Chapter Text
September 2016
“I still can’t believe the spooky clown lady is on Instagram,” Tim said.
Jon rolled his eyes at the over-used S word. “Well, the occult eye gentleman is, so why not the clown lady?”
“Okay, A, what on earth do you think qualifies you as a gentleman, and B, you never post. She has more followers than I do!”
They’d finally gotten a response to the gorilla-skin post the previous week, asking for details of location and accessibility for the purposes of ‘a photoshoot.’ Apparently the Circus was running an account full of ‘aesthetic’ pictures of old clowns, mannequins, and taxidermy. It would probably have fewer followers if they realized those mannequins were behind the camera, as well.
“A, he’s totally a gentleman, Tim, it’s your loss you’ve never been on a date with him,” Martin chimed in, “and B, he posts via my account. Also, Jared Hopworth’s on Instagram too. And I’m pretty sure I found Mike Crew’s Twitter page a few weeks back.”
“A, you have to say that, you’re his husband, and B, I don’t know who they are.”
“Bone man and lightning-scar guy,” Jon supplied. Tim grimaced.
“Oh. Ew.”
“Quite.”
“Anyway,” Martin continued, “a lot of Avatars still live pretty normal lives? I mean, most of them are like Jon, they didn’t know what they were getting into and never quite… stopped living? Just added extra, ah, hobbies, on the side. As it were. It’s why so many of them were angry with Mag- with Elias when he started the apocalypse.”
Tim didn’t seem to notice the stutter. They had decided not to share the information about Elias’s true identity with anyone in the past, as it was yet another card they held in reserve to use against him if he tried to move against them.
“You said this Orsinov was, like, built from pieces of other people that got chopped to bits. And plastic.”
“Yeah. Yeah, she’s a bit different.”
“We’re still not entirely sure what she is,” Jon said. “Which is, I believe, kind of the point.”
“But you know how to kill her.”
“Yes. Not much can survive an explosion like this.”
Tim nodded in satisfaction, turning back to watch the laptop screen. It was displaying the feeds from several cameras they had set up around the storage shed, and he was ready to grab the detonator the moment they saw movement.
Martin leaned in close to Jon’s shoulder as soon as it became clear Tim wasn’t continuing the conversation. “Not much indeed. You’re just special.” He pitched his voice up on the last word, adopting a cutesy tone usually reserved for small kittens and newborns.
Jon bit back a smile. “Shut up, Martin.”
Martin snorted.
The explosion itself was spectacular. Tim had the honors of setting it off, and there was grim satisfaction in his face when he hit the button. It quickly morphed into absolutely ecstatic joy upon watching the building go up in pieces, and Jon watched in amusement as Tim and Martin jumped around screaming several variations of did you see that?!? at each other long past the point when the final aftershocks had faded away.
Martin had spent the trip to the storage shed fondly reminiscing about burning statements while the Circus was blown up last time, as well. Apparently Jon had married a pyromaniac.
How wonderful.
Tim drove them back to the Institute after it was done, still grinning and muttering excitedly to himself. Whether he had truly needed the closure of being the one to trigger the explosion or not was moot at this point: one way or another, it had certainly put him in a good mood.
Martin fell asleep on Jon’s shoulder in the backseat of the car, and Jon spent the journey with one arm wrapped around him, smiling fondly as Martin’s face twitched in dreams. He knew, objectively speaking, that he’d been dealt a bad hand in life: he’d lost more often than he’d won, been injured so much he had more scar tissue than skin at this point, and started the goddamn apocalypse; but he couldn’t help feeling lucky, even so.
Martin murmured in his sleep, turning his face into Jon’s neck before settling again. Jon brushed a few strands of hair back from his forehead, kissing him softly.
Yes. He was very lucky, indeed.
November 2016
“You know, I had hoped to get a break from this with Blackwood and Sims out of the country,” Sasha said dryly. Martin contemplated flipping her off behind Jon’s back, but that would involve removing one of his hands from Jon’s hair, and he wasn’t exactly inclined to do that.
