Chapter Text
It is an open secret among the staff of the Magnus Institute that Jonathan Sims is a vampire. Even if it weren’t known, it would not be very hard to guess– the man keeps impossible hours, looks as if he hasn’t seen the sunlight for many years. He also doesn’t like to be touched. This is a fact even Tim has managed to remember by now. Strangely, it has been Sasha who has been forgetting this rule recently, making Jon even more brusque than he already was.
And never seems to eat anything. At all.
Which is why Martin is worried. It would be rude to bring it up, but ever since the Prentiss-incident Jon has been looking more and more gaunt. Not that Martin has been looking, of course. Well, not more often than before. It's not just a vampire’s usual pallor, Martin is sure of it. Jon now looks almost emaciated. But talking about a vampire’s food is considered distasteful, even rude.
Rude to whom? Martin wonders quietly, as he looks through yet another box with files, hunting for the statement Jon asked him to find. A certain Terrell family, several generations of them, who had all been afflicted by different “curses” across the years. Now that he’s thinking about it, it seemed like something the human party of the conversation would find more offensive than the vampires. After all, what would a cow think, if you asked if it enjoyed being raised to become food? Martin certainly wouldn’t like to be discussed in that way.
Perhaps it’s like asking someone on a diet about what they’ve been eating, he thinks when he finally has the right statement- and really, what was Gertrude Robinson thinking, leaving the Archives in such a state? Even after a lot of hard work it was still nigh-impossible to find anything in the older parts of the Archives.
Without knocking he walks into Jon’s office. He was sent on a mission, after all, and it’s taken him long enough by now that Jon will probably be– Martin’s train of thought stops as abruptly as his feet.
Jon is asleep. At his desk. In his office, that Martin just barged into. Up until right now, Martin had been certain Jon didn’t even sleep at all. But here he is, fast asleep, and even snoring slightly.
He looks younger, like this. His hair has escaped the bun he usually keeps it in, and it curls and cascades halfway down his back like a waterfall. The lines that stress have etched into his face blended back into youthfulness by sleep. However, even asleep he looks tired. Martin wants nothing more than to look at this sleeping Jon, but that would be incredibly rude, not to mention creepy.
Instead, he tiptoes to Jon’s desk, and gently places the requested file where Jon can find it when he wakes up. Then he tiptoes right back to the door. Once there he risks a single glance back before quietly closing the door. Jon hasn’t moved at all, has not noticed a thing.
Only when he’s closed the door does Martin stop to think. Jon, Jonathan “Suspicious” Sims (as Tim once dubbed him), didn’t notice anything? A vampire’s senses are supposed to be twice as good as any human’s– and Martin knows that Jon’s are very good. Paranoia and worm attacks have made sure that Jon is always paying attention to every detail, every sound. So for Jon not to wake before Martin even had a chance to open the door?
Something must be wrong.
Martin has to do something.
But what? He can’t very well make some soup for a vampire, that’s not going to help anything. Lost in thought, Martin wanders over to the break room upstairs. He starts making tea for himself on auto-pilot.
Looking at the water slowly coming to a boil, Martin makes a decision. He doesn’t know if Jon likes tea, or if he could even drink it. But tea is warm, and that might be helpful too? It’s worth a try, and probably kinder than waking him up empty-handed. Because he does need to wake Jon up; Jon would hate to fall asleep at work, and even more so than he would hate being caught that way. He’s too much of a workaholic.
So instead of one mug he takes two from the cupboard, and while the tea is steeping he collects a blanket from the couch, just in case. Then, armed with a blanket and tea, he returns to Jon’s office.
If Jon has woken up in the time he’s been gone Martin doesn’t know what he’ll say. One thing at a time. He can worry about that when it happens. For now he left a clearly exhausted Jon asleep in his office, and that’s the problem he should deal with first.
Avoiding his own office, and Tim and Sasha, Martin takes both cups of tea with him to Jon’s office. This means he must once again enter without knocking, and so Martin elbows open the door.
