The Eye Blinks

One month after Jon’s birthday, Sappho (because neither Martin nor Jon have any reputation to keep up) has fully settled in. She has a favourite place in every room and will claim that place no matter who or what currently occupies that spot.

To Martin’s immense delight, she has also taken to perching on Jon’s shoulder and letting herself be carried around the house like that, surveying her surroundings and occasionally trying to groom Jon’s hair when he doesn’t tie it back, which Jon in turn pretends to take offence with. Sappho is also the perfect company for Martin’s classes, especially when she naps on his lap or in the hoods of his jumpers and forces him to actually stay seated and work through the difficult parts instead of pretending to suddenly have to do this or that around the house instead.

Honestly, everything is perfect. A thought, Jon tries his best not to have, because once you get used to something that amazing, the universe will try everything to take it away from you, it always does. So, he takes to distracting himself whenever that thought comes dangerously close to forming, never quite succeeding.

But of course, he returns one evening from the library and has just pushed his bike up next to the tiny shed and started towards the house when he notices that said house has two front doors right next to each other. The left door has a sparkly garland taped to its front and a hand full of balloons tied to its handle which lazily bob into the mild evening breeze.

Jon’s blood runs cold as he rounds the house and lets himself in via the French window instead. The sea churns quietly behind him and for once does nothing to calm him down while he unlocks the glass door with fingers that tremble so badly, he almost drops his keys before he steps directly into their living room where Martin is just finishing up with his history paper, Sappho non-stop rounding his feet and loudly demanding her dinner.

She has made it over to Jon and up his leg and side before Martin has shut off his laptop and turned around and she softly meows into Jon’s ear, butting her head against the side of his until he shakily lifts his hand and pets her side.

“Hey, why-“, Martin starts with a soft smile but it vanishes as soon as he sees Jon’s expression and hurries over to him, “what’s wrong?”

“Helen’s back”, Jon whispers, eyes wide and face ashen.

They have no plan for this yet, have not thought to come up with what to do, when something does decide to come after them- which is stupid, but they haven’t even had a full year of just being happy and okay yet and it’s not fair. Not that that ever matters.

“Okay”, Martin says as he carefully lifts Sappho off his husband’s shoulder and sets her down on the floor, although nothing is okay, “then we better talk to her, right?”

It takes a tremendous amount of will, but Martin’s voice does not tremble when he takes Jon’s hand and squeezes his fingers. They have barely made it to their entryway when Jon stops and forces Martin to pause as well.

“I think it’s going to be-”

Martin quietly thanks whatever higher power has saved him from having to finish that sentence when Jon throws his arms around him and hugs him so tightly, Martin’s breath catches.

“I’m scarred too”, he whispers instead, hugging Jon back just as tightly.

He can feel Jon tremble in his arms but when they pull apart and he takes Martin’s hand again, he has schooled his face into a neutral expression. Neither of them says a word when they step outside and close the door between them and their very confused kitten which has padded after them and starts meowing almost as soon as the door is shut before her.

This time, Martin is the one who knocks at the decorated door and it actually takes Helen a moment to open it. When she does, a bright pink party hat sits on her head; several yellow feathers are glued to its tip and the plastic glitters when the light over the actual front door touches it.

“My favourite archivist”, she proclaims, grin as bright as her hat beneath the light, “I think, congratulations are once again in order”

Jon wants to scream, or at least cut her off and tell her to just cut the bullshit and talk but he takes a shaky breath and, very quietly thanks her.

“Nice... bow”, Martin pipes beside him and Helen cocks her head.

“It’s not a bow”, she shakes her head further from one side to the other than should be possible, the feathers fluttering above her, “bows are for emergencies and presents”

“And this…isn’t an emergency?”, Martin asks hopefully because he can’t help himself. Because things might be too good to be true but that doesn’t mean he’s willing to let them go without a fight.

“No, of course not; it’s your birthday present – well, your late birthday present, but you could say, it’s really early for next year”, Helen points one too long finger at Jon, “your present has a bow though”, she adds, just when Jon, feeling ten years older than a minute ago, whispers, “you shouldn’t have”

“But I did”, Helen beams back before she turns around and returns into her tunnels.

“Are you okay?”, Martin asks quietly but before Jon can decide whether to answer truthfully or not, Helen is back, and she is not alone.

Daisy’s hair has grown a lot longer since the last time Jon had seen her, and the pastel pink bow tied around her head does nothing to make the situation make any more sense.

“H-hi”, Martin somehow manages to get out when Daisy passes Helen by and steps out onto the lawn.

