A/N: Post movie, if that isn't evident yet. I know there have been many sinister-stuff-at-the-VA type stories, but I promise this is going somewhere, and the subject of dignity for those with all types of medical considerations, ailments or otherwise, is important to me. I promise it won't all be doom and gloom, either, as I love the comedy of all four of the guys way too much. Other than that, read, enjoy, and review if you have the chance. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, etc.
"Seriously, Murdock, can you turn that down?"
"Sorry, compadre, no can do. Favorite part!" A certain reportedly expert pilot shed one VA hospital-issue slipper and, for lack of a remote control, used his socked foot to reach out and up the ante on the volume. One of the ward maintenance guys, who most the patients knew as simply "Ed," winced as his request was blatantly ignored.
"You know Emerson's liable to freak out," Ed told the pilot from halfway up his ladder, adjusting the wiring of a light fixture. "You've got that thing loud enough for all of Indianapolis to hear it."
"He ain't gonna freak out," Murdock replied with a dismissive wave of one hand. "Emerson loves The Duke." His eyes were still glued to the TV, and Frank glanced down at the screen.
"…the hell I won't!" John Wayne exclaimed, before promptly socking the man opposite him in the face, which sent him tumbling into a giant mud pit. This of course led to a mud pit semi-fight scene of epic proportions. Ed shook his head. It wasn't the first time the movie had been played in the ward, and a few of the other patients were already trying to construct their own version of the infamous mud pit via several furniture cushions. The impromptu project quickly drew Murdock's attention, if only due to some perceived lack of accuracy.
"Wait, wait. That ain't right," Murdock spoke as he sprang to his feet, trotting over to join the fray. "Somebody grab the cushion off that big ol' ugly lounger…" He lifted his eyes to spot said lounger, his gaze crossing a couple windows in the process.
The pilot's eyes suddenly jumped back and squinted. There were a handful of men in suits outside, piling out of a couple of cars that practically screamed, "I'm trying to be covert!." Murdock decided it was either government or…government. He stepped closer to the windows while Emerson and Wilders went after the ugly cushion.
"Jackass brigade," the pilot muttered. His head tilted as he watched the last man get out of the passenger side of one of the cars. "Um…undead jackass brigade…" Murdock stared as Lynch-the original Lynch-paraded toward the main entrance in all his typical self-important splendor. Hannibal had received information shortly after the whole Morrison/plates incident that indicated The Company had given Lynch a dirt nap. In the eight months that followed, nothing had surfaced to suggest otherwise.
Rumors of the man's death had unfortunately been exaggerated.
Murdock watched the suits enter the ward and waited until Lynch spotted him to point and shout.
"Undead jackass!"
Emerson nodded as though he completely understood the situation, giving the pilot a hand as he climbed onto a wobbly footstool. Murdock went on in a pseudo-French accent, even as Lynch , only slightly delayed by a questioning member of the staff, approached him. "'Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelled of elderberries!'"
"Yeah, that's special. Now why don't you come down before your hurt yourself and tell me where the rest of your team is hiding?"
"Attention citizens!" Murdock switched to the Queen's English, still pointing at Lynch. "This man…" he paused for effect, "…is an asshole!"
The statement was followed by a cacophony of snickering, the uncomfortable exchanged glances of Lynch's minions, and a couple chanted repeats of "Asshole!"
"Cute," Lynch responded tersely. He was definitely not amused. In fact, after an inconspicuous glance around the room, Lynch hooked a toe under one leg of the footstool and tipped Murdock right off it. Slightly distracted while trying to work his audience, Murdock stumbled unto a fairly undignified heap, plowing Emerson and Wilders on the way down. The collection of suit-bots that comprised Lynch's minions was apparently keeping the staff busy enough not to notice. Once Murdock made sure his fellow residents weren't any worse for the wear for having been landed on, he rested back on his elbows, grinning up at Lynch.
"Shucks, Lynchy, that's the first time I've been airborne in weeks. Thanks for the flight! Gotta work on that take-off, though. Little bit lackin' in the style department."
"Where is the A-Team, Murdock?"
"Well, I reckon they're right before the B-Team and maybe right after the Z-Team, depending on your outlook on life."
Murdock watched (former?) Company Man work his jaw for a moment and managed not to giggle when somebody yelled "Asshole!" again, just once, from across the room. There was a proverbial cricket chirp of almost-silence (the movie was still running) before Lynch finally turned on his heel and walked away.
