Coffee Yeah Baby!, a hot fuzz fanfic

Coffee (Yeah Baby!)

Author: Firebird

Rating: T (Language)

Disclaimer: Neither Hot Fuzz, nor its characters, nor its settings, are mine. They are all used here without permission.

Author's Note: For some reason, I've long pictured Nicholas, Danny, and Doris becoming close friends. This fic was sparked by Max Evelyn's review of Scrambled Eggs, which indicated an interest in seeing caffeinated, hungover Nicholas in action. Maybe one day I'll write a story about the three of them that doesn't involve alcohol abuse (reviews could encourage this process, hint, hint.). Title is a line from Hoodwinked!, another favourite movie of mine which features many wacky hijinks.

"Ah, fuck."

There was no other word with which to express his feelings. Nicholas' head hurt like a bastard. Beer. Beer was evil. The work of the devil. No wonder the churches preached against it. Then they celebrated Mass. With wine. Go figure. Religion was beyond him at the best of times, and right now was not even close to being the best of times.

"Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death," he quoted sarcastically to no one in particular.

He pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards the bathroom. That at least took care of his other source of throbbing discomfort, leaving him with nothing to distract him from the pain in his head. He rummaged in the bathroom cupboard for painkillers. Normally he avoided defiling his body with drugs, but that ship had sailed some time last night, when he'd given in to Danny and Doris' urgings not to worry if he got 'a little drunk', so to hell with it. He finally located the box, hiding in plain sight by the basin. Danny had evidently gotten there first. His friend had slept in the spare room the night before, Nicholas having confiscated his keys after ignoring both his protests that he was sober enough to drive and his reminder that the last time his car had been trashed it was Nicholas who had done the trashing.

Drugs working their way into his system, he headed for the kitchen. Doris was a huddled heap on his sofa, still in more or less the same position which she had passed out in shortly before they had called it a night, but Danny was indeed already up and rummaging in the fridge. The younger man glanced round as his friend walked in.

"You look like shit. Got anything to eat?"

"'Good morning, Nicholas, how are you this morning?' 'Been better, Danny, I have to be honest. Feel free to help yourself to breakfast.'" Nicholas supplied both sides of a conversation which had never actually taken place.

"Yeah, whatever. You got any actual food?"

"There's fruit in the fruit bowl, bran flakes or wholemeal bread in the cupboard, and yoghurt in the fridge."

"That'd be a 'no', then."

Danny turned and headed back towards the stairs.

"Where're you going?"

Danny, clad only in boxers and a t-shirt, glanced down at himself. "Gonna get dressed. Can't go out for breakfast lookin' like this."

On the sofa, Doris stirred and moaned. "Will you two please shut the fuck up?" she complained. "Some of us are trying to die in peace."

Twenty minutes later all three of them were seated by a window at The Dozy Dormouse, one of two cafes in the village which served breakfast.

"I still don't see why we couldn't have eaten at my place," Nicholas grumbled. "I have plenty of food."

"Depends on your definition of food," Danny countered.

Nicholas opened his mouth to respond in kind, but was cut off by Doris. "Shut it, both of you," she snapped. "I can't take any more of this without coffee. Preferably administered intravenously."

Danny gave her a bewildered look. "How're you still even capable of managin' words like that?"

"Orders, officers?" The waitress was about eighteen, and looked as though she had slept on a bed of flowers, awakened joyfully at dawn to sing with the birds, and bathed her face in the fresh dew of the fields. All three police officers felt an immediate and irrational antipathy towards her.

"Full cooked breakfasts all 'round," Danny told her.

"And a pot of coffee," Doris added. "An' keep it coming."

"Regular or decaf?"

Doris narrowed her eyes. "Espresso."

"Actually, I'd prefer a vegetarian breakfast," Nicholas interjected.

"No, he wouldn't," Danny corrected, glancing at his friend. "I'll eat your meat."

It was a mark of how thoroughly rotten they were all feeling that Doris let that pass with no more than a wan, though still dirty, smile.

