Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Martin isn’t sure what the protocol for this is. 

Jon is on his knees, gripping the edge of his desk with one shaking hand, the other pressed flat against his chest. His breath is labored and uneven, and Martin’s mind immediately goes to an asthma attack, but as he kneels next to Jon on the ground the way Jon turns to look at him tells him it’s something else, eyes unfocused and gaze far off, as if he was looking straight through Martin. 

“Jon? Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Martin fights against his urge to touch the man, the caregiver part of his brain wanting to check him over. Jon’s eyes finally seem to focus on him, his mouth opening and closing before he turns his gaze to the carpet below him.

“P-panic attack.” He whispers, barely audible. “I haven’t- I don’t- I-” He takes another heaving breath, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I don't know why.” 

“Okay, okay. Can I touch you Jon?” Martin asks softly, relieved it’s not a heart attack. He’s seen panic attacks before, he has at least an inkling of what to do. Jon is still for a few long moments, other than the shaking that wracks his thin frame. After what feels like an eternity he nods, still not meeting Martin’s gaze. Martin takes his hand carefully in his own, placing his fingers on his wrist. Jon’s pulse is racing under his fingertips. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?” He tries to keep his tone normal, like he’s asking for the weather. Jon nods again, fighting to keep his breathing under control. 

“Is there anything you do that helps?” Martin asks hopefully. Jon shakes his head, still staring at the ugly archives carpet. “That’s okay. Can I help you sit or lay down?” Just like before Jon is slow to give him a verbal answer, but eventually whispers in a hoarse voice. 

“Sit, please.” Martin nods, wrapping an arm around Jon’s shoulder, guiding him back to lean against the side of his desk and straightening his legs out. 

“Jon? Are you alright?” Tim’s concerned voice calls from outside Jon’s office. The usually sure man lingers unsurely in the doorway, his brow creased with concern. Jon looks up at him, freezing like a deer caught in headlights. When he regains control of himself he shakes his head, turning his gaze to his lap. 

“Tim, could you grab me the icepack from the freezer?” Martin feels a little bad for not thinking to close the door but having another set of hands lets him stay to keep an eye on Jon. “And a clean tea towel? Please?” Tim nods, looking relieved he can do something to help. 

“Have you ever tried an ice pack on the back of your neck or chest before?” Martin asks Jon, holding back the urge to fuss over the tears now trailing down the other man’s cheeks. Jon shakes his head again, taking the tissue Martin offers him from the box on his desk with his free hand, the other still unconsciously gripping Martin’s after the other man had checked his pulse. 

“Pretty…pretty useless when this happens.” Jon chokes out between heavy breaths, “Usually just lay on the floor.” Martin nods, looking around the office. 

“You normally have a water bottle with you, right? The metal one with the green rubber boot?” Jon nods.

“In my bag.” He says, tears still falling unbidden from his eyes as he raises a trembling hand to point to the messenger bag on the floor under his desk. Martin shuffles a bit awkwardly on his knees, trying not to pull away from Jon’s grasp as he retrieves the bottle. Jon accepts it gratefully, pulling his knees up to his chest as he takes a few shaky sips. 

Tim returns with the ice pack and towel Martin requested, now with Sasha in tow. They peer in from the doorway, unsure of what to do. Jon’s grip on Martin’s hand tightens as he sees Sasha, staring at her as if she were a stranger. 

“Tim? Sasha? Could you give us some space?” Martin asks in a tone he hopes communicates ‘stop staring at him.’ Sasha is the first to nod, looping her arm through Tim’s and tugging him with her. 

“Yeah, we’ll be in the break room. Let us know if you need anything else, yeah?” It’s hard to ignore the concern etched across her face, or the way Jon seems to stare straight through her as if he doesn't know who she is. 

“I’ll text.” Martin assures her, watching her half drag Tim away. He turns back to Jon, using his one free hand to clumsily wrap the ice pack in the towel. “This might help, you can hold it in your hands, or put it against your chest or lay it across the back of your neck.” 

