Work Text:
The library was the best job Martin had ever had.
Which isn’t really saying much. The mindless sorting of books, filled with peculiar information about the paranormal and histories of strange encounters.
The staff were nice enough. Martin never got close to any of them, but he couldn’t say anything bad about them.
Well, Diana can be a bit controlling, but that comes with being the matriarch of the library. As far as he is concerned, the tight ship she keeps pays off, and it’s hard to mess up when her directions are practically law.
For the first few days, he was paranoid that she would find out exactly how he really weaselled his way into this job.
Diana could point to you the exact location of a particular book and spot a fault from a mile away. Martin had somehow managed to get past Elias, but, oh god, he thought there was no way he could get past Diana.
Soon, those days turned into weeks, and those weeks turned into a few months. Kept his head down and followed every clear command Diana gave him. Gentle offers of tea seemed to help, earning him the ever-so-creative title of the ‘tea guy’ for a little while.
As for Tom and Hannah, they were pleasant enough.
Tom wasn’t much older than Martin and seemed to try to never stand out. It was clear he took this job to get him through his masters. He studied something completely unrelated to what the Magnus Institute specialised in. Astrophysics or computer science, something along those lines.
Either way, he came in, did what he was told, which was typically in the print room or processing returns, and left.
Martin would be lying if he said he didn’t find him a little attractive.
Tom had a slightly academic and clean-cut look about him that Martin liked. Still, he had the confidence to try to pursue anything. Not with all he has going on in his personal life already. Charming enough, too. The few conversations they had were nice yet surface-level.
It was simple office crush, if one could call it that.
Hannah, on the other hand, looked exactly like the person who would work in a library. She was always at the front desk with her cardigans and large framed glasses, a slightly curved posture from sitting for far too long.
Martin made it his mission to keep her floral-decorated mug filled with strong tea.
Touch of milk and one teaspoon of sugar stirred anti-clockwise twice. She liked things in a particular way, and there were a few instances of snarky remarks when Martin had to borrow something of hers, and it wasn’t returned to the right place.
She always wanted to know people’s business. Not necessarily to dig up secrets, just a curious, frankly nosy person. Despite that, she would bring baked treats every Thursday, so Martin could only complain so much.
Everyone had their place in the library. It was an easy enough place to mosey on with his little cart of books to be put away or tidy the desks after a tired student"s long day of research.
It certainly wasn’t perfect. The library wasn’t the largest place, and for Martin to squeeze all six-foot-two, broad shoulders and large arms down the isles was a bit of a challenge at times. Especially when someone had to get past him or vice versa.
Martin had never in his life been described as a small guy.
But he could switch off there. Forget all he had to do when he got home that evening. Forget that his mother is waiting at home to make cutting remarks about his cooking or cleaning or general ability to do absolutely anything.
Sure, there were times he forgot to go grocery shopping after work, and so could only serve baked beans on toast for tea that evening. Or maybe he left the dishes for too long, rushing off to work, leaving a large pile when Friday evening came around. Surely, he didn’t always deserve his mother"s spite every time.
It was an easy place for a steady income, albeit slightly underpaid, to adequately support himself and his aging mother. It was the only place that would have him, and he really can’t complain about that.
He still had time to figure everything out.
Perhaps Martin left it too long.
He got a little too comfortable with the job. Three years under his belt of sorting books and research. A repeat of refilling prescriptions, cooking meals, and doctor visits.
On a particular Wednesday evening, his whole world shifted from underneath him.
The past few months were particularly hard. His mother was prescribed another form of medication for something Martin can’t really remember and was advised of a meal plan which really did not fit into his weekly food shop budget.
Things were tight, lots of cutting corners, all the while full-time working.
His mother wasn’t pleased in the slightest.
“I’m home, Mum!” he called out, coming through the front door with bags of groceries, “I got more of that yoghurt you like and some of that pasta the doctor was talking about.”
There was no response.
“Mum?” he called out again, placing the bags on the floor and turning into the living room to find his mother in her chair, back towards the door.
“You alright?” Martin asked, swinging around to face his mother, who was just staring down at a contact card in her hands.
“What are you doing, Martin?” she asked bluntly, still looking down at her hands.
“I’m checking to see if you’re alright. You didn’t answer when I called,” Martin explained with a furrow in his brow.
His mother hummed back and looked up at her son, “The most amount of care I’ve seen from you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She doesn’t answer straight away.
“Make me a cup of tea. There should be some more oolong in the cupboard,” she ordered, looking away.
Martins huffed and stood up straight.
“Don’t worry, I bought more at the shop,” he responded, and again, she didn’t answer back. He goes into the kitchen and starts up the kettle.
