icarus_chained (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
icarus_chained) wrote2016-05-22 09:02 pm
icarus_chained) wrote2016-05-22 09:02 pm
Entry tags:
Slightly Dark Martin & Jax
Martin's experience of 1x05 "Fail Safe". Yes, I am obsessed with this episode. It's my favourite, and Martin ... Oh god, poor Martin.
Title: Mastery
Rating: Light R
Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV)
Characters/Pairings: Martin Stein, Jefferson Jackson, focus on Valentina Vostok and Ronnie Raymond. Martin & Jax, Martin & Ronald
Summary: In which Martin has survivor guilt out the wazoo, Jefferson saves him continually just by being him, and Vandal and Valentina picked the wrong Firestorm to try and force to do their bidding
Wordcount: 2456
Warnings/Notes: Oh, okay. Soul bonds, shared bodies, possession, imprisonment, control, control issues, psychological trauma, survivor guilt, protectiveness, self-sacrifice, partnership, hope, friendship/love
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: Mastery
Rating: Light R
Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV)
Characters/Pairings: Martin Stein, Jefferson Jackson, focus on Valentina Vostok and Ronnie Raymond. Martin & Jax, Martin & Ronald
Summary: In which Martin has survivor guilt out the wazoo, Jefferson saves him continually just by being him, and Vandal and Valentina picked the wrong Firestorm to try and force to do their bidding
Wordcount: 2456
Warnings/Notes: Oh, okay. Soul bonds, shared bodies, possession, imprisonment, control, control issues, psychological trauma, survivor guilt, protectiveness, self-sacrifice, partnership, hope, friendship/love
Disclaimer: Not mine
Mastery
Your mind is stronger than hers, Grey.
It was ... odd, the things one dwelt on after the fact. The little details that caught you, that made you think. Feel. Fear. Martin knew that better than many. He had a range of sensations and experiences that few besides him could dwell upon.
It was that sentence that he kept coming back to. Your mind is stronger than hers. The way Jefferson had said it, a mix of desperation, exasperation, hope and pride. As though the phrase were something to hold on to. I know what a tough old son of a bitch you can be. As though, for all their fights and all their struggles, Martin's strength was something Jefferson appreciated. As though it was something he wouldn't want to lose, even if doing so would likely make Martin quieter and a whole lot easier to deal with.
As though Jefferson ... as though Jefferson wanted Martin with him. As a ... a person, a voice, a distinct being. Not only as a power source. As if Jefferson wanted him.
Martin brought his hand up to his face, dabbed hastily at it. It was dark here. Empty, devoid of a living soul. He'd found the quietest, darkest, most disused corner of the ship he possibly could. Some things a person wanted to think about in private. Some things a body wanted to dwell on without anyone to see. He'd wanted to be alone. He found himself dabbing at his face anyway. He found himself trying to hide his tears.
Jefferson wasn't entirely right, he knew. The strength of his mind. Jefferson wasn't entirely correct. Martin was not ... he'd never been particularly strong. Stubborn, yes, always that, but ... but not strong. Not when he needed to be. And other times ... other times too strong by far. Too stubborn and too cruel. The boy didn't know that yet. Not the way ... not the way Ronald had, not the way Ronald had spent a year learning.
Not as Valentina had learned in her turn.
Martin closed his eyes, leaned back against the bulkhead. He remembered that moment at the compound, in the yard. The moment Valentina had lashed out at another body, the moment he'd realised the body was Jefferson. The instinctive cry of horror and denial, the way Valentina had laughed at him inside their head.
I know you're in there, Grey!
And he's begging for you to save yourself!
But Jefferson hadn't run. The foolish, idiot boy, he'd stayed exactly where he was. He'd stood there, faced her down, spoken to Martin like Martin could hear him, like Martin could do something about it. Your mind is stronger than hers, Grey. Jefferson had stood there, entirely helpless, entirely unprotected, and put his life in Martin's hands. Trusted in Martin's strength to see them through, trusted Martin to protect him.
