Desert Fox

A/N: Airwolf belongs to Bellisario and Universal, Gargoyles to Disney and Buena Vista, Sentinel concepts to UPN and Pet Fly. Airwolf is AU (moved ahead about twenty years). This story ties into "Nothing Could Possibly Go Wrong", a multiple crossover, so just to be safe... Godzilla: The Series belongs to Toho and Tristar, the Real Ghostbusters belong to DIC, and Seven Days belongs to Paramount. This story occurs before, during, and after "Nothing Could Possibly Go Wrong". Forgive any lapses in regards to Mexican border patrol officers. (And the snake is fine.)

Rated R for language, violence, some adult themes, f/f implied.

~*~*~*~*~

"-Officer needs assistance!" Isabel Delcarlo ducked as more rounds struck her shattered jeep's hood, throwing sparks into the high desert night. Gasped, as her incautious move threw weight onto her shattered wrist. Funny, how broken bones could hurt more than the finger-sized hole seeping life from her chest.

Her radio hissed with static, then mocking laughter. "Forget it, Apoyo. Not even your demon can save you this time."

Miguel. With the cocaine smugglers. And he knew her real name. The dark-haired woman hissed. So it's going to be here. Funny. Always thought I'd die on the rez.... "Sorry I got you into this, amiga."

"Don't talk." Zorra pressed down on Isabel's chest with one hand, talons of the other slicing tape from the first-aid kit to seal the hole in her lung. Fox-red wings were folded around them both, warmth against the freezing night. Her red-black mane hung chill and lank with sweat, matted over her left brow ridge with blood.

My fault, Isabel knew. If Zorra hadn't been shadowing her, still cautious about the undercover DEA agent's new partner; if she hadn't risked it all in one swift swoop to pull Isabel clear before the rocket struck home.... "Mi amor-"

"We are not going to die here! Do you hear me, Isabel?" Lips pulled back in a snarl of foxy muzzle; red-glowing eyes searched the night, seeking for anything they might have overlooked. Seeing only the flash of bullets. "Lady of mercy, mirror of justice, helper of all in danger...."

A chill wind blew the reek of death over them. Isabel tried not to think of the bodies scattered about them; some shot, some gutted like a puma's kill. Argentino had meant to take them alive, once he knew his rocket had failed. Five thugs later, he'd decided to fall back. "You... don't believe...."

"In the Morning Star? I'm gargoyle, mi amor. Not a fool. Stay still." She pried the radio from her partner's bloody grip, clicked it on once more. "Mexican Border Patrol Unit 409, can anyone hear me-"

A click; a new snicker. Carlos Argentino. "Give it up, demon. No one is coming."

Static crackled over the airwaves. Bleak acceptance seeped into Zorra's crimson gaze. "We're jammed."

Isabel coughed. Tasted iron. "Unless one of yours is flying within five miles?..."

A shake of a foxy head. Ruby eyes narrowed at the night, but her voice stayed level. "The elders still think if we leave the Argentinos be, they won't come looking for us."

Nice try, my friend. "They're coming."

"Sí." Stark fact. Enough to tell her Zorra saw numbers that would take even a gargoyle down.

And we're out of ammo. Zorra would have used her gun, ignoring the elders' decree. She'd ignored enough of the others. "Go!"

A vixen's sad smile. "They're not going to leave witnesses, Isa. And I wouldn't be able to move the clan before dawn."

True. Too true. Chairo and Urraca wouldn't be moved, and the clan wouldn't defy their leaders to flee to safety. Almost better to die here. Not even Chairo could ignore the danger then. "I'm sorry."

"You are worth it, my friend." A leathery finger traced gently down her cheek. "You have always been worth it."

"I was... so happy with you...." It couldn't last - I should've known it couldn't last-

"Shhh." Talons pressed the radio on. "Come and die, traitor," Zorra said evenly. "My claws wait for you."

Isabel tried to smile. At least she had that much. Her killer would not walk free, after bribing his way out of a Mexican jail. No; as her blood joined the bitter sands, so would Argentino's, and Miguel Quintano's, late of the Mexican Border Patrol....

Something caught the edge of her hearing. Just a whisper on the wind. Like a breeze through high-tension wires; a subtle, metallic heartbeat in the night.

Her radio sputtered. "Unit 409." An unfamiliar voice. The Spanish was accented; tones of the southern countries, and... America? "That you by the wrecked jeep?"

Astonishment on two faces; human and gargoyle. Not hope; but it burned, beating back the dark. "Sí!" Zorra said fiercely. "Where are you?"

Close, Isabel thought, trying to hold on as darkness stole her vision. American, and apparently not with Argentino - God, it couldn't be help. They've got to be close - they'd never hear us if they weren't-

"Any other friendlies here?"

"Aside from you? If you are friendly," the gargoyle snapped. "My friend, she is dying-"

"Hang on, 409-"

Thunder ripped through the night.

~*~*~*~*~

"Santa Maria, what a mess!" Dominic Santini studied the composite image from the engineer's seat, IR overlaying starlight to ID which bodies were still alive. "Got 'em."

Stringfellow Hawke leaned the collective right, swinging Airwolf between the Border Patrol and the heaviest gunfire as he fired another burst from the cannons. Beside him Caitlin O'Shannessy worked magic with her console, cloaking them from Mexican radar. "Getting low," the redhead warned.

Not just on ammo, String knew. He could see the Lady's fuel gauge in his head; needle hovering in that ominous space between an eighth of a tank and fumes. He could have known it down to the last cubic centimeter - Airwolf could have given him the data easily enough - but the link was still too new to deal with when they were in the middle of a firefight.

They'd been on their way back from one of Michael's Central American jobs, a nasty little triple-cross that had involved Columbian sapphires, Columbian cocaine, and enough dead Columbians to start a small war. Flitting over the high desert of Sonora had seemed like a good idea. Anything to get back into U.S. airspace when they finally had to touch down.

Instead they'd stumbled into someone else's private war.

No one shoots a cop when we can stop it. "Ready?"

A rush of wind was his answer; gunfire suddenly louder as Caitlin opened the left-hand door. "Come on!" he heard her shout in Spanish, pitching her voice to cut through Airwolf's howl. For all the drilling she'd done with him and Marella, she still sounded like Texas. "We'll get you out - whoa!"

