Dumbstruck, Saint John Hawke sank onto the chair outside his wife's room, the doctor's words still ringing in his ears. Blinking back tears, he leaned his head back against the wall, passing a weary hand over his eyes.

He'd barely found out he was going to be a father again, when he found out he might not only lose this baby, but Jo as well.

Stretching, String glanced over at Mike, his own unease making a lousy flight companion. Mike on the other hand didn't seem to much mind - so far he'd slept through the first three hours of the flight.

It was a feat Hawke envied him - though he wasn't sure how much longer the other man'd be able to keep it up.

He grimaced as the plane hit another pocket of air turbulence and Mike stirred, muttering.

Better the doctor had knocked them both out, he thought grimly. Hitching a ride in the back of a C-130 could hardly be called traveling in style in the best of times.

As it was, he was beginning to think that half a grapefruit he'd downed at breakfast was a serious mistake.

Marella frowned, looking down at the 1300 action reports. It seemed Airwolf had made it safely home, taking advantage of a window in the weather.

The C-130 trailing her hadn't been so lucky. She was heading squarely into the storm Airwolf had just ducked - a storm that had just increased in strength fivefold.

Maybe it was time to call Cait.

Hand raised, Saint John hesitated outside the hospital room door. Somehow, it seemed innocuous he should have to knock to announce himself to the woman he'd shared his soul with, created a baby with. He corrected himself - created two babies with…

He gave a soul-deep sigh, pushing open the door. Screw protocol, he thought, last he checked she was still his wife.

Impatiently, he stepped in, only to draw up short when he realized she was asleep. Uncomfortably, he paused, uneasily shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Sunlight streamed through the open window, reflecting in the crystal flower vase on the window sill and refracting on the walls. Fingers of it caught in the honeyed strands strewn across the pillowcase and warmed it like a lover's caress.

He swallowed hard, struck again by how beautiful she was, even after all these years. As beautiful as the first time he'd laid eyes on her at Dom's hangar, just back from college.

He set the bag he carried down, with a soft thump on the table beside him.

She stirred, muttering and he stilled sliding into the seat next to her. Up close, he could see the violet smudges under her eyes and the bruising where the iv snaked around her wrist.

And if he held his head just so, he could almost make out the soft, barely there swell to her belly where their child resided. He fought the urge to gently cradle it with one large hand and settled for caressing her fingers with his thumb.

His. For as long as God let him keep them. He was startled at the possessiveness of the thought. He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

"Sinj?" Jo's voice husky and bemused with sleep whispered. Pure, unadulterated joy filled her gaze for a moment and he soaked it in. "What're you doing here?"

Hazel grey eyes met hers. "Waiting for you to wake up, beautiful." His fingers tangled in hers.

He could tell the moment she really woke up, sense the wariness that crept into her blue eyes. She pulled her fingers from his, as she struggled to push up in the bed.

"You know?" she asked hoarsely, looking everywhere but at him.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice sober. "What I don't know yet is why, Jo." His voice cracked. "You want to enlighten me?"

Anxiously, she twisted the rings on her left hand, not meeting his eyes. Her cheeks flushed guiltily. She didn't answer.

Hurt clenched at Saint John's chest, pain welling up. "Dammit, Jo, answer me!" he snarled. "Were you planning on terminating it? Killing our baby? I know you said you didn't want another, but…" furiously, his voice raised in pitch.

"No! Yes! I don't know Saint John!" Jo's own temper flared as her emotions surged. "Mostly I just couldn't believe I was pregnant again! When I said I didn't want another after Bella, I meant it! Losing her hurt too much..."

Saint John grimaced, knowing all too well what losing Bella'd been like. She might have been his daughter, but it'd been Jo who'd carried her, and nursed her. Jo who'd lost her that fateful day at the beach. He tried to remember that.

"And now?" he asked harshly, his throat tight.

Jo's voice dropped several notches. He had to strain to hear the words.

Her fingers clenched tightly in her lap, again twisting the rings. Her voice implored him to understand. "It's not like we were trying, Sinj," she whispered. "I was terrified."

