A/N: Welcome back dear readers. It took me ages to finish up this story!! It took ages until I was finally satisfied with the end of the story and with all the school work, I never found the time to write anything, but now it is finally finished!! I must say, I'm quite proud of it actually. At first, I wanted to post it in chapters, but I was too lazy to actually do that, so you get a one-shot. Also, this is kind of a sequel of my previous story 'Home sweet home', only 10 years in the future. You don't have to read the other story to understand this one though.
So for the story. It is quite dark and I have some trigger warnings : mentions of torture, detailed description of torture and injuries and mentions of past trauma. Be warned.
You will find that I did not detail Murdock's mission with the CIA, because I tend to write another story where I write my own interpretations on how his CIA missions may have looked. Also during the part where the mafia guys are hurting him, he's having flashbacks and it is meant to be confusing.
Enjoy!!!
Suppression was the easiest way for Murdock to forget about the evils of his past. Every war veteran has their stories to tell, but it often times hurts too much to even talk about them, so they keep ignoring them and store them away, deep down in their minds behind an impenetrable wall.
There were two reasons why Murdock did it : One, it was just too damn painful to talk about them and two, there are things he can't tell, he wasn't allowed to and ignoring these things and doing as if they don't exist is the easiest way. Only problem is when the proof of these are literally written on his body. It was harder to forget. Even though that scar lingered on his back, more specifically, on his right shoulder blade, and he couldn't see it when he looked into the mirror, he always knew that it was there. After a nightmare, the scar would' burn just like the first day he got it, as if to mock him and show him that it will always be there.
Nonetheless, Murdock was aware that his wall would one day break. One day it won't be high enough, one day it won't be thick enough, one day it won't be strong enough. One day, the inevitable will come for him. Suppressing and medication don't really help with that problem; they only delaying it and make it worse. To be fair, Dr. Richter tries to help him, tries to talk to get him to talk. Dr. Richter asks the questions that Murdock has the answers to, but he can't answer them. Once he opens that door, he won't be able to close it again, and he really didn't want to go down that road.
Murdock could feel how the shadows of his past try to climb over his wall, but he only makes it higher, as high as mountains, and thicker, as thick as steel. His wall was made of every song, every movie quote, and every TV character he knew.
Ten years have passed and nothing has happened; his wall hasn't broken yet, and he is still fine. Maybe it had skipped him ? Maybe he had been fast enough and slipped through the cracks ?
That hope burned like a little candle inside of him. The anticipation of the inevitable was like a dark void around it, threatening to blow it out any second. He was completely aware that the inevitable didn't skip anyone, but hope dies last, right ? One day, its dark and cold fingers choked the tiny, fragile flame out and with that, the warmth it brought. One day, when his candle died, his wall fell.
It started with a mission—nothing too fancy. Face went to get him, and they made their way over to Texas. Murdock was annoying BA like always, Hannibal was chomping and smoking his cigar as usual, and Face was complaining like always, so nothing of the unusual. Hannibal quickly explained the situation. It was about some…journalist who wanted to write an article about a mafia that was settling in a town named Jamestown to get the intention of nearby towns to help settle the situation, and well…the mafia wasn't too happy about the bad press, and well…they beat him up…badly (but anyhow, who writes an article about a mafia? Even he wasn't crazy enough to do that !!!). Anyway, they were asked to help, and because they were so nice, they wanted to help.
They quickly met up with that journalist whose name, by the way, is, ironically, Decker, Gerhard Decker. And well…he looked bad—really bad. Even Face had looked better after his first round with BA (that was before they were friends, just for clarity), back in the camp, which was, mind you, very entertaining. But it would be the beginning of the end.
It was only after two months after he and his crew at that time were rescued. Murdock was asked to come into Morrison's office. There, two men in suits were waiting for him, and Murdock knew immediately that a new hell had arrived. The first mission had been bad, and he didn't want to know what came next. They quickly explained what they wanted from him after Morrison left, and at first it did sound very simple, but it rarely stays that way.
