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The room is grey with early morning light when Jon wakes. He sighs, burrowing back into the blankets that bury him for a few moments. The bedside clock informs him that it is half-past eight - early to be waking up on a Saturday morning, by many people's standards, but rather late by Jon's.
He gets out of bed quietly, careful not to wake the still-sleeping form next to him. The air has a chill to it, ushering in the change of seasons, so he pulls on a thick woolen sweater before leaving the room.
There is a lump on the couch when Jon makes his way through the living room, half-hidden between the pillows. The lump is not supposed to be on the couch; still, Jon turns a blind eye and pretends not to see the hopefully wagging tail as Addie wakes up. Training the dog is not his responsibility - there's no harm in not telling her off so early in the morning.
In the kitchen, he fills the kettle with water, quietly pulling out mugs and spoons and all the other detritus that goes along with making tea. He is certainly not the expert on the subject, but a routine is a routine, after all, and he has his part to play in it.
He leaves the preparations sitting on the counter as he retrieves a file from the box in the living room, still ignoring the trespasser on the couch. A shadow detaches itself from the wall to wind around his legs as he heads back to the kitchen, and as soon as he sits down the Earl jumps up to curl on his lap.
There is a tape recorder sitting on the table that was not there the first time Jon walked into the room. He barely even registers the oddity of it as he pulls it closer to begin recording. A routine is, after all, a routine.
The click as it turns on is a familiar sound in this house, as familiar as the warm yellow light streaming from the kitchen door while Jon reads; the rest of the house is still quiet and dark as he begins to speak.
"Statement of Lynn Wiley, regarding an unusual tree that grew near her grandparents' home during her childhood. Original statement given March 27th, 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Blackwood-Sims, the Archivist.
"Statement begins."
The Magnus Institute has technically been closed for several years, but the building still stands, small and dark by the shores of the Thames. Most people do not remember why it finally shut down, and many would be hard-pressed to tell you what purpose it had served in the first place. Fewer yet would believe that it still held, deep in its basements, files containing the grimmest stories humanity had to offer, tales of fear and death far beyond what the ordinary mind could comprehend.
Jon still has a key, and every winter he and Martin return to select a new box of statements for the upcoming year. Reading one each week is a small price to pay for health, and habit can turn even the most horrifying of tasks homely.
He smiles when he hears Martin starting to stir, even as Ms. Wiley begins to tell of the crushing weight of the branches above her and the way her feet seemed rooted to the ground.
Jon reads in a soft voice, not quite whispering but not using his full volume, either. He had avoided these early morning readings for quite a long time when he and Martin were first living together, anxious to not disturb Martin's sleep; but the routine had grown up around them after Martin admitted how much he liked listening to Jon read, and how comforting it was to wake to the sound of Jon's voice drifting gently through the house.
A muted reprimand followed by the jingle of a collar as the dog leaves the couch marks Martin's appearance in the living room; a moment later, he walks into the kitchen, Addie by his side. The Earl bats at her still-wagging tail as she passed the chair, digging his claws into Jon's leg and purring softly. Jon doesn't break the pace of his reading even as he smiles, leaning into the hand Martin places on his shoulder as his husband kisses the top of his head.
Jon reads; Martin bustles around the kitchen, making tea and setting out food for the pets. After so many years together they have the timing of the process down almost to the second, and Martin sets two cups of tea on the table just as Jon finishes the statement.
"Recording ends."
The recorder shuts itself off, and Martin smiles across the table at Jon as he sits. "Morning, love."
"Good morning." Jon takes a sip of his tea as Martin gestures at the recorder.
"They doing okay?" It is another routine, another box to check on the list of starting the day. Jon closes his eyes and concentrates for a second.
"Yes. She's in a nursing home now, but her troubles with the Buried stopped after she convinced her grandparents to burn down the tree. Say what you will about the Desolation, 'kill it with fire' seems to be a fairly effective strategy for dealing with most manifestations of the other powers."
Martin laughs at that, the lines around his eyes crinkling with a familiar warmth. Jon is proud of that, in an odd way. Despite all they've been through, it is lines of laughter, not worry, that mark Martin's face.
