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The Magnus Archives - Lost Tapes
Summary: Despite the Web's nagging, Martin attempts to ignore this one.
Word Count: 2334
Rating: Teen
Pairings: Jon/Martin
Warnings: Hinted suicidal ideation again
Peter doesn’t come down and check on anything in person. It’s not his way. Instead, Martin comes back to his desk to an actual email from the man cheerfully informing him that with Skye gone he’ll need to cover her work, something something paycheques. Martin swallows down every trace of panic and methodically gets to work, ignoring the spider pointedly placed on the desk staring judgmentally at him. Given that it’s here, he’s actually guessing that the Web actually wants him to intervene with Jon, and are maybe a little pissed that he isn’t.
There’s always a chance that Peter will put Skye back if he completes her work without complaint. He’s done it before. Martin would describe it as ‘none the worse for wear’, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? They’re Marked, now. But it’s better than death, probably, and even if the emotions are wearing away like writing on a beach’s sand, Martin still can cling to facts. Facts like he’d made this deal for a reason, to protect people, so he should still do what he can to live up to his end.
The tape had been started before he’d even got here. It wasn’t Peter. Peter would have gotten more upset than this if he’d seen one of these tapes. The obvious culprit sits on his desk staring at him with eight beady little eyes. Martin pointedly ignores that and Jon’s words, as much as he can.
Pathetic, really. Even after all this time, he still can’t ignore Jon’s voice, even when the thought of actually talking about Jon’s confession or his own feelings feels as far away as those same feelings. Not hearing Jon start the recording with his usual introduction and “statement begins” seems a lot like a half-completed ritual, but even if the spiders are getting impatient, they don’t seem likely to make a mistake like that.
Martin doesn’t need context to know that Jon’s talking about his usual spiral into monsterhood and how human he isn’t. The self-pity had been annoying from Tim and it’s annoying now. They’re all suffering. Jon isn’t unique or special, there. It’s just that Martin’s starting to wonder if a happy ending is possible after all, or just something along the lines of ‘the best they could do’.
“I don’t know if I can eat or drink normally anymore, or if my diet consists of, of, I don’t know, fear and pain, now. Forgetting to eat is not a new phenomenon.”
Martin had suspected. That’s why he’d been so insistent about the tea, at first, worried about how it would look if his new boss keeled over in his office.
“I’ve always been very focused on my work, even before—even Before. But it’s never—I’ve always had at least one meal a day, even if I don’t necessarily even feel hungry. I’d like to say that’s new, too, but that would also be a lie. I’ve never been good at noticing such things. Georgie said something about that, so—I can’t be misremembering, on that front. I don’t know if I consider that good or bad? It’s good that it hasn’t changed, in a way, that unlike many of the other observations this isn’t yet another sign I am more monster than man, but. Perhaps it’s just a sign that I never was. I—”
“Plenty of people are workaholics that forget to eat, Jon,” Martin mutters dismissively, narrowing his eyes and re-doing the maths. There’s a lot of people counting on him to get this right. He is not making a mistake and making Peter angry and getting a deduction wrong when it would hurt someone. It’d be easier if Peter or Elias had bothered to get the latest software for payroll, but no, why would they, they’re eldritch monsters that enjoy watching people suffer.
Jon’s so much more hesitant today. “I don’t know which I hope for more. I have seen, in the Statements... There’s a lot of emphasis on choice. But I did choose this. I don’t remember the details, but I know I did. So I don’t know how much of this is, I don’t know, some pathetic rebellion. The tantrum of a particularly difficult child. In some ways, it would be easier if the monster was always there lurking inside me, and like Michelangelo carving his statue it just took the right eye to sculpt it out of me. But that’s...trying to ignore my own responsibility in the matter, I suppose. Put that down in another of a very long line of screw-ups.”
“I think you’re doing a good enough job writing that list yourself, Jon.” The next time Martin puts his hand on the mouse, he yanks it back, because the spider has apparently decided to crawl onto it in some sort of protest at being ignored. It’d be adorable if it wasn’t just downright annoying. “Excuse me, do you mind?”
“At least the world didn’t end. Perhaps, if anyone feels kindly toward me, at the end, after I’ve pushed everyone away, that would make for a nice epitaph. If I won’t be missed, if in some ways it would be so much easier, so much better if I was gone...well. It would be nice if someone remembered that, at least.” It was probably his email to Daisy warning her about exactly this kind of thing that made Peter mad, Martin decides. It’s something that had to be done, though, and it’s better than being in person. Maybe he should remind Peter that Jon’s health was part of the bargain, too.
