"Honey," Dominic Santini sat back from the kitchen table with a deep, contented sigh, feeling replete. After the ritual of baths and bedtime stories, and finally getting the kids settled, Helen Santini had provided a sumptuous meal of Minestrone soup, followed by chicken and plump mushrooms in a rich tomato and basil sauce served with a selection of vegetables and baby potatoes and finished it off with his absolute favourite, Tiramisu, a rich, Italian sherry trifle.

Dominic had eaten with relish, but he had not been able to ignore the fact that she only pushed her food around her plates, taking just the odd bite now and again.

"Your cooking don't get any worse!" he grinned, patting his large belly with one hand and reaching out to take a sip of the red wine she had poured out for him with the other.

"Thank you. It's always nice to have someone who appreciates my efforts," she smiled tiredly at him, pushing her own plate of barely touched food away from her and reaching out to a mug of coffee.

"How did it go today? At the doctor's office?" he asked gently now, watching her with a practised eye and was pleased at the smile that curled at her lips.

"Fine. My blood pressure was up a little, but once I explained about String …. He was a little concerned about the weight gain …."

"What weight gain?" Santini scoffed.

"Exactly," She sighed regretfully. "I was like a beached whale with the others, but this time. Still, he says the baby is fine, the head is engaged, and it could be action stations any day now."

"Oh boy …."

"I hope you've been practising your breathing exercises," she grinned playfully at him then.

"No, but I've been practising my getting into a panic over whether or not I've got your clothes in the car, and how long it will take to drive you to the hospital!" he chuckled then. "So, how come you ain't asked me how it went with String?"

"I knew you would get around to it, once you'd finished feeding your face," she laughed softly then. "Well?"

"Well," Santini let out a deep sigh then and took another sip of his wine. Helen reached out for the bottle to top up his glass but he put his hand over the top of it. "I'm driving, remember?"

"That old couch has your name written all over it, Papa Dominic. You know I always find it hard to throw you out."

"But my back would never forgive me. My days of sleeping over on couches are long gone, sweetheart. Anyway, where was I?"

"You were going to tell me how it went with String."

"Oh yeah. Well, that was a completely novel experience," he sighed again now and scratched absently at his ear.

"How do you mean?" She regarded him with curiosity, and more than a hint of concern, her head tilted slightly to one side.

"Well, he looks like String, and he sounds like String, but, oh boy!"

"He is all right, isn't he?"

Dominic Santini could instantly see the anxiety in her lovely green eyes and his heart went out to her.

"I mean, it is just something to do with the coma, remnants of dreams? After effects of the drugs? Isn't it, Papa Dominic?" There was a crack in her voice now but she tried to hide it by taking another sip of her coffee.

"I don't know honey, I ain't no doctor. But, seems to me, he believes it. To him it's very real, and there ain't no two ways about it. He don't remember much at all about this life, but the other life is very real to him. I guess 'cos it's still so fresh in his mind."

"Other life? What other life?" Helen Santini frowned now.

"Oh gee honey, I forgot, I didn't get around to telling you yet. Well, he believes that he is a guy called Stringfellow Hawke, and that he is single and lives in LA and flies stunts for movies and TV," Santini elaborated. "That's it in a nutshell. There's more to it, but it would take me all night to unravel it."

"Oh God!" She let out a soft moan of anguish then. "I told you he didn't remember us."

"Honey, he don't remember a whole heap of stuff. Maria, Sky. It's not just you and the kid. He don't remember St John dying, or being stuck in that god-awful wheelchair for months before and after the surgery. He don't even remember the day we adopted them, kept calling me Dom. Just once I would have liked to hear him call me Dad again. I've missed that."

"Oh Dom," she reached out and laid her hand on top of his now. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, but one thing is for sure, we ain't gonna let him stew in this fantasy world he's in right now. The sooner he learns that this is what his real life is about, the sooner he can get back to living it."

"What if this other life is something that his mind has come up with, because he simply can't face the truth? His life, with us? Maybe this other life is what he has been wishing his life were really like all along."

"Bulldust!"

"But we can't make him remember. We can't make him believe. "

"Why not? When we take him home, back to the house in Malibu, all he has to do is look around him. That is his world. That is where he will find his life, his home and his family, everything he needs to help him remember."

"And what if he never remembers?"

"Don't even think about it."

