Chapter Text
12am.
19.5 hours until showtime.
“Happy Brit day!”
They all jumped at Murdoc’s sudden energetic squark. 2D had been asleep for over an hour and Russel was close to dozing off similarly, while Noodle hadn’t looked up from her phone in 20 minutes. It was first thing anyone had said for a while and it harshly interrupted the living room’s cozy silence.
“What’s that?” Russel mumbled, with a mouth sounding full of marbles.
The duvets splayed out from the sofa onto the floor, which Murdoc had to hop over in order to centralise himself in the living room. He pointed to his watch. “It is upon us, peeps! The day the world finally recognises the raw, dick-kicking magic we graced them with!”
Noodle wasn’t interested enough to look up from her phone, but she did offer a lazy fist-pump in recognition.
“That was today?” 2D slurred, noticing his half-lying position on the sofa and choosing to shift into fully lying.
“Wha-yes it is today, the hell is wrong with you people? Where’s the gumption?”
“The gumption for worrying we’re gonna embarrass ourselves all night?” Russel sighed as he sat up.
“And have a million cameras on us at all times.” Noodle added.
“Just to not win.” 2D finished, eyes halfway closed.
With a frustrated grunt, Murdoc grabbed the duvet and yanked it from 2D, tossing it out of his reach. Accepting he wasn’t going to be allowed to sleep restfully, 2D sat up and looked at him with a petulant scowl. Noodle broke the eye contact with her phone to look at Murdoc with similar peevishness, the same duvet having covered her midsection for comfort.
Murdoc crossed his arms, “It’s dawning on me that you lot don’t grasp what an important day this is.”
For someone who spoke of the music industry with little more than spiteful contempt, recognition from peers was surprisingly important to Murdoc. He had frequently claimed it was the perfect way to stick it to the conventionals, to win at their game without following their rules. Russel wasn’t the sort to pick fights for the sake of it, but if he was, he might have suggested that the secondary, underlying reason was that there was still that small child in Murdoc that sought the approval of those he begrudgingly respected.
“We know it’s a big day, man,” He said, throwing his own duvet aside to rob Murdoc of a similar power-move, “but maybe let’s try and be realistic, not set expectations too high, you feel?”
“After what the world expected of us? Think it’s fair to expect a little something back.”
“Agreed,” Russel clarified with a hand out, still a little too sleepy for his Murdoc calming abilities to be working at full efficiency, “but I just don’t want anyone making an ass out of themselves.”
Murdoc - and literally anyone that might’ve overheard - knew that Russel was really only referring to one person, so he felt comfortable waving the caution away, “No more than anyone else will, Russ. You seen how those starlets act when you get them in a room together? If anything, we’ll blend in more than ever.”
Russel hummed an acknowledgement, stopping a little short of agreeing. Though Murdoc was likely correct, it didn’t make him look any more forward to the event. He considered the hypothetical in his head; one Murdoc every night, or two thousand Murdocs on just one? The image brought forward a shudder.
“Mate,” 2D said as he scratched the back of his head, “Do you not remember the night of 0 and 6?”
“The parts you were conscious for, at least.” Russel chimed in.
“They don’t get us,” 2D continued, “and that’s alright. Not everyone’s gonna.”
It was true that Murdoc didn’t have the fondest, nor clearest, memories of that night. It was an unnecessary humbling after they took the world by storm in a way no one had anticipated, himself excluded. They’d given the Brits the performance of a lifetime, lit up the stage like no one before or since, only to be practically laughed out, six potential awards leaving in the hands of six other acts. A robbery that Murdoc might’ve respected had he not been the direct victim. He gulped down the rising frustration.
“They learned an important lesson that day, pal,” he told 2D, “People remember us not winning more than they remember who actually won! What does that tell you? They wouldn’t come grovelling back with fresh noms if they didn’t know there was a wrong or two to right.”
2D picked at something in his teeth, nodding slightly in cautious agreement. That was good enough for Murdoc, who still had one more trepidatious bandmate to reassure.
