Jon knows he should probably feel bad about this, but he’s too shaken to feel anything else. Part of him feels guilty for bolting and leaving the others behind. God knows they must be upset by what they just heard too. It isn’t just his fate Martin Prime laid out in a series of framed pictures.
But he needs space, he needs air. He needs a chance to think about what he heard before he does or says something utterly stupid, even for him. He needs to regulate his breathing and he needs something to soothe his nerves.
He taps a cigarette out of the pack he keeps in his glove compartment and puts the rest in his pocket, then lights it up and leans against the corner of the garage. The first shaking drag nearly makes him choke, as always, but he holds it for a moment before slowly expelling it in a puff of air.
“Those things will kill you, you know,” a too-familiar voice says from behind him.
Jon doesn’t look up. “Obviously not, if you’re still here.”
Jon Prime comes over and leans against the wall next to Jon, arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t say anything, merely stands there and watches the smoke curl up in paisley spirals.
“Want one?” Jon finally asks, more as a way to break the silence than anything.
Jon Prime shakes his head. “No, I quit ages ago.”
“So did I,” Jon says dryly.
“Yes, but I stopped even keeping a pack on hand ‘just in case’ or ‘for emergencies’. Martin doesn’t like it. Never said anything, but…with everything else trying to kill me, the last thing I wanted was him worrying that I’d manage to do it to myself. I haven’t touched a cigarette since…before we lost Tim.”
Jon glances at his counterpart out of the corner of his eye. He sounds…haunted, for lack of a better term. Not that Jon can blame him. Bad enough to have to listen to all that as it was, but Jon Prime had to live through it, and then have it served up like an art gallery. And to hear it come out of Martin Prime’s mouth…
He thinks about that, thinks about the sinking panic in his stomach when he thought about his—their—Martin having to go through half of what Martin Prime must have endured, thinks about the way the Primes clung to each other when they were first reunited and the way they’ve maintained some degree of physical contact almost constantly since. It all combines to make him ask, “When did you figure out what he meant to you?”
“Almost too late,” Jon Prime murmurs. He gives Jon the same sideways glance Jon just gave him. “It sort of…crept up on me gradually? I wish I could tell you that it came to me in a grand realization, some big, theatrical, dramatic moment, but…no, it was—” He pauses and lets out a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “It was really such a small, stupid thing, but…no. The moment I realized…”
He returns to staring across the backyard, but Jon isn’t sure that’s what he’s actually looking at. “I was…trying to retrace Gertrude’s footsteps. Trying to piece together what she’d learned, what she’d been working on. At one point, she was at the Pu Songling Research Center in Beijing—it’s something of a sister organization to the Institute—and went from there to Chicago. I had a bit of time before the next flight out, so I thought—I was dying for a cup of tea. Hadn’t had a decent one in ages. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to finish one. And here I was in the middle of one of the most well-known places for tea in the world. I decided to go to a nice teahouse and get the full experience. So I did.” He snorts softly and shakes his head. “I couldn’t finish it.”
Jon makes an interrogative noise. He isn’t really sure what to say to that, or how it connects to anything they’ve been talking about, but he’s willing to wait it out.
“Silly, isn’t it?” Jon Prime muses. “I—I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it. It wasn’t the quality of the tea, that was perfect. It was made exactly the way I like it. Hell, I even watched them make it, so it wasn’t fear of them accidentally poisoning it or whatever—so what could it be?” He sighs heavily. “And that’s when it hit me. I watched the woman make it. The woman. I realized, sitting in the middle of a crowded shop in one of the most populated cities in the world, that I could come up with as many excuses as I wanted, but the simple truth was that I hadn’t finished a cup of tea in two years that Martin hadn’t made for me.” He looks back at Jon, and his eyes are tight with self-reproach. “That was the moment I knew. And then, like a coward, I didn’t say anything for more than a year.”
Jon wants to say something, anything, but before he can, Jon Prime looks away from him again. “Oh, I told myself there were good reasons. I-I was away, I wasn’t going to say something like that over the phone, I had to wait until I saw him in person again. And then when I did get back to the Institute, we were in the middle of—we had work to do to save the world, we didn’t have a lot of down time, we had to—to plan, to prepare. A-and then, the, the night before we left for our mission…I told myself that wasn’t the time. I was going and Martin was staying behind—he had a plan of his own to carry out, and someone had to stay back, just in case the rest of us didn’t make it, and…I didn’t say anything, but I needed it to be him. I needed to know he was safe, even if the rest of us weren’t. But I convinced myself it wouldn’t be fair to burden him with that, to tell him how I felt and then just leave, because if God forbid I didn’t come back I didn’t want him to live the rest of his life knowing we never had the chance to—to explore what that meant.”
