Jon was all too aware of his shortcomings, his temper, how irritating he could be, how he used to drive his grandmother up the wall, the way he never stopped and was just so much all the time, driving everyone away. So, to compensate, he did his best to have absolute control over himself at all times, sure that letting his guard down would cause him to slip back into the annoying person he knew he could be.
It left him rigid and stiff, incapable of relaxing. His desire to communicate effectively made him sound false and long-winded, putting people off and making them feel like he was speaking down to them. And sometimes he was doing exactly that. There was no denying he could be rude and harsh and defensive, because it was easier to lash out first before anyone else could. As much as he tried, he was not great at this whole control thing.
Because of this, he spent more time and effort on his appearance than he probably should. It wasn't that he was vain, far from it, it was just another way to try to have some control over his life, in this case in how he was perceived. His immaculately pressed clothing made him look stuffy, sure, but appearing professional was all he really knew after so long in academia. And it helped with the ever-present feeling that he didn't belong.
Investing in the things he could control freed up the energy he needed to put up with what he couldn't, and his anxieties certainly had plenty to draw from. There were the too-bright lights, the noise interrupting his concentration, the uncommunicated expectations that he had to somehow glean in every social interaction, because apparently he was the only one who hadn't gotten the memo on the niceties he was supposed to follow.
And then there was the door to the archives that would sometimes stick and was a nightmare to deal with when his hands were full and he swore he could feel the eyes of everyone around on him as he fumbled and struggled with it. Sometimes he didn't bother bringing his bag if he was already carrying extra things and didn't have the energy to deal with awkwardly balancing it all to fight with the door. He could admit that this was probably excessive, but most things about him were.
Maybe that was what put him off Martin the first time they met. Sure, there was the dog incident, and Jon hadn't been prepared to deal with that at all; it was his first day and he was stressed enough about doing well and proving himself at this new job. Having to deal with that on top of everything had pushed him over the edge immediately.
But, even beyond that, Martin made him feel even more at a loss on how he was supposed to act than he already did. He was incredibly thoughtful, always bringing him tea and often anticipating anything else he might need, but always got flustered and refused if Jon offered to return the favor. Not that he offered often, Jon was a very busy man, but still.
It put him on edge, made him feel like he was missing something, like he was always getting it wrong. And if that wasn't enough to cause him to lose his temper more than usual, there was the fact that Martin made him feel things he definitely wasn't prepared for. Vulnerability was the exact thing he was trying to avoid with all this, after all.
He could admit Martin was attractive, he had no qualms about that, plenty of people were attractive. But he absolutely refused to engage with the warmth that spread through him that had nothing to do with the tea, or the way he'd get distracted whenever Martin walked by with his sleeves rolled up, and certainly not the way his heart pounded whenever they ended up close together, packing filing boxes or sorting tapes. It was a relief whenever Martin was out of the archives on assignment, but not for the reasons he claimed.
After Martin returned from his encounter with Jane Prentiss, though, things began to change. He knew all of this was his fault and the guilt ate at him, making it harder for himself to justify the anger he directed his way, and he slowly managed to bite back some of the crueler comments.
And, after the attack on the institute, something changed in Martin as well, and Jon couldn't help but grow a newfound respect for him. While he'd mostly taken Jon's prickly nature in stride, he actually started pushing back.
Jon knew he wasn't exactly imposing considering he was the shortest one in their office by a considerable amount, so Martin had never truly seemed afraid of him. Wary, sure, he was still his boss, but he still brought him tea instead of avoiding him and didn't exactly flinch at his temper. Now, though, he would push back if he felt it was important enough. He'd put his foot down, and when he did, he could be just as stubborn as Jon, if not moreso. That's how he ended up throwing Jon out of the archives when he tried to come back early from his recovery.
Jon's growing paranoia as he tried to look into Gertrude's murder certainly had thoughts as to Martin's motivations for this, but suspect or not, it was still true that he was so much kinder to Jon than he deserved. Because, even as he learned to see the stubbornness in Martin's eyes, or the way he set his jaw, he still seemed to be trying to help him, in spite of Jon's self-destructive tendencies.
So, when Martin barged into his office with that same expression, Jon bit down the worst of the rudeness and tried to hold onto that control he'd worked so hard on as Martin placed a jar on his desk with more force than he'd intended.
"What is that?" Jon demanded, and while it was true he was holding himself back, he still couldn't keep the edge from his voice. Old habits die hard, and all that.
"Prentiss' ashes," Martin said.
"What?" Jon asked, absolutely baffled, unable to quite process what was happening.
"Prentiss' ashes," he repeated. "She's dead, Jon. She's not coming back."
"I— see," Jon said, at a complete loss for what to say. It was a grim gift, true, but it was also such an incredibly thoughtful one.
He knew they'd all struggled with feeling safe after their near-death experience, and he also knew he seemed to be handling the paranoia the worst, feeling like he could be the target given his title. Maybe Martin was just trying to placate him, maybe he was even lying and trying to get him to let down his guard.
Jon very deliberately pushed down those thoughts, though. He was certain he'd never received a gift that held so much significance, that represented a chance at feeling safe again, a rare luxury these days, and he so desperately wanted to believe it was true. Maybe, coming from Martin of all people, he could let himself trust it.
"Thank you, Martin."
Apparently Jon let something slip in his expression, because Martin seemed to realize he was being genuine and smiled at him, looking pleased and a little relieved.
"You're welcome," he said, before schooling his expression once again with that hard set of his jaw. "Now. It's lunch. You're going to get lunch."
"Excuse me?" This conversation was certain to give him whiplash.
"I know you skipped yesterday, and I have my doubts on if you even went home let alone had dinner. So you're coming with me to the cafe."
"Okay," Jon said, weighing his options and coming to a conclusion much more quickly than either of them expected, both of them looking equally surprised.
"Oh. Okay. Good," Martin said. It looked like he'd had all sorts of arguments prepared and now had no idea how to proceed.
Obviously, Jon could have refused. He'd refused any previous attempts to get him to take a break in the last few days as Martin grew more and more worried about him. But, somehow, he found himself choosing to set aside all pretenses. Well, most, anyway. He wasn't ready to trust anyone or anything completely, but actually seeing the ashes of the thing that had scarred him so completely helped more than he could put into words.
He was fairly certain the bandages made it nearly impossible for him to maintain his usual stoic appearance, and he imagined the sight of him was more likely to bring to mind the word, 'deranged.' That was one more bit of control he had lost, and it made everything so much more difficult to deal with than usual. So this— It meant a lot to him. He didn't know how Martin managed to slip past his defenses like this.
"Give me a moment to finish up," Jon said after a moment, even though he had no intention of working more right this moment.
"Oh, right, of course," Martin said, stumbling over his words. But the smile he gave Jon before he slipped out of the office made something ache in his chest.
Instead of picking up the research notes he'd been reading a moment ago, he just stared at the jar of ashes, feeling warm in a way he hadn't realized he still could. Choosing to believe Martin in this, at least, felt like the first bit of control he'd managed to regain over his life in a long, long while, so he took a deep breath and stood, touching the jar one last time as if to remind himself of it's existence, and left his office to go have lunch with Martin.
