I. Bonus Chapter
Martin wakes up to the never-ending sound of waves crashing against the beach and seagulls crying out in the sky above it, like every morning.
Jon is still fast asleep, snuggled into Martin’s chest, from time to time quietly murmuring into his husband’s shirt and pushing closer, also like every morning. Martin can never quite make out what his husband is saying in his sleep and he doesn’t ask if Jon can remember his dreams in the morning. Not after that one time he’d offhandedly mentioned Jon’s sleep-talking and asked, whether it was an aftereffect of being in the service of the beholding and Jon had gone bright red and stuttered something about not having done it since he’d been a child.
His chest is slowly rising and falling as Martin watches - once he has carefully raked Jon’s hair out of his face and can actually see something that isn’t grey and black curls.
These days, he’s usually awake before Jon, which in of itself is quite funny, considering that, back in London, Jon was always the first one to arrive at the institute and bury himself in work. Even while Martin had literally lived in the archives, he had seldom been at his desk before Jon in the morning – but few things had stayed the same since then.
At first Martin had actually been surprised, how well Jon had been coping without working twelve hours a day and instead spending whole days just doing nothing except reading, going for a walk or swim and just being with Martin, even after he’d recovered from the failed ritual. Their new home is slightly larger than Daisy’s safe house but still, the work that has to be done around it is nothing compared to the daylong stretches Jon had stayed awake at a time, running on nothing but caffeine, cigarettes and statements. And the work itself mostly consists of doing laundry or trying out new recipes that only entirely wreck their kitchen half the time, not coming face to face with the literal embodiments of ancient, cardinal fears.
Laying snuggled up to his husband in their tiny bedroom is not exactly the worst way to start the day and most days, Martin simply stays right where he is and holds Jon close until he stirs, maybe even drifts back off himself from time to time. It’s not like either of them has a busy schedule these days; Jon helps out at the public library in the village every other afternoon and Martin’s evening classes are, as the name implies, in the evening.
It’s perfect really; there are no crazy bosses, actual monsters or apocalypses they have to worry about or try to prevent and, for perhaps the first time in their life really, they can do whatever they want. Even after they’d split Elias’ inheritance between them, Basira, Melanie and several fundraisers and charities, there had been more than enough left to ensure that they’d be fine basically for the rest of their life. One of the perks of omniscience had apparently been a sure hand for stock markets and investments all over the world and Martin delights in spending in on everything Jonah Magnus would have hated.
There is perhaps one thing, that could make things even better- and today is Jonathan Sims’ birthday so… Not the exact morning, Martin wants to wake him up early, but he had promised Kate to come by early to get Jon’s surprise.
“Sh, birthday boy”, he whispers as he untangles himself from Jon, who should be considered a miracle of modern science these days with the additional appendages he somehow manages to grow in his sleep to cling to Martin, “go back to sleep”
Martin kisses the top of his husband’s head when Jon stirs, still half asleep and tugs the blankets back up to his chin once he’s fairly confident that Jon is out again. The note Martin slips beneath his husband’s glasses on the nightstand is entirely unnecessary, but he really doesn’t like the thought of Jon properly waking up while he’s gone and not knowing where or why Martin had gone.
One of the upsides of living in rural Scotland, apart from the gorgeous landscape that’s the exact opposite of central London, is the fact that, also unlike London, there is not really a rush-hour in the morning. Sure, a little more cars are underway on the streets than around noon but Martin still has no trouble getting to the little farm and back again within half an hour.
Once he’s back inside and has pushed the front door shut as quietly as he can, Martin carefully climbs up the stairs on socked feet, sets the cardboard box down on the floor and checks on Jon, who’s curled up around a Martin-sized empty space. Jon’s glasses still sit on the nightstand, but his eyes are open, and Martin’s note is in his hand when he squints up at his husband.
“Keeping in mind that you were the one to insist on celebrating my birthday, it’s quite inappropriate of you to not start the day with me”
Jon’s voice is always a bit horse in the morning and, as always, Martin has closed the distance between them almost without noticing until he sits down on the edge of the bed and Jon wriggles closer, still bundled up in the sheets, hair all over the place and the crease of the pillow edged into his cheek. He’s so beautiful Martin wants to stop blinking to not miss a second, to maybe pause the whole world to try and turn this moment into a poem before any detail can flee his mind.
Instead, he cups Jon’s face with one hand and kisses a straight line from the former archivist’s hairline, over his forehead, between his brows and along his nose to his lips. All of which has apparently taken too long for Jon, who wraps both arms around his husband’s neck and pulls him close when they finally properly kiss and keeps him right there when they stop.
“Good morning by the way”
Jon, as usual, is the first one to regain the ability to form coherent sentences when they pull apart by a hair and his eyes only grow brighter when Martin laughs into the tiny space between them.
“Good morning to you too”, he whispers back, pressing his forehead against Jon’s when it becomes clear, that he will remain in this position for some time, “and happy birthday”
“Thank you”
“In my defence”, Martin goes on, “I only left to get you your present, well your main present”
“You didn’t need to get me anything”
“Now that’s just not true”
Martin gently unhooks his husband’s arms around him and pulls back and out of Jon’s reach before Jon can tug him forward again.
