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Realizing what was going on, Jack stepped in front of his friend, blocking the man's malevolent gaze. The way he looked at him reminded Jack of a butcher eyeing a piece of meat, and it made Jack feel sick. He had known that Milligan was bad news; it was pretty clear the other day when he had seen Murdock curl away from him that this was something that he had tumbled in the middle of.
Obviously this maniac was what Murdock was so afraid of…so why wouldn't he just come out and tell him? Why wouldn't he tell the doctor? Maybe they could transfer him.
"Well well well, boy, look who decided to show his scrawny little face."
Jack clenched his fists. His emotions were running high already these past weeks; he wouldn't be able to put up with anymore from this…thing. He refused to call him a man.
"Listen here-"
"Hands," This time it was Murdock who layed the comforting hand on his friend, "let it go." His eyes pleaded for Jack to heed his words. He doesn't need this. He can't get involved.
Jack saw what Murdock wanted, but couldn't understand it. How could he just sit there and take it? And where the hell is that Doctor? Shouldn't he be here by now?
As if the doctor had read his thoughts, a special group therapy doctor stepped into the office, completely oblivious to the showdown.
"I'm glad to see that everyone is here," only then did the two newcomers realize that there was three other patients in the room with them. They too had been caught up in the confrontation, "Captain, Lieutenant, would you please take your seats?"
"Come on Handman," Murdock led them to the seats farthest away from Milligan as possible, and Jack wasn't protesting. But Jack's eyes never once left the threat; he would be willing to defend his friend no matter what. He'd defend him better than he had his last one.
"Okay, I'd like everyone here to welcome our newest addition, Lieutenant Jonathon O'Neill," the group as if one large zombie muttered the appropriate welcome and the doctor continued, "and welcome back Murdock. Nice to have you with us again," though the man's words were polite, his tone was annoyed.
Welcome back? From where? These meeting were mandatory, how did he get out of them?
"Now, let's begin. Sandra, I've heard that you have made some inspiring progress, you've been taking your medication haven't you?"
"Yes doctor, I have."
"Wonderful! You see everyone, how chipper she is? When you do what you're supposed to, then we can help you get better," the doctor continued on, but Jack had zoned out. This doctor bugged him, they all did. To amuse himself though, and to distract Murdock from the constant watchdog across the room, he covertly began to mouth odd words emitted by Doctor Freud starting with "chipper". Of course, he had to school his face with an innocent mask whenever the shrink glanced his way, but it was worth it the way Murdock responded. He lost a little of his edge, but was still wary, after all, the guy was still in the room.
"What about you lieutenant?" Jack almost missed it.
"Huh?"
"How are your nightmares?" His jaw dropped in a split second of shock before he shut it with an audible clack of teeth. He felt the warmth spread across his face in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. That was private! Why didn't he just take out a billboard? He was fine! Lots of people had nightmares and they weren't committed.
"I'm fine," he ground out; he had to work hard to keep his tone civil. He didn't want to dwell on himself. Sure, Nurse Sandra Dee over there was taking her meds and no longer heard voices, big whoop. And Thomas stopped seeing purple elephants running down the hall, good for him. But, this quack had barked up the wrong soldier. He was off limits, and the doctor refused to see the "No Admittance" sign.
"That's not what I hear. For the past week, every night you've caused quite a ruckus in the west wing," The doctor kept pushing, "If you talk about them and bring them out in the open, it will purge your mind. Why don't you tell us what it is that's haunting you?" Jack tried to ignore the morbid curiosity coming from the ogre across the room, and the fellow embarrassment from his friend at his side. He knew that Murdock knew about his nightmares, it was impossible for him not to. He was just across the hall, but he trusted Murdock, which was more than he could say for anybody else in the asylum.
"No. I don't want to talk about it," he whispered dangerously.
"That's fine. You will eventually though, what about any other symptoms. Any blackouts? Memory lapses? Have you been having any depressed feelings or dangerous thoughts?" Yeah, I'm thinking 'em right now!
"Ooh ooh Doc! Pick on me! Please!" Murdock jumped in, sitting on the edge of his seat, waving his arm in the air so high that his jacket was starting to ride up. Jack recognized the intervention for what it was, and felt eternally grateful. He owed him a big one. Maybe he would stop by the mess and pick him up a piece of cake before bed.
"Yes Murdock?" the doc had no choice but to acknowledge the pilot.
"You know me and my intermittent memory loss, I have tons of gaps in my head. It's holier than the pope!"
