Chapter Text
Thursday
Ragged breathing. Snot and frustration poured out in equal measure in stifled sobs that bounced down the back staircase of The Magnus Institute. Unsteady breaths, whose source could do little but hope were sufficiently muffled by heavy metal doors and thick walls, echoed off the stone. The sound emanated from hunched shoulders adorned in the simple but professional navy of a cheap silk blouse already beginning to wrinkle from the contorted position in which the woman sat. One hand marked, impressions reddening as her own teeth dug into the webbing between her thumb and forefinger as she bit down nearly hard enough to draw blood. In her other hand her phone buzzed, inches from her face, the screen lighting up pupils so small they flickered nearly invisible as she read over the message again.
A scraping of metal. The cacophony of noise in the space just in front of her is barely enough to pull her attention as the sound heralds the ruin of any hope of privacy in her breakdown. In front of her stands a man who looks equally as petrified as she feels as their eyes connect.
Martin stares down at a woman he barely recognizes. Horror and embarrassment mix with the contortion that despair had already made of her expression, and she stands quickly, brushing herself off as though the red, puffy nature of her eyes would disappear if she just moved fast enough.
“Sorry, I, um, I’m fine, sorry, people don’t usually use these stairs. Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s alright, uh are, are you okay?” Martin hesitated; he could practically hear Peter tutting behind him, but he pushed it from his mind. There is someone literally crying in front of me; if Peter can’t make an exception for that —he didn’t even bother finishing the thought. Of course Peter wouldn’t. The woman tried to school her expression before sitting hard on the stone of the stairs.
“No! I am not someone who cries at work, but I, I guess, I gu-ess I a-am now! I just, goddamn it!” She shoved her face in her hands, anger more than sadness leading her expression now despite the tears once again streaming down her cheeks. “I’ve worked here for less than a week and now I’m going to be the weepy new girl. And I don’t even want to work here anymore but, what else am I supposed to do? I spent all my money moving here, getting the ff-fancy new apartment, try-i-ing to to-o,” she bit down hard on a rising sob as her body fought between fury and the hiccuping breath her tears forced on her. Martin stared down, not really sure exactly how to help.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Memories pushed at his mind, Tim berating him in the tunnels, thoughts of Besira mocking him for how he would try to help Melany, and his stupid immediate offer to get her tea just like Besira said he would... It would be better if he could just disappear - that was all she probably wanted anyway, to just be by herself, and he was getting in the way of that. But she looked up gratefully and nodded. “Wait here, I’ll bring one.” The kitchen was just down the hallway, but he figured she probably didn’t want to be seen, and it didn’t take long before the water was boiled and a steaming cup was pressed into her hands. She’d calmed herself enough by then and Martin hesitated, half ready to make his excuses to leave her alone until she shifted, clearly expecting him to join her. He did. His own mug of tea felt warmer against his palms than it had for a while as they sat there in a strangely comfortable silence despite the situation as her breathing evened.
“Thank you. I realize I don’t actually think we’ve been introduced yet, I’m Nira, I work in artifact storage now.”
“Martin.” He smiled, reaching out his hand and watched her face pale.
“Martin, the big boss's assistant?” He steeled himself for any possible reaction she could have to meeting someone working directly with Peter. She said she’d only been here a week, but Peter didn’t exactly leave an easy impression, what with literally never being visible. Enough people already suspected something was dangerously wrong with him despite Martin's attempts to keep his tendencies to disappear people to an absolute minimum. As of now no one in the institute had been actually killed by Peter; but that didn’t make him less of a threat. He was honestly surprised the man hadn’t appeared already to tell him off, that just talking to someone put the world at risk.
“Uh… Yes.” He set his jaw, preparing for the worst, a reminder he was working for a monster, a hurried excuse to run away with fear building in her gaze. What he wasn’t prepared for was for her to turn bright red.
“Great, perfect first impression. I’m, I swear I am a professional, I’m good at my job, or, I think I will be, I-I.” Martin felt a bark of a laugh tumble from him.
“Please don’t worry about that. Your secret is safe with me.” Nira sheepishly took a sip of her tea and let out a delighted murmur.
“How does this taste like comfort? It’s a teabag from the kitchen; it shouldn’t be so good.”
