Inarticulate Life
Your silence today is a pond where drowned things live
I want to see raised dripping and brought into the sun.
It's not my own face I see there, but other faces,
even your face at another age.
Whatever's lost there is needed by both of us—
a watch of old gold, a water-blurred fever chart,
a key. . . . Even the silt and pebbles at the bottom
deserve their glint of recognition. I fear this silence,
this inarticulate life. I'm waiting
for a wind that will gently open this sheeted water
for once, and show me what I can do
for you, who have often made the unnameable
nameable for others, even for me.
-Adrienne Rich
When 2D entered the living room in Kong to find Murdoc drinking alone in the dark, he knew he was in for a long night. It was late and the room was unlit save for the flickering of the television, muted and set to an old black and white movie channel. Murdoc paid no heed to that though. He was drinking and scribbling on the walls above the couch with a pen, drawing messy pentagons and what appeared to be bats (maybe they were crows?).
"Muds?" he tried tentatively.
Murdoc did not acknowledge 2D's voice, instead taking another long swig from the bottle of whiskey by his feet, setting it down, and flopping belly-down on the couch, now picking at some of the worn upholstery with his pen. He let out a belch, and belated, his brow furrowed in annoyance.
"What?"
His voice wasn't as loud and strong as it usually was.
"Nothin' mate. Just…haven't seen you all day and I was worried for ya. It's late. Let's go to sleep now yeah? C'mon. You can crash in my bed." The singer realized with shame that he was drumming his fingers against his thighs, physically worked up and scared. Fortunately for him, Murdoc was too drunk to notice.
It had been ages since he'd been this frightened around the bassist.
After a few moments, Murdoc rolled onto his side, threw the pen at the television screen and fumbled for the liquor, this time finding a small flask and finishing whatever had been in there.
"…Murdoc? Didja hear me?"
"Fuck off, faceache." A messy, half-hearted slur of words.
He flinched. Murdoc seldom called him that these days.
"But—"
"Said fuck off. Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Muds you're just getting drunk all alone," 2D took a deep breath, clenched his fists to keep from twitching, and strode fully into the room, approaching the prone body of his bandmate and lover. "Why don't ya tell me what's wrong?"
"Fuck you!"
"Right. Mate, ya can keep cursing me out all day or we can talk about this. Somethin' upset you. You're not lookin' good. Come to bed, okay?"
Murdoc looked straight into his eyes and glared. "Nothin' you'd understand. Leave me be."
Years, even months before, it would have been tempting. Now, leaving the man to his misery wasn't even an option in 2D's mind. "No way. C'mon. If you won't talk to me, fine, but I won't leave you here alone when you're sad."
With that, he leaned down and caught Murdoc's wrist, tugging him up into a sitting position and gently guiding Murdoc's arm around his shoulders, supporting him to his feet. Murdoc stumbled pitifully but didn't fight, or couldn't fight, the taller man's actions.
He belched again, filling the air with the scent of stale alcohol. "What're ya doin' with me?"
"Taking you to bed. You shouldn't be alone when you're sad," 2D said. When Murdoc didn't answer instantly, he began slowly leading him down the hall towards his bedroom, talking in a soothing tone the whole time. "I know how much it stinks to be alone when you're in pain. Get migraines sometimes that're so bad I just lie in bed and cry. And the worst thing is the feeling of loneliness. When I was little me mum would give me pain medication and keep a cool cloth on my head till I felt better. It was comforting. I miss that now that I'm grown up. I think the worst part of being an adult is being alone so often, don't ya think so, Muds?"
Murdoc tried to wrench away just then, attempting to push 2D against the wall and only managing to trip over his own boots. "Fuck you, Dents! I've aaalways been alone! Fucking miserable! Don't give me your blllloody stories!"
"I'm sorry, mate, didn't mean to upset you."
"You're useless, faceache. Can't even comfort me when I'm three shits—sheets, sheets to the, to the wind. You're so useless! All you're good for is your p-pretty face, yer shit at everything else."
It took extreme effort, but 2D managed to open his door and guide Murdoc inside, and to do so without letting Murdoc see the raw pain on his face when he heard those words. He knew that Murdoc was just ranting drunkenly, taking out his rage on the closest available victim. But it still hurt to hear that coming from the bassist. He'd thought things were different, that Murdoc had come to see more in him.
"If I'm useless then why are you dating me?" He covered his mouth as soon as the question was past his lips, dreading the answer, the curt I'm not dating you, I'm just fucking you.
