Christmas With Murdock
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"Thanks for the invite, Colonel, but I already have plans for the holidays. … No, I'm sure. … Y'all have fun."
Murdock hung up the phone slowly, listening intently to the sound the handset made as it settled back into the cradle. Snick-tunk. He lifted the handset again and gently replaced it. Snick-tundk. The third time he merely rolled the receiver on its edge without it losing contact with the rest of the phone. He heard the thummmm of the dial tone and eased it down again. Snick-gnk. He mentally replayed the sound he was interested in. Snick. The soft slide. Snick. The tiny buried vowel sound. Snick. The final hard consonant. Snick.
It could be a screen door shutting on the Texas sunset. Snick. An electric lamp being turned on against the stealthy dusk. Snick. Or a rocking chair murmuring against the floorboards of the back porch. Snick. A thousand sounds in microcosm. Snick.
He unfolded the letter he'd written, handling the thin, onion-skin paper carefully, and read the words one more time. Grandma would approve of my penmanship, at least, he thought with a half-smile as he refolded it and slid it into the waiting envelope. Murdock licked the seal lightly and pressed the moistened flaps together. He rearranged the bottles of prescription medication again then leaned the missive to the rest of the team against them.
They'd see it when they returned from their holiday travels.
Murdock swallowed the last of the pills he would need and almost greedily drank the tall glass of water, rinsing away the taste of the glue from the envelope as well as the medication. He stood up and took his leather jacket off, carefully arranging it over the back of his chair at the kitchen table. His dark blue ball cap was stuffed into a pocket. For a moment, he simply stood, fingers running over the shoulders of the jacket and the wooden chair underneath it, feeling the slight chill on his bare arms, the jittery energy running through his bones already.
Best be gettin' it done, he thought finally and turned toward his bedroom to start his own journey.
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"Grandma?" He pushed open the white-painted wood door with a smile and stepped into the warm, yellow kitchen. The screen door closed with a snick behind him.
"H.M.! What are you doing here?" The delight and surprise in her voice was evident and she hurriedly wiped her floured hands on her faded apron, the peach and pink flowers barely discernible on the thin fabric.
"Just wanted to spend Christmas with you again." He paused, enfolding the elderly woman in his arms, his height allowing him to rest his chin on the top of her head. He'd been able to do that since he was fifteen. That first time – he remembered it so clearly – it had been a shock but it quickly became a point of pride to him, that he had been grown enough, man enough to hug her the same way Grandpa did. The stroke had taken most of him away not long afterward and Murdock's ability to comfort her had softened the inevitable blow.
"Storm's comin' in," she warned lightly. "It might make leavin' home again difficult."
"I – I know, Grandma," he said, swallowing hard. "I'm willing to risk it to spend time with you." One last time.
"That uniform looks good on you, boy," she said with a twinkle in her brown eyes, so much like his own. "Stand up straight and let me – that's better." She inspected him from head to toe, drinking in the sight of him, memorizing every line of his face, every crease in his clothing, every colorful ribbon gleaming on his chest. "Is that a new one?" she asked, caressing one citation lightly with her gnarled fingertips.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Another Purple Heart?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Bad one?"
He paused, mouth dry, remembering, before he answered. "Yes, ma'am," Murdock said huskily. "It was touch-n-go there for a while."
"Need to tell me about it?"
"Not – not right now, Grandma." He smiled down at her. "How much longer until we eat? I'm starved."
She laughed, patting his cheek. "Seems I've heard that before."
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"Honey, are you gonna tell me why you came, today of all days?" They were sitting in the kitchen, supper finished. There were still a few large tree-shaped cookies on the red glass plate, the pale green glaze smooth and sweet. Murdock had added red garland in the form of colored sugar and topped them with yellow star-shaped sprinkles, turning each into a work of art.
"I just wanted to spend Christmas with you." His brown eyes were wide as he gazed at her familiar face.
"It's April, H.M." She paused. "You know that, don't you?"
"I – I know. I just needed you." Murdock paused, looking down at the table. He traced the wood grain with one fingertip. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Oh, baby," she said, "I'm always glad to see you, you know that. But it's getting harder and harder for you to visit." She stated the painful truth without hesitation, grasping his strong hand in her wrinkled one. "It hurts you."
"I don't mind," he said softly. It don't hurt that much.
"I mind. And so do your friends. None of us want to see you hurtin' like this."
"I had to say goodbye." He wiped his eyes with one hand. "You understand, don't you, Grandma?"
"I understand." Her smile was tender as she dabbed at his face, catching a few stray tears. She looked out the window behind him and a reluctant sadness entered her eyes. Murdock's breath caught in his throat for a moment, knowing the time had come. He could hear the howling of the oncoming storm, the guttural thundering, the sharp cracks of lightning. There was a sudden coolness in the room as though a door had been blown open, the wind storming in, tugging at his clothing, threatening to carry him away.
"No," he whispered.
"It's okay, H.M., it's okay," she soothed.
"Goodbye, Grandma," Murdock said. "I love you." And she was gone.
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"What did he say?"
"Same as las' time," B.A. said wearily. "Goodbye and I love you." He continued to cradle the pilot's straitjacketed body, feeling the fragility brought on by three days of going without medications, without food, without water. Fool.
"At least he secured himself to the bed this time so he wouldn't fall and break something," Hannibal commented as he worked the restraints free. "And he had the IVs on hand for us." A few more minutes and Murdock's arm would be free, giving Hannibal the access he needed to begin to offset the inevitable dehydration. It's a good thing you've got such great veins, Captain.
"How many more times is he going to do this?" Face was gently wiping down Murdock's body now that the others had removed the straitjacket and laid him back in the bed. He was careful not to let the warm water run down his sides and chill him.
"Las' t'me, promise." His tongue was heavy, causing the words to come out slurred. They had removed the mouth guard for him but he could still taste the plastic. B.A. dribbled water into Murdock's mouth from the corner of a towel, wetting his lips. "Had to say goodbye 'fore I couldn't."
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I do this for fun, not profit. The characters are not mine; the mistakes (without exception) are. And if anyone wants to explain why I'm writing Christmas stories in April, I'm all ears.