He smiles softly, because - well it's such a wholesomely Tim thing. It's impossible not to be fond. "God, you should've been the one who survived to road trip with Jon. You would've had it all solved in days."
That gets a faint huff out of Tim. "You saw me when I got here. I would've tried killing him well before we got that far."
And honestly, maybe that would have solved things sooner. Or maybe he would have become an Avatar as well, from being an angry, broken, bitter man who needed something to blame it on and found the fuel for it in one of the Fears.
"I would not have been able to help him the way he needed for that."
The world had ended. Martin still has no idea if it even really worked - he just remembers light, burning, the slick of Jon's blood on his hands and the weight of his limp body in his arms. He wasn't able to help him the way he needed, either.
"You should ask for a wish for yourself, you know," he says, not answering the remark. "A million bucks. Or at least a good fake passport for wherever you end up."
"Where's the fun in having everything handed to you?" he jibes back automatically, tightening his grip on Martin to turn it into a quick hug. "If I don't have ID it just means I get to have some fun with whoever's manning the customs counter."
"Oi." He pinches Martin gently, going for a tickle more than pain. "Don't talk like that about my friend. You're not a loser, you were in hard circumstances that Elias took advantage of."
He huffs quietly. "And I'm not sure I have an identity back home either, if I've been reported deceased already. It's a bit hard to explain being not quite dead after all when you got caught in an explosion."
"I mean... I don't really know how it works." Martin slaps ineffectually at the hand pinching him, but it's clear his heart isn't really into it. "Kind of just figured - you rewrote history somehow. Like I'll get home and no one is gonna remember the apocalypse happening."
"I didn't really specify rewrite," he admits. "I said brought back. I suppose that it'd just bring everyone back on the date I died, I honestly didn't think too hard about the logistics of it."
"Still rewrites it for me. I have- not a single clue what I'm going home to." Martin frowns thoughtfully, grateful to have something else to focus on for even just a moment. "I've never remembered this place when I've been home. I know some people do, but... I haven't. I don't remember time passing without me at home, either, but- god, the first time I came here was maybe six months after Prentiss attacked."
"Have you ever gone home voluntarily?" he asks thoughtfully. "You've only been in comas since I've been here. Maybe making it an active choice matters."
"I've gone home. Not voluntarily." Martin is silent for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts. "I think - I've always been a little afraid it hasn't worked for me. That- that we're from slightly parallel universes or something. I've always been just a little out of sync with Jon, we've never matched up. What if I go back and it's just-"
What if he wakes up in the Panopticon, with their fates unknown? Maybe that would be the best outcome.
"The rules of this place are weird. And with the Admiral's powers fucked..."
He just hums quietly in agreement. Even at the best of times, the Admiral's powers had been somewhat iffy, but now they were cut loose...
"Then we'll come find you. No matter where you are," he says softly, but there's gravity to it. "I'll do it on my own if I have to, but I know Jon will want to too. If you end up somewhere shit, if you don't remember. We'll come and find you, and help you remember, and... go from there."
He gives Martin a tight squeeze. And when he relaxes it, he adds with the same gravitas, "And I'm going to give you a big, sloppy kiss, full of tongue like I always wanted to."
It works, like Martin is sure Tim means for it to: he laughs, surprised and shuddering against Tim's shoulder. "Sure," he says, and actually smiles up at him, as watery as it might be. "But don't you dare bring Jon unless he's got an apology cake."
Martin does shift in to kiss him, though, quite abruptly. There's no romance, no passion there - he is a man utterly, absolutely devoted to Jonathan Sims - but it's a bid for human connection. A thank you, maybe.
"I love you, Tim. I hope that's not- too weird to say. I'm glad you were here. I'm glad you get to be okay."
That laugh is all Tim wanted, just something to assure himself that he's actually making Martin feel better - so the kiss is unexpected, but he's also kissing back into it without hesitation. He know it won't go anywhere, just chaste and warm (and admittedly rather damp), but it's more than he dared hope, and he rests his forehead on Martin's now that he's close enough to do so.
"Love you too, Martin." So no, not weird. "And I'm so glad, that we got any of this extra time together."
Tim has. He usually does, and Martin gives a single sob of something like relief when Tim kisses him back. A hard swallow when their foreheads come to rest together - too close to see clearly, but he's thankful beyond words for the closeness.
He takes a breath, and then, very seriously whispers:
"Don't give Winnie pork. It gives her gas. Like, super badly."
