FALL FROM GRACE
PART V
By Linda Ryner
They stayed at the compound the remainder of that day and the following night. Michael didn't think it would take longer than that to discover the whereabouts of the third set of schematics. If they didn't have the information by then, they probably wouldn't get it at all. They would return to Cairo
in the morning with their prisoner under heavy guard, courtesy of the Egyptian government, and take a private Firm plane from there to New York.
Despite Michael's cajoling for her to rest, Jackie was restless that evening, pacing, doing dozens of turns around the compound just to keep occupied. She found a couple of chairs behind one of the buildings and leaned back in one of them. She caught sight of Marella walking across the compound, also apparently
restless. The operative's face was not peaceful, but lined, screwed up in a frown. It made her look ten years older than her thirty-two years. Jackie leaned forward, pushing the hair back from her forehead, then reached in her pocket and extracted a Camel from the soft-pack, shoving it between her lips and lighting it.
She shivered. Despite their desert location, the evening drop in temperature was more than fifty degrees some nights.
Jackie had always liked Marella. She was probably the first real 'girlfriend' besides Gabrielle Jackie had ever had. Marella had never made her feel like she was simply being looked after when she visited Michael in L.A. or when she and Michael came together to Chicago on business. Marella treated her like an equal,
a friend. They shopped together, did lunch, went to polo and tennis matches together . . .
When Gabrielle's remains had been brought home -- Michael would not go into how that had been managed -- memorial services had been held for the deceased operative, and she and Marella had held each other in their grief. Tears had fallen from Marella's eyes, but none had fallen from hers.
Not that she hadn't wanted to cry. She had wanted to cry and scream and curse God and Michael and The Firm -- but for some reason, she just couldn't. Another layer of stone had been added to her outer wall as she stood there in the mist and drizzle of the quiet California cemetery.
//Big girls don't cry, Jacquelyn Leigh. Sara, when are you going to teach that girl to act like a young lady instead of a crybaby?//
//Mother, she's only six years old.//
//She's old enough to learn. Come here, girl. Dry those eyes and sit up straight.//
Marella had just gotten out of the hospital after having recovered from her coma courtesy of the Red Star disaster and was still not one hundred percent. Jackie remembered how her arm had held secure around the other woman, offering support and empathy during the funeral service. It was the first time Jackie had been forced
to face the untimely death of someone close to her, and she didn't want comfort. She wanted to be left alone in her room of cold stone. She wanted to remember what it felt like. The solitude. The loneliness. The utter feeling of helplessness. When she emerged from that room, she wanted to feel the anger and denial and then
the final, burning acceptance that stole a piece of your soul. Because one day, she might have to face it again and she wanted to be prepared.
But she hadn't been prepared. She hadn't accepted Gabrielle's death, or her mother's, or her father's. She understood that the bodies had been brought home and laid in the earth. She understood that eulogies had been spoken and mourning had been done. But denial was safer. Anger was safer. At least those were two things
that you could hold onto. With anger and denial, you didn't have to say goodbye. You could let it sit in your heart and grow and you could take the pain -- but you didn't have to say goodbye to the people you loved the most. It left the illusion that somehow, they still might be alive. Perhaps not anywhere you could touch
them or talk to them. But they could still be nebulously there.
"Jackie?"
She turned suddenly, smiling up at Marella. "Hi. Thought you'd be in bed by now."
"No, thought I'd look for you. How're you doing?" the operative queried, sitting down beside her in the other chair.
"How do I look like I'm doing?" She took a long drag on her cigarette. "You bring any of my cherry bombs back?"
"A few. We did need some of them for cover when we blew up the artillery back at the military site," Marella replied. "Why?"
"Because I want to light a couple and shove 'em down Preston's throat."
Marella leaned back. "Yeah, you and Michael and Hawke and Dom and me. We've all thought about it."
"Still hasn't give up the location of that third set of schematics, huh?" Jackie asked, blowing a smoke ring.
"Not a word." She looked over at the younger woman. "Can I have one of those?"
Jackie blew out some more smoke and smiled. "Didn't think you smoked, Marella."
"I quit a long time ago. I could use one now, though."
Jackie held out the pack to her. Marella took one of the smokes and Jackie lighted it. "Careful, they're unfiltered."
Marella took a deep toke and let the smoke out slowly, making a face as she did so. "Now I remember why I quit." Nevertheless, she took another deep puff.
"So. What's Michael going to do? Bring him back Stateside and hope more sophisticated means of torture will get the answers out of him?" Jackie queried.
"I doubt it. If Michael doesn't get it out of him by tonight, he'll probably forget it. Preston'll be terminated after formal charges are leveled back home. That'll be that."
"So they're planning on another session tonight, are they?"
"Much later. Probably wee hours of the morning. I wouldn't recommend trying to sit in, though."
"I tried earlier. Michael kicked me out."
"I'm not surprised. You shouldn't be, either."
Jackie sighed. "I guess not. I can handle seeing Michael torture somebody. He just doesn't think I can." She took another drag. "What does he think The Firm trained me to do in Chicago when I was taking classes? I've pitched a few people out on anthills to get information when I needed it."
"Michael just doesn't want to see your dark side," Marella said knowledgeably. "He knows it's there and he knows he's going to have to see it sometime. But he wants to avoid it. He was like that with me, too. And with Gabrielle. It's just that with you -- he's got you up on this pedestal. You're all light with
Michael. No possibility of darkness even touching you."
"Yeah, I know. I suppose I should be flattered." Her brow creased. "But I hate trying to keep up this pure-as-the-driven-snow image. I'm not a lady fair. I'm a human being. I want a life."
"And you're in love with Michael. That's the kicker, isn't it?"
Jackie threw the butt down on the ground and crushed it under her boot. "Yeah. When did you figure it out?"
"I've known it for years. I was just wondering when you'd finally figure it out."
Jackie looked over at her, hands between her knees. "A lot of good it's done me."
"Well, I've got a newsflash, Jackie. I think Michael's beginning to figure it out."
They were silent for a long few moments. Then Jackie's head lifted. "If he has, he hasn't said a word to me."
"He won't. If and when he does decide to do something about it, you'll know it. There won't be room for any doubt."
"I know that. But I can't wait forever, Marella." She yawned. "I'm going to turn in. You coming?"
"In a little bit. Can I bum another cigarette?"
Jackie tossed her the whole pack and gave her the lighter. "Knock yourself out. 'Night."
"Good night."
When Jackie returned to the barracks, Hawke was getting into bed and Dominic was already asleep, snoring, as Hawke would put it, 'like a baby moose.'
"It's about time," Michael told her, concerned. "Where were you?"
"Walking. I'm going crazy in this place." She walked over to his bunk and smoothed the blanket. "How are you doing? Your back?"
"They're superficial wounds, Jackie. I told you that. They'll mend. I won't even scar, probably."
"Good." She abruptly looked away.
"Hey." He pulled at her hand. "Mission's over, sweetheart. Get it out of your head."
She sighed. "I'm trying."
She slid off the edge of his bunk and went to the one across from his, immodestly shedding her jeans and sweater for a pair of shorts and an olive green army issue tee. Michael watched her undress, silently damning himself for it and the countless times he'd fantasized about her.
"I'm so very proud of you," he told her and she turned to look at him. He reached out a hand and she took it, letting herself be pulled to the edge of his bed again. "Everything you've ever worked for was put to the test on this mission, Jackie. You passed with flying colors." His grip tightened on her hand.
"You know," she said very softly, eyes aligning with his, "that I would do absolutely anything for you."
Michael didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to tell her how much a woman she was. But how could he profess to love a young woman he'd help raise from childhood? How could she seriously be entertaining thoughts of him as her lover? The more he thought about it, the more he
wondered if it wasn't a knee-jerk reaction to the strength of their friendship. Love meant a hundred different things to a hundred different people. Maybe if she got what she wanted, she wouldn't want it anymore. Yes, there were a thousand reasons they shouldn't be together.
And there was one reason that they should be.
She pulled her hand away. "Get some sleep," she told him.
Michael laid awake for quite awhile, watching her back as night deepened around the encampment. She shifted frequently. Then, Michael drifted off, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. He wasn't quite sure what woke him, but when he looked around, Jackie was gone.
"She was restless. She's outside."
It was Hawke's voice from beside him on the other bunk. Michael relaxed a little but not much. "Sorry, Hawke. Didn't mean to wake you."
"Don't worry about it. I'm a light sleeper."
Archangel pillowed his head on his arm. "Maybe . . . I should go look for her."
"I think you need your rest instead," Hawke admonished, shifting a bit so the slats creaked. "She'll be okay."
Michael was quiet a moment. "You seem to know exactly what she needs."
"She talks to me. I listen. I've told you that before."
"You're beginning to know her better than I do." Archangel realized his voice was edged slightly with resentment and was a bit surprised at himself.
"You could remedy that." The flatness in Hawke's voice was somewhat accusatory. "You used to know her better than anyone else."
Michael felt a bit uncomfortable. "I know her better than she knows herself."
"Wishful thinking, Michael." The words were out before Hawke could stem them.
"It's fact," Michael shot back.
