December 1, 1969
The first thing Hawke noticed was the pain. Sharp and stabbing, it cut across his ribs clawing with every breath he took. Gasping, he sucked in a heaving breath, nearly passing out again from it.
Lean fingers clutched at the sheets, tangling in them, pulling an IV line loose. New pain erupted, knifing through his arm.
He fought to bite back a moan. Sweat trickled down his neck.
Hesitantly, he drew in a second breath, carefully letting it out, wondering if he'd pass out from lack of air or pain first. The blue eyes blearily slitted open.
"Hey, Cathy, he's awake," a soft, feminine voice called at the edges of his vision.
The bustle of army issue fatigues whispered past, a pretty blonde nurse being joined at his side by an older brunette.
Pain clawed down his arm and he fought the urge to finish snatching the IV out.
Getting shot hadn't hurt this bad.
"Decided to rejoin us I see, Second Lieutenant," the brunette murmured unsympathetically, reaching for the thermometer.
The blonde sidled past her, reaching for his arm, deftly removing the half-torn loose IV and pressing a pad of gauze to his arm where the needle had caused it to bleed. Efficiently, she worked to untangle the IV lines and snarled sheets. "Gave us quite a scare you did," she murmured, her violet eyes meeting his blue ones.
The brunette raised her head scowling. "Well, perhaps if Second Lieutenant Hawke stayed where he was supposed to be, he wouldn't be giving anybody any scares."
Wrapping his fingers around the gauze on his forearm, String winced. It wasn't hard to guess which one was in charge. "Wh, where's Tuyen?" he rasped hoarsely, working to get the words past a Sahara dry throat.
The blonde's violet eyes met his again as she reached for a cup of water on the stand next to the bed. "The Vietnamese girl you showed up with?" she asked.
Hawke nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with fear they'd turned her and the baby away.
His unease must've communicated itself to her 'cause she grinned. "She's fine," she murmured, handing him the cup. "Drink it slow. The morphine makes a lot of guys sick."
Afraid to trust his own voice, String reached for the cup with shaking hands.
Holding the cup for him, she rattled on. "The baby yours? He has the most incredible blue eyes…"
Choking, Hawke found himself spitting water.
"Which is more than I can say for you!" the brunette snapped. "That's enough, Sally Ann! You'll make him sick!"
The blonde jumped, sloshing water over the edge of the cup and onto the bed. "Sorry, she murmured contritely, starting to pull the cup away.
Hawke's fingers wrapped around her wrist. "Where?" he rasped hoarsely. "Where are they?"
Tugging, Sally Ann tried to pull away, shooting a worried glance towards the other nurse when he didn't let go.
"They're fine, Mr. Hawke," the brunette replied, impatiently slapping the clipboard she held down. "They were checked over and will be released later this afternoon. The baby was a little dehydrated, that's all."
Bemused, String found himself trying to make sense of her words. "Released?" he questioned. "What do you mean, released? There's no…"
The brunette frowned, shooing the blonde on. "Look," she sighed, settling down into the chair next to his bed. "You know as well as I do, there's no place for non-combatants in this camp." For once, sympathy darkened her tone. "They'll be treated and released as soon as their well enough."
She sighed. "Actually, considering the trouble you're in Second Lieutenant I'd suggest you worry about saving your own skin."
Struggling to sit up, Hawke frowned. "But there's no village for them to go back to…"
"I'm well aware of that, Second Lieutenant!" Catherine Douglas snapped. She winced at her own tone, rubbing the headache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her forehead. Her tone softened, "Look Hawke, I'm sorry. Really I am, but rules are rules. You know that. If they aren't yours, they can't stay."
"They can't just throw them out!" String bit out, his tone harsh panic starting to settle in.
Catherine Douglas rose wearily to her feet. "Yeah, Hawke, they can and they will."
"…Is he yours? He has the most incredible blue eyes…" The thought was insane…he'd never get away with it.
