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Jon had not stopped touching Martin since pulling him out of the Lonely, and Martin wasn't sure how he felt about that.
There was a time when that would have excited him. And perhaps a part of him still was. But he still had not shaken off the fog of the fear domain, and everything felt...dull. Muted. He couldn't concentrate, could barely think. Only vaguely aware of what was going on around him.
It wasn't quite like the wall he had felt when he was in there. The wall between him and the world. Between him and Jon. The wall that Jon had shattered, Look at me and tell me what you See. And Martin had Seen him, had collapsed into his arms, sobbing. Had let him take him by the hand and lead him out, back into the tunnels below the Institute.
No, the wall was gone, but there remained a sort of thick blanket that laid over his consciousness. A barrier that still muffled his awareness, his feelings. Everything still seemed so far away. Even his voice still sounded hollow in his ears.
It remained while Jon had held him there in the dark, shuddering all over. Martin remembers hugging him back, but it felt...distant. Jon had been talking to him then, about checking if things were safe, something about Hunters and the Not!Sasha, but Martin couldn't follow the conversation, didn't know what had happened while he had been...gone. But he followed compliantly enough when Jon took his hand again and led him back through the trapdoor, back up into the Institute.
They had found Basira, he remembered that. She had been adamant that Jon needed to get out of London, immediately. The Hunters would come back for him, and the police would be looking for someone to blame for...whatever had happened there, and Jon was the perfect target.
A flash of panic broke through Martin's stupor, remembering the last time Jon had gone into hiding from the police. He couldn't lose him again. Not now that he finally had him back.
"Martin can't be left alone right now," Jon insisted. It was not a question.
"Well I can't watch him and clean up your mess at the same time," Basira countered.
"Then he's coming with me." Jon's grip on his hand tightened as he turned towards Martin. "If that's alright with you, of course. It's just that with you having been in the Lonely for so long, I don't think it's safe for you to be..."
"OK, sure," Martin agreed faintly. He didn't want to be alone either. Didn't want that fog to come back for him, with no one to pull him out this time.
"Um. Right." Jon nodded, and turned back to Basira.
"All right then," she agreed. "It's probably better to have someone there to keep an eye on you anyway. Make sure you don't do anything stupid."
Jon huffed at that, but didn't disagree.
As they began to work out a plan, Martin lost the trail of the conversation again, something about a safe house. He would follow wherever Jon led him. He trusted Jon.
The train ride was a blur. All he remembered was Jon leading him through the station, his hand on Martin's arm or lower back to guide him. The sounds and lights of the station felt unreal, like he was watching a movie. Like he wasn't fully there. He could give short answers when questions were asked of him, but it was a struggle to speak.
So they sat silently on the train, staring out the window, Jon's hand interlaced in his. It was like he was afraid that Martin would slip back into the Lonely's domain the moment he took his hands off him. And maybe he wasn't wrong.
They were in Scotland, Martin was able to gather that much when they arrived. A cottage outside a small village. Daisy's safe house. He didn't understand that word anymore, safe. When was the last time he had felt safe? Were they actually safe here?
They were both dragging with fatigue by the time they got there. Martin looked forward to sleep, but feared it too. Feared what dreams may come.
"Let's get you to bed," Jon said, hand around his waist as he led Martin up the stairs to the bedroom.
That was when they both realized there was only one bedroom. And only one bed.
"Oh, I can uh, take the couch," Martin stammered.
"Don't be daft," Jon snapped with a flash of his usual irritation. But then his voice softened. "Look, there's plenty of room, we both need a good night's sleep, and neither of us will be comfortable on a couch that small." He took Martin's hands in his. "Plus, I'll feel better if you are closer. Alright?"
"Afraid the Lonely will snatch me away again?" Martin was only half-joking.
"Yes," Jon admitted. "I can't let that happen. Not if I'm not there to bring you back."
"Alright." Martin was too tired to argue. Plus, he didn't want to be alone either. He had been alone for too long already. There was a lot they needed to talk about, the two of them. But that could wait. Sleep first.
They changed and lay there in the dark, stiffly staring at the ceiling. Both were afraid to move, afraid to touch or disturb the other. Martin was aware of the weight of Jon on the bed next to him, but it felt like he was miles away. It reminded him of how he felt when he was in the Lonely.
