Fic: MSPA - Normalcy - DD/PI
Title: Normalcy
Fandom: MSPA - Problem Sleuth/Intermission
Pairings: Diamonds Droog/Pickle Inspector (yes, shut up)
Description: After seeing bits and pieces of this pairing on Tumblr, I got intrigued - particularly when one fic-writer, FriendlyTroll, wrote a fic of them in which PI was a synesthete (condition where two of the senses are crossed together, look it up). Remembering the common idea that DD is a psychopath, it got me thinking about how strange the both of them could be - and then, on how the two of them could actually make up for each other's shortcomings. Essentially, I'm taking a completely smooth psychopath and a socially awkward sweetheart and pointing out how the two of them make one completely normal 'person' with their mental traits combined.
Rating: G
Diamonds Droog is not normal. He’s been reliably informed of this by at least four psychologists and the vast majority of all the people he’s ever known. Really, he didn’t need their diagnoses - he’s always known he was different. He’s always known that no one will ever understand the beauty of the red splatter like he does, the peaceful way that everyone seems to look so much better when they’ve stopped breathing, or the grinding sensation of people moving and talking and breathing and living too much for you to make heads or tails of anything. He is known as a psychopath because his brain has a different layout than anyone else’s. And he wishes the word was a bit more elegant, a little less chaotic - less reminiscent of his world in general.
In a way, the Inspector is like him.
Nobody would call Pickle Inspector a psychopath, of course. Psychopath is reserved for those who tend to injure others, and the Inspector couldn’t hurt a fly if he tried. For Pickle Inspector, they’d have to find something else. “Insanity” could possibly fit the bill.
Sometimes Droog wonders if the Inspector’s ever visited a doctor, ever seen someone who tried to classify him and his funny little head like an insect under a magnifying glass. He wonders if the Inspector has ever told that doctor about the lights he sees when he hears all the sounds of the world, or the things he spins together from gold thread in his mind to get away from the noise and brightness and realness of the world. He wonders if he’s ever been given medication for his lights, and therapy for his wild imagination. And then Droog smiles, because of course the Inspector hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t - he knows they would do that to him. And he knows that it’s not what he wants.
The weirdest thing, Droog has to say, is how they fit together. Diamonds Droog is ruthlessly polite and even-balanced in an attempt to sway the chaotic world he inhabits, and Pickle Inspector is a spectacular rainbow wreck as he bumbles apologetically and curiously through his little boxed-up puzzles. Alone, they are unequal and opposite - dark and light, aloof and open, monochrome and resplendent, two human beings who don’t have completely human minds.
Together, they have a teetery balance that threatens to collapse and then finds some sort of strength inside itself that keeps it standing. Together they make a person. Regularity. Normalcy.
Droog asks the Inspector his questions, one night. It’s nearly two in the morning, and they are having tea. In the other room a record is playing - something sweet and classical, soft enough not to wake PI’s housemates but loud enough for the two of them to hear and enjoy.
“Have you ever been psychoanalyzed?”
Pickle Inspector almost starts at the question, having been pulled back from staring at the colors blooming directly behind and above Droog’s right shoulder. “H-huh?”
Droog takes a sip of his tea - completely unchanged except for one packet of sugar - before replying. “Psychoanalysis. Have you ever had one done?”
“O-oh, ah…” The Inspector looks away shyly. “I- I have to say, I h-haven’t.” Just as suspected. “H-have you…?”
“Four times. They all told me things I already knew.”
“I- I thought as m-much.” He takes sip of his own tea, which is less tea and more a cup filled with cream, sugar, and just a splash of candy corn liquor. “I- If- if you don’t mind me a-asking, D-Droog, wh… why did you…”
“Get checked out so many times?” Droog finishes PI’s question. He’s getting better and better at completing the detective’s trains of thought. “I was forced to - “
“B-because of your former job, c-c-correct?” In a fit of uncharacteristic boldness PI interrupts and finishes Droog’s reply. He’s getting better and better at it as well.
Immediately afterwards he regains his sanity, realizes what he just did, and backpedals furiously. His tea cup and saucer are shaking in his hands. “I- I mean, f-fo-forgive me for rinter- INterrupting, b-but it… I just - I mean, i-it seems unlikely thuh-that S-S-S-Slick w-would… would p-particularly c-c-care. Ah. U-um…”
Droog knows that Inspector’s reply is a truth, and he also knows that it’s obscuring the real issue at hand. Of course Slick wouldn’t care about Droog’s mental state. He only cares that what he wants done gets done, and Droog does a spectacular job at that. The real issue is that Pickle Inspector knows something more, something about his… old job. His old life. He’s undoubtedly done some snooping and managed to uncover some little clue: a dusty and crumbling tome of workers’ names, a faded scrap of a purple flag. He could have found anything, really - anything would likely be enough for the Inspector to puzzle out Droog’s history, if he had enough time and liquor available.
Usually, this would infuriate Droog. His past is well guarded; he does not take kindly to people uncovering things that he’s had buried for years. Not to mention that, if it were anyone but Pickle Inspector, this information could be used to manipulate him, if he were anyone but Diamonds Droog.
But he is Diamonds Droog, and the man across from him is Pickle Inspector, and between the two of them they make one person which neither of them is willing to lose any time soon. Between the two of them there is no wish or outlet for blackmailing, which there wouldn’t even be space for if it appeared.
There’s no need to behave as they normally do, because the only time they get to be normal is when they’re with each other.
So Droog just smiles with his eyes and says, as he brings his tea back to his lips, “Sometimes I forget how clever you are, Inspector. I’m glad you remind me.”
Just like that the tension has passed, and the Inspector gives a nervous giggle. The music keeps playing, and the two men sit peacefully as one person together.
