Later that same day ….
When Stringfellow Hawke next opened his eyes, it was to find a charming young woman changing the bag of IV fluids that had slowly dripped into his arm whilst he had slept.
His vision seemed to be much clearer now, and his eyes settled on a pretty face, framed by a cloud of fluffy blonde hair and white nurse's cap pinned to the top of her head. Her eyes were grey and they were gazing back at him with undisguised interest as her lips slowly curved up into a smile of greeting.
"Hi," she greeted him pleasantly, busying herself with her duties once more.
"Hi," he croaked.
"They said you'd come around. Can I get you anything?"
"Drink?" he asked hopefully. His throat was hot and dry and raw.
"Sure thing. They said you could have a sip or two of iced water," she grinned becomingly down at him then. "Good for your throat," she told him sagely as she helped him sit up a little to take a sip from the straw sticking out from a plastic cup of iced water, which she also held for him.
She was right.
It was good.
Cool and refreshing and soothing against the hot, dry, rawness of his throat and he gulped the water down quickly before she took the cup away from him.
"You can have a little more, later," she told him apologetically. "You've been asleep for a long time. We have to make sure that that doesn't make you sick first, before we start you back on solid food," she told him and he nodded gently in understanding. "I'll let you into a secret, the food here sucks," she chuckled then.
Hawke found himself smiling back in response. He'd yet to find a hospital on the planet that served decent food, especially to a vegetarian like himself.
"That's better," she grinned again. "I'm Gracie. Gracie Booth."
"String," he faltered, finding himself reluctant to give her his last name.
"Nice to finally meet you."
"What's that?" he looked up at the bags of clear fluid hanging from an IV stand.
"Water, Saline, Glucose, various vitamins and minerals, just the things your body needed while you were asleep. Probably taste a whole lot better than the stuff they put on the plates here." she told him, turning away from him momentarily to hook up the last bag of fluids and altered the speed with which it would continue to drip into his arm, then turned back to him with a wistful sigh.
"Much as I'd like to stay and chat a while, I have to get on. Nurse Monroe, she's the Senior Floor Nurse, will be on the warpath if I hang around here any longer," she confided and Hawke recalled that the older woman he had seen the previous night, had called her self Pattie Monroe.
Nothing wrong with his immediate memory then, he mused silently.
"Dr Coleman will be in to see you shortly," Nurse Booth told him with another warm smile, before disappearing out into the world beyond his room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He must have drifted off again for the next time he opened his eyes it was in response to someone speaking his name, and Hawke found the doctor from earlier standing beside his bed.
"Good morning, Stringfellow," the doctor greeted him pleasantly. "How are you feeling today? Things a little clearer? More focused?"
Hawke nodded gently in response and realised that his head didn't hurt nearly as much as it had earlier.
"Good, good. I'm just going to check you over, and then I think it will be alright for you to see your visitors. Briefly. I told them they shouldn't stay too long, but frankly, I think it will do you good to see them. They've been very patient, waiting for you to decide whether to come back to us or not. "
The doctor set to listening to his chest, taking his temperature and pulse and blood pressure and checking his chart from the previous night, while Hawke silently endured the attention.
The doctor then shone a small pen light into Hawke's eyes, testing the reaction of his pupils and then went on to test Hawke's reflexes trying to ascertain just how sensitive he was to touch and how much movement he had in his limbs, then declaring himself satisfied with his patient's condition, smiled down at Hawke, only to find the young man regarding him impatiently and the smile changed to a frown.
"What the hell happened to me, doc?" Hawke croaked. "How did I end up here?"
"You don't remember?" Dr Coleman frowned.
"Not a damned thing," Hawke sighed expressively.
"Well, I suppose that's only to be expected," Coleman assured. "It might only be temporary, but, here is a slight chance that you might never remember, that your mind might block it out."
"Block what out?" Hawke demanded in a gruff voice.
"All in good time, Stringfellow. One thing I have learned after all these years in this business, is, that it doesn't pay to rush things, to push too hard, to try to remember things before you're mind is ready."
"Tell me where the hell I am and what the hell happened to me," Hawke snarled then, growing agitated with the doctor's reluctance to tell him the truth.
"You are in hospital, in Elkington, California, and you were in a plane crash," Coleman told him reluctantly, surprised by the hard, menacing expression he now saw on the young man's face, so used was he to seeing it relaxed and peaceful in repose.
"Where? What?" the confusion was back on his face now and the doctor let out a soft sigh.
"That's all you need to know right now, Stringfellow. Your plane crashed. You were seriously injured. They transferred you here from a hospital in Los Angeles, because you were in a coma, and we are a specialist center. You have been in a coma for the last four months, Stringfellow, until a couple of days ago, when we began to see the signs that you were trying to come back to us,"Coleman explained patiently.
