"Home, sweet home," Dominic Santini's weary, and relieved voice sounded in Stringfellow Hawke's ear, via the link in their helmets, and the young man could not suppress a soft smile.

It had been one hell of a weekend, and he echoed the older man's sentiment.

It really was good to be home.

Hawke reached up now to check that all the overhead switches were off and then sat back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment.

His ears were still ringing after the explosion that had accompanied Mount Catherine's eruption, and which had taken out their audio systems and affected Airwolf's instrumentation, briefly, forcing him to find a landing site in the foothills, and which had resulted in their meeting the folks from the township of New Gideon, and the Davenport mines.

Another good deed done. Hawke thought to himself with a soft sigh, but at least he and Dominic had gotten along.

Not a crossed word all weekend.

Hawke had taken it as a good sign.

The old man had been his usual sweet, even tempered self and Hawke had had to admit, if only to himself, that it was good to have his old friend back.

"You asleep up there?"

"No," Hawke responded succinctly to Santini's question.

"You sure? Sounds like it to me," Santini teased, having heard the grogginess in the younger man's voice.

"No time. Gotta get the ash and dust out of those fuel lines. Your little sweetheart here has been coughing and spluttering for most of the trip home."

"Ah, poor baby."

"Yeah. Poor baby," Hawke smothered a smile.

He still could not understand how a grown man could get so sentimental over a bunch of metal and wires and hydraulic liquid, but Dominic Santini treated Airwolf like she was the most special lady in his life.

And for the life of him, although he could not understand it, and did not always believe it, Hawke had found himself thinking on more than one occasion, that the Lady responded to that tenderness from the older man, in a way in which she did not always respond to him.

"Need to get the data we collected to the Firm, so they can analyse it and send it on to the University, and Michael's going to want a full run down on what happened up there in New Gideon."

"Yeah. He's gonna want reassuring that they won't go blabbing to the world about the Lady."

"Got it in one."

"What about that, huh, String? I can't believe that something like that could be happening to hard working people in my own country! Now some place like Russia, well …."

"Yeah. What about that …."

"Think those folks will be ok now?"

"I guess it's down to them, Dominic. They've made a start at least."

"Yeah. Hey String, what day is it today?"

"Monday, I think …." Hawke replied, stifling a soft yawn.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Why?" Hawke frowned.

"It means its still the holiday, kid. Happy Easter!"

"So it is. Happy Easter, Dominic," Hawke pulled off his helmet now and twisted around carefully in his seat. "Do you suppose Michael will be in the office today?"

"Sure he will, he practically lives there," Santini snorted, pulling off his own helmet now. "Spying don't stop, just because it's a holiday."

"But the University won't be working today, will it?"

"Guess not," Santini shrugged, running his hand over his head to flatten his hair down neatly.

"Good. That means we don't have to rush getting the data to Archangel. You had plans, right? You and Nancy?"

"Sort of," Santini grew coy then.

"Well, then I guess the maintenance on this baby can wait for a day or two. Let's get out of here and enjoy what's left of the holiday."

"You had plans too?"

Hawke immediately noted his old friend's tone of voice, and his reluctance to mention Ginny McBride's name.

"Nothing concrete," Hawke sighed.

"Nancy and I were going to have a cook out on the beach."

Santini's words immediately brought to mind the secluded little stretch of beach that he and the Hawke brothers had visited often in their youth, to hunt through the dunes for driftwood and then build a fire, while Santini fished in the frothing surf or laid thick, tender, juicy steaks or succulent crabs on a grill over the fire, and he smiled tiredly at the pleasant memory.

"You're welcome to join us," Santini invited, brightening a little. "I know she'd just love to meet ya."

"I'd love to meet her too, Dom."

"Well, you know the place." Santini chuckled.

"Yeah, I know the place, but maybe some other time. I think I'm just gonna get a little sack time, then, maybe call Ginny and invite her to dinner later. I didn't know how long this job was going to take, so I told her I would call her. She thinks I'm in Reno."

"Oh," Santini's tone of voice now, implied to Hawke that he was disappointed that the younger man had not followed his advice, and had continued to see the young woman, Ginny McBride.

