The storm rolled in, heavy grey clouds and driving rain. Tied down and secure, Airwolf rode it out above decks, the T-3 below in the hopes something of her surveillance mission could be salvaged.
It remained to be seen. The price had been high - two lives and almost a third, Hawke thought. Arms crossed and seated in a chair at the end of the bed, feet propped up, String watched his brother and Mike through half-closed lids.
Mike still had a long way to go. He should know - he'd listened to the nurse raise Cain with him last night over the ratted bandages and torn loose iv.
It'd nearly taken an act of Congress to get him and Saint John in here after that. Quite frankly, the only reason he thought they were in here at all, was she didn't trust her patient to be left on his own.
She had good reason. Rivers was nearly as bad as he and Saint John. He gave a wry half-grin. Poor Sarah, if only she knew what she'd let herself in for there.
Absently, he recognized the thaw in his attitude realizing the irony at the same time. He'd known Mike ten years - trusted him with his life countless times - maybe it was time he trusted him with his sister.
Maybe it was time he cut him some slack.
He was a good man, an honest man. And while he was something of a flirt, he definitely seemed to love Sarah. She was a grown woman now, maybe it was time he started treating her like it.
It wasn't like he hadn't made mistakes along the way. He sighed. The whole mess with Tuyen was plain enough evidence of that.
He glanced up as Saint John's laughter rang out and Mike cracked a weary smile. He could only hope, it wasn't too late for all three of them with the women in their lives.
Hawke's feet thudded to the floor, riveting two pairs of eyes to him instantly.
He shoved to his feet. "I need some air," he muttered, not meeting their eyes. Wordlessly, he stalked out the door.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Should I ask?"
Frowning slightly, Saint John shook his head. "Who knows?" he shrugged. "This is String we're talking about."
Shifting painfully, Mike acknowledged the truth of that statement. He might like Hawke, wouldn't rather have anybody else back him in a firefight, but he would never hazard a guess what went on inside that head of his.
Just as well. What he had to say was between him and Saint John anyway, and he could do without Hawke taking his head off - well-intentioned, or not.
You didn't grow up in a household of women and not get a clue. He'd been pretty sure Josephine Santini Hawke was pregnant before he'd left on that mission for Michael. He'd also been pretty sure she hadn't said anything to Saint John. What he wasn't sure of, was why?
Beside him, Saint John gave a weary sigh, raking one large hand through already tousled hair. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
Mike frowned, knowing he had to say something. He just wasn't sure what. "Sinj?"
"Yeah?" the older pilot replied absently.
"Did you ever get a chance to talk to Jo before you headed out here?"
"No," he rubbed his face tiredly. "There was that whole mess at the hangar." He'd briefly brought Mike up to speed about Jo getting hurt, earlier when string had gone for coffee.
He wasn't even sure where to begin about the rest.
"So, she didn't say anything?" Rivers queried.
Something about Mike's question his attention. "No." Hazel eyes regarded him somewhat warily. "Is there something I should know?"
Rivers grimaced, clearly uncomfortable. If he was wrong…oh, heck if he was right…
Saint John scowled, watching the emotions play across Rivers' face. Whatever it was, he wasn't joking. A faint clutch of unease clutched at his gut.
"Spit it out, Mike," he rasped hoarsely.
Dark blue eyes met his momentarily before glancing away. "Anything seem a little off about Jo lately? Outta sorts, if you know what I mean?"
Guiltily, Saint John thought back. He'd been up to his eyeballs with the business when they'd thought String was dead, and then afterwards there'd been the destruction at Redstar, thanks to Van der Berg…
…And, his conscience snarled at him - the real reason he'd tried burying himself in work once he'd found out String was okay…
…the anniversary of Bella's death.
The thought was like a raw wound, even after all this time, suddenly jabbed by a sharp stick.
It ached. It took his breath away.
He winced sadly, guiltily, sagging, knowing he wanted to forget.
What kind of man did that make him anyway?
Mike's gaze was sympathetic, he too remembered all too well. "Sinj," he muttered, "that's not what I'm talking about." Though, he thought, maybe it played into it.
"Then what?" Sinj rasped.
Mike huffed a sigh. "Was Jo acting strange?"
"Strange, how so?" Saint John demanded. Thinking back, there'd been a lot of things off, but then it'd been a rough couple months all around.
It didn't let him off the hook though. He should've been paying more attention. He knew she hadn't been sleeping, hadn't felt well. Heck, she'd been to the doctor the morning of the accident.
"She's been stressed, Mike. We all have."
"What if it's not stress?" Mike demanded. He'd seen how she'd gone running when he'd brought in sushi last week to share for lunch. He'd also covered for her a couple times when Sinj had had charters out of town, and she'd said she had a doctor appointment.