This routine is one they have done for years. Any conversation his mother would rather not want to hear, oolong. He brought up his father at eight years old, oolong. Quitting school, oolong. Details of her health issues, oolong. Refinancing the house they have lived in all his life, oolong.
Everything came back to bloody oolong.
Martin could practically make the damned drink in his sleep.
When the tea has stopped brewing, he discards the bag and brings the cup to his mother, who is still going over the card in her hands.
“There you are. I’m going to start making food now,” Martin informed while turning to leave the room.
“Do you know what this is, Martin?” he heard behind him. Martin stifled a groan and walked back.
“A contact card, I assume,” he responded.
“Obviously, anyone with eyes can tell me that. Do you know who the contact is for?”
“No. I don’t.”
“It is the Cherrybark Care Home. In Devon,” she says without a single drop of emotion.
All Martin could do was stare at her. His brain was trying to catch up to what his mother just said.
Care home. Devon.
“Uh. Right, okay. Is there more explanation you wanted to give me?” he asked, not sure how to respond.
“I called them earlier this afternoon. They have a spot for me. I am selling the house to finance it,” She clarified.
“You’re selling the house? Jesus, okay. When do you plan to go then?” I’ll need to get time off work to drive you over there,”
“Don’t bother. I have organised a driver to come and get me in three days. I just got off the phone with the realtor to organise the house and all that business.”
“How long have you been thinking about this?” Martin asked. His eyes began to sting.
“I don’t know. Maybe three months. I am rotting here while you go off. Each day feels like the last with the same meal. It"s the same messy house. I thought I raised you better than this,”
“Mum, I am trying my best here. There so much to do and to pay for,” Martin defended.
“Well, maybe your best isn’t enough anymore,” she replied.
And with that, Martin had nothing to say back. He only just stared at his mother, a lump formed in his throat.
“The realtor said he can sell it in a month, so you will need to pack your stuff and be ready to be out by then,”
Later that night, Martin was lying in his childhood bed, tears streaming down his face in utter silence. He had no savings. No clue how he was going to find a place. But it wasn’t that that was plaguing his mind.
It was what else he could have done for his mother.
When Elias informed him of the transfer, it was like a rug was pulled out of underneath him.
At that point, Martin had only settled into his own apartment for four months after jumping from house share to house share for a few years. Just before he found his own place, he was sharing this flat with the strangest guy. Possessive about absolutely everything, marked out placed in the drawers, cupboards, the fridge on what was his space and what was Martin’s.
Every time Martin would walk into the living room or the kitchen, whatever space was shared, he would just watch Martin do whatever it was he was doing and then bolt off back to his room.
It was an unsettling year.
Finally, Martin had just enough money saved for three months of rent and the deposit in a place in Stockwell, and he had never packed his stuff faster. Barely told the guy he was moving out.
Moving was always a stressful time, but this was the first time Martin would be living by himself. Ever. He was solely responsible for himself and no one else.
Those three months went by too quickly before he got the notice.
Of course, it had to be Hannah to be the one to approach him while Martin was sorting a crate of returns.
“Elias called. He said he wanted to see you in his office,” She informed, sparks of curiosity already present in her eyes.
The drop in Martin’s stomach could have toppled him right then and there.
This is it, he knows, were his first thoughts.
“Uh, okay. Thank you, Hannah,” he replied, slightly rushed as he attempted to hide his shock from her. Martin could already hear the question on Hannah’s lips.
“I know it’s none of my business, but did you do something, Martin?”
“God, I hope not! Diana would have already been on my ass before Elias would have heard,” he joked while politely shuffling past Hannah.
“Well, I’m sure it’s fine, Martin. That’s if you haven’t done something bad,”
He tried to hide his discomfort with a laugh, “Yeah, of course.”
Despite how quick his stride was, the walk to Elias’ office felt like an eternity. It wasn’t like his office was that far. The Institute wasn’t that big, but by God, each second stretched on and on. All Martin wanted was to meet his doom quickly.
Rosie’s kind smile and gentle demeanor didn’t help. Just another person who knew of his trickery. Martin smiles and nods when she lets him know that Elias is ready to see him, but the sweaty palms and racing heart are getting harder and harder to ignore.
It was this point where time caught up far too quickly. Before he realised, Martin was through the door, greeting Elias, and was sitting across from his striking stare, like he could see right into Martin’s soul, and heard a sentence he never expected.
“I am transferring you to the archives, Martin.”
All he could do was blink at Elias.
Martin remembered he had to reply, “Uh, sorry, tr-transfer?”
“Of course, Martin. You have done so well in the library, but I feel like your skills could be put to better use in the archives. Something more of a challenge,”
“Uh, right. Okay. I’m sorry, Mr. Bouchard. Are you sure you want to transfer me ?”
