Chapter Text
The first few days of being in the flat were mostly spent trying to get a feel for the layout and memorizing where everything was in between appointments and resting. The labels Martin had put up meant that he didn’t have to waste time opening each drawer and feeling around, and they’d agreed on specific locations where things would be placed.
The home assistant device that now sat near the corner of the kitchen counter had proved to be a lot more useful than Jon would have expected before all this. Being able to ask it to update him on when he needed to take his meds was particularly helpful, now that he couldn’t simply check the clock. Especially given that sometimes Martin wasn’t home, caught up as the man was in trying to get the two of them legal identities.
This afternoon, Martin had needed to hurry off right after bringing Jon home, as a result of Jon’s physio appointment going over. If there’d been another option, he knew both of them would have taken it; Martin would have wanted to make sure Jon was alright, and Jon hated knowing that his boyfriend wasn’t able to take time to catch his own breath before hurrying halfway across London.
When the robotic voice shook him out of a half-dozing state with its announcement that it was time for his pain medication, Jon used the arm of the couch to balance himself as he stood. His back protested, the partially-healed wound a sharp jolt while the muscles ached more dully.
It took him a couple attempts before he felt his fingertips brush against the handle of his cane, and he spent a moment trying to recall the amount of steps from the couch to the entryway for the kitchen before he started to walk.
His painkillers were always kept near the side of the counter closest to the living room, along with a glass to drink from. It wasn't that Jon was incapable of reaching the cupboard himself, more that he appreciated not having to. When the carpet gave way to linoleum, Jon reached his free hand out to trace over the countertop. Instead of meeting with the expected bottle of pills, he found only empty space. Another slower attempt met with the same result.
He didn't recall hearing anything fall to the floor earlier, but it was possible. Sweeping the floor with his cane would only send the bottle skittering away, likely to somewhere more difficult to reach once he finally found it.
The idea of lowering himself to the floor in order to search for the missing medication held absolutely no appeal, and he resolved to search the entirety of the counters and table before he resorted to it. Jon laid his palm flat on the cool laminate, tracing over the edges of the countertop and beginning to slowly sweep across the surface.
Martin only removed the arm bracing his ribs when he had to unlock the door to their flat. The tube had been packed, given the time of day, and he’d caught a sharp elbow to the side that had almost brought him to his knees. He’d wound up being late to the appointment despite all his efforts. At least they’d been understanding. Could maybe have done with slightly less of a pitying look when he’d started coughing and wasn’t able to hide the pain in his expression, but that wasn’t anything new now was it?
Before he could call out to let Jon know he was home, the other man’s voice cut through the silence in a scathing tone that Martin hadn’t heard for a long time.
“Martin.”
“J-Jon?” Are you okay?” His voice cracked a bit on the question, a sudden wave of anxiety twisting around his heart. The keychain dropped to the floor unnoticed as he rushed to the kitchen. A huff of breath that wasn’t quite a laugh was Jon’s answer, and the man didn’t raise his head from where he was slumped against the oven even when Martin knelt beside him.
“Jon, please, what happened?”
“Couldn’t find the painkillers,” Jon snapped, body tensing visibly as he spoke. The hand that had been loosely holding the cane tightened until his knuckles paled. “Then I exhausted myself searching the floor like a fool. I wasn’t about to crawl across the house like an animal so my only option was to wait like this for you to get back.” Martin hadn’t heard the level of vitriol in his boyfriend’s voice since they’d fought at the Panopticon, but it was different here. They weren’t arguing over the fate of worlds. No, Jon had been on the floor for god only knows how long waiting for him to return because Martin had misplaced his medication. A quick glance around the kitchen showed that the bottle was, in fact, nowhere to be found. Jon hadn’t simply missed it.
“I’m sorry, please let me help you up. I-I’ll fix you something to eat and find the pills after I help you lie down…” The words fell from his lips automatically. Get Jon comfortable and safe, then set about fixing the mess he’d made yet again. Martin didn’t even register the flinch from Jon when he took his hand; that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. He slipped the sling off his shoulder, letting it fall to the ground. He could pick it up later. Having both hands would make this easier.
