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bobgasm · 4 months

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boogie fever | a whodunit? fanfic

pairing: robert “bob” floyd / mickey “fanboy” garcia word count: 1743 warnings: alcohol, piss poor dancing, a dynamic crime solving duo,

summary: in which a movie inspires a whole dance sequence at the local roller rink

author’s note: yes this is a fanfic of a fanfic. sue me. this is for @attapullman bc i can’t stop thinking about whodunit?

oneshot | masterlist

It all started from watching Footloose, if you can imagine. Mickey had invited Bob over for a movie night, neither guy had any inkling about what to watch. They’d prepared snacks – popcorn with M&M’s thrown in the mix, and Bob had bought over a case of beers.

They were celebrating closing another case – a simple job, really. Mrs McClanagan from down the street had a sneaking suspicion that her husband of ten years was cheating on her. The guys had hosted a stakeout over the next week, following Mr McClanagan around town as inconspicuously as they could manage.

Their old ‘65 Mustang had seen better days, but given that Bob was slowly working on it with his father, they were just happy to have a set of wheels. Bob was sure one of the fuses for the left rear tail light needed to be replaced, but neither of them were all that bothered. Mickey always had a new receipt for a replaced bulb whenever they were inevitably pulled over, to be let off with a warning that next time they’d be ticketed. So far, next time hadn’t come.

They’d been hole’d up in the Mustang every day for four days. Peanut shells sat in the footwell by Mickey’s feet, used napkins with their chicken scratch writing had been stuffed into the glove compartment, detailing several thrilling games of tic tac toe. Mickey held a pair of binoculars up to his eyes as he scanned the crowd at the morning market, while Bob drummed along on the steering wheel to an overplayed song – he’d forgotten to grab more than one tape.

There had been a brief discussion about the importance of music on stakeouts. Bob admitted it had been an oversight on his part – he usually had a small box in the glove compartment with a bunch of different tapes. He’d forgotten that he and Mickey had removed them to splice their own mix-tape over the weekend, and failed to put them back. Or bring the newly curated tape of their favourite songs.

They’d uncovered absolutely nothing from following him, other than the fact that he had a bizarre habit of scratching his ass and then sniffing his hand. They’d shared a look of mild disgust, then decided to turn their efforts towards the woman that hired them.

Bob had thought it was weird that Mrs McClanagan didn’t have any obvious reason to doubt her husband’s fidelity. There were no shirts that smelt like another woman’s perfume, or late nights at the office. Nothing that would suggest Mr McClanagan was cheating.

“What if she was the adulterer?” Bob had asked Mickey. “Think about it. How often does someone assume their partner is cheating on them, when in reality, they are the cheater themselves?”

“It’s a good theory,” Mickey agreed. “Let’s start fresh tomorrow. We’ve been following a dead end for a week.”

So they’d tailed Mrs McClanagan instead, and what they found shocked them. As soon as ten minutes after her husband left for work in the morning, she was sneaking out the back door and signaling to her neighbour that the coast was clear.

They’d had a few cases like the McClanagan’s before. Nine times out of ten, the wife had proof. Lipstick smeared on the collar of the husband’s shirt, a lack of initiating sex from the cheating spouse, or late night after late night at the office. For the first time ever, though, it had been the wife who was sneaking around.

Hell, their first ever case had been one on adultery. Sure, they were seven and didn’t know the meaning of the word, but they’d discovered two of the neighbours liked to “nap” together. Using crayons to scribble their comings and goings, as well as some toy binoculars Mickey got for his birthday. Bob’s attic had a perfect line of sight into the neighbours backyard, but sometimes they’d climb the tree for the thrill of it.

And now here they were at 23, still bright eyed and bushy tailed about solving yet another cheating case. One day they hoped to solve something that was more thrilling, but for now, they settled for the small payday and keeping watch over their neighbourhoods.

Mrs McClanagan had been shocked by their findings, promptly handing them an envelope and telling them “this stays between us!” before slamming the door in their face. It hadn’t deterred them, but rather spurred them on. Excited for whatever their next case might be.

Footloose was a favourite movie among the duo. They weren’t necessarily good dancers, but the music made them feel alive. Singing along to Kenny Loggins and, after a few beers, attempting to learn the infamous dance. Mickey was adamant they were getting closer, their timing was still slightly off and the tape skipped a few parts due to how worn it was, but they were close. He was sure they almost had it nailed.

