Christmas Pain
Pairing: Howince
Summary: Howard wonders what caused Vince to come home looking like he got in a bar fight.
Word Count: 3,547
Rating: PG-13 at most. Rated for a bit of language and the oh-so-sad tale of The Christmas Toy.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Disclaimer: I think it's pretty obvious what I do and don't own. But just to make it clear: all I own is the plot of this story. I don't even own the words themselves, really. That's all my friend's work. I tied her to a chair and forced her to write for me it seeing as I have a love/hate relationship with words. She's so lovely she wrote it at three in the morning for me.
Author's Notes: I decided to put The Christmas Toy into the fic itself for those of you who haven't yet read The Mighty Book of Boosh, seeing as what happens in it is rather important to the plot of this fic. If you've read it, feel free to skip it.
Howard watched the second hand of the clock creep along slowly. He always stayed up late on nights like this, nights when Vince would go out to those clubs where in Howard's opinion the music was far too loud, the room far too cramped, and the drinks far too sweet. He'd wait until Vince was safely up the stairs, then he would go to bed. Of course, he'd be cranky and irritable the next day because of a serious lack of sleep, but he knew he'd feel horrible if he didn't stay up to make sure Vince didn't break his neck coming up the stairs.
Howard was starting to get worried. Normally Vince was home by now. He looked at the clock again, making sure he read it right. 3:45. Where is he? Howard thought. He was tempted to go to bed; Vince hadn't had any problems getting back in before. I'll stay up for five more minutes.
3:50. Five more minutes.
3:55. Five more.
4:00. Okay, that's it. I'm going to bed. As Howard started to make his way to his room, he heard Vince opening the door.
"You're home late," Howard said once Vince had gotten up the stairs. He looked over at Vince, to see what excuse he'd get this time. "Vince?" he asked, upon seeing Vince's appearance. His shoulders were hunched, his hair seemed to lack its usual volume, and didn't look at anything but the floor as he made his way to his room. Howard followed him; he had to know what was wrong. After all, he was Howard Moon: Jazz Detective.
As Howard stepped into the room he shared with Vince, he had to turn on the light. Vince, it seemed, had gone straight to bed, without even taking off his makeup. Howard tried not to make any noise as he snuck up to Vince's bed, but even Jazz Detectives have to let their feet touch the ground sometime. Unfortunately for Howard, that resulted in a stubbed toe, a torn Cheekbone magazine, and an irate Vince Noir glaring him down.
"What are you doing, you twat? Trying to scare me to death? And you're abusing a perfectly good magazine!" Vince exclaimed as he turned to glare at Howard. His bright blue eyes narrowed in a purpled and swollen mass of flesh. As Vince saw Howard notice the bruising, he turned away abruptly. "Never mind, just go to bed and let me sleep."
Howard couldn't chase the image of Vince's face, bruised and swollen from his mind. He had to help his friend, even though he quite obviously didn't want Howard's assistance. Gathering up his scattered courage, he approached the bed of his battered best friend.
"You should put some ice on those bruises, Vince. You wouldn't want your face to be all swollen for the party tomorrow night," Howard cajoled, hoping that the mention of the party that Vince himself had organised would drag him from his pouting funk. "If you ask Naboo, he might even have a magic lotion that'll take all the ouch away."
"I don't care. I'm not going. They can all enjoy their fucking party without me. It's not like they even care about me." Howard was alarmed to hear his usually good natured and sunshine-y friend so angst ridden. He dragged the medi-kit out from under his bed, placed there just in case of an emergency, and applied his hard earned boy scout expertise to sooth away Vince's pain.
When all of Vince's bruises had been soothed with salve, his cuts covered with gauze, and the final band-aid cross had been laid, Vince rolled back over on his bed. As Howard gazed down upon his troubled friend, he knew there was worlds of words left unsaid that would be hidden under another layer of makeup, glitter and hairspray. Unfortunately there was nothing more to be done tonight, so Howard went to bed.
~*~*~*~
"PLEASE DON'T HURT ME! No more, I can't take any more. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!"
The tortured cry rang out in the silence of their bedroom, startling Howard out of his deep sleep, filled with bookmarks, and his plaque from the Mayor of Leeds made an appearance, encased in a trumpet-sock.
Leaping out of bed in a flash (those jazzercise classes must be paying off) he looked around the darkened room, his eyes searching out whoever would dare to attack his best friend, well, his only friend if he was completely honest. Lester didn't really count, what with all the spanner throwing, and him being decapitated by the Head Shaman and all. Nevertheless he would get to the bottom of this mystery.