"Dunno. Don't think so. Not unless Jon told him," Martin says, and he lifts his hand to catch the back of Tim's neck to just hold when he hears the way he's choked up. Holds it in a way he hopes desperately is comforting.
He's afraid, he realizes. More than that: he's fucking terrified. What if he goes back and it's game over? End of the world for him and Jon? Worse - what if he goes back and it isn't? What's he supposed to do without an eldritch power to lash himself to for guidance?
The hand on his neck is indeed a warm comfort, but it doesn't keep his grief in. His next breath in shudders quietly, and when he squeezes his eyes shut he can feel the hot sting of tears overflowing.
He doesn't want Martin to leave, because he can't protect him there, and it's terrifying to think that he might go back to just-- nothing. His murdered boyfriend and the world crashing down around him and he has no idea if Jon making deals here will affect that.
He wants to hope, desperately, that they did something right. That they've made things better for Martin, and Sasha and everyone else. But all he can do is hope.
He just squeezes Martin closer, tighter, and tries keep his shoulders from hitching too obviously when a sob breaks in his chest.
Martin can feel it more than he can see it, and it shatters something in him, too. The Barge has never felt quite so much like home as it has in this moment, clinging to hope in the face of uncertainty and feelings of sheer futility.
He raises his other arm to wrap around Tim, leaning hard into him and mumbling clumsy, tearful, placating nonsense.
"You've got so much here," he manages finally. "You've got a future again. Fuck, man, do you know how important that is? How - worth it, god."
It's Tim's turn to bury his face in Martin's shoulder. And he's silent there, even as his shoulders hitch again in short, abrupt bursts, and his grip tightens around Martin's chest, white-knuckled clinging to his shirt between his shoulder blades.
He didn't mean to cry; he certainly didn't want to. He was supposed to be helping Martin pull himself back together and be ready for whatever came next, not breaking on him and forcing Martin to take care of him. But fuck, he's going to miss him.
It takes him a few minutes to take a deep breath, still trembling and ragged from how hard he was trying to keep all of his noise in, and pull himself away enough to meet Martin's eyes, his own red and glistening now and his voice undeniably choked up. "You've got to take care of yourself, alright? If you're fucked up when we come back I'll-- I'll kill you my bloody self."
It's - strange, how Tim being choked up grounds him. Makes him feel better, knowing he's going to be missed. (And, rationally, he knows Jon will miss him, too, but it's that acrid, bitter part of him right now that can only hear that Jon is going to be relieved to see him go, to have the shackles of their relationship loosed from his ankles.)
But Tim isn't obligated to pretend to be sad, and an ugly, selfish part inside of him is grateful. He think a lot of the people who'd once been in his domain, nameless with no one to miss them, and it's a relief to know his name won't be forgotten immediately.
He pulls his hand from Tim's neck to cradle his cheek, hand warm and firm. "Yeah. Alright," he whispers. "But it's okay if you don't. You know that, right? If something happens - if we never see each other again. It's okay. I had you for longer than I was meant to already. Look after yourself first."
He leans into the hand on his cheek automatically, sheer instinct towards the warmth, but he nods as well.
"Yeah." It's not much, but he will. He has been already, and he can keep doing it.
He gives a wet sniff as he pushes himself a bit more upright so he can breathe for a second, but he's still keeping an arm around Martin's back to keep him close.
"When d'you plan on actually leaving, do you think?" So he knows when he can have a cry for himself, and go comfort Jon.
"I, um. I was gonna leave after I finished this letter to you?" Martin's cringing a little with his own words, but he doesn't quite move his hand away from Tim's face. He's not ready to give up the contact yet. "I guess - I was scared of losing the courage to do it."
And, as petty as it is: he doesn't know if he'll be able to resist the urge to crawl into bed beside Jon after a month away.
There's no way Tim would even consider fighting off the contact at this point, not knowing if he'll get the chance for it again. He's not exactly kidding when he says he'll kiss Martin again - he had Jacobi, after all.
But that little gesture, that of course Martin would leave with a letter, makes him smile, and it's less of a laugh than a long, soft huff. "I mean, I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I appreciate it."
Martin, spoiled by three years' worth of affectionate touch, is worried he might never get it again. So as long as Tim allows him to cling close, he will.
"I couldn't figure out how to start it. I'm- glad you found me. Pissed that Jon definitely sent you, but glad you found me."
