Stringfellow Hawke came awake, eye lids fluttering, tentatively at first.

Heavy.

Too heavy.

Just like the rest of his body.

Like he was pulling 10G's, in a nose dive, on the test range.

Gravity, pushing him down on to a hard surface.

Awareness was returning, only very slowly.

Gradually.

The first thing he really registered was the noise.

A soft grunting sound ….

He forced his eyes open, and found Dominic Santini, sitting in an old metal framed chair beside his bed.

Snoring softly.

Chin buried in his chest, as his head nodding gently in rhythm with each snore.

Despite the pounding headache that was jabbing away at the inside of his skull like a jack hammer, and the fuzziness of his vision, Stringfellow found himself smiling, finding the fact that Dominic Santini was sitting there, sound asleep, reassuring somehow.

At least his condition was not life threatening then.

Whatever it was that had put him back in the hospital, couldn't be that serious.

Suddenly, Dominic Santini emitted the loudest of snores, jarring himself awake, and immediately his eyes grew wide, as he realised that the man in the bed was awake ….

And grinning at him like a fool.

"Well hello there. You done sleeping?"

"Hi, Dad," String chuckled drowsily.

"Dad?" Santini frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair and regarding the younger man with real concern. "You sure you're awake?"

At that moment, the door opened, and in bustled a slender redheaded woman, Caitlin O'Shannessy, carrying a couple of Styrofoam cups of vending machine coffee, but when she noticed that the patient in the bed was wide awake now, she let out a shriek of delight, hurrying across the room toward the bed, and almost poured the coffee over Dominic Santini as she thrust the cups at him, and rushed over to give Stringfellow Hawke a hug.

Yes ….

Stringfellow Hawke ….

Not Stringfellow Santini ….

The younger man realised with a sinking heart.

However, as she pulled away from him at last, Cait noticed the strange expression on Hawke's face.

"Hey, you look like you lost a dollar and found a dime! You had us really worried for a minute there, mister. You could at least try to look pleased to see us," she chastised, then noticed the tears welling up in Hawke's eyes, and the crestfallen expression on his handsome face.

"Hawke?"

"I'm sorry …. Cait?" Hawke stammered, confusion evident in his startling blue eyes, as he realised that his disappointment must be written all over his face.

"You were expecting someone else?" she joked.

"Helen …."

"Who?"

"Helen. My wife …."

As soon as the words were out, Hawke knew that they were wrong ….

And, it was confirmed to him, when Caitlin and Dominic Santini exchanged a concerned glance.

"Hey, I think that bang on the head was more serious than the doc said," this from Dominic Santini now, who had moved to perch himself on the edge of his chair. "That, or else he's still in dreamland."

"I'll go get the nurse," this from Cait, anxiety written all over her pretty face as she turned around and began to march across the room.

"Hey, wait a minute. Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on here? Ouch," Hawke moaned, as, in trying to sit up in the bed, the pain that shot through his head threatened to split it in half, and a wave of nausea made his stomach roil.

"Take it easy, String," Dominic Santini was out of his chair quickly, laying a stilling hand on Hawke's shoulder as he noted the confusion and pain etched into the younger man's face now.

"Cait, don't go. I'm sorry," Hawke mumbled, closing his eyes against the pain briefly, feeling the hot tears coursing down his face as realisation began to dawn.

He was back where he belonged.

It had all been a dream.

Every precious moment of it.

Nothing but a dream.

And he knew that he had never experienced such disappointment, such a feeling of loss, and emptiness, in his whole life before.

Gone.

All of it ….

Gone.

Just when he had been beginning to accept it.

Just when he had been beginning to enjoy it.

Just when he had been beginning to believe that it would go on forever.

Helen.

The children.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to find Caitlin standing beside Dominic, at his bedside, regarding him with open concern.

"It's ok," he felt obliged to reassure his friends, despite the fact that his whole world had just come tumbling down around his ears. "Why don't we start over, and you guys tell me where I am and how I got here?"

"You're in the hospital," Dominic Santini explained. "You had quite a nasty bang on the head. Been out of it for almost forty eight hours. Concussion. Lucky you still got a brain in that thick head of yours."

"What happened?"

"You should be more careful is what happened!" Dominic Santini growled. "You took a nose dive off of Ron Baxter's Gypsy Moth. Hell, I don't know what happened, I wasn't really looking. One minute you were up there fixing the wing wires, and the next. Splat!" Santini winced as he explained the accident that had befallen his young friend.