String heard Dom's finger rap against a monitor, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. "String, what the hell is that?"

That had claws and fangs, a fox-like head that loomed over Caitlin with red-glowing eyes straight out of nightmares. Fox-red bat-wings were wrapped around a bloodied woman, cradling blue lips against her chest. "Help her!"

The voice on the radio. And through the zings of lead rebounding off Airwolf's hull, he could hear the wheeze of a deflated lung. String traded a glance with his crew. Not really a choice here. "Get in!"

Carbide creaked as talons gripped it; the creature all but fell into the back. Caitlin jumped in after, pulling the door closed just in time to send more bullets spanging off. "Guess they don't want us to leave the party," the redhead quipped as String fired back. Rat-a-tat-a-tat-a-

Cannon ammo below minimum parms, flashed into three minds; Airwolf's worry overriding her usual firefight silence. 3%, 2%, 0.5-

Oh, hell. "Hang on!" String bit out.

Airwolf leapt off the ground, rocketing past a hundred feet before he turned toward the border. "Dom, call up New Mexico and Arizona. Find us the nearest trauma hospital." The bandage he'd glimpsed should buy her some time. No way to know if it'd be enough.

"Gotcha - String! Rocket-"

String banked left and hit the turbos; the concussion still rocked them. Enough is enough. "Dom! Hellfire."

The missile light blinked on. "Got it!"

Stooping on his prey, String fired.

~*~*~*~*~

Fire bloomed outside dark windows; Zorra winced, turning away. A missile? She'd seen them sometimes, when the Mexican Army did night maneuvers. But never from a helicopter. And never had she heard a helicopter - or rather, not heard a helicopter - so close. Who are these people? "Isabel," she whispered, chafing her friend's cheek. Not much room to move here, with all these lights and buttons; no matter, so long as she could hold the battered body close. "Isa, stay with me."

"Mmph..." Warm breath against her talons. But so little, so very little.

Sticky chill clung to her hip. Zorra glanced down, held back a shudder at the dark streaks spattering her camouflage shift. This one's for the washrags, she thought bleakly. You'll never get the stain out....

"Tucson General's got a helipad," the man beside her said gruffly in inglés. Dom, the pilot had called him; tones clan used with clan. Brows had only faint threads of gray in the black, but the wrinkles around clear brown eyes spoke of a weight of years. "She oughta be bringing up the coordinates right... now."

"That is hundreds of miles from here!" Zorra burst out. "She has no time-"

A muted roar; a massive hand seemed to push her against the cabin wall. "We'll be there in fifteen," the pilot said calmly. "Want to tell us what was going on down there?"

Fifteen minutes, the gargoyle thought, stunned. Catching a glimpse of red numbers climbing on a display by the man's right hand; String, had Dom called him? Fifteen minutes to travel hundreds of miles.... "Who are you?"

"Sorry."

He didn't sound sorry.

"Let me see." The woman who'd ventured out after them; a drift of freckles around her eyes, red-gold eyebrows framing a kind gaze. Fear was there too; the fear Zorra hated to see, fear that had led so often to human hate, human betrayal....

Be fair, Zorra thought, cradling a damaged heart close. You're blooded from head to toe. Even Isabel would think twice meeting you like this.

But this human did not let fear rule her. Black gloves held steady on what must be another first-aid kit; though the red cross was dark and subtle against gray metal. She listened to the rasp of breath, glanced back at String. "Can we get any more oxygen in here?"

Zorra felt force shift, pressing her tighter to the deck. Her ears popped; the atmosphere suddenly seemed thicker. She sniffed, registering the oddness of the air. Clear, tasteless; only the hint of oil, electronics, and human sweat.

Not an ordinary helicopter. Not ordinary at all.

"How long since she got hit?"

"It is..." Zorra pushed aside Isabel's turquoise bracelet, checked her watch. "Since the rocket - eight minutes, I think?" Dark eyes flicked over the little bits of face visible through black helmets. "You are norteaméricanos?"

No answer. Which was, perhaps, answer enough. "I thank you. Argentino would have...." She shook back her mane. Best not to think of it. Best only to think of Isabel here, alive; hanging on, if only for the moment.

"Argentino?" The woman whistled, dabbing at the cut left by flying shrapnel. "You are in trouble."

Dom raised a dark brow. "Want to fill us in, Red?"

"Family of cocaine smugglers," Red stated, washing out the wound. "Heard about 'em back when... you know. Nasty ones."

The elder snorted. "You run into a nice one, let me know." Polite, for a human. He wasn't staring. But his gaze kept straying back to her.

Zorra sighed. "My name is Zorra. You call my kind gargoyles." A taloned hand spread; she winced at the blood visible even in this low light. "We are few."

"Never heard of... will you look at that."

"What-" Words died in her throat as she saw glowing letters scroll across a screen. A computer? In a helicopter?

Maintaining O2 levels 15% above normal, flashed up. Accessing files, keyword: gargoyles.
1)Rainwater spouts common to Gothic architecture.
2) Misused synonym for grotesques.
3) Rare sentient species known to inhabit Guatemala, United Kingdom, and Japan. Possibly present in Albania, Siberia, and East Germany.
See physiology, gargoyle, speculative; psychology, gargoyle, speculative; Firm encounters of, gargoyle.
Internal sensors and camera views of unregistered passenger, Zorra, match species description.
Subspecies match uncertain. Physiology file indicates appearance highly variable.
Closest match: Guatemalan subspecies.

Now it was Zorra's turn to stare. The elders say we came from the south, centuries ago....

Sensors indicate physical trauma to unregistered passenger, Isabel, words scrolled onward. Physiological monitor available?

"Don't think we can get her in a flight suit." String kept his gaze fixed on the night. "How bad do they want you?"

Zorra weighed the pilot's question carefully, trying not to show fangs as water stung her cut. "Why?"

"Argentino's got people in the States," Red said bluntly. "We drop her on Tucson General, he'll know inside three hours." She turned toward the front. "Call him?"

"Yeah."

"He ain't going to like this," Dom said warningly.

She could hear the slight smile in String's voice. "What else is new?"

