Chapter Text
The weekend was unbearable.
Martin couldn’t stop thinking about the last conversation he had with Jon, his mind whirling with questions. Was he reading too much into things? It had been truly strange, the strange familiarity in the Archivist’s gaze that morning they had woken next to one another, that weird sense of closeness.
And that was… ridiculous. They had barely talked before that. Martin was just making up things, probably due to the fact that he was hopelessly infatuated with his boss. Nothing more, he reminded himself again, almost desperately so.
Needless to say, it didn’t work. No matter what he did, Martin’s brain couldn’t let it go. That coupled with the immense concern he felt for the other kept him pacing in his small apartment.
Martin groaned. He truly was being ridiculous. All it meant was that Jon had been half-asleep and confused. Maybe a bit touch-starved.
By Sunday morning, he had all but given up on his uphill battle with his inner voice that insisted to keep his distance, insisted to keep things professional. It would be so much safer to ignore the irrational feelings sinking their claws deep into his bones.
So when Jon turned up on Martin’s doorstep that morning, he had wanted to strangle whatever higher power decided on torturing him today. Although he looked frazzled and bone-tired, Martin’s traitorous heart leapt at Jon’s unexpected appearance.
“Can I- I need to talk to you,” the smaller man mumbled.
Dear lord. Martin was a mess. His hair mussed, dark circles under his eyes to match Jon’s own, dressed in an old shirt and sweats. He had slept fitfully, his thoughts still too tangled to really make sense of them. What a sight they must make together.
He had half a mind to be embarrassed at his appearance, but when he opened the door a bit further to find Jon standing outside, not a trick of his mind and looking even worse than usual, all his worries evaporated in an instant, replaced by alarm.
“Christ, Jon. What happened?!”
The smaller man only shook his head as he moved past Martin and into the living room where he started pacing.
“I can’t explain it,” he started, almost desperately, “I know we chalked it up to sleep deprivation but I swear I’m remembering things that should be impossible. And if not memories, then flashes of what could have been. What were…? I- I don’t know. Just snippets, but-”
He turned sharply, brown eyes wide and terrified that seemed to almost flash green in the dim morning light as he found the other’s gaze. “I know it sounds absolutely ludicrous. Mad even, I- I know, but I-”
“Hey, just slow down for a sec.”
Martin hastily closed the door. Jon was working himself into a frenzy at this point. He moved over, heart in his throat as his hands hovered uselessly. He wanted to help, to touch the other so badly, but all he could do was stand there uselessly, horrifically out of his depth.
“Take a breath. Just- what are you remembering?”
Jon, to his credit, did try to take a shuddering breath. “It’s… faces, sounds, emotions. They don’t feel like mine, yet I know that they are somehow. And- and they feature a lot of, well, you. Us.”
Martin freezes.
His breath caught. His chest tightened. The room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls were closing in.
“...Us?” He repeated, voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean with… us?”
“I- I don’t know!” Jon started pacing again. “I remember you, older, more weary. Like you’ve gone through hell and found something valuable. Scars, fear, an underlying sadness and so, so much adoration. They feel like memories. They must be, but-”
The Archivist was still muttering, yet Martin could barely focus, his mind screeching to a halt.
Adoration.
The word rang like a bell, an impossible answer to all of his half-formed secret hopes and daydreams. For a long moment, he was too stunned to even react as the other seemed to get worked up again, staring at Jon wide-eyed.
“How… how can you be sure that they’re memories?” He asked eventually, doubt creeping in, his voice catching on the words. “ Maybe it’s… maybe you’re imagining them. Making them up, because of how tired you are.”
Jon looked only mildly annoyed about being cut off mid-rant.
“Oh please,” he waved Martin off, “with all the absurd stories we hear on a daily basis, is it really such a stretch to suggest this might be one such occurrence? Fact is, I don’t know what they mean. Is it a possible future? Has this already happened? A different universe or dimension? Who the hell knows at this point. All I know is that I’m not going crazy. These- these glimpses are real. Or were. I’m not sure which.”
