Chapter Text
The buzzing from his phone, the indignant sigh from his mouth, the ruffling of his hair from his hands. A routine turning all too familiar in his head by now, making it clear every time it was bound to relapse into a devastating headache.
“Really? Another one?” Martin huffed alongside Tim from the nearest chair. They had gone out for lunch, perhaps planning to stay a few minutes more than intended. Sadly, just like any other plans of similar nature they had indulged in before, the idea was shut right as it started to take shape, in the form of his or Tim’s phone buzzing into life, with a message that more often than not came from Jon.
“Yes Martin, another one.” Tim snapped at the other, noticing how he recoiled and a little of his cheerfulness vanished. “Shit– Sorry I–” he sighed in a show of remorse, which at least seemed to have gotten through to Martin. “Sorry I didn’t mean to… Say that,” he continued with a groan, setting his head back and tousling his hair some more. He brought his phone up to his line of sight and scanned it over, as if he needed any confirmation of what he would see by now.
Jon:
Elias wants to see you.
Martin caught the grumble that left Tim’s mouth, although it was nothing but impatient cursing. He watched as the man in question got up to leave, flinging his bag over his shoulder with little regard for whom it may hit in the process. Martin followed behind him.
The way over to the institute wasn’t exactly prone to conversation, none of them ever wanted to make the dreadful walk or commute over to institute grounds, where their surveillance and dangers heightened severely. Still, Martin tried for a brief portion of their walk, before deciding that Tim was too engrossed in his own rage-fuelled thoughts to care at the moment.
But how could he not? Every time Timothy read over that text, no matter how many times it was sent to him, he simply couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute disgust that washed over him. ‘Elias wants to see you’ or similar now formed a wall of individual messages in Jon’s contact tab since Tim never once replied, merely making his way over to the office of the man in question. He knew that any curse or insult he wanted to direct at Elias was most likely known by the man anyway, he just didn’t recognise it outright, ignoring how murderous Tim’s thoughts were every time he entered that office, which somehow was even more aggravating than being recognised and thoroughly lectured on.
Deep down, however, there was a thing that bothered Tim even more than just the prospect of being called into Elias’s office; the messenger himself.
Ever since Jon came back — maybe even before that — Tim had considered him a shell of his former self. He always looked a mess and always acted like one, slowly down that descend of his and his statements. Tim felt like every day that passed made Jonathan less of a man, but more like… Like a dog! Like a dog that feeds straight from Elias’s hand. Sometimes, Tim wondered if he would be happier if Jon had gone full-on monster. Maybe that way he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever he and Elias got up to.
Jon didn’t always send him messages though, not really. Sometimes Elias would have the decency of sending them himself. However, every time he did… Tim couldn’t really find Jonathan anywhere, so he always assumed the only times Elias had to fend for himself were when his darling little archivist had left him, on sick leave or late or whatever. Tim didn’t really care, sometimes it was better not to have Jonathan in the office anyway.
He barely set his bag back on his desk, throwing it haphazardly and knocking over some pens, pencils and papers, though those could disappear for all he cared, maybe taking the Magnus institute with them if he was lucky. There was some mocking from Melanie, something about being in a bad mood and something about Elias’s name, but Tim barely had the mind to take those in before he strode into the office, looking as discontent with the situation as he thought himself to be.
Ah, there they were.
Nowadays it barely got Tim to raise an eyebrow anymore, being so used to seeing Jon with Elias and the opposite as well. With this whole thing around ‘their master’ or whatever, they seemed to have gotten uncomfortably close, more than Tim would find possible for such a paranoid prick like Jonathan was.
He stood by the doorframe, not exactly frozen, just unfazed as he leaned to the side, knowing that the next step would have Jon scrambling out of Elias’s office as if he was instructed with a silent glare. Maybe he was! Who Knows? Definitely not Tim and he definitely didn’t want to find that out.
And that was exactly what happened; after some light talk that he honestly had no mind to register, Elias gave Jon a smile and then a firm squeeze on the shoulder, both which combined made Tim himself shudder as he noticed Jon did the same, turning on his heel and rushing out of the office perhaps a little too quick. Though Tim couldn’t blame him, he wouldn’t want to be trapped in Elias’s office either, the only difference being that he had no choice.
“Missed me much, boss?” His cheerfulness was acrid — the only kind of mirth he’s able to pull off these days — as he leaned over Elias’s desk with one hand to support himself. Elias soon returned from his nearby bookshelves to his desk chair. You know, Tim had always found the display quite ludicrous; Elias’s desk was in the very middle of his room, his chair stood in a way that every time someone entered, they would see Elias framed by this air of arrogance and importance, as well as the window that sat just behind him, framing him in a light more than blinding at times, coming through the window that was suspiciously shaped like an eye, now that Timothy thought about it for more than one second. Such an imposing man he thought himself to be…
“Oh no, no, of course not.” Elias replied in kind, although the giddiness of his tone felt much more tangible than Tim’s own. “I’m just reminding you of our work and lunch hours, as it seems as though you have forgotten them again.” Tim now realised with a sigh how futile that small plan of his and Martin’s was. Elias didn’t even bother to leave his office anymore, with how much his staff disrespected him, it was just easier to call them over and give them small nudges to ‘the right direction’. Not only that, but he had risked this daily annoyance of meeting Elias in the eye just for… a few spare minutes outside the Institute? It sounded even more stupid and petty now that he was thinking it over. Still, realisation hit him even more violently than he had imagined.
His face twisted into a scowl as a wave of migraines hit him all at once. Of course. Those thoughts of hopelessness were not his own, rather they were what Elias wanted him to focus on, so that his bite would disappear in due time. Tim felt almost stupid for thinking he would be self-pitying himself like that, even for just a moment.
“Ah, I see,” Tim said with a forced smile which fooled neither Elias nor himself, both very aware that it was strained as a result of the pain rattling inside his skull, which made itself all the more material as he tried to speak, feeling the words work their way out of his mouth labouriously. “Duly noted,” The words left him with a pang of throbbing pain accentuating every syllable.
