Marella awoke slowly, the ceaseless, neverending beeping pressing in on her. Relentlessly it tugged at her, nudging her from blessed darkness to a bright, painful awareness. Blinking, she tried to focus blearily on the room around her. Gingerly, she raised her head, the resulting cacophony driving her back to the pillow with a groan.
Weakly, she raised a trembling hand to her forehead. Beside her, Michael stirred, the ever present glasses perched on the end of his nose, laptop forgotten in his lap as he slept.
Fuzzily, she tried to focus. The monitor continued to beep relentlessly and she wished somebody would turn the thing off. It was like having a trumpet section in her head, but louder.
"Somebody make it stop," she muttered, disentangling her other hand from Michael's and holding it to her aching head.
An intense blue eye popped open, assimilating everything in an instant. "Marella," he whispered, the pleasure in his southern drawl evident. A grin broke across his face. "You're awake."
A fine scowl marred her features as she looked at him. "Michael?" she whispered, her voice rusty with disuse, the gaze still confused.
"Shh-hh, give it a couple of minutes," he comforted. "It'll take a little while to get your bearings."
Fluttering the dark, brown eyes came back to his face. "Hurts," she mumbled pressing her fingers against her temple.
Long fingers smoothed the curly locks away from her face gently. His gaze caught hers and held, a curious mixture of love and shrewdness. He waited.
Cognizance settled in. The mocha-colored eyes flew open, clear as the sky outside her room. "I remember!" she avowed, her voice a rough whisper. Michael held the glass of water for her urging her to drink.
Sipping she coughed, tried again. Slender, delicate brown fingers wrapped around his where they rested against her cheek.
"Must warn Hawke," she said, struggling to find the words. "After Airwolf, after him."
Fury rose at her words, confirmation of what he'd suspected, but could not prove. He tamped it back impatiently. "Who, Marella?" he questioned urgently.
The gaze focused on him, a little muddled again. The frown between her eyes deepened. She cast her thoughts about blindly, trying to remember.
Sighing she slumped, her eyes apologetic. "Can't remember."
Michael rose, pacing the room in frustration, his limp noticeably evident.
Eyeing him - the casual clothes, the disheveled appearance, Marella worried her lip. "How long?" she murmured.
Startled, Michael's attention flew back to her. "Hmm?" he asked.
"How long?" she repeated, struggling to sit up in bed.
The broad shoulders slouched. "Three weeks," he said wearily.
She groaned struggling to remember, thoughts and details slipping just out of her grasp. A memory teased her.
"I'll get a nurse," Michael said struggling to reign in his frustration and impatience, but relieved to have her back. He stepped towards the door.
Memory crystallized. "Michael wait!" Marella cried reaching for him. "I remember, I remember now!"
Spinning, he searched her face. "You're sure?" he asked, afraid to hope for too much.
"Yes," she replied, the voice weak but certain, confident - the Marella he knew. "I was walking downstairs to talk to Seb. I'd found some discrepancies in the Airwolf files. Things that'd been moved around that made no sense.
"And?" he asked, waiting.
"It looked like somebody's been hacking the system, pulling information bit by bit. I wanted to check with him since only he and I should have access to the files."
Michael nodded, encouraging her to go on.
"I'd just started down the stairs when Ulrich Holsen passed me. I remember greeting him and continuing on. Then all the sudden, something shoved me from behind. I can't remember anything after that Michael."
Absently he patted her hand, his thoughts racing.
"Michael," she said, tightening her grip on his fingers.
"Hmm?" he responded, staring at her.
"Ulrich Holsen no longer works for us. That's what I remembered, right before I was pushed."
Leisurely strides eating up the distance, Stringfellow Hawke covered the distance from the parking lot to the elevators deceptively quickly. Beside him, two dark haired children kept pace. Suprisingly, both children were quiet as if they understood the seriousness of the visit.
His face set in grim lines looking for all intents the worried husband, Hawke made the elevator, the heavy doors closing behind him. Secure in the relative privacy of the lift, he gave his children a wink.
Looking up, Nicky grinned. The girl started to speak, only to be pinned by her brother's stern glare. She subsided with a sigh. Squeezing her hand, Hawke chuckled inwardly as he smoothed a hand across her curls.
