Work Text:
Even as Martin flails his arms, tries to push against the air as if it’s water, his body continues to rise. Through his tears, he catches what might be a glimpse of the ground vanishing beneath the clouds, but he’s no longer sure which way is down. Then the cold engulfs him, and he can’t get enough air into his lungs, and –
“Martin! Can you hear me?” The voice cuts through the howling wind, and Martin’s vision clears. Kohl-lined eyes – framed by a curtain of thick, black hair – stare into his. “Do you know where you are?”
“The Archives,” Martin gasps, and then the man’s name resurfaces. “Gerard?”
“Right. Now you know why I told you not to touch… oh, hey.” Gerard tightens his hold on Martin’s shoulder as the world tilts again. His other hand grips the book, Essays on Gravity, that he must have yanked from Martin’s grasp. “Steady, there. You’re all right. Let’s find you a seat.” He nudges Martin into one of the empty desk chairs and waits for his breathing to return to normal. “You must be new here, if nobody else warned you yet.”
Martin’s surroundings have steadied, but he still clutches the sides of the chair and digs his heels into the ground. “Some of the librarians mentioned books that were… alive somehow? Until a fire destroyed all of them.”
“Almost all,” Gerard says grimly.
“I thought the other staff were just trying to spook the new guy with a story,” Martin admits. “Like the ones about the haunted tunnels under the Institute.”
Gerard seems to consider this. “Don’t assume that anything you hear about this place is ‘just’ a spooky story.” He gives Martin’s shoulder a final pat and hands him the file that they were looking for. “You might live longer.”