Jon was leaning over Martin’s desk, using one hand to brace himself against it while the other gripped Martin’s shoulder. Martin was half-standing from his chair, hands tight in Jon’s hair, kissing him.
Sasha and Tim were annoyed.
“Honestly, all he did was bring you tea, do you really have to suck his face off?”
Jon pulled back from Martin’s mouth for a moment to mutter a slightly embarrassed, “Shut up, Tim,” before returning to the task at hand.
Tim made a disgusted noise. Sasha sighed.
“I never would have guessed you two’d be the sort for PDA.”
“We’re usually not,” Martin responded, finally letting go of Jon. He fixed a bit of the hair he had mussed before sitting back down. “But it’s fun to annoy you guys.”
They tried to avoid it, if they could: amusing as Tim and Sasha’s reactions were, it also left Jon and Martin open to any teasing the others cared to throw their way, which tended to be a lot - not that they didn’t deserve it. It was also a bit weird around Blackwood and Sims, who always looked vaguely proud of the fact that Jon and Martin had finally gotten together - or gotten together so soon, from their perspectives. But Blackwood and Sims were in America hunting vampires - or possibly hunting vampire hunters, they hadn’t been too clear on that point - and Jon and Martin had been left as the sole overly-affectionate couple in the Archives. They were rising to the challenge with glee.
Jon dragged Sims’ chair over to sit behind Martin’s desk, pointedly ignoring the rolling eyes from Sasha and Tim.
Martin took a sip of the tea Jon had brought him, and smiled. It was just the way he liked it, with an extra half-spoon of sugar to boot.
“Thanks, love,” he said, and watched with amusement as Jon fumbled the file he was trying to pick up and sent papers scattering across the floor. Martin had been using the epithet for about a month, now, and Jon had the same reaction every time.
Well, it was only fair. Jon had called him ‘darling’ the first night he’d spent over at Martin’s flat, and he’d nearly had a heart attack.
He was looking forward to the reaction he could get out of the judicious application of a ‘sweetheart.’
He helped Jon pick up the papers, and they were just sitting down again to start work - and they were actually working on a case, there was a legitimate reason for Jon to be at Martin’s desk, no matter what Tim and Sasha said - when Sasha spoke again.
“Oh, hey, Melanie’s released her new episode!”
That was the cue for everyone to drag their chairs to her desk; they piled around her, leaning in to see the computer screen as she hit play. It had become a routine every time an episode dropped - even more so since Melanie had managed to convince her team to update their content.
“Welcome to Ghost Hunt U.K.!” Her voice came out tinny on the computer speakers. “Today we’re investigating a mysterious case of malicious mud in the suburbs of London. Could it be Buried activity? Or has it just been very rainy recently? Join us as we find out!”
The theme music cut in with low, ominous strings as the show’s logo appeared on the screen. Sasha shook her head.
“I cannot believe they’re actually doing this. She’s going to get herself shot this time around too.”
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to stop her,” Tim said. “If Sims and Blackwood haven’t managed it by now, no one will.”
The episode proceeded with interviews with the various homeowners who had reported the mud, testing procedures to compare its composition and consistency against samples of regular mud, and frequent reminders of safety procedures that could be taken in the event of a Buried encounter. Melanie had taken full advantage of the file Sims had given her, and was making it her life’s mission to disseminate that information to the widest audience possible.
“Of course, no incident stands in isolation - unless it’s from the Lonely!” She flashed a grin. “So for a comparison with similar cases from the past, we turn to our correspondent from England’s top historical fears podcast: Georgie Barker of What the Ghost! Available on all good podcasting sites.” The last line was delivered with a wink and a smile as Melanie was joined onscreen by Georgie. The collaboration between the two shows was relatively recent, and the couple had been thrilled to find that both of their audiences had almost immediately joined the fanbase of the other show.
“So, babe, what can you tell us about mud?”
The final segment of the show was fan letters - various accounts of encounters with Smirke’s Fourteen that viewers had been able to identify and survive thanks to tips from the show. This was the reason Sims hadn’t entirely objected to Melanie pursuing encounters - despite muttering that the fan letters were ‘dangerously close to statements’ - she was actively helping people by sharing what she knew.
