[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]

[ Not just Martin either. A curiously pale Martin, all the colour leeched out of his clothes and hair and skin. His copper curls are more of a limp roan, and the pink warmth to his skintone is blotchy and grey instead. Something is wrong, that's for sure.

He stumbles to a halt in front of Jon - and stares. The worm scars are still there, sure, but where's all the grey in his hair? The burn mark on his hand? The gash on his throat? What - how - ]

Jon? I-is that you?

[ It can't be. But it is? And Martin's first instinct is to feel a rush of desperate, terrified relief. ]

[eyediot]

[All the details, all the changes are secondary to everything else that just happened. He still doesn't know who he can even trust - Michael had just told him Martin was lying to him.

Jon keeps one hand with a cloth pressed against his wound, the other sort of hesitating reaching out.]

Yes, of course it's me. Did-- Martin, you just came through that door, did you see Helen? She just left here.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Oh god. Oh god. What is going on here? Does he dare reach out to Jon in turn? He wants to hug this strange man so desperately, and yet --

God. What a mess. Answer the question first, he supposes. ]

N-no, I - I didn't see Helen at all in there.

[ And then-- ]

A-are you hurt? Jon, what happened to you?

[eyediot]

I-Yes, I'm, I'm fine. [He's not. Damn, that means Michael still has Helen.] I just, it's nothing.

Why were you in the closet?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ That - okay, that's a valid question, but Martin still sputters for a moment. ]

You - you can't ask people why they were in the closet, Jon, it's rude.

[eyediot]

I was- I wasn't.

[Just!! The most educated, proper sputter as he processes that comment. Fine! If Martin doesn't want to answer him, then fine. It just lends to his theory of them all lying to him anyway! He huffs a bit and turns to find the first aid kit he had brought in after the Prentiss attack.]

At least make yourself useful and help with this.

[curriculum_fictae]

R-right. Okay. Right. I can ... I can do that.

[ He doesn't know what's going on, still, but - but Jon is solid in front of him, and also bleeding, so he decides to focus on that, at least. For now. For a moment, anyway.

He gently moves to take it from Jon, unspooling a line of gauze. ]

How'd you get stabbed like this?

[eyediot]

It doesn't matter.

[While he's annoyed, he's not quite in the worst frustration to turn it back on Martin or deny the help. He moves to unbutton his shirt so the wound can be cleaned and bandaged better.]

Just... Some problem with recording the statement. That's all.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Despite everything that's going on, Martin can't hide a small blush at the sight of Jon unbuttoning his shirt. God, Martin. Not important right now.

Gently, he gets the antiseptic and starts sponging at the bloody wound. ]

Did - did the tape stab you back?

[eyediot]

Not anymore than the closet kicked you ou--ow.

[Yeah the antiseptic stings like the dickens. Damn Michael.]

..Just something else to add to the pile. [Maybe one day these stupid worm scars will heal properly.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Sorry, Jon, but it's better than an infection. He at least moves on to bandaging soon enough. ]

You - you actually seem to be doing pretty well. Fewer scars than I remember, anyway.

[eyediot]

I know.

[Wait.]

Fewer...? Martin, you saw me two hours ago. The scars are all the same, in fact I may have a new one added by the time this heals. What are you talking about?

[curriculum_fictae]

I --

[ What is he talking about? That doesn't make any sense, right? His head must be muddled. He's hallucinating or - or something. ]

I'm sorry. I've had ... had a bad day. Don't listen to me, all right?

[eyediot]

[Martin is acting too weird, even for... well, Martin.

Jon reaches over with his good arm to turn the tape recorder off, then... hesitates. He still wants to record all the conversations until he finds out for certain who killed Gertrude. He can't bring himself to turn it off. So instead, he moves just an inch the other way to get his coffee mug.]

So've I, by the look of things. [He gestures to his newly bandaged wound.]

But fine. You don't want to tell me why you were eavesdropping in the closet and you don't want to explain why you're acting weird now. I get it.

[Did you miss Overly Paranoid And Nasty Jon?]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ He ... he really did not? He isn't sure what's prompting this?? What - how - it's not as though he and Jon were on the best of terms, but he thought they were at least better than this.

His expression hardens just a little with exhaustion and frustration. Chilled by the Lonely. ]

I wasn't eavesdropping in there, Jon.

[eyediot]

It's the only explanation I have for you hiding in there until I finished recording Helen's statement since you won't tell me why you were in there.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Ordinarily, Martin would have collapsed under the weight of Jon's anger. Mumbled a flurry of apologies, maybe offered to make tea. But - no, this time he straightened a bit, tired and frustrated. ]

I - I wasn't hiding. Jon. I just came out of the Distortion's corridors, all right?

[eyediot]

[He's used to Martin crumbling a bit. Stumbling over himself to apologize, maybe offer to make tea. But no, this time Martin straightened up. He seems more tired and frustrated than usual.

Jon blinks a bit at the affront.]

...Th...The Distortion? [Michael was connected to the Distortion, if not the Distortion himself. He's still reeling from that whole conversation, and now this. But he knows for certain he hadn't mentioned it around any of the rest of the staff.]

How do you know about that?

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Pretty suspicious, right? Where had he heard it? But Martin just makes a baffled look at that. ]

You told me, Jon. And - and Helen herself, of course.

[eyediot]

You just said you hadn't seen Helen leave.

[Hell, Helen didn't even know the term 'the Distortion', just that she was lost in corridors and met a figure named Michael.]

I haven't told you anything. I've been pointedly not telling anyone anything.

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Martin just stares for a moment. None of those words make any sense coming out of Jon's mouth. ]

No, I didn't see her leave? I didn't see her at all. And - and okay, you're not very communicative, but I know most things now, thanks.

[eyediot]

[Everything Martin's saying, every word that comes out of his mouth is only feeding his paranoia. He stares at Martin seriously, can almost feel like he's on the verge of finding some great truth, but ... Somehow, he knows if he tries to ascertain it, he'll fall to some depth he can never climb out of.]

I... Martin. [Deep breath. He settles in his seat, finally finally buttoning his shirt back up. Some semblance of being put-together.]

You're not making any sense.

[curriculum_fictae]

Well - w-well neither are you!

[ But one of them just got stabbed, so-- ]

Sit down, Jon. Let me make us some tea.

[ Let him calm himself down too. ]

[eyediot]

[Whatever is going on here isn't going to be solved through anger or yelling. He lowers his head, his slowly growing hair falling in his eyes and he sighs.]

Fine. Of course.

[Of course. Tea.]

[curriculum_fictae]

[ Even his hair is less grey, Martin thinks. It - what on earth is going on here? ]

Right. Let's just ... go to the break room.

[ He'll go first and put the kettle on. ]