Work Text:
“Very well. In which case there's a room in the Archives I use to sleep when working late. I suggest you stay there for now. I'll talk to Elias about…”
“O- Okay... thanks. To be honest I didn't, didn’t expect you... to take it seriously.”
Martin knew Jon had never been exactly friendly with him. The most cordial Jon ever got was when Martin made the office tea, and Jon delivered a flat “thank you” from his desk. To be honest though, that made it easy to like Jon. There was no underlying anxiety that he was only friendly out of pity or mere tolerance, as was the case with most of his other coworkers. Jon was cold and a jerk, frankly, but as frustrating as he could be, it was also relieving to talk to him. That said, when he recounted spending nearly two weeks trapped in his flat, Martin had hardly expected it to end with such a considerate offer. Jon dressed it up as a calculated conclusion, but there was genuine concern behind it. Martin was sure he was still considered disposable in Jon’s mind, of course, but it was nice for a change.
The only things he retrieved from his flat were his laptop, the quilt that lay on the sofa, and his toothbrush. He would also later dig out the corkscrew from the back of the utensil drawer in his kitchen, after placing his largest knife back in the wooden block on the counter after realizing it was impractical for the kind of surgery they might need to perform.
The Archives were actually quite cozy. His own flat felt too empty and minimalistic in comparison. He went out for dinner and checked that everyone else had gone home for the day before he set up for bed, and after the ordeal he’d been through he was desperately tired. It was easy to fall asleep, pushing past the fading paranoia that he would wake covered in worms.
He settled into a new routine of waking up ungodly early, tucking all his things away, working on whatever new case Jon was investigating, and waiting for all the lights to go off before he went to bed. And it went like this for three nights without incident.
However, Martin was a light sleeper, especially as of late. He drifted out of sleep to the sound of the door opening, and panic seized him. His hand went to the corkscrew under his pillow as he shot upright. The silhouetted figure in the doorway exclaimed and froze.
“Oh- Oh Christ. Martin.”
“Jon?”
“I forgot you were in here now.” Jon let out a breath, having been as suddenly startled as Martin was.
“Oh. Y-Yeah?” He was the tiniest bit relieved Jon hadn’t said “living here”. This was mortifying enough. He was wearing a t-shirt for God’s sake. (If Jon turned on the light, he would have seen that it was a t-shirt featuring a faded decal of the Metal Gear logo. Mortifying.)
“Right. Sorry.” Jon stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
“Can I help you?” Martin asked slowly, cringing.
“No, no,” Jon assured quickly. He claps his hands together. “I was just going to… use… the couch... But, um. I’m going to go.”
“Oh.”
“Uh, goodbye.” Jon exited and shut the door before Martin could respond. His heart was still racing. His cheeks felt hot. He left the cold metal of the corkscrew under the pillow and reached for his watch instead. Past midnight. Martin groaned and laid back down.
The next day was painful to face. He did his best to forget the incident, to downplay how embarrassing it had been. It didn’t work. To John’s credit, he seemed to have forgotten it completely. He checked in on Martin’s progress with their current research coldly and disappeared into the office to record a statement with no further acknowledgement. Martin noticed the dark circles under his eyes, though. They had always been there, but they seemed prominent now that Martin knew how late Jon apparently stayed up working until.
Sasha offered to come with him that weekend, so he could return to his flat for clothes. He tried to turn her down, but she just smiled and insisted. So, somewhat nervously, he let her into his flat.
“Oh, god, sorry. I ran to the Archives as soon as she was gone, and then I didn’t have time to clean up or anything-” he started to ramble and hastily sweep an empty can of peaches into the garbage, but she just scoffed.
“You do remember that case about the man who nailed meat to his walls, right? I don’t think the fact that you haven’t dusted in a few days is going to faze me.” Her attempt at reassurance succeeded and he chuckled lightly.
“Right, I’ll just be a minute then.” He ducked into his bedroom and began to pack a bag. She walked around, idly taking in his flat, her hands casually tucked into her jacket pockets. Sasha wasn’t nosy; she just liked to people-watch and the inside of someone’s flat could tell you a lot about them. Martin had given her and Tim a much briefer account of his statement, so she knew he’d been stuck here for quite a few days.
There was a haphazard pile of books in the center of the floor, and the sofa seemed to have been moved to face the door. That, or Martin was horrible at interior decorating. There were two plain shelves mounted to the wall, containing a few picture frames, a space where she assumed the books on the floor were usually stored, and a few various knick-knacks. A small, cheap wooden desk was pushed against one wall. The kitchen wasn’t separated from the living room, but the whole space felt sparse and distinctly uncluttered.