“Good! Now let’s get back to work, shall we?” Elias spoke with excitement that bordered pettish, clearly content with watching his ‘magic’ bend Timothy’s will into his own. His smile — a soft, true smile — unnerved Tim more than he wanted to let it.
Tim felt himself just strong enough to straighten his body and make his way to the door, the ache pulsing with each step he took, but less overwhelming so as to let him step at all. He stopped before the door for a moment and allowed himself one good look into Elias;
“Hope you know I’m not stopping.” Tim would get on his nerves one day, he was sure he would. And maybe, just maybe, he would get fired when that day came.
“Duly noted.” Elias replied in kind.
Back at his desk there was something of a surprise, quite an oddity these days, but it was a nice one. His things were tidy, his bag that he’d thrown at it laid carefully below the desk, his papers, pens and pencils all back in place like they’d never hit the ground. But, most surprising of all, was the black pill accompanied with a glass of water that were added to the list of items polluting his desk, the view was not too unlike what he would encounter after a night at a bar and a few sweet comments about someone else.
His thoughts quickly diverted to Martin, who was the first and only person he thought would do something like that for him. He was also familiar with the methods in which Elias ensured their compliance, coming out of that office with a fair share of nauseating headaches himself. That hypothesis was shut down once he saw the small colorful paper which glued itself to the side of the cup, simply reading “headache” in a handwriting he recognised not as Martin’s, but… Jon’s.
Oh if that wasn’t a surprise indeed.
He looked around for a moment, trying to make sense of this whole scene. Maybe Elias wasn’t trying to mess with his thought process when he was at the office, maybe he was trying to make him hallucinate altogether. But he spotted Melanie leaning at the next wall over, a cup of most likely coffee in her hands. She looked like she was just waiting for a question and Tim knew exactly what that question was when he raised an eyebrow at her.
“I know right?” She said with a mix of mock and genuine wonder. “Nobody’s messing with you though, Jon really did all that.” With her free hand she gestured to his desk, with the other she sipped her drink and scowled, making Tim believe whatever she had in the cup was just disguised as coffee. “Came in, fixed your desk and then locked himself into his office.” She shrugged. “Weirdo.” Tim heard even as she tried to mask.
“Oh, uhm…” He nodded as he sat down, suddenly it felt as though this desk shouldn’t be disturbed any longer, but the cup and the pill sat there awkwardly, almost in the very middle of the space he had to work. Tim considered if he should drink it up or not. However he ultimately decided to do so, even if that pill wasn’t actual medicine, what was it going to be? Poison? Tim almost hoped it was, so he could pledge a sick leave and stay away from the institute for a few weeks. That would have been the kindest thing Jon did for him in a long while.
Alas, that was all wishful thinking. He let time pass as he worked half-heartedly, only then discovering that the pill did just what he was advertised, erasing the pesky migraines he felt until they were but a lingering feeling in the back of his mind. Shit-
Not only did that mean he was good to come to work tomorrow, but now it also meant he was due a ‘thank you’ to Jon. He shuddered at the thought, which bothered him more than the prospect of another meeting with his double boss. But it is what it is, he supposed, and the quickest he got that thanks out of his system, the quickest it would take for both to forget about it.
He did knock, but that always did little to alarm Jon of someone’s presence and it wasn’t any different this time. But he couldn’t hear his dramatic voice-overs from the outside, so Tim supposed his theatre-worthy reenactments were over for the day and walked in.
Jon wasn’t found at his desk, where he normally spent most of his day at. Instead, he faced the nearby window, not exactly looking outside, but he stood there nevertheless. Jon’s desk opposed Elias’s; where Elias’s desk was perfectly centered in front of that disturbing window of his, Jon’s stood more to the corner of his room. He had complained to them in the past that “the sun didn’t let him see his computer screen” , so after a while it had been moved by Martin, the only one of the crew strong — and willing — enough to aid Jonathan with it.
His window had a similar pattern to Elias’s office window, but his was… faulty. A bird had once collided against it, leaving a crack where its neck broke. As Timothy observed it, it reminded him much of a web birthing from the center of the stained glass pupil.
Speaking of eyes though, Tim could see Jon’s from the reflection. Aside from the uncanniness he felt upon noticing the mirage of many pairs of eyes littering Jon’s face and hair — which although now familiar did not fail to unnerve him, to unsettle Timothy to the point of shivers — he also noticed how his actual eyes looked unfocused, almost as if he wasn’t here at all, but in a very distant mindset that made him miss the knocks at the door or the sound of Tim approaching.
The distorted reflections was something they had all gotten used to at some point. Ever since Jonathan came back, the institute seemed as supernatural as it could be, meaning a lot had changed and ought to be perceived as weird, so a thing like Jon’s reflection changing wasn’t exactly new nor as surprising as it once was, but his unfocused eyes? That was something he could, should worry about.
Another thing that had changed with time was Jon’s hair. Once — Tim knew it to be a hyperbole, but that time, those simpler times felt like ages ago, sometimes it felt like they didn’t exist at all. — tied into a low ponytail when he came in for work, but nowadays it hang loose and quite messy, a little longer than shoulder length it was. Approaching made Tim notice he had a fair share of hair strands clinging to his fingers, as though he was schooling it himself just a moment ago — looking closer, Tim could see the marks left behind from his fingers, coming all the way up from his scalp and descending into the hair to make it flow properly.
Hm, well that’s something. Maybe he’s getting back together. Tim found himself almost hoping, before he reminded himself why he was there and why he did not want to spend any more time than necessary in that office. Alternatively, he was also almost forcefully reminded of the past arguments he had had with Jonathan in this very room. Yes, even if Jon is getting back together, it would hardly change a thing at this point. Tim knew Jon was long gone, whatever he was seeing now was whatever Elias had planned him to be.
And it burned a deep contempt inside Tim’s chest.
