FIC: Concessions, Chapter 3 (WIP)
SUMMARY: Murdock-centric fic. Based on a prompt on the A-Team Kink Meme. How does the team handle the serious side of Murdock's mental illnesses?
FANDOM: A-Team movieverse
RATING: M
WARNINGS: Language, mild violence
(PART ONE) (PART TWO)
Hannibal wasn’t surprised when BA entered his office (without knocking). He had hoped to at least have the chance to finish his first cup of coffee before the inevitable confrontation, but that would just be too merciful of the universe, wouldn’t it? That was something they didn’t teach you in Colonel school, Hannibal reflected: The fact that any and all skills, intuition and nous you had would have to be utilised to their full potential on three hours’ sleep, no food and half a cup of weak, gritty coffee.
Still, no one said Colonelling would be easy. Hannibal closed the file in front of him and took as big a mouthful of coffee as possible without choking himself or bulging his cheeks like a fish, which wouldn't suit the commanding air he was going for at all. BA didn’t sit, but rested his hands on the back of the chair facing Hannibal’s desk, meeting the Colonel’s gaze sternly.
“Crazy fool ain’t right in the head,” BA said solemnly.
Hannibal couldn’t deny it, not before and certainly not after last night (this morning? Why wasn’t there a curfew for these sorts of problems?). He said nothing. BA had known about the pilot’s condition when they’d appropriated Murdock from the psychiatric wing of the VA hospital.
BA scowled at Hannibal’s lack of response. “Crazy fool,” he said again, “is crazy. Sir.” BA sighed and broke eye contact with his Colonel. “Look, I appreciate everything you done for me, getting me reenlisted, taking a chance on me, giving me the opportunity to serve my country again the way I do best. And I appreciate the fact that you’re just trying to do the same with the f- Captain Murdock. But, sir. With all due respect, and you know that ain’t something I give out lightly. Are you sure you know what you’re doing here? Because I gotta be honest. I ain’t sure I can work with someone like that.”
Hannibal considered his words carefully before replying. “I respect your honestly, Corporal, and I understand your concerns.” He held up a hand before BA could speak, knowing the other man thought he was being fed a line. “I mean that. We’re going to be a small group working in close quarters, and I always want you to feel that you can come to me and that I’ll take your opinions into consideration. I’m not running a dictatorship here.
“However, on the issue of Captain Murdock, I do still believe that he’s the best man for our unit. I read his file and interviewed his doctors extensively before making this decision and it wasn’t made lightly. I was aware that special considerations would need to be made, and I’m doing everything in my power to ensure that his... condition is properly managed, for the good of the team.” Hannibal levelled his gaze at BA. “I would never put my men at risk, Baracus. If Murdock proves to be a liability, then he’s off the team. But I don’t think we’re there yet.”
BA sighed and finally dropped into the small office chair facing Hannibal’s desk. “I wondered why you had a syringe full of sedatives just lying around,” he muttered.
Hannibal smiled faintly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “That was one of the contingency plans,” he agreed, the formality of Colonel Smith replaced by the Hannibal BA was more familiar with. “I have to say, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to use it. Is he still asleep?” The dose he’d been given should keep Murdock out for at least five hours, which meant Hannibal had about an hour before he had to deal with that part of the equation.
BA nodded. “Yeah, he and the Faceman are still passed out. If I didn’t know, I’d say they BOTH been drugged.” He eyed Hannibal suspiciously, as if not putting it past him to take out Face with a blowdart filled with rhino tranqs from his bed.
“I’m glad the Lieutenant finally got some sleep,” Hannibal replied evenly, happy to keep the fear of sudden and unexpected sedation in BA’s mind. Face said Hannibal enjoyed playing up to his maverick reputation far too much. Maybe he was right.
“Mmm.” BA didn’t seem interested in pursuing that line of thought. He leant forward in his chair. “Hannibal, you got an angle on this, right? I mean, you know something about this guy that makes you trust him, makes you think this is gonna work out. Yeah?” It wasn’t pleading. It was a request for confirmation.
Hannibal would have to be careful here. He owed his team the truth, but he also owed Murdock confidentiality. He LEGALLY owed Murdock confidentiality. He could get into a lot of hot water by discussing the contents of someone else’s files. “Yes,” he allowed.
