"This has got to be the stupidest plan you've ever come up with, Michael."

Briggs was blithely ignoring him, busy adjusting the drape of his off-white golf jacket so that the bulletproof vest was completely hidden from view. The jacket was slightly big on Briggs and Hawke could see now why Briggs had changed out of the suit he'd worn earlier; the vest would have been obvious.

Hawke eased up a little on throttle, timing the flight so that they arrived at the airfield no earlier than 2:25 PM. He pushed aside the anxiety for Dominic, rode the high of the pre-mission adrenaline rush.

He'd done a systematic weapons check before they left Marella. He was armed with his own .45, returned to him by Briggs before they'd left the house. Briggs had his own automatic, tucked under the vest in the small of his back. Each carried an extra clip of ammo.

Marella had brought additional weaponry, which Hawke accepted, knowing that if they couldn't handle the situation with Airwolf and their handguns, the additional guns probably wouldn't help. But it wasn't the sort of thing to say before a mission, even one in which the very foundation of their plans kept shifting.

The thing about Briggs's plan was that it was simple enough to work perfectly and the chances of Jenks or anyone anticipating it were probably extremely small. It would work best if Jenks followed the rules he himself had outlined, but even if Jenks deviated, as expected, it could still work. Hawke and Caitlin would still make getting Dominic out their top priority as Briggs would be beyond risk, technically.

Devil in the details, Hawke thought, then brushed that thought away.

"Norris is an excellent shot," Briggs finally responded.

"You'd better hope he's as good as you think he is," Hawke said.

Unacceptable margin of error, Marella had called it.

"Surprised he's not a she," Hawke said, after a minute.

Briggs managed to recruit what Hawke would have to agree were some of the most beautiful and intelligent women in the world, as if he had happened upon a universe of talent somehow untapped by government or business. His agents, in turn, were fiercely loyal to Briggs, who groomed them, promoted them, and built a cadre of support throughout the Firm.

"Norris may be outside my division but he is an artist with a high-caliber rifle. Makes those of us rated expert feel like kids with a pop gun."

Norris and another sniper were positioned to fully cover the airfield outside and around the Santini Air hangar. Two other Firm agents were undercover in nearby businesses and Hawke knew Marella would be nearby, though she'd neatly dodged answering any questions about her planned position.

Hawke looked at his watch: 2:23 PM.

"Here we go," he said for the second time today, this time aloud. He looked to his left, got a calm nod from Briggs, and put the Jet Ranger in an approach to the airfield.

He touched down at 2:26 PM, placing the Jet Ranger at an angle to the hangar so that it formed a triangle with the hanger and the Sikorsky S-76. He'd framed the playing field, leaving enough room for Airwolf to land in between and, hopefully, keeping any innocent bystanders out of the line of fire.

"Well done," Briggs said quietly.

Hawke shut the engine down, and tuned the radio to the channel he'd been told. He removed his harness, checked his gun again, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. At 2:30, the radio came to life.

"Santini Air calling Sierra Alpha Eight Four Niner, come in, Hawke."

The voice wasn't the same as the man who'd called him the previous night.

Hawke pressed transmit. "This is Sierra Alpha Eight Four Niner. Go ahead, Santini Air."

A pause. The door to the hangar slid open about six inches and Hawke felt eyes on him, but couldn't pick out any detail in the shadowy interior of the hangar.

"Sierra Alpha Eight Four Niner, you are good to bring your cargo in."

Hawke rolled his eyes. Someone was a little too much into aircraft identification language. He guessed it wasn't a pilot.

"Negative," he responded.

A different voice came over the radio. "Hawke, confirm you have your cargo."

Hawke looked at Briggs, who nodded. "That was Jenks," Briggs said very quietly.

"Sitting next to me," Hawke said into the radio. "But it's a nice day and I'm not stupid. Come outside if you want to do this thing and stay off the goddamn radio. Tower's gonna have a field day with this."

"The FAA will fine you for that kind of language," Briggs remarked mildly, gaze sweeping the airfield.

"Pot calling kettle black," Hawke responded.

The hangar door slid open another foot and he saw movement. "Here we go," he said again, unnecessarily.

Hawke walked around the back of helicopter, keeping it between him and the hangar, came around on its left side, opened the hatch and nodded at Briggs, who climbed out awkwardly, and leaned heavily on his cane.

Okay, you're going to play it that way, Hawke thought, drawing his gun. It would probably look realistic if Briggs fell, Hawke decided, but taking Dominic down with him would be a clear giveaway.

