Archive of Our Own ^beta

Martin used to spend hours staring at his soulmark, imagining the love and happiness that would come from it. He’d stand in the mirror, staring down auburn curls and freckled cheeks and a chubby body, and his eyes would always land at his wrist.

When it first appeared he’d been so excited. The little four letter word, scrawled across his left wrist in a font he didn’t recognize. He’d shown it to his mother excitedly, thrusting his left wrist frantically into her line of vision. She wasn’t nearly as excited. She stared at him for a minute or two, something unreadable in her expression, then she made a small grunting noise and pushed him away. He was five.

He’d had no way to know that his father’s soulmark had been in the exact same place.

Over the years, he’d waited somewhat impatiently for someone to say the magic word. Soulmarks are complex. It could be the first or last word someone ever says to him, or even the most meaningful. A lot of people didn’t even have words for soulmarks, instead images or a telepathic connection or a lack of color vision. He couldn’t possibly know for sure. But, something in him told him that when his person, his soulmate, said it, he’d know it was them.

He’d know it was him.

Him, because Martin had discovered somewhere along the line that he felt no attraction towards women. As she was with most things concerning Martin, his mother was unphased. She didn’t seem to care. She didn’t seem to care about anything beyond living another day and bossing Martin around. However, she did care when Martin came out as trans.

Not at first, because she might not have been the best person but she wasn’t overtly transphobic, but things changed. Martin changed. His voice dropped, he went on testosterone, and he began to change the way he moved and held himself. Gradually with the change, his mother’s stare hardened and sharpened, eventually settling into a glare that would never fade. She no longer smiled at Martin.

Not that she often had before.

When there’s so little love in your life, you get desperate. You find yourself clinging to any hope you can find and Martin found that in the little four-letter word on his wrist. It never wavered. It never changed. It never stopped loving him.

He just stopped loving it as much.

Martin became a poet in high school. He wrote poems upon poems about those little black letters on his pale wrist, though even he could admit that they weren’t the best. He wrote poems about his mother and poems about school and then poems about dropping out of school for his mother. He used those writing skills to forge a CV, and applied for as many jobs as possible.

Desperate times, right?

And so he was stood there, in front of the Magnus Institute. He donned a light blue sweater, his usual round glasses, and what he hoped was a confident expression. Around his left wrist, a black leather bracelet, neatly covering the little word he had spent so long staring at.

He decided at some point, maybe just then, maybe subconsciously, years ago, that whatever it meant and whoever it led to; he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. It was time to let go and hope he didn’t drown. Idly, he thought that was a rather good metaphor to put in his next poem.

Then he stepped into the Institute.

The little “okay” on his wrist was thoroughly covered.

~~~~~

Sasha couldn’t tell you what she looked like. Not because of any kind of dysmorphia or mental condition, though she had dealt with plenty of dysphoria, but because of the nature of her soulmark. “Mark” was maybe not the right word, as it wasn’t anything as physical as that. Quite simply, whenever she looked in the mirror, she saw her soulmate. Soulmates.

There had been a long period of heavy confusion when, at age nine, she looked in the mirror and saw a little boy facing away from her. When Sasha spun to find him, her eyes landed on nothing but air, and she quickly called her parents.

They expressed confusion when she tried to explain what happened, then concern when she insisted. They took her to a doctor. Then another. Then another. Until finally, one managed to recall a soulmark he had encountered a few years ago. It was a man, who could take pictures of himself and find himself replaced with his soulmate. The relief was immeasurable.

So, Sasha spent the next years of her life unable to see herself in the mirror. While she appreciated it during those turbulent transition years, she found it a little annoying when applying makeup or doing her hair.

The replacement was entirely worth it in her mind though.

The little boy gradually grew into a man, as Sasha grew into a woman. Joining him, another girl appeared when Sasha was sixteen. Sasha had to look again when she first saw her in the mirror, wondering if she was somehow seeing herself. But, the other teenager was white, and had short brown hair with dyed blue tips. Immediately worried about her other soulmate, Sasha had stepped away and then looked back quickly. And he was there. He was ruffling a hand through frizzy brown hair (growing out again from the buzzcut he got, which was horrible), and looking generally unbothered. When Sasha looked away and back again, there was the girl.

Her parents, while straight and the kind of soulmates that found each other right away and never looked back, were there to help. They explained that people could have multiple soulmates. Either because one was no longer a match, or simply because both (or all) of them fit.

And so, Sasha stopped worrying.

She went about her life, occasionally peeking in reflective glass panes or ponds when she wanted to catch a glimpse of her soulmates.

She joined the Magnus Institute and worked under Gertrude Robinson.

It took her breath away when Timothy Stoker walked into the Institute, claiming to be the new hire. She knew that face. She knew those mannerisms, and she knew that terrible lumberjack-esque style. Sasha shot out of her seat and introduced herself to him, trying not to seem too desperate.

When her name passed her lips, Tim (as he liked to be called) beamed.

Later, he showed her the list of names going down his chest, both grey and black, and the spot where “Sasha James” sat proudly.

Even later, when they both met Jonathan Sims, they traded a look that spoke volumes. His name rested just below Tim’s rib cage. Sasha and Tim quickly befriended Jon, dragging them out to lunch and to Institute functions. Sasha giggled wildly when Tim picked her up and swung her around, overjoyed to meet two people so important to him.

Now, Sasha sat down in the Archives of the Institute, staring woefully at the mess Gertrude left behind. Their trio had been relocated. Sasha wasn’t complaining, but god Gertrude had obviously never heard of a filing system.

Jon was nervous and Tim was too (though he wouldn’t show it), and Sasha knew she had to be the one to help them out. So she did what she does best.

She chanced a glance in the mirror, saw her other soulmate - still with her blue tips, and then turned around and got to work.

~~~~~

Jonah- well, Elias, did not care much for soulmates.

Whether this was because he spent his first hundred or so years unable to find his, or because he genuinely didn’t care, was up for debate.

Jonah Magnus’ soulmark was a name. “Peter Lukas.” It was written in dark blue calligraphy across his collarbones. Occasionally, Jonah would ask around for a Peter Lukas, if only out of curiosity, but no such man was ever found. So Jonah let it go.

Sometime down the line, he met a man named Nathaniel Lukas. The name sparked more curiosity. However, when asked if Nathaniel had any “Peter”s in his family, the answer was no.

Jonah shrugged this off.

Nathaniel Lukas turned out to be a ridiculously wealthy man, and even without the promise of a soulmate, Jonah made a deal with him.

After founding his Institute, Jonah Magnus spent many years swapping bodies and soulmarks, and simply biding his time until his plan could come together.

When Jonah was James Wright, he found himself unable to see the color blue. 

At the funeral of a man he couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of, James Wright (at the time) locked eyes with another man wearing a black suit. The world became instantly more colorful. Though he was at a funeral, and the required attire was black, even the black of the outfits around him seemed deeper, richer. The sky lit up in its usual light blue. Though Jonah had not been without the color for very long, he found he had a new affection for blue.

He approached Peter Lukas.

When Jonah became Elias Bouchard, Peter was there to help him with the transition. By help, it is meant that he stood there looking vaguely bored until Elias showed signs of life. Then he vanished into the Lonely.

Though neither of them were particularly affectionate people, they met again and again over the years. In various places and various positions, they always seemed to come back together. And though Elias did not care much for soulmates, he still appreciated the soulmarks. His own, (Elias’) allowed him to write anything on his skin and Peter would see it. Peter’s was a twin pair of eyes, one on the back of each hand. After learning about Jonah’s ability to see through said eyes, he started wearing gloves more often.

All that to say, when Elias Bouchard introduced Martin Blackwood to his new Archivist, he was fiddling with the wedding band on his finger. Not out of nervousness. Elias didn’t get nervous often, if at all, but simply out of boredom.

None of this was important. Soon enough his plans would fall into place, and maybe he’d bring Peter along to reap the rewards with him.

~~~~~

Melanie King knows her soulmate. Has known her for years. Ever since Georgina Barker walked into her life, Melanie has been very content with the soulmate aspect of things, thank you very much. It doesn’t stop her wondering about the second red string.

Two strings weave around her pinky, both appearing when she was sixteen. One leads to Georgie, her long-time best friend and crush. Though the two didn’t talk about it much, they agreed to wait and see about dating after a few years. They had all the time in the world after all, and neither was keen to let fate dictate more than it already had. Even if they did quite like each other. Or liked each other a lot.

The second string was the kicker. It trailed along as far as her eyes could see and then even further. She’d thought about following it, but Melanie wasn’t a fool. Too many people had gone to too weird of places in search of their soulmate, and Melanie would rather not end up dead. Especially when she already had a perfectly good soulmate. 

Still, the thought was there.

She never let the thought develop though. She threw herself into “What the Ghost?” and Georgie and the Admiral and pointedly didn’t think about it. Besides, she liked all of those things. 

The podcast was going spectacularly.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Melanie ended up in the Magnus Institute, talking to the Head Archivist about something that would live in her nightmares. She was so worked up, she never even noticed how taut her second string suddenly was.

Eventually, after being dismissed by the Archivist, she stormed out of his office. She was fuming. She ran straight into a woman, who had told her that Sasha was her name, and paused. Melanie raised her hand to wave apologetically, a habit she had picked up over the years, and paused again. The string was pulled tight. It looped around Melanie’s pinky, like it always had, and then around Sasha’s lithe brown fingers, like it never had before.

Sasha was staring down (yes down, Melanie is not ashamed of being short) at her in shock.

What follows is a blur of talking over each other and trading phone numbers, and when Melanie leaves, she’s nearly forgotten all about the Archivist.

~~~~~

Jonathan Sims is unprepared. Mostly for this job that has been so suddenly thrust upon him. Definitely for Martin barging into his office with worms and fresh trauma. And especially for said worms to swarm out of his wall, which he had accidentally broken.

Sasha is in his office. Jon and Martin and Sasha are in the safe room. Tim is in the Institute. Worms are in Jon’s leg. A corkscrew is in Jon’s leg.

Jon stops dissociating sometime around the fifth worm removal and has the presence of mind to worry about Sasha and Tim.

He’s stuck in the safe room with Martin. He’s stuck in the safe room with Martin, while worms are attacking the Institute, and he’s scared.

“Jon? Jon. Jon, please.”

Through the haze of pain and panic, Jon can hear Martin calling their name. They turn their head towards him, sliding tired eyes to land on his worried face. Martin exhales softly.

“Jon, are you okay?”

Jon manages to look severely unimpressed, even bleeding out on the floor.

“Safe to say, I am not okay.”

“Right! R-right, sorry. I just… I mean, you seem a bit out of it.”

With great effort, Jon raises his hands and rubs his face. He looks back at Martin.

“I’m just in shock, I think.”

“Just shock?”

“Just shock, Martin. Why?”

“Well you’re, ah, you’re shaking.”

Suddenly Jon is very aware of the way his entire body quivers. It’s moderately cold in the safe room, but certainly not chilly enough for how much he’s shaking. Jon holds their hands out in front of them and watches as they shake uncontrollably. Then he brings them closer to his shuddering chest and tries to breathe. Breathe the shivers away.

