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Chapter Text

On most occasions, if a certain holistic detective was given the opportunity, he would enjoy the calmness that came with the universe deciding to be fairly quiet and not delivering unbidden hunches at a mile a minute. However, it is— all things considered— getting quite old. He hates being trapped inside, feeling like he’s in the eye of the storm, and like the second he leaves this ridiculous little flat that he will be flung headfirst into a very large and frightening bloody disaster. And he aches, knowing that he’s supposed to help people be where they need to go, and instead he’s just watching them walk the streets of Cambridge below when they all should be at home. Stupid ruddy bats always stealing fruit, flying into walls, and causing global pandemics.

Cambridge is one of the furthest things from Blackwing, but there are elements of this flat that feel like it. He certainly never would have put self-imposed solitary confinement at the top of his bucket list, which Todd has assured him was for things he wants to do before he dies and not for ranking fashionable water retrieval hardware. At least here he can see the sun, wear his jackets, and take up the actual things on his bucket list like beekeeping, which is arguably a lot more sting-y than it looks in moving pictures. Also, tetrahedron-based architecture is on his list: Card tetrahedrons, food tetrahedrons, anything you can put in tetrahedral form. However, all of that is rather difficult to assemble. And the ten thousand hours that was supposed to make him an expert did not help. Filthy liar, that Malcolm Gladwell. So here he is, completely and utterly bored out of his wits and thoroughly depressed now that Amanda has hung up the phone. 

She was the first person, other than Todd, he had spoken with since the beginning of the whole locksy-downsies. He never meant to get trapped in Cambridge while trying to determine the jaded academic history of a British expatriate extraterrestrial. It just happened, like all of his other hunches that lead to things that happen and arguably end in bizarre and frightening states of disaster. This is one of them, albeit of a different breed. He is alone in England again, and this vulnerable state is prime for another Blackwing abduction. He had unwillingly committed to no contact outside of Todd so that his potential location couldn’t be traced to Cambridge for his own safety. But he cannot stand it. Cannot stand being alone anymore. 

At first, it was easy. It was the standard operating procedure that casualty psychics deserved to be alone, and he accepted that grim reality ingrained into his mind for thirty-some-odd years. People came and went with his botched attempts at cases, if one could call them that. He would find the missing kitten or solve the thing and all the associated people would fall out of existence around him. They would use him for his innate connection to the universe and disappear when that connection was no longer needed. But, in the end, he was still helping people and was desperate to convince himself that that was fulfilling enough in and of itself.

But now? It is impossible to be alone. He is used to togetherness, has grown more and more accustomed to it every day since he met the future version of himself on that fated March day five years ago in the Perryman Grand Hotel. Or rather, he was getting used to it until that other fateful day last March when England went on locks-downs and ruined everything. He desperately misses the family he built back in America, almost more than when he was last interned. He at least knows everyone is safe, but then it was only three months, not three hundred seventy-two days, seven hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-four and a half seconds. Not that he’s been counting or any of that rubbish. 

He misses Farah and the ridiculous way she would reorganize the bookshelf in his and Todd’s apartment every time she came over. Or how, whenever Module B of the detective agency went on a stakeout, she would protest his hunches about getting what she refers to as “overly sugary coffee monstrosities” at one in the morning. Then, she would take them through a drive-thru despondently, thankful it would at least be Todd’s problem when she dropped him off. Or how insufferably adorable Farah could be whenever she was thoroughly flustered by Tina’s surprise visits from Bergsberg each and every time, despite them being a rather common occurrence of the late. 

Talking to Amanda made him realize how desperately he’s missed her too. She’s practically his sister by now. Although he supposes it is rather weird to see her as a sister when he desperately wishes to snog her brother, who would then be his brother by proxy in his mental family flowchart. Ignoring that thought, he feels calmer knowing Amanda is safe with the Rowdy 3 and is following the stream of creation where it takes her like the somewhat kindred spirits they are. 

They’d both been alone and stuck inside for so long on account of chronic conditions they couldn’t control. For some reason, the universe thought it would be a good idea to unleash them both on the world to do its bidding and keep reality functioning. She’s also inspiring, utterly fantastic, and wears jackets that sometimes put his own to shame, so much that he had begged for a swap on their last combined adventure into South Dakota’s untamed wilds, of all places. And she helped with the whole Todd thing, being the only one better equipped to handle her brother’s emotional constipation and crippling self-hatred that they both adored so much. 

Come to think of it, he misses the Rowdy 3 too. He would much prefer to get his psychic energy sucked from him by anarchist vampires than to be here alone. Sure, he would be uncomfortable, but at this point he's willing to put up with the holistic dirt muppet who identifies as Bart if it means not being alone. She is a somewhat observant and kindly feral assassin when you get past the whole reality’s murderous antivirus system thing. Actually no, he would much prefer Hobbes and Tina here, they have oodles of gossip and crime stories and the like to catch up on. Hobbes could even teach him how to knit those scarves he sent everyone for the winter holidays. Dirk had tried and ultimately failed an exorbitant amount of times doing knitting and all other things fabrick-y. 

He also misses, dare he say it, Steven and her gang. It was, for the record, Todd’s idea to name the occasionally murder-y shark kitten who had found its way back to them, Steven. It was after some director whom he had been repeatedly told did not direct Star War, which was actually called Star Wars and contained no character named Watkin at all. He and Todd later learned about Steven’s sex, after becoming the proud parents of several Stevens, who may or may not be ticking time bombs, and it was too late to change her name. The kittens were also too attached to the totally platonic assis-friends and too big liabilities to release onto society, so the pair kept their prospective arsenal in the apartment. But, yes. Regardless of how much they get on his nerves for always ruining the curtains and the finery, he misses the Stevens. 

Who he misses most of all is rather obvious to anyone who has talked to the holistic detective and heard the almost immediate babbles about said assistant upon meeting the detective. And who is technically a partner now on paper, but is not referred to as for the sake of nostalgia and Dirk’s own very queer sanity at the alternate implications of said word, which he had spent five years now trying to avoid fantasies of. But that is beside the point. The point is the other person he misses desperately is his sister in all but blood and is certainly not Todd. Who he should definitely try to reminisce about right now instead. Yes. Smart . Thinking about your adopted sister and not your essentially adopted sister’s brother is a right-o call. 

He had, at one point or another, spoken with every inanimate object in his possession to see if she had followed him to England. Mona always had a rather uncanny ability of following him around. He prayed that each card, sock, or jacket patch was the holistic actress to his complete and utter dismay. There were a few months on the case with the pirates masquerading as squirrels where she had wanted to be his bomber jacket, and he’s thoroughly disappointed she isn’t at the moment. Last he remembers, she’d shifted into the lamp on his desk back at the detective agency, which she would have been for quite some time now. 

He and Todd checked on her multiple times to make sure she was alright, which she was as far as they could tell. He really does hope it’s actually Mona and is not just some lamp he is inquisiting on occasion. Maybe he could have Todd mail Mona to him, come to think of it, so he could at least have someone to talk to in whatever form she decided to act as. But then again, if she did want to see him, she’d probably just turn into a package and mail herself. This is Mona he’s talking about. So she probably doesn’t want to see him either or has moved on like everyone else. 

He of course wanted to return to England to find where the British alien— or well, extraterrestrial is apparently the polite term— they had been searching for landed initially. He just misses his friends, and he more importantly misses his best friend. Trying to solve another missing persons case while he is trapped inside is quite hard without Todd here. Usually, when he is puzzled he just articulates and gesticulates at Todd as he paces trenches into the detective agency or apartment floor until they start to connect the dots together.

He used to do it by himself, constantly , but he can’t anymore. Rather, he doesn’t want to. He tried. But it’s not working. It’s quite hard to be motivated to solve the bloody case when you are without a handsome best friend there to praise you, be condescending, or worse, make that insufferably charming little knowing eyebrow smile at you. There’s no affirmative hand squeezes in England. There’s no gentle hands on the shoulder and offered cups of tea and what-Todd-thinks-are-disgustingly-sweet coffees in England. There’s no embraces when bad flashbacks to more unsavory experiences with the CIA come up in England. There’s no Todd in England. 

