47 Of Pilots and Mythology
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
By the time Hannibal got Murdock revived and woozily sitting hunched over in the van's side doorway, B. A. returned to the vehicle, a dark scowl on his face.
He glanced at the Colonel, then motioned with his head at Murdock. "May's well let the fool lay back down 'til we get the door open ta the room. Ain' nobody answerin' from inside. Not a single sound. Ya did say that room, didn't ya, Hannibal?" He glared at the motel room door as if doing so would automatically open it.
The pilot, his feet on the ground and his forehead pillowed on arms folded over his knees, looked up abruptly. He frowned at the Colonel with slightly unfocused eyes. "They ain' answerin'? Hann'bal!" Then he groaned and let his head sag back onto his arms. "Why'd ya let th' doc knock me out?"
"Didn' have much of a choice. He had ta dig inta your arm ta do it up right an' get all the infection out." B. A. cast an unamused look at Murdock, then peered at the pilot's face as he raised his head to glare back. "You gonna be alright, man? You don' look so good."
The Captain closed his eyes and shook his head violently back and forth, holding his hand to his mouth. Muttering around it, he barely got out, "I think I'm gonna puke."
Seconds later, Hannibal knelt beside him as, on hands and knees, Murdock vomited up a watery mess on the motel parking lot pavement. Fishing the door key from his jacket pocket, the older man handed it to B. A. and rubbed his hand over Murdock's upper back to try to relax him. "Get that door open and tell Melody to get that other bed ready."
B. A. hesitated. Then a sly smile crept over his face, replacing the scowl. "An' what if I surprise the two of 'em in the middle o' somethin'?"
Murdock groaned again. Whether it was from his nausea or the thought of Melody in bed with Face, Hannibal couldn't tell.
Or maybe it's nausea over the thought of Melody in bed with Face.
"I'm sure when you come in that door, if something's going on, it'll stop them from going any farther." Hannibal smirked as B. A. strode back to the door and fitted the key in the lock, making as much noise as he could to announce his entry.
"Meanwhile, let's get you up on your feet and into that room, Captain." The older man tucked his hands under the other man's arms and lifted him up from behind, then tossed Murdock's arm over his shoulders. The pilot leaned heavily on him. "I've got you. One step at a time now."
"One . . . step . . . two . . . steps . . . " As if calling out a cadence, Murdock rasped one word with each step they took. He shuffled his feet like he needed that connection with the ground to keep his balance.
Hannibal had a feeling if Face was conscious and unoccupied, the con man would start griping about the measures the Colonel had taken to prevent him from leaving. Perhaps as soon as they got in the room.
Murdock doesn't need to hear that. Maybe it would be best if we are interrupting something. At least then Face will feel some compensation for being left behind.
He felt only a little remorseful for thinking that.
They neared the door and B. A. came to relieve Hannibal in getting Murdock into the room the rest of the way. As he gripped the pilot around the waist and slung the Captain's arm over his shoulders, the black man growled, "Watch out, Colonel. Faceman's about ready ta spit nails at ya when he sees ya."
"What'd ya do now, Hann'bal?" Murdock mumbled.
That's a good sign if he's paying attention. A little rest and lots of antibiotics and he should be as good as new in a few days.
"Noted, Sergeant." He gently patted the pilot on the shoulder and grinned. "You'll see soon enough." Hannibal took in a deep breath and entered the room.
Might as well face the music.
As soon as his eyes locked onto the con man, he had to bite the inside of his lower lip to prevent a laugh from escaping. He heard a weak chuckle behind him as the Sergeant came in with Murdock. Even B. A. snickered.
"Sure. Funny for you. You weren't doped and put to sleep and then had your clothes stolen." The conman stood in the bathroom doorway, his arms crossed over his taped ribs. A voluminous bedsheet draped over one shoulder and around his torso made him look like a youthful Greek god just come down to Earth from Mount Olympus.
That is, a very pissed off Greek god with a black and blue face. If he could throw lightning bolts, I'd be fried to a crisp about now.
"Soun's familiar. Had someone do th' same t' me." Murdock gratefully sank into the bed Melody readied for him. With his uninjured arm folded under his head, he gave his best friend an amused appraisal. "Don' know what's worse. A hospital gown that don' cover yer hinderparts 'r that getup yer wearin'. All ya need's a laurel wreath 'round yer head 'n' ya could be a Roman emperor 'r somethin'."
"Yeah, well, at least I wear it well. So why'd you do it, Colonel?"
Hannibal came to his own defense "It was necessary. Would you have obeyed my order and stayed here if I hadn't?"
The only response he received was a disgusted snort. Face drew near to the bed where Murdock rested. With a flicker of apology in his expression, he smiled. "Anyway, you don't know how good it is to see you."
"Same here, buddy." And Murdock matched the con man's relieved grin as they gripped each other's hand.