Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“-- told you not to open the window –-”

“-- additional clues, as I’ve said –-”

“-- trying to get us killed, as usual –-”

“-- minor scratches, nothing to –-”

“It’s not a minor scratch!” Todd yelled, brandishing his fully bandaged arm at Dirk across the absolute wreckage left by the gryphon who’d spent the last three hours cavorting around their apartment. “And this isn’t minor, either - we just bought that furniture, now we have to replace everything again –-”

“-- not like money is a –-”

“-- maybe not in your fantasy universe, but in the real world –-”

“-- am in the –-”

Todd’s phone rang, breaking through the shouting, and Todd took three tries to swipe the call open with his unbandaged arm. “What?” he snapped, and then abruptly deflated. “Oh, hi, Farah. Sorry. Yeah, one second.”

He covered the phone with his hand and turned back to Dirk, then gave up, shook his head, and stomped out of the room.

---

The agency had been open, in its current form, for almost a year, and Todd didn’t know if it would make it to a second.

The problem - as always - was Dirk. Dirk might have brought in some clients, but he completely ignored others, or offended them till they fired him halfway through a case. He didn’t follow up on leads. He never finished paperwork. Even when he tried to solve a case, he usually ended up solving a different case entirely, and almost always one that didn’t pay. Also, Todd had been shot four times in the past year, and it was getting old.

Todd regretted a lot of decisions in his life, the whole pararibulitis-lying thing obviously chief among them. He couldn’t say he regretted joining the agency, because it had got him through a bad spot, but with every additional near-death encounter, his dissatisfaction crept up a notch. And, on top of everything else, he was one hundred percent sure that he absolutely never ever should have agreed to be Dirk’s roommate.

“-- still won’t take out the trash,” he complained to Farah, stalking up and down the hallway outside. “It’s been months, Farah - whenever I ask, he says it’s the ‘will of the universe’ and ‘the overflow could reveal a key pattern’ - it’s a fucking pattern of being a shitty roommate, that’s for goddamn sure –-”

“Todd –-” said Farah.

“-- replace the TV again,” said Todd, “not that I can ever watch anything, because he’s always watching his fucking cable news, or just - just static - you try sleeping when the TV is blaring static that ‘may, possibly, perhaps even probably ’ become another fucking alien transmission –”

“Todd –-” Farah tried again.

“-- nearly jumped off the roof again yesterday because he ‘saw a bird’ - do you know how many birds there are in Seattle - completely missed the actual fucking gryphon  -–”

“Todd!” Farah shouted.

With an effort, Todd managed to cut himself off. “Sorry."

Farah sighed on the other end. “Todd,” she said, “it’s been weeks. Have you still not worked this out?”

“I’m trying!” said Todd. “Believe me, Farah - but he doesn’t listen, he never listens, he just bulldozes ahead with whatever he wants to talk about –-”

“Okay, okay,” said Farah, and Todd realized his voice had been rising again. “Okay. That’s - fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but - Todd –-”

A note of desperation crept into her voice on the last word, and Todd instantly threw aside all his grievances to ask, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Lydia,” said Farah.

“Is she –-”

“She’s fine,” said Farah quickly. “It’s probably nothing. It’s almost definitely nothing, but I haven’t heard from her since last week, and we were supposed to have dinner, and she didn’t call, and it’s probably fine, but –-”

Todd was already halfway back inside the apartment, reaching for his jacket. “Where are you?”

There was a pause, and Todd could picture Farah physically gathering herself together. “The office,” she said, in something closer to her normal tone. 

Todd snatched his keys off the table. “I’m on my way,” he said. “Don’t –-”

“What’s going on?” said Dirk, popping up right in Todd’s face.

Todd dropped the phone, tripped over the carnage of the couch, and went sprawling on the floor, his phone skidding underneath the splintered TV tray.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut against the wash of pain in his arm. “Can you not stop for one fucking second?”

“Well, excuse me for being concerned about my friends,” said Dirk, crossing his arms and making no move to help Todd off the floor. 

Todd pushed himself to his feet with his good arm. “I’ll handle it,” he said. “Just stay here and do - whatever the hell you usually do.”

“But you might need me,” said Dirk, trailing after Todd to the door. “What if - what if it’s something –”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Todd snapped, pushing Dirk aside and reaching for the knob. “Just stay here. Before you make things worse.”

He stalked outside and slammed the door behind him over Dirk’s stuttered reply.

---

Dirk glared at the slammed door as though he might somehow scorch Todd through it.

If Todd hadn’t ended the argument - Todd’s argument, because Dirk had been trying, as usual, to keep things to a reasoned discussion, until Todd and his near-habitual yelling made that impossible - then Dirk would have said that he wasn’t trying to make things worse. He was, in fact, putting quite a lot of effort into making them better. He even thought he might be managing it, most of the time, gryphon incident aside. 

It was the sort of thing Todd would have understood, once. At least, Dirk had used to think Todd understood it. 

Perhaps he’d been wrong about that, too.

The agency - Dirk’s agency; the culmination of Dirk’s hopes and dreams; the first place he’d had friends and something approaching a stable home - had been open for eleven and a half months, and Dirk was starting to doubt they would reach a year.

The problem - as always - was Todd. Todd should have understood how Dirk worked, or didn’t work, by now, but he was getting as bad as Farah about “following procedure” and “making logical decisions” instead of “tearing off in random directions where we’ll get shot, again.” Dirk had explained many times that tearing off in random directions was at least eighty percent of his modus operandi, but Todd refused to listen. Todd, in fact, never listened. Dirk sometimes felt like he was explaining himself to a brick wall, and he was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

And now Todd had apparently taken it upon himself to solve cases without Dirk, too. Ridiculous. Dirk threw himself backwards onto the sofa with a sigh so impressively dramatic that he lamented the apartment’s emptiness, until he landed straight on a can opener and shot up again with a yelp. He tossed the can opener aside, felt around the couch cushions, and removed an additional pencil sharpener, broken coffee mug, rotary dial phone, and pinecone statue. 

Perhaps Todd had a point about the cleaning, he thought, settling more cautiously into the couch. Probably not, though.

Half of him wanted to continue sulking until Todd returned, hopefully several months later. If Farah had needed him, she would have called him. Since she’d called Todd, it was likely something boring, like overdue forms or jammed printer paper. Though, last time the printer had jammed, it was because of the imps, and if Todd had gotten his way and Dirk had organized the cabinets, the salt shaker wouldn’t have been within reach, and the imps might still be wreaking havoc in the ink drawer, so there.

Dirk let out an even more dramatic groan and rolled over onto the floor, where he immediately landed on all the things he’d recently removed from the couch.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled towards the universe, “I’m going, I’m going.” He continued grumbling out the door, down the stairs, and into the mail room. He liked to stop by the mail room every time he left the building, a habit that drove Todd mad, which was half the reason he kept doing it (the other half was that, if any new clients had contacted him, he liked to contact them back before they unfortunately ended up dead).

“Junk,” he read out, tossing the Hello Fresh coupon over his shoulder. “Junk, junk, past due, junk - hold on –”

Dropping the rest of the mail on the ground, he turned over the past due envelope with some concern. Farah had put herself in charge of all the bills, for obvious reasons, and he found it highly unlikely that she would have missed one. He thought of the way Todd had torn off to the agency and wondered if Farah was having some sort of crisis. He might well turn up Monday to find the files out of alphabetical order.

Chuckling to himself at the thought of Farah’s reaction to a non-color-coded spreadsheet, he ripped open the flap and pulled out the bill.

“What?” he said aloud, upon reading the first line, and then, a moment later, “Shit.”

Then he folded the letter, tucked it into his pocket, and started to run.

---

“...last known location,” Farah was saying to Todd, when Dirk burst into the agency, out of breath and waving around a sweaty piece of paper.

“Need to - read,” he gasped out, staggering towards Farah. “Important.”

Todd, who’d just managed to calm down, felt himself getting angry again. “Dirk, I told you to stay home,” he said. “We don’t have time for a case right now, not when –”

Dirk actually, bodily shoved him aside, which surprised Todd enough that he didn’t reach for Dirk’s letter. Farah glanced once at Todd and then took it. “Another bill from London?” she said. “Dirk, I thought we paid them all.”

“Not London,” Dirk managed, collapsing into a desk chair. “Seattle. Spring Mansion.”

“Spring –-” said Farah, her eyebrows shooting up. “But –-”

Todd snatched the paper away as Farah muttered to herself. It was an electric bill - he’d missed enough of them to recognize the format - but the address wasn’t their apartment or the agency. The bill implied that no payment had been sent for several months, and the amount listed was painfully high.

When he looked up again, Farah and Dirk were both staring at each other in mild panic. Because of course they were. Of course, even if Farah had called him, she would still drop everything the minute Dirk showed up with some stupid new case. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” he said, tossing the letter onto the nearest desk. “It’s obviously a mistake. I mean, the mansion burned down, right? There’s no way it’s drawing power.”

“It didn’t all burn,” said Farah.

“The lab,” said Dirk (condescendingly, Todd thought). “It’s underground. It wasn’t destroyed.”

“So what?” said Todd, folding his arms. “It’s not like anyone could do anything with it. I mean, does anyone even know it’s there?”

He realized his mistake at the same moment that Farah turned to him and he remembered the full extent of the conversation they’d been having just minutes earlier.

“Would I be correct in surmising,” said Dirk, in his stupid pedantic know-it-all voice, “that you and Todd were recently discussing the whereabouts of Lydia?”

---

None of them had had much contact with Lydia since the events of nearly two years prior. Farah had insisted that Lydia stay far away until the Men of the Machine were fully vanquished, and since that effort had been hampered by Dirk’s kidnapping, Farah’s promotion to the FBI’s most wanted list, a lengthy recovery from two bullet wounds, and the months of preparation and execution that had led to the downfall of Blackwing, Lydia had barely returned to Seattle two months before. Dirk had the impression that she’d just moved out of Farah’s apartment for a place of her own, though he couldn’t remember how long that had been. He certainly didn’t remember her giving any indication of moving back into her family home.

But you wouldn’t need to reconstruct the house to access the laboratory, would you? Dirk’s memories of the place were foggy from blood loss and general adrenaline, but given Patrick Spring’s fondness for underground mazes, he would not have been surprised to learn of a second entrance, or even a second lab. No, the question wasn’t how Lydia had accessed the lab, but what she’d been doing there. What could possibly have drawn more power than a multistory apartment building?

“Anything,” said Farah tightly, and Dirk realized his question had broken the tense silence in Farah’s car for the first time since they’d left the agency. “Patrick’s electric bills would have bankrupted him if he didn’t have the energy - the soul-swapping - the time - the machine. He even stopped using that towards the en - towards the time we met.”

“Why would you stop using an unlimited energy machine?” Dirk asked, unbuckling his seatbelt to lean up in between the front seats.

“It wasn’t stable,” said Farah. “We were constantly having power outages before we installed the backup generators. And then it would use those up to get back online, and if it went out before they were refueled, we’d lose - are you wearing your seatbelt?”

“I can certainly see why he moved away from using it in a residential context,” said Dirk, without making a move to sit back. “But - do you mean he’d made other machines that drew large amounts of energy as well? Even more than a soul-swapping time machine?”

“I didn’t even know about the time machine,” said Farah. “I should have known - someone should have known - but it wasn’t on the maps and he always said he wanted to be alone and I never asked questions -–”

“There’s no way you could have known about the time machine,” said Todd, shooting a glare at Dirk, for no apparent reason. “None of this is on you, okay?”

“I know,” said Farah. “I know. But –-”

“Did Lydia know?” Dirk interrupted. “About the lab? I suppose she must have, since she’s there now, but how much did she know, and when did she know it? Perhaps we might –-”

“Dirk, shut up,” said Todd.

“Excuse me,” said Dirk, “I’m trying to solve the case!”

“It’s not a case!” said Todd. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding - she left the lights on –-”

“With that power draw? She’d need stadium lights –-”

“You’re not helping –-”

“I’m the only one who is helping –-”

“Oh, sure, like you were ‘helping’ by leaving the windows open earlier –-”

“I didn’t see you have any better -–”

“Boys!” Farah shouted, braking so abruptly that Dirk nearly catapulted into the cupholders. She gestured out the windshield. “We’re here.”

---

Todd had only seen the Spring mansion once, at night, after being electrocuted multiple times, but its burnt-out corpse seemed large enough to fit fifty of his and Dirk’s apartment. He’d never actually asked Farah how much money Lydia had, but the land alone had to be worth tens of millions. He turned to say something to - well, to Farah, since he’d decided he wasn’t speaking to Dirk, but she was already striding off across the grass like she saw giant mansions every day. Which she had, he guessed. He shook his head and followed.

He was still hoping Dirk was wrong, partially for petty reasons, and partially because - well, because when Dirk had showed up with his stupid letter, Todd had felt, most of all, tired. A new case should have been exhilarating, but that hadn’t been true for a while. He’d been through it enough times to know how it would go: Dirk would find something ridiculous, and then drag them off on a dangerous goose chase, and it’d be another round of sleepless nights and confusing days, of hours arguing Dirk into a fraction of common sense, of getting attacked and separated and reconstituted while Dirk just stood there with his stupid grin and let everything wash over him like none of it bothered him at all…

“There’s a light,” said Farah.

Todd blinked until his eyes adjusted to the dim night enough to see the faint glow in the distance. “Do you think –-” he whispered.

“Oh! The lab!” said Dirk, at a volume approaching a shout. “Hullo! Anyone there?”

Todd suppressed the urge to tackle Dirk and instead ran after Farah, who’d begun smoothly sprinting across the lawn at the sound of Dirk’s voice. Farah had stopped above a blank space in the lawn. “Trapdoor,” she said, as Todd caught up. “I didn’t think…”

“Excellent,” said Dirk, stepped onto the plate, and immediately fell through.

Which was exactly the sort of stupid thing Dirk pulled all the time, and exactly the reason Todd hadn’t wanted to come on a case, because no matter what Dirk said about “the universe,” Todd was starting to think Dirk was just a little shit who enjoyed risking everyone’s life for no goddamn reason. “I really hate him,” he said to Farah, kicking the trapdoor in far enough to find the conveniently placed ladder that Dirk had totally ignored. 

“Go on,” said Farah, at Todd’s look. “I’ll cover you from up here. You have your radio, right?”

“Yeah,” said Todd, “but –-”

“Ah-hah!” crowed Dirk’s voice, and Todd let out a sigh and climbed down the ladder.

The well-lit tunnel down ended at the curve of a low stone passageway. Dirk, of course, had run on ahead. Todd hopped off the ladder and started after him. “Dirk,” he said, “slow down. You can’t just keep running off and –-”

He rounded a corner, ducked under the doorway to Patrick Spring’s lab, and froze as the object of Dirk’s shout came into view.

“Fuck,” he said.

---

“But we broke it,” Todd said, wringing his hands in the doorway, instead of investigating, as a good assistant would. “Or sent it back, or whatever. It’s - how is it –-”

“That,” said Dirk, bobbing up from under the table, “is what I am attempting to ascertain. These dials don’t look quite right, though - don’t you think –-”

“Don’t touch it!” Todd yelled, barreling forward into Dirk’s way.

“Calm down,” said Dirk. 

“No!” said Todd. “That’s a fucking time machine - remember what happened last time? Just bury it in concrete or something, I’m not going near that thing.”

“We can’t simply leave,” said Dirk. “We’re here to investigate; ergo, we investigate. That’s how it works.”

“We’re here to find Lydia,” said Todd through gritted teeth. “I didn’t sign up for that shit.”

“Oh, and I did?” said Dirk, abandoning the dials to storm towards Todd. “D’you think I woke up this morning and said, gee, you know what I’d love to do today? Let’s dig up another time machine!”

“Dig up?” said Todd. “You jumped into a trap door!”

“I fell –-”

“Because you weren’t listening to Farah, I told you –-”

“And I told you, this is obviously a case, we were going to find it sooner or later, so you might as well do your job and assist -–”

“No,” said Todd. “Uh-uh. I’m not doing time machines.”

“Then why are you here, Todd?” Dirk burst out. “Do you want to be here, or not?”

“Maybe I don’t,” Todd shot back.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be,” said Dirk. “Maybe it’s best if you - if you –-”

Dirk teetered on the precipice, the words frozen on the tip of his tongue. He could still step back, he thought; he could still avoid the fall.

“If I what?” said Todd, crossing his arms. “Fall through another fucking trapdoor?”

Dirk took a deep breath. “If you leave,” he said. “The agency. If you just - just go.”

Todd stared at him, expression unreadable. Dirk wanted to close his eyes, or look away; he didn’t want to remember how Todd looked in this moment, if he was upset or elated or as lost as he’d been two years ago. But he couldn’t make himself move, and perhaps the clearest sign of all was that Todd’s face, in the moment, barely flickered.

“So?” said Dirk, after a moment.

Todd’s fists clenched and unclenched, and he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?” Dirk repeated.

“Fine,” said Todd. “I’ll go. You don’t need me anyway, you never needed me. And I’m - moving out. Obviously.”

Wind whistled past Dirk as he plummeted downwards. It would hurt later, he knew it would hurt later, but maybe one quick break was better than this drawn-out agony. “Fine,” said Dirk.

“Okay,” said Todd.

“Alright,” said Dirk.

They kept staring at each other. Two years, Dirk kept thinking; two years, and it all ended here in the same basement where it had all begun. And it shouldn’t have, it shouldn’t have, he’d tried so hard and he’d done everything right and it wasn’t fair -–

Eyes burning, he swung away from Todd and towards the machine on the table, searching for something, anything, to distract himself. The machine, he thought, the time machine; the dials, he’d been thinking about those - they were definitely different, more precise, the LED displays updated and glowing blue instead of red - he reached for one of them –-

“What are you doing?” said Todd from the door.

“Solving my case,” said Dirk. “Nothing that matters to you, anymore.”

“No, Dirk,” said Todd, “don’t touch it - just wait for Farah, or something.”

“No,” said Dirk, reaching for the machine as Todd tried to get in the way.

“Every fucking time, Dirk –-”

“Go away,” said Dirk, “just go, can’t you just –-”

“My machine!” yelped a new voice, and Todd and Dirk both turned to see Lydia standing in another entrance. “What are you doing here, how did you find –-”

“Don’t touch that,” said Todd, swiping Dirk’s hand away from the dials. “Seriously, Dirk –-”

“No,” said Dirk, wrestling the machine back from Todd as it started to hum and vibrate, “leave it, it’s not your –-”

“Stop it,” said Lydia, starting to run, “don’t, it’s not finished, it’s fragile –-”

“-- you idiot –-”

“-- don’t know why you even care -–”

“-- not that dial –-”

“-- can’t believe I ever –-”

“-- not your fucking assistant –-”

“-- let go, ” yelled Dirk, slapping Todd’s hand away and accidentally hitting the lever on the side of the machine, which emitted a cloud of blue sparks –-

Lydia threw herself towards them –-

“-- I still hate you,” yelled Todd –-

–- and then, in a cloud of smoke and sparks and a roar like an oncoming freight train, the lab dissolved around them, and they were gone.

Chapter Text

Dirk woke… somewhere.

Dirk considered himself something of an expert on abrupt teleportations and unexpected awakenings, so his initial spike of alarm lasted only a few seconds. He took a moment to gather himself - Lydia; time machine; Todd - well, that likely wasn’t relevant - and then opened his eyes.

He was in an alleyway. This told him nothing, as there had been alleyways throughout all of history. The sky was faintly orange, which could have been dawn or dusk, though his money was on evening. The alleyway stank of garbage. Also fairly typical. No one else was in the alleyway, which was convenient, as no one was currently trying to murder him, but it also meant -–

Well. It might not mean anything. He couldn’t jump to conclusions quite yet.

He stood up, wrinkling his nose at the damp patches spotting his trousers, and made his way to the closest dumpster, which was locked. He kicked it. Nothing happened. “What did you expect?” he muttered to himself. “Bloody stupid, bruise your toes the first day. You haven’t got an assistant around to bandage you up anymore.”

And he’d been trying so hard not to think about it.

Something crashed from the end of the alley, and a second later, a cat meowed and poked its head out of a pile of scrap metal. “Well, hello there,” said Dirk, moving cautiously towards the cat. “Will you be my new assistant? I’ve found cats terribly helpful in the past, it’s sort of a pattern with me. Or are you more of a clue?”

The cat yowled and took off, and Dirk abandoned the dumpster and dashed after it.

The alley led into a maze of alleys, or streets that looked like alleys, or else the cat simply had a knack for finding the most confusingly crooked route to wherever it wanted to go. There were no helpful storefronts, newspaper stands, or paperboys conveniently yelling out the time and date. From brief glimpses of road signs and general ambient noise, Dirk gathered that he was somewhere English speaking, after the invention of the automobile, but he hadn’t gotten much farther than that when the cat raced out onto a main street, made a mad dash under a parked ice cream truck, and disappeared from sight.

“Drat,” Dirk sighed, leaning against the nearest building. “And that was going so well, too.” He leaned against the nearest wall with a sigh and then jumped up again. “Hang on,” he said to himself, squinting across the street, “I know that bar. It can’t be…”

He stumbled across the crosswalk, ignoring the dirty looks he got for his stench and general rumpled appearance, and stopped in front of Carl's. “But this is Seattle,” he said aloud.

“No shit,” said a passer-by, nudging his friend, who laughed loudly. Dirk ignored him in favor of lurching towards Carl's' windows. T - his ex-assistant had taken him here once; the drinks were average, he’d said, but the stage downstairs had decent acoustics. Sure enough, Dirk could hear music drifting up from below. Dirk checked the calendar taped near the door, but it only had months and dates, no year. 

He sighed. He’d always hated bursting in on people demanding to know the year like an off-season Scrooge, but he had a feeling he should stick to the bar, and he couldn’t see another choice. At the very least, he could clean up a bit beforehand. He pushed past wooden tables to the washrooms in the back, the music growing louder as he approached the staircase. Something about it was oddly familiar. He found himself humming along as he splashed water on his face and attempted to wash off the worst of the trouser stains.

"Lost you in the crowd," sang the man downstairs. "You don't look around..."

Why couldn’t Dirk place the tune? He’d always been shit with band names, though he’d been trying, for now-obsolete reasons, yet none of the bands he remembered seemed right. He exited the washroom and trooped downstairs, thanking his inconsistent luck that there was no cover charge. 

The space downstairs was as he’d remembered, too: the scattering of high top tables; the dingy bar against one wall; the low stage at the front. It could hardly be called full, yet the band was giving it all they had. The drummer hammered away; the keyboardist banged at the keys; and the bassist… did whatever bassists did, Dirk had never been entirely clear. In front of them all, a slight man in a sweat-soaked white t-shirt stood with feet spread wide and back to the audience, jamming away on his guitar.

Something about the figure struck a faint chord of memory, just as the song itself had. 

But it couldn’t be, Dirk thought. That was impossible.

The guitar solo reached a fever pitch, and the man in the middle of the stage swung around, face creased in ecstatic concentration, fingers flying over the strings.

Dirk fell against the nearest high-top.

It was Todd.

---

Todd woke up in London.

He knew it was London, because the second he opened his eyes, a double-decker red bus went whizzing by, and a man stepped out of a nearby red phone booth still speaking in the most posh British accent Todd had ever heard. Todd turned to his left and saw the London Eye peeking over the horizon. A man dressed as a Buckingham Palace guard on a nearby plinth held out his hat. The pub directly behind Todd said, For Queen and Country.

“Alright, Universe,” said Todd, “I get it.”

London. Fucking London. He’d just been about to get out, and instead, he’d been catapulted halfway across the globe. And he might know where he was, but he had no fucking clue when - Dirk could have set that stupid time machine literally anytime, though at the very least, he’d missed, like, bubonic plague.

Dirk. Todd turned in a full circle. Dirk wasn’t here. Nor was the time machine. Because of course it wasn’t. “ Damn it,” he said, startling a nearby pigeon. “Fucking time machines. I told him - Dirk! Dirk! Get the fuck out here! I know you’re here somewhere, you and that stupid machine - I’ll go all the way to Cambridge if I have to, and drag you out of your - your St. whatever, St. Cedd’s - you asshole, you holistic bastard –-”

Something tackled him from the side, forcing him into the shadow of the nearby building. “Ow!” he said, flailing around in a failed attempt to push off his assailant. “What the hell! Get off!”

The man - just a kid, really, with a pinched face, shaggy hair, and a baggy jacket with too many pockets, kneed Todd in the crotch, and he keeled over. “What,” he choked out, “the fuck.”

“Shut up,” said the kid in a crisp British accent.

“Shut up?” Todd wheezed. “You kicked my balls, man! That’s not cool!”

The kid was barely listening, fidgeting and checking over his shoulder. “I don’t have time for this,” he said. “Who are you, and how do you know me?”

“What?” Todd said. “What do you mean, I don’t - I’m not even from here, I’m from…”

The kid’s fierce blue eyes kept flicking off Todd’s, as though he couldn’t quite bear to look Todd in the eye. Something about the jumpy movement felt familiar. Todd cast through what he’d been yelling before he’d been manhandled against this wall. But it couldn’t be, he thought, eyeing the skinny stranger. That was impossible.

“...a totally different place,” he finished slowly.

The kid crossed his arms and uncrossed them again. “St. Cedd’s,” he said. “How do you know St. Cedd’s?”

Todd’s mouth dropped open.

“Dirk?”

---

The man onstage - Dirk had trouble attaching the name Todd - finished off his solo with a flourish. The crowd, such as it was, cheered and clapped, and the man grinned, pumped one fist in the air, and stuck out his tongue. The second vocalist tossed him a mic, and he caught it one-handed, twirled around, and broke back into song.

"Man down, man down, down with the man," he sang, and Dirk found himself mouthing along the lyrics. Of course he knew the song. He knew all of Todd’s songs, even the bad ones, due to some furtive and possibly repeated late-night googling. But the videos had been terrible quality; Dirk hadn’t been able to see Todd in them at all. They certainly hadn’t captured this - the only word for it was strutting, back and forth across the stage, whipping the mic cord back and forth like a circus trainer.

“I need a drink,” Dirk muttered, sliding off the stool and taking himself over to the bar. He had never seen Todd like this. He had never imagined Todd like this. He had never thought Todd could be this, Todd who slouched and grunted and refused to speak in front of more than four people at a time. It was… intriguing, to say the least.

“Scotch, please,” Dirk asked the bartender.

The bartender, a wiry, dark-skinned man with intricate tattoos winding up both arms and a single diamond earring, shook his head. “Beer, or jack and coke,” he said, leaning in close to be heard over the song’s chorus. “For anything else, go upstairs.”

“Americans,” Dirk muttered. “Jack and coke, then.”

The man poured a generous serving of the cheapest possible rum into room-temperature coke and traded it to Dirk for a bill that Dirk fortunately had in his wallet. He had a wild moment of fearing that money had changed, but it was only - what - 2004? 2006, perhaps? 

He sipped at the drink and grimaced. “They've had worse days,” said the bartender, misunderstanding his target. “Not many better ones. They've been coming here for years, for what good it's done them."

“I think they’re quite good,” said Dirk stoutly.

The bartender shrugged and moved down the bar. “To each their own,” he said.

Dirk carried his terrible beverage back to a high-top. He couldn’t quite watch Todd, but he couldn’t quite look away, either. Todd was doing another solo, head banging up and down as sweat flew from his hair. His hands flew over the guitar, plucking out chords with violent ease. He hit a repeated run, and a table in the front started chanting, “Brotzman, Brotzman, Brotzman.” Todd shuffled sideways, found a black vest crumpled on the floor, and kicked it out towards the chanting table, who screamed and jumped to catch it.

This was, Dirk thought, possibly the strangest experience he would ever have in his entire life.

The song ended, and Dirk put down his drink and tried to clap as hard as he thought Todd would appreciate. “Thank you, thanks guys,” said Todd from onstage. “We’re the Mexican Funeral, and we’ll be here… probably again next week.”

Scattering of laughter, and then a few discordant notes as the band started tearing down for the next set. Dirk downed the rest of his really horrendous drink and pushed his way towards the exit. He needed air. He needed to pinch himself several hundred times. He needed some much better alcohol, and possibly some additional substances as well.

He emerged into - joy - yet another alleyway, lined with concerning slush puddles and overflowing dumpsters. Wrinkling his nose, he turned aside and made for the group of men scattered further up, wreathed in cigarette smoke. They turned at his approach. “Bum a fag?” he asked, holding out a hand.

A beat of silence, during which Dirk abruptly remembered that he was in the unspecified past, in a dark alley, surrounded by men with shoulders much broader than his own. Before he could back away, the closest one sniggered. “Bum a fag?” he repeated, in a parody of Dirk’s accent. “Yeah, think we could arrange that. What d’you think, guys?”

“Might I borrow a cigarette,” Dirk repeated, without much optimism.

“Up your bum?” said another of the men, in a fake accent even worse than Todd’s.

Dirk suddenly felt very tired. “No, of course I didn’t mean that,” he said. “And you know I didn’t mean that, and you’re going to misunderstand me anyway, because of rampant homophobia and toxic masculinity that you won’t even have the vocabulary to define for another six or eight years. In the meantime, you can skip the threats, I’m not easily embarrassed, I don’t find any of you attractive, and I haven’t got any money, but I really don’t feel like running anywhere else today, so if you’re going to beat me up, you might as well do it and get it over with.”

The man in front’s mouth hung open, as though he’d been the one concussed. For a moment, Dirk thought he might have gotten away with it; and then a third man in the back came out of nowhere with a fist to the side of Dirk’s jaw. 

A second fist took him in the stomach, and he internally sighed. He would have much preferred a cigarette, he thought ruefully, as his legs were kicked out from under him and he landed on his elbow in something wet and sticky. Unfortunate that there were three of them; it would take them longer to tire. He curled into a ball and braced himself for the next kick.

“Hey!” yelled a voice. “Hey! What the fuck!”

Dirk raised his head as a semi-familiar figure shoved one of the men back. “What the hell, guys!” it repeated. “Not cool!”

“Come on, man,” said one of the men.

“He’s a fucking f–-”

“Like you’re not beating Rod off every chance you get. Cut it out, or I’ll call Carlos.”

The first man groaned. “Dude, we can’t get banned, the beer everywhere else sucks.”

“This is the good beer?” said Dirk from the ground.

“Then fuck off.” Dirk’s rescuer folded his arms, and the men, after a moment where Dirk really thought it could go either way, slunk off, still grumbling.

The man who couldn’t possibly be Todd waited till they’d fully gone and then turned to Dirk. “Hey,” he said, holding out a hand to help Dirk up. “Sorry about them, they’re assholes. Not the first time… anyway. You okay?”

Spotlit by the light from the open door, still tousled and flushed from the stage, eyes sparkling with pride and adrenaline and an easy grin stretched across his face, Todd looked like a vision. Dirk felt an uncomfortable spasm of emotions he couldn’t untangle: exasperation, irritation, gratitude, fondness, jealousy. Of course he’d need Todd to save him in this timeline, too. 

Todd waved his hand in front of Dirk’s face. “You’re not concussed, are you?”

“Hm? Oh. No.” Dirk took Todd’s hand and let Todd pull him up. Todd’s grip hadn’t changed: firm, callused, a little sweaty. He dropped Todd’s hand as quickly as possible and passed it off by patting his ribs. “Nothing broken, I think,” he said. “Just bruises.”

“Good.” Todd swung his arms up over his head in a sort of stretch, his T-shirt riding up over his navel. Dirk had never, ever, not in the whole two years of their acquaintance seen Todd do anything like that. He wondered if future Todd’s bones had somehow turned to lead. “I’m Todd, by the way.”

“I know,” said Dirk. “Er - I mean, I saw your band. Mexican Funeral, was it? You’re quite good.”

The last part was laying it on thick, but Todd shrugged the whole thing away anyway. “Yeah, that’s us. We kinda sucked tonight, actually. Hoping we can pull it together before the Battle of the Bands next week.”

“The wh - ow.” Dirk flinched as something in his jaw flexed unpleasantly.

“Shit, sorry, we should get you some ice or something.” Todd turned towards the bar door just as the lights clicked off. He grimaced. “Uh, my place is like five minutes away, if you need somewhere to clean up. I think the rest of the band should be there by now.”

Dirk hesitated. He should leave; he should go find Lydia and Todd and the broken machine, should concentrate on returning them to the present. Should untangle the latest mess he’d made. Todd tucked his bangs (again, bangs?) behind his ear, and another confused jumble swirled in Dirk’s stomach. He really should leave.

“I promise I’m not an axe murderer,” said Todd, misreading Dirk’s hesitation. He held up three fingers in the scout’s honor pledge and grinned. It had taken Dirk months to get Todd to crack a joke.

Todd, who would be mortified to know that Dirk had met his least favored self. Todd, who might never forgive him.

Todd, who had left.

Remorse and yearning and spite blended at a fever pitch, and Dirk said, “Oh, go on, then. Lead the way.”

---

Kid Dirk’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. Todd tensed in case he got attacked again. “That’s not my name,” said the kid.

Todd had a moment of temporary relief before he remembered that that hadn’t always been Dirk’s name, either. “...Svlad?” he said tentatively.

The kid flinched. “Who are you?” he asked again. “If this is some new trick, it won’t work, I’m not going back with them.”

Todd knew it was maybe the worst thing to do in this situation, but he couldn’t help it: he started to laugh. “You think I’m Blackwing?” he said. “You really think - me –-”

“You know about –-”

Todd forced himself to stop laughing. He’d never been around a Dirk who didn’t trust him; usually he wished Dirk would trust him a little less. “Sorry,” he said. “My bad. I’ll swear on whatever you want, I’m not Blackwing, and I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to get home.”

Kid Dirk - Svlad - still looked skeptical, but he stepped back enough to allow Todd to peel himself off the wall, rubbing his shoulder where it had slammed into the brick. “I can’t help you,” said Svlad, “if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

Todd snorted. “Oh, you’ve done a lot more than help,” he said. “Or, not you, but - you know.”

Svlad blinked in incomprehension. Even his blinks looked suspicious. “Uh,” Todd said, trying for a self-deprecating smile and falling far short, “this might sound like kind of a weird question, but, um, what year is it?”

Svlad closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re joking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re from the future, aren’t you?” said Svlad, indicating Todd from top to bottom. “Or the past, or an alternate universe, or - something.”

“Um - future, actually,” said Todd, with a brief spurt of hope that this might be easier than he’d thought. “If you’ve done this before, does that mean you can –-”

“It’s always something,” Svlad continued. “Time travelers, or universe hoppers, or - or magicians - I hate magicians - wizards and witches and the lot - well, I’m done, d’you hear me?”

Todd’s heart sank back down. He’d heard some version of this complaint about, oh, a thousand times, and it would be just his luck that this Dirk would be in this mood right when Todd needed him. “I’m not a case,” he said, which was almost definitely a lie. “I just need to find - well, you, I guess - but –-”

“I don’t care,” said Svlad. “I’m not getting involved.”

“I’m not asking you to,” said Todd, wondering if any Dirk, in any time period, would ever actually listen. “Look, you’re the one who tackled me. I didn’t even know you were here.”

“I –” Svlad started, and then shut his mouth. “Good,” he said instead.

Todd crossed his arms. This was normally where Dirk would stay quiet for about five seconds before he lost it and started asking when Todd was from, and how he’d gotten here, and also what kind of socks he was wearing, and whether zipper technology had advanced, and who was the current prime minister of Tasmania, oh they don’t have one, well isn’t that interesting. Which was when Todd would lose patience and interrupt, and then Dirk would try to argue, and Farah would have to stop them, and meanwhile the client would either give up or run away, depending on the case.

Svlad didn’t say anything.

“Um,” said Todd, “but you haven’t seen any older yous running around, right?”

“If I had,” said Svlad, “I wouldn’t tell you,” and then he turned and slipped into the alley behind Todd so quickly that Todd barely even saw him move.

(Todd’s Dirk - future Dirk, not his Dirk, not in a million years - couldn’t even make it across the room without knocking over umbrella stands Todd hadn’t known they’d owned. Future Dirk set off fire alarms on the way to the bathroom. Future Dirk had never once met a sidewalk he couldn’t trip down at least five times.)

“This is so weird,” said Todd under his breath, and then he turned and set off into London to look for a way home.

---

The Ridgely looked exactly like the Ridgely of the future, which was to say, terrible. Dirk wondered if it had sprung into being already infested with asbestos and black mold. He did his best to appear as though he didn’t know where he was going, and not as though he’d trod these very steps every day for several memorable months of his life. 

Todd unlocked his door - the functional lock, at least, was new, or old, depending how one looked at it - and then paused. “Uh. It’s not, like, fancy or anything - I mean, we haven’t made it big yet - this is just, like, a temporary stop --”

“As long as you’ve got running water,” said Dirk. “And soap, preferably.”

The grin returned. “No promises,” said Todd, and threw the door open.

Dirk didn’t know what he’d expected; he’d seen Todd’s general living situation, and gleaned more than enough of Todd’s attitude towards it. The apartment inside certainly resembled Todd’s future apartment in all the generalities: tiny kitchen; dingy living room; yellowed paint; grimy windows. The same concert posters lined the walls, not quite peeling yet, and the same couch already sagged under the weight of two of Todd’s band members. 

And yet, despite the haze of marijuana smoke and pizza grease, the room felt lighter, not only because Todd’s bulbs hadn’t yet burned out. Todd’s future flat had been so fogged with desperation and depression that Dirk could barely stand beneath it. This flat, and this Todd, still had life to them - youth; optimism; hope.

“Er,” said Dirk, gesturing around the apartment, “nice place.”

Todd exchanged a look with one of the men on the couch. Dirk hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone onstage except Todd, but the man’s bright red mohawk and generous piercings stood out. “How shit is England?” said the man.

“Shut up, Jazz. Our drummer,” Todd explained.

“Dirk,” said Dirk with a small wave.

“Fuck, dude, what happened to your face?” said Jazz, leaning forward.

“Jazz, you can’t just ask people what happened to their - oh, shit,” said the second couch occupant, a broad-shouldered Asian man with bleached-blonde hair and a single earring. “You okay, man?”

“Rod’s guys,” said Todd.

The Asian man grimaced. “I’ll tell Carlos to keep an eye out. I’m Brian, by the way. Guitar.”

“Second guitar,” said Todd.

“Superior guitar,” said Brian.

Jazz blew a raspberry. “Guys, we have guests.”

A tab popped in the kitchen, and a third band member wandered out. Dirk’s first thought was that he seemed familiar. His second was that the man was quite tall. His third was that the man’s shaggy haircut looked like Todd’s, but actually well done; and his fourth, as Todd shook his bangs back and imperceptibly straightened, was to wonder whether this haircut was what Todd had been going for.

“Aw, Todd, you brought a date?” said the man, leaning against the pillar to the kitchen and throwing back a can of Pibbs. “Should’ve put a sock out.”

Todd rolled his eyes, a spot of pink high in his cheeks. “Fuck off, Nate. Where’s Charlie?”

“Out, as usual,” said Nate.

“They have a lead,” said Brian. “On amps.”

Todd’s face underwent a curious journey that he quickly stifled. “Uh, sick. Uh, hope it works out. Dirk, the bathroom’s over there, should be bandaids and shit in one of the drawers. Just take whatever you need.”

“I’ll get ice,” Brian volunteered, climbing over Jazz to get to the kitchen.

“Lovely, thanks,” said Dirk, retreating to the washroom.

As he’d suspected, the men hadn’t done too much damage; the deepest cut was a scrape on his palm from falling. The bruise on his face looked nastier than it felt, and his ribs weren’t hurt enough to pain him on more than the deepest breaths. 

He splashed water on his face and cleaned off his cuts, the routine motion distracting him from thinking any more deeply about his current situation. Really, there was nothing to think about. He knew how time loops worked; if he was going to do anything major, he would have already done it. Todd hadn’t remembered him at all, so Dirk wouldn’t be doing anything memorable. He would simply clean up and be on his way.

At the very least, this way, he could end his time with Todd Brotzman on a high note, instead of the catastrophe that had brought him here.

A soft knock came at the door. Dirk opened it, and Todd slid in, holding out a wet bundle of paper towels. “Ice,” he explained. “Um. I’m out of ziplocs, sorry.”

“This is perfect.” Dirk held it up to his face, grimacing at the temperature. “Thank you.”

“Least I could do for a fan,” said Todd, shrugging this aside. “Especially one from ‘across the pond.’ Um, you are from England, right?”

Dirk wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at Todd’s constant swings from confidence to insecurity and back again. “Among other places,” he said.

“That’s so cool,” said Todd. “I’ve never been to England. Always wanted to go, though - check out Carnaby Street and shit. King’s Road.”

“Mm… not all it’s cracked up to be.” Dirk leaned against the sink, adjusting the makeshift ice pack. “It’s all gone downhill since they took down SEX. The drugs are mediocre at best, and the rock and roll is nonexistent. If you ask me, the country really has lost its way.”

Todd snorted, reached an arm back, and accidentally flipped off the light. “You two done in there?” called Nate as Todd scrambled to turn it on again.

“I’ll - yeah,” said Todd, gesturing towards the door. “Uh. You need anything else?”

“All good. Ta.”

Todd swung open the door. “Ta. So weird,” he said. “Uh, you can crash here tonight if you want. I mean, Jazz probably will. So.”

Dirk closed his eyes and thought about the comparative weirdness of a British fan, and of a British time-traveling detective fan-slash-best-friend-slash-roommate-slash-assistant. Former assistant. The comparative weirdness of your ex-best friend’s former self offering you his couch on the same day your ex-best friend quit his job and moved out might take the pie, in this instance.

One night couldn’t hurt, could it? Not in this time loop. One night, and then he’d leave.

Leave the beguiling past, for the blankness waiting in his future.

But that was tomorrow’s angst. Dirk shook off his mood. “That would be lovely,” he said, and followed Todd back to the last night that would matter.

---

Todd had been on his own for six hours, and he was about to give up.

He’d walked across what felt like half of London - walked, because he only had US dollars, and the money change place wanted a passport, which he obviously didn’t have. He’d pulled out his driver’s license, but the man had pointed at the expiration date and asked him if it was a bad joke. “I wish,” a fed-up Todd had said, at which case the man had kicked him out of the store.

He hadn’t eaten. He’d tried to get water from a public drinking fountain, but everything was covered in pigeon shit. He’d barely sat down, because the policeman on duty had started giving him weird looks, and he didn’t want to have to talk to cops - fucking “bobbies” - on top of everything.

And he hadn’t found Dirk. Dirk usually wasn’t hard to find, especially since they should have landed in the same place, but he didn’t seem to be anywhere. Todd was starting to think he might not even be in London at all.

Or, maybe there was some paradox created by Dirk and Svlad being in London at the same time, so Svlad was actually Dirk, and Todd shouldn’t have just let Svlad run off, as though ‘let’ really had anything to do with it. Maybe Svlad did have the answers. Maybe Todd’s whole stupid case was going to involve talking a skittish twenty-year-old into believing he wasn’t a stealth Blackwing agent, which seemed like a losing argument, given how Svlad had been acting.

“This,” said Todd aloud, “is why I hate fucking time machines.”

“Sir, can you move along, please?” said a policeman looming up out of the evening fog. Todd gritted his teeth and walked faster. He’d been heading in the vague direction of a bridge in hopes of finding somewhere to sleep. He’d slept in pretty random places for the Mexican Funeral, but never a bridge yet.