Martin watches him try and fail for a second, then crouches down on the floor near him.

“Jon.”

“What, Martin.” Jon genuinely doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so hard. But he’s on the verge of a panic attack in the middle of an actual attack, and one part of his brain is thinking about how stupid that is, and one part is still worried about Sasha and Tim, and he really just can’t think about tone of voice right now.

Martin doesn’t even pause.

“Can I touch you?”

What?

“What?”

“Having someone else to steady you might help.”

Jon is surprised by how confident Martin sounds in the moment. When he peeks over at him in confusion though, he notes the worried pinch to his eyebrows. Martin isn’t entirely okay either. Jon nods, but Martin raises his eyebrows and somehow Jon just knows that he wants a verbal answer.

“Alright.”

Martin seems surprised, which isn’t shocking, and then elated, which is a bit shocking.

He slowly reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it in both of his own.

So many thoughts flood Jon’s mind; enough that they’re afraid they might overheat. Martin is holding his hand. Martin is cradling his hand like it might slip away. Martin is looking at him with a hopeful expression, like he wants this to clear away all of Jon’s fear. It’s surprisingly effective. Jon lifts his other hand and places it gently over where their hands are joined.

Then he looks up and, “I’m scared.”

Martin turns his gaze from their clasped hands to Jon’s face, even though Jon is studiously avoiding his eyes.

“I’m scared too.”

When Jon finally looks up at him, he’s unprepared for how soft Martin looks.

And then the wall breaks open.

The two jump away from each other and when Jon draws his hand back, it brushes against a hard lump in his pocket.

~~~~~

Tim has always been a protective person. The list of names down his chest very quickly became a list of people he would protect, and he took that seriously. 

It started with Danny.

Daniel Stoker sat right underneath his collarbone, the first name on the list, pitch black for the first years of his life.

That was also when Tim realized that soulmates didn’t have to be romantic. Tim had a lot of love to give, and he knew that people could be important no matter the nature of your relationship with them.

So when Danny was born and the dots connected in little Tim’s brain, he fell easily into the role of protector. When Danny somehow got himself involved in as many schemes as humanly possible, Tim was there to bail him out. When Danny got punched by a drunkard in a bar, Tim was there to punch the guy back. When Danny was taken by something inhuman, Tim was heartbroken to realize there was nothing he could do. And so the first name on his chest faded to grey.

Very few names went grey over his lifetime, though Tim discovered that falling out of touch with people resulted in it too. One went grey before Tim even met the person, and he felt a deep bitterness for never being able to meet someone he could’ve loved.

Meeting Sasha was like a breath of fresh air. It had been a while since any names on his chest had stumbled into his life, and Sasha was everything. All whip-fast humor and shared conspiratorial smiles, and Tim fell in love. He’s still very much in love. And he promised himself that he wouldn’t let that name fade.

Meeting two more names back to back sent him reeling but in the best kind of way. Martin was sweet and witty, and Jon was dorky in an adorable kind of way, even if he was kind of an ass sometimes. Tim loved them too, though not in the way he loved Sasha. He didn’t mind when Sasha met Melanie and told him about her, and he didn’t mind when he figured out that they were meant to be together too, because fate is funny that way. Fate had given him people to protect and love and he would do it. No matter how many times he failed before. He would keep doing it.

Moving into the Archives was unexpected. Finding out the Archives were evil and then being attacked by worms was somehow less unexpected, like some part of him knew the whole time. 

And Sasha was there.

Sasha was there pushing him out of the way of Jane Prentiss and her Corruption. Sasha was there dragging him along, talking about splitting up. Sasha was there because Tim grabbed her by the shoulders and told her very firmly that they were not splitting up, and hasn’t she seen any horror movie ever?

They found the tunnels together and killed worms together and broke the wall together to discover Martin and Jon in what Tim would definitely call a compromising position. That was best saved for later though.

Sasha was still talking about going to pull the fire alarms, but Jon was digging around in his pocket. Tim watched him struggle to pull something out, then blinked in surprise when he pulled out a lighter.

When Jon noticed his eyes on them, he held up the lighter.

Tim grabbed it out of the air as Jon threw it. 

After dragging over a chair to stand on, Tim raised the lighter to the smoke detector in the center of the room. It took a few minutes. Everyone began to fidget restlessly.

The fire alarms sounded. 

There was a loud hsssss and then Tim was ushering everyone out through the tunnel as CO2 rained down on the Archives.

With an arm wrapped around Jon and one on the wall, Tim lead the way out. During their escape, an ear shattering scream split the air, and they all shared a grim look. 

Later, when statements had been given and wounds had been mended, the police stopped by. They told the Archives crew that a body had been found in the newly unearthed tunnels. The body of Gertrude Robinson.

All Tim could think was, of-fucking-course.

~~~~~

Basira Hussain knows what killers look like. Or at least, she knows that the typical mental image people have isn’t right.

There’s no weird vibe you get when you’re around a killer. They don’t carry around weapons 24/7 or seem like they could snap your neck in seconds if they wanted to. Mostly, at least.

A lot of killers just seem like normal people.

Jonathan Sims seems like a normal person.

Sure, he’s got little circular scars dotting his dark brown skin, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in a month, but he looks normal.

But, there’s a mountain of evidence against him (in Basira’s mind at least) and Basira knows how casual killers can be.

Basira gives him her statement, talks about Section 31, and promises him the tapes they got from Gertrude’s desk. When she leaves, she feels confident that he won’t be running any time soon. 

Stepping out of the Archives is an experience. For one, the Archives themselves are stuffy. They’re in the basement, with no real air conditioning and no windows. It feels a bit like a prison cell. But stepping out of the Institute and into London proper is even more stunning for Basira. Ever since a few years back, when her world had washed into color, she’d taken every opportunity to admire the vibrancy. Even dreary London was beautiful to her.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

The slightly cracked screen read “Daisy”, and Basira couldn’t help the smile.

Daisy: How did it go?

Me: Well. He seemed happy abut the tapes, probably won’t run.
Me: about*

Daisy: Good.

Basira tucked the phone away, assuming that was the end of the conversation. Her phone buzzed again.

Daisy: Are you coming home soon?

Again, Basira couldn’t help the smile.

Me: Be there in ten

Daisy: Ok

~~~~~

As bad as things have gotten at the Archives, Martin can’t leave. He’s not entirely convinced he would if he could anyways.

He can’t help the way his heart skips when Jon looks at him. He can’t help the way he looks back at them, in a way that’s far too soft for any kind of normal coworker relationship. But really, normalcy died a violent death in the Archives when Prentiss attacked.

Martin brings Jon tea when he’s been holed up in his office for so long, and sandwiches when he misses lunch. Though Jon is jumpy and has been looking at everyone with eyes that grow more and more suspicious, he still thanks Martin. It’s always gruff, but it’s always there.

Tim is not as complacent. 

Though Martin knows he cares about Jon, he also watches Tim pace the floor of the Archive, muttering to Sasha. Sasha just sighs and nods and places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and it helps. Not for long, but it helps.

Fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist isn’t nearly as comforting, but Martin doesn’t have anyone to place a hand on his shoulder and tell him it’s all right. He pushes through. He brings Jon more tea.

And then Jon is telling him to sit down in the chair across from him and Martin’s heart is doing something that definitely doesn’t feel healthy.

He sits.

And then Jon is accusing him of lying to him and Martin is flushing because technically he was.

He splutters out a small, “What?” and Jon is going off on a tangent about suspicions and letters and Martin’s heart is sinking. He goes quiet. Jon follows, staring at him and waiting for an answer.

With no alternate options, Martin spills his guts. The truth spills out of him like blood from a wound and it isn’t stifled until he’s woozy. Martin desperately wishes he had some tea.

Jon stares at him some more.

Then laughs.

If he wasn’t so wiped, Martin probably would’ve reacted more. As is, he blinks at Jon uncomprehendingly, and feels his already worn heart skip more beats. The emotional whiplash alone is overwhelming. Before Martin can put his head in his hands (and maybe cry), as he’s tempted to do, Jon’s laugh tapers off. He lets out a few weak chuckles still, but he’s actively making an effort to stop.

Martin wants to ask, but he doesn’t have the mental capacity.

Jon doesn’t wait for him to say anything anyways.

They tell Martin about their worries, their suspicion, their time in the tunnels.

Sitting and listening is good. It gives Martin time to recoup, and it gives him more insight into why exactly Jon has been so tense lately. Martin finds he can’t be mad at the man across from him.

Still openly relieved, Jon circles the desk until he’s standing right in front of Martin. 

“Martin. I could not care less if you lied about everything on your CV. Thank you for telling me.”

He knows he’s got it bad when he just nods, unable to form words. Up until, “Would you like some tea?”

Jon laughs weakly.

“That would be nice, Martin.”

Martin thinks that Jon really needs to stop saying his name before he has a stroke.

He makes tea.

Later, when Tim drags everyone into Jon’s office to confront them, Martin lingers by the side of the desk. Halfway through the intervention, Jon sends a look at Martin that he can’t read. Martin tries to send a reassuring one back.

~~~~~

After Tim’s intervention, things went back to normal.

Tim went back to obsessing over Smirke, Martin went back to obsessing over Jon, and Jon went back to obsessing over his work.

Sasha couldn’t shake the feeling that things were far from normal.

Jon wasn’t entirely wrong. Something did feel off in the Institute. Something was off in the Institute, Sasha knew it.

Melanie was the one who pointed it out, albeit unknowingly.

When she came into the Institute again, Sasha perked up immediately. The joy of seeing her other soulmate hadn’t quite faded yet. Considering how happy she still got when she saw Tim, Sasha wasn’t sure it would.

Melanie came in with a mildly confused look on her face, and a bulging handbag, full of things Sasha could only guess at. 

The shorter woman beelined towards Sasha, the trite expression fading into a gentle happiness. After they hugged and Melanie greeted Tim and Martin, she addressed Sasha again.

“Did you guys get a new secretary? I could’ve sworn Rosie was here the last time I was.”

There was a pause. Even Tim looked up from his book.

“….what?” Sasha broke the silence.

“Rosie. Y’know, short, kinda chubby, long brown hair, really sweet face. There’s a new girl at the desk now. Did she get replaced?”

Sasha shot a glance at Tim, then Martin, both of whom looked equally baffled. Melanie watched the exchange with a furrowed brow. “I’m not crazy. Those are two totally different women. You guys didn’t notice?”

“Ah-“ Sasha hesitated, then- “When were you here last?”

“Hmm, must’ve been a few months back. I’ve been avoiding this place honestly. You know that Sasha, we’ve talked.”

They had indeed been carrying on a conversation over text, trying out this new relationship. No actual dates had been arranged, but Sasha was hopeful. That also was not helpful right now.

Tim interrupted from the couch he was splayed on.

“You’re saying we got a new secretary. Who looks totally different from our last one. Who also happens to have the exact same name.”

It probably wasn’t his intention, but the slight accusation in Tim’s words made Melanie bristle.

