Epilogue.

Whiteout Station - The Arctic Circle.

Somewhere on the Polar Ice Cap, Northern Alaska.

Day Twenty – Thursday March 1st, 1984.

Approximately 2.00pm local time.

"That's the last of it, String …." Dominic Santini informed his young friend, lowering his gaze briefly to the bags he was carrying, his own and Hawke's in his right hand and Dr Leigh Roland's in his left, as much to break the unnerving, eerie, deafening silence that had settled over the station, compared to the commotion and noise that had accompanied the last of the Russian Commando's as they had been evacuated by helicopter to their war ship anchored in the Beaufort Sea, as to state the obvious.

That had been a couple of hours ago, and in the interim, Santini and Hawke had gathered together their belongings and packed their bags, and then they had taken their time in loading Airwolf's storage compartment with the things that Leigh had decided that she needed to take back with her, because they were both still feeling pretty weak, although thankful to be alive.

Leigh Roland had spent the morning quietly and alone, in sickbay, setting aside the things that she wanted to take back with her, the medical equipment that she had brought with her, drugs that she felt were too precious or too dangerous to be left behind, in the unlikely event that they were not destroyed when the rest of Whiteout Station was razed to the ground, the vital blood and tissue samples and slides that she had taken from each of her patients, and the bodies of her dead friends, and a half a dozen vials of the Russian antidote, which she knew the doctors at Knightsbridge would want to analyze, safely stored in the big white plastic box with the heavy lock and red cross daubed over it.

After finishing off in sickbay, Leigh had returned to the Administrators office and dug out various files and records and sensitive documents that the backers of the Whiteout Project had requested she return to them for safe keeping, and added them to the box where she had placed Dr De Witts' daily logs, chronicling the day to day activity at the Station during it's working life, and which Hawke and Santini had stowed in Airwolf's storage hold, along side the few personal belongings that Leigh and Hawke had returned to the burned out ruins of the research labs to retrieve, as Leigh had requested. Momentoes, keepsakes and remembrances spared by the flames, which Leigh Roland intended to return to the relatives of those poor souls who had lost their lives at Whiteout Station, after they had been through the de-contamination process at Knightsbridge and it was decided that it was safe to do so.

"Thanks Dom. You go get the Lady warmed up, and I'll go see what's keeping the other lady …."

A wry smile lifted the corner of Hawke's mouth as he spoke and Santini nodded silently.

Both men knew exactly where Leigh Roland was and why she was taking her time.

They had deliberately stayed out of Leigh's way as she roamed around the now deserted station saying her final, silent farewell to her home and the ghosts of her friends, until after one last silent, solemn meal in the recreation room, Leigh had excused herself, heading back to the accommodation block one last time, where finally she had quietly closed the door to the room that she had shared the few precious months of her marriage with her beloved Greg Chandler, behind her and Hawke and Santini had stayed away, respecting her need to grieve and to let go in her own way.

They had kept themselves busy with moving Airwolf out of warehouse number two with one of the snow mobiles and running a check on all her systems on the ground before taking her up for a brief check flight.

Nome had given Dominic Santini a long range weather forecast before the Russians had been evacuated, which gave them an estimated seven hour window of clear weather, and when he had reported in to Archangel that the Russians were finally all safely off their hands, Hawke had given him an estimated departure time of no later than two thirty that afternoon, knowing that that would give them all plenty of time to finish up here at Whiteout.

Hawke and Santini had then filled the remaining time with tidying away their own precious few belongings and stowing them away in Airwolf, so that once Leigh was finally ready to go, they would not have any excuse to delay their departure, and the inevitable complete destruction of Whiteout Station, as per Archangel's instructions.

After that, they would return to Knightsbridge to be debriefed and to finish their recovery in the medical facility at The Firm's headquarters, remaining there until the doctors decided that they were completely recovered and presented no threat to the rest of the population and Airwolf had also been through the necessary de-contamination process.

Leigh had been right about that.

