Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I am not making profit from writing this. The world and characters of the Mighty Boosh do not belong to me. If they did, there's be a lot more kissing in it...

Summary: Alternate ending to 'Journey to the Centre of the Punk'. Shameless fluff.

Fragile

So far, everything had gone to plan. Well, more or less. Having lured the rogue jazz cell out of Vince’s brain and back into the submarine, all that remained was for Lester to shoot it with the harpoon. Surprisingly, he succeeded. But just as Howard was about to report to Naboo that their mission was accomplished, Lester accidentally pressed an airlock button and Howard found himself shot out into Vince’s bloodstream. At least, he hoped it was an accident, he could never be sure with Lester.

Swept away by the current of the bloodstream, Howard tried hard to swim against the tide and get back to the submarine but it was impossible. Instead he found himself washed up at some large organ where the blood cells were being sorted, taking deep breaths from an oxygen cylinder operated by Vince in a nurse’s uniform, giggling and speeding off around the body again.

So this must be the heart, Howard deduced. Spotting a section sealed off by barriers and guarded by Vince in a blue uniform, Howard sneaked off to investigate.

“Sorry, this section’s out of bounds,” said guard-Vince, putting a hand out to stop him going any further.

“What do you mean ‘out of bounds’?” Howard asked, puzzled.

“I mean, out of bounds. No-one allowed in or out.”

“But why?” Howard asked curiously, peering around the guard, unable to see anything beyond but pink fleshy corridors and more barriers.

“Just is. I have my orders.”

“Howard Moon doesn’t take orders, sir,” Howard said, thinking about saying something about how he ate orders washed down with a steaming cup of rules, even while the thought of his precious stationery village reminded him that this was clearly not the case. Stationery village was about as far removed from ‘maverick’ as it was possible to get…Mind snapping back to the situation at hand, Howard borrowed a trick from the jazz cell. “Look, over there, free Topshop vouchers!” he lied, and as soon as the guard cell was distracted, he slipped past and climbed over the barrier.

Pushing more barriers out of the way, Howard wondered how anyone could have any part of themselves closed off this way. He began to worry that it meant that there was something seriously wrong with Vince. This didn’t look like a recent construction designed to defend the heart against the rogue jazz cell invasion. So what else was wrong with him?

After a while, Howard stopped as the narrow corridor opened up into a huge, high-ceilinged room. It was chaotic but beautiful, just like Vince himself, decorated with soft fabrics and shiny material, all in co-ordinating shades of red. Velvet curtains draped across non-existent windows, neon lights were embedded in the walls and ceiling. Tables were strewn haphazardly with bowls of sweets, shiny jewellery, feathers and a half-drunk flirtini. Posters of Vince’s pop-heroes including Jagger, Bowie and Numan adorned one wall, framed portraits of Vince’s friends and family took up another – Vince’s parents, Bryan Ferry, Bollo, Naboo…Howard paused to wonder where he was, before noticing that quite a lot of the pictures were of Vince himself. Howard rolled his eyes at the proof that Vince really did love himself as much as he’d always suspected.

Howard’s eyes took all this in in a flash, before noticing the figure reclined on a luxurious sofa on one side of the room, reading a magazine. It was Vince, of course, human shaped like the brain cell rather than a disembodied head, dressed in a delicately embroidered kaftan in a startling shade of red. Eyes rimmed with kohl, lips slicked with some kind of cherry lip gloss, hair sleek and less hairsprayed than was usual, this incarnation of Vince looked prettier, softer…scared?

Noticing the intruder, Vince leapt up from his sofa and gestured at Howard with his magazine.

“You! You’re not supposed to be here! No-one’s allowed down here!”

“Why not?” Howard asked, matter of factly.

“It’s not allowed! He said!”

“Who?”

“Him! Vince!”

“Yeah, care to be a bit more specific?” Howard asked, rolling his eyes. Of course Vince, they were all Vince.