“Look, all I’m saying is that one day Rosie was there, and now there’s some other chick in her place. I just wanted to know what happened.”

Sasha waves her hands placatingly, trying to settle the two before anything could actually start. Even if it wasn’t the truth, Melanie was too upset to think this through right now, so Sasha decided half-truths were better than nothing.

“We must’ve missed it. Elias just replaces people without telling us anything, it’s probably not a big deal. And ah, the name thing is just a coincidence.”

Melanie frowns, like she can’t quite believe it, but she accepts it anyways.

After a slightly stilted conversation, where Melanie says she’s going to India, she leaves the Archives again. The assistants turn to look at each other. Then they all make their way towards Jon’s office.

When all is said and done, the wooden table that had housed the Stranger was destroyed. Not-Rosie had been trapped in the walls by Jurgen Leitner. Martin, Sasha, and Tim ended up in Michael’s hallways.

When they got out, they ran to find Jon and found instead the body of Jurgen Leitner, his head bashed in with a bloody pipe.

~~~~~

Peter Lukas never really considered his soulmate. In fact, in his family, something like a soulmate was taboo. One person, made for you? One person who would understand you like no other, and would love you like no other? Not for the Lukases.

The soulmarks of the Lukas family varied greatly. The parents had two different soulmates, certainly not each other, and took great pride in avoiding them. The children were required to ignore their soulmates as well, lest they disgrace the family by renouncing their Patron. How can you be Lonely when your soulmate is out there?

When Peter was seven, his sister found writing on her arm that was not her own. Barely legible words written in a pink glitter pen that read, “Get Mommy a caik.” When Peter was eight, he watched his mother take a branding iron to his sister’s arm, right over the newest message from her soulmate. His sister was told never to message her soulmate again. She didn’t, though Peter heard her crying in her room some nights like the absence physically pained her. After a while, she never got another message.

When Peter was ten, the eyes appeared. Two eyes, one on each hand, that looked like they were drawn on in black ink. He was afraid.

His parents began to watch him more closely, and in return, Peter isolated himself more and more. He let the comforting fog of the Lonely wash over him and separate him from anyone important in his life. Soulmate be damned.

He bought the Tundra in his early twenties. He bought a crew and learned the life of a sailor, far from land and far from anyone who could claim to love him.

And then there was James. Elias. Jonah Magnus. And Peter wouldn’t call what they have love, but sometimes he is uncomfortably reminded of his sister and her pink glitter pen messages.

Peter starts wearing gloves.

Peter starts seeing Elias more and more.

Peter starts to wonder if maybe love isn’t Lonely sometimes too.

Elias kills Jurgen Leitner and shows up at Peter’s penthouse door within a few hours. He details his plans to Peter, who nods mindlessly and occasionally nitpicks, only because he knows that it pisses Elias off. Peter agrees to the plan, and the bet, and then leans towards Elias as he finally stops talking.

At the end of the night, they lay in bed together. Neither of them sleep, but they stay for a while.

And then Peter leaves Elias alone in his bed.

~~~~~

Right where Georgie’s hip meets her waist, is a little plane. It looks like one of those cartoon planes, with an improper amount of wings and vivid bright blue stripes. But it tells Georgie that Melanie is on her plane home or at least thinking about it, and she’s grateful for that.

Georgie lets her shirt fall, and exits the bathroom of her small apartment. Jon is sitting out on the couch that he had made his bed, staring absently into space. When Georgie sits down next to him, he doesn’t even flinch. 

He’s petting the Admiral.

Jon does finally acknowledge her when she pokes him in the side. He sends her a confused look, his fingers pausing in their travels through the Admiral’s white and brown fur. As okay with Georgie is with Jon staying at her place, she will never forgive him for stealing the Admiral so thoroughly.

She blinks the thought away, instead opting to ask Jon if he would like takeout for dinner.

Three years ago when she asked this kind of question, the mark on her side would change to a tacky takeout logo; it showed that Jon was thinking about their favorite Chinese place. Now though, Georgie knew the plane stayed. She didn’t mind.

Jon nods, and requests Chinese, like Georgie knew he would (some things never change).

Georgie gets up to order, aiming for the computer in her office. It was good for recording her podcast and ordering takeout.

“Georgie.”

And she stops.

Jon’s voice is unusually soft.

Georgie has paused close enough to touch if Jon wants to, and it seems he does. They reach forward hesitantly, giving Georgie ample time to pull away. When she doesn’t, gentle fingers brush against the back of her hand. Jon pulls away quickly again, then stares down at his hand.

Three years ago, when they had been in love, gold would’ve splashed across his fingers. Everywhere their skin touched, gold followed, like spilled ink on parchment. Now, only his rough fingertips remained.

Georgie watched his expression. It crumpled only slightly, then turned stony again. Despite herself she asks, “What were you expecting, Jon?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Without responding, she pats his head, a little like she would the Admiral’s. Then she turns to order Chinese food.

Later, when Jon has left and Melanie has joined the Archives despite the warnings, Georgie is staring at her soulmark again. Right now it shows a computer, doubtless because Melanie is doing research for her new job. Georgie texts her. She smiles weakly when the image turns into a heart, curled like the tail of a cat, and Melanie texts back.

~~~~~

The Dark had never scared Basira before. In fact, one could argue that she was well acquainted with the blackness. Now, after watching the inky void spill out of the mouth of a child; she wished she could keep the lights on forever.

She was sat in her hotel room, the one she’d gotten when she first left the police force. She’d left her apartment behind when she realized how many memories it held. But, Basira wondered if maybe the complete lack of humanity that radiates from hotel rooms was worse.

Something about the small bottled soaps and matching paintings shook her to her core.

She still couldn’t turn the lights off. 

She missed Daisy.

Daisy, who knew her coffee order. Daisy, who had killed maybe dozens of people. Daisy, who had let Basira cut her hair and played the Archers the whole time. Daisy, who was probably still hunting Jon at this very moment.

Basira didn’t know how she felt about any of it anymore.

She stared at the painting across from her, probably the same in every hotel room. It was a violent mesh of colors, blue thrown over green, red overtaken by purple, yellow and orange blending together. It kind of hurt her eyes. She couldn’t stop looking.

Colors were a product of different kinds of light.

Before she could register it, Basira was standing, and crossing the room to the painting. She ran light fingers over it.

Colors came from different kinds of light, and Basira needed the light and she needed the colors.

She needs to find Daisy.

~~~~~

This graveyard used to be greyscale. 

The graves blended into the over grown grass, and even freshly turned dirt didn’t make much difference. Daisy strode over grass and concrete alike and didn’t even register the difference before. She also never had to acknowledge the crimson blood that stained the grass after she was finished. At worst, she would hear it drip, drip, dripping off the soaked blades of grass onto the soiled concrete.

And then Basira walked into her life. 

Basira was all terribly matched clothing and steady words. She threw Daisy off at first with her bright pink hijab and her maroon pants, then reached back and held Daisy together with experienced hands. 

She stuck by Daisy, even when Daisy lost faith in her purpose. 

Her purpose, of course, was to take out anyone who never got what they deserved. Rapists who walked free. Murderers who didn’t have quite enough evidence to convict. That corner store owner who was robbing his employees.

Jonathan Sims.

One after another, monsters fell by her hand, by her gun, all to keep Basira safe. At least, that’s what she told herself.

It’s for Basira. It’s for the world. It’s for the good of everyone.

It helped her sleep better at night, but it didn’t get rid of the terrible thrill she felt when she approached her prey. When she had them, hearts thrumming like hummingbird wings, trapped in corners. Daisy tried to fool herself into thinking it made her sick. 

But this was her job, it was what she was made for.

You can’t lie to yourself like that for long.

Michael Crew lay dead on the ground, body slumped over and bleeding sluggishly from a bullet to the head.

Jonathan Sims sat and stared at her, with those eyes that made it feel like the whole world was watching. And judging. And Daisy leveled her gun right between them.

“Daisy, don’t!”

Her resolve snapped; a wire pulled too tight.

“Basira?”

Jon made a noise around the cloth in his noise that vaguely sounded like “Basira?” as well, but Daisy ignored him.

“Why are you here?”

“Why are you? I know what you do here, Daisy. You can’t kill Jon.”

Daisy grits her teeth, and feels the bitter sting of prey slipping out of her claws- fingers. Her fingers. Not prey. A monster. A monster who had to be taken care of. To keep Basira safe.

“Daisy. Daisy, listen to me, there’s a bigger monster to worry about here.”

If there’s anyone who could get through to her in this moment, it’s Basira. They both know that. Daisy looks her partner in the eyes, searching for truth.

She’s not sure she finds it.

She lets Jon go anyways. Kind of.

They all pile into her car, with Daisy pointing her gun back at Jon as she drives, and they leave when they arrive at the Magnus Institute. 

Elias Bouchard meets them, then threatens them, then wins. Daisy tries to fight back, to protest, but his trap is solid, and Daisy knows when prey is cornered.

Basira and Daisy join the Archives. 

Daisy lets Basira lead her back to her hotel room, (it’s small, and kind of sad, but Basira’s there), and they both fall into the bed together. 

When Daisy gets up to brush her teeth before getting back in bed, she finds she can’t brush away the bitter tang of defeat.

~~~~~

Jon never claimed to be an especially bright or brave man. Perhaps it was pure stupidity that lead him to Jude Perry. Perhaps he just let curiosity get the better of him when he met Michael Crew. Perhaps he was simply unlucky enough to get kidnapped by Daisy

But this situation he found himself in now, was not his fault.

Nikola Orsinov grinned down at him from above, puppet body dangling precariously over the chair Jon was strapped to. Jon kind of wished she would fall and break her neck, though he didn’t think that would kill her, and besides, she’d probably land on him just to spite him.

No matter how much he wanted to keep on eye on her, Jon couldn’t keep his neck tucked back and his gaze fixed on Orsinov for too long. His already aching bones would hate him even more. Plus, he already knew she wouldn’t do much until he was properly “moisturized”.

And god, did that thought make him shudder.

Somewhere in his subconscious, his brain conjures up an image of Martin holding his hands as they shook.

Martin wasn’t here. Nikola Orsinov and her clowns are, however. They never leave.

Twice a day, they lather lotion, moisturizer, and other things Jon couldn’t possibly name all over his body. They don’t stop until every part of him is covered, and Jon wants to crawl into a hole where no one can touch him again. Even the light brush of Orsinov’s plastic claws, even when she’s not smothering him in lotion, leaves Jon in a nearly catatonic state. They think somewhat cruelly that any future soulmates are going to be hard to find. If he can’t be touched without panicking, there’s little hope of those beautiful colors (that he only really got to witness once) spreading across his skin again.

When Michael appears, Jon can barely bring himself to care.

Another creepy, not-human being, grinning at him like he’s just told the funniest joke in history. What joy. 

But Michael doesn’t grin.

Michael stares at him and floats knife-sharp claws just over his skin, just refraining from touching. He tells Jon about Gertrude and the grudge that Michael holds. For the first time in a while, Jon is acutely aware of how much danger Michael poses to them.

Deadly fingers slice through the ropes binding Jon, then hover just close enough, once again. Jon gets the hint. They walk towards the door hesitantly.

And then Michael is being ripped apart and inverted and sucked into himself (itself?) and screaming and laughing all at once. And then Michael is Helen.

Jon is surprised to feel disgusted. He’s surprised he can feel anything through the emotional exhaustion.

When Jon gets back to the Archives, he lays on the floor for a minute.

(Helen dropped him on the floor, to be fair, putting the door about two feet from the ground, but he probably would’ve ended up there anyways.)

There’s a solid moment where they contemplate just attempting to merge into the floor. No more Archivist, no more Fear powers, just Jon and the floor.

He gets up.

When he walks out of his office, he’s greeted by a chorus of confusion and happiness. He gives Martin the same look he did when Tim had forced an intervention on him; Jon’s best “I’m glad you’re here” look. Martin gives him the exact same worried-but-trying-to-be-reassuring look.

Later, when Elias is telling them about the Unknowing and they’re making plans, Jon insists that Martin stays behind. He protests, because of course he does, but finally concedes

When they’re about to leave, Martin assures Jon that he, and Melanie, and Sasha will be fine.

Jon can only manage an, “Okay” in response.

