fstory2

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and situations of the Gorillaz. They belong to their creators and the companies they've sold the rights to.

Summary: Memories of home and some traumatic events in Kong Studios lead Noodle to a night of thought. Sorta angsty.

Warnings: This story is 100% slash/yaoi, self-mutilation, and pedophilism free.

"Martial Arts expert, little ice maiden, she looks at the world through unfazed eyes."
- www.fans.gorillaz.com, Noodle's Bio

Shijo No Anrui

She looked up silently at the roof of her room, eyes searching the dimmed Japanese lanterns there. She lifted her arm and looked at her long-fingered hand against the pale moonlight streaming in the window. The tips of the fingers were callused and rough, the nail polish chipped at the ends from working with her guitar. The sides were callused too, from her martial arts practice. Lifting her other hand, she examined it as well. They certainly didn't look like the hands of a child, especially with the crusts of dried blood that were all along the fingers and palms.

She swallowed hard against the pain in her chest and sniffed once, feeling the heavy warmth beside her in the bed and wondering why it had to be this way sometimes. Her life was wonderful here...but sometimes it hurt so much.

*Why doesn't he care about me? Why doesn't he just realize that I care about him in my own way and want him to be all right?*

Noodle sighed and swallowed tears again, closing her eyes against the room and the light and the sight of her bed and the person there. She remembered, and the memories gave her strength. She had to be strong...had to be strong...she couldn't cry, not the little ice maiden...

*~* "Now, remember that a martial artist's skills are trained, not through use of emotion, but through a will to protect those weaker than himself." the man said, holding in his arms a girl of about four years old, guiding her little hands to hold the wooden bokken he was helping her to weild. The bokken was a bamboo reproduction of a real Japanese sword, and the girl's eyes were wide that her father would let her hold a real weapon.

The little girl looked up at her father, thick waist-length black hair shining in the sunlight, smiling brightly at him. She knew he valued these teachings, just as much as, if not more than, the guitar riffs he taught her in the dojo.

She vowed then that she would make him proud of her, that he would be so proud of her he'd love her more than he ever could love a son. She would be the strongest, best martial artist there was, and the best guitar player...she'd be a little ice queen axe princess, and everything would be good... *~*

Noodle heaved a deep sigh. Such vows were good for a child, but that had been more than half her short lifespan ago, and the things that happened here, in Kong Studios, sometimes made her want to weep. As old as she felt sometimes, she was still a child of only ten, and things hurt. But she could never let the guys know...sometimes she felt like she was the strongest one here.

*Why does he do this to me? Why does he have to hurt me so much? Why can't he just appreciate that I care about him?*

She swallowed some more tears and rolled over to look out the window over the lump that lay in bed beside her, breathing softly and contentedly in the night. The stars twinkled in the moonlight, and she watched impassively as one fell. She supposed it was only proper for a child to make a wish on the falling star, but she didn't feel so inclined. Sometimes she felt...sometimes she felt like she was the only grown-up here.

Of course, she loved them all - Russell was like her big brother, great to play around with and wonderful for cuddling with during an episode of the Powerpuff Girls, and Murdoc made her laugh, whether he meant to or not - and 2D...she understood 2D on a deeper level. As soon as they'd become acquainted, Noodle knew they had a deep zen bond of some sort. They couldn't speak each other's language, and yet knew each other intimately on sight.

It was her weakness, knowing him. He was so childlike in his ways, and she so grown-up, the polar opposite of each other in every way, and yet they KNEW each other. She had to look after him, to care about him...and if she couldn't cry for herself, she knew that the other person she'd be tempted to cry over would be 2D. She sighed softly, allowing herself to feel, and looked at him.

He was curled up beside her on the bed, wrapped in her comforters with her, his head against her shoulder and eyes closed in fitful sleep, mumbling every now and again. His hair was messy and his clothes wrinkled, his fists closed tightly against his chest as he lay in a fetal position, fighting with his dreams.