It was supposed to be a week-long mission to Russia to bring a pilot and his plane back to the States. Murdock didn't know this pilot, but it had to be a damn good and important one if even the CIA was involved.
That night, he grabbed a chopper and met his new unit two clicks south from camp, and they commenced their mission to Russia.
Let's just say, it went wrong…terribly wrong
Murdock lost track of time at some point. He didn't know how long he had been there, but it felt like an eternity. His wounds from his last trip to the Vietnamese prison camp had not yet fully healed. He was already sore, but that guy had mostly spared his arms and legs.
But then something happened that burned itself into his brain. The guy tore the rags off his shirt so that his upper body was free. They pushed him down on a stool. He was scared and tried to read the looks on his torturer's face, but there was nothing to read, only a stone-cold face. Then someone came over and pressed his palm onto his left shoulder blade. In his right hand, he held a branding iron with the communist symbol. His heart sped up. He knew exactly what they were going to do, and he couldn't believe it. He tried to free himself, but the hand holding him down only put more weight into the hold, aggravating his already bruised ribs even more and making it more difficult to breathe, which made him panic even more. Ignoring all his struggles, the man pressed it on his right shoulder blade.
The pain was… indescribable. He felt incredible pain, yet nothing at all. The stars in front of his eyes were the colors of the rainbow. His muscles were tense to the point of tearing. His throat hurt, so he must have screamed, but he heard nothing. But he smelled. He smelled the smell of burning flesh. Then the man pulled the branding iron from his shoulder and tore the melted skin off, too. NOW he heard himself scream. There was nothing human about this scream. If his throat hadn't hurt so much, he wouldn't have thought it was his scream. It sounded bestial and inhuman.
The rest of the mission was lost in the fog. The first thing he remembered was sitting in the hospital tent and a very kind nurse named Helena treating his wounds. He couldn't even remember how he got back to camp or if they got the pilot out. He was only grateful for being out of that hellhole. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to remember it in the first place. If he could, he would erase if off his memory.
The A-Team was asked for help by a journalist. He wanted to write an article about a mafia that was spreading in a small town in Texas to make people aware of the problem. The gangsters found out and beat him up. Almost routine for the team. Murdock was supposed to observe a suspect unnoticed. Unfortunately, they had underestimated how deep the mafia actually went and realized their mistake too late. Hannibal tried to call Murdock back, but the crooks had already overpowered him and taken him away. They found the car shortly afterward, but didn't know where the thugs might have taken their pilot. They searched desperately for him all afternoon without finding a trace.
"What do we do now, Hannibal? We've been lookin' all afternoon, and there's no sign of 'em?" BA asked anxiously.
"I don't know, but it's too dark to look any further. Murdock will find a way," Hannibal tried to reassure the others.
"What if he doesn't? It's precisely because he hasn't turned up yet that worries me. What if they...you know," Face explained.
"No, they wouldn't do that. I think they'd teach him a lesson too," Hannibal replied.
"But what if they didn't?", Face tackled the elephant in the room, "The possibility is high that they went a step further and not just beat him up, but to end him permanently to show us that they're not to mess aro-"
"BA, watch out!" Hannibal shouted.
BA slammed on the brakes, there was someone lying on the road,
Face stopped mid-sentence and had already jumped out of the van, the moment he caught a glimpse of that "someone" lying on the road.
"It's Murdock!" he shouted, startled, and knelt down next to the pilot, carefully turning him onto his back.
Hannibal also kneeled next to him and looked at the battered silhouette: "They really gave him a few good ones." He grabbed his wrist to feel his pulse, "He's just unconscious. BA, help me get him into the van".
He had been so naïve. It was surprising. He had thought that he might be able to escape the inevitable after all. Ten years ago, he was still convinced that it would come at some point, but it never came, and he thought it never would. He had been fine all these years. His friends had distracted him from that possibility.
