III.
By the time Jon finally stops fighting sleep, or rather is overcome by it, Martin isn’t quite sure, the tiny alarm-clock on his nightstand tells him it’s a little past nine. The book Martin had chosen to read to Jon - some aggressively mediocre high-fantasy tome that weighs about as much as the bed itself, and which he had figured at least stood a chance of being too boring even for Jon, who choses documentaries on the traditional production of handmade fans as movies to watch during movie nights - finds a resting place next to the clock. Almost a third in, a discarded slip of paper peeks out between the yellowed pages.
Jon’s head rests heavily against Martin’s pyjama-clad shoulder as he’s slowly breathing in and out, his face half buried in the soft fabric but, for once, open and relaxed. He has thrown one arm across Martin’s belly and a leg pushed between Martin’s, his whole body pressed as tightly against Martin beneath the blankets as is physically possible and even fast asleep, he shows no sign of wanting to let go but rather clings tighter when his face screws up in his sleep from time to time.
His hair is still damp and smells faintly of coconut, but it’s finally no longer matted against his head in blue-black strands. Before bed, he had tied his hair in a loose pony tail in an attempt to not have it get into Martin’s face as he slept but it had started getting undone almost as soon as he’d settled down next to- well, half on top of Martin.
Martin just about manages to reach the light switch on his bedside lamp and place his finger on it without disturbing Jon when he thinks better of it and leaves the light on. It’s not bright enough to really disturb Jon’s sleep and Martin figures, a little light will probably make it easier to stay awake.
Watching the warm light paint shadows down Jon’s cheeks and listening to his slow breathing and the soft noises he occasionally makes whilst sleeping keeps Martin entertained for longer than it should, and he doesn’t even notice, he’s dozed off himself until he wakes up shortly after sunrise when his left arm pipes up because someone has replaced all the bones and veins in it with needles and sand during the night. He ignores it and instead finally does switch off the lamp. He still has an arm wrapped around Jon’s back and side and holds him close as the sky outside slowly looses the blush the rising sun had painted between its clouds.
Jon has not moved from his spot, only his lips have parted the tiniest bit over the last couple of hours and his breathing is a little louder in the morning quiet. He’s the most beautiful thing Martin has ever seen, even with the tangled black and grey strands that lay about his head in an unruly mess that doesn’t stop on Jon’s half of the pillow, the scars creeping up his shoulder and neck from where the shirt he’d stolen from Martin has slipped off his shoulder and the faint white line across his throat from Daisy’s blade way back when. The scars don’t stop where Jon’s clothes start and his face still looks a little too sharp and he’s still too thin in general, but little more can be expected after only a couple of weeks without constant stress or peril and proper meals Martin makes him have instead.
The prickling spreads from Martin’s arm to his hand, reaching for the tips of his fingers and he balls a fist around it, hissing under his breath but he doesn’t move an inch away. Partly because he promised to watch over Jon all night which has already gone as well as you’d expect, partly because he really doesn’t want to disturb Jon and honestly, how long can one former archivist/avatar of the beholding really sleep at a stretch?
Apparently longer than Martin would have thought because the only sign of life he gets from Jon, apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest against Martin’s side, until midday is when the distant sound of their doorbell cuts through the silence but even then does he merely turn his head, shift so his leg slips off Martin’s and doesn’t stir beyond that. Martin plans to just ignore whoever has rung and stay right there with Jon but just when he’s sure, they’re gone, the person starts rapping against the front door instead, calling something that doesn’t quite reach the upper floor and Martin sighs.
He tries to be as careful and gentle as he can when he slowly edges out from underneath Jon, pausing when he’s finally made it to his feet to wait for Jon’s reaction but all he does is roll over onto his stomach and hug the blankets to his chest instead of Martin. If the sound of a fist knocking against wood would not persist even as Martin makes his way downstairs on bare feet, hair still mussed and glasses askew on the bridge of his nose, he would consider taking a moment to just take in the sight of Jon snuggling their bedclothes but he worries too much that their unbidden visitor might start ringing the doorbell again and doesn’t want to push his luck with what exactly Jon manages to sleep through this morning.
“What do you want?”, he asks even before the door has opened far enough the see who’s standing in front of him.
“What I want?”, Basira repeats, already halfway in the foyer and Martin sighs as he closes the door behind her.
“Yes”, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans backwards against the doorframe as he watches her, already pacing back and forth in front of the stairs, “and please keep your voice down”
“It’s half past eleven”
“Yes, and Jon’s asleep upstairs so keep it down”
“Okay”, Basira stops dead in her tracks, eyes just on this side of too wide.
