Work Text:
Martin’s phone ringing in the middle of the day is not a common occurrence. He’s just come off shift and was rather looking forward to taking off his shoes and resting his feet, so he grumbles a little as he picks up the phone.
Seeing Jon’s number makes him simultaneously perk up and worry. It’s not like Jon to initiate phone calls unless it’s urgent.
The worry gets worse when he picks up, and the voice on the other end is very definitely not Jon.
“Hello? I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are but you were #1 on Mr. Sims’ speed dial. My name is Sonja, I report to him.”
Oh no. Heart pounding, Martin says, “I’m his fiance. Martin. What’s wrong?”
“He’s - I don’t know what’s wrong.” Her voice is just this side of frantic. “He was working on something, and I, I interrupted him, I guess - but he just stared at me. Didn’t say anything. When I tried asking him again he wheeled his chair to the corner and now he’s staring at the wall and shaking. He hasn’t moved in half an hour aside from that.”
Weirdly, Martin feels calm slip over him, a practiced response to an emergency. “All right. Is anyone else in the office with you?”
“Just us.” Her voice is trembling, as well. “What’s happening? Is he ill?”
“He’ll be alright,” Martin says. “I should be there in twenty minutes. Could you please make sure nobody disturbs him until then?” He waits for her shaky assent, then leaves the flat in record speed.
Jon needs to move. He has to move. He has to move, and he has to apologize to Sonja--
Was that Sonja? Anyone might have walked into the office, and Jon can’t exactly recognize faces right now.
That doesn’t matter. Apologize to whoever it was. Stop acting like a child. What’s wrong with him?
He’s got the words sensory processing disorder hanging around his head somewhere, but they don’t help. What good are they? What good are words at all? He needs to move, he needs to speak, he needs to do his job.
“Jon?”
Oh. That was his name. He recognized that, and he recognizes the voice. His muscles unlock just enough for him to look over his shoulder.
There’s a man there. It might be Martin. Who else would say his name so gently?
But what if it’s not? What if he’s mistaken? A miserable sound escapes Jon, and he clenches his jaw so hard his teeth ache.
The man comes closer. He stays at arm’s length, and he offers his hand, palm upward. He doesn’t otherwise move.
It must be Martin. Must be. Jon touches a fingertip to the hand, cautiously sniffs it then freezes. He’s at work. He’s not supposed to act like this at work.
But Martin is talking again, low and soothing. He smells like himself. Jon rolls his chair a bit closer and looks up at his face.
“Shh,” Martin says. That, Jon can make out. “Shh.” And some more words, still so gentle. He takes a step closer, so that Jon can feel the warmth of him. He has both hands raised, now, and pantomimes putting them on Jon’s shoulders.
Oh. Yes. That would be-- yes. Jon remembers how to nod.
Martin’s hands land on his shoulders, heavy and strong, grounding. Incongruously, Jon’s breathing speeds up, eyes prickling. He shakes his head, but puts his hands on top of Martin’s before he can pull them away.
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. His brain is wrong, or the world is wrong, or both.
But Martin is here. Martin is right, Martin is the rightest thing he knows. He’s holding Jon, so Jon can shake and grab onto Martin’s wrists as hard as he can manage.
It’s a while before Jon surfaces, his eyes focusing and tracking. The first thing he does is blink at Martin; then he closes his eyes, tips his head back and groans.
“Can I pet your hair?” Martin asks softly. Jon hesitates, but he nods. Good sign. Looks like he’s comprehending language again. “Hey. It’s okay.”
“It’s really, really not.” Jon’s voice is gravelly, like he’d been soundlessly screaming all that time. “What am I going to tell Sonja?”
“That can wait. Settle down first.” Martin’s voice is firm, the same one he uses to order patients to bed rest. “I could go make you tea in a minute, if you like. You could probably use the sugar.”
Jon tightens his hold on Martin’s wrists, then lets go like he’s scalded when Martin can’t stop a wince. “Sorry,” Jon says, immediate and contrite. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Martin does shake out his hands. He’s going to have some bruises tomorrow. “Really. I’m glad I could help.”
“How did you know to come here?”
“Sonja called the first number on your speed dial.” Martin grins. “I’m touched.”
Jon rolls his eyes. “Who else would I put there?” He does seem a bit reassured. “I must have caught you just after your shift. You must have been tired. You didn’t have to come.”
Martin gives him an incredulous look. “Of course I did. What are you talking about?” He softens at Jon’s anxious expression. “Jon. I want to help. How well d’you think I’d’ve rested, anyway, knowing you’re…” he fumbles for words.
Jon doesn’t make him finish the sentence. “Well. I am incredibly grateful.”
“You’re very welcome. Can I kiss your forehead?” At Jon’s nod, Martin does just that. “And I love you. Also, I think you’re going home early today.”
“I’ve hardly gotten anything done today,” Jon protests.
“And how much do you think you’ll accomplish in your present state?”
It’s kind of a marvel that Jon actually listens, let alone reluctantly nod. “Suppose you’re right.” He gets up and packs his things.
On their way out, the find Sonja hovering near the entrance, eyes wide. “Are you alright?” she asks Jon.
“Fine.” He clears his throat. “I apologize. I must have frightened you.”
Her eyes widen even further. “Oh, no, not at all! I’m just glad to see you’re better.” She hesitates, but then adds, “If this is a, a known issue, I’d be happy to know how to deal with it in the future.”
“It won’t happen again,” Jon says firmly. Martin keeps his own expression pleasant, not showing his own doubt and concern.
“I’m glad you have people in the office who look out for you,” Martin says softly as they exit the building.
Jon looks around them, hesitates, then lifts Martin’s hand to his lips. “I’m glad I have you.”
Martin’s heart melts like ice cream in August. “I’m glad for that, too.” He doesn’t say, You always will. This isn’t the circumstance to make vows. He still thinks it, though.