He turned away and curled himself into a fetal position, softly crying. It was good to feel something again, he supposed, but it was too much. All the grief and pain he had been keeping at a distance all those months came crashing back over him at once. He knew he needed to let himself feel it, though, or else the coldness of the fog might creep back in. And he would be all alone again, and nobody would save him, nobody would even know that he was gone.
There was a shift on the bed and Jon was next to him, wrapping his arm around him and pressing his bony body against Martin's back. He didn't say anything, didn't need to say anything. He held Martin while his tears trailed off. The warmth, the presence was enough to keep the chill of the fog at bay. Martin finally relaxed enough to drift off to sleep.
In his dream he was back there again. The soft crash of the waves, the cool mist. The quiet. It really had been peaceful, that was part of its terrible allure. But it couldn't keep its hold on him. Jon was there, calling to him. Jon had come for him. I thought you might be lost.
When Martin awoke, he was starting to feel more like himself again. The blanket between him and the world had thinned, and his thinking was getting clearer. Maybe a good night's rest had been what he needed.
That was when it dawned on him that Jon was sprawled face-down across his chest, snoring softly.
Martin got very still, afraid to move a muscle lest he wake him. The details of the previous night were coming back to him. They were in Scotland, in Daisy's safe house. Together.
His boss, THE Archivist, Jonathan fucking Sims himself, was in the bed with him. Sleeping on top of him. And from the dampness he could feel on his shirt, was apparently drooling on him.
He bet Jon would be mortified if anyone at the Institute knew he drooled in his sleep. Martin found it adorable, actually. But he wouldn't tell anyone. It could be their secret. Something he locked away in his mind, a little treasure he kept just for himself.
It was nice to see him sleeping so peacefully, actually. He knew Jon hasn't been getting a lot of it, especially not lately. Even with the carefully-crafted distance Martin had cultivated between them while he had been working for Peter Lukas, he had noticed how the dark circles under Jon's eyes had deepened every time he had seen him.
He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of the last actual conversation they had, before the day he followed Peter into the tunnels and Jon had come to rescue him from the Lonely. How he had frantically burst into his office, practically begging Martin to leave together, and how Martin had refused him so coldly.
It wouldn't have saved them, he knew. There was an evil coming whether or not they were trapped by the Institute, and if they weren't there to try to stop it, who would? Even if he failed, he had to try.
It had been so tempting, though. There had been a part of him that had desperately wanted to say yes. He wished Jon knew that. Jon probably did know that, or at least guessed. He had listened to the tapes, with Martin's silly babbling and all.
And even after months of Martin pushing him away, Jon had come to save him. Why did he do that, why did he bring him here? What did it mean?
It didn't have to mean anything, he reminded himself. Jon had risked himself going into that coffin to find Daisy in the Buried. Risked himself for someone who had once kidnapped and tried to kill him. Martin knew he would do the same for Basira, and even Melanie, despite how much she hated him. That was just Jon being Jon. Being the arrogant, stubborn, reckless idiot that he is.
His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Jon twitching against him. Muttering something under his breath. He seemed to be asleep, and Martin guessed that he was dreaming, but it did not appear to be a pleasant dream. Suddenly he began to thrash wildly and shout his name.
"Martin! Martin!"
"I'm here Jon, I'm right here," Martin wrapped his arms around him, trying to still his flailing. "It's OK, I'm OK, we're OK." He continued to say things that sounded soothing until Jon calmed down.
"Sorry," Jon apologized, desperately grasping the front of Martin's shirt. "I dreamed I was in the Lonely again. I was calling you, but I couldn't find you."
"It's alright, we're safe now."
"Right," he agreed softly, relaxing. And then tensed up again as he realized how they were laying.
"Oh my God Martin, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be-" he stammered, starting to pull away.
Martin tightened his arms around him, preventing his escape. "Shh. Be quiet."
To his surprise, it worked. Jon let his body weight sink back into him. Martin heard a muffled sniffling sound on his chest, and realized Jon was quietly crying. He didn't think Jon wanted any attention brought to that fact, so Martin smoothed his tangled hair, but said nothing.
I really loved you, you know. Had he actually said that to Jon? Christ, did they have a lot to talk about.
He wanted to tell Jon that it had been the Lonely talking, that even when he had let himself become comfortable with the distance, he had never stopped loving Jon. That everything he had done had been to protect Jon. That he had been willing to lose Jon again if it kept him alive. If he could keep Peter Lukas from seeing Jon as a threat.
