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“Todd, we need to talk about something. Quite urgently, as a matter of fact. Considering that today is the day we may actually, finally die, I think it’s time to properly address some things.”
“Now’s not really the time, Dirk!” yelled Todd, ducking back behind the tank that had rolled over onto its side. It really wasn’t the time to have a real, good heart-to-heart with someone. Big, meaningful conversations about feelings were for cozy rooms and warm blankets and mugs of tea; not a cornfield in Nebraska hiding from gunfire. Granted, there weren’t many situations where one lived through that particular situation, and Dirk had never met anyone who had defined the precise etiquette on cornfield-warfare manners, but he thought it could be generally assumed that Todd was correct.
“However that may be, it is with some insistence that we have this precise conversation. Now. As in right now.”
Todd finished typing something on his phone, then closed his eyes for a long, perceptible moment, drew out a long sigh, and then cautiously threw a rock into the corn. A series of gunshots followed as the corn rustled, rattling and somewhat sounding like Rice Krispies cereal as the mad slime man with one eye and a semi-automatic unloaded another round of bullets into the field. Dirk was suddenly struck with pity for the poor corn, and the poor corn farmer, but that really wasn’t a priority right now.
“It occurs to me that whatever relationship we have been pursuing over these last eighteen months has not really reached any concrete form or a continuation or conclusion. Perhaps- well, definitely, this should have been discussed elsewhere, but that’s beside the point by now really, and it should come to be known, Todd Brotzman, that I care about you very, very deeply and if we die, which could be very shortly, and I absolutely need you to know that.”
Todd squinted, confused. “Dirk, I don’t understand what you’re saying-”
“Marry me.”
Todd stared at him, gawping, a face full of plain stupid shocked nothing. “What?”
Saying it the second time was significantly easier, now that the paralyzing adrenaline had gone. “Todd Brotzman, if we escape this Nebraskan cornfield alive, together, and we find ourselves in an enviable economic situation where we can justify the expense, will you marry me?”
Leaning back on the tank, parallel to Dirk, Todd paused.
“Of all the stupid things that you’ve said, Dirk, that one wins for the one most inappropriately timed.”
“Considering we may finally meet our cosmic maker, Todd, I’d have thought it was just the time.”
But Todd just started laughing hoarsely, tears streaming out of bloodshot eyes. A feeling that may be described akin to a very cold acupuncture session grew inside Dirk. He could physically feel his sinuses fill up as Todd kept laughing- maybe in humour, maybe in shock- and a few tears leaked out involuntarily as he choked on his words.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, any time would have been better, I’m sorry.”
Todd was equally struggling to form sentences in between bouts of horrific shaking- from extreme emotion or amusement, Dirk didn’t know which, either seemed feasible- “It’s not even you Dirk, it’s just the situation, just wait-”
“Look, Todd, I know that I should have said this sooner, but please-”
Interrupting them both rudely and suddenly, there was an unearthly roar in the direction of the sniper, and another round of ammunition went off, and a terrible squishing sound like putty trod on by a tyrannosaurus, though in the totally opposite direction from where they had strategically retreated behind the tank. Wide-eyed, still with streams dribbling down his face- Dirk slowly turned round to face Todd, who was smirking genially, but still doing that strange sort of maniacal laugh-coughing.
“What on earth was that?”
“That,” Todd elaborated slowly, beginning to calm down, breathing heavily and showing the signs of the start of a grin, “was probably my sister and her vampire harem running over our current assassin problem.”
Dirk gawped in astonishment, hands still twitching slightly. “How did they know?”
The shorter man reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and waved it at Dirk. “The miracle of texting, Dirk.”
Dirk conceded, considered, and then wrinkled his nose. “But the Rowdies, Todd?”
“Farah’s in Belize, remember? It was them or Ken and Bart.”
Dirk thought it over for a second. It didn’t take any longer than that for him to conclude that Todd had most definitely made the correct choice on this front. Anything was preferable to the frizzy murder waif and her heinous campervan.
Having paused, he hadn’t noticed Todd start to limp away toward the Beast and it’s abominable racket. Dirk quickly deduced that from Todd’s frequent habit of avoiding topics and attempting to avoid feelings completely, especially when they invoked such extremes, he was going to avoid any continuation on their topic of conversation unless it was brought up by someone else. And seeing that the universe, kind mistress as she ever was, dictated that only the two of them knew about it, he really needed to address it, preferably before they got in that van.
Still struggling to talk above the repeated metaphorical stabbing in his chest, Dirk raised his voice, and it reached a level of emotional vulnerability that he hadn’t heard in himself since the early days of Blackwing, when he still believed in false promises and kind smiles and empty words.
“Todd?”
The man in question turned around, knowing, and waited for him to continue, smiling, slightly impatient behind the eyes.
Dirk shuffled from foot to foot, kicking up corn dust and staring hesitantly at the floor. “Does this mean…”
Todd rolled his eyes with a barely-concealed grin. “Yes, I will, you fucking dork.” he answered, making his way to the van with a considerably less dour mood than the one he’d arrived in the field with. “I’ll marry you.”
Dirk’s face lit up, not unlike the magic lightbulb they’d found on their very first case together. He sprinted across the field impressively for a man with the worst cardio on the planet, and crashed them together, sending them both tumbling to the floor as the Rowdies whooped from the van on the other side away from them.
Dirk grinned, euphoric and not even caring who was watching, whispered close in the side of Todd’s ear. “Do I get to call you Todd Gently now?”
Laughing, Todd shoved Dirk off the top of him playfully. “Hell no. Dirk Brotzman’s a much better name…”
Picking themselves up and teasing with banter, they walked the short stroll towards the Beast, hand in hand as the sun set behind them over the cornfield.