Stringfellow Hawke drew the bow back across the strings of his cello and let the last note vibrate out across the water of the lake. It was a perfect day. The sun was shining; the sky was a cloudless blue; the majestic mountains reflected in the glassy water of the still lake and there was a reverential hush broken only with the dim chatter of nature; the rustle of small woodland creatures in the undergrowth, the faint splash of fish in the water and the haunting eagle cry that rent the air asunder. Hawke lifted his face up to the sky, letting the breeze wash over him and stir his brown hair. He watched as the bird circled overhead before spiralling away on an air current. The urge to join her in the sky was sharp especially as it would mean avoiding the conversation he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he needed to have with his brother.

Hawke looked over at the porch where Saint John was sat, staring out at the peaceful setting with a disgruntled expression. He knew Caitlin had left that morning hoping that he would talk with Saint John. She believed it wasn't good for Saint John to endlessly brood on what had happened with Mickey and Scottie; Hawke thought his brother just needed a little space to come to terms with his grief. Hawke's ice blue eyes narrowed at the beer in his brother's hand. Maybe Cait was right, he mused. Maybe he should talk to him. He inwardly sighed before he grasped his musical instrument carefully and rose to his feet, snagging the camping stool with his other hand.

His dog, Tet, moved from the deck and followed him back to the porch. Hawke stacked the cello and the stool by the cabin wall and sat down on the porch bench beside Saint John, Tet slumping in front of them. For a long while they sat in silence; Hawke with half an ear tuned to the inside of the cabin for the sound of Nicky waking from his afternoon nap.

'You might as well say it.' Saint John said eventually.

'What?' Hawke asked stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle as he folded his arms over his chest.

'That I'm an idiot. That I got taken in by a pretty face. That she played me.' The litany left a bitter taste in his mouth and Saint John took a long swallow of the beer to wash it away.

'I didn't realise you'd stayed in touch with any of your old high school crowd.' Hawke commented.

Saint John lowered the bottle at the slightly incongruous remark. His thumb drifted across the top of the bottle. 'I didn't really. Scottie sent letters when I first joined up.' His lips twisted. 'I saw them when I got out of the army. They'd just set up the business. Then I went undercover again and…' he gestured with his drink, 'I contacted them again when I got back from leaving you and Caitlin in Switzerland.'

'The three of you always were thick as thieves.' Hawke commented idly.

Saint John didn't know what to say. How could he explain staying in touch with Scottie and Mickey when he hadn't stayed in touch with String?

There was another awkward silence before Saint John sighed. 'We slept together.'

'You and Scottie?' Hawke teased gently.

His brother shot him a look. 'Mickey and me. Back in high school.'

Hawke frowned as they both returned their gaze to the lake. 'That was a long time ago.'

'Yeah.' Saint John admitted. 'She was different back then.'

'No she wasn't.' Hawke contradicted him. 'Mickey was always trouble. You and Scottie just could never see it; she had you both wrapped around her finger.'

Saint John glanced over at his brother. 'You never did like her.'

'Nope.' Hawke agreed easily.

Silence again.

Saint John stared across the lake. 'I could have helped her.'

'She didn't want help, Saint John.' Hawke scanned his brother's harsh profile sadly. 'There's nothing you could have done that would have made a difference.'

'She killed him. I still can't believe she killed him.' Saint John shook his head and rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. 'I can't believe Scottie's dead.' He gave a harsh laugh. 'I can't believe she's dead.' Tears stung his eyes and he bent forward suddenly covering his face with one hand, his other seeking desperately to relinquish his beer.

Hawke gently took the bottle out of his hand and set it on the ground. He moved to crouch in front of his brother and awkwardly hugged him as he wept on his shoulder.

Eventually, Saint John pulled back and Hawke clasped the back of his head gently. 'You OK?'

Saint John nodded and swiped a hand across his teary, red rimmed eyes. 'I will be.'

Hawke got to his feet and disappeared inside giving his brother a moment to collect himself. When he returned he held the baby carrier in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. 'Here.' He handed Saint John the bottle and placed the carrier down on the bench. 'Feed Nicky will ya? He's getting hungry.'

Saint John reached down and unhooked his nephew from the carrier, picking up the rapidly growing baby and adjusting his position to hold him in the crook of one arm as he held the bottle ready for Nicky's questing mouth. The baby suckled enthusiastically looking up into Saint John's hazel eyes with eyes as blue as his father's.

'You're the spitting image of your Daddy. Do you know that?' Saint John murmured. 'I have a feeling you're going to be just like him.' He smoothed a rough finger over the soft pink cheek. 'You know he just wanted me to feed you to make me feel better.' He paused. 'And it worked because you're great.' He stopped for a moment to burp Nicky before continuing. He was done and on the second burping when Hawke reappeared.

