Chapter Text
If he’s completely honest, Martin doesn’t have the first idea how he ended up here.
He knows how he ended up at the Institute of course, knows that ever since he’d gotten away with his lie he’d spent a number of years trying to make up for it, attempting to gloss over the glaringly obvious gaps in his researching skills with hard work, enthusiasm, and copious amounts of tea. Martin knows for a fact that even though he gets plenty of easy smiles, and gives them in return, he’s not the best researcher the Institute has ever had. He doesn’t need to be, especially not when he’s already been here for so long and has managed in that time to catch up quite a bit. He’s liked well enough, too awkward to have an abundance of friends, but too friendly to be hated, and he thinks that for the most part he tends to go overlooked. It’s for the best, really, too much attention could get him into far more trouble than he wants, it’s far better to be passed over than scrutinised. It’s safe to say that all things considered, Martin had been quite comfortable where he was, and that none of his work over the last six years would come close to explaining how he’d ended up working directly under Jonathan Sims.
Not that Martin really minds, as far as predicaments go he could have gotten into a lot worse. It’s mostly just confusion, and perhaps a little suspicion, because Tim and Sasha? They make sense. Tim, for all his faults, is good at his job. Jon had asked him to come with him himself, and as far as Martin is aware Sasha was in the same boat, looking for a transfer with an impressive record of work behind her that made her an obvious pick, Martin can’t say the same for himself.
Still, here he is. Whether Elias put him here for some reason he probably doesn’t want to know about, or somehow Jon had managed to remember the handful of times they’d actually spoken and decided that he’d be a better pick than someone who actively disliked him, it doesn’t really matter when the end result is the same. All it really does is make his life harder.
Not because he’s suddenly under more scrutiny, although that is a part of it. It’s much harder to hide a lack of skills when there’s only two other people to be compared to, but he’s been getting away with that one for some time now so he’s not completely worried about it. No, what he’s more worried about, what’s really getting under his skin and leading him to make far too much more tea than usual, is Jon himself.
Martin had gotten used to watching from a distance. They’d spoken, of course, as much as Jon speaks to anyone, but it’s safe to say that they’d never been particularly close. Martin doesn’t think they’ve actually spent more than ten minutes together at any one time since Jon started working here, and he’d gotten used to that, in fact it had probably helped. But Martin can’t deny that he’d taken one look at him when he’d walked through the door on his first day here, and never really looked away again. There’s something about Jon that he’s always found captivating. Whether it’s the fact that he dresses like he’s the only person here who takes his job seriously, or the way that when he gets deeply involved in his research he can be seen muttering to himself, hunched over his keyboard and writing furiously on three separate notepads at once like he’s going to work out what’s going on if it kills him. Or perhaps its the fact that he just might, because Martin is fairly sure he’s never seen him eat and he doesn’t much look like one for sleeping much. Maybe it’s that he’s unfairly attractive, and that he holds everyone at a distance so nobody can get too close. Or the way he runs his hand through his hair as he puzzles over something he can’t quite piece together. Maybe it’s just the fact that Martin knew this crush was safe, because even if he worked it out Jon wouldn’t ever like him back, and he’s too awkwardly polite in his own strange way to be outwardly cruel about it. Martin is used to watching him, used to the space between them dictating how little they interacted, used to being captivated when he isn’t supposed to be, but warmed through whenever he sees him smile all the same. It’s different now.
They’re closer, in many ways. Martin technically working for Jon means they have a lot more actual interactions, even if they are mostly professional. There’s less of them on the team, which makes them all closer in a way the larger research team hadn’t really been. Jon even ventures on post-work outings to the local pub with them on occasion, where Martin still feels too uncertain to start a conversation about anything real with him, and Jon always looks like he needs the drink more than he’d like. So they grow closer, orbit each other a little more, but the distance is still palpably there only this time it feels further.
Jon shuts himself away in his office most days, and Martin can no longer watch him across the room. He sees the aftermath, of course, but he’s no longer able to watch Jon manically scribbling things down across the room caught up in his work. He doesn’t get to watch the slump of his shoulders when he hits a dead end, or catch him cursing to himself over another paper cut. The door between them is closed shut, firm and clear and no matter how often Martin finds himself glancing at it he can’t actually see through it. And the thing is that somewhere Martin knows that he’s always worried about Jon, that he finds himself attracted to people who more often than not are in need of looking after. People he can give care to in a meaningful way to make up for… well. Everything else. Even something as simple as making someone a bowl of soup and telling them to get some sleep, he’s always felt the best about himself when he’s looking out for someone else, and whenever he thinks about it that train of thought always leads to his mother and he cuts it off before he can follow it to somewhere he doesn’t want to go. So yes, Martin has always in some way known that he worried, but he’s never felt it more acutely than in the last few weeks when it’s become increasingly apparent that this new arrangement isn’t going to let him keep an eye on Jon in a way he’s become accustomed to, and he’s no longer going to be able to work out the best times to leave a cup of tea quietly on the edge of his desk just to take the edge off.
