#virtigo

The lingering fever left over from Jon’s (to Martin’s and Tim’s lack of information: mysterious and) hellish few days continued to do just that... linger.  

Burned and bruised.  Concussed and dizzy.   

The fever was never overly dangerous, but it sapped Jon’s already basically nonexistent reserve of energy.  And it just... lingered.  Lingers.  

It's better now that Tim and Jon had some sort of talk, but neither of them really know how they stand with the other.  

Well, it is better for Jon because he has two people who give a shit if he collapses in the hall now.  And better for Martin because one less person is going to actively try to hurt Jon.  And better for Tim because he’s missed his friend.  But it’s still awkward.  

Tim watches Jon drag himself from the cot another morning.  It was Tim that stayed with him last night, Martin's turn tonight.  Jon is scared and confused and shouldn't be left alone.  Not when he screams himself awake every couple hours.  Not when gets so dizzy that he loses track of what he is meant to be doing.  

Jon has been trying to push through.  Trying to work.  To make himself useful.  To help save the world.  To work himself into the ground so he doesn't think about how shitty everything has been for him.  

Tim watches him drag himself up, and crumple right back down again.  Tim managing to break his fall.  Again.  He should text Martin.  He does text Martin.  

Jon blinks up fuzzily at him after just a few seconds.  

"Sorry," Jon slurs.  

"Stop that," Tim says, not unkindly.  Still trying to remember how to be kind with this fragile little man.  

"I need... 'Sira need me to... I should get up."  Jon is still struggling for words, eyes slipping closed, making no move to push himself from Tim's chest, where Tim has been pillowing him.  

Jon might be asleep again.  It's hard to tell.  Tim presses a hand to Jon's forehead, confirming it still too warm, but not worse, and returns to his seemingly endless playing with Jon's hair.  

It is still a bit before hours, so he doesn't expect Martin to appear the next moment, more like in the next half hour, depending on the crowds and the tube.  But, when he hears footsteps approaching he feels relief, until he realizes those aren't Martin's footsteps.  Too sharp.  Still heavy, bit not heavy enough.  Jon did mention needing to get something to Basira.

No one has... talked to Tim about his ....calling it a change of heart sounds stupid.  He isn't going to call it that.  He didn't have a change of heart, per se.  He just realized he had his head up his ass and was honestly just as bad as Jon in some ways.  Not to mention, he couldn't keep blaming Jon when Jon was basically just an unlucky punching bag, now with the added flavor or concussed and feverish.  

"Right," says Basira, pushing open the door after a single, sharp knock.  Pulling Jon from his uneasy sleep. 

He scrambles upright.  Too fast, sending him into a swoon for the second time in just a few minutes.  

"Did you find those files?  I need them if we want to actually stop the circus, and not just have a slumber party."  There is clearly judgement in her eyes.  

Tim, who caught Jon for the second time this morning, has an arm around him protectively.  

Jon is coming around again.  "Mmm wh'?"  He forces his eyes open against the light Basira flipped on upon her entrance, eyes crossing as he tries to bring Basira into focus.  

"Jon, look.  We really don't have time for... whatever this is.  Just get up and do something useful or just leave.  And leave the rest of us to clean up this mess."  It isn't that she is outright mean.  Not like Daisy.  Not hostile like Melanie.  But cold.  Which.... Tim shouldn't begrudge her for, but he wants to.  Was she there when Jon was beaten?  Tim's seen those bruises.  Still dark and angry.  Jon still cries out when handled roughly, or when handled gently but not gently enough.  

Was she there?  Was she complicit in this mess?  And if she was... if she watched Jon get beaten by her partner.  If she was one of the faces that stood over Jon while he dug a grave... and just waltzed back in here demanding Jon to help.  Jon who can't even stay conscious...  Who has been feverish and incoherent... 

Who is she to do that?  

Footsteps.  

Martin.  

Good.  Tim doesn't know what to do.  His instinct is to protect.  To push away.  To fight.  But can he trust that instinct?  When that's what he accused Jon of doing?  What he, himself had done?

"Morning Basira, do you think I can get through?  Jon's been a bit poorly and I rather doubt you looming over him is going to help."  

Martin.  God bless Martin.  

She scowls but stands aside.  

