Work Text:
When Martin had dared fantasize about a reality in which he actually ended up with Jon, he certainly never factored in the possibility of the world as he knew it coming to an end. There were other obvious things he considered, such as their height and size difference and how cross Jon often got in the early mornings, but, you know, the possibility of their boss being immortal (and also evil) and using his Jon as a surrogate jump-start to the apocalypse never really crossed his mind. He also definitely never fantasized about Jon killing their (albeit demonized) ex-coworker, but apparently he’s kinda into that.
Really, Martin’s just happy he actually gets to be with Jon, even despite the rest.
The point is; Martin has always known Jon wasn’t perfect. Hell, Martin wasn’t perfect either, not by a long shot. Relationships weren’t supposed to be perfect, or else there would be no reason to be together.
Now, the apocalypse isn’t exactly the most ideal background to curate the foundations of a romantic relationship, surely any sane person could tell you that. So for their context, Martin thought they were doing pretty well. Mind, they didn’t exactly have the most normal history before getting together, even if you ignore the part where Jon basically hated everything Martin stood for while he was nothing but kind to him. Last he checked, most “Seven Minutes in Heaven” didn’t feature parasitic worms and involved a lot less visits to the hospital. Usually.
Martin was grateful for the time they had in the safe house before everything went spooky; when tea was still tea and sometimes the sun would shine through the bedroom windows in a way that made him feel like things would actually turn out okay. They had a good few weeks back there, alone, with nothing but each other and at least a year of catching up to do. It was awkward for a bit, like teenagers at a dance, too nervous to do more than hold hands or look each other in the face at the same time, but it was good. It was safe.
Martin finally got to see behind the curtains of Jon’s Archivist disguise to the patchwork man underneath, and learned a great many things he never could have guessed. Some were more predictable than others, like his inability to sit still even in his sleep and the meticulous way he brushes his teeth, but the other, less predictable things were Martin’s favourite. He once watched Jon do their small sink of dishes without blinking and then spend nearly half an hour drying and putting all the pieces back in the cupboard, because he couldn’t put them back “just right.”
They both had things they didn’t know how to talk about. Sometimes, they could just hold each other instead, but there are some things that just can’t be made better no matter how you spin them. Martin finally got to feel the collection of scars Jon had collected over the last few years, among the handful of others from before the institute. Though Martin had much less to display, it felt unfair to him to receive without giving in return, so he also came clean and they found they had even more in common than previously thought.
It’s not hard to miss those days, swaying in the unforgiving current of the apocalypse wearing last week’s clothes. Sometimes Martin misses Jon even as he’s right beside him. He knows it’s not the man he misses, just the safety, but he’s found they feel the same after the Lonely. It didn’t help that Martin often couldn’t stomach the true horror of the world around them as Jon described it to the air, driving a physical rift between them, even if only for ten minutes. Ten minutes could feel like a lifetime if you weren’t careful.
There were also times when Jon would get this look in his eyes and his pace would falter and Martin would find himself a whole metre ahead of him as Jon stared unblinking into nothing. He always returned to himself after a few moments, assuring his partner that it was “nothing” and “not to worry.” Though Martin trusted Jon to the ends of the Earth (literally, unfortunately), he couldn’t keep himself from wondering.
Did he Know something? Were they in danger? Was there something he wasn’t telling him?
During one of these instances on their journey, Martin turned to find Jon squat on the ground, furiously writing on a lined piece of paper in a blue crayon. He wasn’t sure where he got either in this wasteland, but that wasn’t exactly the most pressing question. Martin watched as Jon covered both sides of the jarringly clean and white paper in his easily identifiable angular handwriting, anxious to what might happen when he stopped.
With a silent gasp and a gentle lurch, Jon returned to himself and looked at the paper in his hands. He laughed. A sudden and gleeful thing.
Martin shifted his hold on the strap of his backpack and tried to make sense of the man before him.
“Jon?”
His eyes snapped to Martin’s and his face grew pink under his dark cheeks. He looked back at the paper and considered it a moment before getting back to his feet and returning to Martin’s side.
As they turned back towards the path they were previously following, Jon handed the paper to Martin.
“Ah. Here.” And he turned and started ahead, without waiting for Martin to follow.
“Wh- Jon? What is this? Jon?”
Martin looked down at the paper in his hands and it’s contents, which he could now see was a relatively familiar list organized into some sort of grid.
It was a list of everyone they knew, meticulously (and, well, accurately) sorted into the four Hogwarts houses.
“What?”
Martin stepped to follow after Jon, who, though he made like he was going ahead, was only a short distance ahead of him with an odd smile on his face. But he glanced down at the list again.
“Hey what- why is the Admiral on here?”
“Jon, he’s a cat!”
“How does a cat belong to a Hogwarts house?”
“Jon!”