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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website
Chapter 110: April 2018
Martin was usually up before Jon in the mornings. Heād been assuming that it was the Archives themselves waking him up, or maybe just an internal clock telling him he had to get things ready before his people came in, but theyād spent the night at hisātheirāflat, and here he was, up before the dawn and presiding over the stove as he made breakfast for his boyfriend. Nothing fancy, just a simple, basic spread, but since he wasnāt in the Archives, he needed something else to do with his hands while he cataloged, and he wasnāt the type to linger in the shower.
It was one part reassurance, one part prediction, like walking the rows of shelves and looking for files out of place. Martin knew every dream by now, knew the shape of the fear, knew the course each one took, knew the exact likelihood of his being spotted in them, knew what the door to the room of each dream looked like and where in the room he was likely to find the next one. But they didnāt always appear in the same order, and he used this early morning time to himself to sort out what dreams heād seen when and what that meant.
It didnāt have to mean anything, and he knew that, but if Gerryās flashbacks could telegraph what was likely on its wayāwhat was likely to be the death of them, Martin had realized after the last oneāwhy couldnāt Martinās be leading him to a truth? The Eye wasnāt one for predicting the future, but it could See the present, which was infinitely harder, if you asked him. Easy to make guesses at what might be coming, harder to see what was right under your nose. All he had to do was put the pieces togetherā¦right?
The dreams were only of the live statements. At first it had only been the live statements Martin himself had been present for, but now every tape of a live statement heād listened to had a corresponding door. Well, almost. Heād listened to three live statements Gertrude had recorded, and only one had made it into his dreamsāthe woman whoād been present when Gertrude disrupted the Fleshās ritual, apparently. He didnāt dream about the man whoād encountered the ancient Archivist beneath the streets of Alexandria, nor, thankfully, did he dream about Mary Keay. Melanie had also never turned up, but the reason for that wasnāt hard to figure out; he hadnāt started having the dreams until heād been kidnapped by Breekon and Hopeāuntil heād begun taking Jonās placeāand both of them had been employed by the Institute by then. The crew of the Archives were exempt from the nightly voyeurism, presumably because the Ceaseless Watcher could see them any time it wanted.
The other twoā¦well, he was fairly certain the reason that he never saw them was because they were no longer in a fit state to dream.
Heād learned the rules of the dreamscape, too. He would find himself standing in front of a closed door. If it was a familiar door, it was almost always the one that led to a cemetery full of fog and empty graves, and all he had to do was touch the knob for it to swing open with a dread creak. If it was unfamiliar, though, he knew to reach for the ring of keys clipped to his belt to find the one that matched the lock. Each lock, each door, each key wasāsomehowācompletely unique, and it was easy to match. There were doors he Knew led to Melanieās fears, or Basiraās, or Timās, or even Jonās, but there was no key to match on the ring and they remained resolutely shut. On those occasions when he had listened to a tape someone else had recorded and was confronted with a new door, he would be approached by the spectral form of whomever had taken the statement, who would place the key into his hand. They always seemed to be sleepwalking, like they werenāt truly there, and faded away immediately after completing their errand. Whatever the case, once he unlocked the door, while the key remained on his belt, the door stayed unlocked.
Usually.
Martin hummed under his breath as he traced his path in his mind. Heād started with Naomi Hearne as usualāshe hadnāt seen him tonight, which was a pity in the waking world but a boon in the Eyeās realmāand then gone through all the other Lonely statements in rapid succession; obviously the Beholding just wanted to get them out of the way. Heād long suspected that the reason Naomi was always first was precisely because she and Martin had known each other through Evan, so it was less likely to be particularly fulfilling, especially if it was a night where she could see him; the nature of the Lonely was such that knowing another person was present took a lot of the fear out of it, and he was pretty sure the only reason the door was still there was that it had to be.
Once the Lonely rooms were over, heād stepped into a hospital morgue and watched as a corpse rose to address a young woman. This, too, was always largely unsatisfying to the Ceaseless Watcher. Georgieās lack of ability to feel fear meant that anything he got out of the dream was residual, and on the nights she noticed he was there, she just glared at him. The door on the other side of that one had led to a slowly collapsing train on the London Underground, and despite Karolina Gorkaās apparent lack of fear, sheād been concerned enough to make a statement of her own volition, so it was a little better. Martin wondered, in the daylight hours, how he didnāt have a worse time himself in there, considering there had never been any denying it was the Buried, but he supposed it was because these werenāt really about him. He was only there to observe; the Fears, or the memories of them at least, couldnāt touch him. He wasnāt a god, but he was probably the closest thing there was to it in the dreams.