Vince cried out once more in his sleep, pulling Howard from his internal monologue. He rushed over to Vince's bed, tearing that same Cheekbone magazine. Vince would kill him when he found out. But the knowledge that it would be more than likely out of date by now, and the horrible cries of his friend quickly got rid of any guilt. He tried to wake Vince by calling his name, but he was trapped too deep in his nightmare. Visibly bracing himself, Howard reached out a hand to shake Vince awake. Just before his hand could make contact with Vince's bony shoulder, Vince sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring off of him.
"NO!" Vince cried, his eyes glazed and staring. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
"Come on, little man, snap out of it. You're treading all over my line." Howard said, trying to get Vince to snap out of his nightmare. "Come on, stay with me! I can't crimp without my right hand man, it'd be like an egg without a yolk. It's just not natural."
"An egg without a yolk, what are you on, you nutjob?" Vince replied with a weak smile, "Have you been getting into Naboo's stock again? You remember what happened last time you did that. I don't think that camera will ever be the same again."
"You know that wasn't me, it was just a coincidence that I was in the same room with it. It was all Lester's fault!" Howard exclaimed, desperately trying to deny blame for the Camera Debacle, which he had sworn would never be spoken of again.
As it was obvious that Vince had snapped out of his trance, Howard decided that he should tell Vince that he'd had a horrible nightmare.
"You woke me up from a very pleasant dream about my plaque from the Mayor of Leeds with your screaming, thank you very much," Howard wasn't as bothered by being woken up as he was letting on, but he had to get Vince back to sleep or he'd be bitching about loosing his beauty sleep in the morning (not that he really needed it).
"Oh, really? I was having a nightmare? Huh, I don't remember any of it," Vince looked away as he said the last bit. "I'm sure I'll be able to drop right off again, now that I have the image of that plaque in my head. Right boring dream material that is."
Howard knew that Vince was evading the issue, but he'd let it slide, just this once. But if Vince thought that he'd get away with playing coy about what happened tonight, he was sadly mistaken.
"Night Howard. Oh, and please don't wake me up at some ungodly hour in the morning. I need all the beauty sleep I can get at the moment," Vince smiled as he rolled over.
Howard couldn't fall back to sleep after seeing Vince's terror stricken eyes he knew that if he went to sleep, it would be him that was having nightmares. Lost in his contemplation of how Vince could have come to grief, he didn't notice that as the long minutes went by, Vince's breathing failed to even out to the deep in-out of sleep.
"Howard? I …I can't sleep. Can I sleep with you in your bed? Just for tonight. I know you won't let the bad dreams get me," Vince's voice drifted into the silence, small and fragile with more than a hint of childishness in the soft tones.
"Alright then, but keep to your side of the bed, you hear? You know how I feel about touching," Howard didn't actually mind if Vince cuddled in his sleep, he just wanted to keep his Jazz Maverick façade in place. It wouldn't do to have talk spread all over Camden that he slept let Vince sleep in his bed with him. Not that Vince would say anything of course, but it all came down to reputation. And he, Howard Moon, had a reputation to uphold.
~*~*~*~
A week later, Vince was still having nightmares. Except for when he was in Howard's arms, of course. As much as Howard enjoyed knowing his friend trusted him to such an extent, he knew that Vince bottling up his emotions like this was bad for him. The way things were headed; it would all boil and bubble away in there like a volcano until it finally exploded, probably in a shower of glitter, makeup, hair product and binge drinking. He decided to raise the subject, in the hopes that he could get Vince to find some outlet. It didn't really matter what, so long as Vince released some of that built up stress in a healthy way.
"Vince?" Howard started, trying to find the words that wouldn't send Vince into a sulk. "You don't seem to be getting any better. Why don't you write some poetry, or a story or something? Something creative," Howard said. "You know, let the creative juices flow, drain off some of that tension." Howard awaited the crushing blow that was likely to fall from Vince's lips in the form of a cutting rejection and brutalisation of his advice.
"You know what Howard, that's actually a pretty good idea." Vince smiled at Howard, regaining some of his lost sunshine-kid appeal. "Do you have a book? I think I'm going to write a story. You can read it when I've finished if you want."
~*~*~*~
Christmas Toy
A story by Vince Noir
Dedicated to all the indie boys across the land who like to wear the occasional eyeliner or tight trouser.
Once upon a time, on a snowy winter's evening, Christmas Toy was skipping through the Enchanted Wood when he saw a warm orange light off in the distance through a clearing in the trees. The fiery beacon seemed to be drawing him in like a powerful yellow magnet. Christmas Toy raced towards the flame, almost in a trance.
