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“Hey, Tim.”
Tim sighed where he sat, back leaning against the old and tattered brick of the Institute’s back wall. His jaw was clenched, his face screwed up in anger, yet there were tear tracks down his cheeks. “What do you want?”
Martin stepped out of the door into the alley, and shut it quietly behind him. “Just…wanted to check on you. I, um. Brought tea.”
”You can’t fix everything with tea, Martin.”
“I know.” Martin sat down next to him and offered a mug anyway. Tim didn’t take it. Martin set it on the concrete between them. He brought his knees to his chest and sipped his own drink in silence, unsure of what to say but hoping he might be able to think of the right words regardless. “Is there…is there anything I can do for you…?”
“You can keep Jon the fuck away from me, that’s what,” Tim snapped, his voice venomous.
Martin didn’t say anything to that. Time stretched between them in an awful silence.
“I should have noticed,” Tim eventually whispered. “I should have noticed she was different.”
Martin’s heart clenched in sympathy. “You couldn’t have, Tim. None of us could. That’s…kind of that creature’s whole thing.”
“Melanie fucking noticed,” Tim spat. “I loved her, Martin, and I didn’t even realize she was dead. Melanie hardly fucking knew her.” He brought a hand to his face to shield his eyes from Martin’s view. His shoulders shook, the movement so subtle that Martin nearly missed it. Martin kept his voice quiet when he spoke again.
“You made her happy, Tim. I…I remember how you two were before Prentiss, even though…even though I remember the wrong face.” And I think she loved you, too, he didn’t say, worried it might be too much for Tim to handle in this moment. But it was true. He really, truly, did believe that.
Martin was upset with himself, too, of course. He was beating himself up just as much. Sasha was his friend , during the short time he’d known her. But he knew there was a facet to Tim’s pain that he couldn’t quite understand.
He felt awful for thinking it. He felt horribly selfish and ashamed. But there was a part of him that was glad it hadn’t been Jon. The idea of Jon dying, of being replaced , terrified him beyond belief. But when he found himself going down that train of thought all he could do was try to shake it off the best he could. He was allowed to be privately relieved – but Tim did lose the person he loved. Tim didn’t get to be relieved like he did. All Tim got to feel was pain.
The older man eventually let his hand fall away from his face. His eyes were red, but he was no longer crying. Shifting a bit, he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. Martin sighed, forlorn and with a soft oh , when Tim pulled out a worn, folded-up photo. It was Tim, standing next to Sasha (or the not-Sasha, Martin thought mournfully), smiling behind a table with a lopsided cake on it. Their smiles were so happy, so innocent, with their hearts and minds and bodies unscarred by the archives. Martin wished, desperately, that they could have remained that way.
“This was her birthday, a few years ago. When we were…still in research. I made her that cake. It was fucking hideous. But she loved it.” He laughed then — it was the bitter laugh of someone who hated himself. He traced a finger along her face, before his hand clenched into a tight fist. “I hate that this isn’t the real her. That thing even ruined my fucking memories . My fucking photos. I can’t remember what she looked like, and I fucking loved her. Is this even what she was wearing that day? Did she ever even have that fucking dress?”
Martin felt his own eyes pricking with tears. He wiped them away before Tim could see. “I’m so sorry, Tim,” He whispered, and he knew those words would never be enough. But he had to at least try.
“I wish I had told her.” Tim was gripping the photo so tight, now, that Martin worried he might tear it. “I never told her. I was afraid—” His voice broke, and he paused to take a shuddering breath. “I was afraid she’d only ever see me as a friend.”
Martin couldn’t find the words to respond. How do you comfort someone so grief-stricken over the same thing you are, but infinitely worse? What are you supposed to say to someone who lost the person they loved so long ago and never even knew?
So he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, and sipped his tea as Tim’s went cold, and together in the alley behind the building Sasha died in, they mourned her.