"Splat, huh?" Hawke swatted at the tears that were still rolling down his cheeks, and squinted still more from his eyes, however his vision remained slightly fuzzy and blurred and there was a knot of emotion building up inside him, closing his throat and tightening his chest muscles.

"Yeah. Splat. Out like a light. Frightened the life out of both of us! You'll be ok though," Santini assured. "A minor concussion, the doc says. You're lucky you got such a thick skull. Might have been a whole different story, if you'd landed on your ass."

"What day is it?" Hawke asked gruffly, looking from Caitlin to Dominic and then back to Caitlin.

"It's Monday. Monday 15th July, 1986. Am. Very Am, to be exact," Dominic Santini let out a deep sigh glancing at his watch and noting that it read 5.50am. "String?"

"I'm all right," Hawke lied. "Guess I must have been dreaming," he sighed deeply and settled back amongst his pillows. "Did I go to my physical?"

"Sure ya did. Passed A1. Never any doubt that you wouldn't get through," Caitlin smiled gently and patted his hand.

"Great," Hawke knew that he had to get a grip on himself, because he could see that his odd behaviour was worrying both of his friends, and that was the last thing that he wanted.

They had obviously both been worried about him.

Had stayed at his bedside, watching over him, until they were sure that he was going to be all right.

But, all he really wanted was for them to just go away and leave him alone.

So that he could give into his feelings.

Give into his grief.

Allow the tears to fall freely, and wash away the sorrow and the disappointment, and the feeling that he had lost something so very precious and important.

But, he couldn't.

No, he wouldn't do that in front of his friends.

They wouldn't understand.

They would think that there was something terribly wrong with him, and they would begin to worry all over again.

Hawke didn't want that.

"I'll go let the nurses know you're awake," Caitlin made to move away from the bed, but Hawke reached out for her hand and held it gently, fixing a smile on his face.

"I'm ok, Cait. Just a little disorientated," he confessed. "I guess I just need a few minutes, to get my head on straight, " he forced another smile then. "I'm sorry I frightened you. Both of you," he turned his attention back to Dominic Santini, who was watching him very carefully, a knowing look on his face, although the older man wisely kept his thoughts to himself. "And that I caused you both to have yet another sleepless night."

"I still think I should go tell the nurses. The doctor will probably want to take another look at you," Caitlin told him, but she was smiling softly at him now. "I'll be right back."

"Ask them what time they serve breakfast around here. I'm starved!" Hawke chuckled at the look on Caitlin's face.

"Oh well, now, if you're worried about your stomach already, there can't be that much wrong with you!"

Dominic Santini waited patiently until Caitlin had left the room, but as soon as the door closed behind her, he fixed a hard glare on Hawke.

"Wanna tell me how you really feel?"

"I'm ok, Dom."

"In a pig's eye!" Santini contradicted.

"It's nothing."

"You never were a very good liar, String. At least not to my face."

"I …." Hawke could feel his throat closing and the tears threatening to overwhelm him once more. "Just the remnants of a dream."

"A nightmare?"

"No," Hawke denied quickly.

He knew what Dominic was referring to. The horrifically real nightmares, re-living his time in Vietnam, that periodically disturbed his sleep, whenever there was something on his mind.

"No Dom, not like that. I …. I can't explain. It was just so real," he choked on the lump in his throat then, and Dominic Santini pulled his chair up a little closer to the bed, worried by the uncharacteristic show of emotion from the younger man.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked gently.

"No …. I …. Maybe some other time, Dom. When I've had a chance to sort through it."

"Well, when you're ready. I'm here son, you know that."

"Yeah, I know that, Da …." Hawke caught himself up short then, as he realised what he had been about to say and drew in a deep, ragged breath.

"You can call me Dad, if you want to, String. I love you like you were my own son, you know that. I wouldn't be ashamed to call you my son …."

"I know, Dom, and I wouldn't ever be ashamed to have you as my Dad," Hawke reached out to Santini then, slipping his arm around the older man's neck gently, and drawing him close in a bear hug.

"I'm ok, now," he told the older man, when they parted.

"Sure you are," but, Santini did not look convinced. "Maybe we should leave you be. Let you get some proper sleep," he suggested tactfully. "You'll feel better, when you wake up."

Hawke doubted it, but he nodded in agreement, wincing when pain shot through his head and his stomach rolled over against his spine, sending a wave of nausea crashing over him.

"You know where I am, when you feel up to talking about it."

"Yeah."

"I'll go rescue those poor nurses from Caitlin," Santini rose from his perch and, hitching up his pants, began to walk toward the door. "Probably trying to teach them how to read a thermometer!" Santini turned at the door and grinned. "Get some rest."

