Chapter Four: The Lady and the Archangel

Dominic Santini was a crusty old Italian American veteran of a long forgotten time. A time of wars and heroes that most fancied they remembered, but really, truly, only those who had been there remembered. The greatest generation, they were called, but each and every one of his fellow soldiers had been boys. Eager to serve their country and do their part to strike back against the German war machine. Most of them had died in that effort.

For many years, Dominic had lived with bitterness, almost resentful that he'd survived while so many of his friends had died. His bitter outlook on life had nearly destroyed him, costing him his marriage and his relationship with his daughter. He'd been locked in a self-destructive spiral of lashing out and getting arrested for fights – not drinking, just angry – when one of his last remaining friends had stepped in. To Dom's astonishment, he'd been named godfather to his friend's newborn son and adopted as an uncle by the newborn's older brother. To his even greater astonishment, as soon as those two little boys looked him in the eye, his life had changed. They saw him as a good man, a great uncle, and the epitome of what they wanted to be when they grew up. He knew he was anything but. And yet, because they saw him as a mentor and role model, Dominic Santini felt a driving need to live up to that. To become every bit the man they already thought he was.

Over the months and years that followed young Stringfellow 'String' Hawke's birth, Dom rebuilt his life and career, learning to regard life as a gift, precious and irreplaceable. The new outlook changed him, giving him a zest and enthusiasm for each day's trials. By the time String and his older brother Saint John – nicknamed Sinjin by his little brother – were eight and eleven, their Uncle Dom was a new man. Jovial and hardworking with a budding career in helicopter mechanics and flying. He'd just taken his first stunt job when the elder Hawkes drowned in a boating accident.

Although he'd been just as devastated as the boys, they needed him, so Dominic forced himself away from any temptations to reprise his former performance and focused on getting them through the days and years following the deaths of their parents. It was in his friend's will that the crusty, superstitious Italian first found out about the Hawke family secret. Magic. Every Hawke by blood possessed a power that his old Italian grandmother would've called demonic. Although they'd long since lost their place in the traditional magical world, the family as a whole had an almost supernatural gift for flying and an inherent talent for understanding the machinery involved. It was a gift his two young charges shared, allowing them to effortlessly pull stunts he'd spent years mastering.

For a day and a half, he'd struggled to come to terms with the idea, then he decided it didn't make a lick of difference, no matter what his grandmother would've said. String and Sinjin were no more evil than he was, with good, caring hearts and the will to become truly great men. Better than he'd ever been, truth be told. Magic or no magic, he loved them just the same.

And so, as the boys grew up, Dom worked with them, helping them to master their gifts and use them to best advantage. Both of them flew as if born to the air, but they lacked the discipline to conquer their few weak spots, preferring to simply fly by the seat of their pants. Without discipline, Dom knew they'd be no more than decent pilots, gift or no gift. So he mentored them in that necessary discipline, sharing their joy in flying and even picking up a few tricks that an old veteran without magic could use. He never resented them for their gifts – what lunacy, to resent his two adopted nephews for their God-given talents, but he did counsel them to keep the magic private. Should anyone outside the family find out… Dom shuddered, imagining his nephews locked up in some government research facility. Bad enough that their aviation talents were already attracting attention.

As each young man reached his majority, they followed their Uncle Dom's footsteps into the military, a gesture he felt truly honored by. Later, he came to regret it, especially when Sinjin never came home and String withdrew into himself, becoming more rigid and taciturn than studiously shy and developing an almost obsessive need to protect those he loved. And when he'd found out that String had joined the Firm… Oh, how he'd wanted to hang the high and mighty Archangel from the rafters of his hanger and thrash him for giving String false hope that he'd find his brother on some mission. He'd almost been grateful when Archangel pulled String into the Airwolf development project.

And then…that fink Moffet stole the experimental stealth chopper, leaving String as the last remaining test pilot for Airwolf. He'd been just as furious as String over the theft of the Hawke family art – an effort by the Firm to strongarm String into tracking the missing aircraft down – and equally devastated over the news that String's girlfriend Gabrielle Admuir had been murdered by the madman. The pair had plotted and planned how to retrieve Airwolf and use her as leverage against the Firm, but the one thing they hadn't counted on was Moffet being a wizard.