"First phase of asshole containment is complete!" Murdock stage-whispered to Emerson, plenty loud enough for the subject to hear. Emerson laughed like a kid who'd just shot a spitball while Wilders clapped. Murdock watched Lynch's retreating back as the man made his way to the nurse's station. Although the grin was still in place, he found himself scoping out possible escape routes, reflexively preparing for the eventuality that those papers Lynch was waving around were transport orders.
Chances of escape were oh-so-low, if a visual sweep of the familiar layout was any indication. The room was crowded with patients today, and Lynch had brought an annoying number of robo-jerks with him. The pilot's eyes skipped back to nurse's station when Lynch's body language grew a little more animated. Nurse Jefferson was glancing worriedly his way over the top of Company Man's head. It wasn't exactly an encouraging sign, and the poor woman was looking moderately uncomfortable. Murdock rubbed his nose in an absent gesture of thought and finally sprang to his feet again.
Lynch was likely not expecting the pilot to walk right up beside him, but the nurse saw him coming and clumsily halted in mid sentence.
"It's highly inadvisable, sir," she was saying, "we really need to consult his psychiatrist before -uh…Mr. Murdock, can I help you with something?"
Trying to channel an ounce or two of Faceyness, Murdock leaned over the counter a bit to offer her a sparky, blue-eyed smile. He jabbed a thumb toward Lynch, who was giving the pilot a look he usually reserved for an errant dog.
"Is this big ol' meanie botherin' you, ma'am?"
The nurse's mouth twitched as though she was fighting a smile. "I'm fine, Mr. Murdock, thank you."
"Yes, she's fine," Lynch snapped. "Now run along and go count the pink elephants with the other retards." Nurse Jefferson was not impressed.
Murdock's grin took on a distinctly sharp edge as he turned to lean into Lynch's space. "You really are a monumental asshole, you know that, Lynch?" He made as though to lean away but turned back again, the edge gone as quickly as it had come. "And they aren't pink, they're purple," he added, emphasizing the p's.
"Guess what. I don't care," was Lynch's snappy come back.
"That's what they all say, until somebody's shorts get eaten," Murdock said gravely.
"Yeah, well, congratulations, you're officially a flight risk." He turned back to the nurse. "I don't need to consult his doctor. This order is signed by a psychiatrist who has thoroughly reviewed his medical history. And until I receive a counter-order, you and yours are breaking federal law if you don't follow these instructions. Precisely." He slid the paper across the counter to the nurse with an unnecessary amount of force and gave Murdock a last look. "Enjoy the sedation, Captain Cuckoo."
Murdock knew he was awarding Lynch all kinds of victory, but he couldn't keep his grin from falling flat. Sedation? He stood there while Company Man and the Robo-Jerks departed the ward. Nurse Jefferson offered him a smile, but he could tell it was taking some effort.
"We'll get this all worked out, Mr. Murdock," she told him, reaching for the phone as she logged the information from Lynch's documents into the computer. It was a decidedly non-specific, non-explanatory statement that didn't do a whole lot to set him at ease.
As immediate as Lynch might have wanted the "instructions" to go into effect, the sentence was suspended until the next day, when morning meds were being doled out. After a long night of fixating on the word "sedation," Murdock regarded Nurse Adams with weary eyes and a head full of gravity-defying hair upon being handed his pills.
"What happened to the blue ones?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light. He already knew the answer.
"The doctor's changing your regiment," the nurse answered.
"Ain't it supposed to be bad news to switch this stuff around cold turkey?" the pilot went on, fixing the nurse with an entirely lucid stare. Crazy, not stupid. The nurse didn't seem to know what to do with his question or that particular look.
"Leave the worrying to the doctors, Mr. Murdock. I know they just want to do what's best for you." Her reassurance was well-meant but canned, and he was betting she didn't know too much about the previous day's escapade. He stared at the little cup that held two non-blue pills.
"Come on, Mr. Murdock," she prompted gently, the unspoken reminder lingering behind her words; things tended to get somewhat unpleasant for all parties concerned when one refused to take meds. Murdock finally reached for the offered cup of water.
Enjoy the sedation.
He swallowed the pills.
Where is the rest of the team? Why is Murdock back at the VA? Will Lynch get away with overhauling Murdock's treatment? Find out in the next chapter!
TBC