Reaching the eighth floor, the doors swooshed open almost soundlessly and the man stepped out, his face schooled into impassitivity. Flanking him, the children made their way down the tiled corridor and into Caitlin's room.
Uneasily they looked from their father to the still, slender form in the bed. Crouching down, he re-assured them. " 'Auntie' Cait's just asleep guys, don't wake her." Leaning close he whispered in Nicky's ear, "Stay here, I've got to talk to Michael and whatever you do, don't let your sister talk to anyone." Nodding seriously, the boy sidled up next to his sister and the bed.
Placing his hand on the coppery curls Hawke said quietly, "Mind your brother, I'll be back soon." Tilting her head the girl nodded, her blue eyes huge.
Turning to go, the pilot smoothed away an errant reddish strand from the pale face. Gently, he brushed the backs of his fingers against her soft cheek before he bent and kissed her, his lips lingering momentarily. Pain flickered briefly across the impassive features, before he schooled the mask into place again. "Come back to me, Cait," he whispered. "I need you. The kids need you." Drawing a shuddering breath, he rose.
Giving the kids a meaningful look he spoke, "Mind your Uncle Michael," and with that he was gone.
The heavy hospital door clicking shut behind him, Hawke silently made his way down to Marella's room. Rapping quietly on the door he strode in.
On his feet instantly, Michael greeted him. "Hawke," he said relief evident in his voice. "I wondered when you might turn up."
"You know me," the dark-haired man murmured, his eyes straying beyond Michael to the bed. "Marella," he said, inclining his head slightly. "It's good to see you looking better." Though the words were formal, the grin was not.
"Hawke," she smiled in welcome. "I'm so glad to see you." Extending her hand, she motioned him closer.
He shook his head sadly. "I can't stay, Marella. I've got to go see about getting Seb. I just came to ask a favor of Michael."
"Oh?" the spy questioned, looking at him.
"The kids are here," he said bluntly. "They're in Cait's room. I need you to look out for them."
"But I thought…" Michael began, stunned.
"Yeah, so did I," Hawke returned, meeting the spy's look levelly. "Thank God I was wrong."
"I'll say," Archangel replied with relief. He'd wondered if the pilot was going to pull through.
"So far as anyone knows, they're your niece and nephew," Hawke said, knowing Michael would've swept the room. He wouldn't be able not to, he'd been a spy too long. "Don't let them out of your sight, Michael." Hawke's blue eyes were serious.
"Of course," Michael agreed. "But surely you don't think someone will come after the kids?" he asked.
"They already have," Hawke answered bluntly. "If I'd been a little later, they'd a had them. As it was, Nicky got to try out his marksmanship."
A startled blue eye flew to Hawke's face. "He what?!" he exclaimed.
"Don't ask," he replied tersely, urging Michael out the door. "Go first, so we aren't seen together."
Tightening his grip on the cane, Michael reached for the door handle.
"Oh, and Michael?" Hawke spoke, his voice deadly.
The spy paused. "Yes?"
"If you've still got any contacts, I could use a clean up crew at the cabin."
He nodded in understanding. "Consider it done," and was gone.
Hawke wasted no time. In two brief steps, he was at Marella's bedside. "You're okay?" he asked grasping her hand and squeezing.
She nodded. "Yes, but…"
Hawke cut her off. "Good. Take this," he said sliding the Walther PPK out of his inside jacket.
Concerned brown eyes met his. "You're expecting trouble?"
"Yeah," Hawke said, "and plenty of it. I'm not so sure somebody on the committees not in on it."
Marella started to argue, and then realized what he said made perfect sense. Ulrich might have worked for the firm, but after he'd left his clearance had been terminated. Somebody had to have let him in.
She reached for the gun, sliding it into a practiced grip and checking the clip. "We'll watch over them, Hawke," she promised.
"I know," Hawke replied. "Look I gotta go…"
She nodded. "I guessed as much."
Kissing her cheek fondly, he rose to leave before she got the next words out. Calling out, she caught him at he door. "It's Ulrich Holsen, Hawke. Be careful, he's good and he has no love lost for you."