“Hey,” he said finally, watching Jon jump out of his stupor by the window and back to greet him. In his face there was a disconcerted smile, undoubtedly linked to being ‘caught’ daydreaming, or doing whatever he was doing.
“Oh, uhm– Hi” there was a hint of nervousness Tim had barely ever seen before in Jonathan, one that yelled of the times where they worked in research and Jon had to awkwardly admit he did need help with anything he didn’t know how to do himself. It made the fire inside of him churn even more unhappily.
Tim… did miss those times. It had been just a hell of a lot easier for them when bullshit-like workplace dynamics weren’t in place. Well, they weren’t there anymore exactly, disrespect running free in the institute, but they had caused damage that their relationship seemed unable to recover from even as Jon resumed being less of a boss and more of a figure he saw around. Jon was just… distant. His position of head archivist made him leave the small group of people he held so dearly and close to his chest, and for what? Some… Half-hearted praise from a man that had the lead of the collar that strangled each one of them, bound them down to hell as if they were the worst kind of sinners? Yeah, Jon was long gone in his eyes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss what he was before.
“I just… I came in to say thanks. For the— the meds,” Tim made a gesture with his head and pointed to the outside, around the place where his desk would be should one walk through the walls. “Helped enough.” He chuckled to ease the nervousness hung in the air and Jon did the same, except Jon’s laughter did ease them both of that stress more than Tim would like to admit.
“You don’t need to thank me for that. It’s the least I can do,” he said with a tint of sadness, which suddenly served to remind Tim why he worked in the archives; because Jon asked for him. Suddenly came a pang of disgust, suddenly came the dryness of his mouth, suddenly there was a scowl forming in Tim’s face, all happening before he could even notice. Jon noticed it first, however, his expression assuming some of the panic he felt, perhaps from fear of starting another unwanted argument with Tim. He knew that if Tim got going, it would not be past himself to answer. He tried to backtrack, talking something about Elias’s influence, something about Tim staying away from the archives, something about working in the archives against their will, but in the end he came to the very same conclusion Tim had come to; It was his fault, he dragged Timothy into this.
“Tch, yeah right,” Tim replied curtly before he turned to leave, expecting a rebuttal from Jonathan that would make it worth staying, but there never was one, only a small voice laced in self pity;
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to fix it…” It was barely not a whisper. Tim wasn’t sure he was even supposed to hear it, or if Jon had said it as a way to reassure himself of his own intentions, perhaps he wasn’t sure about them.
“Then you’re doing a terrible fucking job at it, boss.” He threw in the last bit with mockery in his tone and watched as Jonathan flinched as if the words had jabbed him physically. That… softened Tim’s heart for a moment, wondering just how much easier it would be to turn around and apologise, see the surprise he knew would paint Jon’s face at that and bask at the reminiscence of a simpler time in the research section. He did not. He did not apologise… Not until he was halfway out of the door, leaving Jon’s reaction a mystery he would not allow himself to indulge, out of pride, out of self-loathing, same thing. There was the faintest sound of Jon’s voice before that connection too was severed by the heavy door to his office.
Jon had never truly come back to work in the archives. No, that too had changed with time, distanced them a little more. Yet, Tim and the others still got to see him once or twice a week give or take, where he would request follow up to a case to be done, and then spend the rest of his time there in his office or — much more frequently — in Elias’s office.
Needless to say, any work not related to the Unknowing was done dispassionately and with little fruit to give. Still Martin pushed himself the best he could to bring back a little more information than anyone else, but even then it wasn’t a lot, and those cases were quickly dismissed in order to truly focus on the threat in the horizon. If Tim didn’t know any better, he would have said Martin was still scared of being berated by Jon, like he used to a year ago for the lack of proper research, but Timothy did know better than this, and he knew this enthusiasm of his came from an infatuation that extended over his logic, actively blanketing it.
Well, that was bound to change at some point. Tim just did not expect it to be so abruptly, so soon.
There had been a lack of information for a while now, on Jon, on the Unknowing. Everything had sort of stilled , in an almost unending monotony. It wasn’t bad per se, definitely not. It was merely… unheard of. While everyone stuck to their routines, there was a moment of respite seemingly felt by everyone as Jon was gone for a week or two, everyone but…
“But what if he’s dead?!” Martin said with a shudder. There was a demand behind his eyes that Tim had not seen in a long time, save for the rare moments where Martin had snapped at anybody, most recently at Tim himself.
“He’s not dead Martin, that’s wishful thinking.”
For a moment Martin seemed to double take if he heard the comment from Melanie or Tim, but his head quickly snapped back once he realised it came from Melanie. Not that Tim was too far behind on that logic, she had just beat him to it really.
“I mean really– If Jon would just…” Tim followed her line of thought with a little of his own, but the words failed him at that. “Y’know. This would probably be over.” Melanie hummed at the thought, seemingly aware of how his logic came together.
“No it would not ,” Martin rebutted both of them with that rising anger they sort of expected. Sometimes it was fun to rile other people, just to see their reaction, to get a change of pace for a day that was almost always the same. “Even if he was, Elias would just… He would just get another archivist, and then back to stake zero we go.” He grumbled the last part as though Jon being replaced hurt him more than the idea that he was dead.
“Maybe after we solve the Unknowing… Don’t think we got time to teach another person about all of this.” And now Basira too was tagging along, her tone making it clear that she knew what all this tease was trying to achieve. They’d all had their moments of messing with one another, despite how serious the thought might have been, they knew Martin would drop it soon enough.
“Basira, what are you suggesting here?!” Martin turned his attention to her instead, his hand holding his recently brewed tea mug shaking slightly. Both Melanie and Tim had the same thought at the moment as they looked at each other; Martin was getting mad mad. The mean-spirited glee on their faces was unable to be held back. “Are you suggesting that we kill Jon when this is over?!”
There was a knock on the door, sudden, almost shy as well, taking all of them out of that little scene of theirs as they registered who would ever knock on the door of the break room before just entering; Jon.
Oh. What bad timing that was.
