For this Chapter:

Character(s), Pairing(s): Murdoc, Russel, Noodle, 2D

Rating: K+

Warnings: Murdoc is canonically a licensed doctor and thats too much power for one man to have like shit son.

Chapter Summary: 2D's migraines are getting to be unmanageable, but Russel has an idea. Phase 2

A/N: Are there any good Murdoc-does-doctorly-things fics out there? If there are can you send them my way? I could go for one right about now. Enjoy my lovelies~!

THREE: The Bitter Pill

Noodle is upstairs, making sure 2D has everything he needs; medication, water, blackout blinds firmly fastened flat against the window, the works. Practice had been cut short, 2D getting twitchier and twitchier, fingers rubbing at the skin beneath one eyebrow, pressing the flat of his hand against his eye itself. They'd carried on, hoping to get through the set before the migraine took hold, but before they'd finished practicing All Alone, 2D had sunk to his knees, hands tight over his ears.

Russel had carried him to his bed, and left Noodle in charge of him. She was the one capable of being quiet, and gentle, and sweet, after all. 2D liked her taking care of him the best, so they let her, retreating downstairs where his sensitive ears wouldn't hear them.

Murdoc is rooting in the fridge – an enormous thing that he is almost positive they don't actually need, but hey they get to keep their alcohol in there – and Russel is whisking eggs to make omelettes. He knows Murdoc won't eat, because the man never eats, but they've been working hard, and Noodle is a growing girl.

That, and he's hungry. He can be excused; ghosts take a lot out of you. Not that he has any now, but the principle stands.

'We need to do something about this shit,' Murdoc is saying, and straightens with a triumphant "aha," two bottles in one hand and the bunch of spring onions Russel had been after in the other. 'It's getting ridiculous. I thought being away from the band'd be – well, not good, I didn't want it to be good. But you know what I mean. I thought it'd have sorted that shit out.'

Russel hums, takes the onions and runs them under the tap, making sure they're clean before dicing them with the sort of efficiency that makes Murdoc flinch.

'I think,' he starts, and then pauses, looks at a chunk of onion before throwing it into the bag with the eggshells and onion-ends. 'I think it's just one of those things, you know? He's gone from relative inactivity, especially regarding music, to being back at the deep end. Listening to music in your bedroom isn't the same as being in the same room as a live band. And he has to remember lyrics and notes and timings and a lot of stuff we don't have to.'

Murdoc opens his mouth, but snaps it shut when Russel continues.

'And I mean, he's been through a lot, you know? I went with him to one of his clinic appointments, back before we moved out to L.A. They were saying that he's going to have it rough for the rest of his life. Brain damage isn't just something that goes away.'

There's silence for a moment, and then Murdoc grunts, slams through the drawers looking for a bottle opener.

'Not my fault,' he huffs, and eventually unearths one from under several packs of straws and cocktail sticks. 'He happened to be in the way, was all. His mum said he was a bit thick anyway.'

Russel gives him a despairing look. He's long since deemed Murdoc a lost cause in accepting his part in 2D's "accident."

'That wasn't the point,' Russel tells him, and thanks him for the beer shoved his way. 'What I'm saying is that he's got serious damage in his brain, right? He'll be on meds the rest of his life. It doesn't help that he doesn't keep on top of it, but there's not a lot we can do about that. Unless we keep on top of it for him, I guess.'

Murdoc pauses, bottle raised to his lips, and frowns over at his drummer.

'What?' he says, lowers the bottle, because Russel is looking at him.

'Going to the doctors to get repeat prescriptions is a hassle,' Russel says, slow, as if coaxing a child. 'They have to keep examining him, and they find the same thing over and over again. It would help a lot if we could circumvent that.'

Murdoc keeps frowning, but the cogs begin to turn, creaking and groaning under the pressure of a coherent idea.

'Are you,' he starts, and then stops, frowns into the bottle. 'I mean, I can. But. Why would I?'

'We're losing whole days here,' Russel says after a moment, deciding that appealing to Murdoc's burgeoning sense of lost time is a better approach than the dead end that is his compassion. 'Because of these migraines. If he had better, more regular access to his painkillers, it'd be easier on all of us. We could get the album done in no time.'

Murdoc sits down at the table to consider this, and Russel turns his attention to the omelettes. They're done just in time for Noodle to appear in the kitchen, looking as worried as ever.

'I think it's going to be a long one,' she says, and smiles at Russel as he puts an omelette in front of her.