Jon is still where he was when Martin left, fast asleep at his desk, head resting on his arms. Martin closes the door and again makes his quiet way to the desk. He puts down both cups of tea, the stops. Why is he being quiet, when he intends to wake Jon?
Silently, he shakes his head. It would still have been rude to waltz into the office, calling for Jon to wake up. Besides, he doesn’t want to scare Jon awake. Heavens know they’ve all had enough scares to last them a lifetime. It’s better to wake Jon quietly, as well as being the nice thing to do.
Martin takes a deep breath, steeling himself for– he’s not even sure for what. But just in case. Another deep breath. Then he unfolds the blanket and wraps it around Jon, trying to tug it under his arms so that it won’t immediately slide off.
Jon moves– only barely, but Martin freezes. If he wakes now, when Martin is leaning over Jon, what will Jon say if he wakes now ? He feels the blood rush to his face. What is he even doing? Perhaps he should leave, and let Jon wake up on his own. That might be better. Yes, that is what he’ll do.
Slowly, very slowly, Martin starts moving again. Just as he’s done and the blanket is tucked in properly, an icy hand grabs his wrist. Jon’s hand has caught his, but Jon has yet to wake. Martin doesn’t know at what temperatures a vampire’s body usually operates, but this seems abnormally, unhealthily cold.
It’s probably the first time Martin has seen Jon touch anyone. People usually touch Jon, and then only if they do not know him, or forget who they’re dealing with. But Jon touching someone? It’s unheard of– and it’s something Martin knows he would never do while he’s awake. Which means that he definitely has to wake Jon up right now.
He has to, even if Jon looks like he could use about a year’s worth of sleep. Even if Martin has always wondered what Jon’s hands would feel like, slim dexterous fingers that are capable of incredible care when dealing with old documents, and can accurately aim a fire extinguisher at invading worms. Deep breaths, Martin , he admonishes himself. Waking Jon is more important than your daydreams.
“Jon? I’m so sorry to disturb you–“ Martin speaks softly, but doesn’t even manage to finish his sentence before Jon wakes. He sits up suddenly, back straight as an arrow and eyes wide open. Those eyes are fully black, black as velvet midnight, and when he yawns Martin can see fangs. Actual fangs, not those two cute teeth the movies want you to believe that vampires have. No, this is a full set of fangs, still arranged like human teeth, but far sharper and more dangerous than any movie vampire has ever looked.
Jon looks down at his hands, then follows the wrist he’s holding up it’s arm to Martin’s face. For a moment those black eyes stare into him, drawing him in, deeper and deeper until– they blink, and they look human again, and the effect is gone. He’s still holding Martin’s wrist.
“Martin?” When Jon speaks his teeth look normal again as well. He hears the several questions Jon means to ask in his own name, and rushes to answer them all.
“I’m sorry for waking you, Jon, but you were asleep when I returned with the Terrell file, and I made tea for you and brought a blanket and…” he looks down at their hands. “And you’re still holding me. I’m sorry, Jon, I know you hate being touched.”
Jon lets go of Martin as though it burns. Martin quickly takes his hand back and takes a step back from Jon’s desk. Without meaning to, he finds his other hand holding his wrist where Jon was touching him, the cold not yet gone from his skin.
“Martin, don’t apologize, that’s not– I don’t hate being touched!” Jon scowls before continuing: “well alright, I dislike being touched carelessly, meaninglessly, but... you’ve never been careless that way.” His words trail off softly, almost becoming inaudible. Jon must still be sleepy, Martin thinks. He would never speak this candidly otherwise.
For one very long moment they stare at each other. Jon looks away first, something like a blush (do vampires blush? Martin has no idea) covering his cheeks and ears. He stands up suddenly, combing slender fingers roughly through his hair. As he reaches up, the blanket falls from his shoulders.