"Thanks for the offer Dom, unless …. that invitation includes Ginny, of course?"

The look that settled on Dominic Santini's face told Hawke that it did not, and he let out a deep sigh.

"You ready to talk to me yet?" Hawke asked in as casual a tone of voice as he could muster.

"What do you think?" Santini snapped back.

"I think you're a stubborn old man, and right now I'm glad there's a console between us, because I can see your right fist is just itching to smash into my face," Hawke drawled, as he watched the older man's right fist clench tightly and then unclench, slowly, before Santini lowered his arm down by his side.

Santini reached out now and popped open the door and began to haul his bulk out of the seat in the rear compartment, effectively putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

Stringfellow Hawke rubbed his tired eyes and let out a deep sigh, watching the older man stalk across the cave toward where they had parked the jeep.

He let out another deep sigh, realising that he was going to have to do some serious bridge building, if he was going to survive the drive back to the city.

"Look, Dominic, I don't know what this is all about," Hawke said as he climbed out of Airwolf and followed the older man across the cave, his boots sending up little eddies of sand as he did so.

"No String, you don'tknow," Santini growled now, a clear warning in his blue grey eyes as he turned around to face the younger man.

"Surely your beef is with Eve Archer, not her daughter?"

"Let's not do this right now, String. We're both tired."

"Dominic, I don't understand why you can be so damned angry with someone you haven't even met yet," Hawke sighed impatiently, raising his hand to rub gently at his brow where a headache was beginning to make its self felt.

"Leave it."

"Ok," Hawke sighed again but the look he threw at Santini told the old man that they would continue this conversation, some other time, because Hawke was determined to get to the bottom of what was riling the older man. "She's a nice lady, Dom."

"Well, I guess I know where youstand," Santini waved his finger in the young man's face now.

"Hey, I'm not taking sides here, Dominic!" Hawke warned, taking a defensive step backward from the old man. "But, like I said, I don't know how you can be so mad at someone you never met. All she wants is to meet you. To maybe get to know her mother better, by hearing what you have to say about her, what you remember of her," Hawke offered the same explanation that Ginny McBride had offered to him.

"She's better off not knowing my opinion!" Santini snapped. "Now leave it be, will ya."

"Sure, Dom," Hawke walked wearily around the front of the jeep now. "You did good. Up there," He deliberately kept his tone light and genuine as he slipped into the passenger seat of the jeep.

"Thanks. You too kid," Santini's smile was tight and forced now as he kept his focus on the beautiful shark like, black and white, kick ass helicopter, as Caitlin had called her, illuminated by floodlights in the centre of the cave.

"We're a good team."

"Sure we are."

"Dom," Hawke tried again, but could tell from the set of the older man's shoulders that he was wasting his breath.

"Lets go home," Santini refused to look at the younger man as he switched on the jeep's engine and stepped on the gas pedal, remaining silent and sullen for the whole of the journey back to the Santini Air hangar at Van Nuys Airport.

When it became clear to Stringfellow Hawke that the older man had clammed up, the younger man pulled on his flying shades, hunkered down in his seat, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a little shut eye, but his mind was too full of questions about what was upsetting his oldest and dearest friend, and what he could possibly do to help him.

And what had really brought Ginny McBride all the way out here from Milwaukee to see the old man.

He was missing something.

Hawke was sure of it.

Yes.

There was more to all of this than met the eye.

And Hawke was determined to find out what.

"Hey, you clean up pretty good, Mr Hawke," Ginny McBride reached up and pressed soft warm lips to his newly shaved cheek and smiled cheerfully at him, as she greeted him at the door to her motel room.

After managing a couple of hours restless sleep, Hawke had called Ginny and told her that he would be by in a little while to pick her up, and that she should wear something pretty.

He had dressed in his best brown suit and paired it up with a deeper brown neck tie and a white checkered shirt.

"You don't look so bad yourself," he complimented her, bending slightly to brush his lips against hers.

She had selected a pretty pale blue dress that dipped in at the waist, and emphasised her petite figure and had married it up with a white floaty chiffon scarf around her throat, and white open toed sandals.

Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, making it look darker, almost like molasses, and she had secured it in the nape of her neck with a silver coloured barrette.

