A/N: So sorry it took so long for this chapter; family was in from out of town so I clung to them like goo while they were here, and then I had to start packing to go away to college. Yeah, my room is bare; almost but not quite like a skeleton. Anyways, enough of this ramble, you want to get on to the story, but first! Thank you to all who review, really makes my day! I'm glad the last chapter made people feel happy. –Feels happy herself– Only bad thing to note is that the story is coming to an end. I think one, maybe two more chapters, depending on how into detail I go. Probably two, knowing me...

Dirty dogs, mentions of the past and late-night phone calls run ramped without fences and any thought to physics and karma.

Also, don't own Gorillaz, but I do own Styx as well as various gifts given to me by reviewers. I heart you all!

Chapter 7: Of Innocence And Time

"2-D-san, would you like to know what I believe?" The question surprised 2-D and he looked at the young girl at his side, who was squatting down, scratching Styx's belly.

"A'course, luv."

"I believe Styx-chan was supposed to find you." She scooped the dog up into her arms and stood, facing the singer. "2-D-san, I believe very strongly that all things happen for a reason. I do not think that there are many random chances." She hugged the dog tightly. "Styx-chan was meant to come to us. Just as I was meant to be shipped to your door, and you were meant to be meet Murdoc-san, and Russel-san was meant to move to England."

"Wot's 'e s'posed ta do?"

Noodle meditated on the question for a moment. "I do not think we will find that out until he does it, 2-D-san. Maybe he is supposed to help Murdoc-san find some happiness, or perhaps he is meant to help you find a friend to watch the sunset. Perhaps both, and then again, perhaps neither." Styx licked her face and squirmed in her grip until she let him back down.

With an excited bark the dog grabbed 2-D's pant leg and began to tug playfully. "Wot'cha want, Styx?" 2-D asked with a laugh. The dog dropped the pant leg, barked, spun in a small circle and took off down the path a bit, looking back expectantly at the two. He barked again, his meaning crystal clear.

The singer and the guitarist ran after the excited dog, laughing as Styx led them down the path and through the bushes in a wild romp through the park. They chased him as he ran, never letting them get too far behind, always circling back and barking, his tail never stopping in its constant wagging. They chased him, for he was a good luck charm, a bringer of things both good and fair who had managed to chase away the looming shadows that plagued them. They chased him, for they wanted to hold him, always, forever, never letting go of the good that he brought, the innocence he had saved, for they were innocent, and their innocence needed protecting.

Life has teeth, sharp teeth that can bury into the softness of one's heart and leave scars; some scars are small and barely noticeable, but others, the ones that manufacture sorrow, guilt, and other such emotions which force tears out of the most jaded pairs of eyes, these scars are massive jagged lines that circle one's heart and trap pain, never letting it go. And pain, as wounding as it is, doesn't like to linger in places too long; it would rather visit a heart only briefly before moving on, but the scars, the big ones made by life's teeth, trap pain, and no matter how much it struggles, it cannot break free. So it thrashes and screams and the people turn cold and jaded, used to pain, for it has always been there, and finally pain strikes back in the best way it knows how; it shatters innocence.

/Unbeknownst to them, as they ran weaving through the trees they were leaving behind something dark and sinister that lurked in the trees and in the ground and in the very air around them. It was a demon, the darkest and most hated demon of all; the demon of innocence's end. He is everywhere, following everyone, waiting for a time to break the paper thin protection that is innocence; waiting for that perfect end of innocence. He will find them in time; no one stays innocent forever, but not then. Not that day. That day they would run, and feel childish again, and embrace that which every living thing in this world was born with, but so few still possess; innocence./

The two finally caught up with Styx in a large clearing, and they dropped to their knees, 2-D panting, but grinning like a child, Noodle laughing as she hugged the dog tightly and got a face full of licks for her effort. 2-D flopped onto his back, inhaling all the various scents of the forest; the pine, the dirt, and the sweet, sweet air, and Styx managed to worm his way out of Noodle's grip and jump onto the singer's chest, making him 'oof!', then laugh as the dog eagerly sniffed his face. "Styx, dat tickles!" The dog licked him and Noodle laughed.

"2-D-san, we should be going back now. I would not want Murdoc-san and Russel-san to worry." She held out her hand and helped the tall singer up.

"I don't fink dey'll worry none." 2-D grinned. " 'Sides, I gots you ta look out fer me." The two laughed at that, the kind of laugh that makes your side hurt, and their laughter – their innocence – made Styx's tail wag even harder as he yipped and barked, racing around them as if fueled by their happiness.

Murdoc popped open another beer as Russel continued to chow down on the potato chips he had brought. The bassist took a swig then noticed the shape bounding towards them from the woods. It was Styx, and as the dog came closer Murdoc cursed... loudly.

"Bloody hell! TOSSER!" He screamed as the dog neared him, tail wagging as it always did. "TOSSER, GET OUT 'ERE NOW!"

Russel looked up from his potato chips. "The hell you going on abou', Muds?"

