Face and BA knew the second Hannibal appeared at the bottom of the stairs that something was wrong. The older man's face was ashen and he looked uncharacteristically shaken. It was an unnerving sight.

They stood up from the couch as the Colonel made his way into the room.

"Hannibal?" asked Face with concern. He'd only been gone for a couple of minutes. What could have happened in that time?

The Colonel looked at his men seriously. Despite his pallor, his eyes were clear and focused.

"We need to get Murdock to a hospital."

BA's first thought was that the pilot was injured, but that was irrational. Hannibal would never leave someone alone if they were in need of medical attention.

Face, of course, understood right away. "You mean an institution?" He was gobsmacked. They'd never once, in all the years of working and living together, entertained that as a possibility. Especially now: Putting Murdock in a hospital while the MPs were on their tail was as good as locking him up and throwing away the key and Hannibal knew it. "What are you talking about? You know we can't do that."

"We've got to," retorted Hannibal sharply. "We can't take care of him here." He looked at his boys seriously, expression so carefully controlled that BA felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. "He tried to shoot himself."

"WHAT?" Face's appalled exclamation nearly drowned out the thump of BA pushing past Hannibal and thundering up the stairs. The blond jerked as if his body wanted to follow but he forced himself to stay put. Murdock was okay or Hannibal wouldn't be down here. BA would take care of him. It wouldn't be good for everyone to burst in. Face gripped Hannibal's arms instead, practically shaking him. "Hannibal, what happened?"

The remorse, anguish and guilt he saw in the older man's eyes made Face's stomach drop.

BA burst into Murdock's room to find him slumped down, sitting on the bed with his forehead resting on his knees. Ascertaining with a glance that Murdock wasn't in danger of bleeding to death or injuring himself with anything within arm's reach, BA set about checking the rest of the bedroom. He briskly opened all the cupboards and drawers, rifling through shelves and even under the bed. When he was satisfied that there were no weapons or instruments that could be used as weapons (at least without a few minutes' creativity that he damn sure wasn't gonna let Murdock have), BA crouched in front of the pilot himself.

Murdock hadn't moved while BA was ransacking his room. He didn't protest as the Corporal gently but firmly pushed on his shoulders until he was sitting in an upright position. Murdock's eyes were red and downcast but he wasn't crying. He didn't react as BA tilted his head this way and that, combing massive fingers through the Murdock's hair to check for any bruises or new injuries. There were none.

Finally, BA settled himself on the bed next to Murdock. He didn't say anything. In contrast to the invasive way he'd just searched the room and examined Murdock, BA now left a good foot of space between them.

If Murdock appreciated or even noticed the token personal space, he didn't show it. He didn't drop his head again though, and the fidgeting of his hands told BA that the other man wasn't catatonic. He was just thinking.

"I'm okay now." Murdock's voice was eerily chipper in contrast to the slack, chapped mouth that produced it. "Temporary loss of cabin pressure but we are stabilised and ready to proceed on course."

BA hated it when Murdock got like this. His normal prattling on was bad enough but when he started talking in riddles or using stupid accents, BA really had to restrain himself from wringing the fool's neck. Over the years, Bosco had managed to find a way to deal with it that didn't involve infuriated rage (his) or severe bodily harm (Murdock's). If he ignored the words coming out of Murdock's mouth - as much as possible anyway - and concentrated on the tone and other physical cues, it usually gave BA an indication of what he was dealing with.

Right now, Murdock was slumped in the position the Corporal had manhandled him into. His hands were in his lap, fingers of the left absently fiddling with the fresh bandages on the right. One of his legs was bouncing slightly. His face was flushed and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow. His eyes were downcast. The sum of the parts was a picture of dejection.

Ignoring the cheerful drivel coming out of Murdock's mouth, Bosco asked, "What happened?"

