“Jon?”
“Hnnngh,” Jon whined into his pillow. He was warm and safe and comfortable and had actually slept fairly well, for a wonder, and he didn’t want to leave the nest of blankets or soft, comfortable mattress.
There was a soft laugh from just behind him, and then something brushed against his temple. “It’s okay, you don’t have to get up.”
Jon smiled, keeping his eyes closed, and relaxed further as he felt the by now familiar sensation of his boyfriend gently combing his hair back from his face as he began humming softly. Drowsiness stole over him, and he drifted in the vague space between waking and sleeping, idly chasing the notes to find the words that went with the melody. It wasn’t a sea shanty, he didn’t think, but it had the cadence of a folk song. In fact, it sounded almost like…
Oh.
Reality seeped under the quilt and settled into his bones with the icy coldness of an early spring river, and Jon knew staying in bed wasn’t an option. He rolled over onto his back, turning his head as he did so in order to press his cheek into Martin’s hand, then reached for his glasses and slid them on before looking up. “Do you have to go?” he asked quietly.
There was a faint smile, albeit a sad one, on the face Jon loved so well, and an ache in those pretty emerald eyes he knew had to be mirrored in his own. Martin shook his head. “I don’t know what Elias would do to me if I backed out now. Or more to the point, what he might do to you. Besides, there’s a seven hour time difference between here and Beijing, which only gives us like an hour’s span of time to talk to anybody, and I don’t think this can be handled over email. Someone needs to go and see what needs to be seen.”
“But why does it have to be you?”
Martin sighed, and didn’t answer. Then again, he didn’t need to. They both knew—it had to be Martin because Elias said it had to be Martin, and none of them had been able to come up with a good enough excuse for him to change his mind. Jon had tried very hard to get permission to go along, but Elias had denied his requests with, it must be admitted, perfectly reasonable arguments. Since he couldn’t risk leaving without permission, not and stay healthy, he was staying in London.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
“When do you need to leave?” he asked, struggling to a sitting position. Martin was sitting just on the edge of the bed, already fully dressed and with his bag slung over his shoulder.
“Cab’ll be here in about ten minutes,” Martin admitted. “I’d have had to leave even earlier if I was taking the Underground to get there in enough time to check in for my flight, and I just…I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could before I left.”
Jon threw the covers back. “I’m coming with you. At least to the airport.”
Martin managed a smile. “Okay, but you’re going to at least need to put shoes on.”
Jon threw on clothes without caring if they matched or looked professional—what was Elias going to do, fire him?—and was out front with Martin when the black cab pulled up to the curb. Once they were safely ensconced in the backseat, he leaned into Martin’s side. Martin’s arm immediately went around his shoulders, but neither of them spoke further on the drive.
He’d been dreading this moment for the last two weeks. Once the immediate relief of Martin being home and safe and alive had passed and the others had got done teasing them for being the last ones to realize how they felt about one another, they’d spent a few hours catching everybody up on everything else. (Jon still felt bad about the look of terror that had crossed Martin’s face when he and Melanie confessed to what had happened in the Trophy Room.) Martin hadn’t wanted them to listen to his tapes just yet, and they were respecting that, but he said he’d told them everything, and Jon believed him. Melanie had done plenty of cussing when Martin had told them Elias wanted him to retrace Gertrude’s steps, but Jon had just been quietly devastated. He’d just got him back.
They’d spent as much time together as they could. Partly it was work-related, of course, but they’d managed to snatch a few moments to, well, be in a relationship. They’d had a long talk about expectations and boundaries, promised one another they wouldn’t stop being friends if the romantic side of things didn’t work out, and at the end of it Martin had hesitantly asked if Jon wanted to move in with him. Jon had accepted almost before the words were out of his mouth. If nothing else, the increased physical contact since Martin came back had gone a long way towards soothing something inside Jon he hadn’t even realized needed it. It wasn’t just cuddling on the couch or spooning in bed at night—it was the gentle hand squeezes, the light shoulder bumps, the quick kisses in passing, a thousand tiny touches and points of contact that reminded Jon that Martin was there, that he cared for him, and that neither of them was alone. Martin seemed to know what Jon needed even before he did, much like Melanie had in helping him through his nightmares over the long weeks of Martin’s absence, and Jon was trying to be the same for Martin. Martin assured him he was.
And now he was going away again. It wasn’t fair.
The cab finally pulled up to the terminal, and Martin paid the driver, then took Jon’s hand as they headed inside. Even at this hour, Heathrow was bustling with people—day-trippers, holidaygoers, businesspeople, students coming to the end of term—but not so busy that they missed Melanie, standing directly opposite the doors and yawning her head off.
Martin stopped dead, pulling Jon out of the flow of foot traffic without seeming to think about it, as Melanie caught his eye and ambled over. “Neens? What are you doing here?”
