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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[That sure is Jon ghosting around details again, isn't it?

God. He can guess what 'more to the point' was like.

No, no he actually doesn't need to hear it. Now.

In a few weeks, when things are better. He'll pin Jon's ass hard on his promise and get all of the horrid details. For now, a bit of mercy might go a long way.]

All right.

...

How badly do you want to make this work?

[He's expecting to get pinned harder for the details. He's already mentally padded himself for it, trying to go back over it again what exactly he said.]

I said, that I know it's strange, th-the situation, but I feel the same about hi--

[Oh. Tim. Literally didn't ask. Shit. He looks like a deer in headlights for just a brief second before he schools it back, looking just. Aimlessly at the coffee table. Somewhere in his mind's eye, he just envisions that weird table with the patterns... Wondering what happened to it.]

...I don't know. At this point, I'd... Just take Martin speaking to me again.

[He didn't push but he sure did get it. He ALMOST doesn't hear Jon's actual answer over the sound of processing exactly how that would feed into a Martin already deeply insecure and destructive.]

Well. Good news, that's probably going to happen regardless, because I don't think they know a healthy relationship if they tripped over one.

[Everything just. Sort of stops. Jon is deathly quiet watching Tim. An insult, to be sure, and one he's already been well acquainted with for most of his adult life. But he really thought he was trying to do better, be better. He can hear the quiet ticking of a clock nearby, counting the seconds of his own breathing.

The muscles of his jaw work for a moment. Then Jon starts carefully closing up the takeout box he was eating out of.]

Right. So, tunnels. The. The supply of Gertrude's. Go from there.

[Maybe when this is over, Tim can survive and go back to publishing. Martin can find something better. And no one will have to deal with his emotionally stunted problems afterward.]

[It's odd in a way, how Tim can be absolutely sure he's in the right about it, and watch the reaction and still have the pit of his stomach drop out, and his face flush bright with heat.

There's a moment, frozen, that he just... watches Jon pack up, with a quiet, folded in sort of devastation.

He shakes his head, pulling up enough indignation to push through.]

God dammit, Jon. Don't you dare.

[There's a soft thunk as he closes the styrofoam lid in place. Jon doesn't look at him, keeping one hand gently on the lid.

But his voice is quiet and measured:] I told you before. I'm not worth him. I'm not worth his kindness. I knew when I talked to you about it. I knew I wasn't worth it when I spoke to them both. And I knew it was my fault as I watched him disappear before I could even take his hand. I had... plenty of time to think about it alone in the hospital. [The whole night. The whole night he stayed awake thinking about it, rolling it around in his mind and he knows, without any shadow of a doubt, that it's his fault.] I don't need to be reminded.

[Maybe if Tim doesn't look too close, he won't notice exactly why his eyes are blinking so fast. But his voice can't hide how thick it sounds the more he talks.]

It's already too late to say I don't want him hurt. I did that, and I can't take it back, Tim. And I'd be selfish, and it would be unfair, to ask for anything more than him to just... be where he's even willing to speak to me again. I ...can't ask him for more than that.

[Oh.

Each word is precise and falls like glass. The simmering anger he had a hold on slips out of his grasp as he just. Listens. Watches the walls damming up Jonathan Sims crack and a flow of the wretched place he's in tumble out.

God it hurts to listen to, but he does. Each and every word, shifting through them, and the odd pang of strange, almost jealous twist some of it gives. That. That goes aside for a moment.]

...

I think...

I think the worst part of relationships is that we don't get to decide what we are to other people. It should line up, though, yeah? But no, it doesn't actually matter how shit you feel about yourself. Martin sees you, for all of your flaws, and decided you're worth it. HAS for at the last year and, probably more. You don't actually get a say.

[His voice remains quiet, a simple intensity to it.]

All you get to decide is what he is to you. Whatever that is? God, whatever that is, beg him for it. Take your damn pride and set it on fire, and make a gift of the ashes.

Because he has no measure of his own worth either.

[The thing that held Jonathan Sims together broke that night in the hospital. Tim didn't visit, Algric had left him alone to be with Martin, and Martin... Well, he ruined that. He'd been quiet in that ward, but he broke alone there. And then carefully put himself back together.