They had all made a remarkable recovery in the past few days, nothing short of a miracle in Hawke's opinion, but if he was honest, he wasn't looking forward to spending time shut up in a hospital room with Dominic Santini for company and nothing but time to dwell on everything that had happened at Whiteout, past history that could not be undone, and fretting over what the Knightsbridge scientists were doing to Airwolf behind his back.

However, Leigh Roland had offered them all some small comfort when she had suggested that they might only need to remain at Knightsbridge for a day or two, so that the doctors could take the samples they needed and keep them under observation, just to make sure that they didn't suddenly relapse.

Beyond that, Hawke had not allowed himself to dwell.

Life, he supposed, would go on, much as it had gone on before.

His own life.

And Leigh's life.

Now, as Dominic Santini departed with their bags, Hawke gave one last look around the recreation room to ensure that they hadn't overlooked anything, then with a heavy sigh, he forced his legs to carry him out through the swing fire doors and down the corridor towards the accommodation module containing the scientists living quarters, finally coming to a stop at the top of the thoroughfare called Broadway.

Before their jaunt outside to the burned out research labs, Hawke and Leigh Roland had carefully and respectfully removed the personal belongings from each of the scientists rooms, bagging and tagging them neatly and reverently and then later added the things that they had removed from the bodies and the labs, and Hawke had clearly seen the pain and grief in Leigh's eyes and could easily imagine how it was tearing at her heart to see that so little remained of the lives of her friends. Yet, he found himself silently agreeing with her that even these few, mundane and seemingly insignificant items might help to bring some small measure of comfort to the people her friends had left behind.

All that remained in the scientists rooms now were basic furnishings, the name plaques on the doors the only remaining clue that they had ever been there at all.

Hawke came to a halt at the top of the corridor, hesitant about approaching the room Leigh had shared with her husband, and intruding on these her final moments alone with her memories, however at almost the same instant, he heard the distinct and familiar click of a door handle being turned and a lock being disengaged, and in the next moment, Leigh Roland stepped out into the corridor.

She had a small bag in her hand, no doubt containing the last few precious personal belongings of her husband, Dr Gregory Chandler.

Leigh had her back to Hawke, and he knew that she was not aware of his presence as he watched, with a heavy heart, as she dropped her head, briefly, a small, strangled sob escaping from deep in the back of her throat. Then, just as quickly, she got a hold of herself, drawing on deep reserves of courage and strength, reigning in her emotions and raising her head, throwing back her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full height, back straight, chin coming up in defiance as she drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then expelled it as a long sigh as she reached out with noticeably trembling fingers to close the door to the room she had shared with her husband, and the life it represented, forever.

Silently she turned around and began to walk back up Broadway, toward Hawke, the only indication that she was surprised to find him standing there, watching her silently, the slight widening of her beautiful amber eyes and a sad, wistful little smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

As she drew up before him at last, Leigh Roland gave him a genuine smile and Hawke found himself smiling back at her, a soft, understanding smile, his heart fit to burst with the love he still felt for her as he reached out to take the bag from her with one hand and slipped the other lightly around her waist, drawing her close and giving her a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

"Ready?" Hawke asked in soft, low tones.

"Ready," Leigh concurred, pleased to see him looking so much better today.

It really was a miracle how quickly they had recovered from the unknown contagion.

Without hesitation, Leigh slid her arm around his waist, leaning in close to him, drawing comfort and strength from his nearness and savoring the sensation, for she did not know what the future held for each of them, nor when they might have chance for such a moment of tenderness again, and then they began to walk, neither one giving a backward glance.

"What will you do now? After they're done with us at Knightsbridge?" Hawke could not stop himself from asking as he reluctantly moved away from Leigh to open the swing doors back to the recreation room, allowing her to pass through before him.

They had been through so much, and there was still so much that he wanted to say to her, needed to hear from her, he could not believe that she was simply going to walk out of his life again.

Yet, he knew that if that was what she wanted, he would not try to stop her.

She had her destiny to follow, and he had his.

