Compared to the deeply disturbing days following Murdock's ill-advised viewing of Twilight, this was barely worth noticing.
Two days after BA and Face rigged the TV for cable, and one day after Murdock discovered BBC One, the pilot somehow procured a long black Belstaff Midford coat. It was clearly second-hand and there were odd stains around the slightly-worn cuffs, but it served its purpose well enough, adding elegant flourish to Murdock's increasingly-dramatic entrances and exits. Face had made a shocked, garbled attempt to explain the value of the coat to the others (one thousand pounds? What was that in real money, anyway?) and nearly fainted when BA wondered aloud why "that Beaches lady" commanded so much sway in the fashion world. Hannibal, as was typical of him when his boys went through their little phases, simply ignored the matter except for one approving remark about the coat having "flair".
The black leather gloves were sometimes impractical ("They're not waterproof!" Face had all-but-shrieked when Murdock refused to take them off while doing the dishes), but basically harmless. The signs of addiction had been worrying, but Hannibal had relaxed when it was discovered that Murdock's interpretation of "nicotine patches" included Bugs Bunny stickers and bright orange Bandaids. The pilot's new British accent hadn't even been noticed until day four, so desensitised were the others to his mercurial inflections.
Hannibal had to admit, it was actually kind of fun. They were between jobs at the moment so there was no harm in letting Murdock's idiosyncratic play-acting have a bit of a looser reign than usual. Throwing himself into his self-cast role with typical abandon, Murdock took to stalking the halls of their current abode, making loud and often dubious proclamations based on his erratic observations. He also refused to call anyone by name. Hannibal was "John", which made sense, he supposed. Face was "Lestrade", a moniker he shrugged and accepted because it sounded kind of cool and French. Why BA was suddenly "Mrs Hudson" only Murdock knew, but no amount of growling on the larger man's part made any difference.
Between the flamboyant British flouncing and triumphant declarations of "solved" cases (who used the last of the toothpaste – Hannibal; who tracked mud onto the rug – BA; why the toaster didn't work anymore – someone dropped a paperclip in it), there wasn't anything too objectionable about this latest obsession. The week of strange, pseudo-sexual innuendo was a little creepy but once they took away his riding crop, Murdock settled back to normal. Normalish. For a grown Texan ex-Army fugitive pretending to be a 21st century incarnation of a fictional detective from the 1800s. At least he wasn't setting fire to anything this time.
Then one day, one seemingly-average day, after his usual hour-and-a-half long confiscation of the TV for BBC-related entertainment, Murdock went quiet. There was no quip, aplomb or customary "swoosh" of his now ever-present coat as he shuffled out of the living room and trudged outside.
Moments later, there was a scrape, shuffle, bang, shuffle. BA glanced out the window. "Fool's putting the ladder up," he informed the others. Hannibal and Face nodded, not looking up from their chess game. Fair enough. That would explain those noises.
Clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk shuffle clump. That would be Murdock on the roof, then. Nothing to worry ab-
As one, the three ex-Rangers stood and headed for the back door.
The first to reach the roof, Hannibal immediately spotted his pilot. As Face and BA made their way up the ladder, the Colonel walked carefully across the slanted surface to Murdock, who was sitting dangerously close to the edge, feet dangling into the gutters. Aware that Murdock's moods had the tendency to shift alarmingly, Hannibal made sure to position himself close enough to reach the younger man if something should happen, but still with enough distance to not be intrusive or threatening. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw BA and Face do the same on the Captain's other side.
For several moments, no one spoke. The silence wasn't uneasy. They had done this before: This wasn't an intervention or, god forbid, a "Talk About Your Feelings" situation. Hannibal, Face and BA were just there to make sure that Murdock wasn't left alone. Trusting Murdock to not do anything deliberately stupid and trusting him to remember where the roof ended and the long drop began while in a distracted and unidentified mental state were very different animals. Murdock wasn't pacing or appearing agitated though, which was good. The others relaxed a little, but they weren't leaving.
Finally, Murdock spoke. "No one believes," he said quietly. They couldn't tell if his British accent was just softer than usual, or if he'd forgotten to use it entirely. They waited. "After everything, all the good that was done, all the hard work, after EVERYTHING, people still believe the lies. Is it that easy? How come the good guys never catch a break?"
It would be better if any of the others had a clue what had triggered this. Murdock's BBC times were his own. Face had gamely tried to watch an episode once but lost interest halfway through when he realised that yes, the elderly landlady did seem to be the only woman on the show. BA flat-out wasn't interested and Hannibal scoffed at the idea that the UK could produce anything to rival a good old American Law And Order spinoff. All well and good except for now, when they were left completely in the dark.
"We'll clear our names." Hannibal fell back on the old standard, but he firmly believed in its truth. He had to. "It won't always be like this."
"I don't want this to be the end," Murdock sighed, kicking at the guttering and dislodging a large clump of dried leaves and mud. "I don't care if no one believes the truth or cares about the good that's done or the people who do it, but it's hard to feel like you're the only one fighting." He looked up, staring earnestly at each of his teammates in turn. "We can't give up or let this beat us. We can't let them win."
This was all growing increasingly cryptic, but Hannibal reached out and patted Murdock reassuringly on the shoulder. "We won't," he promised, having very little idea what he was actually promising. BA and Face nodded encouragingly and made affirmative echoes.
Murdock let out a long sigh. "Don't let it beat you," he repeated, emphatically.
Face took a stab. "I promise I will never die?" he ventured.
Murdock laughed, and sniffed though his eyes were dry. "Good. Never die. That's a good start."
BA opened his mouth to ask how the hell immortality to be a START, but Face's elbow u-turned the comment into a general muttering about damn fools and the need to keep the ladder locked in the shed.
Hannibal had no idea what to say, so he just kept patting Murdock's arm in an aimless manner that he hoped was comforting. Damn it, this was going to get him all maudlin. Animal Planet and National Geographic, that was all Murdock was allowed to watch from now on. Supervised.