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Jon's hesitant to leave Elias' office and no, it was certainly not because he wanted to be in the man's presence anymore than necessary. The state Elias drove Martin into, ready to sacrifice himself on the chance at something changing, that haunted Jon more than he liked to admit. It felt like a barely dodged bullet, which felt like most things these days, really.

No, his hesitance was more an uncertainty of what to do now. He dropped off the radar, from Georgie and Martin, for five days and he could only imagine how they'd both react. At least he left Georgie a note when he left to stay with Martin, she had some idea, even if it was a vague one. Martin, on the other hand, he didn't contact at all.

Yes, that... was a mistake. He knew that.

It seemed like a small thing to worry about in the grand scheme of things- people were dead, he was turning into a monster, Basira and Daisy were now tied to it and, it turns out, Elias had a kill switch to keep them all in line. Now that he saw Tim it was pretty obvious he wasn't doing well and, if Jon was going to be honest with himself, unlikely to last if all he heard was true. 'Feed your god or it feeds on you.' Tim certainly looked... lesser.

"Jon?" Elias' tone is pointed, and Jon sighs. He doesn't bother any sort of goodbye as he goes out.

He wonders, briefly, if he could avoid Martin and just... go take this statement now. He didn't want to, not really, avoid Martin at least. He sort of wanted to just convince Martin to put off everything that needed to be said so they could go to bed and just sleep, have Martin close. Maybe take the statement first, the urge was strong.

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What was it that Elias had once called himself? The beating heart of the Institute? He'd certainly implied once that if he died, the rest of the Institute would be dragged into the grave with him, but that wasn't even anywhere near the front of his mind when he saw Elias, a hair's breadth from ending Jon's own. He'd just... Reacted, in something like instinct, felt the sickening crunch of bone when he'd slammed the wrench (clumsily grabbed at when passing by some momentarily abandoned repairs in the hallway) down on his head.

He'd done it. He'd killed him. He, Martin Blackwood, was a murderer, and here he was, sitting in his victim's office.

He knows Jon is at the door before he speaks, though he has no idea how he knows. "It's all right. Come on in," he says, voice wavering slightly.

Jon breathes through his nose a moment before entering, blinking away the very vivid image of everything that had happened just hours before. Elias' calm explanations, the steady, sympathetic way he explained there were no hard feelings for what he was about to do, and at the time all Jon could numbly wonder was if he said the same to Gertrude before the end.

He closes the door behind him. "Martin..." He repeats that, because he wasn't sure what there was to say. Well, admittedly there was plenty, but at the moment the best he can do is walk forward in silence. He should tell Martin they needed to leave, to get out of this crime scene and go home and lick their wounds. He should try and figure out what even happened from here on out.

"You saved me." He says instead, a little dazed still as he blinks rapidly a moment and swallows at the dry feeling in his mouth. "It... thank you."

Martin's eyes cut up to Jon then, a little thrown. He keeps waiting for the reprimand, the descent of the police upon him to cart him away and to throw him into jail. Sure, it had been necessary, but necessary murder was still murder, wasn't it?

But then there went Daisy, promising quietly to take care of it. And Martin knew that she would. He didn't know how he did, but- he did.

He has so many things to say, but all he can manage right then after studying Jon's face is a soft, tired, "I will always save you, Jon."

Jon inhales sharply, and in truth he shouldn't even be remotely surprised by Martin saying as much, believing as much. Still, he can't help but be struck with how much Martin really did love him, enough to be able to say something like that so readily despite everything, enough to do something like this so readily. He honestly didn't know what to do with that, or the fact he loved Martin back more deeply than he thought he was capable of.

He walks around the desk, reaching out to trace down Martin's temple to his jaw. He should be taking care of this, trying to figure out where they went from here or taking care of the trauma Martin was no doubt struggling with.

Instead he blinks rapidly again, this time fighting back tears as he lets out a choked sound that was probably a laugh. "It's ridiculous, I- it's inappropriate and foolish but I can't help... I never thought someone could love me the way you do. Or that I could love someone like this." He inhales sharply again. "I shouldn't... I'm sorry."

Martin takes an unsteady breath when Jon touches down the side of his face. He tilts his head subtly to the side, yielding to the feeling, if only because it's the first time he's felt even slightly grounded since the moment he ended Elias.

Right. Elias was dead. Fuck. Fuck.

"Why are you sorry?" He asks belatedly, as if he's just now parsing what Jon is saying, and he reaches up to take Jon's wrist in his hand. Gently, carefully, like he's trying to make sure that Jon doesn't recoil from him, doesn't flinch away from the murderer in the room. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. Nothing, okay?"