"I can't help it, Dom. It's not just his life anymore. It's mine and the children's too. If he's denying all of us," her voice trailed away then, and he could see the tears welling up in her green eyes. "If he denies any memory of us, Dominic, then there is no future."

"It won't come to that. You have to give him time. He's been to hell and back, twice now."

"Maybe his mind is just not allowing him to remember because it's just too painful?" she ventured then, trying to appear more positive.

Dominic was so relieved that his son was back. So happy and so up, she had no desire to dent that joy for him with her own fears and worries.

"Maybe the implication of the crash …. All those lives he held in his hand. Maybe having to feel anything right now is just too big an ask? After everything he must have been feeling when that plane hit the ground, maybe it's just too big for him to comprehend right now?"

"That's what Doc Coleman said, but if you ask me, he's just blowing smoke," Dominic sighed deeply and reached out across the table to pat her hand gently.

"Coleman's a quack, but sometimes he makes a little sense," Helen Santini smiled softly back at him.

"Anyway, I'm sure the docs will want to get to the bottom of it too. Coleman was already talking about a whole barrage of tests," Santini informed gently, and then noticed the expression on his daughter in law's face.

"Now don't look like that, honey, I know you're worried about the expense, but there's no need. All of his medical bills are taken care of by the Pilots Association." Santini assured. "Hang the damned expense anyway, getting him well, getting him back, whole, that's the most important thing. I'll sell my soul to the Devil himself if necessary, so you just stop worrying your pretty little head about things like money. You've got other things to think about. Like, that little bundle of joy you will soon hold in your arms. Got a name yet?"

"Yeah," she smiled secretively then.

"Oh I see. Wanna keep it to yourself?"

"Well it rather depends on whether it's a boy or a girl. I hardly think you want your new grandson to be named Angelina now, would you?"

Dominic Santini spluttered on the sip of wine he had taken and laughed out loud.

It was good to see that she hadn't lost her sense of humour.

"I thought you and String agreed no Italian names, and no weird names either. He had enough of growing up with being teased over his name, the fights he got into over it because some bigger kid thought it was funny, and I know how much he hated the idea of his own kids having to go through that."

"Don't worry, Dominic, I've decided on something very sensible, and hopefully something that String will approve of," she grew thoughtful for a moment and then after taking a soft breath, fixed Dominic Santini with hopeful eyes. "Did he ask about, me?"

"Yeah," Santini lied, but the slight hesitation in his voice was enough for Helen Santini to pick up on.

"Bless you, Dom, but, he didn't, did he?"

"Kinda."

"Oh?"

"Well, I was telling him a little about Maria and Skyler, and when I asked if he wanted to know about you, he said I'd better tell him something, so that the next time he saw you, he didn't hurt you unnecessarily."

"Oh."

"But then I decided it was probably better if the two of you just sat down together and got to know each other all over again. Might be the best way for him to remember how and why he fell in love with you in the first place."

"And fall in love with me all over again?"

"Yeah," Santini grinned.

"You soppy old romantic, but, what if he doesn't?"

"Huh?"

"What if he doesn't remember? What if he doesn't fall in love with me all over again, Dom? Where does that leave me and the kids?"

"It ain't gonna happen, love. That boy loves you, you know that. You know it. Once he gets home and things start getting back to normal around him, he'll remember it too. He'll know it and believe it. It's gonna be all right, sweetheart."

She nodded then, to please him, but deep in her heart, Helen Santini was not so sure.

Friday – Late afternoon.

"Hello Stringfellow," Dr Don Walker briefly cast his eyes down to the patient's notes to check that he had the right case and the right patient, and then flicked his gaze back to the young man sitting propped up by several fat pillows in the bed in front of him. "It is Stringfellow, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I'm Donald Walker," the man extended his hand out to Hawke, who shook it briefly and then regarded him with interest.

"You must be the head shrinker," Hawke regarded him back. The newcomer was fairly tall, six feet or just a little shy, with pleasant open features, a calm expression, and steady brown eyes. Hawke estimated his age to be somewhere close to his own.

"The what?" Walker tilted his head slightly to one side, birdlike.

"The psychiatrist," Hawke sighed deeply.

"How do you work that out?" Walker's tone of voice remained evenly modulated as he raised one eyebrow in curiosity.