“And you,” he started, pointing at Noodle, “what’s this about you being camera shy all of a sudden? That’s a first for you these last couple of years.”
“Maybe,” Noodle said irritably, locking her phone and setting it down next to her, “it’s because they won’t be our cameras. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s live TV, which we’ve done how many times in 20 years, twice? Thrice? Maybe it’s knowing that every time they cut to me, I’m gonna have to put on some dumb gurning grin, so as not to be judged as some cold, miserable cow by the entire world.”
“Right, first of all,” Murdoc responded, pointing to 2D to exemplify his upcoming point, “his dumb gurning grin alone is probably responsible for about 10% of our record sales, so quit claiming our lemonade is piss.”
2D narrowed a confused eye at him, unsure if what he just heard was a compliment or not. “…Oi?”
“Second, and most importantly,” he continued, taking a step closer to Noodle and crouching down, “we’re not going there to smile and wave and play nice. We’re going there to take what’s ours. When we get there - and I want us all to remember this - we own that room and every sorry sap in it. Our presence is our favour to them, and if you end up looking like you’d rather be anywhere else, well, fucking right.”
Noodle tried hard to fight it, but eventually a gratifying smirk emerged. 2D and Russel were now fully awake, adrenaline similarly building in spite of themselves.
The smirk was successfully transformed to a puff of air as Noodle crossed her arms nonchalantly.
“Don’t know why you’re getting so worked up,” she stated, “it’s not like I’m not going. Just not going to enjoy it.”
“We’ll see. Now!” He hopped back to fully standing and paced in little circles around the living room. "When we win-“
“If,” Russel attempted.
“-my acceptance speech will be first, of course. Seems more than reasonable considering I’m the reason we’re back together in the first place.”
He received mostly frowns in response, but nothing further in protest. Partly because he was technically correct - putting aside he was also the reason they’d been apart - but mostly because Murdoc going first meant he could likely embarrass himself before any of them had a similar chance.
“Got quite the list of people to thank.” Murdoc continued, a hand to his puffed out chest.
“You? Thanking people?” Noodle scoffed.
“King needs his court, love,” he grinned, “you lot figured out your order?” He wheeled back in 2D’s direction, “you should probably be next, what weird pearls has your brain conjured up?”
2D blinked, a little surprised.
“Oh, uh… well, I told my mum if we won I’d take her for pancakes. I’d probably forget to text her in all the excitement so I’d just use that time to remind her, tell her the time and place.”
“Please don’t reveal your exact whereabouts to millions of people.” Noodle warned him.
“Again.” Russel remembered.
“Again.” She agreed.
Murdoc pressed his fingers under his chin, considering 2D’s choice. He nodded slowly after a beat.
“Undoubtably moronic, but it might stand out among all the dreary ‘don’t forget to recycle’ shpiels, which will put some extra eyes on us after the show. Nice one, I like it.”
2D couldn’t suppress the pride of hearing he had done good as his mouth grew a sheepish grin. He sat back contentedly as Murdoc turned to Russel.
“Hobbs, what you got?”
Russel let out a small chuckle. Murdoc’s infallible confidence in their own success had always towed the line between charmingly motivating and murderously arrogant. It was currently closer to the former, but an unchecked Murdoc could inflate his ego at an explosive speed.
“You’re putting the cart before the horse here, Muds. Should it be any surprise to you that it hasn’t been my priority?”
In truth, Russel was a little surprised that Murdoc was being so insistent they all talk.
“You mean you haven’t thought anything up? Bloody hell, and you’ve had how long to prepare? Good thing we’re hashing through all this the night before, work on it and get back to me.”
“Get lost, I ain’t your pupil. I’ll say what I damn well please.”
“Damn well please make it interesting. I suppose if you do insist on making some big state of the world speech, I do at least trust you to go off the rails with it.”
“I don’t…” Russel turned to the other sofa, “…do I?”
“A little,” 2D admitted, “It’s good though.”
Murdoc regained the attention with a few sharp claps, “Round us off, girlie.”
