Can't Stay Away (2/4)

[purrslink]

Title: Can't Stay Away
Rating: PG-13
Original Prompt by mad_persephone  : well guys, it's not exactly the VA, but I'm going in for a 3 week inpatient stay at a physical rehab clinic, and would love some tv verse face/murdock h/c fic. with face trying to sneak in at night as much as he can because murdock is stuck there because maybe richter is away, and murdock dark and lonely, and with a generous amount of covert smexing, maybe face scamming his way in as well as a doctor with quick furtive need you now closet sex, because I'm not going to be in contact with my man for 3 weeks, and its going to be hard. I would love you forever if you could fill this.

Summary: A break-out scam backfires on Face when, upon returning Murdock to the V.A., the pilot is placed in solitary. With Decker getting involved and new treatments being forced on Murdock, Face begins to take risks to assure himself that the pilot is all right...

Warnings: slash, language, sexual situations, hurt/comfort, angst

Verse: TV
Pairings: Face/Murdock established

**************************************

In his mind, the plan is lacking, but they say simplicity can be the best and so far it’s working.

Dressed in a suit, a white lab coat that was borrowed and never returned eighteen scams ago, and his very own fake ID badge, he adjusts his glasses, straightens his tie, and tries not to think about what the hair gel is doing to his poor follicles as he steps through the door.

The wonderful thing about the V.A. is that the nurses switch rounds every four hours, which makes the sight of a flat-chested blonde not too surprising when he approaches, patting his pockets. The nurse looks up and he manages to see her name before she asks, “Can I help you?”

“I seem to have misplaced my key…” He frowns and checks his pockets once more, flashing her a bit of a panicked smile as his hands dig for plastic that isn’t there. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve met you yet.”

He holds out a smooth hand even as his other searches his pant pockets. “Dr. Gil Foley. I’m doing a residency here with Dr. Bradshaw, you know, just to get my feet back into the swing of things. Was overseas for awhile doing work with an orphanage Africa, just got back really. Only my second day here, and yesterday was just a morning session.”

The nurse blinks and covers her mouth a bit at the mention of an orphanage before offering her hand. “Oh, well, I’m Karen Troy.”

“Karen?” And he holds on to her hand for just a moment too long, smiling. “Why not Helen? You certainly live up to the name.”

She blushes and ducks her head slightly. “Dr. Foley, you’re too kind!”

And she really isn’t that bad to look at, and if he weren’t with Murdock or were on any other scam he might take his time with this one. But he’s antsy and can feel his right knee shaking slightly at the effort of staying moderately still so he clears his throat. “Anyway, Karen-can I call you Karen? I seem to have left my key in my other pants. Any chance of lending me a new one until I can bring in the other tomorrow?”

Karen nods, her hand going straight to the lower right drawer (a fact he memorizes for later use). “Sure thing, Dr. Foley. Do you want me to let Dr. Bradshaw know you’re here?”

That would certainly derail things. “No, no, I’ll just go meet him on his rounds.” He pauses for a moment and just to be safe, asks, “Where is he right now?”

As Karen hands him a key – as he thanks God that she isn’t checking the files – she purses her lips slightly. “I’m not sure. Let me check, actually.” And God continues to look out for him, as she pulls out a clip board. “Hm, he’s on the second floor right now, though he should be just finishing and heading for his office.”

He nods and then asks, shyly. “Would you mind terribly if I borrowed that? Just in case I lose him.”

There was a moment of hesitation but with a bright smile and the rightly timed, timid rub of his neck with a hand, Karen hands over the papers. “Just bring it back before you leave, along with that key.”

“Of course. Thank you so much, Karen.” And with a dazzling, white smile that has Karen sighing softly, he heads for the elevator.

It’s only the presence of two orderlies that help him contain his restless knee and thankfully the ride to the second floor is blessedly sweet. He has just enough time to look at the clipboard and note Murdock’s room number – 209 – before he is walking down a long, dreary hallway.

Nurses pass, voices somber and quiet and the differences of this floor to the one downstairs are immediate. Stained checkered linoleum smelling faintly of ammonia, scratches in the white paint of the long, long walls, everything is much too quiet and much too bright to inspire anything but the desire to run. As if the lights are going to break from the force of pretending to bring comfort. And he notices that the faces of those that pass aren’t smiling or frowning as they are downstairs, no, even the emotions are repressed here. Shadows even in the bright light.

Room 209 is down the hall to the left, as far from the windows as you can get, and it takes him a moment to find the door among the others. Bleak matted steel greets him and for a long moment he pauses, curled around the key as the cold radiates off and straight through his chest. But the chill only serves to propel him forward, hand sliding the covered window open so he can peer inside.

He sighs in relief that he has the right room, but a second closer look reveals several unsettling observations. While the sight of Murdock in a straitjacket isn’t anything new (though disconcerting when in this situation), the device rarely slows the man down and even when in solitary or on the grounds the pilot is moving, singing, or at least sitting up. It’s entirely possible Murdock is asleep, as he is laying down and he can’t see those expressive brown eyes. But there is the occasional shift of a leg or slow flexing of a bare foot and he knows that it is much more likely that Murdock is awake and something is wrong.

It looks safe to go in so he shuts the window, uses the key, and turns the handle, making a lot more noise than he wants to. Even though the door squeaks and whines on old hinges, however, Murdock doesn’t move and he bites his lip as he steps. “Mr. Murdock?”

