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It’s… fascinating to observe Martin nowadays, now that he’s got him back. Jon has fought for it; Peter Lukas may have tried to hide Martin from him, but there is nowhere the Eye can’t see, if you allow him to look properly, and Jon did just that. He might have given a little bit too much in return but he can’t find it in himself to regret it. Of course, it might be because regret is - he understands the feeling, but the memory of being almost drowned by it just a few months back is so dim now it may as well not exist at all.
No matter. He’s fought, and Martin is here, in his office. Peter Lukas may come and go, sweep Martin away for a few hours, a few days still sometimes - but Martin is here at the end of it all, where Jon can see him, and that’s. Good.
Martin is interesting to look at because, contrary to Basira and Melanie, he’s not been claimed properly yet - not because the Powers do not want him, that’s absurd; but because there are too many of them, trying to take a hold in him.
It’s all very irritating to Jon, probably because the Eye grabbed him first. Well, it’s not entirely true, he thinks, as he stares at the invisible, small spiders, gently running over Martin’s feet and ankles - the Web has protected him from the very start, long before Martin stepped foot in the Institute, but her hold is light, expecting, and she didn’t mind the Eye’s claim. The Archivist suspects she may be waiting to see how she can use this odd pull Martin has over everybody else to her advantage. The thought is bothersome but not critical. Right now, Beholding and Web are allies still. Jon may shiver ever so slightly when he spends too long lingering on them, but the spiders don’t frighten him as they used to, like many other things.
It’s not only the Web, though. There was the Corruption first - an accident, perhaps, but it tried harder and longer than most to get to Martin before it was pushed off. Then - while Jon was away, of course, when Jon couldn’t act - the flesh tried to get to him, only rebutted by Melanie, and apparently, as Martin muttered in the several statements Jon had… encouraged him to make, the Spiral tried as well. “Peter didn’t let it, though” he’d said at last, his voice a little hollow.
Peter.
The Lonely.
There is an echo around Martin; an empty space, cold, uninviting, that nobody can see but that everybody feels. Melanie trembles when she is too near from him. Her eyes may be sparkling with anger, but she stays away, like a feral animal does from something it doesn’t know but instinctively understands as dangerous. Basira doesn’t quiver, but she doesn’t move close either. She hovers and talks quietly to him - still soft, but distant. Jon - Jon dislikes it. That void that even he feels when he tries to push through Martin’s seemingly self-imposed distance with him.
The Lonely, thinks the Archivist, may have been given reign over the Institute for the time being. But It cannot be allowed to have Martin Blackwood. Even sharing is starting to sound unacceptable; the Web is already here. There may be place for two, but not three.
“Um, Jon?”
Jon blinks. Martin is staring at him, frowning perplexingly.
“Is there… Do you need anything? Because, you’re just - staring, and I mean, it’s getting a little bit weird -”
“Do you feel lonely, Martin?” The Archivist asks.
He can feel it, the sweet tingling in his throat that demands to know.
“Yes,” Martin says immediately, and a second later he’s flushing, which is nice because lately he’s been pale as a ghost. However he also seems upset. An inkling of guilt strikes Jon’s chest, if not his mind.
But he’s already asking - “Do you like it?”
And Martin scoffs. “Of course not!” He exclaims. “It’s been - People don’t look at me, they don’t come close, and I’ve just been doing all those things not to think about it but when you don’t have something you can’t just stop thinking about it and, and -”
Jon takes a step towards him just as he presses his lips tightly together, pushing his face into his hands to take a deep breath. When he looks up, there’s something - hardened, sad, determined in his eye.
“Can you not?” he asks quietly. “It’s enough to - I mean, please, Jon, I understand you may not… control that… But there’s no need to speak of something ineluctable, anyway and this doesn’t feel very good -”
His babbling slowly quiets down as Jon keeps walking. Closer and closer, until he reaches it; the echo; there’s not a line. Nothing to look for, no warning as one may think of. It’s only that one moment he’s moving towards Martin, and the next instinct riles up and he suddenly wants to be looking at something else. Jon’s eyes are fixed on Martin’s face however, and he sees the pained expression that passes through his face. He’s the Archivist. He is within his right to take another step.
Martin shudders.
“You do not belong to him.” he says, firm and clear.
“Of course not. I belong to you,” Martin says thoughtlessly, and then his flush deepens terribly. “I mean,” he adds in a rush. “To the Institute. To the Archives and um, to the Beholding, you know, our God, and all that, and uh - to the Knowledge? Because knowledge is power, and, uh...”
Seeing him flustered is… Endearing, for sure, but it was his instinctive certainty that the Archivist liked most. That sounded right. Of course, he’s said. Of course, the Archivist - Jon - approves.
Martin voice falters and dies completely when Jon raises his hand, and takes his chin between his fingers. His eyes have widened. They’re a little wet. How long, he wonders, has Martin not been touched?
“You’re right,” he tells him. “And I need you to keep believing that.”
“...Okay?” Martin says, a little bit weakly. He’s blinking a lot. His gaze is straying towards Jon’s lips.
Interesting, thinks the Archivist, as Jon’s startled heart jumps in his chest. A kiss may manage to send the message across. It’s effective, at every level, and Martin would certainly not mind, as he well knows - but his chest tightens, abruptly. No, thinks Jon. No, let’s not give anything we may not be able to offer forever.
When he presses his lips against Martin’s forehead, Martin almost falls against him, breathing hard, small shivers running over his body.
“As long as I’m here,” Jon says - no, proclaims - “You will not be lonely.”
For a second, time seems to still. Somewhere, the Archivist knows, Peter Lukas is disgruntled. Jon does not care. Martin Blackwood does not belong to him.
And then Martin is suddenly surging up against him, his hands holding dear to Jon’s sweater, and he hides his head into his neck as he brokenly murmurs: “Thank you, Jon, thank you”. He’s still trembling. It feels as if he’s trying to disappear into him. It’s very easy to raise his own arms and to properly embrace him, the Archivist thinks. Martin’s pull is strong, stronger than he’d have thought, but it’s not - disagreeable. One might even say it’s… warm. Pleasant. Right.
Jon almost closes his eyes to savour the feeling; it’s surprisingly intense, more intense than anything he’s felt since he got Martin back outside of statements, but then he sees it. The spiders, climbing along Martin’s back, busying themselves right where Jon’s arms are, slowly spinning an invisible web anchoring them to each other. The Archivist raises his eyebrows, and stares. He could push them away, certainly, as he’s pushed through the Lonely. But the Web is the Eye’s ally and - apparently, their desires are still aligning on the subject of Martin Blackwood. It’s a relief and a worry all at once.
He does not chase the spiders. He holds on to Martin, and closes his eyes after all.
How nice it is to know where you belong.