Work Header


Work Text:

The thing that David doesn't admit, that he doesn't want to admit to Syd because, well, Syd, is that-- He's touch-starved, too.

Well, he thinks Syd is touch-starved. She has to be, he knows she is, but-- It's not like she's ever admitted it.

But that's Syd. She doesn't really do-- Vulnerable. Sometimes David likes that about her, loves it, but sometimes-- It just makes him feel alone. It makes him feel the distance that's always between them, between their bodies. The pillow wall in the middle of their bed, Syd's back to him, his back to her.

He knows touch hurts her, he never wants to hurt her, he just-- Needs, sometimes, and the astral plane, the white room-- It's not enough, it's not-- Casual touches, being close, holding hands, a little brush against his arm, a touch to his hair--

Intimacy. He couldn't have intimacy in Clockworks, everything was-- Locked down, shut in. Even in the crowded common room or the cafeteria. Trapped inside and out, everyone solitary, alone, like anyone could ever get better alone--

He feels alone now, too, in this strange new world he woke up in. Division 3, everyone keeping their distance from him. Even Syd. It's worse, with Syd, the distance, when they're two feet apart in the same bed.

Everything was fine before the orb. Oliver was gone, the monster escaped, but he was happy. He wasn't alone. And now--

He sighs. He just-- Has to get through this. Save the world, the future, and then--

And then?

He knows the compass won't be enough. He never meant to hurt her, he never meant to leave, he was taken. He was taken. But Syd feels so far away.

We don't need her, the voices say, the voices that sound like himself but not himself. He's not sure if he's ever heard these voices before. They feel-- Familiar, somehow. But he can't place them.

He thinks of Philly, still out there somewhere. He thinks of all the times they fought and broke up and then got back together and-- And then for a while they couldn't get enough of each other, they'd be so close, breathing each other's air, bodies always finding some way to connect--

The voices, whatever they are, are just voices. They can't touch him, hold him. And neither can Syd. And he's afraid that if he tells her, if he admits he needs more than she can give--

It didn't matter, in Clockworks. It mattered but it didn't matter. It always mattered but--

He just needs to be touched. To be held. For the emptiness inside him to be filled just for a moment.

He turns to face her, reaches out, Syd--

And touches the pillow. Sighs. Turns away.

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep.