A/N: Ah, chapter five. The turning point. I want everyone to know that everything in these next 6 pages are purely speculation, and if you have a different idea about the past, kudos to you, have a cookie, just please don't bash my thoughts. As always, thank you to my reviews, this story would be long dead if it wasn't for you. Extra special thanks to Yomiori Wolfdemon for the couch and the lovely e-mail. Really made me feel special. Oh, and to Kimmy-Sama and BoredCoed, nope, sorry no hidden references (at least that I consciously put in there) in the last chapter, though I can see where you'd think that.

Be cautious of early morning chats, random confessions and more plate abuse. You know, one of these days those plates are going to assassinate me...

Gorillaz aren't mine, as Jamie and Damon have yet to return my calls, but I do own Styx.

Chapter 5: Of Silence And Family

For the first time in a very, very long time (too long for 2-D to recall properly, though the man's memory was nothing if not... sporadic) 2-D woke up before his alarm clock could jar him out of bed and ultimately, in his struggle to shut the damned thing off, cause him unnecessary pain. He sat up and idly scratched the dog that lay by his side. Styx took the small scratching as an invitation to leap up onto the singer's chest and completely douse the blue haired man with licks and saliva.

" 'Ey, 'ey, Styx, easy!" 2-D laughed as he struggled to get out from under the dog's tongue. "Calm down, now, ya jus' saw me last night. S'not like we been apart fer years or somfing." The dog stopped his licks to look at the singer and tilt his head, and there was something in his eyes that clearly told 2-D that he was happy that the singer had risen. /Hard ta be mad at someone who misses ya when yer asleep.../ Grinning, 2-D swung his long legs over the side of his bed. "Let's go get somefin' to eat, 'ey?" Styx leapt from the bed and barked happily.

At the car park's door 2-D hesitated. Kneeling in front of the dog, 2-D took the furry head in his hands and looked Styx square in his mismatched eyes. "Now, Styx, ya gotsta promise if I open the door yer not gonna go runnin' inta the studio 'n wakin' Murdoc up, 'cause den he's gonna get all grumpy 'n mean 'n he'll start swearin' 'n drinkin' 'n he needs 'is rest, ya unnerstand?" The dog tilted his head, his tongue lolling out as it always did. "Good. S'long as we unnerstand each ofer."

And with that the blue haired singer opened the car park's door... and Styx dashed through the opening, making a break for the studio. "Styx! Wait a minute! We 'ad a deal!" 2-D futilely chased the dog in an attempt to catch the hyper ball of fur before he...

"BLOODY HELL!"

...leapt on the Satanist and woke him up. 2-D cringed as he slunk into the studio like a child who knew he was going to get yelled at. "Sorry, Murdoc, I tried ta stop 'im but 'e-"

Murdoc was unable to talk because not only had Styx forced any and all remaining air out of his lungs when he had landed on him, but the little dog was also covering his face with enough licks to last a lifetime and the bassist growled something that 2-D assumed was along the lines of "Get this fucking dog offa me, 'e's breakin' me ribs!"

Mindful of the aching bassist, 2-D managed to scoop Styx into his arms before the dog could do any further damage to Murdoc's pride. "Like I said, I'm sorry Murdoc, but 'e jus' went shootin' down the hallway 'n I couldn't catch 'im 'n-"

"Tosser," Murdoc growled, eyeing the clock behind 2-D, "you 'ave any idea wot time it is?"

The singer blinked then slowly looked over his shoulder. "Six inna mornin'..."

"Right. Wot the bloody 'ell 'r you doin' up at six inna mornin', 'ey?" With much more effort than it should have taken, Murdoc rose into sitting position and without even thinking about it (for if he had been more awake, he surely wouldn't have done such a blatantly friendly gesture) patted the couch in an invitation for 2-D to take a seat. "You know the other's ain't gonna be up fer another 'our 'r two at least." He aimed a mild glare at Styx. " 'N I wouldn't 'ave minded another 'our 'r two a sleep either."

Styx tilted his head and gave Murdoc his most cheerful doggy smile.

