Disclaimer: Don't own the Boosh, if i did do you really think i'd be spending my time writing this?

Hello there mes amis. A little while ago i was watching Charlie, and wondered how Hamilton Cork had known Howard's name when he'd first come into the hut. Obviously, it was for comic effect when it turned out that he'd been dreaming, but what if it had been real? Well, in the world of fanfiction, it is real! So this fic explores how he;d known his name, and much more besides...

Mucho thanks-o to hannah and Sticks, who gave me some help and advice when writing. This fic is dedicated to hannah, whose been having a terrible day. Hope you feel better soon hon.

Howard Moon was feeling pleased with himself. That's right, pleased. Not annoyed at all. Or frustrated. No sir. Not in the least.

Howard sighed. Who was he kidding? He was useless. He'd been sat at this typewriter for three hours, and all he'd done was a sentence. One bloody sentence. Vince would probably have written ten of his 'Charlie' books by now. Not that he'd ever read any of the Charlie books of course. No, an intellectual like himself or Mrs Gideon wouldn't be seen with such trivial nonsense. Howard Moon was a man of passion, adventure, skill. He wouldn't be caught hanging around on a bus stop clutching the scratchings of a half-crazed sea monkey. He was above such things.

He looked up and blinked, deciding to give his eyes a rest from the glare of his oh-so-white paper. They refocused on Vince, who was reclined on the sofa in a poncho, reading Panda Monthly and eating a banana. The sight was hypnotic, as the younger man, sorry, same aged man nibbled thoughtfully at the pale ripe flesh of the banana as he read, licking his lips as he pondered the benefits of becoming self-sufficient in bamboo.

Look at him, he thought. Happy as a fan on a forum picture thread .Howard sighed, and laid his head down on the table.

There was a knock at the door. He sat bolt upright.

'Hello?'

The door opened. 'Howard Moon?'

'Yeah?'

'It is I, Hamilton Cork. I have read your sentence. It was an absolute tour de force. You're going to be published, and be a famous writer'

There was a sharp knock at the door. He sat bolt upright.

'Hello?'

The door opened. 'Howard Moon?'

'Yeah?'

'It is I, Hamilton Cork. I'm looking for Vince Noir.'

Vince leapt up from the sofa. 'I'm Vince!'

'I found one of your Charlie books in a packet of weetabix. Its an absolute tour de force. You're going to be published, and become a famous writer.'

'Wow' said Vince. Bollocks, thought Howard.

Howard looked up at Cork. 'This is the dream, yeah?'

'No, the other one was.'

'Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!'

'Yes'

Vince. Hamilton Cork had come not to find him, but to find Vince, extraordinaire. He couldn't believe it. After all the years, well, months, be fair, weeks. After all the weeks- ok, ok, days. After all the days he'd put into becoming a serious writer, it was Vince that had been discovered. That was the story of Howard's life. It was always Vince who got the good things in life, bright, sparkly, beautiful Vince, always the one who got to shine. Howard wished that just once, someone would look beyond the spotlight to him, standing at the back of the stage amongst the other shadows.

He should've known really. He wasn't the type to be famous, to be recognised or appreciated. He was just plain old Howard, reliable but forgettable. He wondered how long it would take Vince to forget about him once he became a famous writer. Or, if the writing thing didn't work out, singer, or model, anything – there was no doubt he'd become famous as something. It probably wouldn't take him very long at all. Oh sure, he'd remember Naboo, because he was useful for giving warnings and saving the day, and he'd remember Bollo because he was a gorilla for crying out loud, who'd forget that? But not Howard. He wouldn't be of any use to Vince when he was famous, he'd only hold him back, with his talk of jazz and offerings of tea. No-one would remember the name Howard Moon when the ribbons were being handed out.

Name. How had Hamilton cork know his name when he'd come in? Perhaps someone had said to him that Vince could be found with his fellow writer friend, Howard moon, jazz maverick and man of action? Or perhaps someone had said that Vince Noir could be found with some looser the he didn't seem to be able to shake off, called Howard Moon. Yep, that would be it.

