REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF.

Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters.

Chapter Eight

Mackenzie Jarvis sank wearily down into the chair beside Stringfellow Hawke's bedside, her legs no longer able to support her weight, reached out, holding on tightly to his hand, and hung her head in utter despair.

She had never felt so helpless in her life.

She was losing him.

She could feel it.

His body was afire with fever, his breathing labored, and his heart racing.

She had no more idea now what was causing his fever than when she had first examined him, and no matter how much antibiotic they were forcing into his veins, his temperature was still through the roof.

She had been roused from a strange dream, full of doom and darkness, foreboding and a sense of having been cast adrift, by Sister Clementine's soft knocking on her bedroom door, and had immediately bolted out of bed, knowing that something was terribly wrong.

Sister Eve had quickly explained about the most recent episode of fever and delirium and the resulting torn stitches to his shoulder, and together they had worked at re-stitching the wound and applying a fresh dressing.

Now, Mackenzie was finally alone with Hawke.

She had seen the strange look on Sister Eve's face as she had left the room, but Mackenzie had been beyond caring about propriety at that point.

She had done all that was physically and medically possible for Stringfellow Hawke now, the rest was in his, and the good Lord's hands.

It was ironic really, that despite all her years of book learning and training, all her medical knowledge and skill, the wonders of modern medicine and the powerful new antibiotic and drugs available to her, it now came down to only that.

Stringfellow Hawke's determination and strength of will, and the good Lord's benevolence.

It was a battle that only the two of them could wage now.

She could play no further active part in the outcome.

If she had to say at that moment, what she thought that outcome might be ….

That would depend upon what Stringfellow Hawke thought he still had to do in this world, what difference he thought he could make by remaining in it.

What Stringfellow Hawke felt was important enough to live for.

And to what degree God himself agreed with Hawke in what He thought was important and what was not.

What differences He wanted Hawke to make by remaining here amongst the living, where Hawke fitted in His grand scheme for them all.

Not even she could second guess God.

If Hawke was going to die, then she wasn't about to let him die alone.

Please don't let him die!

Please.

Please.

Please ….

Oh God, give him the strength to live, but, if it is your will that he must die, then please, please, give me the strength to bear it ….

Ragged sobs were suddenly torn from her, ripped from the very depths of her soul as Mackenzie Jarvis finally allowed herself to acknowledge just how deeply she loved this man and just what she had walked away from that night on that Californian beach.

She had always thought of it, not so much as running away, but running to. Running toward the life she had always dreamed of, here in Zarundi, the life she had pledged herself to for so long.

Now she understood the truth.

She had run away.

She had run away because, put simply, she had been frightened by the power of her feelings, by the discovery that she could actually love that strongly and that deeply, so quickly.

She had taken flight simply because she could not deal with the reality of loving this man, and the possibility that he might really feel something for her too.

It was easier to accept that she would never be loved.

After all, it was all that she had ever known.

All that she had ever been led to expect.

Over the years, she had loved a lot of people, but precious little of it had come to her in return.

This time was different.

If she allowed herself to love Stringfellow Hawke, and it turned out that what she had seen in his eyes, tasted on his lips, felt in his embrace, was a mistake, that he did not reciprocate those feelings, Mackenzie Jarvis had known that it would destroy her, for he was the one man that she knew she wanted to trust, to believe in, to love with all her heart and soul and build a life and future with.

The one man she might just be tempted to forsake her dream for.

But, if she was mistaken about what she had seen in his eyes ….

For her, it would simply have been one rejection too many.

One that she would never recover from.

It had been easier to throw herself into her studies and her work and to never have to face the possibility that he too might have feelings for her, and that, inevitably, one day, he would come to his senses, one day, he would look at her and see her for what she really was, and the love would disappear from his eyes, and soon, he too would disappear from her life.

She had run away, fled into the night, panic stricken, terrified, overwhelmed and utterly confused, yet marvelling at the complexities of human emotion, that falling in love could make her feel so totally elated one minute, and completely devastated the next.

She had allowed herself a little heartbreak then and spared herself a whole lot more later on.

She had been a silly child, out of her depth, scared and unsure of herself, desperately protecting herself from the pain of rejection and disappointment, without ever once stopping to contemplate that neither might actually happen in reality.

