Chapter Text
Jon woke up slowly. The room came into gradual focus as he opened his eyes blearily, blinking past the sleep.
In the dim light of the early morning, his room looked strange. Like the furniture and decorations weren't his own. Like the pile of clothes in the corner didn't belong to him. Like the window was in the wrong place.
He shifted, shutting his eyes again, and buried his face in the pillow. It smelt of dust. Internally, he made a note to wash his bedding when he got back from the Institute.
As he moved, the blanket on top of him settled, pressing down on him. He hugged it closer, pulling it into his chest.
It was firmer than he had expected, with a strange lump at the end, right where it connected with his chest.
A frown spread across his face. He pulled it back, inspecting it through his sleepy eyes.
It wasn't shaped like his blanket. It had five appendages sprouting from a wider part. As he dug his thumb into the centre, it twitched, and the appendages flexed and wrapped around his hand.
As they did so, the blanket behind him shifted, and a presence drew closer to his back, a small huff of air ghosted it's way across his neck.
"Wha-"
"That's just my hand, Jon. It's not going to bite." A sleepy voice whispered in his ear.
Jon blinked. The hand wrapped around his own gave a gentle squeeze. The hand. Connected to the arm draped across his middle, which in turn was likely connected to a person, currently tucked up close against his back.
Jon thrashed. He let go of the hand, flinging it away from him, and rolled away. He was closer to the edge of the bed than expected, and he tumbled to the ground. His knees met solid wood rather than the soft carpet of his own bedroom.
"Jon? Are you okay?"
Jon scrambled backwards, his legs still tangled in the blanket.
A desperate sickness clawed its way up his throat. He'd been in bed, clearly not in his own flat, with a stranger wrapped around him. There were very few things that could've led up to that situation, and Jon didn't want to consider which it was. He didn't want to think about what this person had done to him.
The unknown assailant climbed off the bed, holding out a hand like they were trying to calm a frightened animal.
"Jon? Can you hear me?"
Something about the voice twigged something in Jon's head. It was familiar. Somehow, that made him feel worse.
"Jon?"
Jon gasped, a sob bubbling just inside his lungs. "Martin?"
"It's me. Hey. Did you have a nightmare?"
Martin crouched in front of Jon, and reached his hand towards his knee.
"Don't touch me." Jon flinched away from him, his back hitting the wall.
Martin held up his hands. "Okay, that's okay."
"Where are we?"
"Daisy's safe-house, in Scotland."
Daisy? Safe-house? Scotland?
Jon shrank back against the wall. Martin's silhouette was dark against the early morning glow leaking in through the think curtains. He was hunched over, hands placed carefully on his thighs as he crouched a short distance from Jon. Jon couldn't quite make out his expression without his glasses, and the shadows creeping around them didn't make it any easier.
As if sensing his thoughts, Martin slowly stood. "I'm going to turn the light on." He said carefully as Jon nudged further away from him.
He watched Martin's shadow as he crossed back over to the bed and flicked on the lamp.
The sudden illumination made it easier to see Martin. He was, thankfully, clothed, in a scruffy old t-shirt and boxer shorts. Jon watched as he pulled the blanket off the bed and came back to crouch next to wear he was huddled.
"Here, you don't want to get cold."
Jon considered pushing his hand away, but the chill was slowly seeping through his pyjamas. Cautiously, he sat forward, careful to not let his hand touch Martin's as he took it. He felt Martin watch him as he wrapped it around his shoulders and settle back into his space against the wall.
"Did you have a nightmare?"
Jon scoffed. "I think I'm still having one. What the hell is going on, Martin?"
Martin frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You don't notice anything strange? Anything out of the ordinary?"
"I mean, we usually sleep later than this, but I imagine you couldn't control that." His tone was forcefully light.
We. We.
The sick feeling returned to Jon's throat. He desperately tried to keep his voice level as he fought past the rush in his ears and the pounding of his heart.
"Martin, if this is some kind of, of power thing, a- a way of getting back at me, then please, I don't-"
"Power? Jon, what's going on?"
"That's what I'm trying to work out." He said slowly. "I know I haven't been the best to you, but-"
Martin held up a hand, shuffling closer slightly. "Jon, stop. What's the last thing you remember?"
Jon blinked at him. The last thing he remembered? "I was taking Sasha's statement about her run in with that Michael thing."
Martin gaped at him. "Sasha? Jon, that was years ago!"
"What? No, it was- What?"
"Do you remember Prentiss?"
"You were attacked by her, that's why you're staying in the archives. Which isn't where we are now."
Had Martin slipped something into his tea? Taken him somewhere? He'd mentioned a safe-house, was this his way of hiding out from Prentiss? Why take Jon?
"Jon," Martin breathed. "Oh, Jon."
His hand hovered inches away from Jon. He stared at him, eyes wide and filled with such an indescribable anguish Jon had to look away.
"Martin, please," Jon whispered into the air between them. "I don't understand."
"Jon, all of that happened years ago. It's 2018."
Jon shook his head. "No- That's impossible, I-"
"Jon, it's okay, we'll work this out."
"Martin, if this is a trick or something, please, you don't have to do this."
Martin flinched. "Jon, do you think I-" He shifted back, moving out of Jon's space. "Jon, I would never, I promise. I would never, will never do anything you didn't want me to do."
Jon fixed his eyes on the bed. It was clearly set up for two, with two bedside tables each with their own lamps and stacks of books. It looked the picture of domesticity and coziness and Jon wanted to vomit.
"Why are we here?"
Martin gave him the same heartbroken look. He stood. "Do you want breakfast?"
Jon blinked at him.
"You need to eat, Jon. It'll be easier to take everything in." He held out a hand. "I promise I won't poison anything."
Jon stared at his hand, head reeling.
Martin sighed, a fond, exasperated sound. "That was a joke. Come on, I promise I'll explain everything after we've eaten."