Chapter 2 - Once Bitten, Twice Fly

"Well, here goes nothing - oh, boy..."

Face hesitantly reached down to check his leg. To his surprise, it didn't hurt as he trailed the puncture bite all the way down to a moist patch on his sock. He winced at the blood that now coated his fingers, then pursed his lips and reached even further down to the floor.

Murdock could only sit by and listen helplessly to Face's panicked shouting though his headset. He hadn't heard anything like this since Face was mistakenly carried off to the the V.A. all those years ago...

"Ooh, yee, uhh, ah! Oh geez - aha! There you are... come here you little - oh no you don't! Yikes, ow! You son of a - a-hah, gotcha! Damn, you got my hand too? Why, you slithering piece of-"

"Face."

"Hey, don't you stick your tongue out at me!" Face warned, then spouted a plethora of obscenities through heavy breathing. Finally, he calmed enough to spat, "There - that'll teach you to bite me and think you're getting away with it."

"Face?"

"You're not so tough now, are ya? You're not even a big one either-"

"Face!"

"...what?!"

"What kind is it? What color?"

"Oh - uh, not sure. Let's see here." Face held up the now limp snake and stared. "I see... uh, red, black and yellow."

"In what order?"

"What order? It's red, black and yellow. What are you, our resident snake expert now?" Face snickered, then erupted in giggles. He knew it wasn't that funny, but he just couldn't help himself. "Hey, what's so funny - why am I laughing?"

"C'mon, Face - answer me, will ya?" Murdock scolded impatiently. "Remember that old rhyme? Red on yellow is danger fellow; red on black is friend to Jack. Now look, will ya, Jack, so I know if we have a bigger problem on our hands!"

"Okay, okay, hold on." Face shook his head, wondering why he couldn't think straight all of a sudden. He held the limp snake up for a closer look. "Red next to black, wait -" His blurred vision cleared for moment, long enough to answer, "It's red next to yellow, I'm sure of it."

"Well then, fellow Face," Murdock's voice cracked in a surge of adrenaline, then quickly covered it up with a womanly accent. "Gypsy Madam' Murdock is looking into the future with my crystal ball here."

"So long as it's not Murdocka and that crystal skull again," Face muttered, feeling his heart beginning to pound, along with his head. "So, what do you see Madam' Murdock? Tell me it's a pardon and a glass of Dom Perignon, because I could really use both of those right about now."

"Looks like a cross, Faceman. A big red one sitting on a sign that says D.C. General."

"Oh no, not again!" Face groaned. He'd already seen the inside of D.C. General once and wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of returning. "Ah well, at least the nurses there are nice enough to go above and beyond the call of duty to take care of me." The thought brought on excited flutters, which he soon realized wasn't an innocent case of the butterflies. "Wait a second, why am I feeling terrible already? It shouldn't happen this fast, because I remember back in 'Nam when B.A. -"

"Okay, okay, let's not panic here," Murdock gulped as he reassured Face... and himself. "You got anything back there to tie around your leg to keep the venom from spreading?"

Face looked down at the camera. "Yeah," he said, then fumbled with unhooking the strap. Soon, he had it tied around his leg after a few moments of confusing loops, then pulled the knot taught just under his knee.

"How ya doing back there?"

Face licked his dry lips. His stomach had begun to churn, but convinced himself that his lunch was still locked away tight. He wasn't about to let that up.

Not yet anyways.

"Thirsty," he muttered.

"Check my bag, there's a full canteen in there still."

Face set the motionless snake down in the bag and rummaged around inside. Why was it so hard to think all of a sudden? He was looking for something, but had already forgotten what. He found a gun, but well, he didn't need that - the snake was already dead. The camera? Maybe, but the case was empty. Then he saw the camera in his hand, which he set it back down in the case, then fumbled inside some more.

"Hey, what's this?"

"What's what, Face?"

"This." Face held it up to show the back of Murdock's seat. "This box here."

Murdock winced. Uh-oh. "Uh, it's nothing, Face - just one of B.A.'s transmitters, don't worry about that - hey, you find that canteen yet? I know I put it in there."

