Airwolf – Terminal Velocity

Chapter Nine

"Oh God, no!"

Stringfellow Hawke spotted the still, twisted figure lying in the sand, and felt his heart skip a beat.

"It's her," he whispered hoarsely, his voice sticking somewhere in the back of his throat, as he felt his heart rate increase and his rage begin to burn.

He recognised the outfit she had worn the previous evening, minus the white lab coat, which might have offered her a little protection from the desert sun, reflecting back some of it's heat and light, but instead, she lay there clad from head to foot in dark colours, a sleeveless black top and a short black skirt, which would only help to absorb the heat and light more, and which left her arms and legs exposed.

"It's Sara," his hand wobbled, slightly, on the flight controls as he brought Airwolf down, slowly, some distance away, trying not to kick up any more dust than was necessary as the last thing that Sara would need would be to sandblasted.

"Not again," this through clenched teeth now. "Please, not again."

"Take it easy, String," Dominic Santini's soft voice sounded in his ear, and Hawke drew in a long, steadying breath. "Go do what you need to do. I'll bring the water and the ice and the first aid kit," Santini told the young man, keeping his tone hopeful, although he feared the worst.

Overwhelmed, by a sickening sense of déjà vu.

Hawke tore off his helmet and tossed it down on the seat beside him, popped the door, then tumbled out into the sand, his booted feet sinking ankle deep into a scorching pile of sand, and he bit back a curse as he waded through the rough desert terrain to get to Sara Sykes.

She was not moving.

She showed no indication that she was even aware that help was at hand.

Hawke's temper reached boiling point, as, getting closer, he became aware of the way that Sara had been bound, and for the briefest moment, he regretted not having taken his shot with Guy Anders.

God help the man if he was ever left alone in the same room with him! Hawke seethed.

However, as he skidded to a halt beside Sara, and fell to his knees, trying to shade her body by leaning forward, Hawke felt a moment of extreme elation when he did not immediately see any obviously life threatening injuries.

Unlike poor Gabrielle.

She had died from extreme blood loss, as well as exposure to the desert heat. Shot in the shoulder, by Moffet, he assumed, although he would never know for sure who had inflicted the injury which had drained Gabrielle of her very life essence.

However, the moment of joy was short lived as he took in the ravages inflicted on Sara Sykes by her brief exposure to the desert sun and heat, blisters covering her face, hands and legs, as well as the livid bruises now standing out on her forehead and jaw, her lips, dry and cracked and bleeding, and Hawke now recognised these as wounds inflicted by a man's hand, not nature.

"Sara," he whispered gently, reaching out with trembling fingers to stroke a lock of her hair which had fallen over her brow, willing her to open those beautiful, exotic, ever changing eyes of hers and gaze up at him lovingly.

"Sara," he wanted to gather her to him, to protect her, reassure her, to somehow force some of his own life energy and will power into her.

But he did not, could not, fearing that he would hurt her.

"I'm here now, Sara."

She made no reply and Stringfellow Hawke could feel any hope that he had left seeping away into the sand.

Too late, dammit.

They were too late.

"How is she?" Dominic Santini panted as he came to an abrupt halt beside the kneeling young man, looking down on the twisted, burned and blistered body of Sara Sykes and wincing slightly at the sight of such beauty ruined, as Hawke now used the knife he kept in an ankle strap on his right leg to cut the ropes around her wrists and ankles, pulling them away carefully and tossing them angrily back out into the desert.

"I think we're too late," Hawke choked out hoarsely.

"Hey, take it easy kid," Dominic Santini rested a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder as Hawke hung his head and wrestled with his emotions.

"She ain't dead, String, look," Dominic Santini again squeezed his shoulder, more firmly now, dragging Hawke's attention back and he raised his head and looked down on Sara Sykes prone body once more, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking for.

"Look son, she's breathing."

It was true.

She was breathing.

Dammit, that should have been the first thing that he should have checked, Hawke chastised himself bitterly.

He should have checked for a pulse.

The movement of Sara's chest, up and down, was so faint, no wonder Hawke had missed it.

Stringfellow Hawke carefully reached out for her slim, delicate wrist and sought out her pulse.

