He doesn't, of course; Martin watches him bolt, more catlike than ever, through the open door - the door he left ajar in case John needed him - and he thinks about getting up and going after him, and he thinks about the abject horror John somehow managed to convey with his weird little cat face, and instead he just lies back down and breathes in and out for several moments.
He'd hated leaving John with the couch. Daine hadn't included any sort of bedding in her list of things John would need, and so it hadn't come up. John hadn't used their little grid to indicate needing anything either. So, the couch it was, and Martin knew there wasn't really a viable alternative. It just felt so bloody unfriendly. So he'd left the door cracked. Just in case. In case... something.
He never imagined, would never have imagined, that John might actually choose to join him here. But why shouldn't he? These are fairly extraordinary circumstances, and there's nothing remotely untoward about it, even if it is a little... odd. If Martin hadn't awakened so sharply (and also hadn't so recently awakened to an intruder in his bed), he might even have been able to react calmly. John might have been a bit embarrassed, but he might not have just run.
Or maybe that's not it. Maybe it's that he didn't want to be caught. Which also makes sense, quite honestly. John knows, after all, he knows everything, because he listens to every tape, he's heard each of the desperate, pitiful little admissions Martin's ever made, he's heard Elias taunting him about it all, heard him refer to his own feelings with that very word. He's heard it all, and what's more it's obvious. Martin knows he's obvious, because all the people who've barely known him a few weeks know too, they all know and John could probably know everything if he liked, so there is nothing left to doubt.
So of course he fled. Of course he wouldn't want to be caught here, no matter the absurdity of the circumstances. Of course, of course, of course.
Martin lies there for a while until he gets sick of the way he always ends up circling a rather pathetic drain whenever he allows these thoughts to crop up. There's nothing productive about it and he knows that, so; onward. He sits up, immediately guilty for having made John wait, and he ventures slowly out into the flat.
"John..." Looking around, he's not immediately visible. Martin pokes his head into the WC, the closet, the kitchen, seeing no sign of him. He sighs heavily. "John, please come out, I... it's okay."
He waits, but as nothing continues to greet him, as the silence of the flat settles heavily over him, he starts to feel a prickle of unease.
"John?" He goes over the areas he's checked again, looking more thoroughly this time. Christ, did he sneak back into the bedroom? But there's nothing there either, increasingly there's nothing anywhere, no sign of him up on the cabinets or under the bed or the couch, or anything. His voice takes on a note of panic. "John?"
He doesn't understand. John can't have gotten out, the front door's locked and all the windows have screens on them, even if he were inclined to do something so monumentally stupid. He can't imagine John would be hiding from him while hearing him call, would he? Unless he's hurt somewhere? Or stuck?
"John, where are you?" He starts checking in the strangest places he can think of - spaces he doesn't think John could or would get into, his panic growing steadily. He's desperately opening cabinets, wondering if he should call Daine, when finally he checks under the sink.
He almost doesn't see him, dark as he is, curled into the corner behind all the supplies. He nearly gets back up, then notices a subtle twitch of movement and immediately settles onto his knees, almost collapsing from relief.
"Jesus, there you are," he says, feeling shaky and a bit stupid now. This seems like such an obvious place to look - and if John really wanted to hide, it would certainly be a good spot for it. "Don't do that again, okay? Christ, you had me so worried."
John's face is still turned into the corner of the cabinet, his body still tense and, he can see, shaking a bit. Martin frowns, struggling not to let his thoughts dip back into the pit he'd fallen into earlier. John must really have wanted to get away.
"John, I..." He sighs. "Look, it - it's all right. Okay? It's fine. I was just startled, is all." He hesitates, then reaches a hand in, not to touch him, but to sort of beckon. Like trying to coax a real bloody cat, he thinks dryly. "Please come back out?"
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He doesn't, of course; Martin watches him bolt, more catlike than ever, through the open door - the door he left ajar in case John needed him - and he thinks about getting up and going after him, and he thinks about the abject horror John somehow managed to convey with his weird little cat face, and instead he just lies back down and breathes in and out for several moments.
He'd hated leaving John with the couch. Daine hadn't included any sort of bedding in her list of things John would need, and so it hadn't come up. John hadn't used their little grid to indicate needing anything either. So, the couch it was, and Martin knew there wasn't really a viable alternative. It just felt so bloody unfriendly. So he'd left the door cracked. Just in case. In case... something.
He never imagined, would never have imagined, that John might actually choose to join him here. But why shouldn't he? These are fairly extraordinary circumstances, and there's nothing remotely untoward about it, even if it is a little... odd. If Martin hadn't awakened so sharply (and also hadn't so recently awakened to an intruder in his bed), he might even have been able to react calmly. John might have been a bit embarrassed, but he might not have just run.
Or maybe that's not it. Maybe it's that he didn't want to be caught. Which also makes sense, quite honestly. John knows, after all, he knows everything, because he listens to every tape, he's heard each of the desperate, pitiful little admissions Martin's ever made, he's heard Elias taunting him about it all, heard him refer to his own feelings with that very word. He's heard it all, and what's more it's obvious. Martin knows he's obvious, because all the people who've barely known him a few weeks know too, they all know and John could probably know everything if he liked, so there is nothing left to doubt.
So of course he fled. Of course he wouldn't want to be caught here, no matter the absurdity of the circumstances. Of course, of course, of course.
Martin lies there for a while until he gets sick of the way he always ends up circling a rather pathetic drain whenever he allows these thoughts to crop up. There's nothing productive about it and he knows that, so; onward. He sits up, immediately guilty for having made John wait, and he ventures slowly out into the flat.
"John..." Looking around, he's not immediately visible. Martin pokes his head into the WC, the closet, the kitchen, seeing no sign of him. He sighs heavily. "John, please come out, I... it's okay."
He waits, but as nothing continues to greet him, as the silence of the flat settles heavily over him, he starts to feel a prickle of unease.
"John?" He goes over the areas he's checked again, looking more thoroughly this time. Christ, did he sneak back into the bedroom? But there's nothing there either, increasingly there's nothing anywhere, no sign of him up on the cabinets or under the bed or the couch, or anything. His voice takes on a note of panic. "John?"
He doesn't understand. John can't have gotten out, the front door's locked and all the windows have screens on them, even if he were inclined to do something so monumentally stupid. He can't imagine John would be hiding from him while hearing him call, would he? Unless he's hurt somewhere? Or stuck?
"John, where are you?" He starts checking in the strangest places he can think of - spaces he doesn't think John could or would get into, his panic growing steadily. He's desperately opening cabinets, wondering if he should call Daine, when finally he checks under the sink.
He almost doesn't see him, dark as he is, curled into the corner behind all the supplies. He nearly gets back up, then notices a subtle twitch of movement and immediately settles onto his knees, almost collapsing from relief.
"Jesus, there you are," he says, feeling shaky and a bit stupid now. This seems like such an obvious place to look - and if John really wanted to hide, it would certainly be a good spot for it. "Don't do that again, okay? Christ, you had me so worried."
John's face is still turned into the corner of the cabinet, his body still tense and, he can see, shaking a bit. Martin frowns, struggling not to let his thoughts dip back into the pit he'd fallen into earlier. John must really have wanted to get away.
"John, I..." He sighs. "Look, it - it's all right. Okay? It's fine. I was just startled, is all." He hesitates, then reaches a hand in, not to touch him, but to sort of beckon. Like trying to coax a real bloody cat, he thinks dryly. "Please come back out?"