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"We could leave here." The Archivist had said. "You and me. Escape."
They had both stammered through the conversation, although both trying to sound assertive. It had been so long ago, back when Martin had been working for Peter, and yet he was reminded of it yet again.
And now the man who had begged him of the most ridiculous things, the man he had seen day by day dreading the world's end. The man he /stabbed/. He was casually sitting beneath the crook of an oak, book in hand, thinking to himself out loud. It was odd how things processed like that, how dream after dream had become reality for the two of them. There were still so many mysteries to solve, but currently Martin was only fixed on the prospect that they were /alive/. Safe.
He approached the man (Jon? The Archivist? It was all too much of a blur to be focused on) after a long while of contemplation. He'd seen him once, he'd seen him before, so why was this sole meeting so important to him? He attempted to bring the man's attention away from his book, and after a few tries he managed to meet his gaze. It was not laced with hostility, or anything out of the ordinary. His eyes were certainly looking back, but just like any others. He wondered if he still had his ties to The Eye, if killing Jonah even had an impact anymore. It was like he'd originally suggested, pleading to Martin as tension had risen. They were "somewhere else".
As one came to accept this, apparently so did the other as the man set down his book. Martin had nothing to say aside from a simple and short "Hello," which he spoke softer and shakier than he would have liked. He took a brief moment to reminisce on when this stuttery voice had been intentional, in order to get whatever favour he had been needing. When acting on thoughts was just a simple notion. He was awoken from this reverie as he got a response.
"Hello." He stammered, not unlike Martin's response to the conversation he had been thinking of early. He finalised the response by bookmarking his page, closing the book, and facing Martin. "Are you- are you real?" He continued, which only reminded Martin of another memory.
It was way back during the Prentiss invasion. Jon had just elaborated on his reason for fake professionalism, which for once Martin didn't doubt. He had taken a few moments to consider this until he had been asked why he had started working there. He was ready to come up with a fake explanation, yet for some reason next to Jon is was fairly difficult. Their conversation had been fairly rational, as expected, but as every discussion with Jon did at the time it took an extremely odd turn.
Upon trying to rationally explain his work experience, Jon had abruptly questioned "Martin…You’re not, uh… You didn’t die here, did you?" His tone had been serious, although that was typical. Martin could barely even think of a reaction to that question.
"What? What? N-No… what?!" He had continued with a hint of genuine concern, trying to read Jon's expression for any hint of unseriousness. That was always rather difficult, yet he was somehow certain the man wasn't kidding.
"No, I just… No, just the way you phrased that…" Were the next words spoken. It was so impossible, so /ridiculous/ that only Jon would've interpreted his claim that way. He was unsure whether to laugh, sigh, or check over his shoulder for Jane as he'd been doing a while.
He had tried to forget the cans of peaches he'd formerly been trapped alongside with as he quickly replied with "Made you think I was a ghost?"
Jon had tried to make his previous claim clear by uttering "No… it’s –" but he was soon cut off.
"No, no… it’s just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too. We all are, I think." God. Looking back on that, upon his almost unaware awareness. He had been so accurate with his description, and he deeply wished he wasn't. He tried to push thoughts of The Web away and continue to replay the conversation in his mind as he sat beside Jon beneath the tree. Even if he wasn't really there, at least he was still alive and well in Martin's memory. He hoped that wasn't the case.
Martin had sighed and paused before processing the conversation, questioning "A ghost? Really?"
"Shut up, Martin," Jon had said. Tiredly, yes, but in a surprisingly affectionate manner. He missed dwelling on moments like that instead of dwelling on answers for possibly answerless questions.
And now he sat next to that same man, Jon as he preferred to label him as, silently recalling everything they had been through. Was he recalling the same?
Jon had been replaying the tapes in the safehouse. Laughing at them in a melancholy fashion while wishing it had turned out different. "Can you imagine? If we’d had this?" He had gazed so hopelessly at Martin, then. All that had been left for him was memory. Was he turning to that now?
"But we didn’t, did we." These words had been spoken by Martin, himself, now flipped and turned towards him like a mirror. Yes, it could've just been casual chats over tea and the occasional infestation or interference from an avatar or such. But it hadn't been. And it never would be.
Jon had tried to cut him off by then, yet he still had continued with "So there’s no point in dwelling."
He snapped back to reality in an instant, the past now the past and the present once again the present. He stood along with Jon, taking his hand and approaching the still unanswered future.
No point in dwelling.