It had all happened so quickly; the attack on the Institute, the thing that wasn't Sasha, their escape from the Lonely, all before fleeing to Scotland. It hurt, it felt like they were abandoning everyone, but Basira had been right. They had all been after Jon. They needed to get out of there before the police arrived, otherwise more people were just going to get hurt.
They needed to get as far away from Elias and whatever else he had planned for them as quickly as possible.
They hadn't had time to properly talk about everything that had happened in their rush to get to Daisy's safe house. There was one thing, though, that they both knew to be true, one thing that their concerns and anxieties couldn't challenge, as cemented as it was in them. From the moment Jon took Martin's hand in the Lonely, they both knew that nothing could pull them apart again.
Carrying their bags into the safe house felt so surreal. Jon had spent so long missing Martin, and now suddenly he was facing down a future that had them living together. Even just their trip up, it had been such a relief to have him close by, to get to hear his voice as he pointing out any fauna they passed, to get to just talk to him about nothing at all, to feel the warmth of their linked hands.
Jon felt content in a way he hadn't in such a long time. Sure, they weren't completely safe here, but they finally had some semblance of a break from the chaos and trauma that their lives had become, and it was surprisingly easy to indulge in how it felt to lean against Martin as they dropped tiredly onto the couch. He was warm and solid and soft and Jon didn't think he'd ever been more comfortable and content.
It was dark outside and they were both so exhausted, but they continued to sit there for a long moment. Jon didn't know what was running through Martin's mind, but his own was grappling with a dilemma. Of the many conversations they needed to have about their new situation was about the single bed in Daisy's bedroom and the distinct lack of a guest room.
It wasn't exactly a problem in Jon's mind. He liked the idea of sharing a bed with Martin. But maybe that was a conversation they should have when they weren't practically dead on their feet. So, Jon formed a plan to wait for Martin to turn in first. If he went into the bedroom where they'd left their bags, Jon could claim the couch without getting into an argument about who would sleep where and no boundaries would be risked. He just wanted Martin to be able to rest well after everything he'd been through, and the couch looked much too small for him.
Jon could feel himself nodding off and tried to focus, rubbing at his tired eyes before glancing over at Martin. He was staring into his empty mug with a faraway look in his eyes. Thankfully, there was nothing of the vacant, lost expression he'd worn in the Lonely. Still, it was clear they both needed to rest and he supposed he'd stalled long enough.
"Why don't you get some sleep? It's getting late," Jon said as he reached out to take hold of Martin's hand where it rested on his knee to squeeze it gently.
"Go on ahead, I'm not all that tired," Martin replied, blinking a few times to clear his vision as he came back to himself.
"We both know that's a lie," Jon chuckled, absently bringing their linked hands up to his lips.
"Fine," Martin sighed, carefully setting his mug aside and focusing on their linked hands, idly fiddling with Jon's thumb. It was clearly something to keep his attention so he didn't have to meet Jon's gaze, and he didn't need the Eye to tell him that. "What can I say? Not exactly looking forward to the nightmares. Or waking up alone."
"So don't," Jon said, before he'd really registered his own words, and he felt his face burning as he realized. So much for waiting until they were both properly coherent. But he couldn't leave it like this, not when his heart ached at Martin's words. "I mean, I can't help with the dreams, but I don't particularly want to wake up alone, either. It just makes sense."
As if Jon was all about reason and logic. As much as he wished to appear as such in the beginning, that facade had long since fallen apart even before the paranoia had nearly consumed him. Martin studied him for a long moment, a moment in which Jon definitely didn't forget to breathe, before a ghost of a smile touched his lips and he nodded.
"Okay."
"Yes," Jon said eloquently. "Good."
All he wanted was to stay close, to reassure Martin as much as himself that he was safe, that he was wanted here, but things felt like they were rapidly spiraling out of his control. With Martin, there was so much that just felt natural, that he found himself doing without thinking, like taking his hand, brushing his hair out of his face, leaning into him when they were just standing close to each other. And while it was definitely reciprocated, there had never been much in the way of touch exchanged between them before. Right when they were finally getting along, there had been Jon's coma followed by Martin's isolation.
