Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Originally it was only meant to be for a few weeks. A leak in Martin’s building that had led to an inspector deeming the building unfit for human habitation until all of the plumbing and the wiring to the whole building was brought up to modern standards. Shockingly the owner had actually decided to update rather than tear the whole thing down and start fresh, and so Martin needed a place to stay for a month or two. And though he probably could have stayed in the Institute again as he had during the Prentiss episode, he didn’t really want to for more than a few nights if he could avoid it.

On the second day after moving out as Martin brought Jon a cup of tea between statements the man had offered Martin a place to stay – the offer had surprised Jon as much as it had Martin, but it had been genuine and so that evening the two men had travelled home to Jon’s apartment, lugging the majority of Martin’s belongings with them.

At first, they unsurprisingly found one another more of a nuisance than anything: one of them always in the bathroom when the other needed it, Jon always muttering pieces of statements to himself, Martin reciting lines of poetry, Jon inexplicably never having teabags despite Martin buying more what felt like once a week. (Was he eating them? Throwing them out just to anger Martin?) But eventually the men had found something that they could both just about consider harmony within the flat.

Of course, almost as soon as that harmony had been achieved Martin got word his apartment was safe to inhabit again, and so when Jon got home from the Institute one evening (having surprisingly not worked three or four hours longer than he was contractually obliged to) and found Martin packing away his belongings in the spare room he couldn’t help but be surprised by the fact he felt sad that Martin would be gone by the next night. It took a while, and several tense trips around the living room while he muttered quietly to himself the pros and cons of the decision, but Jon eventually found himself knocking on the door of Martin’s bedroom.

“Look… I know I’m not the easiest person on the planet to live with, but you’ve made the flat feel more like home in the time you’ve been here, and I know your apartment is ready to go back to, and that you have a lease, and it would probably cost you money to break that lease, but I think I would like to offer you the spare room on a more permanent basis if you’re interested in staying … Apart from anything else I’ve gotten used to paying less rent while you’ve been here.”

The words are out of Jon’s mouth before he’d even really thought the statement through, and long before Martin had turned towards the door and reached to remove one of the earbuds he was wearing.

“Sorry Jon, what did you say? I was listening to a podcast.” Martin holds the earbud up.

Jon groans, realising that his brief moment of sincerity will either have to be repeated or the whole statement reworded, then opens and closes his mouth dumbly for a moment before finding his words again.

“I said, I know you’re due to move back to your apartment, but I was actually hoping you might stay here …” he pauses, “if you can get out of your lease of course …”

“Oh!”

Martin looks surprised by the offer, not sure whether he should believe the sincerity of it or not.

“Are you sure?”

John nods, an mhm coming from somewhere deep in his throat. He wasn’t sure, wasn’t sure at all, but he’d made the offer and he couldn’t take it back now that it was out in the universe.

“They actually told us that we could end our leases if we wanted at any point before we move back in – they probably just want to lease again for more money, so if you’re really sure then … yeah, I’d like to stay here.”

“Alright, wonderful.” Jon smiles gently, he hadn’t really expected Martin to want to stay and the news that he did made him happier than he had expected.

“I’ll go and start making dinner then, you’re okay with risotto? I’ve been too busy to go shopping for the week.”

Martin nods before turning back to his half-packed bedroom, ready to begin the process of unpacking all that he had packed.

“Okay Jon, let me know when it’s ready.”

Chapter Text

Something had turned up in Prague, a statement that for no discernible reason was resisting being sent to the Magnus Institute. They’d tried several times, email, fax, snail mail, even physically carrying the statement by hand to London, but it always arrived corrupted in some way – though the delivery person had spent weeks memorising the statement as soon as they had set down in London every word was gone from their head. And so the head archivist had been dispatched to attempt to take the statement down and carry a version of it back to London. Because of the trouble it had been causing, Elias had insisted on an assistant accompanying Jon to Prague and with Martin being the only one able to go on short notice the two had ended up bundled into the next flight to the Czech Republic, sitting four rows behind the woman who had unsuccessfully attempted to bring them the statement.

Martin, predictably hadn’t seemed too annoyed about being suddenly sent off to another country at almost last moments notice; he’d spent most of the tube ride to Heathrow researching things they might be able to do in Prague in the small amount of free time they would end up having. So far he had decided they were going to see the Astronomical Clock, they would ride the funicular train, and he particularly wanted to see some statue but Jon had stopped paying attention long before then and couldn’t remember half of what the other man said, too busy thinking through the few details he knew of the Czech statement they were on the way to.