"Okay, then," Hawke countered a little angrily. "You tell me this. How long have you known that she's been in love with you?"
A rush of air escaped Michael's lips and it felt as though a ton weight fell on his chest. He looked over at Hawke and gave him his best look of irritation. "It's girlish infatuation, Hawke."
"Wrong. It was girlish infatuation earlier -- when she was a kid growing up. It isn't infatuation anymore. She's been with other men, Michael. She's never committed to any of them. Only to you."
Michael's eye widened. "She's never been committed to me! I've never stopped her from being with men! I've committed myself to her, and as infuriating as she can be, she's one responsibility I'll never regret having!"
"Jeez, does someone have to hit you over the head with a board before you finally see what's going on?" Hawke swung out of his bunk and padded silently over, sitting on the edge of Michael's bed. "Not one relationship she's had has been longer than six months. Who's the one man she's always dropped everything for?
You. She kills herself for your approval. She'd do anything for you and she'd never go out of her way for anyone but you -- well, maybe she would for me and Dom now." He paused, catching his breath and wondering who the hell he was to tell Michael this stuff. "One minute, she's your little girl, the next she's
your woman. You won't face the person she really is because you're afraid you might be in love with her."
Hawke watched as Michael's jaw all but dropped and knew he'd hit the Deputy Director right in the place he was most vulnerable. "I think," Michael told him coldly, "your imagination is running away with you. One of these days, Jackie will find someone . . ."
"Yeah? How, if you don't let her? Nobody's good enough, Michael. I've watched it happen over these past months. If you won't start a relationship with her, when are you going to start letting her make her own decisions about who's right? You won't be her lover, but you don't want anyone else to have her, either. You're
damning her to a life of waiting for something that won't ever happen with you!" Michael drew back his fist to throw a punch, but Hawke seized his wrist, eyes burning through the darkness. "Before you hit me, you tell me I'm wrong about anything I've said."
For a moment, the two men stared at each other, then Michael dropped his hand, tacitly admitting defeat. "I only want her to be happy."
"Well, Michael, she wants you. You make her happy."
He rubbed his eyes. "I can't deal with this."
"You're gonna have to. Soon."
"Can I ask you something?" Michael queried after a moment.
"Yeah, sure."
"What possible reason could you have for telling me all of this?"
Hawke placed a hand on Michael's arm. "Because it's so obvious about how the two of you feel about each other. Talk to her, Michael. Tell her what's bugging you. Explain to her why you've been holding back. No matter what happens, at least you'll have been honest with each other. You might even find some middle
ground."
"I suppose it's possible." He snorted suddenly. "Maybe I should be conferring with Dr. Ruth."
"I don't think you need help with your sex life," Hawke said wryly. "Just your communication skills."
"This coming from the Silent One himself. We've just spoken to each other more now than we have in the past year."
Suddenly, shouts from the compound sounded. The door to the barracks was thrown open and a young rebel soldier stood framed in the doorway, a look of consternation on his face. Dom looked up bleary-eyed from his bunk.
"What's all the ruckus about?" he queried grouchily, rousing.
"What the hell is going on?!" Stringfellow demanded, already pulling on his jeans.
The young man took a deep breath. "It's the prisoner!"
"What about him?" Michael demanded, grabbing for his glasses.
The soldier swallowed, then blurted, "Your Ms. Kendricks is with him, locked inside his jail cell. She was holding a knife to his throat, and she was cutting him!"
"Oh, God." Michael was pulling on his own pants and grabbing his shirt as he flew out the door after Hawke and Dom.
The three men ran to the detention cells and Stringfellow practically tore the door off the hinges. Hawke had always known Jackie had a hard streak -- he even acknowledged the fact Jackie could kill out of revenge -- but he was unprepared for the sight before them.
"She told us you were going to commence another interrogation session," the rebel commander said, turning from his place before the cell. "We had no reason to think she was not acting under your orders, Sir. So we tied him to the chair. When we left the cell, she locked herself in there with him and told us to get out."
Preston was cuffed to the chair in his underwear, only a shirt on his back, unbuttoned down the front. He looked up at the intrusion and smiled.
"Michael," he croaked, split lips widening garishly. "Come back for some more of my stimulating company, have you? Your Jackie here has become quite adept at information-gathering techniques." Fresh cuts on his chest and face met their eyes. "The funny thing is," he continued laboriously, "she hasn't asked me any questions
yet."
"Everyone clear this building right now." Michael's voice was strained. "Now!" he barked, and the rebels left the room, door clicking behind them decisively.
Jackie was silhouetted by the glare of the lamp, leaning back in her chair before Preston, smoking a cigarette. "Tell them where you have the schematics of Airwolf, Gray. Tell them about the third set. The only set remaining now that we've blown up your Airwolf and the software."
He turned to her and cackled. "Go to hell, my dear."
She picked up his foot, placing it in her lap, and jabbed her knife under his big toenail, listening to him howl. "You first."
"You know what interrogation means, don't you?" Preston laughed, eyes alight with a not-quite sane glow. "How silly of me, of course you do. Your an adept, yourself. Imagine how it was for your parents . . . strung up on the rafters . . . hot pokers melting human flesh. There's nothing quite like that particular scent."
Jackie remained stoic, her knife jabbing under another toe and another yell escaping from her captive's lips. "Tell them where the schematics are, Gray." She took the cigarette out of her mouth, pressing the burning tip into the sole of his foot.
He screamed with pain, but then laughed, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Tell them!" This time, the knife blade cut deeply into his heel and he began to bleed profusely.
Preston bit his lips at the pain, but looked straight into her face. "It got to be quite a game, after awhile. An enjoyable game." He grinned in retrospect. "We took bets -- on how may times your mother would scream when we laid the lash to her back . . ."
Again, the knife jabbed, this time between his toes, into the tender flesh. "Tell them."
" . . . as your father, blinded and half-dead from the branding irons we put to him . . ."
Jackie got to her feet, walking casually around to the back of his chair, running the blade of her knife along his cheek, exerting enough pressure to just barely break the skin.
" . . . pleaded for mercy for her . . ."
He screamed as another slash appeared on his handsome face.
"I think," Michael said quietly, "that if you want to avoid plastic surgery, you'd better answer her."
Preston laughed loudly. "Oh, Michael. I'm a dead man. I know that. I've even accepted it. But if I gave up what you want me to, that would give you the last word. I just can't have that. You understand."
"Did I ever tell you," Jackie said softly in his ear, barely loud enough for the others to hear, "how Michael and I laughed at your feeble attempts to fill his shoes?" One hand played with his hair caressingly. "Not just as my godfather, Gray. But as a man." She smiled, tongue tracing the edge of a sideburn. "I know how you
wanted me then," she whispered seductively. "Barely seventeen . . . young and virginal, just as you like. You want me now, don't you? The challenge that was never met. You'd like to throw me down here on this floor and take me like there was no tomorrow . . . you'd like to discipline me, wouldn't you?" She heard his respirations
heighten and suddenly knew just how on target she was. "Let me tell you something. Michael's every bit the lover you never could be." She placed a light kiss on Preston's cheek, breath hot against it. "I couldn't get enough of him. He played me like a Stradivarius." She licked his earlobe. "Should I tell you how many times he
made me scream? The first time?" His breath was whistling out between his teeth. "Tell them where the third set of schematics are, Gray." She drew the knife along his chin. "Do it now."
"Fuck you, you bitch."
"Wrong answer." The blade sliced into his other cheek and he screamed.
"Tell Michael who taught you everything you knew about making love," Preston challenged, after the initial agony wore off. "Tell him how I took you in the back seat of that limo -- and then later, up against that tree in the park . . ."
"Has anyone ever told you," Jackie said calmly, reaching over to the table to pick up a pair of pliers and putting her cigarette down, "what a sick son-of-a-bitch you really are?" She pinched his nostrils shut and forced his head back. "Third molar, right side, I believe you told your camp commander." She straddled
Preston's lap, sitting on it, opening his mouth.
Michael frowned, taking a step toward the cell. He'd seen just about enough. "What are you doing?"
Jackie looked at Preston's dentition with avid interest. "When I infiltrated Mr. Preston's testing site earlier," Jackie said evenly, "I overheard his conversation with the commander. Y'know, the old ego has been the downfall of many a man. He not only gave away the location of that military site just north of him . . ." She snapped
his head back again. "Yeah. I see it. Nice job." She took the pliers and grabbed hold of one of his teeth as Michael, Dom and Hawke looked on unbelievingly. "He also gave away the location of the third set of schematics. It seems he had the chip implanted in his own tooth."
Preston's body went rigid and he was yelling, fighting his
restraints, but Jackie, as small a woman as she was, had no trouble handling him when he was tied down to the chair. With a yank of the pliers, she pulled the molar out. Preston shouted in pain as she held up the bloody tooth.
"Well, will you look at that," Jackie said conversationally, holding it up. She dropped it into her hand, then used the pliers to bang the top of it until a piece of filling fell out. She shook it a little and a small square of metal fell into her hand. She walked over to the cell door.