Setting the dog on the ground 2-D sat on the couch and was quickly joined by Styx who flopped across 2-D's lap and began begging for a belly rub. Granting the dog's wish, 2-D began to rub Styx's belly as he pondered Murdoc's question. Why had he gotten up so early? It hadn't been nightmares (2-D often woke up in the middle of the night, terrified by realistic dreams involving zombies, vampires and a host of other unfriendly things) and it hadn't been hunger...

The dog in his lap barked and the answer came flying back into 2-D's slightly damaged (though still very pretty) head. He looked over at Murdoc, giving the older man a once over. "I was worried abou' ya. Yer all right, yeah?"

Though the sentiment surprised him, Murdoc hid it behind a bored expression. "Yeah, I'm fine." He muttered. The bassist pulled out a cigarette and lit it and 2-D followed his example. " 'M always fine."

2-D glanced at the older man from the corner of his eye. /Yer not fine, Muds. Yer never fine. Dere's always sadness in yer eyes, 'n you 'ardly smile 'n I 'eard you cryin' once... Somefing bad 'appened... I know it.../

A silence descended upon the two, though it was not an awkward silence, but rather, a solemn one. It grew deafening and 2-D found himself searching desperately for a topic with which to frighten away the silence. Something harmless, like, perhaps the weather or that new movie coming out tomorrow or maybe even the zombie movie marathon that was coming up soon. Yes, a nice harmless topic like, "Murdoc... why'sit yer always so sad?"

Wait... WHAT? 2-D played back what he had just heard himself say inside his head over and over again, trying to make sense of the nine syllables that had wormed their way out of his mouth. Where in the bloody hell had that come from? His eyes slid over to gauge Murdoc's expression. It was blank, and that was bad. A blank expression meant that the Satanist could be thinking about anything; he could be pondering the question (which 2-D highly doubted) or thinking of fun and painful ways in which to kill 2-D and fry up his new pet for breakfast. 2-D decided the best possible way to avoid further incurring Murdoc's wrath was to change the subject and fast. Quickly filing through the list he'd been composing before his prying question, the singer settled on the zombie movie marathon.

Though his face was expressionless, Murdoc's mind was in turmoil. Having never before been presented with this scenario the bassist didn't know how to respond. Should he be angry that 2-D had tried to pry into his thoughts? Should he be grateful that he cared? Murdoc tried to sort his thoughts and forget about what he should feel and focus on what he did feel, but that was no good; he couldn't tell exactly. Well, he figured that he obviously needed to respond, but didn't know if he should ignore the question and pretend that it was never asked, or lie, or maybe perhaps tell the truth or just clobber 2-D and leave it at that? Murdoc liked that last option; talking (hell, thinking) about his past was something he hardly did (though the bassist would never admit it, it was because it hurt him) and he most certainly wasn't going to tell the onyx-eyed singer sitting next him. Having settled on the idea of clobbering 2-D, Murdoc opened his mouth to inform the singer that he had a three second head start.

"I made me mum kill 'erself."

Yet, somehow his lips and vocal chords had conspired against him and said the seven syllables he had wanted to avoid. The truth. Murdoc did a quick systems check. Everything seemed to be in working order; he was thinking, breathing, and there was even a slight itch on his leg that he was tempted to scratch, but somehow there had been some miscommunication between his brain and his vocal chords. It seemed his too-often ignored heart had decided to cheat this time around and had bribed his voice to say things it shouldn't.

Despite his often childish and naive nature, 2-D correctly suspected that he had wandered into a very touchy, dark subject, and that evacuation was the best option. It was a miracle he was still conscious; he'd been expecting Murdoc to beat the crap out of him for bringing up the subject in the first place. Though he was infinitely curious about Murdoc's response, he knew that going any further could be distinctly hazardous, so it was back to zombie movies and weather. /But... what if 'e wants ta talk abou' it?/ 2-D knew it was his curiosity talking, but decided that he might as well go with it. Noodle often said that while curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back.

