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Tim often forgets and is then painfully reminded that Martin is younger than him.
There hadn’t been any painful reminders for a while--though he can’t say he hasn’t had the faint suspicion that he’s been missing something--so it’s with a heavy sinking feeling in his stomach that he belatedly realises Martin has been covering for him.
“You’re making sure I don’t get fired,” Tim observes aloud.
Martin jumps, clearly not having noticed him standing over his shoulder, which is a concern in itself really. Too late, he switches tabs on the computer, as if he hadn’t just been casually fabricating their work reports.
“Why are you doing that?” Tim asks incredulously.
“You have bills to pay,” Martin mutters.
“You know, I did consider that before I committed to striking. But I didn’t ask you to cover for me, as far as I remember.”
With a sheepish shrug, Martin saves the report he’s apparently just finished somewhat illegally filling out. “Yeah, well, someone has to make sure Elias doesn’t have anything to hold against us.”
Oh.
Tim mentally kicks himself for not thinking of it like that. Then he imagines Sasha kicking him for not thinking of it like that, which works far more effectively and sends shockwaves of guilt through his very bones.
He should have known Martin wouldn’t just let him sabotage his own career, even if said career is mostly just some kind of supernatural pyramid scheme building up towards the end of the world or whatever. Well, either way, he won’t have Martin putting himself on the line for his sake.
“What, and Elias wouldn’t hold fraud against you?”
Martin shrugs again. “Better me than you.”
It takes a moment for that to register, after which Tim blinks in disbelief. “Better…? Say that again. Martin Blackwood, look me in the eyes and tell me again that you wouldn’t suffer far more than I would if Elias were to fire one of us.”
The following silence says enough; Tim decides there and then that his attempts at rebelling against The Magnus Institute have gone on long enough.
“We’re going out for ice-cream,” he declares.
Martin’s head snaps up at that and he frowns in confusion, clearly not having expected the sudden shift from being scolded to being treated. “Ice cream?” he echoes.
“You heard me,” Tim grins, trading his guilt for a fierce determination to make up for being such an absent friend lately.
“But--”
Tim places a finger on Martin’s lips. “Shh, none of that responsible nonsense now. You’ve done more than enough work around here, I’m sure one apology ice-cream break won’t hurt.”
“What are you apologising for?” Martin asks, and Tim is once again filled with the urge to knock Elias’ annoyingly perfect teeth out.
Instead of doing that, he crouches on the balls of his feet and meets Martin’s gaze where he was seemingly attempting to memorise the patterns on the carpet. “For leaving you behind in my selfish ambition to prove a point to our bosses. And don’t tell me you would have done the same because you didn’t , and I’m really sorry I’ve been so busy being angry at the likes of Jon that I forgot to not be angry at you.”
“I’m angry too,” Martin admits, so quietly that Tim wouldn’t be surprised if it were the first time he’s let himself admit it.
“You have every right to be,” Tim assures him, and Martin offers him a small, wobbly smile in return, a smile that he hadn’t realised how much he’s missed. “Ice cream is scientifically proven to help reduce anger, by the way.”
Martin laughs. “I thought crunchy food was the remedy for anger?”
“Yeah, exactly, crunchy ice cream . Don’t doubt me, Martin, I know what I’m talking about here,” Tim replies with a wink.
As expected, Martin rolls his eyes. But his shoulders have fallen from where they’d been hunched over with tension and his frown lines have softened into amusement so Tim takes the partial loss of his dignity as an overall win.
“Now come on, grab your coat and let’s get going before that fancy place we love shuts down.”
When Martin opens his mouth to protest, Tim springs to his feet and leans over the desk, logging him out of the computer. “Oh, would you look at that? You seem to have been logged out. I guess you’ve got no choice but to follow me now.”
“Tim…” Martin whines, but his eyes are sparkling.
“Martin…” Tim mimics teasingly. “Come on, slowpoke, let’s go already.”
“Hang on, some of us were actually working …” Martin mumbles, but Tim doesn’t take it personally because he knows he can’t fault Martin for a single thing when he’s partly to blame for his recent workaholic tendencies. He still blames Jon more than himself, of course, but he’s not so ignorant as to think he’s in the clear.
Soon enough, Martin has packed up his things and the two of them are ready to go, with Tim making a note to get Martin something nice for his desk to make sure he doesn’t lose himself in the statements he’s taken to organising.
“What was that weird flavour you tried last time?” he asks as they leave, trying to distract Martin from the uneasy look that had emerged on his face as they’d gotten closer to the doors, as if doing something nice for himself was a crime.
“Cinnamon roll,” Martin replies with a chuckle. “It was actually really nice.”
Tim rolls his eyes this time, though they both know he isn’t judging Martin in the slightest. “Yeah, but I still don’t think it should be an ice cream flavour. I mean, come on, why not just get a real cinnamon roll?”
“Like you were any better! Didn’t you pick black forest gateau?” Martin retorts, successfully distracted.
“And I would pick it again! In fact, that masterpiece is what I’ll be getting today,” Tim decides. To be honest, he doesn’t entirely remember what it had tasted like, but proving a point to Martin whilst simultaneously eating at least a little of his guilt away seems worth the gamble.
He knows one ice cream won’t fix everything, but it does make for a delicious starting point at least.