FALL FROM GRACE

Part II

By Linda Ryner

//Everything seems peaceful enough,// thought Michael, as he, Marella and Jackie climbed from the white helicopter. But he knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving.

At least Jackie was prepared as was humanly possible for this meeting. She'd accessed The Firm's computers during the day while she'd waited for him at L.A. Headquarters and he, himself had briefed her during the flight from Chicago. Lastly, she'd studied films of Hawke flying Airwolf and if he knew her at all, Jackie was filled with the desire to fly The Lady herself.

"I know Hawke didn't want any part of this," Jackie said as they made their way to the front door. "Just how hard is this guy going to be on me? I'm beginning to feel as if I should've brought a crucifix and a garlic necklace."

Marella and Archangel laughed. Michael placed an arm about her shoulders. "I'm your guardian angel, remember? If there are any dragons in there to slay, leave it to me."

"How characteristically macho," she snorted. "I don't think you'd get out alive. You left your magic fairy dust back home." She sprinted ahead, mounting the stairs.

The cabin door opened, revealing a big-boned, somewhat heavy-set man. Jackie stopped short, staring at the weatherbeaten face that looked back at her. She felt Michael come up behind, one hand lightly at her waist and stood a little straighter.

"Evening, Dominic," Michael said casually. "This is your new trainee, Jacquelyn Kendricks."

A polite smile formed on the older man's face as he took Jackie's outstretched hand in his. "Nice to meet you, Jacquelyn . . ."

"Call me Jackie," she broke in quickly, returning his handshake with vigor. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Santini. Michael's told me a lot about you."

"Don't believe all of it," the older man said, standing aside to let the three visitors through the cabin door.

"What part am I supposed to ignore, Mr. Santini?" she asked, grinning.

"Dom," he amended, beginning to smile as he followed them inside. "C'mon in, dinner's about ready."

Michael watched carefully as she entered the rustic cabin, looking around with interest, gaze settling on the blue tick hound who lay comfortably by the fireplace. She didn't immediately notice their host who leaned against the kitchen counter, holding a glass of wine. When she did catch sight of him, it was pretty obvious Hawke was appraising her. She stood back, crossing her arms in an almost defiant gesture, unintimidated by the intensity of her future instructor's gaze.

"Hey, hotshot," Stringfellow greeted, taking his time to come forward. "I hear you got designs on my Lady."

"Just like a man. Thinks he owns a lady the minute he gets into her."

Michael coughed loudly in disapproval as Stringfellow grinned. "Good comeback," Stringfellow told her admiringly. "How are you, Jackie?" He gave her his hand.

"All right," she replied, taking it firmly with a grin. "You?"

"Y'know. Same old."

Michael frowned. "Do you two know each other?"

"Remotely," Jackie answered. "We saw each other around during the test piloting of Airwolf."

"Yeah. How's Mick?" String asked, suppressing a smile.

"Mick?" She smirked. "Last I heard he was suffering from a slight case of alcohol poisoning and was down on his knees in apology."

"C'mon." String motioned them over to the living room area and he went to the bar. "What's your pleasure, Jackie?" he asked, the barest of smiles softening his face. "Wine? Or something stronger? Jack Daniels, maybe?"

She made a face. "Wine's good. Anything but white," she replied, swinging away from Michael to approach the bar.

"Red it is." Hawke handed her a fluted glass of red wine.

Wine was distributed around. Even Dom accepted a glass as he made his way back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner. However, Archangel didn't buy the domestic act for a second. Santini would have his ear out to catch any choice bits of conversation.

"Mick who and what did you mean, alcohol poisoning?" Michael questioned, seating himself on the sofa.

Jackie didn't answer right away. Finally, she shrugged. "Should I tell him, Hawke, or do you want to?"

Hawke grinned as he joined them. "You've got quite a woman here, Michael."

"Emphasis on woman," Jackie said sharply. "Michael doesn't have any idea about Mick the Schmuck and The Incident, Hawke."

"I'm surprised word didn't get back," Hawke said. "Remember Mickey Huston, Michael? First string, last pilot?"

"That insufferable brute with the ego as big as the Rio Grande?" Marella queried, disgusted, remembering very well.

"The very one," Jackie confirmed, seating herself beside Michael.

"He made the mistake of being very verbal about women having no place in the military, especially in the Air Force and government projects like Airwolf, and he made sure Jackie was in earshot when he said it," Hawke enlightened them. "When Jackie didn't bite, he kept on coming. When she still didn't bite, he told her if she thought she was as good as a man was, to prove it."

"Let me guess. You accepted," Michael said knowledgeably, leaning back with his glass of wine.

"Enough was enough," Jackie answered matter-of-factly. "He made a bet with me that he could drink me under the table. If I could beat him, he'd admit he was wrong and apologize on bended knee. That was worth seeing. So yeah, I accepted."

"They proceeded to drink shots of Jack Daniels," Stringfellow continued with a smirk. "And Jackie won."

"Barely." She leaned back with a snort. "I will never do that again. I was still having dry heaves two days after. I could barely get water down my throat." She looked over at Michael. "Hawke didn't tell you the best part."

"There's more?" Michael was shaking his head.

"Oh, yeah. Stringfellow was up the rest of the night with me, holding my head over the porcelain god." She grinned. "Now that's a buddy." She took a sip of wine. "I got my apology. Hawke even made Mick get down on his knees when he made it. That made the whole unpleasant experience worth it." She chuckled. "I think I wore my shades for a week after that, my eyes looked and felt so bad."

"If I had known about it, I probably would have kicked his can all the way to Timbuktu," Michael said, casting Jackie an irritated look. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why bother you with something as inconsequential as that? He made an ass out of himself. Payback was hell." She crossed her legs. "Besides, we had our little agreement. No one was supposed to know I was your goddaughter, remember?"

"So," Hawke said, coming over to sit in a chair across from them, "how did Michael talk you into rejoining The Firm?"

"When he told me who I'd be training with, I remembered that particular way you held my head over the john and decided you were the man I was going to marry, so I signed on the dotted line."

"What a bunch of bull." String smiled, seeming to enjoy himself.

Michael noticed that Dom no longer pretended not to listen. He definitely had his ear trumpet out to catch the entire conversation.

"You're good for my ego," Hawke continued, taking a sip of wine, "but I can't believe you rejoined The Firm just to get near me. Besides, you wouldn't need an excuse like that anyway. I always did think you were cute. And gutsy."

"Could we put gutsy ahead of cute for once?" she complained, making another face. "And . . . cute? Where the hell do you get cute? I'm gorgeous!" She grinned devilishly, batting her eyes.

Michael suppressed a smile. "Not a thing wrong with your self-image, either."

"So give," Hawke continued to prod. "What did you get out of the deal?"

"A beachhouse, a Ferrari -- on loan only -- and getting to spend more time with this godfather of mine," she answered, looking over at him with a smile.

"Attractive offer," String acknowledged.

"Yeah, I feel like a kept woman. It's great."

"So do you have to sleep with the boss, too?" he asked jokingly.

"Hawke!" Michael interjected indignantly.

Jackie's grin was wide. "I should be so lucky. Nope, that's the one thing he hasn't asked me to do, yet. I keep hoping."

"I'm going to wash your mouth out," Michael threatened goodnaturedly.

"Yeah, right," Jackie chortled.

