[PSL] time travel, time travel

[curriculum_fictae]

[ 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? ]

Comments

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Oh. That's - nice? So surprisingly solid that Martin has to catch his breath for a moment. He might have had too much time to think about this subject over the past few days. ]

I'm not your Martin.

[eyediot]

... All the same.

[He just... almost looks sad by that. He thought he'd gotten through. It just means he'll have to show he means it through actions over the next however long.

The kitchen's done, and they already said they weren't working on the board tonight. He looks at the clock on his range and sighs.]

I'll catch you in the morning.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ What is that expression? Why does Jon look so sad? And paired with that obvious dismissal -

Martin takes a step back, allowing Jon to leave if he likes. But. ]

I - I'm sorry, I've said something wrong -

[ He wrings his hands anxiously. Trying - failing - to feel less pathetic. Falling back on old habits instead, into being useful when he can't be worthy of affection. ]

Morning then. I'll. I'll get up early and make breakfast.

[eyediot]

You don't have to do that.

[BECAUSE HE'LL BEAT YOU TO IT.]

Try to sleep some?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ RUDE, Jon. Just rude. (You will beat him, though, if only because he'll foolishly assume he'll wake up before you.)

He just nods shakily. ]

All right. You get some rest too.

[eyediot]

[He sleeps about as much as he normally does. Which is to say not much at all.

But he still wakes up early. Even better, earlier than Martin still asleep on his couch. He smiles to himself having won this little contest and quietly starts getting things out.

Within the hour, there's the smell of cooked sausage, warm bread, and cheese.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ And Martin, despite promising to get up early, had been rather exhausted by that conversation; he sleeps soundly on the couch even as Jon moves around in the morning, oblivious to the quiet sounds that Jon makes. He's peaceful like this. As pale as ever, of course, and a thin layer of frost has formed on the blanket he has pulled up to his chin. But otherwise, it seems he wasn't exaggerating when he said the couch was comfortable.

Anyway. Once the scent of food fills the air, Martin stirs at last. Blinking dimly at Jon from the couch, trying to focus. He was going to do something, wasn't he? What was he -

Oh. Martin jolts up, frosted blanket still wrapped around his shoulders as he comes into the kitchen. He opens his mouth to apologise, he slept in, he meant to do this instead - and finds himself just standing there instead, mouth open. ]

That - that smells wonderful.

[eyediot]

Thank you. I told you I'm not a complete dolt in the kitchen.

[On queue, he hands Martin a plate with two fried egg sandwiches and a napkin ready for him.]

Good morning.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Martin accepts the plate and sits, staring at the food in front of him like Jon just gave him a plate of gold or something. Dumbfounded. Pleased? Confused. ]

I didn't say you were, I just - I really did mean to get up early and cook.

[eyediot]

I know you did.

[So matter of fact, and has no idea the implications those words have for Martin. But at least this Jon is innocent?]

That's why I had to get up before you.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Yeah, wow Jon. He can nearly hear the capitalisation. But - this Jon is innocent, and the context is cute. It's -

God, he's so pathetic. A simple breakfast shouldn't make his heart warm as much as it does. But this is the language of care for Martin, and this simple gesture says so much to him.

He ducks his head a little, pinking slightly around the edges. ]

Thank you. I'm sorry.

[eyediot]

Nothing to apologize for.

[He sits at the table with his own breakfast now, and a glass of water.]

I'm just... Glad you're here.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Martin slowly begins to eat, then. Savouring each bite. ]

I - I am too, Jon.

[eyediot]

[That does make him feel a smidge better. Especially seeing him eat, he was... worried. He shouldn't be, Martin ate the food the last few days too, but... He worried about this.

He starts eating along with him, seemingly nothing else to say. He's taking a break from the tunnels and keeping an ear out for Basira. He has a tape to listen to when he gets to the office. Today will be a good day.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Indeed, despite his unearthly pallor, Martin seems ... reasonably normal. Not a monster, at least, and with a human appetite.

He eats silently for a moment, that pink never quite leaving his cheeks. ]

Can't remember the last time someone cooked for me.

[eyediot]

...That's a shame. I'll do it more often then.

[Maybe they could alternate what nights and mornings they cook.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ The blush deepens. ]

I-I don't want to impose. I should be helping you if I'm here.

[eyediot]

You're not imposing. I'll take Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.

[curriculum_fictae]

... All right. If you want to do it, then -

[ He looks down at his plate. Still nervous, but filled with some other, unnameable emotion. He shouldn't react this much to something this simple, and yet. ]

Thank you.

[eyediot]

[YOU CAN AND SHOULD REACT MARTIN. He sits with his own plate and starts in.]

Of course. And besides, you are helping.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ He sighs softly. ]

Less than I'd like. I've probably given you all the useful information already.

[eyediot]

It's not... It's not just information, Martin.

[Christ. How does he explain this without sounding absolutely mad and also not... desperate.]

I've... So much of my time in the Institute, I've. Suspected things, and since the Prentiss attack... It's just. It's..good. To know I'm not. Mad.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Martin lifts his head at that. ]

No. No, you're - you're not mad. It's all real, and much more terrible than even you realise.

[ And then back to looking at his glassy, faded fingers. ]

I wish I could do more to save you from it.

[eyediot]

[Jon follows his gaze to Martin's glassy, faded fingers. As domestic and simple as all this is, it doesn't take away from the fact that Martin's been through a hell of a lot and is a man out of time now.]

...You're already doing loads. Thank you, Martin.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Suuure is. With no real way home, even, unless he wants to just die.

He just nods slowly. ]

So - so what's the plan for today?