String managed to talk Archangel into getting him into a Canadian military unit that dealt with the magical world and went undercover, leaving Dom to fret and hover over the emergency number his nephew had given him. Although Santini took great delight in stonewalling the great Archangel – who hadn't a clue about magic – in private, he fumed and worried over his adopted nephew. When Marella came to him, frantic to get in touch with String after her idiot boss got in over his head on some mission, Dom stonewalled her long enough to get her out of his hanger, waited until he was sure she was gone, then headed for his office and the emergency number. Much as he disliked Archangel, he knew String regarded the blond spy as one of his few remaining friends; String would never forgive him if he found out Archangel was dead and Dom hadn't done anything to help. Afterwards, String had gotten in touch with a new emergency number, then dropped out of sight again.

By the time String contacted him, years later, still gleeful over getting the stealth chopper back, Dom had almost given up hope. As the two men worked with the Obscurus-cum-helicopter, String told him story after story about the years he'd been gone and the relationships he'd managed to forge. Dom loved the stories and marveled at how much String was talking – more than he had since Sinjin's disappearance. They'd had the time for those stories, too; it had taken months to teach Airwolf that not everyone was as cruel and vicious as the parents who'd essentially murdered the child she'd been once upon a time.

On one of their early missions with Airwolf, the two men stumbled across a corrupt sheriff and a Texas Highway Patrol helicopter pilot in need of rescue. Afterwards, the determined young woman tracked them all the way back to California, refusing to buy any of the admittedly flimsy stories Dom and String attempted to sell her about the magical stealth chopper. In time, Cait O'Shannessy earned the trust of her new employer and coworker, enough that when Archangel found himself in over his head again – right after Dom had had a bad stunt crash – she was added to Airwolf's crew, although neither man told her about the Obscurus.


As Airwolf hurtled through the air towards Toronto, Dom had time to consider their options. He and Cait had been planning out the day's appointments – a sight-seeing trip for some executive and getting another helicopter ready for a nighttime shoot – when String had come flying into the hanger, fresh from Eagle Lake and almost panicked.

"Airwolf. Now," he ordered, trying to hide his fear behind his usual stone mask.

His crusty old mentor shook his head, gray and white hair gleaming in the sunlight sneaking through the hanger doors. "String, we've got a whole mess of work; tell that fink Archangel it can wait until tomorrow."

String pinned him with a glare. "It's not Archangel," he gritted out. "Sam Braddock's in trouble."

"Sam? Who's Sam?" Cait asked, interest shining in pale blue eyes. "Is he a friend of yours, String?"

"Yeah. He and his team helped me get Airwolf back from Moffet," String replied, gaze darting to the pretty brunette and away just as quickly; Dom found their dance rather amusing at times. His eyes – a darker blue than Cait's – focused on his mentor again. "Dom, I owe him. If we don't get up there now, it's gonna be bad."

Though Cait pressed the taciturn pilot for more details, String refused to elaborate, simply chivying them out to a Santini Air jeep and on the road to the Valley of the Gods. Which just sent chills up Dom's back; String never withheld intel on a mission unless he had to. Since Archangel had wrangled Cait the same security clearance that both String and Dom held, that left only one thing. Magic. Made sense, too; in amongst the stories String had told him about Sam Braddock, the old man had gotten the distinct impression that Braddock's team was breaking every rule in the book when it came to the traditional magical world. Breaking ground so new that no one had even known it existed.

Worse had been the one thing String managed to tell him, while Cait was checking Airwolf's opposite side in their hasty preflight check. The Imperius – Dom knew his magical knowledge was about the size of a teaspoon, but the Unforgivables…those had made one heck of an impression and he'd counted every blessing he could that Obscurus aside, String was out of that world.

With any luck, they could pull Braddock and his team out of trouble, then go home to California and let the insane Canadian No-Majs deal with the fallout.


Dom eyed the two men huddled up against Airwolf's back cabin wall next to him. Neither one matched the photo String had shown him once: himself and his JTF2 squad, but String seemed unconcerned. Clearly, he'd anticipated that Braddock wouldn't be one of the rescuees. The old man huffed to himself, wishing he had more details about what the heck was going on. One of the men glanced up at him, curiosity and intelligence shining in dark eyes. "Thanks for the save."

