Chapter Text
The only word Martin could think of to describe the way he felt that morning was hangover. He woke up even earlier than usual and extricated himself from beneath Jon, who was oblivious to the outside world. At least they had managed to communicate something, although it wasn’t the way he would have preferred to do it. At least they had made up, although he knew the actual fallout likely remained to be seen; arguments like that always seemed to twist their way back around.
He was still processing everything Jon had told him, and not for the first time wished he knew what had come from Jon on that last day, and what had come from something that wasn’t Jon. Martin still couldn’t believe he'd wanted to destroy the world—not really. The idea that everything might have been different, that he might have been able to save Jon from that decision if he had just woken up that night, was hard to process. On the other hand, now that they were here, he had a new appreciation for Jon’s insistence on not letting the fears out. It was bad enough that they were responsible for the end of just two people in one dimension. The damage wasn’t just theoretical, and of course Jon had likely understood the possibilities in a way Martin couldn’t have before.
If he was being very, very honest, though, the thing that hurt the most was what Jon would have been willing to do to him. Before, it had felt like abandonment; Jon had been willing to leave him. Martin's hurt had been that simple, and that selfish. It wasn’t that he didn’t rationally understand how it could be reasonable, or an act of strength or even love, if Jon really thought it was what he’d needed to do. It was that he himself could not have been that reasonable or strong about it. He didn’t believe he could have made a decision that would have led to them being apart, and like he’d told Jon—it had hurt that Jon could.
Now, though, he realized Jon had never seen it that way. Jon had sincerely believed that becoming the pupil of the Eye would not have changed him, that he wasn't sacrificing himself. He had believed that they could have still been together. He’d said that at the time, hadn't he? The words he'd pushed away in the moment came back to Martin: We can be together, here. Until it’s over. And then—when the tower had begun to fall—Jon had tried to send him away, but Martin understood now that even that hadn’t been a separation. Not for Jon, the way he was then. Jon would have kept Martin living in that world, whatever the cost, while he tortured himself driving it to its end.
Of course, it was also possible that the Eye had such a hold on Jon at that time that none of those thoughts had really come from him at all—but if that was the case, there was no way Martin was going to allow him to do anything that would help him reconnect to it. He wouldn’t help Jon lose himself again. Whatever he wanted to do here, there had to be another way.
He had no idea how to approach any of this, and he certainly didn’t want to confront Jon with it when he woke up, so he decided to focus on something else instead—like his neck. It hurt. He supposed that made sense, given how he must have slept. After an unsuccessful attempt to stretch it out, he moved on to pick up the papers that were still on the floor. It hadn’t felt right to pick them up while Jon was gone; he’d wanted the reminder of why Jon wasn’t there, so maybe he wouldn’t let things get so heated the next time. He’d told himself he’d pick them up later, but then he’d fallen asleep and Jon had come home and it just hadn’t happened.
By the time he needed to wake Jon, Martin had decided that, for now, he was going to continue to do whatever Jon would allow to support his efforts. He didn’t imagine there was any chance Jon would slow down of his own accord, and at least that way he could make sure he was ok. The worst-case scenario would be if Jon started keeping secrets.
Jon was tired that morning. Martin could tell Jon had the same emotional hangover that he did, but it seemed like more than that. He occasionally stopped to stare distractedly into nothing. He took so long in the shower that Martin had to check on him twice, and ended up finding things to do in the bedroom until Jon was done. He was worried when Jon slipped his arm through his on their walk to work. That wasn’t a normal thing; Jon seemed to be relying on him to keep walking. Martin asked if he was ok, and Jon nodded absently in a way that wasn’t particularly comforting.
The fact was that he seemed to be getting worse, not better.
***
They were somehow only a little bit late, not that anyone was paying attention. Martin had to enter some updates in their online system, so he spent the morning at his desk. Tim was back from his investigation and Sasha was in her office, and despite his worries about Jon it was almost a nice morning with the four of them together. He wondered if he might be feeling a little too comfortable; he didn't particularly want to have Jon's level of anxiety and guilt, but it didn't feel right to be having a nice time.
As he worked, checking records and following up on notes he’d made the previous week, he discovered another reason for concern. He realized for the first time that some memories of this world had blurred into others, his real memories, with no specific moment of revelation. He very clearly recalled several weeks spent tracking down some files that had been returned to the main library instead of the archives, and he didn’t realize until he was shaking his head over the enormous waste of time that it had only happened here.
