Chapter Text
“Is this it?” Martin asks, staring at the peeling yellow paint on the front door they’re standing in front of. He’s pretty sure the fears haven’t been here long enough for the corruption to have actually taken hold here, but the house looks as though it’s an entire domain by itself.
“Yep!” Annabelle says, as frustratingly cheerful as always, and forces the key she’s holding into the rusty lock. “Lovely, isn’t it?”
“That’s not quite the word I would use,” Jon says dryly, and squeezes Martin’s hand. “Still, we’re lucky we could get a house at all. Our bank accounts stayed in the old London.”
Martin sighs. “I know, I know. I just wish it looked a little less…”
“Mouldy?” Oliver suggests, running a finger over the doorframe, and Martin scowls to himself.
“No,” he says, although that was exactly what he had been about to say. “I was going to say run-down.”
“Are you coming?” Annabelle asks, poking her head back into the hall. “Or are you all going to stand on the doorstep for the rest of the day?”
“Maybe it’ll be nicer inside?” Jon suggests, stepping over the threshold.
It’s not nicer inside. There’s black mould in the corners and the windows are so filthy that barely any light can get in, and Martin’s pretty sure he sees a rat scurry away when he steps into the kitchen.
“Great,” he says to himself, opening a cupboard. The handle comes off in his hand and he stares at it for a moment before leaving it on the counter.
There’s no furniture, apart from an old sofa that resembles the one they’d found in the extinction domain. Annabelle seems to have already claimed it, stretching out across the whole thing and putting her feet up on the arm.
“This is nice,” she says, and Martin honestly can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic.
“I think a trip to Ikea might be in order,” Jon says, sitting down on the floor and pulling Martin down beside him.
“Does this world have Ikea?” Martin asks, and Jon nods.
“All worlds have Ikea, Martin.”
There’s no way he can know that for sure, but he sounds pretty certain.
“He’s right,” Annabelle says, and Martin glowers at her.
“There’s no way either of you know that.”
“I’m still the eye’s special little boy,” Jon says, and Martin rolls his eyes, although he can’t be mad at Jon.
“Cute,” Annabelle says, and Martin glares at her.
“Hey,” Oliver says, padding down the stairs and into the lounge. “I think we have a problem.”
“What is it?” Martin asks, and Oliver sighs.
“We only have two bedrooms.”
“Oh,” Martin says, and turns to look at Jon, who’s suddenly taken a great interest in the floor. “Did you know this before we got here?”
“Well,” Jon says, in a way that means yes, but I didn’t want to tell you.
“Really, Jon?” Martin says, a little pained.
“I think it’s nice,” Annabelle says, because of course she does. “We can all have some avatar bonding time, you know?”
“Absolutely not,” Martin tells her.
“Does this mean I have to share with her?” Oliver asks, and he sounds a little uncomfortable about it. Martin considers for a moment and decides he doesn’t really feel sorry for him.
“Well obviously Jon and I will share,” he says. “So, yes.”
“Wonderful,” Oliver says, pained, and Martin smothers a smile.
“There are no beds,” Jon says, “so for now Annabelle can have the couch, I suppose.”
“Why does she get the couch?” Martin protests. Not that he actually wants the couch, but he also doesn’t want Annabelle to have it. If anyone deserves it it’s probably Jon.
“Because I’m a lady,” Annabelle says, “and it’s polite to let the lady have the couch.”
“I don’t mind who has it,” Oliver says. “I don’t really need to sleep.”
God, he’s so nice. Martin hates how nice he is.
“We can sleep on the floor,” Jon says, squeezing Martin’s hand. “Just until we get some beds.”
“Alright,” Martin says, and stands, pulling Jon up with him. “Come on, I want to see the rooms.”
The rooms are just as bad as the rest of the house. One of them has spiderwebs all over the ceiling, and Jon pulls Martin out of that one as quickly as possible.
The other room has a few questionable stains in the middle of the carpet, but noticeably less spiderwebs, so they put their bags down in one corner. Not that there’s actually much in their bags; just a change of clothes and the little money they have (which had been, to Martin’s displeasure, a gift from Annabelle. He hadn’t asked where she’d got it).