Martin can’t remember the last time he’d seen anyone who worked for the archive that didn’t have pallid skin and bags under their eyes but Basira looks like she hasn’t slept in a week.
“I know you don’t want me here; we can make it quick”
She doesn’t wait for Martin to disagree, which is just as well.
“I take it you haven’t been following the news since yesterday”
Martin’s stomach drops at her words and he shakes his head, mouth suddenly dry
“What is it?”
“Elias’ dead, the institute’s gone”
“What- How?”
“Yesterday afternoon; the tunnels beneath the archive collapsed and took most of the building down. It had still officially been closed so they didn’t search it at once but a couple of hours later they found Elias’ body in the foyer”
“The current or the first one?”
“Current”
“And was he… was it an accident when the building went down?”
“Officially? Very much so”
“And unofficially?”
“Unofficially there is no cause of death. His body just stopped and at this point none of the injuries they did find from where it had been hit by the rubble were serious enough to cause his death though- why exactly are you smiling?”
“Because Elias is dead and the archive’s gone”, Martin barely manages to get the words out around his grin. He even considers hugging Basira for a moment but quickly discards that idea and instead turns towards the stairs and heads upstairs, “you want tea or coffee?”
“Martin, this is serious-“
“It’s seriously good news”, Martin cuts her off as he heads towards the bedroom door, pokes in his head to see Jon still curled up amidst the sheets and gently pushes the door to.
When he turns, he almost walks straight into Basira who followed him without making a sound.
“You can sit anywhere, it’s just still a bit of a mess”
“A bit”
Basira raises an eyebrow at the clothes and pieces of paper, the boxes and the paint and ink stains that cover most of the floor and a table that looks like someone has thrown a gallon of paint over and then just left. The room still reeks of paint and something else she can’t quite put into words. Martin opens the windows as soon as he’s returned with two steaming mugs.
“Well yesterday wasn’t exactly a picnic for us either”
“Did you- did Jon do anything?”
“It’s kind of a long story”
“Lucky for you, I have time”
Recounting yesterday’s events takes both a lot more and a lot less time than Martin would have thought and by the end of it, Basira sits still for a moment and does nothing but slowly blink, blindly staring ahead at a point just above Martin’s head.
“So, within one afternoon, you two managed to almost unleash literal hell on earth, stopped it, possibly killed Elias and got Jon out of the Beholding’s service?”
“Basically, yes”
Jon’s voice should be far too soft to make both Basira and Martin jump but that doesn’t seem to matter.
“Hey”, Martin says softly, “I didn’t want to wake you earlier- did we-“
“No, no it’s fine, I think I’m okay now, just”, Jon trails off as his vision swims and he leans a little more heavily against the doorframe in an attempt to stop his legs from shaking, “hi, Basira”
“Hi”, Basira says slowly, “Jon, don’t take it personally but you don’t look that well”
“I- don’t worry about it“, he had not even noticed his fingers grappling at the smooth wood in an desperate search for purchase until they come up empty and he feels his knees give in beneath him, “although on second thought-“
He had also failed to notice Martin getting to his feet and hurrying the last couple of steps towards him, just in time to catch him before he fell.
“Thanks”, he tells Martin when he helps him back up and Martin rolls his eyes so expansively, Basira can see it clearly from where she has half gotten to her feet and now just hovers, waiting for anything that might give her a clue about what to do next.
“Do you guys need help or…?”
“No, it’s-“
“You’re officially no longer allowed to say ‘fine’”, Martin tells Jon as they make their laborious way back to the sofa and Martin makes him lay down again, “you could have just stayed in bed and called, you know”
“I did feel f-“, Jon cuts himself off when Martin glares at him and shrugs weakly, trying not to wince when the pain that had died down during the night returns with full force, “I felt alright until I stopped at the door and my body just kind of…”, he makes a vague gesture as Martin pushes the single armchair closer towards the couch and offers Basira to sit down again, taking his own seat at Jon’s feet.
“So that’s it then”, Basira finally presses on, gaze still darting from Jon’s, who looks almost as bad as he did the day he’d awoken form his coma, to Martin, “all’s okay now, it’s over”
“Well, the eye’s definitely still out there, it just apparently decided it didn’t want me anymore and, when Elias’ plan failed, it got rid of him for good”
“But we don’t know when the next ritual’s going to be and with the institute’s gone…”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that anymore”, Jon says softly.
“We don’t”, Basira’s voice does not rise as it reaches the end of her question.
