Sorry for the delay. Between writer's block and illness, it took longer than I would've like. Hope you enjoy :)

Face raced against the tide of fans exiting the stadium. He elbowed his way through the throngs of people with a tightly controlled desperate panic. Each person he dodged delayed him that much further. Every second that ticked by with increasing rapidity counted. He could feel it in the very marrow of his bones. The cold steel pressed into the small of his back served as a reminder that urged him forward with haste.

Finally, he reached the gate, but was halted by the beefy hand of a security guard. The guard hooked his thumbs in his utility belt and stared down the frantic man. "No entrance without a pass."

"I'm an interpreter for one of the players. I need to get in there." Face fought to keep his voice even and plastered on his most winning smile. "See, in all the confusion we got separated. I thought he had come out already, but as it turns out he was still inside waiting on me. Isn't that funny?"

The guard squared his shoulders, clearly not seeing any humor or irony in the situation. "Don't make no difference. No pass, no entrance, buddy."

Face conjured up a mask of serenity on his countenance as he patted himself down. Inside, agitation grew exponentially as he came up empty handed time and time again. He thrust his hands into each pocket on a second pass, eventually finding the elusive object. Face shoved it under the guard's nose who reluctantly stepped aside with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah, thanks," Face muttered sarcastically, quickening his pace. By the time he approached the ramp he broke into a full-fledged run, dreading what he might - or might not - find.

All Murdock could see in his increasingly graying vision were the words "Louisville Slugger" looming above his head. Randy's calloused hands squeezed tighter as he gasped for air, his face turning a dark shade of purple. As the bat arced downward, the choking sensation was replaced by a searing pain in his right shoulder as he felt the bone separate from the socket. His now-useless right arm hung limply against his side as he sagged to the floor, no longer supported by the hands holding him up by the throat.

Gravity proved to be his friend as the bat left a large dent in the spot occupied by his head only moments before. The sound it elicited from the aluminum lockers echoed throughout the empty room. He tried to roll away before another attack could be initiated, but he was rudely interrupted by a cleat to the ribs.

Murdock bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks, drawing blood, to stifle the moan that wanted to escape. Any sound he made could blow his cover - if it wasn't blown already, judging from the beating he was receiving. Besides, he didn't want to give the bastards the satisfaction of knowing they got in a good shot.

When he had regained enough of his breath, he pushed himself up with his good arm. Before he could get his feet planted firmly beneath him, Randy grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and roughly pulled him up. Murdock felt the back of his head meet the locker with force. Momentarily dazed, his eyes refused to focus until his chin was yanked upwards so he had no choice but to look Randy in the eye.

"I want you to get this message loud and clear, dummy. Well, at least clear." Randy cackled at his own pathetic joke."You seeing my lips? Good. You ain't gonna pitch day after tomorrow. And maybe just for our own amusement, we'll fix it so you never pitch again. Me and the rest of these guys ain't gonna let you mess this up for us."

'What? What would I be messing up for you? Gimme details,' Murdock wanted to scream. But he couldn't. Not now. Not in the shape he was in, and not without backup. It would mean certain death. 'Where are you guys?'

His silent pleas went unanswered as he was driven into the locker again and again. Murdock squared his shoulders and arched his back so it would take the brunt of the locker's wrath, the pliable metal bending with each brutal contact. As abruptly as the slamming motion began, it ended. Murdock's eyes widened until there were only minuscule black dots centered in the whites of his eyes as understanding dawned on him.

Randy quickly side-stepped as the bat came swinging downward. Murdock feebly attempted to raise his arm, but it was his bad arm and he only managed to deflect a minimal amount of the blow to his temple. It proved too much for him and he crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll.

His vision swam in and out in a kaleidoscope of colors as he felt hands grope at him, seizing him and dragging him across the threadbare carpet. He slapped at his attackers weakly, but any movements he made were painful and ineffectual.

The rough material changed to cold, jagged stone as he was thrown haphazardly into a cubicle of some sort. The silence was broken by a quick squeaking sound, followed by water rushing into his mouth as his limbs were pinned to the floor. He spluttered the liquid out and tried to move out of the stream, but he could not muster up the energy to fight against his captors.

The hands mercifully disappeared, but the water kept coming. Unable to raise his head, he was slowly choking on the shower spray that was growing increasingly hotter by the second. Murdock struggled to raise his arm above his head to stop the torrent, but it was futile. All he could do was lay there and cling to consciousness, trying to discern what the voices were saying.

"That oughta take care of him. I'll take his place in the rotation and make sure we lose that game. Then we can collect on the loot as planned," Randy sneered.

"We just gonna leave him here?"

"Sure, why not? Nobody's around. Nobody saw nothing, got it?"

Johnny was starting to get nervous. "But ain't he gonna be able to finger us?"

