(Dr. Horrible/Pushing Daisies) Helping Hands for wnnb_darklord
Title: Helping Hands
Author: entwashian
Fandoms: Dr. Horrible/Pushing Daisies
Characters: Billy (Dr Horrible), Moist; Ned, Emerson, Chuck, Olive
Pairings: (mentions) Billy/Penny, Ned/Chuck
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1700
Spoilers: Post-series for both
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog and Pushing Daisies belong to their respective creators.
A/N: Thank you, perdiccas for doing a super-quick beta job! <3
Summary: Billy can't raise the dead. So he finds someone who can.
“So.” Moist is rubbing the back of his neck. “Hourglass says she knows a guy who knows a guy…” he trails off, looking down at the ground.
“Well, spit it out!” Doc finally snaps irritably.
A droplet runs down Moist’s forehead and travels the full line of his nose before plopping wetly onto the floor.
“Okay, poor choice of words,” Doc concedes.
“This guy.” Moist sighs. “She says he can raise the dead.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“No one can raise the dead,” Doc says with an air of finality.
--------
The bank robbery is the easy part. All Dr. Horrible has to do is strap a wicked-looking trans-matter ray to his wrist, and people literally fall out of the way. (You know, if by “fall” you mean “get knocked over and trampled on by a panicked crowd”, but that’s hardly his problem.)
As Billy, he finds it much more difficult to convince four people to get on a plane and fly out to meet him. (Why a full-grown pie maker needs three escorts, Billy will never know.)
The thing about having a Ph D in horribleness is that you’ve learned how to do your research.
Billy knows about the pie maker’s one-minute rule and its loophole, but the pie maker does not know about Doc’s freeze ray.
--------
He greets them when they arrive at the train station. (The tickets are more expensive than a flight, but Billy can afford it. Well, Billy can’t afford it, but Doc can, and the line between the two is growing thinner day by day.)
The group isn’t hard to spot: two tall men loom over two tiny women, the four of them clustered in an awkward, disjointed group, as if afraid of accidentally touching one another.
But the blonde rushes up to Billy, taking his hand and introducing herself as Olive Snook, gushing happily about how wonderful the trip was, and how sorry she is that his friend died, and how she can’t wait to get started with work on the case.
When she finally releases Billy’s hand, he’s a bit dazed, and then relieved when the tall, thinner man doesn’t try to shake his hand. He just rubs the back of his neck and says a simple, “I’m Ned.”
The other man doesn’t try to shake his hand, either. He raises an eyebrow and nods coolly. “Emerson Cod.”
The other woman, a brunette, introduces herself as Kitty Pims. She looks like she’s stepped right out of a black-and-white 1940’s film noir, except her lips are bright red and her dress is a sunny yellow. And when Billy takes her hand, he can feel the warmth of her skin, even through her gloves.
--------
Since they’re not locals, Billy doesn’t expect them to recognize Penny’s face or name, but he’s prepared some documents with a false name, just in case.
When they ask to go to straight to the morgue, he feigns confusion. “I have all the reports right here,” Billy says, holding out a sheaf of papers.
“We’re specialists,” Emerson says. “Let us do our job.”
“I don’t think I can stand seeing her like that.” Billy tries to look as miserable as he possibly can.
“It’s okay,” Kitty says.
“You don’t have to come inside with us,” Ned quickly chimes in. Billy sees Emerson smirk out of the corner of his eye.
When they get to the morgue, Billy is almost sick with anticipation. But that’s okay. It fits the role he’s playing today.
He promises to wait for them by the car, and as the others enter the building, Olive lays a hand on his arm.
“Must’ve been some friend,” she says softly.
“She thought we were friends.” Billy pauses. Allows for a moment of honesty. “I loved her.”
Olive pats his arm gently and smiles a little smile at him before leaving to join the others in the building.
Billy goes to work, too.
--------
Ned and his entourage tremble once, twice, and once more before the hold of Doc’s freeze ray is broken.
