Jo slapped the alarm clock violently before she was awake enough to realize it was the phone, not the clock, that was piercing her hard-earned sleep. She struggled to see the time, cursing as her eyes focused on the red glowing numbers. Christ. 3:12 AM. 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. 3 AM 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. This, taken in context with how weak and strained his voice had 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 speaker phone while she ran around her bedroom getting dressed, though she was still so afraid she might miss something that she carried the phone with her and sat it in 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 pulled the tank over her head and grabbed the phone again.

"What's going on, Rivers? Talk to me."

"I need...Jo, need help."

"OK." she said, forcing calm into her voice. "It's going to be OK, Mike. I'm going to help you. Where are you?"

"...hurts...I couldn't...I tried..."

"Shhhh, I know it hurts, baby." she answered, too scared at this point to even realize what she had called him. "I know you're hurting. I'm going to help you. But I need to know where you are so I can get to you. Tell me where you are."

Where could he be? She wondered. None of them had been deployed for anything. The last couple of weeks had been quiet, their days spent doing nothing but maintenance on the Santini fleet and doing Santini charters. 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 definitely 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 labored breathing. OK, maybe she would take the sound of coughing spasms over silence.

"Come on, flyboy, ANSWER ME."

Calling him flyboy would normally rile him enough to return a volley, so the silence that followed was more telling than any of the conversation had been so far. Damn it, where were her shoes?

"Mike..." she urged again.

She was answered by another choking spasm and what might have been a suppressed sob. God help her, if he'd just gotten drunk and had gotten into a bar fight, he was definitely going to need medical attention when she got her hands on him. But Mike had never been a heavy drinker, she reminded herself, at least not in the time that she'd 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 again forced herself to stop thinking and just do. She put the phone down again, making sure to hit the speaker phone 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. 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 continued 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.

Keeping her home phone line connected with whatever Mike was calling from, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Mike's home number.

"Hi, this is Mike. I'm on the phone with someone else right now, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you."

Great. His busy message. She looked blankly at both 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 grabbed a couple of extra clips and stuffed them into her jacket pocket then ran out her front door, keys in hand. She was already dialing another number by the time she reached her car, and was tearing out of the parking lot by the time a very groggy St. John Hawke picked up his phone.

"St. John! 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, St. John. 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 5. 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 rain dampening the streets, she was glad it was too early in the morning for there to be too much traffic.

"Please be there, Mike." she said to herself as she ran a red light.