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Martin wakes slowly, unwillingly, gradually floating his way toward consciousness. It’s been so long since waking has been anything but painfully jolting out of sleep, panic imbuing every thought with razor awareness, that he’s determined to enjoy this for as long as possible. All that matters right now is that the lingering warmth of sleep still holds him and that pressed against his chest is the familiar weight of Jon. Through heavy lidded eyes, Martin can see sunlight spilling across the bed sheets, lighting up the room with such radiance that for a moment Martin forgets how to breathe.
Huh. Never in a million years did Martin think he would be so entranced by something as simple as sunlight. Real sunlight, not whatever passed for it in the apocalypse, ever prescient and tinged with a sickly red - it might just be the most beautiful thing Martin has ever seen. That revelation lasts up until he shifts and Jon lets out a little grumble at the movement, pressing himself closer to Martin. Nope. Hands down, the sight of Jon’s face, pressed against Martin’s chest and salt-and-pepper hair absolutely wild is infinitely better. It’s not even a contest and Martin’s breath catches all over again.
It must mean they’re safe then, since Jon’s so thoroughly knocked out and Martin can’t even remember the last time he saw the man actually sleep. Even the Archivist’s eyes are closed, a small blessing since for a moment Martin can pretend that it’s all just a lazy Sunday morning in their Scottish cabin, before everything went quite literally to hell.
But then again, normal was never really on the table for them.
With a sigh, Martin opens his eyes fully, letting them adjust to the room before him. It’s grand, stately, everything from the heavy curtains to the four poster bed practically screaming luxury and for a split second Martin is completely and utterly terrified that this is all some elaborate illusion and it’s all going to melt away into spiders or rot or something else equally horrifying. Unsteady, he takes a breath, and runs his fingers through Jon’s hair. Christ, he really needs to calm down, this apocalypse is not good for him.
The last thing Martin can remember is finding some untouched mansion and exhaustion slamming down on him as soon as he crossed it’s threshold. He’s pretty sure that Annebelle Cane and Mikaele Salesa made some appearance, but everything after walking through those huge doors is a blur. At least that’s somewhat comforting - Martin can’t imagine either of them would hide out in a place liable to turn into an endless maze of corridors or something.
As if sensing Martin’s unease, Jon stirs slightly, opening his eyes and giving a small, soft smile that very nearly makes Martin melt.
“Good morning,” Jon mumbles.
“Does morning even exist here?”
“Yep. You know, I think we’ve found the only corner of the apocalypse where I can say that to you.”
“I’ll have to get used to that when we fix things.”
“You better. I plan on waking up next to you for the rest of my life.”
Martin laughs quietly and holds Jon a little closer.
“I forgot how nice it is to actually be able to sleep. You really don’t realise how much you miss the little things until…”
“Until they’re taken from you by eldritch entities?”
“Something like that.”
Jon snorts and pulls himself away from Martin as he sits up, the sunlight falling behind him illuminating his hair in a frizzy halo round his head.
“What,” he demands, noticing Martin’s stare, “you’re smiling.”
“You’ve got a brilliant bed head.”
Jon frowns as he tries to smooth it down and moves to leave the bed just as Martin’s hand catches his, pulling him back down into the blankets.
“Absolutely not. You can leave the creepy alone for two minutes.”
“I am the creepy Martin.”
Martin grins and presses his face against Jon’s shoulder. “Not here you’re not. Right now you’re a man who just needs to enjoy lying in bed with his boyfriend.”
“Point taken.”
For a couple of minutes the comfortable silence stretches out, each of them holding the other and drinking in the stillness. Martin’s pretty sure he could stay like this forever.
“Was that really Mikaele Salesa that we saw earlier?” Martin finally asks.
“I can’t imagine anyone else more suited for dodging the end of the world, so yes, I suppose it is him.”
“And Annabelle Cane? I would’ve thought she would have her own domain.”
“Me too. I can’t work out why she would be here of all places.”
Martin frowns a little, “So your all-seeing, all-knowing business still isn’t working then?”
“Mhm. It feels like… like there’s a blanket over my senses. Everything feels so dull and indistinct. Muffled.”
“So I guess that means that there’s a time limit to how long we can stay here then?”
There’s a pause.
“Sorry.”
“It’s alright Jon. This place was never permanent anyway.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I’m glad we’re here though. Even if sharing a house with the Mikaele Salesa probably isn’t the smartest idea.”
Jon leans back even more against the pillows, pockmark scars seeming to glow in the sunlight and Martin can’t stop himself from tracing his finger across them, counting them. There's silence for a long time, so long that Martin’s half asleep again when Jon starts speaking again, softly.
“I forget what I look like without them.”
Martin shifts his gaze to meet Jon’s, noting the quiet sadness there.
“Sometimes I try to remember how I looked before all the scars and there’s just nothing. I can’t even remember what it felt like to be entirely human.”
Martin brushes his fingers over Jon’s cheek again.
“I understand,” is all he says, but it’s enough. Even now, the mark the Lonely left on him hums under his skin, a pull, a desire to shove Jon away and lose himself to its soft misery. Sometimes it’s nothing more than a murmur, but other times the ache to be alone is entirely overwhelming and Martin can’t even imagine a time spent without it. Jon reaches up and twirls Martin’s lock of white hair around his fingers, another memento of his time lost in the Lonely.
“We’re both changed.”
