As soon as he heard the bedroom door shut behind Tim, Martin turned towards Jon. He didn’t even get his mouth all the way open to say anything before Jon’s hands were on his face, and then Jon was kissing him.
It was their first kiss in far too long, since Martin had kissed Jon goodbye and promised to see him on the other side, and thank God it still felt the way it had before. A part of Martin had worried that things would be different—now that they were in the past, now that their plan was on its way, now that Martin was blind. This went a long way to reassuring him that they weren’t, though. Nothing had changed between them.
He gripped Jon’s elbows to hold him still. Jon’s hands dropped from Martin’s face and slid around his neck, seeming to try and pull him closer, although honestly if they got any closer Jon would be inside Martin’s rib cage. He also somehow managed to deepen the kiss, which Martin wouldn’t have thought possible a second previously. He closed his eyes and gave himself completely over to the moment.
The need for air was the only reason they separated, even a little bit. Martin rested his forehead against Jon’s and reveled in the simple fact that they were together again. It had probably been a good thing that they’d had these two weeks apart—it had given Martin a chance to prove to himself, and hopefully to Jon, that he could manage on his own—but he wasn’t going to deny that he’d missed him, and that he wanted him there as much as possible.
Something wet hit his chin, and it took Martin a second to realize what it was. Jon was crying.
“Jon?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. He reached up hesitantly to cup Jon’s cheek and rub his thumb across it, catching the tear tracks coursing down it.
“I was afraid I’d lost you,” Jon whispered. Martin could feel his sweater bunching up into his hands. “I was so damned—sure of myself. I told myself, when I let you follow the Keeper into that door, I told myself it would be okay, that whatever was hiding you from the Eye, from Jonah, I-I was sure it wouldn’t keep you from me, that I’d be able to find you, that I could Know you wherever you were, and then I couldn’t and I—I kept telling myself you were fine, you had to be fine, that I’d see you when I got to the Archives and you’d fuss at me for trying to get in your head and then we’d laugh about it, and then I got to the Institute and I saw all that chaos a-and I couldn’t find you, you weren’t there—”
“Jon. Jon, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Martin soothed. He pulled Jon’s head down to his shoulder, then began rubbing his back in slow, gentle circles with his free hand. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”
“It’s n—” Jon’s voice started rising, but he checked himself and hissed, “It’s not okay. I promised you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and then everything almost happened to you. You were in the middle of Jane Prentiss’s attack, again, but this time you were alone and blind and helpless—”
“I’m not helpless,” Martin interrupted. He was rather proud of the fact that he managed not to say that in an angry or petulant tone, but quietly and firmly. All right, yes, he was a little pissed at Jon for thinking of him that way, but he did get where Jon was coming from. Still, he’d done perfectly well for himself on his own. He honestly didn’t know if he would have been able to do as well as he’d done if he hadn’t spent time with Melanie before…everything, but he’d done it. He could still handle himself.
All the tension and fight went out of Jon in one long exhale, and he sagged against Martin. “No,” he agreed quietly. “You’re not.”
They held each other for a long moment of silence. Martin could feel Jon trembling, and he guessed it wasn’t all nerves. “Come on,” he said at last. “Let’s at least lie down. When’s the last time you slept?”
“Ah—yesterday? Day before, technically?” Jon stepped back a little, but didn’t let go of Martin. “The—the bed’s over here.”
Since Martin was completely unfamiliar with Tim’s bedroom—he’d only even been to his house once—he let Jon lead him. Getting ready for bed was easy enough, as was crawling into it, the movements more than half-mechanical. Jon pulled the covers up over both of them and immediately curled into Martin’s chest. They both sighed in near unison.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Martin murmured, running a hand through Jon’s hair. He tried to be gentle about working through the knots he encountered. “How long have you been…here?”
“In the past? About a week. Six days, more like.” Jon sighed and tucked his head into the crook of Martin’s neck. He fit there like he was a part of Martin’s body. “I just got to London earlier this evening, though. How—you said you’d been here two weeks. Where did you…come through?”
