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“I think I’ve found a way for us to leave the Institute.”
There’s a heavy pause. You could have heard a pin drop. These days, Martin isn’t easy to read, his expressions varying exclusively between different degrees of tired and frustrated. His face right now is carefully neutral, but he’s stopped moving. But then one of his eyebrows raises.
“...okay?”
Jon can feel a flush rise to his cheeks under his steely look.
“But it’s- ah- it’s pretty drastic.”
Martin gives one short, high laugh. The magical stillness lifts and he goes back to shuffling papers on his desk.
“What, you going to gouge your eyes out, or something?”
Jon opens his mouth. He closes it, swallows. Martin is still looking down at his papers, with something almost like an amused smile on his face. He straightens, presumably to get out of the room and away from Jon but catches his eye before he does. Jon grimaces. Martin’s expression immediately sobers.
“Fuck off.”
Jon doesn’t say much as Martin sets down his papers and finally turns towards Jon and fully starts paying attention to him. It’s embarrassing to say that Jon’s heart sees this as a major success and decides to make itself very known.
“Right,” Martin says. One of his hands runs through his hair as he inhales. Jon wants to take it in his. He has to clench his hands into fists to stop himself. “Uh, uh, right, uh…Erm… like, I mean… permanently? Or…?”
Jon breathes out. It’s awful to say but it’s a comfort to see Martin like that, eyes wide and struggling with his words.
“I, I don’t know; I suppose. I-If your vision comes back, the Beholding probably does as well – probably. But i-it’s not like it’s easy to only blind yourself temporarily anyways I- I-” He gestures desperately to try to get his point across, risks taking a step forward. Martin doesn’t move from his spot.
“Uh, y-yeah, yeah, uh… H-Have you told the others, or?…”
“No, you’re the first.”
Martin slumps a little, leaning back against his desk. He looks at Jon with his eyebrows knitted together, something almost like pity in his eyes.
“Why?”
“Uh, because… because, because I trust you. I-I’m trying to think about what to do, and I…” Jon struggles, his throat closing in on itself. Martin doesn’t even blink. “If I did try this, I don’t want to do it alone.” He takes another step forward. “But we could leave here, you and me.” He lets one of his hands relax and reaches out to settle it on Martin’s. “Escape.”
Martin’s eyes glance down to their hands and back up to Jon, the pity in them turning to weariness before he closes them completely.
“Jon. Don’t do this,” he says softly.
“Do what?”
Martin’s hand slips out from underneath his.
“Make it my decision.”
“I’m not-”
“I mean- could you even survive at this stage? Is there anything else keeping you alive?”
The words sting enough that something in Jon’s chest aches, deep and dull.
“I- I don’t know. I don’t know.” He looks down at his feet. “But… maybe it’s worth it? The risk – y-you and me, together, getting out of here –”
He’s interrupted by Martin sniffing, maybe in disdain, maybe holding back tears. He can’t tell these days. But he can’t stop now.
“-one way or another,” he finishes weakly.
“Jon,” Martin says.
It’s all he needs to say.
“No. No, o-of course, this was stupid; you have your own plans going on, don’t you?”
Martin almost looks pained as he gives a nod.
“Just – Look, I need to see this thing through with Peter to the end. If, If what he’s saying is even half true, I need to be there”
Is this how Jon sounded like before charging into the Unknowing? Brave, maybe a little noble, but so stupidly self-sacrificial? It must have been agony to watch.
“But what if you don’t?” Jon says before he can stop himself. “We could just leave. I mean, whatever their plan is for me, I am damn sure that doing that isn’t it.” He straightens, sticks his chin out, hoping desperately he sounds confident enough to be convincing. “I’d derail everything – we could derail everything, and then just – leave!”
Martin looks at him, the smallest, saddest smile painting his face. His eyes shine slightly as he laughs, flat and empty and hopeless. Jon burns all over.
“What?” he says with just a hint of his old snappiness.
Martin laughs some more, sounding worse by the second.
“Nothing; It’s just – “ He snorts. “It’s just ironic, that’s all.”
Oh.
“Martin…”
“Who are you kidding, Jon? You’re not going to do any of that.”
For some reason, Jon’s ego takes immense offense to this.
“I… I could.”
“But you won’t. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it?” Martin points at him. “You know I can’t do it, not now; you don’t want to blind yourself; you don’t want to die; what you want is a reason to not do those things, so – you come to me.”
And, well, Jon can’t really find an answer to that, can he? He tries, sure, but the words can’t even be formed in his head, let alone on his lips. Martin crosses his arms, still smiling, still so very sad.
“Well, you’re welcome. B-because I can’t follow you on this one.”
