Work Text:
It had to be in the Archives, it just had to be. Martin had stopped at his favorite café that morning, eager to enjoy breakfast out the day after he was paid, only to find his wallet nowhere on his person. He'd checked his coat three times, his pockets twice, even checked to make sure it hadn't fallen inside the couch. It had simply vanished from reality, leading Martin to try to recall every place he'd been the previous day, determining it could only be on his desk, in the Archives of the Magnus Institute. Weighing the options mentally, he'd decided that it was easier to simply go get the wallet rather than trying to get through the day without it.
Getting off the tube with the wave of people who were probably going to work, he started his walk the remaining five minutes to the Institute. It was sunny and breezy if a bit chilly on the autumn Thursday. Martin gazed at the familiar buildings he passed near-daily, the houses and businesses he never entered even as they remained in his routine and life. Soon he found himself facing the door to his workplace, his company ID in hand to show to whoever worked the counter today. He pulled open the heavy wooden doors and stepped in, where a peppy older woman waved him over, someone he didn't quite recognize.
"Hello there, welcome to the Magnus Institute. Are you here about a statement?"
"No, no, I work in the Archives, Martin Blackwood." He spoke softly, handing over his identification with the words "Archival Assistant" stamped on it in bright red.
"You work in the Archives? Everyone in the Archives is off today."
"Forgot my wallet on my desk. Can't do much without it," he chuckled out, hoping to ease the tension. The woman nodded and handed his ID back to him, which he slipped back in his pocket, walking toward the basement the Archives were kept in. He took out his keys, placing the golden one in the lock and twisting, only to find the lock didn't move. Inquisitively, he turned the doorknob and pushed, the door creaking open. Either the Archives hadn't been locked up last night, or something, someone, was down there.
He flicked on the lights and tiptoed down the steps, hesitantly listening for any sign of danger. He heard nothing but his own footfalls, trying to convince himself the entire time that Jon must have simply forgotten to lock up last night when he'd left. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he peered around the poorly lit room, searching for unknown intruders. Finding none, he walked over to his desk, which sat next to Sasha's in the center of the main room. His things were untouched, his computer just as he left it and his scrawled notes still lay haphazardly across the keyboard. Next to the computer lay a plain brown, obviously aged, wallet. He flicked through it happily, noting that all his things were still there.
He turned to leave when he saw out of the corner of his eye that the light in Jon's office was still bright, even with the blinds closed. He placed the wallet in his coat pocket and walked towards the room, suspicious of what may be inside, no one should be in the Archives on Thursday at 11 am. Pushing the door open, what Martin saw in front of him confounded him, leaving him shocked, staring. Jon sprawled out, his head on his desk and papers scattered everywhere. Leaning over in his chair, Jon was fast asleep, and it seemed he'd been working until he passed out.
Martin hesitantly paced over to him, looking over his sleeping form. He was gently snoring, and it was the only time Martin had ever seen him look peaceful. He considered not even waking Jon, his boss could probably use the rest, but eventually decided it was only polite. He tapped Jon on the shoulder, hoping he was a light sleeper. He barely stirred, weakly curling his fingers and snoring louder. Sheepishly, Martin grabbed his shoulder and gently rattled Jon awake, which proved to be enough to shake him out of his sleep.
"What... Martin?" Jon sat up and yawned, stretching his arms above his head, yielding a cacophony of pops and cracks.
"Morning, Jon. It's Thursday, you fell asleep at your desk," Martin shyly offered. Jon looked confused, reaching for his phone in the scattered mess on his desk and turning it on, and holding it up to his face to stare at the time. Martin took a step back, unsure of what to do. Jon squinted suspiciously at his phone as if he thought the clock was lying to him, before rubbing his temples and laying his head back on the desk.
"Jon? Are you alright?" Martin reached out for him, worried.
"No, no, I'm fine," muttered Jon, sitting upright drowsily. He groped for the tape recorder and began setting it up, collecting the papers around him to read another statement. "Where are my glasses?"
Martin noticed a pair of dark spectacles sitting on the corner of the desk and picked them up, placing them in Jon's hand. He cleaned them off on his sweater, blinking sleep out of his eyes and peering up at Martin.