The obviously enraged bassist jabbed a finger at the dog who unabashedly went over to Russ and began sniffing at the chips. "Dullard's dog is fucking filthy 'n 'e ain't getting' in my Geep like that!" He turned back to the woods where Styx had emerged. "STU-POT!"

Picking the dog up and off the blanket, Russel saw that Murdoc was in fact telling the truth, as evident by the brown and black mess left on the blanket where Styx had been walking. He also noted, with some mild antipathy, that his hands and shirt were also getting muddy, as Styx, being the hyper bundle that he was, was squirming and thrashing, attempting to get out of the big American's grip. Though he was brought up not to lie, he thought that perhaps this wasn't the best time to agree with Murdoc; who knew what Satanist might come up with if he knew he had at least one other person backing him.

"I dunno, Muds. I don't think he's that bad."

Murdoc turned, incredulity stamped on his face. "Russ, wot the bloody 'ell 'r you-" He stopped, blinked, then glared. "Russel, you fat tub a lard, yer as filthy as 'e is!"

Russel stood, not at all liking the bassist's choice of words, and he probably would have made some sort of comment about Murdoc being a hypocrite (as the bassist almost always drove the Geep when he went out to the pubs only to return in the morning with a screaming hangover, covered in his own vomit and if that wasn't filthy, Russel didn't know what was) but 2-D and Noodle emerged from the woods, mud splashed up to their knees, laughing. The drummer looked them up and down. "The hell you guys been?"

"Nowhere." They said in unison, still giggling like children who knew something the adults didn't. The two sat on the grass, not wanting the blanket to get any muddier and began digging through the cooler for something to drink. Styx managed to wriggle out of Russel's grip and the ever hungry dog stuck his nose in the cooler, looking for anything edible that he could sink his teeth into.

At this point, Murdoc knew that fighting was useless; being outnumber three to one (technically four to one if you counted that damned dog) and trying to maintain complete and utter control over the group would probably only serve to make Russel irritated, and a large, scary, irritated Russel would probably go so far as to force Murdoc to sit in the back with Noodle while he drove them home, and that was one blow to his pride Murdoc could do without. So, he only took a swig of his beer, fumed, grumbled, bitched and moaned about mud, his Geep, and how'd he have to take it to the wash, all the while hiding the small smile that seemed to be showing up on his face more and more. Perhaps there was something to breaking those stupid plates.

For twelve glorious days the sound of laughing, barking and all around happiness could be heard sounding throughout Kong Studios. Regular visitors to the mansion-turned-studio (like the staff, the postman and the milkman) all agreed that something was different about the place. Even the mansion itself, too long a dark place often associated with woe and misery, seemed to be feeling the effects of the whatever-it-was that was slowly but surely spreading. The building seemed to cease the worst of its ghastly groans that sounded in the middle of the night, and the dust, which often collected at an appalling rate (especially in the corners and the places where the sunlight never quite hit even on the rare full blown sunny days when the light screamed through the windows trying to banish the darkness), seemed to be taking it's sweet time in settling down. Even the zombies were becoming less and less frequent.

Happiness could do that.

It could start off small, a smile, a kind word, and it could grow, just as surly as a flower. And, if conditions were ideal, it could grow even larger, going from a small bud, to a large flower, to a tall mess of brush, to a tree that towered fifty feet in the air. And, if the people around it worked hard enough at it, nurtured it, cultivated it and believed in it, the tree could snowball into an entire forest, baffling yet delighting all who knew its presence. This is what had happened at Kong.

Yet, something else happened there too. Time became a surreal and often obscured thing. The days would start with breakfast and seconds later the band was sitting, watching television or movies, Noodle asleep with her head in someone's lap, and then they were all saying goodnight, going their own separate ways, and 2-D and Murdoc and Russel and Noodle too (if she was still awake) would lie in their beds, thinking about everything that had happened that day, and though it seemed as if the hours had flown on the wings of a fighter jet, a lot had happened. And it wasn't just once that the day had been over and done with at the snap of a finger; it was all days. And likewise, all the days that lasted only seconds were filled to the brim with everything one could possibly do; there were picnics and practices and beach trips and once they had even cleaned up the graveyard. There were journeys up to the attic to clear out the dust and cobwebs, there were drives into town to get ice cream (so many flavors that the list was endless) there were movie marathons and a trip to the amusement park where Murdoc had tried (and failed) to win Noodle a stuffed animal larger than Russel at that "damned rigged" bottle toss (strangely enough, however, an hour later Murdoc had slid away from the group and returned with said stuffed animal, having given the attendant a black eye and a bloody nose for it).

That was what time could do.

It could slow down and speed up at its leisure. In the days before the band, when Murdoc had been pissing around in his Winnebago all day, trying to make the few ends he had meet with a shitty part-time job, time had been slow – agonizingly slow – and often he would glance at the clock, expecting at least an hour to have crawled by, but in reality the minute number had only inched along by five small ticks. The only times when time actually seemed to have a heartbeat was when his fingers strummed his bass, and his dream of music, rock and roll, and a chat-topping band was revived again, if only for a few hours. But, when he had suddenly had that crazy idea to break into Uncle Norm's Organ Emporium, time had kick started into fourth gear and after one single second everything had changed.