~*~*~*~*~

"Let me go." A growl behind him, low and deadly. "Let me go with her."

"Oh? You want her to bleed out through that lung 'cause nobody'll go near her? Then you go right on out there." Dominic kept a good grip on the red-furred arm. "You want her to get help, you stay in here."

String ignored the scuffle in the back, holding Airwolf on the roof as Caitlin dodged out from under curious paramedics. We want to stay right here. Just a little longer....

Noted, Airwolf murmured in his mind. Fuel/ammo re-supply imminent?

Should be waiting at the hangar. So long as Airwolf had picked the right keyword from the array Michael had left available to her link. Nice trick, that; accessing Michael's own computers to send the needed orders, without waiting for Archangel himself to sign off on it.

The Firm's Deputy Director would get them for that. Later.

Psychic scan indicates pilot Michael, Archangel still in REM sleep.

Good. Marella would kill them if they woke her boss up for anything less than an emergency. Which this wasn't. Yet.

A thump of hatch, and Caitlin was buckling in beside him. String lifted off in one smooth motion, veering left just before Airwolf's downdraft would have swamped an incoming LifeFlight. "They've got her," the redhead reported.

Zorra twisted free of Dom's grip, sank back against the hull. "Please." Raw anguish vibrated in her voice. "Let me go to her."

"We will," Caitlin promised. Her gaze slid back to Dom.

"Oh?" Dominic caught the fierce compassion in Cait's face. "Oh yeah. Sure we will."

"Have to set down first," String said bluntly. "I were you, I'd want to wash those scum off before I went to her."

Caitlin glanced at him, eyes wide; whipped around to stare at Zorra, apparently only now realizing there was far too much blood to have come from Isabel alone.

Fox lips wrinkled in a rueful smile. "Sí."

~*~*~*~*~

Information request: gargoyles?

Caught halfway through brushing his teeth, Firm Deputy Director Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III, code-named Archangel, spat out a mouthful of foam. "Dammit, Lady...."

Mission successful, Airwolf informed him. Her voice was warm and fluffy as nestling down, soft as kitten fur. You'd never guess she was a practiced killer. Critical information retrieved and/or destroyed. Hawke judges agent Delgado's cover still intact. Pilots and Airwolf in good condition, Tucson vicinity.

Despite himself, Archangel felt taut nerves unwind. His hunters were safe, if not yet home. "Tucson?" What on earth were they doing in Tucson?

Tap of Tucson General Hospital computer systems indicates unregistered passenger Isabel in guarded but stable condition.

Unregistered passenger? Oh no.

Requesting secure evac for unregistered passenger Isabel. May have important information regarding Argentino drug smuggling cartel. Assassination already attempted once, Sonoran High Desert.

Assassination? "What. Happened."

Distress call received, Mexican Border Patrol Unit 409. Radio jamming and/or bribery prevented other units from responding. Dust-off made under hostile fire conditions; fire returned....

Images poured in, data cool and clear as mountain snowmelt; the swift exhilaration of night flight, the tickle of the intercepted transmission, the sudden sharpness of Combat Mode. He could feel the clear knowledge of the enemy's position from GPS and starlock; he could have fired the Hellfire blindfolded-

Initial evac successful.

Michael gripped the edge of cool porcelain, listening to the slow drum of his pulse. Achingly slow, after the thousands of RPM Airwolf counted as normal.... No. Human. Seventy beats per minute is normal, damn it.

He resisted the urge to pound his head against a handy wall. It never failed. Send Hawke out to do a simple pickup, and he'd find the only innocent person in trouble in three hundred miles. "Why me?"

Pilot Michael, Archangel was available when secondary pilot necessary, Airwolf reminded him.

"Oh, thank you ever so much."

"Talking to yourself again?" Marella asked as he stalked out to the foyer.

"I only wish-" Straightening his white tie with one last tug, he caught the amused glint in her dark gaze. "You knew."

"They called me first." His second in command swallowed one last crumb of omelet, ducking into the kitchen to put her plate in the dishwasher. "After they'd used your code to get their re-supply set up."

Plucking up his cane, Michael growled something incoherent. Never mind that he'd left them certain codes specifically for that purpose, in case for some unforeseen reason he wasn't available. It was the principle of the thing. Computers don't belong inside people's minds.

A sense of hurt, pulling away. Information request: gargoyles?

Damn. It was like yelling at a kid. "Why do you want to know about gargoyles?" He'd heard a few rumors about New York, lately, but Airwolf hadn't been near New York-

Unregistered passenger Zorra matches species description.

"She'll wake Hawke out of a sound sleep, but they've been trying to get her not to call you until you're up-" Walking back into the foyer, Marella frowned. "What's wrong?"

Michael held up a halting hand. You picked up a gargoyle last night?

Gargoyle Zorra was assisting agent Isabel, Airwolf replied matter-of-factly. Firm files and pilot extrapolation indicates security risk minimal. Released on own recognizance.

Not that Airwolf's crew could have stopped a gargoyle without resorting to violence. He remembered a chill alley in East Germany, a snarl of Russian as he tried to pin a mass of raw muscle, talons and wings. Some bones still ached when the weather shifted.

But for the most part gargoyles didn't talk - at least, not to those who weren't clan. "You have a flight out to Tucson?"

Marella nodded. "I'm leaving in five minutes."

He'd expected no less. "There a few things you need to know...."

~*~*~*~*~

"Ms. Apoyo?"

Marella Duval watched dark hair rustle over the hospital pillowcase and tried not to sigh. Expecting Airwolf's crew to fly past someone in trouble would be like expecting the sun to set in the east. And since sometimes the person in trouble had been her, or Archangel... she did appreciate that tendency. She did.

But debriefing a slow stream of civilians about a supposedly-secret helicopter could be a real headache.

At least this one should understand secrets, Marella thought. Undercover DEA...and she knows a living statue?

Gargoyles. Creatures that to all outward appearance became stone with dawn's first light, to break free and soar again at sunset. She'd never have believed the file if Archangel hadn't confirmed it. East Germany, was all he would say. That and, be careful.

Hazel eyes blinked open. "¿Qué pasa?"