BA stared at him. Hannibal met his gaze unflinchingly. Finally, the big man leaned back. “Okay. Okay. And you say you got a way to handle him. To handle any crazy shit he might pull.”
“If it compromises a mission or the team’s safety, absolutely.” Hannibal would in no way accept blame for shit being interpreted as crazy if someone was simply following a direct order from Hannibal himself. In those instances, crazy was relative (and the adjective was used far too often by alarmist superiors, in Hannibal’s opinion).
BA nodded. “Okay man. Okay. You say you got this, I trust you. No idea why, but I trust you. Just know, if this gets out of hand, I’m out, sir. I didn’t sign on to play nursemaid or shrink or babysitter. I don’t wanna have to be looking over my shoulder ‘cause I can’t trust the guys on my own team, either.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Hannibal replied.
BA seemed satisfied with that, and excused himself to the mess hall. As the door swung shut behind him, Hannibal rubbed his eyes. Well. That had gone better than expected.
...Which was a stupid, foolish thing to think, because instantly there was another knock on his door, and here was Face, looking puffy-eyed, exhausted and clearly needing to talk. Hannibal was going to have to deal with this whole thing before his eggs, wasn’t he? He settled for pulling out a cigar, lighting it as his Lieutenant slumped into the recently-vacated chair without asking.
Face had obviously made a cursory attempt to look his usual crisp, well-presented self, but even a shower and clean clothes couldn’t hide the fatigue from his countenance. The bags under his eyes were tinged purple, and he was fiddling with his hands distractedly. Just looking at him made Hannibal want another cup of coffee, disturbingly crunchy though it was.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
Unlike BA, Face didn’t seem to have anything prepared. That wasn’t unusual. The younger man often sought his Colonel out in his rare moments of uncertainty, when he needed a sounding board for ideas or reassurance or just a talk to distract him from whatever nerves or thoughts of self-doubt were rattling through his brain. Hannibal didn’t mind. After two years of serving together, he and Face were more like friends, brothers, compadres... Whatever you wanted to call it. They didn’t have formal military boundaries to their relationship, and that was fine with both of them. They found each other easy to be with, easy to like, and that made it easy to work together. It made them care about the missions they were on together, because they had a vested interest in each other’s welfare and, by extension, the success of the operation. Whatever other people might have said, their unorthodox relationship was never a hindrance. If anything, it was an asset that neither could have predicted.
After a few moments, Face spoke. “Is he going to be okay?” he asked lowly, his voice rough from lack of sleep and energy.
Hannibal frowned. What a loaded question. Christ, kid, don’t make it easy on me... “The sedative I gave him was mild, and recommended to me by his doctor at the VA so it wouldn’t react badly with any other meds that he’s taking,” Hannibal answered diplomatically. Facts first. No point in speculation at this point, not when Murdock hadn’t woken up yet and Hannibal wasn’t even certain what Face was asking. “He should be up within the hour. I saw you bandaged his hand.”
Face didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “No, I mean, yeah I fixed up his hand, but Hannibal. I mean. What was that? What happened there? Is that... Is that normal for him? Will he just... bounce back from that? You saw him, his moods were all over the place; it was like he didn’t recognise us. When he wakes up, what will he be like? How’s he gonna... What’ll it do to him, going back?”
For a moment, Hannibal was confused. Then it hit. “Face, Murdock’s not going back to the hospital.”
Face stared blankly, having babbled out all his questions and now unable to deal with this unexpected revelation. “He... What? Why not?”
There was a strange tone in Face’s question. “Do you WANT him to go back?”
Again, Face seemed at a loss for words. His mouth hung open as he attempted to formulate a response. If the conversation hadn’t been so serious, Hannibal might have enjoyed seeing his normally smooth and unflappable Lieutenant flabbergasted by a simple lack of sleep and psychotic episode. “Isn’t the hospital the best place for him?” Face responded finally.
Hannibal settled back into his chair, chewing his cigar. Face liked Murdock. Hannibal was glad. The Colonel and Face’s unusual friendship, as well as Face’s tendency for bluffing, showboating and generally presenting only select parts of his personality had meant that other officers were often wary of approaching the conman in a social capacity. Face had never seemed bothered: As long as there was a steady stream of attractive women in his life, he was content to have Hannibal as his main comrade on base.
