The Measure Of A Man is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF. Copyright 2008. This refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters.
The Measure of A Man.
Stringfellow Hawke's acute sense of hearing alerted him to the approach of a helicopter, several seconds before the drone of its engines and the rhythmical thwack, thwack of its rotors whipped the still evening air into a frenzy of noise, and his heart missed several beats in a row, as he set aside the action adventure novel he was trying to read, although in truth, he had been staring blankly at the same page for almost an hour, and eased himself forward until he was sitting on the edge of his seat.
Tet, his faithful old blue tick hound, came up to push his muzzle in the attractive young man's lap and let out a soft, whiney yawn.
Hawke recognised the distinctive tone of the Bell Jet Ranger's familiar engine echoing off the mountains and lake, and automatically knew the identity of his caller.
His heart missed another beat.
Friend, not foe.
Hawke rose unsteadily from the couch, his heart pounding rapidly in his ears, joy uplifting it, but guilt and shame causing it to trip erratically, catching in his throat, as he strode across the cabin's open living space to the door, Tet, close on his heel, eager to greet their visitor.
Man and dog walked briskly out through the cabin door, stepped off the wooden porch and strode out into the chilled, inky night.
Hawke desperately wanted to see his old friend, needed to see for himself that he was alright ….
Yet, part of him felt so ashamed, so terrified, it made the young man feel physically sick.
Half way to the jetty, Hawke lost his nerve, coming to an abrupt halt as he realised that his heart was beating so fast it felt as if it was about to leap out of his chest, pounding a frantic, deafening tattoo in his ears.
He was hyperventilating, hardly able to draw in enough breath, and the world was spinning wildly around him. His palms were sweating, his knees were shaking and his mouth was suddenly as dry as the Sahara.
Folding over double, resting his hands on his knees, trying to drag in air and to get a hold of himself, Stringfellow Hawke knew that at that moment, he could not have taken another step, if his very life had depended upon it.
The night was deep and dark, especially out here, on the wooded path leading to the lake and the jetty, but the moon was full, deigning to poke its head out from behind the broken cloud that scudded across the star spangled heavens.
Whining anxiously, Tet came up beside him, nuzzling his right hand softly with his cold, wet nose then came around in front of him and squatted down before his master, gazing up at him with big, forlorn dark eyes.
Dragging in deep breaths, Hawke did not even have the strength to reach out and reassure his faithful canine companion.
Adrenalin was flooding through his body, rousing warring instincts deep down inside him ….
Fight, or flight ….
However, at that moment, Hawke knew that he did not have the strength, or the wind to do either.
And now it was too late ….
Hawke could hear approaching footsteps from further down the path, and Tet let out a woof of welcome, as he bounded off into the darkness, obviously recognizing the scent of the approaching visitor.
Hawke let out a deep, ragged breath and tried to straighten up, knowing that he had to face what was coming like a man ….
He heard the familiar voice as the man greeted the dog cheerfully, imagined him leaning down to rub Tet's muzzle and cuff his ears affectionately, probably asking the dopey old mutt, as he had a thousand times, over through the years, where his master was.
Stringfellow Hawke felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips, even as he felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He was suddenly so overwhelmed with emotion, he could hardly breathe.
Out of the darkness, the visitor suddenly emerged, ambling along the path in that familiar loose limbed fashion, Tet dogging his heels, no doubt anticipating a juicy steak or some other tender morsel, and Stringfellow Hawke recognised the tall, stocky silhouette and felt his heart knock against his rib cage, as the moon chose that moment to suddenly emerge from behind a large black cloud, bathing Dominic Santini in a ghostly silver light.
Hawke let out a strangled little gasp, a muffled sob, and instantly alert, Dominic Santini came to a standstill on the other side of the clearing, almost tripping over Tet.
"String?" Santini peered into the darkness ahead, all his senses warning him that he and the dog were no longer alone. "Is that you?" He knew that it was a dumb question even as he uttered it. Who else would it be, out here in the middle of nowhere? "String …."
"Yeah …." Hawke responded breathlessly, his voice low and rough with emotion as he fought to get some control over himself.
"You scared me half to death …. Thought I'd run into one of them big ole mean grizzly's …." Santini grouched taking a step forward, then stopped his rambling as he again heard what could only be another muffled sob.
"String? You ok?" Santini asked with genuine concern now, frowning deeply in puzzlement.