He strained his hearing, listening for Caitlin in Airwolf, heard a whisper of her distinctive engine whine. Nearby. Close, but not too close.

Dominic was first out of the hangar, followed closely by a large man holding Dominic in a gross parody of an embrace, with a 9 MM pressed behind Dominic's right ear. Each stepped in sync with the other.

Dominic's face was a swirl of emotions: anger, embarrassment, and frustration. He was probably itching for a fight, thought Hawke. More importantly, he looked perfectly fine, no hint of any physical or other damage.

Dominic and his shadow were followed by four other men, three of whom slipped sideways to secure the space between the hangar and the Sikorsky. Each took a kneeling position, trained rifles in the direction of Hawke and Briggs.

Hawke studied the other man, who was obviously Jenks.

Soft, concluded Hawke, at first glance. Used to using his good looks and charm to winnow information from unsuspecting marks, but now getting on in years. With a tan and Hollywood good looks, it was difficult to know for sure, but Hawke put Jenks in his mid-fifties. He wondered if it was the fading looks that drove Jenks to a different game.

A man that looked like that had to be half out of his mind to take on Archangel or he was damn good at presenting the image he wanted people to see.

Jenks nodded at Hawke, said something to the man holding Dominic and the three of them started forward.

Damn, damn, and damn it again, Hawke thought with a grimace. He caught Briggs's eye, read cold calculation there, and the two men began a slow progress towards the hangar, Briggs in front, Hawke holding a gun at the back of Briggs's head.

As they moved, Hawke watched Jenks, read the flash of surprise at Briggs's cane and half-dark glasses. Jenks covered it almost immediately, and adjusted pace so that his trio would end up covering no more distance than his opponents.

Ten feet from the Jet Ranger, Hawke started listening more actively for Airwolf. If Caitlin was going to come in, she'd do it now, but Hawke didn't think he could take out the guy with the gun pressed so closely to Dominic's head before it went off. Two men with Dominic was one more than he'd expected. Briggs was a damn good shot but it would take precious seconds for him to reach his gun.

If he had a radio, he'd have one of the snipers try to take out Dominic's shadow. No radio, play the hand you've dealt yourself, damn it.

Fifteen feet from the Jet Ranger, Hawke put his hand on Briggs's shoulder, and stopped walking.

"That's far enough," he called to Jenks, who'd immediately stopped as well. "No need to get in kissing distance. You send Dom forward, I'll send Archangel." He dug the muzzle of his gun into Briggs's right shoulder as if prompting forward movement.

"String," Dominic called out and Hawke read a myriad of phrases in that single word, most of them starting with 'don't.' He squashed his emotions and ignored Santini.

Jenks stood watching him, apparently considering the request. Hawke could hear Airwolf coming now. There wasn't much time.

Jenks looked around the airfield, frowned, and then finally nodded. Dominic's shadow pushed Santini forward, stepped back and kept his handgun aimed at Santini, who stood still for a long moment, watching Hawke and then finally stepped forward as Briggs limped towards him.

God, let this work.

Hawke kept his gun loosely aimed at Briggs, which meant it was pointing in the right direction. Jenks and his muscle stepped away from each other to make it more difficult for him if he decided to try something.

They're not going to hurt Michael, get Dom to safety.

Hawke could tell from the slight tilt of Briggs's head that the other man heard Airwolf, knew that she was coming and that he had seconds to move. The two men were still five feet apart.

Briggs took two quick steps, appeared to stumble, his left leg giving out under him as he tried to stop his fall.

Hawke watched Santini, saw his face register surprise, followed immediately by suspicion, saw the light dawn as he heard the familiar engine whine. Dominic darted forward to catch Briggs before he hit the ground. Hawke heard an outraged cry as Briggs dragged Dominic down to the ground with him.

Hawke sank into a crouch; gun aimed, and started firing at the big man aiming a gun at Dominic. He saw the man go down, but couldn't tell if he'd hit him or if the man had dropped for cover.

Airwolf came screaming around the corner of the hangar, chain guns chewing up the tarmac between Jenks' team and the two men on the ground.

Gunfire now was pouring in from the three men by the Sikorsky. Hawke dropped for cover, winced as he hit the ground, started crawling towards Dominic and Briggs.

Briggs, prone, was firing towards the Sikorsky. Dominic, without a weapon, was keeping his head low, belly-crawling, as he probably hadn't since his Army days, towards Hawke.

Caitlin banked Airwolf, came in from a different angle, chain guns chattering at the Sikorsky, kicking up a hell of a cloud of debris.

