#again i understand WHY but melanie also doing that whole 'how dare you remove the corrupting bullet from my leg' thing

[navree]

I literally had to take a break from season four of the magnus archives because almost everyone was being so ungodly antagonistic to Jon! Like, I get it because they're all traumatized, but it was so uncomfortable and disgusting to me.

I understand that the theme of the season was isolation and the point was to get Jon separated from people not just physically but also emotionally, separated from his feelings for Martin and whatever friends he could have and even from someone who might help him understand his powers like Elias. But one, I kind of stop caring about the crew of the archives after season 3 because Basira is Fine but my god did Melanie irritate me, and I don't much care about Martin except in relation to his relationship with Jon (they do have some cute moments, there's a litany of reasons why MAG102 is one of my all time and their little scene is one of them), so I'm not all that invested in their own issues when all I care about in that place is Jon, who they're being assholes to (and Peter, I deeply care about Peter, but he's separate from all that). And two, again based on what we've started to see from The Magnus Protocol, it turns out that the Archivist can be an absolute monster if they want to. Like, Gertrude was already clearly scary what with her habit of killing innocents for the greater good, which already makes Jon a step up, but the Archivist as seen in TMAGP is literally killing people after they give statements, and it makes relistening to season 4 of TMA kinda insane. Like, I'm supposed to work myself into a tizzy over Jon asking someone questions when I saw the TMAGP Archivist literally make a guy run to death while telling a story? Fuck outta here, Jon should have been meaner. Especially to Melanie.

[somuchbetterthanthat]

That whole post 125 statement bit is just stagnating and I’m very unhappy about it but also I liked the beginning sort of? I’m just very conflicted about it, so i’ve just decided to publish it here if it interests somebody. It’s not finish but it’s vaguely long for tumblr, definitely.

"See," Jon pants as Basira helps him to sit on the cot, "this is exactly why I thought It might be better to ask her about all this."

"Right," Basira mutters, "because she would have listened to you in any capacity, of course – "

"Well, no, I didn't expect as much," he retorts. "She'd have listened to you, though, wouldn't she?"

"We've gone over this. No point in having the same discussion again. You've taken it out though, right? Before she woke up?"

"Y – yeah. But her leg is still open, and I don't know – I mean we can only hope it's enough for her to get back to normal, but of course if she does get back to normal she's just going to... Bleed out – bloody hell Basira what are you doing – "

"Sorry," Basira sighs, though she doesn't look very sorry to Jon despite the fact she just digged her nails into his arm so hard it almost made him forget he's just been stabbed for a second.

She's already staring back at the door though, her brows furrowed in a worried crease, and Jon understands with a beat that her mind is entirely focused on Melanie, still down there, probably terrified and full of rage, unable to properly move, her leg cut open –

"Right," he says. "Just – I'll be fine. Take... Take something with you, just in case, and go back to her."

Basira's eyes flicker to his wound. He grits his teeth.

"I've been stabbed before," he tells her. "As far as stabbing goes, it's rather light."

"...Sure."

"I'll just –" he breathes out slowly, keeping his hand firmly on the wound, and tells himself that Basira already knows he's a monster, anyway. "I'll just grab a statement. That ought to make me better. At least enough that I don't have to go back to the hospital. I think the nurses have seen enough of me for a while."

Basira's lips almost quirk up. It's probably a very odd time for Jon to realize that, perhaps, in literally any other circumstances, she and him could have become quite good friends.

"Go," he encourages her again.

He knows she wants to go. In this world, she's not Jon's friend; she's – ours, whispers a cold, certain, unaffected voice that still sounds a bit too much like him at the back of his head – she's Melanie's friend. Jon is just complicit in them both being stuck in this place, and, frankly, with everything that's happened since he's woken up, he's merely grateful to see that she is still hesitating instead of leaving him here without a second thought. She's – she's a good person. A great person.

"You sure?" she asks at last. "Can you know you're not going to die if I leave?"

"I don't think the Institute would let me off so easily," Jon says with a poor attempt at a smile, trying not to think about Gertrude, or the fact the Institute is just a building, and that his heart is so, so very far away from Jon right now, waiting in a prison cell –

The door abruptly opening surprises them both. Basira's gun is out of her backpocket before Jon can even think of screaming, and they froze, aghast, as Martin blinks at them and slowly raise his hands.

"God, Martin," Basira says, lowering her gun. "A little warning would have been nice."

"I didn't think you'd be in here," says Martin. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes flicker only for the briefest second to Jon before going back to Basira. Jon tells himself it's so hard to breathe suddenly because of the blood loss. Then, Martin is looking right back at him again, and at his bloody hand pressed against his stomach. His face, already pale, turns bone-white.

"Are you kidding me?" he exclaims. "You've been awake for two bloody weeks Jon! How did you even – you know what, it doesn't matter, I'm not even surprised, of course you'd try something stupid – why are you grinning?"

Jon hadn't realized he was. He presses his lips tightly together, and clears his throat.

"I'm fine, Martin. We just had a little bit of, um –"

"We removed a ghost bullet out of Melanie's leg and she woke up pissed as hell," Basira finishes for him, deadpan.

"You – what –" Martin shakes his head. "Right, sure, it's not the weirdest thing that I've heard this week – or today I guess. Where is she, then?"

"Still downstairs," Basira says. "And now that you're here, I don't have to ponder over the ethics of letting Jon alone here to go take care of her, which is – very good timing." she glances at Jon. "Probably gotta thanks your Institute for that."

Jon snorts. His entire body suddenly reminds him he's just been stabbed.  

"Wait –" begins Martin, looking suddenly very stiff.

"Bandages are still in the same place as the last time," Basira cuts him off. "If I'm not back in an hour – well. Checking on me would be nice. Don't die, Jon."

