Epilogue -
The morning of the memorial for Hawke dawned clear and cold. An icy wind blew off the lake, tugging Cait's reddish hair loose from its pins. Beside the lake, the others gathered to say their goodbyes. A week to the day, it still seemed surreal, impossible. Michael suddenly understood Hawke's refusal all those years ago to believe Saint John's death - without a body, the mind fought for denial.
He'd seen the scene himself though, known firsthand the damage only those weapons could do, both on paper and in reality. From the size of the hole in the ground and the debris field, he couldn't see risking more lives on a recovery mission, not with knowing Van der Berg was still out there and logic telling him there wouldn't be much if anything left to find. But it still seemed a betrayal, knowing he'd sent him out there. Looking at the lake, he bowed his head in silence, saying one last prayer for the man he'd considered both an ally and friend these many years.
Marella slipped up beside him, her smaller hand slipping into his and squeezing it.
Gratefully, he looked down at her, thanking both God and Hawke she'd been returned to him. Watching Cait and the two children down by the water's edge, he knew the cost had been high. He sighed.
It'd been a cost Hawke had been willing to pay if necessary, but one he didn't know if he could ever reconcile himself with.
Saint John and Jo stood hand in hand on the other side. One of the last to arrive, he'd worried about Jo's state of mind with her red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands, but it was she who consoled Saint John now. His rangy body bowed with grief, Jo was the one who held the wolf at the door today.
Michael groaned. Poor turn of phrase. He couldn't think of wolves and not think of Hawke and Airwolf. Strange relationship those two. If one was gone, he supposed it was fitting they both were.
Seb and Jade walked up, Rivers on their heels. Hawke had had his doubts there he knew. He'd be glad to know they'd been wrong, glad Seb had seemed to find someone, even if it was within the community. Watching them, Michael was struck again by how young they were. He only prayed they'd be less touched by the death and espionage that had dogged his and Stringfellow's lives every step of the way. He only hope so, surely if anybody deserved it, they did.
The last of Hawke's friends and family showed up, a somber and quiet group as they walked down the path from the cabin. The minister walked with them, still a little wide-eyed from the helicopter ride that had flown them all in.
Michael grinned, yeah, Hawke would've liked that, would've been amused. Flying had been such an extension of his own life, he'd always found it strange so many found themselves so earthbound. He would've liked knowing thanks to him, another soul had been thrust into the air, if only for a moment, to wing its way with the angels.
Pausing by the water's edge and raising his hands, the minister motioned for them to gather, to begin. And the little group huddled in, shrugging off the biting wind from the lake. Holding hands, he solemnly began.
"Today, we are gathered here, to honor the life of Stringfellow Hawke; brother, father, husband, son and friend. His was a life of honor and love…"