[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

[kayakking]

You know what I hate? Right now. Specifically at this moment.

That I'm sitting here actually debating the ethics of dialing 999 with a monster about.

[eyediot]

[Sigh.] It's not my favorite moment, I agree there.

I haven't heard it for a bit now.... Maybe it's gone.

[He definitely thinks it's gone. Like, permanently. He just can't really put his finger on whY GOD IT'S HAPPENED AGAIN DAMN IT, EYE, STOP SLOWLY TURNING HIM INTO A MONSTER.]

[kayakking]

[Tim, having no such occult Game Shark going on, looks far more dubious.]

... I can carry you, if you want to risk it. But I'm going to call not calling for an ambulance until off property.

[eyediot]

[As much as he despises the idea of being carried, the reality that it'll take them longer to get out if he tries to walk is worse.]

Agreed.

[kayakking]

Okay. So, we're doing this.

[Hang on, he needs a moment. Just a second to pull himself together. It's that same feeling getting ready to push open the trap door.]

[eyediot]

I suppose so.

[While Tim does that, Jon... comes to terms with the fact he's had to give up his shirt and shoes for this little adventure. Ugh, he feels... almost naked like this. And going outside like this is worse.

He shifts forward, feeling stiff and pained but at least able to move. It'll be a hard fall when all the adrenaline finally does wear itself out.]

Whenever you're ready.

[kayakking]

[It's not graceful and certainly no where even in the same country as painless for either of them. The recording picks up rough breathing, the creak of the slashed and burned stairs.]

All right. All right.

[It's muttered and distant. A moment later, the creak of the door is followed by the wail of the fire alarm rising suddenly in pitch as the alarm in the upstairs hallway filters through.]

What the hell is that?!

[CLICK]

[eyediot]

[CLICK


There's a distant sound of rhythmic ticking. A clock somewhere in the room. IT's otherwise quiet in the emergency ward. Some footsteps outside in the hall go by as a nurse goes to check on someone else. There is, of course, a heart monitor beeping in a different time than the clock.

"It's just a day or so for observation"

"This many attacks at the Institute in a few short months is a bit alarming."

"That must have been some wild dog that caused injuries this severe."

It's the middle of the night. Jon's been drifting in and out. For the moment he's awake. Staring whatever direction his neck is comfortable doing. Lucky, they told him. Lucky it didn't get his achilles tendon or go too deeply into his back to hit his spine.

Some luck.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ As Jon stares into the darkness of the room, he ... sees someone. A monster? A ghost? Visiting hours are long over, and it's clearly not a nurse or a doctor. It ... seems to have a casserole dish in hand? Jon's casserole dish, actually, carefully wrapped up in one of his dishcloths, though it's unlikely to be warm any more. He has a couple of Jon's favourite books tucked under one arm as well.

No. Not a monster. Just Algric, watching Jon rest with hollow, worried eyes. Just looking at Jon's bandages is enough to send a fresh jolt of fear and guilt through him. (It brings back the memory of a different hospital room, with a rather different Jon unconscious on the bed.)

He shifts, a little, sensing Jon's gaze despite the dim light. ]

J - Jon?

[eyediot]

[Martin?

No. If it were Martin, he'd be fussier.

He looks toward the sound of the voice and definitely sees someone there. Maybe the painkillers, maybe the exhaustion, maybe just the fact the man is... the Lonely now.]

Algric?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ It's true. This version of Martin has that bone-deep exhaustion that Jon has come to expect from him. He seems a little more wavery than usual, but not as bad as he'd gotten when Tim had accused him of being a monster.

Algric stands, carefully placing the dish and the books down on the chair he'd been sitting in. ]

Yeah, it's. It's me. How are you feeling...?

[eyediot]

[While normally, under different circumstances, he'd be relieved for the confirmation. But now he isn't even sure he can trust his own memory.

-aw dragging on the floor. Just a regular day watching that leg drag awkwardly-

Something pinches between his brows and he takes a sharp inhale.]

