#I should’ve made the account like a month ago when I added ao3 coming soon to my pinned but uh

[samaraxmorgan]

So I was finally gonna make an AO3 to post my fics but uh

I didn’t realize there’s a waitlist to make an account AKAKAKSK

In the meantime does anyone have any guides on how to tag ao3 fics? I’ve never posted on there before I am Clueless(tm)

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 4

AO3

Beta reader for this chapter was @thesnadger. Go look at her stuff!

-

It's time for some field work.

Martin mentions the echoing problem.

Martin was already far enough down the cliff side that even if they’d noticed he’d gone, it would be too late to easily catch up to him.

The three researchers had gathered in a circle to view the distorted footage together, throwing out a mixture of theory and expletives as they stood on the sidewalk. Tim was running his fingers through his hair, enthusiasm quashing any signs of dizziness. Sasha had taken back the camcorder, looking for any details that might’ve escaped her. The irritation that had shrouded Jon’s features the whole day had left and been replaced by something looking like curiosity as he stared at the screen. This had left Martin, still standing at the end of the road, to see himself out quietly.

The further he went, the more the excitement of the moment gave way to a thick dread.

“You need this job. You need this job. You need this job,” Martin mumbled, rubbing his upper arms. The rain had left for a time, but he could feel his skin prickling in the cold and knew it would return soon. “So it’s a weird building. It was fine before, wasn’t it? Learning it was a weird thing the whole time doesn’t change anything. You can handle a bit more weirdness. It’s fine. And you have experts! People who know this stuff! They’ll take care of everything, and it’ll all be fine.”

About halfway down, a rush of vertigo hit Martin like a truck. He veered right, feet sliding in the mud, and grabbed hold of a tree until the wave passed. Sneering back at the path behind him, back at a lighthouse that was now hidden from view, Martin choked out, “What, up there isn’t enough now? I have to deal with it when I can’t even see it?” He scratched his head with both hands in frustration and started walking at his normal pace.

“It’s fine. You’ll get home on flat ground. You’ll eat something. You’ll get up tomorrow and only walk up to finish the list at the lighthouse and pick up groceries. Then you’ll do the list on Sunday and nothing else! Just the rest of the weekend off!”

His frantic personal reassurances continued all the way down, until he caught sight of home and forced his ramblings to a halt. “Just keep calm for Mum and get through the night. You can do that at least.”

Martin entered his home, keeping the door from creaking too much behind him. The TV was on and his mother’s eyes were closed. Walking over, he gently shook her shoulder, and as she opened her eyes, the complaint was already forming on her lips.

“You know I hate to be shaken awake.”

“Yes, Mum. I’m gonna make dinner if there’s anything you’d like.”

“I don’t have a preference. Just pick something and leave me be.”

“Okay, Mum.” So he did, scraping together what he could for omelettes. Nothing burnt, and it was tastier than the night before, so he let a small bit of pride slip into his demeanor. His mother said nothing and ate what was in front of her. Afterwards, Martin cleaned the dishes and left them on the rack, turning to help his mother up the stairs.

“I wish to go outside for a moment,” she said, still sitting at the dining room table. Martin could tell without looking out the window that the rain had picked back up again.

“Are you sure? I think the weather tomorrow-”

“Take me outside, Martin.” The quick clip to her voice silenced any argument, and Martin went to retrieve her coat. Keeping his arm out for her to take, Martin supported his mother out the front door, keeping them both under the porch overhang. She took her hand off his arm but left it hovering there for safety in the harsh evening wind.

Martin’s eyes began to water as soon as the sea breeze hit them, but he stood firm as his mother breathed in, held, and out. In, held, and out, again and again, until finally she said, with a weariness that betrayed her stony expression, “I’m ready.”

The walk was slow to her room, and after she was in her bed and he began to close the door, he heard her say, “Goodnight, Martin.”

Martin smiled and kept his face hidden behind the door. There was no shake in his voice as he responded, “Goodnight, Mum.”

Once he made it to his own room, he let out a large breath. He gently closed his bedroom door, changed into pyjamas, and climbed into bed, leaving his old notebook and lantern untouched. In his attempts to get comfortable, he tossed and twisted, the cold from outside still sticking to his feet, but his mind wouldn’t rest until all the day’s mistakes were accounted for.

He should’ve at least said goodbye.

-

The sun was still creeping over the horizon when Martin set out up the path to town. The fog settled in thick around him, and the ground was still muddy and hard to walk on. Nevertheless, he made it to the more solid road without incident, supernatural or otherwise. He went over the numbers in his head, counting the items he needed and comparing his budget for meals this week. It had been nice these last few months, having a constant salary rather than figuring out how many shifts he could reasonably take. The math at this point was more about what he’d like to save each day rather than figuring out what he could afford.