He'd also noticed the sudden aversion to doughnuts and coffee she'd developed. Heck, the percolator had been MIA for a week and she hadn't batted an eyelid. For a caffeine-addict like Jo, that alone was odd.
'Course, Saint John who rarely drank the stuff probably wouldn't have noticed.
Saint John frowned. Mike was right. Jo hadn't been her usual self - even all things considered. He wondered vaguely if he should've said something to her about Bella. "She say something to you?"
"No."
Sudden fear clutched at his stomach, memories rushing back. Jo's mother had died of cancer when she was small. He could remember going to see her with Dom when she was dying. She'd been roughly the age Jo was now.
"You think she's sick?" he rasped, worry lines bracketing his mouth.
Mike swallowed, his stomach rebelling against the painkillers and the action of the ship. He hoped he wasn't about to sound the death knell on his friend's marriage. "No, Sinj. I think she's pregnant and she didn't tell you."
Hawke paced the narrow confines of Vulture's Row. Aptly named, it gave him a bird's eye view of the flight deck below.
It also gave him a pretty good view of the Lady. Unfortunately, she was starting to attract attention.
He shivered, the damp salt spray stinging his eyes. The weather was lifting, a flight window starting to open. Archangel had been right. He needed to get her off deck and out of sight.
Fueled, she'd flown in worse, he thought rolling his shoulders stiffly. There was no way Mike was ready for a six hour flight home. Either he or Sinj would have to stay.
Stepping back, he leaned against the rail, the wind rifling his hair as he squinted at the distant grey horizon, his thoughts on Cait and Jo. The only question was which one…
Stunned, Saint John stared at his friend, wondering if he should be worrying about his sanity. Equal measures of hope and pain clawed at his chest. "You what?" he managed, with a shaky laugh. "Mike, that's crazy."
Rivers turned his own storm-tossed glare on him. "Maybe," he conceded. He sure didn't look like he was joking. "But I'm willing to bet money I'm right."
Irritation flared in Saint John's eyes. "Alright, Mike," he snapped, trying to ignore the pain he felt. "I'll bite. Why?"
His friend grimaced. How did you explain gut instinct?
"I don't know, Sinj," he sighed. "Maybe because of Bella, maybe because you push so hard, maybe she's afraid. How the heck would I know? She's your wife."
Saint John ran a shaking hand over his face. "Look, Mike," he said, trying to remind himself, it was probably the drugs talking, "she wouldn't do that."
Troubled blue eyes met his. "Are you sure, Sinj? Are you absolutely, beyond a doubt sure?"
Saint John frowned at him. He looked with it, alert, coherent. Even Rivers for all his joking around, wouldn't kid about this. A trickle of unease flickered in his chest.
Was he? Was he absolutely certain?
No.
Despair bowed his shoulders. Much as he hated admitting it, Bella's death had changed both of them - and not necessarily for the better.
Before when they'd fought, there'd always been the making up to look forward to. Now when they fought, he wondered what it'd take to lose her.
He cradled his head in his hands, his heart heavy. "No, Mike," he muttered. "I'm not sure. I'm not sure of much of anything anymore."
He knew he loved her. He knew he didn't want to live without her in his life. He didn't know if he could forgive her though, if what Mike said was true and she terminated his baby and didn't even tell him.
Panic flared and he shoved to his feet, restless edgy, pacing the floor. Worriedly, he raked a hand down a stubbled chin. "So, what am I supposed to do, Mike?" he demanded.
Wincing, Rivers shoved himself up in the bed, wishing there was a better way to say what had to be said.
He knew all too well, Saint John had mourned Bella, had taken her death hard.
He also knew it'd created almost as many problems for him and Jo, as losing their daughter had.
"You start with hauling your butt home." Mike's tone was harsh, unyielding.
The bitten off words caught Saint John by surprise. He was stunned at how much they hurt.
"Easier said than done," he muttered. The broad shoulders sagged.
Mike's sigh was harsh. "Yeah, maybe so, Sinj, but the truth of the matter is you weren't there for her when Bella died and she wasn't there for you. Both of you were so wrapped up in your own grief, there was no room for anybody else's."
Frustrated, the rangy blonde started to protest, only to have Mike cut him off. "You cut each other out when you needed each other most. It almost cost you your marriage."
Saint John didn't say anything, pain lines bracketing his mouth. He remembered all too clearly what it'd been like.
Mike continued. "All I'm saying is you'd sure as hell better be there for her now. You lose her this time, you'll lose your marriage and your kid."
Sober blue eyes met his.
"There won't be any going back."