Jon tries to get his feet to start working, to prepare to walk out of the room in disgrace. His toes curl in his shoes, planting him more firmly to the floor instead. Martin doesn’t move, except for his chest heaving slightly, like his outburst was an effort on his part. Jon certainly feels knackered after being on the receiving end of it.
“Now,” Martin says, his voice softer but still firm. “Do you have any more ridiculous requests or can you leave?”
And for some ungodly reason, as if Jon hadn’t given him enough trouble, he lifts his head, looks at Martin, and says:
“Can I kiss you?”
Martin’s head jerks back, eyes going wide as a shocked little sound escapes his throat.
“What- Are you serious?”
Jon crosses his arms, feeling his face go red.
“You asked for ridiculous requests, didn’t you?”
“Wow. Wow. Fine.”
“What do you mean, fi-”
He’s interrupted by Martin taking a step forward and grabbing his shoulders (gently, so gently, like Jon is precious and fragile and could break any second) and leaning in to press a kiss to his lips, quick and chaste and clumsy.
“There,” Martin says, so very quietly, still almost against Jon’s skin. “Happy? Can you go now?” But he’s still holding onto him. Jon’s hands are on Martin’s chest as he tries to find his words.
“I…” He manages, all of his insides fluttering. “Ah.”
Martin snorts.
“That was my first kiss and that’s all you have to say?”
Jon hurtles back to reality.
“Oh- oh, Martin I-I’m so sorry- I didn’t- I don’t know-”
Martin doesn’t interrupt him, just closes his eyes and sighs softly. Jon can’t help it. He gets up on his toes and kisses him. When he parts, Martin’s looking at him, his eyes soft and surprised. There’s a delicate blush dusting his cheeks, barely noticeable. So, of course, Jon kisses him again. And again. He kisses Martin until he’s back to leaning against the desk and Jon’s between his legs and if someone came in right now this would be very hard to explain.
One of Martin’s hands is cupping his face, the other resting on the back of his neck. His own hands are round Martin’s waist, his head tilted back even with Martin almost half-sitting on his desk. After a moment, Martin suddenly stops, sighs, and slumps forward, burying his face in Jon’s neck. Jon finds himself almost instinctively petting his hair.
“Oh Jon,” he whispers. Jon’s heart twists. “Why’d you have to go and do this now of all times?”
“Sorry,” Jon says. “I-I’m so sorry.”
Martin just tilts Jon’s chin and kisses him again.
“I’ve always hated it when you apologize,” Martin says against the skin of his cheek.
“Sorr-”
And he’s being kissed again. Martin’s smiling genuinely at this point, his lips pink-ish. Jon wants to tell him it’s a good look for him. It doesn’t last long, dropping from his face as he glances at the closed door.
“We have to stop soon,” Martin says. He sounds wistful.
“Do we?”
“Yes. Lying to Peter is easy, but he’s got a sort of… feel for these things. You know?”
But Martin’s still clinging to him. Even tighter than before, Jon realizes.
“Isn’t there anything I can do? To help?”
‘Please, let me help,’ he doesn’t say.
Martin bites his lip. His head goes to rest on Jon’s shoulder.
“Can we just stay like this awhile?” His arms wrap loosely, tentatively around Jon’s middle. “Just a bit? I know what I said, I just… it’s been a while.”
Jon aches all over.
“Of course. As long as you need.”
It’s quiet. Jon sways gently as Martin clings fiercely to him.
“I hate that everyone thinks I’m on his side,” Martin says, suddenly. “I’m not. It’s not like I suddenly became evil. I’m just trying to fix things, I’m just trying to-” He stops, inhaling sharply. His arms squeeze Jon temporarily.
“I know. I know you’re just trying to do good. I trust you.”
Martin doesn’t reply. He gives Jon another tight hug and finally straightens. His eyes are fixed on the floor.
“Thank you,” he whispers. He looks back up. “Jon, you really have to go now.”
Jon nods. They untangle themselves from one another and Martin gets to his feet. Martin walks him to the door as they avoid each other’s eyes. Jon clears his throat awkwardly as he opens the door, he turns around to see Martin closer than he’d realized.
“Bye,” he says weakly, raising one hand in a half-wave.
Martin mimics the gesture, but stops prematurely, fingers curling into a loose fist.
“Just one more thing, Jon.”
And he leans down and gives Jon one last kiss that, quite embarrassingly, steals his breath away.
“Bye,” Martin says. “I’ll see you sometime, okay?”
Jon realizes that somehow he’s outside the door now, and Martin’s hand is on the door, readying to close it.
“See you,” Jon says as the door closes with a click.
He lingers in the hall a moment longer. His face is still warm.
One way or another, he tells himself as he rests his hand on the closed door, together.