But with the arrival of the pilot and BA came new people to Face’s working and social circles. People closer to his own age, people with similarly chequered histories with the service, people who were FRESH. Face, god bless the kid, had put aside his reservations about BA and Murdock (and he’d had plenty, after that first encounter in Mexico) and used this time in limbo, as they all waited for the go-ahead to take on missions as an official unit, to try and figure out what Hannibal saw in the two men. He’d started fairly formally, simply showing them around base and offering to provide them with anything special they might need. Then BA had asked for “a new damn van” and Murdock had offered to fix the other one (“I’m real handy with Scotch tape and a glue gun! When they let me have a glue gun and someone’s watching, cos I’m not supposed to use scissors or electrical equipment without supervision”). Face had laughed because he didn’t know if it was a joke or not, and Murdock laughed too. BA shook his head in exasperation, and the ice was, if not broken, then a little cracked.
A week later, BA had come back from a workout in the weights area to find a strange, small lump in his bed. He’d pulled back the covers and picked up the object resting on his pillow. It fit neatly in the palm of his hand, and was made from a toilet roll, some dirty nuts and bolts, part of a plastic water bottle, a couple of shoelaces and a lot of Scotch tape. It was lopsided and haphazardly cobbled together, but it was very clearly a tiny model of BA’s old van. Murdock must have talked to Face, because even the bright stripe down the side was there, scribbled in red ink. As BA turned it over, he’d seen a post-it note stuck to the side.
Temporary replacement, it read. Sorry about the real one. -HM Murdock
As far as Hannibal knew, BA had never said anything to Murdock about the gift, but it was still sitting on the small table beside his bed. After that, his comments towards the pilot seemed to get less biting, though he was still gruff as anything and swore up a blue streak anytime anyone mentioned letting Murdock fly him anywhere.
These boys definitely had the potential to be something great, reflected Hannibal. It was just a matter of getting all the teething problems ironed out. Could you iron a teething problem? Did you iron the kinks out of something, or the wrinkles? What did you do with teething problems? He definitely needed more coffee.
Meanwhile, Face was waiting for an answer. This was a tricky one. Was Murdock better off in the hospital than in active service? Or more to the point, was he better off in the hospital than anywhere else? Hannibal didn’t believe so, but his opinion was made up of 60 percent gut feeling and 40 percent confidential information. He hoped the intangible 60 percent would be enough for Face, for now.
“I don’t think Murdock belongs in a hospital,” Hannibal told Face honestly. “I think he has problems, problems that are serious and that may have been exacerbated by his coming here so suddenly, but I think they’re problems that can be managed. I’m in contact with his doctors from the hospital. Murdock has access to all the medications he needs and the base counsellor if he has to talk to someone. And he’ll have us.” He stared at Face pointedly. “Like we helped him last night. He won’t be on his own.”
Face shook his head, looking annoyed with Hannibal. “I didn’t say he’d be on his own here,” he argued. “I asked if he’d be BETTER in the hospital. Shit, Hannibal, you were there last night. The guy doesn’t have ordinary problems. Meds, a counsellor... Fuck, I’VE taken Ativan before a mission. This isn’t run of the mill anxiety or shellshock. This is... I mean, fuck. What does he even have, anyway?”
“You know I can’t tell you that,” answered Hannibal, just like Face knew he would. “That’s confidential and if Murdock wants to talk about it he will, but you aren’t going to push him.”
“Well of course not, Hannibal, jeez.” Face ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He was the only man Hannibal knew who groomed himself when he was stressed. “Just, honestly, if he can’t handle the move from the hospital to here, then how will he handle active service? Not much routine once you’re off base. And how can we trust him to fly us and be all there when we need him to be if we can’t trust him to go to sleep without mutilating himself?”
“He was hardly mutilated, Face.”
“That’s not the point! That’s not normal. And we’re not expecting normal things from him: We’re expecting top-class, secret service Ranger quality shit from this guy.”
“You know he’s the best, Face,” said Hannibal patiently. “We’ve been through this.”
Face choked back a grunt of annoyance. “Yes, he can physically fly. I saw that. But what about mentally? Let’s say he CAN get through missions and fly through bombs and missile attacks without breaking a sweat. What about afterwards? What about at night when he’s rubbing his skin raw and freaking out that we’re going to kill him? We can’t watch him like they could in a hospital, unless you want to start taking shifts at sentry duty at the foot of his bed. We can’t know what he needs in a situation like that, because we’re not trained or experienced like doctors and nurses. We might miss something, or do the wrong thing, and make him worse. Is that something you want to take on? Is it fair to MURDOCK to take that on?”
