Chapter Text
In a sense, Jon was like a feral animal. Besides that being not too complimentary, the assessment was still a little bit off. Martin decided that Jon was more like a cat who had been taken care of as a kitten, and then dumped on the side of the road when they grew up to become too much of a hassle later on down the line. Something that had been abandoned and left to fend for itself for so long that it was wary of any random act of kindness directed at it.
It explained why in the beginning why any friendly overture had been met with a sharp tongue and metaphorical raised hackles. Jon was one of those people who preferred to protect themselves rather than let anyone else in again. Jon was suspicious of kindness, even when it came in the form of a cup of steaming, perfectly brewed, fragrant tea.
There was only so much disappointment a body could handle before they started to reject the nicer things in life out of habitual self-preservation. Maybe working at the institute had worsened that paranoid part of their nature. Martin wasn’t sure, but the notion wasn’t a surprising one either. He also didn’t know how to bring it up in a constructive manner. Martin did know, however, that one can’t feel abandonment if one invests zero expectations in other people.
Now that they had space and time to assess and rest, Martin could really see that for himself. How Jon kept their back to the walls, preferring to sit in corners. How they stayed away from windows, or sat in places where they had a direct line of sight of the door.
How certain noises made them flinch and tense. Recently, Martin had made the mistake of preparing a whole chicken. Jon had been left the room shuddering uncontrollably from the sound of feathers being plucked out of skin, and then, the sound of meat tearing away from bone. They hadn’t eaten anything that night, and it had taken about a day before Martin could coax them into nibbling on some buttered toast.
A collections of scars parading around as a barely functional person who steals Martin’s jumpers like it’s their job now was a more accurate assessment of the Archivist. Jon’s skin was pot marked by the worms like strange vulgar freckles. Martin remembered removing them himself with a barely suppressed shiver. The burn marks that encompassed their entire hand hadn’t paled yet, the glassy scar tissue still a fresh vivid shade of pink. There was a line like a second mouth on their neck, drawn across it by Daisy herself with her knife. There was puckered skin on their shoulder from Melanie’s contribution in the matter. Jon was leaner in the chest than they should have been due to two missing ribs and Jared’s nefarious abilities. Martin didn’t want to think about how that conversation had gone. Jon hadn’t told him more than the basics of it, and that the experience had been...unpleasant. Jon was a champion at understating the horrific when they wanted to be.
Martin’s mother had been sick and in need, but that did not make her a kind person. Martin was sure some part of her loved him up to a point, had loved him until he grew old enough to look too much like his father. Martin had done his best by her, but in the end, it was never enough, or more accurately, never good enough for her.
Martin remembered his time at the institute in the beginning. No one there knew how to make a decent cup of tea which he thought was sort of ridiculous so it was something he took over without anyone ever really asking him to. The first time he had dropped off a cuppa with Jon, the Head Archivist had made a point of openly glaring at the steaming cup and then back up at Martin like no one had ever brought him a cup of tea before, and that his steaming mug of PG Tips was some sort of trap. Martin was beginning to suspect about how accurate that was.
Jon was a person in pain, and Martin was well versed in recognizing such things so he just kept at it, much like how a stray cat might hiss and take a clawed swipe at you when you first offer it food. He knew Jon had no reason to trust him. So one cup at a time, Martin continued to try and win them over, feeling a little silly about it when he wasn’t too busy feeling nervous and anxious, or hiding from monsters.
Martin refused to feel any sort of gratitude towards those damn silver worms, but that had really been a turning point for them. For a time, they had been basically living at the institute together while hiding from the squirming silver bastards. It was there that Martin discovered that Jon ate, drank, and slept just enough to keep their body from distracting them. At the time, Martin was sure Jon found him bothersome, always turning up with extra cup of tea accompanied by a glass of water and small plate of snacks. Various crackers and biscuits were a mainstay. Cheese usually went over very well, but fruit was a bit of a hit or miss. Martin recalled a time from one of those days.
“What are you doing?” Sounded more curious than harsh for once from Jon. At the time, Martin had tried not to feel too thrilled about the shift in tones.
“Peeling you an orange?” Martin played along, showing the other person the fruit.
“Yes, I can see that much for myself, thank you.” Jon rolled their eyes at him, clearly getting irritated, but not angrily like they might have done so before in the past. “Why are you peeling me an orange?”
“Because you like them, and you usually get peckish around teatime.” Martin said easily enough because it was the truth as he focused on removing all the little pale bits of bitter off of the segmented citrus. Jon was looking at him, and they could do that all they liked in Martin’s opinion. It was the truth, but that wasn’t why Martin chose to look back, well, more accurately, peek back.
His own curiosity betrayed him at the sudden silence, Martin risking to glance over to see Jon doing their damnedest to imitate a loading screen. It appeared that “Does not compute, does not compute” was being churned round and round in Jon’s head.