Hawke ground his teeth. "Damn it, Caitlin, get her down!"

They were too spread out: Briggs was nearest Jenks's team, Dominic midway between Briggs and Hawke. And Hawke was totally exposed, his only cover behind him with the Jet Ranger. He plastered himself into the tarmac as much as possible, left arm covering his head.

The downdraft of Airwolf's rotors was as welcome as a lover's touch. He lifted his head as Caitlin settled the aircraft onto the ground, heard the pings as gunfire ricocheted off Airwolf's shell.

Hawke pushed himself upward, started running before he even had his balance and had his left hand under Dominic's arm only seconds later. Tugging at the older man, he kept moving, running towards the safety of Airwolf, frantically scanning the ground for Briggs.

Just get Dom to safety.

He pulled open the left hatch, gut twisting with anxiety, pushed Dominic into Airwolf, scanned the airfield.

"Hawke!"

He turned to Caitlin. The helmet shielded her face; he could only hear her nervousness.

"Hawke, get in!"

Swallowing, he climbed in, knowing that if he couldn't see Briggs, it meant that Jenks already had him.

"Do you want…?" Caitlin gestured at the stick, looked at her seat.

Hawke shook his head, reaching behind him for a helmet. Dominic was settling in at the engineer's station, a very welcome sight and Hawke spared Dominic a rare, warm smile.

"It's good to see you too, kid," Santini said with a smile; the smile fading almost immediately afterwards, replaced by a face that said he was ready to get a little payback. "You wanna tell me the plan?"

Hawke shrugged as Caitlin lifted Airwolf from the ground. "Fly around, shoot the bad guys," he said with a smirk to reassure Dominic.

From the copilot's seat, he could see what Airwolf herself had blocked before: Jenks, with two other men, dragging Briggs towards the Sikorsky. Briggs was struggling, had somehow retained possession of his cane and used it to strike one of the men in the face. The man went down, blood gushing through the fingers of the hand he used to cover his face.

Jenks turned, pressed the barrel of what looked like a .45 against Briggs's right temple, and Briggs stilled, raised his hands, dropped his cane. Jenks stepped to Briggs's side, kept the gun muzzle firmly against Briggs's head, gestured to the other man. Briggs raised his chin.

"Oh God, Michael," Caitlin said quietly and Hawke knew she was tempted to close her eyes, but wouldn't because she was in command, she had Airwolf hovering just above the roof of the hangar.

Hawke knew what was coming, prepared himself for it.

Over the roar of Airwolf's engines, he couldn't hear the shots but he saw Briggs's body jerk as the bullets slammed into his chest, saw Briggs's knees give way, body hit the ground awkwardly.

He knew it was coming, knew it was planned, and his insides still changed to liquid, eyes not believing what his mind insisted was true.

"Mother of God," Dominic breathed.

"He's wearing a vest, Dom," Hawke said immediately. "This was planned, it was the backup if we didn't get him into Airwolf with us."

Jenks stood staring, gun in hand, at the man he was supposed to capture. Briggs lay unmoving, sprawled on his back at Jenks' feet and Hawke felt a certain panic that Jenks would know, would know to check the 'body."

"He's bleeding," Dominic said, horrified. "He can't be wearing a vest. I can see the blood!"

Hawke swallowed, shaken despite himself. The 'blood' was pretty damn convincing from a distance. Even more convincing was that the 'blood' had stopped flowing.

"It's not real," Caitlin insisted. "Just like a stunt, Dom."

Jenks took a step towards Briggs, jumped back as a shot hit the ground by his feet. He looked indecisively at Briggs for a second as if evaluating the value of bringing a body back in place of a living, breathing font of information. A scattering of shots hit the ground around Jenks; he bolted then towards the Sikorsky, followed by what remained of his team, one staggering, blood still flowing from between his fingers. They climbed into the helicopter as the Firm's snipers kept up a steady stream of fire.

Why?" Dominic asked, his voice cracking, sounding a slight plaintive note.

"Firm couldn't let them take him, Dom, you know that," Hawke explained, even as he wondered again if there was another way. "And once they'd grabbed Archangel, we figured that if the Firm snipers tried to pick them off, there'd be a good chance that Jenks, or one of his guys, would kill Archangel."

"But they wouldn't shoot him if they thought he was already dead," Caitlin appended, her voice still shaky. "I still can't believe they did it."

"Besides, the Firm wants Jenks alive," Hawke continued. "They want to know who hired him, where he was planning on selling Archangel."

