Chapter Text
Tim and Sasha were waiting for Jon in the main office of the Archives the next morning, huddled around the unused third desk and talking in low, worried tones. Jon cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway, drawing their attention.
“Everything alright?”
Sasha made an uncertain noise, tilting her hand back and forth in the air in a so-so gesture. “We just… we haven’t heard from Martin yet today? And we’re getting worried because we didn’t hear from him at all yesterday, either, so…”
Jon bit his lip to hold back a smile. A few days ago that information would have sent him into a panicked spiral of worry and despair. Now, though…
“I may have an explanation for that,” he said, and stepped fully into the room, allowing Martin to enter through the door behind him.
“Oh, hi,” Tim said, a confused look on his face. “Sorry, who…?”
“Hi guys,” Martin said, giving them a hesitant wave, and Tim and Sasha both froze when they heard his voice.
“Is that…?” Sasha began.
“Martin Blackwood, nice to meet you,” Martin said, still sounding nervous. Jon reached over to grab his hand, and Martin shot him a grateful smile, the tension bleeding from his posture at the contact. He took a deep breath, turning back to Tim and Sasha and adding: “For real, this time,” in a lighter tone.
“Oh my god,” Sasha said, faint from shock, and Tim nodded numbly from beside her.
“He’s been back since the night before last,” Jon said, as it seemed unlikely Tim or Sasha would have anything coherent to add to the conversation for at least a few minutes. “Hence why I took a personal day yesterday. I would have told you, but this felt like an introduction that should happen in person, and, well…” He glanced at Martin, sharing a soft smile with him. “Neither of us were really up for company.”
“I, um,” Tim started, and had to swallow before continuing. His eyes were wide, and had not left Martin’s face once. “C-can I hug you?” he eventually managed to choke out.
Martin blinked in surprise, but shrugged. “Uh, sure?”
Tim crossed the room in a few short strides, sweeping Martin into an embrace. He was tall enough that Martin’s face was smushed entirely into his chest, but he didn’t seem to notice as he held him clutched close for a few moments, breathing shallowly and still looking shell-shocked.
“Tim Stoker,” he said finally, releasing Martin from the hug and holding out his hand abruptly to shake. “I am so, so happy to finally see you, I- yeah. Wow.”
Martin took his hand, expression caught somewhere between amusement and teary-eyed affection. “Thanks.”
Jon shot Sasha a confused look behind Tim’s back. She shook her head at him, looking sad, and mouthed: Danny. He nodded, understanding. Had their situations been reversed, he’d have been struck speechless knowing Tim had gotten his lost loved one back, too.
He didn’t have much time to think on it before Tim’s arms were suddenly around him as well, and he gave a soft oof of surprise before returning the hug. Over Tim’s shoulder he saw Sasha hugging Martin, and then he had to close his eyes and just breath before the overwhelming joy of seeing the people he cared about in one room together brought him to tears.
They did not bother trying to get any work done that day.
~~~~~
The next week was dedicated to all the little tasks required to welcome Martin back into the world, from trying to locate a charger for his phone to contacting his former therapist and setting up an appointment. It all went rather more smoothly than Jon had anticipated, aided in no small part by an email he found when he finally bothered to check on work-related matters. The subject line was Transfer.
“What’s that?” Martin asked, leaning over Jon’s shoulder where he was settled with his laptop at the kitchen table.
“I- I don’t…” Jon reread the lines before him, not believing his eyes. “Elias has transferred you from the Library to the Archives. You’re my assistant, apparently. But how…?”
Martin hissed between his teeth. “Bastard.”
“What?” Jon turned to him in surprise.
“Bastard,” Martin repeated. “I knew he knew I was trapped in the Lonely, I knew he could see me, he could have intervened if he wanted but no, wouldn’t want to interfere with Peter.” He spat the words, angrier than Jon had ever heard him. Jon just gaped at him, half-turned in his seat and uncomprehending.
“Sorry?” he asked.
Martin took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment to get himself back under control. “Right. Right. I, um. I learned rather a lot from Gertrude, while I was… gone. It’s coming back in bits and pieces, and…” He hesitated. “Just don’t trust Elias, okay? He knows more than he lets on.”
“I, uh. Okay?” Jon said.