Melanie shrugged. “Just because it’s you and not Gerry going out of town alone doesn’t mean you don’t get a proper send-off. Besides, I figured Jon would come with you and you’d feel better if there was someone to make sure he doesn’t just wait right here until you get back. Or stow away in your luggage.”
“I would like to register a protest against that assessment of my character,” Jon muttered. “Unfortunately, I think she’s right.”
Martin laughed. It sounded a little forced to Jon. “I’m going to go check in. Be right back, okay?”
“Okay,” Jon said, a bit reluctantly. Martin leaned over and kissed his cheek briefly before making his way over to the check-in counter for the airline his flight was booked for.
Melanie watched him go, arms folded over her chest, then glanced over at Jon. “Are you okay?”
Jon didn’t even bother trying to lie to her and shook his head. “No.”
“It’ll be all right.” Melanie reached over and squeezed his shoulder briefly. “We’ve got each other, and he’ll actually be in touch instead of, you know…kidnapped.”
“I hate that he has to go alone,” Jon said quietly.
“Truth? Me, too,” Melanie admitted. “He’s never done that before.”
“What, never?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s always been all three of us, or at least him and me. If anyone goes off on their own, it’s usually Gerry. India was the only time I ever went off to do something on my own, and we know how that turned out.” Melanie rubbed her leg absently.
Jon noticed. “It’s not still bothering you, is it?”
“It’s fine.” Melanie glanced over his shoulder. “Hey.”
Jon turned. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Gerry coming in, looking a bit haggard, but he was surprised to see Tim right behind him. “Tim?”
“Morning.” Tim looked around. “Did we—no, there he is.”
“He’s just checking in. What are you doing here?” Melanie eyed Tim up and down.
Tim held up his keys. “Driving?”
“You’re sure? Sasha’s not going to turn up too?”
“If Sasha gets up a single second sooner than she absolutely has to in order to make it to work on time, the sun will rise in the west.”
“Hey now, I can be early when it’s important.” Sasha’s voice from behind them made both Tim and Jon jump practically out of their skin. She edged into the room and stood beside the group. “He hasn’t left yet, has he? I thought his plane didn’t leave until eight-something.”
“The flight begins boarding at eight twenty-seven,” Jon said automatically, almost as if he’d been obsessively studying Martin’s tickets and flight information so he would know when to start worrying, or at least worrying more.
Sasha glanced at her watch. “So we’ve got a couple hours then? Maybe we can grab breakfast. Or coffee or something.”
Gerry glanced appraisingly towards the security checkpoint, then shook his head. “No, he’ll never make his flight if he doesn’t go through now, or at least soon. He’s got to go through passport control, too, and I know him, even as quick as he is, he’ll be too stressed about not making it if he tries to step out and eat now. Remember that first time we all flew together, Neens?”
“Frequently,” Melanie replied. “Often at two in the morning, when I wake abruptly from a falling dream. I still think your mum was planning to sacrifice us to the Vast.”
“She bought us return tickets.”
“Dad paid for the tickets.”
“Wait, wait,” Jon interrupted. His heart was hammering against his ribs. “He’ll, we’ll have time once we’ve found the gate, won’t we? To, to get something? We left in plenty of time, I-I’m sure there are places to eat nearby…”
A funny look crossed Gerry’s face. “When’s the last time you flew, mate?”
“It’s…been a while,” Jon hedged. Actually he couldn’t remember ever flying in his life. He’d never even been out of England.
Melanie tapped his shoulder and pointed silently to a sign about fifty yards away, just at the entrance to the security queue. Jon couldn’t read most of the sign at that distance, but the main thrust of it were in stark, bold letters large enough to be read from a distance: TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT.
All the air left his lungs at once. “Oh.”
Martin turned away from the checkout counter just then. He checked momentarily at the sight of the group now standing around Jon, then squared his shoulders and came over. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Gerry looked up at him seriously. “Got everything?”
Jon couldn’t help himself. He slipped his arm around Martin’s waist and hugged him tightly. Martin wrapped his arm around his shoulders and held him close, not seeming to realize he was doing it, and nodded as he patted his bag with his free hand. “Passport, ticket, laptop, phone, chargers for both, books, knitting, couple spare changes of clothes, candied ginger, and the aptropaia of Icarus.”
“The what?” Tim and Sasha asked in unison.
Martin cracked a small grin. “It’s a talisman to…sort of a balance between the Vast and the Buried? It’s for safe passage in the air. Found it in a shop in Athens when I was…what, thirteen? Fourteen? Something like that. It’s not just your usual tourist junk, and it works. I gave it to Gerry, but…”
“But I gave it back to him the other day,” Gerry finished. “When he told us he was for sure going. I don’t plan on flying again for a while, that’s for sure, and…well, you need it more than I do.” He glanced at Jon and added, “Thought it might give you a little peace of mind to know he had some extra protection.”
Jon flushed, but simply said, “Thank you.”
Martin looked at Tim and Sasha. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, but what are you doing here?”