Ah, here was the crux of it, finally. Face wasn’t just worried about the team, his own safety or his own peace of mind. He was concerned about Murdock. Hannibal knew it was selfish, in its own way, but he was incredibly pleased that the kid had found someone he could relate to, and hell if he was letting it go without a fight. And he honestly did believe that Murdock was better off in his team than anywhere else. Period. The man had a gift, not just for flying, but in his mind. The thing that made him “insane” was tinted with true genius and Hannibal was intrigued by Murdock’s off-centre perspective. It would be valuable to have someone in briefings who could come at things from another angle, provide new ideas and inspiration. Hannibal was greatly looking forward to it.
“Face, Murdock was given a choice about this,” he countered. “He knew what joining our team meant and what would be expected and required of him. He says he can handle it. We at least owe him the opportunity to prove it.”
“Is Murdock in the position to decide what’s best for him?” As soon as he said it, Face knew he’d stepped over a line. He didn’t back down though. It was out there now, and as much as he liked Murdock, it needed to be said.
Hannibal’s lips thinned around his cigar. “You mean, is he capable of giving consent?” he asked.
“Don’t be glib,” Face snapped. “You didn’t ask for his consent before knocking him unconscious last night. He’s okay to decide to fly and work with you, but not okay to calm himself down in a freakout? So, what, he only has a say in things when what he says benefits YOU? It’s okay to exploit the mentally ill as long as they’ve got some skills you can-”
Hannibal slammed a hand on his desk. “Lieutenant, you’re on thin ice,” he said harshly. “I have never and will never exploit anyone for this team, or for any other purpose. You know me well enough to know that. Now I’m going to give you some leeway over that outburst because I know you’re operating on about half an hour’s sleep and this is a stressful situation for all of us, but I don’t ever want to hear backchat like that from you again. I give you a hell of a lot of liberties in this team, Face. Don’t start taking my respect for granted.”
Face, looking suitably chagrined, opened his mouth to speak. His wasn’t the next voice to cut through the tension in the room, however.
“Um,” said Murdock from the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”
PART 4
FANDOM: A-Team movieverse
RATING: M
WARNINGS: Language, mild violence
(PART ONE) (PART TWO)
Hannibal wasn’t surprised when BA entered his office (without knocking). He had hoped to at least have the chance to finish his first cup of coffee before the inevitable confrontation, but that would just be too merciful of the universe, wouldn’t it? That was something they didn’t teach you in Colonel school, Hannibal reflected: The fact that any and all skills, intuition and nous you had would have to be utilised to their full potential on three hours’ sleep, no food and half a cup of weak, gritty coffee.
Still, no one said Colonelling would be easy. Hannibal closed the file in front of him and took as big a mouthful of coffee as possible without choking himself or bulging his cheeks like a fish, which wouldn't suit the commanding air he was going for at all. BA didn’t sit, but rested his hands on the back of the chair facing Hannibal’s desk, meeting the Colonel’s gaze sternly.
“Crazy fool ain’t right in the head,” BA said solemnly.
Hannibal couldn’t deny it, not before and certainly not after last night (this morning? Why wasn’t there a curfew for these sorts of problems?). He said nothing. BA had known about the pilot’s condition when they’d appropriated Murdock from the psychiatric wing of the VA hospital.
BA scowled at Hannibal’s lack of response. “Crazy fool,” he said again, “is crazy. Sir.” BA sighed and broke eye contact with his Colonel. “Look, I appreciate everything you done for me, getting me reenlisted, taking a chance on me, giving me the opportunity to serve my country again the way I do best. And I appreciate the fact that you’re just trying to do the same with the f- Captain Murdock. But, sir. With all due respect, and you know that ain’t something I give out lightly. Are you sure you know what you’re doing here? Because I gotta be honest. I ain’t sure I can work with someone like that.”
Hannibal considered his words carefully before replying. “I respect your honestly, Corporal, and I understand your concerns.” He held up a hand before BA could speak, knowing the other man thought he was being fed a line. “I mean that. We’re going to be a small group working in close quarters, and I always want you to feel that you can come to me and that I’ll take your opinions into consideration. I’m not running a dictatorship here.