Sasha spotted the little rainbow-striped flag sitting in a cup of pens on his desk and smiled softly. She picked it up and twirled it for a moment before carefully slipping it back into the cup.
The only other things on the desk, scattered around the vacant space where his laptop usually sat, were a few sheets of lined paper with scribbles and scratched out letters. His handwriting is small and cramped but still neat and tidy, with nice rounded shapes. She leafed through the papers, picking out words like “parasitic” (along with a few scratched out slant rhymes listed beside it), “confined” and “silvery” (the word “slimy” appears next to this one along with several question marks).
As she skimmed, Sasha noticed a paper at her feet, forgotten and partially crumpled. She stooped to pick it up, reading the simple greeting of “Mom,” in a shakier script than the rest, and didn’t read any further. A few moments later, Martin reappeared from the bedroom, holding a bag and shutting the door behind him.
It had been a week since Jon had first accidentally woke him in the sealed room. And, since the rather embarrassing occurence where he found out Jon comes in to work so early, Martin had begun wearing shorts to bed, and took care to be up and dressed by 7 AM at the latest. He’d been sleeping soundly and that skin-crawling sensation hadn’t bothered him in several nights, but he woke again to the door being cracked open. He didn’t jump straight to panic this time, but he still sat up. Jon jumped slightly in the doorway.
“God, Jon, can you please stop being so.. Sneaky!” Martin’s instinct was to throw a book at Jon, but he resisted the urge.
“Sorry, sorry!” Jon spoke in a hushed tone and straightened up. “I keep forgetting-”
“What happened to ‘leaving this place before dark’?”
Jon winced and waved a hand. “Old habits. I have a- a hard time sleeping,” He confessed.
“There’s tea for that, you know.” Martin knew for a fact that there was an entire box of Sleepytime in the office kitchen.
“Well, yes but-,” Jon cut off. He didn’t want to concede that he only drank tea when Martin made it. “Nevermind. I’ll just go home. Sorry for waking you. Again.” Jon started to pivot, but Martin interrupted.
“No. I mean, it’s alright. Honestly, I should probably just move back to my flat. Sasha and I were there last weekend, and it seemed fine. I mean, Jane did say that she wasn’t interested in me anymore so-”
“Don’t be stupid.” Martin was relieved even as Jon insulted him. He had walked himself through that rationale a thousand times but he still dreaded going home. “We’re not going to take that sort of risk. Besides that... she’s still texting me.”
“Oh?” Martin was surprised. Jon hadn’t mentioned any more messages.
“Mm. The usual ominous threats one might expect from a self-described witch.” Martin nodded, then tried to suppress a grin, but Jon saw it. “What?”
“It’s just-” He gestured as if texting with his thumbs. “Can you imagine it? Just typing, hunched over somewhere. Or- Or does she have the worms do it for her?” Martin didn’t want to picture her fingers, riddled with holes and crawling with worms, but the idea still made him laugh. Jon exhaled sharply through his nose and closed his eyes with a slight smile. Martin beamed. It was the closest he’s ever come to making Jon laugh. If this was what it took, Martin would have given Jane Prentiss his phone from the start. Jon had a nice smile.
“I hadn’t considered that, no.” Jon replied and sobered. “Still. She’s a threat, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to. I can just start going home at a reasonable time and stop taking naps at, what, midnight?”
“It’s nearly two AM.” Martin corrected him and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh. Well. All the more reason, clearly.” Nighttime Jon was proving to be far better company than Daytime Jon.
Martin hesitated, but blurted out, “I don’t mind.” Jon’s brow furrowed and Martin quickly added, “If you nap in here. I mean, it’s not really that big a deal anyway. This is basically a break room, right? And you should definitely be getting more sleep.” Jon’s furrow deepened at that, and Martin worried that he’d overstepped, but Jon didn’t protest.
“I suppose.” He replied, carefully considering the words.
“T-the only thing is I’m sort of a light sleeper.”
He scoffed, “Yes, I’ve noticed.” Jon’s expression softened ever-so-slightly. “I’ll be quiet then.” He said it like a whisper, and unexplainably, Martin’s heart fluttered. He clutched the edge of his quilt in his lap. Jon looked down and nodded his head toward it. “That’s nice.”
It was a patchwork in soft reds and burnt siennas. His mother had made it when he was younger and small enough that he could wrap it around himself head to toe like a cloak that trailed along the living room floor. The various fabrics featured cats and dogs, and bright yellow pansies, amongst mismatched textures. The hem was cut into strips that were tightly knotted together. She’d made it before his father had left, and it showed its age, soft and worn.