Coffee arrived, and Doris poured a cup, then another, then another.

"No, I don't want one." Nicholas pushed his cup away.

"Tough, you're havin' one. Or have you forgotten we're on duty in less than an hour?" Doris retorted. Nicholas' lips tightened, but he sipped obediently before spitting the mouthful back into the cup.

"Good grief, I'd forgotten how awful this stuff tastes."

"Try sugar," Danny suggested. "And milk."

"Or just not drinking it."

"Drink," Doris commanded, evoking a flashback to the previous night.

"I'm pretty sure that's how I ended up like this," he muttered, following Danny's suggestion before tentatively trying another sip. Still foul, but at least he was ready for it this time. How was it, he wondered, that these two individuals, both the better part of a decade younger than him, and both his subordinates in rank, could nevertheless spend much of their personal time bossing him around as though he were a beloved but slow-witted younger sibling? He felt a surge of nostalgia for the good old days, when Danny had looked up to him and the others had either ignored him or else openly mocked and derided him.

Those days were, of course, long gone, and less than an hour later Inspector Nicholas Angel was attempting to knot his tie in preparation for another thrilling day of paperwork. He frowned slightly at the tremor in his hands, and jiggled on the spot in impatience.

"Bloody tie," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Danny asked, busy buttoning his own shirt.

"I said, 'bloody tie'," Nicholas responded. "Honestly, there are times when I feel like a dog on a leash, or as though I'm being prepared for the gallows. Which reminds me, I have a teleconference with Chief Inspector Brown today. Hope the Andys've filed their reports. The ones I need. Because I need their reports. For the teleconference. The one with Chief Inspector Brown. Hope their reports are correct. Bloody reports. What was I saying?"

Danny just shook his head. "Something about reports and not liking your tie. To be honest, it was all a bit quick for me to follow."

"Huh. Oh well, can't have been important. See you out there."

"Where are your reports?"

"What reports?"

"The ones I need for the teleconference with the Chief Inspector."

"We ain't mind-readers, Nick," Wainwright whined. "You're gonna have to be more specific."

"You're detectives, right? And your job is to detect. And, having done that, to report on what it was you detected. So, I need the reports on what you've been detecting lately, particularly as it relates to crime, and the prevention and detention of the perpetrators thereof. Am I making myself clear?"

"Not really," Cartwright said tentatively.

Nicholas sighed. "I'm trying, Andrew, I'm trying to explain, only no-one seems to be listening to me! You filed reports for all your cases in the last three months, correct? And," he went on without waiting for an answer, "you were then to write a summary report for each month, which you assured me yesterday would be ready for me today, only now it appears that you don't have them. For God's sake, how hard is it for you two to do your bloody jobs?"

"Do you mean the reports we gave you yesterday afternoon?" Wainwright suggested, taking a step back in case this answer provoked a further tirade. He had no idea what was wrong with his commanding officer, but he was currently only understanding about a third of what was being said to him, which was a worry given that he'd spent pretty much his entire career working with Bob Walker.

"Yesterday afternoon?" Nicholas tried to focus, but concentrating on a single thought right now was like trying to recapture a whole flock of recalcitrant swans. Reports. That was what he needed. Then everything would be okay.

"Yeah, I gave them to you, and you said 'thank you, Andrew, I'll look at them shortly,' and put them in your in-tray."

Nicholas blinked. "You mean the bloody reports have been in my in-tray this whole time, and you're only just telling me now? Then I can go read the reports."

He turned abruptly and strode briskly away, still muttering to himself. The two detectives exchanged a worried look and headed for the main office.

Evidently, Hurricane Nicholas had just passed through, at least if the harried expressions and rustling papers were anything to go by.

"Anyone got any idea what the hell's wrong with Nick today?" Wainwright asked. There was a moment's silence, then:

"She did it! It's all her fault!" Danny Butterman, nerves strained to breaking point, exclaimed, pointing a panicky and slightly trembling finger at Doris.

