Love Unsought
by Sammie

DISCLAIMER: Not mine. If they were, I'd allow Retro TV to continue to air it. That's right, NBC Universal.

RATING: T

SUMMARY: Hawke's nighttime musings. PWP for String/Caitlin.


Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.
~ William Shakespeare, "Twelfth Night"


He half-wakes and reaches instinctively for the other side of the bed, but all he feels are cool sheets.

His first reaction is alarm, but he only cracks open an eye to search the room. His gaze falls on her, sitting there in the rocking chair, and he relaxes.

He can hear the sound of their son nursing.

[ a i r w o l f ]

He awoke their first night together in a manner not unlike now. They hadn't gotten to sleep until after midnight, and then he'd awakened around two AM. She was still asleep.

Her left hand was tucked under her chin, and she was curled against his chest. He'd lain there and marveled at the fact that, well, she was actually wearing a ring - HIS wedding ring, no less; he'd put it there several hours before. The moonlight streaming in the window backlight her ever so gently, and it had the odd effect of making it seem as though she were giving off light.

She, of course, had insisted on a practical wedding ring, which had caught him slightly off-guard. No protruding rocks, she'd said - something which had caused him some consternation. He'd wondered if she was attempting to save him money or whatnot, but it hadn't turned out to be that; she wanted something she could continue to wear even if she were wearing gloves and/or covered in mechanic's grease. She'd chosen a practical, golden band with channel-set diamonds, and he'd chosen a plain gold band to match hers.

The tiny diamonds winked at him in the soft moonlight. He wanted to run his hand over hers, over her fingers, but he was afraid of waking her up - she was not the lightest sleeper, but by no means completely oblivious - and he was enjoying this time of observing her, unnoticed.

He smiled at the freckles on her hand. Actually, she had freckles everywhere, something which amused him to no end. She never bothered to cover them up and joked about them occasionally, and so he'd assumed - correctly, he might point out - that she didn't care entirely that she had them. Leave it up to him to put his foot in his mouth and tease her to the point she did become self-conscious of them.

It wasn't that he disliked them. He just found it so amusing that she had so many. Just a few hours earlier he'd found even more freckles. They dotted her soft, pale skin, and he knew they would be considered a flaw in otherwise porcelain skin. For some reason, though, he found them terribly endearing.

He'd fallen asleep to that thought.

[ a i r w o l f ]

She rests her head against the wide, flat headboard of the back of the padded rocking chair, rocking gently back and forth. She sighs softly, and he can hear the exhaustion in her voice.

He can't help very much right now, not when she's still at the very, very early breastfeeding stage. When they get baby St. John to the bottle, at least, he can take over, and he intends to. He often feels as though he's missing out on something, being unable to provide his son with very much except a cuddle and a diaper change.

He can hear her breathing, and it's evened out to the point that she's fallen asleep. The rocking continues, ever so gently, and the entire scene and the quietness are lulling him back to sleep.

He has no doubt the late night feedings are tiring.

[ a i r w o l f ]

Admittedly, Charleroi, in Belgium, was not the most romantic place to marry. OK, it was the least romantic place to marry, announced the Belgian shopkeeper who gleefully informed him that the city was the ugliest in Europe, and did he want to stand on the city's biggest coal pile? One could see where the mayor lived from there.

Caitlin, however, just laughed, declined the invitation, and found another, smaller, nearby coal pile to stand on while Dom snapped her picture.

They'd barely made it out of East Germany, Airwolf crippled badly by a shot from a bazooka. They'd limped out, hoping to make it to Paris, Calais, anywhere in Switzerland in order to get repairs done. They were too far north and too far east to make it. So they ended up in Charleroi.

Admittedly, Charleroi did a brilliant job patching Airwolf and keeping her quiet. Michael'd had seen to that.