Perhaps they had never been fated to have anything more in this life than what they had already shared.

Hawke had already invited her to join him and Dom up at his cabin, to recuperate, and Leigh had thanked him for his generosity and promised him that she would let him have her answer before they left.

Now that moment was almost upon them and he felt the need to make the offer again, just so that she would know that he had been sincere and not just making pleasant noises.

"You know you're welcome to come home with me, Leigh …." He began, following her through the doors and back into the familiar recreation room.

"There's plenty of room, and Dom and I will be at the hangar most of the time, at least during the day, so you would have plenty of time and space for yourself. The scenery is magnificent, the lake and the mountains are spectacular, tranquil and soothing and there's lots of fresh air. The perfect place to get your strength and equilibrium back …."

They both knew that it wasn't just her physical strength and health that he was talking about.

She had been on an emotional roller coaster these past few days, and needed time to come to terms with everything that had happened.

"You make it sound so …. Idyllic …." Leigh fixed her beautiful and tear filled eyes on Hawke now, and he felt his heart drop as he began to suspect that he knew what her answer was going to be.

"So …. Tempting," Leigh sighed sorrowfully and dropped her gaze when she saw the flash of disappointment in his beautiful blue eyes.

"Leigh …."

There was such anguish in his voice now that Leigh Roland could not fail to understand the emotions coursing through him at that moment.

He thought that she was rejecting him, shutting him out of her heart and her life ….

But that was very far from the truth.

Despite everything that she had gone through in the last few days, the losses she had suffered, deep down, Leigh Roland knew that Stringfellow Hawke was, and always would be the only man that she would ever really love.

Her first.

Her last.

Her everything.

And he could have no idea just how painful that realization had been for her, the heartache and betrayal she felt in acknowledging that truth, only hours after the confirmation that her husband, Greg Chandler was indeed dead, lost at the bottom of a deep trench somewhere in the Arctic Ocean, along with the other missing scientists from Whiteout Station and the crew of the Russian nuclear submarine.

She had loved Greg, in her own way, and the very least she owed him was to mourn his passing as a loving wife should.

Leigh also knew that to rush headlong into a relationship with Hawke now would only spell disaster. They both needed time, back in their respective lives, and then maybe, in the future ….

Leigh knew that she couldn't leave Hawke dangling.

He deserved more than that, but, she wouldn't mislead him either.

"I love you, String …. I always have …. I probably always will, but …."

"But?"

"I can't do this with you …. Not here …. Not right now …."She whispered, her gaze roaming around the recreation room, and Hawke knew instinctively that she was seeing the ghost of her husband in every dark recess, every nook and cranny.

"It's too soon …."

However, Hawke could not help thinking that what she was really saying was that it was too late.

For both of them.

"Don't …." Her voice was so low now that Hawke had to strain to hear it, as at last, her beautiful tempestuous tawny eyes settled on his face and he saw the tears streaming silently down her pale cheeks.

"Stop …." She implored and now he was tilting his head slightly to one side, a frown pulling at his brow.

"Please …. Don't do that to yourself. Don't stand there telling yourself that you have no right to expect more for us, that you have no right to want …. To even ask …."

Leigh's voice caught in the back of her throat briefly as she took a small step closer to Hawke.

"I know what you're doing, love …. I see it in your eyes …. You're telling yourself that you have no right to expect a happy ever after for us …. That it is only natural that I will move on, leave you behind. Justifying it by telling yourself that you don't deserve happiness and can't ask anyone to share your life because of the dark and shady things, the danger that you sometimes have to get embroiled in …."

She took another step closer and reached out to place both of her hands on his shoulders, gazing deeply into his eyes, tears swimming in amber irises that were dancing and blazing brightly with the love that she felt for him, and Leigh knew that she was hitting the mark from the uncomfortable and rigid way that he was holding himself, chin rising, his eyes avoiding hers as she continued to speak.

Unable to resist the temptation, Leigh reached up and took that proud and noble chin in her fingers, forcing it down so that he could no longer avoid meeting her gaze as she continued in a low, breathy voice, tears cascading silently down her pale cheeks.

