#elf-grunge

It’s too late. Martin knows this - he failed, oh god he failed there’s no going back everything’s lost they lost he’s gone - still. Words are all he has left now, and all he wants to say has been there all along. 

It’s almost funny, that. His job is all to do with words, but he could never muster up the courage to say three simple fucking words. 

But as the tall, boney figure he knows so well walks away, what choice does he have?

“Jon! Listen to me, please. I - I love you!” he shouts, despite knowing (Knowing?) that the chance of Jon hearing him is little - there is so much for him to See now, what use does he have for other senses? 

Martin turns away. He can’t stand Elias’ smirking face, Basira standing solemnly behind him, holding an ornate brass crown, all-together too much like a wreath of thorns for Martin’s stomach not to turn at the sight. Knowledge does cause pain, he supposes. 

Of course “The Watcher’s Crown” would be a literal crown. Why not? 

So Martin walks away. Who knows what will happen to him now? He could go back to the Lonely, if such a thing can still exist - can you be lonely in omniscience? He could find a little pocket of reality somewhere, carve out a little existence for himself. 

No friends anymore. Daisy’s dead, no-one’s seen Georgie or Melanie recently, God - Eye? - knows what happens now to Basira and J - the Archivist. 

He’s almost out of the room - the British Museum, because of course - when he thinks he hears a familiar voice. Just a whisper on the wind through the broken windows. He can’t make it out what he’s - it’s - saying, so he writes it off. Walks out of the room, out of reality, without a backwards glance. Exit Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant.

If only he had looked. 

In some alternate reality, Martin Blackwood looks back at the door. He would realise Jon had turned around, he had heard him. He had started walking to the door, started running. Martin would have seen Elias’ smile fall, seen Basira jerk as the Eye’s control lessens. Love is reliant on trust, not all-knowing, after all. 

He would have seen Jon stop, and whisper “I love you, too.” Then again, an awed look on his face - “I love you, Martin.”

In some other timeline, Martin looked back. In some other timeline, the Watcher’s Crown is averted, the world returns to normal - well, normal as it can be. In some other timeline, Jon and Martin get their happily ever after, even when so many don’t. 

But not here. Not now. Martin Blackwood walks away, refusing to shed tears anymore, and Jonathan Sims returns to the crown. 

“Why…” The answer was probably Gerard’s luck honesty. It had been… a very bad year. Not that he disliked Martin, but…

Well, whatever this was it was going to complicate his already complicated life, he could feel it.

Martin was trying very hard to smile, but there was a watery look to him. Brittle. He opened his mouth to speak, but inhaled suddenly, as if realizing he couldn’t bring himself to start the sentence.

Gerard frowned. “Martin?”

“I–” Martin’s voice cracked. “Could I maybe stay with you for a little while? I… I don’t have anywhere to…” He crumpled and quickly wiped tears from his eyes.

Oh shit.

Gerard looked wildly around. He couldn’t bring him upstairs. He couldn’t slam the door and say no, which was tempting only because if Martin thought he would find safe shelter here, he was very much mistaken.

“I…” Gerard said slowly. “You… you know about the…” He gestured. Surely his Aunt had told him. Not that she had kept in touch for more than the occasional Christmas card, especially in the last few years, but she had been pretty clear about him staying the fuck away from her. She rung him up the night he got out of prison.

Martin nodded miserable and hesitant. “I don’t–they wouldn’t have let you go if you had done it.” He offered weakly.

Gerard shrugged. Honestly they would have jailed him. He knew he didn’t do it and knew there wasn’t much of a chance of convincing anyone otherwise unless he wanted to show them his mother’s ghost. Martin’s uncertainty did hurt a little though.

“You must be desperate then…” Gerard sighed. He still had Martin on the doorway. He quickly glanced around. No one seemed to be watching, but that didn’t mean someone with a camera wasn’t around the corner. He relented and pulled back.

“Close the door behind you and lock it,” He told Martin.

“Y-Yes of course, thank you Gerard.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we need to talk about this.” Gerard led him up the stairs. He felt the usual claustrophobia of all the books stacked around him. He lead Martin to his room. It was the only place free of clutter and the stench of paper and the crawl of silverfish. He sat on his chair at his desk and Martin sat on his bed. Martin looked amazed in the way someone is amazed by a house fire. There was no way he could let him live here even if his mother wasn’t literally haunting him.

“So.” Gerard said. No use beating around the bush. “What happened? Why are you here?”

Martin bowed his head. He played with the hem of his shirt. “Do I… do I have to say, Gerard? I… Mum kicked me out and I … there’s no one else…”

“She kicked you out?” Gerard asked. His Aunt had never struck him as a warm woman. He had only spent a long length of time with her once, a summer vacation in Bournesmouth. She didn’t seem to be a particularly tolerant woman, but Martin did his best to be obedient. Only a kid but he was well behaved… maybe… maybe too well behaved…

Martin was nodding still playing with his hem, not meeting Gerard’s eyes.

Gerard almost asked what he did, but caught himself. He doubted it had anything to do with what Martin had done and more to do with the fact that she was a terrible woman.

Must run in the esteemed Von Closen line.

“What happened,” he asked instead. “I won’t hold any of it against you.”

“I… you can’t know that you won’t.”

“Martin I was suspected of murdering my own mother,” Gerard said bluntly. Maybe to shock Martin out of it. “There’s not a whole lot worse than that.”

“You didn’t do it though.” Martin said, more certain this time.