He can manage it though, throwing himself into work with a dedication that’s admirable even if his techniques are not. He’s determined to at least do a good job, if not just to cover for his lies then to take some of the pressure off Jon now he’s been promoted, because no amount of closed office doors will hide the fact that he is feeling the pressure. Not in any drastic way of course, he doesn’t look like he’s missed a weeks worth of sleep, or manages to look anything less than put together. But he does look more tired than usual whenever Martin sees him. He’s always working harder than before whenever he drops a cup of tea off, to the point where sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s left it and by the time he’s dropping off the next the last one he’d left still stands where he’d put it, stone cold and forgotten. He’s staying later too, Martin’s noticed. If only because he’s also prone to staying late if he doesn’t have a reason to leave, for any reason from needing to keep on top of his work, to putting off going home to an empty flat and a pile of unsent visitation requests. Which incidentally is why he’s still here at half past eight, nearly four hours after he should have left, and it hasn’t escaped his notice that Jon is still here too.
Martin shuts off his computer with a sigh, eyes flickering towards Jon’s door and debating whether or not he should breach the subject. At this hour he’s just as likely to be unnoticed by Jon as he is to get a scathing comment from him depending on what it is that’s keeping him here, but he doesn’t feel able to leave without at least checking on him. It can’t hurt, right?
Still, he takes his time gathering his things in the vain hope that he’ll appear of his own accord and Martin won’t have to worry about it anymore. By the time he’s shrugged on his coat and picked up his bag it’s become obvious that isn’t going to happen, and instead he braces himself for whatever lies beyond as he makes his way over to knock on the door. Predictably there’s no response, and he adjusts his bag on his shoulder before he lets himself in. They all do it, Jon is about as oblivious to knocking as he is to office gossip, but he always tries to give him chance to respond just in case.
“Jon?” he asks carefully, peering around the edge of the doorframe to see the man in question staring intently at a pile of old records. The papers are spread all over his desk, some in danger of falling to the floor, and Jon himself is rubbing at his temples and making notes on his own pile of papers next to him.
When he doesn’t respond to his name, Martin clears his throat and Jon jumps, startled for a moment before his eyes land on the doorway and he sags in something that looks both like relief and disdain.
“Martin!” he sighs, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes for a moment. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“I have! I did! You were just…” he looks over the piles of paper before looking back to Jon. “Busy, I suppose.”
“Right. Yes, well. What do you want?”
The thing is that Martin isn’t entirely sure, but he does his best not to outright shrug at the question.
“I… wanted to let you know that I’m going home?” he offers uncertainly. “Not that you need to know that! That’s not a… thing it’s just- well. I wanted- You’re going to be the last one here, and it’s- it’s nearly nine so you should probably… think about heading home yourself? Sorry.” He doesn’t know why he apologises, it feels like he always does whenever he talks to Jon. Or the others, for that matter. It’s a habit he’s never quite been able to shake.
For his part Jon just stares at him, and despite all of his watching Martin has never quite been able to read him, certainly not when the expression is directed at him. For a moment it looks like Jon is about to ask him if he’s sure that’s the time, before he draws himself up to sit properly in his chair and drags another pile of papers towards himself.
“Alright,” he states dismissively, back to being a brick wall before Martin can hope to break through it. “If that’s all?”
He doesn’t look back up at him, and Martin wraps his fingers around the doorframe feeling unnervingly like he wants to shake him. It’s obvious even that wouldn’t work though, not if Jon is feeling as stubborn as his spine suggests he might be, and instead Martin nods to himself and sighs heavily, choosing where to pick his battles.
“Goodnight, Jon.”
It’s a soft thing, weary. Defeated may be a little strong when he’s not sure what he was trying to achieve, but he tries not to let it show in his voice. It hardly matters either way when he gets a distracted mumble of acknowledgement in response, and it’s all too obvious that Jon has lost himself to the records once again.
Martin lets the door shut softly behind him, and makes a note to pick up some extra strong tea in the morning as he shuts off all but one of the lights.