"Yes we know all about that. Do you have anything to add? Anything new, like quite possibly where you were this past week?" Richter had known where he was, he had formed his own theory since the very beginning, but it had never been confirmed, and he had never told anyone else his hypothesis, especially not the other doctors much to their chagrin. This "Doctor Freud" had been dieing to find out, and caused a stir every time Murdock got out.
"You wanna know?" Murdock teased with a large, knowing grin. The doctor nodded slightly and waited patiently, "I was on the moon! Yup! Me and Buzz, we buzz buzz buzzed through the skies together!" Murdock jumped out of his chair and zoomed around his seat and behind Jack, carefully staying on his side of the room.
Of course, his antics riled up all the other patients in the room, and pretty soon the quack in charge of the gaggle of goons was forced to dismiss everyone back to their rooms.
Murdock and Hands were among the first to escape from the room, both undergoing a transformation as they made further distance from the chaos. Jack had calmed down, while Murdock had dropped the buzzing bee act with a loving tug of his jacket.
He looked over at his friend and they both exchanged matching grins. Yes, Murdock was quite the tactician.
Having had enough of chess to last them the rest of the week, Murdock decided to drag his friend to the Arts & Crafts room. Apparently he was a regular and the Nurse in charge of the activity welcomed him with a large hug.
"Hey there HM, who's yer friend?" she asked with a Texas twang, more pronounced than the pilot's.
"Well howdy there pretty lady!" he greeted back, "This here's ma friend the Handman. Hands, this is Miss Molly,"
"Good golly," he grinned as he shook her hand, then he added in a softer tone so that only the pretty brunette could here, "sorry, I just couldn't help myself. It was too tempting."
She just smiled knowingly and led them over to a table. Jack was never really into Arts & Crafts. Though he did like to work with his hands, he had taken up wood carving way back when in high school; he had never made anything out of Popsicle sticks or felt faces, not since kindergarten, and he felt largely out of place. While Murdock whole-heartedly began to build what he said was a plane, Jack was happy just sitting and watching his childlike enthusiasm. He even gave him a few guiding tips about the design. Taking a breather while picking the glue off his fingers, Murdock realized that Jack hadn't done anything for himself.
"What, have you just been sitting there all this time, or are you hiding a masterpiece behind your ears?"
Jack just shrugged sheepishly and tried to form a suitable reply when Murdock called out for Miss Molly to bring him something to do. The woman, god bless her soul, understood that some patients weren't into doing such trivial activities and humored him by bringing a packet of paper and some crayons.
"What do you want me to do with these?" he asked, the question directed at whomever was willing to answer.
"Draw a picture…Oh I know! Draw Billy!" Jack just chuckled and held up the top blank paper. Molly stifled a laugh and shuffled away while Murdock stuck out his tongue. Now that his friend had something to do, he once again focused on his plane.
Jack just stared at the paper as if the answer to his dilemma would just appear out of thin air. He sighed and looked back at the captain for help, but he was already engrossed wholly in his own undertaking.
Hands just looked back down at the paper he held in his hands, a nervous habit he had was that he had to keep his hands active, and he had unwittingly folded the corners of the paper. When he went to smooth them out, he got an idea, and he began to purposely fold the paper cross wise, lengthwise, horizontally, vertically: all as if he were following some invisible blueprints in his mind.
When he was finished, the unmistakable form of a Concord Jet, well, unmistakable to a pilot. Admiring his handiwork, he couldn't help but feel as if it needed something. He grabbed the crayon box that Molly had brought and pulled out a couple appropriate colors, and proceeded to add that 'something extra'. He was so involved in his project that he didn't even notice when Murdock had declared that he was finished with his own plane. Murdock had set it on a back shelf and asked Molly to watch it closely for him before he returned to the table. What he saw made him smile, Hands was bent over his own creation, attentively adding every little detail until it was perfect. He couldn't quite see what it was he had made, but he was determined to find out.
"Whatcha makin'?" he asked, pushing his face right up to Jack's. This apparently startled him so bad that he leapt up off of his bench, tripping over his own feet in the process. He let out a strangled cry as he went down, dropping his plane in the process.
"Handman, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle ya!" Now the guilt was setting in. Jack was strewn awkwardly across the bench with his feet in the air and his butt hanging between the ground and the seat. The commotion had drawn the attention of a few fellow artists, and when Molly saw that the situation was in hand, she ushered their stares away.
"It's okay Murdock, we're even now," he stated in good nature as his heart slowly began to return to its normal pace. I'm a bit jumpy there. "No harm no foul," and Murdock pulled his outstretched arm, returning him to his upright position.
