Archive of Our Own

Jon woke from sleep slowly. The haze of bleariness clouding his thoughts wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was a far sight better than jolting awake from one of the many nightmares that haunted him most of the time.

Simply shifting under the covers was enough for Jon to know that it was another cold morning; chill air snuck in through the gap in the blankets and raised goosebumps on his skin as he rolled over to wrap an arm around Martin. It wouldn’t hurt to borrow some more of the larger man’s warmth, now that he’d mostly gotten it back after his time in the Lonely. 

He heard Martin make a contented noise and shift to press closer to him, and he settled back against the pillow again. It had been a pretty good night for both of them, so Jon was loath to disturb the peace by getting up.

Much to his initial surprise, the idea of lying around (wasting time, part of him still wanted to say), had become quite appealing since they arrived here. Perhaps it was because he felt like he could actually afford to. If he spent an hour longer here this morning, no harm would come to anyone that he could have prevented if he’d only tried harder . It was just the two of them in a secluded cabin somewhere in Scotland. 

No matter how much he might feel the pull to do something, there really wasn’t much that could be done. Not until Basira gave them the all clear to return. And so, despite the gnawing ache that lived within him, he remained wrapped up against his still-sleeping boyfriend. He had no interest in trying to return to sleep himself, but the quiet and the warmth was soothing. Especially when he could tilt his head up and take in Martin’s relaxed expression, lit just so by the sun shining in through the window…Martin looked wonderful like this. It would be a waste not to take in the sight...

As had become an unwelcome trend, a sudden wave of anxiety shot through him, making him look away and close his eyes against the light. How could he be sure that his intense focus on Martin’s sleeping form was entirely centred around love? Surely he was being ridiculous; an entity of fear would get nothing out of Beholding a peaceful moment. Except, of course, for how fragile it all was. Perhaps that was the key. It was feeding on Jon’s fear-no, his certainty- that nothing like this could possibly last. 

When they’d gone into town the first time after arriving at the safehouse, Jon had insisted that Martin hold on to him as they walked. Insurance in case there was someone in the village who could sate his growing hunger. The preventative measure had proved unnecessary in the end, and the bitter disappointment he'd felt had warred with his conscious long afterward.

He'd required some time alone after that. What remained of Jon was grateful that he hadn’t felt pulled to a single stranger, while the Archivist hungered for at least one person who’d been marked and hoped for the worst to come to the village soon. 

When he’d been up for the other man's company again, Martin had held him as he fought with the urges and instincts that ached to take control of him, and eventually Jon had been left exhausted but back in control. 

It had been over a week since that day. They’d planned to make another trip today, weather and Jon’s health permitting, in order to pick up more food along with some books Jon had ordered. 

After all, entertainment had not been particularly high on the list of priorities when Daisy had stocked the cabin, and now that the both of them were doing better there was time to actually experience boredom. It was a welcome change, at first. But they both agreed that it would be nice to have something to do on the rainy days that kept them from exploring the area around the cabin. 

Martin had pointed out how romantic it would be to sit together by the fire and read in the evenings, and that had been that. Whether or not Jon could entirely understand why , he’d come to believe that Martin did, despite everything, love him. That his use of the past tense back then had not been a way of saying goodbye, even if there was still a whisper in his ear that nothing was going to be okay.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was still thick with sleepiness as he reached out, putting his own hand over the one Jon hadn’t realized he’d been using to twist and untwist the comforter. Startled out of his anxious thoughts, Jon’s fingers released their stranglehold and he turned his hand palm-up so that they were holding hands.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to wake you...I was jus- just a bit lost in thought...” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but he stumbled over his words anyway. “Y-you can go back to sleep, I think it’s still early.”

Martin made a soft sound of acknowledgement, giving Jon’s hand a gentle squeeze and propping himself up on his free arm. 

“I don’t mind getting up. If I need to, I'll doze off on the couch later.” He punctuated the statement with an affectionate nuzzle against Jon’s cheek, earning a quiet laugh from the smaller man.

“And startle the living daylights out of me when I come into the room to find you in an inhuman position with your book lying on the ground?” They both knew that it was actually Jon who’d been guilty of that more than once back in the archives, and from the chuckle the suggestion got from Martin he was pretty sure his boyfriend wasn’t going to let that slip by. Sure enough, Jon’s hand was released and he felt himself pulled against the larger man’s chest as Martin buried his face in his hair

“You are the last person I will take criticism from when it comes to sleep, Jon.” 

In the end Martin refused to go back to sleep but they still spent a long while curled up together in the bed before getting up was no longer an option that could be put off. Jon was shooed off to use the bathroom first, because Martin was, as always, dead-set on setting the kettle to boil and starting breakfast by himself. 

Not that Jon was particularly dead-set on arguing the point; there was something comforting in the performance of mundane things like brushing his teeth. Dull as they might be, they were a counterpoint to all of the voices telling him he was something else now. Something unnatural to be loathed and feared and nothing more. If he really had given up all of his humanity in order to wake up, these things wouldn’t be necessary anymore, would they?

Once he had finished the rest of his morning routine, it was time to address his hair. A few test attempts proved that a braid was out of the question that day; though not particularly painful, his hand was too stiff and shaky to plait properly. 

It would be nice not to need to worry about the wind turning his hair into a rat’s nest, though...perhaps he would brush it out and ask Martin for his help before they went out. That was an option he had now, and Martin had said that he liked the way his hair looked when it was loose, hadn’t he? He slipped a hair tie in his pocket before leaving the bathroom. If nothing else, he could probably manage a ponytail before they left.

“Oh, Jon, could you take over cooking th- oh. ” Martin froze in the middle of turning around to face him, spatula still held up in the air as a faint blush spread over his cheeks. Jon couldn’t help but chuckle, a teasing smile making its way to his face as he stepped closer. He’d stolen one of Martin’s jumpers rather than wearing one of his own, something he knew his boyfriend was in equal parts charmed and annoyed by, and it hung off him almost like a dress.

Truthfully, Jon was actually a bit cold. Ideally he’d be wearing something that actually fit underneath Martin’s clothing, especially since the house hadn’t heated up yet. It would do for now, though. He reached up to guide the other man into a kiss, shivering as both sleeves slid down to his elbows. 

As he’d been expecting, Martin returned the kiss enthusiastically, free hand slipping into his hair. Jon smiled against his mouth before pulling away. He let his hand slide down Martin’s arm until he could take the spatula from the other man’s hand, quickly passing it over to his left when he felt his weak grip threaten to allow it to fall to the floor.

