FIC: CLINK CLANK (Part 1)

Title: Clink Clank

Pairing: Murdoc/2D. (Just a little bit though.)

Genre: Angst

Summary: 2D experiences a bit of confusion, and cannot understand why his head feels so different. Something about Murdoc's behaviour is worse than usual. Where is that fizzing sound coming from?

A/N: This fandom is looking a little undernourished lately, so here is a little piece that's been in my head for a while. Please note, my medical knowledge is limited to that which I have retained from Biology 12 (which was almost two years ago) and little bits I have researched, so some of it may be slightly inaccurate.

-waves the Suspension-of-Disbelief wand-

Fizz. Fizz.

Sizzle.

Buzz.

Where is all that sound coming from?

This is the first thought he has when he opens his eyes. Immediately following this thought is the knowledge that something is wrong. Something is wrong with…he doesn't know what yet. He is having a little trouble thinking.

More than usual.

2D moves his head to scan his surroundings. He pieces together that something is wrong with eyes. There has always been something wrong with his eyes, but now they feel wrong in a new way. Something some thing…something has changed.

He realizes that the ears that he is hearing those noises with feel weird. They feel as if they are not there, and yet he can still hear. Perfectly, in fact. Loud. Loud and clear. So why does he have the suspicion that there is something wrong with those as well?

His neck seems a lot less stiff. He moved his head without the usual dull ache that came with his every move these past few months. Odd, that. He hasn't had painkillers in ages. Not one sweet little bringer of relief for…a week? No no no…month…no no…it's been a year. Of course it has. Why does it take him so long to remember that?

Something else finally occurs to him. He has no headache. There is no pain clawing at his brain. He is astounded by the lack of pain. He cannot recall how many years it has been since he has not felt pain. No tension either, even though he is worried. Tension is not stopping him from thinking. But what else is? His thoughts are still slow, and they feel as if things aren't clicking together properly.

He has never been the most mentally functional person. 2D has always known that some of it is just innate, but he likes to think that two car crashes and a coma reduce some of the guilt he feels over not being able to remember his mum's birthday, or his lack of skill at Sudoku.

Now though, he feels more scrambled than he did after he woke up on that asphalt after his year-long nap. And then there is the fizzing. The fizzing is making him very uncomfortable. He wishes it would stop. 2D is sure that once it stops he will feel better.

Wait…

Feel?

…

He can't recall actually feeling anything since he has opened his eyes, never mind pain.

…

He can't feel anything. Not a thing.

It bothers him.

He likes that there is no pain, but it bothers him that he can't feel anything else. 2D looks around; he can see rather a lot.

He has figured out what is wrong with his eyes: nothing. Nothing is wrong with them, and that is the problem. You don't experience two eight-ball fractures without a little loss of vision as well. 2D can see perfectly for the first time in over a decade. He looks at the things around him again.

He is on a metal slab. Titanium: grey. There is a table nearby. There are six computer screens and eight test-tubes on the table. They contain various compounds of questionable origin and dubious legality. On the ground a few meters in front of his slab lies a heap of light alloy metals, ivory-coloured latex, copper bullets, ripped cotton, exposed wires and synthetic black hair. 2D does not know why he knows what these things are made of, and is bothered by the bizarre floating bar in the center of his vision, which moves when he does. For some reason it reminds him of one of the video games he used to play with Murdoc.

He wonders where Murdoc is. 2D thinks for a moment and recalls that he has seen the bassist recently, though the circumstances around that seem obscured. For once, he would actually like to see the man, if only to ask for an explanation.

He notices that the fizzing sound seems to have died down a little bit, though it is still quite audible. 2D realizes that he can hear other things as well. Like the clanking from a pipe somewhere high above him, and the sound of boots trodding heavily on a piece of glass somewhere to the left of him, followed by loud cursing. Murdoc is nearby.

2D looks in the direction the sound is coming from, and sees his band leader. Murdoc notices he is being watched and slowly walks towards him. They lock eyes. The bass-player looks tired and unhinged and vaguely disconcerted. When 2D looks at those eyes, he knows his suspicions were correct. There is something dreadfully, desperately wrong.

2D opens his mouth to speak, and for a moment, isn't sure how. His eyes fly open and he begins to panic.

