Chapter Text
It’s pure adrenaline like Martin’s never known that has him run like a madman through London, clutching a jar of parasitic worms to his chest. He’d traded his joggers for a pair of jeans and ran his wet fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to corral it after two weeks of sponge baths from his freezing tap, but that had been born out of a desire to kill time while he waited to see if Jane were really gone than a desire to look decent. He would have run through London, hair a mess and stockinged feet stuck into his dad’s ancient house slippers, wearing the same pair of joggers and multiple jumpers he hadn’t changed once in his sudden house arrest if he had known it was safe to do so.
It had still been nerve-wracking to open the door and test it, even after a few hours with nothing but silence from the other side of the door and not a whiff of that musty smell. But it had been two weeks and Evangeline was muttering about charging the door herself if Martin didn’t open it and she was large enough she might actually do damage. Martin gave them some tasks to take their minds off it-- he changed, Evangeline picked up whatever cans and food wrappers she could get in her mouth and tossed them into the bin. They left the clothes where they were, stuffed along the window seals and into any crack a worm could conceivable fit into, but together they had sorted through the mass of blankets on the bed that had been their solution to the lack of heating. Evangeline pawed and rooted through the lump, pulling out each extraneous blanket for Martin to fold, and when she was done she even did a messy job of making the bed, before turning to Martin with a look that threatened she’d make good on her promise if he didn’t stop stalling.
“All right, all right,” he’d said, crouching to look her in the eyes. She’d always been tall, even for a St. Bernard, but Martin’s tall too, so he’d had to fold nearly in half to get to her height. “If she’s not there, we bolt for it, alright?”
“We’ve only talked it out a million times,” Evangeline huffed in annoyance, but she’d nuzzled into Martin’s face anyway, before pulling back with a determined grin. “We bolt for it and we don’t stop until we get to the Institute.”
Martin had grabbed the jar where he’d confined the few worms that managed to access his apartment, steeled himself, and thrown open the door
They don’t even stop once they’d made it to the Institute. They’re both panting hard and Martin’s dimly aware of the pain in his sides at the exertion, but he finds it doesn’t bother him as much as he would think as he sprints through the atrium, past Rosie in reception and down to the basement stairwell. Once he’s at the Archives, he doesn’t even slow down to take note of who’s in the office or what they’re doing, he just barrels into Jon’s office with Evangeline at his side and sets down his hard-won evidence squarely on Jon’s desk.
And that’s when the adrenaline runs out and Martin can feel his body vibrating from the jitters of a multi-mile run after two weeks imprisoned in his apartment. He sits down heavily into the one rickety wooden chair opposite Jon’s desk at the same time Evangeline flops onto the floor with a big huff.
“Martin, what the hell is going on? Why do you look so --” Jon thankfully doesn't finish that thought, though his face says it all. Martin knows no matter how much he worked at his hair or pulled on clean jeans, he’s still been inside for two weeks with no hot water and as he’d taken to wearing as multiple jumpers to stave off the cold, the one currently on top can only be described as the “cleanest” of the lot. Evangeline too, took some damage, her fur’s thinned and certainly has less luster than normal, but if anything it’s the manic look in her eyes that gives them away.
Jon, as always, looks put together and austere, sharp eyes on him. Octavia is plainly in view for once. Martin tries not to look for her every time he enters Jon’s office, but he achieves that just as often as he achieves not watching Jon anytime they’re in the same room. Martin’s gotten good at finding the little nooks and crannies around the Archives she likes to hide and if he doesn’t find her, Evangeline will tell him where Octavia was later: she’s even more attuned to her than Martin is. But today, Octavia isn’t perched on top of the ancient urn on the top of the bookshelf or sat in the web strung between the light fixture and door frame, she’s on the desk, on top of the tape recording looking directly at Martin. It shocks him into action.
“It’s uh… the worms. From the statement?”
“With Harriet Lee?” Jon asks. He eyes the jar of squelching worms with skepticism. “I can see they’re similar to the description but --”
“I know, but I didn’t just randomly happen on them. She was there.”
“Harriet’s dead.”
“No Jane… Jane Prentiss.” Martin’s not sure she’s not dead as well, she couldn’t have been alive with what he saw.
“That’s -- Are you sure?”
Martin’s been on the receiving end of Jon skepticism many times, but today he doesn’t seem judgmental--both he and Octavia are observing him with such an intensity Martin wants to look away, but he holds his ground. Evangeline sits up, to bring her eye level with Octavia.
“I think I should give a statement.” Martin gestures towards the tape recorder, his hand still a meter or so away from it, but he’s hyper aware it’s the closest he's been to Octavia, who remains where she is, her eyes not even flicking to the hand pointed her way. Martin hopes the sudden frequency in Evangeline’s panting isn't too obvious to them.
“You think that’s necessary?” Jon asks evenly.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Octavia pushes down the record button with one of her legs.
“Martin, are you sure about this?” Jon asks.
Martin nods and they begin.
