Tim is, by nature, an early riser. He’s not a runner or anything, but he’s always been that person on camping trips who goes on early-morning hikes to watch the sun come up through the trees or paddles out on the lake to bring back fish for breakfast. It’s served him well during his time at the Institute, partly because he hasn’t been late once in the entire time he’s been there, partly because it means he can go in a bit early and use the library without having to fight for space, and partly because it’s fun to annoy his superiors—and sometimes his colleagues—by being far too chipper when they arrive.
Between that and the fact that he’s sleeping in a blanket cocoon on his living room floor, he’s the first one awake the morning after the infestation. He’s also completely awake, no need to lie there while his brain comes online, so he sits up carefully and looks around the living room.
Sasha is still curled in a ball on the love seat, her back to the rest of the room and the blanket tucked securely over and underneath her; Tim watches her for a second to make sure she’s actually breathing, she’s lying so still, but yes, she just appears to be a heavy sleeper. Jon, on the other hand, apparently sleeps like an eggbeater; his blanket is twisted around him like the snakes on a caduceus, one foot is exposed, one arm dangling off the sofa, and his face is set in an expression of worry. Martin in the recliner appears calm on the surface, but there’s a tiny wrinkle between his eyes that tells Tim he’s probably in pain. He wonders if he should wake him up and get some paracetamol down him or something, but on the balance, he decides, no. Best to let him sleep.
He carefully untangles the blanket from around Jon, who mumbles something vaguely panicked-sounding about a staple gun and shifts restlessly, and re-covers him, then checks Martin’s forehead with the back of his wrist. Satisfied that he doesn’t seem to have a fever, Tim plucks Sasha’s glasses off her face and sets them on the coffee table, then heads down the hallway to use the bathroom. When he steps out, clean-shaven and ready for another day, he remembers their guests and crosses the hall. Cautiously, quietly, he opens the door to his bedroom and peeks in.
It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the dim pre-dawn light, but Tim’s got fairly good night vision and before long he can make out the bed and its occupants fairly easily. He assumed, insofar as he thought about it at all, that he would find them lying back to back, or as far apart as they could get without one of them falling out of the bed, or that one of them would be curled up on the floor so the other could have the entire bed to himself.
What he sees is completely different.
There’s a neat pile of clothing near the foot of the bed—no surprise they wouldn’t want to sleep in the things they’ve been wearing since the world ended—and both Jon Prime and Martin Prime are tucked under the covers. They’re not avoiding one another at all. Far from it. Instead, they’re curled up together, not just spooning but full-on cuddling. Jon Prime’s head is tucked into Martin Prime’s shoulder and part of Martin Prime’s face is buried in Jon Prime’s hair. Their arms are entwined around one another more securely than they embraced one another on their reunion the previous night, and they look…peaceful. Happy, even. Safe.
Tim closes the door as carefully as he opened it and leans against it for a moment, trying to reconcile what he’s just seen with his usual world view. It’s not just that they’re friends; he observed that last night, as relieved as they were to be reunited and the way they fought about Martin Prime’s blindness. Obviously they’re friends. Obviously they care about each other.
But a couple? Jon acts like he can barely stand Martin most days, and while Tim’s willing to accept that they’ll eventually develop a friendship—he’s seen them interact when Jon’s off-duty, and the fact that Martin is literally the only person Tim’s ever seen who actually lets Jon ramble and shows an interest in what he’s saying has not escaped him—seeing them like this is a little out there.
Or is it?
Tim heads down to the kitchen, thinking it over. He knows Martin has a crush on somebody; he’s even talked to him about it. And now that he thinks about it, it’s pretty obvious that it’s Jon. Nothing overt, just a lot of little things. As for Jon, well, up until last night Tim would have been prepared to swear he thought of Martin as nothing but a nuisance, but then again, he was the one to insist Martin stay in the Archives where it was safe after Jane Prentiss held him hostage for two weeks, and he’s been a lot less critical of him on the recordings. And Tim’s not going to forget the way Jon practically tore the paramedic limb from limb to get to Martin and make sure he was safe in a hurry, that’s for sure. So…yeah, maybe he can see it. At least he can see the groundwork, the foundation of whatever it is Jon Prime and Martin Prime have.
Good for them.
