Work Text:
INT - Martin’s room in the Archives - NIGHT
[Click]
MARTIN
"Spark", by MK Blackwood.
I close my eyes, and imagine the wood
Wind rustling through the leaves
As it rustles through the emptiness of memory
If I try hard enough, could I smell the fire?
That small light in the dark wood
Does it smell like a hug ought to?
Crackling, merry, full of promise and —
[A light, perfunctory knock, and a door opening]
JON
Martin, have you seen —
[Notebook dropping and the distinct sounds of Martin fumbling to try to catch it]
Martin, have you built a fort ? Is that my cardigan hanging over the door bit?
MARTIN
Oh, uh…
[Footsteps approaching]
JON
And is that Sasha's blanket? She's been complaining about how cold it is at her desk all day.
MARTIN
I know, I meant to put it back this morning but — Sorry, I thought you'd already gone. I mean, I didn't think you'd m— (mind, he wanted to say)
Here, here you go.
[Fabric rustling]
Just like you left it. Very sorry.
[Long awkward pause]
Uh... did you, did you want help with something, Jon?
JON
No, I was… I was just packing up to leave and couldn't find my cardigan.
MARTIN
Oh right. Sorry again. Uh, goodnight, I suppose? I guess I'll… turn in, or something.
[A beat]
JON
It's alright, Martin.
(A bit awkwardly) Did you… build a lot of forts as a child?
[A soft sound from Martin, barely audible, not a little sheepish, more of an exhalation than a laugh]
MARTIN
Yeah, I guess I did. I played pretend a lot. I mean, there was only so much else to amuse myself with. I made a lot of… Hang on, wait right here. [Further away from the recorder] Don't go away, I'll be right back!
JON
Wait, wha—
[Door creaks energetically after Martin's departure but doesn't slam shut]
Oh, hm. ...What's this?
[Notebook being picked up, paper rustling. A pause, another pause, and Jon reading to himself becoming gradually louder as to be caught on tape. He's still just muttering, really.]
...Full of promise and belonging. Just a small spark to catch my soul alight, as a plover alights on a wintry branch to welcome spring. And I am free, like the sparks, that fly above the flames. How carefree they dance. If I try hard enough, could I smell the fire? But I am not the— (there)
[Door swinging open again, Martin speaking as he enters, sounds of things being jostled in his arms (a large empty coffee tin, some tinfoil). Sound of Jon carefully setting the notebook back down (as surreptitiously as he can) next to the tape recorder.]
MARTIN
Here, you take this. You can chuck the lid, we don't need it. Could you cut the bottom off too, please?
[Things clunking around quite unwieldily]
JON
Martin, what are we doing with an empty coffee tin?
MARTIN
You'll see. I promise you'll like it. Hand me one of those thumbtacks? Now, I just need to poke a few holes in the tinfoil like this, and…
[Tinfoil being smoothed over the coffee tin, a click of a light switch]
(Quietly, almost whispering) There. Look up.
JON
Oh. Oh wow.
[Sounds of a person dropping to sit on the floor]
There's Orion. And there's Aldebaran and Taurus.
MARTIN
You know your stars.
[Another long pause, comfortable this time, quiet, calm breathing the only sound that fills the air]
JON
When I was small, I would sneak out of the house after supper and run to the cliffs by the sea. I must've spent hundreds of evenings lying in the grass in the dark, staring up at the stars, just like this.
I dreamt of countless adventures amongst them, flying around in spaceships, dodging alien goons, discovering new worlds… I could go as far as my imagination could take me.
[A few beats]
I haven't thought about that in years.
MARTIN
I always wanted to do that. Just lie down out in a field or something and look at the stars. Didn't really get a chance to, so I made my own. Built forts from blankets and pretended I was camping and when the lights went out the living room of our flat became a wild forest clearing with the most beautiful view of the stars and I was exactly where I wanted to be.
[Silence]
JON
Funny how we can forget these things, after wanting them so much for so long.
MARTIN
We can still make something of it, as long as we're reminded.
[END]