Fandom - Hot Fuzz
Rating - M
Pairing - Nick / Danny friendship
Warnings - Some violence

The strong aroma of tomato sauce wafted up to the nose of a thoroughly dumbstruck Sargeant Nicholas Angel. It was so out of place, so incongruous here in the middle of these ancient columns. Surrounded by hooded figures in the dead of night was no place for a barbeque.

Nicholas tried to reach up and swipe the scent away but strangely nothing happened. He looked down at the offending limb and watched as the flashlight fell from his nerveless fingers. As the glass shattered and the light went out, Nicholas began to feel an all-too-familiar burning sensation in his chest.

A string of terrible thoughts ran through his head like a crowd of marathon runners, all jostling for the lead. Betrayal. Danny. How could he? No. Not Danny, not jovial, naive Danny. How could he be party to such a horrible conspiracy? The burning grew worse as he imagined so many happy moments becoming tainted with lies, and his eyes filled with unshed tears.

Staring at his traitorous arm, Nicholas couldn't help but notice the knife handle; it was sticking out of his chest after all. But he barely saw it. All he could see was Sargeant Danny Butterman's face. Danny's face as he thrust the knife forward; so serious, so unlike Danny. Danny - a killer? How?

The pain started to radiate outward, and Nicholas started to stagger as another image sprang to mind. Danny's face in the bar, covered in sauce and grinning madly. Oh God! Nicholas looked up, straight into Danny's eyes. Yes, his face was stern but his eyes, his eyes held something else. And as soon as Danny glanced towards his father, Nicholas knew with absolute certainty that he hadn't been betrayed. Not for a second. In fact Danny'd done just about the bravest thing that Nicholas could imagine - defied his father to save him. To save Nicholas.

He would like to have thought that he fell to his knees in relief, but that would have been a lie. And Nicholas didn't lie. As he hit the cold stones, he couldn't stop himself from falling limply to his side. He wanted to shout. He wanted to fight. He wanted to cry. But he couldn't - if the Alliance members discovered Danny's true heart, they would turn against him and Nicholas couldn't let that happen. Not even if it meant his death. And it is with a barely stifled sob that he realises it probably will be. Danny! he screamed silently. I left my notebook in the car!

A faint murmuring swirled in the night air, but Nicholas couldn't make out individual voices. As he lay on his side, his face pressed painfully into the gravel, Nicholas could think of nothing but Danny – his faithful Danny – and he almost sobbed with relief as familiar hands gathered him up.

Danny's arms were trembling as his staggered over to his car, carrying the dead weight of his best friend.

Dead weight.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as Danny placed Nicholas into the carboot as carefully as he dared. Nicholas hadn't so much as twitched since he fell in the courtyard.

'Cause he's pretending to be dead, stupid. See, there's the ketchup on his shirt.

Danny's eyes widened as he took in the size of the stain on Nicholas' chest, too big for the empty sachet in his pocket. He was on the verge of reaching forward when a large, cold hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Good job, Danny m'boy."

Frank Butterman spoke with true affection for his son. Finally Danny had stepped up in the community, to take his place as a member of the NWA. Frank had pondered the idea that he would have to take action against his only boy, what with the attachment he had formed with the new sargeant. And that would have broken his heart, but he would have seen it through, for the 'greater good.'

Danny sniffled and Frank beamed with pride.

"There, there boy. Your dear Mum would have been so proud of you today."

Danny sniffed louder and Frank pulled him into a breif, brisk hug before thumping him soundly on the back and pushing him in the direction of the driver's door.

"Make sure you so straight to the West Field and dump the body in the long grass, out of sight of the road. Mr Thatcher will be ploughing there by dawn and all this mess will be behind us."

Danny mindless nodded as he opened the door and sat down. He grimaced slightly as he dad slammed the boot shut.

"What have I done?" he whispered to himself as he turned the key and drove away.

Danny held the sterring wheel in a white knuckle grip as he eased his car out of the castle grounds. Inwardly he grimaced each time the vehicle dipped and bucked over the uneven terrain, but he summoned the strength to nod to each member of the NWA as he passed.

Grim deeds accomplished, the Alliance were returning to their homes and lookouts throughout Sandford. Within minutes there wouldn't be a single square foot of village that wasn't under surveillance once again.

Hot tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as Danny turned out onto the main road. It was almost nine miles to the edge of Sandford; nine miles to escape prying eyes. Images of the carboot slamming and the blossoming red stain on Nicholas' shirt flashed into Danny's mind and he stifled a sob.

Nine miles too far.

To be continued...

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