'Michael?'

Michael turned at Marella's prompt and smiled at the sight of his partner in a deep red dress which set off her dark colouring beautifully. 'You look stunning.'

She smiled pleased at the compliment. 'You did say we should dress up.' Her eyes ran over the dark slacks he wore with the matching cashmere sweater and pale shirt.

'I did.' Michael pushed away from the balcony and limped over to wrap her into a hug.

Marella sighed and breathed in the scent of him. She'd barely gone five paces from him since his return the week before and whilst she knew she couldn't keep doing that forever she was pleased that he didn't seem to mind.

'Are you sure you're up to this?' Marella said.

'It's only dinner.' Michael said with a smile.

'Why are we doing this again?' Marella asked.

'What do you mean?' Michael replied.

'Well, I understand you asking Caitlin and Hawke to dinner to say thank you but the new Airwolf team?' Her dark eyes searched his slightly amused expression.

'They did help save my life.' Michael commented.

She raised an eyebrow.

'And I thought it might make it easier on Hawke if we all made an effort to get along.' Michael conceded. 'We're all going to have to work together on the matter of the Hawkes' parents, after all, so maybe we should consider that we're all just simply one big Airwolf family.'

'Hmmm.' Marella smiled. 'So you're not the least bit smug that you and Hawke beat them back to LA by ten minutes.'

Michael's lips twitched. According to the computer logs they had beaten the original Airwolf machine by a clear ten minutes, not counting the head start the other helicopter had enjoyed. He had to admit he'd rather savoured that news. But there again, Michael thought their helicopter did have a clear advantage over the original Airwolf machine; it had Hawke.

'Was that Hawke and Caitlin?' Michael had heard the doorbell as he finished dressing. He was still moving stiffly from his injuries and Marella had seen to it.

'Yes. I showed them to their room. They're getting Nicky settled.' Marella said.

'Is Nicky OK?' Michael checked. He'd offered them the room when he had extended the invitation to dinner.

'They are all settling in fine.' She smoothed her hands over her shoulders. 'How did you convince Chrissy's Mom to take Angelina for the night?'

'Charm, persuasion,' Michael's eye twinkled, 'and something about promising that the next time the girls want a slumber party they have it here.'

'That could be interesting.' Marella said laughing. She gave into the urge to kiss him and when she pulled back, she smiled at the lipstick mark. She rubbed it off. 'I'd better go and check on the caterers.' She slipped out of his hold.

'I'll be down in a minute.' Michael said. 'Marella…'

She turned back to look at him inquisitively.

'I do love you.'

Her smile widened. 'I love you too.'

Michael watched her as she elegantly walked out of the room.

'You really should ask her to marry you.'

Every bone and sinew in Michael's body tensed. He turned back to the view of the ocean slowly.

Dom grinned at him. The old pilot had his back to the balcony railing which he was leaning on casually.

'My God.' Michael muttered. 'You really are haunting me.'

Dom roared with laughter as Michael tried to recover his wits. He'd been sure his whole experience at the sanatorium had been a hallucination caused by the blow to his head.

'I just wanted to check in on you, Michael.' Dom said. 'And to thank you for what you're doing.' He smiled. 'I told you you'd think of something.'

'Yes, you did.' Michael said.

'It's a nice thing you're doing.' Dom nodded.

'He misses you.' Michael said pushing his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

'I miss him too.' Dom's craggy face saddened a little before it brightened again. 'I'll be around for him but it helps knowing he's got good back-up.'

Michael nodded. 'Always.'

Dom nodded again. 'Well, got to go. Got to go check on an old friend of mine. Look after my boys, Michael,' he wagged a finger at the spy, 'or I will come back to haunt you.'

Michael opened his mouth to retort…

'Michael?'

Hawke's voice had Michael spinning back to the doorway to find the pilot looking back at him with concern.

'Are you OK?' Hawke asked, his blue eyes running over the other man anxiously.

Michael looked back toward the balcony. It was empty. He really was losing his mind, he thought. He smiled sadly. 'I'm fine.'

'You sure?' Hawke asked. 'I kinda thought I heard you talking with someone.'

'Just myself.' Michael limped over to the railing. 'It's a great view isn't it?'

Hawke joined him. He looked out at the crashing surf against the cliff, the sky deepening to lilac from blue and a molten sun heading into the horizon. 'Yeah.'

'I have a sudden appreciation for it.' Michael said wryly.

Hawke's blue eyes softened. 'Well, almost getting killed will do that for you, Michael.'

Michael nodded. 'I called Robert Delaney and thanked him for his help.' He turned to face Hawke. 'He said you never asked why we met for lunch.'

Hawke shrugged. 'That's your business, Michael.'

'Actually, it's yours too.' Michael said. He waited until he had Hawke's full attention.

'I take it this has something to do with your plot to keep our brand, new shiny Airwolf out of the Company's hands?' Hawke asked.

'Yes.' Michael smiled. He might have known Hawke would figure it out. 'How much do you remember about the plans for the original machine, before Moffett stole it I mean?'

Hawke shrugged. 'That she was going to be the first of a fleet. That's pretty much it.'

'The FIRM planned to sell the project to the DOD. In fact that was the reason for the aerial and weapons demonstration the day Moffett stole her.' Michael smoothed his moustache. 'The DOD would take over production of the helicopters, the FIRM would be repaid for the R&D and we would receive the first five helicopters off the production line for use in intelligence work.'

'And you're planning to sell the project back to the DOD once the new helicopter is fully ready?' Hawke asked.

