A/N: thanks again for the reviews – I'm really feeling the love :') this chapter is dedicated to Nabootique16 and Chalcedony Rivers who have reviewed so far :)

I apologise if Howard seems a bit too harsh or OOC in this chapter – but remember, he was drunk! And the bad spelling when Vince talks later on in the chapter is because of his drunkenness as well :')

Disclaimer: do I own the Boosh? I'll give ya three guesses and the first two don't count…

Chapter 3:

Vince woke up, startled, with the duvet wrapped tightly around his legs and a thin sheen of sweat coating his small frame. He took a few deep shuddering breaths, 'it was just a dream' he promised himself, 'just a dream'. He'd been having quite a few bad dreams lately, although none of them had been as bad as this. They tended just to be the usual nightmares, like finding yourself on stage next to Gary Numan with no clothes on, or going to a gig only to find you're wearing last year's style. Those dreams he could deal with. He knew that he would never embarrass himself like that in public, and if he did he would have an awesome excuse for it. But last night's nightmare was different. He shuddered trying to suppress the memory but it came flooding back to him against his will.

Running, running away

No one can understand.

You are alone.

You are lost – in the dark. The darkness crushes you – you lose balance.

No one to help

An enemy – unseen. You are unprotected. You can't move – can't run anymore.

There is no point

He grins at you. And you fall into the blackness.

He put a hand up to his face, and stopped a tear as it threatened to spill over the edge of his eyelid. Vince glanced at the clock and noticed that was only half past 6, Howard would be opening up the shop downstairs. Howard.

Vince sighed. Howard was still annoyed at him, he could tell. He thought he had been lying about Lance the day before. But Vince was pretty sure it had been him- Howard didn't even come to look out the window, and it hurt him that he didn't even suspect that he might be telling the truth. So maybe he was usually late for work and he did spend longer getting ready then Howard did – but that didn't mean he didn't care about the shop. He loved the shop! About as much as he'd loved the zoo, maybe more. I mean he'd given up on his GCSEs to go to the zoo, and then missed out on several chances of hitting the big time (or so he said) so he could stay at the shop. He loved where he worked. He loved Bollo. He loved Naboo. And he- he loved Howard.

Oh shit.

He loved Howard.

At this realisation his brain went into overtime. Maybe he hadn't abandoned his GCSEs just for the zoo, maybe he'd abandoned them to stay with Howard. And when Howard had moved to the shop – he followed him. Not because he wanted to work in Naboo's cramped, lonely, second-hand shop, but because he wanted to work with Howard.

Oh shit.

He loved Howard.

Howard – who must be the world straightest man. He liked jazz, stock-taking and the colour brown. He read the 'Global Explorer' and liked camping holidays. He had a moustache and was interested in History, (well the history of Jazz anyway). He was intelligent and looked at people's character – not just their looks.

He was everything Vince wasn't.

He hadn't noticed that he'd been crying – not until he felt something trickle slowly along his cheek and down to his chin. He sighed. 'Come on Vince, pull yourself together' he whispered- and he got up.

…..

An hour later a fresh, bubbly Vince with his hair perfectly straight and wearing a fashionable t-shirt and skinny jeans ensemble strode downstairs into the shop. Howard nearly died of shock. It was like the time Vince had walked in wearing a suit.

"Vince! You're up!" Howard said in disbelief gesturing wildly with his arms towards Vince's person. Vince smiled, he liked it when he could prove to Howard that he was better then he thought he was.

"Yeah – why?"

"Nothing – no reason. It's just that you're not usually up for another 4 hours yet." Vince looked at the time. He was up early! Well, it had showed Howard that he could be organised if he liked.

"Well, I didn't 'ave much on." He winked. "D'ya need me to do any stock taking?" Howard just stared. And then stared some more. Vince looked at him – he looked like he'd suffered a case of the chokes. "Howard?"

"Erm yeah ok, the stuff's downstairs". He said pointing to the basement door. Vince nodded and tried to look nonchalant as he climbed down the ladder. He hadn't even known they had a basement.

…

A couple of hours later all Vince had achieved was what looked like a new white carpet (but was actually Howard's once neat piles of documents) and a pile of crumpled paper aeroplanes. He'd also done an old Gregg style crayon drawing of Howard. Not bad for a day's work he'd thought. As long as Howard didn't come down here today he could get Naboo to clear it up using magic tomorrow.

Unfortunately Howard, after several cups of tea (and a couple of glasses of brandy 'for the shock') had decided that he wanted to see just how Vince was doing in the basement. Maybe he had finished the stock-taking. If he proved to be any good he could do it more often, Howard thought. It would be nice to have Vince help him out every now and again, stock-taking was just too monotonous at times.

