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The universe was grey and empty - almost utterly devoid of life. Almost. To most, it would have been completely inhospitable, a desolate wasteland. Fog crept across the landscape if it could possibly be alive enough to be considered one, disturbed only by the figures of two interlopers. Their presence was so alien in this nothingness; the fog curled around them gently, as though absolving them of their personal transgressions.
If you were to observe them within this plane of existence (which would, of course, be impossible) you would find yourself wondering if you were watching this place become a galaxy of isolation once again - as the dwindling light of the first and last presences extinguish. Certainly, you could not be blamed for believing this. It would take an incredibly skilled eye to spot the soft rise and fall of Martin’s shallow breaths, struggling but steady. The explosion that had resulted in their arrival in this anomalous situation had sent him tumbling a distance from the other crumpled form - the once powerful Archivist. Their eyes were closed, for the first time in an excruciatingly long time. Rather than the serious, guilt-ridden expression he has perfected he appears to be almost peaceful. Does oblivion bring him tranquillity? The weeping of his stab wound slowed to a steady trickle, like the dripping of water from a faulty faucet - indescribably loud in the silence. However, there was no one to observe this scene, to listen to their existences cut through the stillness.
On the other hand, Martin stirred with a groan, his turbulent arrival immediately apparent to him due to the less-than-dull pain he felt. Everything ached. Had he always hurt this much? His face was stained with dried, salty tears - matching those on his lover’s cheeks. Blinking against the grey light, Martin slowly adjusted to his surroundings and his eyes drank in the barrenness around him, before he settled his gaze on what appeared to be a complete external replica of Daisy’s Scottish safe house, devoid of the colour and warmth it had exuded previously. Despite the fact it was not particularly cold, Martin shivered - overcome with the lifelessness of this place. Finally, he recognised what lay between the only landmark of the plane and himself. Who it was he had decided to follow away from the only world he had ever known, despite how uninhabitable it had been when he left it.
“Where you go, I go.”
He staggered to his feet, glancing at where they lay. Tears stung his eyes as he caught sight of his hands, caked in blood and grime - dust from the rubble. Martin choked them back down for the moment. To him, it felt like everything had taken place an eternity ago or to someone else, the reminder that he had stabbed Jon, that he had been forced to potentially kill the person he loves, shocked him to his core. Martin paused, silently willing himself to move.
“Jon,” Martin’s voice was more hoarse than he had anticipated, “Jon!” At last, he took a step forward, before he broke into a run, closing the distance between them. Panic rose in his chest and he felt himself shaking uncontrollably as he sank to his knees beside them. Jon’s wound had stopped bleeding, and the world had fallen silent once more. Martin frantically felt for Jon’s pulse and breathing, a single sign of life. After a few long, tentative moments he found it and audibly sighed with relief. The knots of tension he had unwittingly been holding in his shoulders relaxed and he readjusted his position to be more comfortable. However, he continued shaking, the stress, trauma and anxiety catching up to him once again. “Dammit Jon…” He trailed off, his voice trembling slightly. He allowed himself to pause, to take a moment to attempt to process everything, and he cried - great sobs that rocked his shoulders and hurt his chest. Despite this, the tightness around his ribcage slowly subsided as though crying had provided it with a much-needed release.
“Just another scar for the collection.”
Wasn’t that what Jon had said the last time he’d been stabbed? Right, Melanie had stabbed him with a scalpel. It had healed quickly, becoming one of the scars that marked him as suitable to be the bringer of the apocalypse. They awoke with a wince. The first thing he saw when opening his eyes was Martin, and the memory of the Lonely flooded his thoughts suddenly. The Archivist reached for Martin instinctively, to remind him that he was not alone. That he was close by.
“Did it…” Jon hissed in pain, “Did we succeed?” Martin squeezed his hand, before offering a tentative smile in response.
“What, can’t the Archivist see everything?” Martin remarked brushing a hand over his face to attempt to wipe away the tears. He almost relaxed. Almost joking.
“No. Not here.” Jon’s expression became severe, which prompted Martin to laugh despite himself. In response, they shot Martin a look of confusion tinged with a small amount of annoyance, before they were enveloped in an unexpected embrace. “Martin-”
“Sorry, but that must be a relief,” Martin’s voice was slightly muffled, a low, warm comfort, “It has to mean something, right? I mean, seeing 'Literally everything' made you feel so guilty. I could see it. And I didn't need the Eye to show me that.” Jon relaxed into the hug, leaning his head against Martin’s shoulder. The tendrils of fog continued to encircle them hypnotically.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” In spite of everything, Martin was so familiar. How was it that Jon had stumbled onto someone so caring? So exceptionally understanding? They felt completely undeserving of his affection. Exhaustion gripped him and weakness spread throughout his body. Martin was right, he’d been carrying around all this guilt for far too long. Perhaps it would never go away, but at least part of it had been alleviated. “I’m… Martin, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah well, I couldn’t just leave you. I love you, Jon.”
“I love you too.” Martin gently lifted Jon's face and kissed him. Everything about him was so gentle.
Jon brushed the back of Martin’s hair slowly with his fingers. There was a small amount of sadness in Martin’s eyes still, unavoidable.
“Jon, are we dead?” The Archivist slowly shook his head in response.
“What difference do semantics make now?”
