Okay, so I decide to just throw this in with the A Team category because everything that relates to my Gone in 60 Seconds is pretty much an AU for that anyway. You don't have to know who these people are because a lot will change or be explained. I've almost completely decided to make this Murdock/OC . . . . but if I change my mind I'll let everyone know. And no one hate me for having the team abandon poor Murdock just yet. All will be explained and revealed . . . okay, enough blathering. On with the show.

You Come a Long Way Baby

"NOOO!"

Murdock shot off the bed, glancing around the room in a panic until he remembered where he was. He was at Camarillo. He was in Long Beach . . . and he was completely alone.

He sighed, sliding back into the jersey sheets of his bed. At least he'd been given a private room, so no one else was being woken up by his night terrors. Except this time, instead of being in Desert Storm with his friends dying all around him, he was stuck in that damned room. And that bastard Kell was laughing as he danced with Face's dismembered head.

Murdock shook himself, forcing the image from his mind as he closed his eyes and tried to do what his new doctors had urged him to do. If he dealt with the torture and the loss, the pain and suffering and the betrayal, then one day he could reclaim his lost sanity. Well, as much as he had anyway.

When he'd been dumped on the Camarillo doorstep seven months ago, he'd been worse than he'd ever been in his life-including immediately after his transfer to Mexico. But the people here were trying to help him. They truly wanted him to succeed and be as functional as he could be, not taped back together and tossed in a corner.

Just like Chaosia had promised.

Murdock looked down at the charcoal sheets, picking at the hem as he tried to steer his thoughts away from the very woman that seemed to occupy them more often than not. Apparently, with his sanity becoming a more tangible thing he was actually beginning to notice things for what they were . . . and Chaosia was probably one of the most interesting paradoxes he'd ever bloody met.

He could tell from the way she moved and interacted with the patients-himself included-that she wasn't shy about actually being close to the "crazies". Her calloused hands and warm smiles made her an easy favorite and he never heard anyone complain about her treatment of them or having to talk to her. More often than not, he saw her having to take on extras because another doctor was being too narrow minded or idiotic to trust.

He'd asked her once, why she'd decide to do this back when his lucid moments were more spaced out. She'd laughed at him and mussed his hair, sea glass green eyes shining as she told him conspiratorially, "Why insanity runs in my family, Mr. Murdock. And I don't think that a little insanity is a bad thing. As long as you follow the rules, you don't really run into any problems."

He'd learned her mother and her aunt were both manic depressive schizophrenic, though too different degrees. While her mother had been able to control it with therapy alone her aunt had to be committed. Which had led to her Aunt's abuse and subsequent suicide years later. Murdock had listened in awe as Chaosia explained she'd always thought that if someone had handled her aunt better, taken more time and done more with her instead of medicating her and sending her back out into a very uncaring and biased world then maybe she would still be alive. And her favorite cousin would have had a mother while he was growing up.

A cousin, he'd later learned that had almost the same mental issues he did. Auditory and visual hallucinations, voices and the habit of pulling deeper into himself when reality became too much . . . on top of the manic depression and paranoid schizophrenia he inherited from his mother. But he hadn't let it stop him so far. He was, apparently, a stand-up comic now. And made damn good money getting to vocalize his issues and display his own brand of whit on stage.

All just other pieces of the Chaosia paradox that made her cross his addled brain more often than not. The fact he spent a good deal of time with her while she was at work didn't really dissuade his growing infatuation with the intern.

She usually played Uno with him and Michael on Wednesdays before she went to lunch, laughing and accusing both of them of cheating since they usually beat her. Actually, she was about the only other person the gentle giant that was Michael Sellers even remotely interacted with . . .

Murdock himself had won him over two weeks after his isolation period with his vast repertoire of impressions and voices. Earning him an almost constant shadow and loyal bodyguard. Only one person had tried to mess with him since Michael had laughed and nodded in his direction . . . and that person had been promptly shoved through the glass front of the late vending machine. Now, none of the others even glanced at him and it was honestly fine by him. In a way, Michael was like a replacement Bosco . . . if Bosco had had an abuse induced psychotic break and slaughtered his abusive parents in a fit of righteous self-protection and rage . . . But those were just small details.

He could practically hear Chaosia laughing as she scolded him in his mind.

"Don't think about the others too much, goofy goober. You've got to do this by yourself . . . their ghosts can't hold you back from what you deserve."

He groaned, shutting his eyes as he continued to play with the sheets.

She'd waltzed in here after he'd been cleared for visitors, outfitting his room with the new jersey sheets and black-and-charcoal pinstriped comforter set, claiming they would make him feel better to have something that was purely his and no one else's. The small metal die cast copters for him to assemble-all actual collectors additions and not toys which had shocked him- had been next a few days later and were now finished and displayed proudly on the shelves. A few of the odds-and-ends he'd collected from the strolls on the beach she and Ter took him and Michael on joined them. The metal dish she'd brought him was almost full of chunks of coral, shells and rock that he'd happened upon, his dogtags almost completely buried had to be his favorite thing, though. Probably because it was so oddly soothing. Chaosia and Weaver had handed it to him, and really nailed it on the head: with every piece of a new life he collected, be it just by wandering or design, he was letting go of his old one just a bit more. Even if it was grain by grain and piece by piece.

Murdock looked over; glancing at the digital display on the wall clock he'd been allowed after a month of good behavior and no suicide attempts as he pulled himself back into awareness. It seemed weird but it was a little luxury he'd never been allowed anywhere else . . . and he was sure that Chaos had a hand in pushing to let him get this one. It was almost five in the morning . . . he'd be getting up soon anyway.