"A coma? Four months? Doc, none of this makes any sense!"
The agitation and perplexed expression displayed on his patient's face gave the doctor good reason to believe that his memory loss was real, and possibly quite significant as an indication as to how the coma had affected his mind.
"I'm not surprised. Really. You either won't remember anything at all, or your mind could be caught up in the mundane little things that you did before the accident, but the actual incident it's self. Well, trauma can cause a patient to simply blot out what is too painful for them to face. You have to give yourself time, Stringfellow," Coleman advised sagely.
"Don't be in too much of a hurry to run before your can walk. Do you feel up to having your visitors now?" he decided to change the subject then, noting that his patient still looked confused and perplexed and more than a little irritated. "If you don't feel ready, I could tell them that you are sleeping again."
"No. It's ok, doc," Hawke let out a deep sigh of resignation.
Maybe his visitors would have some answers for him.
Seeing familiar faces might just help him to put this into some kind of perspective.
Dominic Santini.
Hawke knew that he could trust his old friend and mentor to be straight with him ….
Visitors, the doctor had said.
That could mean only one thing. Maybe he had brought Caitlin with him. Maybe Archangel and Marella were here too.
The four people who were as close to family that he had in this world.
"All right. If you're sure? But, if it looks like its getting too much for you, I'll shoo them away," Dr Coleman warned him just for the record. "Can't have you getting over excited now."
Coleman left the room then, briefly and while he was gone, Stringfellow Hawke stared up at the ceiling, trying to get his mind to work.
Trying to remember some small detail of what he had been doing before he woke up here in this room.
Why was it he could remember the people that populated his life, Dom, Cait, Archangel, Marella, but there was still nothing specific.
No detail to grasp on to.
Had he gone to the airfield to help Dom with the repairs that were backing up, or had they gone to one of the major studios to fly a stunt? One that had possibly gone wrong?
Hence the plane crash.
Or had he been up there in the 'Lady'? A check flight? But no, if it were a check flight, or even a mission, Dom would have been with him.
Unless, maybe it had just been one of those times, when he needed to think.
Time alone to clear his head.
But he couldn't remember a thing.
And then the door opened, Dr Coleman returning with his visitors, except, to his complete surprise and utter amazement, Hawke was not greeted by the concerned faces of his friends, Dominic Santini, Caitlin O'Shannessy, Michael Coldsmith Briggs III and his assistant Marella, but two small boys, who hurtled across the room and immediately began to climb up onto the bed, both launching themselves at him, throwing their arms around him and pressing soft, warm, sticky lips to his cheeks, his neck, his nose, his eyelids and running their equally sticky little fingers through his hair.
"Daddy! Daddy!" both giggled happily, burying their noses into his neck and chest as they wriggled and squirmed to get closer to him, snuggling into him, wrestling with each other to see who could get closer.
Automatically, without thought, Hawke found himself lifting his hand to stroke the head of the child nearest to him, a brown haired, blue eyed cherub of approximately five years of age, cradling his warm, soft head in the palm of his hand, until the child was roughly shoved out of the way the by the other boy.
His brother no doubt, as they were as alike as two peas in a pod. A slightly bigger child, aged about seven, maybe eight, with hair the colour of toffee and piercing blue eyes, that regarded Hawke with familiarity, and such trust and love and happiness.
"Boys! Boys! Be careful, please!"
The new voice belonged to a woman, Hawke realised as he pulled his startled gaze away from the children who were using his chest as a trampoline.
She was a petite brunette, hair wound up in a knot in the nape of her neck, stray wisps spilling out here and there, no doubt due to the inquisitive fingers of the child she had balanced astride her hip. A pretty little girl, aged no more than about two or three, fluffy dark brown hair framing an angelic face which was dominated by large green eyes.
Eyes, that were the same as her mother's. The most incredible shade of green, that Stringfellow Hawke had ever seen. Eyes which were huge, in the young woman's pale, anxious face, as they settled on him now, with an expression that suddenly made his breath catch in his throat.
Such joy. Such love. Such warmth.
Tenderness. Relief. Affection.
Such hunger.
He saw all of those things shining there in her eyes.
All directed unwaveringly at him.
An anxious, shy smile tugging at her lips now, and as she turned fully to face him he could not help noticing the fact that she was heavily pregnant.
"Don't stay too long," Dr Coleman was warning the woman in a soft voice. "He still needs plenty of rest."
"We won't, doctor, but the kids were just so excited when they heard he was awake, I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything with them until they had seen him."
She was talking to the doctor, but her gaze never left Hawke's face, tears shimmering in those huge green eyes now as she fought to maintain her composure.
