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Martin had never yelled at Jon. Never raised his voice at Jon. Not really. Not like he knew he was capable of and had learned from his absent, asshole father. And so when his voice crescendoed in anger, real anger over something so petty something so Jon it caught him so off guard he wasn’t able to halt the vitriolic venom pouring from his throat like smoke from freshly fired gun.
“Shut your mouth!”
And he did.
Abruptly.
Martin could hear his teeth click together with the force.
There was a beat of silence run through only by Jon’s harsh breaths before Martin realized he’d gone stock still, eyes wide and round as saucers and filled with a fear he hadn’t seen since their time in the Archives.
“Jon?” He flinched, holding himself stiff, trembling so minutely Martin wouldn’t have realized it if he hadn’t been looking. “Love?” All the frustration and anger fled with this strange, unfamiliar reaction.
“Yes?” Automatic and filled to the brim with false affect. It sounded like a stranger had taken control of his voice box. When Jon tried to laugh lightly it read more as a sob, and Martin hated the smile slipping from ear to ear like an oil slick, like a mask. “I’m sorry, you know how stubborn I can be.” Robotically, Jon stepped forward, supplicating and small, expression soft and fond and everything Martin loved.
And wrong.
“J’Jon?” Martin was confused and worried because while all the pieces of his partner were there, they didn’t form the whole picture.
“I’ll start dinner.” The step forward he’d taken became a step back as his grin cracked at the corners. “Then we can talk.” And like a wraith he disappeared into the tiny kitchen leaving Martin completely mystified and wracked with worry and itching to follow, instinct warning him that it would certainly do more harm than good. Instead, he sat on the sofa, taking deep breaths to calm himself down from their fight and his own loss of control before being lured by the smells wafting through the safe house.
“That smells delicious, love.” If he hadn’t been looking carefully, Martin would have missed the tightening of Jon’s shoulders.
“Ah, thank you. I hope you like it.” Martin frowned, glad Jon wasn’t facing him to see it.
“Of course I will.” Carefully, he moved to stand beside him taking note of the sharp intake of breath and the way he held it.
“You’re upset.” Jon laughed, stirring in a mess of spices Martin couldn’t hope to identify.
“‘Course not, Martin.” He wouldn’t look at him, pretending to be absorbed in tasting whatever he was making, something Jordanian no doubt that would take its place at the top of Martin’s ‘best thing he’d ever tasted’ list. “It was a fight, c’couples fight.”
“They do.” Jon still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“So it’s fine, try this--need anything?” As if he would know, Martin thought as he accepted the proffered bite which of course melted pleasantly in his mouth.
“It’s perfect, darling.” A real smile graced his tired face and stayed there while Jon dished up their servings. They ate in the sitting room as Daisy hadn’t felt the need for a dining table and watched mindless telly, settling into their evening routine.
Except Jon wasn’t pressed against Martin, sleep soft and warm like he usually was.
“I’m sorry for shouting like that earlier.”
“It was my fault. I pushed too hard like I always do and I apoloize. You didn’t do anything wrong, Martin.” Matter of fact and it sounded like Jon. But it was wrong. So wrong. And Jon was on the other side of the couch, curled up in a throw with a book open and face down in his lap when he’d barely left Martin’s side since leaving the Lonely. The space between them wasn’t cold but it wasn’t easy either.
“Jon,” tentative and probing just a little. “You do realize I shouldn’t have reacted that way, right? That, that yelling at you like that wasn’t okay?” Jon sat up straighter, paperback falling to the floor when he shifted. He paid it no mind, holding out his hands in capitulation, not reaching out like he normally would, and shaking his head in earnest.
“No, Martin. No, no it’s.” And Martin couldn’t help the jolt of relief at his tone because this was the most Jon had sounded like Jon since their argument. “It’s me, I push and needle and I, I, I don’t know when to quit. I’m. I’m too much, I j’just forget that sometimes! You reminded me, that’s all. Th’that’s all it was. No harm done.” But that wasn’t true and Martin kept his own voice calm and unassuming.
“Did you feel safe when I did that?” It was clear Jon didn’t know what to say, that he didn’t want to risk upsetting him again, hands twisting and winding around each other with nervous energy and apprehension. “You didn’t.”
“No! I--” he pressed his lips together, wrapping his arms around bent knees and resting his chin on top. “I.” Martin gave him the time to figure himself out, watching as his eyes darted between him and the plates on the table. “I know y’you wouldn’t.”
“That’s not the same.” Jon was shaking his head, adamant.
“But it, it isn’t your fault.” And when he finally met Martin’s eyes it was like a collision, something painfully vulnerable and panicked in the deepest part of them. “It’s mine, I promise, I d’don’t need--” Martin’s heart skipped a beat when he cut himself off, leaning forward, trying to be there and not frighten him away.
“It’s alright to need things, Jon.” Gently, so gently, even as Jon’s breath came short and shallow, eyes pleading with him and Martin didn’t know what to say to fix this.
“I, but I. I d’don’t.” He clenched his fingers into trembling fists, face crumpling up as he tried to make Martin understand. “I’m too needy.”
“Jon--”
“It’s not important!”
I’m not important.
Martin could pinpoint the moment Jon realized he’d run out of ways to convince him otherwise, falling into his broad chest and hiding his face in the washworn wool as he embraced him, whispering almost to himself; “just want to make you h’happy.”
“You do make me happy, love.” Tentative, he let his hands rest lightly on his back, not certain Jon really wanted to be touched right now, or if he was doing it because the only emotions that mattered were Martin’s. “So happy.”
“Don’t want you to leave.”
“I won’t.”
“But, but.”
Everyone always leaves.
Martin understood that feeling all too well. After all, hadn’t that been how the Lonely got its hooks into him so deep? Jon was like a beacon for it himself, filled with the fear that the last person he had left was going to abandon him like the rest of them had. Martin let himself indulge the desire to hold him, relieved that Jon melted against him.
“I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. That’s not going to change, darling.”
“Even…” Martin dropped a kiss amongst his messy curls.
“Couples fight sometimes.” Jon took a deep breath, relaxing just that much more. “It hurts because. Well, because we do love each other.” A snort of laughter escaped him, shaking the blades of his shoulders under Martin’s hands.
“You’re such a poet.” Unsure and wobbly with hidden tears as he worried how his attempt at humor would be perceived, but teasing all the same. “I love you, too.” And for right now, in this moment, it was enough.