So, Vince had merrily pranced off with Cork, taking a walk to discuss the book deal. Howard sat alone in the hut, his one sentence silently mocking him. He thought back to the fantasy he'd had earlier, in which it was him, not Vince, that Cork had come to see. Ah, how his life would be then – parties, port and pipes, surrounded by his intellectual peers, Mrs. Gideon would remember who he was….

He decided to go and see Naboo – maybe he could help him sort his head out.

'Its clear that you have a problem with jealousy.'

'What?'

'I think you're jealous of Vince.'

Jealous of Vince? No, not at- ok, probably. Who wouldn't be? Like he'd thought so many times before, Vince got the good things in life while Howard was left with scraps and gruel. That was the pair of them, loveable Vince and pathetic Howard, always together through good times or bad. Except for once a week when Vince would have 'band practice'. That was the worst night of Howard's week, all alone. What could a man of action do without an electro poof by his side? Matters were not helped by the fact that he was sure that Vince, not consistently being in one particular band, in fact went out to meet women, looking much cooler as a mysterious stranger than as an attractive guy stood next to a lanky ball bag.

Howard hated going out on the pull with Vince anyway, as he would immediately be surrounded by beautiful women while Howard had to sit next to him, moping. Sometimes Vince would realize this and take pity on him, telling one of the women with their tongues in his ear to divert her attentions to Howard instead. This was unbearable as well though, as Howard never knew quite what to say without making a prat of himself, especially with women who he knew were way out of his league; he was much happier sitting alone feeling miserable while Vince's attention was diverted to the floozies surrounding him on the dance floor.

Maybe that was the problem – Howard was not jealous of Vince going away, but just upset that he'd be going away and giving his attention to other, less deserving people. People who hadn't been there for him when Martin the pine martin got loose in the hut and pierced the lips on his Jagger shrine. People who hadn't held his hand as he'd attempted to get over one of the elderly butterflies fluttering it's last flutter as it flew off to the great flower garden in the sky. People who.. people who weren't him.

It wasn't Vince going away and being famous that upset him, just Vince going away. Going away and not being with him, Howard moon, the man who knew him best, his closest friend. Leaving.

Howard Moon felt like a prat. But then, that was nothing new. He was acting as Vince's writers caddy, dressed in golf clothes and following at a discreet distance.

He was definitely not having a good time. If he wasn't handing Vince the wrong pencil, he was being escorted out by fossil. Luckily he had managed to distract Fossil from throwing him out of the party by telling him that Bainbridge had said something about showing people the scar he'd got whist fighting an angry penguin. A scar on his upper thigh.

'Holy Samosa…' Fossil had whispered before running to his office to get his 'picture-box'.

Howard straightened his imaginary tie and headed back to Vince, who was now talking to Bainbridge and Cork about some 'editorial changes'. Fossil reached them a little before Howard, but appeared to have completely forgotten about the fact that he was supposed to be removing him from the party.

'The name' Bainbridge was saying.

'He's called Charlie'

'No, the authors name – less Vince Noir, more Dixon Bainbridge.'

'Yeah, but then everyone will think you wrote it'

'You catch on fast, fool.' Scoffed Bainbridge in reply. 'We'll have to get rid of that ridiculous dedication as well.'

'Hahaha, yes, that wouldn't do at all.' Said Cork, laughing along with him.

'What dedication?' asked Howard, confused.

'You mean you don't know?' asked Bainbridge.

'No…' He turned to his best friend. 'Vince, wha-'

Vince spoke across him to Bainbridge and Cork. 'When Charlie finds out about this, he's gonna be furious. He's gonna come for ya.' He turned on his heel and stormed off back to the hut. Howard followed, and found him uncharacteristically slumped on the sofa, his poncho lying discarded on the floor before him.

'Why did you take the poncho off?' asked Howard

'It stopped working.' He said unhappily.

'What's the matter? What are they talking about, dedication?'

'Its nothing' he said quietly.

Howard stepped closer to him, concern etched on his face. Metaphorically speaking of course, otherwise it would be rather disgusting. 'Vince, come on… it cant be nothing if its got you like this. Is it because they wanted to change the name?' Howard was sure this wasn't the reason, but carried on regardless. 'Because, y'know, we could take them to court, I have a cousin who-'

'Its not that.' He said quietly.