"Uh . . . steaks are ready to go in," Dom called from the kitchen. "I'm makin' em all medium-rare unless there's any objections."

"Make mine extremely rare, Mr. Satnini," Jackie called. "I like the true taste of the meat."

"That's why they nick-named you Maneater, wasn't it?" String asked, chuckling. "'Cause you like your meat raw? Or was there another reason?"

"Fun-ny, Mr. Comedian. Wouldn't be so quick to poke fun, Stringfellow," she retorted in amusement. "I might just live up to my reputation. I usually have guys like you for appetizers."

"I'll just bet you do." He smiled at her a moment. There was a slight lull. "So you think you can fly Airwolf, huh?"

"You tell me," she replied. "Obviously, you thought I had some promise or you never would have insisted on me."

Hawke's gaze was penetrating and the good humor left his face. "Of the five pilots I reviewed, you had the best qualifications and resume," he stated. "Marella brought me some film footage of your flying capabilities yesterday. You're damn good." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You willing to show me some of your stuff in a day or two?"

She shrugged. "Name the time and place. I'll be there."

"You've got to be absolutely sure this is what you want," he warned in a low voice. "Airwolf's not just any old chopper."

Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed almost dangerously. "Hawke," she said evenly, "I'm the last person you need to remind about that."

Stringfellow Hawke frowned, but his look was ignored and no further enlightenment was offered. Jackie rose and moved to the fireplace. Hawke looked at Michael for explanation but the Deputy Director just shrugged in response. They drank their wine in silence for a few minutes.

"Come and get it," Dom said, placing a plate of T-bones on the table and fish on a separate plate for Hawke.

The evening was going well, Michael assessed. The fact that Hawke and Jackie sort of knew each other threw him. Jackie had never mentioned that fact, but considering the circumstances, he supposed he could understand why. Jackie and Hawke dominated the conversation, reminiscing about the Airwolf test piloting program. He noticed any allusions to Charles Moffett were studiously avoided.

"Day after tomorrow we'll go to the old boneyard. I want to see your techniques live," Hawke told her.

"Why not tomorrow?" she countered.

Michael smiled at her tone and even Hawke looked slightly amused.

"Fine," the pilot agreed. "Tomorrow then. Ten o'clock too early?"

"Too late. I do my best flying before breakfast. Seven-thirty -- unless that's too early for you."

"Boy, you're an eager beaver," Dom commented. "Marella mentioned you do occasional stunt work. Ever fly any biplanes or anything pre-World War II?"

"Nope, never have. You do?"

"Oh, I turn my hand at it now and again," the older man admitted modestly. "But mostly stunt flying. I got guys working for me, too. They handle the bulk of the movie business."

"Maybe I can talk you into taking me up in one of those old planes someday soon," Jackie said, winking flirtatiously at Dom.

Dom grinned for the first time that night. "I'd love to! You got yourself a date, little lady!"

After dinner, she joked around with Dom while helping him clear away the dishes and was rolling up her sleeves to start washing when Hawke motioned to her. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

"Go on," Dom told her. "I can finish up here."

"We should be heading back home soon," Michael reminded them, "if we want to get that early start tomorrow."

"Relax. I'll get her in early. I promise," Stringfellow said, noting Michael's scowl.

Dom cloistered himself away in the kitchen at their departure and Michael stood by the mantel, sipping another glass of white wine; he was joined a moment later by Marella.

"Well, that went well," she commented, searching Michael's face. "He seems to like her. That does make it a lot easier, doesn't it?"

"Like things were made easier for Gabrielle?" Archangel's voice was bitter. "I won't have her ending up like her. I want their relationship to stay on a business level."

"You can't blame Hawke for what happened to Gabrielle," Marella told him quietly. "She was a victim of circumstance. So was he."

"Maybe. Or maybe . . . maybe he's just bad luck."

Marella's fine eyebrows arched in revelatory surprise. "Sir!" She paused, then tilted her head to one side. "You're jealous," she accused gently.

Archangel turned to glare at his operative. "Don't be ridiculous."

Marella shook her head. "You're not her guardian anymore, Michael. Did it ever occur to you that she might not need that from you now? That maybe she looks on you -- a lot differently -- and that you just haven't noticed?"

This stopped Michael for a moment. No, it hadn't occurred to him. In fact, he told himself, it had been the furthest thing from his mind.

"She's a woman, not a child, Sir," Marella reminded him.

"You're trespassing, Marella." Michael turned his eyes on her warningly. "Read the sign. It says 'Keep Out.'"

Marella eased away from him like the outgoing tide and Michael stared into the flames of the stone fireplace, remembering a time not so long ago when the roles between himself and Jackie had been reversed . . .

******************************

JUNE, 1984

He'd thought he could handle it, that he could keep his emotions under control. Hawke's statement that Gabrielle hadn't suffered hadn't eased Michael's conscience. He'd sent her over there, knowing what Moffett was capable of if he ever got his claws into her.

The Airwolf project had been almost a single-mindedness with the Deputy Director, partially stemming from his own great love of flying. He used his position in The Firm to expand upon the inherited project. He'd laid out exactly what he thought was needed and had eventually turned it over to the brilliant mind of Charles Henry Moffett, trusting him to put it all together, and Moffett had done so with deadly expertise. Michael had ignored many things about the man. He ignored the rumors. He ignored the god-complex he knew the man had, the egomania. He ignored everything but the fact that Moffett could produce what Michael wanted above everything else -- a defensive Mach I chopper with a payload that could wipe out half the state of California. He simply wanted the project given top priority, which was why Daniel and Sara Kendricks along with Graham Preston had been brought on board the project in the late 60s, after Michael's rise to the directorship of The Firm.

Now, Gabrielle was dead.

Michael sat in the overstuffed sofa, staring broodingly into the flames that licked at the firelogs, swirling his brandy in the snifter and trying to divine some answers from the amber liquid. The ranch had never felt this good. His solace. His familiarity.

He'd found Gabrielle when she was only fourteen -- a pickpocket on the steps of the U.N. Building. Grime had obscured her pretty face but had not hidden the bright eyes and quick mind. He'd easily caught her by the wrist as it snaked it's way into his pocket and, after sending a well-meaning, on-the-scene policeman on his way, had charmingly invited her to lunch.

As with any of his operatives -- especially his "angel corps" -- he would have done anything for her. Gabrielle was a part of his family, a beautiful daughter to him. She'd been incredibly intelligent, witty, charming, talented -- and just that fast, she was gone. A young life wasted. Michael had never had the pleasure of having his own children. But he knew a father's loss -- he knew it just as sharply as if Gabrielle had genetically been his.

Sitting there by the fire, he knew. Even never having been there, he knew that Gabrielle's death had been excruciating. Although Hawke had never said so, Michael somehow knew that his lovely operative had fallen victim to Charles Henry Moffett. Gabrielle's body had been brought back to the States. Michael refused to leave her over there. He'd pulled out every stop to have her body smuggled back in. She'd been cremated per her wishes and buried in a small cemetery near a beach, where the seagulls flew and the roar of the tide could be heard night and day.