"You're in Second Mesa, Ms. Apoyo," Marella smiled reassuringly, squeezing gently on the hand that didn't bear an IV. Some thoughtful nurse had rescued Apoyo's bracelet of silver and turquoise inlay; it gleamed faintly in the overhead light. "Not quite home... but as close as we could get." As close as still had some facilities to deal with possible complications, should the Hopi woman's lung collapse again. Tucson General hadn't officially released her - but given the quality of Apoyo's enemies, the DEA had accepted the Firm's offer to spirit her off.

They'd moved her as carefully as they could. Marella just hoped they'd been careful enough.

Features that had passed for Mexican went slack with astonishment. "The rez? But - we were in Sonora...."

The white-clad spy nodded. "What do you remember?"

Hazel eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Marella handed over one of her many ID cards. This one showed her as a State Department agent; close enough for most purposes. "I work with the people who pulled you and your friend out." Dark eyes were level. "The ones who weren't there."

That registered; Isabel gave her one slow nod. "That's the story?"

"It has to be," Marella said frankly. "I'm going to ask you to tell me what you saw, what you heard, everything. And then I'm going to ask you to forget it ever happened." She smiled wryly. "In case you're wondering, Delcarlo was reported dead at the scene."

A shudder rippled the sheets; Marella sympathized. After so long living your cover, to hear that person was 'dead' was jarring. "And... my friend?"

"Zorra said she'd catch up with you later. And to - keep your hands where she can see them?" That was a code phrase if she'd ever heard one. Marella just hoped it was the gargoyle's code for I'm okay, not kill the messenger.

Isabel let out a soft sigh, sagging back against pillows in obvious relief. "Your people... we owe them our lives."

"Join the club." Marella pulled up a chair. "So. Let's start with why you were out there, that night...."

~*~*~*~*~

One week later.

Still no word on Argentino, Isabel thought, leaning against a sun-warm pueblo wall, face deliberately turned away from the small gaggle of Mexican and European tourists here to see "real Indians". She didn't speak German, but she'd bet that annoying little blond boy was demanding to know where the scalps were. As if we'd show you.

He probably doesn't know any better, Isabel reminded herself. After all, there were a fair amount of Europeans - and no few Americans - who thought her people were extinct. She'd wandered into a chat room once to get lambasted by someone across the Atlantic about how hypocritical Americans were about ethnic cleansing, given that there were still ethnic Albanians alive, "unlike the Native Americans you wiped out".

Gee, she'd typed back, I could have sworn I was alive yesterday.

The chat room silence had been deafening.

Isabel tried not to laugh at the memory. It still hurt when she breathed too deep, but the doctors swore she'd recover fully.

Recover breathing, at least. Her wrist - they were less certain. So many, many bones and ligaments to consider; so many chances to never qualify on the firing range again.

She could shoot left-handed. Not well, but practice would help that.

But it wouldn't be enough.

It's only been a week, Isabel told herself forcefully. They'll know more in a few days. Be patient.

She just hated being sick.

Be honest. You hate waiting.

It wasn't as if she had much choice in the matter. Her unknown benefactors might have effectively smashed part of the Sonoran drug trade, but they'd also left her assailants in so many small pieces the federales were still tallying parts to figure out how many people had been out there.

An American helicopter throwing missiles in Mexican airspace. Isabel shook her head. No wonder no one wants to talk about it.

Very, very small pieces. Some had been positively ID'd, but not Miguel and Carlos.

They might have gotten away. The thought made sleeping one long nightmare.

It might not matter if they were dead. If Carlos Argentino had passed on her identity to anyone else in the family-

"Isabel!"

The DEA agent groaned silently. One day out of her sickbed and already she knew why she'd left the reservation. "Beth." Her head hurt. Her chest hurt. Her wrist ached, every last bone sore and throbbing, and she did not want to deal with this. Go away, leave me alone, it's almost sunset and I want to be alone.

Well. Not alone, exactly. But certainly away from human eyes.

No such luck. Beth Maza gave her a warm smile, coming in at a fast walk. "Hey! Glad I caught you. I was talking to the university anthropology group; we were planning to see if we could get a Two-Spirit group organized out here-"

"No." Blunt. But blunt was the only way to deal with Beth.

Apparently not blunt enough; it might as well have been a breeze through the Native American scholar's chic short haircut. "I mean, after all you went through, you've got to see we need something like this for the kids-"

"No." Elisa. Why couldn't it have been Elisa? Because Elisa can't stand it out here any more than you can, Isabel told herself frankly. Too many people wanting to know too much, too many customs you can't follow, too many elders who think they have the right to order your life. "Beth. Leave it alone. The elders aren't interested. And neither am I."

Beth barely hesitated. "Trista Begay's in the hospital. They say it was an overdose."

Isabel didn't flinch. "Navajo. Not my problem."

"Oh, that's rich," Beth muttered. "Since when did you care about tribe? She's like you, Isabel, you've got to help-"

"That's enough!" Isabel seized the younger woman with her good hand, glanced about for listening ears. Eighteen in easy earshot, if you didn't count the snoozing dogs. And around here, you didn't dare not count them. Charlie Leaphorn, the agent recognized one pair of retreating feet. Damn. If Third Mesa's worst gossip had heard, it'd be over the Hopi rez inside two days, which meant it'd only take another week or so to penetrate the wall of silence between Hopi and Navajo- "God, Beth. Do you even know what you're saying?"

Stubbornness set into Beth's jaw. "She needs-"

"She needs you to shut up!" Isabel whispered harshly, nose to nose with the startled student. She jerked her head toward the waiting desert. "Come on."

~*~*~*~*~

So this is Isabel's home, Zorra thought, cracking free of the day's stone sleep on a rocky spire near the Hopi village. Lady of Evening, it's so...shut together. A few dogs barked, agitation passing from one end of the town to the other. People still wandered the streets, with the weary, purposeful air that presaged returning to home and hearth. The first stars glimmered in the red-streaked sky, and a pickup grumbled down a nearby dirt road.

And not too far below, her friend was royally chewing someone out.

"-Did you even think that not everyone might know she's a lesbian? That she might not want everyone to know?"

Zorra's ears pricked forward; she clambered carefully nearer. There was pain in her friend's voice; anguish that tore and twisted like barbed wire around a wing.