'…..The dedication?'

He nodded slowly.

'What is the dedication? Dedication to who?'

He looked up at Howard, a strong mixture of anger and hurt in his eyes. 'You.'

'Me?' he asked, surprised. He thought it would be to Bowie or Topshop or someone. But him….

'Yeah, you, it was for you. Its all for you.'

He stepped back. 'What do you mean?'

'Look at me, look at what I'm wearing, why do you think I wear this stuff? Who do you think I'm trying to get to notice me?'

'I do notice you' said Howard, confused.

Vince sighed. 'Not in the right way.'

He decided he should explain why he'd got so upset when Howard hadn't known what the dedication was. 'When you never said anything about it, I figured that perhaps you just didn't feel the same way, and didn't want to say anything in case it was awkward.' He looked down at his knees. 'But when you didn't know about it at all… you didn't even care enough to read the book….' He turned his eyes away to the wall so Howard wouldn't see the tears in them.

'I do care Vince! Its just… I was exasperated that you'd so easily got what it was that I'd wanted, just by stumbling into it by accident, and it doesn't look like I'll ever have it, I wont become a famous writer drinking sherry and smoking a pipe, no, I'll be left here while you go off and live the high life.'

'What? You really think I'd go off and leave you? No way, you're coming with me, wherever I'm going!'

'Yeah, as a writers caddy right?'

'No, as you are! You think I could manage going off and doing all that without you?'

Howard looked baffled as usual. Vince sighed. 'Just take a look at this, will you?' he asked, producing a copy of the book and passing it to Howard. Too nervous to sit down again, he stood instead by the window, looking at the aftermath of Charlie's rampage.

Howard opened the book to the first page.

Dedicated to Howard Moon –whom as well as being a complete tit, is also the best person I know. I love you Howard.

'Is this true?' asked Howard.

Vince took a deep trembling breath. 'Yeah.'

'I'm a complete tit am I? That's what you were so worried about me knowing?'

Vince turned round, upset that Howard was messing about when he felt like this 'Howard!'

'Sorry. So its really defiantly how you feel?'

'Yes'

Howard did something he never thought he'd do, something he hadn't realised was what he had wanted to do for all this time. He stepped up to Vince and kissed him.

Vince pulled back and looked at him as if to say 'really?'. Howard kissed him again, and this time he kissed back. He really kissed back.

Some time later, when the clothes strew haphazardly about made the scene inside the hut almost match the chaos outside, Howard and Vince lay next to each other on the sofa, naked apart from a blanket and breathing heavily.

They'd been swept up in something of a fit of passion, but now Howard had had time to think about the situation.

'What about all those times we went out, you were with all those girls?'

Vince sighed. Sometimes he really despaired of Howard. 'All those times you were so busy feeling sorry for yourself that you didn't see that I wasn't truly enjoying myself either. Its all an act Howard, I was too scared to let you know. That's why I chose the book to tell you how I really felt, at least it wasn't face to face.'

'Oh.' He closed his eyes, running his fingers across Vince's pale skin and tracing the line of his spine absent-mindedly.

Vince sighed softly, relishing the sensation. His mind wandered back to their earlier conversation, when Howard had been talking about not becoming a famous writer, drinking sherry and smoking a pipe.

'Sherry?' He asked, smiling up at him cheekily. 'isn't that kind of a girls drink?'

'Shut up' Howard smiled back.

Six months later…

'Hey, Howard!' Vince came tripping lightly up the stairs of the flat. 'What you up to?'

Howard looked up from the table he was hunched over. 'Oh, um…'

Vince walked over, discarding his jacket and hat as he did so. 'Is that my new Charlie book?'

Howard stuttered, embarrassed. 'Well, I, uh, I, um, well I…' he gave up trying to cover his tracks and just told Vince the truth. 'Yeah, I wanted to get a look before everyone else.'

Vince sat down and looked across at him with his large blue eyes. 'And?' he asked expectantly.

'And I'm sorry about what I said in the past about them. Its really good.'

Vince smiled and took his hand. 'Thanks Howard.'

Hope you liked that, please review! xxx