Things had escalated from there, as they usually did, and Martin laid them out methodically in his mind like a tarot spread. Last nightās path had been largely grouped by which Fear had touched the victim, with an added increase in how much terror they still inspired. The office building had actually been occupiedāit wasnāt always, the Hunters kept to odd hours and were half a world away anywayāand the door at the other side of it had been the pale, unvarnished oak with the silver padlock that led to Daisyās months in the Buried.
Exceptā¦except last night, when he had touched the door, it hadnāt budged.
Martin turned the bacon over carefully. Heād beenā¦unconcerned really. Emotions didnāt really factor into the dreams for him. Heād simply reached for the keys on his belt. But when heād gone through every single key on the ring, looking for the one he Knew matched the padlock, it was simply gone. That wasā¦unusual. Something wasnāt right about it.
Thereād been another door right next to it, as there usually was when he encountered a door he wasnāt allowed to access, and he had gone through and lost himself in witnessing Gerryās spectral form tremble and flicker as the Book burned, which meant Gerry had been asleep, which meant there was probably a flashback to discuss. Martin wondered if it would overlap with wherever his own dreams had been leading him. Gerryās dream had been one of the last ones; the only one after that had been Web-related, so either there was that to look forward to or that was just the one that drew out the most terror. The guy on the tape had still sounded pretty terrified while Melanie tried to calm him down, but that could easily have also been due to Melanieās expression.
In his dreams, heād quickly put the matter of Daisyās door out of his mind and focused on drinking in the terror of the next room, especially Gerryāsāthe Eye got a lot of satisfaction from feeding off another avatarābut in the grey light of pre-dawn, he kept coming back to it again and again. Worry gnawed at him. Could something have happened to her? He didnāt think her falling back into the Hunt would block her door up like that, and heād learned, first from his round-the-world trip and later from taking Trevor and Juliaās statement, that if whoeverās statement he was wandering through wasnāt asleep at the same time he was, the room would just be vacant, not locked. This had to be something more serious.
But reversible, he reminded himself. The doors being present meant there was a way for him to get to the other side of themā¦not that he wanted to, really, but they were there. He didnāt know if it was in case they ever distanced themselves from the Beholding or if it was in case everybody else was asleep and the Beholding was willing to settle for crumbs.
Was that it? Martin paused, chasing a nascent thought. The Archives crew were exempt from nightly viewings of their traumas, by virtue of being allied to the Eye, and he suspected it went with anyone who was in some way bound to the Eye. Had Daisyā
The sound of footsteps behind him broke his train of thought, and he turned around with a warm smile. āMorning, Jon. Sleep okay?ā
āHmm? Fine, fine.ā Jon seemedā¦grumpy was the only word Martin could come up with. Despite his claims, he didnāt seem like heād actually had a good nightās sleep. His hair was a bit disheveled, as though he hadnāt bothered running a brush or comb through it, which was probableāhe and Melanie had had a few go-rounds about him not taking proper care of hair as long and thick as his was, and if Martin didnāt brush and style it for him, he often just pulled it back into an absent, messy ponytail or topknot screwed in place with a rubber band, a few of which Martin had had to cut out of his hair in the endāand he hadnāt shaved. There was something off about his clothing, and he was stood in the doorway, arms folded over his chest.
He also, Martin couldnāt help but notice, hadnāt asked about his sleep.
āOh. Good.ā He had to fight to keep his smile in place. āBreakfast is almost done. Could you grab the plates, please?ā
Wordlessly, Jon came into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and yanked down two plates. Martin eyed him, but decided not to ask about it yet. Jon was obviously thinking over something that was upsetting him, but if Martin asked too early, heād clam up. Better to either let him decide for himself that he wanted to bring it up or wait until he burned off some of his agitation. Meanwhile, he focused on not burning the bacon.