"She's in the hospital," the darker woman said patiently, leaning against the rocks as Isabel paced. "How can she not expect people to know?"

Isa growled, low and dangerous. "Because, Miss Oblivious, she hurts. And when you hurt, you don't think." Hazel eyes raked the stranger. "Though you don't even need that. Beth, did you even think about what's going to happen to your reputation? Being here, with me, alone?"

Alarm flared in Beth's eyes. "I-"

"Ah. Now you think." Isabel snorted. "And you want to start a Two-Spirit group."

"I care!" the younger woman flung at her.

"Go ahead and care. Just don't get people killed caring." Isabel leaned back against the spire, arms hugging herself against the chill night.

"No one's going to get killed!"

"Hah!" A bark of laughter, dark and bitter. "Go away, Beth. Just go away."

Beth strode angrily away; stopped. Knelt to study the ground, letting pebbles run through her hands. "You shouldn't be out here alone. People have been - seeing things...."

"Leave."

Zorra waited until the woman was out of sight before gliding down. "She is right, you know." She wrapped her friend in warm wings, slipping a talon under the shirt collar to feel silky skin. "You could catch a chill."

"Or a creature." Isabel smiled up at her, running bandaged fingers through the foxy mane. "Come on. The phone should be clear."

Zorra swooped into the narrow alley by the trading post, aware of Isabel's stealthy figure keeping watch. This pay phone wasn't safe - it could be seen from the street - but it was the most concealed in five miles. Feeding coins into the slot, she waited. Call... please call....

"Devil's Claw Greeting Cards," came a sing-song voice from the speaker. "When you want your message to stick."

"Mariposa," Zorra sighed. She could imagine her clan sister's hot-pink Mohawk bobbing with laughter, silver jangling in her multiply-pierced ears. And for all that, Mariposa still looked sweet and innocent as a dew-spotted rose. "You made it?"

"We all did! 'Lawn sculptures' - by the Dragon, Zorra, your mate's brilliant!" There; a soft clash of silver on silver. Mariposa must be playing with her anklets again. She had a way of coiling one up in her tail, then spinning it loose to crash into the others that could entertain hatchlings for hours.

"We're not official...."

Mariposa tched. "Because Chairo and Urraca say so? They can keep it- oh. Sí. Zorra? Tizne."

A click as the phone was handed over. "The elders agreed," her ebony clan brother said with no small amount of satisfaction. Getting the elders to agree on anything was almost as hard as helping their sister Callista call a storm. Which Zorra had done, once... and never, ever planned to try again. "We're too large to hide in El Timoteo anymore. Even if the rez isn't a good place, somewhere near ought to need us. If it looks good up there, we're splitting. And you are not going back, sí?"

"Maybe to visit." A hard thing, to leave the land of her hatching behind. But she'd watched her clan with the villagers of El Timoteo for over fifty years now, and though their friendship stood strong as ever, there were just too many of each kind for the land to support. Splitting the clan now, before there was a real problem, would keep El Timoteo safe. "So you'll be here?"

"Callista's calling a mist." A pause. "It just turned purple, but it feels like a mist... She said it should hide us until dawn. With luck, we'll get there the night after tomorrow."

"Callista's with you?" That was unexpected. For the elders to let the clan's one true mage come on such a risky voyage... Zorra shook her head.

"Get rid of all the troublemakers in one swoop, eh?" Tizne sighed. "She says it will be easier to cast when we're coming from the clan to her, than if she has to cloak those leaving the clan from Mexico. And you know the new Father, he doesn't like it when she teaches the young humans cantrips."

"Hmph." Human priests always did have trouble with spells, even the pared-down cantrips that barely raised a flicker of true power. What was the more wrong, to spend scarce cash on fertilizers - or to invoke just enough magic to feel what the land needed for a healthy crop? "Well. When she comes out of the trance, tell her I look forward to pulling her tail."

Tizne snickered. "You would."

Isabel was waiting, a soft smile on her lips. "Good news?"

"Good news," Zorra affirmed, matching her stride as they slipped into the shadows. "As long as you're willing to support three more hungry mouths until we can get settled."

Isabel waved it off. "Hazard pay. I can afford it." Hazel eyes gleamed. "Want to try my cornbread?"

Zorra arched a brow. "I hope it's better than your quesadillas."

"Oh, much...."

~*~*~*~*~

A day later.

Left leg propped against his office desk at Knightsbridge, Michael rubbed a finger along his moustache. "You're kidding."

"I wish." Marella tapped a pen against the brief report; with any luck, their last business for the day. "If we hadn't put a flag on her alias, this would've gotten lost in the shuffle for good."

Archangel skimmed the printout one more time. Classified information lost in transit on blind courier. Meaning someone who didn't know they were carrying espionage data had gone missing. "Sometimes I think Dominic has a point. We do have too many agencies out there."

"Her cover was supposed to hold up against a thorough background check." Marella spread empty hands.

"So the cartel finds out who she is, and the CIA doesn't?" He waved off explanations. "I know, I know. The cartels can pay more."

"We can send an agent to pick it up."

"Giving someone else the chance to find out 'Delcarlo' is still alive? And, not coincidentally, plastering egg all over the Company's face? No. Much as I'd like to." The swift smile vanished. "And it can't be you; not with that mess in the Middle East brewing."

"Which mess?" Marella asked, one dark brow raised. "Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Uzbekistan...."

"Take your pick. Never thought I'd say this, but those people need to get a life."

"A lot of trouble over there," Marella said quietly. "We started some of it."

"Some of it," Michael allowed. "We weren't the ones who split up India and Pakistan. Much less started the whole mess in Palestine." With his water glass, he saluted the map of Europe on the wall. "Thank you, Britannia."

Glass set down, he studied the printout. "No. If we're going to pull this rabbit out of a hat, it'll have to show up on my desk, no strings attached." Michael winced as if he'd bitten a lemon. "Or someone's desk, at least."

Marella glanced up. "Locke?"

"He's decent. For a Company man." A white-clad shrug. "If we pass him the name and location, it shouldn't go much farther."

"But you don't want to."

The hazards of having a subordinate who knew you too well. "We told her we covered her trail. Our word's on the line." Not that it would mean much, if it came down to Apoyo versus the country's needs.

