Chapter Text
Martin remembers the day Elias had told him why his mother couldn’t stand to be around him. He remembers the odd mixture of shame and hurt and confusion at realizing his mother thought he looked like the man who had left them both.
At the same time, some very small part of him was shocked that she had truly seen him as a man. He knew he had been transitioning for a while, but something held him back from feeling like he truly passed. Especially not in the eyes of his own mother, who had seen every phase where he’d tried to force femininity on himself and every time he’d realized he did like parts of it (painting his nails had always been fun, though he seldom indulged anymore).
He almost didn’t believe it. How could he look like his father, when he hardly looked like a man at all? Sure, people were nice enough to pretend that was truly how they saw him, but they couldn’t really. He knew that. And it hurt, but he accepted it.
It had taken him years to be able to look back at photos of himself back then and see it for himself, unbiased by years of self-doubt and dysphoria. He truly had passed, though he still couldn’t see the resemblance to his father.
He remembers that his father always looked a bit harsher. He had never been timid. And he had always had a face lined with years of stress that Martin could never see on his own, despite everything he had been through.
He did not look like his father.
It was in the safehouse when it happened. He had been searching for his coat (he could never seem to remember where he’d left the thing) and had briefly passed the open bathroom door. Out of the corner of his eye, he was certain he’d seen his father, and he stopped dead, turning to face him.
He was met with only his own reflection.
His hands began to shake slightly, as he finally saw what his mother had meant. He could now see the way signs of stress and age had climbed unnoticed across his face, the way his timid smile had curled into a slight frown, the way his eyes had that particular glint….
He stood there for a moment, staring, fighting back tears, as he realized how alike he looked to the man that had forsaken them both. His thoughts began to spiral, and he began to feel a bit unsteady, reaching for the doorframe for support, and-
“Martin, I found your coat! It was- Martin? Oh, good lord, Martin, are you alright?”
Jon nearly ran to him, placing a hand on his arm, breaking Martin’s gaze away from the mirror.
“Oh, uh, sorry, I just- I’m fine, Jon, sorry.”
Jon looked at him with a deep worry furrowing his brow. “Martin. You are not fine. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but please don’t lie to me.”
“Right. Sorry. I just- Give me a moment, yeah?”
“Of course.”