He took another drink of his brandy and shifted his gaze to his goddaughter, who sat curled up on the recliner, reading Interview With The Vampire. At first he couldn't understand Jackie's choice of reading material. When he'd asked her gently about it, her reply had been that she was trying to understand the dark side of the human soul through words and attempting to understand death. To accept something she couldn't understand was against her nature. Gabrielle's death had touched everyone involved. She and Jackie had been about six years apart and she'd been as close to an intimate girlfriend to Jackie as she'd ever had.

But as devastasted as Jackie might have been, it couldn't match what he was feeling. Although Gabrielle's role in the plan had been a part of her job and strictly voluntary, Michael would always feel himself to blame for her death.

She looked up momentarily from reading and stared straight ahead. The firelight flickered over her, changing her dark brown hair to a deep mahogany red. As lovely as Gabrielle, he thought with a stab of regret. Lovely in a different way, as all women had a singular, unique beauty. He watched silently for a long time. Technically she wasn't even one of his ladies in white, but she was staying with him and putting up with his occasional self-pity and self-ostracization, foul moods, yelling and bitterness. He knew it was out of nothing more than love and his heart warmed, perhaps a little more than it should have.

His mother Clare, Maria, Sonja and now Gabrielle.

The thought of losing Jackie made a lump form in his throat and he made a silent vow to protect her so she wouldn't suffer the same fate as those women who went before her. //It was a mistake to have her training for The Firm so young,// he thought to himself. //Daniel and Sara should have seen that. And I should never have allowed it, no matter how much Jackie told me she wanted it at the time.//

As if all this wasn't enough weighing on his mind, Zeus had arrived at his department in his absence, throwing his weight around to get the updated files on Airwolf. Fortunately, his operatives would not be bullied and insisted that strict interdepartmental procedure be followed. Zeus needed Michael's written authorization and until Michael had thoroughly reviewed all the paperwork, he had no intention of releasing the files to anyone.

"It's getting late," he said, indicating the clock on the mantel which read almost one a.m.

His words broke her out of her reverie and she looked up, putting her book down. "I guess it is," she agreed. "Do you need anything before I turn in?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do." He held his hand out ot her and she got up, going over to take it. He pulled her down next ot him. "I need a hug from you."

Her arms had automatically gone around him and she curled into his side, laying her head against his shoulder. His fingers gently played with the natural curls that spilled down her back.

"A young woman like you shouldn't be cooped up with a cripple," he told her softly. "You should be out having fun and living your life."

"Stop it," she reprimanded angrily. "You're only a cripple if you start believing it. And the last thing you're going to do is prove Zeus right." Her embrace tightened. "Besides, I'm where I want to be. So shut up and like it."

"Why?" he questioned. "Why are you here? Why are you really here?"

She lifted her head up to look into his face, expression clearly one of hurt. "Is it such a big mystery to you?"

His hand had touched her face, and it was then he realized how much he loved her. In that one moment, it didn't matter she was only twenty-four and it didn't matter he was almost twice as old. Later, when he'd had time to think about it, he told himself it was weakness on his part because of Gabrielle's death.

"I love you," he found himself saying.

He kissed her then, a deep kiss laced with longing. He felt her fingers inadvertently curl into his collar. She'd never been more warm and the moment had never been more perfect. For once he didn't feel like a benefactor and for just a few moments, he felt safe, like he had someone to whom he truly mattered. He would have been perfectly happy to lie back and continue kissing her like that, riding some warm waves of affection threaded with desire, but Jackie pulled away gently.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get something for you before I turn in?" she asked, voice level, even though he could easily see the heightened color of her cheeks.

"No. Go ahead. I'll be all right." He traced her eyebrow with a finger. "I'm sorry I doubted your devotion, sweetheart. I can't help wondering sometimes if I deserve it."

She rose to her feet. "You deserve more. Much more."

"You've been a lot of my strength in the past weeks. You know that, don't you?"

She smiled. "You taught me to be strong, Michael. If I have been, it's only your own strength returning to you."

"You credit me with too much."

"I don't give you enough. No one does." Jackie went to pick her book up and then crossed the living room. She stopped, turning back, before disappearing down the hallway. "I'd do anything for you, Michael. Anything at all."

When she left and he heard her bedroom door close, he let out a pent-up sigh. He'd chosen this life. It had been the right thing for him then and it was the right thing for him now. But he just hated it when the people he cared about the most got hurt because of it.

"Never," he said quietly. "I will never let it hurt the people I care about again."

******************************

The sun was sliding toward the surrounding mountains, shining on the lake, causing it to shimmer and gleam in the twilight. Hawke and Jackie walked along the edge of the shore in companionable silence. Hawke skipped a couple of rocks across the glassy surface of the water, causing perfect circles to form and spread out into infinity. He watched the eagle circle high overhead and dive downward, catching one last fish before flying back home. Jackie had been watching as well and stopped, shading her eyes against the setting sun, smiling as the magnificent bird swept upward on beautifully plumed wings.

"You sure have your own little piece of heaven," she breathed. "You must love it here."

Hawke let his guard down somewhat. "It suits me. It's quiet." He breathed in the clean air. "One day I'll be buried up here."

"Don't talk about that." Her voice suddenly became hard and she walked ahead of him a little bit. "You're too young to be talking like that. About dying."

Hawke caught the note of fear in her voice. "Being young doesn't have a thing to do with it. Gabrielle died young. My folks died young. Everybody dies sometime. Why do you think Michael asked you to train for this job, Jackie? He was taking into account I could die someday."

"I know that was part of the reason." She slowed down and walked beside him again.

Hawke stopped suddenly and took her arm, pulling her around to face him. "Jackie -- I have to know. How badly do you want to fly Airwolf? What was it that made you finally say yes to Michael? I know what happened eight months ago. You didn't agree to this just to be a good sport. And I know Michael fought like a wildcat to keep you out of it when I said I wanted you for training."

She moved away, sitting on a fallen log. "Y'know," she said in a low voice, "all I ever heard growing up was Airwolf this and Airwolf that. Creating her was my parents' life work. When full production began on that thing, I took second place. Everyone was obsessed by her. Michael. Mom. Dad. Moffett. Later, when I started flying, I became obsessed with her, too." She heaved a breath. "After Air Force and flying covert for The Firm, Michael made sure I got into the Airwolf program. He tried to get me on first string but it was vetoed because of my age and lack of combat experience. But it got me on the simulator." She paused, looking up at him. "I wanted it bad, Hawke. So bad I could taste it. You'll never know how incredibly jealous I was of you. I always wanted to now what made Airwolf so special that . . . that she could tear my own parents away from me."

"That's not all of it, is it?"

Another long moment passed. "Maybe . . . since everyone tried so hard to get me on the program to begin with, I felt I owed them. I owe it to Mom and Dad's memory. To Michael for trying so hard to get me in. To myself, because she's the most damn beautiful piece of hardware ever made and I'd do just about anything to fly her. Even once." She looked up at him again. "Did I answer your questions with the right answers?"

Stringfellow joined her on the log. "We all have different reasons for wanting to fly her. I was just curious what yours were. I can't find fault with them."

"I hear a 'but' in there."

Hawke was quiet a moment. "It's not going to be easy, Jackie. It's not at all what you're used to, the simulator doesn't even come close to the real thing. You're going to have a lot of power at your hands when you get into the pilot's seat of Airwolf and sometimes there's the temptation to play God. I just want to make sure you can handle this. That's why I'm going up with you tomorrow to do an in-flight evaluation of your flying. I'll watch you solo, too. Michael will bring a viewer. I'll make sure you don't have any bad habits and if you do, correct them." He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'll tell you right now -- if I feel you can't cut it for any reason -- I won't let you train."