"You, too."

"Plenty of work to do when you're up to it."

"There always is."

"And Archangel called, I think he had a job for you, but I told him you were out of town on business."

"Thanks. Is …. the Lady, ok?"

"She's fine. Right where you left her," Santini assured.

"Thanks. I'll be all right, Dom. I just need some time to myself."

"Sure. Be back later. You want me to bring you anything? Clothes? Razor? Grapes? Beer?"

"I don't think booze is going to help with the disorientation thing, Dom," Hawke grinned then.

"Who said you were going to be the one drinking it?" Santini chuckled. "Take it easy kid."

"I will, Dom. I love you," this again drew a curious look from Santini.

Each of them knew how the other felt, without the need for words.

Still, it was good for them both to hear it, and to say it, now and again, Santini thought to himself.

"I love you too. Get some rest."

No sooner had Dominic Santini closed the door softly behind him than the dam burst, and silent sobs overwhelmed Hawke's body, and scalding hot tears cascaded down his face endlessly.

Oh God!

He would never see them again.

Never see Helen, or Dom Junior, Christopher, Lucy or his precious baby Connie …. Never see them, hold them, feel them in his arms.

What would he do without them?

Were they real people, or had they just been a part of a very realistic dream?

They had certainly felt real enough, when he had held each of them in his arms.

And how his arms ached now to hold each of them once again …. If only for one last time.

It had ended too soon.

Too soon.

How would he ever explain it to Dom?

To anyone?

They would think that he had gone crazy.

But, Hawke knew that he had not.

Hawke knew that for whatever reason, he had been granted a taste of all the things that would enrich his life.

If, circumstances were different.

And he would never forget that.

Never forget them. Or, what they had done to enrich him and his life.

They had shown him what the future could hold for him.

If, he could just let go of this obsession, to find St John, first.

He had learned so much about himself, thanks to them.

He had liked what he had discovered.

He had liked Stringfellow Santini.

He had liked living Stringfellow Santini's life.

And now that he had had a taste of what that kind of life could be like, how was he ever going to go back to Stringfellow Hawke's solitary, sterile, soulless life?

The self imposed exile of his heart.

How could he go back to that, when he knew now just how wonderful life could be, with the right woman sharing it with him.

Loving and being loved.

Surrounded by happy, contented, children.

As he allowed his grief to wash over him, Stringfellow Hawke finally accepted that he really had no choice. He simply had to accept that the life he was living in the here and now, was the life that he had chosen for himself, and was the life that he was destined to live.

Stringfellow Santini's life was just that.

A whole universe away from the life that Stringfellow Hawke was destined to live.

He had no other choice but to accept it.

And move on.

But, as the grief and the sorrow consumed him, Hawke could not help wondering ….

What if?

What if Helen Maynard really did exist?

Hawke and Santini were one and the same person, except for the circumstances of their individual daily lives.

What if there really was a Helen Maynard out there?

Was it quite so far fetched to hope that maybe they were destined to meet one day?

And begin a life similar to the Santini's?

Was it too much to hope for?

As he buried his face in his pillow, Stringfellow Hawke suspected that for him, yes, it was just too much to expect.

This was his life, and he just had to accept that.

This was his life, because it was the way that he had chosen to live, because of the dangers and perils he encountered daily.

That had not changed.

Even if something deep down inside of him had.

"Ain't that a lovely sight?" Dominic Santini commented on a deep sigh of pleasure and contentment. "I just love to see the sun rise from up here."

It was the first time that he and Stringfellow Hawke had been up in Airwolf since Hawke's little accident. A routine check flight, now that Hawke had been given the all clear by his doctors that he could fly again.

After he had gotten out of the hospital, Hawke had gone home, to his cabin up at Eagle Lake, and had remained there, isolated and remote, even when Dominic Santini had invited himself to dinner on the spur of the moment one evening, bringing wine and steak and Hawke's favourite cheese, to share.

Never one to talk too much, Hawke had remained silent for most of the evening, shrugging off all of Santini's efforts to draw him into conversation.

Santini had come away from the cabin feeling even more worried and uneasy, as the younger man had looked tired and pale and distracted.

Now that they were alone, and there was no chance of their conversation being overheard, Santini had decided to get to the bottom of what was eating at the younger man.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's going on in that head of yours?" Santini asked now without preamble.

"Actually, I was just looking at the main engine. Seems to be running a little hot …."

"Ok, hotshot," Santini sighed deeply. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Are you gonna tell me what happened to get you so …. Upset?" Santini struggled to find the right word. "So damned out of sorts? You ain't been yourself since you woke up in the hospital," he pointed out.

