Chapter Text
Matin clutched Jon's hand as if it were a lifeline as their footsteps crunched on the sand. Like everything here, the sound was muted in the fog, sounding as far away as the distant waves. The feel of Jon's hand was the only thing that felt warm, that felt solid.
Jon said that he knew the way to get them out of here, out of this beautiful terrible fear domain. Martin believed him. Martin trusted Jon. Trusted him more than he trusted anyone.
Jon forged ahead, his steps determined. And true to his word, the sand and fog of the Foresaken gave way to cold stone and darkness. They were back in the tunnels below the Institute. Jon dropped his hand to fumble for the torch in his pocket. Martin felt adift without it, as if he was floating in an ocean and somebody had snatched away his life preserver. The warmth of the contact faded quickly, leaving him only with the chill that still permeated his being.
The light hurt his eyes as Jon flicked his torch on. Then he remembered why he didn't want to see down here. Next to them was the Panopticon, with that horrid old corpse in the tower. Martin shuddered to think what would have happened if he had done what Peter Lukas asked. How he would be the one trapped in there now, staring out through a thousand eyes at once.
He was grateful when Jon took his hand again, leading him away from that awful place. It's not like the dark tunnels were more cheery, but at least he didn't feel watched in them. Speaking of, he wondered where Elias had gotten off to. Once again, the rat bastard seems to have escaped unscathed.
Martin knew they were getting closer to the Institute when he started seeing the shriveled worm carcasses on the floor. For a fleeting instant he worried that they might start wriggling back to life, but the empty husks remained still. He still couldn't help but shudder a little at the sight of the disgusting things.
One of the many reasons he had never liked the tunnels, and still didn't. However, he very much liked the feel of Jon holding his hand. He tried to not show how much he liked it, he didn't want to make it awkward. Jon was just being protective. Making sure he didn't get lost.
Martin didn't have a torch himself, so there was only the single circle of light to illuminate the stone walls and floors. The darkness seemed to swallow the sounds of their footsteps, so that they were barely audible. The narrow halls all looked the same to him, but Jon seemed to know where he was going. Martin knew how bloody relentless Jon was when he set his mind to something. He would not stop until they were safely out of there.
Martin stayed quiet, letting Jon concentrate on finding the route. It's not like he would have known what to say, anyway. This gave Martin plenty of time alone with his thoughts. Being alone with his thoughts was the last thing he wanted right now.
Jon had come into the Lonely for him. Had risked his life to rescue him, after months of Martin pushing him away. He still couldn't understand why he did that. Yes, he had also risked himself for Daisy, even though she had literally kidnapped and almost killed him, but Daisy was strong. She defended the Institute. Of course they needed her. Not like him.
What good did he do there, anyway? Everyone seemed to have gotten along just fine in his absence over the last months. What had he ever done that was of any importance? Even his plan to get Elias arrested hadn't accomplished anything, not really. Just swapped one evil boss for another evil boss. Elias had been two steps ahead of them all along.
Wouldn't it have been better if he'd just stayed in the Lonely? It didn't hurt there. The fear was so gentle. There he didn't have this knot of terror and pain and grief gnawing at the pit of his stomach. That brief respite he'd had from having to feel it all made it so much more unbearable now that it was returning.
He wasn't even supposed to be alive right now. He thought for sure that Peter Lukas would kill him once he found out that Martin had been deceiving him all along. Yet somehow he was still alive, still human, still here, and Jon had saved him and Jon was holding his hand and none of this was supposed to be happening.
Maybe it wasn't too late to go back? Would Jon take him back, if he asked? Surely Jon would understand that he couldn't endure this pain and fear anymore. Maybe Jon would even be happy that he was there and safe, where nothing could touch him. Where he could forget about all this, and let all those horrible memories fade into the fog.
He hadn't even realized that he had stopped, that he was shaking and sobbing. Jon was brought up short and whirled towards him, his face full of concern.
"Martin? Are you all right?"
"No," Martin choked out. "No, this isn't right, you should bring me back there, I belong there-" The chill numbness was growing inside him again, and he knew he shouldn't welcome it, shouldn't want it, but the pull to escape all the suffering was hard to resist.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to do that."