By the time they had landed, and caught a taxi into the city, both men had long since drifted off into their own thoughts, their day had been long before Elias had announced they were going to Prague. Both were tired and just wanted to be in bed. Though they’d been sharing the apartment in Walthamstow for a few months both were somewhat on edge about the prospect of having to share a hotel room for the three nights Elias had scheduled them to be away. Apparently a second room was considered an “unnecessary expense” and despite Jon’s protestations about being unwilling to share a room, Elias had not been willing to change his mind.

And so it was with particular horror on both Jon and Martin’s part they discovered on arriving in their room; there was only one bed.

            “I’m going to kill him.” Jon mutters darkly, walking into the room and throwing his small suitcase on one side of the bed. “I’d bet money that he did this on purpose, just to annoy us.”

            “It could be worse Jon,” Martin says, attempting to see some kind of positive in the situation, “at least it’s a king sized bed and not a single.” He smiles meekly at the other man.

            Jon just glared in response to that before sighing. He didn’t feel right forcing the other man to sleep on the small couch or the floor in their room, but neither did he particularly want to offer to do either of those things.

            “Look…” both men speak together.

            “Oh sorry, you go first,” Martin offers, finally setting his bag down on the couch.

Jon sighs, rubbing his hand up his face and into his hair,.

            “Neither of us want to offer to sleep on the floor or the couch, right?”

Martin nods.

            “And obviously neither of us are willing to demand the other sleeps on the couch or floor. So inconvenient as it may be, and if you agree to this, the knowledge never leaves this room, what do you think of sharing?”

Martin looks at Jon for a moment, a mildly puzzled look on his face as he tries to figure out the correct response to what Jon has said. On the one hand he didn’t care, the bed was huge, there was more than enough space for them and a third person if they wanted. On the other hand he didn’t want to agree too quickly and seem too eager, or alternately offend Jon by saying no. Because for as grumpy and uncaring as the man so often seemed, Martin knew otherwise.

            “If you’re okay with it then so am I,” he finally offers simply.

            “It’s fine by me,” Jon shrugs then reaches into the pocket of his coat, fishing out the packet of cigarettes he’d taken to carrying recently, though only two or three had been smoked in the time since he’d bought them.

            “I’m going for a smoke, I’ll be back in a while.”

            “Uh okay I guess.”

***

The first night was uneventful, by the time Jon came back from his cigarette break Martin had already fallen asleep, a small notebook dropped on the bed where it had fallen from his hand. Both men slept, alright they supposed, more than once they’d woken themselves, worried they had crossed the imaginary midline of the bed in their sleep – thought thankfully they never woke at the same time. By morning they at least felt more rested, and thought there was the usual clash for the bathroom they experienced at home, both were dressed, breakfasted, and waiting when the car from the Czech institute arrived to collect them for their busy day attempting to capture the details of the statement. It went frustratingly slowly, the statement deciding to be uncooperative at every turn and by the end of their day Jon and Martin had only managed to get the first line down in a stable manner. Though Martin did get his trip to the astronomical clock, which even Jon found to be endlessly fascinating, both men were again tired and decided to find food and retire to the hotel for the evening, eventually settling for burritos from a small restaurant near their hotel which they carried home and ate sitting on the bed, half entranced by a Czech soap opera.

***

The second night is more eventful. Though tired again, neither one found it particularly easy to settle to sleep, and though they had grown used to spending time together in the evenings, both men felt awkward about laying in bed beside one another and attempting to have any kind of conversation. Instead, Martin listened to a meditation and Jon to a podcast, both staring at the ceiling as they willed their minds to sleep. Eventually it worked, and though there was less waking in the night, Jon did at around 6am wake to find he had rolled to the middle of the bed at some point in his sleep and draped one of his arms across Martin’s stomach. Embarrassed to have made such an intimate move, even in his sleep, Jon gently withdrew his arm, hoping Martin hadn’t woken at any point. He had, he just hadn’t been conscious enough to really realise it had been Jon’s arm around him for the brief moment he had woken. Instead his sleepy brain had assumed it was his own arm and Martin had happily gone back to sleep. The incident did unfortunately mean that Jon was a little more standoffish all that day, a little more distant that he had been to Martin since they had become flatmates – Martin just chocked it up to the difficulty of the statement and thought little of it until they were again back to the hotel and Jon finally explained and apologised.

            “Oh! That’s hilarious. I woke up at some point last night and thought it was my arm across my stomach.” Martin laughs joyously, reaching for the chopsticks on the small table in front of him.

At this Jon looks even more embarrassed, his face turning red involuntarily.