"Pancakes for breakfast?"
"Sounds good." And he is proud of this as well: of the synchronized way they move around the kitchen as they cook, Martin stirring the batter as Jon measures ingredients; of the exasperation of tripping over the pets and getting in each other's way; of the fact that they both agree that eating healthy is all well and good, but pancakes are nothing without syrup poured over the top; of the sheer normalcy of it all.
Martin taps a finger against the calendar as they clear away the leftovers.
"We've got company tonight, don't forget."
"I never do."
Martin raises an eyebrow, and he doesn't even need to speak for Jon to catch his meaning. It is true, he never outright forgets; but if Martin doesn't remind him, he is prone to remembering only five minutes before their friends show up at the door.
"Oh, be quiet. I actually did remember today."
Martin laughs.
They take the dog on a long, rambling walk to a nearby park. The chill has been burned from the air by now, and they walk slowly, soaking up the morning sunlight. Their conversation wanders as much as their feet, from the weather to their plans for repainting the spare room to how strange it is, and strangely pleasant, to live on their own now their daughter has moved away.
Jon stops for a smoke by the small duck pond in the center of the park, pulling out his same old lighter with its faded web design. Martin stands upwind of him - he may not mind that Jon smokes, but he certainly doesn't want to breathe it in. The sunlight catches on his hair, glowing off the greying strands - more grey now than brown, but still enough of a mix that he looks younger than his years.
Jon's own hair is completely white. Another choice had been made, somewhere along the line, one he was hardly even aware of. Regardless, he is aging normally, the years wearing on him as they would any other human.
He doesn't mind. He has seen death, and he has seen immortality, and he knows which concept scares him more.
Martin locks himself in his office when they get home so he can work on his book, and Jon settles onto the couch to read. The pets stay with him - much though Martin might enjoy their company, having a dog drooling on his leg or a cat walking over his keyboard is not conducive to a productive workspace.
Much of the day passes in this manner. Martin comes out briefly for lunch, muttering about formatting errors and autocorrect. Jon smiles, but does not interrupt him - he is well aware of the sort of obsession that can pull you into a project so entirely the world around you fades away. Martin does not get like this often - certainly not as often as Jon - but his poetry has always been a very personal thing, and self-publishing a book is a labor of love that he has dedicated himself to completely.
He emerges again in the midafternoon, settling onto the couch near Jon's feet to ask his advice on the relative merits of chronological versus topical organization. The conversation details after Martin settles on topical - most of the poems he has chosen to include are from recent years, and chronology would lend no consistency to the compilation - and the discussion turns to what topics the book should be organized around. This sparks reminiscences on vacations and parenting, home improvement projects and aging, and once again they find the conversation trailing off on paths entirely unrelated to the original question at hand.
Neither of them mind, or even notice - they can distract each other like no one else, and this happens frequently.
Martin startles when he sees the time, causing the Earl to jump off his lap and stalk away in a huff. He stands, holding out a hand to help Jon up as well, and they swing into preparations for dinner, continuing their conversation in stilted bouts half-shouted through the walls as they move around the house.
Jon cleans while Martin cooks, moving scattered books back to the shelves they belong on and straightening the clutter of a life spent together until the space is presentable for company. Addie dances around him as he vacuums the carpets, convinced as always that this is some strange form of play. The Earl watches with disdain from the top of a bookshelf, tail swishing gently.
Daisy and Basira are the first to arrive, just as he is finishing setting the dining room table. Martin calls a greeting from the kitchen, and Basira makes her way over to talk to him as Daisy detours into the living room to play with Addie, letting the dog sniff her up and down. She and Basira have dogs of their own, and Addie is always thrilled at the chance to pick up on their scents.
Melanie arrives a few minutes later, closely followed by Georgie and her partner. Melanie gives Jon a friendly punch on the shoulder; Georgie pulls him into a hug. Basira comes out of the kitchen just in time to make the standard "not another one" joke to Georgie's partner - his name is Michael, and they've never let him live it down.
