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Michael heard in the distance the strings of a cello whispering in the wind. In the distance he saw three eagles in the morning sky. He stood in front of the cabin he had come to know as a second home. The cabin where he could decompress, and share laughter. Nights filled with good wine and companionship.
Even arguments were different here. Words and sometimes fists were exchanged, but in the long run, all would be forgiven over a special vintage of bordeaux, or a sunrise such as this.
It wasn't real.
It was impossible.
He stood at the end of the pier holding the box of ashes in his hands and could not stop the tear from falling.
He felt her hand on his forearm and was grateful for her presence.
Dominic had died years before and the missions continued. Covert and often dangerous... that was part of the job. A broken limb here and there, but nothing that had not happened before.
The bond he had with Stringfellow went beyond the strained relationship while retrieving Airwolf. Michael had ranked him among the very few that he could call friend.
He had liked the arrangement with the recluse. He had genuinely believed that against all the odds, he would perform a miracle. He would find Hawke's brother alive somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam. He had put his own resources behind the task.
He had failed.
There was a part of him that wanted to continue the search.
He held his friend's ashes in his hand. He wore his usual white, this time it was to honor his friend.
It wasn't real. He was not supposed to outlive someone he had come to rely on and respect.
The official tasks had been completed. Hawke's Will gave him the coordinates for the Lair, on the explicit orders that the Firm would not be given carte blanche for missions that did not need her special skills.
Michael would keep that condition. He would take care of the cabin. He would give the art to the museums that had what they thought were originals.
He would bring Tet, the tic hound, back with him and pamper the dog as they mourned such an insurmountable loss.
Now he had the one task that only he could perform.
Three eagles. He sensed the presence of String, Dom, and St. John as they soared above and the sun rose into the clear sky. A few clouds drifted with the breeze. He knew he heard a cello in the distance.
Cait looked at Michael and was not sure if he was giving strength, or receiving that inner strength that Michael possessed. She was sure that Archangel was there in the white suit and tie. She was sure that the part of him that was head of the Firm, was there to give his last respects.
Hawke had performed tasks above and beyond the call of duty. Unfortunately, he would not receive the accolades he deserved because most of his actions were off the record.
He didn't do it for the glory. He did it because there was no one else who could. String was dedicated to his country and to a few select others. Michael was glad he was part of the chosen few.
When he opened the box of ashes, he heard the scream of an eagle as the ashes drifted into the air and out along the water.
Michael gripped onto Caitlin as he bid farewell to his friend and walked back to the cabin.
Marella stood there waiting with a glass of pinot noir.
Michael felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. Cait stood there without letting him go.
A lone cello played somewhere in the distance.
finis