Chapter Text
When Martin walked into the office, a part of him had hoped to find it empty.
Over the last months Jon had somewhat improved, taking slightly better care of himself.
Maybe living with someone else was actually doing them some good... Martin had sometimes even seen him leave right after their shift had ended, actually.
But of course that happened rarely, and Jon was still in the room when he entered.
They were mumbling something to a tape recorder, while wrapping the end of a piece of bandage and pinning it on the side of his wrist.
“How's your hand doing?” Martin asked, not really sure if it was worth risking. Maybe not the best choice for small talk, asking something that could lead to such a personal conversation, but... maybe it was worth it. Jon was getting better at sharing, so maybe... yeah.
“Would you believe me if I said it's doing fine?” Jon said in what almost sounded like a teasing tone. What came out after that was a sigh, but it had a bit of a chuckle in it.
“Not really, no. But I'm glad you're taking it well.” there was a question in that sentence, but not one Jon noticed- or wanted to answer.
“Yeah.” a short response, almost defeated, but still accompanied by a glimpse of positivity.
“I was thinking... do you want to get something to eat? I mean- if you don't have dinner with Georgie- or- I don't know”
“I, I'm not really hungry-” Martin shot him a harsh look. “But I guess I could get something.” a small smile on their lips.
“Be out in 10 minutes?”
“Sure” Martin left the room. The click of the tape recorder was loud in the room, newly emptied of words.
Tension was building up inside Jon's chest.
He got his coat, trying to ignore the low pounding in his hand, the soaking bandages in the trash can, how mere moments prior they had seemed like they were the only thing keeping the tear in his chest from swallowing them whole from the inside, a pile of statements that looked at them with disappointment, the little spots of blood that hadn't come off of his skirt.
Put away the first aid kit, scrape the little drop of blood on a statement's label off, fish the cane out of a mess of piles and documents and books near the desk, put on the coat.
When they got out of the Institute the clouds were blocking the view to the moon, the streetlamps illuminating the perception of a frail world that didn't seem quite right... but at this point Jon had become good enough at picking up what was Stranger-and-Spiral weird, and what was just it's-nighttime-and-there's-fingerprints-on-my-glasses weird, and fortunately, from what they could tell, this was the latter. It was all going to go well, no need to be paranoid. There was no reason they couldn't have just one peaceful evening. Not the impending doom of the Unknowing or the number of avatars that had made it clear they wanted Jon's head on a plate... that day could have been a normal day, for once.
The two walked for a bit, neither of them speaking a word.
There were only three sets of sounds: the sound of Jon's cane hitting the ground every two steps, the sound of both of their breathing, and the indistinguishable noise of London in the background, ever present, the type of noise that you mind should automatically cancel out, but really doesn't- not fully.
They were walking pretty close and there was something about that that bothered the both of them- not the fact per se, but how easy it was to be comfortable in it, how mundane it felt, as they were two completely different people from who they were when they first met- from who they were just mere months prior.
So many things had changed, kept changing, and in comparison to how slowly they had manged to actually talk to each other, the recent developments in their relationship seemed to have happened so fast...
At some point or another, their hands brushed against one another.
As soon as they touched a soft hiss escaped Jon's mouth, and they quickly retracted their hand, eyes wide.
Jon didn't know what Martin was thinking, but he had the aching need for him to know that it was just the wrong hand, that the hiss was one of pain because that was their burnt hand, that it's just that- but who were they kidding? Martin hadn't touched the scarred side of his hand, it made no sense that he could have touched his palm... but it was just so much.
The idea- just the thought of someone touching him again that way- like Jude had, like Daisy had, like Micheal had, like- the hurt wasn't just in the body, but in the soul.
Jon knew that it took time to heal from an experience like that, especially if after that a number of other things had happened, but... why couldn't they do this one thing for Martin. For himself too.
Why was it so difficult?
No every touch meant harm, he knew that... but that's not how this things worked, was it?
“I'm sorry I-”
“Oh god, sorry, I forgot about your- ...hand. Right. Sorry” there was an apologetic smile on Martin's face.
“No no, it's my f-”
“Jon, accept the apology.”
“Okay.” Jon pursed their lips. He had been learning to not blame himself for everything that had to do with them. Sure, it had taken Georgie to remind him what people's genuine concern for your well-being actually looked like, but they knew... so they learned to take offerings like that of Martin's without arguing as much. Once, this hadn't been as difficult. But then again, once Sasha had still been alive and they hadn't stalked Tim and he hadn't been stuck working for whatever eldritch thing pulled the strings of their life and not everyone had been constantly trying to kill him.
Some part of him really wanted to hold Martin's hand, like he had once been able to, when it hadn't yet all gone wrong, a brush of fingers with the passing of a statement, bringing a cup of tea... they just wanted to but it was just too much...
But that took an amount of strength they didn't have.
So they just walked side by side, a little farther now.
There was a gut wrenching feeling deep inside them that made Jon want to sit down in that nice bench just near them, and just be able to show Martin what it was, what it was, aching and twisting inside him, let him see the wounds that his skin and soul bore finally be able to talk to someone about it, be vulnerable, for once...
But that would crossing a line they had no business coming near, what was he doing? What was he thinking?
Their head was pounding and and his hand was burning and the cuts that were starting to heal were once again open and there were hundreds of silver worms crawling in and out and under their skin and the floor felt like liquid sand and shifting water ready to swallow him whole... so they slip.
They ended up sitting on the very bench Jon had been thinking about so hard just before falling.
Martin had asked him a lot of questions that were weakly answered, probably to determine if they were hurt, although Jon really couldn't tell.
They really couldn't tell a single thing, to be fair.
Jon was just swimming inside his body, inside their mind, the only thing keeping them in touch with reality being Martin's hand gently placed on their shoulder...
Oh. Oh.
A fond smile before the horrible task of regaining consciousness.
“Jon? Jon! How are you feeling?”
A scoff “Oh, we're really in it now...”
“Did I hit the floor?”
“No, I caught you... still though you did hit your back against my arm... it's not like it was the greatest catch of all time, so maybe that's why you got so hazy...”
“Oh... thank you” the image of Martin holding him was beginning to form in their mind, and it wasn't something Jon would have liked to let go of... but too much of him was distracted by the hand on their shoulder
“Oh- sorry” said Martin when he noticed where his hand was.
“No, don't- it's just- I'm sorry for before... I didn't mean to react like that.... I just... after everything that has happened... it's just difficult, touch...”
“You shouldn't be sorry. I overstepped. I get it.” there was a sadness to Martin's voice, like the final realization that something had been lost forever... they were finally to a point in which there was a chance for them to be something... but not like they used to, never again like that. Never again?
“Maybe if I... if I'm the one to initiate contact... maybe it's better. But... I don't think I'm capable of holding hands yet...”
“If you wanna try... but don't feel obligated to do it, there's nothing wrong if you-”
“I think there being something wrong is kind of the point, Martin.” soft. “But I want to try.” A pause. “Can we hug?” Martin's 'sure' is almost inaudible, but the small smile on his face told it all already.
Jon's back hurts a little, but they move towards Martin.
The softness of Martin's sweater- why isn't he wearing a coat? Isn't he cold? How does he keep so warm?- under his palms, the gentle tickle of his curls on their face... this feels nothing like Jude, like Daisy, like Micheal... this felt like Sasha, like Tim, like Georgie... this wasn't hurt, this wasn't hurt, this wasn't hurt, because Martin cared for them, and everything wasn't fine but it was for a brief moment. Now.