Chapter Text
Daisy lunges for him, even in the deep and dark and dirt he still finds it in him to want to run. Her teeth are bared and stained with blood and he can’t speak, not with his throat choked with the mud but he can make her know and so he does. All she wants to know is if Basira is alive, he knows that, and it’s easy enough to flood her mind with images of Basira in the institute, waiting, worried, and alone.
Something changes, then, in Daisy’s countenance and suddenly she is gone. She is gone and Jon doesn’t know why or how. He was the one with the anchor, not Daisy. He was the one who came to save her and yet…
...and yet.
An anchor didn’t have to be something physical. Once Daisy knew Basira was waiting she…
Oh Jon.
You absolute fucking idiot.
Peter’s smile finally fades and he heaves a gentle, tired sigh. “I’m sorry it couldn’t work out, Martin,” he says, and Martin wills himself to keep his eyes open, he will not face this as the coward he’s always known himself to be and as Peter takes another step…
There is a noise, from the coffin, and a sudden flurry of movement. Dirt sprays outwards and across the room and a snarling, spitting woman flings herself at the closest person. Peter is thrown back against the wall as Daisy - Martin can see now it’s Daisy - leaps at where Peter was standing a few seconds before but… but…
That twisting feeling, the scream of static in Martin’s head washes through the room and Peter is gone. Daisy turns to Martin, lips bared. “Basira,” she croaks out, and Martin can only shrug helplessly, wanting desperately to ask her about Jon but…
“Who was that?” she says then.
He swallows. “Peter Lukas,” he says. She lets out a whuff of a laugh that reminds Martin of something - something wild and dangerous - and the smile that crosses her lips is positively feral.
“Something to chase,” she says.
And she is gone as quickly as she came.
Martin leans against the desk. He doesn’t think his heart will ever get back to a normal rate, but then it hasn’t truly been normal since…
He looks back at the coffin, still open. Daisy came back. Daisy made it, but Jon?
“What did you do?” he asks the coffin, as though Jon can hear him. “How did she get out but not you? Jon?”
Basira. Basira was Daisy’s anchor. Jon would laugh in despair if he had breath or space to do it in. Cut off your finger, Jon. The Call of the FLESH Jon. Much easier than making an actual meaningful human connection JON.
He doesn’t have any connections like that. Perhaps Georgie might have been one for him, once, but there isn’t anyone… else.
Anyone else who cares enough for him.
Anyone else who would make a stupid sacrifice or just… bring him a cup of tea.
“What did you do?”
He shouldn’t be able to hear anything at all, down here, but the soft, exasperated and desperately sad voice reaches him all the same. “How did she get out but not you? Jon?”
Martin.
He’s given up, but he doesn’t know what to do. He thinks Daisy is hunting Peter. That… could be interesting and is probably a problem that they’re going to have to deal with but Martin supposes that Basira will be able to talk her down, if they even want her to. Peter deserves to die, just as much as Elias, and Martin can’t bring himself to really care.
About anything.
He sits down in Jon’s chair and resumes his watch. He’s not sure how long he’s been here altogether, to be honest. Long enough for Peter to realise his absence, so probably longer than a day. He’s tired, and hungry, and thirsty, but the weariness is what wins out in the end and he finally slips into sleep.
It should have been more dramatic, Jon thinks as he pulls himself over the side of the coffin and collapses on the floor of his office, gasping for breath. But in the end it was just bloody tiring. He was sure Daisy had burst forth like some sort of avenging angel ready to kill anyone who’d ever hurt Basira but Jon just…
Well he’s here. And he’s bloody exhausted.
At least he is until he sees the figure slumped in the chair behind his desk.
Then he is very, very awake.
Martin’s mouth is slightly open and there’s a little drool running out the corner of it, but his long lashes are resting peacefully on cheekbones that are more gaunt than Jon remembers and the soft rise and fall of his chest is enough for Jon to see he’s sleeping.
In Jon’s office.
Directly in front of Jon’s severed finger which, okay, yuck. He flexes his left hand, not surprised to feel almost no pain there, then sucks at his teeth. Martin looks very tired and Jon is covered in dirt and muck but he knows something now. Something about himself that he didn’t know before he went down into the coffin and he’s not sure if the thing he knows is good or bad for anyone.
It’s probably bad.
Most things are bad, these days.
Martin murmurs something and shifts in his sleep and Jon feels something clench in his chest and his eyes are suddenly full. If he wakes Martin up, Martin will almost certainly just… disappear again. Mutter something about having to go and it’s complicated and you died Jon and leave him here, alone, with nothing but a fucking severed finger and a lot of dirt and Jon doesn’t know if he can deal with that, not again. So he just stands there and looks at Martin like an idiot who never knew what he had until he couldn’t keep it.