“However, on the issue of Captain Murdock, I do still believe that he’s the best man for our unit. I read his file and interviewed his doctors extensively before making this decision and it wasn’t made lightly. I was aware that special considerations would need to be made, and I’m doing everything in my power to ensure that his... condition is properly managed, for the good of the team.” Hannibal levelled his gaze at BA. “I would never put my men at risk, Baracus. If Murdock proves to be a liability, then he’s off the team. But I don’t think we’re there yet.”
BA sighed and finally dropped into the small office chair facing Hannibal’s desk. “I wondered why you had a syringe full of sedatives just lying around,” he muttered.
Hannibal smiled faintly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “That was one of the contingency plans,” he agreed, the formality of Colonel Smith replaced by the Hannibal BA was more familiar with. “I have to say, I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to use it. Is he still asleep?” The dose he’d been given should keep Murdock out for at least five hours, which meant Hannibal had about an hour before he had to deal with that part of the equation.
BA nodded. “Yeah, he and the Faceman are still passed out. If I didn’t know, I’d say they BOTH been drugged.” He eyed Hannibal suspiciously, as if not putting it past him to take out Face with a blowdart filled with rhino tranqs from his bed.
“I’m glad the Lieutenant finally got some sleep,” Hannibal replied evenly, happy to keep the fear of sudden and unexpected sedation in BA’s mind. Face said Hannibal enjoyed playing up to his maverick reputation far too much. Maybe he was right.
“Mmm.” BA didn’t seem interested in pursuing that line of thought. He leant forward in his chair. “Hannibal, you got an angle on this, right? I mean, you know something about this guy that makes you trust him, makes you think this is gonna work out. Yeah?” It wasn’t pleading. It was a request for confirmation.
Hannibal would have to be careful here. He owed his team the truth, but he also owed Murdock confidentiality. He LEGALLY owed Murdock confidentiality. He could get into a lot of hot water by discussing the contents of someone else’s files. “Yes,” he allowed.
BA stared at him. Hannibal met his gaze unflinchingly. Finally, the big man leaned back. “Okay. Okay. And you say you got a way to handle him. To handle any crazy shit he might pull.”
“If it compromises a mission or the team’s safety, absolutely.” Hannibal would in no way accept blame for shit being interpreted as crazy if someone was simply following a direct order from Hannibal himself. In those instances, crazy was relative (and the adjective was used far too often by alarmist superiors, in Hannibal’s opinion).
BA nodded. “Okay man. Okay. You say you got this, I trust you. No idea why, but I trust you. Just know, if this gets out of hand, I’m out, sir. I didn’t sign on to play nursemaid or shrink or babysitter. I don’t wanna have to be looking over my shoulder ‘cause I can’t trust the guys on my own team, either.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Hannibal replied.
BA seemed satisfied with that, and excused himself to the mess hall. As the door swung shut behind him, Hannibal rubbed his eyes. Well. That had gone better than expected.
...Which was a stupid, foolish thing to think, because instantly there was another knock on his door, and here was Face, looking puffy-eyed, exhausted and clearly needing to talk. Hannibal was going to have to deal with this whole thing before his eggs, wasn’t he? He settled for pulling out a cigar, lighting it as his Lieutenant slumped into the recently-vacated chair without asking.
Face had obviously made a cursory attempt to look his usual crisp, well-presented self, but even a shower and clean clothes couldn’t hide the fatigue from his countenance. The bags under his eyes were tinged purple, and he was fiddling with his hands distractedly. Just looking at him made Hannibal want another cup of coffee, disturbingly crunchy though it was.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
Unlike BA, Face didn’t seem to have anything prepared. That wasn’t unusual. The younger man often sought his Colonel out in his rare moments of uncertainty, when he needed a sounding board for ideas or reassurance or just a talk to distract him from whatever nerves or thoughts of self-doubt were rattling through his brain. Hannibal didn’t mind. After two years of serving together, he and Face were more like friends, brothers, compadres... Whatever you wanted to call it. They didn’t have formal military boundaries to their relationship, and that was fine with both of them. They found each other easy to be with, easy to like, and that made it easy to work together. It made them care about the missions they were on together, because they had a vested interest in each other’s welfare and, by extension, the success of the operation. Whatever other people might have said, their unorthodox relationship was never a hindrance. If anything, it was an asset that neither could have predicted.
After a few moments, Face spoke. “Is he going to be okay?” he asked lowly, his voice rough from lack of sleep and energy.
Hannibal frowned. What a loaded question. Christ, kid, don’t make it easy on me... “The sedative I gave him was mild, and recommended to me by his doctor at the VA so it wouldn’t react badly with any other meds that he’s taking,” Hannibal answered diplomatically. Facts first. No point in speculation at this point, not when Murdock hadn’t woken up yet and Hannibal wasn’t even certain what Face was asking. “He should be up within the hour. I saw you bandaged his hand.”
Face didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “No, I mean, yeah I fixed up his hand, but Hannibal. I mean. What was that? What happened there? Is that... Is that normal for him? Will he just... bounce back from that? You saw him, his moods were all over the place; it was like he didn’t recognise us. When he wakes up, what will he be like? How’s he gonna... What’ll it do to him, going back?”
For a moment, Hannibal was confused. Then it hit. “Face, Murdock’s not going back to the hospital.”
Face stared blankly, having babbled out all his questions and now unable to deal with this unexpected revelation. “He... What? Why not?”
There was a strange tone in Face’s question. “Do you WANT him to go back?”
Again, Face seemed at a loss for words. His mouth hung open as he attempted to formulate a response. If the conversation hadn’t been so serious, Hannibal might have enjoyed seeing his normally smooth and unflappable Lieutenant flabbergasted by a simple lack of sleep and psychotic episode. “Isn’t the hospital the best place for him?” Face responded finally.
Hannibal settled back into his chair, chewing his cigar. Face liked Murdock. Hannibal was glad. The Colonel and Face’s unusual friendship, as well as Face’s tendency for bluffing, showboating and generally presenting only select parts of his personality had meant that other officers were often wary of approaching the conman in a social capacity. Face had never seemed bothered: As long as there was a steady stream of attractive women in his life, he was content to have Hannibal as his main comrade on base.
But with the arrival of the pilot and BA came new people to Face’s working and social circles. People closer to his own age, people with similarly chequered histories with the service, people who were FRESH. Face, god bless the kid, had put aside his reservations about BA and Murdock (and he’d had plenty, after that first encounter in Mexico) and used this time in limbo, as they all waited for the go-ahead to take on missions as an official unit, to try and figure out what Hannibal saw in the two men. He’d started fairly formally, simply showing them around base and offering to provide them with anything special they might need. Then BA had asked for “a new damn van” and Murdock had offered to fix the other one (“I’m real handy with Scotch tape and a glue gun! When they let me have a glue gun and someone’s watching, cos I’m not supposed to use scissors or electrical equipment without supervision”). Face had laughed because he didn’t know if it was a joke or not, and Murdock laughed too. BA shook his head in exasperation, and the ice was, if not broken, then a little cracked.
A week later, BA had come back from a workout in the weights area to find a strange, small lump in his bed. He’d pulled back the covers and picked up the object resting on his pillow. It fit neatly in the palm of his hand, and was made from a toilet roll, some dirty nuts and bolts, part of a plastic water bottle, a couple of shoelaces and a lot of Scotch tape. It was lopsided and haphazardly cobbled together, but it was very clearly a tiny model of BA’s old van. Murdock must have talked to Face, because even the bright stripe down the side was there, scribbled in red ink. As BA turned it over, he’d seen a post-it note stuck to the side.
Temporary replacement, it read. Sorry about the real one. -HM Murdock
As far as Hannibal knew, BA had never said anything to Murdock about the gift, but it was still sitting on the small table beside his bed. After that, his comments towards the pilot seemed to get less biting, though he was still gruff as anything and swore up a blue streak anytime anyone mentioned letting Murdock fly him anywhere.
These boys definitely had the potential to be something great, reflected Hannibal. It was just a matter of getting all the teething problems ironed out. Could you iron a teething problem? Did you iron the kinks out of something, or the wrinkles? What did you do with teething problems? He definitely needed more coffee.
Meanwhile, Face was waiting for an answer. This was a tricky one. Was Murdock better off in the hospital than in active service? Or more to the point, was he better off in the hospital than anywhere else? Hannibal didn’t believe so, but his opinion was made up of 60 percent gut feeling and 40 percent confidential information. He hoped the intangible 60 percent would be enough for Face, for now.