~~~~~

Tim could admit that he’d been angry lately. Between Jon stalking him, the Circus coming back around, and the whole Jurgen Leitner case, he was distinctly unhappy.

And okay, maybe, Tim wasn’t at his best when he was angry. Maybe he was abrasive, and accusatory, and acted rashly, but who could blame him?

He’s not wrong to feel that way. Right?

Elias tells the Archives team that they’ll have to go disturb the Unknowing, and the hidden explosives that Gertrude had will definitely do the trick. Daisy and Basira are joining Jon and Tim while the others stay behind. Including Sasha.

While Tim has been somewhat single-minded ever since the Circus came back into his life, Sasha has not been so oblivious. When the time comes for them to leave, Sasha stops Tim with a hand on his arm. She’s giving him a look somewhere between defiance and sadness.

“You have to come back.”

Tim feels his mouth fall into that familiar line. The one his dad favored when his mom was scolding him. The one that Danny often wore, when Tim was telling him not to do something stupid. The one that said someone was telling him to do something and he wasn’t sure he could keep that promise.

“Tim. You have to come back. I can’t lose you. Especially not to some creepy ass puppets.”

Tim shakes his head, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“You’d be okay. You’ve got Melanie.”

Sasha digs her nails into his arm, hard enough to make him wince.

“Don’t give me that shit Timothy Stoker. I want you. I love Melanie, but I can’t stand the thought of losing you, and if you don’t come back, I’ll- I’ll-“

Tim is alarmed to see Sasha near the edge of tears. He’d never seen her cry before.

“Okay, okay, okay.” The assurances come out rushed, and Tim lifts his arms to cradle her face in his hands.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’ll- I’m coming back. You don’t have to threaten me with anything.” A beat, and then, “The thought of seeing you again is enough. I promise.”

His words definitely don’t stop the tears. They fall anyways, but Sasha is giving him a grateful smile and pulling his lips to hers and Tim thinks they might be okay.

When they’re caught in the Unknowing, an immeasurable amount of time later, his promise rings in his head. Jon- probably Jon- something that’s wearing Jon’s face is coming towards him and Tim can’t help but lash out. His fist connects with bone and he’s pretty sure he made The-Thing-That-Looks-Like-Jon bleed.

It shakes its head, trying to clear the pain of the strike, then digs into it’s pocket.

Tim is dragged back to what feels like forever ago, watching Jon dig a lighter out of his pocket, sitting and bleeding on the floor.

Like an echo that never stopped haunting them, Jon throws the detonator and Tim catches it.

They lock eyes and Tim just knows. That’s Jon. That’s his friend. That’s his little brother. He will protect him. Like he couldn’t protect Danny.

Tim slides his thumb over the button.

He presses it down.

Pain becomes his reality.

~~~~~

The hospital isn’t the nicest place to be. Melanie can’t think of anyone who enters a hospital and goes ah yes, this is where I’m meant to be.

But she’s there to support Sasha, so she can’t complain. She fidgets with the little red string on her pinky as Sasha visits Tim, ignoring the little girl across the hallway that’s staring at her wide-eyed. Melanie decides she also hates the people in hospitals.

With nothing better to do, her mind turns to the last six months.

They got the call from the hospital a few days after the Unknowing was supposed to start. A nurse politely informed them that a woman (Basira, they now knew) had dropped two men off at the hospital and then promptly disappeared. Sasha was the first to rush to the hospital, because Elias was in jail (and probably didn’t care), and Martin had been spending an inordinate amount of time with Peter Lukas, the new Head of the Institute.

So Sasha and Melanie went.

Tim and Jon were alive, though both in such states that the doctors were unsure if they would make it. Jon’s heartbeat kept stopping and having to be restarted, and he only breathed the shallowest of breaths. Tim…. The working theory is that Jon pushed Tim out of the way of a large piece of rubble as it came down. Jon caught the brunt of it, but Tim’s legs were crushed. Whoever dragged the duo out of the debris (again, Basira) hadn’t had the piece of mind to take much care. Jon had pretty much healed, all except for the fact that he wouldn’t wake up. But Tim wouldn’t heal. Tim’s legs were essentially dust. 

He would never walk again.

When Sasha told Melanie the news, she was crying. It was probably the second ever time the woman had cried in front of her, and Melanie couldn’t do much except wrap her arms around her soulmate. Sasha cried into her shoulder until she fell asleep on the cheap, plastic hospital chairs.

The world didn’t seem to care that the Archive assistants were in mourning. 

The Flesh attacked about three months in, and it was pure dumb luck that both Basira and Melanie happened to be in at the time. Together, they managed to drive it back, trapping Jared in Helen’s corridors.

The girls watched Martin grow further and further away from them, and their distaste for Peter Lukas grew as well.

Melanie wasn’t entirely sure how much longer they could wait for Jon to wake up and Tim to rejoin them. It felt like they were all holding their breath. At least Elias was rotting in jail.

The closing of a door snaps Melanie out of her thoughts.

She perks up when she sees Sasha walking towards her, and does so even more when she notices Sasha’s smile.

“Hey, Melanie, I- ah, I have something to ask you actually.”

Melanie leans back in her chair, watching as Sasha comes to stand in front of her.

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date? A proper one?”

Whatever Melanie was expecting, that wasn’t it.

“I- what? Is this… the time?”

Sasha smiles wider, half sheepish, half determined.

“There’s never going to be a right time. Our lives are only going to get more chaotic I think, and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Blinking in shock, Melanie finds herself nodding.

Then she shakes her head again as a thought occurs to her.

“What about Tim? Is he okay with that? I know you guys are together too.”

Sasha looks very much like she wants to hug Melanie in that moment.

“It’s nice of you to ask, but we’ve talked about it. He’s open to a polyamorous relationship if you are. And if Georgie is, of course.”

“So I’d be dating you and Georgie, and you’d be dating Tim and I.” Melanie repeats it like confirmation, but she’s really just trying to process the amount of emotions she’s feeling right now.

“Exactly.” Sasha hasn’t stopped smiling at her.

“Yes. Yes, yes of course. I want to go on a date.” 

Sasha really does lean down to smother Melanie in a hug then.

“Me too.”

~~~~~

Martin couldn’t feel anything but smug satisfaction with Elias in jail.

That lasts for about a week.

His mind kept drifting back to what Elias had revealed to him about his mother. Then it drifted to Jon. Then it drifted to Tim in the hospital, and Daisy in the Buried, and Basira in a world without color once again. Then it drifted back to Jon.

When Peter Lukas replaced Elias as the Head of the Institute, everyone was naturally suspicious. As far as Martin was concerned, they had every right to be. But, Martin never let Lukas get his claws in any of them.

Within another week, Martin had placed himself solidly in Peter’s line of sight, and offered himself up on a silver platter. Martin would entertain Lukas for as long as he needed to, as long as he couldn’t hurt anyone else Martin cared about.

It didn’t matter that Lukas kept him away from everyone else.

It didn’t matter that he felt a twinge of guilt every time someone turned to ask him something and he slipped away.

It didn’t matter that his soulmark had disappeared.

Of course, it had wrecked him. He sobbed, wet, fat, globs of salt water running down his face, and his voice shaking in his chest until it ran out. When he lost his breath, he took in several rattling breaths and then started all over again. He’d run his hand over the place where his soulmark should be, and then he scrubbed it nearly raw in the shower, hoping to scrub away unblemished skin and replace it with the familiar black ink. Nothing worked.

His soulmark- his soulmate was gone.

Martin never told Peter, but he had the feeling the bastard knew. Lukas told him to feel content with the Loneliness whenever Martin seemed a bit off, and Martin caught him glancing once or twice at his wrist. He curled it protectively into himself whenever it happened.

After considering not wearing it anymore, Martin opted to keep the leather bracelet. He couldn’t stand looking at that blank skin.

But it didn’t matter.

He’s fine.

He’s playing Lukas like Lukas thinks he’s playing Martin, and he’s going to protect everyone. Who cares about soulmates, really? Certainly not Martin.

When Jon wakes up, it’s like a knife to the heart.

Martin has gotten used to pushing his feelings down, letting them dissipate into the fog, but he’s not quite strong enough to push these ones away. 

Jon wakes up. Martin can’t help himself. He goes to see him.

Jon looks tired. They’ve always looked tired, a bit like a feral cat, sheltering from a storm, but this exhaustion looks bone deep. 

Martin realizes how much of a mistake this is the second he sees Jon. Because instantly, he wants to wrap him in blankets and make him tea and tell him that it will be okay. But he can’t. He hates that he isn’t more upset.

The fog clouds the negative emotions.

Jon reaches out to him, when he stays quiet for a bit too long, and Martin can’t help but flinch. Their fingers just barely graze his arm before Jon’s pulling away, looking apologetic. 

Before he can so much as apologize, Martin is turning and fleeing, helped along by the fog that happily swallows him whole.

(He doesn’t see Jon look down at his fingers, concerned about how cold Martin was, before freezing. Light blue is smeared over his fingertips, exactly where he had touched Martin. Jon’s heart doesn’t stop pounding for a while.

