kids with guns // 2doc

Chapter Three

June 26, 1995

It had been a month since Stuart began to try and talk to Murdoc. Taking him food had become a habit, one that Stuart now did subconsciously. After every single meal, he made sure to take a plate up to Murdoc, and whenever he remembered, a glass of water in an attempt to save his liver and kidneys.

On occasion, Stuart would go up and talk to Murdoc. He would sit next to him and talk to him about anything and everything that came to mind.

Murdoc as usual, stayed silent, and carried on doing whatever he could that would damage him. Not that it mattered. He was dead after all.

One day Stuart decided that he would start taking up the newspaper. After only two days of being dead he had learned to pick things up, and now it was something he didn't think of.

He'd take it upstairs and set it next to Murdoc walking out without a word spoken. Murdoc would wait until the boy left before reaching next to him.

He'd tear the blue plastic wrapping off of the bundle of inked paper and discard it next to the growing sea of plastic at his feet.

Every day he would find political bullshit that made him laugh. Oh how he was happy he wasn't alive to deal with any of it.

"LIAR, LIAR! After months of denials, Clinton tells nation, grand jury of 'inappropriate' relationship with Monica Lewinsky" he quietly read to himself

Look at that, the bastard finally gave in.

"THE CANNIBAL! Face of a madman who killed 17 and ate them!" he whispered scrunching up his nose.

"A'int that a pretty image to have in m' head." he said smirking. Murdoc set the newspaper in the lower drawer of his nightstand with the rest. He would read more later on.

Stuart and Noodle sat sat playing Final Fantasy while Russel sat across from them, nose stuck in a book, listening to something on his Walkman.

"Toochie?"

"Yeh?"

Neither looked away from the pixilated screen in front of them

"Do you remember dying?"

Stuart paused the game and turned to look at Noodle. She had a look in her eye. He could tell she wanted to say something.

"Uh nuh, I don't fink I do, why'd yuh ask?" he propped his elbows on his crossed legs.

Noodle mirrored his position and shrugged. "I've always asked Russ but he can't remember either and I've never been able to have anything come to mind." she said turning her head to look at Russel who hadn't acknowledged her.

"I guess I just wanted to see if Russ was only saying he didn't remember to not tell me or because he really couldn't remember. I guess he really can't." she said turning back to Stuart.

He didn't really know what to say back. Now that he thought about it he really couldn't remember anything before the day he woke up in the dustier sadder version of what he now calls his room.

Nothing came to mind when he thought about death. Not a single memory. Maybe Murdoc remembered how he died. Maybe that's why he was depressed.

Stuart tried cheering Noodle up by making a fool of himself. He'd purposely let her win, and whenever the game would start over, he would aggressively (and poorly) dance to the theme song.

Noodle enjoyed his stupidity and she quickly forgot the entire conversation about death. Instead the atmosphere was wiped of her melancholiac thought and replaced with her good natured laugh.

The day wore on and as the evening came about, so did dinner. "Y'know, I saw y'cracker ass dancin', and boy do you need s'help." Russel said as he stood from the table.

Stuart smiled scratching the back of his neck as a flush of pink overcame his cheeks and nose. Noodle on the other hand had fallen out of her chair.

"Russ don't say that! Toochie can shake his booty better than you in a tutu!"

"Wait, Rissel wore a-"

A wet towel was thrown at Stuart's head.

"We don' talk about it. Unde'stood?"

Stuart peeled the soaking fabric off his face and nodded, a faint sneeze escaping his lips.

Later the same night, his second routine began. He walked up the stairs to the attic, knocking twice, and walking in.

"I 'on't know iffa like soup, but they wan'ed it." he said setting the bowl on the nightstand.

Surprisingly, Murdoc burned out the cigarette and reached for the hot liquid. He began eating, not making any attempts to look at Stuart.

Stuart sat cross legged facing Murdoc, who sat against the head of his bed. He twiddled his thumbs for a moment before speaking.

"Noodle got me wonderin' about how I died. I can' remember. Neither can Rissel. Or her for tha' matter. I was finking that maybe you knew? How yuh died and such?" Stuart looked up from his finger to the man seated in front of him.

The only response he received was the occasional clinking from the spoon and bowl coming into contact, but nothing else. Not even a glance. Stuart sighed. He knew he wouldn't get a response.

He looked back down at his hands, his fingers running laps around each other. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't ever seen Murdoc's eyes. He hadn't seen his own either.

He couldn't remember the last time he looked in a mirror. Stuart sat on Murdoc's bed in silence for a good while. It wasn't uncomfortable silence though, rather peaceful.

At least it was to him, he had no idea how Murdoc felt about the whole ordeal. It had to be weird having a new kid come into your room every once in a while and spill his thoughts onto you.

Little did Stuart know Murdoc enjoyed it. Whenever Stuart brought him food, he waited for him to come sit and talk to him. He gradually stopped doing it, and when he would walk out without a single word, Murdoc felt... disappointment.

The only reason Stuart started sitting down with him less, is because he felt he was a burden. He didn't want to bother the serenity of the silence Murdoc always engulfed himself in.

Stuart finally snapped out of his daze and looked up to find Murdoc holding an empty bowl. Sturt stood up and cautiously reached out to grab it from him.

When he did he felt the warmth of the other male's hand. Even if he only brushed his hands past Murdoc's, they felt rough. It was at that moment Stuart took in Murdoc's scent.

Tobacco, Jack Daniels, and cheap after shave. It suited the man.

"'m sorreh, I'll get goin now."

Stuart made his way across the room to the door, the soft thumps of his bare feet across the floor echoed.

He opened the door, but it wasn't the usual creaking noise he heard, instead a much deeper raspier noise. One that made his entire being go cold, only to be filled back up with warmth.

A sound he swore he had heard many years ago, the one he... missed.

"Swing by tomorrow will ya?"

Stuart whipped his head around to be met with two hazel eyes so full of hurt, so empty and foggy. He nodded with a faint smile.

"I will."

And with that, the door was shut.

Until tomorrow...

They both thought to themselves.