A smile flitted across Hawke's lips at the sight of his brother with Nicky. He placed the mugs he held on the ground briefly before removing the carrier from the bench. He left one mug on the ground and gestured at it as he settled back with the other one. 'That's one for you.'

'Thanks.' Saint John said his eyes flickering to it for a moment before sliding to the abandoned beer. 'I guess it was a little early.'

Hawke shrugged and put his mug on the arm of the bench, gesturing for Saint John to pass him the baby. Nicky gurgled happily as he felt his father's hands around him; his father's scent near to him.

'Say Daddy.' Hawke encouraged softly. 'Come on, say Daddy.'

Saint John reached for his coffee and took a gulp. The liquid warmed him from the inside out. His eyes raked over his younger brother. 'So how much did Cait bet you his first word would be Mommy?'

'Ten bucks.' Hawke admitted adjusting Nicky's jacket as he held him close.

Saint John shook his head. 'You know you're going to lose.'

'Hey!' Hawke protested. 'What happened to brotherly loyalty?'

'Even I'm not stupid enough to bet against your wife.' Saint John commented.

Hawke's blue eyes narrowed on the other man. 'Did you just insult me?'

Saint John grinned back at him and raised his mug in a gleeful silent toast.

Hawke returned his attention to his son and Saint John watched enviously. His younger brother had ended up with a good life, he reflected. Pretty wife who was as smart as a whip and feisty enough to challenge Hawke when he needed it; a beautiful, healthy baby boy to start their family and he had no doubt more kids were on the cards; it was just a matter of time. He gulped his coffee at the sharp bite of envy.

Even their place suited them, Saint John thought. Caitlin and Hawke had made a real home of the old fishing cabin. Hawke had extended the back of the cabin creating guest bedrooms and a bathroom downstairs and a master bedroom suite upstairs with a nursery created on the space where the old sleeping deck had been located. The walls were filled with works of art that mingled alongside family photos. The furniture was antique for the most part but comfortable. There was a truly cosy and welcoming atmosphere inside and a spectacular view outside. The cabin was in a beautiful location and only accessible by air or by a bike via the old narrow tracks that ran down the mountain. It was remote and Saint John knew the couple preferred it that way. Of course when their kids got older they'd need to move closer to the city for schooling. Although, Saint John mused taking in the way Hawke was talking about the plants and the trees to his baby son, maybe the couple would home school them.

He knew their need for privacy was rooted in their desire to remain safe. They had only come out of hiding to help with a mission and given his own experiences with Airwolf he could understand why the couple stayed close to the mountain and trusted only family and a few valued friends. Saint John frowned. Whatever the couple were working on for Michael, they were obviously happy with it. In the few days that he had stayed with them, they had gone to work and returned looking as though they had enjoyed their day's efforts. He sighed. Unlike himself.

Saint John watched as his brother continued to play and talk with his son as though the little boy could understand every word. Maybe he could, Saint John thought taking in the alert look in Nicky's stunning blue eyes or maybe he was just entranced by his daddy's voice. The fierce wave of envy had Saint John hiding his face in his mug.

The truth was that while he loved flying Airwolf, Saint John knew he was tiring of a life that seemed to be one mission after another with no end in sight. He had spent most of his life undercover and he hadn't expected to continue when he'd been freed from his captivity in the Burma Highlands. Airwolf had been a surprise and a way of ensuring the Company hadn't looked too closely for String and Caitlin. Now…now, he was tired of it. He wanted a job which didn't involve routinely getting shot at and he wanted…he sighed. He wanted what his brother had so badly that the ache was almost a physical pain. He wanted a wife and a family.

Mickey had been an attractive woman and there had been a small part of him, as much as he wanted to deny it existed, that on realising his friend Scottie was dead had seductively whispered in his ear of the possibilities; of one day, becoming Mickey's husband, raising their children on Paradise Island and running the fishing charter business with her. It had been a split second moment of absolute insanity. His anger at himself had followed hard on its heels along with his very real grief at the loss of his friend. Mickey's death somehow seemed punishment for the thought even though he knew logically it had more to do with her flaws and mistakes than his. The crazy thing was that Mickey wasn't even the woman he wanted. He gazed out at the serene lake.

Jo Santini.

Somehow, somewhere he had stopped thinking of Jo as a surrogate little sister and started to appreciate her for the woman she had become. But he was sure she was in love with Mike, and as Mike was his best friend, he couldn't mess things up between them. So he stayed silent about his feelings for Jo while she became ever closer to Mike. At least, they weren't sleeping together yet, Saint John reflected with relief. He and Mike shared an apartment and Jo had yet to stay over. He shivered with revulsion at the sudden mental picture of seeing her come out of Mike's room in the morning.