But that would require him to admit to feelings he wasn't sure he was ready to admit out loud yet. Not when he wasn't sure how Jon felt about it. Even if everyone else already knew. Even if Peter Lukas was dead now.
He wanted to hope there was something there. That there had been a promise in Jon's words when he had forced Martin to See him through the haze.
I was all on my own.
Not anymore.
No, he was projecting. He knew Jon cared about him, they had become friends. Or as close to friends as Jon gets. There was no use in ruining it by hoping for more.
The subdued crying gradually subsided as they lay there, sunlight streaming around the edges of the curtains, birds chirping in the distance. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought he'd get a moment like this with Jon. It would have to be enough.
The peace was interrupted by the loud growl of Martin's stomach, and they both laughed. Martin loosened his grip and allowed Jon to untangle himself. His body felt cold and empty without the heat of Jon against him, but he put on a smile. "I suppose it's time to get up. I'll go make some tea."
"No Martin, you don't have to-" Jon stopped himself mid-sentence. "That would be lovely. Thank you."
Martin knew how Jon takes his tea, had been making him tea for years. Jon folded his hands around the warmth of the cup, the warm familiarity of Martin making sure he was taken care of.
He even let Martin convince him to eat some of the tinned soup he heated up on the tiny stove. The only food at the safe house was of the non-perishable type, they would need to go shopping in the village for fresh groceries. But with how rarely Jon usually remembers to feed himself, it was good to see him eating anything at all. He had gotten even thinner than Martin remembered, and it worried him.
Maybe he doesn't even need food anymore, Martin thought. Maybe he just survives on statements now. No Martin, you're being ridiculous, of course Jon still needs food, he's not a monster. No matter how much he likes to think of himself that way.
There was a valid concern there, though. The last thing they needed was Jon feeding on the trauma of their neighbors. Maybe Basira could send some statements over before Jon got too...hungry. In any case, they would find a solution for that later.
It probably was better that Martin was here, he realized, better that Jon wasn't left alone either. Not only to protect the neighbors, but to talk him back if he started spiraling, to keep him from charging into danger at the first opportunity. Not that he expected to come across any danger out here in the Scottish countryside, but if there were any, Jon would find it. Or it would find him.
The thought did make Martin feel more useful, like he wasn't here in the cabin for no reason. For right now, he was just glad Jon was allowing him to fuss over him.
Jon surprised Martin by agreeing immediately to a walk when it was suggested. He wasn't used to the cranky, contrarian Archivist being so agreeable. He wondered what it meant.
Not all the way to the village, just out for a bit of fresh air. Jon absently took his hand again as they walked, as if by habit. Martin didn't think he was in danger of drifting back into the Lonely any longer, but didn't say a word. Now that the mental fog had lifted, Martin was acutely aware of how much smaller Jon's hand was than his own, how thin his fingers were.
They chatted as they walked, about nothing in particular. It was just nice to be talking to each other again. Martin had missed that. It was nice to be talking to anyone again, really.
He had convinced himself that it was easier when he was avoiding his coworkers, drifting silently through the halls of the Institute like a ghost. And in some ways, it was. Less arguing, less drama. But having no one to talk to about what was happening, about what he was thinking and feeling, had been...well, lonely. Which of course was the point.
The air was crisp under the morning sun, the clouds fluffy in the blue sky. After the horrors of the last few years, the idyllic peace was almost jarring. He had forgotten life could be like this. Or maybe had never known life could be like this.
As Jon began to get winded, Martin suggested they sit down. He knew Jon was getting weaker and needed statements, but was trying not to make a big deal out of it. Martin found a grassy patch facing the ocean, and Jon made only a slight face at the thought of getting his trousers dirty before letting Martin pull him down. They sat close, with hips and shoulders against each other. Martin was still not used to the proximity, it was making him increasingly nervous.
They sat with the quiet for awhile, watching the waves and sea birds. It was peaceful at first, but slowly grew heavier with the tension of all the unsaid words between them. When they spoke, they both tried at the same time.
"Jon, I-"
"Martin-"
They stopped suddenly and chuckled awkwardly. "You go ahead," Jon said.
Martin took a deep breath, wondering where to start. "You came into the Lonely for me."
"Yes."
