Archive of Our Own

It starts with the radio promising a storm rolling in, and it will end with the sky fully delivering on that promise. If the realtor who sold Murdoc the ruins of what was once a recording studio had given him a tour of all the places where you could see daylight through the roof on the third floor, he might have just given the deal a sodding ‘no thank you’ and tried to find something else in his price range around.

He would have no doubt failed since Murdoc was man enough to admit his price range was abysmally low, but he would have tried. Anything was better than climbing around on the roof desperatly patching holes over with whatever he could while the heavens looked ever more ready to let loose a deluge.

He had seriously considered sending Stu up to patch the roof, but reluctantly, he’d settled against it. Murdoc was very proud of his medical knowledge, but fixing a broken neck was a bit outside of his area of expertise. It was better not to risk Stu taking a tumble and knocking out what little brains he had left.

He’d also thought about getting Russel up there to help him out (he was under no illusion he could trick the house's resident drummer into doing all the work), but truthfully, he didn't know if the roof was up to that. Russel weighed quite a bit more than he thought it could safely take.

So Murdoc had made the climb himself and was doing the best patch job he could while Stuart followed him from room to room below, putting various buckets and bowls under each patch just in case his repair work didn't pass muster.

He took a brief moment to wipe the sweat from his brow and peered into the last big hole he was nailing scrap over, catching a glimpse of Stu in the room underneath. He watched him carefully arrange a bucket where the light shone through on the floor before Stuart caught him looking and smiled up at him. Murdoc rolled his eyes. While he would never admit it out loud, internally he was relieved that Stu seemed to be on smiling terms with him again.

While he nailed the last big piece of thin scrap metal down, he thought over the drama of the last few days and the debacle named Paula Cracker. He'd known Stu would forgive him for sleeping with her fairly quickly; he just didn't know exactly how quickly. While he didn't regret his actions exactly, he was willing to admit, at least to himself, that it hadn't really been worth the drama. He’d lost a guitarist, had to put up with a sullen Stu for nearly a week, and learned that if it came down to it, Russel had a mean punch and wasn't afraid to use it.

None of that was worth one blurry night with a bird he didn't even like, not when there were songs to be written and millions waiting to be made. Murdoc stood up straight, cringing at the protesting noise his back made, and surveyed his handy work. It wasn't pretty, but as long as the studio didn't flood, it was good enough.

Carefully, he clambered down the side of the building and dropped gracelessly onto the fire escape. He wasn't at all surprised to see Dents waiting for him on the other side of the door.

“D’ja get all the holes?” Stuart asked, fingers laced in front of his chest, "I put buckets under all the ones you told me to."

Murdoc wiped his grimy face with his shirt and took off the makeshift toolbelt he’d fashioned out of an old apron they’d discovered in a drawer in the kitchen. It said 'kiss the cook' on the front, but the last two letters of ‘cook’ had faded, and Murdoc had scribbled in much funnier ones in their place.

“I got all the ones I could see up there, at least. I reckon we’ll know if I missed any in the morning. The sky looks proper pissed.” After a little glance through the fire escape door window, Stuart turned to follow him, dropping into step as they headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“D’you think it’ll be a bad one, Murdoc? The storm, I mean..” Stuart said when they crossed into the living room, and Murdoc scoffed at him. “Why? Are you scared of big storms?” and when Murdoc crossed into the kitchen, he was assaulted with the mouth-watering aroma of something tomato-based wafting from the oven. Russel had apparently decided on cooking early tonight, probably in case the power went out. Smart.

“I dunno, really.” Stu said, taking a seat at the kitchen table while Murdoc pulled a soda out of the fridge and chugged it down. “Cant say I recall being in one recently. I wonder if I ever been in one?” and Murdoc took a seat across from him as Russel backed out of the pantry holding a big baguette.

“You’ve been in at least one, though you weren't conscious of it. Happened when you were out, and I was in charge of you in the Winne. Now that was a proper storm! I had to park out behind the Telco right up against the wall; the wind was rocking it that bad. I thought if the booming thunder wasn't enough to bring you out of it, nothing was.” and Murdoc took another drink and addressed Russel before Stu could gather his thoughts about being in a coma during a storm in a mobile home.

"Oi, Russ, what's that incredible smell?”

Russel didn't bother turning to him to answer; he was busy cutting the baguette into halves. "It's lasagna, and I'm making garlic bread to go with it. Your nose must have finally healed up if you're sniffing out food again."

Murdoc shot him a sharp grin. He’d taken the plaster off his nose a day ago, and while it was still discolored and sore, the swelling had since entirely gone down. Truthfully, he wasn't used to just having a broken nose; usually whoever broke it followed him to the ground to break a few more things while they were at it. Russel’s little punch was child's play.

In the distance, a low rumble of thunder made itself known, and Murdoc was glad he’d finished the roof when he did. Wouldn't do to be up there when lightning started flashing.

By the time the lasagna was finished and they had all eaten their fill, the rain and wind had started in earnest. Murdoc peered out of the living room window and into the dark, noisy world of their yard.

“Wetter than whale piss out there," he muttered. Russel had already gone to bed, and Stu had too, although he was surprised to see him sitting on the couch, shaking water off his hands and arms when he turned around. Despite knowing the answer would likely be nonsensical considering who he was talking to, he couldn't help but ask anyway.

“Why are you wet? Did you forget it was raining between lighting strikes and go out in it, Dullard?”

Stu shook his head and sent him a slightly annoyed look. “No, there's a big hole in my room's window for some reason. I taped it up, but water still blew in some. I got my pajamas wet ‘n everyfing.'' Then his face transformed into the big-eyed one he used when he asked Murdoc for something stupid, and he wasn't sure if he’d get mad over it or not. "Can I sleep down in the Winne tonight?"

Murdoc's first instinct was to say, “Hell no, you have your own bed, you little moron. What do you think this is, sleepaway camp?” but he held himself back. He’d die before he admitted he felt even one iota of guilt about Paula Cracker. That wasn't what this was about at all, but it wouldn't hurt to throw Stu a bone now and then. A happy dog was a loyal one after all.

“Fine. But go get your blankets and pillows. You're sleeping on the floor.” and he watched as Stu scrambled up from his seat and took off upstairs. He’d have to see what idiotic way Stu had tried to fix the window and fix it again tomorrow.

He took one last look out into the gloom before heading downstairs himself. At least the parking garage was underground, so it would be quiet, and if he hustled, he could get down there and pretend to be asleep before Stu got down and tried to talk to him about something he didn't care about.

It was probably going to be a long night.