Chapter Text
Click . He pressed the ‘stop’ on the tape recorder and the soft whirl of the tape stopped.
Jon was fucking exhausted. He’d been awake for nearly 48 hours at this point, save for an one hour nap he’d snuck in somewhere around hour 32. He’d been able to get through a good portion of statements, though, so it’d been worth it. The fatal combination of stress and no sleep had given him a terrible migraine, not to mention the way his left eye wouldn’t stop twitching (likely due to an excess of caffeine). Nevertheless, he had to keep working, press forward through the throbbing pain or else...
Martin had arrived at The Archives half-dead a few weeks ago, after having mysteriously disappeared for two weeks because of ‘stomach problems’. Obviously, Martin’s problems were not a stomach bug, but rather a horde of blood-thirsty worms and one Jane Prentiss. The incident had shocked Jon to his core, although he tried his best not to show to the others just how shaken up he was about it. Especially not Martin. No, Martin would just worry about Jon further, and Jon didn’t want that. All the fussing tended to slow down Martin’s work.
All this to say that Martin was staying at the Institute for now. When he’d arrived at the Archives, pale and shaking and fearful, and given his statement, Jon couldn’t bear to send him back to his flat. Despite the rumors, Jon was not completely heartless.
Jon resolved to take a break to make tea and then get back to work. Once he had made his way into the kitchen he spotted Martin, tending to the plants that lined the window seal, the ones he’d insisted on placing there in order to ‘breathe a little life into the space’. Martin, with his back turned to Jon, was wearing a soft looking jumper and flannel bottoms. He also appeared to have headphones in, with the music turned up so loud that Jon could make out a thumping instrumental, even from several feet away. The beat sounded familiar, although Jon couldn’t quite put his finger on why. He didn’t have to wonder for long though, because soon enough Martin started singing along, and although it was only under his breath, the all-too familiar words were unrecognizable;
A wiser man than I once spoke
That life at heart is all a joke
But he was not embroiled in smoke
So it's pump, me boys, before we choke
This could not be happening. But it was. Martin was watering a small succulent, swaying his hips, and singing along with Jon’s band from uni. Jesus Christ . In Jon’s panic, he’d missed the chorus, but Martin was still going, and had now arrived at the second verse.
The image of my sweetheart's face
It fires the heart and sets the pace
Whate'er the time, whate'er the place
I'll find him through the depths of space
Jon couldn’t take it anymore. He cleared his throat, and Martin whipped around, startled. He dropped the cheerful yellow watering can he’d been using only moments before and fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket to pause the music, ignoring the water that was now on the floor and seeping through his socks.
“Er, Jon. I didn’t know you were- I thought you went home.”
“I was recording a statement.” Jon’s voice wavered; Martin must have noticed because his eyes widened in concern.
“Are you okay?” He squinted inquisitively at Jon, as if he could read his mind if he concentrated hard enough.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine Martin.” He cleared his throat, again. “What- what were you listening to? Just now?” He couldn’t help but ask, even though he knew the answer. Something in him wanted to hear Martin say it, wanted to hear an explanation.
Martin looked startled, before reddening to the tips of his ears. “They’re called The Mechanisms. They do kind of folky, steam punk stuff? Have you-” He cut off, before continuing. “Have you heard of them?”
It took all of Jon’s will power to hold in a snort. “Yeah, you could say that.” Martin didn’t even seem phased by strange phrasing, the corners of his mouth turning up in delight.
“R-really? Only they don’t seem like your type of- well, I’m a bit surprised. What’s your favorite song? I really like ‘Sleeping Beauty’ from their first album? Jonny d’Ville’s part is so cool .”
At that, Jon really didn’t know what to say. Martin gushing about... well, about him (or rather his musician persona) had totally thrown him off.
Martin seemed to take his silence for annoyance, though, because he was quickly stumbling out an apology. “I’m sorry for the rambling, it’s just that I don’t know many people who’ve listened to them.”
Shit, what was he supposed to say now? It wasn’t like he’d ever expected anyone from work to find his old band, although perhaps in retrospect that had been a bit naïve of him. Maybe if he just tried to avoid it . “You really ought to mop up that mess, Martin.” And he left, not even bothering to make the tea that he’d come to the kitchen for in the first place.
Jon listened to The Mechanisms? Posh, stuffy, stoic Jonathan Sims? Sure, he hadn’t answered Martin’s question about his favorite song, but that was to be expected. Jon had a tendency to skip over questions or details that made him uncomfortable, Martin had noticed. The funny part was that he probably thought that he was being sneaky about it. But why would that question make him uncomfortable? It was a piece of information so trivial it seemed hard to imagine that sharing it would cross Jon’s strictly lain professional boundaries. Martin of all people could understand Jon’s need for privacy, though. There were plenty of parts of Martin’s life that his coworkers weren’t privy to- his relationship with his mother for starters. But Jon’s walls that he had put up against them all... well Martin would be lying if he said that it didn’t annoy him at times.
Jon let out a sigh as he tossed his keys into the bowl by the door and slid off his shoes. He had eventually made it back to his flat shortly after his interaction with Martin in the kitchen, reasoning that he was likely much too tired to get anymore quality work done for the night. If he was going to be honest with himself, it was more that he was still reeling from his talk with Martin in the kitchen. Of course, he’d heard the idle office gossip (mostly from Tim) about Martin’s supposed crush on him, but he had figured that it was more fiction than truth, over exaggerated as gossip in The Institute tended to be. Martin’s clear adoration for Jonny d’Ville, however, was much more tangible. It was going to be much harder to avoid this than it was to avoid Tim’s teasing, that much was for certain.
Jon made his way to his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt, shucking off his trousers, and wiggling out of his binder with no little effort. Once he had changed into a threadbare t-shirt he flopped into bed with an audible sigh. He would sleep for a couple hours, wake up, and by morning everything would be back to normal, he was sure of it.