Chapter Six

Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle.

Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska.

Day Twelve – Wednesday, February 22nd, 1984.

Late afternoon.

Back in the kitchen, Leigh Roland watched Dominic Santini work efficiently as he set about making coffee for the three of them, nibbling on a stale cookie she had found in the bottom of the cookie jar, at the back of the store cupboard beside the stove, more to appease Hawke than because she felt hungry.

She leaned wearily against the kitchen counter, aware as she did so of Hawke's silent scrutiny of her, unable to stop herself from wondering what it was exactly he saw when he looked at her, and what he was thinking and feeling, what was really going on behind those hooded, guarded eyes, and then she held the double swing fire doors open for Dominic Santini as he carried the hot coffee back into the recreation room and Hawke brought up the rear.

Again they all sat at the table where they had shared lunch, and she poured over the ledger, catching up on the day to day events at Whiteout Station whilst she had been away.

"Leigh?" Hawke prompted after she had been quiet for some time, absorbed by what was written on the lined pages before her in Wilhelm De Wit's neat, calligraphy script.

"Sorry …. I wasn't sure how far back to start, so I just picked up from when I left, a month ago. We don't know when this thing might have actually kicked off …." She reminded at his look of impatience.

"And?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. So far …."

"Then skip a few pages," Hawke suggested haughtily.

"Fine," she sighed deeply and flicked ahead a couple of pages, smothering a smile by raising her coffee mug to her lips now.

"And?"

"Ok …. Nothing unusual. Dr De Wit is writing mostly about the weather and general moral and the supplies that he needs, oh, wait, here's something …. Dated Monday 13th February …." She paused to read the entry with renewed interest.

"Leigh?" Hawke prompted somewhat impatiently now.

"Sorry …. It seems that it was a pretty ordinary day, but then there was a bit of excitement. They saw a shooting star," she grinned at Hawke then, revealing her small white perfect teeth.

"A shooting star?" Hawke echoed, frowning.

"Yes. A meteorite, I guess. It was quite late in the afternoon, and they knew that there was another storm brewing, but it seems that after a brief debate, Dr De Wit agreed to four men going out there to try to find the thing …."

"That's why they went out on the ice?" Hawke asked in incredulity, far from amused now. "To find a piece of damned rock?"

"Rock from another planet, maybe," Leigh Roland grinned at the sour expression on Hawke's face now.

"They got all excited about a piece of rock falling out of the sky?" Hawke drawled sarcastically now, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Leigh Roland. "They risked their damned lives for a piece of rock?" His expression revealed his disbelief that anyone could have been so reckless.

"They were scientists, Hawke," Leigh reminded in exasperation, easily able to imagine the reaction of most of her colleagues to the sight of the fiery meteorite streaking across the heavens, about to fall to earth not very far from their backyard.

They wouldn't have been able to resist it.

They would have been like a bunch of excited kids on Christmas morning, with the exception of Greg, whom she could well imagine, would have kept his head down and out of the way, leaving the others to do the actual dog work of retrieving it.

"They risked their lives every day, just living here. Simple things please simple minds, Hawke," she grinned again, imagining the buzz of excitement that had gone through the community, knowing all the personalities involved and the challenge they would have seen it as.

It would have been just too good an opportunity to pass up. No matter what the dangers or the risks.

Something new and exciting to focus their attention on.

Something to relieve the monotony.

"They would have seen it as a unique opportunity to study something rare," she smiled softly, and it was easy to see the fondness with which she held her colleagues written all over her face now.

"Who went out? Does it say?"

"Sure. Tyler Keegan, Sven Sorenson, Jean-Claude Dubois and Frank Coleman. Keegan drew the weapons and took the rifle and tranquilizer gun, as he was the certified marksman," Leigh briefly flicked her gaze back down to the written page before her then looked back up and continued.

"Apparently there was some uncertainty about their going, because of the time of day and the weather deteriorating, but everyone knew that if they waited until the storm cleared the following morning, they might never find it. I guess Dr De Wit weighed up all the pros and cons, decided that the risks were acceptable …."

Stringfellow Hawke found himself wondering if the Administrator had really had much choice, or if he had found himself influenced by the others.

However, as he mulled this over, Hawke saw Leigh Roland's expression change as she continued to read.

"So, they went out onto the ice to retrieve this ….. Meteorite, what then?" Hawke prompted, taking a sip of his coffee now and watching Leigh Roland's face closely as he did so.

"When they set off, everything was fine. They estimated that the meteorite had made landfall east of here, roughly a kilometre away, easily within walking distance, and the weather was clear and reasonably good. The general consensus was that they would easily make it there and back before nightfall and before the weather deteriorated again, but, then it looks like the wind changed direction suddenly and the storm closed in much quicker than they expected …. And the four men never made it back that night …."

That made sense to Stringfellow Hawke, and it accounted for why the weapons had not been returned to the Armoury Monday night.

"The next day, Tuesday 14th February, Dr De Wit sent out a rescue team on the snow mobiles. They searched from just after dawn until after lunch, when another storm front closed in, but they only found Sven Sorenson …."

Leigh Roland read aloud from the ledger now, her voice growing tight with anxiety.

"He was unconscious, from a blow to his head, suffering from exposure, barely alive, and had mild frost bite, so they brought him back here and Shane Preston saw to his medical needs, warming him up slowly with thermal blankets and an IV drip. When he was asked what had happened, Sven said that the storm had closed in really quickly and that after that, he couldn't remember what had happened to the others. He'd lost sight of them in the blizzard, then lost orientation himself. He tired to look for them, and almost fell down a crevice. He managed to pull himself out, but not before he lost his pack and his weapon. The next day he, Sven, was well enough to insist that he get on the supply plane, which arrived first thing on Wednesday morning and left again just after lunch …."

"And they just let him go? Just like that?" Hawke could not hide his surprise.

"His wife was about to have their first baby, Hawke. He couldn't risk being delayed by another storm," she reminded impatiently. "Besides, Dr De Wit might have wanted him to get some proper medical attention too."

Hawke nodded gently.