She’s dressed in the same grey sweatpants and tank top she’d had on the last time Jon had seen her. Her arms are covered in pale scars that almost reach up her neck towards her face but then peter out into pale skin instead.

“Bye, Helen”, she says to the avatar of the distortion, who waves too big hands and pulls the door shut between them with a loud creak, which finally snaps Jon back to attention

“Helen”, he calls after her and she does stop and turn.

“Yes?”, she asks sweetly.

“Thank you”

“You know, I got a soft spot for you, archivist”, Helen shrugs, then finally closes the door.

“Hi”, Jon echoes his husband softly.

He’s dimly aware that one, the evening is not mild enough for a tank top and bare feet and two, Sappho is still screaming her head off behind the, once again, single door but his thought processes seem to have slowed down somewhat.

“Just to be clear”, Daisy says when neither Martin nor Jon look like they’re about to contribute anything substantial to the conversation, “I’m not your gift”

“I”, Jon says, pauses, mind suddenly blank, then laughs, finally letting go of Martin’s hand and raking both through his hair as he goes on, “I’m quite alright with that. You want to come inside?”

“Got nothing better to do, do I?”

“I wouldn’t know”, Jon smiles as he turns to Martin, “can you watch for Sappho?”

“She’s not supposed to go outside yet”, he tells Daisy when he slowly opens the door and Martin just about manages to catch the tiny black shape that’s already half outside the house and Daisy does something she didn’t know she could still do, and laughs when the black kitten looks from Martin, to Jon, to her with the most pitiful expression, “and she’s starving because we’re terrible and unjust excuses for human beings”

“Aren’t we all?”, she says quietly as she follows Martin and Jon closes the door behind them.

Neither Jon nor Martin ask, which part she’d meant.

-

Basira doesn’t pick up her phone, so Jon sends her the good news via email and text message once he’s gotten Daisy his thickest jumper, socks and a new pair of sweatpants. Counterintuitive as it is, she looks better than the last time he’d seen her; she’s not as deathly skinny anymore and the hollows around her eyes aren’t gone but they’re not as deep as they used to be either. Still, the jumper swallows her whole, which she doesn’t seem to mind as she carefully sits down on the armchair next to the sofa, pulls up her legs and wraps her arms around them. She has also not unwound the pink ribbon from around her head yet and Jon chooses to believe it’s because it keeps the hair out of her face.

Martin has escaped to their kitchen and is currently trying to stretch out the time it takes him to feed Sappho and make dinner as much as he can. Sadly, pasta buys you only so much time, but he’ll take what he can. He also didn’t close the kitchen door behind himself and keeps half an ear on the voices coming from the living room, not quite able to make out what they’re saying but he would be able to hear if something went wrong, if-

Martin shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of that thought. From what Jon had told him, he and Daisy had become something akin to friends after they’d returned form the coffin and anyway, Jon is completely human again, so there isn’t really anything for Daisy to-

He forbids himself to even finish the thought and sighs quietly when the timer on counter shrills and proclaims the end of Martin’s little escape. When he re-enters the living room, Jon is just finishing up a quick recollection of the time that has passed since their last day at the archives, and Daisy is slowly shaking her head.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”, Jon asks as he turns to Martin who is clutching the plates and cutlery just a little too tightly in his hands before he gets up, meets his husband halfway and takes both, “I would have done that”

Martin shrugs awkwardly before he returns to the kitchen to get the actual food. By the time he returns, Jon has set the coffee table and Daisy has pushed the armchair a little closer.

Dinner itself is a rather quiet affair for the most part. Jon and Daisy are too busy wolfing down their food while Martin merely pushes a handful of noodles around on his plate and tries not to stare at Daisy. Tries not to think of how many alternative uses for her fork she could probably come up with and how close she’s sitting to Jon.

“That was really, really good”, Daisy finally says as she places her empty plate back on the table.

She doesn’t exactly smile at Martin, but she isn’t glaring either and her voice is pleasant enough, so Martin offers her a weak smile as he says thanks. Most importantly, she is neither trying nor threatening to kill Jon, which is honestly more than can be said for the majority of their old contacts. Sappho too has finished her dinner at this point and is quietly winding her way around what has become her armchair over the last weeks, not quite daring to leap onto Daisy’s lap.

“It’s just pasta”, he adds when Daisy keeps looking at him, and he rubs his hand over the back of his neck.

“Still”, Daisy shrugs, “Helen never had anything but chocolate, avocados and super spicy food while I was with her, and grapes for some reason”

“I’m sorry, what?”, Martin asks when Jon doesn’t even blink.

