Disclaimer: The only thing I own here are the ideas, which I probably picked up via osmosis from reading all of the awesome Murdock h/c stories out there.

Author's Note: I am not a psychiatrist! The treatment I've listed in regards to Murdock's problem was picked up from an unverified website, so for the love of god and all things holy don't try this yourself without checking with a licensed professional! Don't even pass it on to someone else as something that may be factual. The last thing I want is to turn on my television and see that a random A-Team fanfic reader had snapped after reading this story and started shooting people in a mall or something. My fan base is microscopic as it is….

Worth It

Face entered his and Murdock's room of their current safe house. He set his sunglasses and wallet down on the top of their shared dresser, most of which was covered in his best friend's various prescription bottles. He dropped down, fully clothed, onto his bed and was about to take a quick nap to recharge his dwindling battery when he felt something was "off".

He inched his hand toward his gun just in case, but soon let go when he realized Murdock was the presence he felt with him. "You okay, buddy?"

No answer. *Not good.*

The pilot was sitting in the corner in between his bed and the closet door. His knees were up with his face hidden. James' arms were wrapped around his head, and he was so tense that he was practically vibrating. Face sighed sadly before slowly making his way over there. He knew from experience that any kind of quick movement was met with violence when H.M. was in this state.

Finally reaching his friend, Templeton sat down beside him. "Hey Murdock… it's me, Face. I'm gonna touch you, okay buddy? Don't attack me, alright?" He tentatively wrapped his arm around the pilot and sighed with relief when it didn't set the pilot off in a frenzy. These situations were never predictable.

As he gently rubbed James' arm, murmuring nonsense words meant for soothing, he went over his friend's medications in his head. He wondered if Murdock had skipped one, and if so which pill it could be. There were so many meds that he had to take to deal with his psychoses and the multitude of side effects that it would be easy to miss one every now and again.

"James, can you hear me?" A shaky nod was his answer, and Face rewarded the response by rubbing his friend's back. "Okay, that's good. Now I need you to help me figure out what's wrong. Can you talk to me, bud?"

Murdock raised his head and turned slightly toward his friend. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, and he had such a look of utter misery that Temp found it difficult not to turn away. "It's the voice, Facey. It won't go away this time."

*Ah… auditory hallucinations.*

Face nodded and continued rubbing the tense back. "Okay. Is he telling you to do bad things this time?"

The pilot sniffled and wiped his face with his sleeve. "I don't know. I just want it to go away, but it won't listen to me."

Temp sighed and pulled his friend closer. "I know you do buddy, but do you remember what Doc Bradshaw said? Sometimes if the voice doesn't respond to your words you have to listen to what it's telling you to do." He squeezed James' shoulder and moved to sit in front of the distraught man. "He said that as long as the voice isn't telling you to do bad things, sometimes you can make it disappear if you pay attention to it. Now listen and tell me what it wants."

Murdock furrowed his brow in concentration. A few minutes had passed before he looked up at Face. "It wants me to run."

Relief flooded the conman. He was terrified the schizophrenic pilot was going to say the voice was telling him to kill himself or his friends. Not that Murdock would ever follow those orders, but it would be alarming nonetheless.

"Okay… that's not so horrible, is it bud?" He offered a smile. "It's not as bad as the time the voice told you to paint B.A.'s bedroom hot pink, right? Hah… the big guy still makes a fist anytime he sees that color."

Murdock responded with the beginnings of his own grin, and Face was heartened to see it. "Yeah… or the time he told me to craft a log cabin out of Hannibal's cigar supply."

Face cringed in remembrance of the apocalyptic fallout that followed that ordeal. "Yeah… the colonel was pretty steamed from that incident." He pulled himself to his feet and held a hand out. James took it and soon they were dressed in tennis shoes and workout clothes.

Templeton reflected upon the most current bout of schizophrenia as he kept pace with his friend on their impromptu jog around their HQ. He had known from the very beginning that his friend's psychotic episodes were going to give them trouble every once in awhile. Even now, as exhausted as he was, he found himself scraping the bottom of the barrel containing his energy just so his best friend could get back to a somewhat even keel.

He supposed he could have let the captain go jogging alone, but that was never really an option for him. The team were all hardwired to never leave a man behind, and that stood true even if the foe was the captive's own mind.

No… Face knew there would be many more little breakdowns like these, but he'd be lying if he said he regretted a single moment he'd spent with his best friend.

Some things were just worth the trouble.

End