“I never really finished my thought from the other day. It’s...harder to ignore the Hunger. Georgie called the Statements an addiction, and I suppose there are similarities, but—they might be the only thing sustaining me, now. That is something I’ve changed, and it’s all my own doing.” Martin pauses in typing and forces himself to continue. Jon actually sounds really proud of whatever fucked up thing he’s probably going to say next. “I’ve stopped sleeping. It’s so much harder, really. I used to forget, just like with the eating. If I were still fairly human the amount of caffeine would probably have put me in hospital by now. I may be a kind of parasite now, but at least I can spare them—my victims—any further pain.”
It’s a good thing he’d warned Daisy, now isn’t it? For a terrifying policewoman who can just sense vulnerability, Jon making increasingly self-destructive choices should be really easy to spot. She might be good for something, at least.
“I have also entirely given up on tea. I still taste no difference between conventionally brewed tea and microwaved tea, and the microwave is faster. I’d say this would be another regard in which I have failed, but I never tasted the difference with Georgie’s tea, either. Martin’s, yes, and I still have absolutely no idea how he accomplished it, but...he has made it clear that I have already made myself unwelcome and he doesn’t wish to rely on me or associate with me, as is his right. I’m not sure Daisy even remembers for herself, at this point, and the others alternatively either forget I’m here or remember and don’t wish to spend any more time in the company of a monster than they can help. I still had some energy drinks stashed away in one of the drawers, it appears, and they’re helpful for staying awake.” How sad, Martin thinks, the way someone would remark about a far-away disaster that has nothing to do with them. It’s only then that he realizes suddenly that he’s not sure he’s had tea in a good long while, himself.
“If asked when I’d first taken the job—presuming I could be persuaded not to dismiss everything out of hand—I would have said I didn’t fear the Lonely. Like Naomi Herne, I was so very used to it. I imagine it was different when my parents were still alive, but I hardly recall that. I remember my grandmother’s quiet, distant love—the best she could do in the face of grief and a troublesome child. The way I was and later with my story and fears about spiders that no one believed...it was easier to stay silent than to speak up and be dismissed, challenged, or ignored. Even the friends and acquaintances I have, I—well, it’s obvious I’m rubbish at keeping them. Between the lack of sleep and the lack of leaving my office, I’m fairly sure I’ve gone days without speaking to anyone and not even noticed. It hurts, yes, but—it’s a familiar pain.”
“You keep talking as if that’s just you, Jon,” Martin mutters, flicking at the spider now that it’s crawled up onto his computer monitor. It scuttles out of the way begrudgingly.
“I’m still terrified of the Web.” The spider looks entirely unapologetic about the statement. Not that Martin had expected any differently. “Merely dancing to a grand scheme I know nothing about. Between them and the Stranger, the fear of the unknown is—high on my list of fears, really. Particularly...I’m concerned that I’m becoming something I don’t recognize. But I still have Basira’s word as a failsafe. The Vast, fears that I’m useless, that I’ve only ever been useless against all of this. Conversely, I...I don’t think the Flesh or even the Corruption have much hold over me anymore, comparatively. The rib didn’t serve as an anchor because while I’ve never felt particularly happy with or attached to my body, it seems like that thin thread has snapped. When, I don’t know. I still have the instinctual fear of pain, but it’s merely that—instinct.”
Pause. Delete. Retype. Not thinking about that. They’ll need to fix that, later.
“Or the End. I only fear not being here when they need me more. Though most of them have demonstrated they don’t. Need me, I mean.”
“I’m still worried about the Desolation. I still have things to lose, and I believe Jude Perry is still holding a grudge. It’d hard to think about the Spiral without thinking of Michael and Helen and even then, I can’t put how I feel about them into any sort of coherent words. Perhaps they’d appreciate that. As for the Hunt and the Slaughter, I’m worried about losing others to them. Melanie’s probably fine, but if she continues to feel trapped I can’t know for sure she won’t seek it out again. I could be sure, if I looked, if I kept looking, and I’d probably get stabbed again.” Jon laughs. It sounds as empty as Martin’s, these days. At least, he’s fairly sure it does. He can’t remember the last time he laughed, but it’s not too important.
“And there’s, well. It’s a good thing no one will be listening to this or they’d be even more worried about me. Basira might well kill me on the spot. The Dark Star was beautiful, though I have little desire to seek anything of the sort out again. I can’t be sure it’s not because the People’s Church of the Divine Host is more or less disbanded and therefore I won’t learn or see much from the experience. There’s the Eye, much good as it’s done me.”
