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One More Time

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Murdock’s mom was a hard woman being alone in the world warped a person in unimaginable ways, she had to learn to never give in, and thus far she was successful. Until she met her match in the remnants of the man she despised.

"Momma," she hates that the only thing that man left her with is him, "do you think I could soar one day?"

Hard blue eyes trail the trek of distant plane, memorizing the straight clouds it leaves behind, along with the sleek shape.

Suddenly she squeezes his developing wrist to tight pretending for a moment that it’s that low-life she thought she loved. It’s entirely too easy and she lashes at the small boy visualizing that chubby face sleeker, blue eyes narrower, chest broader, hair darker – why is he him?

Her sanity returns and the image of her ex melts into that of her child huddled away from her, she sobs.

"Don’t cry Momma," his chubby hands twirl her blonde locks, "Imma take you with me – to the faraway place of happy time, ok?"

His eyes are wide and truthful, his bottom lip pushing out under his loose front tooth, it briefly crosses her mind how she could hurt something so adorable. But she doesn’t regret now, it’s too late for such silliness, it is time to move on now, “Bed time,”

In the middle of the night a woman returns to her home, sneaking to her son’s room, she slips a smooth metal plane into his hands and with that a dream.


Holland M. Murdock was on his second year of first grade not because he was dumb he just loved snack time to much to give up. Kelly D. Stevens was his desk buddy and she would not under any circumstances give away her animal crackers.

"Holland no!" Kelly screeched waving the cracker bag above her red head.

"Come on Kelly I’m gonna die of starvation!”


"Fading fast…white light…tell Billy I love him…ah,"

The older boy slunk his way down the chair, grasping his gurgling stomach with one hand whilst the other clawed for the bright florescent lights above. Kelly rolled her eyes at the older and supposedly mature boy’s dramatic antics. Breaking off the trunk of an elephant she chewed thoughtfully glancing over at her desk buddy idly. After what she saw she wished she hadn’t.

Holland’s blue eyes were wide and moist, pink lips shivering in a way dangerously close to crying, and no one was ever made strong enough to resist.

"Ug, fine but you only get the butt parts!"


Murdock was positive Heaven was missing an angel, one Miss Jody “Joy” Klineman, sophomore, lil’ miss Texas, popular, beautiful, smart, and soon to be Mrs. Murdock. Love was crazier then he for just because she never openly made fun of him doesn’t mean she didn’t spread the worst of the rumors around, not that he knew, so on a shaking knee he shoved flowers at her face stuttering something mad, “Miss Klineman would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the dance?”

Well manicured fingers shoved the flowers down, pretty face twisted ugly, red lips ready to yell but no sound as hazel eyes took in soft blues and quivering lips.

"Pick me up at 7 sharp," she stalked away snapping for her minions to follow thinking for colors to match that particular shade of blue.


She thought the walls could use some color, beige would be a step up, but Nurse Scale’s opinion didn’t matter so no green walls, just naked white, no consideration of her valid point, green was proven to calm people down and she would like to go a day without apple juice getting thrown on her thank you very much. She was beginning to see why all the people here were freaking nut jobs being here could not be good for anyone’s health it wasn’t for hers that’s for sure.

Her pager beeped signaling a patient in need of her service, “Oh Mrs. Scale’s darling!”

H. M. Murdock was a piece o’ work he was just crazy for the sake of being crazy just popped out of the blue racing wheel chairs with Mr. Johnson and was admitted for obvious reasons. One of those being he thought he was in a hotel.

"I think I shall be heading off to polo practice shortly so ready Snickers the Third and tell Lady GaGa I will show promptly."

"Mr. Murdock for the thousandth time -" the larger man looked at her in such a manner she couldn’t explain.

And she didn’t want to be the one to tell him that he wasn’t about to go off riding horses with Lady GaGa. It seemed cruel to rob him of green walls and take away his delusions that pleased him so.


He was a bartender dammit if he knew someone had too much he wasn’t gonna give anymore for damn baby eyes. The rules didn’t waver for high skirts or low tops and they wouldn’t waver for a grown man staring at him like – like that!