Martin also doesn’t notice the new words etching themselves into his skin, beneath the bracelet. He doesn’t check anymore. The memory hurts too much.)

~~~~~

Jail, despite what one may think, is not exactly comfortable. Even when you’ve bribed the guards with your (husband’s) money, and they’ve brought you three extra blankets, prison cells still manage to be inconvenient.

Elias is sitting on his bed, wondering if his plan is really worth the discomfort, when Peter appears.

The sailor appears in the middle of the cell, and immediately gives it a look that clearly says it is not up to snuff.

Elias doesn’t care.

He stands up slowly, not wanting to give them away to the guards (or give away his eagerness to Peter). When he’s risen from his seat, he makes his way over to his husband and yanks him down into the kind of kiss that would make your mother shield your eyes.

Peter pulls away to give him a vaguely disgruntled look.

“This cannot actually be what you called me here for. I can’t have writing appearing all over my skin whenever you decide it’s convenient, Jonah.” 

Elias waves him off distractedly, sitting back down on his bed. Peter joins him reluctantly.

“Of course not, the ah, conjugal visit can wait.”

Peter still looks unimpressed but Elias plows on. 

“I want you to tell me how things are going with Martin. And my Archivist. And my Institute as a whole, actually.”

“You can see all of that, Elias. Admit it-“ Peter smirks- “you just missed me. You were Lonely.”

Elias makes a sour face.

Before Peter can poke more fun, or Elias can smother him with his prison pillow, there’s a distinct sound of footsteps outside the cell. Peter is gone in a flash, or more accurately, a wisp of fog.

Somewhat put out, Elias regards the newcomer with nothing less than absolute vexation. Basira meets his gaze evenly, unfazed by the look she’s getting from the older man.

She enters the cell.

Over the course of an hour (way too long, in Elias’ opinion), Elias manages to convince her to go off on another wild goose chase, as he’d been doing for the last few months. He sends her in the direction of one of the Lightless Flame’s people, promises her that this one will show results, and watches her take her leave.

For a brief moment before Peter returns, Elias turns his gaze to the Archivist.

He watches Jon place one of his newly-removed ribs on the desk, then approach the coffin in his office.

And seconds later, Peter is back. He’s glaring at Elias.

“You could’ve told me someone else was coming.”

“I’m in jail, love, how was I to know?” The entire sentence drips with sarcasm.

Peter paces closer to Elias, hand going up to tangle in his hair and pull his head back. Their eyes meet.

“You are so infuriating.”

Elias smirks in response. Upon opening his mouth for a sharp retort, he finds it pleasantly occupied with other things.

Distantly, even as he’s thoroughly distracted by Peter, Elias thinks about how lucky it is that the Archivist has been Marked by both the Flesh and the Buried now. 

The plan is coming together.

~~~~~

When Basira and Jon tell Sasha that they’re going to stop a ritual by themselves, Sasha is entirely against it. The last one took four people, and only one of them got out unscathed. In what universe did this seem like a good idea?

When she couldn’t convince them otherwise, she insisted on at least going along with them.

So, the trio found themselves on a boat.

At some point along the way, Basira had revealed to Sasha that Jon had been feeding on innocent people, extracting their statements and giving them nightmares in return. Sasha gave Jon a look that she hoped conveyed “dismayed mother”, but otherwise…. Well, she could see why it might be necessary for him. It was hard for her to judge, especially knowing how much Jon had unwillingly gone through. His curiosity was his hubris, but Sasha knew that feeling. She understood.

So when Jon tore the statement out of one of the people working on the boat, and then later, the Avatar of the Dark, Sasha didn’t bat an eye.

Sasha rubbed his arm reassuringly, and nearly cried when he looked surprised. Then she nearly cried even more when he subconsciously leaned into the touch, wondering how touch-starved this man really was.

Basira was grim the whole way.

Sasha and Basira weren’t the best of friends, but Sasha still found herself talking to the ex-cop, if only for entertainment. They started off talking about soulmates, Sasha gushing about hers and Basira smiling solemnly when Daisy was brought up. Sasha finally got an answer to the question that had been burning it’s way through her and out of her lips. Basira told her that she and Daisy were in a queer-platonic relationship. Sasha congratulated them.

At some point, the conversation turned to soulmarks. Instead of continuing seriously, Sasha asked Basira about the weirdest soulmarks she’d ever seen. This turned into a competition, which Basira soundly won by mentioning a woman who could visit her soulmates in dreams, but specifically sex dreams. 

Sasha cackled so hard she nearly choked.

Later, when she peered down in the water, and caught a glimpse of Tim in the hospital (doing his physical therapy), she smiled. She quite liked her soulmark. And her soulmates.

~~~~~

Getting calls from the hospital is quickly becoming her least favorite thing. She hadn’t expected the one from Jon, but she’d appreciated knowing what exactly he was getting himself into.

When Georgie got the call about Melanie though, she was nearly sick with worry.

Without a second thought, she shut down her computer, grabbed her keys, and booked it to the hospital. She didn’t have any patience for the checking in process, so she slipped through to the desk as quickly as possible and asked for Melanie King. The startled man at the desk gave her the room number (204), and Georgie nearly ran down the hallways.

She just barely avoided knocking over the doctor at the door, but he wisely stepped out of the way in time.

When Melanie heard the door open, she raised her head.

Georgie got a good look at the bandages that circled her soulmate’s head, the very front tinged a slight red. It covered her eyes completely.

Flitting over to Melanie’s side, she rested a hand on her shoulder, then jerked it back when Melanie flinched.

“Sorry! Sorry. It’s me, Melanie. I’m here.”

“Oh!” Georgie feels no small amount of pride when pure happiness consumes Melanie’s voice. “Georgie. I was wondering when you were coming. I kind of expected it to take longer?”

“I uh- I ran.”

Melanie laughs, and Georgie is struck by how normal she’s acting.

“Of course you ran. Come here, hon.” She raises her hand towards Georgie and it’s not like Georgie can say no to that.

Melanie cradles Georgie’s face when she sets it in her hands, then slowly, as to give her time to pull away, connects Georgie’s lips to her own.

Georgie’s eyes fly open in shock, and she can’t help the stray thought of, Melanie couldn’t see that.

She rests her hands on either side of Melanie’s head and supports her own weight, so that she can look down at Melanie without moving too far away. Melanie pouts but lets her move back ever so slightly. Georgie nearly laughs, because they’re still close enough that they’re breathing each other’s air.

Instead, she places a soft kiss on Melanie’s nose.

“Something you want to tell me?”

Melanie sighs, then, “A lot of things actually. In case you were wondering, the reason I’ve decided to blind myself is because apparently that’s the only way to leave the Institute.” Georgie blinks and opens her mouth, confused, but Melanie continues. “Also, I’m in love with you, and I have been for a while, and I don’t want to dance around it anymore. We don’t have all the time in the world Georgie, but we do have right now. I want you for right now.”

If Melanie could see, she would definitely laugh at the soft, teary look on Georgie’s face.

“…. Georgie?”

“I’ve been thinking about getting a new apartment. A bigger one, with two bedrooms and a large kitchen, and I’d really like you to come with me. I don’t care that you’re blind now, I promise to take care of you. I promise to love you. I want you for right now too.”

A grin breaks across Melanie’s face and then she’s pulling Georgie close again and smothering her in kisses. Georgie is giggling, both out of happiness and a weak kind of relief, and she knows that the next few weeks will be hard. But she’s got her soulmate with her. So it’s okay.

~~~~~

It’s seven months after the initial incident, when Tim finally gets out of the hospital. Sasha is there, telling him about her boat trip with Jon and Basira, and telling him about Melanie, and telling him about everything he’s missed really. 

He’s forced to stay in a wheelchair.

While he’d had physical therapy for his muscles that had atrophied but could still be saved, his legs were another story. One was amputated up to the knee, while the other was gone entirely. Tim tried not to think about it too hard.

Sasha rolls him out of the hospital in his chair like it’s the most natural thing ever. She carries on a chipper conversation, mostly by herself, because Tim is too lost in his thoughts to respond. When he does occasionally chime in, he’s rewarded with a soft smile, and it encourages him to do it more and more often.

Tim knows he’s the last out of the hospital, though he’d been awake before Jon.

Jon had refused physical therapy, and Tim had a feeling he was going to have to wrangle them into some. Tim himself had nearly refused it too, but Sasha had stared him down with her signature “mother hen” look and Melanie had been there to back her up (ferocious in her own right), so he’d conceded.

Thinking of Melanie makes his brain spiral into a totally different tangent.

When he’d woken up, the doctors had asked him about his soulmark, something they often did to check for amnesia or concussions. Tim, being extremely high on drugs, had immediately lifted his hospital gown and just shown them. He looked down at himself at the same time, and noticed a few new names.

“Melanie King.
Georgina Barker.
Basira Hussain.
Alice Tonner.”

He’d stared openly at them for a solid minute before realizing the doctor was trying to get his attention again.

Tim had never seen names added to the list on his chest. Somehow, we was unsurprised that those women had made the cut. He had developed an easy fondness for Melanie and Georgie, and Basira and Daisy had gone through hell with him. It was easy to see why he could love them.

Of course, Tim’s protective instinct was immediately triggered and challenged by Georgie informing him and Sasha that Melanie had blinded herself.

The initial shock alone nearly kept him in the hospital for two more months.

When Georgie explained why, Melanie’s need to escape the Eye, it made a lot more sense. Ever since, Tim had often looked in the mirror, his own brown eyes staring back at him. He really, genuinely considered it. He was still considering it.

Sasha brought him back to her apartment, since it was on the first floor and handicap accessible. She broke away from him to take a call from Melanie, and he hesitated in her living room.

Tim had been here before.

Of course, Tim and Sasha were close, so Tim had been in her apartment before.

But he considered that maybe he’d never been left truly alone in Sasha’s apartment. 

He starts noticing things he never did before.

There’s a cork board covered in Polaroids. Tim recognizes her parents in one picture, then himself, along with Martin and Jon in another. Melanie features in a row of three, making a collection of ridiculous faces. Sasha’s got candles everywhere, nearly all of them being Christmas themed. Tim is reminded of that time she told him that the Christmas scents were “just too good for only one month of the year.” Sasha’s couch has a noticeable dip in the middle cushion, where she’s obviously sat for years. Tim wonders if he can remember when Sasha first got this apartment, then realizes she must’ve had it before they even met.

There’s a plethora of mirrors.

Tim knows exactly why that little detail makes him smile.

And Tim is suddenly overwhelmed with how much he could have lost. And then he’s crying in his wheelchair, in the middle of Sasha’s living room, raising his still weak hands to cover his eyes.

Sasha comes back to the scene, and darts over to Tim’s side as soon as she realizes what’s going on. 

She kneels on the floor in front of his wheelchair, resting her arms on the seat of the chair and leaning into his space so that he can see her. He cringes away for a minute. Then he realizes that if anyone was going to be okay with him crying in front of them, it was going to be loyal, steady, lovely Sasha.

He lets himself cry into her. 

She holds him as best she can through it all.

When the tears dry up, and his eyes are rubbed raw, he inhales wetly. Sasha waits for him to speak, which he appreciates.

“I can’t… I can’t protect you, Sasha. I could’ve lost everything, and I’m so glad I didn’t, but I can’t do anything to stop them from taking it all away.” Sasha doesn’t ask who “them” is; she just knows. “I’m just useless like this. Y’know I was thinking about blinding myself? Like Melanie? It’s not like being blind would make me any more goddamn feeble. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. Or at all.”

Tim takes a pause to inhale, instantly ready to resume his rant, when Sasha pushes herself up slightly and rests her forehead against his.

“Stop. Tim. Just stop.”

He’s caught by the fierce look in her eyes.

“I never, never, stuck by you because of what you could give me. I never wanted you because you could protect me. I never wanted you because you were strong, and tough. I wanted you because you were funny, and reliable, and you always knew how to cheer me up. And you’re so kind, and you have so much love, and how dare you think any of that is useless?” Sasha’s voice gets caught in a sob, but she doesn’t stop.

