Twat You, Close Brackets

Category: The Mighty Boosh

Characters: Graham, Howard Moon

Pairing: Howard Moon/Other

Genre: Episodic/Missing Scene, Humour

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Violence - Mild

Status: Complete

Length: 1-5k words

Notes: This fic will make no sense unless you’ve heard the first radio episode ‘Stolen’.

Written for my darling maestro1123 for her Secret Santa

Thank you madly to lo0oneylauren and thymeth for beta

---

Twat You, Close Brackets by moribundlust

‘Excuse me, sir, the zoo’s closed.’

‘Graham? It’s me.’

Graham tilted his head up superciliously, one eye fluttering open.

‘Me?’

‘Yes. No! Not you.’ Shifting hotly from one foot to the other, Howard glared. ‘It’s Howard Moon, Graham. You know me.’

‘I think I’d have a better idea of who you know that I do, sir. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve work to push on with ‘ere -’

‘We did this yesterday! Twice! I gave you my pass, and when I bent to tie my shoelace, you let a small monkey child go in with it instead.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that, sir. Correct zoo identification policy states that -’

Turning sharply on his heel, Howard overestimated his pivot, and stopped squarely in front of Graham, who bobbed his head disapprovingly.

Swallowing hard, he watched as Graham’s fingers teased at his electrical baton.

‘You sir, whoever you are, are loitering unlawfully, on Zooniverse property. Whoever you are.’

‘You already said that.’

‘I never did.’

….

‘Vince reckons millet distribution is the best job in the zoo,’ Howard said, rushing his words as Graham leant in.

‘Does he, at that?’ He cleared his throat, grabbing a handful from Howard’s bucket. Tracing the plastic rim of his bucket, Howard waited.

‘Are you working, there?’ Graham frowned a face, making odd tuneless noises under his breath.

Howard sank his hand in at once, brushing fingers against the texture of the seed.

‘Moon!’

‘Yeah?’ Howard snapped, throwing the bucket over gracelessly.

Graham brushed at the mess, with a prickly stray cat he was holding upside down.

‘I mean, yes, Mr. Fossil?’

Howard stared coolly at Fossil, and then returned to watching his friend, from under his eyelashes. Intent on an eye war, Graham’s posture was stiff, as he held the cat’s yellow eye.

‘Alright, you two freakballs: I need you get your hinnies to the ape salon, yesterday!’

Graham lifted one of the cat’s legs, curiously. ‘What’s that?’ Insulted, the cat finished scratching at his face. Then, reflecting, it batted at his ears – but without any heart.

‘Aren’t we in the ape salon now?’

‘What? No, we’re not in the ape salon, do you see any freaking apes?’

Graham considered this, breaking off to balance a peanut on the bridge of his nose, for the cat.

‘And it isn’t yesterday?’

‘No, it’s not yesterday; it hasn’t been yesterday for two days now! Wait. Moon?’ He looked up pathetically. ‘It’s not yesterday, is it?’

‘No, Mr. Fossil, it’s not.’

‘Yeah-ha. That’s right. Choke on that for breakfast, fish face.’

Graham’s hand felt in his pocket for the reassuring hardness of the baton, and Howard hurried Fossil to a safe distance.

‘Ah, Mr. Fossil, I need to talk to you about important zoo business.’

‘Like with papers, and those little sponges that lick the stamps for you?’

Howard grimaced, lifting his head. ‘Yes?’

‘Well, if anyone comes looking for me to talk about the zoo, you tell them Bob Fossil is busy. Busy, busy. Like a munchkin on crack.’

‘I’m talking to you about the zoo. This is me.’

Fossil bent low, straining the seam of his polyester.

‘I can still see you, Mr. Fossil.’

‘La! I can’t hear you Moon, I’m a freaking mute!’

‘What? A mute isn’t –’

‘My ears are on backwards. Goodbye!’

….

‘Howard, regardless of the sub-section on employer-employee cock punching,’ Graham said, tightened his jaw, ‘if he calls me fish face again, I am going to sort his head out.’