He thought the inevitable would sneak up on him, build up slowly, that he could prepare himself. He never thought it would come so suddenly and so brutally. It was like an explosion that destroyed everything in its path. Everything was reduced to powder. What remained was ash and destruction.
The men beat him. Nothing new in itself. He had been treated like this many times before. But as they became more and more annoyed by his calm, they resorted to other methods. They tore off his bomber jacket and shirt so that he stood topless in front of them. They pushed him down on a stool. His heart was already starting to beat faster. He could feel the cracks building in his wall. All of this reminded him too much of a past event, which he did not want to repeat. He tried to push them off, and again, they only put more weight on holding him down. His breathing got faster and faster, and his mind was running one hundred miles an hour. Alarm bells went off in his mind, and it was as if his brain tried to come up with a solution, but all in vain.
Then one of them pulled out a knife and only now seemed to have noticed that his whole back was scarred. An ugly smile crossed his lips.
"Looks like someone else has already had their fun with you, kid," he looked up at the others, who laughed with him, "Well then, we'll add more to your collection."
Murdock didn't like that at all. He was about to free himself in a last desperate attempt when he applied the knife to his burn scar and penetrated the skin. Just as the tip of the knife broke through the skin and the first drops of blood gushed out and ran down his back, it was as if a bomb had gone off inside him. The big wall at the back of his mind was torn into a thousand pieces. It was as if the wall was not made of thick steel, but of thin glass that would crack at the slightest touch. The shards penetrated his brain and showed him the darkest moment of his life. But that was not the end of it. All his most painful memories came flooding back, crashing against him with full force.
Screams. Bullets on metal. Metallic smell of blood. Acrid smell of ammonia. Bombs.
"It will all-"
Heat. Pain, unbelievable pain. Fear. Hands pressing him down. Laughing at him. Pressing the hot iron into his skin.
"What did you get-"
"What is-"
Blood is running down his arm. He can't breathe. Water enters his lungs. People screaming. Crying. Death. The past.
"One word and you're-"
He screams. He can hear it, but it seems so far away. Where was he? Russia, Vietnam, America? Where are his friends? He looked around but couldn't recognize anything. Memories flashed past him. He heard, felt, saw so much at once. He could hear his heart pounding, the blood coursing through his veins. His nerves suddenly quivered. They burned as if electricity was coursing through them.
"Murdock watch out!".
A terrible bang, heat, then nothing.
Murdock heard voices—deep voices. They seemed to be discussing something. He wasn't sure what; he could only make out individual words. His head seemed to be filled with absorbent cotton, and he couldn't really concentrate. A feeling of unease spread through him. It gripped his heart tightly.
Suddenly, he noticed a familiar sound. The sound of gold chains clinking together as the person moved. This sound accompanies BA everywhere. Could it be his friends talking? Who were his friends again? BA, and... the one with the white hair. What was his name ? His brain was very slow to get going, and he was already starting to get a headache. In any case, they were his friends. What they were called didn't matter in the end. His uneasiness disappeared when he felt cold air on his back, and someone inhaled with a start. He was immediately in a state of panic. His heart and breathing quickened. Had something happened? Was someone hurt? He forced his eyes open.
He looked around and saw his friends standing there. Now he remembered their names: Hannibal and Face. The latter had a disturbed look on his face. Murdock wanted to turn around to ask what was going on when pain shot through his whole body like a bolt of lightning. He groaned. Only now did the three others seem to notice him.
"Welcome back, Captain, how are you feeling ?" asked Hannibal.
Hannibal is a man who always has his emotions under control. He never lets them get the better of him, but when they do, it's controlled and calculated. That was the first thing he taught the three of them. You should never fight with blind rage. Anger is good because it motivates you, but you have to be able to control it.
But even if Hannibal is very good at hiding his true emotions, he still has quirks that passively tell his colleagues how he is feeling or what he is thinking.
