Author's Note: This chapter's a bit short. I think it's cos Vince doesn't like to think too much.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Boosh characters or concepts. I don't even own matching socks.

"This is your home?"

Vince tried to determine if there was any trace of sarcasm or scorn in Howard's question and found that he couldn't tell. He had always been rubbish at knowing if someone was taking the piss but he'd learnt to scan statements to see whether they were genuine compliments or jokes at his expense. It was only Howard he couldn't tell with these days. Or maybe Howard wasn't having a go. But then, if that was the case, why did he ask the question?

Vince hated thinking. It gave him wrinkles and made his head hurt. It was like having a hangover but without the fun stuff beforehand.

"Yes," he said slowly. "This is the living room. The bedrooms are through there. Kitchen and dining rooms are just down the hall. Walk in any direction and you'll hit a bathroom eventually. There's three of them."

"Wow."

"Does that mean you like it?"

Howard nodded and Vince felt his chest flutter with pride. He'd put a lot of thought into this apartment. After spending so much time in opulent hotel suites Vince wanted his own home to be somewhere a bit simpler and homier. He wanted it to reflect his tastes but, as he'd decided on colour schemes and furniture he realised that there was another personality being reflected here too. Beige was a nice colour for walls after all. The paintings on the walls (a mixture of his own works and things he had picked up on street corners and in small galleries) were mostly of animals except for a large one above the television which was a vibrant oil painting depicting a jazz band in full swing. He'd found it in an old antique store near Montmarte which had reminded him so strongly of the Nabootique he'd nearly swooned.

Howard was looking at it now, a faint smile peaking out from beneath his moustache. He looked good, Vince thought, but tired too. He was still holding Blanche and it must have been doing his back in but he hadn't complained.

Blanche had woken briefly on the car ride between the station and Vince's apartment but hadn't been up to much in the way of introductions. She'd cried herself awake for a start, which had alarmed Vince. It had brought back too many memories. Howard had whispered soothing words to her and Vince had shaken himself out of his fear as the deep, Northern voice worked its magic on him too. He'd leant in and kissed her head again and stroked her hair. It was thick and the same sandy blonde his had been at about that age. It was a bit knotty and needed a good wash but that was ok. He whispered to her that she was safe, that daddy was here. She looked at him for one moment, her blue eyes pulling him in until he thought he was drowning. She'd blinked slowly, smiled drowsily (which sent Vince's heart rocketing into his throat), and then snuggled back into Howard and back to sleep.

Vince hadn't been able to speak for the rest of the journey. Any doubt that this was his child (and there hadn't been much doubt anyway) had evaporated when he'd seen her eyes. It wasn't just that they were the same shape and colour as his. What settled the issue for him, and scared the pants off him too, was the shadow of hurt he'd seen in those eyes. He knew that hurt, he'd seen it more than once when looking in the mirror as a child.

Vince Noir wasn't just in love with Blanche, he felt a desperate need to protect her too. It was a strange feeling but it wasn't a bad one. Was this how it felt to be a dad?

Right then Howard was the one doing the dad duties and Vince hurriedly led him to his own bedroom.

"Just put her down here, Howard," he said, trying to flatten out his overflowing bed.

"Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. In the middle, yeah, so she doesn't roll off in her sleep or anything."

Howard hadn't moved to put the child down so Vince pointed to the middle of his bed in the hope that Howard would get the message.

"But, Vince, she's wrapped in a, well, a dog blanket. It's not particularly clean."

Vince scowling in confusion.

"So?"

"Well, aren't you worried about your bed?"

Vince looked at Howard. The man genuinely thought that he cared more about his sheets than his daughter. Did Howard really think so little of him? Was he that shallow?

"It's fine, Howard, they're only sheets. I can always buy more."

Now he really did sound that shallow. He fought down the urge to say anything more and settled for chewing on a thumbnail as he watched Howard lay the child down in the nest of pillows and blankets. She murmured once but Howard patted her back to sleep and she let out a contented little sigh.

Vince looked down at his feet. It was a strangely intimate moment and it made him feel useless. He'd had a growing conviction all day that he wanted to make a go of the whole parenting thing but... what if he was no good at it? He was barely an adult really, standing there all pigeon toed in an outfit that, to Howard, probably looked like it was pulled from a dress ups box by a colour blind chimp. He wanted this to work so much, but he wanted his life here in Paris too. If he screwed up the dad thing he'd lose Howard as well. If he then screwed up the modeling and designing on top of that... he'd have nothing.

He didn't notice Howard move around the bed to stand beside him, so the hand on his shoulder made him jump. He tried to hide behind his modeling mask but he'd never been much good at hiding himself from Howard. Instead of the cool indifference he would have given anybody else he found himself looking up at Howard with a grin that showed both his embarrassment at jumping at his touch and, he hoped, his genuine pleasure at being with him. The grin widened when he heard Howard's stomach grumble loudly beneath its aggressive-nutmeg coloured vest.

"Shall we go and get you some dinner, Buffalo Man?"

"Do you even have any food in your kitchen?"

Vince chuckled. It was a fair question considering he'd used to live on sweets and bananas, but he hoped he could pleasantly surprise his old friend.

"Why don't you come and find out?" he teased a little flirtatiously as he headed for the door. Howard gave a chuckle of his own in response as he followed him out of the door and Vince suddenly got the distinct impression that Howard was watching his bum as he walked. He was doing his model walk, he knew, but he just couldn't help himself. Seeing Howard was giving him an adrenaline rush and he was desperate to prove to him that he was a success, that he could take care of himself. Could take care of Blanche. Could even take care of Howard if, you know, he wanted to.

Vince tried to shut down the pesky thoughts that were suddenly filling his brain space. They were confusing and bringing on yet another headache.

It had been a very long, very unusual day.