planet of love destroyed

[tapeleader]

Peter didn't want him to go. He only came out and said it once or twice. Saying anything so directly would mean being in Martin's company, the delight of which has worn off over the months. Still, he's made his disapproval more than obvious, primarily in the form of disappearing people and things that Martin needed to get here. His keys and wallet. His desktop computer at one point. His cell phone. His booking agent. One shoe, in a particularly petty pre-flight snit. 

He makes one last effort halfway across the ocean, lazy and comfortable in the strange atmosphere of the economy cabin. "You don't owe those voyeurs anything." Peter hummed sleepily over his shoulder, plastic cocktail cup swirling slowly in his hand. "What do you say to landing and taking a nice, long drive out to the midwest? It wouldn't have to be a waste then. We could get some good business done out there. Really save on stress. Doesn't that sound nice..." 

But Martin did learn a few things from his predecessor, and the greatest lesson he learned about Peter was that a smile and a nod were the very best way to deal with him. Once he was pacified, do as you like. Certainly, Martin will wander out of his good graces at some point. But he notes as he checks into his hotel room that Peter doesn't stop him or disappear his credit card or whisk away the attendant. He simply dissipates and drifts away and doesn't appear again until they're in the elevator of the Usher Foundation head quarters. 

"You picked a fine suit, at least." He remarks of the well-fitting ensemble that Peter himself paid for early on in Martin's directorship. The gray (or is it blue?) is clean and crisp, well-cut to frame the weight he has left, colored to match the lone blue (or is it gray?) eye that preceded it by only a few months. Martin smiles and nods, and Peter lets out a great, singing sigh. "Do be careful, Martin. You're getting very greedy these days, you know. Don't let your eyes be bigger than...well. Just be careful." 

His knuckles brush the side of Martin's neck, fingers comb a few cropped curls out of his collar, and Martin reaches for him--finds himself surprised by the nervousness he finds right at the top of Peter's brain. Before he can ask or look for more, the elevator door opens on his floor, and Peter Lukas is gone through the ducts. 

Mr. Blackwood approaches the administrative desk alone, leather portfolio tucked under one arm, the other hand settled protectively on top of it, smile demure and eyes too-sharp as he quietly confirms that he has an appointment. 

Comments

[eyechivist]

Any of the others. Jon notices it, which means Elizabeth must too — but she gives no sign, just grins and sips her tea. "Well, my goodness. You must have been working hard to get Peter to allow concerted hiring efforts."

"Yes," Jon says, suddenly and snarlingly polite. "How is Peter Lukas?" He has a suspicion that these days, Martin isn't too hindered by what Peter allows him to do.

[tapeleader]

"Oh, it's not so bad. Peter and the rest had their reservations, of course, and they certainly aren't making the search any easier. But y'know--dinosaurs move slow. Ha." Another fidgety drink, and Martin keeps his eyes on his hands. Jon only gets his answer obliquely. "They're nervous, I think. But as for Peter, it's usually just a matter of making him understand that if he wants what he wants--we get what we want. 

"What I want," Chest tight, eyes up, Martin stretches to set his mug on the table and pulls his hands demurely back into his lap, "is for we to include all of us." 

[eyechivist]

Jon's mouth falls open, his eyes rounded with disbelief. "Seriously?" he hisses, but Elizabeth is talking over him:

"That sounds very nice. But you know things between my Foundation and the Institute have been unfortunately frosty before, and frankly it has taken you a year to reach out. It doesn't exactly make me feel wanted." She pops her tea on the counter and mirrors Martin's pose. "Eye people are good at business, whereas followers of the Lonely favour out-of-office replies and hold music. It's a funny mix, Martin, you have to admit. How am I to trust that you'll stay balanced? I don't want to end up in a partnership with someone who won't pick up the phone."

[tapeleader]

"I understand. I really do, I can't--express my frustration with--I could--" Show her, he could show her easily enough what's in his mind. Any idiot could have known this question was coming, and Martin did. He did plan for this, but he hadn't planned for him. His tone softens, a touch quieter as if he can close Jon out of the conversation as he leans forward. "I understand that there have been...issues in the not too distant past between our organizations. I hope I can impress upon you the difficult position that Mr. Bouchard left me in as his successor. I reached out at literally the first available moment. I can't hope to convince you in one conversation, of course, but--we have to start somewhere, don't we? 

"I've had to spend the last year rebuilding my Institute before I could work on any bridges." On the exhale, his gaze drifts to Jon and sticks there. He'll remember the wreckage left behind by the Hunt, Prentiss storming through the place looking for him. The corners of his mouth tremble down for a lone moment of weakness. On the inhale, Martin turns his imploring look back to Elizabeth. "I'm happy to take things slow. But I am fully invested in repairing damage done. After all, I'm sure you'd like to lessen your load here as well. You've got a lot of irons in the fire, I imagine." 

