“…Twenty minutes, or we’re starting without you.” Martin’s voice had that sharp, slightly bitchy edge that he only ever directed at one person.
“I wouldn’t dream of ruining your evening,” Jon called back, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.
Sasha looked up at Tim, who rolled his eyes dramatically. At least they weren’t at each other’s throats today. Not that she thought it was that serious, or she’d have gone to HR long ago; most of it just seemed like grumpy grousing. But she was still mentally betting on how long it would take Martin to decide, screw it, the scrutiny over his CV would be worth not having to deal with Jon’s bullying. He gave as good as he got most days, but everyone had their breaking point.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be tonight.
It was the last day of work before Christmas, their first Christmas in the Archives. The shelves bristled with tinsel and pine boughs, every box of files bore a shiny package bow, four stockings with their names clumsily scrawled on them in permanent marker were tacked to the bulletin board, and Tim had even smuggled in a live Christmas tree that now stood in a corner, decorated with mirrored baubles and peppermint canes and topped with a shiny star. The colored lights winking on and off over the door frame formed an odd counterpoint to the ofttimes horrific statements they were researching, recording, and archiving, but it at least kept them all from sinking too deep into it. But now, blissfully, there were two uninterrupted weeks off to look forward to. Save for the annual Christmas party scheduled for Saturday night, which all of them were dreading and wished they could avoid but had been told they were expected to attend, the Institute would be closed until the new year and they were free of the persistent horrors, at least for a little while.
Going out for drinks after work had been Tim’s idea. Opening it up to partners had been Sasha’s. She was dying to finally get the juicy details.
“Our benevolent overlord not ready to go, I take it?” Tim asked dryly as Martin closed the door to Jon’s office with, not exactly sharpness, but certainly emphasis.
“Finishing up a file, allegedly. He’ll be along,” Martin answered. His phone pinged, and he glanced at it and sighed. “I’ve got to pick up something on the way. Meet you there?”
“Your husband’s still planning to join us, right?” Sasha hoped she sounded casual and not too eager.
Martin nodded absently as he shrugged into his coat. “Yeah, don’t worry. See you in a few.”
Sasha slid into the passenger seat of Tim’s car without asking. She knew he’d give her a ride any time, no questions asked, and they were literally going to the same place anyway. “So! Bets on who gets there first?”
Tim glanced sideways at her, one eyebrow raised but his eyes dancing with mischief. “Us.”
“I know that, idiot.” Sasha punched him in the arm playfully; Tim groaned dramatically and rubbed theatrically at his arm before starting the car. “I’m talking about the plus ones. Whose do you think will arrive first?”
“Hmm.” Tim pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I guess whoever is closest.”
“Tiiiiim! You have to choose!”
Tim laughed. “Honestly, Sash, I dunno. I’m not even entirely sure what they do.”
Sasha frowned. Now that he mentioned it, she wasn’t either. “Jon’s not one to talk about his private life much. All I know is that his partner is ridiculously sappy—you’ve seen those sack lunches he brings, with the hearts drawn all over the bag and everything neatly arranged and divided and all that—and that Jon goes over all mushy when he thinks about him too hard. But that’s it. Oh, and that he stress bakes. Martin hasn’t said anything to you about his husband?”
“He’s said a few things, but the way he says them, I can’t tell if he’s serious or not. I do know they’re basically newlyweds, though.”
“Well, it hasn’t been legal that long,” Sasha pointed out. Tim grunted in agreement.
The pub was bustling, unsurprising for the Friday before Christmas, and smelled of cinnamon and pine and roasting meat. There were a few booths available, though, and Sasha deliberately chose an oversized curved one tucked to one side. It would hold at least six, even if both the plus ones were the same size as Martin, and there wouldn’t have to be any shuffling around to make sure the couples could sit next to each other. She and Tim were still both single—Tim, she knew, because he was at least pretending to hope they would end up together—so it was just Jon’s partner and Martin’s husband they would be waiting on.