Jon seems to not want to talk about what happened, which is just fine by Martin. But in Martin’s head his words are spinning, swirling round and round: dislike being touched carelessly and you’ve never been careless that way . Mind still abuzz with Jon’s words (praise? He doesn’t think it’s praise, Jon said it like it was a simple truth), Martin steps closer.
Jon tenses ever so slightly, but continues mistreating his hair, directing it back into its proper place. Martin scoops the blanket from the chair and simply holds it for a moment. He gives Jon the chance to step away, to object to how close they’re now standing (very close, Martin can see the few stray grey hairs Jon has). Jon does not object. Instead he simply goes on fussing with his hair.
Slowly, very slowly, Martin extends his arms, folding the blanket once more over Jon’s shoulders. Enveloped in the soft blanket, Jon’s shoulders sag. Martin is about to take away arms and step away, to give Jon his space, when Jon relaxes further. He leans to the side, rests his weight against Martin’s chest, Martin’s arm still on his shoulders.
The blush on Jon’s face (and it is definitely a blush, Martin is sure of it now) has not yet left, and his eyes are fixed firmly on the ground. They stand there in a sort-of half-embrace, and Martin could happily stay here forever. But he would also like more. Either way, he figures they should talk about this. Preferably now, before Jon has time to close up on him, and hide himself in the Archives to do more overwork. Jon also still feels very cold, Martin can feel him even through his jumper.
“Jon?” As soon as Martin breaks the silence Jon’s eyes shoot to his face. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, or perhaps like he’s been caught committing a crime. Martin wonders why being held should be a crime, and resolves to worry about that later.
First things first: Jon is trying to stand up straight, and leave his embrace. Martin strengthens his hold; not enough to stop Jon (Martin doubts he could actually stop the vampire if Jon really wanted to leave), but enough to let him know that Martin would like him to stay.
“You look ill, Jon,” he says. Then he adds in a rush: “I know vampires don’t get sick, Jon, but you really do look awful. When was the last time you slept properly, or ate a good meal–,“ too late, Martin realizes he’s just said what he’d been thinking all along. The same thing he knew all along he should not ask. But he did anyway.
Jon really does look like he could use a good meal though.
He’s also not broken the awkward gap in the conversation that Martin’s stupid question left. Instead he’s staring at Martin’s face like he’s lost the words to speak– like he’s a lifeline.
Unable to bear the quiet, Martin forges on: “you looked like you needed a hug. I’m sorry, Jon. None of that is any of my business, I shouldn’t have–“
“I probably did need a hug,” Jon interrupts quietly. He heaves a sigh that sounds as tired as he looks. “And sleep. And you’re right, I do need a meal.” His eyes drift down to the ground again, as though drawn by magnets. “I should be the one apologizing, Martin, not you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
In response, Martin puts his other arm around Jon’s shoulders, and very, very gently pulls him against his chest. He feels Jon let go. Then he feels Jon wrap his arms around Martin. He hears Jon sigh again, but this sigh sounds like a release.
Jon is smaller than Martin. This isn't news, but Jon has always seemed so certain, so secure in who he is, so very unreachable, that Martin still feels surprised at being able to rest his head on top of Jon’s as they stand there. He does so, feeling Jon’s soft hair against his cheek.
They stand there like that for a long while. Martin would say he’s fantasized about this, but the truth is, he hasn’t. Jon has always been so untouchable, that Martin’s daydreams never got much further than holding hands. So this? This is a lot. It’s more than a dream come true, and he feels like the luckiest guy in London right now.
After too short a time Jon stirs. Martin lifts his head and loosens his arms so that they can look at each other without bumping noses (not that Martin would mind, but Jon might, so he doesn’t).
“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–“
“No, Jon,” Martin says firmly. He has to be firm, he has to clear this up now, or this will be a one-time occurence, Martin just knows it. “You do not need to apologize for anything. I enjoyed hugging you a lot.” A heartbeat of silence. “I would like to hold you more often, if that’s alright with you?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of Jon’s mouth, and he lets his head fall, forehead bumping against Martin’s shoulder. “I would like that, I think.”