“And then?” Jon ventures.
Jon Prime closes his eyes. “The ninth picture.”
“You—we—” Damn, it’s hard to know how to say it. “A coma?”
“Six months. Nothing functioning except my brain. I—I had to make my choice. I chose to come back. But when I did…everything was different. Martin had—he’d taken another job in the Institute, to protect everyone in the Archives. To protect me. He had…he was working on a plan of his own, but…” Jon Prime sighs heavily. “I don’t know…”
“It’s not likely to happen now, is it?” Jon asks. “Whatever this is? You’re—we’re going to stop all this from happening, so what’s the harm in telling me?”
Jon Prime swallows. “Because it still hurts to think about. But…all right. Martin had managed to gather enough evidence to have Elias arrested—this was before we knew…the full extent of things, so we thought he was just a moderately clairvoyant, malicious ass—but Elias had anticipated…something of that nature, and laid plans ahead of time. He’d chosen Peter Lukas as a temporary successor. Actually there was a bet involved, but…I really don’t want to discuss that, and we didn’t find out until later anyway. But Peter Lukas was running the Institute. There were…attacks, and Martin finally made a deal with Lukas that he’d work directly for him if he would protect the others left behind in the Archives. Most of what he did was to protect us—to protect me, because he thought if he kept Lukas’ attention on him, it would keep the rest of us safe. And for the most part, he wasn’t wrong.”
“Lukas…as in, the Institute donors?” Jon thinks back to the statement of the young woman he’d rather brusquely dismissed. “The woman who—the funeral—wait a minute.” He compares the statement to the list of entities and ventures, “The Lonely?”
“It almost got him.” Jon Prime exhales shakily. “The Lukas family is…very wrapped up in the Lonely. Oddly, for such a large family, but…yes. He worked on Martin for months, and I—for a moment, I thought he was going to go over. But in the end, he didn’t. He stood up to him and chose not to. But as part of what he was doing to Martin—and what Martin was doing to protect me—we didn’t interact. Couldn’t.” He gives a small, humorless laugh. “The loneliness of distance.”
“Sorry?”
“It’s…the Keeper’s domain, actually. A mixture of the Lonely and the Spiral. That peculiar feeling when you’re separated from someone you love, and it—it should be so simple to cross that barrier, but you can’t. Maybe you’re physically separated, maybe an emotional gulf…maybe by necessity. But it’s coupled with the—the fear that if you do try to reach out…”
“They won’t reach back,” Jon says softly.
Jon Prime nods. “And it hurts. I-I mean, both of us wanted to close that gap, but…we were afraid to. Me because I was afraid I’d well and truly botched it and he didn’t want me to, him because it was the only way he could think of to keep me safe. Relatively, anyway.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “We got lucky. We got that second chance.”
“So how do you feel about him?” Jon asks. It’s probably a stupidly obvious question, but honestly, his own emotions are still so mixed up that he genuinely doesn’t know how he feels, and knowing how Jon Prime feels…
Jon Prime unfolds his arms, straightens up, and looks Jon square in the face. “I love him,” he says, quietly but firmly. “He’s my anchor, my compass, the one thing keeping me human. He is the one person I trusted when I was at my lowest and the one person I wanted there when I was at my highest. He was the first one I told when I found out how to quit the Institute and the one who found a way to bring me out of the Buried when my own stupidity nearly trapped me there. He’s the reason I’ve made it this far and the only reason I have to continue. He is the most important thing in my life and I will do whatever it takes to keep him there.” He pauses. “And before you ask, yes, he does know all this. Now.”
That was, in fact, Jon’s next question. “And he…?”
“He feels the same.”
For just a moment, Jon feels dizzy. Could Martin…? But he’s not even sure if love is what he feels for his—their—Martin, not yet anyway. Could it be love? Maybe. Someday. But all hearing about his future self’s feelings has done is make him more confused. Still, he keeps pushing. “You haven’t…said anything, o-or done anything, since…” Even the way they clung to each other when they first were reunited could be construed as two friends, two people who’ve lost everything else, finding something familiar once again.
