A/N: This was one of the first one-shots I ever wrote based on The A-Team. I found it recently and decided to publish it here. It's set the night before Season 5's "The Firing Line" and based entirely in the VA.
"You have to get me outta here"
" I can't get you out of there Mr Murdock, only you can get yourself out of isolation,"
If Murdock could have reached the door he would have kicked it, would relish in startling the living daylights out of the young nurse and her infuriating psycho babble – help me help you – and all that other junk they were forever spewing in this God forsaken place. Instead, he remained where he was, head resting against the padded wall, frustration coiled deep in his gut keeping him focused on anger and not fear. No, not fear. He had to keep the fear at bay because once his mind went there, in that cell with the rest of the team he'd be as crazy as most people thought he was.
He had to stay angry.
Stay hooked on the good kind of mad and the team might just stay alive.
Just as soon as he got himself out of isolation.
He knew why the orderlies had put him in here and it had nothing to do with rules and regulations. He wasn't stupid, they had expected him to get upset about the sentencing. They expected him to scream and cry and be violent. They were using pre-emptive tactics, locking him away before he had a chance to react.
He wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He wasn't going to overturn furniture, or wreck his room or lash out at staff.
He was, however, going to come up with a plan to save his men.
Murdock waited until the shadow passed until the echo of the nurse's footsteps had faded down the hall before he started removing the straitjacket. Being committed for over a decade had provided him with plenty of opportunities to unearth the invaluable methods of escape from the flannel restraints, breathe deeply and keep an elbow outward when they forced him in and voilà the jacket was slack enough to remove when he chose.
"Houdini, you'd be proud," he muttered in his best Hungarian accent.
He remained hunched against the wall, let his body language insinuate he was still secured. Meanwhile, he inched his hand lower, grasped the buckle from one of the sleeves in his palm and squeezed as hard as he could, emitting a muffled gasp of pain as the prong broke through his skin, the warmth of blood as it split tacky against his flesh.
Rubbing his fingers against his palm he glanced at the door, through the mesh wiring to where he knew the young nurse had returned.
Now to make Hannibal proud.
" Hey Nurse I need to see Doctor Richter!" he yelled, "Nurse!"
The windowed hatch slammed loudly against the door as the nurse peered in.
" What's the matter, Murdock?"
She sounded exasperated as if he'd pulled her away from one hell of a crossword puzzle.
" I need to see Doctor Richter," he repeated
" Why?"
Murdock unfurled his hand slowly, held it up proudly so that she could see the smears of blood, fresh beads oozing from the inflicted wound. He watched her eyes widen and her complexion pale slightly as she took in the scarlet adorning his skin. He felt a tinge of regret for upsetting her. Desperate times, however, called for desperate measures. If anyone would run to get Richter it'd be one with a weak stomach, willing to do anything to get rid of the red staining his skin.
He glanced at the blood, furrowed his eyebrows together as if studying it. He grinned manically as he brought his eyes to meet hers.
" I figured out what the inkblot means," he laughed.
It was late and still no sign of the doctor. Other medical staff had come and gone, patched him up and taken the straitjacket away, but no Richter.
He toyed with the band-aid for a while, didn't think it was really necessary. It wasn't as if he'd cut deep.
Richter wasn't coming. The thought descended on him as he glanced at the barricaded window. Five more minutes and he'd have to work on a plan B. Maybe white paper would get him out of here? Yeah, he'd get the night nurse's attention, think white paper and slip out unnoticed, then he'd get to the prison and take out the firing squad. It'd be easy enough when he was invisible, a classic sneak attack. He'd slip through the bars, and get Face, BA and Hannibal out before they'd -
" Murdock?"
Richter's voice was low, but enough to startle Murdock from his musings.
He stayed silent for a moment, the hefty quiet broken only by the dull hum of the electric strip above – the light sporadic as it faded in and out above the corridor.
"Are you awake?"
The question breezed in through the holes in the hatch.
" Sure am Doc. Crazy people don't sleep. Sleep is the cousin of death. Granted its a dysfunctional family but every family needs a black sheep. Can't get much blacker than the grim reaper can you? Sleep's really just a waste of time if you think about it. I mean, we spend what? Twenty-five years of our lives asleep? I can spend an eternity asleep when I'm dead, I don't need it now-"
" We both know how crazy you are Murdock," interjected Richter sternly, preventing Murdock from continuing his ramble, "You're as sane as I am"
" Why Doc I'm insulted."
" Uh huh," Richter's disbelief was evident, " Nurse Jackson told me you had an incident with your hand earlier,"
" 'Tis but a scratch," the pilot quoted.
" Don't play games, Murdock!"
" I don't play games unless it's Monopoly night in the rec' room, gotta get me some real estate on Boardwalk before Elvis steals all the hotels. You know last time he took all the green houses and we couldn't play-"
" Focus Murdock! Tell me about the incident," snapped Richter, once again overriding the Captain. It was late, he was tired and his patience wouldn't stretch to accommodate Murdock's patter.
The pilot remained mute for several seconds until Richter began to wonder if he'd offended the man.
" I figured out the inkblot. It was their blood on my hands."
" What?"
" After I gave evidence, they did some more tests, you know to check how crazy I really am, more ink tests, showed me this real tough one. Couldn't figure it out, til now,"
"And you think it's blood?"
"Sure looks like blood," confirmed Murdock. Richter stared through the hatch, could just make out Murdock studying his hand some more, brows furrowed as he concentrated on his palm.
"Your blood?"
"My blood, their blood, what's the difference?"
"Murdock-"
"You gotta get me out," he said determinedly
"I can't help you escape Murdock,"
"Just out of isolation Doc, I can take care of the rest myself."
Murdock stared through the window at the silence. He could see the doubt on his face.
He'd have to force his hand into an agreement.
It felt wrong, the words heavy in his mouth but still he spat them out.
" You owe me. Us. You owe us," he said, his voice hard.
Any protests Richter had died on his lips, he couldn't dispute Murdock's argument. He'd probably be dead were it not for The A-Team.
With a sigh, he turned.
" The fox's teeth are sharp but I know a person sharper, and he says 'you can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man'"
Murdock's sing-song tone floated beneath the doorway,
" Nurse, schedule Mr Murdock an appointment for 9:30 tomorrow morning,"
Murdock smiled in the shadow as Richter walked away.
Tomorrow the plan would come together.