“Alright,” Jon says. “First thing tomorrow, we should go out and get some cleaner.”
Martin nods, kissing his cheek. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
At least they’re together.
He doesn’t feel quite so hopeful when he wakes up at six in the morning, back aching, to an argument downstairs. Jon is noticeably absent, and something in his chest twists as he gets up, pulling his jumper on, and hurries down the stairs.
He finds Jon in the lounge, to his relief, arguing with Annabelle. There are spiderwebs all over the ceiling and the couch, and Martin can kind of see why he’s frustrated.
“Good morning, love,” he says, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist, and Jon sighs, leaning back against his chest.
“Morning, Martin. Did we wake you?”
“No,” Martin lies. “It’s fine.”
Jon knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t comment.
“Do I not get a good morning?” Annabelle asks, and Martin scowls at her over Jon’s shoulder.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing,” she says, innocent, and Jon snorts.
“Apart from the spiderwebs.”
“They had nothing to do with me,” she says, brushing one of them off her shoulder.
“Oh, so the spider woman has nothing to do with the spiderwebs,” Martin says sarcastically, kissing Jon’s cheek. He wishes he could make tea, but there’s no kettle in the kitchen and he has no teabags.
“A strange coincidence,” Annabelle insists.
Jon rolls his eyes. “I just asked you, politely, to get rid of them.”
“And I, politely, said no.”
Martin glares at her. “Would it be that difficult?”
“Yes,” Annabelle tells him, yawning.
They’re interrupted by the squeak of the front door, and a moment later Oliver appears in the lounge, carrying a cardboard tray with four Costa cups. At least, they look like Costa cups, although the logo says Co-star.
“Hey,” Oliver says. “Everything alright?”
“Fine,” Annabelle says, and gets up off the couch, and going over to him. He offers her one of the cups and she takes a sip. “Mm, perfect.”
“Thank you,” Jon says, taking two of the cups and offering one to Martin. He takes a cautious sip and finds that it’s tea, exactly how he would have ordered it for himself.
“Jon told me your tea order,” Oliver says, and Martin gives Jon a Look.
“Thank you,” he says, reluctantly, and sits on the floor to drink his tea. Jon sits beside him and leans against him, which makes him feel a little better.
Oliver’s also brought them pastries for breakfast, and Martin feels a little more hopeful about this whole venture after he’s eaten.
“Right,” Jon says, wiping crumbs on his trousers. “I think this house is long overdue a clean.”
“Agreed,” Oliver says. “I think we should go out and procure some cleaning supplies, as well as a few other essentials. There’s a big supermarket not far from here, and I think it opens in about an hour.”
“I agree,” Jon says. It’s an irrational thing to get annoyed about (Jon’s allowed to agree with (frustratingly attractive) people, for Pete’s sake), but Martin’s feeling rather irritable at the moment.
“Alright,” Annabelle says. “The shower doesn’t work, but I think we should all get ready for the day and then we can go.”
“I’ll make a list of things we need,” Martin says, because he likes feeling useful. It takes some looking to find a pencil and paper, but he manages it.
Teabags is the first thing he writes, and then kettle.
It makes him feel better, writing down all the things they need. He feels like he’s doing something actually useful, rather than standing about and being the only one out of the four of them who can’t do anything. Not that he actually wants to be an avatar, but he would like to feel a little less useless sometimes.
It’s a very long list, by the time he’s finished with it, and he’s pretty sure they’re going to need more money than they have, but Annabelle assures him it’ll be fine. He doesn’t trust her, exactly, but he does think she probably knows what she’s doing.
She was right, the shower only spits black goop when he tries to turn it on, but the taps work, more or less, and he does his best to wash himself without the use of a flannel before he gets dressed. It helps a little.
They regroup by the front door an hour later, all in clean clothes, and Martin gives each of them their own list, so they can cover as much ground as possible. They have a lot of stuff to buy, and he’d like to get some cleaning done today.
The supermarket has only just opened when they get there, and Annabelle and Oliver disappear as soon as they’re inside, hopefully to go collect the things on their lists.
