Saint John felt a cool cloth over his forehead. His eyes opened and he blinked blearily. A figure appeared in his vision; an old man with wispy grey hair and a gap-toothed grin. He frowned. 'Uncle Dom?' He bolted into an upright position, ignoring the sharp pain that resulted across his chest from his ribs, and sat on his cot staring in disbelief at the man who'd once raised him.

'It's me. Just relax, kid.' Dom patted his hand.

'I'm dead already?' Saint John said incredulously.

Dom sighed heavily. 'Why does everyone assume that?' He asked throwing his hands up. 'You're not dead yet.'

'But soon?' Saint John waved his good hand. 'Don't answer that.'

'You used to have more faith in your brother.' Dom said a little chidingly.

Saint John flushed at the perceived admonishment. 'The timings are wrong.' He said defensively. 'Even if he knows where I am, String can't get here fast enough in Airwolf.'

'Your brother would move mountains to find you.' Dom said sitting down on the cot next to him.

Saint John sighed. 'You must be disappointed in me.'

'Now why would I be disappointed in you?' Dom's brow creased with confusion.

'I left him alone for so long.' Saint John swallowed hard and met Dom's solemn gaze. 'You died without even knowing that I was alive.'

'You did what you thought you had to do.' Dom said. 'String understands that you know.' He shrugged. 'And so do I. I know it wasn't easy on you after the boat accident. I know you felt responsible.'

'I tied String's line.' Saint John whispered helpless against the tears that started to fall. 'It was my fault it came loose and swept him overboard.'

'And you tried to make up for it by making yourself responsible for him.' Dom sighed. 'All that responsibility…it was too much of a sacrifice of your own life, Saint John. You were always bound to feel resentful eventually.'

'I ran away from my own brother, Uncle Dom.' Saint John lowered his head into his hand, the sobs starting in earnest. 'What does that make me? I'm nothing but a coward.'

Dom wrapped his arms around the younger man and held him as he sobbed on his shoulder; heart-wrenching sobs that wracked Saint John's frame. 'That's it.' Dom said patting his back. 'Let it all out.'

Eventually, Saint John quieted. Dom pulled away and took hold of Saint John's head in both hands forcing him into looking at him. 'I forgive you.' He said. 'String forgives you.' His dark eyes held Saint John's. 'You have to forgive yourself.'

'I don't know if I can do that.' Saint John admitted. 'I hurt him so badly and I…I must have hurt you.'

'If I can forgive you and your brother can forgive you, you can forgive you.' Dom said firmly. He let go of him and passed him Michael's handkerchief. 'Now blow your nose and wipe your face.'

'You really think String will get here in time?' Saint John asked taking Dom's advice.

'Your brother had remarkable timing. You should ask Michael.' Dom said.

'You like him.' Saint John realised with surprise.

'You're not to tell him that.' Dom remonstrated light-heartedly.

Saint John sniffed. 'I guess if you're a ghost you know about me and Jo.'

Dom beamed proudly. 'I couldn't be happier.'

'I screwed it up, Uncle Dom.' Saint John said dryly waving the handkerchief at him.

'Is that supposed to be a sign of surrender?' Dom laughed.

'I'm kinda figuring you're about to kick my butt.' Saint John admitted.

Dom folded his arms. 'You kids need to work it out yourselves.'

Saint John sighed. 'I'm not sure I know how.'

'You know.' Dom contradicted him gently.

'It's different.' Saint John admitted.

'From what you imagined?' Dom nodded. 'It always is.'

'It's not as easy as I thought it would be.' Saint John said.

Dom tilted his head. 'Do you love her?'

'Yes.'

Dom smiled at the unequivocal answer. 'Then you'll work it out.'

'Thanks, Uncle Dom.'

'What for?'

'Everything.'

Dom pushed him gently. 'Lie back down and get some rest.'

Saint John felt awash with tiredness suddenly and followed Dom's suggestion. His eyes closed gently. 'Don't go.'

'I'll be here, Saint John.'

He felt Dom's hand brush over his hair.

'I'll always be watching over you boys.'

Saint John slipped into unconsciousness; Dom's touch comforting him. The loud thud of the door woke him. He rubbed his eyes and opened them wearily, blinking against the harsh artificial light that swamped the room. 'Uncle Dom?'

''Fraid not.'

Locke's voice had his eyes snapping to the doorway. 'Come to gloat some more, Locke?' Saint John asked. He gestured at himself. 'I'd get up but I'm dying here.'

Locke motioned at the guards behind him. 'Leave us.'

The guards moved away and closed the door behind them. Locke hurried over to Saint John and took out a syringe.