This question, as an example, seems quite harmless, but nothing is harmless with Colonel Smith. All his actions are calculated and well-thought-out. Everything he does has a reason, including this question. He asks this question to assess the condition of his comrade and to know how far he can still be pushed. All three of them had heard these questions many times before. So, if he asked that question, something big must have happened, but Murdock couldn't recall what had happened. Hannibal never put the mission above his team, so they must have been on a mission, right ? Well, he was hurting, but it wasn't so bad.
Murdock wanted to answer that he was fine, that there was nothing to worry about and just as he wanted to open his mouth, memories and feelings flooded his brain.
Hands pressing him down. Quick exchanges in Russian, laughing and then pain, burning. Everything came rushing back at him and hit him like a tsunami. The mission, him observing that guy, and then they overpowered him and beat him up. The knife !
He inhaled sharply and wanted to lift his wall to make it higher to keep the memories from escaping, when he noticed…there was no wall. The wall was gone and was replaced with debris. As if on cue, he heard that voice.
"Murdock, help me, please ! Please, you have to get me out of here, please!" a voice long since dead yelled out in the dark.
'No, no, no. You're dead, you're not real', Murdock tried to reason and tried the breathing techniques Dr. Richter taught him', C'mon Murdock snap out of it ! You're fine, everything's fine. You're just crazy, that's all', Murdock repeated like a mantra in his head.
"You're not fine", said a voice behind him.
Murdock turned around and there stood him. It was as if looking in a mirror, only that guy in front of him had cracks littering his body. There was no blood that would indicate a wound. It looked like a vase having been broken and put together again.
"What are you ?"
"I am the inevitable. I am broken, just like you"
"No, no ! I'm fine. I'm not broken ! I'm alright !!"
"No you're not ! God, can't you see it ?! You've been pretending for all these years that you were alright, even though you were suffering inside. You pushed everything away, built that horrendous wall, and hoped for the best ! You don't want to see the truth ! You're broken, you're tired of pretending ! You're scared that your friends will see your weakness ! You're scared that you're USELESS !"
"No, it's not true. I'm alright ! I'm not weak, and I'm not useless !"
As if on cue, the voice came again :
"Murdock, please help me. I have kids, a wife ! PLEASE !"
At the last word, it felt as if his heart shattered into a million pieces. He knew exactly who that was. He had died before Murdock could help him. The family didn't even have a body to bury. Why did that voice come haunting him now ?
He looked back up at…him, the…broken him. Now he was confronted with the truth he never wanted to admit. He wasn't fine; he was tired. Tired of pretending. For so long, he put all his energy into keeping that wall up, and now it was gone, and he felt weak and powerless. He sank to his knees and sobbed while the voices of the past cried out for help, he couldn't give anymore.
The pain was too strong, and Murdock let the darkness overtake him, the past echoing in his mind. As he closed his eyes, a lonely tear ran down his face, a first glimpse of what he had kept inside of him for such a long time.
"Welcome back Captain. How are you feeling ?" asked Hannibal.
It is the duty of every commander to make sure that his soldiers are doing well. Hannibal took this task very seriously. But he also needed to know how far he could push his soldiers before they collapsed. That was always quite easy to find out with Murdock. He would push through anything, and he often lied when Hannibal asked him this specific question, but Murdock's eyes never lied, and these were Hannibal's big indicators. He couldn't describe how he knew, but he could always assess his condition based on the look in his eyes.
So this question was very calculated, because Hannibal had to know where he was at and how much damage the mafia did to him. He saw his back and that burn scar. He had to admit, that he hadn't been aware of its existence until now, and that bothered him. This whole situation could get very problematic, and he didn't even know that one of his men had such a scar. So this was unknown territory since Hannibal didn't know how deeply the scar affected the pilot, but he already had a very bad feeling.
It seemed as if Murdock was about to answer when suddenly his eyes widened and so many emotions went through his eyes: fear, despair, realization and sadness. Hannibal could literally see how the fire that once burned so bright in his eyes extinguished.