“It’s fine, Jon,” Martin reassured him, and rubbed a comforting hand across Jon’s shoulders. Jon stared at him, feeling hopelessly out of his depth. “I’ll explain what I can tomorrow, alright? When Tim and Sasha are there. We’re… we’re caught in something bigger than us, but I know enough to keep us safe. Just trust me?”
There was nothing Jon could say to that other than “Always,” which he murmured into the crook of Martin’s neck as Martin drew him into a hug. He pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead, and Jon closed his eyes, doing his best to set aside his questions for the next morning. The few words Martin had spoken had left him feeling as though he was poised over an immense depth, one wrong move away from plunging deep into something he could not even begin to comprehend the scale of. But Martin seemed to know what he was talking about, and that was all Jon needed to be able to trust that it would be all right. Whatever was going on, they could get through it together.
~~~~~
“So, Jon,” Dr. Williams said, clicking her pen twice before setting it on the desk beside her, then folding her hands together and smiling warmly at the corner of the room. “How are you?”
Jon laughed, breathlessly, as he considered the question. “Well…” he began. “I had a panic attack last night in the shower because I couldn't hear Martin and I thought he was gone again. And I broke down crying at work three times this week - four if you count the time everyone else was crying too - but today is a good day, so I feel on top of the world.” He finished with a breezy smile that probably looked slightly manic, but was genuine.
She nodded. “I would imagine being away from each other is hard, after everything.”
“Yes,” Jon confirmed, tapping one finger against his pocket and the phone that resided there. “I’ve got him on speed dial.” Martin was in his own therapy session, at the moment. They’d agreed that it would be easier to schedule them at the same time, so they’d each have a professional there to talk them through the stress of being apart. Even so, Jon could feel an itching buzz in his fingers urging him to call Martin and check in. He resisted it.
“That’s a very good idea. Would you like to discuss other strategies for dealing with the separation anxiety, or…?”
Jon shook his head. “At the moment we’re both far more comfortable just leaning into it and being together as much as we can. Can we table that discussion for later?”
“Of course.” Dr. Williams made a note on the paper in front of her. “Are you handling it okay at work? I believe you said Martin has been given a position in your department.”
“Yes, he’s, uh… he’s my assistant now.” Jon grimaced. “Which is… weird. But fine. The Head of the Institute has been… very helpful, dealing with all the paperwork to make sure Martin’s alive again in the eyes of the law.” He had also, according to Martin, been the Head of the Institute since the eighteen hundreds, jumping from one host body to another ever since he’d founded the place under the name Jonah Magnus in 1818. He’d done several other things as well, from plotting the end of the world to murdering Gertrude Robinson, but none of those were particularly easy to bring up in a therapy session.
“That’s very good,” Dr. Williams said, and Jon bit his tongue to stop himself speaking. “It’s unusual to have that kind of support in the workplace.”
“Mhm.” Elias - Jonah - hadn’t even met Martin since he came back, simply sending along emails with various documents concerning his official return to work and, once, giving Jon a cold smile as they passed in the hallway. He changed the subject. “We work very well together,” he said. “Honestly I think he knows more about archiving than I do, after working in the Library for so long.”
“Yes, I would think those are fairly similar,” she mused. “How is he getting along with your other assistants? Tim and Sasha?”
“They’ve been amazing,” Jon said, feeling a smile split his face. “I’ve wished they could meet Martin for such a long time, and now that they have, it- it’s fantastic. Tim dragged us all over to his flat for a movie night last Wednesday, and Martin taught him and Sasha his recipe for glazed almonds, and we all ended up staying the night. It was- yeah. It’s been good.”
“It sounds like you’re not having any problems at work, then,” Dr. Williams said. Other than my boss wanting to use me as the linchpin in some unknown ritual, Jon thought, but refrained from commenting. “How about outside of work? Have there been any problems at home you’d like to discuss? You’ve been living on your own for quite a while, and it’s not unusual for there to be an adjustment period for getting used to having a partner in your life again.”
Jon shook his head. “No,” he said, and he could hear his own voice go soft and fond. “It’s all been just… wonderful. We’ve fit back into each other’s lives so easily, slipped back into our old habits and routines without a hitch. It’s like he was never gone.” He paused. “Well, except for…”
“Except for the deep emotional scars it’s left on the both of you, causing you to have panic attacks and breakdowns at unexpected times?” Dr. Williams said, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Jon laughed. “Except for that.”
