Tossing and turning, Stringfellow Hawke fought restless dreams tormented by the thought of what he was asking of Cait and the kids, and torn by his conscience. Marella was a friend, had been one in the truest sense, and he couldn't just leave her out there, Michael as well, but the very real possibility was he might not be able to pull this one off. And not only would his life be at risk in it, but either Seb's or Roper's as well. Even for Marella, did he have the right to ask that?

Michael would go after her. There was no doubt of it in his mind. But without him and Airwolf, his chances were slim to none. Even with Airwolf…sighing Hawke flopped over on his back staring at the ceiling. What were his chances? Even supposing he made it in, and by some miracle got Marella out, the committee would skewer him. They were not very forgiving of insubordination, and he knew they wouldn't think twice about eating one of their own. Hawke had been on the receiving end of that fork too many times to think otherwise, Archangel being the only thing that'd pulled his own bacon out of the fire if he were honest. Did he not owe it to him?

But what of Cait and the kids? And could he really ask either Roper or Seb to join him on what he knew was a fool's mission? His gut wrenched at the thought. His life was his own to risk, but theirs…

Exhaling, he scrubbed a tired hand over his face, feeling the scrape of the days beard against his hand. Decision time was at hand. There was no more time left…

Bracing his hand against the mattress, he shoved up, careful not to wake Caitlin. Her sleep had been as uneasy as his own and he knew she must be tired.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he silently contemplated his wife. Reddish brown hair strewn across the pillow, she'd not been happy when he'd told her of Michael's request, but she'd refrained from making any comment of her own one way or the other, letting him make his own decision. Not an easy choice, he knew. He could tell she was worried by the way she'd snapped at the kids at dinner, hustling them off to bed afterwards.

Strong fingers brushed an errant strand away from her face, resting lightly across her bare, freckled shoulder before carefully pulling up the blanket around her. Her beauty and her strength amazed him, he thought, a jolt of longing flowing through him. He only hoped she knew how much.

The clock on the wall gonged 2 a.m. Sighing, String shoved out of bed, sliding on low-slung jeans and a pullover sweater. Saint John…he was going to be hot, if he took the mission and didn't tell him. If…he reminded himself. Assuming, of course he took it.

Hell, who was he kidding? he wondered. He'd known he'd take it from the moment Michael had asked. How could he not? There was nobody else, and it was Marella's life they were talking about.

Barefoot, he slipped across the room and into the hall, his heart heavy. Silently, he wandered into the kids room across the hall pulling up the cover on Amelia's sprawled form and sitting down beside Nicky on his bed. Tanned, square-tipped fingers brushed the boy's hair out of his face before he smoothed a hand over it, rising to his feet.

"You're going to do it, aren't you?" Cait asked, her voice barely a husky whisper from the doorway.

String froze, momentarily paralyzed, before turning to face her. "I have to, Cait," he whispered, regret in every nuance of his voice.

"Yeah, I guessed as much," she answered back, her own voice tear-choked, as she wrapped the quilt tighter around her. "I just wondered how long it'd take you to realize it."

String felt his chest squeeze at the pain in her words, the dim light from the hall reflecting off the tears running down her cheeks. "Longer than you, evidently," he murmured, crossing the darkened room and brushing her damp cheek with his hand. "There's just no other way, Caitlin."

Cait met his eyes, biting down so hard on her lip she could taste the salty tang of blood. "I know," she replied. "I knew it from the moment you told me." She drew a shaky breath. "And I wouldn't have you any other way. I just wish it hurt a little less." Fighting back tears, she wrapped her arms around his waist, even as she buried her head against his chest.

Pulling her close, his own chest aching, his arms tightened around her. He wished there was some assurance he could offer her, but he had none. Not this time.

They stood there in the dim firelight, his arms wrapped around her slighter frame for a long time. Breathing in the scent of the shampoo she used in her hair, feeling the shudder of her tears as she fought for control and knowing there wasn't a thing he could do to change it. At last though, there was no more time. Much as he hated it, he knew it. "I've got to go, Cait," he whispered kissing the top of her head.

"I know," she said, pulling away, her fingers still tangled in his. Reaching up, she brushed his cheek with her hand as if trying to memorize his features even as she stepped away, her fingers trailing down his cheek. "You watch your back, Stringfellow Hawke," she whispered.

"I will," he promised, blue eyes intent as he bent to give her one last kiss. "I love you, Caitlin O'Shaunessy Hawke," he whispered. "You remember that."

"I know," Cait rejoined, giving him a tremulous smile even as she let him go, watching him pull away one step at a time.

Letting her go, he shoved on a pair of shoes, abruptly hurrying down the stairs, not looking back. Silent, swift strides carried him across the aged plank living room floor, grabbing a coat and out the door.