"Always trying my best," says Jon at her back as she leaves the room briskly.

There's a beat of dreadful, heavy silence after she closes the door behind her. Jon craves to look back at Martin, to take him in, to see... But something painfully human in him is rather scared of what he might actually face if he does, so instead he takes another breath, and tries to move  a bit to get into a more comfortable position. Of course, it only makes the pain sharper and he hisses and closes his eyes, letting his head fall against the wall behind him.

"I guess we're doing this," Martin says at last, sounding profoundly unhappy about it.

"You don't have to," Jon tells him, though it's hard to get the words out, much harder than it was with Basira. "I'm aware that you may have... More urgent business than me, Martin. I'll be fine, you don't have –"

"God, shut up, Jon," snaps Martin. "I'll just – I'm just going to grab bandages, okay? Don't you dare try moving until then."

"...Alright," he agrees. "Thank..." the door is already opening and closing. "...you."

For a moment, he imagines he can see the way Elias does. Imagines he can follow Martin down the corridor, pass through a few doors, go right to the cupboard in the tiny bathroom adjacent to the kitchen and grab bandages. Imagine Martin's pale face, his scowl – but that's not right; Jon's Martin doesn't scowl. Then again, there isn't – Martin's his own person, of course, he's not – not ours, not entirely, murmurs the voice, but he could still – Jon imagines him all the same. Martin with trembling hands, but a determined look in his eye, scared but brave in spite of it, or perhaps because of it, coming back towards him, his step just a little faster, because he... cares...

The door opens again. Jon forces his eyes to do the same. His breathing is more shallow by the minute. Martin is scowling, but he's at his side in less than a few seconds. He puts the bandage and the – file – in his arms right next to Jon's leg, and then carefully but expertly put his hands on Jon's back and chest. Jon shudders more violently than he expected.

"Come on," says Martin – Jon could swear his cheeks have regained some pink – "You should be laid down properly."

The whole affair is rather awkward; but eventually, Jon is mostly laying against the pile of cushions and blankets, and his shirt is rose up enough to reveal the wound fully. As he'd expected – it's really not the worst he's had; Martin's fingers hover above it, hesitant, before he turns around and grabs a tiny bottle of alcohol. Jon hadn't seen it between the bandages. He bites his lips hard not to cry when Martin gently pours a bit over his skin.

He wishes he had something to say as Martin keeps going but his mind feels blank, which is highly inconvenient; he understands that socialization may not be the first preoccupation of the Eye, but since it's been so kind as to offer Jon enough knowledge to perform a rather risky medical procedure just an hour ago, there's no reason it can't also give him the means to start a conversation with Martin that won't end with him fleeing. But perhaps that wish is a little bit too human for his god; maybe Jon can't expect anymore than this; even this seems to already be an indulgence, something he does not deserve. Yet it's – painfully familiar, in a very ironic way, though Martin used to be so much more... talkative, fussing over him, annoying him...

"God, I’m sorry," he sighs out loud, fighting back against the selfish part of him that wants him to stay quiet as to not break this fragile instant of companionship. "I'm sorry I didn't appreciate that enough before, Martin."

Martin's hands still.

"Appreciate what? Getting stabbed?"

"You taking care of me."

Martin inhales sharply. Jon finally finds the courage to look at him, properly; it's easier when Martin's own eyes are still lowered. He looks a mess; tired and stilled, in a way that doesn't feel... right. Jon itches to – claim him – make him feel better, but he's never been good at those sort of things. He's never been the best at empathy, and god knows he's never been good at self-care, which makes him a poor choice when trying to find ways to care for others.

"Let's – not, Jon. Please." Martin says at last.

"Right," says Jon, mouth a little bit dry. "Of course. I'm just – I just. I wanted you to know that I am. Sorry."

"Sure." Martin nods. He still won't look...

Jon raises his arm, gritting his teeth against the pain, and grabs Martin's wrist. Martin startles as if he's been hit.

"I understand you're – mad at me," Jon tries again, stiff but annoyed enough now to go past the awkwardness of talking about his... emotions. "I probably deserve... All of it. And more. I don't expect – I'm not trying to gain sympathy points here. Or maybe I am, I don't know. But I am sorry, Martin. I truly, genuinely am."

At last their eyes properly meet. It's hard to decipher Martin's expression but eventually he says, a little softer than before:

"You probably don't even know what you're really apologizing about."

"Well – I think I've been enough of a prick with you for literal years that a concrete example is not that necessary." Jon points out.

To his surprise, Martin lets out a small laugh.

"You are a prick," he says, and it's almost fond, which makes Jon's insides oddly warm. But then, his eyes turn definitely sad. He gently disentangles himself from Jon's grip. "I wish you wouldn't – I'm not mad, Jon. I mean, I guess maybe I am, a bit, because it's like you don't realize you're... Important and you go and get into those, those deadly situations, without a second thought, as if there weren't consequences to your actions and – that sucks, alright? There's nothing enjoyable about, about worrying again that the next time I'll see you you'll be..."

Martin winces.

"Dead?" Jon finishes. "I understood I've been. Dead, that is."

"But you weren't, were you?" Martin asks.

"... I don't know, Martin." he says, honestly. "I don't know." a short, uneasy silence falls again. Jon licks his lips. "I'm – I'm trying to be better about it. I want to get better about it."

"You literally just got stabbed," Martin points out flatly.

"I did tell Basira that we should speak to Melanie about this beforehand –"

"You didn’t – ” It felt wrong to see so much baffled judgement on Martin’s face.

“I wanted to,” he said defensively. “But Basira said she wouldn’t agree to it and, well, last time I saw Melanie she did try to assault me…”