“And believe me, it’s killing us both.” Jon Prime reaches up like he wants to run his hands through his hair, then checks, evidently remembering the braid, and rubs his face instead. “I didn’t realize how comfortable I’ve become with being able to show that affection—to take comfort from him—until we were here and I couldn’t. God, when he was done giving his statement, I—I wanted to—” He gives a ragged sigh. “And don’t think for a moment I couldn’t tell how much effort it took to restrain himself to what little he did when I overdid things. We’re just…we got accustomed to being allowed to do that, I suppose. It never occurred to either one of us we’d be somewhere we couldn’t.”
“Well, why can’t you?”
“I don’t know if you realize just how bad Martin’s self-esteem is at times,” Jon Prime says quietly. “God knows we haven’t done him any favors. We worried that if you saw us together, then got together yourselves, your Martin would always harbor that little bit of suspicion that you’re only with him because you think you have to be.”
Jon swallows, but he cant really refute that assessment of Martin, mostly because he doesn’t know him as well as he’d like. It still rings true. “I—you know I wouldn’t—”
“I know. And my Martin knows that, too. He’s…as horrible as the next two years were for us, they definitely helped him forge his sense of self-worth. But yours still thinks you hate him.”
“I don’t—I never hated him. I—”
“Was projecting, yes. He called me on that and I copped to it. But it doesn’t change the fact that that’s what he thinks now. My Martin and I don’t want to risk damaging what you two could have by making either of you think it’s forced.” Jon Prime returns to lounging against the side of the building.
They fall into another long silence, Jon Prime sliding his hands into his pockets and watching the sky cloud over and Jon returning to smoking. There’s always a small amount of guilt when he sneaks a cigarette—which he really does far too often to claim he’s actually quit—but it’s worse than usual today. Or maybe it’s just that what he’s just sat through is too intense to be soothed with nicotine and menthol. He watches the smoke curl on the wind and thinks about the paintings.
Finally, he asks, “They all happened, then?”
“Yes.” Jon Prime’s voice is barely audible. “All of them. Including, thank God, the last one.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m—I know it’s selfish to say it, but if he had to be blinded, I’m glad that’s the last thing he saw.”
Jon understands that. “Anything would be better than the gallery of horrors. And…the last painting, the one he didn’t turn around to see. Do you…?”
“It was probably the moment I ended the world.”
“You ended—” Jon’s cigarette slips from his fingers. Stupidly, he grabs at it as it falls and manages to sear his hand. He curses softly and shakes out his hand, inspecting the cigarette. Somehow, it’s still lit. Wonders will never cease.
“Graceful,” Jon Prime says dryly. He starts to fiddle with the cuffs of his sweater, then tucks his hands firmly into his armpits, evidently to stop himself. “And yes. It wasn’t…exactly my fault, I suppose, but I was more or less the catalyst, at least.” He seems to debate with himself for a moment, then sighs. “We’ll explain a bit more when we’re back with everyone else—I don’t want to have to relive this more than once—but, broadly, the entities all have rituals, designed to bring them fully into the world and recreate it in their image, so to speak. The ritual for the Eye is called the Watcher’s Crown, and the Archivist is the keystone. Jonah spent three years preparing me, and then—well, he disguised the incantation to finish the ritual as a statement, and I didn’t discover it until I’d already started reading it.”
“You didn’t stop?”
“I—I tried. God knows I tried. But I physically couldn’t. Even from the beginning, I found it hard to stop recording a statement once it was begun, unless I was interrupted. I convinced myself for far too long that it was just work ethic or some such nonsense.” Jon Prime sounds bitterly amused. “I don’t know that I could have stopped myself without intervention. If—if I hadn’t been alone, if I’d asked Martin to stay in the room…he might have been able to snatch it away from me before I got to the second page. I don’t know. I can’t Know hypotheticals or the future or anything like that, but I-I’m terribly afraid that if he’d tried to interfere, especially once I got to the actual ritual, that I might have hurt him.” He closes his eyes tightly. “I-I wouldn’t have survived that.”
Jon presses his lips together for a moment, then takes another drag on the cigarette. He tries not to think about the possibility of hurting any of his assistants, let alone Martin. Even now, the very idea makes him flinch away in horror. How much worse would it be if he’d sorted through the tangle of emotions inside him?
