A/N: This is a very strange concept for a crossover, and I only hope it works. To me, Community is the most optimistic, hopeful and light comedy I've ever seen, whereas Peep Show is the most bleak, pessimistic and dark. The styles couldn't be more fundamentally different either - Community is whimsical, Peep Show is ruthlessly realistic. Their comedy comes from completely different places, with Community finding humour in the cheerfully absurd and Peep Show poking (often vicious) fun at everyday interactions and the thoughts we suppress. They could not be more of polar opposites, which is what makes it a good idea for a fic.
This is my first fic in a while, and I see it as a sequel or remake of sorts to my first, the Exchange. Community stands in for Glee naturally, as the two shows are relatively similar, though Community is far better. And Peep Show stands in for the Inbetweeners; I won't say it's better, but when I first wrote the Exchange, I was a lot younger and had very few cares, so naturally I related to the Inbetweeners. Now I'm older and have more worries, and while I always loved Peep Show I relate to it a hell of a lot now. This intro comes with a massive apology for unfinished stories for anyone who follows me. This story is for finishing.
This takes place after the conclusion of both shows, because I'm yearning for the return of both and this is my coping mechanism.
Chapter 1
Abed Nadir had spent very little time in his tiny LA apartment over the last week. He'd put in much more time on the set than the other production assistants, bothering almost anyone that would give him the time of day with endless questions about their role on set and how it could be replicated on an independent, one man production. Apart from that, he'd fallen in with a small group of fellow interns from the show. He hadn't particularly warmed to any of them, and they treated him as a backdrop to their own conversations. But they reminded him of the study group, who he could only reach through Skype until he went back to Greendale in two weeks. And that was all he needed out of them.
Tonight, he had left the set around ten minutes early, a distinct record for him, and gone straight home. He had Skyped with Troy for an hour and then commenced a marathon binge of Inspector Spacetime. It was two hours into this binge when he'd started to hear noises in his apartment. He'd been watching a classic from the earlier seasons, one where the Blorgons were using Nazi technology to wage war on London, and eating buttered noodles. When he heard the small creaking sound, his ears pricked up and he spun around faster than a human blink. The noise was coming from the hallway closet, which he had transformed into a makeshift Dreamatorium one boring Sunday. He stood up and edged closer to the partially-opened closet, his heart beating. When he heard the voice, he nearly jumped through the roof.
"Hello, Abed," said a familiar voice. Out of the closet stepped his goatee-sporting counterpart from the darkest timeline, wearing a dark robe he insisted wasn't a nightgown. He had a strange look on his face, one Abed hadn't seen before.
"Hello, Evil Abed," he replied. "Formerly Evil Abed," he corrected himself after his doppelganger's heel-face turn. "You startled me. Why are you here? You only turn up when things go bad for me. I've got a dream job. We rescued Troy from pirates in the Gulf of Mexico and now he's waiting for me back in Greendale with the rest of my friends. Apart from Annie, who's going to get back to Greendale at the same time as me. The timeline is as bright as it'll ever be."
"True," his counterpart replied. "That's why I'm here. This timeline must remain the brightest. And there's a threat over the horizon."
"Cool," said Abed. "Cool cool cool. What's the threat?"
"It's not cool, Abed," Formerly-Evil Abed replied. "Your world is about to face it's darkest threat. It wants to make your timeline the darkest of all, darker than mine could be in its deepest imagination."
"Okay," said Abed breathlessly. "I'm not going to ask you what it is. You're me, and you know that the threat is always left vague to amp up the tension."
"Exactly."
"What I am going to ask you is how I can stop it," Abed replied. "Maybe a hint?"
"I can give you a hint," said his doppelganger. "You're going to want to make sure all the players are in place for this one. That means Annie and Shirley. I would say Pierce as well but I'm not a necromancer. Though that would be cool."
"It would," said Abed. "Okay. Thanks for the warning. Do you mind if I get back to Inspector Spacetime now?"
His doppelganger glared and pointed a finger. His voice had turned dark and sinister with shocking speed. "Heed my words, Abed Nadir!" he boomed. "Heed my warning or your doom will be your reward!"
Abed remained impassive. "That was cool," he said, without emotion. "How did you do that?"
"Troy made one for me," he replied, shifting his robe to reveal an artificial voicebox. "He's on the side of good again."
"Can you do Batman?"
