REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF.
Copyright 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.
Chapter One.
Summer 1984.
Santini Air Hangar, Van Nuys Airport, California.
"Well, are you just gonna sit there, or are you gonna make that call?" Dominic Santini let out a soft sigh of exasperation, as he regarded his young friend, Stringfellow Hawke, over his shoulder.
The younger man was sitting there, staring down at the piece of stiff paper on the desktop before him as if it were infected with an incurable plague virus.
Hawke had been quiet all day, never a good sign, to Santini's way of thinking, and it had taken almost half an hour of teasing and cajoling before the older man had managed to prise out of his young friend the reason for the fugue that hung over him.
"String?" Santini prompted when the young man did not answer, did not move, just continued to stare down at the offending piece of paper. "String?"
"Yeah, I hear you, Dom," There was an edge of irritation in his voice as Stringfellow Hawke let out a deep, shoulder raising sigh. "I'll get on to Michael right away."
"Thank you. We really need those supplies, pronto!" Santini stated the obvious.
"I don't need you to remind me that I was a little heavy handed with the weapons on that last mission," Hawke drawled now, raising his eyes from the sheet of paper to pin Santini with one of his patented frosty glowers, and Santini rolled his rheumy grey eyes heavenward in exasperation.
"Did you hear me complaining?"
"I said I'd call Michael, and I will, Dominic."
"And what about the other thing?"
"What of it?" Now his tone held a hint of warning.
"Kid, it's an invitation to your High School reunion, not your death warrant!" Santini growled in exasperation.
"I think I'd rather stand in front of a firing squad than go back to that place."
"What? You're kidding me? Right?" Dominic Santini's jaw dropped open in undisguised astonishment, and the look that Hawke threw back at him would have curdled milk.
"Didn't you tell me once that it was the best time in your life? I certainly remember what a happy kid you were back then …."
Santini's voice trailed away as he suddenly realised what he was saying, and, at the same time also realised that to the young man seated at the desk, it was probably the last time in his young life that he had experienced anything close to happiness and pleasure.
"That was then," Hawke drawled once more, letting out another deep sigh. "I'm not that kid anymore."
"So maybe it wouldn't hurt you to remember just what he was like," Santini countered.
"He's dead, Dominic, let him be."
"Dammit, String, you know how much I hate it when you talk that way!" Santini bristled now, and raising his eyes heavenward, offered up a silent prayer, for he had always subscribed to the belief that some things should just never be said out loud, for fear of tempting Fate.
He paused briefly, watching the look of remorse that settled on the younger man's face.
"You know your trouble, kid," Santini wagged his finger at the younger man in time to the beat of each word. "Too damned busy feeling sorry for your self!" he roared. "Maybe it isn't such a bad idea for you to go to this reunion, to see all the guys and girls you went to school with, and see what life has thrown at them in the years since you all graduated. Maybe you'll find that you are not the only one to have loved someone and lost them, not the only one to have experienced grief, or war, or tragedy. It's been over sixteen years, kid, believe me, nobody is gonna give a damn if you have a bald spot and a pot belly, they'll just be pleased to see you and talk about old times over a few beers."
"I don't have anything in common with them any more, Dom, nothing to say that they would find remotely interesting."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because they're probably all married and have kids …."
It was a lame excuse and Hawke knew it, but he simply could not tell Santini his real reasons for wanting to avoid the people, and the memories of his youth.
"You know I'm not the kind of guy who can make the right kind of noises over a bunch of baby pictures."
"That's not what it's all about, String and you know it."
"Well it doesn't really matter, Dom, because I'm not going."
"Dammit, String, it's not against the law to remember when you were young and happy and carefree!"
"Maybe not, but I grew up, Dom."
"And you don't think they did?"
"We all went our separate ways and lost touch over the years, maybe it's best just to leave it that way."
"All that aside, why don't you just go and let your hair down and have a good time? We all need a little R'n'R now and again."
"It's not my scene, Dom, now leave it be."
"Ok," Santini let out a sigh of resignation now. "Whatever you say, kid. Give my regards to Michael."
"Sure."
Hawke watched Santini reach out for the door handle, and decided that he needed to say something before the old man went off into the hangar, cursing him under his breath as he went.
He knew the older man well enough to feel sure that he simply wouldn't leave it be, like a dog with an old bone, he would gnaw away at him until he relented and saw what Dominic considered to be sense in the matter.