"Please, Jon, it's better this way. I won't be able to mess things up, and you know how I always mess things up-" Martin released his grip and turned away, hiding his face in his hands.
Jon set the torch down in order to grab Martin firmly by the arms, turning them back to face each other. He shook Martin as if trying to wake him from a nightmare. "Snap out of it Martin, that's just the Lonely talking."
"No, you know it's the truth, nobody needs me here, nobody even wants me here-"
"I want you here."
"No you don't, you were better off without me around-"
"No. I wasn't."
"You should have left me there, it was where I belonged-"
"There was no way I was going to leave you there."
"But why? You're the important one, I'm nobody, you shouldn't have risked yourself for me-"
"That's not true." Jon's voice was firm, but Martin couldn't stop, the tears and the words just kept flowing on and on and he was lost in them, lost in the certainty that it would be better for everyone if they could just forget him.
"This is pointless, you know that no one here even likes me-"
"Shut up, Martin," Jon snapped, as he had so many times before. This at least was familiar, Jon being frustrated with him. It confirmed everything he had been saying.
But before he could even finish that thought, Jon did something that he wasn't expecting.
In one smooth movement, he reached up to grab both sides of Martin's face, pulled his head down, and kissed him full on the lips.
If it was intended to shut Martin up, it worked immediately. It stopped his words and his train of thoughts right in their tracks. He froze in shock, his brain unable to process what was happening.
Jon was kissing him. Jon was kissing him. There's no way this was actually happening. This can't be real.
But happening it was, and Martin couldn't help but soften into it. He cautiously wrapped his arms around Jon, pulling him closer. Felt Jon's arms slide around his neck as they pressed together. He was so warm and it was everything Martin had ever dreamed of. The burning heat slowly dissolved the chill inside him.
His heart swelled, a new set of feelings rushing over him and making him want to weep all over again. All of this was too much. But this time, he didn't want it to stop.
Unfortunately, that seemingly endless moment in the darkness did come to a stop. Jon broke the kiss and dropped down on his heels but stayed embracing him, resting his head against Martin's chest. He wondered if Jon could hear how his heart was pounding. How could he not? Martin could practically hear it in his own veins himself.
He felt like he should say something, but couldn't for the life of him figure out what that could possibly be. Jon seemed to be at a loss for words as well. But neither seemed inclined to pull away from each other.
"Are you two canoodling down here? This hardly seems the time for that." A familiar voice startled them both back to their current situation.
Martin winced as a new torchlight hit their faces, and Jon quickly pulled away. Martin suppressed the urge to reach for him and yank him back.
"Basira?" Jon asked, picking up his own torch and shining it down the corridor.
"So you found him then."
"Yes."
"Right. And Peter Lukas?"
"Dead."
"Oh. That's good then. What about Elias?"
"Gone."
"Great. But we'll have to deal with that later. "
"What happened…up there? Is everyone all right?"
"Not really. That Sasha thing is gone, and so are the Hunters, but they did a lot of damage on the way. It's a bloodbath up there. Which is why you need to get out of here. Now."
"What Hunters?" Martin chimed in. He knew about the Not!Sasha, felt a pang of guilt that he had been given the chance to warn everyone, to help them—and had chosen not to. But this was the first he was hearing about any Hunters.
"Trevor and Julia," Jon replied.
"You mean, the ones that kidnapped you and were going to kill you?" Martin hated hearing the shrill edge of panic his voice, but why didn't anyone tell him these things?
"Yes. Well. It seems they've back on wanting to, uh, do just that."
"Daisy went after them," Basira said quietly.
"Oh. " Jon's voice was soft and sad.
Martin was about to make a crack about Jon's kidnappers fighting over him, but something about the somber expression on both of their faces kept his tongue in check.
"Anyways." Basira got back to business. "The police are on their way, and they're going to be looking for someone to blame for the mess upstairs. And the Head Archivist who has already been a murder suspect before is going to be a very convenient target."
