AN: This is set in 1975, after Stringfellow returns home from Vietnam. His older brother, St. John (pronounced 'Sin-jin') has been missing for five years. String has been in hospital on a Japanese military base recovering from injuries suffered and has only been home a day or so.

Airwolf and Co. don't belong to me, they belong to Mr. Bellasario.

--Horatio Spafford

October 1975

Dom descended the steps of the old cabin, brushing dust from his hands as he went. He cast his gaze over the landscape and smiled; the scenery was still as beautiful as he remembered it. Ancient pines soared to the sapphire sky, and there was no sound but the cries of eagles and the lapping of the lake against the shore. No wonder Alan had loved the place so well, he thought.

He remembered the first time he'd seen the cabin, in a long-ago summer shortly after Alan and Ruby were married. He'd helped Alan frame the upstairs expansion, and twenty-plus years on, the recollection of being pleasantly weary from sawing and hammering all day in the hot sun and then plunging into the cool waters of the lake still brought a smile to his lips. He'd shown Ruby how to make a California variation of Mama Santini's best fish gravy--one of the recipes that had survived the trip from the old country to sunny San Remo--with the trout that Al deftly coaxed from the lake.

The smell of pine called back the past, and Dom let the memories roll over him in a bittersweet wave. There had been three of them back then; Alan, Ruby, and himself, just three young people trying to forget the horrors of war and drinking deeply of peace. Then in a few years there were four, as Saint John--named for the feast day he had been born on--joined them, taking his first steps on the porch with Alan's hands to steady him. Not long after, there had been five, and Stringfellow's baby giggle had danced like bright sunshine on the water.

And now...

Dom sighed. Now there were only two left to remember, two left behind to mourn those gone, two to hope against hope for the return of a third. Ghosts seemed to flicker seen-and-not-seen at the windows of the cabin, but perhaps it seemed that way because the furniture inside was all draped in dusty white canvas. The walls were bare, stripped of the priceless art collection Al's father had amassed. After his friends' deaths, Dom had seen to that detail personally, and now the collection was safely in the hands of a trusted art dealer friend in Los Angeles.

Stringfellow stood on the dock with his back to Dom, staring out at the mirror surface of the lake. Dom's smile turned wistful; the happy baby was long gone, replaced by a brooding, silent man of twenty-five. As he watched, the young man shifted restlessly, trying to ease the still-sore muscles over bones that were only just barely healed. Dom shook his head. It hadn't done String's injuries any good to spend fourteen hours on a cramped flight from Tokyo, but there was no help for it.

Wish I could just make everything all right again, like I did when you were little. Doesn't work that way anymore, does it, kid?

String hadn't moved from his place, and Dom wondered if his former ward was reliving the same moment that he himself was seeing in his mind's eye: A twelve-year-old Stringfellow, clad in swimming trunks, running at breakneck speed from the front door of the cabin, bare feet thumping against the worn boards of the quay.

"Hey Dom!" the boy yelled, his words echoing over the surface of the lake. "Watch this!"

With the fearlessness of youth, Stringfellow launched himself off the end of the dock and dove neatly into the water. The boy surfaced in a few moments, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes and spraying water everywhere like a wet puppy. "How was that?"

Dom stood on the dock, fishing pole in hand, a look of exasperation on his face. "Aw, String, you're scarin' all the fish!" He set the pole on the boards and hunkered down to the boy's level. "Besides, you know what your ma said about diving off the end of the dock; it's too shallow."

"Come on, Dom, you wouldn't tell on me, wouldja?" String's eyes were the exact shade of the sky overhead, the same as his mother's, and they twinkled with mischief. "We're pals, aren't we?"

"Always and forever," Dom said solemnly, "but if you crack that thick skull of yours wide open, then all bets are off!" He stuck a hand out to help the boy clamber up onto the deck. "Now come on outta there. Saint John and your folks'll be back any minute and it'll be time to start back to town."

At that moment, a boat with an outboard motor growled and sputtered around the edge of the treeline, but there were only two passengers when there should have been three. One of them was Bob Case, the local park ranger, and the other was a bedraggled and bruised teenager, clinging weakly to the side of the boat. With dread crawling down his spine, Dom helped String out of the water and turned to watch as the ranger steered his boat to come alongside the dock.

"Saint John!" String blurted, and would have jumped from the dock had Dom not held him back.

"Here, take him!" Bob pushed the fifteen-year-old Saint John toward Dom. The stocky Italian untangled himself from String and then reached out and hauled the teen onto the dock.

"Bob, what happened?" yelled Dom, as String hovered nervously behind him. "Where's Al and Ruby?"

"There's been an accident," Bob said gravely. "There were some water skiers on the lake, and their tow craft collided with Al's boat." He nodded to the glassy-eyed boy leaning on Dom's arm. "Saint John's lucky. He fell overboard, so he escaped the fire."

Horror took the words from Dom's throat, and tears welled in his eyes. "Oh, God, no," he breathed.

Saint John's cry split the air. "String, DON'T!"

Growling like a bear cub, Stringfellow attacked Bob, sending them both into the lake with a violent splash. They surfaced in a froth of whitewater, Stringfellow screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs.

"Where's my Mom and Dad??" The boy kicked and flailed in the ranger's grip. "Why did you leave them?? Why didn't you help them??"

"There was nothing I could do, son," said Bob, ducking and dodging String's fists and heels. "By the time someone got through to me on the radio, it was too late. They were gone."

The fight went out of String as quickly as it had come, and the boy crumpled against Bob's wet uniform. Dom made sure Saint John was steady on his feet, and then went to pry String out of Bob's arms. Dom landed in a sitting position against the boards, pulling String with him. The boy buried his head against Dom's tanned shoulder, sobbing inconsolably.

"Mom," Stringfellow moaned, and Dom patted the wet hair plastered on the back of the boy's head.

"Shhh, String, don't you worry. We're gonna get through this, you and me and Saint John. We're gonna stick together."

"I want Mom and Dad," String hiccoughed.

Tears rolled down Dom's cheeks as Saint John came to lean against his other shoulder. "I know, kid," Dom said, voice ragged. "I wish they were here, too."

Now as Dom stepped up beside Stringfellow, he saw the unspoken words in the young man's cold blue eyes. I want Saint John, said the icy gaze, and once again Dom felt as powerless as he had all those years before.

"It's just as beautiful as I remember," he said finally, having no idea what else to say.

"Yeah."

"Your ma and pa sure loved it up here."

"So did Saint John." There was steel in String's voice that hadn't been there before, steel that watching friends die had put there. "And he's gonna be here again."

Dom gave the young man a tight smile. "If he's out there, we'll find him." He laid a gentle hand on String's shoulder. "But right now you need to take it easy. What would you say if I told you that you could have your old room back?"

String raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to do that. I'll find a place of my own."

"Soon enough," his mentor allowed. "But for now, you're coming home with me."

The young man sighed. "No chance of talking you out of it, is there?"

"Not a single one." Dom resisted the urge to ruffle String's crew cut and just patted him between the shoulder blades instead. "Come on, String. Let's go home."

--End--