"Well now, let me see," Hawke sighed deeply, raising his eyes to the ceiling briefly. "There's been a parade of folks in here all day, from different departments, or else I've been wheeled down to see them in their departments, so that they could play with their toys. Physical therapy, X-Ray and imaging, pathology. Seems like the only other departments left are maternity, psychiatry or the mortuary. I don't appear to qualify for the other two. At least not just yet."

"You have a good sense of humour, Mr Santini," Walker glanced down at the patient's notes once more only to find him scowling at him when he looked back. "That's a good sign," his voice trailed away. "Ah yes," he added at last. "I see from the brief notes made by my colleague that you don't believe that you are Stringfellow Santini."

The doctor made him self comfortable then, perched on one leg on the side of the bed and, expression neutral, regarded Stringfellow Hawke.

"So, what would you prefer I call you?"

"Hawke. Hawke will do just fine."

"Fine. Hawke it is then," Walker agreed, and Hawke got the distinct impression that he was merely humouring him. "The notes describe quite a marked difference in what you remember, and what is actually so."

"According to you."

"Well, there is certainly enough documented evidence to back up the Stringfellow Santini identity. Nothing, on the other hand, to prove that a man named Stringfellow Hawke even exists. Everything I could find indicates that he ceased to exist at the age of ten, when he was adopted and took the name Stringfellow Santini," the doctor smiled benignly at him.

"What? You think I made him up?"

"Tell me why you would have a need to make him up?" Walker asked in that calm, even voice again.

"Oh terrific, doc! You think that I'm a crazy person who has invented another personality because I can't face the reality of my life?" Hawke sneered.

"That would be a fair assessment. If, indeed, you were the psychiatrist, and not I."

"Doc, where did you do your training? The Acme school of psychiatry? Look, I don't understand it any better than you do. I just know what I know!"

"That's it? There is no other side to the coin? No other perspective? Everyone else is wrong and you are right?" Walker queried. "So what would you have me believe? That you have fallen out of the sky from a different universe? A different plain of reality?"

"Well, I did fall out of the sky. Or so they tell me," Hawke quipped.

"Read much science fiction?"

"Hardly ever," Hawke countered.

"Yes. All right, Hawke," Walker sighed softly and regarded Hawke with a steady gaze. "I didn't mean to make you confrontational. Say we start at the beginning, and you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up and discovered that you weren't who you thought you were."

"Do me a favour doc, and go to hell!" Hawke snarled. "I don't think we are going to get anywhere, do you? You don't want to try to believe me, and I can't believe anything that you think is true about me. I'd call that an impasse, wouldn't you?"

"Anger is good, Hawke. Why are you angry?"

"Oh, go to hell!"

"Take it easy," the doctor spoke soothingly. "It's not a case of not wanting to believe you. I'm not your enemy, Hawke. I'm here to try to help you. To try to help you figure this out."

"I am not crazy!"

"No, Hawke, I don't believe that you're crazy either."

The doctor's calm response in the face of his anger immediately disarmed Hawke.

"Then what the hell is wrong with me?" Hawke asked then, the angry words he had been preparing to launch at the other man melting from his lips.

"That's what I'm here to try to find out. I need to know what you remember, and just how vivid these memories are. That might help me to understand why they are so real to you, and yet you seem to have forgotten everything about your real life."

"Doc, you don't know how much I would love for this to be real. True. To find that I have a beautiful wife and three wonderful kids, a baby on the way and a father who adores me, but, I know it isn't so, and nothing that you or anyone else can say or do will make it so."

"What are you running from Hawke? What are you hiding from?"

"Nothing."

"It is my belief that there is something in your life that you find too painful to confront at this time. So, to fill the void left by the loss of the real life memories, your mind has created this alternate existence. Where you have no fears, and no responsibilities, and no emotional ties."

"Doc, shove it!"

"Hey, I'm only theorizing here."

"It's not helping," Hawke sighed deeply, and this drew a genuinely warm smile from the other man.

"When I came in here and you figured out I was the head doctor, you were up for a fight even before you knew what I was going to say. Have you had dealings with psychiatrists before?"

"Yeah. After Vietnam."

"That would be as Hawke, not Santini?"

"That's right."

"But Stringfellow Santini also received counselling. To help him adjust to the possibility that he might never walk again, and to help him to come to terms with the death of his brother."

"Yeah, well, me too. I was having chronic nightmares about St John. The doctors at the VA wouldn't let me out until I agreed to see a shrink. It didn't help."

"Well, times have changed. We in the field of psychiatry have moved on just a little," the doctor smiled softly.

