her for a moment when she realized her leg had fallen asleep. She moved through the front door of the cabin and took a seat on the porch steps, shivering slightly in the cool night air, but not showing any indication of wanting to go back in anytime soon.
Hawke sat next to her, throwing an arm over her shoulders and drawing her to his side, and it was only then that Dom noticed what String likely already had. Cait was heading towards shock. Aw, no, don't tell me she's never talked about this with anybody before? Oh, you stupid old man, of course she hasn't. Everyone she would have been able to talk about this with was already gone, except for her Team Leader. And Cait, being Cait, wouldn't have wanted to bother him with it. The realization did nothing but make him worry more, particularly when Cait started to talk again, her voice seeming a mere echo of her normal self.
"I was given mandatory leave at that point. It was expected, but probably would have happened earlier, if we hadn't been in the middle of a case. I took it – didn't have much of a choice – but kept turning over rocks on the sly. There was nothing. Went to the cemetery to visit the guys… next thing I know, I'm on the ground with a 9-mm round in my right shoulder. I got back to my feet; I'm not sure how. I don't really remember as much as I should. I saw his face, knew who he was… and as soon as he started talking, knew he didn't think I was a threat. He hadn't done his homework. My team-mates had all been military, before becoming law enforcement. I hadn't and he knew that… but he hadn't tracked down my teachers, and had no idea how long I'd been learning to defend myself. He thought it would be easy to learn what he wanted to know. I had a roundhouse kick that said otherwise… just for a start. The next thing I remember, he was on the ground with my knee on his throat, but he wasn't done yet, either. He had a knife, which did a fair bit more damage to my left shoulder than his bullet had done to the right. He walked toward me. My hand found his gun. I remember having every intention of firing. I remember startin' to squeeze the trigger. And then back-up showed, at just the right moment to prevent me from giving that cop-killin' bastard a terminal case of lead poisoning. Next thing I know, I'm in the hospital staring down a long stretch of rehab before I can get either arm to work the way it's supposed to, and the bastard's in a SuperMax. The trial went well. He's currently on death row in that same SuperMax, convicted on several counts of first-degree murder of a law enforcement officer – local, state, and federal. Apparently, he's not very picky about his targets, so long as they're law enforcement."
Cait's voice trailed off into nothing and her shivering grew worse. She leaned into Hawke, and Dom looked at him over her head. The worry in Hawke's eyes was easy for Dom to read, and he was pretty darn sure he had that same look on his own face. String got to his feet, bringing Cait up with him, and walked her into the cabin, Cait working on autopilot. Wherever she was, it wasn't here.
"You need a hand, String?" He deliberately kept his voice soft, even though he didn't think Cait was hearing much of anything at the moment. Hawke shook his head, walking with Cait up the stairs to the loft, and Dom just let it go. He knew String could be a ladies man when he was of a mind, but also knew him better than to think there was any chance of him trying anything with Cait, especially when she was like this.
He wasn't surprised when he heard String start to speak, though the familiar voice was too soft for Dom to make out the words. He settled into the chair by the fire, and just listened as that voice went on in a soothing cadence for what seemed like hours, but likely wasn't. In time, a new sound interrupted the voice, a painful, broken sobbing that would cleanse the wound to Cait's heart… and start the healing.