He served up the food, fetched the silverware, and made tea, then set a mug in front of Jon and sat down. They didnāt often have time for a leisurely meal in the morning, just something quick thrown together in the break room or something Melanie or Tim brought in with them, and even when they spent a night at the flat, Martinās anxiousness to get back usually meant they didnāt linger. But heād needed to think, and besides, he wanted to spend time with his boyfriend doing something normal every once in a while. Like eating bacon and eggs and fried bread.
āI think the bread might be starting to go,ā he mused, prodding at one of the pieces with his fork. āNot moldy, but a bit stale. Still, nothing a bit of butter canāt cure, right?ā
Jon grunted. He was shoving his eggs halfheartedly around his plate without seeming very interested in eating them. He hadnāt made eye contact with Martin since waking up, either, and it wasnāt the comfortable kind of loose attention he usually paid when he was sleepy or overstimulated and just couldnāt have too deep a connection with individual people. It was like he was deliberately not looking at Martin. He was also sitting on the opposite side of the table instead of next to Martin, heād only got the plates, not the silverware, andāthat was what was off about his appearance. He was wearing a crisp, stiff olive green cardigan, which wasnāt unusual in and of itselfāJon was fond of earth tonesābut it was a machine knit, commercially produced cardigan rather than one Martin had made (and Jon had mostly appropriated). He hadnāt worn one of those since Jane Prentiss had attacked the Institute.
Martin told himself he was reading too much into it, just being paranoid. Jon could wear whatever he wanted, obviously. He probably had just grabbed the first thing he found, not worrying about whether it was one Martin had made or not, and really, it didnāt matter if he did. They were past the stage where Martin got a weird, fluttery feeling he couldnāt explain when Jon wrapped himself in one of his jumpers without thinking about it. Theyād spent the night curled up together, for Godās sake, he knew Jon loved him.
That didnāt mean Jon wasnāt mad at him for something, though.
Part of himāmost of himāwanted to avoid the topic, let Jon bring it up in his own time. Apart from his earlier assessment that Jon would be less likely to tell him what was wrong if he asked too early, he wasnāt going to ask are you mad at me like a child. His mum had been like that, refused to actually say when she was upset with himāwhich, honestly, was most of the timeāand would play the passive-aggressive game until he cracked and begged forgiveness for unspecified crimes. Asking what heād done had never ended well.
The tiny, rational, adult part of him pointed out that, as he had just been telling himself, Jon, unlike his mother, actually loved him. Putting Liliana Blackwoodās motives on Jon without provocation was just cruel, to both of them. And they were trying to communicate. Maybe Jon was trying to conceal his irritation, but surely heād realize that Martin was only calling him out on it because he cared.
Right?
āJon?ā he ventured, laying down his fork. āIs something wrong?ā
āIs something wrong?ā Jon repeated, and oh, boy, Martin knew that tone of voice. He cast an involuntary glance towards the hallway, and it was only when the Knowledge that all of the closets in the flat had knobs on the inside and none of them locked popped into his head that he realized what he was doing in his panic.
He started to swallow the surge of irritation, but that rational adult part of him whispered, No, actually, thatās justified, go for it.
āYeah, Jon. Iām not a mind reader,ā Martin snapped. He paused, then added, āOkay, I am, kind of, but Iām trying very hard not to do that to any of you, and especially not you. Itās really easy to see that youāre upset, but I donāt know why, and if itās something I can help with, Iād like to know.ā
āAnd if itās not something you can help with?ā Jon said, a bit acidly.
āThen Iād still like to know. Even if I canāt fix it, Iād like to at least know whatās bothering you.ā
āBothering me,ā Jon repeated.
That did not serve to make Martin any less irritated. āAre you going to tell me, or are you just going to treat me like Iām the stupidest being on the planet?ā
As ways to diffuse the situation, that was probably one of the worst things Martin could have said. As a means of getting Jon to look at him, it was highly effective, even if the shock in his eyes quickly gave way to a look Martin hadnāt seen leveled at him since that stupid dog slipped past him his very first day in the Archives.