Yes!

It was there.

Weak and fluttering wildly like a frightened bird in a cage, but it was most definitely there.

Stringfellow Hawke's heart soared. He could have cried with relief at that moment.

"Gimme the water, Dom," he demanded now, carefully slipping one arm gently under Sara's neck, so that he could raise her head.

"Wait a minute, kid," Dominic Santini hesitated, his brow creased in deep thought.

"Dom …."

"You can't give her too much, String," Santini advised now as Hawke glowered up at him, eyes thin slits against the sun's glare behind Santini's bulk. "You'll make her even sicker," he told the younger man, ignoring his frosty expression and unscrewing the cap on the silver canteen.

"Listen to me, kid, she's got heat stroke. First thing we gotta do is get her out of the sun, find some place shady. Ok, I know we're in the middle of the desert but …. We have to try to start cooling her down, String. She's literally cooking out here, but we have to do it slowly, so she doesn't go into shock, and then we have to get her to a hospital. Pronto!"

"Ok," Hawke realised that what his old friend was saying actually made sense.

"I read up on it," Santini informed when Hawke arched an eyebrow at him enquiry. "After, well, you know, after the last time, and when I knew that you were gonna be playin' in this sandbox for a while."

"Dominic Santini, you never cease to amaze me."

"Gee," Santini grew bashful and Hawke felt a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Now will you give me some water?"

"Sure, sure. Better if I drip a little onto your hand, and then you can kinda let it dribble over her face and lips."

"I get the picture, Dom."

"Ok, and I'll see to an ice pack."

"Thank you."

Hawke held out his hand, ignoring the slight tremor he saw there, and Dominic Santini carefully poured the cool, clean, ice cold water from the canteen over Hawke's extended hand, and then the younger man carefully held his hand over Sara Sykes face and dribbled the water slowly over her sun blistered brow, cheeks and finally her parched lips, clenching his hand into a fist, squeezing out every last drop.

At first, she made no reaction, but, when a second sprinkle of water showered over her face, Hawke noticed that she wrinkled her nose a little, and blinked.

"Atta girl!" this from Dominic Santini, who had been watching the proceedings over Hawke's shoulder. "We got us a fighter, here String."

"Sara," Hawke choked out. "It's ok, Sara, you're safe now. I'm here, Sara. Hold on, honey, hold on, just a little longer. Soon have you out of here ."

"Roger?" His name was forced from her parched, cracked lips and she finally managed to open her swollen eyes, fixing irises that were the deepest, darkest shade of violet, edging huge dilated black pupils, Hawke had ever seen, onto his handsome, familiar and adorable face.

Which she now noted, was cast in something of an anxious expression.

And why did he appear to be kneeling over her?

Another mirage.

She had been dreaming of him …. the way he had looked when he had pulled her out of that burning lab, and then again last night.

The hunger and the desire, and the battle that she had seen raging behind his lovely sky blue eyes.

Should he accept what she was offering?

She had known that he had wanted to, but, she had also known that he was a man who liked to play by the rules.

And his personal wants and needs would have to come second to his primary mission.

Finding out who was behind these mishaps on Project Thunderbird.

She had been thinking of him, and so her heat addled brain had obligingly conjured up a mirage for her.

Like the rainstorm that had woken her. Fat, ice cold drops falling from a leaden sky onto her welcoming, upturned face, preceded by a whirlwind and ear splitting thunder.

Still, it was a lovely image.

Something nice to look at, at the end.

Not such a bad way to die.

Looking at that wonderful face.

"Ah, Roger, we never seemed to get a break, did we?"

Her voice was so soft and so low, Hawke had to lean in even closer to catch what she was saying, and this enabled her, drawing on her last reserves of strength, to reach up and, with shaking fingers, cup that wonderfully rugged, firm and determined jaw, the most beautiful smile settling on her face as she did so.

"I love you," she confessed, and even as he felt his heart soaring with joy, Stringfellow Hawke could not help feeling, as the words tumbled from her lips, that it was a deathbed confession.

"I love you too, Sara. You're safe now. I'll get you out of here, I promise."

"Roger?" She was frowning now, seeming to realise that her fingers were in contact with real flesh and bone, warm and alive .