There are so, so many bigger things around him, around all of them, that he can't allow himself to be broken. But there are still so many cracks and it feels like everything is pressing down on them, trying to crack it further. Like a broken vase threatening to break irreparably if it falls again. The idea that - that office romance is what breaks him feels absurd in the shadow of monstrous fear entities and their murderous boss and actual, literal monsters. There's no reason that something so fucking human and base should be what gets to him. But it is. And he can't help it.

Jon chances a look up at Tim, eyes shining and wet before he blinks rapidly, then takes his glasses off to rub at the corners of his eyes. He's right on the verge.]

Then. [God, he can barely get the words out with how thick his throat feels trying to keep it together.] Th-then I suppose I have thinking to do. So I can figure that out.

Yeah. [He breathes the word.

There was so much he could say. So much he should say, but it all gets clogged up by that look on Jon's face. God, under all of that stiff upper lip was a maelstrom of 'gives every damn' and if he had half the sense he'd-

No, no, that exactly what he's saying. Tim's just been shit at hearing it.

Then, hesitantly,] You know you aren't- don't have to be alone in that.

[Jon draws in a slow breath, and lets it out carefully but can't even hide the shudder it comes with. He's trying to bring himself down (because Tim has the right of it, his damned pride). Too much too fast and he's trying to put at least half the emotional dam back up because this isn't really the place to be a mess. (But then if not here, then where.)

To his credit, his voice only sounds a little broken.] Thank you, Tim.

[There's a moment of unconscious reach towards Jon's hand again and- he catches himself, remembering Jon's reactions earlier, and withdraws.]

God. ... Good luck though. Seriously. Like... all of you deserve to be happy. I'm pretty sure you can make it work. I wouldn't be putting all this in if I didn't think so.

[Jon sees it and - hey no. He breaches that divide and reaches for Tim's hand in turn.]

I... do hope you're not counting yourself out of that. Because you deserve that too.

[There's a moment of surprise at that. He shifts his hand just a little to wrap around Jon's, a small, warm smile.]

Man, I like to think so. Someday, maybe.

[Jon sort of has an inkling about Tim and Sasha. It's not really his business, never was, but he still sort of knew. He uses his free hand to turn his chair to properly face Tim.]

I know so. You'll survive this. Retake the publishing industry by storm, find the person of your dreams and sweep them off their feet with your rapier sharp wit and carefully practiced impressions and... Be happy.

[....

And for a second, he can kinda see it. What the Martins must be seeing and.

Dammit. This kind idiot.]

Not aiming small, huh. Why not? Full sweep, add a 'signs a best selling author' to it. Fuck all of the fears, we'll be happy in spite of them.

....

Though I now have on record you appreciate my impressions.

[Yeah, sorry, Tim. There is a truly kind, empathetic person underneath the emotional wall.]

Wow and look at that, you're signing movie rights too.

And you can't prove that.

Shit, I'm now done with the line work. Time to dedicate solely to niche projects.

But we can't leave it there. Where does Jon end up after he emerges from the Diggly and Blackwood cloud of fussing?

[DON'T THINK WE'RE NOT COMING BACK TO THE IMPRESSION CONFESSION.]

...Don't know. I... Never gave it much thought, really.

[There's a squeeze of Jon's hand there.]

I mean, you'll have the rest of your life to work it out. Who knows, nice cushy government job? Teaching? Wait, comprehensive treatise on the paranormal and why no one should mess with any of them anymore.

[Jon huffs out half a laugh at that.]

Yes, I'll just give it in my official Ted Talk.

[Teaching though.......Hm. Maybe only college. The thought of teaching anyone under the legal drinking age is an exhausting thought.]

I will get that talk on as many media as possible. There will be no way to destroy the all evidence.

If it's to warn people to stay away from this kind of mess, by all means. Show it in every university, it should be known.

[He's. Still holding onto Tim's hand, but the smile does go a bit more reflective.]

Do you regret it, Tim? That I asked you to... Come see if you could see Algric?

No.

[It's so immediate it's nearly out before he'd had even much time to examine it. Though it didn't take much consideration to settle a bit further. Even with twisted memories, lack of sleep and that ever present throb below the stitches... ]

No... Good lord. But since Prentiss, god, all I've wanted was someone I could bloody talk to about all of this.

I'm... whatever this is going to be- [He shakes his head.] It's better like this, yeah?

[Jon watches him, then smiles a little lopsided and squeezes his hand.]

...I think I needed that too. S-someone to. Talk to about all this.

I mean, it's not good. All of this is bad, but. Better to. Be in it together, I think.

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