She nodded. “Is that something you’re ready to talk about today?”
He made an uncertain noise. “Not… entirely? I suppose…” he hesitated. “If you have any suggestions for how to talk about it with someone else, I’d like to- I’d like to focus on that today.”
“Not thinking of leaving me for another therapist, are you?” she joked, and Jon chuckled.
“No, no, it’s…” He paused, trying to find the words. “I want to be able to talk to Martin about it. I- I want to be able to tell him about the last three years, and I have, but… the events are easy, the emotions are hard. How do I tell him how much his disappearance hurt me without him thinking I’m blaming him? How do I tell him about- about the guilt, the resentment I’ve been working through? He’s got his own issues to be dealing with, I don’t want to dump all of mine on him as well, but… I do want to talk about it. It feels like I’m keeping a secret from him if I don’t.”
Dr. Williams hummed, narrowing her eyes at the wall while she thought through how to respond. Jon waited, tapping his fingers anxiously over his phone again before pausing, and shifting to fiddle with his ring instead.
After a few moments, Dr. Williams took a deep breath. “I want to start by saying that it’s not keeping a secret if you don’t tell Martin about everything you’ve been through while he’s been gone,” she said. “Your thoughts and emotions are your own business, and no one is entitled to know all of them unless you choose to share, not even your boyfriend.” She paused again; pursed her lips. “There are certainly ways to broach the topic without it coming across as an accusation, or as laying blame. We can talk through some of those today, if you want. But I do want to emphasize: this is not something you have to do immediately. I can see the stress in your face, talking about this, and if it is that painful of a conversation, it’s perfectly alright to put it off until a time when you’re more emotionally prepared to handle it. Unless it’s causing you problems to not share it with him, if it’s not building up a lingering guilt or resentment to keep it to yourself, you can wait.”
She stopped again; seemed to deliberate. “It is… an understandable reaction, to want to do everything as soon as possible. After losing him for so long, it’s reasonable to feel like you have to make up for lost time by doing as much as you can, as fast as you can. To put it behind you faster, or in case you don’t have a chance later. But,” and here she leaned forward, earnestly, “you will have a chance later, Jon. You will have time for all these hard conversations, and the easy ones, and the unexpected ones you never see coming. You’ll have time.”
Jon opened his mouth; shut it again. The fear of losing Martin again had been hanging over his head in a nebulous cloud, coming out in odd moments of panic or tears. He hadn’t allowed himself to admit that it was also fueling his urgency to make the most of every moment he and Martin had together, the need to have all those conversations he’d thought he’d never get a chance to. It seemed so simple, when Dr. Williams laid it out in such plain terms.
“I, um,” he started, voice cracking on the words. “Can- can you repeat that? I think I... I need to work on internalizing it.”
She smiled gently. “We can work on that today, if you want. You have time, Jon,” she said again. “You both do. You don’t have to live in fear of losing him.”
Jon closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. It would take a lot longer for them to really sink in, he knew, but he had time for that, too. The rest of his life, if it came down to it. It didn’t matter if he waited for a few weeks - months - years - to tell Martin all the things he wanted to share. They had time, and he could wait until he was ready.
They had time.
~~~~~
Martin was…
Martin was. Sometimes he liked to take a moment, just to revel in that fact.
The sunlight was warm on his face, and he could feel that warmth. Jon was sitting next to him, reaching for his hand, and Martin could reach back, tangling their fingers together to keep him close. Tim and Sasha were on the other side of the picnic table, talking and laughing, and he could join in on that conversation any time he wanted, without worrying that his voice would fade away and disappear before they heard him.
He stayed silent, though. Sometimes it was nice to just sit back and listen. Besides, there were rather a lot of people in the park, enjoying the rare sunlight on their lunch breaks, and he still had trouble being around crowds, his mind slipping back into foggy obscurity if he wasn’t careful to keep himself present.
He had trouble on his own too, of course. And around strangers. Anyone who wasn’t Jon, Tim, Sasha, or his therapist, essentially.
Martin really, really hated the Lonely.
He squeezed Jon’s hand just a bit tighter, leaning into his shoulder, and laughed along with whatever joke Sasha had just made. He wasn’t doing all that much listening, either, if he was honest with himself, no more than he was talking. He was just being, and that was a wonder on its own.