Of the two, Sasha was infinitely more curious about Jon’s partner. It was difficult to imagine anyone who would—no, that wasn’t fair. Jon tended to get so far up in the work that he couldn’t see anything else, but once you got him out in the open air he was a perfectly good guy, if a bit of a specialized nerd with a tendency to ramble. It wasn’t difficult to imagine anyone who would put up with him long enough to form a civil partnership. It was somewhat difficult to imagine who Jon might put up with long enough to form a civil partnership, though, and one that had apparently been going on for several years. Sasha had lost count of the number of times someone had asked what the occasion was when he came into Research with an enormous basket of cookies and he’d simply said my partner is having a difficult time. Apparently his promotion had alleviated some of the stress in his partner’s life, though—or Jon was trying too hard to be professional, or didn’t want Martin to get those treats. Either way, Sasha almost wished the Institute’s system listed names rather than just relationships so she could hack them, find out Jon’s partner’s name, and agitate him to the point that they had an excess of mint meltaways.
She didn’t know Martin nearly as well as she knew Jon—not that she’d known him all that well outside of work to begin with—and didn’t talk to him as often as Tim did, so most of her data about his husband came from external observation rather than discussion and inference. He obviously adored Martin, or at least wanted Martin to think he was adored; it was hardly uncommon for Rosie to call down that there was some kind of delivery there for Martin, only for him to come back blushing slightly and carrying an ostentatious, elaborate flower arrangement. Never something simple like roses or daisies, either, it was always irises or tulips or orchids, something elaborate and probably expensive, and more than once Sasha had noticed Martin surreptitiously checking a book after getting one only to blush harder. She’d snuck a peek once and discovered a book on floriology—so not just expensive, but meaningful flowers, flowers that said things a card wouldn’t thoroughly convey.
“It’s such bullshit that the Institute doesn’t list who our emergency contacts are, just their relationship,” she mused.
Tim gave her the sort of side eye you really only expected from a big brother. “You really shouldn’t admit publicly that you did that, you know.”
“Who are you going to tell?”
As if on cue, Martin appeared next to their booth, hanging his coat and scarf on the hook at the end of the bench with a practiced ease that told Sasha he did this a lot. “Hey. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Just a few minutes,” Tim assured him. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just had to pick up some sticking plasters and a box of wet wipes. The napkins here aren’t great quality and we were out.” Martin slid into his seat and sighed. “Christ, I’m glad we’ve got the next couple weeks off.”
Sasha raised a hand to signal the waitress wandering about. “You come here a lot, then?”
Martin nodded. “Couple times a month, usually…hi, Gin, how’s Emily’s cold doing?”
“Much better, thanks, Martin.” The waitress beamed at him. “Tell the husband thanks for the tip…is he coming?”
“He’ll be along in a few,” Martin assured her.
The waitress nodded. “Your usual, I take it? What about you two, what are you drinking?”
She took their drink orders, then bustled off. Sasha nudged Tim’s foot under the table, then spoke to Martin as innocently as she could. “So how long have you been coming here?”
Martin wrinkled his nose. “About ten years? I used to walk past it sometimes on my way to the Tube station after work, and it looked cozy. Finally stopped in one day for something to eat, and the food’s good, so I kept coming back.”
“I’m guessing your husband likes it, too.” Sasha was aware she was fishing, but it was probably a safe bet. “Since he gave your waitress tips on her daughter’s cold…is he a doctor, then?”
“No, just a nerd.” Martin’s mouth twitched briefly. “And yeah, he likes it. It’s not like a special date night place or anything, but we made a rule about not bringing work home with us when we moved in together, so if one or both of us has something we need to talk out, we come here.”
Sasha bit the inside of her cheek to hide a grin. Since he’d probably ranted about his arse of a boss several times, this was going to be interesting.
“Are your partners coming?” Martin continued, also seemingly all innocence. “Only neither of you have ever talked about them, but you mentioned bringing significant others, so I just assumed…”
“Nah, my dance card’s open,” Tim said easily. He nudged Sasha’s foot under the table, far more suggestively than she had.
She kicked him in the shin, not gently. “Honestly, it’s hard to find someone who takes me seriously. Men get intimidated or insulted by my brain and women get unnerved by it. Also I’m currently trying to figure out if Melanie King is single and likes women.”
Tim scoffed. “Melanie King? The YouTuber?”
“She has soulful eyes!” Sasha protested.
“Only because I’m pretty sure she’s eating them!”
Sasha was gearing up to defend herself when Martin’s whole face suddenly lit up as he laid eyes on something over her shoulder. “There you are. I wondered when you were going to turn up.”
“I am still within the stipulated twenty minutes.” Jon’s voice came from behind Sasha, and she twisted around to see that he was—despite his prim and proper tone of voice—smiling.