It never came. Murdoc sat down on the edge of 2D's bed and fumbled for a cigarette. 2D was quick to provide him one, and to light it. There was a tense silence as Murdoc smoked, eyes glassy and trained on the floor, and 2D hovering beside him, tapping his fingers together in frantic agitation.
Finally, Murdoc looked around, appearing confused. "Where are we?"
"My room."
"Oh. Why?"
2D sighed. "So you can sleep this off. With that, he knelt down and gently began unbuckling Murdoc's boots, patiently guiding the drunken man's foot back into his hands as he squirmed a bit. First one heavy boot, then the second, were set down beside the bed, and the singer smiled up at the bassist, feeling surprisingly tender towards him in spite of how miserable he was acting. A reverent follower looking up at the messiah he worshipped. "Ok, bedtime."
"Mmm."
2D stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on his dresser, then scooped the bassist's legs up, guiding him so that his head was supported on the pillows of the bed, and then pulling the duvet around him. Once Murdoc was someone settled, he joined him under the covers, reaching out to rub soothing circles on his arm. Not too touchy, but also keeping his presence known. The singer had a tendency to babble when he was nervous, but he followed Murdoc's lead, opting for quiet this once. He watched the steady rise and fall of Murdoc's chest, observed the stubble growing over his lip and chin, the bloodshot quality of his eyes. His chest ached with sympathy for the broken bassist.
Time passed, and 2D was a little surprised when Murdoc didn't fall asleep, instead staring at the ceiling, occasionally wincing slightly, other times closing his eyes for a few beats, clearly lost deep in thought. Finally, the older man spoke.
"Didn't mean the things I said before."
2D looked at him, not sure if Murdoc was even really talking to him. "What?"
"You ain't useless. I'm dating you cuz I want to. Cuz I like it. Like you. You're not a faceache either. Y'already know I think you're bloody gorgeous."
"Well thanks for apologizing," the singer responded, scooting a little closer and securing an arm around Murdoc. He was a little disappointed when the shorter man didn't return the favor or hold him back, but he was determined not to show it.
"There really wasn't a good reason for me to get this way tonight," Murdoc rumbled softly. "I was just thinking, and it got bad. Had to drink it away."
"Did it work?"
"No, but booze and drugs are all I know. To ease the pain. That, and sex."
"You didn't come to me though."
"Mate, I wasn't gonna fuck you when I'm like this."
The younger man shrugged. It was a good point. "So you were thinking negative thoughts, yeah? And it upset you so you tried to get blackout drunk to forget what you were thinking."
"Yeah."
"Muds, what were you thinking that was so bad? Is it part of the reason you were so mean to me?"
For the first time, Murdoc rolled a little closer to 2D, more in order to look him in the eye than to make the moment any more intimate.
"Bluebird, what if I told you that I want you to see how low I can get…so I can warn you?"
The singer furrowed his brow; he felt a headache coming on. "What does that mean?"
The bassist shrugged a little bit, lifting his hands to pick at his cuticles. There was something comforting for 2D to see that he too had his nervous tics. "I guess…sometimes I get cruel with you as a sort of warning. You know me, mate. I ain't the kind of boyfriend who's gonna surprise you with breakfast in the mornings, or to bring you home flowers on a whim. I aint gonna treat you like gold. I'm a taker, it's all I am. And I'm wicked, just like my old man. You gotta see the bad parts of me more. That way you can know what you're getting into…to get out of this if you need to."
"You mean leave you?"
The words hung heavily in the air and they both looked at each other unhappily. 2D could feel his heart starting to pound in time with the throbbing in his skull, and the tempo quickened when Murdoc nodded slightly.
"No. No, no, no. The hell, Murdoc? I like this. I like you. I wanna keep doing what we're doing."
"There ain't nothing good about me. You like me now, sure, but you're wasting your time. Could be off with some young bird. Someone prettier, more like you."
2D sat up straight, looking down at his boyfriend in horror. "Do you really think that? That I'd rather be with someone else?"
"Mate, you're 26. I'm almost 40. I'm turning wrinkled and old from middle age, and most people your age are starting to think about getting married and having some kids." Unsteadily, Murdoc rose to sit up like the singer, rubbing his temples a bit, his buzz clearly starting to shift into a craving for more alcohol, and a serious hangover imminent. He'd be puking all morning, no doubt. "Have you not thought about that? You'd be happier with someone else. And when this started, I was happy to be the center of your world, to take your time and attention and have fun with you. But this is getting serious now and—"
"You're afraid of committing to me," the younger man finished, hurt clear in his tone.
