*Disclaimer: I own none of these fine characters. They all belong to Marvel, Image, Sunbow, Hasbro, Devil's Due, and if there are any others, I STILL don't own any of these guys! This is just a work of fun. I have no intention of making money off of this story. I'm just a penniless fan.

*NOTICE: As of August 15, 2003 I have rewritten Chapter 14 "MIGRATION." It's mostly unchanged, but there is a new section in the middle. I hope you like it.

*Phrases in Borovian (Slovak)...well, you'll get the general idea.

******WARNING TO THE FAINT OF HEART********* If you are squeamish in anyway, DO NOT PROCEED. Trust me on this one, folks.

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Zanya kicked open the door to the kitchen and hurled the sterling silver serving tray across the room. The Kitchen-Vipers ducked. "HEY!"

"WATCH IT, kid!"

"If that walking-dead Joe geezer asks me to pass the salt and pepper ONE MORE freakin' time---"

"Then you'll pass him the friggin' salt and pepper," the head chef snarled. "But you damned well better remember to put them back in front of Cobra Commander! Those shakers are symbolic of---"

"I don't CARE," she shrieked into his face. "The COMMANDER doesn't care! NO ONE freakin' cares which fork goes where, why its gotta be THIS spoon serving fish and not THAT one, or what damned plate the bread goes on! Why don't that braindead Scanner bimbo take care of all this? I ain't no waitress---"

"You are tonight," he retorted. "Your aunt volunteered you, remember? And if you pull any of this Dreadnok princess-snit-fit shit while there's food on your trays, I'm going to serve you up to your old man as a pot pie!"

"Jerk off, fat boy," she growled, stomping away. "I knew we should have killed that desk jockey," she muttered. "Instead we haul his wrinkly butt half-way around the world for a damned hoity-toity tea party!" Her face twisted mockingly. "'Learn something tonight, ducky,'" she said, mimicking her aunt at her sickeningly sweet worst. "'This is what th'grown-ups do.' Big freakin' whoop." She stretched out a hand and scooped up a handful of cookies cooling on the table. "Talking people to death instead of just shooting them," she grumped, biting into a cookie.

She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at the cookie with a peculiar expression. "What the hell?"

"Zastavit boj!" The woman baking the cookies bustled up to Zanya, glancing fearfully at the bustling Kitchen-Vipers. "Diet a, nesmies vziat si---"

"Whatever, granny," Zanya said blithely, scooping the rest of the cookies into a bowl.

"Zastavit boj," the woman snapped more forcefully, pulling the bowl from Zanya's hands.

Zanya planted a hand over the old woman's face and shoved. The old woman fell with a graceless cry of pain and the bowl went flying. The pottery shattered on the floor, scattering crumbled cookies.

"What's going on," the chef demanded, pounding up. He took in the scene with a look of horror and gasped, "The cookies for the sherbet...WHAT DID YOU DO, YOU STUPID COW?!"

"Calling dibs on them," Zanya said matter-of-factly, leaning a hip against the table. She casually stuffed the last cookie she had into her mouth as the chef's face purpled. "They tasted rough anyways," she mumbled around the sweet.

The chef sputtered angrily. "You---YOU---!"

Zanya gulped the cookie down and scowled. "What the hell did you expect? I didn't get any dinner, I've been hauling around all this grub, and hey! I'm still a growing girl!" She bent over and snagged a chunk of cookie from the floor and dusted it off. "In other words, dip wad, I'm starving!" She popped the cookie into her mouth and chewed defiantly.

"Spoiled little---!" The chef grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away. "I'm going to do what your old man should have done in the first place!"

"Awww, don't be that way," she said, batting her eyelashes and spraying cookie crumbs with every garbled word. "But I gotta tell ya..." She dug in her heels, hauled back....

He turned. "Listen, brat---"

...and slugged him right in the nuts.

The man dropped like a ton of bricks.

"Don't touch me," she told the twitching man coolly, rubbing her knuckles. "And by the way?" She kicked him hard in the ribs. "Don't call me a cow." She snapped her fingers at one of the Kitchen-Vipers. "You. Dump his ass somewhere. He's blocking up traffic. And you!" She swung a finger at another gapping Kitchen-Viper. "Get me a plate of this fancy stuff. I'm starving. HEY! Don't let that over-boil! Yo, KEEP your eyes on that damned stove!" She glared at the still-gapping Kitchen-Vipers. "Well? Don't just stand there! MOVE!!!!"