“All toxic for dogs”, Jon explains quietly when Daisy doesn’t, “that’s the distortion’s humour for you”

“How long were you… in there?”

Martin makes a vague gesture, that ends up as a slightly wobbly spiral.

“I don’t really know”, Daisy pauses as she pulls the arms of her jumper over her wrists and hands, speaking more to her knees than the couple in front of her, “kind of hard to keep track once you’re…” she trails off, then shakes her head and goes on, “I know, I was… running wild for some time and at some point there was always an open, yellow door wherever I went and I went through? Don’t ask me why”, she barks out something that’s almost a laugh, “and after that I don’t know how long I spent tearing through her tunnels, it’s kind of hard to keep track of time in there but I must have reached some kind of breaking point at some point and when I woke up, I was… back to myself? And Helen was there”, she shrugs again, “she’s kind of good company to be honest. Nothing better than complete disorientation and crazy to get yourself back together. Makes freaking out about your loss of humanity or whatever kind of hard and I didn’t have to worry about hurting her or anything”

“No, not within her tunnels”, Jon agrees softly, but before he can go on, his phone starts ringing and Basira’s name pops up on the screen.

“Hi, Basira did you- wait, what?”, Jon’s brows furrow and he transfers his phone from his left to his right air, as if that might change anything, “yes, yes she was just here and- yes… I honestly don’t know but she’s probably your fastest way from- you’re in Cork? … yes, okay, I know-“

Martin watches his husband silently but even he can’t help himself but stifle a laugh when Jon tips back his head and casts his long-sufferingly at the ceiling, raising one hand to absentmindedly tug at a loose grey curl. He then points first at his phone, then at Daisy and raises his eyebrows while he continues to listen to Basira, but Daisy slowly shakes her head, burying deeper into her jumper.

“Look, I’m not taking any responsibility for that. It worked once, I don’t know if it’ll work again all I can say is, that it might safe you the drive… of course I offered her to stay as long as she wanted, that’s not the problem. You know what, just call when you’ve made up your mind”

Jon pulls the phone, display now dark and blank again, away from his ear with a tight expression and pinches the bridge of his nose as soon as he’s placed his phone back on the table.

“Helen apparently found her and-“, he is interrupted a second time when the doorbell rings.

“I wonder who that’s going to be”, Martin says drily as he gets up and goes to open the door.

“Are you okay with…?”, Jon asks quietly but Daisy has already gotten to her feet, so Jon simply trails after her.

Basira has barely passed the threshold, looking for all the world like she’d just walked through a milelong wind channel when Daisy is suddenly in front of her and engulfs her in the tightest hug Basira’s had since Daisy and Jon had climbed out of the coffin. After a brief pause in which Basira’s whole body goes taut, she brings up her arms and hugs her back just as tightly.

By the time she has buried her face in Daisy’s neck and her breathing has grown strained, Martin quietly pushes the door shut behind them before he returns to Jon, links their hands and pulls him back into their living room, where Sappho has just reclaimed her armchair and looks quite pleased with herself.

That is of course until Martin lets himself fall back against the sofa and Jon curls into him almost before he’s sat down, and she turns to watch them.

“Are you okay?”, Jon asks softly when Martin fits his arms around him and just holds him close for a couple of minutes.

“Course”, Martin tells his husband’s soft hair, “according to circumstances”

“Circumstances being you quietly fuming for as long as they’re going to be here?”

“We can’t just kick them out”, Martin states flatly, and to his credit, he does not sound as disappointed as he could.

“I honestly don’t think either of them is going to be that interested in us”, Jon points out.

He can finally, finally feel his body unwind and his jaw unclench.

“Thank you for going out with me earlier”

“To talk to Helen?”

Jon hums quietly as he turns his head and kisses Martin’s neck, just above the collar of his jumper.

“I just, I was so scared something was coming for us”, he whispers against Martin’s skin and Martin hugs him tighter.

It really is amazing how quickly they had gotten used to daily the horrors and trauma at the archives but once they had left London behind, that ability to just get through and trying not to think about what was happening, had vanished within a couple of weeks. It also makes Jon quietly wonder, how, not necessarily easier, but how much less desperate their situation at the institute might have been, if they had managed to catch just a single break and properly talk between everything that had gone down after Jane Prentiss had attacked the archives.

How different everything might have gone down if only he had managed to bite the bullet and accept his feelings for Martin earlier instead of denying them until it had almost been too late and isolating himself from everyone even before he’d started becoming a monster. How he might still be able to talk to Georgie and Melanie and maybe even Tim. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he tries to push it away.

