“How was your weekend?” Sasha asks cheerfully, dropping into her seat with a flourish. Her smile fades when Martin and Tim exchange glances. “That good, huh?”
“We slept for most of it,” Tim admits. “At least I did.”
Martin tries for a smile. “I probably wouldn’t have, but you had a death grip on my arm.”
That’s not entirely true. It is true that Tim clung in his sleep, and that extracting himself from it would risk waking Tim, which Martin would rather have chewed off his own right arm than do. But it’s also true that even if he had been able to get out of bed more than he did, he would have spent most of the weekend hovering anyway. Tim barely stayed conscious long enough for Martin to throw something together for him to eat, then leaned heavily on Martin’s shoulder as they listened together to one of the tapes he grabbed from the pile; in what’s either an odd coincidence or a cruel twist of irony, depending on how you look at it, it turned out to be the one Jon Prime referenced when telling them where Jon wasn’t, the one involving the Gwydir Forest in Wales, which meant they had to suffer through a Stranger statement, but it also at least meant Tim was steadier when they stumbled to bed.
Martin woke up Saturday morning to discover he was being used as a combination pillow and teddy bear. His attempt to get up was met with Tim whimpering in his sleep and clinging tighter, so Martin stayed, and ended up falling back asleep himself. He dozed off and on over the course of the day, occasionally reading on his phone or just watching Tim sleep, until both of them got up Sunday morning, feeling at least rested, if not refreshed. Here it is Monday morning, and he feels about the same—grateful to have slept, glad Tim seems physically okay, but both of them still raw.
“Did something happen after I left? Or after you did?” Sasha asks. She looks concerned, but also…curious. Martin’s getting used to that particular combination of emotion on her face.
Tim looks at Martin, who sighs, feeling a blush rise in his face. “I fucked up.”
They don’t give a formal statement; there’s an unspoken agreement that they’re saving it for when Jon gets back. Martin instinctively knows it won’t have the same power twice, and that they won’t be able to tell it the same way twice once they make it official. But they give her the basics. The concern on her face wins out over the curiosity by the time they’re done. “Jesus. Are you okay?”
“For a given definition of ‘okay,’ maybe,” Tim says, which gets a smile out of her. “We’re not hurt, anyway. And that thing didn’t get to Martin, or to those kids, so I call that a win.”
“And we still don’t know where Jon is?”
“No.” Martin swallows against the unease those words stir up in him. “We’ve got a couple possibilities, but…but we can’t be sure.”
Sasha taps her jaw thoughtfully with a finger, eyes going distant. “We could split up. Individually, we might be able to slip into one of those places unnoticed, and if Jon’s there we could get him out.”
“Yeah, except there are three of us and four locations, so someone would have to do two. And…” Tim hesitates. “And Martin and I are both already marked by the Stranger. So it’ll be more likely to notice us. Remember, he told us that from the beginning.”
“Right. Right,” Sasha mutters. “So it’s back to waiting then. Only now we get to also hope Elias doesn’t come down to be slimy. Do you think he knows what happened yesterday?”
“I-I mean, I can’t see how he wouldn’t?” Martin sighs. “I had to go right past his office—well, Rosie’s—to get to Artifact Storage, so unless he’d already gone for the day, he must have known I was in there.”
Tim sighs, too. “And yet he didn’t come down here after, which means he was probably pissed you survived.”
“Or he left after he saw it.” Sasha suddenly smiles mischievously. “I almost hope he does come down here, you know? I would love to see how he deals with that. He told Jon to destroy the table ages ago, and here you did it…he can’t be mad at you for doing what he wanted you to do, but I bet he really wanted it to be Jon.”
“Wonder if he actually knew that would happen.” Tim stretches, his spine popping. “Not like he’ll be honest if we ask him. Anyway, Sash, how was your weekend? Have fun with Basira?”
“Yeah, it was…it was interesting.” Sasha bites her lip. “Daisy was there, too.”
“Are you okay?” Martin asks, instantly worried.