"I want to help you to get to the bottom of this too, Hawke. I'm not interested in trying to prove that you are loco and should be shut away from the world for the rest of your life. What I have seen of you so far, my friend, you seem to be perfectly sane and rational. But, there is something not right up here," he tapped the side of his head with his index finger.

"Something has become disconnected. Unglued. A loose connection. If we work together, maybe we can get it fixed. Reconnected. Maybe it will all just go away by its self, or maybe we just need to talk it through and think about it rationally. Are you prepared to trust me? Work with me? Do you want to get your life back?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I would hope so. You have so much to look forward to …. Think about that new life your wife is carrying. You can't tell me that you don't want a chance to get to know him or her? And your lovely wife? You can't tell me that you don't want a chance to get to know her again?"

"It wouldn't be fair."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a stranger. I'm not the man she is married to, and I can't be that man. I can't be what she wants. Or needs."

"Maybe not right now, perhaps, but, there is nothing to say that you can't become that man again. That you can't have back all the wonderful things you had before this terrible accident."

"Ok," Hawke let out a deep sigh of submission.

The doctor was obviously hung up on this theory that his mind was trying to protect him from something that it simply couldn't face in this reality, and for now, Hawke sensed that it was probably better all around if he went along with him.

His main priority now was getting out of this damned hospital room.

Getting his strength back, so that he could get out there into the world and do some snooping around of his own, find out for himself what was real and what was not, and to do that he had to go along with this charade.

He had to get out of this room and find out for himself if the people and the places he remembered were real or not.

"Will you work with me?"

"Hell, why not? Worst thing that can happen is that I spend the rest of my natural life in a padded cell, right?"

"Good. Good. As I said humour is a good thing, Hawke. One more thing I need to ask, and I hope you won't go off at the deep end, but, do you recall if you and Helen were having any problems? Before the accident?"

"How should I know? I'm not her husband," Hawke sighed deeply. "Maybe you'd better ask her. Oh, I see," Hawke's eyes narrowed now as he realised what the doctor was hinting at. "You're wondering if I have been maybe sneaking around behind her back and this is all down to a guilty conscience because I have been cheating on my wife?"

"Well, it is a possible theory."

"Can't help you," Hawke sighed softly. "But I know I'm not that kind of guy!"

"Neither is Stringfellow Santini. To the best of my knowledge. All right, it's just that you indicated that you felt that it would be unfair to get too close to her, because you can't be the man that she needs or wants you to be. It made me wonder if that was how Stringfellow Santini might have felt before the accident?" Walker explained his reasoning behind the question.

"Everyone expects the woman to feel stressed out and emotional about the arrival of a new baby into the family, and they forget that Dad has feelings too. Stressing, about another hungry mouth to feed, another new little person to get to know, sleepless nights, medical bills, school fees. They are all small things within themselves, but throw them into the mix with a responsible, dangerous and complicated job and all the expectations that go along with that. You wouldn't have been the first man to have gotten depressed, and there isn't any shame in admitting it."

Stringfellow Hawke remained silent and sullen, and the doctor closed his eyes briefly and let out a deep sigh.

"All right, lets move along. Now, why don't you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up?"

"Ok," Hawke let out a deep sigh.

If it meant that he could get out of this place some time soon, he did not see why he should not play along with the guy.

Just for a while.

"The last date I remember is, July 11th, 1986. Dom, my Dom. had it marked in red on the office calendar. It was the day that I was due to have my physical to renew my pilot's licence."

"That's good," the doctor glanced up from his patient's notes and smiled gently back at Hawke. "That appears to be a consistent memory. You told Dr Coleman the same thing."

"I know that," Hawke sighed in frustration.

"What else do you remember?"

"People mostly."

"Which people?"

"Well, Dom of course …"

"Why of course?" The doctor challenged then.

"Because, for as far back as I can remember, Dominic Santini was always there. He and my father flew combat in the Second World War, and they were best buddies after that. Dom was always at the cabin. My parents would have him around for dinner week day nights, and lunch at weekends. He was just always there. My most dominant memory, of growing up. A ready made Uncle who was always willing to show me how to do the things I wanted to learn," Hawke smiled at the memory and watched the doctor nodding sagely.

"Anyone else?"