“You used me to commit murder!” Combined with Ned’s slack-jawed look of astonishment, there’s a sort of hilarious irony in that statement.
It’s what Penny had said to Billy minutes earlier, as he tried to hustle her past the corpse of the (former) executive assistant slumped over her (former) desk.
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.” Doc crosses his arms over his chest, and he doesn’t even have to give a pointed look at the woman who introduced herself as ‘Kitty Pims’, because he knows what her real name is. He knows that she’s dead.
Or once was.
--------
“Ya gotta look on the bright side,” Moist says, his mouth appallingly open as he chews. “The plan wasn’t a complete disaster. The pie that they gave you before they knew we were evil is really delicious.”
“Hn. Strawberry?” Busy brooding, Doc can’t really bring himself to care.
“Rhubarb!” Moist replies, smacking his lips in gluttonous delight.
“Isn’t that a vegetable?” Doc asks.
Moist shrugs.
“What kind of sick freak makes pie out of vegetables?!” Doc expounds.
“Lots of people eat pumpkin pie around the holidays,” Moist says diffidently.
Doc snarls his lip. “Pumpkins are technically a fruit, and whoever invented vegetable pies is still a moron.”
“You sure you don’t want any?” Moist takes a third piece.
--------
“What about pot pies?” Moist asks an hour later.
“What about them?”
“They usually have vegetables. Little peas and carrots and things.” Moist mimes the brisk chopping motion of a kitchen knife. Tiny droplets fly into the air.
“Okay, first of all: a pot pie isn’t really even a pie, it’s more like soup with a lid. Secondly: we never had this conversation.” Doc puts his foot down.
Moist sighs, slumping down into the couch with a squelching noise.
“You should talk to him.”
“Who?” Doc demands.
“The pie maker, Ted. Ed? Fred?”
“Ned,” Doc corrects him through gritted teeth. “Why?”
“Look, no offense, but you’re clearly having some issues here. It might help you to talk about it. And he seems to be the only one qualified for the job.”
--------
Maybe to combat the sweetness of all the pastry he’s consumed over the years, or maybe just as a palate cleanser, Ned takes his coffee black.
Billy has no such compulsion -- either to counteract an abundance of sweetness, or to drink coffee at all -- so he orders hot chocolate.
Ned sits and stares at the little tray of sugar substitute packets that rests between them at the center of the table, and Billy tries to understand him.
This is a man who has the power to change the world literally within his grasp, who never had to work for, or even ask for, that power. And all he does is gaze into his coffee mug with his wistful caterpillar eyebrows raised toward his hairline, because he’s too afraid even to unclench his hands and raise his arms to seize it.
“Did you stop to think for one second about what would happen afterward?” Ned finally asks.
“No,” Billy responds instantly. There’s no need to think. But he owes something to someone -- maybe to Ned and his friends, maybe to the absent Penny -- so he continues.
“The only thing --” Billy starts, “the only thing that makes the world okay is knowing that she’s somewhere out there in it.”
“I can’t eat my own pie,” Ned blurts after a moment of silence.
Billy has no idea where this conversation is going.
“When I make a pie,” Ned continues, “I touch every single piece of fruit, making each one alive again, thereby rendering the pies juicy and delicious. If I were to bite into a piece of a pie that I’ve made, the fruit would die again and rot inside my mouth. So I can’t eat the pies that I make.”
“I sincerely hope you’re not comparing the woman I love to a piece of pie.”
Ned blinks. “No, I’m comparing the woman I love to a piece of pie.”
“Oh, okay, then.” Billy gulps his cocoa, which burns the roof of his mouth.
--------
There’s circumspect, and then there’s Emerson Cod, who is sitting at the counter fifteen feet away with his back to them, elbow cocked to the side while his hand nonchalantly rests a few inches from the gun cozy beneath his sweater vest. He’s trying desperately to look uninterested in their conversation, sipping at his own cup of coffee.
Ned flicks his eyes in Emerson’s direction, and takes a deep breath.