'Not exactly.' Michael frowned. 'Bob and I are working on getting a presidential order to move the Airwolf project to a new department. No intelligence agency has a remit for operating an attack helicopter; the project was always an anomaly so moving it should have support. But the move would be with certain conditions.'

'Such as?' Hawke asked.

'We'll limit production; have maybe two or three maximum and use a small team working on missions like today.' Michael said. 'But more importantly, the organisation will have complete autonomy and report directly to the President.' He gestured. 'No more intelligence agency calling the shots.'

'Just the President.' Hawke noted.

'Got to offer the man a reason to do it.' Michael said.

'Bob's helping you work out the politics?' Hawke checked.

Michael nodded. 'I've also thought he would be good to have as our liaison in Washington when the new organisation is established.'

'You'll command the programme from the ground at Red Star.' Hawke surmised.

'You'll fly Airwolf and act as senior pilot.' Michael noted. 'What do you think?'

Hawke lifted a hand from the railing. 'Beats dealing with the Company. How close are you to making it a reality?'

'Close.' Michael said. He sighed. 'Not close enough though. Not yet.'

Hawke nodded. He shifted position a little. 'Michael, I just want to say…' he sighed and rubbed a hand through his brown hair, 'thanks for this. For dinner.'

'It's only dinner.' Michael said. He hesitated for a moment and then sighed. 'I guess things haven't been that easy for you and your brother since he came back.'

Hawke shrugged a little self-consciously. 'Cait says it'll get easier with time.'

'She's right.' Michael murmured.

'She usually is.' Hawke said with a short laugh. His head tilted. 'Nicky's crying. I'd better go and see if he's OK.'

Michael nodded. 'I'd better go down.'

They walked out of Michael's bedroom together separating on the landing. Michael limped down the stairs as Hawke went to see to his son.

The doorbell rang.

Michael sighed and opened the front door. The four members of the Airwolf team looked back at him. Saint John's hazel eyes were guarded as were Locke's, Jo's hopeful and Rivers grinned at him.

Michael found himself smiling back and opened the door wider to let them in. 'Welcome. I'm glad you could make it.'

It didn't take long for everybody to gather in the sitting room. Michael was adept at arranging people and he easily managed to get the brothers sat together on one sofa with Caitlin whilst the others took the second sofa and Marella perched on the arm of Michael's easy chair. For a little while the business of sorting drinks took up conversation until Locke cleared his throat uneasily.

'I believe I owe you a thank you, Archangel.' Locke murmured.

His team stared at him in surprise.

'What do you mean?' Jo asked.

Locke gestured. 'Apparently we were going to catch hell for our little jaunt to Washington but someone intervened.' His dark gaze stayed on Michael.

'I might have made a few phone calls.' Michael admitted. 'I'm still not without some influence.'

'Well, thank you.' Locke said.

Michael smiled. 'I think that should be the other way around. After all, you did save my life.'

'Actually, talking about the mission, I've been meaning to ask you,' Saint John said leaning forward, his hazel eyes seeking out Michael's good eye, 'were you responsible for this guy Terrence getting captured by the Chinese?' He asked bluntly.

Marella's dark eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to defend Michael when he slid his hand over hers and squeezed; an old signal that he would take the question.

Hawke missed the byplay between his friends as he turned in exasperation to his brother. 'Saint John…'

'It's OK, Hawke. I don't mind answering.' Michael interrupted him.

'You don't?' Saint John asked surprised.

Michael smoothed his moustache. 'An old friend told me recently that the enigmatic spy act doesn't make a good first impression.'

Saint John unwillingly smiled back. 'He was right.'

Michael's good eye met Saint John's firmly. 'I wasn't responsible for Terrence in China. He always knew that.'

Saint John frowned. 'Then why…?'

'He knew I knew who was.' Michael said simply. The image of the tray of torture instruments Terrence had arranged flashed in his mind.

'Well, thank you for answering the question.' Saint John said raising his wine glass a little. 'I appreciate it.'

Hawke breathed a sigh of relief as the atmosphere in the room eased a little.

'How about a toast?' Rivers said stepping into the silence.

'An excellent idea.' Michael lifted his glass. 'To the Airwolf team.' His gaze moved from the Hawkes to Locke to Rivers and Jo before meeting Marella's warm gaze. 'Past and present.'

'The Airwolf team.' They all chorused.

'I've been thinking,' Michael said slipping his fingers through Marella's as he addressed the brothers, 'that it might be good for us to know more about your parents if we're going to start looking for them.'

'Honestly, Michael, I'm not sure how much we could tell you.' Hawke said.

'You must have memories of your childhood though.' Michael replied. 'You never know how much potentially useful information they could hold.'

'I don't know.' Saint John said sceptically.

Caitlin's eyes narrowed on Michael. She had a suspicion she knew what he was up to. 'No, he's right. Some of your childhood memories could be useful.' She smiled at her brother-in-law. 'Besides I never tire of hearing stories about Hawke.'

Hawke and Saint John looked at each other a little apprehensively.

'I guess it couldn't hurt.' Hawke said.

Saint John sighed and nodded. 'OK. Where do you want to start?'

'How about that time you fell out of the tree house and broke your arm?' Hawke said his blue eyes warming with the memory.

'Or maybe we should start with the time you fell out of the tree house and broke your arm.' Saint John countered smiling.

Michael sipped his champagne and watched as the brothers fell quickly into a steady rhythm of teasing banter as they recounted their childhood escapades. Mission not quite accomplished, Dominic; Michael thought firmly as he watched them, but it's on its way; it was definitely on its way.