2023-05-18 20:07:05 ¶ ●

So this is me, trying to write some light and fluffy Jon/Elias.

….yeah.

***

“Uh, Jon? You okay?”

“Yes,” Jon says, through gritted teeth, and wonders if it’s too early in the day for another smoke break. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Everything’s just great, isn’t?”

Martin takes a hesitant step back.

“Well, actually—”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I know that!” Martin’s face twists into a scowl, and Jon feels a well-deserved stab of guilt. He was supposed to stop that, wasn’t he? Stop keeping people at arm’s length, stop being mean and short-tempered, stop with the suspicions and stalking and baseless accusations—just. Stop.

Jon forces himself to breathe, imagining sharp taste of smoke filling his mouth, creeping down his lungs. He exhales, almost able to watch the puffy little cloud—

“Elias called. He wants to see you.”

Jon bites back a string of curses, because it would be unprofessional. He isn’t fooling anyone, though, not even Martin, who just pats him on the shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world, for him to touch Jon. For anyone to touch Jon.

“I’ll make tea, shall I?” Martin says brightly.

“Oh, great,” Tim says. “I didn’t feel like doing all this work, anyway.”

He has been slacking off as much as possible, these past few days (weeks?), straddling a fine line between plausible deniability and outright disrespect. Jon cannot even pretend to fault him for that. Sasha’s own hunger for knowledge prevents her from following in Tim’s footsteps, while Martin’s overall efficiency hasn’t wavered in either direction.

Most of the time, though, they act like everything is fine. They drink tea and eat lunch and follow up on statements, they make jokes and smile and laugh – somehow managing to ignore the fact that all this work is in the service of a powerful, malevolent entity, that they are bound to an evil cult, that their own boss is holding them hostage.

And they ignore this: that it’s all because of Jon. Stupid, short-sighted, arrogant Jon, who damned himself to this life, and then damned his assistants, too. Who cannot do anything to save them. Whose breakdown was understandable, apparently, whose behaviour was unacceptable but everyone’s willing to move past it anyway, so long as he promises to be better in the future.

Except he doesn’t know how. He just doesn’t. And they know that, and he knows that they know, and every time Tim or Martin or Sasha smiles at him in spite of all of this, Jon just wishes they’d punch him instead.

“Tea’s up!” Martin says, after the timer beeps. He has his own little ritual, preparing the tea to everyone’s liking. Despite his best efforts not to stare or catalogue their behaviour, Jon realizes now that it calms him, that the faint tremor in his hands stops when he’s preparing tea, that his posture relaxes and the smile tips over from slightly forced to genuine. It’s—sweet. Worryingly so.

“Thank you,” Jon says.

“So what pissed you off earlier?” Tim asks.

“HR called about health check-ups,” Jon says flatly. “Apparently, we’re due one soon. They asked if I’d describe our work environment as ‘particularly stressful’.”

Tim laughs, a short, unpleasant sound. Sasha just frowns.

“Do you think HR knows what’s really going on here? Or Library, or Research? It can’t just be us and Elias, right?”

“Ask them next time,” Tim says. “Maybe we can get ourselves institutionalized if they don’t.”

Would it even work? Would a mental health facility, or even a prison, keep them safe from Elias’s prying gaze? Maybe that’s something to consider. Not an ideal solution, but…

“Speaking of Elias—shouldn’t you…?”

“Oh, let the bastard wait,” Tim says.

“Tim.”

“What? You don’t think he’s watching us all the time, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Jon says.

He needs to get them out. He just—he just needs to.

“You’re right though,” Jon says, rubbing his forehead in the faint hope that it’ll make his headache go away. “I should be going. Off to another pointless conversation.”

Sasha blinks at him. “Oh? I thought he was teaching you—you know—” she waves her hand around, in an abstract and vague manner.

“He isn’t teaching me anything,” Jon says. “Most of the time, he just sits there and stares at me. I just.” His shoulders sag. He curls his hands around the comforting warmth of his teacup and wishes, stupidly, that he could hold Martin’s hand instead. “I just don’t know what he wants from me.”

“Well,” Tim says. “For one thing, he probably wants to fuck you.”

Martin spits out his tea and starts coughing, violently. Jon narrowly avoids knocking over his own cup, while Sasha rushes to Martin, to make sure he’s not choking on the hot liquid. He is red in the face, weakly trying to get Sasha to stop pounding on his back, while Jon can only watch, in abject horror.

It takes several minutes before anyone breaks the heavy, oppressive silence. Jon is rather surprised to find himself speaking as calmly as he does.

“That joke was in poor taste.”

Unrepentant, Tim just shrugs. “Wasn’t joking.”

“Tim!” Martin yells, scandalized. His face is flushed, although it’s hard to judge if it’s from anger, embarrassment, or exertion.