“Jon-”
“Sorry, I know that’s an unhelpful response.” There was a stilted pause between the couple. “We don’t really have any option other than just to continue. Assuming there is an end here, and we haven’t ended up in some form of purgatory.”
“Right.” This time the silence that followed was slightly less awkward. Martin rose to his feet, offering Jon his hand. “Can you walk? It seems like Daisy’s safe house is over there.” He gestured towards it. It didn’t appear to be too far away, but the distance could have been easily distorted by the otherwise featureless landscape. Jon struggled to his feet, grimacing as he did so. Martin looped an arm around them to steady them, bearing their weight to such an extent that he was half carrying them. "Come on, let's go home."
The door swung open easily, with a creak reminiscent of a place long forgotten and uninhabited. Inside revealed a living room that was spacious enough, and a few doors leading to other strangely familiar yet mismatched rooms. One appeared to be a recreation of the room in the Magnus Institute Martin had spent time living in during the situation with Jane Prentiss. Others had a vague sense of familiarity, although neither could place where they recognised it from. Jon sank heavily into the chair he had spent so much time in at the other version of the safe house, weary from the strain of standing. Martin stopped suddenly in front of the low coffee table in the centre of the room.
“Jon, there’s a tape recorder here,” his voice betrayed how startled he felt finding it, although he wasn’t necessarily surprised.
“No, I didn’t suppose they would disappear yet. Is it running?”
“No.” Jon laughed weakly to himself, covering his face with his hands.
“I guess they’re done with listening to us after all.”
“Do you… feel compelled to record a statement?”
“About what? ‘Statement of Martin Blackwood and Jonathan Sims, regarding their deaths’?”
“Or 'travel to an alternate universe'.”
“No Martin, I don't feel like recording a statement. Which is probably a good thing. Unless you would prefer that we potentially spend an eternity recording a statement about our predicament, of course.” Martin smiled slightly at Jon.
"What, so I can make you tea forever?"
“Precisely.”
They couldn’t know this, but back in their original universe, everything is slowly being restored to before the Change. Soon the world will rebuild and the trauma of the apocalypse will be relegated to a painful wound, yet a distant memory. Perhaps it will take a long time for those memories to fade, or maybe it won’t.
They are not aware of how Melanie, Georgie and Basira search for Jon and Martin in vain. Currently, Basira holds the last tape recorder in her hands, before she leaves the rubble of the Magnus Institute behind. She speaks into it:
“If anyone’s listening… Goodbye. I’m sorry, and… Good luck.”
Maybe a small part of her hopes that there is some way Jon or Martin will hear it, despite her complicated relationship with them. It's a futile wish. The final statement ends with the Archivist and his loyal assistant missing, alone, presumed dead.
Ultimately, Melanie and Basira are free from the clutches of the Eye and the Hunt. Their futures are uncertain but hopeful. After all, it can't get worse than the end of the world. Melanie and Georgie can anticipate more normal new relationship hurdles, and Basira well... We can wish her the best. Like many her wounds from the apocalypse are extensive, mental and physical wounds require patience and time.
Yet, the Archivist and Martin have received a kinder fate than many would consider them to deserve. Those around Basira have patience and understanding for her. In comparison, the world could not be expected to be forgiving of their actions. It would not be appreciative of their ultimate sacrifice. The solace that isolation brings may appear much like loneliness. Although in many ways, it is a kindness that their exile is shared with someone else. If it could be regarded as lonely, it could equally be thought of as intimate. Jon and Martin would not have received the kindness of the nature in their own universe.
Yes, this place is nothing like the Lonely at all. Martin made his decision; he chose Jon.
“Do you regret it?” Jon asked him, uncertainty colouring his voice.
“We both have our regrets, Jon. I guess we just need time to deal with it,” He took their hand in his, "but I will never regret this."
“We have lots of time. It's almost all we have.”
“That’s true but..." Golden sunlight slowly began streaming in through the window behind Martin, haloing him so that when he smiled he could easily be mistaken for an angel, "We also have each other.” It was as though a harsh and inhospitable winter had finally been broken by the first warmth of spring. Rejuvenation. Metamorphosis. Hope.
“I would go through it again.” Martin glanced over at him bewildered. “If it’s like you said… That it took ‘two years of crisis and trauma to make us compatible’. I know I didn’t treat you well back then. I was terrible, and I'm surprised you don't hate me... But... If we could only achieve this,” he squeezed Martin’s hand, “by going through all of that. Then I’d go through it all again, Martin.” Tears brimmed in his eyes, but he maintained his focus on Martin, as though scared that he would disappear.
“Oh, Jon…” Martin sighed, his voice trembling slightly. When he spoke again his voice was steady, "I just wanted you to want to save yourself, the same way you saved me. From the Lonely, I mean. Sure, it was... aggravating. But I love you."
"I love you too. Martin, I'm sorry for dooming you to... this." The Archivist gestured around them. "It reminds me of the Lonely." Martin pulled Jon close to him, tears flowing freely once again.
"Jon, we've been through a lot. But as long as you're with me, I'll never be lonely again."
The tears they shared were different now. There was sorrow, of course - they mourned for everyone they had lost. Sasha. Tim. Daisy. Underneath it, though, there was a strong sense of relief. They were together. Everything they couldn't control would eventually work itself out. They would never know normality, but finally they were free to live in peace.