Subtlety was not Dominic Santini's strong suit, and he was no quitter either. Hawke knew that if he didn't come up with some reasonable explanation, Santini would drive him crazy, asking if he knew the whereabouts of one or the other of his friends from back there, or if he remembered the time when ….
It would make for a much easier life, if he simply told Dominic something to put him off the subject, permanently.
"Look Dom, I know you mean well, and I really can't explain why I feel the way I do, but I'd really appreciate it if you would just let this one go."
Hawke gave the older man an appealing look now.
"Maybe I like my memories of that time and don't want to do anything to taint them? You're right, they were good times, and yes, I guess I was at my happiest back then, but a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then, and I know how much I have changed in all that time. Maybe I don't want to know how much life has changed the other guys. Maybe I prefer to remember them the way they were, and for them to remember me that way too. Maybe I've enough heartache and tragedy of my own to deal with without having to hear all about theirs too."
Hawke knew how cruel and bitter and selfish that sounded, but whilst it wasn't entirely the truth, it was close enough to make the old man understand why he was so set against the idea of revisiting the past.
"Have it your own way kid, just get on the horn and get Michael to organise those supplies, or else I'll be needing to get my slingshot out of mothballs if he comes up with another job for us," Santini sighed, his expression hard and his voice tight, as he reached out for the door handle once more, and Hawke knew that there was something more on his mind.
"Spit it out, Dom," he invited with a sigh. "C'mon. You got something to say, say it."
"Why don't you just tell me the truth, String?"
"I just did."
"No, that's just blowin' smoke, and we both know it. Why don't you tell me the real reason why you don't want to see the guys again?"
"I've never believed in going back any place, because it's just never the same. The people are different, the times have changed, we've all moved on, and that moment in time is gone forever," Hawke explained in a low, deep voice. "There's no way to get it back Dom, and I don't even want to try."
"You're still not spitting it out, kid."
"Ok Dom, if you really want to know, I made some mistakes, ok? I did some things I'm not proud of and don't want or need to be reminded of."
"Kid, everyone makes mistakes, bad choices, we all do it. It's called living," Santini let out a huge sigh of exasperation. "No-one blames you for Carrie-Ann dying like she did in that car wreck, they were all just pleased that you made it out of there in one piece. Especially me."
Hawke raised one shoulder absently, knowing that he had achieved his objective.
Dominic Santini believed that he was reluctant to face his old friends because he feared they blamed him for the death of one of their dearest friends, his girl friend, Carrie-Ann, a sweet, blue eyed, blonde kid who had been killed when their car had been broadsided by a drunk driver on the way home to eat Sunday lunch with his family, just before Hawke had been due to ship out to Vietnam.
However, that wasn't the whole reason why Hawke couldn't face going back. There were just too many other painful memories, not specifically associated with his days in High School, but with the people who had populated his life, influenced his behaviour and beliefs, who had helped him to find his place in life.
There were other things too, the loss of his parents, the friendships made, and lost, destroyed by his own stupidity and lack of courage, the first tentative steps into manhood, his first experiences of love and lust, his glorious victories and his spectacular failures, all the things that had shaped him into the man that he was today.
Regrets.
Errors in judgement that had highlighted character weaknesses he hadn't known that he possessed, and had come to hate him self for over the years.
Going back there wouldn't change that.
Going back wouldn't enable him to right those wrongs.
And going back would only remind him of those friends who would be missing from the reunion, because they too had followed him to Vietnam, and never returned.
"I thought you were done beating yourself up over this, kid," Santini regarded his young friend with compassion and a hint of pain in his rheumy old grey eyes. "Its way past time you let go and started living your life. Carrie-Ann wouldn't have wanted you to go on grieving for her, and blaming yourself for something that wasn't your fault. She loved you, and she wouldn't have wanted this for you, she wouldn't have wanted you to live your life this way. None of them would, kid, not your mother, nor Gabrielle …."
"Dom," Hawke's voice came out on a low hiss of warning, that particular pain still too fresh for him to allow Dominic Santini to start poking away at.
"Ok, I know, leave it be," Santini sighed. "But one of these days String, you're gonna have to face up to it. You are not jinxed. You've had more than your fair share of bad luck, yes, but one day things have gotta look up. Living your life like you're already dead and buried won't make up for the mistakes and bad choices you think you've made over the years, kid."