The Kitchen-Vipers all jumped and scrambled to obey.

Zanya snatched up another broken cookie and scuffed her foot in the pile of broken pottery and cookie crumbs. "You, old lady. Clean this up and make up another batch." She dusted the cookie on her shirt. "And grind down the weird rough stuff in it. I don't want it making my Dad cough."

The old woman blinked tearfully.

Zanya rolled her eyes. "N-o-t---R-o-u-g-h? You understand?" She thrust the cookie under her nose. "More. You understand more?"

Hesitantly, the old woman nodded.

"Geeze," Zanya said, throwing up her hands. "I swear, if these cookies weren't so good I'd cap you." She spun away, crunching on the broken cookie as she walked off. "YO! Where's my grub?"

Under a disheveled curl of lank silver, a pair of emerald green eyes narrowed at the girl's retreating back. Lady Jaye made a mental note to keep closer tabs on Zartan's little princess. If the child ever learned any subtly, she would become down right scary.

But that was to be the future.

This was now.

And the child just gave her an opening to get to Hawk.

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The long banquet table was ladened with the steamed carcasses of peacocks placed in front of each guest. The feathered pelts draped over the cooked poultry kept the meat warm and moist, and the positioning of the intact heads, artfully curved necks, and magnificently fanned tailfeathers gave the curious impression of the birds gladly sacrificing themselves for the culinary pleasures of their devourers.

Zartan and Zaranna had scowled when Zanya did not return from the kitchen, but many others felt nothing but relief. The girl had handled the food with ill grace. Lilian, on the other hand, had attended to everyone's needs with extreme servitude and the ingrained manners of one raised in Old English Gentry. Dirty napkins were whisked away to be replaced by clean ones, the salt and pepper moved from their traditional place denoting the head of the table to a guest and back again. Under Stormshadow's watchful eye, Lilian scuttled from guest to guest with a razor sharp knife and serving fork in hand, gingerly peeling back the loose iridescent pelts just enough to carve delicate slices of soft white meat and place them onto the translucent china plates. She even cut Hawk's meat into bite sized pieces so he could eat one-handed. The crystal champagne flutes were kept filled, the candlelight soft and warm, and there was even the soft strains of a string quartet filling the Hall originating from a multiple CD player cleverly disguised as an elegant gramophone.

It was all very civilized.

Almost.

Flying chunks of food spewed from under the Commander's hood, laughter surprising the head snake right in mid-chew. "You THREW the fool from the helicopter onto Lady Jaye," he choked out. He paused to take a gulp of champagne. "Magnificent! And did they survive the fall? Or can we toast the demise of another Joe?"

Zaranna sighed dramatically. "Such a shame. Last I 'eard, 'er Ladyship managed to drag 'er soggy self outta th'river." Then she brightened. "'Course, I also 'eard that th'NEW GI Joe Commander wanted t'talk t'er real bad. Preferably in th'stockade."

"But, darling," the Baroness cooed sweetly, "would that not give Lady Jaye a chance to exonerate not only herself, but our dear Mr.Abernathy?"

Zaranna settled back in her chair and speared a slice of the moist poultry with her fork. "I suppose," she smirked. Not bothering with a knife, she tore a chunk off with her teeth. "Won't it be such a shame," she mumbled happily, "when her broken heart makes 'er take 'er own life?"

Hearty laughter rolled around the table, anticipating another stunning blow to an enemy that had dogged them for so long. Even the Baroness clapped, if somewhat mockingly.

But Destro's lip curled slightly. "How pat this is! And will you be the one assisting Lady Jaye in this extreme display of melodrama?"

Zaranna waved her fork at him. "Didn't get paid t'. Gotta admit, I woulda loved t'do that snotty bitch for free..." She shrugged. "But with SHIELD a mite upset with me, I thought I'd better take a vacation after this li'l party. Besides." She winked at her brother. "Can't be greedy and hog all th'fun, now can I?"

"The Greenshirt."

The merry sounds ebbed away in surprise, leaving only the music of the viola solo to be heard.

All heads turned towards the foot of the table.

Hawk had placed his fork tines down onto his plate, his back ramrod straight. He regarded them all with dark, expressionless eyes. "The Greenshirt," he repeated. "The one that was with Lady Jaye when she fell into the river. What happened to him."

