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."
"Honestly, with how much of a maze this place is right now, I'm kind of glad he gave me directions," he says diplomatically. Yes, Jon sent him, but-- "You're my friend too, you know. And I'd like to think I was before Jon was, even if I got here late."
"You were," Martin says, and then sighs miserably. "Remember that stupid bloody maze we got stuck in when I decided to go looking for Jon in the tunnels? How long has it taken me to figure out I need to stop chasing him."
"If that's the logic we're using, I shouldn't have followed you down there to begin with," he points out wryly. "Thinking something is stupid in retrospect doesn't make it true at the time. It's not like we knew Michael was there. You were trying to help."
He shifts to get Martin's hand off his face, but it still puts him closer in their tangled cuddle. "That's something that's never changed about you. You're still always ready to help, and that's incredible. And you've learned where to stand firm, you know what you're worth now."
He tilts his head slightly, just looking tired at Martin. "And if it makes it easier for now, maybe that just means 'more than what Jon feels like he can offer'."
Martin yields to that, allows his hand to slide off. Seems to sink in the way Tim shifts closer. "It's not even... I don't hate this place, really, you know?" His voice drops. "I hate that I'm- that I'm bad at being a Warden. But I like the people. I like them a lot. Not all of them, obviously, but most of them. Don't know I've ever really felt a sense of- community like this before."
Tim looks tired, and Martin reaches up to sort of stroke his head, to sweep down the back of his neck.
"But don't say that. Jon's... figuring out his own worth more, I think. The way he makes friends here... it was foolish to think I could keep up. I guess I should have seen this coming."
"Well, maybe you could stand to keep improving your own a bit more, too." It's light, a suggestion and not a stab. "Find something better than just 'don't hate it' to settle into. Where you can thrive for being you, not for... something you're trying to keep up with."
That will get Martin to lean back, wrinkling his nose at Tim.
"Okay. Mr. Bloody Idealist, let's not get carried away with ourselves here. But - sure. Best case scenario, I go back to a world where I'm alive and still gainfully employed, I'll go join a book club."
It's Tim's turn to laugh, at the way Martin crinkles his nose at the mere suggestion.
"How d'you think you'd fit 'travelled cross-country through the apocalypse' on a resume, then? Since apparently I'm just a bloody idealist, and- do you hear how weird that sounds too?"
Martin holds up one hand, looking defensive. "Excuse me, Tim, I only put lies on my CVs. And anyway, it sounds like you're saying you don't think I can support myself on poetry income alone."
He still hurts so bad it's physical. His teeth and gums ache with his own stupid grief, over losing Jon, over giving up the Barge. But the laughter in his voice, as faint as it is, is utterly sincere.
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corkscrewed) wrote2017-11-05 04:46 pm
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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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He shifts to get Martin's hand off his face, but it still puts him closer in their tangled cuddle. "That's something that's never changed about you. You're still always ready to help, and that's incredible. And you've learned where to stand firm, you know what you're worth now."
He tilts his head slightly, just looking tired at Martin. "And if it makes it easier for now, maybe that just means 'more than what Jon feels like he can offer'."
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Tim looks tired, and Martin reaches up to sort of stroke his head, to sweep down the back of his neck.
"But don't say that. Jon's... figuring out his own worth more, I think. The way he makes friends here... it was foolish to think I could keep up. I guess I should have seen this coming."
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"Okay. Mr. Bloody Idealist, let's not get carried away with ourselves here. But - sure. Best case scenario, I go back to a world where I'm alive and still gainfully employed, I'll go join a book club."
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"How d'you think you'd fit 'travelled cross-country through the apocalypse' on a resume, then? Since apparently I'm just a bloody idealist, and- do you hear how weird that sounds too?"
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He still hurts so bad it's physical. His teeth and gums ache with his own stupid grief, over losing Jon, over giving up the Barge. But the laughter in his voice, as faint as it is, is utterly sincere.