The trip to the store would be quick if he did his math right. But first, he made it to the stone steps of the lighthouse, looked up, and found that the lights were already on. He grimaced, wiped the look off his face, and went inside as casually as he could.

At the table was Jon, reading something intently on a clunky laptop. The sound of his tapping knuckles on the tabletop rang through the building, and just like the night before, Jon’s face wasn’t one of impatience. There was a light in his eyes as they scanned for something on the screen, and Martin, despite himself, stayed very still to look at Jon in mild fascination. He then shook his head and did his best to walk as if his heart weren’t pounding in his chest. Before he knew it, he had made it to the kitchen without any sign Jon had noticed.

He was in the kitchen. Shit. He had walked there out of habit.

Martin looked around a bit before rubbing his face at his own ridiculous behavior. This was his place of work, and he had come to do his job. What was the point of sneaking around? He walked to the stove, filled the kettle, and started making himself some tea, relaxing with the familiar motions. As he waited, he could hear the echoes of Jon’s typing. Was that also a weird thing? Did sound work like that?

The water began to boil and he prepared his cup, but before stepping out, his eye caught one of the mugs drying on the rack from yesterday. Tapping his foot, he took the mug and prepared a second cup of tea with what he thought was a good enough ratio. If his Mum liked it, it would probably work for anyone. With as much confidence as he could have, he carried both cups out and quietly set the second down on the table. Jon jumped and looked first at the mug and then up at Martin.

“How long have you been here?” Jon asked, confused.

“Just got here a bit ago. I still need to take care of upstairs on the weekends.”

Jon nodded. “I’m… surprised you’d still come in after yesterday,” he said slowly, not yet touching the mug. “Learning your workplace may be haunted or, well, something of that nature.”

“Yeah, well. It’s the same as it was before right? And the pay’s the same,” Martin said. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and continued, forcing the words out, “Anyway, I meant to ask, do you still need that print job from yesterday? Sorry about that, it completely slipped my mind!” Jon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“No, no, I took care of it. Tim reminded me that you are not in fact our assistant, so I won’t be asking you for anything else.”

“Oh. Good! Good. Sorry, again.” Martin willed himself to start moving toward the staircase but couldn’t move, letting an awkward silence fill the space between them. Before he could stop himself, Martin added, “Um, sorry, there’s one more thing.” Martin tapped his cup a few times, looking down into his tea. Jon glanced back at his computer for a moment, the irritation beginning to creep across his face.

“Okay, go on then.”

“Sure! Right. I wanted to tell you that, since you’re all doing what looks to be serious research with maybe, I dunno, confidentiality stuff, it would be good for you to know that, well,” Martin drummed his fingers on the cup. “Sound travels really easily, in here I mean. Even whispers make it all over the place. Could be another thing that’s up with the building, could just be the acoustics, but either way, figured it would be good information to share now that it’s confirmed this place is capital-s Strange.”

“I’ll keep it in-” Jon, who had been slowly turning his gaze back to his laptop during Martin’s short speech, froze. He closed his eyes, and his mouth stretched into a pained frown. “You heard what I said yesterday. After we came downstairs.”

“It’s not a big deal! You were right, about some things at least. I’m a forgetful person. It’s why I’m better at jobs like this.”

“Listen-”

“It’s really fine. Just, y’know, keep the acoustics in mind. I’m, um-” Martin’s feet finally got to moving under his command and he headed toward the stairs. “I gotta get my work done upstairs.” His pace was quick, rounding the steps past the point where he could no longer see the researcher fail to find words. Martin would’ve felt some satisfaction if the other man hadn’t looked so genuinely remorseful about the whole thing.

The trip up was quick and uneventful, relatively speaking, and Martin let himself look out the windows for a bit after his list was complete. For once, there was an actual view of the sea in the morning light. Now that Martin had been forced to think on it, he could tell the sea looked wrong, somehow. Further off, maybe? Against his better judgment, he pressed his face against the glass and looked down.

A moment later, he was looking up at the ceiling, the back of his skull throbbing in pain. He pressed into his eyes with the heel of his hands and took in a shaky breath. “It’s still good money. Just don’t look down when the sky looks like that. Maybe don’t look down or out at all. Simple enough, even for you.” For a moment he just lay there, squeezing his eyes shut and hoping that maybe he would wake up at home, having fallen out of bed.