“First time for everything,” Dirk would have said, and proceeded to wax romantic about a snail climbing up the bricks until three in the morning. Farah would have already scoped out seven possible safe houses and found the most conveniently located and comfortable. But Todd was just Todd, and all he had was this stupid bridge over a stupid dried-up river with stupid weeds and stupid mud and probably stupid snakes or something, too, given his luck. (Did London have snakes? God, now he sounded like Dirk, too.)

The past sucked. He needed to get home. He was going to get home, Dirk or no Dirk (and if Dirk got stuck here, well… Todd didn’t finish the thought). And then he was going to go off and live his normal, adventure-free life, with lots of sleeping in and waking up in his own bed and no hard concrete slabs under a shaking overpass. First thing in the morning, he’d make a plan.

He leaned back against the brick and closed his eyes.

And then the thug attacked.

Chapter Text

Thugs couldn’t usually sneak, but maybe this one was better trained, because one second Todd was hunching over and closing his eyes, and the next second, a harpoon had slammed into the wall next to him. He yelped and flung himself away. A bald man dressed in black appeared out of the shadowy darkness, smiling oddly and holding the harpoon gun unnaturally still. “Hello,” he said. “You should not be here.”

“Oh, fuck, not again,” said Todd, and scrambled up to run.

The harpoon gun whined as it recharged, and Todd jumped for the side of the embankment. He’d made the worst possible choice, he knew at once - the embankment was collapsing under him faster than he could climb it, and he wouldn’t have enough cover to avoid a second harpoon, anyway. His body tensed in preparation for the blow. Dirk had survived a harpooning, right? It might be possible. But Dirk hadn’t gotten electrocuted, Todd had taken the brunt of that –-

With a wild yell, a second figure leapt out of the darkness and onto the bald man’s back, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck and holding on for dear life as the man flailed wildly to get him off. The harpoon gun clattered to the concrete. Todd scrambled back down and ran over to kick it away. The bald man stumbled around, beating at his assailant’s arms, but the figure just squeezed tighter. A minute later, the bald man dropped to his knees, and then his eyes rolled up in his head, and he keeled over sideways.

The second figure leapt off him and backed away, breathing hard. Todd, who couldn’t make out who it was in the darkness, kept a careful distance. “Hey, thanks,” he said, and the figure glanced up and then away again. “Uh. Svlad?”

---

Dirk woke on Todd’s couch in the Ridgely, which had been a familiar enough arrangement before the move that he spent several minutes convinced nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

What did him in was Todd’s humming. His Todd never hummed - or hadn’t in a while, at least. But when Dirk peeled his eyes open, Todd was sitting at the dining table, tapping a pencil against an open notebook and singing quietly to himself. 

For a moment, Dirk simply stared. Too much had happened the night before to fully appreciate the oddity of the situation, but it certainly was odd. In fact, it was downright weird. He wasn’t entirely convinced this was Todd at all; perhaps he’d traveled to an alternate universe instead of a past one, where Todd had never lied and the Mexican Funeral had gone on to worldwide fame. Todd didn’t look bowed under the crippling weight of guilt and lies. He just looked… relaxed. Just like he’d looked onstage, or with his friends the night before. Relaxed, happy, and fully in his element.

Dirk shifted on the couch, and Todd glanced up. “Morning,” he said, with that same easy smile. “Sleep well?”

“Wonderfully, thanks,” said Dirk with a yawn that turned into a grimace as it pulled at his jaw. His face felt puffy and swollen. Maybe, he thought spitefully, he could make it back to the future today, and make Todd feel even sorrier for abandoning him. But Todd would probably make the whole thing his fault somehow, and Dirk was absolutely not in the mood.

“How’s your face?”

“You tell me.”

Todd pursed his lips. Under the full force of his gaze, Dirk shivered, his defenses insufficient first thing in the morning. “Pretty badass, actually,” said Todd. “Think you can do mine to match?”

“You should see the other guy,” Dirk deadpanned.

Todd laughed, and something warmed in Dirk’s belly. “You just missed Jazz,” Todd said, flipping a page of his notebook. “He finished the cereal, but there’s coffee if you want. Unless you’re, y’know, more of a tea guy.”

“How’d you guess.” Dirk slid off the couch and wandered over to the dining table, expecting Todd to hunch over his notebook or slam it closed or otherwise attempt a distraction. But Todd just pulled out a chair. “What are you working on?” said Dirk.

“Just some lyrics. Wanna see?”

Future Todd had never once offered to show Dirk any of his music. Future Todd had, in fact, kept his music writing a complete secret until Dirk had barged in on him one night at 3am and found Todd hunched over a very similar notebook, which Todd had immediately thrown under the bed and shut down any conversation about. “Yes, of course,” said Dirk. “If you don’t mind.”

Todd slid over the notebook, which was a mess: half-drawn music staves; scribbled chord progressions; doodles of drum sets on fire; an anatomically detailed drawing of a falcon, for some reason. “It’s this,” said Todd, tapping a set of lines in the upper-right corner. “I can’t get the chorus right. I could feel it last night. Something’s off.”

Dirk squinted at the messy handwriting until it resolved into the lyrics for "Life After Mars." He smiled absently; it was one of his favorites, for the mostly-accurate science references and the guitar riff he still sometimes heard Todd practicing through the wall. Leave my roving spirit behind, went the lyrics, nothing but dust on the surface…

“Wait, shouldn’t it be freeze the ice beneath my surface?” said Dirk, and then realized his mistake. “Er - unless you - I mean, it doesn’t have to - whatever you think –”

Todd mouthed the words to himself a few times over, tapping his pencil to the beat. Dirk felt a slight bit of mortification at changing the past, though Todd would have got there eventually, given the lyrics Dirk knew. Or perhaps they’d always come from Dirk. Todd was right; time travel was confusing.

“You’re right, that’s way better,” said Todd, snatching back the notebook. “Breach of gravity… and trust… ‘Cause now my spirit’s… just rocks and dust… There we go. Hey, you’re pretty good at this. Do you write music?”

“Ha,” said Dirk. “Not nearly.”

“Play any instruments?” said Todd.

“Er - I sing, a bit,” said Dirk.

“Cool,” said Todd. He finished adding the new lyrics and pushed the notebook away. “Seems like a solid morning’s work. Wanna grab food? You can borrow some clothes, if you need them, and I have extra towels. And, um, some makeup, for uh. You know.”

He gestured to the respectable bruise blossoming on Dirk’s face. Dirk poked his own cheek to avoid thinking about “Todd” and “makeup” in the same sentence. It hurt, in more ways than one. He thought again about time loops, and about waking up to the sound of Todd’s humming in the kitchen. He’d vowed to leave after one night, but surely he couldn’t be blamed for breakfast. It would be rude to leave before then. And he needed to eat, didn’t he?

His stomach rumbled. “Guess that’s my answer,” he said, and Todd laughed.

---

Svlad scowled. “Don’t mention it,” he said flatly.

“But you –-”

“Don’t,” Svlad repeated, “mention it.”

Todd decided he should probably shut up for now. Svlad pulled a length of twine out of nowhere and tied the guy’s hands up, then dragged him over to a clump of bushes where he wouldn’t be immediately found. Todd checked his pockets. He wasn’t lucky enough to find a wallet, but the guy did have a box of toothpicks (half-used, gross) from a place called the Ugly Duckling. 

“Do you know this place?” he asked Svlad, holding it up.

“No,” said Svlad with zero interest.

“Is there somewhere we could find it?” Todd persisted. “Look, I know these guys, and they shouldn’t be here. They’re from Seattle. I don’t know if they followed us, or they were here already, or what, but we have to figure out what they’re doing in London.”

“We,” said Svlad, “don’t have to do anything.”

Part of Todd was inclined to agree; Svlad sure didn’t want to work with him, and Todd hadn’t planned to quit one Dirk just to partner up with another. But he understood the universe enough to suspect that this wouldn’t be the end of it, and he didn’t want to go up against more harpoon guns on his own.

A wave of tiredness swept over him. What he wanted was to go home. He didn’t want to be here, in a hostile past with a hostile Dirk. But Dirk had gotten him into this mess, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t get out of it without Dirk, either.

Even if this Dirk kept scowling like he wished Todd had gotten harpooned after all.

“Yeah, we do, actually,” said Todd, “because you seem like you’ve dealt with this before, and if you want them to actually go away, then you need to know what I know. And I need to know what you know. Uh. We have to work together.”

Svlad flinched at the last word. “No,” he said. “I work alone. If I was even working, which I’m not. Because I don’t care.”

It was the least convincing delivery Todd had heard, considering Svlad had just flung himself out from under a bridge to save Todd five minutes before. “Then why were you following me all day?” he said. “You were, weren’t you? Unless you were tracking him, which I doubt.”

“Just go –-” Svlad started, and then he swayed on his feet and started to collapse.

“Shit,” said Todd, jumping forward to catch him before he hit the concrete. “Svlad - Svlad! Are you okay, are you bleeding?”

“Get off,” said Svlad weakly as Todd patted him down the same way he’d done for Dirk a million times. Svlad hadn’t gotten electrocuted, had he? The gun hadn’t been reloaded - but it could have been someone else, somewhere else - knowing Dirk, it could have been anything --

“Quit it,” said Svlad, finally managing to push Todd off enough to curl into a tight ball on the pavement.

“But if you’re hurt –-”

“Don’t touch me,” said Svlad, screwing up his face, “please.”

“...Oh,” said Todd, belatedly. Dirk sometimes didn’t like to be touched, either, but Dirk had a decade of freedom on Svlad. Svlad, who had immediately thought Todd was Blackwing. Svlad, who had followed Todd around all day, just in case.

“Sorry,” said Todd, sitting back on his heels. “Uh. Can you tell if you’re hurt?”

Svlad eyed Todd warily. When Todd didn’t immediately start manhandling him again, he said, “Fine. Just dehydrated.”

The fog under the bridge had thickened into something closer to soup, and even during the day, the temperatures had ranged on the edge of chilly. Todd hadn’t been chugging water, either, but he hadn’t collapsed under a bridge. “When was the last time you ate?” he said.

Svlad scowled and didn’t answer.

“Oh-kay,” said Todd. “We’re finding you food. If you don’t want to come, you can, like, follow me from a distance again, and I can leave it out somewhere. Or you can stay here, but I don’t know how long he’s going to stay out, and I don’t think you’re in a condition to fight him again.”

“If I needed food, the universe –-”

“-- knows jack shit about nutrition, and will only intervene if you’re about to starve to death. It just wants you alive, it doesn’t care what state you’re in. I know how this works, remember? ”

Svlad opened his mouth again, because of course he could never let an argument go, either, but Todd wasn’t brooking any arguments. As angry as he was at Dirk, he wasn’t about to let Dirk’s past self die in the street. “Come on,” he said, starting to walk towards the road. “Let’s get out of here before we both starve.”

---

Todd took Dirk to the same coffee shop down the street that Dirk had gone to nearly every morning before they’d moved. “Oh, I’ve missed these muffins,” he said, taking a deep breath in rapture. “The buttery crumble is heaven.”

“Missed?” said Todd.

Shit, thought Dirk. He was really quite bad at this. “I, er, traveled here a long time ago,” he said. “Years and years.” In the future, he added to himself, but managed not to say aloud, this time.

“And you came to this neighborhood?” said Todd, gesturing around. “Must’ve been a shit trip.”

Dirk opened his mouth to agree, but face-to-face with Todd himself, his heart wasn't in it. “It had its moments.”

Todd jumped up to grab his coffee and Dirk’s tea. He wasn’t eating, a terrible habit which future Todd shared. “No breakfast?” said Dirk, deciding he might as well try his luck here.

“Nah, I usually just do coffee in the mornings. It’s all carbs, you know?”

“I love carbs,” said Dirk through a mouthful of muffin. “You should add that to your lyrics. Why aren’t there more songs about bread? It’s a universal constant. I should know.”

“Why’s that?” asked Todd, leaning back in his chair.

“Ah…” said Dirk. Why was that? “I’m - I’m a physicist,” he said, which was true enough that he could probably remember it. “Or - I should have been. Dropped out a few years ago, and, er, been bumming around since. Sticks with you, though,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “Maxwell’s laws, and all that. The idea that all things are fundamentally interconnected. There’s some beauty to it.”

“Is that Maxwell?” 

“I suppose it’s more on the quantum side, but they wouldn’t have got there without Maxwell’s foundation. So if you think of it like that, then… yes.”

“Huh,” said Todd. “That’s pretty neat, I guess. Connection. That’s what we all want, right?”

Dirk hummed in response, pondering connection and its various meanings. This Todd hadn’t argued with him about interconnection at all. This Todd had called it “pretty neat.” Todd had said he’d been an asshole, but from where Dirk sat, past Todd had quite a few things going for him that future Todd might make a note of, if Dirk could ever find him again.

“So is that what you do now, when you’re not dropping into shitty dive bars?” Todd asked, swiping a crumb of muffin. “Physics?”

“I’m a detective, actually,” said Dirk, and then dropped his muffin to clap both hands over his mouth. “Shit. You’re not supposed to know that.”

Todd tensed in alarm. “What, am I under investigation?” he asked, with a forced laugh.

“No, nothing like that.” Dirk dropped his hands and reached for the muffin again. “Don’t worry, I’m not with the police. I’m –” He swallowed, the words that used to be so routine coming harder now. “I work alone.”

“Oh.” Todd’s shoulders smoothed out again. “So, like, a PI? Like Sherlock Holmes or something?”

“God, no, nothing like that at all . I’m a holistic detective. I don’t concern myself with such petty things as fingerprint powder, telltale pieces of pocket fluff, or inane footprints. I see the solution to each problem as being detectable in the pattern and web of the whole.”

“Fundamentally interconnected,” said Todd.

Dirk met Todd’s eyes, his eager gaze, his inviting smile. His immediate grasp of what Dirk had spent years and years trying to make anyone understand. Dirk had thought Todd was the only person who understood him; perhaps he’d had the right person but at the wrong time.

“Exactly,” he said.

---

Todd still didn’t have any money, and Svlad obviously didn’t either, so Todd shoplifted some candy bars out of an Aldi to tide them over for now. Svlad looked for a moment like he was going to complain, or maybe accuse Todd of poisoning them, but Todd unwrapped his and ate it in two bites. After a minute, Svlad did the same.

“Okay, now that you’re not dying,” said Todd, handing Svlad a gatorade that he’d kicked out of a vending machine in the back, “we should find actual food. What do you normally eat? Is fish and chips a real thing, or is that just, like, something they make up for Americans?”

Svlad scowled at him. Svlad wasn’t Dirk, it was laughably easy to remember that, but the expression on Dirk’s face still felt jarring. “I’m fine,” said Svlad again, unconvincingly.

“Man, I wish protein bars existed here,” said Todd, flipping over the candy bar wrapper. “You guys are way behind on diet culture. What year is it, anyway?”

“Two thousand eight,” said Svlad.

Todd turned over the date in his mind. He couldn’t think of anything notable about the year: no global catastrophes; no Blackwing breakouts; nothing Dirk had ever mentioned. Or Lydia, either, more relevantly. He tried to lean back on his hands and winced as his injured arm twinged. “Shit,” he said, pulling up his sleeve to check the bandage. The cut had definitely reopened, soaking the bandage with fresh blood. He poked it, and Svlad hissed.

“You’re hurt.”

“Barely,” said Todd, and then, realizing he’d done exactly what he’d just been telling Svlad not to do, he added, “It’s not deep. Just bleeds a lot.”

Svlad watched as Todd carefully unwrapped the lower half of the bandage to check for infection. “What happened?” he said.

Todd started to lie and then changed his mind. “Gryphon,” he said. “Big one. Got in through our window, if you can believe it.”

Svlad had the look Dirk got when he really wanted to ask a question, wasn’t sure if he should, but was going to go ahead and ask it anyway. Sure enough, Svlad blurted out, “Our?”

“Yeah, Dirk’s and mine,” said Todd, figuring that since he’d shown up shouting Dirk’s name, the game was pretty much up before it began. Besides, Dirk hadn’t remembered him in the future, so Todd’s confession hadn’t totally broken the past. Or maybe Dirk had remembered him, and had just never said anything. That would be just like him. Todd added it to the mental list of things to yell at Dirk about, when he got back.

Except he wouldn’t have the chance, would he? If this worked, and he got back to the future, he might never even see Dirk again.

Something dropped in his stomach, and he frowned. That should make him happy. Why had it sparked something closer to dread?

Putting that into the basket of things to never think about, Todd wrapped the bandage back up, deciding the cut probably wasn’t infected. Svlad was still mulling something over, eyes fixed on Todd’s arm. As Todd rolled his bloody sleeve back down (yet another flannel ruined on Dirk’s behalf), Svlad seemed to come to some internal decision.

“This area closes early,” he said, “but I know some shops open late. If we go now, we should be able to find food.”

---

Todd hadn’t made a habit of stealing food, exactly, but he had been known to take someone else’s fries from time to time. Svlad seemed to be a regular. “Wait here,” he said, when they got close enough to an Indian restaurant, and then came out five minutes later with enough food for a family of six.

“Wow,” said Todd, as Svlad ducked back into an alleyway. “I thought you said you weren’t hungry.”

Svlad shot him a look, which had enough of Dirk in it that Todd laughed. “The universe does provide,” said Svlad grandly. “It just… needs a bit of help, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” said Todd, barely managing not to roll his eyes. Svlad already hated him enough without knowing the state of Todd and Dirk’s ex-partnership. Telling Svlad he’d quit wouldn’t do him any favors in the trust department.

Fortunately, Svlad didn’t bother following up, too busy concentrating on their twisting path. He seemed used to being followed; they doubled back a few times, squeezed through some alleyways, and, once, climbed up and over a fire escape. It was hard to imagine Dirk, with his colorful jackets and his exaggerated mannerisms, ever skulking around like this. Todd wondered if Blackwing had kept tabs on Dirk all through London, and at what point Dirk had decided not to care.

Eventually, Svlad ducked under a plastic tarp into a half-constructed office building. “It’s dry over here,” he said, picking his way past overturned concrete buckets and rusted rebar. “And there’s power, usually.”

“Power?” said Todd, going more slowly to avoid tripping in the dark and ending up with tetanus.

Svlad reached a raised slab at the back, set the takeout on top, and leaned over to fiddle with something behind it. “There,” he said, as a floodlight came on directly in Todd’s face.

“Gah!” said Todd, flinging up both arms a second too late and ending up blinded for the next several minutes. “I thought you meant, like, a flashlight.”

“It’s a construction site,” said Svlad, sounding more amused than Todd thought necessary. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you? I’d hate to save you from harpooning only to lose you to hives.”

“Eh, it’d be on brand. But, no. I’m not.” 

Todd settled cross-legged onto the concrete and reached for one of the takeout containers at random. Svlad had lined up the food between them, an arbitrary but unmistakable barrier. Incredible smells wafted out, and it was all he could do not to scarf down the entire thing at once. By the time he’d gotten a spoon, Svlad had already wolfed down two pieces of naan and half a daal.

They ate with intense focus. The food steadily disappeared till even the crumbs of the naan were gone. Todd had been hungry, but Svlad finished every last drop of curry and grain of rice like he hadn’t eaten in months. Maybe he hadn’t. Todd had never thought much about Dirk’s tendency to binge-eat, but he was starting to see where it came from.

“That,” he said, “was amazing. Do you go there a lot? Or steal from there a lot, I guess.”

Svlad shrugged. “When I can. I have to, er, change it up. But it’s open late.”

“Mm,” said Todd. He sat back on his hands, looking around the construction site. The tarps serving as walls billowed in the midnight breeze. He could see where Svlad had moved some of the ladders and buckets to hold them down. “Do you… live here?” he asked.

Svlad tensed up. “No."

It was like trying to tame a wild animal, and failing. “Okay,” Todd backed down.

Silence fell again. Svlad drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, staring into the darkness outside the floodlight’s circle. “I don’t really live anywhere,” he said.

“...Oh,” said Todd.

“I tried. But… Well. You know about St. Cedd’s.”

He pulled his legs in closer. Todd had only heard bits and pieces of the story from Dirk; he knew that Dirk had been at Cambridge for a couple years before getting expelled for something that shouldn’t have been his fault. At least, Todd didn’t think it had been his fault. “I should have known better,” Dirk had said. “Every time I try to help myself, it goes wrong.”

“But you had to eat,” Todd had said, “right?”

Dirk had looked away and changed the subject. Todd watched Svlad now, hunched in his oversized coat, his knobbly wrists peeking out of the frayed cuffs. 

“You live somewhere in the future,” he said. “For almost a year now. We’re just about to renew the lease.”

Not a lie, exactly; the paperwork was still on the counter. Svlad didn’t need to know that it would never be signed.

“Will they still let you renew it if you’ve let it get wrecked by gryphons?” said Svlad drily.

“Um. Probably. Farah usually gets insurance. She’s - she works at the agency. Your agency.”

“Agency?”

“Yeah, your detective agency. Holistic detective agency. It’s, like, a whole thing, I probably shouldn’t tell you –”

“How long have I had an agency?”

Svlad was clearly fighting to feign disinterest, but even still, a hint of eagerness crept through. It was enough to end Todd's brief pretense at secrecy. “About a year. Maybe a little longer, if you count our first few cases. Um. That’s - I work there, obviously, that’s how I know you, and Farah.”

“A year?” Svlad repeated. “And I haven’t ruined your lives and gotten you all killed in that whole time?”

“‘Course not.”

It came out so easily that Todd didn’t even catch the lie. Dirk had ruined his life - hadn’t Todd said that just this morning? Dirk had swept into Todd’s life like a tornado, upending his job, his apartment, his family. All Todd had gotten out of it were countless scars and a confusing tax situation. He might not be dead yet, but it wasn’t for Dirk’s lack of trying.

But if it was a lie, why did it still feel like the truth?

“You yelled for Dirk,” said Svlad, not quite a question.

“Yeah. That’s the name he goes by - you go by,” said Todd. “Dirk Gently.”

Svlad mouthed the name to himself, eyes hidden beneath his fringe of hair. Todd itched his arm and didn’t ask the million questions he wanted to ask: how long since you slept in a bed; what do you do when it snows; how often do you eat; how could the universe do this to you. Svlad noticed his discomfort and jumped up. 

“I forgot,” he said, wriggling under the concrete block and coming back with a Tesco’s bag. “For your arm.”

The bag contained a half-empty bottle of off-brand vodka; a pack of syringes; a Ziploc with an alarming array of assorted pills; and scattered band-aids. Todd pulled out the first one he saw. It was pink.

“I’m out of bandages,” said Svlad, still rummaging around, “but you can use - ah-hah!” Todd heard something rip, and then the sleeve of a tie-dye shirt came flying towards him. “It’s clean,” said Svlad, scrambling back up. “Promise.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst I’ve had,” said Todd, unwrapping the bandage and wincing as he poured vodka over it. “Life tip? Don’t ever try to give yourself stitches.”

“Too late,” said Svlad mournfully.

Todd couldn’t decide if this was supposed to be a joke, and his expression was apparently uncomfortable enough that Svlad burst into laughter a second later. “Kidding,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Well, at least he could still laugh, thought Todd. He finished cleaning the wound and wrapped Svlad’s t-shirt around it. In the interim, Svlad had pulled out a couple of blankets and a wadded-up jacket. “I assume you need somewhere to sleep that isn’t infested with harpoon gun-wielding maniacs,” Svlad said, tossing one of the blankets to Todd.

“That’d be preferable, yeah.” Todd shook out the blanket, an eye-watering orange plaid, and laughed in spite of himself. The blankets Dirk had picked for their apartment had all been rainbow-striped or neon. “Got enough gray in Blackwing, huh?"

He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words came out of his mouth. Even future Dirk could only sometimes joke about Blackwing, and it didn't even exist anymore for him. "Sorry," he added, too late to repair any damage.

Sure enough, Svlad frowned and hunched his way out of the floodlight's harsh gaze. "You can stay here tonight," came his voice from the surrounding darkness. "But you have to leave in the morning."

Todd cursed himself for backtracking. The experience of chasing after someone who should have already been his friend was extremely frustrating. He almost felt an unwanted kinship with his Dirk.

"But," he said, "the men of the machine - the bald guy –"

“I told you I couldn’t help you,” said Svlad flatly. "I've already done more than enough."

Todd gave up and crawled under his blanket, struggling to find a comfortable spot on the cracked concrete. "Can I ask you one thing?" he said, unable to resist one last try. "If you're so determined not to get involved, why did you follow me in the first place?"

Only silence answered. He could guess at a thousand reasons, but he didn't know if Svlad was ready for any of them. In place of a response, the floodlight clicked off, and darkness smothered them both. If Svlad said anything under cover of night, Todd wasn't awake to hear it.

When he woke in the morning, Svlad was gone.

---

They finished their breakfast in contemplative silence, Dirk stretching out each crumb of his muffin as though he could make it last all day. All too soon, though, Todd had finished both refills of his coffee, and Dirk could nurse his tea no longer. “So,” said Todd, after he’d tossed both their cups, “you need a ride home, or think you can make it?”

“Home?” said Dirk blankly.

“Oh - is it, like, a secret? I can drop you at a bus stop, instead. Do you even have bus fare?”

“Oh!” said Dirk, belatedly remembering that the Ridgeley did not, in fact, count. “Home. Yes. Right. Er. I should - should head there immediately. Yes.”

Todd eyed him across the table. “For a detective, you’re a really bad liar.”

Dirk scrambled for a slightly more convincing lie. “The thing is,” he said, “the thing is … er… I haven’t really got a home, at the moment. I’m - I’m sort of on leave. Unexpectedly. I wasn’t meant to be here at all, it just sort of… happened.”

“Got fired?” said Todd, raising his eyebrows.

“...Something like that.”

“Epic bender?”

“...In a manner of speaking.”

Todd laughed and tipped his chair back so the front legs came off the ground. “Don’t worry, I get it. We’ve all got shit to figure out, right?”

“We certainly do,” said Dirk under his breath.

“Well, if you need somewhere to crash in the meantime, you know where I live,” said Todd.

Dirk thought back to future Todd literally throwing Dirk out of his apartment. Who was this man? “That’s very kind of you,” he said. “I’ll - I’ll pay you back, somehow –-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” said Todd, waving a hand. “Maybe having a fan’ll help convince the band not to break up.”

His grin hid an edge of pain that Dirk easily recognized. “Break up the band?” he said. “But… why?”

Todd shrugged. “We’re getting older,” he said. “People want younger bands, they don’t want our stuff anymore. And the guys are getting busy - Jazz is our third drummer this year, and Nate’s out every other month. Brian’s going to grad school in the fall.”

“Oh! Cheers,” said Dirk.

“Yeah, congrats to him, but it kinda gives us a deadline. The Battle of the Bands is gonna be our last big gig.”

“You mentioned that last night. What is it, exactly?”

“Just what it sounds like - bunch of local bands competing for best in the area. Or just, like, best of the losers that play at Carl's, I guess. Plus the winners get free drinks for a month.”

Dirk tried to remember if Todd had ever mentioned a battle of the bands before. He really should have paid more attention to Todd’s infrequent reminiscing; he hadn’t even known Todd had known anyone with a mohawk. The only information he’d retained was that Todd’s bisexual awakening had been with a keyboardist named Alejandro, but perhaps he’d been wrong, and Alejandro had been one of the pre-Jazz drummers that Todd had mentioned. “I hope you win,” he said sincerely.

“Eh, we’ll probably lose. Again. It’s fine,” he said, before Dirk could draw a breath for encouragement. “Everything ends sometime. Life is change, right?”

“The world may change us, but we can change the world,” said Dirk, quoting the requisite lyric from "Protest the Infinite." 

“Wise words,” Todd grinned. “Wonder who wrote ‘em?”

Dirk did his best to save this image of Todd: still smiling, a snapshot preserved in amber, last moments before disaster. “It’s still kind of you to help,” he said, and then, because he might never see either Todd again, and he needed at least one of them to know, he added, “You’re a good man, Todd.”

An expression of pain flitted across Todd’s face. It was the most Todd-like thing Dirk had seen on this Todd so far, and it hurt Dirk to think that Todd’s defining characteristic through the decades might be guilt. “I’m really not,” said Todd, pushing back his chair. “But, um. Thanks.”

Chapter Text

The Spring mansion looked the same in 2008 as it had in 2016: large, imposing, and somewhat haunted, to be honest. Dirk, however, looked markedly worse than in 2016, partially because all of Todd's clothes ended three inches too short on him, and partially because Seattle public transit had a keepaway zone carved out three miles around the Spring's, and he hadn't found a robbable bike. Which, honestly, might have been better, as he was liable to crash the bike and end up covered in mud and bleeding on top of it all; but he was bleeding anyway, from his reopened palm, and the bike might have done it in half the time.

The bike, too, might have kept him from thinking. Dirk had missed more than one bus stop remembering Todd’s unlined face. If only he could take this Todd into the future with him…

Ridiculous. And too late, anyhow. He marched up towards the gate and had nearly reached it when his better angels (Farah) got the better of him. Farah, he’d realized, was here. Farah could be watching the security cameras right now. Farah might be his friend in his future, but she wasn’t the type to simply believe in time travel because a random Brit told her he knew the baseball championship winners from 2015.

(Did he know that? Perhaps he should have studied up; according to Todd’s movies, Americans tended to believe time travelers when they knew things about sports.)

He veered off the road into the surrounding trees and found a convenient stump to think of a plan. Rather, to wait till the universe brought him a plan. Actual plans were for people like Farah, and, more recently, Todd. He hoped the universe would also bring him supper, though, as he’d only had a muffin all day, and it really had been quite a long walk.

The universe, however, showed no inclination to provide anything at all. The universe remained silent as Dirk sat on the stump, wandered around the stump, found a larger stump, laid down on the stump for a nap, jumped up again three minutes later covered in ants, retreated to the first stump, and elected to hover near it rather than risk a second ant exposure.

He’d just begun to wonder whether he should risk more ants and sleep in the woods, or start the long trek back, when something thwacked into the back of his head.

“Ow!” he said, rubbing the spot. The missile couldn’t have been larger than a pebble, but it had been aimed directly horizontal, which ruled out most natural causes besides particularly aggressive squirrels. He scoured the tree line for his assailant.

A second object smacked his shoulder, and he yelped. “Rude!” he said, turning in a full circle. “Not as rude as the harpoon gun that once left its mark there, though rather like hitting someone when they’re already down. Would you like to target my bullet wound next? It’s just here on my thigh.”

With a thump, Lydia Spring dropped down from a nearby tree. “You!” said Dirk, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re a very violent young person, aren’t you?”

Lydia shrugged, sticking a slingshot into the pocket of her black sweatshirt. From a first glance, she seemed to be making out alright in the past; her clothes fit, which was more than Dirk could say from himself, and if she’d been injured, it wasn’t bad enough to stop her climbing trees. Leaves and twigs stuck out of her waist-length braid. Dirk wondered how long she’d been in the tree.

“I had to get your attention,” said Lydia.

“You had it after the first shot,” Dirk grumbled.

“The second one was just for fun,” said Lydia. “Um - I didn’t hit your eye, did I?”

“What? No. This was from Todd. Or, not from Todd. Around Todd. In the vicinity of Todd. It might have been both without him, actually, though I like to think - oh, never mind that, what are you doing here? What are we doing here? What on earth possessed you to build a time machine? Assuming it was you - you are future Lydia, aren’t you?”

“Past Lydia is eight.”

“Right. Is that why you’re in the woods, then?”

“No, I’m in the woods because Farah figured out I’d been wiping the security tapes and turned on the backup system in time to see someone blundering around in the woods.”

“So you came to warn me before I was shot? That’s quite thoughtful, actually, I take back what I said about your violent tendencies.”

“No, because I was able to swap around the monitors so she thinks it’s the woods in the south, and when she doesn’t find anything, either she’ll convince herself that she’s being paranoid again or her dad will do it for her, and I found a vulnerability in the backup system, so you’re off the cameras again.”

“Yes, that does sound like Farah,” said Dirk. “Did I know you were some sort of hacker genius, or…?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “It’s not like it’s hard. Everything here runs off tech from the 1800s. My dad’s too paranoid to let anyone else work on the house, so he just keeps patching things with what he thinks is the latest tech, but it’s, like, a mess. I’ve been sneaking out since I was twelve.”

“...Does Farah know that?” 

“No,” said Lydia, taking a step forward, “and you’re not going to tell her, because she would beat herself up for, like, being incompetent and failing to protect me and being an embarrassment to the family name, blah blah blah. I never got caught.”

“You got turned into a dog.”

“That’s different.”

Dirk sat down on the stump again, forgetting about the ants. He seemed to have lost control of the conversation, if he’d ever had it in the first place. He tried to remember why he’d come.

“You built a time machine,” he said.

“You broke my time machine,” Lydia returned. “Also, it’s not a time machine.”

“We are, very obviously, in a different time.”

“Well, okay, it’s sort of a time machine,” said Lydia, sitting down on a log opposite and tucking her legs up under her. “But it’s not only a time machine.”

“Yes, yes, soul swapping and unlimited energy, I know. I was there, if you’ll recall.”

“There’s no such thing as unlimited energy,” said Lydia, in the tone of someone about to start on a favorite argument. “It’s all borrowed - if he’d thought about that for more than, like, two seconds, he would have realized –-”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, but why did you build the infernal thing in the first place?” Dirk interrupted, before they could get off track again.

“It’s not –-” Lydia started, and then an alarm went off on her wristwatch. “Shit.”

“Language,” said Dirk.

“Patrols are coming,” said Lydia, jumping off the log. “We have to go.”

“Go where?”

Lydia turned and gave Dirk a once-over. “Somewhere with clothes that fit,” she said. “And food,” she added, as Dirk’s stomach growled loudly.

“Excellent,” said Dirk. “Lead the way.”

---

Todd sat in the middle of the half-constructed building with a raging headache and major back pain and thought about what to do next.

He’d really been hoping Svlad would come around after some sleep. He should have known better - future Dirk had never gotten the hang of a full night’s sleep, either staying up till four in the morning or sleeping till four in the afternoon - but he hadn’t had much else to hope for. Plus, he was positive that Svlad had followed him because of the universe, and as Dirk had explained to Todd many times, the universe couldn’t easily be ignored.

He should’ve known that he’d ruin things with this Dirk, too.

Well, he still had a lead. He reached into his pockets for the Ugly Duckling toothpicks, but he must’ve dropped it at one of the restaurants. How crazy would he look if he wandered into the nearest bar - pub - and asked if he could use their phone book? Or did you do that in phone booths? How was he supposed to know? He’d never been to London before.

Dirk had mentioned wanting to take him. He’d forgotten. That had been months ago, long before things had gone wrong. Back when he’d still thought, maybe, one day…

Todd shook that away. That part of his life was over. There was no point revisiting it now.

God, his head was killing him. He attempted some of the stretches Farah had been working into his and Dirk’s routine, and his back cracked loudly enough to echo around the empty room. On top of everything, his nerves were faintly tingling in anticipation of a pararibulitis attack, and he only had a couple more pills. He reached in his pocket for the bottle.

It was gone.

He patted himself down, trying not to panic. He’d probably just put it in another pocket. He was positive he’d still had it under the bridge, and he’d come almost straight here with Svlad - sort of - he could retrace his steps, maybe he’d just dropped it at one of the restaurants - why were all of his pockets empty –-

“Wait,” he said aloud, and then, “Oh, fuck.” He sank back down on the concrete. His wallet was missing, too, and he definitely wouldn’t have dropped that. Svlad must have taken it. He laughed bleakly, running a hand over his face. Svlad must’ve taken his wallet and the pills, along with - he checked under the edge of the slab - everything else in the whole area.

“That fucker,” said Todd, with begrudging appreciation. Future Dirk would have never thought far enough ahead to move his own belongings, let alone take someone else’s, and he absolutely could have never moved stealthily enough to pull it off. The thought of future Dirk pickpocketing anyone was laughable. The more Todd learned about Svlad, the more he wondered whether Svlad had undergone some sort of personality swap along with his name change.

His arm suddenly convulsed, blue sparks dancing in the edge of his vision.

Of course, he thought. Of course it would be electricity. Because what he needed was a full seizure, in a room full of concrete and no one to make sure he didn’t bite off his tongue. With a weary sigh, he tugged on his shoes, folded up Svlad’s blanket, and set off to find some kind of softer landing.

He made it four blocks before he heard an incredibly distinctive noise.

---

Lydia took Dirk to a patch of earth that looked exactly the same as any other patch of earth, until she pressed a bulging knot on a nearby tree, and a panel slid back to reveal a ladder leading into the earth.

“Did Patrick dig up this entire area?” said Dirk, descending after Lydia. “Is this whole place a rabbit’s warren of tunnels? Is there anywhere that doesn’t have a secret tunnel?”

“Like I said,” came Lydia’s voice from below him, “paranoid.”

“How do you know where they are? Is there a map or something? Are these on the security systems, too?”

“He kept some of them secret from the Blacks, in case they were secretly plotting to murder him,” said Lydia, hopping off the ladder onto the packed earth tunnel below. “This one isn’t booby trapped, in case you were wondering.”

“They’re booby trapped?” said Dirk, freezing at the memory of nearly being crushed, speared, and electrocuted in a very similar tunnel.

“Not this one,” said Lydia, in the slow tones of someone trying to explain things to a child. “Besides, I think he forgot about this one. It doesn’t go to the house, just to this bunker.”

She rounded the corner at the end of the sentence and stopped in front of an iron door that hung slightly ajar. “Ta-da,” she said, kicking the door open. “Home sweet home.”

The room inside was bleak, even by Dirk’s standards. A fold-out cot hunched against one wall, a scratchy-looking military blanket hanging off the end. Stacks of cans lined another full wall, mostly beans and tomato sauce, with a few scattered peaches. In the center of the room, a tin pot half-full of beans balanced precariously on a camp stove. The rest of the floor was littered with crumpled pieces of paper and broken electronics, including –-

“The time machine!” Dirk gasped. “You do have it!”

“Yeah, what’s left of it,” said Lydia. “I’ve been trying to fix it, but it’s, like, super busted.”

“Don’t blame me,” said Dirk at Lydia’s accusing glare. “I’m not the one who built it.”

“I told you not to touch it!” said Lydia, crossing the room to squat down by some of the pieces. “It wasn’t finished yet!”

“And what was your plan once it was finished?” said Dirk. “Farah said she hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Were you planning to dash off to the past without so much as a by-your-leave?”

“No,” said Lydia hotly. “I had a plan, it would have worked, except –-”

She broke off, shook her head, and flicked a jagged piece of metal. “Where’s Todd?” she asked abruptly.

“Er - which Todd?” 

“Your Todd.”

“He’s not my Todd,” Dirk bristled, as Lydia nonchalantly picked out two of the pieces and carried them over to a rusted soldering iron plugged into the room’s single outlet. “He’s his own Todd - Todd’s Todd, perhaps - certainly not my - in fact, he’s hardly ever been less my Todd, given recent, er, developments - even past Todds seem more inclined to my company, based on at least one data point, and if your machine isn’t fixed soon, I suppose there could be more. Though, really, I’m rather offended current Todd didn’t recognize me even a little at our first meeting , given that past Todd seemed quite fond of my company, and I do like to think I make an impression -–”

Lydia let out an exaggerated sigh. “Are you done yet?” 

Dirk forced himself to stop. “I haven’t seen the Todd from our time,” he said. “Though he might be, er. Avoiding me.”

Lydia set down the soldering iron and held the wire connection up to the light, then tsked and picked the iron back up. “I hope you got the apartment in the divorce.”

“We’re - it’s not - I mean, I did, technically speaking, but –-”

“Just keep looking. He has to be around here somewhere.”

“How do you know?” said Dirk, sitting down on the cot. It creaked ominously under his weight, and he quickly got back off again. “Also, are you going to eat those beans?”

Lydia motioned him to take them, and Dirk reached for the pot and took a heaping spoonful, which turned out to be cold, and also terrible. He made a face but kept eating. “If this worked,” she said, holding up the soldered wires in her hand, “it would have taken me to where I was ten years ago. It wasn’t built to work with more than one person, but since both of us ended up here, and you definitely weren’t here in 2008, I’m guessing it brought all of us towards me.”

“Or towards Todd,” said Dirk through a mouthful of beans, which had not improved upon further consumption. “I landed barely three blocks from him.”

“I doubt it. He barely touched it. Unless everything got mixed up, and he’s in London with your younger self right now.”

“Ha,” said Dirk, and then the implications of the statement hit him, and he dropped the empty pot with a clang. “Shit.”

---

Svlad’s semi-safehouse wasn’t in the best neighborhood, obviously. Todd wouldn’t have been thrilled to break down in front of London Tower or Buckingham Palace, but he would have appreciated somewhere with a bit more green space. He’d spotted a gravelly dog park and been halfway across the street to spread out his blanket and hope for the best when he’d heard a familiar engine rev around the corner.

His heart leapt. He knew the Rowdy Three probably would have been deported before they got off the boat, but on the off chance they were somehow here, they might be able to stave off his attack. He’d never tried it before - he’d never dared to ask Amanda - but it was the same disease, right?

He turned and ran towards the noise.

Impossibly - so impossibly that he had to stop and rub his eyes, in case the time machine had somehow made him hallucinate - a black van waited around the corner.

Ten years of graffiti hadn’t changed the essentials: the dented bumper; the spray-painted doodles; the banner name across the side. The van had crashed into someone’s mailbox and plowed through a bush. “No fucking way,” Todd breathed, and then sped up, starting to yell. “Hey,” he said, “ hey –-”

Before he made it halfway down the block, the doors slid open, and Martin, Gripps, and Cross got out. “Thank god,” said Todd, panting. “Guys, you have to help me - it won’t make sense, but you have to –-”

Completely ignoring him, the Rowdy Three - only three of them this time - prowled around the opposite side of the van. “Hey, wait,” said Todd, picking up his pace. “Guys –-”

Someone shrieked on the other side of the van, and Todd abruptly realized why the Rowdy 3 might be in London, and what they might be doing in this particular London neighborhood.

---

“It was London, right?” said Lydia, diving back into the scrap pile for more components. “He’s not, like, stuck in Blackwing or anything?”

“No, no,” said Dirk, “definitely London.” He set the pot of beans back on the stove, his appetite gone. Which was funny, because from what he remembered, 2008 Dirk’s appetite had never once been sated. That was probably the only funny thing about 2008 Dirk, though. He hadn’t even been Dirk, then. And if Todd had to see that…

“Let’s… worry about that later,” said Lydia. “Probably good, though, because my dad’s clothes will barely fit you, and they definitely wouldn’t fit him. They’re under the bed,” she pointed.

If he was already too much for Todd now, when he’d been out of Blackwing longer than in it - if Todd could barely cope with a Dirk who’d learned to moderate and manage the universe…

“I can get more from the house,” said Lydia. “My dad never looked at me long enough to figure out how old I was anyway, and Farah will recognize me enough not to shoot on sight.”

But why was he worrying about that? Todd had already given up on him; London wouldn’t do anything but strengthen his resolve. It was Dirk, once again, who had the worst of it - Dirk who was seeing what could have been, just at the moment he’d lost it.

Lydia waved a hand in front of his face. “Anyone home?” she said.

Dirk jumped. “Er, yes,” he said. “Are you sure he’s in London? Couldn’t he be in, er, Madrid? Barcelona, perhaps?”

