For this Chapter:

Character(s), Pairing(s): Russ, Murdoc [2D, Noodle]

Rating: K+

Warnings: gross language courtesy of Murdoc being a piece of shit, mention of unsavoury sorts including paparazzi and Jimmy Manson

Chapter Summary: Murdoc and Russel agree on only a few things; one of those things is how to deal with paparazzi. [Phase 1]

A/N: Today's forecast is; don't take photos of ten year old girls in swimsuits if you don't want two absolute morons to chase you down with a chance of sitting in a holding cell waiting for bail. Enjoy, my lovelies~!

TWELVE: Blew a Bad Man Away

Murdoc hits the numbers so fast that Russel stands there in awe. He's not sure what shocks him most; the fact that Murdoc remembers 2D's number well enough to punch it on at the speed he does, or that he recognises 2D's number that quickly. Murdoc looks every bit the TV criminal stood there with his bloody nose and bruising cheek, arm braced against the unit and holding the phone to his ear with a very put-upon look on his battered face. He looks older than Russel has ever seen him look, sunburnt and bloody and so very tired.

'Listen, dentface,' Murdoc snarls by way of greeting, 'you need to get down to the station and get me and Russ out of here.'

Stood a few feet away, Russel can hear Noodle's tinny screeching of "Station? Station? What!" as clear as day.

Wincing, Murdoc's tone changes, his body language and expression turning contrite, soft, with embarrassment flushing his ears.

'Love,' he groans, and leans his brow against the unit, hand going to his hair. 'Put Stu on, yeah? I need to talk to – what do you mean he's asleep? What? No, I don't care – well he needs to get a grip then, don't he? What? No, slow down, pet, you're starting to go Japanese again – look, I don't give a shit if he's dying, put him on – pet – Noodle, for fuck sake. Just – ah, finally. Listen, Stuart, me and Russ need bail.'

Watching Murdoc slowly tense like a wound spring is fascinating. He's trying to keep calm, but it's hard not to snap at the boy, and Russel appreciates that it takes a lot of patience to deal with him when he's just woken up.

'Yeah, well,' Murdoc is sighing, 'what else did you expect me to do? Some creepy shit starts taking photos of a ten-year-old girl in a swimsuit, you think I'm taking that shit? I ain't having no paedophilia going on in my – I broke his nose, what did you think I was going to do? I was advocating running him over with the Geep but Russ wouldn't let me. Wouldn't let me do it with the Corvette either. Miserable law-abiding bellend.'

Russel had only said not to run him over because he wasn't sure they could get off on murder. Murdoc has incredible luck with the law regarding breaking people's faces, and they've been lucky to be able to get off on bail. They need 2D to pay said bail, but they're otherwise free.

'I know you don't,' Murdoc sighs. 'You'll have to get a taxi, since you'll have to – well, yeah, you can't leave her by herself – what? Eh? Manson? What about that freak? "He might show up?" Don't be daft, he'll know I'm here by now. You'll probably see him trying to climb in a window or something. Fucking prat. As long as she's safe, I don't give a fuck about you – yeah, yeah, it's a cruel fact of life. Now hurry your arse up, will you? I'm gasping for a cuppa here and they won't let me have hot water.'

Russel is not in the least surprised; Murdoc does not have a very trustworthy face, and his behaviour, considering they are currently in a holding cell, does not endear him much either.

Murdoc hangs up with a last grunt, and rubs his face with a hand, dislodging the clotting blood and starting his nosebleed again. Smearing it across his already-filthy cheek with a swipe of his fingers, he takes a breath and strolls back to Russel.

'Well, that's that sorted,' he hums, pleased with himself, 'they shouldn't be long.'

Noodle is the first through the door an hour later, kicking it open and screaming their names as loud as she can. For such a tiny thing, she has a set of lungs on her, which Murdoc is incredibly pleased about, because it means they can hear her no matter where she is, and she can hold notes like the best. She can't get through the gate to the cell, no matter how hard she yanks at the bars, and the officer doesn't know what to do with her, having chased her through from the foyer. How she knew where to go remains a mystery, but find her way she did. Murdoc had been lounging on the bunk, content to let all this ruckus carry on without him, but sits up to assure Noodle he's fine at the repeated calls of his name.

'Blood!' she crows as soon as she claps eyes on his face. 'Blood!'

'Let her in,' Russel says with a roll of his eyes, because she's clawing at the lock, feet up on the bars. 'She'll just break it down otherwise.'