It was a reasonable assumption, and along with the man's anxiety about getting home to be with his wife, Dr De Wit might have felt that he had no choice but to let the only witness to a major incident simply fly away, perhaps hoping that once he was away from Whiteout and less stressed, Dr Sorenson might remember more about the incident and report it to the authorities back home in Sweden.

"What about the meteorite?"

"Doesn't say. Probably never found it, or if they did, it was lost with the other three men out there …."

Again she grew silent and sorrowful, and Hawke realised that she was probably thinking exactly the same as he was, at that moment.

That it had been a foolhardy exploit and an incredibly senseless waste of three lives.

"Then what?" Hawke prompted again, needing her to stay focused.

"They sent out another search party in the morning, Wednesday 15th February, although I suspect that they knew that it was useless by then. Again they found nothing. They extended the search, tried looking in a different direction, tried looking further afield, but still nothing," she paused briefly then to let out a deep, ragged sigh.

"Dr De Wit even talked the pilot into doing an aerial search, but he found no sign of any of them either, but then the pilot called off the search. He had no choice. They only had enough fuel left to get them back to Nome, and then the supply plane left. The storm closed in behind them …. Things went back pretty much to normal …."

"How is that possible? How can three men simply disappear like that?" Santini asked in incredulity now, setting down his coffee mug and reaching out for the pot to pour himself a top up of the steaming brew.

"Quite easily, Dominic," Leigh explained in a soft, sad voice. "A storm blows up, they get disorientated, succumb to the cold, fall and break a limb, or hit their heads, lose consciousness and get covered by the fresh snowfall, or the ice shifts and they fall into crevices …."

"So why didn't the pilot report the loss of these three men to Nome?" Hawke pondered out loud now, trying to disguise the shiver that ran down his spine as he envisaged the three men lost out there in the blizzard, totally disorientated and surely knowing that they were going to die ...

"There was probably a proper procedure, and Dr De Wit was a stickler for following procedures, remember. Legally they would probably have had to be reported to the appropriate authorities as missing persons, as no bodies were actually found, and no-one saw them die …." Leigh's voice quivered just a little now.

"Maybe the storm front was affecting the plane's radio equipment and the pilot didn't have time to give them a full brief at Nome …. Maybe he didn't want to say too much in front of Sven, God knows the man must have been feeling pretty bad about what had happened …. I don't know, Hawke …." Leigh Roland was growing agitated now. "I can only guess …."

"The storm doesn't explain the plane crashing, Leigh," Hawke pointed out. "The storm wasn't supposed to hit until hours after they were due to arrive at Nome …."

"I don't have any answers, Hawke, only what Dr De Wit wrote in the log!" She snapped back irritably. "Besides, Nature has her own timetable up here …." She scowled darkly back across the table at Hawke. "You can forecast your little heart out, but Ma Nature is unpredictable and carries on in her own sweet little way …."

"So what else does Dr De Wit say, honey?" Santini prompted now, noting the tension beginning to develop between the two young people again.

"Naturally, everyone was upset by what had happened and moral was quite low. Everyone keeping themselves to themselves and burying themselves in their work …."

She cast her eyes back down to the ledger and began to read once more, a frown soon marring her beautiful brow once more.

"What is it?"

"He mentions, but only in passing, that people are starting to feel a little off color. Nothing dramatic, just the odd sniffle or cough. He makes a comment about wishing I had come back with the supply plane, because a few of the folks were beginning to show symptoms of flu, and if there was going to be some kind of mini epidemic it would be handy to have is CMO around …."

"Which folks? Shane Preston?" Hawke probed now, shifting forward in his chair and pinning her with steely eyes.

"Yes. Shane was one of the first …. Then Hans and Torben, and Eunice and Sheila and a couple of the others …."

"Then what?"

"Then nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?" Hawke demanded with a frown.

"Just what I said. Nothing. Dr De Wit didn't write anything else after the last entry on the evening of Thursday 16th February. He indicates that there is a strange mood abroad, a melancholy hanging over everyone, but under the circumstances that would hardly be surprising," she reasoned softly. "Everyone dealing with their grief and the shock in their own ways …." She paused to take a breath and lowered her gaze back to the handwritten page before her.

"He goes on to mention that the storms are particularly fierce and that even he is feeling a little claustrophobic, and that tempers are a little short and that more people are reporting feeling a little under the weather, and that's it …."

Leigh Roland placed the ledger on the table between them and turned it around so that Hawke could read the details for himself, which he did with obvious frustration, noting as he did so that the previously neat and immaculate handwriting had begun to show a definite wobble here and there.

"Leigh …." Hawke paused, raising his eyes from the ledger, trying to chose his words carefully so as not to anger her again, as he watched her raise her coffee cup to her lips and take a sip. "This strange mood, this melancholy …. Could it have been the onset of severe isolation sickness …."

"What, all of them? All at the same time?" She spluttered. "Pretty bloody convenient! And pretty bloody unlikely too," she glowered at Hawke now as she wiped a dribble of coffee from her chin impatiently.

"You don't just suddenly flip. There are signs, specific symptoms, and everyone was well aware of what they were and kept a close eye on everyone else…."

"What symptoms?"

"Small things to begin with. People get a little touchy, over sensitive, maybe a little more emotional than usual. Then they may start to feel a little depressed, irritable, suffer insomnia. They begin to lose the ability to think rationally, experience mild claustrophobia, sudden, inexplicable mood swings, outbursts of irrational anger, mild paranoia …."

Leigh Roland's voice trailed away as Hawke arched an eyebrow cynically at her, immediately getting his silently made point.

"Everyone feels some of those things at some time, it doesn't mean you're going bonkers. If that were the case, I might be seriously concerned about you right now …."

Touché, Hawke thought sourly with a deep sigh and sensed Dominic Santini smirking into his coffee cup beside him.

"All I'm saying is that you don't just suddenly snap. Things start to get you down and the usual coping mechanisms get a little out of synch, but there are signs of it happening. People have different levels of tolerance, Hawke. Some succumb more quickly than others. Some fight it, and quite often bounce right back. It's totally implausible to believe that every single person on this station suddenly went loco at exactly the same time."