“You’re not feeble. You’re one of the strongest people I know. I love you, Tim. I don’t care how much of a burden you think you are, and I don’t care how much work you make me put in. I’ll do it all. I’ll work myself to the bone if I can just make you smile, and laugh, and kiss me one more time. I love you. Do you understand?”

Tim is speechless, staring at her in awe.

“That was a question, Tim. Do you understand?”

“Yeah…. Y-yeah, yeah, yeah. I understand. I… I love you too.”

Sasha laughs wetly.

“I’d sure hope so.”

They breathe, for a moment, holding each other like a lifeline.

“Oh, um-“ Sasha shakes her head- “Right. Melanie called. She said- she said Georgie wants to move to a bigger apartment, and… if we want to come with, then we can.” Sasha brushes hair out of her face absentmindedly, still looking Tim in the eyes. “The four of us could live together. Be together. Properly.”

Tim leans forward and finally does what he’d been wanting to for the past few minutes.

He kisses Sasha.

Then he leans back and says, “I would love that.”

He takes a minute to consider the apartment around him again, remembering all of his little noticings.

“You’re sure you want to leave your home behind?”

Sasha shakes her head like Tim’s said something completely ridiculous.

“You silly, silly man. You’re my home. You, and Melanie, and maybe Georgie. I’m not leaving anything behind.”

Tim thinks briefly that he’d really like Sasha to come back and kiss him again. Like she’s reading his mind, she leans down and pecks him on the lips.

“So I should tell them yes?”

Tim smiles, finally completely lucid, thoughts entirely focused on the woman in front of him and this possible future she’s presented him.

“Absolutely.”

~~~~~

A predator knows a predator. A predator knows what it means to Hunt and to be Hunted.

After being prey for so long, Daisy thought she lost that. She hoped she lost that. But when the Hunters entered the Archives, every cell in her body screamed protect, kill, feast, Hunt.

She went to find Basira and ended up with Jon, in his office, staring down two Hunters. An older man and a younger woman, both with the sharp edge of a predator scoping out their prey. Daisy knew exactly where their sights had landed.

Though she didn’t know Jon very well, something protective and violent still swells in her chest for him. Maybe because they pulled her out of the Buried, or maybe because Basira seemed to like him well enough. Either way, when Daisy sees the Hunters fix their eyes on him, bloodthirst bubbles up inside her. 

A kind of thirst she hadn’t known since before the Unknowing.

Then Basira joins them in the office, and the Hunters dare to look at her, and Daisy can’t help the feral growl that rips out of her.

She knows what’s happening.

She’s felt it before, but this time is different.

This time, Daisy doesn’t think she can come back.

Basira ushers Jon out of the office, and Daisy listens to his footsteps fade away. When the Hunters step forward to follow, Daisy is there in their path. They laugh, at first, because what is one beast against two Hunters? They don’t know her. They don’t know what she’s capable of.

Daisy cuts a final glance at Basira, who’s watching her like she already knows what’s happening. Daisy takes in her brown skin. Her red hijab, considerably better than the bright pink one. Her black pants and navy sweatshirt. Daisy thinks about how much better her fashion sense has gotten, less eyeball scorching, though admittedly still not the best. Daisy thinks about how she’ll never be able to tell her that. Daisy instead tells Basira to kill her, when all is said and done.

When Basira promises, through the pain in her eyes and voice, Daisy faces the Hunters once again and lets the Beast take over.

~~~~~

Peter, as an avatar of the Lonely, is distinctly uncomfortable in the realm of the Eye. The Panopticon makes a chill roll down his spine, different from the one caused by the frigid air of the Lonely. This one says “you’re being watched” and Peter knows it isn’t lying.

He leads Martin to Jonah’s body anyways. He has a promise to uphold, after all. And a bet to win.

Martin looks properly surprised, freaks about the missing eyes, then freaks out even more when Elias appears in the room. Peter would laugh at the man if he didn’t have a job to do.

He turns towards Martin, iron filling his voice, then speaks.

“Martin. It’s time. You know what to do. Kill Jonah Magnus.”

There’s a moment, where several things shoot through Peter’s mind. He hadn’t considered this part of the plan. If Martin pulled through (as Peter was sure he would), would Peter just let his soulmate die? Would he risk losing the bet if it meant losing his soulmate? Why had Jonah initiated the bet anyways? Surely he knew how dangerous it was. Peter never backed down from a challenge; neither of them did, and-

“No.”

Peter is broken out of his thoughts.

Elias is grinning, a smile that curves with mischief and cunning and makes Peter hate him just a little. Martin is staring at him in defiance, Peter’s very own Brutus. Peter can feel the presence of someone else that he doesn’t doubt is the Archivist coming this way. 

Martin steps towards him, and Peter sends him into the Lonely without a second thought.

When the Archivist breaks through the door, Elias gives Peter a look; one that speaks of bets and promises.

Peter sends the Archivist into the Lonely right after Martin.

Pulling him from his thoughts, Elias is by his side in an instant, dragging him into a quick kiss.

“I would go after them if I were you. You never know what those two will get up to.”

Peter doesn’t respond for a moment, staring at Elias. Then, “I wouldn’t have let him kill you.”

Elias grins again, less like a mischievous cat and more like a shark before dinner.

“I Know, love. I Know.”

Peter disappears into the Lonely.

(Peter pointedly doesn’t think about how Jonah hadn’t said anything of the sort back to him.

Jonah pointedly doesn’t think about how Peter never again exits the Lonely.)

~~~~~

Maybe Jon wasn’t ready, but he’d faced many things underprepared, and he was still alive, right? So when Peter Lukas chucked him into the Lonely, he didn’t even hesitate to seek out Martin.

Martin. Martin, the one who had brought him tea. Martin, the one who held his hand. Martin, his soulmate. Martin, who didn’t even know he was Jon’s soulmate yet because Jon had never gotten the chance to tell him.

Jon was determined to at least tell him that much.

If they got out of this, Jon thought he might tell him everything.

All the big important things, like his fears and his hopes and about his family. And all the little things, like his love of the color blue, and for cats with official titles. And they’d tell Martin all about how much they love him.

The Lonely was cold. 

When Jon thought back to how cold Martin was that day, it made a lot more sense. 

Jon couldn’t see much of anything at all, even with his newfound Archivist powers that he didn’t yet know how to control. He couldn’t see Martin. He couldn’t see ten feet in front of himself.

And then suddenly they could see Lukas.

It was like a chord snapped in Jon, all the hate and bitterness he’d felt since he woken up from that coma coalescing into something nearly sentient. He wanted to kill Lukas. So he did.

Lukas told him his story, and Jon couldn’t bring themself to feel sympathy. Then, Lukas dissolved into the fog, in a way much more final than all the times before. His screams echoed.

Jon moved on.

With Lukas gone, his singular goal had come back to him. They needed to find Martin.

Eventually, they did. On a beach, more rock than sand, with waves gently lapping at the shore. They seemed to suck more and more of the land away, leaving the impression that eventually they would consume it entirely. Jon didn’t doubt that. Martin sat on the beach, staring out at the water, surrounded by fog that also seemed to want to consume him.

Knowing he couldn’t let either of those things take Martin, especially not when he was so close, Jon called out his name.

“Martin? Martin! Martin, can you hear me?”

No sign of life from the man on the beach. His head might’ve tilted the tiniest bit. Jon couldn’t be sure.

Jon stumbled across the beach, unable to see underneath his own feet, his vision obscured by fog. They half-walked, half-tripped all the way over to their soulmate, and finally stood next to him.

“Martin. M-Mar-“

Somehow, Jon knew this wouldn’t work. Martin couldn’t hear him.

Jon circles Martin until he’s standing in front of him, the two facing each other like they had so many times before. They reached forward and took Martin’s hands into their own. Martin finally startled, looking up and around wildly like he couldn’t see Jon directly in front of him. Maybe he couldn’t.

“Jon? J-Jon?”

The man in question wants to respond, but the words stick in his throat. Before he can get them out, Martin collapses into himself, shaking his head.

“No, no, no. You idiot. They’re not here. He wouldn’t follow you here…. Oh but Jon. I wish you would’ve. It’s not so bad here. Kind of cold… and-and Lonely, but we could fix that.”

Jon stares at him, his heart breaking in his chest.

“Oh, Jon.” Martin lets out a little chuckle. It’s cracked and raw. “I really did love you, y’know?”

Jon doesn’t even notice the tears running down his own cheeks. He just leans forward with all the grace of a flightless bird, practically lunging across Martin so they can cradle his face in their hands.

“Martin. Martin, listen to me. Look at me. I’m here, Martin, please see me.”

Martin looks up again, the grey fading from his eyes a bit and giving way to that lovely blue.

“….Jon?”

“Martin. Martin, look. What do you see, Martin?”

And Martin looks. Really, truly, looks. He forces the fog from his sight and settles his gaze on Jon’s brown eyes, the color of honey and gold and fresh dirt in spring, right after you’ve planted flowers.

“I see you, Jon.”

~~~~~

Daisy is gone. Jon and Martin have gone to the safe house. Tim, Sasha, Georgie, and Melanie have shut themselves into their new apartment. They’re not entirely shut off from the world, but Basira is sure they don’t want to even think about the Institute any more. She can’t blame them. Daisy is gone.

Basira knows, after she gets the okay from Martin and Jon, that she’ll have to find Daisy.

Once those two are safe in Daisy’s house in Scotland, Basira starts her own Hunt.

The last few days had been spent checking out of her old hotel (too many memories, once again, who would’ve thought?), gathering her things, and tying up loose ends.

Everyone she knew, and everyone she cared about, was gone.

And Basira had to go make sure one in particular didn’t come back.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t let herself pause to think long enough to consider that there might be other options. She knew there probably wasn’t, and any feeble hopes she could nurture in her heart were bound to be maimed and killed.

Logically, Basira knew she didn’t actually have to kill Daisy quite yet.

Daisy had made her promise to kill her after the Hunters were dead. Basira didn’t know if they had been killed yet.

But, she also knew that if she let Daisy get too much of a head start, she would never find her. So instead, Basira packed her things and followed Daisy. 

Not closely, but she never let herself lose the trail. Not even when parts of her begged to “accidentally” let Daisy get too far ahead. Not even when she considered throwing her guns in the river and letting them sink to the bottom.

Basira made a promise. She would stick to it.