"All right, Jackie," Archangel said darkly, as she deposited the chip in his hand through the bars. "You've had your entertainment for the evening. We have what we need. Open this door."
"I'm not finished." She walked back over to Preston who was profusely sweating. "He hasn't screamed loud enough to suit me, yet."
"Jackie, don't do this to yourself!" Dom told her. "You've done the job. Now let go of it."
//Killing for revenge . . . even if it seems right at the time . . . well, there's a high price to pay.//
"Let it go, Jackie." Michael's voice echoed quietly.
She swallowed visibly. She wanted to do what Dom and Michael said. She wanted to let it go. But she couldn't. Any more than she could have cried tears at her parents' or Gabrielle's funerals. She put the pliers down and picked up her knife from the table.
//Some people can't live with it.//
"Jacks, it's over with. You've done all you need to do," Hawke said, knowing how close to the edge she was. Knowing because he had been there himself once. "It's not worth it."
Hawke had lived with it, Jackie thought, surrounded by her hazy cloud of single-minded retribution. What could be so hard about living with the fact you'd avenged the deaths of three people you loved?
//It's not worth what it would do to you, if you killed him.//
"Jackie, it's finished," Michael told her, trying hard to control his voice.
With a shuddering breath, she walked behind Preston's chair, running her free hand gently through his hair. She looked down at him as if mesmerized; the man swallowed, then stretched his neck back, gazing up into the lovely face above him.
"Here I am, Jackie my love." Preston smiled a little, mad eyes crinkling. "Your willing sacrifice to the God of Vengeance."
"NO!" Hawke shouted, slamming himself against the cell door and reaching helpless arms through the bars.
He was too late.
Trance-like, she laid his head against her breast, stroking the hair back from his forehead as gently as a mother with her child. Drunkenly, her head lolled back and a small, intoxicated smile appeared on her face. Then, with a decisiveness borne out of pain/anger/fury, she drew the knife cleanly over Preston's throat.
A silent explosion of red erupted from the mortal wound, spilling over his front. Preston's eyes opened wide in abject astonishment for a few brief seconds as his life force drained from his carotids. Jackie stood there for long moments, head thrown back, eyes closed, respirations heightened, savoring the kill with
orgiastic pleasure. It was a full minute before her breathing evened out and then she let go of Preston's hair, letting his head fall forward on his chest in silent prayer. Astounded, the men could only stare at her as she then calmly wiped the knife's blade on the shoulder of Preston's shirt and resheathed it in her belt.
Preston died with an undignified gurgle.
"Now," she said breathlessly, "it's finished."
She looked at Preston for a long moment, then walked to the door of the cell. Her movements were precise as she calmly unlocked the door and then threw the keys carelessly on one of the chairs. She walked by Michael, Hawke and Dom, exiting from the building without so much as a glance back.
"Mother of God." Dom held onto the back of a chair for support as String let out a shuddering breath.
"I'm sorry," Michael said in a low, almost inaudible, voice as they all turned away from Preston's corpse. He was positively stunned.
"Don't be. It couldn't be helped." Hawke looked over at the Deputy Director and their gazes locked. "It ended the only way it could have ended. We both know that."
Michael's jaw flexed. "I know it now." He sighed. "Damn. What can I say to you?"
"Don't say anything, Michael." He indicated the now-open door with his head. "You better go after her."
Michael turned, exiting. The camp commander caught Michael outside. "Sir, is everything all right?"
The Deputy Director stopped, casting a look over his shoulder. "The interrogation got out of hand. There's a mess to clean up in there, I'm afraid."
"He is dead?"
Michael nodded. "Yes."
"But you managed to get the information you needed?" the commander asked again. "You will pardon my asking, Sir, but some good soldiers of mine died getting that bastard out alive."
"Yes. We got the information we needed."
"Good. I speak on behalf of us all, Sir. Thank you. And thank you for allowing us to be part of this."
Michael only half-heard him. "Did you see which direction my operative went when she left here?"
The commander nodded. "She went out the gates."
"Thank you. Keep them open until I come back, please."
Michael walked through, stopping just outside. The wind came up and it was frosty. Like all deserts, one could easily die of exposure with the extreme temperatures, the heat in the day and the cold at night. He saw her, her olive drab shirt and blue jeans against the sands, even in the dark. She was five hundred yards distant, from the
encampment, crouched down, dark hair waving like a penant behind her in the desert breeze, gaze fixed straight ahead. Michael's nostrils flared and his jaw flexed.
Seeing her kill Preston had shocked him. He had never seen such hate in her face or such firm resolve. He could have easily done the same thing himself. He knew Jackie had been unprepared for the cost of her indulgence. That this whole thing had been ripping her up from the inside out, which was why he had tried so hard to protect her.
Deep in his soul, he had always known how capable she was of exacting retribution. He just hadn't wanted to see it. Especially like this.
He walked out into the desert toward the lone figure, the wind his only companion, stars and full moon lighting his way as he closed the distance between them. She didn't turn to acknowledge he was there, even when he crouched down next to her. His fingers brushed her bare arm -- now terribly cold from the evening wind. He looked at her
profile in the gathering darkness, touched her jawline . . . also cold.
"Jackie."
She continued to stare straight ahead, unhearing, unblinking.
"Jackie." His voice held a hint of command. "Jackie, look at me."
She didn't even know he was there, he thought.
"Look at me." He took her face in his hands and turned it toward him. "Jackie, look at me."
Her eyes were unseeing -- no sparkle, no indication there was even anyone in there.
"It's cold out here," he told her gently. "We have to go in."
Slowly, she turned her head away, staring off into the horizon.
Michael's jaw flexed again. He touched her dark hair, then picked her unresisting body up, hoisting her surely into his arms, still favoring his leg. As he walked back toward the compound, she didn't fight, she didn't speak, she didn't move -- she didn't do anything. She just lay passively in his arms.
Hawke met him inside the gate. His gaze went from Michael to Jackie and back to Michael again. Silently, he offered to take her from him, but Michael shook his head vehemently. He walked directly to the barracks, past the rebels, past Dom, past Marella who stood, stunned, rifle slung over her shoulder. He went inside, placing her on one of the
bunks and then following her down to lie beside her, arms wrapped about her to keep her warm.
Privately, he wondered if either one of them would ever get warm again.
******************************
A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER
"No. I don't want to go into therapy. I know I've got some things to work out, but I don't need some damn shrink to tell me what to think or how to feel."
Jackie whirled around pacing the floor of Michael's Knightsbridge office. Stringfellow got up from his chair and touched her shoulder. "It was only a suggestion," he told her pointedly.
"Suggestion, hell." Her eyes bored into Michael. "Michael never suggests anything. He just bulldozes until he gets what he wants."
"I just thought professional assistance could be of the most service at this point," Archangel replied quietly.
"I know what you thought. You think I'm having a breakdown or something." She turned away. "Well, I've had my breakdown. It's over and done with. I'm fine."
"I don't think you are." An angry tone crept into Michael's voice, but he kept it carefully controlled. "I think this particular analyst I've chosen is best qualified to help you deal with what you've been through."
Jackie swung away from Hawke and turned furiously on Michael. "Who's going to help you? You can't even put what I did into words!" She paced some more, arms folded protectively over her chest. "I'll say it, then. I killed a man!"
Michael stared her down. "You did considerably more than just kill him." He tossed a black and white 8 x 10 of Preston's dead body toward her on his desk. "You tortured him and then slit his throat."
She didn't look at the picture and her gaze locked to his for a long moment. Then she leaned forward on his desk, eyes never dropping. "Yes, I did. Tell me, are you going to be the hangman at my execution?"
Hawke grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her around to face him. "You need to talk to somebody, Jackie."
"Who the hell did you confide in after you blew Moffett off the face of the earth, Hawke?" Jackie hissed defiantly, grabbing her wrist away. "What the hell makes you think I can't handle what I did? The fact I'm a woman? You siding with Mick the Schmuck now?"
Stunned by the unexpected attack, Hawke took his time before answering. "You're right. I didn't talk to anyone, not for a long time, but I did finally talk to someone. You. And I'll tell you here and now that waiting so long to talk was a big mistake. You already traveled down the same road I did once. Don't take it a second time."
Her eyes locked to his for a long moment. "I don't want any therapy," she insisted stubbornly, but her tone had softened.
Michael rounded his desk and placed his hands on her shoulders. He felt her stiffen at his touch. "All right. No therapy. Take some time off. Take all the time you need. If you need to talk --" He hesitated. In the past months, she had been turning to Stringfellow. "-- I'm sure Hawke will be available to help you through this, since he's been
there himself."
She stood rigidly. //And you probably don't want me around bugging you with problems I made.// "I want to go back to my place."
"I'll drive you," Hawke offered immediately.
Michael squeezed her shoulder. "I'll see you after the meeting," he told her softly. "No matter how late it gets. Expect me."
She didn't answer, exiting the door without a backward glance.
"Don't worry, I'll get her safely home," Hawke assured the Deputy Director. "Dom and I will be back in time for that meeting. You think you're gonna get canned?"