Despite it all, Martin felt a flutter in his chest. Before all this, he wouldn’t have hesitated to call Jon delusional. But after only a few short months of working at the institute, he had heard and seen too much to fully dismiss the other.
“Are you sure?” He asked tentatively, trying to hide the edge of hope in his tone. “You are completely certain these are… actual memories, not some kind of hallucination?”
“Well, if they truly are hallucinations, I’m done for anyway, right?” The archivist muttered tiredly. “Not like a crazy person knows that they’re crazy.”
The attempt at dark humor, if it was that, fell flat. Martin’s heart clenched painfully in his chest.
“Don’t say that,” he says weakly. “Not even as a joke, just-” He swallowed hard and gave himself a second to breathe. “So… if they’re memories, and you’re certain of that then… what else do you remember? About… me? About us?”
Jon’s eyes found Martin’s then, something vulnerable swimming just below the surface. “Broad strokes, mostly. Guilt, fear, loneliness…” He took a shaky breath. “I also remember trust, love. I-”
He shook his head. “I can’t really make sense of it until more comes back, but these feelings- they are mine.”
For a long moment, Martin couldn’t speak. That one word rattled around his head on repeat.
Love, love, love, love, love, love.
Not just trust. Not just closeness. Love. Jon had said love.
His breath came out in shallow, too-fast bursts. He felt light-headed- like the floor might give way under him. And then, because he couldn’t stop himself:
“You… you loved me?”
The words were quiet, raw. Barely more than a whisper.
Jon didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Martin- seemingly searching his expression for something. His eyes were piercing, almost glowing in the dim light. The anxious hesitance was in plain sight, yet Martin could see the unguarded awe, too. Like he was finally seeing something he thought lost for the first time in ages.
“I think,” Jon spoke after a long moment, voice rough with emotions, “I still do.”
It sounded like a confession.
Martin’s heart stuttered in his chest, the room suddenly too hot. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe or speak. So he stared. I knew he was imagining things. There was no way in hell that this was actually happening. To someone like him. No way that his sleep-deprived, probably touch-starved boss had gone insane and confessed his love to him.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.” It was like the words simply ripped themselves free by an invisible force, torn from his lungs in a wheezing whisper. “We have barely even talked. We’re coworkers at best. Nothing more.”
Jon’s shoulders sagged, the wonder in his eyes dimming. “Yes, I’m aware of that. However real these memories seem, they could be from another version of me. Or worse, planted there from an outside force to manipulate me. But to what end? No, I believe the first theory is more probable. Somewhere out there, a version of me loved a version of you. And now, so do I.”
He sighed tiredly, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses slightly askew. “I had hoped- I don’t know. That you were going through something similar perhaps, since I remember so much of you.”
Then, Jon straightened, shaking himself out of the thought, a mask of tired indifference poorly masking his disappointment, and if Martin looked closer, his despair. Heartbreak. “I do not wish to burden you with those emotions, I apologize. I- I shouldn’t have come-”
“No- no!” Martin cut him off, far too quickly, his body seemingly acting on its own now. He took a step forward, hands flying up as if to physically stop Jon even though the other had yet to move at all. “You’re not-
His voice wavered. “It’s just… I don’t know what’s real anymore either. But I have felt… something. For- for ages. Not memories. I don’t see faces or hear voices or anything- but like there’s this hole.”
Oh god, he should probably shut up but his mouth decided to keep going anyway. “Almost like I lost something profound that I can’t quite name. And- and then I start working in the Archives and meet you, and- and I thought it was just some stupid, inappropriate crush on my boss-”
His cheeks dust pink as he waves his hands, flailing a little. “Not that that needs to mean anything-”
“What do you mean with ‘a hole’?” Jon cut him off quietly, brows furrowed.
