A~N Hey y'all. Just a quick little thing, set movie-verse, based on Murdock's character. No slash, just friendship vibes.
Not Taking Him
He couldn't actually enter the room, could only stand in the door way and watch as Hannibal scribbled onto the cardboard. Bosco, though sat at the table next to Hannibal, refused to watch the older man's actions, was silent, fingering the thin, plastic box.
There was a tension in the room, an alien presence; it wasn't often they would allow this kind of atmosphere when planning some insane mission. On the other hand, Face couldn't think of any mission that had felt as important. This was one they absolutely could not fail.
And so he was stood watching from just outside, suddenly so very aware of their missing team member. Aware of the tension. Aware of seriousness.
Just a little too sane.
There are things they were already aware of about Murdock. Having spent 8 years serving together, it was hard not to learn almost everything there was to know about each other. For one, they knew he was crazy, knew that from the first time they met him. And no matter how much he would deny it, even B.A. knew that Murdock was perhaps the best damn pilot the war had to offer. His crazy aerobatics and stunts, however terrifying and defiant of the laws of physics, were the things that kept them alive where others wouldn't make it.
Although they kept it well hidden, his insanity did extend beyond spontaneous singing, silly accents and personalities, talking socks and invisible dogs. There were times when they caught a glimpse of the true nature of his madness, the reason he had spent the last two years previous to their meeting in Mexico, when they had plucked him out the psyche ward, touring various mental institutions.
Sometimes his mind would go. He wouldn't recognise them, couldn't remember them, and he would hear voices. Not the friendly voices he would joke with, his mania escalating seemingly only for the sake of irritating Bosco. These voices did all they could to frighten him, to hurt him, whispering terrible things that the others couldn't put a stop to, reminding him of horrors long forgotten. There were times he would claw at the walls, praying for forgiveness, begging for mercy, anything to let him out of the hell his mind had trapped him in.
Occasionally, less disturbing, if only slightly, but no less frightening, he would slip into some kind of trance, a song floating round and round his head as he compulsively scratched at his wrists or tugged out his hair.
But all the difficulties they had faced concerning Murdock's condition had been worth it to see him getting better. Not one of them could ever delude themselves into believing he would ever be completely well again, but the improvement they saw over time was warming. Even with all the death and war around them, their friend, their brother, was recovering. His psychotic episodes occurred in decreasing numbers, maybe once every few months, and his more unusual behaviours also diminishing into non-existence. All that was left was his quirks and incessant peppy attitude.
But all that changed, the day of that fateful mission. They were so sure they had succeeded, their insane plan working to the T. Then the explosions: first the jeep, the death of their trusted General, then the container as they were running to intercept the Black Forest commandoes.
Before they knew what was happening, they were arrested, handcuffed, thrown into the back of a truck and put on trial. Even with the sense of betrayal, his anger at the military, Charisa, Pike, the system, Hannibal for his insistence on accepting "off the record" missions, and even Morrison for dying, there were two things Face will never forget from the day of the trial.
The first was the look on Murdock's face, that look of betrayal. Even though they were all feeling betrayed and upset, there was something about the way his eyes resonated that emotion that made his heart ache.
The second was the last time he'd seen Murdock, after their sentencing, hearing the time they would be doing in separate jails. Only it wasn't to be like that, because no sooner had the MPs come to take them away, once again Murdock drew all of their attention, his shouts, his screams, his struggles as it took three of them to drag him away, and Face remembered. Murdock was officially insane; he wasn't simply going to jail.
He was going back to an institute where they would strip him of every right and freedom, where they would pump him full of the drugs he hated so much.
It had been six months, and no matter how thrilling the idea of finally catching the people who had set them up sounded, no matter how fantastic it would be to have them back as a team again, as he watched Hannibal packing dozens of 3-D glasses into the box labelled from "Annabel Smith" to some patient at the hospital in Mannheim, he couldn't help the feeling of dread. They had no idea who they would be breaking out, if it would be the Murdock they remembered, the mad but brilliant pilot, or possibly a completely different Murdock, the unstable psychotic who suffered paranoid delusions that rendered him completely disconnected from the real world.
He couldn't say it though, couldn't voice this fear. Couldn't give the possibility any sort of credibility by discussing it with Hannibal. He just watched the older man finishing off the package, knowing that soon they would have their pilot back, no matter who he was now, and this time, no one was taking him away.