"I'm fine, Dom."

"Dammit, will you stop fobbing me off!" Santini roared through the microphone in his helmet, and Hawke winced, deafened by the volume. "Stop taking me for a sucker, String, I know you, and I know when something ain't right. I'm not trying to stick my nose in where it don't belong, I'm worried about ya, kid. You've been miserable as a dog with fleas! Grumbling and grouching and giving us those stony looks of yours."

"I'm sorry, Dom," Hawke sighed deeply, and he truly was sorry.

He knew he had been miserable, hard to reach and difficult to get along with, these past few days, but he had deliberately shut himself off from everything and everyone, to try to get back into his old routine, so that things …. He …. could get back to normal as quickly as they could.

But, it hadn't worked.

He suspected that things would never truly go back to the way they had been before.

Because, things just weren't the same any more.

He wasn't the same any more.

His perspective had changed.

He just couldn't get Helen Santini out of his mind.

He couldn't shake her face from his memory.

Every time he closed his eyes to sleep, he could see her smiling at him, smell her perfume, feel the heat of her body close to his own, as she snuggled up close to him as she settled herself for sleep ….

Just as she had the last time that he had seen her ….

Before waking up in the hospital, once more.

It was driving him crazy.

He did not know how it was possible, but she was even more real to him now, than when he had been living that life.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

What was she doing, how was she coping with the new baby?

What had happened to Stringfellow Santini, in that other life?

Had things gone on as before for them too?

"Don't be sorry, son, just talk to me. Get it off your chest, for God's sake. Stewin' on it ain't doing you any good. Been meaner than a bear with a hornet up its ass these past couple of days, even Cait said I should maybe get you to take a happy pill, 'cos she's tired of you snarlin' at her."

"I haven't been that bad? Have I?"

However, now that he thought about it, Hawke realised that he had been less than polite and diplomatic with those closest to him.

"I'll apologise to her when we get back," Hawke sighed deeply.

"That apology better consist of at least a dozen red roses, and an offer for dinner somewhere real expensive."

"Ok, ok, I get the point."

"Now spit it out! You know you can trust me, String, it won't go no further, but, I think you know you gotta talk to someone. Up here, it's just you and me and the Lady …."

"I don't know how to explain it."

"How bad can it be? Just start at the beginning, but, start somewhere. You got me and Cait both so worried that you are sick, that that bang on the head was more serious than you're letting on."

"It's nothing like that, Dom. It's just …. Well …. Oh hell …."

"String?"

"All right, Dom. When I was in the hospital, er, I had a dream, except, it wasn't like any dream I've ever had before. It was so real. Like I was really living it."

"A dream? All this is about some dream?" Dominic Santini's voice rose in incredulity now.

"Yeah, Dom," Hawke sighed. He had known that Santini would not really understand. "Just some crazy dream."

"Ok. So what of it?" Santini coaxed, picking up something in the younger man's tone of voice then. "I thought you said it wasn't a nightmare."

"It wasn't. It was …. It was, beautiful," Hawke's voice cracked then, and this made Santini frown.

"You ok?"

"No Dom. No. I've never felt like this before. I never knew I could feel like this before …."

"Like what?"

"Like everyone I ever loved, all died at the same time. Like I lost everything that is precious to me. Like I lost everything that was ever important to me, and I'll never get them back …."

"Lost what, String, you're not making any sense. What the hell was this dream about!" Santini demanded.

"A different life."

"Huh?"

"A different life, Dom, where I was happily married, and had a handful of beautiful, laughing, contented, kids, a father who adored me, and whom I adored in return and, a life that was so full of love and affection and peace. A life so completely opposite to what is real."

"Like a fantasy?"

"Maybe," Hawke sighed again. "But it was very real. I could touch things, feel things, taste things …. Smell things …. It wasn't like one of those silly dream sequences, in a movie, Dom. a veil of mist and echoing voices. The people where real. Very real."

"I think you'd better tell me all about it. Nice and slow."

"Ok. Well, it started when I woke up in the hospital. Not this time, when I saw you sitting there, snoring your head off, but the first time, when I woke up, after being in a coma for almost four months."

"A coma!" Hawke heard the crack in Santini's voice then, but decided to ignore it and just plough on with his story, while his nerve still lasted.

"And the nurses and doctors kept calling me Stringfellow Santini."

"Stringfellow Santini?" Dominic echoed.

""Yeah, Dom. That's why I called you Dad, when I woke up. I thought I was still there. Still in that idyllic place."

