recordingends | Open Post

"I found some tea! Came recommended from an old lady." He pulls out the tin and shakes it. "If you don't mind. I could get something small made, for the two of us if you want to eat something."

Normally was the word he thought of, but this was Jon's new normal. So with his mouth? How do you begin to change what words you use to describe something that wasn't thought about before?

"If not I bought myself some soup!"

Jon works on putting away what Martin's bought, and maybe he's just the slightest bit nosy about it. Curious. He looks over at Martin and nods a bit.

"I'll--I'll eat a bit with you." Just a small portion, he thinks. He likes the idea of a quiet dinner with Martin, especially if Martin's going to cook. "I'd like to."

"Great! I'll get something started."

Thankfully, it's light, just a salad. Nothing too fancy (well unless you consider goat cheese fancy), but spinach, strawberries (strawberries!), goat cheese, and some walnuts. He'll cook something more tomorrow. The idea of tomorrow was so foreign to him.

"Here." He sets down a small plate. "I saw the strawberries and I couldn't resist."

Jon can't remember the last time he had a salad that looked this appetizing. He's content to settle at the small table to eat with Martin, to have tea and salad rather than anything more traditional. It feels perfect. Good.

He's... happy.

"It's good," he says after a few bites. Jon stretches his leg out beneath the table and lets it rest against Martin's. "Was there anything in the village worth seeing?"

Martin smiles, enjoying the contact of Jon's leg under the table. It's... it's really nice to just have these moments. It's almost like he's stealing them away and keeping them close so the outside world couldn't take them back.

"There's a book store-- a new book store. I checked. No antique books anywhere to be found." Which was a relief. They really didn't need to encounter a Leitner on their make-shift holiday. "Oh. I got you a few books."

"Did you?"

Jon actually looks a bit touched when Martin mentions the books. He's grateful that there's a relatively low chance of them running into any Leitners--how many are there, he wonders? He should have asked. At least now he knows what the damn bookplate looks like.

Part of him wants to stay holed away in the cabin, but maybe he'll go out. With Martin.

"Thank you, Martin. Maybe we can talk another walk down tomorrow."

"Yeah? It's a nice walk. There are some Highland cows on the way to the village. I don't think I've seen them up close before."

He's never been to the country before. It was quiet (maybe too quiet), the air was fresh, the people were nice... maybe he should go to the country more often. Especially if it meant he was with Jon.

"I think the fresh air would be nice for you."

"I'm perfectly fine without fresh air," he insists, but there's a smile in his voice, hiding in the curve of his mouth as he looks over his glasses at Martin. When he finishes his salad, Jon sits back with his tea, cradling the mug close and slumping a bit in his chair.

"I'm not a terrier... but I suppose walks might be nice."

"Fresh air is good for everyone." He shakes his head, pushing aside his empty plate. "You should get out more! We could make it a daily thing to just... explore the countryside."

He smiles, brushing his foot against Jon's leg.

"I've never been to the countryside, you know? At least, I don't think so." He leans on his hand. "It's quite nice out here. I think I rather fancy it as long as I'm with you."

Jon's done a lot of traveling, but he's never been out like this just for the sake of being out. Not in a long time, anyway. A small smile lingers on his lips as he takes a sip of his tea.

His face warms at that. As long as I'm with you.

"That sounds nice," he concedes at last. "Come on, let's see if that old set picks up the BBC."

"Oh gosh, what do you expect to be on the tellie out here?" He laughs as he collects the plate from Jon and goes to put them in the sink.

What sort of station will they end up watching while they're here? He sets the dishes in the sink, rolling up his sleeves.

"I'll clean up in here. Why don't you get comfortable and I'll be out in a moment?"

Jon thinks they can at least get a few BBC channels, though he won't hold his breath for much else. He leaves the table and brings his mug with him. There's no remote that he can find so he fusses with it by hand until he finds something vaguely promising. And all that vaguely promising means is that it's not a news cast.

He settles onto the very plaid couch with his tea and waits for Martin.

Dishes washed and put away, Martin brings his tea to the living room, thankful that Jon isn't watching the news. That's the last thing they need, isn't it? To watch the news and wonder what would come up.

"So, what's on?" He asks as he takes a seat next to him, setting his tea on the side table.