“Look who it is!” Melanie broke that short lived silence before any of the others could think much further. It was only fitting, she had not known about Jon’s bouts of paranoia before she joined them. Still, Jon did not look as skeptic as Tim and Martin would have expected, not at all. Instead he looked almost shy? Sorry? His face was honestly unreadable when you considered it was Jon making it. “The boss’s little pet! What happened to you? Did he lock you up and lose the key?” She further aggravated it.
Now there was something they could recognise; a distinct pained expression as he flinched only very slightly, but clearly enough when all eyes were on his person. He took a step back and clearly intended to leave the breakroom before he’d even entered it, but Martin was faster as he broke out of that shocked trance of his and chased after Jon, inviting him inside as he hurriedly apologised for the misunderstanding. Jon scrambled inside the room in a way that told them he clearly wasn’t registering what Martin was saying at all, but the suddenness of being moved inside of the room disallowed him to think much further.
That was room enough for Melanie and Basira to flee, leaving only Jon, Martin and… Tim. Quite awkward if you asked him.
Luckily, that was short lived as well. Once Jon was fully pulled inside and sat nearby Martin was when Jonathan’s thoughts came back to him and he forced himself to stand up again, denying Martin’s advances with the most polite yet nervous smile that he could. It was almost cute, to watch Jon and Martin walk on eggshells around each other, almost.
“I-I-I really have to go Martin, I’m sorry, I just…” He looked around, searched for something before he set eyes on a cabinet… a cabinet he was a little too short to reach. He sighed, the prospect of asking for help wasn’t the most welcome, but it would just be stupid and a waste of time to fetch a chair to grab it.
“Martin?” He had deflated for a short second, but beamed again once his name was called. “Could you… Grab the bandages up there for me?” It was spoken so softly, as though Jon had not intended for Martin to hear, much less for Tim. Regardless they both did, and Martin was moving before his mouth could let out some word of affirmation.
It was effortlessly that he grabbed the bandage roll, setting it down for Jon and eyeing him in a way that made Tim almost dizzy with how sweet it was. Tim wouldn’t really mind if Elias crushed this little trance of his.
“Thank you. I-I have to go meet with Elias.” Oh, maybe he asked a little too soon. Jon moved away quickly, almost certainly to hide from the sadness that overtook Martin’s expression, as well as the tip of jealousy that Tim probably knew more than Martin himself did. Still his interest was hooked again when Jon stood by the door for a second, wordless, almost considering before he finally asked; “Would you mind making me some tea? Y-You can bring it to me in 15 minutes if I’m not back, it shouldn’t take me too long.” And just like that, he was out, without a doubt aware that Martin would never deny a request of his, much less one said so meekly.
“Lucky…” Tim said half-heartedly once Jon had vanished, watching Martin prepare the aforementioned tea while lost in daydreams. There was a deal of melancholy in his eyes as he watched the entranced way Martin would brew though, a deal of pity as he watched that man work without a second thought behind his eyes other than to please, other than to be helpful to a man as distant as Jon.
Tim could say he almost felt sorry for him as he watched him work so diligently not only here, but also anytime his research being helpful to Jon was barely suggested. He always did it, and it always brought Tim reminiscent thoughts of watching a bug fly into a spider’s web and merely wait to be devoured, hardly struggling, as if it had done so willingly. That was why Tim only almost felt sorry; because he knew Martin had flown into that web willingly, that he served Jon so adoringly regardless of it being a fruitless chase. Really, almost two years and he had barely accomplished being able to talk to the man, much less now that he acted like a feral cat having met a human for the first time.
Still, how was that any different than he was? He found himself sighing every time he thought this very thought, that he too had flown into that web, but had been devoured long ago and now waited for his carcass to be released from that merciless grasp that disrespected even what was left of him. Deep down, he must have known that he was hardly any different from Martin, that he too held foolish, childlike hopes that Jon would return to them one day, not as a monster but as that stubborn researcher he knew before. That one day everything would just magically turn back to how it was a long time ago. The more he bitterly joked about this very idea to others made him realise why he thought about it so much; he hoped.
There was a long moment of silence between the two, not much other than the natural sound of a building functioning and the occasional clinking of a mug or bubbling of water to fill the void. There wouldn’t be a conversation even if they tried, Martin too in his world and Tim lacking the patience to entertain it. Then the tea was done, and they waited, waited long minutes, more than Jon had asked them to, before Martin grew impatient, checking his wristwatch or phone almost twice a minute. It was nearly as fun to watch as when he got mad.
Finally, Martin picked both cups, one he had made for Jon and another he had made for himself, clearly made as a way to calm down while he waited for Jon to return. He’d moved to the door before stopping almost suddenly. He seemed to be weighing his options and even if from his angle Tim could not see his expression, his body language alone was enough to make him think there was some sort of anxiety locking him in place.
“So…? Don’t you have some tea to deliver?” Tim nudged, aware that it would either make Martin move or say whatever was on his mind. He picked the latter, in a rather hurried manner;
“I just– I don’t want to be in Elias’s office alone? I guess? I-I mean you don’t have to come or anything, I just thought–” He scrambled with his words, which overlapped each other in an almost unrecognisable flurry of phrases, but the gist of it Tim seemed to catch, Martin quieted exponentially as he approached.
“Wouldn’t wanna be either. Let’s go.” He nudged his head to the direction of the door and off they went. And yet there was still a feeling of dread that hung in the air, not exactly unfamiliar, no. Tim had felt it before, many, many times as he stubbornly barged into the wrong decision at the wrong place and at the wrong time. Then, why now? It was not that it was unlikely for something bad to happen in the archives, far from it, really, but there was an uncharacteristic note to this feeling that made him shiver all over. There was hardly time to dwell on it, though. Elias’s office was not as far as he had hoped, and the way there left no room for him nor Martin to reconsider. Martin was quiet. Perhaps he felt like that too.
The door felt heavier when Tim pushed it open.