"Right. So on the run. Again." It broke Martin's heart to hear the resignation in Jon's voice. It broke anew at the thought of Jon being away from him again, now that he had just gotten him back. Plus something terrible always seemed to happen to Jon every time he left. He couldn't take Jon dying again. He just couldn't.
"Daisy has a safe house in Scotland. I doubt she'll go there. It should keep you far enough away until things have died down." She turned towards Martin. "You'll be going with him, then?"
"Of course he will," Jon agreed immediately. "I mean, if he wants to."
Martin sputtered. "What?" The thought hadn't even occurred to him.
"I figured you'd be wanting to keep an eye on him," Basira replied with her usual practicality.
"Was that a joke?" Jon whispered. Basira ignored him.
"Was I wrong?" she asked Martin, as if they all didn't already know the answer.
He glared at her wordlessly. He hated how people were deciding what he wanted without even bothering to consult him. He hated even more that they were right.
"Didn't think so." Basira shifted two large backpacks off her shoulders. "Here are your bags. And the keys and information for the safe house."
"Where did you get that?" Martin asked.
"Were you going through my office?" Jon asked at the same time.
"Stands to reason you've both been here long enough to be ready to leave in a hurry. You know, in case something like this happens." She gestured vaguely upwards.
They grumbled as they took their bags, but there was no use arguing.
"Right. Now I suggest you both get out of London as fast as possible." She turned to Jon. "You know a way out of here that doesn't go through the Institute?"
"Yes, I can get us out."
"Then go. Now. I'll be in contact when it's safe."
"Thank you, Basira," Jon grasped her arm in parting.
"Take care of yourself," Martin said over his shoulder, as Jon took his hand and started leading him away.
"Always do."
Martin's senses were assaulted as soon as they stepped out of the darkness onto London's busy streets. The sunlight pierced his eyes like needles, and he blinked to adjust. How was it still light outside? With everything that had happened that day, it was hard to believe that it wasn't even over yet.
The sounds of the traffic and pedestrians pressed in on him from all sides, blaring horns and layers of chatter rubbing like sandpaper in his ears. The mingled smells of food and people and garbage made him want to retch. After the peaceful numbness of the Foresaken, everything felt too much.
He resisted the temptation to whoosh himself away, as he had so often of late. It probably wasn't wise to use his Lonely powers now, or make it more difficult for Jon to find him again. He would just have to relearn how to exist in the world.
Jon took one look at Martin's face and decided to hail a taxi rather than leading them towards the nearest Tube station. Martin was grateful for that, but again felt that pang of loss when Jon dropped his hand. Was he really keeping track of whenever Jon was holding his hand?
Martin was less overwhelmed inside the confines of the taxi, with a pane of glass between him and the rest of the world. Almost how he felt in the Lonely. Perhaps it wasn't a good sign that he found that comforting.
The train station was a different matter. The sounds echoed off the walls, the lights were too bright, there were too many people, too much movement. Martin felt the panic rising, and worked up the courage to grab Jon's hand himself. To his relief, Jon laced his fingers through his and gave his hand a comforting squeeze.
He let Jon take care of buying the tickets, let him lead them to the platform and on to the train. They took their seats, and Martin curled up against the window, folding in on himself. For once, he was glad Jon was not touching him, the contact was starting to become more than he could bear. But he was grateful for how Jon sat between him and the rest of the train, acting as a buffer. He knew his guard Archivist wouldn't let anyone bother him.
Martin stared out the window as the train began to move. He couldn't even look at Jon right now without thinking about that kiss. Without aching with yearning for Jon's lips on his, his arms around him again. Despite nearly being stuck in a fear dimension for eternity only hours before, the kiss was the only thing he could think about.
Why did Jon do that? What did it mean? He had to admit it did break him out of the hysteria, the cold grip of the Lonely creeping back in. But while effective, it was still an odd solution. Jon wouldn't have even thought to do something like that unless at least a part of him wanted to do it, right?
He wasn't even sure which prospect frightened him more. The thought that Jon would never kiss him again—or the thought that he would.
God, how was he going to get through this? Having to hold it together while stuck alone with Jon for who knows how long. Days? Weeks? Months? Of being near Jon and not touching him, of keeping his feelings bottled up when they were so close to overflowing? It sounded like agony.