“Elias seems to be the only one to have figured out, how to pull off a successful ritual, if it weren’t for Martin – apart from Gertrude and Peter but they won’t tell anyone any time soon”
“Us too, more or less”, Martin adds, “and since Jon used to be the only one who could have done it …”
“Why him- no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know”, Basira shakes her head, scrubbing a hand over her forehead and eyes, “just; you said ‘could have’ – so you… can’t anymore”
“Not unless I get back in with the beholding and since I didn’t get as far as actually reading the spell Elias wanted me to read out and I can’t just know things anymore…”
“You can’t”
“No, the eye made it quite clear what it thinks of me, and I’m pretty sure Martin here’s not in its good graces anymore either”
“Okay”, Basira lets out a shaky laugh, falling back in her seat and crossing her legs in front of her, “fine by me, no more saving the world then”
“No, and hopefully no more causing any more apocalypses either”, Jon agrees and Martin, flicks his ankle.
“That’s not funny”
“I’m aware”, he nudges Martin’s thigh in reply who catches his foot and keeps his hold around it, “I was there”
“I remember. Vividly”
Jon doesn’t reply but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“And you two…?”, Basira asks a little more gently because honestly, she’d rather finish up with all new developments at once and this one doesn’t even count as new.
“Yes”
Jon doesn’t bat an eyelash, while Martin tries and fails not to look too giddy. She can see how stiffly Jon is holding himself even as he settles down on his side and rests his head against the armrest but he doesn’t make a sound.
“I owe Melanie then”, Basira sighs and shakes her head slowly, “I thought, you’d never manage to work things out”
“Fair enough”, Jon shrugs as best as he can shrug from his position, “Although most of that’s on my head I guess”
“You guess”, Martin echoes as he gets up and starts towards the kitchen.
“He has a point, you know”, Basira tells Jon before she follows Martin, who has not wasted any time but has already set most things they would need for breakfast down on the counter and is currently pouring flour into a bowl.
“I’m aware”, Jon says far too late for either of them to catch it, sighing quietly as he resigns himself to just try and settle into a somewhat comfortable position and wait. He doubts either Martin, Basira or his own body would appreciate him having another go at trying to walk more than five steps on his own, “I’m quite aware”
They make it almost all the way through a breakfast that can barely justify calling itself ‘brunch’ before idle chit-chat turns more serious again.
“Have you heard anything from Daisy yet?”, Jon asks and Basira sighs as she drops the last bite of pancake back onto her plate and instead leans back in her armchair, never taking her eyes off of Jon.
“No one’s seen her, heard from her, nothing”, she shakes her head, “when I came here I actually wanted to ask you whether you could…”, she trails off for a moment, then continues, “but that’s off the table I guess”
“I’m sorry”
“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing in the grand scheme of things“, Basira shrugs just as Martin says;
“Somepeople kept giving you a really hard time for knowing stuff and not being human”, he doesn’t put too much effort into trying not to openly glare at Basira, who holds his gaze, as he speaks, “so they should probably think really long and hard about complaining about you being, you know, more or less normal, again”
“I get it, Martin”, Basira doesn’t blink as she speaks, “I’m not going to apologize, because I was right but-“
“How exactly were you right? Jon never-“
“-never just about ended the world?”
“He didn’t-“
“She’s right, Martin”, Jon interrupts him in a soft voice.
“She isn’t!”, Martin’s voice takes on a higher pitch, “if you had known, you’d have never-“
“And if you hadn’t stopped me, it wouldn’t really have mattered, would it?”
“…it would have”, Martin says after a short pause, voice quiet but firm.
“To you and me? Maybe. To a whole world filled with nothing but suffering, fear, human pain, and misery? Not so much”, Jon laces his fingers with Martin’s and squeezes his hand before he turns back to Basira, “I’m afraid the only thing I can tell you, is that I didn’t know she was dead or in imminent danger, until yesterday at least. I’m sure, I would have known if she had died, but I could never get a clear picture of her after she’d left”
“Thank you”
“I take it, you’ll probably focus on finding her now?”
“Nothing better to do”, Basira takes up her cup again, mock-casually, “Not like either of us has a job to take into consideration anymore is it?”
“No, I guess, you’re right”, Jon purses his lips, voice growing fainter as he nears the end of his sentence.
“Are you okay?”, Martin asks carefully.
“Yes”, Jon’s eyes refocus, and he shakes his head, “yes, of course. I just”, he rakes a handful of loose streaks out of his face, and, laughing hollowly, goes on; “I just didn’t expect unemployment to be our next biggest worry”
“Well, at least we can apply for new jobs now”, Martin points out, “I’m pretty sure the archive’s done and even if they reopen it at some point, our contracts should have …expired with Elias- Jonah dying, shouldn’t they?”
