John has more luck schooling his expression than Martin does, but his gaze still warms considerably as he watches Martin's reaction: the incredulous stammering, the fluttering of his hands, the smile that wavers on the verge of becoming a grin. The prospect of so much administrative tedium has no business inspiring this much pleasure, if you ask him.
But it's not really about that. He's not a complete idiot; he knows that compliments are rare things from him. Rarer still when they're on the subject of Martin's competence. Granted, he's made an effort to be kinder, better, since awakening in the hospital, but Martin hadn't really been there to witness it (which, given the abysmal success rate of his various attempts, might have been for the best). He wouldn't think to anticipate it. In some respects, that's a bit frustrating -- as if he's been unceremoniously dropped back at a starting line he thought he'd left well behind -- but the frustration can't really compete with the result: Martin so shocked by these little moments of decency or trust or humor that he can't even begin to mask how happy they make him.
Really, he has no business complaining that Martin's easy to please, now that pleasing him has, for whatever reason, become a more engaging prospect than it ever was before. And why shouldn't it be? They've both had a rough go of it, even before the universal displacement. They deserve better. Martin certainly does, at least.
"Excellent," John replies when Martin finally works his way around to accepting the offer, returning Martin's smile with a faint but satisfied one of his own. "That'll free me up to focus more on the Statement side of things. I can just... keep being the Archivist." His gaze slides off into the middle distance and his lips purse in consideration. "Or we could call me the proprietor, or something, if I need an impressive title. Not sure it's really necessary."
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But it's not really about that. He's not a complete idiot; he knows that compliments are rare things from him. Rarer still when they're on the subject of Martin's competence. Granted, he's made an effort to be kinder, better, since awakening in the hospital, but Martin hadn't really been there to witness it (which, given the abysmal success rate of his various attempts, might have been for the best). He wouldn't think to anticipate it. In some respects, that's a bit frustrating -- as if he's been unceremoniously dropped back at a starting line he thought he'd left well behind -- but the frustration can't really compete with the result: Martin so shocked by these little moments of decency or trust or humor that he can't even begin to mask how happy they make him.
Really, he has no business complaining that Martin's easy to please, now that pleasing him has, for whatever reason, become a more engaging prospect than it ever was before. And why shouldn't it be? They've both had a rough go of it, even before the universal displacement. They deserve better. Martin certainly does, at least.
"Excellent," John replies when Martin finally works his way around to accepting the offer, returning Martin's smile with a faint but satisfied one of his own. "That'll free me up to focus more on the Statement side of things. I can just... keep being the Archivist." His gaze slides off into the middle distance and his lips purse in consideration. "Or we could call me the proprietor, or something, if I need an impressive title. Not sure it's really necessary."