Although it was an unimportant memory, it brought up a lot of questions. They still didn’t know exactly what had happened to the Jon and Martin from this world, and clearly they were connected somehow. What if Martin stopped being able to tell the difference between memories from the two worlds? Or worse, what if memories from this world were replacing memories of the one they came from? What if that was why it was so easy to feel occasional moments of contentment—because he was actually forgetting what had happened?
Just to reassure himself, he started going backward through his memories from the moment they had arrived here. The tower, the panopticon, Annabelle Cane; his slowly expanding terror as Jon had grown more and more drawn to it all. The fear domains, all of them, but especially the corpse roots and the apartment fires and the domain that belonged to him—where people suffered without even the comfort that another living being knew or cared for their existence.
The cabin in Scotland, where everything had gone irretrievably wrong. He meant to keep moving back through his memories, but he got stuck on this one. How had it all happened? He had left Jon alone, for one thing. Maybe he should have stayed, but he couldn’t have known. Jon had been trying not to know things, which should have been right. Avoid using evil powers. It still seemed like it should have been right. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? Every wrong decision looked like the right one. It had been so much worse for Jon, of course. If Peter Lukas had been able to see into Martin like Jonah Magnus could—if he had not pushed it just a bit too far—Martin could have very easily been the one to set off an apocalypse. Instead, he was thrown into the Lonely, unwittingly sealing Jon’s fate in the process. He wondered if he had—
An upsettingly familiar voice broke through his thoughts. Martin was so deeply distracted that at first, he thought he had manufactured it himself, out of his memories. When he looked up, though, he was met with the site of not only Peter Lukas, but also Elias Bouchard, and it took him a second to remember where he was. He started to stand up, but somehow had lost track of his physical surroundings, and managed to get tangled up in his chair. He ended up on the ground.
He could feel the entire room focus in on him, but he couldn’t look away from the two men in front of him. Peter was almost exactly as he remembered him, while Elias could not have been more different—it was hard to believe he was the same person. Of course, in most ways, he wasn’t. Peter chuckled uncomfortably while Martin continued to stare, and turned to the man standing next to him. “It seems we’ve disturbed your assistant.”
“Martin.” His name, spoken nearby, finally brought him out of his stupor. He looked up expecting to find Jon, but found Tim instead.
“Martin,” he said again, “are you all right?”
“Yeah.” He looked around. Sasha had come to the door of her office to see what was going on; Jon had gotten up too.
“I keep saying we need to replace that chair.” Tim laughed nervously and reached to help Martin to his feet. It felt like it took forever to stand up.
“Yeah. Yeah, that chair, it’s, um…” Martin’s words were swallowed up by silence as he turned his eyes to the floor.
“Looks like we’re ok here, then.” Elias clapped his hands and turned back to Peter. “Shall we continue?”
Peter took one last discomfiting look at Martin before they continued into Sasha’s office. She gave Martin a concerned glance as she ushered Elias and Peter in, and pursed her lips as he shook his head. She closed the door behind them.
“Martin, are you—” Jon started to ask.
“I’m fine.” He really was more embarrassed than anything, and set about righting his chair so he could retreat back into his data entry as quickly as possible. “I—I’m sorry.”
Jon started to say something else, but was interrupted as Elias came back into the room, setting Sasha’s door against the jamb. “Everything all right?”
“Yep.” Tim patted Martin on the back, just hard enough to startle him again. “Everything is perfectly fine.”
Elias nodded, looking curiously from Tim to Martin to Jon. “Well, in any case, I want to apologize. I meant to come by last week to see how the two of you were doing, but, well… as you all know, I hate this place and avoid being here whenever possible.” He spoke the last part under his breath and grinned, the sarcastic sort of grin that doesn’t reach the eyes. It was a look Martin could not recall ever seeing on Elias’s face before in his life, but somehow it fit. “Still, I should have checked in. I’ll catch up with you soon. And Martin—get a new chair? That’s embarrassing.”
And with that, he disappeared back into Sasha’s office.
“Well,” Tim said as he leaned back against Martin’s desk. “I’ve seen some reactions to Peter Lukas, but I think that is my new favorite.”
