The Archivist has left the archive, but the archive has not left him. Even here, in this secret place, hidden in the peace of the Scottish Highlands. Even here, the Eye Sees.
And Jon dreams.
He watches the nightmares of others—a woman underground, a woman alone, a man with unknowable students. A woman who looks back at him with pity, who doesn't speak to him no matter how much he wishes she would. The same cast of characters, of prisoners, of regular people who never asked to be part of this terrible world.
Jon cycles through locations and people. He watches and waits for the sun to rise and free him from this place.
And then—he's in a new room, somewhere he doesn't recognize. Cloth is stuffed into the cracks around the door, the window, the floor vents; clothes and sheets and rags, anything and everything to keep this room sealed. It's quiet, here, save the harsh breathing of the man beside him and the slow, steady beat of a knock on the door.
"Oh," Martin says, and he sounds tired, resigned. "Of course."
Jon turns to look and—his partner is so much more than exhausted in this nightmare, this memory. His eyes are dull, empty, and he looks washed out. Faded. The longer Jon looks, the more he can tell that it's worst than pallor; Martin is translucent, a ghostly see-through, like he was when Jon found him in the Lonely.
"Oh," Jon echoes, and aches.
And then he wakes up. Jon blinks, slowly, vision clearing reluctantly. Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, a thin stripe of bright yellow falling across the floor and foot of the bed, lighting the room with a warm glow. Jon draws his gaze back, looking down at Martin who lays curled against him, forehead to sternum. His arms are wrapped around Jon, and they squeeze a little tighter when Jon presses his lips against fluffy hair. Awake, then.
"You know," Martin whispers, sleep soft, "after everything? I'm not really scared of that anymore."
Jon hums in agreement. He threads his fingers through Martin's hair, petting gently, and smiles when Martin sighs, burrowing in closer.
There are so many things to be scared of these days, bigger and looming terrors, but they have this place, this sanctuary made of each other's arms, where they can be safe. If only for a moment, if only in the quiet light of dawn.
It's enough.
