Author's Note: Just to clarify my mindset, while writing this honestly I picture new!Hannibal, old!Face, new!BA and a strange, bizarre mix between old and new Murdock, because I love them both so much. Obviously, pick whichever iterations you like best!
Also weirdly, I imagine this hybrid team I've created to be kicking ass and taking names in the early 90s. So...some of the technology may reflect that. Sorry I'm weird.
Chapter 1
Murdock winced as he felt the strange stabbing pain briefly attack his insides before disappearing again after a brutal minute. Face gave him a nervous sideways glance from his seat at the wheel of his corvette.
"I knew you weren't feeling alright," he said, forcing his voice into a scolding tone. "What's the matter?"
The pain having subsided, Murdock was free to flash his signature loopy grin. "Nothin's the matter Faceman! In fact the only thing I got is anti-matter," he gave a hoot of laughter, pulling his cap down as they turned onto the freeway.
Face had to yell to be heard.
"Well you don't look good; Hannibal's not going to be pleased."
"We can't all be naturally beautiful like you Facey!" Murdock said, elbowing Face playfully.
"Well that much is true," Face said quietly, smiling despite his worry.
They turned off the freeway and Face was finally able to hear again, as Murdock sang along to a David Bowie song on the radio. They made their way through the grungy LA district in which Hannibal had secured a workshop.
Pulling in front of the nondescript warehouse, Face parked the car and he and Murdock knocked on the door beside the garage.
"Who's there?" came BA's gruff voice from inside.
"Banana!" Murdock yelled back gleefully.
BA threw open the door, glowering.
"You ain't no banana fool, you just nuts."
"Least you ain't calling me fruity," Murdock said, patting BA on the shoulder before rushing in.
Face shrugged and flashed BA a charming smile before disappearing inside after the pilot, not wanting to stick around while BA was angry.
Hannibal was at the far end of the garage, leaning over a table on which one of his famous maps was drawn up. He was studying it, frowning.
"What's the dealio, colonel?" Murdock asked jauntily as he made his way to Hannibal. The older man looked up and smiled at his two newly arrived teammates, gesturing for them to join him.
"Welcome back to civilization captain," Hannibal said, placing a large hand on one of Murdock's bony shoulders. He frowned and took a step back, chewing on the end of his cigar, squaring the pilot up. Murdock looked thin, well thinner than usual. His face looked haggard and his eyes, while exhausted, glinted with fever.
"You look terrible son," he murmured. Murdock shifted uncomfortably, trying to wriggle his way out of Hannibal's appraising gaze, but the Colonel's stare was severe and kept Murdock from moving.
"What happened?" He asked, first to Murdock who looked confused, then to Face, who shook his head.
"I thought he looked pretty bad too, Hannibal," Face said. "He won't say what's wrong though, won't tell me anything."
Hannibal fixed Murdock with a gaze so intense that Face couldn't even look at it. It was a mixture of fierce demand, slight confusion and a paternal love. Murdock broke.
"I…I just been feeling a little under the weather last couple weeks," he mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at Hannibal.
"Weeks?" Hannibal said, alarmed. "That's a long time to be feeling ill, captain."
"I hate doctors," Murdock said, as if in explanation.
"What are the symptoms?" Hannibal asked.
"Er, well," Murdock looked very small and sad, Face thought, like a child being interrogated by the CIA. He was fidgeting, twisting his hands together or else running them through his hair or down his legs.
"It's been kinda, well, just feelin' dizzy sometimes and, kinda nauseous."
"What else?" Hannibal demanded, knowing Murdock was withholding information.
"I thrown up a couple times," Murdock mumbled, kicking his feet. "And," he sighed. "Sometimes I get this weird pain right here," he pointed to the side of his stomach. "Sometimes I get headaches real bad, too."
Murdock's small voice tapered off into silence as BA, Face and Hannibal, still clutching the pilot's shoulders, processed the information. Their friend and teammate was sick, very sick. Even in the low light BA could see that Murdock was rail-thin, and although he was normally lanky now he looked fairly malnourished. His hair, which had previously been wild and shaggy had recently been cut shorter, though it still stuck out at odd angles. He seemed to swim in his usual aviator jacket.
"Well captain," Hannibal said at last. "I think we ought to get you to a doctor, but-"
"No can do sir," Murdock said shakily. "I'm feelin' right as rain right now, so let's get to the mission!" He clapped his hands together. Hannibal shook his head, looking stern.
"No mission for you this time, Murdock," he said gently. "You're grounded, until you get better."
"Aw c'mon!" Murdock moaned, his voice regaining its usual volume and childish tone.
"It's too dangerous for a sick teammate. We've been recruited to recover some groundbreaking scientific documents from the jungles of southern China. Apparently the research group that was working there was run out by a radical Chinese cult because their findings didn't agree with the doctrine. These guys are tough, they fought off Mao and the communist regime, and know the jungles well. They'll have the home field advantage, but we'll have-"
"No way of getting there," Murdock interjected. "Unless you're plannin' on takin' a nice long boat ride. Or are you gonna get a direct flight from Delta to the middle of nowhere?"
