The sun sweltering down on her, Caitlin swiped a scratched and sweaty hand across her brow. Sand gritted in her eyes and the occasional gust of wind was still like a furnace blast. She stood on the dirt shoulder of the road, the asphalt too hot for bare feet.

Not a soul anywhere. "Okay, I give," she wailed. "Why'd they build a road in the middle of nowhere in nobody drives on it?"

Scuffing her feet in frustration, she bit back a yelp as her foot connected with a thorny piece of underbrush. Limping, she plodded over to a nearby boulder to pull out the offending thorn. Surely somebody had to have missed them by now? She thought in desperation.

She looked down at her dress watch, the crystal now scratched and scarred. Thankfully, it'd survived the crash or she thought she'd go mad. What had seemed like forever, it dutifully reminded her, really wasn't. It just seemed like it.

Resting her head in her hands, she contemplated the road. Best she could guess, since she'd been asleep when the accident had happened, they were about at the halfway point to Van Nuys. Forty-five minutes driving equaled maybe what - maybe 30-40 miles on these winding roads? Too far to walk is what it equals, she thought in frustration, at least quick enough to do any good.

This waiting was killing her. She needed to flag somebody, anybody down for help, but she was painfully aware Hawke was getting weaker. What if she lost him down there, while she hoped for a passerby in vain up here?

Desperation clawed at her throat, panic and fear becoming well-known companions. She pressed a shaking hand against her mid-section. "What am I supposed to do?" she sobbed, fighting the rising anxiety.


Clinging to his seat, Nicky watched the pilot's monitors with a judicious eye. Almost like he knew what he was doing, Roper thought cynically. Heck, he thought, maybe the kid did know - he seemed to be a step ahead of the rest of them so far. He just hoped it was enough to save Caitlin and hawke.

"Okay, cut turbos," Marella said, her voice clear and authoritative through the helmet radio. "We're coming up on Dead Horse Flats Road."

"Kick on search radar, IFF scanner and infrared," Roper replied, squinting against the sun's glare.

"Done," Marella responded. "Nothing yet."

A hundred feet up Roper scanned the visuals, his hand light on the stick. Nose down she skimmed over the road, looking for any trace of the car String had borrowed from Seb. Head against the window, Nicky held his breath as he searched.

The communications console lit up, an incoming alarm alerting them as it did so. Roper hit the receive buttons as he wove over the road. "Make it quick, Michael. We're busy here."

The spy frowned. "Any luck yet?" he asked tapping his fingers in front of him on the desk.

"Not yet," Roper replied shortly. "We've changed search areas. Marella is running scans right now."

"Right," Michael drawled, almost as if he wanted to delay the inevitable.

"Spit it out, Michael," Roper rasped. "I don't have time for this right now." The unfamiliar strain of controlling the powerful helicopter was beginning to wear on his arms, causing a fine tremor of exhaustion.

Adjusting his glasses, the spy nodded reluctantly. "I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but Nicky's missing."

Roper snorted in amusement. "Well, glad to see ya'll realized that," he said with a sardonic grin.

"You knew?" Michael said in puzzlement. "But we only realized it a few minutes ago, apparently he gave Lauren the slip - rigged the door behind them so it wouldn't lock."

"You don't say," Roper commented dryly, eyeing the kid with new found respect. "Well, maybe he'll make you a good agent one of these days, assuming you can keep up with him."

"You don't sound very concerned," Archangel snapped. "We still haven't located him, and Red Star's in an uproar hunting for him!"

"Then call them off," Roper smirked. "I know where he is and he couldn't be safer."

"You know…where?"

Reaching up, Roper swung the camera view to the co-pilot's seat, clearly displaying Nicky pressed up against the cockpit door glass.

"But how?" Michael asked, as the camera swung back to Roper.

"Got me, Michael, but I think you might need to work on that security of yours. You just got beat out by a ten-year old boy."

Flushing, Michael colored. "Well, since you seem to have the problem in hand, I'll go collect my agents." With that he reached for the communications switch.

Roper beat him to the punch. "Hey Michael," he called.

