Chapter Text
In hindsight, knowing his boss was freshly turned was rather funny.
Well, to most vampires, Martin himself would also be considered freshly turned, having only been undead for around 50 years. But that’s neither here nor there. 50 years of experience was a lot more than Jon’s... what, months? At most?
Imagining a human, a foot shorter than him scolding him, threatening to fire him on the first day as though he were the one with power was funny enough. As though Martin couldn’t pin him back, crank his head up and drink mindlessly without any regard for his comfort in an instant.
He shook his head. No. Bad line of thinking. Bad vampire.
Anyways, that was all funny on its own. Imagining a stumbling, confused, freshly turned vampire barely keeping himself together doing that was far funnier. Not that Martin could blame the man, he hadn't taken to the news of his turning well either. Didn’t mean he had to be such a dick though.
He’d just taken a swig of his thermos- that he kept very close vigil on- when Tim called for him.
“Mm,” Martin took a second to stop drinking, cap his thermos and will his stupidly pointy fangs to recede, “What was that?”
“I said, do you wanna come out to the pub with us?”
“I dunno Tim. You know I don’t drink.”
“You don’t have to! Me and Sash could use someone sober there while we’re getting sloshed. Anyway, we just wanna hang out with you.”
Oh. Martin’s face flushed with stolen blood. “Well... alright then.”
“Yes!” Tim fist pumped “That makes it four for four on the archives party.”
His brow furrowed, “Four for four?”
“Mhm! Well, if Sash can convince Jon properly. Which I have no doubt about, Sash is the one Jon respects the most and that woman can put the fear of God into people like no one I know.” Tim looked concerned, then, “Unless that’s gonna be a problem? If you don’t want him there that’s cool, I get it.”
“No, no it’s fine. I’ll manage. Just hope he doesn’t use it as an excuse to get on my ass again.”
“Ohh no, we’ve got a strict no work talk policy on nights out, Jon usually respects it enough.”
That was surprising, “You’ve gotten him to go out before?”
“Yeah, plenty of times! Back in Research we used to be able to drag him out to the pub maybe... once a month? I know he's really uptight now and that’s all you’ve ever known and everything, but he used to be so much more relaxed back in Research. Dunno what happened.”
Well, that makes sense, considering. “Well. Maybe a trip to the pub will make him relax a little?”
Tim brightened considerably, “Yeah! That’s the aim at least, I just hope he doesn’t get weird about it and double down.”
“What’s this?”
They both turned towards Sasha, and Tim grinned, “Talking about loosening that stick from Jon’s ass, which speaking off...”
Sasha smiled, “I said that Elias might appreciate him trying to connect with his staff and learn more about their unique skillsets, and that seemed to convince him.”
“Really?”
“Mhm! Especially after I mentioned the alternative might be mandated team building exercises. With Elias there to supervise.”
Tim mock shivered, “You are brutal!”
“You bet. Now get your feet off my desk, they’re stinking up the place.”
Martin laughed at Tim’s whined “Sashaaaaa” as his feet were unceremoniously shoved off Sasha’s desk and prepared himself for the upcoming pub evening.
In hindsight, he should've realised sooner.
Jon had looked at him with thinly veiled distain, realising he was tagging along, but at that point there were no excuses he could make to wriggle his way out of it without breaking some unmentioned societal rule.
That was fine by Martin, so long as Jon didn’t speak on his obvious hatred for his existence, he could deal with it. Maybe he resented him for being an older, more experienced vampire? But then again, he’s in a position of power over Martin, so surely... he didn’t know. Maybe he just genuinely disliked him for bringing a dog into the archives.
And it's not like his work is the highest quality, after all.
Both Jon and Martin had declined having anything alcoholic, but Jon had asked for a glass of water that he seldom touched, which Martin could respect. Appearances are important after all, it's why he does so many tea rounds.
After about an hour, Tim came back from his third trip to the bar with two crisp bags, one for him and one for Sasha, the two undeads having declined it.
“Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“No, I’m good, Tim. Honest.”
“Boo, it’s prawn cocktail! Everyone loves prawn cocktail! Jon, are you gonna be a bummer?” Tim shook the open bag in front of Jon’s face.
Jon rolled his eyes, “Fine, alright.”
Martin’s brow furrowed. Had he heard that correctly? But- no, Jon did seem to be reaching into the bag. Martin waited for him to pull a fast one, distract Tim and Sasha, or maybe just throw it away as a joke on Tim about pressuring people into eating. None of those things happened, however.
Jon lifted the crisp to his mouth. And ate it.
“Good?”
He rolled his eyes, swallowing, “Yes, Tim, it’s good. I do like crisps you know, I-”
Jon stopped. Then coughed.
Martin grimaced.
“Alright there, Jon?” He inquired tentatively.
“Yes I-” Jon coughed again, harder, “Must’ve gone down the wrong- pipe-” his voice was strained, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
Tim’s brow furrowed in concern, “You look really bad.”