“You didn’t—Tim and Sasha. That wasn’t you, right?” he asks, and could swallow his tongue. He almost does swallow the cigarette and holds it well away from himself to keep from doing something even stupider. “I-I mean—”
“It’s all right. It’s a valid question,” Jon Prime says quietly. He opens his eyes. Somehow, Jon isn’t surprised to see that they’re wet with unshed tears. “No, I never laid a hand on either of them. Sasha was—she was killed by the thing from Amy Patel’s statement, the one that was not her friend Graham. Tim died trying to stop one of the rituals. He—I didn’t want him to go. I definitely didn’t want him to do what he did, but…God, he was so angry. I-I think he needed to do it, but it hurt when I woke up and found out he was gone.”
Jon notes that whatever killed Tim—likely an explosion, since Martin Prime mentioned a detonator—also put Jon Prime in his coma, but he decides not to bring that up. Not now. He doesn’t want to think about losing any of his assistants. He can’t. “Please tell me you’re going to help me keep that from happening.”
“That’s our goal,” Jon Prime promises. “Well, our secondary goal at least. Obviously our main goal is to stop—”
“The world from ending. I know. Your Martin told us that.”
Jon Prime smiles, just a little bit. It takes Jon a second to realize that it’s the words your Martin that made him soften like that—that even though Jon meant it to distinguish Martin Prime from the Martin who could have died last night if the CO2 system had been a hair slower to trigger, a thought that’s going to haunt him for a while, he heard it as a possessive statement. Your Martin in the same sense as your partner, your reason, your love. There’s another uncomfortable flutter in Jon’s chest that he tries his hardest to ignore.
“But our other goal is to protect everyone we care about,” Jon Prime continues. “I—I am sorry that your Martin got hurt so badly. I am. I know what he’s going through, physically at least. We really were hoping to avoid any of you having to go through that. But if we can at least stop him—stop all of you—from going through the hell we went through…we’ll run whatever risk we have to.”
“Short of letting…Elias win,” Jon says. It seems safer to call him that for now.
Jon Prime hesitates, which surprises Jon. “I…I’d like to say yes. That stopping Jonah is more important than keeping you all from getting hurt. And certainly you’ll all suffer a great deal if he does win, but…God, I don’t know. If the cost is anyone’s life…I don’t know that I can pay it. Not again.” He takes a deep breath. “We have a good chance, though. Jonah doesn’t know we’re here, and as long as we can keep him ignorant, we should be able to catch him off-guard. And I know what to prepare for better now.”
“Wait, you’re following through the same plan you had post-apocalypse?”
“More or less.”
“Even though it obviously didn’t work?” Jon wonders what happens to him that he would consider trying something he knows is doomed to failure.
“It would have worked,” Jon Prime says. “I didn’t know for sure before we tried—like I said, I can’t Know the future—but what Jonah did made it clear that what we were going to do would have worked, and that he found the only method possible of stopping it.”
Jon knows he shouldn’t ask, but he can’t help himself. He wonders if it’s the power of the Eye or just his own natural curiosity, or maybe both. “What—what did he do?”
“He hurt Martin.” Jon Prime’s voice is quiet but raw. “Badly. I—I knew I could save him, but I also knew that going to Martin first would give Jonah enough time to get away, and we’d never get another chance to catch him unaware. And I knew that if I took Jonah down, even in the relatively short amount of time it would take to do that…Martin would be beyond help by the time I was done. I only had seconds to decide.” He looks up, and the pain in his eyes is evident. “Not a thing in me said to do other than what I did.”
The memory of Martin being wheeled out of the Archives on a stretcher hits Jon almost like a physical force. The panic, the desperate need to get to him, the sense of guilt, return as if he’s feeling them fresh. And that was with trained medical professionals on the scene. What Jon Prime is describing is infinitely worse. Jon Prime had to watch Martin Prime hurt, by someone he once at least marginally trusted, and know that he was the only one who could save him…but at the cost of the rest of the world.
And, honestly, Jon can’t condemn him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if faced with that situation himself. Truthfully, there’s a part of him that’s afraid he would hesitate for too long and lose both opportunities. He knows, with utter certainty, that he’d never forgive himself if he did. At least Jon Prime made a decision. At least he saved the man he loved.
“I—I think you did the right thing,” he manages.
Jon Prime huffs a soft laugh and folds his arms over his chest again, banging his head lightly back against the wall of the garage. “Martin didn’t think so. At first, anyway. He fussed at me for not stopping Jonah when I could, but…when I told him how little time he had, and pointed out I wasn’t even sure I’d get anything out of taking down Jonah but revenge, he let it go. Still don’t think he agrees it was the right choice, but he does at least understand it was the only choice I could have made.”
