prentiniter

[somuchbetterthanthat]

3, Timmartin, please?

I’m not sure I can do Tim/Martin justice, and I guess I am fairly unable to stray too far away from martin/jon? But I hope you enjoy this little piece, i’m sorry if this isn’t what you wished for. Trigger warning for suicide talk.

“Shut up!” exclaimed Martin, suddenly. “Just, just shut up!”

Tim blinked, honestly startled out of his bad mood for a second; there was something to say about Martin of all people glaring at you angrily - or was it disappointment? It seems far more his alley. Martin got petty, and passive-agressive sometimes, but genuine anger was rare enough that Tim tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, guiltily ready to see just how far this would go.

It’d been - well it’d been a while, since anybody had bothered with anger, with him. These days, Jon tiptoed around him like a martyr - or maybe like Tim was a martyr, he couldn’t decide which one was the worst - and Basira and Melanie just carefully avoided him. Only Martin sticked around. Of course Martin sticked around, trying to be kind and cheerful, which Tim couldn’t deal with either. 

“Something you’d like to add to my monologue?” he drawled.

“You know what? Yeah!” Martin said, fists curled. “You’re just! You’re just going on and on and on about - about vengeance and hurting and how ‘nobody will miss you anyway’ and that’s - that’s wrong and stupid and you’re, you’re stupid! You’re being stupid, and if, if you’re just going to remind us all all the time that you’d rather be dead than anywhere near us then you could just shut up!”

“If i’m not being cheery enough for you, you can still go hang out with Mr Sunshine over at his office,” Tim pointed out, and then, with a perverse sense of joy at being cruel, he added: “Oh, wait, he’s not there, is he? Again.” 

“Oh for - this isn’t about Jon,” Martin exclaimed exasperatedly. 

“Suure,” Tim said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Never is, with you, or wait - yeah, it is. Jon needs that, and Jon needs this, and Jon’s away and it’s sad but, oh no, Jon’s been kidnapped, again, and we didn’t do anything about it -”

“This. isn’t. about. Jon.” Martin repeated between gritted teeth. “I’m talking to you. About you. Contrary to what seems to be the popular belief around here, my whole life does not revolve around Jonathan Sims all the time! And I would appreciate it if for once, for one small moment, you got your head out of your ass and realized that I’m trying to be there for you. ”

Tim bristled. He wished Martin would let him be; he wished - it was easier, to think that Martin was angry at him because he was turning into an asshole, rather than to admit that, maybe, he was angry because he was worried. He didn’t want Martin to worry; Martin was not made for worrying, he was made for - puppies and flowers and gentleness, and that was why his crush on Jon was infuriating, and that was why him coming to Tim, every day, trying to talk to him and make him do things and make him enjoy life - ha! what life? - was even more tiring than everything else. 

“Yeah,” he said. “You really shouldn’t bother.”

“I can’t choose that, can I?” Martin snapped. 

“Yeah, you can,” Tim said. “Look at me, cheerfully not caring! God’s sake Martin, be a little selfish, just for once. Just pretend I’m not here, go your merry way! I’m not worth the bother so just - don’t.”

“Again with the -! I can’t!” Martin said. “I can’t just ignore you! You’re here, and you’re miserable, and you’re, you’re basically planning to kill yourself! Obviously I’m not going to stop bothering -”

“Why?” Tim asked at last. “We’re barely friends, coworkers is just a fancy word to say we’re prisoners of this place together, so, why, Martin -”

“Because I love you!” Martin cut him off, as loud as a yell, and then flushed bright red immediately, his head retreating into his shoulders. “I, I mean I care about you, and you may not think we’re friends but I don’t care, I -”

His voice faltered; he looked embarassed now, and Tim slowly got over the shock of his words, heart pouding furiously in his chest. That - 

“You love Jon,” he said, after a beat. It wasn’t even to be mean. It was a fact. The Institute was evil, Jonathan Sims sucked, and Martin was in love with him. 

“I told you, this isn’t about Jon,” Martin muttered. “And, and so what? It doesn’t - i mean that doesn’t stop me from - you just. You just keep saying, that nobody will miss you, and you’ve got your parents, and you’ve got - I know I’m not much of anything, alright? I know that. But I’m here, I would miss you. Because, because you’re great, when you’re not being an arse, and. And I love you! I love you. There.”

He raised defiant eyes towards Tim, and Tim’s flickered to the door before coming back to him. He studied Martin for a while and didn’t know when he started moving towards him, or when he put his hands on Martin’s collar. But he watched Martin’s eyes flutter with shock and hesitation, and he heard him say, more softly, maybe even hopefully “Tim?”

And when he kissed him, he tried to be as soft as he could, because Martin - Martin deserved puppies and flowers and gentleness. Martin gasped into his mouth, and leant further, eager, and Tim indulged him as much as he was indulging himself; how long has it been? he thought. How long since he had kissed anyone? Tim loved kissing. And passed the first beat of surprise, Martin was pretty good at it, too; his hands came to rest gently on Tim’s hips, and Tim’s fingers moved to pass through Martin’s hair. Martin shuddered against him, and Tim felt like crying, hollow and complete all at once. 

He moved away with one last peck, hand lingering on Martin’s cheek.

“You’re too good,” he said at last, low but as kind as he could manage. “You’re a better person that I’ll ever be, Martin. You deserve better. You deserve better than me, and you deserve better than him.”

“Tim,” Martin said, his voice too soft and pleading. 

“Thank you,” Tim said. “For caring enough to be angry.”

“Tim, wait -”

Tim turned around and left the room without looking at him. He gave Jon a levelled look in the corridor. 

“Thought you weren’t supposed to be in, today.”

“I -” Jon looked as hollow as Tim felt, except with more guilt. “I just - needed some more files. Before leaving.”

“Right. Well, have fun, boss.”

“Tim -”

“You should move along before Martin feels good enough to leave this room,” he said, tired more than harsh. “I don’t think he’ll want to see you right now.”

Jon looked hesitant, and a bit flushed; he opened his mouth, eyes darting towards the room, and then he sighed. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Course I am.” said Tim, and neither of them mentionned the fact they wished he wasn’t.