Sometime during the night, the duvet had slipped down low enough for the morning sun to filter through the windows, just bright enough to wake Jon up. Martin placidly snored on, barely tightening his grip and giving a soft moan of protest as Jon wriggled out of his hold. He turned over the laundry, hoping it hadn’t mouldered overnight, and filled the kettle before plugging it in. He’d slept in an awkward position, and should have felt stiff, but he didn’t. He felt relaxed and…
…hungry.
It wouldn’t be long before he could return to the Archive and record a few statements. He could wait a few hours. In the meantime, he gathered up the teacups, making enough noise to wake Martin who joined him.
“Make yourself to home, I suppose,” Martin said with a good-natured yawn, stretching out his neck and shoulders. “How’d you sleep?”
“Apart from the never-ending parade of nightmares, quite well. You?”
Martin stood behind him and kissed the top of Jon’s head. He seemed to like doing that. “Just the one nightmare, as usual.” He settled his hands on Jon’s hips, slightly tentative, as if unsure of his welcome. Jon leaned into him just a little, enough to reassure him that it was okay. “Would you like me to talk about it?”
A shudder of pure desire rolled through Jon. Martin pulled him back against him, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist in an embrace that was more confining than comforting. Jon bit his lip to stop himself from answering, or worse, from Asking. Martin slipped a hand under Jon’s oversized shirt and rubbed at the skin just above the waistband of Jon’s low-riding sweats. “I can give you what you want,” he whispered as Jon fought against the conflicting impulses to melt into his touch and pull away. “All you have to do is take it.”
No. With every instinct and impulse screaming at him to do just that, a part of Jon still resisted. It didn’t know why, but it knew that he shouldn’t. “I… I can’t. Not you, Martin.”
Martin froze and then pulled away all at once. Jon caught himself on the counter, panting and shivering as if he’d been plunged into icy water. His head swam and he felt faint. That was probably the hyperventilating. He carefully lowered himself to the floor before the choice was taken away from him.
The shriek of the kettle startled him, and he jumped. Above him, Martin just sighed. “I’ll get it.” The sounds of him preparing tea helped, and Jon closed his eyes and just let the domestic noises wash over him.
He wished his brain wasn’t so good at coming up with excuses, justifications for doing whatever he wanted. He’d lied before, when the others had confronted him, claiming he felt controlled, letting them believe that maybe it was The Web forcing him to do things. It wasn’t. It never had been. He hadn’t fooled anyone, but his attempt made him more aware of his own internal mental gymnastics whenever the question of feeding his hunger came up.
He imagined watching Martin huddled in fearful misery and being unable to do anything about it. It was bad enough when it was strangers. He couldn’t do that to a… friend?
“Here,” Martin said, passing Jon a cup of tea.
“Thanks.” Jon took it and just let it warm his hands.
Martin hesitated, then sat on the floor, opposite Jon. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“You said you knew the consequences,” Jon said, staring into the tea. “I don’t think you do. You’re not powerful enough to keep me out if you change your mind.”
Martin huffed. “You don’t have to lie to me. You know enough about me to know that I’m used to rejection.”
Jon laughed. “You seriously think that’s what this is? Martin, if I didn’t care about you, I’d take what you’re offering without hesitation. I’d watch your suffering nightly and stand by, feeling nothing but satisfaction in your fear.”
“The fear is there anyway,” Martin said. “At least, if you were there…”
“What? If I was there, what? You wouldn’t be alone? Of course you would. My presence wouldn’t change that, it would just make it sharper, more real, because it’s being observed.”
“That wouldn’t matter,” Martin said sulkily. “At least you wouldn’t be suffering.”
Jon sighed. “My suffering is temporary. I’ll return to the Institute once you’ve released me and I’ll read some statements.” He finally looked up at Martin and tried for a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. Besides, how can you miss me properly if you see me in your dreams every night?”
“I’m pretty sure I still would,” Martin said, but he sounded resigned.
Jon took a sip of his tea and reached out and awkwardly patted Martin’s knee. “We only have a few more hours. What do you want to do?”
A wave of images filled Jon’s mind, and he startled at their intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think calming thoughts. “God, I wish I could control that.”
“What?” Martin sounded concerned. “What’s… oh. Um. Sorry?”