When he had fled Blackwing the first time, England seemed like the perfect safe haven for him. It was vast, bustling, full of mystery, and definitely not America. One of the other subjects, Banshee, was from the Isles and had a charming little accent when he wasn’t wailing. He told Dirk he might be able to pick up said charming little accent if he was there for a long enough time and it wasn’t as if he could return to Timișoara. He had lost almost all fluency in his mother tongue considering he learned English since they never gave him a translator. He was instead compelled to learn English under duress and the subsequent punishments for non-compliance.  Even if he didn’t experience language attrition, it wasn’t like he even had parents to go back to there; the bloodshed of the Romanian Revolution had taken care of one and Mr. Priest’s assault rifle had seen to the other. In England, he figured he could make the language and his name his own with a posh accent and something with a Scottish dagger feel to it. England was where Dirk Gently was born, but that England certainly isn’t the England that he is currently inhabiting in space-time. 

England used to be holistic. It was the sort of holistic where you’d be completely broke and try to sell practice exams at university and somehow produce the same papers as the actual exams and get expelled from university. And that university expulsion eventually led you to fail in finding Schrödinger's cat, to discover secrets about Bach’s authorship, and to figure out the whole Coleridge Kubla Khan question. But this ? This is completely and utterly unholistifying. It is as if all the connections of the universe are slowly becoming untethered as the world falls to pieces. All the while, Englanders are tripping over all the loose threads dangling where they ripped at reality’s fabric. 

Ken had said he was the debug function of reality and Francis told him his purpose is to fix things, to ensure people are exactly where they need to be. How is he supposed to do that when he’s trapped inside his own elected nation that feels as foreign to him as when he first arrived? All the while he is literally trapped inside because of the rather inconvenient and deadly virus that is causing the world’s unholistifying. This isn’t a case he can solve or a thing he can fix. He’s helpless as everyone else right now and he too, like his countrymen, feels as if he is undergoing the same process. And by Thor, is he terrified. 

Chapter Text

Todd had a hunch some months ago. Not a Dirk hunch, rather a hunch about Dirk. When you’ve been living and working with a not psychic but something detective for as long as he has, you pick up things, habits, indications that things are about to get rather bizarre. He had gotten a feeling the eccentric detective would do something crazy before he decided to meet up with the Rowdy 3. They were tailing Project Charon down in the Oregon area, near Amanda and his hometown and Amanda had wanted to see them. It was just a couple of days, or so he thought.  He even offered to have Dirk tag along with him. 

But no, Dirk was completely invested in finding the spouse of an alien— well, extraterrestrial— who supposedly disappeared after becoming the governess for the gifted children of a recently deceased millionaire. He was positive he had found another lead that would possibly go cold if he left it for too long. He assured Todd several times he would be fine as he wasn’t going anywhere dangerous. Dirk also made it abundantly clear that he would see if Mona wanted to tag along as a harpoon or the like to protect him.

So because of trusting Dirk Gently, which is always the first mistake, Todd ignored his hunch. And now Dirk is trapped in England . And Mona? Who he was supposed to bring along? Still a desk lamp. Dirk getting separated from literally everyone who could protect him during a global pandemic really wasn’t on the detective agency bucket list that Dirk thought it would be ‘fun’ to make, but he might as well add it at this point. He would ask who or what willed this into creation, but having been intimately acquainted with the backstage of reality during the Bergsberg case, he knows. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still flip off reality for the inconvenience. 

To be fair, he really needs to get better about answering his phone, but considering he was almost shot twice and the device was destroyed while going behind government lines to track Charon, could anyone blame him? He just wanted to meet up with Amanda, since he hadn’t seen her in over a year while the Rowdies were tailing Project Cerberus in Maine. But a family reunion with a combined mage and leaf on the stream of creation is not bound to have an ounce of normality, which he should have learned by now.

This being said, he didn’t think Dirk would flee the country because this extraterrestrial studied at St. Cedd’s around the same time as Dirk before his expulsion. Dirk, being Dirk, really felt a hunch that he needed to go to Cambridge in person instead of, maybe, emailing or video-calling. So he got himself stuck in England the day the country decided to start locking down and not allowing international travel. Buying a new phone to find hundreds of missed calls in your backup and showing up at the apartment to a magnet message that your partner was making a quick trip to England was not one of the rarer sexier coinkydinks his time with Dirk had made him intimately acquainted with. It was plain frustrating. 

He isn’t exactly frustrated with the fact Dirk did this, it is more the lack of foresight on the whole situation and his powerlessness as a result. The fact that Dirk is alive in general is a miracle in and of itself, but now he’s abroad and alone. Dirk is admittedly more capable than Todd gives him credit for, as to not inflate the eccentric man’s ego too much, so he’s more worried about the latter. Dirk had been alone for most of his life until these past few years and he saw the impacts of the separation of those few months at Blackwing. While it isn’t the same, it’s still deeply worrying and he wants to be there or have Dirk back here despite the impossibility of it all.

They haven’t spent more than a few days apart these past few years, and when they were, their respective absences were usually chaperoned by Farah or Amanda and the Rowdies to ensure the other’s safety and sanity. It was largely because it was improbable that Dirk would survive and he would be unable to deal with the related anxiety associated with the said notion. That’s what they told themselves anyway, and had kept telling themselves for some time now. But the real reason had been unspoken even though every word, look, and touch screamed it louder than the siren of the actual Siren they had become acquainted with in Del Mar during one of their more recent investigations. 

They were partners in every sense of the word, except for the fact that neither of them actually used said word. Todd would have tried to ask about it, but the fear of ruining their relationship made the risk of broaching the subject far too risky. His and Dirk’s partnership is sacred when a world of soul-swapping cults, pocket dimensions, linguistically prodigious dolphins, and morally dubious government agencies are fixated on their subdual, dead or alive. Even if they had wanted to put a label on things and officialize all the behavior that had apparently sickened Farah on several occasions, the universe never seemed to account for it. The timing was never right and on the few off chances it did feel that way, something bizarre and murder-y usually came up to put the unrealistic notions on the back burner. 

He had promised himself he would bring it up, whether the universe had wanted him to or not after they solved their current case. He owed himself that much after all these years and he just needed to, as Dirk would put it, bite the figurative and definitely unliteral bullet and cut the bullshit. It was another missing persons case, albeit the extraterrestrial component was new for them, and he figured it would last a couple of weeks, maybe a month, tops. It has been over a year now. Considering the whole pandemic deal, he honestly doubts the missing extraterrestrial is still alive if the child assassins are as lethal as the client’s spouse had implied. And Dirk was, of course, trapped in England. Alone . 

He wants to be there as a bouncing board for all those absurd theories that anyone listening would probably assume the two of them were on acid while uttering. He wants to be there to ensure Dirk is not just surviving off of more-sugar-than-coffee coffee and whatever bizarre infusion food the universe told him to make that night that likely ended in food poisoning and an activated smoke detector. He wants to be there to help Dirk while he’s back in England after living in America for so long, so if anything brings up the demons he can be there to help quell them with words and gestures of comfort, security, and stability. He wants to be there for Dirk, and he can’t be. 

They’ve been video calling practically every morning for him and night for Dirk. It helps, but it’s not the same. Occasionally he’ll bring ‘phone Dirk’ to the office too. He’ll never say, but Todd knows the Briton wants to refresh his memory on how it looks again, just to know it’s still there and this isn’t all some hallucination he’s having in his Blackwing cell. They’ll check in on their desk lamp, otherwise known as one Mona Wilder, who seemed to be in some state of hibernation or intensive holistic method acting since she has beens unresponsive despite their attempts at conversation. But it is hard on Dirk, especially considering he has had no interaction with practically everyone else.

Considering they are likely still being monitored by the CIA, DoD, FBI, and probably the UNSC at this rate, they had decided it was best for Dirk’s safety for him to remain incognito and otherwise unreachable in this situation. If Dirk is contacted by multiple people abroad across several forms of communication, somebody might be able to trace his location. If he's found while he's alone, Todd knows that Dirk's proven-inadequate self-defense capabilities and compromised state will leave him open to a repeat abduction into Blackwell's loving care by Supervisor Adams and Mr. Priest. That, of course, is unacceptable, and therefore they're not even risking letting Farah contact Dirk unless she is with Todd in person.

