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The changes have been so gradual that Martin can't point to a specific day marking the beginning of them. But by now, they're starkly obvious. Jon had gone for so long looking like he hadn't slept in days that the dark circles under his eyes and his worn, unkempt appearance began to seem like a permanent part of his identity.
Lately, Jon has looked markedly better--objectively so, beyond Martin's personal bias that has always made Jon seem beautiful to him. Lately, Jon's been bothering with self-care he used to be too preoccupied to prioritize, Martin notices. Sleeping more, and more restfully. Spending more time on his grooming and hygiene routine. Selecting his clothes rather than grabbing the first available thing. Hair that had been becoming long from neglect now is, still long, but groomed more intentionally. And he actually seems to be eating every day.
Martin had always hated how much Jon neglected himself. Prioritized everything and everyone else above himself. Would sooner rush into some danger in the hopes of stopping the next fearsome ritual than he would eat a proper meal or get a good night's sleep. Martin should be glad to see these changes. And part of him is. But an equal part of him is concerned.
The dissonance between Martin feeling relieved and unsettled by these changes mirrors the dissonance between how Jon was months ago--exhausted, miserable, with the weight of the world on his shoulders, blaming himself for everything that went wrong around him--and how he is now--uncharacteristically relaxed for no discernable reason.
Jon smiles more. Sometimes warm ones, that always elicit a flutter in Martin's chest when they're directed at him. Sometimes cold ones, that Martin doesn't recognize. Sometimes knowing ones, which trouble Martin the most. Reminding him of the fact that Jon does Know. He Knows in a way no human should. No human does.
Martin holds off the confrontation for so long, always able to conjure an excuse. To argue with himself, the winning side concluding "what's there to confront? Jon is doing better than ever now. So, everything's fine."
The invitation one evening to go out to dinner surprises Martin so much that at first he wonders if it's a joke. He and Jon had never really gone on a proper "date". For most of their time working together, Jon wanted nothing to do with Martin. And even when their relationship developed after Jon woke from his coma, they had always been so preoccupied with trying to stop the Fear rituals that they never had the time for such leisure activities.
The fact that Jon asked to go out evokes that same dissonance Martin's been feeling lately regarding his boyfriend. Part of him is giddy with the thought of being able to finally go on a date with Jon--a thing he dreamed about since the day he met him, but never thought would become a reality. Another part of him can't help but question "why?" Why is Jon suddenly unbothered enough by the impending crisis around them to suggest such an idle activity?
Naturally, none of Martin's reservations lead him to turning down Jon's invitation. Not after years of wanting exactly this. Besides, he concludes, maybe Jon has the right idea. Perhaps, regardless of what may happen in the future, they should enjoy what time they have together now. Perhaps especially if any of the Fears do ultimately succeed in any of their rituals--that could make this his and Jon's only chance.
And, Martin decides that maybe tonight he'll talk to Jon about his concerns, if the opportunity presents itself.
Now that they're together doing something as entirely mundane as going to a restaurant, Martin can't help but notice the change in Jon's mannerisms tonight more than ever. Where there wasn't before, now there's an easy confidence in Jon's movements. The way he speaks to the people they need to interact with. The way he unself-consciously holds eye contact so intensely it's like he's reading the entirety of Martin's life in that gaze. Then Martin remembers that Jon very well can Know his life in that gaze. And his current thoughts. And his every fantasy.
With great effort, Martin forces himself to look away, hoping the embarrassed blush he feels isn't visible on his face. "I really wish you wouldn't do that."
"I'm sorry, Martin. I...can't really help it sometimes."
"Well, tough. Try harder"
"If you insist." Though Jon doesn't sound especially contrite, when Martin looks back towards him, he is now looking away. Gaze drifting casually around the restaurant and the other patrons.
They talk for a while before the food is brought to the table, during the meal, and for more than an hour afterwards. About themselves--never about the Fears, never about any potential upcoming rituals they'll need to try to prevent. An unspoken agreement between the two of them; neither of them mention not talking about it or explicitly say they want to avoid the topic. They both just naturally want to use this opportunity to embrace the semblance of normalcy.