During their confinement, Martin and Evangline had practiced what he’s going to say countless times, but what comes out isn’t the polished, practiced version, but it’s not messy either. Sitting there across from Jon and Octavia, it’s easy to tell a concise, true account of all the events, of Martin’s eagerness to complete his research to Jon’s standards, the fear and terror at finding Jane, the bleak boredom of being stuck inside. Neither he nor Evangeline had found the right words to describe Jane’s cough, but giving the statement it had just flowed out of him naturally.
Aside from the occasional prompt for Jon, Martin speaks most of the time. Martin had fully been prepared to tell the whole story, even the parts Evangline had seen, but she surprises him by clearing her throat when he gets to that part.
“Are you sure?” he asks. When they first got to the apartment, exhausted and still in shock and terrified, it had been all she had been able to say, as if in a trance, but after that night, she would go still and tense every time Martin brought it up.
Evangeline softly butts her head Martin’s hand where it hangs loosely off the armrest, before pulling back with no fear or hesitation in her expression.
“I was already a meter or two ahead of Martin, and when I saw that first worm fall… I inched forward even more. I don’t know why I did it, I could hear Martin scream and I knew he didn’t want me to… I didn’t even want to, but suddenly I was moving and only a few paces away when she turned and…”
Martin buries his hand in the fur on the back of her neck, ready to take over if she needs it, but Evangeline takes a deep breath and continues.
“Her face wasn’t right; her eyes were messed up and her teeth were jagged and black but that wasn’t the worst part. I don’t know how, if this really was Jane Prentiss, I know she was human once, so I don’t know how this is possible, but… she didn’t have a daemon.”
Even after having this knowledge, Martin stills flinches, but he’s not the only one in the room; Octavia scuttles backwards off the tape recorder, only stopping when she feels the press of Jon’s hand against her, and for his part, Jon also looks stricken and distressed.
“That’s… Sometimes they can be small. People don’t always see Octavia at first,” Jon says without his usual disdain. Martin can tell he barely believes himself.
“I was further away, but I didn’t… She didn’t have a daemon, Jon. I think the worms got to it, like they had got to Jane, but I don’t think her daemon survived it like she did.”
“Do you have anything to back that suspicion?” Jon asks.
“Not really, aside from that they went after Evangeline first.”
“The worms?”
Martin nods and he continues the rest of the statement without any input from anyone else. It’s harder now, with the true horror of what he’s seen out in the open and it feels more real than when it was just his and Evangline’s frightened whispers. If he could have, he would have gotten down on the floor to wrap his arms around Evangeline and not let go for hours; it’s what they’d done when they first made it back to the apartment, shivering and shaken, but now, for professionality sake, he sits in the chair across from Jon with Evangeline’s head resting on his knee and his hand buried in her fur.
Martin’s not sure what they’re expecting when he finishes, but whatever it is, it’s not for Jon to offer him the storage room.
“Do you need me to show you which room I’m talking about?”
The storage room is technically next door to Jon’s office, Martin doesn’t really need the escort, but any excuse to have Jon’s focus on him, especially in an instance where he’s not being reprimanded for work errors, is one Martin will take. The storage room is large anyway, nearly as big as the archives, a labyrinth of bookshelves and filing cabinets and small enclosed rooms.
“Sure,” Evangeline answers for them.
“Alright then,” Jon clicks off the recorder and stands up. Those aches and pains from running have caught up to him and Martin really doesn’t want to stand much less make the two minute walk to the storage room, but he doesn’t think Jon’s generosity would extend to Martin having a kip in his guest chair, nor would Martin’s back thank him later. He gets up as well, trying his best not to wince at the pull of his muscles. Evangeline doesn’t hide it all, huffing and sighing as she pushes up with her back legs while Martin and Jon walk to the door.
In the office, Tim and Sasha are both at their desks, feigning disinterest, a charade that is entirely unconvincing as both Robin and Marisha startle and rush back to their respective humans as soon as the door opens.
Jon ignores them. “Martin’s going to be staying in the Archives.” He gives them some short explanation, but Martin’s attention is pulled to a strange, tingling feeling and he quickly glances over his shoulder into Jon’s office. It’s not the pull of being apart from his daemon that’s taken his attention, Martin’s in the doorway with Evangeline only a few paces behind, it’s that Evangeline’s head is inclined towards the desk, where Octavia is still sat, and they’re talking. Martin could probably listen in if he wanted, but where Martin gets Jon’s attention often enough--albeit usually in a negative sense-- Octavia has only spoken to Evangeline once, and even in, it was just to introduce herself. Its as much as she’s talked to any other daemon Martin’s seen her come across, even Marisha, who she’s known for so long through Jon and Tim working together in Research.
It kills him, but Martin gives their daemons privacy and turns back to Jon.
“There’s no reason to think she’d come after either of you at home, but we do need to be cautious. Questions?”
“You kept the worms?” Marisha asks.
“Uh, yeah,” Martin answers.
If Marisha were a bird like Robin, Martin doubts she wouldn’t have just flown in without even bothering to ask. Instead, with Jon and Martin blocking most of the entryway and nothing near enough to the door to climb on, Marisha has climbed up Tim, standing on her tiptoes on his shoulder as if that would give her a better view. Robin is just barely showing restraint, stood at attention at the edge of Sasha’s desk.
