Author's Note: I don't normally do tributes, but Rik Mayall's death has hit me very hard, and I found writing this to be very therapeutic. I wasn't going to, but then I saw the pictures of the funeral with all his friends there, and the sight of Ade helping to carry his coffin just broke me. Rik and Ade were two of the many comedians I emulated. So in loving memory of the old bastard, here's a story that has given me a degree of closure. I hope it does for you as well.

The funeral had been a nice affair. Loads of family and friends had come to see the beloved actor and comedian off to the next plane of existence. Lovely words had been said, people had cried and held each other, and the pallbearers carried the coffin with its passenger down to the grave.

All this was being observed from the back of the church by two men. One had long hair, a white shirt with a tie and blue jeans, while the other was bald with sideburns, glasses and a brown suit. Both were wearing black arm bands because they hadn't been able to find proper funeral wear on such short notice. This had definitely been short notice.

They stood surprisingly still during the whole thing. Their minds were both racing with wonder and dread and a touch of heartbreak at what was happening. Yes, they were both essentially horrible people, but they did have hearts deep down. They stood in silence for a few more seconds before deciding they had seen enough and turning to head home to their flat.

Taking a deep breath, Richie finally decided to break the silence they had been in since the day started. "Well…," he said quietly. "I guess the next question is obvious."

Eddie looked up. "What's that?"

Richie rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. "Well, who's going to play me now?"

"What?"

"Come on, Eddie! Show some sensitivity! The twat who played me is dead! What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Eddie thought for a moment. That was a tough question. After a moment's deliberation, he found an answer that seemed rather good. "Well, we could do what we've been doing for the past eleven years – go home and watch the telly."

Richie looked exasperated. "Oh, come on, Eddie! Be serious! The actor who played me is dead and all you want to do is watch telly?"

"There's a good Coronation Street on tonight," Eddie reasoned.

"Oh, that is beside the point! What's going to become of me if there's no one to play me?" Richie demanded.

"… He hasn't played you in eleven years," Eddie reminded him.

"Oh… Uh…," Richie momentarily faltered in his frustrations. "Well, no, he hasn't played me before an audience in eleven years, but there were times when he let me come out."

Eddie looked perplexed. "When was this?"

"Oh, you know – in front of the mirror, alone in the car, to make his kids laugh…"

Now Eddie was boggling behind his spectacles. "He brought you out in front his own children?" he exclaimed incredulously.

Richie looked affronted. "Well, of course, he did! Why shouldn't he? I'm fucking great with kids!"

"I can see that… How often did you say the word 'fucking' in front of them? Or how about the various other colourful words from your limited vocabulary?"

"It's the English language, Eddie, designed by us English, and I intend to use it."

Eddie shrugged; still slightly bewildered over the fact that someone would trust Richie around their kids.

Richie continued on that train of thought. "Besides, didn't yours ever bring you out?"

Eddie blinked in surprise at the question. "Er… He used to… Three lovely daughters… and his wife's a cracking bird…"

"Yeah, I saw her. Lucky bastard."

"I remember back in the old days, she used to sneak around with me."

"Did she?"

"Yeah… I don't know if she knew it though. He and I are almost identical."

"Almost? He seemed a dead ringer."

"Well, he's grown tits recently…"

"Ah… Still, he seemed well, considering…"

"Yeah, well, he travels a bit. He's got that band now. He… doesn't have much use for me lately."

"No? Why's that?"

"Well, he seems to have gotten tired of comedy… He says it doesn't surprise him anymore…"

"Really?"

"Yeah… Pompous arsehead…"

"Well, be fair, Eddie… He is getting up there."

They both stopped at a corner. They were a pretty decent distance from the church now. They looked back at it and felt a strange heaviness in their chests. They tried to ignore how sad they were about this, but they couldn't help it. They knew what it meant.

"I… guess this means… it's finally over," Eddie said at last.

Richie nodded distantly. "Actually… properly… over," he said quietly.

"I remember back when it looked like we might be coming out of retirement a couple years ago," Eddie continued. "A chance to show 'em we could still do it… and then, they just gave up."

Richie thought back for on that. "Did they ever say why? I never heard a damn word."

Eddie shrugged. "Something about how they suddenly remembered why they didn't work together anymore."

Richie winced. "Shit…"

"Yeah, I know… Still, probably for the best. We left it pretty good with the last go 'round, didn't we?"

Richie balked at that. "What, the TURDIS?! You're calling that a good last 'round?"