“The brain cell,” Vince explained simply, “No-one’s allowed in or out, he said. I’m not supposed to talk to the other cells. I spose he thinks I might embarrass him, stop his plans for getting off with girls or joining bands or whatever, I dunno.” Vince shrugged and gave Howard a shy smile.

“But that’s awful!” Howard said, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed by the things you love.” Vince gave a nervous glance towards a door Howard hadn’t noticed before, a door helpfully labelled in neon, ‘Forbidden things’.

“It’s not so bad,” Vince said cheerily, “Why would I want to leave? I’ve got everything I could want right here, sweets, music, shiny things….” He stopped, as if he couldn’t really think of anything else anyone could possibly want. He was endearingly simple, Howard thought, the brain cell had seemed simple, but Vince’s sneaky manipulative side was still very obviously present. This Vince was guileless and almost innocent. Suddenly, he could see why the brain cell might want him locked away and felt suddenly very sorry for his friend, having to hide his feelings even from himself to avoid them getting in the way.

“What’s in here?” he asked casually, stepping over to the door labelled ‘Forbidden things’.

“You can’t go in there!” Vince shrieked, “No-one can, I’m not even allowed…” He flung himself in front of the door, blocking Howard’s way. Howard stepped forward all the same.

“Please,” begged Vince. They were so close Howard could feel Vince’s breath on his face as he said the word, and had only a moment to be surprised that a cell had breath when,

“Stop right there! Step away from the door!” boomed a voice behind him. Howard turned, stepping away.

“Who are you?” he asked as he saw two Vinces in guard uniforms at the entrance to the room.

“We are Vince’s self-control,” replied the guards in unison, “Step way from the door. Leave the heart chamber at once.”

“I didn’t realise Vince had any self control,” Howard said, thinking of a certain recent shopping expedition which had involved Vince spending several hundred euros that he couldn’t afford.

“Well, we’re busy keeping an eye on him,” said one of the guards, indicating heart-Vince who had slumped to the floor, “We don’t have time to stop Vince spending all his euros in Topshop as well…”

Howard held out a hand to the cowering Vince on the floor to help him up. He took it, awkwardly.

“Stop!” cried the guards, “Don’t touch him!”

“Why?”

“The heart is fragile and easily broken, that’s why it has to be locked away.”

“Please don’t,” continued the other guard, “It’s too hard as it is. Please just leave.”

It was so desperately sad, Howard thought, having to lock your heart away because it was too fragile. In that instant he forgave Vince all the horrible things he had done recently. He wanted to leave, to be back in the shop, to hug Vince and tell him it was ok, that he didn’t have to live like this, although he doubted he would listen. Once he left, the barriers would be repaired and Vince would just laugh off any attempt to discuss it, he felt sure. He looked at the forbidden door again. What was there? Howard’s curiosity got the better of him, and he opened it.

“No!” Three voices, all Vince’s voice screamed behind him but he carried on. There must be some clue here to help Vince, it wasn’t healthy for him to live like this with his heart under lock and key.

The room was dark. Howard blinked as his small eyes grew used to the light. The first thing he noticed was a threadbare teddy bear on a small table in front of him. He smiled quietly to himself. Next to it a peacock’s feather - that made no sense - a Bon Jovi cd – Vince secretly liked Bon Jovi, who would have guessed? Howard bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He shouldn’t, he was here uninvited, trespassing on Vince’s most private thoughts and desires. He suddenly felt ashamed. He had no right to be here, after all, who was he to think he could come here? Vince’s immune system hadn’t even recognised him, there had been no picture of him amongst those on the wall of Vince’s friends and family, who did he think he was, coming down here like this? Howard turned to leave, ashamed of himself, and then he saw it.