"Yeah, found it. Thanks." Face sipped the water while his ankle began to twinge in a numbing ache that pounded with his heartbeat. Hoping to distract himself, he curiously eyed the box, then...

"Whoa, jackpot! Not serious, huh? Murdock, is this what I think-"

"No, it's not." Murdock cut him off and pressed his lips together, peeved. Damn. He should've hidden it better, perhaps in the inner pocket of his flight jacket instead. "It's just a figment of your venom-laced imagination. Now, put it back before it bites you too."

Face gaped. "You can't scam the scam man, I know exactly what this is. Guess this means the cat - or uh, in this case snake is out of the bag now. Ha-ha, get it?" he laughed giddily, then lifted the dead snake from the bag and gave it a wiggle, knowing Murdock couldn't see it anyway.

"Yeah-yeah, I get it, Kimosabe," Murdock muttered back as his anxiety grew. Not because his secret was blown - that didn't matter much - but because Face's laugh was the kind that a good dose of nitrous-oxide, or a delirious mind would bring. He was definitely suffering from some obvious intoxicating effects of a snakebite.

Not the drink called Snakebite, either.

After a fit of giggles, Face took one last look at the ring then snapped the box shut and tucked it back in the bag, along with the snake. "So, when ya gonna ask her, soon as we get back?"

"Uh, no," Murdock firmly answered, "and please don't say anything. I'm just trying to hold onto something tangible for some kind of post-pardon life here."

"Might be waiting - ow, starting to feel it now... might be waiting a long... time."

Time. Speaking of, Murdock checked his watch. "We're almost home, just forty-seven more minutes until final approach. Keep talking to me, Face. "

"Mm... hm." Lulls in his speech - not good. "What about?"

"Anything, just keep talking until we're back. Hey, tell me more about that pretty girl you were with."

"Why, so... you can... learn a few moves... from the master?"

After briefly considering the thought, Murdock answered, "Maybe later - c'mon, Face! Let's sing a song together to keep things moving." He straightened himself up a little more and belted out, "Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk!"

The irony of singing a song about staying alive was enough to warrant Face's eye-roll, who joined in at the lyric, "I've been kicked around since I was born," in a halfway on-key tone.

That was an understatement.

The closer to home they got, the more Face began to drift further away. His head began to swirl to the point where he could no longer focus and as he sang the last line for the third time, "Life going nowhere, somebody... help... me... yeah," his chin pitched forward onto his chest in finality.

"Face?" Murdock voice called out over the headset, but only heard the crackles of static. "You still awake back there? C'mon, keep talking to me. Hey, you hear me?!"

A quiet moan was faintly heard over the headset and Murdock sighed in relief. A moan was a good sound at least, it meant he was still breathing. "Hold on, buddy. All you need is a good dose of antivenin and you'll be good as new. If you can hear me, I'm throttling her up to a hundred-percent now. We'll be on fumes by the time we get there, but it'll shave off a few more minutes."

Murdock pushed the throttle forward and as the engine revved harder, so did the jolt of anxiety. Things were never as easy as they could be.

"Flight school one-oh-one," he mumbled again, only to himself now. "No matter what happens, fly the plane."

It was the true definition of 'middle of nowhere' out here. Quiet and secluded; the last sign of civilization was a small petrol station back at the highway's exit ramp and the only sound was of rolling tires atop gravel as the vehicle rode down the back roads of western Maryland. Over a few random hills of green later, the limo pulled up to their destination.

General Stockwell wasted no time in exiting the vehicle, then briefly looked around while adjusting his rose-tinted Aviator glasses. He took in the view of the steel hangar for a moment and the rust colored dirt runway that cut through the vast field of wild grass that surrounded the area. Nature certainly still had her firm grasp on this land. It was a far cry from towers, concrete and civilized air traffic mess.

As he approached the hangar, he caught the glare of the glossy black hull of a nearby helicopter perched under a protective overhang. He eyed it for a moment, then looked up at the hand painted sign that hung above the entrance.

'Wild Aces Charters'
We'll fly you anywhere, except the moon!'

As he reached for the door handle, he heard a familiar voice through the thin walls and he stopped to curiously listen.