Murdock looked at him with a blank stare instead of bright eyes filled with childlike curiosity. They were the eyes of a man who had lost something very dear to him and stood now in front of nothing but the debris of his old life. Hannibal had seen that look many times before during the war. Men who had lost friends, brothers or family. Already then, it was a heart-wrenching look, but to see it on someone so close to him…that was even worse. Especially because Hannibal didn't know what Murdock had lost. Theonly thing that look told him was that whatever these men had done to Murdock, they had destroyed something inside of him, something vital.
Murdock looked at him for a few seconds, then lost consciousness again. As he closed his eyes, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. THAT was his answer. It was as bad as Hannibal had thought, or even worse.
Face, who was standing next to him, also thought: "What did they do to him?"
"What they did to him physically is not as bad," Hannibal began to explain.
"Not as bad ?! Have you looked at him ?! They carved into him like he was an animal!" BA yelled at him. BA was known to dislike Murdock's personifications and invisible animals, but inside, Murdock meant a lot to him, and he would kill anyone who hurt him.
Face didn't say anything, but Hannibal could see in his eyes that he agreed with BA.
Hannibal sighed : "I didn't mean that BA and you know it. What I mean is that what they did to him mentally is much worse".
"What do you mean?" Face asked in an uncertain tone.
"I'll explain that later. For now, help me fix him up."
"We helped you fix him up, now tell us what you know", told BA, and it was clear that it wasn't a request.
"To be honest I don't know anything", Hannibal sighed,"I don't know where he got it, why or when. As you can imagine, that incident must have been awful and probably left a hefty scar on his mind as well."
"Yeah, no kidding", scoffed Face.
"Anyway, the fact that these guys found it and carved it in, it probably led to a chain reaction."
"So like a central breakdown kind of thing ? ", asked Face.
"Yes"
After a moment of silence, Face asked : "What are we gonna do now, boss ?" His look was full of uncertainty. It hurt Hannibal that he couldn't give him more, that he couldn't reassure him.
"I'll call up Dr. Richter and explain the situation. Maybe he can help". With that Hannibal stood up and wanted to leave the room when a hand at his sleeve stopped him : "What if he can't help ?", asked Face.
Hannibal turned around and looked him straight in the eyes : "Then we'll make a new plan".
Hannibal went into another room and dialed the number on the telephone.
"Dr. Richter", came the familiar voice of the doctor over the phone.
"Hello Doctor, it's Hannibal. I need your advice."
"What happened ? Is Mr. Murdock alright ?"
"Not really and I am not sure how to proceed"
"Explain what happened"
"We were asked to help a journalist in Jamestown, Texas, who wanted to write an article about a mafia that was settling there. The mafia didn't like that and beat him up, a warning. I sent Murdock to watch one of our suspects. He followed him and was taken. We only found him in the night beat up in the middle of the road. I examined his injuries and I discovered a scar done with a burning iron in the form of the communism sign of Russia on his right shoulder blade, it was carved in by the mafia. He woke up briefly, but I could see that there was something different about him and since I don't know anything of that scar, I need a second opinion on how to proceed."
It stayed silent for a few seconds, then the voice of the doctor could be heard again :
"You mentioned a scar on his shoulder, yes ?"
"Correct. Do you know anything about it ?"
"Well not exactly. I have documented the scar when Mr. Murdock was first emitted to my care, but every time I tried to get answers, he would shut down and say that Billy was chasing his invisible belt animals. It seems to me as if he tried at all costs to evade that particular topic, so I don't have anything on it to help you."
Hannibal took out his cigar and put it, unlit, in his mouth.
"I believe that you have access to all the medical files during his time in the military ?"
"Yes. Ah, I see what you're thinking. Let me have a look"
The phone was put down, and Hannibal could hear drawers open and close and then the rustling of papers being turned. After five minutes, the doctor took the phone again.