Jon takes the ice pack from him, still fighting to control his breathing. After a few moments he hesitantly presses it to his chest, right over his heart. 

“I feel like I’m dying.” Jon admits in a small voice, pulling his knees closer to his chest. “Like I’m being stabbed.” Martin nods sympathetically, hoping the ice pack will help even a little bit. 

“I know, but you’re not dying, this will pass.” Martin squeezes his hand gently. “Can you manage some deep breaths with me?” Jon lifts his head to look Martin in the eyes, his own still wet with tears he can’t seem to control, and manages a tiny nod. Martin hopes he’s being reassuring as he starts to slowly mimic deep breathing, giving Jon something to focus on. 

Jon mimics him with some success, and after a few minutes, it seems like the worst of the attack is over. As the panic fades, embarrassment seems to take over. 

“Thank you.” Jon says quietly, pulling his hand out of Martin’s. He slumps back against the side of his desk, looking like he could use a nap. He doesn’t lean away from Martin though, their shoulders still touching. 

“Oh! You're welcome! Didn’t know if you would have preferred Tim or Sasha help.” Martin admits, rubbing at the back of his neck and feeling suddenly self conscious. The implication of their current relationship hangs between them. Jon doesn't move, still slumped against his shoulder. 

“No.” Jon’s eyes are still far off, staring at nothing in particular across the room. “You’re the only one who knew what to do.” Jon’s admission gives Martin a little flutter of pride. He can count the amount of times Jon has told him he’s done a decent job on three fingers. 

“God, this is unprofessional.” Jon groans, pushing up his glasses to press the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I haven't had a panic attack this bad since uni. I’m sorry you had to deal with me.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” Martin rushes to assure him. “I know you can’t control a panic attack. What’s important is that you feel better now. You should eat something and drink some more water, do you think you can stand?”  

“Yes, I'm sure I can manage.” Jon sounds exhausted, although a bit of his usual sharpness has begun to bleed back. His words mean nothing though, as Martin helps him to his feet he feels a wave of exhaustion wash over him, and the last thing he remembers is a firm set of arms around him and a startled yelp from Martin.

——————————👁︎——————————

Jon doesn’t remember how he ended up on the couch in the break room but, in a surprising turn of events, the Eye is helpful enough to tell him Martin had carried him here after he passed out in his office. Jon keeps his eyes closed, the last few memories settling into place. Trevor Herbert and Julia Montauk, the Not Sasha, a bleeding wound that Jon couldn’t quite staunch as he dragged himself through the tunnels, pushing himself even as his vision began to fade at the edges because Martin is in danger, Martin is-

Martin is fine, he’s sitting at his desk in the bullpen, a few newspaper articles printed out and arrayed around him as he chews on the end of the highlighter he’s using to mark anything he finds relevant. 

Two days isn’t long enough for two years of memories to cram themselves into his brain and Jon is exhausted. It’s like a dam in his mind burst, the memories rushing past him like turbulent water, crashing over him in an instant and disappearing just as fast. The knowledge that his assistants are safe, even though he can no longer remember what from, washes away the most intense panic. The soft sound of whispers and rustling papers eases Jon back into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

——————————👁︎——————————

Tim pops into the breakroom every fifteen minutes or so, just to check on Jon. He’s not hovering like Martin is accusing him of, he’s just worried. But he is there when Jon finally wakes up, bleary eyes blinking at the ceiling above him and obviously confused about why he’s on the couch with Martin’s cardigan draped over him. 

“Hey boss.” Tim is careful to keep his volume down but Jon still startles at the sound. He waves Sasha and Martin in from the doorway. “Right on time, we were about to start wrapping up the day.” Jon’s been asleep for just over two hours and he looks like he needs at least double that. He sits up with a groan, hair disheveled and clothes rumpled, more reminiscent of the sleep deprived researcher who sat across from Tim before Elias had picked him for the role of Head Archivist.

“Are you alright Jon?” Martin asks softly, not shrinking back when Jon’s gaze lands on him. There’s no intensity to it, just exhaustion. 