Five minutes later he found himself on Kentish Town High Street, on the borders of Camden market, standing outside a huge inn that was bristling with life and strange energy. Christmas Toy, barely a man himself, could not open the huge wooden door on his own and had to sit patiently for some real people to come along to the inn so he could scuttle in behind them with legs like two rulers.
Once inside, Christmas Toy looked around all the people inside and smiled, and saw in the corner of the room a real log fire dancing on the floor. He jumped up and down with excitement, open to his new surroundings.
It was about this point that a group of thick-necked tattooed yo-yos saw Christmas Toy dancing in front of the fire enjoying himself thoroughly.
"Look at that litter bug!" said yo-yo No. 1.
"What a nonce bag!" agreed yo-yo No. 2, spitting out beer and pork scratching in disgust.
"Look at his outfit!" snarled yo-yo No. 3. "It's a little girl's one."
All the yo-yos laughed together like a pack of wild dogs. The laughter turned into table banging and then finally an animalistic howl. Christmas Toy was a little taken aback but thought to himself, They can't be laughing at my little red soldier's top? I got this from Top Shop, in the girls' section. It was quite expensive. Must be some kind of private joke between one yo-yo and another. Yo-yo humour, I expect.
Christmas Toy smiled and thanked the fire for the dancing, skipped off to the bar leaving a trail of glitter behind him.
Half an hour later Christmas Toy had been lifted on to the tall bar stool by two Camden girls called Josie and Melvin. The three of them were chatting away and trying quite a lot of fizzy blue champagne. You see, Christmas Toy had been the bestselling toy that year and the royalties had come flooding in.
"Drinks on me!" he shouted, as more and more people gathered around: girls, boys, boys who looked like girls, and even the landlord of the inn, who had mod glasses and legs like Pan.
Christmas Toy seemed to be the centre of attention and was loving every minute of it. Yo-yo No. 1 stared over in disbelief and said, "Look at that creepy little twat acting like it's his birthday."
Yo-yo No. 2 growled, "It'll be his deathday soon if he doesn't watch out."
Yo-yo No. 3 agreed and ordered another bucket of scratchlings.
Christmas Toy was having a brilliant time, and felt shiny and special. Everyone tried to give the toy free clothes and strange magic beans that made his head spin round and round and his eyes seem even bigger than usual. One man loved the Christmas Toy so much he gave him a whole handful of magic beans, silver and green, then filmed the toy accepting them on his mobile phone. Ahh, it's nice to have a souvenir, the Toy thought. The man quickly left and hailed a taxi to Fleet Street.
As the night wore on Christmas Toy was dancing on air (literally, it was a trick he'd picked up in the Enchanted Wood). He seemed to have over a thousand friends now and offers of film scripts, photoshoots, voiceovers, free television sets. He couldn't believe it, everyone was so kind and friendly and nice in Kentish Town.
The yo-yos stared on at Christmas Toy in a sinister way.
"Who does he think he is? The Mayor of Camden?" yo-yo No. 1 said sarcastically.
"Actually, I think he might be," yo-yo No. 2 said.
"Isn't that your girlfriend he's talking to?" enquired yo-yo No.3.
"Right, that is it! HE'S WELL DEAD!!!!" screamed yo-yo No. 4.
The yo-yos charged the Christmas Toy like a park of wild boars and pulverised his tiny frame with bar stools and glasses and pink sausagey fists. The Christmas Toy was sprawled around the sticky pub floor with arms and legs everywhere.
"That'll teach you to be on digital telly," said yo-yo No. 1.
"Yeah, you knob'ead," yo-yo No. 2 piped up.
"You might want to think twice about wearing eyeliner, you transsexual rapist," yo-yo No. 3 said, spitting on the ground near Christmas Toy's decapitated head.
The yo-yos marched out of the inn into the starry Camden night in search of slowly rotating soft greymeat. The Toy had double vision and internal bleeding and was staring at a vomit stain on the ceiling of the inn, wondering how someone had managed to fire it up that high. He lay on the floor for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, a woman appeared above him, like a mirage in the desert.
At last, Christmas Toy thought, a kind lady's here to put me back together and offer me cab money home.
The woman bent down and shouted, "How dare you use Myface to try and get my daughter's mobile number, you evil toy! She's only twelve! What are you? A paedophile?"
"Er, but I don't even have a Myface. I can't work computers!" the Toy pleaded.