"We all have to pay the price for our mistakes in the end, Dom."
"You've more than paid; keep paying, over and over!"
"Maybe because I keep making the same mistakes, over and over, thinking the way you do, that one day it might be different, but it never is. I'm just facing up to the truth Dom, I am not meant to find happiness or love, with any woman, because the minute I do, something bad happens, to her, or to me. Forfeit. Payback, for those bad choices, for those errors in judgement."
"That's a crock, String! No matter what you think, you are not a bad man, and you have only done what you thought was right, all these years, I know that. You have to live with your conscience, and that's enough payback for any man. I'm telling you, that debt is cleared, kid, so move on and live the life you were born to live."
"Dom …."
"Ok, kid, I'm done. I see the look in your eyes and I know there's no reasoning with you. I just wish I knew where you got this dumb idea from because, unless I dreamed it, I was there too and all I remember is that you were a happy, well liked young fella who was much admired by the ladies. I know you screwed up, but every young fella does, from time to time, but it wasn't so bad you ended up in jail. I don't remember you ever doing anything so bad that you have to live your life like a monk to atone for it."
With that Dominic Santini yanked the office door open and exiting in a huff, slammed it loudly behind him, causing Stringfellow Hawke to wince and await the sound of shattering glass.
Trouble is, Dom, this I never shared, not even with you.
This was something that I was so ashamed of, and felt so badly about, I couldn't even share the burden with you, old friend.
And there is nothing that I can do to change it.
He reached out and fingered the reunion invitation on the desk before him and let out another ragged sigh.
It shouldn't still matter so much, but it did.
Better to leave it in the past, where it belonged ….
Except that it wasn't confined to the past.
The memories of that awful night coloured almost every thought and deed of his every waking moment, even all these years later, were responsible for making him the man that he was today, making him acutely aware that there were repercussions attached to everything he said and did, not just for himself, but to others.
He had often wished that he could go back. That he could have that night over, and wondered how different life might have been, but it was futile. That page had turned, the ink was dry and indelible, and no amount of wishing that it had been different would make it so.
He had tried to put it right, almost immediately, but it had been futile, too little, too late, and he had had to live with it every day since.
He had long since given up wondering what had happened to his buddies from back then, didn't care, because they hadn't exactly gone out of their way to keep up with him either, and maybe it was for the best.
That night, it was something that none of them had ever really gotten over, but as the years had passed, he had managed to push it to the back of his mind, to make himself go on, because he had no other choice.
Going back would only bring all those difficult memories and emotions to the fore and there was only one person he would wish that he could see there.
But that too was a futile wish, for she seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, making it perfectly clear that she had no wish to have him contaminate her life, and maybe that was for the best too, for he wouldn't have been able to live with himself, if his jinx had robbed her of her life, her future and any chance for happiness, just because she had the misfortune to be involved with him.
Maybe Fate's intervention on that evening had been a good thing, for it had spared them both the possibility of great heartache in the future.
He picked up the invitation and with one swift motion, tore it in half, then in half again, then half again, until it rained like confetti from his fingers into the waste paper basket under the desk.
He would not be going, and that was final.
No chance of being confronted with more spectres from his past, no awkward questions and no reason to speculate on where she might be, and with whom.
No chance to discover that life hadn't been so kind to her either, that maybe that night had just been so momentous, she hadn't ever gotten past it either, and it had wrecked her future, leaving her hating him.
No chance either, of him discovering for certain that she had died, a very long time ago.
She lived, in his memory.
That one perfect moment burned into his brain, when nothing else had mattered except her warm, vibrant lips against his own, the look of rapture on her face, when for the first time, he had really looked at her and seen the true beauty within, and he had known what it meant to feel truly cherished for the first time in his life.
That was the way he preferred to remember her.
Ignorance, in this particular instance, was definitely bliss.
Still, even though he had made the decision, and knew it to be the right one for the sake of his sanity, he could not stop himself from remembering her face, the other look, the one that haunted him, awake or sleeping, unwanted memories crowding in on him, persistent and overwhelming as he replayed in his mind the events of that fateful night fifteen years before, when he had been forced to see himself as others did, and had found himself wanting.
That was the night he had come face to face with his true self, and had been shocked and ashamed and disappointed with what he saw.
Fighting in Vietnam, losing St John, had begun the process, but it was that night when he had finally grown up.