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The trip to Scotland is quiet. Almost peaceful. Normally, they would take turns driving, but Martin is still too out of it from The Lonely to do much of anything. Technically, Jon doesn't even know how to drive. Or, he didn't, until he became ... whatever he is now. Before they'd left, Basira managed to create a fake driver's license for him, and Jon can Know things now, proving that sometimes the paranormal shit works in their favour.
If Jon's leg was causing him any pain, he didn't mention it. Martin suspected it probably did, though knowing Jon, he probably believed he deserved it, and he would not admit it or take a break until he literally collapsed.
When they finally arrive at Daisy's safehouse, they sit in silence staring at it for a few minutes before Martin breaks the silence.
"Ready?" He asks, looking at Jon. His throat is dry, and his voice comes out scratchy and sore. Jon looks at him, smiles and nods. They both exit the car, stretching and wincing at their sore and aching limbs. Jon grabs the bags and the two head inside. Martin manages to stop Jon as he drops the bags and begins to head back to the car, holding up Jon's cane and handing it over with a small, knowing smile.
Jon relaxes, takes it and leans his weight on it, squeezing Martin's arm in thanks. Two years ago, Martin's heart would have been pounding painfully against his ribs, trying to break free from its cage and hand itself over to Jon whether Jon wanted it or not.
"We can unpack another time, hm?" Jon says softly. "Go and relax on the sofa, if you'd like. I'll ransack the cupboards, see what Daisy has and what we need to head into the nearest town for."
"I - I think I'm going to take a shower," Martin replies. "I feel ... I don't know ... unclean." Jon nods.
"Okay." He hesitates, looks as if he's about to say something else, and limps over to the kitchen, the slow thumping of his cane echoing through the safe house.
Martin stays rooted in place for a few more moments before taking the bags upstairs. He knows that he probably goes bright red when he sees the singular bedroom but does not feel the accompanying butterflies in his stomach. He places the bags outside the door, deciding that they can argue over sleeping arrangements later.
~
Jon is waiting for some cheap noodles to cook in a pot of boiling water on the stove when he hears a crash from upstairs, and his heart begins hammering.
"Martin?!" He calls, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. "Martin!" He staggers up the stairs and sees Martin sprawled across the upstairs hallway. "Christ, Martin, what happened?"
"Tripped." Martin mumbles into the carpet. He's tangled up in his pyjama top, a pair of old checkered trousers on that Jon recognises from a lifetime ago, his mind flashing back to the small home that Martin had set up in the Archives. Back before The Lonely and Peter Lukas, before the Unknowing, before Tim and Sasha, when Jane Prentiss' next move and installing enough fire extinguishers to combat her worms was the only thing on their minds.
"Come on, let's get you up." Jon says fondly, getting down as far as he can with his leg and helping Martin to his feet. He sorts out his pyjama top and Jon checks him over, ensuring that he really is fine and -
"Jon, is something burn-"
Jon races back downstairs to the stove as quickly as he can.
~
After some pretty crap noodles and a surprisingly good cup of tea, both courtesy of Jon, the two are curled up on the sofa, only know realising how bone tired they are.
"We should get some sleep." Jon yawns. "You take the bed."
"Jon-"
"Even if I wanted the bed, Martin, I don't think I can physically move any more. My leg-"
"Then let me help." Martin insists. Jon glances at him. "Look, Jon, after everything that's happened, the last thing I want or need right now is to be a-alone. I - I can't do it. And I don't want to not see you. W-what if someone finds us? Elias or Jonah or whatever he's calling himself? I don't want you to get hurt."
"I won't get hurt, Martin. And no one will find us."
"Please Jon, I just ... please. Even if it's just for tonight." Martin says. "I understand that you don't feel the same way, I know that, but -"
"Martin, that's not-"
"Something bad always happens when we split up. Prentiss, Leitner, The Unknowing, me going into The Lonely, you going into The Buried, you coming to drag me out of The Lonely ... something bad always happens."
Jon moves closer and grabs Martin's hands as he begins to shake uncontrollably. "Martin, it's okay. It's okay. Come here." He pulls Martin into a hug. Martin clings to him tightly, gasping and sobbing like he's running out of air and Jon is the only thing keeping him from suffocating.
When Martin's breathing is finally under control, Jon gently pulls back, ensuring Martin is looking right at him before he speaks. "I will hear none of this 'unrequited feelings' nonsense." He says. "This may surprise you, but I am not brilliant at managing emotions."
"Understatement," Martin says.
Jon continues, smiling, "I should have known much sooner than I did that there were feelings there ... not just on your end, but on mine as well. I have treated you horribly, and how you can forgive me, let alone still care about me, is beyond me."
"Love does strange things to people," Martin says.
"That it does," Jon agrees. He puts a hand on Martin's cheek and leans their foreheads together. "But the best thing it has ever done is bring me to you."
Tears spill over Martin's cheeks, cooling the redness and warmth there from his earlier panic. He holds Jon exactly where he is, scared to move too much lest it ruin the moment. "Please," he says softly. "Stay with me."
"I will." Jon replies, "As long as you'll have me."
Martin presses forward just once, just enough to press his lips against Jon's and find them willing and reciprocating. They're both crying now, both clutching each other and leaning on each other as they slowly make their way upstairs, leaning heavily on each other and walls and bannisters when their strength fails, always bringing the other along, always keeping the other at their side.
Jon's cane is left neglected downstairs, a choice that he will regret in the morning when his leg has stiffened to the point where he is almost bed-bound and he swears he can feel the worms burrowing in again, feel the corkscrew digging into his leg, fishing the thing out, making the pain worse, and finally bringing him back to reality, to the Archives, Sasha's grimly determined face as she works on his leg.
But he is not there now. Now he is in Scotland, far away from those damned stacks and the dust and the files and folders and the tunnels and the lies and secrets. Now he is with Martin, who is safe. At least for a short while. Martin helps him to gently manoeuvre out of his clothes and into pyjamas, nothing sexual about the act because God knows neither of them can handle that conversation right now. It is no less intimate, however, no less trusting.
They both place their glasses down, squinting at each other for a moment, laughter on their lips as they burrow under the covers. The double bed is just about big enough for the pair of them.
As they both drift off, the world edges closer to a new threat, but neither Jon nor Martin cares.
For tonight, for as long as they are able to stay and plan and try to prepare for whatever happens next, they are together.