Chapter Text
The first tangible difference he noticed was the tea.
It had been several months since Peter Lukas had appointed Martin Blackwood to his assistant, since he’d been whisked out of the archives and found himself sitting in a cold, uncomfortable chair in a seemingly empty workspace. It had been jarring, unsettling even, but he had gotten used to it. Slowly, the laughing and quiet conversation of the break room had begun to feel alien to him. He’d started spending less and less time there, instead pushing himself to work harder. There always seemed to be more and more paperwork, and with the loneliness slowly overtaking him, he was finding less and less reasons to leave his office. At the time, he thought Lukas had been exaggerating about the differences. Sure, he’d been somewhat aware of the changes in his schedule, but it wasn’t like loneliness was a new sensation for Martin.
However, that had all changed one night when Martin had been working particularly late at the institute.He’d been staring at a particularly boring form, when he’d suddenly realized he hadn’t been reading for…who knows how long. He shook his head and tried to start from the top, but found himself once again beginning to zone out. On his third go of it, he finally gave up and decided to go over to the break room to get himself a cup of tea. As he walked through the hallways, he barely took note of how empty they were, nor was he able to realize how much better he felt now that the building was filled with an eerie silence, save for the muffled sounds of a few other late workers.
Finally, he pushed open the doors of the break room, making his way towards the cabinet he kept his tea in. It vaguely brought back memories of when he’d first started working at the institute. At first, he’d had to cram his boxes of tea between spare boxes of coffee-stirrers and napkins. It HAS to be this brand, he’d explained to an incredulous Tim. None of the nearby stores carry anything good. Eventually it had come to be known as his part of the cabinet, and had even gained the nickname of “Martin’s pantry”. Smiling at the good memory, he grabbed a box of tea, but immediately began frowning as he brushed his finger against the surface. The box was covered in a noticeable layer of dust. When was the last time he’d had tea at the institute? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember if he’d even entered the break room after his first week or two of working for Lukas. Feeling a little shaken, he turned on the electric kettle and waited for the water to finish boiling, tracing his thumb along the grayish surface of the box as he did.
The kettle made an obnoxious beep, and Martin poured the boiling water carefully over the mint teabag, watching to make sure it was strong enough. He then stirred in honey, then added a bit of lemon and stirred again. This familiar ritual brought him some comfort, and he raised the mug to his lips.
Oolong. Scalding, weak oolong.
Martin had almost dropped the cup when the taste hit his tongue. He put the mug down just in time, though his hands were shaking and sweaty. It was not an unfamiliar taste, far from it. His mother always made it to shut him up. He still remembered the disgusted, annoyed look in her eyes as she pushed the cup roughly towards him, barely noticing as the boiling liquid spilled over the edge of the cup and onto the table. He remembered her voice, low and irritated, telling him to drink it, even though it was always too hot. She knew he’d hated it, and yet she always forced him to drink it when he’d had any sort of hard question for her. At the time, his little kid mind interpreted it as a misguided attempt at caring, a way to comfort him. Now he was old enough to realize it had been a punishment. He’d stopped asking questions, opting to take care of his mother with only compliments and light conversation, dreading the nasty taste of the watery tea. Ever since he’d stopped living with his mom, he had never bought oolong tea again. But here he was.
He looked at the cup again. It wasn’t possible. The leaves in the bag were definitely mint leaves, and the water was dark and had been cooled off by the cold lemon juice. He tried to drink again, telling himself it had just been a figment of his imagination, but the sickly scent of oolong greeted him again. The steam from the tea felt hot on his face, and it called back more awful memories of his mom and her tea. He’d never felt so lonely as he had then, in that empty break room, with just the memories of his mother’s cutting insults to keep him some semblance of company. Like the ghost of her insults were still haunting him after her death. He closed his eyes, frantically wishing he could be anywhere but there, willing his shaking legs to get up and go back to his desk. But instead, something…shifted. The almost painfully hot steam turned to cool mist. He didn’t open his eyes, but he could feel the mist curling around his face. It chilled him to his bone, and filled his lungs with ice, but it almost felt good, compared to the choking scent of the boiling tea. But the mist left as quickly as it had come, and Martin opened his eyes again as he felt the air return to his lungs. The cup in front of him had gone cold. He quietly cursed at himself for letting himself get carried away, and disdainfully dumped the mug down the drain.
“Martin?”
He jumped as he turned towards the break room door, but quickly relaxed as he realized who it was. Sasha James was standing in the doorway, with a concerned look on his face. “Jesus, Sasha, you scared the hell out of me.” She didn’t respond immediately, instead staring at the upside down mug in his hand and the drops of amber-brown scattered around the grey of the sink.
“Martin, did you just dump tea down the drain?”
“What of it?”
He looked down into the sink sheepishly as he rinsed it out.
“Don’t be stupid. Last year, you would’ve had a stroke if I’d thrown tea down the drain. Hell, you almost cried arguing with Tim about–”
“Yeah, well, it's just. It probably went bad.”
“...Alright.”
He could tell she wasn’t convinced, but was honestly just glad he didn’t have to talk to her anymore–wait. What? That couldn’t be right. Sasha was his friend. He loved talking with Sasha, going out for tea or errands with her and Tim, catching her in the break room on a busy day. At these thoughts, he suddenly realizes just how long it’s been since he’d done any of those things.
“Martin!”
He quickly snapped back to reality.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Martin took a deep breath, then nodded. Sasha was staring at him, still concerned, but now looking almost sympathetic too.
“Listen, I know things have been hard since you’ve started working with Lukas. You’ve barely been around, I barely stay around long enough to see you leave, and you haven’t even said anything to–!”
Martin shook his head, not even wanting to hear the name, knowing it would fill his heart and rid him of the cold numbness growing there.
“Listen, Sasha, I’m fine, just a bit out of it. I’ll…I need to get back to work, I’ve got to fill out– "
"No.”
He met her gaze, trying to put on his most convincingly “fine” look, but she didn’t waver.
“C’mon, I’ll walk you to the train station, but you’ve got to go home. If you wanna serve some evil sailor guy by doing his taxes or whatever, I can’t stop you. But I’m not gonna let you work yourself to death over it.”
He’d finally relented, grabbing his jacket and tucking the rest of the undone paperwork into his desk before heading out with Sasha. They walked in silence for a while, which was uncharacteristic of both of them. Finally breaking the silence, Martin asked,
“How’s Tim doing?”
He’d done it expecting stories or joking complaints, anything to bring the mood up, but instead Sasha almost grimaced.
“He’s…actually not doing so good. Honestly, he’s kinda freaking out about the whole J…I mean the whole circus thing.”
Martin appreciated her avoiding the subject of him, but even just the mere mention of the situation brought back memories of hours sitting on rough hospital chairs, desperately begging Jon to wake up, squeezing his hand and staying until he was almost late for his train.
“Oh. That’s…understandable.”
The awkward silence continued for a while, neither knowing what to say to the other. Martin felt horrible. What was wrong with him? He’d always felt like he could talk naturally with Sasha. He didn’t have to try as hard to string the words together when he was with her and Tim. Even when they were making fun of him for his feelings for Jon, or his love of tea, or his softness towards spiders, he’d always felt like a natural part of the group. Standing next to one of his best friends with nothing to say, he felt the loneliness creeping up on him again. After what felt like an eternity, they reached the station.
“I, uh. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” he muttered, and stepped away, feeling Sasha’s confused and curious eyes boring into the back of his head