She was wearing make up today, a pale pink gloss on her lips, a light dusting of powder and blusher on her cheeks, and a little light colouring over her eyelids, a pale blue to highlight her lovely cobalt blue eyes, but even to Hawke's unpractised eye, this did not conceal the fact that she looked pale and tired, her eyes bloodshot, almost as though she had been crying.

He recalled the day that they had met, and her fainting spell and could not help wondering if whilst he had been away, she had not been taking proper care of herself.

"So, where are we going?" she asked as he helped her into the back of a bright yellow taxi cab.

"Wait and see," he smiled coyly at her. "It's a surprise."

He climbed into the back of the cab and sat beside her, tucking her neat hand into the crook of his arm as he gave the driver an address.

"How was your trip?"

"Tiring," Hawke smiled.

"Mmmm, I thought you looked a little …."

"Beat?"

"Weary," she amended.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine …."

However, the look he gave her told her that he wasn't buying it.

"Ok, I've got a headache, that's all," she smiled reassuringly, and he arched an eyebrow. "I'm fine," she reassured once more. "An afternoon in the fresh air and sunshine will do me a power of good," she gave his arm a quick squeeze. "And then maybe an early night," She grinned charmingly and he could not misunderstand the devilish twinkle in her lovely deep blue eyes.

Hawke found himself grinning back at her.

As their journey progressed, Ginny McBride hardly took her eyes off Stringfellow Hawke's face, at first because she had missed him while he had been away the past couple of days, and wanted to drink in his handsome, chiselled features, his intelligent, sapphire blue eyes, and his oh so rare, but heart stoppingly beautiful smile, but, as the taxi cab ate up the distance between her motel and their destination, Ginny began to notice that his expression was changing.

Growing more serious.

Stern.

Tight.

Anxious.

Angry.

His mood had changed too.

She could feel it like electricity in the air, swirling around them, highly charged and intense.

She could feel the tension in every muscle and sinew in his arm as she held on to him.

"String?" She spoke in a soft, appealing voice, drawing his piercing blue eyes down to her at last.

However, before she had a chance to voice the question on her lips, the taxi swung off the main road and came to a stop.

"We're here," Hawke said with a forced smile and opened the door, sliding out into the sunshine quickly, and holding out his hand to help her to alight from the back of the cab.

As Hawke paid the driver for their ride, Ginny McBride, shielding her eyes against the glare of a lovely mid afternoon sun, took in her surroundings.

They were at the beach, a secluded little stretch of endless golden sand, fringed by weed tufted dunes on one side and the swirling white foam of the outgoing surf on the other.

A flock of black and white sea birds circled and swooped, squawking noisily over head and on a soft breeze, which teased at her hair and the loose flowing skirt of her dress. Ginny could pick out the odours of burning wood and cooking food and realised that somewhere close by people were having a barbecue or a cook out, and she smiled softly.

The taxi pulled away slowly and Stringfellow Hawke walked purposefully up to Ginny, and taking her hand in his own, pulled her along behind him as he began to walk quickly along a narrow sandy path between the sand dunes.

As they reached the top of a small rise the whole panorama came into view, and as well as the beautiful, writhing blue ocean and the endless unblemished golden sand, Ginny McBride immediately spotted the patriotically painted Santini Air jeep, parked amongst the dunes, and her heart skipped a beat.

"String?" Ginny tugged on his hand, but her escort remained silent and determined, as he spotted two people further down the beach, standing around a cheerful wood fire. "String …."

Nancy Fitzgerald was having a ball.

Dominic Santini was a real sweetheart of a man, charming, funny, attentive to her every need, and he always had a story to entertain her with.

He was regaling her now with one of his adventures over Germany during the war, swigging beer from a bottle, and laughing heartily while she tended to the thick, juicy beef steaks, sizzling merrily on the grill over the driftwood fire he had built for the purpose.

Dominic had also set out a small rug on the uneven sand, on to which Nancy had set out small pots and tubs and jars of condiments, sauces, salads, paper plates and plastic cutlery, as well as a small wicker basket with burger baps and chunks of crusty garlic bread.

He was a nice man.

A good man.

A treasure of a find, especially at her age.

