Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Todd Brotzman has an odd relationship with touch.

It’s not something he was ever deprived of, or anything he ever particularly missed in his childhood – he had loving parents and an occasionally clingy little sister. Hugs, cuddling, reassuring squeezes of hands, palms on shoulder – all of that he knew, very well.

Then his youth came, with girlfriends and boyfriends – and hand-holding, kissing, sex.

He’s never not had it.

Not even after he fucked everything up – there was always Amanda and then when he fucked that up too there was Farah and… Dirk.

The point is, Todd Brotzman should be used to touch. He should be used to physical affection. It shouldn’t surprise him or thrill him too much. But…

He finds himself longing for it.

His chest fills with warmth whenever his sister presses her face into his neck as they embrace (even more so now). On the run, when Farah would fall asleep sometimes, her head on his shoulder, he felt weirdly calm – even though nothing about their situation should’ve prompted that. His fingers buzz with excitement when they rest on Dirk’s shoulder. In that split second when his arms were wrapped around his waist in order to jump out of the House Within the House, his heart beat stronger. He felt sure of something.

He wants to touch. He wants to put an arm around Farah, to pull Amanda into his chest, to intertwine his fingers with Dirk’s. He wants to hold them close, to know that they’re there, even if they’re not. To know that maybe, even though he’s an asshole and doesn’t deserve an ounce of it, maybe they will stay.

*

Hobbs’ house has one bedroom.

Todd and Dirk are staying there since Hobbs is in the hospital with Farah and Tina, and someone should probably feed his cat once in a while, and Todd and Dirk are available because they’re so exhausted after Wendimoor and not planning on going back to Seattle without Farah anyway.

Hobbs’ house has one bedroom and a couch that is unfortunately not a pull-out.

For Todd, it’s not even a question – of course, he’s going to take the couch. Dirk has just been shot while visiting the place that traumatized him immensely (at least from Todd’s understanding; it’s not like Dirk spoke much about it). It goes without saying that he needs to rest. On the bed. Especially since he refused to stay at the hospital like he should’ve, and was only there for a couple of hours, enough for them to patch him up but not enough for anything to properly heal.

It’s inarguable .

And yet, somehow Dirk isn’t on board.

“How self-centred do you think I am?” he huffs at Todd.

Todd blinks. “I don’t—”

“Of course, I’m taking the couch, Todd, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Todd echoes. “Dirk, you have a shot wound!”

Dirk rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’ve had worse! And you had to do that—” He waves his hands around. “—that thing with Amanda and the pool, you deserve the bed, Todd, honestly, I’ll be fine—”

“You were shot !”

They squabble for a couple more moments until finally reaching a compromise – they will share the bed.

It’s rather blatantly obvious, Todd supposes. It shouldn’t be a problem. And it’s not . It’s just—

Ah, he’s too tired to think about it now.

Because he is tired, he has to admit. As he sinks into the mattress, he realizes how grateful he is for it. Because when was the last time he had a good night’s sleep? This has been a rough couple of weeks. Rough couple of months, actually.

Maybe even years, now that he thinks about it.

Dirk is out in a matter of seconds. Todd can’t blame him. Even with his truly unnatural large amounts of energy, Dirk has had a long day. They have both had a long day.

Todd settles on his pillow, covering himself tightly with the comforter, and melts into the warm feeling. His bones are aching, the remains of a migraine still lingering on his forehead, and—

Ah, fuck, he should’ve expected this.

Pararibulitis worked differently in Wendimoor but he’s not in Wendimoor anymore. And, as he already established, the past twenty-four hours have put his body through so much stress and pain that… Well, apparently, what’s a little more of that, right?

It starts out with a chill.

He tucks the comforter even tighter around himself – because he doesn’t realize what’s happening yet – and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s tired. He just needs to go to sleep.

But the chill grows stronger.

Perhaps they left a window open.

No, he already knows what’s going on.

He curses himself in his head. He can’t wake Dirk up. He needs to be quiet.

His body starts to shake.

He’s cold.

He’s very cold. Too cold to reach to the nightstand for his (or Hobbs’ cat’s, whatever) pills.

He doesn’t want to open his eyes at this point.

