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Oh, goodness.
Honestly, Martin didn't know why Elias had insisted on sending him and Jon to America in search of some mysterious document in some mysterious building that, in Martin’s humble opinion, did not matter at all in the slightest.
Ok well, maybe it did matter, maybe it was important to someone's research, somewhere in the institute. But then, Elias should have sent that someone instead of a newly injured and newly very paranoid Jon, and Martin to assist him. Well “assisting” is actually putting his position in all this nicely, it’s really more like babysitting. Martin sighed as he slouched in the seat at their gate, catching sight of Jon limping back from the restroom, putting a bit too much weight on his cane that he hadn’t completely gotten the hang of using yet.
Damn Prentiss.
Martin watched as Jon kept looking over his shoulder and tensing whenever other people walked by him. He was twitchy, and looked like he was ready to flee the airport terminal at a moment's notice. Martin reflected on the fact that he had looked like this since they had first arrived 2 hours ago, with Tim sending them off with a wave while they walked into the building and to baggage check. Jon had looked less than eager to talk to any of the airport staff and Martin had to make sure all of their boarding passes and bags were situated properly while Jon all but lurked behind him. Going through security was also...odd - Well odd in the sense as in ‘not how Martin would picture Jon going through airport security’. He was jumpy, flinching whenever it looked like a security officer was about to speak to him, and Martin once again had to do all the talking, and made sure that they were situated. Overall, the experience of Martin having to take control of the situation while Jon stood there, eyes downcast, was just overall odd for Martin to see and live out.
Thankfully their gate was close enough to security that Martin didn’t have to worry about Jon being able to walk to it. Martin had suggested a wheelchair, but the mere mention of that was enough to bring back that ole Jonathan Sims spark of stubbornness and anger, and he vehemently refused.
Martin was brought out of his thoughts as Jon sat down tentatively next to him. Martin noticed his face was flushed and he was shaking, albeit slightly. He was staring at the ground, pulling at one of the loose threads at the hem of his jumper.
“Are you doing ok?” Martin asked him, concerned.
Jon tensed, before looking up at him and Martin could tell he was trying to put a spark of anger on his face.
“I’m fine.” Short. To the point.
“Are you sure? You seem kinda ummm…” Martin wondered how to put the fact that Jon looked like a paranoid, sleep deprived, twitchy drug addict nicely.
“Kinda what?” Jon snapped, glaring at him.
“...Tightly wound?” Martin offered.
“Well, Martin.” Jon scoffed. Martin tensed at his tone.
Here we go. Time to get chewed out by my boss in the middle of an airport.
“I, personally, do not-” Jon started but was interrupted by a loud voice booming through the terminal.
“Flight 2021, non-stop to New York City, will begin boarding in 10 minutes!”
Jon froze in his seat, mouth clicking shut. Martin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
Saved by the bell.
Martin grabbed the strap of his backpack, getting to his feet.
“Let’s go wait by the gate, we’re in boarding group 1 after all.” Martin explained as Jon gave him a dubious look.
“Group 1 is usually just first class,” he said tightly, “unless Elias sprung for first class tickets, which is not likely, I highly doubt that's our group.”
Martin wasn’t about to explain that he called the airport the day before, explained Jon’s injury to the staff, and they allowed them to have priority boarding. Jon would probably sit there stubbornly until they were threatening to leave without them if Martin mentioned this, so Martin opted for a simple: “It must be our lucky day!”
Jon continued to sit in his seat, glaring at him. Martin forced a tight smile to his face.
“C’mon let's go! Don’t want to miss our boarding group now do we?”
Jon deflated slightly before pulling himself painfully to his feet. Martin reached for Jon’s backpack as well, but Jon grabbed it quickly with a huff and slung it over his back before Martin could lay a finger on it. Martin kept his tight smile on his face.
How long is this flight again?
Martin began walking over to the gate, slowing his naturally fast walking pace considerably to allow for Jon to keep up. They made it to the waiting area by the front desk just as the announcement for boarding group 1 rang loudly through the terminal. Martin ushered Jon into the line with the other passengers who were waiting to board for group 1. When it was their turn, Martin presented his boarding pass to the women working at the gate. She took it from him and scanned it, the machine giving a happy chirp.