“Right,” Jon says, standing up to his full five foot and four inches in the way he used to whenever they were walking into a new domain. It’s quite cute, to be honest, and Martin gives him a little smile. “Let’s get going.”
“I suppose you can lead us around?” Martin says hopefully, and Jon nods.
“I can do that. Where first?”
“Tea,” Martin says, decisively. “If I can’t make a cup of tea in the next few hours I’m going to go mad.”
“Tea it is,” Jon says, and he sounds fond. “Come on.”
He leads them through the isles of products that are just a little unfamiliar, until they get to the boxes and boxes of teabags. Martin doesn’t recognise any of the brand names, but he smells the boxes until he finds one that smells familiar, and he puts four boxes in their trolley.
“Is that all?” Jon teases, and he adds two more boxes. Just in case.
They wander out of the isle slowly, and Martin adds few flavours that smell interesting. If Annabelle’s going to be paying he doesn’t really care about money.
“You know,” he says, as they walk out of the isle. “Maybe this world has some good in it.”
Jon laughs, and the sound warms Martin from the inside. “I think it does,” he says, putting his hand over Martin’s. “I really think it does.”
They run into Oliver a few minutes later, who seems to be wandering aimlessly.
“Ah, Jon,” he says, relieved. “Could you direct me towards the cleaning supplies?”
“Of course,” Jon says, kissing Martin’s cheek. “I’ll be right back, love.”
“Like he couldn’t have asked an employee,” Martin grumbles, watching them walk off together, and nearly knocks over a display.
“Grouchy?” Annabelle asks, appearing out of nowhere, and Martin jumps.
“No,” he snaps, scowling at her.
She just grins. “They’re getting on great. Isn’t that nice?”
“Lovely,” Martin says, through gritted teeth, and pretends to study the spices he’s standing in front of.
Annabelle laughs. “You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You look jealous.”
“I don’t … you can’t look jealous.”
Annabelle just laughs again. “Alright, you look as though you’d like to murder the tarragon. I extrapolated the rest.”
“You extrapolated wrong. Don’t you have something else to be getting on with?”
Annabelle shrugs. “Maybe, but I’m enjoying chatting with you. We have such nice chats, don’t we?”
“I wouldn’t call them nice.”
“You’re so rude, Martin. I quite enjoy them.”
Martin scowls at her. “Are you including the one where you tied me up and turned into a giant spider?”
“Oh, absolutely. I especially enjoyed that one.”
Martin glares at the tarragon again. “Just checking.”
A woman standing nearby gives them an odd look and backs away, out of the isle. Annabelle laughs.
“Well, I really must be going. I have a whole list of things to be getting.”
She wanders away, after the woman who’s just left. Martin considers following, and decides against it. As long as she’s not harassing him or Jon (or killing people, he supposes) he doesn’t really care what she does.
It’s a few minutes later that Jon reappears, sans Oliver, and Martin smiles, relieved. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Jon says, jogging over and kissing him on the cheek. “Where are we headed next?”
Martin checks the list and finds that they’re over half-way done. “Home baking,” he says. “For flour.”
“Perfect,” Jon says. “Come on.”
Martin follows him through the isles and thinks about how domestic this is. It’s nice, as long as he doesn’t think too hard about the fact that Annabelle and Oliver are also here.
It’s almost three hours since they arrived before Annabelle comes over to rendezvous with them, everything neatly crossed off her list, and another half an hour before Oliver finishes as well.
“Right,” Jon says. “That’s everything. Let’s go pay, shall we?”
“I hope you have money,” Martin tells Annabelle, and she smiles innocently.
“Of course I have money.”
“Good,” Martin says, and doesn’t ask how. “Let’s go, then.”
It takes them a while to get through the checkout, and their total makes Martin blanch a little. Annabelle pays the whole thing in cash produced from her bag.
They get out with their bags and go to put the trolleys away, at which point Martin realises they don’t have a car and it’s a half an hour walk to the house.
“How are we getting all this home?” he asks, and the other three pause. Three fear avatars, and not a single one of them had thought about how to carry twenty bags and assorted appliances home.
“Ah,” Jon says, eyeing their things. “This may be a problem.”