Jon doesn’t answer. He’s thinking about what that must feel like—to be the only ones left standing at the end of the world, to make a pact together to turn it back, to go through what must have been literal hell together, to see your happy ending on the horizon, and then to nearly have everything destroyed in an instant. If the chasm that opened up before him at the idea of losing Martin had been deep and vast, how unfathomable must it have been to Jon Prime? Especially knowing how close he must have come to losing Martin before that?
“What would he have done?” he finally asks. “If your positions had been reversed. If you’d been the one hurt. Would Martin have saved you and let…” He trails off. He still can’t bring himself to call his boss Jonah. That’s honestly the only thing he’s having trouble believing. That Elias Bouchard is in the service of an eldritch fear god, that he might want to end the world as long as he can be in charge of it, that he’s using Jon as a cat’s-paw to do so? Certainly. But that he might actually be Jonah Magnus, or at least possessed by him? No, Jon can’t quite buy that one yet.
Jon Prime looks unhappy. “I don’t know. Our plan relied—relies—on an ability Martin simply doesn’t have. So the likelihood of him being able to do anything to Jonah…I don’t know if he would have tried or not. He might have. Martin’s got a lot more pent-up rage in him than you might expect, and most of it is directed at Jonah. He’s hurt us both over the years, repeatedly, and I know Martin wanted revenge. I did, too, but…the difference is that I knew how precious little time there was before the damage done to him was irreversible. Martin wouldn’t have known that. He—he might have thought he could at least get one good stab in and then save me. You’ll have to ask him, but honestly, I don’t think even he knows.”
Actually, the thought that Martin—stammering, unassuming, inoffensive Martin—would attack a being that’s essentially a demigod with a knife to pay it back for hurting them is strangely comforting. The idea that Jon might have died as a result, less so. “So—why attack Martin and not you? What if you’d chosen differently?”
“I think he knew damn well I wouldn’t. And I think he knew there was a good possibility Martin would, which also tells me it would have worked, too. That Martin could have killed him. Then, too, there’s a chance that he couldn’t have actually killed me. The Eye may have liked me better than it liked Jonah. Certainly it seemed keen to keep me alive and functioning.” Jon Prime pauses, then adds on a small sigh, “But mostly, I think he attacked Martin because when he started picking at my confidence, started me doubting myself—again—Martin stood between us and refused to move.”
Jon coughs. “Wait, what?”
Jon Prime nods without looking at him. He folds his arms tightly over his chest, rolling the fabric of the sweater between his thumbs and forefingers. It’s a nervous tic Jon himself isn’t familiar with, and in a distant way, he wonders when it started. “It wasn’t—I won’t pretend it was like you might imagine in the movies. He was scared, I could taste how scared he was, and I know he was trying not to cry. But he stood in front of me anyway. He looked Jonah square in the eye and told him to fuck off. Told him he wouldn’t let him hurt me anymore and—” He breaks off and closes his eyes, pressing his lips into a flat line for a moment. “He wouldn’t budge. He didn’t take his eyes off Jonah when he told me that he’d stand in front of me as long as I needed him to, as long as it took for me to remember who I was, and that it wasn’t what Jonah had tried to make me.”
Jon can’t fathom what kind of courage that must have taken. “And that…what, angered Jonah so much that he wanted to hurt Martin?”
“Oh, no, he didn’t sound angry at all,” Jon Prime says bitterly. “He was perfectly calm as he told me that I ‘might want to reconsider my course of action’ as ‘time can be a precious resource, after all’.”
“And then?”
“And then he shot Martin.” Jon Prime slowly turns his head to look Jon square in the eye. “Three times. In the chest.”
Jon freezes. Everything seems to still down to a molecular level—heart, lungs, even his brain. Nothing exists beyond the words Jon Prime has just spoken and what they imply. At first, it’s focusing on the thought that Elias Bouchard shot Martin—that his boss, the man theoretically responsible for them and their well-being, leveled a gun at one of his assistants and fired it. Then the details catch up to him, and Jon somehow manages to forget how to breathe, despite the fact that he isn’t breathing to begin with. Not only did he shoot Martin, he shot him the same way Gertrude Robinson was shot, if Tim is to be believed. Spots begin forming at the edges of his vision.
He feels pressure on his shoulders and hears a voice that seems to crackle with static. “Breathe, Jon.”