“No, it’s fine,” Jon said. “Shouldn’t have asked such an open-ended question. Stupid of me really.”
“N-no, I shouldn’t… I mean, I doubt you want to do any of that…”
“Not sure half of it is physically possible,” Jon muttered, and Martin curled up and groaned slightly in mortification. “Sorry. Can we just pretend…”
“That you don’t know I want to fuck you?” Martin said, his voice only slightly shaky. “No. I don’t think I can pretend that.” He gave an uncertain laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is the point where you tell me it’s not me, it’s you.”
Jon snorted. “Actually, yes.” He tried to draw himself up with some dignity. “I don’t put out on the first date, even if that first date spans three days and includes mild bondage.”
Martin laughed, and looked like the laugh surprised him. “So you’re saying, maybe after a second date…”
The images were seared into Jon’s mind and, despite Martin’s clear assumptions, not all of them were sexual in nature. The fuzzy, dreamlike quality of them was likely at least partially due to the fact that Martin had never seen him naked (with all his scars) and didn’t like visualizing his own body. Still, despite some of the more… athletic visions, there were enough images of them cuddling or sitting together or holding hands. Fantasies of closeness, intimacy. Anathema to The Lonely, Jon would have thought, but apparently Peter was a fan of contrasts.
Jon could do that. More that that, Jon found that he wanted to give Martin that closeness. He scooted around and settled next to Martin, hip-to-hip, nursing his tea. After a moment, Martin’s arm slid behind him, his hand coming to rest on his opposite hip. Jon leaned into him.
Martin sniggered. “You’re terrible at this. You’re so tense.”
“Shut up, Martin,” Jon said without any heat. Martin’s grip on his hip tightened slightly and he shifted into a more comfortable position and they drank their tea on the kitchen floor.
“When did you change your mind?” Martin asked out of nowhere.
“Hmm?
Martin shifted, turning slightly so he could look Jon in the eye. “When did you go from headbutting me to wanting to protect me from your militant friends?”
Jon had to admit that the description was accurate. “I’m not sure. I shouldn’t have headbutted you in the first place. Apart from the kidnapping, you’ve been admirably civil.” It irked him a little bit. Made him think that Martin had kept his cool, while Jon had lashed out. “I think it was probably some point around when you offered me a statement and started flirting. Badly.”
“I guess I didn’t have to. I just had to wait for Beholding to scoop all my fantasies out of my brain and plop them into yours,” Martin said ruefully.
Jon sighed. “Yes. It does that. I’m not sure why or how it chooses what to show me, but I honestly think it likes you.”
“What? Why?”
“Maybe because you keep offering to feed it,” Jon said. “Stop that, by the way. I can record a written statement and that will work just fine.”
Martin brightened suddenly. “Yeah. I can do that!” He grabbed Jon’s cup and dumped it in the sink with his, before grabbing his notebook and flipping to the back. “How do your statements start?”
“Uh… name, date, brief summary, and then the statement itself. Martin, are you seriously…”
Martin flashed a grin at him before hunkering down, putting pen to paper. “Martin Blackwood, August 11, 2018, statement regarding… indoctrination into The Lonely.”
“It rather defeats the purpose if you recite it out loud,” Jon said, inexplicably charmed.
“True.” Martin waved his hands in a shooing motion. “Grab a book or something and stop hovering. This’ll take a while.”
Jon got a book, but found himself unable to actually read. He watched Martin surreptitiously, but needn’t have bothered with the subterfuge. Martin was completely focused on the statement, only rarely pausing to rephrase something. It was much more intense than watching him write poetry. Perhaps because he didn’t have the same performance anxiety. Perhaps because he was writing this for Jon.
It was foolish. Jon knew this wasn’t how Martin wanted to spend their last few hours together, each in their own corner, isolated. Jon didn’t even need this. By the time it was done, it would almost be time for him to return to the Institute where there were dozens of statements he could read. It was complete foolishness and somehow unutterably sweet. Jon could barely believe that the same, or at least similar, forces that had moulded him and Elias and Peter Lukas had created this man as well. It was beyond belief.
“How accurate do the dates and times need to be?” Martin asked suddenly. “Just, it can be hard to keep track in The Lonely.”
“Make the most accurate guess you can, while stating your degree of uncertainty,” Jon said, and… was that his voice? So gentle, so fond? He hadn’t known he could sound like that.