Melanie sighed. It sounded exasperated. “Is it really that hard to believe that we care about you, and we’re worried about you, and we’re going to miss you, and we want to make sure you’re not alone when you leave?”
“No, but it is hard to believe you’re all here, considering I told literally none of you what time my plane was leaving,” Martin said pointedly.
Melanie pointed at Jon. Gerry pointed at Melanie. Tim pointed at Gerry. Sasha shrugged unapologetically. “If you didn’t want me knowing your details, you shouldn’t have ordered your tickets on Institute property.”
“Sasha.” Jon pinched the bridge of his nose briefly.
“I’m kidding. Manal told me. Actually, I’m supposed to bring you this.” Sasha handed Martin an envelope. “She forgot to get it to you before you left Friday.”
Martin let go of Jon, who did not reciprocate the action, and opened it. A funny look came over his face. “Manal gave you this?”
“Yes, but I think it’s from Elias. What is it?”
“At least a week in a hotel, if I budget right.” Martin twisted to put the envelope in his bag, with some difficulty. “And if the exchange rate doesn’t kill me. Thanks, Sash.”
He looked up at the line, then at his watch, then swallowed hard. “I, um. I should…probably get going.”
Jon couldn’t hold back the small, choked whimper of pain at that. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but…goddammit, he really didn’t want to let Martin go. It wasn’t just for fear of what might happen to him, or what might happen to Jon if Martin wasn’t there. It was the fact that Martin’s face was the first thing he saw when he woke up in the morning, and the last thing he saw before he drifted off to sleep at night. It was the warmth of Martin’s arms around him and the sound of his heartbeat under his ear. It was laughter over breakfast and playful banter over dinner. It was walking hand in hand down the streets and sitting close to one another on the Tube. It was poetry and music answered with monologues and trivia. It might have only been two weeks that they’d been together, truly together, but it was so much a part of Jon’s life now that he couldn’t imagine being without it, and he was so afraid of being alone.
“I’ll be back, Jon. I promise.” Martin folded Jon into a hug and held him for long moments, probably longer than they had. Jon clung as tightly as he dared and tried his hardest not to cry.
At last, he felt Martin’s arms ease up. He didn’t want to, but reluctantly, he let go and stepped back, trying to summon up his professional facade. Melanie stepped in for a hug, and Martin squeezed her hard. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” Melanie mumbled into his shoulder. Tim coughed into his hand, probably to hide a laugh, but Jon couldn’t manage a smile. “Just…don’t be a hero, okay? You don’t have to save the world on your own. Wait for us to help you.”
“Promise. As long as you don’t try to solve everything while I’m gone so I don’t get involved.”
“You take all the fun out of life.” Melanie pulled back and punched him lightly in the arm.
Gerry stepped up next and gave him a hug. “Hope you can find answers in Beijing.”
“Me, too, but I have a feeling they’re just going to lead to more questions.” Martin sighed. “I’m going to have to finish her journey, too.”
“Well. Best of luck. Try not to draw too much attention to yourself.”
“I think that ship sailed years ago, but I’ll try.” Martin pulled back and tried to smile. “At least I don’t have to worry about the Book.”
“Small mercies.” Gerry smiled wanly and stepped back.
Tim, too, came forward and gave Martin a hug. He spoke quietly, but Jon was close enough that he could hear him even over the bustle of the airport terminal. “You know I’ll look after them for you, right, buddy?”
Martin nodded jerkily. “Look after yourself, too, Tim.”
“Always. Stay safe out there.”
Martin let Tim go and turned to Sasha. “You’re not getting out of a hug either.”
Sasha laughed—the sound grated on Jon’s soul for reasons he couldn’t explain—and complied. “We’ll let you know if we find out anything useful. And let us know if there’s anything you need from us, too.”
“Will do. Thanks, Sash. Stay out of trouble, would you?”
“You know I won’t.” Sasha smirked up at him.
Martin chuckled, then turned to Jon again. His expression softened, his eyes saddened. Jon wasn’t going to reach for him to stop him going, knowing that if he did Martin would miss his flight and he’d feel guilty forever, but Martin did the reaching instead. He pulled Jon into his arms, brushed his hair back from his face, and kissed him.
After two weeks, Jon was becoming very familiar with Martin’s kisses—from a light, feathery skim of his lips against his forehead to a quick peck on the cheek in passing to a half-hour makeout session on the couch. There had been good morning kisses, goodnight kisses, thank you kisses, and a thousand and one kisses that said nothing more or less than I love you. This one was different. It was almost as thorough and intense as the one he’d first given Martin upon his return, but as gentle and tender as the second. It was honest and genuine and raw, and it said everything Martin was feeling without the need for words. It was also the first time they had ever kissed in front of witnesses; every other kiss had been behind closed doors—in the tunnels, in Martin’s living room, in the bedroom, in Jon’s office.
And it was a kiss goodbye.