He could just make out the stooped, shadowy figure of the younger man in the gloom on the other side of the clearing, and he knew instantly that all was not well with his young friend.
Santini took another step closer, but this time, the sound he heard in response was a definite: "No!"
"String …." Santini stilled, the frown deepening, drawing down his familiar rumpled old features, the moonlight glinting in his rheumy grey eyes.
Something was very wrong with his young friend.
Santini had known it, that was why he had made the trip up here, but he knew better than to go wading in demanding to know what was wrong. The younger man needed delicate handling at times like this, or he was inclined to climb even deeper inside himself and shut everything and every one out.
"We haven't seen you for a couple of days …." Santini continued in neutral tones, watching warily as the stooped figure on the other side of the clearing moved jerkily and he could hear the younger man's fractured, labored breathing.
Santini's heart tripped in his chest.
Was the kid having some kind of panic attack?
Worse yet, a heart attack?
"Cait and I were getting worried …."
Hawke, Santini and Caitlin O'Shannessy had parted company after a very succinct debriefing with Archangel, about the conclusion to the Bradford Horn debacle, returning to Santini Air after bedding Airwolf down securely out at the Lair.
That had been two days ago, and Hawke hadn't shown up at the hangar, or even called in to touch base, and Dominic Santini had known that that was not a good sign.
He had feared that his young friend was in the grips of one of his deep, black depressions, but it was understandable, after what they had just been through.
They were all feeling uneasy and more than a little threatened after what that bastard John Bradford Horn and his equally manipulative and twisted, dangerous and deceptively beautiful daughter, Angelica, had put them all through.
Indeed, Dominic Santini had feared the worst.
He had known the young man for too long, not to know how he would react, and when Hawke had not shown up for two days in a row, the older man had known that he couldn't leave it any longer.
The younger man had shut himself away long enough.
Now it was time for some straight talking.
Dominic Santini suspected that he knew what was at the heart of Hawke's reclusive behavior, and he wasn't about to let the younger man slip back into his old ways, not when he had been doing so much better lately.
He had come such a long way in such a short time ...
Now there could be no going back.
Santini would see to that.
Now, peering across the clearing, a wide beam of moonlight just now reaching Hawke's bent figure, Santini suddenly had a dreadful thought.
"Hey kid …." He called out, taking another step forward.
Again this drew an emphatic: "No!" from the younger man, who straightened himself up quickly, breathing hard.
"String …. It really is me. I ain't no ghost …." Santini spoke in gentle tones. "You of all people ought to know it'll take a helluva lot more than that to kill ole' Dom …. I'm a tough old bird …."
Ignoring the younger man's outburst, Dominic Santini strode swiftly and purposefully down the path toward the slender figure ahead of him, now illuminated in a beam of beautiful moon light, and he did not stop until he was up close to Hawke, horrified by the anguished expression he could see on the younger man's face, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he resisted the urge to reach out to his young friend.
"I killed you …." Hawke gasped out in a tortured little voice. "Dom …. I …. I killed you …." He choked, folding in on himself, recalling with heart rending clarity the moment when he had come out of the trance induced by the mind controlling drugs and the brain washing sessions, when he had been confronted with Caitlin O'Shanney's beautiful face, awash with tears, grief stricken because she had thought him dead, memory returning in a flash, and he saw him self facing Dominic Santini, smiling at his oldest, dearest friend, looking so pleased to see him, so trusting ...
And then Hawke saw himself quickly producing a gun and firing it directly at the man who had become as dear to him as a father ….
Hawke felt himself losing control, pitching forward, repeating over and over in a ragged, agonized little voice, the words that had tumbled from his lips as Cait and taken him into her loving arms ….
"I …. I killed …. I killed Dom …. I killed Dom!"
The moon suddenly disappeared behind another cloud, and left both men in total darkness, and with horror, Dominic Santini watched his young friend's legs suddenly give way beneath him.
Santini reached Hawke just before he crumpled to the ground, gathering him to him in a fierce embrace of love and protection, as he sagged weakly, consumed by broken, heart rending sobs.
"I …. I killed …. I killed Dom …. I killed Dom!"
"No you didn't …." Santini soothed, using all his strength to lift the younger man back to his feet, strong arms enveloping him and crushing him to his broad, solid chest.