Archangel shook his head. "I doubt it. But I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining how Preston died, if Zeus doesn't already know. Jackie wasn't supposed to be on this mission with us. He found out she was. I might get penalized pretty heavily. Budget reviews are coming up. That could hurt my entire Division, if they put the blame squarely
on my shoulders. If I say I'm the one that killed Preston, it will hurt. But I don't see much other choice." He sighed. "I'll take the blame if I have to. Jackie's been through enough already. I can't put her through this, too. They'd have her for dinner."
Hawke hesitated, then spoke. "Michael . . . I think you're underestimating her. If you let her go in for debriefing and face up to what happened, at least she'd be starting to talk about it."
"These are people in the Intelligence Community who are masters at interrogation, my friend, not to be mistaken for shrinks. My mind's made up. I won't put her through it."
Hawke held up his hands. "Fine. But I still say you're wrong."
Archangel watched as Hawke left the office. Then, he picked up his briefcase and punched a button on his intercom. "Marella, has a security sweep of the conference area and my suite been instituted yet? Zeus and the rest of The Committee are already here and are just waiting for the conference to be called. I need everyone assembled when Hawke and
Dom get back here."
"Done long ago, Sir," Marella assured him. "I'll meet you there."
Trust Marella to have it all under control, Archangel thought. Usually, he would have reported to the Committee at Langley, but in view of all the things that had happened, he had changed his mind and had them flown out here to L.A. He wanted to get Jackie back into familiar surroundings as soon as possible and to be available if she needed him.
But it seemed as if she'd chosen her confidante. It wasn't like the good old days.
Not anymore.
******************************
For the past hour, she'd lain on her bed, stereo cranked up playing Metallica, chain-smoking Camels until the crystal ashtray was almost full. She thought about going out ot get blindingly drunk and then decided not to. She thought about going to a bar and picking up some willing playmate and nixed that also. Right now, a strange
man beside her was more concentration than she could spare. It would not be a means of forgetting.
She'd been continually bombarded with bloodspattered scenes of Preston with his throat slit, sitting limply in the chair and bleeding dry. If only Michael had shown the least inclination to sit and listened to her, she could have obtained a certain amount of understanding of her own actions. Then he would comfort her as she would trust no other
to do and make her believe all would be well in time. But he'd passed her on to Hawke. And Hawke, as good a friend as he was, as intimately as he knew her guilt and pain, simply was not the refuge she needed.
If she'd hesitated a moment or two longer, would she have killed Preston? If she'd held back for just a split second more, could his death have been avoided?
Was she really so much better than her parents' murderer had been?
With a heavy sigh, she turned over to look at the digital display of her clock. It was after six, getting darker. The more she lay quietly, the more she wanted to pick up the phone and dial Michael's penthouse suite. Ten more minutes passed . . . then fifteen . . . then twenty . . .
Was Michael simply being the good man he was, seeing to her welfare, being solicitous to a girl who had once been innocent and naive, for the sake of his comrade-in-arms and his wife? Jackie had been witness to Michael's and Hawke's conversation before they had left on their search for Preston and the duplicate Airwolf. He had been unable to face the fact she
could murder, sure that she harbored no darkness in her soul.
Well, hadn't she just proved him wrong? Hadn't she just showed them all how she could murder a man in revenge? Michael must hate her for becoming a cold-blooded killer. Finally, Jackie got up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and picked up the phone, dialing Michael's direct extension.
"Penthouse suite," came Marella's voice over the receiver.
"Marella, it's me."
"Jackie!"
"Yeah. Is Michael there?"
"Still in debriefing with the Committee," the woman told her.
"I should be there, Marella."
The operative hesitated. "I think Michael was worried about . . . well, you've been through a lot."
"Yeah, so what? I'm coming over."
She hung up the phone, cutting off any protest Marella may have had. Then, she looked at herself in a mirror. Blue jeans, midriff top covered over by a white cotton blouse, thong sandals. On top of it, she looked like hell. Wouldn't The Committee just have kittens if she came in on their meeting like this?
"Screw 'em. It's a debriefing, not a fashion show."
She walked out of the bedroom, grabbing her keys from the kitchen counter. Moments later, she was buzzing down the freeway toward downtown L.A. She was done running away -- escaping from things she needed to face up to and letting other people take the blame. Since the beginning of time, Michael had been her controversy buffer. Her Knight in Shining White Armani.
He was forever brandishing his sword aloft, threatening anything or anyone stupid enough to get close. To spare her from all personal responsibility for her own actions. To keep her from knowing too much of the ugly truth about a lot of things. To barricade her in safety forever in the Camelot he was attempting to create for her. But, she reflected, it was time to step
out from behind her champion and brave some of those threatening dragons herself, or at least lend some support in fighting them off.
It was time to grow up.
Just under an hour later, she was using her special magnetic passcard to access the elevator of the Bonaventure Hotel that went straight up to the penthouse. Marella met her as the doors slid open.
"So where is he?" she asked.
"Still in the conference room, Jackie." She turned as Jackie started over toward the closed door on the other side of the room. "It's locked," she added as Jackie's hand rested on the knob.
"How long have they been in there?"
"Almost three hours."
"That's not normal."
"It's not a normal situation," the operative reminded her quietly. "I had to present my report, Michael had to present his -- Dom and String had to present theirs . . ."
"I imagine The Committee got reports from overseas already," Jackie guessed. She suddenly swayed.
Marella rushed to her side. "You okay?"
Jackie shook her head. "Just a little dizzy."
"You look like hell."
Jackie gave her a pained look. "Thanks heaps. It's called no sleep since the mission."
"No sleep in four days? You're pushing it."
"Yeah, well I'm going to push it even more. I want you to open that door to the conference room so I can at least try to extricate Michael from the flames Zeus is fanning under him."
Marella folded her arms over her chest. "Michael would kill me if I let you go in there."
"Tell him I pummeled you senseless until you let me in."
She smiled briefly. "Sure. He'd believe that."
"Marella, please. All joking aside. I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't important. You know what it is he's doing in there. He's covering for me like always. For all we know they might be planning to can him. I know enough about the Committee to know they aren't going to let go of what happened over there, or Zeus won't, anyway. At least let them understand who they
should be blaming for what. I have some actions to answer for."
The operative's face softened. "Will you put in a good word for me with the boss later if he sends me to a place nobody's ever heard of?"
Jackie smiled wanly. "You know I've got the boss' ear. Now let me in."
******************************
7:53 p.m.
" . . . and the fact still remains that if Ms. Kendricks hadn't been with you, Preston would be alive," Zeus snapped angrily. "If I'd known you planned to take her along, I wouldn't have allowed any of you to leave the country."
"I think you're ignoring a few facts yourself," Archangel replied heatedly. The overseas intelligence reports had all but confirmed Jackie as Preston's killer and Zeus knew it. He was looking for a way to take some of Michael's clout away and this just happened to be a good opportunity. "How long do you really think he would have been alive in our custody?
He knew he was a dead man either way. So he made the decision to go out the way he wanted to go out -- and hurt as many people as he could in the process. His only way of getting the last word was by forcing someone's hand at the time of his own choosing. Preston's not the reason you're out for blood here. You're upset because we were forced to destroy the other
Airwolf and the data, which leaves you empty-handed once more and dependent on my arrangements with Hawke."
"I'll have you hauled up on charges, Archangel! Jackie Kendricks behaved in an irrational manner, and as mission commander, you are responsible for her actions!"
"Excuse me, but you'll forgive me if I say like hell he is."
Heads turned to see a young darkhaired woman leaning against the doorframe. Archangel stared in surprise, then rose to his feet, coming toward her. Jackie had never seen him more angry.
He leaned very close to her, almost nose-to-nose. "Get out of here," he commanded in a low voice. She could feel his breath on her face.
Her eyes locked to his gaze. "Didn't you hear me? You're not responsible for my actions anymore."
She moved away, past Michael, to sit in one of the empty chairs at the table, drawing looks of approval from Hawke and Dom as she did so. Michael watched her for a moment, then followed, sliding into an empty chair next to her, more than a little worried that Jackie's good intentions could get them into more hot water than they were already in.
Zeus turned a tape over in the recorder. "Thank you for attending, Ms. Kendricks. Are you ready to answer some questions?"
"More than ready, Sir," she replied, looking over at Michael with an unreadable expression. "Where would you like me to start?"
******************************
8:03 p.m.
" . . . and you blew up the duplicate Airwolf on Michael's order?"
"No. There was no way Hawke could have gotten near it with all the heavy artillery and personnel surrounding it. Rather than having it retrieved by the enemy, I blew it up. I believe I was operating under the parameters that The Committee had set up, Sir."
There was a pause. Then Zeus nodded.
"Go on, Ms. Kendricks."
******************************
8:15 p.m.
" . . . and after you were back on Egyptian soil, what do you believe your state of mind was, Ms. Kendricks?"
"I was high from the adrenaline rush. I needed to come down."
"Would you say you were stressed, Ms. Kendricks."
"Yes. I was stressed."
"But you were in control, correct?"
"Correct."
"Even though the man responsible for your parents' deaths was alive and in your custody. You were in control, Ms. Kendricks?"
"Correct."