Hawke watched as the Sikorsky's rotors started to move.

"Do we take them out?" Dominic asked, his voice still stricken.

"Not exactly," Hawke said, eyes still fixed on the motionless figure on the tarmac. The bulletproof vest stopped the bullets from entering the human body; they didn't stop the shock of the impact. Briggs wasn't acting; he was probably unconscious.

"Take out their tail rotor, Cait," he ordered calmly, watched as she positioned Airwolf, thumbed the firing switch. Watched with satisfaction as 30 mm chain guns shredded the tail rotor of the Sikorsky.

Main rotors kept moving for the next few minutes. Hawke could imagine the scene of desperation and panic instead the Sikorsky.

Two figures bolted from behind the Jet Ranger, took up positions between Briggs and the Sikorsky. The Firm undercover agents, Hawke decided, as each trained a standard Firm issued M16 on the Sikorsky. The M16s, as useful as they were in inflicting damage, seemed toys next to the armament that Airwolf carried. Like Michael's pop guns, Hawke thought with a wince.

The Sikorsky's main rotors finally slowed and Hawke nodded. "You can put her down," he said.

Two white vans screeched to a halt just outside the Jet Ranger and Hawke wasn't surprised to see a familiar white helicopter approach. The agents from the vans deployed rapidly and surrounded the Sikorsky.

Airwolf settled onto the tarmac and Hawke turned his attention to his oldest friend and surrogate father.

"You okay, Dom?" he asked, a little gruffly. Dominic was already emotionally strained. Too much sentiment might upset him more than help.

"Yeah," Dominic shook his head but his eyes were far away. "Yeah, I'm okay, String. I guess I'm just a little shaken up."

"They treat you okay?" Hawke persisted. Santini looked fine but he was pretty good at putting on a front, didn't want anyone to think he couldn't handle whatever life threw at him. "They feed you and stuff?"

Life came back into Santini's face. "Well, they fed me but it wasn't what I'd call food."

"We'll have to do something about that, then," Hawke said with a smile that he only had to partially force. "After we get you checked out."

"Checked out for what? I'm fine!" Dominic assured him.

"Come on, Dom," Hawke bantered. "Pretty nurses?" He thumped his seat harness and removed his helmet.

"All dressed in white," Santini said sourly. "I can tell where this is going."

Hawke shrugged. "Free medical. Can't pass that up." He nodded towards the hangar. "I'm going to check on Archangel."

"Yeah," Dominic said, waving him off, pretending indifference.

Hawke jogged towards the small group of people clustered around Briggs. He sought and immediately found Marella, kneeling next to her boss, two fingers resting on Briggs's carotid artery, eyes on her watch.

Hawke waited until she looked up.

"He going to be okay?"

Briggs looked anything but okay. Even with his jacket opened and the bulletproof vest removed, he was giving a pretty convincing impression of a man who'd been shot. His one visible eye was closed, face pale, breathing audibly shallow.

"Unconscious and shocky," Marella said grimly. To the man kneeling opposite her, she said, "Pulse 120."

The man, some type of medic Hawke decided, was pressing gently on Briggs's chest, moving his hands, pressing again. "I've got one, maybe two broken ribs, a little tender but I don't think there's any internal bleeding."

The medic shifted back, pushed Briggs glasses up over his brows, shone a penlight into Briggs's right eye. "Pupil's dilated, probably concussed."

Damn, Hawke thought. Must have hit the tarmac pretty hard. The medic clicked off the light and Hawke could barely make out a rim of blue iris surrounding the enlarged black pupil. It was still a prettier sight than the scar tissue that covered what used to be Briggs's left eye, normally hidden under a dark lens or eye patch.

Marella gently replaced Briggs's glasses, hiding the left eye from view, and then looked up at Hawke. "We're medevacing him to the clinic."

It was a clear dismissal and Hawke could hear the fear underneath the anger.

"I could get him there faster," he offered.

The medic looked up, surprised, but Marella shook her head. "We'll need to monitor him."

Hawke nodded, his own worry escalating. "I'll get out of your hair."

He walked back to Airwolf, slowly, thoughts spinning through his mind as rapidly as he pushed them away. He saw, peripherally, Firm agents escorting Harry Jenks and his compatriots towards the white vans, felt a surprising lack of interest in their fate.

He opened Airwolf's left hatch, stuck his head in, thumbed in the direction of the Jet Ranger. "Dom, if you're sure you're all right, I'll meet you both back at the Lair. We'll head to the clinic from there, get you checked out."