Jon hadn’t said anything else after that, looking a mixture of curious and confused as they continued to watch with growing nervousness as Martin made up a neat little plate of edibles for them. When he was done, Martin placed the snack plate near the Archivist along with a new cup of tea and a glass of water, returning quietly to his research on the other side of the room.
At some point, Martin glanced up to find Jon staring down at the untouched plate with a strange expression on their face. They looked as if he were trying to determine the meaning of life through some cheddar, orange slices, and Jaffa cakes. Martin didn’t know how long he watched Jon, or how long Jon contemplated their snacks and drinks, but eventually, they started to eat until it was all gone. They even finished the water after they went through all the tea.
And Jon did it all with a tiny soft smile on their face, probably not even realizing that they were making the expression, or how it made Martin’s heart melt just a little bit. Martin took care of others out of habit, never expecting to be rewarded for it. That was the first time in recent memory it had paid off though.
After that, Martin tried to do more for Jon when and where he could, all while trying not to be too obvious about it. They started to talk more, exploring other topics of conversation that did not pertain to the work or other things trying to kill them.
Martin died a little inside one morning when he came upon Jon reading one of his notebooks. He had misplaced a few of them during his stay while living at the institute. He gave Jon their tea, all while panicking inwardly about how he was going to get his poetry back without too much fuss or embarrassment.
“I thought you didn’t like poetry.” After a moment when it’s became evident that Jon was thoroughly involved with what he was reading.
“I don’t.” Jon grumped at him, startled, but they still didn’t take their eyes off of the pages.
“Then why are you reading it?”
“I don’t typically enjoy this sort of medium, but I do enjoy this particular poet, even if they do tend to emulate Keats a bit too much for my tastes in prose.”
“You think it’s good then?” Martin was absolutely stunned into taking chances.
“I just said it was. The only real critique I really have for it is that the poet never signed their name. I been trying to determine if it belonged with a statement or not.” Jon sighed, finishing the page to finally look up at the assistant. They went in their desk to retrieve the rest, threatening to make Martin’s heart grow too suddenly big for his chest . “Are you all right, Martin?”
“Um...” fumbled Martin who was desperately trying not to do or say something too embarrassing.
“What is it?” Jon pressed, looking more concerned than irritated, another welcome change between them. “I checked. They’re not Leighters.”
“Oh, I already know that.” Martin tried to stall. “Well, you see. Crazy thing that, those, this.”
“Spit it out! Tell me already.”
“They’re mine!” The words were pulled suddenly out of Martin, the man blinking in shock from it. He had not intended to tell Jon.
“They’re what?” Jon blinked owlishly back at him.
“The poems. The reason they weren’t signed is because I was still working my way through that notebook. I thought I’d lost it and the others a while ago.” Martin said so quickly his words conga line danced their way out of his mouth. Martin desperately ordered himself to quit talking.
On his part, Jon looked as if they had just been hit in the head with a brick. Their cheeks turned cherry red, then worryingly pale before their skin settled on a burning deep crimson shade that moved to consume Jon’s ears and neck along with his face.
“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, if I had known. This is a serious breach of privacy, and I should...I should have,” Jon babbled, gathering up the now obviously well read worn notebooks to shove them in Martin’s general direction. They had not been that way that last time Martin had seen them. It was clear Jon had read them all more than casually once or twice. “Please accept my apology. It wasn’t my intention to read such a thing without permission.”
“It’s quite all right! It’s fine, seriously, it’s fine. You can keep it all if you want to finish it.” It was taking everything in Martin’s power not to do or say anything incredibly inappropriate, like telling his boss how adorable he was right there and then, or admitting that he very much would like to kiss Jon in this moment until they were both breathless.
“I’ve already read them...multiple times.” Jon quietly admitted. Martin noticed that the Archivist was more clutching them close again than trying to give them back. They were still blushing like mad, but they were working their way back up to eye contact so Martin counted that as a win.
“Then you keep then.” Martin said, making no motion to take it. It didn’t look like Jon was willing to give them back now either. “It’s just nice to be appreciated. You’re the only other person, besides me of course, who reads them.”
“You don’t publish?” Jon asked hesitantly after a moment.
“Nah. I just write them for fun.”
“You should consider it.” Jon said quietly, putting Martin’s poems away in his top drawer, the one Jon only kept things he considered to be important. Martin tried not to think too much about that, failing miserably at it for the rest of the day.
And then Martin lost this new awkward love in his life even before it really began, or he almost did. Day in and day out, he had gone to visit them at the hospital. He had done all that but in the end, all it took was one conversation with the Avatar of the End to bring Jon back to the land of the living. Martin tried not to feel too gutted about it, but he couldn’t help it. It was like months of putting out food for a stray animal to have to go live in someone else’s house. He felt silly for feeling that way, but it gnawed at him. Changes had been made to Jon, against his will, to the point Jon wasn’t really human anymore. He felt beyond Martin’s reach, or so he told himself as he got involved with the Lonely.