He stands in the middle of his kitchen and stares at his cupboards, rubbing absently at his chest. There’s a knot forming there, which is weird and surprising. It’s not anxiety or fear, not really; Jane Prentiss is dead, Martin and Sasha and Jon are safe in the other room, everyone is fine, there’s no reason to be afraid. It feels more like…jealousy, and Tim isn’t sure why. Maybe he’s just jealous of Jon Prime and Martin Prime for having a connection like that, a bond so strong it’s lasted beyond the end of the world. Maybe he just wishes he had someone to love him like that.
Trying to stop himself from humming, Tim opens his fridge and discovers that he’s basically out of food. He curses under his breath. He usually goes shopping on Sundays, but, well, the first of May is Danny’s birthday and Tim is not about to admit to anyone that he spent it getting drunk, although he thinks Martin might have guessed something was up on Monday morning.
Luckily, there’s a shop not far away that keeps early hours. He scribbles a quick note and tacks it on the bathroom door in case anyone wakes up before he gets back, palms his keys, and quietly lets himself out of the house, making sure to lock the door behind him. Jon’s thankfully left him enough room to get his car out of the driveway, and before long he’s on his way.
Tim doesn’t have Martin’s near-supernatural levels of caretaker abilities, but, well, he is (was? It’s hard to figure out whether he can still consider himself one or not) a big brother, which means he’s got some skills in the knowing-what-people-like department. He’s also worked with Jon and Sasha since he came to the Institute, maybe not closely but at least with them, and he flatters himself that he’s grown fairly close to Martin in the last almost-year, so he’s got a fairly good idea of the kind of food they like. He just hopes Jon Prime and Martin Prime haven’t changed too much.
Shopping accomplished, Tim swings by the chemist’s to pick up the prescription he remembers the paramedic saying he was going to call in for Martin. He grabs some extra bandages and whatnot as well. As he stands in line, mentally going over the pertinent information he’ll need to actually claim the medication, his eyes fall on a display of white-tipped canes for the blind, just a few steps to the left.
He ponders for a second. Jon Prime seems very solicitous of Martin Prime—understandably, if they’re a couple—and Martin Prime managed well enough for two weeks that none of them actually noticed he was blind, so he can get around well enough. But then, the Archives are a space he’s presumably quite familiar with. And Jon Prime won’t be within shouting distance all the time, Tim’s sure. No relationship can survive without some space from your partner.
He snags one and brings it up to the counter with his other purchases.
It’s well after sunrise by the time Tim gets back home. He pulls past Jon’s car, unloads his purchases, and piles them up by the side door that leads directly to the kitchen so he can just bring everything in all at once. Somehow, he manages to get it in without making too much noise, then puts away the things that need to be refrigerated and sets the kettle on to boil before remembering the note he left on the bathroom door. He’d best go take that down before anyone wakes up and gets confused.
The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and there’s a hint of moisture coming from inside as the steam dissipates, which tells Tim that somebody took him up on the Feel free to take a shower; I stockpile like I’m planning for the Apocalypse anyway, so there’s plenty of supplies offer he put in the note. He removes it and glances behind him to see his bedroom door still firmly shut. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t one or both of them who took the shower, but he decides to let them be for now and makes his way back to the living room.
Sasha is still asleep in exactly the same position as he left her. Unsurprising; she’s never been a morning person, and without an alarm, she’s likely going to sleep until someone wakes her up. Jon is asleep, too, but he’s evidently still tossing and turning, because he’s half-uncovered again. Martin, on the other hand, is awake, but evidently only just. He’s wearing his glasses and he’s managed to get the footrest on the recliner down, but he’s just sitting there, staring vacantly in the direction of the pile of blankets.
“I burst out of my cocoon an hour ago. I’m a beautiful butterfly now,” Tim deadpans, pitching his voice low to avoid waking the other two. He feels bad when Martin starts and instantly winces. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. How are you feeling this morning?”
Martin blinks a couple of times, as if considering that. “Okay, I think,” he says unconvincingly.
Tim raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Pain?”
“I’ve had worse.”
For some reason, that doesn’t set Tim’s mind at ease, but he decides not to say anything. Instead, he holds up the bag from the chemist’s and rustles it at him. Martin stares at it, then blushes. “Oh. Uh…thanks. How—how much do I owe you?”
“Forget it.”
“But—”
“It was like three pounds, don’t worry about it.” Actually, Tim has no idea how much the prescriptions cost, since he didn’t look at the breakdown on the receipt, but he is in no way, shape, or form going to accept any money from anybody currently in this house for anything he bought today. He doesn’t think the Primes have money, and as for everyone else…they’re the closest thing he’s got left to family. He hands the bag over to Martin. “None of us really thought about picking them up last night. Stupid, really. You might’ve had a pain-free night.”