Until that moment, Martin hadn't thought that he could. Even in that moment. The first surge of will, the first desperate lock on Valentina's strike, had been entirely instinctive. A horror, a terror, the gaping wound of Ronald's loss. He'd seized, with everything he had, around the strength of Valentina's will, around her lethal, deadly control of their form. He'd grabbed her. He'd stopped her from raising a hand to his partner. He'd done it with nothing but pure, instinctive terror, instinctive rage.
But then. Then. After he'd done that, after he'd realised that he could. After he'd remembered.
He'd been in control of Firestorm first. He'd forgotten, he'd avoided thinking about it for so long. It had never mattered with Jefferson, had never been an option with him. Jefferson had had the splicer from the start, control had always rested in his hands. But that hadn't always been the case. The splicer hadn't always existed. There had been a time, a whole year, where Martin had been in sole, complete control of someone else's body, their consciousness shoved down and dreaming beneath his. There had been a time when he'd been Firestorm, whole and complete unto himself, and be damned to anyone else.
He hadn't wanted to be. He hadn't meant to, he hadn't understood what was going on. Without the splicer to stabilise him, he hadn't been able to stop it. He'd never wanted to ... to abuse Ronald so, to imprison him, all but enslave him. He hadn't wanted that. Never, never in a million years. Ronald had been so angry when he'd emerged. Well, who wouldn't be? Ronald had had every right. Martin was ...
He could be strong sometimes. He could be too much so. He could seize hold, with all his strength and all his stubbornness, and bear someone down beneath him.
He'd forgotten it. Tried to, really. Pushed it away, tried not to remember it. And to a large extent it had been easy. The splicer was always there. Both Ronald and Jefferson since. The control was theirs, and willingly so. He'd joined with them knowing that was the case, given it willingly. Surrender was ... in some ways, surrender had become a habit. As frustrating as it could be, as terrible as it was to yell and snipe at them and know that he would be ignored, helpless but to watch them hurt themselves, it had still been a willing thing. That control was theirs by right. Some part of him, after that year, had decided that he would never ride in someone's skin and take their autonomy from them again. Not that way, at least. Not from inside their own heads. Martin would never be that monster again. Not now that Ronald had died for it. For Martin's idea, Martin's plan, as he had almost died in that first, fused form, carried along in Martin's suicide. Caitlin and Barry had prevented the first. They had not prevented the last. Martin had sworn there that he would never command anyone again.
Until Valentina. Until that terrible, arrogant, unconscionable woman. Until she had crawled inside him, and between herself and Jefferson had woken his strength again.
He hadn't remembered at first. He was so used to surrender, to being the invisible half, to slipping inside the merge and watching as someone else's hands performed their actions. Through no fault of anyone's. That wasn't anyone's doing. Jefferson was not like Martin. He had never tried to own anyone in his life, had never even thought of it.
Valentina had been different. Savage, as well. And they had ... they had worn him down, before that merge. Too strong, not strong enough. That was what Martin meant. He'd surrendered, hadn't he? He'd given in, given them something of what they wanted. He'd been ... he'd been strong at first. At the start. Some part of him had fought. The hallucinations, the suggestions. There had been a reason 'Cisco' had looked so strange. He had been trying to fight, to remind himself of what was and wasn't real. And Jefferson had helped, hadn't he. The knowledge of him. They hadn't counted on the bond, hadn't understood it. They had wanted him to feel safe, coddled inside his illusion, ready to give them what they wanted. But he'd had Jefferson in his head. He'd had that distant panic and upset, his partner's constant knowledge that he was imprisoned, that he was in danger, that something wasn't right. How could any illusion hold out against that? Jefferson had been protecting him. Just by existing, just by thinking of him, Jefferson had been keeping him safe.
