A/N: Hi. Wow it's been a long time. Sorry guys. This semester is just really having a go at kicking my ass. So, maybe don't expect super regular updates for a while. Just have to get myself sorted.

Chapter 8

Several weeks pass in relative peace. We're very busy recording most days. Murdoc and I have grown very close as we work on editing the rough recordings. He can still be an ass, to be sure, but I see there's a little more to him. He's incredibly funny, and his love for fame, music and the Gorillaz runs deep. He tells me about his time in prison, and his adventures in Mexico. I tell him about my dad, and some of the clubs I've performed in. I'm comfortable with him. We banter like old friends; I trust him. I can feel myself falling for him, but I refuse to give in.

He still goes out most nights, but he doesn't bring home nearly as many women. He says he's exhausted himself; I think he's hit a dry spell and it won't be long before he's ordering hookers. While Murdoc is gone, I'be taken to hanging out with 2D. He's a real sweetheart, but very stupid. He adores Murdoc, for whatever reason. I don't mind hanging out with him. It's actually nice to have the company, and he's fairly quiet. The one drawback is animatronic Noodle. She follows him everywhere. I've decided that, on the whole, she's rather unsettling.

When I have spare time, I try researching the thing that's following Murdoc. It seems like the answer may lie somewhere in the states, but I'm not certain. Not that I'm able to journey over there, anyway. Despite my growing relationship with Murdoc, I doubt that he'd let me leave in the middle of recording an album.

Tonight, I find myself feeling pensive, lingering on thoughts of the past. I decide to take Murdoc up on his offer for a drink. We've stayed up late drinking several times before, after he'd come home from a night out.

I go to the kitchen and grab several bottles of scotch and run outside, hoping Murdoc hasn't left yet. I find him just about to leave.

"Oi, Murdoc," I shout. He turns and looks at me. "Do you want a drink?" He shrugs and walks toward me.

When he reaches me he says, "Thinking about 'nothing' again, are we?" A sly smile creeps across his face.

"Perhaps I am. C'mon. Let's go drink 'til we can't see straight." Murdoc nods and follows me up onto the roof. Once we get there, we both sit and stare out at the ocean. The sun is setting, creating a rainbow of color.

"So," Murdoc says, opening the bottles, "do you want to tell me what you're thinking about or do I have to guess?"

I take a long drink before I say, "I'm going to need to get quite drunk, and even then, I'm not making any promises."

"What in the hell happened to you?" He takes a swig. "You're a lot like me, and believe me when I say you don't want to be like me."

"Look at you, all caring." I giggle. What's in this stuff?

"I'm evil," he says, defensively. "I don't give a damn about anyone." He takes a long drink. "But it's hard to not to give a damn about someone who you see so much of yourself in someone else. That being said, if you jumped off the cliff and died, I wouldn't really be phased."

"Good to know." I take a swig. We sit in companionable silence, drinking and watching the sun set into the ocean. Occasionally, one of us will say something about the album or make a jab at the other, but for the most part, it's quiet.

It's quiet, that is, until I'm fairly trashed. Then I say, "I wanna tell you something, and I wanna tell you 'cause I trust you and I have to tell someone. 'S killing me after all these years. But, I'm not sure you'll believe in me."

"I, myself, am a walking, talking, impossibility," Murdoc says. I think he's a little more sober than I am. "And that's just my dick," he slurs. I laugh. He's as drunk as I am.

"Okay, okay. Seriously, now. I, I told you I was thirty-eight. I'm, I'm not. I'm thirty one, actually."

"So? Big deal. 'S no matter to the band how old you are." He slurs. I remain silent, watching him. "Wait," he says, "how are you thirty, after having been in MI-6 and performing in clubs for what I understand to be years?"

"I was waiting for that. This is a long story, so I'm going to need you to shut it until I'm done, okay?" He nods.

"I was born in 1925." Murdoc looks like he's going to protest, but I shoot him a glare and he clams up. "My dad was in he played the tenor, still. That's why I have the Mark IV. He got it when it was new and left it to me when he died. He taught me to play when I was young. There was such good music, too…

"Anyway, he died in Germany in 1942. I was 18, already in university. I was going to study music, and I had just started singing. I was playing in nightclubs regularly. Then, after he died, I knew I wanted to be like my dad. We were close, and losing him… changed me. So when MI-6 contacted me during my final years, I couldn't say no.

"I loved being an agent. It made me feel closer to him. I think the only reason they let me in the field was my father: he was one of the best. I worked so hard to impress them.

"Anyway, I had this partner, THE partner, his name was Carter. He was, in a word, incredible. I thought he was, that we were, it. God I loved him. Of course, that's what fucked me in the end.

"We were in East Germany, and then the shit hit the fan. Carter, he, he got shot. He was hurt, bad, but I couldn't leave him; he told me to leave but I didn't. I watched the breath leave his body. I let them take me because I didn't care anymore. I just didn't.

"I spent a couple months grieving, praying to God that it was all a nightmare, but it didn't work. Of course it didn't. Didn't work with my dad, 'course not." I drain my whiskey bottle, feeling tears on my face.

"This was 1956, by the way. So, I turned to the only thing my naïve 31 year old self could think of: your old friend, the devil himself. Don't ask me how, but sure as shit, it worked. He took me down to Hell, said he would bring Carter back if I made a deal with him. So, of course, I did. Murdoc, I gave him my soul. One of the conditions was that it was for love, that we could live the rest of our lives together. If we did, he'd let me just die with Carter and then collect my soul. Of course, we both know the fucker set me up and that Carter was banging anything and everything that moved. Once I found out, I thought Satan would just collect me and it would be over.

"Of course, I'm still here. This has ended up being so much worse. Carter made me out to be some kind of crazy broad, so the agency sacked me. I went underground after that. It was easy to erase records back then. It was like I never existed, and I think the agency was okay with that, given all I knew. They told my family, my poor mother, that I was dead. It's been so many years, Murdoc. I haven't loved anyone since. Sure, there have been one night stands, but… My life is empty. Moveable. Took all my payments in cash, lived in shit apartments because the landlords didn't care about my name. There's nobody. Living is my hell." Murdoc is just staring at me, something in his eyes I can't read. He hands me his bottle and I drain that, too. I'm crying silently; I couldn't stop if I tried. Telling someone almost makes it worse, like this isn't some nightmare that I'll wake up from one morning.

Silence reigns once again and I worry that I have alienated my only friend in the world. Much to my surprise, Murdoc moves closer and puts his arm around me. "You're not alone, you know. As bloody cliché as this sounds, you're with us now, alright? And you know what, it's nice being the only one around here who can't fucking die." We're so smashed we dissolve into laughter, and I laugh so hard I fall over. Concluding that I am very drunk, I say goodnight to Murdoc and stumble to bed. I'm going to regret this in the morning.

A/N: so that's it for now. Not sure if I like this one or not... Anyway, huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited this story or me! Reviews make my day, honestly. Flames, on the other hand, will be used to heat my morning tea because our dorm microwave sucks.