Like.... Honestly, a bit like I fell under a tanker.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ That gets a weak laugh from Algric. He hovers closer, then, considering whether to reach out for Jon's hand. ]

You, ah. You look it too, I'm afraid.

[eyediot]

I'm sure I do. Between the worms and now this...

[Jon's not a vain man or thinks he's the best catch. Hell, before now he barely cared about his looks. But he's acquiring a few too many scars for his liking.]

...What time is it?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Sorry about your life, Jon. Algric's expression goes rather harrow with worry again; he still doesn't know what's happened. Not really. ]

Ah, around one AM, I think?

[eyediot]

...And I take it no one stopped you coming in.

[Why would they if they can't see him? There's... something akin to relief in his expression at that.]

Thank you. Being here, I mean.

[curriculum_fictae]

Course not. Might have scared one of the night nurses, though. Reckon she thinks she saw a ghost.

[ Another of those small laughs. ]

Just - just like old times, really. I should have realised right away when you didn't come home for dinner.

[secreteary]

[when Tim had sent him the text, Martin had panicked so badly that he dropped two mugs of tea from shaking hands, almost tore out a tuft of hair, sweater on backwards, and nearly ran out of his flat with no shoes on.

(not that Peter's earlier visit had anything to do with that, either. of course not.)

he'll visit Tim later. he'll make sure Tim is safe...later. sorry, Tim. love does funny things to the mind, especially when it's already kind of fucky from multiple dunks into The Lonely. after those horrifying moments in his own personal hell, there's one person who company he wants more than anyone else's...even if he'll nothing more than company. he expects no comfort, for multiple reasons. being in Jon's presence will have to be enough.

that in mind, it's still hard to not run through hospital hallways, getting yelled at as he heads from Jon's room, almost panting as he opens the door a little more loudly and forcefully than necessary. that's when he remembers where he is and what kind of behavior is expected, but more from Jon's needs than common courtesy. Martin tugs at the collar of his sweater - still not realizing that he's wearing it backwards - and moves quietly to the occupied bed.]

...Jon?

[eyediot]

[The sound of the door jerks him out of his sleep. And then the voice - there's. Honestly relief there. Elias has already come and gone, leaving a bit of paranoia and anxiety in his wake.

But it's Martin. Not that tired, resigned Algric!Martin, but the fussy, high energy Martin he works with now. Jon smiles at that.]

Martin... Tim called?

[secreteary]

He...did, yeah.

[Martin hesitates, remembering the conversation. it clearly did not leave good feeling in its wake, in a way unrelated to the actual point of the call.

not important. he smiles, uncertain.]

How are you feeling? Are they taking care of you alright? Do you need anything?

[eyediot]

They're taking care of me. No worries, said I should be discharged in a day or so.

[He says it in... probably the calmest tone he's ever had with Martin. Remembering Tim talking about how Martin had fussed over Jon's entire office before for accessibility and all just... Did something.]

How's Tim? I haven't heard anything from him yet.

[secreteary]

Oh, er--

[there is no way no how that Martin is now avoiding Jon's eyes, looking very embarrassed and guilty.]

I, ah, d-dunno. I haven't...seen him yet. Came straight here. [he's a little pink, now staring at the floor and his fidgeting hands in his lap.]

I mean, Tim was clearly fine enough to call, so I thought...

[regardless. he waves that away and smiles awkwardly at Jon.]

I'm glad you'll be out so soon. Shame about your physical therapy, though.

[eyediot]

[Man now Jon can't not see it. Jon watches him and really, really wishes he knew what to do. That whole night drinking with Tim did not help him get any guidance at all.]

I suppose he was... [Sigh.] Yes, I... think that'll have to be extended a bit.

[secreteary]

[there's sudden chewing of his lips and squirming in his seat.]

Is there...anything I can do? I know it's only a couple of days, but I could grab you books or something? Bring you something to eat better than hospital food?

[eyediot]

Martin.. Thank you. But you don't have to go as far as that.

[He reaches for his glasses and-- Oh. Martin's hands are... His brows knot a bit in concern and his voice is torn between worry and a sternness. Something happened to his friend and assistant.]

What happened.