As soon as the gate is open, she leaps into Russel's waiting arms and kisses all over his face before using him as a springboard to leap into Murdoc's lap. The bassist's breath leaves him all at once and he collapses, but allows her to follow him down, sprawling over him and showering him with kisses too, her fingers prodding at his cheeks and rubbing blood from his face with a spit-slick thumb. Russel grins, and Murdoc's fingers stick up behind Noodle's back, safely out of her line of sight.

'Alright,' he laughs, but his attempts to peel her off are futile, her grip limpet-like. 'That's enough, love.'

2D appears in the doorway, looking concerned and amused at once. Murdoc flips him off too and 2D's lips purse, eyebrows knotting.

'You took your time,' Murdoc snorts. 'Are we bailed?'

The singer nods. 'Yeah, it was quite cheap, you know? Guess you didn't cause no serious harm or nothing.'

'Shame,' Murdoc hums, and manages to get Noodle off his lap to get his feet, though she keeps her fingers knotted into a shredded tear in the thigh of his jeans. Russel hums in agreement. Del's anger thrums through his veins, a heartbeat of kill him dead, but he shakes it away. What's done is done, and Del won't help matters by picking it up again.

'Shall we be off, then?' Murdoc asks, when no one makes any move to leave the cell, which is now quite crowded with all four of them in what is really a one-man cell. 'I'll drive.'

'Didn't they say you shouldn't?' Russel asks.

'I didn't go through any windows. I'm fine. I got punched in the face, it's hardly worth a concussion.'

2D starts, but doesn't say anything. Russel watches him fiddle with his fingers as he trails after Murdoc, wonders what he's thinking. Surely he isn't worried for Murdoc's welfare, because God knows everyone gave up on that months ago. Murdoc gave up on his welfare years ago, after all.

Noodle insists on clinging to Murdoc's leg as they sign the paperwork and leave, but once they're in the car, she cuddles up to Russel without complaint, letting Murdoc and 2D bicker about the directions back to the house.

2D insists that they have to take a left on First, but Murdoc isn't having it, insisting they go right.

They're both wrong; they have to go straight on for another two junctions.

After taking twice as long to get home as they really need to, they eventually – eventually, three wrong turns, one drag race and two sudden pit-stops from Murdoc slamming on the breaks to try and shove 2D's bullshit directions out of the passenger window and take him with it – reach their house and climb out.

'Fuck me,' Murdoc says, stretching. 'I am never listening to your directions again.'

2D ignores him, loping off inside, and Murdoc rolls his eyes heavenward, follows him in, Noodle hot on his heels. Russel can hear bickering from inside within ten seconds, and laughs as Noodle and 2D both almost run into him in their hurry to get upstairs and out of a most likely irate Murdoc's way.

Russel finds him in the kitchen, bent over the sink and scrubbing the blood from his face.

'Hey,' Russel says, and leans against the counter next to him. 'What happened today - '

'It had to be done,' Murdoc says, and looks out of the window over the garden. The pool is as they left it; towels and floats and empty cans, Noodle's poolside games still floating uncompleted in the water. Russel can see Murdoc's brain ticking over, counting out paces and panels and erecting a fence to block out the paparazzi. 'I can't let that shit go, Russ.'

There's a catch to his voice, like he's trying to justify himself, justify his actions.

'I know,' Russel replies, quiet, emphatic, because he does know, and looks out over the pool too. 'I was there, remember?'

'What kind of fucking,' the bassist starts with a snarl, and then stops, looks at his hands. They're shaking. Russel wonders what he's thinking. A drop of water, stained with his blood, trickles down the curve of his mouth, drips from his chin and lands on his back of his hand. 'I – is this what America is now? Photos of kids in swimsuits?'

'We deleted them,' Russel assures him, because there's a familiar tension in Murdoc's shoulders, a curl to his lip. It's the look he gets when people bring up Belphegor, when there's a story of child abuse on the news.

Murdoc is many things, born from the darkest pits and he dwelled there for thirty years, but he's crawling his way out now. Russel is not one for poetry, but he imagines, in the vague dreams between Del and waking he gets sometimes, that Murdoc is experiencing the first rays of light on his face, the first touch of heaven under his fingertips. It's so incredibly sad, but he's learning and he's becoming so much more. Russel, though he has no need to, no right even, feels proud of him, feels the pride a father would feel. It's ridiculous and most certainly would not be appreciated, so he keeps it to himself and Del.

'We deleted them,' Murdoc echoes, and the white-knuckle grip he'd had on the counter relaxes, and he splashes his face one last time.