“Pretty eurocentric,” said Lydia, “but, yeah, I guess. Like I said, I wasn’t done building it yet. It’s a miracle we all ended up in the right year, and not, like, at the heat death of the universe.”

Dirk slumped back against the metal side of the cot. This was a time loop, he reminded himself. Anything that was going to happen had already happened. If Todd had met him, he’d remember. He’d blurred out most memories of those days, but he’d remember Todd.

Unless Todd had seen him, and decided to stay away.

Until a few weeks ago, he would have said Todd would never do that. 

Now… he wasn’t sure.

Something snapped, and Lydia huffed in frustration. “This is going to take forever,” she said, scowling at the soldering iron. “All my dad’s tools are like a hundred years old. I wish my lab bench existed yet.”

Dirk didn’t respond, still spiraling in doomsday scenarios. What if Todd was lost in the heat death of the universe? What if his presence in Seattle had somehow caused a paradox that could only be resolved by his future self failing to exist? Why did it even matter to Dirk anymore?

“Dirk, snap out of it,” said Lydia. “I could use your help. Aren’t you supposed to be good at physics?”

“Physics? Mm. Yes. Sort of. I never actually finished my thesis, and my professor’s branch of time travel was really a very specialized type of thing - he was displacing time through a single point, and you’re displacing a single point through time - multiple points, actually - how did you work that out, anyhow? And we still haven’t covered the matter of why.”

He crossed his arms and glared at Lydia, on the off chance he might take the reins of the conversation for the first time that day. Lydia hunched behind the iron, her hair falling over her face. “Can we talk about that later?” she said. “I need someone to go pick up more parts, and I don’t want to leave this thing alone. Doesn’t RadioShack still exist now?”

Dirk doubled down on his glare. “Later,” he said, in his best Farah-interrogator voice. “Answer the question first.”

“You sound like Farah,” Lydia muttered, and Dirk beamed and then remembered to keep glaring. “Fine. I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

“That’s not how this –-”

“One question,” said Lydia, gripping the soldering iron in a way that was also very reminiscent of Farah. Dirk sighed and gestured her to go ahead. Lydia sat back on the floor and brushed back her hair. “What happened between you and Todd?”

It wasn’t at all the question Dirk had been expecting, and it felt a bit like missing a step on the way down. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” said Lydia. “When I was a dog, and you guys showed up and fixed the time machine, I already thought you were together. And when I got back from Bolivia, it was, like, ten times that. But when you found me today, before you broke the machine…”

Dirk winced and looked quickly away, thinking of Todd’s last words to him. Would Todd hate him more less after this latest disaster? Why did Dirk still care?

He slid down against the wall, thinking of how to respond. What had gone wrong? He could think of so many reasons, so many arguments piled up. Little things: one too many missed trash days; one too few paid traffic fines. But if he had to pick the thing that had broken them beyond repair, there was really only one day he could choose.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “we wanted different things. I… asked too much of him. And he couldn’t give it. Shouldn’t have had to give it.”

Lydia considered this, absently winding and unwinding a spool of wire. “And why did you build a time machine?” Dirk prompted, before she could press him any further.

The wire unfurled in slow motion, spiraling on the floor. “Same reason as my dad, I guess,” she said. “To see how things could be different.”

“But - they can’t,” Dirk pointed out. “You can’t change the past. Patrick’s case proved that fairly definitively.”

Lydia gathered up the wire and pushed herself up off the floor. “And you didn’t give me a real answer either. So we’re even.”

“But –-”

The cot screeched against the floor as Lydia pushed it aside to reveal an open safe in the wall. “Shopping time,” she said, shoving a wad of bills at Dirk. “There’s a list - here. Maybe get some more food, too, unless you want to eat canned beans for the next month.”

The wad of cash had its usual effect on Dirk, which was to make him forget whatever he’d been about to say. “Er - thanks. Er - are you sure you don’t want to come? A motel room seems preferable to a bunker.”

“I’m not carting this to a motel, it’s fragile enough already. And this way, on the off chance my dad checks in on his tunnels, he’ll recognize me before he shoots.”

From the little he knew of Patrick, Dirk wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but he decided against challenging Lydia on her own father. Besides, the longer he stayed, the more questions Lydia might ask about Todd. He’d been doing so well not thinking about that night…

Lydia shook the cash in his face. “Please?” she said. “You want to go home, right?”

Home, Dirk thought bitterly. He didn’t have a home, anymore. But Lydia did, and he owed it to her and Farah, at the very least.

“Yes, alright,” he said, tucking away the cash in his wallet. “I’ll go. Only, er, do you happen to have a bike?”

---

Todd rounded the van and froze, unable to fit the scene into everything he thought he’d known. The Rowdies were Amanda’s friends. They’d done more to save her than Todd ever had. They might have been absolute maniacs, but they’d never hurt Amanda, and even Dirk hadn’t been afraid of them in a long time.

But he had been once. Todd had forgotten. When the Rowdies first found the Ridgely, Dirk had been more panicked than at any other point in the case.

And now Todd understood why.

Svlad was on the ground between Cross and Gripps, red and panting, one jacket sleeve torn and ragged. The two Rowdies circled him, hooting with laughter. Svlad struggled upward, and Cross kicked him back down. Gripps breathed in deeply, Svlad’s energy stretching in a blue trail towards him, and Svlad writhed in pain. Martin, leaning casually against the side of the van, blew a single smoke ring towards him, and Svlad snarled and surged forward, only for Gripps’ club to slam into his side and send him flying sideways.

Todd didn’t think. He just ran.

“Hey,” he yelled, “hey! Quit it!”

Cross and Gripps didn’t pause, but Svlad did, glancing away just long enough for Cross to skip forward and sweep his legs out from under him just as he’d gotten to his feet. Svlad hit the ground hard. “Hey, stop!” said Todd, rushing in front of Svlad. “What the hell!”

“Ooooh, who’s this?” said Gripps.

“Run away, little man,” said Cross.

“You don’t wanna be here,” said Gripps.

Svlad pushed himself off the ground, arms shaking. “Todd,” he said in a low voice, “you shouldn’t be here. Just go.”

Todd completely ignored this. “Lay off him!” he said, stretching his arms out to shield as much of Svlad as he could while Gripps and Cross prowled around him. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but we want to,” said Cross, licking his lips.

“Tasty,” said Gripps, baring his teeth in a grin.

“And we’re starved,” Cross growled, and leaped forward. 

Giving up on words, Todd lowered his head and charged into Cross like a bull. He managed to knock Cross off-course, but then Gripps hit him from the side and he staggered and fell. Sparks danced around the edge of his vision. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Not now, not now –”

“Todd, go away,” said Svlad, still on hands and knees, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. “You’ll get hurt. Please.”

“I’m not leaving you,” said Todd, gritting his teeth and pushing himself back up. Cross and Gripps hooted in excitement.

“You wanna play, buddy boy?” said Cross.

“We won’t go easy on you,” said Gripps.

“Of course not,” Todd sighed, and held up his fists.

They rushed him at the same time, Cross coming in low and Gripps from above. Todd managed to dodge Gripps, but Cross tackled him to the ground. He landed on his left hip and cried out as electricity surged up through his side, his arm spasming. “Fuck, no, no, ” he said, holding it down with his other arm. “Come on - Svlad, go –-”

“Hold,” said Martin.

Everyone, except Todd, froze. Martin’s voice was barely lower than a whisper, but it seemed to carry through the whole street. He slid off the side of the van and prowled over to Todd, who was still trying, uselessly, to push himself up. 

“Now what,” said Martin, crouching into a squat, the cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth and his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses, “are you?”

Todd finally got his arm under control and staggered to his feet. He could feel the attack building every time he pushed it back, like a wave behind a splintering dam. His left hand trembled in warning. “Just leave him alone,” he spat.

Martin’s head flicked down to Todd’s hand and back. Behind him, Cross and Gripps muttered uneasily. “He agreed to the deal,” said Martin.

“Deal? What deal?” said Todd.

“Didn’t mention you, though,” said Martin, shifting the cigarette in his mouth. “So…”

“Martin,” said Svlad, “please.”

Todd’s left knee jerked, and he fell back to the ground. He couldn’t hold out much longer; he could barely concentrate between Martin and Svlad and the prickling creeping up all over. “Take me,” he bit out. “This. Eat it, or - ahh.”

His whole left side, now; he was on his back, spasming, about to lose it completely. Martin held out one hand to keep Cross and Gripps back. “Hmm,” he said, eyeing Todd like an interesting species of insect.

“You can’t,” said Svlad desperately. “You can’t, you know what it does to other people, normal people –-”

“Please,” Todd gasped, as the attack crawled over his body, “just take it - please –-”

His vision was starting to go hazy; he saw the next moments in snapshots: Martin leaning in; Cross and Gripps joining him; the sky crowded out above him; the Rowdies closing their eyes –-

“No!” screamed Svlad –-

And everything went –-

Chapter Text

–- bright.

Stage lights at a Mexican Funeral concert.

Smoke drifting through his bandmates’ room.

Amanda.

His first apartment.

The police station.

Amanda, backstage.

The Perriman Grand elevators.

“Take control of your life, Todd.”

Amanda, backstage, eyes fractaling into infinity.

The Rowdies charging Suzie Boreton.

Dirk’s face leaning in.

Amanda backstage, saying –-

-– “Todd?”

Todd shook his head. He had a head. He had a head, that wasn’t buzzing with electricity, or banging into concrete, or bruised and battered from the Rowdies, and he also had –-

“Amanda?”

She nodded, and he let out a half-laugh of relief and ran forward, enveloping her in a hug without any of the hesitation that had become routine. She let him for just a moment before stepping back. “Todd, what are you doing here?” she said. “Where are you? Farah’s going out of her mind!”

“I’m in the past,” said Todd. “I’m - how are you even - how are we here? And how long has it been? We still get back, right? We have to get back somehow - Dirk will make sure -–”

“Dirk? Is Dirk there?” said Amanda quickly.

Todd tried not to be offended by this. “No - well, sort of - I can’t find our Dirk, future Dirk, but I did find Svlad –-”

“Svlad?”

“Yeah, it’s - it’s 2008 - Amanda, listen, are you sure the Rowdies are - are safe? Like, they’re here in the past, and they’re sort of - they’re being pretty -–”

“Ohhh, is that how you’re here?” said Amanda. “You have to stick with them, okay? We need some way to contact at least one of you.”

“I don’t know if - I mean, they - did they ever mention some kind of deal they had with Dirk, because it kinda seems like –-”

“Two thousand eight…” Amanda was saying, ignoring Todd completely. “What’s important about that? It has to mean something to someone… Hey, where were you in 2008? How come you’re not there?”

“Uhh,” said Todd, wincing.

“Oh, right, you were lying to everyone,” said Amanda, crossing her arms. “Good thing Dirk’s not there then, I guess.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Todd, squeezing his eyes shut. In all his time wondering where Dirk had gone in London, he had never considered that Dirk might be in a totally different continent. “You don’t think –-”

“And should you even be with Svlad?” Amanda continued over him. “Won’t that, like, mess up the space time continuum?”

“It’s - it’s a time loop,” said Todd, pulling his attention away from whatever terrible things Dirk might be witnessing. That didn’t matter, anyway; all his bridges with that Dirk had already burned. “It’s already happened. It’s the same thing as last time.”

Amanda frowned. “Are you sure it’s the same?” she said. “I’ve been seeing things - Svlad things - things that definitely couldn’t have happened.”

“Has - how do you know? I mean, he hasn’t told me anything about Svlad,” said Todd.

“No, it’s…” Amanda shook her head. “I saw him… He died, I think, or…”

“Died?!” Todd yelped.

“Maybe not!” said Amanda, holding up her hands. “It was super unclear, but, like, I don’t - I don’t think - everything else I’ve seen is something that’s happened, but –-”

The world lurched around Todd, and he staggered and reached out to catch his balance on a wall that wasn’t there. “Fuck,” said Amanda. “You’re going back.”

“Already?” said Todd. “But –-”

“Listen, stay close to the Rowdies,” said Amanda, speaking quickly, “and be careful, and look out for Svlad, and –-”

“We’ll be okay,” said Todd, “don’t worry, I’ll get back somehow –-”

“We’ll figure out a way to get you back,” said Amanda. “Todd –-”

“I love you –” said Todd as the backstage began to dissolve –-

A haze of pain washed over him –-

He sat up –-

–- and immediately crashed back down again as Svlad tackled him, pinning his wrists to the ground.

“Ow,” said Todd weakly as his wrists dug into the concrete. 

Svlad’s grip only tightened. “What,” he said, his face cold and terrified and furious, “the hell was that?”

---

Dirk found Lydia’s RadioShack without much difficulty - or rather, the taxi Lydia insisted on calling a safe distance from the Spring mansion gates found it for him, whooshing him up to the curb a cool fifteen minutes before the store closed. The man inside looked extremely put out to have a three-page shopping list foisted on him just before his break. Dirk did his best to help, but he kept getting mixed up between “male” and “female” cables, and after cornering the man a few too many times to ask why cables needed genders at all, and couldn’t they just call them the pointy one and the socket, and while they were at it, what was all this “master” and “slave” business, the man threatened to ban him from the store unless Dirk left him in silence for five goddamn minutes.

“But I haven’t even gotten to breadboards,” Dirk pouted, retreating to the door. “Neither bread nor boards conduct electricity, do they? You might as well call it a milk bottle, if you wanted to stay on theme.”

Blistering silence followed this, and Dirk grumbled his way into silence. The man eventually stomped back to the counter to inform him that they had just run out of something called a “power transformer” and wouldn’t have more till Thursday, at the earliest.

“So I’ll just bring what they did have,” Dirk said to Lydia over his brand new 2008 burner phone a few minutes later, as the RadioShack man locked the door soundly behind him. “And some food, as well, I suppose. Did Patrick add two cots to his bunkers, or only one?”

Something crashed behind Lydia. “Just one,” she said, raising her voice over the noise.

“I’ve slept on loads of floors, of course, only you do start to feel it in your back, and with my age being what it is –”

A loud buzzing noise started up and stopped again. “Get a motel room, then,” Lydia said. “Hotel. Something nice.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t leave you. No, I’ll just have to make it work somehow. Is there an extra blanket, at least…?”

A shriek of static sliced through the call, and Dirk yanked the phone away from his ear, wincing. When he put it back, the buzzing had begun again. “Are you trying to saw the machine in half?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lydia.

Dirk was beginning to see where Farah had developed her anxiety. “At least let me bring you dinner.”

All the sound cut out at once. “No,” said Lydia, her voice abruptly closer to the phone. “No, it’s fine. Stay there.”

“But –-”

“Believe me, you do not want to be stuck in this bunker, and I don’t want to be stuck here with you. Just give the parts you got to another taxi and have a night out. What do old people do for fun? Feed the ducks or something?”

The last time Dirk had attempted to feed the ducks, he’d somehow found himself fending off an army of a hundred duck-sized horses instead. “Or something,” he said. 

A very loud timer went off, and Dirk nearly dropped the phone. “Listen, are you positive you don’t want –”

“Dirk! Do not come back here!” said Lydia, and hung up the phone.

Dirk stared down at the device in his hand. “Well, that was odd,” he said under his breath. “Now what?”

A bus in front of him pulled away, revealing the sign for Carl's. Dirk sighed. “I can’t,” he said. “I promised.”

The bar’s door opened, and the smell of cheap beer and fried food wafted across the street. Dirk’s mouth began to salivate. Chips were certainly better than anything else he’d had to eat today…

“I only promised not to see him,” Dirk reasoned, less reluctantly than he would have liked. “He’s not likely to be at the bar, is he? Not on a Sunday.”

The bar lights flicked on. 

“Oh, alright then,” Dirk sighed, and crossed the street.

---

“Can you please let go,” said Todd.

“Who are you?” Svlad demanded. “What was that?”

“I promise, I’ll explain everything if you just get off,” said Todd. His head was killing him; he always felt wrung out after an attack, and between that and the Rowdies’ beatdown, he felt almost worse than during the attack itself.

“The Rowdies kill normal people,” said Svlad. “You wouldn’t survive - not unless you’re –-”

His grip tightened, and Todd realized what Svlad was getting at. He closed his eyes with a sigh. “I’m not holistic,” he said wearily. “I have pararibulitis. It’s a hereditary nerve disease. It causes vivid and painful hallucinations, which can be absorbed as a similar type of energy to your… thing.”

He gestured vaguely with the part of his hand not pinned to the ground. Svlad still looked extremely skeptical. “How do you know?” he said. “They wouldn’t have found you, not unless you were –-”

He shut his mouth, but Todd had a pretty good idea of where he was going. “In Blackwing?” he completed. Svlad’s continued iron grip on his wrists cancelled out most of the guilt he felt at the kid’s flinch. “No. They were following my sister - to get to you, I think - and they saw her have an attack and just… took it away. So now she travels around with them in the van. It’s complicated, it’s like a whole thing, it doesn’t matter, can you please just let go? ”

“And you travel with them, too?” said Svlad, still deaf to Todd’s pleas.

“No,” said Todd, “I take medication, which you stole. And I’m almost out anyway. I get more attacks when I’m stressed, which, um. Has happened a lot. Lately.”

He nodded down to his gryphon injury. Svlad, ignoring him, released one of Todd’s arms to reach into his own pocket. He squinted down at Todd’s medicine bottle.

“Can you please give that back?” said Todd.

Svlad hesitated and then cautiously climbed off Todd, who sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Fucking hell,” Todd said. “Do you have any painkillers left in your drug bag? Like Vicodin or something?”

Svlad handed him his pill bottle, which Todd tucked away in his pocket. “I’ve got, er, something,” Svlad said, reaching for a rucksack tossed to the side. Todd examined his injuries while Svlad rummaged around inside his bag. His hands were scraped, his hip bruised where he’d hit it, and the cut on his arm reopened, but nothing felt broken, at least. Svlad didn’t look seriously hurt, either; the cut on his forehead looked shallow enough, and he didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere else.

He died, I think, said Amanda’s voice in his memory, and Todd shivered. The Rowdies wouldn’t go that far, would they? He thought of the coldness in Martin’s face, the gleeful violence of Gripps and Cross. Did he have any idea what these Rowdies would do?

I haven’t ruined your lives and gotten you all killed in all that time? floated through his memory. Dirk hadn’t killed Todd, but he’d nearly killed himself, more times than Todd could count. So many of Todd’s injuries, including these, had been efforts to keep Dirk alive.

Unwillingly, a chunk of Todd's anger shifted into clarifying light. Todd had ruined his life long before Dirk. Maybe Todd's real issue was fear of Dirk ruining his own.

“Hey, um,” he said, as Svlad finally pulled out the ziploc full of pills, “are they normally that, uh, violent? In my time, at least, they’re not, um. I mean, you were scared of them, but, like. That was a lot.”

“I didn’t ask you to help,” Svlad snapped.

“And I didn’t ask you to steal my wallet,” said Todd. “Look, I know you think it’s safer alone, but it’s obviously not. I survived a whole year with you. I can make it a few more days. I also have no fucking clue how to even start getting back to the future, so if you actually want me to leave, the fastest way is to help me instead of running off until the universe dumps us together again.”

Svlad shook out two pills and handed them over without meeting Todd’s eyes. Todd dry-swallowed them and waited. He’d expected Svlad to yell at him back - future Dirk definitely would have. But Svlad just stayed eerily quiet, until Todd wondered if maybe he was about to disappear again after all.

“You said,” Svlad said eventually, “I have a detective agency?”

“...Yeah,” said Todd, unsure where this was going.

“A real agency?” said Svlad. “Promise?”

“Sometimes we even get paid.”

Svlad chewed his lip. Todd had the feeling again of holding out a hand to a skittish animal and hoping for the best. Finally Svlad shoved the pills back into his backpack, slung it over, and stood up.

“Come on,” he said, as Todd breathed a sigh of relief. “You need to see this.”

---

As expected at six pm on a Sunday, the bar was nearly empty. Dirk took the middle seat at the bar and searched around for the least sticky menu. After a few fruitless minutes, the bartender, the same tattooed man from the night before, took pity on him and came over directly. “Can I get you something?” he asked.

“You again!” said Dirk before he could stop himself.

The bartender’s face brightened in recognition. “The Mexican Funeral fan!” he said, snapping his fingers. “I see your eardrums survived the night, even if the rest of you didn’t. You didn’t get that eye here, did you?”

Dirk hesitated, and the bartender’s grin slowly faded. “Don’t tell me. Rod’s guys?”

“So I’ve heard,” said Dirk. “It’s alright, though, To - one of the musicians found me, before it got too bad.”

The bartender shook his head, jaw tightening. “They should know that bullshit’s not welcome here. My brother was clear enough last time.”

“It’s really fine,” said Dirk. “I’ve received much worse, for much less reason. To - my fr - my ex-partner is always telling me I should be more careful.”

“You shouldn’t have to be.” The bartender jerked his head towards the wall behind him, where Dirk noticed, among the many posters and stickers cluttering the walls, one or two rainbow flags stuck up. He hadn’t taken them for anything much, used to the omnipresent rainbow decor of 2018 Seattle, but they’d meant more, he supposed, in 2008.

Dirk found himself more touched than he’d expected; the number of people who’d ever stood up for him numbered less than five, and fewer than that before 2016. He’d received occasional (spurned) charity in London, if that counted, but none to do with his sexuality. “Thank you,” he told the bartender sincerely.

“Don’t thank me when I’m trying to apologize,” said the bartender, the smile returning. “Drinks are on the house.”

“What about chips?” said Dirk. “Shit, fries. Suppose I should be a bit more careful with my language.”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” The bartender pretended to think as Dirk put on his best pleading face, the one that always worked on Todd. The one that used to work, anyway. It worked here, at least, because after a minute, the bartender laughed. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“That does deserve thanks, er –?”

“Alejandro,” said the bartender, reading Dirk’s unspoken question. “Alex, to my friends.”

“And to your enemies?”

The glass slipped in Alex’s hands, and then a real laugh escaped him, hearty and infectious. “I try not to make those. But I hope it’d be something sick, like Alex the Destroyer. The Dread Pirate Alex, you know. What about you?”

“Oh, it runs the gamut - that idiot detective; bloody nuisance; abhorrent inconvenience, I rather liked that; a simple ‘you there,’ for the unimaginative… Oh, my actual name? Dirk. Dirk Gently.”

He stuck out his hand and Alex took it. His grip was firm and confident, like everything else about him, even if he did still appear to be stifling laughter. “Nice to meet you, Dirk Gently. And you’re a detective?”

Dirk grimaced. “Not quite,” he said, and repeated the carefully evasive story he’d given Todd about being on leave. 

“So you’re spending your leave checking out dive bars halfway around the world?” said Alex, who’d abandoned all pretense of serving other customers and was leaning fully on the bar, all his attention focused on Dirk. Dirk might have been flattered, if it hadn’t been Alex’s job. He wondered if this had been the same Alex that Todd had once liked. He could definitely see it; the man did have a nice laugh. “I’ve never met anyone that devoted to local bands.”

“This was… an accident,” said Dirk, his gaze sliding away. “A mistake, really.”

“Again, the mistake wasn’t yours –-”

“Not - that part,” said Dirk quickly. “It’s, er. Rather more of a personal thing. Personnel? Personal personnel? Both, really, in this instance.”

Alex gave Dirk a rather embarrassingly penetrating look. “This personnel issue doesn’t have anything to do with the reason you’re on leave, does it?”

Dirk cast around for something to say instead of answering the question and came up with, “You don’t play keyboard, do you?”

The towel paused halfway around the latest glass. “I do, actually, a little. How’d you know, did Todd tell you?”

“How’d you know Todd told me?” Dirk returned.

“Right - detective,” Alex laughed. “You’re wearing his old shirt - Maniacal Python? And you said someone from a band helped you out last night.”

Dirk looked down at the shirt, which he had barely noticed when he’d pulled it from Todd’s drawer earlier. “Maniacal Python , really? Who comes up with these? Er - but, yes, it was Todd. Sort of. Er. Do you - I mean, obviously you’re not in Mexican Funeral now, but were you ever - in the Maniacal Python era, perhaps - since you do play –-”

“Was I in Todd’s band?” Alex set down the glass and reached for another. “No. He tried, though. It was pretty cute, actually.”

“...Cute.”

“Yeah, the baby bi’s always are, they fluster so easily. And Todd, you know, he’s always on about some lost cause, recruiting someone who won’t join or planning tours that’ll never happen. Last month it was merch, he wanted to sell merch after their gigs. Spent weeks hand-painting shirts and didn’t sell a single one.” He sighed, running the cloth around an already pristine glass. “You gotta hand it to him for trying, I guess.”

Dirk thought of how Todd had claimed to be trying, and where that had led. Had the agency simply been Todd’s latest lost cause? Had Dirk himself? Had everyone been waiting for him to catch up on what they’d known the whole time? 

“Do you?” he said aloud.

Alex shrugged. “No harm, no foul. I didn’t join. Besides, they hardly need me when they’ve got Charlie. Kid’s wizard with a synth.”

“I’d love to hear that,” said Dirk, his attention still split between the fruitless future and this predestined past. “The best I’ve seen was only a sorcerer. Perhaps not even that, he never would show me his degree.”

Another laugh bubbled out of Alex, which quickly changed to a grimace as someone bellowed his name from the back. “Carlos,” he told Dirk. “I gotta go. Oh, your fries!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Dirk, whose appetite had gone with the memories.

“You sure?” said Alex. “Well, come back for them anytime. I still owe you. For Rod, and for the conversation.” He grinned again, all straight white teeth. Dirk thought unwillingly of 2008 Todd, with his easy smiles and his lost causes. Todd, who couldn’t help rescuing him here, too. “Take care, Detective Dirk Gently.”

“I’ll try,” said Dirk, and hoped it was true.

---

“So your sister,” said Svlad, as Todd picked his way across abandoned train tracks, “is she at my agency as well?”

Todd noted the possessive pronoun, as well as the cautious spring in Svlad’s step. Svlad was still far from friendly, but something had at least shifted. “No,” he said, stepping around a broken bottle. “She, uh. It’s a long story, but she kind of does her own thing.”

“With the Rowdies?”

“Uh-huh.” 

Svlad threw Todd a look over his shoulder. He’d taken Todd into yet another seedy area of London, this one lined with chain link fences and dilapidated, long-abandoned buildings. Even the graffiti was old enough to have nearly faded away. “How does anyone do anything with the Rowdies? Except vandalism and property damage, of course.”

Todd snorted. “Don’t ask me. I try to stay out of it.”

“Probably for the best,” said Svlad, ducking under a broken street sign. “I hardly need more of them in my life, at any stage.”

“Yeah, no kidding. And you only have three now.”

“Only?” said Svlad, dancing around a blowing newspaper that hit Todd straight in the face. “It’s the Rowdy Three, Todd. What did you expect, seven of them?”

“Um… yeah, kind of.” He couldn’t remember Vogel ever explicitly mentioning Blackwing, but no one ever explicitly mentioned Blackwing, and he hadn’t mentioned not being in Blackwing, either. 

“Speaking of the Rowdies,” Todd said, figuring Svlad had at least opened up enough for him to try, “you mentioned some kind of deal? Because, you know, if they got you out, that’s great, but, like, it doesn’t mean they can beat you up every week for the rest of your life.”

Svlad abruptly swerved right, hopping off the tracks and disappearing through a nearly invisible gap in a chain-link fence. Todd cursed and followed him, inevitably managing to snag his jeans on the fence’s jagged edge. “It’s not like that,” said Svlad, watching as Todd struggled to untangle his jeans. “They’re not usually - that was my fault.”

“How - the hell - was any of that - your fault?” said Todd, finally tugging his jeans free and stumbling a few paces forward.

Svlad zigzagged around rusty cars in the abandoned parking lot. “Got upset,” he muttered. “Martin said… doesn’t matter.”

Internally, Todd sighed. This was a regular sticking point with his Dirk, too, who thought his feelings and reactions were inevitably invalid. “It does matter,” he said. “They shouldn’t have hurt you.”

“No, they should have,” said Svlad, again with a surge of anger. “I’m not supposed to - to resist. But they - if I’m emotional, it’s –-”

He shook his head sharply and cut off. If the Rowdies had been nearby, Todd thought, he would have plowed a train straight into their stupid van. He might do it in the future. If he ever got back. Provoking Dirk on purpose to heighten his emotions, like some kind of sadistic appetizer? “What the hell, Dir - Svlad,” he said. “That’s really messed up.”

Svlad disappeared behind a row of cars and reappeared in the garage behind. “It’s fine,” he said. “Better me than anyone else.”

Todd stopped with his foot halfway over the threshold. Another on the long list of things he’d never considered was why the Rowdies followed Dirk, instead of Bart or Mona or any of the other holistics they’d run into along the way. He thought of the deal Svlad had mentioned. Had Dirk asked for that on purpose?

But of course Dirk would have. He thought of the way Dirk still looked at Mona. Dirk would sell out anyone else, but he would do anything for his siblings.

And Dirk had been sixteen.

He stomped through the garage, kicking aside dented cans hard enough to bounce off the wall. Another instance of Dirk devaluing his own life; another example of Todd stepping in with his own. Why had he ever chosen to assist a man with a death wish? He knew Dirk wouldn’t die; the universe wouldn’t let him. Why did he still keep putting Dirk’s survival over his own? 

Over the clattering of the cans, the Rowdy’s visions flashed through him again: Dirk’s eyes, softened by lamplight, leaning in towards him. The accompanying leap in his chest. The hope that had never fully died. 

He knew why. Even after all he’d done to bury it, truth always persisted beneath his lies.

“Here,” said Svlad, stopping in front of a boarded-up dry cleaner’s and picking the lock on the door with practiced ease. “Inside.”

Todd eyed the gaping blackness. “Is this some long plan to murder me? Because you could’ve done that last night, the hike was super unnecessary.”

Svlad huffed in exasperation and pulled a flashlight out of his backpack. “No,” he said, walking through the door, “obviously. Look.”

Todd cautiously followed him in. Behind the store counter, beneath Svlad’s flashlight beam, Todd could just make out an unmistakable pile of wires.

“No fucking way,” said Todd. He pushed over an empty rack and hopped over the counter. “Shit,” he said. “ Fuck.”

“You know what it is?” said Svlad.

“It’s a fucking -–” Todd kicked the machine, which was clearly already broken. “It’s another fucking - How many of these are there? I swear to god –-”

“So it’s from your time too?” said Svlad.

“From my time?” said Todd with a hysterical laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“But it’s not –-” said Svlad. “Todd, that’s not your time machine. That’s not possible.”

“Yeah, turns out a lot of dumb shit is possible,” said Todd. “That’s, like, your whole thing, actually.”

“No, Todd,” said Svlad, “that machine showed up a week before you. With another of those harpoon men. I hid it out here so they wouldn’t find it, and then, six days later, you showed up in central London.”

Todd sat down on the ground.

“I hate time travel.”

---

Dirk left the bar feeling more restless than before, like he’d forgotten something, or missed an important clue. Maybe, he thought, kicking a fire hydrant, he was only missing Todd again. Maybe he would miss Todd forever, if the universe kept throwing him into bars run by Todd’s ex-crushes. For everything the universe had taken from him, it was certainly determined to hold onto this.

Or perhaps he was lying to himself again, and the fault lay with him, not the universe. Perhaps he was seeing connections where none existed, inventing excuses for his own weakness. Perhaps he was the true champion of causes lost far beyond hope.

He had never been good at disassociating, no matter how much he had needed to, and it shouldn’t have surprised him now that every street reminded him of Todd. Here was the park where they’d stopped the gnome infestation. Here was the streetlight with the demon eye. Here was the restaurant where he’d made Todd order squid ink pasta and then eaten it all from Todd’s plate. 

Here was the coffee shop where, hours before, Todd had spoken so easily of connection.

And yet Todd had forgotten him, he reminded himself. No matter what Todd had said that morning, Dirk had faded into a hazy memory. What would Dirk have had to do, to be remembered? How many nights could he have stayed? What could he possibly break, in an already broken world?

He tripped over a tree root that shouldn’t have been there, wondered how he knew that, and looked up to find himself standing before the Ridgely.

Because of course he was. All paths led to Todd, or Dirk had made them lead that way. From the moment he’d left Lydia’s, he’d only been delaying this mistake.

What more could he break? Only himself.

He could risk that.

“Manda, I said I don’t have - oh, it’s you,” said Todd, opening the door to Dirk’s knock. Any regret that Dirk might have felt washed away in Todd’s immediate smile. “Back so soon?”

“Couldn’t stay away,” said Dirk.

Todd swung the door wider, beckoning Dirk into a haze of lazy conversation and marijuana smoke. Dirk looked past him at the arrayed band members, at the promise of the past, at the debris of Todd’s life. Last chance to turn back.

“Coming inside?” said Todd.

“Yes,” he said, stepping forward and letting Todd close him in.

Chapter Text

Bang. Bang. Bang.

A long habit of being shot at in his sleep had Dirk dragging Todd off the couch and under the table before he realized it was just the door. He quickly scooched several feet away from Todd and pretended to be engrossed in - well, generally in these situations, he went for his phone, but as phones hadn’t been invented yet, in a usable form at least, he settled for picking at Todd’s horrendous shag carpet.

He found, once he’d reconciled himself to his surroundings, shockingly few regrets about having spent a second night at Todd’s. The whole band had been there, including Mexican Funeral’s one-woman tech crew Jill, who had thoroughly fleeced Dirk in six poker rounds before Todd had joined and started losing instead. He’d spent an enjoyable hour smoking on the fire escape with Jazz while Jazz attempted to teach him Vedic astrology, and an unknowable period after explaining to Brian how geology and detective work were all holistically connected. He’d even gotten a short bass lesson from Nate, though it had become more of a drinking game, and he wasn’t sure he’d managed any chords at all.

And he’d talked to Todd. Of course. The more inebriated he was, the more aware he became of Todd’s presence, the whole world spinning around the axis of Todd. It was so easy to be near Todd, so easy to talk to Todd, easy in a way he’d forgotten it could be. Even in the morning light, Dirk didn’t know how much strength he had left to resist losing himself fully in this past.

Now, Todd scratched his armpits and staggered over to the door. “Lo?” he called.

“Todd Brotzman, you better open the hell up right now!” yelled a voice from outside.

“Oh, shit,” said Todd, coming awake. He glanced at the tableau behind him: Jazz passed out face-down on the bed, Jill snoring from the chair by the sofa, Dirk blinking helplessly up from the floor. “...Charlie?” Todd said tentatively through the door.

“You fucking know it’s me,” said the voice, and then the banging picked up again, hard enough to break the door off its hinges. Todd winced and hurried to unlock the door before the lock could break ten years too early, then jumped back as it hurled inwards.

The person waiting on the other side was just as punk as Dirk had reason to expect: oversized black sweatshirt; ripped black jeans; tall black boots; black beanie with green bangs sweeping down across one eye. They stalked inside, boots clomping on the floor, Todd tripping over scattered debris in his rush to escape. “Is it true?” they asked.

“Is - is what true?” said Todd.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, ‘is what true,’ like you don’t know - is it true?”

Todd cowered over the coffee table, both hands held up in surrender. Behind him, Jazz and Jill had woken and were watching the developments with mild interest. Todd swung his head around, gaze dragging quickly across Dirk’s, and back. “Ah…” he said.

“Todd!” said Brian, running in from the door. “You’ll never believe who we ran int - oh, they’re here.”

“Do you know?” asked Charlie, rounding on Brian and Nate behind him.

“Know what?” said Brian, with a much more convincing delivery than Todd’s.

Charlie’s arms flew up in the air. “I fucking can’t with any of you,” they said. “I fucking –”

They took two steps forward and jabbed Todd in the chest with a black-painted nail. “I always knew you were a motherfucker,” they said. “It’s only a matter of time till they find out, too.”

“Charlie, what’s going on?” said Nate.

“I quit, is what’s going on,” said Charlie. They turned sharply on their heel and marched out, bumping past Brian’s shoulder. “Good fucking luck,” they called as they passed the threshold. “You’ll need it.” With those parting words, they swung sideways and strode down the hallway, their boots echoing in the stairwell. 

Silence smothered the apartment. Nobody seemed able to move. Finally, Jazz stirred.

“Well,” he said, “that’s one way to wake up.”

Jill yawned and went back to sleep. Todd tossed a grocery bag into the flat and took off after Charlie. Brian hesitated a moment and then followed. 

“I was hoping she’d clock him,” said Nate to Dirk, throwing himself onto Todd’s couch in a way that made the battered furniture look almost comfortable. “They, whatever. He could use it.”

“Do you know what they’re upset about?” Dirk asked, putting the slightest emphasis on the pronoun.

“No idea. Whatever it is, he probably did it. Doesn’t matter - the band's about to break up, anyway.”

“Are you?” said Dirk, as though he hadn’t discussed the topic at length with Todd the morning before.

“I mean, we suck,” Nate shrugged. “Everyone knows it.”

“Then why haven’t you quit already?” said Dirk.

“For the laugh, I guess. People take these things way too seriously. Like, just chill out, you know?” Nate shook back his bangs and plumped the pillow behind his head. “But what about you? How’s life as Todd’s groupie?”

“I’m hardly his groupie."

“Then why are you still here?” said Nate. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane back to England by now? Or is Todd paying you to pretend we have fans?”

“He wouldn’t,” said Dirk, realizing too late that perhaps Todd would. Todd had lied about worse, after all. 

“Mmhm,” said Nate, all too knowingly. “And he didn’t do anything to Charlie, either.”

Dirk drew himself up as best he could from the floor. “Whatever happened with Charlie isn’t my business. He’s been very kind to help me out of a difficult spot.”

Nate’s eyes flashed, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off by Todd re-entering the apartment, without Brian or Charlie. Nate closed his mouth again. “We’ll see,” he said enigmatically, and wandered off to the kitchen.

---

Todd and Svlad had retreated to a primary school to figure out their next option, but after a marathon chalkboarding session, all Todd had was compounded time-related confusion and a hatred of chalk squeaking so profound that he thought he might break all the chalk in the school on the way out.

“But if they’re here,” he kept saying, “then they must have known it was a time machine - but they didn’t know, they kept using it for animals - if they’d known, they would’ve done something even stupider - or maybe this was the something stupider –-"

“Have you ever thought,” Svlad said peevishly, “that maybe these aren’t the same Men of the Thingamajig –-”

“Machine,” said Todd for the umpteenth time.

“-- that you met? Perhaps it’s an offshoot, or a distantly related cousin, or a people of the machine - seems awfully sexist, doesn’t it, to assume only men would want to be animals - and didn’t you mention their leader was in a female body at one point, so the term “men” seems terribly reductive, even for the 1960s –-”

“I cannot,” said Todd, putting his head down on a desk several feet too small for him, “take any more sets of guys in this situation.”

“As we’ve discussed, they needn’t necessarily be ‘guys’ –-”

“Dirk!” said Todd. “Svlad. Sorry. Look. We’re not getting anywhere. Maybe we just need to - to do some holistic stuff. Just, like, wander around till we –-”

“--get shot again?” said Svlad, whose face had darkened instantly at the suggestion.

“O-or,” Todd pivoted, “we could follow the only other clue we have and go to this Ugly Duckling place. That’s connected, right? It was in his pocket, and there aren’t any Ugly Ducklings in Seattle that I know of.”

Svlad looked unconvinced. Todd gestured towards the chalkboard, which had become such a mess of lines and half-scribbled physics equations that it was barely readable. “I’m never going to understand Maxwell,” he said, “and if I hear chalk squeak one more time, I will break something. We don’t have to go to the pub, but can we get out of here, please?”

The route that Svlad took to the Ugly Duckling was no less convoluted than the one he’d taken the night before, but it felt somehow different. Maybe it was the daylight, or maybe the drugs were making him imagine things, but Svlad’s mood had continued to improve. He almost seemed cheerful, or what passed for it, occasionally pointing out landmarks like the fountain that hid an entrance to a mermaid kingdom, or the MI6 safehouse that “really isn’t that safe, I hid there a whole month before anyone noticed.”

“What’d they do when they found out?”

“They didn’t,” said Svlad. “I only moved when I’d emptied the fridge. For all I know, they think they were compromised by very hungry Russians.”

Todd laughed, and the corner of Svlad’s mouth flicked up in something like a smile. Todd hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he’d been more cheerful than usual, too. He hadn’t brainstormed a case with Dirk in so long; it had been more fun than he remembered. He almost found himself missing the agency, the whiteboards surrounding the walls, the post-its blanketing Dirk’s desk. The elaborate diagrams that made perfect sense at the time and no sense at all the next day. Dirk chattering on about marmosets till 2am. Passing out on the agency couch and waking up the next morning to find Dirk sprawled out beside him, legs dangling over the couch arm and head pillowed in Todd's lap...

“Here we are,” said Svlad, breaking into Todd's thoughts not a moment too soon. He gestured up at a nondescript pub sign tucked between a barbershop and a redundant liquor store, and Todd did a double take.

“How the hell did you find this place? Did you know where it was?”

“Universe,” Svlad shrugged. “Wait here. I’ll check inside.”

Two seconds later, he’d come barrelling back out again. “Never mind,” he said, grabbing Todd’s arm and tugging him along the street. “We have to go.”

“Go? But - we just got here,” said Todd.

“Very boring,” said Svlad, “nothing to see, clearly disconnected from everything, not a clue at all!”

“Svlad, come on, we have to at least check inside.”

“I’m absolutely positive that we do not.”

“Seriously, what’s going –-”

“Svlad?” rasped a painfully familiar voice from the doorway of the Ugly Duckling.

Todd stopped dead in the middle of the street, angering several passing bikers. The figure in the doorway scratched the back of her head with a pool cue and offered Svlad a half-hearted wave. “Heya,” she said. “You here to kill someone, too?”

---

Whatever Todd had said about Charlie, he seemed more shaken than he wanted to let on. Within half an hour of Charlie’s arrival and subsequent departure, he’d ushered everyone out of his flat - even Jazz, who’d shown every sign of sleeping till the following weekend. As he slouched out, Todd closed the door just short of a slam, then leaned back against it, letting out a long sigh.

Dirk hovered in the living room, caught between curiosity and the knowledge that he was, once again, procrastinating. “Er - shall I go as well?” he made himself ask.

Todd’s eyes flew open. “What? Oh, no, you’re fine. Sorry about that.” He pushed himself off the door and slumped into the kitchen with depressing familiarity. “Just… band drama. You know how it is.”

He punched a few buttons on his coffee maker, and Dirk shivered at the realization that this was the same coffee maker future Todd still owned, though it looked significantly newer and more functional in this time. “Some of our band stuff got stolen a few months back,” Todd said to the wall. “Not the instruments - just, like, amps and shit. I filed a police report, but they never found it.”

He bent his head to the coffee maker again, apparently done with explanations. “So… Charlie’s upset… they haven’t found it?” said Dirk slowly.

“I told them I’d buy it back,” said Todd, his shoulders hunching up. “And I will, I just - just need a little bit more time –-”

Something sparked in Dirk’s memory, something about shady side deals and pararibulitis-related lies. The equipment, if he remembered correctly, had never actually been stolen at all. “Ah,” said Dirk, doing his best to repress a sigh.

Todd slurped his coffee in morose silence, one hand white-knuckled on the counter and his gaze fixed somewhere past his not-yet-entirely-moldy kitchen tile. Dirk had just come around to wondering whether Todd would actually notice if he left when Todd slammed his mug down, making Dirk jump.