“Yes I’m- I’m fine.” Jon slumps back against the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face 

“So, what happened?” Sasha asks firmly. Jon squints in the direction of her voice and Martin passes him his glasses. He blinks at Sasha like he’s never seen her before. 

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Tim chimes in. Jon is a private person but there’s no way they’re letting this go without an explanation. Jon sighs again, not with exasperation like they’re so used to, but a deep exhaustion that seems to consume him entirely. 

“That was-“ Jon sighs again, pushing his glasses up to press the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I had a particularly bad panic attack.” Tim feels a pang of sympathy, he’d had a few panic attacks after Danny had…disappeared. “I’m sorry.” Jon adds softly. “I-I should have stayed home today, I shouldn’t have made it everyone’s problem. I wasn’t exactly…thinking clearly.” He has the decency to look guilty for the worry he put them through.

“Are you feeling alright now?” Martin’s nervousness around Jon seems to take second to his concern. Jon finally lowers his hands. He’s taking their concern surprisingly well, which is the most concerning part of this whole situation in Tim’s opinion. The look he fixes Martin with is surprisingly soft. 

“Yes, much better.” 

Sasha, drawn in by the sound of voices, returns to the breakroom, a look of concern still etched across her face. “If you weren’t feeling well, why didn’t you just call in? We can handle ourselves here.” Jon looks at her again, as if he was having difficulty recognizing her. 

“I um… I didn't realize it was that bad?” Jon sounds like a student who's been called on to answer a question he doesn’t know the answer to. “I haven’t been sleeping great lately and the lack of progress with this mess is causing the majority of my stress so leaving it probably wouldn't help.” Jon’s tone finally gets a bit of bite back to it as he justifies himself. Sasha is unconvinced. 

He waves a hand dismissively, “It's happened before, usually I just lay on the floor until I stop feeling like I'm dying. ” He chuckles, probably an attempt to lighten the mood but he just sounds too damn tired for it to be any relief. “I really am sorry,” He repeats again, must be going for a record.  He looks worn, fidgeting with the cardigan laid across his lap. He holds it out in front of him, studying it briefly before handing it back to Martin. “They tend to let up quite suddenly and once the adrenaline fades I’m down for the count.” There’s something else, something Jon isn’t telling them. Tim can’t quite put his finger on it but Jon just feels different. 

Tim’s seen Jon tired plenty of times when they worked together in research and far more frequently since he took the Head Archivist position. He’s seen sleep deprived, exhausted, and even hungover, but he can’t quite shake the feeling that something is wrong with Jon. 

“Are you sure you’re alright boss?” Jon doesn’t snap at him for the nickname. He looks almost sick, like an entire day of sleep would benefit him greatly. 

“Yes, I’m quite sure.” His voice is steady, even though he isn’t. “Just tired.”

“Are you going to be able to handle yourself on your bus route?” Sasha asks, a bit of a dangerous question, something Jon would usually snap at. Instead, Jon seems to deflate at the thought of braving public transportation in his condition. 

“I will manage.” He sighs. 

“I’ll drive you.” Tim offers. “I drove in today since I was doing field work this morning, remember?” 

“I… alright.” Jon says, scrubbing a hand down his face. Tim wishes he could feel more relieved that Jon is accepting his help, but he just can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with his friend. 

“We can pop out a few minutes early then,” Tim says, throwing an arm around Jon’s shoulder and herding him towards the breakroom door. “Bye Sasha, bye Martin, see you two tomorrow.”

“Bye Tim, bye Jon.” Sasha says as they leave. Jon manages to return Martin’s little goodbye wave, still seeming slightly out of it as Tim leads him through the door.

“Goodnight.” Jon says, either too exhausted or too ill to try and pitch his voice lower like he seems to do when he wants to be respected. 

Tim wishes he could be happy about it but he’s just worried.

Chapter Text

Martin is having a rough go of it. He thought he had handled whatever feeling he has for Jon, a fledgling crush that makes him want to write poems and kick his feet like a schoolboy when Jon gives him any positive attention. Those moments used to be so few and far between that this new Jon has pushed his brain into overdrive.