"They've missed him so much. We've all missed him so much."
"Five minutes," the doctor chuckled. "And don't you get too excited either," he lowered his gaze to her swollen abdomen then. "Don't want you going into labour just yet."
"No chance of that doc, I need a stick or two of dynamite to encourage this one out into the world," she smiled gently then. "I still have a couple of weeks to go yet," she told him, lightly running her free hand over her swollen belly.
"Dadda!" the little girl, wriggling and squirming in her mother's arms, was leaning out toward him too now a beautiful smile on her face. "Dadda, kiss, kiss," she demanded.
Despite his complete confusion, Hawke found himself smiling as her little arms reached out to him. Obviously she had no desire to be left out of the reunion.
"Dadda! Dadda!"
"Ok honey," the young woman placated the squirming child, moving slowly toward the bed, holding on to her daughter tightly as the little girl stood on the bed, trying to avoid being kicked by her brothers, as she leaned in and planted a big wet kiss on Hawke's rough cheek, letting out a soft giggle as she pinched his cheeks with her strong little fingers and thumbs, and pouting very becomingly, lightly touched her lips to the tip of his nose, before her mother then carefully pulled her away, settling her against the other hip.
The young woman said not a word to Hawke, but the look she gave him spoke volumes.
"Your turn, Mommy," The older boy encouraged. "You gotta kiss Daddy too."
"Sweet heart, I," she began to protest, a soft blush colouring her cheeks.
"You gotta!" both boys chorused together and the soft blush deepened significantly on the young woman's cheeks, as she gave Hawke a pained, apologetic look and a beautiful smile and very carefully leaned down to press soft, warm lips to Hawke's own.
Lingering, briefly.
However, she withdrew quickly, when he did not respond, and the look she gave to him as she drew away from him, told of her surprise and her anxiety.
"You have a beautiful family, Stringfellow," Dr Coleman, who had been watching the tender scene with the children, now returned his attention to his patient, only to find a look of complete bafflement on the young man's face.
A look that told the older man all too clearly that his patient had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.
A frown settled on the doctor's face then, which the young woman standing beside the bed was quick to notice, a frown also tugging at her delicate features as she looked firstly from the doctor to the young man in the hospital bed and then back to the doctor.
"Boys, boys," she spoke softly but commandingly now, stilling the wriggling youngsters. "Better get down now and let Daddy get some rest," her eyes never left Hawke's face, and now he could clearly see confusion and something else in her lovely green eyes.
Disappointment.
Hurt.
"Ah, Mommy!" The boys protested mildly, but obeyed her nonetheless, after she gave them a no nonsense glare, both youngsters scrambled down off the bed and glumly marched back across the room, where they waited for her at the closed door.
"We can come back another time," Mother assured the children but the look she gave to the young man in the bed was uncertain. "That's right? Isn't Daddy?"
Hawke lowered his eyes, unable to look at her pale, anxious face any longer for the hurt he could see written there was tugging at his heart, and his conscience.
In the next instant she was reaching out to take his hand. Hers was warm and soft against his skin, trembling slightly, as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and then she was walking across the room to join the boys at the door.
At the door she stopped and turned back, obviously wanting to say something, but at a loss as to know what.
She gave Hawke one last weak smile and then herded the children out of the room.
"Stringfellow?" Dr Coleman came up beside his bed and regarded him with open curiosity. "What is it?"
"I, I …." Hawke stammered.
"You do know who that was, don't you?"
"Hell no!" Hawke let out a ragged sigh and closed his eyes. "I don't have a clue!"
"All right. All right, don't worry your head over it now. She's a good girl, a sensible girl. I'm sure she'll understand, take it in her stride."
"But who the hell is she?"
"That, my dear boy, was your wife, Helen Santini, and your lovely family, Dominic Junior, Christopher and Lucy," Dr Coleman explained, watching the shocked expression settle on his patient's face. "The new addition to the family is due in about three weeks from now."
"My what? My …. wife? No way, doc! I'm not married," Hawke protested vehemently. "Besides, Dominic Santini doesn't have a daughter called Helen."
"She's Mrs Helen Santini," Coleman chuckled softly. "As is customary in this country, she took your name when you were married."
"My name? Oh no, doc, my name is Hawke, Stringfellow Hawke, not Santini," Hawke again protested and this time saw the shocked look on the doctor's face.
"All right, Mr Santini, calm yourself."
"I just told you, my name is Stringfellow Hawke, not Santini. No matter what he might have told you, and no matter how much I love that old reprobate, Dominic Santini, he is not my father."
"Ok, ok, steady," the doctor reached out and stilled him with a firm hand against his shoulder. "Take a deep breath and calm down," he advised. "Then maybe we can see if we can sort this out for you."
