For this Chapter:

Character(s), Pairing(s): 2D, Murdoc, no pairing

Rating: K+

Warnings: alcohol, future-dreaming, minor language

Chapter Summary: 2D is shaken by a nightmare of pink and black and the possibility of Murdoc dying.

A/N: Have you guessed which ship I sail yet. Enjoy my lovelies~!

TWO: Every Satellite up here is Watching

By default, Murdoc is never found in the Kong building between the hours of nine pm and noon. It's just impossible. But sometimes, there is an exception, and he skulks around the kitchen or the recording studio looking for rum and/or his cigarettes. Even rarer, he'll sit and watch a movie in the cinema, or play a game in the den. Rarer still, a blue-moon horizon sending dust pirouetting through the gaps in the blinds, he'll sleep in the building, in the room he still hasn't decorated because what would be the point? He's mostly in his camper, and that's fine with the rest of the band. At least they know where he is.

It's raining hard, a thunderstorm sparking too close for comfort, and 2D has a nightmare. He has nightmares a lot, places he's never been to under attack from enemies he didn't know existed, a fight in a war he doesn't understand. Tonight, he dreamt of black cloaks and pink walls, blasted gold by sand and sea and sun. For a moment, in pyjama bottoms that are too short on the leg by at least two inches, and a zip-through he hasn't worn for months, he lingers, bare-foot and sticky-faced, in the foyer, debating what to do.

Then he glances up, at the camera. There are people watching. People will know if he leaves the building, they'll tell him. They tell him everything. It's quite scary.

They'll know if he goes down to the car park to check on Murdoc. He doesn't need to check on him, not really. It's just a dream. And people have been reading into what they do. It's like that Big Brother show they're doing now, all those people in a house, on TV 24-7. It sounds horrible. Naturally, Murdoc wants to do the celebrity version, even though they aren't real celebrities yet.

(Murdoc will say that real celebrities don't do Big Brother, just ones with dead careers and then he will pause. Think on this. And throw the nearest heavy object at him. 2D will not question this, because he did bring it up, after all.)

So instead of going to the car park, he plucks at a stray thread in his sleeve, and pads back to the cinema, deciding to watch a film instead.

He's thinking about putting Dawn of the Dead on, because that always takes his mind off things, but when he enters, there's already a film playing. Something with loud guns and explosions and lots of fire and swearing. Startled, he pauses in the doorway, and light spills in, bleaching the screen.

'Oh, for fuck sake,' Murdoc huffs from somewhere in the middle, and throws a crushed can of Strongbow over his shoulder. It falls short by several feet. 2D flinches anyway. 'Shut the fucking door if you're coming in.'

'Sorry,' 2D replies, and shuts the door.

Murdoc grunts, and the popping sizzle of a fresh can being opened echoes too-loud through the theatre.

Picking his way over spilt popcorn, suspicious stains and stubbed-out cigarette butts, he finds Murdoc in the middle row, feet up on the back of the chair one in front and one to the left of where he sits. Carefully, 2D pulls the seat to his right down and sits in it, as prim and proper as he can. His gaze flutters to the camera in the corner, and he sinks in the seat, draws his knees up.

Murdoc, still annoyed at the boy's interruption, follows his eyes.

'Sprayed paint on it,' he says, and licks the corner of his mouth, grinning. 'They can't see shit. Might spray all the cameras. Fucking creeps. Who's idea was it? They're a fucking idiot.'

'Noodle's,' 2D mumbles into his knees.

Murdoc pauses. 'Oh,' he says. 'Right. Well, then. I guess. Okay. Hm. Whatever. What you 'ere for? Thought you'd be asleep.'

'I was,' 2D mumbles, and picks at his toenails. 'Woke up. Couldn't sleep.'

Murdoc side-eyes him. 'Want to talk about it?'

He only offers the chance because otherwise it'll fester and 2D will be reduced to a nail-biting, gibbering wreck until he's garbled his way through the experience with someone, and that can take days. They don't have days. Not really.

(They have the rest of their lives, but Murdoc is not willing to wait that long.)

'There was a beach,' 2D mumbles, and thanks Murdoc for the cigarette passed his way, breathing deep when it's lit. 'It was. There was a lot of pink, I don't know, I don't remember the exact details. Just pink. Like some bird's place, y'know? Like when you're a teen and it's all boybands and unicorns and girly shit.'

Murdoc does know.