That gets a shift of rough clothing on the equally rough mattress, but the pilot doesn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

It’s slurred and slow and Face finds himself almost tripping over his own feet to get to the bed. “Hey. Buddy, it’s me.”

That gets a bit more of a reaction and the pilot turns with a lethargic roll of his shoulders to face him. He has to bite his lip at the sight of a crooked smile that can’t make up for the cracked, glazed eyes. “Faceman.” Those eyes furrow slightly. “Why are you here? It’s dangerous…Decker-”

“I know.” He put a gentle hand to Murdock’s neck, testing the pulse with two fingers. Slow, but steady. A sedative of some kind, but why? “Are you ok?"

He badly wants to kiss the pilot, but the door can’t be locked from inside and Murdock is having enough issues forming words without another distraction. “’m all right. Jus’…” And the pilot has to swallow a heavy breath, tongue thick. “New meds.”

It’s enough of an explanation for Face to nod and he lets his fingers move to cup Murdock’s sweaty neck. “They treating you ok?”

“Ok enough. Got no choice with…with Decker.” Those brown eyes are blinking more and more rapidly but the pilot is staying at the surface. For him.

“Just hang on. I’ll get this sorted out.” And for a minute he wishes he were a doctor, someone with true authority in a place like this. Where the key isn’t ill-gotten and he doesn’t have to talk in hushed tones.

Movement underneath the jacket belies Murdock’s attempts to reach out, but the pilot just sighs and leans back into the hand on his neck. “Let it be, Faceman. Don’t want ya riskin’ yerself over this.”

“Buddy, this isn’t…” He trails off because this isn’t how this works. Drugs are supposed to make the pilot able to focus, to not hear voices, to see what normal people see. Not this, never this frightening loss of concentration. “This isn’t right.”

Murdock just smiles at that, a hint of the old, good kind of crazy there. “Not much is right in the world, Face. Didn’t the nuns teach ya that?”

What kills him is that he knows Murdock is right. That he should just let this blow over and let everything settle like it always does. And it will, because Decker might be persistent, but even the Army has its limits. They’ll pull back eventually, most likely when Richter comes back. But that means waiting and Face has never had the virtue of patience. Probably never will. He’s just not made to let emotions simmer and wait. That’s one thing he and Murdock have in common.

Plus, it means his romantic weekend will not be happening.

It’s what makes the now so hard to deal with, and also why he can’t help himself when he leans in to kiss the pilot. Murdock makes a small, warning noise at the back of his throat, but the protest doesn’t last long at all and for a few seconds Face can taste the medicine at the back of the pilot’s throat and can feel the labored breathing in his own mouth. But as wonderful as the contact is after the stress, the pilot’s kiss is soft and unfocused and Face pulls back after far too short a time to let Murdock’s head loll back onto the single pillow.

The pilot’s drawl is becoming thicker, stronger, more layered. “You should go, Face, before one of them pretty nurses figures out you’re all looks and no brains.”

He grins a bit at that and runs his fingers over the thick, scratchy cotton covered shoulder. “Now, now, I went to college, you know.”

Murdock’s eyes are blinking more rapidly now. “Majored in girl.”

He has so many answers to that, how it was less major and more minor in the end of all things, but he left the door cracked and he can hear footsteps slowing as they approach. So he pulls away and manages to adopt a platonic pose as a head pokes in.

“Hello?” It’s a short, black haired nurse, thank god. “Who are you?”

Time for a con, so he smiles, standing. “Sorry, we haven’t been introduced. I’m Dr. Foley. Gil Foley.”

He extends a hand as the nurse enters but she isn’t smiling. “You’re interrupting treatment, and you can’t be in here without authorization.”

There’s a few ways to approach this, but he goes with the first one that pops into his head. “What? I was here yesterday and I didn’t need authorization.”

The nurse folds her arms and regards him, icy black eyes taking in his entirety. “New rule as of this morning. You should have gotten a memo about it.”

He rubs the back of his neck and shifts his clip board. “Haven’t been to my desk yet. Sorry about that. I should probably go read that…”

But something is wrong because the nurse just frowns, deeper. “I don’t recognize you. Who did you say you were again?”

He has to pause because this one has eyes that won’t let up and a mind that works far faster than he wants it to. “Dr. Foley. I’m shadowing Dr. Bradshaw, and-”

“Dr. Bradshaw has left for the day.” Those eyes are boring into him now and he’s now no longer as sure as he was before.

He needs an excuse and needs one fast. Before anything else happens to keep him here long, trapped in a room with a lamp bolted to the wall and a single, heavy dresser attached to the floor. Nothing to defend himself with. “I was told he would be in his office.”

“Well, if you’re shadowing him, you should know.” There was truth in that, and his mind was scrabbling even as the nurse began to head for the door, no doubt to shout for reinforcements.

What Face didn’t expect was Murdock to suddenly groan and cry and scream, all at once, a wailing sound that filled the room instantly with hot, ragged, unrestrained sound. It has both Face and the nurse jumping and whipping around to the pilot, who is now writhing on the bed as if in pain.

For a moment Face is afraid the man is in legitimate distress, and he moves as if to steady the shaking pilot. But a brown eye cracks open at him as he leans over and he sees the smile in them before they snap shut and feign the insanity that this place so easily inspires. “Nononono, they’re comin’! Thunderin’ and rollin’ and flashin’ like lightning powered roller skates!”

