Phase 1:

Kingston, Jamaica; 1999.

Never let me down, gently.

Sound Check (Gravity), Gorillaz.

"But you must remember something," the journalist persisted. Murdoc had thought she must fancy 2D at first, but she was clearly making him uncomfortable now and had another motive. "Sounds, movement, anything, even if it's vague."

"Nope. Nothing." When she just looked at him, 2D added helpfully, "It was like bein' asleep."

Murdoc chortled somewhere in the background. "He was unconscious, love. Not much different from now, really."

She ignored him, went on talking to 2D. "What about when you woke up? What's the very first thing you remember?"

"Um..." he fidgeted, on the spot. They all waited patiently, even Murdoc. "The smell of hospitals," he said eventually.

"Really?" she said. "That's interesting. Describe it."

2D looked at her uncertainly. "But..you must know what hospitals smell like..." he glanced at his bandmates for help.

Murdoc sniggered. "Maybe she couldn't smell anything over the silicone."

She shot a daggered look at Murdoc, but didn't dignify his remark with a verbal response. "OK, so the accident itself - you don't remember anything at all? Or anything about being in the coma?"

"No," 2D said, with emphasis. "You could ask Murdoc about it, seeing as he was conscious and all."

Murdoc started cackling, and 2D looked shame-faced. The journalist looked shocked. Russel stepped in, "We're only human, ma'am. It doesn't happen too often, but even 2D has his moments. Why don' you stop buggin' him about the accident?"

Murdoc chipped in, "2D has, like, these random moments of sarcasm, and they're so brilliant because they're so unexpected. I mean, look at him - how dense can you get? But there's something in there." He sat there chuckling.

She got back onto the accident itself, and then Murdoc stopped laughing, had had enough.

"Listen, love, are you actually who you say you are? Because if you're, like, a new secret recruit of the NHS, or something, and you've been wasting our time..."

Needless to say, she didn't stay long.

"What a twat," was Murdoc's comment, when Noodle was out of earshot. "Morbid interest in comas, and she wasn't even that fit. I should get her sacked."

In a rare moment of insight, 2D said, "Maybe she knows someone in a coma."

"Ah," Russel said.

Murdoc still looked sceptical. "She was still a waste of time."

Still in Jamaica, just the two of them now. And why not? Let Russel and Noodle get cracking if that was what they wanted. Murdoc would catch up, but right now he wanted his holiday. And as for the two of them, well, Murdoc grudgingly relented that he was getting used to the twat; he wasn't all bad. He'd shoot himself before he'd admit that they actually got on all right half the time. And even with 2D here, if you got used to the heat and occasional hurricane, the place was paradise. Their hut was surrounded by planes of white, hot sand, and at night the tourists had gone home so there was just crickets and the tide and the hum of the air conditioning.

2D wasn't around now, anyway, and Murdoc wanted to think about what he'd been putting off. That night, seeing 2D sing his dumb little heart out on the roof at two in the morning. He'd listened from start to finish with goosebumps all over him. When 2D was done, there was a little silence. Neither he or Noodle spoke, and neither of them knew Murdoc was there. 2D opened his eyes then and saw Murdoc straight away, giving a little start. Then he smiled almost shakily.

"It's good, isn't it?" he said in a whisper, as if his voice was used up. And Murdoc could only stare.

It left him in a ponder for the rest of the night. How someone so thick could have that in them was beyond him. But he wasn't completely, 100% thick. Or terrible. It was difficult for Murdoc to get his head around.

Noodle had gone to bed and the two of them stayed up. Murdoc wanted to hold onto the moment for the rest of the night, but after about 20 minutes 2D was prattling away like his usual self and Murdoc was drinking and trying not to kill him.

An hour later 2D had fallen asleep at his side, on his bed in front of a zombie movie, and Murdoc was left sat there wondering if that was the feeling he was supposed to get when you realised you didn't hate someone. Maybe it was the heat. It must be; it was unnaturally, unbearably hot, which was fine for the most part as they were just lounging around in swimming pools and air conditioned bars, but now, when he was trying to sleep at night in their little shack, it was oppressive. A half decent mood was impossible.

Their holiday ended up lasting only 2 nights. In which Murdoc knocked 2D's teeth out. His frustration was bubbling over with the heat, with 2D being so fucking close all the fucking time, falling asleep beside him on the couch or the bed or wandering into the room half naked innocently looking for his shirt, all the time with that fucking oblivious look in his eyes. Until it got so strong that Murdoc had to do something, he had to push 2D against the nearest hard surface and try it. Instead, he knocked his teeth out. The next day, they had to fly home, and back in breathable climate, Murdoc could think. He was calm. He bought 2D some new DVDs to make up for it, though made him swear to never tell a soul about this moment of weakness. He was Murdoc Niccals, and he had a band and a lifetime of fame and fortune ahead of him. And as for 2D... he tried not to brood on it. It was bound to be the sort of thing that would just go away on its own.