He’d lost so much of himself in the fog, so much of what it meant to be Martin Blackwood. It had all come back with the memories, all the little pieces of his identity slotting back into place neatly when he remembered his name. There was a surprising amount of comfort to be found in just sitting with that knowledge, feeling what it was to exist again.
And feeling what it was to exist in relation to other people. Jon let go of his hand, only to wrap that arm around Martin’s shoulders instead and pull him even closer into his side. Martin went easily, sinking into Jon’s touch as though he would never leave. He never wanted to leave; every second he spent in Jon’s company was precious to him, rediscovering that connection that they had built so long ago and startling himself with every moment that passed that he could feel this much love for another person. Being with Jon felt right, with a bone-deep certainty that far outstripped any of the false comforts the Lonely had offered him.
Across the table, Tim raised a teasing eyebrow at them, and that felt right, too. Martin had never really had friends before, keeping himself to himself and, later, to Jon’s company. Having more people in his life, people he cared for and who cared for him in turn, fulfilled a need that he hadn’t even realized he had. Jon couldn’t be his entire world, no more than he could be Jon’s, and it was startling to suddenly find that that didn’t mean a part of his world had to be empty.
He wouldn’t lose this again. He’d already lost far too much of his life to the Lonely, and he would go to any lengths to make sure the Fears didn’t take anything else from him, or hurt the people he loved.
Gertrude had never talked to Martin much, nor had she been particularly prone to talking to herself. Still, he had tagged along after her whenever she was in the Institute, because she could hear him, and even if she ignored him that was better than nothing. He’d learned enough from her conversations with her allies and with the tapes to get a general idea of what her plans had been. He just needed to find Leitner in the tunnels - and possibly punch him for what his books had done to Jon - and figure out how Gertrude’s mysterious ‘Eric’ had quit, and then…
And then, he could take advantage of the fact that Jonah didn’t seem to be paying him much attention. They’d be gone and away from his plots before he even knew what was happening.
Martin smiled, and twisted his head to give Jon a spontaneous peck on the cheek. Jon stuttered to a halt mid-sentence, face flushing warm and pleased, and Tim and Sasha snickered at them. He tucked his head back onto Jon’s shoulder, flustering his boyfriend even more as he tried to remember what he had been saying.
Yes. They would be alright. Martin would make sure of it.
~~~~~
The bedroom was bright with lamp-light in the nighttime hush, the sounds of the city feeling muted and far away beyond the drawn curtains. The conversation had petered out several minutes before, leaving Jon and Martin in a peaceful silence broken only by the sounds of their own breathing. Martin’s head was heavy on Jon’s chest, and getting heavier as he crept toward sleep; Jon ran his fingers through his hair, tangling them in the curls and tugging gently every now and again for the way it made Martin sigh in contentment.
“Jon?” Martin asked softly, just as Jon’s own eyes were starting to slip shut.
“Hm?” He startled slightly, shaking his head a bit to rouse himself.
“I was wondering…” Martin trailed off. Jon could hear the frown in his voice.
“About?”
“Well…” Martin hesitated again, brushing his fingers over Jon’s side where his arm rested. “While I was gone. Did you… did you date anyone else? I don’t mind if you did!” he added quickly, though Jon could feel the tension in his body. “I mean, you thought I was dead, it would have been completely understandable if you- I, I just…” his voice dipped soft again. “I don’t know. I’m just curious, I guess. It’s fine either way.”
Jon was completely awake now. “Martin, you’ve got a jealous streak as wide as the Thames,” he said, laughing lightly. “You don’t need to pretend otherwise.”
Martin huffed. Jon could practically hear the eye roll. “I do not.”
“You definitely do,” Jon countered. “But there’s nothing to be jealous over, I didn’t date anyone.”
“Oh.” Martin relaxed slightly, sinking heavier on top of Jon. His fingers tapped an uneven rhythm on Jon’s side. “...Why not?”
Jon let out a breath. “I couldn’t even bring myself to throw away your old clothes, do you really think I had any interest in finding someone new?” It came out too sharp, too hurt. Jon closed his eyes; swallowed. He hadn’t expected this topic to come up at all, but if he had he certainly wouldn’t have expected it to be so painful. “You were my happy ending, Martin,” he tried again, voice low and rough with emotion. “I didn't want to look for love again after losing you. It would have been a betrayal of my own heart.”