She didn't kid herself that she was a slip of a girl any more, and her looks had gone a long time ago.

But, she tried.

Making sure that her greying, faded red blonde hair was always neatly done, her clothes flattering, and suited to a woman of her age, and stature, and her makeup perfectly applied.

She carried a few extra pounds here and there, but then again, so did Dominic.

And it certainly didn't seem to bother him, when his mood turned amorous ….

However, the thing that Nancy Fitzgerald found most appealing about Dominic Santini was his good old fashioned sense of chivalry.

He was a real gentleman.

And, that here was a man who really knew how to have fun.

Every time she saw him, she lost a little more of her heart to him.

Silly old fool ….

No, make that, fools ….

The both of them!

Acting like a couple of teenagers!

But, it felt good to be so happy and carefree.

He made her feel so young.

He was telling her now about some escapade ….

If she was honest, she wasn't really listening, just enjoying seeing that wide, gap toothed smile on his lovely face, as he took a swig of beer and laughed and laughed ….

As she lifted her gaze to watch him again, after turning one of the steaks over so that it would cook perfectly on the other side, Nancy saw Dominic's face change, briefly.

A slow, wide, beautiful smile, filled with such love and tenderness and warmth, radiating out from his very heart, lit up the older man's face, his rheumy blue grey eyes twinkling brightly.

Curious to know what had put such a joyous and magnificent look on Dominic's face, Nancy followed his gaze and found that he was watching someone approach.

A young man, clad in a light brown suit, and darker brown neck tie, wading purposefully through, and stumbling occasionally, in the loose sand at the base of the dunes.

"String!" Santini raised his hand slowly and waved.

Then, just as suddenly, Nancy watched as Dominic Santini's expression changed again, as he realised that the young man was not alone.

A slender young woman, clad in a loose flowing pretty blue dress emerged from behind the young man, shoes dangling from her fingers as she struggled to maintain her balance in the loose sand, and keep up with the young man's longer strides.

She had obviously stopped to take off her shoes, and was now rushing to catch up with her friend.

Nancy Fitzgerald was puzzled by the look on Dominic Santini's face now.

Astonishment.

No, wait ….

Poleaxed.

Stricken.

Yes, like he had taken a blow to his solar plexus.

A gut punch.

It was an expression that she had heard used often, but had never seen it.

Poleaxed.

A frown began to mar Nancy's features, as she watched the stunned look on Dominic Santini's face slide into something else now.

Something ugly.

Murderous.

A murderous expression.

Again, something that she had often heard used, but had never thought to see it.

She could see it now, on Dominic Santini's face, and it turned her blood cold in her veins.

Such anger.

Such hatred.

Dear God, who were these people?

One he obviously loved so deeply.

The other he hated equally as passionately.

"Dominic?"

"Go sit in the jeep," he growled at her through clenched teeth, never taking his eyes off the young couple making their way toward them.

"What about all this?" she pointed to the various pots, plates and cutlery, but he remained stone faced.

"Leave it," he hissed. "It's not important."

"Dominic? What's going on?"

"Just do as I ask. Please," he hissed once again, and reached out to give her a gentle push. "Go on. I'll be right there, honey."

"I don't know what the hell is going on here, Dominic."

"I'll explain everything in a little while, but for now, please just do as I ask, Nancy."

Watching the tight expression on his face, and the anger burning brightly in his eyes, Nancy Fitzgerald nodded gently, reached out to give his gnarled old hand a tender squeeze, then letting out a soft sigh she turned around, walking away without a backward glance.

Silly old duffer!

However, she could not help thinking that whatever that was all about, it was serious.

She had never seen Dominic look so …. Angry.

Outraged.

His hot Latin temper barely under control.

Yet, even then, his first thoughts had been for her.

To spare her having to witness the ugly scene she just knew was coming.

As she walked away, Nancy Fitzgerald could not help feeling a little worried over Dominic Santini.

Anger like that, held under rigid control, couldn't be good for anyone's heart, or blood pressure.

But, she also silently blessed him for his thoughtfulness and consideration.

Dominic Santini did not take his eyes off Stringfellow Hawke and his companion, as they walked up the beach toward him.