“I’m going out,” said Todd with the sort of decisiveness that had made him such a useful assistant, once upon a time. “You can stay, do whatever you want. Uh, there’s a spare key on the shelf with the records, and you’re welcome to eat anything in the fridge, although… I think it’s probably just leftover pizza.”

Dirk blinked at the by-blow of Todd’s hurricane activity. “Er - alright,” he said. “Er. Good luck?”

Todd paused by the door, a jacket half-slung over his shoulders, and turned back, something in his face relenting at the confusion on Dirk’s. “We have practice later at Geary’s,” he offered. “If you want to drop by.”

“Oh! Really?” said Dirk, instantly cheered. “I’ve never been to a band practice before.”

“You probably won’t like it,” Todd said, shoving his other arm into the jacket. “I don’t even know if everyone will come. But, uh. If you’re not doing anything.”

“I’d love to come,” said Dirk, with as much sincerity as he could insert into the simple phrase.

Todd’s face, half-turned away, went red, and a grin flickered across it, half-shy, half-proud. “Cool,” he said. “Uh. See you later, then.”

The door slammed behind him, and Dirk sank back into the couch. He hadn’t forgotten about the pararibulitis, exactly. He simply hadn’t wanted to remember. He tried to square the hopeful, eager Todd of the morning before with the Todd who had lied to everyone in his life and couldn’t make the equation work out. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps the lies hadn’t started yet. Perhaps Charlie was upset about something else entirely.

And perhaps Nate was right, and Dirk was refusing to see the truth in front of his face.

Dirk threw himself off the couch and stalked over to Todd’s bookshelf, bending down to inspect the only slightly less dusty shelves. Todd’s possessions had changed very little over the years; the bookshelf’s only future additions would be layers of dust and grime. Dirk ran a finger across the record collection. Todd had finally played them for Dirk only after months of nonstop badgering. Dirk had never seen a record player before - at least, not a normal, non-coded one - and he’d been so entranced, he’d almost managed not to break it.

And if he hadn’t broken it, he wouldn’t have demanded Todd play his guitar instead, and Todd would never have bent over the strings, hair falling into his eyes, voice wavering, notes spiraling plaintively through the empty flat…

A loud banging at the door startled Dirk out of this equally unproductive train of thought, and he jumped up so quickly he upset Todd’s (very dead) plant. “Who is it?” he called, and then, remembering that this wasn’t currently his flat, added, “Todd’s out.”

The knocking paused. “Are you - English?” said a voice. “Does Todd have British friends now? Or did he finally get kicked out? Or - oh, shit - are you, like, some crazy James Bond guy breaking into his apartment? Trust me, there’s nothing in there to steal, my brother has literally no money. Or he better not, anyway.”

Dirk fumbled with the lock until he finally got the door open, and the figure in the hallway jumped back. “Amanda?” he said.

“Uhh…” said the figure, who was definitely Amanda, though with a face that looked fifteen years younger and not merely ten. “Have we met?”

“Yes,” said Dirk. “I mean, no. I mean. Your brother, er, talks about you - rather a lot - and you look like him, and I sort of - assumed.”

Amanda frowned at Dirk with completely understandable suspicion. Teenage Amanda and mid-20s Todd did not, in fact, look anything alike; Amanda had dyed her hair black with streaks of green, cut it to her shoulders, and stuffed it under a gray beanie. Marker-thick eyeliner ringer her eyes, and her black lipstick had half-smeared off. She wore a similar oversized black jacket to the one in which Dirk had first met her, but she carried herself with a confidence and ease that suggested that this Amanda had never expected her diagnosis.

“How do you know him?” she asked.

Dirk fumbled his way through an explanation of his made-up job hunting exploits. Amanda’s brows grew lower and lower until, several minutes into his description of the local bus stop, she cut him off with, “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Wh –” Dirk clutched the edge of the door to avoid falling over. “Beg pardon?”

“Are - you - sleeping - with - him?” said Amanda, as though speed had been the issue in Dirk’s comprehension. “Screwing. Sexual intercourse. Whatever they call it in Europe.”

“Shagging,” said Dirk faintly, as Amanda pushed past him into Todd’s apartment and started checking behind the furniture. “And - no, I’m not. Er. Can I ask why that was your first –-”

“Are you trying to sleep with him?” Amanda bent up from behind the couch and gave Dirk a quick once-over. “Or more likely, is he trying to sleep with you? I didn’t think his type was British, but…”

She shrugged as Dirk attempted to get a rein on his mouth before he blurted out anything Todd’s barely-an-adult little sister really did not need to hear. “I - no,” he said. “Very much not. In either direction.”

“Weird,” said Amanda from halfway under the bed. “Because your story’s definitely made-up, and I don’t know why you would do that unless you’re ‘shagging’ and you don’t want me to know. Unless you’re actually robbing him, I guess. Or he owes you money, too.”

“I’m not robbing anyone,” said Dirk. “In fact, I - hang on a moment, ‘too?’ Does he owe you money now?”

Amanda slammed the below-sink cabinet doors and crossed her arms. “Yeah,” she said. “But he’s avoiding me, obviously. He hasn’t answered any of my calls in three days, he’s been skipping our usual hangouts, and now he’s got some British guy here dodging house calls. You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“Er - no,” said Dirk. “He just said out. But - what’s the money for? ”

Amanda had never been as good of a liar as her brother; her eyes shifted sideways away from Dirk’s, and she said, shiftily, “Stuff.”

Dirk drummed his fingers on his leg. From everything he’d heard, Amanda had spent the time between Todd’s lies and her diagnosis faithfully supporting her brother, not demanding money he was supposedly spending on his treatment. She wouldn’t have taken money she thought was meant for medication.

Unless, thought Dirk, with a leap of intuition, she knew it wasn’t…

But it was only 2008. How could she possibly have known?

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” said Amanda, crashing onto Todd’s couch and throwing her legs up on the table. “I can wait allllll night.”

“Shouldn’t you be in school or something?” said Dirk, pacing to the kitchen for a glass of water to clear his head. “I’ve never been entirely clear on the American school system, but you look rather too young to be in college, and from my understanding, school does last most of the day –”

“I’m eighteen, asshole,” said Amanda, rolling her eyes in a way that reminded Dirk violently of Lydia. “And it’s June. I don’t start till September.”

“Ah,” said Dirk. “Yes, well. In that case.”

He drank down the entire glass of water as Amanda flipped on Todd’s television, poured himself another, and then came to stand behind the couch, staring mindlessly at the daytime game show and trying to shake the feeling that he’d missed something really very important. Two thousand eight. What did he know about Todd’s life in 2008, and why wasn’t any of it adding up? In 2008, Todd and Amanda should still have been friends; the Mexican Funeral should have been thriving; Todd should be madly in love with his male pianist instead of getting bad haircuts and throwing himself at any random British man who came by. Had the past changed, somehow? How could he have changed it?

“What is Ampere’s Law!” shouted Amanda at the television. “Yes! Got that right on my final,” she told Dirk without turning around. “Hey, does Todd have any chips?”

But he couldn’t have changed it. Patrick’s machine created time loops; they’d proved that well enough before. Everything that happened had already happened. Nothing could be changed.

“Oh, sweet, pizza,” said Amanda from the fridge, and then, “Electromagnetism! Oh, just magnetism. Close enough.”

Except that something had changed. Dirk realized with a flash like a lightning bolt, like the machine’s electricity zapping through him all over again. The machine itself had changed. 

This wasn’t the same machine at all.

---

“He’s not here to kill anyone,” said Svlad, stepping in front of Todd as Todd craned to see out from behind him. “And you’re not to kill him, either. Understand?”

“I mean, I can try,” said Bart. “He one of your friends or somethin’?”

“Or something,” said Svlad evasively as Todd finally succeeded in stepping around him, confirmed the figure was actually Bart, and decided he was better off behind Svlad after all. Bart in the past looked exactly the same as Bart in the present: grungy, assured, and dangerous. Blood dripped down the pool cue to puddle in the pavement.

Bart dropped the pool cue and stepped into the street. A taxi swerved around her, crashed into a bike rack, and began smoking. A bicyclist lost control going around the taxi, slammed into the brick wall of the pub, and evicted the cyclist onto the pavement. A runner tripped over the bike and went sprawling.

Bart emerged from the chaos unscathed. “Don’t worry,” she said to Svlad, who still looked likely to take off down the street at any moment. “I don’t think I need to kill him. Yet.”

Svlad muttered something that sounded like, “I’ll take it.”

“So if you’re not here to kill someone, why are you here?” said Bart, heading off in a random direction that would probably result in seven to twelve more deaths. “I thought you didn’t want to see me no more.”

“Anymore,” said Svlad, with the air of someone clutching their last piece of the high ground for dear life. “And I don’t. I certainly wasn’t looking for you. I was looking for something else entirely. You simply… happened to be in the way. This is Bart,” he said to Todd, who’d decided the best approach was to claim invisibility for a while. “She kills people.”

“Yeah… I know,” said Todd.

“Of course you do,” Svlad muttered. “You weren’t nearly frightened enough by that bicycle crash. What was that anyway, Bart, a six-man pileup?”

“Dunno,” said Bart, reaching for a newspaper from the trash can and then tossing it into the wind, where it would probably stick on a bus window and cause another collision down the road. “Maybe.”

“And this is Todd,” said Svlad irritably. “He’s from the future.”

“Neat,” said Bart with zero interest.

“Alright, well, now we’ve all met, we might as well disperse, have fun with your murdering, goodbye, goodbye –-”

“H-hang on,” said Todd, digging in his heels as Svlad tried to shove him up the nearest alleyway. “That pub was our one clue, and it led us to Bart. She has to be connected somehow. Shouldn’t we ask her if she’s seen anything weird?”

“Todd, she’s just murdered someone with a pool stick,” said Svlad, in such a pitch-perfect imitation of Dirk’s usual exasperation that Todd experienced a floating feeling of deja vu. “I don’t know if weird would qualify.”

“Who did she murder?” said Todd, stepping, once again, away from Svlad’s protection and into Bart’s path. “Was it one of the bald guys? Big, black jumpsuits, creepy eyes?”

“Yeah.” Bart stopped halfway through unwrapping a lollipop she’d pulled out of nowhere and squinted at him. “Yeah, the guy was bald. Dunno about the suit though.”

“See? It was a clue!” said Todd. “Is he still in there? Did you see anyone else hanging around?”

“Todd, we are not going back to a crime scene,” Svlad hissed.

“But –-”

“No.”

“Seriously, what is up with you?” said Todd, making the possibly critical error of turning his back on Bart. “Usually you’re all for contamination of evidence. I’ve never seen you not barge straight through yellow tape.”

“I can’t - the police,” said Svlad. “They - they know me. I can’t just barge in, I’ll get arrested on sight.”

“So?” Todd knew he should stop pushing, but he couldn’t seem to. They’d been getting along so well just minutes before. He couldn’t lose this again. “The CIA will just bail you out. They’ve done it before, right?”

Svlad winced, and Bart let out a low growl behind him. “I’d kill them first,” she said.

Todd threw up his hands. “I’ll go then. They don’t know me - I don’t even exist. I’ll meet you back - somewhere.”

He turned and started decisively towards the restaurant, but before he could get more than a few steps, Svlad fully tackled him down to the pavement, slamming his already scraped knees into concrete. “Ow! What the hell!”

“You can’t go!” said Svlad.

“Bart’s going, and you didn’t tackle her!”

“Bart’s Bart, she can do what she likes - god knows that’s all she ever does - but there’s no guarantee for you. Everyone who’s ever gotten close to her has ended up dead. God, it’s like Cambridge all over again - Scott and MacDuff and Gordon -–”

“Cambridge?” Todd interrupted. “Hang on, Bart was at Cambridge?”

“Well - not at Cambridge,” Svlad self-edited. “Near Cambridge. She left America with me, where else would she have gone?”

“No, she didn’t,” said Todd, shaking his head. “No one came with you, except maybe Mona.”

“Mona?” Svlad frowned. “Who’s that?”

Todd gaped at Svlad. This wasn’t Dirk, he knew that, but even Svlad didn’t seem able to lie this convincingly. Svlad had known Mona in Blackwing, he was positive, the past couldn’t have changed –-

But Bart was here. And there should have been four Rowdies. And Amanda was seeing things that hadn’t happened, couldn’t have happened - not in his timeline, anyway.

The inevitable conclusion rushed upon Todd with the force of Bart's six-car pileup:

What if this wasn’t his timeline?

The whole world jolted on its axis. Todd sat abruptly on the pavement. I think he died, echoed on repeat, again and again and again. I think he died. If he was right - if this wasn’t his past - then Svlad's survival wasn’t guaranteed. Svlad was in terrible danger.

And Todd was the only one who could stop it.

Chapter Text

“Lydia!” Dirk yelled, crashing through forest underbrush a safe-ish distance from Spring mansion. The taxi ride had done little to settle his thoughts; if anything, it had thrown them into more disarray. “Lydiaaaaa! Lydia Spring! Where are y–”

“Shhhh!” said Lydia, popping up from behind a tree trunk that probably concealed yet another hidden passageway. “You have a phone! You could call, instead of getting us all caught again!”

“You said it wasn’t just a time machine,” said Dirk, instead of responding to any of this. “What did you mean?”

Dirk had no idea what he looked like; he hardly had brain space to care. Whatever his tone, it caused Lydia to cut off and take a step back. “Ummm,” she said, her eyes shifting sideways.

“What else does it do,” said Dirk, “except travel through time?”

“That’s, like, kind of a lot,” said Lydia, tripping over a fallen branch. “Like, I already think that’s pretty impressive.”

“No doubt,” said Dirk. “But it wasn’t enough, was it? You didn’t want to travel around the same stuck time loop. You wanted to change the past. And for that you needed…”

“Other timelines.” Lydia bit her lip, and then her head jolted up defiantly. “Yes. My machine travels through time and realities.”

“Genius,” said Dirk, and barely registered the flash of pride in Lydia’s eyes before he continued, “and incredibly dangerous. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What danger you’ve put us all in? Do you know how to get back?”

“Well, if you hadn’t broken my time machine -–”

Something in Lydia’s pocket beeped, and she swore. “We have to go. Farah’s coming.”

Only extensive firsthand knowledge of Farah’s security protocols kept Dirk quiet until they’d reached the bunker. The space had grown even more cluttered since Dirk had last visited, the electronics he’d procured scattered in no discernible order across the floor. Dirk frowned. Though not as fastidious as Farah, Lydia still kept her spaces fairly organized. “Things aren’t going well, I take it?” he said.

Lydia gave him a look.

“You still haven’t told me why,” said Dirk, picking his way across jumbled wires to reach the cot. “I suppose this explains the bit about your father - but what would you want to change? This is long before he died.”

“Contrary to what he’d like to think, not everything in the world revolves around my dad,” said Lydia, plopping down on the floor. “And I did try to tell you, you just weren’t listening. How’d you figure it out, are bell bottoms cool again or something?”

“Amanda,” said Dirk. “She already knows.”

“About Todd?” said Lydia. “Shit. How’d she find out?”

“I didn’t have a chance to ask - I rather fled the scene. I suppose this explains Alex, as well. Are the Maniacal Pythons from our timeline?”

“The what? Wait, are you hanging out with past Todd? Is that where you’ve been?”

“Er.” Dirk glanced towards the exit, which was unfortunately too far to reach before Lydia could block him. “Maybe.”

Lydia whooped. “I knew it! I knew you were still into him.”

“I’m not,” said Dirk stubbornly, “and besides, it doesn’t matter. It’s not the same Todd.”

“But it could be,” said Lydia. “Someday.”

“That would require us traveling into this future, which we are absolutely not doing. Our Farah would cross time and space to kill us both.”

“If she could find us,” said Lydia breezily.

“Are you actually suggesting we stay here?” said Dirk. “Yesterday you were bemoaning the loss of Clicksnap.”

“Snapchat. And no, obviously not. But…” Turning serious, she gestured to the wires around them. “It might be a while.”

Dirk hopped off the bed and came over to inspect the parts. Something about them still felt familiar from more than Patrick’s machine, though he couldn’t place it. “Let me help, then. What’s this part for?”

He poked at the gears, and they sparked and emitted a puff of smoke. “That was important,” Lydia sighed. “Look, I really wanted to get through these tests this morning, so you can either stay here and not touch anything else, or you can go back and hang out with your ex’s alternate self who hasn’t broken up with you yet. I know what I’d do.”

She gave him a meaningful look. Dirk chewed his lip. “Isn’t there anything I can do? Don’t you at least want to come out for a real meal?”

“Maybe later,” said Lydia. “If this works.”

It hadn’t escaped Dirk’s attention that Lydia still hadn’t answered his questions, or that she’d been conspicuously in the woods when he’d arrived, not down in the bunker. But he sensed he wouldn’t get any more answers out of her this morning, at least. “Fine,” he said, making for the door again. “Good luck. Call me with updates, when you have them.”

Already engrossed in her notebook, Lydia didn’t bother to respond.

---

“Todd?” Svlad was saying. “Todd? Are you alright? Is this the paranoia again?”

“Pararibulitis,” Todd corrected automatically. He should tell Svlad. He shouldn’t tell Svlad. Svlad wouldn’t believe him. Svlad had to believe him.

“Is it making you hallucinate?” Svlad asked. “Have you hallucinated this Mona person?”

Before Todd could think of any way to answer that question, a giant blue bag dropped on the street in front of him, and Bart stepped back behind it. “Got your dead guy. Still wanna look?”

Svlad’s attention immediately pivoted to Bart. Todd rubbed his face as Svlad berated her about entering an active crime scene. He couldn’t tell Svlad now; Svlad would leave him with Bart and a body in the middle of downtown London. He would find an opportunity. He stood up heavily and made his way to the body bag.

At the sound of the zipper, Svlad whirled around. “Now you - oh, it is one of them!”

“Yep,” said Todd, wrinkling his nose at the caved-in bald head. “Not the one who jumped me, though. Seriously, how many of these guys are there? And what do they want? Bart was he doing anything when you, um, found him?”

“Being dead,” said Bart.

“No, I mean before,” said Todd. “When he was still alive. Was he talking to anyone, or anything?”

Bart shrugged again. “He just walked in, and I turned around and whacked him. Dunno what he wanted.”

Todd ground his teeth in frustration at this latest missed opportunity. “I guess we could stake the place out in case any more of them come back,” he said to himself. 

“Do you think they will?” said Svlad with some alarm.

“I don’t know.” Taking refuge in the familiar, he patted down the man’s jumpsuit but found nothing but lint and straw wrappers. No more clues pointing to other mysterious bars. A dead end.

“We could watch from the pub across the street,” said Svlad. “The police have probably finished checking in there. I’ll go and check it out, you stay with the body.”

Todd noted the we; at least his slip with Mona hadn’t spooked Svlad enough to run off again. He nodded and sat back, grateful for the quiet. Maybe Amanda would know what to do. Maybe if he found the Rowdies, he could get through to her again. At the least, she should know that he wasn’t in her timeline, in case it changed whatever she and Farah were doing to try to get them back. 

And what about what he was doing? If he could stop the Men of the Machine from killing Dirk, he’d still have a whole time machine to fix, but he didn’t even know if it would get him back to his future. What if it jumped him to this future instead? What if he ended up hiding around the margins of another Todd’s life? Would that be better or worse than being stuck here with Svlad forever?

Before he could get too deep into this, an alarm started sounding, and Todd looked up to see a fire hydrant erupting down the street. A few moments later, Svlad came sprinting up. “You were right,” he gasped, hopping over the body and dragging Todd behind a dumpster. “There’s more of those men. And they’re coming this way.”

---

Dirk spent the now-familiar taxi ride back to the city thinking of what to do next. If this wasn’t a time loop, then he really shouldn’t be spending time with Todd - it could cause all sorts of problems for his future self, assuming he had one, and that Todd wanted anything to do with him at that point. But he’d already broken the ice, so to speak, and he had no guarantee that Todd would forget even these last two days. This timeline might already be splintered past repair, and he would have no way to know. Alex wasn’t in the band. Amanda had discovered the pararibulitis. Anything could happen.

But if anything could happen… Dirk thought back over Lydia’s words. Anything needn’t necessarily be bad. Amanda already knew Todd’s secrets; the worst had perhaps already passed. Mightn’t Todd’s future, then, be better, without an additional decade of lies?

He was staring out the window considering all these questions and more when a commotion on the street up ahead caught his eye. “Stop the car - stop the car!” he said, banging on the window. The taxi obligingly pulled over, and Dirk hopped out and ran towards the very loud, very public argument happening across the street. 

In front of Carl's, the now-familiar Alex was holding his hands palms-out towards a man in an apron, who was shouting at him in rapid Spanish. “Don’t - it’s not what you - Fernando, if you would listen –-”

“I’m done listening! I’m - fuck this,” said Fernando, tearing his apron off and throwing it at Alex. “I’m done with you - with all of this! I quit!”

“Fernando –-”

The man stomped towards the street, bumping against Dirk’s shoulder. “Aaaaand he’s gone,” sighed Alex, running a hand through his hair. “Dios mio, not another one...”

Dirk, unsure whether he should betray his presence or not, coughed politely, and Alex jumped. “Oh - you again. I guess you heard all of that.”

“Not all of it,” said Dirk. “Only the end. Er. He seemed quite upset.”

“Yeah.” Alex looked like he didn’t want to elaborate, and Dirk didn’t press him. “You’re not by any chance looking for a job, are you? We were already short-handed, and now…”

Dirk started to say no, but then his thoughts caught up, and a theory ignited inside him. The sidewalk tilted beneath him as his theory grew, racing over itself. He’d just been thinking of how Todd’s life might be better, and here was an opportunity thrown in his lap. The universe only brought things together this quickly when he was really on a roll. Everything he’d seen so far in the past came together in a flash, from stumbling into the first concert to finding Alex yesterday. 

He wasn’t here by chance or by punishment. He was here to make this Todd’s life better.

“I’m not,” he said, making up his mind, “but I know someone who might be. Do you have an application?”

“How many people do you already know?” Alex laughed weakly.

“It’s Todd,” Dirk admitted. “He told me the band is breaking up soon, and I thought he might need something to do. Would you mind terribly?”

Alex made a face but then considered. “I mean, he’s a body,” he said. “And he already knows the crowds. Yeah, send him over, if you want. Come on in, I’ll get you a form.”

---

“More?” Todd yelped, as Svlad pressed him down into hiding.

“Take this. Nicked it off a bobby. Should work well enough, just press the button.” 

Something cool and cylindrical dropped into Todd’s hands. He flipped it over to read the label. “Pepper spray? What am I supposed to do with pepper spray?”

“You’re the detective, don’t you do this sort of thing all the time?”

“Assistant, detective’s assistant, and Farah’s usually the one who -–”

“Hello,” said a robotic lilting voice behind them, and Svlad and Todd both yelped and spun around, Todd cursing himself for not seeing the other alleyway entrance just behind the dumpster. “You should not be here.”

“That’s what you said last time,” said Todd, fumbling with the pepper spray behind his back. “Why not? What does that mean?”

“It means I am going to kill you,” said the man, and reached for his pocket. Todd moved at the same time, whipping out the spray and aiming directly for the man’s eyes. He screamed, giving up on his weapon, and staggered backwards, swiping at his face.

“Phew,” said Todd. “Now, uh - now we can, uh -–”

What, exactly, he never had a chance to plan, because the man roared and came forward again, eyes screwed up and arms outstretched. Todd leapt backwards and tripped over the dead body, falling to the ground just in time to avoid the swipe of a butcher knife. “Really could’ve used a real weapon!” he yelled to Svlad.

“Pepper spray is a weapon!” Svlad yelled back from somewhere further down the alley. “It’s illegal and everything!”

“That doesn’t - shit - mean it’s - fuck - a good one!” said Todd, dodging swipes of the knife as he scrambled backwards.

“Not all weapons look like weapons,” said the bald man unhelpfully.

Todd’s back scraped against the brick wall enclosing the alley. Panicking, he threw the empty can of pepper spray at the bald man. It glanced off his forehead and bounced to the ground.

“Shit,” said Todd.

“Goodbye, small man,” said the bald man, raising the knife. “It has been —”

Thunk.

The bald man’s eyes rolled back in his forehead, and he toppled forward, nearly squashing Todd. Behind the fallen man stood Svlad, wooden club raised in midair, looking extremely satisfied.

---

A few minutes later found Dirk back at Todd’s flat, pacing the floor as he waited for Todd to return. Because everything was going right for him today, it was barely a half-hour before Todd burst back in, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Oh, good, you’re here,” he said, heading straight for Dirk. “Listen, I had an idea.”

“So did I,” said Dirk, brandishing the form at him. “I was thinking –-”

“I thought - oh. You first.”

“There’s a job opening at Carl's,” Dirk burst out. “I know it’s not much, but it’s a bit of money - enough to buy the amps, at least. And you already know Alex. I came just as their last man quit, he gave me the application straightaway.”

Todd looked rather taken aback by Dirk’s enthusiasm, which dampened it not in the slightest. “Oh. Um - okay,” he said, taking the form and scanning the header. “I mean, I already got the money, but, um - thanks? I guess?”

“You got the money?” said Dirk. “Where?”

Todd waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Do you want to hear my idea?”

“In a moment,” said Dirk. “I really think this could be good for you. Especially with the band in, er, a bit of a fragile state - it’s something to look forward to. And you could meet other bands as well, perhaps find something after Mexican Funeral.”

Todd glanced down at the form again. “You came up with this in the last, like, four hours?”

“I had a bit of help,” said Dirk. “At least try for it?”

“Maybe,” said Todd. “But first - listen, with Charlie out, we’re down a keyboardist, and we need one for Battle of the Bands. I checked with a few other contacts, and they’re all busy. But I was thinking - I mean, you’re here. You already helped with some of the songs. The stuff we’re playing Friday, it’s not synth-heavy, you’d barely have to do anything at all. We really just need a body onstage.”

Dirk tried to set aside his own plans to examine Todd’s. “Todd…” he said slowly. “Are you asking…”

“There’s still three days left,” said Todd, beginning to pace in a way that Dirk recognized as potentially very dangerous. “I could teach you. You can sing, right? It’s really not that different - there’s only, like, three chords, anyway –”

“You want me to be in the band?” said Dirk incredulously. “Me?”

“Just for one gig,” said Todd. “Just till we get through the week. Please?”

Of all Dirk’s bad ideas to date, this had to be the worst. He would certainly exist in Todd’s memory now. He could almost feel the space-time continuum cracking to pieces beneath him. The keyboard loomed behind Todd, an impenetrable jigsaw of keys.

But he had to be right about this. He had to. This Todd could be fixed.

And if this was the only price he had to pay…

Dirk made a split-second decision. “I’ll do it,” he said, “if you apply for that job.”

“Sure,” said Todd. “Yes. Whatever you want. I’ll - I’ll apply today. I’ll fill out the form right now.”

Dirk held out a hand. “Shake on it?”

Todd clasped Dirk’s hand, and Dirk felt a shiver of excitement that had nothing to do with Todd’s physical presence and everything to do with setting Todd’s life back on the right track. “Sweet,” said Todd, sounding beyond relieved. “Then let’s get started.”

---

Todd stared at Svlad over the body.

“You had that the whole time?” he burst out. “You had an actual weapon, and you gave me the pepper spray?”

“Not the whole time,” said Svlad. “I had to go back for it. Besides, why should you have all the fun?”

“Fun?” said Todd, but found he was laughing. This was ridiculous; the whole thing was ridiculous. He’d thrown a can of pepper spray and tripped over a dead body. Adrenaline leapt through his bloodstream, and he wanted to laugh and run and fix a whole time machine. “I nearly got stabbed, and you call that fun?”

“Interesting, at least,” Svlad shrugged.

A wave of deju vu swept through Todd so powerful that he stumbled. Interesting. So very Dirk, to use that word. The moment you take control of your life, interesting things will happen. Not better, or safer, or even good. All Dirk had ever promised was interesting, and he’d definitely been right about that.

Svlad advanced towards the second body, eyes brighter than Todd had yet seen them, cheeks flushed with exertion, standing so straight he nearly filled out the jacket for the first time. Was this the first time Svlad had had interesting, instead of terrifying and ruinous and deadly? Had Svlad ever taken control of his own life before?

And if Todd told him the truth - if he took back Svlad’s bright future just as Svlad had started to believe it - what would happen to Svlad then?

“I suppose we should question him?” said Svlad, poking at the man’s shoulder. “Isn’t that what detectives do, normally? Interrogations and such?”

“Uh - yeah,” said Todd. “Yeah, but not in this alley. Got any other MI6 safehouses nearby?”

“Mmmm… not a safe house, exactly, but something like it. It’s just this way.”

Svlad skipped off down the nearest alley. Todd eyed the man on the ground, who must’ve weighed at least two hundred pounds. “Are you gonna help me with this?” he called.

Svlad’s voice floated back. “You’re the assistant, aren’t you? So assist.”

Yeah, he was definitely Dirk. And if he’d come this far, who was to say he wouldn’t go farther? He still could become a detective. If Todd could keep him alive, anything could happen.

He’d promised never to lie to Dirk. He hadn’t wanted to lie to Dirk. His stomach churned at the very thought. But Svlad had been so hopeless. Todd couldn’t bear to see him like that again.

“Coming?” said Svlad.

It wasn’t lying, Todd told himself. Just - what had Dirk called it? - strategic no-truthing. With a sigh, he started switching out the dead body in the body bag for the live one, to make things a little easier. It wasn’t lying. It would be fine.

Svlad never had to know a thing.

Chapter Text

“Okay, first lesson."

Dirk straightened his back and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t pounding. This was for Todd, he kept telling himself. He was doing this to help Todd. His own hormones were such an unrelated, minuscule factor they didn’t even bear mentioning.

“This song’s in C,” said Todd, strumming the chord on his guitar. “So should be easy enough. And it’s a pretty straightforward progression from there, C - G - a minor - F. No one’s at a punk gig to hear the synth - no offense - so you can get away with just simple stuff in the background till the solo section.”

“Solo section?” Dirk blanched. He certainly hadn’t signed up for that; his musical knowledge was limited mostly to what he’d gathered from spying on Todd. Even his attempts the previous midnight to divulge the keyboard's secrets had yielded nothing except shadows and a lot of noise that really should have woken Todd up.

“Yeah, in ‘Visions.’ Oh, I should’ve told you - we’re definitely doing ‘Emotional Motion,’ it’s a great opener, and then probably ‘Life After Mars’ as a crowd-pleaser, and for the closer… I don’t know. Hopefully ‘Visions,’ but it’s, you know. Tricky.”

Dirk actually didn’t know. “Visions” was the only one of Todd’s set he hadn’t recognized at all. He’d been trying to sneak in a look at the sheet music, but half the pages weren’t labelled, and Todd’s handwriting was terrible anyway. 

“If we end up going with ‘Man Down,’ there’s no keyboard, so it’d be an easy one. But ‘Visions’ isn’t too bad. Charlie usually just hits a random sound button and plays the same progression with a synth or a flute or something. Once they hit the organ button - I think by accident, but when some guy in the front row started yelling they went all in on the Mozart-was-punk-too argument. Almost had ‘em, too. They know, like, everything about music history…”

Something about the memory, perhaps the use of present tense, dampened Todd’s enthusiasm, and the excitement on his face dulled to pain. Dirk squirmed on the bench. Before he could ask if Todd was sure he wanted Dirk there, Todd gathered himself and said, “Anyway. You ready?”

All thoughts of Charlie fled in the face of how entirely unready Dirk felt. But music was ninety percent showmanship anyway, he decided, placing his hands with a flourish over the white keys. Todd tapped his toes on the floor and counted down: “Four, three, two…”

He strummed the C chord as Dirk hit a random selection of keys. The keyboard let out a sound like a cat being strangled, at a volume loud enough that Todd’s upstairs neighbors yelled and banged on the floor. “Sorry!” said Todd, laughing. “Sorry, forgot it was on that setting - here –”

He jumped off the couch and came to fiddle with the bewildering knobs and dials above the keys. Dirk scooted aside too slow to miss the whiff of Todd’s newly showered scent: fresh evergreen, just like Todd in the future. Of course, he thought fondly, Todd wouldn’t have changed his shampoo in a decade.

Todd played a few notes, and something much more like a piano sound came out. “There,” he said. “Let’s go again.”

He picked up his guitar a second time and counted off. The sound Dirk produced this time was marginally less death-like, mostly due to the volume change, but still bore no resemblance to the chords Todd had produced on his guitar. Todd put down his guitar. “You really don’t know how to play piano, do you?” he said.

“Excuse you, I’ve performed at Carnegie,” said Dirk, which was true, if by “performed” one meant “screamed at the top of their lungs for several minutes,” and by “Carnegie” one meant “the rafters above it.”

Todd snorted. “Scoot over,” he said, bounding off the couch and pushing Dirk over on the wobbly keyboard bench. “We’ll start at the beginning. This is middle C, okay? This white one.”

The bench was wide enough for a good several inches between them, but Dirk still couldn’t shake Todd’s scent. “With the dot marked here?” he said, forcing himself to focus on the keys.

“Yeah, I drew that for ‘Manda when she was learning to play,” said Todd with a smile. “She was so small, she had to sit on a pile of books to reach the keys. Here, put your thumb on middle C. This is your starting position, right here - these five white keys. You can ignore the black ones for now, we’ll get there later. So, the easiest chord is C major, which is 1-3-5 - that’s thumb, middle finger, pinky finger. Wanna try?”

Dirk obligingly hit the keys, and a miraculously melodic sound came out. “That’s - like your guitar!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah, exactly! That’s also, like, half the song, right there. You can just hold it, or you can repeat it like this, or try running it up and down…”

He placed his hands on the lower keys and poured out an impossible medley, climbing up and down and back again, all with the same three notes Dirk had played. Dirk watched in amazement. Todd still had his keyboard, but Dirk had never actually seen him play, except to pick out a few chords here and there. It had never occurred to him that Todd could play multiple instruments. He knew Todd cared deeply about music, but he’d never wondered how far that passion had taken Todd, before he’d dropped it all.

“Make sense?” said Todd, hands falling back to his lap.

“You’re very good.”

“Fuck off,” Todd laughed. “This is all just chords. I can’t play, like, Beethoven or anything.”

“No, I mean it,” said Dirk earnestly. “How many instruments do you play? Have you got a bassoon hidden in your closet?

“Oh, so you think I’m a nerd?

“No, I think you’re very musically talented, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d learned half the orchestra and never told anyone about it.”

Todd blinked, and Dirk looked away, abashed. He hadn’t meant to be quite so sincere, only his Todd never accepted compliments unless there was absolutely no way out, and he wanted Todd to accept it.

Todd cleared his throat. “Uh, can you try the chord again?” he said. “With both hands - here’s C further down. And then we can move on to the G chord.”

Dirk arranged his hands as instructed and pretended he didn’t notice that at some point during the lesson, they’d shifted close enough to bump knees and shoulders, and neither of them moved back.

---

Todd barely had a moment to reflect on his potentially timeline-altering decision, as Svlad spent the walk to the safehouse keeping up a Dirk-like stream-of-consciousness monologue that Todd had forgotten how to tune out. Over the fifteen minutes, Svlad reflected on the merits of pepper spray; listed his opinions on seventeen varieties of peppers; took a brief but disturbing detour into the consequences of misidentifying edible plants; and circled, somehow, back to vegetarians. 

As such monologues went, this was actually more coherent than most. Todd could almost, barely, sometimes see the train of thought Svlad had commandeered, but he was too out of practice to respond before the subject veered again. Not that Svlad needed his input - not that Dirk had, either - but Todd felt it was his duty as an assistant to at least try.

And he was realizing something else, too, from hearing Svlad: Svlad left no space for anyone else to talk, because there had never been anyone else to talk. For the past however-many years, Svlad had worked entirely alone. Dirk’s train could still take off down the mountain, but he’d started at least leaving time for Todd to board. Svlad had gotten so used to empty stations that he’d stopped checking at all.

Todd felt a pang of sympathy for Dirk - Svlad, he told himself. How lonely had he been, lost in London, all on his own?

“Here we are,” Svlad announced finally, stopping by the back door of an Aldi. Todd slung the body to the ground and rotated his shoulders. Svlad stepped up to the lockbox, punched in a few numbers, and swung open the door to a dusty, box-strewn storage room. “Wait outside, I’ll just check if she’s here.”

Without complaint, Todd leaned back against a wall, trying not to think about how much worse his already-sore body would feel the next day. He’d stopped keeping up with Farah’s calisthenics about the same time he’d stopped keeping up with Dirk’s cases.If they had to take down yet another attacker, he thought his legs might give out. 

As if on cue, the body bag shuddered as the prisoner started awake. “Are you fucking kidding me,” Todd muttered to himself. “Should’ve asked for rope first…” 

With a groan, he forced himself off the wall and into the storage room, hunting around for duct tape or something he could use before the prisoner could awaken further. He didn’t have much hope; the storeroom was a disorganized mess, without any clear labeling system and with only a single flickering bulb to light it. Todd reached for his phone light and then remembered it had died basically as soon as he’d gotten to London. Of course. Maybe he should go around the front of the store and see if he could sneak out some duct tape from inside?

Voices from behind the “Employees Only” door caught his attention, and he started towards the exit before realizing one was Svlad’s. He inched towards the door, curiosity getting the better of him. “...all the time you need,” a woman was saying, in a warm, welcoming tone. Todd frowned. From what he’d seen of Svlad’s life thus far, such a reaction was unusual. He leaned closer.

“Are you sure?” Svlad was asking, in a voice that could melt butter. Todd recoiled a second time. Not that Dirk had never tried this, but it had never worked. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Anything for you, love, you know that.” There was a rustle as though of fabric and then a giggle that Todd really hoped wasn’t Svlad. There were some things he did not need to see. “Let me just flip the sign.”

Todd waited until he heard the front door jingle to burst through. “Who was that? ” he asked Svlad, who turned from the cash register with a wad of cash and an aloof expression, as though he’d been checking the weather and not - whatever he’d been doing. “Who - hang on, are you robbing her?”

“No,” said Svlad. “Well. Sort of. She won’t mind.”

“What do you mean, she won’t mind?” said Todd. “Won’t she, like, get fired or something?”

Svlad snorted. “Not likely. The store owner’s a Neanderthal. Literally. Their brains may be larger than ours, but they were not more complex, I can guarantee you that.”

Todd stored this away in the “questions he really needed to ask Dirk and/or Svlad at a later date” vault, which was starting to overflow. “Um, so is she, like, part of a case, or - I mean, you seemed to know her - like, know her know her - not that I was, uh, listening, I just overheard –”

Svlad let out a very long sigh, as though Todd was being ridiculous here. “She thinks, ” he said, pausing with the storeroom door half-open, “I’m in the mafia.”

“Wha –”

The door slammed shut on Todd, who swore and tugged it open again. “She actually thinks that? I mean, like, no offense, but I’ve seen the mafia a bunch - um, once or twice, and you… um.”

In lieu of an outright insult, he gestured to Svlad’s underfed frame. “They could eat me for breakfast?” said Svlad, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, quite. Only they kept coming by and roughing her up, and it’s the only store nearby with Freddo’s, and I had to do something with the manticore, so I may have - er - set it in their direction.”

“Manticore?”

“Just a baby! And it barely did anything, just gave them a scare. But there was a lot of gunfire and such, and when we all came out of it, I was left there, and she thought - er - well, I may not have corrected her on the point.”

Todd rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Was this before or after the Neanderthal?”

“Does it matter?” Svlad asked, peeved. “I’ve just bought us a few hours in a secure location with the man who’s tried to murder us, that seems a tad more important. Where is he, anyway?”

“Oh, right.” Todd ran back out to the store, grabbed a roll of duct tape, and exited the back room to where the body bag was starting to thump on the pavement. He kicked the bag a couple times till it stopped moving and then, as quickly as he could, unzipped it, wrapped duct tape around the man’s hands and feet, and dragged him into the storeroom.

Svlad, meanwhile, had somehow arranged the boxes into a nook for the suspect and two boxes opposite for him and Todd. Todd did his best to manhandle the suspect into place. “Shall I be bad cop?” asked Svlad, as Todd stepped back and surveyed his work. “Shall we both be?”

“Maybe just ask him questions,” said Todd, who had enough experience with Dirk’s interrogation tactics to know that he had no hope staying on track as either.

“But then how am I supposed to - ah, he’s awake!”

Svlad straightened on the chair and affected a stern-ish expression as the man blinked and swayed to life. Todd crossed his arms, still standing. The man looked from Todd to Svlad, and his face slowly contorted into a grin that sent shivers down Todd’s spine.

“I guess you know why you’re –” Todd started.

“Dirk Gently,” the man interrupted, his eyes boring straight into Svlad’s. “We have been looking for you.”

---

By lunchtime, Dirk was feeling fairly confident in most of the major chords, though he had yet to get the hang of doing more than plopping down on one chord for all four counts till the next. This was partially due to a lack of hand-eye coordination, but mostly because whenever Todd tried to demonstrate, running his fingers up and down the keys with ease, Dirk rather stopped thinking at all.

“You’re doing great,” said Todd encouragingly, as Dirk pecked out a G chord for the umpteenth time. “You already know way more than you need to for Friday, I didn’t think we’d get to sixths for a while.”

“I had a great teacher,” said Dirk. It wasn’t a lie. Todd had a seemingly unending supply of patience, waiting calmly while Dirk struggled through the same mistakes over and over. When Dirk didn’t grasp something, Todd came up with an alternate explanation, or two, or three, till it finally clicked. If Dirk asked a question Todd couldn’t answer, he’d pull over his laptop, spend a few minutes googling, then walk Dirk through whatever he’d found out. It was…

…oddly familiar, actually. Dirk had known Todd could do this; he’d done it often enough for Dirk, teaching him to ride a bike, to make edible soup, to patch jackets. Dirk had been told he was a terrible pupil, and he’d had no reason to expect anything other than Todd’s typical snark, but Todd had never come close to the scoldings and reprimands that parts of Dirk continued to expect. 

“I had a great pupil,” Todd returned now, bumping Dirk’s shoulder. “One more progression and then break for lunch? I think there’s some pizza left from last night.”

“Mm-hm,” said Dirk absently. He’d forgotten Todd’s lessons. He’d blocked out the number of times he’d accidentally-somewhat-on-purpose pretended to be less than proficient at a task, so Todd would sigh that fond, exasperated sigh and come demonstrate how to brown beef or pluck out a stitch, sending a welcome shiver up Dirk’s spine as Todd’s hands curled round his.

The shiver persisted longer than it should, memory’s shadow lingering. Dirk plucked out a seventh, then an eighth, then what he could only assume was a ninth before Todd’s words filtered through. “Oh - pizza? God, yes, always. Warm or cold?”

Todd took a moment to respond. Dirk looked over to see Todd staring down at Dirk’s hands with a glazed expression. Dirk jerked his hands off the keyboard.

Todd startled and jumped up from the bench. “Um, I think the microwave’s out,” he said, dashing towards the kitchen. “You okay with cold?”

“The superior choice, always,” said Dirk, electing to remain at the keyboard a moment longer.

