Author's Notes:
1. For anyone not familiar with Airwolf, it is a 1980s TV show about a super-secret high tech combat helicopter called Airwolf, built by a secret agency called the Firm, and piloted by Stringfellow Hawke (played by Jan Michael Vincent) and his foster father turned mentor, Dominic Santini (played by Ernest Borgnine). Stringfellow, or String as he is usually called, has essentially stolen the helicopter and is holding it hostage to force the Firm to search for his older brother St. John (pronounced Sinjin), who has been MIA in Vietnam for 15 years after the war. Archangel, the intelligence agent in control of the Airwolf project, has agreed to search for St. John in return for String and Dominic flying missions of national security for him. Gabrielle was an agent that String had fallen in love with; she was kidnapped and tortured on a mission, and String found her only to have her die in his arms a moment later. The Lair is the place where String and Dominic hide the helicopter between missions, an old volcanic feature in the fictional Valley of the Gods which has a vertical shaft large enough to take the chopper in and out and a cavern at the bottom with a large ground-level entrance. Dominic owns and runs Santini Air, an air service that provides flying lessons, charter flights, and does stunt work for movies; String usually helps with the business although he doesn't really need to work for money.

The show ran for 3 seasons with the original cast and then a 4th season under different direction with a completely different cast, after Dom is killed and String severely injured in a helicopter explosion in the first episode. St. John, who is rescued just after the explosion, gets String out of the hospital after his younger brother pleads with him to take him home to die, but the series never confirms that String actually did die. In my personal canon, String doesn't die; it was horribly unfair to a very deep character to have the focus of his life for the last 15 years rescued in time to watch him die.

2. I know absolutely nothing about helicopters, flying, or combat techniques. If I write any more Airwolf stories, you're unlikely to get much of anything of that nature from me. I fill in the bits in-between and behind the scenes, and the personal interactions. And this series has boatloads of opportunity for that, because the characters are richly developed for series TV, with SOO much backstory to play with.
Enjoy!

Aftermath:
Dominic tried to scrub a tired hand over his face and startled when he hit the helmet still on his head. Idiot, he thought, you're not in the Lair yet, just going down the funnel. God, this mission had been a bad one. Not only hadn't they found St. John, the two-month old intelligence Archangel had found them being already out of date, but they'd lost a team member as well. One of String's old Vietnam buddies, who'd sacrificed himself taking out a machine gun nest that was threatening the Jeep carrying the three American POWs they HAD managed to rescue from the prison camp in Laos. At least we got a few boys out, he thought. Otherwise it would have been a long trip for nothing but more heartbreak for String. It's going to be bad enough dealing with him as it is. After 15 years of St. John being MIA, they'd been so close; String had been so sure he was finally bringing his brother home.

The message String had broadcast over the Laotian jungle, telling St. John that he would come back again, had nearly broken Dom's heart, too, especially when he'd heard the crack in String's voice. It had been a quiet trip home, and Dom figured it was a good thing that it had been mostly through empty airspace. His own eyes had been so blurry with tears at times that he could barely read the gauges and dials he was supposed to be monitoring. He figured String couldn't have been much better off, especially now that they were on the ground and he watched the younger man scrub at tear stains on his own face.

They did the minimum needed to secure Airwolf and the Lair, then both got into the Santini Air chopper waiting for them, Dom flying since String had done the whole trip from Laos. "I'll drop you off at the cabin, kid, and then head back home myself. Can't wait to hit the shower and my bed.

String gave him a quick sidelong glance. "Stay at the cabin tonight, Dom," the younger pilot said. "You're too tired to fly back to Van Nuys on your own." Unsaid, but understood by both, was I can't afford to lose you, too.

Truth be told, Dom was glad for the offer to stay at the cabin.. He was probably too tired to be safe flying alone, but he'd figured that String would want privacy to grieve and to brood over all the ways that it was his fault that the mission had gone bad. Maybe, if String was that worried about him, he'd even let Dom sleep in the only bed in the place, up in the sleeping loft.

That didn't happen. As soon as they'd both showered, String had bade Dom a good night and headed up the stairs. Ah well, the old man thought as he made himself a nest of blankets on the couch, at least I didn't have to fight Tet for the couch. The dog was up with his master, no doubt trying in his dog way to give him a little comfort.

Some time later, Dom was awoken by String's voice from the loft. "Sinjin! Where are you? Keep talking so I can find you! Sinj!" Uh oh, he thought as he started disentangling himself from the blankets, this is gonna be a bad one. It was rare that String's nightmares produced any sound beyond a strangled gasp. When the kid talked in his sleep, it was a bad sign. He started for the stairs, breaking into a run as the voice rose to a scream of horror. "Sinj! No! NOOOOO!"

