Log in

No account? Create an account
28 May 2007 @ 02:26 am
fic: what do you call this sort of thing anyway? (3/?)  
Title: What Do You Call This Sort Of Thing Anyway? (3/?)
Authors: chibijelly & iamstillthemoon
Rating: this chapter - PG for some language!
Word Count: this chapter - 2,264 (somebody stop me).
Pairing: eventual Nicholas Angel/Martin Wilson.
Disclaimer: I own none of this. Well, except for maybe Martin's character... because you really don't have much to go off during the film...

Overall Summary: The "relationship" between one Nicholas Angel and one Martin Wilson started as a work partnership but developed into something far more confusing over time.

Notes: This chapter took way too long to finish. Waaaay too long. After a week (or however long it's been), it's finally done. And probably not as good as the first two. (The crazy amount of dialogue bothers me a bit...) But at least it's done and I can get on to the lawl-worthy events!! ♥ Many thanks to iamstillthemoon for helping me through this and contributing to the craziness that I promise will occur in the next installment... (gypsyjr, you know what I'm talking about. :D)

Previous Chapters:

The morning after verbally expressing his disdain for Angel’s attitude and behavior towards him, Martin was rudely awoken from his rather peaceful sleep by the phone. As he groaned from beneath the covers, his hand blindly fished around his messy, book-laden bedside table in search of the cordless. It continued its chirping until he brought the phone beneath the covers and hit the button to pick up.

“Huh-hullo?” he managed to ask before yawning. Rolling onto his side, he left behind the pillow he had been hugging during the night. Who in their right mind would be calling his apartment this early in the morning? The sun hadn’t even risen yet.

“Constable Wilson. Morning. Angel here.”

Martin’s eyes grew wide from surprise as he clambered to sit up in his bed, throwing the bed clothes off of him. He didn’t recall ever giving Nicholas his phone number.

“Nicholas, hi. It’s”—he glanced quickly at the alarm clock—“five in the morning. Is anything the matter?”

“Come out for a run with me?”

What? A run? But it’s five in the—“

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, Constable. But… I’m not forcing you to join me.”

Martin rolled his eyes, his free hand ruffling through his messy hair as he scooted to the edge of the mattress and set his feet on the floor. “I know, I know. Uh… Well, if you really want me to, I suppose I could.”

“Of course I really want you to. Meet me at the park. I’ll wait.”

And then he heard the dial tone.

Slightly baffled, Martin stared at the receiver before hitting the button again and tossing it back onto the volume of Shakespearean sonnets he kept on the night stand (which, in turn, happened to sit right on top of his book of police guidelines he never got around to finish reading). “He wants me to what?”

Martin took another look at the green digital numbers of his alarm clock and groaned again, contemplating curling back up under the comforter. It was so much warmer under there, and sleep was a wonderful idea. Getting out of bed before seven was out of the question as far as he was concerned. But, then again, it was Nicholas who asked him, and going for a run was harmless enough, right? Unless the older constable wanted to get more bonding out of the way. He was always up for a bit of that.

After a moment or two of contemplation, Martin announced to no one in particular that he was going out on the run after all. Everything would be fine.

He left his bedroom, making sure he put the kettle on the stove before rushing to brush his teeth and comb his hair. Then Martin fed his goldfish, the one he called Ford, before drinking his routine cup of tea and leaving his flat to meet up with his partner.

The air was as damp as ever as the sun made its way up into the sky. It was going to be another miserable day, he figured. The weather had been taking a turn for the worse over the past week or so; the temperatures dipped lower as the month slowly dragged on. Martin was thankful he opted for sweatpants.

He started his way out to the park by walking, and then he slowly worked into a jog, occasionally checking his watch to keep track of the time. He hoped he hadn’t kept Nicholas waiting too long. The last thing he needed was to be reprimanded first thing in the morning.

But he realized he was just in time when he came to the park’s entrance and spotted his partner using a bench to stretch out his calf muscles—wearing the most ridiculously short shorts he never wanted to see anyone wearing, no less.

“Nick! Sorry if I kept you,” Martin called, to which the other man glanced back from the bench. “Hello Constable,” he simply replied before turning around and stretching his arms behind his head.

“Morning,” Martin said, covering his mouth with the back of a hand as he yawned. “’msosorry, just not used to being up this early.”

“I get up at three every morning,” Nicholas replied shortly.

Martin was more than shocked that a person was capable of accomplishing that on a regular basis. “Three?”

“… Yes?”

“But… why? What on Earth could a person possibly need to do at three in the morning?”

Nicholas’s hands went to his hips, and he sighed exasperatedly as he kicked at a rock on the ground. “Wax the shrubbery. Exercise. Prepare to go to one’s job with everything one has. The usual.”

The young man barely batted an eye at his partner as he proceeded to bend over and grab at his toes, simply stretching a bit more in those horribly short exercise shorts. He just wanted to go back home, curl up in his comfy bed, and sleep for the extra two or so hours before his normally horrible Wednesday shift was to start.