However, upon descending the stairs – not with much grace, he'd almost fallen at least twice – the sight that met his eyes was not one of a hard-working Vince, and piles of neatly finished documents, but one of chaos. And in the midst of it all was Vince fast asleep – his head drooping forwards on a chair.

He lost it. Looking back, he might have overreacted. But at the time he thought his anger was perfectly justified. It was probably helped along a little by the alcohol in his bloodstream.

"Vince!" he shouted, his hands trembling. Vince jumped up like a scalded cat, and attempted to look presentable.

"Yes?" he questioned, but he knew what was coming. He turned to face Howard, but the murderous look in his eyes left him reeling. Why was he this angry?

"What do you mean 'yes?'?" Howard screamed, flailing his arms around. "Look at this mess! Look what you've done! That is months of hard work on the floor, and crumpled in the corner. Do you not care at all? Why didn't you just say you couldn't do it? Why couldn't you just admit that you needed help?"

And through his outburst Vince was staring wide-eyed at Howard's angry form, close to tears. He'd mucked it up again; all he'd wanted to do was help out. But Howard was completely overreacting, and he wasn't going to just stand there and nod meekly. So he didn't.

"Shut up Howard!" he cried "maybe if you'd showed me how to do it, instead of just sitting upstairs drinking tea and trying to flog all your stupid stuff that no one wants! You think you're amazing but you're just the same as the rest of us!"

"At least I'm not vain!" was Howard's answer, "and I help out more than you! You come down only slightly late for work and expect some kind of medal! You make me sick!"

Vince just gasped; he really was crying now, the tears flowing freely down his face. He pushed past Howard and made a bee-line for the ladder, pulling himself up and into the shop. A few seconds later Howard heard the sound of the door slamming shut.

….

Vince had spent the last few hours just about all the bars he could get someone to buy him a drink in. It had been a long day; he'd found out he loved his best friend, and then lost said best friend all in the space of a day. He had been determined to get pissed out of his mind – and he'd succeeded.

He glanced down at his watch, but the numbers and lines seemed to be swirling around too fast for him to read them, " oi, man!" he giggled, calling the barman " yesh you, come here" he whispered, leaning over bar. The barman crept over and leaned down next to him, "yes?" he questioned, Vince laughed at him,

"You fort I was gonna say somin important!" he joked, the barman sighed

"do you actually need me?" he questioned, eyeing up the very drunk man in front of him – he'd have to get him out before long , he looked like a trouble maker.

"yesh actooaly" Vince sighed "whatsh the time mr wolf?" he laughed loudly at his poor joke and then smiled at the barman who replied:

"It's three o clock in the morning, and high time you were home. Can you call anyone to come and pick you up?" he questioned, as he led Vince to the door. He was quite concerned he wouldn't be able to make it home on his own.

"shure" Vince replied sleepily. "fanks mate, you're cool" and with that he staggered off into the road, and towards the public park. The barman sighed and went back inside his pub; it was a chilly night out, and he was glad to get back into the warm.

…

Vince collapsed onto a park bench, shivering slightly. The cold air whipped against his face and made him feel nauseous; he knew he'd drunk too much. He already had a headache, he dreaded the morning. At least Naboo would be home he thought; one of his hangover cures and he'd be fine. And it was with this thought in the fore-front of his mind that he fell asleep, his knees under his chin, on the park bench.

He woke up to a familiar sounding voice laughing, it disturbed him. He tried to open his eyes, and blinked blearily – he could just make out a sparkly suit and some brown. He tried to lift a hand to wipe at his eyes, but found that it was being held down to the bench. He panicked and struggled against the hands that were holding his body against the bench. Suddenly he felt is head being wrenched back and he gasped in pain. A very familiar mocking voice made his stomach flip:

"Well look what we've got here, a bit drunk aren't we? And all on our own? Tut tut tut, anything could happen in the dark, and who would know? But don't worry, we're here now." Vince tried to swallow, but his throat had closed up in fear – he coughed and his throat burned with leftover alcohol. That voice laughed again "thirsty?" it questioned "here, drink up". And Vince felt something being poured into his mouth. He tried to cough it up, but his mouth was clamped shut by unseen hands and his nose pinched shut until he swallowed it. He effects were almost immediate. The world went fuzzy, and then shifted a little, and then he blacked out.

No one to help

An enemy – unseen. You are unprotected. You can't move – can't run anymore.

There is no point

He grins at you. And you fall into the blackness.