“They gave me painkillers before they let me go,” Martin says absently, carefully working at the staples holding the bag closed. “I wouldn’t have been able to take them for another few hours at least.”
Tim realizes that he’s not actually still half-asleep, he’s just in a serious amount of pain and it’s affecting his concentration. He resists the urge to take the bag from him and open it for him. “Want me to get you a glass of water so you can take that, then?”
Martin manages to get the bag open and peers into it, then pulls out an amber vial. He studies the label, absently running his thumb over the cap. “‘Take with food.’”
Of course. “That’ll be a little while. I just got back from the store.”
“I’m all right. Really, Tim.” Martin looks up and manages a smile. “Mind if I use the bathroom?”
“No, you have to sit there and soil yourself,” Tim says flatly. “Need a hand getting up?”
Martin shakes his head and braces his hands against the arms of the recliner. It’s hard to keep from going over to help him up when Tim sees the pain in his eyes, but Martin doesn’t set boundaries often and Tim’s trying to be good about respecting them. If Martin needs help…well, he probably won’t ask, but he might.
It takes him a couple moments, but he does manage to get to his feet and stagger down the hallway. Tim shadows him until he makes it into the bathroom, then glances at his bedroom door again, torn between letting them have some more privacy and seeing if they need anything. The host—and the urge to make a bit of mischief—wins out, and he taps on the door.
“Come in,” Jon Prime’s voice calls, barely audible through the door. Tim wonders if he’s guessed the others are still sleeping.
He opens the door to see that the Primes are, indeed, awake and dressed, and judging by the way Martin Prime’s curls are plastered to his head, they are definitely the ones who used the shower. They’re sitting on the edge of the bed, Martin Prime with one leg dangling off the side and the other crossed over his knee, Jon Prime with his legs tucked under himself. His back is to Martin Prime, his eyes closed and his head tipped back slightly. Martin Prime has a double handful of Jon Prime’s hair and is in the process of braiding it. It’s a cozily domestic scene, something that speaks to a quiet but deep intimacy between the two of them, a sense of trust, a simple act of care and service. The natural progression of Martin suddenly abandoning his work and reappearing a few minutes later with a cup of tea—usually for Jon, but occasionally for Tim just as he’s hanging up with a frustratingly reticent witness or Sasha right before she starts swearing at her computer.
Yeah, if Tim wasn’t sure they were a couple before, he sure as hell is now.
There’s a kind of a tension in the room, though, and Tim wonders if he interrupted an argument of some kind. Then he hears a faint, hollow rasping noise. After a second, he recognizes it as the sound of Jon Prime rubbing the ball of his thumb against the inside of the second knuckle on his index finger—one of several nervous habits of Jon’s and a rare one, if only because the cuffs of his shirts usually muffle the sound. For him to attempt to turn his finger bones into a worry stone, he’s got to be truly scared.
Tim considers calling him on it before it hits him. They’re scared of him—or more precisely, of how he’s going to react to them being a couple. He’s about to open his mouth and reassure them that he’s fine with it, really, maybe tease them a little bit, when the tiny voice in the back of his head that he’s been more or less ignoring since he came home to find Danny crying silently on his sofa points out that if they haven’t said anything themselves, it’s probably for a reason. Like the fact that his—their Jon and Martin aren’t a couple yet and, if they find out that their counterparts are, they might rush into something they’re not ready for. Or, alternatively, refuse to get into a relationship they both desperately want because they don’t want to feel obligated. Either way, Tim considers promising them he won’t say anything.
Then he decides to give listening to the tiny voice a try for once, which means that when he does open his mouth, what comes out is a cheerful, “Morning.”
It’s evidently the right thing to say. Both of them relax, at least a fraction, and Jon Prime’s hands flatten over his knees. “Good morning, Tim,” he says without opening his eyes.
Tim grins, secure in the fact that neither of them can see it. “Sleep okay?”
“More or less,” Jon Prime replies. He still sounds tired, although not quite as bad as the day before. “I literally can’t remember the last time I slept without nightmares.”
Martin Prime’s hands still. “What, none?”
“Not a one.” Jon Prime opens his eyes and starts to turn, then evidently remembers that Martin Prime still has hold of his hair. “Did you?”
“Not about last night.” Martin Prime resumes braiding. “Which is good to know, I guess. Make things easier.” He taps one hand on Jon Prime’s shoulder, and Jon Prime hands him a hair tie without him needing to say a word.
