Discalimer - Airwolf does not belong to me. I have just borrowed the characters.
A/N I originally posted this as a M rating, but as an afterthought changed it slightly so it could be a T rating.
She was in his room, watching him. He could sense her, smell her perfume. He breathed in deeply, revelling in the scent of her, the scent that had lingered in his bedroom for a few days after she had died, before gradually fading away. Died? She was dead, she couldn't be here.
Stringfellow Hawke opened his eyes and sat bolt upright in bed. His heart was beating so loud that all he could hear was the sound of his blood pumping in his veins. He looked around, confused, disorientated. She was here, he was so sure she was here. He sensed her like he had sensed her every night for the last week.
He put his head in his hands and wept.
When he woke again it was morning, late morning by the look of the sun shining in through the windows. He hadn't bothered to draw the curtains the night before, little details like that just weren't important any more. Exhausted, he crawled out of bed and into the bathroom and prepared to face the day.
As night fell he started to feel nervous and poured himself a large glass of whiskey to calm his nerves. He'd had the same dream for a week now and even in the light of day the uneasy feeling of her watching him wouldn't go away. If he believed in ghosts he might think he was being haunted, but he didn't believe in ghosts. No, he definitely didn't believe in ghosts.
Maybe he was going mad; he did believe that was a possibility.
Gradually, the external heat from the fire and the internal heat from the whisky caused him to fall asleep.
She was standing beside him, her hand stretched out towards him. He took it and she led him upstairs.
He woke up screaming her name, drenched in sweat, the bed covers tangled around him.
"Gabrielle!" But it was useless, he knew she was gone, he had no sense of her.
The sound of an approaching helicopter reached his ears and he grabbed the jeans he had worn the day before, worn for the last week he realised as he noticed how grubby they looked. He put them on anyway, it was too much of an effort to find clean ones.
He reached the front door just before Archangel, and opened it for the man in white.
Archangel limped inside, relying heavily on his cane, and drew in a breath when he saw the state of Hawke. He was unshaven, dressed in dirty jeans and even from where he stood he could tell he was in need of a shower. He looked like a broken man which, Archangel realised with a start, was exactly what he was.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked the younger man, his voice concerned.
Hawke shook his head, "Dreams," he stated cryptically.
Archangel sat down and nodded sympathetically, "Nightmares about her dying? I can sympathise, my nights have been disturbed recently too."
"No. Not nightmares. Dreams. She's here. I sense her, I smell her perfume." Hawke was tired and hungover and realised he was talking too much. He couldn't even begin to explain how real the dreams were, didn't want to.
Archangel realised it was useless trying to talk to Hawke. After his brief communication he had shut down and any attempts to draw him into conversation had failed. He left, with a promise that he would return when the other man was feeling a bit better.
The day dragged on. Hawke sat with Tet in front of the fire, just staring into space, taking the occasional sip of whisky. As the shadows in the cabin started to deepen the uneasy feeling washed over him again.
"Gabrielle," he whispered, before falling into a restless sleep.
She was standing in front of him again, just like the night before. He tried to focus, but there was something wrong with his eyes.
"Stringfellow," she whispered, sitting down beside him.
"Gabrielle?"
"Hush" she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him lightly. He hesitated before returning the kiss. Something was wrong but he couldn't remember what.
"Don't fight it, Stringfellow," she breathed against his mouth.
He stopped fighting and tried to ignore the uneasy feeling he had.
Dawn was breaking when she got up and kissed him lightly on the forehead.
"Goodbye, Stringfellow," she breathed huskily before leaving.
He woke with a start and opened his eyes to see Dominic Santini standing above him.
"You OK String?" he asked. Hawke looked at him blankly. "String?"
"Where is she?"
"Who?" Dominic looked around but the cabin was empty apart from the two of them.
"Gabrielle. She was here."
"Oh, String," Dominic's voice shook with emotion, "she wasn't here. She's dead. Remember? Moffett killed her."
"She was here," Hawke was adamant, then he closed his eyes and the grief threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered, "She said goodbye. She isn't coming back."