Face steps back and glances at the confused nurse. “I’m going to go get a sedative.”

“He’s already had one…”

But he’s gone before she can turn to wonder exactly who the doctor was and exactly what he thinks he’s going to get. By the time he gets to the elevator Murdock’s cries have attracted two orderlies, and he knows that the pilot has bought him precious time to make it out of the main entrance without being noticed.

Karen is still at the desk when he returns the clipboard. “Oh, Dr. Bradshaw just left…”

“I caught up to him.” He smiles and gives Karen another brilliant smile. “It was wonderful to meet you, Karen. I’d love to talk a bit more, but I’m afraid I need to catch up with the good doctor before the wife finishes dinner. He has a few files for me, you see.”

He can feel the key in his pocket and as much as he wishes he could keep it, he might need this disguise again. So he reluctantly pulls it out and hands it over. “Oh yes, here. Thank you so much.”

A wink and a small wave get him out the door and back to the Corvette in record time. But even the feel of wind and sun on his face don’t help him shake the anxiety of that cold, badly lit room or the fact that Murdock in that room is considered treatment. He doesn’t like whatever Decker has up his sleeve, not at all. And he doesn’t like seeing his pilot like that; unresponsive, sluggish, unable to feel those arms or hands that find all of the right spots on him with uncanny talent.

He knows it’s going to be a long week, or two, or however long Ricther will be gone. And after today, he knows he can’t wait that long to see Murdock again. He’s already worried and it’s only been five minutes.

He’ll be back, most definitely.

He just needs a few more disguises.

***

There’s not much any of them can do, and predictably Hannibal is not as keen as Face on continuously breaking in to check on the pilot.

“Murdock will be fine, Face. Stay out of it and lay low.” Hannibal blows smoke into the wind and turns to let the breeze cool his face, currently unmasked from this week’s lake monster.

Face sighs and folds his arms, nodding to the production staff as they bustle past with trays of lunch. Hannibal always seemed to be on the best B budget movie sets, considering lunch was usually classier than sandwiches. “Yeah, yeah.”

But Hannibal gives him a look, like the man doesn’t believe him, and really the Colonel is correct in thinking it won’t end here. “Face, leave it.”

“It’s Murdock, Hannibal. I can’t just leave it.” He catches Hannibal’s blue eyes and narrows his own. He won’t abandon his friend, his lover, even if he knew that Murdock would be agreeing with the Colonel.

Then again, Murdock wouldn’t be listening to the older man’s advice either.

They face off for a long moment before Hannibal sighs and irritably chews on his cigar. “Don’t get caught, ok, kid? Check in every three days or so, if you’re going to do anything.”

He’d had to refrain asking why he wouldn’t do anything, but then remembered this was Hannibal’s way of sanctioning sneaking in, so he kept his mouth shut and just nodded, just as he had nodded – with an eye roll – at B.A’s, “You lookin’ out for that fool?”

Of course he was, or else why would he be informing B.A. of this Decker development to begin with? Ok, Decker’s always newsworthy, but still, it took all he had not to huff because, honestly, B.A. knows he doesn’t leave anyone hanging, much less his teammate/best friend/lover. “No, I’m just informing you before I go off on my three week long vacation to the Bahamas with the two models from last week’s photo shoot.”

B.A. grunted and shot him a look and perhaps this conversation would have been better over the phone instead of when B.A. was getting ready to go to the kid’s center. “I told you once already – you break the fool’s heart, I ain’t pickin’ up the pieces.”

It’s a total and complete lie but Face holds up his hands anyway. “Come on, give me some credit, B.A. When have I ever left any of you hanging?”

At B.A.’s look he suddenly remembers one or two times that he could have been faster, but even the big guy knows he always pulls through. B.A. sighs. “I’m gonna be late, Face. You need somethin’ you let me know, otherwise I’ll seeya when Hannibal calls.”

And that’s that as he follows B.A. out. But just before the Sergeant and him part ways the big guy pauses to glance over his shoulder. “Crazy fool will be fine, Face. He can take care of himself against Decker.”

True enough, but it means he’s still going to worry even as he twirls the pay phone cord around his finger, Dr. Bradshaw’s number in front of him even as the dial tone begins to ring. The voice is much younger than he suspects, but it has the authority in it that comes with youth and a new medical degree. “Dr. Alan Bradshaw.”

“Hi, Dr. Bradshaw, this is Dr. Kilroy over at Mercy General. I’ve been directed to you seeing as how Dr. Richter is out.” He’s smooth, practiced, having said this to himself all last night and all this morning while in front of the mirror. “I’m working with the good doc on Mr. H.M. Murdock’s case.”

He can hear the tenseness in the man’s voice even over the phone. “I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to discuss patients with those outside the hospital.”

“Oh, well, I’m afraid this is rather important, concerning Mr. Murdock’s treatment.” He puts as much frown as he can into the statement. “You see, Richter and I had Mr. Murdock on a very careful balance of medication and outside therapy, and I’m just calling to check in to see how it’s working.”

“Mr. Murdock’s information is not something I can discuss over the phone without clearance, I’m sorry.”

Which means he has to pull out the big card. “I understand, but you see, those pills react with certain outside stimulus and other medication and we were just calling to make sure that it’s been noted in his chart and that the treatment is going all right.”