"St John, of course, he may be missing in action, but he's never very far from my thoughts and my memories," Hawke sighed sadly before continuing. "And Cait. Caitlin O'Shannessy. She's only been around for a few months. She joined Santini Air, that's Dom's Air Service, a few months ago, but before that, she flew helicopters for the Texas Highway Patrol in a place called Pope County. That's it really, look Doc, I'm a pretty solitary kind of guy. I live quietly and alone with my dog, Tet. I like to fish and to fly, and if I'm honest, I don't get out much, by choice. It doesn't mean that I am anti social, I just prefer my own company. When I'm working with movie or TV people, it often means a very early start, so all I want to do when I'm done is go home and sleep."

"All right, I guess that's enough personal stuff to be going on with. Tell me about the world in which Hawke lives," he noticed Hawke frowning at him then. "For instance, who is the President of the United States?"

"Ronald Reagan."

"Okaaaay, and who is the Russian Premier?"

"Some guy with a name I can't pronounce that sounds a bit like Gobachef …. Mikhail Gorbochev," Hawke struggled with the pronunciation and smiled apologetically.

"And who is the Prime Minister of Great Britain?"

"That would be the Iron Lady. Margaret Thatcher."

"All right," the doctor let out a deep sigh.

"So how did I do?"

"Actually, the President is a man called Tom Fleming. The Russian's don't have a Premier any more because the whole place went to hell in a handcart, after the Berlin wall came down a couple of years ago and we imposed nuclear disarmament. Pretty soon the whole country split into factions. All the old republics, with all the old grudges and hatreds. Pretty soon it descended into civil war. No time any more to be enemies with good ole Uncle Sam and the US of A. All the latest reports outta there indicate that the Mafia are the ones who are really in control. Go figure," he shrugged absently then. "And the Prime Minister of Great Britain is a man called John Smith."

"What?"

"Indeed."

"Look doc, I'm not making this stuff up," Hawke defended. "I read the papers and watch the TV news like every other regular guy, and while I don't buy into politics, I do like to know who is who and what is going on in the world."

"So tell me what else you remember is going on in your world? Major events? Say in the last four or five years, if you can recall," the doctor coaxed.

"Ok. The Russians got all bent out of shape and invaded Afghanistan. That was back in 1980. Screwed up America's chances in the Moscow Olympics that year, when our athletes boycotted the games. The Brits just got into a war with the Argentineans over a bunch of islands in the South Atlantic. The Falklands, that was a couple of years back, 1982. LA just hosted the summer Olympics. July, 1984 …."

"What about things further back in history?"

"The US involvement in the Vietnam war, 1965 thru 73, I was there, did three tours of duty between '69 and 72 …. Finally ended in April 1975. The Apollo space programme, Neil Armstrong, first man to walk on the moon, July 20th, 1969. US President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, assassinated in Dallas, Texas, November, 1963. Doc?"

"And beyond that?"

"The Korean War, June 1950 to July 1953. World War 2, 1939 to '45, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, 7th December, 1941. D Day, Normandy landings into occupied Europe, 6th June, 1944 …."

"Sorry, could I just check your date of birth …."

"January 5th 1950. Doc, is there really any point to all of this?"

"More than you realise, Hawke, your memory of historical events is quite accurate. Although, your memory of the actual dates differs slightly, and there are a couple of events in there that, frankly, I never heard of but …."

"Ah, man, Doc, if this is your idea of helping," Hawke moaned expressively.

"I am finding it most helpful, Hawke," The doctor smiled softly at him again. "The very fact that you do remember so many factual things tells me that there are no holes in your memory, that we are not talking selective amnesia here …." Walker explained patiently.

"It's not just your family that you don't recall, but names and dates and events that cannot have been altered by your simply having a knock on the head and being pumped full of drugs for the last four months. You see, I'm getting a complete picture of the way you are looking at things, your point of view. It will help me to make a diagnosis and determine the best way to help you through it."

"I'm not crazy doc," Hawke reiterated.

"I know that. You are perfectly calm and rational, and these things seem perfectly real and reasonable to you. I don't understand it and I confess I have no idea why. I've never come across this kind of thing before, but, I have every confidence that it will prove to be temporary. The mind is a marvellous thing, Hawke. Sometimes if we leave it well enough alone for long enough, it finds a way to cleanse and heal its self," Dr Walker paused to take a breath then, scratching absently at his ear with his index finger.