Had he not been the one to do it, he could have missed the fraction of a second in which Jon’s head tilted up and back, so pliantly, willingly to allow for the following kiss bestowed upon the bandaged skin of his neck. A kiss left there by Elias.
No, perhaps he couldn’t have, not if Martin stood frozen in the doorway alongside Tim, his breath caught in his throat where a knot had formed. Martin stared for long, painful seconds that felt like hours, as though he too had caught the implications of their every move, regardless of it being such a minor interaction to be had. There was no space in his mind that afforded the thought of taking his eyes away from the two, perhaps he just couldn’t do it.
There was something else that made that moment feel like forever; tenderness. It was unabashed, so painfully there that it hardly left a way to deny that it existed Going by the genuine look of shock and heartbreak, seemed to be what Martin’s brain tried to do as he took in the way Jon’s eyes fluttered close in a display of comfort, how his expression softened beyond what either of them had ever seen in weeks, months . How Elias rested his hand over Jon’s shoulder almost protectively, while the other held the end of the bandages where he had knotted it into a goddamn bow behind Jon’s neck that yelled of power devoted, yet power won. Had neither of them seen it, it would have remained hidden below Jon’s long hair, something only Elias would have known was there, but he did not seem to want to bask in that notion alone by the way his eyes grazed both of them for a single second, a look of satisfaction in his face that bordered predatory.
“Oh, Tim, Martin. I must’ve missed you knocking.” And just like that it was over. Elias spoke cheerily, his tone suddenly knocking all of them out of their unending trance, Jonathan the most violently as he nearly whipped around, narrowly avoiding hitting Elias as he curled over himself for some degree of modesty. Not that there was any to be had, but it did come with a sliver of satisfaction for Tim as Elias had to jump back, clearly underestimating his archivist’s level of awkwardness.
“We did not.” The words left fraught. Yes, they hadn’t knocked. Why had they not? The migraine hit him almost immediately, but if Martin was affected he was still too frozen to show. Stronger, this time, as well though he did not afford himself to fall over.
“Then I suppose there’s no harm done,” he spoke as he turned to Jonathan who had barely moved from his shielding position. He did not speak and with the way his eyes scanned around anxiously, Tim knew he was panicking, unsure what his next step should be, who he should be addressing first. Elias knew that too. “You called them, Jon?” Finally he seemed to have his mind made up for him, Jon stood with a light ‘yes’ in a broken voice.
He carried himself with some nervousness, steps so quick and yet so heavy, eyes that darted everywhere of the short way he walked, hands that trembled upon reaching for that mug in the still frozen Martin’s hands. He was only halfway through a stammered apology when their hands brushed against each other, the effect immediate.
His grip on the mug faltered, but Jon was able to secure it a second of panic before he locked eyes with Martin again. His face held the most sincere desolation either of them had ever seen from the man. His other hand only seemed to strengthen the grip he had on the other cup’s handle, either aware that it would meet an unfortunate end if he did not, or trying to keep himself grounded before he befell what Tim had once experienced and allowed his hand to swing the cup at the object of his despair. Tim hardly believed he had it in him to do such a thing, but he did not think he could have done it either at the time. The Magnus Institute would get to them all eventually.
“M-Martin I-I…” These words were said in the meekest of voices, the kind, laced regret and guilt pilling up in his throat to make him mute. It did not help that with every second that passed there was a growing threat of tears, as well as a clearer picture of disgust in Martin’s face. Was it disgust? From where Tim stood he could not see it, and Jonathan would not believe it to be anything else even if told otherwise.
He held his cup in both hands, looking down like a child being scolded by their parents, but those lashing words never came, there was only silence. Painful, unbothered silence that seemed to grow thicker with every beating of his heart, enough to render nearly all parties into a suffocated, nearly panicked mess.
There was no telling for how long they stood there, Martin staring at Jon with tears that stubbornly did not dare to fall, and Jon with his head low, hot tea most likely burning his palms agonisingly, though he did not let it show.
“I’m sorry.” It was just a whisper, and the spell was gone. Martin turned around nearly on command, his free hand slowly but firmly balling into a fist as he made his way to the door, demeanor imposing, upset. Tim had hardly ever seen him like that, but those very few times did tell him to stand out of the way if that was the situation he found himself in. He gave way for Martin to walk out, noticing the last, reevaluating look he gave Jon before nearly slamming the door closed.
Tim’s words died in his throat, the migraines almost instantly subsiding once that door was closed, yet not nearly comforting as it should now that his head swam in personal troubles and thoughts. It made him want to vomit, but he couldn’t afford that, not right now.
Standard procedure would be to let Martin go, to let him cry it out, alone . That was what Tim had always let him do and knew he liked best. Yet he couldn’t. His feet moved him behind Martin near silently, not trying to conceal himself although his steps were shy enough to give that impression.
They left the building, walked down the road for a while and Tim noticed how it felt like the sky was getting darker and the sidewalk became more and more deserted, weirdly so for such a busy hour in the evening. Tim took in the sight, his feet dragging him along faster now that Martin seemed to have sped up, his thoughts likely ramping up by the second into something much… Darker, clouding his judgement just like the sky above. There was a moment of recognition, then one for fear for the man that followed; he didn’t… recognise these streets.
“Martin.” he tried to call, noticing how the shops were all devoid of any letters on their fronts or indications of what they might serve, the people were now nearly all gone, those still left in his field of vision hardly resembling actual people when he casted his gaze upon them for too long. This was… wrong. It was getting out of hand entirely and if he did not grab it again, he and Martin both will not enjoy the consequences of it, they may not even be there to consider enjoying anything.
There was no answer, no dignified response other than a quiet sniffling from up front. Of course Martin was crying, Tim could even see some tears that were sent back at him because of the wind of a cloudy London evening, which did not match the fact that there was a layer of thick fog building around them the more they walked down this nondescript road with unmarked shops and blank street signs.