But as long as it wasn't, he'd hold that frail scrap of honor close.

Too much time around Hawke, Michael told himself. Idealism will only get you killed.

But it was idealism that held Airwolf's crew together; kept them under his command, if only loosely. Ideals that had entwined him with them, the staunch belief that they actually could make a difference - if only a small one.

One life at a time.

Marella turned a page. "You might want to ask Hawke where Le Van is."

Michael raised an eyebrow.

"A little bird told me Locke might be out of town for a few days," Marella said serenely. "And if he's not available - and after that mess in Cascade, we do have reason to doubt some members of the Company...."

Archangel smiled. "Then I suppose we have to do it ourselves."

~*~*~*~*~

"Mom! Dad!" Gravel scattered as Beth Maza rushed into her parents' arms, exuberant as ever. "And you brought them! This is great...."

Scratching Bronx' blue ears, Hudson gazed up as the rest of the clan flocked around the Mazas. New York's sky was not that different from Scotland's, but this dry land of Arizona held a host of stars he'd never seen.

He drew a deep breath, tasting dust and stone. The Trio might have cavorted through the sky on their way to meet the Mazas on the desert's edge; he'd caught every thermal he could find, conserving his strength. Thin air wasn't kind to old lungs after the long plane ride. But ah, the stars were wondrous.

And it was quiet. He'd nigh forgotten what it was to not hear engines. A bit of water, and this place would be a fine one for a clan.

Perhaps it was already. If Beth's rumors held truth....

"What do you think, old friend?"

Shoving Bronx' muzzle out of the way, Hudson regarded the small pile of fragments in Goliath's cupped hand. Took an especially promising piece, tilting it to view every angle. Wet a brown finger, brushing it across the crumbly surface, to taste the essence of the stone.

The cold grit of granite, in a world of basalt and sandstone. Hudson smiled. "Good eyes, lass."

"There are gargoyles?" Diane looked hopeful.

Still not sure our leader's the right mate for your daughter, eh? Hudson thought. That'd be two of us, lass.

"One, at least," Goliath confirmed with a confident smile. The clan leader caped dark purple wings, standing tall to gaze into the desert night. "It is a good sign."

"All right!" Lex slapped palms with Brooklyn, yellow hand almost engulfed in brick-red. "Let's go!"

"Bide a moment, lads." Hudson hid a smile. Ah, to be young, full confident that all would be well. "These old bones are a bit weary t' be chasing shards before dawn."

"We can go," Broadway started.

"Not this night," Goliath told the hefty aqua gargoyle. "Your land is wide and unexplored," the clan leader said gravely to the Mazas. "It would be wiser of us to spend what remains of the night looking at your... maps."

Another of this new world's ideas, Hudson thought; laying out the nooks and crannies of the land as only an eagle might see it. Unthought-of, in the Scotland he'd been hatched in. But effective, no doubt of it.

"Not really our land, anymore." Peter Maza ran fingers through short gray hair, brushing away old memories. "Well. Let's get settled in."

~*~*~*~*~

Tie askew, graying blond hair slightly less than perfectly combed, and white suit unpressed, Archangel glared at the nearest hapless intelligence analyst. "What do you mean, we lost New York?"

Fritz Palmer swallowed. The man's own tie had unraveled long ago, lying in limp tiger-stripes over his blue collar, as he and the rest of the Firm's graveyard shift played catch-up with the unfolding crisis. Working for the Firm was no picnic, and everyone knew the Deputy Director put in more hours than the most wired hacker down in Data Warfare. Once Archangel turned in for the night, no one at Knightsbridge wanted to wake him for anything short of World War III. "Coffee, sir?"

Michael moderated his glare. Terrified agents didn't work well. And given that no few of those who'd tried to play office politics with Archangel had ended up scattered in small pieces over various unfriendly territories, he had enough of a reputation already. "Black. Talk."

Palmer brought up satellite views; images which showed a nasty silver swirl where the City That Never Sleeps should have been. "Preliminary reports from New Jersey seem to indicate it was a massive psychokinetic pulse-"

"I know." Michael could feel it in his veins, in the prickle of hairs on the back of his neck; in the shivery panic that had yanked him from the depths of sleep, as Airwolf yelped to any mind that would hear her.

Shielding protocols swept out in the next instant, a sun-on-snow projection that still cast sparkles at the edge of his vision. He sensed the others hunkering down under it, nestling into the safety of Hawke's cabin. Going back to sleep, the lucky bastards.

They'd come if he needed them. He knew that, certain as sunrise.

But until he needed them, Airwolf's crew looked after Airwolf first.

Anyone landing on Eagle Lake tonight is going to be in for a nasty surprise....

Palmer was staring at him, dark eyes wide. "You... know, sir?"

Damn. As if there weren't enough rumors flying around. "Go on."

"Ah...right." The analyst punched another key. "Satellite cover and Dr. Chapman's message indicate that the point of origin was Solstice Technologies."

Cameron Winter's company. Trouble in a multi-billion-dollar sized package; though usually Winter was thumbing his nose at a certain eighteen-story lizard. Dangerous habit, Archangel thought coolly. Only Winter's contracts with the Pentagon had kept him out of the SDECE's grasp. The French Secret Service was not happy with the man.

If they go after him this time, I'm not putting an agent in the way. No matter what the Committee wants.

"The mist swept over the city in less than a minute, and there's been no communications from inside it since. Based on the electromagnetic readings, we don't think anything's getting in from outside, either." Palmer swallowed. "If there is an inside."

"Don't give up on them yet, Palmer. New York's pulled through worse." Archangel looked at his watch. And three, two, one....

"Sir?" Samala held up the phone; another of his white-clad angels, filling in while Marella caught her own eight hours. "Washington's on the line."

"The perfect start to a wonderful night." Cane bracing him, Archangel stood. "Get the jet ready."

~*~*~*~*~

"Really, the maps aren't going to help much where you're going," Beth chattered on as they slipped into her parents' rented house trailer, the tail end of a long spiel on the dangers of Arizona's desert. What landmarks were most visible, what to do if they lost their way, what water not to drink at any cost. Four aluminum walls made a tight fit for the clan, but it had lights and heat. And with luck, it was far enough away from other houses that there'd be none to ask questions. "Even the Navajos don't usually go into the Valley of the Gods. It's cold up there. They say there's snow even in the summertime."