‘Perhaps next time he won’t notice you have a face like a fish?’

‘There is that.’ Graham straightened his back, throwing the cat into the air.

‘What Fossil doesn’t understand is that men like us, we can’t be hemmed in, all downtrodden and ill-treated, like the Russian peasants, or an unripe… pear,’ Howard finished uncertainly, scratching under his chin.

‘Are pears downtrodden?’

Howard grunted, staring pointedly at his seed bucket. Following his eye, Graham tipped the bucket upside down cheerily, and Howard continued his speech with one foot on the unsteady pedestal. ‘You’ll find that many assorted fruit personages have been persecuted over the years, Graham.’

Graham pressed his lips tetchily. ‘I had a banana daiquiri once. It did me stomach in something rotten.’

‘Ah, well, they’re a different breed altogether. They’re a dangerous breed, are banana daiquiris. Did you know that a banana daiquiri once killed a man, in Leeds?’

‘What, in a fight?’

‘No, he drank it,’

‘That’s cheating, that is!’ Graham cried, his Adam’s apple twitching. ‘You can’t expect a man -’

‘Banana daiquiri,’ Howard corrected.

‘Banana daiquiri?’ he asked, incredulous, his voice breaking pitch.

‘Banana daiquiri.’

‘Banana daiquiri,’ Graham continued, assured, ‘to be on form when he’s being gargled.’

….

Howard blustered, biting off his name in a violent breath.

He blew at the pink of his fingernails, polishing them on his Zooniverse uniform.

‘Look at my face.’ Howard laid his hand heavily on Graham’s cuff, insistent. ‘Do you not, are you honestly saying you don’t recognise me?’

Graham raised his eyebrows, turning to catch Vince as he mimed a table tennis shot from the gate. ‘You may as well not have a head, sir, because I don’t know who your face is.’

‘Look! You took a picture of me!’ Howard felt his moustache twitch, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, and adjusted it in place.

‘Where?’ Graham’s voice faltered as he leant his head left, and right, mirroring Howard.

‘It’s on your booth!’

‘Is that you?’

‘There, that polaroid.’

‘That’s never you,’ he replied curtly. Touching thin fingers to his mouth, he pretended to study the photo: Howard awkwardly holding him closer, with his tilting toothy grin, as Graham eyed the camera cagily.

‘That is me! That is me.’

Howard’s voice grew rough with repetition, and he hit his palm flat against the desk, startling at the noise.

‘Well, who’s that fella next to you, then?’ Graham looked down, pinching a tight smile.

‘That’s YOU!’

….

‘Oi. Listen you. You hold it steady or I’ll be holding it for you.’ Graham said. His face flushed pink as Vince fumbled with the camera, gleefully jabbing at buttons.

‘Little tart,’ he added pettishly, breathing in Howard’s collar. Howard paused, his hand stealing at the hem of his shirt.

‘What was that?’

‘A tart,’ Graham repeated, uneasily, ‘I’m bleedin’ hungry, I could…go a tart?’

Howard nodded, rubbing his back with manly understanding.

‘Any flavour,’ he continued, pressing in to the touch, ‘lemon, raspberry cream, bike tyre…’

….

‘Graham, please don’t do this. You don’t need to do this.’

….

The door to the zookeeper’s hut was slamming lustily in the wind, blowing paper trails across the courtyard. Howard clicked his tongue and made a note for Vince to sweep it all later.

Children clotted the room, scraping their shoes against the doorframe. Eyeing them warily, Howard hurried in.

‘What’s that, Mister?’ Graham felt a tug at his jacket.

‘Gerrof. Back in line, you.’

‘Won’t! I’m going to tell me Dad on you.’

Graham continued at his work, folding the paper neatly in half, pressing a short nail over the edge. ‘Well, miss, if you were to do that, I might have to invoke section one, paragraph two of the Bob Fossil Zoo Act, which states that any zoo patron making a bloody nuisance of themselves may be refused entry by the gate keeper. And that’s me.’