Luckily, he almost immediately found a distraction: the two additional bits of musical knowledge, and Todd’s rearrangement of pages, had left “Visions” on top of the piano stand. Dirk pulled it down, squinting at the scribbled lyrics. I saw you in my dreams last night, just like it used to be / a vision of perfection you wanted me to see…

Dirk winced and flipped the page, only to get hit with the chorus: I see you now I see you, the truth you tried to hide / I see you now I see you, what’s buried –

“Pepperoni or supreme?” Todd called.

Feeling as though he’d been caught with Todd’s journal, Dirk slipped the pages back and fled to the dining table. It was no wonder this song didn’t exist in the present. Todd had probably burnt all the copies. “Both, preferably,” he said. “And have we still got Hawaiian?”

After lunch, Todd begged off with errands, leaving Dirk the time and place of that evening’s practice. “And here’s the spare key,” he said, tossing it to Dirk, “in case you want back in.”

“I’ll likely be out,” said Dirk, but he pocketed the key anyway. “I’ll probably pass by Carl’s, if you want me to drop off that application?”

“Application?” said Todd, his face blank.

“For the job?” Dirk prompted. “To replace the server?”

“Right! R-ight, the application. The job application. Yeah. Um, I’ll actually - I’ll be over there, too, so I can just drop it off. He probably needs my ID and stuff, anyway.”

“You have filled it out though?”

“Yeah, course,” said Todd breezily. “Thanks for the tip. Always good to have extra cash.”

Satisfied for now, Dirk parted ways with Todd and set out to run errands of his own. Grateful as he was to Lydia for outfitting her bunker, he didn’t think he could stand Patrick Spring’s itchy brown button-ups for another second. Fortunately, his favorite thrift store from the future was still (already?) open, and he spent a pleasant hour selecting what he hoped passed for punk-chic: a couple t-shirts for bands whose logos he liked (and Todd would probably recognize); black skinny jeans (he continued not to see the point of pre-ripped pants; he could rip them himself, if he was so inclined, and often did anyhow); black boots that mostly didn’t pinch his toes; and a black bomber jacket that he planned to immediately improve with a few of the colorful patches he’d swiped near the register.

He wore his clothes straight out of the store, imbued with fresh punk confidence. Was this how this Todd felt all the time? Perhaps he should buy future Todd black skinny jeans. Maybe a tongue piercing. He walked straight into the street at that thought and nearly got run over by a bicycle. 

The thought of variously-pierced Todd occupied Dirk till his rambling walk took him past Radioshack. A brief check inside yielded another addition to Lydia’s order. Dirk sifted through the box while he waited for a taxi. As mystifying as Lydia’s list had seemed, some of the parts looked almost recognisable. But where could he have used them? Blackwing had always blindfolded him for this sort of thing. University, perhaps…?

His ringtone broke off this train of thought. He’d left Lydia three voicemails detailing the parts, asking whether he should come, and then digressing into what he considered a rather diverting tale of the pigeons he’d seen fighting over a pizza crust nearby, but instead of calling, she’d just sent back “gr8.”

Dirk decided this applied to the pigeons. He typed, Shall I bring dinner?, though the only food in the vicinity was a Dick’s Drive-in, and he was currently short a car.

Ah - he had seen these parts before, with Todd. A week of searching had led them to a broken radio, and while Dirk had ranted and raved about lost time, Todd had sat down and opened the damn thing up. “It’s not even that broken,” he’d said, poking at what certainly looked, to Dirk, like burnt-out wires. “Give me a couple hours, I can fix it.”

And despite Dirk’s misgivings, he had. They’d intercepted the necessary transmissions and solved the case: another win for his redoubtable assistant. Todd had had a higher solve rate than Dirk, at one point.

Strange. He’d expected the thought to bite, but it barely stung. The sharp edges of his Todd-related memories seemed filed down, today. Perhaps recompense for his efforts to set this Todd on a better path?

His phone buzzed, and he set the quandary aside. stay there, Lydia had sent. 2 small 4u.

Dirk chewed his lip. He was meant to go to band practice - band practice! Him! - but he felt that Farah might have wanted him to keep a closer eye on her young charge. On the other hand, she was an adult. And he didn’t fancy sleeping on that cot.

He split the difference by walking through the drive-thru and sending a double cheeseburger and large fries off with Lydia’s gadgets.

---

Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Todd had still been holding out hope that this group wasn’t the Men of the Machine, and that they actually weren’t connected to Dirk at all, but were simply in the area for a murderous holiday, or something. At the man’s first words, these hopes shriveled and died. Svlad, meanwhile, stepped smoothly into the lead, as though he’d been waiting for this chance his whole life.

“For me,” he said, “or for the future timeline version of me? I should warn you, I’m not that me at all, I haven’t got an agency or anything yet. I haven’t even got that name.” He stood and began to walk - almost prowl - towards the man, whose eyes tracked him without blinking. “I’d tell you to leave, but your machine’s broken, isn’t it? And you’ve lost it, too. Shame.”

Todd felt a hot flash of satisfaction, coupled with - envy? Regret? He’d forgotten how good Dirk was at throwing subjects completely off their guard. Dirk’s technique, if you could call it that, was less “good cop / bad cop” than “normal cop / cop who could stare into your soul, pull out your deepest secrets and fears, and discuss them lightly over tea.” More than once, Todd had gotten so caught up in Dirk’s mastery that he’d forgotten he was supposed to participate at all.

But the man’s creepy smile didn’t falter. “Our lives do not matter,” he said, as Svlad stalked closer. “Our energy will return to the cycle of the earth. Yours will not.”

“That’s rather rude,” said Svlad. “Am I allowed to know what I’ve done to be denied reincarnation?”

“Not what you have done,” said the man. “What you will do. What you will both do.”

His smile dimmed, brows drawing down over his eyes. “You cannot win,” he said. “You cannot be allowed to break the cycle.”

“Cycle?” said Svlad, flashing a questioning glance towards Todd, for some reason. Todd tried to think. Maybe in this universe, the Men of the Machine had found out about Dirk before Patrick’s murder, and used their time machine to prevent Dirk from ever taking the case. Or maybe a splinter group had been left afterwards, and had somehow rebuilt the time machine for the same purpose. Or maybe these guys were from the 1800s, and it was something else entirely. 

Todd rubbed his forehead. Why did he have to get the convoluted time travel case, while Dirk lived it up in 2008 America? Dirk would have loved speculating about these guys. He would’ve filled fourteen of Svlad’s chalkboards. Todd pictured the insane diagrams Dirk would’ve drawn linking five whiteboards together at once, which would’ve made total sense while Dirk was talking and none at all the next day. Dirk would have known what questions to ask. Todd was just the assistant.

Not even that, now, said his brain.

Again, that vertiginous dread, like staring into an abyss - into the empty life awaiting him when he returned. Even from this timeline, he couldn’t undo his future. But he could lock it up in a Dirk-related vault buried very deep inside and worry about it later, when they weren’t face-to-face with Svlad’s attempted murderer. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the scene again.

“...Cause is righteous,” the man was saying, in his weird singsong tone.

“That’s generally a tipoff that it’s anything but,” said Svlad. “Would you concur, Todd?”

Deciding maybe he should participate, instead of just standing in the back mooning over his future self’s ex roommate (mooning? - that was going in the vault), Todd stepped forward. “Yeah, definitely,” he said. “I mean, you came back to the past to - what, to kill Dirk before he could break your machine in the future? That’s not going to work. Patrick’s machine creates time loops, genius. If you kill him, he’ll never be around to stop you, so you’ll never know that you have to go back and kill him. Or - something.”

“Ah,” said the man, his smile brightening once more, “but you assume he will stop us. The Divine Prophecy, found by our great leader, ensures our survival unto the ends of time. The only condition is that we come back to this time and kill Dirk Gently.”

“So…” said Todd, holding his head. “So you kill him, and then leave a message for the next guys to kill him, so they come back and kill him, so he’s never - but then who wrote the prophecy?”

“Who built the machine?” said the man. “Who brought you here? The universe is wide, and we are merely specks of dust in the eternal plan.”

“Okay, you can knock it off with the cult crap, we get it.”

“And if we fail here,” the man continued, ignoring Todd, “who is to say that we may not succeed somewhere else? This is but one moment among many, as it is but one timeline among many. Anything and everything is possible. Someday, some time, we will succeed.”

Some time. One timeline. Todd’s eyes widened as the man’s words sank in. Was he saying he also came from a different timeline? He couldn’t, Patrick’s machine didn’t work like that - but if they had changed the machine - and, worse, Todd thought, heart sinking, if Svlad realized the machine could be changed –

“Sidebar,” he said quickly, taking Svlad’s arm to drag him into the main store. 

---

The taxi had been so late that Dirk had to rush to practice, held, for complicated reasons, in Jazz’s ex’s best friend’s garage. The instruments were crowded in a corner between a dusty rowing machine and a Christmas tree. Even twenty minutes behind, Dirk was only the third person there. “Where’s Todd?” he asked Brian, in lieu of a greeting.

“Nice to see you, too,” said Brian. Dirk scuffed his feet; he certainly didn’t want to start off his tenure in the band by offending one of its members. Besides, he liked Brian. When he’d called Brian “a rock scientist who rocks,” Brian had laughed like he actually meant it.

“Sorry,” Dirk said. “Thought I’d missed practice.”

“No worries,” said Brian, returning to tuning his strings. “Todd’s always late.”

“Is he?” said Dirk, then frowned at his own response. Todd had been late recently, lurching into the agency at half-past one, but that wasn’t normal, was it? For most of the past year, Todd had beat Dirk in, arriving early enough to make coffee and tea before any of them. He’d been so eager, it was almost frightening. No one had ever wanted to work with Dirk before.

A long-stilled muscle twinged in Dirk’s chest for the third time that day, and he belatedly stiffened. Less pain was one thing, active longing quite another. Todd had comprehensively proven the futility of that.

Still… It couldn’t all have been a lie, could it?

Jazz tapped an exploratory rhythm on the snare drum as Dirk decided he might as well practice his chords. He picked his way through a stack of moving boxes to the keyboard and flicked it on, hunting around for middle C. It had seemed so easy when Todd explained it.

“Do you play?” Brian asked.

“Hardly,” said Dirk. “Todd’s just taught me enough to get by. Promise you’ll yank the plug if it’s too bad? Could the battle arena supply remote circuit breakers?”

“Battle arena? For the band thing?” Brian glanced from Dirk to the keyboard and back, putting two and two together. Horror dawned on his face. “He’s making you sub for Charlie?”

A cymbal crashed in the background. “Woah, dude,” said Jazz. “Body’s not even cold.”

“Oh - I’m so sorry, I assumed you’d all discussed it. I don’t have to, obviously, if Charlie - or someone who can actually play - or no one, actually, perhaps that’s the best outcome, given that I only know about two and a half chords –”

“Nah, he tells us jack shit,” said Jazz. “It’s chill, though. You’re cool. I’ll crash if you fuck up, like this.”

The cymbals made a crash so deafening that Dirk nearly dove for cover. His ears ringing, he gave Jazz a weak thumbs-up of thanks.

“...always fucking does this,” said Brian’s voice through the cymbal’s echo. “Just jumps into shit without thinking. I know half a dozen keyboardists he could’ve called, but did he ask?”

“He never does?” Dirk guessed.

“Never!” said Brian. “Like, we’re part of the band, too, it’s not like we can’t tell things are falling apart, but he won’t let us help with the cash, just keeps saying he’ll take care of it. He didn’t even tell us when our shit got stolen - just cancelled practice out of nowhere so we didn’t find out for two weeks. And who knows what went down with Charlie - they’ve put up with so much shit from Todd already, this must’ve been really fucked up…”

He broke off, shaking his head. The monologue had left Dirk unclear whether or not he could stay. He slid his hands under his legs on the bench.

“Are you okay, though?” said Brian, turning an intent gaze on Dirk. “Like, he didn’t push you into this or anything?”

“Oh, no,” said Dirk. It wasn’t technically a lie; if anyone had pushed him into this, it was the universe. “I thought it’d be a lark,” he added. “I’ve never been in a band before.”

This still didn’t appear to satisfy Brian. “Look, I know Todd can be… kind of intense. Like, the whole frontman thing, it’s great, but he doesn’t always know when to stop, you know? If he gets an idea, it’s that dog with a bone thing, he doesn’t know how to not be all in. Which isn’t all bad - it’s probably why we lasted this long - but when it’s a person…” He grimaced.

All of this sounded exceedingly familiar, but Dirk wasn’t sure he’d reached the same conclusion. He’d seen Todd’s propensity to follow leads far past their apparent conclusion - another excellent skill for an assistant - but Brian had hardly worked cases with Todd. “I’m not sure I’m following,” he said.

Brian looked up at the ceiling and muttered something under his breath. “He’s –” he started, and then a car pulled up outside, and all of their heads swiveled towards the blasting music. The music cut off as Todd climbed out from the passenger side, Nate following from the driver’s a second later.

“Just - if you need anything,” said Brian quickly. “We’ve all gone through it.”

Todd jogged up with his guitar before Dirk could request any further clarification. “Hey, guys,” he panted. “Sorry I’m… late…”

His voice trailed off as Dirk took a step out from behind the keyboard. In the disorientation of Brian’s warning, Dirk had forgotten his trip to the thrift store, and by the time he realized why Todd was staring, Todd had gathered himself again. “Uh, you don’t mind if Dirk joins, do you?” he said, dragging his gaze away with a visible effort as Nate finally reached the garage. “We needed a quick replacement for Charlie and he volunteered.”

This wasn’t quite how Dirk remembered it. Brian’s eyebrows raised in Dirk’s direction. Todd straightened up and flipped back his bangs, and Dirk swallowed and placed his hands randomly over the keys.

“Middle C’s there,” said Todd, taking Dirk’s hand and nudging it right. His fingers brushed over Dirk’s wrist as he withdrew. “Remember? Like we practiced.”

“Nice digs,” Nate drawled, brushing past Dirk’s arm as he moved to set up behind a lawn mower. “Steal those from Charlie, too?”

“Shut up, Nate,” said Brian. “Where were you, anyway? I thought we were trying to win this thing.”

“Why don’t you ask Todd?” said Nate.

“Does it matter? We’re here now,” said Todd tightly. He’d retreated to the other side of the garage, out of Dirk’s eyeline. Dirk could see one hand at his side, which he clenched, slowly released, and then shook out. When he spoke again, the tension was gone. “Should we get straight into it? ‘Life After Mars’?”

Obediently, Jazz tapped out the starting beat, and Dirk soon found himself too busy struggling with the music to worry about anything else.

---

Svlad’s arm convulsed in Todd’s grip, and Todd, misreading the motion, made sure to close the door firmly behind them.

“Todd –” said Svlad, his arm twisting.

“This will just take a second.”

Svlad shook his arm out of Todd’s with outsized force and skittered over to the cash register, and Todd realized too late, again, what Svlad had been trying to achieve. “Sorry,” he said, cursing himself for siphoning off Svlad’s hard-won confidence. “Um.”

Svlad’s back had hunched over again, his shoulders up near his ears. At Todd’s apology, he visibly forced himself to straighten up again. “Did you want something?” he asked. “The sidebar.”

Todd forced himself to think more than ten seconds back. “Um… I just, uh…” He swallowed and braced himself on a shelf full of something called Quavers, which disoriented him enough that he managed to regain a semblance of concentration. “I wanted to recap. Things were, uh, getting a little intense in there, and I thought it would be a good time to, uh, go through what we’ve learned.”

The only sound from Svlad’s corner was the rifling of snack bags. Todd waited, shifting from foot to foot. “Svlad?” he said finally.

“Yes, go on, then,” said Svlad. “Recap.”

“Uh.” Todd coughed. He’d really been hoping Svlad would do this part, but it was no more than he deserved. “Uh, so. So there’s, like, at least three and maybe four bald guys running around London trying to kill you. Um. We’ve broken this time machine, but because time loops are the fucking worst, they might have, like, four more ready to go in case this one fails.” 

He started pacing as he picked up speed, remembering the train of thought that had brought him in here. “So they could just keep sending people, and you’d have to keep, I don’t know, sending Bart after them, but even Bart’s just one person, and if she can’t keep it up forever –”

“Shit,” Svlad broke in.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“No, they’re out of the rainbow freddos,” said Svlad, his head bobbing into view. “They’ve only got peppermint, for some reason.”

“Are you even listening?” said Todd, stomping around the aisle. “People are trying to kill you!”

“Yes, they generally are.” Svlad hovered between two bags of candy, made a face, and reached for a third instead. “I’m more worried if they’re not, at this point. Freddo?”

“No, th - is that a frog?”

“No, it’s a freddo,” said Svlad with exaggerated patience.

“Yeah, definitely not.”

Svlad shrugged, bit off the head of the terrifying chocolate frog monster, and hopped up onto the counter, legs kicking against unfamiliar chip brands. “You don’t get it,” said Todd, starting towards him. “These guys are seriously bad. I mean, you saw that harpoon gun.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Svlad’s kicks increased in force, pounding against shelves of candy cigarettes. “If you’re here, that means they didn’t succeed. It’s a loop, isn’t it? As long as you remember my future, that means I must have one.”

Tell him, Todd thought. Tell him now.

Svlad snapped the head off a second demon frog. “In fact, I rather think these men are a distraction. They can’t do anything to me, because it hasn’t been done, according to you. But they’re certainly connected somehow.”

“Um,” said Todd, squeezing his eyes shut, “actually –”

Svlad hopped off the counter and began wandering the aisles, picking up snack bags at random. “Perhaps it’s not the Men part that’s important, but the Machine. Perhaps we can ignore the men - we’ve taken care of three of them, after all - and focus on what they brought with them.”

“Svlad –”

“Perhaps,” said Svlad, turning on his heel to face Todd fully for the first time since they’d left the interrogation, “they only matter because their machine can get you home.”

Whatever explanation Todd had planned flew out of his head in the force of Svlad’s gaze. He’d forgotten how Dirk could get when he was fully in the flow of the case: possessed by miraculous veracity, surging forth with unstoppable power. Bringing his formidable personality to bear on whatever course he or the universe had chosen next. Todd had lived for those moments, once: for being swept up in all Dirk could be. For believing that if he just followed Dirk, everything would work out in the end.

He’d barely had the heart to drag Dirk from those heights back home. Shattering this moment for Svlad…

As his hesitation stretched on, a loud revving noise interrupted the calm outside, and Svlad instantly ducked for cover. Cursing at his missed opportunity, Todd started to follow him and then paused.

“Twice in one day?” Svlad hissed, running towards the exit. “How did Martin find us?”

“I - wait. I might –”

“They can take care of him, at least,” said Svlad, reaching the doors and fumbling with the lock. “Hope you’d asked all your questions.”

Todd tried to concentrate on his various aches and pains, willing one of them to manifest into an attack. Forcing an attack twice in one day was risky, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to tell Amanda about this latest development. His ankle, maybe? He tried stepping on it sideways, to see if he could intensify the pain. “Hang on - one second –”

“If this bloody - lock - would - Ah- hah! Hurry up, they’re nearly here - unless you’d rather die –”

“Punch me,” said Todd.

Svlad blinked at him. “Haven’t you had enough for one day?”

“I need to bring on an attack,” said Todd. “I need to talk to my sister again, it’s the only way.”

The engine revved again, closer this time, and Svlad flinched so hard the door nearly slammed shut again. “No,” Svlad said. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Please –”

“If you come with me, I can help you with your machine, but I’m not waiting round to be their bloody dessert.”

Todd looked desperately from Svlad to the back room, beyond which he could hear a van screeching to a halt. If Svlad left now, Todd might never find him again - probably wouldn’t, if Svlad had a say - but if Todd didn’t stay, Amanda might never find him.

Doors slammed in the back street, and Svlad’s eyes flattened like a hunted animal. “Last chance,” he said, and sprinted out the door.

He died, I think.

If he left Svlad, Amanda would never forgive him. If he left Svlad, he would never forgive himself. Throwing up his hands, he did what he was always going to do, and kept chasing after Dirk.

Chapter Text

“Oy.”

Todd climbed out of sleep feeling like he’d fallen off a skyscraper. He forced open his bleary eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning before he tried to remember where he was. Time travel; London; Bart…

“Not dead, then,” said Svlad’s voice, with more disappointment than Todd would have liked to admit. 

Todd sat up, wincing as pain centers clamored throughout his body. “Barely.”

“I’ll say. I’ve been calling you for nearly ten minutes. Would’ve dumped ice water if I had it.”

“Might’ve helped, actually.” 

Rotating his shoulder very, very slowly, Todd took in the room around him. After fleeing from the Rowdies, Svlad had stopped by a deli (“The owner gives me the heels and such to keep out the Rat King,” he’d explained, and then pulled out the largest club sandwiches Todd had ever seen) and then yet another safehouse, this one full of abandoned delivery vehicles. Todd had been hoping they’d revisit the whole people-are-trying-to-kill-you situation, but Svlad had gone instantly for a “Francesca’s Florals” van and slammed the door without so much as a goodnight. Todd had been left to curl up inside some kind of wedding rental van. The pastel tablecloths, smelling faintly of spilled champagne, weren’t the worst bed Todd had ever had but were still far from the best.

Now, Svlad tossed him a bakery bag, which hit him square in the chest. “...Croissant?” Todd asked, opening the bag.

“The owner gives me free day-olds after I got his son out of a tight spot,” Svlad said, hopping up on the trunk of a window cleaning van and kicking his heels against the bumper.

“You know, for someone who says he hates humanity, you seem to have helped everyone in the neighborhood.” Todd unwrapped the croissant and ate half of it in one bite. For a supposedly day-old pastry, it still tasted warm and flaky. He wondered how long ago this rescue had happened.

“I had to,” said Svlad, kicking his heels hard enough to leave a dent. “They kept having covert cult meetings in my warm construction zone, and the blood smelled.”

“Mmhm.” Todd finished inhaling the croissant and attempted to stretch, wincing as the movement pulled at his bruised ribs. “You didn’t happen to rescue any sons of coffee shop owners, did you?”

In answer, Svlad produced a heavenly styrofoam cup from atop another box. “Cousin, actually. Tastes like warm piss, but I thought you might ask.”

Arguably, the coffee tasted worse than warm piss, but Todd drank it all anyway. He tried to thank Svlad again, but the kid shrugged him off. “We should get out of here before it gets any later. I’ve made a list of everyone who might be able to help, but before we can go anywhere, you’ve got to clean up, you look like absolute shit. Here.” A grocery bag hit Todd in the stomach, knocking the empty cup from his hands. “I had to guess on your sizes, but it should be close enough.”

Inside the bag nestled a pair of ripped black jeans, a T-shirt to a band Todd wished he recognized, and a gray hoodie. Todd dug deeper and discovered the thoughtful inclusion of a toiletries bag. “They give them out free,” Svlad muttered, looking away.

Todd wondered if “they” referred to a charity group, or another small business owner he’d improbably saved. Svlad likely wouldn’t admit to either. Gathering the clothes, Todd followed Svlad’s directions to a small section in the back, which contained - wonder of wonders - an actual shower.  

The toiletry bag soap flaked off at once, and the water barely passed lukewarm, but he still emerged feeling like a new man. He toweled himself off with his old bloody flannel and pulled on Svlad’s clothes, which fit well enough that he wondered how closely Svlad had been watching. 

Dirk could always get his sizes right, too. Dirk had picked out half his closet, actually; between the FBI and his Depression Wardrobe cleanout, Todd had returned from Bergsberg with about three shirts. Dirk had barely let Todd unpack before dragging him out for a makeover. The store assistant had turned out to be part of the clam-smuggling gang they were investigating; but they’d gotten some great sale prices in the meantime.

He should have known back then, Dirk not-quite-expressionless as Todd cycled through bright patterns and flamboyant pants. He should have noted Dirk’s insistence on tying Todd’s tie and picking out the shirts that went best with Todd’s eyes. He should have been able to name the swooping feeling in his own stomach as Dirk settled into a new jacket that fit just right.

He should have…

“Concealer,” said Svlad, barging into the restroom.

Todd jumped, slipped on a puddle of water, and crashed to the floor. “That door was locked!” he said, getting even-more-painfully to his feet.

“I’m always surprised what people keep in their glove compartments,” said Svlad, ignoring him. “You can use concealer, can’t you?”

“Yes,” said Todd, with mild offense. Covering his lingering nostalgia with action, he rummaged in the toiletries bag for the travel-sized toothbrush. “I used to be in a band, you know. We wore eyeliner and everything.”

Svlad made an approving noise that might have been sarcastic. “What did you play?”

“Guitar,” said Todd through a mouthful of toothpaste. “Obviously.”

“What’s obvious about that?”

Todd rinsed his mouth and spat into the sink. “It’s the coolest instrument.”

“Mm, I’d dispute that.”

“Oh, really?” Todd uncapped the concealer and leaned towards the mirror. “What’s cooler than electric guitar? If you say, like, bassoon –”

“Drums,” said Svlad sagely.

“Objectively, yeah, maybe,” said Todd, “but my little sister plays drums, so it’s always been a lame second to me.”

He dabbed concealer over the bruises, trying not to wince and spoil it. Svlad stayed loudly silent behind him. It took Todd a moment to reconcile the feeling. Svlad’s silences, so far, had been just that - silent - but this one felt more like a Dirk silence, where Dirk’s mouth was technically shut, but he was basically shouting at you. Todd finished smoothing out the concealer and turned around. “What?” he said.

“Nothing,” said Svlad, and became even louder, practically vibrating with the effort of not saying anything.

“Svlad –”

“Does Dirk play anything?” Svlad burst out.

Todd blinked. “Uh,” he said, “no. Not that - I mean, maybe he learned something at some point. But I haven’t - he hasn’t mentioned it.”

Svlad quieted down, mulling this over. Given Dirk’s general apathy towards Todd’s bands, Todd had assumed Dirk wasn’t interested, but he hadn’t asked. And this wasn’t Dirk. “Did - I mean, do you play anything?” he asked Svlad. “Or would you want to?"

“I’ve never really thought about it.” Svlad bit his lower lip, more thoughtful than the question deserved, before his face took on a mischievous slant. “Definitely something cool, though. Like bass.”

“Bass? Come on.” Todd rinsed the leftover concealer off his fingers and flicked the water at Svlad. “Bass is the lamest band instrument for sure. You don’t even do anything half the time.”

“London Calling?” said Svlad, following Todd back out of the restroom. “Digital Man? Our Generation, if that counts?”

“Oh, definitely, the Who were among the first - hang on, you actually know those songs?”

Svlad hummed the first few bars of “Digital Man.” 

Todd whistled a low approval. Either this universe’s Svlad had had wildly different college experiences, or Dirk had been lying to him for three years. He couldn’t discount either one. “You’ve been holding out on me - all you ever play in the future is k-pop. Which, uh, I guess you don’t have yet. It’s like sparkly pop music from Korea. There are dance steps.”

“Please tell future me I’m embarrassed for him.”

“He’ll probably be happy about that.” 

Reaching the wedding van where he’d spent the night, Todd tossed Svlad’s grocery bag inside. Between the coffee, the shower, and the conversation, he was feeling much more ready to face this day. Svlad was still being targeted by murderers, and Todd still hadn’t told him about it, and they still had no idea how to fix the time machine that had created this mess in the first place; but they had a plan. Svlad had a plan. Sort of. Hopefully.

With that encouraging thought, Todd joined Svlad out on their latest scavenger hunt.

---

Wednesday passed much the same as Tuesday: lessons with Todd, leftover pizza for lunch, afternoons hunting for parts. After a day of exposure to “Visions,” with Todd showing no obvious aversion to the more, er, resonant lyrics, Dirk had decided to treat it like any other song, and not like an accidental outpouring of repressed guilt. They could revisit it later, after he’d set Todd’s life back on its proper path.

The Radioshack man had managed to get everything in except the pesky power transformer. Dirk elected to take the taxi to the Spring mansion himself this time, bringing along a selection of bakery treats, but Lydia wasn’t in the bunker when he arrived. 

The machine’s state hadn’t improved much in the past two days. Dirk recognized the parts he’d picked up the day before, scattered seemingly at random in a pile of gears. Lydia had also started pinning notes and sketches to the wall. This probably should have worried Dirk but made him rather proud instead. Perhaps he’d bring red yarn on his next trip, to complete things.

He stepped closer to the wall, peering at what looked like a bad photocopy of someone’s thesis. Lydia had heavily annotated it, circling whole paragraphs in purple highlighter and drawing arrows to the surrounding pages. Dirk could hardly read the text beneath the markings. He squinted closer, random words jumping out: entanglement… loophole… Bell…

Something banged outside.

Dirk jumped, the words falling aside. Should he hide? Where could he hide? He settled for standing very still, but no further noises followed. With a sigh of relief, he checked the time and found it later than he’d thought. He left the bags on Lydia’s cot and climbed back up into the sunlight.

On Thursday, Dirk made it all the way through “Emotional Motion” without missing a note, and Todd threw his hands up in the air and then, abruptly, around Dirk. Dirk stiffened at the unexpected physical contact, and Todd immediately drew back. “Sorry! Sorry,” said Todd. “Got carried away.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Dirk. “It’s not you, it’s –”

“You don’t have to explain.” Todd had shot off the bench at some point and was attempting to put as much distance between himself and Dirk as possible. “I get it.”

Dirk should have apologized and left it there. He knew, rationally, that no good could come of progressing down this path; everything was too mixed up with Todd’s future and his past, and he’d made enough Todd mistakes before. If he cared about either of them, he’d be an adult and end things before they started. 

It had just been so… nice. Like things had used to be. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he’d only gone back a few months, back when anything was possible. The truth - and Dirk had never had much luck being anything but brutally honest with himself - the truth was that he’d never really stopped loving Todd. After everything he’d gone through, was clinging onto this facsimile so unforgivable?

Tomorrow, he decided. After the Battle of the Bands was over, he’d set things straight. And things could hardly escalate that far in one day, could they?

So he said, still mostly telling the truth, “No, you don’t. I had a… bad childhood. So I sometimes just need a warning. That’s all.”

Todd’s face underwent a complicated metamorphosis, from relief to outrage to empathy (an openness that continued to rankle, given the effort Dirk had put in to interpreting future Todd’s microexpressions). All of them were better than the aborted panic of Todd’s first assumption. “Shit, dude, that sucks,” Todd said, tentatively crossing back to the bench.

Dirk waited for the follow up “Wanna talk about it?”, one of Todd’s favorite questions. Dirk often did not want to talk about it, but sometimes, surprisingly, he did. He’d found more comfort than he expected in Todd’s listening, attentive but not judgmental, patient when Dirk couldn’t find the words to go on. Dirk didn’t know if he had the energy to go through everything right now, but he steeled himself to at least try.

But Todd just said, “Message received. Hey, you okay with ramen today? We’re out of pizza, and Manda took all my cash.”

The change in subject felt like lurching over a missed step. “Ramen is fine,” Dirk said, attempting to squash an odd disappointment. This wasn’t his Todd; of course he wouldn’t ask Todd’s questions. “Good thing you’ll have more cash soon,” Dirk added, gathering up the sheet music and sliding off the bench.

“There’s no prize for Battle of the Bands,” said Todd, ripping the plastic off two pot noodles. “Just bragging rights.”

“No, I meant from your job.”

“O-h. Y-yeah. Totally.” 

Todd filled a bowl from the sink and stuck it in the microwave. “You have submitted the application, haven’t you?” Dirk asked, pressing mainly to distract himself from this American barbarism.

“Yeah, I told you. I dropped it off yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Dirk frowned. “Not Tuesday?”

“Oh, shit, it’s Thursday already? My bad. Yeah, it was Tuesday.”

The microwave beeped as Dirk contemplated whether he should go by Carl’s and check on Todd’s application. It felt ridiculous, but Dirk’s purpose here was to help, and he could hardly do that if Todd couldn’t even complete step one.

“Hey, I almost forgot,” said Todd, sliding a second bowl of water into the microwave and then emerging from the kitchen holding a paper QFC bag. “Got you something.”

“Snacks?” asked Dirk hopefully.

“Not quite,” Todd laughed. Dirk reached inside the bag, feeling fabric. His heart performed a complicated series of somersaults even before he’d withdrawn the familiar black-and-white t-shirt.

“Oh,” he said, not trusting himself to say anything else.

“It’s - I mean, it’s kind of a stupid shirt,” said Todd apologetically. “Like, I’m not an artist or anything. But I thought, since you are kinda in the band now - and I know you lost most of your clothes and shit –”

How, Dirk wondered, as Todd slipped off for the pot noodles, could one man contain such multitudes? How could Todd be both the most thoughtful and the most selfish person he’d ever met? And how was Dirk supposed to reconcile either of those with the taciturn, guarded, embittered man he would become?

---

Svlad’s first stop was mere blocks from the van depot, at a perfectly normal big box hardware store. “Stay here,” said Svlad, and then disappeared before Todd could even ask where he was going. 

Alone, Todd drifted towards the lamps section, pretending to browse along the LED bulbs. As he reached the end of the aisle and turned to head back, someone brushed past him and turned into the next aisle over. A flash of wild brown hair persisted in the corner of his eye, and he frowned and followed, but by the time he reached the aisle, it was empty.

“What are you looking for?” said Svlad’s voice from above Todd’s shoulder. 

Todd had become accustomed enough to Svlad’s sudden appearances and disappearances not to jump, but only barely. “Just thought I saw…” Todd paused, but no one was screaming, and blood didn’t seem to be seeping from the shelves, so he must have been wrong. “Never mind. Any luck?”

“Afraid not. Next stop?”

Svlad’s second attempt appeared, from the outside, to be an antiques store. “They’ve got illegal motorcycle repair out the back,” Svlad explained. “Very hush-hush. Never lost a drag race. Their competitors have been searching for them for years.”

He vanished again before Todd could ask how motorcycle repair could be illegal, and Todd had to pretend to be interested in a stuffed bear. The store associate had cornered him into a monologue on hunting rifles by the time Svlad popped up by the door, and Todd barely managed to extricate himself by mumbling about missing crumpets. “Going for what now?” said Svlad, as they fell into a steady pace once more.

“I don’t know, it sounded British,” said Todd, ears still ringing from the play-by-play depiction of clay shooting. “Please tell me you got something. Five more minutes of that and I’d start a second revolution.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” said Svlad, “but, no. Unfortunately there aren’t enough motors, at least of a kind they recognize. But I thought they’d say that. Oh, here’s your crumpets.”

He stopped in front of the kind of tea shop that Todd had thought only existed in movies where someone was royalty. “Fuck off,” said Todd, shoving him lightly. Svlad stumbled farther than Dirk would have, and for a heart-pounding second, Todd feared he’d overstepped again, but Svlad only laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’d rather drink black coffee than go here again.”

“Because it’s run by the mafia?” Todd guessed. “Because the kitchen is staffed by mermaids?”

“Because their scones are bone-dry, and they think butter is an appropriate substitute for clotted cream,” said Svlad, in the patient tone of someone explaining things to a four-year-old. “And they haven’t even got crumpets. You’d have to go to Clerkenwell for that.”

He started off again, drifting from one side of the road to another in a laid-back manner that felt much more like Dirk than Svlad. It took Todd a moment to realize why: Svlad always seemed to be trying to lose a tail, whereas Dirk moved like he was trying to see everything in the world, all at once. Todd hadn’t seen that side of Svlad before.

“I can’t believe you live with me and I haven’t converted you to tea yet,” said Svlad conversationally, gesturing to the third tea shop they’d passed. “It’s by far the superior beverage. There’s so many options, for one - Darjeeling, jasmine, chamomile, silver needle…”

“There are types of coffee!”

“What, bad and worse?” Svlad shot a look sideways at Todd. “Haven’t I at least tried? Have they banned tea in Seattle or something?”

“No, believe me, you’ve tried - like half the kitchen is just tea. The novelty ones especially, the ones with movie themes and everything. Doesn’t matter if he’s seen the movie, if the theme is good enough. And strainers, too. We have, like, fifty strainers, but he only uses the robot one because it’s the ‘most efficient shape.’ ”

The robot strainer had been a move-in purchase, if Todd remembered correctly. No - Todd had bought the robot strainer, because Dirk never bought anything for himself. Well, he bought things for himself all the time, but they were either case-related or mostly a bit. It had taken Todd some time to realize how rarely he bought anything he actually liked, and even longer to realize why.

Dirk, who had brought all of one duffel from London, and immediately lost everything in it. Dirk, who never went into furniture stores, in case he got too attached.

Dirk, who had never in his life managed to renew a lease.

Todd’s second purchase for the home had been an electric tea kettle. Dirk’s first, just before their disastrous night, had been a completely impractical, mostly broken, incredibly thoughtful espresso machine. Todd had never managed to make the espresso machine work. But even that last week, when things were so bad he could barely look at Dirk, he’d still set Dirk’s water to boil every morning before he’d left.

God, what was wrong with him today? He had to quit thinking about Dirk and focus. “So where next?” he said, making an effort to pull himself together.

Svlad gave him an odd look, or maybe had been giving him one, but just said, “Science museum. There’s a club of retirees there who’ve been around the block once or twice - they might have some ideas. Plus, they’re really into Star Trek.”

---

Dirk’s final practice before the main event went as well as could be expected, which was to say, terribly. He kept hitting the organ button by accident and turning the volume up instead of down. Todd tripped over the amp cord three times, till he unplugged all the instruments and threatened to go acoustic. Jazz showed up stoned. Brian left to take a call halfway through and never came back. Even Jill, who’d showed up with lighting cues on her laptop, kept pulling up Facebook instead, till Todd dragged her outside for a muted but furious argument which he apparently lost, because when he slunk back in ten minutes later, he wouldn’t say anything about it.

“Aww, he’s cute when he’s angry,” said Nate to Dirk, as Todd muttered to himself over the amp cords. Nate was the only one of them untouched by the day’s turmoil; he’d retained his air of ironic detachment no matter how many times Todd started and restarted “Emotional Motion.” 

“Should we help him?” Dirk whispered back. He couldn’t help feeling that this was somehow his fault. Todd had been fine this morning - a bit antsy, yes, but good-tempered - and then Dirk had left for the afternoon, and now Todd was swearing at an amp. Perhaps he’d seen the large transformer Dirk had stored in his room, since he hadn’t been able to find a taxi in time. Perhaps Dirk should have just stayed home.

“Nah, he’s fine. He always gets like this before a big day.”

The amp popped loudly and began to smoke, and Todd swore and kicked it. 

“Are you sure?” said Dirk.

“Listen,” said Nate, leaning back against one of the (currently) working amps, “I know you’re new here, but what you need to understand about Todd is that he’s way too into all of this. If he would just chill, this would all be totally fine.”

Todd kicked the amp again, then plugged and unplugged the same cord three times with increasing ferocity.

“Hmm,” said Dirk.

The amp screeched, and Todd clapped and jumped up. “Alright! We’re back. Let’s try that riff again. Brian - where the fuck is Brian.”

“Out,” said Nate.

Todd’s face turned very red, and Dirk thought for a moment he might start smashing guitars. “We can’t fucking rehearse this song without fucking Brian. Who the fuck called him? Nate, can you go at least look?”

“Yeah, sure.” Nate slid his guitar strap off, winked to Dirk, and strode out the door. Beside Dirk, cymbals clattered as Jazz fully fell asleep into them. Todd threw up his hands and walked out into the audience.

“Fuck this,” he said. “I quit. I’m done.”

“No, Todd, wait,” said Dirk, tripping over wires in his haste to reach the man. Todd burst through the door and kept on straight down the sidewalk, rain notwithstanding. Dirk pulled his jacket tighter and ran to catch him. “Todd,” he panted, “come back. Please.”

“Why?” said Todd. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re going to win. Like, we can’t even make it through a single song without someone fucking up. Jazz hasn’t been on the beat all day, Jill’s texting or some shit, Brian fucking left, even I’m all over the place –”

“It’s just nerves,” said Dirk. “It’s bad luck to do well before a con - gig, right? The worse the practice, the better the performance?”

Todd gave Dirk a look like he’d suggested adding a clarinet solo to “Life After Mars.” 

“Well - we’ve still got over a day left,” said Dirk, quickly switching tactics. “I’ll practice more, I know I can get the ending right, and Jazz will be sober, and Brian will be, er, back –”

“It doesn’t matter how much time we have,” said Todd, barrelling straight into a crosswalk without bothering to check for cars. “It won’t change the fact that they don’t fucking care. This is basically our last chance to go big, and if it doesn’t work out - if we don’t win –”

His steps faltered, his pace slowing. Rain dripped down his face, plastering his hair to his forehead. With his haunted expression and slumping shoulders, he looked more like Dirk’s Todd than Dirk had seen him yet.

“I care,” said Dirk softly.

Todd snorted and pushed his sopping hair aside. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “The guy who’s not even in the band. Means a lot.”

“Excuse me,” said Dirk, keeping his tone deliberately light, “I am too in the band. I have a shirt and everything.”

He pulled his jacket open to show the Mexican Funeral shirt, which he hadn’t been able to stop from wearing the first chance he got. Todd almost smiled at that. “I knew that was a mistake,” he said. “Should’ve given it to someone who could read more than one clef.”

“I can read many clefs,” said Dirk haughtily. “Er. How many clefs are there, exactly?”

Now Todd managed a laugh. “You really don’t know anything about music, do you? This was a terrible plan.”

Dirk thought about all the people who had tried to warn him about Todd. Everyone who said Todd needed to chill out, be less intense, give up on lost causes. Dirk’s favorite thing about Todd had always been that depth of passion, when Todd was brave enough to show it. 

Wind gusted over them, and Dirk shivered and looked around for an awning. “It will get worse if we all catch cold. Come on, let’s get a drink. You could use the break.”

---

The science museum didn’t pan out. Nor did the fish and chips stand, though Svlad at least came away with lunch; the boathouse that Todd was fairly sure had bloodstains on the walls; the second hardware store of the day; or the dentist, which, by Svlad’s admission, was “mostly, but not entirely, haunted.”

“Mostly?” Todd panted, as Svlad pelted down the street, having made a hastier exit from this stop than normal. “How is a place mostly haunted?”

“They like the peppermint fluoride, but one of the dentists uses unflavored, so they avoid him.”

“Really?”

“How should I bloody know, I’ve never stuck round long enough to ask! In here, come on.”

He shoved Todd into a grocer’s and ducked behind a stand of underripe bananas. Todd dutifully knelt behind him, checking the opposite direction. He hadn’t seen any ghosts - well, not seen, but felt the eldritch chill that he assumed London ghosts shared with American ones - but he had been noticing a flash of brown following them from stop to stop. The potato section, though, seemed to be clear for now.

Deciding the same about the entrance, Svlad blew out a breath and sank down on the floor, back resting against a display of artificial lemon juice. “I thought this detective thing would be easier. Do you normally run up this many dead ends?”

“Yes,” said Todd, and then, “No. Um, sometimes.”

“Do you ever actually answer a question?” said Svlad with a half-smile. “Or do I spend half my time investigating you?”

It hit harder than Todd wanted to admit. He wasn’t sure he’d hidden his wince before Svlad noticed. He tried to cover it with, “Half the dead ends turn out to be useful, though. One time we spent a whole three days staking out a Pinkberry instead of a Baskin-Robbins, but it turned out the Baskin-Robins employee was smuggling things to the Pinkberry, so it all worked out. Sort of.”