"Maybe that's not exactly how it happened …." Hawke conceded gruffly. "But just for arguments sake, suppose that enough of them became sick, they were able to overpower the others …."

"No, I'm sorry, Hawke. I just don't buy it. Something would have had to trigger them off …."

"And you don't think losing three men out there on the ice would do that?" Hawke snarled.

"We're not talking about a bunch of wimps here, Hawke! These were all very strong minded people. I'm not saying that it wouldn't have been upsetting, unsettling for them, but it wouldn't have tipped them over the edge either," Leigh reasoned now. "If you must know, I'm more concerned about the physical symptoms they were exhibiting."

"Oh?"

"I know it doesn't sound like much. A common cold, or flu, but when I left here, everyone had a clean bill of health. The supply plane had managed a couple of trips in the interim, but everyone remained well, so that means that the crew didn't bring anything nasty in with them …."

"Until this last trip …." Hawke finished for her, although silently he reminded himself that she had been feeling off color herself lately, and that she had been so desperate to get back here, it didn't seem to worry her too much about whatever germs she was carrying infecting everyone else here at Whiteout Station.

"Maybe. And that's what scares me, Hawke. If they brought something in with them, it was pretty fast acting!"

Hawke could see from the expression on her face that she was genuinely concerned now.

"Most diseases have an incubation period, sometimes as long as ten to fourteen days before the patient begins to display symptoms. Its how most diseases prevail and spread. In most cases, if you don't have any symptoms, every time you breathe, you're spreading it around without even knowing it," Leigh explained in professional tones now.

"If the crew of the supply plane did bring something in with them, it had a pretty short incubation period. Whatever it was, it just took a few hours to take effect and for people to become symptomatic. Frankly, I don't know of anything that acts that quickly." And the perplexed expression knitting her brow told Hawke all too clearly that she was searching her memory, but coming up with nothing.

"But it would explain why their plane crashed," Dominic Santini lent his voice now, after watching the proceedings in silence. "If they were sick …."

"But if they were that sick, someone would have noticed. Someone would have prevented them from leaving, if only for their own safety. If they had been symptomatic, Dr De Wit would have followed procedure and quarantined them here until they could find out what it was they were dealing with," Roland reasoned now, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth and chewing on it pensively.

"Leigh, is there any disease you know of that would cause both the physical and mental symptoms you mentioned?" Hawke quizzed now, his tone dark and ominous.

"No. Not that we're not discovering new things all the time …." She clarified, but not before noticing the foreboding expression now clouding the young man's face and realising the direction Hawke's thoughts were taking him again.

"Oh for crying out loud man, are we back to that?" She gaped at him, feeling certain that he was once again entertaining ideas that she and her colleagues had been sent to Whiteout Station to create some terrible new weapon, either chemical or biological, and was now fearing that somehow something nasty had got lose.

"'Struth! Did anyone ever tell you that you've got a bloody one track mind!" She railed, pushing back her chair now and swiftly rising to her feet in anger, tiny fists clenched so tight at her side her knuckles were white, tawny eyes ablaze with fury and grief and outrage.

"What the hell were you people really doing up here!" Hawke demanded, also rising to his feet, leaning forward across the table, forearms shaking with his anger, as they supported his weight, glaring at Leigh Roland with eyes filled with accusation and undisguised disgust.

"String!" Santini's tone held a note of warning as he reached out now to place a gentle, but restraining hand on Hawke's right forearm with his big left hand.

"No, Dom …." Hawke snarled, his gaze never leaving Leigh Roland's white face, knowing instinctively that she was still trying to hide something from him, and felt Santini's grip tighten around his arm, just a little.

"You don't understand, Dom. If whatever they were working on got lose, if they somehow lost control of it, then we could all have been exposed to it too …." Hawke hissed through clenched teeth and immediately felt Santini's grip on his arm relax in response, as the older man realised the implication of what he had just said.

"She's been hiding something from the beginning, Dom …." Hawke sneered now, leaning across the table, pushing his face closer to Leigh Roland. "What aren't you telling us, Leigh? What the hell were you people really doing!" He demanded again.

"I already told you once …."

"And I don't believe you!"

"Well tough!" She screamed back at Hawke now, feeling hot tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over through her fine gold tipped lashes and rushing down her cold, pale cheeks.

"You knew what happened here …." Hawke accused now, his face flushed and twisting into a nasty, hateful expression, glittering blue eyes boring into her. "And if you didn't know, you suspected!"

"Don't be ridiculous! If what you're saying is true, do you really think I would have been so stupid as to come rushing back here? To put both of you …. Myself, at risk?"

"Maybe you were sent here to cover up the truth?"

"You're crazy!" Leigh Roland retaliated.

God he was a hateful man!

A cruel, hateful, bully of a man!

How could he think such things of her?

She was a doctor, a healer, not a killer!

Why was he goading her like this?

"Enough!" Dominic Santini jumped to his feet now, raising his voice and tightening his grip on Stringfellow Hawke's arm, sensing the incandescent rage and tension flooding through the young man.

"I've had it with you two!" He roared, aware of Hawke breathing hard beside him, trying to reign in his anger, and watching Leigh Roland weeping silently, swaying alarmingly as though her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

"Sit down, doctor …." Santini said in softer tones, anxious that the young woman might faint at any moment. "And if you do know something about what happened here, I think you'd better start talking …." He advised, tugging gently on Hawke's arm now, encouraging the young man to retake his seat.

However, Leigh Roland did not do as she was asked, instead, she snatched up one of the hurricane lanterns, span around on her heel and forced her legs to carry her swiftly out of the recreation room, without a single backward glance, the sound of her harsh, ragged sobs echoing off the cold steel walls as she went.

"Dammit!" Hawke snarled, trying to wrestle himself out of Santini's suddenly vicelike grip.

"Don't make me hurt you again, String …." Santini warned in a low, hard voice, raising his meaty right clenched fist and flexed his fingers meaningfully, as he fixed the younger man with an angry glare now.

