WIP Wednesday - Jon asks Martin what it was like giving his statement of Jane Prentiss. Take place after the events in Elias's office in MAG92.
There was a touch of hesitation in Jon's voice, something a little careful, but determined, “Martin…when you gave me your account of Prentiss, do you remember if it was… What was it like? I mean, I was there, obviously, but did you feel anything… odd while you were giving it? Or after?” Martin’s head tipped over so slightly to the side, barely a full movement, just a subtle shift. He took a few seconds to try and connect that with the Institute being safe, because at first blush, they seemed to be two separate tangents. He landed on the bit of connective tissue between them both: his comment about needing to tell Jon what had happened to him. He supposed it hadn’t been too great a leap, but it had still caught him a little off guard. He sat with that a few seconds longer, deciding that Jon had a reason for asking. His deeper experience in this other world the Institute cracked open wider and wider by the day led Martin to believe that when he saw a strand to follow, best to go with or be stuck alone at the wrong end of it. What had it been like? Martin certainly had thought about it often enough, especially when he’d lived in the Institute those strange and timeless four months. Often it was like having an idea on the tip of the tongue; you could feel it there, but God help you if you tried to get it out of your mouth. So it was here, trying to catch that feeling. His gaze drifted from Jon’s intent face (yes, this absolutely was something he was eager to know, it was all in his expectant expression) to the barely-organized background of Jon’s office, landing on the oddly textured ceiling above them, where he thought he might find the best way to explain it. That, in itself, was part of the answer. “I remember it being the first time I’d ever managed to find the right words to tell anyone anything,” he answered. His brow furrowed. “I know that sounds dramatic. Wh-what I mean to say is that it was easy to land on them, th-the words. I started to tell you, and it all sounded right, and then they just kept coming. What I was telling you wasn’t easy, though. Sat here with you, I relived it in a way I’ve not been able to since, though I suppose that’s a good thing, probably. Ugh, this probably isn’t making any sense. Since all that, my memory of those two weeks in my flat, the spooky basement, they’re…wobbly? Oh, I know exactly what happened, remember my shadow on the floor, and the rationing and, the constant fear there was something on me, the desperate urge to talk to someone, hear a friendly voice, smell fresh air. But it’s never quite the same memory. Sometimes, I’ll remember a particular detail so keenly I wonder if it’s what really happened or something that had nothing to do with it set me off, and I’m blowing it out of proportion.” Martin took a deep breath. “That *seems* normal though, but when I *say* it, I second-guess that, too.”
