Work Text:
"End recording."
Jon clicked off the tape recorder, glanced at the clock on his computer, and sighed. One in the morning was approaching much faster than it had any right to. No wonder he'd made such a mess of Ms. Baxter's statement -- misreading words, skipping lines, positively stumbling through Sasha's follow-up research at the end. He'd certainly have to re-record it in the morning. Or, at least, at some point when he was feeling more alert.
Until then, though, he had no idea what to do. He'd been so involved in what he was doing that he'd missed the last train back to his flat, and while it wasn't late enough that it would be impossible to get a cab...was it really worth it, to spend who knows how long trying to catch one so he could go home and get barely five hours of sleep only to come back here and still be behind on his work, all while Jane Prentiss was hunting him and his assistants? Jon thought not. Better to stay here, try to make himself useful, and deal with Tim laughing at him in the morning when he inevitably fell asleep at his desk again. Maybe he could pop out to the cafe once it opened for some espresso if his work was really suffering later on.
He picked up a yet-unsorted box of old case files and carried it to his desk, plopping it heavily down in front of him. He began pulling the cases out one by one, trying to make heads or tails of the dates they were labelled with so he could figure out how to sort them properly. A familiar surge of frustration at his predecessor and her utter lack of organization rose up within him, and he went through the box clumsily, a sullen cloud of dull anger and exhaustion blurring both his eyes and his mind.
"Jon?"
Martin's voice yanked him so abruptly from his daze that the file in his hands slipped out, papers fluttering to the ground. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he added quickly in response to the glare Jon gave him before leaning down to collect the papers.
"For god's sake, you didn't frighten me, honestly, I--" Jon cut himself off with a sigh. Taking out his frustration on Martin was not a good or necessary thing to do. He spoke again, more calmly. "It's alright. I'm sorry. Did I wake you while I was recording?"
"Oh, no, no," Martin assured him. He held up an empty mug. "Sasha's just being hoarding all the good chamomile tea, and I was having trouble sleeping, so I went to go steal a bag from her office." He smiled faintly, glancing down into the mug before looking back at Jon, an unspoken question on his face.
"What?" Jon asked. The word was meant to come out sharp, but the single syllable sounded so tired and lifeless that Jon nearly cringed at the sound of it.
"You've stayed at your desk all night a couple times now, haven't you?" If Martin meant for the question to sound casual, he missed the mark by miles.
"What about it?"
"Well, just...are you sleeping? At all?"
Jon suddenly felt oddly defensive. "I normally get a few hours." He answered, shifting his gaze down to the out-of-order file in front of him.
"Mhm. Define a few."
"Oh, you know..." Jon made a vague gesture with his hand, then shook himself. Why was he bothering to try and justify this? It was none of Martin's business. "Why do you need to know?"
"I think you should take a break." Martin said firmly. Up until now, he'd been hovering in the doorway to Jon's office, but now he took a step inside, setting his mug on a nearby cabinet and crossing his arms.
"Really." The word wasn't a question. Jon raised his eyebrows as he looked back at Martin. "Seeing as I'm your supervisor, Martin, do you really think it's the best idea to--"
"Yeah, but I'm not talking as your assistant, I'm talking as your friend who's worried," Martin cut him off. "Jon, you look exhausted. You sound exhausted. Do you honestly think you'll be doing good work like this?"
"I, well," Jon couldn't really refute that. "I mean, I can't go home. The trains aren't running, and with Prentiss..."
"Okay, so come to the break room."
Jon actually laughed at that. "And sleep where, the sofa?"
"Er, well, yes, actually," Martin answered. "Technically. One of my first nights here, I actually broke that stupid cot -- it was a cheap thing, and I sat on the edge wrong, the whole thing just -- anyway, it was after everyone had left and I didn't know where the other cots were, so I was trying to figure out what to do and I figured out that the sofa is secretly one of those fold-out beds. Plenty of room."
Sleep in the break room. With Martin. Even though he knew Martin didn't mean anything by it, Jon still felt his face grow just the tiniest bit warm. His thoughts drifted, oddly enough, to Georgie. Back when they'd been together, Jon had stayed over her flat quite a bit. She knew he was asexual, so nothing really...physical ever happened, but he did quite like sleeping in her bed. Having someone that close made it easier to relax. The world felt smaller and cozier. Safer.
Still, as appealing as the suggestion was..."I really need to finish this," Jon heard himself saying. "I'm already so behind, and it's mindless work, really, I can be tired and still do it."
He started to go back to his task, but Martin took another step forward. "Jon, please stop. Even just for a cup of tea."