Hawke shrugged off Santini's hand now, however, still breathing hard, his expression glacial, his eyes cold and glistening with fury as they bored into the older man, he sank back into his seat and forced himself to take control of himself.

"That was real smart …." Santini accused, letting out a deep sigh as he picked up his chair, which had tipped over as he had jumped to his feet. "Real smart," he sat down wearily in the chair and regarded Hawke with undisguised disappointment and confusion.

"You saw her, Dom. She's hiding something," Hawke snarled, deliberately dragging his gaze away from Santini, ashamed of his behaviour and just a little shocked at how quickly he had lost control.

"Maybe she is …. But I don't think it's what you're thinking. She made a pretty valid point about putting us and herself at risk …."Dominic Santini pointed out in a soft, reasonable voice, feeling his heart rate gradually slowing, now that all the excitement was over.

Stringfellow Hawke stubbornly refused to look at Santini and remained silent.

"String …." Santini exhaled heavily, raising his right hand to rub it roughly over his face now. "I don't think that what just happened here had anything to do with this mission …."

Hawke opened his mouth to deny it, but then closed it again quickly, realising that his old friend was more astute than he realised.

"I told you something had to give …." Santini reminded, watching the younger man drawing in deep, calming breaths, piercing blue eyes still cold and hard and unforgiving.

Santini remained silent for several minutes watching his young friend wrestling to regain his composure, and then gave another deep sigh, deciding that he really didn't have anything to lose by speaking his mind. The young man was already angry.

"Why are you so eager to believe the worst about her, String? Why don't you want to trust her? Is it because she let you down once already?"

This drew a sharp look from Stringfellow Hawke, which then turned into a glower as the young man gave a huge, shoulder raising sigh.

Clever Dom.

You know me so well ….

"Leave it, Dom …." Hawke hissed through clenched teeth.

"Sure, son. How long would you like me to leave it this time? Long enough for the two of you to kill each other?" Santini retorted sarcastically.

"Dom …."

"Deal with it, String," Santini advised solemnly now, his tone lacking any kind of judgement or emotion.

If anything, Hawke found himself thinking, the older man was being rather more tolerant and sympathetic and understanding than Hawke had any right to expect in light of his recent behaviour.

"You've got to pull yourself out of this nose dive, kid, before you crash and burn!"

"I know I'm right about this, Dom …." Hawke continued to scowl.

"I know you think you're right, but you ain't exactly thinking clearly right now, String," Santini reminded gently.

"Ok, I figure you might be on the right track, about what you think happened to the people here, but I think you're wrong about Dr Roland," Santini told him without preamble, gently letting the younger man know that he was on his own with his animosity toward the lady doctor.

"Think about this for a while. If you're right, and something nasty is on the loose here, then she's in as much danger as we are. She might be a little highly strung, String, but she ain't stupid, and I don't think she has a death wish …."

Dominic Santini paused for affect, drawing in a deep breath, watching the sour, distrusting look on Hawke's face.

"If there was some kind top secret weapons development program going on up here, String, I'm pretty sure that Dr Roland wasn't involved, and didn't know anything about it. If she had …. Right here, right now, would be the last place on earth she would want to be, no matter how much she loves her husband," the older man reasoned gently.

"And if you are right, if we have been exposed to something nasty and we start to get sick …. She might also be the only person who could help us."

Hawke, feeling calmer and in more control of himself by the second, regarded Santini with cold eyes, but had to silently concede that his old friend had a valid point.

Maybe he was wrong about what went on here at Whiteout Station.

Maybe he was wrong about Leigh Roland too.

But then again, maybe he wasn't.

The only person who had any answers was Leigh Roland, and she had taken flight.

Again.

Why did she keep doing that?

Why couldn't she face him?

What was she so scared of revealing to him?

Was it possible that Dom was right, that it had nothing at all to do with their current situation, and everything to do with the past?

This thought sobered Hawke even more quickly.

She got mad when you pressed her about being sick …. When you asked her if she was pregnant ….

The thought flashed through his mind, unexpectedly.

She got mad when you asked her what she was hiding ….

If she's not hiding the truth about the research going on here at Whiteout ….

It has to be something from back then ….

"String?" Santini asked now, shifting forward in his seat to place his hand on the younger man's knee as he noticed the change in his expression, eyes growing wide with shock and all the color suddenly draining from his face as he swallowed down hard.

"Where did she go?" Hawke demanded through clenched teeth, his mind reeling, his stomach roiling and his heart tripping wildly in his chest, eyes darting around the recreation room in search of Leigh Roland, despite the fact that he knew that she was long gone.

Oh God ….

Was it possible?

Could it be?

"String, give her time to calm down," Santini advised softly, worried now by what he could see in his young friend's face.

"I have to talk to her …."

"You have to calm down and take things easy, String. If you go after her now, you'll only make things worse," Santini pointed out. "Going off at the deep end ain't exactly getting ya anywhere …." He gave Hawke an appealing look now and patted his knee gently. "C'mon kid, tell ole' Dom what ails ya …." He coaxed. "How bad can it be? I already know you love her."

This drew a sharp look of surprise from the younger man now.

"Yeah, that's right. Dumb old Dom already worked that much out for himself," Santini chuckled now. "And I guess it didn't turn out too well …. Did she find someone else?"

"I don't know …." Hawke responded quickly and gave a huge sigh, closing his eyes briefly as he sank deeper down into his chair and tried to organise his errant thoughts.

Slow down, buddy.

Think it through before you go rushing in.

Charging in like a bull in a china shop won't help, it will probably just make her run further and faster.

You've got to be calm.

You've got to encourage her to trust you, to confide in you ….

You won't get at the truth if you keep making her mad.

Easier said than done, with his heart racing in his chest and his hands shaking so badly, all he could think of was finding Leigh Roland, of confronting her, making her tell him the truth ….

"That's just it, Dom. I don't know what happened. When we parted, it was because we had to, there was no other choice, and we did so with only two promises. That in the short term, we would write to each other, and then the first chance I got, I would go back and we would see if we still felt the same way …. But …."