No such luck. Standing up, Martin rubbed the back of his now aching head and started a careful, gradual walk down, his hand firmly gripping the rail. Yes, his place of work was strange. That didn’t mean it was looking to hurt anyone, right? Martin had worked there for months, and Peter never seemed to be bothered by it after all the years he’d owned the place. Perhaps, if he kept his head down, the lighthouse would just continue to function as it always had.

Making him so dizzy that he blacked out wasn’t a great sign, though. Even he could admit that.

Against what he had been hoping for, Jon had not left in the time it took for Martin to return downstairs. This time, Jon noticed him immediately as he came into view and waited for Martin to make it to the bottom before clearing his throat. “Martin, if you’ll wait a moment.”

Martin scratched his neck and continued walking toward the door. “Sorry, I really have to go. Lots of errands, that sort of thing.”

“It won’t take long-” Jon was interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open.

“Hey boss! Grabbed some snacks for the workday since I figured you wouldn’t think of it beforehand. Martin! Where did you run off to yesterday?” Tim said, and he set a paper bag full of what looked like several bags of crisps and other convenient store grade junk food. “Left just as things got exciting.” Martin, happy for the distraction from whatever Jon was attempting to do, smiled and waved, still heading toward the door.

“Hi, Tim. Yeah, sorry about that. Wanted to get dinner started at home and your work is a bit over my head.”

“And all over your workplace, apparently.” Tim grinned and Martin forced what he hoped was a convincing laugh.

“Hey, if it pays the bills!” Martin winced at his own inane comment and tried to excuse himself, which was when Sasha came through the door, carrying her own set of bags. “Oh, sorry, didn’t-”

“Good timing!” Sasha ducked past him and dumped her things onto one of the chairs. “After reviewing some things last night, it looks like we’ll be wanting to go about town a bit and talk to some locals, get a feel for some of the history of this place.”

Tim chimed in, “Gotta check if anyone died mysteriously or placed a vengeful curse on the town fifty years ago, things like that.”

“You mentioned yesterday that you’d be able to point us in some good directions?” She looked up with expectation, she and Tim both, fixing Martin to the ground. From behind the table, Jon was clearly frustrated but seemed to have given up on his line of conversation.

“Sure, I’m free.” Martin wanted to slap himself. “What do you need?”

-

In no time at all, Martin somehow found himself walking the group through town, passing by the grocery store with a pang of regret. It was still mid-morning, but time seemed to be moving both much too slow and faster than he could handle.

“I think your best option would be Ms. Peterson, the florist. She’s lived here as long as I can remember and loves to talk about old times and all that.” Martin led the three researchers down the street, feeling more at ease. He could talk to old folks in town just fine, and they loved going on about weird old things. It all checked out. “I think I mentioned her when I talked about my incident? Anyway, a really lovely woman.”

Martin found himself chattering, fielding possible questions from Sasha and Tim that ranged from serious queries like “Has your family had close encounters with the Lukas family” to things like “How many undead have you seen at the local grocery store”, respectively. Jon lugged the tape recorder in a bag slung over his shoulder and elected to remain silent.

Ms. Peterson’s place was a standard flower shop, full of shelves with decorative pots and cutesy gardening supplies. When the group stepped inside, a little bell on the door summoned a woman in her mid-70s carrying an empty vase.

“Oh! Hello, Martin. How are you, dear?” Ms. Peterson asked, setting the vase down on the front counter. “And your mother? How has she been doing?”

“We’re both doing all right. The weather’s been bad for her joints, but nothing new, thankfully. The flowers you sent were very much appreciated.” Ms. Peterson smiled warmly and then looked behind him.

“Some friends of yours?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could help them, Ms. Peterson. They’ve come from out of town to ask about some local history and I immediately thought of you.”

“Yes, of course, what would you like to know?’

Sasha took over from there, getting the necessary permissions while Jon set up the tape recorder. Martin heard some comment about how old the thing was, followed by an almost identical response from Jon as the day before. Martin held back any laughter at Jon’s dry expression, but he couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching.

The statement started off with familiar territory to Martin: the lighthouse had been there since Ms. Peterson had been a child. She had never been inside it, but like many people in town, her mother had worked for the Lukas family for a long time and had gone in once.

“She might’ve been dropping an order off? Oh, I don’t remember anymore, but anyway, she had gone to see one of the Lukas family for matters of business. I was young but I remember her coming home that night, shaking terribly. Stayed in bed for at least two days afterwards and kept either my sister or myself by her side the whole time. It passed, like most things, but it was terribly frightening for all of us.”