She had made a mistake.

A stupid, childish mistake.

She had allowed her head to over rule her heart.

She had done them both a great disservice.

She had been afraid to experience real life and in fleeing, had denied both of them the opportunity to see where things might lead, the chance to learn if what they had felt that night, the promise in that one magical, magnificent kiss, was something fleeting, or if it would endure until the end of time.

She hadn't given either of them a chance.

In not wanting to make the mistake of making more out of a simple kiss than had been intended, of making a fool of herself and losing her head as well as her heart, telling herself that she was not good enough for him, that he deserved someone better, someone who could give him so much more than she ever could, she had bolted.

She had slammed the door firmly in the face of any possibility that together they might find a meaningful future, before she had even had the chance to ponder on the miracle of it becoming a reality.

Things like that simply didn't happen to girls like her.

Boys like Stringfellow Hawke could pick and choose, and they did not choose to spend their lives with girls who looked and sounded like Mackenzie Jarvis.

No matter how she looked at it, all she could see ahead of her was a whole lot of heartache.

Love him, only to discover that he did not feel the same way, to have to see in his eyes, the pity he felt for her.

Or love him enough to walk away, to let him go, to allow him to live the life that he had been born for, to love him from afar, where neither of them would get hurt.

She couldn't allow herself to love Stringfellow Hawke, she just couldn't, for his inevitable rejection of her love would be something that she would never get over.

Better not to put her self in that position at all, ever.

And so she had run.

Her mind in turmoil, she had walked and walked, beside herself with a mixture of guilt and shame, not knowing where she was heading, or really caring, until she had found a quiet, sheltered cove, and had then spent the night in prayer and quiet contemplation.

As dawn had illuminated the sky, feeling drained and more alone than she had ever felt in her life before, her decision made, her future mapped out in her own mind, Mackenzie had returned to the borrowed convent station wagon, which she had parked a little ways away from the lot where the rest of the girls had parked, before joining the guys on the beach, and had driven herself back to the refuge of the convent, the only home she had ever really known, and after attending morning devotions, had gone in search of Mother Patrice, the Mother Superior, to ask her help, putting her case forward and outlining her plan for her future in soft, quiet, but determined tones.

After much soul searching and praying, the Mother Superior at Van Nuys had finally begun to see that something momentous had happened to young Mackenzie Jarvis, and that she had her heart set on this new course.

Admiring her new found determination and focus, Mother Patrice had eventually agreed to look into the possibility of assisting her to change courses from the basic nursing course she had currently been enrolled on at UCLA, to a pre-med course, and to Mackenzie's request to relocate to San Francisco, because she had heard that the David Geffen faculty of UCSF, San Francisco was one of the best medical schools.

Mackenzie had made her decision.

She had chosen her path.

She had never once regretted the decision to become a physician, but, until this moment, she had never allowed herself to acknowledge that it hadn't all been due to her desire to heal the sick and her drive to relieve the suffering in the world, but, that in part, it had been her own need to protect herself from the pain and heartache of rejection.

It hadn't been completely selfless after all.

She had chosen to protect herself from rejection and disappointment, to protect her heart, throwing herself into her work and sealing herself off from any and all personal involvement, because it was inevitable that she would get hurt, if she allowed herself to care in any other way than as a doctor.

And now it was too late.

Too late.

"No, dammit! I won't let you die!" She railed, wringing Hawke's hand now in utter desperation, beside herself and reeling under the weight of emotions she had not allowed herself to feel for almost fifteen years, no longer able to hold back the tears, no longer able to hide from the truth, to kid herself that what she felt for this man were still only the shy, tender, innocent feelings of a desperately lonely and awkward teenager.

She was a grown woman, and even if she had not been aware of it, the love she felt for this man was that of an adult, not a child.

It had been, from the very start.

"Fight this, dammit. Fight it!" she implored raggedly between sobs and gasps for breath, tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping off her chin, but she either did not notice, or did not care.

She loved him, had always loved him, and would go on loving him until her dying day, and this was probably the last time that she would be able to touch him, the last chance that she might ever have to show him, to tell him ….