"You can go now," he declared, sending a slight glare and stifling another yawn. He was still exhausted, having spent most of the night in and out of restless sleep while recording more fake statements that were obviously made up.
"Go? You're not... going to go home?" He couldn't be serious, was he really going to wake up and do more work? He and his boss didn't always get along, but he knew that was insane.
"I have to finish these statements, Elias wants them by tomorrow morning, which is an impossible deadline without some extra work," he spat out venomously. The dates Elias set were nearly always unfair. Though if his assistants completed work faster, he thought, he'd perhaps be able to make them. Martin shifted on his feet before placing his hand on the tape recorder.
"Come on Jon, go home," he softly coaxed. "It's not worth it for Elias, you should spend your day off doing anything but work." Jon glared at him furiously but was interrupted by another yawn that made him feel even more tired. He sighed deeply and stood up.
"Okay," he muttered, giving in. "I will. Do you know where I live?" He began placing things back in his pockets and organizing them for the next day. Martin flushed a bit and nodded. He'd had to stop by, once, to drop off some of the work he'd collected after hours.
After passing the confused lady at the counter, who had only seen Martin go in, the two walked through London together, Jon shivering a bit in the cold. His flat was only 10 minutes walk, perfectly manageable for Martin and mostly manageable for a sleepy Jon.
"Do you um, want my coat? It's pretty warm," offered Martin, who was already taking it off. Jon flushed but nodded, taking the jacket and wrapping it around him. It engulfed him a bit, Martin being much taller and bigger, but it was comfortable. Martin smiled at Jon, no longer shivering. He felt the heat rise on his cheeks and looked away, embarrassed. When had he started having feelings for Jon, anyway?
They stood outside the modest-looking flat, Jon fiddling with keys to unlock the door. He pushed a silver key with a red-painted top, opening the door and motioning for Martin to come in. He stepped inside, looking at the relatively small, boring home. No pictures on the wall, no huge libraries, not even a coffin as Tim had predicted when they first met Jon. It was, well, normal. Jon hung up the coat and paced over to a living room with a TV hooked to a VHS player and a single couch with a blanket laid on it. Jon sat on the couch, still yawning, and Martin followed, sitting next to him.
"Your place is very nice, thanks for having me," he offered, unsure of what he should be doing inside. Jon mumbled something and started nodding off again, swaying a bit where he sat. "Jon?"
Jon reached out to Martin, slowly falling towards him. Martin moved his arms towards him, catching him as Jon fell asleep again, in his arms this time. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled the blanket over both of them, letting Jon sleep again. Eventually, he found himself drifting off under the warm blanket.
Jon woke up around noon in his flat, buried under the throw that was usually sprucing up his couch. He looked up, confused, embarrassed to find him cuddled in Martin's arms. He sorted through vague memories of falling asleep at his desk, Martin waking him up, inviting Martin inside . He weaseled his way out of Martin's embrace, waking him up in the process.
"Huh?" Came the startled reply from a sleepy Martin. Jon removed the blanket, folding it neatly and throwing it back over the couch.
"Apologies, I wasn't quite thinking right, long night of working," rambled Jon, who was trying to distract himself by doing light cleaning around his messy home. "I think it'd be best if you go." Why had he let Martin inside?
"Oh. Yep, yeah, right on that." Martin squeaked, standing up hurriedly and walking towards the door. "Sorry, Jon. I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course. Thank you for waking me up." Jon closed the door frantically and walked back to his couch, dutifully ignoring all emotion swirling in his head and chest. He refused to think about how nice Martin had felt in his arms, how he really didn't want to let go of that warm embrace, and certainly not about Martin had woken him up and shown concern for him. He had some sort of dignity left, after all.
Walking back to his house, Martin had decided that lunch at the cafe was fine since he missed breakfast. Time well wasted, with Jon, but he hadn't eaten and it was already encroaching on 1 pm. He stood outside, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet. Finding empty air, he remembered he'd given his coat to Jon, who'd hung it up in his flat. He'd completely forgotten the reason he even went out. He thought briefly about the image of Jon wearing it to work the next day, before pushing it out of his mind and walking back home. He'd have to wait until tomorrow to ask for it back.