“How is it that an avatar of the Lonely never shuts up?”

“Perhaps it’s the same reason why the Archivist is so often steeped in denial?”

Jon bit hard into his lower lip, resisting the urge to squawk. Of course, despite all the unwanted information that was flowing into his head nowadays, the one thing the Eye wouldn’t tell him was when Elias Bloody Bouchard had snuck up behind him. Jon turned to find him casually looming, hands folded behind his back.

“There’s always been a touch of contradiction in the avatars,” he continued, looking around the office. “Something to do with our latent humanity, I suspect. Still, I am… sorry if your meeting with Peter was trying.”

Jon scowled. “You know how it went.” He Knew that Elias Knew—a dizzying feedback loop that reminded Jon too much of one of Michael’s doors. He ruthlessly pushed the feeling aside.

“Nevertheless.”

“Why do we even put up with him? The Lukases?” A distinct whine had crept into his voice, but Jon was too tired to care. Seated behind his desk, Elias keeping a professionally appropriate distance between them, he could almost believe things were still simple and a personal visit from his boss, mentor—idol, really—was enough to lighten Jon’s whole week. He kept his eyes (all eyes) on the swirls in the wood, drifting for just a moment in that tantalizing taste of normalcy.

Elias’ tut slammed Jon back into reality. “You know they’re donors.”

“But the Lonely? Aren’t they—I don’t know. The Eye’s antithesis?”

Just like that the disappointment was gone and in its place was the sharp, almost gleeful look Elias bestowed on him whenever Jon Knew something he shouldn’t. He shrank back, grinding his teeth, but he felt an explanation slipping out anyway. There was no compulsion, Jon had simply never been able to resist backing up a point.

How had Georgie put it? Ah yes, ‘Stubbornness personified.’

“I simply mean,” he went on, ignoring Elias’ curious head tilt, “that we’re, you know, all about knowing things.” Oh, well put, Jon. He ignored the heat creeping up into his ears. “Knowing people, I mean. Judging them. Revealing their secrets and putting all that they are under a relentless spotlight. Being alone all the time…” Jon grasped at the words, hands waving. “You’re never alone with the Eye and we can’t See without providing some kind of companionship as a byproduct. No matter how warped it might be,” he finished with a mutter.

Elias hummed low in his throat, considering. “Tell me, Jon, have you ever felt lonely in a crowded room?”

“…yes.”

“Would you perhaps say that you felt more alone in the company of others, knowing that you are fundamentally disconnected from them, than you would if you’d been isolated, your failure to form a meaningful relationship no longer obvious—justified, even?”

Elias spread his hands. They both knew the answer to that. “You’d be ever so surprised how many of the Lonely’s domains are overcrowded and how much isolation can feed our own patron. As I said, Jon: contradictions.”

He’d crossed the office at some point during the conversation, though Jon couldn’t have said when. Elias leaned his hands on the desk, mere inches from Jon’s, and he couldn’t help but admire that they were not shaking, not clenched tight in distress. They were not pale from lack of food and sleepless nights, the nails were not bitten down to their quick, nor were there splashes of ink from hurried, frantic writings. For just a flash, Jon wanted all that Elias wasn’t.

“Have you?” he whispered. “Ever felt lonely, I mean?” Jon didn’t know where the question had come from. Perhaps the same place that wanted a monster to define his humanity.

He could hear the smile in Elias’ voice when he said, “Why of course, Jon. Many, many times. Though not since, oh… April 6th, 2011? Thereabouts, I’d say.”

The date threw him in its specificity, but then, maybe when he became as used to this as Elias, Jon would be able to recall such specifics too.

It took him a moment to realize he’d thought “when” rather than “if.”

And it wasn’t until Elias’ hand slid atop his, almost punishing in its grip, that Jon’s sluggish mind recognized the date as the day he’d come to the Institute.

Contradictions, he thought, allowing his fingers to grip back.