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Martin is clearly surprised when Jon bursts into the office. He drops something onto the desk, which clatters, then tumbles onto the floor.
Martin. The name had tasted bittersweet when Jon said it. Jon hungrily took in the sight of him, with his dark turtleneck and new jewelry, onyx dangling from his ears, nearly hidden behind hair that’s grown out noticeably since they last spoke… It’s almost difficult to believe this is the same alpha that Jon has known for years. Where once the room would have been made all the warmer by Martin’s presence, his scent and his smile, the office now is devoid of any color or comfort. The air smells like nothingness, apart from the acrid whiff of anxiety Jon manages to catch, likely startled out of Martin despite the chill of the Lonely.
It’s strange, the conversation they fall into, like they’re both so stunned to see each other they’ve forgotten to be awkward. The small talk is… well, it’s not normal — Jon wouldn’t really call the discussion of whether or not he’s been devouring trauma from strangers small in any sense of the word, but it’s not- what happened last time. This is an improvement, right?
All in vain, Jon thinks, wringing his hands as they begin to tremble. They’ve finally come to The Point.
Martin takes the news about as well as Jon expects, espousing outright incredulity before letting himself process the reality of the situation. He shuffles on his feet like he’s being buffeted by the waves of their situation. At length, he asks, “Have you told the others, or…?”
“No, you’re the first.”
Martin’s reading glasses, round and lined by silver, briefly shine as he tilts his head. “Why?”
Why? Jon is speaking before he can even understand the question, “Because… because, Because I trust you. I- I’m trying to think about what to do, and I…” Jon sighs. He feels, as always, incredibly tired. “If I did try this, I don’t want to do it alone. But we could leave here, you and me. Escape.”
Martin is turning his head away, and fear begins to numb the tips of Jon’s fingers. “Jon. Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make it my decision.”
“I’m not-”
But there’s no moving him. Martin resists, and his words are unrelentingly pragmatic: could Jon even survive blinding himself at this point? Not to mention such an act would mean Martin abandoning his plans — whatever they are.
Jon tries to argue, but there’s no use in it. It’s agonizing, being able to see the one shining light, the promise of finally untangling himself from the misery of the Institute, but his mate will not concede. In the face of Jon’s plea, Martin laughs. It’s an empty, humorless sound; it’s worse, Jon thinks, than if he meant it to be cruel.
“What?” Jon asks.
“Nothing; it’s just…” Martin’s laugh, his smirk, become something colder. “It’s just ironic, that’s all.”
“Martin.”
“Who are you kidding, Jon? You’re not going to do any of that.”
“I- I could.”
“But you won’t. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?” The smirk falls away. “Hey, tell me something, Jon. If the two of us did what you wanted — if you blinded yourself and I helped you get away forever… What about Daisy?”
Jon’s thoughts stall. Daisy? Daisy is-
She’s the entire reason Jon thought to look, to tap into his powers in a way that went against his cravings. The Eye did not want Jon to find certain things, feeding him only the most filling, devastating knowledge. Such things would sate him, but Jon was finally understanding just how dire his situation might get if he continued to abstain. He saw it in Daisy, the way she collapsed once Trevor and Julia finally retreated, how her display before the other hunters was a bluff. If necessary, could Daisy have really done anything to protect him? Daisy knew, even better than Jon had, exactly what was happening to her body, how she was being starved by the Hunt. And yet, she’d come when he called.
What would Daisy do, if Jon and Martin left? Could Jon leave her behind in her current state, after everything?
Jon realizes he’s been silent for some time. Martin has turned away again, and something about him is different. Jon can’t quite tell what. It’s hidden in the shape of him, his soft edges. With effort, Jon tries to offer anything in response, “I… I don’t know. I intend on- Well, I have to tell them all about it, don’t I? I don’t know what any of them might do. Perhaps- but, no, with Daisy, I mean… Part of me was hoping that maybe, if I get away, like I said, maybe I’d derail their plans. Peter, Elias, whoever, it doesn’t matter, I’d be away. We both could be. And- and maybe, if they can’t do anything more with us, they would let the others go, too? Maybe…”
“Would you really be able to do it?”
“I…” Jon can admit to himself he doesn’t want to abandon Daisy or anyone else. He wants Daisy to be safe, and if not come with him, at least be somewhere else, somewhere Jon knows she will be okay and not have to… to waste away alone.
Something in Jon’s silence seems to tell Martin what he’s expecting, because he scoffs and mutters, “I knew it. You don’t want to blind yourself, you don’t want to die, and you don’t want to leave her behind. What you want is a reason not to do those things, so you came to me.”
“That…” Jon grits his teeth, fists clenched. “Why can’t you understand? Is this- is this still about what happened during my heat? I already told you, Daisy was just-”
“Stop lying to me!” Martin snaps, startling Jon into compliance. “Stop lying! You don’t really want me, you want her, just admit it already.”
“Martin-”
“Basira told me what you did,” Martin interrupts. “How you let Daisy have you. You spent your heat with her, didn’t you?”
Jon feels frozen in place, trapped by his confusion and a budding sense of guilt. What did Basira say to him? And why…
Licking his lips nervously, Jon tries to explain, “She helped me, yes, but Martin, it isn’t like that.” Martin scoffs, but Jon continues, “It isn’t! She said I was having a bad heat; I could barely even understand what was going on-”
“She raped you, then? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“No!” Jon protests, incredibly alarmed by the accusation. Is that something Basira told him, or did he somehow imply that on his own? “No, I consented to it. But she didn’t do anything- like that. Just… enough to get me through it. Help my hormones understand I was safe and being taken care of. It’s not like she bit me or, or-”
Jon, so focused on stumbling through an explanation, pauses as he realizes that Martin has gotten much closer. It takes him back to the last time they met in the hallway, and Jon takes a step back before he really processes the action.
As all expression fades away from Martin’s face, he says in a flat voice, “It doesn’t matter, Jon. Just know that I can’t follow you on this one.”
Jon wants to say something, anything, but accepts there’s nothing he can do. It feels like the conversation was doomed to fail, whether due to Martin’s insistence on sticking with Peter Lukas and seeing out his plans, or whatever strange ideas Basira put into Martin’s head.
With deep reluctance, Jon retreats to the door. “The Lonely’s really got you, hasn’t it?”
Immediately, Martin responds, “You know, I think it always did.”
No, Jon thinks, and blinks away tears. Not when I had you.
But that was then, wasn’t it? Before Jon died and went away. Before he came back wrong.
“Maybe,” Jon says, feeling helpless. Despite that, he makes himself add, “Well, I’ll be here, if you ever need me.”
“I hope so.”
There’s no emotion behind the words, yet it still feels like an accusation. “Just don’t wait too long, okay?” Jon pleads as he takes the doorknob in hand. “If you haven’t already.”
“Yeah,” is Martin’s distant reply, and Jon closes the door behind him.
Immediately, he wants to dwell, to retreat to his office and wallow in the sense of loss and settling despair. Instead, Jon manages to dredge up the budding sparks of indignation and anger that lay hidden in the depths of his upset. He makes his way down the hall and goes to find Basira.