Murdock turned to smile at him brightly. His eyes were glassy. "Nothing to concern yourself with, old chap!" BA grit his teeth as the familiar British accent grated on every one of his nerves. "Bit of a hiccup before, minor setback, a hicback! Or a cupset, wot? Everything's right as a Dorset shower. Drip drip drop, as they say."

This was why Face or Hannibal usually handled Murdock. Because somehow he had the ability to push every one of BA's buttons at once like Bart Simpson in an elevator, and all of BA's good intentions of being understanding and patient went out the window and he found himself blurting out stuff like: "Hannibal thinks you need to go back to a hospital."

Murdock's leg stilled. BA watched his face very carefully as he continued. "We don't wanna lock you up. We don't want you to blow your brains out either."

The pilot shivered as though someone had laid a hand on him and he was shaking it off. "It wasn't loaded," he told Bosco, thankfully using his normal accent this time.

BA didn't really know if he was prepared for the answer, but he had to ask, "Did you know that?"

Murdock giggled suddenly. "I must have. Would have been insane to pull the trigger otherwise, wouldn't it?"

God damn. Bosco felt bile rise in the back of his throat. He ignored it as best he could. "You're gonna have to give me more than that, man."

"Hannibal got the gun from the drawer," Murdock elaborated, eyes still very bright. BA filed that detail away for later: What the hell was Hannibal doing letting Crazy around guns right now? "It must have been my revolver that I left there before I went on my little excursion. The gun wasn't loaded when I put it away. So it makes sense that it wasn't loaded now. QED: I knew that."

BA wasn't being filled with huge amounts of confidence in Murdock's mental stability from this conversation. Nor were his stores of patience being replenished. "Dammit, Murdock. What the hell were you thinking? Do you want us to tie you down like an animal so you don't hurt yourself? You want us to leave you in some hospital where they put a diaper on you and dope you to your eyeballs?" Murdock flinched a little, but BA didn't stop. "I'd do it. Hannibal too. If I thought you were really gonna hurt yourself I'd take you to the closest crazy house and put you in a straightjacket myself."

Murdock was staring. It took him a second to speak. "Well that's presumptuous," he said. "Objectively speaking, I mean. What right do you have to dictate the course of someone else's life like that?"

"Every right," retorted BA immediately. "If you're being a damn idiot and thinking of ending that life, yeah, I got every right."

"It's not your choice to make." Murdock sounded like he was debating an abstract concept and hadn't been holding a gun to his head minutes before. Bosco tried very hard to not let it frustrate him. "Surely the person experiencing the pain is more qualified to make a reasonable assessment on their quality of life, and the merits of continuing it, than anyone else."

"This ain't like putting a dog out of its misery when it's been hit by a car," countered BA. "Everyone has pain. You gotta be alive to get through it though, otherwise it's just giving up at the first hurdle. Fucking weak, man."

"It's NOT." Murdock's tone suddenly wasn't impassive anymore. He looked furious. "It's not weak and it's not giving up. You have no idea, you have no fucking idea." He was repeating himself in his agitation. "It's so arrogant to assume that the worst you've been through is the ultimate apex of human suffering. Who are you to tell someone that they deserve to keep hurting?"

"I ain't telling anyone anything," BA answered, forcing himself not to match Murdock's volume. "I'm saying that I would rather have you alive in a hospital somewhere, hating me, than dead because you couldn't beat this."

"Oh! Well! Thank you very much!" Murdock hadn't stopped shouting. "Please tell me what 'this' is, that you think I should be beating so easily? You are a self-proclaimed expert after all."

Bosco ignored the words. He focused instead on his friend's eyes, which were bloodshot and wild. "Pain," he said simply. "I think you go beat up real bad in that place and saw things that no one should have to see. I think it hurt you a lot." Murdock had fallen silent. "I think they kept you away from your routine and your meds and your brain's still trying to catch up." Murdock looked away at that. BA knew he'd hit the mark. "I think right now it feels like you'll never get through a day without crying, let alone be a part of the team again. But I know. I KNOW," and he made sure Murdock was looking at him as he said this, "that you will."

