What's up Pushing Daisies fandom? This is my first fic.

Emerson Cod was asleep at his desk, snoring quite unceremoniously for someone who was supposed to be ... well, he wasn't supposed to be doing anything; he hadn't had a good case in weeks. Still, there's something about a private detective sleeping at his desk that is ... questionable. So when a frightened young woman, who was sure there was someone (or something, she wasn't quite sure) after her and her family, barged through the door, forgetting her manners in her distress, she was not impressed.

She cleared her throat noisily, hoping to subtly wake him, but found her cough drowned out by the gravelly snores.

"Mr. Cod?" She ventured at last, wondering whether this was a normal thing in the 'private investigator' industry.

More snores. Losing her patience, she rapped, three times, sharply on his desk. "Emerson!" she barked.

He shot up like a startled squirrel, knocking over a big sheaf of papers in the process. "W-wha-?"

Looking up around him, he confirmed this was his office and not the knitting paradise he'd been dreaming of - and suddenly, he was all business. Maybe the lady had only just walked in, and didn't know he had been sleeping. He straightened his tie and put on a dignified expression. "Emerson Cod, Private Investigator. What can I do for you?"

Linda, as she would introduce herself as, narrowed her eyes and regarded Emerson with an indignant no-nonsense glare, before calming down and recounting the misfortunes that had befallen her family over the past week.

The facts were these.

Linda Smith was twenty-nine years, twelve weeks, three days, four hours and exactly nine minutes old, cleaning out a vast collection of junk from around her house, when she heard a howl and a bloodcurling scream from next-door. That was where her husband happened to be. working late on a project with his friend and colleague. The time was just just after ten o'clock at night and their daughter was asleep in bed.

Upon heading over to investigate, she was greeted with a rather alarming scene. Her husband's colleague was slumped back in his chair, arms crossed, with his head missing - and she found it shortly after, grimacing up at her under the table in a pool of blood. Pieces of bloodstained paper and files were strewn across the table and floor. There was another scream from upstairs, a voice she recognized straight away as Mr. Smith, her husband, and she rushed upstairs to find his own headless corpse. The window exploded and she caught sight of a large shape flitting through it; a large shape which she swore was not human.

The police assured her they would look into the case, but a week had passed and they were none the wiser. She had wasted enough time mourning already, what with the funeral, and now she wanted justice. She was going to get to the bottom of this, and she didn't care how much money she would have to spend doing it.

Emerson clapped his hands and tried not to smile (for this was a rare opportunity - a case to keep him busy with a very generous payout to boot!). "Sounds like my kind of job, ma'am. I'll take care of it."

And so it began. But first, Emerson had to clear all the paper off the floor.

Olive was soon to be in a strange situation. She may have had no idea just how strange, but she had a feeling in the pit of her stomach that, once again, things in her life were about to get so much more complicated. Her mother used to call this her 'sixth sense', although Olive didn't trust her feelings very well. Not since Ned. She was over Ned by now, though, and about time. No feelings for him at all.

"None at all, no sir!" She reassured herself aloud with her trademark smile. She didn't realize she was voicing her inner monologue at one of her customers instead of pouring him his coffee. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she poured away. Today was a busy day at the Pie Hole. People streamed in and out with a fluidity that offered her no respite.

Ned was in the back, baking the pies. At least he got some peace and quiet.

The doors swung open as yet another customer walked in. He frequented the Pie Hole, usually once a week, and he would always come alone. He was tall and handsome with a trench coat and hat, which he removed to reveal neatly combed dark hair. He sat down at a table in the corner and waited politely.

"Hiya sir, what can I get you?" Olive bubbled as she sidled over to him, took his hat and set it on the hat-stand.

"A slice of blueberry, please, thank-you," he replied.

It was polite customers like these that made Olive's day. It helped that he was cute, too. "Just one minute, coming up!"

She passed the order onto Chuck, who passed it onto Ned, and fifty-five seconds later, Olive was bringing the slice of pie along with a pot of coffee. "Coffee's on the house. Enjoy, mister!"

He gave her a smile, and suddenly she longed to sit down next to him and watch him eat the pie and refill his coffee and ask him his name and how his day had gone and what he did for a living and how he kept his hair so neat. Turning a little pink, she whirled around and bustled over to wipe down a table hastily.

She was interrupted by an urgent tap on her shoulder, and was surprised to see a nervous-looking Ned behind her - within touching distance. Her heart fluttered involuntarily, like she knew it would, but she ignored this, as she always did."What's up, Ned?"

"The pie I just gave you..." he whispered, "you haven't...er, delivered it yet, have you?"

"Of course I have, why do you ask?"

"Damn it," he muttered. "You asked for blueberry, right? That was pear and fermented apple, I might have mixed the two up by accident."

She frowned. "Ferm-"

"Don't ask. I bake those specially for Emerson, because when he drops by he's usually overly cynical and the cider helps him to tone it down a little, and I wasn't supposed to tell you that, but promise you won't tell Emerson, and could you apologize to whoever you gave the wrong pie to?"

Olive put her hands on her hips. "Nuh-uh, I'm not taking responsibility for your pie-mishap. I don't want that blood on my hands. You go and you apologize to him yourself, be a man!"

Ned looked at the floor. "You know I'm not good at that kind of thing, Olive..."

"At what, being a man?" She gave him a radiant smile. "Well, gotta start learnin' somewhere, Ned! C'mon, I'll come with you, you big cissy."

She dragged him over with a grip that constricted some of his blood vessels, and soon he was standing by the man's table, his hands clasped behind his back, fidgeting with each other. The man in the trench coat was eating the pie slowly, savoring each mouthful as if it was a special pie, or as though he was a professional pie-taster who rolled the mouthful in his tongue and made a mental list of every ingredient, with a notepad and pen in his pocket, poised to write all about how the Pie Hole neglected to serve the right pies to its customers...