Shoving away doubt, Hawke swallowed down hard on the panicked lump in his throat. "They're mine," he rasped hoarsely. "The baby's mine."
Across from him, String saw Cait wince, her arms wrapping around her waist as she paced. It was a lot to take in and he knew it, a lot he was asking from her.
"So the marriage is real?" she whispered.
He shot a glance at Saint John hoping for some help, pretty much anything…
His brother merely raised an eyebrow at him waiting.
He hauled in a heavy breath. "Yeah."
Caitlin spun on him, suddenly angry, not sure where to go with the sense of betrayal rising up to choke her, the hot tears spilling over. "Why, Hawke? Didn't you think I had a right to know?"
"Yeah. No. Maybe. I don't know!" Hawke replied, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "It was a long time before us, Cait. I didn't even say anything to Dom…there didn't seem to be a lot of point in bringing it up."
"You might want to re-think that, String," Cait said, shooting Tuyen a tear-filled glance. "It doesn't appear to have been as long ago as you think."
Saint John shifted uneasily, pretty certain his brother was in over his head with this one.
"You did divorce her, I assume?" Caitlin snapped, her tone frosty.
String shot Tuyen a startled look. The thought had never occurred to him. He'd filled out the paperwork, mailed it back, considered it closed…it'd never occurred to him to check.
She shook her head.
"Evidently not," he replied with a wince.
December 1, 1969 - 3pm
Glaring in disgust at the half-hysterical Vietnamese girl and the squalling baby she held, Colonel Nicholas Burns chomped down on the cigar between his teeth, his already short temper frayed to the breaking point.
Why his men couldn't keep it in their pants he'd never know.
Bad enough he'd had officers AWOL. Hawke and Reynolds running around the jungles getting themselves shot, now he had this to deal with.
He still hadn't written a letter home to Reynold's family either…
What the hell had those two been doing outside of camp anyway?
In the meantime, Headquarters was breathing down his neck about PRU troops destroying a village a mile outside his camp.
Reynolds did this sort of thing on a regular basis. Hawke he'd thought had better sense.
"Get her out, Private!" he snarled, losing all sense of patience. "Now!" Whirling, he spun for his quarters and the dreaded letter home.
"Colonel, wait!" breathlessly, Major Catherine Douglas' voice rang out across the camp. "Sir!"
Grimacing, Nicholas Burns bit back a string of profanity. At best, he didn't like Major Douglas - always questioning his command, arguing about orders. The woman was a real pain in the …"
Grinding his teeth, he reminded himself she was also a damned fine surgeon, the best he was going to get out here and he couldn't court marshall her, no matter how badly he wanted to.
"Yes, Major?" he snapped.
Dark brown hair tumbling loose from the knot on her head, Major Douglas skidded to a halt in front of him, snapping a rather sloppy salute. "Sir, I really have to speak to you."
Out of uniform too, it figured.
Burns fought the urge to have her hauled out with the Vietnamese chit. "What?"
The wailing stram of Vietnamese by the front gate got louder. Ah hell, he thought, like this wasn't bad enough for morale, now he was having to throw out some woman and her newborn. "Get her out, Private!" he yelled, taking a step towards them. "Now!"
And with that, Catherine Douglas, all 5'4" of her was in his face. "You can't do that, sir!" she yelled, blocking his way.
Abruptly slamming to a halt, Burns just barely managed to avoid running her over. Had all his officers lost their minds today? "Why the hell not, woman?" he snarled. "Last I checked I was the commanding officer around here!"
Throwing up her chin up, brown eyes flashing, Catherine Douglas faced him down unflinching. "Because that child is an American dependant and Stringfellow Hawke has demanded to marry the girl."
Colonel Nicholas Burns glared across his desk at a rather worn looking Stringfellow Hawke. Templing his fingers, he looked into the fever bright eyes over the paperwork in front of him and scowled.
Hawke wouldn't even still be under his command had one of the Air Cav's choppers not been shot down.