Instead, they talk about their lives before joining the Magnus Institute. They even do talk about some experiences while working at the Institute, but back while they still believed it was nothing other than a normal paranormal research institute--as far as such a thing can exist.
Things have been going so well that for a while Martin is able to forget about all his other concerns, the only thing on his mind being the here and now, wishing things could stay exactly as they are for a bit longer.
That makes it all the more jarring when Martin glances at Jon--Martin had been recounting an anecdote of him wanting to take a poetry class when he was younger, but his mother dismissing it as useless--and finds him staring transfixed at some point behind and to the left of Martin. From across the table, Martin can see the tension in Jon's body, his eyes unwavering even as Martin watches him for seconds, minutes. Jon doesn't look away from whatever has captured his attention, never even noticing that Martin had stopped speaking.
When Martin finally turns around, he sees the subject's attention is caught just as fixedly. The wide-eyed woman is staring back at Jon--face with a youth so starkly and uncannily artificial that it makes the old age she tries to cover even more obvious. Her distress, so potent as to be clearly visible from across the restaurant, makes the subtle delight in Jon's expression even more evident in its contrast. It's not a smile, but in his eyes--as he holds the woman's gaze as securely as a sailor's rope holds a knot--is the mix of the anticipation and satisfaction of a chess player who already knows he's won, and is only waiting for his opponent to make her next futile move.
Jon rises from his seat, slowly, and begins to move towards the woman. The predator through the trees patiently stalking its prey: the rabbit in the forest paralyzed with fear. Calling Jon's name does nothing. He's no longer present, no longer the one in control. He's entranced by a predator of his own as thoroughly as the woman is, and that predator is the thing that pushes him onwards.
Martin calls Jon's name again more desperately. Grabs his arm. Finally he has to use his advantage in size and physical strength to stand in front of Jon and bodily block him--and his line of sight to the woman--before he finally snaps out of it.
"Martin...? What are you--Why are we standing here?" For several seconds, the only thing in Jon's eyes is confusion, he looks around the restaurant like someone waking up in an unfamiliar room.
Abruptly someone hurries past them and exits the restaurant, and Martin notices that it's the old woman, awoken from her own trance once the eye contact was broken, and wisely taking that chance to flee.
"Martin, tell me what's wrong," Jon asks looking genuinely concerned. He hadn't even glanced at the woman as she fled, like he forgot about her existence.
Wanting to avoid having the confrontation in a public place, Martin waits until they return to his flat--functionally theirs. The commute gives him time to think about what he plans to say, but the wait also agitates his nerves with each passing second. For his part, Jon is almost entirely silent and as impossible to read as ever.
"You're not well, Jon," Martin begins, as soon as they enter the flat, knowing that putting it off will only make it more difficult. "I thought you were. I wanted to believe you were because outwardly you seemed, fine--great even, better than I've seen you in...well, years, if ever. But what happened tonight, with that woman...It's not right, Jon. Something's seriously wrong with you, and I don't know if you're even aware of it or not."
Martin finally looks at Jon and for a moment, so fast Martin can almost believe he imagined it, Jon's watching back with an enigmatic look in his eyes. Not the dazed confusion of after he woke from his unsettling trance. Not quite the predatory gleam of when he was staring at that woman either--though closer to the latter than the former. Something focused, calculating, like trying to solve a complicated puzzle box.
But the moment passes. Jon looks away, expression more neutral, slightly troubled but more familiar. "No, Martin, you're right. I'm sorry. Things have been...I've been trying to--adjust, to things, and it hasn't been easy."
"...And? Do you want to... tell me about those 'things'? You've been having to adjust to?"
The furrow in Jon's brow increases slightly. He let's out a short sigh, combs his fingers through his hair in frustration. "It's...complicated to explain."
"Well, then I suggest you find a way to make it simple, Jon. We need to talk about what's going on."