"I'll cut it," she told him softly. "I won't disappoint you."

His mouth quirked at her promise. "I just don't want you to be terribly upset if I tell you no go." Jackie stared over the lake in silence. For a moment, he studied her sad face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"C'mon. You're talking to the guy who helped you hold your head over the toilet all night, remember?"

She smiled at that. Then, her expression sobered. "I . . . just miss them."

"Your folks?"

"And Gabrielle. We were friends."

"I've been where you are. It takes a long time for the hurt to even ease off."

"Mine hasn't stopped. It never will." Angrily, she blinked and tossed her dark head. "I'll never forget how they were all murdered. The pain will always be there."

Hawke remained silent because he could offer no words of comfort. She was right. It would never go away. "C'mon. Let's go back. I've got something for you."

She roused at that and her curiosity piqued. "What?"

"You'll see. Just wait for me at the dock."

She trailed him back to the cabin. When Hawke disappeared inside, she settled down on the wooden planks of the dock and waited. A few minutes later, Hawke returned wit ha cello and a small stool. Jackie had already taken off her sandals to dangle her feet in the water, but at his approach, she turned around and drew her knees up to her chin. The mellow, melodic strains blended in with the soft evening whispers of the mountains and the cry of the night creatures.

******************************

A quietness stole over the mountain retreat and Archangel pushed the curtains aside, watching the two silhouettes on the dock. Dominic joined him, regarding the Deputy Director carefully. There was a lot of feeling revealed in Michael's face -- a side the agent refrained from showing often, if at all.

"Hey." Dom put a hand on Michael's arm in a gesture of temporary truce. "Come back over and have another glass of wine. They'll be awhile."

Archangel smiled. "I'll do that, Dom. Thanks."

Dom found himself returning the smile. The uneasy alliance between the two suddenly softened, although it would never be mentioned in the future.

Tet, who usually joined his master when he took his cello to the dock, remained inside this time and laid his head on Archangel's knee. The agent scratched the dog's head absently, listening to the strains from Stringfellow Hawke's instrument as it sounded softly through the open window.

******************************

Jackie flew her last solo run of the day in Archangel's chopper. Dom and Hawke watched without making much comment.

Hawke remained silent, impassively watching her maneuvers on the battery-powered viewer Archangel brought for monitoring purposes. He watched as the chopper weaved close to the ground at a tremendous pace, nose tilted far forward to facilitate speed. Suddenly, she veered off left one hundred and eighty degrees and began to climb.

Michael threw Hawke an 'I told you so' look and folded his arms, watching proudly. Even Marella was enthusiastic while, despite his consternation, Dom crowed once or twice with excitement.

Still silent, Hawke watched Jackie show off. He had to admit she was damn good. She hadn't been the least bit nervous when he had climbed in the chopper with her earlier. She'd demonstrated some of the best precision flying he'd seen in a long time. He didn't even have much of a problem where her combat training was concerned. Her resume indicated some rather sticky situations she'd gotten herself out of while on Firm business. So although her expertise was limited in that particular area, he was confident she could take care of herself.

"Well?" Archangel questioned as Jackie brought the chopper home and set it down.

Stringfellow ignored him, eyes on the whirling rotors as they slowed and stopped. Jackie hopped out and started to walk toward them, uncertainty etched on her face. Hawke knew the look. She was wondering whether or not she had passed his stringent testing.

Dom studied Hawke's expressionless features. He couldn't read what Hawke was thinking. Despite the fact Jackie was a woman, he couldn't imagine Hawke drawing only one conclusion.

Stringfellow's eyes never wavered as Jackie stood before him. She glanced over first at Michael and then Marella and then him. Hawke continued to look down at her, taking off his sunglasses, eyes still unreadable.

"Pretty good." He contemplated the flawless white chopper behind her. "Too bad you left the Air Force. You could have had one hell of a career."

She looked at him as though she'd been slapped and her eyes flickered back to Michael again, then returned to him once more. "What are you saying? That I should have stuck to flying for Uncle Sam?"

Hawke smiled infuriatingly. "Something wrong with that?"

"Not a thing. But I didn't come out here to fly for Uncle Sam or for Michael. I came out here to fly for you."

"You're damn good." He paused. "But you're not ready for Airwolf."

In an instant, her expression became the stoniest he had ever seen. She moved closer and jabbed a finger in his chest. "You just said I'm damn good. I'm gonna fly that Lady of yours and you're gonna show me how. If you have a problem with my technique, you tell me. I'll do anything I have to do to correct it. But you are not going to write me off that easily."

Hawke maintained his impassive air. "How do you think you rated this afternoon?"

"What you saw out there was my best. It was better than my best, it's the best I've ever flown in my life, because I know how much is riding on this. If it's not up to your standard, then teach me to do better. I want to fly The Lady and nobody, not even you, is going to keep me from doing it."

Hawke glanced over at Michael. Finally, the corner of his lip curled. "You were right, Michael. She's got what it takes." He turned back to her. "You ready to celebrate?"

"What?" She stared at him, stunned.

"You're in, kid!" Dom told her slapping her on the back. "String's going to train you to fly Airwolf!"

Michael grinned widely, pulling her to his side with a familiar squeeze.

"Congratulations, Jackie." Marella took her hand in hers. "Of course," the operative said smugly, "we all knew you could do it -- didn't we, Michael?" She looked pointedly at her boss, finally feeling vindicated in her disobeying orders.

Jackie smiled. "Oh, I think you were all holding your breath. I'm good. But I'm not as good as Stringfellow."

"But you have the potential," String told her. "And you're closer than you think."

"So . . . what next?"

"Simulator first. The Lady second. I don't expect you'll need much of a refresher course, but I'm going to put you through the meatgrinder, so be prepared," Hawke said.

Jackie's face began to work and to Hawke's surprise, he realized she was trying to keep from crying. Her control won out, but before he knew what happened, she had embraced him, burying her face in his chest. Even Archangel's face registered surprise at her reaction, but Hawke said nothing, only looked down studiously at the ground when she let him go.

"I won't disappoint you," she said almost fiercely. "You have no idea what this means to me."

His eyes finally lifted and looked deeply into hers. "Yeah. I think I do."

******************************

The canyon floor wound back and forth like a snake, walls close on either side, forming a tunnel around them except for a hint of sky above the chopper. Jackie was in the pilot's seat, hands sweating inside the black gloves she wore. The blood pounded in her temples and she was queasy. She'd never been nervous about flying, no matter what kind of ship they'd thrown at her -- a regulation or Hughes, a Cobra, a TU-36, a Lear jet, an F-14 . . . hell, she hadn't even worked up a sweat when she tried hang-gliding for the first time as a teenager. But this wasn't just any old bird.

This was Airwolf.

"I want you skimming the ground," Hawke ordered, manning the weaponry controls and observing her in the engineering bay of the cockpit. "You've got to be able to take her down and bring her back up in a second."

Swallowing, Jackie nosed Airwolf down, then brought her level so she was just skimming the canyon floor by inches. If she messed up . . .

"Too erratic, Jackie. Not so sharp the next time."

Her heart plummeted. Everything she'd done had brought on more and more criticism. Hawke's voice jerked her back.

