Hawke's lean stride crossing the hanger floor, he reached for Caitlin's arm, ignoring the confused and bewildered looks Saint John and Tuyen shot him. "We've got to talk, Cait," he rasped, grasping her elbow and guiding her out the door.
Cait shook him off, blue-green eyes blazing. "Funny, I thought we were, String!" she snapped. "A little late maybe, but…" She hauled in a shuddering breath at the look of pain that crossed his face before his jaw tightened. "Why do you always do these things to me, Stringfellow Hawke?" she wailed, allowing him to head her out the door.
Hawke sighed, his dark blue eyes meeting hers. "Would it help if I said I was sorry?" he rasped hoarsely, his own eyes questioning on her face.
Caitlin fought to keep her anger. Seemed it was the only thing holding her together. "Maybe," she whispered, angry at herself, angry at the lump in her throat. "I don't know, Hawke." She hugged her arms around herself as if by doing so, she could ward off the pain trying to rip her apart. She turned her head, blinking unseeingly in the bright sunlight.
String reached for her hesitantly, the pad of his thumb brushing away a tear on her cheek. "I am sorry, Cait," he whispered contritely.
She leaned into his touch unthinkingly for a moment, before pulling away. She stepped back, her gaze hitting the tarmac at her feet.
"You know, it's not like I don't think you had a life before me," she murmured, her voice choked with tears. Her head came up defiantly, the wind whipping reddish strands wildly in the sharp breeze. "I realize you did," the blue-green eyes were filled with tears. "But don't you think you should've mentioned her, Hawke?" she demanded looking over at where Tuyen and Saint John stood beside the hanger.
Hawke threw an unhappy glance over at Tuyen where she stood, long dark hair whipping in the breeze, his brother beside her.
She didn't look any happier than Cait, he realized.
He shrugged uneasily, feeling the leather bomber jacket slide on his shoulders. "I was nineteen, Cait. It was the only thing I could think of." He could feel the words rushing out of his lungs, more than a little desperate. "I owed Scott, I owed her. I couldn't leave her and Phuong to die." An icy fear clenched his stomach. "Surely, you can see that. You can understand…"
The red-head smiled sadly. "Yeah, Hawke, I can. It's one of the reasons I love you. You and that blasted hero complex of yours." She looked away, blinking hard, her lips trembling before she met his gaze again. "But you should've trusted me, String. You should've told me." Hurt clogged her voice.
At a loss of words, and caught between her pain and Tuyen's, String had to admit she was right. He should have - even if the marriage was on paper only and should've been over long before he'd ever even met Cait. "I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "You're right. I should've told you. But I meant it when I said those vows to you, Cait. I love you and whether the law says we're married or not, that hasn't changed."
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. Hawke might love her, but evidently they were more than a little lacking in the trust department. She wasn't sure how much more she could handle of this. "So, what'd Michael want?" she asked wearily, guessing correctly the ill-timed call had been the spy. Firm business suddenly seemed the safest ground between them.
Hawke rubbed his chin uneasily, his blue eyes wary. "Mike's plane has gone down."
"What?!!" Cait gasped, her face stricken. "When? How? Does Sarah know?"
Hawke shook his head. "He was doing reconnaissance of some sort for the government over Cuba. They shot the plane down."
Pain flashed across Caitlin's pale freckled features. "But he's okay?" she whispered watching String's face.
He sighed, looking away. "Archangel thinks he's dead, Cait. He wants Saint John and I to go in and either get the plane out or destroy it."
Cait's lashes fluttered shut, thinking of their friend. It seemed impossible Mike could be gone. "You're sure?" she whispered.
"No," String rasped, his voice harsh. "That's why I'm going in. If there's a chance…"
Caitlin's hand grabbed his arm. "Then I'm going in too, Hawke. He's my friend as well."
A crash from the hanger had them both whirling in surprise and sprinting towards it, String's longer stride outdistancing Cait's. Rushing in, they found it empty except for a rather confused looking Tuyen and a box of metal tools scattered all over the floor.
"What happened?" String demanded, realizing instantly Saint John was nowhere in sight.
Tuyen threw up her hands helplessly, obviously at a loss. "A little girl - braids like her," she said spotting Cait's hair.
" 'Melia?" Caitlin demanded, fear for her daughter crowding out everything. "What happened? Where is she?"
Hawke's expression was a little more taciturn, knowing if he got Tuyen flustered, he might never find out. "Where'd she go, Tuyen?" he murmured.
The Vietnamese woman turned worried chocolate brown eyes on him. "She was crying when she ran in, Hawke, something about a Jo? Your brother …dropped everything," her hands spread wide, gesturing to the forgotten tools. "Ran out…"
String threw a worried glance Caitlin's way. They both knew Jo hadn't felt well the past several days, but she'd insisted she could get the kids from school today when Cait had mentioned String's doctor appointment with Monique Branscomb.
Scrambling, they both ran out the door. "Sinj! Sinj, where are you?!!" Hawke bellowed. Dashing out the door, he slammed to a halt, spotting Saint John's form bent over a prone Jo. Blood stained the concrete beneath them. A white-faced Nicky held his sobbing sister beside them.