“You can have a look if you want,” Martin says, stepping aside. Evangeline is just barely able to get out of the doorway as both daemons rush in. Tim and Sasha aren’t far behind, though they both stop to give Martin their “glad you’re not dead” tidings.
With a “don’t you dare open that jar, Tim!” thrown over his shoulder, Jon leads the way into the storeroom. Martin’s not exactly sure what Jon meant by “uses to sleep”, he’ll take anything over his worm-threatened apartment, but he’s really hoping Jon hasn’t taken up shack in the only storeroom with enough free space to lay out on the floor. Thankfully Jon brings them to a small enclosed room where all the filing cabinets have been pushed against one wall, leaving enough room for not only a couch, but a minifridge wedged between it and the wall. The room is small, with no windows, but Martin’s able to step in fully, with Evangeline by his side, and not be pressed up uncomfortably against the cabinets or the couch, so it’s bigger than his first bedsit in that regard.
Beside him, Evangeline leaps onto the large and lumpy couch and roots around until she’s comfortable, and while Martin would love to join her, he knows he’ll fall asleep the second he sits down and Jon is still in the doorway, watching them.
“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but I’ve always found it …” Jon looks like he’s in pain having to say the next word, “cozy.”
Martin is about to answer it’s more than he expected, when Octavia, who’s been on Jon’s shoulder since they left the office, whispers something in Jon’s ear.
“This will be alright? It won’t trigger your… claustrophobia?”
Martin blinks.
“From case number 0140911?”
Martin can’t remember the filing system on a good day, much less running on two weeks of being haunted by a worm monster.
“Lost John’s Cave?”
“Right! Right, no that’s- I mean, tight squeezes like that do freak me out,” More than freak him out, he could barely stomach being in the office while they worked that case, even after Jon finally allowed him to jump ahead and look into Sebastian Adekoya instead. “But it's only really in extreme circumstances, you know, like the cave or… I mean, neither Evangeline or I are very small, so I feel like I’m hyper aware of that when I’m in a small space, but it’s fine. This room is fine. It’s great, really. Very… cozy.”
Martin offers a weak smile to Jon, who doesn’t smile back, but seems satisfied with his answer at least.
“You obviously have the whole of the Archives to spread out in if you do happen to find a larger space.”
“Will do, but really this is just fine, but-- I haven’t slept more than an hour or two so…”
“Right, of course.” Jon turns to make a quick exit, but Evangeline sits up suddenly on the couch.
“Wait, what will you do if you have to stay over?” she asks.
“We’ll… cross that bridge when we get there. Get some rest.”
With that, Jon finally leaves them alone, closing the door to the storage room behind him. Martin rounds on Evangeline as soon as he hears his footsteps level off.
“You talk to Octavia one time and now you’re best buddies, talking to Jon about sleepovers?”
Evangeline doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “It’s a logistical question, I’m not the one who’s been excited at the prospect of sleeping on the same couch your crush might have laid on.”
“You! You have no--”
“I’ll bring it up to Octavia during our next chat.” Evangeline continues, and Martin has no choice but to drop onto her and attack. Evagenline doesn't have fingers for tickling, but she does paw at him and dig her nose into the crease of his neck, and even once, bite down on his arm, though without much force. Finally, they end up with Martin laid out on his back and Evangeline sprawled over his front with the thin blanket (“the same one Jon covered with” Evangeline had crooned) pulled over them, wound together as tightly as they had been when still stuck in the apartment fearing for their lives.
“I’m glad you didn’t get eaten by worms,” Martin whispers into her fur.
Evangeline had to have known of course, but Martin couldn’t make himself say it with the threat still so pertinent. Only now, with the Institute above them and Jon and Octavia -- and Tim and Sasha and Elias and all the other employees and all their daemons-- right outside Martin feels safe enough to say it out loud. Evangeline had already turned to run back, but Martin saw Jane’s face, the hunger and longing in her eyes as she looked at Evangeline.
He pulls her even closer.
“Go to sleep Martin,” she murmurs, halfway there herself.
And Martin is planning to follow her but as he drifts off, yes underneath the same blanket Jon has probably used, a sudden thought crosses his mind and it's disturbing enough it keeps him awake long enough to ask.
“Did I call Octavia cute?”
Evangeline grumbles a whine that sounds a lot like “don’t know, don’t care”.
“At the beginning of the statement,” Martin clarifies, poking her in the side, “when I said I liked big spiders…”
Martin can tell Evangeline is awake enough to process this, can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she remembers what he said, and then there’s her loud laughter filling the tiny store room.
“I’m definitely bringing that up in our next chat.”
Martin wants to push her off the sofa, but as he’s said several times in the last thirty minutes, he’s barely gotten any sleep in the last two weeks, and it did take several minutes of a tickle battle to arrange themselves, so he decides to let her off for now, and finally, falls into a deep and restful sleep.