The High Command just stared back at him in puzzled silence.

"So," the Commander said finally, tossing a cracked bone sucked clean of marrow onto the table. "He speaks words other than 'pass the salt and pepper.' At last. I was beginning to think you had fallen victim to a stroke." He propped his elbows on the table. "You've consumed more salt than food, Mr.Abernathy. That can't be good for your blood pressure."

"I'm touched by your concern for my health," Hawk said toothily.

"And I am touched by your concern for a mere Greenshirt," the Commander said silkily.

"I'm his Commanding Officer---"

"You WERE his Commanding Officer."

Hawk clenched his teeth. "He's one of my own!"

"Yessss," the Commander hissed in odd satisfaction. "Yours. I am pleased that you value the concept of possession. No matter what others claim, you know exactly what---or WHO---is rightfully yours." He leaned forward. "And you place a marvelously high value on them. Oh, yes! Most excellent."

Hawk glared back at him, wary, waiting.

Cobra Commander wiped a sleeve under the lower part of his hood, belching loudly. "You wish to know the fate of your precious Greenshirt," he asked, throwing the shimmering pelt from his peacock and tearing the remaining drumstick off. "Very well. I will let Zaranna tell you. IF!" He waggled the haunch at Hawk. "IF you answer one question."

Hawk's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You have been in contact with my prodigal son, William. Tut, tut, don't deny it! I know it to be true. What I don't know...what I would like to know, Mr.Abernathy is how my son fares?"

The West Pointer said nothing, schooling his face into a mask.

"Come, come, Mr.Abernathy, it's such a simple question," the Commander said, tapping the drumstick in one palm. "As a father, I have the right to know."

"'The right,'" Hawk echoed tonelessly. His eyes slid to the side of the Commander. "What do you think, Thomas? After all the abuses he's put the boy through, does this man have 'the right' to know about his son?"

"Thomas?" The Commander looked around the table. "Mr.Abernathy, who are you talking to?"

Hawk pressed on, ignoring the Cobra Leader. "Why don't you have a seat while you think about it, Thomas? Have some dinner? There's more than plenty to go around---"

"Mr.Abernathy, are you talking to Stormshadow," the Commander asked incredulously. "You must know that he will not answer you."

Hawk slammed his fist on the table, causing the china and stemware to jump. "And why is that, Commander," he seethed. "Tell me, why is Thomas Arashikage at your beck and call? Is he a mercenary? No. Is it because you hold the key to avenging his uncles and clan? Not anymore. Or is it because he truly believes in the Cobra cause?"

"Why, yesss," the Commander hissed contentedly.

"NO, AND YOU KNOW IT," Hawk thundered, throwing his napkin onto the table and awkwardly rising to his shackled feet. He jabbed a finger at the white clad ninja. "HE'S here, oh so devoted to you, for the same reason as Lilian!"

"They're here because they are mine," the Commander growled, the mad eyes starting to flame. "Stormshadow has always been mine."

Hawk grinned fiercely. "Oh, how quickly we've forgotten," he said. "There was a time when Thomas was one of mine, a Joe. And of his own free will." His face darkened. "Then you took him from us the only way you could. YOU'VE BROKEN HIS MIND!"

The Commander shot to his feet. "I took back what was mine," he hissed. "As I will take back my son!"

"And turn him into a mindless slave?"

"A properly devoted child!"

"Over my dead body!"

The bright ring of a drawn sword cut right through the angry voices.

"That," the Commander stated, "can be arranged. Stormshadow---"

"Yes, StormSHADOW," Hawk said bitterly. "I can see it from here, Thomas. You're just a shadow of what you were, even more so than a few months ago. He's broken you even more, hasn't he? Dammit---"

"He had to be punished," the Commander said, suddenly strangely calm. "He would have succeeded in assassinating you if he had just avoided Snake- Eyes. But no. He and his precious honor insisted on confronting him, and your Joes very nearly succeeded in retaking him this time. The closest you've ever come so far." He huffed as he sat back down. "I was badly cheated that day. You lived. Though Stormshadow returned and is now much more pliant...you are correct, Mr.Abernathy. He is indeed a mere shadow of his former self." The mad eyes flicked to the ninja, still and deadly as the beat before an avalanche. He flicked a hand and the ninja immediately resheathed his sword. "Make no mistake, he still has his uses. But he now lacks a certain...something. Initiative." His eyes swept the table. "They all do. Except for Zaranna, it seems," he amended airily. "But we shall see how long that lasts." Ignoring the affronted expressions rippling through his High Command, Cobra Commander regarded Hawk for a long, silent moment. "Let us try our little game again, Mr.Abernathy. Answer for question, tit for tat." He leaned forward, tapping the drumstick against his chin. "How is Billy?"