He smothered another flinch. It had been one of their first cases, just after Farah had gotten their licenses; Dirk had been inspired to do things by-the-book, which went against everything he’d ever stood for, and the universe, predictably, had rebelled. The Pinkberry thing had been the last straw in a series of unfortunate near-misses, and Dirk had gone into a spiral that mere frozen yogurt had no chance of fixing. Todd had been in the Baskin Robbins looking for the real stuff when they’d spotted their actual suspect.

As much as Todd would have appreciated a little more adherence to the rulebook, he had to admit that Dirk hadn’t spiraled out in a while. Not for a few months, actually. He hoped Dirk wasn’t panicking now, wherever and whenever he was. If he couldn’t be there for Dirk, he hoped that someone would be.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Svlad said.

“Doing what?”

“Whenever I ask you a question about the future, you give me a perfectly normal answer and then go quiet and stare off into the distance like someone’s killed your dog. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Sometimes Todd wished Svlad was a little less like Dirk. Specifically, he wished Svlad didn’t have Dirk’s piercing gaze, the one that always saw right down to the core of him. He sifted through the litany of truths he’d withheld for whichever would be least damaging.

“I –” he started.

Without warning, Svlad gasped and shot up, sprinting for the bakery section. “-- am so fucking tired,” Todd finished, getting unsteadily to his feet. By the time he caught up with Svlad the kid had cornered a familiar figure against the garlic knots.

“You were following us!” Todd said to Bart.

---

When Dirk and Todd returned to practice a half-hour later - Todd had sat in morose silence for fifteen minutes, then plowed through a beer and an entire plate of fries before striding back out the door - Brian had miraculously returned and was leading Jazz through the tricky bits of “Visions.” Todd faltered in the doorway to watch.

Unfortunately, Nate chose that moment to look up and grin. “Our fearless leader. Quit fucking around, guys, we’ll get detention.”

Todd hesitated for a half second, and then a full transformation swept over him, his posture slouching, his glum expression sliding into a matching ironic smirk. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, slinging his guitar back over his shoulder. “We’re all just fucking around. Like, the competition’s probably rigged anyway. Who gives a shit, right?”

He bent to adjust the pegs on his guitar. In the shadows, Dirk might have imagined the flash of pain across his face.

“...I thought we gave a shit,” said Jazz.

“Sure.” Todd shrugged and rolled his eyes towards Nate. “If you want. Since we’re here, though, should we run through ‘Emotional Motion’ one more time?”

The rest of practice ran without major incident, and if the band’s energy carried an undertone of discontent, they at least managed to hit most of the right notes. Even Dirk only came in wrong twice, and he thought he’d got at least half the chords right. By the end of practice, Todd’s relaxation seemed slightly less strained, and he agreed to Nate’s call for drinks without too much argument.

A scant half-hour later, Brian, Nate, Todd, and Dirk were stuffed into the same pub Todd and Dirk had stopped by earlier (Jill had taken Jazz home before he passed out again). The crowd size had tripled in the past hour, and they barely managed to snag a corner booth by waiting till a group of college girls cleared out. Brian headed off to the bar for the first round, and Nate leaned across the table.

“So, what’d you think?” he asked Todd. “Gonna fire us or what?”

“Fuck off,” Todd laughed. “No, it wasn’t too bad. Jazz pulled off the solo section in ‘Man Down,’ did you hear him? And Brian was really smoking in ‘Life After Mars.’ I think we could use a couple more runs of ‘Emotional Motion,’ and something’s still not hitting right in ‘Visions’.”

“Sorry,” said Dirk.

“No, it’s not you. You were great,” said Todd quickly. “Like, really great, for one day of practice. We can work on the G chord, that’s the only one that’s still tripping you up. The fingering’s a little awkward on the sixth, we can work on that for sure.”

“Oh!” said Dirk. “Really?”

“Yeah, like - oh, thanks,” said Todd, as Brian returned with four beers and slid them across the table. “Hey, Brian, can you tell what’s up with ‘Visions’? Should we modulate earlier? Maybe kick it to minor just before the bridge?”

This launched the band into a technical discussion that took them through two rounds of beers and another plate of fries. Dirk put all two days of his musical knowledge to the test and failed spectacularly. He did his best to nod politely and attempt to look engaged, but from the amused looks Nate was shooting him, he didn’t quite succeed.

“Shit, I gotta go,” said Brian, just as Todd suggested a third round of beers. “Jill’s locked out. Send me those new lyrics, I’ll take a look.”

“Cool,” said Todd. “Nate, Dirk, you still good? I’ll get the next round.”

Todd and Brian headed off, leaving Nate and Dirk alone for the first time since the first night at the party. Dirk traced a line across the scratched wood of the table and hoped the line at the bar wasn’t too long.

“Soooo,” said Nate, spinning his empty glass around, “you and Todd. How’s that going?”

Dirk fought to keep the defensive note out of his voice, but it snuck in nonetheless. “Me and Todd what?” 

Nate rolled his eyes and pitched his voice up to imitate Todd’s. “ ‘You were really great, for one day of practice. We can work on your fucking fingering.’ He’s all over you, dude.”

“We’re friends,” said Dirk stiffly. “He’s helped me out of a tight spot, and now I’m helping him.”

“Uh-huh,” said Nate, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, it’s fine either way. Probably good for him to have a new target. He’s been after me and Brian for years.”

Brian’s aborted advice on Tuesday was making more and more sense. Dirk couldn’t find it within himself to regret not cutting things off with Todd earlier, but he did wish everyone else hadn’t clocked them, too. Dirk debated whether he should act surprised and decided on a noncommittal, “Ah.”

“I’d totally fuck him if I thought he’d get over it,” Nate continued, stretching his arms along the back of the booth. “Like, it’s one night, right? But it wouldn’t be. One night he’d be like, yeah, whatever, it’s nothing, and then the next morning he’d been mooning around with flowers or some shit. I’d have to break his poor little heart and then he’d fuckin’ cry or something. I can’t handle that.”

Dirk’s rational brain knew that at least half of this was exaggerated to get a rise out of him, and that the calm and mature thing to do would be to not take the bait. Dirk’s irrational brain was still stuck somewhere around “I’d totally fuck him” and had not even begun to consider the implication of “mooning around with flowers,” let alone “fuckin’ cry or something.” He cleared his throat, and then cleared it again. “He –” Dirk started. “I’m sure that –”

“It’s the same thing with the band,” Nate sailed on, passing over Dirk’s distress. “He just takes everything too seriously. If he could accept this whole thing is a big fucking joke, we could at least have some fun with it. But he actually seems to think we’re still going somewhere.”

“You –” said Dirk, still struggling to dig his irrational brain out of an increasingly deep hole. “A joke?”

“Come on, you don’t actually think we’re good. ” Nate laughed, picked up his near-empty glass, and swigged down the last drops. “We’re fucking terrible. We’ve come dead last in every battle we’ve ever joined, and tomorrow’s not gonna be any different.”

“Then why are you even here?” said Dirk with a flash of anger. “If you think the band sucks, why bother staying?”

Nate shrugged. “For a laugh, I guess. And Todd pays for the weed. It’s not just me. Brian was just killing time till he got into grad school, and Jazz is too stoned to notice anything. Not that that matters - Todd goes through drummers like Brian used to go through girls, till he settled on Jill to back Todd off. The only other person who ever took it seriously was Charlie. Wish I knew what Todd did to piss them off. Must’ve been a royal fuckup, I’ve never seen Charlie get mad like that before.”

Dirk winced, reached for his glass, and then remembered it was empty. Todd pays for the weed echoed in his mind: another misuse of misallocated funds. Nate had been in the band too long for that to be the only reason, but when had things soured into Todd desperately chasing after what Nate delighted in holding back? The more Dirk learned about Mexican Funeral, the more it teetered on broken friendships and abandoned hopes. Would Todd be better served by letting it go? Should Dirk have offered to help at all?

“Anyway, sorry for all the straight talk,” said Nate, looking anything but sorry. “Thought you deserved to know, before tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, after the last battle he got super drunk and tried to kiss Jill, of all people. She got him sobered up real quick. So, like, just be - oh, hey, Todd.”

“Hey, sorry, guys,” said Todd, sliding back into the booth. “Some guy took my drinks twice, it’s nuts up there.”

Before Todd had finished the sentence, Dirk had grabbed his beer and chugged half of it, which did nothing to wash out the taste of the preceding conversation. Todd watched him with some alarm. “...Everything okay?” he asked.

Dirk could feel Nate’s gaze cutting into him, sharper than a scissor-sword. The spectre of the upcoming performance seemed to breathe down the back of his neck. Dirk’s earlier confidence that he could spare one selfish day felt increasingly misplaced. 

But Todd was still watching him. Todd, whose band was falling apart around him; Todd, who couldn’t help but care. Mexican Funeral, however hollow, was still Todd’s dream, and Dirk knew all too well the consequences of waking up.

He managed to muster a smile. “Mmhm,” he lied from behind the safety of his beer. “All good.”

Chapter Text

Dirk tossed and turned through the night, till he gave up and snuck the transformer and himself out of Todd’s flat. He hailed a taxi and arrived at the Spring mansion just as dawn crept over the horizon. For once, he found the hidden entrance to Lydia’s lab without difficulty, and he had made it all the way down the ladder and to the door before remembering that Lydia might not actually be awake.

Pausing with his hand outstretched to the knob, he stepped back, took his phone out of his pocket, and texted Lydia instead. Then he sat down in the tunnel to wait a while. Teenagers, he’d heard, tended to sleep late, and even if he hadn’t been afforded the opportunity, he certainly understood the appeal. Todd gave off the impression of rarely having left his bed at the age of eighteen; Dirk couldn’t imagine that Lydia –

“It’s unlocked.”

Dirk whirled around to see Lydia descending the ladder. “You’re awake!”

“So are you,” Lydia pointed out.

“Yes, but I’ve reached a mature age where early rising is practically mandated,” Dirk lied. “You, on the other hand, are a teenager, for whom late mornings are more or less a rite of passage. Unless you were out the whole night, I suppose. Are you old enough to drink here? I will report this back to Farah, you know.”

“What is wrong with you?” said Lydia, as Dirk followed her around the cramped bunker space. “You’re acting even weirder than usual.”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Why would anything be wrong?”

Lydia gave Dirk a look, and he turned his attention to a full page drawing of a lizard, which quickly drew his real interest. “This is very good. Have you considered a career as a herpetologist? Er, or there’s another one - saurologist, that’s it.”

“Why are you here?” said Lydia.

“Just checking in,” said Dirk, putting his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels. “How are things? I’ve brought the transformer - that’s everything, isn’t it? Machine should be up and running soon?”

“It’s not that easy.” Lydia frowned at the growing pile of wires in the center of the room and kicked aside a voltage supply to make space to sit down. “The stuff I got from Dad’s lab here is useless - I just used it for the base model, and that’s still functional. I remember most of what I added, but I hadn’t even proved that it worked when you brought us here. And obviously there’s no way to test it without blindly jumping to another timeline again.”

“Well, there’s no rush.” Dirk joined Lydia on the ground, struggling to fit his legs amidst the tangle. “Take all the time you need. And then take more. It’s a time machine, isn’t it? We’ve got nothing but time, in one sense - at least ten years of it, anyhow, and I suppose you could go backwards after that. The aging would be unfortunate, but we could certainly work out –”

“Dirk!” Lydia yelled.

Dirk swallowed back the rest of the run-on sentence. “Mm?”

“I’ve slept four hours in the past two days. I’m out of coffee. I haven’t showered since Monday, and the smell of these stupid freaking beans is making me want to vomit. Unless you can fix… this… can you please get out and leave me alone?”

Dirk looked - really looked - at Lydia, for the first time since they’d reached the past. She looked… terrible. Her eyes were nearly as sunk and bloodshot as Todd’s - well, not nearly, she still had a few decades to go on that, but they were close enough as to be concerning. Her skin was pale from the week spent underground, and the soldering iron clenched in her fist shook slightly with every breath. She had a point about the beans as well; Dirk had been half-holding his breath from the smell since he’d arrived.

“Alright; new plan,” said Dirk, slapping his hands on his legs and standing back up. “We’re getting brunch. Breakfast. Brunch? What’s the cutoff?”

“But –”

“B-b-b. No buts. Let’s go.”

“The machine –”

“Would it help if I pretended to be Farah?” Dirk pitched his voice to his worst American accent. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You need to eat your fiber. Donuts are not a healthy breakfast, even if they have strawberry icing, which I agree definitely should count as fruit, but I’m going to take an unnecessary stand on it anyway. Do you want to catch scurvy?”

Lydia winced, and then frowned, and then, very reluctantly, laughed. “I don’t think scurvy is something you can catch.”

“I don’t think you want to find out.” Dirk opened the trapdoor and waved her into the forest. “Come on. If we hurry, we might even catch my taxi man. Perhaps I should look into taxi driving as a secondary occupation, it seems to be quite lucrative. Have you ever driven a taxi?”

“I don’t have a license.”

“I haven’t either. Do you need one? Ah, there he is! Lucky already. See? We’re meant to have brunch. Climb in.”

---

“You saw her?” said Svlad. “You saw her and didn’t say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure,” said Todd.

“Wasn’t followin’ you,” said Bart. “Universe told me to. Can’t argue with it.”

“Sorry, Bart, you’ve used that excuse one too many times. Some might buy your ‘leaf on the stream’ chicanery, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“What if I told you I was after those guys again?” said Bart. “Or they’re after you? How come they wanna kill you so bad, anyway? What’d you do?”

“On the contrary, I think we’ve proven rather definitively that we can take care of ourselves, on that front. In fact, we’ve decided not to bother with them at all. Isn’t that right, Todd?”

“Uh…”

“Besides, I didn’t do anything. Or, I haven’t yet, anyhow. It’s complicated. And it’s case business, which is private.”

“But I’m on the case!” said Bart. “I found the body, didn’t I?”

“That hardly makes you a detective. More like a - an overly concerned bystander.”

“I bet I know what you’re doing,” said Bart. “I bet you’re trying to fix that machine thing. I bet I could help, too.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Svlad scoffed.

“Shouldn’t we at least hear her out?” Todd ventured. “I mean, I don’t know how many more people are on your list, but…”

Svlad gave Todd an incredulous look but crossed his arms. “Alright, go on, then. Astound me with your heretofore unparalleled ingenuity.”

Bart shrugged. “Just ask your professor guy.”

Immediately, the color leeched from Svlad’s face, and he seemed to shrink three inches. “No,” he said, his voice almost imperceptible.

“But –”

“No!” said Svlad, nearly shouting now. Before Bart could protest any further, he turned and marched on his heel out of the store, leaving both Todd and Bart staggering in his wake.

---

The taxi driver, Walter, recommended a nearby diner as one of his favorites, though he declined Dirk’s invitation to dine with them in favor of dropping his nephews off for daycare. Dirk immediately asked for photos, and would have kept him there through breakfast anyway, except that Lydia finally pushed him inside. “I’m sure you’ll see him again,” she said. “He’s probably, like, secretly a time machine director or something.”

“Time machine director?” said Dirk, reaching for a menu and making a face as his fingers stuck to the syrup on the page. “Is that a real position?”

“I don’t know, that’s your department.” Lydia flipped the menu over, already looking more alive in the sunlight. Dirk felt a pang of guilt. He was the adult in the situation, yet he’d been off moonlighting as a groupie while Lydia toiled away underground. Forget scurvy; Farah would kill him herself, if she ever found out.

He cleared his throat. “I know you’re not, er, supposed to,” he said, “but would you like to come by Todd’s after, for a shower and perhaps a night in a real bed? We could say you’re my American cousin or something, he wouldn’t mind.”

“Or,” said Lydia, “I could get a hotel, and not make your time travel romance thing even weirder.”

Dirk seemed to remember suggesting this earlier, but the waitress appeared before he could press Lydia further. Lydia ordered two orange juices, one black tea, and “the strongest coffee you have. Like, take the strongest coffee, and double it, and then double that. That’s close.”

This didn’t seem to faze the waitress, though Dirk supposed this was Seattle. “Are you sure you wouldn’t just like a nap?” he asked. “Why were you up at four, anyway?”

“I was working,” said Lydia, without meeting Dirk’s eyes.

“Working out in the forest?” Dirk pressed. “I assume you’d been gone a while.”

“Did you just take me here to interrogate me?” said Lydia, ripping the edges off a sugar packet.

Dirk sighed. “Sorry. Habits, you know. Er. What’s your breakfast of choice, then?”

The answer to this ended up being waffles, along with a full contingent of toast, bacon, eggs, fruit, and sausage. Lydia had already downed two cups of coffee before this arrived, and she proceeded to work through two more, along with most of the plates on the table. Dirk had rarely met his match at breakfast before, but here he had to admit defeat.

“Okay, I needed that,” said Lydia, sitting back with a sigh after fifteen minutes of nearly silent eating. “Beans aren’t rats, but they’re way too close. Thanks for the pastries, b-t-dubs. That’s the only reason I only made it this far.”

“I’m glad,” said Dirk. “And, er. I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring more.”

“How is that your fault? We’ve agreed you’re barely an adult.”

“I don’t think we agreed,” said Dirk, dragging a strip of bacon through blueberry syrup. “But you’ve been doing all the hard work, and all I’ve done is spend your money. It’s like the opposite of an assistant. Dessistant? Antisisstant? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Lydia deflated and waved the waitress over for more coffee. “Can we talk about something else?” she said. “How’s your whole Todd thing? Are you in the band now? Nice jacket, by the way. Very punk.”

Dirk squirmed in the booth and put his hand in a pile of syrup. “Eurgh. Not really. On a technicality, perhaps. Only temporarily. Isn’t there something else we can –”

“Please?” said Lydia, wobbling her lower lip. “I need all your embarrassing stories to cheer me up. It’s the only way we’ll ever get back to the future.”

Dirk stuck out his tongue at her. “Alright, fine, yes, I’m filling in for the pianist. Just tonight, and just for one song.”

“I knew it,” said Lydia. “What’s the song? Is it Lilypad? Kill Cupid? Please tell me it’s Kill Cupid.”

“Ohmygod, you’ve heard Kill Cupid? How? He’s burnt the recordings!”

“You have to hear it, the chorus is so good - Amanda said he had a Valentine’s headband thing he snapped over his knee in one performance, it was suuuper dramatic. For Valentine’s last year I tried to sneak it onto Farah’s Spotify so it would play on repeat all day, but there was that ghost in the transformer so the power was out. Next year, though.”

“Please. I’ll help with the headband.”

The waitress arrived to take the plates, and Dirk and Lydia fell silent for a moment. Lydia scraped the scattered sugar packets into a pile and then scooped it into a napkin. “Are you ever going to tell me what actually happened?” she said.

Dirk opened his mouth to deny things again, but the shadow of tonight’s performance had been weighing on him all day, and what came out instead was, “I kissed him.”

“You wha - Hang on, hang on,” Lydia said, reaching for her coffee mug. “Say it again.”

Dirk rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Lydia took a sip of coffee and waited expectantly, cheeks puffed out. After a few moments, Dirk sighed.

“I kissed –”

Lydia’s coffee hit him straight in the face. He spluttered and reached for a napkin, dabbing at his eyes. “You kissed him?” said Lydia in a voice best described as a shriek. “When? Where? Was it the worst kiss you’ve ever had and that’s why you broke up? Have you been kissing him this whole time?”

“Seattle, about six weeks ago, no, and certainly not,” said Dirk, ticking off the answers on his fingers. “It was one of the nicest kisses, actually, that’s why I thought - well, it doesn’t matter.”

“What does that - no, wait, back up. How did this happen?”

Dirk sighed, feeling an unfortunate kinship with Todd. How did people survive entire adolescences with little sisters? “The record player broke,” he said. “Well. I sort of broke it. But I still wanted to hear the songs, so I made him play them, and the one I’d selected was, er. Rather more romantic than I’d anticipated.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lydia knowingly. “Holistically selected, I bet. The universe is rooting for you guys. So then what, you just went for it?”

His cheeks reddening, he nodded. He hadn’t meant to kiss Todd - if he’d thought things through at all, he would have much preferred their first kiss to be somewhere better than the Ridgely, like a hot air balloon or the Eiffel Tower. He also might have preferred not to smell like a hot dog stand, and to be wearing something nicer than the ratty sweatpants Todd had lent him after said hot dog stand incident. But Todd hadn’t seemed to care. In that moment, it hadn’t seemed like Todd could care about anything else at all.

Despite Dirk’s best efforts, every second of the kiss had seared into his memory: Todd’s intake of breath, the softening of his lips, the tightening of his fingers in Dirk’s. The heartbeats - one, two, three - as Dirk’s dreams took flight behind his closed eyes. The breath of air as Todd’s arm reached to pull Dirk in and then let it fall instead.

Because while Todd might have kissed Dirk back - and he had; neither of them could deny that - he’d followed up that one glorious instant by dropping his guitar and running away.

“What?” said Lydia. “What’s that face for? Did you miss or something?”

Dirk pushed Lydia’s spilled sugar packets around on the table. “He left,” he said simply. “I’d pushed him too far. He made his feelings clear, and I… can’t blame him.”

“His feelings have been pretty clear. What do you mean, he left? He just, like, walked out on you? Never looked back?”

The truth was that Dirk hadn’t stayed around to check. Humiliated, distraught, he’d run out shortly after Todd, slamming his door and locking himself deep inside. He hadn’t answered anyone’s texts for a solid three days, and if Farah hadn’t come looking, it might have been closer to several years. When he’d seen Todd again, they’d both pretended nothing had happened, but he’d known he’d broken everything far beyond repair.

“Dirk,” said Lydia, “look at me. Todd is crazy for you. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in his whole universe - it’s pretty gross, honestly. If he couldn’t handle one kiss, it means he’s a stupid dumb idiot, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you.”

Dirk wanted to protest, but he couldn’t quite believe it himself. The longer he was in the past, Todd copying the thoughtfulness Dirk had purposely forgotten, the more he’d begun to remember all the evidence that had sparked the kiss. Todd wouldn’t have put in that much effort for nothing, would he? Dirk might have pushed too soon, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t have pushed at all.

“I swear, I may barely be eighteen, but adults are way dumber than kids,” said Lydia. “Maybe you should’ve tried one actual real conversation instead of blowing up my time machine.”

“Right, that’s enough on my love life,” said Dirk, slapping his hands down on the table. “And I believe I’m owed one answer, too - one real answer, especially after mine.”

“Ugh,” Lydia groaned. “Fine. Shoot.”

Dirk shoved Todd aside for the moment and gathered his many and increasing questions into a heap, then let the universe pick one out. “If your machine had been fully finished and functional,” he asked, “is this where you would have wanted to end up?”

Lydia’s eyes widened, and then she closed them for a solid few seconds before opening them again. “Probably,” she said. “Yes.”

“Chin up,” said Dirk, reaching across the table to poke her in the shoulder. “That means it worked, right? You’ve built it once. You can build it again.”

“Um. Sure. Yeah.

“Don’t worry,” said Dirk breezily, “if we do get stuck, I’ll just pursue a second career as a famous pianist. There can’t be more than eight chords, can there?”

“You don’t want to know the answer to that question,” said Lydia, and slid out of the booth to go in search of the check.

---

“Hey,” said Todd, catching up to Svlad two blocks later, “what was that about?”

“Nothing,” said Svlad curtly.

“It didn’t look like nothing,” said Todd. “Was it something she said? She mentioned a prof –”

“It’s nothing,” said Svlad fiercely. “As you should know, if you and Dirk are as close as you claim.”

“I - he doesn’t like to talk about it,” said Todd. “I kind of - stopped asking - but if they could help –”

“They can’t,” said Svlad. “But if you’d like to find someone who does, I suggest you stop blathering on and board this bus.”

Stung, Todd slunk to the back of the bus. He’d gotten out of practice dealing with Dirk’s mood swings; they’d been getting better, less severe and less frequent, and then - then he’d stopped caring. 

No, that wasn’t true. He’d never stopped caring, he’d just stopped trying to help. He’d convinced himself he would only make things worse, and then that they’d been worse all along. But that wasn’t even close to true. Being around Svlad had reminded him well enough of that. Somehow, Svlad had forced up his memories of Dirk’s best days and his worst, his brightest moments and darkest tendencies. 

The bus made a tight left, and Todd clutched the pole, wishing he could forget at least some of this again. It was too - confusing. Dirk and Svlad were so different and yet painfully similar. Todd had hoped to help Svlad grow towards Dirk, but if he kept noticing more similarities - if Dirk wasn’t that different from Svlad after all - then what was Todd supposed to do?

“We’re here,” said Svlad, brushing past Todd to the exit. Todd shook himself and followed Svlad out the door. None of this would matter if Svlad didn’t survive, he reminded himself. He’d make sure of that first and figure out everything else later.

“Here” turned out to be another mechanic, this one dingy and half boarded up. Todd hesitated by the locked shutter, but Svlad just swerved around to the side and started climbing up the metal fence. Halfway up, his jacket caught on a barbed wire, and Todd shuddered, but Svlad only ripped it free and kept climbing.

He hit the ground on the other side with a solid thud and then paused, seeing Todd still standing outside. “Actually, it’s probably better that you stay outside,” said Svlad, before Todd could work himself up to reaching for the fence. “Our host is a bit… sensitive about certain topics. He’s partial to revolutionary movements, but yours was a few centuries back, so I’m not sure it still counts.”

“Um?”

“He’s very passionate about Scottish independence,” said Svlad, gesturing to the Scottish flags displaying prominently around the perimeter of the fence. “But he’s not able to appear in public for, er, imminently self-evident reasons, so he’s sent me as his envoy, so to speak. Only once or twice. And I was very careful.”

“Envoy to wh–” Todd started, and then the door opened and a ten-foot-tall centaur cantered out into the yard.

“You again,” he said, folding his arms across a very plaid shirt. “You know ye’re nae welcome anymore.”

“Yes, I know,” said Svlad, holding up both hands, “and I really wouldn’t come unless I had no other options, but I think you’ll like this one, it’s quite the puzzle. Unless you don’t think you can, of course.”

The centaur squinted at Svlad as Todd considered at what point he should scale the fence, and whether he could reach Svlad before he got crushed by hooves. If it was Dirk - well, if was Dirk, he wouldn’t have made it up the fence by himself in the first place, but assuming a miracle had occurred, Todd would have been right by his side. Should have been. Had always been, until - until –

God, he’d been so fucking stupid, he’d wasted all the time he’d never deserved and then gone and blown up any chance of more. He’d burned bridges he’d spent years building, taken his ninth life and shot it out back. He should never have left Dirk - argued, bickered, disagreed, but not to the point of leaving. He didn’t even want to leave. He couldn’t even imagine his life now without Dirk in it. Every moment with Svlad just made him miss Dirk more: Dirk’s constant chattering, his harebrained schemes, the stupid two-cent platitudes he could never get right. He owed Dirk everything, and he’d given him nothing, and Dirk would never know - would never even know that Todd –

“Are you going to stand there and mope all day, or can we move on?”

Todd nearly jumped out of his skin. “Wh - are you - he –”

“He can’t fix it,” Svlad sighed. “ And I have to hand out those awful leaflets. Not sure how I ended up with both short ends of the stick. You can do the leaflets, if you’re still here Saturday next. Which, not to alarm you, but you very well might be, as I’ve only got two leads left, and one might have gone to France. How do you feel about France? It’s - rather dreadful this time of year, actually. And all times. No baguette is worth the spiders, believe me.”

He shuddered and fell moodily silent, staring at the pavement. Todd took a couple deep breaths. Svlad. He was here with Svlad. Svlad and… “Spiders?”

From the look Svlad gave Todd, he might have personally invented spiders. Todd grasped for another topic and landed on possibly the worst one. “Is the last one, um, the one that Ba - the one that –”

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he started, but it was too late. Svlad’s glare turned even more withering. “No,” he snapped. “And if you keep asking, I won’t take you to this one, either.”

“Sorry,” said Todd. “Um. There aren’t more fences at the next one, are there?”

---

Dirk convinced Lydia to come over to Todd’s by the simple expediency of texting Todd to see whether he was out of the house (he was) and when he’d be back (“l8r”). Lydia came out of the shower in one of Todd’s old band shirts that Dirk assured her would not be missed, drying her hair and wrinkling her nose.

“He really was a loser, wasn’t he?” she said, nudging an empty beer can with her foot.

“He’s not that bad,” said Dirk defensively.

“True. You’re so much worse. Calm down, I’m only organized because I didn’t want to prematurely kill Farah. She nearly had a heart attack the first time she saw my dad’s lab.”

Dirk saw Lydia out onto the landing and had just closed Todd’s door behind him when it opened again, dislodging Amanda. “Oh - hello,” said Dirk.

Amanda wrinkled her nose. “It smells too clean in here.”

“I… was showering,” said Dirk.

“So your hair is dry,” said Amanda, “and that girl I just bumped into on the stairs has nothing to do with any of this?”

“N…no,” said Dirk unconvincingly.

“Whatever.” Amanda pushed past Dirk and stalked over to the bookshelf, shoving a box of records aside to grab a stack of music books behind them. As Dirk watched, she piled several beginner guitar books, a book of drum solos, a few unlabeled folders, and a binder labeled, “Piano.”

“Brushing up on your lessons?” Dirk asked.

“No, I just want my shit back. This piece of shit doesn’t deserve it.”

She punctuated the sentence by slapping the keyboard with the “Piano” binder. Dirk wondered what Todd would say in this situation, and then wondered why he’d picked Todd, of all people. “Do you… want to talk about it?” he asked.

“He got my fucking money,” said Amanda.

“That’s… good, right?”

“I mean, I guess. But yesterday, he was broke, and today he’s got wads of cash? I know he doesn’t have a job - what’d he do this time, steal someone else’s amps? Lie to my grandparents, again? Rob a fucking bank?” She threw a record down on her pile with such force that Dirk heard it crack. “I wish he’d try. Maybe he’d shape up in jail. He’d at least be out of my life long enough I could forget about him.”

Dirk had always known he was far out of his depth where Todd and Amanda were concerned. Even in this alternate past, he didn’t trust himself enough to try. At least, he told himself, this was the lowest things could go. He backed away, clearing the path for Amanda’s rampage.

“It’s just, like. He’s not even trying. He promised me he’ll come clean, but it’s been months, and he’s still taking our parents’ money. He says he’s too busy with the band to get a job, but I know they’re all about to quit. And what he did to Charlie, it’s - wait, what the fuck?”

The exclamation followed Amanda drawing one last book off the shelf. Unlike the records and music books, this one was free of dust. She opened the first page to photographs of a baby inexpertly glued at crooked angles.

Dirk, who had tiptoed closer, held his tongue for about ten seconds before asking, “Is that you?”

Amanda turned the page, and now stickers had been added to the scrapbook, along with a boy in the edge of some of the photographs. “I didn’t know he still had this.”

She flipped through a few more pages: baby Amanda learning to walk, banging on pots and pans in the kitchen, struggling to reach keyboard keys. “Did Todd really have a bowl cut?” Dirk asked, pointing to a scowling elementary Todd with a backpack.

“Yeah, because I got the scissors and tried to cut all his hair off. They almost shaved his head.”

Amanda clapping in the front row of a theater; Amanda tumbling over at gymnastics; Todd and Amanda at a park, Todd pushing Amanda on the swings. A perfectly idyllic childhood. If he’d had a sister, Dirk thought, he would have wanted it to be like this.

The book slammed shut, and Amanda shoved it back onto the shelf and turned away, swiping a hand across her face. “That was a long time ago,” she said in response to nothing in particular.

Into the wistful silence, Dirk ventured, “Not… that long.”

Amanda bit her lip and turned to the piano, where Todd’s sheet music for the evening lay scattered over the keys. “What’s he doing with this? Charlie’s not coming back, are they?”

“Actually he’s, er. Asked me to sub in. As it’s such short notice.”

“You play piano?”

“No,” Dirk admitted. “He’s been teaching me.”

Amanda snorted. “Either he’s really fucked up with Charlie, or he’s super gone for you. He and Charlie started this band. He wouldn’t sub out Charlie for just anyone.”

Her words melded into Nate’s and Brian’s, and even Lydia’s. Dirk was finding it hard to separate which Todds liked him, and why. “For the record,” he said, “he is applying for a job. At Carl’s. At least, he should be, I don’t see the application around here anymore.”

Amanda’s eyes widened with something like hope. She turned quickly back to the keyboard, rearranging pages randomly. “Hang on - is this ‘Visions’? Y’all are playing ‘Visions’ tonight? I thought he was still stuck on the bridge.” 

“He says he is. It sounds fine to me.”

“Yeah, we should really listen to the guy who learned music yesterday.” She took the sheet music over to the dining table, flipping through the pages. “I can’t believe he’s going with ‘Visions.’ Ballsy move.”

“Why?” Dirk asked. “Is it bad?”

“No, it’s good.” Amanda reached for a pen and scribbled experimentally in the margins, then tossed it aside. “He never plays the good shit. He’s afraid people might actually like it, and then he’d have to accept his shitty band failed for reasons besides just being shitty.”

Finally finding a pen that worked, Amanda bent her head over the music, crossing out notes and moving others. “What are you doing?” Dirk asked.

“Fixing it.”

Dirk tried to make out a pattern in her edits, but he still had no hope of reading music. “...How?”

Amanda slapped the page with the back of her hand. “He thinks it’s the bridge. It’s the whole song. The lyrics are all him being so self-righteous, that he’s the only one who sees this liar clearly, while everyone else is falling for it, and then right at the end he tries to flip it to worrying if he’s been seen, too. But the whole song should be about that. He’s not really angry, he’s hurting, and he’s afraid it’s actually all his fault.”

Dirk had really been trying not to read too much into Todd’s lyrics - “Life After Mars,” certainly, had no connections to anything Dirk could see. But “Visions” was different. With Amanda here, throwing Todd’s failings into harsh light, it was impossible not to read lines like “this was all just an illusion” or “the truth you tried to hide” as self-recrimination. Paired with its nonexistence in Dirk’s time, it gave Dirk hope that such self-examination might be the first step to Todd getting better.

Amanda shook her head, making a few last changes. “He always tries to fake it. But the audience always knows. Music only works if it’s real.”

Dirk stepped back as she carried the music over to the keyboard, tried out a few of the new chords, and then nodded in satisfaction. “That should work. Break a leg tonight, or whatever.”

“Aren’t you coming?” said Dirk, as Amanda picked up her stack of music books and strode for the door.

“Fuck, no,” said Amanda. “He lost me as his audience a while ago. But…”

She paused in the doorway, looking back through the flat, towards the photographs and memories. “He could seriously win,” she said. “If he doesn’t fuck it up. For what it’s worth… I hope it works out.”

With that, she slammed the door, leaving Dirk alone amongst Todd’s dead and dying dreams.

---

Svlad’s final stop was at least picturesque: a park merry-go-round beside a placid lake. Forbidden from getting within fifty feet of whatever Svlad was up to, Todd bought some fries and wandered over to feed them to the ducks. He’d just managed to coax over one of the ducklings when Svlad stomped up and all the ducks immediately fled.

“How did –”

Svlad whipped off the backpack and flung it at a tree.

“Woah, hey –”

“It doesn’t - bloody - matter,” said Svlad, punctuating the sentence with a well-aimed kick. Todd winced as the parts inside jangled ominously, but Svlad’s next kick hit the tree trunk instead. “They all say the same bloody thing, no one has any clue, half of them just try to start me on another bloody case instead - you’d think the universe, just once, would cooperate - I tried to do things right – ”

“It’s okay, we can –”

“It’s not bloody okay, it’s the furthest thing from okay, are you not listening? No one can help you! No one can fix this! I’ve failed, alright? I’m not a detective, I’m not good at it, I’m not good at anything, I’m just - just wrong. Everything I do, just… pfft! Wrong. And then I –”

Todd didn’t need the rest of the sentence; he’d heard it often enough. He’d been through enough of Dirk’s bad nights to know Dirk’s worst fears. “Svlad,” he said, taking a step forward, hands up in a soothing gesture, “I promise, it’s going to work out. Things always seem worst right before everything comes together. That’s how Dirk always –”

“Dirk!” Svlad cried, rounding on Todd. “Dirk, again! That’s your favorite subject, isn’t it, you’re always on about what Dirk would say or what Dirk would do, on and on and on, you’re obsessed - what is it with you and him, were you fucking or something?”

It landed like a slap. He would have preferred the slap, actually. His whole body flinched, the fries shuddering in their sleeve. “No,” he said, when he could form words again. “No, we - no.”

“But you are in love with him.”

Todd could have denied an accusation. He might have stood up to further reproof. But Svlad’s tone softened by accident, unable to condemn someone for the crime of love, and Todd - Todd could only keep up this lie for so long.

“Yeah,” he confessed, to the boy and the ducks and the world. “Yes. I am.”

Something in his chest seemed to open at the words, a long-locked room finally flung into the light. He’d been hiding it for so long - from the world, from himself. From Dirk, when Dirk should have been the first to know. Why had he wasted so much time? What had he been so afraid of?

“W-well… why aren’t you together, then?” said Svlad, scrambling for a new challenge. “Unless you are, and you’ve been lying to me for some mad reason?”

“No,” said Todd quickly. “No, I - we’re - i-it’s complicated.”

Svlad folded his arms. “How?”

How? One word with no answer. He’d made such a mess, he didn’t even know where to start. The end, though, he could pinpoint with painful accuracy: it had ended with a kiss.

No: still a lie. The kiss could have been a beginning, too. Dirk had been clear enough there, with his soft eyes and softer lips, threading his fingers through Todd’s, still laid across the guitar strings. Nervous enough that Todd could feel his hands trembling, but confident enough not to pull away. No apologies. No pretending it had been an accident. Just his best friend, baring his soul, imploring Todd to do the same.

And Dirk must have known. He must have known even before Todd, because Todd hadn’t known, not truly, not till Dirk’s lips landed on his. The walls of denial he’d built and rebuilt couldn’t hold against Dirk’s battering ram of truth, but neither could Todd hold against the raw pain of the light.

The end, then, had come right after: when Todd had turned and run away.

Shame washed over him with the memory, remorse for what he must have put Dirk through. Dirk had already left by the time Todd had returned, and he'd taken it as evidence the man had come to his senses. He’d been so afraid at the time, so sure Dirk was making the wrong choice. Convinced that Dirk, once again, wasn’t asking for what he deserved. He’d looked for evidence in Dirk’s other misguided choices, all the times Dirk put his own well-being last, and before he’d even realized, his fear had curdled to bitterness.

Svlad cleared his throat, and Todd blinked back the memory, struggling for words. “He’s my best friend,” he said helplessly: the whole truth, and yet nothing even close.. “He changed my life, he helped me out of a really bad place, I - I owe him everything. But I’m just - just some guy, just an asshole who fucks everything up, and he - I don’t know if he should –”

A fry thwacked against the side of Todd’s head. “Ow!” Todd yelped. “What was that for?”

“If he should?” Svlad repeated. “You know him - you know all the death and destruction that follows him on a daily basis - and you’re still bothered about if he should?”

“Um,” said Todd, “yeah?”

Svlad shook his head in frank disbelief. “You’re mad,” he said. “You must be. No one could ever - not with me. Not with - with everything. I can’t even get through two days without three new dead bodies. I can’t even solve one case – ”

“But you will.”

Todd put all the certainty he could muster into the three words, all the faith he’d ever had in Dirk. “You will,” he repeated, meeting Svlad’s eyes. “You always do.”

Svlad searched Todd’s eyes for the lie, but Todd held his gaze, confident in this, if nothing else. “You really mean it, don’t you?” said Svlad. “You really…”

Todd nodded, and all the tension drained from Svlad’s shoulders at once as his protests broke against Todd’s solidity. Maybe Todd was imagining it, but he thought he saw a spark of hope rekindled, before Svlad looked away. 

Todd’s grip on the fry sleeve loosened as Svlad slumped into the grass. In the lake, one of the mallards drifted closer, enticed by the fry still floating in the water. “Chips are bad for them, you know,” called an auburn-haired man behind them. “Should be feeding them peas.” Svlad mimicked the man behind his back, stuck out his tongue, and threw another bit of fry into the lake.

“So…” Todd ventured, settling on the grass next to Svlad, “you’re not scared of ducks yet?”

“Scared of ducks?” said Svlad. “Who on earth would be scared of ducks?”

“Well…”

“Fear of geese is perfectly healthy,” Svlad continued, “but it’s the swans you really have to watch out for. They’re vicious. And those necks can reach a lot farther than you expect, let me tell you.” He paused. “Unless I’ve already told you.”

“No, actually. Just the ducks.”

“Ducks. Really.” Svlad rolled his eyes and offered some of the fries to Todd. “And you find this attractive, do you? Fear of ducks?”

“I –” Todd started, and then realized that Svlad was attempting to tease him. He took a fry. “Yeah, totally,” he said. “I’ve always had a thing for, um, aquatic phobias.”

“Of course you do,” Svlad sighed. “The first man who’s ever taken an interest in me would have sexual proclivities requiring their own field of scientific study.”

Todd took a fistful of fries as revenge, and Svlad grumbled and pulled the sleeve away. They ate in silence for a moment as the ducks paddled along the lake in front of them. 

“The professor,” said Svlad abruptly. 

Todd froze, unable to believe his ears. Svlad looked down at his hands, his voice hesitant. “The one Bart mentioned, he’s… he was my thesis advisor. And he’s in London. Last I checked.”

“...Oh?” said Todd, still unsure how this helped but hoping to sound encouraging.

“He specializes in the physics of time,” Svlad clarified. “Time travel, specifically. So he might… he might be able to help.”

“Wait, no shit,” said Todd, dropping the rest of the fries. “Are you - are you serious? Like, for real?”

Svlad shrugged. “You were mad enough to fall in love with me. Who am I to stand in the way?”

“Well, when you put it like that. ”

Svlad elbowed him, rolling his eyes, and for a moment, Todd might have been there with Dirk, watching the sun set and complaining about ducks. And he might still, he reminded himself, buoyed by his confession and Svlad’s promise. If - when - he got back, it might not be too late for them, after all.

He hoped.

Chapter Text

Dirk had experienced many types of fear. He had the usual running-for-one’s life fear; the creeping impending-sense-of-doom fear, and the more low-stakes-but-still-totally-rational dentist fear, for a start, along with your typical fears of spiders, clowns, falling, falling but never landing, falling and landing somewhere else entirely, haunted houses, regular houses, ducks, swans, geese, tigers (though not lions), and the fate and continued future of the universe itself. He could have written a whole dictionary of his fears and rivaled Miriam Webster himself.

He had not, however, experienced stage fright.

“And we have to play all these songs, do we?” he asked Todd as they drove over to the venue. They were late, but it wasn’t entirely Todd’s fault. Dirk had spent an hour deciding on the Mexican Funeral shirt he’d obviously been going to wear, and then after waffling over whether to cover his yellowing black eye, he’d ended up begging Todd to do his makeup (which hadn’t taken much convincing). As a result, the black eye was still visible, but he was wearing eyeshadow, an extravagance he’d only managed once or twice else in his life, along with a very crooked eyeliner that he’d kept blinking and messing up.

To his disappointment and relief, the experience had been much less romantic than he’d expected. He didn’t see how he could be blamed for smudging it all when Todd’s shaky hands were wielding a sharp pencil millimeters from his pupils, but the tears that had kept welling up had put a damper on the whole “staring deeply into each other’s eyes” bit. 