The show ended with the usual reminder to check the episode notes for links to various scientific studies and urban legends they had mentioned, and a ‘ See you next week!’ that was far too cheerful for a woman up to her knees in mud.
Sasha shook her head again as the credits rolled. “If Georgie wasn’t literally fearless, I’d say Melanie was the bravest person I know.”
“They certainly make quite a duo,” Jon chuckled fondly. “According to Georgie she had to physically drag Melanie away from cliff jumping over the summer because she wanted to test if the Vast was manifesting there.”
“Of course she did.” Sasha stood and stretched. “I’m going to go grab lunch. Anyone want to come with?”
They went to their usual cafe, the four of them crowding together around the booth in the corner. Martin looped his arm over Jon’s shoulders as they sat down, and Jon leaned into him with a small sigh of contentment.
He still couldn’t believe, sometimes, that they had actually gotten together. If someone had asked him a year ago whether he’d ever date Jonathan Sims - ever sit next to him in a small cafe across from their friends, arm around him, Jon reaching up to hold his hand where it rested on his shoulder - he’d have laughed in their face. As if Jon would ever like him. As if he would ever date a man who thought so little of him! Even if they did have a surprising amount in common, and he really wanted to kiss him…
Oh, how the tables turned.
Jon smiled at him, and the look on his face was so openly adoring that Martin would swear his heart stopped in his chest. He smiled back, and he must have looked just as besotted, because Tim put his head in his hands and groaned.
“Please. Not over lunch.”
“Sorry,” Martin said, not sorry at all, and tugged Jon a little closer.
February 2017
Jon’s phone dinged! for the tenth time in as many minutes. Martin frowned at it.
“What is it this time?”
“Still Julia.” Jon grimaced, turning the phone to Martin. “She’s convinced they’re on the trail of a Flesh Avatar. I keep trying to tell her, it’s just a weird dog.”
Martin peered at the picture. “That is a very weird dog.”
“Still just a dog, though.” He typed something quickly, then tossed the phone across the room to land on one of their armchairs. It disappeared in a pile of throw pillows.
“I still can’t believe you gave her your mobile number.”
Jon shrugged. “I don’t mind being a monster manual. It’s a more than fair price for Gerry’s freedom.” The phone dinged! again, muffled by the pillows, and his eyes narrowed. “What I do mind is being pestered while I’m busy with something else. I should have muted it.”
“You can go over there to get it if you like. I’m not moving.” Martin settled a little deeper into the couch, pointedly pulling his blanket up a few more inches. Jon huffed, setting his laptop aside for a moment to hook his hands under Martin’s arms and drag him sideways across the cushions. Martin squeaked in surprise, then settled in again with his head resting on Jon’s knee.
“Sorry, can’t move,” Jon said, over the sound of another ding! from the phone. “You’re going to have to wait, Julia, it’s my husband’s fault.” Martin snorted out a laugh, and Jon grinned at him while he fetched his laptop back to balance on his other knee. “Now, back to business…”
Jon tapped away at the laptop for another few minutes while Martin dozed. He didn’t know anything about hacking the police system, and he’d already done his part by arranging the train tickets.
“Oh...kay,” Jon said after a while. “I do not want to know where Sasha learned to hack into the police database, but I’ve done everything she told me to and I don’t think I’ve broken anything. If I’ve checked all the boxes I meant to, Daisy should get a few weeks of mandatory vacation time. Assuming Basira’s having the same reaction to Raynor that she did the first time around, she’ll already be free. You got the train tickets?”
“Already mailed ‘em,” Martin murmured. “With the letter we wrote. Should be enough to convince her to get Daisy away for a while.”
“Good.” Jon dropped a hand to Martin’s shoulder, absently rubbing circles into it through his thick sweater. Martin hummed in contentment, relaxing further under Jon’s ministrations.
“You know,” he said, dragging himself back from the edge of sleep, “you still haven’t told me why you think sending them to the safehouse will save Daisy.”