Hawk's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he sat, slid his napkin back onto his lap, retrieved his fork, and speared a bite-sized cut of the moist poultry. "Pass the salt and pepper," he said brusquely.

Cobra Commander rolled his eyes. "Of course," he sighed, motioning for Lilian to once again take the shakers. "I suppose I should not have expected you to reveal even that much so soon." He sighed as he leaned his chin thoughtfully against the drumstick. "Such as small and insignificant question to have produced such a staunch and angry tirade! But then again, the rewards for answering was disproportionately minute. In truth, I cannot blame you for not answering."

Hawk gritted his teeth and violently shook the peppershaker until his whole plate was covered in a fine layer of black.

"You season your main course with such a heavy hand, Mr.Abernathy! Is it not to your liking? Perhaps you would, in truth, prefer something else?" The mad eyes looked at Hawk slyly. "Something in the way of red meat, perhaps? Steak tartar?"

Hawk slammed the shaker down and quickly scooped up his napkin, holding it to his watering mouth. His skin flamed as he glared at the Commander with eyes that burned with...embarrassment? Resentment? Anger?

No. Nothing so easy to name.

Nothing...civilized.

Destro lifted his crystal flute close to his lips. "Commander," he whispered discreetly, "whatever it is you hope to accomplish with him, I strongly suggest you cease this baiting. A man can only endure so much before---"

"Nonsense, Destro," the Commander boomed loudly. "I have been neglectful as a host not to realize my guest's nutritional needs. You have lost much blood, Mr.Abernathy, have you not? You must be desperately craving iron. How thoughtless of me to have provided you with poultry instead of beef---"

"Bull," Hawk snapped. "You knew damned well what you were doing. Don't think I haven't noticed. White meat but no red. No water but lots of wine."

"An excellent vintage which you have not partaken of," the Commander commented. "I am surprised. After all that salt you have consumed you must be terribly thirsty."

"Not thirsty enough to addle my brains," Hawk retorted. "This whole meal was designed to soften me up."

"I did not see you turning your nose up at it," the Commander hissed softly, gesturing to the skeletal remains of Hawk's main course.

"You captured me. You're responsible for feeding me," Hawk stated bluntly. "A good solider eats when he can. Sleeps when he can." His eyes narrowed. "And fights however and whenever he can."

"Practical, very practical," the Commander nodded. "I approve." He tossed his peacock leg onto his plate and leaned back into his chair. "Very well. As you are a practical man, I shall no longer dance around the subject but come straight to the point."

"HA," Hawk barked. He started to bring the fork to his mouth, but quickly set it down again as Lilian stooped over to collect the shakers. "I'm not done with them yet."

"Leave them for him, Lilian," the Commander said impatiently. "I want no interruptions now."

Lilian hesitated. For the first time since Hawk had arrived, lightning flickers of conflicting emotions played over her face.

The Crimson Twins stirred now, interest plain on their mirrored features.

"Commander," Destro whispered. "That would not be---"

"I said," the Cobra Leader growled through clenched teeth, "that I want no interruptions now. From any of you!"

Zartan's eyes flicked uneasily towards Hawk. "But---"

"I said SILENCE," the Commander thundered.

Zartan looked at his sister and they shrugged.

The twins watched on with condescending amusement.

Bludd and Mindbender, after an unsettled moment, continued to eat.

The chained man adjusted the shakers in front of him, then motioned Lilian away with a gesture and a nod. At this firm signal her faced smoothed. She bobbed a curtsey and scuttled away, tending to the guests' other needs. Hawk returned to his meal.

But curving ever so slightly, a tight smile graced the Joe's lips.

Destro and the Baroness lifted their crystal flutes and exchanged their own covert looks with each other over the rims.

This was going to be amusing.

