Righty, I haven't updated in aaaaaaggeees, and I had better start because I'm quickly becoming this site's crazy cat lady. I turn up in the background giving month late reviews and don't write much. Is all about to change. I'm discovering my writing flame again.

Unfortunately, this means I'm going to have to stop reviewing absolutely everything. Which makes me feel really rude, but it's keeping me behind. I will try and do as much as I can though. I really don't like reading something and not giving feedback on it.

But anyway, on to the point. Birthday present ficcage for Jamie. I deviated from your request a bit- I had him stabbed instead of shot- but there's a reason for that. It'll be five chapters long, and I'll post one every day, with the final chapter on your birthday. I do hope you like it.

Dead Man Walking

The insults were flying and the punches were surely soon to follow. Howard was slowly but surely managing to steer a tipsy Vince, who was still swearing like a future sailor, towards the exit. It was a kind of unspoken agreement between them; both knew that they were volatile, and both knew that they could get aggressive when provoked, so both had secretly vowed that if he could see the other getting into any kind of trouble, he would step in and diffuse the situation.

As the bouncers calmly ushered them from the club, the sound of slurred curse words pierced the still night air, and Howard knew that he would have his work cut out for him tonight.

He swung and clamped his arms around Vince's waist as Vince lunged for the man following him. Vince doubled over, groaning, as Howard successfully managed to hold him back. He immediately started screaming obscenities again, his volume and vulgarity matched by his nemesis, who was also struggling against the restraining arms of another man.

Howard did his best to drag Vince away, pulling his raging friend further out into the street as Vince strained against him, still screaming and swearing at the man behind him, who was determined to follow them.

All of a sudden, the man had broken away. He was closer, so quickly. In one flashing moment, Howard's arms were empty. There was a cry of rage and a crunch of fists.

The other man was being dragged away. Howard watched him take a brutal punch to the nose from the very man who had been restraining him before.

And Vince was there, knelt on the floor, face pale as death, with the handle of a knife sticking out from his chest.

For a moment that felt like eternity, Howard could only watch. He watched Vince heave, he watched him fall forwards, watched the blood pour from the wound in his chest.

He saw people on phones, a bouncer hastily rushing outside.

He looked on as Vince's hazy blue eyes locked with his own.

He took hold of his friend and ran.

He ran until his arms ached and his leg felt ready to collapse, and his heart was almost about to explode with effort. He ran and ran as the streets grew dimmer, and the familiar lights of the Nabootique loomed ahead of him. He charged through the door and into the shop, hurtled up the stairs and ploughed through into the flat, with Vince's still body cradled in his arms.

The first thing Howard registered was Naboo rushing towards him. Bollo was close behind, and Howard felt the cool lightness as Vince was hurriedly taken from him.

"Give him back! Give him back, he's hurt! He needs me!

Howard was aware of the sound of his own crying, hearing it as though from a speaker across the room. He sounded desperate and distraught, and he realised with an unusual detached clarity that this must be how he was feeling. His limbs moved without instruction, clawing for Vince in their distress.

"Howard! Howard, calm down!" he heard, Naboo's South London lisp sounding unusually urgent. "Howard! Howard, he's dead."

The world stopped. Not a sound could be heard, not a breeze felt. Vision stopped moving. Yet Howard felt everything.

"No," he choked, the single word catching in his dry throat. "No! He can't be! He's alive. He's got to be alive."

"Howard," Naboo repeated in the softest voice he could manage. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can do. He's gone."

Howard stared, and took it all in. The pallid skin; the empty eyes; the glazed, soulless expression. The clothes only covered his body; they didn't extend it. Even his hair seemed to have lost its lustre.

He was a shell. Howard broke down and cried.

He felt a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"He's not dead," he sobbed. "He's not dead."

The hand circled across his back, the pressure weak and the movement nervous. Another hand joined it, wavering and limp.

It stopped, just for a moment.

"Give me a couple of hours or so," Naboo requested. "I'll see what I can do."
The body shifted under him, and Howard dived on it, clutching Vince's empty form tight and dousing it with tears. "No!" He held Vince close and clasped his body to him, feeling the lifeless corpse stiffen and the skin grow colder and colder.

The body grew further away, pulled from Howard's grip, and Howard became aware of two large, hairy arms around his own, steadily hauling him away. He struggled, legs pushing and arms springing forward of their own accord, as he was pulled further away, and Naboo took up the body, struggling a little under the weight of the larger frame, and disappeared with it into his room.

The next few hours passed in a thoughtless haze of dulled music and refused offers of tea. Seven cups grew cold in front of him, yet still he waited, stock still, eyes clamped tightly on Naboo's bedroom door. Another cup was placed in front of him, yet still Howard ignored it.

The door opened and Naboo emerged. Howard almost overturned the table as he lurched forwards, catching himself just in time to avoid crashing into the small shaman and knocking him down.

"What-" he stuttered, his tongue getting stuck half way between his throat and his words. "What happened?"

"I've done the best I can," Naboo answered softly. "Come and see."

He led Howard by the arm into his bedroom. And there was Vince; pale, bloodless and not breathing, with a wide gaping hole in his chest, sitting up and looking around in confusion on the bed.