“I think the ‘shut up and get off’ music will be rounding it up at that point, actually.”
Murdoc sighed, beginning to get bored of pulling teeth. “I’m punching that posh funnyman host in the shnoz if that happens, come on.”
Noodle shook her head defiantly, arms still crossed, “Forget it, I’m not saying anything.”
“The fuck you aren’t.”
If Murdoc didn’t have everyone’s full attention previously, he certainly did now. Noodle’s eyes widened as she slowly tilted her head at him, allowing him a moment or two to take it back.
Russel and 2D moved instinctively, Russel shuffling forward ready to separate while 2D backed away fearfully.
“Excuse me?” Noodle stated, giving him one more chance to reign it in. Instead, Murdoc took a step forward.
“You and Russ wanna just play music and stand silently in the background?” He said coldly, “then you might as well still be machines.”
Noodle moved fast, but Russel had seen where Murdoc was going and moved faster. Noodle stood and started in Murdoc’s direction, but Russel intercepted and stopped her a couple feet from her mark. She was glaring daggers at him.
“Easy.” Russel whispered. He could practically see the steam coming from her nose.
Either Murdoc was unaware of the danger he was in, or didn’t care, because he started again, “You think he likes speaking?”
Russel kept his back turned, but assumed he was referring to 2D, who bashfully looked up from staring at the ground.
“He hates it!” Murdoc spat, “And I don’t blame him, he’s shite at it! But he puts the effort in because he knows it’s what the people want.”
Russel half turned to Murdoc, not certain Noodle had cooled off enough to leave her with a free path to Murdoc, “Back off, Muds. We ain’t obligated to do anything up there.”
“I was asked to do another Gorillaz album, alright? Me. Meaning the EIA were perfectly fine with the idea of me doing it without you. But I wasn’t. I wanted us. The world needed us, as a unit. You can be mopey or shy or mysterious if you want, personally I find that hideously dull. But to get through what we got through, what ‘I’ put us through, be on the other side better than ever, put out the best work of your life, and have nothing to say for it? Fuck that.”
Part way through Murdoc’s rant, Russel had turned fully to face him. The three regarded him. He may have said it with air quotes and a slightly mocking drawl, but it was unmistakeable. He had acknowledged he’d put them through hell. It was likely as close as they were going to get to an apology.
Murdoc threw his hands up with a huff, “Good lord below, call me a tosser and walk off if you want, I don’t give a rat’s. But say something!”
“All right!” Noodle yelled, startling Russel, who heard it most clearly, “Christ, ok, I’ll have a think.”
“Thank you! I swear, feels like if I left for a week you’d all be working in bloody HSBC by the time I was back.”
“Should we test that out?” Russel quipped, internally relieved that physical violence had seemingly been avoided.
“Ha ha.”
“I’d work at PC World, I reckon,” 2D contributed, “I love it there.”
A chirpy ringtone cut through any remaining tension. Murdoc took his phone out to check who was calling him.
His mouth curled up into a self-satisfied grin upon seeing the screen, before addressing his bandmates with finality.
“Won’t be two secs, just gotta take this. Just remember who you all bloody are, and how far we’ve come. Have a day off from being a bunch of pessimistic prats.”
With that, Murdoc pressed a button on his phone and put the phone to his ear.
“Albarn!” He called cheerily, “We were just talking about you, about the time you spilled up through our drains and we spent three grand on four different plumbers to get rid of you.”
He stepped out of the living room, in the direction of his bedroom. His voice faded away but his upbeat tone remained, carrying through to them effortlessly.
“Was that not you? You sure? Looked and smelled just like you…”
The three looked at each other as Murdoc’s voice faded entirely, replaced briefly by a door opening and closing.
Noodle sighed and returned to the sofa, accepting 2D’s offer of the duvet with a tired smile.
Russel remained looking at the doorway Murdoc had exited through.
“Has he actually changed or does he just want people to think he has?” He asked the room.
“The second one, definitely.” Noodle responded, “But what I’m not sure about is if he thought the easiest way to pretend to be better was just to actually be better.”
