Warning: death, mild swearing, and sap. Boo.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hot Fuzz or 'Fix You Up.'

This is basically my therapy. Had crappy news about someone in my family and wrote a story to vent. Hope you enjoy it. It certainly made me feel better. Please excuse the fact that it is a song fic. It's a good song.

Lyrics from Fix You Up by Tegan & Sara

What do I need to do to see myself in a better mood?

Danny and Nicholas sat in the squad car. They were in the main square and within walking distance of Annette's and Somerfield. It was a cold, rainy day and passers-by didn't stop for a chat. Nicholas was grateful.

"…Good for a shoot-out, eh?"

Nicholas straightened and stared. "What?"

"The jackets," Danny repeated patiently, "everybody has big jackets. It'd be a good time for a shoot-out."

"Oh. Yeah." Nicholas stared vacantly out the window. He watched the hunched, hurried shapes of villagers retreat to awnings and shop doors. They were greeted with smiles, handshakes, and easy conversation. He closed his eyes and listened to raindrops pelt the car.

"Hey. You alright?" Danny leaned close, breath warm and sweet.

"Hmm?" Nicholas opened his eyes and met his partner's stare. "Of course I am." He cleared his throat and pretended to watch the traffic. After an awkward pause, he asked, "do you ever get tired, Danny?"

"All the time."

"No. I mean tired of all this." Nicholas made an expansive gesture. "Of here and these people."

"No." Danny frowned. "Don't think so, anyway."

"Mm."

"Sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Danny."

And what do you need to do to get yourself in a better mood?

Nicholas stood and stared at the evidence room. Its security lock glowed red in the dimness. Everyone was in the main office talking. Only the resident hedgehog moved, and Roger regarded him with great suspicion before retreating to the shadows underneath a spare desk.

"Think he's gone a bit loony?"

"Seems down…."

"After molestin' Skinner in his own shop, I'd be gloomy too."

Loud, careless laughter.

"Don't say that."

"Whatsamatter Danny? Finally realized your personal hero is a wanker?"

"Just don't!"

Nicholas blinked and glanced down the hall. He waited for a response, something to break the tension, but no one spoke. His first reaction was to retreat, to do duties elsewhere then lose himself in the anonymity outside work.

But it was Sandford. Python-tight.

"It's about half-past eleven. Pub?"

An unenthusiastic chorus of agreement. Then, "where's Nick?"

"Probably wankin' to Skinner's security tapes."

"Andy!"

"What?"

"Nick's right. You two are bloody useless."

"Take it easy, love. Just calm down—hey, hey! Do not throw that lamp, Andrew. I swear to God I'll kill the lot of you."

"Christ, Doris."

"I've had it up to here! I've a right mind to just hop on the next bus to Buford Abbey."

Silence.

"Maybe we shouldn't bother Nicholas. He's probably busy."

What I wanted most was to get myself all figured out

Danny's face brimmed with intensity. He looked very serious, but he stood aside without complaint. "Sure, come on in."

"Thanks." Nicholas sighed heavily and walked into Danny's flat. Boxes were stacked haphazardly around the room and the distinctive smell of week-old food hung in the air. He stood in front of the couch, riveted by its lived-in angles.

"Whatchya got there?"

"Hmm? Oh." Nicholas set the small cardboard box down on the floor. "This is the stuff I was talking about. I just don't have enough room in that hotel. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Nah." Danny took a long sip of his beer. "I mean, there ain't much you can do 'till your cottage is ready." He automatically headed towards his DVD library. "Spencer Hill's a nice place. Comfy like." He threw Nicholas a significant look.

"Ah." Nicholas stared at a nearby picture of Frank, Danny, and his mum. "Sounds like a nice place."

"Yeah." Danny grasped Die Hard III and handed it to Nicholas. "Feel up to it?"

"I really should go."

"Why?"

"It's late and we have work tomorrow."

Danny's eyes bored into Nicholas. "Sit," he said with a curt nod to the couch. When this was done, he sat on the armrest and took another sip of beer. "I know what's been botherin' you."

Nicholas lifted his head, eyes wide. "You…do?"

"Sure I do. Don't see why you're hidin' it from the rest of them." Danny managed a small smile. "We've all been there, Nick. Can't be number one all the time."

