Author's Note: Yes, the title did change, sorry for any confusion, lol. The previous title suited another fic far too well and this way I have chapter titles for this one too!

Also, I highly recommend every song I've used as chapter starters. I used all of them in the process of writing and it was SO hard to pick just one line from each! But they give the general tone and emotion for the chapter.

"… and, oh, I scream for you. Hurry… I'm falling…."

Savin' Me (Nickelback)

Murdock always found therapy to be entertaining, sometimes even helpful, but today it was just mind numbing. Instead of leading him to Doctor Richter's office, the orderly had taken him to a new room in a wing of the V.A. that had been blocked off for construction… at least that's what they'd been told. The room more closely resembled one of those questioning rooms you see in a TV show than it did an office and at first Murdock had been a bit worried about the change. Was this Doctor Ric's new office? It was a bit of a step down from the one with the window and the nice little plants and the bookshelf with books no one would really read. But who was he to judge? He was insane.

Five minutes in, Murdock was fidgeting in his chair.

Fifteen minutes and he'd tried sitting upside down, sideways and backwards and nearly gotten stuck in the chair doing so. It'd taken him another few minutes to untangle his khaki-clad legs from the chair's hold.

He used up one minute to rub his head where it'd hit the ground when he toppled over (dang chair let go all of a sudden… cheater).

Three minutes to consider the possibilities of using his brown leather jacket to cover the camera in the corner of the ceiling just to see what'd happen, but it was a little chilly in the boring grey room, and a faded red t-shirt with the words 'Vote Me for President' printed across the front wasn't too warm without the jacket.

Twenty more minutes and he was so bored he thought he might just try eating the little camera, but then it had never done anything to him except sit and stare. So instead he just stretched himself out on the empty grey, metal table – whose name was Harvey and who didn't mind Murdock resting a bit after his fight with Gladys the chair – and hummed show tunes to himself, tucking his cap over his eyes to avoid the glare of the overhead light.

Finally, after nearly another half-hour of Broadway and Dixie, the door opened and someone entered. 'Someone' because no way Murdock jumped up and greeted 'em just because they'd finally found the doorknob. He'd had to wait, they had to wait. Fair's fair. He couldn't help peeking past the brim of his hat, though, when a deep voice spoke up from the doorway.

"Mister H.M. Murdock." A statement, not a question. At least the guy had the right room- good for him. But the voice sounded almost bored and that was rude. He hadn't been the one stuck in this grey tin can for an hour.

"I think there should be a 'Captain' in there somewhere," Murdock came back, grinning beneath his hat and thinking about how much Face would've liked that joke. Footsteps heralded the newcomer's approach, and whoever it was stopped at the end of the table where Murdock's red sneakers and mismatched socks were bouncing slightly to the continuing Broadway Best Hits playing in his head.

"Yes," the voice drawled in that same bored, long-suffering tone. "So I've heard... but in this room and for my sessions, you are not a 'captain', understood?" Murdock sat up at that and got his first good look at Mister Boredy McDrawl-face.

The man was tall, about Hannibal's height, which placed him a good few inches taller than Murdock. His hairline had receded quite a ways, leaving his forehead looking enlarged and Murdock wondered vaguely if that was why his eyebrows were so level. The weight of the forehead must push 'em flat, right? I mean, no one had eyebrows that straight and emotionless. His voice was odd too, somehow managing to be bored and stiff at the same time and with a superior sort of British accent tossed in.

Blankface tilted his head slightly to indicate the chair to Murdock's right, which gave the younger man a better view of the fella's hair which was wispy like feathers, thin dark strands brushed back from his face and down his neck in a no-nonsense manner that suggested any rogue hair would be severely punished for getting in the way. The neatly trimmed beard and mustache reflected the same stern attitude but it was the eyes that really struck him as strange. They were dark but more than that, they seemed… empty… like the Doc was looking at a slide under a microscope instead of another human being. Murdock swallowed his instinctive comeback, suddenly feeling more like a bug under the intense scrutiny of a crow than a patient in a session.