Hawke froze at the door, his shoulders slumping at the thought of the man he'd gotten fired. "Watch yourself, Marella," he instructed solemnly and closed the door behind him.
Wind sweeping his hair back, Stringfellow Roper sped down the winding state road towards White Rock Mesa. Checking the odometer, he rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension that was settling there. He picked up the radio.
"Angelwolf 1, Angelwolf 1, do you read?"
"We're here," Mike's cheerful voice came across the airwaves. "What's up wolf pup?"
Rolling his eyes in disgust, Roper figured the first thing he'd do when this mission was over was throttle Rivers for handing him out that call sign. The man was getting entirely too much amusement out of him being Hawke's long lost son and being on the low end of the totem pole. "Pick up on schedule," he replied. "Loading zone five minutes away."
"We copy," Mike returned. "Angelwolf will proceed as planned. Meet you at the barn."
"Will do," Roper replied, clicking off. Now all he had to do was get past the gate and through the checkpoints without getting caught or shot. "Piece o'cake, String 'ol boy," he muttered, pulling out his I.D. card for the guard at the gate.
The bored looking private glanced it over before handing it back. Waving him through, he saluted. Roper grinned and gunned the engine. "Maybe this won't be so hard after all," he muttered pulling away from the gate.
Swinging into the nearby lot, he headed towards a squat, brick building. Shoving his cover on his head, he took in the dark, tinted windows through his sunglasses. "Well, here goes," he said sliding out ogf the jeep and picking up his briefcase.
Brisk steps carried him across the asphalt and through the glass doors, his steps echoing hollowing on the tile. Pausing at security he flashed his badge looking away, pretending to be in a hurry and distracted.
"I don't see you listed, Captain," the clerk said skimming her list.
Heaving a sigh of irritation, Roper turned on her, the glasses coming off and the glare icy. "Then I suggest you look again," he bit out, "or get someone down here who can. I'm expected upstairs in five minutes and the committee isn't known for their patience."
Nervously, the girl looked down again, skimming the list. "Who did you say sent you?" she asked, her voice thready.
"I didn't," he said glaring. "Fine," he huffed. "Garrett Dane." Can we get on with this? I've now got three minutes to be upstairs."
Nodding the girl skimmed the list looking for a Garrett Dane. Reading the clearance, she swallowed hard. "Go, - go right ahead, sir."
"Thanks," Roper ground out spinning on his heel and heading for the elevators.
Inside the doors clanged shut, and he leaned weakly against the burnished steel surface. Drawing a steadying breath, he looked up at the floor numbers. That's been closer than he would've liked. He'd better get a move on before somebody with a little more experience came along.
Hitting the fifth floor, he strode out case in hand. A couple of clerks on the far wall sat gossiping as they sipped their coffee and filed requisitions. He sauntered down the hall, briefcase in hand like he had every right to be there, only to cast a furtive look over his shoulder as he slipped inside the door marked stairs.
The latch snicked quietly behind him as he hurried down the steps, lock picking tools concealed in his hand. Getting to the fourth landing, he passed a barcoded card through the reader on the door and passed through like magic. "Good show, Lauren," he muttered.
Cautiously, he slipped down the bare linoleum hallway, an austere contrast to the opulence of the floor above. Here the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed emphasizing the grimness of the place.
Ears straining, he edged down the hall heading towards what looked like interrogation rooms and holding cells at the other end. Voices echoed down the corridor around the corner. Anxiously, he peered into each of the rooms, knowing he was running out of time.
The second room yielded results. Slumped over the table, his head pillowed on his arm sat Seb. Seeing the bruised cheekbone and blood matted in his hair, Roper cursed. Shoving the lock pick home, he struggled with the older style lock, wishing he had a passcode for this one.
He slipped inside and eased the door shut just as the first steps echoed down his hallway. Holding his breath, he waited 'til they faded.
"Seb," he hissed. "Seb." Gently, he shook the blonde-haired man who looked so much like Saint John.
Sebastian Hawke snapped awake, the manacles from the chains he wore catching Roper in the face, as he snaked them around his neck. Suddenly on the defensive Roper shoved his hand between the chain and his windpipe, smashing an elbow into the other's ribs.