“I’m fine. It wasn’t…she was just joining us for drinks, that’s all. But she…gave me this.” Sasha reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cassette tape, which she hands to Tim.
Tim turns it over in his hands for a minute. “One of Gertrude’s?”
Sasha nods. “Mm-hmm. She said she tried to listen to a couple of the ones Basira didn’t grab, just to—justify them, I guess? I don’t know really. But she listened to this one and said she thinks Jon might want to hear it.”
Martin studies Sasha for a moment. “Did she say why?”
“Not…no. She didn’t,” Sasha admits. “I swear I didn’t mean to just pull it out of her brain, but it was like it was right on top and I just skimmed it in passing. I think—I think he’s on it. She’s not sure, though, it was just a passing thought of wonder if it’s actually him on there and I couldn’t risk asking without letting her know I was—”
“In her brain?” Martin supplies.
“Basically, yes. But, God, I wished I could have. I didn’t think Jon and Gertrude ever met, let alone that he’d have made a statement or anything, and there’s no reason for one of our tapes to have been down there unless Elias threw it in when nobody was looking—but if it was one of ours, it’d be labeled,” Sasha adds. “It’s been driving me nuts all weekend.”
“You didn’t listen to it?” Martin asks, surprised.
Sasha stares at the tape in Tim’s hands, and the look on her face—the hunger—is one of the scariest things Martin’s seen in a while, up to and including the twisted monster chasing him down with the intent of doing a half-assed body swap. “I wanted to,” she says softly. “God, I wanted to so badly…the desire, the need to know, it’s the strongest I’ve ever felt. But…no, I didn’t.” She looks up at Martin, then at Tim. “I’d love to tell you how nobly I resisted, but the truth is that I just don’t have a tape player at home.”
Tim stills. “Your recorder didn’t follow you?”
“No, which I would have thought odd, but…it’s the Eye that wanted me to hear that. Not—not whatever’s behind the recorders, I guess. Maybe it’s meant to be listened to together. Maybe Jon needs to hear it first. Maybe whatever is behind the recorders doesn’t want this particular tape played for some reason. I don’t know, but…whatever it was, I didn’t have a way to play it, and that’s honestly the only reason I didn’t.” Sasha pauses. A conflicted look plays across her eyes before she turns to Martin again. “Ask me.”
“What?” Martin is wondering something, but it’s an idle thought and he doesn’t know if Sasha even knows the answer anyway. He also really doesn’t want to ask, he doesn’t think.
“Ask me,” Sasha repeats urgently. “Martin, I can—oh, God. I Know what you’re wondering. But I-I don’t think I’ll be able to say it out loud unless you Ask me.”
The way she says it—with a capital A—makes Martin realize she’s asking him to compel the answer out of her. He’s really, really not sure how he feels about that, but if she can read the question without trying, she probably needs to answer it.
The trouble is he’s never actually tried to do this on purpose before. Not like the others have. It’s just something that creeps in when he’s stressed or scared, or the people around him are. He’s not quite sure how to do it, but…well, he has to try.
He takes a deep breath, clears his mind, and mentally reaches for the Eye. It responds eagerly, which almost scares him enough to make him abandon the whole thing, but…“Would you have given us the tape if Tim hadn’t asked about your weekend?”
“No,” Sasha replies immediately. “I would have taken it to Document Storage and listened by myself. Hoarded the knowledge and gloried in having it, first and alone.” She sucks in a breath and rubs her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Sasha, it’s not your fault,” Tim says, but he looks stricken.
“It is, though. These powers—they’re getting stronger for all of us, more frequent, harder to keep from just…randomly happening. But at least you all are trying. I haven’t been. I’ve just been letting it happen. And it’s not because I don’t notice or think about how to stop it, or because it’s hard to resist. It’s because I like it.” Sasha gives a small laugh. “And for all I’ve been saying I don’t want to lose myself…I’m not really, am I? This is who I always was. It’s just now I have supernatural help with it.”
