Disclaimer: I am not any of the following: Dylan Moran, Simon Pegg, Jessica Hynes (Stevenson), Nira Park, Graham Lineham, Edgar Wright, or anyone else involved in the making of either of these two shows. If I was, they'd still be running today. Just so you know.

AN: Now that I've got my unusually long and boring disclaimer out of the way...

I thought it was strange that there were no Black Books/Spaced crossovers, especially since the two shows are so closely linked. I mean, they've got the same bloody producer! So I decided I was going to write the first one. I hope you like it, and I appreciate reviews very much!

I'm going to feel really stupid if someone's written one and put it online now. I haven't checked recently D:

Oh well!

The reason for the internet

Chapter 1: A meeting of (minds?)

Manny was bored.

It had been a fairly empty day in the shop and, as far as he knew, Bernard was still fast asleep. He'd been sleeping ever since the morning, when he had drunk a whole bottle of vodka in one go and passed out on the floor. Manny had carried him up to his bedroom, being careful to avoid the 'Thing' under his bed. At least he always knew now to have a banana ready.

Outside, a dressy woman walked by the shop, high heels clicking and clacking, her bright yellow clothes cutting through the dark night like a very sharp knife. Was she a customer? No, she had gone. It was a completely insignificant event, but Manny was completely fed up of having nothing new happening. He was also hungry. And there was some actual food in the fridge. So, forgetting the woman incredibly quickly, he dashed into the kitchen/dining room in the back of the shop. His stomach gave a menacing growl.

''Okay, okay, I'll get you a sandwich!'' Manny was past the point where he thought there was anything strange about talking to his stomach. Ten years of working in the dingy bookshop had messed up his brain so badly, he was no longer aware of what was humanly classed as 'normal'. At least that's what the psychiatrists had said. Before Bernard had cut his wage too low, and now he couldn't pay for them. But that was okay, he didn't think he needed them any more.

When he opened the fridge, a wave of cold air slapped him in the face. He peered into it, looking for the sandwich and ice cream that he'd bought with some money stolen from the till, and shivered. It was completely frozen over, the items Manny had been looking for were stuck to the side, looking pitifully, greyishly inedible. His stomach rumbled again.

''Not this time, I'm afraid,'' he said morosely. Another night without food. He needed something else to do, something that could take his mind off the hunger. He needed the internet.

In the main bookshop was a laptop. On Bernard's desk, beside the empty wine glasses and cigarette ends. He would just pop out and get it.

Manny hurried into the shop, tripping up over the vomit coloured curtains in his haste, and falling flat on his face, managing to knock over the wooden chair as well. It fell on top of him, pressing down on his back heavier than a person. He held his breath. The noise created by his fall was so loud that...

''MANNY!''

He groaned. Bernard was bad at the best of times. A lot worse when he had just been woken up. But with a hangover as well...

''WHAT IS THAT? THAT ABOMINATION? IT'S AWFUL, IT'S DISCRACEFUL, IT'S... IT'S...'' At that moment, a greasy, dark haired man burst through the curtain, promptly tripped over Manny sprawled across the floor, and fell hard on top of the chair. Manny cried out in pain at the extra weight.

''Bernard, get off!'' he half shouted. Bernard gave an unintelligable mumble, but climbed off the chair, and Manny breathed a sigh of relief. The sigh turned into a yelp of pain as he felt a large sweaty hand on the back of his t-shirt, pulling him into an awkward bend. The man holding him up leaned closer to him, until he could smell his breath on his face.

''You...'' he began, but was interrupted by the door slamming open and Fran's acrid voice shrieking out.

''Bernard!'' she cried. ''Where are you, I...'' Her voice faltered as she took in the scene behind the counter. Manny couldn't actually see her, but he knew what she was like. All of her habits.

''What on Earth are you...'' Once again she stopped mid sentence. Bernard dropped Manny, who breathed a sigh of relief before he hit the floor, banging his nose hard against the wooden floorboards.

''Owwwww!'' he yelled. ''Bernard! What did you do that for?''He heard the clattering of Fran's never-sensible-enough shoes as she came to help him up. She always seemed to care about him. He felt the cool touch of her hands on his shoulders, encouraging him to stand. He gave a long groan as he stood up, and as the chair fell off his back, making another resounding crash. Bernard growled at the sound, but Fran's presense seemed to control him. For now.

