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"Are you sure about this?"
"No. But I love you."
"I love you too."
Pain. All-encompassing, agonising pain that tore through Jon like a cyclone of anguish and fury as a static scream echoed in his ears and finally tapered out. And then it was gone, and Jon had a final moment of peace - the pain, the omniscience, the eternal dread that had been so overwhelming since he had inadvertently ended the entire fucking world.
A single moment was left, long enough for him to get one last look at Martin's face - red and blotchy and streaked with tears, twisted with pain and grief and regret. A single moment in which the building falling apart around them faded so deeply into obscurity he was no longer even aware of the room shaking, the deafening booms of the explosives - only Martin's arms locking around him securely as his legs forgot how to hold him up, the knife clattering to the floor as his choked sob echoed around a room that shouldn't have been as silent as it was.
Jon was confused, the fleeing Knowledge leaving him struggling to manage his hazy thoughts into some kind of clarity. But one thing he knew for sure was that this one moment would be his last, and while he was actually surprisingly okay with that, he wasn't okay with leaving Martin. He wasn't okay with leaving that look on Martin's face.
He made one last attempt to reach for him with numb fingers that refused to respond to his commands. He could feel himself fading as Martin pressed their foreheads together, shoulders shaking in uncontrollable, inconsolable weeping. Then, as the vast void of nothingness consumed him, he was only vaguely aware as the ceiling finally collapsed around them.
***
Fear choked him just as surely as a firm hand around his throat, and Jon shot upright, eyes darting around the room in rising panic. From across the wide desk, Elias was peering at him, brows knitting together in an almost convincing parody of concern.
"Are you all right, Jon?"
"Yes, I..." his mind raced as he tried to shake himself out of his stupor, work out what was going on and how he had got here. "I haven't been sleeping well lately; I apologise. I must've dozed off."
Elias leaned back in his chair at the diplomatic and avoidant answer he had offered.
It took great effort to dredge up memories of the Panopticon, the apocalypse, Elias - or Jonah Magnus or whatever he should call him ... Martin.
Martin.
Memories that felt far too real to be a dream, that conceived a fear within him that made his stomach twist painfully, made the blood turn to ice in his veins.
What was happening? Was he safe? Was Martin...? Where was Martin?
Elias watched him wordlessly before leaning forward on the desk, steepling his fingers as he inspected him, inspected his scars, with a cruel, excited glint in his cold eyes. Could he see what Jon was remembering? See his victory within reach at last?
"Do you need some time off before you begin your new position?" He asked him, offering a wry smile. "Can't have you fainting on your first day as Archivist, now can we?"
Jon felt cold as realisation began to sink in, and hope and despair clawed at his heart in equal measure.
This was the day Elias had offered him the Archivist position. The day it had all started.
He wasn't sure if what had come before was just a dream, or some kind of prophetic vision, or what, but there was a dull ache in the place where the knife had pierced his flesh. All the pain and fear of the past however long they'd been stuck in that apocalyptic hellhole was flooding back into his brain.
Jon felt the fury in his body overtaking the icy fear at the thought of all the suffering everyone had been through - the entire world - and all because of the man sitting in front of him. The loathing that twisted his gut, the disgust that burned within him, told him that just once wasn't nearly enough.
"No," he said eventually, and Elias frowned at the firm finality in his voice. "I don't think I will take that job."
Elias's - Jonah's - face changed, his carefully curated mask slipping just for a second, shock and anger twisting his expression before he was able to get it back under control. But the damage was done - any lasting doubts Jon had were quickly quenched, and he lunged for the letter opener on the desk.
***
"You all right, Martin?" Someone gently kicked his foot, speaking in a voice that seemed familiar - but only in the way that the shadow of a long-lost memory felt familiar.
Martin opened his eyes, scrunching his face as he rubbed at the crick in his neck from falling asleep sitting up. The memories were streaming back abruptly, all at once, and he sat bolt upright in a sudden surge of panic and despair.
He was sat in his favourite armchair in the break room at the Institute, a cooling cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him, and a woman stood watching him in concern over the steaming mug in her hand. He thought he recognised her, as though from a photo he'd seen years ago and had, until now, forgotten existed. It took a long few moments of struggling with his fuzzy thoughts for him to place why.
"Sasha?" He wondered aloud, voice soft as though she might disappear if not treated with the delicacy of a glass figurine. "You're alive!"
"Yes?" Sasha sounded confused for a moment before her expression brightened, and she let out a chuckle. "Must've been one hell of a dream for you to think I was dead!"
Martin was fumbling for his cup with shaking hands as she spoke, sipping at it to try and calm himself. The tea was cold but still helped soothe him, bringing life back into his trembling limbs. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a good cup of tea.
"Have you seen Jon?" he asked her hopefully as soon as he was certain his voice would be steady. Eager as he was to see her again, he tried to reign in his hope in favour of the suspicion he was certain Jon would recommend. This could all be a dream, after all, or some trap set up by one of the fears meant to imprison him and make him let down his guard. He couldn't trust anything anymore.
"Jon?" She frowned at him in confusion, and his heart raced in panic. Whatever had done this, wherever he was - was Jon not here? Had something happened to him? Had he succeeded in harming him? Oh no, no no- "Wait - you don't mean Jonathan Sims do you? From the research department?" She laughed at the look of sheer relief that crossed his face. Jon was here, in some form. "I didn't know you knew him. He can be a bit of an asshole sometimes. Doesn't really make friends much."
Martin would've scoffed at that under any other circumstances, but for now, his mind was racing. Research department? Was everything since Jon had become Archivist - the apocalypse, their relationship, everything - the dream? If he spoke to Jon, would he even recognise him? He would be willing to go through it all again - even if this was some sort of infinite time loop—anything to hold onto what he had with Jon for just a little longer.