āDonāt be ridiculous, Martin,ā he said, his voice cold and brittle with sarcasm. āOf course youāre not the stupidest being on the planet. Far from it. That would be the rest of us, wouldnāt it?ā
āWhat are you talking about?ā Martin demanded, both bewildered and angry now. āWhen have I ever said any of you were stupid?ā
āYou donāt have to say it. Itās obvious in everything you do. Or donāt do, as the case may be. Your knowledge surpasses ours and we all know it.ā Jon pushed away from the table, leaving his breakfastāand, Martin couldnāt help but notice with a twist of pain, his teaāuntouched. āIām off to work. If you think thereās anything there I can be of use for.ā
āJonāā Martin began, then changed his mind. Heād fucked it up, asāno, not as usual, he told himself firmly. Yes, heād suspected that Jon would be upset if he tried to ask what was going on before he was ready to share, but he hadnāt known. Heād made a judgment call and been wrong, that was all. It happened to the best of them. At least it was something fairly low stakes. āFine. Letās just go.ā
It didnāt feel low stakes, though. This was their first real fight since becoming a coupleā¦if you could call it a fightā¦and deep down, Martin was both miserable and terrified over it. Few of his relationships had ended well, and all of them had fallen apart at the first serious disagreement. While those had mostly been over things like sex and Martinās loyalty to his siblingsāthings Jon was, in theory anyway, completely on board withāhe didnāt need the Beholding to know that Jon was it for him, that he would never love another man in his life. Heād been afraid for a while of losing Jon to an Entity or an avatar. Heād never considered the possibility of losing him to a breakup. He was probably catastrophizing a bit, but the fear was real and he didnāt know how to handle it.
Especially when they rode the entire way to the Institute in silence.
He wasnāt surprised when they arrived before Melanie and Sasha, Tim and Gerry having taken a turn spending the night. He also wasnāt surprised when Tim took one look at him and came over to give him a hug.
āRough night?ā he asked sympathetically.
āRough morning,ā Martin mumbled, hugging him back. He was still a little angry at Jon, but he was more scared than anything, and a Tim hug was doing him a world of good. āYou?ā
āNot pleasant.ā Tim let go and glanced over at Gerry.
Gerry set down his mug and came over to hug Martin as well. As usual, he was colder than an ordinary human being, but at least he wasnāt burn-your-skin cold. āWe can talk about it when everyoneās together. I, uh, had another flashback last night.ā
āFigured. You were in one of my dreams last night.ā Tim gave a fake dramatic gasp, putting his hand to his chest, and Martin narrowed his eyes at him. It was only partially in jest. āNot like that. Justā¦statement dream. If youāre not sleeping, the shack is empty.ā
āWait, you dream about that?ā Tim asked, sounding startled. āI thought you just dreamed about the statements.ā
āGerry gave a statement,ā Martin reminded him, letting go of his brother. āA couple days before Jon and Melanie left for Sheffield, remember?ā
āYeah, but not to you. And besides, you donāt dream about the rest of us, do you?ā Tim frowned. āAt least I donātā¦I havenāt had any nightmares aboutā¦Danny since I made my statement.ā
Martin shook his head. āYouāre all bound to the Eye, I canāt see your dreams. The, the doors or whatever are there, but I canāt get through them. Gerry isnāt.ā A sudden thought struck him. āBy the way, whereās Daisy?ā
āRight here.ā Daisyās voice floated from the direction the shelves. Martin turned to see her lookingā¦remarkably better than she had in a while, actually. At least like sheād got a good nightās sleep. Her hair was slightly damp, like sheād just got out of the shower, and she was holding a cup of something hot and steaming. She saluted him with it, a dry smile playing about her lips. āMorning.ā
āMorning.ā Martin did manage to smile back at her. He was honestly relieved to see her. āSleep okay?ā
Daisy shrugged. She looked faintly pleased with herself. āEventually, yeah.ā
Before Martin could inquire about it further, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him and turned to see Sasha coming towards them, her usual cup of coffee in one hand and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Most of them didnāt bother dressing professionally these days, and usually Sasha was no exception, but today she was wearing a pant suit, pumps, and makeup. With her hair in a loose braid slung over one shoulder, it crossed Martinās mind that she was dressed exactly the way sheād done on their first day in the Archives.
Daisy raised an eyebrow at her. āJob interview, Miss James?ā
āNo, just reminding myself Iām a grown woman with a job. Morning, all,ā Sasha added, slinging her bag off her shoulder and setting it on her chair.
āMorning. Whereās Melanie?ā Martin looked over Sashaās shoulder, but there was no sign of his sister, which was unusual; she was normally in the lead, or glued to Sashaās side.