“Sorry.” Martin could feel how red his face was.
“Martin, are you—are you really ok?” He looked over to see intense concern on Jon’s face, and he knew Jon wasn’t asking about his fall.
“Yeah,” he replied, as reassuringly as he could. “I—I really am.”
Jon didn’t seem convinced, but Tim got Martin’s attention again. “Let’s get lunch. You need a break.”
“Oh, I—I would, but I brought mine today.” He gestured toward the paper sack on the corner of his desk. “I have to leave a bit early, so I thought I’d work through lunch.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I have to go pay some fees and pick up some stuff my old apartment building put in storage.”
“How are you getting there?”
“I was going to take the tube out,” Martin replied, realizing he hadn’t thought it through entirely. “I guess I hadn’t planned for getting back, but it’s just going to be some clothes and stuff for now. I can get a cab if it’s too much.”
“I’ll drive you,” Tim announced.
“Oh, no, thanks. I appreciate it, but—”
“It’s really not a problem.”
Martin considered; having a car really would be a lot more convenient. He didn’t know how much stuff was in storage, and he definitely didn’t know how it had been stored. Maybe it wasn’t even packed. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. Besides, I want to talk with you.” Seeing the look on Martin’s face, he added, “No more questions. Mostly, I want to apologize properly for last week.”
“Well… yeah, ok. If you really don’t mind.”
“Nope. See you after lunch.” Tim headed for the door.
“Thanks,” Martin called after him.
As soon as Tim was gone, Martin turned back to Jon.
“When I asked this morning, you said you didn’t need help.” It was a statement, not an accusation, but Martin felt like he had to defend himself.
“I don’t! You heard him—he was really insistent. And he does have a car.”
“I can still go,” Jon said.
“It’s not a big thing.”
Jon bit his lip.
“Jon, you’re not feeling great, and I know how important it is to you to—to do your work. It’s fine.”
“You’re important, too.” Again, this was merely a statement, and again, it provoked too strong a reaction from Martin. This one, though, he tried to cover up.
“Yeah, well—I know that. You don’t have to prove it. And—if you’re not busy, or sleeping, you can help me put stuff away when I get home. Deal?”
Jon sighed, but agreed. “Deal,” he said, before turning back to his desk.
***
Martin ended up being very thankful for Tim’s help, and especially for his car. After they stopped by the rental office and he paid his fees, the storage lot was farther than he had imagined. Additionally, while most of his things were in bags, they were heavy contractor bags and there didn’t seem to be any logic as to what had gone where—if he’d come on his own, he would have had to spend a lot of time dumping things out and rearranging all of it to make it manageable. It would have been a pain, even if he had ended up calling a cab. As it was, though, Tim was able to help him with the heavier bags, and he didn’t have to sort everything out on the spot, so they finished with plenty of time.
“Let me get you a drink on the way back,” Tim offered, as he closed the boot on the final bag. “I still owe you an apology.”
“Tim, you just did me a huge favor. You don’t need to—”
“That was helping a friend. Apologies are measured in drinks.”
Martin considered. He did want to go. “Do you mind if I check on Jon?” he asked.
“Go right ahead,” Tim said. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Martin pulled out his phone, and thought about texting, but decided to call. Jon should be home, and that meant there was a good chance he was asleep. The phone did ring a bit long before he picked up.
“Everything all right?” Jon asked, and Martin thought he did sound like he may have just been roused from a nap.
“Yeah. I was actually just calling to ask you that.”
“Well, I’m home.”
“Good. Um… We got done a bit early, and Tim was asking if I wanted to grab a drink. Would you mind if I did?”
“Not at all.”
“Are you sure? Did you eat yet?” Martin asked. He kept his voice low so Tim wouldn’t overhear, although he didn’t exactly know why.
“Not yet.”
“I left one of those frozen meals on top in the freezer for you. Will you eat it?”
“Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you.”
Martin cringed at what he was about to say, but did it anyway. “Would you make it now?”
There was a pause. “Martin, are you serious?”
“Yes? I mean, you don’t have to, but I’d feel better if—”
“Fine.” Jon sighed, and Martin heard the sound of the freezer door opening a few moments later. “I’m doing it. Stop fretting and go have a drink.”
“Ok.” He was relieved. “Jon—thanks.”
“Go.” The call ended, and Martin couldn’t help but smile.