"Even though he was mere feet away from you, you were in control?"
"Correct, Sir."
There was a beat or two of silence.
"Go on, Ms. Kendricks."
******************************
8:23 p.m.
" . . . and you were present during the first interrogation of Mr. Preston, Ms. Kendricks?"
"I walked in during. Michael was working Preston over. Preston said something that ticked me off and I made my presence known. At that point, Michael asked me to leave."
"And did you?"
"Yes, Sir." She paused.
"And what did you do after that?"
"I waited outside for awhile. Walked around."
"Did you interact with anyone else during that time?"
"Marella and I ran into each other but that was later in the evening."
"And did the two of you talk?"
She lifted her eyes to the Head of the Committee. "We smoked cigarettes and shot the bull."
Zeus looked over at Michael, then at several members of The Committee. Finally, he turned back to Jackie. "What did talk about?"
"Men and sex, Sir."
"And that's all you talked about?"
"Yes, Sir."
There was a silence that lasted for almost a good half-minute. Then,
"Go on, Ms. Kendricks.
******************************
8:37 p.m.
" . . . let's see if I have this straight. You instituted your own interrogation of the prisoner."
"Yes, Sir."
"And did he tell you where the microchip was located?"
"After I cut him up a bit, yes, Sir."
"How did you know which tooth to pull?"
"He told me, Sir."
"Preston told you?"
"Yes, Sir." Her eyes became steel. "I had a blade at his throat and I was prepared to pull out every tooth out of his head if it became necessary."
"And you just happened to hit it lucky with the first tooth you pulled."
"Like I said, he told me which tooth it was in, Sir."
There was a lengthy silence as the Committee went over their notes, including Zeus.
"And after you recovered the microchip, Ms. Kendricks?"
"I continued with my work."
"It was your intention to continue with an interrogation that had already yielded the microchip you were looking for?"
"No, Sir. It was my intention to torture the son-of-a-bitch until I thought he had adequately paid for past sins, most specifically against my parents."
Michael was astounded at the way Jackie was handling herself. She wasn't asking forgiveness. She was lying at certain points and twisting the chain of events into half-truths to suit her version of the incident. It took everything he had at times not to contradict her.
"And it was at this point that Michael sent everyone out."
"I don't remember, Sir. I know he sent everyone out at one point, but I don't remember when that was."
"And why is it you don't remember, Ms. Kendricks?"
"My mind was occupied with the prisoner."
"Can you tell us, Ms. Kendricks, why Archangel sent everyone out?"
Jackie was quiet a moment. Just as she sensed Zeus was going to ask the question a second time, she answered. "He was tapping his foot."
Zeus frowned. "Michael was tapping his foot?"
Jackie stared straight ahead. "One of the rebels was tapping his foot. It was irritating."
Zeus looked over at Admiral Clayton and some of the other Committee members.
"So Archangel cleared the jail because one of the rebels was tapping his foot and it was irritating to him?"
"And to me. It was breaking my concentration."
"And if I asked Archangel why he cleared the jail, would he give me the same explanation, Ms. Kendricks?"
"That is something you would have to ask Archangel, Sir."
There was another lengthy pause in which papers were shuffled.
"Did anyone try and stop you from killing Mr. Preston?" Zeus queried.
"I was locked inside his cell and Preston was trussed up in a chair. No one could get in unless I let them in. They sure couldn't stop me."
"No one tried to stop you, Ms. Kendricks? No one even tried to talk you out of it?"
Jackie heaved a breath and dropped her eyes. "They were talking to me." She paused. "But I didn't hear what they were saying." She looked back up. "I don't remember what was said."
"So you proceeded to kill Mr. Preston." It was a statement, not a quesiton.
"No, Sir." Her expression was resolute. "I proceeded to butcher him like the pig he was and took great delight in doing so. I thought it would be worth whatever it cost." She caught Hawke's eyes. "I was wrong."
"Will you sum it up for us, then, Ms. Kendricks?"
Jackie sat up straight in the chair and squared her shoulders, meeting Zeus' gaze. "I acted alone. I made it personal. If Michael could have stopped me, he would have. If Hawke or Dom could have stopped me, they would have. The responsibility of Mr. Preston's death is mine and mine alone."
The Committee members looked over their notes and several compared them.
"Ms. Kendricks, do you wish to change anything you've told this Committee this evening?" Zeus prodded.
"No, Sir."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, Sir."
The Committee Chairman sat back in his chair, contemplating the young woman for long moments. Finally, he turned off the recorder. "You do understand that your version of the story doesn't quite jive with the others."
She actually smiled. "Mr. Chairman, since you've known Michael, how often have you known him not to cover for his operatives? I'm no exception."
"Point well taken. As any man in his position would."
"Perhaps not just any man, Sir."
The Chairman inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Ms. Kendricks," Zeus addressed her calmly, "I want to thank you for clarifying the events of the mission. But the methods on how you handled Preston cannot be condoned."
"I understand, Sir." She wished desperately for a cigarette and a wave of dizziness hit her. "May I be apprised of the charges you intend to level at me so I may begin my sentencing at once?" she asked resignedly.
"There will be no charges," Admiral Clayton broke in, his gaze penetrating as he got to his feet. "International security has been maintained and that was our primary goal. Gaining the other prototype and bringing Preston to justice was just the icing on the cake. Too bad about the microchip -- damaged and unusable, didn't you say, Michael?"
Michael nodded in affirmation. "We attempted to utilize the chip and it was damaged -- we think probably at the time it was surgically implanted."
"Then how you deal with Ms. Kendricks is a departmental matter," the Admiral said. "Given the mitigating circumstances, I believe Michael is best qualified to dispense with any punishment as he would see fit, wouldn't you say so, Zeus?"
Zeus was not pleased but knew he would be outnumbered if he suggested anything to the contrary. "A vote in the usual manner, then. Those of the Committee agreeing with the Admiral's suggestion, a show of hands, please." The vote was in Michael's favor. Zeus nodded curtly. "Very well. Ms. Kendricks, you will submit yourself to Archangel for punishment as he
sees fit. This meeting is adjourned."
The Committee members filed out of the conference room. Admiral Clayton gave Michael a wink and a shoulder-squeeze on the way out and the Deputy Director smiled briefly in thanks at the older man.
"I've got to have a cigarette," Jackie announced, rising to her feet a little unsteadily. "I'll be out on the balcony."
Michael, Dom and Hawke watched as she made her way out into the living room of the suite. She pulled the sliding glass door open and stepped onto the balcony to light up, relaxing in one of the lounge chairs.
Dom rocked back on his heels. "I think she just proved you don't know her as well as you think you do." He grinned. "She's a hell of a straight-faced liar."
"Her story was pretty airtight, despite how it didn't dovetail with our reports," Michael admitted. "Actually, the Committee doesn't really give a damn about how much truth there is to it. They just need someone to hang the blame on. It took guts to play the sacrificial lamb, especially when none of us really knew how the Committee was going to vote."
"Maybe she can start healing now," Hawke said quietly.
"Looks like I have to eat crow. On a couple of counts." Michael looked up at the pilots. "The two of you have been more of a help than you know."
"Find my brother," Hawke told him, eyes never leaving the Deputy Director's gaze. "And we'll call it even."
Archangel looked at him a moment, as if making a decision. Then, he motioned him over to a corner of the room. Dom cast them a disgusted glare at having been left out and wandered back into the outer room of the suite.
"There's something I need to say to you," Michael said in low tones to the pilot. "I've wondered for quite awhile whether or not I should say anything. I didn't want to open old wounds."
"Something about St. John?" Hawke asked sharply.
The Deputy Director shook his head. "No. Not St. John." He took a deep breath. "Hawke -- I know how you lied to me about Gabrielle last year." He studied the pilot's stoic face. "At the time, it was probably the only truth I could have taken."
"I knew how much she meant to you," Hawke answered slowly.
"I know you did. It wasn't easy, knowing I'd sent her over there to her death." He licked dry lips. "I had her remains brought back, Stringfellow. I wanted to tell you. I just didn't know how. Or if I should have. She's buried in a little cemetery along the coast, just south of Santa Monica. I can have her urn dug up if you want her with you."
When Michael looked up, he repressed the mild shock that went through him. A single tear slid down Hawke's cheek. If ever Michael wanted to comfort the pilot, he did so now. He would have given anything to try and take Hawke's pain away with a comradely embrace. But he still felt the barricade Hawke had built up around himself and refrained from doing so.
"No," String finally said. "Let her stay at rest. I can visit her when I need to." He looked away, bringing his hand up to swipe at the tear. "Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing, Michael. I don't think I could have stood to come to her funeral." He straightened. "Tell Jacks to take a few days off from Dom's. He won't care. She could use the rest
anyway."
He walked out the door and joined Dom in the outer room.
When Michael wandered out onto the balcony a few moments after Hawke's and Dom's departure, Jackie was still reclining in one of the lounge chairs, eyes closed, one arm slung over the chairarm, cigarette burning between her fingers. Michael took it and snubbed it out in a flower pot, then touched her hand.
"Jackie?" There was no response. His voice dropped a notch lower. "Sweetheart?"