"I take it this happened some time back?"

"1971."

"What? Oh …. For heaven's sake String, the way you've been acting I thought it was maybe six months or a year back. You've been stewing on this for thirteen years?"

"Yeah,"

"So what happened …. How did you meet?"

"It was my second tour of 'Nam. I got some extraordinary leave. Wasn't very happy about it, and I couldn't come home …." Hawke raised sorrowful eyes to Santini now by way of a long overdue apology.

"I know kid. So you went to Sydney?" Santini guessed, trying not to feel hurt that the young man hadn't felt able to come home to visit with him.

It had been a long time ago, and a bad time emotionally for both of them.

"You see, my memory isn't failing me. I was sure it was you, not Sinjin, who told me about going to Sydney …." Santini digressed, but only briefly.

"Yeah," Hawke exhaled raggedly.

"And to cut a long story short, and spare you the embarrassment of going into detail, you went 'native' with a beautiful Aussie girl …."

"Something like that," Hawke allowed himself a ghost of a smile now.

"Been there, done that, kid, so don't think you're sparing me any blushes!" Santini chuckled again now. "You don't have a monopoly on being young and foolish!"

Santini winked at the younger man and Hawke let out a soft sigh, realising that he should have known that Dominic would understand, after all, he was a man of the world too.

"I wasn't always old and grey ya know!"

Santini let out a shout of genuine laughter at the bashful look now settling on Stringfellow Hawke's face.

"So, you fell in love. You thought she loved you too …" Hawke nodded now.

So what if it they had only had a month together?

It had been the most magical time of his life, and had filled him with such hope, such promise ….

It had only been a beginning, but all along Stringfellow Hawke had known that it was more than just a fleeting affair.

He hadn't committed himself, but he had also known that he could not simply walk away.

That it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to find the happiness he so desperately sought.

He had fallen in love with Leigh, and he had known from the first moment that he had kissed her that when he was done fighting in Vietnam, he would come back for her.

And instinctively, he had known that she would be there, waiting for him, because she loved him too, and believed as he did, that they belonged with each other.

So much for instinct!

"But, she never wrote …."

"No."

"But it was wartime, right? You figured no news was good news, and maybe her mail was just getting lost …. Maybe she had the wrong address and some other confused GI was getting your mail instead …."

"Yeah."

"And then when you got out of the Army, you went looking for her and …. found her with someone else?" Santini guessed now, his expression revealing that he thought that his young friend should have known that he was looking for trouble and heartache, but understanding that it was something that he had had to do.

"No. I went looking for her, yes, but she was gone …."

"Ah …."

"I don't know what happened, Dom. She just seemed to have disappeared, and I didn't have time to go hunting for her …."

"So you came home and got on with your life. What else could you do?" Santini nodded sagely now, recalling what Hawke had said about knowing Leigh Roland in another life, and that to his knowledge he had done nothing to scorn her, but that it was the other way around, and understanding much better now.

Santini also recalled how distant and shut off the young man had seemed when he had finally returned to his home in California, but that at the time, the older man had put it down to battle fatigue and shock, to his recent injury and his spell in the hospital, his guilt and grief over his brother's continued missing status, and trying to adjust back into civilian life after the horrors he had been forced to witness and participate in over there in that Asian hellhole.

Never once had it crossed his mind that there might be a girl somewhere in the mix.

"And then …." Santini prompted gently now.

"And then, suddenly there she is, and she's so damned mad with me you'd think I was the one who dumped her! I don't know why she's so mad, Dom. I loved her. I didn't give up on us, she did. I went back, but she wasn't there. What was I supposed to do? I didn't know if she was dead or alive …." Hawke gave a huge sigh and hung his had briefly.

"What is it, String?" Santini coaxed, suspecting that his young friend had thought of something else, and it was that which was troubling him deeply.

"I …. I need to speak with her Dom. I need to hear what she has to say …." Hawke made to rise from his seat, but again Santini stilled him with a gentle hand to his knee.

"I guess it's only fair you hear her side of it," Santini conceded. "Something has obviously hurt her pretty bad, String …."

"Dom, I think you're right …." Hawke raised his face again now as he spoke, and there was something so primitive and so haunting in his beautiful blue eyes, it tore at Dominic Santini's heart.

"She's not hiding something about Whiteout, or this mission, but she is hiding something. There is something that she doesn't want me to know, something that she's afraid to tell me …."

Hawke's voice trailed away on a ragged breath, and suddenly Dominic Santini thought he had an idea what the young man was thinking, and just as suddenly, it all began to make sense.

"Are you sure you want to know, String?" Santini asked in a low, solemn voice, giving the younger man a meaningful look now. "Are you sure you really wanna know?"

"Yeah, Dom," Hawke drew in a deep, ragged breath and expelled it a moment later as an equally deep sigh. "I'm sure …."

"And what if she's still not ready to tell you?"

"It's a risk I've got to take, Dom. I've waited twelve years to find out what happened to her, why she disappeared, and like you said, something's gotta give …."

"Maybe you should give her time to cool off a little first …." Santini suggested. "She looked like she was about to spontaneously combust when she rushed out of here …." He reminded, throwing the younger man a wry smile now.

"All the more reason not to give her too much time alone to plot how she is going to murder me in my sleep …."

/a

As Leigh Roland hurried away from Stringfellow Hawke's nasty, sneering face and suspicious, accusing eyes, her feet had automatically carried her to the one place, other than the room she had shared with Greg Chandler and had thought of as home, where she knew that she would feel safe.

However, before she had reached sickbay, she had had to take a detour to the nearest bathroom, the violence of her sobs making her feel very sick, spending several uncomfortable minutes dry heaving over a chemical toilet bowl and calling herself all kinds of fool for allowing Hawke to get to her.