“You ready?” Nicholas asked. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, the noise bringing Martin to attention.

“As ready as I’ll ever be at this ungodly hour…” Martin mumbled in response, rubbing at his eyes.

And without another word, Nicholas was off down one of the park’s main paths. Martin simply stood there watching him before deciding to join in, quickening his run so that he could catch up.

Even though Nicholas was a man of few words, Martin couldn’t help but think that something was bothering him. Maybe he called him out this early as punishment for something he did? Or said? Although his mind was cloudy from exhaustion, Martin could still remember his little melodramatic episode from the evening before.

“Look – I’m really sorry if I was out of line,” he finally said, once he managed to run in time with his partner and choose his words carefully. “Snapping at you like I did.”

Nicholas looked over at him, his eyebrows furrowed with concern and confusion. “Snapped… snapped at me?”

“Last night at work. I was just in a sort of bad mood. I won’t do it again. Promise.”

“I understand,” he said. “Sometimes I wish to be short with others as well.”

“We know this.” Martin grinned, but his expression dropped as soon as he realized Nicholas wasn’t paying attention. He hesitated before speaking up to him again.


“Yes, Martin?”

And that hit the younger constable harder than the one bum who insisted on punching him in the jaw a few weeks prior. Nicholas had never addressed him by his first name before.

“Am I… a horrible partner?” Martin finally asked, expecting the blunt, honest truth that Nicholas normally blurted out without a second thought.

“Why would you think that?”

They ran through a congregation of pigeons that quickly fluttered away to find breakfast elsewhere in the park.

“You’re just… I don’t know. A perfectionist, I suppose—but don’t take that the wrong way, it’s meant to be a compliment. I feel like… I’m not up to your standards.”

“Martin. Honestly.” Nicholas rolled his eyes, taking a look at him before turning down another pathway.

“Honestly what!” he replied, quickly following him.

Nicholas shook his head before momentarily looking back at the younger man. “I am not one to speak about those things called--”


“Yes. Those things.”

“Nick, I just want to know if I’m up to your standards or not.”

“Martin, please. I do not have standards.”

He was now running shoulder-to-shoulder with Nicholas. “So I’m a good partner?”

“Of course you are!” Nicholas replied, looking over at him. “Why on Earth would you think otherwise?”

“Issues with self-confidence? Being paired up with the most successful office in the history of the Met? Take your pick.”

Nicholas instantly stopped running, his hands returning to his hips like earlier. “What is with you today, Martin Alexander Wilson?”

Upon hearing his middle name, Martin came to a halt as well. Nicholas was sounding like his father used to. “Nothing’s… wrong with me today?” he replied nervously.

“What I meant to say was… where do you…” Nicholas sighed, scrunching his face up and rubbing at his temples before continuing. “Where do you get these strange and bizarre theories from?”


“That you aren’t up to my non-existent standards?”

“I just said you’re the most successful officer in the Met’s history. Of course I would be worried about my personal performance, Nick.” He frowned slightly, his eyes searching the older man’s face. Nicholas looked away, and then he shook his head, rubbing his mouth with his hand.

“…Anything the matter?” Martin quietly asked.

“Well, apparently. The entire Met thinks that I’m some sort of sorry bint with a fucking pool cue up my arse—including you!”

“I never said that!”

“Well, why else would you think I have such high standards?”

Sighing, Martin crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his trainers. “Because you’re so amazing at what you do,” he said quite simply, his voice quieting considerably.

“Stop it,” Nicholas snapped. Martin cringed at his tone, stammering an apology.

“And don’t apologize! Christ. We’ve been over this a million times.”

Martin knew that. Nicholas reminded him of it constantly. According to the older constable, Martin’s nature was a sad, apologetic one full of worry and pessimism. Before he could stop them, words of apology fell out of his mouth, and it proved to aggravate Nicholas more than Martin believed it should. Every time he was reprimanded by Nicholas, his defense mechanisms only acted faster, thus leaving him a stuttering mess of nerves.

“I – sorry. I just -- sorry...” His stammering was worse as Nicholas started to pace around him. Martin’s arms hugged himself a bit tighter, his eyes looking up from the ground to follow the other man on his path.

“Martin, Martin, Martin…”

“Yeah? Nick?”

Why did you have to go and bring this up…”

“I don’t… know. Was just curious, I suppose. And worried.”

“You’re always worried. What is it about this time?”

“You,” Martin said rather matter-of-factly.

Nicholas stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes slowly turning to look at the younger man with utter bewilderment. “Me?”

“Yes you.”

Nicholas’ hand flopped to his side. “Well, what about me!”

“Maybe you work too hard.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“We’ve been partners for months. And I really don’t feel like we are partners.”

“I feel like we fit perfectly.”

