Chapter Text
With Tim back a week, pockmark scars freshly healed, Martin dared to hope a certain exchange had been forgotten in the maelstrom of Prentiss’ attack. Apparently, he was just choosing his moment.
“So…” he said with sly look over a stack of files, “poetry, huh?”
“Um. Yeah,” Martin mumbled, eyes glued to his paperwork. “I don’t know if it’s any good, I—”
“If you want a second pair of eyes—”
“Oh! No, I—”
“I used to work in publishing, y’know.”
Martin could feel his ears go pink.
“I know, I just…” He closed his eyes, breathed in and out. “Thanks.”