“Listen, I know you think we’re a group of small-town bumpkins --”
“Well, not until you used the word ‘bumpkins’,” Billy cracks.
“-- but we’re not stupid. We’ve heard the news about the Evil League of Evil’s recent member acquisition, and we know who you are.” Ned crosses his hands on the table and leans in toward Billy.
“Good news travels fast,” Billy says, stirring his still-hot chocolate to release some of the heat.
“It’s finished,” Ned says. “You’ll be reported to the authorities, and you will be made to answer for your crimes.”
“Excellent.” Billy sets down the dripping spoon, and the napkin wrinkles as it absorbs the excess liquid.
“Excuse me?” Ned’s open-mouthed incredulity is starting to become a familiar sight.
“I’m not the only one here with a secret identity. Won’t it be great when everyone finds out what you can do? Then you can be tried for all the murders you’ve committed, too!” Billy lifts his mug of cocoa, then sets it down without drinking. “Maybe we can even be bunk mates! It’ll be just like summer camp, only without the kayaking or the poison ivy.”
“That’s blackmail! You’re blackmailing me?!”
Billy frowns thoughtfully. “No, I mean, since I’m the one paying you for services rendered, I don’t think it technically counts as blackmail.” He pauses. “I’ll get Moist to ask the Henchmen’s Union about that. In the meantime, we’ll just call it a mutually beneficial agreement.”
Ned looks like he’s about to fold in on himself, but the stakes are too high for him not to play the game.
“If I do agree -- if --” Ned says, “then after today, you and I never see each other again.”
“And Penny?” Billy knows he’s laying all his cards on the table, but he has to be sure. She’s the only thing left that matters.
“Penny has nothing to fear from me,” Ned says, rising from his seat at the table. “We both know that she’s already paid too much for your mistakes.”
If Billy’s hand shakes as he sets down his cup, it’s only pain caused by warm liquid sliding over the raw, injured skin inside his mouth.
-END-
Prompt:
Billy and Ned commiserate about their love lives. With pie.
Author: entwashian
Fandoms: Dr. Horrible/Pushing Daisies
Characters: Billy (Dr Horrible), Moist; Ned, Emerson, Chuck, Olive
Pairings: (mentions) Billy/Penny, Ned/Chuck
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1700
Spoilers: Post-series for both
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog and Pushing Daisies belong to their respective creators.
A/N: Thank you, perdiccas for doing a super-quick beta job! <3
Summary: Billy can't raise the dead. So he finds someone who can.
“So.” Moist is rubbing the back of his neck. “Hourglass says she knows a guy who knows a guy…” he trails off, looking down at the ground.
“Well, spit it out!” Doc finally snaps irritably.
A droplet runs down Moist’s forehead and travels the full line of his nose before plopping wetly onto the floor.
“Okay, poor choice of words,” Doc concedes.
“This guy.” Moist sighs. “She says he can raise the dead.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“No one can raise the dead,” Doc says with an air of finality.
--------
The bank robbery is the easy part. All Dr. Horrible has to do is strap a wicked-looking trans-matter ray to his wrist, and people literally fall out of the way. (You know, if by “fall” you mean “get knocked over and trampled on by a panicked crowd”, but that’s hardly his problem.)
As Billy, he finds it much more difficult to convince four people to get on a plane and fly out to meet him. (Why a full-grown pie maker needs three escorts, Billy will never know.)
The thing about having a Ph D in horribleness is that you’ve learned how to do your research.
Billy knows about the pie maker’s one-minute rule and its loophole, but the pie maker does not know about Doc’s freeze ray.
--------
He greets them when they arrive at the train station. (The tickets are more expensive than a flight, but Billy can afford it. Well, Billy can’t afford it, but Doc can, and the line between the two is growing thinner day by day.)
The group isn’t hard to spot: two tall men loom over two tiny women, the four of them clustered in an awkward, disjointed group, as if afraid of accidentally touching one another.