“Oh,” Jon said. His voice took on a slightly embarrassed tone, and Martin cracked one eye open to look at him. “Well, I, I figure, the Hunt is all about the unending chase. So if one were to allow themselves to get, uh, caught, as it were…”
“Wait.” Martin untangled one hand from the blanket and held it up to stop him. “You don’t mean…”
Jon shrugged. “They’ve been together quite a long while by this point. And we both know just how romantic Scotland can be.”
“Jon,” Martin laughed, “why didn’t you tell me your plan to save them was to get Daisy to propose?”
“Oh, I don’t think she has to be the one to propose,” Jon said. He grinned. “So long as she says yes. Come on, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“It’s certainly original.” Martin wriggled into a half sitting position, propping one elbow on the couch cushions and giving Jon an adoring smile. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“Happy endings for everyone.” Jon turned back to his laptop. “It’s not our fault so many of our friends’ ‘happy endings’ are marriage.”
Martin shook his head fondly before letting it fall back to Jon’s knee. It was a rather bony pillow, but a comfortable one. “Other than those few specific friends whose ‘happy endings’ are blowing things up.”
“Or jumping headfirst into danger for the sake of higher views on their videos, yes.”
Martin hmmed, letting his eyes drift shut again. The only sounds in the room were the click of the keys as Jon typed, distant traffic, and both of their quiet breathing. There was an intermittent whoosh as the heating cycled on and off.
Eventually Jon set the laptop aside, returning his hand to Martin’s shoulder.
“Hey,” his voice was low. “You awake?”
“Somewhat.” He didn’t bother to open his eyes.
The smile in Jon’s voice was audible. “Ready for bed?”
“Hmm…” Martin shifted, pressing his face against Jon’s side and nosing at a spot he knew was ticklish. “Think I’ll just fall asleep right here.” Jon’s breath hitched as Martin hit the spot, and he grinned.
“Well, that, ah, that- Martin!” He was laughing now. Both hands moved to Martin’s head, carefully pushing him back and away from his target. He buried his fingers in Martin’s hair in recompense for the disruption, tugging it gently and massaging his scalp. “That would be fine with me, but I think your back will complain about it in the morning.”
Martin sighed. Jon was right. He dragged himself upright with immense effort, propping himself up against Jon. Jon laughed again, grabbing him around the waist as he threatened to topple over.
“Hi there.”
Martin opened his eyes to find himself mere inches from Jon’s face, practically still laying on top of him even though they were both, technically, sitting up. “Hi.”
“Think you’ll be able to make it to bed, or do I have to carry you?”
“As if you could.” Martin leaned forward with the words, kissing them into Jon’s cheek before finding his mouth. It was a bit sleepy - a bit sloppy - but he could feel Jon smile through it.
“Hmn. I’d probably throw my back out, and you’d still have to sleep on the couch, and then neither of us would be able to move in the morning.”
“Guess I’d better get up, then.” He pulled away with a sigh of disappointment, but Jon dragged him in for another kiss before he could vacate the couch entirely. “Thought you were the one saying it was time for bed?”
“It is time for bed,” Jon said. “Don’t know why you keep getting distracted.” His hands were back in Martin’s hair.
“Sure, I’m getting distracted.” Martin pulled away, smiling. “I still need to brush my teeth, and you need pajamas, then we can take this up again in bed.”
Jon stood from the couch, stretching. “I need to brush my teeth too.”
“I know, you taste like tea.” Martin grabbed the hand Jon extended to him, letting himself be dragged off the couch. He leaned forward into the motion, tilting his head back for another kiss that Jon delivered with a smile. “Yep. Tea.”
Jon yawned, pressing his face into Martin’s hair. “We’d better get moving, otherwise I’ll just fall asleep right here.”
“Hm. See, I probably could just carry you to bed.”
“No way.”
“Sure I could.”
“I’m taller than you, you’d never get my feet off the floor.”
“Bridal carry.”
Jon gave him a considering look. “Prove it. Tomorrow.”