Caitlin's eyes were wide, worried. "Michael?" she asked finally.

"Giving Marella serious gray hair," Hawke said. "They're medevacing him to the clinic, but I think he'll be okay. Unless Marella kills him herself for pulling that stunt."

His words had their intended effect: Caitlin visibly relaxed and Dominic stopped digging his fingers into the engineer's console.

Santini and Briggs's relationship was fractious under the best of circumstances; Hawke wasn't sure what effect Dominic's kidnapping would have upon it, whether Dom would blame Briggs for it happening or resent Briggs for his role in Santini's ransom. That was missing the point in Hawke opinion: Jenks was an Information Broker, a middleman, and an accomplished manipulator. He'd expertly used Hawke to get to Briggs; Dominic was just the lever, one of Hawke's few vulnerabilities.

His thoughts kept him occupied during the entirety of the flight back to the Lair. He wondered how the Firm was going to hush up the gunfire at the airfield, wondered if the airfield would hold Dominic responsible, was relieved that Marella or one of Briggs's aides would somehow handle it, make it go away, as they always did.

Caitlin and Dominic reached the Lair long before he did. For a moment, he regretted flying the Jet Ranger, could have used the time in Airwolf to blow off some of the tension he'd been carrying for almost twenty-four hours. Flying Airwolf was technically demanding, fully engaging, leaving less time for musing. Or brooding, possibly even worrying, he admitted.

Dominic had used the time at the Lair well. When Hawke arrived, Santini had already inventoried and noted every bullet hole, every scrape, every mark on Airwolf's hull. Hawke knew Dominic would want to be back out again tomorrow, lovingly buffing out the smallest scrape on the aircraft he loved. Might not be a bad idea, he thought; the airfield would be a zoo, too many questions, too much of a hassle for the time being.

Struck again by the idea of Airwolf's flight suits as a uniform, Hawke noticed that Caitlin had changed back into civvies. And maybe they were soldiers, fighting Archangel's private wars and more than occasionally, finding their own.

He came back to awareness, heard Dominic's voice say "String," as if he'd said it more than once.

"Yeah," he said, an automatic response, all-purpose reaction.

Dominic was smiling, indulgently. Hawke would accept the parental smile from Santini, who'd raised him for the most difficult years of his life.

Which brought him back to Briggs, and the nagging concern that would hover until he knew that Briggs was all right. Despite the fact that Briggs had ultimately made his own decision to participate, Hawke had enlisted him, took full responsibility for putting the man in danger.

"Let's get you checked out," was what he said to Santini.

Grizzled brows pulled together, met in the middle of a wrinkled face; Santini knowingly nodded. "Mind if I fly us home?"

"As long as we make a stop at the clinic," Hawke replied, with a glance over the top of his sunglasses. Dominic wasn't getting away that easy, but Hawke was happy enough to give over flying duties. He knew his exhaustion was overtaking him, the early warning like dark clouds signaling a storm.

He was asleep three minutes after Dominic took off.

"This was definitely the stupidest plan you've ever come up with, Michael."

Hawke wasn't really expecting an answer this time either.

"You do know that he's asleep?" Marella said from behind Hawke.

Soundly asleep, by the looks of it, Hawke thought. With the exception of a sterile gauze pad covering his left eye – a substitute for the dark lens and unrelated to war wounds garnered that day – Briggs looked remarkably healthy for a man who had been shot twice in the chest.

Hawke took his attention off the sleeping man, turned to face Marella, hoping she'd sheathed her claws. He let his expression show the worry he'd been holding at bay since the airfield.

Her face softened. "He really is sleeping. He regained consciousness in the helicopter." Her lips twisted in recollection. "He wasn't making too much sense and was sick as a dog, but conscious nonetheless."

"Concussion," Hawke said, turning back to Briggs.

"And two broken ribs," Marella said, coming to stand next to Hawke, her eyes also on the hospital bed. "The doctors want to keep him here for a minimum of two days and this time, he is not skipping out early."

Hawke had little doubt that Marella would use restraints if she thought it necessary.

"If he was sick…."

"It's not a mild concussion," Marella agreed. "The doctors thought it might be a hairline fracture, but CT didn't show one."

Hard headed, thought Hawke, but it struck him as trite to say it aloud. Briggs was definitely one of the luckiest bastards he knew.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, keeping his eyes on Briggs.

Marella was silent for long enough that he wondered if he'd spoken too quietly.

"If you're asking if I'm still angry with you, the answer is yes," she said finally, turning to look at him. "You pulled a gun on us, threatened his life, threatened my life. You used me to force his cooperation."