Martin stilled, dropped his hands and sighed. “Just this… god, this is going to sound ridiculous. It’s almost like a deja vu but, uh, the other way around? I walk into work with this sense that I’m missing something.”
“A jamais vu?” Jon asked quietly. “You look at something familiar yet it suddenly feels off?”
“Something like that, yes,” Martin agreed quickly, hands flying again. “I mean, I worked there for long enough now that it should feel familiar to me. To develop a routine and I know that I have, and still- something in me keeps looking for something, and I don’t even know what-”
“And- and the whole time I’ve been just so… so lonely, you know?” He said with a bitter little laugh. “But I never figured out what I’ve been missing. Hell, it’s even hard to put the feeling into words now.”
Belatedly, he realized just how close he ended up standing in front of the other and took a small step back. “Sorry, I’m probably going insane. I didn’t mean-”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon huffed, the corners of his lips twitching up. “Your plight can at least be explained away. I’m the one remembering things that have never occurred.”
Martin shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from gesturing again. “Maybe my brain is making it up,” he agreed quietly, then more quietly: “Or maybe it’s wishful thinking.”
He swallowed, his cheeks burning. The next question felt daunting, but given what they both had already confessed, he asked anyway.
“It’s just… you said you feel like you love me, right? Not just… fondly or some kind of familiarity. You really said ‘I do still love you’. So, you, in that dimension… that version of you loved me, in a romantic sense.”
“I- yes. Yes, I did.”
Martin’s heart sings at the short answer, hope twisting around his heart like a vice. “But no memory of… why? You said you didn’t know exactly what happened between us. So how can you still be so sure? Still feel that way?”
Jon’s brows furrowed in deep thought. “I don’t quite know. There’s so much fear clouding those memories. I- we must have gone through something… something quite terrible. But when I think of you- that older, scarred, tired version- it feels safe. Like home.”
The last sentence was mumbled, gaze averted.
Something in Martin’s mind shifted, clicked into place. The loneliness. The feeling of missing something. Someone? Aching for familiarity. For closeness, for love- were these all connected to Jon’s weird predicament? His feelings, Martin realized with startling clarity, had always been there, had always lived and breathed, buried under layers of denial and logic and years of trying to push them down.
Oh. Oh.
Martin let out a shaky laugh. “God, we’re both a bit mental, aren’t we?” Jon’s gaze snapped up at the sound. Martin went on. “I’m not sure if what I described and what you’re feeling has the same cause. Ever since I joined working for the Institute, I’ve heard about the strangest things. Nothing quite made sense, but I know one thing for certain. I- I do like you. As in like like you. And for the past week, I couldn’t think about anything other than you. Not just that- longer than that.”
His arms came up again to hide his face in his palms, hoping he could quell the heat in his cheeks. “I realize that that might make me sound like a creep, but I’d still like to try.”
An amused huff made Martin peek through his fingers. Jon was smiling warmly. “If you’re open to dating a potentially insane person, I think I can handle a ‘creep’ as you put it.”
The words ripped a surprised bark of laughter from Martin’s throat. “Oh, y- yeah. That sound’s fair, I guess.”
And then, with one last sigh of utter relief, Jon stepped forward to bury his face in his chest, arms wrapping around Martin’s waist like he had always belonged there, like he had done it a million times.
Martin’s brain short-circuited. Jon felt warm in his arms. He didn’t even have to think about it, didn’t hesitate. He held him tightly. So tight, it bordered on too much. His body moved on his own yet again, not questioning, not embarrassed as he pressed his nose in the smaller man’s hair- tea, ink and paper, and something that was just Jon.
“God,” Martin whispered, “I’ve wanted to do this for… I don’t even know how long.”
Jon let out a breathy laugh- wet, staining the others’ sweater, trembling and squeezing tighter.
For the first time in what felt like forever…
Martin didn’t feel alone anymore.