“The Archives. I think I was in one of the back corners.” Martin bit his lip. “Wasn’t sure where I was at first, until I heard Tim’s voice. What about you?”
“The safe house. I should have expected that, really, but it still hurt knowing you weren’t there. And…walking out the door was harder than I expected it to be.”
“At least the sky wasn’t blinking at you.”
“It took me a bit to convince myself that it wouldn’t before I could open the door.”
Martin wanted to laugh, but he knew Jon was in earnest. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there to help you.”
“And I wish I’d been in the Archives to help you. I—I know you don’t need it. I know you’re…I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”
“Do what? Stop Jane Prentiss?” Martin frowned. “You did the first time—”
“You may recall that I didn’t do all that much, except make statements and slow everybody down,” Jon interrupted. “It was mostly you and Tim. Some Sasha, and…but that’s not really what I meant.” He reached up and brushed a trembling hand over Martin’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have been able to handle being alone and blind. I’d have been completely lost without you.”
“Well…I mean, I was, too. I even told the others that just before you showed up,” Martin admitted. “It’s just…I’m used to being alone, I guess? There was…I never had anyone to take care of me, other than myself, so I learned how from a pretty early age. Worrying about me was something that happened when I didn’t have anyone else’s needs to worry about, and that almost never happened. I’m always lost.”
“You’re not now,” Jon said fiercely. He pulled Martin’s head down for a kiss. “But that’s my point, Martin. If our positions had been switched, I wouldn’t have lasted two weeks on my own. I’d have broken completely. You’re…so much stronger than I am.”
Martin snorted. “I’m stubborn. There’s a difference.”
“You’re both,” Jon said. Martin didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling—it was obvious in the affection in his voice. “Almost everyone we’ve encountered has mentioned that. It doesn’t change the fact that I couldn’t have done half of what you did. Let alone without getting everyone else hurt, if not killed. You did that.”
“Luck.” Martin hesitated. “I…I couldn’t really…Jon, the others, are they really okay?”
“They’re fine,” Jon assured him. “Except for…well, you. I’m sorry. It—it looks like their Martin took the brunt of the worms. But I didn’t even see so much as a hole on anyone else.”
Martin sighed in relief. “I can live with that.”
They fell silent for a while. Martin concentrated on the weight of Jon’s head against his shoulder, the thud of his heartbeat against his side, the warmth and softness of his skin under his hands. For as little time as they’d had together, or at least how little time they’d had before the world had ended and their clinging had been more desperate than loving, this was still so familiar, so comforting. Martin knew exactly where was safe to touch and where wasn’t, where Jon was overly sensitive and where he had no feeling at all. He literally didn’t need to see a thing.
“You know what’s bothering me the most?” he said at last.
“You don’t know what Sasha looks like?” Jon guessed.
“I don’t—are you reading my mind?” Martin felt his lips quirk upwards in a smile. Just a few months ago (or…whatever the actual span of time since the end of the world had been, he was guessing here), the very idea would have made him indignant, but now it was almost delightful.
“Is it wrong to say ‘I wish’?” Jon chuckled slightly, then sighed. “No. I—even right here with you, I can’t…it was the same with Melanie. Your eyes don’t work, so the Eye can’t use them. I just…know you. Lowercase know. And honestly, I wouldn’t have realized that was her if I hadn’t recognized her voice from the old tapes.”
Martin kissed the top of Jon’s head lightly. It was the closest thing to an apology he would be able to give for something Jon would fuss at him if he tried to actually apologize for. “So? What does she look like?”
Jon hummed. “Well, she’s tall. Not quite as tall as Tim, but taller than me, at least, which must have irritated me at some point. Slender, but…curvy, I guess? Not as waifish as the Not-Sasha was. Long dark hair, brown eyes. Glasses, too—the cat’s-eye type, you know what I mean?”
Martin frowned, trying to remember. “Are they…purple?”
“Yes. Wait. How do you know that? Could you see them?”