When he reached the top of the stairs, String was sitting up in bed, gasping for breath, eyes wide and staring, probably not yet seeing the cabin walls, but the last horrible vision of the dream. Dom carefully moved into String's line of sight, staying out of his reach. He'd learned the hard way after the kid had come back from Vietnam not to respond to a nightmare from a spot where String couldn't see him, and not to touch him until String was awake enough to recognize him. Worse than the pain of the broken wrist String had given him was the guilt the poor guy had gone through for weeks afterwards.

"String?" he called softly. "It's Dom. You all right, kid?" String's eyes finally focused on the old man, and Dom moved to the edge of the bed, sitting down and putting a hand on String's shoulder. To his surprise, he found himself with an armful of weeping boy, as String dove into his foster father's arms in search of comfort. Damn, a really bad one then. String hadn't done that since the last time he'd come home from 'Nam and had to tell Dom he hadn't been able to find St. John. He wondered if he'd ever know what the dream was; usually he got "'Nam", "Sinjin", or more lately, "Gabrielle," if he asked, and that was it. Not that he needed any more than that. All of those subjects were enough to cause nightmares galore.

He held the young man tightly, speaking softly to him in Italian. Finally the sobs died down. Then to his amazement, String started to talk.

"I was..in the camp…looking for Sinjin. I could…hear him calling me. Begging me…to find him. Get him out… When I found him…" He swallowed hard, and choked out "Skeleton. With his dog tags," and burst into tears again.

"Santa Maria," Dom breathed softly. God, can't you give the kid a break? Hasn't he been through enough without giving him dreams like that? We could have both lived the rest of our lives without that image in our heads.

Eventually the sobs died out again, and he knew String had fallen back to sleep from sheer exhaustion. No way was Dom going back down to the couch now. He pulled the armchair over next to the bed and settled himself there, figuring he'd doze at least, and be there if needed.

The next time Dom awoke, it was near dawn judging by the light. String was crouched in front of him, hand on his shoulder.

"Dom, I'm going out," he said softly. "Take the bed and stretch out. I'll get us breakfast when I come back". Then he rose and silently slipped away. Dom felt more than heard the cabin door open and close as he moved over to the bed. OK, at least he's functional this morning, he thought. More than I expected. Maybe telling me helped. But I am definitely going to need to get the old photo albums out when I get home.

Good Memories:

Dom was glad to be back at his own house. String had been as good as his word; whatever else he'd been doing out on the mountain that morning, he'd come back with a couple of trout and had cooked them up for breakfast. But it had been a silent meal, the young man solemn and brooding. It'd be a long time before he came off the mountain on his own. Dom would most likely have to drag him down to help with a stunt or repairs. He loved String like his own son, but it was hard being around him when he was in one of his black moods.

As always when String hit one of these low points, Dom went back to the old photo albums to remind himself that String had been a normal, happy kid once, before That Day. That horrible day when St. John had called him over the radio to tell him about the accident with the boat, that he couldn't find his parents in the water, that he'd been able to save String but that the little boy just sat there, staring at nothing and not talking. Dom had taken charge of both of them and raised them as his own, but String had never been quite the same since. St. John joining the Army and leaving for Vietnam, String losing his high school sweetheart in a crash he'd walked away from with barely a scratch, joining up and going to Vietnam himself and then having to leave St. John behind and have him taken prisoner, had all taken their toll on the once happy boy. He'd grown into a bitter, reclusive man. Oh, he still had the sharp wit and the sarcastic sense of humor, and they still showed up at times, mostly when he was teasing Dom about something, but it seemed that there were days on end where the kid never smiled and barely spoke. String had grown convinced that he was jinxed, and that anybody he loved was destined to die or leave him, so he avoided people like the plague. He still had the generous heart of his childhood, and although he refused to admit it, there were many people who loved him, and who String himself spoke of fondly and enjoyed spending time with, but he'd walled his heart off long ago, trying to avoid any more pain.

Looking over the old pictures, Dom had to admit that String had never been completely "normal". His upbringing hadn't helped; most boys in California in the 1950s and early '60s hadn't spent most of their weekends and summers at a remote cabin in the mountains, being taught to fish, hunt, track, and live off the land by their father and their father's best friend. Those lessons had served both boys well in the military, and continued to serve String well during their Airwolf missions, but it wasn't "normal". Nor did most boys develop a love for the cello so intense that it hadn't seemed ridiculous when his grandfather got him a near-priceless Stradivarius cello when the boy was still too small to play a full-size one. That cello was the one thing that seemed to offer String solace when the pain of the world got too much to bear. He was probably sitting on the dock right now playing to the eagle.