“Enjoy your flight!” She said as she handed him the pass back and reached her hand out for Jon’s. Martin was surprised to see Jon just standing there, stock still, pass held in his hand so tightly his knuckles were changing color.
“Sir?” The lady said kindly, “I need to scan your boarding pass.” She smiled at him in a way that Martin felt like she knew something he didn’t.
Jon didn’t move.
“Jon?” Martin put a hand on his shoulder, and Jon seemed to come out of it, albeit slightly.
“A-ah, uh, yes, here” He held out the slip of paper with a shaking arm, and the woman gently took it from him, scanned it, the machine chirped, and she held it back out to him to take. When he made no move to take it, Martin took it instead.
“Thank you!” Martin told the woman as she smiled gently at Jon. Martin kept a hand on Jon’s shoulder as he ushered him into the jet tunnel.
What's going on here?
When they got halfway down the tunnel, Jon suddenly shrugged Martin’s hand off his shoulder.
“I don’t need you to guide me.” Jon bit out, trying to sound angry, but his voice was shaky.
“Jon, what's going on? You can tell me-”
“Shut up!” Jon hissed out.
Martin shut his mouth.
I so don’t need to take this.
They got onto the plane in tense silence. Jon slipped into the window seat once they got to their row, and Martin took the aisle. Thankfully they were in a 2 person row instead of the 5 person row in the middle of the plane.
Martin watched as Jon struggled to shove his backpack under the seat in front of him. Martin wanted nothing more than to help, but well...he was very angry with Jon! He was just trying to make sure Jon was ok, after he had been acting incredibly strange all day, and he’s met with all this attitude. He was hoping that after Prentiss Jon would stop being so huffy with him.
Martin slid his own backpack under the seat in front of him as Jon was finally successful in his task of doing so as well. Jon leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, staring straight ahead. Martin reached over and slipped open the window shade.
At least I can pre-occupy myself with watching what's happening outside the plane.
Martin had just leaned back into his seat when Jon pulled down the window shade so quickly it made a pap! noise as it slapped back down into place.
Martin stared, slack jawed, at first the now closed window, before moving his stunned gaze to Jon.
“Jon, what the-”
“Window stays closed.” Jon says forcefully, not looking Martin in the eye.
“Jon, you can’t have full dominion over the window.” Martin grates out.
“I can do whatever I want...I’m, uh- I’m your boss after all.” Jon says with an uncertain air of finality.
Martin continues to stare at him, feeling his anger levels rising.
Calm down Martin, calm down.
Martin faces forward in his seat and inhales and exhales deeply.
Again, how long is this flight?
Martin instead busies himself with watching the other passengers board. An elderly lady sits in the seat closest to him in the 5 seater row separated by the aisle. She smiles at him. He smiles back.
Hooray for small mercies.
After what feels like hours, the seemingly unending stream of people stops entering the plane. Jon still broods next to him, his angry aura seemingly palpable. Martin leans forward, intent on digging a book out of his bag for when they get into the air, when the pilot's tinny voice floats through the plane.
“Hello everyone, welcome aboard flight 2021, non-stop service to New York City, we will begin taxiing to the runway in about 10 minutes.”
That's when it happens again, another one of Jon’s odd behavioural shifts that have been happening over the past several hours. Except this one is different, much different, as Martin hears a strangled yelp from next to him. He turns his gaze to Jon who has one hand clasped incredibly tightly onto his trouser leg and the other clapped over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut.
Ok, that's concerning.
“Umm, Jon-”
“Martin!” Jon cuts him off, his eyes pop open, shiny with unshed tears “We...we have to g-get off the plane! N-now!”
Martin is taken aback by this declaration, sitting there in shock, trying to absorb that little tidbit of information. He is, however, spurred back into action by Jon jerkily trying to unbuckle his seat belt.
“Wait, Jon, you can’t-”
“M-Martin. W-we have to go.” Jon says, finally successful in disconnecting the two metal pieces holding him to his seat and starting to get to his feet with a hiss of pain.
“Jon! What are you doing?” Martin pulls him back down into his seat, “what do you mean we have to go?”
Jon looks at him frantically, stray tears slipping down his face.
“W-we...g-gotta-” his breathing begins to pick up pace, and Martin officially begins to feel tendrils of panic start to enter his mind.