"Fight, String, dammit. Fight to live. I love you! Don't just lie there, you lazy yank! Fight it dammit, fight to live. I'm so tired of being the one doing all the damned work here!" She sobbed angrily now.

"Pull your finger out, and beat this thing, Stringfellow. You've got to. You've got to live! St John needs you. Dominic needs you. I need you. Dammit, do you hear me, you lazy yank? Fight! Fight!" She beseeched, so consumed with sobs now she could hardly get the words out, as she brought his hand up to her face and pressed it gently against her own flushed cheek, then moved it slowly, to press her warm, soft lips to the delicate flesh on the back of his hand, wishing that she could gather him in her arms and hold on to him, much as she had clung to him that night fifteen years ago, on that distant beach, when she had lost her heart to him in that instant between heartbeats.

"I'm sorry, so sorry, love. I didn't have enough faith in you .… in me …. I didn't have enough courage. I'm such a coward. I should have trusted you. I'm so sorry, String. Please, don't die. Please …."

Tears silently cascaded down her cheeks now, as Mackenzie rose and leaned over Stringfellow Hawke, slipping her hand carefully under his neck so that she could gently raise his head off the pillow, then lightly rested her forehead against his, feeling the heat radiating off him as tears coursed down her cheeks, splashing off her chin on to Hawke's over heated body and then she leaned further in and pulled him closer, so that his chin was resting heavily against her shoulder, his ragged breath intermittently fanning her neck and earlobe as she used the other hand to gently stroke his damp hair comfortingly, willing him to live, praying that somehow she would be able to reach his fevered mind and perhaps give him one last reason to cling to life.

"I love you, String …." She whispered in to his hair, her voice thick and slurred as the words almost choked her. They sounded so strange, even to her own ears, but she could not deny the truth of them any longer.

She did not know what would happen if he survived, what the future might hold for them, once he was well.

All she knew was that if he died, something of her self would die with him.

"Oh my love, I didn't know it was possible to fall in love, not like that," she whispered into his delicate ear now. "And I never dreamed that you might feel the same way," she confessed raggedly.

"Loving is something I always found easy, it's something that I know that I can do, but, ah, my dearest, being loved back, that is the trick I never quite mastered …." Her voice caught in her throat then and she drew in a ragged breath.

"It never happened to me before, so I found it hard to recognise, harder still to believe. Did you love me, String? Or did I just see what I wanted to see in your eyes that night? Was it just wishful thinking, or did you really fall in love with me between heartbeats that night?"

Hawke let out a soft moan, and Mackenzie briefly felt his body stiffen against her, then he relaxed, briefly, before drawing away from her, slowly, his hand coming up to touch her face, cupping her chin, pushing her hair back from her cheek with his thumb, a gesture of such tenderness it almost broke Mackenzie's heart.

His beautiful blue eyes were open, filled with such an earnest expression of love and hunger, but she still had no idea if he knew who she was, until he spoke.

"Don't leave me," he implored, voice low and husky, breathy and weak, his eyes wide and burning bright with unshed tears and fever, and for the briefest instant, Mackenzie's heart leapt with joy and hope.

"You promised! Don't leave me," he beseeched, his arm coming down and around her shoulders now, hand squeezing her upper arms, his strong fingers biting into the delicate flesh now, with more strength than he should have possessed for a man in his weakened physical condition.

"Gabrielle! You promised you wouldn't leave me. Why? Why? Why did you have to die? You promised ….."

Hawke began to sob softly, and despite the fact that once again her heart was shattering into a million tiny pieces, despite the pain and disappointment and despair that tore through her once again, Mackenzie Jarvis gathered him close, fresh tears streaming down her face as she rocked Hawke soothingly, her thoughts only for him, wanting only to console him and ease his grief.

"Hush now, there, there, I've got you. It's going to be alright, there now. Hush, hush …."

"Why do they always leave me?" Hawke's head dropped, his chin resting heavily against her shoulder once more as he breathed raggedly into her ear now, his soft, warm breath fanning her cheek and neck, his hot tears soaking into the thin material of her blouse. "Everyone I love leaves me," he moaned. "Everyone. Mom. Dad. St John. Carrie-Ann, you."

