![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
The Final Stretch // for John
September 24 - 26
A few days, Magnus had said. Martin had assumed he meant 'the weekend,' and when John had been so sick on Monday, he hadn't had time to consider it. Now, it's becoming uncomfortably apparent that this is still happening, John is still a cat, and they really have no idea when it's going to wear off. 'A few days' could mean anything to Magnus, and short of contacting him, something Martin still doesn't trust himself to do wisely, there's no way to determine anything more concrete.
If it lasts more than a week, he tells himself, they'll deal with it.
After their visit to the Archive, at least, John is doing much better. Blue's amplification abilities, along with her willingness to share her story, seem to really have done the trick. And with the carrier Eliot got them, going out has been easier as well, even if Martin still feels a bit foolish wearing it. It's better for John, and that's what's important.
By Tuesday night, they've spent their time together almost comfortably, though that might be easier for him to say than John. They'd gone to the Archive again, and afterward they'd just... let the day pass by, sharing the space. Martin's kept up his newly forming habit of just chatting at John, and John doesn't seem to mind - presumably it's better than no conversation at all. Apart from the ongoing concern of when this will be over, it's been... sort of nice. They've established a rhythm, and Martin is grateful to have the company, though the pleasure of it is mitigated a bit by knowing John is forced to be here. At least there's been no further hiding beneath the sink.
Tonight he finds himself sleepier a little earlier than usual, and as he gets up to make himself ready for bed, he glances down at John, sat in his little corner of the couch.
"I'm to bed, I think," he says. "I'll leave the door cracked as usual."
He can't be sure John is actually comfortable with it, but he has kept up the habit of sharing the bed, and Martin is glad for it. The nights are getting rapidly colder, and... well, Martin enjoys it, seeing John there in the morning. Which is sort of awful, really, and he's been trying not to think about it with limited success. After his rejuvenation yesterday, John had been much more of an active sleeper; Martin kept waking up to find him in a new position very time: sprawled out with a hind paw brushing at his thigh, curled up with the little curve of his back resting gently against Martin's, wedged neatly under Martin's arm or with his head pressed up against his shoulder - it's... it's adorable, and charming, and Martin couldn't stop thinking about it if he tried, but the point is, the point is John is comfortable. He seems comfortable. That's all that really matters.
At the very least, John tends to stay up later than he does, so he has a bit of time to settle himself first. Not like he's waiting for John to come join him, or something. He drifts off to the WC, then to the bedroom, puttering around a bit before finally crawling in under the comforter, curling up on his side and letting his breathing slow.
A few days, Magnus had said. Martin had assumed he meant 'the weekend,' and when John had been so sick on Monday, he hadn't had time to consider it. Now, it's becoming uncomfortably apparent that this is still happening, John is still a cat, and they really have no idea when it's going to wear off. 'A few days' could mean anything to Magnus, and short of contacting him, something Martin still doesn't trust himself to do wisely, there's no way to determine anything more concrete.
If it lasts more than a week, he tells himself, they'll deal with it.
After their visit to the Archive, at least, John is doing much better. Blue's amplification abilities, along with her willingness to share her story, seem to really have done the trick. And with the carrier Eliot got them, going out has been easier as well, even if Martin still feels a bit foolish wearing it. It's better for John, and that's what's important.
By Tuesday night, they've spent their time together almost comfortably, though that might be easier for him to say than John. They'd gone to the Archive again, and afterward they'd just... let the day pass by, sharing the space. Martin's kept up his newly forming habit of just chatting at John, and John doesn't seem to mind - presumably it's better than no conversation at all. Apart from the ongoing concern of when this will be over, it's been... sort of nice. They've established a rhythm, and Martin is grateful to have the company, though the pleasure of it is mitigated a bit by knowing John is forced to be here. At least there's been no further hiding beneath the sink.
Tonight he finds himself sleepier a little earlier than usual, and as he gets up to make himself ready for bed, he glances down at John, sat in his little corner of the couch.
"I'm to bed, I think," he says. "I'll leave the door cracked as usual."
He can't be sure John is actually comfortable with it, but he has kept up the habit of sharing the bed, and Martin is glad for it. The nights are getting rapidly colder, and... well, Martin enjoys it, seeing John there in the morning. Which is sort of awful, really, and he's been trying not to think about it with limited success. After his rejuvenation yesterday, John had been much more of an active sleeper; Martin kept waking up to find him in a new position very time: sprawled out with a hind paw brushing at his thigh, curled up with the little curve of his back resting gently against Martin's, wedged neatly under Martin's arm or with his head pressed up against his shoulder - it's... it's adorable, and charming, and Martin couldn't stop thinking about it if he tried, but the point is, the point is John is comfortable. He seems comfortable. That's all that really matters.
At the very least, John tends to stay up later than he does, so he has a bit of time to settle himself first. Not like he's waiting for John to come join him, or something. He drifts off to the WC, then to the bedroom, puttering around a bit before finally crawling in under the comforter, curling up on his side and letting his breathing slow.
no subject
John's follow-up provides a much needed escape hatch, and he laughs again, softly this time. "I don't imagine that'll be pretty, no," he says. "Even so."
He shrugs. John may not want to outwardly admit that he wants to get back to his own space, but Martin knows he must, and that's fine. It's to be expected, more than... this. Nice as it is.
Because it is nice; it's just that it's so hard to prevent himself from imagining what it might be like if this were normal, if this were something they just did for each other regularly. He'd fought so long to take care of John when John wanted nothing from him; and then there was no time for it, with John off doing his own dangerous missions and leaving Martin with little recourse but to worry. And then... well, he'd thought that was all done with. But here they are.
It's been a profoundly odd week.
He drinks his tea studiously, letting his thoughts wander a bit, then hums brightly as a thought occurs to him. He sets his cup down on the counter and steps back out into the living room until he finds the book John had left on the couch. He'd only just started this one. Martin can't be certain if he was reading from actual enjoyment or just as something to do, but it can't hurt to check. He brings the book back to the kitchen and sets it gingerly on the counter near John, far enough that it won't get messy, but within reach.
"In case you'd like to borrow it," he says, a little sheepish. "So you can finish."
He avoids John's eyes as he slips back past him and recovers his tea.