Finally dragging herself to sickbay, Leigh Roland closed the door behind her and engaged the lock, then forcing herself to ignore the still and silent body of her friend, Shane Preston, lying on a gurney in the centre of the room, covered with a thin green sheet, she had hurried to the far end of the lab and locked herself in her office, leaning heavily against the door and sliding slowly down to the floor, into a heap of abject misery, bringing her knees up into her chest and burying her head in her hands as she continued to sob uncontrollably.

Damn him!

What the hell did he want from her?

What did he think he was doing?

How could he be so cruel and so harsh and so bitter?

Why was he so distrustful, so hell bent on disbelieving her?

Damn him!

Didn't he know how difficult all this was for her, without his ridiculous suspicions and accusations?

She didn't need this!

You can't let him keep doing this to you!

Dammit woman, you're stronger than this!

Pull yourself together and start acting like the calm, intelligent professional that you are!

All this undignified snapping and snipping and weeping and wailing just isn't like you, girl, so get a damned grip!

He's just letting his imagination and his mouth run away with him ….

In truth, he's just as much in the dark about all of this as you are, and he's coming at it from a different direction.

Let's face it, you don't know squat about him and what he does, aside from flying that incredibly beautiful, but nevertheless deadly helicopter.

Maybe coming across like James Ruddy Bond isn't just an act!

His world might be dark and filled with intrigue and danger and reasons to be distrustful, where he has to live on his wits and his nerve and be constantly vigilant and suspicious about everything and everyone ….

But in your world, you place your trust in science, on solid facts.

So use your head, idiot, and find some facts.

Some solid proof.

Something that he has to believe with his own eyes and can't shoot down in flames.

Make the wretched man believe you!

There has to be some clue, there just has to!

At last her sobs subsided, but she remained sitting on the cold linoleum floor, face still awash, her hair unkempt and clinging to her cheek in ragged uneven tufts, her hands shaking so violently she had to clasp them together around her knees to keep them still, Leigh Roland tried to organise her thoughts, tried to piece together what she had learned from Dr De Wit's log, but she could not shake Hawke's harsh, accusing expression from her mind, nor his ridiculous suspicions.

What if he had a point?

Oh, not about the chemical or biological weapons.

He was way off beam with that ….

It was complete nonsense. She knew that for an absolute fact.

But, what if he was right, and something nasty had gotten lose on the station?

Think about it ….

She admonished herself sternly.

You made the connection yourself.

You were more worried about the sudden physical illness Dr De Wit wrote about than the possibility of everyone losing their minds due to severe isolation sickness ….

She had been so adamant that Hawke was wrong …. But now she couldn't stop thinking about the generators, the radio and the disarray in the Armoury, the obvious violence, the fury of the frenzied attacks on the equipment and the destruction of the weapons ….

Ok, she could see where Hawke was coming from, but it still didn't add up.

And if not severe isolation sickness ….

What?

What could induce insanity as well as produce the symptoms of an upper respiratory tract infection?

What could act so quickly? Getting a hold in less than twenty four hours?

And how was it introduced to the population here at Whiteout?

Think dammit!

Think!

Rising slowly to her feet at last, her backside and legs so cold she could barely feel them, Leigh released the lock on the office door and took a tentative step into the frigid main sickbay and again felt her heart trip in her chest as she allowed her gaze to settle on the body of Shane Preston.

The answers have to be here ….

She knew what she had to do, but she didn't think that she could face it right now.

The thought of defiling her friend sickened her ….

"Leigh!" Stringfellow Hawke's loud, insistent voice suddenly split the silence, along with thudding sound of his fist pounding on the door, making her jump.

Damn him!

Not now, Hawke ….

"Leigh, please, open the door!"

Why couldn't he leave her alone!

She needed to think.

She needed to concentrate, and how the hell was she supposed to do that with all that damn racket going on!

"Leigh, I know you're in there!"

Hawke continued to call out her name and pound on the door, although, she had to admit that he didn't sound angry, so much as anxious about her.

"Please, open the door, Leigh. We need to talk …."

More pounding.

"I know you're in there, Leigh. Answer me, please!"

The note of anxiety in his voice increased and fleetingly, Leigh couldn't help feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction.

"Leigh, please …."

"Go away!" She yelled back in frustration, raking her shaking fingers through her messy hair, wanting to tear it out by the roots but resisting the desire, knowing that even that small amount of physical pain would not relieve her of the pain she was feeling in her heart right now.

What is it with this man!

"Leigh, I'm sorry …."

"Go away! I'm busy!"

"Leigh …."

"I'm working! And I can't think straight with all that damned noise! Now bugger off and leave me alone!" She railed.

"Leigh …."

In the frigid corridor outside sickbay, Stringfellow Hawke winced at Leigh Roland's quaint turn of phrase, and let out a deep sigh as he cast a wary glance toward his companion, Dominic Santini, then again made a token protest, even though he knew that it was pointless.

"Leigh …."

At least she had responded and Hawke took some small comfort in that.

When he and Dominic Santini had realised that she hadn't gone back to her room, Hawke's mind had presented him with all kinds of horrific images of Leigh lying unconscious on the floor some place cold and dark where they would never find her ….

And then he had realised where she would be, and again he had feared that by pushing her for answers, he might just have pushed her over the edge ….

At least she was safe.

But, she was still mad.

And, he conceded silently to himself, she had a right to be.

Obviously she wasn't ready to let him off the hook just yet, and there was nothing that he could do about.

He certainly wasn't going to get any of the answers he sought from her while she was still so upset.

If she would ever be willing to give him any answers at all …. A little voice niggled at the back of his mind.

Maybe she would simply refuse to talk to him, and he would be left with yet another uncertainty for the rest of his life.

"Be reasonable, Leigh You can't possibly work in this cold …." Hawke tried reasoning with her now. "Please Leigh. You don't need to do this right now. Come back to the rec room. You need to keep warm …. You can do this in the morning, when we've had a chance to warm the room up a little for you …."

"I'm fine. Look, I told you, I'm working. Now let me get on with it …."

Leigh kept her tone low and even, clenching her fists at her side and squeezing her fingernails deep into her palms in a bid to stop the grief and heartache and despair she was feeling from creeping into her voice.