“Jon what-” Martin stops. He stops and really thinks. Jon has been acting off all day, switching between docile and a little scared, to being huffy and angry at the drop of a dime. He didn’t seem to be psyched about this trip to begin with, but then again neither was Martin. He refused to have the window open, the woman at the front desk gave him that knowing and gentle smile, he wanted to suddenly get off the plane-
Click click click.
“Jon, are you afraid of flying?” Martin asked as gently as possible.
This question brought new tears to Jon’s eyes and more stuttered breathing.
Shit.
“Jon, Jon. Hey, it’s all right.” He reached out to place a hand on Jon’s shoulder once more, but Jon caught his arm before he could make contact, and clutched it like a lifeline.
This is concerning.
“Jon, hey, umm” Martin racked his brain. What did people with this intense of a phobia do in these circumstances? He guessed they wouldn’t fly at all if they could help it, but there’s gotta be ways to combat it right? Peaceful music? Doesn’t seem like Jon. Deep breathing? Also not a Jon thing. Being held by a close family member or friend. Also out, probably. Martin knew Jon had flown before, he’s talked about it. But then how…
Oh.
“Jon, when you fly, do you um, usually take something?”
Jon going completely still was answer enough.
“Jon, do you have what you need with you?” Martin sure hoped he did because he was afraid Jon would jump out of his seat and beg and plead to be let off the plane before kicking down the door himself.
A terse nod was the answer he got.
“Great!” Martin tried to sound soothing, “I have a bottle of water if you need it to-”
N-no, I...can’t.” Jon interrupted, eyes downcast.
“What? Why?” Was Martin’s automatic response.
“B-because, the pills...t-they uh, m-make me kinda ummm...loopy?” He said lamely, “they're strong, and um, i-its...embarrassing.”
Martin felt warmth settle in his chest.
Poor guy.
“Jon, don't worry about it! I promise I won’t snap any photos haha. I just want to make sure that you're going to be ok on the flight.” Martin smiled at him gently.
Jon gave him a dubious look.
Just keep smiling, Martin. Assure him.
Jon hesitated for a moment, before slowly nodding. He began to reach slowly down into his backpack, unzipped a pocket, and pulled out a prescription pill bottle. Martin caught sight of the label as Jon unscrewed it and shook two out into his hand.
Damn, those are strong.
Martin handed Jon his water bottle and Jon downed the two pills. Martin was mentally counting down the minutes until the plane would start taxiing to the runway as Jon handed him back the water. He hoped they had enough time before takeoff for the pills to at least start to work.
After taking the pills, Jon sat back in his seat, still clutching Martin’s arm, staring into space for the few more minutes it took for the plane to slowly begin its journey to the runway. Jon let out a strangled gasp as the plane began to move and Martin was quick to reassure him. Thankfully, many planes were waiting to take off, and they were stuck waiting in line, buying Jon more time. With each passing moment, Martin could tell that the pills were starting to kick in. Jon’s grasp on his arm was starting to slacken and his eyelids were beginning to droop.
By the time the pilot was announcing they were ready for takeoff, Jon was sound asleep, good leg curled up in his seat, while the bad one was stretched out in front of him, face smushed into Martin’s shoulder. Martin smiled.
Thank goodness.
***
A few hours later found Martin reading his book and Jon slowly blinking awake. Jon shifted slightly, letting out little sleepy noises.
Martin found this endearing for about 2 seconds before remembering that this might not be the best case scenario.
Jon, who is terrified of flying? Waking up at max altitude with no memory of taking off? Probably not good.
Martin was about to start doing some serious damage control when Jon finally blinked his eyes open and looked at Martin.
Oh gosh, he’s high as a kite!
Martin snorted, unable to stop himself as he took in Jon’s glassy eyes and dilated pupils.
“Mah’in?” Jon mumbled sleepily.
Martin’s heart was about to burst.
Now that's cute.
“G’Morning Jon.” Martin said with a wide smile.
Jon blearily took in his surroundings, fixing his glasses that had gone askew, curling up tighter on the seat with only one leg up. Martin smiled at the fact that Jon was small enough to curl up on an airplane seat.
Jon gave Martin a questioning look.
“We...Me n you...goin’ to ‘Merica, right?” Martin’s smile got even bigger if that was possible.
