| New Hot Fuzz Fic: "It Takes All Kinds" - Ensemble - R |
[Sep. 24th, 2009|11:21 am] |
Title: It Takes All Kinds
Fandom: Hot Fuzz
Characters/Pairing: Various, Nicholas/Danny
Rating: R (mostly for language)
Notes: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) mushroom18 wanted to know what the rest of Sandford thinks. I promised a snippet. This is more like a collection of snippets all strung together. There are a few voices missing, like Walker and the Turners, but I'm about to leave for a long weekend in Stratford-Upon-Avon and my brain's quickly shutting down. I hope I've included a varied enough sampling! I tried to push a bit outside of Sandford, even.
Summary: Perception is half the battle.
Frank
They came to visit every few months or so, like clockwork. Not so often that Frank couldn't control his rage, but just often enough to serve as a reminder of how spectacularly he had failed his wife. Given how much Danny resembled her, there was nothing like looking at his son to remind him of that. It didn't help that bloody Nicholas Angel was always with him. Hovering. Protective. Close.
It took Frank a year to fully work out what was going on. To be certain.
This time, Danny and Nicholas turned up about a week after the anniversary of everything going to hell. Perhaps they'd intended the timing as some kind of goodwill gesture, but all it managed to do was make Frank more irritable than usual. He didn't need reminding on so many fronts at once. Especially given the fact they were sitting on the other side of the glass eating chocolate cake. He didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to touch his slice. Why did the guards permit such nonsense?
"Not hungry, Dad?" asked Danny, finally. He'd set down his fork, leaving about a third of his own slice uneaten. "Auntie Jackie made it special. Says even murderers need cake now and again." His hands vanished beneath the ledge, doubtless fidgeting.
Nicholas hadn't finished his cake, either—in fact, he'd left about half. The slight shift in his posture came much sooner than Frank would have expected, and it wasn't even subtle. Danny seemed to relax a little, stealing a quick, grateful sidelong glance.
"How are you feeling otherwise, Frank?" Nicholas asked, as if to change the subject.
Frank wasn't about to let him.
"How long's this been going on, then?" he asked Danny, pointedly.
"Sorry?" said Danny, genuinely confused. He'd got his obliviousness from Irene, too.
Nicholas's eyes narrowed. Still infuriatingly sharp, that one.
"Long enough," he said. "It's none of your concern."
"Isn't it?" Frank parried. "My own son's...entanglements?"
Danny went a bit pale. He shifted in his seat, as if he wanted to scoot away from both of them, but something about the grim set of Nicholas's mouth told Frank that he was making it pretty much impossible for Danny to go anywhere. He had strong hands for a small bloke. They looked at each other for a few seconds, various silent questions and apologies passing back and forth, before facing Frank with renewed resolve.
"Maybe I was just waiting for the right time to tell you," said Danny, defiantly.
"When was that going to be?" Frank asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. "Ten years from now? Fifteen? Twenty? If I even last that long. I suppose you'd have counted on the news finishing me off."
"Now, that's unfair of—" Nicholas began, but Frank silenced him with a look.
"Just because I can't see your hands doesn't mean I don't know where they are."
Danny raised his arm, pulling Nicholas's along with it, proving that they were, in fact, holding hands. "This bothers you, does it? Good thing you aren't free to pop in at the cottage around teatime. I doubt you'd like what goes on then. And later."
Frank closed his eyes and breathed deeply. There would be trouble if he didn't remain calm. He turned his gaze back on Nicholas and smiled as benevolently as he could.
"I should have killed you when I had the chance," he said. "Both of you."
Danny cringed and covered his eyes with his free hand. "Dad!"
Nicholas was glaring at him, white-faced and silent. It was then Frank realized that every last detail he'd heard about the Kalashnikov incident was probably true.
Doris
There were a few pairs of raised eyebrows around the station when word finally got around about Danny moving out of his flat and into Nicholas's cottage. Nobody said anything, though: single blokes pooled resources all the time, didn't they? Danny's old place probably held bad memories for him, what with how his dad had picked it out for its nearness to home, and Nicholas probably had more space than he knew what to do with, the garden excepting. He'd charge Danny sensible rent.
The dinner invitation came as a surprise. Danny said he felt like he hadn't properly talked to her in ages, given he was so much busier now on the job, and wouldn't she like to be a guinea pig for Nicholas's new vegetarian curry recipe?
This time, Doris had to admit that her eyebrows were the ones hitting the ceiling.
"I'd love to," she said, even though a curry wasn't really a curry without meat.
"Cor," Danny said, grinning. "Come around eight."
"Shall I bring anything?" Doris asked. She hated to show up without a six-pack.
"Wine," Danny said. "I think something white."