Stuck in the city for as long as they were, Caitlin had made the best of it, looking up the best places to eat - how she maintained that figure while eating how she did never ceased to amuse him - and places to see. And, of course, chocolate - to look at, to admire, to eat. She was under no delusion that she was in Paris, but who needed Paris? She enjoyed it all the same and made sure he and Dom did as well. By the third day the grandfather and his teenage grandson who ran the local chocolate shop were madly in love with her, the older one an amusing flirt and the younger one lovestruck into silence. The local grocer had already adopted her, and the mechanic who had worked on Airwolf made googly cow eyes at her. (Michael thought that the inexplicably long period spent fixing Airwolf was because the mechanic wanted to see Cait more.) She seemed rather oblivious to it.

Dom soon got as into the whole thing as she did; it wasn't hard to see why the two of them got along (besides the fact that it was just hard not to get along with her). It would be Dominic Santini and Caitlin O'Shannessy who could enjoy being in Charleroi, and it would be them who managed to root out the city's - despite what its residents gleefully labelled the city as - many charms.

It had struck him that, for the first time, he was learning under her tutelage. After everything, and despite not having found his brother, with her he was beginning to like living again, rather than just getting up and doing things because, well, that was his routine.

Two days later, he proposed.

She was in the middle of savoring a cup of drinking chocolate. She laughed, thinking it was a joke. Then she looked at him in shock. Then she turned him down.

She hadn't thought he was serious, and she pointed out all the reasons why it was silly: the post-mission adrenaline, not being at home, not having even DISCUSSED marriage, not even DATING... What would happen when, she pointed out, she was puking her guts out over a toliet at home? Would he still have wanted to marry her?

She got sick three days later. The second day, she was hugging the porcelain bowl, throwing up, and he sat beside her, gently stroking her hair, a cup of water in his hand. When she was finally back and settled in bed, he proposed. Again.

She burst into tears. (String was beginning to worry about his track record with proposals.)

[ a i r w o l f ]

He hears her shifting, and opens one eye to watch. She lifts their son up, giving him a soft, sleepy kiss on his cheek and carefully slides him into place on her other shoulder, patting his back to burp him even as she cleans herself up.

She continues to rock, baby St. John resting sleepily on her shoulder. After a few minutes, he burps softly, and she quietly rubs his back until he falls asleep.

String smiles into his pillow, then rolls onto his back so he can watch them more easily.

[ a i r w o l f ]

He wondered if she had wanted something more elaborate, but she looked so happy he didn't question it. She actually wasn't wearing a white dress - it was a sad day when Michael looked more bride-like in white than the bride did - and String himself had barely scrounged up a tie.

He thought, as he stood there at the altar, that Cait's parents would most likely slap or punch him into next week. If he had a little girl and she and some guy did what he and Cait were doing, he'd punch that "some guy", too. Still, he was determined to get her safely married to him before she figured out what a emotionally damaged punk he really was. (Who was he kidding - she already knew.)

Michael promised to take care of any paperwork. Cheap present, Dom had groused, and the spy had only smirked. Hawke knew, though, that Michael had been paying for an extended stay in Charleroi for them to do this wedding, so that was enough for him.

The chocolatier gave them a small cake. It was so chocolate-y String was sure Cait would have run away with the old man if the younger pilot hadn't already married her. The teenage grandson looked crestfallen at the wedding announcement. The mechanic just laughed. The grocer beamed.

Dom gave several broad hints which made them both blush, then attempted to give them time alone in what was a Dom attempt at discretion but was about as discreet as ... well, as a Dom attempt at discretion.

[ a i r w o l f ]

She finally comes stumbling back to bed, having laid their son back in his bassinet, already asleep. She crawls under the covers, and he instinctively pulls close to her, tucking her against him. He wonders if she will comment on the fact that he's awake, but she seems too tired to do so. "You know, I love you," he murmurs, and it shocks him to hear his own voice. He hadn't meant to say it out loud.

"Twenty hours of labor and midnight feedings?" comes her sleepy voice. "You better."

He just grins, a small laugh rumbling in his chest, and closes his eyes. In a few minutes he is asleep as well.

END