Murdoc is at his side in an instant. The Satanist places his hands behind the singer's neck, quickly searching for something. There is an odd clicking sound, and the fizzing suddenly stops. 2D feels a shock travel down his whole body. He instantly flinches at the sensation. He can feel again, and fortunately there is still no pain. Murdoc's hand is still at the back of his neck.

2D again tries to speak. "Mur-Murrrrrrrr-Muuuurd-oc?"

Without warning, the little floating bar flashes red and disappears. It is replaced by floating text.

SCANNING SUBJECT...SCANNING COMPLETE. SUBJECT: MURDOC FAUST NICCALS. BASSPLAYER AND LEADER OF GORILLAZ. CATEGORY: MASTER-USER/ADMINISTRATOR.

He starts to panic again. "Ma-Murdoc? W-whaaat is –GOING– on?"

His speech is all wrong. His words aren't coming out clearly.

"Oi, calm down, calm down!" Murdoc says urgently. Murdoc does not sound even slightly calm. He sounds panicked and unprepared for what is happening. "Look, its all fine, okay? Take it easy! There was a problem and I fixed it. It's all fine now! Just calm down!"

Murdoc is biting his bottom lip hard and has started stroking the back of 2D's head.

2D hears a fizzing sound again, this time coming from…his eyes? He ignores it, and presses the older man further. "M-Mas-" he says, trying to fight something his mind is telling him to say. "Murdodoc…what… h-happennned?"

The Satanist cringes. "Just a minor incident with some pirate jets," he answers defensively. "They seem to have invested in stealth technology."

Murdoc gives out a nervous laugh. Then he pauses, seeming to change his mind about something. When he speaks again, he sounds half-angry, and half…upset. "You see? This is why I said you can't wander about! And I fucking told you not to go up those stairs! Sodding pirates, you dullard!"

If Murdoc's previous attempt at calming him down had had any affect at all, it is gone now. "What did you do to me?" Finally his vocal chords seem to be co-operating.

Murdoc cringes again. "I said I fixed you!"

2D tilts his head nervously. "No…no you didn't Mast-" he closes his eyes and tries yet again. "Murdoc, you didn't say that!"

The Bassist seems unable to look him in the eyes anymore and turns his head to look away. He slowly rubs his temple with an engine grease-covered hand. 2D's eyes immediately note that the man is shaking.

Murdoc is silent for some time, and keeps glancing towards the nearby heap of metal and hair. 2D turns to look more closely at it. He feels something inside himself analysing it piece by piece and searching for relevant information, and knows that it is not his brain. Belatedly, he realizes that it bares a passing resemblance to-

"NO! You didn't! No! No no no no no! Please no! Please Murdoc! It's not true, is it?" he shrieks, eyes growing wider.

The mass of broken parts on the ground is clearly the cyborg that had been following the Satanist's every command for the past year. 2D makes eye-contact with an uncomfortable Murdoc and silently begs him to lie. He doesn't get his wish.

The Satanist lowers his hand and maintains eye-contact, giving in. He takes a seat on the slab. Murdoc is still shaking. "They shot you, Stuart," he says softly. "They shot you dead. You were full of holes by the time I got there…cyborg took out nearly every bloody pilot, but you were already dead. Well, mostly dead…"

"Wha-?"

Murdoc takes a long look at his band-mate and bites down hard on his bottom lip, worrying it. 2D notes that Murdoc has not yet stopped shaking. "Do you remember…" he pauses, doubting that the man does, "…that one night a couple years ago, when we got completely plastered on the tour bus back from Camden, and I convinced you to give me your soul?"

Murdoc watches carefully for some flicker of recollection.

2D looks away, trying to work through his mess off a mind. He feels like a static-y radio trying to find a signal. He doesn't understand why that makes him so sad. A head-shake is his only answer.

Murdoc nods, expecting this. He reaches into the coat he is wearing and pulls out a sealed jam jar with a scroll of paper inside it, and slowly unscrews the lid. Carefully he removes the paper and un-rolls it, showing it to 2D.

"It's a Soul Contract, see? You signed it…here," he says, tapping the dotted line. 2D peers at the red scribble. It is barely legible; obviously his. He tries to blink his eyes in confusion out of old habit, but cannot. The gaping hole he imagines is inside of him gets a little bit wider.

