Glad I got this uploaded by midnight. Happy Birthday Murdoc, you loveable, fictional devil.

/

"Mornin' Rus! Mornin' Noods!" 2D said walking into the kitchen, pulling a chair up next to his bandmates and affectionately ruffling the small girl's hair. Noodle was hungrily devouring a plate of pancakes that Russell had made and Russell was chugging a cup of coffee. "You look really tired, Russell. Everyfing okay?" Russell moaned, covering his face with his hands and putting his head down on the table.

His voice came out muffled, "Man, Murdoc texted me at 3:00 am last night telling me to come pick his drunk ass up. That cracka is like a big, green, smelly, alcoholic baby. Only he ain't cute and cuddly."

"Awww, he's not that bad!" 2D said loyally.

Russell rolled his eyes. "You just go ahead and say that if he ever pulls you out of your warm bed in the middle of the night to drag him out of some alleyway."

2D shrugged. He'd be willing to do almost anything to gain Murdoc's approval. "I wouldn' min-" 2D was interrupted by stomping footsteps just outside the room. Murdoc burst in wearing only a tight pair of underwear and the irritated scowl on his face.

Russell's hand quickly shot over to cover Noodle's eyes. "C'mon, man, that's nasty."

Murdoc stuck his middle finger up at him and staggered over to the fridge.

Russell sighed and threw a dishtowel that had been lying on the table over to Murdoc who reluctantly wrapped it around his waist. Russell took his hand off Noodle's eyes and said under his breath, "That's some thanks I get for picking you up last night." Murdoc stopped for a moment before he opened the refrigerator door.

"Oh, is that how I got home? Hmm, don't recall…" Murdoc said, preoccupied and unconcerned as he rummaged through the fridge for a beer.

"You texted me saying you were passed out and gave me the address of where to come get you." Russell said. He was annoyed, though not surprised, at Murdoc's lack of appreciation. The bassist's eyebrows shot up as he took a swig of beer.

"I did no such thing. Look mate, I was pretty rat arsed but I didn't text yeh. I was out cold." A sudden realization hit Murdoc. Cameron? He knew he had been near where she worked, maybe she had seen him and…? Nah, why would she do that? Murdoc thought, the bird obviously can't stand me.

Russell shrugged. "Well, whatever happened, you'd better be damn grateful that I came." He stood up, clearing his and Noodle's empty dishes from the table. "And now," he yawned, "I'm going to back to sleep." He walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Murdoc groaned, rubbing his pounding head and looking over at 2D. "Oi, Faceache. Got any of them pills?" 2D was hesitant. He didn't want to give any of the precious capsules away. "Didn't you 'ear me Dullard? Pills. Now!"

2D heard the rising impatience in Murdoc's voice and fumbled through his pockets, quickly producing the small orange bottle and holding it out to the irritated man. "'Ere."

Murdoc snatched the bottle from the boy's hand and twisted the cap off, pouring two pills out and swallowing them with a gulp of beer. He carelessly tossed the still open bottle back to 2D, the pills spilling out of it and onto the floor. "Good boy. Now was that so hard?" Murdoc asked with a patronizing grin as 2D knelt to pick the pills up. Noodle gave Murdoc a murderous glare and muttered something in Japanese before bending down to help 2D gather the fallen pills.

Satisfied that the pills had started to take effect, Murdoc headed back to his Winnie. Once inside he ripped the dishtowel off his hips and replaced it with a pair of tight black pants. He took El Diablo off of it's stand and began to play the angry bass line of Murdoc Is God to drown out any of the approaching thoughts of Cameron that plagued him when he was alone. He had a vague remembrance of the fight they'd had last night and he had come to the conclusion that she was just a moody, sullen child, jealous of his lavish lifestyle. She had probably hoped to use him for his money or something, the slag, although that still didn't explain why she'd been so cold. He played louder, trying again to silence his thoughts. He got more enthusiastic as he played, nodding his head along with the music and singing the lyrics. He needed to remind himself that he, Murdoc, was in fact God, and some whiny little bitch couldn't change that.

/

Cameron awoke that day at around one in the afternoon with a headache of her own. She had gradually been noticing that she was starting to grow a dependence on the OxyContin she'd been taking in the last few months. She'd consumed her few remaining pills the previous night and was already feeling subtle symptoms of withdrawal. Her muscles and bones were aching and she felt slightly nauseous. She rolled out of bed and stumbled into her tiny closet of a bathroom, getting undressed and stepping into the shower. She turned on the water as hot as it would go and leaned weakly against the wall, assessing her current situation: She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast yesterday. She had no food, no drugs, and no money. And wanted to see Murdoc. "Fuck." She said with a sigh.

She'd known that she would regret leaving the pub with him that night. She admired Murdoc and his music more than she liked to admit and the last thing she wanted was to become emotionally attached. He was different than most of the boys and men she had been with, which was quite a few. He satisfied her need for rough and violent sex. Cameron liked playing with fire, and Murdoc was as close to inferno she would get unless she turned up in hell. That was why she'd tried to leave before he woke up. He was addictive, and she'd gotten hooked the first time that they were together. Feelings like this made people weak, which was something Cameron could not afford to be. But stupid and reckless as she was, she'd gone home with him and fucked him. And now she wanted to do it again, even though she knew it would be impossible. That was how men like him worked. Once they had something, it lost it's allure. It became bland, boring. Like weak tea, watered down and unappealing, suitable only for the garbage. The shower suddenly turned ice cold, but Cameron didn't scream or jump. She was used to it, the faulty plumbing in her building. She shut off the tap and wrapped a towel around her small frame, quickly drying off and putting on a Pixies t-shirt and jeans.

Sitting down at the edge of her mattress and looking at the floor, Cameron silently wondered what to do with herself. She had the day off work, which was frustrating. She really needed more money, and being busy there would have helped to take her mind off the painful withdrawal symptoms she was experiencing. For that matter, if she was working right now, she'd be making good money in tips and wouldn't even have to be dealing with the withdrawal. She restlessly stood up, pacing the small room for a few minutes before putting on her baggy army green jacket and stepping out the door.

After walking a few blocks, she realized she had no idea where she was going. Where she wanted to go, that was clear. She wanted to go back to Kong, to sit with Murdoc in his filthy Winnebago, to kiss him, to touch him, to feel him roughly pushing himself into her. She mentally shook herself, trying to rid her head of the futile and silly thoughts. Get your shit together, she told herself. She'd always considered emotional suppression to be one of her strong suits, and it would take more than some smooth-talking, bass-playing womanizer to make her forget that.

Cameron, becoming aware that aimlessly walking the city was a stupid thing to do when she should be conserving every last bit of energy her malnourished body had to offer, headed back to her apartment. Once there she crawled back into bed and fell into a semi-concious trance in which the only thing she felt was the dull, aching of her sore and exhausted being. She stayed that way until the next morning.