Closing the door with a soft snick behind him, he hurried down the front porch steps towards the dock, finally daring to pause and cast one last glance behind him in the chill, foggy morning air. Hand on the door to the cockpit, the dark blue eyes took in the cabin and home - wondering if he'd ever be back.

The air around him was still cold, his breath frosting in front of him as he slipped past the rocks lining the entrance to the lair. His steps echoing in the entrance to the cave, String strode inside the lair abruptly glad now the events of the past few weeks had led him to bring the Lady home. Silence wrapped itself around him as he stepped through the ancient rocks, towards the sleek, black helicopter basking in the dim landing lights. Running a hand across her nose, he thought of Dom and his Lady. Absently, he hoped the old man would forgive him for what he was about to take her into, the words trailing out unbidden on a sigh. "I guess it's just you and me, baby," he whispered. What he wouldn't give to have Dom backing him this time.

Reaching inside the cockpit, Hawke pulled out the grey flight suit, the sleek, slick fabric sliding across his fingers. Suppressing a shiver, he slid into the chilly material zipping it up impatiently and reaching for the belt to hold his gun.

A sound somewhere in the darkness behind him startled him. Barely scraping against his hearing, the rasp of stone against stone. Instinct alerting him he was no longer alone, String reached for the .45 laying on the seat in front of him, turning as he did so.

"Freeze!" he growled, clicking the safety off the gun as he drew down, placing Airwolf's armored hide between him and his unexpected company.

Two grey-clad figures in flight suits similar to his, stepped out of the shadows even as he waited. The first raising his hands and making sure they were in plain sight.

"You know Hawke, your manners leave something to be desired," Roper remarked grinning.

Recognizing him, String clicked the safety back on the gun as he slid it into his belt. "Well, yours are going to get you killed one of these days," he retorted.

"Maybe," the younger man acknowledged with a grin.

"No maybe about it," Hawke replied, inclining his head. "And with my luck, I'll be the one to do it," his wry grin belied his words though.

The blond-streaked, dark haired pilot rolled his eyes. Beside him, Seb smirked. "Okay, you two," he said. "I thought we were here for a reason. Let's get this show on the road already.''

String gave a huff as he shot his brother Seb a sharp look, his own grin dissolving as if it'd never been. "Right," he said, on a heavy breath. "Michael's plane leaves in a couple hours, providing of course he can slip past Thor and his minions. We need to get in and get out, preferably before he ends up in harm's way. I'd rather not have to go back in to rescue him as well."

Serious, blue eyes a shade darker than Hawke's met his. Quietly, he voiced the question that had occurred to all of them. "Do you really think we can get Marella out?" he asked.

Roper narrowed his gaze on the older pilot, watching.

Hawke sighed, answering with a shrug. "Don't know, Seb," he said grimly. "It's a crap-shoot, but I have to try."

His brother nodded, jaw tightening, saying nothing.

"You don't have to go…" Hawke began. He had enough doubts about this mission on his own, he couldn't blame the others for having a few of their own.

"No," Seb said emphatically. "I don't. But I am." His tone was serious, certain as he met his brother's eyes.

String gave him a single nod, saying nothing. He had his doubts about how wise a plan that was, but he couldn't deny he was glad to have his brother Seb backing him. He might lack Dom's experience, but he was every bit as dogged.

"What about you, Roper?" he asked inclining his head. "You don't have to go, you know. Seb can back me and no one will think any the less of you for not going."

The blue-eyed pilot grinned, challenge lighting his eyes under the shock of light brown hair. "Hey," he said as he clapped String on the shoulder, "The Lady's my girl, too. I'm not letting you hog her. Besides, somebody has to make sure you bring her back safe and sound."

Hawke grinned at his oldest son, and shook his head laughing in spite of himself as he swung up into Airwolf's cockpit. Like it or not, the boy had inherited his penchant for trouble. He could only hope he'd also inherited his talent for survival.

Saint John Hawke collapsed into the wheelchair with a groan. A fine sheen of sweat coating his arms, he was to the point that he really didn't care how he got back to his room, so long as he did. He knew the hospital would be releasing him in a couple days and he'd have to make it on his own then, but for once he was in no hurry to go.

Beside him, Jo walked in silence as the nurse pushed him back to his room from the rehab floor. The nurse chattered enough for both of them as she kept up a cheerful running monologue. Unfortunately, Saint John couldn't have repeated a word of what she'd said in the last five minutes he realized as he shot a worried look at Jo, her arms clasped tightly around her body as if she had a perpetual chill.