Despite recent events, he was one of his best soldiers…even if he was more than a little obsessive about hunting down his brother who'd been shot down.
Maybe it would be best for all concerned to send him stateside for a while though.
He glanced at the paper stack sitting in front of him and sighed. "Maybe you'd better explain it to me again Hawke." Out of the corner of his eye he caught the waver in the other's stance, before he caught himself. "And for Pete's sake, sit down Second Lieutenant before you fall down," he snapped.
Flushing, Hawke sat down, but not before the Colonel noticed the relieved look that crossed his face.
"I think I have already, sir," he responded. "I'm requesting your permission to marry Tuyen and return stateside."
Burns shifted in his chair. "I can't send you home, son," he said regretfully. "You know that."
Hawke's chin came up stubbornly. "You can sir, if I sign up for another six months of combat duty."
Burns frowned, if he'd ever seen a case of combat fatigue and burnout looking for a place to happen, it was sitting in front of him. "And why would you do that?"
Hawke frowned, not liking the feeling this man held his life as well as Tuyen's and the baby's in his hands. His gaze dropped to the muddy combat boots he wore, before meeting the other's accessing grey stare. "Look sir," he sighed. "It has always been my intention to re-up so long as my brother is still MIA. I'm a lot likelier to find him if I stay in country.
Burns scowled. Lot likelier too, the fool'd get himself killed.
"And the girl?"
Hawke flushed. "It was my intention to marry her, sir. I just kinda drug my feet on that one."
"Uh - huh. I see," the Colonel muttered non-commitally, eyeing him.
Hawke fought the urge to squirm.
He sighed, looking down at the paperwork again. The army could use good pilots like Hawke. They needed all the help they could get and if they knew he was thinking of turning him down, they'd skewer him alive.
He was less sure about the girl though. He could buy she'd saved Hawke's life…he was also willing to bet she was the reason he'd got shot in the first place.
He knew Reynolds had had a girl at the local village. He hadn't known Hawke had. Seemed somehow out of character for him…
He grimaced, rubbing stubbled cheeks. Half his recruits were greenhorns and Hawke while all soldier, struck him as something of an idealist. "You realize a lot of these women are whoring the whole US Army just to survive?"
Hawke's gaze shot to his. "Yes, sir," he muttered in embarassment.
"You sure the kid's yours?" the Colonel asked gruffly.
"Sir. Yes, sir," Hawke replied, thankful his skin was too darkly tanned for the Colonel to see the flush he could feel rising on his neck.
Burns raked a hand through the thinning crew cut he wore and slapped his hat back on his head. Maybe a month home with family and friends would give Hawke enough strength to survive this damn war…He could only hope the wife and son would give him a reason to live long enough to come home…this obsession with finding his brother sure as hang wouldn't.
"Fine," he growled. "Plan on reporting to Tan Son Nhut airbase end of the month for stateside leave. Make sure you give an address you can be reached, so you can receive your return duty orders."
"Yes, sir," Hawke replied, his blue eyes lighting with relief. "Thank you sir."
He started to rise in anticipation of being dismissed.
Burns stopped him. "See the Chaplin on your way out, Hawke and make arrangements for your wedding tomorrow. I expect to be invited…0900 works for me."
Stunned blue eyes flared wide. "Sir, uh…yes, sir." Hawke stammered. "Right away, sir." He started to beat a hasty retreat for the door.
Burns fought the grin that tugged at his mouth. "Hey, Second Lieutenant!" he bellowed.
Hawke turned, more than a little wary this time. "Haul your butt back to the infirmary when you're done and stay there until Major Douglas releases you. That's an order. You'd look might stupid passing out at your own wedding."
String winced. "Yes, sir," he muttered.
Colonel Nicholas Burns chuckled watching him go. Maybe his wife had been right after all. Weddings could be highly entertaining. He snorted in amusement. "Sorry I ever doubted you, honey," he muttered, going back to the paperwork on his desk with a grin.