#Reader You are welcome to send me prompts! I very much wnjoy them :)

[ashes-in-a-jar]

There Are Moments Like These That Keep Me on My Feet

Martin realises a terrible truth regarding Jon's relationship with this new world and has to make a decision on how to handle it.

Hurt and comfort in the Apocalypse and their consequences.

Rated: G

Word count: 2.3K

Tw: non sexual intimacy, memory loss, bad tea

Looking back after leaving Upton House, Martin finally understood. He'd had a feeling, he wasn't completely blind but he had hoped, hoped so badly that he was wrong. That all those times were just a fluke. That he was imagining things. But no, Jon really did forget. It was almost unnoticeable, small things really, but Jon forgot them all.

It started at Kinloss Barracks. Jon had just finished whatever it was the Eye made him talk about. When Martin looked up and uncovered his ears he saw Jon with the tape recorder clicking off, looking pale and rattled. As Jon breathed deeply Martin got up from where he was huddled and crouched next to him, gently cupping his cheek.

"Hey, you alright?"

Jon inhaled one more time. As he resumed breathing normally he turned his face into Martin's hand, lips softly moving against his palm.

"I'm okay Martin. It was just. Alot. Like my first statements at the institute. " He huffed in amused irony and Martin's heart clenched.

"Do you need something? Can I help?" Martin hated how useless he felt when Jon's emotions were at odds with his... Patron.

"It's alright Martin, I'm alright. Maybe just... Stay like this for a bit?" Jon mumbled, holding Martin's hand in place where he was framing Jon's face.

"Okay. I can do that." Martin huffed a small smile and brought the other hand up as well, bracketing both of Jon's sides, making a barrier between him and the sounds of violence outside their little hideaway.

It didn't take long for Martin to slowly begin rubbing Jon's temples and soon enough he was gently massaging his face, trying to draw out the tension set between the eyebrows and beneath the hairline and throughout the pronounced cheekbones.

Jon sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, letting out small sounds of approval every few moments.

When Martin was done, Jon opened his eyes languidly and smiled softly at Martin. "That felt good. Thank you, Martin. For everything."

"It's nothing, I'm here for you."

"I know." Jon took a moment to just look at Martin with that tender but piercing gaze Martin was still trying to get used to ever since they left the Lonely, then took Martin's hands in his and helped both of them up on their feet. "Let's go."

Later, after the village, after the many questions answered and unanswered, after Helen's headache-inducing laugh dissipated with a creak of a door, Jon made a sound akin to a groan-infused sigh. Martin glanced at him and saw he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, moving his hands to his temples. Martin took a step to face him. "Do you want me to do that again?" He asked, raising his arms as indication.

Jon's thick eyebrows creased in confusion "Do what again?"

"You know, in the war zone when you finished…" Martin saw a deepening confusion and decided to forgo the explanation, "Here." He brought his hands up to rub Jon's temples. Once again Jon sighed and once again he thanked Martin softly when it was time they moved on. He didn't mention Martin doing that again afterwards, or ask for it when Martin didn't offer. Which he did every now and then, suspicion growing as each time Jon reacted in novelty.

But that wasn't the only instance. Martin brought with him his poetry book in his pack. When they were able to talk about the carousel again without mentioning the... Smiting, Martin insisted on defending the good aspects of poetry which the Stranger mostly lacked, namely identity and awareness. Jon countered by asking Martin to prove it and recite poetry. "That's not fair, I can't remember them by heart that well."

"Martin, you have a poetry book here, why not just read out of it?"

"You, you want to hear my poetry?" Martin nearly tripped.

"I thought it was obvious by this point there is nothing I'd like more." Jon smiled at him.

Martin recoiled and stammered incoherently. Jon interrupted.

"Martin, stop. I know your poetry is good. I've seen some." Blatantly choosing to ignore his own wince at the circumstances in which he managed to peek at Martin's writing, he went on. "It really is quite good. It'd be a shame not to take the chance to perform a bit of your words. You'll find I make quite a compelling listener." Jon smiled lopsidedly and Martin snorted.