He stands there, thinking that however absolutely awful this moment is, with the full weight of his realisations, it’s likely the only moment they’ll get.
Martin’s eyelids flutter and Jon holds his breath as they open and Martin sits up, wiping his mouth.
“Jon?” he sounds uncertain.
“Martin.”
“You… you made it out.”
“Yes.”
There is a long moment of silence and he sees Martin’s eyes trail down to his left hand. “Did you really cut off…”
Jon sighs. “Yes. Please I’d rather not… talk about it.”
“That was…”
“Really stupid of me. I know. But thanks for reminding me.” Another moment. “Daisy?”
“Oh ah…. She came out about an hour or so ago? Um. She may…” Martin runs a hand through his hair. “I think she might be trying to hunt down Peter Lukas.”
“What?”
“Um. Peter was here, uh… he wasn’t happy that I was…” Martin shakes his head and stands up, coming around to the front of the desk. “That doesn’t matter. He was here when Daisy came out and she uh…”
“Chased him.”
“Yeah.”
Another moment.
“Well. That’s. Interesting.”
Another. Martin is looking at him as though he’s afraid Jon is the one who will disappear. He hasn’t run yet.
He hasn’t run.
“Jon you’re covered in dirt.”
“Am I?” Jon looks down at himself and lets out a sigh. He has gone through so many sets of clothes these past years. He feebly dusts at himself for a second then looks back up at Martin, who is hovering near him, an expression so familiar and dear that he feels his breath hitch. “Why…” his voice cracks and he swallows. “Why are you here?”
“I don’t know,” Martin whispers. “I came down. I shouldn’t have but I did and then I knocked on your door and you didn’t answer and that was good, really, it was good that you didn’t answer and I shouldn’t have come inside but when I did and I saw that thing and I realised what you did and I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you in there I couldn’t…”
Jon reaches out his less recently injured hand and gently takes Martin’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think anyone would come by, except maybe Basira. You haven’t exactly been visiting much lately.” Jon can see the heat of a blush under Martin’s skin and realises he’s been an idiot again. “I’m sorry, Martin I don’t mean… I don’t mean that you. Christ. Look. I know you probably have to go. I can clean up here don’t… don’t worry about…” he moves towards the table and his legs give out and Martin throws an arm across his chest and stops him from collapsing outright but they both end up kneeling on the floor in the dirt.
Martin’s face is very close and Jon does not pull back. “Sorry,” he says.
“I can’t believe you cut off your finger,” Martin says, then swallows.
“Didn’t even need to, as it turns out,” Jon says.
“Mmm?”
Jon reaches up, so carefully, and his hand hovers near Martin’s lips. “Jon? What are you…”
He’s so bad at this. He isn’t sure if he should ask first but he’s also sure that if he tries whatever comes out of his mouth will be absolutely ridiculous so he settles for moving forward a little, inching his face towards Martin’s.
Martin pulls back, and Jon, mortified, pushes away and gets to his feet. He sways a little, once he’s there, and Martin scrambles up beside him, supporting him at the elbow. “I’m sorry,” Jon says. “Stupid of me, Martin, I know you can’t… I’m… Just….” Lonely. Without you.
He tries to get to his desk, but Martin is there beside him, holding him back. “Jon did you just…”
“Make an absolute arse of myself? Yes, absolutely I did. It’s a thing. Apparently.”
“Jon, no. Jon wait I…”
Jon looks up at Martin and Martin is… smiling. He cannot remember the last time he saw Martin smile. God, he’s missed it.
“Something you wanted to say, Martin?” he says.
“You are covered in dirt,” Martin points out.
“Well I didn’t exactly think I was going to get another opportunity to… uh… you know since you’re likely to just be… gone in a minute so I thought…”
“Opportunity to what?” The smile is positively mischievous now.
“You’re really going to make me say it?”
“Well. You don’t actually have to say it when you could just…”
Jon lets out an exasperated breath then reaches up to pull Martin down for a kiss.
It’s been a long time and he really is very bad. Their teeth clack and his nose gets squished into Martin’s cheek and when they pull apart there is more saliva than there really should be but Martin is still smiling, one hand moving up to brush a thumb over the scars on Jon’s cheek and when he dips his head to kiss Jon again this time at least one of them knows what to do.
When they part again they’re both breathing hard.
“I suppose you have to go now,” Jon says, but Martin leans his head forward to rest on Jon’s and gently shakes it, no.
“I don’t think so,” he says. “I think this time I get to stay.”