“OK, we’re good,” Martin told Tim as he climbed into the passenger seat. “Sure you won’t let me get it, though?”
“One hundred percent,” Tim answered. “How’s Jon?”
Martin debated whether he should give the polite answer or the real one, and went with something in between. “He’s… ok? To be honest, I’m a little worried about him.”
“Me too.” Tim started the car. “He wasn’t looking good last week when I was around.”
“Yeah?” Martin asked.
“He just seems tired,” Tim continued. “I mean, he’s always tired, ever since I’ve known him, but this is different. Tired and… distracted, I guess. Not like him.”
Martin nodded in agreement. “I’ve been trying to get him to take it easy, but—”
“He doesn’t care much for that, does he?”
“No. No, he does not.” Martin snorted, and Tim gave him a little grin as they headed out.
Soon they were sitting together at a table with a couple of beers in front of them.
“So,” Tim began, “I am officially apologizing for how I acted last week. I was a dick.”
Martin sighed. “No, you weren’t. You were worried, and Jon and I haven’t exactly been easy to—well, easy to anything.”
“Forgive me anyway?”
“If you insist,” Martin replied. “I forgive you, I guess.”
“Thanks. Cheers,” Tim said, holding up his glass. Martin obliged with a clink, and took a polite sip while Tim gulped down about half of what was in his glass.
“And for the record, I still don’t believe that you’re telling us everything, but—well, I imagine you have your reasons. I got to thinking over the weekend,” Tim said, after he had wiped his mouth off with his arm. “Sasha asked me not to say too much, but you know I was looking into some police records last week.”
Martin nodded. “Yeah, did something turn up?”
“Sasha was right. There was more. More than people had come to talk to us about.”
“For instance?”
Well… for instance, there was a kidnapping case about a month back. It turned out to be related to this cult that’s apparently been around forever, but never really done anything before. Not anything worth anyone’s time, anyway. I won’t get into details, I promised Sasha, but some of the officers thought they saw some things that… just shouldn’t have been possible. Not one or two officers, like a lot of them. And they lost some people.”
Oh god. He remembered when Basira had been called out on that mission. Martin wanted to ask questions, confirm his suspicions, but after what had happened with Oliver Banks, he didn’t want to push it again. “That’s horrible.”
“And here’s the real kicker.” Tim stopped to take another big drink. “There have been enough of these incidents that they’ve started asking the officers to sign a form saying they won’t talk about it. There’s been sort of an upset over it, actually. It’s all got lots of them pretty nervous, but no one is willing to make any outside statements, either. Not officially.”
Martin nodded again. This was really bad, but if it was happening, it was better that he know. He would tell Jon too, of course.
“Well, anyway, the point was I got to thinking—I know you and Jon disappeared around the same time all of this started. I’m not sure what to make of any of it, but whatever is going on… whatever you went through or feel like you went through, I understand why you might not want to talk about it.”
Martin knew he should say again that couldn’t remember, that he was sure it was nothing like that, it was probably completely unrelated—but he couldn’t. For one thing, it was a terrible lie. Everything Tim had witnessed—the way they had disappeared, the time they were gone, the way they had shown up again—it all fit together. For another thing, he knew he’d already said too much the last time they were out, and if he kept trying to lie he’d just look like an ass. Mostly, though, Martin hated lying to friends, and he couldn’t pretend anymore that this Tim didn’t feel like a friend.
So instead, he just nodded again, and took another sip of his beer.
“Well, if you need anything, I’m here.” Tim finished the remainder of his glass. “Speaking of which—where are we bringing your stuff?”
“Oh.” Martin realized he and Jon had never actually explained their living situation, and he felt the color rise into his face. “Jon’s flat?”
“I figured as much.” Tim leaned toward him. “So is that a long term situation, or—?”
Martin didn’t know how to answer that, because he realized he didn’t know the answer. When they’d first gotten here, of course, they had just needed somewhere to go, and Jon had clearly wanted him there. Since then, he’d been so worried about Jon that he hadn’t questioned whether or not he should stay; it had just felt obvious that Jon needed him there. He had never actually asked him though, had he?
“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “I guess we hadn’t talked about it.”
“Oh, god, relax,” Tim groaned. “If Jon didn’t want you there, you’d know. Subtlety is not his strength.”