“I added a hint of honey, hope that’s okay? You looked like you needed it.” He was lying in part, he’d added two spoonfuls, but she drained half the cup in her next sip and smiled at him. He felt himself smile back, it felt nice. It had been a long time, probably since the start of Jon's coma. He looked down at his own cup at the thought, the steam rising from it like mist that threatened to pull him out of the moment, back to the work he should probably be doing.
“You can tell me about it if you’d like?” He surprised even himself as the words came out of his mouth, and she stilled, staring at her cup.
“I moved here two weeks ago, if the accent didn’t give it away I’m a ways away from home,” she laughed lightly but there was little humor in her tone, “My boyfriend and I, we’d been long distance for a while, a few years, and I finally decided that I either needed to break it off or that we should move in together. He had no interest in moving countries, so I packed up, got myself a workers permit, a job here, and moved into a building way out of my price range. He made us split rent evenly despite him making more than twice my salary you know, and he was so particular, he ‘just couldn’t live somewhere without a view’ while I’d have been happy with any place in London. But, the salary here with the savings I’d built up meant I could make the deposit, and I think I just got swept up in the dream of it all.” She paused, her eyes still watching the cup as though it held some answer.
“It still didn’t feel real even after I stepped off the plane, if anything it felt even further from reality as I unpacked in this beautiful apartment, this home that I’d get to share with the love of my life.” She twisted the string of the teabag, the label of it coming off in her fingers after a moment and her eyebrows knitted together as she had to fold it against the cup to not lose it.
“I started my work here, a bit stranger than I expected in artifact storage, but honestly kinda interesting - though they’re keeping the ‘more dangerous’ items locked up until I’m fully trained.” Martin glanced at her with surprise as she brought her fingers up in quotations as though she didn’t really believe the paranormal side of the objects yet, but let her continue her story.
“I ended up staying later than I realized on Tuesday, and there isn’t really any reception down there, so I missed two of his calls. Apparently, that was a breaking point for him, cause when I got home I found someone else's underwear in our bathroom.
I stood there amongst the half-emptied boxes of my life, staring at a red thong that was absolutely not mine just sat there in the corner on the tile. We were long distance for three years, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how many calls I’d missed of his, about how often this must have happened if he was already this careless. I just… I felt so stupid.
We got into this massive fight, and he said it was my fault for ignoring him, that he was sensitive because so much was changing, that he was giving up so much to live with me, that I should be grateful since he didn’t think anyone else could put up with me-.” She cut herself off in a strangled noise before swallowing hard and continuing. “He’d said similar things before when we had fought but it had always been over the phone, and I’d been able to push it off as just a bad day, but, him saying that stuff while standing there so close, I could see something in his eyes and I, I was scared, and angry and... I broke up with him then and there and went to a hotel. But now, I have no savings, I am already using my credit card for the hotel, and he,” Her fingers shook as she gripped onto the cup in her hand, the remaining liquid rippling in her grasp as she fought back another wave of tears.
“In between his apology texts, and rants about how he knows how bad of a situation that I’m in, that I just need to calm down and give him another chance; he asked me if he should just throw out my stuff or if I finally had an answer as to where he could send it as though it’s not only been two days. Part of me wants to just go home, but I can’t quite quit. I don’t know why, I guess I’m just too stubborn. But I don’t know anyone here, in the entire country, and I miss my family and my friends. I haven’t even been able to tell them. I’m just too embarrassed.” Silence stretched between them for a moment as she returned to twisting the string of her teabag around her finger, “but apparently not embarrassed enough to not spill my guts to my boss’s boss though.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry for dumping that on you.” As she looked up at him she saw his face twist in a realization before he schooled it.
“Don’t apologize, that’s a lot to try to manage alone.” Martin gave her a reassuring smile and part of him felt- off. It only took him a moment to realize her ramblings had felt a bit like a statement and he’d immediately gone to wondering if the boyfriend was possessed with something other than being a massive twit. A statement without the supernatural horror though, without the external entity, it was just strangely sad. Though her being trapped here was most definitely not entirely of her own volition. If she couldn’t quit and couldn’t stay without going back to the ass of an ex… An idea crept up in his mind and he twisted his lips thinking. “Look, I’m not sure exactly what I can do in the long run, but there is one idea I have, and if Peter wants to complain he can do it to me. Follow me.”