She was sound asleep. Michael leaned down, picking her up in his arms, carrying her inside the suite and into his bedroom to place her on the bed. Marella stood just at the door.
"She's out like a light," the Deputy Director told his operative. "I've seen this before, after some debriefings that were high stress."
"She hasn't slept since the mission, either, Sir," Marella volunteered.
"Then she could be sleeping for awhile. For hours." Michael brushed back the dark hair from her forehead. "Maybe even for a day or two."
"I'll undress her and tuck her in," Marella told him quietly. "I take it letting her in there was the right thing to do?"
Michael straightened and directed his attention to Marella. "You know, this is twice you've disobeyed direct orders, Marella." He looked back over at Jackie's figure on the bed. "And both calls were the right ones." He rolled his shoulders. "Just don't let it happen often."
"Yes, Sir." She moved past him and touched a strand of the sleeping girl's hair. "Quite the woman, isn't she, Sir?"
"Oh, yes," Michael agreed softly. "Always. Quite the woman."
******************************
She slept for nearly seventy-two hours straight. Michael was in and out of the suite, more in than out. He could barely awaken Jackie, even for sips of water to keep her hydrated. Immediately after, she would be asleep again. Deep sleep.
In the middle of the night, she had awakened with a shout. Michael had been watching over her, asleep in the chair by the bed, and roused immediately. He turned the light on the nightstand on and sat on the edge of the bed, arms slipping around her, pulling her protectively into his chest. She became still, but when he tried to pull away after awhile, she made a discontented
noise and reached for him. He held her, leaning against the headboard, letting her curl into him as if she belonged there. It wasn't long before he was asleep himself.
Grey dawn was creeping through the curtains when he next awoke. He lay there, breathing in Jackie's scent. His long fingers went to her shoulder, touching the warm skin, enjoying the smoothness. She shifted a little and buried her face in his throat. After another few minutes, she moved again, lifting her head with a half-smile on her lips. Slowly, she opened her sleep-filled
eyes and sighed almost contentedly. When she found Michael looking at her, the smile vanished and she gasped a little, pulling back.
"It's barely dawn," he told her softly. "Why don't you sleep a little longer?"
She relaxed. "How long have I been asleep?"
"This is the beginning of day number four," he told her.
"No -- have I really been asleep for that long?" She was unbelieving.
"Yes, you have." He reached over to brush her hair away from her face. "After everything you've been through, it shouldn't be surprising."
"Your job." Her voice held concern. "Michael --"
"I'm fine. You're fine. Everything is fine. Your version of the incident cleared me and my division." He traced a finger over her eyebrow. "Thank you."
"I think I managed to piss Zeus off pretty severely." She swallowed. "He wanted to take you down."
"You'll always be pissing someone off in this business," Michael informed her with a chuckle. "It's just a matter of who you piss off, how much and if you can get away with it."
"Yeah? How much did I piss you off? Have you decided what kind of punishment I'm going to get?"
He gazed at her warmly. "You have the benefit, Ms. Kendricks, of holding a very soft spot in the boss' heart."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Before he could speak, Jackie's lips were on his, a little dry, but moistening within moments. He pulled his mouth away. "C'mon, Jackie. That isn't what I'm here for."
"Sure it is. You're just too much of a gentleman to admit it." She started to reach up toward him again.
"Jackie, stop it." He gripped her arms firmly, holding her back. "You've been through a hell of a lot lately. Give yourself some time."
She stared at him, an unreadable expression on her face. "All of a sudden I'm not good enough for you?"
"Jackie." His hold loosened and he stroked her cheek. "You know better than that."
She turned her head, kissing his finger as it brushed close to her mouth. "Don't you love me?"
His gaze met hers. "Of course I love you."
"Do you want me?"
"Yes," he said unhesitatingly, not even surpised that he admitted it. "More than you know."
She leaned back. "So -- if you love me and you want me -- why are you hesitating?"
"Because you aren't ready yet. Because you've just had a very traumatic experience you need to work out in your head. And because I absolutely will not take advantage of your vulnerability right now, no matter how much I might want to."
"Vulnerability?" She stared at him, then abruptly bounced from the bed. Even though she wore one of his white shirts, the light coming in through the window hid no curves from the eye.
He averted his gaze. "Yes. Your vulnerability."
"I think you've got the wrong girl, Michael." Jackie turned toward him, hands on hips. "In fact, I know you do."
"No, I don't." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "You've got some things to work out. I'll help you all I can. But I'm not going to make a mistake like this. It's not fair to either one of us."
"A mistake?" Jackie wetted her lips. "You think that making love would be a mistake?"
"Right now, yes."
Jackie crossed her arms. "Why don't you just give me the truth, Michael? Or are you trying to shield me again because the truth would just be too ugly for me to look at?"
"What do you mean?"
"That you never cared for me like a man cares for a woman. That you won't ever love me the way I love -- the way I thought I loved -- you."
Michael got to his feet. "Because it's not the truth. I'm learning more and more things about you, about me, about us. But this is definitely not the time. Later, when we've had a chance to . . ."
She abruptly held up her hand, pointing a finger at him. "Don't . . . lead me to think there might be a chance if there's not. That's all you've ever done, Michael. You've never said yes -- but you've never said no." She lowered her hand. "Well, now you're going to have to make a decision about what you want to be to me."
"My decision is made. I'm electing not to act on it right now."
"Then you've told me all I need to know." Her chin lifted. "If you don't want me, I'll find someone who will."
"I never said I didn't want you. In fact, it's quite the opposite."
"Prove it," she challenged. "Make love with me right now."
"No. Not now."
"You don't get it, Michael. This is a one-time offer."
He took a step toward her. "Jackie, don't do this."
"Take it or leave it."
He turned away, going over to the window to push the curtains aside. When he turned back around, she had picked up her clothes and was gone. He jogged into the living room area just as the elevator doors shut with a decisive thud.
"Jackie!" He stopped at the doors, then hit them with his open and and rested his head against the cold metal. "Damn it!"
******************************
Stringfellow Hawke was concerned about his protegee -- had been ever since the morning she'd walked into Dom's office after the mission. On the day she returned to Santini Air, she seemed fine, even took a couple of students up for lessons. But she was almost too all right. Something was different about her. Enough different that Hawke took it
upon himself to keep an eye on her after work hours.
Turned out it was a good thing. After stopping at home to shower and change, she made a beeline to some dangerous bars to hang out with some of the worst people on record. Though Hawke had never had any formal training as a spy, he was pretty good at tailing people. That evening, he tailed Jackie to a notorious bar called Pilot's Point. She couldn't have picked a
worse place to socialize. As Hawke started toward the door, he almost ran into another man, dressed in blue jeans, a navy sweatshirt and dark shades. The physique was easily discernible as that of Archangel. Hawke supposed that if it had been anyone but Jackie, he would have sent somebody else to follow her. Hawke placed an arm around his shoulders like they were old friends,
leading him away and into a darkened corner of the street.
"You're a long way from home, Michael," Hawke said conversationally. "Are you planning to drag her out of that place by the hair? You'd never make it back out the door."
"I'll go into every single bar in the district if necessary."
Even behind the shades, Hawke could sense the sparks flying from his good eye. "Suggestion, Michael. Let me watch her. She won't be out of my sight, I promise. If things get out of hand, I'll step in. If she finds out you've been tailing her, it could make things worse."
"I'm here now. I thought about not doing anything, and if she hadn't give me an ultimatum, I would have blown it off and waited for her to come around."
"You guys had a fight, huh?"
"More like a disagreement," the Deputy Director replied. "We didn't see something the same way."
"Must've been some disagreement." Hawke let out a breath. "Go home, Michael. I'll take care of this."
Michael looked more than a little uncomfortable. "I can clean up the mess, Hawke. You don't have to. It's not your problem."
"Take my word for it, Michael. You don't want to go stumbling into these places to play hero. Let me handle this for you. God knows you can take care of yourself. But some of these people would take a twenty to commit a murder in a back alley. You stick to your cloak-and-dagger stuff. I'll handle the backstreet bars."
"You don't mind?"
"I can think of better ways to spend my evenings, but oh well. Jackie's a hothead and she needs some cold water thrown at her."
Michael shook his head. "No. I'm coming in with you."
"OK. It's your neck. Just don't order white wine. Order a beer, even if you don't drink it."
"I'm not stupid, Hawke." He paused. "Besides, I like a beer every once in awhile."
"Not domestic, you don't."
They wandered inside the bar, where Rod Stewart's 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy' boomed from a typical long-hair rock band that performed behind the chickenwire. With a mere glance about, Hawke saw an array of drug runners, drug dealers, mercenaries-for-hire, wanted men, prostitutes, self-styled pimps -- there were some legit pilots, but they were marginally fewer. His eyes scanned the bar and found
Jackie on the floor dirty-dancing with a mercenary-type. She wore studded black leather pants, knee-high black snakeskin cowboy boots, and a black silk chemise. Her hair was loose, curled and wild, face made up with about six times more makeup than he had ever seen her wear and silver and turquoise Southwestern-style jewelry. He glanced over at Michael who watched in silence.