No. Actually, he sounded like he was talking to the Admiral. Martin and cats, apparently, were Jon’s weak points. And the worst part was, he didn’t even mind.
Martin gave him a grateful smile and went back to writing.
Jon quietly stood up after a few more minutes and headed to the kitchen, putting together the same sandwich he’d seen Martin eat the day before. It didn’t look any less pitiful for being made by him, but he cut it into triangles so at least it was reasonably well-plated. He placed it on the table beside Martin’s notebook and smiled when Martin made a grateful noise, but didn’t look up from what he was writing. He took bites of the sandwich over the next hour or so, finishing it at around the same time he finished the statement. Jon retrieved his clothes from the laundry and changed, instantly missing the soft warmth of Martin’s borrowed clothes.
“There,” Martin said when Jon returned, tearing out four pages from his notebook and passing them to him. “Bon appétit. And thanks for the sandwich.”
What Martin was offering him was a feast compared to the sandwich. Jon carefully folded up the papers and placed it in his pocket. Martin’s hopeful smile faded into an expression of hurt disappointment and Jon took two steps forward and grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.
Martin made a lovely little surprised noise and kissed back, his hands touching Jon’s hips and sides and arms and never quite landing, as if they didn’t know what they were allowed to do. Jon pressed closer and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through Martin’s hair and pulling lightly to expose Martin’s neck. “Martin,” he said softly, as he planted kisses against the fluttering pulse in Martin’s throat. He could feel Martin’s hyoid move under his lips as he swallowed.
“Jon,” Martin breathed out, in a gratifyingly unsteady voice. “You… you know… you’re supposed to ask first.”
Jon laughed into Martin’s skin. “Apologies. May I kiss you?”
Martin made an unmistakably affirmative noise, but pushed Jon back. “I… I don’t know what I can do.”
“What do you mean?” Jon asked, and Beholding, once again, decided to be helpful. “I… oh. You’ve… never?”
Martin blushed. “I mean, I was an unpopular gay kid and then I was a servant of The Lonely. Not a lot of opportunities.”
It was a crime. “You deserve better than for your first time to be a hasty fumble with a deadline hanging over your head.”
“No, I wouldn’t mind that,” Martin said quickly. “I just…” His eyes darted towards the clock on the bluray player. “Shit. We really don’t have a lot of time, do we?”
“I can be a bit late,” Jon offered. “I’ll just tell Elias I was tied up.”
Martin burst into far more laughter than the joke really deserved. “N-no, they’ll be really mad. Peter’ll be especially mad if you ruin the timing.”
“Screw Peter Lukas,” Jon said. “And Elias Bouchard. Better yet, make them screw each other.”
Martin chuckled again. “I’m about 70% sure they already are.”
“Ugh. Of all the things I wish I didn’t know, I wish I didn’t know that the most.”
Martin kissed him again, and Jon firmly placed his hands on Jon’s hips. They were large, warm hands, and they felt right there.
“I’m going to find you again,” Martin whispered against Jon’s lips between kisses. “Is… is that okay?”
“Yes, Martin,” Jon said, smiling into kiss after kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”
They moved to the couch for comfort’s sake, but didn’t get much further than that before Martin got a text. “It’s from Peter,” Martin said, thwaping Jon’s arm when he groaned. “He says to head over.”
Jon took the phone from Martin’s hand and read the text itself. I’m at the Institute, meeting with Elias. Untie the Archivist and send him on his merry way. “What a prick.”
Martin kissed him and smoothed his hair. “You heard him. You’re free.”
The hunger pressed on Jon like a physical presence, but he didn’t want to leave. The idea of facing Peter Lukas and Elias rather than staying with Martin made no sense.
But Daisy and Melanie and Basira were waiting for him, and Elias had never been reluctant to take his irritation out on them before.
“You’ll find me,” Jon said, not quite a question.
“You’ll remember me,” Martin said, not quite an answer.
Jon nodded and stood up. “Good bye, Martin Blackwood.”
“Farewell, Jonathan Sims.” Martin walked him to the door and held it open for him with a little smile. “I’ll miss you.”
Jon walked out. He felt the pull of the Institute almost as soon as his feet hit the pavement. It would have been about an hour’s walk, or twenty minutes by bus. It was a nice enough day. He headed east.