“So was I”, Martin hugs him tighter, “although”, he adds after a moment, squinting down at his husband, “did you really think, I’d let you face that alone?”

“No”, Jon says truthfully, “not even for a second”

“…good”, Martin’s voice teeters towards the end of the word. He’d already half-planned his speech about how he’d never let Jon down like that, no matter what but now it’s really quite unnecessary, so he merely repeats, “good”, in a slightly calmer tone of voice.

“Do you think, we should just leave a note and go upstairs? Give them a bit of privacy?”, Jon asks after some time, his lips brushing against Martin’s skin as he speaks.

“I think it’s going to be less awkward, if we talk the most important stuff through tonight”

“You’re probably right”, Jon muses when Sappho jumps up onto the couch and climbs over his legs to weasel herself into their embrace, chirping quietly until he scratches the spot behind her ears, she can’t quite reach herself.

On the other side of the house, neither Daisy nor Basira have moved, except to pull onto each other’s shoulder or hip to clutch her closer. Daisy is wordlessly drowning in her partner’s achingly familiar scent and the feeling of finally, finally being touched like this, of finally having someone to touch like this again.

Basira’s thoughts are racing so fast, she gives up on trying to make sense of the situation, choses to be stupid and believe all of this is real and Daisy is back and… safe? Is human again and free? It’s ridiculous and obviously dangerous but- but it’s Daisy. HerDaisy. Here and alive and, Basira decides in this moment, human and most importantly in Basira’s arms where she should always be. So Basira doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything and, most importantly doesn’t let go for what feels like a tiny eternity.

If, if this is just a fluke and whatever powers that are currently at play, decide to pull the rug out from under her and take this away again, they better do it quickly and get themselves to safety because Basira too has claws and teeth she can use to protect her loved ones, or at least to avenge them. Her loved one, to tell the truth. The last three years had not been easy on her social life.

If this turns out to be fake, to be some kind of trap or anything, Basira honestly doesn’t care, no longer has the energy to care because this last year she’d spent trying to find Daisy, never quite sure, whether she was stretching out her search and deliberately slowing down whenever she found any hint, any clue and be it ever so faint, has been harder on her, than the previous two years as Elias’s Buchard’s hostage. Has been harder than fighting off monsters and the apocalypse with nothing but bits of paper and the monsters around and inside her.

From time to time she had asked herself, what would happen after she’d found Daisy. In her mind, there had been no doubt of what would happen when she had finally caught up with the thing that used to be her- she would have kept her promise. Of that at least Basira is sure. She had owed Daisy that much.

That doesn’t mean that her plans of becoming a hunter afterwards, where anything more than a thinly veiled excuse to just follow Daisy as fast as she could, maybe taking one last monster with her as she’d gone. Not that that would clear her conscience and declare everything she’d done right; just some nasty steps that had to be taken to keep the world safe, she thinks bitterly, a tiny splash of red in the big picture of things. Or not so tiny. Does it really matter? (It does).  

“Basira”, Daisy eventually whispers into Basira’s shoulder, but she doesn’t loosen her grip yet, “can I- I’d really like to see your face”

Basira doesn’t quite trust her voice, so she slowly lets go of Daisy and pulls back far enough to face her, her arms still slung around Daisy’s hips.

She no longer feels like nothing but skin and bone, and her skin isn’t grey and clammy anymore. Her hair has grown longer than Basira has ever seen it and the light pink ribbon really doesn’t go with the thick dirty blond curls- Basira has to bite down on her lower lip to keep herself from either blurting out something too true or starting to cry.

She honestly doesn’t know at this point but then Daisy cocks her head to one side and reaches up one hand so painfully slowly, Basira has more than enough time to pull back before Daisy’s fingers make contact with her skin. She doesn’t and the tips of Daisy’s fingers are warm when she brushes them against Basira’s jowl and tugs the long, dark strands that have come loose while Basira had passed through Helen’s doors, behind her ear.

The hesitant smile that is creeping its way onto Daisy’s lips when she meets Basira’s gaze and holds it manages to knock down Basira’s walls in one swift move and she can feel her lips part despite herself.

“I missed you”, Daisy sighs and Basira just can’t keep the sound, that’s half-laugh, half-sob at bay.

“I missed you too”

Her voice is strained as she follows Daisy’s lead; lays her hand against the side of her face and lets her forehead fall forward against Daisy’s.

Basira’s breathing is still too harsh and loud in the peaceful evening silence, but so is Daisy’s as they hold each other close.