The patch where Jon had his face pressed against Martin grew wetter. A small sob escaped the man. “S- sorry, I don’t know why I-”
“Shh, no- don’t apologize,” Martin murmured, his own voice thick. He shifted to press a clumsy, desperate kiss into Jon’s hair. “You don’t have to explain anything.”
He tightened his arms around the other as if he could keep the whole world from toughing him. As if he could hold him together with sheer force of will. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Despite the tears, Jon laughed. “I- I think it’s relief. It feels like- like I lost you- before. Or- or the other way around and-” he sobbed again. “God, Martin.”
“I’m here,” he said, voice breaking. Was it his empathy? Was it the fact that he was holding the man he had been crushing on for months? Or was it the fact that something about Jon’s fantastical tale had been real after all? That a version of himself had loved this man so fully, so truly that it had found him here in his small apartment?
“I’m right here, Jon. I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t care about logic anymore. Didn’t care if this was his imagination or a different reality that had led them here- this was real now, and that was all that mattered. “I don’t know how or why, but I think I’ve been waiting for you, too. In my own way.”
Jon laughed again with another sob, burrowing deeper into the embrace. “I love you,” he whispered. “I don’t understand it yet, but I love you. Gods, Martin, I missed you so much-”
Hearing those words anew made his heart swell, made butterflies flutter in Martin’s chest. He buried his face in Jon’s hair again. His eyes burned. He squeezed them shut with a shaky exhale. Nothing had ever felt so right than having the other in his arms.
“Jon-” he said brokenly, desperately.
And with tears still running down his cheeks, Jon grabbed Martin’s sweater and pulled him down into a kiss.
Every inch of him sparked to life.
The warmth of Jon’s lips, the touch of him after all this time- the loneliness seemed suddenly worth it, the contrast of it to the elation he now felt such a stark contrast. His lips moved to kiss the other back, hands reaching up to cradle the smaller man’s cheeks tenderly, the longing that had been brewing under the surface for so, so long finally given form.
“Christ, Jon…” he choked when they finally pulled apart.
“I think I just remembered something,” Jon mumbled, a dreamy look in his brilliant eyes. “From- from before.”
Martin’s breath caught. “What?”
Jon’s face broke into a grin as he laughed, bright and open. “Cows, Martin. Cows!”
He couldn’t help it. Martin snorted, a sharp laugh slipping past his lips in bewilderment. “What? Cows? What do cows have to do with anything?”
“I don’t know,” Jon admitted, still grinning. “We must have encountered some. You were- ah, quite enamored. One even licked your face, I think.”
An image of himself standing among a herd of cows, feeding them by hand, Jon laughing at him at being slobbered pops into his head unbidden. Martin could feel his own lips mirror the smaller man. “That sounds… christ, that sounds ridiculous.”
But he was grinning, a helpless bubble of fondness warming him. “You remember cows. Cows. Of all things?”
Jon shrugged, tears still escaping his eyes, bright expression unfaltering. “It sounds absolutely ludicrous. All of it,” he agreed. “To think you would believe me about my delusions and now this? Cows, for heavens’ sake!”
Martin embraced the other again. “Any other crazy revelations I should be aware of?” He teased. “Like, oh I don’t know, you used to have three heads or something?”
“Mh. I shall inform you if I ever remember anything about an inappropriate amount of limbs or body parts,” Jon said, muffled by Martin’s sweater.
Martin laughed, warm, wobbly. “Right. Good. I’d hate having to explain that in a statement.” He brushed his thumb over Jon’s cheek, catching a stray tear. “But… if you remember anything else? About us? Even if it’s just a beard, or me getting licked by livestock- please tell me.”
Jon simply nodded, letting out a content sigh.
They held each other close, hearts full in a way they had never known before.
“Just stay,” Martin mumbled into Jon’s hair. “However this works, whatever this is- just don’t let go.”
“No,” Jon agreed. “Never again.”