“You’re the eye’s special little boy,” Annabelle says. “What do you suggest?”
“You’re not allowed to call me that,” Jon says. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t just Know us a way home.”
“We’re just going to have to make several trips,” Oliver says, sighing.
“That will take us all day,” Jon says. “We don’t have time for that.”
“If one of us were an avatar of the lonely we could just take it through there,” Annabelle says, pointedly, and Martin scowls.
“Well, I’m not, so too bad.”
“That’s unfair,” Jon snaps, putting an arm around Martin. “Why don’t you go sign up with a more useful entity?”
“Sorry,” Annabelle says, “who paid for all this stuff?”
That sparks an argument, Jon pacing up and down and Annabelle sitting on the trolley park railing, examining her nails and not looking at him.
Martin sighs and looks around for a moment, making awkward eye-contact with Oliver.
“Will you both shut up?” he says, finally. “We can just … steal the trolleys, and take it home that way, alright?”
Annabelle snorts. “Never thought you would advocate for stealing.”
“You just don’t know him well enough,” Jon says, and he looks proud. Martin glows a little. “That’s a good idea, Martin.”
“Thank you,” Martin says, smug. “Now, should we go?”
“I think we should,” Jon says, and so they do.
They have a slight hiccup when they hit the edge of the carpark and the wheels stop working, but Jon fixes it within a couple of minutes and they make it all the way home without anything going wrong.
“Right,” Martin says, when they’ve finally made it back, because he might be the only human in a household of avatars but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be bossed around, “I think we should clean the cupboards before we start putting anything away.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Jon says, and starts going through the bags for cleaning supplies. The rest of the bags stay in a neat pile in the hallway (well, the suggestion of a neat pile, anyway).
“Alright,” Martin says, pulling on a pair of gloves and a facemask and grabbing a spray bottle of degreaser. “I’m cleaning the kitchen. Annabelle, you can take the bathroom, Jon, bedroom, and Oliver can take the lounge and hall. Is that alright with everyone?”
“Bossy,” Annabelle comments, and Jon aims a kick at her.
“I like him that way.”
“That’s great,” Oliver says, before they can start bickering again. “Thank you, Martin.”
“You’re welcome,” Martin says, and goes into the kitchen before anyone can argue.
The kitchen needs a lot of work, and he goes back into the hall to grab a bottle of bleach and a bucket as well.
The dirt goes easily enough, though the mould needs a little more scrubbing. By the time the windows are clean enough to actually see out of the kitchen is actually looking a little homey, and Martin takes a step back to look around. The counters and the windows are clean, though he hasn’t started on the cabinets or the floor.
He’s just started cleaning the cupboard under the sink when he hears Jon scream from upstairs and sits up fast enough that he hits his head on the top of the cupboard before he can get out. It hurts, but not enough to stop him from hurrying out of the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time to find out what’s wrong.
Jon’s leaning against the wall just outside of the bathroom, but he doesn’t seem hurt.
“What’s wrong?” Martin asks, and Jon laughs a little, although still nervous.
“Martin,” he says, relieved. “It’s just … Annabelle.”
“What’s she done now,” Martin says, scowling, and stomps into the bathroom before Jon can reply.
“What the hell, Annabelle,” he snaps, and Annabelle sits up. Martin realises very fast what made Jon scream.
“Hello, Martin,” she says, voice a little distorted through her mandibles and muffled through the facemask awkwardly stretched over them. Martin scowls.
“Is this necessary?”
She just grins at him and waves her gloved hands. “I thought three pairs of hands might be more efficient that one.”
She’s right, but she could have warned them. Warned Jon, at least.
“You could have warned us.”
“I didn’t know Jon would waltz right in without asking.”
“You did it on purpose.”
“I did not. Now, are you going to stand there shouting at me? Or are you going to let me clean.”
Martin glowers at her and stomps back out of the bathroom. Jon’s gone back to the bedroom, and he goes to make sure he’s okay.
Oliver’s in there, when he pokes his head around the door, a hand on Jon’s shoulder, and Martin’s jealousy flares again. He clears his throat and Jon looks up.
