Work Text:
Things are different, with Jon back from America and in the archives again. It's almost easy for Martin to trick himself into thinking everything is normal again – you know, ignoring the mannequin apocalypse hovering over them.
But then, sometimes, something so strange will happen that it takes Martin right out of that little fantasy. Like now; Martin had come into the archives, a pile of books precariously balanced in his arms, and pushed open the door to Jon's office, calling out his name.
Only to find his desk empty.
Now, in any other workplace this wouldn't be too strange. People go places sometimes, that was normal. Maybe Jon had just gone to the bathroom!
But Jon had gone missing enough times for his sudden absence to send panicked alarm bells going through Martin's head.
“Jon?” He called out, mildly frantic, dropping the books onto one of the few free spots on the desk. There was no response, so Martin whipped around and briskly walked back the way he came. Dimly he knew that he shouldn't be panicking so much just because Jon wasn't exactly where he expected him to be, but the last time that happened he'd been held hostage by messed up wax figures for a month and no one knew, so he felt that some degree of worry was perfectly natural.
Jon… probably hadn't left the Institute – he rarely did these days, and if he did he told someone. It seems that getting kidnapped twice in the span of a few weeks could knock self-preservation even into him.
So he was probably still inside somewhere. Martin checked the break room first, no matter how unlikely it was that he was there. He thought, briefly, about asking someone- but he had no idea where Tim or Melanie were, and Basira was reading in the library. And it wasn't like any of them actually cared; they'd probably just brush his very valid concerns off.
The break room was, predictably, empty. There was a mug turned over by the sink to dry, which was the only thing letting Martin know that anyone had been there at all. It was Basira's, he assumed, since the design wasn't familiar to him and she was the last to move her things into the archives.
Jon wasn't in the main office either, where Martin's and Tim's desks stood pushed close together and Melanie had claimed one of the couches by the bookshelves for herself. He wasn't in the library either, since Martin had just been there to retrieve the books. That really only left document storage.
Martin sighed. He didn't like document storage, it freaked him out even before he spent months living in the archives, got trapped there by worms, and almost died. It was dark and uncomfortable and spooky.
… Jon would hate him if he heard him describe it that way.
His shoulders slumped as he stopped in front of the door, slightly ajar. It was quiet inside, so Martin didn't think Jon was in there, either. He was starting to really worry now, about where Jon might've gone. Was he okay? If he got kidnapped again, Martin would ask Melanie about her murder plans against Elias, he swore it-
Something shuffled inside.
It was only a faint noise, muffled more than even the thick, soundproof door should manage with it being ajar, and Martin was suddenly brought back to times when he'd hear noises and squelching and he'd convince himself it was the faulty piping only to find weeks later that Prentiss was literally in the walls-
Martin shuddered and shouldered the door open. If there really was another Prentiss, or something like it, he would confront it now, before Jon was back. He was already dealing with enough.
Martin was just about to call out, scream, yell, something- When he saw that one of the larger filing cabinets seemed to have been cleared out, with boxes of unsorted statements piled in front of the closed door that Martin knew for a fact were supposed to be inside of that cabinet.
Something shifted inside again.
Martin frowned. Okay- so whoever – whatever – was in there was smaller than Martin, because they – it – wouldn't fit into a filing cabinet otherwise. That was doable. Martin grabbed one of the fire extinguishers they still kept around and hoisted into his arms, ready to use it as a weapon. He could do this, he could defend Jon- the archives.
Clutching the extinguisher to his chest like a shield, Martin snuck up on the cabinet carefully. When nothing jumped out at him as soon as he was just an arm's length away, he paused, swallowed. Reached out and pulled the metal door open by the knob.
Martin yelped and Jon, crouched into the small space, screamed over the noise.
For a few long, confusing moments, they just stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Jon found his voice first.
“Oh, Martin. I didn't- I didn't hear you, were you-?”
“What the hell, Jon?! What- Why are you- Are you okay?” Martin finally settled on asking.
Jon blinked, then huffed a breathless laugh. “Yes, I'm- I'm okay. I just- I'm just going to leave, I think.”
Jon shuffled to get out of the cramped space and Martin stepped aside to let him, still slightly dazed with confusion. Jon straightened to his full height, which wasn't very tall at all, and seemed very intent on not meeting Martin's gaze. He did not leave.
“Jon?” Martin asked cautiously. “What were you doing in the- uhm- closet?”
Jon pressed his lips together, crossing his arms in front of his chest and turning away further. For a moment, Martin thought Jon wouldn't answer, that he'd made him feel judged and that he'd leave. But then; “I, uhm- do it sometimes. When I'm stressed, or- or, you know.”
He gestured vaguely at the air around them, and Martin knew that he meant their situation as a whole. He nodded, thinking he understood; when he was younger and his parents would fight, he remembered that he'd hide in a pile of blankets and pillows in a corner of his room. It made him feel better, to some extent.
“I understand,” Martin hummed. “Uhm- tea? I mean- would you like some tea?”
Jon finally turned back to him, then, with just the smallest smile on his lips, and it warmed Martin's heart. “... Okay. I'd like that.”
Martin returned his smile and offered his hand for Jon to take, and he took it gratefully. They walked to the break room together, and Martin took the mug from the cabinet that he'd quietly labelled as Jon's for himself. It was fully black, with a cartoon of a sleeping, disheveled looking white cat. There wasn't any text, because Jon had once mentioned that he found the quotes on many mugs cheesy and unnecessary, but Martin had seen how happy the cat made him, even if he hadn't let it show.
Now, he prepared Jon's tea just how he liked it; black, with enough sugar and milk to drown out the taste almost entirely but enough caffeine to provide the boost of energy Jon wanted.
He took it gratefully and with another one of those rare new smiles that Martin treasured so dearly and they settled at the small table in the break room side by side.
Martin took the time while Jon took his first long, indulgent sip to carefully catalogue his appearance; his hair was unkempt and long enough by now that he could probably do with pinning it back somehow. He was almost swimming in the large sweater he was wearing and Martin was willing to bet that it actually belonged to that friend of his – Georgie? What little was visible of his skin had a glow to it that Martin would usually describe as healthy, but it was so foreign on Jon that all he could think about were the horrible mannequin things keeping him and- doing that- to him.
A weight settled against Martin's side, and he was very proud of himself for not flinching. Jon had, seemingly unconsciously, listed to the side until he fell against Martin, and their arms were touching now. Jon seemed to have noticed too, and he sat back up quickly, clearing his throat.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to- uh- yeah.”
Martin shook his head before he could think better of it. If Jon craved closeness or- security, or whatever, then Martin could provide at least that much.
“Do you want me to hug you?” He asked, before he could think better of it.
Jon looked up at him, stunned, before evading his eyes again and nodding shyly.
It was all the permission Martin needed to wrap one arm around him and pull him close against his side, and Jon melted.
They stayed like that for a long, long time, watching Jon's tea go cold. Martin thought that he was a good replacement for a dusty filing cabinet.