"Why not? I thought it was a good finale! We travelled back in time, became Rick and Vivian again, did a mass heckle, you powered a time machine by wanking and then we discovered that pants were the meaning of life!"

"Yeah, and we sang that damn song again…"

"Well… Be fair. We got stuck for an ending, and he already knew how to play the guitar anyway."

Richie ran his hands through his hair in frustration and nearly stepped into the side of an oncoming vehicle. He jumped back in time as its driver honked the horn angrily. He immediately flashed a vindictive V-sign before checking both ways and crossing the road with Eddie right behind him.

"Sad that it had to end like that," Eddie said after a pause.

"Yeah…," Richie sighed, releasing a bit of his agitation in the process. "Of all the sad fat gits to play me, I had to get stuck with him… Imagine… Just going and popping off like that…"

"Selfish bastard," Eddie said quietly.

They kept walking for a bit, lost in thought again. Richie felt that damn lump rising in the back of his throat. "So what happens now?" he asked for the sake of dislodging it.

"Eh?"

"Well… we've always held onto that dim hope that they'd get their heads out of the arses and come back to us… Relive an old glory… Fuck it up, naturally, but still…"

"Only because they would."

"Exactly! We always had that dim hope they'd get old, panic, have a mid-life crisis and get the old act together, and now… Now what'll happen to us? Do we just sit on a shelf and decompose? There's no way they'll brings us back now!"

"Maybe they'll recast," Eddie suggested.

Richie pulled a face. "Oh, they don't have the balls for that! Did you see how the world reacted to this bastard dropping dead? If they so much as thought about recasting me, they'd torch the BBC!"

Eddie shrugged. "Well, maybe they'd take out all those forty-eight thousand gardening shows while they're at it..."

Richie conceded with a nod. "True… Still, recast is out of the question. The public won't have it any other way."

"Too bad… Could've regenerated you like Doctor Who…"

"Yeah…"

They lapsed into silence once again.

"Could this be the end?" Richie wondered in a dramatic tone. "Are we forever destined, Eddie, to wander alone, hand-in-hand in Limbo forever?"

Eddie took a step away. "Don't you dare hold hands with me, you nipple face," he said quickly.

Richie grumbled with frustration. "I was speaking metaphorically, Eddie…"

"You were talking bollocks!"

"'Bollocks' what laymen idiots like you say when they can't pronounce 'metaphorically'!"

Eddie groaned as if in pain. "And so it goes on…," he sighed. "Day after day, year in, year out, slime in this ear, slime in that ear…"

"Oh, stop being such a shameless pandering twat! If I hear a single round of applause for the next five minutes, there's going to be a second funeral today!"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Fucking yeah!"

"Right!"

Richie realized what was about to happen and yelped. "Fucking no!"

Eddie drew back and punched his friend dead in the face, sending him flying backwards and over a wooden fence into a field, and when he came up again, he had cow droppings in his hair.

"You bastard!" he shouted. He immediately grabbed Eddie by the ears and slammed him down against the fence, putting a large crack down the middle of it.

Eddie staggered backwards, taking a moment to rub his sore head and straighten his glasses. Richie shook as much of the cow flop out of his hair as he could.

They took a moment to just stare at each other in surprise.

"You know, I think we've still got it," Richie said at last.

Eddie cottoned onto his friend's point. "Yeah… Whatever if it is we have, anyway…"

Richie managed to climb up over the fence, despite his age, which at the moment didn't feel very old. In fact, he was starting to feel a bit younger. It was almost as if it were 1991 again…

They looked back in the direction of the church. They saw the cars were slowly starting to proceed away. The funeral was over.

And the world was still turning.

Richie sighed at last. "I'll miss the fat bastard," he said at last.

"Yeah," Eddie agreed. "He was a tosser, but he believed in us…"

"Made a shitload of cash off of us…"

"Milked us for all we were worth…"

"Which wasn't a lot, when you think about it…"

"That's true."

They stood in silence for a few more seconds before mutually agreeing it was time to go home. They turned and resumed their journey.

"Up for a drink?" Eddie asked.

"At the Lamb and Flag? Yeah, why not…?"

"Good. First round's on me."

"Oh? With whose money?"

"I swiped some from the collection plate."

"Oh, good!"

"Come on, Richie – a drink to absent friends."

"Yeah… Come on, you fucker…"

Enjoying their companionship for the time being, they staggered off down the road. Even though it was a sad occasion, and even though the world had lost someone who could never be replaced, Richie and Eddie, no matter what form they were in, would go on and on forever.

Beating the shit out of each other.

Effing marvelous.