Hi again! :D boy, am I excited to see YOU!
Just so ya know, there is a bit of cussing in here and if you recognize anything, ANYTHING, at all, it's not mine.
dramagoddess202: I know! Isn't it wonderful? When I first met her (she spent ten minutes talking about silky string and alliteration) the only thing I could think was "Wow! She should really meet Murdock, they would get along great!"
Hoodoo: You know, it's funny you should mention that, because I was thinking the exact same thing...
Nine Years and Three Months Ago
Lily Craigs—also known as "Glenda the Good" among the residents of the ward—is a woman who loves her job with a passion; despite her bulldog-like appearance, she possesses an aura of compassion, one so strong that the residents automatically trust her. Milfred not taking his medicine again? Call Linda—she'll talk those pills down his throat in a heartbeat. Is that Murdock singing Defying Gravity as he jumps from chair to chair in the rec room? Get Linda to convince him that his ability to 'fly' is making the other residents jealous. The woman has the uncanny ability to understand each occupant—what calms them down, what gives them nightmares, what makes them tick—so when someone tells her that their favorite pilot simply won't get out of bed and could she please come help? she knows something is wrong, because that man cannot wait to wake up every morning.
And when she pulls back the covers to revel a mound of Murdock-shaped pillows, she takes a moment to wonder why she's at all surprised before turning to the nurse behind her and asking him to sound the alarm as she thinks to herself: he can't have gotten that far—after all, he's on foot and in ward issued pajamas.
It's not until three hours later that they discover half a dozen bottles of Clorazepate missing from the pharmacy and when night watch takes over a certain staff member—nicknamed "the Gorilla" by none other than Mr. Murdock himself—finds his clothes and wallet mysteriously absent from his locker in the staff room.
(^.^)
At the moment the alarm goes off at Fairmont Hospital, a man in clothes two sizes too big for him boards a bus with a lively spring in his step, whistling happily and chatting away to an imaginary person named "Billy", with whom he keeps up a steady string of conversation during the four hour trip to Milroy, Pennsylvania.
(^.^)
Roy Miller places the stubborn pickle jar between his legs, biting his lower lip in frustration as he uses his one arm to unsuccessfully twist open the lid; fucking mother of pearl it was hard enough to open shit like this when he had two arms, but now it's damn near impossible. Just as he's about to give up and resign himself to an abomination of a sandwhich the door bell rings, it's annoyingly cheerful chime making his headache even worse.
'Good.' He thinks bitterly, 'Someone to open this fucking jar.'
However, when he answers the door, the most unexpected person greets him, a worried smile on his lips and a strange light—one that hadn't been there three years ago—in his eyes.
"C-Captain?" Roy stutters, mouth falling open at the sight of his former team member; Murdock's smile turns into a beam at being remembered.
"Howdy-do, Corporal." The man actually bounces—bounces—on his toes, the worry in his face quickly replaced with barely concealed excitement.
"I thought…I mean, Phil said you…"
"Went completely and utterly bat-shit, psychologist-certified insane?" At Roy's numb nod the pilot chuckles, "That Phil always was a gossip. But everything he said turned out to be true." He adds, with a knowing smile; the amputee struggles to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.
"So…you were actually…um…" he gulps nervously and almost whispers the next word, "Committed?" Murdock nods readily.
"Yup. First in a neat little joint in Texas, then in this cozy place in West Virginia." It suddenly occurs to Roy that they're having this conversation on his doorstep, in 65 degree weather, the extremely angry clouds above them promising rain.
"Well, here, come on in." He ushers his guest inside and leads him to the kitchen, "You want something to drink? Coffee, water? I think I've got some beer…"
"Naw, I'm good." Murdock replies as he sits at the expensive-looking table; Roy opens the fridge and pulls out a brown bottle.
"Well, hope you don't mind me having one." At Murdock's nod, he throws back his head and takes a swallow; God, the alcohol feels good going down his throat.
"So, how've you been?" the Captain asks as Roy sits down, "Last time I saw you, you were bein' loaded into that chopper, pale as a ghost." The corporal suppresses a shudder at the memory and takes another gulp of the cold beer.
"I'm doing fine." He replies, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Me 'n my brother own a string of houses down in Reedsville that we've converted into apartments, so things have worked out for me." He takes another sip, "How 'bout you?" he realizes his mistake one second too late and mentally kicks himself for it; the man's spent the last few years being shipped from one psych ward to the next and he's sitting here asking him how he's been; Murdock, though, takes it in stride.
"Oh, I'm ok….actually, that's what I came here to talk to you about…" The pilot's happy demeanor vanishes as quickly as it came, that gnawing worry taking its place, "I'm, uh, in a little trouble…well, a lot of trouble, actually, and...I need…a place to stay…" Suddenly, he slings the blue back-pack off his shoulders onto his lap and starts rooting around in it, finally coming up with a few fifties, which he tosses on the table, "This is all the money I have and I know it's not a lot, but…"
Roy simply stares at the crumpled bills, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully; this is the bravest, most daring man he's ever met-hell, without him he would've come home as a corpse wrapped in an American flag, instead of a very much alive one-armed gimp.
He owes this man. Big-time. And now he has a way of paying off that debt.
Exhaling slowly, he pushes the money back to a wide-eyed Murdock.
"I've got an apartment that's just been vacated." Roy says with a small smile, "It's not much, but you can stay there as long as you like. I could also help you out as far as food goes, if you need it." He has a nagging feeling that the pilot isn't telling him the full truth, but he's pleasantly surprised to find that the bond of trust they shared back in the army hasn't been broken, at least for him.
