Archive of Our Own ^beta

"I- I'm sorry," Jon stuttered. "I didn't realise the time." 

Martin nodded, but didn't look convinced. "What are you working on?" 

Jon sat back in his chair, sighing. "Some statement follow ups. None of it is making any sense." 

"Want to talk it through?" Martin stepped further into the room. 

Jon considered it. Martin, wasn't his first choice, but still, Jon had to admit he had shown remarkable resilience after his encounter with Jane Prentiss. He'd settled into his new normal living in the archives shockingly quickly, and he took so much of the insane things that were happening in his stride. Jon respected that. He gestured to the chair opposite him. 

Martin sat. He leaned forward and looked at the statement on Jon's desk. "What's bothering you?" 

Jon pushed the hair out of his face. It was worthless, as the strands slipped back in front of his eyes immediately. "I feel like I'm missing something important. Like there's a big pattern that's so blindingly obvious, but I'm just not seeing it."  

"And you think you'll figure it out by overworking?" Martin smiled as he said it, but Jon still felt the gentle insistence behind the words. 

"I know." He sighed, pushing at his hair again. "I just can't stop thinking about these statements. It almost feels like they're connected in a way that I can't figure out."

Martin stood and pulled his chair around Jon's side of the desk. "Let me see." 

He picked up the nearest statement and started reading. 

Jon hasn't expected his sudden nearness, and it took a second to remember what he was doing. He picked his pen back up and turned back to his notes, trying to ignore Martin as he whispered the statement under his breath.

His hair fell into his face again, and Jon raked his hand through it, frustrated.  

"Do you want a hand with that?" 

Jon looked up at him, surprised. "What?" 

Martin stared back at him, the lamplight giving his eyes a curious glow. "Your hair. It seems to be bothering you." 

"I- well, I suppose it is. I'm not used to it being this long. It's been a while since I've had a haircut." He tucked an errant strand back into place. His hair was brushing against his shoulders now, and it was enough that it got in his way incessantly.

"I could braid it if you like." Martin's words surprised him. Jon sat back. 

The offer bubbled curiously in the back of his mind. Jon couldn't remember when the last time someone had touched him intentionally as a friend. Tim and Elias occasionally clapped a hand onto his shoulder, but that touch was fleeting and gone in a second. No one had touched his hair since... well, probably since Georgie. 

Martin seemed to misinterpret his silence as incredulousness, and quickly jumped for an explanation. "Only if you're okay with that! I know some people don't like others touching their hair, and, well, it's okay if you don't want me to. I was just thinking that I used to braid my hair a lot when... well I just think I still know how to do it. Muscle memory and all that." 

Jon held out his hands to try and ebb the flow of Martin's words. "It's alright! I actually think that would be quite nice." 

"What?" 

"I- well, my hair is annoying me right now and I don't really know how to do anything with it, so I actually wouldn't mind your help." Jon stammered out the words with a small, helpless smile. 

Martin stared at him for a second before smiling back. "Oh, okay. I'll, uh, I'll be back in a second." 

He stood and vanished through the door. Jon only had a moment alone to panic that Martin had changed his mind when he appeared back in the doorway with a comb and a packet of hair ties in his hand. 

"I thought these might help." He said, holding them up. "I bought some with my when I started living here. I guess I knew they would come in handy eventually." 

"Right," Jon said. "Uh, where do you want me?" 

"Stay where you are. I'll come around behind you." Martin stepped back behind Jon's desk and tucked himself into the space between Jon's chair and the wall. He deposited the hair ties on the table and reached out to Jon's hair, hesitantly. 

Jon jumped slightly at the first brush of Martin's hand against his head, but quickly relaxed into it as he gently ran his fingernails across his scalp. 

"Is this okay?" Martin's voice was very quiet, and Jon suddenly felt like his office was much smaller than it had ever been before. The lamp seemed dimmer and the colour of the bulb warmer. 

"It's fine." 

Martin took the end of Jon's hair in his hand and brushed the tips with the comb. He moved slowly, lifting each section and holding it so Jon only felt a small amount of the pull, but even then the comb caught on the knots in Jon's hair and snagged the hair taut. 

Jon hissed quietly at a slightly less gentle tug, and Martin quickly patted his scalp down, apologising hurriedly. 

"It's alright, I just didn't expect it." Jon almost whispered. "You can- you can keep going. If you want." 

"Okay." Martin's voice was equally quiet. 

The comb returned to his hair, and Jon tried to pay attention to his notes. Eventually, the pull on his hair ceased and the comb began to glide through the strand without resistance.

Jon forced himself to suppress a frown when Martin let go of his hair and put the comb down. 

"I don't know how good this will be. Your hair is quite a bit shorter than mine used to be, and I'm quite out of practice, but I'll try my best." 

"I'm sure it will be lovely, Martin. Thank you." 

Martin's hands returned to his hair, gently separating it into three strands. He looped them over each other slowly, and Jon leant back into the sensation. 

The words of his notes became more unfocused as Jon felt his eyes drift closed. He let himself relaxed, Martin's steady movements lulling him, gently pulling him away from the conscious world. 

Martin huffed and let go, shaking the braid out, startling Jon back awake. "Sorry, I messed it up. I'm going to try again." 

"Right." Jon coughed and sat up straighter, attention firmly back on the notes. He took up his pencil and started to write, jotting down the themes and consistencies he had seen between some of the statements, studiously ignoring the motion of Martin's fingers, the buzz of electricity that shot through him every time they brushed against his scalp. 

When Martin reached down to the desk and picked up a hair tie, Jon tried not to lean into his touch and chase the sensation of someone so close to him. 

Then, too quickly, Martin was finished. He fastened the hair tie around the end of the short braid and smoothed down some of the loose strands with a gentle hand. 

"All done." 

Jon suppressed a yawn. "Thank you, Martin." 

Martin moved back around to sit in his chair. He fixed Jon with a firm look. "Jon, you're dead on your feet. Go home. Get some sleep." 

"Yes." Jon whispered. Then, louder, "Yes, I think I will." 

He stood and began to pack his notebook into his bag, but was met with Martin's hand resting on it. 

"Sleep, Jon. The statements will be here in the morning." 

Defiantly, Jon tugged at his notebook. Martin's hand was firm on top and it didn't move. Jon sighed. 

"Fine. Goodnight, Martin." 

"Goodnight Jon." 

In the doorway, Jon looked back at Martin. 

"Martin." He said. 

The other man looked up at him, still illuminated by the cheap desk lamp, the warm yellow light making his face glow like firelight. 

"Thank you." 

If Martin noticed the hair tie around Jon's wrist the next day, he didn't mention it, but Jon did find a post-it note stuck to his desk lamp saying 'Don't forget to sleep xx' in Martin's curvy, careful handwriting.

He didn't move it.