“Martin, Martin look at me,” He raised his voice, running after Martin before gripping his arm and spinning him back around. He was no small man, taller and broader than Tim himself, but he was distracted, distracted enough to make the pull feel almost natural. “You gotta– You need to calm down– ”
“Calm down?! Tim–” He spoke out of turn, making Tim jump one step back and release his arm as he gesticulated quite vaguely with limbs still trembling from the countless feelings and sensations swimming inside of his head at the same time. “You… You saw the same thing. You–” from a rude, hoarse voice came a broken and pitiful groan. Martin’s tears rolling down his face in endless streams that prompted him to raise his glasses up onto his hair, held unsteady, but out of the way of salty water. “You saw it.” It was as though having to say these words out loud stabbed him deep in his chest, slashed his throat open with the way he had to bark them out.
“Don’t think I’ll get it out of my head anytime soon,” Tim answered with a humourless chuckle, unsure whether to regret that decision or not when the fog grew more condensed with the sound of Martin’s own laughter. “I did, we both saw it…” It was a bitter truth in his tongue as well, a churn of disgust burning deep into his chest for a reason he did not know, or perhaps did not afford to let himself think about. But this was no time to think about it, about himself, Martin was his focus as he threatened to slip away and into that wall of mist that consumed them both little by little. “but listen–”
“No! You listen,” it nearly sounded like thunder breaking into their vicinity, but rain never came and the skies never fell, still time seemed to freeze as though that threat of lightning had hit them both, rendering Tim especially quiet. “I’m tired of listening, y’know? I’m not okay with this, none of us are!” his gestures had become more frantic, his voice louder and louder, only miraculously not succumbing into an incoherent mess, although if you judged by his looks he would have a long time ago.
“All I do is listen! And I’m so damn tired– ‘Martin you need to record these statements for Jon.’ Or ‘Martin you need to research on these while Jon is gone.’ ” His voice lowered a notch as he impersonated Elias. “And that’s– That’s not the worst part!” His face crumpled up in a painful display as he tried to will away his tears.
“The worst part is that I did it for him!” And thus, he finally broke. His cries and hiccups and tears overshadowed what else he wanted to say, becoming nearly inaudible from where Tim stood. “He doesn’t— He doesn’t owe me anything, I just— I was keeping it together because–” Tim watched, not exactly his proudest moment but what could he do? What could he say when they were in the same boat of disillusion and betrayal? a betrayal that didn’t even sound right to be mad about… He could just watch and let dread eat at him, an overwhelming sense of foreboding as he realised he could barely see Martin’s tears by now as they mixed in with the fog, they seemed to almost evaporate into it. In fact, Tim could barely see Martin, his vision tricking him into seeing the man as if he was far away, his voice coming from that distance as well, it didn’t feel right, it wasn’t right. He moved ever so slightly away and Tim felt overcome with the feeling that if Martin took one more step back he would never see him again.
He willed himself though, he had to. There was no way out of this situation if they both panicked no? He took a step forward, watching the mist dissipate under his feet as if he was dousing a small fire, then he took another, surprised that there was ever room to move, much less forward when the wall of white seemed as condensed and strong–willed as it did. Just like that, he trampled over the fog that had gathered. It seemed to dispense in time with his approaching, until he finally stood face to face with the crying man, finally noticing just how far they had strayed from each other despite it seeming like they had never moved.
“Martin,” Tim said, soft spoken as he miraculously took the hand entangled painfully in ginger hair away and brought it close to himself, almost thanking, praying whichever power had allowed him to still touch Martin amidst his assimilation with the fog. There were hardly any words that felt fitting in the situation, and if they existed at all, Tim did not know them.
“Let’s go, I’ll treat you to something nice for once.” He pulled Martin away from where he feared he would slip into. Then, he watched as Martin opened his eyes again to just… blink, clearly taken aback by the display of what at first felt like indifference, but better aligned itself to be a wholehearted attempt to weight Martin back into reality when he thought about it further.
The pull seemed to go unnoticed, but so did the way the skies gave way to what now was the setting sun. It was a clear view.
“W-What…?” All the bite and hurt from before seemed to have given way to his genuine confusion, as well as embarrassment as he felt some eyes turned right at them — at least the people had eyes now. He stumbled his way behind Tim now, both returning the way they came. Tim held his hand, still somewhat weary he could just… disappear if he did not. That something, someone was waiting for that opening so Martin could be taken away.
“I mean, I don’t remember seeing you eat today, no? And also it’s…” Tim pulled his phone — which he thankfully hadn’t left back in the archives before this whole situation happened — and checked the time, gagging for a moment before he picked up his pace “It’s uh… Seven thirty…” Now was Martin’s turn to gasp, which was something of a good sign when you consider that too was him being back to reality and worrying about something that wasn’t Jon.
Jon, huh…
They walked back in a hurry, hoping that the institute would still be open so they could retrieve their things before heading out to eat. Or home, if Martin had forgotten about what Tim had promised him. But, surprisingly, the walk back was somewhat silent. Both of them needed some time to process that flurry of information that shook them both so deeply. The first of those things Tim wanted to know was a why .
He didn’t need to think far to know why Martin reacted the way he did: the poor lad was holding up entirely by telling himself that this way he could please Jon, that he could make his struggles a little lighter, that he could maybe earn some recognition from the man he’d been infatuated with for so long, but that was… a foolish dream, Tim had known that for a long time.
He still remembers joining the institute and meeting Jon there. He was just mousy little researcher not a lot of people paid attention to. He had Sasha with him at the time, the two of them clearly hitting off in a friendship based off of books and spooky trivia that would otherwise be tagged useless unless you were using it inside a spooky institute. Tim hit a lot better with Sasha when he had first started working there. His charisma — which had somewhat diminished nowadays — had been ‘right up her alley,’ she’d said and it wasn’t until long that the two were just as inseparable as Jon and Sasha had been. It was only natural that a relationship with Jon would follow.