"Okay, okay fine. One poem. And I pick!"

"Fine." Jon shrugged.

Martin intentionally chose one of his more mundane works. About rain and windows of opportunity being washed away. It did hint a bit at the times where his feelings for Jon felt unanswered but it wasn't as... Glaring as others he had.

When he finished he looked up expectantly. He was not prepared for the intensely affectionate expression he saw, nor the tackle of a bear hug that followed.

"Jon! Watch out, we're walking!" He gasped, muffled by the shock of Jon's tangled hair in his face. They had to stop anyway, as Jon refused to let go, tightening his hold and nuzzling into Martin's neck.

"Thank you." He said quietly. "That was... That was more affecting than I thought it would be."

"Really? It's just some words on paper." Martin teased, petting the hair near his face, mainly to get strands of it out of his mouth.

"But they're your words, Martin. They are a, a window into you, how you think and who you are. I don't Look to see what you are thinking a-and the you in front of me is more than enough! Truly! But it's nice to hear a bit more. And it's nice to see that, that I'm there too. This made me really happy, Martin. Thank you."

"O-oh." Martin squeaked, not expecting the forthright reaction. He laughed nervously "Well in that case, we'll make it a, a tradition? Once in a while, if you ask nicely, I'll read you a poem- If you want." he added quickly, feeling a little presumptuous.

"You already know my feelings on the matter. Don't worry, I will ask you again, you can be certain of that." And with that he planted a kiss on the dazed Martin's cheek, readjusted his backpack and began walking again. Martin chuckled to himself and rushed to join him.

But the request never came again. And later, when Martin tentatively asked Jon if he wanted another recitation, Jon's face lit up and said, "So you're finally willing to share? I thought I'd never see the day."

Martin looked at him confused but said nothing and instead chose a different poem about bridges and connections which elicited a very similar reaction as the first.

The request never came again unless Martin offered. Each time he was too afraid to try the same poem lest his concerns would be confirmed. He didn't want to know.

There were other times as well. The time after the Lonely estate when Martin insisted on sitting with their meager supply of tea and talking about small nothings. The tea was nicer than he expected and Jon was practically jovial with giddy relief at Martin's rescue and choice to stay with him, laughing sonorously and uncharacteristically at Martin's silly jokes. Later, he did not recall what they laughed about, nor understood why the tea supply was depleted when Martin tried to remind him. Other jokes in general too. Martin would make Jon laugh and when referring back to the joke, Jon would simply stare at him blankly. Jon did not remember when Martin brushed and braided his ever more tangled hair, fiddling with the stands wondering aloud when he'd done that. Jon forgot when Martin took out his sewing kit and fixed a hole made by the fires of the Desolation, wondering why his shirt suddenly had stitches. Jon forgot compliments, short rests when they quietly held one another close, brief exchanges of reassurance.

Martin tried not to think about it, tried not to make the connection. Tried not to read into the words 'They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me.' that Jon had said when they were traveling with Basira on her tragic quest. Tried not to remember the times Jon, and even Martin himself, commented about the nature of this place,

'This is not a world where you can trust comfort.'

'Levity off the cards.'

'Nice things, they tend not to stay nice out there.'

But they were there. And he had to face it at some point. Because after they've left the wonderful comfort of Salesa's home, Jon, feeling rejuvenated, said with a dreamy quality to his voice, "Pity. It’s going away. That peace, the safety, the memory of ignorance. It's gone. Like a dream."

"That’s… Yeah, I guess that makes sense." Martin replied, resigned. It was all coming together now and Martin could not avoid it any longer.

Jon couldn't remember. He was the 'Archive' and whatever that meant ensured Jon retained all the pain and fear this world had to offer and nothing else. Jon could not keep the memories of anything nice or happy that happened to him personally in this hellscape. Every good word, every caring touch, every wide smile, bark of laughter. It all faded right after it occurred. Maybe if it was small enough he could remember. But Martin's mothering? Martin's hugs? Martin's tea? Martin's poetry? None of it stayed. Only Martin could remember those moments and what was lost.

