Chapter Text
Vivian and Hannibal will be arriving soon, which means this is their window to leave.
“I’ll see him again eventually,” Murdoc says when Noodle asks why they don’t just wait until Hannibal gets there. “And then I’ll see if he’s still mad at me. I’m not looking to find out today.”
He closes the trunk. “You took your last sweep of the place to make sure you got everything? Your books? Blanket? iPod? Cos we’re not coming back.”
“Yeah, I’m all set.”
Murdoc looks back up at the house, the front door still ajar. He hands her the keys. “Warm up the car, love, I’ll be out in a minute. No driving. You can’t leave me here.”
“Got it,” Noodle says.
She watches him walk back up the steps and disappear back into the house. She slides into the driver’s seat, pushing the brake as she twists the key to bring the Camero to life. She flips the heat on, and puts her hands on the wheel to briefly feel the fantasy of peeling onto the road. As much as Russel and 2D hate Murdoc’s speed-demon methods of driving, she knows she too would have to resist the urge to fly like a bat out of Hell.
As she climbs over the center console to the passenger seat, she spots that leather bag sitting open in the back, a manilla folder visible inside. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure Murdoc is still in the house, she reaches back and slides it out, opening up the only definitive records of Maria Gomez.
The young woman in the black and white picture stares back at her with wide, round eyes peeking out beneath long, blunt bangs. It’s still hard to imagine Murdoc didn’t just spring fully formed out of nowhere ready to cause mayhem, but upon scrutiny, some of her features fill in missing pieces of the puzzle. Her round, high cheekbones, square jaw, and unbroken aquiline nose– if you were to pour Sebastian into a Maria-shaped mold, you would get Murdoc. Of course, her small, rabbit-toothed mouth is her own– his appropriately big Yap came from his father.
The rest of the file is wordy and lousy with jargon, and it feels perverse to dig too deep into it. She opts to put it away, though she picks out the words “manic-depression” at a glance. She leaves the bag as close to how she found it as possible and opens her filched copy of The Haunting of Hill House to look innocent when Murdoc returns.
As he takes his seat beside her and shuts the door, nothing about his demeanor indicates anything about his last goodbye. His expression remains as neutral as though leaving for ten minutes for a carton of milk. She doesn’t ask. If she needed to know, he’d volunteer it. He doesn’t put the car in drive just yet, and they both stare ahead in silence.
“Well, this has been a bloody horrible week,” Murdoc finally says. “Remind me never to do this again.”
“Uh, don’t do this again,” Noodle replies.
“Thanks. Agh, I’ll be fine. It’s fine. I survived. Besides,” he continues, making a face and putting on a voice that indicates he’s doing some sort of impression that goes over her head. “ I’ve fought worse monsters than him for years in Hollywood. ” He turns to her with an incredulous look. “You know, that was his favorite actress. Joan Crawford! Go figure! And he calls me a fruit.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Noodle says.
“Well, if you did, you’d get why that’s a riot.”
Murdoc suddenly pauses, looking ahead with his hands on the wheel as if there’s a sudden realization in the smudges on the windshield.
“It’s quite likely the next time I see him will be at his funeral,” he remarks.
“Oh,” Noodle says, treading carefully. “I’m sorry.”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. In fact, and it sounds horrible, I feel lighter leaving with that knowledge.” A darkness crosses his expression. “I sincerely hope you’ll never feel that way about me.”
“I won’t,” Noodle says, because what else is she supposed to say?
He looks at her as if suddenly remembering she’s there. “Sorry,” he says. “That’s dark.”
He wrings his hand on the worn leather of the wheel as he considers what he’s going to say next, and the tension is tying Noodle’s stomach up in knots.
“I know you prefer Russ and 2D,” he says. “I don’t blame you. I didn’t come from a family that said ‘I love you’ or expressed their feelings beyond blowing up at each other. I do love you. I’m sorry I haven’t made that clear.” He musters up the courage to look at her again. “I know you’re worried about what’s next. What do we do if we fail? Well, ideally we don’t. Still. I uh…I doubt it offers any solace, but whatever happens, if it all really goes to shit, you’ll always have a home with me. Maybe that’s the last thing you’d want. But it’s there.”
It’s as much of a plea as it is an invitation.
Noodle nods.
“Thanks.”
It’s not a perfect response, but it’s the best she can muster. The sincerity is getting to be a little too uncomfortable for both of them.
“So when your time comes, do I take you to the doctor or the vet?” Noodle asks.
“You put me in a barrel and push me over a waterfall– that’s what you’re gonna do.”
“Understood,” Noodle says with a salute.
With that, Murdoc puts the car in drive, and they finally part ways with his childhood home.
Noodle watches the buildings she’s briefly familiarized herself with go by— the bakery, the splintery wooden playground, the library, the forbidden pub. Her final goodbye to Sebastian was unceremonial: “thank you for letting us stay” — cordial, and nothing more.
His, in return, was simple and lukewarm: “Be gewd.”
Noodle kicks off her boots to prop her feet up on the seat, gazing out the window despite the open book in her lap. As much as she doesn’t like being cooped up in the car for too long, the current circumstances are far preferable to her conditions on the drive up. Perhaps she may even be able to bully him into letting her pick the music.
Before she can get too comfortable, however, Murdoc slows the car as they reach a street of houses along the river, as if looking for a house number.
84…86…
The car comes to a halt across the street from 88– an unremarkable duplex that stands ambivalent to them. And yet, Murdoc stares up at it as if it were a cathedral.
“Murdoc?”
He doesn’t reply. Though his hand is already on the door handle, he makes no move to open it.
“Even if she was somehow still there, what are you hoping for?” Noodle asks, softly, but firmly.
Though his gaze still lingers on the house, he places his hand back on the wheel. After a moment, he puts the car back into drive and pulls his attention back to the road. They continue on their way as if the detour never happened.
After a few minutes, Murdoc finally speaks again.
“I think I oughta start teaching you to drive.”
“Aren’t I too young?”
“Hannibal was already taking me along on joyrides when he was your age.”
“Does your dad know that?”
“Absol utely not!” Murdoc laughs. “Of course, he was taller, he could already see over the wheel. But if we prop you up on a couple of pillows, no harm in starting early. The more designated drivers we have, the better.”
“I’m not learning to drive so you can have another excuse to get shitfaced,” Noodle scoffs.
“Alright, that’s fine, you don’t have to learn yet.”
“I do wanna learn!”
“Brilliant. I’ll take you to an empty lot or somewhere with few pedestrians. I won’t say nothing if you hit one, but try not to. It would be an insurance nightmare.”
“I wanna drive the Geep.”
“Absolutely not.”
“What about the Camero?”
“I will find you some starter Jalopy to dent as you please.”
“The Camero’s already banged up!”
“It’s my car!”
“I want a Jaguar.”
“Used only.”
“Deal.”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Murdoc extends a hand and Noodle clasps it like it’s a competition of strength.
“You know, we left in pretty good time,” Murdoc says. “I don’t know if you’re in any rush to get home, but if you’d like to make any stops along the way, just say so. I’m not looking forward to sitting in the car for three hours straight, myself.”
“Like where?”
“I don’t know. if you see anything of interest. Ice cream shop, tacky tourist attraction, roadkill you wanna poke with a stick, whatever you want. There’s no one to tell us ‘no.’”
Noodle nods. She shuts her book so she can keep a lookout for any pit stops. “I’m in no rush.”