"Cold does not bother us." Goliath studied the map's brown and red terrain, noting its lack of details.

Say that again when ye've passed a hundred, lad, Hudson thought wryly. He was just as happy not to be out on nights you could see your own breath.

"But you found the shards near town?" Broadway asked, planting a talon on an image of a rocky spire.

"Right there," Beth confirmed. "It's... a little complicated."

"Start at the beginning," her mother advised, coming out of the small kitchen with a tray full of steaming mugs. "You, too," she told her husband pointedly.

Peter sipped his milk-laced coffee, drew a deep breath. "There have been stories about the valley for a long time," the former cop admitted. "Mostly the witchcraft kind. That it's not a good place for ordinary people to go. Even singers don't like to go that way without a damn good reason."

"Singers?" Goliath raised a brow ridge.

"Navajo healers," Diane explained, falling into her role as a professor. "Something like your Magus. Though I never heard of them turning anyone to stone."

"But about four years ago, the stories started changing," Beth picked up the thread, leaning over the map. "Every once in a while, people hear sounds out that way. Like wind, only they swear it's not the wind. Like a wolf... but there haven't been wolves around here in almost a century." She unfolded a sheaf of notes; names, places, what people had been doing when they heard it. "And sometimes - just sometimes - people see something dark in the night sky. Something that's not like anything they've ever seen."

"They even have a name for it." Peter stared into the depths of his mug. " La loba aérea."

"The wolf of the air," Diane translated for the clan.

"Spooky," Broadway muttered, munching popcorn.

"It's not spooky," Lex insisted, tail tapping against the floor. "It's a gargoyle."

"Man, I hope so," Brooklyn murmured.

Hudson watched them out of the corner of his eye, hoping himself. Goliath might be blind to it, but Hudson had seen more mates pair off than Goliath's daughter had years. And it'd grown more and more clear to the clan's surviving elder that Angela's favor lay... outside the clan.

Not the Trio's fault. Hatched and raised by humans on Avalon, Angela was neither part of the world they'd left in Scotland, nor truly of the world they'd woken to in New York. And aye, she was gargoyle, and aye, she'd likely take a gargoyle to mate when she chose to bear egg.

But love him? That, Hudson doubted.

"Well." Picking up the phone, Diane started dialing. "Let's see if New York survived without you guys for one night."

"Maza," came the crisp, no-nonsense reply.

"Elisa!" Diane brightened. "We just got settled in. Did you want to talk to your friends?"

"Matt!" the detective hissed. "It's my mom!"

Hudson cocked an ear, noting the near-panic in that familiar voice. Even after so many years with the clan, Elisa still underestimated gargoyle hearing.

"Diane?" Angela sounded more puzzled than anything else. "Elisa, what's wrong?"

"She's putting your father on the phone, that's what's wrong!"

Matt's voice was faded, farther away; Hudson caught something about "complicated".

"What am I going to tell them?" Elisa moaned.

"Relax, partner," Matt assured her. "You'll think of something."

"Elisa," Goliath rumbled as the rest of the clan gathered round the phone.

"Goliath." The detective swallowed. "Hi."

"Hi!" Lex was ecstatic. "The flight was so cool!"

"Anything interesting happen while we were gone?" Brooklyn asked.

"Ahhh...."

Hudson frowned. Something was wrong. Something Elisa didn't want them to know about.

Goliath had caught it as well; his eyes glowed faintly. "Elisa?"

A resigned breath. "Demona threw a spell while you guys were over the Midwest-"

"Demona?" The Mazas paled at his growl. They knew well enough the grudge Goliath's former mate carried against their daughter, though Hudson doubted Elisa had told them how many times the immortal gargess had nigh slain her.

"We're okay," Elisa said clearly. "We got her spellbook, and we stopped it. But you guys ought to stay out there. At least for the week. Part of Manhattan's a real mess."

Goliath rumbled, low and dangerous. "Elisa, if you are in danger-"

"We're not. Really, we're fine. We've... got to get down to the precinct," Elisa finished. "I'll... call you guys back. Tomorrow night." Click.

"That psycho!" Brooklyn's beak showed fangs; the clan's second in command looked as if he'd shred someone into shark bait, if he could but find a suitable target. "What did she do?"

"And why wouldn't Elisa want us to come home?" Broadway wondered, bag of popcorn forgotten on the couch beside him.

"You think it's easy to get a flight that'll ship pressurized cargo?" Lex pointed out. "I can hack the schedules to get us on, tough guy. I can't pull airplanes out of thin air."

"So we should stay?" Broadway summed up.

Webbed wings flexed as Lex shrugged. "Unless you want to glide all the way home."

Diane's fingers were interlaced with her husband's. "She'd tell us if something were really wrong."

"She would," Peter echoed quietly. Leaning close, face grave.

Beth yawned. "We'll check out the news tomorrow. If it's bad, it'll be there." Rubbing her eyes, she smiled sheepishly at the clan. "I'd love to stay up and chat with you guys, but I've got somebody to pick up in the morning. Doctor's appointment."

"Who?" Peter frowned. "Not Apoyo?"

"Dad." Beth drew it out into one long sound of patient exasperation. "Isabel's really very polite." Her eyes glinted. "Too polite, sometimes."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Dad!" Beth waved her hands. "She got shot in the line of duty, she can't drive herself, and she won't stay with her relatives. What am I supposed to do?"

"What's wrong with the lass' kin?" Hudson asked. There'd been an odd note in Peter's voice; as if his youngest child had been spending time in the company of a would-be mate he didn't approve. Yet Isabel was a woman's name.

The retired cop traded glances with his wife. "They... don't really like Isabel's lifestyle choices," Diane ventured.

Ah. That was the way of it, then? "'Tis a hard thing, knowing one of your young ones may not give you hatchlings to look after," Hudson allowed.

The Trio's eyes bugged. "You mean she's-" Brooklyn started.

"We call them Two-Spirits," Beth said defiantly.

"Some people call them that," Peter stated. And we're not going to talk about it, said the flat look in his eyes. "Early start?"