Fandom: MSPA - Problem Sleuth/Intermission
Pairings: Diamonds Droog/Pickle Inspector (yes, shut up)
Description: After seeing bits and pieces of this pairing on Tumblr, I got intrigued - particularly when one fic-writer, FriendlyTroll, wrote a fic of them in which PI was a synesthete (condition where two of the senses are crossed together, look it up). Remembering the common idea that DD is a psychopath, it got me thinking about how strange the both of them could be - and then, on how the two of them could actually make up for each other's shortcomings. Essentially, I'm taking a completely smooth psychopath and a socially awkward sweetheart and pointing out how the two of them make one completely normal 'person' with their mental traits combined.
Rating: G
Diamonds Droog is not normal. He’s been reliably informed of this by at least four psychologists and the vast majority of all the people he’s ever known. Really, he didn’t need their diagnoses - he’s always known he was different. He’s always known that no one will ever understand the beauty of the red splatter like he does, the peaceful way that everyone seems to look so much better when they’ve stopped breathing, or the grinding sensation of people moving and talking and breathing and living too much for you to make heads or tails of anything. He is known as a psychopath because his brain has a different layout than anyone else’s. And he wishes the word was a bit more elegant, a little less chaotic - less reminiscent of his world in general.
In a way, the Inspector is like him.
Nobody would call Pickle Inspector a psychopath, of course. Psychopath is reserved for those who tend to injure others, and the Inspector couldn’t hurt a fly if he tried. For Pickle Inspector, they’d have to find something else. “Insanity” could possibly fit the bill.
Sometimes Droog wonders if the Inspector’s ever visited a doctor, ever seen someone who tried to classify him and his funny little head like an insect under a magnifying glass. He wonders if the Inspector has ever told that doctor about the lights he sees when he hears all the sounds of the world, or the things he spins together from gold thread in his mind to get away from the noise and brightness and realness of the world. He wonders if he’s ever been given medication for his lights, and therapy for his wild imagination. And then Droog smiles, because of course the Inspector hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t - he knows they would do that to him. And he knows that it’s not what he wants.
The weirdest thing, Droog has to say, is how they fit together. Diamonds Droog is ruthlessly polite and even-balanced in an attempt to sway the chaotic world he inhabits, and Pickle Inspector is a spectacular rainbow wreck as he bumbles apologetically and curiously through his little boxed-up puzzles. Alone, they are unequal and opposite - dark and light, aloof and open, monochrome and resplendent, two human beings who don’t have completely human minds.
Together, they have a teetery balance that threatens to collapse and then finds some sort of strength inside itself that keeps it standing. Together they make a person. Regularity. Normalcy.
Droog asks the Inspector his questions, one night. It’s nearly two in the morning, and they are having tea. In the other room a record is playing - something sweet and classical, soft enough not to wake PI’s housemates but loud enough for the two of them to hear and enjoy.
“Have you ever been psychoanalyzed?”
Pickle Inspector almost starts at the question, having been pulled back from staring at the colors blooming directly behind and above Droog’s right shoulder. “H-huh?”
Droog takes a sip of his tea - completely unchanged except for one packet of sugar - before replying. “Psychoanalysis. Have you ever had one done?”
“O-oh, ah…” The Inspector looks away shyly. “I- I have to say, I h-haven’t.” Just as suspected. “H-have you…?”
“Four times. They all told me things I already knew.”
“I- I thought as m-much.” He takes sip of his own tea, which is less tea and more a cup filled with cream, sugar, and just a splash of candy corn liquor. “I- If- if you don’t mind me a-asking, D-Droog, wh… why did you…”
“Get checked out so many times?” Droog finishes PI’s question. He’s getting better and better at completing the detective’s trains of thought. “I was forced to - “
“B-because of your former job, c-c-correct?” In a fit of uncharacteristic boldness PI interrupts and finishes Droog’s reply. He’s getting better and better at it as well.
Immediately afterwards he regains his sanity, realizes what he just did, and backpedals furiously. His tea cup and saucer are shaking in his hands. “I- I mean, f-fo-forgive me for rinter- INterrupting, b-but it… I just - I mean, i-it seems unlikely thuh-that S-S-S-Slick w-would… would p-particularly c-c-care. Ah. U-um…”
Droog knows that Inspector’s reply is a truth, and he also knows that it’s obscuring the real issue at hand. Of course Slick wouldn’t care about Droog’s mental state. He only cares that what he wants done gets done, and Droog does a spectacular job at that. The real issue is that Pickle Inspector knows something more, something about his… old job. His old life. He’s undoubtedly done some snooping and managed to uncover some little clue: a dusty and crumbling tome of workers’ names, a faded scrap of a purple flag. He could have found anything, really - anything would likely be enough for the Inspector to puzzle out Droog’s history, if he had enough time and liquor available.
Usually, this would infuriate Droog. His past is well guarded; he does not take kindly to people uncovering things that he’s had buried for years. Not to mention that, if it were anyone but Pickle Inspector, this information could be used to manipulate him, if he were anyone but Diamonds Droog.
But he is Diamonds Droog, and the man across from him is Pickle Inspector, and between the two of them they make one person which neither of them is willing to lose any time soon. Between the two of them there is no wish or outlet for blackmailing, which there wouldn’t even be space for if it appeared.
There’s no need to behave as they normally do, because the only time they get to be normal is when they’re with each other.
So Droog just smiles with his eyes and says, as he brings his tea back to his lips, “Sometimes I forget how clever you are, Inspector. I’m glad you remind me.”
Just like that the tension has passed, and the Inspector gives a nervous giggle. The music keeps playing, and the two men sit peacefully as one person together.