"Readouts, Jackie. Keep your eyes on 'em. You have to know what's going on all the time, even if you have an engineer in back riding shotgun."

She riveted her eyes obediently to the panels. "You picking up heat sensor readings, Hawke? I am. Probably buildings."

"That's the military installation. Keep your eyes peeled. You're twenty miles and closing. No bogeys in sight."

A reading flashed on the screen and she frowned, hesitating, eyes popping up to the canyon ahead. "What the hell -- wires!"

Two large cables loomed across her line of vision. She started to diengage the rotors and was about to yell for turbos and then knew she wouldn't clear them in time. The world exploded into a bright flash of light.

Jackie dropped back in the seat and swore softly. Hawke gripped her shoulder and indicated with a terse nod of his head that she was to follow him. Sighing, she unfastened her belt and the doors hissed open. Michael, Marella and Dom stood outside in the large simulator room, their attention drawn away from the various readouts and displays of the computer setup, centering on the two pilots who now removed their helmets.

Hawke ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "Reset the simulation, Michael," he told the Deputy Director.

Hawke watched as Jackie sank down in a chair, resting her forehead on her trembling hands. She was shaky and perspiring profusely when she looked back up. It had been the thirteenth simulation and she'd screwed it up every time. String had expected it -- he'd been through the same thing himself, once. She hadn't been trained for anything as complicated or flown anything like Airwolf before. She had the mechanics down and what he'd seen so far on the simulator was bordering on okay, but okay wouldn't cut it on a mission. She was afraid of Airwolf, String thought. As much as she desired to fly her, Airwolf intimidated her. The power of the thing was too awesome. In any other aircraft she was bar none -- could fly rings around any pilot he knew. But Airwolf was so high-tech, so specialized. He sensed she was about at the end of her rope, but knew he had to push.

"How're you holding up?" Hawke asked, leaning against the desk beside her, a bit concerned.

"Hangin', but barely." She set her helmet on the desk beside his hand.

"Here." Dom placed a glass of ice-cold fruit juice in front of her, then gave one to String. "You both look like you could use this."

"Thanks," Jackie replied, downing it all at once.

The next simulation programmed, Archangel and Marella joined them. Jackie turned stormy eyes on Hawke.

"What is it?" she finally asked, exasperated. She pounded the desk in frustration. "What is it I'm doing wrong?"

"Well, flying a Mach I chopper like Airwolf isn't like flying anything else," he reminded her. "You know that at least you do now. The big problem you're having is that you overcompensate one minute and then you undercompensate the next."

"Airwolf does feel different from anything else I've ever flown," Jackie agreed. "Man, if I'm having trouble on the simulator . . ." She broke off a moment. "I know I'm doing what you say I'm doing, Hawke. Granted I'm not used to it, but you'd think after a month I'd be getting some sort of feel for it."

"When you fly Airwolf," Hawke explained patiently, "you've got to think of her as an extension of yourself. I've seen film footage of how you fly those fighters, Jackie. They caught you in action in Grenada. The way you were flying that fighter was like Star Wars and you were freaking Luke Skywalker." He paused. "I think the whole problem is you're not comfortable with Airwolf yet. And maybe at least part of it's because . . . as much as you want to fly her, you resent her."

Jackie's head snapped up and she stared a hole through him. Defiantly, she got to her feet and picked up her helmet. "Let's do it again."

On the fourteenth try she covered more ground, got a little closer to the target area she was to blow up, but two Russian MIGs blew her out of the sky with heat-seeking missiles before she could get her act together fast enough to deploy sunbursts or utilize evasive maneuvers. She has all the right moves, Hawke thought. Everything else will come in time. Somehow he wasn't at all surprised when Jackie ripped off her helmet and climbed out of the simulator, stalking out of the room in silent anger. Michael moved to follow but Hawke held him back by the arm.

"Let her get it out of her system. I don't see why we can't knock off now." String dropped his hand. "We'll start again same time tomorrow." He picked up the discarded helmet and handed it to him. "She's just frustrated. Bet if you take her out to a nice place for dinner and ply her with some of the Coldsmith-Briggs charm she'll feel better about coming back tomorrow."

Michael nodded. "Good point. All right, we'll see you here tomorrow, same time."

Hawke clapped Michael on the back once before he and Dom left the simulation room. Once out of earshot, Dom hit Stringfellow's arm.

"You weren't just bein' nice in there, were you?" he asked Stringfellow as they walked toward Dom's jeep outside.

"Nope. I was being truthful." He climbed inside the jeep and Dom joined him on the driver's side.

"What are you really thinkin', String?" Dom insisted.

String pulled at his lip. "That she could use a lot more work."

"You been workin' with her for over a month now," D om said as he turned on the ignition. "And she still hasn't shown a whole lot of improvement from the first day."

"She's beginning to get the hang of Airwolf -- part of the time."

"You really think Jackie has a shot at being as good as you?" Dom demanded. "Is that why you're puttin' in all this time?"

"If I didn't think she had potential, I'd never have insisted on even giving her a try," Hawke answered. "I'll admit I took her on mostly for Michael's sake -- and Michael's argument for a backup pilot is valid. But if I was sure she couldn't handle it, I'd have told both of them right away. You know me, Dom. I'm surprised you'd even ask me that."

"Well . . . I thought you might be keeping her on because you like her."

"I do like her." Dom looked over at him uneasily at that comment and Hawke caught it. "Will you relax, Dom? The role of mother hen hardly suits you. I'm tired and I'm hungry and I have just enough sun to catch a trout before it gets too late."

Dom relented. "I'll go with you and we'll catch two."

******************************

Jackie emerged from the locker room, finding Michael waiting on the opposite side of the door. She looked at him a moment, then started wordlessly past him. He caught her by the arm.

"Will you cool down?" he asked as she whirled to face. "You've had a hard day. Let's stop somewhere and get some dinner and then we'll go back to your place and watch the Maltese Falcon or something."

She sighed deeply, looking down a moment. "I'm not dressed to go out," she answered. "How about if I pick up some stuff and make dinner?"

"I'd really rather spoil you tonight." He drew her to his side as they walked down the corridor together. "I'll take you home so you can shower and change. Then I have to stop off at the office and make sure I don't have any calls to return, but after that we'll go wherever you like."

"You're rewarding me after I screwed up every run today?" she questioned, almost suspiciously.

"Have you forgotten you're still a novice?" he reminded her, squeezing her shoulders. "It takes time to get through the simulator. Ask Hawke. He's been through it, too. You'll make it. Hawke wouldn't still be working with you if he didn't think you could do it."

Jackie leaned into his side. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I am."

"It's just that sometimes I get so frustrated with the whole business I could scream."

"I know." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "That's why I'm here. To make you feel better."

"Mm. You do manage to do that." She placed both arms around his waist as they walked out the door. "Never mind the fact this is one of your pet projects."

"Or that you're one of my pet employees." He smiled at her flirtatiously.

When they arrived at Knightsbridge a little later, except for a few operatives working on extended projects and second-shift maintenance and security, the building was nearly empty. Still on-duty herself, Marella handed Michael a phone message. "Pentagon," was her one-word explanation.

Archangel took the slip of paper from her and glanced at it. "Jackie, you wait here. This shouldn't take long."

"I'm on my way out, Sir," Marella called over her shoulder. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at the same time."