That meant that they hadn't talked about anything like this, and suddenly he was worried that Martin might want something out of this that he couldn't give. But no, probably not right now at the very least, they were both too exhausted, too fragile. He pushed those concerns away for the time being. Making sure Martin was okay was all that mattered right now.
Still holding his hand, Jon led the way to the bedroom. He tried not to think of anything at all as he stripped to his boxers and undershirt and climbed into bed, Martin following suit. The moment they were both under the covers, he reached out and took his hand again, suddenly feeling much more hesitant and self conscious with his eyes on him this close.
"Is this okay?" Jon asked, weaving their fingers together.
"Yeah," Martin said, and Jon's heart twisted when he realized there were tears in his eyes.
Jon reached up to touch his cheek, tangle his fingers through his hair. Martin closed his eyes tightly, buried his face in the pillow to compose himself, before looking back at him. The smile he wore wasn't exactly happy. It was tired and worn out and relieved, like he was finally setting aside a heavy burden he'd been carrying for so long. Jon thought there might have been tears in his own eyes, but tried to ignore it as he scooted closer, their foreheads touching, Martin reaching out to hold him.
"I'm sorry," Jon said, feeling at a loss in the overflow of emotions. "I've never been very good at this. You deserve better."
"Jon, look," Martin said with a sigh, glancing away as he reached up to take Jon's hand away from his face, giving it a brief squeeze. "It's fine, you know. If you don't feel the same, you don't have to—"
"No," Jon said, much louder and forcefully than he'd intended. Martin just looked at him in confused amusement. "That's what I'm trying to say. I— I love you."
That was it. He loved Martin. He wasn't even sure when it happened. He had no right to do this to him, not after everything he'd put him through. It was his fault Martin had even ended up in the Lonely in the first place. He should, by rights, hate him. But he didn't. There might not be much left of Jon, but he wanted to offer it all if he could. If Martin wanted it, meager and pathetic as Jon was. He just cared so much for the man before him and he had no idea how to express the depths of it properly.
"Oh," was all Martin said. He looked surprised, Jon couldn't read his expression beyond that, and he stubbornly blocked out the Eye, refusing to Know what he was feeling. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"I-if you don't anymore, I mean— it's fine," he hastened to add into the silence between them. Martin had said 'loved.' Past tense. It would only make sense if he'd long since moved on. Shit, had he ruined everything again by bringing this up? "Just the fact that you ever did care about me, it means a lot. This doesn't— you don't have to—"
"I love you too," Martin interrupted him, smiling like the sun.
"Oh." Now it was Jon's turn to be lost for words.
"I guess I just never hoped—" Martin left the words in the air, sentence unfinished.
"Why do you think I jumped into the Lonely after you?" Jon chuckled, but there was something self-deprecating in it that he couldn't disguise.
"I mean, you went to the Buried after Daisy. Do you have something you want to tell me about her too?" Martin teased.
"What? Oh, god, no," he shuddered. "That was completely different."
"Was it really?
"Yes! That was— I don't know, I guess I just— we'd lost so much, I just wanted to be able to save one person. And, I figured, if I died in the attempt, at least there'd be one less monster in the world."
"Jon," Martin began, eyes softening.
"I know, I know," he waved his hand impatiently and glanced away. He didn't exactly want to talk about his own self-hatred right now. "But with the Lonely, when I realized Peter Lucas had taken you— I was terrified. I couldn't— I can't— lose you."
"Can't?"
"Yeah. I meant what I said. I want you here. With me. But—but I would understand if you don't— I mean, I'm not exactly boyfriend material. Even before all— this," he gestured around lamely, at the world, at himself, everything, "I wasn't— I didn't— Georgie was fine with it, don't get me wrong, but by the end all we did was fight, so it hardly mattered."
"Yes, Jon, I know you can be a prick," Martin said with a fond smile.
"Yes, all right, but not what I meant. I've never had much luck with romance, mostly because, when I was in a relationship, I never felt the need to, ah, I never wanted to—" he waved his hands, hoping desperately Martin could put it together so he could stop the awkward conversation, the oversharing. He felt much too exposed.
"You're gonna have to be more specific than that, Jon, spit it out."