The man walked right in singing Dora the Explorer for fucksake! He may not of ordered anything yet but he must’ve came prepared and if this was just the stranger naturally he was fucking crazy and the alcohol would not mix well with whatever the hell that guy’s on.

But…those eyes!

If anybody saw him slide a glass of something amber to the newcomer they didn’t say a word.


Hannibal scarcely asks Murdock to take his meds, even more rarely did he have to force him too. He wanted to treat his team like equals so when BA went on a rampage or Face got depressed he didn’t shove unpronounceable medicines down they’re throats. He was there by them knocking shit over, voice raised and hoarse, under fleece blankets curled, crying till the tears stopped. Problem is, he can’t be crazy with Murdock, can’t go to that world in his head that makes no sense so it has to make sense.

It’s okay when Murdock is the happy kind of crazy – tap dancing to bad romance on the moon with pink elephants, Hannibal can handle, hell half the time he’s mumbling the chorus around his cigar. It’s the insane lapses he cannot handle – manic eyes, skin raw from the constant scrubbing, choking around a gag that isn’t there, calling for someone long dead yet in the moment in Murdock’s head so very alive and suffering.

Like now huddling in a corner, Hannibal tries to be there with his pilot, but he can’t so he approaches slowly, “Murdock I’m going to touch you now – put some pills in your mouth. It’s going to be okay. The gangs all here, Murdock, here for you.”

Murdock flinches back, head snapping in the general direction of his boss’s voice, “No please, not the pills, anything else – tie me down, lock me away, not the pills though. They take her from me –not the pills.”

Hannibal tries to think rationally but blue eyes stare at him – no past him – filmed over and in the distant past. Lips quivering and twitching attempting to force out a gag that isn’t there anymore, hands smashed together even though there is no rope around them – not any more.

"Okay, Murdock, okay," pocketing the pills he backs up slowly and his team follows.

The last words they hear from the pilot is as they close the door, “This time I know I can save her…”


This, Face mused, was not the way this plan was supposed to come together.

Murdock chuckles nervously, dusting some soot off his jacket, “Merry Christmas?”

Murdock must’ve slipped, he was too soon, Face was supposed to get the files and stroll over towards the fireplace and feign setting a fire when in reality switching the file with Murdock’s fake then get the fuck outta here, smoothly of course perhaps a sip of his Miller with a, “Pardon me gents as I take a leak.” And sneak out the bathroom window.

Face is the master of improvise yet how the fuck do you comeback from this?

"Wait you aren’t Lane – isn’t this room 2b?" Murdock isn’t an improviser and on top of that he’s a bad liar. "You see I have this growing suspicion my hubby is cheating on me with this leggy blond from work and he was ‘away on business’," sweet Jesus did Murdock really just use air quotes, "at this hotel and they wouldn’t let me in down stairs so I went to the roof. I thought I had the right chimney but well guess I didn’t. So no harm no foul?"

He steps forward hand out but slips and topples over, Face notices the fake files slide unnoticed under the men’s legs. He switches them quickly tucking the real files in his tux. Murdock’s been babbling all the while, ignoring Face’s mental, “SHUT THE HELL UP AND RUN, DAMMIT!”

The men are leaning in, intently listening or so it seems too preoccupied with baby blues and spit shined lips – Face sneaks away with his Miller not even needing to climb out the window just struts out the door into the van.

Murdock is out before Hannibal can get the cigar out of his mouth to talk, “What nice guys,”

BA sighs, Hannibal takes a drag, Face just sips his Miller.


"Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?"

"No," Murdock blanches, "I am in costume as a grown up!"

The brunette single mother with a gurgling infant on her hip stares, unamused. BA shares her sentiment standing by the mailbox along with Hannibal and Peck all not in costume, except Hannibal of all people. Dresses in an old suite, long silky cape, fake teeth holding his cigar, lugging around Murdock’s bags of candy.