"Old episode of Midsomer Murders?" he takes a guess as Martin joins him. As the cushions shift, Jon lets himself drift with gravity until he's leaning against Martin's side. Hope you weren't expecting too much personal space, Martin.

"Downton Abbey? I honestly haven't been paying attention."

Something dramatic and vaguely period.

"Downton Abbey is a poor mans Upstairs, Downstairs." He mutters as he wraps his arm around Jon's shoulder.

Oh. Oh, wait a minute. Is that Alfred Harris? He blinks, surprised that they are even showing Upstairs Downstairs. Maybe it's because they are in the countryside or maybe BBC has decided that this time of day is just perfect for old television shows.

"It's Upstairs Downstairs, actually." He sounds absolutely pleased at it. "It aired in the 70's. Mum had them on VHS."

"I can't say I've ever actually watched either," he admits as Martin's arm wraps around him. Maybe his grandmother watched? Jon never paid attention. He tips his tea and watches the screen a bit more intently, since apparently Martin has opinions.

"Is there actually a difference? Still the same structure, basically."

Servants downstairs, aristocracy upstairs, human drama and so on.

"I always thought that Upstairs Downstairs was more... realistic? Less dramatized because of the time era it took place in. They had an entire arch revolving around some of the Upstairs perishing during the sinking of the Titanic."

Sure there's a similar structure but Downton Abbey seemed more.. modern dramatic? Felt like it was stretching to the fantastical but maybe he's just nostalgic of sitting in the living room watching old tapes of the show when he was allowed.

The days he was allowed to just do things and be a kid.

Jon can't decide if he finds the hair-splitting asinine or charming. But it seems to mean a lot to Martin and so he manages to refrain from saying anything out loud. He learns slowly, but he is learning. Or trying to.

"You watched this as a child?" he remarks after a moment. "No wonder your poetry reads like Keats."

Which would suggest Jon's read some of Martin's poetry.

... Oops.

"Well yes! I wasn't really allowed to use the tellie that much!" He audibly gasps. "Should I be offended or excited you just compare--- wait."

Wait!!!

"Do...have you read my poetry?"

Jon. Explain!

Too late to take it back now. Jon has the decency to look somewhat sheepish, maybe even contrite, as he sits up a little.

"Well you were living in the archives for a long time and I--"

Was paranoid that somehow Martin was a mastermind of evil. Was concerned that Martin might somehow be plotting against him.

"Went through the trash now and then."

"Now and then, huh?" He quirks a brow, unable to keep himself from grinning.

Well, it makes sense that he went through his trash. Was he going through everyone's trash? After sort of stalking them at their apartments... oh Jon. Jon, you poor paranoid fool. He adores you.

Time for some minor teasing.

"Glad I only threw away the general poetry I wasn't happy with."

And not the love poetry that he shoved into his desk in embarrassment.

Right. Jon has absolutely never gone through Martin's desk. Not more than two or three times, anyway.

"Well there was a whole notebook in there at some point," Jon says as he carefully, almost tentatively, leans against Martin again. Apparently he is forgiven for his paranoid transgression of some years ago.

"Oh, I remember that."

The notebook... he should have thrown that away somewhere else but-- oh. Oh no, there were love poems in there! Oh god. It's fine. Deep breaths, Martin, it's not like they were that common right?

Right? Just his desk?

"Did... you enjoy them at least?"

"I've not read a lot of poetry," he says rather than answering straight away. It isn't even that much of a lie: he read what he had to in uni, but he's never really pursued poetry outside of literature courses.

"They... sounded nice."

Martin had an ear for rhymes, at least, something that made the reader hop from line to line in an unbroken gait. It made for nice reading, at least, which Jon supposes means he enjoyed them. Or maybe he'd just been surprised that Martin might be good at anything at all.

"R-Really?"

He hadn't really expected a straightforward answer like that-- even with the early explanation of his history with poetry. Martin turns away, embarrassed, blushing because really, no one's told him that his poetry sounded nice.

"I'm glad." A pause. "I read some while you were in ...the weird coma. I didn't know if it'd work but... I thought well... I thought it couldn't hurt."

But it did hurt. A lot. More than he had anticipated and not because of some romantic notion that it would bring him back but reciting them to Jon thinking he wasn't coming back... he likely never heard them.

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