"Roy…I don't know how I can…" The corporal holds up a hand, efficiently silencing his friend.
"You saved my life, sir." He replies softly; Murdock is speechless as Roy stands up and opens a kitchen drawer, pulling out a ring of keys, "C'mon, I'll show you the place."
(^.^)
Murdock stands in the apartment and waits for the door to slam, announcing Roy's departure, before letting out a shrill whoop of jubilation as he spins around in a circle, the Wal-Mart bags full of the new clothes on his arms making a delightful crinkling sound.
"Gee, Billy, I forgot how hard it was to be sane!" He tells the dog, giggling like a child on Christmas; Billy is already across the room, checking out the cool new smells. Murdock joins him, opening and closing doors with exclamations like "Ooooohh, a spider! What shall we name him, my faithful steed?" and "How much you wanna bet this one leads to Narnia?"
The apartment is a simple one; a bedroom, a bathroom and a living room with a tiny sliver of a kitchen at the end, all furnished with the absolute basics—a bed, a small T.V., a couch and a few dishes in the cabinets—but the pilot couldn't be happier; he spends the next few hours putting away the groceries that Roy bought him, rescuing and naming various insects and making a suitable bed for Billy next to his, which is now adorned with fresh, new sheets and a small, but workable blanket.
Bythe time he's done its nine o'clock; he stands on the worn, tired-looking couch, hands on his hips as he surveys his new domain.
Surveying, however, only takes about seven seconds, which is enough time for him to become conscious of the chilling voice of destiny calling his name, beckoning him and Billy to the great, wild yonder that lies beyond his front door.
"C'mon boy!" He exclaims, the voice coming out of his mouth resembling that of a certain pirate captain's, "Adventure awaits!" He jumps off the couch and bounds outside, just barely remembering to close the door.
(^.^)
Shannon hums a little Irish ditty to herself as she skips down the aisles of Gaby's Groceries, her extremely good mood apparent to everyone that spots her; she had spent the last eight hours happily cooped up in her art room, painting anything and everything that came to mind, and she fully intends to go back to her place and continue that wonderful activity for the next eight hours, right after she stocks up on caffeine and sugar.
She's just completed her little shopping spree—two extra large bottles of coke are blissfully rolling around the bottom of her shopping cart, along with a package of triple-chocolate chip cookies and a dozen pink and purple pens, because she likes the alliteration-and she heads to check out, stopping in her tracks when she pulls up next to the candy aisle.
She looks at the cookies already lying in her cart, then at the delicious row of M&M's and various Hershey bars. She shouldn't, she knows she shouldn't; the practical voice in her head is screaming at her to walk away, or better yet pick up a bag of apples; it even goes so far as to remind her of the size-twelve holey jeans currently hugging her butt.
Instantly, Shannon's good mood dissipates; with a scowl, she marches over to the candy bars, scoops a half a dozen into her cart, tosses in a bag of gummy worms for good measure, and tells the voice, in no uncertain terms, to go fuck itself.
A hint of thunder still left on her face, she gets in line behind a man with particularly disheveled hair and contemplates the bottle of whiskey sitting on the shelf behind her.
By the time the old lady at the front of the line has paid for her precious vegetables—"Health nut" Shannon whispers venomously—her gaze has wondered to the cute stranger before her. Besides his adorably messy brown hair, he has the deepest, wildest green eyes she's ever encountered, ones that posses a strange uncertainty to them, like he might bolt out the door in pursuit of a butterfly, or burst into a random song about Spain, or…why isn't he wearing any shoes?
She drags her eyes away from his socked feet and realizes that he's frantically patting down his pockets, mumbling something like "why didn't you remind me?" as the cashier—a bleached-blonde bimbo with a wad of gum in her mouth—rolls her eyes, clearly impatient. Shannon leans a little to the right, trying to get a look at what he's buying; an aviator's magazine, a can of dog food, and a box of crayons. She thoughtfully fiddles with the silver four leaf clover around her neck…aw, what the hell.
"Excuse me?" she says politely; the stranger spins around, turning the full force of his emerald gaze on her, stunning her momentarily, "Umm, d-did you, uh…" Ofh for Pete's sake, woman, get a hold of yourself! "F-forget your money?" he nods uncomprehendingly, "Well, I can pay for your stuff, if you're ok with that." For some reason, this statement appears confuse him.
"You…you would pay for me?" he asks, a hint of that familiar drawl in his voice, tilting his head in a manner she finds so adorable that she has to restrain her hand from reaching up and ruffling his hair further.
"Well, yeah…I mean, you don't have a lot of stuff and it's not every day a girl gets to help out a cute guy…"Oh, God did she really just say that? The cute guy in question simply stands there, seemingly speechless; Shannon decides to take matters into her own hands, and begins piling her stuff onto the conveyer belt, "I'm paying for him." She informs the cashier, who heaves a grateful sigh.
After everything's bagged and paid for, Shannon turns to the stranger, who is still speechless, and sticks out her hand.
"I'm Shannon, by the way." He hesitantly offers up his own as he regards her with what can only be described as amazement.
"M-Murdock." He replies as they clasp hands; she hopes her smile does not resemble that of a thirteen year old girl chatting up her crush.
"Murdock." She repeats, savoring the unique taste of it, as her smile turns into a full-blown grin, "Cool name."
Talk about meet cute! *glances at clock* Wowza, how the holy string cheese did it get to be midnight?