"Why don't you have a seat, Mister Murdock, and we'll begin." Murdock moved to the chair silently, not liking the way the man bit off the end of his name like the clack of a judge's gavel. The man didn't sit and Murdock suddenly wondered why there was only one Gladys in the room. Usually the doctor sat too, relaxed, asked questions, offered you a drink of water or a candy from his desk. This guy though stayed standing, straight-backed and almost militant in posture. After a long moment of silence, Murdock adjusted his cap nervously and decided to speak up.

"So… uh… why am I here, again?" The man searched his face for a moment longer before taking in a deep breath and raising his eyebrows (ahh… so he could move 'em) innocently.

"You are here for an evaluation. I am Doctor Brenner. I've been invited here for a research project. I'll just ask a few simple questions and you'll be on your way out." Murdock glanced to the door, which was again closed and presumably locked, apprehension growing in his mind but so far staying out of his voice which he was thankful for. Showing fear in front of this man felt like swimming in shark infested waters with a stab wound: an all around bad plan.

"Okay… Can I finish my song first though? I'm about halfway through 'Defyin' Gravity' an' you jus' can't stop that one in the…" He swallowed again, trying not to shrink in his chair as the man stared him down, face blank as a brick wall and just as dangerous. Wait… that didn't make any sense…. What had he been saying? "… in the m-middle." The glint in the man's eyes told Murdock that one tiny pause had been a big, big mistake. Oh boy… Well, come an' get me shark-man.

Brenner smiled a quick, reflexive motion, almost a twitch, with no real emotion behind it at all. The doctor pulled a handheld tape recorder from his pocket and set it on the table, the dry click of a button effectively silencing the Elphaba in Murdock's head with a warbled record scratch. The doctor opted to ignore his earlier comment, revealing a small notepad from a pocket inside his suit jacket and flipping it open, plucking a pen from the same pocket before speaking.

"So… shall we begin?"

After a few simple questions like "What's your full name?" "Where were you born?" "When did you join the Army?" and several others, Murdock was released back into the common room, where he sank into an unoccupied wheelchair to think. 'Doctor' Brenner, if he was really a doctor, was a dangerous man, that much he was certain of. The way he spoke and looked at his patient had been too detached, too scientifically removed from the humanity of his profession. But he still didn't know if that dangerous was the kind of dangerous where they prescribed electroshock therapy – which frankly, Murdock found kinda fun – or the kind where they drugged you up an' had you experimented on just because you were a little different.

Trying to act casual despite the unease he was feeling, Murdock pretended to play with a toy airplane at one of the tables. Several other patients were brought down the same hall he'd come from by the same orderlies. Each one came back looking just as spooked as he felt. He rolled himself over to one of them, a kid by the name of Joe who liked to stare into the fish tank for hours and hours on end, especially if the little volcano inside was turned on and bubbling away merrily. Murdock managed to catch him before he'd tuned out the world for more fishy fantasy adventures, tapping him on the shoulder and nodding toward the ominous hall.

"They take you down there too?"

Joe hesitated, and then nodded. Murdock ducked his head as a nurse walked by, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"What'd you think? About the doc, I mean."

"His… His eyes are wrong.. I… I don't like him." Joe turned away uncomfortably, disappearing into Aquaman dreams.

"Yeah… me neither."

The next day, Murdock was taken to see Brenner again, the orderlies leading him to the same dull room as before, but this time it only took Brenner five minutes to arrive. The creep still had that same blank look on his face, and had clearly decided not to honor Pajama Day as he was dressed in the doctor's usual business suit, sans tie. The pilot's own t-shirt, pajama pants, and thin bathrobe would've been far more comfortable, except this time the doc's eyes held a hint of stern determination that brought the apprehension in Murdock's chest a notch higher. They went over some of the same questions as last time until, just when Murdock was about to ask why they were repeating everything, Brenner asked something new.

"Tell me, Mister Murdock, do you have any friends or family outside the hospital?" Brenner looked up from his seat, a plain chair brought in from one of the offices that looked considerably more comfortable than Gladys, who had no cushion whatsoever and was always cold.