"First thing I installed," his doppelganger said, switching his voice to a rough Christian Bale impression with the press of a small button on the side.
"Cool," Abed said. His darkest timeline twin then returned to the Dreamatorium without another word. Abed stood there for a moment, processing this information in his head. By the time he turned around, he had a clear idea of what had to be done. He switched off the phone and got ready to start dialling.
"Hey, Markster!" said the bookish-looking, bespectacled man at the door of Mark Corrigan's flat at Zodiac Court. He held several six packs of lager in a carrier bag. "How's it going?"
Good old Ian, Mark thought. Only person at Dartmouth not to use that nickname in mocking irony.
Mark led Ian Duncan into the living room and the two sat down, Ian cracking open two lagers on a silent cue. Mark hadn't seen Ian for years, and they hadn't been particularly kind. Ian had always dressed like a librarian, but Mark couldn't remember his hair being this flat and greasy, or his teeth needing as much dental work, but he was essentially the same man.
"Hi, Ian!" Jeremy Usborne said, and popped his head in the door from his bedroom. He picked up a beer and popped it effortlessly.
"Jez!" Ian returned warmly. "How's it going?"
I'm a bisexual, unemployed life coach and my best friend hates my guts, Jeremy thought. How the fuck do you think it's going?
"Great," he said flatly.
"How long has it been?" Ian asked. "I missed you two! The El Dude Brothers?Dartmouth's premier bad boys?"
Don't quite think he's talking about us now, thought Mark. "Yeah, it's been a long time, Ian," he said brightly, taking a sip of beer.
"Jez!" said Ian. "Mark told me on the phone you're a gay now! Congratulations. Benefit of hindsight I suppose but I always had a feeling."
"Yeah?" asked Jeremy.
"Yeah," said Ian. "Back in halls you and that guy Pej used to get really drunk, then go into your room for ages. Afterwards it was all weird looks and awkwardness." He grinned. "How is Pej? What's he doing at the moment?"
"The national Dutch police would like to know the same thing," said Mark. "They've been hoping he can assist them with their enquiries for a while."
"Stellar," said Ian. "And what about you, Markster? When we spoke on the phone you said you got fired and were out of work. How does that happen? You're like Captain Employment. You spent Darty Freshers' Week rewriting your CV. What happened?"
Sighing, Mark gave his guest an uncomfortable recap of the events of the last couple of years, from his courtship with and extremely short marriage to Sophie, to Dobby, to baby Ian, to the closure of JLB and his odd jobs since. Jeremy chimed in, telling Ian about his attempts at hitting the big time as a musician, Toni, Nancy, Big Suze, Elena, and ZaraZara, as well as his coming out and the life coaching. Ian listened politely, finishing several beers in the process.
"Wow," he said, when the story wound down. "You two have been through the shit. No lie there. "
"Yep," said Mark, bluntly. "Anyway, that's us. How are you doing, Ian? You said you were coming from America?"
"Yes, that's actually part of the reason I got in touch!" Ian replied. "Yeah, I'm back in London over the summer visiting family in Islington. I'm a professor now, I teach psychology at this college in Colorado. A community college, which is a bit like a polytechnic. It's nice!"
"It sounds great," said Jeremy. "But why did you want to talk to us about it?"
"Well..." he paused. "You see, Greendale, that's the place, is kind of a degree farm. You really don't need to be a master in your field to work there. Look at me, I got a 2:2 at Darty and got my PhD in Bulgaria, and I'm one of their top guys. And that was before! Greendale just got bought out by a current student who inherited a fortune. He's changed the place around totally, especially down to hiring. Doesn't care about qualifications as long as you know what you're teaching about. I thought maybe...just maybe...the two of you would want to apply?"
"Apply?!" said Mark incredulously. "Why? And what subject?"
"History, obviously."
"History?" Mark mimicked. "I never studied history, Ian. I did business studies."
"Experience related qualifications," he replied with a hand wave. "You published a history book, didn't you? Management Secrets of the Sultans, you said?"
"Business Secrets of the Pharaos," Mark corrected. "And it wasn't published, it was printed. Badly. By a company I subsequently took to court."
"Details," said Ian. "We'll send it in via PDF. And Jeremy, if you do a life coaching course we don't need to embellish anything because you're fully qualified! It'll be shooting fish in a barrell. Which I have done once, drunk, and I can assure you it's as easy as it is sadistically satisfying."