This time there’s a pause and a less than sure, “Pills?”

“Of course! Wasn’t it marked on his chart?”

He can hear papers moving and flipping and a small grunt of annoyance on the other end. “I don’t see any mention of outside medication…or your, Dr. Kilroy.”

“Really? That’s not good, not good at all.” If he had room he’d be pacing – instead, he presses a hand against warm glass and leans into the wall. “You see, the pills are experimental and supposed to be very hush hush, but the conditions for use are at least supposed to be on his chart. I mean, the things can’t be mixed with most sedatives, otherwise it reduces heart rate and brings on sudden psychotic breaks. We’ve had a few subjects fall into a coma, then slip away, I’m afraid. It’s all very preventable as long as those sedatives aren’t used, and Mr. Murdock has agreed to the trial run.”

He pauses now for effect. “You haven’t been using those sedatives, have you?”

“Dr. Kilroy, Mr. Murdock’s treatment has been altered and no longer includes these…pills.”

“Oh, but the pills have a one month life on them. New drug and all that, we’re making great advances you know. And Richter said he’d given the pill to him at the beginning of the month…”

He’s bull shitting, he knows, and he’s not sure if it’s too much of a stretch. But judging by the fact that the pauses are getting longer and he can hear the man on the other end shifting, he’s getting through to him. “I still don’t see any documentation of this…”

“Well, I can have someone run out a copy of the list we gave Richter, but it won’t be out there for another week or so. We’re too backed up at the moment to be able to do much more than a phone call, I’m afraid.”

A short, disgruntled sigh greets that. “Fine, fine.”

And he’s won, even as he thanks the kind doctor and hangs up. Because even though Decker may have the authority to change medication, at least now it won’t include a sedative. Which means next time he visits his pilot, maybe he’ll be up for more than a sloppy kiss.

***

He does manage to sneak in again under the Dr. Foley guise, catching a night nurse by surprise and promising her with his flashiest, whitest smile and his best lean in that he’s just here to do night rounds for Dr. Bradshaw and that he has to get used to it sometime, wouldn’t she agree? Of course she does, because his hair is almost brushing hers, the cologne he specifically picked out to contrast the stark smell of the V.A. overpowering everything, and who wouldn’t agree when blue eyes that Murdock describes as spring sky blue are lidded just enough to give the impression that this moment, right here, right now, is something special, an unspoken promise of secrecy and intimacy in the silence that stretches between them?

So of course he’s given a key, he checks in on two other patients just to give the orderlies the impression he actually is here for someone besides the pilot, then he takes the elevator up to the second floor, down the hall, and to the left where Murdock’s room stands just as ominous and cold as last time.

This time, however, when he enters, Murdock wakes up and blinks in the dark, eyes squinting against the flash light beam that Face has tried not to point at the pilot’s face. He’s just glad to see a grounded recognition in those eyes, marred only by tendrils of naturally sleepy haze. “Night rounds already? I’m just too popular these days!”

He smiles. “Then I’d better ask for your signature now.”

And Murdock knows from that. Like magic a smile immediately appears on his face. “Faceman.” It’s a little too loud and Face winces, but the pilot sits up, adjusting his speech as he goes. “What are you doing here?”

It’s with dismay and a frown that he notes the pilot is still in a straitjacket, arms shifting restlessly underneath. “Checking in on you. Why are you still in that?”

But before he can even take more than two steps Murdock is up and in front of him, head bowing to rest on his shoulder as the pilot presses into him. “Turn on the light?”

He wants to, so he can thumb the pilot’s cheeks and check those beautiful brown eyes to see what emotion really is forefront on Murdock’s mind. “I’m supposed to be doing rounds.”

Which means he can’t stay long or turn on a light. Waking up patients without medication to give out doesn’t seem like something a doctor would do.

Yet Murdock presses harder into him and he realizes the pilot is doing so to whisper quietly, “Supposed to be woken up every four hours to get let out of this, and I’ve been feelin’ a bit cooped up as of late, if you know what I mean.”

He catches on fast and nods, runs a hand through Murdock’s hair quickly and gives the pilot a light kiss to the forehead before pushing back to flick on that light. Murdock blinks in the sudden illumination but he still smiles and Face has to smile as well. The Texan is much more alert, eyes watching him intently, and though he can see his man is sleepy Murdock is awake and shifting from foot to foot in anticipation.

The pilot babbles as he undoes the buckles. “Gotta tell ya, Faceman, you really shouldn’t be doin’ this. Decker’s been visitin’ at all hours and I think he’s hopin’ to catch one of you here busting me out. He’s probably got my old room bugged cause he kept askin’ me about the window. Tell the big guy he’s goin’ to have to loosen the screen again, cause they found out it was loose.”

He nods and makes affirmative noises as he struggles with the fourth buckle. “Jesus, buddy, why is this so tight?” He’s put the pilot in these before and taken him out once or twice, but they’ve never been this tight.

“They gave me a smaller jacket cause they’re not using fancy knock ‘em out drugs anymore.” Those brown eyes glance at him with a questioning look.

He pauses long enough to give Murdock a grin. “Oh? Wondered why you were so bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

Murdock’s look softens considerably. “Oh, Faceman, told ya you could charm just about anyone for anything, didn’t I?”