Tim decides he’ll wait to ask about it until the whole group is together, so they only have to explain themselves once. He does have another question, though. “How bad were the nightmares the first time? About…everything?”
Martin Prime glances in his direction. Tim would almost believe he can still see. “I didn’t have any. Not while I was sleeping, anyway. I—I remember it was a bit hard to go back to the Archives, at first, but I never dreamed about what happened.” He loops the hair tie expertly around the end of Jon Prime’s braid and sits back. “How did you sleep?”
“No nightmares. Well, no new ones, anyway.” Tim wonders if they know what happened to him. From the look that flickers briefly over Martin Prime’s face, he guesses the answer is yes. “Suppose you know what I do dream about, though. Know any way to make that stop?”
“Yes, but you won’t like it.” Jon Prime sighs.
Tim thinks of himself as reasonably brave, for the most part, but he takes the coward’s way out of this one. “Tell me some other time.”
The kettle whistles shrilly from the kitchen, and there’s a yelp and a thud from the direction of the living room. Tim pulls away and grimaces. “Let me go handle that. Come on into the kitchen whenever you’re ready.” Waving at Martin Prime despite the futility of the gesture, he adds, “Tea bags are in the ceramic jar on the counter, mugs are in the end cabinet, sugar in the tin, milk in the fridge. If you want to fix for the two of you yourself.”
“Thanks, Tim.” Martin Prime sounds both surprised and pleased.
Jon Prime gives Tim a grateful smile; Tim winks at him and raps the door frame twice with his knuckles before heading into the kitchen to shut off the kettle.
Once he’s done that, he looks into the living room again, not in the least surprised to see that Sasha is still asleep and Jon appears to have fallen off the sofa. He’s still trying to free himself from the tangled blanket, looking somewhere between bemused and panicked.
“Need a hand?” Tim asks, coming forward.
Jon looks up sharply with a gasp. “Tim. You’re all right? Where’s Martin?”
Tim holds up both hands in as soothing a gesture as he can. “Easy, Boss. Martin’s in the bathroom. Everybody’s fine.”
Jon stares at him for a moment, then slowly relaxes, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks about as good as Jon Prime does in terms of exhaustion. “S-sorry. I just…nightmares, I suppose.”
“Yeah, figured. Surprised it took the whistling to make you fall off the sofa, really.” Tim glances at the lump of blankets that is Sasha. “I better make her coffee or we might have to resort to drastic measures to wake her up. Breakfast will be ready in a few. I hope.”
Jon nods and takes slow, measured breaths as he focuses on getting out of the blankets twisted around his legs. Tim decides not to embarrass him further and heads into the kitchen again.
Jon Prime and Martin Prime are already there, which doesn’t surprise Tim in the slightest. Jon Prime stands off to one side, leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he watches Martin Prime carefully step around the end of the open cabinet and run his fingers over the mugs on the shelf. He’s moving more slowly than Martin does, but other than that, he seems to be doing fine.
“Hey,” Tim says, stepping into the room. Martin Prime only flinches a little. “Sasha’s the only one still asleep, but I’m sure she’ll be up once she smells the coffee.”
An odd look flickers across Jon Prime’s face for a moment, then he nods slowly. “That’s right. She usually gets a cup of coffee in the mornings before she comes to the Institute—it’s why she gets off at Victoria Station, because the shops around the Institute are expensive.”
“Right,” Martin Prime murmurs. “She mentioned that in the statement she made after she met Michael.”
Tim slips between them and plugs in the single-cup coffee maker, a rarely-used gift from Danny, then snags one of the mugs Martin Prime is lining up on the counter. It hasn’t escaped his notice that Martin Prime has pulled enough for everyone. “You don’t have to make tea for all of us, you know. I just…I wasn’t sure if your tastes changed or anything.” And I don’t actually know how Jon likes his tea to begin with, he adds to himself, a bit guiltily. Hell, he barely knows how Martin likes his tea, and that only because he accidentally grabbed the wrong mug one day. It suddenly seems a vast gulf in his knowledge, which is stupid, but it’s where his brain is at the moment.