"Hey, Dave - it's A.J. Say, I thought you were coming by this afternoon, what happened? Oh... engine again? Hey, I might know someone who can help you fix that. He's really good... yes, I'm serious - hey listen, Dave - I don't have much time for chat - you know, I could really use that fuel delivery. I only have about two hops worth left in the tanks and..."

With a quick motion, Stockwell opened the door and stepped inside. He waited in the doorway, quietly observing his surroundings, unnoticed by the woman at the desk, still spouting a continuous ramble.

"You got her started...? Fantastic, hey, sorry for having you come out this late, but you know - business... Ten minutes? Sure, I'll be -"

He abruptly cleared his throat to catch her attention and she turned to look in his direction. Her eyes suddenly widened at the sight of him walking towards her.

"I - I gotta go, Dave, new customer just stopped in. Yeah, see you in ten. Yeah...'bye." Her attention on Stockwell didn't falter as she set the phone down.

"Hello, Lieutenant."

"Oh no," she muttered in defeat. "What's happened, General?"

He took his Aviator's off, revealing that he was confused not only by her reaction, but her question as well. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happened? It's been almost four weeks since they left for - where was it this time?" She looked down at the handwritten note taped to her desk. 'S. Am.' "South America, and I haven't heard one word. So, just tell me already and please make it quick because I really hated it when they took so long to tell me when my dad... you know. They just went on and on, and on, and on before they finally-"

"Parker!" Stockwell sternly barked, loud enough to snap her out of her ramble and look at him. "No one's been 'terminated'."

"Oh." As the news sank in, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh! Oh, okay - they're okay! Sorry, General. I figured the only time I'd ever see you around here would be if they'd been-" She bit her tongue. "Bad news."

He returned the glasses to his face, then smirked. "Not this time."

"Very funny, General," she replied, bemused at his dry humor. The last of her worry disappeared, replaced with a bout of curiosity instead. "If you aren't the 'bad news bearer', can I ask why you're here?" She eyed him carefully, then raised an eyebrow. "You, uh - need a lift again?"

"No." Stockwell's face depicted that of the same expression as he'd given Colonel Hannibal Smith after his own incessant jabs. "I'm here because I'm having two of my operatives land here for a rendezvous in approximately," he looked down at his watch, "fifteen minutes."

"Landing here?" A bewildered look crossed her face. "You want to use the strip?"

"You do realize, Parker, that you still have an incessant habit of making me repeat myself, don't you?"

"Sorry, I'm just surprised - there hasn't been a plane on that runway in over a decade. I don't even have permits for fixed wing landings here." She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Did you file a flight plan to land here, General?"

"When they arrive, an exchange will take place." Stockwell continued, ignoring her question. "Once the transfer is complete, I'll be on my way - and I was never here, understood?"

"Yeah, I get that part. But the rules -"

"Parker," Stockwell clicked his tongue, growing impatient. "My rules... my way," he warned.

"What about the FAA? It's their way, and they don't screw around." She folded her hands across her chest in defiance. "I could get fined, or worse - they revoke my business permit. I can't risk losing what my dad worked so hard to build, you know that."

Dismissing the thought, Stockwell waved his hand, obviously unfazed. "Consider it handled. The FAA doesn't waste time meddling in CIA matters. They know to mind their own business."

"How many undocumented landings are we talking here? One? Two... ten?" She eyed him closely, then smirked. "Am I going to have to add on a terminal here, General?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just one for now. Maybe again if the need ever arises."

She let the news sink in for a moment, then began to pace about. "You know that I'm grateful for everything you and the guys did to help me-"

"As you should be."

"But I just don't think it's a good -" With a quick move he'd reached into his suit pocket and tossed something at her. She caught it instinctively and held it up to see; a thick stack of freshly printed one-hundred dollar bills.

"... idea. What's this for?"

"Incentive," he replied dryly. "For doing it my way."

It almost sounded rehearsed. She looked at the money and shook her head in disbelief. "Why me?"

"Because I don't run across many people I can trust; comes with this line of work. Parker, I know I can trust you to help, because up to this very moment, you've given me good reason to." He eyed her closely. "And I still can, right, Lieutenant?"