“You’re on.” Martin tugged at his hand, pulling and then pushing him toward their bedroom. “Now go get changed before you collapse.”
“Fine, fine,” Jon shot him one last smile before leaving the room, and Martin stared after him for a moment with a fond grin. Then he shook his head, and went to brush his teeth.
May 2017
“Don’t read that.” Sims snatched the paper out of Jon’s hand in a casual motion as he strode by the desk, dropping it neatly into a file as he sat down behind his own. Jon rolled his eyes.
“Don’t tell me. It’s ‘spooky’?” He spoke the word with distaste.
“The spookiest. As a general rule, if anything mentions Hill Top Road, just pass it straight along to me.”
“Right.” Jon glanced at the door, checking that no one was about to walk in. He’d taken to doing most of his work in the assistants’ office for the sake of the company, but today Tim and Martin were out to lunch and Sasha and Blackwood were yarn shopping. They were alone. “So are you ever going to tell me what’s up with that place? You’ve been pretty cagey about it.”
Sims leaned back in his chair with a sigh, seeming to consider. “Well… the fact of the matter is, I’m not even entirely sure what’s going on there. There are… a lot of statements generated by Hill Top Road. Mostly by the Web, though there have been incidents with the Spiral and the Desolation as well. What I can tell you is that it’s not an active threat.”
“Very helpful, thanks.”
Sims shrugged. “I wish I could tell you more, I really do, but that’s genuinely the only thing I’m certain about.”
“Are you even sure about that?” Sims gave him an odd look, and Jon grimaced. “I’m just saying, it’s the Web. How do you know you’re not just thinking what it wants you to think?”
“I just do. Don’t forget, knowing is my job.” He shifted a couple of papers on his desk, frowning. “I do understand why you feel that way, though. Don’t forget, our histories only diverged relatively recently. I do… I was there, too.”
Jon glanced away.
“Have you told him?” Sims’ voice was soft.
“A little.” Jon bit his lip. “He- he didn’t press for details. It’s… hard. To talk about it. I think he understands.”
Martin always seemed to understand. Even before Jon worked up the courage to whisper that there was a reason, a good one, for why he didn’t like spiders, and that it went back to when he was eight. Martin had always understood that Jon’s phobia wasn’t something to push him to get past or laugh at him about.
“I’m sure he does,” Sims said. “Martin - my Martin - is good about that kind of thing. It took me a… long time to share that. He never pushed.”
“He’s amazing.” Jon’s voice came out slightly awed. He would have been embarrassed about that if he wasn’t sure that Sims felt the same.
“He really is. They are. However you want to phrase it.” Sims paused for a moment, and even though Jon wasn’t looking at him he knew they had the same slightly dazed, slightly disbelieving smile on their faces over the fact that someone like Martin could have fallen for someone like them. “How are things? Between you two?”
“Fantastic.” Jon’s smile spread into a grin. “We’ve been talking about moving in together, if we can find a flat. I’m already spending half my time over at his, anyway.”
“And the other half, he’s over at yours?”
“Yeah.” Jon face was starting to hurt. He lifted a hand, trying to massage the smile away. It didn’t work.
“I’m glad. I must admit, I was a little worried that coming back like this would change things, for the two of you. Make it too awkward for you to ever sort through your feelings.”
Jon finally glanced over at him. Sims was staring back, half a smile on his face and a nostalgic look in his eyes.
He shrugged. “I mean, I suppose for a little while it did. But it’s kind of hard to deny how someone makes you feel when your future self is hitting you over the head with it.”
Sims snorted. “True. Makes you wonder, though.”
“About?”
“Fate.” Sims picked up a pencil, balancing it across an outstretched finger. “Two different versions of us, two different versions of Martin. Both so perfectly suited for each other, despite how different our lives have become. Makes you wonder if maybe there isn’t something else behind it, some grand determination in our lives that says no. Whatever else happens, the two of you need each other.” The pencil tipped to the side, and he lifted his other hand to correct it.
“Are you talking about… what, soulmates?”
“Maybe. I’m not honestly sure.” Sims grinned, letting the pencil fall. “It’s a romantic notion, you have to admit.”