"You're body has been through a lot recently, your physical injuries were not life threatening, as such, but they were substantial, and you were given quite high doses of morphine and other analgesic medications. Your mind has not yet had a chance to come to terms with all of that trauma, because you were unconscious for so long. But it will eventually need to deal with it. You may even experience phantom pain," he pointed out calmly.

"What were my other injuries? Level with me, doc, please."

"Well now, let me see. Fractured ribs, dislocated pelvis, cracked vertebrae in your neck. Fractured skull. All of which healed perfectly, while you just lay there sleeping. They'll probably want you to continue with the physical therapy for a while, get the strength back in your limbs and muscles, but as far as I can see you are in perfectly good physical health. Look, String …. Hawke, I just had an idea. There is one way to settle this. However," He paused for a moment. "I'm really not sure how ready you are to face the truth."

"I'm ready. Truth about what?"

"The truth about who you are of course. Your true identity. There is a way to prove to you beyond any reasonable doubt that you are Stringfellow Santini."

"Then go ahead."

"Are you sure? Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do!"

"All right. Can you stand up for me?"

"Sure. Legs are a bit wobbly, but sure, I can do that."

"Good. I won't be a moment …."

The doctor set down the file and slid off the bed, leaving the room for a moment to return with two mirrors, one, full length, on a stand, the other a smaller hand held mirror, he positioned the full length mirror beside the bed, adjusting it until he was satisfied, and all the time Hawke frowned at him.

"Ok, I guess I'm ready for you."

"Ready for what?"

"To give you the proof. Now, you are aware that Stringfellow Santini took a bullet in the back in Vietnam?" Hawke nodded, recalling what Dominic Santini had told him the evening before. "That he was confined to a wheelchair for several months and then had surgery to remove the bullet?" again Hawke nodded. "Well," the doctor let his voice trail away and watched as comprehension began to dawn in Hawke's blue eyes.

"He would have a scar!" Hawke worked out. "But I don't. Stringfellow Hawke doesn't. I caught a round in the shoulder, not the back."

"Yes. Exactly. Now, Santini's scar would be almost twenty years old, and I can assure you that none of the injuries sustained in the plane crash would have affected that, so no fresh scar tissue. If I can show you that you do indeed have an old scar, half way down your back and slightly to the left of your spine, are you prepared to accept the possibility that you are indeed Stringfellow Santini and not Stringfellow Hawke?"

Hawke suddenly had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

A feeling of certainty, that the man would not be offering to show him this scar, if he did not know for certain that he would find it there.

But Hawke knew that he did not have such a scar ….

Was that something that could be faked?

"You seem a little, sceptical? Suspicious?" Donald Walker regarded him curiously. "Are you worried that it is some kind of trick? Oh Hawke, why would anyone want to go to so much trouble? What would be the point? But, If you've changed your mind, if you're not ready to face it yet?"

"No, I, er, I, dammit, just get on with it," Hawke spoke defiantly and struggled to get out of the tangle of bedclothes and place his bare feet on the cool tiled floor.

"Ok?"

"Ok."

The doctor reached out for the bottom hem of Hawke's pyjama top and carefully began to lift it with one hand, whilst holding the other mirror strategically over Hawke's shoulder so that he had a clear view of his own back in the full length mirror.

As the pyjama top began to rise, Hawke could clearly see the bones of his spine protruding.

And there it was. Just as the doctor had described it.

An ugly weaving line, puckered and faded to almost a cream colour, standing out against the tan of the rest of his back, about half way and slightly to the left of his spine ….

He could even still see the scarring left by the original bullet hole, long healed now.

Before he could stop himself, Hawke was reaching out around his back to press his fingers against the lumps and indentations of the old scar tissue.

He closed his eyes and let out a long, ragged sigh, slumping forward to lean on shaking arms, against the bed mattress, as he realised that it was indeed real.

No pain, but real lumps and bumps, hard, solid, tangible ….

He'd seen enough scars to know what was real and what was not.

This was real.

Not faked.

Not make up or some kind of clever prosthetic conjured up by the make up department of some movie studio.

It was real.

And it hadn't been there yesterday ….

Had it?

Oh God …

Did that mean that he really was Stringfellow Santini after all?

Oh God ….

"Are you all right, Stringfellow?"

Donald Walker placed a gentle, reassuring hand against his shoulder as Hawke stood, leaning against the bed for support, head bent and shoulders slumped, breath coming in short, sharp gasps, arms shaking and eyes filling with unexpected tears.