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timeasmymeasure
Fill: Jon/Martin - Lonely!Martin, thawing out 4/4
Date: 2020-12-28 07:09 pm (UTC)…hungry.
It wouldn’t be long before he could return to the Archive and record a few statements. He could wait a few hours. In the meantime, he gathered up the teacups, making enough noise to wake Martin who joined him.
“Make yourself to home, I suppose,” Martin said with a good-natured yawn, stretching out his neck and shoulders. “How’d you sleep?”
“Apart from the never-ending parade of nightmares, quite well. You?”
Martin stood behind him and kissed the top of Jon’s head. He seemed to like doing that. “Just the one nightmare, as usual.” He settled his hands on Jon’s hips, slightly tentative, as if unsure of his welcome. Jon leaned into him just a little, enough to reassure him that it was okay. “Would you like me to talk about it?”
A shudder of pure desire rolled through Jon. Martin pulled him back against him, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist in an embrace that was more confining than comforting. Jon bit his lip to stop himself from answering, or worse, from Asking. Martin slipped a hand under Jon’s oversized shirt and rubbed at the skin just above the waistband of Jon’s low-riding sweats. “I can give you what you want,” he whispered as Jon fought against the conflicting impulses to melt into his touch and pull away. “All you have to do is take it.”
No. With every instinct and impulse screaming at him to do just that, a part of Jon still resisted. It didn’t know why, but it knew that he shouldn’t. “I… I can’t. Not you, Martin.”
Martin froze and then pulled away all at once. Jon caught himself on the counter, panting and shivering as if he’d been plunged into icy water. His head swam and he felt faint. That was probably the hyperventilating. He carefully lowered himself to the floor before the choice was taken away from him.
The shriek of the kettle startled him, and he jumped. Above him, Martin just sighed. “I’ll get it.” The sounds of him preparing tea helped, and Jon closed his eyes and just let the domestic noises wash over him.
He wished his brain wasn’t so good at coming up with excuses, justifications for doing whatever he wanted. He’d lied before, when the others had confronted him, claiming he felt controlled, letting them believe that maybe it was The Web forcing him to do things. It wasn’t. It never had been. He hadn’t fooled anyone, but his attempt made him more aware of his own internal mental gymnastics whenever the question of feeding his hunger came up.
He imagined watching Martin huddled in fearful misery and being unable to do anything about it. It was bad enough when it was strangers. He couldn’t do that to a… friend?
“Here,” Martin said, passing Jon a cup of tea.
“Thanks.” Jon took it and just let it warm his hands.
Martin hesitated, then sat on the floor, opposite Jon. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“You said you knew the consequences,” Jon said, staring into the tea. “I don’t think you do. You’re not powerful enough to keep me out if you change your mind.”
Martin huffed. “You don’t have to lie to me. You know enough about me to know that I’m used to rejection.”
Jon laughed. “You seriously think that’s what this is? Martin, if I didn’t care about you, I’d take what you’re offering without hesitation. I’d watch your suffering nightly and stand by, feeling nothing but satisfaction in your fear.”
“The fear is there anyway,” Martin said. “At least, if you were there…”
“What? If I was there, what? You wouldn’t be alone? Of course you would. My presence wouldn’t change that, it would just make it sharper, more real, because it’s being observed.”
“That wouldn’t matter,” Martin said sulkily. “At least you wouldn’t be suffering.”
Jon sighed. “My suffering is temporary. I’ll return to the Institute once you’ve released me and I’ll read some statements.” He finally looked up at Martin and tried for a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. Besides, how can you miss me properly if you see me in your dreams every night?”
“I’m pretty sure I still would,” Martin said, but he sounded resigned.
Jon took a sip of his tea and reached out and awkwardly patted Martin’s knee. “We only have a few more hours. What do you want to do?”
A wave of images filled Jon’s mind, and he startled at their intensity. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think calming thoughts. “God, I wish I could control that.”
“What?” Martin sounded concerned. “What’s… oh. Um. Sorry?”
“No, it’s fine,” Jon said. “Shouldn’t have asked such an open-ended question. Stupid of me really.”