Gerard sighed. “Right, but I’ve had a lot of people hold things against me, so I’m not inclined to do that… especially not to family.” Not that family inspired anything in him really, Martin was probably the only exception.

“I’m … I…” Martin took a deep breath. “I’m gay.”

“Right.” Gerard couldn’t be less surprised by the revelation considering he facilitated Martin getting to spend time with his first summer crush. He felt a weird sort of emptiness though. Mary Keay wasn’t a good mother, but he had a cold comfort certainty she would never abandon him.

There was a long pause. Gerard shrugged.

“I… already knew,” He said thinking it might put Martin more at ease. Martin looked terrified.

“You can tell?” He squeaked.

“Oh–no. I mean… you and your friend that you played with that summer. Jack? Josh? You were obviously smitten.”

Martin’s cheeks heated. “Oh…” He said softly. “I… I never thought of it like that… but… yeah…” He looked down. “I guess it’s weird to want to marry a boy you just met.”

“It’s not weird,” Gerard said. He felt tired all of the sudden. He can only imagine what Martin’s Mother said to him before throwing him out of the house. “It’s just… love.” he shrugged. He didn’t really have any sort of experience with that sort of thing, but he knew it was stupid for people to get offended over it.

Martin still had an ashamed look on his face.

Gerard wasn’t sure how to comfort him. He had embraced a very alternative lifestyle at the age of eleven. Was used to sneers and jeers and assumptions about his personal life. Had the shit kicked out of him a few times for it. He had never slept with anyone to make either side of the argument true, but he considered beautiful people beautiful, and the idea of masculinity incomplete and shortsighted. Gay probably wasn’t quite what he was, but he was certainly queer. It had just… it hadn’t mattered. It wasn’t a worry, it was just… part of him. Like liking oranges and getting sunburned easily.

But for Martin this was probably the most afraid he had been in his life.

“You’re fine,” Gerard said. “Hey.”

Martin looked up.

“You’re fine,” He repeated.

Tears spilled down Martin’s face.

“Th–Thank you. Gerard.”

Gerard got up and sat beside him on the bed. He squeezed his shoulder awkwardly. Martin instantly pressed in quietly shaking on his shoulder. He gave his back a few pats, but let him cry it out. It was uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, but the kid needed it, and Gerard was emotionally distant for his own sake, but he wasn’t emotionally dead.

His crying subsided eventually.

“Why don’t you rest in here for a bit, I’ll get us some food. That alright?”

Martin nodded. “Y-yes. You really don’t mind me staying?”

Gerard knew he should kick him out. Give him to child services and let the government sort him out because keeping him here was a bad idea.

Maybe he was lonely… or maybe it was because he wanted to believe family did matter in the good ways. Maybe it was just Martin’s lost look. Whatever it was he nodded.

“Long as you like,” He told him.

Gerard left the room and headed upstairs to his mother’s old office. He dug around and found a plain brown box, packing tape, and a sharpy, as well as enough stampage. He stared at the book he had avoided touching knowing she might pop out at any moment.

“Right.” He inhaled slowly. Slipped the book into the box and wrapped it. Carefully wrote out the address of the Magnus Institute.

If anyone could hold her it was them.

He went out and threw the book in the post, then grabbed some curry and headed back. He opened the door and stepped on the junkmail. There was a letter among it all in familiar and precise handwriting. He dipped and picked it up, slipping it in his pocket. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Martin said. His voice sounded a lot stronger.

“So, it’s actually good timing if you don’t mind the work,” Gerard said as if Martin was just here to visit him. “I need to pack up and sell this place.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yeah,” Gerard nodded. There was a strange lift inside him saying it out loud. “I mean… we are…”

Martin nodded eagerly. “Right. I can help!”

“We don’t have to start right now, eat your curry.”

“In here?”

“The place is a disaster,” Gerard said. “I’m almost tempted to burn it all and save some time.”

Martin laughed. The first time he heard since he got here. Small and a bit timid, but there all the same.

-

He gave Martin his bedroom and made do on an old couch in a room Gerard couldn’t have put a name to. It was full of books like the rest. So more of the store. He remembered the letter and pulled it out. Neatly written in Jon’s handwriting:

Dear Gerry,

You haven’t written back since my last letter and I’ve lost patience with you which is why I’m writing now. If you’re trying to protect me, or think that I might think the worst of you for what I’ve read in the papers you’ll find yourself very much mistaken. All you’re doing is being stubborn and thickheaded.

I know that you didn’t kill your mother, and if you did, you probably had a good reason for it and she probably wouldn’t have been considered anyone’s mother anymore, so you need to write me back, or I’ll break the promise we made and come straight to this address and make you talk to me.

Gerry snorted at that. He’d like to see Jon try. He hadn’t seen the weedy boy in years, but he had the feeling he hadn’t grown all that much.

So. Write back to me. You said you would. I know whatever happened you did what you had to. And I’m sorry for your loss. I hope you’re okay.

Sincerely,

Jonathan Sims, Bournemouth  

P. S. I think I’m right about the docks.

Gerard scowled at the post script. That little… he sighed. Two thirteen year old boys he had no business looking after. He shook his head.

The ending was nice. Through all of his bluster Jon was worried about him, but if he thought Gerard wouldn’t go down to Bornemouth and kick his arse for going anywhere near the docks after he had explicitly told him not to…

He got up and grabbed a pen and paper.

Jon,

Do. Not. Go. To. The. Docks.

I’ll look into it.

-Gerard

P.S. I’m fine.