It had been like this for 2-D as well. Way back in the days of a nagging, careless mother and a lousy dead end job time had crawled along slowly. Everyday he would watch the clock, waiting on pins and needles as the minute hand swam through molasses to reach the next hour, waiting for the time when he could throw his ungodly ugly uniform off and spend a few precious moments (which, in contrast to the day sped along as though they were in some kind of race) alone as he walked to back to his shrill mother. There, he would watch the clock as his mother reprimanded him for anything and everything, from his hair and his clothes to his dreams and ambitions. He would wait as the minutes once again entered that thick, sticky molasses, waiting for the only time of the day that he really cherished, late when his mother finally went to bed, drunk usually, and he had two whole hours where he could finally do what he loved; play his keyboard and sing to himself. Time had continued on like that, slowly – painfully slowly – until that one faithful day when he had been instructed to go in early and do inventory. That faithful day when he met Murdoc and time had rocketed so fast that it seemed to be making up for all the slowness it had taken getting to that point.

And there was another thing time could do, if it really wanted too.

In fact, there wasn't really anything time couldn't do, come to think of it. It could cure scrapes and bruises, mend broken bones and broken hearts, restore order to chaos, and heal the pain of past mistakes. Time could change the world, push all the contents together and rip them all apart. It could make rocks fade and crumble; it could grow forests and make them die.

It could blind people, lull them into a false sense of security. It could make people believe the very best of everything. Time could make sunny days and sunny spirits last. It could erase all nagging doubts about anything. It could persuade people to make promises, promises made on little rises overlooking small valleys in the shade of a stout oak tree. Promises of being together, forever, for all time; promises of play, and trips to the vet and more trips to the beach, and a collar with a name, declaring to the world who one was. Promises of bacon in the morning, and belly-rubs at night and as the sun got trapped between two peaks, and that little rise that overlooked that little valley was covered in a heavenly glow, time persuaded a blue-haired singer to make another promise; a promise to a scraggly brown dog whose paws and ears were too big. A promise to pay him back for everything he had done for him and his friends.

Yes, time could do everything.

Even tear everything apart.

Russel yawned and tried to stretch, careful of Noodle, whose head was in his lap. She was sleeping soundly, having fallen asleep near the ending of the last zombie movie and continued sleeping right through the latest one; one so cheesy and corny that Russel felt his own eyes drooping, and with a sigh he collected the young girl in his arms and stood.

"Night, you two. Don't stay up too late."

"Wouldn't dream of it, dad." Murdoc sneered. Had he not been carrying Noodle, Russel might have given the ornery bassist the finger.

"Night Russ." 2-D said cheerfully. "Don't let the bed bugs bite."

"If they do, use dynamite." Russel called back as he carried Noodle to her room.

2-D grabbed Murdoc's arm, black eyes wide. "Murdoc! Do we really 'ave dynamite 'ere?"

" 'S just an expression, Stu-Pot, 'n a shitty one at that."

"Oh." A little disappointed and a little confused (why would Russel bring up dynamite if they didn't have any?) 2-D went back to scratching Styx's belly and watching as undead armies ravaged the land.

The video ended and 2-D had just put another tape in (the movies they were watching were a trilogy) when a beeping resonated throughout the room. With a grunt that sounded rather negative, Murdoc dug deep into his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone, which he then flipped open and growled a very angry sounding "Wot?" into the receiver.

A few seconds and Murdoc's angry expression turned almost evil as he purred, "Glad ta 'ear yer outta the 'ospital, Lee." 2-D paled, looking at the phone as if it was about to transform into something evil and deadly, which in truth it already had. "Really?" Murdoc continued in that purring, scornful voice of his. "Wot's the catch?" As he listened, he sniggered a bit, until 2-D finally managed to lock eyes with him, and the look in 2-D's eyes made Murdoc's evil grin falter, then fade. "Er, wot, 'm sorry? Oh, yeah, uh... no, no, no... s'not daft at all, actually... Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there." A shadow of a smile passed Murdoc's lips as he glanced back at 2-D and Styx. "Yeah... somethin' like that."

Murdoc put the phone away and stood, stretching a bit. With one last glance at the zombie movie on the screen, he started towards the lobby. Fear began to play the xylophone along 2-D's spine. "Where you goin'?"

"Out." Was the curt reply. "Stay 'ere 'n finish yer movie, Tosser." The front door closed.

Fear ranked its claws down 2-D's back and grabbed his heart, freezing it. 2-D jumped up, his long legs racing for the door, Styx at his heels, the zombie movie flickering across the screen, forgotten. He didn't want Murdoc going out into the darkness of the world. He didn't want Murdoc to go and face the rival band. He didn't want Murdoc to get hurt again; he didn't deserve it.

He deserved to be happy.