Martin's thoughts continued to run in circles until exhaustion overcame him. He wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep, or how long he was out. The light was fading when he awoke, the sky outside turning to twilight.
Jon was slumped against his seat, glasses askew, eyes closed. Here it felt safe to stare at him, while he was safely asleep. The soft light illuminated his face, and brought out the white streaks against the dark brown of his disheveled hair. It had gotten longer, and Martin rather liked it that way.
He gazed at Jon's parted lips, feeling that prickle of heat rise in him again. Remembering how they felt pressed against his. Feeling the absence that they weren't now.
Martin moved his gaze to the dark circles under his eyes, worrying a bit about how little sleep Jon had been getting. It was nice to see him so relaxed now, his breath slow and even. His eyes traced the faint scars across Jon's cheeks and neck where the worms had burrowed in. They were not as red as they used to be, but the small indentations were still clearly visible.
If Jon felt self-conscious about the number of scars he had accumulated, he never mentioned it. His meticulous attention to his professional appearance had fallen by the wayside over the last few years. To Martin, these ones were beautiful.
They were reminders of the first time Jon had actually been nice to him. When the grouchy boss that usually berated him was suddenly concerned about his safety. Martin had been so sure that Jon would dismiss his story, the way he did with most statements at the time. But not only had he believed him, he had done everything in his power to ensure that Martin stayed safe.
It was the first time Martin had dared let himself believe that Jon could ever care about him. As coworkers, yes, and later as sort of friends. But considering that up until that point Martin was convinced that the Head Archivist hated him, his genuine concern had been a pleasant surprise.
He didn't even realize that he had reached out a tentative hand to touch those scars. Not until he felt them beneath his fingers. Jon made a contented sleepy sound, pushing his cheek against Martin's hand. Then Jon's eyes shot open, boring into his with that piercing gaze that always made Martin nervous.
He sucked in his breath and immediately pulled his hand away, embarrassed at being caught. But even in his half-awake state, Jon's reflexes were fast. He caught Martin's hand, sandwiching it between both of his and pulling it into his lap. With a groggy smile, he closed his eyes and drifted off again.
Martin stared at his trapped hand. Felt his heartbeat speed up, the warm flush on his cheeks. He knew Jon wasn't one that liked a lot of physical contact with people. Yet he seemed to like contact with Martin, even when it was completely unnecessary.
Or maybe he just thought that Martin was in need of comfort again, and was just being nice. Yes, that had to be it.
In any case, Martin had no intention of taking his hand away. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and slowly sinking back into the silent embrace of sleep.
It was fully dark by the time they arrived at their destination. After a bit of sleep—and with some distance from London—Martin was starting to feel a bit like himself again. Not exactly recovered, because how do you recover from all that he had been through? But a little less overwhelmed, and a little more able to handle the world around him. That would have to be enough for now.
Jon, on the other hand, had clearly not gotten enough rest. He blinked groggily as the train stopped, letting Martin coax him to his feet. He frowned as they gathered their bags and headed into the station, glaring suspiciously at the few people still milling about, recoiling in on himself anytime someone got too close.
Martin decided to take charge and deal with hiring them a car to the house. He knew in his current state, Jon would be a complete arse to anyone he interacted with. Martin was used to his grumpy moods, knew how to manage them. And he wasn't particularly keen on watching Jon inflict his irritation on anyone else.
Jon seemed content to let him take the lead, watching Martin as he made pleasant chit chat with the driver and learned the local gossip. Martin couldn't read his expression, and tried to ignore the discomfort of his intense scrutiny.
He wondered if Jon even realized how disconcerting it was to be looked at by him. To be flayed open by the laser-sharp focus of his eyes. He wasn't sure how much of that was the Ceaseless Watcher, and how much of it was just Jon's natural single-mindedness.
The cheerful driver knew of a market on the way that was still open, and was happy to stop and wait so they could grab a few things. Martin sent Jon inside while he kept the driver entertained, writing a short list on a scrap of notebook paper despite Jon grumbling that he knew bloody well how to shop for groceries.