She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much he had hurt her.

Nor would she let him see that his genuine concern for her wellbeing was even more heartbreaking than his irrational anger.

Reminding her so much of the sweet, sensitive, gentle boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago ….

Damn him!

How could he do that?

How could he turn the tables on her like that, just by showing her a little compassion!

Well, it wouldn't wash, dammit!

It was too little, too late.

She would rather have his anger and spite and disgust. She could deal with that.

She didn't want or need his damned pity!

She didn't want or need him, period!

She just wanted him to leave her the hell alone!

"You want answers, then leave me alone to do my job. I'll let you know what I found, when I'm done …."

"Leigh …." Hawke made another half hearted attempt, even as he felt the weight of Dominic Santini's hand coming to rest on his shoulder and turned to find his old friend shaking his head and giving him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry …. I didn't mean …."

"Forget it Hawke," she cut him off abruptly. "You have a right to your opinion."

"Leigh, please …." He implored now.

"I'm ok …." She shouted back in what she hoped was a more confident and calm and reassuring voice, continuing to look at Shane Preston's lifeless body knowing what she had to do and that she couldn't put it off any longer.

The sooner they had answers, the sooner this would be over and done with.

"Look, just let me get on with it will you, please. This is going to take some time, but it'll take even longer if you don't let me concentrate …. No point us all freezing to bloody death. Go and get some rest. Doctor's orders."

"C'mon String, let the lady do her thing …." Santini encouraged, giving the younger man's shoulder a brief squeeze, then frowned at the look that suddenly clouded Hawke's face. "What?"

"I guess she made her feelings pretty clear," Hawke sighed raggedly, his breath erupting in a plume of water vapor in the freezing air.

"Huh?"

"Seems the lady would rather lock herself in a freezing cold room with a corpse, than face spending time with me …. What does that tell you?" Hawke hissed through his teeth, and Dominic Santini rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation as the younger man pulled away and stalked back up the corridor in frustration.

/a

In the overwhelming emptiness that followed Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini's departure, the only sound aside from her erratic breathing, the comforting hiss of the hurricane lantern on the floor in her office where she had left it, Leigh Roland had to concede that Hawke did have a point about it being too cold to work efficiently or effectively.

Sickbay was, for all intents and purposes, a giant ice box, and trying to perform an autopsy on a semi frozen body wasn't something that she would even contemplate attempting under normal circumstances.

But, these were not normal circumstances.

And whilst she might not be able to conduct a complete post mortem, she would be able to do a close enough examination of Shane Preston's body to determine the cause of his untimely death, and perhaps reveal some clue as to what had happened to the other scientists.

Leigh Roland gulped in several deep, calming breaths and willed her hands to stop shaking, her knees to stop knocking together and her heart to stop racing, as she walked over to the box of equipment that Hawke had left on the counter on the other side of the room earlier, and after flipping open the lock, pulled out the neatly wrapped sections of a microscope, and other pieces of equipment that she would need, and set them out carefully, then after setting up the microscope and checking that it was correctly calibrated, she lined up test tubes and slides in readiness then she reluctantly shrugged out of the heavy Parka coat, because it was too cumbersome to work in, and donned several layers of surgical gowns over her clothes, a face mask and two pairs of latex surgical gloves.

The cold was already making her movements slow and disjointed as she laid out all the instruments she would need to carry out the rudimentary procedure, and she knew that Stringfellow Hawke was right.

She had already been away from the heat for too long, her mind and her body were slowing down due to the excessive cold.

She would have to make this as quick as she could, and then get back to the warmth of the recreation room, even if it did mean that she had to come face to face with her tormentor again so soon, if she didn't want to risk succumbing to hypothermia.

With only the one hurricane lantern, she realised that she would be struggling for light too, but it was the best that she could do, so she would just have to manage.

It wasn't ideal, but the job still had to be done.

Poor Shane ….

It wasn't like he was in a position to complain, after all ….

Flexing fingers made stiff by the cold and awkward by the twin layers of latex, finally Leigh Roland knew that she could put it off no longer, and made herself approach the body on the gurney.

She knew that her reluctance stemmed from the fact that the man lying there had been such a good friend, so warm and vibrant and full of life only a few days before, a good friend to herself and to Gregory, and he didn't deserve this indignity.

If it were anyone else lying there, with the exception of Greg, or maybe Hawke, she would have approached it with her usual calm, professional poise and dignity, cool and detached, curious to get the answers she sought, and without hesitation.

Thank God it isn't Greg ….

Or even Stringfellow Hawke for that matter ….

I'm sorry mate, so sorry ….

She felt a shudder run through her body as, reaching out, hands still trembling, Leigh Roland slowly pulled back the thin green sheet covering Shane Preston's face and let out a deep, ragged sigh.

"I'm sorry …." She reached up and pushed back a tendril of soft brown hair which had fallen untidily over his brow, with infinite care and tenderness, feeling her legs shaking and her heart racing in her chest.

"So sorry, Cobber …. I'll be as gentle as I can …. Forgive me …." She murmured in a soft voice, dragging in a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly, as she fought down the sob which was stuck behind a huge lump in her throat, and summoned up the strength to do what needed to be done, and then she straightened up and turned away from her friend's face and forced herself to concentrate on the task ahead.

/a

Stringfellow Hawke's eyes instantly flew wide open, his keen ears alerting him to the soft swishing and sucking sound of the double swing fire doors opening and closing on the other side of the recreation room, despite the soft, rumbling snores of his sleeping companion, Dominic Santini.

Hawke had not been sleeping.

No such luxury for him.

His mind was far too active, racing in several different directions all at the same time, effectively keeping sleep at bay, despite the fact that he was bone weary and feeling more than a little drowsy now that he was warm and his body relaxing.

When Leigh Roland had not emerged from Whiteout Station's sickbay after an hour locked inside with the body of Shane Preston, Hawke had been all set to go drag her out of there, but Dominic Santini had reasoned with him that she had to come out of there sooner or later, if only to answer the call of nature, and that he had to trust that she would know when she had reached the limit of her physical endurance.