Back in the room, the nurse, he vaguely remembered her name as Kylie, beamed at him as she put the brakes on the chair. "Want me to give you a hand back into bed?" she asked, offering him a strong, slender arm her green eyes sparkling. "I know the guys down in rehab worked you pretty hard. You must be beat."

Startled, he looked up at her and shook his head. There was a time a beautiful, young red-head making the offering would've more than caught his attention. Now, he thought ruefully, he barely even noticed her, his eyes and his thoughts on the silent blond with troubled blue eyes across the room from him.

"Nah," he commented. "But thanks," he said, sparing her a warm hazel glance. "I think I'll just stay here for a few minutes."

The red-head frowned momentarily as she looked at him. "You're sure?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yeah," he replied, giving her a brief smile. "I'll give you a call if I need some help," he promised.

She nodded, her gaze flitting between him and the blond-haired woman in the room. "Okay," she said eyeing them both. "You just remember, you promised me before you decide to go off wandering around on your own." Patting him on the shoulder, she slipped out of the room leaving them, giving a shrug as she went. Admittedly, she kinda liked her rangy patient, wouldn't have minded a chance to get to know him better, but…

"She likes you, you know," Jo said quietly as the door closed behind the young red-head.

Saint John threw a glance over his shoulder at the door. "Maybe," he allowed, the hazel eyes now watching her.

Restlessly, Jo paced the room. "She's a pretty, young thing," she commented, not meeting his eyes.

The hazel eyes narrowed assessing. "She's not you," he said bluntly. "Spill it, Jo. What's really up?"

Halting, she ceased her restless pacing, a sense of dread and unease crawling through her at the thought of this conversation. She'd known it would come though, eventually.

"Jo?" Saint John whispered, reaching out his hand. "Come here."

Raising her head, she faced him, her eyes guarded and sad.

He inclined his head, motioning to her, even as he reached for her. Grasping her hand, he tugged her towards him and the bed. "Have a seat," he murmured, fighting down the fear clutching at his chest. Surely, she wasn't thinking of leaving now, he thought wildly. Forcing the words past his lips with a false nonchalance he sure didn't feel, he said, "Talk to me, Jo."

Tugging her fingers free from his, Jo crossed suddenly cold arms. She drew in an unsteady breath, wondering where to begin.

"I was thinking maybe, it was time I moved out," she murmured.

"Why?" Saint John bit out, his words abruptly harsh. "I thought we agreed you'd stay at the apartment while I was in the hospital."

"That's just it, Sinj!" Jo exclaimed, her slender hands gesturing wildly, as enormous blue eyes implored him to understand. "You're about to not be! You'll be getting out in a couple days, and…"

"So?" Saint John growled. "What's your point?"

"You'll want your space, to get back into your routine. I just think you'd be more comfortable without me underfoot all the time…

"Why the hell would you think that?" Saint John snarled, finesse sliding out the window. "I want you, Jo! That was the point of you staying there, that was the point of me marrying you in the first place! I thought you understood that."

Pain was clutching at his chest now, whether it was from her words or his wounds, he couldn't say. All he knew was if she left, it didn't much matter.

Jo just stared at him, tears running down her face. "It's not that simple, Saint John!" she yelled, her own emotions out of control.

Saint John clenched his jaw, trying desperately to rein his own temper in. "Why not?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "I love you, I need you! What could be more simple than that?" The pain was raging through his ribs now, as he shoved to his feet to face her.

Jo threw her hands up in the air, blue eyes blazing. "We can't just pick up where we left off, Sinj! Bella's gone, we have to deal with that!"

Deal with it?" he snarled, clutching the bed rail. "She's gone! What more do you want me to do, Jo? I can't change it. Believe me, I would if I could."

"I know, Sinj," Jo sobbed.

"Jo, I still want you," he pleaded. "I still want an us. And if God saw fit, I'd still want another child."

Jo gaped at him incredulous. "How can you say that?" she cried incoherently, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I can't just replace her!"

Kylie walked into the room, lunch tray and meds in hand, long reddish braid swinging behind her. "Lunch time, Mr. Hawke…"

Fighting down a sob, Jo shoved past her out the door.

"Jo!" Saint John yelled. "Wait!"

Stunned, green eyes took in the scene, not registering his wavering stance, just the chaos. "I'm s-sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to come at a bad time…"

Saint John's clenched fingers slipped from the rail as he took a staggering step back. "No, you're just in time," he muttered as his knees gave way beneath him. "I need some help…" he whispered bowing his head, as the room went fuzzy around him.

Aghast, training kicking in before rational thought, Kylie dropped the tray, lunging for him before he hit the floor. Catching him, she staggered beneath his weight as she eased him down with her to the tile.