"Ole Dom's right here. He's fine …." He assured, raising one hand to cup the back of the younger man's head gently, the other arm squeezing around Hawke's slight frame, drawing him even closer, making the younger man aware of the warmth and strength and force of life flowing through him, forcing the young man to believe that he was indeed very much alive, not some spectral image conjured up by his fragile emotions and the ghostly moonlight.
Santini had feared that he might find something like this.
Hawke tended to lock himself away, when he needed to deal with the tough things in life. He came here, to his bolt hole, and immersed him self in grief and self doubt, punishing himself for things that in truth, he had no control over.
Dominic Santini's deepest, darkest fear had always been, that shut away up here, one day, the young man would lose his grip on reality.
Santini's heart hammered violently against his rib cage as he fleetingly wondered if that was what had happened ….
That this latest trauma had just been too much for the young man to deal with and it had finally tipped him over the edge.
Suddenly terrified, Santini hugged the younger man to him even more fiercely, feeling his slender young body quaking with the power of his silent sobs and his scalding tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt and sweater.
"How …. How could I do that?" Hawke pulled back from Santini, gazing up into his dear, beloved face, big blue eyes wide and filled with anguish and grief, but in that simple question, Dominic Santini found immense relief, and he emitted a long, slow breath.
To his way of thinking, it was a measure of the kind of man that Stringfellow Hawke was, to be able to ask the difficult questions, and stand firm, in readiness for the answers.
Thank God ….
The young man hadn't lost his marbles after all.
Thank God ….
Hawke knew that Dominic Santini was real, alive ….
The rational part of Hawke's brain knew that Dominic Santini was no ghost, that he was real flesh and blood and bone, solid and warm, but he could not shake that dreadful image, gun in his hand, pulling the trigger and watching the man he loved as dearly as any father, fall to the ground.
Dead.
By his hand.
Of course, Hawke had learned later that the gun had contained tranquilizer darts, not deadly bullets, but it did not make the vivid, haunting, living nightmare any less real, as it played in his mind, over and over like a movie stuck in an endless, repeating loop.
Hawke knew that that image would never leave him, not until his dying day.
It did not make accepting that he was capable of such a despicable act any easy to bear either.
Dominic Santini wanted to shout with joy, but he restrained himself and gazed lovingly down at the younger man.
"How could I do that, Dom? I love you …. You know I love you, even though I don't often say it …. You know what you mean to me …." Hawke stammered, tears coursing down his rugged cheeks, consumed with guilt and shame, yet relishing the sensation of his old friend's strong, loving arms holding him upright, wrapped tightly around him, reassuring him, supporting him, one gentle, loving hand cradling the back of his head and the other slowly rubbing his back comfortingly, just as he had done all those years ago, when they had buried the young man's parents.
"How can you even bear to look at me?" Hawke choked out, breath coming in short, ragged gasps between sobs, his hands coming up to clasp the tops of Dominic Santini's arms in a vice like grip, blue eyes boring into the older man's understanding face. "How can you ever trust me again?" He demanded in utter despair.
"Ah kid …." Santini reached up with a rather unsteady hand and cupped the younger man's tear streaked face, thumb gently wiping away a solitary tear as it dribbled down his cheek, then, overwhelmed by a rush of love and relief and pride, the older man leaned forward and pressed warm, dry lips to the younger man's cheek, briefly.
Drawing away, Santini smiled softly at his young friend, the man he considered to be his surrogate son, and regarded him with loving grey eyes.
"Quit torturing yourself, String," Santini advised in gentle tones. "I know that wasn't really you …." He placated, dropping his hand to rest it gently against the younger man's shoulder now. "I know that you wouldn't hurt me …."
"But I did!" Hawke protested vehemently.
"Only after those sicko's messed with your mind!" Santini countered sharply. "You weren't responsible, String. You didn't really know who you were, or what you were doing," the older man reasoned now as Hawke clung on tightly to him, fresh tears rolling unhindered down his cheeks.
"String …." Dominic Santini used all his strength to gently push the younger man away from him, his heart clenching in his chest as the moon suddenly reappeared from behind a cloud, illuminating Hawke's anguished face, his blue eyes glittering feverishly.
"Look at me, String …." He put a little more authority in to his voice now, drawing in a long, calming breath as he gently shook the younger man, so that he had no choice but to focus his tear filled eyes on Santini's face.