"I'm telling you, doc, I don't have a wife, I don't have three kids, my name is Hawke not Santini and Dominic is not my father," Hawke reiterated. "My father is dead. He died more than twenty years ago, in a boating accident. Both my parents did."
"Calm down, Stringfellow," this in a stern voice now. "You're right. Your real father did die, not in a boating accident, but in a fire, when you were eight years old. Your real parents died of smoke inhalation when they were trapped in a house fire, and Dominic Santini took you in and raised you as his own son. He legally adopted you when you were ten years old and you took his name then. "
"What? No! That's not right!"
"It's just something else that you don't remember. Just like you don't remember marrying Helen."
"No, doc, it's not! I was never married," Hawke again protested. "Never."
"All right, don't upset yourself. If you don't calm down I will have no choice but to give you a sedative," the doctor warned solemnly and the look on his face warned Hawke that he meant business.
"What about St John?" Hawke suddenly demanded.
"Your brother?"
"Yeah."
"What about him, son?" Coleman asked gently.
"Did Dominic take him in too?" there was a hint of sarcasm in the younger man's voice now, almost as though he were goading the doctor.
"Of course he did, Stringfellow. St John was far too young to take care of you all by himself, when your parents died. He was only twelve. Do you remember what happened to him?"
"Vietnam. He's MIA."
"MIA?"
"Missing In Action. Still."
"No, son."
"No?" Hawke sneered. "You telling me any minute now, he's gonna walk in through that door?"
"No son, St John died, in 1969. Don't you remember? He was killed on a mission in the jungle. You were with him. You were badly wounded. They managed to pull all you boys out and then they shipped you home, with St John's body."
"No!"
"Steady! Steady!"
"No, he can't be dead! He can't! I don't believe you, I would know, I would feel it. I would know if he were dead."
"I know it is hard for you to accept, Stringfellow, but the simple truth is, your brother has been dead for a very long time," the look the older man gave to Hawke was genuinely regretful.
"I know that must be painful for you to hear, again, but, it is the truth."
"No!"
"You haven't asked about Skyler. Don't you want to know how she is?"
"What? Who?"
"Skyler. Your sister."
"My what?" Hawke regarded the doctor with open mouthed astonishment, wondering which one of them should be certified as insane.
"Your twin sister," the doctor tried to smother a grin. "Your parents did seem to have a penchant for unusual names."
"I don't have a sister, much less a twin!" Hawke scoffed.
Obviously they were descending into the realms of fantasy now.
If he weren't so damned angry and outraged, he would have laughed out loud.
A twin sister!
The very idea of it! It was preposterous!
Obviously they hadn't done their homework very well.
Or maybe it was their first mistake?
Whoever they were?
Trying to get him to believe something so completely outrageous.
"I can assure you that you do," Coleman reached out and patted the back of Hawke's hand gently now. "She married an Air Force pilot and they have two children, a girl and a boy. He's based in Europe, Germany, for a little while, but they're in England now, I think, or else she would have been here."
Hawke opened his mouth to protest once more, but Dr Coleman stilled him by resting his hand lightly on Hawke's hand.
"But, for arguments sake, I accept that you don't remember her right now."
"I never had a sister!" Hawke snarled.
"Stringfellow," the doctor threw him a warning look then, turning his head slightly to watch the machines on the other side of the room as their readings rose higher and higher, indicating his patient's agitation.
"Now listen to me, Stringfellow," Coleman sat down carefully on the edge of the bed and fixed Hawke with a steady gaze. "By all accounts, you have been a loving, considerate, caring, adoring and much loved son. You have made a life for yourself with a responsible job, a nice home, a lovely young woman who loves you very much. Those beautiful children have a doting, loving, wonderful father whom they adore and need very much. I've seen what your being here has done to all these people, your family. I've seen the worry and the pain and the heartache they have been through in the last four months, Stringfellow. I have been honoured and privileged to witness for myself just how deeply you are loved by your family. You are a very lucky young man, to know such love."
"Not me. I don't know whose life that is you're describing, doc, but it sure as hell isn't mine!"
"Just because it's not the way you remember it exactly, doesn't mean that it isn't true either, Stringfellow," the doctor told him forlornly.
"What the hell is happening to me?"
"I don't know, Stringfellow," Dr Coleman let out a deep sigh then. "But, I promise you, we will get to the bottom of it," he assured.
"What year is this? What month?" Hawke demanded, needing answers. Needing an anchor, because he was floundering here.
"All in good time, Stringfellow."
"Doc, they're simple questions," Hawke pressed, his expression one of suspicion now.
