Work Text:
Logically, he knows. It’s something he’s known as fact his entire life. It comes with the territory of being a Historian. Ask him about it and he’ll tell you without hesitation, without too much emotion, because it’s always been there, always been a part of him.
Emotionally, though? That’s an entirely different world to him, and an aspect he doesn’t have the opportunity to face until he is, quite literally, in a different world. Well, a different time anyway. But the 21st is so drastically different from their time that it might as well be a different world all together.
But it’s also the world that gives him the vocabulary he needs to be able to describe the emotional aspect of this thing he’s lived with his entire life.
Touch starved.
It doesn’t happen right away, of course. The team’s been in the 21st for a couple weeks now, and sure, he’s been touched here and there during those two weeks—and in the future, of course—but they’ve always been reactionary, short lived, nothing more than a casual bump or check.
At first, he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s strung out that his reaction is so strong, and it’s simply an automatic response to his body’s need for help, for something to ease his pain. But he finds himself nearly clinging to Marcy as she checks his vitals after confronting him over his addiction—an addiction he never asked for or wanted, he reminds her through clenched teeth and labored breaths. There’s something about her touch that’s different this time. She’s patched him up on a previous mission, so this isn’t anything new.
He finds himself unable to let go, his hand constantly hanging loosely around her elbow as she goes through her motions, and it isn’t until she glances down at his hand then up at him with an odd look that he lets go with a quiet “sorry”. Fingers flex and twitch against his thigh as he resists the urge to reach out for her again, not wanting to make things even more awkward.
Once she’s left and he’s leveled out once more, Philip spends the rest of the day thinking about what happened. Tries to figure out just why he reacted the way he did to Marcy’s touches this time. If it has anything to do with his heroin addiction.
Sometime later, he finds himself on a website, reading about this thing called touch starved and how it develops in a person. Things slowly start to make more sense after that. Historians aren’t exactly coddled or cared for the same way any other Traveler is, or anyone who doesn’t volunteer for the program. Taken from their families at a very young age, they’re basically raised by the Director and its Programmers. Trained to be the most logically focused of any team, their minds molded and altered to take in and retain more information than any other human could ever imagine knowing, forced to remember everything they’ve ever learned or experienced. All for the sake of the Grand Plan.
Not everyone is equipped to handle being a Historian, but 3326 was, and it’s only now that the lasting repercussions of the way they raise their Historians are coming to light.
The next time Marcy stops by Ops to check up on him, that urge, that craving returns almost instantly. As soon as he feels her gentle touch against his shoulder, he presses his hand against hers, holding her there.
“Philip? What’s wrong?” she asks, standing directly in front of him, worry making her forehead crease.
He squeezes her hand, taking a deep breath. “Have you ever heard of something called touch deprivation, or touch starvation?” he asks after a moment of silence. “It’s a term used in this time, but not so much when we’re from.”
She nods. “I’ve heard David mention it in passing before about a couple of his clients.”
“From what I’ve read, it’s used to describe people who’ve experienced a lack of physical touch between themselves and other people. I guess touch is a vital part of a person’s development, and, honestly, that’s kind of the last thing Historians worry about. The Director and its Programmers are always focused on our heads and our brains that everything else is sort of forgotten about.” He swallows, his grip on Marcy’s hand shifting slightly, but still holds on. “I didn’t realise it was a thing until the last time you were here—after the whole finding out about the addiction thing, and when you touched me…my entire body felt like it was on fire. But not like it does when I’m craving—I don’t know if that makes any sense. But it’s really the only way I can describe it. And I just—I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure it out myself.”
“I always knew things were harder for Historians, because they started their training so young, but I didn’t realise it was this bad.” Marcy’s free hand finds his other shoulder and settles there for a moment before slowly rubbing up and down his upper arm.
He nearly melts into the touch, letting out a shaky breath. “You have no idea how good that feels right now.” And that isn’t even a close enough description of what he’s feeling. It’s almost euphoric, just having Marcy touch him like that. Intense. More so than anything the heroin has ever made him feel.
Suddenly, the warmth of both of her hands are gone, but before he can apologize for whatever it was he did or said, Marcy’s pulling him into a hug, one hand cradling the back of his head. Instinctively, arms wrap around her waist in return, face pressing against her shoulder. “How does this feel?”
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his body slowly relaxing against hers as it becomes used to the sensation. “Thank you,” he whispers after a long moment.
“Of course, Philip. I’m always here for you, whatever you need.”