curriculum_fictae | [PSL] time travel, time travel

[PSL] time travel, time travel

[ Martin had always known that Lukas would kill him in the end. If not along the way, then surely at the end, once he'd gotten what he wanted out of Martin, whatever that turned out to be. When the Lonely rose up to swallow him, he'd accepted his impending death with ... what?

What did he have left, really? Numbness, mostly. A hallucination of Jon in the Lonely, looking for him, but - but that was impossible, ridiculous. His mind playing cruel tricks. He settled himself down in the frigid surf, knees drawn up close to his chest, unshed tears frozen to his cheeks and lashes.

And then. A door. A door that shouldn't exist, that couldn't exist. That he shouldn't take at all. The Lonely was terrible, yes, but it was quiet, and it was peaceful. Martin was aligned enough with it by now to very nearly enjoy it, in a strange and terrible way. The Spiral would be infinitely worse than this quiet beach.

But ... it was hope, too. In a strange way. Hope enough that Martin found himself turning the door handle and stepping through, leaving the false comfort of the Lonely behind him.

The transition was unpleasant. Long. But Martin couldn't remember it after; he only remembered stumbling out through the door of a supply closet somewhere deep in the Archives, blinking up at the dim bulbs that pretended to be sufficient. What time was it? Had he escaped? Where were Lukas and Elias now?

And where was Jon? ]

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[ And Martin isn't so far gone that Jon is the only one who can see him either. That's - that's good. That's something. His shoulders slump with relief as he holds back a choked noise. ]

I-I told you I wasn't - wasn't here to hurt you, Jon. I swear it.

[ His words fade in and out with the sound of waves, but Tim can hear them all now. As long as he stays focused. Of course, the moment he looks at something else, he'll have to focus hard to bring Martin back into view again.

Anyway. He turns back to Tim. ]

Y-yes. Yes, it's me. It's - it's a long story.

[It's not the same. He tells himself it's not the same. He JUST saw Martin, they parted ways, exchanging easy, unloaded goodbyes. He's not this. Couldn't have been just taken, the last desperate cry of life about to be stolen in some macabre dance. He'd seen Martin AFTER Jon's appeal and he wasn't this. Not this gutwrenching, horrible apparition that sends a sickening fear through his gut.

I wasn't- wasn't here to hurt you, Jon. As the words filter to him in shivering, cold waves, Tim's back straightens, jaw sets.

(He's going to act this time. He HAS to act this time.)]

Then lets get started. What the hell are you really?

[He takes another step, but this is to the side, between Jon and Martin. It feels... inadequate. Stupid even. What's it going to do? What difference is it going to make against whatever's going to slither out of this nothing-man's skin?]

I just saw Martin Blackwood, so lets not go there.

[Jon's a little distracted with how relieved he feels to know he's not going crazy and didn't just. Imagine this whole being when there wasn't someone there.

Tim though - Wait.

Is... Did Tim step between them? Is Tim... trying to protect him? That's -- no, Tim wouldn't do that, that's absurd. But he's watching closely.

He only knows a little about Elias' abilities from what future-Martin told him. He's probably getting an eyeful (ha) right now.]

Tim - He's. It's complicated.

[ Meanwhile, Martin's eyes go wide and dark in that pale face of his. (The colour is all wrong; they're far too dark compared to what they should be.) He takes a step away from Tim and Jon, more frost fractalling out from around his feet.

He should have known. Tim in particular would be suspicious of a monster wearing someone else's face. Is ... that what he is? Is it possible to replace someone and not know that you'd done it?

No. No, if past!Martin were hurt by Martin's arrival, then Jon would have told him. And Tim wouldn't look so surprised. ]

I am Martin Blackwood. I'm - I'm just not your Martin Blackwood. Your Martin is still safe. P-probably you can call him right now.

[ As safe as Martin ever is, anyway. He takes in a breath. ]

I - I followed a strange door and found myself nearly two years in the past.

Complicated.

[Tim repeats, dryly, not taking his focus off of this other Martin.

(What IS he going to do? That fear eats at him. Tells him that with Jon enraptured by whatever this is, he's so terribly, terribly alone fighting it.)

But... the mention of the door is... something. He draws in a shaky breath and nods once, slowly.]

Okay. Future's a new one.

[He doesn't relax, but he does pull out his cell and starts dialing.

The ringing is painfully loud in the small flat. It goes on.

And on...]

Y-You've ah. You've reached the line of Martin K. Blackwood.

[Tim's eyes don't leave the shape that nearly looks like Martin. When the awkward message ends in the beep, he draws in a breath and:]

It's Tim. Call me back. It's important.

[Jon listens. Tim is clearly on the defensive (and why? If this Martin is right, they don't know Sasha's been replaced yet so what is he missing here?) standing between them. And something does set Jon's nerves on edge hearing this timeline's Martin not answer his phone.

He swallows the lump in his throat. God he does wish he hadn't quit smoking. For someone who just found out he isn't crazy, Jon feels incredibly stressed right now.]