"Yes honey, it's me. I'm here, love. Hold on."

Dominic Santini watched with a mixture of pride and amazement at the tender way in which his young friend tended to Sara Sykes, dripping still more water over her flushed and burned face, relief flooding through him that they had gotten to her, but, he suspected, just barely in time.

Relief that his young friend would not have to face the death of yet another woman he loved.

That history had not repeated it's self.

"String," Santini spoke up reluctantly now. "We gotta get her out of the sun."

"I know, Dom, but I'm frightened to touch her. She's so badly burned."

"I know, kid, but you've got to."

"Ok. You go start up Airwolf and get on the horn to the tower at China Lake, tell them we found her, tell them to get a doctor standing by ASAP, and see if they can give us any more advice on how to help her until we get there."

Stringfellow Hawke rattled all of this off as he placed the ice pack that Santini had made out of a length of material that had originally been designed as a sling to support arm and shoulder wounds, padded with cotton wool, bound up tightly in bandages to keep it all together, gently against Sara's brow.

"Roger?"

"Take it easy, honey," Hawke soothed, returning his attention to Sara Sykes as Dominic Santini turned on his heel and hurried back to the idling chopper.

"No, Roger, listen, please. It's Anders. Guy Anders …. He …. He …."

"Sh, sh, save your strength, love. I know all about Anders. Someone should be picking him up in a little while."

"Bombs! He planted bombs …. Set to go off at …."

"Sh, sh, it's ok, they know. It's taken care of," Hawke assured her. "Now save your strength, and let me take care of you."

"Roger?"

"Sh, sh," he dripped still more water on to her face and was pleased to see her tongue slip out from between her lips and catch a spot that tricked down the side of her face, lapping it up greedily, and he found himself clinging to the hope that she was rallying.

That it might just be alright after all.

"So thirsty …."

"I know, honey. When this is all over, I promise you, I'll buy you a tall glass of ice cold beer. In the mean time, you'll have to make do with this."

"Promises, promises," she attempted to tease, but he could see that her strength was ebbing away now. "Always promises ..."

"Sara, I'm going to have to move you," he had to raise his voice now as Airwolf's engines began to come on line and he could already feel the movement of air on his back as her main rotor gradually began to build up speed.

"I'm sorry, Sara, I don't want to hurt you, but, I can't see any other way."

"I know," she croaked out now. "Just do it, love, and Roger, thank you. For finding me," a dry sob escaped from her lips then.

"Hey, hey, it's ok. It's over," he soothed now. "You're safe. I'm here, I'm here."

"I'm so glad. Didn't want to die before I told you how I feel," she hiccoughed raggedly.

"You are not going to die!" There was suddenly a cold hardness to his voice now.

"Sir! Yes, Sir!" Her voice was growing weaker and her eyes were fluttering closed again.

"And Sara …."

"Yes Roger?"

It was a terrible effort, but she opened her eyes once more and gazed loving up into his handsome face, and found herself rewarded for the effort with a gentle smile.

"I love you too. For the record."

"I'd kiss you. If I weren't so damned radio active!" She spluttered and Hawke wondered how close she really was to hysteria now.

"I'll take a rain check," he told her, gently slipping his arms around her body and bracing himself to lift her weight. "But only because if we started in on that, I'm not sure I would be able to stop. Ok, here we go, honey, hang on tight."

Hawke carefully lifted Sara Sykes up into his arms, but despite his care and gentleness, she cried out, as he held her carefully against his body, staggering over the uneven ground, feeling the heat radiating off her through the thin fabric of his flight suit, which he knew must be chaffing her delicate, burned flesh with every movement, as he hurriedly carried her toward Airwolf, knowing that every step he took, every jerk and jolt, was pure torture.

Cutting through her like a knife.

Dominic Santini had slipped out of the cockpit and stood at the open door, waiting to assist Hawke as he climbed aboard Airwolf, taking Sara Sykes from him, briefly so that the young man could settle himself in the left front seat, Santini marvelling at how fragile and light she seemed in his arms, before carefully passing her back to Hawke.