And he did, just last week, when they got the free bottle of wine from the maitre’d solely because he knew all the right compliments to give. “Maybe not anything…”

Because he's fairly certain the Mona Lisa is off limits.

“Stop bein’ modest, Face. It don’t suit you well.” It’s a teasing tone, however, and as he gets the last strap free Murdock is turning with a grateful, full-bodied sigh as his arms are loosened. “Ohhhh, that feels so good! Kinda wondered if I had arms at all for awhile there. Thought the snakes ate ‘em and were putting them up for auction somewhere, for some other pilot to use. Did you know that they think snakes-”

He cuts off the trivia with a kiss, fast and furious, arms pulling in that still covered form, arms pressing into the loosened buckles without a care. The pilot gives a muffled gasp but grips his back with white-clothed arms, hanging on tightly. Obligingly, Murdock changes the angle to something more comfortable as Face licks the roof of his mouth, and for a long moment they continue with sloppy, hot kisses, low moans from him, and short, happy grunts from Murdock that are becoming dangerously close to being detectable outside of this room. It has been a stressful few days, however, and the fact that his man, his pilot, is no longer drugged, here in his arms, and safe for right now doesn’t exactly inspire careful consideration for their surroundings from him. Or Murdock, apparently, as the pilot shifts to kissing up and down his neck, hot breath hitting his skin as the pilot’s teeth graze strategic spots.

Face can feel his cock hardening and he groans at the fact that he really, really should stop this now. But he can’t, not when it is his turn to nip at Murdock’s neck and lick a long, wet stripe up the bottom of the man’s chin. No, it wouldn’t be fair not to return the same loving attention, now would it?

Murdock doesn’t necessarily agree, however, as he pulls back after a short yelp at the sensation of rapidly cooled skin. “Faceman!” He corrects his volume, just barely. “We can’t do this. You gotta go before they figure it out!”

“What about your exercise out of that thing?” He wiggles his eyebrows, pulling the pilot in even as the man tries to squirm out of his hold. “Come on, you can’t be that anxious to be back in it…”

A flicker of…something goes through those brown eyes, and he frowns, wondering what he said. But Murdock just sighs and shakes his head. “No, no, I just don’t want to see you in here with me, muchacho. Or in the back of some MP car, brushing shoulders with some of Decker’s finest and charming the pants of those Army nurses again.”

“Well, as lovely as their pants are, and as great of company as Decker is, I know something I’d rather do a lot more right now.” And he smiles, pressing into Murdock to let him know just what that is.

Those brown eyes widen a bit, though more so in desire than trepidation, as he can feel Murdock is reacting the same way down there. Yet the pilot’s eyes flicker to the single person bed. “Someone could walk in…”

Which is true. But it only takes a moment of thought before he has an idea. “How long until the next check.”

“With yours or without?”

“Without.”

“Thirty minutes.”

More than enough time. He grins, and tugs Murdock to the door. “Come on.”

Murdock raises an eyebrow, but allows himself to be drawn out and down the hall. “Face, what you got in mind? This ain’t exactly playin’ it safe.”

He shuts Murdock’s door, locks it, and finds what he was looking for. “You can’t tell me that you’ve ever liked it safe.”

At the sight of the generously spacious janitor’s closet, Murdock snorts and gives him a look that clearly states he’s impressed and mockingly scandalized. Brown eyes are definitely smiling as much as his face, however, and Face knows he has an interested party. “Well, you know what they say. Gotta walk on the wild side once in awhile, otherwise you never understand what these poor sponges go through, day in and day out. Why, if they would just form a union-”

He rolls his eyes and shoves Murdock in, jumping the pilot the minute the door shuts. And sure, it smells like cleaning fluid and he’s fairly certain that’s a toilet brush poking his ass. But it’s nothing compared to making Murdock moan like that, mouth plastered over the pilot’s to muffle the sound as he shifts his hands to pull those long legs up further around him as he works his lover open and up in an amount of time that belongs in a record book somewhere in the world.

It’s enough, however, to leave him sated and Murdock pleased enough that by the time they manage to stumble back into the pilot’s temporary room and Face does up the straps, Murdock seems to have fallen into a sleepy, happy stupor that Face is more than happy to take credit for.

“There you go, all ready for the next four hours.” He pats the pilot’s back where the buckles have been redone much, much looser.

Murdock sighs in relief at the range of motion he now has and he crowds in close to nuzzle Face’s neck. “To bad I don’t get you every four hours.”

He has to grin. “You’d never get any sleep.”

A knowing smile. “Probably not.”

With gentle fingers he lifts Murdock’s chin to give him a sweet kiss. “I’ll be back, buddy. Promise. You won’t be left in this shit hole alone.”

Murdock yawns, a cue for Face to gently guide him to bed. “Still wish you wouldn’t do that to yourself, Face…”

“Do you really?”

“…no.”

He smiles as Murdock sits and curls up carefully on his side, to better to watch Face with. “Then you’ll be seeing me.”

Another kiss and now he really has to go because he can hear the elevator dinging at the end of the hall. Murdock pulls back at the sound as well and readjusts himself more comfortably into the bed, under the single sheet that Face pulls up to his shoulders. “Night, Faceman. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” And he smiles before he flips off the lights and disappears out into the hall just in time to shut and lock the pilot’s door. He explains to the nurse, “Just letting him out of that straitjacket for this round.”