“I’ll take care of the eggs, yes. Go on, freshen up.” Jon could hear the affection in his own voice. It still felt so foreign, but the look on Martin’s face was more than enough to keep him from trying to repress his emotions anymore. There was still a trace of blush on his boyfriend’s face as he left, and it was only once the sound of his footsteps had faded into the distance that Jon actually turned his attention to the stove. 

Martin had turned the heat down so low that they were barely even cooking, a habit that baffled Jon. Every time he thought to ask why, though, he’d stop himself. It was the most minor of things, and even if it did secretly irritate him there were a million things that mattered far more than an odd but harmless quirk. God knows he had more than his own share of annoying habits. 

After turning up the burner, he took a look around the small kitchen. Plain eggs were a bit dull as far as breakfasts went. Perhaps he should add something...

Time got away from him, as it so often did, and he was so focused on his task that he almost didn't hear Martin's return. They’d worked out early in their time at the safehouse that things like coming up from behind or touching without warning were things he couldn’t handle even from Martin, so the man did his best not to sneak up on him. 

Jon's grip tensed around the knife momentarily at the feeling of someone too close to him before his brain caught up and reminded him that it was only Martin, this was fine.

“I thought you hated that song,” Martin teased, resting his chin on Jon’s head as he watched Jon slice an apple into wedges. 

“Hm? Oh, ah, I didn’t even notice I was humming. And I do, for the record. Unfortunately that does not mean I am immune to getting it stuck in my head.” Jon leaned back against the other man’s broad frame, tilting his head back to stare up into Martin’s eyes fondly. 

“Jon, you should really-” Martin started, then hissed in sympathy as he watched the knife slip. Jon made a wordless sound of pain as it cut into him, shaking his hand and sending drops of blood across the countertop. He froze, wounded hand still held in the air and a puzzled expression on his face.

“Ah, Martin could you-I think there are some napkins on the table?” Jon made an attempt at sounding unconcerned that came out as anything but, clearing his throat and setting the knife to the side. 

From the sound his boyfriend made as he stepped away, he knew that Martin was less-than-pleased, but with any luck the cut would have stopped bleeding by the time he returned. It really shouldn’t still be there at all, given how his body had reacted to far worse injuries. But then, he hadn’t had a statement in a while...his stomach twisted, an unpleasant mixture of hunger and nausea that had nothing to do with the food in front of him.

“Honestly, Jon. Why do I still let you handle a knife?” Martin’s voice was light, but there was clearly an undertone of worry in his tone as he handed Jon a couple of napkins. Jon quickly wrapped them around his palm, swiping away the blood that he’d spilled on the counter before motioning towards the pan on the stove with his free hand.

“Can you plate that for me? I’ll, er...clean up and be there in a minute.” He managed a sheepish grin. Martin took down a couple plates from the cupboard in wordless agreement, but Jon heard the sigh that escaped his lips as he did so. Once the larger man’s back was turned, Jon checked his hand again. To his relief, it was barely visible any longer. Good.

Jon had been hoping that by the time he sat down at the table with his boyfriend, the vague sickness would have had time to fade. With the way his stomach turned as he brought the first forkful of egg to his mouth, though, it was clear that it hadn’t. He managed to swallow the bite, but he had to follow it with most of his glass of water. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a slow, deep breath. 

“Don’t push yourself, Jon,” he heard Martin say.

“It should pass. I still want us to go to the village today, but yes, I think you’ll have to take my portion this morning.” Jon slid the plate to the middle of the table, where Martin took it and scraped the scrambled eggs onto his own. He left the fruit and toast where it was and offered it back. 

“Alright. I’ll handle the washing up, just eat what you can and get ready.”  Martin’s smile was soft and so loving that it was enough to make Jon’s heart skip a beat. He wasn’t sure if he’d get much of the fruit down either but nonetheless accepted the plate once again.

The apple was definitely less unpleasant in texture than the egg had been, but the taste was too perfumey and lingered in his mouth. He managed a few slices and a couple of bites of toast before he’d had enough. 

Jon pushed his chair back, setting his fork aside and wrapping slender fingers around the handle of his cane before using it to help him stand. Neither of them addressed that if he was still human he wouldn’t be able to sustain himself on such little food, and Jon didn’t voice his fear that soon he wouldn’t be able to eat at all. 

On another day, he would have liked to argue about the dishes with Martin. Insisted that he would help. But the walk into the village would be draining even on one of his better days, and this was not shaping up to be one of them. 

His lack of self-preservation instincts hadn’t necessarily been remedied; no, he had no doubt that if it weren’t for Martin’s presence he would still be engaging in his usual self-destructive tendencies. It was more that they’d reached a compromise by now. One where Martin would trust Jon’s assessments of his own state, as long as he actually took care of himself properly. The pain and exhaustion were things he was long since used to, but the look Martin gave him when he couldn’t hide how he was feeling any longer hurt in an entirely different way. One he couldn’t write off as easily. 

Jon made his way to the bedroom first, needing to change now that going out was no longer something that was happening at some later point in time. He rummaged through the clothes he’d hurriedly packed to find something that would be both presentable and suitable for a long walk in the chill autumn air, rejecting several options before settling on a chunky, deep green jumper that fit him a lot better than the one he’d stolen from his boyfriend earlier. 

Once Martin had finished up in the kitchen, he joined Jon on the run-down sofa in the main room of the cabin where he’d been restlessly flipping through a yellowed magazine for what had to have been the tenth time since they’d arrived. He’d made no attempt to step lightly, letting Jon know that he was approaching. 

“Was there anything else you needed before we headed out, Jon?”

“Er, there was one thing. I, ah, couldn’t get my hair into a braid this morning and I was wondering…” Jon trailed off, digging in his pocket for the tie before handing it to Martin. He let his touch linger a bit longer than strictly necessary, taking a moment to consider before moving carefully to the floor. It would be easier for Martin in that position, and so far that day contact had universally felt pleasant so leaning against the man’s legs should be fine. 

“You know I love playing with your hair.” 

“I suppose I do.” A contented sigh escaped Jon as Martin’s fingers began combing through his hair, dividing it into thirds carefully. He let himself lean progressively further into the other man as the braiding continued.

“As much as I love you melting into me, I can’t finish unless you sit up a bit...” Martin was clearly stifling a laugh as he spoke, bringing Jon back to full awareness.