Jon, for once, took their advice, taking Friday off as a sick day and not coming in to catch up over the weekend. By Monday he looked worlds better, and when Martin greeted him that morning he got a little smile and a greeting in return. But what Martin thought was simply a good start to the week has turned out to be the status quo. 

“Ah, thank you Martin.” Jon actually bothers using his name when Martin brings him tea, which he has been doing all week and does not make butterflies erupt in his stomach every damn time it happens, thank you very much. “Any luck on the Vittery statement?" He lifts the mug to his lips, looking up from his paperwork at Martin. 

“Not much,” Martin has to admit, trying not to sound too nervous. “I was able to confirm some past addresses, and the fact that he’s dead.” Instead of looking annoyed, which was usually the baseline for his mood when directed at Martin, Jon just looks pensive, hands wrapped around his warm mug. 

“I don't think there will be many details we’d be able to confirm anyway.” Jon says with a small frown, which although not directed at Martin, causes a little pit to form in his stomach. “Just leave it be, I don't think any further information will be useful to us. If Sasha and Tim don’t find anything new we’ll consider it closed.”  

It’s hard not to assume Jon is upset with him over this. Martin feels slightly guilty, assuming the worst of Jon like this. But Jon does look impressively annoyed at all times, it seems to be his baseline.

“It’s unfortunate but we have a mountain of work to get through and it’s probably a waste of time.” Jon takes a sip from his mug, hands still wrapped around it as if needing the warmth. “I'll probably record this one tomorrow.”

“Need anything else?” Martin can’t shake the feeling he’s failed on this one.

“No, that should be all.” Jon goes back to his computer and Martin takes that as his cue to leave. He’s about to close the door behind him when he hears Jon clear his throat as if he had forgotten something. “Um, thank you for the tea.” He looks back to see an only slightly awkward little smile on Jon’s face, like he couldn’t remember if he had thanked him already and really wanted to make sure he did.

“You’re welcome!” Martin hopes his smile is normal as he closes the door. It’s really nice to know Jon is making an effort. 

And it’s not just Martin either. Sasha is constantly coming in and out of Jon’s office, and Martin has spotted them more than once pouring over something together on Jon’s computer screen. 

“The Smithsonian website on document conservation says cotton gloves are bad so it’s actually good we haven’t been using them.” Sasha says, poking her head into Jon’s office. Martin can’t quite make out Jon’s response but it sounds positive. ”Yeah, we can toss the box out,” Sasha continues,  “I have no idea if Gertrude bought them or some archivist before her back when they were standard.” 

“Getting along with the boss?” Tim asks as Sasha passes him on the way to her desk. He seems supremely pleased at the developments this past week seems to have brought about. 

“Well, it feels a bit easier to work with him when he’s actually letting us help, and not acting like he knows what he’s doing.” Sasha sits at her desk, “And it’s not technically his fault Elias picked him. Sure, Gertrude wanted me, but it’s not like she trained me. And look at this place. I don’t think she really knew what she was doing either, half these statements are stapled for christ’s sake.”

“Elias is a rich old white man in academia,” Tim glances around to make sure they aren't being listened in on despite the fact they're in the basement. “Honestly I’m surprised he even picked Jon.” 

“You’ve got a point there.” Sasha murmurs, squinting her eyes at her computer screen. “Are we officially done with the Vittery statement? I’m not finding anything except what you’ve already found Martin.”

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah. Jon told me not to keep looking if you didn’t find anything new.” Martin sighs, looking at the clock which still treacherously shows it’s only two in the afternoon. “I might head back one more time, probably after work. Most of his neighbours were out when I dropped by.”

“It’s probably not worth the effort.” Tim says, kicking his feet up on the desk, “The poor bastard’s already dead, not much we can do to help him.”  

“I wish we could.” Martin sighs again. “I don’t know what’s worse, live statements where we can’t help someone going through what might be the worst experience of their life, or old statements where we still can’t do anything but research about all the awful things that happen to them.”