She buys it and with a grin he goes passed to return the key. Too easy, perhaps the last time it will be, but worth it because he can sleep a bit easier at night knowing that his baby is ok. In a restraining device that might be cutting off circulation to his arms next time someone new redoes it, but at least he’s not drugged and still acting like his old self, and that’s enough to let him go home with a clear conscience and a small smile at the fact that they can now add closet to the growing list of odd places they’ve had sex.

***

He manages to get tied up in calls and movie deals and a few phone calls back and forth with his stock broker over exactly why that small company up North is failing, wasn’t oil supposed to be a good investment? Either way, between Hannibal’s need for an agent and the team’s finances, he finds himself, three days later, tired and nursing a double scotch in his apartment, watching as 6pm ticks by. He won’t be able to scam himself into the V.A. right now, not as tired as he is. But he owes it to his man and hearing the pilot’s choice might cheer him up and make him feel better about losing that damn stock.

Murdock always forgave him.

So he picks up the phone and adjusts himself in his seat and after a very long con involving him being from military intelligence and they absolutely need Mr. Murdock’s opinion right now, over the phone, tonight – sorry, it’s national security or I’d tell you more, and a beautiful thing like you really doesn’t want to get tied up in all of it anyway – he gets placed on hold.

After a long few minutes, he hears, “This is your host, H.M. “Howling Mad” Murdock, where the madness howls, the pigs fly, and by George the fish are flying!”

But there’s something wrong with that voice. It’s just a tad too loud, too forced, like the pilot’s either mad or shaky or both and is hiding behind this boisterous radio jockey attitude. “Murdock? You ok, buddy?”

There’s not even a pause in the persona. “Doing just fine, sir, just fine indeed. Tell me, what made you dial in to 107.9 Murdock Air today?”

He frowns on his end because he knows the pilot has to put up a front, but that voice is still too insistent, still holding to much of a desperate tone to it. “You sure? I’m worried about you, H.M.”

“Glad to hear we have a regular listener in you, Colonel.” At least the pilot knows what the con is. “Now you listen close before the producer cuts us off.” Code for he’s being watched.

And then things get weird.

“This week is brought to you by the man in green and tan that has a plan, long and bland, here in hand.” Decker was coming this week; that he could understand.

“On to local news, we’ve got reports of three little birdies flyin’ away home, destination unknown, though the town is rejoicing. And ain’t that a sweet story to hear?” That one is harder, but he’s fairly certain it means the A-Team’s location is unknown.

“We’ve also got a weather report coming up. Weekend forecast looks cloudy, with some contained lightning due for the Westwood area.” He’s not sure on that one, though he doesn’t like the implication.

“Murdock, what-?”

The pilot keeps going, babbling now, almost frantic if you knew what to look for in that happy, go-lucky tone. “Yup, it sure looks like a down pour folks, though not to worry. I’m sure the sun will break out next Wednesday when those clouds finally move on to greener pastures.”

Did that mean Decker was leaving then? He was fairly sure, but he didn’t like the use of the storm analogy. Didn’t like the way the pilot was breathing into the phone so heavily. “Buddy, calm down, it’s ok. Look, I’m going to come tomorrow, ok? I don’t know as who yet, but I owe you a visit.”

He could almost hear the pilot shaking his head. “Safety bulletin brought to you by the Council of Concerned Persons: the red ball can bounce along by itself for awhile, so don’t go chasing it down the deep, dark alley way. You never know exactly what is going to be lurking.”

“Murdock…”

The code wasn’t fun any more. Particularly when the pilot added in a low, steadier voice. “It’s all right, Colonel, it’s easy to lose the signal sometimes. Just remember that our viewers are loyal and true and they don’t mind a bit of shock and awe sometimes when it means getting to hear that newest tune by that billboard hit, Mudsucker and the Two Tones.”

He’s lost now and he wishes he had just scammed his way in now, devil be damned about the traffic and closed visitor hours and the fact that his Foley guise is probably no longer safe to use.

But he can’t ask anything because suddenly there’s muffled talking on the other end of the phone and Murdock is back. “That’s all the time we’ve got, folks. Let’s give a big hand to the Colonel as we sign off with Stevie Wonder’s classic!”

And then that baritone fades into the distance as the phone is yanked away, the words drifting back, “Oooooh baby, signed, sealed, delivered…!”

That he knows, because the last line is what Murdock always saves for him, and indeed, the pilot is his, and he is the pilot’s. But right now, as the nurse babbles on about how sorry she is, Mr. Murdock hasn’t been quite right the past few days, and she’s so sorry but perhaps he’d better find another person to ask, he doesn’t feel like the pilot is his. He feels like someone else has his man, held in a tiny white room in a tiny white jacket, asking him who knows what and leaving the man alone when what the pilot needs is sun and people and laughter. The person who had Murdock should know that, would know that if he was truly theirs. But they don’t, and he’s not happy, not happy at all with the fact that something is wrong and he doesn’t know what.

Sometimes he wishes he were more fluent in Murdockian.

***

He knows he has to stay away, that Decker is there, that the place will be crawling with MPs. But what the fuck is he supposed to do this weekend, just forget that voice on the phone and go to his meetings and the beach with his latest pretend girlfriend and not conjure up truly horrifying images of what is going on? He’s fairly certain the iron maiden was put out of use a long, long time ago, but his mind has reached Renaissance torture items by the time two nights go by, and he can’t take it anymore.

