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“Do you want to come over for dinner?”
Sasha poses the question like she actually wants Martin to come. Jon’s cuddled into her side, outfitted in a giant puffer jacket and a bulky scarf and hat. The only parts of him visible are two big brown eyes and messy black curls.
“Are you sure?” he asks. He doesn’t want to overstep. Just because Jon let him feed him tea and played around at his desk for most of the day doesn’t mean he trusts him just yet. Hasn’t he already monopolized so much of their time?
“Of course!” Tim replies, slinging Jon’s bag over his own shoulder. “Besides, I don’t think this one’s too keen on letting you go just yet.” He nudges Jon who, sure enough, is staring at him and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“Mah-tin!” he says, though the sound is mostly muffled through the scarf. Martin likes to imagine he’s smiling under it. “Mah-tin come play!”
Who could say no to that?
Jon’s been in headspace for most of the day; Sasha explained that this usually happens when he has a crying fit. “Gives him time to cool down and de-stress. Lord knows he needs it.”
Watching him walk with Tim and Sasha to the tube is a real treat. He’s tiny between them, pinging back and forth off their sides and swing their hands. He’s babbling about something that Martin can’t hear, and Tim and Sasha probably can’t as well. It doesn’t stop them from nodding emphatically at every word.
“Are you ready to go on the train, kiddo?” Tim whispers into Jon’s ear, laughing at the excited squeal he gets. “Jon loves the train. Puts him right to sleep sometimes.” Martin has to stop himself from holding Jon away from the platform; he wants to tuck him in the farthest corner of the station, safe and away from all of these people. But Jon’s an adventurous little thing, nothing like the reserved man Martin’s seen so far. When their train arrives he bounds onto it, leaving them to chase after him. He manages to find the only empty seat on the train and they have to weave around the crowd in order to get to him. Tim stands in front of Jon protectively, watching with amusement as he kicks his feet back and forth. No one on the train pays them any mind.
“I hope you don’t mind mac and cheese from the box,” Sasha says, giving Martin a teasing smile. “He only likes bland food when he’s stressed. Anything else upsets his tummy.” The thought of Jon messily eating mac and cheese is too precious to bear. “Us grown-ups can have as much wine as we want, however.”
They make it back to Tim and Sasha’s flat fairly quickly, Jon on Tim’s back, giggling. It’s fairly spacious for London, with a large living area and room enough for a table in the kitchen. There’s only one bedroom, which is why they probably can afford it. He wonders, though.
“Does Jon live here too?” he asks as Sasha takes his coat. It certainly looks like he could- there’s toys in the corner, a fluffy, childish blanket on the couch. Sasha just shakes her head.
“We’re working on that,” she responds. “He’s got his own flat, but he’s been spending most nights here.” Martin wonders how they manage to come and go from work so separately, he’s never noticed anything too telling.
“It’s ah, only one bedroom, though?”
Sasha laughs and shrugs. “Bed’s big. Jon’s little. It works.”
“Yes! It! Does!” Tim says in a high pitched tone as he smothers Jon in kisses- they’re sitting on a rug, toys already sprawled across the floor. “Martin, can you watch him while I get dinner on the stove? Sasha will pour the good stuff, yeah?”
“Um, sure, yeah.” He tentatively sits on the floor as Tim vacates the space, ruffling Jon’s hair. The boy is looking at him very seriously, scarf still wound around his neck. “Are you cold, Jon?”
He shakes his head, glasses almost flying off with the force of it. “Help?” he says in that sweet voice, holding out the ends of the scarf in thin fingers. Martin’s hands move of their own accord, gently unwinding it from his neck to reveal Jon’s big smile. “Ta!”
“Ta, indeed!” He wants to take Jon in his lap but Sasha’s just handed him a glass of wine and it’s too enticing to ignore. Jon pouts as he sips, crawling closer to him and rubbing his face into the side of his jumper like an overgrown cat.
“Taste, p’ease,” he commands, with the authority of someone used to getting what he wants. Martin shakes his head and puts an arm around his shoulders as a consolation.