Martin, studiously ignores her.  

Tim would rather like to kiss him.  

Jon is still having trouble following the conversation.  But he visibly brightens when Martin steps into view.  Martin checks his temperature with the inside of his wrist.  He tuts gently at Jon, who still seems too dizzy to sit up on his own.  

"So...?" Basira.  Reminding the three of them that she is, in fact there.  

"Sorry," mumbles Jon, still barely coherent, and certainly not aware of what he was apologizing for this time.  A reflex that makes Tim shudder.  

"I'll do it myself."  She turns on her heal and leaves.  Shutting the door a bit too hardly, and Jon flinches.  

"Hey, Jon.  How are you feeling?"  Tim scoots over as gently as he can so as not to jostle Jon too much.  He makes room for Martin next to them.  

Jon's eyes flicker closed again.  Tim isn't sure if he's lost consciousness again or if he's just closed his eyes against the dizziness.  

Martin watches with worry etched on is face.  "How's he doing?"

Tim pulls a face.  "Not worse, I don't think... but not better.  Still getting nightmares.  But he's passed out on me twice, though.  Not sure what to do about that.   Could be the vertigo, could be a panic response, could be the fever, hell it could be dehydration or hunger.  We haven't gotten much food in him."  Tim yawns.  It has been a painfully long few days.  And he's only gotten the chance to sleep every other night.  

"Maybe... one of us should take him home?"  Martin has lost some of that self confidence that he managed to put up around Basira.  Probably because Tim know's Martin's flat wouldn't be comfortable for two or three people.  Probably because Martin isn't sure just how far Tim is willing to be put out on Jon's behalf.  

Then again.  It is a bit too late not to be involved.  Because Jon cannot seem to get up without passing out and so Tim has just been cuddling him for hours.  

"I can take him to mine.  I have more space."  He offers a tired smile, sparing Martin the halting questions, and Tim the hurt of knowing he isn't fully trusted anymore.  Not that he blames Martin for that.  He made his bed, now he'll lay in it.  Shit, did he make his bed?  Well they are about to find out.  "You call a cab, I'll see if I can wake him?"

Martin nods, and makes to do that.  Exiting the room to spare Jon the extra volume.  

"Hey Jon?"  Tim runs his free hand through Jon's hair for a few moments.  Watching Jon's eyes slowly flicker open.  

"Mmmmm."  Jon's bandaged hands holding on to his shirt.  Too-warm forehead pressed against his chest.  

"Is it alright if I take you home?"

"What 'bout work?"  Jon's mouth barely able to form the words.  Can't see straight enough to read anything.  

"Bud, how exactly did you plan to do any work?"  

Jon tries to focus his eyes.  And his words.  He only manages to squint slightly.  

"We tried letting you work, but you aren't getting better, how about you take a couple days to get better, then you can come back and we can save the world?  Besides.  Shouldn't do work with a concussion.  Don't want brain damage, do you?"  Tim starts slowly easing Jon upright, only to have Jon's eyes roll back.  Again.  "Shit!"

"You both okay?"  Martin's back.  Good.  Tim doesn't know what to do.  

"Well I woke him up, but when I tried sitting him up, he fainted on me again."

Martin tuts again, and sits back next to them to check on Jon for himself.  "Maybe we should move him while he's out to spare him the trip.  The cab will be here soon."  

Tim shrugs and slowly gets to his feet.  Maneuvering Jon into a bridal carry as he does so.  "Now we just gotta make sure that the cabbie doesn't think we are kidnapping him."  

Matin flutters around, wanting to make sure the position will be comfortable enough for Jon when he eventually comes around.  "It'll be fine.  He should be conscious by then."

"Yeah and what do we say, our boss had a bit too much to drink at..."  He searches for the wall clock.  "9:30 in the morning."  

"We say we're from the Magnus Institute, and they will ignore everything about us, Tim."  

Tim... still needs to get used to this side of Martin.  He kind of loves it when the bitterness isn't aimed at him.  

Jon comes around again and they pass the others in the bullpen, clinging tightly to Tim's shirt until the sudden change of level of the stairs makes him dizzier and his head ache, if the small, fragile sounds he is making are any indication.  

Martin is right.  The cabbie doesn't a single question once he sees the building they are standing in front of.