"Oh."

Although he found it very difficult to explain all of it, Stringfellow Hawke told the older man everything, trying to make it seem as real as it had been to himself.

About being told that his parents had died in a fire at the cabin, not drowned in the lake, and that Dominic Santini and his wife Maria, had taken him in, and adopted him when he was ten years old.

About discovering that St John had been killed in action in Vietnam, and that he had been wounded so badly, in the same piece of action, he had been confined to a wheelchair for months and told that he would never walk again.

About finding out that he had a twin sister, called Skyler.

About Helen Santini, and the family they had created together, and how he had felt at witnessing the birth of his daughter, Connie.

Constance Maria named for his mother and adopted mother.

And what it had felt like to hold her in his arms for the very first time.

Dominic Santini sat in stunned silence and listened to every word the younger man uttered, but the thing that impressed him most of all, was the depth of emotion that was in the younger man's voice, as he explained everything that had happened to him, and Santini knew that it was more than just a story about a dream he had had.

Hawke truly believed that he had been there, that he had felt it and lived it and tasted it and breathed it.

To him it had been very real.

And it had obviously affected him very deeply.

"And you know the hardest thing for me to accept, Dom? I didn't want to come back. I liked that life. I liked being Stringfellow Santini, your son, Helen's husband, and those terrific kids' Dad. I didn't want to let that life go, And right now, I would give anything to be able to go back there. Anything," Hawke concluded on a ragged sigh.

No wonder the younger man had seemed so distant.

So, unhappy, since he had gotten out of the hospital, Santini thought silently to himself.

He had made it all sound so wonderful, so perfect.

Idyllic.

Everything that any man could want, or hope for, or dream of.

And yes, so completely different to the life he was really living.

"But you can't go back there, String, because it ain't real," Santini reasoned. "It was just a very vivid dream, son. We all have dreams like that, from time to time, except that most of us have forgotten them by the time we hit the shower. Just left with that big soppy grin on our faces, that we just can't explain," he paused for a moment then continued.

"This, is real life, this, is what you do, and who you are. No matter how hard it is, you have to let it go."

"I can't. I've tried," Hawke confessed raggedly. "But, I can't get them out of my head. I can't stop thinking that she might really exist, that she might be out there, just waiting for me to find her."

"Helen?"

"Yes."

"That's crazy."

"I know! But, I can't get the idea out of my head, Dom."

"I don't know anyone called Helen."

"I know that, Dom, and I never changed my name to Santini. You never adopted me. I don't have a twin sister and, I still believe that St John is alive out there, somewhere, but, so much of Stringfellow Santini's life was similar to mine. What if Helen really is out there, and she is the woman I am meant to be with for the rest of my life?"

"Oh boy," Santini let out a soft sigh. "Then I guess you better try to find her, 'cos you ain't never gonna settle until you know for sure."

"I wouldn't know where to start."

"Me neither, son, but, we both know a guy who would. If you were prepared to ask him …." Santini's voice trailed away, but Hawke knew perfectly well who he was referring to.

"Archangel."

"Archangel." Santini confirmed. "You know, he'll probably laugh you out of his office, but, he does have the resources to try to find someone."

Stringfellow Hawke knew that Santini was right.

Archangel would think that he had completely lost the plot, lost his hold on reality.

Once he had stopped laughing that was.

Maybe it wasn't so far from the truth.

Maybe he had lost his grip on reality? Hawke could not help thinking silently to himself.

He knew how ridiculous it all sounded.

Even to his own ears, as he had been trying to explain it all to Dominic Santini just now.

But, he couldn't shake the notion.

He also knew that Dominic Santini was right about something else too.

He would not be able to settle until he knew for sure, one way or the other.

"You really believe she exists, don't ya, String?"

"I don't know, Dom," there was frustration in Hawke's voice now and Santini wished that there was something that he could say, or do, to make it right for the younger man. "I just know I can't get the idea out of my head," Hawke confessed raggedly.

"Well, maybe it ain't so crazy, or far fetched after all?" Dominic mused aloud. "Say you saw her, briefly, maybe you never did know her name, just seen her in some bar or restaurant, or in the line at the grocery store, but didn't pay her no mind, and didn't give it any thought after that. Then, when you were out cold, your subconscious mind dredged up the memory, and allowed you to give her a name and slot her into your nice, cosy little dream world?"

"Gee, Dom, you make it sound like something out of the Twilight Zone!" Hawke groaned expressively.

"Hey kid, it's your fantasy," Santini countered. "Is my theory any crazier or dumber than yours?"