Startled by the vehemence and heartache she could hear in his voice, Mackenzie Jarvis swiftly drew away from Hawke, pulling away just far enough so that she could get a good look at his face.

His big blue eyes were blinking rapidly, indicating that he was finding it hard to focus, fighting to keep them open, but they still burned bright with fever, no sign of awareness or lucidity in them, and she could see no sign of recognition of her in them, no hint that he knew that he was talking to anyone other than the woman he had loved, and lost.

Gabrielle.

Mackenzie blinked away her own tears, and hugged him close once more.

"Hush now, my poor love, rest easy," she soothed, taking comfort from the fact that he did seem to have some fight left in him after all, whilst trying not to dwell too deeply on the fact that whilst he might be the love of her life, she obviously was not his.

Gabrielle was.

And she was dead.

How could she ever hope to touch his heart now?

Yet, somehow, that suddenly made things a little easier for Mackenzie Jarvis to face.

Nothing had changed.

What had she been thinking?

Why would a man like him want her love?

She was back on familiar ground.

He was never going to look at her and see anything but an old acquaintance, at best, a bitter reminder of a moment's folly at worst.

He need never know how she really felt about him, and she could go on loving him from afar.

No harm, no foul.

All was as it should be.

Status quo restored.

"Gabrielle!"

Mackenzie drew in a ragged breath slowly, reconciled once again to the life that she had chosen for herself, and cradling Hawke's over heated body against her shoulder, she gently stroked his hair once more.

"I'm here my love, I've got you, and you must fight this. Fight this and live, do you hear me my love? I want you to live. It's not your time yet. You have to live …."

Mackenzie felt a brief pang of guilt for using a dead woman to instil the will to live into the man that she loved with all her heart, but she had no other weapons left in her arsenal, and she did want him to live, desperately wanted him to live.

She wasn't adverse to playing dirty when she had no other choice, and, she reasoned now, perhaps hearing someone he believed was Gabrielle tell him that he should fight, live, that she wasn't ready for him to join her just yet, might just make the crucial difference, and Hawke would never know if he had been hallucinating or dreaming, once he was well.

So what did it matter if that heart ache she had been trying to avoid had found her anyway.

And then some!

So, it was as she had always believed.

He was not destined to be a part of her life, nor she a part of his.

He loved another. That would not change, despite the fact that she was dead.

He would never love her, Mackenzie told herself sadly.

Never.

Knowing how she felt for him would not change that.

It would only make him more uncomfortable with her.

The love she felt for him was unconditional and given freely, as a gift, without expectation that it would ever be returned in kind.

Some times, all the love in the world didn't mean that two people were right for each other, or that they were destined to be together.

Sometimes, love just wasn't enough.

For all intents and purposes, he was a stranger.

She had no proof that he had ever loved her, but, if he had, it had been a very long time ago, and only fleetingly.

It would have been as a boy, inexperienced in the ways of the world and life and love, when everything had been new and exciting and filled with wonder and awe.

Now he was a man, mature and much more in control of his emotions and his hormones, no longer prone to wonder and awe because he knew what life was really all about.

Hawke had grown up, lived his life and moved on, had obviously found real happiness with Gabrielle, and Mackenzie Jarvis knew that she could never hope to live up to that in Hawke's eyes.

No matter how much she loved him.

Stringfellow Hawke continued to cling to her, sobbing softly, mumbling incoherently from time to time, and Mackenzie cradled him comfortingly, savouring every precious moment of his nearness, until he again grew quiet, and finally slipped into a restless, fitful slumber.

Then, carefully and regretfully, Mackenzie extricated herself from his embrace and retook her seat beside his bed, reaching out to take his hand lightly in her own once more, knowing that sleep was out of the question right now.

She hung her head once more, fresh tears welling up in her eyes, and she began to pray that Hawke's life would be spared, for the world had to be a better place with him in it, and that when the time came, she would find the strength to let him go once more.

Let him live, Oh, Lord ….

I will do anything ….

Anything you want ….

My life is yours, Thy will be done.

I am your servant my Father …. Do with me as you wish …..

But let him live ….

Please …. Let him live ….