Gasping in pain at his already bruised ribs, Seb's hold loosened and Roper ducked free, crabbing on his hands and feet out of reach. "What the blast is your problem?" he rasped. "I'm here to get you out."
"Roper?" he asked confused, recognition in his voice. "Ah crap. I'm sorry, man." He struggled to wipe blood-matted hair out of his eyes.
Rubbing his throat, Roper approached Seb - a little warily this time. He pulled out the pick and went after the manacles on his ankles first. "I trust that was a mistake," he hissed.
"Sorry," Seb apologized. "You just caught me by surprise, and every time that's happened the last couple days I've come out the worse for wear."
Looking at him, Roper believed it. "Forget it," he said. "We've got to get out of here."
"Fine by me," Seb replied, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists as he stumbled to his feet.
Creeping to the door on silent feet, Roper motioned for him to be quiet. The hall was empty. Gesturing Seb to come on, he slipped out.
Stealthily, the two men hurried down the hall towards the stairwell. Shoving the door open, they hurried down the steps two at a time. By the time they reached the bottom, both were breathing hard.
Sliding the passcode through the last reader, Roper had just begun to relax when the alarm sounded. Sliding the card code through the reader again, it flashed red.
"Damn," he cursed. "We've been made. Frantic, he shoved both hands through his hair trying to think.
"Kick it down," Seb rejoined quietly. "That's our only chance."
"Slim one," Roper said bitterly.
"Yeah, well at least it is one."
He had to concede the point.
Together, two black booted heels slammed into the door. It shuddered, but held. Again they hit, and again the door held. "This isn't working," Roper muttered. "Come on." Grabbing the others arm, he ran for the entrance next to the elevators.
The door slammed open overhead. Yelled demands of stop reverberated down the stairs. Ignoring them, the two men ran, slamming out of the stairwell door and raced across the tiled entranceway.
Sprinting, they headed for the glass door shoving it open as they hit. The metal frame shuddered as it slammed back. Keys in hand Roper scrambled for the jeep, Seb behind him.
Seb's breath was rasping now, clawing in and out of his bruised ribs. Panting he stumbled, even as Roper made the jeep, the key grinding in the ignition. Slamming it hard into reverse he swung it back.
"Get in," he yelled frantic. "Now!"
Staggering, Seb made the last fifteen feet dragging himself in, before Roper raced towards the airfield.
"Where're …you going?" Seb panted. "Gates…the other way."
"I know," Roper bit out. "But we'll never make it." He motioned with his head to the men running for vehicles behind them.
Seb looked. "Damn," he breathed, gripping the dash white-knuckled. "We might as well give up. There's no way we can out run that."
Reaching across the dash, Roper picked up the radio. "Angelwolf, Angelwolf this is wolf cub. Do you read?"
Hawke's voice came across the radio, even as ever. "Wolf cub this is Angelwolf, copy."
"Request immediate pick up at north end of the airfield. I repeat, immediate pick up at north end of airfield.
"Roger," Hawke replied pressing the turbos.
Slamming the jeep to a skidding halt, Roper waited in the far end of the field watching the other vehicles draw closer. Even as he did, a screeching howl rent the air as a sleek, black shape hurtled towards them cresting the hill. It swept between them and the oncoming pursuing force. The machine guns rattled, slamming round after round into the ground, cutting a wide swath between Zebra Squad and the escapees. Zebra Squad skidded to an abrupt halt.
Swinging back, Airwolf swooped in front of them of them, shielding from the gunfire. Not bothering with landing gear, Hawke hovered a couple feet above the ground. Opening the door, Seb clambered up, sliding into the engineer's position. Roper was right behind him.
"Hear you guys need a ride?" Hawke teased as they scrambled in.
"Ya think," Seb reported sarcastically.
Roper just grinned.
Catching Seb's comment, String turned to look at him as he slid on his helmet. The blue eyes narrowed appraisingly at the bruises he saw. "Committee?" he asked his voice harsh.
Seb saw the reaction. "Nah," he sighed, shoving the helmet home. "Thor. Just let it go, String."
Hawke made no comment as he turned back to the instruments, but his eyes were cold and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Somebody would pay.