‘But I’m already in the zoo.’

‘Exactly! And could you imagine what it would be like to have your entry refused at this point, miss? You’d have to forget your whole day, you would. Retrace your steps to this morning, and have your Dad drive the car home, in reverse, backwards.’

The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You could-?’

‘My oath I could. Would you fancy a paper plane?’

Howard side-stepped the girl spitting engine noises as she ran. He tried to ignore his clumsy domino effect, prompting a pantomime chorus of booing as he pushed in.

‘We hate you, Mister Moon!’

‘Oh, we do rather!’ said the girl, in an aside to her plane.

‘I want a paper doll.’

‘Err, there you are, sir.’ Graham produced another piece of paper with a flourish.

‘That’s a plane.’

‘Nonsense. A plane and a doll are nothing alike. Hurry off!’ Pointing to the door, Graham stopped: then handed him a pile of ink-sodden paper. ‘Chapter two.’ Solemnly, he motioned for the boy to open his hand. ‘This is stationary equipment that I commandeered sub-legally from Mr. Fossil’s desk.’

The boy frowned with unasked questions.

‘Go and make me confetti.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Howard squared his shoulders, pulling a studied, roguish pose. ‘Gray.’

‘Graham.’

‘Didn’t work, eh?’

‘The nickname?’

‘Yes?’ Howard squinted a nervous smile.

‘No.’

The silence held as Graham returned to the bench, his hands only shaking slightly as he finished the last plane. Reflected in the window, Howard spat into his hand, working it painstakingly through his hair.

Watching the glass, Graham bit his lip, swore under his breath. Howard stood behind him, collected; his long fingers reaching.

‘What’s all this?’ he asked, too close to his ear.

‘What’s all this, this what?’

Howard’s hand closed on a plane and he shot it into the crowd. ‘You’re buying time, there.’

A fist fight began over who threw the offending missile, and he mouthed an apology. ‘The small children, all about the place?’

‘Are they children? I thought they were only really little people. Or that we’d grown, inexplicably.’

Howard’s eyes crinkled up. ‘Is that right?’ He put his hand on Graham’s arm, and he folded, buckling at the knees. ‘Graham, are you ill?’ Howard took a step back. ‘Is it contagious?’

Holding his breath, he kneeled beside him, pulling at Graham’s eyelids, and bending his large ears to the light.

‘I hate you,’ Graham said.

Howard nodded, satisfied.

‘Or me, I’m not certain which yet.’

‘Clearly delirious.’

The door hit the wall as Vince walked in, shooing the children brightly. ‘Out ya go mate. Right, you cocky bit. Wait, it’s a sweet and a necklace? I’m filching that.’

‘You prancing…CAMDEN STYLEY!’

‘Yeah? Well, I’m king mod. And your shoes are crap.’

Graham pressed his fingertips white against his baton.

‘Ah, Vince.’ Howard stood up, untangling limbs. ‘Graham’s not himself today –’

‘Isn’t he? Seems right himself to me.’

‘Vince,’ Howard barked with the authority of an old argument.

‘Righteo.’ he held his hands up, burying his pointy face in his scarf. Howard held his elbow, guiding him to the door.

‘You know that. I can’t. It’s not –’ he took a gasping breath.

‘S’alright.’ Vince smiled embarrassed, and pecked at Howard’s chin, as he moved, too late. ‘You’ll sort it out, Howard, eh?’

Howard ran a hand against the grain of his stubble, talking to himself. ‘What are you doing, Moon?’

‘And?’ Graham’s head lolled on the couch; one keen eye opened, and promptly snapped shut.

Howard smiled condescendingly, before tripping on his shoelace. A whirlwind of papers flew around him, hitting the ground noisily.

And Graham covered his eyes, watching through his fingers, as Howard recognised his own writing: ‘Howard T. J. Moon’s Epic Novella.’

