Wearily, Jo burrowed into her husband's side, where he sat propped on the edge of the hospital bed.
It hadn't impressed Nurse Ratchet as she'd already dubbed her, when she'd come in fifteen minutes earlier - ordering him out with the information visiting hours were over. Irritation had had her slamming the door behind her on her way out.
Saint John hadn't moved. His fingers were securely tangled in hers and she could tell from the exhausted slump of his shoulders and his breathing he was almost asleep.
Cuba was a long way from California.
It was clear though, he wasn't leaving. Contentment slid over her like a warm blanket as she settled against him, feeling the solid weight of his arm tighten protectively around her.
Drowsily, she blinked fighting sleep, wanting to hang on to the moment. For now, at least, it seemed they'd gotten their second chance. There was just one thing that bothered her, a forgotten thought that niggled at her subconscious. Idly, she turned Sinj's earlier words over in her head, trying to remember what it might be.
Floating tendril crystallized into thought, clear and sharp - jolting her back to alertness. "A son," she whispered.
He'd said son. She was sure Sinj'd said son. Every reference to the baby had been to a boy. He'd said his son was a Hawke, a fighter…
But how could he know? She wasn't far enough along for the doctors to say…at least she didn't think so.
"Sinj," she whispered. Jostling his arm, she tried to wake him.
He drew a deep breath, obviously almost beyond her reach. "Hmmph?" he slurred, nearly dead to the world.
Could it be?
Hope slid unbidden across her heart, a smile lighting her weary features.
Maybe. Just maybe…
Cait put down the satellite phone, shooting Tuyen a worried look. Neither woman looked at the kids huddled in the bay window watching the storm.
"It is news?" Tuyen asked, her earlier forebodings coming back in full force.
"Yeah," the younger woman murmured, smoothing the afghan beside her with shaking hands. "That was Marella," she swallowed hard. "It seems they've lost radio contact with the C-130. They think maybe a possible lightening strike."
Horror slid across Tuyen's face. "They are lost?" she whispered.
Cait took a deep breath, trying to stave off her own tears. "They don't know. The others have been called. They've decided to wait at Redstar for news. Whatever it is, they'll hear it first."
Tuyen nodded. "I will help you get the kids ready."
Caitlin shook her head, her slender fingers knotting in the threads of the well-worn afghan. "I'm not going, Tuyen," she whispered. "I want you to take the kids and go with Marella."
Stunned, the Vietnamese woman stared at her. Hawke was her husband, of course she would go…Pain filled her heart. "Why?" she demanded. "If this is because of me…"
"No," Cait whispered hoarsely, glancing in the children's direction. "You've been a friend to me, to both of us in the truest sense of the word…"
"Then why…?"
Caitlin met her gaze, her blue-green eyes full of sadness. "I already thought I lost him once this year. If it comes to that, the kids will be better off with their family. Seb, Roper, Saint John - they'll know what to do."
Consternation filled the other woman's eyes. "And what about you?" she demanded.
Cait's gaze went to the lake just barely visible outside the window, her thoughts on String's loud boisterous family and the solitary man she'd married. Unshed tears glistened on the coppery lashes.
He'd had faith for sixteen years he'd find Saint John, she'd just have to have the same faith he'd make it home to her.
"A part of String's soul has always been here," she whispered. "I'm not alone, and no matter what happens I won't be." Blue-green eyes implored her to understand.
A memory of a much younger Stringfellow Hawke cradling her son in blood-stained fingers and facing down a sentry guard came to mind.
He hadn't left her then, and he wouldn't leave Caitlin now.
She nodded. "I'll tell Marella."
Afghan wrapped around slender shoulders, Caitlin raised a hand in farewell, watching the white Jet Ranger sweep over the water.
Telling the kids goodbye had been hard. Not crying had been even harder.
It had been clear the others hadn't understood. She wasn't sure she did herself, she thought, wrapping the blanket tighter against her shoulders in the sharp bite of the evening wind.
The helicopter swung out of sight around the mountains.
She just knew she felt String here, in the taste of the wind and in the worn warmth of the cabin where he'd held her and they'd made love throughout the years.
Red Star couldn't offer her that. Not now, not ever.
"Come on, Hawke," she whispered, drawing the blanket closer as she sat down on the scarred porch steps, evening starting to fall. "I'm waiting."
The flight home to Los Angeles Air Force Base was one of the longest String had ever endured, the landing gear touching down on the tarmac with a squeal.
