It's My Life
By Kat Fenn
The story of Stringfellow Hawke after Vietnam and getting involved with the Firm and Airwolf.
A/N: Thank you, fanfictionkkc, for the suggestion - I hope you like how I've incorporated it into my last chapter.
Chapter 10
String opened his eyes to the delicious smell of pancakes cooked over a wood-fired stove. He rubbed his eyes and pushed back the covers. His tummy rumbled in expectation. He scrambled out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown.
"Hey, little brother, what's the rush?"
"I'm hungry!" String fought not to let his voice come out as a whine. He was determined that his brother would not hear him whine again, EVER, especially after he heard him talking to their dad the night before. He pushed his feet into his slippers and was just about to pull their bedroom door open when St John yanked him up into his arms and spun him around.
"Wait for me!" Swinging String onto his back, St John made his way out of their bedroom into the big, bright kitchen, where their mother stood at the stove, making pancakes.
"Morning, boys. You sleep OK?"
"Morning mom!" String ran to his mother and gave her a big hug. "When can we eat?"
"Is that all the thanks I get for making my little String-bean his favourite breakfast?" She ruffled his hair affectionately as she returned his hug.
St John rolled his eyes. "Where's dad?"
"Off to work already. What are you boys going to do today?"
"I think I'll head over to Jimmy's – he said something about a new video game – then hang out there I suppose?"
"As long as you're back for dinner St John. It's only the first day of school holidays and you don't want to be wearing out your welcome over there."
St John smiled wickedly at his mother as he grabbed two still-steaming pancakes from the stack she was keeping warm on the stove. She shook her head at him indulgently as he crammed the two pancakes in his mouth on his way back to the bedroom he shared with his younger brother.
"Mom? Do you think I can hang out with you today?"
"Sure, String. I don't have much planned, but maybe after breakfast we can play some music together… and how about helping me with the fixings for a backyard barbeque tonight?"
String grinned at the prospect of having his mother all to himself for the day. He had to admit, she was the one person that he felt understood him best. Playing music together with his mother was something he looked forward to, and often something that he didn't have time for, when school was in session. And he looked forward to spending time with her in the kitchen too – although they didn't talk much while they were working, he felt the connection between their souls – one that didn't need superfluous conversation. So different from the rough-and-tumble relationship he had with his older brother – he always felt that he couldn't share with his brother how much music meant to him. His athletic, 'I'm stronger than you' older brother, the source of all his scraps and little fights, but the sharer of his world of model airplanes and engines. String realised early on that he couldn't be totally himself with just anyone – not everyone understood the sensitive little kid who loved music BUT loved his engines and planes. His father didn't quite understand his younger son, but String knew that he loved him all the same. His mother, on the other hand – well, if String could find a girl just like her when he grew up, he would make sure that she wouldn't get away from him. Smiling to himself, String sat himself down at the breakfast bar and accepted the plate of pancakes his mother held out to him.
AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW
The smell of pancakes and freshly-brewed coffee wafted past his nostrils.
"String?"
String opened his eyes. Dom stood, hovering over the couch, a plate holding a stack of still-steaming pancakes in one hand and a mug of hot coffee in the other. "Morning, Dom."
"Breakfast?"
"How did you know I was in the mood for pancakes?"
"Well, strangely enough, I was dreaming of your mother's pancakes last night. And thought this might be a nice way to start our day – seeing we don't have to rush down to the hangar this morning."
String rubbed his eyes before sitting up and accepting the proffered plate and mug. "Got any syrup?" He grinned up at Dom, wondering if he should tell Dom that he had more or less the same dream.
AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW
String was perched on a stool in the Santini Air hanger, sorting through the box he had brought with him from his locker at the Firm. He figured that some of the items would come in useful, especially when he spent the night on the cot in the back office, or on Dom's couch. He could hear Dom's voice on the telephone, sewing up a deal for a charter for the week. He fingered the contents of the box. A few tools, which he put away in the big red toolbox standing in the corner. A plain grey flightsuit, a few clean undershirts and some clean socks and underwear, which he put away in the locker proudly emblazoned "S. Hawke", next to the toilets. His gaze lingered on the little Ziploc plastic bag that was all that remained in the box. He pulled the bag out and looked closely at its contents. They were little stickers with the words "Turbo" on them, in blood-red ink. He smiled as he remembered that the only cyclic stick that all three of them could agree on had a button labelled "Force Trim" which eventually Winchester re-rigged as a button to turn the turbo engines on and off. And that he was supposed to have put the stickers on the last prototype as a good luck charm against him crashing it. "Well, that's not going to happen, I suppose," thought String to himself. He found himself stowing the little bag at the back of his locker instead of tossing it into the bin. He smiled, thinking that he could indulge in a little sentimentality – a little more good luck wouldn't and couldn't hurt, surely?
AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW
"I caught 'em, you clean 'em?" said String hopefully as he firmly tied up the little rowing boat on his jetty.
Dom clapped a hand onto String's thin shoulder as they both made their way up to the cabin. "You need some feeding up, kid. And while I'm sure these fish are what you're used to, I'm making some rib-sticking pasta to go with this. That's what I feel like after spending the day relaxing!"
"Fine, Dom – as long as there's no meat of any kind in the pasta."
"Alright, fusspot, c'mon, it's starting to get cold and I'm hungry!"
String slung a matey arm around Dom's shoulders as they both made their way up to the cabin.
AWAWAWAWAWAWAWAW
"That was really good, Dom, thanks."
"You're washing up, though!"
"Yeah, fine." String picked up their plates and headed to the sink, where the frying pan, pasta pot and saucepan were already soaking. "Pour me another drink, willya?"
Dom carefully carried the tumblerful of bourbon to the sink, where String was elbow deep in suds. "So, kid, everything OK with you?"
String paused in the middle of washing up. He turned to Dom, looking him squarely in the eye. "Yeah. Why?"
"Nothing, just wondering. You ain't exactly the 'wear my heart on my sleeve type', you know. I mean I see you at work every day, and we talk and laugh, but we don't really say anything. Are you really happy, String?"
"Happy, Dom? I don't know if I am, really. It's weird – when I'm here or when I'm with you I can focus on the engine I'm fiddling with – or the chopper or plane I'm flying. But every once in a while I start thinking about St John, wondering how he's doing and if he's OK." At that, String turned his back to Dom, hoping to hide the tears that just sprung into his eyes.
"You can't still be guilty about that whole leaving St John behind thing, String." Dom spoke gently and softly, hoping that String would hear the concern in his voice, even though he was speaking to String's back. Dom couldn't believe that String was still blaming himself for the incident.
String pulled the plug out of the drain and wiped the sink and draining board area dry. He wiped his hands on his jeans and said to Dom, "I need a walk. Be back in a bit." Grabbing his well-worn leather flight jacket off the hook next to his front door, String strode out into the night with Tet at his heels.
Dom pursed his lips as he shook his head. He wished that he could take some of the hurt from String's heart, but he knew that the only reason why String showed him some of what he was feeling was because he trusted him. Dom sighed to himself. The least he could do was to be there for his foster son. "I'm trying my best, you hear me, Alan?" he said aloud, hoping that his best friend, long gone, could hear him. And then sent another prayer heavenward, asking God to keep String safe. He was sure that String was meant for bigger things than just being a partner in Santini Air.
THE END