And Martin had given in anyway. Even with the words on his arm, even with his partner in his head, he'd given in. Surrendered, as had become habitual for him. He'd let Valentina have him. He'd let her slip herself inside his skin, let her use him and all his power to hurt people. To hurt Jefferson. He'd even warned her. He'd warned her that without the splicer she could never hope to keep control. He hadn't meant that purposefully. He hadn't intended to do anything, beyond vague thoughts of mutual suicide when she finally lost control. He'd surrendered. He'd given in completely.
And then. Then Jefferson. Then that foolish, idiot boy, standing there with all her fury in his face, reaching out as though he could pull Martin from beneath her skin. That hand, and that voice, brave and foolish and proud.
Your mind is stronger than hers, Grey. I know you're not going to let her kill me.
She'd screamed at him. When she'd felt his will lock down, felt his strength overmaster hers. She'd screamed and roared inside their head, her hand stabbing out to try and destroy his partner, to try and kill Jefferson as Ronald had been killed. She'd screamed at him to give her back her power, to let go and lie down and give her what was hers.
But she hadn't had the splicer. He'd warned her, and she hadn't listened. That moment, that first instinctive surge of protection, he'd remembered what a monster he could be. It had been effortless, once. He hadn't even needed to want it. He had owned and mastered just by existing, whether willingly or not. It hadn't been willing with Ronald. As terrible as he had been, as rightfully angry as Ronald had felt afterwards, Martin had never wanted it then. Not with him, not with a young man who'd never done him any harm.
He'd wanted it with Valentina. A surge of fury, of protection, of horror and vengeance. She'd screamed at him inside their head. He'd borne down against her anyway. He had locked his mind around hers, kept their fires inside her skin. He'd done it vindictively. Surrender he would give to Jefferson, to Ronald. They'd earned it from him. He would not give it to her. Not then, not ever. And without the splicer, she could never hope to make him.
You and me, we're Firestorm, Grey. You and ME.
Jefferson didn't know what he was asking sometimes, Martin thought. Tiredly, exhaustedly, with something of a smile on his damp face. That faith the boy had, that angry trust and surety. Trust in Martin's strength. Trust in his surrender, enough to reach out and pull and trust that Martin would go with him. Enough to trust that Martin was his, his Firestorm, that Martin belonged to him and not to anyone else. The boy had reached out without a thought, had hobbled up into the face of death and demanded Martin back from her. How could Martin possibly be worth that faith, hmm? How could anyone?
Yet there was nothing for it, was there? Jefferson was not without stubbornness himself. There was all the strength in the world inside that boy. In a war of stubbornness, if say the splicer were ever taken from them, Martin wasn't sure which one of them would win. Jefferson was no more inclined to surrender than he.
It wouldn't come to that, of course. Never, never in a million years. There would never be another Ronald. Martin had promised that to himself. He would send Jefferson away and blow himself higher than Valentina had ever dreamed before he allowed that nightmare to come again. He would keep Jefferson safe. From himself as much as from Valentina, from anything else. That boy would never know what Ronald had known, would never find himself on the wrong side of Martin's strength. Surrender was Martin's job now. That was his half of the bond, to give or to refuse as he saw fit. He would ensure that Jefferson was never forced to know it.
It wasn't exactly a hardship, after all. As frustrating as Jefferson could be in their fused form, there was no sense of mastery from him. There was frustration, anger, a desire to be allowed to act as he saw fit without Martin nagging incessantly at him, but there was no ... there was nothing like Valentina. There was no laughter at his terror, no will to beat him down, no desire to hold him still and make him watch as she destroyed someone he loved. Jefferson was nothing like that. Could never be, no more than Ronald.
They were ... They could work together, Martin thought. Partners. They weren't there yet, as much through Martin's fault as anyone's, but ... but perhaps they could be. Jefferson wanted to be. He could sense that from him. That's what the boy's frustration was. Martin had been trying to control him, hadn't he? Out of fear, out of a desire to protect, but he had. That's why Jefferson had been fighting him. If Martin had ... if they hadn't had ...