“This is a grown-up drink, love,” he explains as nicely as possible. Still, Jon’s chin wobbles and his eyes get bright with tears and Martin worries Tim and Sasha will never invite him over again, not when he made their little boy cry. He grabs at a random toy on the ground which happens to be a small, rubbery toy giraffe and waves it in Jon’s face. He blinks, distracted.
“What’s this fella’s name, huh?” He says, smiling brightly at Jon. “We haven’t been introduced!” Jon’s brow furrows and he snatches it out of Martin’s hand, looking at it with an intense gaze that big Jon uses on statements and notes. Looks like they aren’t so different after all.
“I ‘unno,” Jon states before shoving it into his mouth and biting, hard. Martin almost drops his drink to stop him, before realizing it was probably designed for this exact purpose. Well, as long as he’s not biting my shoulder, Martin thinks with relief.
The minutes pass and it becomes easier to interact with Jon as the wine loosens his initial anxiety. Little Jon loves loud sounds, taking infinite amusement in slapping his hands against the floor to make little clapping noises in off-beat rhythms. He doesn’t stop until Martin joins in. He’s also content to watch Martin play pretend, squealing at every voice he puts on, no matter how ridiculous. He’s never had a captive audience like this.
“You’re so good with him,” Sasha says, startling the toy panda and lion out of his hands. “Sorry! Just wanted to let you know dinner’s ready.” She scoops Jon up and places him in her lap at the table. Martin notices his mac and cheese has added spices and breadcrumbs, while Jon’s remains plain. “Didn’t want to make it too boring.” Tim says, giving him a smile. “We’ve got our work arounds when it comes to Jon food.”
“Looks delicious,” Martin comments, and it is. He doesn’t know how Tim makes boxed macaroni taste gourmet, but he’s certainly managed it this time. Sasha alternates between feeding herself and Jon, whose hands are slapping at the tablecloth.
“So noisy, baby!” She coos, putting another spoonful in his mouth. Jon just hums and continues his show, chewing slowly. “You should’ve been a drummer instead of an Archivist.”
“T’anks.” Jon says nonchalantly, causing the three of them to laugh.
“How long does he usually stay little for?” Martin asks and then flushes. Maybe that’s too personal. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Mm, depends,” Tim says thoughtfully, tilting his head. “He usually needs to sleep before he gets big again. Nap, at least. But it varies.” Jon’s currently refusing the next bite of his food.
“But you barely ate a thing, sweetheart!” Sasha rubs at his back, looking concerned. “Are you not feeling good?”
“Full,” Jon insists, nudging her arm away. “Full!” She and Tim share a look before giving in; Tim rises from the table and takes Jon in his arms.
“You’ve got to start eating more, baby. You’re gonna disappear!” Jon just mumbles and nuzzles his head into Tim’s shoulder. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you into your PJs.” They disappear into the bedroom and Martin gets up, taking their plates.
“Oh you don’t have to- you’re our guest!” Sasha says, but Martin just shakes his head and gives her a smile.
“You cooked me a lovely dinner- at least let me do this!”
“Alright, fine. But your definition of ‘lovely’ is definitely skewed.” They move together in companionable silence, loading the sink with dishes and putting away leftovers until Sasha begins to speak again. “You’re- you’re okay with this, right?”
Martin pauses. “With Jon? Yeah, of course.” She’s still looking at him, concern furrowing her brow. It's not that she doesn’t trust him, that much he could see. She’s just very protective of Jon- her and Tim both. Jon needs more people like that in his life. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting it. But it's sweet, you know? Nice that he has people who care about him. That’s a good thing.”
Sasha’s shoulders slump in relief. “Oh, that’s good to hear. He really likes you, y’know.”
Martin opens his mouth to respond but Tim and Jon re-enter the room, the latter in too-big flannel pajamas. The sleeves cover his hands and he yawns, precious and sweet. Martin can barely keep the ‘aw’ from leaving his mouth.