Guilt flared in Jon's stomach at Martin's pleading tone, but he swallowed it down. "Huh. Or what?" He glanced briefly up at Martin, his words and expression as scathing as he could make them in the hopes that Martin would stop looking at him like that, with so much worry--
"Or...I don't know, I'll pull you out of this office!" Martin answered. That was enough to get Jon's attention. He set down his papers again.
"You'll what?" Jon couldn't help the laugh that crept into his voice. Martin fidgeted where he stood and looked everywhere in the room except at Jon, but it was clear he wasn't going to back down.
"Yeah, I'll just...just pick you up and carry you out."
"You're serious?" Jon chuckled. "Listen, okay, maybe my eating habits aren't quite what they used to be, but I'm certainly not as light as I look, and I don't...think..."
Jon trailed off as Martin crossed the room until he was stood beside Jon's office chair. His mortification was still evident on his face, but mixed into it now was a kind of steely determination. Swiftly, as though attempting to do it before he could change his mind, Martin slid one arm under Jon's shoulders, the other under his knees, and scooped him with surprising deftness out of his chair.
Martin didn't move for a good long moment, and Jon was silent. His face was positively burning, and he didn't dare look Martin in the eye. Martin held him tightly, like he was scared to drop him, but Jon felt perfectly steady. He was pressed so close to Martin's chest that he thought maybe, faintly, he could feel Martin's heart beating. But maybe it was just his own.
"Right." Martin finally broke the silence after what felt like hours. His voice cracked. Jon pretended not to hear it. "So. To the break room we go." And so they went, Martin stopping to grab his mug on the way out.
"I could still walk, y'know," Jon mumbled when they were about halfway down the hall.
"How do I know you wouldn't just try and go right back to your office?"
Jon was quiet.
"That's what I thought."
"I resent this."
"Well, you can resent it just as well after six hours' sleep on something resembling an actual bed," Martin said curtly as he maneuvered the break room door open and deposited Jon onto, sure enough, a fold-out sofa-bed. He filled the electric kettle on the counter with water and turned it on, then retrieved his stolen teabag from his pocket and started hunting in the cabinets, presumably for a mug and a second teabag for Jon. "Is mint okay with you? Everything else has caffeine in it."
Jon gave a noncommittal shrug, and a few minutes later, he was sipping mint tea with Martin beside him. Jon was typically more of a coffee person, but Martin was unreasonably good with tea.
"I don't get how it always comes out so much better when you make it than when I or anyone else does," Jon blurted when he was about halfway through his mug. Martin smiled.
"You and Tim both get impatient about it. You let the water get too hot, or you forget to take the teabag out, and so you end up scalding the leaves and making it all bitter. Sasha's normally better about that kind of thing, but she overloads everything with milk or sugar. Which Tim also kind of does. Neither of them really care too much about the actual type of tea they're drinking." It was weirdly fascinating to hear Martin talk about this. Jon never quite remembered exactly how perceptive he could be, especially when it came to other people.
Jon wanted to comment on that, but every way he could think to do so felt awkward, so instead he nodded very seriously and said, "I see. So, essentially, we should ban Tim from using the kettle?"
Martin chuckled. "Essentially."
They finished their cups of tea, and Martin took the mugs to the sink and flicked off the light. "Well, er, goodnight," he said as he sat back down on the sofa-bed, pulling back the covers and laying down. Jon took off his glasses and put them aside before he did the same, rolling onto his back and staring up at the dark ceiling.
He really was tired, especially after the soothing warmth of the tea. It should have been the easiest thing in the world for him to shut his eyes and drift off. But his mind kept drifting to the scattered files on his desk, the terribly recorded statement, the worms he knew were lurking in the walls. Suddenly he felt ridiculous for being here when there was so much to be done.
Martin seemed rather soundly asleep. It shouldn't be too difficult to sneak back to his office. He'd just finish organizing the box he was on, and then come straight back. Martin would never even know he'd been off being useful.
But Jon had barely pulled off the covers when Martin shifted and wrapped a heavy arm around him, pulling him closer and rendering it just about impossible to get up. "Go to sleep, Jon," he murmured. " 'S important to get rest."
"Alright, yes, I'm staying," Jon answered softly, but Martin's only response was a gentle snore.
Laying on his back was uncomfortable with Martin's arm on top of him, so he turned slightly onto his side to face him. In the darkness and without his glasses, it was hard for Jon to see much of anything, but Martin's face was quite clear. Jon thought back to all the books he'd read where people are described as looking peaceful in their sleep. That wasn't exactly true of Martin. Not that he looked unhappy or anything, just...pensive. Like he had a lot to be thinking about. Or, since he was in fact asleep, maybe a lot to be dreaming about.
As Jon finally drifted off himself, he wondered vaguely what Martin's dreams were like.