He can see every day just how much being alone is wearing on the detective, but Dirk has assured him the possibility they’re working to prevent is more horrifying than the current state of things, no matter how detrimental the toll is on his mental health at the moment. Sort of like their other problem, albeit this one was much more pressing. Dirk’s safety is the most important thing in Todd’s world that has slowly started to revolve around him. It always would be. They had to keep doing this. 

But he cannot keep seeing Dirk like this. He’s seen Dirk through perhaps every emotion, both humanly and not-humanly possible, that comes to mind when thinking of their time together. He’s seen Dirk through some very hard times, but this feels like something different, something much more insidious. He needs to get to Dirk somehow, someway, or something. Amanda has already tried, but without the scrying pools in Wendimoor she cannot help with travel across this plane of reality. He’s halfway ready to go beg a sentient desk lamp in exchange for anything she wants if she can bring Dirk back. Which, come to think of it, isn’t the worst idea he’s had.

Actually, Mona can maybe contact Wakti Wapnasi like she had in Blackwing? Or maybe there is a way to get Dirk here via something inconspicuous that won’t appear on the government’s radar, like a UFO appearing and disappearing out of nowhere via the holistic actress? Literally, he just needs her to do anything to orchestrate a way out of there that won’t get them all caught. Or, at the very least, allow Todd to mail her or have her mail herself as a care package, so Dirk can have another physical companion. 

He feels so helpless, but Dirk is more so than he is. He desperately needs to assert control of both of their lives to try and do what he can to ensure the man that he has come to love comes out the other side of this alright. He has Farah, and on occasion his sister and the Rowdies, to stave off the insanity. Dirk only has himself, which is a phenomenon that Dirk had finally felt like he was rid of after all this time, only to have his world torn asunder once more. Todd desperately wants to fistfight the universe itself for doing this to the least deserving victim of its endlessly sadistic treatment. But, more than that, he wants Dirk back home. Nay, he needs Dirk back home.

Chapter Text

Dirk hums along to the buzzing sounds as he tends to his own personal bee colony that he, as a master beekeeper , had cultivated. He found, through trial and error, that beekeeping out of one’s windowsill was the opposite of a good idea and later had to expand his venture to the roof of his Cambridge flat. He had started with a small number of bees and he could name them all after different people he cared for or came across. 

There is a very blond one who is obviously Thor. And the very angry one pegs him as a Bart. Or the one that darts frantically from place to place? Definitely a Farah when she gets cross and stressed out with his antics, like that one time he turned her office space into a wounded bird hospital. It did in fact help solve the case in the end, so there. But in time as he’s gotten more bees, there are too many bees and not enough names. Perhaps there would be more names if he hadn’t been stuck in a flat abroad for an entire year and he could actually solve a case, but no. Thanks locksy-downsies. 

He and Todd are still confounded by this missing extraterrestrial case, and it has been over a year. It makes him wonder if their client’s wife, who was taken by the body-snatching super-children, is even still alive after all this time. The pieces just aren’t adding up and there are still no additional leads. Most of their cases last a few months at the very most, and the fact that the trail has been cold for this long is worrying. But he promised the client they would find her wife, whether alive or dead, since nobody would believe her and aliens? Come on!

But still, his attempt to get information on the Missus Madeline Poppens, who should not be confused with the magic governess, from her time at St. Cedd’s had been an absolute bust. Many of his maths professors had all been long gone and even then, they didn’t know about the non-maths research happening at the time. And it’s not as if the university wanted to let anyone, let alone an expelled student, know about some old instance of totally illegal research happening without IRB approval and hidden by some family trust fund embezzlement scheme. He, for the record, did not try to get expelled back then and the fact that the universe made that happen is making life quite difficult now. 

There is something about a superhuman serum and not-abducted by Blackwing anomalous children running wild, who are rather terrifying come to think of it. Also something about a Mary Jane but not like the shoes and a Brandenburg but not like the Gate. It is all rather distressing and it’s not as if the force across the pond could do much either with a rather inconsiderate virus running about. He just feels completely and utterly useless. And not the sort of useless a clap on the back from Farah or a smile from Todd can wash away.

It’s also rather unlike the rather unpleasant sensation of uselessness from Wendimoor, cause at least then he had colossally fucked up, as Todd would put it. That also eventually worked out and had an ending in sight even if it was rather unfortunate getting through the middle bit before then. They found the boy and saved Wendimoor in a rather hectic yet incredibly short amount of time, come to think of it. He has still not found the governess and there is no end in sight. 

And it has been months. In around five thousand nine hundred and two hours, he will have achieved the fabled ten thousand hours of becoming a master beekeeper, not that he’s been meticulously counting. He tried becoming an architect, having been intimately acquainted with city planning thanks to Amanda, the Patrick Spring murder case, and mere virtue of holistic detection. But he gave up around hour six hundred and four; it was quite difficult. Perhaps he should have contacted Francis for assistance? He is a holistic architect of sorts, building things and all that. But he is in Wendimoor, which is infinitely more interesting than bloody Cambridge after how long it’s been. Hell, he’d even prefer visiting the rather unfashionable side of Redding than stay cooped up in this flat building for much longer. 

Instead of past situations where it feels impossible to finish the case because of internal circumstances, this is in fact an external circumstance which makes things a bit more difficult. It’s not quite how he pictured his life, moving to Cambridge and becoming a beekeeper. He supposes it’s better than moving to Kansas to farm, but at least Todd would be in Kansas. Nobody is in Cambridge. 

He knows he cannot contact anyone by virtue of his own safety other than Todd, and apparently Amanda who called him that one time a month or so back by means of which he isn’t quite sure. She had encouraged him to focus on the case he had all but forgotten about, which would have been great and all if he could actually investigate. But it feels as if everyone back home has forgotten him. Mona hasn’t talked to him in weeks for some reason, which would have been fine if she’d been lost in a character lately, but she isn’t. She keeps rapidly switching to figure out what she’s supposed to be, which makes the radio silence discomforting. Did he do wrong by her by telling her that one time to not use the toaster in that manner or she’d hurt herself, coming from someone who had done the same only to be scolded by Farah? It doesn’t seem offensive. Shit. It makes no sense.

And Todd has been distant and on edge of the late, and not in the normal distant and on edge sort of Todd way. It’s this bizarre ‘I’m keeping secrets from you that I promised I wouldn’t be keeping to preserve your sanity’ sort of distant and on edge, which is not even in his top twelve favorite renditions of distant and on edge Todd. At least it was better than ‘I’m never speaking to you again and not in the teasing way’ distant and on edge Todd. That is quite possibly his least favorite in this hypothetical ranking system that he might have turned into a spreadsheet when becoming a master in the art of geomancy didn’t work out. Right. Todd. 

He does not want to force anything because when he pushes the issue, things more often than not get unpleasant. He is rather used to the sound of a broken heart and would simply rather not be. But still, he wants to know why Todd seems so ridiculously paranoid lately, it’s not as if their situations have changed in the slightest. Todd’s not conducting some inane rescue to bring him back across the pond. They are still just two, albeit slightly less sane, guys having a frustratingly normal time as they partake in horrific historical phenomena they do not consent to. He just hopes Todd is okay, nay he needs some sort of sign that Todd is okay. But instead, he just has bee-Todd and is suffering an equally exorbitant amount of boredom and honey. 

The sound of heavy steps up the staircase distracts Dirk from thought and properly using the beehive smoker. He instinctively prepares to use the ninja training he acquired not from the CIA, but from a rather pleasant case in San Francisco. He didn’t leave his heart there as they say, that is in Seattle. After the footfalls get louder and a short mental scolding he shouts towards the mystery assailant, “I have a rather large amount of bees and am not afraid to use them.” 

“Look, I come in peace. I had a package misdelivered to my flat for ‘The Beekeeper,’” a voice firmly calls, after letting out a heavy sigh. When the beehive smoker is lowered as a sign of peace, a bespectacled young-ish man approaches with a rather large package in one hand and the other raised in surrender. Upon further inspection, from the disoriented Hawaiian shirt, socks, and sandals it seems as if this man has seen enough to have become a rather grumpy man of the middle-age at least a decade early. He looks the holistic detective up and down in slight confusion and raises an eyebrow. “Am I to assume that’s you?” 