Martin half-expected Jon’s cane to make contact with him as soon as he started to help the other man up, but Jon’s grip on it released the moment Martin began guiding him back to standing. Martin’s arm and ribs protested the strain of holding Jon to him, supporting most of his weight, but Martin barely felt it. It was distant, detached compared to the roaring maelstrom in his head.
Jon curled up on his side, facing away from Martin, the second he was helped into bed. Jon’s ragged breathing filled the room, cutting through the silence with each gasp. A stifled whimper escaped as he pulled in on himself even more, and Martin muttered another weak apology before making himself scarce. That was best for both of them, if he just got out of the way. Martin always found a way to make things worse, didn’t he?
It took him a couple of minutes of searching before he found where he’d stupidly misplaced Jon’s meds, and disgust twisted in his gut when he did. He’d put them up in the cupboard with the mugs. Of course Jon wouldn’t have been able to find them there. It wasn’t difficult to just put things where they belonged, especially when someone was depending on you, but yet again, he’d made a mess of everything.
What would be best for him to make? Something easy on the stomach, not requiring too much time to prepare…toast wasn’t a proper meal, but it might do. Even if not, it wouldn’t be too much of a waste. Jon needed something to go with his meds, especially having gone far too long without them due to Martin’s carelessness.
He settled on toasting two slices of bread; if Jon didn’t want one or both, he could eat them. Just in case, he set a pot to boil on the stove. Pasta or rice would take longer, but if that was what he preferred then it’d be best to shorten the time as much as possible. Jon would need his cane, too. Mustn't forget that.
"Jon?" Martin did the best approximation of a knock he could under the circumstances, careful not to spill any of the water in the cup balanced on the tray. He didn't wait for a response before entering to see Jon's back still turned to him. No surprise there. Distantly, he registered that he was talking to Jon, but the words weren’t anything that mattered. Just something to fill the void. The tray was set gingerly on the bedside table, and the handle of the cane loosely hooked over one of the drawer pulls.
Jon seemed to find the toast acceptable, so Martin returned to the kitchen to shut off the stovetop and rinse out the pot. Might as well do some tidying up; can’t leave his sling on the floor where Jon could slip on it later when he was once again able to walk around. Once the painkillers Martin had kept from him had some time to take effect.
Jon grabbed at the empty air, trying in vain to grasp at Martin’s jumper even though he’d heard the man’s hurried footsteps moving away. He’d tried to thank him, to apologize for being the way he was, but it seemed like Martin either couldn’t hear him or was ignoring him. The continuous faux-cheerful dictation of everything Martin was doing in the brief time he was in the bedroom made it fairly likely to be the former. The full realization of why, exactly, Martin was acting so off hit him at once.
It took some effort to sit up. Already sore muscles were now joined by the ache of having sat far too long on an unpadded floor, and he barely put half his weight on one leg before it tried to buckle under him. Concern and guilt pushed him to try again, but the results were no more favorable the second time. As much as he wanted to continue trying, to push his body even further past its limits, Jon didn’t have the supernatural level of healing he’d gotten used to falling back on. Anything he did to himself, he'd suffer the full consequences of.
Perhaps it was best this way; he could spend time trying to get his thoughts in order before trying to talk to Martin, and his boyfriend could hopefully break out of the state of mind Jon had triggered given a bit of time alone. Ideally he would be able to write it out, rather than stumbling through speaking clumsy words tainted by emotions, but that wasn’t an option anymore. One more in a long list that Jon was still discovering new entries for.
Jon slid a hand across the sheets until his fingers met the bedside table, searching out the plate. The thought of food was deeply unappealing, but so was the incapacitating level of nausea he’d have to deal with if he didn’t have something in his stomach when he took the painkillers. He managed a bit over half of the second piece of toast before giving up and feeling along the tray Martin had set down until he found the pill. Conveniently, his knuckles brushed against cool glass during the search, removing the need to seek out the location of the water once he’d popped the medication into his mouth.