"You might not have come out."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Jon looked at him in puzzlement, as if genuinely confused by the question. "It was my fault you were in there."
"No, Jon," Martin said firmly. "I'm not going to let you blame yourself for my decisions."
"But you were trying to protect me."
"Yes." There was no point in denying it. But then he covered his face with his hands as the weight of everything hit him. "God I was so stupid, I thought I was keeping you safe but this whole time I was just some pawn in some stupid game between Elias and Peter Lukas-"
"Haven't we all been, though?" Jon asked quietly. "I mean, well, Peter is gone now, and who knows what Elias has planned still, but...he's been manipulating all of us this whole time. Including me." A bitter laugh. "Especially me, I think."
"How did you do that, by the way?" Martin's curiosity distracted him from the main topic at hand. "Peter Lukas, I mean."
"Oh. I don't know, exactly," Jon replied, staring at his hands. "I sort of...tried to pull information from him, and he...resisted? And somehow that destroyed him? I don't know how these...powers...work, not really, and what it is I am able to do. It's still a bit weird to use them, to be honest. I get afraid I might lose a little bit of what's left of my humanity every time I do."
"I don't think that's true," Martin said. Jon raised his head, staring at him in surprise. "You seem very human to me right now." He smiled at him.
Jon shyly returned the smile. "I think that's your doing, Martin," he said quietly.
Martin felt the flush rise on his face. He wasn't sure what to do with that sentence.
"I don't think you've really answered the question, though," he pushed through, getting back on track. "You didn't have to come after me."
"Of course I did! I couldn't lose anyone else. I couldn't lose...you."
Martin's heart jumped into his throat. He was truly at a loss for words now.
It was Jon's turn to bury his face in his hands. "God, Martin, I can't believe I almost lost you, before getting a chance to tell you..."
"Tell me what?" Martin's voice was small, cautious.
"To tell you...how I feel about you..."
A glimmer of hope rising. "And that would be...?"
Jon's hand came to the side of Martin's face, turning it to face him. "Martin I, that is, um, well I-" He pressed his forehead to Martin's with a sigh, exasperated with his own inability to get the words out. Martin's heart was racing, but he said nothing. Waited to see what Jon would say, what Jon would do.
Jon took a decisive breath and moved his forehead away, shifting his face. His lips were now less than an inch from Martin's. Martin could feel the warmth of his breath, of the hand on his cheek. Jon paused, giving Martin a chance to move away. Or to close the gap between them.
Martin sorely wanted to, his body ached with the desire to press his lips to Jon's. But he wanted to see if Jon would do it. If Jon could do it. He had gone into the Lonely for Martin. But could he kiss him? Maybe then, Martin could believe.
It was only a second they paused there, with the question hanging between them. A second that held an eternity. And then softly, deliberately, Jon pressed his lips to Martin's.
Even with the warning, Martin felt a moment of shock. He had been wanting this for years, not thinking it was something that would ever happen. No longer holding back the tide of his emotions, he kissed back eagerly, wrapping his arms around Jon and pulling him closer. Jon's hand was at the back of his head now, fingers in his hair. The other arm snaked around his waist. Breathless and panting, they kissed again. And again. And again.
Martin didn't notice the gray clouds gathering above them. All he could think about was the softness of Jon's lips, the heat of his hands, the scent of him. The small delighted laughs they made against each other's mouths. Even when the raindrops started falling, they ignored it, letting it streak their glasses, and mingle with the tears on their faces. Martin had never minded a bit of rain anyway.
It took a downpour to pry them apart. Holding hands, they ran back up the path towards the cottage.
After hanging up their coats, Jon went to start a fire, while Martin gathered up pillows and blankets, making a nest on the floor in front of the fireplace. He had pulled off the layers of wet clothes, and put on some pajamas. It wasn't a proper holiday, but it was close enough, so why not wear pajamas in the middle of the day? He wrapped himself in the blanket to keep warm while the fire sputtered to life.
Jon grinned when he saw Martin cocooned in the blankets. "That looks comfortable."
Martin held up the edge of a blanket invitingly.
"Just a moment. Let me go change into something dry."
"Don't take too long."
"I won't."
True to his word, in no time they were huddled under the layers together, Jon's back pressed against the front of Martin's body as if it belonged there. Like it was always meant to be there. Martin's arm squeezed the smaller man close as they stared at the flames together, letting the heat rise in their bodies again.