Saint John caught Locke's wrist as he went to inject it. 'What is that stuff?'

'The anti-dote to the poison.' Locke said meeting Saint John's eyes steadily.

'Michael's serum stuff worked, huh?' Saint John let go and allowed Locke to dose him.

'I'm sorry.' Locke said as he replaced the syringe in his pocket. 'I'm so sorry.' He staggered the couple of steps to the cot opposite and sat down heavily. 'When I remembered…' he looked down unable to look at his friend, 'I was sick, Saint John.'

'You weren't yourself, Locke.' Saint John said. 'You can't dwell on it. We just need to find a way out of this.'

Locke nodded and rubbed his hands together. 'I've spoken with your brother. He's back in the country. I had to keep it cagey because I was being watched. I don't know if he realised I wasn't brainwashed anymore.'

'He wouldn't take it into consideration.' Saint John said tiredly. 'He'll plan as if you are.'

Locke nodded again. 'He chose you. I've given him this location.'

'What was the original plan?' Saint John said feeling comforted that Michael's assumption that String would chose him had been proven right.

'We're moving artillery into ambush positions.' Locke explained. 'When Airwolf arrives in two hours, we're going to destroy her.'

'And Michael?' Saint John asked.

'He's as good as dead.' Locke cleared his throat. 'There's a small team with him of two men. They're to pretend as though Hawke chose Michael and not you. They'll take him out to a deserted location, shoot him in the gut and leave him for dead.'

'So there's time to save us both.' Saint John said firmly.

'No,' Locke sighed and met Saint John's gaze regretfully. 'I could only give your brother the location of the person he chose; this location. I destroyed Michael's tracer; there's no way they would know where he is to save him and I'm not allowed to communicate with the other team.'

Saint John stared at him. 'Jason, he has a kid; he has a family.'

'I know.' Locke's gaze shot back to the floor. 'But it's going to be hard enough getting us out of here.'

'What are you planning?' Saint John asked his unease growing.

'The only opportunity we're going to get is when Airwolf arrives.' Locke said. 'There's a helicopter out back. I can sneak you out to it and we can get away; radio Airwolf and hopefully all get away before…'

'Before she gets blown out of the sky.' Saint John said harshly.

'Your brother has to know it's a trap, right?' Locke pointed out. 'And he's the best at what he does. There's a good chance that he won't get shot out of the sky.'

'I'm not prepared to take that risk, Locke. It's very likely that Caitlin and Mike will be in Airwolf with him.' Saint John said forcefully. 'I'm not sacrificing their lives along with Michael's for us to get out of here.'

Locke sighed. 'What do you suggest?'

Saint John thought furiously. There had to be a way out of this; there had to be.

There was a familiar shriek of engines overhead.

Both men's gazes snapped upwards to the ceiling.

'Was that…?' Locke asked.

'Airwolf.' Saint John said.

'He's early.' Locke shot across the room to the window and stared out. An explosion sounded dully through the walls. 'He's shooting everything up!'

The door burst open and a panicked guard entered. 'Boss says we need to clear out.' He took out his gun and aimed it at Saint John. 'He wants him dead.'

'I'll do it.' Locke snapped taking out his gun. 'I want to make sure he's dead myself.'

The guard shrugged and headed out. Locke fired his weapon into the empty cot to ensure the guard heard the shot. 'Stay here.' He said to Saint John in a low voice. 'I'll be back for you.' He raced out of the room.

Saint John levered himself into a sitting position. It took all of his remaining energy and he sat on the edge of the bed gasping. He knew it would take a while for Locke's antidote to take effect but it was time he knew he didn't have; they needed to leave and leave immediately. He just needed to catch his breath; he closed his eyes.

' Saint John?'

His eyes snapped open.

Hawke was framed in the doorway, wearing a lilac Airwolf uniform and his gun held firmly in his hand. As his eyes swept the room and confirmed Saint John was alone, he lowered the gun and a second later was hugging his brother. 'You OK?'

'I will be.' Saint John said hugging him back tightly with his good arm. He pulled away to look at Hawke urgently. 'String, they're going to try and shoot Airwolf down; that was the plan.'

He laid a hand gently on Saint John's battered cheek. 'Don't worry.' Hawke said. 'It's all under control. Come on. Let's get you out of here.'

'Locke was coming back.' Saint John said.

'He clean?' Hawke asked.

'Michael injected him with the serum.' Saint John said. 'String, Michael's in trouble.'

'Yeah, we know.' Hawke said. 'We have another team hitting his location now.'

'How did…?'