''Oh, thank you Fran, thank you!'' he exclaimed graciously. ''I don't know what I would have done without you!'' Behind him, Bernard was doing a strange impersonation of what he'd just said, forgetting that he was visible to all of them in the window of the shop.

''Ooh, ooh, Bernard, guess what?'' Fran said excitedly, seeming to have forgotten completely about Manny's ordeal. Manny turned around to face Bernard. His 'Manny' impression had been dropped, and he had assumed a look similar to the sky outside.

''What? What is it? Why do you always come to me with all the... with all the news and... stuff,'' he finished weakly. His talking was accentuated with wild hand gestures, which didn't entirely suit the words he was saying. Fran missed out on his tone of voice completely.

''Well, do you remember that dating site I joined?'' He nodded, eyes already drooping with boredom.

''Well...'' she continued. But Bernard cut her off.

''What do you mean, 'well'? Why do you keep saying 'well'? What is it with you and the word 'well'? Can you ever start a sentence like a normal person?''

Fran stared at him dumbly. Manny had always liked her dumb look; it accentuated her high cheekbones. He shook his head suddenly. A drop of red flew from his nose to the floor. Great. Now his nose was bleeding.

''Anyway,'' she went on, clearly ignoring Bernard's outburst. ''I've met someone! We're meeting tomorrow at noon. Look at him!'' She fumbled with the heavy clasp of her purple handbag, and began to search through it. Bernard and Manny looked at each other with the same expression on their faces that they always had when Fran had a new date or, as they liked to call them, experiments:Uh-oh!

She dropped her bag at that moment, but clutched a photo in her scarlet tipped fingers. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled. ''Look at him!'' she repeated, more insistent this time, holding out the photo for the two of them to take. Manny plucked it from her hands before Bernard could get his own greasy hands on it, and they peered at it, looking puzzled.

Manny looked up first to see Fran's face beaming at them expectantly. He hesitated before saying what he wanted to say, but still he had to say it.

''He is a bit... weird looking, isn't he?'' Bernard scoffed at the words.

''As opposed to a monkey with a bit of hair dangling from his chin?'' he said viciously. A pause. And then...

''What's his name?'' he asked, fed up of looking at the strange man in Fran's picture. Manny handed it back to Fran, who slipped it in her coat pocket.

''Brian Topp,'' she mumbled, her face turning red at their less-than-enthusiastic reaction.

Bernard looked at Fran. Fran looked at Bernard. And then both of them turned their faces to look at Manny.

''You do know your nose is bleeding, don't you?'' they said at the same time. Manny threw his hands up in the air.

''I don't know why I bother sometimes!'' he exclaimed, before passing out on the floor. Bernard looked at his now-unconsious assistant/slave with disgust, then turned to Fran.

''Drink?'' he asked.

''Tim? Tim?'' Daisy's voice rang out through Tim's dream, startling him into wakefulness. He groaned and opened his eyes. The clock beside him read 3:01. Three in the morning. How could she wake him at three in the morning?

''Daisy, it's three in the morning!'' he cried. She burst into his room, and tutted. He groaned again.

''No...'' she began, and opened the curtains. He winced at the blinding light that spilled through, almost as bright as his hair.

''It's three in the afternoon! Come on, get up!'' For the third time in a minute, he groaned, pulling the duvet and pillow over his head as he did so. That shut out the light at least. But as for the noise...

A foghorn-like sound made him jump out of bed, standing in front of Daisy in nothing but his Daffy Duck underpants. She stared at them for a couple of seconds longer than strictly needed, then looked up at his face, which held an incredulous expression on it.

''What the hell was that?'' he half yelled. She glared at him.

''That,'' she said a little too loudly, ''is the sound of your alarm clock.''

He looked at her in wonder.

''So that's what it sounds like! I always wondered...'' He caught himself mid-sentence.

''What the fuck did you do that for?''

Daisy rolled her eyes at him, then walked out of the door, calling out behind her.

''Brian's coming. In ten minutes. So get something on!''

''Oh shit!'' he hissed between his teeth, looking for his jeans. Him and Brian had caught each other in too many awkward situations where at least one of them was wearing very little for Tim to risk it again.

''Tim, come on!'' she called again, just before the doorbell rang. He had barely enough time to pull on a newly washed t-shirt and dash out to his beanbag before Daisy opened the door to welcome in a man wearing a dress.

He looked around the flat, not seeming to notice, or care, that he was wearing women's clothing. A dress so caked in various colours of paint that it was impossible to tell what its original colour actually was. But Tim suspected (or rather hoped) that it was pink. Hot pink. His tights were electric blue, and full of holes.