He's - this Martin. He's been here for a little over a week now. He showed up right as Helen Richardson was finishing her statement.

[Don't mention Michael, don't mention the Distortion. He's still ... He still feels like he can't talk about it. Not until he has all the answers, some stupid idea that he has to do what he can to keep them safe from the truth.]

[ Of all the times for his alternate self not to pick up the phone. The hope he'd felt when Tim picked up the phone to call past!Martin crumples instantly. (And yet, he feels a little bit ... charged up by that? It's strange how electrifying Tim's obvious fear is.)

That doesn't stop his own loneliness from washing over him in a cruel, frigid wave. The longer this goes on, the more it seems like Jon will side with Tim insted - that Martin will be identified as a monster instead. And then ...

Martin takes another step back, bumping into the kitchen counter. He's trapped here; there's no retreat if Tim decides to go after him. ]

That's - that's right. And you've seen your Martin around this week, right? I haven't replaced him. Please, Tim.

[ He says Tim's name but looks at Jon. Desperate. Pleading. His hands are clear up to his wrists, now, and his silhouette is blurry even to Jon. This is a bad strain on Martin's humanity. ]

Look. Would it - would it make you feel better to tie me up or. Or something? Lock me in a closet. Until you're sure.

Edited 2020-07-27 04:02 (UTC)

[And if it's blurry for Jon, Martin gets practically indistinct for Tim.]

Stop- Don't do that.

[As if Martin has any control of what's eating away at him...

That offer leaves a question though. What WILL make this safe. Tie him up? Laughable. What ropes can hold something that could just squelch out of his skin?

... He looks back to Jon, not even noticing how the apparition starts to fade immediately from his mind.]

A week. You're sure.

[Jon nods, eyes still on Martin. Trying to keep him in focus, why is he fading suddenly?]

He stumbled out of a door right as Helen left.

[Some sharpness hits his shoulder where Michael had stabbed him in the few minutes between Helen's last words to him and Martin tumbling out of a closet. He thought it healed but maybe it's a phantom pain.

God, Martin really is just. Fading away. He's torn between falling into line of Tim's thinking and desperately hoping this Martin is real. He'd gotten some.... a fair lot of comfort from the company, from having answers and not feeling like he's fighting alone while he heals..]

I wasn't sure what was happening at the time. I... Really was afraid I was going mad these last couple of days. No one else has been able to see or hear him.

[ Martin's laugh sounds like an icicle breaking on the floor. It rattles unhappily in the tense air between the three of them. ]

I - I made a deal with Peter Lukas and it turned out poorly. I was already fading before he shoved me into the Lonely, and - and it's just worse here.

[ His voice is soft, hard to make out. And the words just want to fall right back out of Tim's head as soon as he hears them. ]

[The words were there. He reacts to the name Lukas, Martin can see it. There's connections that almost form- and they die before finishing.

They're gone.

Tim's hand shakes a little as he lifts it to rub his face. There's something wrong. There's something missing? But what? ]

Who?

Ah... shit. Sorry, Jon. I just spaced out there. What were we talking about?

No...

[No, no nononono Tim can't lose it this fast. Jon didn't imagine those initial reactions, of Tim asking who this stranger was. He's not crazy.]

Martin, he's in front of you.

[Jon finally moves, stepping to the now-fading Martin and lifts a hand... and hesitates. Then steels himself and puts a hand to Martin's shoulder. Then the other. Then moves so Tim can see him, clear as day.]

Mar. Tin.

[ Oh. Oh. Martin hadn't realised how desperately he needed that human contact until Jon's hands are on his shoulders, pushing him in front of Tim. It's like someone nearsighted putting on their glasses: Martin snaps back into sharp relief, physical and present, with the faintest bloom of colour showing under Jon's fingertips.

He gasps a little from the effort involved in suddenly being a lot more real than he was a second ago. But Jon's rather efficiently stopped him from fading out, at least. He's much easier to look at, too, and the memory of what they'd just been talking about comes back in like high tide. ]

I'm - I'm here. I'm here. I'm still here. The Lonely hasn't got me yet.

[ Who is he trying to convince? Tim? Jon? Or just himself? ]

[It hits like a truck. Everything he'd just been thinking, the reality of the last few minutes.

And how much... more like Martin he looks now, color seeping into the jumper from the Archivist's hands. Like his head had been full of fog right up until this very moment.

No this is... this isn't what he knows. This isn't how it works with the Circus, at least.

He ends up gaping for a few seconds. There's so much here. The Lukases involvement, the strange trick Jon just pulled. The Lonely.

Tim takes a deep breath as he looks directly at Martin.]

Okay. What the fuck?!

[Click. It's somewhere, in earshot, the tape recorder. Jon's so used to it by now, he doesn't even notice.

Instead, Jon's focus is on Martin, and on Tim.]

