A/N: Wanted to make this longer, but I figured posting what I had typed would be nicer...more to come soon. Thanks for reading and reviewing! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own The A-Team, etc.
"One…two…three…" Murdock lifted his eyes to peek over his shoulder, snorting as he watched Emerson try to pry a lampshade onto his head. One of these days, he'd have to educate the man in some of the more subtle ways to play hide and seek. One of the other patients' feet protruded up from behind a couch, and Wilders kept chanting "Emerson's a lamp!" from somewhere Murdock actually couldn't pinpoint.
With a mental shake of his head, he buried his face in the crook of his arm again. The game was a nice distraction from Tuesday's Lynchisode and all its attached points of consternation, least of which were the new drugs. This fine Thursday morning he'd been feeling sort of unconcentrated, but he wasn't sure whether to chalk it up to meds or plain old anxiety.
The pilot's counting persisted alongside these thoughts and abruptly brought him to a conclusion. "Eleven, twelve, thirteen . . . uh, thirteen…"
Wait, what? He blinked, realizing he hadn't said anything for a moment. "Uh, thirteen…fourteen, fifteen, sixteen . . ."
Muddled lethargy was hanging on him like a lead curtain now. Part of him wanted to panic. Those meds, those new meds! ...No, I'm just tired, that's all. "Eight-eighteen…" he shook his head, which really wasn't a great idea. The floor and even the wall he was leaning against were both starting to feel tilty. He wondered distantly if he should stop counting; it seemed to be making things worse. Then he gave a start when he realized he was on his hands and knees squinting at the floor tiles. When had that happened?
What was I doing?
He blinked, and all at once a nurse was there in front of him, her sudden appearance making him jump. She crouched down to try and match his eye level, and he had the impression she had already said his name a few times already. He had a distantly uncomfrtable awareness that several people were staring at him.
"Mr. Murdock, are you all right?"
"Um…just makin' sure this floor isn't going anywhere," he managed, his voice trailing off as he squeezed his eyes shut. Not good, this is not good.
"Would you like to lie down? We should probably check your blood pressure at least, okay?" I should probably be saying something right now. "Mr. Murdock?"
"Yeah, okay," he heard himself reply at last. Can I switch back to the blue ones now? Half the ward was watching as she helped him to his feet. It was quiet, and it was awful. He didn't want to see their faces, all of them probably wearing that He's-Screwed expression.
It was awful.
Next chapter: Desperate Murdock, angry nurse, angry Face. On the horizon: Intervention!