"Whatever," the vexed lady whispered, and gathered up Christmas Toy's stray limbs, throwing them into the murky dark green waters of Camden canal.
Christmas Toy, now just a torso, rolled back to the Enchanted Forest under the ultraviolet bridge, through piles of crunchy leaves, dead pigeons and needles. He thought to himself that maybe being one of the biggest selling toys of the year wasn't all it was cracked up to be really.
The End
~*~*~*~
Howard could scarcely believe that Vince had written a story that wasn't full of sunshine and rainbows. He realised that the story must have had something to do with that night when Vince had come home all beaten up. The bruises on Vince's face and body had faded now, but the damage to Howard's heart was still as fresh as that first night. He nearly cried at the pain that poor Christmas Toy, who he was sure was Vince, had gone through. But he didn't, because as a Man of Action, Howard Moon does not cry. Although, come to think of it, he did seem to have something in his eye.
"Vince?" Howard called from their room, sitting on his bed.
"Yeah, Howard?" came the reply from the bathroom where Vince was putting the final touches on his look.
"Um..." Howard cleared his throat. "Is Christmas Toy...well, is he you?" Howard hoped that Vince would just turn around and tell him that the Christmas Toy story was just a new venture into a darker side of things, kind of like the time when Vince went Goth and was going around telling people how dark he was.
"Yes," Vince's reply was much softer than normal, almost like a confession, drifting on a cloud of root enhancing hair spray. He emerged from the bathroom and sat on the bed with Howard.
"Why didn't you tell me this before? That's it; those tossers from the bar are going to feel my wrath. I'll come at them like a northern bullet; I'll put moves on them like you've never seen before, sir!" Howard couldn't contain the outrage that bubbled forth when he though of anybody hurting Vince. He'd felt it the night Vince came home hurt, but now the anger had a target.
"No, Howard, don't. There's no sense in you getting hurt because of me. It's the past, see; even the bruises have gone now. Nothing left. I'm the Sunshine Kid again!" Vince smiled through a thin veil of tears welling up in his eyes. "So don't go being a right berk and ruining my happiness, alright?"
Howard knew that Vince was putting on a brave face, he could see straight through all the barriers Vince put up. Hadn't they been friends since school? He knew when Vince was hiding away behind fake smiles and lip gloss. He took action, drawing Vince into a manly hug, hoping that even that small amount of comfort would help.
As soon as Howard's arms wrapped around the smaller man's shoulders, he felt a massive shudder wrack Vince's fragile frame.
"Here now, what's all this? Don't cry Vince, please don't cry. You know how bad I am when people cry, I can't do the whole comfort thing nearly as well as you can," Howard babbled desperately, wishing that Vince's tears would stop. He couldn't stand for Vince to be in pain.
"S'ok Howard, you're doing alright. Just hold me for awhile, yeah?" Vince sniffled, "It's just, that story brought back bad memories. I felt like a child's toy given to them as a Christmas present, but then a month after Christmas, it's been forgotten. They didn't even notice that I'd been beaten up. They don't care about me at all," Vince said, his voice quavering slightly.
"I noticed, Vince. Don't worry, I care," Howard whispered into Vince's unruly locks, not sure if Vince had heard him, but willing to put his pride and his heart on the line for his best friend.
"That's the thing with hanging 'round shallow people like them," Vince said, sniffling, apparently not hearing Howard's comment. "They ditch you when they find something new to play with." Vince looked up at Howard, eyes wide and hopeful, brimming with still unshed tears. "That's why I like coming home to you, Howard. You're not like them. You're still here."
"Of course I'm still here, Little Man. I mean, you can be a right tit to me sometimes, but I haven't left you. What would you do without me?" Howard said, beaming down at Vince.
"I'd probably be a wreck," Vince answered truthfully. "Those two weeks you were off wherever you were with Jurgen, that was awful. I don't know how I'd cope if you ditched me like them." Vince buried his face in the crook of Howard's neck. Howard put a hand under Vince's chin and lifted his face up so they had eye contact.
"I'd never ditch you, Vince," Howard all but whispered, before placing a tender kiss upon Vince's lips. Howard froze when he realised what he'd done, but thawed out immediately when he felt Vince's soft lips against his own again. They continued kissing, just soft, tender kisses, nothing at all like their very first on the roof on Howard's birthday. Howard pulled away for a moment to murmur, "I love you, Vince."
Vince's eyes welled up with tears for the second time that night. "I love you too, Howard." Vince kissed Howard again before settling down on the bed, flush against Howard and holding onto him like a lifeline. "Stay with me?"
"Always."