Every Thought Captive
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 76 Reassurances
As the Colonel and Cazador approached the guest bedroom where Murdock was, they both heard the low rumble of B. A.'s voice.
"Maybe our Captain is awake and alert enough for a visit?" Cazador raised his eyebrows at his companion.
Our Captain?
The phrase still bothering him, Hannibal shook his head. "When B. A. relieved me, Murdock was completely out. I told him to keep applying cold compresses to Murdock's face and arms to bring down the fever. I'm sure he isn't suddenly awake and able to run a marathon."
"Then who is your Sergeant talking to? He doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would talk to himself to pass the time."
"I don't know." Hannibal paused, a finger raised to his lips, his eyes focused on the arms smuggler as he listened with his ear to the door.
"You gonna be alright, man. Won' be long before ya can get outta bed yourself an' take Billy for a walk. He's been waitin' for ya ta get better, ya know. He's lickin' yer hand right now."
Hannibal barely suppressed a surprised smirk.
That's as close as we're going to get B. A. to admit that Billy might be real. But that means Murdock isn't awake. He'd never say those things if he was.
Hannibal didn't really believe in Billy's existence and he figured neither Face or B. A. did either but if it kept Murdock halfway sane and functional . . . well . . .
He tapped at the door softly before opening it.
B. A. sat on the bed with his back to them. Gripping a wet wash cloth in one meaty hand, he gently bathed the pilot's forehead with it. Murdock muttered something, turning his head from side to side. B. A.'s words were low and barely above a mumble but loud enough for Hannibal and Cazador to hear as they entered the room.
"Shhh, li'l brother. Ya ain' over in Nam. Yer in the States, man. An' Jackson ain' gonna touch ya no more or I'll make 'im eat his own head. Ya got my word on that." The black man rinsed the cloth in a basin of water at his feet on the floor.
He wrung it out with such ferocity Hannibal wondered if he was thinking of what Jackson had done to Murdock. Gently bathing the pilot's right arm, he continued to mutter things to keep his friend grounded in reality.
The Colonel noted with dismay not much had changed with Murdock's condition. An occasional slight tremor passed through the patient's thin body. Murdock released a soft groan. His eyes remained closed but his lips moved in a faint whisper.
"Ah gotta . . . talk t' . . . Hann'bal . . . " The pilot's brow wrinkled as he tried to force words to come. He moaned when his mind would not cooperate.
B. A. let out a heavy sigh and turned to the two men behind him. "He says that every time he wakes up 'nough ta say anythin'." He rinsed out the cloth again and applied it to first one of the pilot's flushed cheeks and then the other. Murdock flinched away from the cool dampness of the cloth but not far enough to avoid B. A.'s persistent efforts. A small frown appeared on the pilot's face as he unsuccessfully dodged the compress.
The Colonel nodded, a short up and down bob of his head to acknowledge the information. His mouth tightened with concern. He motioned for the Sergeant to leave the room and let him have his place on the edge of the bed. Cazador sank into the arm-chair and leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees.
He gestured for the wash cloth and rinsed it in the basin before handing it to Hannibal.
"Thanks," the Colonel muttered, meeting Cazador's anxious eyes. He pressed it across the patient's forehead and sat back, rubbing his own face with his hand.
He's been through worse and lived. I have to keep reminding myself of that. But it's never easy seeing one of my men down.
He wondered how long it would be before one of them were permanently down for the count from injuries sustained during one of their missions. It was a thought he tried to bury most of the time but when one of his men had the kind of close call Face and especially Murdock had . . .
Cazador's hand on his forearm brought his thoughts back to the present. "If you need me to get Doctor Willis . . . " The businessman offered but did not rise from the chair. He fixed his gaze on Murdock.
"No. There's nothing he can do that he hasn't already done." Hannibal nodded to the IV secured to the patient's arm. "We have to keep Captain Murdock calm so he doesn't take that out again," he added. Both men switched their attention to the pilot as he reached up to sweep the wet wash cloth off his forehead. It was a feeble attempt and the cloth ended up draped over his left eye.
"Hann'bal?" Murdock scowled with the effort to open his eyes. He brushed at the cloth again and this time it fell to the pillow.
"I'm here, Captain. Cazador's here, too." The older man dropped the cloth on the floor and placed his hands on both of the pilot's shoulders as he struggled to sit up. "Lay back down. If we're ever going to get that thing out of your head, you have to rest and let the antibiotics work. Are you in any pain?"
Murdock shivered. "Ah could use 'nother blanket. It's cold in here."
No, it's not. You're just burning up with fever.
Hannibal tugged at the top comforter to tuck it under the pilot's chin. Meanwhile, Cazador walked over to a large wardrobe and removed from the upper shelf a thick patchwork comforter in shades of blue, obviously handmade.
The Colonel raised his eyebrows as the businessman unfolded it over the blankets already covering the pilot. Noticing the questioning look, Cazador smiled. "It was my wife's favorite. Her grandmother pieced it together and gave it to us for a wedding gift."
It was another detail in the man's life that reinforced the Colonel's decision not to turn the arms smuggler in.
Even though he talks and acts like the job offer to Murdock is a done deal.
Without a word, Hannibal picked up the wash cloth. Dipping it in the basin, he wrung it out again and dabbed at Murdock's face. He kept silent as the ranch owner finished positioning the blanket.
"Are you in pain, Captain?" Leaning over the man in the bed, Cazador focused his attention on him.
Murdock shook his head, a weak movement that convinced neither of the other men. "Ah'm fine . . . jus' handy dandy." His glassy-eyed gaze moved slowly from the businessman to the Colonel.
"Yeah, right. I know you better than that, Captain." Hannibal tried to maintain a stern expression as he frowned at the pilot. "Do you need Doctor Willis to increase your pain meds?"
