Work Text:
There is a constant chill in the cabin.
That's not exactly unexpected- it almost certainly wasn't chosen for its insulation, after all. The location- isolated, out of the way, entirely unconnected to Daisy in terms of sentimental value that anybody would think to investigate purely by knowing her- was likely far more important, as well as the price in that it likely wasn't so expensive as to require a long and arduous mortgaging process. Plus, the fact that it's in Scotland and therefore would require more work in getting a search warrant out of London didn't hurt.
So, the cabin isn't the warmest place in the world, which is fine for now because it's only September. It's only going to get colder, though, and if they want to stick it out here long-term, then it's going to become untenable. The place was poorly maintained for several years, meaning several winters, so Jon wouldn't exactly be surprised if there was damage from snow or general temperature problems having accumulated by time they got here. The major issue is fixing it, or at least preventing further issues in the coming months.
That's not going to be easy, because, again, the cold is already creeping into this place and Jon's not exactly a fan of waiting to find out exactly how cold it can get. He's sure that Martin isn't either, considering- he hasn't really thought of a tactful way to bring it up, so he's been avoiding the subject with all the subtlety of a car crash, but he would also much rather wait until he knows of a way he can bring it up without causing issues instead of clumsily broaching it and accidentally disrupting the careful balance they've got here.
Jon doesn't know how affected by the Lonely Martin is. He knows, very certainly, that Martin has his own scars from it, invisible though they may be; he doesn't talk half as much as he did before the Unknowing, something he can only attribute to the Lonely's influence, and he's somehow become the more reclusive of the two of them, if they're going by their respective reputations in the town down the road.
They take equal turns getting groceries, too, so it's not like they see one of them more than the other; Jon's just wound up being the more 'friendly' one, according to the town, which is something that's almost incongruent to the people both himself and Martin were back in 2016.
Instead of talking about it- which Jon is, historically, bad at- he's also been thinking of things that could help, before the inevitable conversation. To make it easier, maybe, or to put it off for a little longer so he can savor the peace they have together before he inevitably mucks it up.
A cat, he thinks, might be a fine idea; at least so that it's not just each other that they have for company, so that in the case of Jon accidentally making an ass of himself Martin's not upset with everybody in the house. Cats are warmer and cuddlier than Jon could ever be, which is another point for chasing off the draft in this place. Plus, cats are just great in general, and there's something about them that a person's company just can't replicate.
In the meantime, before making any decisions, Jon has sort of taken to wearing Martin's sweaters. It's just around the house, for now, but he's sure that at some point it'll get cold enough outside to wear one of them out. That, or he's just going to forget that he's wearing it on his turn when he goes for the weekly grocery run.
The sleeves are a little long for his arms, so the cuffs spill over most of either hand; the hems, too, are a little long for his torso, so they usually end at the tops of his thighs instead of his hips, like he's sure they were designed to for someone of the correct size for them.
He hasn't been making a big deal of it. He's not sure if Martin's noticed, either; he's... not been quite as observant as he was back at the Institute, but that again circles back to the discussion that Jon doesn't necessarily want to have but he knows is necessary. He knows that the Lonely is inherently isolating, which isn't conducive to actually looking at and interacting with one's own environment, and he knows that, to an extent, Martin is still a part of it- no matter what he'd said otherwise on that tape.
There's not much to do around the cabin, either- there are repairs to be made, he's sure, but he knows himself well enough that if he tried to start on any repair projects, he'd either get distracted with a million other repairs, or take a break midway through said repair and get back to it in 6-to-10 weeks. He's really not a fan of physical projects, either, so any excuse he has to not do it, he knows he'll take, subconsciously or deliberately.
That's not to say he won't do them at all- just that, considering that none of the weather or neglect damage is immediately apparent or pertinent, he's not going to bother with it at the moment. It doesn't need doing, and he doesn't want to do it. Win-win situation right there.
There is quite a bit of poking around to be done, though, and this is something that Jon takes to with a lot more enthusiasm. There's a lot of dust that's gathered, a lot of old junk that can be either tossed or carefully replaced where it was, depending on how sure he is in its involvement in a crime somehow, and a bunch of general things to be moved around to make the place less cramped.
There's also a small collection of books: less than Jon had in his own flat, but more than he was expecting, given that this is still a temporary hideout, and wasn't meant for long-term use. These, he picks through with great care, because if Daisy had decided that they were worth the trouble of acquiring and bringing all the way out here, then he figures it's only right to give them a fair shot.
So, this particular set of disparate circumstances has all led Jon to where he is now: sitting cross-legged on the bed, with one of Martin's sweaters (pink, and coming unraveled a bit just above the hem of the left sleeve) pooling around his body, hair that he keeps pushing impatiently out of his face, hunched over one of Daisy's books that he doesn't have much of a taste for, but he'll be damned if he doesn't finish it anyway.