“Ah yes, that would be me, keeping the bees,” Dirk says with a quick but nonetheless enthusiastic nod and a squeeze of the bellows on his beehive smoker for good measure. He lets out an awkward laugh. “Sorry for the whole bee-siccing thing, you never know when serial honey snatchers will threaten the hive.” 

“Right,” he says with a disbelieving nod as he sets the mystery package down on the flat building’s rooftop patio table.

As the man goes to leave, Dirk calls out, “Thank you for the parcel, mister?” He hopes to get this mysterious and abhorrently dressed man’s name. Well, collect it in a nice friendly neighbor way, not in a ‘evidence if this box contains something rather deadly and becomes a new case he needs to solve alone’ kind of way. 

The man places a tired hand to his face as he pushes up his spectacles, “Brandenburg, but Bertolt is fine.” 

Brandenburg? Bertolt? These names feel strangely familiar. He doesn’t know a Bertolt Brandenburg. Does he? He knows a Bertolt! Well no, that is Bertolt Brecht and he’s been dead for years. Shit. Stupid Dirk confusing epic theatre librettists and important case information. Wait. 

Dirk sets down the beehive smoker a bit harsher than his surname would suggest and looks at the man in bewilderment. He eyes Mr. Brandenburg curiously, slowly moves towards the man. But not too close, social distancing and all that. “I beg your pardon but are you the Bertolt Brandenburg? St. Cedd’s class of ‘07, secret research lab Kel-El Initiative, Bertolt Brandenburg?” 

“That would be me,” Mr. Brandenburg says with a cocked eyebrow as he backs up towards the stairs, careful not to accidentally fall down the flight of stairs. “What is it to you?”

“Well, Bertolt, other than acting as your friendly flat building beekeeper, I happen to be a detective, a holistic detective, investigating the disappearance of one Missus Poppens,” Dirk rambles with a bit too much enthusiasm. But, it’s been over a year since his last lead on the Poppens case and Farah isn’t here to scold him for scaring off witnesses, so live and let live. 

The man’s mask of confusion falls into something more somber as he shakes his head letting out a small chuckle that oozes a weird combination of arrogance and solemnity. “I’m surprised it took this long. Kel-El upset a lot of people.” 

“Would rather have it forgotten to be frank, but I suppose Quintrell Corp couldn’t hide it forever,” he mutters, letting out a heavy sigh and leaning against the stair railing. He continues, narrowing his gaze, “Nobody’s mentioned it in years. Rather odd coincidence though, that you’re lodging here of all buildings? Investigating this?” 

“Inconceivably,” Dirk says with a slight smirk, having full knowledge that this is the most conceivable thing that could have happened in the universe. “Could you enlighten me on the subject?”

“It’s a rather long story,” he says with a sigh, but Dirk is not giving up this easy. This is the most detective work he has done in over a year and he would very much like to hear this long story, in excruciating detail. It’s why he came back to this bloody country and is currently barred from his entire new life and surrogate family across the pond. 

“I have all day. Or rather all the days!” Dirk exclaims with an insistent smile that beams through his beekeeper hood. “Any and all days to explain the story I am offering! Have a rather lot of time, you know? Locks-downs and all.” 

The man rubs a hand behind his head nodding his head. “Look, I have to help the kids—”

“I can offer an abundance of playing cards, crochet finger warmers, or homegrown honey as compensation. Also, the Name-A-Bee service, although it’s getting rather hard to keep track of them all,” The holistic detective offers before lifting up a finger and quickly adding, “I’m uncannily good at maths test prep if said children are in dire need as well?”

“No it’s fine, just give me a second to grab a cuppa and make sure that the flat is still intact,” the man says with a sigh, probably referring to his ‘less energetic than your friendly flat building Beekeeper’ children. “Do you want one, uh?”

The detective’s eyes widen in realization. “Right. Introductions. My name is Di— shit. ” He’s supposed to be incognito. “Dillon. Dillon Jeffords,” he fumbles out with an awkward two thumbs up before adding, “And lightly steeped with four sugars and a splash of cream, I’ll bring the honey.” 

“Right?” Mr. Brandenburg says, looking almost as confused as he first arrived, before making his way down the stairs. Once Dirk hears the door shut, he realizes he’s been so caught up in the allure of a new lead that he’s forgotten about the mystery box on the patio table. He takes off his beekeeping attire, setting it in the little locker next to his colony, so he can investigate thoroughly. 

The holistic detective approaches the box cautiously because, all things considered, it could be a bomb, which would be a rather unwelcome gift from the sender who was kind enough to think of him. Perhaps it is from another beekeeping enthusiast who has been admiring his flat building work from afar? 

He nudges the parcel on the table with his finger, and it thankfully doesn’t blow up in his face in the most literal way possible. He steps closer to read the return address which lists a PO Box and ‘Your Assis-Friend.’ His only Assis-Friend is Todd and Todd hates when he’s called that or at least he acts like he does? But it’s not as if he calls anyone else that? It seems rather bizarre, come to think of it. 

However, he doesn’t have much time to think as the box itself turns a familiar shade of green. It doesn’t set in for a moment but when it does, a smile beams across the detective’s face before the box dematerializes before Dirk’s eyes. As contents wrapped in tissue paper fall onto the table before him, he hears the soft mew of a black kitten that rematerializes in his lap. She stares at him with wide green eyes as he stares back in utter surprise. He tries to find the words to express himself but keeps failing, feeling utterly speechless for the first time in a long time. He gently pets her head and settles on, “Mona. How did you find me?”

Kitten-Mona nuzzles further into his hand and gives it a small lick, eliciting a small giggle from the detective. She then jumps onto the tabletop and paws at one of the colorfully wrapped objects on the table. He picks up one in bright blue tissue and gently undoes the tape to unravel what seems like a CD case with a rather garishly designed cover and not the garish he is known for. What does this demo tape distasteful punk band have to do with anything? Oh. Todd. 

Well, he supposes he’ll have to have a word with the former lead singer and guitarist of said demo tape about the Mexican Funeral album covers. But more importantly, he will have to listen to this first? Todd mentioned the band of course, and hell, the band tee that Todd replaced for the one taken by Blackwing is practically a sacred relic of his. But Todd never played their music over the apartment speakers or when he mindlessly strums his guitar. This is often paired with scolding Dirk for failing at pancake making in an infuriatingly domestic manner, but he shouldn’t focus too much on those implications. Todd always says there are too many negative memories associated with the Mexican Funeral. There are too many memories of a Todd that was a self-proclaimed asshole before the whole pull of the universe into the Patrick Spring murder case. And too many memories of a Todd that Todd would rather forget. So why now? 

Dirk gingerly places the CD down on the table as if it is the crystal carcass in that adventure movie Hobbs likes so much. Georgetown Jones? It is practically a sacred cultural relic and if it isn’t, the CD is a sacred Todd relic and that’s good enough for him. He’ll have to make Mona swear to secrecy and not say anything to Todd about his first listen. He presumes it will be quite the cavalcade of emotions and he’s not entirely ready, to be frank. Shaking his head, he hands the ball of colored tissue to Mona to play with as he gingerly picks up the item wrapped in yellow tissue under some bubble wrap. 

As he starts to unwrap the parcel, his finger tears the paper in one area so much that the object within lights up. Even without finishing, he knows exactly what the tissue contains. He finishes unwrapping the delicate piece with a beam on his face, and that’s not just the one emanating from the Everbulb. Todd, Farah, himself, and this ridiculous little lightbulb have been through so much and it’s been with them since the beginning. Well, except for the several times it’s been lost and found again. Will of the universe and all that. 

He lets out a small laugh as a moth with bright green eyes flocks to the bulb and makes a bizarre squeak. It flutters up and lands on his nose contently while Dirk absentmindedly plays with turning the bulb off and on again. It feels unreal to hold this artifact charged with so many memories in his hands again. Thoughts of the Patrick Spring murder case flock back to him, both the rather pleasant ones like meeting Todd and the rather unpleasant ones like getting shot with a crossbow twice in the same day, which was disheartening emotionally and quite almost literally. That case, a blip in the will of causality, is all at once ages and moments ago, and something he wishes to relive and never would choose to. 