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corkscrewed) wrote2017-11-05 04:46 pm
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And honestly, maybe that would have solved things sooner. Or maybe he would have become an Avatar as well, from being an angry, broken, bitter man who needed something to blame it on and found the fuel for it in one of the Fears.
"I would not have been able to help him the way he needed for that."
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"You should ask for a wish for yourself, you know," he says, not answering the remark. "A million bucks. Or at least a good fake passport for wherever you end up."
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He huffs quietly. "And I'm not sure I have an identity back home either, if I've been reported deceased already. It's a bit hard to explain being not quite dead after all when you got caught in an explosion."
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What if he wakes up in the Panopticon, with their fates unknown? Maybe that would be the best outcome.
"The rules of this place are weird. And with the Admiral's powers fucked..."
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"Then we'll come find you. No matter where you are," he says softly, but there's gravity to it. "I'll do it on my own if I have to, but I know Jon will want to too. If you end up somewhere shit, if you don't remember. We'll come and find you, and help you remember, and... go from there."
He gives Martin a tight squeeze. And when he relaxes it, he adds with the same gravitas, "And I'm going to give you a big, sloppy kiss, full of tongue like I always wanted to."
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Martin does shift in to kiss him, though, quite abruptly. There's no romance, no passion there - he is a man utterly, absolutely devoted to Jonathan Sims - but it's a bid for human connection. A thank you, maybe.
"I love you, Tim. I hope that's not- too weird to say. I'm glad you were here. I'm glad you get to be okay."
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"Love you too, Martin." So no, not weird. "And I'm so glad, that we got any of this extra time together."
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He takes a breath, and then, very seriously whispers:
"Don't give Winnie pork. It gives her gas. Like, super badly."
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Christ, he really is leaving, isn't he?
"Oh, God, please don't tell me Jacobi knows that too," he moans dramatically. "He'll gas me out of my room every time he gets shitty at me."
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He's afraid, he realizes. More than that: he's fucking terrified. What if he goes back and it's game over? End of the world for him and Jon? Worse - what if he goes back and it isn't? What's he supposed to do without an eldritch power to lash himself to for guidance?
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He doesn't want Martin to leave, because he can't protect him there, and it's terrifying to think that he might go back to just-- nothing. His murdered boyfriend and the world crashing down around him and he has no idea if Jon making deals here will affect that.
He wants to hope, desperately, that they did something right. That they've made things better for Martin, and Sasha and everyone else. But all he can do is hope.
He just squeezes Martin closer, tighter, and tries keep his shoulders from hitching too obviously when a sob breaks in his chest.
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He raises his other arm to wrap around Tim, leaning hard into him and mumbling clumsy, tearful, placating nonsense.
"You've got so much here," he manages finally. "You've got a future again. Fuck, man, do you know how important that is? How - worth it, god."
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He didn't mean to cry; he certainly didn't want to. He was supposed to be helping Martin pull himself back together and be ready for whatever came next, not breaking on him and forcing Martin to take care of him. But fuck, he's going to miss him.
It takes him a few minutes to take a deep breath, still trembling and ragged from how hard he was trying to keep all of his noise in, and pull himself away enough to meet Martin's eyes, his own red and glistening now and his voice undeniably choked up. "You've got to take care of yourself, alright? If you're fucked up when we come back I'll-- I'll kill you my bloody self."
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But Tim isn't obligated to pretend to be sad, and an ugly, selfish part inside of him is grateful. He think a lot of the people who'd once been in his domain, nameless with no one to miss them, and it's a relief to know his name won't be forgotten immediately.
He pulls his hand from Tim's neck to cradle his cheek, hand warm and firm. "Yeah. Alright," he whispers. "But it's okay if you don't. You know that, right? If something happens - if we never see each other again. It's okay. I had you for longer than I was meant to already. Look after yourself first."
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"Yeah." It's not much, but he will. He has been already, and he can keep doing it.
He gives a wet sniff as he pushes himself a bit more upright so he can breathe for a second, but he's still keeping an arm around Martin's back to keep him close.
"When d'you plan on actually leaving, do you think?" So he knows when he can have a cry for himself, and go comfort Jon.
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And, as petty as it is: he doesn't know if he'll be able to resist the urge to crawl into bed beside Jon after a month away.
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But that little gesture, that of course Martin would leave with a letter, makes him smile, and it's less of a laugh than a long, soft huff. "I mean, I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I appreciate it."
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"I couldn't figure out how to start it. I'm- glad you found me. Pissed that Jon definitely sent you, but glad you found me."
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