"Speaking of foul, here ya go," he offered as he bent over to retrieve the dropped plane. However, when he picked it up, he gasped, "Wow! This is…this is beautiful… I never…"
"It's just a paper plane," Jack shrugged.
"Just a paper plane?! Just a paper plane! Is Mickey Mouse just a paper plane? No! This is amazing," he fingered the form delicately as he examined every little detail to commit it to memory.
"Ya know, if ya like it that much, you can have it," he offered. It was just a paper plane; he could always make another one of he wanted to. And he said as much. If the older pilot got more of a rush from looking at it than he did, then he was welcome to it.
"I can?" he asked timidly as if he expected Jack to laugh in his face and grab it back at any moment.
"Yeah, sure," he nodded, " Oh, but it's not finished yet!"
"It's not?" How could it get any more perfect than it already was?
"Just one more thing to do," he stated as he held out his hand is an unspoken request. Murdock handed the plane over, "What's your call sign?" Jack asked while he picked up a pen.
"My call sign?" What did that have to do with anything? Oh yeah!
"Howlin Mad!" he declared with obvious pride. Handman was right; no plane was complete without its pilot's sign. Quickly penning in the name, Jack then handed the now finished paper plane back to its rightful owner, name and all.
"There! Now it's complete!"
Murdock's beaming smile couldn't be any bigger. It took up his entire face, and it was contagious.
"Come on, let's go try this thing out! Then, I'll take you to dinner, my treat." Jack followed the bouncing man out the door and into the hallway. Without Murdock he would probably have been sulking in his room instead of finding a piece of sunshine that penetrated even one of the darkest places a man could be. He was especially grateful after that therapy session. He figured he owed Murdock more than a little paper plane he threw together could ever cover.
Molly also smiled as she watched the two men exit her little corner sanctuary.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Back in his room, Jack's mind began to go over the confrontation in the shrink's office. Murdock had successfully kept him distracted the entire rest of the day, but now his friend was tucked away in his own little room across the hall. He remembered the humiliation he felt as the doc described all of his psychological shortcomings to the entire group. Whoever first thought up group sessions should be shot. How were they even supposed to help anyway?
So he had nightmares, he bet that if the good doctor had been what he'd been through, seen what he had seen, felt what he had felt, then they could compete over who had a better hold on sanity. But the doctor had never been to war, you could just tell; he probably had never even been outside the US. Jack was willing to put his entire year's salary on the assumption that daddy had paid for him to go to some Ivy League university, get a psych degree, and voila! An instant expert! How the hell was he supposed to open up to the guy? To talk? He had absolutely nothing in common with him.
And he had the nerve to look down on him because he had nightmares. So what, he was dealing with them. He'd show that damn doctor. A nightmare every single night since he arrived, he said. Fine! Does he think that I enjoy reliving my best friend's death every night!? Well not tonight, he vowed, not tonight!
But the only way he could stop the nightmares would be to not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to rest or get some peace, there was Mike's face staring, glaring at him. Accusing him.
"I…I'm afraid to die Jack"
"Stop it!" He yelled, slamming his hands against his ears in a vain attempt to block out the twisted memory's voice,
"Why'd you kill me Jack?"
"He never said that!"
"Don't let me die Jack!"
"Leave me alone!"
Mercifully, the voice faded away. Jack just sat there, hyperventilating and shaking. During the day he thought he had been doing so well, he was practically normal. He hadn't had a flashback in a whole day! It was the nights, when the physical darkness came; the mental darkness was brought as well. The two went hand in hand, until he now dreaded the night. When the moon rose and the sun set all of his defenses disappeared. He was vulnerable to attack, and in his dreams he was unable to fight back. Weakened by the medication, his mind and memory ran rampant, destroying any good done during the day.
He couldn't continue on like this. Constantly rebuilding his walls everyday was taking its toll. He was quickly becoming exhausted and his work pace would eventually lag behind the rate of destruction. He was losing his tenuous hold on sanity and he knew it. Despite the daytime denial, he knew that he was slipping.
Maybe if he could be spared one night… one night only. No nightmares, no memories. But realistically to not enter the realm where the shadows lurked, he had to remain awake…as long as it took.
So Jack fought the medication's drowsy effects and sat on the floor beside his bed all night long. He recounted the entire Special Forces manual to keep his mind occupied, then after losing his place too many times, he gave up, and around four in the morning, he quietly sang the Air Force theme song instead, carefully, so as not to wake any one.
He'd show that doctor.
One night, no screaming.
He could do it.