They weren’t alike, not at all, but that didn’t matter when it seemed like they completed each other so well. It wasn’t anything romantic, not at first, it was merely gratifying to see just how well they dealt with each other; Tim would be the one to coax and drag Jon out of that outer shell he locked himself in, get him to leave home, have some fun that not even Sasha was able to convince him he needed. And, in return, Jon taught him all about the esoteric, about what he needed to know when he first got into the institute. He never helped with what Tim was truly looking for, but that was never something he’d thought to confide to anyone, so that research was left for him to do but was made much easier with what skill he could get from Jon.
He still remembers how it came up, and still had a chuckle to himself when he thought of it too fondly, knowing now that it would only lead to a more painful fallout. They were drinking, all of them were; Sasha, Jon, Tim and even some people from the other departments that Tim honestly had no interest in remembering the names nor faces of. Jon had never been one to change much when he drank, he didn’t really get any new behaviours worth mentioning other than… he became more honest. You could ask him about anything that you’d normally get a frown for, and he would answer quite pliantly, which led to some interesting trivia about himself that night.
One thing led to another, a question had led to a confession so quiet it was only heard by whom it was meant for. ‘I might be into you.’ he said hardly above a whisper. There was just something about the way he’d said it that made Tim disregard any sort of intentionlessness to his words, made Tim himself feel hot all over in a way alcohol shouldn’t have, but maybe feelings did. It felt like he was being boiled from the inside under the droopy and unfocused gaze of the other.
And, just like that, something of an arrangement had bloomed. It was never something official, but it did the job to respond to the feelings rising in both of them. Tim still remembers how lovely Jon was, the alcohol and the hours of the night combined and fused into what he still held as the most docile Jon had ever been, willing, wanting. He remembers everything about that night in clear detail, including Jon’s quirks and how he struggled himself off a hug claiming that cuddles were not something for him, apparently he didn’t do well with ‘body heat’, which was a funny thought as it essentially disregarded what had led them to lay in bed together to begin with.
Perhaps, in hindsight, it made sense that Jon had sought Elias. He had always had a thing for being praised, after all.
Elias… Tim can’t say he saw it coming. He’d thought about Basira before, only to be somewhat rudely awakened when she started working there and mentioned how he had hyped Jon a while ago, sometime before their fallout. But Elias? He barely thought of him at all, he used to be quite the absent boss, and Tim definitely wouldn’t mind returning to those days, but if that was the case, what led Jon to his arms? Was it– What did they call it… The Beholding? Did having the same patron alter Jon’s brain into this? Although Tim didn’t have the benefit of powers, that idea felt highly unlikely.
All Tim saw of them was the admittedly the bitten and tense interactions they’d had ever since Jon became this paranoid mess that he now was. It was always Elias rudely pointing out how he could be fired and Jon biting back about how that would be the least of his problems, or how that would be suspicious behaviour. Elias did not extinguish that fire, though. He stoked it… Had he not? The surveillance camera files, the new copy of the key to the underground tunnels — which Jon never told them, but it wasn’t easy to figure with his natural inability to be subtle. Now that Tim thinks about it, there is something lumping on the back of his throat about this situation, how Elias… Had always , in one way or another, enabled Jon’s behaviour. He let Jon get like this. He wanted him like this.
“Tim?” Martin’s voice took him out of that train of thought, a relief. He seemed to have been speaking before but Tim could only give him a look of bashfulness as an ask for him to repeat himself. “I–I was just saying… Where do you want to go now?” so Martin did remember in the end. Tim couldn’t say he was mad about it, a night out seemed earned.
“Oh, right. It’s not far from here, come on.”
The door clicking back into its hinges felt louder than ever and the gust of wind that it brought was nearly enough to send Jon backwards with how forceful it felt hitting his shaking body. He felt frozen in time, his eyes still wide and his hands trembling as they did their best to hold the weight of that tea mug, a tea mug he felt like he no longer deserved, like he was tarnishing something for having it.
When Jon was asked to meet up with Elias while in the middle of remaking most of his bandages, he hadn’t thought any of it. It wasn’t anything new for Jon, to pop into his office for a share of intel that hardly came, nor was it impossible for Elias to call him in out of left field. He thought he’d gotten his own roll of bandages but, clearly, he had not, having to begrudgingly make his way into the break room for another and hope things went smoothly from there. But things went quite the opposite from the moment he knocked on the door.
Thinking it over, Jon wanted to hit himself for ever telling Martin to meet him. It didn’t even make any sense! They could have just waited until he was done talking to Elias, he would be out at some point! But they didn’t, whether of his own volition he didn’t know, he just… Perhaps he wanted to quell that anxiety in Martin’s face, perhaps that innocent desire caught up to him and backfired in the worst way possible.
When Jon had come into the office, he thought he would just finish working the gauze again while talking to Elias, making sure no wounds — especially the one on his neck — would open again or get infected from old cloth wrapped around them. It was an inconspicuous enough plan, but it crumbled in the face of Elias’s silver tongue.
Jon should have known better, really, but he did not, his gullibility worse than he had ever imagined. All it took were soothing words that hushed the demand in his own, and a fake display of regret that made his mind vulnerable. Elias proposed he be the one to fix up the gauze and Jon agreed, keen when his boss had mentioned he could share some information he had discovered from his own digging into Gertrude’s remaining files. Information Jon can’t even recall amidst the wave of headache and adrenaline racking over his body at the moment. He let himself go under Elias’s attention, perhaps the soothing of the Beholding’s curiosity made him more docile, or maybe it was the way in which Elias could have swayed his thoughts. It was hardly worth it to blame anyone anymore for Jon’s submission was undoubtedly his own. His own mistake he could have never expected to be so violently thrown back at him, consequences tenfold.
His hands suddenly felt warm, or at least warmer than they were as they burned with the mug’s radiating heat. It was Elias, his hands supporting Jon’s own when it looked like they were about to lose all their strength. He was now all too aware of how painful his grip had become and almost let it go with a start, but Elias beat him to it and set it aside on the small table adorning the office. Sometimes Jon thought the amount of casual furniture made it feel welcome, but right now he did not with the way his heart beat fast and loud, almost yelling at him to leave. Whatever Elias was trying to tell him to make him calm down, it was lost over the sound of his own regret pounding in his chest.