“True.” Martin had written a poem about that: two souls, so closely wound to each other that they’d find each other in every universe, through every hardship. “But I also like the idea that there’s… nothing. That it’s our choice to be what we are, our decisions that have led us here, our responsibility to keep working at it, and not let ourselves get torn apart by the rest of the world. And grander determination can fuck off.”
“I quite agree with you there.” Sims paused. “Though given my own role in getting you and your Martin together, perhaps I should be insulted by you telling me to fuck off.”
Jon laughed. “What, are you fate now? Bit of a high opinion of yourself, don’t you think?”
“Knowing the future, carefully controlling events to make sure a certain series of things comes to pass… no, no, I think I’m quite justified in that opinion.” Sims threw his shoulders back self-importantly. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I think I have to make the final call. You and Martin were fated to be together, because I, an agent of fate, was going to keep trying to matchmake you until the day you died if you didn’t go ahead and take the initiative yourself.”
“Oh, well, thanks for that,” Jon said it sarcastically, but there was no bite to it. “Lovely to know you got to make your own choices but mine were all predetermined.”
“Isn’t it just?” Sims grinned again. “Seriously, though, I’m happy for you two. You being together… it’s not just trying to force you to follow the same path me and Martin have. You’re just… good for each other. Even though it’s different than us.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Jon raised an eyebrow. “Martin’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And we didn’t need the whole ‘bonded by trauma’ thing you’ve got going on to get there.”
Sims nodded sagely. “Bonding via trauma is very much not the recommended course of action for finding a partner.”
“Quite.” Jon glanced down at his hands to hide his smile, spreading them flat on the desk for a moment. “On a different note, I do have work to be getting on with, and if we keep talking like this I’m just going to end up rambling about Martin all afternoon.”
“I wouldn’t particularly mind that, but you do have a point.” With that, Sims flipped open one of the files on his desk and started reading. Jon turned back to his own work.
It was… weird, as always, talking to his future self. Their conversations often took a course that was practically an internal monologue brought to life, and it wasn’t unusual for them to end by simply deciding to ignore each other for a bit. But… Jon had to admit, he did actually get along with Sims. Sometimes. In the weird way that came from understanding each other completely, and using that understanding to annoy each other more than anyone else in the universe if they so wished. Martin - both Martin’s - laughed at them for it.
Martin. Jon’s train of thought derailed as it always did when he thought about his boyfriend. They were going to start looking for flats soon, and then they’d move in together, and then… well, they had their whole lives ahead of them. Maybe they’d adopt a pet. Maybe they’d plan a vacation together. Neither of them had done much traveling. Maybe…
He realized he was staring absently at the wall, a small smile on his face as he imagined the possibilities. He shook himself, glancing over at Sims to see if he’d noticed.
Sims was also staring at the wall, with a smile that suggested he was thinking about Blackwood.
Sometimes Jon thought it was nice to have a person so similar to himself in the world. Sometimes he thought it was annoying. Sometimes it was just weird.
He shook his head, turning back to his computer and clearing his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sims startle and glance over at Jon to see if he’d noticed his distraction. Jon raised an eyebrow, refusing to acknowledge the glance.
Very, very weird.
Thursday, October 18, 2018; Dawn
Jon woke early.
One of his arms was pinned by a heavy weight, and another weight pressed against his chest. This was normal.
He cracked open an eye. The light in the room was dim, with that watery, bluish quality that suggested it was just before dawn. Most of the room was lost to indistinct shapes and shadows, but he could still see Martin curled next to him, one arm thrown over Jon’s chest and Jon’s arm trapped under his side.
He flexed his fingers gently, debating whether or not he could free the arm without waking Martin. On balance, he decided, it wasn’t worth it: it was still too early to be getting ready for work anyway, and he was very comfortable where he was. He’d probably have hellish pins and needles in the limb when he finally did move it, but that was a problem for later.
What he did do was free his other arm from the blanket and reach up to lace his fingers with the hand Martin had thrown over his chest. It was very warm: Martin always ran a few degrees higher than Jon.