Mike slept fitfully through it all.
Hawke watched with guarded blue eyes as Sarah and the doctors ran to meet the plane. Her fingers wrapped around Mike's good ones and didn't let go.
Saint John and the others hung back giving them room. Jo and Cait were nowhere in sight he realized with worry tightening his chest. And then Nicky and 'Melia were swarming over him, Seb and Roper enthusiastically pounding him on the back, Saint John giving him a rough hug before he trotted off after Mike and Sarah.
Behind them, Michael leaned heavily on his cane, Marella at his side. As the welcome subsided he stepped forward, flashing Hawke a grin as he offered him a hearty handshake. "Good to have you back, old man," he teased. "Was beginning to wonder if you were going to get my plane back intact."
Marella rolled her eyes, shoving her husband aside as she offered Hawke a warm hug. "It's good to have you back, String," she murmured. "Even if Michael is too much of a tough guy to admit so."
Hawke and Michael grinned. They might snap and snarl at each other, but it was clear they trusted each other implicitly. They'd laid their lives on the line for the other too many times not to.
"Feel free to hire a younger pilot anytime, Michael," Hawke retorted.
Archangel grimaced. He'd about decided between worrying about Airwolf, her crew, the T-3 and a missing C-130 he was going to develop an ulcer. "No, thanks," he rebutted. "I've got enough trouble keeping the ones I've got in line."
The grin slowly slid from String's face as he looked for Cait across the tarmac and didn't find her. His chin raised defensively. "Where're Cait and Tuyen?" he asked quietly.
Archangel swung, casting a surprised glance behind him. "Tuyen was here a moment ago…"
"And Cait…?" Hawke asked.
Michael cast a concerned glance Marella's way. She might not have told him everything, but he knew enough to sense there was a problem. He'd been as concerned as her when Caitlin hadn't shown today.
She smiled, perhaps a trifle too brightly and wrapped a slender arm through Hawke's, urging him towards the buildings at the end of the runway. Michael fell into step beside them.
"Maybe we should find Tuyen first?" she suggested. "I know she had some things she wanted to discuss with you. She'd also said something about needing to get back to Colorado…"
String halted, pulling Marella to a stop beside him. "Where's Cait?" he demanded quietly.
Marella sighed. "At the cabin, Hawke. She refused to come to Red Star with the others to wait. I offered to fly her and the kids in."
Hawke frowned, nodding. He looked away for a brief moment exhaling on a sharp breath. He was clearly worried.
"Fine," he said soberly. "I'll talk to Tuyen, but I need you to find me a way back to the hangar, Marella."
She nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
Shell-shocked, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed holding Mike's good hand in hers. She knew she wouldn't have been in there at all, except for Michael stepping in and pulling some strings.
As girlfriend, she'd soon found she didn't rate next of kin status, didn't rate much of anything. It was a sobering thought.
Not nearly as much so though, as the ones the doctors were laying out for them now.
She swallowed, trying hard to look brave. When Mike had been shot down, she'd been terrified he'd been killed or hurt, that the Cubans might torture him. That had paled into a distant memory as the doctors now discussed necrosis and tissue death, infection, and the possibility Mike might loose his arm. Best case scenario they were painting was nerve damage.
She swallowed again, fighting a rising wave of nausea, her thoughts framming like a wild bird against a cage. This wasn't supposed to be happening…couldn't be happening. Mike was one of the good guys.
She drew in a ragged breath, her fingers tightening spasmodically on Mike's.
Wincing, Rivers' dark blue eyes glanced her way, taking in her pinched, white face. He was feeling more than a little sick himself. He'd like to chalk it up to the antibiotics, but suddenly he wasn't so sure.
"Look, could we maybe do this later?" he rasped, hoping sympathy would outweigh rank for once. "I've had about all I can handle for one day."
Samuel Peters, Chief of Surgery at Las Angeles Air Force Base frowned. He wasn't used to having his authority questioned. "Look Major Rivers, I don't think you understand the seriousness of the matter at hand. It can't wait…"
Mike grimaced. He'd cut the painkillers by half this morning when the nurse had come in, wanting to be clear-headed for this consult. At the moment, he was thinking it'd been a bad idea.
"Five minutes," he snapped, desperation throbbing in his voice. "Just give me five minutes, and then you can do whatever you have to do." His tone was grim.