So much has happened since then: sentient earthquakes, orangutan morticians, that time it hailed actual softballs, a missing Victorian children ghosts’ circus, forty frogs in a trench-coat moonlighting as a museum curator, and something about a rhino that wasn’t Pepe or the ghost thereof. And that was only the first year of the Agency’s caseload. He only hopes he can make it home soon to start it all up again. He is doing well without the whole almost getting murdered thing, but it is rather boring without friends to be painfully domestic with during his downtime. Besides, it is the constant states of disaster that make the quiet nights of Chinese takeout and watching the cultural staples he never had the chance to in Blackwing worthwhile. Now it’s just dull doing it by himself when there is nothing else to do but keep bees. That’s not to slight his bees because he does love them dearly, but they are no replacement for the real thing. 

As he sets down the bulb gently atop the CD case, he picks up a parcel of deep purple tissue.

He isn’t quite sure why in the world Todd thought a pair of used glow sticks is a good idea. That's the least fun gift you could send someone and there’s a corner store that sells them a few blocks from the Ridgely. However, the answer becomes abundantly clear when the moth flutters off his nose and becomes a small stuffed bear dressed in headphones. And is that a miniature version of that t-shirt Todd owns from Sound of Nothing? Shit. 

They are not in fact just some used glow sticks, they are in fact the used glow sticks. The ones that he definitely didn’t wear to Sound of Nothing and Todd definitely didn’t wake up the next morning wearing. They definitely weren’t from the first time he snogged the man of his waking and sleeping dreams senseless only to have ran away in utter panic and sought emotional support from their resident dirt muppet of all people . Why would they be? That would be absurd. Besides, why does Mona even know about the significance? He certainly didn’t tell her— Double shit. 

He’s partially baffled and partially flattered, come to think of it. It has been years and Todd still has these on him after all this time? It is like Dirk to collect little trinkets and memories of past cases to scatter around his desk and put up around their apartment. However, it isn't like Todd whose depressingly boring desk space is only usurped by Farah’s meticulously organized yet more oppresingly boring one. So why these glow sticks? Especially considering these are from the night before one of the worst days of his existence, which he arguably has a lot of. But thinking Farah was dead, getting abandoned by an upset Todd, becoming Beast’s Bibbit, and getting dead named slash almost murdered by the man who killed his mother and brought him to Blackwing is rather high up there. Albeit, the night before it was the calm before the storm and he personally was over the moon to have snogged Todd before becoming subsequently petrified after.

It is abundantly clear to anyone with eyes that he deeply cares for Todd, except for, well, Todd. Perhaps getting Todd glasses would assist his assistant with said predicament. But that is Dirk and Todd is Todd. He knows Todd cares for him, nobody would stick around that long if they didn’t, but he’s not entirely sure if it’s on the same level as his own. Amanda and Farah always encourage him, assuring him it is only his astronomical investment in self-doubt and equally astronomical deficit in self-confidence talking. But he is still never quite sure and never wants to risk the friendship they have built for these feelings he has never experienced before. The glow sticks are a weird choice to give your best mate whom you feel nothing beyond platonic notions towards, but Dirk hasn’t exactly had enough friends beyond the usual suspects to prove his hypothesis. Still, sending the other half of your homoerotically charged platonic partnership a gift associated with the best mutual snogfest of your lives doesn’t feel remotely heterosexual. 

He and Todd had been living together? Co-habitating? Flatmates. They are flatmates. But the kind that snogged that one time at Pride but hadn’t talked about it since. And the whole peace spell glow sticks make-out that’s causing this current conundrum. And when they fell easily into it while posing as partners at that nightclub when investigating the serial disappearances of Portlanders’ left socks. Also, that one time in the tank with the dolphins who had the ability to communicate in human languages, which was definite proof of Chomsky’s theory of language acquisition and was quite revolutionary when you come to think of it. Sod it. Focus. The retrospectively intriguing dolphins are beside the point. The point which definitely isn’t about how his totally platonic relationship with his combination assistant-and-best-friend is anything but platonic in all respects of the word. 

Thinking about this whole conundrum, Dirk frowns a bit at the glow sticks and puts them around his neck. He hides the offending object under his bright yellow button-up shirt with a hexagon pattern that looks suspiciously like a honeycomb. What can he say? He’s acquired a new brand to maintain with the whole beekeeping thing. Perhaps looking unpackaging the last item in the parcel will take his mind off of things. 

As he pulls back the red tissue he almost begins to tear up as he sets his eyes on a simple black leather jacket with a collection of rainbow stripes up the right arm. It’s been ages since he’s seen or worn this beloved object that Farah and Todd had given him on what was one of the top fourteen days of his life when they opened the detective agency. 

They spent some time moving things around and getting the office space suited to their liking, which he was forced to help assist with. Farah and Todd claimed his lack of physical prowess and superiority as the nominal member of the agency were not valid excuses to avoid the manual labor. In the process, he had managed to sully yet another jacket he was borrowing from Farah in the process. Before then, he had almost completely run out of jackets, considering most of his collection was covered in some combination of bloodstains, scorch marks, and bullet holes. Farah and Todd had noticed, largely due in part to his own bemoaning, and bought him this gift and presented it on the day they finally opened the place. The piece is decorated with the colors of the rainbow and arranged according to the jacket’s former fallen compatriots. It was surprisingly thoughtful that they even noticed his eclectic collection of jackets so much as to chronologically memorialize them. It still warms him inside to know how much they cared then and hopefully still do now. 

This jacket, like the EverBulb, the Mexican Funeral shirt, or the awesome air gun are all testaments to the friendship and adventures that the three of them shared over the past few years, which still feels absolutely surreal. When you go your life without friends, finding some who truly stay, never feels right. But they’ve slowly been adding to a little hypothetical museum of oddities collected along the way as they grow closer with each and every case. They all still get on each other’s nerves and workplace spats are far from abnormal, but it’s home. The detective agency with Farah, Todd, Mona, and on occasion the others, is home. He’s so thankful to have another piece of it here with him while he’s painfully far from it. 

He envelops himself in the jacket like the tight and warm hugs he and Todd were accustomed to exchanging. He and Farah too, but only on the rare days where she was open to such physical affection as opposed to their usual understandings. Under the jacket at his hip, he feels the black kitten there again nuzzled up against him, taking in its warmth. Noticing the stuffed bear is gone from the table, he smiles at Mona and lightly pets her behind the ears with a contented smile on his face. He feels somewhat at peace for the first time in a long time.

He also can’t help but feel warmth at the fact that Todd ‘Emotionally Constipated’ Brotzman did something so completely and utterly sentimental, and dare he say it? Sappy. For him of all people. Well, they’ve been inseparably and insufferably best friends for half a decade now. And, come to think of it, is around a third of the time he spent in Blackwing, which is preposterous. He never expected anyone to stay around for more than a case and then there was this with Todd and Farah and Mona and the like. 

But that’s beside the other point which is how this care package is so carefully curated to items meaningful to his life and more specifically his relationship with Todd that it’s surreal. He’d normally thank Todd for his tremendous assisting and give him a rather tight hug that the secretly soft-hearted, smaller framed man would complain about. Not the hug, of course, more the fact he is being crushed, but that’s no fault of Dirk’s own that Todd adapted yet. He has had five years. But he can’t do that ‘cause Todd isn’t here. Todd won’t be here.

He feels a slight pawing at his arm as Mona looks at him expectantly. He supposes his humdrum sentimentality is not altogether what she’s been expecting. She shifts into a paper airplane and soars about the air around him before lightly tapping the plane’s nose against his own and falls into his lap. He quirks an eyebrow at Mona before curiously unfolds the paper. Upon reading, he almost drops it:

We’ll get you home! We have a plan… and you don’t even have to be a bug this time. 

Dirk feels himself tear up at the words before him and the ridiculously charming little picture before him below. It reminds him of those crayon drawings Bart had done those years ago in the Bergsberg jail cells. But instead, there’s a little Todd and a little Dirk and a little Farah and a little tie-dye armchair with an arrow labeled ‘Me’ as if Dirk would ever assume the chair was anyone different. It’s home... He’s going home? 