Everything was warm, in fact. Warm blankets, warm boyfriend, warm dawn light starting to break through the blue. Jon was going to fall asleep again if he wasn’t careful, and he didn’t see why he should bother to fight it.
He shifted slightly, angling his body toward Martin and away from the window to block out the light. Martin sighed softly in his sleep, fingers curling tighter around Jon’s. Jon held his breath, hoping he hadn’t woken him… no. Martin relaxed again, breath evening out, and Jon smiled.
He loved Martin. So much. He’d told him, too, and Martin loved him back.
That had been a while ago, and they said it all the time now, but it was still nigh-on unbelievable. Jon was pretty sure he was constantly setting records for just how happy a human could be, every time he thought about it.
Happiness wasn’t going to keep him awake, though, no matter how much it set his heart racing. He pushed his head forward, hiding it in Martin’s chest and effectively ignoring the growing brightness in the room. They’d have to wake up and face the day at some point - go to work, get things done, acknowledge the fact that yes, there was a wider world out there beyond their little bubble of domestic bliss - but not yet. Right now, they could stay here, cozy and warm.
Jon fell asleep.
Thursday, October 18, 2018; Sunset
The sunset painted streaks of orange and red across the London skyline. There was a beautiful view of it from the roof of the Institute; it was a small building, but well situated for seeing over its neighbors. Perhaps not such a strange thing, when its history was taken into account.
Jon wrapped his arms tighter around Martin, and Martin leaned back into his chest. They hadn’t spoken since coming up here, watching in silence as the day came to a close.
The last sliver of sun slipped over the horizon, leaving behind gold-painted clouds and a deep streak of darkness creeping over the opposite side of the sky. The light faded gradually, slowly being replaced by the electric glow rising from the city. A few stars fought their way through, piercing the sky in defiance of the light pollution. Finally, it was night.
“And just like that, the world doesn’t end,” Martin murmured.
Jon nodded, letting the side of his head brush Martin’s so he could feel the motion without looking. “We did it.”
Martin turned in his arms, cupping his hands around Jon’s face and drawing him into a kiss. He didn’t say anything afterwards, just looped his arms around Jon’s shoulders and tucked his head against his chest. Jon returned the hug, and they stood in silence for a long time.
A breeze picked up. Jon shivered, finally pulling back. “We should head home. It’s getting late.”
“Right.” Martin took his hand, but hesitated. “Jon?”
“Yes?”
“What happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…” Martin looked up at him, and he was smiling. “We did it. Everything we came back to do. This, right now, today… this is what we came back to change. Everything we’ve lived after this point was focused on getting back to now and stopping it. And we have. So what happens next?”
“Well, I think…” Jon glanced out at the city, humming with life around them. At the sky, clear and free. At Martin. “The future.”
Martin’s smile turned wry. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Jon held up their joined hands between them. “We did it. Saved the world, saved our friends, completed our mission. End of story. Now… we get to live.”
Martin stared at him. “Happily ever after?”
“I wouldn’t say our lives have been a fairy tale, but… yes. Happily ever after. Nothing’s stopping us.”
“That’s true.” He squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon took the cue to lean down and kiss him again. Martin was grinning when he pulled back. “It’s gonna be pretty weird just living. Nothing trying to stop us, even.”
“Right?” Jon exaggerated his enthusiasm, and Martin laughed. “Imagine it. You and me, with nothing trying to kill us. Going down to the shops and not getting attacked by a monster. Ever again!”
They started walking toward the stairs off the roof.
“I’ll be able to buy clothes and not have to worry if they’re going to show bloodstains,” Martin said, voice tinged with awe.
“We can redecorate the flat without worrying if our furniture is heavy enough to barricade the door.”
“We can move. We’ve spent so long in London, but we can go wherever we want, so long as we take statements with us.”
Jon held open the door to the stairs, waving Martin through it with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “The future awaits. After you, Mr. Blackwood-Sims.”
“Why, thank you very much, Mr. Blackwood-Sims,” Martin laughed.
The door shut softly behind them.