Work Text:
A thud sounded around the room as the last cardboard box was placed on the dusty ground.
Jon straightened up and looked around, observing the interior of the safe-house. The furniture was nothing fancy, just simple wooden cabinets, a small table and a sage green sofa that looked well-used. There was a small layer of dust covering everything.
He shook his head. Good lord, Daisy needed to clean better, he thought to himself. But then he stopped, sighed, and went over to the bathroom.
It would be very lucky if she was able to ever even use this place again.
With his shoulders hunched and a new sour mood in the air, he grabbed a cloth from the supply drawer and wrung it in the sink. Then, with a newly wet towel, he returned to the living room and started wiping the table.
Daisy was likely to never return here, to Basira, to the institute...to him. He never thought he'd see the day, but he could consider her a friend. Even though they had their...rough...start, after the coffin rescue, they became weirdly close. If she wasn't with Hussain, she often came to hang around in his office while he sorted through statements or did some other work (or sulked about Martin not talking to him). She also managed to drag him out for drinks a few times, which is more than any of the others achieved (Sasha and Tim were close behind).
But...now she might be gone forever. He was alone again.
Jon blinked a few times, realizing that for all his thinking, he had stopped cleaning the grime. He started again.
No, he wasn't alone, he reminded himself. He has Martin now, and he would never leave him again. Speaking of Martin, he had wanted to clear some stuff away in the kitchen. Perhaps he should go help.
Martin is currently walking back with a-
Jon shut his eyes and pressed a hand against his forehead, putting effort into suppressing the unwanted knowledge.
No, he promised Martin he would not know things about him.
"Jon?"
He turned around at the sound of his name, finding said man standing in the doorway. He looked at him with a hint of concern in his smile, the one that always remained gentle when directed towards him.
God, how he loved this man.
"Oh, yes Martin?" he fully turned toward him, a fond expression spreading across his face as the ginger walked over to him.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Martin placed the back of his right hand on Jon's forehead, worry dripping from his voice.
The Archivist chuckled and pushed the arm down: "Yes, I feel quite alright, just thinking."
Obediently, Martin pulled his palm back, a relieved sigh escaping him.
"Well, good, It's definitely much better if you, um, don't get sick," he said with an awkward laugh, an embarrassed(?) blush spreading on his cheeks.
But then he startled, seemingly remembering something: "Oh! Um, I brought you tea!" He held out a steaming mug to Jon that was only now noticed by the other.
The Archivist blinked a few times. Then he smiled. Of course. They may have only just arrived, but Martin had already noticed something was bothering his companion and decided to do the thing he knew best: make an amazing cup of tea.
Slowly, he took the mug from him: "Thank you, Martin," and then, quieter, "Lord, I love you."
There was a sudden silence as the one in front of him stilled and Jon's eyes widened in horror.
He- he said that aloud.
Oh god.
He snapped his gaze up from the tea and stumbled a step back, only able to focus on Martin's shocked expression.
Oh no. No no no.
"Oh, oh Martin I-" Jon shoved the cup in the other's hands, unable to hold onto it as the petrified words tumbled out of him, "I'm sorry, I thought it was mutual, and-"
"No- wait."
"And in the Lonely you said you really used to love me-"
"Jon."
"But- but if you still mean it in the past tense, then- then I'm sorry, I- I'll just go-"
"Jon, stop!"
The shout, along with a hand immediately holding his wrist, stopped the Archivist dead in his tracks and he turned to look back.
Martin just stared at Jon, an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment of the fleeing man just stewing in his own worry about what he could possibly be thinking, he placed the mug down on the table and moved to hold both of Jon's palms with both of his.
"I- I'm sorry..." Jon whispered.
"No- don't be," Martin sighed. "I- I did mean that. In the Lonely. I still do. I guess we just never said it. You never said it. So it, um, surprised me, all of a sudden." There was a small moment of silence as they looked into each others eyes. "I've loved you for a long time, you know," he continued while turning to look down at their joined hands and rubbing his thumb over Jon's knuckles, "Even before the Prentiss attack. I dreamed of the day you'd say that. And- and in the Lonely, it just, felt safer, I guess? To um, put it in past tense. Like it couldn't hurt me when you eventually rejected me..."
He was brought back by Jon squeezing his hands.
The Archivist took a small breath before speaking: "I- I never knew you felt like that for so long." It was almost like the realization was just dawning on him. "God, Martin, I didn't even know I felt that way until after you left." And with a new air of seriousness, he added: "The one thing I'm sure of, is that I love you."
His friend's - no, lover's - face held so much care as he responded: "I love you too, Jon."
He pulled Martin close and threw his arms around his middle, hugging him tight. The ginger in turn squeezed him around the shoulders and held him close, very content with just staying right there for the rest of eternity. Pretty soon, tears fell from Jon's eyes, soon soothed by a gentle hand rubbing his back as hiccups joined the crying.
Because, for once, they had each other. For once, they could only focus on the present and forget everything that troubled them.
For once, it was just them in each other's arms.