            “Clearly asleep Jon just wants a cuddle and I mean who am I to deny it.” Martin says, still amused. “If the whole only one bed situation is never leaving this hotel room who cares.” He shrugs and begins to eat, leaving Jon looking stunned.

***

The final night is the least awkward. Both men having relaxed about the whole scenario enough that when they do eventually get into bed for the night they chat for a while, mostly about their plans for their final day in the Prague institute, and their hopes for getting the last of the statement down stably enough to transport back to London where Jon might be able to record it. The only thing that seemed to be working was transcribing the statement by hand using a specific historical ink recipe, a feather quill of all things, and some scrap papers they had removed from a comparably aged book. It all seemed to be holding so far but God only knew what would happen when they tried to transport it. Eventually with something almost like a plan in place for getting the statement home, both men drifted off, neither one waking until morning when Jon’s alarm rang loudly. It took a moment before they realised that once again they had shifted in the night, with both men laying close to one another, their feet touching and absolutely no memory of the move occurring.

            “Good morning Jon,” Martin says, yawning as he sat up.

            “Good morning Martin.” Jon rubs his eyes, removing the sleep from the corners. “Let’s go try handle this statement then shall we?”

Chapter Text

Really it was Jon’s own fault, he hadn’t bothered asking before Martin moved in if the other man had any pets. It had therefore come as a horrible surprise when he had learned on Martin’s becoming permanent within the Walthamstow flat that the man had a pet tarantula. Martin insisted he had mentioned it on more than one occasion.

            “How many times since we’ve known one another have I talked about liking spiders and that I think tarantulas are cute?” Was his response to Jon looking half angry half terrified by the enclosure that Martin was setting up in his bedroom.

            “Look I promise it will never be out of the room, I almost never even take her out of her tank, she doesn’t really like being held so she’s just content to sit in her den and wait for food. You’re never really going to be in here either so I know it’s unsettling to you but you get to have your jellyfish so I get to have Cecilia.”

            “I hardly think the jellies are comparable to a spider.” Jon shudders just thinking about it. “They just swim in circles and hurt no one. That,” he points in the direction of Cecilia’s travel container where she had come from the apartment of a friend who had been minding her in the time Martin thought his stay with Jon was temporary.

            “It has so many legs. And they bite!”

Martin rolls his eyes at Jon, moving pieces of log and bark around in the enclosure, trying to decide what Cecilia would prefer in terms of interior decoration.

            “The jellies have no legs and can sting.”

            “Yes but you’d have to reach into their tank and grab one for them to sting you.”

Martin stares pointedly at Jon, raising one eyebrow at him.

            “And how exactly do you think Cecilia will manage to bite you from inside her burrow inside her enclosure that she’s never managed to escape from in the two years I’ve had her? I know spiders make you uncomfortable but there’s no need to be mean to her.”

Jon makes a face in response.

            “Fine but if she does somehow manage to escape her cage you’ll be hearing about it.”

Cecilia of course, doesn’t manage to ever escape her enclosure, and in the following months Jon almost manages to forget about her about 85% of the time, only really remembering the spiders existence when Martin would make some reference to ordering her more food and did Jon want anything for the jellies or Cola (the betta fish he had recently brought home and set up in a tank in his bedroom. He found the sound of the filters, and the small movements of the plants he had added to the tank soothing, they helped him sleep,) or when she would sneak into his dreams – always far too big and moving far too fast for his liking.

It isn’t until he has to fetch a book from Martin’s room about six months into Cecilia’s tenancy that he was forced to confront her, and even then he could have avoided it. The required book was on Martins bedside locker, and unfortunately that meant passing Cecilia’s enclosure. He couldn’t help looking of course, the curiosity outweighing the revulsion and disconcertment he felt at being so close to her space.

It takes him a minute to even find her within the tank, between her stillness and the way she had redecorated her home, Cecilia liked to make herself almost entirely invisible half beneath a piece of bark that Martin had gifted her. Jon is at least glad that she isn’t moving, he knows it’s not long since she’d last eaten and so she is content to ignore the man peering into her home, only making a small, lazy move of two of her legs. It could almost be interpreted as a small wave of hello, and though Jon knew that was a ridiculous thought he couldn’t shake it away.

            “Hello Cecilia,” he says awkwardly, waving in response to her. “Martin sent me in here to grab a book for him, I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

She retracts the two visible legs under the piece of bark, hiding herself more completely. Jon doesn’t know whether to interpret this as a good or bad thing, and so apologises for disturbing her before picking up the book and retreating to the living room to deliver it to Martin.