Really?” Martin’s adoration for the older man immediately kicked in. He felt his heart swell inside his chest from Nicholas’ statement. “You do?”

Nicholas merely nodded.

“Then it must really just be me,” Martin replied, smiling a bit to himself as he shook his head. “I’m really sorry about all this.”

And before he realized it, he had said it again, and Nicholas was quick to reprimand him. “Stop. A-po-lo-gi-zing.”

“Ah – okay, okay. Stopping now. I swear.”

Next Martin heard what must’ve been his partner counting to the number ten beneath his breath, followed by a quiet, but still exasperated, “Whyyy does this always happen to me…”

He scowled at him. “Why does what always happen, Nick? Do you want to talk about it?”

“It seems all of my partners have to worry about me at some point in time. It always happens.”

“And I just thought it was my generally worrisome nature…”

Nicholas shook his head. “No, it’s not that,” he replied, kicking the ground with a foot.

“Maybe you do work too hard. You just don’t notice it, is all.”

“Or! Maybe no one else works hard enough.”

Martin grimaced. “… Am I lazy at work?” he asked between gritted teeth, fearing the response.

Nicholas sighed, his hands returning to rubbing at his temples. “I didn’t mean you, Martin…”

Martin nodded slowly before looking away.

“You’re perfect for me,” his partner added a moment later.

“Oh.” Martin’s mouth twitched into a smile, and he glanced back at him. “Oh, okay.” Two statements of praise? In under five minutes’ time? Martin was more than delighted.

Yawning, Nicholas looked at his watch. “We haven’t even made it to the halfway point yet.”

“I’m so tired…” Martin trailed off. He sat himself down on the cold concrete, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“It’s all about endurance, Martin.” Nicholas crossed his arms, glaring down at him.

“Which I possess absolutely none of.”

“Then fix it. What are you going to do when you’re being chased by an Alsatian? Going to give out? No. You can’t do that. You have to prepare for every situation, Martin.” Nicholas started to pace back and forth in front of him as if he were delivering a very important speech.

“Well, I’m sure I’d run like hell if a dog were involved…”

“And if it had a gun?”

“…Run even faster?”

“No, Martin! You have to learn to duck and to dive and to roll. You have to teach your legs and train them like your life depended on it.”

“If it weren’t six in the morning then maybe I would.”

Nicholas stopped his pacing and ran a hand through his hair. “Alright. Fine. We’ll go back to your apartment and let you sleep. How’s that sound?”

“That sounds brilliant, actually.”

“But you have to jog back with me,” Nicholas replied quickly. And then he took off again, leaving a rather disappointed Martin behind.

“Nick!” he called, stumbling to his feet. “Dammit, okay! Wait up!” And then the young constable took after him.
Current Mood: relievedrelieved
alouette_sparraalouette_sparra on May 28th, 2007 06:02 pm (UTC)
Oh this is absolutely brilliant! Their interaction is wonderful. Nicholas strikes me as such a RoboCop in this, but somehow it works. Possibly because this is all pre-movie. Of course, I also like how Martin is all worried and flustered but is absolutely elated to receive so many compliments from Nicholas. Ah, I just love this chapter to bits! You're converting me... stop it...

You know, I'm really curious as to where this will end up. Write more. *poke*
sammiface!: hot fuzz | martin wilson.chibijelly on May 29th, 2007 01:13 am (UTC)
Thank you! ♥ I was worried the dialogue was a bit squiffy. But yay for good enough interaction! That's what I wanted to happen. lol.

Don't worry. The conversion process will be done and over with soon. Maybe as soon as the next chapter's done.

*sneaky face*
alouette_sparra: hedgehogalouette_sparra on May 29th, 2007 04:23 am (UTC)
*gasp of exposition*

No wonder you write Robo-Nic so well! You're the Borg! You'll never assimilate me!!! *runs off laughing maniacally*

Ehehm... Pardon. When will the next chapter be done then? Might as well get this whole assimilation/conversion/"whatever word you want to use that has a vaguely cult-ish collectivist connotation" process over with.
sammiface!: hot fuzz | the andys.chibijelly on May 29th, 2007 04:25 am (UTC)
I started it last night. Maybe sometime during the week. Not quite sure at this moment in time. But don't worry. It'll happen soon. :D
moritainekai on May 30th, 2007 01:22 pm (UTC)

I was looking forward to reading another chapter of this all vacation. THANK YOU! It's awesome.

And A+++++ for naming the fish Ford. Martin feels a bit Hitchhiker-ish to me, anyway, which is good! I swear!

*ducks potentially-hurled bowl of petunias*
sammiface!: hot fuzz/the good night | too much cute.chibijelly on May 30th, 2007 06:25 pm (UTC)
Yay I'm glad you enjoyed it. ♥ (I also hope your little vacay from the Interwebz was enjoyable.)

If you like Ford the Goldfish, you will definitely like the next chapter. When I finish writing/editing it. :3