"No, I'm afraid of you committing to me, because I'm not what you think I am. I'm just like my bloody father. Just turning into a bitter user."
"Muds, the fact that you think I'm so superficial, that I'd leave you because you're older. Do you think I care?" he huffed a bit. "I know you think I'm a bit dull from all the brain damage, everyone does. And sure I've had lots of fun with lots of people since we got famous. But I ain't shallow. I know a good relationship when I find one! You ain't like your old man, you're just…a little rough around the edges."
"A little rough?" he laughed bitterly. "I nearly killed you with my car. Twice."
2D faltered. "Y-yeah. But you were strung out on speed back in those days. You don't do that no more! See? You're improving!"
"Great, mate, let your guard down around the guy who knocked out both your bloody eyes—"
"You didn't knock 'em out, they're just fractured. Can still see just fine—"
"Who treated you like garbage—"
"You took me in and made me famous—"
"Go ahead and defend me now, Stu, but eventually I'm gonna really fuck you up. You wait, you wait. Next I'll be chucking glassware at you or chasing you with a belt or locking you outside on rainy nights!"
Murdoc froze after those words were out of his mouth, and he looked like a deer in headlights. 2D frowned, utterly confused by the non sequitur. Chasing him with a belt? What was Murdoc, some sort of stereotype for an abusive father or someth—oh.
Oh, oh, ohhh.
"Murdoc…" the younger man took a shaky breath. "Are those things that happened to you? Is that why you think you're gonna do it to me?"
That wall of icy indifference was solidifying itself over Murdoc's features, a defense mechanism that 2D knew well and loathed. Murdoc reached again for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, and 2D knew that he didn't want to talk about it.
"Okay. Okay, we don't have to talk about that. How about we talk about us instead? Because I'm not letting this drop. Muds, you aint your dad. And as long as you keep trying to be a better man than him, then that's what's gonna happen. You're already famous. You're the bassist for Gorillaz, mate! You proved your old man wrong! I've always thought you're amazing. So don't worry. You're the best, so let's stay together."
"I am pretty good," Murdoc conceded around an unlit Lucky Lung. Perfect, his ego was helping him bounce back.
"Exactly!"
"But still. That's in matters of musical ingenuity and vision. Not in relationships. I wouldn't be trying to warn you off me if you didn't mean something to me, so take this as a compliment. I've been thinking a lot tonight, and I think you could do better. 2D, please. Don't make me do it. End this for me, okay? You'll be happier without me. Fuck, even I'd be happier without me."
The headache was piercing by now. He realized with some shame that he was close to tears, something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Hearing these words from Murdoc, who had been a source of joy for him for months now, trying to push him away hurt too much. All the worse was that Murdoc sincerely seemed to think that this was for 2D's benefit. It was shocking and hurtful that Murdoc thought 2D felt so little of him.
More than that, the singer felt a pang of guilt.
Had he been such a bad boyfriend that Murdoc didn't think he cared for him deeply? Had he not shown Murdoc how much their time together meant? The guilt cut 2D to the bone, and he reached over the bassist, unable to fight the urge anymore. He grabbed the nearest bottle within reach on his bedside drawer: Motrin. That would do for now. Ambien later, maybe. Or Xanax. Or both. After popping a few into his mouth as the bassist lit his cigarette, he took a composing breath and rubbed his temples.
"No. I'm not ending things with you because I'm happy with you."
"Dullard—"
"Don't bloody interrupt, you drunken sod. Let me talk, ok? I'm happy. With you. I've never been so serious about a relationship before." He trailed off, not knowing what else to say. It was true. He'd never valued any woman like he'd valued Murdoc. Even Paula, who he had cared deeply for, felt like a high school crush compared to the depth of what he experienced being with Murdoc. He couldn't speak anymore, too caught up in his emotions, his determination not to cry in front of the bassist. This couldn't end, it just couldn't.
He wouldn't let it.
"You're so precious to me, mate, don't you get that?"
Murdoc sneered, bearing his teeth a bit in a look of bitterness. "Precious?" he demanded, drawing the "r" out in his characteristic way as smoke slipped out from between his lips. "I'm precious to you?"
"Yeah," he responded, feeling small, the same way he always did when Murdoc was getting worked up.
"Lookit me!" Murdoc demanded, and 2D looked away instead, growing agitated. "Look at me I said!"