"Much better," the Commander huffed, unaware of the currents that had flowed beneath his eyes. "Do you see what I have to put up with, Mr.Abernathy? As I said before, I am surrounded by people who lack initiative. What little they do have they accordingly put to minor use." He drummed his fingers against the table. "I find myself in a quandary over what to do about that. The Brainwave Scanner is occasionally helpful, but it tends to dull one's wits." He placed one hand over his chest and bowed his head, shaking it sadly. "So what IS a man in my situation to do, you ask?"

"Surrender," Hawk said promptly.

A hard glint shone in the Commander's eyes before a forced chuckle rolled from the hood. "Humor, Mr.Abernathy?"

Hawk smiled widely. "It's what keeps me going right now."

The Crimson Twins coughed into their napkins.

"Droll, Mr.Abernathy, very droll. I must remember to fit you for a jester's motley, should things become unfortunate between us."

"'BECOME unfortunate?'" Hawk gave a sharp bark of laughter. "Things have always been 'unfortunate' between us!"

"Alas, this is true. But!" The Commander leaned forward, his voice earnest. "It doesn't have to stay that way."

Hawk snorted. "Here it comes." He speared another bite. "Will this be the traditional bribe of ten silver pieces?"

"Oh, do not think of this as a bribe, Mr.Abernathy," the Commander tsked. "Think of this as a glorious new employment opportunity! And as for ten pieces of silver..." He settled back, steepling his fingers. "...finding a man's price IS the most effective means of securing loyal competence."

"Not everyone can be bought."

The Commander waved his hand in dismissal. "Noble sentiments, Mr.Abernathy, but untrue. Everyone has a price, something they desire so much that they're willing to sacrifice anything to obtain. Sometimes, yes, it is money. Sometimes it is vengeance." His eyes slid to Destro. "Even honor, apparently, has a price tag. But honor is so abstract, ephemeral. I prefer dealing with the tangibles."

Now Hawk's eyes slid to where Destro sat. "Such allowing a girl to be raped for an overly ambitious son's life," he asked. He snorted again. "There is no honor in that price tag."

The crystal flute in Destro's hand shattered as the masked face swiveled sharply towards Hawk, thunder growing in both men's faces.

The Baroness clamped a hand over Destro's arm and squeezed it warningly.

The Commander cocked his head. "You do realize, Mr.Abernathy, that you're championing a young lady who led an army right up to the White House lawn?"

"Then kill her," Hawk said shortly. "Or lock her up." He looked to where Lilian was busily cleaning Destro's mess then glared back at the Scottish laird. "There's no honor in allowing her to be like this."

"There! You see," the Commander said, loudly thumping the table with the flat of his hand. "One man's honor is another man's disdain. Therefore 'honor' is not something I trust as hard currency. But possessions...ahhhh." He jabbed a finger at Hawk. "That is tangible. THAT is hard currency. Silver, technology, information...the sparing of a son's life." He curled his hand into a fist. "When you have the ability to grant such things, then you have POWER." He struck the table. "Possession is POWER, Mr.Abernathy. *I* am power!"

"Mmm hmph. Well, that's nice," Hawk said, lifting his fork to his mouth, his earlier outrage now gone. "I'm happy for you."

Eyes around the table widened in horror at his patronizing tone.

Amazingly, the Commander laughed. "You don't think I can sway you from your misguided loyalty to your country, do you?"

Hawk swallowed his bite, smiled pleasantly and said, "Nope."

"Admiral George Lattimer didn't believe I could sway him either," the Commander said silkily.

The smile soured into a hard bitter line. "Yes, you swayed him. Everything Admiral Lattimer had believed in, everything he had fought for was thrown away for the sake of the USS Montana, to spare her from the scrap heap. She was his home, his honor. But where is she now?" He angrily speared another cut of meat. "Rusting at the bottom of the Atlantic!"

"But you are not like Admiral Lattimer, are you," the Commander mused as Hawk chewed on his food. "No. You place little personal value in vehicles, in a home, in THINGS. Not to the extent your old friend did. Oh, no." Cobra Commander leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "But you do place a marvelously high value on the PEOPLE in your life."

Shock and fear hit Hawk with the force of a punch. The soft food he had been swallowing went down like lead.

"Yesss," the Commander hissed. "I see I have regained your attention."

Hawk set his fork down on his plate tines up pointing to the twelve o'clock position, a silent signal for Lilian to start clearing the table. He wiped his lips with the corner of his napkin then rested his one free wrist on the edge of the table.

He waited.