"Goodnight, Marella," Michael replied as he entered his office, closing the door behind him.

Left on her own, Jackie perched on the corner of the secretary's desk. Whoever had called from the Pentagon most likely wanted to know how she was doing and Michael, in his very diplomatic way, would say, "Making fine progress." Yeah, right. She wouldn't be much good to anyone if she couldn't get through the damn simulator.

Restless, she searched for something to occupy herself with, a magazine, a newspaper, even a tabloid would have done, but all she found was a single folder lying haphazardly in the tray on the secretary's desk. Not good. It was a confidential file that should have been put in the file cabinet. She picked it up and was about ready to place it back herself when she caught sight of the label: SUBJ: KENDRICKS, DANIEL A. AND SARA L.

Jackie frowned. She'd been told it was a closed file, locked away somewhere where no prying eyes could see. Some months ago, she'd broached the subject with Michael over the phone to see it. But he told her no, she was much too upset at that point and there was other classified documentation that she wasn't cleared to see. She glanced up at the closed door of Michael's office, debating whether or not to look at it.

"They were my parents," she murmured softly. "I have every right."

She hurriedly paged through the sheaf of papers inside the folder. Standard stuff -- copies of the death certificates, copies of the wills . . . she looked at the report in back and in back of that, some photographs. Jackie turned the glossies over and stared at them, then gasped, a hand flying up to her mouth. She was sick.

Her mother and father were the subjects, stripped naked, hanging by their arms from a cathedral-like ceiling. Welts criss-crossed their bodies, blood streamed out of every visible orifice, faces partially concealed but identifiable to those who knew them well. A section of the report caught her eye and she followed the print. After a long, long moment, she replaced the materials with trembling hands, heart pounding in her ribcage until it hurt.

The report was no-frills, stating facts only. Her parents had been kidnapped from a Greek cruise boat and taken to Libya, a plan instituted by Khadaffi and carried out by . . . her jaw flexed . . . Graham Preston, who had worked in close association with her parents on the production of Airwolf, second-in-command to Moffett himself. Preston was about as sick as Moffett had been, a small man with delusions of grandeur, but not without his uses, apparently, to third world dictators. Jackie knew he'd gone into hiding awhile back, but didn't know all the details. She'd been too caught up in her own grief to pay much attention. The report, sent by operatives on the inside, stated that Preston had taken a personal interest in her parents' torture when they couldn't be turned. Rescue had been impossible.

"I'll kill him," she half-whispered in fury. She replaced the file back on the desk. "I will track that son-of-a-bitch down and kill him myself."

One thing was sure. Michael owed her one hell of an explanation.

******************************

"Not hungry, sweetheart?" Michael indicated her half-finished plate as he took a sip of wine. He'd brought her to a restaurant specializing in English and French cuisine. It jutted out over a cliffside and the waves crashed below them as they stared out the massive windows offering them a spectacular view of the ocean.

"I guess not." Jackie took a deep drink of her own wine, staring moodily into the crystal goblet.

"Still whipping yourself about this afternoon?" he queried softly.

"Yeah. And a few other things."

"Don't let it all eat you up alive," he advised kindly. He pounded his chest. "Damn, that was a good steak. How was your Wellington?"

"Wonderful, as always." She looked out the window with her chin propped up on her hand, watching the tide roll in on the beach below. "Michael, I'd like to take a walk along the beach. Would you mind?"

"Not a bit." He dabbed at his moustache with his napkin. "Dessert?"

"Heavens, no."

"In that case, are you ready?"

She nodded and Michael solicitously helped her from her chair and on with her jacket. He paid the check and the two proceeded arm-in-arm out of the restaurant into the cool evening breezes blowing off the ocean. They took a narrow path that led down to the beach, walking in silence.

"Sweetheart, are you still worried about the simulator?" he asked when the silence had dragged on too long.

"Amongst other things."

"What other things?" When she didn't answer right away, he prodded, "Sweetheart, what is it?"

They came to an outcropping of rock and Archangel leaned up against it, resting. Jackie had her back to him, the tension in her muscles obvious.

"Michael . . ." She stopped.

He frowned. "What is it, Jackie?"

Her voice shook with the effort of control. "Michael . . . no stonewalling, okay? I need to hear you say it. You do love me, don't you?"

Michael stared at her back. How many times in the past had he told her exactly that? He'd meant it every time he'd said it. Their warm. unique relationship was something he treasured.

"What the devil makes you ask that?" he asked, bewildered.

"Just answer the question, please, Michael."

The tone of her voice unnerved him Slowly, he came up behind her and placed both arms around her waist in a comforting embrace. His chin rested on her shoulder and he breathed in the scent he cherished. "Of course I love you," he whispered in her ear. "How could you doubt that?"

"You've never lied to me? You've always told me the truth?"

The question made him more uneasy. His hold tightened. "I have never knowingly lied to you," he whispered to her again. "Where is this coming from, love?"

For a moment, he felt her tremble and thought she might be trying to hold back tears. Her head dropped down for a moment. He stroked her hair with one hand, then moved it aside to place a warm kiss on the back of her neck, lips lingering.

"Tell me again how mom and dad died," she said abruptly.

The request brought him up cold. Michael lifted his mouth from the back of her neck and turned her around, staring into her face. "I told you about it months ago. Do you really want to hear it all a second time?"

Her gaze locked to his. "Yes. And this time, I want it all, Michael."

He stepped back but still held her. "What is it you want me to tell you?"

Jackie jerked away from him, eyes blazing in fury. "Graham Preston!" she shouted and Michael looked at her in abject astonishment. "All those months ago you knew who was responsible and you never even told me!"

"How the hell did you find out about . . . who told you?" he demanded, horrified.

"Nobody," she hissed. "The confidential file on my parents was sitting right out in the open on the desk."

"Oh, Jesus." He ran a hand through his hair. "It must have been dropped off after hours, after my secretary left. I'd hoped you would never seen that."

Her voice dripped icicles. "You never had any intention of telling me who was directly responsible for Mom's and Dad's deaths, did you? A former operative of yours, Michael! Moffett's assistant! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"What good would it have done?" he demanded angrily. "I was trying to spare you as much pain as I could."

"I didn't ask to be spared, Michael!" she threw back at him. "I expected the truth you so deftly avoided!"

"I couldn't hurt you like that."

"Hurt me?" Jackie stared at him in disbelief. "What do you think you did by keeping this from me?"

Michael's control slipped. "How would telling you all the gory details have helped you? How their skin was all but stripped off their bones! How their feet had been beaten so badly they were bloody stumps! Cigarette burns on --"

"You son-of-a-bitch!" she screamed.

Before either of them quite knew what happened, Michael felt a powerful, reverberating assault to his face that set him back a step or two. It took him a moment before he realized that Jackie had hauled off and slapped him -- hard. Just as quickly, her hands flew up to her mouth in horror. Only then did he reach up to touch his stinging cheek. If she's punched him, he would have been on the ground, Michael thought.

"Oh, God. Oh, my God. Michael . . . I didn't mean . . ." She moved toward him, looking up into his face, touching the sensitive skin she'd slapped. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean . . . I don't know what came over me."

"Rage came over you," he replied quietly. "That's all right. Maybe I deserved it."

"Maybe you did, but I shouldn't have slapped you."