"Of course, General." Her chin rose in a surge of confidence. "I mean why here though - I thought you had your own Falcon and airport access?"

"We prefer to rotate our rendezvous points to various random locations; helps keep the trail cold." He eyed her knowingly, then casually added, "Not to mention one of my top operatives seems to frequent here - quite regularly, so I'm told."

"He works here," she plainly stated. Feeling the heat rise from under her collar, she hoped he hadn't seen her blush. By the knowing look he gave in return, he'd noticed.

"I'd like to remind you that it took a lot of red tape cutting to get his pilot's license re-instated. You're welcome."

"Trying to bribe me with money and guilt, General?" She drew in a deep breath and looked at the money again. The guilt worked. "Okay, it's a deal... and the FAA stays out of it?"

"You have my word."

"Then no incentives needed." She tossed the wad of cash back to him which he caught, then looked at her questioningly. "We run an honest business here."

Stockwell's eyes showed a hint of glimmer as he tucked the money back in his suit jacket. "Why, I do believe you're beginning to grow on me, A.J."

It was the first time he'd ever used her first name. Resisting the urge to cringe, she quickly hid it with a snicker.

"Oh, come now," he scoffed at her adverseness. "Surely we're beyond formalities by now, right?"

Before she could answer, the sound of a crackling radio filled the air.

"This is… Em... Nine… call... ou... to the... for... Empr... One. Over."

Recognizing the familiar voice, she intently watched Stockwell unhook the CB radio from his belt.

"Empress One here. I read you, Empress Nine."

"ETA in... min… Repeat, ETA in ten minutes. Copy."

"Acknowledged, ten minutes. Over and out."

"Your operatives, General?" She raised an eyebrow at him and he cocked a half-smile in reply.

The radio squawked again. "Empress One, are you already at the said drop-off location?"

"Affirmative."

"Then for the love of flyin' - put her on already!"

Stockwell rolled his eyes at the demand and handed her the radio, with the reminder, "Don't use your real name."

She stared down at the radio, then keyed it. "This is - uh..." Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. "Junior speaking. Welcome back to the land of the living! Over."

Silence.

"Did you copy, Empress Nine? Over."

"Wild thinggg... you make my heart singgg. You make everything groooovy..."

"Tiger," she warned through stifling a giggle, noticing Stockwell was not at all enthused by Murdock's guitar riffing.

"Sorry, couldn't help myself, 'Tigress One', just missed the sound of your voice. Hey, heads up - we're flyin' down 'n dirty here with three locked tight. Runway all clear?"

"That's a go - all clear. Just keep an eye for the rolling refinery coming in from the back-end, she's on her way to refill the go-juice."

"Alright-y, I copy that."

"How's your visual? We're losing light fast out here."

"Just enough left to set her down. Hey, wait'll you see what I'm bringin' back with me, she's almost as pretty as you are!"

"That sounds great, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait. I'm taking clients up in an hour."

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's going to be a big negative on that one."

"Uh, requesting a 'comm check', it sounded like you just said a no-go on the clients?"

"Affirmative and that's a definite no-go. Listen, I need you to fire up your bird right now 'n get her scrambled 'cause we've gotta take her up as soon as we land. There's, uh, kind of an emergency situation up here."

"Emergency?" she repeated, then couldn't key the radio fast enough. "Requesting a repeat, did you just say an emergency?"

"That is a huge affirmative, Alpha-Juliet."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?" She looked at Stockwell for answers, but he just shook his head in response. He obviously knew nothing. "What's going on up there - did something happen to you?"

"I'm just fine, don't you worry about me. Look, there's no time left to explain right now, I'm on final approach. You'll know soon enough. Now go get her ready, okay?"

"Copy that, just watch out for that fuel truck!" She quickly handed the radio back to Stockwell, then dashed out of the hangar in a hurried frenzy.

Stockwell keyed the radio again. "This is Empress One, please explain the situation."

"Hold on - can she hear me?"

"Negative, what's the emergency?"

"...it's Empress Eight. He's hurt."