"It's a long story, and I'll tell you later, but right now, I just really need to see him," he almost pleaded as she made herself comfortable in the seat opposite his.
"I think he's been called into a meeting with Elias," she told him, watching him curiously. "But it'll already have started; you'll have to-"
Martin was up and rushing out of the room before she could even finish telling him to wait, barrelling towards the stairs. His thoughts were fixated entirely on finding Jon, on making sure he was okay, on finding out what was going on.
He was halfway there when a sudden tremor almost knocked him to the ground.
It only lasted for a second, and Martin looked around nervously as he heaved himself upright and took a few cautious steps towards the stairs once more.
The piercing shrieks of the fire alarm gave only seconds of warning before the building began shaking in earnest, a low rumbling from deep in its very boughs striking fear into Martin's heart.
"Jon!" He lurched forward, needing to reach Jon, needing to get him out before he was hurt. He thought he could hear Sasha calling to him but carried on regardless, pushing his way through the crowds that were now filing out of the surrounding rooms to begin the evacuation. He managed to force his way through to the stairs and was about to charge up them when he froze.
There was Jon, blissfully alive but with clothes saturated in deep red blood, walking slowly down the stairs as though in a daze or trance, seemingly unaware of the impending emergency - despite most likely being the cause of whatever had happened - or the people pushing past him on the stairs to get out.
"Jon!" His boyfriend didn't respond as he raced to his side, didn't even seem aware of his existence until he gently grasped him by the arms. Glassy eyes slowly rose to meet his and finally lit up with recognition, relief, and that soft affection that spread over his face every time Martin caught him looking at him. The one that never let him forget how much he was loved no matter how much of an asshat Jon was being. And he knew immediately that he remembered him, remembered the love they shared.
"Martin?"
Martin choked back a sob at the uncertain question - his name had never sounded so wonderful to him. There were so many things he wanted - no, needed - to say, so many apologies he owed. But the agonised scream of metal buckling under the weight of a building determined to fall dragged him abruptly back into their present.
"Jon, I think the building's coming down - we need to get out of here!"
Jon started at this, looking around as though he genuinely hadn't realised anything was amiss until it was pointed out to him. Martin cast an inspecting eye over the state of his clothes as he gently prompted him into moving, trying to determine if any of the blood was his.
"Elias?"
His boyfriend didn't need to ask for clarification, merely nodding grimly in answer.
"I had to do it," he rasped weakly, and Martin gently wrapped his coat around him to hide the blood as they came close to the nearest exit doors. "If there was even the slightest chance that he might do it again ... that we'd have to live through that again..."
"It's okay, Jon," he soothed. "Trust me, I'd have done the exact same thing."
Jon actually let out a laugh at that, low and mostly humourless, but Martin still felt a little lighter in his heart for hearing the sound. Somehow, it made him feel a little less hopeless.
It was cold outside, and though a part of him mourned the loss of his coat, that part of him was quickly squashed as Jon shivered and pulled it a little tighter around himself, pressing himself more firmly into his side. Even as the building collapsed fully in on itself with a long shriek of despair, any suffering was quickly forgotten, and the rain started falling.
He held Jon's shivering form tightly against his side, unwilling to let go as the world was shrouded in a cloud of dust and dirt and plaster. He couldn't bear to lose him again, not now he'd finally allowed himself to hope for the chance of a happy ending.
Only when the world fell silent again did he allow himself to loosen his grip, just enough to examine Jon's dust-plastered face, and it was enough when added to the mountain of overwhelming emotions for him to be overpowered, biting back a bark of laughter as tears of pain and relief burned at his eyes. His boyfriend seemed to have come back to himself by now and was gazing back at him with just as much intensity, eyes looking over him in search of any injuries.
"I thought I'd killed you." Martin couldn't hold back the tremor in his voice as he spoke, still refusing to release his boyfriend, so scared that if he let go again for even a second, he would be gone. His cheeks were wet, and he couldn't tell if it was due to the rain or his tears, though at that moment, he didn't particularly care. "I thought I'd lost you for good..." Jon's fingers found his face, thumb swiping under his eye to wipe away tears, and Martin allowed himself to be tugged into a gentle, chaste kiss. "Is it finally over?"
"I don't ... I don't know," Jon stammered, and Martin noticed the way his blood-stained hands slipped under his shirt to touch against the place where he'd stabbed him. "It's scarred," he mumbled, almost subconsciously, eyes glazing over once more as he remembered the events of what felt like only minutes before. "All of the scars, they're still there. It wasn't a dream. It really happened."
"We're together, though. Just like we promised."
Jon actually smiled at that. A small, genuine smile that set Martin's heart racing.
"Yes..."
Martin flinched as he heard approaching sirens in the distance. Despite the dust particles clinging to his body, enough that Jon could feasibly pass for a ghost if he so wished, it did little to hide Elias's blood all over him. Martin wrapped the oversized coat more securely around him, and Jon slipped his arms inside the too-long sleeves to hide his hands as they buttoned it up.
Hopefully, it would be some time before Elias's body was found in the debris that had once been the Institute and longer before they found anything to link Jon to the crime. Even so, it wouldn't take an ambulance crew long to work out the blood wasn't his if they decided to examine him.
"Martin?" Jon's uncertain voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he turned his full attention on his boyfriend. He looked exhausted - though that was hardly unusual. Had he always been that small? Looked so fragile? Or had Martin just grown accustomed to seeing him with all the power and confidence of the Archivist? He certainly looked like he'd lost weight, and seeing him swamped in his coat wasn't helping the perception of just how helpless he looked. "Let's go. Anywhere but here."
Martin smiled at the suggestion, slipping his hand into Jon's and linking their fingers.
"Together," he agreed.