“Sure.” Tim was basically right, of course. Still, they had been operating in survival mode for so long that maybe Jon hadn’t even realized not living together was an option. Mostly, though, it just wasn’t how people were supposed to move in together. They weren’t supposed to do it because they were scared.
Martin took a much longer sip of his beer, and was grateful when Tim changed the subject.
***
Miraculously, Jon was awake when they got back. He offered to help carry the bags upstairs from the car, but Tim and Martin both insisted he should let them take care of it, and he did seem relieved once he realized how heavy they were. Martin thanked Tim profusely for the help—it really would have taken a lot longer without him—and Tim said again he was happy to do it, and that he was looking forward to getting drinks with both of them sometime soon, when Jon was up for it.
“What did he mean, when I’m up for it?” Jon asked, after he was gone.
“Jon, everyone can tell you’re…” Martin considered what word to use. “Tired.”
“Is it really that bad?”
Martin wanted to ask Jon if that was a joke. Instead, he went with, “Yeah. It is.”
“I didn’t realize.” Jon was nervous. “Do you think Tim suspects anything?”
He decided not to mention that Tim very definitely did; it would only add stress, and that was not what Jon needed right now. He took a different route.
“Tim’s concerned, that’s all. You’re his friend and he’s worried.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You are. I know there are a lot of complicating factors, and no, he’s not our Tim”—Martin stumbled a little over those words— “but in the simplest terms, he is Tim, and he is our friend.”
Jon sighed. “I’m not sure how friendly he would feel toward me if he knew what I’ve done.”
“What you—” Martin started to protest, but he reconsidered. He’d had enough arguing last night, and as obvious as his own responsibility for everything seemed to him, he doubted Jon would agree. “Never mind. How are you doing?”
“I’m all right,” Jon answered. “Good enough to help you sort through some of this.”
“Oh, Jon, I was just talking, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” Then, with a slight smile, he added, “I certainly can’t let Tim take all the credit.”
“Right.” Martin shook his head, but also ended up smiling. “So, I’ll warn you—there’s not been a lot of organization. I maybe had to grab a little more than I actually intended.”
Ultimately, they dumped most of it onto the sitting room floor and began to sort everything into piles. Clothes Martin needed, things that could go to the office, some things they could use in the kitchen, stuff to go back to storage. As they sorted, Martin told Jon what he’d learned from Tim, which he suspected was related to the People’s Church of the Divine Host. He also told him about the police officers who had recently been sectioned. Jon nodded in concern while he spoke, but didn’t say much.
Before long, they had sorted out most of the obvious things. Martin was left going through a few boxes that had come along, containing mostly papers and legal documents and breakables and other things that couldn’t easily be thrown into bags.
“Want me to put some clothes away while you’re going through that?” Jon asked.
Martin cleared his throat. “Actually, it kind of came up when I was talking to Tim, and um—well, I realized we never talked about how long I would be staying here.”
“What do you mean, how long?” Jon seemed completely confused.
“Well, I kind of just… moved in. And we never talked about it.”
“What?” Jon asked again.
“You know, normally people talk about this. Moving in together.” Martin shifted uncomfortably in his spot on the floor.
“What did you want to talk about?” Jon asked.
“I mean, this is your place. I know I lost mine, or he lost his, or whatever, and this made sense when we got here, but—”
“Do you not want to be here?”
“What? No, I do, of course I do, but I just assumed it was what you wanted, too.”
“Because it is what I wanted.”
“I just hadn’t asked, that’s all.” Admittedly, Martin was relieved, but it still didn’t feel quite right. “I mean, we kind of had to be together before, and we have more time now to think about things, and I want this to really be a choice going forward because I do want to—well, I know I’m already on your nerves with the—”
“Stop. Listen to me,” Jon said. “I want you here. As long as you want to be here. I choose this.”
“Ok.” Martin stopped trying to explain himself, even though he wasn’t sure Jon really understood. He wasn’t trying to convince Jon he should move out, after all. He just wanted a sense of normalcy, to stop feeling like they were hurtling toward some inevitable doom. He didn’t want every moment to count; he wanted a future. He wasn’t sure how to put that into words, though.
“Can I help pay rent, at least?”
Jon got to his feet and grabbed a stack of shirts that were closest to him. “I really don’t care. At this point, money seems—beside the point.”