Whilst she prayed, Mackenzie Jarvis was completely unaware of the fact that Sister Eve had unwittingly witnessed the whole tender scene from just beyond the open doorway and was now walking silently back down the corridor, her mind in turmoil, filled with frustration and confusion about all that she had witness this night, tears gathering in her own eyes, as she tried to put herself in Mackenzie Jarvis' place and imagine how the poor child must be feeling

Suddenly, Sister Eve had never felt more relieved that she had not over ruled Father Paddy earlier, and insisted that Mack be fetched so that she could hear the young man's declaration of love for her.

Poor Mack.

Sister Eve's heart constricted in her chest as the girl's words rang in her ears, as she quietly made her way to the pantry and kitchen area down the hallway, to make herself a fortifying cup of tea and gather her thoughts, seeking out a quiet place to make some sense of the nights revelations and to commune with her Maker.

Loving is something I always found easy, it's something that I know that I can do, but, ah, my dearest, being loved back, that is the trick I never quite mastered ….

Sister Eve recognised the truth in her words.

Even now, Mackenzie Jarvis did not recognise love when she saw it.

And now she had the perfect excuse to bury her head in the sand once more, and not to pursue the possibility that this young man really had loved her, once.

The possibility that he might still love her, even now ….

All Mackenzie would focus on was that he had lost the woman that he loved to death, and that he was obviously still grieving that loss, on some level.

Yet, Sister Eve could not help thinking that she had heard the same grief and anguish in his voice earlier, when he had been calling out for Mack?

Was it possible that he was still grieving the loss of that love from his life, all these years on?

Sister Eve knew Mackenzie well enough to know that all the girl would see was that he was grieving the loss of the woman that he loved, that she would never be able to see beyond that, that she would never see that whilst he might still have feelings for this Gabrielle, she was dead, may she rest in peace, gone to a better place, but Mackenzie was alive, and so was Stringfellow Hawke, and he might yet be able to love her as a man loves a woman.

They did not know how long Gabrielle had been gone, how long the young man had been alone. Maybe it was time for him to put the grief behind him, and start living again?

Maybe that was why he had turned up out of the blue?

Lord knows, Mackenzie Jarvis had so much love to offer any man.

And perhaps the Lord did know, and that was why he had guided the young man here to her, so that she could save his life, and that her love could mend his battered heart.

And in turn, perhaps Stringfellow Hawke could show Mackenzie what it meant to be loved, as a woman, for herself, for the beautiful human being that she was, for the first time in her life.

Half an hour later, Sister Eve returned to Stringfellow Hawke's room carefully carrying a pretty china cup of strong tea for Mackenzie Jarvis.

As she expected, she found the doctor still seated beside Stringfellow Hawke's bed, holding his hand gently in her own and watching as he slept.

Almost immediately Sister Eve was aware that there was something different about the other woman. Something in her manner, but the Sister Superior could not quite put her finger on what.

"How is he?" Sister Eve inquired as she stood in the open doorway, taking in Mackenzie Jarvis calm demeanour.

No, it was more than that.

It was cold, withdrawn, completely emotionless ….

"Quiet," Mackenzie Jarvis informed, and there was something so quiet, so lacking in energy and life in her voice, it made Sister Eve's blood run cold.

"Mack?" Sister Eve gave her a questioning look, which the younger woman chose to ignore as she finally dragged her gaze away from her patient.

"I think his fever finally broke."

Sister Eve could see that something vital and alive had gone from the girl's eyes, and a wave of sorrow washed over her.

"His temperature is down, a little, and he seems to have stopped thrashing about," Mackenzie continued in a lacklustre voice, and Sister Eve immediately realised the reason why the doctor seemed so odd.

Poor Mack.

She had already begun to harden her heart against him.

Already pulling away, building up barriers, detaching herself.

Once again the calm, poised, detached, emotionless and aloof doctor watching over a patient.

Poor child ….

How desperately unhappy she must be ….

How desperately alone and miserable she must be feeling right now ….

Having seen the man that she loved calling out for his lost love …. Knowing that it was not, and believing that it could not ever be her that he wanted ….

She had poured out her heart, and now there was nothing left. She was completely devoid of emotion, because it was the only way that she could continue.