"Yeah?"

"Don't lose his sister. I hear eight-year old girls are pretty slippery, too."

Glaring, Archangel hit the end button.

"Roper!" Marella admonished, her tone stern, but her eyes very amused. "That wasn't very nice!"

"Nope," he agreed with a devilish grin. "But it was fun." Sobering, he looked at the boy beside him, remembering why he was here. "Anything on the scans yet?"

Any amusement in her voice disappeared. "No," she replied glumly. "Nothing."


Sliding down the embankment a second time, Caitlin wryly muttered, "Well, if help waits much longer I'm going to get arrested for indecent exposure." The skirt which she'd already shortened earlier was shorter still now, coming to mid-thigh. She'd made a return trip down to the boulder to find the gauzy lower skirt she'd already ripped asunder and hiked her way back up to the top.

The handkerchief hem fluttered like ghostly flags in the afternoon breeze around the edges of the road, hung from juniper branches she'd pulled from the underbrush. A couple more stuck from piles of rock placed in the middle of the road, their "flags" quivering in the wind. Meticulously laid out beside it all, across both lanes an arrow made of fist sized rocks pointing to the edge of the embankment, its twin on the other side of the "flags" in the middle of the road.

Tripping over a loose rock, Caitlin stumbled to her knees, a low cry of pain escaping her lips as her palms smacked the gravel. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she pushed to her feet. "I swear if I never see this particular piece of scenery again," she mumbled tears in her eyes, "it'll be too soon."

Picking her way wearily down the last twenty-five feet of the embankment, she made her way down to the ledge and Hawke. Panting, she rested her hands on her thighs as her chest heaved for air. Finally, summoning the last of her strength she limped to the car. "Honey, I'm home!" she called faking a cheer she surely did not feel, and only hoping Hawke would be able to appreciate.

Silence greeted her.

Peering in the open window at Hawke's pale form, head lolled against the door frame, she fought gut-wrenching fear as she struggled with the cantankerous door. "Be okay, let him be okay," she cried over and over like a mantra as she snatched and struggled with the door, pulling loose a fingernail and not even noticing.

Finally the door gave, and she flung herself across the seat at him, her fingers reaching desperately to his neck for a pulse. "Let it be there, let it be there," she whispered, her fingers questing, searching. And after a heart stopping pause she finally found it. Fast and shocky, but there nonetheless.

Bonelessly, she slumped against him, fear and exhaustion taking their toll. At least they hadn't run out of time - yet.


Pacing the floor in Marella's office, Archangel kept watch over Amelia, knowing Hawke would kill him if he lost his child. Agitation and stress made the limp pronounced as he strode the room back and forth. He still couldn't believe a ten-year old boy had outsmarted experienced Firm agents. Perhaps it was time he retired, he thought ruefully, smoothing his mustache. "Still, he is Hawke's son," he mused, "and if he wasn't a lot like him he'd never have made it this far." Oddly, the thought was a comfort, a reminder of the adversary and ally Hawke had been over the years. The man was tough, there was no denying it, and there was no reason he wouldn't walk away from this one unscathed as he had so many others.

"Uncle Michael?"

The child's voice ripped him from his melancholy musings. "Yes, Amelia?"

"Are Mommy and Daddy coming back?"

The simple question slammed him in the chest. He closed his eyes on a huge sigh. "I sure hope so, Amelia," he said, kneeling painfully down to her level.

Questioning blue eyes in an upturned face met his, as the doll trailed forgotten from her fingertips. "When?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," he whispered, leaning against the cherry desk and sliding down to sit beside her.

"I wish they'd come soon," she whispered, snuggling up beside the white clad spy, silent tears running down her face, the doll scrunched in her hands.

Reaching over, he pulled her into his lap with a sigh. "So do I, Amelia," he murmured, smoothing the auburn colored curls. "So do I."


"I can't find them anywhere," frustration edged Marella's voice as she scanned the monitors for any sign of Caitlin and Hawke.

"How much further does the road go?" Roper asked, tension knotting his shoulders.

"Forty-five miles."