"Don't do that to yourself, String. You're wrong. You have every right to want and expect to share your life with someone who loves you and understands you, someone who understand what motivates you and drives you in everything that you do, and does not judge you …. Someone who needs your love too. Someone like me …. And I do love you Hawke, if you believe nothing else, please, believe that …."

Again her voice caught and she paused for a moment to swallow down the lump of emotion that was suddenly blocking her throat.

When she looked back up into his chiseled, handsome features, she could see that there was something else in Hawke's eyes now, and Leigh let out a long, ragged sigh.

"And now I see you standing there telling yourself that it's only right to let me go, because no matter how much you love me, you can't give me any of the things I want in life …."

She paused now to squeeze fresh tears from her eyes, cupping his chin lovingly, stroking his cheek with her thumb in a gentle, reassuring rhythm.

"How the hell can you know what I want out of life, String, when right now, this minute, I have no idea what I want …" She paused to draw in a deep, ragged breath before continuing.

"Except …. that I know that I do not want to lose you. Your friendship. Your respect …. And yes, your love …. But …. We both have our own lives. Responsibilities. I'm not saying …. Never …. I'm not closing my mind to the possibility, because I can't ever close my heart to the hope …." She caressed his cheek with soft fingers, her eyes boring into his, imploring him to understand what she was saying, and she watched him swallow down hard.

"But, for now, it's enough to know that you are alive …. And that you still care …. That we came out of this as friends …."

She gently reached up and slipped her hand behind his head, her fingers sinking into the downy softness of his hair as she guided his face down toward her own, her lips slightly parted as they waited to receive his in the tenderest and sweetest of kisses.

"I love you, Stringfellow Hawke, don't ever doubt it," Leigh told him in a ragged voice when they parted at last, breathless, her fingers once again reaching out to trace the outline of his strong jaw. "I guess what I'm really asking for is a little time …."

"I love you too, Leigh. More than either of us really understands," Hawke confessed softly, capturing her fingers in his own then reached out to draw her close, wrapping his arms around her firmly, but tenderly as she rested her cheek against his shoulder blade, and he rested his chin lightly on the top of her head, letting out a long, ragged breath.

"If you ever need me …. For anything …."

"I know. You too."

Leigh finally drew away, and again the sight of the tears glistening in her lovely unusual eyes tore at Hawke's heart and he found himself wishing that just for once, his life wasn't so complicated and fraught.

"At least now I know where to start looking for you," Leigh raised her head from his shoulder and smiled softly up into his face and they both knew that she was thinking about that day twelve years ago when her world had come tumbling down around her ears and the long days after when she had thought him gone from her life forever.

"I'll be in Los Angeles for a little while, String. Maybe we could have dinner some time ...."

"Maybe ...."

"So .... Time to move on …." Leigh gently extricated herself from his embrace and cast one last look around the recreation room. "And I guess we both know how to do that."

"Yeah," Hawke sighed expressively, raising his chin defiantly now. "We'd better make a move. They're expecting us at Knightsbridge …."

Leigh nodded, then reached out to him once more, slipping her arm through his and giving it a gentle squeeze then tugging on it, guided him toward the door that lead to the kitchen and the outside world.

/a\

"Ok Dom, give me the numbers …."

Settled inside Airwolf at last, Hawke spoke into the microphone in his helmet after jamming it onto his head and waiting for Leigh Roland to get comfortable in the seat beside him.

"Everything is on line and looks A OK," Dominic Santini responded swiftly as Stringfellow Hawke gently lifted Airwolf up off the icy ground and eased her up, slowly gaining height as he circled the buildings of Whiteout Station, sensing Leigh Roland's tension and sorrow as she looked over the place one last time.

Leigh had made a request to say a few words before they left and Hawke knew that she was preparing herself and so gave her a moment or two.

"Leigh?" He prompted somewhat reluctantly after several minutes of silence.

