The Last Question
Martin wished that he had something clever to say as he and Jon stepped out of the Lonely. His head was filled with a hundred little mundane observations that suddenly seemed to matter so much more than they had a moment ago. If he opened his mouth, they would all come spilling out. Surely there was no need to point out how warm Jon’s hands were, and Jon must already have known how tightly he was holding Martin. Martin settled on one that was, if not very indicative of where his focus was, perhaps the most relevant to their situation.
“You’re still here,” he said to Elias. He made no effort not to sound disappointed.
“And so is my Archivist,” Elias replied.
Martin made a skeptical noise. “I’m pretty sure he’s my Archivist, at this point.”
Jon shuddered against him. Martin pulled back to look him over. His eyes were glassy, and his face was startlingly, deathly slack.
“Hey, stay with me,” Martin prompted him. His voice seemed to bring Jon back to his senses. Jon blinked hard, trying to reclaim his eyes.
“I can’t… “ he muttered, “It won’t stop. I can’t make it stop.”
“Jon, slow down,” said Martin, “You’re going to be alright. I’m here.” Martin said it because he wanted to, not because he thought it was true.
Jon was trying to smile, but his expression kept slipping in and out of focus, like he was struggling to stay awake. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t,” Martin pleaded, “No, don’t be, you did so well, you- you saved me. I- I can save you, too, just give me some time to figure this out.”
“I love you,” said Jon. It was very nearly enough. Martin hoped impossibly that it would be. Instead, he felt all of the tension slip away from Jon’s body piece by piece. He watched him drift out of focus one last time.
“Jon?” asked Martin, although he knew it was not.
“Oh,” the Archivist sighed, “That’s better.”