In truth, no matter how hard he tried, he could not take his eyes off the young woman.

It was like he had been transported back to the past.

Korea.

Eve Archer.

Tall, slender limbed, willowy, shoulder length caramel coloured hair pulled back off her lovely heart shaped face and secured in her neck by pins or some such ….

Piercing blue eyes.

The girl could be her twin.

His heart was thumping against his ribs, and his fists were clenching at his sides as he watched them getting closer, oblivious to the scent of burned meat, as, left unattended, the steaks on the grill began to char and send up acrid blue smoke.

"Dominic," Hawke greeted the older man in a low, gruff voice, the look on his face equally angry, and determined, as the two men squared off.

"String," Dominic grunted.

"This is Ginny …."

"I know who she is," Dominic cut him off abruptly. "You just couldn't leave it be, could you?" he added with as much dignity and control as he could manage, despite the bitter bile rising in the back of his throat and the anger tightening his chest.

Betrayed once again by someone he loved..

"I wanted you to meet her. I wanted you to see …."

"I see," Santini sneered. "Oh yeah, I see …. And, now I've seen, I don't want to see no more …."

"Mr Santini?"

Dear God, she even sounded like Eve! Santini thought with a heavy heart and tears threatening in the corners of his eyes.

"Forgive my bluntness, miss, but you ain't welcome here," Santini sneered again, turning on his heel to kick sand over the flames of the driftwood fire now.

"Mr Santini …."

"I don't have nothin' to say to you," Santini pinned her with a cold, hard look then. "Nothing."

"Mr Santini. Please …. I …." Ginny stammered breathlessly, looking from Hawke to Santini and then back to Hawke in confusion.

"Dom, this wasn't her idea …."

"Oh, I know that, String. This is all your doin'. Got your finger prints all over it!" Santini snarled. "I can't believe you did this! You, of all people. Guess I really don't know youanymore, either, and I can't bear to look at you anymore," his voice was low now, and throbbing with anger.

"Dominic," Hawke gave him an imploring look, but Santini just glared back at him, unmoved. "If you would just …."

"I'm going to leave now. Before we say, or, do something we'll both regret …."

"Dominic, be reasonable! Please," Hawke beseeched now, unable to comprehend his old friend's completely irrational and uncharacteristic anger.

Santini ignored the younger man now, concentrating as he kicked more sand on the dying flames of the fire and watched the smoke rising for a moment, before turning on his heel to scoop up the sand spattered rug and its contents, bundling them all together, as he marched without further comment, back up the beach toward where he had parked the Santini Air jeep.

"That went well …." Stringfellow Hawke sighed impatiently as he watched the old man's departing back, his rage evident in the stiff way he carried himself as he hurried back up the beach.

"You think?" Ginny managed in a small, choked voice and Hawke turned around to find tears cascading silently down her pale cheeks.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry," he reached out for her then and pulled her into the circle of his arms.

"Why does he hate me so much?" she sobbed, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt, her slender shoulders shaking as grief consumed her and the hot tears flowed.

"I don't know," Hawke drew her closer, gently rubbing his hand lightly up and down her back comfortingly. "That's just it, Ginny, that's what I can't understand," he told her, bending to gently press his lips into the hair on the top of her head.

"It's just not like him. I've never seen him like this before …."

"God, String, what did she do to him?" Ginny sobbed, clinging to him. "What did she do to make him hurt so badly?"

"I don't know, honey, but I sure intend to find out."

In the distance Stringfellow Hawke heard the familiar rumble of the Santini Air jeep's engine as it caught, and then the screech of tires as the vehicle roared away from the beach.

Almost at the same time, Ginny disengaged herself from his embrace, her pale face awash with tears, and her lovely features arranged in an expression that Hawke had not seen on her face before.

Anger.

She pushed away from him then and fixed him with angry, accusing deep cobalt blue eyes.

"I asked you not to get involved," she said in a small, sad voice, and Hawke felt his heart grow heavy in his chest. "But, dammit, you couldn't resist playing Sir Galahad!"

He reached out then to try to take her hand, but she pulled it away quickly.

"No," She glared at him. "No!"