“Martin,” he says, giving him a small, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry about that, really.”
“It’s alright,” Martin says, going over to hug him. “It’s not your fault.”
“She just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Do you want to go downstairs?” Oliver asks. “I can finish up here and you can work on the hall?”
“Please,” Jon says, and Martin helps him to his feet. “Thank you, both of you.”
“Of course,” Oliver says, patting Jon’s shoulder. “Good luck.”
Jon takes Martin’s hand and leads him down the stairs, both quiet.
“She did look rather funny,” Jon says, finally, and Martin cracks a smile.
“Just a little.”
“I don’t think the face mask was doing much.”
Martin laughs softly, and after a moment Jon joins in. “Is this why she bought so many pairs of rubber gloves?”
Jon smiles, leaning against his side. “I suppose this answers the question of which animals are the most efficient at cleaning.”
“The question no one had, you mean.”
“I assure you at least one person had that question.”
Martin leans down to kiss Jon’s forehead. “Was it you?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.”
“If you say so,” Martin says, and Jon leans up on his tiptoes to kiss him.
“I love you,” he says, and Martin smiles.
“I love you too.”
“Now, I think we should get back to cleaning. I’m not letting Annabelle Cain finish before I can.”
Martin laughs softly. “Alright.”
Jon kisses him again and then lets him go back to the kitchen and his cabinets.
They’re gross on the insides but not nearly as bad as the windows, and he’s feeling rather accomplished by the time he’s finished. The kitchen looks so much better than it did when he started, though the paint is still chipped and the cabinets are still stained. Still, it looks liveable.
He scrubs the floor as well as possible and then stands back to look at his handywork. It looks pretty good, to be honest. Miles better than it did yesterday.
He leaves the kitchen floor to dry and goes to see if Jon needs any help. He’s standing on the sofa, trying to reach the cobwebs in the corners with a duster, and Martin laughs softly.
“Need some help?”
Jon jumps and nearly topples off the sofa, though he manages to save himself. “Oh, Martin. Yes, please.”
Martin considers taking the duster off him, but instead he crouches down by the sofa. “Sit on my shoulders.”
Jon giggles at that. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure. Hop on.”
“Alright,” Jon says, and climbs onto Martin’s shoulders. Martin walks around the lounge and helps Jon dust the ceiling. It’s fun, achingly domestic, and Martin doesn’t think he could be any more in love than he is now.
They aren’t quite done by the time Annabelle comes down the stairs, thankfully back to normal, and collapses on the sofa.
“Bathroom’s clean,” she says. “Shower’s working again.”
“Really?” Martin says, surprised.
“It was just blocked,” she says. “I ran it for a while and it started spitting out water.”
“Oh,” Martin says. “Good.”
“Good,” Jon echoes. “Could I get down, please?”
Martin crouches down so Jon can wriggle off his shoulders, and he smiles, kissing his cheek.
“Thank you, love.”
“You’re welcome,” Martin tells him, and Annabelle snorts.
“You two are disgustingly domestic.”
“Thank you,” Martin says, kissing Jon’s cheek, and she pulls a face.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know,” Martin tells her, and Jon laughs.
Oliver comes down a few minutes later, and Martin is feeling charitable enough to offer everyone tea, going into their clean kitchen and plugging in their brand new kettle.
This will be the first cup of tea he’s made since arriving here, and it feels important.
The bubble of the kettle is achingly familiar, and he smiles to himself, watching the steam curl up from the mugs.
They all have tiny highland cows on them. He couldn’t resist, when he’d seen them in the shop, and so now they have eight of them (in case they have guests over, he tells himself, although it will probably be a while before any of them make friends), and he puts the rest of them away in a cupboard while he waits for the tea to steep.
“Tea’s ready!” he calls, and Jon comes in from the lounge to help him carry it through.
“Thank you, Martin,” he says, kissing Martin’s cheek, and they head back into the lounge.
Annabelle is still draped across the entire couch, but she sits up to take the tea, idly looking at the pattern on the cup. “Are these cows?”
“Highland cows,” Martin says. “They’re good cows.”
Annabelle snorts. “Are there any good cows?”