            “I can’t be sure,” he says, handing the book to Martin, “but I think I may have just won over Cecilia. She and I may have reached a truce in the ongoing battle we’ve been having every time she invades my dreams at night.”

Martin just looks amused. “I did tell you you’d eventually come to like her.”

Chapter Text

He’d been seeing her for about a week and a half before he tried even speaking to her. Every evening as he would get home, disastrously late because of the overtime he was doing at the Institute. Jon would see her, collarless and peeping from the other side of the bins as he’d walk to the door of his building. At first he figured she was just a local cat, going on her evening roam and they just happened to be crossing paths, but as the days went on and she always seemed to be hanging around he picked up some cat food as he walked past the 24 hour Tesco up the road from his house and laid it out on the ground near the bins, before sitting by the door to see what would happen.

For a few minutes he thought maybe the cat wouldn’t show up, and a part of him was saddened. Even though he had never really seen or spoken to the cat for more than twenty seconds each night, he’d grown fond of them. But the sadness didn’t last, because eventually from behind the bins out crept the small cat, running nimbly to the pile of food Jon had left down and beginning to eat. In the darkness and the orange glow of the streetlights he couldn’t really tell much about the cat save that she had three white feet and a small white patch on her chest. Jon just sat, watching, and for the next two weeks this became their little ritual. He would lay out food, a few inches closer to him every night and the cat would eat, and eventually start to chirp at him asking for more.

So it wasn’t really that surprising when one day, about a month after the feeding had started that he decided to bring her home with him, scooping the cat into his arms and scratching between her ears as he climbed the stairs up to his and Martins flat. She didn’t seem to mind, if anything she seemed excited at the prospect and purred from the time Jon picked her up until he set her down in the sitting room and ran off to close both bedroom doors.

When he got back she was busy, sniffing every surface she could, and exploring around the apartment before settling to sleep on the couch, only occasionally looking to see where Jon was in the kitchen making himself food and once satisfied of his continued presence in the space would settle back to her sleep.

By the time Martin got home, he’d gone out from work though Jon couldn’t recall where, Jon and the cat were both on the couch, the cats chin and one paw on Jon’s thigh as he read.

            “I brought home a surprise.” He says, not looking round at Martin as he heard the man come through the door prompting a puzzled sound.

            “Is it that houseplant we were talking about? The fiddle widdle fig or whatever it’s called.”

            “Uhhhh…” It’s only in that moment that it occurs to Jon that Martin might be unhappy he’s brought home a stray cat out of the blue. “Kind of?” Jon turns, careful not to disturb the sleeping cat whose name had just occurred to him.

            Martin looks even more puzzled as he approaches Jon and the couch. Hearing the new person in the room the cat sits up, peering around and lets out a small noise, prompting a reassuring pet from Jon.

            “So I befriended a stray cat and have been feeding her outside for a month and nobody seems to own her so she’s ours now.” The words come quickly from Jon’s mouth,  afraid Martin will hate him and make him turn the cat back out on the street. “Her name is Houseplant.”

Martin stops a few feet behind the couch as he sees the small brindle ginger and black head pop up and peer quizzically at him. He takes in a breath, collecting his thoughts. The move panics Jon even further, now entirely convinced Martin is about to throw both of them out on the street.

The time between the inhale and exhale isn’t particularly long, but in that time Jon has managed to create an entire scenario in which he and Houseplant briefly find themselves homeless, are forced to spend the night in the Institute, and eventually find a small studio apartment where they live happily. It’s ridiculous, but clearly in that moment he isn’t thinking straight. He’s so deep in his little scenario, that by the time Martin catches his attention, Houseplant has jumped down to the floor and is cautiously sniffing the tall man, trying to decide if this intruder to her new home is acceptable or not.

            “Sorry what did you say?” Jon asks, “I was somewhere else entirely.”

            “I said did you think to bring home cat food?”

Jon actually breaks into a laugh, an anxious laugh but a laugh nevertheless.

            “Oh thank god I thought you were going to hate her.”

Martin rolls his eyes.

            “I’ve been feeding her in the mornings for the last week or two,” he admits, scratching the back of his head before bending to scratch between her ears. “I was planning on bringing her in in a week or so if nobody had claimed her.” He grins sheepishly at the other man then scoops Houseplant up into his arms to pet her belly.