Hannibal sighed; he knew Murdock was right.
"Well if you won't go to the doctor, we'll have to take you to Davie," Face said, giving Hannibal a knowing glance. Murdock squirmed. Davie was a client they'd helped nearly a year ago. He was a young man, in his late twenties, who had completed medical school only to end up with an unhealthy addiction to painkillers. After graduation he had gotten in too deep with the drug dealers and had been kidnapped. His father had paid the A-Team to discreetly rescue him, without the family shame of his being arrested for drug use. Davie was still a little unstable, but they'd seen him a couple times since rescuing him for some medical work without risking a hospital visit.
Two hours later, they were in Davie's studio apartment in San Diego, being greeted by the under-the-table practitioner. Davie stood in his boxers and a bathrobe, looking hung over. In his med school days he had been fairly handsome, with dark hair and a unique face due to his half-Korean ethnicity. A few too many years on methamphetamines and a steady diet of McDonalds and beer had robbed him of that handsomeness however, and he now had bloodshot eyes, thinning hair and a growing gut.
"Alright Murdock, sit down and why don't you take off your shirt for me," Davie said, crouching beside the pilot with a cup of coffee in his left hand and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Murdock obliged, removing his overlarge t-shirt to reveal a pale, painfully thin torso. Davie used his stethoscope, tested Murdock's reflexes, blood pressure, pulse. Besides the fever, things seemed to be going smoothly until he paused, glancing at Murdock's left arm.
"Hello, what's this?" he asked no one, lifting Murdock's upper arm to his eyes. He pointed to a spot on the arm where a small, subtle scar was, like a pinprick. The edges of the scar were slightly inflamed, just barely red.
"What is it?" Face asked.
"In my expert opinion," Davie said, trying to look even closer at the abrasion. "It appears to be a mark left after an injection of some kind, a recent one. Judging by the inflammation I'd say it was some kind of immunization." He peered up at Murdock. "Did you get anything like that within the last month or so?"
Murdock shook his head, bewildered.
"Well, yes you did," Davie said matter-of-factly, standing up. "Only you don't know it. And I'd bet that whatever was in that shot is the thing that's making you sick."
"Shot's ain't supposed to make you sick, they supposed to keep you from getting sick," BA said grumpily.
"Well we don't know what kind of shot this was," Davie said with a twisted smile. "I don't want to cause undue suspicions or anything but…" His sadistic grin widened. Face grimaced; he really didn't like coming to Davie, the man was filthy and more certifiably insane than Murdock.
"It's certainly not unheard of for medical experiments to be conducted on mental patients, discreetly, mind."
Murdock wasn't reacting to anything, sitting on the edge of Davie' kitchen counter, staring fixedly at the linoleum floor. The rest of the team however was appalled.
"You don't think really think-" Face started.
"Hey I didn't say anything for sure!" Davie said, throwing his hands up defensively.
"Well can you at least diagnose him, without worrying about the cause for now?" Hannibal asked impatiently.
"Can't say I can, frankly," Davie said, indiscreetly popping a few pills. "The symptoms are vague enough to be anything, and without proper equipment I can't get a blood test or x-ray or what have you. I don't say this often but you boys are going to have to find yourselves a doctor proper, comprende?"
"We're wanted by the feds, you remember," Face said in a patronizing tone. "We can't exactly visit a doctor's office, too much paperwork, we can't-"
Davie interrupted him again.
"Don't go to a doctor in the US then. Plenty of countries offer great health care to tourists, cheap and easy. May I recommend Mexico?"
"Or China," Hannibal said, grinning as he popped a cigar in his mouth.
"Don't know much about their healthcare system," Davie said skeptically.
"Well they're on the way," Hannibal said, and he clapped Davie on the back. "Thanks for the help son."
"Thanks for the payment, Colonel," Davie said pointedly.
"Not like you exactly did anything," said Face.
"Well I did get out of bed, that's an automatic $50 transaction fee," Davie said, sticking his hand out expectantly. Begrudgingly, Face extracted the cash and handed it over.
"Pleasure as always, boys!" Davie said with a grin. "Oh wait! Before you go, lemme give you some of these," he dashed into his kitchen and they heard him rummaging through drawers. He came back holding a small blue pill bottle. He clapped it into Murdock's hand.
"These are for the fever; you're going to want to keep that in check." He said. "Take one every six hours or so, no more, unless you want to have a really good time." He gave Murdock a brief smile and the pilot noticed he was missing several teeth.
"Um, thanks," Murdock said, and he replaced his shirt as the team prepared to leave.
"Those'll run you about $35, by the way," Davie said, still smiling but with a steely stare.
Face grumbled as he gave Davie more money and got out of the dingy apartment as quickly as possible.