Murdock's jaw was clenched. He tipped his head back, blinking rapidly, and chuckled. "You also think you're pretty wise, don't you?" There wasn't enough sting in the words to hurt.

"I lost my daddy when I was eight," BA told him solemnly. He hoped Crazy was listening because he damn well wasn't gonna repeat this. "Mama had to work two jobs, late nights, just so we wouldn't get kicked out of our one bedroom, no bathroom apartment." Bosco didn't look, but he could feel Murdock watching him. "I started dealing when I was thirteen just to bring some money in. Sixteen, I was stealing cars for parts. Got caught a couple years later and the judge told me it was either two years of service or five years in juvie." He snorted. "Man, if I'da known how many years the Army was gonna take from me… Hell, I probably still would have joined."

Bosco risked a glance at Murdock. The other man was still, looking at him with an undefinable glint in his eyes. BA continued. "Point is, now I'm thirty-six, got no wife, no kids, no life outside of what we do and the government I served has an order out to shoot me on sight. Haven't seen my mamma in two years." He glared sternly at Murdock. "I ain't self-pitying. I'm saying. This is the life I was handed and I'd rather have it, no matter how hard and fucked up it can be, than nothing at all."

Murdock coughed. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm just tired," he said for the second time that afternoon, though BA didn't know that.

"So you rest." Bosco put an arm around Murdock, hoping this wasn't setting a precedent the pilot would enforce every day. "You rest, let us take care of you, let your meds kick in again and don't think about anything else until you're ready to."

"One day at a time, huh?" Droplets fell from Murdock's eyes onto his bandages.

"Sure. Just don't let it swallow you." He squeezed the pilot's shoulders. "What woulda happened if I'd given up after Mexico when the thought of flying scared the pants off me?"

"It still scares the pants off you," mumbled Murdock automatically.

BA decided to let him have that one. Just this time. "Yeah, it does. And I still do it." Murdock wisely didn't interject again. He knew the point Bosco was trying to make. "It scares me and it's hard, and sometimes LIFE is scary and hard but you just do it." Okay, that was a little cheesy. BA hurried on. "Anyway. I think it's worth it, Murdock."

The Captain sniffed. "If you'd given up, the Army wouldn't be chasing you. You'd be able to see your mom."

BA shook him, just a little. "Yeah, and you'd be up here by yourself talking to the walls instead of someone who's gonna make sense."

"True." Murdock sniffed again and wiped his nose with his bandaged hand.

"You're gonna be okay, Crazy." The nickname slipped out by accident but Murdock didn't seem to mind.

"I know," he sighed. He leaned against BA's sturdy side. "Thanks, Bosco. I'm sorry I'm so… quicksilver lately. I know it's hard to put up with."

"Worth it, Murdock."

"Thanks."

Downstairs, Hannibal was trying very hard not to wince under Face's glare.

"You gave him a gun?"

It was obvious that the older man felt horrible and Face honestly wasn't trying to make him feel worse, but he couldn't help his incredulous exclamation. What the hell was Hannibal thinking?

"I was trying to help him," Hannibal replied, reflexively going on the defensive in response to Face's accusatory statement. "I thought he needed to know that he could still handle a weapon."

Face nearly exploded. "He knows he can physically pick one up, Hannibal! Even with his fingers broken, that's not the issue. You saw the tapes! I can't believe you thought that would be a good idea! His meds haven't even kicked in again yet. He needs to heal before we can get him back in the field."

"I know that!" snapped Hannibal. "It was the wrong move, I know that. That doesn't change the fact that he needs help that we obviously can't provide."

"Does it?" asked Face. "I think this shows that we need to be more careful, not that he needs to be put away. What was a gun doing in his room anyway?"

"It wasn't loaded." A pathetic excuse to both men's ears.

"Did you know that?" Face returned.

Hannibal lost his momentum. His shouldered slumped and his face crumpled for a moment before he took a breath and pulled himself back. "No," he answered tightly.