Hawke opened his mouth to reply, but Marella cut him off, her voice firming.

"I know it was Archangel's decision ultimately to participate and I don't blame you for what happened," she said, with a nod towards the hospital bed.

If Marella was angry with him, Hawke could hear in her voice that she was furious with Briggs, who was only escaping a tongue lashing because of his injuries.

"He gave you a hell of a scare," Hawke said, with honest sympathy, remembering how he'd felt watching the staged shooting.

Marella wrapped her arms around herself and Hawke noticed that she went without blinking for the next minute or two, which was a pity because she probably could have used a good cry.

Maybe if Caitlin was there, she might have yielded but he knew Marella wouldn't cry in front of him, just as she wouldn't accept too much of his sympathy.

"You used us against each other," she said, anger returning and banishing any display of emotion that she didn't want Hawke to see. "You prevented me from doing my job, and by doing so, put more than Archangel's life at risk."

Hawke nodded. It was all true and if he were in her position, he'd probably be taking a swing at the person who did that.

"And I'd do it again," he said in a quiet but firm voice, holding up a hand to stop her interjection. "Jenks used Dominic to get to me because he knew I could get to Michael. I don't like being used any more than you do."

She held his gaze for a long time, longer than he'd expected, and then nodded curtly. They'd never come to any real agreement, Hawke knew; the best he could expect was détente.

"Jenks?" he asked.

"Being interrogated as we speak," she said. "He under the impression that the Firm killed Archangel."

"Think he regrets tangling with a company that kills its own people?"

"He's scared witless," Marella said, eyes flashing with the merest hint of grim satisfaction. "His associates have already told us that they were scheduled to travel to the Middle East. They didn't know any more than that."

Libya? Hawke wondered, glad that he wouldn't face a trip to the place that figured so highly in his nightmares.

"The doctors have checked out Mr. Santini. He's overweight and should modify his diet, but other than that, he's in perfect health."

Hawke looked at Marella. He shouldn't be surprised. She didn't get to be Briggs's senior aide without keeping tabs on everything and anything.

"And there's no sign of any…" she paused, searching for the right word, "manipulation, chemical or otherwise."

Hawke scowled. It hadn't even occurred to him that Dominic might have been brainwashed. Dominic had looked perfectly fine, acted perfectly fine, gave no indication of anyone tampering with his head, in short, hadn't looked like Briggs when they pulled him out of East Germany, hadn't looked like Hawke felt after people had played with his mind to get Airwolf.

"I'm sure Dominic appreciated the doctor's advice," he said and won something approximating a smile. "You tell Zeus about any of this yet?"

Her smile vanished and her expression was guarded as she nodded.

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Not too happy?"

Marella licked her lips, took time with her answer. "Zeus realizes that Archangel took extraordinary measures to protect the Firm's interests."

"Can't quite believe it either?" Hawke said, with a short laugh.

"He would have preferred a less dramatic approach."

"Probably worried that Michael set a standard that he might have to follow one day."

"Perhaps," Marella allowed, with a sigh.

Hawke heard in her sigh the same exhaustion that had claimed him earlier, surmised that Marella wanted nothing so much as to pull the chair up next to Briggs's bed and take advantage of the opportunity for a nap. She wouldn't leave the clinic; he knew that.

Hawke looked back at Briggs. "He's going to be okay, then?" he asked, as if their conversation hadn't happened.

"Not after I get through with him," she admitted. "But he'll survive."

That was as close to honest emotion as Marella would permit herself to share and she gave him a weary smile as if in mutual acknowledgement.

Hawke gave her a curt nod. "Guess I'll take Dominic home, buy him some dinner. You get should get some rest."

"Physician, heal thyself," she said. "I think I'll stay here for a little while longer."

He looked back as he went out the door, saw her draw the chair up to the bed, interlace her fingers with Briggs's. He heard Briggs sigh softly in his sleep, saw him turn his head in Marella's direction. Marella's face lit with a smile and her grip on Briggs's hand tightened.

Hawke fought down an unexpected surge of jealousy. Where the hell did that come from?

"Hawke?"

He swallowed down his envy, closed the door and turned to Caitlin.

"You ready to go?" she asked, her eyes bright, face happy. "The doctors gave Dominic a clean bill of health and he's mentioned dinner about, oh, I don't know, six thousand times?" She grinned.

Dominic was okay. Caitlin was okay. Michael would be okay. All was well in Hawke's world, and for tonight, he decided, that would be enough.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go home."