His teeth chatter, no matter how hard he tries to contain himself, and that hurts. His whole body hurts now – it’s not even cold anymore, it’s just pure pain. Slicing through his skin, bleeding into his bones, an ache so sharp he almost cries out – but he doesn’t. He can’t wake Dirk up.

He’s stopped feeling the comforter over him or the mattress below him. He’s not quite sure if he’s numb or in agonizing pain. Maybe it’s both. Can it be both?

“Todd?”

Fuck.

Fuck .

He didn’t hear nor feel Dirk. But there’s not much that he actually registers now, other than the pain and the shaking.

“Todd, what’s—Are you—”

It takes him a moment to realize that Dirk is touching him – one hand on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, another one on his face.

“Todd, wake up. Open your eyes.”

Todd gets an urge to groan, “I’m awake, you idiot,” but he can’t do that. He can barely move. He can’t feel his muscles. All there is is the pain.

“Todd.”

There’s an edge of desperation to Dirk’s voice and fuck , he’s been through so much, he was supposed to rest tonight. Instead, Todd is putting him through this.

As he lifts his eyelids, he finds them almost stuck together by ice. He can feel it (of course, that he can feel) – his lashes ripping open, frost crinkling around them, falling onto his cheeks and peppering them with even more chill.

Dirk breathes out. “ Todd .”

He’s leaning over him in the dim light of a night lamp he must’ve turned on. Todd can barely see him – through the ice, and his tears, and the pain .

“C—Cold,” he manages through his chattering teeth.

Dirk raises a hand to his forehead – a hand that Todd can’t feel – as if to check his temperature. But then his eyes widen with realization.

“O— Oh ,” he lets out and leans back, spinning his head around as if looking for something. “Todd, where are your pills?”

Todd tries to point to the nightstand with his—something and he’s not sure if he succeeds but Dirk must get the hint, or maybe he holistically gets it, because he’s rummaging through the drawer in the next second.

Todd is shaking. He is shaking so badly. God. God , this really hurts.

“Todd, I need your mouth open for this.”

Shit. When did he close his eyes again?

Thankfully, it’s not as painful to open them this time around. Dirk is standing over him again, with an open palm and two of those red pills in it.

Todd tries. He really tries. But his jaw is shaking. He is so cold —No. He is in so much pain .

“It’s okay,” Dirk says. His hand is on Todd’s chin now – holding his mouth open. “It’s alright.”

Dirk pushes the pills into his mouth. It hurts. Swallowing them hurts. Todd hadn’t realized this before but his throat and mouth are freezing cold, too.

Dirk lets go of him then and Todd flops back against the pillow but he’s still shaking and he’s still so cold and it hurts , even though it’s going away, it hurts, and his body must be going into shock, he thinks, God, it hurts so much .

“Still cold, are you, Todd?” Dirk is saying, and shit , Todd has closed his eyes again. “Just hold on a second, Hobbs said something about— A-ha !”

Todd opens his eyes to see Dirk on the other side of the room (how long were his eyes closed for?), pulling out a pile of blankets from the closet.

But Todd’s body feels like it’s on fire now and he wants to pull away – from the comforter, the blankets that Dirk is carrying toward him, from everything, he just wants this to end, please, why can’t it end?

“Nuh-uh, Todd, you’re not going anywhere,” Dirk says, dumping the blankets onto him. “One thing I know is that when you’re cold, you have to warm up.”

(There’s a slight tremble in Dirk’s voice, Todd notices unconsciously.)

“N—No,” he stutters, trying to shake the blankets off. But he can’t – he’s still shaking himself and his whole body hurts, his skin seemingly burning off his bones.

“It’s okay,” Dirk is saying again (Todd can’t quite tell if he’s addressing him or himself), crawling back into bed next to Todd. “You’re going to be perfectly fine. It’s going to be over in just a second.”

It should already be over, Todd thinks pathetically. The attack should be passing already, he’s taken the pills, it should be done . Why, oh why , does his body think he was actually frozen? Why—

Dirk is wrapping his arm around him.

“It’s alright,” he breathes out, practically a whisper. “It’s alright.”

He holds Todd as he writhes and moans in pain. His palm rubs into his shoulder, which should enrage Todd, in his current state of feeling like his entire body is in flames, but for some reason, it doesn’t. Dirk holds him, holds him through it all, his forehead pressed against his other shoulder, mumbling the words, “It’s alright,” over and over like a cursed matra.