“Right, yes…” He blinked a few times, grounding himself again before shifting and resuming his original position. He hadn’t noticed how boneless he’d been going under Martin’s touch, but it had just been so...nice. Perhaps after they were back, he would propose that they do this a bit more often. They had the time now, after all.

It didn’t take Martin long to finish the braid after that, and then they were out of excuses to put off going out. As they both realized it an undercurrent of tension crept into the air, though neither addressed it directly. Instead, Martin’s hand trailed down Jon’s neck and shoulder.

“Up you get,” Martin teased, affection heavy in his voice as he helped Jon stand up again. Martin’s bracing hand on his back was much appreciated, but even with it a soft pained noise escaped Jon as he rose. Spending time on a floor that could only by the most generous definition be called carpeted had not been one of his best ideas. 

While Martin spent just a little too long deciding whether or not it was cold enough to warrant a hat, Jon’s search for his gloves went for longer than it really needed to. He knew perfectly well where he’d put them last, but they were both stalling. His struggle to get said gloves on, however, wasn’t an act. Not with his bad hand acting up the way it was. Cursing under his breath as he picked up the one he’d dropped, Jon made another attempt at forcing his fingers into the tight glove. 

“Would you like a hand?” 

“...one that works would be nice, yes.” Jon fixed his boyfriend with an unimpressed look, but the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement.

“T-that’s not what I meant and you know it!” 

“Yes, I do.” Jon didn’t bother to try to hide the satisfaction in his tone at the look on Martin’s face, but he did develop a distinct interest in focusing solely on his next, and thankfully final, go at his glove. No need to rub in just how entertaining he found teasing his boyfriend. 

“ Jon …” The moment he stepped within Martin’s reach a rucksack was pushed into his hands, but it was done with a (perhaps mildly exasperated) chuckle. 

Martin had pointed out the night before that it would be a lot more convenient to drag everything back home if they weren’t having bag handles digging into their palms the whole way, and Jon honestly wasn’t sure if it was a concession to how difficult he would have found to do so. Not, he supposed, that it mattered terribly much. 

Despite the wind being just on the border of biting rather than refreshing, the day was clear and crisp. It had warmed nicely from the chill of the morning, and though there were clouds in the distance it didn’t look like it was going to rain. The ground was still a bit soft from the previous day’s constant drizzle though, making the walk from the safehouse entrance to the more well-trodden stone path to the village a bit unpleasant. Jon had to take a moment to knock a clump of mud off of the bottom of his cane once they reached it, grimacing. 

It wasn’t long into their walk that Martin’s hand found Jon’s free one, stroking the man’s scarred palm through the faux-leather of the glove. Jon’s eyes flicked downward, confirming that the vague feeling of pressure was what he thought it was before his attention returned to the scenery. 

The path they were on was mostly level, but there were a few sloping hills between where they were staying and the village. A mosaic of autumn colors painted the ground, some half-bare copses standing out darkly against the vivid yellows and greens.

“It really is quite the sight, isn’t it?” 

“Certainly an improvement over London,” Jon agreed, a small smile quirking up one side of his mouth. With their hands joined as they were, it helped keep Martin’s pace matched with Jon’s; Martin’s height and longer legs making his natural stride noticeably longer even without the cane being taken into consideration. 

“You don’t miss London’s famous smog and grey drizzle-” Martin cut himself off, letting out a shaky breath. Jon squeezed his hand the best he was able, trying to chase away the distant look that was beginning to take root in Martin’s eyes. The one that always meant the other man was imagining creeping fog and the sting of salt-soaked sand.

“There’s none of that here.” It was a stern statement, almost bordering on a command. As though Jon could simply order the Lonely away if it tried to come for Martin again. They’d stopped walking, now, and Jon carefully slid his hand from Martin’s grip, reaching up in order to cup his cheek. A silent plea for the larger man to meet his eyes, see that they were safe and present in the world as it should be. 

“...yeah.” Martin’s voice was still too soft, a bit far away and the smile that came with it wasn’t quite right, but after another steadying breath he let his eyes fall closed and leaned into Jon’s touch. “Thank you, Jon.” 

“It’s alright. We’re alright here.” Until the day we aren’t, anyway . Not something that deserved to be voiced aloud, especially now, but it rose to the forefront of his mind nonetheless. Jon wanted to pull Martin’s face down into range, but it would require dropping his cane and he didn’t much fancy having to pick it back up off the ground. Another few moments passed before they both decided at roughly the same time that they should return to the task at hand.

By the time they actually reached the outskirts of the village, Jon was bordering on exhausted. His breathing was a bit quicker than he’d like it to be, heart pounding unpleasantly and sending twinges of pain through his bad leg. The bookstore was to the southwest corner of the village, but the grocer’s was on the other end. They’d originally been planning to shop together, but Jon was forced to confront the fact that he really could use a chance to rest. His hand tightened on the handle of his cane as they reached the point at which they would need to either split up or not.

“Would you mind if I headed straight to pick up my books?” He’d tried for casual, but his lack of energy betrayed him by creeping into his voice. Martin was polite enough to pretend he didn’t notice, simply making a sound of acknowledgement and shifting the rucksack on his shoulders. “I’ll meet you there if I feel up to it, otherwise I’ll be reading in the shop.” 

“Before I go, any last minute additions to the shopping list?” Martin dug the yellowing paper out from one of his many jacket pockets, holding it out for Jon to look over.

“Yes, Martin, I’m aware I’ve added a couple of items over the last day or so.” Jon chuckled, pushing the list back towards his boyfriend without even looking at it.

“Looks more like half a dozen to me…” Martin interrupted himself with a laugh as he looked down at the paper. “Jon, when did you add aubergine? I don’t know if that’s something they’re going to have here, and even if it is what in the world are you planning to do with it?” 

“I’ll have you know there are plenty of good dishes one can make with an aubergine. If they have any, perhaps you’ll learn first-hand.” 

“You are insufferable.” Martin leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on Jon’s lips before freezing and drawing back. He glanced around anxiously, clearly having realized that they were in the middle of the street. 

Jon watched as his boyfriend's expressions cycled between fear, guilt, and something he wasn't sure how to define. They'd spoken before, when they worked out the details of what their relationship would and would not be, about Martin's complicated feelings regarding public affection. 

How even before the Lonely he'd always been torn between the fear of what people might say, what they might do. 

"Do you need a moment? We can find somewhere quiet," Jon offered. Martin shook his head, breathing in slowly before giving Jon a grateful smile. 

