42 Blow This Joint

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Hannibal wasn't sure what he would find when he got to the room where 'Henry Merchand' was supposed to be. On his way down the hall, he heard a rowdy rendition of the song Murdock had teased Face with earlier.

"Sing us a song, you're th' piano man,
Sing us a song t'night,
Well, we're all in th' mood for a me . . . lo-o-o- . . . deeeee . . .
'N' you got us feelin' alright."

The singer emphasized the word 'melody,' stretching the syllables out before launching into the last line. Then, "Where's mah weddin' dress? Ah simply can' go down th' aisle dressed lahk this. Th' hem ain' been taken out 'n' it don' have no lace."

"Shut up, fool. Ain't no weddin' an' ya ain't gettin' married." A pause and then, "Lay down. Ya ain't goin' nowhere when you jus' got outta surgery." The low rumbling response set the Colonel more at ease.

A feminine voice reaffirmed what the deeper voice said. "Mister Merchand, you have to stay in bed. We don't want you passing out on the floor, do we?"

A silly snicker and a small squeak of surprise, then, "I don' know, honeybunch. Ya think it'd be more comfy fer th' two o' us on th' floor? I kind o' lahk th' bed pers'nally but whatever ya think, sweetie."

"Leave the li'l lady 'lone an' keep yer hands ta yerself."

"Oh, but ah got a million things t' do. There's th' flowers 'n' th' caterer 'n' th' cake." Another muffled laugh, then a loud pained gasp. The words that followed were breathy. "'N' mah best man's been kidnapped. Or maybe he's run off with mah bride. Yah think that's what happened? They run off t'gether?"

"You ain't talkin' nothin' but jibber-jabber, crazy fool. There ain't no bride an' there ain't no weddin. Never mind him, li'l lady. He ain't gonna hurt ya. Are ya, fool!" The sound of a chair scraping against the floor silenced the other voice for a few seconds.

"I'm just about done here. Mister Merchand, I need you to keep that thermometer under your tongue with your mouth closed over it."

"She'sh got shoft handsh. She'sh a li'l shweetie, ain' she." Hannibal rolled his eyes. He could picture what was happening.

"She said shut your mouth an' let her take yer vitals."

"Now, c'mon. I'm th' one's in th' hospital bed," the patient whined. "They gave me some o' th' good drugs. Listen! They're playin' our song, Big Guy. Aww, ya goin' a'ready, honey dumplin'?"

"Shut up, fool. Ain't no music an' she don't wanna dance." The last sentence was delivered with an angry growl.

Hannibal quickened his pace. If the number of times B. A. called Murdock 'fool' was any indication, he definitely had his hands full and was rapidly losing all semblance of patience.

Four times. A new record.

A nurse left the room, glancing back once as she scurried down the hall. "He's all yours, doctor," she muttered to Hannibal as she passed.

The Colonel squared his shoulders and nodded. "Thank you, nurse. I won't be needing any help."

He smiled to himself as he heard her murmur, "Thank God."

Hannibal didn't know if it was intentional or not but Murdock's behavior had been so outrageous he doubted they would have any visits from hospital staff for a while.

"What'd ya think ya were doin', fool?" B. A. grumbled as the Colonel listened at the door.

Number five. Better get in there.

"Makin' sure we don' have any eyes on us when we make our 'scape from here t' go fin' Melody 'n' Faceman. What'd ya think I was doin'?" Murdock's voice was low and insistent.

"Hard tellin' with you. Get back in bed. What're ya doin' now?"

"Gettin' ready t' blow this joint."

"No, you're not!" B. A. insisted.

Hannibal swept the door open, entered and closed it behind him. A pair of arms wrapped around him and squeezed him before he could say a word.

"Colonel!" Murdock caught the older man off guard.

Seconds later, the Colonel backed him, sagging in his embrace, toward the arm-chair near the bed. "B. A.! Help me with him!" Hannibal hissed.

"I told 'im, Hannibal. It's too soon for him ta be movin' around. He won't listen." B. A. hooked his arms under the Captain's arms and carefully lowered him to the padded chair cushion. Murdock's head lolled back against the chair's head rest as he gazed, bewildered and glassy-eyed, up at the disguised Colonel.

"Ah'm okay, Hann'bal. Really. Ah'm good t' go." He drew in some deep breaths and preoccupied himself with adjusting the hospital gown around him. "Oughta be a law 'gainst dressin' a guy in one o' these," he muttered.

IV tubes dangled on the floor by the bed from where Murdock tore them out. The pilot's clothes were near the closet where he dropped them when Hannibal came in.

The Colonel analyzed the younger man's appearance and shook his head. Besides shivering with the strain of getting out of bed, the pilot looked like he was about to pass out.

"Face 'n' Melody . . . you found 'em?" Murdock's eyes pierced Hannibal, searching his face for a hint that something had gone wrong.

"I found them. They're waiting for me in a motel room about thirty minutes away."

Murdock nodded weakly, his eyes sliding closed. "Tha's good."

Hannibal shot B. A. a cautionary look.

Murdock's eyes opened again. "Wait a sec. Face 'n' Mel . . . alone in a room? T'gether? That ain' good. What were ya thinkin', Colonel? Help me get dressed."

B. A. scowled as Hannibal walked over and picked up the pilot's clothing. "Like the man says, B. A."

Besides, it's better to have all of us together right now. Just in case.