"No, I guess not. But, it was so damned real, Dom, and I can't shake the idea that she is out there. Somewhere."

"Then you gotta do something about it. For the sake of your sanity, and those of us who care about you too. You've been impossible to be around, String. I don't know how much longer Cait and I could have put up with your grouching and your moodiness. Go talk to Archangel, and find out once and for all, else you'll never be able to get back to normal."

"I'll think about it."

"No, don't think about it. Do it! You know it's the right thing to do. For everyone. It ain't gonna be easy, and maybe you won't like what you find out. But, at least you'll know for sure and then maybe you'll be able to move on."

"Ok," Hawke agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "Thanks for the fatherly advice."

"You're welcome, son. Just make sure you act on it."

"Ok, ok, already."

"Ya know, String, that other life you told me about, in your dream. nobody wants that life for you more than I do. But only you can do something about it, even if you don't find this Helen Maynard woman. Haven't I been telling you all these years, that you ain't gonna find yourself a wife and have a bunch of kids, shutting yourself away from the world up there at the cabin? Maybe you're ready to start looking for the right woman, to make that life with now? Maybe that's the whole point of the dream? There is a woman, just like this Helen, waiting for you out there, String, I'm sure of it, but you've got to be willing to accept her, when she does come along. You can't go on living this empty, solitary existence forever my friend, or else you really will go crazy."

"You through?"

"Guess so."

"Good, then gimme turbos, it's time we turned this baby around and took her home ….."

"Ok Hawke, you got me out here, want to let me in on the secret?"

"I wanted to talk to you, in private," Hawke sighed deeply, sitting stiffly in his seat and regarding Michael Coldsmith Briggs III with cold blue eyes. "I didn't want an audience. What I want to talk to you about is, personal, and rather, delicate."

That was why he had persuaded Archangel to meet him on a crowded street corner, and then driven him out here to the edge of the desert, as the sun began to sink slowly toward the horizon.

"I'm intrigued."

"And if you ever breathe a word of it to anyone, I will personally disembowel you."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Archangel quipped.

"Michael, I'm being serious here."

"So I see."

"Believe me, if I had any other choice, I wouldn't have come to you with this. But …."

"All right, I'll bite."

"I need some information."

"On St John, no doubt," Archangel drawled, letting out a deep sigh. "I already gave you what we have."

"No," Hawke cut in.

This drew an arched eyebrow from the government agent in white.

"Oh?"

"I need you to find …. a woman."

"Oh dammit, Hawke, you can't use the FIRM's resources for your own personal dating service," Archangel wrestled with a grin then, enjoying the other man's obvious discomfort.

"Michael," Hawke growled the warning. "Not just any woman!"

"No, of course not. That figures. Not just any old woman, for Stringfellow Hawke!"

"Are you gonna shut up and listen, or do I toss your booty out of here and leave you for the coyotes and buzzards to pick over your bones in the morning?" Hawke snarled.

"Temper, temper …."

"Michael …."

"All right, I'll listen, just make it snappy will you, these desert nights are a little chilly and this suit is lightweight summer material …."

"What I am about to tell you is serious, Michael, not a joke, not some prank. It is serious and deeply personal, and it galls the hell outta me, that I need your help to resolve the issue."

"That's a helluva way to ask for a favour, Hawke."

"Dammit, Michael …."

"Ok, ok …. Just get on with it, whatever it is."

"It's very important to me, Michael, and you need to understand that I am not yanking your chain here. So, if you laugh, or even smirk, you'll be picking your teeth out of that mess of cactus over there, for a week …."

"All right, Hawke, I guess I owe you the chance to get whatever it is off your chest. Shoot."

"Don't tempt me, Michael," Hawke growled, then, settling back in the driver's seat of the Santini Air jeep, began to explain what it was he wanted from the Government agent, and, somewhat reluctantly, his reasons for making this unusual request.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III heard Hawke's story out, then sat in silence for several minutes watching the stars begin to fill the night sky overhead, and the moon rise above the distant horizon.

"That has to be just about the weirdest thing I ever heard," he finally let out a deep sigh. "But you know something …. I believe you."

This drew a startled look from Hawke.

"Yes. I believe you, Hawke, because you're just too practical, realistic, pragmatic, grounded and down to earth, to have just made up something like this. You're not prone to flights of fancy …. And you don't have that much imagination. It has to have happened, or at least you believe that it happened. And it appears to have had a remarkable affect on you."

"So will you help me or not?"

"I can run a check on the name, certainly, but, there's no guarantee that the computer will come up with anything."

