CHAPTER 1

The sun dawned from the east, casting a warm orange glow over the waves that lapped at his bare feet. Not too bad for a mandatory vacation, Hawke though to himself wryly. He told himself he would have been just as happy at the cabin, not to mention closer to home if anything were to happen, but at times he wondered if that was true. He liked the cabin, wasn't planning on leaving it anytime soon, but this was certainly a nice change. He was even tempted to try the surf and he hadn't even touched a surf board in years. Vaguely he wondered how well that would go; he had only recently gotten the cast off his leg and was still plenty sore from his last mishap. If his doctor had much say in the matter he wouldn't even be here at the moment. But then Dom had stepped in, a grumpy Dom was definitely a forced to be reckoned with. His choice had been an involuntary vacation to Hawaii with Cait and Le as chaperons or rehab. Of the two he didn't find it a particularly difficult choice. Maybe he would attempt it, if no other reason then just to see if he could.

"Uncle String," Le called as he ran towards him, only having been up about ten minutes and already in his swimsuit. "We're going to the beach today, right?"

"Yeah," he answered, tearing his gaze away from the sunrise. "I was thinking maybe we could try our hand at surfing today."

\A/

Glancing at the clock on the wall as it slowly ticked on Dominic Santini realized he could sympathize with his surrogate son's impatience and desire to get back in the air. And to think, he had almost given it up for good years ago. Now he couldn't wait to get back up. But, he would be willing to do a lot of things to get away from this paperwork. It wasn't adding up again and with the bills that still needed to be paid he knew it was only going to get worse. String's donations had improved thins for a while, but it was only throwing money at a bottomless pit; he wasn't too keen on the idea either despite String's continuing reassurance it was alright. Being realistic, he wasn't so sure himself. The business had weathered tough times before, but not like this. The closest was undoubtedly just after String had followed his brother off to Vietnam, and even then if he had known he probably would have sent every bit of pay he could get out of the Army back home. He wasn't looking for charity, he just wanted enough business to get by without having to scrounge every time something went wrong. Or for that matter, when things were going right.

Dropping his pencil on the desk, he heaved himself out of the chair and hobbled across the room to the fridge and pulled out a cold beer.

"Well, there is a perk to this," he said aloud, "I don't have to wait eight hours to fly. The downside is that even after eight hours I still can't fly."

Setting down the bottle, he looked back at the desk and shook his head. It could wait; he was off to see how his other boy was doing.

\A/

"Do you think I'm a crazy?" Saint John asked of his attending nurse.

She didn't reply. Truthfully she didn't know how to. Without all the drugs he was on maybe he was a really nice guy, maybe he wasn't; she didn't know him well enough to say. With them he was unpredictable, that was about all she could think of to describe him.

It was cases like this one that made her wonder how she ended up at the FIRM's clinic though' it was exactly why she left the VA. She had plenty of respect for the ones willing to put their lives on the line for God and country but it was ripping her apart seeing some of them as messed up as they were and being unable to do anything about it. Somehow she had ended up here though. The only major difference dealing with spooks was the chances of them actually making it back for medical care was slimmer; the injuries weren't necessarily any less serious though, that much was for sure.

"Why don't you talk to me any more, Cindy?" he questioned.

"I'm Abigail, not Cindy," she corrected. Not Amy, Kate, or Ana either. She could say for sure whether he couldn't remember her name just decided to choose one or did it on purpose, but either way it was quickly wearing through whatever effect his charm might have on her.

"I'm sorry. I could take you somewhere for lunch to make up for it," he offered.

"Maybe another time. I don't think you're going anywhere for a quite a while, buddy."

"I could share my chicken broth," he tried again, using a forced smile in an attempt to smother the grimace of pain that briefly crossed his face, a reminder to her it was about time for his meds again.

As if reading her thoughts, he spoke up. "Hold off on the medicine for a while."

"You really don't want me to do that. If I cut enough of them out you'll be able to feel your arms and legs again and that won't be such a good thing."

"It would be refreshing. If I'm going to feel drunk and hungover I might as well be, at least get the pleasure of a little scotch."

"You're on the verge of overdose as it is; you'd probably die of alcohol poisoning before you could get rid of the pain."

"At least cut down on them then. I can live with a little pain. My brother is playing in the sand and sun of Hawaii right now and I'd like to join him sometime soon."