Jon pauses for a good long while, letting Martin get some actual good work in. When his voice comes back Martin almost groans.
“No, that’s too much like Melanie. She already has that covered. I believed knowledge would protect me, that by learning about my fears I could defang them. It trapped me and several people I care about, but it also—we were able to save ourselves from Jane Prentiss and stop the Unknowing. I can’t be unhappy about that.”
“We wouldn’t have gotten Prentiss’ attention if we weren’t working here,” Martin hisses, remembering himself and easing up on how aggressively he’s typing. He ignores the fact that Jon might be right about the Unknowing. Elias probably would have found someone else and maybe Tim would still be alive. He ignores the fact that they might not have succeeded.
“This is a new development. It’s probably a very good thing the coffin has been removed from my office. I actually found...I actually found it somewhat comforting.”
Martin’s resolve to not even look at the tape recorder dissolves somewhat and he glances over. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. He forces himself to look back at his screen and keep mechanically typing away.
“It was uncomfortable. I woke up screaming from dreams about the thing, when I still slept. But I was myself again.” No, he had indeed heard that correctly, because that’s exactly the sort of logic Jon would use. “Even here, locked in my office, I’m getting claustrophobic, but that in of itself is reassuring. It’s not even a new phenomena, if I look at it more metaphorically. Being buried under work was familiar. I’d seek out more work to avoid dealing with pressures I didn’t want to deal with. So perhaps this shouldn’t surprise—”
The tape cuts off abruptly. Martin glances back over to find the spider has turned it off and has now begun scuttling away with it in a web, shoving it under the desk just in time for the door to open.
“Martin. I thought I heard voices,” Peter shakes a finger disapprovingly.
“As you can see, I’m doing my work. Alone. Or I was.” Despite Martin’s heart hammering in his chest, his voice comes out entirely flat. Even the pointed look he attempts doesn’t have any bite to it, but Peter takes the point anyway.
“They do say prolonged isolation can cause hallucinations.” And just like that, Peter leaves. That was probably meant to be a threat. It’s not too surprising he didn’t notice the spider, given the Web’s whole thing. Still, the spider doesn’t try to get across any additional message at the moment, so Martin just keeps going.
The Magnus Archives - Lost Tapes
Summary: Despite the Web's nagging, Martin attempts to ignore this one.
Word Count: 2334
Rating: Teen
Pairings: Jon/Martin
Warnings: Hinted suicidal ideation again
Peter doesn’t come down and check on anything in person. It’s not his way. Instead, Martin comes back to his desk to an actual email from the man cheerfully informing him that with Skye gone he’ll need to cover her work, something something paycheques. Martin swallows down every trace of panic and methodically gets to work, ignoring the spider pointedly placed on the desk staring judgmentally at him. Given that it’s here, he’s actually guessing that the Web actually wants him to intervene with Jon, and are maybe a little pissed that he isn’t.
There’s always a chance that Peter will put Skye back if he completes her work without complaint. He’s done it before. Martin would describe it as ‘none the worse for wear’, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? They’re Marked, now. But it’s better than death, probably, and even if the emotions are wearing away like writing on a beach’s sand, Martin still can cling to facts. Facts like he’d made this deal for a reason, to protect people, so he should still do what he can to live up to his end.
The tape had been started before he’d even got here. It wasn’t Peter. Peter would have gotten more upset than this if he’d seen one of these tapes. The obvious culprit sits on his desk staring at him with eight beady little eyes. Martin pointedly ignores that and Jon’s words, as much as he can.
Pathetic, really. Even after all this time, he still can’t ignore Jon’s voice, even when the thought of actually talking about Jon’s confession or his own feelings feels as far away as those same feelings. Not hearing Jon start the recording with his usual introduction and “statement begins” seems a lot like a half-completed ritual, but even if the spiders are getting impatient, they don’t seem likely to make a mistake like that.
Martin doesn’t need context to know that Jon’s talking about his usual spiral into monsterhood and how human he isn’t. The self-pity had been annoying from Tim and it’s annoying now. They’re all suffering. Jon isn’t unique or special, there. It’s just that Martin’s starting to wonder if a happy ending is possible after all, or just something along the lines of ‘the best they could do’.
“I don’t know if I can eat or drink normally anymore, or if my diet consists of, of, I don’t know, fear and pain, now. Forgetting to eat is not a new phenomenon.”
Martin had suspected. That’s why he’d been so insistent about the tea, at first, worried about how it would look if his new boss keeled over in his office.