"And if they realise that the book and the certificate were published by the same company?" Mark asked coldly.
Ian shook his head. "There's a special allowance in the school's annual budget for Nigerian prince scams. The Dean is...let's just call him a trusting man."
"It sounds convincing," Mark admitted. "But look, I have a life here, sort of. I have a son! I have baby Ian!"
"My namesake?"
"Well he's not named after you if that's what you're getting at, but yes."
"When was the last time you saw baby Ian?" the adult Ian asked. "Just out of interest."
"Three weeks ago, I watched him when Sophie went to Norfolk," Mark replied.
"And did that overly upset you?" Ian asked, finishing another can and giving him a probing stare. Mark paused briefly.
He's going to lie to a psychologist, thought Jeremy. You're not allowed to lie to a psychologist. It's the law. The...brain law.
"Not really," Mark admitted. "I mean, yeah, I feel like I should yearn to spend time with him. But it just isn't happening! I tell Sophie I'm happy to be a dad but I can't sound convincing."
"Look, far be it for me to tell a father not to be involved with his son's life," said Ian. "I did it once with a student, and the mother of his kid broke into my office and pepper-asprayed me. Most confusing erection I've ever got. But it strikes me you're unhappy, and Jeremy, it sounds like you're even less happy as a gay than you were as a straight. And gay literally means happy! Oh, the irony." He opened up another beer. "A few months, maybe even a couple of years, away is not going to destroy your relationship with your son."
Maybe long term he can live with me, Mark thought. Push on with the old gaslighting plan with Sophie, get her sectioned. Oh look, you've put custard in your shoes, darling. No, I don't know why you put the coffee table in the shower, honey. Maybe you shouldn't have weed under the stairs, sweetheart.
"It's not a bad idea," he said, reluctantly. "But what...what is this, Ian? Being honest, we got on well enough at Dartmouth but if I was at JLB and wanted to recruit someone I knew, I wouldn't go all the way to America to bring it to you."
"Well, I told you, I was back home anyway. Look. Greendale's teachers have a higher turnover rate than prison snitches. No genuine teacher stays at the school very long. And when you farm the teaching positions out to the local community you get the real dregs, and I of course mean meth-heads. The Dean said that if anyone has reliable people that can fill the vacancy and have some sort of experience, they'll be considered."
"I have been called reliable," said Mark. By my dad, sarcastically, after I was seven minutes late for dinner on Easter.
And if I'm honest...I love America, and Americans, but I've been homesick for a while now. I've got friends, but only one close friend, and I nearly conned him out of his Lexus. It is...not the best place to be an arrogant, sarcastic Englishman." He shook his head. "What I need is some good old-fashioned Brits to tag along with. And I'd really rather prefer they be my friends. Or at least, people I was friends with once."
A tone of loneliness, so subtle that neither listener clocked it properly, seeped into his voice. When he lapsed into a brief silence Jeremy stood up and took a short breath.
"Look, Mark," he said. "I might think of you as an anal-retentive tosser and you might think of me as a sponging cockmuncher, but we know everything about each other when it comes down to it. Do you know why you're throwing up all these objections? Because a part of you thinks that this is one of those rare, late in life chances to break away from forty solid years of mediocrity, boredom and self-loathing. And the part of your brain that revels in all that is panicking and throwing up any resistance it can. Mark...for all you piss on America, it's the perfect place for you. A place where social awkwardness gets you a network TV deal, not stared and pointed at on the bus. And teaching history? Come on! I saw the little glint in your eye when we were watching Gladiator and you were going on about Roman feasting rituals. All I asked was what they ate! You paused the fucking film! This is you mate. Don't let those little bastard doubts get to you. Take the shot."
"Good speech, Jez!" said Ian. "That was almost a Winger!"
"A what?" Jeremy asked.
"Doesn't matter. Anyway. That was good."
"Well," Jeremy said, winking at Mark, "I am a life coach!"
"It's a yes from me, Ian," said Mark, brightly. "Fuck it! Let's have an adventure. We'll do it, Ian."
"Brilliant!" he said enthusiastically. "It'll mean a lot to the guys to get a few new faces in. I'll fill you in on all the details." He finished his beer, feeling himself get slightly tipsy. "And look, we need lots of bodies, so if you have friends that have particular talents, by all means mention them to me! As I say, degrees are handy but good experience will do."
Mark and Jeremy exchanged a glance. "We know a couple of people," said Mark.