"Sharon?" The voice was distant, soft, but recognizable.
"Jemma? Oh thank God. Where are you two? Are you all right? Why didn't you call sooner?"
On the other side of the world, Jemma Simmons took a deep breath and replied, "We're . . . we're safe, Sharon. I can't tell you where. So much has happened in the last few days . . ."
Still in her kitchen, Sharon turned the kettle off. "I understand. Maybe it's best if I don't know where you are. But I'm so relieved to hear that you're safe. Can I talk to Leo?"
The pause on the other end of the line aroused her fears before Jemma even spoke, and the obvious crack in her voice confirmed them. "Oh, Sharon, he's . . . well . . . there's been an accident."
The world didn't exist.
Everything fell away with a sickening whirl, everything but her fear, her worst fear realized. Her baby, her son, hurt, dying, gone!
It must have been at least a minute before Jemma's voice broke through her panic. Sharon found she was lying on the kitchen floor, still somehow clutching the phone to her ear. "Sharon? Sharon?! Please answer me!" she could hear the frantic younger woman saying, but she couldn't think how to answer.
"A—accident? What happened?" she said at last.
Jemma hesitated. "We—we were attacked, by Hydra. Fitz and I got thrown from a plane and almost drowned."
None of that matters. "Just . . . please tell me . . . oh God . . . is he . . . ?"
"He's alive." To a mother's ears, those were the most blessed words in the entire language. "But, he's seriously ill, Sharon." Jemma choked back a sob and managed to continue in a whisper, "He's in a coma."
Sharon swore. "I'm coming on the next plane. Tell me where you are."
"Sharon, please try to understand. I can't tell you where we are. We're in hiding."
"Jemma, you just told me my son was seriously ill. He could be dying. Please, you have to tell me where you are, you have to let me come care for him. For God's sake, he's all I have!" That came out a smidge more like begging than Sharon had hoped for, but who the hell cared. If it got her to her Leo's bedside, she'd get down on her knees.
There was a choked sob on the other end of the phone, then muffled voices, then the sound of a phone being passed from one person to another.
"Mrs. Fitz?" A man's voice, unfamiliar. "Mrs. Fitz, are you there? This is—I'm your son's, uh, work supervisor."
"I don't care if you're Captain America. Please, just tell me where my son is." A long pause, and Sharon lost her patience completely. "For God's sake, have mercy! He's mine, and he's gone on so many adventures but he's never left me alone when I needed him and I HAVE TO BE WITH HIM NOW!"
"Mrs. Fitz! Mrs. Fitz! Listen to me," the voice said with a tone of great urgency, "Can you get away from work for a few weeks if you have a family emergency?"
Sharon had to think about that for a minute. There was that holiday we took last winter, and Sarah's wedding last month… "I have about three weeks of paid time off saved up. I might get more if I say my son is ill."
"Then here's what you're going to do. Your friends all think Fitz—I mean, Leo—is a scientist who works in America, right?" Sharon agreed. "All right. When I hang up the phone, you're going to call your boss, your close friends, whoever needs to hear it, and tell them that your son was hit by a car while vacationing in San Diego, California. You've got to go to him right away, and you aren't sure when you'll return, but his employers have decided to pay for your ticket because of the circumstances and one of his coworkers' mothers is going to put you up at her house so you won't be alone. Are you with me so far?"
Sharon realized she was crying, and tried to pull herself together enough to answer clearly. He's on your side, he's going to help you. "I think I see where you're going with this."
"Good," the voice continued. "Now, in about 10 minutes you're going to receive a secure email from Leo's business, containing the airline ticket and the hostess' contact information. When you get to San Diego, there will be a car and driver waiting for you. The driver will take you to your son. Pack clothes for warm weather, you're going someplace very hot. Do you understand me?"
"Thank you so very much, Mr… Mr. Whoever-you-are. I can't tell you what this means to me," Sharon managed, as she dabbed at her face with a hanky.
"You can tell me in person tomorrow. I'll see you when you get here."