“I’ve always been very focused on my work, even before—even Before. But it’s never—I’ve always had at least one meal a day, even if I don’t necessarily even feel hungry. I’d like to say that’s new, too, but that would also be a lie. I’ve never been good at noticing such things. Georgie said something about that, so—I can’t be misremembering, on that front. I don’t know if I consider that good or bad? It’s good that it hasn’t changed, in a way, that unlike many of the other observations this isn’t yet another sign I am more monster than man, but. Perhaps it’s just a sign that I never was. I—”
“Plenty of people are workaholics that forget to eat, Jon,” Martin mutters dismissively, narrowing his eyes and re-doing the maths. There’s a lot of people counting on him to get this right. He is not making a mistake and making Peter angry and getting a deduction wrong when it would hurt someone. It’d be easier if Peter or Elias had bothered to get the latest software for payroll, but no, why would they, they’re eldritch monsters that enjoy watching people suffer.
Jon’s so much more hesitant today. “I don’t know which I hope for more. I have seen, in the Statements... There’s a lot of emphasis on choice. But I did choose this. I don’t remember the details, but I know I did. So I don’t know how much of this is, I don’t know, some pathetic rebellion. The tantrum of a particularly difficult child. In some ways, it would be easier if the monster was always there lurking inside me, and like Michelangelo carving his statue it just took the right eye to sculpt it out of me. But that’s...trying to ignore my own responsibility in the matter, I suppose. Put that down in another of a very long line of screw-ups.”
“I think you’re doing a good enough job writing that list yourself, Jon.” The next time Martin puts his hand on the mouse, he yanks it back, because the spider has apparently decided to crawl onto it in some sort of protest at being ignored. It’d be adorable if it wasn’t just downright annoying. “Excuse me, do you mind?”
“At least the world didn’t end. Perhaps, if anyone feels kindly toward me, at the end, after I’ve pushed everyone away, that would make for a nice epitaph. If I won’t be missed, if in some ways it would be so much easier, so much better if I was gone...well. It would be nice if someone remembered that, at least.” It was probably his email to Daisy warning her about exactly this kind of thing that made Peter mad, Martin decides. It’s something that had to be done, though, and it’s better than being in person. Maybe he should remind Peter that Jon’s health was part of the bargain, too.
“I never really finished my thought from the other day. It’s...harder to ignore the Hunger. Georgie called the Statements an addiction, and I suppose there are similarities, but—they might be the only thing sustaining me, now. That is something I’ve changed, and it’s all my own doing.” Martin pauses in typing and forces himself to continue. Jon actually sounds really proud of whatever fucked up thing he’s probably going to say next. “I’ve stopped sleeping. It’s so much harder, really. I used to forget, just like with the eating. If I were still fairly human the amount of caffeine would probably have put me in hospital by now. I may be a kind of parasite now, but at least I can spare them—my victims—any further pain.”
It’s a good thing he’d warned Daisy, now isn’t it? For a terrifying policewoman who can just sense vulnerability, Jon making increasingly self-destructive choices should be really easy to spot. She might be good for something, at least.
“I have also entirely given up on tea. I still taste no difference between conventionally brewed tea and microwaved tea, and the microwave is faster. I’d say this would be another regard in which I have failed, but I never tasted the difference with Georgie’s tea, either. Martin’s, yes, and I still have absolutely no idea how he accomplished it, but...he has made it clear that I have already made myself unwelcome and he doesn’t wish to rely on me or associate with me, as is his right. I’m not sure Daisy even remembers for herself, at this point, and the others alternatively either forget I’m here or remember and don’t wish to spend any more time in the company of a monster than they can help. I still had some energy drinks stashed away in one of the drawers, it appears, and they’re helpful for staying awake.” How sad, Martin thinks, the way someone would remark about a far-away disaster that has nothing to do with them. It’s only then that he realizes suddenly that he’s not sure he’s had tea in a good long while, himself.
“If asked when I’d first taken the job—presuming I could be persuaded not to dismiss everything out of hand—I would have said I didn’t fear the Lonely. Like Naomi Herne, I was so very used to it. I imagine it was different when my parents were still alive, but I hardly recall that. I remember my grandmother’s quiet, distant love—the best she could do in the face of grief and a troublesome child. The way I was and later with my story and fears about spiders that no one believed...it was easier to stay silent than to speak up and be dismissed, challenged, or ignored. Even the friends and acquaintances I have, I—well, it’s obvious I’m rubbish at keeping them. Between the lack of sleep and the lack of leaving my office, I’m fairly sure I’ve gone days without speaking to anyone and not even noticed. It hurts, yes, but—it’s a familiar pain.”