“Yeah, job’s a bit more depressing than I thought it would be.” Tim says, taking his feet off the desk as Jon’s office door creaks open. The other man glances at them momentarily as he walks towards the break room, empty mug in hand. “We didn't really get so personal working in research. Right Jon?” He raises his voice for that last bit. 

“What?” Jon pokes his head out of the breakroom, only looking slightly annoyed. 

“Just agree with me.” 

“I’m not falling for that.” Jon crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow at Tim. 

“Again?” Tim grins and Jon scowls. “I said the archives are a bit more depressing than research was.” Jon’s expression softens as he nods. 

“It’s far more…personal.” He agrees. “Research was a lot more field work and a lot less reading about first hand experiences.” He leans against a filing cabinet instead of immediately going back to his office. “And we did a lot more with artefact storage.” He sounds like he’s actually quite relieved he no longer does, and Sasha and Tim give little commiserate groans. 

“I hate artifact storage ” Tim says, putting his feet up on the desk again now he knows Jon isn’t going to chastise them for chatting. “No offence Sasha.”

“None taken.” Sasha leans back in her chair. “I hated it there too. I’m not sure how I managed to work there for so long.” She looks between Jon and Tim. “I know research sometimes helped with retrievals, did you two ever do any?”

“Nope,” Tim interlocks his fingers behind his head. “Hadn’t worked long enough to find anything to call acquisitions in for.” 

“Yes, I have.” Jon looks like it wasn't a fond memory. “I didn’t do any actual handling, more locating.” He glances briefly around them, as if reconsidering his next words. “I only helped with a handful, and for two of them I had to break into someone’s flat.” 

“Really? How?” Martin could hardly imagine Jon breaking into someone’s home. He looks between Sasha and Tim. Tim doesn’t look surprised, he might have even known already. Sasha looks intrigued. 

“Usually building management doesn’t know their tenants very well,” Jon shrugs. “We really only had to break in when the…victim was already dead. It’s not hard to pretend to be a relative or friend who’s coming to pack their things. Grief is usually a good excuse to forget your copy of the keys far enough away you can’t be expected to go back and get them.” 

“To be fair, we did do a good amount of breaking and entering.” Tim has a grin on his face and a lilt to his voice that tells Martin he’s got a story to tell. Jon shoots Tim a withering glare, apparently knowing where this is going. 

“Tim…” He warns.

“Have I ever told you two about the first job I ever went on with Jon?” Tim pulls his feet off of his desk, leaning forward excitedly. 

“You haven't." Martin glances at Jon, hoping this isn’t actually sensitive. Tim can get a bit carried away, and it would be a shame if Jon started pulling back again. Thankfully Jon just looks annoyed. 

“Let’s hear it.” Sasha leans forward, crossing her arms on her desk. 

“So I’m new,” Tim starts, “I’ve only been there a few weeks, and I've been doing mostly deskwork. Richard, our department head, calls me over to his office and I’m only slightly worried I'm in trouble. I get more worried when I notice this other coworker in there already.” Jon sighs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't stop Tim or leave. 

“I was a little worried I was in trouble because I've been trying to make small talk with this guy for a few weeks now and I’m pretty sure he hates me so I think I might be getting called in for a disciplinary meeting.” Tim’s eyes are bright and it’s clear from his tone that he’s only lightheartedly teasing. “Instead Richard tells me I’m getting my first fieldwork assignment, and Jon is going to show me the ropes.” 

“So imagine my surprise when we get to this old estate, practically out in the middle of nowhere with this old rusty chain link fence, and I'm busy wondering how we're getting in because we don't have any bolt cutters or a ladder. When I turn to ask Jon he’s gone, and I hear this rattling noise.” Tim has to stifle a laugh, “He’s climbing the bloody fence! Drops down on the other side like it’s no big deal-”

“It was only six feet.” 

“I had no warning!” 

“I told you to bring gloves.” 

“Yeah, I figured for fingerprints and stuff, not tetanus.” 