“You… You knew this was going to happen,” he said pointedly over Elias’s spiel. It only earned him a tired look from the man but that told him all he needed to know, how this conversation was going to go.
“I am not, nor have I ever been all-seeing, Jon, and you know this.” A lie Jon didn’t even need the gift of the Beholding to sniff out. He shrugged and walked away, his behaviour almost on par with a petulant child, if you were to ask Elias.
“Not all-seeing, omniscient, but surely you could’ve seen it coming, couldn’t you? You always do.” He threw himself on one of the leather sofas rather defeatedly, aware that what was done wouldn’t be undone, and what was seeing wouldn’t be leaving anyone’s head anytime soon. “Don’t lie to me, Elias.” He looked up from in-between his messy hair, he had no urgency to brush it off his face or tidy it anyhow when he was with Elias, especially not when it hid the tasteless gift he’d left on his nape.
There was a chuckle, so infuriating that it would warrant another bark from the Archivist if he still had it in him, but at the moment? Much more important things plagued his mind than arguing whether or not Elias was lying about the extent of his powers. He already knew the answer although the thought behind it he did not.
That mug of tea laid on the table almost insultingly, making Jon’s chest all that much heavier when he looked at it. He felt like he had ruined it but what it was he could not tell you, he could only sigh in defeat and throw his head back against the cushion in hopes of opening his eyes again to see the mug gone, no luck in that department, but when was he any lucky?
But really, what had he ruined? All he could feel was the way his body felt void, it felt as though a rift had opened and it threatened to swallow him into another bout of ‘infuriating self-pity’ as Daisy none too kindly put it. He couldn’t say he was all too opposed to letting himself fall.
There was a shift on the couch just to his side, Elias’s weight resting on a seat suddenly made suffocatingly small for both of them. Jon knew what that implied but could not stray himself from wallowing, he wanted someone near, someone close when he knew he was about to become more distant. Jon did not bother with what led him there, he never did, in the back of his mind he had always been somewhat aware that it was Elias who made his vulnerability shine through, not sweetly nor organically, but methodically and aware. But he did not care, not when looking at Elias’s adoring gaze from above felt so rewarding, so weirdly reassuring, like Jon had any resemblance of a higher ground above the man whose influence warped his mind at that very moment.
“Martin didn’t deserve this,” he said as he slumped forward, head resting on Elias’s shoulder as he felt hands sneaking around his waist, pulling them closer together but hardly with any intention. Jon didn’t appreciate the proximity and the heat it brought, but for only a moment and with the shield of clothes it did feel somewhat comforting to be wrapped in this form of human fire.
There was a humming noise, an invitation that Jon would continue to tell Elias the troubles that plagued him, tell him exactly what he was thinking. He would not put it past Elias to know it though, so he did not mind letting it out even if it screamed to be a risky idea. When had he ever played safe after all? If he had, none of this would have happened.
“He’ll be upset…” Jon was starting to speak more to himself than to Elias, aware he was hardly going to provide him with an answer that would help, much less one that didn’t benefit Elias anyhow. Jon had always been somewhat aware that Martin’s behaviour was vested by something, but perhaps the thought that Martin could love him failed to cross his mind until he saw it. Saw how his face was scorched by disgust and distress, emotions that fit not in his face that had always been so cheery and sweet when he spoke to Jon. On the other hand Jon couldn’t say that he reciprocated the feelings now that he was exposed to them, but maybe at another time he could have indulged the thought. “He will be upset.”
“That he will.” It felt like the opposite of reassurance, but some part in Jon felt like it was consoling just as much. He needed to hear it, ground himself in reality and figure what to do next now that he could expect Martin to distance himself from him like the others, the only tie he had for Jonathan somewhat severed by his impulsive decisions and his desperate seeking for attention. It was an ironic thing to think when that same urge had led him to bury his face against Elias’s neck as he was perched on his lap, he did not learn a thing huh?
Martin was… The nicest person in the office right now, perhaps Basira didn’t mind him as much but it was something of an odd move to suddenly become close to her, perhaps an impossible one if rumours of this situation spread inside the institute, even having ‘victims’ to corroborate the story. Jon wouldn’t put it above Tim to spread the word himself just to see Jon’s image crumble even if he was still in a position of power, he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop it and he doubted Elias would either.
“They will tell the others,” Jon said almost like a beg, a cry for Elias to do something to change such an outcome, but something he knew would not happen. The words hung heavy in the air for a moment before Jon was beckoned to look up from his hiding spot. Elias watched him positively awestruck, as though Jon was something to be admired and worshiped in this state. He felt anything but, yet the look of adornment made him weak all over just like his honeyed words did, it was honestly pathetic how willing he felt with Elias, but he did not feel inclined to change.
“And do you believe that to be a negative?” He let his thumb wander, tracing Jon from cheek to lip where it rested until he spoke. There was an invitation, or perhaps it was the bait of the anglerfish that had come to devour him. Jon embraced it readily.
“No. I don’t think so,” He spoke quietly, almost lovingly as his hands made their way up Elias’s body, from his chest to his shoulders and up his neck, until they rested just below his jaw and ordained it up to meet the Archivist’s gaze, whichever pair of eyes it wanted Elias to hold was an unnecessary concern, it merely wanted him to look, to watch . The way which Elias regarded it had changed, his eyes carrying that same tint of worship, but now something else as well… Luring. The Archivist was none wiser than a fly that had drifted into a venus flytrap’s mouth.
“Let them keep watching.” Those same trembling fingers hooked deeper, carved against the underside of Elias’s jaw as the Archivist’s lips met Elias’s in a show of submission, that invitation now returned tenfold and he would be a foolish man not to take it. The hand nested in eye-ridden hair brought it closer and with the click of their mouths against one another, Jon was gone, recognition drowned in the urge for connection, for Elias.