[eyechivist]

Jon can't keep returning Martin's gaze for long, not while the echo of my Institute rings so obvious and loud. They both look away at exactly the same moment. Jon digs his fingers into the couch cushions.

He can't see what happens in Elizabeth's mind, but he knows her well enough now to hear it ticking. Nothing pleases her more than efficient outsourcing, and she likes the idea that she can get someone else to keep the Eye happy while she devotes more of her time to pollution and cataclysm.

"That's the downside of diversification," she acknowledges. She taps her manicured fingernails on her knee. "I'm not opposed on principle. I don't make business decisions based on grudges — it's petty and old-fashioned. You seem to have a similar — oh, excuse me." One of her hands flutters to quiet the soft buzzing of a phone. She pulls it from a pocket of her blazer. "Sorry. If this phone rings, it's urgent. Hold that thought."

Jon wants to change plans. He doesn't want to be alone with Martin. But there's no way to communicate that to Elizabeth now: she's in full flow. She stands and grabs her teacup in one hand, phone wedged between shoulder and ear, leaving one hand free to grab the door. "Hi, no, of course it's not a good time. Talk, please..." The door closes behind her and her voice becomes inaudible. The silence blankets them like snow.

Jon realises he's holding his breath. He exhales in a soft rush. It feels like fighting against a weight around his neck to bring his gaze up to Martin's face. He does it anyway, though it causes slight tremors of effort.

"I..." He swallows. "I didn't mean to surprise you." His voice is as neutral as he can make it.

[tapeleader]

Surely she won't take the call. Surely she'll have them leave a message and stick to the matter at hand. Surely she won't leave them alone-- 

Martin hums to himself. He nods to Jon's statement and hums again to himself before reaching for the mug on the table. He stands, moving towards the tea cart and well enough away from Jon. "Oh, I'm. I'm sure you didn't." He chirrups. "All's well. Do, um. Does she keep sugar here, or is it some other mushroom-based sweetener?"

[eyechivist]

"Er — yes, there should be — somewhere on there." Fuck, Jon thinks to himself, with all the venom he can't spit out aloud. Fuck. He had to bargain hard to get Elizabeth to agree to leave them alone. She'll still expect him to honour their terms, and they weren't pleasant terms at all.

With a little bit of desperation, he says, "Martin," though he's not sure what he's pleading for. He comes up off the sofa, but doesn't move towards him. "'All's well'?"

[tapeleader]

"Well, times are hard all around, of course. But we manage." The sound of stirring sugar into his coffee is too loud. He shakes his head as he adds creamer and stirs more carefully. "It's funny, isn't it: all those worries about your qualifications, and yet here you are--" A half-glance over. "--working in DC, dress code and everything. How are you liking it?"

[eyechivist]

"Martin!" Jon barks, familiar old frustrated tone. And then it occurs to him: maybe not, actually.

The worst thing about the idea is the wave of relief it rolls in on. Maybe it's not Martin who's avoiding his eyes right now. Maybe this isn't happening the way he thinks it's happening. Maybe —

"Just how much baggage did that eye come with, exactly?" he asks, the question slicing and tugging like a meat hook.

[tapeleader]

For a brief, painful moment, Martin nearly slips away. His cup sets down hard on the cart, and the prim figure blurs, clouds, and means to disappear. For Jon's words, though, a sick, black spurt redraws his silhouette, leaving Martin hunched over the little set, glowering under the questioning. He spits back, an unfamiliar frustration that he always spared Jon (like he always spares Jon), and shock, and hurt: "Jonathan Sims. How dare you?"

[eyechivist]

Martin is indistinct for just long enough that Jon starts towards him. His reflexes aren't particularly good. He doesn't get beyond reaching for him, and he snatches his hand swiftly back as if stung when Martin becomes substantial once again.

Jon's embarrassed to have nearly grabbed for him: embarrassment makes him angry, and so does everything else about Martin all of a sudden. "Oh, for God's sake!" There are high spots of fervent colour in his cheeks and the rest of his face is dead pale. "Was I not meant to ask? Am I meant to know who you are? You don't make it obvious!"

[tapeleader]

"I'm myself!" He skitters back from Jon's hand. It's overcompensating, probably, but he's bumping Elizabeth's desk before he knows it. "And you don't have to compel me to find that out! Magnus' eye doesn't burden me with anything worse than his desk does."

After a beat, his hand rubs at the center of his chest, fingertips mussing the neat, dark tie. "Christ--don't do that again."

