Chapter Two: Take Your Medicine

BA groaned as his eyes fluttered opened. He tried to wet his lips, but found his mouth too dry to do so. Thirst was all he had any more, hunger seemed foreign. Eagerly, his gaze strayed to the glass on the nightstand, but it was empty. His dull, fevered mind puzzled over where the water had gone. Had he drank it already? He frowned. More water meant having to get up, move.

A murmured voice sounded from down the hall. BA strained to hear who it was, but the effort to do even that simple task seemed too much for him. The muscles in his stomach tightened and started to contract. That terrible warmth was growing in his belly; he tried to fight it back but…

Rolling to his side, he choked up what little he had managed to eat earlier. The few stale crackers had done him no good. He coughed and gasped until his vision clouded. Closing his eyes, he could feel sleep starting to overtake him. Wasn't there something he was supposed to do? A panic soaked into him, but it was no match for his exhaustion.

Murdock entered the room and frowned over at the big guy. This was going to take a lot of work.

Leaving two of his men behind wasn't sitting well with Hannibal. He leaned over the rail, staring out at the swirling ocean water. Well, it couldn't be helped. BA was sick. The fact that Murdock stayed behind actually made Hannibal feel better. The Captain might be a bit quirky, but his blind tenacity and undying loyalty actually made him the most qualified member of the team to deal with an ill BA.

"It's just the flu, right?"

"That's what Murdock said." Face winked at a girl strolling by and was rewarded with a shy giggle. "I'm sure they'll be fine."

Hannibal stepped back from the rail and flopped down onto a deck chair. He liked being on the water; it felt nice, almost like being on the jazz, but in a calm sort of way. Leaning back, he pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket. Above, seagulls drifted on the breeze; the highest flyers were no more than white smudges in the blue sky. Lighting his cigar, he sighed as he watched the ocean birds. The ship had only left the dock an hour ago, but he had already accustomed himself to the ease of vacation life.

"Colonel? Maybe we should…" Face frowned, uncertainty suddenly stirring in his voice. "…get off at the first port and go back?"

His sense of duty returning, Hannibal nodded. They really shouldn't have left, but…

"Maybe," Hannibal said slowly, "we could call them at the port and see how they're doing. Then, we'll either head back or…"

Face grinned. "I like that. Did you happen to get a look at the Entertainment Director?"

The Colonel laughed. "No, but I'm guessing you did."

"She's a ten Hannibal, a solid ten."

BA shivered. He didn't want to wake up; that brought back the terrible thirst. Slowly, he opened his eyes and glared at the nightstand. However, his empty glass was no longer empty. Drawing in a raspy breath, he shot a hand forward, reaching for the water. After nearly toppling it over, he managed to maneuver the glass to his mouth and greedily drank.

Slurping the cool liquid, he glanced around. Things were...different, cleaner.

It was difficult, but he forced himself to save half the water. Gently, he set the glass back in place; as soon at the weight slid from his hand, his arm went limp. He hated feeling so weak. With his thirst satisfied, he knew sleep would come soon.

He eyed the nightstand again, a thin sheet of paper suddenly drawing his attention. The dark cursive was neat, almost familiar.

BA,

I'll be back soon. Be good. Take your medicine.

~M

Beside the note, which BA wished he'd noticed before using all his strength, were two little white aspirin tablets. Briefly, he thought about reaching for them, but movement was beyond him now. Sighing, he closed his eyes. A little bit of sleep and then he'd take them.

That elegantly scrawled 'M' at the end of the note bothered him. He knew that 'M'. Someone always signed notes like that for him…but who?

His mind toyed with the mystery as sleep slowly came over him. Then, he smiled and managed to mumble one last word before slumber hit. "Mama?"

Murdock stumbled into the apartment, grocery bags ripping at the seams. He hoped he'd remembered everything, because he didn't want to leave BA for that long again. The mudsucker had never been this sick before, or at least not that Murdock knew of. In fact, until now, Murdock had kind of thought the guy was immune to most illnesses. He probably just scared them away; which meant this must be one heck of a mean flu.

He hauled the bags into the kitchen, but decided to check in on BA before putting the groceries away.

Silently, he made his way down the hall and into the bedroom. Creeping toward BA, Murdock glanced at the nightstand. The water glass was half full, or half empty depending on how you looked at it, and the pills hadn't been touched.

"Hmm, the big guy must not have seen my note…"

That was too bad. The aspirins would have helped ease BA's aches and pains, and the note itself was something to behold. Those calligraphy classes at the VA were actually coming in handy.

Murdock studied the writing. His favorite part was the swirly 'M.' That was the only letter he had learned to do in that particular style, but he really liked it. He wondered if BA would notice how hard he had worked on it.

BA drifted in and out of consciousness. He didn't want to be sick anymore; he couldn't stand it. His despair was held at bay by one lone thought; Mama's here, she'll make me better.