"I'm alright. I'll see what I can do about getting you your weird vegetables."

Reaching the bookshop was a relief. He’d been able to take the walk as slowly as he wanted without having to worry about Martin, but the prospect of sitting down had been enough to drive him onward at the quickest pace he could manage. 

He would pay for this trip in the morning, he was sure, if not the day after as well. But it would be worth it to have new things to read even if he couldn’t manage much other than moving from the bedroom to the living room and back. 

At least he would have Martin’s company. Perhaps they could plan the day to be a relaxed one, and once he was feeling better he would introduce Martin to something new. That was, assuming that he was able to get enough of the spices needed. 

First though, he needed to actually acquire the books in question, and that started with no longer standing outside the bookstore reflecting on his probable level of regret tomorrow. The sound of a bell chiming accompanied him as he stepped through the door, a burst of warm air escaping around him before he shut the door behind him. 

“Can I help you? Oh! You’re one of the men borrowing the old cabin, aren’t you?” The cashier’s tone was casual, but there was no doubt in Jon’s mind that she was only asking for the sake of politeness. A place like this would know outsiders even without having heard his accent. Without him standing out so dramatically from the crowd. 

“Yes. Jonathan, er...Jon. My boyfriend was here a bit ago to order some books?” 

“Right, yeah. Nice guy, seemed really happy to be here. You two on vacation together, or do you have really weird taste in honeymoon spots?” As she spoke, the young woman rummaged through the boxes behind the counter, setting aside a book every so often until she slid the stack across to him.

“He’s wonderful,” Jon agreed, pretending that he didn’t catch the other half of what she said as he dug out his wallet. His head spun suddenly, and he braced himself on the counter more heavily. “H-how much do I owe you?” 

“Oh, Martin paid in advance, just take them!” She waved her hand dismissively, then frowned when she noticed Jon sway. “But uh...do you want to sit down? You look like you need it...”

“Yes...thank you, I think I will.” Shuffling through the books quickly, Jon chose the one that interested him the most and set it on top of the stack before tucking them all into the rucksack. He adjusted his hold on his cane to stabilize himself before carefully putting it back on, testing to make sure that the weight was balanced. 

Once he was satisfied, his eyes flickered over the small shop until he spotted the nook by the window. The reading corner was well-lit and tidy, with one small scuffed table and a couple of mismatched, threadbare chairs with drastically contrasting patterns. Jon initially intended to lower himself down slowly, but the shift in his balance that came with his rucksack sliding to the side made his descent much less dignified than he would have liked. He cursed. 

“Prrowr?” came a curious noise from under the chair, as a long-haired black cat slunk out from underneath to investigate the source of the racket above it. Jon started, a stifled gasp escaping him before he had the chance to register what he was seeing.

“Ah. Hello. Have I interrupted your nap?” In lieu of a proper reply, the cat hopped up into his lap and began kneading affectionately at his thighs, purring loudly all the while. Jon squirmed until he was able to take off the rucksack and set it on the floor, an action which only made the creature in his lap cling to his trousers more firmly. 

“I see. I suppose this is a fair punishment for my crimes.”

“Oh, so you’ve met Mog then, have you? He’s a fussy boy, so it’s good he likes you.” The girl who’d been running the till had made her way over to him, and Jon knew that she wanted to make sure he was okay after the undignified sight he’d made of himself a minute prior. 

“I have indeed. He seems like a distinguished gentleman.” Jon's smile was guarded but genuine as he met the young woman's eyes for a moment, just long enough to be polite, before returning his attention to the cat.

“Never heard him described like that but I’m sure he likes it. When you need to head out you can just toss him onto the other chair, he’ll settle right down. Lazy old man, he is.” 

“Alright. Thank you…” Jon’s voice trailed off a bit awkwardly, and the shopkeeper thankfully didn’t comment on it as she turned at the sound of the front door opening. He pulled off one of his gloves, freeing his good hand to pet the cat properly, which somehow intensified its purring even more. 

Mog rolled over, giving him a wide expanse of chest fluff to stroke. Jon forced memories of the Admiral out of his mind. He was fine with Georgie and Melanie, and someday he’d be able to stop by and visit them again. Things were...well, they were what they were. 

Once he’d had his fill of petting the cat, he dug the book that had interested him from his rucksack and flipped it open. He’d managed about half of the table of contents before a wide swath of black fur flicked across the pages, obscuring most of them. He’d just reached out his still-gloved hand to push the cat’s tail away when something twisted inside him. 

The woman who just entered has been afraid of wells since she was five. Her grandmother told her stories about the dreadful thing that happened to her when she was a young woman right up until her death. Nobody else ever believed her, but Caroline always knew that her grandmother was telling the truth. It was in the way her eyes looked when she spoke of it.

Jon’s hands clenched, nails digging into faux leather and bare skin. No. He was not going to get up. Caroline Sawyer had no statement of her own, just second-hand recollections from a woman who had died when she was 11. 

That would do nothing but make the itch inside him worse, and horrify an innocent person. She wouldn’t dream of him. But she would certainly remember him, and tell everyone else in the village about the stranger who cornered her and demanded information on something he had no reason to know anything about. 

Even if it isn’t a meal, it might help. 

He tried to bring his focus back on the book, or the cat in his lap (who seemed to have sensed something was off, ears pulled back slightly now as he watched Jon cautiously), but the Eye continued to goad him. 

Just go and ask just a couple of questions, it would be so easy... His stomach roiled, heart racing, as he struggled to lift the cat with shaking hands. He needed to get out. Martin would be able to ground him if he got to him. 

Even as he tried to gather his things, he couldn’t help but stare after Caroline as she walked around the store unaware.  Every second he was so close to her, it became harder to control himself. 

His hands continued to tremble as he gripped his cane, forcing himself up as quickly as he could manage. The sooner he got outside, the better. Not just for him but for everyone. 

Jon had enough time to make it three steps before the dizziness overtook him, vision fading as the hardwood rushed up to greet him. 

“A-are you okay? Mr...Blackwood?” It took Jon longer than he would have liked to realize that the slightly panicked voice was directed towards him. The second thing he noticed, after a throbbing pain in his head and face, was that could taste blood in the back of his throat, the smell of it heavy in his nose. Right. He’d clearly fallen face first onto the hardwood when he’d passed out, of course he’d given himself a bloodied nose. He needed to get up, clean the blood, and get out of there as soon as possible. He’d made more than enough of a spectacle of himself for one day.