“Martin, please, it’s just Elias,” Elias corrected with a smile that did not feel friendly, “Look, I’m sure you have heard of some… staffing changes within the Institute. Internal restructuring.”
“Yes, a little bit,” Martin responds.
There was an announcement of transfers due to the head archivist’s resignation, and rumours quickly spread. He remembered Hannah pointing out that there was more to the resignation.
I heard from Tim from research that she died suddenly, and that’s why Elias is shuffling a bunch of people around.
“Well, the archives have been understaffed for a while, and I feel it was more appropriate to restructure internally rather than go through the gruelling process of new hires. I have already appointed a team from research, and your skills from the library would fit neatly with them,” Elias explains, never taking his eyes off Martin.
There is something threatening about the opportunity, but Martin just couldn’t bring himself to refuse Elias. It’s like there was a silent order to accept.
“Well, if you think so, Elias. I- uh, would be happy to take this on,” Martin accepted without really realising.
“Excellent! You’ll be under the care of our new head archivist, Jonathan Sims, with Sasha and Tim as your fellow assistants. They are all from research but will be happy to accommodate a new colleague. You’ll be starting tomorrow, so be sure to get yourself ready. Best be off.”
“Thank you, Elias,” Martin says, eagerly standing to get out of the office.
“Oh, don’t thank me yet, Martin,” he said with that same toothy smile and stare that went right through you.
Martin’s first impression of the archives really couldn’t have gone worse.
Rushing to get a spaniel out of the archives, all while shoving his embarrassment down after having to explain to his new boss about said spaniel. At least it got him acquainted with Sasha and Tim quickly.
"Don’t worry about Jon. The man’s always a bit of a grump,” Sasha reassured, shutting the door after ushering the dog out and back to the owner.
“Yeah, and even more so now! He’s always been the serious type, but this new promotion has put it to the max,” Tim remarked with a slight grin. He’s leaning against the wall opposite the door in the manner of someone who knows how attractive they are.
“Still not the best first impression,” Martin responded with a shrug of his shoulders. He may be the biggest of the group, but he has never felt smaller in his life.
“Well, it can only get up from here, right?” Sasha said, placing her hand on Martin’s shoulder.
“Yeah, mate, there’s no worry for you to win us over,” Tim remarks, moving off the wall to throw this arm over Martin’s shoulders as the trio walk back to their office, “Especially since we are going out for after-work drinks tonight.”
Martin couldn’t help the skip in his heart, “Oh, uh, wow. Thank you, Tim, but I really shouldn’t-“
“No, no, no. None of that. You, me, and Sash here are going, and that’s final,” Tim interrupted.
“Tim, if he doesn’t want to, don’t force him,” Sasha argued back, opening the door to let them into the achieves. “Seriously, Martin, don’t let Tim bother you.”
“Oh, come on! You don’t have to drink if that’s not your thing. I just want some bonding, co-worker sessions considering we are all stuck in this slightly shitty situation,” Tim clarified, throwing himself into his desk chair.
Martin takes a moment in his head to debate it over. He has no issue with having the occasional beverage. It is just that, very occasional. He has lost contact with all his high school friends, and with his life being so consumed by caring for his mother, it’s not like he has a lot of spare time to go out and meet new people.
One drink would be okay.
“No, it’s alright. I think I would like that,” Martin agreed.
“Fantastic! What about you, boss? Care for a drink with your new subordinates!” Tim called out to Jon.
Martin turned his head to look over at Jon’s office to find him hunched over his laptop with a stern frown. All his attention was on whatever he was doing with the laptop, judging that he didn’t respond to Tim at all and seemed to be muttering his frustrations to himself. A furious groan escaped from Jon, and he slammed the laptop screen closed to sort through one of the many piles of papers on his cluttered desk.
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Tim said.
The transition from the library to the archives wasn’t as smooth as Martin thought it was going to be.
The archives were in such a state of disarray that it took enough to figure out where to start.
If Diana saw this part of the Institute, she’d probably have a heart attack.
Not only did the job itself involve a load of skills and abilities Martin was severely under qualified for, the research and follow-up along with the organising. Jon insisted on recording statements, for which some would only work from old tape recorders. Only God knows where Jon found those.
What"s more, whatever mistake he made always seemed to happen whenever Jon was around. Jon certainly wasn’t the most forgiving of bosses, either, which only brought more anxiety every time Martin walked through the door. And while Martin would loath to admit it, he could help but find Jon just a little bit attractive.
Well, maybe not. That academic, in a slightly scruffy way, did it for Martin, and Jon was the epitome of that.