So he does exactly what he knows Hannibal would tell him not to do, and that’s go in.

Armed with a bag of gummy candy in his pocket, he pauses at his closet door, staring at the white doctor’s coat. It would be easy to just use that, to establish this person he’s created and gain an excuse. But something inside him is telling him no and he knows from long years of experience that his instincts know something his stubborn brain doesn’t. So he leaves Dr. Foley behind and brings up the guise of Donald Baker, wig, moustache, and glasses all there to give the impression that, yes, he is an estate lawyer there to drop off a letter for Charlie Temple, someone he’s only heard of in passing from Murdock. But he can’t go in after Murdock directly, not with Decker there, and it’s all part of his convoluted plan that he runs over in his mind again and again even as he steps in to the main foyer and up to the nurses’ station.

If all goes well, no one will know he was here.

The nurse buys his story, who wouldn’t?, and she motions him down the hall to the common room where Charlie is, where he knew he would be. “Just that way, he’s just out of session and is doing some reading before lunch.

Perfect.

He never makes it to the common room, of course. The minute he’s ducking into the first available supply closet to ditch his suit, his briefcase, his moustache in favor of orderly white, a face mask, and the ugliest cap he can find. Fashion sense it is not but when he emerges he’s simply Tim the orderly and though his shoes are just visible over the hospital socks he’s found to put on them, that’s ok. No one looks at your feet anyway.

A key is just as easy to get when he slips into the employee locker room. He hates to take it from someone who will get in trouble later, but there’s nothing else he can do. So with a silent prayer for forgiveness, he deftly takes the ring from the locker on the far end, lock picks the one thing he kept on him and will keep on him for as long as he lives.

Now he’s ready.

Ready to find the pilot, figure out what’s wrong, and try to find someone of punching Decker straight in the face without having the man know who he is. The last one might have to wait, but the first two are doable.

Murdock’s room is empty though.

No pilot, no guard, no nothing. He’s puzzled for a moment before two orderlies wander by close enough for him to turn and ask, muffled, “Where’s this guy?”

The two orderlies blink at him and the taller one asks, “Who, Murdock?”

“Nice mask. You new around here?” The shorter asks.

Time for glitter and fireworks. “Yeah, just started last week. I’m supposed to be helping with this guy, something about needing clearance or whatever. I’m ex-Army, so they told me that was clearance enough.”

A shrug from him gets the two to relax and the taller one nods. “Yeah, well, guess it isn’t enough clearance to get you informed.”

“It is the Army,” he counters, drawing two laughs.

“I believe it! Especially after seeing that Decker guy. What a stick in the ass. Guy’s talking all the time, no wonder shit storms follow him! Who wants to listen to all that?” The shorter one shakes his head, clearly amused, and Face does have to admit that it’s a fairly good theory.

“Murdock’s in post,” says the taller, getting back to the subject. “Up a floor, room six.”

He froze at the word post and barely heard which room. “Post?”

“Yeah, ECT was scheduled today. You’ll probably make it just in time to help roll him down.” The taller orderly glances down the hall at a yell. “Shit, McCullen again.”

“Good luck,” is all the good bye he gets from the shorter man, a nod thrown his direction before the two disappear around the corner.

It leaves him frozen there, wondering what the hell post means, and ECT. He knows he’s heard that acronym before, has heard it from Murdock once, just once, maybe twice. And never in a tone that is particularly admirable or excited. Post he does know, however, and he knows the infirmary is on the third floor. Post means post-surgery, or procedure, so what exactly was done?

The elevator can’t move fast enough to keep up with his mind, leaving him with fifteen long seconds to wonder what has happened in the past six days.

What has happened to his pilot? Maybe his nightmares got worse, because the man was probably dreaming of ‘Nam again, and those cages and the bugs and compounded with the fact he was in that damn straitjacket probably made the post-dream panic that much more acute and jarring. Or perhaps Decker said something to make the man retreat. Got too close to the truth for Murdock to be able to do anything but lose himself in a persona or retreat back into catatonia. He hoped to God not the last one, because that one is always so damn hard to break and one day he’s afraid he won’t be able to coax his man back out…

The doors ping open and almost shut before he realizes he’s there and he sprints out in time to almost run into Decker.

The Colonel eyes him critically, as tall and long faced as ever and wearing a soured grape expression that really only goes well with Decker’s frozen features. “Watch it.”

“Sorry,” he says, manages to make it sound genuine, particularly as Captain Crane steps out of room six as well. “Was just called up to help wheel down room six’s patient.”

Decker regards him critically at that, pausing in turning to Crane to eye him again. Those ice blue eyes linger on his for a long moment, pinning him there and scanning. “I didn’t call anyone.”

He’s ready, though, because between this man is his man, and fuck him if he’s going to back down now. “Might have been a miscall, sir.” And then, being sure to jingle his keys, he turns. “I’ll just head off then.”

“Sir, the other orderly did leave.” Crane gives Decker a look then glances at the key ring on Face’s belt.

Decker gets the hint. “Fine. Come back here, kid.”

It’s so different how Decker says kid versus how Hannibal says it. But he hides his revulsion to step in to room six, where he has to try, harder, to not freeze and say a string of words that would have his knuckles hit with more rulers than the world could produce.

The two MPs stand aside to let him through, Crane staring at his mask and blurting out, “Do I need one of those?” as he makes his way to room six.