"Me? Oh, thanks a lot, Danny. Some friend you are."

The Andys stalked towards her desk and leaned over her in what they obviously thought was a menacing manner. Given that this was the Andys, it was actually more ridiculous than intimidating, and between her hangover and her Nicholas-frayed nerves Doris couldn't help but give a staccato burst of nervous laughter.

"What. Did. You. Do. To. Him?" Wainwright enunciated, slowly and clearly.

"Nothing! Just gave him a cup of coffee to help with his hangover, that's all. How was I supposed to know this was gonna happen?"

The two detectives exchanged a Look.

"Nicholas. Doesn't. Drink. Coffee." Cartwright proclaimed, speaking as slowly as his partner had.

"Well, he did today."

"Bad. Idea." Wainwright looked at Cartwright. "Andy, get the Jaffa cakes."

Cartwright blinked. "Are you sure? I mean, Nicholas is in an even fouler mood than usual, but, the Jaffa cakes?"

"C'mon Andy. She's learned her lesson," Danny urged, eager to make amends for ratting her out. "It ain't really necessary, is it?"

A crash from Nicholas' office, followed by a muffled but obviously rapid-fire and colourful stream of invective, caused them all to fall silent and glance anxiously towards the closed door.

"No, you're right Andrew, I deserve it," Doris acceded meekly.

Cartwright left the room and returned a moment later, bearing a plate covered in the chocolate-topped, orangy-biscuit-sponge treat.

"Now," Wainwright told Doris, as the plate was set in front of her, "take a long, hard look at these Jaffa cakes. Breathe in their delicious smell. Savour the sight of them, the promise of them. Remember their delicious taste." Doris did as she was told. "Now, place your right hand over your heart, raise your left hand high, and repeat after me. I, Doris Maureen Thatcher..."

"I, Doris Maureen Thatcher..."

"Do solemnly swear..."

"To never again supply Nicholas Angel..."

"With coffee, or any other caffeinated beverage stronger than tea..."

"At any time, or under any circumstances..."

"As long as we both shall live."

"As long as we both shall live. Does that 'both' mean him and me, or me and you?"

Andrew scowled. "Which do you think? And should I break this solemn vow..."

"And should I break this solemn vow..."

"May I never taste another Jaffa cake again..."

"So help me God and Jaffa cakes."

Wainwright nodded his approval. "Good girl. Now let this be a lesson to you." The door to Nicholas' office opened. "Shit." The two detectives scarpered, while Doris and Danny bent guilty heads over their paperwork. Even at the best of times Nicholas would not have understood the solemn ritual which they had just enacted, and under the current circumstances there was no telling how he might react to it.

"Danny, I was wondering whether we had any paperwork on swans. As such. Particularly in relation to our ongoing difficulties with the local delinquent waterfowl. You know, I never knew waterfowl could be delinquent until I moved here. As if the NWA weren't bad enough. Bloody murderers. Mountains of paperwork, no consideration for others. Oh, Jaffa cakes." Nicholas Angel, the man who normally never touched anything cake or cake-related, took two. "What was I saying? It's gone. Well, see to it would you?"

He retreated back into his office. Doris and Danny exchanged a look.

"Never again," Doris vowed.

"Never again," Danny agreed.

Several hours later, the pair realised that there had been silence from Nicholas' office for some time.

"Maybe we should go check on him," Danny whispered.

"You can go check on him," Doris replied, in similarly hushed tones. "I've had enough Manic-olas for one day."

"You were the one gave him coffee."

"I said sorry. I vowed never to do it again."

"Don't matter. Still your responsibility."

She sighed and tiptoed towards his door. "Nicholas?" she tapped tentatively. "Everything okay, chief?"

There was a low groan, and she risked sticking her head around the door. Nicholas was seated behind his desk, forehead bowed low, his head resting on a pile of paperwork.

"You alright, chief?"

"I think I need more coffee."

"Yeah, um, we're all out. How about a nice cup of tea?"