Olive pinched Ned's arm with a subtlety that did not come close to reflecting how much it hurt. He coughed. "Sir, I ... uh, I'm really sorry, I think we served you the wrong pie-OW! I mean, I think I served you the wrong pie, I'm terribly sorry and you can have that slice on the house in addition to a slice of blueberry like you ordered, if you want it... " he bobbed his head, "sir."

The man smiled good-naturedly. "That's quite alright, Ned, don't worry! I think I like this one even better than blueberry, in fact."

Ned blanched. "Thanks, uh, how'd you know my name?"

In response, the man reached over and flicked Ned's name tag, which was hanging from his neck. He winked, then resumed eating.

Olive took pity on Ned, who was embarrassing himself quite spectacularly, and led him away. Before she left, however, she could swear she saw a glistening in the man in the trench coat's eyes, a build-up of moisture, but then he blinked and it was gone. That look, though. It was ... familiar.

"Ned, do you play any instruments?"

Chuck and Ned were sat cross-legged in their room. Nowadays, she usually stayed at her aunts', but today she was sleeping over at the Pie Hole with Ned. They had taken to late-night conversation on these occasions, with Chuck delighted to learn more about Ned's life and with Ned digging through his uncomfortable past and retelling awkward stories, but glad for her company.

Ned blew into an imaginary flute. "There was a scheme at my boarding school. We all had to pick up something new."

Chuck's eyebrows raised. "Really? Well, how did it go? Are you any good?"

"It was more of a tin-whistle," he scratched the back of his head absently, "and you know how I am with trying new things."

She rolled her eyes.

"I doubt I was any good, but I found it fun in a way, which is what really matters in the end." He flashed a rare smile. The moment was spoiled by the thought that if Emerson was here, he would definitely have made a cynical comment (or three). "What about you?"

Chuck brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eye and traced an invisible pattern on the bedsheet. "Nope. I learnt a lot of new stuff growing up but never really how to play any instruments. It's a shame, really. I feel like there's a whole musical world out there that I have yet to discover."

"Maybe. I find listening to music to be just as satisfying, though. Not to mention that it takes a lot less effort..."

She shook her head. "It's not the same. I don't think so. When I learnt French from those tapes, I thought that was it, but when I spoke to people and held conversations in French for the first time, it was so different! There was all this new stuff like slang, tone and swear-words and I realized I didn't speak it very well at all."

He grinned, his face lighting up for a minute. "Does swearing in French still have a romantic feel to it?"

She smiled back. "Actually, it feels kind of naughty."

As they lay back and imagined what it might feel like to be in each others arms, the phone began to ring. It was Chuck who picked it up.

"Pie Hole, Chuck speaking!"

The gravelly undertone of the reply was telltale - even Ned could hear it. "Hey, dead-girl. Mind if I speak to pieboy over there?"

"You know, you could try calling us by our names, Emerson!"

There was no response, so she sighed and relinquished the phone to Ned, who was still getting over the fact that she'd answered his phone for him. It was one of those couple things that reminded him that, no matter the glaring restriction set on their relationship, he and Chuck were together. Truth be told, it scared him a little. A lot.

Emerson, as usual, was straight to business. "I hope you're wrappin' up your little vacation, cause I have a client and therefore, finally, a decent case. And I intend on taking it head on 'cause there's bills that need payin'."

"You never had much of a problem with those before," Ned stalled. He was beginning to enjoy life without having to use his 'talent'. Sometimes, he could even immerse himself so much that he would forget his secret. Is it a secret if all your friends know? Probably not, but it still felt a little cloak-and-dagger, especially with Olive. That made him guilty, so he preferred not to think on it.

"We ain't had a case in four weeks," came the disgruntled reply. "The coffers are runnin' dry."

"My coffers are fine. The Pie Hole has been quite the business this month. Besides, your bills never used to be all that much."

Chuck took this opportunity to chip in. "Yeah, what's up with that, bill-boy? Yes, that's your new nickname. I think it's fair."

Emerson couldn't hear her. Or maybe he heard her and pointedly ignored her. "They are now. Uh, the property which I been rentin' as our office just got a great deal more expensive." A cough.

Ned sighed. "Emerson, you managed fine without me before you found out what I can do. What's to say you can't just do that now?"

"What do you mean? Ned, are you bailin' out on me? Is this your version of sayin' 'I quit'? Cause I ain't your boss."

"I don't know. To be honest, Emerson, I feel like it's time for me to put this part of my life behind me and move on from this whole morbid aspect of my life. It's unhealthy and it just reminds me of all the reckless things that it made me do." He ran a hand through his hair. Thankfully, Chuck had slipped out to get something to drink, because if she'd been here she would have undoubtedly started one of her heart-to-heart discussions that Ned simply didn't like. He hated talking about his feelings.

"Naw, Ned, not now. I already said we'd take this case, and there ain't much to go on except for corpses, which happen to be your speciality. Look, after this case if you want out, we'll talk then. I get what you're sayin', but hey, one last case can't hurt."

Ned shut his eyes wearily, but let out a defeated sigh. "Fine, you can fill me in on the job tomorrow. I'm not willing but I'll do this because I'm your friend."

"Don't get all touchy-feely, pieboy. That's dead-girl talkin'. But thanks. I'll be at the Pie Hole tomorrow morning."

When Chuck returned, she saw Ned splayed out on the bed, asleep, with the phone slipping out of his hand.

"Goodnight, Ned."

Thanks for reading, please review!