"I have found the report that reported something about a brand mark on his right shoulder, but there is something odd. I believe you are not familiar with how to write a medical report, but a doctor is required to document the exact size and severity of a wound. In Mr. Murdock's case, the report should contain how big it is and what degree the flesh is burned, but-"
"It hasn't been documented", finished Hannibal for the doctor.
"Indeed. In fact, the whole report seems odd; all other injuries are only mentioned briefly, but there are no further details. It almost seems as if they were trying-
"As if they were trying to hide something", finished Hannibal again.
"Correct, but why ?"
The gears in Hannibal's head started to work in overdrive. The only reason the military would try to minimize Murdock's injuries would be that they didn't want anyone to know that he HAD them in the first place. The scar had the form of the Russian communism sign, which means that he was probably in Russia, and it was probably not an authorized military mission, because otherwise they would have sent the A-Team to deal with that. (In this story, the A-Team had a different pilot before Murdock joined the team.). Which means it was a mission of one of the secret agencies, and if he had to guess, it was probably the CIA. Something went wrong, and Murdock had to pay the prize, but why-
"Hannibal, you're still there ?", the doctor interrupted his thinking.
"Yeah, yeah," Hannibal answered hastily, having been pulled out of his thoughts. This whole thing gave him a very bad feeling. If his theory was correct, then nobody could know. If they had tried to keep the mission quiet in the military, and since Murdock never mentioned it, it would be better to not share his theory with the doctor. It would be too dangerous. Of course, every doctor is under the duty of confidentiality, but the CIA has ears and eyes everywhere. No, he couldn't tell him anything.
"What do you think about this, doctor ?", Hannibal asked instead.
"I believe that this scar is related to a very traumatic event that was brutally recalled to him. Often, with such patients, when one bad memory comes up, many more follow. You can call it a universal breakdown. This is often difficult for those affected and can have fatal consequences."
"What consequences?" Hannibal already knew the answer, but he wanted to know whether Dr. Richter would actually believe Murdock could go down that road.
"Well it could be a worsening in his condition, that he stays stuck in that memory and looses all touch with reality, or self-harm or…uh…or
"You mean suicide ?", Hannibal said in a taunting tone.
"Listen, Hannibal. I know you don't want to hear this, but in this situation, you have to stay real. We don't know anything about what Mr. Murdock could have possibly seen, and I don't like this implication either, but I need to stay objective. I work with such people every day; I've seen such cases before, and none of them ended well.
"I understand, Dr., but I can assure you that this won't be the case with Murdock. He's strong, and he loves life more than anything. He'll be alright"
"I have complete faith in you and your team's abilities to take care of him, but I only want to prepare you for what may occur. I just want to you to prepare for the worst-case scenario since I can't predict at all how he could react to this"
"To predict Murdock is impossible even on his best day, but I'll take your warning to heart, even though I won't need it. I can only repeat that he'll be fine. But tell me, should I up the dosage of his medication ?"
"Yes, one additional pill for every medication. Call me if his condition worsens"
With that, the line went dead, and Hannibal found his thoughts running again. He had to admit that he underestimated Murdock's condition. He had always been aware that the pilot had his problems and that he was suffering from PTSD, but he's never seen that side clearly. He suffered from the occasional nightmare—nothing unusual; all of them have them. Sometimes he noticed that Murdock could get nervous—if you can call it that, let's say restless—but never such an extreme sight. He's never seen Murdock cry before, nor behave like this, so it was clear that this situation was really serious.
He took out his lighter and lit his cigar, it always helps him to think. There was a thought nagging in the back of his mind.
Why ?
Why hadn't they killed him ? Murdock has the proof of illegal American business literally on his back ! So why was he still alive ?
'What would I do ?", Hannibal asked himself.
Why would I let a pilot live who has proof of American business in Russia ? Illegal business. Because the advantages outweigh the disadvantages. What would the disadvantage of letting him live be ? He had the proof, and if someone found out or if he talked, it could lead to an international conflict. The US was already involved in a war, and to lead another war, especially against Russia, would be fatal.