The Commander complied. "The Joes will rally to your side no matter what flag you wave---"

A harsh bark of laughter sounded from Hawk's relieved throat. "If Hell freezes over and I should EVER wave YOUR flag, the Joes wouldn't rally to my side. They'd tear me to shreds!"

Cobra Commander nodded, as if expecting that answer, and moved on without missing a beat. "I'm sure the loss of Duke must have been somewhat of a personal blow to you. You are aware, are you not, of our advances in cloning---"

Hawk snorted, becoming more relaxed. "You could never clone Duke!" He tapped the spot over his heart. "Not really."

Cobra Commander rested his chin in his hands. "Can't we," he asked innocently.

Uncertainty tugged at Hawk. He glanced at Mindbender, who looked far too smug. "Oooookay," Hawk said cautiously. "Let's say, for the sake of argument, that you can. So what? Duke certainly wouldn't thank me for bringing him back on your dime. He'd rip me to pieces too." Hawk cocked his head, a smirk hovering over his lips. "Will all of these so-called bribes involve me being torn to pieces by the bribe?"

"That depends," the Commander said complacently.

Hawk rolled his eyes. "Alright, I'll bite. Depends on what?"

Despite the hood, Hawk got the distinct impression that the Commander was smirking as well. "That depends on how strong your wife was, Mr.Abernathy."

Hawk inhaled sharply, his chest suddenly feeling too tight. "...what...?"

"She can live again," Cobra Commander said softly. "If you let her."

What little blood Hawk had left thundered in his ears, deafening him.

...Hueah, his Hueah...

"---hear me, Mr.Abernathy," he distantly heard Cobra Commander shout. "I said, did you hear me?"

Hawk didn't answer, couldn't answer. He was locked in his mind's eye, seeing her for the first time again, feeling the shock of that captivating blush bloom across her golden skin as she looked at him. A rush of sensations hit him as he relived her again.

Their first touch.

First kiss.

First fight.

Their first night.

...

His last sight.

A bubble welled up in his chest, a nameless feeling that sapped him of strength.

"Can't," he heard himself whisper helplessly.

"But we can, Mr.Abernathy. Zaranna knows where your wife is buried," the Commander told him. "We will simply retrieve her remains and restore her."

Hawk didn't realize he had closed his eyes until they flew open. "'Zaranna knows where...?'"

The Commander nodded. "Apparently SHIELD had kept very extensive records on her. She lies in Vietnam still, does she not?"

The bubble of emotion swelled and burst, shaking him hard. He buried his face in his napkin, trying to swallow the sounds hitching from his throat.

Cobra Commander placed the flat of his hands on the table and leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "She can be yours again. Breathing. Loving. Alive. All you need to do is fight for me. Reclaim her, Mr.Abernathy. Reclaim her and fight for your new Commander!"

Nothing happened for a long moment. The only movements came from the bustling Lilian clearing the table, the only sounds the odd choking noises coming from Hawk mingling with the mournful strings of the cello and violin.

All else was silent and still.

At length the Commander finally drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Mr.Abernathy? Your answer?"

The napkin slipped from Hawk's fingers. No longer absorbed by the cloth, tears streamed freely down his cheeks and the sounds he made were now clear over the stringed music.

Hawk...was laughing.

Not the deep rolling chuckles they had heard earlier or the snorts of scorn. They were small sounds at first, discordant breaks in the classical sweep of music. He tried to regain his composure, slowly rose to his shackled feet to speak, but the laughter overtook him again even stronger than before. He doubled over, locked in the sharpened grip of full blown hysteria, clinging to the edge of the table as if clinging to the last shreds of his sanity.

Utterly composed, Destro sipped his champagne as the High Command drew back, their low murmur of voices speaking quickly in alarm. "It would seem, Commander, that you have already broken your new toy."

"Yes," the Commander hissed darkly. "So it would appear."

Hawk waved his hand vigorously. "No," he managed to gasp. "No, no." He took a deep shuddering breath, straightened, and squared his still quivering shoulders. His teeth flashed in a broad, genuine smile. "I'm fine. More than fine. In fact..." His fingers delicately cradled the bowl of his crystal flute and raised it straight-armed, shoulder high. "...I would like to propose a toast."

Cobra Commander blinked. "Well...that is...that is excellent. Yes!" He thumped the table. "Most excellent!" He snatched up his flute and jumped to his feet. The High Command belated followed suit. "And what shall we toast to...General?"