She leaned up to place a kiss on his reddened skin. One kiss turned into two, then three, and her mouth caught the corner of his. The heat of the moment flooded through Michael and instinctively, he turned his head, snagging her lips. The caress was warm and he gave himself in to the suppressed feelings he had long harbored, pulling Jackie close. He took her lower lip gently with his teeth a moment, heard her indrawn breath, then kissed her again warmly. Finally, he leaned back a little, arms still around her.

"Jackie -- what are we doing?" he asked with a sigh.

"I thought we were kissing." She smiled tentatively up at him. "I think we were enjoying it."

"You had an acceptable reason for slapping me," he told her gently. "What was the reason for the kiss?"

"I didn't know I needed one." Jackie ran her fingers up the lapels of his suitcoat. "I'm sorry I slapped you, Michael," she said contritely, eyes lowering. "It won't happen again."

"Apology accepted." He watched as she raised her eyes, leaning into him, tilting her face upward. "What are you doing?" he queried softly.

"Apologizing some more." She gazed at him with undisguised feeling.

He let his breath out in a rush. "I . . . don't think . . . we'd better." He let go of her and placed one arm around her shoulders firmly, leading her back up the dirt path to the restaurant's parking lot. Her sigh of frustration was not lost upon him. He looked over at her empathetically. "I'm old enough to be your father, Jackie," he stated flatly.

"You don't even slightly resemble my father," she shot back just as resolutely. She slipped an arm intimately around his waist. "You're too sexy."

They reached the limousine and he held the door open for her, giving her a tolerant look. "You're going to have to learn to be less of a tease," he told her, nevertheless hiding a smile. He slid in after her.

"Who said I was teasing?"

He suppressed another smile, then sobered. "Jackie?"

She turned to him. "Yeah, Michael?"

"Forgive me for playing your overprotective guardian. I really thought I was doing the right thing by not telling you everything about your parents' deaths."

She wordlessly slipped into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm a big girl, Michael. I can take more than you think I can."

"I'll try to remember that. I won't promise. But I'll try." He closed his eyes as he stroked her hair. //Oh, but I miss that sweet little girl sometimes,// he thought. That sweet little girl, he reminded himself, was now a spirited young woman who thought she was in love with him. He kissed her forehead and stared out the smoky windows of the limo. If only he wasn't so hung up on the age difference.

If only Jackie weren't his goddaughter.

******************************

Michael searched through his CDs, finally finding one to his liking, to set the mood for the evening. Kenny G's sexy strains of the saxophone filled the penthouse's central room. The music held him for a moment and he rolled his shoulders. No one could play a sax like Kenny. He had a way of coaxing those sensual, voluptuous sounds from the cold metal insides of an instrument that quickly warmed under his hands. Rather like tonight's distant, preoccupied companion. He would wager he could elicit similar music from those lips when he began playing her.

He turned, running a finger habitually over his moustache, gaze settling on the young lady seated on his sofa. The lights were turned down to near total darkness and her dark hair picked up silver highlights in their subdued gleam. The beautiful face was shadowed.

Michael moved over behind the sofa, hands going to her shoulders, kneading the coiled muscles, savoring the warm skin. She made a little purring noise in the back of her throat. He lost his hands in the long dark hair, letting the silk slide through his fingers, delighting in the pleasing scent that rose from the strands. His own breathing heightened as his hands moved over her arms. He felt her shiver and Michael smiled in delight over the fact he could make her react in that way.

He rounded the sofa as she placed her glass of wine, half-finished, on the small end table. He slid close beside her, one arm encompassing her waist, his other hand gently pushing the hair back from her pale neck. Wetting his lips, Michael kissed it, tongue tracing the vein up to her ear. He breathed in the familiar scent, held her close, unable to stem his body's desire. Very gently, his teeth tugged at her earlobe and he breathed softly in her ear; slowly, his tongue teased the outer perimeter before plunging delicately inside it. A breathless "oh" escaped her lips and she turned in his arms, hands going to the hair at the back of his neck, lithe body betraying the fact that she was as desirous of him as he was of her. Michael's hand slid smoothly to her knee, pushing he skirt aside, smoothing over the tight skin of her thigh to her hip. He felt her lips beneath his chin, teeth nipping teasingly at his throat and he heard himself moan.

Michael pulled her onto his lap so she straddled him and his mouth was on hers with a fury. His moan passed between her open lips and he felt her tongue rake along his teeth, caress his tongue, tease the roof of his mouth. Growling deep in his throat, his hands cupped under her buttocks, bringing her more tightly against him. Close wasn't close enough. The fire in his body threatened to consume him.

He pulled back only to catch his breath, gazing up into the shadowed face above his. His gaze adjusted in the darkness and then Michael drew his breath in sharply.

"What the hell . . . ?"

Jackie stared down at him, breathing hard, chest heaving. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and before he could think, before he could even speak, her mouth covered his once more and there was nothing he could do but drown in her touch, sinking into ecstatic oblivion . . .


. . . and Michael woke with a start, sweat streaming from his body. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand and checked the digital display of his alarm. It was four a.m.

He rolled over, laying back against his sweatsoaked pillows, only too aware of the physical state his body was in. He bit his lip hard.

"God, Freud would have a field day with this," he murmured into the darkness. He tried to regularize his breathing but wasn't very successful. "Damn it." He pulled himself up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he whipped off the covers. "I haven't had a wet dream like this since I was a teenager."

Grimacing, he rose and made his way to the bathroom. The bright light over the sink banished the darkness and the Deputy Director turned on the shower and then stripped off the pajama bottoms.

Cold water was the only remedy for such a dream. And the hell of it was, Michael thought as he forced himself under the stinging pellets of freezing water from the showerhead, it hadn't been the first time. Whenever he had this dream it was always the same.

It was enough to drive a man insane.

******************************

"So how'd it go last night?" Stringfellow Hawke asked the Deputy Director when he met him in the simulator room and Jackie was out of earshot. "She okay today?"

Michael placed his hands on his hips. "I don't know. I think so. Something -- happened last night. Jackie found out a lot of details about her parents' deaths that I tried to keep from her. It wasn't a pretty thing to see. But I think she's okay. Either way, I have a feeling it'll show up in today's session."

"How the hell did she find out?" Hawke questioned. "I thought you personally closed that file."

"Officially yes. Unofficially, no. I've had that file in and out of file cabinets for weeks. It was left on my secretary's desk and she found it -- complete with photographs."

"Man," Hawke sighed. "As if knowing they're dead isn't bad enough."

The two men glanced over at Marella, Dom and Jackie, who were talking together. Jackie did seem okay, Hawke thought. She was smiling and joking around, her stance was relaxed, not tensed, although Hawke hardly knew her that well to make a valid judgement of her state of mind. He contemplated her for a moment and an idea blossomed. It had been over a month since her first simulation exercises. If the day went well, he might suggest she take a few days off -- forget the training and just kick back and relax before continuing.

The day went extremely well, better than anyone thought it could. Jackie finally beat the simulator, improving steadily until, on the seventh try, she made it through -- blew up an enemy installation, fended off all attackers, and escaped with Airwolf intact with four MIGs tailing her. So confident was she that she did a loop behind the enemy aircraft and played Space Invaders -- blasting all four of them to Kingdom Come before lazily flying out of radar range. That first success continued on into the eighth, ninth and tenth runs. Dom was floored, String was pleased and Archangel and Marella ecstatic. When the fourteenth simulation was successful, Michael couldn't wait any longer. He brought out a bottle of champagne and they drank to her victories. Somehow, between yesterday and now, something had triggered within her and she was starting to fly the simulator as an extension of herself, as Stringfellow told her.