“You are so cruel today”, Jon informs him when he notices and crosses his arms in front of his stomach instead.
He’s wearing one of Martin’s shirts as usual. This particular one is so old and worn out, it even hangs off Martin’s shoulders and arms when he wears it though. On Jon, whose hair is sticking out in every direction despite its length, it exposes half his upper arm and chest when it slides off his shoulder, which is to say: at all times.
“Then you won’t mind me ducking outside for a second”, Martin retorts, already half through the door.
“One”, Jon calls after him, arms still crossed but before he can say “two”, Martin is back inside, a box that’s a little larger than your average shoebox carefully held in front of him.
“Told you”, Martin says as he places the box on Jon’s lap, who instinctively uncrosses his arms and places his hands on either side of it to keep it from falling.
Something inside the box shifts and Jon’s forehead creases as he looks over to Martin, who has just sat down near the foot of the bed. He keeps his eyes on Jon’s face as he slowly lifts the lid and immediately drops it next to the bed onto the floor when two yellow-green eyes stare up at him.
“Martin”, he whispers as he offers his hand to the tiny ball of black fur that has pushed itself into one corner of the box.
“We’re not calling her that”, Martin points out from where he’s leaned back against the footboard and still watching his husband as he carefully turns his hand when the kitten uncurls and accepts it, gently bumping its black nose against Jon’s fingers.
“Hello”, Jon whispers, ignoring his husband as he brushes the very tips of his fingers against the little head, which is still the largest part of the entire animal and strokes the soft fur between her ears. “May I pick you up?”
The kitten starts purring just when Martin snorts so quietly and fondly, it gets completely lost in the rustle of the card box sliding off the bed when Jon lifts its inhabitant out of it. His hands are trembling the tiniest bit, but, he thinks just a little choked up, perhaps that’s cancelled out by the tiny cat only purring louder as he holds her. She just about fits onto Jon’s palm but his other hand is already in place, holding her against his chest and running his thumb along her soft side.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen”, Jon coos as he lifts her the tiniest bit higher to kiss the top of her head.
“Well, thanks”
Jon’s head snaps up as if he’s forgotten his husband’s presence.
“You’re not a thing, Martin”, he points out softly, his eyes flitting between his husband and kitten.
“Neither is she”, Martin points out but he’s already carefully making his way to where Jon is sitting cross-legged in the middle of their bed, as usual taking up way more space than should be possible with how slight he remains despite the success Martin’s vigorous attempts of feeding the skinniness right out of him have already had.
“That is very true”, Jon says dreamily when Martin fits his arm around his waist and leans his head against Martin’s shoulder.
“You still don’t see the point of birthday presents?”, Martin asks as he too offers his hand to the kitten and squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to neither laugh nor jerk back his hand, when it starts nosing his knuckles and her whiskers brush against his fingers.
“Maybe”, Jon barely manages around his chuckle when the kitten licks the back of Martin’s hand with its astoundingly pink tongue and Martin makes a noise meander between awe and disgust, “she’s amazingly affectionate”
“I know”
“Of course – where did you get her?”
“You remember the sister of our landlady?”
“Kate over in… you know that tiny neighbouring village?”
Martin may never say it but these days few things reassure him as much as Jon not perfectly remembering even a single unimportant fact or information so he just nods while he gently scratches the kitten behind its left ear, which is met by a resounding purr and a tiny head nudging against his fingers when he stops for even a second.
“Yeah, she actually had a lot of trouble finding someone to take of this one”
“People still afraid of black cats?”
“Apparently – she also said that the few people who came by to look at the kittens were put out when she told them, that they shouldn’t really leave this one alone for more than an hour or two since she’s so clingy and starts crying when you ignore her for too long”
“And since neither of that’s going to be a problem with us…”, Jon starts softly.
“I thought she’d be perfect for you, us”, Martin finishes, just before his husbands lifts his head and kisses him again.
It doesn’t last too long since their hands still for a moment and the tiniest meow snaps them right back to the most important task at hand.
“Since you’re quite busy here”, Martin carefully untangles himself from Jon when he can hear his husband’s stomach growl over the purring kitten, “I’ll make us breakfast – and I’ll be the one to change the sheets if we get crumbs anywhere”, Martin clarifies just as his husbands points out, that breakfast in bed is much more trouble than it’s worth.
“Can I at least help you?”
“Definitely not”
Martin does take a moment to simply watch his husband snuggle their tiny black cat and, on a whim pulls his phone out of his pocket.
“Are you happy?”, he asks and takes the picture the very moment Jon looks up, smiling so brightly it looks almost painful.
“Take a guess, my love”
Jon doesn’t have the heart to glare at Martin so ends up looking even more besotted than before and Martin is no better when he does his best not to blush at the sight.
“I’d say yes”
“So would I”, Jon laughs, shaking his head the tiniest bit and Martin finally leaves the room and heads towards their kitchen, past the two shopping bags filled with food and toys for their kitten, “so would I”