"Sex, Martin. I'm talking about sex."
"Yes, I had a feeling, I just wanted to hear you say it," Martin grinned.
"Bastard," Job muttered fondly and was rewarded with a giggle Martin failed to suppress. It was a really lovely sound. "Fine, yes. Most people aren't interested in a relationship without it, is my point."
"It's okay," Martin said, shuffling closer. "I am. I mean, I'm sure there's more we should talk about, but it's really fine. I want this"
Somehow, Jon had thought that would be a bigger deal. As much as he wanted to throw caution aside. He felt something unpleasant twisting in his stomach, sure he must have tricked Martin into this, like he was deceiving him, somehow.
"Why?" Was all he could think to say. "I'm terrible at this. It's not like I've had much practice. I want to be there for you, but I don't know how. I don't have anything to offer. I can't read people, I can't properly express my own feelings, and I mostly end up lashing out when people inevitably get frustrated with me. And I don't even know what kind of physical comfort I am capable of giving without—"
"Jon, Jon, stop, it's okay," Martin interrupted him with a quiet laugh, raising a hand to his cheek, and finally Jon fell silent. "It's okay. It's really okay. I've known you this long and I haven't gotten sick of you yet."
"Lord knows why," Jon sighed.
"Why are you even trying to talk me out of this?"
Because—" Jon said, voice raised in frustration, but he took a deep breath and continued at a more normal volume. "Because you shouldn't want this. I don't know what I am anymore. I don't know how much of me is left."
"Jon, we've all changed," he said sympathetically. "You're still you."
"Maybe that's the problem. I've never felt quite right, like I never really fit anywhere, never got on with other people, always too much or not enough. I guess it's rather fitting I'm becoming a monster. I never really had much humanity to lose."
"That's not true," Martin said with so much force and passion it genuinely startled Jon. "I hate to break it to you, but your experiences are far from unique. I think that's just growing up. Or are you implying that everyone who struggles with those things are monsters in some way?"
"No, okay, I see your point," Jon conceded.
He knew he was right, but he wanted to argue, his guilt and self loathing making it feel like, even if it was normal for everyone else, it had to be different for him. He had to be uniquely terrible in some way, otherwise why else did he leave so much death in his wake from such a young age? But even if there hadn't been anything wrong with him before, he'd still ended up here, making monstrous decisions.
"It's just— I was seeking out people and forcing them to give me their statements. As much as I wanted to believe it wasn't my fault, the fact that I'm choosing not to do it anymore kind of proves that it is all me."
"Don't you see?" Martin said, eyes shining. "I respect you so much for that decision. I can see your humanity in everything you do, everything you say. It hurts that you don't see it too."
"I really don't understand," Jon shook his head and looked away. "How are you so sure? Everyone else can see me changing."
"No, they're just scared. We all are. If they just stopped and paid attention, they'd see it too. I don't know what this means about the other avatars, but honestly, the fact that you're worried about ending up like them is just more evidence that you're not."
"I'm worried all I can do is let you down," he said desperately, but the fight was gone in him. He wanted to believe it, he wanted Martin to be right so badly. And he wanted this.
"Yeah," Martin said with a wry smile. "You're not the only one feeling like that either."
"Ah," was all Jon could think to say to that.
"I don't know what this will look like, but," here, Martin cupped Jon's cheek again, running his thumb across his lips. "I'd like to try. If you'll let me."
"Yes," Jon breathed, leaning into the touch. "I want to try."
He was just so drained, his exhaustion bone-deep. His guilt was still there, and so was the fear. But if Martin wanted this too, maybe it would be okay. Even if Martin eventually realized he was much too good for him, for now, Jon could pour out everything he had left, anything to make Martin smile, to lighten his burdens even a little.
"Can I kiss you?" Martin asked, his thumb still trailing across his lips, and Jon didn't know how they'd ended up so close.
"Please."
It was soft and tender and perfect, but all too brief. He felt a tear sliding down his cheek, but Martin wiped it away, and they tangled themselves close, just holding each other. Jon didn't know where things would go from here, he didn't even know if the fear would ever go away. But they were together again and, for now, maybe that could be enough.