With that she turned on her heel and began to walk quickly up the beach in the same direction that Dominic Santini had departed in, and Stringfellow Hawke stood rooted to the spot, watching her go. Shoulders hunched, head down, her whole bearing one of misery and confusion.

Hawke let out a deep sigh.

He knew that she had every right to be pissed at him.

He had blown it.

Big time.

He hadn't thought it through properly.

Acted purely on impulse, torn between his need to help Ginny McBride, and to get to the bottom of what was bothering his oldest and dearest friend.

Yet, he hadn't expected Dominic Santini to react so angrily.

Hawke had hoped that confronted with Ginny McBride, in person, Dominic might find it in his heart to talk to the girl.

Maybe even realise that a few simple, well chosen, kindly words would be enough to satisfy her need to know more about the woman her mother had been, and then she would have been out of his life.

Forever.

And, maybe Hawke's life, too.

Hawke had never seen Dominic look like that before.

The very fact that he had remained so calm and controlled spoke to Hawke of the true intensity of the older man's anger.

His rage.

And Hawke knew that he had badly misjudged the situation, and the depth of his old friend's feelings.

Damn.

He was such a jerk.

Too late for regrets now. The damage was done.

Perhaps irreparably.

Hawke watched Ginny McBride stalk away from him, trudging through the loose sand, without so much as a backward glance, until she disappeared behind another large sand dune further down the beach.

He wondered if he should go after her.

Then he thought better of it.

She obviously needed time to herself.

He sat down heavily at the bottom of a dune and reached out, grabbing a fistful of the fine golden sand, allowing it to run through his fingers, only to be snatched away by the breeze, staring absently out to sea.

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

The opening lines of the William Blake poem, Auguries of Innocence, kept running through his mind, as the minute grains of sand ran through his fingers, and Hawke realised that he had as much control over the events in his own life, as he did over the fate of each of those grains of sand.

He had no idea how long he sat there, watching the movement of the ocean and the gulls circling, as they sought out whatever sustenance they could pick out of the churning waves, but, he was aware that the tide had turned, that the ocean was slowly encroaching up the beach, and that the breeze had picked up, turning chilly.

The sun would be going down soon.

If she didn't return in a few minutes, Hawke decided, he would have to go looking for Ginny.

Thinking about her made him turn his gaze back down the beach to where Ginny had disappeared, and his heart leapt in his chest when he spotted her making her way back toward him, slowly, laboriously, her movements slow and weary, as though her legs were heavy and would not carry her.

As he watched, her legs seemed to buckle beneath her, and she fell heavily to the sand.

Instantly Hawke was on his feet and sprinting down the beach toward her, dropping to his knees beside her lifeless body as she lay, face down in the soft sand, turning her over gently.

She was as limp as a rag doll in his hands, and he was appalled to see that her face was so pale it was practically colourless.

Her breathing was ragged and laboured, her lips turning blue as he slipped his arms under her shoulders and gathered her close to him.

Her flesh was cold, her arms, her hands.

Her head flopping lifelessly, as he pulled her upper body close to his own.

She let out a soft moan, and her eyelids began to flutter open.

"Ginny?"

"String," she tried to reach out with her hand to stroke his cheek, but her arms felt as though they were weighted down. "Cold," she murmured as she struggled to sit up, with his assistance.

Immediately Hawke shrugged out of his suit jacket and lifting her carefully put it around her shoulders.

The jacket buried her, but Hawke thought that was no bad thing, as he pulled it tightly around her shoulders and chest, gently rubbing his hands up and down her arms, encouraging the blood to flow and heat to return to her limbs.

"My God, Ginny," he gasped breathlessly, still shocked by what he saw, unable to stop himself from thinking that she might die, there, in his arms.

And for a moment, an image of Gabrielle, as she lay dying in his arms in the fierce heat of the Libyan desert, flashed before his eyes.

"I'm all right," Ginny forced her lips into a weak smile, to reassure him, and willing his heart to stop racing in his chest, and telling him self not to be so damned foolish, that this was not the same thing at all, Hawke noted now that she did indeed seem to be rallying a little now.

There were tiny spots of colour returning to her cheeks now and the sparkle was returning to her eyes.

