The Weekend Arrangement

Office Politics

 Martin's alarm didn't rouse him from sleep so much as startle him awake. He had been having the most wonderful dream, though it had started as one of his worst nightmares; the one at the beach.

It was the closest thing Martin had to a true recurring nightmare. The beach was the one his mother took him to just after his father had left them. Everything was quiet and foggy, waves stretching out endlessly in front of him. He doesn't remember much about the actual day any longer, but in the dream he was always looking for someone and finding no one.

He would usually wake from this dream in a cold sweat, wondering why an empty beach frightened him so deeply. In real life, his mother had come back- eventually- there's no reason that he should still feel so scared now that he is an adult.

But this time; rather than just the empty, lifeless stretch of foggy beach that always left him so shaken he had heard a voice calling his name. The voice was deep, and it rolled across the uninterrupted waves of his dream; steady and sure and wanting him- looking for him. He was reaching out to that voice, and in that particular dream logic way Martin knew it was reaching back for him as well; and for the first time in a long time he had been disappointed to wake up alone.

He gets ready and out the door faster than he has in ages; there's no way of telling who might be the first person into the archives after him, but Martin is determined to be ready in case it's Jon.

Jon's alarm is still a harsh thing when it goes off at six thirty, a shrill electronic bleating. It doesn't feel as bad today though; sleep had come easier to him after last night. The warm, sated flush of the afterglow had carried him into an untroubled, surprisingly deep slumber; his dreams populated with glints of golden brown curls and laughing hazel eyes.

Jon knew he and Martin really needed to discuss and get a firm handle on what the limit for 'the weekend' would fully entail- he couldn't keep Martin on the phone at all hours of the night, much as he might like to.

As much as he may want to hear that gentle laughter and those low, whispered murmurs every evening; those moments would most likely need to be hoarded from their weekends. He holds onto a sliver of hope; there may be no policy against employees dating, and he could possibly have Martin with him semi-regularly.

Jon feels a frisson run through him at the thought of seeing Martin, all morning long he's been lightly pressing into the bruised place that hovered just above his collar bone, and the images it conjures leave Jon in a dreamy, preoccupied state. He lets his mind wander and his tea grow cold, barely making it out the door in time to make the walk to work.

When Jon arrives at The Archives, Martin is already in the breakroom, chatting with Tim; and Jon has to force his face and voice into something approaching neutral.

"Martin. Tim. Good morning."

"Morning, Jon. Tea?" Martin seems to be having a much better grasp on keeping a blandly pleasant attitude, though his cheeks have pinked, and he turns to the kettle before Tim can see.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, Martin. Really, I shouldn't even be down here. I've a meeting with Elias about Tim's schedule, but a cup would be lovely."

He had purposefully routed away from upstairs to steal some time with Martin first thing. In the small breakroom, the light smell of Martin's spicy soap lingers, and Jon longs to bury his face into his neck for a deeper whiff. Tim thankfully doesn't seem to pay attention to Jon's hungry look at Martin's back but perks up at the mention of Jon trying to fix his schedule.

"Hey, thanks boss- I didn't know you'd have to schedule something with him." Now that he's talking to Jon, he DOES notice how remarkably awake Jon looks this morning. "Jesus, Jon- what's wrong with your face?" Tim was openly gawping.