“Oh, Sasha,” Martin says softly, his heart twisting. He reaches over and takes her hand; she squeezes back gratefully.
Tim stares at the tape for a moment. His eyes go slightly unfocused, and Martin hears a brief hiss of static before it vanishes and Tim snaps back to attention, then stands decisively. “I’ll be right back.”
He strides in the direction of Jon’s office. Sasha watches him go, then turns to Martin with a worried frown. “Is he okay?”
“Sasha.”
“No, this is me asking. Tim—I know the three of you have gotten really close over the last year, and I haven’t been so much, but he’s still my best friend. I’m genuinely worried about him, and I know how much he covers up with a smile and a joke.”
“He’s better about that than he used to be,” Martin tells her. “We’re all trying to be more honest.” He contemplates Jon’s office door for a moment. “Physically, he’s okay. Mentally…I don’t know. I think that shook us both, but I kind of think it was worse for him? I-I mean, on top of the—the obvious, there’s the fact that his abilities went into gear whether he wanted them to or not. It pulled a lot of energy out of him. But when he says he’s okay, he means it.”
Sasha exhales. “Good. What about you?”
“I’m as okay as I’m going to be. You know, considering I got targeted by a monster, ran through the nightmare maze from the end of Alice in Wonderland, and watched one of the two people I care about most in the world nearly drown in the wake of a wave of power emanating from the Antichrist.” Martin’s exhale matches Sasha’s. “It’s easier for me to avoid accidentally using what the Eye gave me than it is for the rest of you, I guess, so it doesn’t drain me so much.”
“Yeah, well, the rest of that sounds like the extreme opposite of fun. Do you think it really would have killed you?”
Tim chooses that moment to return, so Martin is reluctant to answer, but they really are trying to be honest. “Yeah, I do. What I don’t know is what it would have done to Tim. Or to Jaz and Helena.”
“I have a nasty feeling it would have let me live,” Tim mutters, dropping into his chair. “If only so I’d have to live with the knowledge that just about everyone I ever cared about got taken by the Stranger.”
“Jesus, I swear, you two are going to give me a cavity.” Before Martin can demand Sasha explain that, she continues, “Good thing you made it into the tunnels or it might have been worse. Kind of surprised Michael didn’t take you straight there.”
“I think he would have if Tim hadn’t been down here, but he was an Archival assistant before the Spiral took him, or, well, before he got fed to it,” Martin says. “So I guess he looks out for us, in a way he wouldn’t look out for the Archivist. It’s Gertrude’s fault Michael got taken.”
Tim makes an interrogative noise. “He tell you that?”
“N—” Martin pauses, blinks, and goes back over all the information he’s been given, both by the Primes and by the statements. “Damn. No, all he told me was that I’d messed up and I needed a door. I—the Primes didn’t tell us that?”
“Sure didn’t. I suppose they didn’t think it was something we needed to worry about. After all, he’s not really that Michael anymore.” Sasha sighs. “Not to change the subject, Tim, but what were you doing in Jon’s office?”
“Locking that tape up, so we don’t listen to it before Jon gets back.” Tim puts just a little bit of force behind those words, and Martin instinctively reaches for his hand. They both have to believe Jon will come back…somehow. “I—I have a feeling I know what it is.”
“Oh?” Sasha looks intrigued. “You know something I don’t?”
“Did you ever listen to that tape we were listening to before—” Tim breaks off, swallowing.
Martin squeezes his hand and supplies, “Before Elias told you Jon would be out for a few days?”
“No. I honestly forgot to ask about it. Why?”
“Maybe you should. It’s, uh, it’s in the filing cabinet. Third drawer. It’s got the case number and the label just says Light.” Tim gestures at the cabinet.
“I’ll go do that now. Maybe it’ll take the edge off.” Sasha manages a smile. She pats Martin’s hand—and Tim’s under it—and heads off, recorder dangling from its strap around her wrist.