"Easy, easy, let's get you back in to bed."

"No, I'm ok. Really," Hawke drew in a deep, ragged breath and lifted his head.

"You'd better do it all the same, or Coleman will skin me alive."

The doctor grinned then and Hawke nodded in submission, allowing the other man to assist him back into the bed and hastily wiping the moisture from his cheeks.

"So …. It's true then. I guess I am Stringfellow Santini," Hawke sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face briefly.

"Yes. You really are Stringfellow Santini," Walker agreed with an easy smile.

"So where do all these other memories come from?"

"Good question."

"Gee doc, you're a great help," however Hawke found himself smiling now.

"They could have come from just about anywhere, String," the doctor gave him a questioning look at the use of his given name and Hawke nodded.

"The subconscious is a wonderful thing. Stringfellow Hawke, a name your mind seems to want to cling to, leftover from childhood, and I think that that is quite understandable. For most of us, memories of childhood are the strongest and most life affecting memories we have. Comforting or disturbing, they tend to rule our behaviour one way or another, " Walker explained patiently now.

"The characteristics, the life you remember, the details, they could have come from a book you read a long time ago, or maybe your mind has modelled him on a character from a movie. You'd be surprised the things the mind stores for use in the future, without our ever realising it, then we hear a name and think 'ah ha! Deja vous ….' But really, we first heard it in a story at Grandma's knee, or read it in a book in school and just forgot about it. Or, we heard it on the TV news when we were concentrating on something else and it just got stored away for future reference," the doctor explained.

"If I am Stringfellow Santini, how come I don't feel it? Dom was right yesterday when he said that it was all just words to me, when he was telling me about Maria and Skyler and St John, but the stuff associated with Hawke …. I feel that. It feels familiar. I felt, I feel, his loss about St John being missing. Those memories were more real."

"Perhaps you're just not ready yet. Perhaps the relief at finding that you are alive is just so overwhelming. It occurs to me, the similarities in the two lives, Hawke and Santini, coincide with the memories of things that you are most sure and confident about. In both existences, you are a pilot. That tells me that you have confidence in your abilities as a pilot, and that you enjoy your work. That you are comfortable with that aspect of your life," Walker paused and grew thoughtful just for a moment, leaving Hawke to consider his words.

And to accept that there was a grain of truth in them.

"Dominic Santini, the relationship is very slightly different, but you are obviously confident of his love and friendship, you trust him. As Hawke, his relationship is that of a friend, a confident and an employer. But, I get the feeling that he is more than that to Hawke, but that Hawke is not prepared to admit it out loud. Perhaps Hawke's Dominic Santini is a father to him in everything but name, and that ties in, with not remembering your wife and children. Perhaps they are things that you have always, deep down in your subconscious, believed that you did not deserve. They represent happiness that you do not believe that you deserve. For what ever reason, and perhaps there is guilt there too, about replacing your father with his best friend."

"Now you sound like a head shrinker again," Hawke sighed heavily, but again, silently he had to admit that there was a grain of truth in the other man's words.

He had always secretly harboured a guilty feeling that he regarded Dom as a substitute father.

And he had steered away from personal involvement on a romantic level with any woman recently because he secretly believed that he was jinxed.

That he would somehow cause their death.

Then there was St John ….

He had always felt more than a little guilty that he had survived Vietnam, and his brother was still trapped there, enduring God knows what.

He had always felt guilty about getting on with living as normal a life as possible, when his brother was a prisoner in some steaming jungle somewhere.

"And do you feel that you have gotten your money's worth?" Walker quipped with a grin then. "Look String, the trick here is not to analyize things too much. Just relax and see what comes back to you. I'm sure that you will begin to remember and piece things together, when you're good and ready. All you really need right now, no matter how awkward or wrong it feels, is to go home and be around, and get a little tender loving care, from, that lovely family of yours."

"But won't my not remembering hurt them? I wouldn't want to hurt them."

"And you think denying them and staying away from them won't hurt them?" Walker quirked an eyebrow at him then.

"All the kids want is there Dad around, acting as normal as he can around them. The older ones already understand that you might not remember everything, but kids are resilient, they won't care, believe me. All they really want is to know that their Dad's home and he's ok, that he is there for them. You can do that, can't you?"

"And Helen?"