BA refused to dress up, Peck got away with saying that he dresses up and pretends he’s something he’s not all the time, so tonight he’s going as Templeton Peck. Murdock was astounded at the creativity; BA applauded his method of pleasing Murdock without looking like a dork.

Murdock had stolen some of his clothes and chains and went as Bosco – he looked ridiculous. Tripping over pants legs, swimming in his shirt, gold rings slipping off his fingers, fifty cent rub on tattoos up his arms, hair smoothed on the sides then spiked in the middle to imitate his Mohawk.

"I pity the fool who ain’t dressed up on Halloween,"

"Shut up fool! I do not sound like that!"

"You kinda do," Peck sniggered, munching on a Butterfinger.

"Please, Bosco," Murdock whined.

Something about the way his eyes shined made BA’s insides melt.

That’s how BA ended up with Murdock on his back and a smear of red lipstick, curtsey of one of Peck’s nightly conquests, in the shape of the decal on his van across his cheek.

“‘Cause Bosco needs a ride,”


"I can’t protect you this time," Sosa stated a hint of remorse in the way her eyes crinkled.

The team nodded, the sound of footsteps fast approaching, the clicking of guns, resigned to accept that Sosa couldn’t do it this time. They’d just have to find a way out again, if they could without outside help.

"3D?" Murdock sniffled.

"Not this time Murdock," Sosa corrected, "they will not take chances with you anymore. And there’s no 3D in jail."

Murdock clutched Bosco’s powerful forearm, looking at Sosa with such utter defeat, “Bosco? Hanners? Facey?”

"No," she turned away unable to look at the tears clearing the soot from his face, something maternal in her screaming to fuck the odds and hold that boy close – ‘cause that’s all he could be with intent so pure, and motives so innocent – her biological clock ticking painfully.

She just wanted a baby, unconditional love, someone that needed her. She just wanted to hold him and she did, pulling him close her hand over the heartbeat on his back. She wanted to take them all and make a family her and Temp, husband and wife, with little Murdock pushing toy planes on the deck, Bosco in the garage fixing the car, John on the patio grumbling through smoke, “I love it when a plan comes together.”

Sosa shoved Murdock hard, knowing that Bosco would instantly punch – hard might she add.

Temp yelled something she couldn’t hear, lights flashing around her sight, “Run,”

Their feet out of sight she hummed a lullaby for Murdock unconscious in BA’s arms, safe where they couldn’t hurt her family.

"Sosa? Sosa! Where’d they go?"

Sosa smiled, “Mmm, I don’t remember…”


Murdock wanted something, from Bosco to be precise. Everyone could tell by the way his face changed around the larger man. Blue eyes would go impossible wide and watery, his lips would pout in such a manner they looked so kissable and pink, he’d flush high on his cheeks, eyebrows slanting oh so blamelessly. Bosco couldn’t help but be turned on – he thrived for submission and dammit Murdock just gave it up so easily, for Bosco especially.

His dick throbbed.

Because Murdock was looking at him like that, again, always, constantly.

"Fool, you got any idea what that look is doin’ ta me?"

"Look," he mumbles scandalously, "what look?"

"Are you fuckin’ wit me? That," he gestures wildly to Murdock’s face, "look – the one where you look like some damn shelter mutt some fool passed by."

Murdock mumbles to himself about not knowing, louder he meekly asks, “Is it a good look?”

Bosco snapped, lips together and Murdock’s impossibly long legs around him, finger nails raising skin, hot pants of breath on the shell of his ear a whimpered, “Bosco,” and fuck why did he not do this sooner?

Because it was a game then, so he thought, Murdock gave him those looks because he wanted something. It never occurred that the man moaning his name and rutting against him needed something, the same thing he needed.

"You," Murdock breaks away huffing for breath, "you gave me a look to."

BA kisses up the length of the other’s neck, grumbling for the pilot to continue.

"Your eyes got all hard and intense, your lips go all flat, and you’d stare into my core like – ah – like you wanted to eat me up."

Bosco licks his cheek, “Maybe I do.”

"Good," he exhales shakily, "I kinda wanted you too."