Martin waits until she’s out of earshot before he asks softly, “You think it’s his dad’s statement?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s got that…” Tim makes a frustrated noise. “I mean, the Eye is all over that one. It’s bright. But I can—I’m getting better at sorting out the underneath colors, kind of. I think. Anyway, I’m pretty sure, whatever the statement is, it’s an End statement.”
“And since Gertrude mentioned him knowing the day he was going to die, and the day my grandfather was…” Martin trails off, but he knows Tim understands. “You—you think she was talking about your brother? When she said—”
Tim nods slowly. “Yeah, I do. I think—I think maybe Jon’s dad predicted a few deaths, and Danny’s might have been one of them. Sounds like Gertrude tried to warn my parents, but…”
“That could explain why they refuse to believe he’s actually dead. Because that would mean the crazy old bat they wrote off as a dangerous lunatic was right.” That gets a smile out of Tim, at least. Martin leans over and hugs him. “It’s going to be okay, Tim.”
Tim leans into the hug for a moment. “I don’t know if I believe you or I trust you, but…” He hugs Martin back. “Thank you for being there for me.”
“Where else would I be?” Martin asks sincerely.
Sasha comes back half an hour later with a pinched look on her face, strides right over to Martin, and hugs him tightly. She’s not really a hugger, so he accepts it immediately.
“He loves you,” she whispers. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
“I won’t,” Martin promises. He means it. It’s been hard for him to accept that he has friends, that there are people who care about him, but oddly enough, watching the Primes has helped a lot with that. Once he was able to convince himself that their bond didn’t just rise out of the Apocalypse, he’s come to realize that not only is he loved, but he deserves it.
Sasha lets him go and sits down. “Okay. So I understand why Jon had to go out for a walk now…and I’m guessing you think that tape Daisy handed over is his father’s statement. Am I right?”
Tim nods. “It’s definitely an End statement, at least, and I’m pretty sure that’s what Walter Sims’ statement would have been.”
Sasha sighs and stretches. “So what’s the plan for today, boys?”
Martin taps the stack of files on his desk. “I still need to finish these up. I wasn’t…really altogether myself on Friday.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Sasha says, deadpan. “I’ve got some records to hack into, I think. What about you, Tim?”
Tim hesitates. “I mean…there’s what I was working on before, but…” He takes a deep breath. “I think—maybe I should call my parents. Find out if they remember ever talking to…”
“Oh.” Sasha blinks.
Martin’s stomach twists. “Tim, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not now. Not until—I mean, it could be a coincidence. The name Stoker’s not entirely uncommon, and…”
“I know. I know. And I don’t—I’m not sure I can do it alone,” Tim admits. “It just…I don’t know.”
“Don’t punish yourself, Tim,” Martin says softly. “I know what that looks like. You don’t need to—to call your parents as some sort of weird penance or whatever. Wait until we listen to the other tape.”
“Yeah,” Tim says, voice equally soft. “Okay.” He offers Martin a shaky smile. “Guess it’s looking into creepy Scottish gyms for me then.”
“You have fun with that.”
Most of the morning passes quietly, broken only by occasional murmured comments over particularly odd statements or one of them phoning a potential contact. Sasha stuffs her fist in her mouth to stifle her giggles and Martin has to take off his glasses and cover his eyes to keep from seeing the faces Tim makes at him when he gets drawn into a conversation with a small child who won’t respond to repeated requests to go find her father. He truthfully doesn’t mind all that much; he’s always liked kids, especially the younger ones, and he’s good at holding conversations with them. Still, he is trying to sort out this statement, and while he gleans several interesting tidbits from the little girl, they’re not entirely relevant and he’s relieved when her father snatches the phone away from her. He does feel a little guilty, though, about the fact that their entire conversation is underscored by the child’s heartbroken wails.
“Right, that should do it,” Martin says at last. “Thank you for talking to us, Mr. Maraj. Do you want us to let you know what we find out?”
“Please, if you can. I do still wonder about Sam.” There’s some background conversation Martin can’t quite hear, and then the man comes back, sounding apologetic. “I’m so sorry. My daughter wants to say goodbye to you too.”