"What year do you think it is, Stringfellow?" Coleman countered, curious to know what, if anything, the young man did remember of his life before.
It might just help them to identify where the break in his memory began.
Hawke closed his eyes and tried to wrack his brain, straining to call to mind one small detail, any detail of his life, before he had woken up here last night, even the smallest, most mundane thing.
Dammit, why couldn't he remember?
How could he be so damned sure that the life the doctor had described to him just now wasn't really his, when he couldn't recall the simplest detail?
But he was sure.
He knew that that life belonged to someone else.
That man was not him.
Not him.
He was Stringfellow Hawke.
Not Stringfellow Santini.
Damn.
"All right, Stringfellow," the doctor let out a soft sigh. "You say that you are not Stringfellow Santini? So, tell me about this fellow, Stringfellow Hawke. It might help to jog loose a few of your memories, if you tell me what you recall of his life."
"Not his life, doc, my life. I am Stringfellow Hawke. I'm thirty six years old, single, childless, from Los Angeles California. My brother, St John has been Missing in Action, in Vietnam since 1969, and I most definitely do not have a sister! I am a free lance pilot. I work for my father's old war buddy, Dominic Santini. He has an air service, Santini Air, based in Van Nuys. I help him out, now and again, flying stunts for movies and TV and aerial photography projects, and when I'm not working, I spend most of my time up at my cabin on Eagle Lake, with my dog, Tet, fishing," he recited, confidently knowing even as he said it that it was all true.
"And is Stringfellow Hawke happy?"
"I guess," Hawke sighed deeply.
"So, did it help? Are you any closer to remembering the month? The year?"
"No," Hawke moaned expressively. "No, Wait!"
He paused, his eyes widening now as something flashed through his mind. A smile began to form on his lips, slowly at first, then more confidently.
"I just had a physical, to renew my pilot's licence," the memory flashed before his eyes, along with the date circled in red on the calendar, in the office at Santini Air. Friday July 11, 1986.
Dominic had insisted that he write it on the office calendar so that they wouldn't forget. After all, they couldn't afford for him to allow his licence to lapse.
Caitlin had even turned it into a joke, greeting him every morning when he arrived at the hangar with a NASA style countdown to the date.
"It's July, 1986."
Hawke waited for a reaction, but Dr Coleman neither confirmed nor denied that what Hawke said was true.
"Doc?" Hawke glared at him. "Well?" He demanded. "Is it or isn't it?"
"Stringfellow, today is Thursday August 13th, 1987," Coleman told him, giving him a sympathetic look.
"What!"
"Calm down, son," Coleman reached out and laid a reassuring hand on Hawke's now. "It is true that there are some similarities between Stringfellow Hawke's life and Stringfellow Santini's, which, I think, is quite encouraging. Although I'm no expert," the doctor paused for a moment, waiting for his patient to calm down a little.
"Yes, Dominic was your father's best buddy during the Second World War, and he did have an air service, although I don't think you ever flew for him. You had your job with the airline, and there was a cabin at Eagle Lake, although you don't use it now. The fire. That was where your real parents died, back in 1958."
"No, no, no, no, no!"
"Deny it all you like, it doesn't change the facts, Stringfellow. I'm not making any of this up, you know. We took a comprehensive biography from Dominic and Helen when you were admitted and the rest is on file. It's all documented. Your medical history. Your army records. Your parents death certificates, your adoption papers. Your marriage certificate and the children's birth certificates."
All of which, Hawke knew, could, in the right hands, be quite artfully forged.
"I can't tell you the times I've been in this room checking on your condition when Helen or Dominic were here, visiting with you. Talking to you about some incident in the past, trying to reach you. To jog your memory," he confided. "We encourage it. We believe that a comatose patient can still hear, and that if they hear a familiar voice, it might just bring them around."
"Look, I'm going to order some more tests. I think we need to make sure that the head injury you sustained in the crash wasn't more serious than we first thought. In the mean time, you try to calm down and get some rest."
"I don't understand what the hell is going on here, doc. Nothing makes sense," Hawke was incredulous. "I know what I know, and what I just told you is the truth!"
And yet, if the doctor was to be believed, it appeared that it wasn't just four months of his life that he had lost.
But, more than a year.
Four months in a coma, and nine months that couldn't be accounted for.
Where had he been during those nine months?
What had he been doing?
It didn't add up. It just didn't add up.
Something was going on here, something screwy!
"Try not to worry about it, Stringfellow. I am sure that there is a simple explanation. After all, your mind has been redundant for four months, and now, suddenly, it's being bombarded with all kinds of information. Naturally, it's going to take time to process everything that is going on. We have been giving you various drugs while you have been comatose. Your body has also been through considerable physical trauma. All these things could be affecting your memory," Dr Coleman explained, but Hawke could see from his expression that he was grasping at straws. "I'd better go and explain this development to Helen. She must be feeling pretty confused right now."