"I'm ready …." She confirmed for him, eyes swimming with tears and voice catching briefly in the back of her throat, then she drew in a ragged breath as Hawke brought Airwolf in low to hover steadily at the dead center point of Whiteout Station and Leigh began.

"I thought long and hard about what to say …. I lost a lot of good friends here, as well as a loving husband, and at first I thought I should say something about each of them, about what good people they all were and what they meant to me …. But I guess now is not the right time, and I'm really not the right person …. So in the end I decided on something simple and I realized that there was only one thing that I could say," she drew in a long, calming breath then continued.

"My friends were not soldiers and they did not fall in battle, but they are just as much casualties of war …. This wretched cold war …. So I think this is quite fitting:

"They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning. We shall remember them …."

She paused, dropping her head briefly, then raised her chin defiantly and added;

"I shall remember them …."

"You ready for this?" Hawke asked in low, solemn tones, after they had all observed a moment of silence, turning his head slightly to regard Leigh Roland sympathetically, wanting to give her time to say her final goodbyes before he followed Archangel's orders and sent everything left down there on the ground straight to hell.

"Just do it, Hawke," Leigh sighed, never taking her eyes off the complex of buildings below.

"Dom, gimme a Hellfire," Hawke commanded as he pulled back on the cyclic to gain altitude.

"You got it …." Santini confirmed and did not have long to wait as Hawke depressed the firing button and a few seconds later there was a deafening explosion and from over Hawke's shoulder, Santini saw bright orange flames erupt in the front windshield.

A few seconds later there was another explosion and more flames, and then another, and another, as Hawke sent several missiles to their targets on the ground, and then Santini felt Airwolf rising and turning as Hawke gained even more altitude, taking one last final slow swoop over the burning buildings on the ground making sure that this time the inferno consumed and engulfed everything, then set them on course for Knightsbridge at last.

"Time to go home, Dom. Gimme turbos …." Hawke requested, moving his head slightly to regard Leigh Roland once more, but she was already settling back in her seat, head tipped back, her eyes still closed against the horror of the conflagration on the ground behind them, her pale face awash and glistening with tears, and he decided to leave her with her thoughts as he concentrated on the gauges and instruments before him, knowing that there was nothing that he could say that would ease her sorrow and grief, only time and distance would do that, and reflecting on all that had happened in the last week or so, knowing that personally, he was not sorry to see the end of Whiteout Station.

"Home, I like the sound of that," Dominic Santini responded.

"Yeah, me too. For a while there, I had serious doubts that I would ever see the place again …."

"You too huh?" Santini gave a soft chuckle. "I don't know what you're plans are, but me, I'm off on that sunshine cruise …. And the closest I plan to get to ice from now on is the cubes floating in my Scotch!"

"When did you start drinking Scotch? I thought you didn't like the taste of that stuff …."

"A guy can acquire a new taste and cultivate a bad habit now and again can't he?"

Leigh Roland let out a soft sigh, brushing away her tears as she listened to the lighthearted banter going back and forth between Hawke and Santini, warmed by the obvious affection that both men had for each other, sure that whatever else the future might hold for herself and Stringfellow Hawke, she had never loved him more, that she had never been more pleased that he was alive and well, and was certain in her heart that no matter what, he would be fine.

Dominic Santini would keep him honest and see to it that he never got into serious trouble, or be allowed to wallow too deeply or overly long in his self imposed isolation, and that he was never short of company, friendship, fatherly advice or love when he needed them.

Hawke still had purpose in life with his passion for flying, his love of his country and his work for the government, as well as his need to find out what had really happened to his brother.

With or without her in his life, Stringfellow Hawke, like herself, was a survivor.

And the future?

Who knew ….

They would just have to wait and see.

Tomorrow would take care of its self ….

After all, tomorrow was all that any of them could reasonably hope for.

Credit: The verse that Leigh quotes from in remembrance of her friends is called "The Ode of Remembrance" and is from a poem called The Fallen, by Laurence Binyon, which was first published in The Times in September 1914.