“That’s fine. Thank you again, Mr. Maraj.”
“Of course. Anything to help.”
Martin spends the next several minutes assuring the little girl that he very much enjoyed talking to her, that he’s not mad at her, that he would like to be friends, and that he would love to hear her very best story if she ever comes to the Institute. Then he hangs up and shoots a mock-glare at Tim and Sasha as he slides his glasses back on. “Both of you shut up.”
“I wish I’d been recording that,” Sasha says, delightedly. “How old was she again?”
“Three and three-quarters,” Martin says, mimicking the girl’s precise emphasis and sending Sasha into a fresh peal of giggles.
Sasha has a meeting with someone about one of the statements, which the man apparently insists needs to take place over lunch, so Tim and Martin stagger their breaks; Martin leaves first, then comes back an hour later so Sasha can head out for her appointment. She blows him a kiss and bustles off, heels clicking against the floor.
Martin decides to spend the afternoon updating the database. He’s actually created a second database, one that’s actually on the Institute’s servers; that one contains all the statements, not just the ones they know are real, or will once he finishes with it. Which might, he thinks, looking around the room, be about half past never. There’s just so much here, and so much chaos. They may not ever get it finished. Still, if it means he doesn’t have to talk on the phone for a bit, he’ll do it.
He’s been at it for half an hour when Tim comes back in, shrugging out of his jacket. Martin mumbles a hey around the pen clenched between his teeth, finishes the entry, and grabs the pen to mark the file. “Anything exciting going on out there?”
“Fortunately, no. Sasha get off okay?”
“Yeah. She made a point of showing me that she had her phone and her recorder, so if anything happens, she’ll let us know.” Martin sighs and rubs his forehead. “Remind me to make an appointment with an optometrist or something.”
“Headache?” Tim asks sympathetically. “Hold on, I’ll get you some tea.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’m just having to squint a lot is all. Some of the handwriting is fiddly.” Martin closes his eyes tightly for a second, then opens them again. “Honestly, I’m due anyway.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Tim pauses. “Think I’m going to make some tea anyway. I’m starting to get a headache myself.”
Martin prepares to ask if something’s bothering Tim when he feels it, too—a ringing in his ears, like a squeal of high-pitched static, but outside of his head, and a pulse of pain throbs behind his eyes. He can’t help the frustrated noise that emanates from the back of his throat as he tosses his pen to the desk. “Goddammit,” he grits out, pushing back from the desk and standing up to glare around the room. “All right, where are you? What do you want now?”
Tim shakes his head as if to clear it, then looks up, grabs Martin’s arm, and points. Martin turns towards Jon’s office and almost misses it—a yellow door that definitely wasn’t there before. There has certainly never been a door above the door to the Archivist’s office. Martin glares at it. He’s tall enough and his reach is high enough that he could at the very least knock on the bottom of it, if not reach the knob, but he doesn’t want to give Michael the satisfaction.
He doesn’t need to. The door creaks open ostentatiously.
Martin isn’t conscious of any realization, any obvious knowledge, any actual decision to move. One moment he’s standing by his desk, the next he’s halfway across the Archives floor, arms outstretched, heart pounding ninety to the dozen, as a figure tumbles out of the open door with a soft cry of surprise. He makes it, barely, managing to break the fall, but the impact knocks him to the floor and drives the air from his lungs, leaving him momentarily stunned.
“Oops,” says a voice from overhead, not particularly convincingly.
Martin glances up to see a…well. She’s a woman in the sense that Michael was a man. Her proportions are just slightly off, and her fingernails are more like daggers of bone than keratin. Her hair looks like a collapsed bird’s nest, her smile is just slightly too big for her face, and something tells Martin that it’s probably a good thing he can’t actually see her eyes from here. She leans against the door frame with her arms folded across her chest, smirking down at them. He huffs at her, then looks down at the small, trembling figure in his arms.
“Jon,” he gasps.
“Martin,” Jon chokes out, and oh, God, it is him, safe and sound and clinging to him tightly.