āOutside. Jon passed us on the way in heading out to the courtyard, and we got about halfway across the floor before she decided to turn around and follow him so he didnāt have something happen to him.ā Sasha set her coffee on her desk and began unpacking her laptop. āIām guessing he had a rough night, too. He looked unsettled.ā
āWeāreā¦fighting. I think,ā Martin added uncertainly. āHeās pissed at me, anyway.ā
Tim raised his eyebrows in surprise. āWhy, what did you do?ā
āI donāt know, thatās the thing. I asked him about what was bothering him andāhe didnāt really answer? He was kind of passive-aggressive about it, actually. Something about me treating everyone like youāre stupid?ā
Timās eyebrows, impossibly, rose higher. āJon said that?ā
āYou mean like how he was treating you when he first got the job down here?ā Sasha asked. āLike you were stupid. Not like you thought everyone else was stupid.ā
āHe never thought I was stupid. Just incompetent,ā Martin muttered. He rubbed his forehead. āIāhave I been acting that way? I donāt mean to, and if Iād knownā¦ā
āNo?ā Sasha sounded incredulous. āUnless youāre complaining about us behind our backs on the tapes when you think we canāt hear them. You know, like Jon did about you those first few months.ā
Martin felt the beginning of a headache forming between his eyes. āSasha, Iām really not in the mood for any more guessing games today. Are you trying to make me angry at Jon back, or are you trying to subtly call him out as a hypocrite?ā He froze as the words heād just said, and the tone heād said them in, replayed in his head. āChrist. Is that how I always talk to you guys?ā
āNo, youāre usually a lot more soft-spoken and polite about it when Sasha or Jon are being cagey like they wonāt say whatās on their minds if you donāt compel them, and the rest of us donāt do that to you,ā Tim said bluntly. āYou really need to quit that shit out, Sash, itās not fair and itās not funny. Weāre supposed to be communicating, remember? If you donāt want to talk about something, just say that.ā
Sasha froze, then looked up at Martin with an expression of genuine contriteness. āIām sorry. IāI didnāt actually realize I was doing that. I guess I was trying to get you angry back at Jonāmaybe so youād force him to tell you whatās on his mind, I donāt know. But I wasnātā¦I donāt think I was doing it on purpose.ā She sighed. āIām sorry. I had a nightmare last night that I havenāt had in years and I guess it upset me more than I thought.ā
āAbout the funfair?ā Daisy asked, startling Martin.
Sasha whipped her head around to stare at Daisy, eyes wide with shock. āTheā? Howād you know about that?ā
āWe indoctrinated Daisy into the family proper last night,ā Tim said dryly. āShe got to witness her first flashback.ā
āMaybe thatās why Jonās so upset. Heās the only one that hasnāt, then.ā Sasha rubbed her chest. āBut thatāthat didnāt actuallyā¦happen, did it?ā
āMust have. I donāt flash back to imaginary events,ā Gerry said quietly. āI get it. Easy to convince yourself something like that wasnāt real, especially when youāre a bit olderā¦if you donāt know this sort of thing is real, itās harder to believe it. And Martin did say youād been Marked by the Web before Prentiss attacked. I didnāt think that spider biting you in the boiler room was enough to do that if your encounter with the Distortion wasnāt.ā
Martinās stomach lurched. He honestly hadnāt thought about that since the night heād Looked at everyone, and since Sasha had never asked to make a statement, heād continued to not think about it. That she didnāt even remember being Marked had never occurred to him, even though he and Melanie had both forgotten their first Marksā¦
āIt wasnātā¦that bad, as some of these things go,ā Sasha said, a bit uncertainly. āI mean, anyone would have been scared of almost falling off the top of a funfair wheel in the dark.ā
āYeah, but the ringmaster climbing after you with too many limbs, not exactly normal,ā Gerry said. āAnd you were ten.ā
āNear enough eleven,ā Tim and Daisy said in unison. Despite himself, Martin smiled.