But the blonde rushes up to Billy, taking his hand and introducing herself as Olive Snook, gushing happily about how wonderful the trip was, and how sorry she is that his friend died, and how she can’t wait to get started with work on the case.
When she finally releases Billy’s hand, he’s a bit dazed, and then relieved when the tall, thinner man doesn’t try to shake his hand. He just rubs the back of his neck and says a simple, “I’m Ned.”
The other man doesn’t try to shake his hand, either. He raises an eyebrow and nods coolly. “Emerson Cod.”
The other woman, a brunette, introduces herself as Kitty Pims. She looks like she’s stepped right out of a black-and-white 1940’s film noir, except her lips are bright red and her dress is a sunny yellow. And when Billy takes her hand, he can feel the warmth of her skin, even through her gloves.
--------
Since they’re not locals, Billy doesn’t expect them to recognize Penny’s face or name, but he’s prepared some documents with a false name, just in case.
When they ask to go to straight to the morgue, he feigns confusion. “I have all the reports right here,” Billy says, holding out a sheaf of papers.
“We’re specialists,” Emerson says. “Let us do our job.”
“I don’t think I can stand seeing her like that.” Billy tries to look as miserable as he possibly can.
“It’s okay,” Kitty says.
“You don’t have to come inside with us,” Ned quickly chimes in. Billy sees Emerson smirk out of the corner of his eye.
When they get to the morgue, Billy is almost sick with anticipation. But that’s okay. It fits the role he’s playing today.
He promises to wait for them by the car, and as the others enter the building, Olive lays a hand on his arm.
“Must’ve been some friend,” she says softly.
“She thought we were friends.” Billy pauses. Allows for a moment of honesty. “I loved her.”
Olive pats his arm gently and smiles a little smile at him before leaving to join the others in the building.
Billy goes to work, too.
--------
Ned and his entourage tremble once, twice, and once more before the hold of Doc’s freeze ray is broken.
“You used me to commit murder!” Combined with Ned’s slack-jawed look of astonishment, there’s a sort of hilarious irony in that statement.
It’s what Penny had said to Billy minutes earlier, as he tried to hustle her past the corpse of the (former) executive assistant slumped over her (former) desk.
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.” Doc crosses his arms over his chest, and he doesn’t even have to give a pointed look at the woman who introduced herself as ‘Kitty Pims’, because he knows what her real name is. He knows that she’s dead.
Or once was.
--------
“Ya gotta look on the bright side,” Moist says, his mouth appallingly open as he chews. “The plan wasn’t a complete disaster. The pie that they gave you before they knew we were evil is really delicious.”
“Hn. Strawberry?” Busy brooding, Doc can’t really bring himself to care.
“Rhubarb!” Moist replies, smacking his lips in gluttonous delight.
“Isn’t that a vegetable?” Doc asks.
Moist shrugs.
“What kind of sick freak makes pie out of vegetables?!” Doc expounds.
“Lots of people eat pumpkin pie around the holidays,” Moist says diffidently.
Doc snarls his lip. “Pumpkins are technically a fruit, and whoever invented vegetable pies is still a moron.”
“You sure you don’t want any?” Moist takes a third piece.
--------
“What about pot pies?” Moist asks an hour later.
“What about them?”
“They usually have vegetables. Little peas and carrots and things.” Moist mimes the brisk chopping motion of a kitchen knife. Tiny droplets fly into the air.
“Okay, first of all: a pot pie isn’t really even a pie, it’s more like soup with a lid. Secondly: we never had this conversation.” Doc puts his foot down.
Moist sighs, slumping down into the couch with a squelching noise.
“You should talk to him.”
“Who?” Doc demands.
“The pie maker, Ted. Ed? Fred?”
“Ned,” Doc corrects him through gritted teeth. “Why?”
“Look, no offense, but you’re clearly having some issues here. It might help you to talk about it. And he seems to be the only one qualified for the job.”