"Uh… outside the hospital? No, not that I can think of… but then, I do suffer from intermittent memory loss an'-"

"Yes, so I've read." Brenner pulled a newspaper clipping from his file and pushed it across the table. "So, I suppose this means nothing to you, then?" At first, the article seemed like any other headline news bit nowadays, something about someone shooting someone else and getting in trouble for it like they should, but not before the victim died on the way to the hospital. No names were mentioned and Murdock glanced warily at Brenner, who tucked the clipping back into the folder with a shrug. "I only wondered because I thought you'd be interested in hearing about your friend's death."

Murdock's heart skipped a beat.

"What d'you mean by that?" he asked, sharply. Brenner only looked back across the table at him, innocent look turning stern once more.

"Nothing, only you claim to know no one outside this hospital, and yet every month or so you make a call to a…" He flipped through a file on the table and Murdock fidgeted with the edge of his robe, wishing he could pull his hat from the robe pocket and hide behind it without showing his discomfort. "… 555-3602." Brenner looked up from his papers, fixing an 'I know you're lying so just give in' look on Murdock who gulped down his surprise (this guy had phone records too?) before answering.

"That… that's… my Grandma Betsy." He lied quickly, babbling on automatically as he tried to restore order to his racing thoughts. "She worries about me, see, an' I gotta call her every month or so." His mouth went dry as Brenner leaned forward, raising one eyebrow. What was this guy trying to say? The number went to the team's van, but it looked like Brenner already had some idea about who he'd been calling. Why else would he talk about 'friends' outside the V.A.? A sudden horrible thought shocked Murdock's mind into a whirl of terror. What if that article had been written about his team? What if it was B.A. or Hannibal or Face who'd been shot, who'd died in the ambulance and wasn't going to answer when he called next week or next month or ever again?

Brenner started in with the questions again, "How old are you?" "How much do you weigh?" odd, clinical questions that he could've just gotten from the hospital's files. Then he rose and went to the door, knocking and speaking briefly with someone outside.

"We done already?" Murdock asked, keeping his tone light and conversational. He didn't get a response. Instead, three big orderlies stepped through the door, a single gesture from the Doc sending two of them swooping toward the pilot. Murdock jumped to his feet but was caught in their iron grip before he could escape.

"On the table, and hold him still," Brenner's voice drawled from behind one of the beefy men and Murdock struggled, shouting at them to let him go as he was pushed forward, chest and face pressed against the cold metal of the table and his arms twisted behind his back painfully. He tried to stand up, kicking behind him at the men holding him down but someone grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his head back down, holding him there as he blinked dazedly. The third orderly stepped into view, lifting a syringe up to the light to check the dosage.

"Wh-What's that?" Murdock asked before he could stop himself, panic seeping into his voice as the man stepped closer. "What is that? What's this for, Doc? What's goin' on?"

One of the men pulled Murdock's right arm out to lay across the table, palm up and shoving the sleeve of his robe back roughly, exposing the pilot's forearm to the needle. Murdock's breath was coming in quick, tight wheezes now. He hated needles; couldn't they just give him pills? Pills he could handle and sometimes they even helped a bit. But this guy ain't lookin' t'make things all better… A scene from his nightmares flashed in his mind's eye: Himself strapped to a metal table in a too-bright room, needles and wires and people all around him.

He wasn't about to go willingly. No way he became this Frankenstein's guinea pig.

"Okay, look guys, watch! I can calm down, see? I don' need that stuff! I'm calm!" He took a deep breath, relaxing his muscles, partially to play along with the whole 'calm' idea but also because with his hand clenched in a fist like before, the veins in his arm stood out far too obviously for his liking. The guy with the needle actually hesitated, glancing over at Brenner for directions. More of those slow, sinister footsteps and Brenner was in eyesight.

Disdain skittered spider-like across Brenner's expression and Murdock could feel his apprehension grow to full blown fear.

The doc didn't answer him, just turned to the man with the needle and said, "Go on."

Murdock struggled, twisted, fear chipping away at common sense and making him fight harder the closer that needle got to his skin. He wrenched his arm free, swinging a blow at the first wall of uniformed muscle he saw but at the same time, a hard blow struck his temple, making the room spin and before he could regain his balance, he was again pinned to the table.