It was fortunate the splicer was there. It was, it really was, wasn't it. Because Martin's mind was ... strong. Weak and strong, in all the wrong places. Jefferson needed a shield from him. The power for Martin and the control for his partner. That was for the best. Jefferson would never abuse it, abuse him. To the bottom of his soul, Martin trusted that.
He trusted it a great deal more than he trusted himself.
"... Grey? Hey, that you? You ... you okay? What're you doing back here?"
Martin startled upright at Jefferson's voice, both hands swiping hastily at his face and almost sending his glasses clattering across the floor. He fumbled them into a catch with one hand, the other still pressed against his face. He had a fortunate excuse for that a second later. Jefferson asked Gideon to bring up the lights, and Martin had the perfect excuse to be holding a hand across his eyes.
Less so for having been sitting there in the dark against a bulkhead, but still. At least he hadn't been visibly crying still. Small mercies.
From the look on Jefferson's face, he needn't have bothered. The young man clearly knew what he'd been doing anyway, or at the very least could guess. He didn't say anything, though. Some small, instinctive mercy. He grimaced, a vaguely heartbroken, desperate expression on his face, but all he did was hold out a hand in Martin's direction. An unconscious echo of before, perhaps, trying to pull Martin out of Valentina's memory all over again. A gesture Martin could never again refuse.
"Come on, man. Snart and Rory are tryna kill Captain Hunter upstairs. Come with me and help me get between 'em, yeah?"
Martin glanced down. He took a deep breath, cleaned his face a little better, and put his glasses back on top of it. He stood up, and moved across to take his partner's hand in his. He squeezed it gently, looked up to smile with casual confidence into Jefferson's worry.
"Certainly, Jefferson," he said lightly. "Anything you need."
Absolutely anything, my boy.
Anything in this world.
A/N: Have I mentioned how much I love Jax? I'm so serious. The Firestorm bond is a thing always on the brink of being horrifying, as Valentina and E2 Deathstorm proved so handily, and to an extent that first year of Ronnie & Martin as well. That was neither of their fault, but I think it did a lot of damage to them in hindsight. Martin's experience of the bond has always to an extent been a war for control, master or be mastered. And Jax ... it just never occurs to him. It's a partnership to him. He wants to be part of a team. Even the last episode, the finale, with the transmutation. Martin is giving way to him, surrendering instinctively, and Jax is all "Nuh-uh. Get up here Grey and help me with this." He wants them to be equal, for Martin to stop trying to control him and stop surrendering to him, and just work with him instead. Just be part of him, be a partner and a team. I love him so much. He got a very damaged man for his partner in Martin, and he's been slowly and surely saving him from himself this whole way.
Your mind is stronger than hers, Grey.
It was ... odd, the things one dwelt on after the fact. The little details that caught you, that made you think. Feel. Fear. Martin knew that better than many. He had a range of sensations and experiences that few besides him could dwell upon.
It was that sentence that he kept coming back to. Your mind is stronger than hers. The way Jefferson had said it, a mix of desperation, exasperation, hope and pride. As though the phrase were something to hold on to. I know what a tough old son of a bitch you can be. As though, for all their fights and all their struggles, Martin's strength was something Jefferson appreciated. As though it was something he wouldn't want to lose, even if doing so would likely make Martin quieter and a whole lot easier to deal with.
As though Jefferson ... as though Jefferson wanted Martin with him. As a ... a person, a voice, a distinct being. Not only as a power source. As if Jefferson wanted him.
Martin brought his hand up to his face, dabbed hastily at it. It was dark here. Empty, devoid of a living soul. He'd found the quietest, darkest, most disused corner of the ship he possibly could. Some things a person wanted to think about in private. Some things a body wanted to dwell on without anyone to see. He'd wanted to be alone. He found himself dabbing at his face anyway. He found himself trying to hide his tears.