At last Hawke was settled inside Airwolf's cool interior, the door closing behind him with a gentle hiss, with Sara Sykes cradled on his lap, forgoing the ritual of jamming on his helmet so that her head could loll weakly against his left shoulder.

She had fainted some where in the brief jaunt across the sand. The pain obviously too much for her.

At least, Hawke prayed, that was all it was, as he waited for Dominic Santini to get back into the cockpit and settle himself at the flight controls.

"Get us the hell out of here, Dom."

"You got it!"

After jamming on his helmet once more, Santini pulled back on the flight controls and Airwolf rose agilely into the sky.

"I called up the tower, String," Santini was having to shout to make himself heard as without his helmet he had no direct com-link with Hawke, even though he was sitting beside him a scant few feet away. "And I told them we would be coming in ASAP. They said they'd have a medical team waiting when we got there," he informed, fighting to make himself heard.

"Did they say what we should do?" Hawke yelled back.

"Just what we have been doing, already. Get her out of the sun, small sips of water if she can manage them, if not, keep her lips moist with a damp cloth, and try to start cooling her down with ice packs. How's she doin'?"

"She fainted," Hawke let out a deep sigh, and slightly adjusted Sara's position on his lap while trying to apply the now soggy ice pack to her neck and brow, hampered by the restricted space. "The pain must have been unbearable, Dom. I'd like to …."

"Yeah, kid, I know what you'd like to do to that guy Anders. When we catch up with him, I'll hold your coat, and you can lay one on him for me too."

"Deal," Hawke snarled. "Did they find the sorry sonofabitch yet?" He asked then, secretly hoping that the men Colonel Jardine had sent out into the desert had not yet come across Guy Anders, and that he was getting a taste of what he had left Sara to face.

"Yeah. Be bringing him back in, after a little detour. So easy to lose your way out here."

"He should be grateful they're not bringing him back in a body bag."

"Amen!"

"However long they keep him out in the sun, it won't be long enough," Hawke snarled again, cradling Sara Sykes to his chest protectively, and for the briefest moment, Dominic Santini found himself wondering if the younger man would ever be able to let go of her, so that the doctors could work on her.

"Tower told me to tell you that Colonel Jardine's people defused the last bomb too, so looks like friend Anders lucked out all round …."

"How long, Dom?" Hawke demanded now, his face grey and lined with worry as he kept looking down into Sara Sykes flushed, bruised and blistered face.

"ETA five minutes."

"Hang on, Sara, hang on …."

She felt so small, so weak, lying there in his lap, heat radiating off her in waves, her head resting gently against his shoulder blade, her breathing so shallow he could barely feel it as it caressed the side of his neck, and yet, despite the fact that every movement must have been excruciatingly painful to her, somehow, she managed to find the strength to gently apply pressure to his right thigh.

A gentle squeeze of reassurance, for him.

Trying to let him know that she was still with him.

Still fighting.

Still holding on as he had beseeched her to do.

And Stringfellow Hawke felt tears sting briefly in his eyes.

Even at death's door, her one thought was to reassure him.

God, how he loved her.

"Hold on sweetheart, we're nearly there …. Hold on …."

As Airwolf came in for a landing, Hawke could see the people standing outside the main building at China Lake, a gurney already standing between them, waiting to take Sara Sykes to their medical facility, and once he and Dominic had alighted from the helicopter and Hawke gently handed Sara over to the China Lake people, all he could do was stand by and watch as they rushed her inside, Dominic Santini resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he too watched the paramedics dash away with the semi conscious Sara Sykes on the gurney.

"She's in good hands, String …." He offered, although he knew it sounded lame.

He could only guess how his young friend was feeling at that moment.

However, there was nothing more that they could do for her now. It was up to the medics.

"You gonna stay a while?"

"No. We still have some unfinished business. We left a pile of trash back there in the desert that needs to be cleaned up …."

"String …."

However, the cold and very dark look Hawke was aiming in his direction deterred Santini from protesting any further. There would be no reasoning with the younger man, and now that he had the bit between his teeth, no stopping him either.

He didn't much care for this Anders fellow, but Dominic Santini found himself hoping that the search party from Thunderbird would find him before Stringfellow Hawke did.