Chapter 1
Jonathan Sims was not dead.
He had thought that he would be, considering a building fell on him, but the sunlight that glared down as the masses of rubble were removed around him sent a very clear message that Jonathan Sims would live to see another day.
And so would the Fears. Shucks.
In his increasing sense of consciousness, he remembered he was not the only person essentially flying down those stairs in an attempt to get out before the Panopticon crashed and crumbled.
“Martin?”
Jon could hear how coarse and pathetic he sounded. Avoiding the anger of the sun, he turned his head to the side.
And there he was. Alive. Breathing. Conflicted.
Martin’s eyes refused to meet his, squinting into the harsh sun. He was biting his already red raw lip as Jon noticed the stagnant remains of tears already cried. He lifted a hand to the sky, greeted by the hands of a friend, pulling him to his feet.
“You’re alive,” Jon could hear Basira state in her usual matter-of-fact tone. He watched as she moved to stand over him and offer a hand he gladly took.
“We’ve been searching for you two for hours. You owe us.”
“Right,” Jon mumbled. “That’s fair.” His head was swimming just as much as his vision. Still, he took in the surroundings — the remains of The Magnus Institute, the swarms of confused, scared and angry people, and the surrounding buildings, untouched as they were before the apocalypse.
Reality began to sink in.
“Oh god.” All these people, they had to know. They had to be here for revenge. They knew he caused it all and they were going to rip him apart.
Basira held him by his shoulders. “Relax, Jon. You’re ‘right. Georgie came up with something about all the archives employees being held hostage. No one’s even looking for you.”
His breathing did relax a bit. It was just the regular London crowd. He was fine. For now at least.
“Martin?” This time, his voice was steadier, less scratchy, yet it still garnered no reply.
Martin was observing everything around them. Until he took in a deep breath.
“I’m going back to my apartment. I… I think I need some sleep.”
“I’m not sure if you should,” Basira’s gaze flicked between the two men. “Everything might still be in disarray now, but you need to get checked out at some point. I mean, a building-“
“Basira. Please.”
“…Right. Take care.”
Silence consumed the air as Jon and Basira watched Martin trudged out of the wreckage. He could go after Martin, apologise a million times and beg him to stay. Do his best to hold him in place and refuse to let go ever again. But it wasn’t what Martin needed from him right now. And Jon didn’t have the right to act selfish. So he stayed put.
A beat.
“…I’m sorry, Basira. I shouldn’t have acted on my own. I just…” Jon shook his head as he trailed off. Now was not the time for excuses. Just for apologies. “I’m …. I’m sorry.”
She eyed him, with the caution of someone facing off with a violent animal.
“Right. Sure.” She eventually decided, “I don’t think I’m the one you need to apologise to, though. At least not for this. Just … make sure you do let him rest.”
It was with a sharp turn and a beckon that Basira led Jon to Georgie, who proceeded to gasp in relief before immediately reprimanding him.
“Look, Jon, I know you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you can’t make decisions like that! Everyone was worried it would turn out for the worse. Oh, I am so letting Melanie hit you next time you see each other. Do not count on me to defend you this time.” She chastised, hands gesticulating wildly. Jon couldn’t lie, the fact that at least Georgie was concerned for his wellbeing did make the guilt weigh down on him even more so, but his eyes were heavy. His body begged for him to lie down and curl up and drift away.
“I really am sorry, Georgie. I thought I was doing the right thing. I guess I wasn’t thinking at all.” He shifted uncomfortably under both Basira and Georgie’s judgments. He could only turn away.
“I think I should go. I need to sleep. Tell Melanie I’ll come by later so she can be prepared.” And with that, he headed back to his apartment amidst Georgie yelling at him that his Admiral privileges have been revoked for the time being.
———
Four hours.
Four hours since Jon had kicked off his shoes, leaving a bruise on his apartment walls he made a mental note to deal with later. Four hours since he decided he primarily needed sleep and decided to negate the shower until he woke up. Which wasn’t going to happen.
Jonathan Sims could not sleep.
Maybe it was one final “fuck you” from The Eye before it got swept into whatever reality it’s in now.
At hour two he had called Martin, asking if he wouldn’t mind if Jon came over to get on the ground and announce his own shortcomings and say sorry a million more times than Martin would if they swapped places. Martin had responded with a worn out, “Look, I… I just need some time right now.” Before hanging up and sending a text.
“Maybe in a bit i’ll come over and we can talk it out”
At hour three he found out Not-Sasha was gone from all photos. It had been a nauseating trip through memory lane through his camera roll before he came across a photo where Sasha or Not-Them would’ve been and he saw there was nothing where either of them was supposed to be standing. Just a blur.
After hour four had come and gone, Jon had gotten up, found a notepad and pen and made an attempt at poetry. He stared down at the page.
‘Martin Blackwood,
Apologise, I should,
I didn’t mean to hurt you,
My actions I shall rue’
He grimaced. At best, it would make Martin laugh. At worst, Martin could get offended over how unpoetic he was.
This is why he hated poetry.
Scribbling it out, scrunching up the paper, throwing it as far away as he could, it took Jon a while to realise his phone was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Is this Jonathan Sims?” An unknown voice asked.
“…Yes. Why?” His brow furrowed.
“Hi, I’m Sean Bolton, nurse at St Thomas’ Hospital. You worked under Elias Bouchard, correct?”
“…I-I suppose so. Why? Where is this going?”
“He doesn’t have any emergency contacts and we can’t reach his family, but he needs assistance. We’re understaffed and packed right now. He’s generally in good condition, so we need you to pick him up.”
“… What.”