“Oh, no, sorry, this is just for me, have a tickle in my throat, just allergies I think.” And they seem to buy it as he steps into room six.

He’s found Murdock, just not how he expected to find him.

Or wanted to.

On a gurney, hospital cotton hanging loosely off his lanky form, the pilot is being unhooked from a monitor of some sort by a nurse. But there’s no jovial bantering with the nurse, as Murdock is known to do. There’s no sound from the pilot at all because the man is knocked out cold, brown eyes closed, body still against the white sheets. Or, he thinks still until he steps in further and is witness to the tremors going through the pilot’s body, shaking his arms and legs slightly, involuntarily, briefly but strong enough to make Decker and Crane pause.

“He still charged?” To Decker’s credit, he sounds somewhat concerned.

“No, no, it’s just an after-effect.” Face doesn’t know how the nurse can say that so casually, with such ease, because right now he wants to shake someone and scream at them, ask them what they’ve done to the pilot. “They’ll be gone by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Will he be able to talk then?” He wants to kick Decker, he really does.

“Yes, sir.” The nurse doesn’t look too happy at that, but its then that she notices him and steps aside. “He’s ready to go back to his room now.”

It’s his cue to move and stop staring like the horrified statue he is. So he silently makes his way over to the head of the gurney where he can see that whatever was done was done while the pilot was under drugs. Possibly heavy ones, considering the amount of drool the pilot is producing. He’s seen this before, when the pilot is pumped full of benzos and tranqs, remembers the first time, continuously running first his handkerchief than a towel over the pilot’s mouth and kissing his forehead, telling him it’s ok, it’s all right, yes, he’ll still kiss him later.

But it’s the fact that pilot continues to suffer from tremors all the way down the hall, in the elevator, and to his room on the second floor.

“I want someone on post every hour until he wakes up,” Decker orders as they get to the second floor. “Let me know when he wakes up and can talk.”

“Sir, are you sure we aren’t pushing too hard?” Crane asks, quiet, a glance to Murdock’s prone form that leaves Face wanting to pat the aide on the back.

Decker is silent for a moment as well, a glance thrown at the pilot too, before he relents, glancing at Face. “You. You’ve seen this before. What do you think is the appropriate amount of time for him to recover?”

He wants to say months, years, don’t ever come back. But he instead says the highest number he thinks he can get away with. “Three days.”

To his surprise, Decker nods. “They did say there might be some memory loss. Three days should be enough for him to get it back.”

And as the elevator slides shut after one last command to Crane to let him know, Face finds that he just wants to throw up somewhere, preferably on Decker’s shoes. What the hell happened? What is this? Why hasn’t he seen this before? What kind of memory loss are they talking about?

But he has to stay together because Crane is turning to him now, expecting him to lead on. So he does, hiding his shaking by gripping the gurney tightly.

Crane is silent as he manages to open the door and get Murdock in, and it’s with Crane’s help that he gets Murdock off the gurney and onto the bed, the pilot’s eyes moving under his lids and limbs stirring, though not enough to beat the drugs.

“Why is he doing that?” Crane asks, not nastily, just curious, as Murdock shifts, coughing enough to send spit dripping down his chin.

He doesn’t know, but he does what he does best in situations like this. Lies. “It’s normal for this procedure.” And it gives him an excuse to fish around for a towel, grabbing the one from the gurney to wipe off the pilot’s face gently.

“Huh,” is all Crane says.

Remembering the worry in the Captain’s voice, he clears his throat and hopes it is still there. “I should probably stay and monitor him. Just in case he wakes up disoriented.”

Which he could, he doesn’t know.

“Disoriented like violent? Should he be back in that jacket?” Crane asks and Face resists lecturing him that crazy does not mean violent. Asshole.

“No, no, he’ll be fine without it. We just want to make sure there aren’t any other side effects.” And he gives Crane a careful look. “We don’t want him to have complications with no one in here…”

Crane picks up on the implied fact that it would be his fault if that did happen, and he relents. “Whatever you think is best. I’ll just be outside. Knock when you want out.”

And the Captain is gone out the door, anxious to get out, shutting the heavy metal behind him as the window slides shut, leaving him in relative silence.

It’s now that he allows himself to take the mask off, push the gurney to the side and kneel on the floor by Murdock’s bed, hands cradling the pilot’s head and neck as he leans in, shaking. “Buddy? Baby, are you there?”

No answer, though he can feel another tremor shake through Murdock and it’s all he can do to not completely freak out and shake the man awake. Instead, he takes a deep breath, tells himself Murdock is ok, there’s a pulse, he’s breathing, the drool is manageable enough, and with another pass of the towel he leans in to kiss the pilot’s forehead. “It’s ok, baby, I’ve got you.”

And he does, shifting to smooth back a few stray hairs and to hold a lanky, cold hand as he waits for those brown eyes to open and tell him everything will be ok.

***

Part Three

Comments

[mad-persephone.livejournal.com]

Dude.

I'll leave a review when I am more coherent.

Have I told you lately that I love you? lol.

phantasmagorical, m'dear.

[purrslink.livejournal.com]

Haha, no worries. I have most of this done except for the last part, and technically it could be called done. Though I'm assuming you want to see how that proposal goes... ;) Will finish this tonight after school and post the rest of it on my journal and the meme.