"I know, you're right. It's just...do we have to do it now?" Jon's expression softens, along with his voice. When his gaze returns to Martin, it's with the warm look that always makes Martin's heart clinch in that soft fuzzy way he had never felt before meeting Jon. He continues, tone quiet with tenderness. "I don't know everything about these...changes that have been happening recently. But right now, tonight, is the first time I've felt...right in, well, longer than I can ever remember, actually," Jon finishes with a rueful chuckle. Then he moves closer, takes Martin's hands in his. "Can't we have this for just a little while longer?"
Martin sighs. Conflicted, tired, wanting this conversation to be over, but only once the matter is actually resolved. "Yes--I mean, no. I don't know." Martin's gaze flits away as he racks his brain for how to put it into words. "Yes, Jon, I do want us to be able to have a good, normal night out sometimes. God knows I do, but...But that's exactly it, isn't it? It *was* a normal night, until whatever happened with you and that strange woman and--"
"Martin, look at me." Jon has stepped closer until he's right against him. His left hand on Martin's shoulder and his right hand holding his chin, gently turning it to face him.
Their eyes meet. Martin sees that there is the familiar warmth in them. But there's also something he hasn't seen in Jon, even since they've been together. Something that makes his heart race and his blood rush.
"It's alright. Don't worry." Jon speaks in a low soft voice, barely louder than a whisper. But he's so close now that Martin can feel the vibrations in his bones. So distractingly close that he doesn't even notice the compulsion reverberating through Jon's words. He just notices a comfortable wave of relaxation he's eager to allow after so long feeling constantly afraid and stressed.
Before Martin can question it, or remember the purpose of this conversation, the next thing he's aware of is the feeling of Jon's lips against his. And immediately that becomes the only thing he can notice. The only thing that exists in the world.
They don't kiss often. Jon can tolerate and even enjoy some level of physical affection--hugging, sleeping together (which has always meant literally sleeping), maybe cuddling, but nothing more. He made his boundaries on that clear when he and Martin first became a couple--same as he had back when he and Georgie were dating--and of course Martin accepted this and never pushed for anything more. Never took the initiative with any affection, just to be safe.
That makes the rare occasions all the more significant. And Martin can count on one hand the number of occasions that was. And those occasions were never like this. They were always loving, but quick; chaste. This is slow, drawn-out, builds from something simple to something that sends shivers through every nerve and wipes all thoughts from Martin's mind--aborting the embryo that warily questioned this uncharacteristic behavior.
It's neither hesitant nor frantic and desperate. The movements of Jon's lips; the slow, unhurried glide of his tongue; everything is perfectly tailored to take Martin's every breath and leave his legs almost too weak to hold himself up. Everything is exactly as he always imagined it would be.
It ends an indeterminate amount of time later, forever and far too soon. When Martin's eyes open again, he can't look away. Can't move away. Can't even think to. Can't think of anything other than the lingering tingle on his lips and the press of Jon's body against his. As helplessly caught as a fly in a web.
A slow smile creeps across Jon's lips, promising things Martin only ever imagined. Things he'd never expect or even ask of Jon, knowing his stated lack of interest in such things. It's as if Martin's unspoken fantasies are all laid bare before them when Jon looks into his eyes.
For a panicked second, Martin remembers that Jon in fact can Know these things about him, even without Martin ever having volunteered the information. Even if Jon said he wouldn't look into his mind again, perhaps he already has, and has seen those exact fantasies. Is that how Jon knew exactly the way Martin had always imagined--?
"Martin," Jon's voice has a sharp edge. A rebuke for Martin allowing his thoughts to waver. But when he continues, it's in that low, soothing murmur too hypnotic for Martin to notice the spell it puts him under. "It's alright, Martin." Jon's fingers slide from the comforting hold on his chin, to a gentle brush down his neck, to a tantalizingly slow caress across his chest that blanks his mind like a bolt into the head of a lamb.
"J-Jon... What are you doing?" Martin hardly has the breath, the presence of mind to stammer out the question. "You don't--you never--"
"I know," Jon says, leaning somehow closer, his chin on Martin's shoulder, his breath ghosting against Martin's neck, raising goosebumps on his skin despite the heat overwhelming his body. Jon doesn't need eye contact to control him in this moment. Martin's already completely enthralled. "But I want to give you this, Martin."
