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Most of the bites around Martin’s neck and wrists had healed, if not completely faded. Jon had been quick to close the one that his own fangs had left, once he realized that something -- beyond the obvious attention that Martin had received from another vampire while Jon had been in a coma -- was very, very wrong.
He took Martin’s arm and guided them both to sit on the bed in the Archives that they used to share, and where Jon had lain unconscious for far too long. “Do you know who I am?”
“My new master,” Martin said promptly. His accent was just slightly to the left of the one that Jon knew so well. “I assume that Mordechai Lukas gave me to you, even if you don’t want me to remember.” He bowed his head. “It’s not my place to question you.”
That name sent Jon’s suspicions in a profoundly unpleasant direction. “Do you…” He made himself continue. “Do you know who you are?” He’d found Martin in this confused and submissive state before (had put him there, in fact, albeit accidentally), but then, at least, Martin had recognized Jon, had recognized himself .
“Jonah called me ‘Barnabas,’ and I thought…” Martin’s hands trembled. “But now I’m not sure.”
Jonah. Of course. “He gave you those, didn’t he?” Jon fought to keep his voice calm as he touched the marks on Martin’s wrists. Martin nodded, stammering apologies for letting someone else feed on him, promising that he obviously wouldn’t allow that to happen again unless his master commanded it… “Hush,” Jon said quickly, and tilted Martin’s face upward until their eyes met, hoping that he’d taken enough blood to fuel his next move. “May I look?”
Martin nodded again, anticipation lighting his face. “ Please .”
Through the fog that clouded Martin’s thoughts, Jon could see his memories flickering between the present time, and the streets and houses of a long-ago London. The more he glimpsed Elias’s -- Jonah’s -- face, smirking here and there from beneath an unfamiliar haircut and whiskers, the more brightly Jon’s rage flared, making Martin flinch. “Sorry,” Jon whispered, stroking his cheek. “I’m trying to be careful, I…”
“You don’t have to be,” Martin said earnestly. “You can do as you please with me, sir.”
“What did you just...” Martin had never once called him that. “My name is Jon. Do you remember that much?”
“Jon,” Martin repeated, biting his lip. Then he brightened again. “I left something for you! In your desk drawer. At least, I think it’s your desk. I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you first.”
For the first time since he woke up, Jon smiled. “No need to apologize. I wasn’t exactly easy to contact.”
--
The cassette was, indeed, tucked into the top drawer of Jon’s desk, labeled with his name and a date, which was perhaps a week and a half after the Unknowing. As Jon slid it into the recorder, Martin pulled his own chair closer. He startled when his own voice filled the office, but settled down when Jon patted his arm.
“...so you’ll have an explanation,” the voice was saying, “in case anything happens to me. To the me that you know.”
Martin frowned. “I think I remember talking to you when you were…” He studied Jon’s face. “Asleep?”
“I was,” Jon agreed. “For quite a long time.”
When the recording described how Elias “showed up in the Archives while I was burning a letter from Barnabas Bennett,” Martin’s frown deepened.
“That’s not really my name,” he whispered, “is it?”
“Well, I didn’t think it was,” Jon muttered, half to himself. He knew that Bennett had been Jonah Magnus’s lover and a willing source of blood, though it was Mordechai Lukas who had ultimately taken him as a thrall. Jon was far from surprised when Martin-on-the-tape explained how and why Bennett’s memories had overwhelmed him.
Martin-beside-him shuddered, tears spilling from his eyes. Jon reached for his hand and for his mind, ready to anchor him if the memories returned in a flood.
“... that I’m Martin Blackwood, and I… we belong to each other more than I could ever belong to the Lukases or Jonah.”
“You and I…” Martin tried to steady his voice. “I’m more than just a thrall, to you. Aren’t I?”
“You are.” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand. “ So much more.”
--
“...you’ve never taken more than you needed,” Martin was saying. “I know that much. And I think it’ll help us both.”
Sometime in the last two hours and more, while they tried to figure out what Martin knew, and where he was… foggy, Martin had pulled Jon into his lap. Jon leant on his shoulder, trying to put aside his hunger for long enough to rationally appraise Martin’s condition. He sounded noticeably more like himself now, had recognized the Archives immediately, remembered some of what he and Basira and Melanie had been up to for the past few weeks, and choked back sobs when the memories of Sasha’s and Tim’s deaths resurfaced. “Are you certain?” Jon asked, even as mine, take, devour, reclaim , hummed in his veins. “I’m not sure you’re fully…”
“Back to my old self?” Martin finished. “I think that’s going to take more than just one night. But I remember enough to give you my permission.” He lifted his chin. “And my trust. I’ll give your shoulder a squeeze when we need to stop, yeah?”
The marks that Elias had left on Martin’s neck pulled a growl from Jon’s throat, and he barely remembered to nod. Reclaim . He touched them tentatively with his fingers and his lips, and finally, less tentatively, with his fangs. Sweetness and warmth and life flowed into him with every sip of blood, and he felt Martin’s thoughts melt against his like candle wax. Jon thought that he could have stayed like this forever, that he could take and devour until nothing was left.