String grabbed for Caitlin's arm, shoving her back inside. "Call an ambulance, Cait," he ordered. "Now!"
The ride to the hospital was silent, fraught with fear and worry on every side. Saint John had gone with Jo in the ambulance; Hawke, Cait, Tuyen and the kids following behind. No mention was made of the mission for Michael, though impatience and unease were beating raven dark wings inside String's head. He was all too aware time was running out for Mike - if indeed he was still alive, and yet, String needed either Saint John or Cait to go in with him.
And what to do about Tuyen and the kids? 'Melia's report of what had happened with Jo was garbled at best.
It was a lot of blood for a simple head wound from a fall - if she'd fainted. Worry darkened Hawke's brow as unconsciously his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Nicky's mention of a glimpse of a shadowy figure heading around the edge of the hanger before hearing Amelia scream, had him more than a little worried.
If someone had been there, why hadn't they come to check? Wouldn't the normal inclination to have been to help? Unless of course, they'd had something to do with it.
The ground rushing up to meet him with stomach-clenching certainty, Mike rivers pulled back on the plane yoke as if there was no tomorrow. Of course, if he didn't do something fast, he thought humorlessly, there wouldn't be. "Come on, baby, come on," he muttered, feeling the strain on his arms as he hauled back on the controls for all he was worth.
Sweat was running down his back, despite the icy chill of the pressurized cockpit, the plane wallowing beneath his hands. Beside him, he could hear the life and death struggle as Pierson fought to save Richardson. Richardson's labored breathing was loud in his headset, dragging at his attention, but he didn't dare look at the other man. It'd take a miracle for any of them to walk away from this one, he thought, catching sight of a Mig on the radar screen closing fast.
No way to outrun them - only ditch the plane and hope for the best…
"Beckett!" he yelled. "Start dumping that data! Whatever happens, they can't find out we know what we do." Bad enough they'd get the plane - he could do without the rest of them being prosecuted for espionage - at least the plane was probably going to be in itty bitty pieces, he thought with a grimace. Gonna take Castro's guys a while to put the puzzle back together - maybe never, if he had anything to do with it, a sudden wild thought occurring to him. She might not howl like a wolf, but he'd be willing to bet she'd burn like she'd been bit by one.
A wicked smile teased the corner of River's lips, his usually twinkling eyes hard. "Hang on guys," he muttered, "and strap yourself in. This is gonna get rough."
Dragging the nose up with every bit of his strength and slamming the landing gear down, Mike prepped to land the plane belly first.
"Samuels, get me the flare guns! When this thing lands, be prepared to blow it to kingdom come."
"Sir?!" the airman rasped, sputtering.
Rivers threw him a quick glance, Richardson's gurgling breaths loud in his ears. "You heard me," he snapped. "Assuming I get this thing down, there's no way I'm handing it over to Fidel. Get everybody off, and blow her sky high."
"You're going to blow up a twenty-five million dollar spy plane?" Samuels gaped.
Rivers clenched his teeth, sensing the roll of the plane in his arms. Wavering, she wallowed with all the grace of a wounded whale. He grimaced, feeling the blood trickling down his arm, telling him she wasn't the only thing worse for wear. "You planning on giving a twenty-five million dollar spy plane to the Cubans?" he demanded.
Samuels shook his head, hazel eyes wild and dove for the back.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hawke. We really don't have any news to give you on your wife's condition," the young, harried-looking blonde nurse murmured. She cast Saint John a sympathetic glance. "I'm sure the doctor will tell you just as soon as he knows."
Saint John huffed in frustration, spinning on his heel and raking an exasperated hand through his hair. What he really wanted to do was slam his fist through the wall. What was wrong with Jo? Was it as simple as a fainting spell, a bad fall? Surely, she'd have awakened by now…"
Pacing his own section of hallway, String eyed his brother and Caitlin. Worried in his own right for Jo, he couldn't shake the gut-wrenching feeling Mike was running out of time. He knew if it was Cait in that bed, it'd rip his guts out to leave her, but he couldn't leave Mike or the plane either…
He spun, decision made, knowing he had to go…
…and nearly fell over Cait in the process.
Anguished blue-green eyes met his. "Go ahead, go," she whispered. "Take him with you," she said, nodding at Saint John. "Before they throw us all out of here."
String searched her eyes uneasily. "I'm sorry, Cait," he whispered hoarsely. "I know the timing sucks."
She gave him a weak half-smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "When doesn't it," she murmured, looking at Saint John slumped in the corner, his wide shoulders bowed in defeat. "Take him with you, String. I'll stay with Jo."
Hawke nodded, not trusting himself to say anything. "And Tuyen?" he rasped, wondering where this left them.
Caitlin cast a quick glance at the Vietnamese woman seated beside Amelia, gently stroking her back as she spoke to her quietly. Jealousy ate at her, pain clenching tightly around her heart. "We'll work something out," she muttered, trying hard not to taste the bitter flavor of betrayal in her mouth as she said the words. She refused to look at him.