Only the working of his jaw even hinted at what he might be feeling.
"You sure you want to be here?" Hawke asked, striking a casual pose at the bar. "Two Buds," he told the bartender, who immediately presented him with two ice-cold bottles. Hawke handed him a five.
"I don't want to be here. But I'm here." Michael took a swig of his beer and did his best not to make a face.
The band switched to 'Cocaine' and Jackie was getting a lot closer to her partner. Michael started forward, but Hawke held up a hand, barricading his way.
"Take it easy, Michael. Don't start anything."
"I can't stand here and do nothing."
"You're going to do just that. Let me handle this." It seemed eons before the song ended. The man led Jackie back to a table toward the front and then went to the bar. "Stay here," Hawke directed.
Michael watched as Hawke walked deliberately to the other end of the bar where the man stood and leaned casually beside him. He saw words exchanged. He couldn't see Hawke's face, but he could see the other man's. The man raised an eyebrow and after a moment, held both hands up in truce. Then, Hawke turned around and walked slowly back to where Michael stood.
"And you said what to him?" Michael asked.
Hawke shrugged. "I told him if he screwed my sister, I'd slit his throat." He took a drink of his beer. "And I told him if he told Jackie I was here and warned him off, I'd break his damn legs."
Sure enough, the man went back to the table and handed Jackie a drink. They had a brief exchange of words that ended when she stood up angrily, grabbed her leather flight jacket and left, heading out the door.
"Let's go," Hawke said, following her.
Outside, Jackie stopped at a corner, lighting a cigarette, then walked on to another bar halfway down the block. Hawke and Michael entered the bar behind her, keeping a discreet distance. The same scene repeated itself in four of five different bars in the space of about an hour and a half. When Jackie decided to quit, they followed her as she half-stumbled down the middle of the dim,
almost-deserted, street. They kept close to the buildings, out of the light. Abruptly, she whipped around and the two men ducked around the corner of an alley, watching her from the dark. Her face appeared starkly white under the glow of the streetlights and it held a fury they'd only seen during the mission. She extended both arms, holding up the middle fingers of both hands.
"FUCK YOU, STRINGFELLOW HAWKE!!" she yelled poisonously. "FUCK YOU AND THE HELICOPTER YOU FLEW IN ON!!"
Jackie whirled back around, digging her keys out of her pocket. She tripped and fell on her hands and knees, then picked herself up, half-staggering to the black Ferrari parked down the street. Hawke and Michael were on the move again. She got in, fumbling with the keys, trying to find the one for the ignition. When she couldn't find it, she screamed with frustration, tossing the
keys in the seat next to her. She got out of the car again, boots clacking on the cement as she walked unevenly down the middle of the street once more. Halfway down the block, she stumbled and fell again. This time, she stayed on the ground.
"Jesus." Michael's voice was hushed. He started forward, but Jackie stirred and Hawke held him back.
She got to her hands and knees, crouched, running her hands through her hair. Staggering to her feet once more, she headed toward an alleyway, reaching a pile of refuse that sat there. Using the last of her strength, Jackie slammed herself into the pile of garbage sacks. They split open beneath her weight, unnoticed by her as she fell into unconsciousness.
"My God," Michael whispered when they came upon her.
"She's hurtin', Michael," Hawke said, picking her up. "We both know that kind of pain."
Twenty minutes later, Hawke was pulling into the beach house's drive in the Jeep with Jackie passed out in the back seat. Michael followed behind with the black Ferrari, parking it on the street. Hawke carried her inside as Michael unlocked the front door for him with Jackie's keys. They walked into her bedroom and laid her on the bed.
"I'll clean her up," Michael said, already nearing the edge of the bed and reaching over to pull of the soiled chemise.
"Let her sleep that way."
The Deputy Director looked up at him, appalled. "In this filth?"
"Let her be. You wanted me to help her, didn't you?"
"How can letting her sleep in stinking, dirty clothes help her?" Michael demanded.
"When she looks up from the bottom of the hole in the morning, I'm gonna help her climb back up again. You're too close to it. Let me do this."
Michael pulled at his lip, contemplating the pilot. "Why?"
"Hawke returned his gaze. "Because."
"I should be here."
"If you want her to ever come back to you, you don't want to let her see you when she wakes up. That's the last thing she needs, is to have you see her like this. She'll never forgive herself -- or you."
Michael sat on the bed for a moment, taking her hand briefly. Despite the smell, be brought it up to his mouth and kissed it. He gazed at her face and saw the troubled expression even in sleep.
"All right," he finally said, hating himself for it. "You know where I'll be."
******************************
Hawke awoke with the dawn, staring into the empty living room and waiting for some indication from the bedroom that Jackie was rousing. He waited and waited, and around eight o'clock, he phoned Santini Air, apprising Dom of the previous night's activities.
"She's not good, String," the older man assessed, not even having seen her. "As bad as you were."
"I know." He sighed. "I think I'd better stay here. Maybe I can get in tomorrow morning."
"Don't worry about the days' schedule, we'll work it out," Dom said. "If you want babysitter relief, call me."
Hawke depressed the receiver button on the phone and dialed Michael's extension, but got one of his operatives, informing him that the Director was taking absolutely no calls. When Hawke insisted, the operative put him on hold for about three minutes, then returned to the line, confirming the fact a second time. Hawke hung up, perturbed.
Michael had had time to think about the whole situation. His ego had been severely bruised by what he perceived as a rejection, he was angry and exasperated. In a way, Hawke couldn't blame him.
Hawke stayed on, checking on Jackie every so often. Finally, about six that evening, he roused her. She staggered to the bathroom, vomiting. After fifteen minutes of non-stop heaves, she staggered back out.
"You can go home now, String," she croaked, running hands through her dirty, tangled hair.
"Yeah, right. I'm gonna leave so you can start drinkin' some more. I don't think so." He walked into her bathroom and flushed the toilet, then looked in her medicine cabinet. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He took her glass from the sink and filled it with water, placed two Alka-Seltzer in it, watching as they fizzed. Then he walked back out with it and handed the glass to her.
"Drink it down."
"String . . ."
"Drink it."
She took it, made a face and did as she was told. When she finished, she slammed the glass down on the nightstand defiantly. "Satisfied?" She took a breath and then her eyes widened as she coughed. "Christ! You couldn't strip my clothes off? What is that smell?"
Hawke crossed his arms. "Hey, if you're gonna lie down with the dogs, you're gonna have fleas." He weathered her killing glare.
She went past him and grabbed her robe from the chair. Hawke waited until she came back out of the bathroom. She had showered and washed her hair and wore the thick terry robe around herself. She then proceeded to strip off the bedspread.
"Congratulations," Hawke said.
She glared at him again. "For what?"
"Driving Michael nuts and pissing him off at the same time."
She tossed the bedspread away from her and fell back on the bed, uncaringly. "Get off my case."
"Can't do that. What were you doin' last night?"
"Trying to get laid. But it seems someone who looked incredibly like you was scaring off all my potentials." She held her head, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Someone had to watch your ass. You could've gotten yourself killed."
"You're not my fucking brother!!" she suddenly shouted, sitting bolt upright, bloodshot eyes blazing. She immediately regretted the action, grabbing onto her head again. After a moment, she let go of it. When she next spoke it was not a shout. "I grew up -- alone! Despite all of Michael's interfering, I made my way! Me! I'm one of the best goddamn pilots in the world! Almost
as good as you are, Hawke! Michael never taught me how to fly! My parents were never around to see my accomplishments!" That caught in her throat. She flexed her jaw several times. "I learned on my own! Nobody created the person I am! I'm my own person!" She tangled both hands in her hair and rose to her feet, turning away from him on wobbly legs. "But nobody cares about that.
All they care about is what they think I am! The person they want to believe I am."
"Then tell me who you believe you are," Hawke pressed, taking a step toward her.
"I don't believe -- I know." Jackie sat down on the edge of the bed, breathing deeply. "I'm . . . a hardass . . . Company . . . operative."
"Yeah, right." Hawke looked down at her, hard. "Do you really think I don't have a clue as to what you're doing?"
"Oh, yes. I forgot. You've been there," she sneered hatefully.
"Yeah. I have. I had Dom to pull me through it."
"I get it. And now you're going to pull me through it." She turned baleful eyes on him. "I don't need or want your help." She rose and came toward him, pulling him down by the collar. "There's only one thing I want from you."
She tasted of Jack Daniels and Alka Seltzer when she kissed him and Stringfellow pulled away firmly. "You know this isn't what you want."
"That's another thing. People always think they know what I want. I've got news." She gripped the front of his shirt again. "I know what I want. I don't need anyone to tell me. I want you, right now."
"Where the hell do you get off?" he asked in sudden anger. "Where the hell do you get off walking out on Michael and then coming onto me?"
She met his steely gaze. "It was easy leaving the Great White Hope of The Firm," she said bitterly. She loosed his shirt and walked over to the picture window to stare out at the surf.
"Oh. Is this the part where I'm supposed to believe you don't love him?"