Jon complies without realizing it. He inhales—exhales. Again. Again. The creeping darkness recedes, and Jon sees his counterpart standing before him, his eyes wet and anxious behind his glasses, matching his breathing to Jon’s. He has his hands on Jon’s shoulders—that’s the pressure he felt—and he’s shaking faintly.
“My God,” Jon whispers. “He—dear God.”
Jon Prime nods, infinitesimally. “Yes. He was—making a point. As much as—” He breaks off and closes his eyes again, but Jon sees a tear trickle out of the corner of his eye.
Jon swallows hard. “He killed Gertrude Robinson.”
“Yes.” Jon Prime takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again, looking a bit calmer but still shaken. “That…was not how I wanted to tell you that. But yes.” He pauses, then adds, “If you want more on that, you’ll have to wait until we can talk to everyone. They probably deserve to know.”
Jon isn’t sure he does want to know more about that. Or if there’s really that much more to be known. Still, he understands not wanting to talk about that more right now.
He reaches over and wipes the tear off of Jon Prime’s cheek. “He’s all right, though. I-I mean, you saved him. He’s alive. He’s…alive.”
“He’s alive, yes.” Jon Prime slowly releases Jon’s shoulders and takes a step back, giving them both a bit of space. “I—I was able to stabilize him. The Keeper appeared and offered us a relatively safe place to rest, and we were able to stay until Martin was well again, but…he’ll always have those scars, I think. They’re a bit worse than they would have been had he been given real medical attention, but I-I did the best I could. And…at least he’s alive. At least I still have him.”
Jon exhales and leans back against the wall. In light of everything he’s just learned…he can’t imagine how difficult the last week has been for Jon Prime. Being separated from the last person you knew from your previous life is bad enough, but to be separated from the person you love…especially so soon after a near-death experience…and then to not have any way of contacting him, of knowing how he was…it must have been absolute hell.
After a moment, Jon Prime says with a small, humorless laugh, “You know, I came out here to make sure you were all right, and I think I successfully made things infinitely worse.”
Jon thinks about that for a moment, then says, somewhat surprised, “Actually, I think you may have helped.”
“Really,” Jon Prime says, sounding skeptical.
“I-I mean—it’s bad. It’s very bad, what happened, and I—yes, all right, I definitely panicked a bit there. But…” Jon tries to figure out how to phrase it, then gives up and decides to just talk and see what comes out. “I didn’t even know why I came out here. Why I needed space. But talking to you, I—I think I figured it out. Listening to what you said…it wasn’t what you—we—went through that upset me. It wasn’t even hearing it spoken about. It was hearing Martin—well, your Martin—talk about it. I was more upset that Martin Prime had to go through that than I was that you did. And…” He sighs. “I still don’t know exactly how I feel, but…at least things make a little more sense now.” He looks over at Jon Prime. “I’m all right. Or as all right as I can be.”
“That’s…going to define the rest of your life, I’m afraid. ‘As all right as you can be.’” Jon Prime sighs. “Go ahead and finish that cigarette and we’ll go back inside.”
Jon Prime stares at the half-smoked cigarette in his hand for a long moment. He started smoking in university, more as a way of avoiding conversation than anything, and found it helped his anxiety. All his rather messy break-up with Georgie had done was cause him to switch brands, and all his grandmother’s nagging and disapproval had done was cause him to stop smoking indoors. He’d tried to quit after her funeral, but even though he rarely smoked more than one or two out of the packs he bought before he had to throw them out because they went stale, he never managed to actually stop. Truthfully, there were no external factors more powerful than the soothing nature of the nicotine.
But now…
Slowly, he raises his foot to his knee and grinds out the end of the cigarette on his heel. He pulls out the pack, tucks the cigarette into it, turns around, and drops the whole pack into the bin at the corner. Judging by the state of the bin, it’s almost trash day, so he hopefully won’t be tempted to dig around and rescue the pack later.
He turns back to see Jon Prime watching him with a genuine smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything, merely reaches over and gives Jon a hug. Jon is momentarily surprised, then relaxes into the hug and returns it. It’s a bit—there’s no other word for it—weird to be hugging himself, but at the same time, he needs physical contact more than he lets on and he hasn’t really had all that much in the last few years. The stress doesn’t go away, but it does ease back, a hell of a lot better than the cigarette managed.
After a moment, they separate. Jon Prime claps him wordlessly on the shoulder, and they turn to head back inside. To face whatever is coming next.