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Martin is no stranger to loss. It seems to follow him throughout his entire life.
He first experienced it at 3, when Grandma's dog, Sparky died, followed by Grandma herself just a few months later. In all honesty, Sparky's death affected him more, because of course a toddler would care more about the friendly dog than the stern old lady who talked about adult things with his parents. Not that the reasoning makes Martin feel any better about being a bad grandson.
After that, it seemed like he was a lighthouse for loss, always guiding the pain towards himself. At 9 or 10, his dad left and never returned. All photos of him were removed, and whenever Martin cried or asked questions about him, he was harshly reprimanded, so his father simply became a mess of hazy memories.
When Martin dropped out of school at 17, his friends continued their education and moved on. A few kept in touch for a while, but the number of messages gradually lessened, until he only had Mum.
Then she insisted on being put in a home. He lost her too.
When Martin got a job at The Magnus Institute, things were ok for a while. He made new friends and had a long-term, steady income; enough to support himself and pay for the nursing home. Things were going well.
Until everything went wrong. Prentiss attacked and Sasha died.
It had been a year. A year before they even realised she was gone. And things went further downhill from there.
The Unknowing. Tim, Jon and Daisy. Gone, all at once. He tried to stay strong, tried to keep his head, not to let the grief overwhelm him.
But then Mum died too.
After losing everyone who he cared about, when Peter Lukas made him an offer- well, it seemed like an obvious choice. It could at least help his friends be a bit safer for awhile.
Losing himself was easy. He never really liked himself and barely even knew himself. So much of his life was spent caring for others, making sure they were comfortable and alright, that he couldn't have said what was him and not. The numbness and not having to worry about how others saw him was comfortable to an extent.
Then Jon came back.
Martin couldn't stop. Not then. He had to keep Lukas's trust and continue with the plan. He avoided Jon, trying hard to ignore the leaps his heart made at the sight of him, losing him again, in a very different way.
When he fully succumbed to the Lonely, he was sure that he would stay there forever. The last thing he expected was for Jon to risk his life to take him out. But he did. And he succeeded.
The following month was the best he ever had. Scotland, safety, cows, Jon. Until the whole world went to shit.
~~~
Martin thought he would have been able to deal with it a bit better after everything. But nothing could have prepared him for this.
It's been a year. He's lost Jon. Again. Finally, after so many years of unrequited pining and frustration, Martin could finally say that he was in Jon’s arms. Even during the apocalypse, everything crumbling around him, he knew Jon was there to keep him safe. There to pull him out of the Lonely again when things became too much.
The Lonely…
Martin can feel its icy tendrils trying to coax him back. Inviting him to the familiar cold of a foggy beach, where he can forget what he went through and everything he lost.
-
It’s been a year. A year since he plunged the knife through the chest of his lover. The knife that sliced unyieldingly straight into his heart, thanks to the missing ribs no longer providing protection. Martin may as well have been plunging it into his own heart, the pain was unbearable. The thing he feared the most, losing Jon- no not just losing him- killing Jon. It was the worst thing he had ever imagined in his worst nightmares. And it became a reality.
It’s a selfish pain. He killed someone, and yet, all his pity is focused on himself.
-
It’s been a year. A year since he landed alone in this visually familiar, yet terribly different place. He made himself a new life, but he has no one to talk to. No one who’d understand. The friendly couple next door are nice enough. They invite him over for tea and pleasant conversations every once in a while. But he can’t talk to them about what he's experienced. About what he's lost. His coworkers at the small cafe are nice too. Especially Linda. They joke and laugh about awkward experiences and he listens to her gush about the pretty customer she has a crush on, trying not to show his own crushing heartbreak - That's something else he's familiar with: pushing down his own pain in order to make others more comfortable. He encourages Linda to ask out the customer, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that he should have asked out Jon sooner. Maybe then, they would have had some more time together.
He cheerfully chats with others, but the moment he’s home again, like now, the ocean of grief comes crashing in. He cries all his tears and replays memories in his head. Of the good times: Helping Tim to prank Jon, celebrating New Year's with his friends, being curled up next to Jon in a warm bed, saying "I love you" for the first time. And of the bad times: being yelled at after he knocked over a stack of statements, worrying that Jon and the others wouldn't return from the Unknowing, sitting next to the hospital bed, having to avoid Jon when all he wanted to do was scoop him into a crushing hug, trying to comfort him when the guilt of the apocalypse weighed down on him.
-
It’s been a year. He’s avoided returning to the Lonely for this long. It was hard, god it was so hard. The first couple of months were the worst. There's nothing lonelier than being in a new world with no family or friends. No one to relive funny anecdotes with. No one to work through the trauma with.
Nothing lonelier than knowing he’s the reason he’ll never see Jon again. The one person who has ever truly loved him. Not his dad, not his mum. Not his school dates, not Sasha or Tim. Jon was the only person who loved him deeply and truly and Martin loved him back the same.
But now he's gone. And Martin is alone again. Just like he always has been.
He fights against the Lonely because it’s what Jon would have wanted. Jon always came to pull him out when he'd given in, and Jon wouldn't have wanted him to give up now. He has to be strong. He can't afford to forget that. He can't afford to forget Jon.
But Jon is gone now. And it would be so comforting… To be covered in that blanket of nothingness. To be numbed of the pain and the loss and the guilt.
The temperature in his living room drops and Martin notices a swirling cloud of mist in the corner of the room, although no windows are open. He feels the familiar call, the smell of an ocean breeze, the soft sound of waves lapping up onto a shore. If he goes now, he knows he won’t come back. His Anchor is gone. He can’t. He won’t.
“My name is Martin Blackwood. I’ve lost people, but I am not alone. They’re still in my memories, they’re still in my thoughts. I have new friends. I am not alone. I am Martin Blackwood. I am not alone.” He repeats the familiar words aloud like a mantra, but they don’t have the same force or determination as other times. His eyes fill with tears as his words trail off.
“I’m sorry Jon,” he whispers. “I love you.”
He sits up straight and watches the fog fill the room, the smell of sea salt gradually becoming stronger. His instincts yell at him not to submit to the Lonely, to fight it. But he doesn’t. Martin closes his eyes and puts up no resistance as his surroundings become colder and he feels his emotions dampening.
~~~
He opens his eyes and looks around. He's kneeling on a foggy beach, a light rain drizzling on him. He didn’t mind though, he barely feels it. He barely feels anything.
The sea drags on, the gentle waves stretching over the swirling horizon. The coarse sand beneath his legs is grey and unremarkable, much like everything around here.
Where is he?
Who is he?
He's alone, he knows that. That's all he knows. There is no one around here and there never will be.
He tries to think of who he is, who he knows, where he comes from. He tries imagining faces.
His mother? Surely he must have a mother. But what does she look like? What's her name?
He doesn't have any friends. He's never had any friends. He's alone. He's always been alone.
He has nowhere to be. He has nowhere to go. No one will notice him missing.
He doesn't mind. He sits there and lets the fog cloud his mind.