He wonders if it’s changed much and if the litter of kittens is still the torment of the apartment. And if Todd has managed to keep the succulents alive because come on! They’re not that difficult to take care of after the twelfth or so try, that is. Or will it all be different, as if time has passed and his absence hasn’t been felt at all? 

He is brought back to reality but the sound of Mr. Brandenburg approaching with two cuppas, inquiring where the rather large parcel went and where he got the rather fashionable watch and jacket. Alas, catching up more and getting dreadfully sentimental will have to wait. He needs to get back to work, he has a new lead in the case to investigate and now notices the weight of his assis-sister on his wrist. He should ask about the case, it’s why he’s here after all but the first thing that comes to mind is “Unrelated question: How would you feel about raising bees?” 

It’s the most alive he’s felt in over a year.

Chapter Text

Todd finds himself awake at two in the morning, albeit not by choice, after waking up from a nightmare that instigated an attack. Being weighed down by a column of bricks that slowly crushed him to death is not exactly what he had in mind for this morning. His pararibulitis has been getting so much worse lately. Not in terms of managing the attacks per se, he’s been working on taking Amanda’s advice from their time in Wendimoor to heart. It's more in terms of coming down from them. Dirk always used to be there with his medication, a gentle hand, and the warmth of the sun when the medication couldn’t stave off every attack. 

He’s been having a recurring crushing hallucinatory attack since he, Dirk, Amanda, and the Rowdy 3 were tracking Project Golem in South Dakota to determine if he was the source of the area’s sentient earthquakes. However, then the Rowdy 3 could feed off his psychic energy and Dirk could hold him afterward while offering soothing words or that strangely endearing complete and utter panicky nonsense. He misses the hand squeezes and the murmured “loves” and “dears” during and after the attacks, that he still hasn’t determined if there is meaning beyond Dirk being overcompensatingly British when in crisis mode. 

While he’s an adult and can handle these attacks himself, the casual affection and comfort the holistic detective always provided make them less debilitating. While he still has Farah in the odd days they are not remote in their offices, providing that level of emotional support surrounding an attack is not always her forte. During a particularly nasty attack in the office while Farah was out, Mona had shifted into Dirk, which while he was incredibly thankful for at the moment, only ended up highlighting how empty things feel without the Briton once Mona reverted back into a desk lamp. 

He has been learning he needs to do something with his hands to stabilize himself after the attack if he doesn’t have Dirk there to hold them. Tactile things bring him back to the reality that his medical condition separates him from, and the best thing he can think of for that is guitar. It had taken him some time to finally play again by himself, considering the years of crippling guilt over the whole ‘Incident’ a few years back. He had jammed with Amanda after it happened, but it was more for her own happiness and to ensure she wouldn’t search for a reason he wasn’t playing, only to discover the truth about why the Mexican Funeral broke up. But as he’s worked toward becoming a better person because of Dirk’s influence and coming clean to Amanda, his parents, and former bandmates, music has lost a lot of its soreness, which he thanks the universe for. 

Todd picks up the new electric guitar that Amanda had gotten him as a gift from a Maine pawn shop on her last exploit with the Rowdies. He tries to ground himself in the feeling of the strings under his fingers and the slightly off notes they emit as he tunes it. He tries to brush off the melancholy feeling when he looks at the plain pick between his fingers. It was sometimes multi-colored and brightly patterned when Mona decided to help him play. She told him once as a bird that his music makes Dirk happy and she wanted to help make him happy too. Since then, he had made a habit of obliging the holistic actress whenever he could in that. 

He hopes she’s alright now, safely in England with Dirk to keep him company as she occasionally did for him over the past year in Dirk’s absence. The holistics see one another as siblings, with ties that run deeper than their shared past as lab rats for the government’s disturbing experimental machinations. And as Dirk had practically adopted Amanda as one of his own, in time, he too had taken in Mona as such, regardless of her inanimate or animate form. It is bizarre to have a quasi-sister whose life he hadn’t ruined beyond all physical repair through years of total asshole levels of manipulation and deception. It isn’t exactly what he imagined for himself, but truly, none of this is. Not since he faced the future version of himself in the Perryman Grand and a certain man clad in a yellow jacket saying stupid flighty bullshit broke in through his apartment window. Still, there are very few things in this universe that could convince him to regret it all or divorce himself of what became his new normal. 

As he strums the guitar with his non-holistic pick, he allows his mind to wander, not really playing with any song or tune in mind at first. Until his mind wanders to one of the Carly Rae Jepsen songs that Dirk had insisted last week was the pinnacle of musical history and had subjected him to several listens over the course of their video call, despite the audio breakups. He has been practicing a number of her hits lately in the dark of the night and has arguably mastered a few of her bigger ones, as embarrassing as it is to admit. It’s given him something to do with the mind-numbing boredom of staying indoors that he could use to eventually brighten Dirk’s day. But, it’s not like that is the largest motivator. 

Pulling up the chords to ‘Your Type’, he plucks at the strings and hums the lyrics to try and find his rhythm playing the sort of synth-pop music that Amanda would never let him live down. It still baffled him how far the punk and alternative musical gods had fallen because of a single colorful man who always flew at a million miles a minute despite the world trying to weigh him down. But this is his life: strumming Carly Rae Jepsen on his electric guitar, alone, at three in the morning, all because he desperately needed to feel that in some way the man that he has come to love is here. 

He hears a clatter coming from outside the apartment but doesn’t let it distract him from getting the song down. Perhaps if he learns it well enough, he can platonically serenade Dirk with it once the man returns from England. Besides, it’s pouring out and it’s probably just something in the wind. 

When he hears that familiar accented voice call “Todd” he’s pretty sure it means he should head back to bed. He has hallucinated enough for one evening thanks to his pararibulitis. While Dirk is an infinitesimally more positive hallucination, entertaining those thoughts will only cause him further agony. If he could flip off his brain for playing these tricks on him he would, he’s quite frankly getting sick of this. He strums the guitar harder and hums a little bit louder to drown out the voice, determined to at least learn the chorus tonight. 

When the knocking sound gets louder, Todd stops again for a moment to glance at the deadbolt they’d installed in the apartment's front door and the brass knuckles Farah gave him on their side table. It’s probably nothing. He goes back to playing again, until he hears a voice practically yelling from the hallway, “If you’d kindly stop butchering Miss Jepsen and open up Todd, I’d thoroughly appreciate it.”

He stops dead in his tracks. It can’t be. 

Todd gently props the guitar up against the couch and grabs the knuckles off the table, putting them on as he approaches the door with hesitation. The voice uncannily similar to that of a particular detective rings out again impatiently. “I know you can hear me.” 

When Todd finally throws open the door he doesn’t even know what to say. The only word that comes to mind when he stands in astonishment at someone who is legitimately before him is, “How?”

“Mona, obviously . Plus several modes of subaquatic transport, a shark who was disappointingly kitten-less, and—”

The suitcase clattering on the ground is the only sound that fills the air after the holistic detective cuts off his explanation, seemingly surprised at being enveloped by his best friend’s urgent embrace. It doesn’t seem real, not after all this time. Dirk is here, in the flesh in front of him. He’s no longer just a collection of pixels behind the slightly cracked glass of his smartphone. Todd is sure he’s holding the Briton in his arms for far too long and far too tightly, but he isn’t about to care. He has an entire year to make up for with Dirk now that he’s back. He didn’t think that the two little words ‘he’s back’ could mean so much, yet they do. It’s like Bergsberg all over again but with quadruple the time away and thankfully much less of the murder. 

It’s like a dream. Dirk is here in his black leather jacket with the rainbow-striped arm and are those the used glow sticks from Sound of Nothing? He also has a funky little umbrella hat on. It perhaps blocks out some of the dreary Seattle weather, but ultimately is failing to, judging by some of the raindrops still running off the detective’s sleeves. The way the hat spins in a slightly unnatural way upon Dirk’s slightly disheveled hair indicates that it’s probably Mona, which is a comforting thought. 

They had been petrified about her going alone and getting Dirk out of England without attracting government attention. It seemed almost yesterday that they were trying to figure out what to send Dirk in their combination care-and-escape package. Mona had enveloped him in that same jacket Dirk is wearing now to indicate what she thought was best to send, and he had tried to brush off any feelings bubbling in his stomach from wearing the said garment. And now its owner is here, alive and well, jacket still intact, and Todd couldn’t be more relieved. He needs to find a way to profusely thank the holistic actress with whatever variable physical non-constants enjoy as gifts for the next decade at the very least for risking so much to bring Dirk back home. To bring Dirk back to him. 

