CHAPTER 1
"Saint John," Ellie Mae repeated, beginning to get the felling she was talking to herself. "Saint John Hawke."
"Did you say something?" he asked innocently.
"What is it? Something is obviously bothering you."
"Am I that obvious?"
"Yeah, now tell me what's wrong."
"Probably nothing," he answered, "maybe everything."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know exactly. I've just had one of those feelings that something is wrong."
"Everything has been pretty slow since you all returned from Brazil. String even appears to be beginning to understand that is actually only human."
"That alone is reason to worry."
She laughed, but only until she saw the serious look on his face. "You're too serious sometimes, you know that?"
"Maybe I am," he allowed, "but every other time I've had this feeling only bad things have followed."
"What kind of bad things?"
"It's not always the same, but usually somebody dies."
\A/
A light mist of rain fell, covering the ground and begging to make the trail slippery.
"Good thing Cait isn't home to see me today," Hawke murmured to himself. Truth be known, Caitlin would probably kill him if she knew how far he'd gone and now had to travel back in the rain. At least he was doing it with the crutches, he thought much to his own chagrin. He used the crutches as little as possible when he was back at the cabin but knew he wasn't ready to go that far without them yet.
At last he neared the cabin, exhausted and thoroughly soaked, mere minutes before Caitlin was due to arrive back. No matter how much he wanted to go inside and collapse on the couch, he had to go inside and get cleaned up or he'd be in trouble again.
Struggling up the front steps, he dropped his crutch just inside the doorway and made for the stairs on the other side of the living room. He wasn't even halfway up the stairs before he had to stop to rest, wondering if he could muster the strength to make it even to this bedroom much less the shower or even the bed. He took another two steps then stopped to rest again.
The Jet Ranger came within earshot.
"Shoot," he muttered, climbing another stop higher. Only four more to go. He took another step as the sound of the Jet Ranger drew closer.
On the brink of collapse, he finally made it to the top, practically having to crawl to the bed and pulling up the covers even as the front door opened.
"String," Caitlin called as she walked inside, nearly tripping over the single crutch lying in her path.
"String, are you alright?" she called again. Things looked about the same as when she had left that morning for the paperback on the end table and a couple dirty dishes now in the sink. Everything else remained undisturbed.
Receiving no answer, she made her way upstairs to see if he'd gone there. "Hawke?"
Checking their bedroom, she found him resting peacefully, damp errant strands of hair sticking to his forehead,
He must've gone to take a bath and been completely exhausted, she thought, remembering how even usually thoughtless tasks suddenly became a burden with his new injuries. The poor guy had finally been convinced to stay home awhile before trying to tackle work at the hangar again, but that in and of itself worried her. He was never convinced easily and typically when he did agree to stay it was only if she would leave Chance with him. This time, however, he had almost immediately accepted her proposition of staying alone up at the cabin.
Boy was she a worrier! If he is being his stubborn self, she's worried he's going to try something stupid he wasn't yet physically ready for; but if he agreed with her, then she's afraid something is wrong because he wasn't acting like himself. He was fine, she told herself. People broke bones all the time, and he had been through a lot worse than this.
She stroked the baby fine fringe as she watched the even rise and fall of his chest, tears trailing down her cheeks as she thought back to what had happened only a couple of weeks ago, and how close she had come to losing him.
"You just like seeing how many times you can cheat death, don't you?" she whispered angrily. She couldn't blame him for wanting to fly Airwolf, and couldn't think of a better person to do so, but there were so many instances when she could have lost him, and several times where she nearly had. One disconcerting thought kept coming back to her though - what would happen when death cheated him?
She hated to even think such a thing, but eventually they would all succumb to the inevitable. The only question was when; she just hoped he wasn't speeding up the process.
A bandaged hand wiped the tears rolling down her face away, asking what was wrong in a rough whisper.
"Nothing," she sniffled, "at lease nothing you can change."
"You sure?"
She nodded, stroking his hand gently. "Get some more sleep, you look tired."
He obliged, she too weary to argue, and before he knew it had drifted off again.