--------
Maybe to combat the sweetness of all the pastry he’s consumed over the years, or maybe just as a palate cleanser, Ned takes his coffee black.
Billy has no such compulsion -- either to counteract an abundance of sweetness, or to drink coffee at all -- so he orders hot chocolate.
Ned sits and stares at the little tray of sugar substitute packets that rests between them at the center of the table, and Billy tries to understand him.
This is a man who has the power to change the world literally within his grasp, who never had to work for, or even ask for, that power. And all he does is gaze into his coffee mug with his wistful caterpillar eyebrows raised toward his hairline, because he’s too afraid even to unclench his hands and raise his arms to seize it.
“Did you stop to think for one second about what would happen afterward?” Ned finally asks.
“No,” Billy responds instantly. There’s no need to think. But he owes something to someone -- maybe to Ned and his friends, maybe to the absent Penny -- so he continues.
“The only thing --” Billy starts, “the only thing that makes the world okay is knowing that she’s somewhere out there in it.”
“I can’t eat my own pie,” Ned blurts after a moment of silence.
Billy has no idea where this conversation is going.
“When I make a pie,” Ned continues, “I touch every single piece of fruit, making each one alive again, thereby rendering the pies juicy and delicious. If I were to bite into a piece of a pie that I’ve made, the fruit would die again and rot inside my mouth. So I can’t eat the pies that I make.”
“I sincerely hope you’re not comparing the woman I love to a piece of pie.”
Ned blinks. “No, I’m comparing the woman I love to a piece of pie.”
“Oh, okay, then.” Billy gulps his cocoa, which burns the roof of his mouth.
--------
There’s circumspect, and then there’s Emerson Cod, who is sitting at the counter fifteen feet away with his back to them, elbow cocked to the side while his hand nonchalantly rests a few inches from the gun cozy beneath his sweater vest. He’s trying desperately to look uninterested in their conversation, sipping at his own cup of coffee.
Ned flicks his eyes in Emerson’s direction, and takes a deep breath.
“Listen, I know you think we’re a group of small-town bumpkins --”
“Well, not until you used the word ‘bumpkins’,” Billy cracks.
“-- but we’re not stupid. We’ve heard the news about the Evil League of Evil’s recent member acquisition, and we know who you are.” Ned crosses his hands on the table and leans in toward Billy.
“Good news travels fast,” Billy says, stirring his still-hot chocolate to release some of the heat.
“It’s finished,” Ned says. “You’ll be reported to the authorities, and you will be made to answer for your crimes.”
“Excellent.” Billy sets down the dripping spoon, and the napkin wrinkles as it absorbs the excess liquid.
“Excuse me?” Ned’s open-mouthed incredulity is starting to become a familiar sight.
“I’m not the only one here with a secret identity. Won’t it be great when everyone finds out what you can do? Then you can be tried for all the murders you’ve committed, too!” Billy lifts his mug of cocoa, then sets it down without drinking. “Maybe we can even be bunk mates! It’ll be just like summer camp, only without the kayaking or the poison ivy.”
“That’s blackmail! You’re blackmailing me?!”
Billy frowns thoughtfully. “No, I mean, since I’m the one paying you for services rendered, I don’t think it technically counts as blackmail.” He pauses. “I’ll get Moist to ask the Henchmen’s Union about that. In the meantime, we’ll just call it a mutually beneficial agreement.”
Ned looks like he’s about to fold in on himself, but the stakes are too high for him not to play the game.
“If I do agree -- if --” Ned says, “then after today, you and I never see each other again.”
“And Penny?” Billy knows he’s laying all his cards on the table, but he has to be sure. She’s the only thing left that matters.
“Penny has nothing to fear from me,” Ned says, rising from his seat at the table. “We both know that she’s already paid too much for your mistakes.”
If Billy’s hand shakes as he sets down his cup, it’s only pain caused by warm liquid sliding over the raw, injured skin inside his mouth.
-END-
Prompt:
Billy and Ned commiserate about their love lives. With pie.