A pair of white Bell 222's set down on the road in front of the makeshift distress display. Eyeing Cait there, muddy and bruised, red-hair flying in the wind in the shortest skirt he'd ever seen her wear and bare feet, Michael suppressed a whistle of shock. If this is what the "healthy" one looked like, he wasn't sure he wanted to see Hawke. Still, he mused as he climbed out of the helicopter, you had to admit the woman was a class act. She was one of the few women he knew who could pull off rags and make them look designer - Marella being the other.
"Cait, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the rotor wash. Giving one last glance to the sky where Airwolf had hovered only moments before, she limped over to Archangel and the second Bell helicopter.
Taking in her stunned, glazed look, he frowned with concern. She looked like she was ready to drop where she stood. He grasped her arm, tugging and guiding her over to the Bell 222 fitted out as an air ambulance. Nicky followed.
Reaching it, the medics helped her in. Not the patient they'd been expecting, but obviously one in need nonetheless. The female medic began bathing her scratched and cut legs with antiseptic.
"How's Hawke?" Archangel yelled over the noise of the rotors. Cait just stared at him vacantly. Getting really concerned now, Marella hadn't mentioned this, he turned to Nicky. "Well?" he demanded.
The boy swallowed nervously, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I - I don't know," he admitted. "I thought he'd died, Mom was sure screaming and acting like it…"
"But?" the spy prompted, with a questioning look. There had to be more, he thought desperately. Surely this wasn't how it all would end.
"Roper snatched Mom out of the car. Marella was pinching his nose and breathing for him. She and Roper got him out, but I don't know…" the boy trailed off miserably. "It's not good is it?" the blue eyes swimming in tears, pleaded with him to tell him otherwise.
Michael swallowed and shook his head. No, he thought it certainly didn't sound good at all. No wonder Marella hadn't waited for the Medivac 'copter, Airwolf was his best bet.
Steeling himself, Archangel threw his shoulders back and took control of the situation. Whatever else was between him and Hawke, he thought grimly, he owed him this much. "Come on," he said, wrapping as arm around the boy's thin shoulders. "Let's go see your father."
Leading the boy to the waiting helicopter, he yelled to the first 'chopper pilot. "Get her to the clinic, STAT."
Aboard Airwolf, Marella continued to monitor Hawke's progress with concern. She'd like to think the additional oxygen and iv fluids were helping, but she wasn't so sure. He didn't seem to be making much progress. If anything, he was barely holding his own.
Thoroughly, she checked him over, keeping Roper apprised of his status as she did so. He stayed on the radio with Red Star notifying the clinic and preparing for a team to meet them on the roof.
There didn't seem to be any broken bones, she thought in wonder - a miracle in and of itself, she realized having seen the car. The bruising was extensive, but that was to be expected in a car crash like that. Dehydration and shock seemed to be the major problems, she mused in frustration. She was treating the dehydration, but what was causing the shock? Surely, there was some underlying cause, besides just the dehydration, she thought.
Was it possible he had a collapsed lung, or a bruised one? Raking her hand through her hair in agitation, she acknowledged the possibility, but realized she had little way to currently check.
Watching his vitals displayed on Airwolf's monitors, she increased his oxygen flow. Hopefully that at least would help some, she thought in frustration.
"Five minutes out," Roper called, the words ringing in her headset. With trembling fingers, she began to get Hawke ready for the waiting medical team that'd be meeting them. Carefully, she laid the iv tubing on his chest, along with the iv bag, tucking the blanket in around him and preparing to reach for the oxygen mask as the team took him.
Gently Airwolf settled on the roof of the clinic at red Star, Roper opening the rear bay doors, dragging the helmet off and watching with worried eyes.
Swiftly the team rolled into position, efficiently loading Hawke onto the gurney, hooking the iv bag to the stand as they did so. A young red-headed nurse bagging him with oxygen as they started their way back inside led the way, the team loping alongside the stretcher calling out vitals as they did so.
The adrenaline ebbed away. The glass doors shut behind them and the medical team disappeared from sight. Wearily, Marella contemplated needing to close the bay doors to help roper get Airwolf back to her hanger, but she couldn't seem to summon the energy to move.
"Marella?" Roper called.
She didn't move.
"Marella?"
This time exhausted brown eyes flickered dully in his direction. "Hmm?" she muttered.
He sighed. "Never mind," he whispered, climbing over the seats. Gently he reached down and helped her to the engineers chair, handing her her helmet. She stared at it in bemusement as if unsure what to do with it.
Suddenly feeling exhausted himself, he climbed back into the pilot's chair sliding on String's helmet with weary mindlessness. Would he ever wear it again? he wondered, reaching for the collective and pulling up on it.