They stand there wordlessly as seconds feel like minutes taking in the fact that the person before them is indeed real. Todd grounds himself in the sound of the detective’s consistent breaths, steady heartbeat, and contented sounds. When he hears a muffled, “I missed you” he squeezes the eccentrically dressed man closer to him and informs him of the same. Normally he would chastise himself for such tender and desperate shows of affection for Dirk, partially because they aren’t emotionally tangled in that way and partially because of what Dirk fondly called Todd’s ‘emotional constipation.’ But right now those thoughts don’t matter, all that does is having him home. 

After he fears overstaying his hugging welcome, Todd releases himself from the embrace, feeling the loss of warmth instantaneously. He gently pats Dirk’s umbrella hat, which quickly shifts into a small hamster atop the Briton’s head. Todd picks her up and nuzzles her with a murmured “Thanks Mona” under his breath, before she shifts into a bubble and drifts off into the living room, giving Dirk and Todd some space. 

Before he can formulate what to say to Dirk, the detective barrels past him from the doorway threshold toward the same window he barreled through a few years ago when he changed Todd's life forever. Nowadays, there's a window box garden there that they've been keeping after coming into possession of a large number of succulents after an incident with a plant nursery, a baby nursery, an exorbitant amount of drugs, and a miniature horse. The plants are like the detective’s children, although the fact he had killed a few a while back isn't exactly a stellar parenting recommendation for the Briton. Regardless, Todd has been tending to them in Dirk’s stead, and since then some of the succulents had been flowering in colors to rival Dirk’s eclectic jacket collection. In exasperation, the detective wildly gesticulates at the plants. “Have you seen them Todd?”

“I’ve been taking care of them. So yeah?” Todd says with a roll of his eyes and a small snort at the holistic detective’s usually ridiculous yet desperately missed antics. When he gets that knowing look from the detective that he’s so longed to feel again in person after his retort, a small smile grazes Todd’s face. He approaches Dirk at the window box, admiring how the man is now scrutinizing the plants as if they are some bizarre piece of evidence in the latest case. His eyes sparkle brightly in the way that the screens they have been communicating through could never quite capture. 

Dirk whips back up and turns toward him, looking as radiant as the early days of their acquaintance. He’s just so ridiculously excited, like an adorably awkward puppy, just happy to be home again. It still doesn’t feel real, that Dirk is home again. Before he can lose himself in the thought of it, he catches the glimmer in the taller man’s eye as he nods his head at Todd, studying him for a moment. Dirk utters, “Yes. Quite right. Tremendous assisting, Todd.” He presses a quick kiss to Todd’s cheek as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Before he can even process the fact that what just happened or he can do anything in return, Dirk is already halfway across the room. He’s running his hands across the hole his guitar left in the wall after the Rowdy 3 trashed the place. They never bothered to fix it and some other minor things, not wishing to erase the trace evidence of those old, albeit frustrating, and occasionally bittersweet memories of their first case together. Todd watches a Dirk uninhibited by negative emotions try to drink up every sight, sound, smell, and touch that he has been away from so long. Dirk seems unsure if being here in the apartment is a dream or reality, which he has in common with Todd at the moment. Their apartment. Their home. 

Todd goes into the kitchenette and puts a kettle on to make the likely freezing Briton a cup of tea to help him settle in for the evening. Todd lets out a small laugh as he hears Dirk let out a small yelp across the apartment when accosted by their clowder of cats. Dirk bemoans something or another about what Todd must be feeding them, and the antics simply put a small smile on Todd’s face that he tries to hide through rolling his eyes and a witty retort back. Adding four sugars, a splash of cream, and a dash of honey to one of the mugs and nothing to the other, Todd carries the mugs over to where the swarm of black fur and leather is lying on the floor. He passes Dirk’s mug to Dirk and sits on the couch with his own. 

Dirk murmurs a thank you before taking a sip, lightly humming as he drinks the hot and overly sugared tea. Todd, lost in his own thoughts, slightly jumps at a light tap on his knee. He looks down and sees Dirk beaming up at him in that ridiculous way that has become endearing over the years when it isn’t paired with sudden disaster. Dirk gushes “You remembered!” which Todd can only assume is in regards to the specific way Dirk likes his tea prepared. 

Todd rubs the back of his head nonchalantly as he takes another sip of his tea, trying not to flush at the fact of the matter. “Of course I did,” he remarks before letting out a small snort. “You’ve scolded me enough times when I don’t.”

“I—” Dirk stammers with a pout. He opens his mouth again but bites his lip instead, as if he is going to say something but thinks better of it. Todd never thought he’d be so happy to see the other man’s facial journeys in their shitty fluorescent lighting so much. Sure, he could observe them on their video calls, but it pales in comparison to the real thing, as much as he hates to dare admit it. “It’s just been a while,” Dirk says, letting out a small huff as he taps his fingers nervously against his mug. “I’m just surprised you care as much is all.” 

Todd quirks his eyebrows up at Dirk’s proclamation. Yes, he only sent a ridiculously curated care package and helped initiate an illegal escape plan to bring Dirk back home to him. It’s abundantly clear how little he cares . Okay, fine. Todd knows that Dirk has trouble accepting that people care for him, want to be around him, and dare he say, love him, because of his history. Still, there are times where he wishes the detective could just accept the love he deserves and is being given instead of wallowing in self-doubt. Then again, the pot shouldn’t call the kettle black. 

Dirk continues stammering into his teacup, seemingly trying to recoup from his vulnerability. “Besides, you were making the tea wrong before. Putting the cream and honey in after the fourth sugar instead of the second is heresy and you know it.” 

Todd stifles a small laugh into his teacup and holds up the other arm in surrender, appeasing the detective on the floor. The two of them sit in comfortable silence with their tea as the clan of Stevens roam around the apartment, some of them being chased about by a small green-eyed Havanese puppy. After a bit, Dirk nudges Todd again, looking up at him with a curious look on his face that only spells trouble. “Why were you playing Miss Jepsen earlier Todd? I thought she was, and I quote ‘trashy synth-pop corporate nonsense.’”

“It is. But, it’s still catchy,” Todd shrugs as he finishes his cup of tea to avoid Dirk’s watchful gaze.

“Right. But you only learn music you care about,” Dirk says, pondering the thought before his eyes light up and he raises a mischievous eyebrow. “Am I sensing you have a growing fondness for it Todd?” 

“No comment,” Todd mumbles as he gets up from the couch to deposit the empty mugs in the sink. He can practically sense the pout on Dirk’s face at his refusal of admission that he is in fact developing a minor fondness for the music Dirk has been constantly subjecting him to for the past few years. 

Turning to go back to the living room, he sees a rather excited Dirk on the couch with Todd’s guitar outstretched in his hands. “Play it for me?”

“Dirk, it’s almost four in the morning. The neighbors are going to complain and I’m beat,” he says, leaning up against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed. It’s not that he doesn’t want to play for Dirk, he does. He just doesn’t wish to ‘butcher’ the music again. It needs to be perfect, Dirk deserves it to be.

“Considering the neighbors didn’t complain about it at three in the morning, I think we’re alright. And if you’re awake enough to sass me, you’re clearly awake enough to play,” Dirk says with a smug look on his face that he can’t say no to. When he lets out a sigh, Dirk, knowing what it means, beams and pats the space on the couch next to him. 

Todd rolls his eyes as he grabs his guitar out of the excitable Briton’s hand. He goes to grab his guitar pick from where it’s stored under the chords but already finds a bright green pick in his hand. He places his fingers on the frets and begins to strum the chords to ‘Emotion.’ In between focusing on the chords he needs to play mentally, he catches the brightness emanating off of the detective next to him. As he falls into playing more, he can catch Dirk in his awkwardly adorable way moving to the sound and humming the lyrics under his breath. Todd smiles at Dirk, catching his eyes for a brief moment before messing up a chord brings him back to reality. 

