Chapter Text
Martin sits in the break room of the archives. In front of him is a cup of tea, still piping hot. He stares into the mug, occasionally looking for any sort of movement in the room. He takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that he’s fine, he’s safe, and Prentiss isn’t going to get him. He is simply being paranoid, as usual.
Still, his hands shake ever so slightly as he brings the steaming cup of tea to his lips to take a sip.
While he does so, he catches a glimpse of something in the doorway- a figure with long, dark, unkempt hair. It wears something blood red. It makes him jump so badly that some of the tea he spills while trying to set his mug safely on the table lands directly on his lap.
The figure in the doorway winces. Martin looks, and it’s just Jon, his red scarf tied loosely around his neck. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Martin looks at the clock on the wall. The time reads 9:57. “Christ, Jon, what are you still d-“ Jon waves his hand around dismissively.
“Just, uh, tying up a few loose ends. Got into a groove, I suppose. You know how it is,” Jon says rigidly. Martin chooses to not draw sarcasm from that.
“Y-yeah, but it’s been… almost 5 hours? Tim and Sasha both left at 5.”
Jon leans against the doorway and smiles slightly. “Yes, well. You’ve seen the state of this place. If we’re prioritizing research on Prentiss, it certainly isn’t efficient to do so in an office that looks as though it’s been hit by a hurricane.”
Martin does a double take. “Prioritizing?”
“Well, yes, Martin,” Jon says, as though it’s completely obvious. “We have undeniable proof that she’s active. She made threats towards me and…” he looks off into the general direction of document storage. “Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain it to you.” Jon huffs. “If she’s actively terrorizing people, especially my coworkers, there is all the reason in the world that it deserves o-“ he pauses momentarily “my priority. I can work on getting the archive to a manageable state on my own time.”
Martin is dumbfounded. He hadn’t realized Jon cared.
“Well… thank you,” is about all he can say in response.
Jon, again with the slightest hint of a smile, nods his head. “Anything I can do. W-which reminds me- are you certain you feel safe enough going out for laundry? I have no issues helping with any menial tasks that might prove difficult, it’s really the l-“
“Yes, Jon, I’m fine to do my own laundry.” Martin laughs, even though he’s incredibly touched by the offer and can practically feel the blush rising to his cheeks.
“Right, yes.” Jon stands there for a few seconds, trying to verbalize what Martin can see he is having trouble saying. “If you ever want someone to accompany you, I…” He looks away, and Martin bites his own lip to stop a grin from forming on his lips.
“I’m sure Tim or Sasha would be glad to.” And his hope deflates. “O-or, myself, I suppose, but I’m not exactly riveting company,” Jon jokes. He laughs awkwardly for a second and then clears his throat. “Can I… get you anything?” Martin shakes his head. “Alright then, well… I’m sorry for startling you, again.” Martin looks down at his tea-covered trousers. He’d forgotten, to be perfectly honest.
“It’s alright. Not your fault I’m so bloody paranoid,” he laughs. Jon laughs, too, behind a quick smile that conceals something else, something more complicated that he surely doesn’t want to get into. “You could just knock, though, instead of lingering at doorways.”
Jon’s shallow mask of amusement disappears. He stiffens his posture. “I didn’t think that would be the best thing to do.” Martin thinks, and remembers the knocking. The days, and days, and days, of nonstop thuds on his apartment door. He shudders. “That’s why.”
He’s incredibly moved by that- a simple change in habit to make him feel safer, to remind him less of the traumatic time he spent locked in his flat, at the will of a human hive. “I… don’t know what to say, Jon. That’s incredibly thoughtful.” Jon, once again brushes it off.
“It’s really the least I can do.” He smiles again, very small. After a moment, he checks his watch. “Christ, I’m going to miss the tube,” he mutters under his breath. “Are you certain you need nothing else?” Martin nods. “Right, then I must be off.”
“Yeah, of course, don’t miss it,” he laughs. “I’ll be fine.” Jon nods.
“Yes, of course you will.” He nods once more. “Then, um, goodnight, Martin.”
Martin smiles. “Goodnight, Jon.”
And Jon leaves, his shoulders rigid as he quickly walks down the hallway and up the stairs.
Martin stands from his chair and walks to the doorway. He watches him go with a soft smile on his face. He downs the rest of his tea and quickly washes the mug, putting it back in the cabinet when he’s finished.
He thinks about the encounter as he’s settling into bed- or, well, his cot- and in replaying it in his mind, he feels… good about it. Jon hasn’t always been the most outgoing, or friendly, or the nicest, but with all the chaos, and the late nights slipping off his mask of vehement doubt and detachment, Martin thinks he’s changing. It took Martin getting locked in his flat for weeks, but his skeptic front is, hopefully, starting to fade away. He’d thought Jon would do anything to maintain it, but apparently not.
Without all the professionalism, and stress, and academic superiority, Martin supposes Jon might be a fine person to be around. Quiet, mostly, but with a dry and sarcastic sense of humor, and even… sweet when he wants to be.
And thoughtful. Jon is surprisingly thoughtful. One wouldn’t be able to guess it from the stingy man on the tapes, but it’s not the first time Jon has awkwardly gone out of his way to ask Martin what he needs, or offer to do tasks that require going outside. And as much of a prick as he was, and as much as Martin is sure that it’s not fully genuine, it feels nice to be doted on.
The interactions he’s had with Jon as of late have him happy, all things considered. Even as awkward as he is, he still tries. And maybe it’s to fix his months of mistreatment- in fact, it probably is, to soothe his own guilt- but it somehow feels better than when it comes from Tim and Sasha. It means a lot that someone is making an effort to change for him.
As Martin practically swaddles himself in the blanket he sleeps with, preparing to get some rest, a thought crosses his mind. It’s one that, if he’d ever thought it before, he most certainly would’ve pushed in a box somewhere to collect dust.
Jon, through all his flaws, is oddly charming. Oddly sweet, oddly pleasant when he’s not drowning in stacks upon stacks of paperwork. He carries himself with dignity and self importance normally, but late at night, when he’s exiting the building with only Martin to leave here, he appears much more uncertain, and much more approachable. He lets himself care, and even smile, on occasion. The slight curl of his lips is barely noticeable, but it adorns his sharp features nicely. And even though everyone’s become a bit less proper as of late, Jon still manages to look good. He can make the whole ‘disheveled’ look work. And perhaps Martin’s been noticing.
He sighs, and throws a hand over his eyes.
It would be just like him to get a crush on someone who hates him. He knows it isn’t healthy, and he knows it won’t go anywhere. It’s not exactly a coincidence that the one person that’s been a constant in his life is constantly berating and belittling him, and that the people he tends to go out on a limb for or fancy do the same.
He knows he’s found Jon attractive since they met, and so what? Big deal, he doesn’t think Tim is half bad either, that doesn’t mean he’s going to sneak flowers onto his desk.
But he really thought he’d have enough sense to ignore it for the sake of his own damn heart.
He stares up into the ceiling, scowling, then unceremoniously stirs to turn off the lamp next to his cot.
“Oh, fuck me,” he grumbles, then promptly turns to the side to try and fall asleep.