Jon sounded so hopeful, Martin hated to break his heart, probably as much as Jon had hated to admit he couldn’t actually read Martin’s mind. “I found a pair like that in the Archives once. While you were off on your world tour, I think. Tim made some snide remark about them being possessed or infused with evil energy or something like that, since they pretty obviously weren’t reading glasses.”
“Oh.” Sure enough, Jon deflated against Martin. “I hated that I didn’t recognize her. We were arguably friends for years and I—I didn’t recognize her.”
“That’s…kind of a good thing, though?” Martin didn’t exactly mean to make it a question, but he was uncertain. He hadn’t known Sasha as long as Jon had, even though he’d been with the Institute longer than the entire rest of the Archives staff put together. “I mean, if you did recognize her…it would have meant that she got taken by…”
“The Stranger. I know. I—God, I’m going to have to tell her tomorrow I looked into her head. You know I’m trying not to do that, but—I had to know if she was all right. When I realized the Institute had been attacked…”
“I think she’ll forgive you. I mean, it’s not like you did it for fun.”
“Still.” Jon suddenly tensed. “The table—has it been—?”
“Not yet,” Martin assured him. “Or if it has, someone else signed for the delivery. But I told…my counterpart to let me know if it did happen.” He paused. “Jon, what are we actually going to do with that table?”
“I don’t know. The—the Other was bound by it, not to it, so I’m reluctant to destroy it and risk unleashing it on the Institute. At the same time…”
“Someone’s bound to study it eventually,” Martin completed. “What about sending up a copy of the statement talking about it? I mean, they’ve got the calliope locked up. Maybe if they know how dangerous it is, they’ll let it be.”
“Maybe.” Jon didn’t sound sure. “I—I don’t know enough about the people in Artifact Storage to know how they’d react. We can ask Sasha. She wasn’t there long, but she might know more than, well, the rest of us.” He sighed. “I’m just glad she’s all right. I—I wasn’t sure if we’d even know if she got taken. If we’d get muddled and forget that the voice wasn’t the same.”
Thinking about it gave Martin a headache. “Thankfully, she wasn’t. And your counterpart didn’t get hurt. Or Tim.”
“I worried about that, too. I don’t know how much of…the way he was at the end there was because of the Stranger and how much was because of the worms and how much was just…the general atmosphere of the Institute, and the Archives specifically, but I’m sure him turning into a sieve didn’t help.” Jon pressed a kiss to Martin’s collarbone. “And you didn’t get bitten?”
“Not even once,” Martin assured him.
“Good. That’s good.” Jon paused. “Why did you trust Michael?”
“Honestly? I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.” Martin thought about how to phrase it. Because Jon was absolutely right—the Distortion was incredibly dangerous and untrustworthy, whether Michael or Helen. “He showed up in the tunnels…I don’t remember him doing that when Jane Prentiss attacked us, but maybe it was just because it was in the middle of the day. Or maybe I just wasn’t worth tormenting. But he did this time, and it was, well, it was me or them. Tim and Sasha needed to make it out of the tunnels because Past Me needed to know they were okay. I didn’t want them lost in those corridors for days or weeks on end. And I guess maybe I was hoping it would be less disorientating because I couldn’t see.”
“Was it?”
“Actually, yeah. Or maybe he just made it more…direct.”
Jon snorted. “I can’t see him being so…helpful. Especially not to someone tied to the Archives.”
“Well, I’m not exactly tied to them anymore,” Martin said slowly. “Especially not now. And like he said, I’ve been marked by the Spiral myself, that time Tim and I wound up in his corridors. Mostly, though, I think he was helpful because I told him I’d come back to help save the world.”
“Michael or Helen, I really don’t think the Distortion would care that the world ended.”
“I…might have left out a few key details,” Martin said. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “I told him that the Beholding was the one that had eventually succeeded in its ritual, and that he had been completely and utterly destroyed. He didn’t seem too sure until I described exactly what his hallways looked like, and who he used to be. Then I told him that if he wanted to have any chance not to have those things happen, he’d best let me through safely.”
“God, I love you. Have I told you that lately?”
“Not since you walked in the door, no.”