"Liar," he breathed, cradling the back of her head and drawing her closer to him for warmth, and comfort and support, and as she buried her face into the fabric of his shirt, Hawke could feel her scalding tears soaking though the thin material.

"Ginny, this isn't just low blood sugar, is it?" he asked gently, easing her away from him so that he could look down into her pale, tear washed face.

"Sure it is. Just walked too far," she offered weakly.

"Ginny," He stopped her with a hard look now. "I want the truth."

"No!" Ginny reached up with shaking fingers to press them against his lips, silencing him and giving him an imploring look. "No, my love. You don't."

Her arms snaked up around his neck then and she pulled him close, not wanting to see the anxious, fearful, stricken look on his face, and the pain and confusion in his arresting blue eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder, letting out a deep sigh.

"Take me home," she whispered into his ear, a shiver running down her spine as the breeze tugged at her hair and her clothes.

"Can't," Hawke replied in a thick voice, his mind in turmoil as he tried to work out what was happening to her. For it was painfully obvious to him, that there was indeed something seriously wrong with Ginny. "Taxi won't be back for another half an hour," he confessed raggedly.

When he had paid the driver, he had asked him to return to pick them up in a couple of hours, giving him an extra large tip to encourage him to agree to return.

"That was clever," ,he murmured close to his ear, but there was no sarcasm in her voice.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I mean, it really was clever, thinking to ask him to come back for us," she drew back from his shoulder now and gave him a smile. "I don't think I could walk another step, and you'll break your back if you have to carry me back to the motel," she teased.

"No, Ginny, I mean, I'm sorry …. About all of this," Hawke sighed. "I'm a dumb sonofabitch!" he snarled in self deprecation.

"You did what you thought was right," she reached out now, with shaking fingers, to brush back a tendril of his hair, which the breeze had teased down onto his forehead. "You're not responsible for your friend's behaviour, String."

"I didn't know he would act that way, Ginny. Believe me."

"I do."

"I've never seen him like that. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know. Me, too."

Hawke's eyes travelled quickly over her face, taking in the big, tear filled, bloodshot, cobalt blue eyes, underpinned by dark smudges, in a bloodless face which had two small spots of colour on each cheek.

And saw something that almost stopped his heart dead in his chest.

Fear.

Whatever it was that had caused this sudden malaise, it had frightened her badly too.

"Ginny?" there was something in his expression, his tone of voice that simply tore at Ginny McBride's heart and she felt more hot tears stinging in her eyes now.

"Please, don't ask. I can't, not yet," she choked out now, wishing for all the world that she could reassure him.

That she could tell him the truth.

She loved him.

She was sure of it now.

And she felt sure that he loved her too.

It both gladdened her heart, and at the same time, broke it too.

The last thing that she had wanted was to hurt him.

But, it seemed that it was inevitable now.

"In time, I promise, my love, I'll tell you everything. Everything," she promised solemnly, then dropped her head back onto his shoulder and wrapped her arms more tightly around him. "But right now, hold me, please. Just hold me."

Hawke responded by crushing her slender body close to his chest and cupping the back of her head with a strong hand he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

They held on tightly to each other for several long minutes, and then Hawke withdrew from her, but, only long enough to rise up and dust the sand from his clothes, before helping Ginny to her feet.

She wobbled unsteadily, and instinctively Hawke reached out to her and scooped her up into his arms. She slipped her arms around his neck and rested her head against the solid wall of his chest, as he carried her slowly and carefully back up to the roadside to wait for the return of their taxi.

They spent the journey back to Ginny's motel room in silence, Ginny snuggled up close to Hawke, and the sun was setting as Hawke helped her out of the cab and paid the driver, before scooping her up into his arms once more.

"Don't leave me," She implored, clinging on to him tightly as he opened the door to her room and carried her inside. "Please, don't leave me."

"No," he spoke in a hoarse, low voice, as he carried her into the centre of the room and laid her down gently on the bed.

"Love me," she implored, pulling him down after her. "Let me love you?" she begged, her fingers already busying themselves with the buttons of his shirt.

"Yes," Hawke breathed, allowing her to guide his lips to hers, in the most tender of kisses. "Oh yes …."