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This page last viewed: 2017-11-13 and has been viewed 2066 times
***I don't own the A-team. I should, though.***
Summery: Murdock has a bad night. A really bad night.
Warning: This story deals with Murdock having an anxiety attack so it isn't happy. I mention suicide and death and there is general psychological unhappiness. I warned you.
jenben note: FYI: I'm not pulling this stuff out of my ear (so to speak).
Murdock woke up to a painful stomach cramp. His eyes went wide and he lay very still. He could feel the cold sweat form on his body and the muscles in his arms and chest tightened. "Oh no," he whispered. "Please no." He got up quickly and ran into the bathroom.
When he got out his face was pale and his hands shook badly. His breathing was shallow and fast and he ran one of his shaky hands through his hair. "I just want to sleep," he whispered and choked down a sob.
"Please, God, make it go away," he said as he started to pace his V. A. room. "Please, God, I don't know why this is happening. What did I do? I was okay today and now it's here. I just can't-" he took a few shallow breaths. "I just can't handle it."
The pacing made him have to breath more but it remained just as shallow so it was as if he was running a marathon. He kept his eyes on the floor to make sure he didn't bump into anything and occasionally looked up with large, frightened eyes. "Dammit," he murmured and ran back into the bathroom.
"Life is okay," he reassured himself as he stepped out for the second time. "I just need to calm down. The guys will be okay. They have to be. But what if something happens...what if Decker catches them? What if I'm not with them to help if some bad guy gets the upper hand? Oh God, you have to protect them! Wha-what if something happens to me?"
He paced fast, unable to control the thoughts running around in his head. He could barely keep track of them. "If something happened to me, it would just destroy Face! I'm his best friend! How would he survive that? What if I killed myself?" The thought revolted him. It made him want to vomit, but he couldn't keep it out of his mind. "What if Face came to break me out but I had slashed my wrists and...he would see the blood...oh, God...if I took a bunch of pills, he would try to wake me up but it wouldn't happen..." The thoughts wouldn't stop!
"Hannibal!" he uttered loudly. "Hannibal would feel responsible and he would never forgive himself. But I'm not going to kill myself...but what if I did? Or what if I died on a mission? Hannibal, Face, B. A.-they'd think it was their fault for not protecting me! I wonder if I'm dying right now. And I'd never get to say goodbye to them or them to me. Or I could die slowly and they'd have to watch me suffer-"
He continued to pace, praying furtively. He didn't even understand the prayer; it just rolled out of him. He sounded like a monk chanting during worship. Finally he ran to his door and swung it open, running into the hall.
"Mr. Murdock?" the night nurse asked incredulously. She smirked, wondering what crazy thing he was going to say. Then she saw his eyes. Wide and frightened. She ran up to him. "What's the matter?"
"I'm-panic attack. Anxiety. Help me."
She told him to go to his room and she would grab him some medication, but he stopped her. "Don't go away!" he yelled, grabbing onto her uniform. "Please don't leave me."
"All right," she conceded, taking his hand. "Than you'll come with me to get the medicine. Come on, honey, I'm going to help you."
They walked to the medicine room where she unlocked the cabinet and picked out a high-dosage Xanax. She ran a cup of water and gave them both to him. He took them but didn't ingest the pill. "What's wrong?"
"I can't take this. I'll throw up."
"You can do it, Murdock. This pill is going to help you. Just remember that once you get the pill down, you'll do a lot better. If you can swallow that pill, you will be okay."
He took a few deep breathes and placed the nasty tasting pill on his tongue. He had to wait a minute before he could wash it down because everything in him wanted to gag. He just felt so sick and nauseas.
"Let's get you to your room and lay you down," she said as she walked him out of the door and down the hall.
"I can't lay down," he said as they entered his room. "If I lay down I'll feel worse. I have to pace. I have to!"
"Okay, okay! You can pace, that isn't a problem. Do you want me to stay here with you?"
He nodded a little, already beginning to walk around the room. Her presence made him feel better. It was another human. He wasn't alone. And she cared about him.
"What's wrong?" she asked from a chair in his room. She was glad he was pacing because it would increase his metabolic rate and help get the medicine into his blood stream faster. Besides which, all the adrenaline needed to be worn out of him.
"I'm just afraid. I'm afraid that I'll die or that my friends will die or that they'll have to watch me suffer. What if I kill myself?"
"Are you thinking of killing yourself?" Her tone became nervous.
"No!" he yelled. "I don't want to! I hate that idea! But it won't go away. Why won't it go away? I just think about how much it would hurt my friends if I...you know..."
His head barely moved as he shook it affirmatively.
"We're gonna get you into see Dr. Richter tomorrow morning, first thing," she assured him. "He's gonna help you and you'll feel a lot better. The doctor is gonna help you, sweetie."
Murdock gave her a tiny grin. Knowing he was going to get help made him feel a little better. Or was that the medication. He could feel it starting to work. His eyelids were drooping and his muscles relaxing. His shoulders fell from their tense position around his ears. His pace slowed. "I'm so tired," he murmured. "So tired."
The nurse let him pace until he could barely move and then she guided him to his bed where he fell instantly asleep, soothed, comforted, and cared for by a little pill.
Murdock didn't wake up the next morning until three in the afternoon. He got groggily out of bed and staggered to the nurse's station to ask about his appointment with Dr. Richter. He knew he was going to have one that day. He remembered that much. But all of the thoughts he had last night, those were a blur. He knew the general fears and anxieties, but the minutes that would otherwise have been ingrained in his mind had disappeared. Not wanting to try and remember, he accepted the nurse's information and walked into his room for a shower, happy to let another night slip from his memory.
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