Tim slides on his knees towards them and all but slams into them, making Martin grunt and Jon cry out in surprise and probably mild pain, but he wraps his arms around both of them. Martin shifts an arm from Jon to pull Tim in too, and Jon frees one hand to cling to Tim’s shirt. He’s panting and half-sobbing, his face buried in Martin’s shoulder, and for a long moment, the three of them just cling to one another, whispering each other’s names and failing to fight back their tears.
Jon is thin, too thin; he’s always been skinny, of course, but Martin can feel every rib. His hair is tangled and dust-streaked, but—weirdly—his skin is soft, almost silken under Martin’s fingers. He presses tightly against both Martin and Tim, somehow managing to crawl into both their laps at once, and the three of them press together like they’re a single person. Martin feels Jon’s heart fluttering in his chest and his panicked, stuttered breathing, but for all that, he’s here, he’s safe in Martin and Tim’s arms, and Martin closes his eyes and silently chants thank you, thank you, thank you…
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he half-sobs. “I—I didn’t—we couldn’t—”
“No. No,” Jon whispers. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have—”
“Are you okay?” Tim asks anxiously. “Did she hurt you?”
“I’m okay.” Jon doesn’t sound particularly sure, and the way he’s clinging to them doesn’t make it particularly believable, either. “Just…o-oh, God.”
Martin tightens his arms around both Jon and Tim without conscious thought. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re safe, Jon. You’re home.”
“Home,” Jon echoes. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and seems to sink into them both. Martin tucks his chin over Jon’s head, and his cheek brushes against Tim’s as Tim does the same thing.
It feels right, in a way things haven’t felt for a long time—like all the missing parts of Martin’s soul have clicked into place. And it’s not, he thinks with a certainty he can almost taste, just Jon being here. It’s Jon and Tim.
The realization hits him like a thunderbolt and leaves him dizzy. He’s been thinking, all this time, that his feelings for Jon have been settling into simple friendship, because he gets the same feeling from Tim. He’s wrong—it’s the opposite. He loves them both, with his entire heart and soul, and he can’t, won’t, imagine a future without either one of them.
He can’t say that now, of course he can’t. This isn’t the time, and he’s not stupid, he still very much doubts either one of them feels that way about him. And he won’t put them in that position. Even if they just stay friends, even if he’s the only one who feels this way…that’s enough. As long as he doesn’t lose them, he’ll be fine.
He clings to them both a little tighter.
“Well,” the figure overhead drawls. “This is cozy.”
Martin and Tim both look up at the woman, who’s still smirking. Jon manages to raise his head, too. “Thank you,” he says, his voice a bit hoarse. “For bringing me back.”
“Think nothing of it.” The Distortion—Martin can’t imagine it’s anyone else—straightens. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.” She steps back into the hallway and pulls the door shut with another long creak. It vanishes.
“Was that—” Tim begins, then stops.
“Helen,” Jon says softly. “I-it—it’s a long story. I—” He sits back a little, not much, and looks from Martin to Tim and back. “Michael found me. He was—he wanted to kill me. Tried to get me to go through his door, but…it wouldn’t open. And then he—he vanished, he changed, and the Distortion put on Helen’s face…” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, then looks at Martin, and his eyes are full of fear. “Are you okay? M-Michael said—he implied he’d talked to you, that you’d…that you were in danger…”
“We’re okay,” Martin assures him. He shoots a guilty glance at Tim, then admits, “I…sort of burnt the table. I set the Not-Them free, and…it came after us. It didn’t get us,” he adds quickly, seeing the panic in Jon’s eyes. “It didn’t—we’re fine. Jon Prime…smote it, I guess. You can—you can get the Polaroid or one of the tapes or—”
“No. No, I—I know it’s you. I can tell,” Jon says softly. He reaches up to brush Martin’s cheek with a trembling hand. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“It didn’t hurt me, Jon. Either of us. I promise.” Martin runs a hand through Jon’s hair, wincing as his fingers get tangled in the knots, but Jon doesn’t seem to mind. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I-I think so. Just…my skin’s never been in such good condition.” Jon gives a small, humorless laugh. “Is that weird to say?”