Sasha laughed, but it sounded a bit forced. āI guess I should give you a statement about that later, Martin. Are you up for it today?ā
āYeah, sure. If you are.ā Martin rubbed the back of his neck. āAnd only if youāre sure you really want to.ā
āI do. You deserve to know about it, and at least this way itās my choice.ā Sasha sucked in a sharp breath. āI mean, not that youāve ever forced one of us to tell you anything we werenāt ready for. Thatās not what Iām saying at all! I just mean that Iād rather you hear the details from me rather than accidentally. Besides, you probably havenāt had a good live statement in a while, youāve got to be hungry, and itās better to haveā¦farm-raised than wild-caught, I guess. Want to do it now, before Jon gets back in?ā
āNo. I want to do it later, after youāve had a chance to tell Jon what weāre doing,ā Martin said pointedly. āLast thing I want is for him to think Iām sneaking around keeping secrets from him. Or that Iām, I donāt know, making you tell me.ā
āYouāve never done that,ā Sasha said. āAnd I could see how hard it was for you not to ask Tim about his Stranger Mark all the way back at the beginning. Youāre a good man, Martin Blackwood, and donāt let anyone ever tell you differently.ā
Martin smiled weakly. Heād been really worried about Timās Mark. Now that he knew the truth about Danny, of course, he could understand why heād seen the intense indigo glow that looked like the Stranger had physically reached into his chest cavity and ripped his heart outābecause, metaphorically speaking, it had. Still worrying and upsetting, but at least not in a something in you has been replaced kind of way.
āHave you ever thought about tracking down the people he flashes back to?ā Daisy asked. āGetting their statements?ā
Gerry shook his head. āI donāt ever know who Iām flashing back asāto me, itās always just, well, me. Tim can usually guess when itās not meāā
āPretty sure your mum wouldnāt have let you wear pinafores and bows,ā Tim interjected.
āābut if itās not one of you lot, or someone he knows, thatās about all he gets,ā Gerry completed. āEven when it is someone he knowsā¦ā
Tim nodded. āHonestly, if Sasha hadnāt introduced herself toā¦uhā¦Mister Seymour at the funfair, I might not have clued in that it was her. I guess we could maybe start recording them and giving them to Martin so he can Know who itās about and go find them, butāā
āCan we not?ā Martin begged. āI really donāt want to start getting into that habit. The only reason Iām taking Sashaās is because itāll keep her from dreaming about it again, but I canāt guarantee that with the other people who give live statements.ā He turned to Daisy as a thought heād had earlier came back to him. āSpeaking of, Iāā
A door banged hard from the other side of the Archives, cutting him off. āMARTIN!ā
Melanieās voice, equal parts angry and panicked, sent all other thoughts flying out of Martinās head. Sheād been outsideāoutside with Jon, who was upset and angry and liable to do something stupid. Nothing had attacked them in the Archives in ages, and he Knew that was to do with Basira and Peter Lukas somehow but couldnāt see the shape of it yet, but that might not extend to outside the building, and if theyād left the grounds anything could have happened, and all he could think of was that Jon had been kidnapped, or worseā¦
He started towards the door leading to the courtyard and halted, drawing in a sharp breath of relief, as Melanie burst into the open part of the Archives, dragging a both startled and annoyed-looking Jon after her. She thrust him into the center of the group and stabbed a finger at him. āLook at him!ā
Bewildered, Martin did. He looked both startled and irritated, although the irritation was clearly winning out as he adjusted his cardigan with a jerk. His hair had started falling out of the half-knot heād pulled it back into, and while from the shoulders down he looked crisply professional, from the neck up he looked like he had just rolled out of bed. And into the path of a backfiring Hoover.
āI donāt knowāā he began, not even sure where he was going to end that sentence.
āNo, Martin, Look at him,ā Melanie said again, and this time he could hear the capital L on Look that had nothing to do with it being at the beginning of the sentence. āWe were talking, and I was telling him to stop stressing so much because itās giving him more grey hairs than before and ran my hand through it to show him andāā She held up her hand, which had a couple strands tangled around it.
They werenāt hair. Jonās hair was glossy, and even the grey strands were darker than those. It also wasnāt sticky.
Martin stood frozen, staring at the strands of web Melanie had apparently brushed out of Jonās hair. Several thingsāJonās attitude towards certain things, seemingly innocuous conversations, Timās comment about how Sasha and Jon tended to actāsuddenly slotted themselves into a picture that made horrific sense. The Eye buzzed excitedly in the back of Martinās mind, and he had a hard job pushing it away.