“I think, we’ll see about that”, Jon muses before he turns back to Basira, “do you have anywhere safe to stay right now?”
“Honestly? When it got really bad last year and we all basically lived in the archives, I quit my flat and had all my stuff moved to a storage unit. And since they at least kept paying us, I’ll be fine with just my car until I find Daisy and then…”, she trails off but catches herself, “maybe I’ll take a leaf out of these two hunters’ book and just continue hunting monsters until something gets me. Nothing really here to hold me”
They sit in silence for a while, until a sudden burst of wind yanks the windows further apart with a bang and Martin goes to properly close them.
“And you’ll be staying here?”, Basira asks when Martin returns.
“For the near future”, Jon fights the urge to yawn between the words, “until yesterday, we didn’t really plan for anything that’s more than a couple of weeks away. You could stay here for some time, the ground floor’s something of a mother-in-suite downstairs so you wouldn’t-”
“No, thanks but no. I can’t really afford to lose much more time and, I don’t think we”, her gaze flicks towards Martin who had forced his face into an aggressively blank expression while Jon had talked, “would make great flatmates”
“I just thought, I’d ask”
“Like I said, thanks but I’m good. I got a room in the bed and breakfast in the village for tonight and I don’t think, I’ll stick around much longer unless I happen to run into Daisy while I’m here. Speaking of”, she lifts her satchel onto her lap and fishes out a thick, yellow envelope, “I don’t suppose you need these anymore”
Jon makes no move to accept the envelope, so Martin takes it and carefully places it onto the coffee table among the remainders of their late breakfast.
“Thanks”
“I’ll be off then, didn’t really sleep last night”
Basira climbs to her feet and shoulders her bag.
“Take care”, Jon says softly as she starts towards the door, “and if you need anything-“
“I’ll let you know”, she turns one last time and waves, “see you”
The moment the front door closes behind Basira, Jon leans into Martin. His vision is blurry, and a steady throb has taken up residence behind his eyes. He is not a hundred percent sure, he’ll manage to get up again, never mind walk.
“Martin”
“I know, I shouldn’t have said that but, it’s true; neither she nor Melanie-“
“They had their own problems, and I didn’t exactly make things easy on them”
“They wanted to kill you”, Martin can’t quite keep his voice from breaking, “and they would have if-“
“Martin”, Jon whispers as he reaches up and cups Martin’s face in the palms of his hands.
Every move he makes hurts, but he doesn’t make a sound as he tugs Martin’s head down far enough to kiss the rest of his words off his lips. He only pulls back and presses his forehead against Martin’s when he feels Martin relax against him.
“I think, we should just let it go, okay?”, Jon whispers, voice hoarse and face screwed up despite himself.
“Probably, it’s not like it helps”, Martin sighs, his shoulders slouching as he exhales and slings an arm around Jon’s waist, hugging him close, “how are you feeling? Does it still hurt?”
“A little”
“And by ‘a little’ you mean, ‘a whole lot, everywhere’ I take it?”
Martin does not sound impressed.
“I’m mostly tired”, Jon lies through a loud yawn, not bothering to force his eyes open as long as no one can actually see them with his face nestled in the crook of Martin’s neck, “still”
Martin heaves another sigh but presses his lips against the top of Jon’s head, “you want to sleep here or go back to bed? I’d just get my laptop and-”
“You know, you don’t have to sit with me every time, right?”
“Like I said, I got nothing better to do”, Martin points out, “besides you’re cute when you’re asleep and it’s kind of relaxing to have you next to me”
Besides there is no chance in hell, I’ll leave you on your own until this, whatever it is, is over. But it would do little for either of them if he said it out loud. It’s not like they don’t both know it anyway.
“I’m not cute. I’ve never been cute”
Jon’s voice comes out muffled against Martin’s pyjama jacket, who is rubbing tiny circles into Jon’s back. He’s half asleep by the time, Martin angles Jon’s upper body so it comes to a rest against his legs and the sofa cushions.
“Of course not”, Martin whispers when Jon buries his face in Martin’s stomach.
They’re both still in their pyjamas and barefoot and it’s getting ridiculous but Martin would be damned if he said anything when Jon curls up around him, pulling up his knees and knotting his fingers in Martin’s pyjama, while Martin places one hand on Jon’s side. He can feel every rib through his skin and shirt. His other hand is already busy with running through Jon’s hair and brushing it out of his face, “of course not”