“I know, but I’d like to. It’s…” Martin Prime seems to think for a minute as he feels along the counter until he finds the somewhat disturbing cookie jar Tim inherited from his mother. He doesn’t bake, but he’s always been a tiny bit suspicious that the jar with its bulging eyes and fat lips is either cursed or haunted or both, so he’s afraid to get rid of it. “It feels like the least I can do. I know it’s not exactly helpful, but—”
“Are you kidding? It’s a huge help.” Tim shoots Jon Prime a slight frown. “And if none of us ever told you how much we appreciate it, I’m honestly shocked you bothered to come back and save us, ‘cause we don’t deserve you.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” Jon Prime says softly.
“Stop. There were…extenuating circumstances, and really, it’s not that big a deal.” Martin Prime’s ears are turning pink. “It’s just tea.”
Tim snorts as he wrestles the coffee pod into submission and starts it brewing. “It’s not just tea. It’s you sussing out how we like it before I even dug out the tape recorder for the first time and knowing right when to bring it to us. And don’t think I don’t know you’re the one who went out and bought those mugs for us. Hey, Martin,” he adds over his shoulder.
Martin stands in the doorway, gripping the frame like he’s trying not to collapse, pale under the bandages. “Er, hi,” he squeaks. “How did you know about that?”
“Well, it’s that or you stole them out of the break room cabinet, and you’re not the type to hoard Institute property. Sit down before you fall down.” Tim points at the kitchen table and gives Martin a stern look. He sits, or more accurately tumbles awkwardly onto a chair and looks as if he immediately regrets every choice that led him to this point. “I promise, I’ll have something ready in a bit.”
“I’m fine,” Martin insists.
Tim raises an eyebrow at him, then turns to Jon Prime. “Was he this stubborn when the attack happened in your time?” he asks, despite knowing that Martin Prime didn’t actually get physically injured.
“Yes,” Jon Prime says, a twinkle in his eyes Tim doesn’t think he’s ever actually seen on Jon’s face. “Regardless of the timeline, Martin is in fact incredibly stubborn.”
“Oh, look who’s talking,” Martin Prime shoots back. “You were back at work a month after the attack. Would’ve been sooner if I hadn’t all but thrown you out of the Archives when you tried.”
“He threatened to swaddle me in a blanket and carry me home himself if I didn’t go on my own,” Jon Prime tells Martin and Tim. “Which I did.”
“After stealing the key to the trapdoor,” Martin Prime says. “Which he then used to sneak into the tunnels before he was officially back on the job. Several times.”
“Twice. I went down there twice.”
“And then almost nightly after that.” Martin Prime rolls his eyes and reaches for the sugar tin. “Alone.”
Jon Prime huffs. “In my defense, I was in a state of extreme paranoid delusion and believed one or all of you was trying to kill me.”
“In your defense,” Martin Prime mimics. “Er, Tim, where do you keep your spoons?”
Tim hands Martin Prime a spoon, figuring it’s easier than trying to count drawers. “Where’d you come up with that nonsense? If we were going to try and kill you, you wouldn’t know it until you were actually dead.”
“Tim!” Martin’s voice goes high and shrill.
“Hey, I said if.”
Jon Prime worries at the end of his braid. “When the Institute was attacked…well, let’s just say that something other than the worms was unleashed. The…creature caused a great deal of paranoia and confusion, and I unfortunately took the brunt of it.”
“Didn’t do the rest of us any favors,” Martin Prime adds. “But he definitely got the worst of it. Directly, anyway.” He sets a mug next to Tim’s elbow, then picks up another and turns in Jon Prime’s direction.
Tim glances over his shoulder and suppresses a grin at the soft smile, the genuine gratitude, in Jon Prime’s eyes as he steps forward and accepts the mug from him. “Thank you.”
Jon comes into the room just then and checks briefly in the doorway. Jon Prime salutes him ironically with his mug. “Good morning. The usual nightmares?”
Martin’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline, and Jon stares at his counterpart for a minute. Tim can almost hear the wheels turning. Finally, he sighs. “Yes. I suppose you know them all.”
“Far too well,” Jon Prime agrees.
Jon pulls out a chair and sits down. Tim doesn’t have to look back from the stove to guess that he’s sitting next to Martin. “Do they ever go away?”
The same question Tim asked, but this time there’s a long silence before Jon Prime says, “Only when they die.”
There’s a very, very heavy silence after that, broken only when Sasha comes practically stomping into the kitchen with her eyes still closed and makes a beeline for the coffee. She must down half the cup before she looks at Tim and asks, “Was this for me?”
It’s probably just the sudden break in the tension, since it’s really not all that funny, but Tim starts laughing and can’t stop, and soon all of them are laughing, too. It feels good to laugh. Especially since they probably won’t be for long.