Doris spent the rest of the day in a state of shock. Danny didn't like wine.
As she'd been expecting, Nicholas kept an immaculate house. However, there were enough touches of Danny strewn about that it was clear he lived there, too. Several stacks of DVDs perched precariously on top of the telly, and a video game console with complicated-looking controllers sprawled inelegantly at the foot of it. It was fairly amusing to be sat on the sofa by Nicholas and told he didn't need any help in the kitchen, and then watch him furtively pick up a few stray pieces of Danny's clothing on his way back out. Danny came back down the stairs, having just changed out of his uniform, and sat down beside Doris. She handed him one of the two glasses of wine from the coffee table. He wrinkled his nose at it, but took a sip all the same.
"Mind telling me what's going on 'ere?" Doris asked, taking a fortifying gulp.
Danny shrugged. "I figured you knew. And, well, if you didn't, you ought to now."
Doris nodded, finishing off her glass in one swallow.
"It's always the good ones," she muttered darkly.
Danny just patted her on the back. "He's a bloody amazing cook."
"He would be," she conceded, grinning. "Good on you, Danny. Good on you."
Jeanine
"You're joking," she said. For a split second, she thought maybe covering the receiver might be a good idea, but the laughter didn't come. She was too stunned.
"No, I'm not," Nicholas said. "You've repeatedly insisted that I don't know how."
"I suppose so," said Jeanine, finally, after a few more seconds of silence. "Well, that's...unexpected, but I can't really say I'm all that surprised."
"What do you mean? Look, you said you were calling to find out what happened to my keys, not rake me over the coals for something you shouldn't have an opinion about."
Jeanine bit her lip. "Not entirely true. I wanted to make sure you were all right. It was all over the news, you know. Even here in London. Rather terrifying."
"That was over a year ago," Nicholas said. "Did you have to think it over for a while?"
"You could say that," Jeanine admitted. "Part of me thought you'd had it coming."
"I almost lost him," said Nicholas, quietly. "Just when we'd thought it was over."
Jeanine stared at her floor, which was not as immaculate as it had once been.
"I'd heard," she said. "I mean—I'd heard one of your officers almost—I didn't know."
"Neither did I," said Nicholas. "Until then."
"A right fine prophet I turned out to be," Jeanine said, offering a tentative smile. She hoped that it came across in her voice, although she'd never been good at that.
"Yeah," Nicholas said. He, at least, was smiling. She could tell.
Tony
"Dad?" asked Tony, Jr. "What are benders?"
Tony slid his reading glasses down the bridge of his nose just slightly, setting aside the sudoku puzzle he'd been working on. This was going to take some careful handling.
"Now, son," he said, "where'd you hear that?"
"At school. Just some kids. You know, calling each other names and such."
"Well, now," said Tony, thoughtfully. "Generally speaking, a bender's when you've had one too many pints down the pub and feel out of sorts for a few days."
Tony, Jr. frowned. "Then why didn't they just call each other drunks?"
"Good point, son," said Tony, frowning more deeply. "Can you give me the context?"
"Jim Sower called Aaron Aaronson and his mates fuckin' benders. Sorry for the swear."
"That's all right," Tony said. "I asked you for the context. Just don't let your mum hear you say that. Right. Well, that's a bit more complicated."
"How?"
"Right," Tony sighed. "Benders is a not-nice term for blokes who like other blokes."
"Like?" asked Tony, Jr. "You mean who are friends with other blokes?"
"No," Tony said. "I mean like as in...like. The way you like Anna Treacher."
"Oh," said Tony, Jr., brightly. "You mean like Inspector Angel and Sergeant Butterman."
"No," Tony said. "Yes. No—er, wait, maybe! Yes. I mean..."
The Andys
"So it's true, then," said Wainwright, thoughtfully lighting his cigarette.
"What is?" asked Cartwright, leaning forward. Wainwright lit his cigarette for him.
"Nicholarse and Dannykins," Wainwright replied.
"What about 'em?" Cartwright took a confused puff.
Wainwright rolled his eyes. "They're actually benders."
"Actually, I don't think so," said Cartwright.
"You ain't been listenin' to Doris, have you?"
"'Course I have," said Cartwright. "But that ain't what she said."
"Is so."
"Is not. She's said they're together."
"Yeah." Wainwright shrugged. "Benders."
Cartwright hit him. "It's not funny anymore, though."
Wainwright snorted. "Why, since now we're friends and all that horse-shit?"
"No," said Cartwright. "Since it's true. And the guidelines state—"
"Not you, too!"
Cartwright took a sullen drag on his cigarette. "We should be happy for 'em, is all."
"Well, of course I'm happy for 'em, you twat. Just don't expect me to send a card." |
|
|