The doctor glanced from the fever-flushed pilot in front of him to the pale-faced woman stood next to him. Maybe they did get it, he thought with a rare, wry twist of sympathy in his gut. He turned, ushering his protesting colleague out. "We'll be back in five minutes, Major Rivers," he warned. "Make it quick."
The door closed behind him unnoticed.
Dark blue eyes collided with Sarah's lighter ones. The dream of losing her came back to him with startling clarity. "We okay?" Mike whispered hoarsely.
Her stomach churned and she felt it roil uneasily. Her tear-filled gaze dropped.
"Sarah?" he asked uncertainly, his eyes searching her face. Pain was chewing along his nerve endings, but it was nothing next to what he was feeling in his heart. "Are we okay?"
She crossed her fingers and raised her eyes, flashing him a tremulous and shaky grin, doing the only thing she knew to do.
She lied.
"Yeah, Mike," she whispered, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "We're fine."
Hawke didn't find Tuyen at the air base. It was a move in retrospect he should've expected. She'd never been one for big scenes.
Instead, he found himself hitching a ride home to Van Nuys airfield with Marella, courtesy of Angel One. It was a move he felt guilty for even though she'd insisted she had to get back to Red Star on 'urgent' business.
He had a feeling the 'urgent' business could be summed up by the manila envelope in his lap, detailing the dissolution of a marriage twenty-five years ago and signed by a judge he'd never heard of.
He was willing to bet she had though.
Flaring, the skids of the Long Ranger touched down on the tarmac outside Santini Air.
Reaching for the door, Hawke hesitated. "Thanks, Marella," he murmured, awkwardly. "For everything."
She nodded. Her chocolate brown eyes worried. "Let me know if you need help finding her, Hawke."
He nodded silently, not saying anything.
Dropping out of the helicopter, he latched the door behind him, ducking swishing rotor blades, before heading towards the open hangar. Pausing at the edge of the hangar, he watched Angel One take off.
Not surprisingly, the helicopter headed back towards Los Angeles Air Force Base.
Turning, Hawke sensed he had company long before he saw her - a slim wisp of a woman perched on the workbench table, dark hair falling over her shoulders. Tuyen, he thought, feeling the first real smile he'd felt in hours.
"Wondered where you'd got to," he said hoarsely, pacing across the hangar towards her.
She gave him a sad smile as he sat down on the bench next to her. "It did not seem the right place for us to say goodbye."
No, he guessed not. The thing was, he thought, watching the pale light from the dying afternoon sun glint on the simple band she wore on her right hand, he wasn't sure there was one.
Not then, not now. He shifted awkwardly. "Is that…?" he motioned, pointing.
She smiled, sliding the ring off, hefting it's slight weight in her palm for a moment. A much larger stone glittered on her left. "Yes," she murmured, "It is the one you gave me."
Gently, she placed it in his hand.
Frowning, Hawke took it, sliding his thumb over its smooth surface, remembering all too well the embarrassment he'd felt when he'd placed it on her finger; knowing all too well it'd been all he could afford at the time.
Not much of a prize to give the woman who'd saved your life from the PRU death squads, and you'd given your name to - no matter how temporarily. Regret welled in him.
Hastily, he handed it back to her, thankful he wasn't having to explain this to Cait. He wasn't sure she'd understand, he sure as hang didn't.
"You kept it?" he croaked. "Why?"
Tuyen slid the plain gold band back onto her finger. "To remind me of you," she said simply. "You have been the best friend I have ever had."
Faint laughter lines creased the skin around her eyes as she smiled up at him, nudging him with her shoulder. "Cait is very lucky to have you, Hawke."
He wondered if Cait would agree. At the moment, somehow he wasn't so sure. "And your fiance?" he rasped, gesturing to the ring she wore. "How does he feel about it?" He found it hard to believe another man would be so sanguine about her wearing his ring.
Dark brown eyes met his, as she wrapped her fingers in his companionably. "You saved my life. I would not be here, nor would my son, if it were not for you. I have not forgotten that. Neither has Robert."
Hawke stared at her, wondering not for the first time, who had saved who all those years ago in Vietnam. To this day, he wasn't real sure and it occurred to him, he might never know.
The thought opened up a dull ache in his chest. He swallowed, afraid he'd say something stupid. His gaze caught on the manila envelope beside her and he said the first thing that came to mind.
"Marella gave you the papers?"