The rotors chopped the air, the sound as heavy and muted as his mood. Even the Lady seemed worried, he thought dourly wondering as he did so when he'd started thinking of her as "the Lady." Pushing the cyclic forward, the helicopter moved forward slowly, ponderously, nose down.
Watching from the ground below with Nicky, Archangel frowned. If the demeanor of the helicopter and her crew was such, it didn't bode well for Hawke.
He'd pushed the crews of the two Bell helicopters hard, landing only a few minutes behind Airwolf. The other helicopter was unloading even now at the helipad Airwolf had vacated. Now he waited, hand on the boy's shoulder for Marella.
The sleek black helicopter settled lightly to the tarmac. The rotors slowed even as the pilot's door opened and Roper stepped out. A blinding sense of déjà vu struck the battle-scarred spy as he remembered back to when a brash young test pilot by the name of Stringfellow Hawke had flown her, and stepped out on the tarmac in front of him at Red Star for the first time.
The downwash tousled the coffee-colored strands as he tossed the helmet inside and went around to help Marella out. Hawke had been right, he thought. Roper was a worthy heir, he just hoped the passing of the legacy wasn't today.
A tug at his sleeve drew his attention to the boy beside him. Nodding at the helicopter that had just landed, he indicated his desire to join them. Archangel nodded, lost in his own thoughts.
Nicky ran to Roper, flinging his arms out as he did so. The younger pilot caught him, hugging him hard to himself as he did so. The tanned fingers buried themselves in the boy's thick, dark hair as he held him.
Turning away from the emotional scene, Michael walked to meet Marella. The limp was pronounced today and he felt every one of his years. She reached out a slender hand as he enveloped her in a heartfelt embrace and they slowly made their way inside.
Setting the boy down at last, Roper left him to take off his flight suit. A way of delaying the inevitable, he supposed as he rifled for his civilian clothes, sliding worn jeans over lean hips. He flopped to the bench, his head in his hands as he faced the very real truth that he might have already lost the father he'd only begun to know.
Nicky leaned against the deadly, black helicopter, scrambling up to her winglet. A slender hand pressed against her sleek armored hide even as the tears began to fall, a child's hand only beginning to become that of a man. "We did it Angel," he whispered. "We found him. You found him."
Exhausted, he slumped against her, forgotten in the chaos of the day, and cried, the tears hot and heavy. Eventually, he slept.
The wolf ran, her coat as sleek as midnight, the eyes shining in the darkness. Hawke could feel the heat of her breath on his skin as she loped beside him. Night and life and death all in one.
Darkness tore at him, stealing his breath. Stumbling he fell, felt the pain rip through his body as he tried to push to his feet and failed. Struggling, he tried to gain his feet, knowing instinctively death awaited him if he did not.
"We're losing him!" A frantic voice called across the room, watching the lean body seize and convulse on the gurney. Scrambling hands caught him before he fell, forcing him back.
"Heartbeat's fast and irregular," a voice called out. "Respiration shallow."
"Bag him, now!" an authoritative voice commanded. "And get me paddles in case we need them. Do it now!" he roared.
Slamming the bare shoulder to the thin mattress, arm braced across it Doctor Darien Hansen shone a penlight in his patient's eyes accessing the pupils and reactivity. The body bowed beneath him again and he fought to keep him on the stretcher. "You will not die on me, Captain Hawke!" he snarled. "Do you hear me? Not on my watch!"
The wolf slammed to a halt beside him, paws scrabbling in the dirt as she turned and spun. Snarling, she bared her teeth, advancing, placing herself between the encroaching darkness and Hawke. The darkness reached out writhing tendrils, grasping and stretching. The black she-wolf crouched on her haunches growling, saliva dripping and waiting.
"No, Angel," he whispered, knowing the darkness that sought him would gladly take her as well. "No."
Her head turned, glowing amber eyes implacable, unafraid, and pure predator. Then she turned and lunged into the fray.
Paddles in hand, Darien Hansen called for clear as he poised above the body of Stringfellow Hawke. Charging came the call.
"Wait!" someone yelled. "We've got a heartbeat.
Horrendous snarling filled his ears, Angel's and something else he realized. Interspersed with pained yips and whimpers, also Angel's he knew somehow.
Pain like he'd never known clawed at him, dragging the breath from his lungs even as he shoved to his feet. Summoning the last of his strength, he threw himself into the fight, knowing he couldn't let her go down alone.
"Rallying," came the cry. "Pulse is steady, fast but steady 140. Respiration is evening out."
"Hand me that syringe," the doctor snapped, holding out an outstretched hand to the gaping nurse. Fumbling she complied.
Darien Hansen grinned, the light of battle bright in his eyes. "It would appear we've got a chance," he proclaimed triumphantly. "Come on, Hawke," he muttered, slamming the plunger on the syringe home. "Let's see what you're made of."
Together, he and his team went to work.