****
“Why are there cots down here?”
“The archives often lend themselves to… Unusual working conditions. I stayed here for a few months, and I doubt anyone else is using this room. Just uh, if you find any corkscrews know it wasn’t for partying.” Nira cocked an eyebrow and he winced slightly at his own awkwardness. “Long story, I’ll tell you about it another time. Also, um, the people who work down here can be a bit… brusk? Just if they or Peter give you any problems just tell them to talk to me.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” She looked around the old office he’d called home for far too long and he felt panic creep into him as he wondered if he’d overstepped.
“I just, if you need a place to stay, um, I don’t think anyone would mind, I know it’s a far step away from a hotel but just while you figure out where you want to live, only if you want to, oh god sorry this wa-”
“Are you serious?”
“...Yes?” Nira met his eyes looking seconds away from crying again.
“Thank you, oh my god thank you so much, I swear it won’t be more than a few weeks while I get everything sorted, Martin I cannot, genuinely cannot thank you enough you are saving my ass.”
“Of course, it’s the least I can do,” considering you’re trapped here by the stupid eyeball- he didn’t finish and she laughed.
“It’s the most you can do, seriously. When I find those corkscrews you mentioned I’ll be using them to pour you something alcoholic as a thank you- if you drink?”
Martin paused, he hadn’t really gone out drinking with coworkers, or, well, anyone since Jon’s coma began. Basira and Melany last time had spent most of it integrating him about his crush in-between their collective complaints about Elias; which had at least been cathartic if nothing else.
He looked around the room that had been his for a while, back when Tim and Sasha would invite him out for drinks to try to raise his morale and distract him from Prentis; or honestly also to integrate him about how he could like Jon with how he treated him. He felt a ghost of a smile on his lips as he thought of them teasing out the confession they both seemed to already know; Tim making eyes at both bartenders to try to get them a free round while Sasha and he laughed... Martin pushed away the thought struggling to rise in his head, the knowledge that the Sasha in his memories wasn’t the real one. He knew from the tapes, he knew from somewhere within him that the three of them, before everything started to fall apart, had been a strange sort of family, one he’d never really had. One he would never have again.
He looked back at the cot, remembering Tim and Sasha dragging him from the archives after a full week passed where he’d been too scared to leave, promising the drinks were on them. The memory of them tucked up in the corner booth, the three of them laughing about some ridiculous correction Jon had made to one of Martin’s notes in Latin and how, while embarrassing and potentially illuminating such mistakes were, he couldn’t stop staring at Jon as he prattled off Latin phrases as though pointing out that if Jon knew them everyone should since he’d ‘barely studied’ it. Staring at his gently greying hair, messed and wild from a long day of pulling at it in frustration as he attempted to piece together disparate information kept incongruous by either Elias’s or Gertrude's machinations. Back when the dark circles under his eyes added to his charm rather than acting as a permanent feature on his face. Before the scars from the worms peppered his skin, some of them never fully healing - a fact he always denied while accepting the band-aids Martin would leave on his desk. Before the scar from Daisy peaked above his neckline whenever he would look up from his work despite him switching to shirts with taller collars. Before the burn on his hand he still refused to fully explain.
For a moment Martin was back to sitting at his side in the hospital, watching his chest sit still and unmoving, his skin sallow, his lingering wounds angrier in the harsh fluorescence, where only the twitch of his eyelids let Martin know he wasn’t fully gone, where all he could do was count his scars and hope he could prevent any more. Hope one day Jon would wake up and the end of the world wouldn’t be what was at stake. Jon already had to come back to a world without both Tim and Sasha, a world where he had been changed enough by the eye that he could survive an explosion. He shouldn’t have to come back to more horrors as well. Martin snapped back into himself then, looking at the excited but puzzled face of the woman, and for a moment he felt that warmth from their conversation pulling him back towards kinder memories, but he smiled thinly.
“Oh no thanks necessary, I hope you don’t mind but I do need to get back to work. If you need anything just send me a message.”