‘Oh, Graham, not you!’ Howard’s nose twitched at the sharp scent of smeared black ink. ‘I’m going to hurt you, now.’ A candy necklace crunched under his foot, as he finally managed to get up.

The couch was empty.

‘Painfully,’ Howard added as an afterthought, testing the word.

The closet made a disbelieving huff.

Howard touched the lacquered surface, slipping his sweaty hand against the handle. He grabbed at it again, the handle twisting against him, to Graham’s pull, on the other side. Jerking away, Howard wiped his hand flush against the door.

‘Be reasonable, Graham. I don’t see how you –’

‘Well, you wouldn’t see what I see, would you? I’m in a closet, for one. Much less lighting, and entirely more coat hangers, than your perspective,’

‘Ah, Graham? You’ve lost me, there.’

‘To that…piece of skirt!’ he blustered, rattling the coat hangers for effect.

‘C’mon now, don’t be daft,’ he said, lightly. The sound of the electrical baton charging broke the air. ‘You’ve…seen the schedule, then?’

‘Night watch, with that painted peacock! And for a month?’

‘No, it’s…The phantom’s been stealing all the animals in the zoo, and –’

‘I bet you a tenner they’re hiding out the back.’

‘The animals?’ he shot Graham a look, through the door.

‘Most likely they are out the back, on smoko – or having a key party.’

‘Ah. Yes, the gorillas have been unsettled. I’ve heard rumours – flashing the tourists,’ he trailed off, miming lewdly.

‘My word. Worth the ticket price alone, I told ‘em.’

Howard smiled indulgently as the door was set ajar; and then remembered himself with a sickening feeling in his gut, at Graham’s defensive stance. ‘No! Stop distracting me. You, you made my life’s work into m�ch�!’

‘If, a person of your acquaintance happened to eventuate said circumstances, then I expect, sir, they would have had sufficient motives to justify said happenings.’

‘What?’ Howard touched the edge of the closet, slipping his fingers into the darkness. ‘Graham, you’re not making any sense.’ The door slammed, wood hitting bone with a dulled thwack. ‘Ah! No one…gets under my skin like you do. Rudderless bastard.’

‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about that, sir.’
…

‘There ya go,’ Howard chanted the words without meaning, fist balled tight in Graham’s jacket. He twisted around against him, the baton buzzing white noise. Graham babbled over the static, his legs smarting from Howard’s weight, pinning him.

‘Say my name.’

‘I don’t know your name!’ he said, eyes bright.

‘Howard, Howard. That’s the first part.’

Graham bit at his lips until they flushed, his voice pitching. He repeated his name until it was nonsense, tasting salt.

‘Second part, you’re on your own. What is it?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘You do know it. It’s a planet.’

‘Jupiter,’ Graham grinned against the grass.

‘Smaller! Smaller planet! Rhymes with…spoon!’ he shrieked, frantic. Howard forced his face to the ground, snatching layers of clothes. Graham breathed through his teeth, the baton pressed against the warmth of his back.

‘Fork!’ He twitched against the sting of the baton, Howard heavy against him, panting in bursts. Twisting, Graham turned to face him – sparks of light lighting the space between them like fireworks. ‘Moon, Moon, it’s Moon!’ he relented, dizzy.

‘That’s it, Howard Moon, Howard Moon, Howard Moon.’ Howard grabbed at him, jealously, his smile wolfish. ‘Don’t forget my name now, will you?’

‘Howard T.J. Moon!’ Graham shouted, breathless and spent.

‘Yeaas!’

…

Howard was propped against the wall, feeling the brick prick his skin. Vince chattered beside him, his attention on an orange llama cloud forming in the sky.

He approached them, walking slowly; watching as Howard’s lips formed a secret smile.

‘Vince, is this man bothering you?’ Graham placed a possessive hand on Howard’s arm, meeting his eyes playfully. ‘Move along please, sir’

Howard suffered the hold, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. ‘I’m gunna have to rut you.’

Graham leant in, closer, his face stern, ‘Oh, yes, sir.’