He frowned. "Terrified of what?"

"Terrified of being pregnant, of losing this baby." She gave a hiccupping sob. "After all,... I lost Bella. What makes me think I could do any better this time around?"

Saint John winced. "Jo…"

She gave him a wistful smile, that didn't reach all the way to her eyes.

He thought it was maybe the saddest thing he'd ever seen, his heart flopping over.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets. "I guess I thought if I pretended I wasn't, then it wouldn't hurt so much if I lost it. If I denied it, then I couldn't jinx it."

She looked up, meeting his gaze. "I guess I was wrong, huh? Now that I may lose this child, I find I want it more than my next breath, and I know that you do. Denying it doesn't change that." She sighed as a fat tear slid down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Sinj. What I did was wrong and I know I hurt you. Worse, I may have taken your only chance to know your son or daughter."

Saint John took a shuddering breath, trying to figure out the complexities that made up his wife.

Evidently, they had a lot further to go than he'd thought. He'd wanted to kill her when Mike had told him, realized all the little things he should've caught and didn't…

Then when the doctor had told him the news, all he could think of was losing her. Losing the baby would be horrible, losing her might kill him.

When the doctor had told him the news of her wanting to keep the baby, he hadn't been sure he believed him.

He did now. And it scared him spitless…

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked, hazel eyes worriedly searching her face.

Jo didn't have to ask what "this" was. She knew.

She stopped twisting the rings on her fingers and raised her chin. The pale lips trembled, but there was husky determination in the words. "Yeah, Sinj. I'm sure. There's been a lot of things I've done wrong between you and I. This isn't one of them."

Saint John nodded, closing his eyes for a moment on a deep breath, trying to still the frantic pounding of his heart. It wasn't working.

He reached over, catching her fingers in his. "You're something else, Jo Santini Hawke," he rasped. "You know that?"

She gave him a watery grin. "Think somebody might've told me that a time or two. Not so sure they meant it as a compliment though."

One side of his mouth hiked into a lopsided smile. His thumb rubbed against hers.

He watched her hand curve subconsciously, protectively around her stomach.

Saint John saw it and swallowed. How many times had she done that when she was pregnant with Bella?

"He's a Hawke, Jo," he whispered hoarsely, tightening his hand on hers. "He's a fighter."

Suddenly, self-conscious she flushed, curling her fingers deep into her palm, pulling away from him.

She nodded.

Saint John sobered, looking at her. If she'd been terrified before, he didn't even want to think what she must be now.

He reached for her chin, knowing he had to make her understand.

"Jo," he murmured, his voice choking. Embarrassed, he soldiered on. "I want our son, but even if for some reason he doesn't make it, I want you to know I love you, more than life itself. I'll always love you."

His fingers tightened slightly on her chin, even as his thumb slid across her cheek. "We're in this together, sweetheart. No matter what happens, okay?"

She nodded, her eyes full of tears. She couldn't have spoken if her life depended on it.

Hazel eyes caught hers. "No more running," Saint John whispered. "Promise?"

Her fingers gripped his. "Promise," she whispered.

Jolting awake, Mike winced on a curse as pain ratcheted through his body. Hitting an air pocket, his elbow slammed into the side of the gurney. Gracelessly, he grabbed for the metal edge trying to avoid being dumped to the floor, even as he realized his reaction time was way too slow.

A strong, square-tipped hand caught him at the last instant. Staggering, Hawke struggled to maintain his footing and keep his friend out of the floor. "Not sure I would've picked now to rejoin the land of the living, Rivers, if I were you," he rasped dryly.

The plane lurched again, slamming Mike's shoulder into the bulkhead and sprawling String across his arm.

Mike bit back a groan, as String hurriedly shoved himself free. "You know me," he gasped. "Wouldn't want to miss all the fun. What're they doing up there? Flyin' a demolition derby?"

One side of Hawke's mouth hiked into a wry grin. "Would explain a lot. Think they were dressed like Air Force pilots."

Mike gave a half-choked laugh. "Just so long as they're not Army."