Just Bite Me

by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2010

Summary: Quickie oneshot. Murdock finds himself at the VA infirmary, but for none of the usual reasons. Response to ATSB Thursday To-Do.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: TAT belongs to SJC and Universal. I'm just having a quick bite for fun.

My body is a lot like my favorite quilt that I used to sleep under, a long time ago. I know all its patterns by heart, the edges that are slowly coming unraveled, the stains that serve as lasting reminders of various "accidents."

The little rips and tears that have been carefully, or not so carefully, mended over time. Especially those.

I have a lot of them, it's true. Guys my age shouldn't have to be sewn up and patched and krazy-glued back together as much as I've been. Then again, most of those guys don't do what I do for a living. They either didn't come back from Nam or they missed that picnic altogether.

So I'm a patchwork quilt.

A crazy quilt. Nice, I can imagine the Colonel saying.

The docs and nurses never really ask too many questions whenever I come to the infirmary for repairs. Even that one time I got beat up really bad by those thugs in Rosalba and was more bruised than a peach dropped from a skyscraper. They're either too busy or too stressed or too new.

The girl today (her nameplate identifies her as CHRISSIE, TRAINEE), if I had to guess, is just new. She's actually smiling. That's my first clue.

"?" She reads my name from her clipboard. Her voice is pure and sweet, like she should still be in high school instead of in the Halls of Linoleum. "Right this way."

The nurse's office, like most of the offices in this place, is worn out and grimy and smells like sadness. Someone (maybe it was Chrissie) has tacked up a poster of a lion cub sitting in a tree in an effort to make it more cheerful. It doesn't work.

She does the usual drill of BP, heart rate, the little Popsicle stick on my tongue and the hammer for my knee. All normal. Chrissie is looking at the clipboard, and she frowns.

"It says here that you donated bone marrow to General Lundquist last month, Mr. Murdock, and had a splenectomy the month prior, and before that…"

"A tonsillectomy," I finish, flashing her my loopiest grin. "I am, in fact, a mere shell of my former self," I say in my best Olivier.

She hurriedly scribbles onto the paper. "Are you feeling any complications from those operations? Any nausea, dizziness, problems with your appetite?"

"I'm eatin' all my greens and even the mystery meat."

More scribbling. "So, Mr. Murdock," Chrissie says, hesitating, "why exactly are you here today?"

I recognize that tone. It's the sound of an initiate who's never been in the court of the King of Crazy and the Duke of Dementia. So, I decide I'll make the introductions personally.

"Well, you see, it's my hand," I say, seeing her jump involuntarily back as I pull it out of the makeshift washcloth bandage. "Better call the doc, 'cause I'm afraid I'm not gonna make it." I start sobbing.

Poor Chrissie. She's all over it, grabbing alcohol swabs and cotton balls. "You're bleeding! Why didn't you say something when you came in?" She starts ministering to me, more gently than most of the warhorse nurses in this place.

It does hurt. But it doesn't hurt as much as having my ribs taped up or getting a gunshot wound stitched closed, so I don't blink. When she's done, she slaps a butterfly bandage with a picture of Oscar the Grouch over the clean skin.

Chrissie really is a cutie. Her lips purse together before she asks me, "What exactly happened?"

I take a deep breath. It's hard for me to admit. "It was Billy." That being said, I hang my head.

"Billy?" If she was confused now, she's bewildered now. "Billy who? Did another patient hurt you? If so, I'll need to file an incident report."

"Billy, my dog," I say, as if I expected her to already know. "He, um, bit me. Poor fella, he didn't mean to."

Unexpectedly, she giggles. "Your…dog?" She's caught in that netherworld between disbelief and amusement.

"Yeah. See, he always gets a little antsy when it's time to clean his glands," I say, shrugging as if to say what can ya do, sweetheart?

Chrissie blinks her green eyes once, then again. I know that look. It's the look that says Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?

"I'll have to, um, confer with Dr. Opdyke. Why don't I get you a sedative?" She can't leave the linoleum-bound cubicle fast enough. The door clicks into place behind her.

I look at the bandage on my hand. Then the tattered poster.

Chrissie will no doubt bring back reinforcements…orderlies and a prescriptions list of mind-altering substances with lots of Z's and X's and Q's. Yummy.

But at least I got to initiate her into the Wonderful World of Crazy.

And Billy, I'm sure, will forgive me for it later.

Fini