Martin meant it as a joke, but from the way Jon suddenly went stiff, he realized it hadn’t quite landed. “Good Lord. I—I really haven’t, have I?”
“Well, to be fair, neither have I,” Martin pointed out. “We did have other things to worry about. And, I mean, there’s the whole ‘we’re not going to tell our past selves that we’re in a relationship because we don’t want to rush them’ thing we agreed on. Honestly, Jon, you really think you have to say the words for me to know?”
“No. No, o-of course not. Still…” Jon cupped Martin’s jaw with one hand and kissed him—a soft, tender kiss that spoke volumes, even before he said, “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Again they fell into a silence, one less heavy than before but still weighted. Martin was tired—not as tired as the others had to be, but still tired—but he was reluctant to sleep just yet. He was perfectly content to lie there with Jon, enjoying the nearly-forgotten sensation of not being in imminent danger for once. The last time they’d been able to rest like this had been…well, all right, Salesa’s house, which didn’t really count with Annabelle Cane creeping about and Jon growing steadily weaker the longer he was cut off from the Eye. They hadn’t been able to relax this much, really, since before the world ended. And there was no telling how long they’d be able to relax now, so Martin was determined to enjoy it for however long it lasted.
He almost thought Jon had fallen asleep until he spoke again. “How much have you told them?”
It took Martin a second to realize what Jon was asking. “Not a lot. They only got here a few minutes before you did, really, and that was the first time I met Past You when he knew I wasn’t, well, Past Me. All I’ve told him so far, that you weren’t here for anyway, was that I was from the future and that we were here to save the world, and that the statements on the tapes were real. And, well, you heard how much Tim and Sasha knew. I told Past Me a bit more, but not much. Just that the Fears exist and that one of them runs the Institute.” He paused. “Actually, he—put things together pretty quickly, but I didn’t go into details. I suppose he’s figured it out, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I told him about the Fears…he asked if one of them had something to do with spiders, and when I said yes, he asked if that was why you hated them so much. I didn’t put it together until I heard your tape about that damned Leitner.”
Jon made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “When did you listen to that tape? I—well, I’m not upset, obviously, and I would have…but I don’t remember actually giving it to you.”
Martin bit his lip. “It was…it was while you were in your coma, actually. I listened to all of them. Every tape I could find. I told myself I was trying to fill in the missing pieces, to find out the things you’d known so I could keep the Archives running for you, because I had to believe you’d be back, but…really I just needed to hear your voice.”
“I know how that goes,” Jon said softly. “Honestly, it’s why I listened to all those tapes you were leaving for me as soon as I did. And the ones you did while I was…gone before.” He paused. “Wait…did you listen to the official tapes or the ones I recorded for myself?”
“Both. I didn’t know they were the same cases at first, but…well, the first time I realized I was listening to something I’d already heard, I went ahead and listened all the way to the end.” Martin tightened his arms around Jon without really thinking about it. “God, I felt awful about them. You were going through so much and I didn’t even notice…”
“Martin, no, it—you did notice. I honestly don’t know that I would have survived those months if you hadn’t been looking out for me. Even when I all but accused you of murder, you still looked out for me.” Jon hugged Martin tighter, too. “No one could have done more for me than you did. What happened wasn’t your fault. It’s never been your fault.”
Martin wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he also wasn’t going to argue, not right now. They’d have plenty of time to argue later, he supposed. And really, if that was the worst thing they had to fight about, he could live with that. “Still. I wish there’d been something else I could have done.”
“Just as I wish I could have done more for you when you were working with Peter Lukas. We did what we could with what we had.” Jon sighed. “It will have to be enough. We can’t change it now—not for ourselves, anyway. And hopefully we can keep our past selves from ever having to face that.”
Martin hummed in agreement. “Jon…do you think we can? That we can actually keep Past You from being…marked by any more powers before we can take out…you know?” He left out the question that had been haunting him during the nights he lurked in the Archives: Could they even take out Jonah Magnus? He’d thwarted their efforts once before, after all, and even though they were in the past now, it wouldn’t be easy. “I know you can’t Know the future or hypotheticals or anything like that. I’m asking for your opinion. What do you think?”
