Interlude

Title: "Interlude"
Author: ddrake
Fandom(s): Airwolf
Notes: Third story in the “Journey into Darkness” universe. It will help if you've read that and “Ghosts” before reading this.
Acknowledgments: I would like to thank Enfleurage for her input – any errors that remain are mine.
Airwolf (unfortunately) isn't mine. Characters and settings belong to their creators. No profit to be made from this story.

“Interlude”

It felt good to relax. Horn was dead, blasted to bits by Airwolf's arsenal. Most of his people had been killed, the remainder rounded up by the Zebra Squad.

Michael had contacted Zeus, only to learn that the Director was out of town, busy with some meeting in Washington. Zeus had left orders for Michael – sit tight until his return.

It was an easy directive to follow. Construction crews had started rebuilding the house, and Airwolf was tucked away behind the cabin, carefully covered with camouflage netting. It wasn't ideal, but it would do until they had met with Zeus, and a more permanent location was found.

Michael's lawn chair was planted on the dock, Michael in it, fishing rod in hand as he enjoyed the warmth of the sun. He glanced over as Hawke reeled in another trout. “I think they like you.”

The pilot raised an eyebrow. “Could be. Could be my superior skill. Of course, it could be that I'm actually using bait.”

Michael looked up sharply, and caught Hawke's grin as he flicked his line back into the water. “Has anyone ever told you that you're too damned observant? You weren't supposed to notice that.” The agent ended his pretense and put the rod down beside his chair. “You mind?”

“Hey, you want to sit here and pretend to fish, that's up to you. Just don't expect me to feed you.” Amusement flickered across Hawke's face.

Michael didn't object to the occasional trout, but he found Hawke's seafood and salad diet a bit extreme. He returned Hawke's grin. “Good thing Cait picked up steaks.” He suspected his wife was getting as tired of the fish as he was. The agent settled back into his chair, and the oddly comfortable silence that had enveloped the two of them as they sat on the dock.

There was a time when he never would have imagined spending an afternoon this way. Life had been too hectic, too fast-paced. He himself had been too driven. As much as he hated to admit it, perhaps in some ways, losing the Deputy Director's title had actually been good for him. Unlike that position, the liaison job in Washington had been strictly nine-to-five, instead of consuming his life and most of his soul.

Caitlin had been a part of it, too. From her he had re-learned how to appreciate the simple things, things like the quiet moments that make up much of a relationship – or a friendship. Michael glanced over at Hawke. Sometimes, it wasn't about the words. As the pilot would say, *“Yeah.”* He closed his eyes, and let the sun bake the lingering tension of Locke's betrayal from his bones.

-*-

Early the next morning, Michael waited until Caitlin was out of earshot in the shower. “Hawke, this is probably a stupid question, but do you by any chance have a picnic basket?”

The pilot gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, I think there's one in the attic. Why?”

“I thought I might take Cait on a picnic.” He had done some scouting the day before, and had found a perfect clearing. It was secluded, had a view of the lake, and was within easy walking distance.

“A picnic?” Hawke's eyebrow rose even higher.

“There's something wrong with that?” Michael had to admit that the concept of sitting on the ground eating was just a little out of character, but it wasn't that strange. Since they had been staying at the cabin, there had been few chances to be alone with Caitlin. They both desperately needed some time to themselves.

“Nothing wrong with it.” Hawke eyed the agent's white pants and shirt, chuckling. “I would suggest changing, though. Grass stains are a real bitch to get out.”

-*-

“So where are we going?” Caitlin asked, groping ahead of her with one hand, the other arm wrapped snuggly around Michael's waist.

The blindfold had actually been Hawke's idea. *“If you're going to surprise her, go all out,”* he had suggested. *“Don't tell her where you're going, or why.”*

“We're almost there.” Michael carried the basket in his left hand, keeping it away from Caitlin. He had brought blankets and wine glasses out earlier, so there would be less to carry, and less to conceal from her. They reached the edge of the clearing, and he slowed. “Okay, I want you to wait right here for a minute.” He left her standing beside a tree, and set the basket down so he could spread out the blankets.

“Michael?” she called, her voice growing impatient and slightly annoyed.

“Almost ready.” He popped the cork on the wine, and filled their glasses. Returning to Caitlin's side, he gave her one quick kiss. “Close your eyes.”

“They're closed.” She waited while he untied the blindfold, then let her eyes blink open. “Oh, Michael! It's wonderful!”

He grinned. “I brought sandwiches, and there's fruit for desert.” Michael lowered himself to the ground, and she joined him, flipping the basket open.

Caitlin pulled out a sandwich. “This better not be tuna,” she warned him, mouth curving into a smile as she unwrapped it.

“Will turkey do?” He took one for himself.