Chapter Text

For the most part Jon and Martin had lived harmoniously since Martin had become permanent. But there was one thing that caused more arguments than anything else. The desk space. Or rather, the lack of desk space – between the two men they were forced to share one desk and that wasn’t ideal. Jon kept the desk piled high with books and papers relating to whatever he was researching at the moment, in what he claimed was ordered chaos. Martin just thought it was chaos and though he tried to be careful when he moved things on the desk in his attempts to sit there and work it didn’t go well and usually ended in Jon frustratedly muttering. They’d tried setting Martin up a little desk on the dining table, but that hadn’t worked either. Needing to clear your desk completely every time you or your housemate want to eat isn’t ideal.

It came to a head when Martin woke one Saturday morning to a crash that turned out to be his laptop hitting the floor. One of the piles of books, papers and tapes from the desk had shifted and fallen, leaving the pile strewn across the floor and both men rushing towards the crashing sound – Martin in the t-shirt and underwear he’d slept in, and Jon hastily wrapping a towel around himself where he had come from the shower.

            “Right, that’s it. I don’t care what you say about there not being enough space Jon, we are going to Ikea today and getting another desk because this can’t carry on.”

Martin sighs and kneels to the floor to begin picking up the scattered items.

            “And you’d better hope my laptop is okay, because you’re paying for a new one if not.”

Jon nods, holding the towel around his waist in one hand (in his haste he’d chosen one not quite big enough and it threatened to fall if he didn’t keep a tight grasp on it) and accepting the the Martin handed him, placing them carefully back on the desk.

            “I’m sorry Martin, I thought I’d left everything safely last night,” he says quietly.

Martin sighs again, “No, I know it’s not your fault, you weren’t even in the room and I don’t think you’re malevolent enough to rig it to fall. Clearly it’s just the ghost the landlord keeps harping on about.” He turns and smiles to the standing man, earning a small chuckle in response.

            “Yes, well, lets just hope he continues to believe the made up nonsense we tell him so he doesn’t raise the rent. I’ll let him know the ghost was throwing things off the desk later.”

***

            “You know Jon,” Martin says as they walk through the showroom of sofas, “I have no idea how we’re going to get a desk home.”

            “I had wondered if you’d given that any thought alright,” Jon mutters, looking around at everyone else in the showroom, families there for a day out, couples trying not to fall out about their vastly differing ideas of what good furniture was.

“God, one day there’s going to be an Ikea fear isn’t there? This place is a nightmare. I’ve no idea why I agreed to come with me.”

            “Probably because you felt guilty,” Martin offers, speeding up to get ahead of a couple who seemed incapable of moving with any great speed through the store.

            “We just need to find the cheapest desk and then we can leave, I promise.”

Jon just makes an indignant noise, pulling his cardigan tight around himself.

The process of selecting a desk is quick, Martin finds the cheapest table top, the cheapest legs, and notes the location down. Neither of them really keen to spend any more time than necessary on the showroom floor and take the quickest route towards the warehouse that they can – though annoyingly the office section seemed to have been placed almost equidistant from the stairs in both directions. Martin finds himself surprised when Jon slows as they walk through the market place, occasionally wandering off to examine something or other that’s caught his eye.

By the time they’re entering the warehouse, the two men have a trolley full of things they hadn’t planned at all to pick up – candles (Jon liked the scent), new towels, a garlic crusher, half a dozen corkscrews (Martin insisted), a rug Jon thought looked nice to go by the couch, a perfectly Houseplant sized cushion and some new plates.

            “I really don’t know how we’ll get this all home on the bus.” Martin says as they queue to check out, the desk top in his hands.

            “We’ll just hope for a taxi with a bunch of boot space.” Jon suggests, stacking things onto the conveyor.            

            “I may have gone a touch too overboard with candles for us to consider public transport.”

Martin nods and moves along to let the cashier scan the desk in his arms before moving on to the smaller things.

            “That’s fine by me,” he says, pausing at the end of the till and waiting for their things to come down so he could load them into the bags they had ended up needing to buy, desk balanced between against him.

            “Do you want an ice cream Martin?” Jon asks, as they walk from the tills, Martin absorbed in his phone as he tried to ensure the taxi he’d booked would have enough boot space for them and their purchases.

            “Huh?” Martin looks up, having only been half listening.

            “Ice cream.” Jon nods his head in the direction of the counter selling hot dogs and ice cream, a strand of his long hair falling across his eyes as he did.

            “Would you like some?”

Martin nods, glancing at his phone.

            “Yeah, we’ve like 15 minutes before the car is here so I would love some.”

He smiles and reaches to take the trolley from Jon, pushing it to a small table to wait as Jon goes to retrieve their snack, unable to help the loud laugh that escapes his lips as he watches struggle with, though ultimately best, the ice cream machine.