“N-no, I shouldn’t… I mean, I doubt you want to do any of that…”
“Not sure half of it is physically possible,” Jon muttered, and Martin curled up and groaned slightly in mortification. “Sorry. Can we just pretend…”
“That you don’t know I want to fuck you?” Martin said, his voice only slightly shaky. “No. I don’t think I can pretend that.” He gave an uncertain laugh. “I’m pretty sure this is the point where you tell me it’s not me, it’s you.”
Jon snorted. “Actually, yes.” He tried to draw himself up with some dignity. “I don’t put out on the first date, even if that first date spans three days and includes mild bondage.”
Martin laughed, and looked like the laugh surprised him. “So you’re saying, maybe after a second date…”
The images were seared into Jon’s mind and, despite Martin’s clear assumptions, not all of them were sexual in nature. The fuzzy, dreamlike quality of them was likely at least partially due to the fact that Martin had never seen him naked (with all his scars) and didn’t like visualizing his own body. Still, despite some of the more… athletic visions, there were enough images of them cuddling or sitting together or holding hands. Fantasies of closeness, intimacy. Anathema to The Lonely, Jon would have thought, but apparently Peter was a fan of contrasts.
Jon could do that. More that that, Jon found that he wanted to give Martin that closeness. He scooted around and settled next to Martin, hip-to-hip, nursing his tea. After a moment, Martin’s arm slid behind him, his hand coming to rest on his opposite hip. Jon leaned into him.
Martin sniggered. “You’re terrible at this. You’re so tense.”
“Shut up, Martin,” Jon said without any heat. Martin’s grip on his hip tightened slightly and he shifted into a more comfortable position and they drank their tea on the kitchen floor.
“When did you change your mind?” Martin asked out of nowhere.
“Hmm?
Martin shifted, turning slightly so he could look Jon in the eye. “When did you go from headbutting me to wanting to protect me from your militant friends?”
Jon had to admit that the description was accurate. “I’m not sure. I shouldn’t have headbutted you in the first place. Apart from the kidnapping, you’ve been admirably civil.” It irked him a little bit. Made him think that Martin had kept his cool, while Jon had lashed out. “I think it was probably some point around when you offered me a statement and started flirting. Badly.”
“I guess I didn’t have to. I just had to wait for Beholding to scoop all my fantasies out of my brain and plop them into yours,” Martin said ruefully.
Jon sighed. “Yes. It does that. I’m not sure why or how it chooses what to show me, but I honestly think it likes you.”
“What? Why?”
“Maybe because you keep offering to feed it,” Jon said. “Stop that, by the way. I can record a written statement and that will work just fine.”
Martin brightened suddenly. “Yeah. I can do that!” He grabbed Jon’s cup and dumped it in the sink with his, before grabbing his notebook and flipping to the back. “How do your statements start?”
“Uh… name, date, brief summary, and then the statement itself. Martin, are you seriously…”
Martin flashed a grin at him before hunkering down, putting pen to paper. “Martin Blackwood, August 11, 2018, statement regarding… indoctrination into The Lonely.”
“It rather defeats the purpose if you recite it out loud,” Jon said, inexplicably charmed.
“True.” Martin waved his hands in a shooing motion. “Grab a book or something and stop hovering. This’ll take a while.”
Jon got a book, but found himself unable to actually read. He watched Martin surreptitiously, but needn’t have bothered with the subterfuge. Martin was completely focused on the statement, only rarely pausing to rephrase something. It was much more intense than watching him write poetry. Perhaps because he didn’t have the same performance anxiety. Perhaps because he was writing this for Jon.
It was foolish. Jon knew this wasn’t how Martin wanted to spend their last few hours together, each in their own corner, isolated. Jon didn’t even need this. By the time it was done, it would almost be time for him to return to the Institute where there were dozens of statements he could read. It was complete foolishness and somehow unutterably sweet. Jon could barely believe that the same, or at least similar, forces that had moulded him and Elias and Peter Lukas had created this man as well. It was beyond belief.
“How accurate do the dates and times need to be?” Martin asked suddenly. “Just, it can be hard to keep track in The Lonely.”
“Make the most accurate guess you can, while stating your degree of uncertainty,” Jon said, and… was that his voice? So gentle, so fond? He hadn’t known he could sound like that.