(His heart is pounding, Todd realizes as they’re pressed up so closely together.)

Dirk holds Todd until the shaking dies down, until he’s rid of the sensation of being so hot he might burn, until he breathes out in relief, his skin now only tickling with the aftermath of it all.

Dirk notices, of course, he does, and clears his throat, making a move as if to retreat his arm.

“Wait—” Todd manages and the weakness of his voice surprises him.

Dirk freezes.

A feeling of complete embarrassment washes over Todd for a split second but he’s tired, so tired , that he decides to go to hell with it.

“Could you, um,” he mumbles. “Could you maybe keep holding me?”

There’s a beat of silence, Dirk’s arm still hovering an inch over Todd’s torso. But then Dirk drops it, wrapping it back around Todd and settling his head against his shoulder again.

“‘Course, Todd.”

Chapter Text

For the majority of his childhood, Dirk Gently wasn’t ever held.

He always had a faint memory of his mother holding him close to her chest but after that… After that, there were only sickeningly white rooms, and harsh voices, and darkness. Sometimes, occasional pats on the shoulder. If he happened to get something right. Which he rarely did.

There were always people at Blackwing. They just weren’t ever close enough. He was kept behind a glass wall, and if not, he was kept back by the paralyzing fear of making the wrong move.

There was always touch at Blackwing. It just wasn’t ever good.

These are things Dirk tries not to remember. Calloused skin against his cheeks, gripping tightly. The sharpness of bloodied knuckles. Rough hands on his—

These are things Dirk tries not to remember.

After Blackwing things are sort of… foggy. He was stumbling around, the Universe pulling him in every direction it saw fit, and Dirk never protested, never stopped, and maybe that was good, in a way. The Universe led him to Cambridge, where there was a lot of touch, a lot of skin, and Dirk sometimes found himself wanting to run from it, his thoughts turning to the past which he tried so hard to forget. But ultimately he decided that that type of touch wasn’t his thing anyway so… no harm done, he supposes.

Then the Universe pulled him out of Cambridge and from one case to another, Dirk ended up in Seattle.

And then…

Well.

Anyway, the point is that Dirk Gently, contradictory to his name, never learned what gentle touch was.

He knows of it. He’s not oblivious or stupid, even though some people may say that. He feels that deep down, he wants it. Yearns for it, even.

But the thing is that…

His mind always tells him to run when hands reach for him.

*

“Blue or red?”

The lights are flashing. Someone somewhere is wailing. No. Screaming?

“Blue or red?”

At him. They’re screaming at him.

Dirk’s hand hovers over the buttons.

“Blue or red?” the mechanical voice says for the third time.

He doesn’t know.

His hands shake.

“Blue or red?” the voice gets louder and starts to… resemble someone else.

I don’t know , Dirk wants to cry but he can’t – his throat is tight.

“Blue or red?!” Mr. Priest yells.

Dirk slams his hand down on the red button.

WRONG.

WRONG.

WRONG.

The lights are flashing. He’s crying. The noise is blasting into his ears, repeating the same one word, over and over.

A hand is harshly grabbing his face and pushing him down, down… Dirk is lying on a bed now, trying to twist away from Mr. Priest’s painful grip.

“I’m sorry!” he cries. “I’m sorry!”

Mr. Priest grins down at him, twisted and full of rage.

“Oh, silly little Svlad Cjelli,” he says, “you know you’re gonna have to do better than that.”

Dirk is squeezing his eyes shut. He feels Mr. Priest’s hot breath over his face, feels his rough hands everywhere .

“I’m sorry!” he shrieks. “I’ll get it right next time, I promise!”

He pulls his arms up to cover his face, he tries to curl into a ball but he can’t , Mr. Priest is holding down every inch of his body.

“Open your eyes, Svlad.”

No, please no.

“I’m sorry!” he sobs.

“Open your eyes.”

No, no, he can’t.

“Dirk, wake up !”

“I’ll be better!” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut with everything in him. “I promise!”

“I don’t need that! Please, just open your eyes!”

…

Wait—

That voice. It isn’t Mr. Priest’s.

Matter of fact, Dirk can’t feel his weight over his body anymore.

“Dirk, please,” Todd says.