"Whadda ya mean, Murdoc?" His voice was soft and hesitant as he idly scratched Styx.

Murdoc's eyes shot over to 2-D. So many things he could say... He could tell the singer to fuck off and leave him alone, he could lie, or he could knock his remaining teeth out. He was about to snap at the blue-haired man sitting next to him; tell him to sod off and go be happy and sunny somewhere else because hanging around jaded, cynical bassists could destroy that innocent grin, and if the world needed anything, it was sun and smiles, but a lump suddenly formed in his throat, and as he swallowed it down words bubbled up from somewhere within him and an old familiar scene began playing behind his eyes, forcing the bassist to remember all that he wanted to forget.

"I told 'er that I hated 'er..."

2-D chanced a glance and saw Murdoc staring through the smoke of his cig, through the walls of the studio and through the fabric of time itself, playing some old broken memory behind his checkered eyes. "I was ten... playin' me bass too loud fer too long... she told me ta stop, that dinner was ready... we got inna fight... I told 'er that I hated 'er..." Murdoc's expression grew hard. "Hannibal always said it to her, the jackass." And then it was regretful once again. "But... she never thought she'd 'ear it from me..."

"It wasn't yer fault, Murdoc-" 2-D began, but Murdoc's murderous gaze stopped him.

"A'course it was Stu!" The Satanist snarled, but as quickly as the fire in his eyes had appeared, it vanished, leaving the bassist empty and drained. "Hannibal always told 'er that 'e hated 'er... Dad was cheatin' on 'er... Then the one person who she thinks loves 'er goes 'n tells 'er that 'e doesn't..." Murdoc took a long, calming drag on his cig. "No wonder she killed 'erself..."

The silence descended again, threatening to strangle the both of them, but rather than shatter the silence with conversation, 2-D slid closer and haltingly, tentatively put his arm around his aching band mate, doing the only thing he could think of to help his friend combat the pain of the past. " 'M sorry, Murdoc." His voice was loud, even when he whispered it in the silence of the studio.

Murdoc allowed the slight embrace for only a moment before he shrugged the singer's arm off his shoulders. "S'alright." He said absently. " 'S ancient 'istory now, anyway."

"Yeah... but ancient 'istory still 'urts, yanno..."

The two once again fell into silence, both fighting with inner demons. 2-D's thoughts were on the very limited information he had gathered from Murdoc over the years about his time before the band. All he had really known before this morning's strange impromptu confessional was that Murdoc had not gotten along well with his father who, according to Murdoc, was an asshole, and that his older brother Hannibal had disappeared years before. Never had he heard a word about Murdoc's mother, and now he knew why.

Murdoc's thoughts, however, were far from his own pain. He was thinking about 2-D; contemplating how the younger man could possible be so care-free, so sunny, so happy. It wasn't like 2-D had been sheltered from the harsh cold realities of life, or anything. The Satanist didn't know much about 2-D's old home life, but he knew enough. The young singer never knew his real dad's name (sure, there was that carnival guy who had acted like a dad, but it wasn't the same thing) and his mom sure was no prize. She hadn't visited 2-D in the hospital when he was in a coma, and when Murdoc had finally gotten enraged enough to call her and tell her that her son was in the fucking hospital, she had curtly replied that she wouldn't be fronting the bill and hung up. A few weeks later, after 2-D had woken up, the two had gone back to his old house in hope of salvaging his life, only to find the house empty and abandoned, a For Sale sign stuck in the window. The two had gotten back into Murdoc's car and with 2-D crying on his shoulder the bassist had driven off. And yet, after all that, 2-D still had the strength to smile, to laugh... to be happy.

The Bass Demon sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "How do you do it, Tosser?"

The question surprised 2-D. "...Do wot, Murdoc?"

Murdoc stubbed out his cig in an ashtray. "Yer mum didn't love ya, ya don't know yer real dad... yer family treated ya like shit, yet you still..." He trailed off for a moment, collecting his thoughts and lighting up another cig. "Yet you still smile."