'Yeah?' he asks, and dumps one in front of Murdoc too, who looks at it apathetically.

She nods, pokes her fork into the egg to fish out a coil of onion. 'It's pretty bad. I think it's been building for a while.'

Murdoc is still considering it.

'If I wrote his prescription,' he says eventually, and Noodle chokes on a mouthful of omelette. 'I mean. We're cutting out the middleman, right? All we need is mine and his signatures on the forms, and then we're golden. Anyone can pick it up.' He glances at Noodle. ''Cept you, love. But any of us three could, Russ.'

Russel nods, relieved that Murdoc seems amiable to the idea.

'Yeah,' he agrees. 'And you could write them more regularly. I mean, we know 2D well enough to know when something's wrong. And we'll still get him to book in for a normal consultation. But we wouldn't have to worry about making the pills stretch, right?'

'I'll just write a new one any time he gets low,' Murdoc agrees.

Noodle is frowning at them. 'Isn't that illegal?' she asks.

'Licensed doctor,' Murdoc reminds her. 'It's not a big fancy degree, like. But I can do prescriptions. I keep forgetting, to be honest.'

Whilst they finish off their lunch – Murdoc utterly ignoring his, and pushing it towards Noodle when she reaches with her fork – Murdoc chews at his nails, staring off towards the doorway.

'I – that's the right thing to do, right?' he asks, as Russel and Noodle do the washing up; Russ at the sink, elbow-deep in suds, Noodle on a stool next to him, tea towel in hand. 'Do his prescriptions.'

'It's a start,' Russel agrees.

Murdoc continues chewing his nails and staring at the door. After they're done with tidying up, Russel and Noodle leave him there to consider this some more. It shouldn't take all this thinking, Russel thinks; a decent human being would have had the idea themselves. But Murdoc is a special case, and he needs reminding to not be a sack of shit.

It takes a few days before 2D feels up to leaving his room. Noodle has been taking him light meals, soup and sandwiches and sneaking him chocolate, and it's helped.

Murdoc is waiting for him the moment he comes stumbling into the kitchen to get a cup of tea.

'I need your signature,' he says, and shoves a piece of paper and a pen over to where 2D is standing deer-stiff.

'Wot?'

'Just sign the form, paper-brain,' the older man sniffs. He looks offended by being questioned, but he always does.

2D blinks at it; he recognises the green of the slip, and muscle-memory takes his hand to the dotted line for the patient's signature.

'There,' he says, dropping the pen and stumbling past. 'What you get?'

'The usual,' Murdoc says, 'a bigger supply, though. It should last you until your consultation next month.'

2D glugs the water and blinks stupidly at him. Murdoc waits.

'How'd you manage that, then?'

The bassist grins and shoves the prescription in 2D's face. There, in the box for the one prescribing the drugs, it reads Dr M. F. Niccals.

2D had totally forgotten about that, and tells Murdoc this.

'I know,' he replies, sniffing, looking mightily pleased with himself. 'But aren't I clever, eh? Getting you more of your meds? Eh?'

2D agrees that he is very clever, but bites down on a question as to why he's doing it at all.

You don't ask Murdoc why he does anything positive if you want him to continue doing it, else he'll stop and start doing the opposite, just to be a prick.

'I'm gonna,' he starts, and Murdoc nods, shoving to his feet.

'I need to go hand this in anyway. Want more fags while I'm out?'

2D considers it. 'Yeah,' he says with a nod that makes his eye twitch. 'Thanks.'

Murdoc lopes off, whistling to himself. He'll be proud for days, and 2D thinks that's probably better than him being a miserable sod.

NOTES::

As always, title from a song; To Binge [Plastic Beach]

My family has a history of migraine, and it's fucking awful. My grandma (this was back in the 60's though) had to have counter-signed medication because it fucked with the blood pressure in your brain. Mum doesn't remember what it was she had, though. I imagine 2D would have it, whatever it was.

As of phase 2, Murdoc is officially a licensed doctor, which is pretty terrifying. He can legally experiment on monkeys. Open University is an incredible place, I guess. Niccals, M.D. Christ.

Cheese and onion omelettes are a glorious thing, tbh.

These notes are all ridiculous and have no interesting facts in them, I'm sorry.

It's 2015 I don't want to play the "review and I'll continue" card, but I totally will because I have no idea if anyone's really enjoying it and I don't want to waste my time writing something no one enjoys hahaha.

Thanks for reading, lovelies~!