Jefferson wasn't entirely right, he knew. The strength of his mind. Jefferson wasn't entirely correct. Martin was not ... he'd never been particularly strong. Stubborn, yes, always that, but ... but not strong. Not when he needed to be. And other times ... other times too strong by far. Too stubborn and too cruel. The boy didn't know that yet. Not the way ... not the way Ronald had, not the way Ronald had spent a year learning.
Not as Valentina had learned in her turn.
Martin closed his eyes, leaned back against the bulkhead. He remembered that moment at the compound, in the yard. The moment Valentina had lashed out at another body, the moment he'd realised the body was Jefferson. The instinctive cry of horror and denial, the way Valentina had laughed at him inside their head.
I know you're in there, Grey!
And he's begging for you to save yourself!
But Jefferson hadn't run. The foolish, idiot boy, he'd stayed exactly where he was. He'd stood there, faced her down, spoken to Martin like Martin could hear him, like Martin could do something about it. Your mind is stronger than hers, Grey. Jefferson had stood there, entirely helpless, entirely unprotected, and put his life in Martin's hands. Trusted in Martin's strength to see them through, trusted Martin to protect him.
Until that moment, Martin hadn't thought that he could. Even in that moment. The first surge of will, the first desperate lock on Valentina's strike, had been entirely instinctive. A horror, a terror, the gaping wound of Ronald's loss. He'd seized, with everything he had, around the strength of Valentina's will, around her lethal, deadly control of their form. He'd grabbed her. He'd stopped her from raising a hand to his partner. He'd done it with nothing but pure, instinctive terror, instinctive rage.
But then. Then. After he'd done that, after he'd realised that he could. After he'd remembered.
He'd been in control of Firestorm first. He'd forgotten, he'd avoided thinking about it for so long. It had never mattered with Jefferson, had never been an option with him. Jefferson had had the splicer from the start, control had always rested in his hands. But that hadn't always been the case. The splicer hadn't always existed. There had been a time, a whole year, where Martin had been in sole, complete control of someone else's body, their consciousness shoved down and dreaming beneath his. There had been a time when he'd been Firestorm, whole and complete unto himself, and be damned to anyone else.
He hadn't wanted to be. He hadn't meant to, he hadn't understood what was going on. Without the splicer to stabilise him, he hadn't been able to stop it. He'd never wanted to ... to abuse Ronald so, to imprison him, all but enslave him. He hadn't wanted that. Never, never in a million years. Ronald had been so angry when he'd emerged. Well, who wouldn't be? Ronald had had every right. Martin was ...
He could be strong sometimes. He could be too much so. He could seize hold, with all his strength and all his stubbornness, and bear someone down beneath him.
He'd forgotten it. Tried to, really. Pushed it away, tried not to remember it. And to a large extent it had been easy. The splicer was always there. Both Ronald and Jefferson since. The control was theirs, and willingly so. He'd joined with them knowing that was the case, given it willingly. Surrender was ... in some ways, surrender had become a habit. As frustrating as it could be, as terrible as it was to yell and snipe at them and know that he would be ignored, helpless but to watch them hurt themselves, it had still been a willing thing. That control was theirs by right. Some part of him, after that year, had decided that he would never ride in someone's skin and take their autonomy from them again. Not that way, at least. Not from inside their own heads. Martin would never be that monster again. Not now that Ronald had died for it. For Martin's idea, Martin's plan, as he had almost died in that first, fused form, carried along in Martin's suicide. Caitlin and Barry had prevented the first. They had not prevented the last. Martin had sworn there that he would never command anyone again.
Until Valentina. Until that terrible, arrogant, unconscionable woman. Until she had crawled inside him, and between herself and Jefferson had woken his strength again.