Slowly, he turned to look at Jon, who also seemed stunned and frozen as he stared at Melanieās hand. The expression could have been feignedāand Martin hated that he was thinking like that about his boyfriendābut somehow, it didnāt seem that way. And when he turned to look up at Martin, the horror in his eyes was not something that could be faked.
āJon?ā Martin said, as quietly as he could. It took almost all of his strength to keep the Eye out of his voice as he asked the next question. āMay I?ā
āYes,ā Jon whispered. His lips barely moved.
Martinā¦blinked.
The glasses didnāt do much to stop him from Seeing things these days; it was almost entirely by force of will that he didnāt walk around viewing the evidence of the Fourteen on everything he encountered. Without his glasses on, he couldnāt stop it, another reason he was thankful he woke up before Jon and could avoid seeing him before he could get them on, but he didnāt need to take them off to See things clearly. All he did was relax his hold a little, and the Beholding eagerly rushed in to take what it could.
Jonās Marks nearly stole the air from his lungs. The bright green glow of his eyes and lips had faded a bit, or maybe it just seemed that way, as had the pus-colored glow that still clung to the worm scars dotting his face and neck. There was a bright red slash at his shoulder, splintering into bright blue forks of lightning that seemed to reach his lungs, where it tangled with the brownish-tan that had settled there, and a red-orange line across his throat. There was a flash of yellow in his abdomen where the Distortion had stabbed him, just on the edge of where Martin was looking.
All of that he had expected.
Martin had gone to a Mechanisms concert with Melanie once, just after Gerry had left London with Gertrude for the last time. He remembered the lead singer, Jonny DāVille, and his delighted, feral grin as heād sung into the microphone; more particularly, he remembered the makeup on his face, like cracks mazing and emanating from his eyes and spreading across his face. The Web Mark spreading across Jonās face made that look like a drag queenās eyeliner. It sparked out from his eyes in long, jagged lines, up into his hairline, into his ears, into his mouth. One particularly long spar traveled in a meandering, unbroken, but still direct line from his eye to his heartāthe only part of the Mark that had been there the last time Martin had Looked at Jon, almost two years ago now.
God, how had it gotten so bad so fast?
Slowly, Martin raised a trembling hand and touched Jonās face, tracing the scars only he could see. Jon wasnāt an Avatar of the Web. Far from it. But it had been slowly taking him over, poisoning his sight, his hearing, his words, even his heart. And Martin hadnāt noticed.
āJon,ā he whispered, penitent and hurting. āIām so sorry. I should have noticed.ā
Jon made a noise heād only made once or twice beforeāa tiny whimper of pain, like heād done when Martin had first Looked at him. The static died abruptly as he threw himself at Martin and jolted him back to the present, throwing his arms around his neck.
āIām sorry,ā Jon gasped out, clinging to him tightly. āIām so sorry, IāI didnāt know, I didnātāI-I shouldnāt have let it get this bad, Iāā
āJon, no, itāsāā Martin stopped himself as he pulled Jon into his arms and held him just as tightly. He couldnāt say itās not your fault. Itā¦kind of was his fault. At least partly. He took a deep breath and tried again. āI shouldnāt have let it get this bad, either. I was too focused on thatā¦compulsion thing you were doing, and I didnāt realize that was the Web either. I never thought aboutā¦the paranoia.ā
āItās not just you. I, I talked Tim into letting me go into the Buried, Iāā Jon took a deep breath and buried his face in Martinās chest. āIām sorry. Iāll, Iāll make it up to you. Somehow.ā
Martin pressed a kiss to the top of Jonās head. A too-familiar smell hit him, and he wrinkled his nose. āDid you start smoking again?ā
āLast week,ā Jon admitted, his voice muffled by Martinās jumper.
āThose things will kill you, you know,ā Martin scolded automatically.
To his mild surprise, Jon actually laughedāa bit brokenly, but genuinely. He pulled back and looked up at Martin with genuine warmth and affection in his slightly wet eyes. āI know. Iāll stop. I promise.ā He wiped his cheeks and turned to Melanie. āThank you. Forā¦noticing.ā
Melanie shrugged, a bit awkwardly. āYou noticed the Slaughter bullet. One good turn deserves another. Thank you for not breaking my wrist when I went to mess with your hair. Speaking of, want to borrow my brush? You look like a horseās ass.ā
That got a round of chuckles, albeit weak ones, from the rest of the Archives crew. Martin looked around at all of them seriously. āIāIām sorry about that. Is everyone okay?ā
āWeāre fine, Martin,ā Sasha assured him. She looked a bit uncomfortable as well. āI, ah, I wonāt ask you to Look and see how bad mineās got, but I can guess. Anyway, I do really want to give you my statement about Mister Seymourās Wondrous Entertainment Ballyhoo.ā
āMister what?ā Melanie sputtered.