At least when Daisy was dead, she wouldn’t be able to see the red of the blood on her hands.

~~~~~

They were together when the world ended. Melanie and Georgie and Sasha and Tim, all together in their new apartment.

The apartment actually ended up having three bedrooms. It was on the bottom floor for Tim, had a large kitchen for Georgie, and was pet friendly for the Admiral.

It should have boded well for their future. And then the end of days came around.

Melanie, unable to see the outside world, had been the only one unaware when the rain had started up. She heard it soon enough, the insistent drizzle of what sounded like your typical London weather.

Melanie sat on the couch, still recovering from her impromptu eye surgery, (and her impromptu leg surgery, that phantom pain never quite faded), and encouraged her partners to sit with her.

Sasha dropped onto the couch, quickly followed by Georgie, and then Sasha stood again to help Tim maneuver his way onto the sofa as well.

They sat, squished together on the couch that Melanie had been told was green, and Georgie put on a horror movie. They laughed and joked, and tried not to compare it too closely to their actual lives. Melanie couldn’t see a thing. She still enjoyed the sound of her partners (and Tim, who was quickly becoming a great friend), and the feeling of two strings pulling on her pinky.

They only noticed something was wrong when the television switched off. 

Georgie got up immediately, muttering about a power outage and birds hitting power lines. Sasha followed more slowly, going to check out the window, wanting to see if all the houses were out of power. In the space left behind on the couch, Melanie scooted closer to Tim and laid a hand on his remaining leg. Tim put his larger hand over hers in response, offering what little comfort he could.

And then the screaming started.

It continued for three hours. 

In that time, Melanie had heard her partners let out a string of curse words that got ever more creative, and even added a few of her own to the cacophony.

Georgie and Sasha agreed that locking the doors and windows, then retreating back to the couch was the best option. So, they did that quickly and then the four found themselves once again crowded together on the couch.

The mood was decidedly less cheerful.

When the screaming finally stopped, the silence was almost worse.

Sasha got up again, despite protests from everyone else, and Melanie heard the chhhhk of a curtain being pulled. Apparently they had also closed the curtains before.

Sasha closes them almost immediately after, then stands there, processing whatever she saw.

“Sasha…-“ Georgie- “What is it?”

“I- everyone- the people outside…. I don’t think they’re… people anymore.”

“What?” Melanie can’t help the tone, or how loud her voice feels in the relative quiet, and she apologizes when she feels Georgie and Tim flinch.

“They look like… human cameras? Like they’ve been taken over. Not to mention there’s actual cameras all over the place.”

“It sounds like-“ Tim sounds like he doesn’t even want to say it, but they’re all thinking it. “It sounds like one of the rituals. The Eye’s ritual. It sounds like it worked.” 

Sasha’s grim silence is enough of an answer. Georgie isn’t much better. Melanie desperately wants to say something helpful, or brave, or insightful, but she’s also been rendered silent.

All she can think is that she’s just managed to escape the Endless Watcher.

And now it had her in its clutches again.

“The tunnels!” Tim blurts it so suddenly that everyone audibly jumps. Even Sasha’s feet make a little *thump* noise against the floor.

Tim doesn’t take the time to apologize, just barrels on with his idea.

“If Elias- Jonah- whatever. If that thing that called itself our boss couldn’t see us in the tunnels before, maybe they’re safe now too.”

Melanie can practically feel the doubt permeating the air, but…

“We haven’t got a lot of options.” Georgie stands after she says it, keeping a hand on Melanie’s shoulder. Then she drags the same hand down along Melanie’s arm until they’re holding hands. Melanie uses the guidance to stand as well, a trick they’d perfected in the last few days. 

Melanie hears Sasha go to help Tim into his wheelchair, silently agreeing with their new plan.

Melanie looks around, though she can’t see anything, a habit left over from her days of sight.

“We should take as much food and supplies as possible.” Melanie says.

A beat of silence, and then Sasha speaks. “Right, sorry, you can’t see me nodding. It’s a good idea, Melanie. Just give Georgie and I a minute and then we can go.”

Melanie’s skin itches, like it usually does when she can’t help, all because of her new condition, but she nods.

Sasha and Georgie do indeed only seem to take a minute before they’re back. Tim reaches towards the bags the girls have grabbed and says, “Give them to me. I can carry them if somebody pushes me.”

Melanie listens to the rustle of bags as her soulmates set them down on Tim’s lap. Georgie volunteers to push Tim, since she has more muscle mass, and Sasha agrees to lead Melanie.

In the face of the end of the world, comments and conversations that might have sparked friendly arguments before now fade quickly out of mind. They’re all focused on surviving.

Later, when they’re settled down in the tunnels, they realize they don’t actually need to eat. They don’t need to sleep, either. Still, they stack the pillows and blankets they brought into a corner and lay down together, chatting softly.

At least they had each other.

~~~~~

The apocalypse certainly was not the best place for a newly formed relationship.

It had been good, back at the Institute. Jon and Martin had stepped out of the fog of the Lonely, holding each other as tightly as possible, lest the other slip away. Jon watched light blue bloom across his palms from where he had touched Martin. Then he brought his hands up to show his soulmate and Martin immediately cradled his face and dragged trembling thumbs over Jon’s cheeks. The result was a splash of cornflower blue on Jon’s cheeks, and Martin stared at the coloration like it had solved every mystery in his life.

Then, the duo had to move out to Daisy’s safe house.

They both packed as quickly as possible, then Jon jumped into the driver’s seat and Martin in the passenger’s. They drove the ten hours to the safe house and collapsed into bed together, just holding each other. Because for once, they could just hold each other.

There was the briefest period of awkward posturing, where they both wondered what to do about the bed situation and Jon discovered that Martin slept nearly naked.

The tension dissolved into giggles when Jon tackled (read: jumped at Martin and Martin obligingly fell backwards) Martin down into the bed and rolled under the covers. He proclaimed, with flaming cheeks, that they could sleep in the same bed together because they were grown men dammit.

Martin was still laughing softly when he pulled Jon into his chest.

They fell asleep like that, Jon splayed over Martin, none of that god-forsaken cold clinging to either of them.

In the morning, they didn’t properly get out of bed for two straight hours. Martin woke first, and spent a few minutes dragging his fingers over Jon’s exposed skin. He watched the blue blossom, following the path Martin traced into Jon’s skin. When he finally looked back at Jon’s face and found them staring at him, he flushed and stammered, pulling his hands away. They didn’t even hesitate to bring Martin’s hands back down to their skin, turning their head so they could watch the artist at work as well.

They spent that morning talking and listening. When Jon noticed the one piece of jewelry that Martin never seemed to take off, he asked about it. Martin fiddled with the bracelet. Many topics that morning had forced them to avoid each other’s eyes, out of shame, or embarrassment, or fear. But, Martin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them to look at Jon. Then he slid the bracelet off, and let out a gasp of shock at the stark black against pale skin.

Jon was confused. Of course they were. They had no way of knowing about Martin’s previous dilemma. 

Martin brought his left wrist closer to his face and read the words out loud.

“That’s the deal.”

Neither of them knew what it meant.

When Jon asked again tentatively, still a bit confused, Martin explained his soulmark.

Days passed, and they started spending all their mornings like that, curled around each other until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Martin still peppered patches of baby blue against Jon’s skin whenever he got the chance. Jon started tracing the words on Martin’s wrist whenever he felt the urge, also keenly aware of Martin’s pulse jumping beneath his finger.

They were happy.

Things were good.

And then Elias sent Jon a statement.

In a matter of moments, their paradise shattered around them, and they were thrust into a new world of horrors.

When they finally decided to leave the safety of their cabin (“safety”), they emerged into a world torn to shreds and sewn together again with barbed wire and coarse rope.

Jon dragged Martin through Fear domains.

Martin kept his hand intertwined with Jon’s the whole time.

The only exception was when Jon needed to pause, to experience what was happening around him, and Martin would wander off. He tried not to go to far. One could only manage so much terror. And screaming.

And if cracks showed in their new relationship, then it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Jon pulled away, keeping secrets, and Martin pulled away, sinking into the numbing fog. Then they snapped back together with the force of colliding stars, holding each other close and promising not to leave. Promising to anchor each other. Promising to communicate.

The apocalypse was not the ideal place for a burgeoning relationship.

They made it work anyways.

~~~~~

At the end of it all, it wasn’t Basira who found Daisy. 

Basira was resting. Not that her body physically needed rest, but she’d been through so many Fear domains at this point that they all started to blend together, and Basira was tired. Besides, she happened upon a field full of yellow daisies. How could she resist?

Sure, it was probably fertilized with sentient human remains, or had thousands of people buried alive underneath, but it was nice on top. Basira needed something nice.

That’s where Daisy found her.

In the middle of what Basira could almost convince herself was a normal field of flowers. A giant, lumbering creature caught her eye in the distance, and somehow Basira just knew.

When the wolf got closer, Basira couldn’t help herself, she studied the colors. It was always day here, and the light made Daisy’s palette shine. Blonde fur, somewhere between sand and soil, covered her entire body. Daisy was bigger than any wolf Basira had ever seen, truly a Beast. As if to prove this even further, dark crimson stained her muzzle. Patches of it were nearly black, dried from time. Other patches were still dripping, proof of recent kills. When Daisy raised her head to sniff the air, she pulled back black gums to reveal teeth similarly stained red.

Basira never reached for her guns.

Daisy eventually found her way over to where she was sitting in the grass.

When they were within a few feet of each other, Daisy stopped, assessing Basira. Her blue eyes swept over the bag at Basira’s side, the one that held the guns. Then they swept over Basira herself, apparently noting the way she didn’t make a move for it. 

Daisy stepped forward once more.

And then all at once, Daisy was trotting forwards and sitting down by Basira and laying her great canine head on her lap. Basira tried not to wince at the smell and feel of blood.

Slowly, so as not to startle the Beast, Basira ran her hand over Daisy’s head. She watched Daisy’s eyes close in bliss.

She was reminded of the way she would ruffle Daisy’s hair after cutting it, the usually cold woman tilting her head back into the touch in a way that was reminiscent of a dog, even then.

Basira knew she couldn’t do it. Not now. Not like this.

She cursed herself for her weakness, then forgave herself when Daisy nudged her head further into Basira’s hand.

“Daisy. I promised I would kill you.”

The Beast gives her a look like “and what about it?” and Basira nearly laughs. Nearly.

Basira leans forward, and plucks a daisy from the ground, holding the yellow flower out so the wolf in her lap could see it.

“I’d at least like to appreciate the colors one more time, I think.”

Basira leans back, and Daisy raises her head only slightly so that Basira can lay down. Then she rests her head back down on Basira’s legs, and Basira buries her hands in Daisy’s fur. It’s surprisingly soft. The sky above is a vibrant kind of blue. It was rarely this blue in London before.

Funny how it took the end of the world to get a sky so blue.

Basira hums the tune to a song that’s been stuck in her head. She eventually realizes that it’s one Daisy introduced to her. 

The Archers.

~~~~~

Of course cults, of all things, would stay consistent in the apocalypse. 

They would never encourage it, but if the people they saved wanted to see the four of them as prophets or saviors, then more power to them.

Not everyone was into it when they first arrived. Thankfully, a lot of people just appreciated the respite from their new lives of horror. It was only after they met up with the main group that the whispers started. 

It was a pattern.

Someone new would join the group. They would be generally okay for a few days, if shaky and traumatized. Then they would suddenly start addressing Tim and Georgie as their saviors, or Melanie as their prophet, or even Sasha as their martyr. That last one was nipped in the bud pretty quickly. Nobody wanted Sasha dead. Not even for a “good cause”.