He’d only intended to take a few sips, but the first swallow served to make him realize how thirsty he actually was. Once the glass was empty, Jon set it back down. It would be a while before the meds took effect; he should get to work crafting his apology in the meantime.
Jon’s not certain when, exactly, he’d drifted off. Long enough ago for a small damp spot to have formed under his mouth on the pillow, he realized with disgust as he came back to consciousness. He rubbed at his mouth, forcing himself up a bit too quickly. His head spun in protest.
“...Martin?” It came out beseeching and soft, likely far too quiet for the sound to escape the room. Jon cleared his throat before trying again. “Martin, are you there?”
Silence for far too long. He’d almost given up hope when he heard footsteps slowly drawing closer.
“I want to apologize,” Jon began before Martin could have a chance to say anything. “I, ah, I shouldn’t have-”
“It’s alright,” Martin interrupted. Jon could hear the fact that his boyfriend had been crying recently in his voice, and it made the guilt twist deeper into his heart.
“It’s really not. I’m aware it doesn’t change anything, but I had no intention of bringing up…bad memories. I’ve been thinking of ways to prevent a situation like what happened earlier from recurring, and I have a few ideas.” More footsteps, a shaky sigh. The mattress sank down as Martin sat, a bit farther from Jon than he would have liked.
“Jon, I don’t…” A weak laugh, the shifting of fabric. “Of course you would have made a list of things already. Alright, let’s hear it.”
“Well,” Jon started, chewing at his lip as he tried to recall the phrasing he’d settled on, “I- that is, with everything you’re having to manage right now…perhaps it would be good for me to get to know the neighbours?”
“...wait, what? I don’t- Jon, what do those two things have to do with each other ?”
“It didn’t occur to me in the moment to ask for help, since you weren’t here. I’m…not sure I would have even if I had thought of it, really; not when I don’t know anyone. But I don’t want anything like this to happen again. You deserve better, Martin. I apologize.” Jon sighed. Naturally, his carefully planned words had come out jumbled and confused. He didn’t need to be able to see Martin’s face to know what expression was most likely on the man’s face; a mixture of exasperation and confusion. A sound he wasn’t initially able to place followed the silence between the two of them, but the muffled muttering that came after led Jon to assume it was the sound of Martin moving to cover his mouth (or his face?) with his good hand. Finally, Jon heard the man groan.
“I can’t do this right now, Jon, this- this whiplash between you sounding like Mu-” Martin’s voice cracked and he let out another shaky breath, “-like you hated me when I got home and then now sounding like you’re afraid I’ll abandon you?”
The words to protest were on Jon’s tongue, but he couldn’t get them out. Not when Martin wasn’t entirely wrong. Hadn’t he felt sick at the realization of how he’d talked to his boyfriend? Could he possibly lie, even to himself, that he didn’t feel like he’d deserve it if Martin did hit a point where enough was enough?
“Right,” he managed eventually. If Martin wanted the conversation to end, it wasn’t right of him to prolong it. He’d caused all of this, after all. He wanted to reach out for contact, for reassurance, but he didn’t. Instead, Jon ran his hand over the sheets and up to the pillows, then lowered himself back down as carefully as he could manage.
“Can we talk about this later, when we’ve both had more time to cool down and get our thoughts in order?” Martin’s voice startled Jon. He’d been expecting Martin to walk away.
“I suppose that would be best. Just…let me know when you want to talk, then. I’ll be here, of course.” Jon attempted a wry smile, but knew he hadn’t succeeded. Now he felt Martin rise, and he let himself stretch out his legs. No fading footsteps followed Martin’s movement, and he tilted his head towards where his boyfriend should be. Guardedly stretching out his hand, Jon waited to see if the man would take it. To his relief, Martin did, if only for a moment. He felt Martin’s thumb brush over the back of his hand, the gentlest of squeezes, then his hand was once again empty.
“Let me know if you need anything, alright?”
“I will,” Jon assured him, and part of him even meant it. What he wanted most was not to be alone, but that wasn’t enough that he was willing to ignore Martin’s clear need for space right now.