He hadn't remembered at first. He was so used to surrender, to being the invisible half, to slipping inside the merge and watching as someone else's hands performed their actions. Through no fault of anyone's. That wasn't anyone's doing. Jefferson was not like Martin. He had never tried to own anyone in his life, had never even thought of it.
Valentina had been different. Savage, as well. And they had ... they had worn him down, before that merge. Too strong, not strong enough. That was what Martin meant. He'd surrendered, hadn't he? He'd given in, given them something of what they wanted. He'd been ... he'd been strong at first. At the start. Some part of him had fought. The hallucinations, the suggestions. There had been a reason 'Cisco' had looked so strange. He had been trying to fight, to remind himself of what was and wasn't real. And Jefferson had helped, hadn't he. The knowledge of him. They hadn't counted on the bond, hadn't understood it. They had wanted him to feel safe, coddled inside his illusion, ready to give them what they wanted. But he'd had Jefferson in his head. He'd had that distant panic and upset, his partner's constant knowledge that he was imprisoned, that he was in danger, that something wasn't right. How could any illusion hold out against that? Jefferson had been protecting him. Just by existing, just by thinking of him, Jefferson had been keeping him safe.
And Martin had given in anyway. Even with the words on his arm, even with his partner in his head, he'd given in. Surrendered, as had become habitual for him. He'd let Valentina have him. He'd let her slip herself inside his skin, let her use him and all his power to hurt people. To hurt Jefferson. He'd even warned her. He'd warned her that without the splicer she could never hope to keep control. He hadn't meant that purposefully. He hadn't intended to do anything, beyond vague thoughts of mutual suicide when she finally lost control. He'd surrendered. He'd given in completely.
And then. Then Jefferson. Then that foolish, idiot boy, standing there with all her fury in his face, reaching out as though he could pull Martin from beneath her skin. That hand, and that voice, brave and foolish and proud.
Your mind is stronger than hers, Grey. I know you're not going to let her kill me.
She'd screamed at him. When she'd felt his will lock down, felt his strength overmaster hers. She'd screamed and roared inside their head, her hand stabbing out to try and destroy his partner, to try and kill Jefferson as Ronald had been killed. She'd screamed at him to give her back her power, to let go and lie down and give her what was hers.
But she hadn't had the splicer. He'd warned her, and she hadn't listened. That moment, that first instinctive surge of protection, he'd remembered what a monster he could be. It had been effortless, once. He hadn't even needed to want it. He had owned and mastered just by existing, whether willingly or not. It hadn't been willing with Ronald. As terrible as he had been, as rightfully angry as Ronald had felt afterwards, Martin had never wanted it then. Not with him, not with a young man who'd never done him any harm.
He'd wanted it with Valentina. A surge of fury, of protection, of horror and vengeance. She'd screamed at him inside their head. He'd borne down against her anyway. He had locked his mind around hers, kept their fires inside her skin. He'd done it vindictively. Surrender he would give to Jefferson, to Ronald. They'd earned it from him. He would not give it to her. Not then, not ever. And without the splicer, she could never hope to make him.
You and me, we're Firestorm, Grey. You and ME.
Jefferson didn't know what he was asking sometimes, Martin thought. Tiredly, exhaustedly, with something of a smile on his damp face. That faith the boy had, that angry trust and surety. Trust in Martin's strength. Trust in his surrender, enough to reach out and pull and trust that Martin would go with him. Enough to trust that Martin was his, his Firestorm, that Martin belonged to him and not to anyone else. The boy had reached out without a thought, had hobbled up into the face of death and demanded Martin back from her. How could Martin possibly be worth that faith, hmm? How could anyone?
Yet there was nothing for it, was there? Jefferson was not without stubbornness himself. There was all the strength in the world inside that boy. In a war of stubbornness, if say the splicer were ever taken from them, Martin wasn't sure which one of them would win. Jefferson was no more inclined to surrender than he.