"Where's Dominic? I want, I need to see Dominic."
"He'll be here in a little while. He wanted Helen and the children to see you first. Naturally he thought you would want to see your, family first, and he said he had something that he needed to do before he saw you."
"Dammit, doc, what is going on here? I feel like I woke up in the middle of the Twilight Zone!"
"I'm sure it is something and nothing, and we will get to the bottom of it, but, you have to calm down, Stringfellow, getting yourself all worked up is not going to help matters."
"I can't help it, doc, I don't know who the hell I am anymore! You're telling me that everything that I remember of my life before, everything I believe in, is a false memory," Hawke grew agitated once more. "So tell me who I am. Who, you believe I am."
"I know that you are Stringfellow Santini, but saying it won't make you believe it, will it, dear boy?"
"So who the hell is Stringfellow Santini?"
"He is a much loved son, brother, father and husband."
"And?"
"And the rest you will remember. In time," he assured. "I don't believe my telling you all about him will help. You have to remember for yourself. That is the only way that you will come to believe it."
"And what if I never remember? I can't remember what you're telling me, because it never happened that way, and I'll never believe it, doc, because I know what is true and what is real."
"You're getting yourself worked up again. Maybe getting you that sedative isn't such a bad idea after all?"
"No, I've slept too long as it is," Hawke protested. Slept away possibly thirteen months of his life, if, the doctor was to be believed.
If, being the optimum word.
Hawke could not help wondering if when he woke up the next time, things would be back to normal.
The normal he remembered.
Maybe whatever it was that had put him in the hospital in the first place, a plane crash ….
Well, that could mean that he had had a severe crack to the head. That, along with the drugs that they had been giving him, maybe the doctor had a point.
Maybe it was messing with his brain.
If, he had actually crashed his plane?
If, he really had been out of it for four months?
Suspicious SOB that he was, he wasn't prepared to lie here and buy everything that he had been told by this innocent looking old man, without question.
He certainly hadn't dismissed the idea that the Russians or the East Germans were playing with his mind.
Again.
Like the time they had drugged him and then faked a helicopter crash and tried to convince him that he had been in a coma for almost a year.
They'd tried it before.
Maybe they thought that if they refined their technique, this time they might succeed?
Not very original, but maybe they figured that he wouldn't believe that they would try the same sting again?
It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility.
After all, it made more damned sense to him than that he had had a knock on the head, and woken up more than a year later, in the middle of someone else's life!
Maybe something had gone wrong with their plan and they hadn't counted on him remembering so much of his real life?
As, Stringfellow Hawke.
Brian washing, he knew from the last time, wasn't one hundred percent reliable.
Sometimes it was the little things that threw a spanner into the works.
Little things like having calluses on his fingers, when he supposedly had been in a coma for more than a year.
Subconsciously, he began to massage the tips of his fingers, then worked his way down to his palms.
No callouses.
Smooth as the proverbial baby's backside.
But that didn't really mean anything.
Did it?
Oh yeah, they were good, real good.
Authentic sounding American accents, genuine hospital equipment, and sound track. All aimed at making him believe that this really was a hospital.
But, he had seen through it the last time.
They should have known that he would see through it again.
Something was definitely wrong about this whole scenario.
But, he was convinced that it wasn't him.
However, if he was going to discover what was really going on, maybe he would just have to play along.
Just for a little while.
Let them think that they were convincing him, that he believed in their lies.
Maybe then they would show their hand, and he would be able to get out of here and make contact with Archangel and Dominic.
The real Dominic Santini that was, not the fake they were most likely going to try to convince him was his father.
Just as last time, they had tried to brainwash him into thinking that St John had been rescued and that Dom and Archangel had been killed during the rescue mission.
"All right," Dr Coleman sighed deeply now, looking a little uncomfortable, but he really did not want to have to drug the young man back into slumber.
His patient's body had been subjected to enough drugs over the past four months as it was, and he couldn't be entirely sure that this memory dysfunction didn't have something to do with the drug regime that he had been on prior to his coming around.
There was still so much that they did not understand about comas and brain injuries, what happened to the patient whilst they were actually unconscious, and how their minds reacted to the sudden stimuli of normal, ordinary every day life.
"All right," Coleman sighed deeply again in resignation, his mind now wandering, to where Helen Santini and her children were waiting, in the corridor outside, and what he was going to tell her.
No doubt she would want answers, and he did not have a clue what he was going to say to her.
She was a strong young woman, had stood up to all of this very well, under the circumstances, but he had a feeling that this might just tip her over the edge, emotionally, especially this late on in her pregnancy, when hormones were raging out of control.
