Chapter Text
It is Martin’s lunch break, and it’s time for him to rip off the plaster.
He’s procrastinated breaking things off for too long. And Peter’s right; his codependency will be the death of him. He’s not talked with Jon in three days and he’s spent more than half of that time worrying that something might be wrong. If he’s to follow the Lonely path, as Peter has taken to calling it, he’s going to have to quit mucking about and take the first step.
Saffron is curled up, in the form of a hamster, at the foot of his cot in Document Storage. A small part of him hesitates as he watches their little abdomen rise and fall, but he tamps it down like gunpowder. We’re done with this. We’re done waiting.
“Saffron?”
Saffron wakes with a start, staring up at Martin expectantly. Martin?
Martin takes a breath, squares his shoulders. “I think it’s time we stopped working together.” He keeps his voice entirely flat. He thinks of Peter. He thinks of the bird.
What do you mean?
Saffron has no reason to ask this question. They’ve worked with Martin for so long, their minds have been linked for so many years, there’s no point except as a last-ditch attempt to get Martin to explain himself. He has no intention of doing so. He doesn’t have a good explanation anyway. What would he say? asks the accuser inside him. That he had chosen to sacrifice his best friend to learn the magic of a stranger (who, he is reminded, broke into his place of work in the dead of night)? He remembers the things his mother used to say about his father. A bastard. A traitor. A selfish man who cared nothing for his wife. She would look at him when she said these things.
But what choice does he have? He’s come this far.
“You know what I mean.” He can see Saffron’s confusion, their worry, their care. He watches their face, waiting to hear them protest. They do not.
Yes. I do know what you mean. The hamster closes their eyes, morphing into the last form they had travelled in: a cat. The difference is that now, there are no lustrous golden stripes, no glimmering whiskers. It’s all a light taupe that could be expected from any stray.
Martin pictures them sitting on the coffee table, back arched, tail twitching before he ran off to Boothby Road. Don’t do that, they had said. It’s a terrible idea. And he’d gone anyway. Perhaps that’s why they’re accepting what he said so readily. Perhaps they were hoping he’d say this soon anyway. He can’t say he blames them.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and means it.
Are you sure about this? Saffron pads toward him, tilting their head.
“Yes.”
Martin… They rub their head against his arm. He half-heartedly scritches behind their ears, blinking back the tears welling up in his eyes. If you ever need me again, I’ll come back. Remember that I’m always here. You can always call on me.
“I will,” Martin lies.
And just like that, Saffron is gone again.
Numbly, Martin sits down on the cot. It’s still warm from where Saffron had sat.
He had known this would be hard, but he never imagined how much it would hurt. He knows why he’s doing this. He knows it’s a small price to pay for all the knowledge Peter Lukas has to offer, all the magic, the ability to heal anyone of anything even after they’ve died. But that doesn’t stop the sobs from racking his body as he processes what he’s done.
Saffron had said he could always call on them. Would they have said that, if they had known why Martin had told them to leave? Would they have promised to be there for him if they’d known the ease with which he agreed to isolate himself completely?
Martin’s stream of self-hatred is interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Don’t answer that,” comes a voice from behind him.
Martin whips around to see Peter, standing in a cloud of rapidly-dissipating fog. Hastily, he wipes the tears from his face as the knocking grows more insistent.
“It’s just Jon,” Peter says. “Don’t worry, I checked with a, er… friend of mine. He’s got nothing important to say. Really, it could have been an email. Besides, you and I have work to do.”
“What do you mean?”
Peter doesn’t answer. Instead, he says, “By the way, I am proud of you. Excellent way to send away a familiar: short, sweet and to the point. You’ll be very good at walking this path of ours.”
The knocking stops.
“How did you know about that?”
“Oh, I’ve been here for at least ten minutes. As much as I appreciate your talents, Martin, you really must work on your perception. Come on, now, we haven’t got all day to exchange pleasantries.”
“What- where are we going?”
Peter smirks. “We’re going hunting, of course.”