And when the Archivist leaves this world, you feel it.
Magnus feels it through you, as you. Yet he makes no move to tell Martin until you slowly open his mouth.
“The Archivist is gone.”
Martin stirs, where he lay limp and unresistant against Magnus’s body on the loveseat you have pulled out for them. “D-dead?”
“Through the red door.”
Grief rips through Martin like a bolt of electricity. It should not surprise you. The Archivist has always had a unique way of making Martin hurt in the places where even Magnus could not reach.
At the same time, Martin smiles. Genuinely smiles through his tears. You watch him, not through Magnus’s eyes but through a pair on the wall. Martin meets your gaze there without flinching, without turning away or attempting to hide either his grief or the soft joy you see lighting up his face.
Magnus strokes his hair again.
“Hope the seizures don’t set in too quickly, out there,” Magnus says blithely. “Hope he doesn’t—’’
And then, Magnus cannot open his mouth. You grind his teeth together, shutting it as solidly as possible.
Martin notes something is different, something is wrong. But he is too wrung out to even stiffen, and too fearful to question it.
“N—” Magnus hisses, then snarls. “What is this?”
Because your pain runs through him now, as much as your joy. It burns through him, where he touches Martin. But that only makes him grip Martin tighter, drawing another whimper from Martin’s tired throat. Magnus convulses again, painfully, but not even considering letting go.
So you remove him. Slowly, uncertainly, like you are waking up an atrophied muscle, you remove his body and his hands.
Martin stares up at Magnus, wide-eyed. Magnus, for his part, looks just as shocked at himself. Then, Martin shivers, and you hurry Magnus to a cupboard, pulling out a blanket to drape over him. Martin pulls his knees up to his chest, and huddles into it.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Your dome cracks. The tower rumbles unsteadily. Martin flails.
“What’s going on?”
But before you can open Magnus’s mouth to answer, you feel something take advantage of your splintering. Something outside strikes at the newly formed cracks.
And through those cracks wafts the smell of death.
[CLICK]
[WIND WHIPPING, AND WHAT SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE HACKING AT GLASS.]
[MUFFLED VOICES, AND THEN IT COMES INTO FOCUS.]
GEORGIE
Do you promise, then?
MELANIE
God fucking—
Okay. (SIGH) Okay. I promise.
GEORGIE
Alright. (WEARY ATTEMPT AT BRIGHTNESS) Alright! So, since this might be our last run, let’s make it a good one.
Re: Apple of Your Eye 13/??? (part 4)
And when the Archivist leaves this world, you feel it.
Magnus feels it through you, as you. Yet he makes no move to tell Martin until you slowly open his mouth.
“The Archivist is gone.”
Martin stirs, where he lay limp and unresistant against Magnus’s body on the loveseat you have pulled out for them. “D-dead?”
“Through the red door.”
Grief rips through Martin like a bolt of electricity. It should not surprise you. The Archivist has always had a unique way of making Martin hurt in the places where even Magnus could not reach.
At the same time, Martin smiles. Genuinely smiles through his tears. You watch him, not through Magnus’s eyes but through a pair on the wall. Martin meets your gaze there without flinching, without turning away or attempting to hide either his grief or the soft joy you see lighting up his face.
Magnus strokes his hair again.
“Hope the seizures don’t set in too quickly, out there,” Magnus says blithely. “Hope he doesn’t—’’
And then, Magnus cannot open his mouth. You grind his teeth together, shutting it as solidly as possible.
Martin notes something is different, something is wrong. But he is too wrung out to even stiffen, and too fearful to question it.
“N—” Magnus hisses, then snarls. “What is this?”
Because your pain runs through him now, as much as your joy. It burns through him, where he touches Martin. But that only makes him grip Martin tighter, drawing another whimper from Martin’s tired throat. Magnus convulses again, painfully, but not even considering letting go.
So you remove him. Slowly, uncertainly, like you are waking up an atrophied muscle, you remove his body and his hands.
Martin stares up at Magnus, wide-eyed. Magnus, for his part, looks just as shocked at himself. Then, Martin shivers, and you hurry Magnus to a cupboard, pulling out a blanket to drape over him. Martin pulls his knees up to his chest, and huddles into it.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Your dome cracks. The tower rumbles unsteadily. Martin flails.
“What’s going on?”
But before you can open Magnus’s mouth to answer, you feel something take advantage of your splintering. Something outside strikes at the newly formed cracks.
And through those cracks wafts the smell of death.
[CLICK]
[WIND WHIPPING, AND WHAT SOUNDS LIKE SOMEONE HACKING AT GLASS.]
[MUFFLED VOICES, AND THEN IT COMES INTO FOCUS.]
GEORGIE
Do you promise, then?
MELANIE
God fucking—
Okay. (SIGH) Okay. I promise.
GEORGIE
Alright. (WEARY ATTEMPT AT BRIGHTNESS) Alright! So, since this might be our last run, let’s make it a good one.
Let’s bring this down.
[MORE HACKING. THEN, THE TOWER CRACKS.]
[CLICK]