"By the time he wakes up, we'll be on the road - the perfect alibi. And he sure as hell won't be talking," Randy laughed diabolically. "By the time we get figured out we'll be in Rio soaking up our retirement. Daryl, why don't you go call Tony and tell him game's on. Got it?"

"Got it." Daryl disappeared around the corner and made his way to Lou's office. He found it empty as he knew he would. He picked up the phone and dialed long distance.

Face crept down each darkened hallway, checking out every shadow cast by the meager overhead lighting. He had to deliberately slow himself down to not risk putting Murdock in any more danger. The going was torturously slow.

Off in the distance, he could hear a voice echoing back to him. He continued forward until he could make out a sliver of light coming from Lou's office. There was no need to try to figure out who the voice belonged to as it identified itself.

"Yeah, this is Daryl. Let me speak to Tony DiPuccio." There was a long pause as the person on the other end was doing as ordered. "Tony, hey man. Yeah, that little problem's been taken care of."

Face drew in a sharp breath and held it. It was pretty clear what - or whom - he was alluding to. The gnawing worry in his gut was being fed. "Randy says game's on. Drop the loot like you said and we'll take care of the rest." Face made a mental note of all that was being said, but subconsciously all he could think about was getting to Murdock. "Day after tomorrow we'll all be rich, man. Later."

Daryl hung up the phone and took a sharp turn into the hallway without looking. Face pressed himself against the wall around the corner, gun drawn. The conman needn't have worried. The open door and lack of attention to any stray onlookers just showed their overconfidence which would only help the Team in shutting them down. Face was careful regardless. He waited until the footsteps had fully retreated before he started forward.

Coming to the end of the long maze, he reached the locker room. He stood listening for any signs of the other three. There were no voices or shuffling feet, but there was another familiar sound he couldn't quite discern. As he walked closer, he could just make out the sound of running water which was curious since all the other players had long since vacated the building save for...

Realization hit Face like a ton of bricks and he sprinted towards the showers. The limp form of his friend sprawled out, bloodied and soaked, under the still-running shower sent a dagger through his heart. "Oh, God. Murdock. Murdock. Murdock," he called out like some curious mantra as he raced forward and fiercely turned the knobs to the off position.

The usually expressive eyes were only open to slits, and staring off into nothing in the distance. Face shoved two fingers at Murdock's neck, only slightly relieved to feel a weak pulse. He put his head on his friend's chest and immediately noticed the lack of breaths. "Nonononono. C'mon, Murdock. Don't do this to me."

Face straddled Murdock and placed one hand on top of the other. He pumped as hard as he could and repeated the action several times unsuccessfully. "C'mon, Murdock. C'mon, buddy. It's not your time. Please God." Face summoned all his Catholic upbringing and mixed prayers with pleas. "You still gotta make it to the big leagues, remember?"

All of his weight was behind the repetitive motion. His muscles were trembling with the strain, but he could not, would not give up. Finally, after an eternity, his efforts were rewarded with an explosion of water in the face. It would have been comical if not for the gravity of the situation.

Murdock took two gasping breaths, shuddered, and then returned to a more normal, yet shallow breathing pattern. His eyes remained barely open and unseeing.

Face moved from atop Murdock and kneeled to the side of him, not even noticing that he was nearly as soaked as his friend. "Hey, buddy. Are you with me? C'mon, open your eyes, Murdock." He gripped Murdock's hand in his own and was puzzled to feel uneven movement there.

Face smiled to himself as he realized Murdock was trying to sign his answer, still going on automatic. "Hey, it's just us. Talk to me."

"Facey?" The one word was so soft and fragile, yet so beautiful to his ears.

"Yeah, Murdock?"

"Everybody outta the pool. Don't wanna swim no more, 'kay?"

"You got it, buddy." Face grabbed some towels and dried the pilot off the best he could, but it couldn't completely abate the shivering. "Do you feel like you can sit up and move to the bench so we can get you into some dry clothes?"

Murdock nodded almost imperceptibly so Face moved to help him up. Murdock groaned in pain as Face inadvertently tugged on his injured shoulder. Face readjusted and just managed to get him propped up against the wall.

Getting Murdock as far as the bench proved to be a more difficult task than either anticipated. The pilot's face was contorted with pain as Face eased him down into a sitting position. "Forget the dry clothes, Facey. At this rate we'll still be here next season."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Guess we oughta call Hannibal and BA."

"Easy, Captain." Hannibal gently lowered the thin and battered man onto the bed. When his Lieutenant first sent out the distress call, he and BA immediately responded. But neither man was prepared for the state the pilot was in. BA, for all his protestations to the contrary, cared a great deal for his crazy friend. He wordlessly scooped him up over his shoulder and navigated the hallways, not caring that water was now dripping off his gold. When the quartet reached the van, he gingerly placed his friend into the seat giving a small wince in sympathy at Murdock's gasp of pain.