'You OK?'

Saint John glanced up to see his brother looking back at him in concern. 'Yeah.'

Hawke adjusted his hold on his son. 'Have you heard from Locke?'

'Not since the last time you asked me; no.' Saint John answered a little exasperated.

Hawke raised an eyebrow but didn't argue; he was prepared to accept he'd bugged Saint John a little about whether Locke had been in touch and whether there had been any news from of what was happening with Airwolf. Although Hawke no longer had a direct interest in the original helicopter, he was concerned about her future. He knew Michael had been recalled to Washington and figured it had something to do with the Airwolf review. He repositioned a sleeping Nicky in the carrier before he eased back onto the bench and reached for his lukewarm coffee.

He rubbed his thumb over the handle of the mug. 'I guess if Locke hasn't been in touch then we don't know anything more about what's happening with Angelica Horn either?' The blonde daughter of his late arch nemesis had led an ambush of Caitlin and the other women at the cabin while the men had been ambushed on their fishing trip by a second group. Both ambushes had been foiled but Angelica had been shot in her fight with Caitlin. She had been critical but had recovered. It scared Hawke to think how easily it could have been Caitlin.

His brother nodded reluctantly. 'According to Locke before he left for Washington, she was still refusing to cooperate.' He looked over String's unhappy expression. 'You know you never did tell me that whole story about you and Horn.'

Hawke shrugged. 'Not much to tell.'

Saint John gave him a knowing look and turned to face him fully. 'What happened?'

Hawke sighed as he realised Saint John was not about to let it drop. 'John Bradford Horn happened.'

'Angelica's father, right?' Saint John said.

His brother nodded. 'Horn wanted to use Airwolf to gain control of his own island.'

'Ambitious.' Saint John commented.

'He didn't believe in thinking small.' Hawke noted wryly. He sipped his coffee. 'He and Angelica tricked me into a trap.' His rueful blue eyes met his brother's hazel gaze. 'You think you got played by Mickey? I got played by Angelica.'

Saint John pulled a face. 'You're usually more suspicious.'

'Usually.' Hawke said dryly. 'Horn pretended to be a jeweller; Angelica was supposed to be his assistant. He hired me to fly Angelica to a luxury resort we were supposed to wait for a gem dealer to make contact.' He shook his head. 'I thought I'd caught an easy gig. Angelica was attractive. I didn't think spending a couple of days with her was a hardship and she'd made it clear that…' he hesitated over his words…

'That she didn't consider you a frog.' Saint John suggested.

Hawk glared at him. 'Anyway, Angelica made sure all I thought about was her. We dined, went dancing and were on our way back to the rooms when the gem dealer made contact and we had to leave the hotel quickly in order to meet at this remote location his supplier had requested.' Hawke sighed. 'I knew something was off but I figured the dealer was maybe a little dodgy. I didn't suspect a trap to get me.'

'You should give yourself a break.' Saint John said hearing the harsh edge of self-recrimination in Hawke's voice. 'I've seen her photo; she's a stunning woman.'

'It's no excuse.' Hawke muttered not looking at his brother. 'Anyway, Angelica turned me over to her father who brainwashed me. I cooperated in sending a message to Dom to lure him and Airwolf into another trap only thankfully he, Michael and Caitlin had suspected I might be compromised and had come up with a plan.'

'The anti-brainwashing serum.' Saint John stated quietly.

'Caitlin managed to sneak into Horn's fortress and inject me with it.' Hawke pressed his lips together briefly remembering how he had initially fought her; how he had woken up to her crying over him believing she had killed him. 'I was back to normal and we planned our way out of it. Horn got away though; I don't know how.'

There was a brief silence before Saint John cleared his throat. 'I can see why Cait's not too fond of her.'

Hawke nodded almost absently. 'They were pretty antagonistic towards each other when Horn kidnapped Caitlin.'

'Have you any idea who this guy is that Angelica got involved with?' Saint John asked.

'No.' Hawke frowned. 'When Horn died trying to grab Caitlin the second time, Angelica wasn't with him and we never found her. She just disappeared.'

'Only to turn up when some mysterious figure who she just happens to be married to tries to steal Airwolf not once but twice.'

'And that's twice he's put my family in danger.' Hawke noted angrily. His hard blue eyes met his brother's. 'He's not getting a third time.'

'Agreed.' Saint John held up his mug and Hawke solemnly clinked it with his as they toasted their resolution.