“Definitely in the shaving and eating category,” Martin agreed. “Still…”
“If it makes you comfortable, yes, of course.” Jon headed toward the bedroom, and Martin turned his attention back to the boxes in front of him.
He made it most of the way through with no trouble. Most of the things in the boxes could go back into storage; a few things, like his birth certificate, he would keep. And then he found a copy of his mother’s death certificate. He didn’t even have to look at the date to know; he remembered. It had happened here on the exact same day it had happened for him. Everything about it had been the same, actually. Not just when she passed, but all of it; everything about his relationship with her had been exactly the same. He didn’t understand why he felt so much disappointment.
“Martin?” Jon touched his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Hm?” Martin glanced back and up at Jon.
“It’s just—you’ve been looking at it for five minutes. You haven’t moved.”
“Oh. It’s, um—well, look.” It was easier than saying it. He held it up until Jon recognized it.
“Ah.” Jon set down the clothes in his hand and sat down next to Martin.
“I guess—” Martin sighed. “I guess it was all just so—maybe I’d hoped that they had something to do with it, you know? The—the fears. But they didn’t. They weren’t here then. It was just how she was. And maybe it was how I was, too. Maybe I—maybe I was the reason.”
“No.” Jon leaned against him, and gently rested his hand on the back of his shoulder. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Do you know what Elias showed me? Or Jonah, I guess? While you were—”
“I heard the tape, yes.”
“It was true, wasn’t it? She hated me.”
“She—she was ill, Martin. She loved you when she was well.” Martin nodded, and Jon leaned in even closer. “But just because she loved you doesn’t mean she was a good mother.”
“No. She wasn’t, actually.” Martin closed his eyes, and tried to just appreciate Jon’s presence, his warmth. “She was awful.”
Jon nodded.
“You know, I’ve never told anyone that.” Martin already felt ashamed. “Well, anyone except me.”
“Oh—right.” Jon knew what he meant.
“But it wasn’t her fault.”
“Does it matter if it was?”
“Yes. It does.” Martin tried to ignore the tear that squeezed its way out through his eyelids, because trying to stop them only ever seemed to bring more of them. “Jon—was the other part true too? Do I really look like my—like him?”
Jon hesitated, but eventually answered. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean you’re anything like him.”
“Do you know what he was like?”
“Yes. It was an accident, but I—” Jon paused. “I thought I needed to know what Elias could do, and, well—I couldn’t control it that well then. I saw more than I meant to. Is there anything you want to know?”
Martin felt another hot tear slide down his face, and tried to ignore that one too. “Am I like him?”
“No,” Jon said quietly. “Not at all.”
“Then I don’t need to know anything else.” A third tear fell, and a fourth, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He raised his arm to wipe his face, but Jon stopped him.
“Sorry. It’s been a long day,” Martin mumbled. “I’m—”
“No.” Jon turned Martin’s head toward him, and wiped his cheek with his thumb. “Don’t apologize.”
“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you cry once, and it was because—”
Jon kissed him.
“Jon—”
“Hush.” Jon crawled over Martin to straddle his lap, and kissed him again. Everything that had been swimming around in Martin’s head—their argument, Peter, his mother—it fell away, and all that was left was Jon. He let himself really breathe for the first time that day, resting his face against Jon’s shirt as they held each other.
“I love you,” Jon told him, when Martin looked at him.
“I love you too.” He turned his face up so Jon could kiss him again.
They stayed there until Jon’s hand gradually dropped from Martin’s face to his neck, and eventually down his arm, and Martin realized he was falling asleep.
“You awake?”
Jon didn’t answer him, and Martin didn’t particularly want to let go—so he picked him up, shifting Jon’s arms to his shoulders and then wrapping his own arms around Jon’s waist. He’d never done it before, but it was surprisingly easy; Jon was disturbingly light. Jon woke up enough to have a moment of panic when Martin stood up, and tightened his grip on Martin’s neck, but quickly relaxed and let himself be carried him to the bedroom.
“You all right?” Martin asked after he set him down on the bed.
“Mm.” Jon turned to lie on his side, and Martin brushed back the hair that had come loose.
“Jon, I’m really worried about you.”
“I’ll be ok,” Jon replied, catching Martin’s hand as he closed his eyes again. “I have you.”