But of course he couldn’t. Martin’s fingers dug into his shoulder, and Jon closed the bite with another kiss. “Feeling all right?” he asked. The fog had retreated, and memories of other embraces, other bites, floated through the warm stillness of Martin’s mind; Jon stroked each one with affirmation and reassurance. Mine .
“’M wonderful,” Martin said groggily, resting his head atop Jon’s.
“Well, I won’t argue with that,” Jon said softly, and nestled closer as Martin’s arms tightened around him.
Perhaps, if he hadn’t been lost in the soft, secure warmth, the steady beat of Martin’s heart, he would have heard or sensed Elias before he remarked, “What a lovely sight.”
Jon was instantly on his feet, stepping forward to shield Martin physically and -- he hoped -- mentally. “Forgive me if I don’t lap up your every compliment,” he spat, trying to ignore whatever remnant of loyalty to his sire prompted him to do exactly that.
Elias smirked. “I will avoid the obvious remark about what else you might have been lapping up,” he said, glancing over Jon’s shoulder at Martin. “But I am sincerely happy to see that you’ve returned to us.”
“It seems that you’ve found plenty of ways to amuse yourself in my absence,” Jon retorted. “ What did you do to him ?”
“Nothing for which he wasn’t prepared,” Elias replied. “We all knew where his little attempt at arson would lead. I do appreciate an employee who considers the consequences of his actions.”
“That wasn’t what I--”
“I thought you’d be grateful, too,” Elias continued as if Jon hadn’t spoken. “I certainly didn’t anticipate that his mind would react in such a fascinating way to the introduction of new memories, but if it hadn’t, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself into kissing it better as soon as you woke up, isn’t that right? Though I suppose that Ms. King’s anger management issues would have been enough to make you feel useful…”
As if he could sense Jon’s confusion, Martin whispered, “I was trying to tell you, Melanie’s gotten…”
“Though I’m not unhappy with the current circumstances,” Elias interrupted him. “Having my sweet Barnabas at my side once more has been an unexpected pleasure.”
Jon could feel the fog settle over Martin’s thoughts again as he whispered, “Jonah?” But in spite of it, Martin pushed himself to his feet. “No. I am not Barnabas, and I’m not playing your game.” His hand found Jon’s again. “Leave us alone .”
“ I will take care of my thralls.” Martin’s fingers twitched from the possessive force of Jon’s words. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Melanie felt it, too, from halfway across the city. “If you toy with them again,” Jon snarled, “I will strip your mind to nothing .”
“So protective of your property.” Elias hadn’t stopped smiling. “Do you think that they appreciate it? Then again, you can make sure they’re grateful, can’t you? No matter what you or I do to them.”
“Do you want me to enjoy their helplessness?” Jon asked. “I know that feeling too well.” He could summon those memories easily -- from the grip of the Web on his eight-year-old mind and body, to his anxious months as Elias’s thrall -- and he only needed a second of eye contact to reach for Elias’s mind and push . “And now, so will you.”
Elias staggered back, and furious satisfaction blazed through Jon. He reached for more of his own memories -- Daisy’s knife against his throat, his flight through the maze of tunnels beneath the Institute, his desperate terror and hunger within the Strangers’ clutches -- and poured out the sense of being helpless, vulnerable, prey . He only faltered when he heard Martin gasp beside him, as if he felt some of it, too.
And yet, when Elias raised his head, his voice was as smooth as ever. “Well done, my Archivist,” he crooned, and their bond pulsed with affection and pride…
...before it vanished into nothing.
--
Hours might have passed before Elias spoke again. “I’ll see you soon, Martin. Perhaps we’ll have another chat about old times.”
Jon could barely hear those words, much less respond to them, from beneath the weight of his own uselessness and failure , pressing down upon him like icy water. The sound of retreating footsteps brought only a numb, distant confusion: hadn’t Elias already left them?
When Jon opened his eyes, Martin was kneeling to face him (when had Jon fallen to his knees?), wiping blood from his face (when had he started crying?), and trying to rub warmth back into his hands. “Jon, it’s me. It’s Martin. He’s gone now, but I promise, you’re not alone.”
And Martin knew how that felt now, didn’t he? To be abandoned, forsaken , by the creature that had claimed him, that was still pulling his strings. To depend on a master who couldn’t protect him... Mordechai didn’t protect Barnabas and I can’t...
“...you with me?” Martin’s face and voice were tight with worry, but there was unwavering trust in his grip and his thoughts.
Jon wanted to explain that this wasn’t the first time that Elias had punished either of them with such knowledge, and might not be the last. He wanted to warn Martin: Elias is showing us that he can take me out of commission and leave you vulnerable . He wanted to vow, I’ll never leave you again and, we’ll look into what’s been done to you and Melanie, and we’ll set everything right .
But Jon didn’t want to make promises that he might not be able to keep, so he leaned forward to rest their foreheads together and whispered, “I’m here,” because that much was certain.
Martin’s fingers laced with Jon’s as he shut his eyes. “I’m so glad we have you back, Jon.”
That conviction didn’t thaw out Jonah’s cruel absence, deep in Jon’s chest, but it started to warm him all the same.