Hawke pulled Archangel off to one side. "Damn, what did you say to her? Trainees just don't get over the hump like that. All of a sudden she's tearin' up the town!"

"Guess she just decided to buckle down and beat it," Archangel replied, too happy with her success. "Which is a good thing. Now I have something definitive to tell the Pentagon . . . and The Committee. What did I tell you, Hawke? Wasn't she worth the time and training?"

"She still needs work," Hawke interjected, ever cautious. "But now that I'm sure she's got the ability, I can work with her. I want her to work the simulator for awhile yet. When I'm satisfied she's fully proficient on that, we'll take the real thing up."

Jackie jogged up to the two men, arms raised victoriously. "Yo, I'm a contender!" she shouted in exhilaration.

String smiled and held out his arm to her; she readily placed it about her shoulders and they turned, walking toward the display boards.

"I'd like for you to keep practicing on the simulator . . . I'll still oversee you most of the time, but feel free to do some work on your own, just make sure I get to see the simulation results. In about a month, we'll take a test run in Airwolf, if you've progressed as far as I think you will," he told her.

"A month?" She sounded dismayed.

"Patience, kiddo. It could save your life one day."

"Okay. A month isn't so bad." Jackie let out a sudden and spontaneous whoop, jumping into his unprepared arms. Hawke chuckled, amused, lifting her up for a few brief seconds before putting her back down on her feet. "Set it up again, Michael!" Jackie called over her shoulder, grabbing her helmet as she turned back to the interior of the Airwolf simulator. "I'm not and I don't want to quit now!"

A few more runs during the afternoon convinced Hawke that Jackie was over whatever it was that kept her from flying The Lady -- or at least the simulator -- and would only improve steadily from then on.

"Why don't you come up to my cabin for a few days?" he asked her as they put their helmets away. "You've been working damned hard since you've been here. Wouldn't hurt to kick back and clear your brain of any cobwebs before continuing. If you feel you want to work the simulator while you're up at the cabin, I can bring you in, then take you back. What about it?"

Jackie contemplated Hawke for a long moment, searching his face. The invitation sounded delightful. When she determined it wasn't a come-on, she smiled. "Sounds wonderful. You sure you want me up there, disrupting your lifestyle?"

"Wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think I could put up with you. So?"

"Yeah. I'd love to come. Thanks." She glanced over at Michael in deep conversation with Marella and bit her lip.

"Worried about what Michael might say?" Hawke guessed, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not making a play for you, if that's your concern."

She met his almost challenging look. "Michael doesn't own me. He employs me. But I still care about what he thinks." She placed her hands on her hips. "I know what he's going to think about this." She thought a moment more. "Maybe I'll just let him think it."

"Jackie." Michael came up to them, pleased as a cat who had just finished off a bowl of cream. "You did a fantastic job today, sweetheart. We can stop by your place so you can change and then we'll go have an early dinner and I've got --"

"Michael . . ." She hesitated, then continued. "I've made other plans."

He looked at her blankly. "Other plans?"

She nodded, plainly uncomfortable. "Yeah. I'm . . . going to spend a few days up at String's cabin."

"Oh." Michael's entire face lost it's animation. "Pity. Baryshnikov is going to be at the Chandler Theater tonight and . . . I managed to get two tickets."

Jackie almost winced. She loved ballet, especially Baryshnikov. But she defiantly lifted her chin -- a quirk she had probably unconsciously picked up from Michael somewhere along the line. A gesture that meant no matter what he said or did, she would not change her mind.

"Tempting offer," she commented quietly. "But I need a few days away. What better place than the mountains?"

Michael's jaw hardened and his eye narrowed. "For how long?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." She glanced over at Hawke who had remained silent and impassive throughout their exchange. "Until String gets sick of my company, I guess. Or until he thinks I need to get back to work."

Words could not adequately describe the challenging glare smoldering in Michael's eye as he regarded the pilot. "I guess I'll ask Marella to go, then."

"Have fun." Jackie smiled and took Hawke's arm, smoothly leading him some distance away.

Hawke looked down at her with just a hint of amusement. "You did that deliberately to piss him off."

"He takes it for granted I'll just be available whenever he gets the inclination. I've never turned him down before, for any reason, especially in favor of another man." They stopped walking and she faced him. "String, I'm a twenty-five, almost twenty-six-year-old woman. It's about time both Michael and I accepted that fact."

"I think you've accepted it. Michael might take a little longer."

"I have to go with them back to the office, then stop off home and pack," she told him, pushing her hair back. "Wouldn't hurt me to shower, either. Meet you -- where?"

"Make it Santini Air." Hawke gazed at the retreating figure of the Deputy Director. "Bring jeans, sweatshirts and tees. Heavy jacket, too, it can get cold up there. I'm not in a hurry so take your time." A broad smile broke out over his face. "I'm kind of looking forward to company. I haven't had anybody new up to the cabin in quite awhile."

She smiled back. "I'm looking forward to it, too."

Hawke walked Jackie out to the limousine. Michael impatiently pushed the door open wide for her to get in. Before she did so, she took hold of String's hand, then reached up to place a kiss on his cheek.

"I'll hurry," she told him, then got into the car.

Hawke watched as the limo lumbered out of sight, then shook his head, knowing the game Jackie was playing. Apparently, she knew how to play it well. She was pushing all of Michael's buttons and he was about ready to rupture like Mount Vesuvius. Hawke was glad she'd accepted his invitation, though. A little solitude in the mountains would be good for her. Company wouldn't hurt him, either. At least then Dom couldn't accuse him of being a hermit anymore.

Dom joined him as they made their way toward the jeep outside. "Are you nuts?" the older man asked. "Archangel is fit to be tied. I don't think it was a good idea to invite Jackie up to the cabin."

String grinned goodaturedly. "Dom, I do a lot of things you don't think I should do. If I followed your advice all the time, I'd never have any fun."

"You better watch what kind of fun you have with Jackie or you could be raked over the coals by you-know-who."

Hawke shrugged noncommitally. "Wouldn't be the first time, Dom."

Dom gave him a sideways look. "For a guy who should be considering a menu for his last meal, you sure look happy."

"Dom, you worry too much," Hawke admonished him. "Come on, let up. She's coming to the cabin and I don't want to hear another word about it, okay?"

Dominic sighed. "Have it your way. You will anyway. You want me to stay away for a few days?"

Hawke looked affronted. "Of course not. You know you're always welcome, anytime you want."

"I just . . . well, I don't want to barge in if you're . . . I mean if you're both . . . well, you know what I mean!"

Stringfellow chortled delightedly at Dom's embarrassment. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it. Just because she's coming up to the cabin doesn't automatically mean she's a candidate for my love life. Not that I haven't thought about it." He caught Dom's look. "I like her, Dom. If things happen, they happen. If they don't -- well, you're probably worrying over nothing."

Dom shook his head. "Kid, you're cruisin'." He plunked on his cap and they roared out of the compound, back to Santini Air.

******************************

END PART II



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February 4, 1999