Dirk slowly opens his eyes and blinks away the tears. Todd is standing over him, he sees – through his forearms and fists that he’s still using to shield his face.

“I—I’m sorry,” he chokes out, lowering his arms and wrapping them around his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Todd says and Dirk is pretty sure he’s only ever heard him speak so softly to Amanda. “It was just a nightmare.”

How pathetic. He woke Todd up. When he already had a bad night yesterday. When Dirk’s been doing nothing but making his life horrible for the past… two months.

“I’m sorry,” Dirk says again.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Dirk,” Todd says, a little firmer – a little more Todd-like – as he sits down on the bed, by Dirk’s legs.

A shiver of fear runs through Dirk and he flinches. Todd blinks and shifts slightly away.

“I’m sorry,” Dirk says again . He honestly doesn’t feel like he’s capable of producing any other words at the moment.

“Dude…” Todd groans softly. “It’s fine . You had to take care of me last night. Seriously, that’s… That’s just what friends are for.”

Dirk breathes in deeply, his eyes lifting to meet Todd’s.

They look at each other for a moment.

Todd is his friend.

He really is.

Todd clears his throat.

“Do you want some tea?”

As Todd exits the room to head for the kitchen, Dirk hears a ruffling sound somewhere near the floor – and his first reaction is fear, his heart rate spiking, breath catching. But then he sees a flash of ginger fur, bustling by the bed.

Hobbs’ fat orange cat Mustard jumps up onto the covers. She settles in Dirk’s lap, purring softly.

Dirk holds his breath. His heart is still pounding. He still can’t shake the… feeling of the weight against him. His throat is tight, those vocal chords that always have so much to say, suddenly completely silent.

He considers the cat for a moment, wondering if it bothers him. But no. Mustard is warm. And soft. Somehow, he knows she won’t hurt him.

Dirk likes cats.

Mustard falls asleep, he thinks, breathing steadily as she’s curled up on the covers over his legs. And Dirk’s breathing steadies slightly also, maybe mimicking hers, or maybe just calming down on its own. He sits in this unusual, yet now feeling so right, silence until Todd returns with a mug in his hand.

“Er, okay, so I don’t really make tea very often,” he says as he climbs into bed next to Dirk and passes him the mug. “So sorry if it’s shit.”

Dirk smiles gratefully as he takes it and lifts it to his mouth.

…It’s really not great.

“Oh, shut up,” Todd grumbles.

Dirk opens his mouth in protest. He hadn’t said anything.

“You don’t have to grimace like that,” Todd goes on. (But can he really blame Dirk for having a very expressive face?) “Not my fault your standards are high. After, like, England.”

Dirk scoffs softly with a roll of his eyes. Then they meet Todd’s. And they both burst out laughing.

He finishes the tea, no matter how bad it is, because it’s warm and it soothes his still buzzing nerves. And because Todd made it. For him .

Once he’s done, he doesn’t even get to think about where to dispose of the mug because Todd is plucking it out of his hands to put it on the nightstand.

“You feel any better?” he asks as he turns back to Dirk.

Dirk tries to smile. And nods.

Another beat of silence passes then.

Dirk is afraid.

But…

Warmth is what he needs.

And he trusts Todd, it strikes him, of course, he does, it’s Todd , but maybe what’s so shocking is that Todd trusts him too, and that Todd wants to be here, that Todd has chosen this, has chosen Dirk, and will continue to do so, most probably.

It’s different, he realizes, the idea of being touched by someone like that.

He clears his throat.

(Maybe one day there will come a time when he doesn’t need to speak, in those moments when he feels like it’s the last thing he wants to be doing. But it wouldn’t be clear to Todd right now, Dirk’s intentions, if he didn’t voice them.)

“I have a bit of an odd request,” he says and watches as Todd raises his eyebrows. “Do you think you could maybe… hold me?”

There’s no disgust on Todd’s face, no apprehension or hesitation. Dirk’s heart grows full.

“Yeah, man,” Todd says. “Totally.”

And as they settle together, Todd’s arm wrapped around Dirk’s chest, his face against his shoulder, careful not to wake Mustard sleeping in his lap, Dirk realizes that this is how it was supposed to feel. Warm. And soft. And natural.

He drifts off to sleep peacefully, no thoughts of the past nagging him any longer.