She bit into hers. “Umm, good.” Her gaze took in their surroundings. “How did you pull all this off, anyhow?”

“I had a little help,” he admitted.

“String?”

“While you two were out flying yesterday afternoon, I took the Jeep into town and picked up what I needed.” Propping himself on an elbow, he sipped at the wine.

Caitlin chuckled. “I thought it was strange that String wanted to go 'practice' with Airwolf. I figured he was just looking for a reason to fly her.”

“He probably was. I just provided a convenient excuse.” Michael saw her frown, knew that she was thinking. “What?”

“We need to get him out of that cabin. He's been alone up here too long. He needs friends, people around him.”

“We're here.” It was only after he said it that the irony registered. He remembered saying those same words to Gabrielle once. Then, he had used them to tell his assistant what was wrong with this idyllic setting. Now, he was using them to tell Caitlin what made it right.

She poked him playfully. “We won't be here forever. Once the house is done-- Besides, that's not what I meant. He needs someone special.”

Michael grinned. “You mean he needs to get laid.”

“Michael!” she scowled at him in mock disgust. “You're terrible. You do know that?” She shook her head. “He needs someone to love, someone to love him back. He needs what we have.” Leaning forward, she kissed him.

Her lips were soft, and tasted faintly of mustard. He pulled her down on top of him, surprising her, ignoring her muttered protests. “Then again,” he offered, “maybe I'm the one who needs to get laid.”

She pulled away, staring down at him. “Here? In public?”

He laughed. “You call this public? Hon, in case you hadn't noticed, it's just you and me. The only one who's going to see us is Hawke's eagle, and I don't think she cares.”

Caitlin looked into his eyes. “You're serious.”

“Damn straight. It's been too long.” In reality, they had managed a couple of “quickies” under the blankets, but since unofficially moving into the cabin things had been sadly lacking in the lovemaking department. “So are you game, or am I going to have to get you drunk and seduce you?”

The hint of a smile curled her lips. “If I say yes, will you do something for me?”

“Depends. What have you got in mind?”

The smile grew. “I'm not telling. You're just going to have to trust me.”

“Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this?” He returned her smile. “Deal.” Michael sealed it with a kiss, one that started at her lips and worked it's way to her throat. He pulled her back down to him, his hands behind her, snaking beneath her shirt to release her bra. He still didn't have the dexterity to do it one-handed, which sometimes annoyed him. Today, it didn't matter. Instead, he let his lips travel down the long, smooth length of her neck as he released the buttons of her top. He slipped the blouse from her, following it with the brassiere.

“Not fair,” Caitlin murmured into his ear.

“What's not fair?”

“I'm the only one getting naked,” she answered.

“And who's fault is that?” His lips worked their way to her collarbone..

In answer, he felt her hands on him, loosening his shirt. “You want to take this off?” Her husky voice was indicative of the effect his kisses were already having on her.

“Yes.” He rolled them over until he was above her. “On second thought, no. I want you to do it..” Michael knew the reason for her question. He was usually reluctant to expose his back, for practical reasons as well as aesthetic ones. The damaged skin sunburned easily, something he wasn't particularly worried about here under the broken sunlight that filtered through the trees.

Caitlin pulled the shirt from him, tossing it to the side. She tugged his belt free, and he heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper descending. Her hand slipped inside, her touch making him gasp. He was already hard, straining against the fabric of his jeans.

She was wearing shorts, and he pulled them down past her knees, to where she could kick them away. He saw that at some point, she had removed her sandals. Lace panties quickly followed the shorts. Michael slid down her body until he could rake the hair of his mustache over one nipple. His fingers teased the second, and she buried her hands in his hair, holding him to her as he moved lower, lips brushing her navel, then lower still.

She moaned, writhing against him. “Oh, Michael!”

He paused for a moment, raising his head. “Feel good?”

“God yes,” she whimpered. His left hand continued to work the nipple, while his right stroked her hip, fingertips scraping the skin with the light touches he knew would drive her to the edge. His lips and tongue caressed her, and he could feel the tension building within her.

She cried out as she came, arching against him, clutching him to her. He waited for her breathing to slow to something approaching normal. “Want more?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Caitlin smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. “Have I ever not wanted more?” She ran a finger down his breastbone. “Make love to me.”

He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Michael kicked off his shoes, and quickly stripped off his denims and underwear. He leaned over her, and she pulled him down on her. Teeth nipped gently at his earlobe. “Make love to me,” she whispered again.

“Never let it be said I kept a lady waiting,” he answered. He entered her slowly, prolonging the exquisite sensation. Michael dipped his head to her shoulder, taking a long moment to center himself. It took every bit of his self-control. If he let his body have it's way, this would be over much too quickly.

Caitlin's legs encircled him, pulling him even more deeply inside her. He began to move, setting a rhythm that she matched, beat for beat. Soft sounds came from her beautiful throat, and her hands moved, clutching at his shoulders.