“It’s… difficult sometimes, but don’t think I mind it,” Martin says, though the words slip out without thinking and self consciousness rises within him immediately. Even so, the question in Jon’s gaze is impossible to ignore.
“I just - part of me thinks - part of me thinks this was worth it because I got to meet you. If there’s one good thing that came out of this, it’s you, and -” Martin swallows, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes, “and if I had to go through Prentiss and the Lonely and this all over again, as long as I met you… I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Jon props himself up onto his elbow and levels such an intense stare at Martin that he feels his ears turn crimson and he forces his eyes away.
“It’s stupid, I know, but -”
“You really believe that?”
“What?”
“That we wouldn’t have met without both of us happening to join the worst job in the world?”
“I - yes. We weren’t exactly the most compatible couple before. Lots of unrequited love and pining.”
“Maybe. I like to think we’d have run into each other even without the institute.”
Martin gives a small, sad smile, “I can see it now. After another failed job application, I go to the library to mope and who do I meet? Jon Sims, the new librarian who has also just been rejected from the Magnus Institute. I overhear you complaining about Elias Bouchard, the creepy guy who interviewed you and realise it’s the same guy who did my interview too and we get talking.”
Jon rests his head against Martin’s shoulder, but doesn’t interrupt, not as Martin feels a desperate kind of longing rising up within him.
“You seem maybe a bit standoffish but there’s something about you that draws me in and I make it a habit to start visiting the library more often. One day I bring you tea and you smile for the first time and suddenly it’s my mission to make you smile like that at me. Maybe one day your friends Tim and Sasha force you to go to an open mic night and low and behold who’s there but the cute guy who’s been visiting your library for the past few months.”
“And the moment you start with that poetry, I fall in love with you?”
“Yeah.” The word is hardly more than a breath and the longing in Martin’s chest has opened into a chasm of grief for a life he could have led. He knows full well that if he lets himself linger on it for too long it’ll swallow him entirely, but it’s still difficult to pull himself back, even as-
Jon’s hand brushes through his hair and Martin comes back to himself with a start to realise his cheeks are wet with tears. The laugh he gives is humourless and flat.
“Christ, I’m a mess.”
“No, you’re just a person dealing with the end of the world. We’ll stay here as long as you need.”
He lets out a shuddering breath, “thank you.”
“And besides, even if that was our life, you wouldn’t be the Martin I love now. We’d both be different people. Maybe we would’ve fallen in love, but maybe not. The awful things we’ve gone through… is it wrong to say I love you even more because of them? I don’t think I would ever want to change that.”
Martin closes his eyes and leans against Jon, suddenly incredibly glad that the man can’t see into his mind.
“Even for normal life? Even to avoid all this?”
There is a single moment in which Martin can feel Jon seriously considering the question.
“I.. yes. Yes. If it meant losing you, I don’t think I could.”
“Well that makes two of us. Even if a nice quiet life in Scotland does sound really appealing right now.”
“Well, when we fix this, the cabin will still be there.”
“God, I really don’t think I want to go back there, not after the time we spent in it.”
Jon nods, “That’s fair. There’ll be other places.”
“When we fix this,” Martin repeats, trying to ignore the hollow edge in his voice.
“Yeah.”
It’s a topic they’ve been dodging around for… whatever passes for months in this place. Every time either one of them makes any attempt to broach the topic of exactly how they’re going to fix this, the conversation suddenly feels brittle, like it’s liable to shatter and the topic is dropped. Martin really doesn’t need Jon’s powers to know that whatever happens after it’s all over, they won't be going back to normal. Not by a long shot. And that thought is… terrifying to say the least.
But Martin drops it. This is the first respite they’ve had and Martin is not about to spoil it with the very same conversation they’ve been dodging for months. Instead, he sits up, shoving his hair out of his eyes.
“Right. Right. I don’t care that Annabelle Cane is definitely stalking this house, I’m starving. If this is the only place I can eat in the whole apocalypse, then I’m taking that chance.”
Beside him, Jon stretches, and then scrapes his hair back into something vaguely more presentable.
“Martin-”
“Nope. Your eye magic doesn’t work here so you can’t tell me that the tea technically doesn’t exist or something.”
“ Martin.” There’s a raw edge in Jon’s voice and Martin pauses, wringing his fingers. “You don’t have to… pretend.”
For a few seconds Martin is silent, considering. “I know, and you’re right, but I just don’t think I can be vulnerable right now. I just… there’s too much to work through, too much that we’ve seen. Give me a few days to process.”
Jon leans over and presses a kiss against Martin’s forehead. “Alright.”
“I suppose we should go and deal with Salesa then?”
“I suppose we should.”
Martin rolls off the bed, scooping up Jon as he does so and ignoring the man’s squawk of protest.
“Come on, if you stay there looking at me like that, I’ll stay in bed with you all day.”
“Would that really be so bad?”
“In any other time than the apocalypse, no. But as the Archivist’s plus one, I feel I should be your common sense here, especially since your ceaseless watcher shindig isn’t really working.”
Jon’s eyes widen as if he’s going to make some kind of scathing comment back before Martin stops him with a kiss, enjoying the way it makes the man practically melt into his arms. Gently, he sets Jon back on his feet, and this time the Archivist’s look of protest is almost enough to make Martin reconsider.
“Tea first, then Salesa, then we save the world.”
“Sounds like a plan.”