“Always be prepared for tetanus.” Jon says, as if imparting some sage wisdom. 

“Anyways, Jon makes me climb the fence too, because apparently we aren't allowed to ‘leave lasting damage to the property or the institute could be liable’ or something. So we get to the house, and the front door’s locked. I asked, as a joke, if we were climbing in a window instead, and Jon just tells me ‘yeah’ and starts circling the house!” 

“And I thought acquisitions were bad.” Sasha laughs. “Did you at least find anything?” 

“Nope! We broke into this spooky old house for nothing.” 

“What were you supposed to find?" Sasha asks. 

“Angel statue that cried wine, we found nothing but an incredibly well stocked wine cellar.” Tim twirls a pencil between his fingers. “Nothing else significant happened, so we left.” 

“Tim fell on his ass when we climbed back over the fence.” Jon’s tone is dry but there’s a hint of an amused smile on his face. Tim gasps dramatically. 

“You slander me.” 

“Sure.” Jon stands, walking back to his office. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” 

The rest of the day goes by quickly, Tim only grumbles a little when Martin tells him to be careful on the front steps. It was a bit icy and they wouldn’t want him to fall now, would they?

He’s feeling good enough that instead of taking his regular bus line home, Martin hops on the tube towards Carlos Vittery’s old building. Hopefully he can either find something, or reassure himself he’s done his due diligence. Good things have been happening all week. If Martin can add one more, why not try?

Chapter Text

“Here we go, milk with a splash of coffee in it, two pumps of chocolate.” Tim takes advantage of the fact Jon has left his office door open to push inside, two coffees left in the beverage tray he’s carrying. 

Jon is laser focused on his computer screen, and acknowledges Tim with a distracted hum. Tim sets the coffee down next to Jon’s monitor, and pops himself down in the chair where live statements are usually taken. He sips on his coffee until Jon finishes whatever he was doing and spots his own cup. 

“Thank you Tim.” Jon takes a tentative sip. He seems pleased with the coffee to milk ratio and takes another.

“You’re welcome. How’s the lightly caffeinated chocolate milk?” 

“Just fine.” Jon deadpans, leaning back in his chair. It’s almost like they’re hanging out back in research. It’s really nice. “Do you not know about the existence of hot chocolate?” 

“You wound me.” He presses a hand over his heart. Despite his obvious theatrics, Jon looks the tiniest bit guilty. He’s looked like that a lot recently, especially when Tim tries to joke with him. It passes before it dampens the mood, and Jon shakes his head ever so slightly, like he’s trying to put something out of mind. 

“Sasha says the two of you figured out how to properly store all the paper copies of the statements?” He feels a bit like a parent, talking to a child who has finally figured out how to make friends. 

“Yes, once Elias approves the expense we will be ordering approximately one billion acid-free lignin-free folders and about a million acid-free lignin-free document boxes.” Jon sighs, eyeing the boxes stacked everywhere in his office. “Every single one of these damn things are currently stored in regular manilla folders, or whatever they made folders out of two hundred years ago.”

“Rocks, probably.” Tim drains the last of his coffee. “Not sure what else they could have made them out of, since they lived in caves.”

“I think I would prefer rocks to this.” Jon grumbles. He sighs, setting down his cup to rub at his eyes, almost knocking his glasses off his face. “Any luck with Christof Rudenko and the meat apartment?” 

“I wish, I haven't found any butchers in the area that remembered him or any records of online deliveries to his flat, so the mystery meat is still a mystery.” 

“I haven’t had much luck either, there is a documented incident involving hazardous biological materials at Mr. Rudenko’s building, and a record of Toby Carlisle’s death with the cause of death determined as gangrene.” 

“Gross, bet he got trenchfoot from all the nasty liquefied meat.” Probably not the best thing to say while Jon is still finishing his drink. Jon’s lip curls up in disgust and he sets his cup down again. 

“The past few statements have been…extra unpleasant.”

“That’s saying something, hard to be worse than their normal level of unpleasantness.”