“I’m sor--ohhh…”

His initial attempt to push himself up on his good hand was abandoned as his head swam sickeningly. Vision blurring, he bit his lip against the surge of nausea that accompanied the swell of vertigo.“Uh, are you supposed to move? I sent Caroline to go fetch Dr. Matheson, maybe you should just-” the woman reached out to him as she spoke. Instinctually Jon flinched away, cupping his burned hand under his nose to catch any drops of blood that might fall. 

“Don’t--” he started, then cleared his throat and tried to remove the sharpness from his tone. “I’m fine, I just got a little lightheaded.” Jon winced as he made another, slower attempt to sit up. It was only then that the woman’s words actually registered. Caroline was gone? Good. 

His right leg ached worse than it had earlier, but he tried to hide it as he groped around for his cane. Mercifully, it hadn’t wound up out of reach. Motioning to the blood, he sighed. “I’ll clean this up, just give me a moment…” 

“Oh, that’s...really, don’t worry about that! It’s just a spot of blood.” The cashier was trying to sound unflustered, but her increasingly pale complexion belied how little she really believed what she was saying. Before she could say anything more, however, the bell sounded from the front of the shop.

“Liz? Everything okay? Caroline didn’t say much, just that someone fainted.” An older male voice called, followed by heavy footfalls drawing closer.

Jon had brought himself to his knees by that point, taking a moment to steady himself. His eyes flicked upward at the approaching man, clad in a dark button-down shirt and slacks. He looked roughly in his fifties if Jon were to venture a guess, with ruddy cheeks and close-cropped hair. The cashier looked up hopefully. 

“One of the men staying in the cabin. The-” she paused, visibly struggling to think of what an appropriate descriptor would be, “the one who’s not been by before. I think he’s sick?” 

“Please don’t speak about me like I’m not here.” Jon brought himself to his feet at last, not bothering to temper his tone. He needed to lean more heavily on his cane than he would have liked, but a careful couple of steps reassured him that he could still walk. 

“I apologize, Mr…?”

“Jon is fine. I apologise for the trouble, I--I’ve got a couple of health issues but I assure you I just need some fresh air.” Jon looked disdainfully at the blood on the floor. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to his hands and knees, but if he’d stayed down and allowed the shopkeeper to bring him something to clean up with, it would have made him look more injured than he actually was. He met Liz’s eyes, motioning unhappily downward.

“Where do you keep your cleaning supplies?” 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Jon. I’d like to make sure that you don’t have a concussion, please come with me.” The doctor (Matheson, was it?) shook his head.

“I assure you-” Jon began, but the man cut him off.

“Is your lover not here?” Jon couldn’t hide the disgust he felt at that. Why must the man reduce his relationship to something so base and crude? 

“My boyfriend is shopping at the grocer’s. If you need outside confirmation that I’m fine you can ask him, but I’d really rather just go meet him myself.” Jon managed a few more steps towards the front of the shop before staggering again, head swimming. He could feel that if he tried to keep going, his legs would give out on him once more.

“Can I give you a hand? My clinic is just across the street. You can rest there until your partner finishes his shopping.” Dr. Matheson came within range to touch Jon, but waited for his confirmation before actually doing so. Jon could at least appreciate that. Few had the sense to offer him that simple courtesy. Perhaps that was why he resigned himself to agreeing. 

“...very well.” Jon accepted the offered arm, letting the older man steady him. Once the dizziness had passed, he let the doctor help him to the street. You could still find Caroline. That would make this stop, Beholding offered. It whispered to him that she hadn’t gone far. 

Jon found himself stalled in place, letting go of Dr. Matheson’s arm. A couple of steps in the wrong direction before he came back to himself. No, he couldn’t do this. Wouldn’t do this. He’d promised.

Jon distantly registered that he was being spoken to, but there was no time for him to attempt to ask for the other man to repeat himself before a crippling wave of dizziness brought him back down to his knees, dropping his cane so he could cover his mouth against the roiling sickness bubbling up inside him. He struggled to breathe through his nose, but that just made his stomach lurch worse at the metallic scent of blood filling his senses again.

Jon bit down on his lower lip until the sharp sting of it overtook the nausea, not noticing that his nails were digging crescents into the back of his glove. 

He didn’t dare move, even once he thought he could do so without gagging. Perhaps it was for the best that they’d split up; he didn’t want Martin to see him this way. Not that strangers were much better. Shame tightened around his lungs, reducing him to shaky, unsteady breaths.

“Jon…?” Dr. Matheson approached him. 

“J-just a second.” Jon managed before something dark in his peripheral vision startled him. After a moment, he recognized it as being his cane. He brushed the back of his hand across his sweat-damp forehead before reaching out to accept it. The now-cold metal stung under his bare palm, and he finally realized that he’d lost his left glove. 

While most of the others on the street were polite enough to pretend that they hadn’t noticed him, one or two had no such reservations. Jon couldn’t hear what was being said, but he didn’t particularly want to. 

“Would you like a hand?”

“I’m fine now.” An obvious lie, but Jon was relieved to see the other man let it go by without comment. Struggling to his feet, he tightened his grip on the cane enough that his knuckles paled from the pressure. He didn’t try to brush the dirt from his knees. He just needed to make it inside so he could stop feeling eyes boring into his back.

The clinic was small and sparsely decorated, all muted colours and open space. Jon bit back his desire to argue that one of the few chairs in the empty waiting room would do just fine. It was only once he’d sat down on the exam table, back resting heavily against the wall, that he noticed the absence of his rucksack. He must have left it in the bookstore. Yet another thing he’d need to apologize for when he returned. 

Before he could reflect on the situation any further his thoughts were interrupted by the other man saying his name, as an empty plastic-lined bin was held out to him.

“In case you feel ill again,” the doctor explained. Jon wanted to turn down the offer, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d humiliated himself more than enough for one day already. He murmured a thanks, setting it to his side with a shaky hand.  “Was your fall earlier related to your need for a cane?” Dr. Matheson asked dispassionately, unlike most people who pried about Jon’s health. That didn’t make him particularly eager to answer, but it was at least less insulting than usual. Jon weighed his options. He certainly couldn’t be honest, but lying had never been his strong suit,as Martin so often enjoyed reminding him.

“That’s...no, my leg was injured years ago.” A sigh escaped him. “T-the other symptoms are side effects from--when I woke up from my coma they were much worse.”  That was close enough to the truth. With any luck, the older man wouldn’t insist on further details or pry about what Jon had been about to say before he caught himself. Side effects from denying a fear god its meal was not an answer the doctor was likely to be willing to take at face value. 