“Of course there are good cows,” Jon says, a little affronted, and Oliver laughs softly.
“I think there are good cows.”
Annabelle rolls her eyes. “You won’t see any cows down here.”
“Maybe we could go to a zoo or something?” Jon suggests, although he’s talking to Martin, really.
Annabelle probably knows, but she replies anyway. “A group outing? Sounds fun.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jon says, and Martin puts an arm around him.
“We can go to a zoo,” he says. He can’t remember the last time he went to a zoo, to be honest, but they have a new life, here.
Jon smiles and rests his head on Martin’s shoulder. “That would be nice.”
“Are you uninviting me and Oliver?” Annabelle says, as though she’s hurt, and Oliver puts his hands up in defence.
“Don’t pull me into this.”
“You can come if you want,” Jon says, resigned.
“It’s a date,” Annabelle says gleefully, and Martin scowls at her.
“It’s not.”
“Whatever you say,” she says, blowing him a kiss, and Jon glares.
“Watch it.”
“What are you going to do?” she says. “Smite me?”
“Alright,” Oliver says. “Enough. No one’s getting smited.”
“Fine,” Jon says, and drinks his tea in annoyed silence.
There’s no dishwasher in the kitchen, so Martin carries their empty mugs out to wash up, and Jon trails after him, carrying one of their new tea-towels.
“Let me dry up,” he says, and Martin smiles.
“Alright.”
They wash up in companiable silence, Jon humming under his breath, and Martin leans over to kiss him as he puts the mugs away in the cupboard.
“We won’t have to live here forever,” Jon says. “I can get a job, and then we can move out and never see Annabelle again.”
“I hope so,” Martin says, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist and just holding him for a minute. “I get the feeling she won’t be so easy to shake.”
Jon laughs faintly. “Maybe not. But at least we won’t have to live with her.”
“We can go to the zoo uninterrupted.”
“It’s like having a small child.”
Martin smiles, leaning down to kiss him. “Something like that.”
“Having a chit-chat?”
Martin pulls away from Jon to glare at Annabelle. “If we are, it’s none of your business.”
“Au contrair, I think it is. The walls are thin.”
“Piss off,” Jon says, and Annabelle laughs.
“Well, that’s just rude.”
“I’m allowed to swear.”
“What will Martin think?”
“Fuck off,” Martin tells her, but she just laughs.
“Is everything alright?” Oliver asks, joining them in the kitchen. It’s too small for all four of them, really, and it’s starting to feel cramped.
“Yes,” Martin says. “I think we should just unpack the shopping.”
“Alright,” Oliver says, and goes back into the hall.
Martin grumbles after him, and Jon laughs.
“Come on, Martin.”
It takes them some time to get everything unpacked and all the new appliances (at least, those they could get from the supermarket) set up, including several arguments over the correct way to do things, all of which are between Jon and Annabelle.
“You know,” Oliver says, as they’re bickering. “sometimes I think it would be nice to be all-knowing, and then I see things like this and change my mind.”
Martin snorts, despite himself. “I think being an avatar is overrated, personally.”
“I agree,” Oliver says. “I envy you.”
Martin hums, thoughtful. “Are we going to stop them fighting, or just leave them to it?”
Oliver laughs softly. “I’ll stay out of it, I think. Do you need some help carrying things up the stairs?”
“I’ll be alright,” Martin says. “Thank you, though.”
He goes back downstairs, listening to Jon and Annabelle bicker, and tries not to be cross about Oliver being nice to him. He’s a nice person, Martin’s just…
Still jealous, apparently.
Jon is still grumpy when he comes downstairs, and it’s kind of nice to be grumpy together.
He’s pretty tired when they finish unpacking, and Jon is complaining about being stiff. It’s not late enough to go to bed, though, so Martin cooks dinner with the help of Oliver, who’s surprisingly good at cooking for someone who’s pretty much dead, and that’s frustrating.
Still, Martin’s grateful for the help.
He and Jon eat in their bedroom, for a little privacy, and it’s nice. They cuddle together under the single blanket they have and talk, and then they go to bed.
It’s been a productive day. The house will be liveable in no time.