2D knows that he has more to ask, but has no idea how to phrase any of the questions all this brings up. He looks back at Murdoc, hoping that the bassist will get the hint, that the man will try to let him down gently. He feels more fragile than he has ever felt before. More than he did as a child falling out of a tree and suddenly going bald. More than he did as a school boy who had his clothes stolen while he was in the showers after P.E. And even more than when he was a Saturday Boy on the floor of Uncle Norm's Organ Emporium, slipping into a coma while a blood-stained laughing maniac was being escorted away by police. But something tells him that, right now, Murdoc may know how it feels.

Fortunately, Murdoc seems to understand what he wants to hear. Unfortunately, Murdoc has never been any good at 'gentle'.

"As soon as I got there, this piece of paper absorbed your soul. After that, it was a cinch for Ol' Murdoc to patch you up nicely and put you back in your box, so to speak. "Well…" he rubs his neck, a pained expression on his face, "maybe not a cinch…there was a bit of blood-loss…and most of your organs were fucked…and your eyes…" He pauses to take stock, "…your ears too, oh, and your spine…"

Murdoc's eyes have glazed over. 2D has never seen him look so disconnected from the world before. Not even at his most stoned has Murdoc looked so utterly shaken. (He is still shaking.) The singer is afraid to say anything, for both of them, but cannot help turning his gaze to the eviscerated Noodle-bot.

After several minutes of painful silence, 2D musters up just enough courage to utter a single word.

"Why…?"

The Satanist replies a moment later. "Hn?" he grunts, puzzled, before following 2D's gaze. "Oh, her." Murdoc waves his hand dismissively. "Needed parts, didn't have any. Made a choice."

The singer's shocked expression does all the talking for him, and Murdoc frowns in annoyance. "Oh come on, mate! Do you have any fucking idea how long it takes to ship top-notch robotic parts all the way from fucking Korea? Most shipping services can't even find this stupid sodding island on a map!"

He is screaming now, and trying to retain some illusion of sanity. "Look, mate…if I had waited any longer for a new set of shiny metal organs, you would have been rotten by the time the post came… Noodledroid kept having system failure anyway, and that spare processer I had lying about wasn't compatible with her tiny robot-skull!"

2D is aware that his eyes are making fizzing noises again, and for some reason this is bothering Murdoc.

"Sweet Satan, I forgot about the tear duct problem…knew there was something I missed…"

"Oh."

"Come on now, 2D, don't cry," Murdoc says, with the expression of a man who has never cared nor tried to console anyone in earnest, and is trying very hard not to make things worse. 2D is reminded of the time when he accidently punched the girl he fancied when he was six years old and couldn't get her to stop bawling her eyes out. He is a little surprised he can recall anything at all.

Another thought occurs to him.

"Why?" he says again, knowing the man will understand he is asking a new question. He is afraid of the answer.

Murdoc instantly clams up and looks defiantly away from him, completely refusing to speak.

2D stares at his band leader intently; he is not going anywhere and he has nothing better to do. Not that he even knows what will happen to him anymore. If he must, the singer is prepared to wait until he dies again.

Realising that if he is going to get anything out of the green bastard, it would be by prying it out of him, he tries again to speak. "Mas-"2D bites his tongue and glares, "MURDOC."

There is the barest flicker of guilty acknowledgement in his captor's face.

It takes all of his strength to say the words he wants to scream at the top of his lungs. "Don't you ignore me, Murdoc. You did this to me, you jolly green bastard! Now tell me why. Why the fuck would you bring me back to life? Answer me!"

Murdoc's head drops into his hands. His illusion of control has completely dissolved. Gulping loudly, he finally speaks. "I still need you."

There is a bitter taste in the singer's mouth, and he knows it has nothing to do with new parts. "…what?" He stares at the man he used to call his best friend.

Of course.

He should have known. It always came down to personal gain. The whole fucking world revolved around Murdoc, and everyone who got caught up in the maelstrom was just another unavoidable casualty. As long as Murdoc had something to gain, there wasn't a single thing that could stop him from gaining it. Fame, fortune and fucking birds, as long as he got got got, it was all good. A more perfect example of a Satanist than Murdoc Faust Niccals was hard to find. So he should have known, really, that the only reason the cunt would bring him back to life would be for the good of his band. (And he always made very clear that it was his band, didn't he.)