Martin was silent for a moment. Then he twisted around, propping himself up with one arm braced on the mattress, and leaned forward to kiss Jon. Jon’s hands raised on instinct, landing on Martin’s shoulders to hold him steady, and they stayed like that for a time, breathing each other’s air, lips pressed together with passion but no heat.
When Martin finally pulled back there were tears beading his eyes, matching the ones Jon could feel stinging at his own.
“I’m never leaving you again, Jon, I promise,” he said, fierce and low. “Whatever it takes, whatever we have to do, you’ve got me. Until the day I die for real.”
“Till death do us part,” Jon whispered, stunned with awe at the sincerity in Martin’s voice.
Martin’s breath caught. “Jonathan Sims, are you proposing to me?” he asked, the words coming out shaky.
Jon hadn’t been; had, indeed, simply been struck by the similarity between Martin’s own promise and a wedding vow. But…
“Yes,” he said, and shoved the crumpled blankets off them, wriggling out from under Martin so he could take a knee - and then promptly shifting to both knees when the mattress compressed and threatened to tip him over. Martin sat up as well, eyes wide, breathing fast.
“Jon,” he said, choked, and left it at that.
“Martin,” Jon said. “I want to spend my life with you. Whatever that life may entail, wherever we may end up.” His eyes flickered briefly around the room, searching for something he could use as a ring, and then, struck with sudden inspiration, he pulled the black ring off his own finger and held it out to Martin. “I want to be with you in every way I’ve ever wanted,” he continued, as Martin clapped a hand over his mouth, letting out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob as the first tears fell down his face, “and that includes marriage. Legal documentation, that I am yours and you are mine.” It was, perhaps, not the most romantic line. But the idea of there being legal proof of their relationship, that a hundred years after they died some distant future historian might be able to check the records and see that they had belonged together, made Jon’s chest ache with longing. From the choked-off, wanting noise Martin made, Jon thought he understood. “Martin Blackwood, I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone,” he finished. “Will you marry me?”
“Jon,” Martin said again, crying for real now, face streaked with tears. “Yes.”
Jon wasn’t entirely sure which of them launched themself at the other first; perhaps both at the same time. All he knew was that he suddenly had an armful of Martin, and he pressed his face into his fiancé’s hair, breathing deep as his own tears finally started to fall.
They held each other there for a long time. Eventually, Martin drew back, holding out his left hand for Jon.
“Go on, then,” he said, voice still damp. “It’s not going to fit,” he added with a chuckle, as Jon raised his own thin-fingered hands to clasp Martin’s.
He was correct. Jon tried to slide the ring onto Martin’s fourth finger, only getting it up to the second knuckle before it stopped. He laughed, too, pulling it back quickly so it wouldn’t get stuck.
“I didn’t exactly plan this in advance,” he said.
“Here.” Martin took the ring from him, then took his right hand and slid it back into place over his middle finger. “Hold onto it for me until we can get matching ones.”
Jon’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. Martin hadn’t let go of his hand after putting the ring back on it, and was now just staring down at it, thumb brushing over Jon’s knuckles, expression soft and fond as though he had just proposed, and it really was a proper engagement ring.
Engagement ring. He and Martin were engaged.
“I love you,” Jon said, feeling as though the strength of the emotion might rip him open from the inside if he didn’t express it somehow.
Martin smiled, a quick, flitting thing, and pressed a brief kiss to Jon’s lips.
“I love you too,” he said, warm and fond. “Give me a few days to workshop a poem and maybe I can say it as eloquently as you did in that proposal.”
Jon laughed, and kissed him back.
They stayed up late into the night, holding each other and talking, reminiscing and creating plans for a future that they would build together. The next day they would tell Tim and Sasha, and be swept away in a tide of enthusiastic support and wedding ideas; but for now, the conversation shifted gradually from whispers into murmurs, from murmurs into silence, and from silence into the sound of Martin’s gentle, wheezing breaths that never quite got loud enough for Jon to call it snoring.
He leaned toward the noise, sleepily seeking out Martin’s face and pressing a kiss to his forehead when he found it. “Martin,” he breathed, the name taking the place of all the words he was too tired to express: of love and of devotion, of grief and of longing, of a heart that never quite moved on finally returned to the place that it had always belonged. He kissed Martin, and he laid his head on the pillow next to him, and within moments he had joined him in sleep.