“Jon, buddy, can we talk for a little bit? Before we go night-night?” Sasha kneels down in front of Jon, adjusting the sleeves so he can use his hands. “Won’t be long, promise.”
“Kay,” he nods blearily, and allows Tim to usher him to the couch where he curls up in his arms. Sasha’s on his other side and Martin’s in the chair, close enough to reach out.
“I just want to talk about what happened today,” Sasha says, rubbing Jon’s knee when he tenses up. “I’m not mad, I just want to know a few things. Does Elias ever talk to you? When you’re little?” Jon whines and hides his face in Tim’s chest, clearly uncomfortable.
“Some-sometimes,” comes the muffled answer and Tim squeezes him tighter, shooting Sasha a worried look. “Nice t’ me.”
“How long has he known?” Martin asks, careful to keep his voice quiet as not to startle him. Would Elias have given him the promotion if he already knew? It seems unlikely.
“Long time,” Jon shuffles around in Tim’s arms so he can face Martin- his eyes and nose are red, when did he start crying? “Got th’ spider for me, didn’ yell when I cry. Ga’ me hug.”
“He touched you?” Tim’s voice goes hard and cold and Jon doesn’t react well to that, trying to squirm out of his arms with plaintive little cries.
“Didn’ mean to, s’rry Papa!” Sasha pulls Jon back into her arms, cooing and rubbing his back as he hides his face in his hands.
“He’s not mad at you, sweetheart,” she explains. “He’s mad at Elias. Right, Tim?”
“Right. I’m sorry I scared you, bud.” But Jon’s still crying, and Martin knows they aren’t going to get much more out of him tonight. And then Jon’s little voice pipes up and he rubs at his eyes, attempting to stop the tears.
“S’okay,” he says, nudging at Tim with a small foot. “‘Lias tol’ me bein’ scared s’good, sometimes.” The three of them freeze. “Scared of bein’ arc-arc-”
“Archivist,” Sasha whispers.
“Yeah,” Jon hiccupped. “But he said tha’s good. So you can scare me, Papa. I don’ mind.” He yawns and leans back into Sasha, closing his eyes.
“Jon that’s- that’s not okay,” Tim says urgently, leaning forward. “Nobody should try and scare you.” Jon just hums, half-asleep and Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus. I have no idea what to do about this.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Sasha says definitely, lifting Jon up in her arms. “I think this one’s all tuckered out. But clearly Elias has been taking advantage of him, and Jon doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it. This...this is fucked up.”
“Language!” Tim jokes, but they both know he’s already asleep. It does little to ease the tension in the room. He turns to Martin. “If you want to stay the night, we’ve got an extra-comfy couch-”
“No, it’s alright,” Martin politely refuses. He doesn’t think he should be here for the conversation tomorrow; Tim and Sasha are going to have a hard enough time making Jon open up as is. “I’ve got a few things to do at home anyway. Keep me in the loop though, yeah?”
“‘Course,” Tim hands him his coat as Sasha makes her way into the bedroom, too distracted with Jon to do a proper goodbye. “Thanks for coming over. Nice to see Jon enjoy himself like that.”
It was nice to see him happy, even if the rest of the night came with a sense of unease. There’s a lot Martin needs to digest, but he knows one thing- Elias Bouchard should watch his back.
It’s the middle of the night, and Jon’s in that weird space again. Not little, not big. Caught somewhere in between. He doesn’t like it.
He’s cuddled up to his Papa, the rise and fall of his chest very soothing. Mama’s got an arm around his waist. He’s very warm, but he’s scared for some reason. Nervous. He’s got vague recollections of the evening and he thinks he might have told them too much.
Are Tim and Sasha tired of him? Is he asking too much of them? Do they find him annoying when he’s little? Do they find him annoying when he’s big? He can’t help the whimper that escapes his throat at the thought; if he loses them, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He’ll probably lose Martin too. And then all he’ll have left is Elias. That scares him most of all.
“Shh, baby,” Sasha must have woken, she was attuned to his every little noise at this point. “Go back to sleep. Love you.”
Or maybe they loved him still. Wouldn’t that be something?