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Fool's Errand // for John
Dec. 14th, 2019 08:25 pmThere are an absurd few seconds where Martin doesn't remember who the hell Eaton is, or why he should be in his phone contacts. The text comes in while he and John are having lunch in the office, chatting comfortably as has become their pleasant custom, and Martin fishes his phone absently out of his pocket and looks at it, trailing off in the midst of an only mildly amusing anecdote about the copier. He's here is all the message says.
He stands bolt upright before he's had a moment to bloody think this through. He never told anyone about this plan, certainly not John, and just as he'd fallen into the uneasy complacency of assuming, more than a month later, that nothing would come of it, he'd also never considered the very real possibility that the tip-off would come while he was in John's company with no viable excuse to suddenly dash out. Right out of the gate he's already made a hash of it; there's no passing this off casually after that abrupt display. John is incisive and Martin is a poor liar when he's unprepared, and this whole thing is now beginning to feel very stupid indeed.
But there isn't time to work something out. There isn't time, because this is happening now, seven blocks away, and he's already scrambling to get his coat.
"I, er—" He shoves his phone back in his pocket as he pulls his coat on. It's awful, but his only recourse now is to just flee as fast as possible and hope John can't catch him, and that he can explain, somehow, later. "I'm sorry, I, I have to go, it's—something came up. It's fine, just, I need to—I'll explain later, okay?"
Christ, this isn't helping, he just needs to go. He winces and turns around, managing to keep his pace only to a brisk trot until he makes it outside, at which point he bolts down the sidewalk in the direciton of Madison & Revello. He doesn't look back to see if John is following him; he zig-zags his way there, up one block, over the next, and so on, hoping he's harder to follow that way. He feels awful doing this, but this is his problem, he invited it onto himself, and he's not about to let John just stagger into it.
( Read more... )
He stands bolt upright before he's had a moment to bloody think this through. He never told anyone about this plan, certainly not John, and just as he'd fallen into the uneasy complacency of assuming, more than a month later, that nothing would come of it, he'd also never considered the very real possibility that the tip-off would come while he was in John's company with no viable excuse to suddenly dash out. Right out of the gate he's already made a hash of it; there's no passing this off casually after that abrupt display. John is incisive and Martin is a poor liar when he's unprepared, and this whole thing is now beginning to feel very stupid indeed.
But there isn't time to work something out. There isn't time, because this is happening now, seven blocks away, and he's already scrambling to get his coat.
"I, er—" He shoves his phone back in his pocket as he pulls his coat on. It's awful, but his only recourse now is to just flee as fast as possible and hope John can't catch him, and that he can explain, somehow, later. "I'm sorry, I, I have to go, it's—something came up. It's fine, just, I need to—I'll explain later, okay?"
Christ, this isn't helping, he just needs to go. He winces and turns around, managing to keep his pace only to a brisk trot until he makes it outside, at which point he bolts down the sidewalk in the direciton of Madison & Revello. He doesn't look back to see if John is following him; he zig-zags his way there, up one block, over the next, and so on, hoping he's harder to follow that way. He feels awful doing this, but this is his problem, he invited it onto himself, and he's not about to let John just stagger into it.
( Read more... )