Martin's brain was still struggling to process that this was actually happening. He worried that it was a dream that he would wake from at any moment. That it was a trick of the Lonely, that he had never left, Jon had never rescued him, and that it was tormenting him with a false hope so that it could be ripped away, leaving him feeling even more alone.
No, he told himself. He was not going to do that. He was going to let himself have this. Let himself be here with Jon and the fire and the cottage, even if he thinks he doesn't deserve it. It doesn't matter. He's here. They're here. Together.
He wanted his lips on Jon again. Realized he could put his lips on Jon, if he wanted to. Jon had kissed him, after all, and had let Martin kiss him back. And it seemed like he had liked it. So why wouldn't it be OK?
Experimentally, he nuzzled the side of Jon's neck with his nose. Jon let out a startled gasp, freezing for a moment before letting himself sink further into Martin's bulk, tilting his head back in invitation. Emboldened, Martin started kissing the side of his neck, and then up along his jawline.
Jon's response reminded Martin of a friendly cat that erupts into purring and rubbing against you the moment you touch it. He started subtly writhing against Martin, making soft whimpering sounds. Never in a million years did he think Jon would make sounds like that. Martin thought they were very cute. The Archivist was whimpering, and it was because of him. Giddy with this newfound power, Martin became very keen on discovering what other sounds he could get him to make.
Jon rolled over to face him suddenly, fastening his mouth on Martin's and wrapping a leg around him. The front of their bodies pressed together. Martin couldn't control himself anymore, he plunged his tongue into Jon's mouth and felt it open beneath him. They kissed deeply, frantically, hands grasping and clutching, trying to crawl inside each other's skin. Jon's teeth grazed his throat, nibbled at his ear, pulled on his lower lip.
Martin's hand slid underneath Jon's shirt, wanting to touch his bare skin. He hardly noticed the feel of the scars, where the worms had burrowed during the attack on the Institute. When Jon had believed him, when he thought nobody would.
As his hand moved upwards, though, he noticed a space in his rib cage. An emptiness between his ribs that should not be there. It startled him enough to pull his hand away.
He knew why it was there, of course. Why two of his ribs were...well not missing, exactly, he was sure Jon knew where they were, but that place just happened to be...not inside of his body. But feeling the gap under his fingers was a cruel reminder of how much Jon had gone through, without him.
"S'alright, it doesn't hurt," Jon murmured. "I forget about it most of the time." He chuckled softly. "I suppose one of them is still in my desk drawer, back at the Institute."
"Oh God, Jon, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there. So much was going on, and I wasn't there for you."
Jon's arms tightened around him, preventing him from pulling away any further. "Martin, it's alright, really it is." He stroked Martin's hair. "I know you would have been there if you could have been."
Martin buried his face in Jon's shirt, allowing himself to be soothed. "I did miss you though," Jon said. "When you weren't there."
"God, Jon, I missed you so much," Martin's voice was muffled. "It hurt to stay away from you. But I couldn't bear it if you died again. I couldn't take it a second time. Not if I could stop it."
"I know. I understand."
Martin looked up at him, eyes wet. "Do you?"
Jon blinked at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you never actually told me earlier. How you feel about me."
Jon gave him a sly smile. "Was it not clear?"
"I suppose, but I want to hear you say it."
Jon pressed his face to Martin's chest, seeking an escape. He groaned, but there was a playfulness to it. "You're not going to let me out of this, are you?"
"No. Afraid not." He knew Jon struggled with expressing his emotions, but he wasn't going to let him have the easy way out. Not this time. He needed to know. To really know.
"Fine." He brought his head back up, his breath against Martin's ear. "I love you, Martin," he whispered.
The words shot through Martin like electricity, and he let out a little squeak of surprise. That was not what he was expecting to hear. Maybe something like "I like you" or "I've grown quite fond of you" or "I care for you." Not this.
The silence stretched out while Martin processed what he had just heard. "Martin...?" Jon asked, concern creeping into his voice.
And then Martin was kissing him all over, his lips a flurry against Jon's face and neck before landing on his mouth again. He still couldn't believe he was here with Jon like this, that he could have this.
"I love you, Jon," he said between frantic kisses. They laughed and smiled against each other's mouths. They marveled at the fact that, in the midst of all the horrors they had experienced, there was at least one thing in their lives that was good and pure and happy. That whatever came, they would face it together.