"What?" Nicholas looked stunned. He nodded slowly, expression sealing shut. "Thank you, Danny. I'll keep that in mind."

"Oi, don't worry about it." Danny nudged him. "You just need time to adjust. Wait and see, Nick. We'll grow on you. Now, you stay here and I'll grab some more beer. Work can wait. Let's have some fun!"

And what I figured out was I needed more time to figure you out

Danny decided to take the day off. Outside was a whirlwind of whispers. The phone rang once every half-hour, but he didn't answer it. Someone would come over soon. He didn't mind. The crisps and beer from last night littered his second-hand coffee table. He spotted the cardboard box Nicholas had dropped off and slowly opened it.

Inside were old rental papers from a London flat. A binder brimmed with awards and recommendations and a university diploma. Underneath the sediment of work and school, there were smaller things. A broken pen. A dress watch that was twenty minutes slow. A mobile phone. Ten American dollars, thirty Euros, and five pounds. Headphones—the good kind that fit around the ear. He dug deeper and hit the bottom of the box. He stood up and chewed pensively on his lower lip.

The phone rang. Danny let it.

Then he heard another noise. Buzzing. He bent down and clumsily searched through Nicholas' belongings. The mobile vibrated every three seconds, its screen flashing bright orange with 1:30 PM – Danny! It rumbled against the box wall for four agonizing heartbeats before Danny picked it up.

1:30 PM notice. View?

Danny pressed yes and waited. The numbers one and four had nearly been worn off the keypad. Stark black text appeared on a digitized white background. Under the appointment heading was simply, 'fridge.'

Danny strode into his messy kitchen and looked at his refrigerator. He studied it, bewildered. After a long moment, he opened the door. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor like a leaf.

It was a picture of Nicholas as a boy. He stood imperiously in his police peddle-car, club in one hand and steering wheel in the other. His hat sat askew on his head and revealed a messy blond fringe. Danny turned it over, but there was no writing on the back. No hidden message. He took a magnet and stuck it to his fridge.

The phone rang again. Danny shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room. He inhaled a shaky breath and answered.

You bring it up and bring it in and we'll get you fixed up in no time

Tony looked pale and displeased. "Don't think you want to go in there."

Danny shrugged nonchalantly, but his eyes were dark. "It's fine." He ignored the sergeant's measuring stare and opened the door. Frank and Andy Wainwright stood in the middle of the Castle Suite, their expressions betrayed nothing as Danny joined them.

"Christ," Andy said and nudged the gun on the floor. It was a poorly maintained Remington Colt .45, and its evidence tag still dangled off of its sleek black and grey barrel. Frank gave him a sharp look. "What? It's not a mystery how he went."

"Why don't you go downstairs and wait for CSI."

Andy scoffed, but his relief was palpable as he marched out of the room. Frank and Danny stood quietly, the only sound between them was the threadbare ticking of Nicholas' watch.

"He tried to tell me," Danny muttered, "but I didn't get it."

Frank put his arm around Danny's shoulders. "It's not your fault. Men like Nicholas are…delicate. He was wound so tight when he came here it was just a matter of time before somethin' set him off." When Danny hung his head, he gently shook his son. "Don't rough yourself up over this. He didn't belong in Sandford, we all knew that."

"But I'm his partner. I should've seen it."

"I thought the same thing about your mother." Frank gave him a soft, understanding look over his spectacles. "Come on now. Let's get out of here."

Danny nodded mutely and allowed himself to be steered out of the room. He glanced over his shoulder and met Nicholas' half-lidded stare. He suddenly stopped walking.

"Danny?"

"Just remembered somethin'."

"Oh?" Frank's hand squeezed his shoulder. "What's that?"

'This isn't the big city, Mr. Angel! Not everybody's a murderin' psychopath!'

Danny dropped his eyes and started walking again. "Nothin' really. Just seems so obvious now."

Frank shut the door behind them. "Hindsight's 20/20, Danny. No use dwelling on it."

"Ya." Danny put his helmet on, but Nicholas' desperate expression was carved into the back of his eyelids.

This love is all I have to give

R&R if you want. Don't if you don't. It's a bit sloppy, but therapy usually is. Maybe I'll come back and redo some bits later, but for now I hope you liked it. I'm trying to get a handle on angst without resorting to melodrama. Cheers!