[eyechivist]

"I — well I — I just didn't —" As ever, after the momentary storm come guilt and defensiveness in an ugly mess. He believes him. That's Martin. It's obvious in the familiar fluster. How many times has he seen him flatten a hand to his chest to quell a racing heart? "It's just that if you were, you wouldn't tell me, probably, or..." Shut up, he begs himself. Please, stop. "...I'm sorry," he concludes miserably. "I've gotten a bit trigger-happy with it, maybe. I... "I'm glad it's you."

[tapeleader]

"Are you?" Martin laughs harshly. He straightens his back and straightens his tie, more disheveled schoolboy than anything more polished. The ritual coats his voice, though, a thin veneer of his cool calm returning. "It certainly doesn't seem that way. It seems, in fact, as if I'm interrupting something. What are you doing here, Jon?" 

[eyechivist]

Well, that's not how this is meant to go: Jon is supposed to soften, offer something kind, and Martin is supposed to accept it as the balm it's meant to be. Jolted out of the usual rhythm, Jon flinches, and is about to snarl back that yes of course he'd rather talk to Martin than to Jonah Magnus wearing his face, when the question throws him off.

"I'm working," he says, brow furrowed up. "I've been here for about a year. I still need to eat, Martin." It's easier to look at him now that he's gotten angry about it. It gives him a lot more willpower. He studies him fiercely. "Why — " Stopping himself, clearing his throat before the buzz of compulsion can come out. He asks, without any staticky questioning, "Why don't you know this?"

[tapeleader]

"I've had better things to do than chase you around the world, Jon." He explains quietly, brow similarly bent and fingers fussing at his cuffs. "I told Elizabeth the truth. This is the closest thing I've had to time off since--you left." 

[eyechivist]

Jon shakes his head, pinching his lips together. "No, I got that." He can't help the slight soreness in his voice, but he moves on from it quickly, the only way he knows how: through interrogation. "What I don't understand is why you have to ask. Elias always just knew."

He keeps up his study, narrowing his eyes. "If not omniscience, then what does one eye of Jonah Magnus get you?"

[tapeleader]

His cuffs are tugged out and straight, neat and flat around his wrists. Martin continues to fidget with them though, all too aware of Jon's eyes on him. "That's not really any of your business, Jon."

[eyechivist]

The temptation to wrench the answer out of him is painful. Jon braces against it. He wants to prove he can control himself.

His voice comes tight with the effort of not compelling. "I'd like to know nonetheless. I'd like to know what your price was."

[tapeleader]

"My--" That gets his attention up, furrowed and earnest and fixed on Jon. "My price? You don't have to be so--so crass, especially not when you don't have the slightest idea what I've been dealing with." He shakes his head with a laugh. Jon can hear in his voice: not Martin, not Jonah, but Peter.. Calm and soothing and laser sharp:  "I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less. It's all you know. You've always been for sale."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6sV3rA-CJI

[eyechivist]

"Excuse me?" Jon's all hackled up like an angry cat, pale and appalled.

[tapeleader]

"Don't play innocent again, I've been with you this whole time. At every turn you've taken the course of least discomfort and greatest personal profit. You gladly walked into the position of Archivist despite being barely qualified compared to the other staff because it suited your ego. Since then, you've bargained away piece after piece of good advice, person after person, bit after bit of yourself to get to where you are now."

His voice winds tighter with each word, but the cool stays. All of Martin's careful observations, his ceaseless, affectionate watching fit together nicely now--the haze of love penetrated by his new knowledge. He shakes his head scoldingly and hammers through: "You comforted your ego by allowing Tim to join you in the Unknowing, despite Elias asking you not to. I suppose his life was a much lower price than yours."

[eyechivist]

Jon sways slightly under the barrage, a kind of amazed pain writ clear on his face. The look of someone who's been stabbed but can't quite believe it. One pathetic part of him is protesting even Elias calls me loyal.

It's actually a relief to hear Tim invoked. His breath loosens. He's relieved to have something he can argue with sincerity, that doesn't feel like scrabbling on a wet rock face for purchase on his own motivations. "That isn't how that happened," he says, loud and flat. "There was no stopping him. I know how Tim died. I can see it, feel it, and I couldn't have stopped it.

"You haven't been with me. You've been busy. You went missing long before I did." He swallows hard, and frames it polite and vicious: "It seems we simply don't know each other very well anymore."

[tapeleader]

"Jon," He laughs, almost a curse, "did you ever think you knew me?"

[eyechivist]

That pries in neatly up between Jon's ribs. It hurts, and he can feel that it will hurt for a very long time. For some reason he's shivery-cold, as with a fever.

He asks, "Why did you do it?" just as Elizabeth opens the door. There's no real force in his tone, but the compulsion is a roar that almost obliterates the words themselves. Elizabeth's face flickers too quick to read.