He tossed the covers back, dragging himself out of bed before quickly making it. But not to regulation. If Chaos or Dr. Weaver caught him doing it they'd just untuck his corners and rumple it. He would always be a Ranger, a solider, but he didn't have to just be a solider anymore. He could be anything he wanted . . . within reason. Though Dr. Weaver had been overly indulgent of him impersonating John Wayne for three days. He'd been allowed to swagger and talk like the Duke, regaling the younger staff with the tales of cattle rustlers and Indian wars for the first time and delighting the older members and patients. He'd finally gotten bored and decided to be Murdock again . . . but he was planning on being Frank Sinatra for a few days and crooning to a few of the female nurses.

Face would surely love it if he saw it . . . Hannibal too.

Quickly gathering his caddy and a fresh change of heather gray lounge pants and one of the twenty graphic tees he'd been bestowed upon his admission, Murdock made his way to the showers. Maybe he'd even shave today . . . Naw. Better wait until a day they least suspect it.

Chaosia Guadimus was many things but gracious under fire was not among them. Too bad Sphinx's intern had had to learn that the hard way.

She glowered, practically flying down the snaky coastal road that led to Camarillo. She didn't know why but she just wanted to get as far away from the garage and the crew as possible . . . and her legal life seemed the best way to do it. If she'd had to put up with one more comment from that skinny little toothpick then she was going to fucking scream.

She sighed, never bothering to slow down as she took the 45 degree turn into the Camarillo campus. She had paperwork to help Weaver complete anyway . . . and maybe she could get Michael and Murdock to cheer her up. She slowed, pulling into her customary spot and killing the Chevelle's engine.

She knew that if Murdock continued to improve he would be released within the next month . . . something she was overly excited for. She'd literally been with him every step of the way, adopting the hapless Ranger as her own from the second he'd bawled and bled all over her good red sweater. Just the thought that he was ready to start reintegrating this quickly was amazing. And she wasn't so vain to think it was her doing in anyway. He wanted to be better. He wanted to be as sane as possible . . . though she secretly thought he would always be kind of like her and Topher. Not insane just . . . eccentric.

She sighed again as she pulled her laptop bag out of the back seat, tossing the thing over her shoulder as her phone decided to ring just then. She fished it out of her pocket, looking perplexed at the unfamiliar number before flipping it open.

"Uh, Hello?"

Shallow breaths answered her for a few meager seconds before whoever disconnected the call. She stared at the phone, puzzled before shrugging. Oh well, she had some paperwork to file, people to see . . . and possibly a hand of Uno to win.

Hours later, Faceman Peck watched from a shadowed spot on the patio as Murdock slapped a card down on the table, laughing and pointing at the scowling blonde woman. She, to her credit, just rolled her eyes before flipping her blonde curls over her shoulder and pushing the huge tortoise shell glasses up her nose. When Murdock was done doing his victory dance, she gathered the cards, shuffling quickly as she spoke to him in what Face thought to be a nice way. Movement beside him alerted him to Hannibal's presence before he turned to see him. Apparent, his CO was just as surprised by the turn around in their friend as he was . . .

"Well, would you look at that . . . I guess it worked out okay after all . . ."

He pulled a long draught from his cigar, watching the scene before them unfold. Murdock, dressed in gray lounge pants and a dark blue tee shirt with "Excuse Me While I Kiss the Sky" in faded blue text, watched the girl deal quickly before laying down as many cards as he could before her. She rolled her eyes, swatting his hands away with one hand as she adjusted her dark taupe cardigan with the other. Her eyes shone with mirth and agitation, not aggravation and disdain as she scolded him and laid her own cards down.

"And she would be, Lt?"

Face leaned against the rail, never taking his eyes off of his friend. He hadn't ever seen Murdock seem so free without being behind the helm of a chopper . . . . or terrifying B.A.

"Her name is Chaosia Ripley Guadimus. She's a recent graduate from the University of California's Long Beach chapter, though she's apparently doing some additional courses while she's interning here. Far as I can tell from the records I glanced at earlier today, she's been his secondary therapist since the night we left him here. She's recommended him for release, Boss."

Hannibal stopped, looking down at Face in shock.

"Release? You mean to another facility, correct?"

Face shook his head, crossing his arms.

"Sir, no sir. I mean period. They've made progress with him we never dreamed anyone could do, Hannibal. I've been watching him for weeks and the only thing I've seen are nightmares. No talking in voices other than as jokes. No calling invisible dogs or arguing with invisible people. No escape attempts. Hell, he seems more normal than us now."

Hannibal nodded, settling back against the railing beside the XO as he watched his pilot. He'd always known Murdock was extremely intelligent. Hell, he spoke and read more languages than most people even heard . . . and he was the best damn pilot he'd ever had the pleasure of serving with. Bar none. So it shouldn't be a surprise for him to have made such progress in a supportive environment . . . but part of Hannibal had always wondered just how much of Murdock's insanity was legitimate and how much was a by product of the stress and a need for freedom.

He sighed, glancing over at Face. At least now that Face knew he was doing well he would start to feel a little better about what had happened. They had hated the fact of abandoning him . . . but he wouldn't have survived if they hadn't. And now that he was well, truly well, they could collect him if it was what he wanted.

"So when does he go free, Faceman?"

Face turned, flashing the grin that kept them out of trouble more often than not.

"In a little less than three weeks, Bossman. After that, we get our lunatic back."

Hannibal nodded, grinning with his cigar clinched in his teeth.

"Bet B.A.'s gonna be thrilled."

Face laughed, nodding because they both knew how far from the truth that statement really was.

"So, who's gonna tell him?"

Both waited a split second before turning to the other, saying, "You are" in unison.