The singer turned and Murdoc reached up to brush his thick fringe off of his forehead, revealing a scattering of pink, slightly puckered marks. Scars, 2D realized belatedly. He stared for an uncomfortable length of time, trying to register what he was seeing.
"How can you say I'm precious to you? How can you tolerate someone so broken, mate?! My own parents couldn't find a way to put up with me! I was just a bloody baby when my bloody dad started doing this to shut me up! I'm broken, do you understand me? I'm broken and you won't ever fix me! I'm broken! Don't deserve your fucking time!"
Oh, fuck, there were the tears. 2D sniffed, hiccupped, shook his head in slow motion as the hot tears began to run down his cheeks.
"Holy fucking hell, Muds," he breathed, and he wiped his tears away quickly, Murdoc looking at his reaction with a tinge of guilt and a tinge of curiosity.
Very softly, 2D reached forward and pushed Murdoc's hand away. The round marks where Sebastian Jacob Niccals had stubbed cigarettes out of his face, and the singer didn't need further explanation as to why Murdoc didn't feel worthy of much affection. Didn't mean he couldn't try to change that though. Murdoc allowed his hand to fall to his side uselessly, his other hand still holding his smoldering cigarette.
With a delicacy that felt foreign to him, 2D brushed his dark hair back over his forehead, not wanting to exploit this vulnerability any further.
He had managed to control his crying somewhat, and Murdoc let out a soft breath—less than a gasp, more than a sigh—as the singer covered his scars up again and stroked his cheek, composing himself.
"I love you, Murdoc. That won't ever change," the younger man said, and they both locked eyes, struck dumb by the words that the singer had dared to vocalize.
But it was true. He was in love.
"How?" Murdoc demanded quietly, overwhelmed.
"I just do. I love you, so stop this. I'm not leaving. You'n'me, we're together for a reason. Fate brought us together for a reason. I'm gonna care for you like no one else. Trust me, please Muds, trust me, okay?"
And finally, for the first time that night, Murdoc was lunging forward, cigarette left smoldering in an ash tray and arms clutching at 2D, trying to draw him ever closer, impossibly closer. Their bodies slotted together perfectly, the younger man's slim form bending into Murdoc's slightly bigger form. The singer wrapped his arms around him and breathed in the scent of nicotine and sweat on his thick hair.
The bassist held his boyfriend so tight it was almost painful, shaking his head slightly and murmuring to himself about what a strange, daft, beautiful boy his Stuart was. And it was fine, because at least he was accepting the words instead of trying to reject them.
2D wondered idly if Murdoc had ever been told he was loved, just once, in his entire life.
They held each other and time stood still. Eventually, the bassist's breathing began to even out, and the singer realized he was falling asleep. He made sure they were both settled comfortably, and without ever letting go of the smaller man, he closed his eyes and tried to let sleep take him.
Before long, the soft sound of Murdoc's snores entered the room, and 2D couldn't help but quirk a small smile. That bent-up, broken nose of his made him a noisy breather, and it was ridiculously endearing to the singer.
Sleep didn't come as readily for him, though. 2D was not unhappy—far from it, he had successfully cared for his lover!—but there was a level of realization that felt more real than anything else he'd ever experienced. He was in love. With a wild, Satanic, alcoholic, former speed-addicted megalomaniacal Murdoc. He didn't regret confessing, not one bit. And he didn't doubt that Murdoc cared for him too—maybe even loved him.
But holy shit, he'd never been in this deep before.
Murdoc had once told him he owed him his soul.
At the time, dopey and high on pain pills most of the time, and not realizing he'd soon be plunging into a deeply passionate relationship with the bassist, he'd laughed cheerily, agreed to the bassist's silly terms.
There was no question, though; he belonged to the older man. Would do anything for him. And as exciting as this realization was, it was also terrifying.
Because he'd known the man for years and had only just seen his scars tonight.
Murdoc was mire, a complex, murky and silent thing that hid his deepest traumas so no one could see and get spooked. It was going to be his life's work to undo the near-40 years of self-hatred and cruelty Murdoc had convinced himself was well-earned.
2D wondered what this would mean for him, how this would change his life. He thought of all the ways Murdoc had already changed his life since they'd met.
Glancing down at the messy mop of black hair resting on his chest, rising and falling with soft whistling noises, he felt a faint smile grace his lips.
It didn't matter. He'd do it. Murdoc was worth it.
Satisfied with his rationalizations, he let his head fall back against the pillows, and there he eventually fell asleep.