"You’ve been in a coma? Medically induced, or due to trauma?” Dr Matheson’s surprise was clear from his voice, as was his increasing concern. Even when Jon intentionally avoided meeting the doctor’s eyes, he could still feel the man’s gaze on him. It made his skin crawl.

“I was caught in an explosion. I’d...rather not talk about it further.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie. He’d never be able to forget the bone-deep wrongness that suffused the museum, twisting and confusing everything more deeply than could ever be put into words. Never forget Tim’s last words and the hopeless finality of them. The feeling of shrapnel, acrid smoke burning his lungs before unconsciousness took him...

“ Jon .” Dr. Matheson’s voice was sharp, snapping Jon back to the present. He hadn’t noticed that he’d been gasping for breath, hand pressed against his chest. His heart was still beating, yes, and his lungs didn’t need to fight through debris. He was safe.  

“Hm? Ah, I-I’m sorry, I--” Jon forced himself to breathe slowly, letting his hand fall to his side again. The older man shook his head, taking a pen light from his pocket and holding it up for Jon to see.

“I was already worried you might have a concussion. I’m going to need to run a few quick tests. Look up for me, please?” 

“I assure you, I’m fine.”

“You’re showing enough symptoms that I’m not okay with letting you go without an exam.”

The two of them stared each other down, and Jon, exhausted, broke first.

“...fine.” Jon stared at the wall behind the doctor as the man shone the light into his eyes, then followed his finger as it moved from side to side. “Is that satisfactory?” 

“Normally I would do a balance test, but given your cane I’m guessing that wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead I’m going to test your reflexes and coordination.” Dr. Matheson turned his attention back to his desk, scribbling down a few notes before removing several things from the drawers. “I don’t need details, but does your leg injury affect your knee?”

“No, i-it should be fine.” Jon hadn’t actually had a reflex test since the day the ECDC dealt with the worms that had burrowed into his body, but given that none of the parasites had attacked his kneecap he couldn’t imagine the results would be any different than usual. As the man’s hand neared his leg, Jon had to fight the intense desire to jerk away.

“While I do this, could you remove your glove for me? I’d like to be able to test your grip strength.”

“I--my right hand doesn’t have full function, I’m not sure that-” Jon sighed. “It was burned severely some time ago.” Another uncomfortable silence fell between them. 

“What did you say your last name was, Jon? Maybe I should look up your records to get a better sense of your medical history.” The doctor appeared satisfied enough with Jon’s reflexes, given the slight nod that followed him finishing the test, and seemed not to notice the tenseness that overtook Jon at his question. 

“...Sims.” Jon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. As soon as the word was out of his mouth he regretted it. They were supposed to be hiding, he especially was supposed to be hiding. He’d managed to side-step giving his surname earlier, but now it was all for naught. 

“Alright, let’s see…” Dr. Matheson sat down at his desk, bringing up a variety of windows and slowly tapping out words on the keyboard with a determined focus.

“...that’s odd. The only Jonathan Sims that’s coming up was born in-”

“1987, yes.” Jon brought his left hand to his forehead, sighing. “I’m aware I don’t exactly look my age.” The doctor glanced up at him, seemed to consider saying something, but thought better of it and returned his attention back to the monitor.

“Hm. I’ve never seen files locked like this before.” A few more clicks, some more hunt-and-peck typing, each bit of it only adding to Jon’s apprehension. 

“Well. Something’s clearly gone wrong with your records, I can’t open anything from 2016 onwards.” The doctor shook his head at the computer, muttering something about paper documentation that Jon couldn’t quite make out. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to rely on your responses, I suppose.” 

It took a good ten minutes more before the doctor was satisfied that Jon was, in fact, telling the truth about his lack of concussion. Apparently, it could be difficult to rule out a concussion in someone with no baseline tests to work off of, alongside pre-existing issues with vertigo, balance, and limited mobility in his dominant hand. He had, in fact, needed to remove his glove in the end; it hadn’t amounted to anything in particular other than an awkward admittance that no, he hadn’t taken proper care of the burns and another unreadable expression on the doctor’s face. 

Jon was somewhat grateful that the other man hadn’t taken the time to investigate how badly he’d bloodied his nose, given that he’d felt it healing slowly over the course of the exam. Most likely, it wouldn’t appear injured at all anymore. Not a line of questioning Jon wanted to go down on the best of days, much less when he was at the end of his rope. 

“May I please go now? I’d rather Martin not need to worry unnecessarily about not finding me where I should be once he’s finished shopping.” Irritation was starting to creep into Jon’s voice. He fidgeted with his glove, reaching for his cane once he’d managed to get it on.

“About your partner...are things good between you?” Dr. Matheson tried to ask the question with casual ease, but there was an undertone to it that Jon didn’t like. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have to ask; you have quite a few injuries you try to avoid talking about, and it’s my medical duty to-”

“Enough. I’ve tolerated this unnecessary medical exam, but I will not listen to you talk about Martin as though he-he could ever want to hurt me!” Jon slid off of the table as quickly as he safely could, using the cane to help keep his balance.

“I’m not trying to upset you.” Dr. Matheson seemed genuinely surprised at Jon’s reaction, as though he were unaware of how clearly over the line the insinuation had been. Jon bit back his desire to snap at the man. It wouldn’t do him or Martin any favors if he did. It would be better if he just left.

He was used to the stares, how could he not be when he looked the way he did? Martin didn’t deserve it, though. Especially not so soon after being pulled from the Lonely. Not when Jon knew perfectly well that he avoided his own reflection because he couldn’t stand knowing that he was the spitting image of his father. Martin didn’t need to be worrying about what people could be thinking when they saw the two of them together any more than he already did. 

How long had he been here? From what Jon could recall, Martin hadn’t described the grocer’s as particularly large. Even factoring in that he was unlikely to be rushing, surely Martin would be reaching the bookstore soon. Jon needed to beat him back there, take the chance to apologize to the girl for the trouble and get his things before Martin had to worry about him…

Around the same time that his scarred hand wrapped around the doorknob, Jon heard the door at the clinic’s entrance open with force. Something unpleasant twinged in his chest, a split-second of certainty that they’d been found, but he continued out into the main office when he heard a familiar voice calling for him.

“Jon?! God , I was so worried that--” Martin’s rushed words stopped short as he took in Jon’s appearance.  His mouth hung open for a moment, eyes darting from Jon’s bloodied face down to his chest, then his hands.

