Chapter Text
The journey out of the Lonely was long and difficult. Martin, still in its throes, had begun to fade out four times along the way before Jon realized he could prevent Martin from losing his grip just by continually speaking to him, practically narrating their trek through the desolate landscape of sand and fog.
When he wasn't warning Martin of an upcoming bump in the ground or pointing out how a particular wisp of fog looked like one animal or another, when he simply ran low on things to ramble on about (a phenomenon he'd never before struggled with), Martin would surreptitiously glance over at his face, a desperate look in his eyes as his hand shook in Jon's.
That look inspired him to speak up again every time.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Martin squinted at something in the distance. "Jon, is that…?" He didn't need to finish, Jon saw it too. Thick with fog as the air was, the warm orange light of a streetlamp was unmistakable.
"We're almost out," he confirmed. "Just keep strong a little longer," he said, half reassuring, half begging. Martin nodded.
As they approached, Jon's heart flipped over in his chest. He hadn't spoken since they spotted the light--he stole a glance up at Martin, and almost cried when he saw the resolve on his round, freckled face. He wasn't going to fade again.
Their exit was more sudden than Jon had expected. One second they were trudging through the sand, and the next--
"Oof," he grunted, feeling as though he'd missed a step on a staircase. But then his eyes refocused.
"Jon," Martin gasped, and for a moment it was all they could do to stare around at the busy London street they stood at the edge of, filled with people and cars and not a bit of fog. "You--you did it."
Now facing each other, Jon squeezed his friend's hand. "You did it too, Martin."
He didn't need to say any more. When he recalled the moment later, he couldn't quite say who initiated it, but the next moment they were in a tight hug.
--
Martin woke to the sound of a rattling cart and cracked his eyes open to see a hostess rolling it down the aisle, offering snacks and hot drinks.
"Would you like anything, sir?" she asked cheerfully.
Martin looked to his side to see that the cart hadn't been enough to disturb Jon, who was still peacefully sleeping against his shoulder. He turned back to the hostess with a nod. "Two black teas, please," he said softly, not wanting to wake him.
Noticing his sleeping companion, the hostess--Lilly, her pink-and-orange pin said--nodded and replied in similar tones, "That'll just be a few minutes then, I'll bring them up when they're ready."
"Thank you," he smiled at her, earning a grin and thumbs-up, and as she pushed the cart past he could tell she was making an effort to keep it steady, quieting the rattle.
To anyone else, it would have seemed the most base of interactions, but as somebody who'd only just escaped the clutches of the Lonely a day ago, her kindness almost brought Martin to tears.
Wiping at his brimming eyes with a chuckle, he turned his attention back to Jon. He looked so relaxed, something he didn't think he'd ever seen on his boss's face before. Of course, Martin didn't think he'd ever see that face asleep against his shoulder, either.
Not wanting to waste the chance, Martin began studying every detail of Jon's gaunt face. He was pale, almost concerningly so, and it gave him the look of a fragile porcelain doll, matching his long eyelashes and perfect--No, Martin admonished himself, screwing up his eyes against the thought.
No thinking about kissing your boss, Martin, he told himself, not even if he did just save your life. Not even if you're about to go live with him in a tiny little cottage.
"I have your tea, sir," Lilly said, still keeping her voice down. He turned to take two paper thermoses and a plastic dish of creamers and sugar packets from her, putting the lot on the tray in front of him.
"Thanks again," he said, and with a smile, she nodded and left. Martin checked the time on his phone--4:28, meaning there was probably about an hour left until their stop in the small Scottish village Basira told them to flee to until things blew over back in London. He decided Jon could stand to sleep a little while longer before he woke him to get ready to leave the train.
In the meantime, Martin began to add cream and sugar to his tea with the arm that wasn't trapped beneath his sleeping companion, humming some tune he'd heard on the tube that morning.
He passed the time sipping his tea and reading a poetry anthology on his phone until he felt Jon stir against him and glanced over. "Jon?"
"Hello," he mumbled without opening his eyes, clearly not fully aware yet.
Martin chuckled. "Hello." He glanced back at his phone for the time. "Good timing, we're getting off in about twenty minutes."
"Lucky me," Jon deadpanned, rubbing his eyes as he slowly extricated himself from Martin's side, his black hair mussed to hell. "Sorry about that."
"Hm?"
"Didn't mean to… invade your space, there." Jon looked embarrassed, an emotion Martin didn't often see from him.
He shrugged. "It's fine. But you, ah, might want to…" Martin gestured towards Jon's messy hair with a grin, laughing when he tried to look up and see what was wrong with it.
"Right, yes." Martin looked back at his reading as Jon tried to wrestle his hair into submission. It was getting pretty long now, something about stalling the apocalypse a half dozen times had apparently kept him too busy for the salon.
"Oh, here." Martin remembered the tea he'd saved for Jon and offered it to him.
"Oh--thank you, Martin," Jon chuckled as he took it.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing, it's just… familiar, I suppose. You always made me tea at work," Jon (ineffectively) hid a smile behind the paper thermos as he took a sip.
"I--I made everyone tea," Martin spluttered, feeling defensive without quite understanding why.
"I know. It was nice of you." Jon shrugged. "Helped me stay awake to record more than once."
"Might've worked a bit too well," he remarked. "At least once when I was staying in the archives, I woke up in the morning before you'd gone home."
At least he had the decency to look sheepish. "It was just once."
Martin chuckled. "I miss when that was our biggest problem--that you needed more sleep."
"Well, I probably still do, if that's any comfort," he replied, his tone almost teasing.
"It's not," Martin retorted. "But now you'll be stuck in Daisy's safehouse with me, so you can't escape being told to go to bed," he continued triumphantly, only half-kidding. He really did worry for Jon. Especially now.
Jon gave a long-suffering sigh that made Martin laugh aloud. "Oh, good for me."
Martin was about to respond when he was jolted by the train beginning to slow down, and a voice coming over the intercom to announce their stop. "That's us."
"I recall," Jon replied dryly.
They maneuvered their way off the train with their meager luggage without much hassle and were eventually standing outside the train station looking out over the small town.
"It's so… green," Martin commented admiringly.
"Mhmm. Was there a plan for the trip from here to the house?"
"Er… a taxi?"
Jon actually laughed. "I think it may be too green here for taxis."
"Well, it can't be that far, can it? We could just walk," he suggested. His face fell when he saw how Jon grimaced at the thought. "We don't have to--"
"No, no, you're right. I'm just…" He looked down at himself, as though his slight body would provide him with the words he needed. He sighed. "Drained."
Martin's heart went out to him. He was sure the events of the past months had taken a real toll on him. "I get it. Me too. Do you want to sit for a while?"
"We just did," he pointed out. Martin shrugged. "No, we can go. The sooner we get there, the better."
"Okay. Here, give that to me." He reached out to take Jon's backpack, who frowned at him.
"What? No, it's fine," he protested.
"You’re exhausted, Jon, it's obvious. Please?"
Jon sighed. "If it'll make you feel better." He pulled his backpack off and handed it over begrudgingly.
"It will," Martin replied, and slung it over the shoulder that wasn't carrying his own bag, not missing how Jon's pale face reddened just a twinge.
"Thank you, Martin."