Sasha and Tim joked about it, regaining some of their old spark in light of their new titles. Georgie mostly rolled her eyes, but she let them have their fun. It was nice to see them smile again. Melanie seemed the most disturbed by it, probably because her blindness seemed to add to the wow factor.

(On more than one occasion, one of their…. Worshippers, had called her “the Blind Prophet” and Sasha had to hold her back from strangling them.)

But more than anything, they didn’t mind it because at least they had something.

Tim found solace in helping people. Even if he could only lead them once they were in the tunnels, and help them reconcile what they’d been through, he liked helping.

Sasha liked having her mind kept busy. Whether it was taking walks with Melanie and Tim through the tunnels, or helping the refugees, she liked being kept busy.

Melanie was glad to find a place that she seemed to belong. For someone who’d been so outspoken her entire life, ironically, the apocalypse fixed that for her. She was constantly surrounded by people who loved her, and begrudgingly, people who worshipped her.

Georgie was simply happy to have her friends, and her soulmate, and a place safe to stay. She wanted sanctuary and she didn’t mind sharing that with others if they wanted it too.

So they built up their underground shelter. Georgie and Sasha went for food runs together, usually returning with a gag gift or two for Melanie and Tim. Tim decorated the bunker, with his “superior decorating skills” as he called them. Though he tried to get Melanie to participate, she pointed out that a blind woman was probably not the best interior decorator, and he left her alone. Melanie spent her time exploring the tunnels and mapping them in her mind. She’d relay the information back to her partners and they’d draw up maps for each section she described. The maps were hung on the biggest wall, alongside stray art pieces from their rescued friends.

Worshippers.

Loyalists.

Whatever.

No matter what, at the end of the day they all ended up on that familiar pile of blankets and pillows. Georgie slept closest to the wall, limbs tucked in tight to her body in a way that always left her groaning in the morning. Melanie slept next to her, draped halfway across Georgie and halfway across Sasha, hardly on the blankets at all. Sasha always slept on her back, letting Melanie throw her limbs all over the taller woman, while still letting Tim sleep protectively on the side, like he preferred. Tim kept one arm around Sasha and one underneath her, though occasionally Melanie’s sprawling managed to get as far as Tim, and he ended up with a hand on her as well.

They all appreciated the comfort after a long day. And they all knew that without even one of the others, they wouldn’t be complete.

~~~~~

Between Annabelle Cain, the Panopticon, Jonah, and the Eye, relationships tended to fall by the wayside near the End.

Even before the world fell to ruin, relationships were never as important as they should’ve been. People brushed one another off, let themselves fall out of love, and treated each other like instruments to be played to their own tunes.

Soulmates became commonplace. Soulmarks became just another aspect of daily life.

It’s easy to let relationships falter and fall when there’s so much in your life taking up space. But at the end of the day, relationships are all we really have. 

We have each other. We have ourselves. And we have to depend on those two things to keep each other balanced.

When the world ended, it was too late for most people to realize that.

The ones that were left clung to their loved ones, or whatever memories they had left. The lucky few who still had each other, and their own minds, dared not stray too far. They knew how easily these fragile things we call relationships could be lost now. They dared not risk it.

Even I, someone who had had so few genuine connections in my life, found myself attached to someone.

I’m still attached to him. I don’t think it can last. I don’t think fate is that kind, as she never has been before.

But I hope against hope that one day, maybe in a world far away from here, we find each other again. I hope we love each other again.
 - Snippet from a piece of paper found in Smirke’s tunnels, written by Martin Blackwood, casualty of the End

~~~~~

Martin found them in the Panopticon. As he’d expected.

Jonah, slumped against the ground, and definitely dead. Jon, eyes glowing a sickly neon green, words spilling out of his mouth faster than he can stop them.

Martin approaches slowly, wary of the person he called his soulmate. He wasn’t sure how much of Jon was left, anymore.

Jon snapped to attention when Martin stepped closer, piercing eyes fixating on him. The flow of words stopped. Jon didn’t blink. Martin knew he’d have to speak first.

“Jon. What- I mean, I know what you’ve done, but why? We had a plan.”

Martin isn’t expecting much from this Fear power masquerading as the man he loves, but then the mask cracks. The green eyes flicker, back to that cozy brown that Martin adored. Jon looked at Martin like he could really see him again.

“Martin?” A sigh, and then, “Martin. Of course they sent you up here.”

“They didn’t- Jon, no one sent me up here. I know you Jon. I didn’t have to be an Avatar of the Eye to know what you were doing when you snuck away. I just…. I just hoped I was wrong.”

Jon doesn’t speak, pausing like he’s taking the time to properly choose his words.

“Okay. No one sent you. Then you have to know…. Why are you here, then? You couldn’t stop me.”

Martin blinks away the tears that threaten to fall.

“I told you, you bastard. I was hoping I could- could…. I don’t know. The plan was to stall you. I was hoping you wouldn’t be so quick to break your promise.”

Jon flinches, and it looks more like a glitch.

“My promise…. Martin….”

“Don’t. You’ve broken it. It’s done.”

Martin walks forward. He reaches towards Jon, who freezes in place like he’s not sure if Martin will slap him or hug him.

Martin reaches down and grabs both of their hands in his own. Jon flinches again, like the touch is painful. Martin doesn’t let go.

He can’t help but look at Jon with the same soft eyes he’d always had for this stubborn, irritating, beauty of a man. 

Martin brings Jon’s hands to his lips and speaks into them.

“You’re not shaking anymore at least.”

Jon makes a sound like he wants to cry but can’t force the tears out past his un-shutting eyelids.

Martin glances up at him, sapphire blue eyes meeting a mix of brown and green. 

“I told them to go ahead with the plan.”

And the spell is broken.

Jon jerks away like Martin burned him, staring at him in terror.

“You- you- y- what?”

“I told them to go ahead with the plan because I thought I could stop you from killing Elias. At least until they were already blowing it all up. Then Elias could die and Annabelle’s plan would work. You’d be safe.”

Jon is staring at him incredulously, which feels rather unfair to Martin. Jon was the one who jumped the gun. Martin just did what he could with what he had. Then Martin realizes that this is not the most helpful train of thought when the Panopticon will inevitably explode rather soon.

But…

Something tells him he isn’t leaving.

When Jon starts sputtering about getting Martin out, and them dying here alone, Martin can’t allow it.

He steps toward Jon again, determined to convince him of something, anything, else. 

And the Panopticon shakes violently around them.

Rubble falls from the ceiling. Without a beat of hesitation, Martin tackles Jon out of the way, and ends up on top of him on the cold stone floor.

When he looks back, he sees that the fallen stone has blocked his exit. Not that he was going to take it.

Jon stares up at him, body limp on the floor. He Knows too, that Martin can’t leave now. Perhaps he Knew all along that Martin never would. But he also Knows that he cannot accept it ending like this.

Jon stretches as much as he can, twisting his body so that his fingers can just graze the knife he used to kill Jonah.

Martin shakes his head as Jon presses the knife into his hands.

“Martin, Martin listen to me. Maybe Annabelle was right.”

Martin scoffs. It’s such a weak hope now, he’s surprised Jon is even bringing it up.

“Martin.” That tone begets no argument. Martin listens. “You need to kill me. Maybe we can release this world from the Fears-“ he’s cut off momentarily by the ground shaking again- “Maybe we can still fix it. You have to kill me.”

Martin doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Jon reaches up to swipe the tears away. His hand comes away painted blue.

“I can’t. Jon, I can’t. I love you, but- I-“

“You have to.”

Jon is staring at him desperately, his hands back on Martin’s cheeks.

“I love you too. More than anything. But you have to kill me Martin. It has to be you.”

“What happens then? If I do? I’ll die here too, Jon. I want to go with you, wherever that may be, but what if we both just die?”

“Then we both just die. And we die together. And if that doesn’t happen, then we deal with that as it comes. We can’t wait any longer though. We’ve tainted this world for too long. It’s time to let it know existence without us.”

Martin can’t tell if he’s crying or laughing or both at this point.

“You should’ve been the poet.”

“I like your poetry. It’s very… you.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Aha, maybe.”

“….Jon?”

“Yes, Martin?”

“Wherever you go, I go.”

“That’s the deal.” Martin feels a wave of belonging and nausea wash over him as the familiar words ring out. A haunting melody. 

The knife sinks down into Jon’s chest.

Martin shakes with tears.

~~~~~

Somewhere Else, a man wakes up in the Scottish countryside. It is not the gentle awakening you might expect from such idyllic scenery. Instead, he jerks upright, hand instantly flying to his chest, where phantom pains from a sharp butcher’s knife radiate outwards.

When the man looks around, he can’t see much.

They realize that maybe that’s okay. There’s no more lurking horrors for them to See. No more pain and suffering. Just fields of grass and clovers, and a little cottage at the bottom of the hill. 

As he goes to stand, he’s struck by the harshest headache he’s ever experienced. Images flash through his mind faster than he can comprehend.

A woman, directing workers as they try to rebuild the ruins of a city. She turns towards a man in a wheelchair and places a kiss on his forehead, before going back to it.

The man rolls through the cobbled streets, arms well-used to the rough ground. He maneuvers his wheelchair expertly, and recalls distant memories of those very same cobblestones. Memories that involved two people he would never see again.

Back with the woman, another, shorter one, stumbles over a stray brick. The first woman catches the second, then murmurs something to her that makes them both laugh. The second woman looks around, and the watcher realizes that she’s blind.

A final woman follows the second, much more carefully. She grabs the second woman by the arm and helps to steady her, then shares an exasperated look with the first. The final and second woman wave to the first, and then walk away.

In a field of daisies, two more women.

One is wearing a hijab, laying in the middle of the field, and stroking the other’s hair. She fidgets with the beginnings of a flower crown. 

The second woman sighs blissfully as fingers run through her hair. She lets the cool breeze waft over her skin, and feels no urge to get up.

They look happy.

They all look happy.

And the watcher knows that maybe it will be a while before he himself can be that happy. He knows, distantly, that he’s got difficulties to work through still. He’s got someone to find and talk to. But for that split second, he simply watches the others be content, and he’s happy for them.

When he comes back around, he’s laying on the grass again. 

He doesn’t bother to sit up immediately again, instead staring up at the blue sky. It’s a light, cheery blue. The man feels a strange fondness for the color.

He thinks about staying there forever. Not to escape. Not to avoid anything in particular. Simply because he can feel exhaustion deep in their bones, and they know that the ground will keep steady beneath him.

They get up anyways.

Something is calling him towards the cottage.

Something he might only be able to call fate.

When he arrives at the door, he grabs the key from underneath the welcome mat like second nature. He twists it in the lock. He pushes the door open.

There’s another man in the kitchen, making tea.

He looks over when the door opens.

He drops his mug.

The watcher speaks first, no longer a watcher, but simply a person.

A person in love with the man in front of him.

“…Martin?”

The other man, Martin, chokes on a sob.

He manages a weak “Jon?” before the two are crashing into each other like they’ve done so many times before.

And for a little while, they just hold on, and anchor each other, and feel the world become a little more right.