He would need to be very careful what he told her.
Mainly because he just didn't know yet what exactly they were dealing with. What they might be up against.
"Try to rest," he advised his patient now, and rose stiffly from his perch on the edge of the bed.
"I will," Hawke promised. "Just make sure Dominic doesn't leave without seeing me, even if I'm sleeping. I have to talk to him. Please."
"I understand. I really don't know what difference it will make, but," the doctor shrugged, then walked toward the now closed door, then suddenly turned back to regard Hawke thoughtfully. "Then again, seeing Dominic might just put things into perspective, make things slot back together," he smiled weakly at his patient.
"Maybe. Thanks doc, I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for, Stringfellow. I just wish it had worked out a little differently. This should have been such a joyous time for you and for your family, a time for celebration. What they have all been waiting so patiently for all this time. For you to decide whether to live or not," and with that he disappeared out into the corridor.
As he stopped his jeep in the hospital parking lot, Dominic Santini spotted his daughter in law, Helen and his grandchildren, sitting in her car, and a frown puckered his brow beneath his battered old red baseball cap.
He slipped out of the jeep and walked casually across the parking lot, hitching up his pants around his big belly as he went.
As he drew closer, he could see that Helen was leaning over the steering wheel, head bowed and resting on her forearms, and just for a moment he thought that maybe she was ill.
Or, in labor.
His tired old heart skipped several beats as it came up into his throat.
He knocked the window gently and immediately she looked up to see who it was.
Again his heart flip-flopped in his chest, as he saw her lovely, pale face, awash with tears and then in the next instant, she had the door open and threw herself into his strong, sure arms, burying her face in his shoulder, as harsh sobs wracked her slender body.
"Hey, hey, there, there, honey it's all right. He's gonna be fine, just fine. Did you two have a nice reunion?"
Even as he asked the question, she clung to him more tightly, and sobbed even harder.
"Was it something I said?" he quipped.
"Oh Dominic," she sobbed broken heartedly against him.
"What is it, honey?" he gently put her away from him then, noting out of the corner of his eye the curious stares of the youngsters secured in the back of the car, as they watched their mother.
"I don't know, but I think something is wrong."
"Oh honey, he just woke up after being in a coma for four months! You and this lot go barrelling in there, well, it's gotta be a lot for him to cope with," he placated, but she continued to sob softly, shaking her head.
"I'm frightened, Dom."
"Oh honey, the worst is over with now," he tried to reassure her, but the look she shot back at him told him that she was far from believing that.
"And look at you, a nervous wreck after all that you've been through, and this little one only a few weeks away from joining the family," he laid a soft, warm hand against the swell of her belly between them, and felt the child within move beneath his touch.
A kick or a punch, he wasn't sure, but it was strong and confident and reassuring.
"Wow! Strong little sucker!" he grinned proudly.
"I'm convinced it's another boy," she remarked absently.
"And there's nothing wrong with that!" Dominic Santini's grin grew wider still.
"No, except I was kinda hoping for another girl. Would even up the teams a little," she smiled softly then. "Lucy and I are kinda out numbered at the moment."
To Dominic Santini's surprise and consternation she suddenly hung her head and began weeping once more.
"Oh! What is it, love?" he gathered her gently into his arms once more and gave her a reassuring squeeze, before putting her away from him once more. "Tell me?"
"Doc Coleman says it's nothing to worry about, but …."
"But?" he coaxed, his expression clouding then.
"Well, it seems he's having some problems with his memory, Dom. Oh God, Dom, he doesn't remember us!" her lovely face crumpled and she sobbed softly. "He looked at me like I was a stranger."
"The kids too?"
"The kids too. He didn't exactly push them away, but, I could see in his face that he didn't understand what was going on . He didn't know who they were."
"Dammit, I knew I should have been here!" Santini grew solemn then for a moment.
"Oh Dominic, I'm so sorry, I forgot," Helen Santini's green eyes grew wide then as she remembered the errand that had kept him away from the hospital until now.
"No matter," he told her with a weak smile, as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.
"Are you all right?" she regarded him with genuine concern then.
"As well as I'll ever be on this day of the year," he sighed heavily then. "It's ok. Maybe from now on, this day will have a different meaning for all of us? The day our boy came back to life."
She nodded silently, but he could see that there was something still troubling her. It was there in those beautiful, fathomless, sea green eyes of hers.
"What is it?" he asked softly.
"I don't know. When I kissed him," she lowered her eyes coyly then for a moment before continuing. "It was like, like he was a stranger too."