A whole wall, covered in pictures. Pictures of him. Of him and Vince together. Laughing together, drinking together, working at the zoo together. One of them in the Arctic tundra. One of the two of them dressed as Goths. Memories. And…oh. Some pictures of things that had never, ever happened, unless Howard had got very drunk and forgotten all about them, and he felt pretty sure he would have remembered something like that. He felt touched and saddened and excited and confused all at once. This was what Vince had locked away?

“Please, just pretend you didn’t see…” Vince sounded so pathetic. Howard turned to look at him, slumped miserably against the doorway. Determined, Howard picked up the teddy bear from the table and thrust it into Vince’s arms.

“No,” Howard said, “I won’t pretend. You shouldn’t pretend either. If you love these things, if you love…You shouldn’t have to be embarrassed about the things you love. You shouldn’t have to hide.”

“But…”

“I won’t let you.”

Howard ran out of the heart chamber, past Vince’s startled and panicking self control, back into the blood stream towards where he hoped Lester and the submarine would still be. Pressing random buttons, the submarine somehow made it to Vince’s tear ducts, where Naboo managed to extract them by making Vince cry.

Back to normal size, Howard paced impatiently, the only two things in his mind getting out of the ridiculous scuba suit and talking to Vince, neither of which could be achieved with Vince still unconscious on the counter and Naboo firing questions at them about the jazz cell.

Vince began to stir. Howard ran to him, sweeping a hand across his forehead. He felt hot, feverish, still, although he was thankfully no longer scatting.

“Vince, please, wake up,” Howard whispered, clutching his hand. There were so many things he wanted, needed to say to his friend. The thought that he might still lose him now after everything was unbearable. Vince’s eyes flickered open and settled for a moment on Howard’s concerned face hovering above his own.

“Howard?” he said shakily, breathlessly, as if still unsure whether he was awake or not.

“Vince…” Howard began tenderly.

“Vince, you’re awake!”

“Precious Vince, you ok?”

The others crowded around and the moment, if it could even be called that, was lost. Vince sat up and clutched at his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like a submarine has been chasing jazz around my body. Yuk. What the hell happened?”

“Er…Howard and Lester chased a rogue jazz cell around your body. In a submarine.” Naboo explained. “You should be fine now, they killed it.”

“Howard and…” Vince blinked as he took the information in. “You…you were inside me?” His face creased up in horror.

“Well, yeah…” Howard fought to stop himself blushing at the connotations of that phrase. Those pictures…

“Uhgh, I feel all jazzy and ‘orrible. I’ve got to go have a shower.”

“Vince…” Howard called after him. His fantasies of sweeping Vince into his arms and kissing him were dissolving.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you….don’t you remember anything…?”

“Like what?” Vince cocked his head on one side in innocent puzzlement.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Never mind.”

It seemed cruel to leave Lester and the angry punk band to fight it out in the shop, but fortunately a blind man wielding the jazzy remains still stickily attached to the harpoon were enough to drive Terminal Margaret away in horror.

Upstairs in the flat, a wet-haired Vince sat on the sofa hugging his chest. He no longer looked like a punk.

“What’s up?” Howard sat down beside him.

“I feel awful.”

“You’ll get over it. The jazz has gone now. Your body probably just needs time to repair itself. Some of your cells are a bit thick, it might take a while,” Howard teased.

“Nah, I mean…I feel awful about eating your record. I shouldn’t….”

“Yeah well, guess being infected with jazz taught you a lesson. Jazz has many lessons to teach…”

“Yeah, all of ‘em ‘orrible.”

“Hey, don’t you disrespect jazz again, sir!”

“My chest aches,” Vince moaned. “I don’t think it’s the jazz. I think…I think it’s something else…” He frowned, as if desperately trying to understand his own body.

“Ah.”

“What?”

“That might have been….I mean, the thing is, I got lost and I…” Howard looked down at his hands, embarrassed. Then he remembered telling Vince in the heart chamber that feelings were nothing to be embarrassed about. And had the horrible feeling that he might have been wrong.