“Truly.” Again, Jon looks like he’s thinking about something else, and whatever it is, it’s bothering him. Even before all this archive nonsense, Jon hadn’t been exactly forthcoming, but Tim had worn him down over time with his charming wit and persistence, so it doesn’t hurt to ask. 

“Something on your mind boss?” Jon opens his mouth and then closes it, hesitating. He sighs, taking another drink of his coffee. 

“Have you heard anything from Martin?” Jon manages to sound properly concerned. “He’s never been out sick this long.” Tim can't help the faint smile on his lips, it’s about time Jon stopped being such an ass to Martin. 

“Haven’t heard anything.” He pulls out his phone to double check, “I texted him but he didn't respond.” Jon’s frown deepens, his brows creasing. 

“He texted me Monday, some sort of stomach bug. It’s been nearly a week though.” Tim catches himself smiling again at Jon’s unconscious pout. This is his Jon, from back before all this archive nonsense started. It’s like all the stress that had been building up since Jon took the position had finally crashed over him in one big wave, and yeah, Tim’s still a little worried about him after witnessing his panic attack, but Jon came out the other end himself again. He’s not struggling to present some facade of professionalism because his assistants had already seen him at his worst and whatever Jon thought would happen hadn’t, and hopefully he would just relax so they could all figure out this mess Gertrude had left together.

“I tried calling him to follow up.” Jon admits, “It’s unlike him to be this…quiet.” He takes another sip of his coffee mulling something over. “I would understand if he didn’t want to speak to me while he’s not feeling well. Would you be comfortable calling him on my behalf? He likes you better.”

Tim blinks, not used to Jon being this open or introspective. Although he has a point, Martin must be very sick if he’s ignoring Jon’s attempts to check on him. As much as Tim loves Martin, a text from Jon asking about him should have him kicking his legs like a schoolgirl. 

“Yeah, I can call him.” Tim makes a mental note to call at lunch. If Martin isn’t well he’s probably not going to want to be woken up at 8:30 am. “I’ll keep you in the loop.” 

“Thank you.” Jon still looks worried but he forces a smile. “I can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong.” 

——————————👁——————————

Martin doesn’t answer when Tim calls him as he’s heading out to lunch. Not too unusual, if he’s sick he’s probably asleep. But it is worrying. Martin’s been out sick since last week, and he’s ignored all of Tim’s texts up until this point. 

He knows he can come on a bit strong, but Tim was sure they were at least work friends. He considered Martin a friend at least, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had jumped into a friendship too eager and scared the other person off. That wasn't what was happening here, was it?

It’s making him sad to think about, so he pushes it out of his mind. The woman behind the counter at the cafe remembers him, and he decides to treat himself to a hot chocolate and a muffin for lunch and picks a table nestled between a large potted plant and a tall window that lets the sun shine in and warm him despite the cold winter air outside.

Should he try calling Martin again? If he was being too clingy would that just make it worse? He sighs, finishing the last of his muffin. If that was the case then calling him outside of work hours might make it worse. 

At least Jon and Sasha still like him. Both of them are comfortable telling him off when he gets to be too much. Had he made Martin uncomfortable? The other man was a bit of a pushover, and definitely a people pleaser. If Tim was making him uncomfortable would he tell him? Or would he just be polite and endure it? 

He lingers in the cafe for as long as reasonably possible before he has to return to work. As a last ditch effort he sends one final text. 

Sorry to call in the middle of the day, 

just wanted to check in, let me know if 

you're doing ok

He hesitates before he hits send, almost adding a ‘let me know if you need anything’ at the end, but that seems a bit too much. 

Jon hovers around him expectantly when he returns, which is an improvement from his previous attitude towards Martin, but it does nothing to settle Tim’s nerves. 

“He didn’t pick up when I called, I sent him another text but I haven't heard anything from him.” Jon frowns, opening his mouth to say something but is interrupted by the ding of Tim’s phone. 

Fine

Stomach bug

“Well that’s not reassuring.” He turns the phone to Jon, whose frown deepens as he reads the text. 