Even in different circumstances, Martin would never say no to such an offer coming from Jon, but perhaps he would question it more. Now, the thought of questioning it doesn't even occur to him.
-
Jon can't stop chastising himself for almost going after that woman in the restaurant, right there in front of Martin. She was so strongly touched by the Flesh that the moment he saw her, his hunger for her statement consumed him. Consumed any higher brain function.
It's the first time in a while that he feels regret, the feeling settling over him like the recollection of a distressing childhood memory. It's the first time in a while that he feels fear about how much of himself he could be losing to the Eye. It's the first time in a while that he worries if these powers are a part of him--an improvement over the previous weaker version of himself--or more like a parasite growing inside him. And does the distinction even matter if he can't control them anyway?
Then again, they are a part of him now. Even if it is as a parasite, it's as one that can't be extracted. Perhaps more like a brain tumor in a location that it's impossible to operate on without killing the patient. And he knows he can never go back to starving--not anymore.
So how can he have more control over it? As much as he Knows now, he doesn't know everything yet. He doesn't know the answer to that question. But he does know someone who probably does.
When Jon sees Jonah Magnus again, he remembers hating the man. Perhaps he still does, but it feels distant. Similar to the guilt he feels about feeding from people's fear, or the anxiety about whether or not he's still human: the feelings are still there, but muted. He remembers that he should feel them more than he actively does feel them.
Jon's fully aware that Jonah Magnus is a monster like the ones he reads about in the statements. Hears about from his own victims. Sees in the mirr--no. Not yet. Jon had done what he knows is wrong, but he's not entirely unrepentant. Not completely irredeemable. That's why he's here, after all. He needs to learn how to control himself better and not mindlessly give in.
"Hello, Jon," Jonah greets him in his usual tone of polite with an undercurrent of infuriatingly justified arrogance. Unsurprised by Jon's visit, of course. "The last several times I saw you, you looked absolutely dreadful. What a privilege to see you in good health for once."
Jon scoffs. "Considering how many injuries I sustained due to your deliberate lack of intervention, those words mean very little coming from you."
"Believe me when I say everything I've done is all towards an end that's to your benefit as much as it is my own. Besides, I had always encouraged you to strengthen your abilities from the Eye, which you could have used to protect yourself. I'm not one of the ones who encouraged you to deprive yourself to the point of helplessness. Speaking of which, it's good to see you've finally given up on your misguided attempts at suppressing your abilities."
"Don't assume I've given up." Jon says with automatic defensiveness, before considering that he's mostly done exactly that.
"I don't need to 'assume' these things about you, Jon."
"If you Know so much about me already, then you also know why I came here," Jon says impatiently. "Tell me how to control it, Jonah."
Jonah closes his eyes for a long moment, and releases a soft contented exhale. "You know I love it when you do that."
Jon has become so comfortable with compelling people when needed, it's a frustrating reminder that compulsion doesn't work on Jonah. Feeling slightly defeated but refusing to resort to begging just yet, Jon asks, this time without an attempt to compel, "do you know how I can control it?"
"Yes."
Jon sighs in exasperation when he sees that Jonah won't offer anything else unprompted. "Will you tell me how I can control it?"
"Well, that depends on you, Jon. Though the more important question to ask yourself right now is 'why?' Why are you trying to control it? Is it because you want to ensure that you remain the one in control of your abilities rather than allowing yourself to become a mindless thrall to the Eye? Or is it because you're desperately holding on to the naive hope that Martin could come to accept some version of you that embraces your new state of being, so long you just have a bit more control?"
"Leave him out of this," Jon says, but there's no threat in his voice. Too shaken by the fact--the reminder--that of course Jonah can see right through him, as always.
"You brought him into this the moment you walked through the door." Jonah considers him for a moment, expression becoming sly. "Does Martin know how often you go on your...excursions? How many lives you've permanently destroyed for your own sustenance? How many more--?"