Todd’s eyeliner, though, looked sublime. Todd himself looked - well, if Dirk was allowing himself to think such thoughts, which he wasn’t, he would have said hot. This was due less to his ensemble of clothing (dark jeans; white t-shirt; familiar jean jacket with fewer patches than the version Dirk knew) and more to the ease with which he carried himself, the confidence his future self lacked. By now, Dirk knew this self-assurance for an act. It was still effective. Todd was, after all, an exceptionally good actor.

“We’re only playing three songs,” said Todd now, running an amber light.

“Oh, good,” said Dirk. “Wait, three? Which three? Because, if I remember correctly, three of those five do not in fact include keyboard, so if it’s alright with you, the set list might be improved by that sort of targeted selection –”

“We’re doing ‘Visions.’ "

“Are you sure?” said Dirk. “I don’t think we’ve had enough time to rehearse the new additions - in fact, I’m quite certain I don’t remember them at all - I’ll probably play the sixths all wrong and ruin everything - perhaps I should just sit this one out —”

Todd made a tight right turn into a parking lot without signaling and stole a spot from an approaching pickup. The pickup honked, and Todd stuck up a middle finger. “Not a chance,” he told Dirk.

Dirk made a noise perhaps best described as a whimper, and Todd shut off the engine and turned to look at him. “Quit freaking out,” he said. “You’ll do great. You did fine last night, and you’ve had all morning to practice more. Um, you did practice more, right?”

Dirk tugged at his seatbelt, thinking of his extended brunch.

“Okay, whatever,” said Todd, unclipping his seatbelt and throwing the door open. “Stop worrying. Just - just let it all go, man. That’s the magic of the music, right?”

Tossing Dirk a completely unwelcome grin, Todd hopped out of the car and started unloading the back. Dirk clenched his hands around the seatbelt and forced himself to breathe. He’d been on stage before, but not on purpose or by choice; he’d also performed, but primarily improvisationally, and certainly without a whole week’s build-up. He could count on one hand with zero fingers the number of times he’d actually prepared for something in advance, rather than simply falling into the stream of creation and letting things work themselves out.

“Just let it all go,” he mimicked Todd. “As if it’s that easy. ‘Just let it go, man.’ You let it go.”

“Dirk? You coming?” Todd called.

With a final groan, Dirk unclipped his seatbelt, grabbed the smallest instrument case he saw, and marched inside to face his doom.

The atmosphere inside the local high school was, if possible, even more frantic than Dirk felt. Hordes of sweaty, overly eyelinered youth dragged scratched-up band equipment to the wrong marks and were yelled at by enterprising young women with intimidating headsets. Dirk tucked in his elbows and followed Todd to a back corner, where Jazz, Brian, and Jill were huddled around a single amp.

“What’s wrong?” said Todd, looking from face to face.

“It’s dead,” said Jazz, kicking the amp.

“It’s not plugged in,” said Todd.

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Jill. “We plugged it in earlier, before Ms. Clipboard over there stole the cable. We can get another cable, but the amp’s no good.”

“I can fix it,” said Todd, already on his knees peering at the plugs on the amp. “It did this last year, too. Someone get me a power cord, a paperclip, and a screwdriver.”

Jill marched off after the woman with the clipboard. Dirk turned back for a screwdriver he’d conveniently noticed sitting next to the stage, then dug in his pocket and found a bent paperclip. “Will this do?” he asked. “Or do you need a specific screwdriver? I believe there’s - er - Henry heads?”

Todd took the screwdriver, flipped it over, and banged on the amp panel until it popped free of its hinges. “This is fine,” he said, handing it back.

“C’mon, let’s unload the rest of it,” said Brian, pulling Jazz away as Jill made a triumphant reappearance with the power cord.

Todd had both his arms inside the amp now, reaching through tangles of wires. Dirk was impressed, as always, by Todd’s grasp of electronics. Perhaps Todd should assist with the time machine repair. That certainly wouldn’t go instantly and horribly awry.

“I’m plugging it in,” Jill announced, and immediately did. Todd yelped and jumped back.

“Holy shit, Jill, are you trying to kill me five minutes before curtain?” he said. “Try it now. It should work.”

Jill plugged in a nearby guitar, strummed it, and nodded in approval. “Guess you’re not entirely useless,” she said, as Jazz and Brian dragged the rest of the gear over. 

“Sup,” said Nate, sliding in behind them. “What did I miss?”

“Preshow jitters,” said Todd, fitting the amp panel back into place and straightening up. “When are we on?”

“Uh… Fifth,” said Jazz, consulting a list on the wall.

“Sick,” said Todd. “Wanna warm up and then listen for a bit?”

Nate shrugged in approval, looked over at Dirk, and winked. Dirk felt as though he might be sick. Everything was suddenly too much: too bright, too close, too loud. “I - I’m just going to the loo, if that’s alright,” he said, backing away. “Won’t be long.”

Todd gave him a strange look, but he didn’t stop Dirk from fleeing the scene.

---

Svlad closed himself off in a window washer’s van again that night, but with an air more pensive than hostile. He’d spoken maybe four sentences to Todd after leaving the park, and they’d eaten dinner, two greasy pizza slices from behind the broken window of a corner store, in near-total silence.

“Do they really deliver pizzas in the US?” Svlad broke the silence to ask.

Todd choked on what he thought might have been pepperoni, once. “Um… yeah?”

“To your flat and everything?” said Svlad. “And it’s still hot?”

“Yeah, that’s, like, all I ate for a decade. That and cup noodles.”

“Cup noodles?”

“Oh, trust me, you are gonna love cup noodles,” said Todd, thinking of how many Dirk had stashed around the agency for his frequent late-night snacks (and early-night snacks, and mid-afternoon snacks, and sometimes breakfasts, if he woke up early enough).

“More than pizza?” Svlad asked skeptically. “Delivered pizza?”

“Um… Yeah, you’re right, you don’t love anything more than pizza. But cup noodles are close.”

Svlad nodded in satisfaction and stuffed the rest of the stale crust in his mouth as Todd considered whether his teeth would break before the crust did. Eventually he just tossed it into the dumpster and resolved to buy Dirk the nicest pizza he could afford, as soon as he made it back.

With the wedding van missing, Todd set up shop in a dog groomer’s van instead, but found himself unable to sleep, and not just because of the smell. He was physically exhausted, his arm twinging again and his nerves jangling in the way that spelled a pararibulitis attack if he didn’t get a decent amount of rest, but his brain refused to shut up. He kept thinking about Dirk, and Svlad, and his revelations, and the secrets he was still keeping, and who Dirk had been, and who Svlad could become, and whether Todd had already ruined it all, and if Dirk ever thought about their kiss, and if they would ever kiss again, and how time travel even worked anyway, and how Bart fit into this, and where the Men of the Machine could still be hiding…

Splash.

Todd shot bolt upright. “Finally,” Svlad sighed, sitting back on his heels. “Thought you were dead for a minute there.”

He sat an empty glass down on the van floor, and Todd rubbed water from his eyes, still spluttering. Wet clumps of fur stuck to his shirtsleeves. He hoped the shower was hot enough to deal with wet dog smell. “S’it morning already?”

“Long past,” said Svlad, motioning towards the light streaming in through the open bay doors. “The professor will be in class by now. He might be well back to Cambridge.”

“Class?” said Todd, immediately awake. “Now? Where? Can we still make it?”

“Calm down, he’s retired,” said Svlad. “Though, to be honest, I’m not really sure he ever taught in the first place. I only found his room by accident, he was never on the syllabus. I’m not sure Cambridge even knew he was there.”

With this disconcerting pronouncement, Svlad withdrew to let Todd freshen up. Todd availed himself of the still blessedly hot shower facilities and then joined Svlad outside, where he was peering at an upside-down page of the Sun. Todd smiled to himself. Dirk was the only person he knew who still read the paper, though a different one seemed to show up every morning, and neither he nor Farah had been able to find the subscription charge.

“Anything good?” he asked, holding up the back for the weather forecast.

“Hm? Oh - no, just the same old rot. Sagittarii are still having a month. That’s not you, is it?”

Todd shook his head and then hesitated. Dirk sometimes checked his horoscope, too, but he’d always been cagey about his own sign. “...You?” he asked.

“No,” Svlad sighed. “Tragically, I’m - wait, shouldn’t you know this?”

“You’re weird about birthdays.”

“Mm. Sounds like me. I shan’t spoil it, then.” Svlad folded up the paper and set it aside as Todd grumbled. “The professor’s not far, we can probably walk. Carry the machine, will you?”

Todd regretted agreeing to this about ten minutes into what turned out to be an hour-long hike. He had no idea how Svlad had managed this the day before; the machine must’ve weighed fifty pounds at least, and seemed to be made entirely of sharp corners that dug into the softest parts of his back. By the time Svlad finally halted, he was too tired to have noticed anything about the neighborhood except that it might finally be a place he could sit down.

Svlad walked up a few stairs to the professor’s front door, and Todd slung off the backpack and made himself pay attention. The house looked normal enough. At least, it did at first glance. The longer he looked, the more anomalies he saw: a window with half stained-glass panes; a railing that didn’t match any of the cookie-cutter houses around it; a lamp out front that looked a hundred years older than the rest. The house was missing a doorbell, too; Svlad reached for an iron knocker instead. But with his hand a few inches above the door, he hesitated.

“I know you… know already,” he said. “About Cambridge. But promise you won’t… think differently of me, afterwards? Either me?”

Todd frowned. He still couldn’t remember what Dirk had told him about Cambridge, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t anything that serious - cheating on exams, maybe? Something money-related? This Svlad didn’t have the same past, but it couldn’t be that different, right? 

“Yeah, of course,” he said, and Svlad eased up a few inches. 

“Steel yourself, then,” he said, and knocked twice with the iron knocker. As he set it down, Todd noticed it was shaped like a robot’s head.

Inside the house, a cuckoo clock shrieked, and metal clashed and clanged down a distant staircase. “Coming!” cried a voice over the commotion. “Coming - be right there –”

Svlad rubbed his head and sighed. “All the time in the universe, and still nothing ever changes.”

The door burst outward, and Todd jumped back as an elderly man in spectacles, a kilt, and some kind of shiny metallic jacket that absorbed rather than reflected light. “You’ve missed it,” he said. “I haven’t got the - oh. Hello.”

He stepped back, adjusting his glasses. Svlad gave him a self-conscious sort of wave. “Hi.”

“But you’re early,” said the professor. “Or late, rather. Unless you’re here to burgle me, in which case you’ll want the house next door, I haven’t had diamonds since the 70s. Er, 1770s."

At the professor’s appearance, Svlad had relaxed somewhat, and it was with a sort of fond exasperation that he said, “No, professor, we’re not here for your diamonds. We’re old students come to visit. I’m Svlad, remember? Svlad Cjelli.”

“Cjelli?” said the professor, his forehead wrinkling. “Cjelli, Cjelli… Ah! Yes. Particle physics, was it? Baryogenesis?”

“No, that was –” Svlad glanced over his shoulder at Todd and lowered his voice slightly – “my mother. I wrote quantum. Entanglement, mostly.”

“Ah!” The professor’s face cleared up. “Cjelli! Yes! Violations of Bell’s inequality. Beautiful experiment, really beautiful - I still hold you could have been loophole-free if not for that nasty business with the –”

“Yes, exactly,” said Svlad hurriedly. “But that’s not why we’re here. We need your help with something more, er, time-based.”

“Ah!” The professor’s gaze sharpened, and his head swung from Svlad to Todd and back again. “Yes. Well, in that case, you’d better come in, hadn’t you?”

“I suppose we’d better,” said Svlad, and gestured Todd after the professor.

---

Dirk meant to go back, he really did, but the parking lot seemed even more crowded than the interior of the building. The surrounding streets were full of construction, and even the bar was starting to fill up for early drinks, so by the time he’d finally barricaded himself in the handicap stall of the bathroom, the battle was already well underway. He pressed himself up against the wall, knees drawing towards his chest, barely managing quick, shallow breaths. He shouldn’t be panicking, there was nothing to panic about, he was being ridiculous, the stakes couldn’t be lower, this wasn’t even his timeline, it was stupid to worry, stupid to be afraid, stupid, stupid, stupid –

“Dirk?”

Dirk looked up. Todd’s sneakers, the same brand he would still be buying a decade later, greeted him from behind the stall door. “...Yes?” Dirk ventured.

“You okay in there?” said Todd. “We’re, uh, we’re next up.”

A wave of abject terror swept through Dirk. He tried to stand up, but he couldn’t make his legs work. Most of his body seemed to have turned to jelly.

“I, er, I don’t think I can, actually,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Er, food poisoning, I think. Something I ate. Sorry.”

The sneakers shuffled around a bit, and then Todd’s head poked under the door. “Can I come in?” 

Dirk buried his head back in his knees. “Shit.”

He heard some banging about, and then, somehow, Todd was next to him, leaning against the graffiti-ridden bathroom wall. “Stage fright?” Todd asked.

“No!” Dirk squeaked.

“Hey, it’s fine. Happens to everyone.”

“You all seem fine,” Dirk muttered.

Todd snorted. “Before our last big gig, Jazz threw up all over the backseat of Charlie’s car, and Charlie tried to book us all flights to Canada. I know Brian was up practicing at five AM today because I got seven texts in a row about how all our lyrics suck and we should tear them all up and start over.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” said Dirk, before Todd had even finished speaking. “It was a stupid idea to come, and a worse idea to stay, and now I’ve wrecked your life and your band and your competition and I can’t even - I’ve never read music in my life, and you’re all counting on me, and I’m going to let you down, after you’ve been so nice and you’ve given me a shirt, again, as though once wasn’t enough –”

“Woah, woah, hey,” said Todd, holding up both hands. “Don’t spin out, okay?”

At the echo of future-past words, Dirk burst into tears. Todd made a noise of concern and reached past him to the scant toilet paper roll, tearing off a wad and handing it to Dirk. “You aren’t stupid,” he told Dirk. “Don’t say that. It wasn’t a stupid idea. Plus, it was my idea, and I don’t think I’m stupid, so.”

Dirk couldn’t even begin to explain all the ways in which this was categorically not Todd’s idea. He dabbed at his eyes and sniffled piteously.

“If you’re still worried…’ Todd shifted closer, his shoulder bumping Dirk’s. “I wasn’t gonna say anything, but if it helps, I submitted that job thing earlier today.”

Dirk shot up. “ Really? ” 

“I… sorry I was being weird about it. I was kind of… embarrassed, I guess. That you thought I needed it. But it’s, y’know. Also not a stupid idea.”

The timeline steadied in Dirk’s imagination. At least he’d done one thing right. At least, if the band fell apart, Todd still had something to live for.

“So you didn’t wreck anything, okay?” Todd continued. “Trust me. I’m a great teacher. And…”

He hesitated, and Dirk wasn’t sure if it was his sped-up heartbeat or the pressure of the moment that made the silence seem to stretch longer than usual. “And I’m glad you’re here,” said Todd finally, all in a rush. “Whether you’re ‘supposed’ to be or not. I want you to be here. Okay?”

Dirk raised his eyes to Todd’s impossible blue ones, and for a moment he thought he might burst into tears all over again. This Todd was so reckless, so profligate with his affections, so willing to give his time and trust to any stranger off the street. So shameless, so exposed, so open - everything he’d accused Dirk of being, everything that could so easily break. Dirk’s Todd kept everything at arm’s length, kept himself and his loved ones swaddled in blankets and bubble wrap, and Dirk had tried and tried and tried to carve his way inside - yet here was Todd, now, offering Dirk everything he’d ever wanted without Dirk ever having to ask. Todd reached out a hand as though he might cup Dirk’s face, and Dirk almost leaned towards it, almost let it happen, almost thought, Please –

– But Todd dropped his hand and patted Dirk’s shoulder instead. “It’s gonna be fine,” he said. “It’ll be over before you know it, and then we’ll all go get drunk and laugh about how much we sucked, and then tomorrow we’ll just, I don’t know, get on with our shitty lives until the next gig. Whatever happens, happens, right?”

Dirk took a shaky breath and tried to arrange himself into some sort of order. At the very least, whatever had just happened with Todd had distracted his stomach from the stage fright. “A leaf in the stream of creation,” he said softly.

“Hey, I kinda like that,” said Todd, offering Dirk a hand up. “Mind if I use that in a song sometime?”

Dirk smiled to himself, thinking of the Dirk of this timeline, and what a surprise he might have someday. “Of course.”

“Ready to go out there and break a leg?”

Dirk faced the door to the outside and found, to his surprise, that he was. “Oh, I’ll break much more than a leg,” he said, shaking his arms loose in preparation.

“That’s the spirit,” said Todd, and pushed back outside.

---

The professor’s house looked exactly how Todd would have expected an eccentric time travelling professor’s house to look: basically Patrick Spring’s lab, but overstuffed with clocks and books. Stacks of books alternated with grandfather clocks along the walls, scrolls poking out from the clock cabinets and watches hanging out as bookmarks. Gears and springs littered the floor, maybe a casualty of the crash they’d heard from outside. It smelled like grease mixed with old parchment and some kind of incense - not an unpleasant odor, but not one Todd would forget anytime soon.

Todd picked his way through the entry towards what might have once been a kitchen, doing his best not to crush any of the spindly parts sticking out from faded carpet. “...really do pile up,” the professor was saying to Svlad up ahead. “I had someone in to clean, oh, perhaps five or so years ago? But I’ve had the house three decades since then, and there’s just never been a good time since.”

“I quite understand,” said Svlad. “Where does the time go?”

“Oh, Urbana Six, mostly,” said the professor earnestly. “They’re up to their ears in it. You should see the infinite lapsed art -! But that’s not why you’re here. Is it?”

He paused halfway through the dining room, resting his hands on an antique chair. Svlad glanced towards Todd, who pulled off Svlad’s backpack and started unpacking the time machine. “We’ve come about this,” said Svlad, gesturing to the broken pieces. “Todd here traveled backwards through time using a machine no longer in his possession, and he’d like to return using this machine instead. However, as you can see, it’s no longer operational. We’ve imposed ourselves on your residence in order to inquire as to whether you might be amenable –”

“Can you fix it?” Todd interrupted, stepping forward before Svlad could further spiral - he’d learned enough five-syllable words from Dirk’s panic attacks to know the signs. “Can you send me forward again?”

The professor was already peering at the machine, poking at the pieces and shaking his head. “Primitive, very primitive… Rudimentary understanding of the mechanics… Inefficient to the point of wastefulness - the coupler design alone -!”

“But it works, right?” said Todd. “Or, I mean, it worked once?”

“Oh, it works,” said the professor, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “It works, in the same way you can bang two stones together rather than lighting a match.”

“So you can fix it?” Todd asked eagerly, Svlad perking up beside him.

The professor nudged a stray wire away and adjusted his glasses. “I certainly can, ” he said, and Svlad and Todd exhaled in similar relief. “But I don’t think it will help,” he went on. “Not with your problem, anyway.”

“I… what?” said Todd. 

“What do you mean?” Svlad asked. “It can take him through time, right? It can take him back?”

“It will fix the temporal displacement, certainly. But it won’t even begin to touch the reality displacement, not with this throughput. I assume you want both corrected, yes?”

The professor stared between Todd and Svlad with a bemused smile. Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticked twice. Then –

“Reality displacement?” Svlad repeated slowly. “What do you mean, reality displacement?”

It was like watching a trainwreck in slow motion: Todd could see the cars coming, could see the impending collision, yet could do nothing to stop the oncoming catastrophe. “I - I’m sure he doesn’t mean anything,” he said, trying to elbow his way in between Svlad and the professor. “It’s just - just a time travel thing. Right?”

“No, hang on,” said Svlad, putting out an arm to stop him. “Professor, what do you mean? What reality has he been displaced from?”

“An alternate timeline, of course,” said the professor, as Todd’s whole life shattered before his eyes. “Ingenious, really - I expect the temporal slippage allows a bit more margin on the reality jump. Have you really lost that whole machine? I’d love to take a look, I’ve been after one for ages.”

“Todd, what is he talking about?” said Svlad in an uncannily high tone.

“I don’t know, I’m not a physicist,” said Todd. “Um, should we just –”

“It means you’ve traveled into a past that’s not your own,” supplied the professor unhelpfully. “Are you familiar with multiverse theory?”

“Not your own,” said Svlad. “Not your past.”

Somewhere in the distance, worlds were exploding. Sirens wailed. The earth shook and split.

“So you’ll see why it’s rather complicated,” said the professor, as Svlad stared at Todd with dawning fury. “But I’m sure we can make it work! All we need is to modify a few of the –”

“You knew,” Svlad said, in a harsh whisper.

“I don’t know if I knew, exactly –”

“You knew,” Svlad repeated, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “And you lied.”

“Svlad, I –”

With a wordless scream, Svlad turned on his heel, bumping Todd’s shoulder, and marched straight out the door, leaving Todd in the smoking wreckage of yet another lie.

---

The next few minutes seemed to happen in snapshots: blink, and Todd was holding open the loo door; blink, and Dirk was back with the band; blink, and the stage managers were calling them up; blink, and he was somehow onstage. The lights shone so brightly he could barely see the keys in front of him. The room had gone oppressively quiet, the weight of the audience’s expectations pressing down around him. Dirk’s underarms had already gone sweaty. He considered whether it would be bad form to remove his jacket before the show even started. Better yet, why not remove himself and leave the jacket behind? Surely they didn’t actually need –

Todd turned around from the microphone stand and gave him a grin and a thumbs-up.

Dirk’s heartbeat steadied. He straightened his jacket and smiled back.

Feedback squealed from the microphone, and Todd whirled back to the front and screamed, “We are… Mexican Funeral! One, two, three, four –”

Dirk could never remember, afterwards, exactly how the concert had gone. He remembered starting it; he remembered playing the opening chords of “Emotional Motion” correctly, even managing to hit the sixth. He remembered making it all the way to the second chorus without any mistakes. He finally started to relax around the third verse, and by the start of “Life After Mars,” he was even beginning to enjoy himself. The whole band was on fire: Jazz had already broken two drumsticks; Brian’s flaming solo brought roars from the crowd; even Nate brought a new spark to the “Life After Mars” opening, adding some triplets to jazz it up.

And Todd - if the band was on fire, Todd was a supernova. Dirk had thought Todd a sound showman before, but tonight he was larger than life, like all the rock stars Dirk had ever seen mixed into one five-foot-six package. He strutted; he danced; he slid halfway across the stage on his knees. He even sang a whole chorus at the same mic as Brian, screaming together in harmony. By the end of “Life After Mars,” he had the crowd eating from the palm of his hand.

The last notes of “Life After Mars” faded out, and Todd turned to face Dirk, panting, sweaty, radiant. “Ready?” he asked Dirk, eyes shining with adrenaline and pure, unfiltered joy.

Dirk felt like he might explode out of his body, like his heart could swell to fill the whole room. Like everything, for this one brilliant moment, was exactly where it should be.

“Yes,” he said, readying his hands.

And Todd started “Visions.”

It was Amanda’s version, Dirk knew as soon as Todd reached the first verse. Somehow, in a few simple edits, Amanda had added a note of longing that turned all the lyrics bittersweet. “I saw you in my dreams last night / just like you used to be” was no longer bitter but yearning; “now my vision’s clear” no longer boasting but wistful. The band couldn’t have had more than ten minutes to practice the changes, but they flowed with them effortlessly. Dirk wondered if they felt the same way he did, that the new song just made sense, that they barely had to do anything except sit back and let Todd and the music carry them along.

“I wonder,” Todd sang, changing the key leading into the bridge, “can you also… see me?”

And suddenly the light was on Dirk and it was time for his solo. He was so caught up in the music that he didn’t even have time to be nervous before the notes started coming, just as he’d practiced. Just as Todd had practiced with him.

He leaned into the keys, feeling the phantom press of Todd’s hands on his, Todd’s warmth at his side, Todd’s smile when he got it right. Todd’s joy in the music; Todd’s passion for the band; Todd caring even when everyone around him told him to stop. “The truth we couldn’t hide,” Todd sang, and Dirk played and thought, I see you. I see you.  

And, as if Todd had heard his thoughts, he turned around and sang the last line straight to Dirk: “I see you, now you see me…”

Nate hit the last chord, and the audience erupted: screaming, cheering, whistling. Dirk didn’t hear any of it. He was frozen in Todd’s gaze, locked into those electrifying eyes. Todd’s face was exhilarated and terrified and triumphant, and Dirk felt like his whole chest had been flayed open. Was music supposed to feel like this, like he’d been turned inside-out for the whole world? Like the burning, brilliant ecstasy of love?

Todd turned back to the audience, mustering a grin. “Thank you!” he yelled, waving as Dirk collapsed against the bench. “We are Mexican Funeral! Thank you, and goodnight!”

The lights went out, leaving Dirk blinking in the dimness, so he couldn’t be sure; but he thought, as the band filed back out again, that Todd kept his eyes on Dirk the whole time.

---

“Svlad,” Todd yelled, pushing past tourists and hapless pedestrians. “Svlad! Svlad, please!”

The dark head in front of him bobbed and weaved, vanishing and reappearing again. Todd redoubled his pace, putting everything he had into catching Svlad. “Please,” he said, reaching for Svlad’s sleeve.

Svlad whirled around, yanking his sleeve from Todd’s grip. “How many times do I have to tell you to go away! ” he yelled.

“I’m sorry!” said Todd, backing off. “I’m really sorry - I didn’t know at first, I swear, not for the few first days - I should have told you as soon as I realized, I just - I wanted you to help, and I thought –”

“You thought you’d convince me with a lie?” said Svlad. “You thought you’d dangle this imaginary future and laugh as I failed to reach it?”

He died, I think. He died, I think.  

Todd shoved Amanda’s words aside. “It’s not imaginary! You can still be a detective, you can still help people, have an agency –”

“You think I want that?” said Svlad. “You don’t know what I want. You only know what your Dirk wants, and as we’ve established, I’m not him.”

“You’re not that different,” said Todd, spreading his hands. “You both want to help, you’re doing it already –”

“Helping!” Svlad barked a laugh. “You really think - you think I’m –”

He took two steps away and then back again, running a hand through his hair. Todd had seen countless of Dirk’s moods, but he’d never seen Dirk this furiously angry, had never imagined Dirk could be this way. He deserved it, he knew he deserved it, but the rage in Svlad’s eyes still hurt.

“Do you know why I was expelled from Cambridge?” said Svlad.

Todd blinked, thrown off by the sudden subject change. “You - they thought you cheated,” he said. “Or you did cheat, or something. I don’t know, something with exams?”

“I killed someone,” said Svlad. “Me. Not Bart. I killed a student, and if Bart hadn’t smuggled me out, I’d be serving life for murder.”

“You –” Todd stuttered. “But - Like, a Blackwing student?”

“That would be easy, wouldn’t it?” said Svlad. “Self-defense, case closed. But, no. It wasn’t self-defense, and it wasn’t justifiable.”

Todd waited for Svlad to say something else: an explanation, a way out. A smile, a just-kidding, pulling your leg, let’s all go back to our regularly scheduled business of not being murderers. But Svlad just stood there, chin jutting out in defiance. Daring Todd to leave.

“I - I don’t understand,” said Todd. “Why?”

“That’s the question isn’t it?” said Svlad. “Why? Why any of this? Why would a murderer become a detective? Why would someone who’s taken a life try to save them?”

“It doesn’t –” Todd swallowed, trying to fit the world around this new reality. “It doesn’t matter. It’s - I’ve killed people, too, I think we all have, at this point. It doesn’t mean you can’t –”

“Yes, it does,” Svlad snapped. “Don’t you see? I’m not the one who goes on to become a detective. You told me it had already happened, but it hasn’t, not here. It hasn’t, and it never will.”

“It still –”

“God, you told me you loved me!” Svlad cried, tearing at his hair. “You told me I could have everything - I should have known, it was always too good to be true, there was never going to be anything for me –”

“You don’t know that!” said Todd, struggling through self-hatred for one last stubborn assurance. “You don’t know the future.”

“No, I guess not,” said Svlad, and took a step back. “But neither do you.”

“Svlad –”

“If you say anything else,” said Svlad, “I’ll yell for the police, and I’ll tell them to arrest me.”

“But –”

“I’m not bluffing.”

Todd stared at Svlad in despair, this man whose life he’d tried to save and had shattered instead. Svlad’s head had already hunched back inside the shapeless cargo jacket. A vision of Dirk flashed like an afterimage across it, Dirk in his slim colorful jackets that took up more space than Svlad’s baggy one. Dirk’s jackets stood out; Svlad’s just helped him disappear.

Todd took a step back and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay,” he said. “You win.”

“Goodbye, Todd,” said Svlad, pronouncing Todd’s name like a curse. “I hope you find your way back to the Dirk you deserve.”

---

If the pre-concert fears had been a brand-new experience, the post-concert adrenaline felt refreshingly similar to a post-case high. Everything seemed brighter, everyone’s jokes funnier, the space backstage no longer suffocating but bustling and vibrant. The band fell over each other out into the parking lot, slapping each other on the backs and laughing over their conquest. “Holy shit,” Todd said, over and over again. “Holy shit, guys. Did you hear us? Did you - holy fucking shit.”

“Bri!” squealed an uncharacteristically smiling Jill, erupting from the door and flinging herself onto Brian so enthusiastically that he nearly fell over backwards. “That was amazing, babe,” she said, between exuberant kisses. “You guys were, like, incredible. ”

“Duuude,” said Jazz. “Duuuude. Duuuuude!”

“Okay, yeah, we were pretty good,” said Nate, flipping his hair back with an atypical grin. 

“Pretty good?” said Todd. “Pretty good? We were on fucking fire! That solo in ‘Life After Mars’ - Brian, you fucking nailed it! And, Jazz, I don’t know what you’re on, but I’ve never heard ‘Emotional Motion’ like that - and ‘Visions’ - ‘Visions’ –”

He punched Dirk in the arm hard enough for Dirk to rock sideways. “You killed it,” he said, gaze burning into Dirk’s. “Seriously, dude. Great fucking job.”

“So are we celebrating?” said Jill as Dirk bit his lips to keep his smile from bursting off his face.

“Fuck, yeah!” said Todd, slinging one arm around Brian and another around Jazz. “Carl’s? Drinks are on me. Actually, no - drinks are on our fucking winnings!”

“We don’t have to wait for - for the announcement or anything?” Dirk asked.

“Nah, we know how we did,” said Todd, waving Dirk away. “Besides, who’s gonna beat us? We’re on top of the fucking world , man!”

From there, the evening faded into a haze of terrible beer and worse shots, Jazz jumping up on the table to reenact his solo, Brian and Jill fully on top of each other in the corner, Nate leading the whole bar in singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” horribly off-key. At some point, someone got a text with the battle results, and the cheer that went up for Mexican Funeral’s victory could have blown out Dirk’s eardrums. Everyone was so happy - he was so happy, in a way he so rarely had been, proud and relieved and carefree.

And if he was happy, Todd was ecstatic - he hadn’t stopped smiling for a second since the concert had ended. He also hadn’t left Dirk’s side, from the ebullient walk over to sliding into the booth to dragging Dirk out for round after round. And Dirk hadn’t left him, either. It was like “Visions” had thrown a switch from twenty up to two hundred, and a trickling electric current now surged inescapable between them: the hairs on his arms stood on end when Todd looked his way, and every spot Todd touched tingled long afterwards. All Dirk’s arguments and defenses seemed to have crumbled away onstage, and he couldn’t have pulled away even if he’d wanted to.

“I need some air,” said Todd, somewhere around midnight. He pushed his glass into the crowd on the table and slid out of the booth, offering a hand back to Dirk. “Wanna come with?”

Dirk’s heartbeat sped up even before he’d fully processed the words. Todd’s gaze was bright and intense, his face just on the edge of hopeful. “Yes,” said Dirk, without conscious thought. “I’d love to.”

They stumbled out the back, the crisp air hitting them like a slap. Todd shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “Should’ve brought a jacket. You were smart.”

“Here, take it,” said Dirk, instantly shrugging it off.

“But you –”

“I don’t mind the cold,” said Dirk, which was more or less true; he couldn’t have minded anything, at the moment. He wrapped the jacket around Todd’s shoulders, lingering a moment too long. “Besides, it looks good on you.”

“It looked good on you,” said Todd, but he slipped his arms through the sleeves and zipped it up anyway. “Everything looks good on you.”

The sentence hung in the air between them, fragile as a puff of smoke. Dirk held his breath lest it dissipate. Possibilities drifted in the breeze between them.

“Want a cig?” said Todd, fumbling in his pants before either of them could decide what to do. Dirk took one and let Todd light it. Todd stowed his lighter back in his pocket and leaned against the wall, taking a long drag.

“I meant what I said, you know,” said Todd, breathing out mingled smoke and steam. “You were really great up there. Like, I’d never know you’d only been playing three days if I hadn’t taught you myself.”

“You were an excellent teacher,” said Dirk.

Todd shrugged off the compliment and took another drag of his cigarette. “If you wanted,” he said, “like, if you don’t have to go back to England or wherever - if you want to - I mean, if you could do that in three days, then imagine in, like, a month - if you - if you stayed –”

“If I –” said Dirk, and cleared his throat. “Stayed here?”

“O-only if you wanted,” said Todd quickly. “In - in the band. I mean, after tonight, we may actually have a chance - and, like, Charlie’s not coming back, so we have a spot - and since you already know the music and everything, it would - it would make sense –”

“Oh, because I know the music,” said Dirk, his lips quirking upwards. “That’s the only reason.”

“It’s - shut up,” said Todd, going red. “It’s just - you know it’s - it’s not the only - you –”

He banged his head backwards into the brick wall, swearing under his breath. Dirk laughed softly to himself and breathed in his cigarette. The door to the bar banged open behind them, and a drunk couple fell out into the street, giggling and grabbing for each other as they tumbled towards the street.

“Listen,” said Todd, as the noises of the couple faded away. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, but I had the weirdest feeling when I met you, like - like I already knew you from somewhere.”

“I know the feeling,” said Dirk, in as dry a tone as he could get away with.

“And then I got to know you,” Todd continued, “and everything just felt so - so natural, I guess. Easy. Like I’d done it before. So I thought…”

Todd sighed, stubbed his cigarette out on the brick wall, and turned to face Dirk. “I don’t believe in - in soulmates, or any of that crap,” he said, “but I do think maybe two people can be connected somehow, you know? I felt it, up on that stage. I know you did, too. So maybe - maybe you and I are connected. Maybe we were always supposed to end up here.”

Moonlight shone in Todd’s eyes, and Dirk’s pulse thudded in his ears. Connected, he thought. That was certainly one word for it. Connected, entwined, enmeshed, entangled - knotted in a tangle with no beginning or end. Cursed to fateful love in every reality. He couldn’t do this, but he couldn’t not do this; he’d been firmly on this path since he’d first seen this Todd up on that stage. There had never been any path that led anywhere other than here.

Todd took a step forward, and Dirk could hardly breathe. “Do you,” said Todd haltingly, “do you feel it, too?"

Dirk couldn’t speak. Todd raised a questioning hand towards Dirk’s face, and for one terrible drunken moment, past slurred into present, and Dirk was back in Todd’s room, floating on the afterglow of Todd’s guitar, falling towards Todd’s terrified hopeful face, their terrified hopeful past-future. Todd’s hand cupped Dirk’s cheek, Dirk leaned in, and then Todd was coming closer Todd’s face looming in his vision, Todd’s eyelids fluttering closed –

– and it was just like Todd, it was Todd, Todd’s hands and Todd’s lips and Todd’s love. Past collided into present, into future, memories overlapping reality, connections forming and re-forming anew. This Todd, unlike the last, didn’t falter; this Todd, from the start, was all-in. His hand slid to the back of Dirk’s neck, drew Dirk nearer and nearer, like he couldn’t have enough. Dirk found the edges of his own loaned jacket and pulled Todd in, chest to chest, heart to heart. He could feel Todd’s heartbeat in everything, in the universe itself. He couldn’t have moved for a thousand time machines; he couldn’t have remembered his own name. 

He might have stayed kissing Todd in the alley forever if the door hadn’t banged open. They jumped apart, red and breathless, shrinking into the shadows by silent agreement. A man Dirk didn’t recognize exited, leaning against the wall, and made his way out to the street. 

Todd blew out a breath and laughed. “Wanna go somewhere more private?” he said. “And, uh. Warmer? It’s freezing out here - what time is it, anyway?”

Dirk felt in his pocket for his phone and frowned. “I’ve left my phone inside. I’ll just go fetch it, be right back.”

Todd stepped back, into the glow of the streetlights. Dirk’s breath caught at the sight, Todd framed in gold, lips still kiss-swollen and jacket all askew. He wanted to commemorate the moment - kiss Todd again, brush over his cheek, smooth back his hair, anything. It felt significant, in a way he couldn’t place. But in another beat, Todd took another step, out of the lights again. 

Todd attempted a Nate-like bang flip, the kind that said he regularly made out with older men behind bars after spectacular punk performances. “See you soon,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“See you,” Dirk promised, making for the back door.

Inside, the bar was just as crowded as ever. The stuffiness felt suffocating after the cool night breeze. Dirk shouldered his way back to the table where they’d been, dodging pool sticks and sloshing beer cans. With every step forward, the night’s magic faded more and more into grubby reality.

Reaching the booth, he leaned over to check for his phone and was shoved forward by someone passing behind. “ Excuse, ” he said, as the person said, “Oh, shit, my bad. Oh, hey, it’s you!”

Tucking his phone in his pocket, Dirk turned to find Alex, swaying slightly and grinning like a madman. “Oh, hello!” said Dirk. “I didn’t realize you’d come!”

“You were incredible out there!” said Alex, punching Dirk in the shoulder. “Holy shit, dude, I didn’t know you played!”

“I don’t,” said Dirk. “It’s sort of a long story.”

“Mexican Funeral, man,” Alex said, shaking his head. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. Hey, if Todd still wants that job, you tell him it’s his. We can do those forms and shit later. I owe him for tonight.”

“If he still wants it?” said Dirk in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He’s famous now! He doesn’t need a job if he’s actually gonna make it big!”

He must have misheard. The amps had blown out his hearing. His ears were still ringing; that must be the issue. “But he already applied,” Dirk said, with a smile like a friendly correction. “He dropped the forms off this morning. He told me.”

“Maybe to Carlos. I never got them,” Alex shrugged. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just tell him I owe him, okay?”

He slapped Dirk on the back and moved off, leaving Dirk rocking in the center of the storm. He had understood Todd correctly, hadn’t he? It had been just before the concert, Todd had confessed to being embarrassed, but he’d gone through with it anyway… Todd wouldn’t lie about something like that.

No, Dirk thought, as the whole bottom of his stomach dropped out, his Todd wouldn’t lie about something like that.

But this wasn’t his Todd.

The reality that had been banging at the doors of his mind all week finally crashed inside. This Todd would lie about something like that; this Todd would lie about worse. This Todd wasn’t bowed by guilt because he didn’t yet feel shame. Amanda, Charlie, Brian, and now Dirk - Dirk had known all along, and yet he’d refused to see. This Todd had lied to his face and kissed him with the same lips, and Dirk had never suspected a thing.

The room twisted and spun around him as he sank onto a stool. He had trusted Todd. He had been ready to leave everything for him. It had never once occurred to him that Todd wouldn’t tell him the truth; the Todd he knew would have sooner died than lie to him. It wasn’t future Todd’s passion that had tipped Dirk over the edge. He could trust the Todd he knew with his life - with anything. 

He wouldn’t have fallen in love with him for anything less.

He couldn’t do this anymore; he couldn’t be here, in this place, in this time. The chair clattered to the ground as he pushed his way out. He fled through the front doors and away, hurtling into the unforgiving night.

Chapter Text

A long time ago - or a long time from now, depending on how you looked at it - Dirk had promised to take Todd to London. He had made a whole list of all the places he would take Todd, from Buckingham Palace (“It’s really quite easy to shake the guards; all you need are a few basic aliens”), to the Victoria and Albert (“Lovely couple, quite lovely. Shame about the toads, though.”), to Shakespeare’s Globe (“Unless they’ve got one of the gloomy ones on. I can’t stand the gloomy ones.”). He’d gone so far as to print out a list of all the places Todd was supposed to try scones, which had taken up eighty pages and completely fried the printer. Todd had grumbled about it, because he had to grumble about it, but he had also gone out and gotten his passport photo taken without even needing to be reminded.

As Todd stood in front of a red phone booth now, stranded a thousand miles and a million realities from home, he wished they would have taken that trip. They’d stopped talking about it, along with everything else, but maybe they should have tried anyway. They could have stolen the Crown Jewels, or whatever ridiculous case Dirk would have ended up in, and they would have missed Lydia’s time machine altogether, and Todd wouldn’t have to live the rest of his life knowing how badly he’d fucked up yet another of the few people he most cared about.

What had he been thinking? 

Todd found a bench to sit down for a few minutes or maybe forever. Dirk trusted everyone, but he also didn’t trust anyone, not really. He’d just barely trusted Todd, but Todd had broken that, along with everything else. And because that wasn’t enough, Todd had catapulted into Dirk’s past and broken any hope of Svlad ever trusting anyone in the future. Todd had spent days struggling to turn Svlad from his initial suspicion, only for that suspicion to be fully founded; how was Svlad ever supposed to believe anyone again?

How had Dirk managed to heal enough to try?

Unable to sit still with his thoughts, he pushed himself off the bench and slunk off, trudging past department stores and themed novelty displays. A flash of yellow caught his eye, and his heart instinctively leapt, but it was only a thrift shop mannequin. A mannequin wearing a jacket almost identical to Dirk’s. 

He slumped to a halt, the jacket looming over him. If he hadn’t fucked up so badly, would he be here with Svlad now, swapping out Svlad’s saggy cargo jacket for the familiar yellow? Had he wrecked the only hope Svlad had at a future?

“Scuse me, are you lost?” said an aggressive male voice.

Todd turned to see a policeman hulking over him. “Um, no, sorry,” he said, scooting away from the window. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and continued his aimless wandering. He couldn’t even imagine the idea of where he might go next. The professor had no reason to help him anymore, even if Todd could somehow find him in London’s maze, and the only other people he knew were Bart and the Rowdies. Maybe his best bet was to start throwing himself into traffic till he had another attack and then see if he could contact Amanda again.

He kicked a rock into the gutter. 

He’d never hated himself more.

---

Dirk had never been very good at shutting himself off. He’d never had any luck choosing what to feel when; there was simply too much of himself to compartmentalize. He’d never understood the expression “wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve,” because a single sleeve couldn’t possibly be enough to contain the emotion battling through him at any given moment. Surely you’d need at least a jacket, and probably a whole quilt.

But when things got really bad, the universe sometimes granted him a few hours’ reprieve. He’d been on the verge of overloading leaving Todd’s, and then he found himself again outside the Spring Mansion, and he could never tell if he’d walked or taken a taxi or flown. He wiped the last of the moisture from his cheeks and tried to settle himself before facing Lydia. He could handle this. He’d handled worse.

He couldn’t remember, currently, what could possibly have been worse than this.

Well, he couldn’t keep standing around in the woods all day; giving up on full composure, he started down the ladder as he was. But the bunker, when he reached it, was empty. He frowned around at the stacks of bean cans and scattered components. The time machine looked closer to complete, but something still wasn’t right, he could tell even from the doorway. Perhaps, if she moved this gear…

He slapped his own hand out of the air and made himself go back upstairs. The last thing he needed was to break the time machine even worse than it already was. 