Martin gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” He tried to make out Jon’s eyes, but his face was too deeply shadowed.
“I should head out, then.”
“Take care.” The words didn’t feel quite right, but Martin didn’t know what else to say.
“Goodnight, Martin.” And Jon shut the door behind him, switching the light off on the way out.
“Goodnight, Jon.” Martin spoke quietly into the settling darkness. He sat still for a few moments.
Oh God. He had a crush on his boss. It made no sense and he started to vehemently deny it to himself. But it was true. He had a big, stupid crush on his infuriating, haughty, jerk of a boss. He fell back to the pillow, covered his face with his hands and groaned. Would the suffering never end? Was it not enough he had been stalked by that thing ? That Jon had seen him without pants ? That they had just agreed to taking strictly professional naps together?
Falling back to sleep was hard. Trying to squash the feelings down was harder.
Martin was curled into the arm of the couch, reading through a short stack of statements and trying to organize the loose notes in each file to make some ounce of sense. It was Friday, and about time to clock out for the day, so he wasn’t expecting Sasha to poke her head in the doorway.
“Martin- Oh! Is this allowed now?” She started, then lowered her volume with a bemused smile. She nodded her head to where Jon sat at the other end of the couch, arms folded and head tilted back against the wall. He’d come in about an hour earlier, muttering something about “meat” and sat down to nap. Martin had been doing a rather good job of keeping his composure, but he flushed deeply when Sasha spoke.
“It- it was never not allowed?”
“Jon’s not dying, is he?” She raised an eyebrow and continued as Martin stuttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him just sit still for more than ten seconds.”
They both stared at the sleeping man for a moment. Half of Martin’s quilt covered his lap, and his chest rose and fell slowly. Martin tried to analyze why exactly his heart had made the horrible decision to develop a crush on his boss. Martin had always been a hopeless romantic, scarred as his childhood was, but Jon was certainly not his type. He was all sharp edges, bony and gaunt and scruffier everyday. He barely tolerated Martin’s presence most days, and honestly? There were times that even Martin got fed up with how much of a grouch Jon was. He couldn’t even pinpoint a time where his feelings had shifted. It’s not like he suddenly thought Jon wasn’t an ass. It was just that… he had been kind and gentle and he was a complete disaster and that made Martin want to help him. He had nice eyes, and jawline that Martin couldn’t tear his eyes from.
“I can feel you staring,” Jon suddenly grumbled. Martin nearly jumped.
Sasha laughed. “Hi, Jon. I was actually just about to head out. Me and Tim are getting drinks with a few people from Research. Want to come?”
Jon cracked his eyes open but didn’t move. “No, thank you. I’m not keen on fraternization.”
Sasha shook her head. “It’s not fraternization , you git. Whatever. Martin?”
“Hm? Oh- Oh no, I think I’m staying in for the night. Um, I should really finish these anyway…” His excuse was flimsy, and although Sasha gave him a look bordering on reproach but didn’t push. It had been too long since they’d all gotten together outside of work, but the knowledge of anglerfish, and cults with a vendetta against lightbulbs didn’t exactly make them feel safe walking home from the bar late at night. After hearing Sasha’s account of “Michael”, Martin would have gladly made room for her on the couch as well, but she seemed to be taking it all well and head-on. Her bravery made Martin a little envious and a lot anxious for both their sakes.
She blew out a breath and said, “Alright then, I’ll leave you to your… whatever this is.” As she left, she called, “See you Monday, Martin. Goodnight!” Martin called back a goodbye and sat listening to her receding footsteps and the click of the lightswitch at the end of the hall.
“Am I in the way?” Jon asked, peering at the files Martin held.
“No. No, I’m mostly done, actually. Um, do you want the light off?” Martin set the papers to the side and stretched. Jon considered for a moment before nodding and settling back into the cushions. Martin snuck a glance at the other man as he stood. He regretted it instantly for the flutter it caused in his chest. Quickly, he turned off the light and shut the door. He stood still for a moment, letting his eyes adjust. Jon breathed softly in the darkness. It was a comforting sound, comforting to know that he was there. Martin didn’t like being alone, though it was his natural state of being. Realization struck him suddenly.
Martin didn’t feel alone when Jon was there. For all his distance and cold dismissal, Jon never made Martin feel ignored or unnoticed. It was sort of like how cats like to sit in the same room, pretending to ignore you. Martin had always been more of a dog person, but cats weren’t so bad. He smiled to himself. Careful not to bump any of the precarious stacks of statements and research and cryptic notes that litter the floor, he sat back down, nestling up against the arm of the couch and laying his head on his hands.