But what are the advantages of letting him live ? As far as he saw, there was no clear or really strong advantage to letting him live. His great piloting skills were probably not a factor in that; it was the reason they chose him, but certainly not why they let him live. They would even kill the US president's son if his mere existence threatened the safety of the US. Though the question remains: How would they cover it ?… Exactly, that must be it ! It would have been too difficult to incinerate his death properly. …… It could make sense. How would you explain that one of the best pilots in the Army suddenly is found dead in a chopper with nobody else inside after having disappeared for a week with no mission or anything?It would certainly raise suspicions. Additionally, if the enemy found him first and discovered the scar, they could have very well given him to the Russians and made a great deal with that. However, the CIA would probably be able to come up with a cover story, but one with too many flaws and questions they wouldn't be able to answer. Moreover, they probably went with the fact that being brand-marked was a form of denigration. They marked him as an animal, and who would want to show something like that openly to the world ? And by letting him live, they could always come back to him and force him to do another mission for them.
That was it. The only reason Murdock was still alive today was convenience. Hannibal huffed. This was all so messed up. How often did the government fail and one of their own had to pay the price. That is how it always has been. They've all been great for the moment it lasted, but the instance that they weren't of any use anymore, they were discarded like trash. They could all very well rot away in prison.
Hannibal sighed. This was all in the past now, and he couldn't change it, and he should be grateful that Murdock was still alive and that their team was still together. That is all that matters right now. Hannibal stood up and went back to the room to inform Face and BA about the circumstances.
Suddenly, he halted in his steps. Another thought crossed his mind. Why haven't they killed him now ? The war was over, the A-Team were fugitives of the state, and Murdock was in a psychiatric hospital and pronounced crazy. Accidents happen all the time, and who would ask questions if a crazy pilot would jump off the roof of the hospital during a psychosis ? Nobody would ask questions.
Either they deemed it unnecessary, because Murdock was crazy and nobody would believe him if he told them that, or even if they would, I mean, the proof was visible, but who would truly believe in what a crazy man was saying? Or were they scared of Murdock's history with the A-Team ? Hannibal had to admit that it was a very far-fetched theory, but it could be possible. The A-Team counted the best soldiers of the Army; they were trained to fulfill the most impossible missions, and they did it with minimal casualties and damage. So how hard could it be to infiltrate the CIA and take revenge for their friend's death?They had learned to work with very limited resources, so it certainly wouldn't be impossible for them. But again, they haven't made their move yet, and they probably never will, so it doesn't matter anyway.
Hannibal chased the thought away and went to inform Face and BA of the next steps.
Slowly, Murdock woke up again. The light was shining through the curtains and filling the room. It was a nice golden color. He lay on a soft bed, and he was nice and warm. He could hear the birds outside singing. Everything appeared so calm, and for a moment, Murdock hoped that all the events from yesterday were only a nightmare, a really bad nightmare, and in truth, they were on a mission, and the guys were already eating breakfast, lunch, or whatever they would eat at whatever time it is now.
Everything appeared calm, except in his mind. In his mind, everything was raging. Memory after memory was filling his head, one worse than the other. He felt tired, rubbed raw, and he felt exposed. He knew that they knew. They saw the scar, and Hannibal wasn't a fool; he probably has all of it figured out already. For a moment, Murdock thought about coming up with a cover story, saying that he never went to Russia with the CIA and that it was only a scar he got in his time as a POW, but it was a futile attempt; they wouldn't believe him.
At least he could try to act normal; maybe they would buy it. He just had to smile, to sing and make weird jokes. How hard could it be ? He sighed. Alone, the thought of pretending to be fine was like climbing a tall mountain whose shadow loomed over him. It seemed impossible, and he was so tired of pretending. He couldn't pretend anymore; he had to look reality in the eye, and maybe he could try to put himself back together.