"Eh, don't mention it," Dom replied, well aware that String was busy guiding them away from Toronto's mass of radar and aircraft; Cait was watching from the copilot seat, ready to help, her own curiosity palpable. Flicking a look at his board, the Italian adjusted several settings, tisking to himself; the Lady was doing her best to learn how to handle radar on her own, but she still had a ways to go. "Where are we dropping you two off?"

"We're not," String interjected before their passengers could speak.

"String!"

"Dom, they need help," the brunet countered firmly, no give at all in his voice. "And I owe 'em."

"If you're talking about McKean," the other man remarked, "No, you don't. We were just trying to survive."

Mentally, Dom whistled – String had plainly left a few juicy details out of his story of Airwolf's recapture – and resolved to inquire later.

"Maybe so," String allowed, "but I promised Sam that if he needed me, I'd be there." Dom could almost see the determined glint in String's eyes. "He needs me."

"Copy," the first man whispered, ducking his head.

As the stealth chopper made her way through Toronto airspace, Dom kept a discreet eye on their passengers. The one closest to him was sporting several bruises, including a rather nasty one on his arm that looked like he'd gotten caught in a vice grip. The other man, while less bruised, was shivering every so often and rubbing a silver bracelet on his left wrist, almost as though the metal object had saved him from something. Both looked as if they'd seen their worst nightmares come to life, veterans of a war – and a world – that even an old World War II vet wouldn't touch with a forty foot pole.

Just as Dom determined to ask a question or two, the radio buzzed. "Oh, wonderful," Dom announced sarcastically, opening the channel as he did so. "It's the ice cream suit man."

One of their passengers snickered softly as Archangel retorted, "Very funny, Dominic." Acid edged the Firm agent's tongue. "Perhaps, Stringfellow, you would like to explain why you felt the sudden need for a jaunt to Toronto?"

"I'm returnin' a favor," String drawled. "Good friend of mine's in trouble."

"Ah, yes…" Scorn rang loud. "Is that a favor, Hawke, or are you attempting to mitigate his recent betrayal?"

The passengers bristled and Dom hastily waved them silent.

"Archangel," String snapped, "Sam's no more a traitor than you are." A breath. "Now are you gonna tell me why I had to hear 'bout all this from Sam's teammates, not you?"

"Why should I trouble you with the news that your old military friend and his team attacked their fellow law enforcement officers and disappeared to commit some nefarious crime?" The Firm agent paused, the better to make his tone more biting. "If that is not turning traitor, I fail to see what is."

String's shoulders tightened and Dom could practically feel the outrage oozing from their two passengers. "Archangel," String hissed, fury reeking, then he stopped. Not, Dom sensed, because he was at a loss for words – more as if he was weighing whether he wanted to use those words.

"Yes, Stringfellow?" Internally, Dom winced at the goad in that question. Much as he didn't like Archangel, the Firm agent had no idea what he'd just let himself in for.

Another beat, then String's sarcasm lashed out, striking his target with laser precision. "So, I s'pose this is just like when you turned traitor – after Furster and Kruger brainwashed you!"

Cait gasped and Dom's brows shot up – he knew what had happened, of course, but he never would've expected String to use that against Archangel.

Archangel's retort was just as acrid. "At least my brainwashing took a week!"

"Oy!" the bigger constable yelled. "Since when is getting Imperiused the victim's fault?"

As if in agreement, Airwolf snarled, the Obscurus voicing her outrage as she hadn't in months.

In the dead silence that followed, Dom didn't need to see Cait's face to know her eyes were wide as saucers – nor Archangel to know that the Firm agent was just as stunned. A tight grimace crossed his face, but there was no way to unring the bell. No way to take back what had just been said.

"Word," the other constable murmured, speaking low in a futile attempt to keep from being overheard by the radio, "I don't think they're signed on to the Act."

There was another beat of horrified silence, then the big constable groaned in defeat and dropped his head in his hands. For a fleeting moment, Dom rather felt like joining him.


Author note: And this would be where pushing Airwolf canon forward comes back to bite me. In canon Airwolf, Dom is a WWII veteran and String is a Vietnam vet (his brother Sinjin is a Vietnam MIA). I have seen fanon that recasts Dom as the Vietnam vet and String/Sinjin as…maybe Desert Storm – or something like that…to deal with the timeline issues.

I considered stealing that for this story, but ultimately decided to leave canon intact…so please kindly ignore that if Dom were a WWII vet, he'd be in his 80s/90s and definitely not flying any more.