With each watch, they danced along when they could. Having a laugh and tripping over their feet a couple times, but the point was they were having fun. They enjoyed the challenge, and who were they to turn one away?

Through hard work, sweat, and a few tears, they eventually cracked it. Breaking out in the dance wherever they were whenever they heard the song playing. They always drew a crowd – people gathering to see who was dancing, always surprised to see the amateur detectives absolutely killing it.

Mickey had always brought out a more adventurous side of Bob. He could be quiet and reserved, but with the influence of his best friend, anything was possible. Bob kept Mickey grounded whenever his ideas seemed to get away from him. The two balanced each other out perfectly, and so long as they weren’t causing any trouble, their mothers let them run rampant. Both thrilled their sons had found a good friend.

It was only natural that they’d take their little routine further. With Footloose nailed, they started working on a new routine. Something to keep them entertained between cases, and after a few drinks. Neither man could tell you whose idea it was to add roller skates and attempt a more challenging routine, but they’d both claim it was their own idea. Taking pride in the fact that they could dance and skate simultaneously.

But the real test was what everyone at the roller rink had to say.

It was packed on a Saturday night. Bob wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans while anxiously waiting for Mickey to return with their drinks. He spied the familiar green baseball cap weaving through the crowd and breathed a sigh of relief when his best friend’s face came into his view.

“Are you really sure that tonight is the night for this?” Bob asked for the umpteenth time.

Mickey grinned in response. “When have I ever led you astray?”

“In second grade, when you were convinced that one of the girls had lice so we stole her hat to check for bugs,” Bob listed. Mickey waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m not done. There was later that year wit–”

“Okay, so maybe my judgement is off sometimes,” he agreed. “We’ve been practicing for this, Bob, c’mon! Just one dance with me and then we can go.”

“Eyebrows,” Bob said. “If, after one dance, we don’t leave, you have to shave your eyebrows off.”

Mickey groaned. His eyebrows were still slightly patchy from the last time he’d gone back on his word. “Really? Fine, okay. Eyebrows,” Mickey agreed. “But you have to give it your all. No half-assing this routine, you hear me?”

Bob sighed in defeat. “Okay, okay. Did you pay the DJ to play our song?”

“Mhm,” Mickey mumbled. “We have time to finish our drink before we get out there and skate around for a bit. You’ll do great, Bob. Trust me.”

“I do, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Mickey downed half of his drink. Bob sipped at his own, eyes scanning the rink to find several familiar faces.

“Stop overthinking it,” Mickey chastised. “We’re all here to have fun. Let’s have fun!”

“I don’t know how you’re so carefree all the time,” Bob grumbled.

“Whatever happens, happens,” Mickey said with a shrug. “I don’t want to sit back and watch life pass me by. I want to spend it doing cool shit I can tell my grandkids one day. Do it for the memories. Do it for your future grandbabies.”

With their drinks finished, and a lot of encouragement from Mickey, Bob followed his best friend out onto the rink. Mickey knew it would take some time for Bob to warm up – it wasn’t just them practicing alone in their living room now. They would have all eyes on them the second people realised what they were doing.

They skated around the rink and had fun, building up speed and synchronising their skating. A lot of people had similar ideas, soon falling into line behind them in a skating conga. Mickey didn’t have to look at Bob to know he was grinning, enjoying the atmosphere around them, but he still took pleasure in knowing that Bob would eventually get into it. All he needed was that friendly push.

The beginning notes of their chosen song, Boogie Wonderland, flooded the room. The dynamic duo shared a grin before Mickey pivoted and started skating backwards.

He still kept in time with Bob, the pair drawing attention as they pulled off trick after trick, a perfectly choreographed routine that had spectators, and fellow skaters, clearing a room for them. Allowing them to have the rink to themselves to see how this would play out.

The space was much bigger than their living room, but they adapted with grace. Which, if you asked anyone who knew them, wasn’t something they came by too easily. They’d rehearsed falls and miscalculations so it still looked like part of the routine to anyone looking, but they’d know. Even as Mickey spun Bob a little too much and flung him ahead a little too fast, Bob had the time to recover before he hit the wall. It all looked like it was purposeful. Deliberate.

And when the song ended and cheering erupted, they knew they’d done better than they’d anticipated. Basking in the five seconds of fame before the next song started and everyone made their way around the rink again.

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