A slightly flushed Dirk lets out a light laugh as Todd shoots him a disapproving look. Thrown off of his rhythm, Todd transitions into playing the chords for ‘I Really Like You’ with a slight smirk on his face as he sees the slightly sheepish Dirk’s eyes light up again in wonder. 

The sway he has over the detective with the guitar gives him a high that is incomparable to what it felt as the frontman of the Mexican Funeral. Sure, they had tons of alternative fans in awe of them whenever they played, but it was never as intimate as this. When he plays for Dirk he can sense the pull of his audience and notice how every strum authentically influences the Briton’s emotive journey. Being able to give Dirk, who has experienced such little pure unadulterated joy in his life, some semblance of serotonin is one of if not the biggest side benefits of his musical prowess. He doesn’t need to play for a crowd ever again if he can witness and give this every time he picks up an instrument. 

The second he switches to the chorus of ‘Call Me Maybe’ he is abruptly stopped by a rather large force that encircles him and the guitar in a large hug. As much as he enjoys Dirk’s gesture, the guitar being pressed into him isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing and his muffled annoyed “Dirk” is enough to bring reprieve. Dirk fidgets on the couch with a slightly flustered look on his face. With a light flush, he nods, “Right. Sorry, no accosting you when you have the guitar.”

Todd lets out a small laugh, rolling his eyes as he sets down the guitar. Dirk waves his hands in front of him hurriedly. “You don’t need to stop.” 

“I think one serenade is enough for the night,” Todd cooly says, unaware of the words he’s uttering until he does. Shit. Todd can feel himself flushing as he catches Dirk mouth the word ‘serenade’ to himself before looking back up at him. 

“You learned all this for me?” The Briton asks, cocking his head. He’s really going to have to go out and admit it, isn’t he. 

“No. I’m clearly a huge Carly Rae Jepsen fan because she fits my musical palette so well,” he retorts with a smug look on his face. 

“Good. She’s much better than your usual taste anyway,” Dirk says with an equally smug look across his. The detective must sense the sheer offense on his face because he flippantly adds, “Come on, Todd. I saw your horrendous album cover.” 

He lightly elbows Dirk for that remark, moving closer in his space to do so but not bothering to move out of it after. Dirk responds to Todd being so close by resting his head on Todd’s shoulder and letting out a content sigh. It’s all almost disgustingly domestic and not what he ever would have imagined for himself. He always thought he’d be on the road with the band and even when they split up he never saw himself as someone who would settle down anywhere with anyone. But here he is, living with his best friend, boss, and object of his affection with a bunch of cats and a variable physical non-constant. Amanda always chides him for going soft while she lives out the life he thought would be living, albeit with punk anarchist vampires and not a band. But he’s not convinced that that life is better, not when he has moments of true bliss and peace like this. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment before Dirk lightly nudges him back with an elbow and a shy look on his face. He fidgets with the used glow sticks dangling from his neck and says, “Thank you, by the way. For the album, the Everbulb, the, well, the everything.” 

“Of course, that’s what friends are for,” Todd says, shrugging it off and deflecting emotion as usual. It technically is what friends are for after all, even if not all of the items were strictly charged with platonic memories. 

“You mean, what assis-friends who occasionally snog each other and don’t talk about it are for,” Dirk says a bit flippantly. It’s moments like these, where he really questions whether Dirk is actually lying about the whole not-psychic thing. Or it could be the shared frustration of five years of emotional repression and sexual tension between them in effort to not ruin what friendship they have. But, it’s not as if anyone has noticed, certainly not Todd. 

Todd takes in a deep breath and nods solemnly, before murmuring “Yes it’s what, all that, is for.” He finds himself scanning the room to pay attention to anything but the man resting upon his shoulder. 

“We could, you know?” Dirk remarks breaking the silence. 

“Could what?” Todd replies. He’s pretty sure he knows what’s implied but knows it’s always better to ask for clarification with Dirk. 

“Snog each other and talk about it instead. It'd be rather nice,” Dirk says nonchalantly. Dirk must see the deep red flush on his neck or feel Todd jump beneath him because he adds, “What? We’re partners in the agency already. It’s just? Different.”

Instead of actually processing Dirk’s last statement about wanting to potentially become his romantic partner, Todd decides to do one of the things he does best: deflect with snark. He gently nudges Dirk off his shoulder and pulls back to giving him the look . “I thought I was a journeyman. Did you neglect to inform me I was promoted?”

“Possibly? Probably? Definitely! Sorry about that. But yes, you’re a partner now,” Dirk rambles incessantly as he fumbles with his glow sticks, head seemingly running a million miles a minute, “Still an assis-friend though, partner-friend is a bit of a mouthful and—”

Todd takes Dirk’s hand that is currently attached to the glow sticks and uses it to pull the detective towards him and into a kiss. It’s not the messy generalized scramble like at Sound of Nothing or as wet as that time with the polyglot dolphins. It’s honestly altogether a bit awkward as they try to situate themselves after Dirk collects his bearings post-surprise. Dirk pulls him closer with the hand that is not holding Todd’s while Todd allows the hand that was cupping Dirk’s face to wander into the detective’s hair. Todd’s not sure if this is one of those forever sort of kisses that Dirk always rambles about every time they watch some sappy Disney film he picks together, but it’s definitely something. It’s full of relief, release, and respite after all this time of being apart from one another. It’s not perfect, but it’s home. 

After Todd pulls away he gazes upon a rather dumbstruck Dirk. When Dirk’s eyes meet his, Todd smirks a bit at him and Dirk starts to fumble again nervously. He nods his head and sticks out a thumbs up, “Yes. Like that. Tremendous assisting Todd.” 

Todd merely rolls his eyes and pulls Dirk up against him again, who slouches on the couch so he can comfortably lie his head upon Todd’s shoulder. He’s never going to hear the end of this, as usual, for not being tall enough for perfect head positioning height. Dirk lets out a small yawn as he cuddles in closer to Todd. 

It all seems too good to be true like it’s another dream he’ll wake up from in the morning and Dirk will still be in England. Or as if he’s under another spell and when they awake the next morning it’s as if nothing has changed at all. He can’t let that happen, not again. Not when he’s waited this long and there’s an inkling of hope. Todd does all that he can to muster a deep breath and ask, “Do I get the job then?”

“Yes. You can be my detective partner in both senses of the word,” Dirk says with a small yawn before he finagles his head to kiss Todd’s chin. He nuzzles closer into Todd’s neck while blindly gesturing at nothing until a soft blanket is draped over the two of them. It happens seemingly by magic but is definitely by Mona. 

Todd looks upon his probably incredibly jet-lagged partner with a soft smile. It doesn’t feel real, being Dirk’s partner. It’s not as if anything other than the obvious will really change considering how they’ve been cohabitating and acting all these years. Still, the simple change of wording is all he’s wanted for quite some time now. And he’s not just his usual state of okay right now. He’s happy.

He slightly nudges the sleepy detective with his arm and playfully asks, “I thought you wanted to snog and talk about it.” 

Dirk lightly tries to wave him off with his hand but lets out another yawn. “In a few hours over chocolate chip pancakes, dear. I’m sleepy.” 

“Names already?” Todd almost chokes out in surprise. He’s not opposed at all, just pleasantly surprised. 

“Let me have this Todd, I’ve waited far too long,” Dirk says, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Todd to snuggle further into him. 

Todd allows himself to relax into Dirk’s embrace and shut his eyes, looking forward to whatever ungodly mess of sugary breakfast they’ll make in the morning. 

It’ll be the same as always. He’ll wake up to Dirk covered in flour and have to rescue the pancakes from the detective’s terrifying lack of cooking skills. He’ll try to add the chocolate chips to the batter but half the bag will already have been consumed by a sheepish Dirk. Dirk will try to cover his pancakes in so many sprinkles that the cap will come off and scatter all over the floor. They’ll have to hurriedly clean up the sprinkles so the cats don’t eat them. Dirk will eat his pancakes making unholy sounds and have his face spattered with chocolate while Todd affectionately glares at him. 

Now, there might be more pet names and physical affection, so it also won’t be the same as always. It’ll be a familiar yet altogether unfamiliar endeavor as he expects things will go on from here on out with Dirk, his partner, at his side, and finally home. Dirk was right, they’ve waited far too long.