"Right. So you took my soul from me, kidnapped me, cut me up, fucked with my body parts, and brought me back from the dead like one of our old zombie friends back at Kong…when is next tour, exactly?" he asks, voice completely calm. He waits for his confirmation.

Murdoc makes a choking sound, and his fingers tighten around his face. But he just repeats the same words. "I still need you."

2D feels like laughing. He would laugh a nice bitter sarcastic laugh, if he wasn't so busy watching his…acquaintance fall apart. Or feeling so utterly messed-up. "Couldn't you just find someone else to sing the songs? If you wanted someone who sounds like me, you could always just ask Damon Albarn to sing for you." His eyes start fizzing again as he continues.

"And you could get some poor bastard who looks like me to be in the photoshoots. Just die his hair the right shade of blue. Mind you, it might be a little difficult to get his eyes right. If you don't want to use Photoshop, you could try running him over a couple times with Stylo. He might not survive it though, the lucky bastard."

Murdoc looks up from his hands, staring right at him with a look of horror. "I still need you."

2D is astounded at the man's persistent desire to punish only him, and at his own ability to keep talking despite his rapidly fading strength. "Oh come on, you stupid old Goth…it would work, yeah? You could go and find the real Noodle and Russel as well, and no one would be any wiser. Why do you need me, specifically? Why my soul and my body and ME?"

Murdoc closes his eyes and speaks through gritted teeth. "I. Need. You."

"One less word. We're going backwards, Mas- Murdoc." 2D makes a note to do something about the metal in his head. He moves to get up. The singer is quite sure Murdoc knows he will fail at this, but does it anyway. "I'm gonna go...I'm not sure where. I'm just gonna go, yeah?"

Two arms appear around his shoulders as he moves to get off the slab and 2D isn't sure if he will survive the shock. Murdoc Niccals is holding onto him for dear life and practically hyperventilating. "Don't."

2D is caught off guard, but much of his anger remains.

"Don't. Don't don't don't, DON'T FUCKING GO!" the bassist chants frantically, his grip not loosening for a second.

"Nn! Hn! Get off! Get off me!"

"No!"

2D's patience has evaporated. In an instant, he draws his arm back, and punches him square in the eye. Murdoc screams and clutches his face in agony as 2D steps to the side. He winces when he realises the man's face is already swelling up; it's probably something metal in his arms that's helped with that. Suddenly, Murdoc's arm shoots out and grabs 2D's wrist, his face cradled in a quivering left hand. "Don't leave Stu. Just don't leave. Please…"

2D looks down at him in disbelief. "Why do you hate me so much," he asks weekly. The strength in his legs finally gives out and his knees buckle, bringing him down to the bass-player's level. He continues to stare at the man. Murdoc's hand is still around his wrist, and his grip is surprisingly gentle. He is the perfect image of a broken man. It reminds 2D far too much of himself.

They sit there in painful silence for a few minutes. Finally, the Satanist is the first to break it.

"I've never hated you Stu. Never. We're best mates, you and I. Might not seem like it, but…well, you are my best mate. 'S why I took your soul, see? People around me don't tend to last very long. Mostly my own doing, I know. But I actually quite like having you around, 2D. Even in a coma you were pretty good company. You've definitely been some of my better company, I can tell you…pretty good punching bag too, mind…" he pauses, and 2D can see fatigue setting in. "I knew something would happen like this eventually. I knew…and it made me feel sort of…" he trails off. The bassist mumbles something barely audible, but the singer hears it perfectly, "sort of guilty."

"Hmrpf…anyway, I did need someone to be my singer. And regardless of what you may think, I don't want some new stupid ponce in my band, mucking everything up. I need your voice and your idiot savant talents and…I just need you, alright. I need you, faceache." And on that note, he gingerly touches his raw eye-socket.

2D cannot believe a thing he has heard in the last few minutes, and is beginning to believe – scratch that, hope – that this is all a dream. He does not know what to say to any of it. Instead, he just watches Murdoc carefully. Apart from the massive bruise that is forming, exhaustion appears to be eating him alive.

"How long've you been awake?" is the only thing he can think to say. Murdoc seems grateful for the change of subject, but before he can answer the question, the man collapses onto his shoulder, out cold.

(One more piece )