“Excuse me- I'm-” he got up from the table with nary a noise more, hitting it with his haste and disturbing the glasses sat there, nearly toppling them over.
“I should-” Tim looked as though he was about to get up, so Martin cut in.
“No- I'll go check on him, you two enjoy your drinks we’ll just be a minute.”
“Sure?”
“Positive. Sasha, make sure he doesn’t run off.”
Sasha giggled, more than a bit buzzed, “You got it boss.”
Martin smiled at them both reassuringly, before rushing off. What had that man been thinking?
You don’t just- eat human food, it doesn’t mix it's not compatible anymore. With practice sure, maybe you can stomach it for long enough until you can get away to vomit it up in peace, but Jon’s a newbie! He can't do that!
Martin opened the bathroom door with a huff. Stupid freshly turned and their hubris.
“Jon? You in here?”
If the heavy laboured breathing wasn’t enough of a give-away, the congested sounding “Y-Yes, I’m-” before the onslaught of grotesque vomiting certainly was.
Martin wrinkled his nose at the sound, remembering his own days of disbelief of what he was now, his desperate attempts to eat normally again.
Reaching the end of the admittedly small men's toilets, he found Jon kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet, head pressed to the filthy bowl, making low groaning noises and clutching his stomach.
He kneeled on the tiled floor next to him, rubbing Jon’s back soothingly as the next wave came.
“It’s alright Jon, it’s alright.” Martin muttered low, although he doesn’t think Jon heard him with any real clarity. “We all make mistakes.”
After a few minutes, Jon’s head tilted up, revealing a flushed, tear streaked face, mucus running from the nose. Martin grimaced and quickly rolled up some toilet paper, pressing it to his hand.
Jon blew his nose wetly, and Martin lowered the toilet bowl lid, flushing it. He was pliant like this, and he was easily manoeuvred to sit on top of the lid.
“There we are... feeling any better?”
Jon seemed to notice properly that he was there, “Yes I ah... God, that’s embarrassing.”
“No, no its alright.” it was embarrassing, but he wasn’t about to tell Jon that, “It happens.”
He blinked, “Yes I... uhm...” He sniffed, “I- I must be coming down with something, I don’t usually... I mean, it's not like I'm allergic to crisps or prawn or anything... I don’t know.”
Furrowing his brow, Martin took stock of the man afore him. Maybe... maybe he somehow didn’t know Martin was a vampire too? Or maybe he was just protecting himself, this is a public bathroom after all, best to be discrete. Or... or maybe...
He noted at the slightly manic look in Jon’s eyes, darting around the bathroom, his desperate expression.
“You...” Martin coughed, “You should go home, get some rest. You might have a stomach bug or... something.”
“Or... y-yes,” Jon looked faintly relieved, “Yes I- I should.”
“Do you want me to call an uber, or?”
“Give me a minute to- collect myself, I’ll do it.”
“Oh... a-alright then just uh... stay safe.”
Jon seemed to be getting better after all, as he shot him a slightly annoyed look, “Yes, Martin, I’m sure I can survive a stomach bug. I’ll be fine.”
“Right. I’ll tell Tim and Sasha. Are you sure that you don’t want anyone to sit with-”
“ Go , Martin.”
Martin jumped back, getting up from the floor, “Right, right.”
He left the bathroom without much further ado, mind racing.
Jon didn’t know Martin was a vampire. Jon didn’t know that Jon was a vampire. As far as Jon was concerned, vampires didn’t exist. Great. Fantastic.
What the hell was he meant to do with that?
Martin will be the first to confess that he became a little fond of Jon after realising that he wasn’t aware. Acts before that seemed like the overconfident hubris of a freshly turned, now seemed to be obviously unaware stumbling through his new reality.
It seemed fitting that Jon, the institutes most vocal sceptic, would entirely look over what is happening to him, making up excuses.
He wondered if he should tell Jon about what he was. Maybe not that he was one too, that might freak him out more. Or maybe it’d be reassuring? Knowing that he had someone nearby that knew this stuff? Even if that person was Martin, his apparent sworn adversary. He didn’t know. But then again, no one had been kind enough to tell Martin he was a vampire, and he got on fine.
He felt a pang at that. Maybe all the years since his turning were desensitising him. His early years were horrible, and he recalled wishing many times that he’d had someone to tell him what he was. To help him.
But, given how many of Prentiss’s worms were lurking around, and her own threat towards Jon, was now really the time? Maybe not. Maybe later, after... Something.
Yeah.
Besides, he had a lot more on his mind. It was only the fact that he’d made a habit of storing blood that he hadn’t gone on a rampage through London before reaching the institute, and he was thankful for it.
Feeding was admittedly a bit harder now- it wasn’t taking blood that was the problem, but rather keeping it in the Archives.