"You're both adults. She'll understand that you'll need to take things slowly at first. That maybe you two will just have to start over again. Learn to like each other, get used to each other, become friends. Fall in love all over again. Nobody's asking you to fake being her husband, lover, friend …. But, if you don't spend time around them, you'll never remember how it feels to love them and be comfortable around them."

"Are you saying I'm well enough to get out of here?" Hawke brightened immediately.

"Maybe. In a few days time, when the medical doctors have finished poking and prodding and deliberating over the urine and blood samples. All the things that make their days fun," Walker grinned then.

"It's only my opinion of course, and there are others more qualified to comment, but, you appear to have quite a healthy body, and on the one point where my opinion does count for something, your mind appears to have done the most healthy thing for you. To allow you to cope. So, it is my recommendation that the best way for you to learn to cope, is by letting you out of this place and back into the bosom of your family ….. So long as you agree to see another head shrinker colleague of mine, in Los Angeles, so that he can help you to cope with whatever you remember when it pops back into your head."

"Los Angeles?"

"Yes. You and Helen have a home in," Walker dropped his eyes to the patient notes for a moment and then looked back up at Hawke. "Malibu. Your wife arranged for you to be brought here from Los Angeles, when it was decided that you needed to be in a place that provided specialist care for coma patients, and because this is close to where Dominic lives now. He retired out here a few years back, before they found out that Maria had cancer. Helen thought that it would be the right thing to do, so Dom wouldn't have to keep travelling to the city," he explained when he noticed the questioning look on his patient's face.

"He found Helen and the children a place to rent close to where he lives. You have never lived here, Stringfellow, and it is my opinion that you will find your true self more quickly if you go back to familiar territory. Have your things around you. Your personal items. Your natural habitat," he grinned then.

"Gee …."

"So, what about seeing my colleague in the city?"

"I guess it can't hurt," Hawke let out a deep sigh of resignation and smiled ruefully at the doctor.

"No, I guess it can't," Walker chuckled then.

"Thanks doc."

"Well, it seems to me that the best place for you to be is with your family, with the people who love you, in the home that you have made for yourselves. But don't expect miracles, Stringfellow. It may take a while for you to remember. For things to slot back into place."

"And what if they never slot back into place, doc? What if I never remember the life before the accident?"

"It's a possibility that you will have to face, Stringfellow. The brain is a marvellous thing, but even so, there are still things that we don't understand, about how and why the mind does the things it does to protect its self. If it turns out that you don't ever remember, you will learn to adapt. You will make a new life for yourself, because you have to. The alternative is to cease to live at all, and you didn't just spend four months fighting your way back to life, not to make the most of the life you have got, whomever and whatever you choose to be."

"A lot of people could get hurt, doc."

"A lot of people have already been hurt, worrying over whether you would live or not. If you would wake up, or not. Believe me, Stringfellow, whatever the future holds for you, the people who love you will go on loving you. Your relationships with them may change, evolve, but they will never stop loving you, and they will never regret that you survived. That you woke up. No-one who loves you would prefer that you had died. I am sure that Dominic Santini would rather have a live friend than a dead son. You understand what I am saying?"

Hawke nodded.

"No matter how bad things get on this journey you are embarking on, it has to be better than the alternative, and I think it would be a good thing all round if you settled in a little before the new baby arrives. They do have a habit of disrupting things," Walker grinned then.

"Whatever happens, Stringfellow, you just have to relax and give yourself time. But, more importantly, you have to keep an open mind. Open to the possibilities, because life is full of possibilities, and a closed mind will never heal."

Hawke nodded silently, admitting to himself that the man did have a point.

But he couldn't help harbouring the nagging doubt that nothing was as it appeared and that his original suspicion that he was in the middle of some elaborate hoax was still valid.

But if by playing along he gained his freedom, and found a way to discover what was really going on here, then he would do so.

Watch and wait and learn.

Co-operation, for the time being, was to his advantage.

If, it was indeed a hoax, eventually someone would slip up and show their hand.

Or he would stumble onto some lead.

And, if he really was Stringfellow Santini?

He had a lot of catching up to do.

And a lot of blessings to count.

He just wished he knew which Stringfellow he really was.

He couldn't get the image of the scar on his back out of his mind.

It seemed to be conclusive proof that he was Santini not Hawke.

So why did he still not truly believe it?

He had seen it with his own eyes …. Felt it with his finger tips ….

It had been real.

Tangible.

So why didn't it feel right?