It wouldn't come to that, of course. Never, never in a million years. There would never be another Ronald. Martin had promised that to himself. He would send Jefferson away and blow himself higher than Valentina had ever dreamed before he allowed that nightmare to come again. He would keep Jefferson safe. From himself as much as from Valentina, from anything else. That boy would never know what Ronald had known, would never find himself on the wrong side of Martin's strength. Surrender was Martin's job now. That was his half of the bond, to give or to refuse as he saw fit. He would ensure that Jefferson was never forced to know it.
It wasn't exactly a hardship, after all. As frustrating as Jefferson could be in their fused form, there was no sense of mastery from him. There was frustration, anger, a desire to be allowed to act as he saw fit without Martin nagging incessantly at him, but there was no ... there was nothing like Valentina. There was no laughter at his terror, no will to beat him down, no desire to hold him still and make him watch as she destroyed someone he loved. Jefferson was nothing like that. Could never be, no more than Ronald.
They were ... They could work together, Martin thought. Partners. They weren't there yet, as much through Martin's fault as anyone's, but ... but perhaps they could be. Jefferson wanted to be. He could sense that from him. That's what the boy's frustration was. Martin had been trying to control him, hadn't he? Out of fear, out of a desire to protect, but he had. That's why Jefferson had been fighting him. If Martin had ... if they hadn't had ...
It was fortunate the splicer was there. It was, it really was, wasn't it. Because Martin's mind was ... strong. Weak and strong, in all the wrong places. Jefferson needed a shield from him. The power for Martin and the control for his partner. That was for the best. Jefferson would never abuse it, abuse him. To the bottom of his soul, Martin trusted that.
He trusted it a great deal more than he trusted himself.
"... Grey? Hey, that you? You ... you okay? What're you doing back here?"
Martin startled upright at Jefferson's voice, both hands swiping hastily at his face and almost sending his glasses clattering across the floor. He fumbled them into a catch with one hand, the other still pressed against his face. He had a fortunate excuse for that a second later. Jefferson asked Gideon to bring up the lights, and Martin had the perfect excuse to be holding a hand across his eyes.
Less so for having been sitting there in the dark against a bulkhead, but still. At least he hadn't been visibly crying still. Small mercies.
From the look on Jefferson's face, he needn't have bothered. The young man clearly knew what he'd been doing anyway, or at the very least could guess. He didn't say anything, though. Some small, instinctive mercy. He grimaced, a vaguely heartbroken, desperate expression on his face, but all he did was hold out a hand in Martin's direction. An unconscious echo of before, perhaps, trying to pull Martin out of Valentina's memory all over again. A gesture Martin could never again refuse.
"Come on, man. Snart and Rory are tryna kill Captain Hunter upstairs. Come with me and help me get between 'em, yeah?"
Martin glanced down. He took a deep breath, cleaned his face a little better, and put his glasses back on top of it. He stood up, and moved across to take his partner's hand in his. He squeezed it gently, looked up to smile with casual confidence into Jefferson's worry.
"Certainly, Jefferson," he said lightly. "Anything you need."
Absolutely anything, my boy.
Anything in this world.
A/N: Have I mentioned how much I love Jax? I'm so serious. The Firestorm bond is a thing always on the brink of being horrifying, as Valentina and E2 Deathstorm proved so handily, and to an extent that first year of Ronnie & Martin as well. That was neither of their fault, but I think it did a lot of damage to them in hindsight. Martin's experience of the bond has always to an extent been a war for control, master or be mastered. And Jax ... it just never occurs to him. It's a partnership to him. He wants to be part of a team. Even the last episode, the finale, with the transmutation. Martin is giving way to him, surrendering instinctively, and Jax is all "Nuh-uh. Get up here Grey and help me with this." He wants them to be equal, for Martin to stop trying to control him and stop surrendering to him, and just work with him instead. Just be part of him, be a partner and a team. I love him so much. He got a very damaged man for his partner in Martin, and he's been slowly and surely saving him from himself this whole way.