"Fine." Beth shook her head, heading toward the small bedroom in the back. "Whatever."

An angry silence lingered. "We did not mean to bring dissent to your clan." Goliath frowned. "Perhaps we should see this... Valley of the Gods after all."

"This has been brewing a while," Peter admitted. "But if you're willing to spend the day..." He shook his head. "Maybe a little time off would do us both good."

~*~*~*~*~

"Whoa," Brooklyn breathed a few hours later. Red sandstone reached into the night sky, towering dancers in the dark. A cold wind blew through dry scrub, carrying a hint of snow.

"Sure you'll be all right?" Peter asked once more, stepping into the pickup.

"Ach, lad; we've hidden ourselves for the day before," Hudson said, hitching up his belt. "Don't worry about us."

The engine faded in the distance as they climbed for a good wind. Plenty of those, Hudson thought. Still. 'Tis a bit dry for a clan to call home.

"Stay together, and stay in contact," Goliath instructed the Trio. "We hope to find friends, but we are the strangers here."

"Got it," Broadway nodded as they launched.

"What do you think, old friend?"

Spreading colored paper over an impatient Bronx, Hudson studied the drawings of the land around them. "I think, lad, that if 'twere me living here, I'd be wanting a cavern nigh a place to catch the wind." He eyed towering rocks. "A place none would think to look."

"Hmm." Goliath drew a talon over the area, circling north. "Let us look here."

And wasn't that a wondrous idea, Hudson thought sourly, watching the stars turn towards dawn as they soared. Lots and lots of nothing-

Brooklyn's voice, breathless over the radio. "We found tire tracks!"

Goliath frowned at the snow-touched rock below. "As have we."

"Looks like a cave to me," Broadway noted as they regrouped near the mass of red stone. "Tracks lead right in."

"Only one entrance?" Goliath shook back his mane. "Few clans would stand for such."

"Wait, lad." Hudson listened to the moaning wind, started climbing the side of the red dome. "Ye hear that?"

A swift smile on the clan leader's face. "Yes."

Brooklyn whistled as they found the source of the moan. "Man, it just goes down...."

Lex peered into the red well of stone. Wide and open enough for an entire clan to swarm through, yet hidden from only a few yards away. "Looks like it used to be a volcano."

Brooklyn jerked his beak back. "You mean this thing could go off?"

Lex rolled his eyes. "Maybe in a few more thousand years."

"There's something down there," Broadway muttered. "No - Bronx, wait!"

The beast was already over the edge and climbing, talons biting crimson stone. A blue nose snuffled rising air; Bronx whined, hitting a piece of rock where the angle went well past vertical.

"It seems quiet within," Goliath noted. "Let us investigate."

"Oh, man," Lex breathed, swooping to touch down on the gray concrete floor. A raised pad stood in the center, rimmed in warning yellow, lights shining onto its empty center. Ranks of computers stood behind yellow guardrails at one side of the cavern, under the protection of the rock ceiling. "This is awesome!"

"Talk about your secret hideouts," Brooklyn chuckled, trying the handles on lockers marked Ammo and Emergency Supplies.

Broadway lifted a dry coffee mug, while Bronx rooted in a dark corner. "Doesn't look like gargoyles live here."

"A human hiding place." Goliath raised a brow ridge. "Yet for what?"

Lex jerked a thumb toward the yellow pad. "It's going to sound a little unreal, but... my guess would be a helicopter." Cracking yellow knuckles, he headed for the main computer terminal.

Hudson gazed up the narrow chimney of stone. "Could ye get one o' those metal dragons up there?"

"I couldn't," the smaller gargoyle admitted, tapping the console on. "Not without a little more practice. Let's see... yeah, another blow for the computer illiterate." He waved a yellow note that had been stuck under the keyboard. "Mike Rivers, A8-W976. People are so predictable."

"Whoever this Mike is, he's not going to be happy," Brooklyn pointed out.

"You want him happy or you want to know what's going on here?" Lex started opening files.

"We've little time, lads," Hudson warned, eyeing the stars visible through the column of stone. "I've no liking to be stuck in here after dawn."

"Elisa's clan should know what lairs on their land." Goliath crossed muscular forearms. "Make haste."

"Let's see." Lex frowned at the screen. "We've got phone numbers, schedules, parts... that's a lot of computer circuitry...."

Broadway shuffled through papers, reading in a low undertone. "Confidential report on the former Soviet Republic of... Ka-zahk-stan. Toxic gases, Siberian holding facility. Missile emplacements of the... Ural montane region, Bulgarian report-" he jerked the papers away. "Whoa!"

"Ah, guys?" Brooklyn held up a stray submachine gun magazine. "Whoever these guys are, they are not going to be nice if they find us here."

Enter secondary password, flashed on the screen.

"Jalapeña!" Lex started digging into the papers around the console. "Anybody see another of these?"

"We should be going, lads." Hudson seized up Bronx, detaching a stray pen from massive fangs. "Unless ye wish t' take the chance such as need such dire knowledge'll look kindly on visitors."

"Cover your trail," Goliath declared, sinking talons into red stone. "We will return."

"Just when it was getting good," Lex grumbled as they soared off.

"Just when it was getting dangerous," Brooklyn corrected. "Goliath, whoever these guys are, they've got the kind of paperwork that's not supposed to be outside of razor wire and guys in black suits with mirrored sunglasses."

Goliath growled, pointing to a stone hollow that offered shelter for the day. "Agents of espionage?"

"Spies!" Broadway agreed, dropping to sandstone.

"Well-armed ones," Hudson said thoughtfully. He'd met a spy or two, defending Castle Wyvern. Most had little in the way of weapons, trusting to their own cleverness to hide them.

But when that failed... then they struck like cornered rats.

"We'd better be careful if we go back there," Lex said, evidently following his thoughts. "I tried to erase my entry, but I didn't have enough time to find the backup log."

"They might expect us." Goliath rumbled. "Still... I would know why they have chosen this place to hide their activities." Posing for the day, he hesitated.

Sword outstretched, Hudson paused. "Lad?"

Goliath cupped an ear to the wind. "Listen!"

A howl, far off and metallic-

Sunrise.