Dom stopped at a picture of himself and a young String, no more than 3 years old, sitting on the dock up at the cabin. He remembered that day well. He'd been keeping an eye on the boys while their parents had some time to themselves, and had turned around to find the little boy sitting on the edge of the dock reaching out towards the water. He'd run as fast as he could down the path to the dock, scared the kid was going to fall in. When he got there he realized that String wasn't as close to the edge as he'd thought, but he was reaching out one hand, waving it, opening and closing it as the wind blew over it, as if he were feeling the wind. It was a sunny day with a strong wind, and the lake water was choppy, little diamond glints of light reflecting off it as it moved.

"Uncle Dom," the young boy had said – without even turning around, he'd somehow known who had come up behind him – "Why's the lake like that?"

"Like what, String?"

"All bumpy."

Dom had explained that it was the wind pushing on the water that made it choppy, and the boy had nodded solemnly. "I thought so," he'd said. "I could feel the wind pushing on my hand. What are the lights, though?"

"The lights?"

"Yeah. The little lights in the water. The wind isn't making those, is it?"

"No, it's the sun reflecting off the waves."

"Refect..ing?" the boy had said curiously.

"RefLecting," Dom had repeated, emphasizing the L. Trying to explain it, he thought back to something that had happened a few days ago. String had been playing with a mirror and had asked his mom what the light moving on the wall was. She'd explained that the sunlight was bouncing off the mirror and onto the wall. "It's like when the sunlight was bouncing off the mirror and shining on the wall. That's a reflection. The sun's bouncing off the waves in the water."

"Oh, ok. The fish are hiding in it."

Dom had stared at the young boy in shock. "What?"

"The fish are hiding in the lights. The eagle keeps flying down to get one but he keeps missing. He doesn't miss when the water's smooth."

Dear God, the kid's quick, Dom had thought at the time. It had become clear as String had gotten older that he had an inborn knack for understanding strategy. Even at 3 he could see something Dom had never thought of.

Then there was the incredibly acute hearing. Dom still remembered the time that St. John been complaining to him after String had tracked Sinj down when he didn't want to be found. "I can't hide from him anywhere," the older boy had complained. "He always hears me. He can hear a rabbit fart on the other side of the mountain!" Dom had roared with laughter at the time, and the memory still brought a chuckle. That hearing had saved String's life a number of times in Vietnam and both of their lives on Airwolf missions. If String said he heard something, it was best to pay attention.

And, for that matter, if he said something was wrong, you were best off to listen to that as well. He'd always had an uncanny sense for danger. Dom had been there the first time it had been clear that it was something beyond ordinary caution. He and the rest of the family had all been up at the cabin, and had finished a picnic lunch when Alan, String's dad, had decided he needed to bring some wood from the big woodpile in the yard up onto the porch. But every time he moved toward the woodpile, String, still barely old enough to say a few words, had kept calling him back to play, or to look at something. Finally Alan had said, "Sorry, String, but I have to get the wood; I'll play with you when I'm done," and walked toward the woodpile. As soon as he got within reach of it, String had let out a shriek of terror, causing Alan to whirl on the spot – and the quick movement was the only thing that had kept the copperhead sunning itself among the logs from sinking it's fangs into Alan's arm when it struck. Alan had quickly put a boot on the back of the snake's neck, and Dom had grabbed the hatchet and chopped the snake's head off. The timing of the scream had been perfect. Any earlier, and the snake wouldn't have struck and would still have been a danger; any later and Alan would have been bitten. The adults had spent the rest of the afternoon, watching the little boy and asking each other, "But how did he KNOW?" He just did. And he still did, to this day.

OK, Dom thought, so the kid never had been normal. He'd always been special in a lot of ways. But looking at the old pictures had helped him remember that String had once been happy most of the time. Maybe if they could find St. John, it would help bring that back. String had been insisting for 15 years that he knew St. John was still alive, that he would know if Sinj was dead. Dom had hoped he was right, but had privately thought it was unlikely at best, impossible at worst. But String had been right; St. John had been alive at least until 2 months ago. Archangel had been able to give them a picture of him, even.

Please God, Dom thought, bring St. John back so the old String has a chance, too. Is it too much to ask to have a happy boy back after all these years?