Murdock sat up in bed and winced as his injuries reminded him yet again what happened the day before. He planted his feet on the ground and put his head in his hands. He wished he could just go back in time, go back to his time with the Thunderbirds when he could soar through the sky with incredible speed, do these amazing stunts, and have the deep blue sky in front of him that seemed to be endless with endless possibilities. He could dwell on these moments, but he knew they would never come back. He was proclaimed insane, and of course nobody would ever let him behind the controls of a fighter jet anymore. The only time he could fly was with his friends for the purpose of the mission. It was better than nothing, but it was always for a mission, never for fun. And now, they probably won't trust him with anything anymore.
The sound of knocking pulled him out of his thoughts. Face stood in the door with a glass of water in hand. He entered and gave him the glass and pills he carried in his other hand. Murdock took them in his hand and just stared at them. It was a higher dosage than normal.
'To help, probably', Murdock thought bitter.
Deep down, Murdock always knew that he was broken and scarred, that he came back a different man once the war was over, but he always pushed that thought as far back in his mind as possible. He didn't want to accept the truth, and now ? Now, it was laughing at his face.
He sighed and swallowed the pills dry, no need for water, he was used to it by now. At first, in the VA, he didn't like taking pills, he was always scared that they would stay stuck in his throat, but now it was like second nature to him.
The two men sat in silence for a few moments, until Face broke the silence :
"How are you feeling ?", Murdock turned his head to look at him and he saw pity in his eyes. Murdock grit his teeth. How he hated that look, he didn't need to be pitied. He hated that look, it made him feel weak and he wasn't weak.
For a moment, Murdock felt the same fire again in his chest and he wanted to say that he was fine, that it would take more than a beating to keep ol' Murdock down, but that fire died as fast as it came. Why bother ? Face knew the answer to that question already, he just wanted to hear it from Murdock. He sighed.
"I'll manage", and he attempted a smile which probably looked more like a grimace than a smile, but whatever.
They stayed silent again for a few moments, until Face spoke up again :
"I-", Face swallowed,"Remember back in 'Nam, in the prison camp. The first time we were caught as a unit ? Remember that time when they-they did…that to me", Face couldn't bring himself to say the word, "I was devastated; I was so disgusted. You always heard these stories of women, but never of men, and I felt like a wreck afterward. You held me close and said that-that it was okay to…not feel okay, remember ? You told me that I should let it out and accept that it happened, because it is the first step to healing. You told me I could lean on you however long it takes for me to heal", Face tried to keep a straight face, but Murdock could see straight through it. It was still hard for Face, even after all these years. Murdock knew exactly where he was going with this story, and he had to try to keep the tears down.
"Well now, let Me help You. You can lean on me as long as you need", Face put a hand on his good shoulder, "it's okay to not be okay. You don't have to tell me anything. No matter what, I'm here for you. We all are. You told me then that I had the choice to either let it consume me or to fight it. … I'm asking you now to fight it…please ", his voice broke at the last word and Murdock couldn't hold the tears back anymore. And before he knew, the tears fell down his cheeks and he couldn't seem to stop them. His shoulders shook with it, and he soon found himself in a warm embrace from his best friend.
Face had never seen Murdock cry before, and to hear him crying now, to feel how his whole body shook, was horrible. It broke his heart. Murdock may be annoying with his endless jokes, dialects and personas, but these were a million times better than this and Face hoped dearly that he would never have to hear it again, but even if he did, he would help Murdock however he could.
Acceptance is the first to healing. To accept what happened, that they had no control over what happened. They have to look into the future.
The second step is to fight, even if it may seem hard and impossible at times, it will be worth it in the end.
It is like the first steps of a baby. At first, they are very wobbly and unsure, and they often fall down, but the second step is already easier and so on. Suddenly, they can walk without assistance and then they can run. It takes time, but it isn't impossible.
A/N: I hope you liked it!! Feel free to comment or review my writing. So, I want to write some sort of sequel to this story where I describe in detail how his CIA missions may have looked. However, it could take some time, because I have already many exams and I'll probably be busy for a while, but I will write it.