No. Actually, he sounded like he was talking to the Admiral. Martin and cats, apparently, were Jon’s weak points. And the worst part was, he didn’t even mind.
Martin gave him a grateful smile and went back to writing.
Jon quietly stood up after a few more minutes and headed to the kitchen, putting together the same sandwich he’d seen Martin eat the day before. It didn’t look any less pitiful for being made by him, but he cut it into triangles so at least it was reasonably well-plated. He placed it on the table beside Martin’s notebook and smiled when Martin made a grateful noise, but didn’t look up from what he was writing. He took bites of the sandwich over the next hour or so, finishing it at around the same time he finished the statement. Jon retrieved his clothes from the laundry and changed, instantly missing the soft warmth of Martin’s borrowed clothes.
“There,” Martin said when Jon returned, tearing out four pages from his notebook and passing them to him. “Bon appétit. And thanks for the sandwich.”
What Martin was offering him was a feast compared to the sandwich. Jon carefully folded up the papers and placed it in his pocket. Martin’s hopeful smile faded into an expression of hurt disappointment and Jon took two steps forward and grabbed the back of his head and kissed him.
Martin made a lovely little surprised noise and kissed back, his hands touching Jon’s hips and sides and arms and never quite landing, as if they didn’t know what they were allowed to do. Jon pressed closer and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers through Martin’s hair and pulling lightly to expose Martin’s neck. “Martin,” he said softly, as he planted kisses against the fluttering pulse in Martin’s throat. He could feel Martin’s hyoid move under his lips as he swallowed.
“Jon,” Martin breathed out, in a gratifyingly unsteady voice. “You… you know… you’re supposed to ask first.”
Jon laughed into Martin’s skin. “Apologies. May I kiss you?”
Martin made an unmistakably affirmative noise, but pushed Jon back. “I… I don’t know what I can do.”
“What do you mean?” Jon asked, and Beholding, once again, decided to be helpful. “I… oh. You’ve… never?”
Martin blushed. “I mean, I was an unpopular gay kid and then I was a servant of The Lonely. Not a lot of opportunities.”
It was a crime. “You deserve better than for your first time to be a hasty fumble with a deadline hanging over your head.”
“No, I wouldn’t mind that,” Martin said quickly. “I just…” His eyes darted towards the clock on the bluray player. “Shit. We really don’t have a lot of time, do we?”
“I can be a bit late,” Jon offered. “I’ll just tell Elias I was tied up.”
Martin burst into far more laughter than the joke really deserved. “N-no, they’ll be really mad. Peter’ll be especially mad if you ruin the timing.”
“Screw Peter Lukas,” Jon said. “And Elias Bouchard. Better yet, make them screw each other.”
Martin chuckled again. “I’m about 70% sure they already are.”
“Ugh. Of all the things I wish I didn’t know, I wish I didn’t know that the most.”
Martin kissed him again, and Jon firmly placed his hands on Jon’s hips. They were large, warm hands, and they felt right there.
“I’m going to find you again,” Martin whispered against Jon’s lips between kisses. “Is… is that okay?”
“Yes, Martin,” Jon said, smiling into kiss after kiss. “I’ll be waiting.”
They moved to the couch for comfort’s sake, but didn’t get much further than that before Martin got a text. “It’s from Peter,” Martin said, thwaping Jon’s arm when he groaned. “He says to head over.”
Jon took the phone from Martin’s hand and read the text itself. I’m at the Institute, meeting with Elias. Untie the Archivist and send him on his merry way. “What a prick.”
Martin kissed him and smoothed his hair. “You heard him. You’re free.”
The hunger pressed on Jon like a physical presence, but he didn’t want to leave. The idea of facing Peter Lukas and Elias rather than staying with Martin made no sense.
But Daisy and Melanie and Basira were waiting for him, and Elias had never been reluctant to take his irritation out on them before.
“You’ll find me,” Jon said, not quite a question.
“You’ll remember me,” Martin said, not quite an answer.
Jon nodded and stood up. “Good bye, Martin Blackwood.”
“Farewell, Jonathan Sims.” Martin walked him to the door and held it open for him with a little smile. “I’ll miss you.”
Jon walked out. He felt the pull of the Institute almost as soon as his feet hit the pavement. It would have been about an hour’s walk, or twenty minutes by bus. It was a nice enough day. He headed east.