Martin tipped the driver generously and sent him on his way as their bags sat on the porch of the cottage, Jon fumbling for the keys. At last, they were inside what would be their home for the next who-knows-how-long.
It was small and quaint, with a layer of dust on most surfaces. A cozy living room with a ragged mustard yellow couch and scuffed wooden table, facing a fireplace that had clearly not been used in a long time. Tattered checkered red curtains over the windows. A tiny kitchen with an ancient stove and a table barely large enough to accommodate the two rickety chairs next to it.
It wasn't lost on Martin how romantic the setting would be in another situation. Trapped alone in such a small space with the man he was desperately in love with. Martin wanted to crawl inside himself from the awkwardness.
He distracted himself by putting away the grocery items that needed to be kept cold. The rest could be sorted out tomorrow, and of course they would need to make a trip down to the nearby village to do some proper shopping sooner rather than later.
Out of distractions, and with fatigue dragging his movements, he realized he could put it off no longer. He needed sleep, they both did. But they had both been carefully avoiding mentioning that there was only one bedroom in the cottage.
He found Jon in the room, already in flannel pajamas. Just as Martin had feared, there wasn't much to the room. A threadbare rug on the floor with a faded floral pattern. A small dresser, a closet door, and two bedside tables with dusty lamps on either side of the singular bed.
Jon started as Martin walked in. "I-I uh-I'll take the couch, I know you won't be comfortable there-"
"No," Martin said, surprising himself. But the thought of Jon so far away, in the other room, overrode his fear of seeming desperate and clingy. He found himself stepping forward, taking Jon's hands in his. "Please stay. I don't want to be alone."
"You're not alone," Jon replied softly. "Not anymore." Martin knew he was looking at him again, but kept his own eyes on their hands, Jon's thumbs tracing small circles. He couldn't bear to meet that penetrating gaze.
Hadn't Jon said something like that to him, back in the Lonely? He remembered that they had said a lot to each other, there in that endless grey. But thick fog still clung to the memories, so that they slipped from his grasp when he tried to recall the details.
Martin became flustered suddenly, pulling his hands away and fleeing to the bathroom to clean up and change. Jon probably thought that Martin was afraid to be alone after being trapped in the Forsaken, and maybe that wasn't entirely wrong. Jon was just being kind, he couldn't possibly want to share the bed with him, no matter how uncomfortably small that couch looked.
Jon was already in the bed, staring at the ceiling as Martin returned. He climbed under the sheets cautiously, and turned off the bedside lamp. They lay stiffly in the dark, the deep quiet outside a stark contrast to the bustling streets of London. Martin knew he should just sleep, his body was practically begging for it. Yet his eyes remained wide open, his mind racing.
Jon's proximity was like torture. How could he have him so close, and yet so far away? His entire body ached with the desire to reach over to Jon, to draw him close, to kiss him again…
God, what a mess. It's not like his feelings for Jon were anything new, but they were safe as long as he knew that Jon would never feel the same way about him. Unrequited love was supposed to be poetic, with him aesthetically reciting his yearnings to a tape recorder. It wasn't something he had to do anything about. Nothing other than worry and fret about Jon, bringing him a cup of tea or urging him to get some sleep when he worked too late.
Then Jon had to muck it all up by kissing him, of all things. Now it was something they were going to have to talk about. Now his feelings were no longer abstract and artistic, they were a fire that roiled inside him, burning him alive. Consuming his ability to think about literally anything else.
He didn't know what to do with the thought that Jon might actually want him back. Couldn't let himself believe it. Then why did Jon kiss him? Or say those things to him in the Lonely? This didn't make any sense.
No, he had just been trying to calm Martin down. He knew how Martin felt about him, knew what would work. Just like he was in the bed with him now for Martin's sake. To comfort him.
"Martin? Are you alright?" Martin didn't even realize how he had been uncomfortably shifting on the bed. Jon clearly hadn't been falling asleep yet either, his voice sounded wide awake and alert.
"Yeah. S-sorry. Having a bit of hard time getting to sleep." He knew how badly Jon needed rest, and felt guilty for keeping him from it.
"Did you want to…talk? I know it's been rather a rough day."
