Chapter: 01
Disclaimer: Characters not mine; D. Albarn and J. Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).
Rating: NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.
Chapter notes: I was driving around listening to a mix CD I made to entertain myself on the 2 ½ hour drive from my home in Oklahoma to my boyfriend's home in Texas. On said CD, there were some Gorillaz songs… and a song by an Italian songstress named Elisa that I've been partial to for awhile. Long story short, I was listening to the song and I thought, "OMG, 2-D/Murdoc!" …not my fault. I blame my brain, which is in no way affiliated with me as a person.
And yes, I love the irony of inserting lyrics from one band/artist into a fanfic about a completely different band.
Also, thank you to the impeccable Sandra Delete, who made a wonderful suggestion to improve the opening of this fanfic.
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Not all musical tastes make sense. Occasionally, something truly twisted pops up, grabs someone by the short hairs, and demands they pay attention.
At least, that was what 2-D believed. After all, why the hell else was he listening to this record? It was the work of an Italian bird called Elisa and was something of a guilty pleasure of his, a record he would never share with anyone else in the band as he was fairly certain they wouldn't understand. Murdoc, he knew, would undoubtedly hate it; Russel and Noodle would probably try to understand 2-D's zeal, but wouldn't be able to love it the way he did.
That was definitely what he felt… he loved this record. Any time he could sneak a moment with it, he did so. He probably wouldn't have listened to it that night, except it was a Thursday night – never his favorite night – and he had nothing else to do since both Noodle and Russel had left for an impromptu interview in the states… something about the "lesser-known" band members getting the limelight (much to Murdoc's displeasure). They'd been gone two days and were actually scheduled to be back that night, but at the moment Kong Studios housed only 2-D (who was bored), Murdoc (who was MIA, as far as 2-D knew), and a few zombies still lurking in some of the less used passages.
So, with nothing else to do and without meaning to, he had ended up splayed out on his bed at Kong Studios, listening to a record he considered a secret to be kept with the utmost care.
"You are not an enemy anymore
There's a ray of light upon your face now
I can look into your eyes
And I never thought it would be so simple
You can hear the music with no sounds
You can heal my heart without me knowing
I can cry in front of you
'cause you're not afraid to face my weakness…"
'I should pro'ly switch this off… Noodle and Russel could be back at any time, and I dunno where Murdoc is. If someone walks in an' catches me listenin' to this, I'd never hear the end of it,' 2-D thought idly, but he merely scratched an itchy spot on his stomach before flopping his arm back down and listening.
"When we'll wake up
Some morning rain
Will wash away our pain
When we'll wake up
Some morning rain
Will wash away our pain
'cause it never began for us
It'll never end for us
'cause it never began for us
It'll never end for us…"
"Yeah…" 2-D mumbled vaguely, a picture flashing through his mind so quickly he almost didn't catch it – bad teeth, dark hair, dirty skin, a smile like old razorblades. He didn't let his mind linger over thoughts like that, though. After all, that truly was something that had never begun, and probably never would.
"Wot in the 'ell is that noise?" The low, gravelly voice got 2-D off his bed faster than a cattle prod to his testicles would have. He was reaching desperately for the jukebox across the room before he had even gotten his long, lanky legs untangled from the bed sheets. He ended up splayed with his chin on his tan throw rug, one arm reaching impotently toward the juke – which was still pouring out the embarrassing lyrics.
"Nuffin'," 2-D replied shakily, rolling his dark, bruised eyes up at Murdoc in the doorway. "It's… um… not anyfin'. Not really."
"Well, you did that arse about face," Murdoc replied, looking down at the fallen singer. With a quick motion, he smacked his fist into the side of the juke, causing the record to scratch and cut off. The jukebox gave a few angry splutters before going dark.
"You broke it!" 2-D protested, kicking his tangled bed sheets away from his feet.
"And?" Murdoc asked, rubbing a hand over his face. 2-D listened to the scrape of rough palm over rougher stubble, loud in the vacuum left by the now-silent juke.
"An'…" 2-D paused, seeming to think over his reply thoroughly – quite a feat for him. "An' it's mine, so I don' wancher to break it."
"I am deeply moved by yer sorrow," Murdoc replied grumpily, "but the fact is, that noise drowned out the telly. Y'can hear yer music through 'alf the carpark. Thursday is a good TV night, an' I don't fancy missin' my shows."
"Why di'n't you just ask me to turn it down?" 2-D couldn't help asking, even if he knew he wouldn't get a reply – Murdoc never explained himself.
"Look, lackwit, just keep the noise down. I'm not askin' you – I'm tellin' you."
It had been a surprisingly mild confrontation, and 2-D decided to press his luck. After all, if he didn't at least make a show of standing up to Murdoc from time to time, things would get much worse for him. While it wasn't really bad being Murdoc's personal friend and punching bag, it would quickly sour if Murdoc decided to take the "friend" denomination away from the equation, something that could easily happen if 2-D didn't at least give token resistance.
"But it's my record in my room… an' it's my juke. So… so I'll play it if I wonna." 2-D stood up, and – in a move quite similar to Murdoc's – gave the side of the juke a hard thump! The lights flickered on for a moment, then dimmed, then went off again.
"Huh," Murdoc snorted, looking at the juke, obviously unimpressed. "Leave't off. Y'wan' somethin' t'do, go'n… tidy the kitchen, okay?"
2-D sighed, admitting defeat, and gave the juke one last blow – this time a solid kick from a sneakered foot that rocked it where it stood, making it fizzle and spit like water on a hot skillet – before turning toward his bed, head hung. That was when everything exploded.
As he was catapulted across the room, 2-D fleetingly wondered how one little smack to a juke could cause it to blow up and, moreover, if jukeboxes regularly did so; perhaps it was time to invest in a non-exploding music player.
For a moment, 2-D stayed where he was thrown. His back was screaming "God Save the Queen" in an off-key duet of embedded plastic and metal; he would undoubtedly need stitches. He was sitting up – slowly, carefully, trying not to drive any jukebox shrapnel ('That might make a good name ferra song,' 2-D thought incongruously) into anything vital – when he saw Murdoc across the room. And that was when he ignored the howling duet from his back and ran.