“I’m sorry, Martin. I, ah, got up too quickly and…” Jon motioned unhelpfully and hoped that his boyfriend would be able to fill in the gaps. Martin closed the distance between the two of them in a few broad steps, bringing his hand up as though to cup Jon’s cheek before stopping himself and letting it fall.

“I knew I shouldn’t have gone off without you…”

“No. I should have been more careful,” Jon sighed. There would be time later to discuss what had really happened, but Martin should be able connect the dots.

He watched as Martin’s hands fluttered at his sides, knowing that he was torn between wanting to embrace and being all too aware that it should be saved for when they were alone. Jon used the hand that wasn’t occupied by his cane to take one of Martin’s and stroke the back of it with his thumb the best he could. He had enough time to give the other man what he intended as an apologetic smile before they were interrupted. 

“ Oh, Martin, good to see you. As I was saying to your partner-” The door to the exam room clicked shut behind the doctor as he stepped out as well.

Martin’s hand slid from Jon’s as he took a half-step forward, rising to his full height as he met Dr. Matheson’s eyes. “Is it really that hard to just call him my boyfriend?”

“It’s not that it’s a problem , I just--normally I’m used to men your age using partner for their significant other,” Matheson protested, looking between the two of them. It hadn’t felt worth addressing earlier when Jon could barely think straight, but the revelation that the older man’s previous word choice wasn’t simply a one-off mistake was enough to rankle him.

“So you’ve had this conversation with Martin as well?” 

“Well, the first time he came down to the village I think I asked him if he was here alone or if he had a wife…” 

“Yeah, and I told you no, my boyfriend and I were visiting for a bit to get away from the city.” Martin’s voice was clipped, a far cry from the warmth that had suffused his tone when speaking to Jon. It sent an unpleasant chill through Jon to hear it, brought back memories of being coolly dismissed, and of the first days in the safehouse when Martin was still adjusting to the constant bombardment of noise and sensation outside of the Lonely. 

“Is there anything else, or can we go?” Jon wanted nothing more than to be out of the clinic, away from the smell of disinfectant and the increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere. From the look on the doctor’s face, however, the man wasn’t particularly inclined to let things drop. 

“I’d like to talk to Martin a bit first about what happened earlier, if that’s alright.”

“...ah. Right. I don’t suppose my attempts to convince you I’m fine will work any better this time than they have so far?” Jon was being petty, he knew he was. That didn’t make him any more inclined to go over the same things yet again. 

“Head injuries are a lot more serious than the average person realizes, I’m simply concerned.” Matheson motioned with the clipboard. “Especially given that some of the tests I’d normally perform weren’t feasible.”

“We’re aware. Jon hasn’t been well, but we’re managing it the best we can.”

“He mentioned something about a coma…?” Matheson pried.

“Yes. It was a difficult time for all of us, and the lingering effects have made things...complicated sometimes.”

“There was an accident, wasn’t there?”

“Yes, he was caught in a workplace-related explosion. If you really want to pry, I can tell you about it further some other time. I’d prefer not to get into it right now; I’d like to get home with our purchases and let Jon get some rest.” 

“I suppose that for today I can leave it with requesting that you keep an eye on Jon for the next 24 hours or so, and if he seems confused or unusually unsteady on his feet, if he begins vomiting, or if you notice anything unusual about his eyes please come to get me.” Matheson was obviously reluctant to let them go, but there really wasn’t anything left for him to say. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Jon let his hand fall from his boyfriend’s, turning his attention to the door of the clinic. Martin offered him an arm for support if he needed it, but when Jon didn’t take it he simply followed behind, hand almost-but-not-quite resting on Jon’s back. 

The first thing they needed to do was to stop back at the bookstore. Even if it hadn’t been something that Jon felt obliged to do, he needed to gather his things. Before they entered Martin took a quick glance down the street, confirming nobody was around before leaning to place a broad hand on Jon’s cheek.

“I’m sorry Jon, I shouldn’t have left you on your own when I knew you weren’t feeling well already…” he muttered, bringing his face close to Jon’s just for the amount of time needed for him to speak. If it weren’t for how he knew Martin was uncomfortable with physical displays of affection in public, Jon would have kissed him.“It’s alright, Martin. Honestly I don’t think I would have accepted it if you’d wanted to stay. As you might be aware, I can be...perhaps a bit stubborn at times.” The grin he could feel at the corners of his mouth earned him a huffed laugh and an eyeroll, which was a good start. 

“You can’t be too badly off if you’re giving me that look.”

The bell above the door announced their return to what appeared to be an empty shop. A pang of guilt twisted Jon’s stomach as he saw that there were no traces of the mess he’d made. He supposed that Liz couldn’t really have just left it there waiting for him to return, but nonetheless…

“Oh! Hi! I didn’t know if you’d be back today, are you okay?” Liz hurried from the back room, tucking a dust rag into her belt and brushing off her hands as she made her way to the counter. 

“I’m fine, yes. I came to apologize, and gather the things I left--” Jon began, before a dark flash darted out from somewhere to his right and fell onto its side on his feet.

“Mrah!” Mog declared proudly, stretching out to show off the spot of white on his chest, standing out starkly against his otherwise black fur. 

“Yes, yes. I can’t bend down to pet you but you’re very cute,” Jon smiled affectionately down at the cat, who trilled at him in return and wiggled in an attempt for more attention. One paw slowly reached towards Jon’s cane, as if Mog thought Jon wouldn’t notice as long as he took his time. 

“ Really ? I didn’t even know there was a shop cat until Liz told me, but of course you’re like walking catnip!” Martin’s indignance was undercut somewhat by the fondness on his face as he looked between Jon and Mog. He knelt down, holding his hand out for the animal to sniff. Mog considered him for a moment, then sneezed on the outstretched fingers. 

“Oh he’s a menace,” Liz said, stifling a giggle at the horrified expression on Martin’s face as he wiped his hand on his trousers. “You said you were here to pick up what got left behind, right? I’ve just got it behind the counter here…” She ducked out of sight momentarily before popping back up with Jon’s rucksack. 

“I, ah...wish that I’d been able to make a better first impression.” Jon averted his eyes, choosing instead to focus on determining how best to remove Mog without risking hurting either of them.

