Chapter Text
"What do you mean 'we're married'?" Martin sputters, his voice pitched higher in panic, his arms clutching a fur as tightly as one would cling to a life preserver.
"I said, 'it's essentially like we're married', but really Martin, it's not that big of a deal," Jon insists, resolute.
"Not– not that big of a deal? Jon," Martin says, unable to stop the exasperation and a hint of scolding coloring his tone.
"Yes! Just think of it like… uh. That I am giving you my skin for safe keeping. We're going to be mutually caring for my skin. Or, hm, you'll make sure I don't lose track of it."
"Which, just so we're being absolutely clear here, amounts to being married according to your–your– uh," Martin gestures wildly with one hand as he tries to gather his thoughts, "customs?"
"....Yes, but really, it's fine. This. Is. Fine," Jon declares as if saying it will make it true. "We don't have to think of it that way, and…" Jon sighs, biting his lip, deflating slightly.
" Jon," Martin prompts.
"I just… I've been so distracted recently with work, and I've been… well, I've never been the best at taking care of myself…"
Martin scoffs, not unkindly, giving Jon a small smile. "I've noticed."
"Yes, exactly," Jon says primly. "And my skin is… if I was to lose it, if it was to be stolen… that would be disastrous for me, and I…." Jon swallows, lowering his head and his voice. "I need someone I can trust to help me take care of it, and you're always here, so..."
Martin gulps, eyes wide. "So you… you thought of me."
"Yes, yes," Jon says, unconvincingly dismissive, not meeting Martin's eye.
"...Okay," Martin says finally, after several long, long moments.
At that, Jon's gaze jumps to Martin's face, giving him a small, unsure smile, eyes wide with hope. "Okay?"
"But," Martin continues, clearly projecting more confidence than he feels, one arm still tightly holding Jon's skin, the other raised, pointing at Jon. "You have to be upfront with me from now on what this all means. In general and… and for... for us. Are there any– any expectations? Or things I need to know? Wait." Martin holds up a hand as Jon opens his mouth. "Let me get a pen and some paper."
"Martin," Jon groans, slightly exasperated, but smiling, as Martin practically runs out of Jon's office. He hears Tim say something to Martin, Martin's short response and then he's back.
"Okay, I'm ready." Martin tucks the skin over his shoulder, the bulk of it still held close to his chest.
"Martin, really, you don't need to do this."
"Jon, you said yourself it could be horrible if someone you--you don't like gets their hands on your skin. I'm not going to let that happen. But I need to have a better understanding of this whole… uh… situation. Please."
Jon sighs, shoulders slumping. "Yes, yes, alright."
Jon… he tells Martin what might have been spun as a fairy tale elsewhere, but all Martin hears is a nightmare. Of his people held against their will in loveless, abusive marriages, forced to help create and nurture a family. Hollow smiles, empty eyes, shivering as they long for the part of them that's been taken hostage. All they can do is stare towards the sea, waiting for a chance to take back what is theirs and return home.
"Honestly, Martin, marriage… our–my kind's–customs mean nothing to me. My skin… I only see it as a liability. So me handing the skin off to you is more like putting it in secure storage or a lockbox than anything… well… significant." Jon crinkles his nose at the thought. "If it's with you… I don't have to worry about–gods forbid–accidentally marrying someone or it being taken by someone with dubious intentions. Just… don't lose it, or something." Jon laughs, more anxious than humorous.
"Of course not," Martin says in a rush, "I'll–I'll help you keep it safe." Martin swallows. "This is just… I'll be honest, Jon. This is a bit scary. I don't want to–to be the reason something bad happens to you."
"Martin. I know what I just said sounded… awful, but honestly it hasn't happened to anyone I know. It's more of a hypothetical, things parents warn their children of, stranger danger and all that. It's just a faint possibility, and with my current state of mind… I just… I'm tired of it honestly. With the skin in someone else's hands–someone I know won't take advantage of me… It's out of play so to speak."
Putting down the notepad and pen, Martin again picks up the skin, eyeing it thoughtfully. "How do I care for it? Do I… Is there anything I need to do to make sure it isn't damaged?"
"What? No." Jon scoffs, an eyebrow raised. "Throw it in a safe for all I care. They're… very resistant to damage. It'll be fine. But, uh, thanks for asking."
"Of course," Martin replies softly. He's still staring down at the skin, brow scrunched in thought. He looks up at Jon suddenly, like he's about to say something, but ends up shaking his head.
Jon eyes him suspiciously but when Martin doesn't appear to want to say anything more, Jon doesn't push.
"Well, that's all Martin, thank you," he says crisply, a clear dismissal from his office, as if this was any normal meeting between a boss and his employee.
Martin hmphs, and looks at his phone. "It's after one, lunchtime. Want me to grab you a sandwich?"
Jon frowns at his laptop, the pile of stapled statements on his desk, and his legal pad filled with scribbled notes and red ink.
"No, ah, I'll join you. I didn't realize it was that late."
Martin gives an exaggerated sigh. "You never do, Jon."
"Yes, yes, Martin, what would I do without you?" Jon grumbles good naturedly as he shuts his laptop and starts pulling on his jacket.
Martin huffs a breath, amused. "Starve to death, probably."
Jon pouts at Martin as he fixes his sleeves. "Well that's unfair. I can feed myself you know."
"Of course you can," Martin soothes. "What'd you eat then? Fish? Do you catch them yourself?"
Jon opens and closes his mouth for a second, bemused, before breaking out into a surprised laugh.
"Only on Sundays," he replies with a rare smirk. "Ready?"
"Yeah," Martin says, nodding, suddenly a little breathless. "Uh, wait. Where should I leave this?" Martin holds up the skin. "Should I take it with us?"
"No, we can just leave it in my office; I’ll lock the door. It'll be safe here, for an hour." When he notices Martin still shuffling from foot to foot, clutching the skin tightly, Jon sighs. "It'll be fine, I promise. You can put it in this drawer?"
Martin nods, loosening his grip on the skin slightly.
Jon opens up the larger bottom drawer to his desk, and Martin carefully, gently tucks it inside.
As they walk through the main archives room where all the assistants' desks were, Tim eyes them suspiciously.
Martin gives him a little wave. "We're headed to the deli, is there anything you want us to pick up for you?"
"No, thanks, brought my own lunch. I, uh..." Tim's brow is furrowed in thought, he bites his lip. When Martin glances over at Jon, he sees Jon staring back, chin raised, defiant. Bemused, Martin raises a questioning eyebrow at Jon, which goes unobserved. "Boss, when you get back, can we talk?" Tim must have also noticed Jon's expression, as he adds an annoyed, "Please?"
"Don't know what we have to discuss, Tim," Jon says primly, "but fine. You can come talk to me in my office."
"Thanks! Enjoy your lunch!" Tim says, all false cheeriness. Martin isn't sure what to make of it, but he doesn't have much time to ruminate because Jon places a hand on his shoulder. "Ready, Martin? Let's head out."
Martin tries to not think about the warmth from the touch the entire time they walk to the nearby café.