"Enough!"

A hand took his wrist, nails digging painfully into his skin and once the room righted itself, Murdock found himself face to face with Brenner, looming over him with a look in his eyes that Murdock hated. A frustration reserved for children who acted out or animals who refused to obey. He stared into those dead shark's eyes, glared right back and suppressed a shudder as Brenner spoke again, low and dangerous.

"You are neither point nor purpose for my being here. You are merely a means to an end, nothing more than a mildly stimulating experiment and while I would have liked to begin with a subject a bit more… stable, I am afraid you will have to do."

Brenner took a step back, releasing his arm and motioning for the orderly to administer the injection which Murdock barely noticed. His chest hurt from his tight, shaky gasps and his heart pounded in his ears as he managed a few stuttered words.

"Wh-What d'you mean?" Brenner smiled and Murdock's arm began to burn from whatever they'd given him. The Doc pulled the recorder from his pocket and switched it on, watching Murdock with an unnerving detachment as he spoke into it.

"Subject 21: age, 36, height 5'11", weight 160." Brenner looked impassively into Murdock's wild eyes. "Day one."

The next few seconds passed in a blur as Murdock went from being frozen, staring in horror at Brenner, to a whirlwind of movement, thrashing, kicking, and biting at any bit of flesh he could reach. He had to get out, had to do… something. His foot connected with solid flesh and one of the orderlies fell with a startled cry and seconds later, Murdock had wriggled out of his robe and dashed for the door, bursting into the hallway and tearing down the corridor as fast as he could.

The white hospital walls twisted and blurred around him and he shook his head, trying to clear his vision. Plastic sheets covering not-yet-renovated rooms drifted eerily toward him like ghost's hands, the walls they covered reduced to mere metal skeletons, empty and powdered with white drywall dust. His arm ached where they'd given him the shot and every bit of him was screaming to move, to run, to go faster because there were voices behind him and one of them was the Devil's and the Devil was coming. Somehow, he knew that wasn't right, that the drug was messing with him, but it felt real and so did the panic whipping his heart to a frenzied rate.

He tore around another corner, slamming into the wall as his socked feet slipped on the tiles. It only took him one blurry glance down the hall behind him to realize he couldn't outrun them. Not all of them. Blurry vision focused momentarily and Murdock saw Brenner round the corner at the other end of the hall, devil's eyes glaring hatred past the bobbing heads of the orderlies.

Vision blurred. Murdock ran.

Where the hell was everybody? These halls were never this clear. Nurses had medications to give out all times of the day and the patients were usually allowed out of their rooms around now for lunch and social time. So why were the halls so desperately deserted? Another hall intersected his at the end, forming a T. He barely managed to skid to a stop before slamming into the poster board of patient names and room numbers opposite. Dizzy and cold without his bathrobe, Murdock rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the haze that had dropped over them. He had to find a phone, call for help, and make sure the team was okay. More shouts from behind spurred him on and he darted down the left-hand passage, jerking a door open and closing it quickly behind him.

It was an office, blessedly empty and with a phone on the desk. Murdock stumbled on the decorative rug as he hurried over, snatching the cordless phone from its base and staring down at the two… he blinked… the one number pad. What was the van's number again? He groaned in frustration, bouncing slightly with adrenaline and darting a look over his shoulder at the door, which remained shut and blurry. There was no time to fight with his memory right now. Instead, he dialed the first number that came to mind, knowing it was one of Face's scam-business numbers and hoping he got Face instead of a secretary.

But what if Face was the one who'd been shot…? What if he was calling a dead man's phone? His dead best friend's phone…

"Thomas Peck advertisement agency, the Tom Peck speaking and how can I help you today?"

"Face?" A sigh filtered through from the other line and Murdock felt a weight in his chest lift briefly at his friend's voice, only to come crashing down again when he realized that left B.A. or Hannibal dead and gone forever.

"Murdock? How'd you get this number? How'd you even get a telephone? This is supposed to be a private advertizing agen-… Hey, you okay, buddy?"