“What did you do?” Vince’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I…I saw your heart, Vince. And it was beautiful, and honest and simple, and….you’re keeping it locked away! You’re stopping yourself from feeling things, from loving things…people…” He blushed. “It’s not right. You shouldn’t…” Howard stopped, because Vince had stood up and was backing away with a mixture of defensive anger and fear in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have been there!” he snapped, “You’re not allowed…no-one’s allowed! It’s…it’s private! You wouldn’t like it if I looked at your private thoughts, why should you see mine without me even knowing!” He started to back away. Howard stood up too and walked towards him. “Whatever you think you saw, it probably wasn’t even real! Probably just all crazy stuff put there by the jazz spirit or whatever it was…” Vince stopped backing away when he realised he was backed up against the door of his bedroom.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of how you feel, Vince,” Howard said, still walking towards Vince until he was close enough to touch him. Vince clutched at his chest again.

“I feel…oh god, I feel…” He gasped, breathing heavily. Howard realised that the barriers were down, that Vince’s brain cell, perhaps every cell in his body were now finally being allowed to feel what had been locked away in his heart. “Howard…” he looked up at him pleadingly. Howard said nothing, but reached out a hand to softly touch Vince’s cheek. Vince leant into the touch, light as it was, then threw himself into Howard’s arms. “It hurts, Howard, it hurts so much, don’t you see why I couldn’t let myself feel it…” He broke off, tearing himself away and disappeared through the door behind him. But Howard wasn’t going to give up that easily. He followed Vince into the bedroom, pausing for an instant when he saw his friend curled up on the bed, before sitting down beside him and putting a reassuring arm around him.

“It’s ok,” he whispered soothingly, “It’s all going to be ok, Vince, I’m here, you don’t have to hide anymore, you don’t have to…”

“I feel so…I don’t know…vulnerable…That isn’t me…I can’t…”

“It is you. Pretending you don’t feel things doesn’t make them not true. You think I haven’t tried…”

“What?” Vince sat up now, curious.

“Vince, I know you love me. I know you’re ashamed to love me…”

“No…not ashamed…” Vince said, unconvincingly. “Well, ok, maybe, but only cos…cos…”

“Cos you’re scared of being laughed at? Is that really such a terrible thing?”

“Not for you, maybe, you get laughed at all the time…”

“Thanks, thanks a lot…”

“But I…I can’t have these feelings. Not me. And not for you…Of course I’d be laughed at. It’s funny. Me, Vince Noir, rock and roll star, in love with some jazzy northerner with no fashion sense…even I laugh at me…” Howard grabbed hold of Vince’s chin.

“Vince, look at me. I’m not laughing, am I?”

“No…” Vince’s voice suddenly sounded small, far away. Howard relaxed his grip on Vince’s face until his fingers were lightly stroking his cheek, then leant in and kissed him gently on the lips. Vince moaned softly, his self-control working overtime as he felt every cell in his body infected with longing. Howard pulled him closer, tangling his fingers in Vince’s drying hair. He sighed as Vince pulled away nervously.

“Howard…” he breathed, “Oh Howard, I’ve loved you for so long…are you…are you sure you…”

“Completely,” Howard assured him and kissed him again, a lingering, exploratory kiss. Eventually they pulled away, contented. Howard leant back against the pillows and pulled Vince towards him. Vince laid his head on Howard’s chest and reached for his hand, their fingers entwining.

“It’s weird,” Vince said, eventually, “I feel so…happy. I never thought…I dunno.” He gave a small movement that might have been a shrug.

“It’ll be ok,” Howard promised him. He found himself thinking about what his own heart might look like. Jazz playing, organised stationery, a few family photos, but most of all, Vince. And perhaps he was guilty of keeping some of his feelings locked away, too, because it seemed it had taken a glimpse into Vince’s heart for him to really recognise his own. And there was only really one more thing to be said.

“I love you.”