Tuyen nodded, pulling her fingers from his. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Yes," she said softly. Dark silken hair fell forward around her shoulders, and without asking, Hawke knew she was crying, much as she had all those years ago at the airport, much as he'd felt like doing when he'd held her last letter in Vietnam.
Damn. Who would've thought goodbye the second time around would hurt so much…
He pulled her into an awkward hug, knowing this time it really was goodbye. "I'm going to miss you," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.
"And I you, Hawke," she rejoined, pulling back, her hand caressing his cheek. The dark eyes that had always seen too much, searched his. "She loves you, you know."
He hoped so. He gave her a weary, lopsided grin. "Well, I love her anyway."
She nodded, dropping down off the bench and turning to take one last look at the hangar as if to assure herself the boy she'd known all those years ago had really made it back. He had, they both had somehow.
Her fingers slid across his one last time.
"Goodbye, String," she whispered. And then she was gone, not looking back.
Always was a long time. The thought occurred to Cait as she stared at the greying evening sky, only beginning to be sprinkled with diamonds. She sighed, watching the shadows.
He'd meant it too, she mused, recalling the feel of String's fingers tangled in hers, the taste of coffee on his lips, the crack of vulnerability in his voice on the rare occasions he told her he loved her.
She'd never doubted him, waking up far too many times over the years from a close call to find him watching guard over her, and knowing he'd risked his life to save hers.
That he would again.
Hawke was a guy in it for the long haul. She wasn't sure why it'd taken Tuyen to remind her of that. To remind her, in the grand scheme of things that a piece of paper meant nothing...
And that a promise meant everything.
Blinking back tears, Caitlin rose from the step, gathering the blanket around her shoulders, the cold at last enough to drive even her in. Darkness had fallen.
Rolling his shoulders in a weary shrug, String landed the Bell Jet Ranger on the darkened dock. Somewhere between the hangar and the cabin, night had fallen, leaving the skies clear and cold with a sprinkling of stars.
It would've been the perfect night, if he'd had someone to share it with. Assuming of course, that someone was Cait.
Gut clenching with anxiety, he swung down from the helicopter onto the dock, the wind off the lake rifling his hair.
He still had no idea what to say to Cait, and he didn't think the icy feeling in his chest had a thing to do with the wind.
The possibility that he might've finally pushed his luck with her too far loomed frighteningly real in his mind.
It had been a possibility that had seemed more real with every passing moment. A possibility that he hadn't been able to put out of his mind since he'd told her goodbye two days ago, knowing well and good that it might be forever. Every marriage had its limits. He just wasn't so sure why he seemed determined to test his.
He loved her. He wasn't sure why he was so abysmally bad at telling her that, why it felt like tempting fate just to say the words, but he loved her more than life itself.
Frustration, mostly with himself, had him raking an impatient hand through already mussed hair. He could only hope this thing with Tuyen hadn't cost him the chance to tell her.
He knew he'd hurt her, hurt her badly. That she'd viewed his omission as a betrayal. It hadn't been his intention. It had just been…complicated, he thought with a sigh.
Smoke wafted from the cabin chimney, the acrid smoke reminding him again how cold it was and he hunched his shoulders against the chill night air. He picked up his flagging pace.
Well, at least she hadn't left…yet.
He heaved in a doubtful breath, his steps echoing hollowly on the dock beneath his feet.
Climbing the worn wood steps to the cabin, he sensed her before he heard her, knowing instinctively it was Cait who waited on him in the shadows.
He froze, glancing up, whatever words he might've said caught on the lump in his throat. The only thought that sliced across his mind, being the bitter wind and that it was far too cold for her to be out here.
Swallowing, he managed her name, cursing himself for five kinds of stupid even as the words escaped his mouth. "Cait," he rasped, "what're you doing out here?"
"Waiting for you," she whispered, dragging the blanket about her shoulders and taking a half step towards him. She shivered in the night air.
His fingers tightened on the rail at the vulnerability in her face, knowing he'd put it there, vulnerability that hadn't been there since the early days of their relationship.
It felt like a punch in the gut.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should've told you about Tuyen."
She nodded, taking another step. "Yeah, you should've," she murmured, not giving him an inch.
String raked a frustrated hand through his hair. "It's just that it was…"
"Complicated," Cait sighed. "Somehow, with you it always is."
He grimaced, wishing he could take it back, that there was some way to explain…
"I'll take you anyway," Caitlin whispered, her fingers reaching out and catching his.