Okay? Funny, Faceman. Of course he wasn't okay, but it was the team he was worried about. Murdock chuckled breathlessly, trying to organize his spinning thoughts.

"Murdock?"

"Am I okay? Are you okay, Face?"

"What? Come on, Murdock, what's going on?"

"Jus' answer me, Face!" Murdock's voice had risen to a near shout. There was no time for this! The Devil was coming; Murdock could hear him and his men shouting to each other down the hall. "Are you an' the guys okay? I mean somewhere safe an'… an' not hurt an'… jus'- jus' okay?"

"Yeah! Yeah we're fine. What's this all about, huh? Did something happen over there?"

Did something happen? Not to the team, no… right?

"N-No, I jus'… I thought… Doc-Doc Brenner said you might be… might be hurt an'…" Murdock pressed the heel of one hand to his temple. His whole head was throbbing in time with his arm now and he sighed in frustration. Why did his arm have to hurt so much? He glanced down and his breath caught in his throat. Five crescent-moons were printed on his flesh in blood red where Brenner's nails had dug into his arm. Murdock whimpered softly, closing his eyes and trying to slow his breathing to something resembling a normal rate. Face was speaking again, fast and worried, in his ear.

"We're all fine, Murdock. Hannibal and B.A. are still in Nashville getting the van suped up. I just talked to them today. Look… Look… who's this Brenner guy? I thought your doctor was named Richter."

Yeah, so did I, he thought, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"He's a new doc here. An' by 'doc' I mean a quack, a real mad scientist, dangerous type quack. He-He does special sessions with a few of the guys here an'… an' none of us l-like him."

"Yeah? Why not?" There was a pause and Face's voice came back tinted with anger. "Did he hurt you, Murdock?"

Murdock hesitated. Yes, yes he had, but that wasn't the worst part. He'd scared him. Brenner had scared the life out of him and promised more. This was exactly everything he'd feared about institutions and hospitals. The V.A. had been good, safe, even helpful, but he'd seen a hint of his fears in Mexico and a few other places. He'd seen doctors choose money, prestige, or power over the wellbeing of their patients. This was even worse. The detachment and blankness in Brenner's eyes had been a scientist's, calculating and cold as an exam table. Calling him by a number, just 'Subject 21' as if he was no more than a lab rat, just a science experiment to be fiddled with and then thrown out when he was no longer useful.

"Murdock?" A lump was growing in his throat and Murdock fought to speak past it, surprised and not a little frightened to hear his voice come out as a tearful whimper. It was the drug, screwing with his emotions, he knew that, but it didn't change anything to know it.

"Can… Can I come home n-now, Facey? I d-… I don't like it here n'y more." He sniffled, swallowing another sob before continuing, throat croaky with unshed tears. "Pl-lease, can I come home?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course, pal! But I thought you said the V.A. was like home?" No. Nononono, home didn't have the Devil chasing you spitting nightmares and pain. This wasn't home, not anymore.

"N-No, home's where you're safe." Murdock wrapped one arm around his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to still the shakes that had crept up from his legs to his arms to his voice. "I wanna come home, Temp… please, please, please… I wanna come home." Don't say there's no time, he thought desperately. Don't say you're busy, and don't say it's too far away, please, Face, please! The Devil's here and I'm scared! I'm so, so scared.

"Yeah, I'll come get you right now, okay? I'll be there in no time. I gotta hang up though, alright buddy? I'll call you back on my cell as soon as I get to the 'Vette, I promise."

Thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Murdock nodded to no-one and managed a trembling, "… kay, Facey," before the line cut off. He put the phone back on the base, scrubbing a hand through his wild hair and wishing he had his robe and cap back. He felt too cold and exposed in just his tee and pajama pants. He stared at the phone for a few more seconds, had just started to believe everything would be okay and Face would get there in time, when the door slammed open behind him.

"Bring him." Brenner's voice was sharp and angry and the men obeyed instantly, catching Murdock's arms as he tried to stumble around the other side of the desk. They pulled him toward the door and he dug in his heels, distantly aware of his own voice saying "No, no, no, no," over and over and over but they didn't listen. His vision blurred again, the room spinning and his heart pounding as he twisted and pulled against the men. Still they managed to drag him backwards out into the hall before he heard it: a soft ring from the office phone.