For a long moment, Jon didn’t answer. Finally, he said quietly, “I don’t think we can keep him completely free of marks. Michael…wants his revenge. Despite your warning, I think he’ll go after Past Me at some point regardless.” He pondered for a moment. “Before the Unknowing. We’ve got to take him out before then.”
Martin didn’t question which him Jon was talking about. “Tim’s not going to be happy about us taking away his shot at revenge.”
“If there was a safe way of disrupting it, I’d be all for it, but I don’t think there is.”
“Jon, the whole point is that the rituals can’t succeed,” Martin pointed out. “It’s going to collapse under its own weight anyway, right? Why does he have to disrupt it right at the height of the ritual? Why not just…plant the stuff and let him press the button from a safe distance?”
Jon paused. “That…God, why didn’t I think of that? Of course, you’re absolutely right. As long as they’re all there, it…it doesn’t matter how far along it is.”
Martin could hear the exhaustion in Jon’s voice. He was about to ask if Jon was sure he’d slept within the last week when it hit him all of a sudden. Quietly, he asked, “When’s the last time you took a statement?”
The split-second pause before Jon answered told Martin everything he needed to know. “I’m fine.”
“Not what I asked.”
Jon sighed heavily. “I’ve done a couple small ones for myself since I came back, and, well, I was in the room when they gave their statements. It…took the edge off, at least.”
“Yeah, but it’s not enough. You’re starving, Jon.”
“What do you want me to do, start…pouncing people on the streets? You stopped me from doing that once before, and you were right, but—”
“I can give you one,” Martin said. He pressed a finger to Jon’s lips, forestalling his immediate refusal. “No, listen to me. You need a statement. And you’ve been without one so long, it’s got to be…fresh. Besides, I know you want to know what my trip back here was like. That’s…definitely a statement.” And it’ll probably keep you going for a while, he didn’t say. What he’d experienced, in a place he hadn’t expected to feel much fear, had nearly undone him, would have undone him if the Keeper hadn’t intervened at probably the last possible moment. But if there was anyone he wanted to have it, it was Jon.
“I don’t want you to keep destroying yourself to help me,” Jon whispered.
“Gotowe zdrowie, kto chorobie powie.” Martin quoted one of the old Polish proverbs his grandfather had taught him when he was little. He didn’t bother translating. One of Jon’s “gifts” from the Beholding was the ability to understand languages spoken at him, at least sometimes. He couldn’t speak them necessarily, but he could understand them, when the Eye felt it was important. He also knew that Jon didn’t always realize he was doing it. “Let me do something for you, Jon. Please.”
There was a long silence before Jon said, “Tomorrow. Not tonight. Just…I didn’t start seeing Melanie again after she—quit, but just in case it—one more night without nightmares.”
“Okay,” Martin agreed. “Tomorrow it is. After we’ve answered some questions, how’s that?”
“That’s…honestly better than I expected. I thought you’d try to make me do it first thing in the morning.” Jon sounded relieved.
“I’m trying to meet you halfway here.” They were both stubborn as hell—Martin probably worse than Jon, if he was being honest—but they were learning to make concessions to one another. As badly as Martin wanted to force Jon to just take the damn statement already, he also knew that the need for statements was the one part of the Archivist package Jon still hated. More so after what Jonah Magnus had done to him, done through him. And Jon was right about there being a chance taking his statement would mean both of them had to experience it in their nightmares. It was a chance they’d have to take, though.
“So am I.” Jon exhaled. “I…I don’t know how I’m going to do this. How to find the balance between keeping them safe and not keeping them in the dark. And how to do it without…manipulating them. Without forgetting that they’re people, not pieces on a game board.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To help you.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Martin twirled a strand of Jon’s hair around his finger idly. “I don’t want to ever have to find out.”
Jon snuggled against Martin’s chest, and he felt the butterfly kiss of his eyelashes fluttering shut. “Neither do I.”