'So there was this beach, and it was like. I was stuck underground? No, no, it was an island or something? I could see the sea from the window. I was underwater in this base thing. And it was – it was under attack, yeah? Like, there were planes and shit. People were there, fighting. I think they were trying to save it? Maybe just stay alive? I was stuck in the underwater place, I couldn't leave. I tried the door, I did! But there was just. There was no way out. I was locked in.'

Murdoc thinks he'd probably lock 2D in his underwater room too, because if there was any danger, letting the stupid bastard run riot would only let him get himself killed.

'But it was – I think – you were there. I think – I could – I knew. You were there, I'm sure of it.'

At this, they look at each other, 2D terrified, Murdoc sharp. A moment passes of breathless silence, the rapid clack-clack-clack of gunfire from the guns in the movie ricocheting around them.

2D winces, tries to hide behind his knees.

'They were trying to kill you, I think. I think that's what they were there for. There was a scary man, after you. He was. He was looking for you.'

'Me?'

'Mm.'

2D falls silent, and Murdoc watches him.

'You dream about me dying a lot,' he says, quiet, and stubs his cigarette out on the back of the chair in front.

'You saved my life,' 2D replies.

'I really didn't.'

But 2D shrugs and lets it go.

They fall back into silence.

'I won't die,' Murdoc promises him. 'I had measles when I was seven. Survived that, no thanks to daddy dearest, of course. But I won't die.'

2D looks at him, unconvinced. He remembers the howling and the tantrums and the pathetic, baby-like whining when Murdoc got thirty years worth of vaccinations, and how he proclaimed, constantly, that he was going to die. Russel and Noodle – the latter of which didn't understand a word – found it all hilarious, but 2D had been genuinely worried for Murdoc's welfare.

Curling his lip, apparently aware of this memory, Murdoc lifts a hand, little finger extended. The red polish there is beginning to chip, 2D notices. Noodle makes them pinky-promise all the time, and 2D recognises the gesture. His finger is longer than Murdoc's, thinner and paler and more fragile. Murdoc is almost afraid to squeeze in case he snaps it off.

But 2D's finger curls strong and determined, wanting very much the security of a child's promise, and Murdoc gives him that, because there's little else to give him. The boy grins at him, and Murdoc smiles back, crooked and a little morose, almost. 2D doesn't seem to notice in the least.

They sit in silence for the rest of the film. Murdoc's hand rests on the armrest between them, but 2D doesn't grab his arm, even though his fingers are itching. The action in the film is too like his dream, Murdoc thinks, and when it's over, he climbs over the chairs to go and change the film, without a word putting that godawful zombie flick 2D likes so much on, returning with another six-pack.

'Thanks,' 2D says.

He falls asleep halfway through, can of Strongbow half-drunk. Murdoc takes great delight in balancing it on his head and waiting for it to topple. It does, straight into 2D's lap, making him yelp and leap to his feet, bottom half soaked and stinking of cider.

'Murdoc!' he cries. Whines, really. He plucks at the bottoms, which are clinging entirely too close for being directly in Murdoc's eye-line. His eyes go to the camera again.

Murdoc laughs until he's hacking, a true smoker's cough. It sounds awful. 2D thinks about hitting him with the can, but this is the least damaging thing to have happened thus far, and he decides not to ruin it. Positive reinforcement, right? Good thing happens, good reward. Making him look like he pissed himself is worth a laugh, and that's better than a punch in the mouth.

Or, you know, having a Vauxhall Astra driven straight into your face.

So grumbling over-exaggeratedly all the way, 2D stomps back to his room, knowing full well the cameras will clock his leaving the cinema with wet pyjama bottoms, and the fans will go wild, because they'll surely know Murdoc is in there. Some of them have theories about what they get up to in the few dark corners, hidden from camera view.

The thought of it makes 2D itch.

He showers and changes into clean pyjamas, collapsing into bed and for a half-hour or so, he lies there stares at the ceiling. Eventually, he drifts, and dreams of a smaller house with thin walls and loud laughter. A house that was home.

NOTES::

As usual, title is from a song; this time it's Cloud of Unknowing [Plastic Beach]

Big Brother first aired in the UK in 2000, so having Stu watch it in hospital is a no-go, boo.

According to Rise of the Ogre, Murdoc drank Strongbow Cider pre-D-day. At least it wasn't Stella, I guess.

Seriously though, those cameras are a hella bad idea.

This ties into Sleepover, which I won't re-post into this, I just linked it, it's so much easier than all that hassle LOL.

Is he dreaming of Wobble Street, because I think he's dreaming of Wobble Street.

Thanks for reading, lovelies~!