Murdock lunged forward, somehow breaking free for a brief, glorious second before he came face to face with the Devil at the office door. Without breaking stride, the Devil took a handful of Murdock's tee and shoved him back against the wall across from the door, glaring hatred and fire down on him as the pilot twisted, trying to break free because Face was calling and if he could just answer, he'd be safe again! But his legs felt weak and shaky and the Devil's grip was like iron. He couldn't see the office or the phone or anything past Brenner's rage-filled face and after an agonizing five rings, the phone fell silent and Murdock's struggles stilled. Brenner seethed for a moment more before turning his head slightly to address one of the orderlies.

"Take him to the isolation room."

"Yes, sir." The orderly – one Murdock didn't recognize – nodded and Murdock was hauled back down the deserted corridors, plastic ghosts fluttering in their wake and Face's voice ringing in his head.

"I'll come and get you right now, okay? I'll be there in no time."

Hurry, Face… please hurry….

The henchmen – because they were criminal henchmen, not orderlies, he was sure of that now- didn't loosen their hold until they'd reached the padded white isolation room. Still dizzy and confused and hurting from whatever had been in that injection, Murdock stumbled as they shoved him inside, supporting himself against the cushioned wall as the room spun and the soldiers spread out to make room for Brenner to see. The doctor glared at him from the doorway.

"He stays here," the doctor addressed the henchmen. "I want one man on the door at all times." He moved to stand a few feet in front of Murdock, observing him closely. Murdock blinked, shook his head, waited for the three doctors to become one again before glaring at him.

"What is all this?" he demanded, but Brenner just turned, nodding to one of his men who darted forward with lightning speed, slamming a fist into the pilot's chest. Murdock doubled over with a yelp and tried to breathe past the pain and vertigo. He managed to look up as Brenner spoke again, hands clasped behind his back casually.

"He will sleep here until further notice. Keep the other patients out of the way, will you? I don't want too many questions."

Murdock straightened slowly, wincing at the ache in his chest. He wished someone would move the veil clouding his sight so he could see the henchmen clearly, decide if making a run for the door was a good plan or a terrible one, maybe get some idea of who these men were. Whatever they'd given him, it'd ruined his ability to think clearly and form a plan much beyond the very basic 'Don't let him touch you' that his instincts were screaming as Brenner took a slow step forward. His mental file cabinet of zingers, quotes, impressions, and general coping techniques was locked and that left him with nothing but a strangely amplified fear, the darker sides of his insanity, and his piloting skills that were pretty useless in this situation.

"Wh-Who… are you guys?" He winced - had the lights always been that bright? They were almost blinding now. White and flesh-toned blurs moved toward the door, leaving him alone with the dark suited Dr. Brenner who remained motionless in the middle of the room. "Some… Somebody's gonna realize I'm missin' after a while, y'know. They… They're gonna come." His vision was getting worse, darkness seeping in around the edges and the fog thickening. A slightly muffled voice reached his ears, bored and disdainful.

"Make sure he remains subdued."

The dark blur slid to the door and there was a movement of white on white as two or three others entered. Brenner left and the doorway disappeared, leaving Murdock in a world of black-edged white. Pain exploded suddenly in his chest and he doubled over with a startled cry, scanning the room frantically for the attacker. White moved somewhere above him and a blow to the head sent him crashing to the ground, darkness obscuring his vision further and blood blocking up his nose. Another object slammed into his chest and he tried to get to his hands and knees to crawl far enough away to get his bearings but the blows were raining down faster now, hitting his face, his back, his gut, anything they could reach. He lashed out blindly but the few hits he got in only opened him up for more unseen blows. He bit his lip, determined not to make a sound, not to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt.

A hand fisted in his hair and jerked him to a kneeling position. Light blinded him and he grimaced, bloody nose spilling coppery liquid into his mouth and making him cough wetly. What felt awfully like a steel toed boot impacted his chest with a dull thump. He heard his own moan, choked and distant.

His vision flashed white, then slowly faded to black as he passed out.