'He was wearing a second tracer.' Hawke explained. His head tilted to the side and he raised a finger to his lips. He took a position on the side of the door, his gun ready. As Locke entered at a rush, Hawke stopped him by stepping up and placing the cold metal against his head; Locke froze.

'I'm not brainwashed.' Locke said raising his arms.

Hawke looked at his brother for confirmation.

Saint John nodded. 'Let's get out of here.'

Hawke lowered his gun and shifted to place one of his brother's arms over his shoulder and hoisted him off the bed, putting his left arm around Saint John's waist.

'Come on.' Locke said. 'There's a helicopter out the back.'

They followed Locke as they made their way out of the house. He led them down a flight of stone steps and they could see a glint of the metal rotors in the dark.

Suddenly shots rang out. They took cover behind a wall. The older man groaned as the move knocked his ribs and his broken arm.

Locke began to shoot back. He looked over his shoulder at Hawke and Saint John. 'Go for the chopper! I'll cover us.'

Hawke helped Saint John off the ground and they began their awkward run over the open ground. Shots hit the ground by their feet and there was a howl above them as Airwolf descended rapidly to cover them and returned fire; a line of bullets streaked across the ground and one shooter died in the shrapnel hail.

She arched upward to turn back for a better shot at the second shooter…

They were almost at the chopper. Hawke heard a whistling sound through the air…

A missile…headed for the chopper on the ground…for Hawke and Saint John…there was no time to deploy a countermeasure…

Airwolf shrieked downward to intercept…

The blast ripped through the sky…

Hawke and Saint John were propelled through the air, landing on the ground nearby in stunned disbelief.

'Airwolf.' Hawke murmured blinking past his shock at the falling fireball.

'String.' Saint John said his eyes wide with concern. 'Who was flying her?'

Hawke shook himself. 'We have to get out of here.' He picked Saint John up and they started back to the chopper. Locke ran up to join them taking Saint John's other side.

A shot rang out…Locke stumbled and went down.

'Jason!' Saint John fell to his knees beside his friend, barely noticing Hawke go to his, covering them with his weapon.

' Saint John.'

Locke raised a hand and Saint John grasped it weakly. He looked down at the spreading stain of blood on Locke's stomach. 'God.'

'You have to know,' Locke tasted his blood in his mouth and knew his life was measured in seconds, 'it's not Sterling.'

'Who?' Saint John asked urgently.

'Cordelli. Giovanni Cordelli.' Locke gasped. 'It was always Cordelli.' His eyes went wide and frightened. 'I'm sorry…I'm so…' he gave a gasp and was silent.

Saint John bowed his head and gently closed Locke's eyes. He felt his brother's hand on his shoulder.

'We have to move.'

Saint John nodded. Hawke lifted him and they took a stumbling step forward. More shot rang out, hitting the ground by them. Hawke swore roundly. They were too exposed.

There was a howl of engines and a barrage of chain-gun fire. The second shooter couldn't escape.

Saint John looked up at the familiar shape circling above them, taking out artillery with a systematic ruthlessness. 'How…?' He asked as Hawke yanked open the cockpit door to the stationary helicopter.

'Later.' Hawke promised as he pushed Saint John into his seat. He rounded the nose and climbed aboard, secure in the knowledge that Airwolf would provide cover until he could lift off. It took a few minutes for the rotors to reach full power and Hawke absently noted the beach house where his brother had been held was a wreck as he grasped the cyclic and ascended into the night sky. Zebra Squad would go in and clean up.

'Airwolf, come in.' Hawke radioed.

'Hey.' Caitlin replied. 'You guys OK?'

'Yeah, we're OK.' Hawke replied. 'You?'

Across the sky, Caitlin turned her head slightly to glance behind at a tired but alive Michael and across to a sombre looking Mike. 'We're OK here too. All present and accounted for.' She glanced at her monitor and smiled. 'Airwolf too.'

'The AI made it back?' Hawke checked.

'Yeah.' Caitlin sighed. 'It was close. We thought we'd lost her.'

'I thought we had.' Hawke admitted.

'She sacrificed the Russian ship to save you.' Caitlin said gently.

'We appreciate it.' Hawke cleared his throat. 'Locke didn't make it.'

'We know.' Mike replied. 'We saw.'

Hawke repressed a sigh. 'I'm taking Saint John to the nearest hospital.'

'We'll escort you.' Caitlin said. 'Michael could do with being checked out too.'

'OK by me.' Hawke said easily. 'Over and out.' He glanced across at his brother as he turned the chopper in the sky. Saint John's eyes were pinned to the body of his friend on the ground.