The patient shook his head more violently and sucked in a breath as the bandage pulled at his stitches. "No . . . stuff makes me all sleepy . . . gotta talk t' you . . . Hann'bal . . . "
"About Jackson and Stafford?" The Colonel continued to bathe the other man's face with the cloth, concentrating on that and not on the urgency in Murdock's voice.
Nodding, the man in the bed swallowed and closed his eyes. "Ya gotta . . . leave me 'lone with Jackson . . . after . . . I gotta plant th' orders 'n' th' trigger . . . after th' bug's been put in 'is head."
"Alone? No one else with you? That's not a good idea, Captain. I don't know . . . "
"Ya gotta, Hann'bal!" Murdock hissed. "'N' don' ask me what . . . I'm gonna tell 'im . . . ya gotta . . . trust me . . . "
Cazador interrupted. "Will it mean Jackson won't come after me or you anymore?"
"Yes." The word was quiet but firm. The patient closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. "Please, Mister Cazador . . . help Hann'bal understan'."
Cazador looked steadily at the Colonel and then the pilot. After a meditative pause, his words were soft. "I'm not sure I understand enough myself to convince him. I think both of us have to get some clarification from you before we allow the man who tried to kill you to be with you alone ever again."
Hannibal would have liked to thank the businessman for supporting his apprehensive statement. But Murdock was becoming agitated and required both of them to help him see reason. "If Jackson got his bearings before you did and you were alone with him . . . "
"Make sure Stafford . . . don' let that happen." Murdock grimaced as if tasting something nasty. "But leave me 'lone with Jackson . . ." He forced his eyes open again to glare at both of them. " . . . 'n' th' less ya know, th' better."
Cazador and Hannibal exchanged glances.
One thing's been worked out and now he has something else we have to think about. Well, at least there shouldn't be any need for anyone to try and slip me something.
"The best I'll do for you is to leave you two alone but I want us to be just outside the door in case you need help. We won't listen in. You have to promise that you'll get us in there if he causes trouble." The Colonel wasn't sure if Murdock would accept that.
He seems hell-bent on handling Jackson all by himself. Once he' comes out of surgery, he won't be in much shape to refuse if one of us is in there with him. It's for his own good.
Murdock's focus was on Hannibal now. He clenched his jaw and paused, his gaze smoldering with fever and determination. Then he nodded, a small dip of his head. Hannibal would have preferred a verbal promise but he could see the man in the bed was about ready to fall asleep as soon as everything was said and done.
Rest is the best thing for him right now. But what else is he waiting for?
It was as if Murdock was summoning every last bit of energy to say what he wanted. "'N' that other thin' we talked 'bout, Colonel? Th' thin' ya said ya'd talk t' Mister Cazador 'bout?"
The older man knew exactly what the pilot was referring to. Hannibal briefly gestured with his head toward the ranch owner sitting on the other side of the bed. "We came to an agreement."
Murdock carefully scrutinized the Colonel's expression. Hannibal felt a twinge of discomfort knowing that the pilot wasn't sure whether to trust him or not. Moments later, he nodded in satisfaction. "Good," he breathed. "Thanks."
Turning his head toward the businessman, he gave him a faint smile. Cazador patted the pilot's shoulder to confirm Hannibal's statement.
"Knew th' Colonel'd listen t' reason," Murdock whispered.
The pilot had used up his energy and his eyelids drifted shut.
oooooo
Amy propped herself on one elbow and scrutinized the man lying beside her in the bed. Face's breaths were slow and rhythmic like all the other times she woke beside him and caught him sleeping.
After they finished their shift with Murdock, she insisted Face go back to bed and rest until the next time they asked to pull watch duty. He obeyed but insisted he would only if she did, too.
Watching him, she reflected on what Murdock had said about sedating Hannibal and B. A. and why he wanted them to do it. She knew Face wasn't very eager to put either man to sleep just to allow Murdock to be alone with Jackson in the recovery room. Face was right. Hannibal would make the Lieutenant go through his special obstacle course several times to discipline him and B. A. . . . well, there was no telling whether the Sergeant would carry through with any threat he might make. He hadn't in all the times they sedated him and stashed him on an airplane but there was always a first time for everything.
Face twitched . . . maybe the beginning of a bad dream caused it . . . and reached for her hand. Allowing him to touch her fingers, she waited until he sank back into deeper sleep. She sensed all the guys had their share of nightmares. They didn't talk about it, maybe because she was a reporter and they were never sure when she would spin what they said into a story for her paper.
Or maybe they were in denial. Or the pain of the memories evoked was too deep.
She was privy to only Face's, and occasionally Murdock's, nightmares when Face was the one elected to bring him out of it.
I may be Face's fiancée but I'm not a real part of the team. Probably never will be.
She could at least do the thing she knew Face was hesitant to do for Murdock. Slipping the bed covers off her, she got out of bed. With one more glance at her slumbering partner, she crept over to her purse and found the sleep medication she carried with her.
They don't know . . . well, all but Face doesn't know . . . sometimes what I've seen as a reporter comes to haunt me in my dreams, too.
Clutching the pill bottle in her hand, she went to Face's jacket next and found the pocket where Hannibal's cigars were kept. Removing and hiding all but one in her own purse, she carried the cigar and her sleeping pills into the bathroom.
She wasn't sure if it would work, crushing some of her pills, dissolving them in a small amount of water, then carefully injecting the potion throughout the length of the cigar, but she had to try . . .
Murdock needs help to implement his plan and Face shouldn't have to be disciplined for something he didn't want to do. And what can Hannibal do to me?
With that thought in mind she carefully doctored the cigar and prayed it worked to buy Murdock the time he needed to deal with Jackson.