"You already know the answer to that," Jon replies, too weary to summon any bite to his tone. Burdened in a way he hasn't felt since he was still resisting his urges, stifling his power. The mere idea of having to cut back in order to keep up appearances--already he imagines he can feel that hollow pit opening inside him. "Martin...Well, Martin doesn't need to know."
Jonah's smile grows, almost imperceptibly, but Jon's unintentionally become familiar enough with the man to notice. Like this is the response he had been hoping for. "And how long do you think you can keep it a secret? He's already becoming suspicious. As taken with you as he is, there are only so many times you'll be able to distract him in the manner you did last night before he--"
"You know about that?" Jon asks. A pointless question. But there's a difference in being theoretically aware that Jonah can Know anything about anyone he chooses, and having the particular details about what Jon thought was a private moment brought up in a conversation. He can feel the mortified heat raising to his face, unable not to replay the events of that night in his mind now through the lens of knowing that Jonah Knows every detail just as clearly as Jon can remember it.
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Jonah says. Though he doesn't smirk, the amused twinkle in his eyes is enough to tell that he's clearly relishing in how flustered Jon's become. "I'm actually quite impressed with how you handled yourself. I knew you've come a long way, but using Martin's own hopeless desire for you against him...well, I wouldn't have thought you had it in you."
"Is there a point, or are you just wasting my time so you can gloat?"
When Jonah speaks again, his tone is more sober, previous teasing gone. Now there's something grave in his eyes. "What do you think Martin will do, if the only way for you to acquire full control over your powers means fully embracing them? Becoming the very thing--the...'monster', as you may put it--that he's terrified you'll turn in to?"
"I don't..." It's a question Jon's asked himself many times before, debating whether or not to tell Martin the truth. But the future and hypotheticals are things he can't See. As loyal as Martin is to the man he thinks Jon is, would he still be if he knew Jon's no longer suppressing his powers, starving himself for the benefit of others? "I don't know," he admits. "But why would I need to? I need more control in order to *not* turn into a monster. What you're saying makes it sound like..."
"The reason you lack control isn't because the influence of the Eye is too strong over you," Jonah explains. "It's because you are still too weak. You're connected enough to be able to wield of fraction of its power, but not enough to wield it well. You've certainly grown. But in the whole scheme of things, you are still like a child with an oversized sword that's weight pulls you around more than you are controlling *it*."
"And so what am I supposed to do?"
Jonah hesitates, considers. Before saying, "yes, I believe you're ready."
'Ready for what?' Jon thinks he's about to ask. "For the Watcher's Crown," is what he says instead, not realizing that he had already Known until after he's spoken. The ritual for the Eye that will bring all the Fears into the world, with the Eye--and its avatars--ruling over it all. The ritual that would remake the entire world into one filled with fear for his master to indulge in. For himself to indulge in, if he so chooses.
Jonah watches the realization dawn on him with a look of approval. "Here I had written up a statement explaining the whole thing, but it seems you're already beyond the point of needing it."
"You planned this. From the very beginning." Jon meant for it to be an accusation, but he can't entirely keep the awe out of his voice.
"This is the culmination of two centuries of work," Jonah agrees. "And yet, I couldn't have succeeded if not for you."
"You had been using me all along," Jon says. Though it's less a surprise that Jonah had been using him and more that this exact outcome had always been Jonah's intention. Jon can't help but rapidly play through the events of the past several years in his mind--the kidnappings, all his near-death brushes with the Fears--with this new information in mind.
"'Using' has such a negative connotation. You're not a mere tool, Jon. If I'm the mind of this operation, then you're...well, the beating heart."
"I never would have taken you for a romantic," Jon responds sarcastically.
"It's not simple flattery, Jon. The Watcher's Crown wouldn't be possible without you. After 200 years and a string of failed Archivists, I Saw the potential in you the moment you walked through the doors. And now, you've surpassed my every expectation."
"You realize I never actually said I'd agree to help you with this...ritual."
Jonah smiles, predictably unfazed. "I'm sure you'll make the right decision."