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Or he’s really sick, and coming up with grammatically correct texts isn’t a top priority.” Tim puts his phone away with a sigh. 

“Regardless, it doesn’t sound good.” Jon thinks for a few moments. “Technically I can’t ask for a doctor’s note until he’s been out for seven days, which is tomorrow, if he isn’t back by then I’ll ask for one, if only to be sure he’s seen a doctor. Hopefully he has by now.” Jon looks properly concerned, rather than annoyed that Martin is missing work. 

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else from him.” Jon only looks slightly reassured, but he does go back to his office. 

“Hear anything from Martin? Sasha asks as Tim returns to his desk. 

“Yeah, apparently he has a stomach bug.” 

“For a full week?” Sasha frowns, everyone’s been doing that all day today. “I hope he’s seen a doctor.”

——————————👁——————————

It is almost the end of the day when Jon makes a horrible connection.

“Sasha, if I told you hypothetically that I needed you to get Martin’s employee records from HR to find his address to confirm something, how would you respond?” He must look as anxious as he feels because Sasha pauses what she’s doing to look him up and down. 

“What kind of hypothetical?” She narrows her eyes, obviously uncomfortable with this. Tim is staring at him too as if he’s gone crazy. 

“The kind of hypothetical where I passed a flat building surrounded by worms like the ones in Timothy Hodge’s statement?” They both still look more worried that Jon is asking for Martin’s address than they are about any possible threat so he continues. “The worm sex guy, Jane Prentiss?” 

“And you want Martin’s address for…?” 

“Because I’m almost sure it’s his building, and he told you two he might go back to Carlos Vittery’s flat before he disappeared for a full week without answering anyone’s calls?” It seems so obvious to him, why aren’t they understanding? Why are they looking at him like they're worried he’s having a breakdown? Maybe it’s the pacing. He forces himself to stand still and take a deep breath. “Carlos Vittery  mentioned in his statement that his building was dealing with an ‘infestation’ of ‘small, silvery worms, almost like maggots, but slightly longer.’” The exact words from the statement flow off his tongue so easily. “Please, I’ve worked on plenty of cases involving Jane Prentiss back in research, I know what I'm talking about and I can't shake the feeling Martin may be in serious danger.”

He knows he must sound desperate, but his sincerity seems to convince them. Sasha and Tim share a look, and then Sasha turns back to Jon. 

“You think Jane Prentiss may have been at Carlos Vittery’s flat building?” Sasha asks. She sounds like she’s taking him seriously, and Jon takes another deep breath. 

“Yes, she tends to go, dormant for lack of better words, between attacks. I wouldn’t be surprised if she just rots in musty old basements when she’s not active.” Tim looks like he’s coming around, the concern over Jon’s mental state giving way to serious concern for Martin. Tim’s never worked a Prentiss case if Jon remembers right, she had become dangerous enough that the standard protocol had been to stop risking institute staff and just send the ECDC in the directions of her victims. If Jon was right Martin could be in serious danger. 

If it wasn’t too late already. Jon’s stomach twists at the idea. He should have followed his gut feeling earlier, he had felt the pull before, to get off his bus at a different stop and check on…well, he wasn't sure what. He hadn’t allowed himself until he was running errands this weekend. He had known that Martin wouldn’t be back today, although trying to think about how he knew made his chest tight and his head ache.

“Jon, how sure are you?” Tim’s face tells Jon he knows how serious this is, he may not have worked on any of the Prentiss cases, but he had definitely heard of them. That this could, at worst, be a situation where they call in the ECDC and hope they get updated on Martin’s…condition.

“I desperately hope I’m wrong about this, but I am very sure.” Jon wishes he could explain how he knew, but even he isn't sure. He can only hope his experience from research and the rather flimsy timeline of events he’s suggested convinces them.

“Usually HR doesn’t see ‘potentially supernatural worms’ outside of your coworker’s building as a good reason to show up at their flat.” Sasha starts typing on her computer, “And I’m not going to show you his documents, but if you can tell me the address of the building you saw the worms around I will tell you if they match and we’ll go from there.”