Chapter Text
Jo slapped the alarm clock violently before she realized that it was the phone, not the alarm clock, that was piercing her hard-earned sleep. Struggling to see the time, she cursed as her eyes focused on the red glowing numbers. 3:12 Am. Christ. What in hell? Angrily she grabbed the phone.
"This had better be good," she growled in greeting. Her threat was met with silence, and for some reason that angered more than frightened her. 3Am was not a time that suited her to have someone pulling horror movie tactics.
"Look, you've got about 10 seconds before..."
"J...Jo..."
The reply was barely audible, but the pleading and desperation came through loud and clear. A surge of adrenaline jolted her completely awake and she bolted upright in bed.
"Mike? What's wrong? Are you OK?"
She silently cursed herself for the stupid question. He'd only said one word so far, but judging from the effort that one word seemed to take, he was definitely NOT OK. She heard what had to be a groan, then labored breathing. That, in context with how weak and strained his voice sounded, was alarming her.
"Mike, say something. I'm still here."
The hesitation that followed was all the cue her body needed to remember to move. She put him on speakerphone while she ran around the room getting dressed, though she was still so afraid she might miss some contextual clue that she carried the phone with her and set it on top of the dresser as she pulled out her jeans and a tank. The silence was worrisome, but when a coughing spasm echoed through the phone her alarm rose and she realized there were worse things than silence. He was clearly very sick or badly injured, most likely the latter considering the type of work they did. She hurriedly pulled the tank over her head and tried to talk to him again.
"What's going on, Rivers? Talk to me."
"I need...Jo...need...need help."
"OK," she said, forcing a calm she didn't feel into her voice. "It's going to be OK, Mike. I'm going to help you. Where are you?"
"...hurts...hurts like...like hell. I couldn't...I tried..."
"Shhhhh, I know it hurts, baby." she soothed, too frightened at this point to even realize what she had just called him, "I know you're in pain. I'm going to help you and we'll take care of that. But I need to know where you are so I can get to you. Tell me where you are."
He could get mad at her later for talking to him like he was 2 years old. Right now, she needed information from him, information she was afraid he was in no shape to give. Where could be be? she wondered. None of them had been deployed for anything recently. The last couple of weeks had been quiet, spent doing nothing but maintenance on the Santini fleet and doing charters for Santini Air. And really, unless he'd done a charter she didn't know about and had hit on some bruiser's wife, none of that had been dangerous. They had certainly made a lot of enemies in their work for the government, but few people knew who "they" were. Why would someone...no. She forced herself to stop the useless speculating. Panic wouldn't help either of them.
"Mike?"
No answer, not even the sound of his labored breathing. OK, maybe she would take the coughing spasms over the silence. At least if he was coughing she knew he was alive. In bad shape, yes. But alive.
"Come on, flyboy. ANSWER ME, damn it."
Calling him flyboy would normally rile him enough to return a verbal volley or two, so the silence that followed was more telling than any of the conversation had been thus far. Damn it, where were her shoes? She needed to go. But go where?
"Mike," she urged again.
This time she was answered by another choking spasm and what might have been a surpressed sob. God help her, if he'd just gotten drunk and had gotten in to a bar fight, he was going to need medical attention by the time she got hold of him. Mike had never been a heavy drinker, though, she reminded herself, at least not in the time that she had known him. He didn't like being out of control. so drunkenness was unlikely.
Stop it, Jo, she chided herself. More useless speculating. She took a deep breath and tried again.
"Mike, honey, I need you to tell me where you are. I can't help you if I don't know where you are."
"I, uhm...I think..."
Great. He sounded confused. Head injury? Shock? She once again forced herself to stop thinking and just do. She put down the phone again, making sure to hit the speakerphone button, while she slid her arms through her shoulder holster. She fastened it, checked her weapon to make sure it was loaded and the safety was on, then slid her jacket on over that. She grabbed a couple of extra clips and shoved them into her jacket pockets, She still listened for anything that might help her, but all she heard was Mike. He was still rambling in his speech and wasn't making sense, but she tried again to get a location out of him.
"Take a deep breath, Mike. I need you to focus. I need to know where you are."
"I couldn't...I couldn't..." he began, but was unable to finish his sentence. His voice was sounding more and more strained, more distant. He was losing consciousness.
"Come on, Rivers, FOCUS," she said sharply, hoping to jar him a little and help him stay conscious a little longer. "I need you to FOCUS."
"...couldn't..." he repeated, as if she hadn't spoken. "but he's safe."
"WHO is safe? Is someone with you? Mike, where in hell are you? What's around you? Can you see anything?"
The response came in the form of what sounded like the phone dropping.
"Mike!" she yelled. "Mike!"
There was no response. He must have passed out, or...no, not going down that road. Her first instinct was to hang up and head out to the Valley of the Gods. If Mike was wearing his Company-issued watch, Airwolf could pick up on its tracer signal. Her only worry about that course of action was, if he was as bad as he sounded, just getting to the Wolf could take time they just didn't have. Just before she ended the call and ran out the door blind, she had an idea. It was a longshot, but at least she could definitely eliminate at least one place.
Keeping her home phone connected with whatever line Mike was calling from, she picked up her cell phone and dialed his home number.'
"Hi, this is Mike. I'm on the phone with someone else right now, but you know what to do. Leave a message and I'll call back."
Great. His busy message. She stared dumbfounded at the two phones.
"You're HOME? You're home and you couldn't tell me?"
Immediately she regretted her chiding, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. He was obviously in pain, so maybe the pain was so bad he didn't KNOW where he was. But Christ, what kind of injuries...?
That thought alone spurred her on. She felt her jacket pockets to make sure she'd put the extra clips there, then ran out the door, keys in hand. She was already dialing another phone number as she hurried to her car, and was already tearing out of the parking lot when a very groggy St. John Hawke picked up the phone.
"Sinjin! Wake up. Wake up NOW." Urgency had already bypassed the need for civility.
"Jo? Do you know what ti..."
"YES, I do. I need you to meet me at Mike's."
"What's..."
"He's in TROUBLE, Sinjin. Just meet me there. Now."
Frustrated, she hit the end key on her phone and tossed it into the passenger seat. Mike's house was 10 minutes from hers, but at the rate she was driving she was going to get there in five. She had driving skills like her flying skills, but then the same person who taught her to fly had taught her to drive. Still, with the recent rains dampening the streets, she was glad it was too early for there to be much traffic.
"Please be there, Mike," she heard herself say as she ran a red light.