It was every bit as wonderful as it had been at the beginning of their relationship, the early days when they had first been learning each other's bodies, exploring what each other liked. Now, he knew her, could tell from just the rasp of her breathing and the pounding of her pulse how close she was. She was close.

He felt her tighten around him, and increased the tempo, letting his body's needs take over as they merged with hers. Caitlin cried out his name as she came, pulling him down on top of her, Drained, Michael rolled slightly to the side, keeping his full weight off of her. He wrapped his arm around her and buried his face in her hair. “God, I love you,” he breathed into her ear.

There were tears moistening her eyes, tears that he knew from past experience didn't indicate sadness, only the depth of her emotions. “Love you. Always.” The words were whispered, her lips brushing his cheek as she spoke them.

His searching hand found one of the thin blankets he had brought and pulled it over them, more from modesty than from any actual need for it's warmth. “More wine?”

“Please.”

Michael sat up and retrieved the bottle and glasses, pouring wine for both of them. Caitlin propped herself on one elbow to drink hers, pulling the blanket demurely over her breasts. She smiled up at him. “We should picnic more often.”

He chuckled. “I thought you were afraid we'd corrupt the eagle?”

A decidedly evil smirk came across her face. “Screw the eagle.”

Michael laughed outright at that. “Sorry, she's not my type.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes. “I would hope not.” The evil grin returned. “By the way, you do remember the deal we made?”

“Deal? What deal?” Michael feigned ignorance.

“The one where you would do whatever I wanted if I'd agree to getting naked.”

“Oh, that deal,” he teased. “So what do you have in mind?”

She bit her lip. and her skin flushed. Caitlin held up her empty glass. “More wine first. For both of us.”

*That didn't sound good at all – or maybe it did, depending on how you looked at it.* He topped off the glasses. “You're not going to tell me what you're planning, are you?”

Caitlin sipped the wine. “Nope. Anticipation is half the fun.”

He wouldn't admit it, but she was right. Over the years, they had tried a variety of things, finding what worked for them, what they both enjoyed. Often times, the expectations had been their own reward.

They polished off the rest of the wine. “So now what?” he asked, growing more curious by the moment.

In answer, she rolled away from him, turning her back as she reached for something hidden behind the picnic basket. When she returned, she was holding the blindfold he had made her wear as they walked out to the clearing. “I have something for you.” She swung the length dark cloth from a finger.

Michael grinned. “So that's what you're up to.” The idea of being blindfolded while she had her way with him actually was rather appealing.

She got to her knees and moved to him. “Close your eyes while I fasten this.”

He did as she asked. Caitlin reached behind his head and tied the cloth in place, the cotton fabric a slightly coarse texture against his skin. “That comfortable? Not too tight?”

“Fine.”

“Open your eyes.”

Michael did, his eyes opening to the artificial darkness.

***

It hit him like a brick. He was back in the dungeon. Stoner's keep. His ears were filled with white noise, and he couldn't see. Drugs coursed through his veins, drugs that felt like liquid fire flowing through him. He couldn't breath. He couldn't move. There was a granite block sitting on his chest, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't manage to suck air into his lungs.

***

Somehow, he managed to reach up and tear the blindfold off. His breath came in sharp gasps, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Michael?” He was vaguely aware of Caitlin pulling him to her, of clinging to her as if she were a lifeline and he was a drowning man. “Michael, what's wrong? Are you okay?”

Michael willed his breathing to slow, knowing that he had to get it under control before he passed out. He let her presence ground him. He wasn't back there. Stoner was dead. It was over. “I'm alright,” he said, finally, wishing that he really was.

Caitlin held him. “Stoner?”

Sometimes it scared him that she could read him so easily. “Stoner,” he confirmed.

“I'm sorry. I didn't think...” He could feel her tremble. She was terrified.

He shook his head. “It's okay. I had no idea that a stupid piece of cloth would affect me like that, either. Hell, it sounded like fun.” When he had started sleeping with Caitlin, the nightmares had become more and more infrequent, finally disappearing completely. He had thought that those visions were gone, that her presence had chased them away entirely.

Michael knew that somehow, he had to find a way to get past what Stoner had done to his mind. He took a deep breath. “Let's try that again.”

“What?” She looked at him as if he were insane.

He probably was. “I want you to put that blindfold on me again.”

“I can't. I can't do that to you.”

“Cait...” He tried to keep his voice even. “Cait, I need to do this. I need to get Stoner out of my head for once and for all.” He had only hazy, fuzzy memories of exactly what had been done to him. There had been too many drugs in his system for any clear recollection, and in truth, he had never really wanted to remember the details.

She stared into his eyes, pleading. “This isn't the way to do it. It's too dangerous.”