"Don't worry, Michael, I won't kill you if you don't find her," Hawke sighed deeply.

"Can I have that in writing please?"

"I just need to know, one way or the other."

"And if she is real? If, she does exist? What will you do? Try to sweep her off her feet with your rugged good looks, and your boyish charm? What if she doesn't want anything to do with you?"

"Frankly Michael, that's none of your business."

"Easy, tiger, but I think it is. At the moment, I'm buying this cock and bull story of yours, but what if you have an entirely different ulterior motive in mind? How do I know you don't have some murderous intent?"

"Because you know me, Michael."

"Yes, I know you, Hawke, and you don't always do everything by the book."

"This one is off the record, Michael. Just between you, and me."

"And what do I get in return?"

"My assurance, that I won't turn all of Airwolf's weapons on you."

"Somebody already beat you to it."

"Ok, Michael. I'll fly as many damned Airwolf missions as you need, if you will just do this one thing for me."

"Any kind of mission, no matter how crazy, or dangerous, or covert?"

"Anything, Michael," Hawke sighed deeply, his shoulders rising almost up to his ears before he expelled the breath loudly. "You play dirty."

"That's why I'm where I am, and you're not."

"No competition, Michael. I never wanted to be in your shoes. Never will. So? Do I get my information?"

"I'll run her name through the computer, and let you know what comes out the other end, but like I said, there are no guarantees."

"I'm not asking for guarantees. Just a little peace of mind."

"I can't guarantee you'll get that either, Hawke, but I will do my best to find her, if she exists."

"Thank you, Michael."

"I'll also check out the other details you remember. There may be something in it."

"Thanks, Michael."

"Can we go now, please, my Southern constitution can't take too much more of this evening desert chill, but I have to say, Hawke, you do know how to show a guy a good time …."

"Cute Michael …." Hawke snarled, turning on the engine and revving it loudly, then rammed the jeep into gear and slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator. "Real cute …."

One week later ….

Stringfellow Hawke's Cabin, Eagle Lake.

"Gee Michael, what took you so damned long?" Stringfellow Hawke sighed deeply as he watched the older man limp heavily across the room to where he was standing, behind the bar.

He had anticipated that the government agent would come up with something on Helen Maynard within a few hours of his making the request, but when days had stretched into a week, before he had called him at the hangar, Hawke had begun to think that he would blow a gasket.

Tet was sprawled out in front of the roaring log fire, and let out a loud yawn, before closing his eyes once more, knowing from past experience that there would be no tasty titbits coming his way from this particular visitor, and that nor was he a threat to his master.

"Look, Hawke, I may be the Deputy Director of Special Projects, but even I have to justify computer time," Archangel replied a little breathlessly, as he struggled to climb up on to one of the high stools at the bar, and watched with relief as Hawke poured him a glass of red wine from a half full bottle sitting on the counter.

"And you wanted this to remain between the two of us. So, I had to pick my time, and the person I went to, to help me run the computer data. I also had to have a plausible reason for asking the guy to give up his computer for me to use, during his lunch break," Archangel sighed deeply. "In the end, the best I could come up with was, that her name had come up in an investigation. Tentatively ID'd as a murder victim."

Archangel saw the anxious look on Hawke's face.

"We are a law enforcement, and prevention agency, Hawke, the only reason I would be needing to run a name through the computer, was in connection with a crime, looking for either a suspect or a victim."

"Who else knows about this?" Hawke glowered at him, then, lowered his gaze to the thin file that Archangel had placed on the bar counter between them.

"No-one. Not specific details anyway. The only person who even knows I was down there in the computer lab, is the guy whose computer console I used. That's all. I swear. No-one else. Not even Marella," Archangel assured, although, he had had the devil's own job keeping it from her.

She wasn't stupid and she knew him very well.

She had been very much aware that something was afoot, and more than a little irritated with his reluctance to fill her in.

"That can't have been easy," Hawke acknowledged on a sigh of understanding at the look on the other man's moustachioed face.

"She'll get over it. Got other fish to fry," but Archangel did not elaborate, and Hawke knew better than to ask about the FIRM's business interests, that did not directly involve himself and Airwolf.

"Did you read it?"

"Don't think that I wasn't tempted, Hawke, but, out of respect for your request for privacy, no, I did not," Archangel assured, taking a sip of his wine. "And I made sure that I deleted all the information I entered."

"Thanks. I mean it, Michael. It means a lot to me."

"Hadn't you better read what it says first?" Archangel advised.