As they walked away from the green and the sky Martin fell slightly behind, trying to reign in his tears.

Of course he remembered. This place ensured that Martin would remember so the pain of loss would be ever more acute later. It was what this world was. The worst pain it could inflict on them.

It's not fair! They had just got together, they had just begun to open up, share their deepest facets with each other, enjoy the closeness. Was that all pointless? Were all of his efforts worth anything in the long run at all? Martin felt himself slowly descending into a sharp kind of despair that became heavier and heavier as he sunk deeper.

No! He forced himself upright and shook his head vigorously,letting the tears shake off his face.

No! It was worth it! Those moments are there and they exist, even if the memory is gone. They have value and a worth inherent to them as the Good moments that they are, apocalypse rules be damned!

He balled his hands into fists, silently challenging whichever dread power was listening. They cannot take those moments away! The hugs, the soft gazes, the pure happiness, even forgotten will remain and have their merit. Martin will make sure there are more of them, always more of them, to spite the Eye! To spite the Fears! To spite this place! Jon will get all of the love he deserves, memory or not. Martin will double, no, triple the care he will give Jon, make sure he is okay in the quiet moments, give him a reason to smile.

He will see the braided hair afterwards, feel the ache in his cheeks from a long laugh, feel the lingering warmth around his arms and back, the tingle on his lips. The remnants will give him the strength to stand against the powers that be and retain the hope they cultivated. And Martin will be there, every step of the way. Loving, caring, smiling. Because that's what they deserve. And Martin will fight for it to the end.

Later, after that dreadful hospital and another long stretch of time walking quietly, contemplating. Martin was sure Jon was still agonizing over his decision to help Breekon by relieving him of his suffering, so Martin called Jon to stop.

"What?" Jon asked, confused.

"I am making the executive decision to make a stop and rest. I have a little bit of tea left and I will read you some of my poetry while we're at it."

Jon's face lit up, though still retaining its confused quality. "Alright, if you insist. What brought this on?"

Martin already settled down and began setting up a small fire for the water. "We had a time so now we're taking a breather. The air here is slightly fresher than what it was back there."

"Alright." Jon smiled.

Martin put the small pot on the fire and looked up at Jon still standing over him "C'mere, " he opened his arms.

Chuckling lightly, Jon unslung his pack and sank into Martin's embrace. Martin in turn pulled him in tight and nuzzled the top of his hair.

"I know it wasn't easy back there but what you did, it was the right thing to do."

"How do you know?" Bitterness seeped into Jon's voice and Martin began stroking circles on his back. Jon shuffled even closer into Martin's jumper, burying his face in his chest.

"I just do. You couldn't leave him like that. A small act of mercy. To spite this place."

"If you say so." Jon mumbled into the fabric.

"I do. Now move over so I can get my book." Martin decided to read the sappiest, most Jon-related poem he had, cringe be damned.

"I don't want to." Jon grumbled and leaned in, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

"Okay, we can wait. There's no rush." Martin said fondly.

They stayed that way for a long while until the water boiled over and they drank what was left if that dreadful brew that dared call itself tea. They sat there in a comfort later forgotten, reclaiming depleted energy and regaining motivation. A moment that had infinite value, regardless of what the past held or the future entailed. A tangible instant that was completely theirs within the infinite universe, unending in the singular space and time which no one can ever take away.

#Finally uploading. It been in my files for a bit. #This is for an ask i got a while back. I hope you enjoy! #tma #the magnus archives #Tma fic #tma season 5 #Tma spoilers #Jonathan sims #Martin blackwood #My tma fic #Ask #Hurt and comfort #tw memory loss #Jonmartin #Fabric rustles #Reader You are welcome to send me prompts! I very much wnjoy them :)