She had killed whatever measure of love and compassion and hope that had remained within her stone dead because it was the only way that she could face the new day.

Face the rest of her life, without the love of the man that she loved.

"I think maybe he turned the corner …. What time is it?" Mackenzie asked frowning at Sister Eve as she continued to regard her with an expression on her face that the doctor thought looked remarkably like pity.

"Four thirty," Sister Eve pulled her thoughts together and walked into the room now. "I made you some tea," she came to stand beside Mackenzie Jarvis and handed her the teacup and saucer and watched her take a sip of the strong, sweet brew.

"Thanks. Time I was thinking about going to Church …."

"I'm sure Father Paddy would overlook you missing devotion, just this once,"

"He might, but his Boss is a different kettle of fish …."

"Mack …."

"I need to go and freshen up."

Mackenzie Jarvis deliberately ignored the note of concern in the older woman's voice now.

It was taking every ounce of strength and will power that she had left just to keep the façade of calm and poise and professionalism in place, when what she really wanted to do was crawl into a deep, dark hole and curl up and die ….

She had sacrificed so much already in her young life ….

This was the ultimate sacrifice. Turning her back on the chance to know if it was possible that she might know love from this man, for a second time ….

The price she had willingly offered to pay in return for his life.

The pact she had gladly made with her God, in return for his continued existence.

"Thanks for the tea," Mackenzie took another small sip before handing the china cup and saucer back to Sister Eve. "I think he's going to be alright, Sister," she gave a soft sigh now, rising carefully from her seat. "He should sleep for a while now, and I've written him up for some pain meds, when he wakes up. After Church, I'll do my rounds as normal and then I'm going to bed."

"Mack …."

"It's been a tough night, Sister, and you're right, I need to get some rest …. Oh, and by the way, I'll be going to Nairobi tomorrow morning, so if there are any last minute things to add to the list you should let me know tonight …."

With that Mackenzie Jarvis walked with grace and dignity out of Stringfellow Hawke's room, leaving Sister Eve frowning in consternation at the sudden change in her behaviour, although she suspected that she knew what really lay behind it.

Stringfellow Hawke.

Sister Eve turned to watch the young man as he slept, calling to mind the tender scene she had accidentally witnessed and the anguish and grief that had so consumed Mackenzie Jarvis.

She understood the younger woman so much better now.

All her life she had harboured the belief that she was ugly and worthless and that for her, love was a one way street, always the one to bestow the gift, but destined never to receive it.

Sister Eve knew that Mackenzie Jarvis was wrong.

But how to make her believe it, that was the quandary.

Love came in different forms, the love of a mother for her child, the love of a brother for his brother or sister, the love that also came with close friendship, and of course, the love of a man for a woman and vice versa.

Poor Mack, with her insulated, cloistered life she had not really known any kind of real love and had schooled herself to believe that it was somehow her fate.

Gods will.

Sister Eve suspected that God had an entirely different opinion in the matter.

Two of his children, so alone, touched by tragedy and loss, both needing love, and so full of love to give to someone else ….

Somehow, they had managed to miss the chance for happiness together, the first time, and God had allowed each of them to follow another path, a long, tortuous, winding route of discovery, with many hard lessons to learn along the way, but, which had ultimately led them back to each other.

Whatever happened now was His will, and Sister Eve knew that she could not allow Mackenzie Jarvis to blow it this time around with her sense of honour and her misguided belief that the only way to love this man was silently, from afar.

The most important lesson in life that Mackenzie Jarvis had yet to learn, was that to truly love, you had to be open to the possibility that that someone could love you in return, you had to be able to recognise love when it came your way and sometimes you just had to take a chance, risk a little disappointment and heartache, until the right love came along.

Mackenzie Jarvis might think that she had everything under control, that she had reigned in her feelings and shoved them away in some deep dark corner of her heart, that she could close off her heart and her mind to the possibility of a loving future with this man, but what she had failed to take into consideration was the young man himself.

Somehow, Sister Eve found herself thinking, a wry half smile tugging at her lips as she watched the young man sleeping a little more peacefully in the narrow cot, when the meds wore off and he opened those eyes and gazed upon Dr Mackenzie Jarvis, it could prove to be a very rude awakening, for both of them.