Jon does not recoil, if anything he relaxes some, though the lump in his throat remains hard to form words around. He doesn't argue Martin's point though he wants to, taking a moment to breath before answering.

"I used to think your optimism was naive in ways, yet this whole damn time I was convinced you could be... be spared this somehow. Spared getting dragged in any deeper, spared-" his humanity, but he can't bring himself to say that so he doesn't. After a beat he continues. "I wanted that for you. I foolishly and arrogantly though that was what was best for you, like I had any right to decide as much."

He exhales another shaky laugh. "And now I think you're the heart, like he said. Lord Martin, you deserved so much better than this."

"I'm not the- I'm not anything," Martin protests, but even as he does he knows that he's wrong. As much as he'd been caught up in the orbit of the Institute before, he'd been ensnared completely now. He could feel the Beholding's hooks latching into him, burrowing deeper by the moment, and he knew with a heavy certainty that if he tries to loose himself of those that he'd simply bleed out.

When Jon doesn't flinch away from him, Martin brings his hand to his mouth to softly kiss at his knuckles.

"But it doesn't matter. It doesn't. Elias was- he had to be stopped, no matter what. I wouldn't let him kill again. I couldn't."

Jon closes his eyes at that. He wishes he could tell Martin he wasn't the new... heart, head, whatever it was. Playing pretend for a few moments would be preferable to immediately facing reality. But it wasn't that simple, it never was. There was no time for playing for a very long time.

He watches Martin kiss his knuckles and his heart aches. I really don't deserve you, he thinks and choses not to say. It wouldn't make anything better. He just wraps his fingers around Martin's hand. "I know. It... it had to happen." He admits quietly before breathing quietly out his nose. "It would probably be better if you stayed home a few days. Whatever happens next will be... complicated to work through. It will be a strange transition."

"Do you think we're all going to die now?"

Martin's words are quiet, and he's focusing more on the hold of Jon's hand than his face. It's as if this is what he's chosen to ground himself to the room for the moment.

"Elias said before - something about being the heart. About us being-" His voice drops. Quiet. "Do you think I just killed us all?"

"No," Jon answers, and he really has no idea why he thinks that. He could say it was a feeling, as ridiculous as that was, but even that wasn't quite right. "I think... you replaced him in ever sense of the word. I don't really know how or why."

He exhales, closing his eyes. "I have no proof, but... I suppose we'll see. I think we'd be dead already if that was the case." How reassuring.

Martin wants to be alarmed by that, or shocked, but it's hard to feel those things when part of you already thought so, too.

"Jon," he says, and there's a soft pitch of a whine in his voice, like a dog hit by the car he was chasing. "I don't want to be Elias."

The very thought of that nearly makes Jon shudder. "You won't. You can't, you're... you're stronger than he was." He answers, and he does believe that much. Whether it would be enough in the end, that he didn't know. He didn't know if anyone was strong enough to come out of this whole.

He exhales, swallows. "I'll do everything I can to remind you to never be him. You've certainly helped me remember my... humanity."

"You're still human," Martin says insistently, cutting his eyes up to Jon, even though there's a part of his mind that says well, actually. "I mean- human enough. God, it's not like we're living in the X-Men movies. Just because you have- you can do things..."

He trails off, still a little numb, before he asks in a tiny voice: "You think this means I'll be getting a raise?"

"It's not that simple, I'm afraid," Jon has to say, regretting it but it felt too important not to. It wasn't the power of compulsion, not really, it was the smaller changes all culminating into something he knew would not come out human at all. Without Martin he was fairly sure he'd be halfway there already.

And soon Martin may find out himself, first hand, if he really was the 'heart.'

Jon barks a laugh, startled by the comment and breaking his tension. "I'd rather hope so. Might as well get something out of it." He reaches to Martin's hand, wanting to pull him up. "Let's just... go home."

Martin will take his hand, gripping it tightly before he uses it to pull himself to his feet. "Yeah," he agrees, "home." But he doesn't let them head out just yet, instead pulling Jon toward him. Kissing him again, right there, because it suddenly feels very important.

Jon doesn't take long to melt into it, a sense of 'dear god it was close this time' washing over him and making an edge of desperation to the action. It takes him a while to pull back, breathless and shaking slightly. He still felt it, something, whatever it was that was part of Martin now drawing him as much as Martin himself.

He places a hand over Martin's heart. The should go home, talk seriously about what happened next. Instead he curls his fingers and presses his forehead to Martin's.

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