To start with. I asked you to come by to tell me if you could see him. I was. Fairly certain I was going mad, and I trusted you to give me honesty. So. So I'm not.

Going mad, I mean.

Martin said he's from two years in the future. He's, he's told me some things and. They seem to line up.

[ Martin gulps in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. It's infinitely easier to stand here when Jon has his hands on Martin's shoulders, tethering him to reality. He can do this. He's not alone if Jon is there helping him explain like this. ]

That's - that's right. I don't really blame you? A weird version of your assistant just - just comes out of a closet and has the answers to everything, and also no one else can see him.

[ This laugh is a little less frigid, but still brittle. He turns to Tim. ]

I can try to answer questions, if. If that helps you believe me. But it's really me, Tim, I promise.

I... yeah. I remember.

[Now. Now he does, and the fact that for a moment he didn't shakes him as badly as the first looks at the ghostly figure. Though that is certainly easier now. The humble presence of Martin is right there in the kitchen, without that ... icy fear of losing someone?

It helps to have Jon's intense stare peeking around Martin. It adds a laughable element.

(Unless by seeing this Martin as a Martin then he's falling under the same-)]

Oh, god. I feel like Jon acts.

[But calling it out doesn't help the paranoia. That last week has been great, huh? Jon suddenly being fed answers from a mysterious extra Martin.

Not that he didn't also have a million questions, he just had to make the first one count. Something he KNOWS Martin knows but Jon doesn't in case some weird mind reading is involved.]

Fine. Fine. Lets play to tropes, shall we?

Martin, where have we been putting all of Jon's pens?

[Because petty office revenge IS something Jon probably wouldn't have asked about yet.]

[ That - really? Really? That's the question Tim wants to ask? Out of all the things --

Martin makes a face at that, a flush of colour coming into his cheeks. Exasperation is an emotion, after all, and perhaps all the more effective for being one that the Lonely doesn't counteract directly. ]

There's - there's no "we" involved here, you're the one stealing them, not me.

[ A beat. ]

But they're - they're in the biscuit tin. In the top drawer of your desk.

[Jon watches Tim rather intently, trying to keep his attention here for fear of Martin starting to disappear again. Nevermind he feels solid under Jon's hands and Jon can clearly see him more easily now.

But. He blinks. Eyes wide before going a little irritated.]

That's where all my pens have run off to?!

You never asked me about it.

[AS IF THAT MAKES IT BETTER.

Tim exhales, Jon's sharpness making it just as real as Martin's offended voice pitching up in indignity.]

No.. you are not going mad. This is totally real. Somehow. There's a Martin that the major financial backers of the Institute turned into a sad ghost with the power of loneliness and somehow you're making him colorful and easier to see.

...

Yeah. That sounded as weird out loud as I thought it would.

[ Yes, Jon, it's like you touching Martin keeps him grounded or something. Weird, right? Why would that be effective, huh?

But - but Tim believes him now, clearly, even if it is over something completely stupid. He lets out a stuttering breath of relief. ]

There's - there's context. And time travel. But. Yes. I guess that does sum it up.

Right.

[That's settled.

And a smell becomes more apparent. Oh, crap-- He lets go of Martin's shoulders and starts getting oven mitts on.]

The-- You were baking. [Managed to save the scones before they burned. He gets them onto the stove and starts fanning them.

Hey it's almost like old times, right, Tim?]

-- Oh! Oh, I just - I forgot -

[ The instant Jon takes his hands off Martin, something about him goes blurry again. But the last few minutes have been solidly anchoring, at least, so while he does go out of focus a bit, Tim won't lose track of him just by looking away. He's solidly here ... for now, anyway.

Since Jon's got the scones, Martin hurries to dole out plates for the table. And the kettle's boiling too, so that's next -

There is a familiar domesticity here; they've been at it a week, after all. ]

Did you save them? Are they too burnt? I can make more if I need to.

No, they're fine, they're fine. [He says it absently, like they have been at this weird domesticity for the last week. Nothing amiss, nothing weird. Just Jon and his strange house guest that looks and talks and acts like their friend.

All things taken care of, Jon sighs. Visibly relaxes before looking at Tim again. Some.... relieved, resigned expression in his eyes. He's grateful he made the right call getting Tim here. Someone with a seemingly level head (ha) and that he trusts to be completely, painfully honest if he wasn't right.]

Now what?

[And Tim for his part had just... watched. Whatever this was it... okay that's not bad? Jon not brutally biting Martin's head off for mistakes, or, Tim didn't know. Checking the pastries for poison? Or whatever he did in the mornings these days.

No it was... softer than it had EVER been. Good? Good.

He ended up leaning against the back of the couch for the moment, feeling a bit like...

You know? He wasn't sure how he was feeling. Off balance, maybe? To the point where Jon's question was almost a relief, drawing him back into this weirdly warm little world.]

That's the question. So, by the sudden trust, you actually know I didn't knock off Robinson.

[A beat.]

Right?

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[PSL] time travel, time travel

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