"I'm not sure I can, but, I guess as you're here, waving that file under my nose …. She does exist." he tried to sound matter of fact, but his heart was racing in his chest, and his fingers were burning to reach out for the file.

"I guess. Hell, I don't know, Hawke. Like I said, I didn't read it, just scooped up the report that the computer spat out, and got outta there ASAP, before the operator came back from lunch and could ask too many questions. For all I know, that could be Levenworth's laundry list, or Quantico's grocery order for the next month," he grinned, taking a sip of the red wine. "This is good," he indicated to the wine. "Your taste is improving."

"I know it was a big ask, Michael. Did you try to check out the rest of the details of my …. Story?"

"Of course," Archangel confirmed, setting down his glass on the bar, but his fingers continued to play with the patterned foot. "More holes in it than Swiss Cheese, but, I kind of expected that."

Archangel could not mistake the look of disappointment in Hawke's blue eyes.

"But, here's the damnedest thing, Hawke. Bits of it were real."

"They were?"

"Sure. For instance, there really is a place called Elkington, in California, and it does have a hospital with a specialist head trauma unit, for coma patients."

"But dammit, how would I know that?"

"Beats me, Hawke, and before you ask, there is no record of a patient called Stringfellow Santini or Stringfellow Hawke."

"You checked?" Hawke was surprised. Archangel really was taking this seriously.

"Of course I checked," Archangel sighed expressively then, twisting his wine glass in his fingers.

"Is that all?" Hawke could not hide his disappointment.

"It's enough for me to believe that your brain hasn't gone completely AWOL, Hawke. One other thing, none of the airlines, domestic or overseas carriers report having a Captain Stringfellow Santini on their books, and there is no record of an air liner having crashed in the desert, in the last ten to fifteen years."

Hawke had suspected as much.

Something like that would have been big news, and it would have stuck in his memory.

"Oh well."

"And whilst I was checking your story, there is no record of the birth, marriage or death of one Skyler Hawke/Santini. As you know, there is no record of the death of St John Hawke, he's still listed as MIA, and there is no record of a St John Santini either."

"Thanks Michael. For checking it out for me."

"Did you ever consider taking up fiction writing? One of your dreams could turn out to be a best seller," Archangel chuckled then, picking up his wine glass and downing the last of its contents.

"You could have a point there," Hawke sighed deeply. "Thanks for all of your hard work on this."

"Oh, don't worry, Hawke, you'll pay for it, one way or another."

"I don't doubt it, Michael. See ya around."

Archangel knew that he had been dismissed and smiled softly at Hawke.

"I hope it works out for you, Hawke. One way, or another."

"Yeah." and with that, Archangel took his leave, curious to know how Hawke would deal with the contents of the file, but knowing that his company would not be appreciated.

Stringfellow Hawke waited for half an hour after he heard Archangel's helicopter depart from the jetty out there on the edge of the lake, before finally reaching out to draw the file with the FIRM's logo embossed on the front closer to him, and flipped it open.

There was only one sheet of paper inside, he noted with irritation.

However, the first thing that greeted him was a photograph of Helen Maynard ….

From the Department of Motor Vehicles.

Indeed, the only piece of paper inside the file was an application form for a driving licence renewal, dated six months back, Hawke noted as he scanned the sheaf of paper quickly.

However he could not keep his eyes off the photograph.

Her lovely face, just as he remembered it, staring back at him from beneath a paperclip on the top right hand corner of the sheaf of paper.

My God!

She was real.

She really did exist …. And, she was as lovely as he remembered her.

He reached out with trembling fingers and traced the line of her cheek and jaw with his finger, then closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

He had been right.

She was real.

She was out there. Somewhere.

All he had to do was read the application form and he would have a place to start ….

An address ….

Somewhere he could go to look for her.

If, he decided that was a wise thing to do, he suddenly told himself sternly.

Six months was a long time.

She might have moved on.

She could be anywhere in California by now.

And, if, he did seek her out?

What the hell would he say to her?

How would he explain his sudden appearance on her doorstep?

Disrupting her life with his crazy ravings, about finding her in his dreams.

Oh God!

The more he thought about it, the crazier it seemed.

Just because he had the information at his fingertips, it didn't mean that he had to act on it.

Couldn't it just be enough to know that he hadn't conjured her up out of thin air?

No.

Now that he knew that she was real, that she did exist, he knew that he just had to go find her, see her, to discover if he felt the same way about her, in the real world.

And find out, once and for all if she could ever feel the same way about him.

All he had to do was read the piece of paper in the file on the counter before him.

But first, he needed another drink ….