Jon was just so tired. He hoped it was just because he was healing, but he had a feeling that the fatigue and his trouble focusing wasn't something that was going to go away. He could barely feel the presence of the Eye and he was fairly certain it had taken something from him when it had been forced back to the fringes.

He didn't have the heart to tell Martin that this broken shell of a man was likely all that was left of him. Martin was trying so hard to be optimistic and he didn't want to ruin that. He couldn't admit to him that, if he did start to heal and grow stronger, it probably meant the Eye was gaining more of a foothold, again, and it would mean the end of them all over again. Except Jon didn't think he'd have the strength to stop it a second time.

No, the best case scenario for them was Jon remaining like this.

He wasn't sure how long he laid in that hospital bed. Mostly, he slept, but sometimes they talked, and it was so strange to be able to do this without the world actively dying around them. Suddenly, there was no rush, no horrible decision looming that they both knew they couldn't agree on. No, that decision had already been made. Now Jon had to learn to live with it. Having Martin there helped.

Eventually, he was well enough to be discharged. Martin still had healing injuries, but was more or less physically fine. Jon, on the other hand, was given a wheelchair and a cane. He'd used a cane on occasion in the past, but he was beginning to realize he hated the wheelchair.

He was too new to using it, his body still weak, and Martin had to push him if they were going any significant distance. And maneuvering public transit was as much of a nightmare as one might expect. Logically, he understood the importance of mobility aids and celebrated them. That knowledge wasn't enough to quell his self loathing, though, and he hated how helpless he felt. He hated putting even more strain on Martin. He'd already dealt with so much.

Eventually, after being jostled around more than he liked and feeling absolutely drained, they made it to their flat. Their home. That was something he was still trying to wrap his mind around. Martin had managed to find a place for them to stay and, as empty as it was, it was theirs.

Daisy's safe house, before it had been tainted like everything else, had eventually felt like a home, but this was different. They weren't hiding away in someone else's place waiting for the horror they'd left behind to catch up with them. But then, maybe Jon was just relieved to be out of the hospital.

"Let's get you onto the couch," Martin said once he'd wheeled him inside and closed their front door.

Jon nodded absently and hated how weak he still felt, Martin having to do most of the work. He was aware of Martin moving about, getting them tea and generally settling in. He waited until they were both sitting on the couch to speak, wanting desperately to keep things light. Martin deserved some levity.

"I guess we should see if there's any second hand shops in the area, actually get some necessities. I've never been very good at decorating, though."

"Yeah, I saw your flat," Martin chuckled. "To be honest, I kinda gave up after the Prentiss incident. It felt like I might have to pick up and move again."

"Well, now you get to make this place look the way you want."

"You mean 'we,' right?"

"Oh, I intend to make you do most of the work," Jon joked, bumping his shoulder into Martin.

"I can't believe this," Martin huffed in feigned offense.

"There might be one or two things I have input on," Jon conceded.

"How generous." Then, Martin grinned. "Would it be tacky to get a coffee table that's coffin-shaped?"

Jon let out a surprised laugh and winced as it pulled at his stitches. "It does feel a bit like tempting fate."

"Fine," Martin sighed. He was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, he sounded much more serious. "How do you think this is going to work? We've been living on adrenaline non-stop. Are we going to be okay?"

"It feels a bit mundane," Jon said thoughtfully. "Perhaps even quaint, knowing we're going to have to get proper jobs again. Hard to feel like any of it matters much after living through the end of the world. A world. We'll get through, though. We've got each other."

"And what about you?" Martin pressed, concern still in his voice. "What are we going to do about your— dietary needs?"

"I— I don't know," Jon admitted. "Can we— not talk about this right now? It would be nice to pretend, just for a little while."

"Of course," Martin said, kissing his temple and wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

They both knew that they'd have to deal with it sooner rather than later. There was still so much uncertainty and horror looming over them. Right now, though, Jon was tired and the least he could do was give Martin something of a break. So, he tugged gently on the collar of Martin's shirt, and when he turned to look at him, curiously, Jon pulled him into a kiss.

There were no horrors here to twist the comfort they offered one another, to turn it into something else, to taint it, and he was determined to take full advantage of that. To re-learn what it was like to love Martin without the horrors bearing down on them. He smiled into the kiss when Martin turned on the couch to kiss him more directly, deeply.

"I love you," Martin whispered, and his hands were shaking, words so full of everything they wanted to tell each other, of the relief and fear and absolute love that was all so impossible to convey, the depth of emotion that threatened to overwhelm them both.

Jon felt like Martin did a pretty good job, though. "I love you too."