“Yeah, Jon. We are heading there right now.”
Jon gave a small sleepy hum in response. He closed his eyes again and Martin thought he was dropping back to sleep, but his eyes cracked open again and he gave Martin another questioning look.
“Pretzels?” He asked blearily.
Martin had to forcibly stop the laugh that very quickly and suddenly tried to escape.
“I-I’m sorry?” Martin asked around a giggle.
“Do they”, he gave an uncoordinated gesture with his hand to the plane at large, “do they have pretzels?”
“O-Oh! Yes, I believe they do. Do you want some?” The small ‘mm-hmm’ that Jon gave had Martin flagging down a flight attendant and asking for pretzels. She smiled, returning with a few packets, which Martin thanked her for.
He nudged Jon gently, “Jon, pretzels.” He opened one of the packets and held them out to him.
The look of pure happiness that crossed Jon’s face was one that Martin would not soon forget.
“Pretzels!” Jon said, as he took the packet and then started to list sideways towards the window. Martin reached out and steadied him in his seat, trying not to giggle at Jon’s high-as-a-kite antics. Jon began slowly nibbling on the pretzels, eyes dropping every so often.
Martin opened another one of the packets and began eating pretzels as well. The two sat in comfortable silence for a bit before Jon suddenly placed an uncoordinated hand on Martin’s shoulder. Martin looked down at Jon in question. Jon looked up at Martin.
“‘M sorry Mah’in” Jon said.
Martin nearly choked on his pretzel in shock.
“W-What?” He managed to stutter out.
“F-for bein’ mean. S’rry. I’was”, he gestured with his hand that wasn’t on his shoulder, pretzel bag still loosely clenched in it, at the plane at large once more, “stressed. I’hate flyin’.” He cringed inwardly as if just saying the word took it out of him.
“Aww Jon. You don’t have to apologize! You were scared.” Martin tried to soothe him.
“B-but...I’waz mean t’you before too. B’fore Prentiss” Jon looked down sadly.
Martin’s breath caught in his throat.
“Sorry.” Jon said, looking back up at Martin with tearful eyes.
Martin couldn't help the almost giddy laugh that escaped him.
Jon’s apologizing to me!?
Martin quickly reached towards Jon and gathered him in a tight hug. Jon made a little oof sound as Martin squeezed him, albeit gently. Jon was a twig, and Martin didn’t want to crush the poor guy.
“I forgive you, Jon.” Martin said, smiling broadly.
“Are you sure?” Jon asked sadly into Martin’s shoulder.
“Yes, of course!” Martin pulled away and held Jon by the shoulders at arms length, “Of course I forgive you.”
How could I not? I have a massive crush on you.
Jon gave him a dopey smile.
“T-thank you.” he murmured.
Martin gave his shoulder a gentle pat just as Jon yanwed, eyes dropping.
Oh good, the meds are putting him back to sleep. He deserves to rest during this flight.
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Martin suggested gently.
Jon nodded, head tilting back into his seat.
“Tha’sounds good.” Jon said. But instead of closing his eyes, he looked at Martin.
“You ok, Jon?” Martin asked.
“C-Can I...um”, Jon hesitated, “can I...lay on y’ur shoul’der again?”
So. Freaking. Cute!
“Of course you can!” Martin said happily.
“A-and, umm. Y-y’ur cardigan?” Jon continued.
His cardigan? Oh! The one he had taken off during security but had shoved into his backpack instead of putting back on afterwards.
“The one I was wearing this morning? Do you want it?” Martin asked.
Jon nodded. “Y-yeah. M’cold.”
Martin leaned forward and pulled his cardigan out of his backpack, while Jon watched patiently with half-lidded eyes. Martin triumphantly produced said garment after a moment of struggle, holding it up for Jon to see.
“Do you wanna wear it?”
“Mmm, no. Blanket.” Jon said, clumsily taking the garment from him and attempting to lay it over himself. Martin had to help him achieve his goal, getting Jon nice and cozy and snuggled up against him.
“Good?” Martin asked as Jon nuzzled into his shoulder, broad smile plastered to his face at this point.
“Mm-hmm” Jon hummed sleepily, already dropping back off into sleep.
Hopefully we still have a lot of flight time left, I could stay like this for hours.