Martin closed his eyes briefly. āWas it seriously called that? Jesus. Let it never be said the Mother of Puppets and her ilk are subtle.ā
āHuh?ā Sasha blinked, then suddenly smacked herself in the forehead. āSeriously? How did I not get that?ā
Daisy actually laughed. Martin didnāt think heād ever heard her laugh before. Jon looked a bit bewildered. āWhatās going on?ā
āGerry had a flashback last night,ā Tim explained. āIt was how Sasha got Marked by the Web. Sashaās going to give Martin a statement about it so he can get some energy back, especially after what he just did, and also so she doesnāt have to dream about it again.ā
Martin took a deep breath and turned to Daisy. āWhile weāre, uh, getting things out in the openāI, uh, I couldnāt get into your dreams last night.ā
āWhat?ā Melanie frowned.
āI donāt remember how much Iāve told you about the dreams.ā Martin, reluctantly, let go of Jon and leaned against the edge of the nearest desk; Jon, unprompted, seated himself on the desktop and leaned against his side, which felt a lot like forgiveness to him. āItās like Iām walking through a series of rooms, and there areā¦doors. Iāve got a ring of keys on my belt, but the doors are all unlocked. And if I come across a new one, thereās usually a matching key on my belt to unlock it. There are a few I walk past that I Know are, um, yours, but thereās no key on my belt for them, so I canāt witness those. I know all the doors by sight.ā He turned to look at Daisy. āLast night, I came up to yoursāwell, one of them, anyway, the one that leadsāledāto the Buriedābut it was shut, and the key wasnāt on my ring anymore. I, uh, I got a little worried. Usually if whoeverās dream Iām in isnāt asleep, I just donāt see them, butā¦this was different. I couldnāt get into it anymore, andā¦I donāt know, I thought something might have happened to you.ā
Daisy shrugged. āI joined the Institute.ā
Tim coughed. āSorry, what?ā
āRemembered Basira saying something once, about how she hadnāt dreamed about anything since Elias recruited her,ā Daisy said. āAnd I remembered the first night Martin turned up to watch me watching Masters climb into that coffin, and the first night he turned up without Jon. Couple nights ago I couldnāt sleep and listened to the tape we all made right before the Unknowingā¦ā Something flickered across her face briefly, and she swallowed hard, then rallied and continued. āAnyway, Melanie said something about maybe making a statement about something so sheād stop dreaming about it andā¦I dunno. Wondered if it would work. So last night after Gerry passed out and you fell asleep on top of him, I nipped upstairs and broke into Bouchardās old office. Forced the lock. Found where he was keeping the employment forms and justā¦filled one out.ā She shrugged again, seemingly unconcerned, but there was a glint of pride in her eye. āSeemed to work just fine.ā
Martin stared at her for a long moment. Worry for what sheād done to herself warred with pleasure that sheād found a solution, and there was a tiny bit of malicious satisfaction at having stolen a servitor of another Fear that he attributed exclusively to the Beholding and ruthlessly told to get fucked.
He smiled. āWell. Welcome to the family, then.ā
If you make yourself hard to talk to, don't be surprised if you don't know what's going on.
There's a reason aggressive people are surrounded by "liars."
It's not that others are being passive-aggressive or dishonest. Many times people are actually attempting to tell you how they see it (rather than not saying anything and seething silently). You just rudely dismiss or ignore them.
If you are *really* closed to other people's viewpoints, you're not actually going to force everyone around to your own by steamrolling and pretending you don't hear anything that challenges you. You are instead going to walk around with very false impressions of how everyone else feels about things.
Toxic people! Theyāre the people who are ungrateful, who are notorious gossips, complainers, and whiners- the Negative Nancies and Debbie Downers of the world. Toxic people undermine your accomplishments and successes and stun you with backhanded compliments. In a nutshell, they suck the oxygen out of the room with their negativity and make you want to run for the nearest exit when you see themā¦
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