"It's been a while, love. Give yourself time. I'm sure you two love birds will be billing and cooing at each other again in no time, after all, that little bundle in there wasn't the result of immaculate conception," he chuckled at the shy expression on her face as she coloured up becomingly then.
It never ceased to amaze him that, this lovely young woman, who had won the battered and beaten heart of his son, Stringfellow, more than ten years ago, and borne him three beautiful children, could still blush as furiously as any coy virgin when matters romantic came up in the conversation.
"What did you expect, love?" he grinned wickedly at her then.
"That he would at least be as pleased to see us, me, as we all are to see him," she sniffed then, and Dominic could see that she was serious.
"Honey, it's gotta be a shock to his system. He's been out of the loop for a long time," he reminded her gently. "Give him time."
"That's what Doc Coleman said," she sighed raggedly then and forced herself to give him a weak smile.
"Well, there ya go. We can't both be wrong now, can we?"
"No, Dom," she stepped forward and put her arms around him once more. "Thanks Papa Dominic. I love you so very much."
"I love you too, honey."
"You'd better get in there. He's been asking for you."
"Really?" there was genuine love and pleasure in the older man's rheumy blue/grey eyes now.
"Uh huh," she looked crestfallen, just for a moment and Dominic felt his heart constrict in his chest.
Dammit, this should have been the happiest moment of her life.
Nobody knew better than he did just how much she loved his son.
All of this really had been tough on her, and he hadn't realised just how much until they had gotten the call from Dr Coleman a couple of days before, to say that he believed that String was finally coming out of the coma.
Finally making an effort to breathe, on his own. Reacting to light and sound, and heat and cold.
Even though he probably wouldn't remember the barrage of tests they subjected him to weekly.
This week they had finally gotten the results that they had all been hoping, praying for.
Helen had always seemed so strong to him.
So together.
She had had to be.
Always cheerful and positive.
Yet, he could guess at how she dealt with her grief, her worries, in private.
If she had any doubts that String would recover, that he would wake up and pull through this thing, she had never allowed him to see.
Never allowed him to see her pain.
Her tears.
She was a real trouper.
Keeping the kids in line and making sure that life for the rest of them went on in as normal a fashion as possible.
And then suddenly, when he had told her what Doc Coleman had told him on the telephone, she had fallen apart.
Gone to pieces. The facade of calm, poised acceptance dissolving in a flood of tears.
Still, Dominic Santini could not help thinking that it had done her good to let go like that.
However, it had left her emotionally fragile.
Fresh tears, never very far away.
As he had watched her wrestle to regain her composure and pick up the pieces of her life, Dominic Santini had found himself praying that his boy knew just how deeply he was loved by this incredible young woman.
"Then I'd better not keep him waiting any longer."
"Maybe you'd better speak with Dr Coleman first," she suggested tentatively. "I got the feeling there was a whole lot more he was frightened to tell me about," she confided then. "Especially when he told me that he thought that it would probably be better if I didn't visit String again for a day or two," her voice caught in her throat then and she lowered her eyes briefly before looking back up into his anxious face.
"What?" Santini frowned.
"Uh huh."
"Better for who exactly?"
"I know he's just looking out for String, but he's my husband, and I want to be with him. I need to be with him. I've been at his side every day for the last four months while he's been unconscious. I'm not going to desert him now he's awake, but, Dr Coleman seems to think that so long as his memory is causing him trouble, it would be better if the kids and I stayed away."
"You leave Dr Coleman to me, honey. I can understand about the kids, a hospital room ain't no place for them, but I'm sure that he didn't mean that you shouldn't visit String at all."
"Maybe. Anyway, I'd better get this lot over to Mrs Randall's place. She promised to watch them for me while I go to the clinic for my check up."
"Ok honey. You drive carefully and take care," he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her cool, pale cheek.
He was concerned about her driving, this late on in her pregnancy, but what choice did she have? She had promised him that she would only make short, local journeys, to the store, dropping the kids off and picking them up again from school and Kindergarten, and to the hospital and back and he had had to be satisfied with that.
"Let me know how you two get on," he grinned, pointing down toward her large belly.
"Ok, I'll call you. Better yet, come to dinner tonight. I could use some adult company. You can tell me all about it. I'll make your favourite," she smiled softly then.
"Which one?" he grinned back at her.
"All of them!" she countered and opened the car door, slipping gracefully inside once more and checking that the children were safely secured in the back.
"There goes my waistline," he chuckled, patting his rotund belly jovially.
"Drop by after visiting time. Kids, say bye bye to Grandpa Dominic."
"Bye, bye Grandpa!" the three angelic faces in the backseat chorused as their mother turned on the engine and put the car into gear, then all four of them waved at him as Helen Santini drove slowly and carefully out of the hospital parking lot.