'We couldn't kill him, though, you understand that, right?'

'Of course I do, I'm not a fucking idiot, you know,' Murdoc spits, and pulls the plug to drain the sink before reaching for the towel and for a second he stays there with it pressed to his face, as if collecting himself. After a moment, he pulls it away. 'Look, I. I'm just.'

But he can't seem to find the words to describe whatever he's just, so he just shakes his head and gives his face a last, half-hearted scrub before tossing the towel on the side.

'We'll put a fence up,' he says, which is clearly not what he was planning on saying. 'And the next creeper that takes a photo of her is going to be eating his meals through a drip.'

The atmosphere is heavy, and Russel feels suffocated. This is what Murdoc is now, he thinks, the darkness swallowing him from the ground up now the terror he denies feeling when he thinks about Noodle, the press and the public and the internet and what they think of a ten-year-old girl living with a man like him. It's all too clear in the haunted look that hasn't quite left his face yet, the look that formed when they first spotted the camera flash.

Russel doesn't have the full story, but Murdoc can occasionally be coaxed into talking about his childhood, about the things that happened to him. He is not a family man by any stretch of the imagination, and likely never will be, but for as much as he professes a hatred of children, Murdoc will not see Noodle hurt. Maybe it's something in Murdoc, some deal he made, or a path he chose, or maybe it's Noodle, but he, Russel, thinks that perhaps the light Murdoc sees as he crawls out of the pit is her, the heaven he touches is her hand, safely tucked away in his, helping him drag his sorry arse out of the fire. Sometimes, it's probably the only thing that keeps him going, no matter what gossip magazines and red-tops say.

But that is all far too much introspection based on dreams he barely remembers, and Noodle is barging in anyway, either oblivious to the thick, morose air between two of her boys, or choosing to ignore it for her peace of mind.

As far as Russel knows, Noodle doesn't actually know what they were in a holding cell for, just that they'd punched someone in the face and that was that.

Murdoc changes almost instantly, goes from the dull staring at the pool to engaged in barely a second, talking to Noodle as she asks questions of him, telling him fibs about things 2D has said about his guitar, about music. It makes a smile flit at the corners of his mouth. She knows, Russel thinks, as Noodle's hand sneaks up, slots into Murdoc's, fingers fitting perfectly between his, and she begins dragging him away from the window and deeper into the house. She knows something is wrong, and she's doing what she knows best, distracting him from his demons, regardless of how physical or real they are.

After a moment, a door shuts, and the electric thrum of Murdoc's half-broken amp begins to worm its way through Russel's veins, an undercurrent so familiar he almost doesn't notice it, he glances over at the towel, and then back out at the pool. Upstairs, they're contending on who can strum a tune faster, and a minute passes before he recognises the bass for Thriller, and he chuckles to himself, Del warming deep beneath his ribs, swelling at a memory Russel doesn't have. Noodle joins in, and soon 2D is belting out the lyrics as loud as he can from somewhere else in the house. He's probably dancing (badly) and Noodle starts laughing.

Russel stays in the kitchen, watches a can of Heineken drift over the patio, and then turns to get dinner started, idly tapping the drumbeat out as he moves between fridge and oven and sink. When he shouts them down to eat, Murdoc is looking calmer, his hands steadier. He even manages to make jokes while they eat, though he ends up shoving his plate to Russel to finish off. In the morning, there will be plans for a fence in place, and they'll find him out there already digging the yard up to get the posts in.

NOTES::

Title from New Genius (Brother).

I asked an American friend of mine for a cool car, and he gave me the Corvette, so there, that's Murdoc's cool car du jour.

Red-tops are a type of tabloid in Britain, named for red titles; e.g. The Sun and The Daily Mail. They are absolute trash and would delight in digging up sordid details of Murdoc's past and spinning them waaaaaaay out of context.

Murdoc is of the right generation to have been a huge Michael Jackson fan in the eighties (he'd have been 20 in '86), and if you think he doesn't know how to play Thriller and knows all the dance moves you are 100% wrong. I don't care how into metal he was in his teens, he would have positively adored everything Thriller is. Just imagine 17-year-old Murdoc in total awe of the video, I'm crying, my son, my child.

I don't know if any of the beers the boys drink are readily available in America? But I know Heineken is so they can drink that instead.

Expect more "Murdoc and Russel react drastically to people getting too personal with an underage Noodle" drama, because this shit is gold.

Thanks for reading, lovelies~!