See, typically Martin would find someone- usually a guy, girls had it rough enough- and go back to their place before hypnotising them to stay still, quiet and content with what was going on. Then he’d go through the process of taking collapsible iv stands out of his bag, drawing their blood (he always said, “Just a slight pinch.” before piercing them) and waiting until he had a satisfactory amount. Then he’d get them something rich in iron to drink along with some orange juice and send them to bed with clear instructions to forget this ever happened. Once he got home, he could put it in his freezer. But keeping blood on mass now would prove difficult.
Martin had decided to only keep a couple of bags tucked away in a box at the bottom of the breakroom fridge (which he could only hope no-one would come across) for emergencies. Feeding the old-fashioned way was a bit grotesque for his liking, but a man has got to eat, so. Besides, he still makes sure they’re comfortable and gives them something to get their strength back, which is saying a lot better than other vampires.
Vampires didn’t really need sleep, day or night, the only thing that mattered was whether blood was pumping through them, sustaining them. And so it was that Martin found himself awake in the Archives at two in the morning, as usual.
It was kind of boring, but he’d learned his lesson on spacing out his phone usage throughout the night. And laughing at some of the more outlandish and obviously fake stories in the discredited section is always fun.
He was halfway through his thermos when he noticed a light coming from underneath the Head Archivist’s office, Jonathan Sims emblazoned clearly upon it.
Martin rolled his eyes. Had it been anywhere else in the Archives he might’ve been suspicious, anxious that Prentiss had come for him at last (despite popular opinion, not all vampires are the cool, collected characters that they are in movies, and are very susceptible to feeling fear) but pushing Jon out of the Archives had become somewhat routine lately.
“Jon?” He creaked the door open, peaking his head around the door.
He found Jon in his usual state for this time in the morning. Dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tie loosened, hair mussed from running his fingers through it.
But his eyes . God did he recognise the look in his eyes.
They were shadowed, the light of the small lamp in the room not doing much to help his complexion. His face was skinny, cheeks lean and sagging somewhat, not helped by his persistent downturned smile and furrowed eyebrows. The bags underneath them were deep, and judging by the red tinge to his cornea, things weren't looking good.
He took a second to register that Martin was there and blinked sluggishly at him.
“Oh. Martin.” His voice was slow, slurred, “Sorry I ah... I hadn't noticed the time.”
“I...” Martin cleared his throat, “It’s alright, Jon.”
“I was just um... going over some things. I’ll- I’ll get going, now.”
Jon stood on feeble legs, swaying as he leaned on the desk for support. He’d only taken a few steps before crying out in pain, clutching his stomach and collapsing onto the floor.
“Jon!” Martin hurried over, putting his thermos down and kneeling next to him. It only seemed natural for him to put an arm around his back and bring Jon close, looking at his face.
His heart sank. Oh God.
“Its... I’m so hungry, Martin... but not- not my stomach, its... my heart.” Jon let out a feeble, hysterical laugh, “How can a heart be hungry ?”
How could he be such an idiot? Of course, Jon needed to be told, to know in his undead heart that he is a vampire.
He’d die otherwise.
How the stubborn fool managed to last so long is beyond him- keeping himself from both dying at his desk and ripping out the throat of some unsuspecting Londoner- but that doesn’t matter right now.
Martin moved fast. He lay his legs out before him, putting them underneath Jon’s, then brought the man himself closer. He let him lay there, heaving heavy breaths upon his neck as he grabbed the thermos, uncapping it.
The effect was instantaneous. Jon’s breathing stuttered, stopped. Martin looked down to see Jon frozen where he lay, eyes locked on the thermos.
They darted quickly to his face, confused, scared. Desperate. Pleading.
Jon wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold up the thermos by himself, and knowing how hard he’d resisted thus far, he might not be able to bring himself to do it anyway.
Martin put his hand to the back of his neck, craning it back slightly. It was easy to bring the thermos to his already open mouth and pour.
Jon latched on quickly, eyes sliding closed in pure relief, pure ecstasy . Martin tried to go slowly to make sure he didn’t hurt himself with the speed at which he was guzzling gouts of AB. He moaned weakly in between swallows, and Martin’s guilty feeling grew ever so slightly. Blood poured from the corners of Jon’s mouth, messy, unused to such an action as drinking thick blood. It dripped down his neck and staining the collar of his shirt.
Soon, the thermos was empty. Jon protested weakly when it was removed from him, licking the corners of his mouth, but didn’t fight Martin when he grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk, cleaning away the blood from his neck.
Eventually, after a long, long silence, Jon looked up at Martin again. His eyes were back to those familiar dark brown, and Martin allowed himself a feeling of relief.
“Thank you.” He spoke. Airy and desperate through new and pointed fangs. More of a whisper than anything else, staring at Martin with reverence.
Then, inexplicably, he began to cry.
Heaving sobs forced their way out of his small frame, tears dripping their way down his cheeks.
Martin brought Jon closer, wrapping his arms around him and allowing him to bury his face in his jumper, clutching at the fabric with all he had in him. It’d stain, but that was fine.
It was for the best really. He didn’t know how Jon would react to seeing blood pouring in place of tears.