Chapter Text
Basira sighed as they walked back through the institute doors, the familiar yet still uncomfortable feeling of being watched settling in the back of her neck as per usual. Beside her, Melanie tensed and sped up her pace slightly, muttering what were undoubtedly some sort of threats or curses under her breath. They made their way down to the archives, Basira moving at a much more reluctant pace. She was not in a hurry to get back to that dusty basement. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she pulled it out to see a text from Martin. So he actually wants to be part of the team today, hm. She slipped the phone back without opening the message. She was on her way down to the archives anyway, whatever it was could wait until she got there.
She watched Melanie stomp around the last corner in front of her, and momentarily felt a bit bad for not warning Martin that Melanie was having one of her worse days. This momentary guilt quickly transformed into panic when she heard a shout.
“What the hell is this?!” Basira rounded the corner to see Melanie, knife already out, shouting at Martin as he scowled back. And there, sitting on the corner of Martin’s desk…
“You’d better have a good explanation for this Martin,” Basira kept her eyes on the man on the desk as she edged towards her own, already cataloguing the items on it for their usefulness as weapons.
“I’m assuming you didn’t read my text then,” Martin seemed completely unconcerned about the whole situation, as he spoke with the annoyingly condescending tone he almost always used these days.
“Hey guys if we could all chill out, I can explain-“
“Shut up! How fucking dare you walk in here with his face? He’s dead! You really think you’re gonna trick us with that shit again?” Melanie snarled, advancing on the desk.
“Melanie,” Martin stepped in front of her, blocking her path and keeping a wary eye on the knife in her hand, “It’s not a trick. Hear him out.” Melanie faltered at the glimpse of the old Martin, sincerity bleeding from his tone, and stepped back.
“Fine. This had better be a damn good explanation,” She moved to lean against her own desk, putting the switchblade back in her pocket without releasing her white knuckled grip on it. Martin nodded and stepped back as well, any sign of emotion completely gone from his face.
There was a moment of awkward silence. “Well?” Basira prodded, raising an eyebrow at the man on Martin’s desk and gesturing for him to get on with it.
“Right,” Tim cleared his throat, “I was actually dead, as a matter of fact. Turns out dying is a pretty shitty experience, zero out of ten would not recommend,” Tim grimaced at the stony silence that greeted his attempt at lightening the mood and quickly moved on to the rest of his tale. Describing the void and pain that had greeted him after the Unknowing. Then how he had woken up in his own grave and dug his way out. Basira shudders as he details the hours it took to get to the surface, the suffocating darkness and press of damp earth as he clawed upwards. His journey back to the Magnus Institute he spends less time on, simply saying “I walked.”
They begin interrogating him, asking for details about the Magnus Institute, statements they know he followed up on, personal history. All of his answers match up with their own knowledge of events, but that isn’t a guarantee that he is who he says he is. They’ve heard enough about monsters who can make you believe anything. But he seems genuine, if a bit… off. Basira can’t quite put her finger on the difference between the man she remembers and the one standing in front of her, and it makes her uneasy. Melanie finally seems convinced though, and Martin clearly has been since before she and Melanie got back. She wonders for a moment what exactly was said between the two of them alone down here in the archives that had Martin so utterly sure of Tim’s identity. They had known each other long before Basira had gotten drawn into the Institute’s problems so Martin would presumably be the best judge of the truth of Tim’s identity. That was assuming that Martin was to be completely trusted, and these days she wasn’t sure. For the moment though this would have to be evidence enough.
“Fine. I believe you,” Basira said, cutting short Tim’s rambling answer to her latest question. He slumped back into a chair in clear relief.
“Thanks, I guess. Wasn’t really sure what I was gonna do if you guys threw me out of here,” His face was open, honest, and still just ever so slightly different. Basira looked away, aiming her reply just to the left rather than at the man himself.
“I’m not saying that I trust you. You might be who you say you are, but that doesn’t mean you came back exactly the same,” Basira knows he didn’t “You’re staying here so I can keep an eye on you.” She moved around her desk and sat down, ignoring his inane reply. She had work to do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Martin!” Tim jogged to catch up to him. Martin had tried to slip away the moment Basira said she was convinced. There was no way Tim was letting him go that easily. They had unfinished business.
“What do you want Tim,” Martin asked, his voice flat and expressionless. He had stopped walking away, but he still wasn’t bothering to look at him. He hadn’t looked at him once since the initial shock wore off.
“We need to talk Martin-“ he held up a hand to stop whatever Martin was about to say, no doubt something derisive about already having talked given the expression on his face now. “I mean properly. This whole thing, with the void and whatever. It gave me some perspective on the way I left things…”
“You mean the part when you called me naïve and deluded for hoping you didn’t die? Or the part where you went and got yourself exploded without even so much as a goodbye?” Martin was finally looking at him now and his gaze was like ice. There was none of the warmth that Tim remembered. He opened his mouth and stuttered silently as Martin continued in a voice like frozen steel, “You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around then, you don’t need to pretend any differently now.” He turned and walked away, leaving Tim standing uselessly in the middle of the hallway mouth still open trying to find a way to refute the harsh words that nonetheless represented exactly what he had tried to leave behind.
Tim moved over to slump against a wall, slowly sliding until he was sitting with his knees curled up towards his chest. He buried his head in his hands and tried to muffle the echo of Martins words that wouldn’t stop reverberating inside his head. He deserved this. It was his own fault really. He pulled his head out of his hands and sighed heavily. He didn’t dig his way out of his own grave just to wallow in self pity. He had fucked up and gone and died, but now he was back, and he had a job to do. It wasn’t going to be pleasant and it wasn’t going to be easy, but he was going to fix this, and hopefully prevent anyone else from dying along the way.