"No. Yes. I don't know." Martin did want to talk, but there was only one thing he wanted to talk about, and he was afraid to broach the subject.
"What is it?" Martin felt the shift on the bed as Jon turned to face him.
"It's just, I-um," Martin struggled to find something, anything else to talk about. Then, he decided that it was better to get it over with, get past the awkwardness so that they could go back to being how they were. "There, in the t-tunnels. You, um. You kissed me?"
"Yes." A long pause. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't get through to you, and I didn't know what else to do-"
"No, it's alright! I-I didn't mind." He wanted to stop Jon's apologies, but wasn't sure what he actually wanted to say. Oh, he knew what he wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to voice it out loud. Things like, why did Jon think to do that? How did Jon feel about it? And most importantly, would he do it again?
"Was it-was it not good? I know I'm not the most, ah, experienced when it comes to…you know, that sort of thing."
"What?" Martin felt like he had lost the entire thread of the conversation. The question of whether or not the kiss was good was not the issue at all. Of course it was good. It was incredible. Nobody had ever kissed Martin like that before.
Perhaps that actually was the issue, after all.
"I-uh, I could get better at it, maybe?" Martin realized with a sudden panic that Jon was moving closer to him as he spoke. "If I got some uh, you know. Practice."
The gears in Martin's brain came to a screeching halt as it dawned on him that he was being flirted with. The bed suddenly became uncomfortably hot, and his body froze as it wrestled with the conflicting urges to run away and to launch himself at Jon.
He could have this, if he actually wanted it. It seemed impossible that it could be true, but here they were. All he had to do was be brave enough to ask for it.
Poetics be damned, this heat inside him could be denied no longer. Martin tried to keep his voice light and playful, but could not stop it from cracking with anxiety. "Oh? Well, um, if-if y-you ever want some, you know, uh, practice…I-I'd be happy to uh. Help."
Jon slid even closer, so close that Martin could feel his warmth. Reached a hand out, brushing it along his cheek. Martin inhaled sharply as the touch sent electric shivers through him. "That's ah-that's very kind of you," Jon breathed, his voice so low that Martin felt it more than he heard it.
"Oh uh, you know, it's-it's no p-problem at-"
Once again, Jon swallowed his words with a kiss. Just like that, the thing he had been craving all day—the thing he had been craving for years—was happening. Jon was kissing him, Jon's long elegant fingers were sliding through the curls at the back of his head.
Martin's heart melted as the tide of his feelings broke through the dam he had been desperately trying to use to hold them back. His toes curled as he felt the tears welling in his eyes, his hands clutching the front of Jon's pajamas.
Their kisses were cautious and slow, as they both got used to the feeling of each other, of the closeness and the touch. Martin let his arms wrap around Jon's bony shoulders, pulling him closer as gently as a baby bird. The moment felt so fragile, as if the wrong move or word would shatter it.
He savored the heat of Jon's body, the softness of his lips, the way Jon clung to him with a desperation that matched his own. Tentative kisses in the dark, lips pressing again and again with an aching tenderness.
Jon pulled away, his breathing heavy. "Was-was that any better?"
"Hm?" It took a moment for Martin to shake away the pleasant dizziness, to realize what Jon was asking. "Oh, yes, it…I'd say that was a definite improvement. But I think you're going to need some more practice."
"Oh?" Martin could hear the smile in Jon's voice.
"Mmmm. Yes. Quite a lot of it, I'm afraid." And this time it was Martin who surged forward.
He muffled Jon's chuckle with his lips, turnabout was fair play. He wanted to laugh and cry from the sheer joy of it all as Jon wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing against him. Jon moved to deposit feather-light kisses up the side of his neck, along his jaw, and his damp cheeks, bringing a light salty tang as he returned to his lips.
Their kisses became slower as the exhaustion caught up with them. Eventually they became still, laying there with their lips still touching. Martin heard a soft snore and realized Jon had fallen asleep like that, with his lips still against Martin's.
Martin found that incredibly cute and lay very still, not wanting to break the contact. He breathing slowed in the dark, his body humming with delight until sleep overtook him as well.