“There's no other way. I can't go to a shrink and spend the next five years being psychoanalyzed. The only thing I can do is bring the memories to the surface and find a way to deal with them.” It scared him, too, but he knew he had to do it.

“But the last time...”

“The last time, I didn't expect to react that way. This time, I know it's coming.”

He could see the pain in her eyes, and the fear, and hated that he was responsible for putting them there. She picked up the strip of fabric, holding it as if it were a poisonous snake. “Michael, are you sure?”

*No.* He wasn't sure. There was a part of him that wanted to burn the offending black cloth and forget the whole damned thing. Michael pulled the blanket around both of them and sucked in a deep breath. “I'm sure.”

Caitlin sat there looking at him for a long moment, and he wondered if she might refuse. Finally, she leaned toward him, her lips brushing his cheek. “I love you. Hold onto that.” She held up the cloth. “Are you ready?”

Michael licked his lips. He was as ready as he would ever be. “Ready.” He closed his eyes.

***

He opened them to darkness, and searing pain. It felt like his back had after Red Star, but this wasn't burned skin. His blood itself was on fire. That didn't concern him. Pain was something he knew he could handle. No matter how bad it might be, simple pain would never break him. It was something he had too much familiarity with, too much of an old acquaintance.

The surface he was strapped to moved, rolled as if tossed by waves. Lights blinked on, then off again. They flashed at random intervals that made predicting their sequence impossible. The motion and the flashing lights combined with whatever drugs they'd given him made it hard to think, impossible to concentrate. He knew he had to fight it. If he gave them what they wanted, they'd kill him.

There was something crawling on him. No, it was within him, beneath the skin, trying to force it's way out. The small sliver of his mind that was still lucid knew that it wasn't real, that it was only a construct of the drugs. The rest wasn't so sure. He screamed, again and again until his throat was so raw he could scream no more.

The flashing came faster, or at least it seemed faster. He no longer knew what was real, and what wasn't. Whatever was inside him was trying to get out, was trying to turn him inside out.

Gurvovich's accent broke through the white noise that roared in his ears. “Are you ready to give us the codes, Archangel?”

If he gave them what they wanted, they'd kill him. His voice hoarse, cracking, he somehow managed to force the word past dry lips. “Yes.”

***

Gradually, the arms that held him registered on his consciousness. He reached up with a shaky hand and slowly pulled off the blindfold, dropping it beside him. “Michael?” Caitlin's voice was soft in his ear, full of concern.

He was, he realized, half sitting and half reclining in her lap. She was behind him, her arms around him as he leaned back against her. He covered her hands with his. “It's over.”

Michael felt her arms tighten their hold on him. “You remembered?”

“Yeah. All of it. The drugs, the hallucinations.”

Her hands went to his shoulders, began to kneed away knots that he hadn't even realized were there. “You want to talk about it?”

“No.” Sooner or later, he would have to talk it out. But that would be with Marella, or possibly Hawke. Not Caitlin. There were things his wife never needed to know. Michael leaned back into her hands, hands that were doing wonderful things to him.

“Ready to go back to the cabin?”

He shook his head. He felt like he had been dragged through an old-style wringer washer. At the moment, he wasn't sure he could stand, much less make the hike back to the cabin. “I just want to be here with you.”

After a time, she finished her massage and laid down beside him, pulling the blanket over both of them. She held him close, pressed against him, as if knowing instinctively that he needed the contact.

Exhausted or not, Michael's body responded to her. He knew she could feel the evidence of that. He chuckled. “You're going to kill me, woman.”

Caitlin stroked the proof of his arousal. “Why are you blaming me?” she smiled. “I think this is yours.”

He started to roll onto his side, and she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Lay back.”

Michael was content to do as she asked. She bent over him, kissed him hard on the lips. “Just lay back,” she repeated. “Relax. Close your eyes, if you want.”

Was Stoner's hold on him truly gone? There was only one way to really know. Did he dare try it? “I've got a better idea.”

She gave him the smile that meant she was willing to humor him. “What's that?”

He reached over and retrieved the blindfold.

Her face went pale. “You can't be serious?”

Michael nodded, trying for a confidence he wasn't sure he felt. “I'm serious. It's only fabric. The rest-- it's over.”

She hesitated, finally shook her head. “I can't do that to you. Not again.”

*Cloth,* Michael told himself. *It's just a piece of cloth.* He tugged the blindfold down over his own eyes. The darkness descended, and he let out a sigh of relief. *It was just cloth.* It had lost his ability to affect him. He reached out, found Caitlin, and pulled her down to him. Their lips met, the contact held as he relaxed once more. He grinned as her hands moved over his skin, constantly surprising him with their touch. Teasing. Caressing. He sighed in contentment. “Now, where the hell were we, anyhow?”