The Boy Is Mine // for John

It's no small miracle, as far as Martin is concerned, that they were able to acquire a space for their would-be Archive so quick after the idea had come. While John secured what is still esoterically being called 'funding' (and Martin has every intention of following up on that despite John's constant evasions), Martin scouted locations. And now, not even a week since the inception of the idea, they have themselves a place. It's small, nothing on the scale of the Institute of course - this is just an Archive, after all - but it'll serve quite well. A former secondhand book shop, closed sometime ago and apparently so difficult to offload that the building agent had let them have it for next to nothing. As starts go, it's... almost auspicious.

John is still off doing god only knows what, so Martin is here alone, taking inventory of shelf space, working out vague layout ideas - all the boring stuff. It's comforting, really. Something concrete to work on, rather than wandering the streets in search of people with stories and willingness to tell them.

This is good, probably. It will be good. It has to be. He and John are both still barely scraping by, tired and worn. They need a - a place of power, he supposes with a little grimace. A base of operations. That sounds a little better. More like a spy novel or something.

It's quiet here. Peaceful. Martin loses track of time as he works, going over everything they'll need, making lists, drawing up budget plans... it feels like home. Working alone on mundane tasks with simple solutions. For a little while, he almost manages to forget where he really is.

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