Daisy stood holding the door open, mouth dropped at the horrifying sight before her. Sure, she'd dreamt of Brian in a dress before (something she'd never shared with anyone), but the actual sight was more terrifying, and unnatural, and just wrong.

''Hullo,'' Brian muttered in a typical Brian-fashion. When Tim and Daisy didn't say anything, he walked in and sat on one of the wooden chairs around the dining room.

''I've got some news!'' he said, after nobody had spoken for approximately four minutes and thirty-two seconds. They turned their heads up towards his face, rather than his dress, still open mouthed. He studied their faces, feeling puzzled. Then his face relaxed.

''Oh, the paint! I've been... painting!'' He spoke strangely, pausing between odd words yet always managing to sound excited. Daisy snapped out of her stillness, closed the door, and came to sit beside Brian. Tim decided that he'd rather not know the news that Brian had, or the reason behind the dress and tights. He had an imagination after all, now he had a reason to use it. After turning his PS3 on to play Resident Evil, he threw himself on the beanbag, and tuned out of the conversation starting behind them.

''Sooo...'' Daisy began, staring hard at the empty cup of coffee in front of her. ''Would you like a drink.''

''Tea please,'' Brian whispered. ''Two sugars.'' That was strange. Daisy had never thought of Brian as a 'sugary' person. A chuckle came from the corner of the room where Tim was currently decapitating a zombie. Daisy shot him a furious look, which he missed completely. She rose to her feet, and padded towards the cupboard. But when she opened it and peered inside its murky interior, all she could see were two dead flies and a packet of salted nuts.

''Wow, we really need to get some food,'' she muttered to herself. ''Tea's out!'' she said loudly to Brian. He looked at her strangely.

''Why, where's it gone?'' he asked. ''Will it be back soon?''

Daisy looked at Tim worriedly. It seemed that Brian really had lost it this time. She certainly didn't know what he meant.

''Brian,'' hissed a sarcastic voice in the corner. ''When Daisy said that tea was out, she didn't mean that it had gone to the shops or something. She meant that we haven't got any. It's tea, it can't go anywhere of it's own accord.''

Always the voice of reason, Tim was. That was a scary thought.

''So what's this news of yours?'' Daisy asked politely. Brian gave her a strange look, not very hard to do if you were Brian.

''Well,'' he began deeply, then had a coughing fit as he tried to clear his throat. Eventually he spoke again, sounding much more... well, normal.

''I've got a date tomorrow!'' he exclaimed, a gleam in his eyes. Daisy looked to Tim, who, she discovered, was staring confusedly at Brian, mouth hanging open in shock. In his hand was the control for his Playstation 3, and behind him was a menu screen. It seemed he'd lost, but he didn't care. Another weird thing. Then Daisy thought of something important to know,

''Brian, when you say a date, you do mean...'' She held her breath. ''You do mean, with a woman, don't you?''

Brian furrowed his brow, staring at his fingernails.

''Well, yes, of course!''

''Where... where did you meet her?'' she asked, looking no more relieved than before. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of Tim's game. Evidently, he had lost interest in the conversation.

''On the internet!'' Brian said calmly, like it was the most natural thing in the world to be going on a date with a stranger met online, and be Brian.

''It's a guy,'' came a previously heard voice from the corner of the room. Daisy made a tutting noise.

''Tim!'' she snapped sharply, and Tim actually winced at the sound of it. ''Don't be so rude! Of course it's not a guy!''

Tim paused his game, stood up slowly, and walked to the table, but didn't sit down.

''Did you show them a picture of yourself. A real picture, I mean?''

''Erm... Yes! Of course!'' Brian replied, still inspecting his fingernails.

''It's a guy,'' Tim repeated, in his most bored tone. Then he went back to sit on his most comfortable beanbag. Even Daisy looked unsure now.

''Brian,'' she began, looking lost. But she saw such a look of pitiful desperation on Brian's face that she couldn't tell him what she was going to. He always seemed like a little child to her. A young, lost, innocent child. A disturbed little child who needed to see a psychiastrist urgently, but still...

''I'd best be going then!'' exclaimed Brian, before standing up and walking out of the door slowly, giving the occupants of the apartment all the time they needed to stare at his arse, the only bit of him not coated in paint. And to Tim's jubilation, he could see that the dress was, in fact, hot pink.