“Oh, don’t worry about it! Anyway, my first impression of you was getting Mog to give you love even after you woke him up.” Liz stepped over to Jon, kneeling down. “Come on, you,” she chided as she took Mog’s front paws and moved them away from both Jon’s cane and his socks. The cat, for his part, appeared entirely unconcerned by the subsequent slide backwards along the floor. 

“Thank you. The next time we’re down here I’ll be sure to be better company, but..” Jon used his free hand to rub at his forehead as he spoke. Whatever bruise that would have been there had he still been entirely human had long faded, but the headache had not. He assumed it wouldn’t until he gave the Eye what it wanted. 

“I hope you feel better soon!” Liz scooped Mog up into her arms and held him out at Jon, offering him the chance to pet the cat if he wanted to. Jon couldn’t help but smile as he gave the old tomcat a few scratches under the chin. Mog’s low purrs started almost as soon as Jon touched him, and continued for a bit after Jon had taken his hand back. 

“Oh, I’m sure Martin will have me wrapped in blankets and plied with tea as soon as we get back,” Jon replied. 

“We’ll see about that.” Martin’s hand stroked gently over the back of Jon’s glove momentarily before he made his way over to the counter and hooked the rucksack over his arm by one strap. “We really should be off, though. Best to get all of this home.”

“Of course! See you again soon!” Liz waved, then started making her way to the back again with Mog still cradled in her arms. Once the only eyes on him were Martin’s, Jon let himself slump against his boyfriend and let out a shaky breath. He really was exhausted. The support of Martin’s arm around his waist was welcome. 

“Once we’re out of the village let’s take a minute to sit down, okay?” Martin’s voice was low. He looked towards the door, then down at Jon again. “Ready?”

Jon hummed an agreement, giving the larger man an awkward one-armed hug before standing up straight again. He could hold out until they were out of sight. 

In the end, Martin was half propping him up by the time they reached the village outskirts. As he was helped to sit down in the grass, Jon knew that getting back up wouldn’t be an easy matter. He wound up lying by Martin's side, head tucked against the other man's jumper-clad chest as ragged breaths escaped him. 

Jon wasn’t sure at what point he’d fallen asleep (which in itself was not a good sign), but it had apparently been long enough ago for Martin to have shed his rucksack and laid back on the grass, holding him close. The sky was still bright and clear, though, which was a good sign.

“Mmm. Sorry, I didn’t mean to drift off,” Jon muttered, burying his face further in the crook of Martin’s neck. The action sparked a muffled squeak from the other man, one that was followed by Martin stifling a laugh as Jon smiled against his skin. Eventually he would remember that his boyfriend’s neck was extremely ticklish before nuzzling against it. Eventually.

“I don’t mind,” Martin replied, and the thick affection in his voice made Jon believe him. “Come on now, the sooner we’re home the sooner you can have a proper rest.” 

By the time they actually made it back to the cabin, Jon’s original plan of helping Martin unpack and store away the groceries had been firmly shelved. Instead, he beelined straight for the couch. He’d needed more than a little help getting his bad leg to cooperate when it had come to actually getting off the grass earlier, and hadn’t even tried to argue against Martin carrying his rucksack the entire way.

He was not looking forward to the pain he would undoubtedly be in tomorrow. It was somewhat of a relief to be able to stretch out on the couch, feet propped up on one of the armrests. He’d pulled the hair tie out in the hope that lessening the pressure on his skull would alleviate some of his headache, but that meant he’d have to be more careful when (or if) he moved. The last thing he needed was to put his hand down on his own hair again when he tried to sit up. 

Jon was somewhere on the border between sleep and wakefulness when he distantly registered that the sounds coming from the kitchen had stopped. It didn’t seem important enough to do anything about though, so he continued to doze. At least until the shrill screeching of the old kettle startled him upright, an action which he immediately regretted as fresh waves of nausea washed over him. He wasn’t sure whether it would get better or worse if he tried to lie back down, so he remained in the same uncomfortable position until he heard Martin’s footsteps approaching. 

“Jon? Are you okay?” 

“Sat up too quickly. Can’t tell if I want to be sick or not.” Jon managed, closing his eyes against the pounding in his head.  There was the sound of mugs being placed on the table, and then his boyfriend was at his side. 

“Can I help you sit back against the couch properly?” Martin asked, his voice quiet. Jon didn’t trust himself to be able to nod, so he made a sound that he hoped the other man would take as confirmation. 

Jon felt one of Martin’s hands on his right arm, and a moment later the other was a warm supporting pressure on his back. Slowly, with a practiced care that Jon tried not to think about, Martin helped Jon shift position until he was resting properly against the cushions, feet on the ground where they belonged. Being able to release the tension in his muscles helped, and soon the sickness faded enough to let Jon relax. 

“Thank you, Martin. I-I’m afraid I won’t be up for much the rest of the day…” Jon could feel how crooked the apologetic smile he’d attempted was, but Martin seemed to take no notice. The larger man simply sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around Jon in an invitation for him to lean on him if he wanted. An invitation Jon gladly took.

“That’s fine. We’ve got a stocked pantry and a pile of books, it’s a good day for cuddling up on the couch. The aubergine will be good for a while longer.” As he spoke, Martin ran his fingers gently through Jon’s hair. 

They sat like that for a bit in companionable silence before Jon leaned forward to take the mug he’d claimed as his own. As he brought it closer to his face, he caught the sharp, spicy scent coming from the liquid inside. He must have looked confused, because Martin quickly explained that he’d found a nice herbal blend that was supposed to help with nausea, you know, and with you having trouble eating this morning it seemed like a good idea , until Jon interrupted him with a chuckle.

“You’re very sweet.” Then, after a moment, “I really do love you, you know that, right?”

“I love you too, Jon...oh god, this tea is vile. Ugh.” Martin’s face scrunched in disgust after the first sip, and he stared down at his mug like it had betrayed him before setting it firmly back on the table. Jon inhaled the scent coming off his own tea again thoughtfully before taking a careful taste.

“Is it? I find it rather nice, actually.” It was certainly a lot more...potent than a regular cup of tea, yes, but the mix of herbs and ginger was comforting. Martin snorted.

“Then it’s all yours.”

“All according to plan, I assure you.” Jon let himself lean against Martin’s side again, sighing contentedly as he warmed his hands with the mug. 

They’d need to talk about what had happened today. Jon would have to confess how close he’d come to giving in, they’d need to work out what to do if he kept getting worse, another call to Basira would have to be placed. But for the moment, Jon was too exhausted for those things. If he took the afternoon to rest with his boyfriend and try to forget the pain he was in, nothing bad would happen.