"Look at me, I'm ok …. Really …."
"I know …." Hawke whispered softly. "This time …. What about next time?" Hawke asked on a hissed breath, genuine fear in his eyes now. "What if someone else tries to use me against you …."
"Kid, there is evil in this world, and yes, it touches us more often than other people, but that is the nature of what we do. This time that evil used mind warping drugs to control you …. But the real you, could never do something like that, String, and we both know it …." Santini assured.
"Now, you gotta snap out of this kid. You've got to think of it as a bad dream. Oh yeah, it was real enough at the time, but you're awake now, and everything is ok …." Santini reasoned gently. "If you don't snap out of this, Horn wins. That evil triumphs …. Whatever twisted little game he was playing, String, it's over. We survived it. Now we have to move on …."
"Dom …. I'm sorry …. So very sorry …." Hawke stared blankly at Santini now, tears continuing to stream down his ashen face, and Dominic Santini wondered, just for an instant, if anything that he had said and done in the last five minutes had actually penetrated the younger man's guilt fuelled grief, as he again pulled him back into the comforting circle of his embrace.
"I know, String …."
"We can't go on …. I won't be used against you …. I won't …." Hawke finally lowered his head to Santini's shoulder, briefly, before looking back up into his dear face once more. "I won't allow someone to use my love for you to control me. I can't …."
"Listen to me, String …. It wasn't your fault. You weren't in control. The drugs, the brain washing …. Hell kid, that guy Horn could probably have made you believe that I was Mikhail Gorbachev himself! He could probably have persuaded you that Ronald Reagan is a Russian double agent, and Mickey Mouse was running for President!" Santini chivvied now, relying on his off beat sense of humour to get through to the younger man, where reasoning seemed to have failed.
Dominic Santini felt his heart flutter in his chest as he again felt the shuddering and quaking of Hawke's slender body against his own, but then he found himself startled, and completely non plussed as Hawke pulled away from him, and the older man realised that his young friend was actually laughing not weeping.
"Mickey Mouse for President?" Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation, chuckling at the expression on Santini's face now. "Even doped up to the eye balls, I think even I would have seen through that one …." He drew in a shaky breath now, forcing himself to get a grip on his emotions.
"Oh, you do, do you?" Santini smirked now.
"Yeah …." Hawke grinned now, reaching up to knuckle an errant tear from where it was tickling slowly down his cheek now. "'Cos I'm smarter than the average bear …." Hawke dropped his head bashfully, then looked back up at Santini, and the older man could see that he was much more lucid and in control of his emotions now.
"Sure you are, Yogi …." Santini quipped in return, relieved to see the light of reason in the younger man's eyes now. "So, does that mean you're ready to quit hiding and hibernating, and join the rest of us schmucks out here in the real world?"
"I guess …."
"Glad to hear it. Works backing up in the hangar, and we got that crazy stunt for that new cop show over at Universal next Friday …." Santini grinned, as regretfully, Hawke pulled himself out of the older man's embrace, blessing him with a real smile for the first time since he had arrived.
"I really am sorry, Dom …." Hawke spoke with genuine sincerity, and Santini nodded gently in acceptance. "I love you ..."
"I know, kid …. I love you too, and I know that there are evil folks out there who would take advantage of that, but we just have to accept that it is part and parcel of the work that we do, and that we can't control everything," Dominic advised solemnly now.
"I guess there will always be someone out there, someone without remorse, or conscience, who will be more than willing to use me against you, or you against me, to threaten our safety, my life or yours' or even Cait's, to get what they want …. We just have to be more vigilant, that's all."
Stringfellow Hawke nodded softly, accepting the truth in his old friend's words.
They were all vulnerable because of the close bond of love and friendship that they shared.
Next time it could just as easily be Dom, or even Caitlin, pointing a gun at him, or, having a gun pointed at their heads while all Hawke could do was stand by and watch.
"It's over, String. Put it behind you …. But, next time you have occasion to have a gun in your hand …. Don't be surprised if I stand behind you!" The older man grinned now to show that as far as he was concerned the incident was over, and that there were no hard feelings on his part.
The last thing he wanted was for there to be any doubt in the younger man's mind, so that he could continue to brood on it when he was again left alone to his own devices.
"In the mean time …. If you really wanna make it up to me …. You could at least offer me a beer! I'm dyin' of thirst here!"