Hawk gave a small nod. "To you, Commander. And to Cobra."

"To Cobra," the Commander echoed.

"COBRA!"

"To Cobra." Hawk raised his crystal higher. "May you always receive false information, fail in every endeavor you do, and burn in the sulfur brines of the Devil's own piss!"

Jaws dropped.

"In other words, Cobra Commander---" Hawk hurled the goblet, smashing it against the wall. "---ROT IN HELL!"

A feral hiss blasted from the Commander like a tornado roar. He threw his own crystal straight at Hawk. "You FOOL," he spat.

Hawk ducked. Laughter bubbled up and he threw his head back, giving into the wild glee that sang in his blood. "YOU are the fool, Commander! All of you are!"

Zaranna jumped to her feet. "What're you talking about," she hissed.

Hawk turned his flashing eyes to her. "I'm talking about your overrated espionage skills! 'Zaranna knows where your wife is buried,'" Hawk mocked. "I'LL tell you where she's buried. In the high winds over America! THAT'S where she's buried!" The tears streamed down his face again as a harsh, cutting laugh tore from his throat. "Clone her? THERE'S NOTHING LEFT OF HER TO CLONE!"

"You're lying," Zaranna snapped. "All th'SHIELD reports say she was buried in Vietnam!"

"WAS buried," Hawk shot back, not bothering to wipe away the flow of tears. "When my friends told me that my wife had been killed I dug her up, grabbed a blow torch and cremated her myself! When I got home I committed her ashes to the sky!" Hawk's grin widened maniacally. "Vietnam may have given birth to her, but she was MY WIFE! I wasn't going to let it keep any part of her! In fact I scorched the earth until I ran out of napalm, just to make sure there'd be nothing left of her in its soil! I almost got a psychological discharge because of that little stunt. Obviously I didn't get the boot, but it still caused a lot of talk and piled up a lot of paper. But I'll bet you didn't see a scrap of any of it, did you, Zaranna? DID YOU?"

Cobra Commander swung burning mad eyes on the cringing pink-haired Dreadnok. "Zaranna," he growled.

She shook her head, slowly. "No. NO! Th'SHIELD reports---"

Zartan stood abruptly and hauled her up by the shirtfront. "You've been HAD, dear sister! Set up!" He shook her hard. "SHIELD WAS ONTO YOU FROM THE START!"

Destro turned to Cobra Commander. "This makes everything Zaranna collected from them now suspect. Commander, we must determine how badly this effects us."

Cobra Commander speared the Dreadnok leaders with one last glare before sitting. "Yesssss. Exactly what I was about to say. Lilian, we have work to do! Forget the next course---"

"Yes, Lilian, forget the next course." Hawk smiled as he sat down. "Just serve the dessert now, if you would. I suddenly feel like having a treat."

"Impudence," Cobra Commander hissed. "Lilian, there will be no dessert! Just leave!"

Lilian hesitated, her face contorting again in confusion.

"Oh," Hawk added. "And turn the music off on your way out please."

"Leave the music on," the Commander shouted. "And I SAID no dessert!"

Hawk held up the salt shaker. "Lilian? Dessert?"

Lilian's eyes focused on the shaker. Her face cleared and she bobbed a curtsey to Hawk. "Yes, Mr.Abernathy."

"Its General Tomahawk, Lilian."

"YOUR NAME IS MR.ABERNATHY, AND FOR THE LAST TIME, THERE WILL BE NO DESSERT," the Commander screeched. "AND LEAVE THE MUSIC ON! IT'S SOOTHING!"

Lilian curtsied again. "Yes, General Tomahawk. I'm sorry, General Tomahawk. Dessert will be out shortly, General Tomahawk." She bobbed again, turned off the CD, and disappeared through the kitchen door.

The silence was deafening.

Hawk set the salt shaker down by the pepper shaker in front of him, the small but powerful twin symbols of ancient European tradition denoting the master of the table. "Well what do you know," he mused out loud. "That actually worked."

"You," the Commander growled, his eyes blazing at Hawk.

"Mmm, yes. Me. I told you, Commander. A solider fights however he can and whenever he can." Hawk shrugged his good shoulder. "Hijacking dessert is petty, I know, but if it pisses you off, I'll take what I can get."

Cobra Commander's fists came down on the table. "And just HOW," he asked through clenched teeth, "did you 'hijack' dessert?"