When it became clear that Hawke was no longer in the mood to talk, Santini had headed back to the kitchen and rummaged around in a few cupboards, looking for something to snack on, muttering to himself about wishing he could lay his hands on a juicy steak or a cheese burger, or a nice pork chop, and then, disappointed and dissatisfied, nibbling on a handful of dry crackers, he had returned to the recreation room, settled himself on the mattress closest to the heater and suggested that they both try to get a little sleep.

It had been a long and trying day for everyone, and Hawke knew that his old friend was right. They would all think more clearly after getting some much needed rest.

However, that had proved easier said than done for the younger man.

Whilst Dominic Santini had slipped easily into a deep and peaceful slumber, almost immediately his head hit the pillow, sleep had continued to elude Stringfellow Hawke.

He had settled down on the centre mattress of three, laid side by side, staring up at the ceiling for a while, watching the dancing shadows, then closed his eyes, even though he had known that sleep was a long way off.

He had lain there with no idea of how much time had passed, listening to Dom's intermittent rumbling snorts and whimpers, the wind howling like a banshee around the corners of the metal Nissan huts and whistling through the gaps in the eaves over head, the soft hiss of the hurricane lantern and the occasionally puttering of the gas space heater, punctuated by his own rapid, irregular heart beat pounding in his ears, as he tried to sort out the jumble of snatched, fragmented memories and unsettling thoughts tumbling crazily through his mind.

Now, instantly alert and wide awake, he sat bolt upright and focused his eyes on the set of swing doors across the room, immediately finding Leigh Roland standing just inside the doorway, her face white, eyes dull and lifeless, body visibly shaking and watched with horror as her legs gave way beneath her and she sank lifelessly to the floor.

Instantly Hawke sprang off the mattress, scrambling out of the thermal sleeping bag he had wrapped around himself, and reaching out, grabbed a blanket from the empty mattress beside him as he rushed across the room on long, swift strides.

"Leigh …." He hunkered down before her, eyes anxiously taking in her pallor, and shallow, ragged breathing, and the fact that she wasn't wearing the heavy Parka coat, then without thought or hesitation, or a care as to whether she would protest or not, Hawke reached out and gathered her limp body to him, draping the thick blanket around her narrow shoulders, before gently hoisting her up into his arms.

She was so cold, cradled in his arms, Hawke could feel it penetrating through his own clothes as he held her body, pressed close to his own and he hurried back across the room knowing that he had to get her warm as quickly as he could.

She was shivering and shaking, despite the fact that she was unconscious, and Hawke somehow knew that that could not be a good sign. It meant that her core body temperature was too low and she was chilled to the bones.

She might even be hypothermic.

Hawke felt his anger flare, briefly, at her utter stupidity, but it was a futile waste of energy and temper and he shoved it to one side as he carried her across the room toward the heat and light.

Leigh let out a soft little moan as Hawke carefully lowered her down on to the mattress he had just vacated, knowing that it was closer to the heater, and would still retain some of his own body heat, and then he followed her down, carefully sliding down beside her, pressing his chest and abdomen against her back, spoon like, as he pulled Leigh's frail body close to his own, wrapping his arms around her tightly as he drew the blanket around them both, and then tried to rub some heat into her arms, and back and legs, encouraging the blood to flow around her body a little more vigorously.

Leigh Roland made no protest, but Hawke soon became aware that she had regained consciousness when he felt her body trembling as silent sobs wracked her slender frame and she fought to drag in gulping, ragged breaths between sobs.

"Sh, it's alright, Leigh, hush now. We have to get you warm …." Hawke soothed in a gentle voice, feeling her body quaking and trembling violently and he squeezed her reassuringly, praying that she would not turn on him and push him away, all the time cursing himself for not following his instinct and going to drag her away when he had thought about it earlier.

He should have known that she would become so engrossed in what she was doing, in trying to find a way to stick it to him, no doubt, and prove to him once and for all that what she and her colleagues had been doing here was entirely innocent, she had lost track of the time, and given no thought to her own safety and wellbeing.

"It's ok Leigh, I'm not going to hurt you …." Hawke rasped breathily when he felt her pulling away from him, fearing that she had come to her senses and remembered how mad she was with him and that even though he was only trying to help her, she still couldn't bear for him to touch her.

However, Leigh Roland surprised him by moving away from him, but only to allow herself the room to turn over and face him, then, with barely enough time for him to register that her face was glistening, in the soft glow of the hurricane lanterns and the golden light from the gas space heater, her face awash with tears, she threw herself at him, burying her face in the fabric of his coat at his shoulder and clung to him with all her might as more silent sobs wracked her body.

Stringfellow Hawke wrapped his arms around her more tightly and wracked his brain for the right thing to say.

However, there were no words of comfort or support, or even words of hope that he could offer to her at that moment, and he would not lie to her, would not tell her that everything was going to be alright, when deep down in his heart he knew that things were far from alright, and that he was not sure that any of them would ever leave here again. So, he remained silent, slowly running his hand through her hair, cupping the back of her head, rubbing her back in a comforting circular motion, whispering meaningless, but hopefully soothing noises into the hair on the top of her head, as she clung to him, silently pouring out her sorrow, until at last she grew calmer.

"I'm so sorry, Leigh …. I don't know what's gotten into me …." Hawke whispered lamely as she pulled far enough away from him to look up into his anxious face, her own face still bloodless and now an empty, emotionless mask. "I don't want to hurt you, but somehow I just can't seem to stop myself …."

Leigh Roland made no answer, she simply nodded in understanding then eased herself very carefully down his body so that she could rest her head against his chest, and let out a soft sigh.

"Sleep …." She mumbled wearily as her eyes drifted closed, although Hawke knew it was a long time before she eventually stopped fighting it and gave into her body's need for rest, and it was an even longer time for him, as he savoured the feeling of her lying cradled in his arms, resurrecting memories of an idyllic month, thirteen years ago, when all the horrors in the world had seemed so very far away, and he had discovered a world full of light and joy and possibility and hope.