"Think we chose right?" he asked quietly, shooting an uneasy glance at Nicky who appeared to be asleep.

"I sure hope so," she returned, worry darkening her tone. "If not, and they're hurt, they're running out of time, if we aren't too late already."

"I know," he heaved a frustrated breath. "What do we do?"

"Keep looking I guess and then start over, if necessary," she said exhaustion evident. "We have to find them."

Looking at Nicky, curled up in the co-pilot's chair, his face worried even in sleep, Roper sighed. "Yeah," he said wearily, "I know."


The wolf was back, her long snout sniffing the wind before her. Her ears perked forward and alert, even as he stepped cautiously along the path. Swiveling her head, she stared at him unafraid, amber eyes aglow.

"Angel," he whispered. "I need you."

The ears flicked back and forward. She turned unconcernedly and started to trot up the path.

Panic rushed him. "Angel!" he cried, hurrying towards her. "Please angel!"

The black she-wolf, her coat edged in grey turned, snarling at him, warning him to keep his distance.

He froze, knowing he walked a fine line between gaining her trust and losing her. Crouching he met her eyes, unafraid despite the low growl she gave as he drew closer.

"Hawke needs you, Angelwolf. I need you," he murmured. "I can't find him by myself."

She sniffed him warily, the dark nose twitching, the eyes unblinking. Edging closer she paused.

Carefully, he stretched out his fingers to her. "Please Angel, he's lost. I need you to find him," he whispered, hardly daring to hope. The she-wolf eyed him, nosing his fingers as she did so. Inhaling his scent, the heat of her nostrils against his skin, sensing him.

And then the pink tongue lolled out, licking his hand, a surprising gesture of trust. Reaching over, he buried his fingers in her thick fur, feeling the scars and ridges underneath with his touch, and comprehension dawned.

"You need him, too, don't cha girl?" he whispered in wonderment. "We both do."

Abruptly the boy startled awake, so suddenly he about fell in the floor. Roper cast a surprised glance at him as he did so. "Easy," he soothed, redirecting his attention back to the ground in front of him and to the instruments. "You didn't miss anything."

The touch was light on the stick now. Confident, sure. Not Hawke's, but enough.

"Where are we?" the boy demanded.

"Still on Dead Horse Flats Road," Marella answered. "Nicky, maybe we made a mistake…"

The boy cut her off. "Where's Wolf's Mesa?"

"Wolf's what?" Marella questioned.

"Wolf's Mesa," the boy exclaimed, his voice rising. "The road cuts through it!"

Frowning, Marella punched up a geographical map of the area. Tracing the formations with a fingernail, she worried her lip. "I don't see a Wolf's Mesa, Nicky…" she began. "Wait, there it is!" she cried excitedly. "I see it!"

"Where?" Roper tossed out tersely.

"Ten miles ahead, road winds through the outcropping."

"They're there." Nicky stated absolute certainty in his voice. "Call Michael."

"But Nick," Marella began, even as she hoped against hope he was right, "don't you think…"

"Call him!" the boy yelled, his blue eyes fever bright. "Do it!"

"Alright," the female spy replied, punching up the communications board, even as she shot Roper a questioning glance. "Red Star, Red Star this is Airwolf, do you read?"

Realizing she'd done as he'd asked, Marella ceased to exist for Nicky. His whole attention focused on the rocky ground in front of him.

Roper shoved the throttle forward, urging the sleek, black helicopter towards Wolf's Mesa and where the road intersected it.

Doing a double take on the screen in front of him, Roper sucked in a harsh breath. "Marella," he called, dragging her attention away from the communications board. "You're not going to believe this!"

Strewn across the road and around it a half dozen, gauzy white flags flapped in the wind.

Stunned, Marella dropped her hand from the communications board bringing up the video cameras and zooming in with them.

"Marella!" Michael's voice cut across the airwaves, impatience and apprehension edged in every nuance of it. "What's happening?"

"We've found them, Michael," she muttered, disbelief in her tone even as she looked at the image. "You'd better send a rescue team," she punched in the co-ordinates methodolically before numbly signing off.