It was too early to fall asleep yet, but for a while he just rested, listening to Jon lightly snore (yes, it was an endearing discovery) beside him. He was just beginning to doze off when Jon shifted and murmured.
“What time is it?” There was a pause as Jon checked his watch. “Damn.” Another pause and then, “Martin?”
“Mm.” Martin sat up slowly, stiffly, and tried to make out Jon’s form. He could just barely see Jon rubbing blearily at his eyes, glasses discarded on the table.
“Sorry. I didn’t know if you were there.” He yawned midsentence. “I should go.”
When he made no move to get up however, Martin whispered, “It’s nice here.” Jon scoffed quietly. “What?”
“No- It’s nothing. I just wouldn’t use that word. It’s a glorified basement that was put under the care of a hoarder for god knows how long, and filled to the brim with-” he cut off, dropping his volume back to a whisper. “...And there are spiders.”
“It’s not so bad.” Martin wanted to expound upon that sentiment, to explain that it was quiet without being silent, that it was warm and charming in it’s rough edges. That he had tried so many times to put it to paper, to even attempt describing its old bones. He had worked in research far longer than they’d been working the Archives, but Martin felt as though the place had a force to it, drawing them in. And maybe any day now he’d be eaten by worms and Jon could tell his ghost “I told you so”, but… Martin liked the Archives. He’d always had trouble making friends, keeping in touch with them, but he had grown incredibly fond of his coworkers. And the spiders. “They’re not so bad. I don’t know why you keep making me take them outside. They deserve to live here.”
“They do not .” Jon hissed in revulsion. “And I don’t care how many times you say they’re just trying to help- even you’re more helpful than that.”
It wasn’t the most cutting remark Jon had every made toward him. He hummed and replied, “That’s true, the spiders don’t know how to make tea.” He said it jokingly, but Jon’s dimly lit form looked away.
“Ah, Martin… You- You do good work. I know i’m not exactly easy to get along with and I, I, I just wanted you to know. I do… appreciate your work. Beyond taking care of spiders.”
Martin didn’t know how to reply. “Oh.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Um, thank you?”
“Don’t mention it,” Jon answered dryly, and meant it. “I should go,” he repeated, a hoarse whisper at this point.
Martin wanted to tell him to stay. But that would violate the terms of their agreement. These were strictly professional couch naps, and besides… However considerate and even friendly Jon had recently proven to be, he did not and would never return Martin’s feelings. Martin could pretend in the dark, pacing his breathing to match the slow inhale and exhale of the body next to him, that his heart had not made a horrible choice. But Jon was not his type, and Martin was most certainly not Jon’s type. He swallowed hard. “Will you be in tomorrow?”
It was a mostly rhetorical question. “Yes.”
“Well, have a good night then. I’ll- I’ll be here.” He wasn’t sure why he added that last bit.
Jon stood, and cracked his neck with a wince. Between his joints and his hair, it was no wonder people ended up thinking he was so much older. He slipped his glasses on, not that it helped because he still managed to bump into and knock over a particularly haphazard pile of folders. He swore under his breath and began to curse the late, great Gertrude Robinson and her organization system (or apparent lack thereof) once more in earnest.
Martin interrupted. “Jon. Why are you still whispering?”
Jon stood with his mouth agape for barely a second before suppressing a laugh. “In… In case the spiders are listening.”
“In case they learn to swear?”
“Well, they might teach the worms. I don’t want you to have to deal with-” Jon catches the way Martin’s shoulders tense slightly and falters. “Ah, between the- the texting and the cursing-”
Why was this so hard?
Martin recovers quickly. “I- I think it’ll be fine.” He musters up as much courage as he can, hoping it’s enough as Jon regards him in the darkness.
“You’re right.” There’s that soft tone again, the one laced with dread and resignation, even unknowing of all that was to come. Jon straightens, remembering that he was on his way out. He clears his throat. “Anyway. I think I’m actually leaving at a reasonable time for once.”
“Don’t make up for it by coming in early.”
Jon chuckled. “No, I think I might sleep in. A little extra sleep won’t kill me.”
“Get home safe.” Martin offered earnestly. Jon mumbled something about train schedules as he patted down his pockets, looking for his wallet. Remembering his coat was in the office, he turned to open the door.
“Oh, and Martin?”
“Yes?”
“Please tidy up in here.” He deliberately avoided looking at the stack he had just knocked over. Martin smiled.
“Goodnight Jon.”