“Did she ever tell you what happened?” Jon asked, his tone much gentler than Martin had been accustomed to.

“No, though we never tried to ask her directly. And it wasn’t as if you could peek inside the building with just the tiny little window on the door. I have to say,” Ms. Peterson turned toward Martin. “I was a little concerned about you working there. I even told your mother so when you first started.” Martin felt the heat rush to his cheeks. He looked at Sasha, who just gave a sign to be quiet.

“Ms. Peterson, thank you so much for your statement. Is there anything else related that you think would be helpful to us?” Sasha adjusted herself, ready to give Jon the signal to end the recording.

“Hm, no, I don’t think so. And please excuse me for the last part. I know it’s not much related to history.” Sasha smiled at her and nodded to Jon.

“End recording.” The tape clicked off, and Ms. Peterson turned back to smile at Martin.

“Don’t do too much to make your mother worry, all right?”

“Of course.” Martin smiled back, and Ms. Peterson returned to her work. Once outside, Martin walked toward the next destination, blatantly ignoring any curious looks from his companions.

The next two people were unhelpful for a variety of reasons, including a much stronger questioning of the old tape recorder set up (“Martin, what kind of fringe bullshit are you bringing in here?”) and bad timing that would have to be made up for later. After running around town to find both of them, this left Martin with one more person on his mental list, and then he could finally get groceries before his mother was ready for lunch.

The lack of success in the next two individuals had put a damper on the spirits after Ms. Peterson’s interesting account, and he could feel it dragging on everyone, himself included. And as far as he was concerned, time was running short for his liking.

“I have other people in mind that I can tell you about, but I really need to run some errands today,” Martin said in a sorry tone.

“That’s fine. We can do it another day.” Sasha stretched her arms back to crack her shoulders. “Thanks for leading us around.”

“Yeah, love hearing about how our boss’ boss’ family strikes fear into the hearts of innocent florists,” Tim said, leaning an elbow on Sasha’s shoulder. “We’ll be seeing you tomorrow, then? More running around town, bothering the elderly?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Martin mentally kicked himself. There went his Sunday. “Have a good rest of your day, then.” He waved stiffly and escaped down the street toward the grocery store, where he finally let himself rest for a moment.

Checking his watch, he had just enough time to get his chore done before it would seem strange to his mother, who was accustomed to his being gone for at least part of the day. The actual task didn’t take long, as he had expected. It turned out some of his coupons had expired, costing him some time in juggling worthy expenses, but the trip had left him much more satisfied than he had been.

Even with the disappointment of some of his ideas, the morning hadn’t been bad. Besides the very beginning, it was nice to walk around with people and talk to some folks around town, and in regards to the beginning, it wasn’t so terrible. A bit awkward, yes, but it seemed like he and Jon would at least be able to work around each other for the next week. If Jon had some words to say, he now knew how to say them in a way where Martin didn’t have to hear them.

With the lighthouse behind him and an armful of groceries, Martin was feeling much better, and when he rounded the corner that would lead him on the road home, Jon stood at the edge, arms crossed and eyes darting around, and before Martin could backtrack, it was too late.

“Martin,” Jon said, as if he were letting go of a held breath. “Sorry for cornering you here. I just wanted to finish our earlier conversation and didn’t think waiting a whole day would be good for it.” Martin stared at the shorter man in shock. Cornered was one way to put it, Martin thought to himself, shifting the bag in his arm.

“It’s not really a good time? I need to get back and-”

“I just need you to listen. Please.” Martin felt pinned by Jon’s intense stare. He gaped for a bit as he searched for an excuse, and found none. So he nodded.

“I would like to apologize for yesterday. I was unprofessional and let my own stress and irritation affect my behavior.” Jon seemed to struggle with where to put his hands and settled for re-crossing them in front of his chest. “We were as surprised as you were at the situation. I think Elias may be the only person who actually knows what’s going on, but that’s beside the point. The truth is, we were sent here during a project I was very invested in, and I was being childish about the whole thing. I hope you can forgive me for it. You’ve been very helpful, and I hope we can all continue working to solve whatever it is that’s going on in your workplace and my boss’ head.”

Jon stopped and looked at Martin as if he had helped lift a weight off his shoulders. In strong contrast to the day before, he had a nervous and pointedly not sardonic smile on his face that Martin found incredibly endearing.

Between the obvious stress and the very nice smile, Martin faced the inevitable realization that Jon was, unfortunately, his type.

Feeling his tongue was now far too big for his mouth, Martin could only say, “Yeah, of course! Glad to be working with you.”