Martin had all but given up, except Jon hadn’t given up on him. Against all odds, the Archivist entered the Lonely to go in after Martin. He had thought he was talking to a shade, professing his love to an illusion of Peter’s creation because it hadn’t mattered. Nothing had at that point. The illusion solidified into reality, telling Martin that he was loved back.
Now, here they were, hiding out from the world in this little cabin deep in the heart of Scotland with Jon wearing yet another one of Martin’s stolen jumpers. The wool hid most of those terrible scars. It also made Jon look smaller and more delicate than he actually was, the extra fabric pooling around him.
He startled when Martin set down a cup of tea near him on the coffee table. “Thank you,” Jon murmured, that small soft smile that Martin fell in love with on their lips. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, sure. What is it?”
“Why do you keep staring at me?” Jon was carefully while contemplating the hem of his too large jumper.
“What if I just like looking at you?” Martin asked as he sat down next to them.
“Rude to answer a question with a question.” Martin supposed that this was their unique version of flirting, both awkward in their own way.
“Well, you’d know about that, being rude. Rude dude like you.” Martin smiled as he leaned in, stopping short to kiss the tip of Jon’s nose before leaning back to watch the fallout of that.
“You’re ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous.” Jon tried for accusatory, failing miserably at it, even as he looked away to hide his bit of blush. He did that, not showing open happiness well or often. For all his heroic tendencies, Jon was a hider. They really could be such a shy thing.
“To answer your question, I was thinking about how much I liked you when I first got hired on at the Institute.” Made Jon blink back owlishly at Martin.
“Whatever for? I was an absolute boar to you.”
“Yeah, but you were very handsome while doing so. That cool monotone voice of judgment, and that slight head tilt of boredom with just a hint of annoyance for some spice.”
“It’s like you write poetry or something.” Jon tried to pull away, but it was all a farce. Martin could tell that now. He gathered Jon up more firmly in his lap and at his side, the Archivist allowing himself to be draped over Martin.
“I do.”
“Any good?”
“I have a least one fan.”
“Only one?”
“The one who only who matters.”
“You-you...” Jon stammered.
“Oh hush.” Martin smiled, pulling the Archivist in under the covers. He reveled in how well they fit together. “I’m curious. Do you have a favorite?”
“Of course.”
“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan to keep being difficult?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re incorrigible.”
“Lost Love Looking.” Jon mumbled into his chest. It took a moment, but Martin recalled it aloud for them both.
“‘Missing secrets sit privately away from ecstasy, free to alway linger translucent behind your night sky. Yesterday my stream healed dark and cool, thinking you, my beloved, only existed in dreams. But today, I am restless in waking as an ocean, knowing that you actually exist in wandering wood...there, real, and so beyond it all in your journeys. Please pierce your ghost night to reveal your shining secret moon from within so I might find you. I wish to fall in love with all your faces.”
“Yeah. That’s the one.” Jon said wetly.
“Are you crying?” Martin asked as he peered down at his partner.
“Fuck off.” Said Jon as they wiped tears out of their eyes. “Don’t look so smug about it.”
“I would never.” Martin said, placing a hand dramatically over the part of his chest that wasn’t being lived on by Jon.
“Love?”
“Mmm?”
“If we get to live...”
“That’s highly unlikely to happen.” Jon warned, an all too familiar frown and look of worry reasserting itself upon their being.
“If we get to live,” Martin repeated purposely, looking with great intent into Jon’s eyes, “Marry me?”
“You could do better,” which wasn’t a hard “no”. Jon was stalling, giving Martin an out that he didn’t want or need.
“Jon, that’s not an answer. It’s literally a yes or no question. Will you marry me?”
“Would you really want to?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not like I’ve ever asked that question before to anyone.” Martin pointed out.
“Me?” Jon asked somewhat helplessly. “Are you sure? If you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a wreck.”
“I’ve always been one for fixer uppers. I think you have a sound enough foundation though. Should be able to flip you for a profit later on down the line.”
“You think your clever?” Jon snorted.
“No. I know I’m clever.” Martin said as Jon tried to burrow further into his chest to escape. “Couldn’t keep your attention if I wasn’t just a little bit wily.”
“Yes.” Jon said almost too quietly to be heard.
Martin was about to launch into about how Jon was finally recognizing his excellence before the answer fully registered with him.
Instead of making a fuss, Martin hugged Jon closer, smiling into their hair. There would be plenty of time for all that later. Right now...right now, Martin just wanted to bask in this beautiful surreal moment as long as this cursed world would let him.