Jon leaves the group laughing to go help Martin in the kitchen, moving steaming plates of food over to the dining room for the meal. It only takes a few more minutes to finish everything, and soon enough the whole party is seated around the table. The Earl jumps into Georgie's lap to get her attention, and Addie sits next to Daisy with one paw in the air to beg for food off the table. Both pets have learned well which of Jon and Martin's friends are most likely to give in to their wishes, and they employ that information whenever they get the opportunity.
Conversation flows easily among the group. Daisy and Basira have just gotten back from celebrating their anniversary in France, and Melanie's show has been nominated for an award, so there is no shortage of topics.
No one really notices when Helen shows up. She's like that. Still, the empty chair next to Melanie is filled within a half-hour of sitting down to eat, and she joins the conversation smoothly with an offer to give Daisy and Basira - or anyone at the table, for that matter - easy transport anywhere in the world the next time they are traveling, if the airport traffic is really as bad as they say.
Melanie is the only one to take her up on it, and Helen grins at everyone else's hasty refusals.
Night falls outside as they talk and laugh together, conversation continuing long after the food is finished. There is, as always, lots of talk of "the kids" - though both Sasha and Tim are adults now, and don't really fit the title. Still, Jon and Martin, and Daisy and Basira, will always think of them in that way. They're both independent now, living on their own, and it is with a strange mix of nostalgia and pride that the group reflects on all the years spent getting them there.
It is Georgie's announcement that it's getting late that prompts the visitors to start heading home, though she and Michael are the last to leave. Daisy and Basira head out arm in arm into the night, leaning into each other as they walk to their car. Helen offers Melanie a lift home, and she takes it gratefully, more comfortable in the Distortion's twisting corridors than she ever was on London's busy streets.
Georgie smiles at Jon and Martin as the yellow door fades into the wall.
"I know the others are busy, but we're still on for dinner next week, yeah?"
Martin is the one to respond, with a smile. "Of course."
They say their goodbyes, and Georgie and Michael head out, hand in hand. Jon puts his arm around Martin's shoulder after the door closes, leaning down to kiss his hair. Martin leans into him, and they stay there for a few minutes, just enjoying the moment, until Addie begins whining at the back door.
Martin claps his hands together and steps away, smiling at Jon.
"You let the dog out; I'll start clearing the table."
Jon puts music on before he joins Martin in the kitchen, a playlist full of old love songs that makes them both smile. He loads the dishwasher while Martin puts away the leftovers, and the pots and pans get stacked near the sink to be washed the next day. Martin is swaying slightly to the music as he works, and Jon waits for the song to change before grabbing one of his hands to pull him into the middle of the floor, spinning them into a dance.
Martin laughs, placing his free hand on Jon's shoulder. Jon's lands on his waist, and they settle into an approximation of a waltz as the tune continues.
The song is "Love is Here to Stay;" Jon picks up the lyrics on "Forever and a day," and continues singing along quietly as he and Martin move around the room. It is mostly an unconscious habit, but he pauses slightly between verses, and when he says "Oh my dear," his eyes have gone soft, and there is a slight smile playing about his lips.
Martin pulls them to a stop, disentangling his hand from Jon's, and cups both of them around the taller man's face. He draws him down into the kiss slowly, returning the smile with one of his own; and when they break apart he winds his arms around Jon's neck, tucking his head against his shoulder. Jon pulls him close, arms around his back, and they stand there, still swaying gently to the music, until the song ends.
It is late by the time they finally make it to bed. Jon curls in close to Martin, one arm thrown across his chest and his face pressed into his shoulder. Martin pulls the blankets close around them both, turning off the light with his other hand.
Jon sighs contentedly as they are plunged into darkness, and Martin reaches up to run a hand through his hair.
"You okay?"
"Mhm. Just a long day."
There's a smile in Martin's voice as he responds. "Yeah. But a good one."
"Definitely." Jon shifts to press his lips against his husband's, catching the corner of his mouth in the darkness. "Goodnight, Martin."
"'Night, Jon."
They drift of to sleep still curled together, safe and content in each other's arms.