The door to the bedroom creaks open, and Jon doesn't look up from the book. The quicker he powers through it, the quicker he can say he's read it. He's sure it's just Martin, coming back in from going to town for a few things they'd run out of (shampoo and conditioner, specifically. Jon's still not used to how much of that stuff he goes through now, as compared to most of his life when his hair had been a more manageable length) and he hums a quiet greeting without taking his eyes off the page. Footsteps move from the door, to the bathroom, and then back out to the bedroom, before stopping abruptly.
"Is that my sweater?" Martin asks, incredulously, and Jon's head does pop up at that. He absently dog-ears the page he's on- it's not like any of these books were in pristine condition before he messed with them, their pages can take a little folding- and tucks his hair behind his ear (again) so he can actually look at Martin in the face.
"Yes." He replies, unrepentantly. Martin huffs and crosses his arms in what looks to be a very put-upon sort of overdramatic annoyance.
"Didn't you bring your own sweaters?" Martin asks, accusingly in that way of his, the one where it's clear he's not genuinely mad. It's kind of cute, if Jon thinks about it. Then again, everything Martin does is kind of cute in his opinion, so he can freely admit that he's biased on that front. He still feels his ears heat up at the question, because yes, he did bring his own sweaters, but those aren't knitted and nice, they're mostly grey and faded and worn through at the elbows and the youngest of them was purchased in Bournemouth just before he left for Uni.
"I like yours better." He says, a touch embarrassed now, and he brings up one of his hands to pull at the collar of the sweater so it's a bit closer to covering his face. That's an old habit, despite the fact that he's only recently started wearing sweaters large enough to do it with- he had been a very annoying child, and one of his worse habits was chewing on the collar of any shirt he'd happened to be wearing. He's since grown out of that, thankfully, but still occasionally pulls at a shirt collar to cover the bottom half of his face.
"Besides," He adds, "It's drafty in here. I get cold easily." He knows the defensiveness is clear in his voice, but he doesn't much care. It's true, after all, and it's an entirely neutral statement. It doesn't have to be about the Lonely if Martin doesn't want it to be; a part of "having the conversation," in Jon's personal opinion, is letting Martin be the one to direct it. If that means that they talk about it right now, then they talk about it right now; if, every time there's an opening for it, Martin veers away and they never talk about it, then they never talk about it. He at least wants to offer the choice, even if it's indirect. He'd have liked to have the choice, when it was just him marinating in his own hunger and misery in the Archives. He'd have liked someone who understood, as well, but it's not like he can guarantee he'll completely absorb what Martin went through in the Lonely, either. Daisy was who he had, and she was fine enough; he's sure that he can be something, to Martin, for Martin, if that's what he wants.
"... It's only going to get worse over the winter. You think we could figure out how to fix the insulation in here before it starts snowing?" Martin asks, after a soft pause, and Jon shrugs. Guess they're not having that Lonely conversation now, not that Jon minds. He's still not sure of what he should say in the event that it does happen.
"Maybe." Jon hums, thinking about the logistics of it. "We could figure it out easily enough, it's just executing it that'll be the problem. How are your carpentry skills?" He asks in turn, and Martin snorts.
"Nonexistent." Martin laughs, and Jon smirks as he puts his hair back (again) so it's out of the way.
"I've put IKEA furniture together before. I think that's about the extent of it for me." Jon says, though at least if he was to go on any home-fixing endeavors, he'd have the aid of the Beholding on his side.
"You're practically a professional already." Martin says, and Jon rolls his eyes. The smile's still very visible on his face, though, so it's not like he's sending mixed signals here. He's doing his best to not do that, to keep it very clear that he very much wants Martin around, and he doesn't know if it's working but he knows it's not hurting anything.
"We can solve that problem at a later date. Right now, your sweaters are a perfectly functional solution." Jon says, and turns back to the book. His hair falls back into his face as he turns his head, and he audibly grumbles in frustration. Good god, how does anybody manage to deal with this on a daily basis?
"Do you want a hair tie or something?" Martin asks, a little amusement in his voice, like he's pointing out something perfectly obvious. Jon huffs, blowing the air up out of his face for a moment before it flops back into his eyes. He's given up at this point. It will do what it wants.
"I'm of a mind to hack it off entirely." He mutters darkly, and he hears Martin walk closer and start pulling the strands that are by his face back behind his shoulders, and running his hands through them. It feels really nice, actually- it reminds Jon of why he hadn't just lopped it all off once it went down to his shoulders. He's thrown for a loop when Martin stops entirely, after a moment, but he gets his answer as to why quickly enough.
"Sorry, I wasn't sure if you were alright with me just grabbing your hair and braiding it- I'll stop, if you want- " Martin starts rambling, in a little bit of a panic, and Jon interrupts him.
"No, Martin, it's fine. I liked it." He says, and Martin sighs in apparent relief as he resumes braiding Jon's hair.
Even if Jon ends up mucking up the inevitable conversation, even if they can't figure out how to make the cabin as hospitable as they would like, Jon thinks that they're actually going to be able to turn out alright.