2-D pondered the question a bit, extinguishing his own cig, but all this deep thinking was really beginning to hurt his head. So, instead of trying to come up with some deep, significant answer, he simply thought about what made him happy. /Lessee... Wot makes me 'appy? Russel inna mornin' when 'e's lookin' fer food 'n gruntin' like some 'alf dead zombie... Noodle when she's practicin' 'er martial arts on Russel... Murdoc when 'e's makin' fun of some stupid git on the telly... Noodle when she makes Murdoc do somfin' 'e normally wouldn't.../ 2-D began to see a pattern forming, and when Styx suddenly licked his face the singer had his answer.

"Well," he started slowly, trying to organize his thoughts coherently so as not to confuse the bassist sitting next to him. "Yeah me family was bad, but den I went 'n got a new family." He smiled. It was so simple it was often overlooked. "Yeah, I gotsa older brover who's big 'n likes ta eat 'n sleep 'n play onna drums... 'n a little sister who fights zombies 'n is really smart 'n knows karate... 'n best of all I gotsa older brover who saved me life 'n took me in 'n 'elped me get everyfin' I ever wanted... 'n older brover who's grumpy 'n 'e drinks 'n swears way more den 'e should 'n 'e's always sad, but once in a while 'e smiles 'n when 'e does I know me family's complete 'n 'appy 'n..." 2-D trailed off, not really knowing how to end it. His black eyes darted up to the clock. 7:15... the others still wouldn't be up for a good half hour.

Momentarily forgetting the dog in his lap, 2-D suddenly stood, sending Styx to the floor with a startled yelp. The floppy eared dog shook himself and glanced up at his new owner, but 2-D had already grabbed Murdoc's hand and was half leading half dragging the stumbling bassist out the door into the hallway. "Murdoc, I gotsa idea ta make you feel 'appy!"

2-D looked over the plate in Murdoc's hand, noting that the bassist had literally covered ever inch of the plate in his surprisingly clear, though very tiny, handwriting. Though most of what was written was lost on 2-D, Murdoc's print being too small for the singer's slightly damaged eyes to make out, he could decipher a few words, those being Mom, Dad, Hannibal, scars, bruises, blood, hate-

Styx's barking made 2-D jump. He glanced down at the dog, who just tilted his head and barked again. 2-D looked over at Murdoc. "Ya ready?" He asked.

Murdoc blew out a cloud of smoke. "Wotever." It had taken the singer almost ten minutes to convince Murdoc to write his demons down on the plate, and still Murdoc was less than convinced that breaking a plate would make his problems disappear.

2-D sighed and looked at Murdoc pleadingly. "Please, Murdoc, ya gotsta believe dat it'll work. Overwise it won't do nofin' 'n you'll go back ta bein' all jaded 'n ya won't be 'appy 'n... 'n you deserve ta be 'appy..." His black eyes begged Murdoc to at least consider the possibility that this metaphorical problem breaking would make him feel better, if only for a little while.

And despite his bored expression, Murdoc was actually quite intrigued by the idea, and that was why he was standing at the edge of the Gorillaz property, on a little rise under a stout oak tree that overlooked a small valley, holding a plate in the pinkness of dawn. As he exhaled another cloud of smoke, his mismatched eyes flicked over to 2-D. The singer had said that they were family, and families (real families, not shitty ones like he and 2-D had once had) trusted each other, so with slight hesitation and something else - anticipation? – he threw the slim hunk of china out into the valley and when he heard the sound of his plate – his problems – being broken, something happened in his soul.

/The plate broke and the demons, those many heavy skeletons that had crawled forth from the closet of his spirit to perch mercilessly on his heart, cringed and a few of the smaller ones even released their grip on his soul and fled. While the others, the biggest and oldest ones, didn't fly away, their claws, which had been embedded in his heart for so very long, loosened their grip. Inch by inch the knives that had driven into his soul for years were painstakingly loosened and a few fell out altogether. I looked up at him... and he was smiling./

Murdoc exhaled another puff of smoke, dropped his spent cigarette and crushed is under his heel. "Let's go inside, Muppet."