“You keep talking as if that’s just you, Jon,” Martin mutters, flicking at the spider now that it’s crawled up onto his computer monitor. It scuttles out of the way begrudgingly.
“I’m still terrified of the Web.” The spider looks entirely unapologetic about the statement. Not that Martin had expected any differently. “Merely dancing to a grand scheme I know nothing about. Between them and the Stranger, the fear of the unknown is—high on my list of fears, really. Particularly...I’m concerned that I’m becoming something I don’t recognize. But I still have Basira’s word as a failsafe. The Vast, fears that I’m useless, that I’ve only ever been useless against all of this. Conversely, I...I don’t think the Flesh or even the Corruption have much hold over me anymore, comparatively. The rib didn’t serve as an anchor because while I’ve never felt particularly happy with or attached to my body, it seems like that thin thread has snapped. When, I don’t know. I still have the instinctual fear of pain, but it’s merely that—instinct.”
Pause. Delete. Retype. Not thinking about that. They’ll need to fix that, later.
“Or the End. I only fear not being here when they need me more. Though most of them have demonstrated they don’t. Need me, I mean.”
“I’m still worried about the Desolation. I still have things to lose, and I believe Jude Perry is still holding a grudge. It’d hard to think about the Spiral without thinking of Michael and Helen and even then, I can’t put how I feel about them into any sort of coherent words. Perhaps they’d appreciate that. As for the Hunt and the Slaughter, I’m worried about losing others to them. Melanie’s probably fine, but if she continues to feel trapped I can’t know for sure she won’t seek it out again. I could be sure, if I looked, if I kept looking, and I’d probably get stabbed again.” Jon laughs. It sounds as empty as Martin’s, these days. At least, he’s fairly sure it does. He can’t remember the last time he laughed, but it’s not too important.
“And there’s, well. It’s a good thing no one will be listening to this or they’d be even more worried about me. Basira might well kill me on the spot. The Dark Star was beautiful, though I have little desire to seek anything of the sort out again. I can’t be sure it’s not because the People’s Church of the Divine Host is more or less disbanded and therefore I won’t learn or see much from the experience. There’s the Eye, much good as it’s done me.”
Jon pauses for a good long while, letting Martin get some actual good work in. When his voice comes back Martin almost groans.
“No, that’s too much like Melanie. She already has that covered. I believed knowledge would protect me, that by learning about my fears I could defang them. It trapped me and several people I care about, but it also—we were able to save ourselves from Jane Prentiss and stop the Unknowing. I can’t be unhappy about that.”
“We wouldn’t have gotten Prentiss’ attention if we weren’t working here,” Martin hisses, remembering himself and easing up on how aggressively he’s typing. He ignores the fact that Jon might be right about the Unknowing. Elias probably would have found someone else and maybe Tim would still be alive. He ignores the fact that they might not have succeeded.
“This is a new development. It’s probably a very good thing the coffin has been removed from my office. I actually found...I actually found it somewhat comforting.”
Martin’s resolve to not even look at the tape recorder dissolves somewhat and he glances over. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. He forces himself to look back at his screen and keep mechanically typing away.
“It was uncomfortable. I woke up screaming from dreams about the thing, when I still slept. But I was myself again.” No, he had indeed heard that correctly, because that’s exactly the sort of logic Jon would use. “Even here, locked in my office, I’m getting claustrophobic, but that in of itself is reassuring. It’s not even a new phenomena, if I look at it more metaphorically. Being buried under work was familiar. I’d seek out more work to avoid dealing with pressures I didn’t want to deal with. So perhaps this shouldn’t surprise—”
The tape cuts off abruptly. Martin glances back over to find the spider has turned it off and has now begun scuttling away with it in a web, shoving it under the desk just in time for the door to open.
“Martin. I thought I heard voices,” Peter shakes a finger disapprovingly.
“As you can see, I’m doing my work. Alone. Or I was.” Despite Martin’s heart hammering in his chest, his voice comes out entirely flat. Even the pointed look he attempts doesn’t have any bite to it, but Peter takes the point anyway.
“They do say prolonged isolation can cause hallucinations.” And just like that, Peter leaves. That was probably meant to be a threat. It’s not too surprising he didn’t notice the spider, given the Web’s whole thing. Still, the spider doesn’t try to get across any additional message at the moment, so Martin just keeps going.