“Hey, boss,” Tim said smoothly. “Waitress should be back in a few minutes to get your drink order.”
Sasha started to scoot closer to Tim—and move him towards the middle—so Jon could sit on their end. Before she could, however, he hung his coat on the hook as well and slid into the bench next to Martin, who had already slung his arm up on the back of the bench. To her shock, he slid all the way over, up against Martin’s side, and reached up to pull Martin’s face towards his for a quick, chaste kiss before turning to face Tim and Sasha, still smiling.
It faltered, however, when he met their eyes. “Is something wrong?”
“Did you just…kiss Martin?” Sasha managed.
Jon’s brow furrowed in what seemed like honest puzzlement. “Ah…yes?”
“Wait, you’re married to each other?” Tim demanded.
Martin—there was no doubt about it—smirked as he looked down at Jon. “I told you they hadn’t figured it out.”
“Well. Damn. I suppose the first round’s on me, then.” Jon gave them a slightly sheepish look. “I—honestly thought you two would know.”
“No? Why would we have possibly known that?” Tim threw up his hands in exasperation. “You hate each other!”
“We don’t hate each other,” Jon said, sounding genuinely surprised.
Martin let his arm slide off the back of the bench and settle, quite naturally, over Jon’s shoulders. “If I thought Jon actually meant anything by the sorts of things he said, I’d be fawning all over him trying to fix it,” he said. There was no humor in his voice—it was a simple statement of fact. “It’s all banter. Ask me how many times a card game has involved one or both of us demanding a divorce, and that started before we were actually married.”
“I’m pretty sure that started before we were even dating,” Jon added.
“Oh, yeah, when you said you didn’t see the point of poetry and absolutely devastated me by challenging the merits of a fundamental aspect of my being.”
“You’ve yet to prove I wasn’t just trying to sneakily get you to do some of my homework for me.”
It was the same sort of argument they had in the Archives all the time—just lower stakes—but for the first time, Sasha was paying attention enough to hear the undercurrent of affection in their voices. It was almost like some weird form of foreplay, but…it was obvious. How had she missed it before?
The waitress—Gin—came by with four drinks, thanked Jon again for his suggestion—something about an herbal tea and a humidifier—and took their food orders. Once she had gone, Sasha resumed the questioning. “So if you were talking about homework…I guess you knew each other in school?”
“Something like that,” Jon allowed. “Our Year Three teachers apparently knew each other in school and would do a pen pal program every year with their students to teach penmanship, composition, and communication. Martin and I were randomly assigned one another. The program only lasted one term and then both classes took a trip to London to meet in person, but we enjoyed it so much that we traded addresses to keep writing after.”
“Wait, is that what you meant when you said he was a ‘mail order husband’?” Tim practically yelled, slapping his hand on the table hard enough to make the mugs rattle.
Martin started laughing, a bright, mischievous laugh. Jon joined in a split second later, his whole face transforming into one much closer to the twenty-eight he actually was instead of the thirty-eight he claimed to be. Sasha couldn’t help giggling, too. Finally, even Tim joined in.
“Okay,” she said when they had all finally calmed down a little. “I have a lot of questions and thoughts, but let’s get the really big, important one out of the way first.”
Jon and Martin glanced at each other, then back at her. She had a feeling they were holding hands under the table for support. “All right,” Jon said guardedly. “Go ahead.”
“Now that we know you’re the stress baking partner, can you bring in more of those amazing biscuits Jon used to bring in periodically?”
Martin’s shoulders visibly relaxed. He reached into the bag at his side and produced two brightly colored tins, taped shut and topped with a bow. He handed one to Sasha and one to Tim. “Reckoned I’d wait until we had that reveal so you didn’t ask why I didn’t bring one for Jon, but I was never not going to gift biscuits for the holidays. Jon helped with the shortbread.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Tim deadpanned.
Sasha tucked her tin into her own bag. There were, as she had said, plenty of questions to be asked, and a great deal of teasing to happen, but the fortunate thing was that it wouldn’t change anything in the Archives. She was smart enough to know that Jon wouldn’t suddenly get any less professional just because the major secret was out, especially since there was every risk of Elias firing or reassigning one or both of them if he found out or thought it was creating an uneven dynamic in the Archives. But at least they knew what was going on.
And now she knew exactly who to talk to in order to get mint meltaways.