BA wore the same expression now as Hannibal checked over the other man. The angry bruising spread over his torso like a giant, purple hand. A little pressure from the Colonel's gloved hand elicited a new hiss of pain. Clearly, one of the casualties were a few ribs. The black leather-clad hands moved upwards until they reached the temple. "Pretty nasty bump you got there."

"Ahm okay. Just tired," Murdock mumbled.

"Stay with me, Captain." Murdock swayed a little, but stayed upright at the continued use of rank.

The hands continued to probe, but the most obvious injury had yet to be taken care of. Hannibal's tight-lipped glance at Murdock conveyed his intention. Face and BA exchanged worried looks, and Face stepped forward at the unspoken communication between the four men.

Hannibal braced a hand against Murdock's shoulder and gave a curt nod. "On the count of three. One. Two. Three." On 'three' he yanked as hard as he could until he felt the joint slip back into socket. Murdock yelped and suddenly slumped over. Face was in position to catch him before he hit the floor, and slowly laid him back onto the bed.

"He in pretty rough shape, Hannibal," BA commented.

"Yeah, they worked him over good," Hannibal agreed. "Did you guys find out anything?"

"From what Murdock told me and what I overheard, they wanted him out of the picture so they'd make sure they'd lose Thursday." Face sighed as his eyes moved over his friend's injuries.

"Did a good job of it, too."

"Yep. Crazyman can't pitch with his arm and ribs all busted up like that," BA lamented.

Hannibal turned his attention away from his patient for a moment. "It's not his arm and ribs I'm worried about, BA."

"It's not?"

"No. That knock to his head was pretty hard. I can't be sure, but there might be a fracture involved."

"A skull fracture," Face exclaimed, alarmed. "Shouldn't we be getting him to a hospital then?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Too risky at this point. He needs to be watched very closely. We need to wake him up every hour and make sure he's okay."

"Crazyman ain't never been okay."

"This is no time for jokes," Face said sharply. "Murdock could be hurt really bad here."

"Ain't joking."

"Cool it guys. We've got to figure out what's going on - not only for our clients, but now it's personal."

A soft moan arose from the bed. All three men turned toward the pitiful sound. Face knelt by the side of the bed. "Murdock." When there was no response, he tried again. "Murdock, time to wake up."

"Five more minutes, Doc."

"If you don't wake up, sucka, Ima knock you out myself," BA threatened. Murdock responded with fluttering lashes.

"Nice BA." Hannibal paused to let Murdock's eyes come back into focus. "Murdock, did those creeps say anything while they were working you over? Did you hear anything that might've tipped their hand?"

"Not much. Somethin' 'bout a drop and it being moved to the away field. They didn't get specific, though." Murdock scrunched up his face trying to remember anything else through the haze of his mind. "Can't come up with nothin' else, Colonel. Sorry."

Hannibal patted Murdock on his uninjured shoulder. "It's okay. You did good. Rest now, Captain."

"Mmmkay. Yessir." The southern drawl was deteriorating into slurring. Face gave their leader a worried look that was returned.

"How about you, Lieutenant? Did you overhear anything interesting?"

"Same as Murdock. But Daryl was talking to some guy named Tony DiPuccio. He made a big deal about how rich this drop was going to make them."

"DiPuccio? Dipuccio? Isn't that the name of the bookie that got sent up river for not covering bets and turned evidence?" Face and BA merely shrugged. The name didn't ring any bells with them, but there was a quiet 'yep' that came from the bed beside them.

"Alright, I'll check this guy out," Hannibal continued. "Face, you get with Lou and get a list of all the towns this team visited during the season. See if anything hinky went down while they happened to be in the neighborhood."

"Like what?"

"Anything. I'd bet there was an increase in crime while our friends here were in each town. See if you can establish a pattern."

"Got it." Face spared a worried glance at his friend. "What about Murdock?"

"BA will look after him, won't you?"

"Me?" The question came out angry, but the concern was evident in his eyes.

"Sure. You can do it, BA," Hannibal reassured him. "Just remember neuro checks every hour. Call us if there's any change. We'll meet back here at 0900."

Face and Hannibal gathered up a few necessities and exited the room together, but not before giving one last look to the unnaturally still form on the bed. The door clicked shut behind them and BA was left alone with his patient.

He stared down at the man who seemed to be swallowed by the sheets. His pale white skin made the bruises stand out that much more. Pain etched his features and his breaths came in quick, shallow pants.

A wave of overprotectiveness washed over BA, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He never could stand to see the Fool hurt and in pain. BA had a momentary flashback to the cave, Murdock's body draped over his own for support. BA had been left to watch over the Fool then, and he almost didn't make it. The more he tried to block out that thought, the more it ran through his head. He didn't know how long he stood there like that, but Murdock's panicky voice broke him out of his reverie. "BA, I think I'm gonna be sick!"