The heels of her hands went to her temples. She laid her forehead on the coldness of the glass of the window, eyes squeezed shut tightly, teeth clenched. "Then tell me what I'm supposed to do, Hawke!" A sob left her throat. "I know I'm pushing everybody away. I know I'm hurting Michael and Dom and you and . . . me. I can't stop what I'm doing." She turned to him. "I can't stop it -- I can't get
past the pain." She looked up in abject misery. "Tell me what to do."
Hawke wanted to give in and pull her into a hug. Instead, he steeled himself, knowing that comfort was the wrong thing to give her at the moment. "Well, turning off your self-destruct button would be a good start."
She dropped her head. "Yeah, I know I've been stupid." She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I guess I better call Michael and tell him I'm done throwing my tantrum, shouldn't I?"
"I bet he gets over here in less than an hour."
"I'm a mess, Hawke. I'll lose it if I get on the phone."
"Then I'll call him to get his butt over here. You get dressed and do whatever you need to get ready. I'll lock the door when I leave."
"Thanks." She hesitated. "Is . . . he okay?"
"Probably worried as hell about you, but he'll be all right."
"Then call him, String," she told him quietly. "And tell him I'm sorry."
Hawke smiled a little. "You can tell him yourself when he gets here."
******************************
But Michael didn't come. Jackie waited until three a.m. for him to show up and he never did. She called the Knightsbridge office and was floored when she was informed that he had flown back to Virginia late the previous night. She left a message at Langley for him to call when he got in. When she woke the next morning, her answering machine was blinking but it was a hangup. She called his direct
line again and it was answered by Marella, who told her he was unavailable but that she would give him the message. Jackie called his condo and left a message on his machine, then spent the whole day waiting for him to call back.
It didn't happen.
"Okay, then," she said to herself, staring resignedly at the empty fireplace. "All right. I guess he's made it clear enough how I've messed up -- on a lot of counts." She dropped into a chair and ran both hands through her dark hair. "It's all done." She sighed, heart nearly breaking. "He doesn't want me. How could he after everything I've done?"
Jackie walked out to the garage and began to pull down her storage boxes.
******************************
"Moved back to Chicago? What do you mean, she moved back to Chicago?" Michael paced back and forth in Dom's office. "Did she leave a number? An address?"
"Slow down, Michael," Hawke directed. "She packed up all her stuff, lock, stock and barrel, the day after you left for Langley. She even waited an extra couple of days, hoping you'd call. All I know is that she was trying to get hold of you and left about a dozen messages that you never answered back. She just got a new number installed at her old apartment -- called us with it this morning."
"I . . . had a lot of things to work out. I needed time and distance to do that." He sighed. "I knew what she was doing and I knew why she was doing it. I guess I picked a hell of a time to let my ego get in the way of common sense." He sat down in a chair. "I should have at least called her."
"Yeah, because she's under the impression you don't want her. In any sense of the word."
He looked up at the pilot. "She told you that?"
"Yeah, and I told her she was wrong. That you had issues to work through and you'd get over it, whatever 'it' was. Hell, Michael, she stuck it out three days longer than I thought she would, waiting to hear from you. I did my damnedest to keep her here."
"Jackie knows me better than that. She knows . . ."
Hawke interrupted. "Don't make assumptions. Just because she's known you all her life doesn't mean she knows everything about you. She took your silence, your not calling her, as a rejection. She thought she was making it easier for everyone concerned by leaving."
"Well, she didn't," Michael stated.
"Yeah?" Hawke picked up the receiver on Dom's phone and handed him the slip of paper with Jackie's home phone on it. "Then call her and tell her that."
Michael watched as Hawke left the office. He stared at the receiver in his hand. Then, resolutely, he punched in the numbers.
It rang four times before Jackie's tired voice sounded over the line. "Hello?"
He hesitated. "Hello, Jackie."
There was a marked silence on the other end. "Michael," she finally acknowledged quietly.
"Got a few minutes to talk to me?"
Again, there was a long silence. "I'm busy. What do you want?"
Suddenly, he heard a booming male voice on the opposite end from a slight distance. "Yo, Jacks, Coors or Michelob?"
"Coors," she called back, then was back on the line. "Well?"
Michael's jaw worked. "I need . . ." He broke off. "I wanted to talk to you. Face to face."
Again, a small silence. "I got your message. Loud and clear."
"I don't hate you, Jackie." He licked dry lips. "If you don't get anything else out of this conversation, retain that." He paused. "I want to see you." He heard a beer can tab being pulled in the background.
"When you cancel my contract with The Firm and bring me the paperwork to sign, you can see me. Of course, you could express mail it. Then you wouldn't have to bother."
Her callous words cut through his usually-cool veneer. His voice was low. "Don't push me away."
"I made you an offer," she told him in an even, icy voice. "You turned it down."
"You need time to recover, Jackie. I couldn't do that to you."
Jackie's voice also dropped. "I needed you to make love to me. I needed to know that you still loved me. That what I'd done hadn't changed how you felt." She paused. "You could say the words, but words weren't what I needed. I needed you."
"I couldn't give you what you needed then. All it would have done would make me more unsure than ever." He was silent for a long moment. "I want us to make love for the right reasons." He wet dry lips. "I want you to come back to California. I want you to come back so we can help you. Then I want to work things out between the two of us."
"I need to help myself. You can't do that for me." He heard her shuddering sigh. "Right now, I am so messed up I barely know my own name. I need some time, Michael."
"Take all you need. Just come back here."
"I can't make the break. Not yet. I need to be here right now. Away from you. Away from everything."
"I can help you. If you don't want a shrink, you can talk to me. You can stay at the penthouse or the ranch any time you want to be alone. You can recover surrounded by people who care about you. Hawke, Dom, Marella, me."
"I need to be alone. That's the way I've always healed." He heard her take a swallow of beer over the phone. "Right now, I'm being self-destructive and I know it. I'll get out of the rut. But it's got to be my way."
"But we can take care of you here . . ."
"Didn't I just prove to you I don't need a father figure anymore?" she finally exploded. Then, she calmed. "Michael, I understand your motivations and I'm not ungrateful. But there are simply some things you can't help me with. Let me at least try to find that piece of me that I lost back there. It may not fit perfectly, but I can at least try to glue it back in." She paused again. "I can't get beyond what
I've done right now. I can't take gargantuan strides. I have to take baby steps first."
Michael closed his eyes and let out a breath in defeat. "All right, sweetheart. If that's the way it has to be, then you do it your way." He hesitated. The feeling of letting go completely was utterly foreign to him. "I just don't want you to cut me off."
"I won't cut you off. But I have to go now, Michael. Or I'm going to start blubbering right here over the phone."
"Jackie --" He stared at the receiver as she hung up.
He put the phone down quietly and sat there for long moments in the gathering darkness. He was still there when Hawke came in to close up.
"You talk to her?" Hawke asked, concerned.
"Yeah." He rested his chin on his hand. "She's not coming back. At least not now. She hung up."
Hawke sat in Dom's chair. "Damn shame." He looked over at the man he had been through so much with during the past year or so.
Michael rose. "I have to go back to mind the store. I'll be seeing you around." When he got to the door, he turned, eyes on the floor. "I screwed up, didn't I, Hawke?"
"You both did."
The Deputy Director nodded, then started out the door.
"Michael."
The Deputy Director stopped, not turning around this time. "What is it, Hawke?"
"Ball's in her court. You know that, right?"
Michael nodded his head slowly. "Yes. I know that. See you."
"Yeah."
******************************
. . . Hawke serenaded the eagle, his old friend, watching as it swooped on graceful wings around the lake, silhouetting itself against the setting sun. Hawke wished for the dusk to last just a little longer. He stopped his music for just a moment, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out the small, unmarked envelope Michael had left on Dom's desk with the totally intact and usable microchip in it . . .
******************************
. . . Jackie lay back in the darkness, twin tears running down her cheeks, wishing she'd stayed in California, wishing she'd never gone to Libya, wishing she hadn't done a lot of things and knowing there was a piece of her soul that was lost, maybe forever . . .
******************************
Michael stood out on the balcony of his penthouse suite, letting the ocean breezes rake their fingers across his face, hoping he had the courage to let Jackie go and rediscover whatever it was she lost, so that one day, she would find her way back to him. It was a temptation to go to her, but he couldn't do it if anything of what they had left were to survive.
He walked over to his computer terminal and called up the Airwolf file. The image of The Lady filled the screen and Michael sighed, touching it.
"You do have a way of drawing people together and then ripping their lives apart," he told the sleek helicopter on his monitor. "Jackie was right. You are alive." He stared at her a moment longer, then hit a few buttons to switch files.
Something good had to come out of all this heartache. Michael had lost people in his life, just as Hawke had. He couldn't help himself right now, but he could help Hawke. If there was a way to locate St. John, he'd find it. And if there wasn't a way, he'd make one.
Michael picked up the phone and dialed into his office where he knew Marella would still be working.
"Hello, Marella? This is Michael."
"Yes, Sir?" the operative responded at once, ready to take on the next project.
"I want you to contact our agents in and near Hanoi." He slid into his chair before the computer terminal and called up a global map. "We have some serious work to do."
********************************
FINIS