“I don’t think Murdock belongs in a hospital,” Hannibal told Face honestly. “I think he has problems, problems that are serious and that may have been exacerbated by his coming here so suddenly, but I think they’re problems that can be managed. I’m in contact with his doctors from the hospital. Murdock has access to all the medications he needs and the base counsellor if he has to talk to someone. And he’ll have us.” He stared at Face pointedly. “Like we helped him last night. He won’t be on his own.”
Face shook his head, looking annoyed with Hannibal. “I didn’t say he’d be on his own here,” he argued. “I asked if he’d be BETTER in the hospital. Shit, Hannibal, you were there last night. The guy doesn’t have ordinary problems. Meds, a counsellor... Fuck, I’VE taken Ativan before a mission. This isn’t run of the mill anxiety or shellshock. This is... I mean, fuck. What does he even have, anyway?”
“You know I can’t tell you that,” answered Hannibal, just like Face knew he would. “That’s confidential and if Murdock wants to talk about it he will, but you aren’t going to push him.”
“Well of course not, Hannibal, jeez.” Face ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He was the only man Hannibal knew who groomed himself when he was stressed. “Just, honestly, if he can’t handle the move from the hospital to here, then how will he handle active service? Not much routine once you’re off base. And how can we trust him to fly us and be all there when we need him to be if we can’t trust him to go to sleep without mutilating himself?”
“He was hardly mutilated, Face.”
“That’s not the point! That’s not normal. And we’re not expecting normal things from him: We’re expecting top-class, secret service Ranger quality shit from this guy.”
“You know he’s the best, Face,” said Hannibal patiently. “We’ve been through this.”
Face choked back a grunt of annoyance. “Yes, he can physically fly. I saw that. But what about mentally? Let’s say he CAN get through missions and fly through bombs and missile attacks without breaking a sweat. What about afterwards? What about at night when he’s rubbing his skin raw and freaking out that we’re going to kill him? We can’t watch him like they could in a hospital, unless you want to start taking shifts at sentry duty at the foot of his bed. We can’t know what he needs in a situation like that, because we’re not trained or experienced like doctors and nurses. We might miss something, or do the wrong thing, and make him worse. Is that something you want to take on? Is it fair to MURDOCK to take that on?”
Ah, here was the crux of it, finally. Face wasn’t just worried about the team, his own safety or his own peace of mind. He was concerned about Murdock. Hannibal knew it was selfish, in its own way, but he was incredibly pleased that the kid had found someone he could relate to, and hell if he was letting it go without a fight. And he honestly did believe that Murdock was better off in his team than anywhere else. Period. The man had a gift, not just for flying, but in his mind. The thing that made him “insane” was tinted with true genius and Hannibal was intrigued by Murdock’s off-centre perspective. It would be valuable to have someone in briefings who could come at things from another angle, provide new ideas and inspiration. Hannibal was greatly looking forward to it.
“Face, Murdock was given a choice about this,” he countered. “He knew what joining our team meant and what would be expected and required of him. He says he can handle it. We at least owe him the opportunity to prove it.”
“Is Murdock in the position to decide what’s best for him?” As soon as he said it, Face knew he’d stepped over a line. He didn’t back down though. It was out there now, and as much as he liked Murdock, it needed to be said.
Hannibal’s lips thinned around his cigar. “You mean, is he capable of giving consent?” he asked.
“Don’t be glib,” Face snapped. “You didn’t ask for his consent before knocking him unconscious last night. He’s okay to decide to fly and work with you, but not okay to calm himself down in a freakout? So, what, he only has a say in things when what he says benefits YOU? It’s okay to exploit the mentally ill as long as they’ve got some skills you can-”
Hannibal slammed a hand on his desk. “Lieutenant, you’re on thin ice,” he said harshly. “I have never and will never exploit anyone for this team, or for any other purpose. You know me well enough to know that. Now I’m going to give you some leeway over that outburst because I know you’re operating on about half an hour’s sleep and this is a stressful situation for all of us, but I don’t ever want to hear backchat like that from you again. I give you a hell of a lot of liberties in this team, Face. Don’t start taking my respect for granted.”
Face, looking suitably chagrined, opened his mouth to speak. His wasn’t the next voice to cut through the tension in the room, however.
“Um,” said Murdock from the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”
PART 4