Old blazer jackets and knitted jumpers with his slightly untucked shirt poking out from underneath. Leather satchel bag that was always too full of stuff. Faintly greying hair had clearly been combed by his fingers.
It was not like anything would happen; Martin knew that. But a little office crush never hurt anyone.
Regardless, the work was tougher than Martin anticipated, and most nights, he was so utterly exhausted that the thought of cooking and cleaning was enough to send him into tears.
He opened the fridge one Saturday night to find a sliver of cheese, a can of soft drink, takeout that was far too old to eat, and one lemon. Martin had slept in for most of the day and decided to neglect most of his chores now he had the freedom to do so. He looked at the clock. Just gone six o’clock. He could still make the shop before it closes.
But that meant actually going to the shop and getting groceries.
After a groan and a much-needed shower, Martin was deciding between pasta and rice at seven o’clock in the evening at his local Lidl. It didn’t take much to decide he would just throw both into the steadily filling basket. He took a quick once over his items and turned over to the next aisle.
Only to find his boss examining various cans of beans.
“Jon. Hello,” slipped out of Martin’s mouth without him realising.
The address startled Jon as the second Martin said his name; he jumped slightly and fumbled the cans in his hands. When Jon turned to face Martin, the scowl that usually plasters his face was mixed with a wide-eyed jolt of shock. Like the decision between one can of beans and another required all his attention, and now that attention was ripped away.
“Martin. Uh, hello,” Jon finally responded back, not looking entirely pleased.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Martin apologised, a small self-conscious smile pulled across his face, “I was surprised to see you here, that’s all.”
“I do exist outside of the archives, Martin,” Jon jibbed.
“No, of course. I uh- didn’t mean that, really. I just didn’t know you lived in the area. You see, I haven’t lived here for that long, and I haven’t seen you around or even on the same tube line as me, so I-“
“I don’t,” Jon stated.
“I’m sorry, what?” Martin asked at the unhelpfully vague statement.
“I don’t live in the area. I was around and realised I needed some food before I go home,” Jon clarified, voice and face as stony as the other.
“Oh, right,” Martin replied.
Martin took a moment to examine a ‘ casual Saturday’ Jon and was surprised that he didn’t realise how different he looked. Probably because, somehow, this get-up seemed to fit him more comfortably.
It was late September, but not a particularly cold evening, yet Jon was clad in a dark blue hooded jumper and a brown trucker jacket. Peaking below the jumper was the bottom of a tan-brown flannel over a pair of faded black jeans. What really threw Martin was the pair of Converse sneakers, one lace about to fall untied. Converse, on Head Archivist Jonathan Sims.
“Right, well,” Martin heard from Jon, pulling him out of his trance, “I should, you know, get going. Got to get home."
“Yes! Right, yeah, me too,” Martin fumbled, “I’m sorry, what are you doing in Stockwell at seven in the evening?”
“I was at a bookstore nearby. I haven’t had the chance to see it,” Jon replied, eyes shifted to his left back to Martin.
“Right, but isn"t a bit late to be going to a bookstore?”
“I might have not realised how late it was.”
A chuckle was bubbling up in Martin"s chest, and he had to bite hard to stifle it.
"Well, I am happy to get you back home if its late. I don"t live far so I could drive you there," Martin offered.
"No, that won"t necessary, Martin. I can get myself back home by myself," Jon came back with. It"s the same tone when Martin offers a cup of tea, and even though Jon declines, Martin still caught him taking sips a few minutes later.
"Well, at least send me a message so I know you get back safely."
"I don"t have your mobile number," Jon replied as he turned his head away from Martin, "Look, Martin, I"ll be fine. I don"t need you fussing-"
"Here," Martin interrupted. He passed over an old contact card he carries in his wallet. He printed a fwe when he was first looking for jobs, believing it made him look more professional.
No one bought it.
"There"s my number. You should at least have it in case you need to contact me for work stuff," Martin continued, arm stretched out.
Jon looked down at the card and flicked his eyes back over to Martin. He had a look to his face like this whole interaction was some puzzle he needed to figure out. Jon reached out and Martin only just thank noticed the slight hesitation in his hand. There was a small jolt of electricity through Martin"s nerves when their fingers grazed each other. Jon"s fingers were particularly cold.
“Thank you. Right, well, goodbye, Martin. See you on Monday,” Jon said in a hurry and quickly turned on his feet to almost speed walk out of the aisle, placing the cans on a random shelf as he left. Martin caught a glimpse of him out the window as he approaches the checkout counter, staring at the ground, shaking his head slightly, and his brow furrowed with a cigarette between his lips.
A sight Martin was enamored by.
Later that evening, about an hour after Martin got home, a ping altered on his phone.
[I have arrived home.]
Yeah, maybe Martin could make this new life work. One step at a time.