The implications left Face reeling. He felt a belated wave of guilt and sympathy for Hannibal. "Fuck. I'm… I'm sorry, Hannibal. That must have been… Jesus." He wiped a hand over his face and tried again. "He's not okay right now. No one's disputing that. I don't think he should be locked away though. He needs support right now, goals, things to strive for. He doesn't need to be tied to a bed and pumped full of sedatives."

The Colonel sighed. "I just don't know what to do right now, Face. What if…"

Hannibal cut himself off at a sound from upstairs. Two sets of feet were making their way down the stairs.

Murdock appeared first, watched carefully if not quite herded by BA, who gripped his arm and helped him limp over to the others.

"Hi," Murdock said, attempting a smile. His eyes were puffy.

"Hey, buddy." It was obvious that Face was restraining himself. "How are you?"

Murdock nodded. "I'll be okay," he said honestly. "Had some Bosco therapy. It's like chicken soup for the fractured brain."

Face and Hannibal pretended not to see the affectionate smile BA gave Murdock at that.

"Captain. Murdock." Hannibal cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I can't apologise enough for my actions. What I did was rash, insensitive and dangerous."

Murdock shook his head, looking skittish and a little embarrassed. "It's okay. I'm sorry too. I'm not really functioning at full capacity yet, I think."

"I know that," replied Hannibal earnestly before realising what he was saying. "That is, I understand it's been a difficult time…"

But Murdock was giggling and Bosco was shaking his head at Hannibal in mock exasperation. Murdock's laugh wasn't quite right and BA looked exhausted, but it was better than nothing. In the pause between the tension, Face broke his own leash and launched himself at the pilot, slamming into him with a hug that had to be a little painful for Murdock's bruised ribs. He didn't complain though, wrapping his arms around Face with equal force.

"Don't EVER do that again," Face said harshly into Murdock's neck. "I will tie you to a chair. I don't even care if you hate me. Never do that again."

"I know," answered Murdock. "Bosco's already given me that talk. I'm sorry. I'll be alright."

"You better." They pulled apart and, as with Hannibal's awkwardness and BA's rare tenderness, no one mentioned Face's watery eyes.

"Actually Faceman, I wanted to ask you something." All eyes on Murdock. "D'ya think maybe, after I'm healed up a bit, you could teach me how to shoot South paw?" He waved his bandaged hand in the air. "Just in case Ol' Righty ain't up to scratch right away?"

Face's jaw dropped and he glanced at Hannibal and BA. "Uh, sure. I mean, yeah, of course. Whatever you need."

"Thanks. Not right now, but maybe in a few weeks."

The blond nodded, trying not to look too eager. "Whenever. Anytime's cool."

Murdock smiled. Still a little shaky, but getting there. "Thanks Face."

The Lieutenant looked at him, then at BA, then back and forth again. They waited patiently. Eventually, Face's gaze settled on BA.

"Magic negro," he said, voice full of wonderment.

BA and Hannibal groaned. Murdock cackled. Face stepped closer to BA, poking him in the chest.

"No, seriously. You fixed him." Face looked at Murdock again. "How did you do that?"

BA batted Face's hand away. "I just talked to him, fool. Get off me."

Face shook his head. "Magic," he breathed.

Murdock was giggling so hard he'd collapsed on the sofa, clutching his sore ribs. Hannibal sat down hurriedly to support him. It was gratifying to see the Captain happy, but the older man hoped these mood swings would settle down when his medications started working.

Things weren't "fixed" no matter what Face said, not by a long shot. Murdock would have to be under constant supervision until they could be sure that his moods had stabilised. He might still need therapy or treatment they couldn't provide. Face had been right though. The best place for Murdock wasn't in a hospital, regardless of how well-trained their doctors were. It was with them.

So for now, Hannibal just held the other man up and let himself enjoy the laughter.

THE END! Thanks so much for everyone who read/reviewed. xoxo