“Jon? How do you feel about using your powers for good?”

Jon looked up from the crossword puzzle that the Beholding was steadfastly refusing to help him out on, and raised an eyebrow at Martin. “How exactly am I meant to use the power to make people relive their worst experiences for good? Do you need someone tortured?”

“What? No.” Martin frowned at him. “That’s not even what your power is. What you do is make people remember things and tell their stories. And there’s something I need to remember right now.”

“Is that what I...?” Those sad puppy dog eyes made Jon trail off. He had to admit that Martin wasn’t wrong, at least. “I guess that is what I do." 

He neatly put away the puzzle and folded his arms on the table between him and Martin. Still, Martin had to know that this could only end badly. "You need to realize that I have never done this in a non-harmful way. And I can’t exactly control how much I make you say.”

“Ah.” Martin shot him a reassuring smile. “I just need you to ask me about one specific thing. And you can make me write it down, so even if something comes out that I’d rather you didn’t see, I can just keep it to myself.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. That sounded… “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Hey,” Martin shrugged in a non-committal fashion, “if you know somebody with superpowers you might as well-"

“I would-” Jon tripped over himself to interrupt Martin. “I wouldn’t exactly call them ‘superpowers’.”

Martin ducked his head and chewed on his lip. “Oh shit. Sorry. Yeah, that’s uh… Probably not… uh… I shouldn’t-”

“Right. Right... What is it you absolutely need to remember?”

“Well… Um.” 

At that Jon watched a blush creep up Martin’s face. 

“I came up with a poem this morning.”

“Oh?” That was some good news at least, and Jon found himself smiling warmly at Martin. “You finally got over your writer’s block then?” A bit of a weird change in topic, but-

“Well. Yeah. Except… I didn’t have anything to write with, and by the time I got my hands on some paper I had already forgotten most of it.”

Oh. “Right.” Jon had an… inkling where this was going. “So… you want…”

“I figured you could… compel me to write it down?” There was a blush very quickly overtaking Martin’s cheeks, and he wouldn’t meet Jon’s eyes anymore. “I- Y’know…”

“That’s uh…” It was… certainly a unique way to make use of the Beholding.

“I don’t know if that’s exactly how it works, but uh… I thought it might be worth a shot?"

Martin pulled out a writing pad and a pen that he must have conveniently stashed there for this exact purpose.

Jon must have been making some kind of face, because Martin defensively asked “What?” and anxiously rolled the pen between his fingers.

And now Jon felt bad. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Martin sit in that same spot with that same writing pad, staring holes through the empty page for hours.

“Nothing. I just don’t know exactly how to-”

“I’d think, just... ask me to write down the poem I came up with this morning.”

“Okay? Um… Write your poem?”

Martin raised an eyebrow at Jon. “I do need you to mean it. I mean…” He rolled the pen more urgently. “I think I do.”

Jon did his best to hold in a sigh.

This could only end poorly, and he already saw the disaster approaching. And yet-

He leaned over the table, looked Martin square in the eye, and put on what Martin had long since dubbed the ‘Archivist Voice’. “Write your poem.”

In an instant Martin’s face went blank and he started mechanically moving his hand over the page, eyes glued to the tip of his pen.

Jon almost had a mind to shake him out of it, but he had firsthand experience with trying to resist compulsions, and he would really rather not find out what would happen if he tried to force Martin out of one.

Minutes went by, during which Martin filled several pages, until he finally put the pen to the side.

He shook his head, slowly blinking back to reality, and Jon breathed a sigh of relief when Martin’s face turned from completely blank into a concerned frown.

Jon leaned over the table, partially covering the pages, and wrapped his hands around Martin’s wrists. “Martin?” He gently ran his thumbs across Martin’s skin. “Martin, are you okay?”

"Yes. Yes, I uh…" Martin gave another shake of his head and let out a shaky breath. “Well, that uh... was… something.” 

He shook Jon off and straightened up in his chair.

“Well?” Jon nodded at the pages. “Did you at least write the right thing?”

“Um… Gimme a sec.” Martin gathered up the papers with unsteady hands and studied the writing, chewing on his lip in concentration.

Jon watched his face gradually light up.

“Yes! I remember now! This is exactly what I was thinking about earlier!”

Martin was beaming at him, and Jon couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well... I’m glad you could get it out after all.”

Martin reached out to squeeze Jon’s wrist, and let his hand linger on Jon’s arm.

A by now familiar warmth rose up in Jon’s chest.

“Thank you, Jon.”

Martin’s smile grew softer.

Jon placed his own hand over Martin’s where it was still resting on Jon’s arm, and Martin took that opportunity to link their fingers together.

Jon couldn’t have contained his own soft smile, even if he’d wanted to.

“Right.” Right.

He caught Martin’s eye, the warmth in his chest swelled, and couldn’t look away anymore.

Maybe this whole situation wasn’t all bad.

Maybe he could still do some good.