Hawk settled back into his chair. "Oh, I'm just a---now let's see, what is it that the Jugglers call me behind my back? Ah, yes---a jumped up mountain cowboy. Simpler in mind and manners than a used car salesman. I'll just confuse you." He smiled slyly. "But I'm sure your High Command could detail my tactics to you better than I can. After all, they watched my maneuverings from the very start."

The High Command could practically hear the snap as the Tomahawk's trap closed about them.

Hawk was right. It was only a small amount of control he had swiped from the Commander. A truly petty thing. Not even worthy of notice.

But Hawk had humiliated the Commander at his own table.

And now they would all pay for that.

Severely.

"How dare you," the Commander hissed. "How DARE you all disrespect me so! I AM YOUR LEADER!! AND YOU!!" Cobra Commander kicked his way down the High Command. "YOU!!" In a burst of manic strength he overturned the table and strode right up to Hawk. "I OFFERED YOU A PLACE BY MY SIDE," he screamed, clamping a hand hard on Hawk's wounded shoulder and choked him with the other. "NOW I WILL GRIND YOU BENEATH MY HEEL AND MAKE YOU SUFFER!!!"

Hawk twisted under the Commander's crazed grip, his one free hand struggling to break the hold crushing the wind from him. But the blood loss, the agonizing pain of the hand digging into his wound, and now the desperate need for oxygen sapped the last of his strength. His vision swam with shadows haloed in red, and the blood once again roared in his ears, deafening him to the graphic profanities that the Commander threatened him with.

If Hawk survived his wrath.

With the Cobra literally at his throat, Hawk wasn't sure if he would this time.

He could almost see Hueah in the growing darkness, could almost smell her cookies as she waited for him.

But it wasn't her voice that cried his name, skirling through the roar of blood like battle pipes through a Highland fog.

It was Lady Jaye's.

Suddenly the pressure at his throat eased. Hawk inhaled great gulps of air, the roaring in his ears giving way to the sound of breaking crystal and cries of pain. He ignored it, concentrated on breathing again, filling his lungs with sweet oxygen.

But the scent of Hueah's cookies still lingered strong in the air.

He shook his head sharply. Why did he still smell---?

"Well, well, well," Cobra Commander said sardonically, moving his hand to cup Hawk's chin. "If it isn't the Tomahawk's valiant 'knight' to the rescue."

Hawk's eyes snapped open.

Like flashcard pictures Hawk saw a bent old woman surrounded by shattered crystal bowls, lemon sherbet, cookies, and the fallen bodies of several Crimson Guards. The High Command at some point earlier had moved closer to Hawk, and they reacted slowly, still in the midst of turning to see what the commotion was on the far side of the room.

Except one blur of white moving fast.

The old woman---she had to be Lady Jaye---raised a heavily dented silver tray like a shield and rammed into another Guardsman, using him as a flesh and blood shield to block the new threat approaching her.

Stormshadow.

Jaye didn't stand a chance against him.

Her green eyes flashed grimly as her hand wrapped around the Guardsman's sidearm.

She was going to try anyways.

The brainwashed ninja drew his sword, preparing to pounce the Jay Bird that broke her cover too early.

All to save Hawk from the Cobra's mad choke hold.

"Pathetic," the Commander scoffed. "Did your whore die as uselessly?"

Rage exploded through Hawk's veins, filling him with a fiery strength that lifted him to his feet.

That was the last straw.

"THOMAS," Hawk roared.

Stormshadow didn't turn.

But the Commander did.

Hawk lunged.

His teeth crunched through flesh, through cartilage. Blood hit his mouth, scalding and sweet, like the filling of a freshly baked pastry. Dimly he registered movements coming towards him, heard shouting, heard a high keening wail that should have pierced every brain with it's agony.

"GETOFFGETOFFGETOFF," the Commander shrieked, blindly striking out.

He felt hands grip him by the shoulders, trying to pull him away from the man he clung to tooth and talon.

Before Hawk even realized what he was doing he shoved the Commander back hard and threw his head sharply to one side, ripping the Commander's silk covered nose clean off his face in an explosion of red mist.

Everyone, even Jaye and Stormshadow froze in horror as the Hawk tossed back his head, opened up his throat...and the Cobra's nose disappeared down his gullet in a slither of blue silk.

The Hawk licked his blood-smeared lips.

The Cobra shrieked.

And all hell broke loose.