Back aboveground, he considered his options. He couldn’t go back to Seattle; he thought he might die if he tried. He couldn’t stay in the stuffy bunker, with its concrete walls and sealed-in doors. He supposed he could wander around looking for Lydia until Farah caught him; it might be a change of pace, at least. 

He’d just about determined to head off in a random direction when a flash of color in the distance caught his eye. Bending low, he moved towards it. Any attempt at secrecy was completely spoiled by the multitude of branches cracking under his feet, but the color, whatever it was, didn’t seem to care.

A few more steps brought him close enough to see Lydia crouched behind a row of bushes shielding the woods from the mansion’s driveway. Dirk started to call out, but a hunch told him to wait. He peered through the bushes instead. Behind them, a woman with long, brown hair and nurse’s scrubs was climbing into a car, bidding farewell to a much younger-looking Patrick Spring.

The scene took a moment to click. Then several very important things fell into place all at once.

Dirk pressed a hand over his mouth to stop from exclaiming as the woman shut the door and put the car into reverse. He waited until the car had fully backed out of the driveway and Patrick had gone back inside before he moved close enough to tap Lydia on the shoulder.

“Aaah! Dirk, what the hell! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

Dirk crossed his arms. “When were you going to tell me that you came here to save your mother?”

---

Todd lost track of the time he spent losing himself in London’s streets. Eventually he found himself in a park, curled up under a tree, shivering as nighttime came on. How did they treat the homeless here? He guessed he’d find out soon enough. He drew his knees closer into his chest and told himself he deserved this.

He’d nearly managed to lose consciousness when a familiar shout awoke him.

Instantly, he was on his feet, hunting around for the source of Svlad’s scream. Svlad had said he never wanted to see Todd again, but if he was in danger, Todd couldn’t stay away. Best case it was the Rowdies, and Todd could take the attack, but worst case - worst case –

He skidded round a corner into the worst case he could imagine: Svlad facedown on the ground, moaning and twitching, as a manically grinning Man of the Machine raised a drain pipe over his head.

He died, I think.

Everything stopped. Todd hadn’t asked Amanda for details about her vision, he’d pictured Dirk’s death more than enough, but this definitely seemed to qualify. Someone was screaming. It might have been Todd. Todd wasn’t the one on the ground, but Dirk’s whole life seemed to flash before his eyes.

He died, I think.

Todd had one job, one singular fucking job in his pathetic excuse for a life, and if he messed this up - he could ruin his own life anyday, but to ruin the whole fate of the universe - to leave a world without Dirk, a universe without Dirk, any timeline anywhere without the man he’d come to love –

He died I think he died I think he died –

The pipe came down in slow motion as Todd pushed himself faster, faster, defying Maxwell and Newton and all Dirk’s other physicists he’d never bothered to learn. So many things he’d forgotten, or never asked: Dirk’s birthday, his favorite book, whether he read books, what instrument he would have played. How he’d learned to swim. If he’d had pets. These stupid things, so small yet so vital - but he’d have time, they’d have time , they had to have time –

He died I think –

The gap wasn’t closing fast enough, and Svlad shuddered and went limp, and the pipe inexorably swung down –

– and out of nowhere, a hot pink moped burst through the nearby loading doors, barrelling directly into the Man of the Machine. He toppled sideways like a jenga tower, bones crunching. The drain pipe clattered harmlessly to the ground. 

“Sorry,” said Bart, clambering off the moped. “Steering’s harder than I thought. I never drove before.”

---

Lydia didn’t bother denying the accusation, nor did she apologize. “How long have you known?” she asked.

“About thirty seconds. Which is sort of embarrassing, to be honest. In my defense, I was rather distracted.”

Lydia scooted over on the ground and patted the dirt. “Want to sit? It’s a blind spot in the cameras, so we’re safe till the physical patrol. Plus, you can usually see the sunrise through those trees.”

Dirk sat, tucking his legs up under him in the dirt. The sky was beginning to lighten, the velvet blackness just starting to turn. He wished he’d spared time in his panicked flight to reclaim his jacket. “So,” he said, “your mother.”

Lydia pulled her knees up to her chest and looked away. “If you’re going to do the whole detective thing where you piece together all these clues and then accuse me of whatever, just - don’t.”

“No, I - I was only going to say, I don’t know anything about her. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention her. I… gather she works in the medical field?”

Lydia peered at Dirk, who looked back with the most open expression he could manage. “She’s an EMT,” Lydia relented. “That’s how she met my dad - she saved him. He used to call her his angel. Which is, like, super gross and cheesy, and also totally not something my dad would ever say, but - he used to be more like that, when she was around.”

She stared past the bushes, at the spot where the car had driven away. “What else?” Dirk prompted.

“She played piano. Chopin, mostly. Mozart. Only the happy stuff - she wouldn’t do ‘brooders,’ like Beethoven, I guess. I used to sit under the piano and try to figure out how the keys moved.” Lydia laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “One day, she got home, and I’d taken the whole piano apart, to see how it worked. Dad was so mad, and she just sat down in the middle of the pile of keys and helped me try to piece it back together.”

“My mother used to play piano,” said Dirk quietly. “We had an old out-of-tune upright - you couldn’t play anything over F-sharp. She spent hours trying to repair it, but she could never fix the stuck keys.” 

“Your - like, your real mom?” said Lydia, startling.

“No, my imaginary one. Yes, my real one. Did you think detectives grew like potatoes on trees?”

“Potatoes don’t - whatever,” said Lydia. “But you - you remember her? Like, they didn’t steal you from your cradle?”

“I was nine when I was taken,” said Dirk, almost, almost managing to make the sentence sound casual. “So, yes. I remember her.”

“Oh.” Lydia moved her legs to sit cross-legged and leaned back on her arms. “Weird.”

“And you were eight, I assume,” said Dirk. “And that’s why we’re here.”

Lydia sighed. Behind the trees, the first light of the horizon was beginning to break through the sky. In the distance, a bird trilled good morning. 

“At first,” Lydia said, “I just wanted to see her. Just - to remember. I had the schematics of my dad’s machine, and I didn’t think I could do anything else without getting into some stupid time loop stuff, so I was just going to go, look, and then come back.

“But then I actually started looking through the schematics, and they were awful. They were so bad. Like, he didn’t label anything, and he kept switching units, and I swear he’d never heard of a legend in his life. So I had to redo half of it anyway, and there was a bunch of stuff I could do better, because everything electronic is about a billion times smaller now than it was in the 1800s, and I started thinking - what if I could improve the function, too? If I could harness energy more efficiently, what if I could make the machine do more than move through time?”

“What if you could break the time loop by breaking time?” said Dirk. “What if you could save her?”

“Yeah,” Lydia nodded. “Pretty much.”

“But we messed it up,” said Dirk.

“No, actually. It worked exactly how it was supposed to. We’re even in the right timeline. The only thing that isn’t working now is how to get back. And…”

“And,” Dirk completed softly, “after you saw her, you weren’t sure you wanted to get back, anyway.”

Lydia didn’t bother responding. It wasn’t as though Dirk had any call to judge her; he’d thought exactly the same. For a moment they watched the rosy pinks and oranges of the rising dawn.

“Why can’t I save her?” said Lydia suddenly, fiercely. “If I can do it for this version of her, why can’t I do it in our timeline, too? If you could undo all the bad things that happened to you, if you could save your mom, wouldn’t you?”

Now it was Dirk’s turn not to respond. Lydia dropped her chin to her chest. “I hate our timeline,” she said.

Dirk would have agreed with her more before the events of the previous night. He made a noncommittal noise and fell back to silence again.

“Oh, how was the concert?” Lydia asked, as the first light of the sun began filtering through the trees. “Was it totally radical? Was it, like, so fetch?”

“It was quite fetch, actually, yes,” said Dirk primly.

“Okay, never say that again. Also, why are you here, then? Why aren’t you out celebrating with your ex-boyfriend’s alternate punk teen self, a relationship which is totally normal and also hella sick?”

Dirk winced and turned away. “Oh, no,” said Lydia. “Did you break up with this one, too?”

“We weren’t together - and, no. Well, sort of. Well, only marginally. Well –”

“Dirk.”

“He…” Dirk twisted up his mouth, struggling to fit the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours into a succinct and shareable summary. “He’s not Todd yet. Not - not the Todd we know. I… forgot that, for a while.”

Lydia frowned. “I thought you wanted a Todd who was, like, totally chilla - okay, sorry. I thought, um. I thought you liked that he was different.”

“I did. Or, I thought I did. But I think perhaps he had to go through what he went through, to become the Todd that I - that could be my friend. Without all the pain and the guilt, I don’t know if he would have made the choice to be better.”

Lydia considered this at the same time as Dirk himself let his own words sink in. He hadn’t realized how true they were until he’d said them: Todd couldn’t be Todd yet, because he hadn’t lived Todd’s life yet. What had drawn Dirk to Todd wasn’t his confidence and optimism and, well, his swagger - it was his struggles; his hard-fought devotion; the effort he made each and every day to become a better person. 

That was the Todd that Dirk had fallen in love with.

Dirk spared a thought for his own self a decade ago, so terrified, so alone. If Todd had come into Dirk’s life then, Dirk wouldn’t have been ready yet, either. It had taken Todd a decade to be trustworthy, but it had also taken Dirk a decade to trust.

And that was the whole problem, wasn’t it? They’d both come so unimaginably far, they could hardly believe it themselves. Was it any wonder that, forging further once more, they’d reverted to their pasts: Dirk ceasing to trust Todd, Todd ceasing to trust himself?

But they weren’t those people anymore. They’d changed too much for that. Dirk only hoped he would still have the chance to prove it.

“You asked if I would undo all the bad things in my life,” said Dirk slowly. “I don’t know if that’s even a valid question. If none of that did happen to me - if my mother was still alive, and I hadn’t been taken by Blackwing, and I’d actually finished at Cambridge - then I wouldn’t be me. I’m not even sure I’d recognize myself, to be quite frank. And I don’t know if I’d like that. Not being me, I mean. Any of us, not being ourselves.”

He turned his hands over in his lap, looking at the calluses and wrinkles, the scars and signs of life. “A lot of bad things have happened,” he said. “But a lot of good things have happened, too. I like the way we are now - all of us. I wouldn’t want to miss out on that.”

As though it had been waiting for Dirk, the sun burst fully above the horizon, flooding the clearing with light. Dirk threw up an arm to shield his face. Lydia squinted into it, her face unreadable. “You’re kind of an adult sometimes, you know?” she said, into the rising sun.

“Mm. It comes and goes.”

Lydia scooched closer, leaning against Dirk and resting her head on his shoulder. He shifted to make room. Even with everything that had gone wrong to get them here, this still felt like a moment he wouldn’t have wanted to miss.

---

Todd could have laughed, if he had any breath left. He fell to his knees, drawing in great lungfuls of air. His body shook all over. “Not - dead,” he gasped. “He’s - not dead.”

Bart took off her wholly unnecessary helmet and walked over to nudge Svlad’s body. “Sure looks dead.”

“No,” Todd shook his head, still not capable of full sentences. “Breathing.”

“Huh. Guess so.”

With an effort, Todd managed to get back on his feet and drag himself over to the Man of the Machine. “Also not dead,” he said, with disappointment this time. “Can you, uh…”

Bart shrugged, picked up the fallen pipe, and slammed it downwards too quickly for Todd to move away. Blood splattered across his - Svlad’s - clothes. “Dead,” said Bart.

“Thank you,” Todd said, trying to make it clear he meant it. He felt like crying with relief. Svlad hadn’t died. Dirk hadn’t died. He’d failed, but the universe hadn’t. “You saved his life.”

For some reason, Bart looked suddenly worried. “Don’t tell him.”

“What? Why not?”

Bart scuffed her feet on the pavement. “Doesn’ like when I follow him,” she muttered. “You saw.”

Todd had seen. “Do you - follow him a lot?”

“I follow the universe. Sometimes it’s with him, sometimes not. These days not. He used to let me more, before the bad thing at school.”

It took Todd a moment to realize that by “school,” Bart meant “Cambridge.” He hesitated on the question. It didn’t matter, not really - he was too hopelessly gone for Dirk to mind thousands of dead bodies - but he couldn’t help but wonder what had sent Svlad off down this path.

“That guy he killed,” said Bart, anticipating the question, “that was for me.”

“For - ?” Todd frowned. “But - I mean, no offense, but you –”

“Kill a lot of people?” Bart shrugged. “Yeah. But this one I couldn’t. He saw me take care of some other guys, and I guess Svlad didn’t like that. So.”

An ocean of unspoken backstory lurked beneath the brusque sentences. Todd could put most of the picture together; the universe had never cared enough for its tools, not past the point of convenience, and of course discovery wouldn’t register as a mortal threat. Bart could only kill when the universe allowed, but Svlad, free for better or worse to choose - Svlad, who had made a deal with the Rowdies - Svlad, terrified of the police, of authorities, of Blackwing - Svlad would have seen a witness as a risk too large to take.

Once again, Svlad had acted to protect others, and once again, it had backfired. He’d lost his chance at a degree and some semblance of a normal career, and he’d also apparently lost all his trust in himself. Guilt suffused Todd all over again as he realized how tightly Svlad had been clinging to the hope of a reformed future. But there was nothing to reform. What would make Svlad see that?

Bart hugged her arms across her chest. “Anyway, he stopped hanging out with me after that,” she said. “Or anyone. He says he works alone. You’re the longest he ever let someone stick around.”

“Not anymore.” Todd looked at Svlad’s prone body, thinking of how Svlad had told him the same thing, at first. Of how Dirk himself had moments of pushing everyone out, and how much better things were when he let them in. He glanced at Bart - a Bart who’d escaped Blackwing with Svlad, who’d followed him to Cambridge, who still stuck around, even if in the shadows. Who’d killed, too. Who’d saved Svlad when Todd hadn’t.

He’d wondered how Dirk started to heal. Maybe this was how.

Clamping his hands down over his still-shivering arms, he took a deep breath. “When he says that,” he told her, “don’t listen to him, okay? He doesn’t - he can’t see me anymore, and he’ll say he doesn’t want you around, either, but he’s wrong. He doesn’t have anyone right now, and he needs someone.” He paused, and then added, on some impulsive instinct, “You all do.”

Bart bit her lip, and Todd was reminded that Bart, too, was only twenty-three. Her face shielded by her hair, she gave a quick nod. Something eased in Todd, and he took a step away from Dirk, running his hands up and down his arms. Maybe he should have gotten the jacket for himself, if it was going to stay this cold out.

“So now what?” said Bart. “You gonna wait here till he wakes up?”

“Um –” Todd began, but the rev of an engine in the background cut him off. Bart frowned and looked behind her as Todd dove for Svlad. “We have to move him,” he said, reaching for Svlad’s limp body. “He can’t be here if they’re coming.”

“Want me to blow out their tires?”

“No, just - ahh –”

Todd’s arms seized up, and he realized that what he’d thought mere cold was actually ice running through his veins, seizing up his muscles, turning his skin blue before his eyes. “Fuck,” he said, as the van drew nearer. “Get him out of here, I can’t - fuck - I won’t make it –”

“You need help?” 

“No, you can’t - just leave me - take - ahh - take him, please –”

Ice crackled in Todd’s vision as the frost reached his shoulders, his neck, his face. He collapsed to the ground, body wracked with shivers. As the world narrowed, he thought he saw Bart step over to Svlad.

His eyes closed, and he heard rather than saw the van swing into the alley.

“You again,” said a jubilant voice.

And once again, everything went white.

---

“By the way,” said Dirk conversationally, as the sky above them turned from rosy pinks to pale blues, “how long have you known I can fix your time machine?”

Lydia jerked and then groaned. “How long have you known?”

“Not as long as I’d like - I’d rather blocked my whole thesis from memory till I saw it on your wall Wednesday. Sort of a lucky guess now, to be honest. Why did you cross out the section on free will theorem, though? That was one of the best bits.”

“You were arguing for determinism,” said Lydia. “That’s kind of the opposite of the point here."

“Yes, I suppose I would have. Were you ever going to tell me, or were you waiting till I figured it out?”

“Why would I tell you?” said Lydia. “If this whole thing hadn’t happened, and you’d missed out any one moment of this experience, then you wouldn’t be you, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?"

“Oh, stop,” said Dirk. Lydia sniggered for a few more minutes and then stood up. 

“I guess we should fix it, then?” she said. “I mean, we don’t have to go back right away. If you still have loose ends or whatever. But, you know. Just to know we can.”

Loose ends. Dirk supposed he had those. As much as his lingering hurt wanted him to abandon this Todd to his self-inflicted fate, he should probably apologize. He started to say yes, but, as though summoned, an incoming call interrupted him.

In this past, only one person besides Lydia had his number.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he flipped open the phone. “Hello, Todd,” he said.

“Dirk?” said Jazz’s voice on the other end of the line, over Lydia’s muffled shriek. “Thank fuck. Are you around?”

“Why, what’s happened?” said Dirk, turning away from Lydia on instant alert. “Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know, dude. We were hoping you knew.”

There was the sound of scuffling on the other end, and Brian’s voice picked up. “Dirk? Hey, Todd’s in the hospital. Can you grab some of his stuff and then come meet us?”

“Hospital?” said Dirk in alarm. “Is he alright?”

“We don’t know,” said Brian. “He texted us this morning to tell us he was breaking up the band, and then Charlie called a couple hours later to say he was in a car accident. We think Nate was the last person to see him, but Nate’s not answering, either.”

“He’s breaking up the - car accident? Is he - Nate? ”

“It’s all over the place, dude,” said Jazz’s voice. “It’s, like, super whacked out, bro.”

“Do you know if he meant it?” said Brian. “About the band?”

Car accident spiraled through Dirk’s brain like all his worst nightmares come through. “Tell him to hold on,” said Dirk, forgetting everything except Todd in a hospital bed. “I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Text

“Todd?”

“Amanda?”

“Are you dead or something? Open your eyes, dude, you’re scaring me.”

Todd managed to get ahold of his eyelids enough to open them and immediately regretted it, as finding himself in a body just made everything start hurting again. He was backstage again, without the visions that had preceded his last trip. Amanda stood before him, but her figure wavered around the edges, like a shadow of herself.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” said Amanda, crossing her arms. “All I know is, I was trying to sleep, and now I’m here. Are you with the Rowdies? Did you do something different?”

“Uh - no.” Todd patted his chest, which seemed whole, although it wasn’t his actual chest, so who knew what that meant. “Yes? Maybe? I don’t know, things were happening really fast.”

“Shit, dude. Maybe you are dead. We almost had you back, too.”

“You - wait, what? How?”

“Farah donated a fuckton of money to UW so they’d put the whole physics department on decoding Lydia’s notes. The only thing they can’t figure out is how to find your timeline. If you had Lydia’s original machine, you could probably send out some kind of signal, but since you don’t have anything like that…”

“Wait, no, I do have - you know about the timeline thing? - no, of course you do –”

“You have a time machine in 2008 London?” said Amanda skeptically.

“Yeah, Patrick Spring’s, but it’s also busted. Long story.”

“Oh, shit! Wait, that might actually work! Does it still turn on?”

“Uh… I think so?”

“Sweet! I’ll let Farah know. Unless you’re dead, I guess?”

“I don’t think so.” Todd struggled to remember through the post-attack fuzz. “Amanda, you said Svlad died?”

Amanda’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know for sure. It didn’t look great. He was facedown on some pavement and a guy was trying to beat his head in with a pipe?”

The wave of relief was strong enough that Todd’s knees buckled and almost collapsed. “He’s okay,” he said, more to himself than to Amanda. “He’s okay.”

“He’s… not getting beat over the head?”

“No. I mean, yes. Almost. But he’s not dead, he - Bart showed up, it was a whole thing - you’re sure that was what you saw?”

“Yeah, it was pretty fucking traumatic, I thought you’d totally fucked up that timeline. You’re lucky Bart saved your ass.”

Todd nodded in fervent agreement. Bart had helped Svlad twice now, and she would help him again. Maybe Todd hadn’t doomed Svlad to certain death by getting himself driven away.

“So you can come back now, right?” said Amanda. “Find your random second time machine and turn it on?”

Could he? Something like hope sparked in Todd’s chest. He’d given up so many times already - could this actually be it?

But - no. He’d forgotten; he didn’t deserve to go back. Dirk didn’t want him any more than Svlad did.

“Uh-oh,” said Amanda. “What’s that face?”

“I - I can’t,” said Todd. “I can’t come back. I really - I fucked up, Amanda.”

“Yeah, like you’ve never done that before.”

“No, he fired me,” said Todd. “He - or I quit, or something - I don’t know, it’s all screwed up, I didn’t know that I - how I felt until it was all too late, and now - I don’t know. I can’t - wreck his life again. I’ve done that enough.”

To his surprise, Amanda dropped her arms and glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she said.

“Uh…”

“Wreck his life? You think you wrecked his life?”

“Well –”

“Did you see how he was after Wendimoor? You lost him like six times, remember? He kept flipping out and running away - we had to bring him back one time - and you said he wasn’t sleeping, and he was jumping at noises –”

“I mean, that was –”

“And that was just Wendimoor, not even mentioning the whole Blackwing thing –”

“Well, yeah, obviously –”

“And when the agency first opened, he kept dropping cases before he could screw them up - you actually called me about that, remember? He tried to fire you then, before you could die on him?”

“I mean, I guess, but –”

“How long,” said Amanda, folding her arms again, “has it been since he’s gone catatonic? How long since the last bad nightmare?”

“These are, like, really extreme examples,” said Todd, feeling attacked for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Like, just because I haven’t tried to murder him in his sleep doesn’t mean I’m good for him.”

“It’s not just that, you know it’s not just that. He’s, like, talking about shit now, and asking for help sometimes, and buying people cards, like, weirdly early because he thinks they’ll still be around for their next birthday. That’s not all you, but it’s not not you, either.”

Todd tried to find the flaw in this, but he’d never been able to out-argue Amanda. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. She wasn’t… wrong . Dirk had changed, that was clear enough from seeing Svlad. Todd had forgotten how skittish Dirk, too, had been, once upon a time. 

He’d put Bart on a path to help Svlad in this timeline. Was it such a stretch to believe that Todd had played - at least, hadn’t not played - the same role in his Dirk’s life? Was it possible that, rather than wrecking Dirk’s life, he had - well - assisted in improving it?

The thought hit a new note, but not a false one. Unconsciously, Todd stood a little straighter. Dirk deserved the best, obviously, and that would never be Todd, but maybe - maybe Todd could be good enough.

“Also,” Amanda continued, “Dirk isn’t the only person around here whose life you’ve supposedly ruined. What about Farah? She’s barely slept for months trying to get you back. What about Lydia? What about m–” She stopped and swallowed hard. “Don’t make me say it.”

The mention of Farah instantly brought Todd’s guilt back. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry to make you all worry, I didn’t - I know I fucked up - I’ll make it up to you, somehow –”

“Then come back, ” Amanda burst out. “Stop martyring yourself when we all fucking miss you! I miss you! I don’t want my stupid brother to be stuck a whole decade in the past for the rest of my life!”

Todd blinked. He might have reached a fragile truce with Amanda, but he’d thought she’d see this time travel stunt as the universe’s karma. He’d never dared to dream she would actually miss him. The last bonds chaining him to the past loosened and slipped free. “R-really?” he said.

In answer, Amanda threw her arms around him and squeezed him in a far-too-tight hug, then stepped back, surreptitiously wiping her eyes. “Go get that fucking time machine,” she said. “Idiot.”

Todd gave her a tentative smile. “Smart-ass.”

“Asshole.”

“Jerkface.”

“Jerkoff.”

“Witchakokoo.”

She shoved him. “Okay, how is that even an insult? You’re losing your touch.”

“Mm, guess you’ll have to give me a refresher when I get back,” said Todd, unable to stop his grin. 

“Yeah,” said Amanda. “So wake up already loser.”

“Okay, okay,” said Todd, and forced himself to close one set of eyes –

–and open another.

---

The taxi pulled up in front of the Ridgely, and Dirk paid the driver and leapt out. He'd called Todd seven times and Amanda five from the taxi; none of them had picked up. This was his fault, this had to be his fault; he’d left Todd this time, so stung by Todd’s selfishness he’d retaliated with his own. He’d promised Todd he’d return, and then he’d run off instead, and now, barely twelve hours later, Todd had been in a car accident –

But he could fix this. He could still fix this. He took the stairs three at a time, feet pounding against the steps. Past Todd’s landing, Todd’s door hung open, revealing a scene of chaos: rumpled bedsheets; discarded laundry; boxers hanging off the couch. Dirk nearly tripped over a pair of shoes he didn’t recognize on his way to search for one clean shirt amidst the debris. He kicked one aside and into a jacket that definitely wasn’t his or Todd’s: black leather, with shined silver buttons. With a frown, he picked up the jacket with thumb and forefinger. Odd. It almost looked like –

Before the thought could crystallize, he tossed the jacket onto the couch. Moving further inside, he wrinkled his nose. The flat smelled like dirty laundry and worse, something tangy and unmistakable. Something almost like –

(The bedsheets, the clothes, the jacket –)

– “Sex,” Dirk said aloud.

The jacket, which was definitely Nate’s, sneered back at him. Dirk put a hand out to steady himself, his understanding of the night flip-flopping again. If Nate had been here before the accident - if the last person to see Todd was Nate –

If Dirk had gone and broken Todd’s heart, Todd had certainly tried to do the same.

And with Nate, of all people. Dirk shook his head, finding himself more disappointed than anything else. If Dirk had the timing right, he himself had left; Todd had immediately gone and hooked up with Nate; and the next morning, after just a few hours with the man, Todd had dissolved the only thing in his life that meant anything to him. He didn’t know why he’d still had any expectations left, yet here he was, standing in another Todd-made ruin.

He was still attempting to sort through the pieces when the door creaked and he turned to see Charlie in the doorway. “...Oh,” they said. “Dirk, right? Amanda said Brian might have called you.”

“Amanda? Is she alright?” Dirk rose, his brain running through newer, even worse scenarios. “She wasn’t in the car, was she? They weren’t both together - or in the opposite cars that crashed - or did she run him over on purpose –”

“She’s fine,” said Charlie. “Or not - fine - but…”

Charlie sighed, casting around the room and eventually stalking over to the couch. Wrinkling their nose, they flicked off a stained undershirt and perched on the couch arm. “I don’t know how much you know about the Brotzmans, or how much Todd and Amanda have told you, but there’s this disease, pararibulitis, that runs in their family.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Dirk impatiently. “Todd doesn’t have it, but Amanda does. Or - Todd says he has it, and Amanda doesn’t yet. Or - shit. Does she have it?”

Confused silence from Charlie. “Did the hospital call you? I didn’t think she’d told Brian…”

“She does have it?” said Dirk, nearly shooting through the ceiling. “How long? Surely not –”

“Her first attack was this morning, a couple hours ago,” said Charlie. “The hospital called Todd as her emergency contact, and he - um. This is sort of awkward.”

“And he drove over to the hospital immediately,” said Dirk, his heart sinking as he realized where the story was going. “Not… entirely sober, I’m guessing.”

Charlie winced, which was answer enough. Dirk ran his hands over his face. He needed a pillow to scream in, or perhaps three. He’d been wrong; this had been nothing to do with him at all. The universe could inflict tragedy enough without his interference. 

“Is he awake? Or - stable, at least?” he managed to ask. “Brian wasn’t clear.”

“He’s stable,” said Charlie. “They don’t know when he’ll wake up. They said he had a pretty bad concussion, maybe some memory loss.”

“God, how awful. Poor man.”

Charlie made a noncommittal noise, and Dirk remembered that Todd had lied to them, too, badly enough to make their oldest childhood friend quit the band they’d founded together. “For what it’s worth,” said Dirk, “I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to - that’s not what I - obviously I didn’t want him to get hit by –”

“No, I know,” said Dirk. “It’s only - I’ve experienced something rather similar, recently, so I know it stings.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked around the room’s obvious storytelling. “Shit, dude,” they said. “Amanda and Brian both thought you’d’ve been the one spending the night here. And you still came anyway?”

There were so many reasons Dirk had come, and so few of them would make any sense. Dirk settled simply on, “He’s my friend.”

“Yeah,” said Charlie, with a heavy sigh. “I know how that goes.”

And they did, Dirk realized. After all, Charlie had shown up, too.

At the thought, a worry Dirk hadn’t known he’d been carrying eased. Dirk wasn’t nearly the only person urging Todd towards a better future. If - when, now - Dirk returned to his present, Todd wouldn’t be wholly without support.

Or - perhaps he had never been without support. Perhaps Dirk had never needed to insert himself in the first place. Charlie’s presence here, Nate’s presence the night before, wrapped up this timeline’s loose ends, like scar tissue healing around him. The only loose end left was Dirk himself.

Charlie pushed themselves off the couch. “If you’re already getting his stuff, I guess I don’t need to come, too.”

“No - wait.” Dirk reached for the pile of clean-ish clothes he’d haphazardly thrown together. “I think - it might come better from you. It’s only been a week, and - and I’m leaving anyway. Is that alright?”

Unhappily, Charlie accepted the pile. “Not wild about it, but I can’t blame you. Anything you want me to tell him?”

“Better not. But - I really hope he does get better.”

“Yeah. If we’re lucky, he’ll lose his whole memory and wake up as someone who doesn’t fuck over all their friends. But, y’know.”

Charlie hunted around on the floor for a Safeway bag, stuffed the clothes inside, and headed for the door. In their departure, Dirk finally spotted his own jacket, discarded by the door, and slung it around his shoulders as a souvenir. He should really leave himself. There was nothing else for him here.

Instead, some instinct propelled him to Todd’s kitchen. He quickly unearthed Todd’s Post-its and a pen from inside the cutlery drawer, where Todd would still keep them a decade later. Biting his lip, he scribbled a note to Todd. It wasn’t much, but in a few hours, Todd would have very little at all. 

After everything, this was the least Dirk could do.

He folded the note in half and slipped it inside the guitar case leaning against the wall. Then he sent a text to Lydia and started on his way home.

---

The first thing Todd noticed was that he wasn’t dead.

The second thing was that he was still really cold, despite the absence of hallucinated frost. He peeled himself off the pavement, checking the alley for any of the army of holistics, but it was empty apart from the Man of the Machine’s lifeless body. Deciding it was best to put as much space between himself and the dead body before the police showed up, he backtracked out of the alley and onto the main road. 

He’d been expected to wander around for another several days looking for the professor’s house, but to his surprise, he instantly recognized the street of shops he’d passed earlier. He sped down it as the shopkeepers began to lock up for the evening. About to turn onto the next road, he hesitated and then turned back for one final London errand.

“Excuse me - sorry,” he interrupted the woman reaching for the shade over the thrift shop. 

“We’re closed.”

“This will be quick,” Todd promised, employing all Dirk’s slippery tricks to squeeze past her into the shop. “Could I buy that jacket - the yellow one in the window? And - do you have a pen or a marker or something? For the label?”

A few short minutes later, having traded away the literal clothes on his back - Svlad’s random band shirt had turned out to be a limited edition, with a signature hidden on the tag - for Svlad’s future, Todd found himself back at the professor’s house once more. He could see Svlad’s backpack through the window, flung on the floor where Svlad had left it. It didn’t look so stuffed that he couldn’t fit one more jacket inside.

He bounded up the steps, reaching for the handle without bothering to knock. 

“Goodbye, London,” he muttered, “and good riddance.”

And he stepped through the door.

---

“Ready?” said Lydia.

“Er,” said Dirk. “Don’t you think we ought to test it first? Isn’t that how scientific progress is made? Exhaustive testing and documentation? Hypothesis, and suchlike?”

“We’re already in the past of another timeline,” said Lydia, fiddling with one of the knobs that she and Dirk had just finished adding to the time machine. “It’s a little late for the scientific method.”

“It is never too late for science,” said Dirk haughtily.

“Uh-huh,” said Lydia, flicking the knob and then stepping back with a satisfied nod. “I’ll remind you of that next time you fall through a trapdoor instead of checking the map.”

Making a face at her, Dirk flipped through the pages of Lydia’s notebook again. “Are you certain we used the correct resistors? I can never tell if they’re yellow or orange –”

“It’s ready,” said Lydia, in a voice that brooked no argument.

Dirk gulped. He wanted to go home, of course he wanted to go home - but Todd was there, his Todd, and what if Dirk still had everything wrong? What Todd still wanted to quit - what if he had already left? What if Dirk got back, and Todd had moved to Idaho, wherever that was, and the last sight of him that Dirk ever had was either Todd screaming in his face or lying in a hospital bed, depending on how you counted –

Lydia’s hand slipped into his.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, squeezing his hand lightly, and Dirk realized he’d been hyperventilating. Don’t spin out floated through his brain, in Todd’s voice. He smiled at the remembrance.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Er. Have you said your goodbyes as well?”

Lydia opened her mouth, closed it again, and nodded. Dirk squeezed her hand back. “Well, then,” he said. “What are we waiting for?”

Without further ado, Lydia stepped forward and flicked the large red switch at the side –

(-- as Todd, thousands of miles and millions of timelines away, pressed the button on the jumble of wires the professor said still might still send the right signal –)

– and the time machine lit up and whirred to life –

(-- and the wreckage of the time machine shuddered and jolted awake – )

– and Dirk and Lydia, in unison, reached out their hands to grasp the handles at the side –

(-- and Todd, praying to the universe for one last miracle, held onto the splintered wood for dear life –)

– as the crystals on the board flared suddenly bright and brighter, electricity fizzing through Dirk and Lydia’s connection, blocking out the world around them –

(-- as, out of nowhere, a siren shriek bubbled up from the depths of the machine – )

– and the world –

(-- and the world –)

– changed.

Chapter Text

Todd was getting really tired of passing out and waking up in another dimension.

At least he was still standing, his hands clenched so tightly around the time machine as to be full of splinters. He opened his hands first, the time machine thudding to the ground and landing on - concrete?

“Todd?” said Lydia.

When Todd opened his eyes, he saw a scene eerily similar to the one he’d left one week and a million years ago: Lydia’s underground lab, the tools and benches covered in a thin sheen of dust, the lights overhead dim and flickering. Across the room, Lydia clutched a much more modern time machine, probably without any splinters. Todd kicked aside his useless pile of junk and started towards her. “Thank god,” he said. “I can’t believe –”

From just behind Lydia, someone cleared their throat.

Todd froze, his whole body and brain seizing up. He hadn’t pictured this moment - hadn’t allowed himself to - but Dirk, in the flesh, was so solid and present and real - Dirk with his one out-of-place curl and his round, uncertain, (eyelinered?) eyes and his, uh, patched black bomber jacket, for some reason - Dirk with his hands twisting in midair - Dirk with a question in his face and on his lips –

And Todd, for once, had an answer.

He would say, later, that it had been a happy accident - that he couldn’t have planned it this way. But he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew from the moment he’d first seen Dirk. He knew as he sprinted straight for Dirk, as he leapt into Dirk’s arms, as he angled his chin to meet Dirk’s face.

As his lips collided directly with Dirk’s.

Dirk made a noise of surprise, but before Todd could second-guess himself, Dirk’s arms wrapped around Todd’s back, lifting him up, holding him closer. Todd kissed Dirk like he should have done months ago - like Dirk was all he’d ever wanted, all he’d ever loved. He kissed Dirk like he’d just been saved from execution, like he’d never thought he’d see Dirk again. 

He kissed Dirk, in other words, like he meant it.

And Dirk kissed him back.

“...Oh-kay,” said Lydia, after a few minutes in which everything and everyone around them fully ceased to exist. “I’m just gonna… go hang out with your sister over here.”

“Sis?” said Todd, breaking away from Dirk, though leaving his arms looped around Dirk’s neck. “Amanda?”

“Can I look yet?” said Amanda from the corner, her hands firmly pressed over her eyes.

“Oh, shut up,” said Todd, clambering reluctantly off Dirk and going over to give Amanda a hug. Farah was there, too, pretending not to cry as she hugged Lydia tight. Lydia made everyone safely unplug and power off the various time machines lying around, and Farah herded them all back out to the sunlight, and in all the babble of everyone talking over each other and exclaiming over the various scientific miracles that had occurred, Todd couldn’t manage to get a word edgewise to Dirk. He had so much to say - apologies; questions; explanations - but whenever he looked Dirk’s way, he forgot all of it. Dirk was here, he kept thinking. Dirk had kissed him. Maybe, even after everything, there was still hope for them after all.

Finally, Lydia demanded enough explanation on a technical point that Amanda and Farah had to drag her back down the ladder to show her in person, and Dirk and Todd were left outside alone. Their conversation faded away, leaving a hollow silence. Todd forgot, not just his questions, but most of the English language at all. He kept seeing Svlad overlaid on Dirk; Dirk seemed to take up more space, as a result.

“So-o,” said Dirk.

Todd coughed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “So.”

Dirk traced his foot through the dirt on the forest floor. “I take it you’re… not quitting?”

Todd laughed once in disbelief, and then again in relief, and a third time in unfiltered joy, bubbling up from within all the stress and pressure and fear of the past week. “Definitely not,” he said, and Dirk’s whole face lit up in the most beautiful smile Todd had ever seen.

“And the move…?”

“Also cancelled,” said Todd. He hesitated and then dared to add, “Unless… you wanted to move in the other direction. Uh. Closer. Like, into one, uh. Into. You know what, never mind –”

“I think your flirting has degraded over the years,” said Dirk with a grimace.

“Oh, god,” Todd groaned. “You didn’t meet me, did you?”

“In the flesh,” said Dirk cheerily. “The bangs were certainly a choice.”

Todd buried his head in his hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have come back.”

“No –” said Dirk, and Todd looked up again to see Dirk staring at him with a gooey expression that Todd should have figured out years ago.

“I’m glad you came back,” said Dirk softly, and then straightened up and cleared his throat. “You see, I think I’m in love with you. And it would have been really a shame if I hadn’t been able to tell you.”

Warmth spread all the way through Todd’s chest, starting at his heart and racing through his whole body. “You think?” he said. “I know I’m in love with you.”

A smile burst over Dirk’s face like the sunrise, and Todd’s ribs felt like they might explode. The kissing this time lasted long enough that the others came out of the lab and fully left them behind without their notice. Todd could have stayed there forever, ignorant of the cold and the growing dark, as long as Dirk was there. He could have stayed wherever Dirk was, forever.

And he would, he thought, as Dirk finally noticed the cold and started to complain about it. They would have their fights; they would bicker and argue and break up and get back together. But he would always come back. He knew that now, as he threaded his fingers through Dirk’s and pulled him off towards the car Farah had kindly left behind. 

He wasn’t going anywhere.

---

Later - after they’d returned to their (lease-renewed) flat and thoroughly made up, after ruining the militant stress-cleaning Farah had done in their absence, after fulfilling the broken promise of a certain fateful night - later, Todd said, “Did you really join my band?”

“You invited me!” said Dirk. “Sort of strong-armed me, really. Gave me a shirt and everything. I’m only human, Todd.”

“Uh-huh,” said Todd, kissing Dirk’s left ear. “And one shirt was enough to override all the giant red flags I told you about, like, two years ago?”

Dirk hung his head, or would have, if his head was in a position to be hung. As it were, Todd was stroking his hair, which was quite nice and which he wouldn’t have interrupted for anything. “I… left you a note,” he confessed. “Past you, I mean. Other you. I doubt you’re in a place to believe it, but I wanted to - to help. Somehow.”

Todd’s hand stopped. Dirk nuzzled his head upwards to encourage Todd to continue, but Todd said, “You did what?”

“Just a Post-it. I left it in your guitar case. I hope you found it, though I’m not sure you would have opened your guitar for, er, a while.”

Abruptly Todd stood from the couch, dislodging Dirk, who hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. “ Ow. What’s the matter? This can hardly be in the top ten worst things I’ve done to the space-time continuum - I’m not even sure you’ve a shirt left to give past-future me. Where are you going?”

Todd marched into his (their?) bedroom and began rifling around in his closet. Whose bedroom would they keep? Todd’s window had a better view, but Dirk’s closet was twice as large. Perhaps they could trade off?

“What do you think about –” he started.

“Ah-hah!” said Todd, unearthing a beat-up black notebook with silver sharpie scrawled over the front. Dirk recognized the Mexican Funeral logo, and a moment later, the notebook itself: the same one past Todd had used for his lyrics. He hadn’t known Todd had kept it. Todd opened to the back cover, which had a cardboard pocket installed.

Dirk’s heart suddenly started beating very fast.

“Todd…” he said slowly. “What’s in there?”

Having found the notebook, Todd seemed to have lost his nerve. He passed a hand over the pocket, frowning to himself. “I thought it was from Charlie,” he said. “It wasn’t their handwriting, and they weren’t talking to me, but… I thought maybe they’d stuck it in there earlier, after Amanda got sick but before they found out about me.”

“But - I wasn’t in your band,” said Dirk. “I couldn’t have been. You would have recognized me.”

Even as he said it, he thought of what Charlie had said: a concussion, with possible memory loss. How much memory might one lose? A day? Perhaps even a week?

“It meant - in that time, what it meant --" Todd broke off, shaking his head against a flood of emotion. Dirk remembered his last plea to the universe, that Todd might not feel so alone; for this Todd, at least, it had worked. Before he could say this, Todd abruptly asked, "Where did you get your yellow jacket?"

“Ah. Well. You see.” Dirk prepared to launch into an extended dramatic tale but then paused, frowning. “That’s odd. I’m not sure I remember - I might have just found it lying around. But it had my name in it, so it must have been mine.”

Todd’s blue eyes grew even more enormous than usual. “Dirk,” he said, “ I wrote your name in there. For Svlad. I saw your jacket in a shop, and I wrote your name on the tag, and I left it with Bart, to give to you when you woke up.”

“Woke up?” said Dirk, and then, having been rather too distracted to internalize the complications of Todd’s narrative earlier, “ Bart? ”

Todd had already left, swerving into Dirk’s room and finding the jacket immediately across Dirk’s chair. He peered at the tag. “That’s my handwriting,” he said, passing it to Dirk. “I mean, I think it is. It looks like it. Doesn’t it?”

Now that Dirk was looking, it certainly did appear to be Todd’s. Todd had an odd way of writing his G’s, so they looked a bit like an arrow at the end. It might have been someone else’s, but Dirk knew the universe well enough enough to doubt that.

“What does that mean?” said Todd, as though Dirk possibly had the answer. “Were we here, too? I mean, we couldn’t have been - not with Bart, and you said the timing of, um, things w-with Amanda was all wrong - but someone wrote that note for me, right? Someone gave you that jacket.”

Dirk thought about all the possibilities of Lydia’s machine, all the branching timelines that might have been. If this Lydia had built such a thing, why couldn’t others? Why not even the Lydia of the timeline Dirk had visited, entangled with the Lydia who had watched from behind the trees? Who was to say that that Todd hadn’t found his way back to Dirk, after all?

“Dirk?” said Todd. “What do you think?”

In answer, Dirk smiled. Then he teased the jacket from Todd’s hands and tossed it on the bed, so he could better wrap his arms around Todd’s waist. “I think everything is connected,” he said. “Across time. Across universes, even. I think we’re connected, by fate and chance and free will.”

The worry eased from Todd’s face, and Todd smiled back. Dirk thought he could look at Todd’s smile every day for a million lifetimes and still not be satisfied. “Good,” said Todd, kissing Dirk, because he could. “There’s no one I’d rather be connected to.”