“Kind of?”
“It was all she would talk about.” Jon takes a deep breath. “God. I missed you both so much. I-I was—I was afraid you’d come looking for me and that she’d—”
“We thought about it,” Tim admits. “I think we would have, if…if we’d been sure where you were. But there were too many options and we were afraid that if we hit the wrong one…”
“She’d kill you,” Jon supplies.
“No, Jon, we were afraid she’d kill you,” Martin tells him. His voice catches on the word kill. “The—we tried to work it out on our own, but we couldn’t, and Sasha tried to Know but couldn’t, so we—we asked, and…” He scans Jon’s face for a moment. Jon looks—there’s no other word for it—hungry, drained and weak. It’s probably not just fear making him tremble. “We—we saved the statement for you. If you want it.”
“I—I shouldn’t. I don’t want to do that to you, but—” Jon breaks off.
“You need something,” Tim says. “We’re offering. Let us give it to you, Jon. We couldn’t rescue you. Let us help you now.”
Jon looks like he wants to argue further, then takes a deep breath and nods. “All right. All right.”
He tries to stand, but can’t manage it; Martin and Tim together assist him upright. He clutches their arms to steady himself for a moment, then takes a deep breath and lets go. “All right,” he says again.
The door opens, making all three of them flinch, and then they hear Sasha’s voice. “Ugh. I swear to God, next time someone says they can only meet at lunch, I’m bringing an axe with me. He—” She comes around a corner, stops abruptly, and screams. Jon almost jumps out of his skin.
“Easy, easy!” Martin says quickly. “Sasha, Jon’s back.”
“Yeah, kind of hard to miss.” Sasha covers her eyes with her hands; Martin’s about to ask what’s wrong when she adds, “Welcome back. Glad you’re safe. Maybe you should put some pants on if you want to keep fighting evil today.”
It’s pretty much at that moment that it registers in Martin’s mind that Jon is totally and completely nude. He can feel the blush starting to rise in his cheeks. Jon rubs a hand over his face. “O-oh, God. R-right. I, ah, I’ve got…spare clothes in my office. I think. I’ll be right back.” He turns around and steps into his office, but he leaves the door open a crack.
Sasha gestures helplessly at it. “When—how—?”
“Michael,” Tim says succinctly. “Well…not anymore. Helen now, right?”
Martin nods. “The Distortion. It—she—brought him back a few minutes ago.”
Sasha sighs. “Well, that’s three of us so far. Guess you’re next, Tim.”
“Uh, no thanks. I’ve hit my ‘mortal peril’ quota for one lifetime.”
Jon emerges from the office in a pair of chinos, creased from being obviously kept folded in a drawer, and a short-sleeved button-up that hangs far to loosely on his frame. Martin has a moment of panicking about how much weight Jon’s obviously lost before Tim says under his breath, “I wondered where that went.”
Martin blinks. In that moment, Jon shivers, and Martin doesn’t think twice before slipping off his sweater and offering it to him. Jon takes it gratefully and pulls it on, then puts a hand on Martin’s and Tim’s backs. “Right. Let’s…do you mind if we do this out here?”
“No, that’s fine,” Martin assures him. He heads back over to his desk, Tim and Jon keeping step with him, and reaches for his tape recorder. If it hasn’t already turned itself on.
Just as his hand closes on it, the phone on the desk rings, its cheerful double tone sounding less like a doorbell and more like a funeral knell for some reason, although Martin can’t say why. Sasha rolls her eyes and reaches for it, but Jon, surprisingly, stops her, reaches forward, and picks it up himself. “Archives.”
He listens for a minute, his face blank, then simply says, “Of course.” He hangs up the phone and stares at it for a moment before looking up at the others. The bone-deep weariness on his face makes Martin want to wrap him in a hug and never let him go.
“That was Elias,” he says quietly. “He wants to see us all in his office. Immediately.”