CHAPTER 1
Drawing the bow across the strings of the Stradivarius cello in one last long arch to end the doleful and melancholy instrumental piece, he paused, taking a moment for himself just to think, contemplating what he should do now. Le would be coming back from the summer camp he had insisted he just had to go to. Now all he had to finish the official paperwork to complete the process of adopting the boy and raising him as his own son, at least until Saint John came back. Then he could raise Le himself if he chose, and otherwise he would continue to raise Le van Hawke himself. These all had been simple decisions to make, there seeming to be no other logical thing to do. What made him have to think were the rest of his plans. To live a quiet life. With a secluded cabin in the woods, accessible only by helicopter or horseback, and very little reason to need to go to town very often, it didn't sound too hard. But there was a complicating factor. Saint John. Airwolf missions could be lived without; she was a joy to fly, but not a necessary part of life. Saint John on the other hand, was a necessary part, practically an obsession. He would not abandon his brother somewhere in a southeastern Asian jungle, he wouldn't, he just wouldn't. Living a quiet life and flying Airwolf on mission to find his MIA brother didn't quite mesh together though, it was kind of like deciding you hated flying and then becoming a pilot, it just didn't work. What would he do? He promised Le he would always be there for him, that even if he wasn't Saint John's son he would still be there for him, that he would be like a father, but he also swore he'd be back for Saint John, no matter what.
Stringfellow Hawke was not one to go back on promises, regardless of what it cost him personally, yet it seemed a broken promise was inevitable in the circumstances. Which would he choose, Le or Saint John? He had always been close to his older brother, as young kids, teenagers, and throughout the war, until that dreaded day nearly sixteen years ago. Le he hadn't known as long, but he was Saint John's son, he just had to be, there wasn't any other logical explanation. Many would call it stupid and foolish to give up a twelve year old kid for your older brother who might be alive. Many would also consider Saint John dead though, or he might as well be. Really, what was the likelihood of him still being alive after all these years? Honestly, to him it didn't matter. Saint John had made a promise many years ago when their parents had died in a ill-fated boating accident that he would be there for String, that he wouldn't leave him all alone. He believed him then, and still did now. Saint John was alive, and he was going to bring him home.
Rising to his feet and gently setting the cello down on its stand by the fireplace, he decided it would wait. He still had time to ponder exactly what he would do if Michael came up with another lead on Saint John's whereabouts. A pained feeling of regret surged through him though. He told himself he had time to think about it, to logically decide what would be the greater good, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly what he'd do at a moments notice.
Outside water poured down in continuous torrents, wind whipping through the trees and cool gusts biting the air. The weather matched his mood, its hard edge to his rough thoughts. The waves of the lake tumbling and raging against one another like his thoughts jumbled into one another, emotions a little loose now that he was on his own.
Pouring himself a shot of whiskey and throwing it back, he willed himself to calm down and take things as they come. If selling everything and going on an all out continuous search, scouring every inch of that damned jungle, would help he would have done it years ago. He knew that all too soon his resources would be used up and he wouldn't be even this far, he also knew that some things he might have to do to bring his brother back wouldn't be easy, and definitely not enjoyable; he knew that he would go through hell or high water, to the ends of the earth, to bring his beloved brother back home. If necessary he would sacrifice his own life in return for his brother's.
Where was he now, at this very moment?
What kind of condition was he in?
He knew that plenty of them that had come back came back with multitudes of problems, some physically abused, others mentally, psychological damage that was yet to be repaired, images permanently embedded upon their brains. No one who came back was the same. No human being could see that much pain and grief, watch that many lives be taken right before their eyes, and many of them loosing family and friends, and come back just like they were beforehand. He still battled sometimes with post traumatic stress disorder and he had come out of it pretty well. He'd take poor Saint John and way he could get him though, no doubt about it. He wished him the best, but even if something that had happened caused him to be physically or psychologically impaired he would still love him just the same. Anything would be better than him being dead.
Supposedly time eased pain, but lately it seemed just the opposite for him. True, at first a little time helped him get past the emotional, reckless, desperate state, but he also knew every minute he was out there his odds were decreasing that he would come back safely.
Hawke picked up his fishing pole and sunglasses and walked out to the dock, climbing aboard his little skiff and rowing out a ways then dropping a line. He thought some time on his own to sort things out himself would be best for him, but not in Dom's eyes he quickly found out from his surrogate father's displeasure of him being almost constantly at the cabin for the last two weeks while Le had been gone. Dom said that he couldn't just spend all his time alone at the cabin with just Tet, and he knew it, but to him the solitude was much more pleasurable than Dominic's constant prying. Once Saint John was home again he could worry about that other details that plagued daily life.