2D opened his mouth to add his opinion, but thought better of it, pulling his legs up to his chest instead.
“I was actually just calling to offer my congratulations.” Damon said through the phone, playing along with a pointed politeness.
“Well aren’t you just the sweetest?” Murdoc practically squealed, “If you were here and I didn’t have a rager right now, I imagine we’d be hugging.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that tomorrow.”
Seemingly unaware that Damon couldn’t see him, Murdoc theatrically scratched at his head.
“Oooh, I’ll have to have a check, but I might be busy tomorrow. Little get together of a few music chums of mine.”
“Sounds fun. Surprised you didn’t invite me after all we’ve been through.” Damon crooned, a sneer audible through the phone.
“Did the invite not reach you? Apologies, must’ve got the address wrong. Is shit-hole spelled with a space, hyphen or one word, can never remember.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, luckily the BPI was aware of your illiteracy and took the liberty of asking Jamie and I along personally.”
Murdoc’s smile faltered slightly but didn’t disappear entirely. It wasn’t altogether surprising that Damon had some insipid agenda, a way to try and nab credit from Murdoc as he always did.
“Congratulations. Win the charity raffle, did you? Or will they just get anyone as a seat filler these days?”
Damon blew into the phone, likely indicating he was smoking, “Think they’d prefer the term ‘insurance’.”
“Y’what?”
“Yeah I got the email here, actually,” he cleared his throat in preparation to read, “‘We’re well aware that Mr. Niccals and co have a tendency to turn events such as ours into farcical events of mockery. Should this be the case, if Gorillaz emerge as winners, we’d be delighted for Mr. Hewlett and yourself to accept the award, as their most committed and trusted associates.'” he drew the last few words out with an ironic smugness.
Murdoc spat out a laugh. “The only thing I’d trust you to commit to is stabbing me in the back.”
“Don’t sound so panicked, Niccals. I’m certainly not. This is all based on the scenario where you actually win which, let’s be realistic, isn’t happening. Need I remind you, I know what it takes to win.”
“In 1995. I could legally shag your award.”
“And 2012!” Damon spluttered defensively.
“A lifetime achievement award? We’re counting those, now? Hell’s bells, mate, see the writing on the wall. They might as well have had you on the screen in black and white with Tina bleeding Turner singing over it.”
“Regardless!” Damon yelled over him, fearing a loss of cool control over the conversation, “It means when you inevitably make a tit of yourself, by being too lathered or getting in a fight or getting chucked out, I’ll be the one accepting it.”
Murdoc tutted. In another world, he might’ve admired Damon’s ambition and desire for the spotlight. It was certainly something he wished sometimes existed more in his own bandmates. Unfortunately, the spotlight Damon was trying to take was his own.
“Rest assured, sweetheart.” Murdoc told him, “we’ll be winning that Brit, getting lathered, starting a fight and then being chucked out. In that order. So you enjoy keeping that seat warm because tinkles will be the only reason you’ll be leaving it.”
A vibration began to rattle through Murdoc’s skull and he pulled the phone away to check it.
Another call. This one was read ‘Unknown Number’, but it was nothing to be concerned about. Likely more showbiz shmo’s wanting this and that upon realising the world’s eyes were about to be upon him.
“Gotta go Damon, busy man,” he said quickly, “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your wild night of checking your emails at nearly one in the morning.”
Before Damon could spit out a retort, Murdoc ended the call to answer the mysterious new one.
“Niccals and co.?” He asked, borrowing the one thing Damon had said that he had enjoyed the sound of.
A raspy breathing came from the other side.
Murdoc raised an eyebrow, quickly re-checking the contact ID on the phone.
“Who’s that?”
More breathing was the only response. Murdoc rolled his eyes.
“Look, I’m sure you’re spellbound, but this contract only has so many minutes, so if you’re quite-“
“We gotta talk, Doc.”
Murdoc frowned. Very very few people in his life had ever called him that. And even fewer had that irritating high pitched Yank voice.
“You’re in trouble.” Ace said.