“What?” Tim asks. “You all thought it!”

“I assure you,” Jon says, still perfectly calm. “I did not.”

“Yeah, but you’re not exactly an authority on the subject, are you?” Tim says.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Calm. Still.

Tim doesn’t elaborate. Sasha is fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater and pointedly not meeting anyone’s eyes. Martin is the only one who looks appropriately shocked and scandalized, with an undercurrent of rage that Jon cannot guess the source of.

“Tim,” Jon says. “What did you mean?”

He wishes there was something triumphant in Tim’s expression – a vicious satisfaction at getting the blow to land. At embarrassing Jon in such a crude, vulgar manner. Some measure of animosity or hatred that one could cling to. As retaliation, it was perfectly well-deserved; as a joke, Jon cannot handle it.

But Tim only looks at him, tired and—pitying? Is that it? Because as a statement of fact, Jon cannot even begin to consider it…

“I am sorry,” Tim says. “I know it’s not appropriate to speculate, because you’re my boss, and I don’t actually know about your preferences or anything. But you can be a bit oblivious to people hitting on you. I mean, you didn’t notice it when I did it back in Research, and I thought I was being pretty blatant.”

Jon’s mind tries to make sense of that statement. He thinks back to his interactions with Tim – they were quite friendly, definitely much more so than since Jon’s promotion. And Tim was quite flirtatious, sure, but he was like that with everyone. It was just Tim’s personality.

As for Elias—no. It doesn’t even bear thinking about.

“So? You think I’m sleeping with Elias?”

He cannot stop himself from asking the questions, and it seems that Tim cannot stop himself from answering.

“I never said that. I just think that he’s interested in you.”

“Based on what? That he made me Head Archivist? That he wants to sacrifice me to his God, or whatever it is he’s planning?” Jon is laughing now, and it sounds jarring and unnatural even to his own ears. It sounds more like Michael’s laughter than anything that should be coming out of his mouth.

“No, based on the way he’s always looking at you!” Tim says, louder. “And it’s not just me who thought as much, mind you. When you got promoted—”

He stops abruptly. Jon laughs and laughs, until he feels the sharp sting of tears in his eyes. Martin and Sasha stare at him as if he was going insane, which is honestly rather hurtful, as he isn’t the one spouting absolute nonsense right now.

“This isn’t funny, Jon” Martin says quietly.

“I beg to differ,” Jon says. Then, struck with another unpleasant thought on top of the other unpleasant thoughts, he turns to Sasha. “Is that what you thought, too? That Elias didn’t make you Head Archivist because he was involved with me?”

“No!” Sasha bites her lip, before she carries on, the words seemingly dragged out of her throat. “I mean—yeah, okay, it crossed my mind once or twice. But that was then. Before we learned what this place really is – who Elias really is.”

So people think Jon slept his way into a position he is obviously unsuited for. His own assistants thought that. And it would be insulting if it wasn’t so utterly absurd – aside from Jon’s own aversion to sex, he isn’t particularly attractive. If that was Elias’s only criteria, there were plenty of better-looking people to choose from. To think otherwise would be arrogant, borderline delusional.

Not for the first time, Jon wishes he could be normal about this. Had he been in a stable relationship, no one would think to entertain such ridiculous rumours. No one would whisper behind his back about his preferences, or wonder just what the hell was wrong with him. Was he just frigid and unpleasant, or was there something deeper? An unresolved trauma? Something vile, unnatural, wrong?

All things considered, maybe he’s getting off easy. There are worse things people could be accusing him off.

He is tired, Jon realizes. Exhaustion weighs heavily on his limbs, slows down his thoughts, blurs his vision. And he still needs to talk to Elias today.

“Look. I’ll—I have to go,” he says. He looks down at his hands, splayed on the table, and tries to push himself up. Wills his legs to carry his weight. Get him where he needs to be.

“Jon,” Tim says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Sasha says.

“Don’t be,” Jon says. “It’s fine. Nothing happened, right?” It’s not as if their opinion of him can get any lower. It’s not as if it wouldn’t be warranted, if it did.

“But what if something does happen?” Martin asks. The terror in his voice is enough to sap whatever energy Jon has left, leaving behind pure, impotent rage.

“What exactly do you think I’m going to do, Martin?” Jon asks. “Fuck Elias in exchange for letting me go? Promoting me further? Bestowing some of his powers upon me? Please tell me, because I am very interested in what you think I could possibly gain here!”

They are all so very, very quiet.

“Jon, this isn’t—this isn’t about what I think you’re going to do,” Martin says, softly. “It’s about what Elias might plan to do to you. You get that, right?”

No, Jon doesn’t. He doesn’t get Martin’s horrified, pale face, or Sasha’s grim expression, or Tim’s vaguely nauseated one. This feels like a step too far. And he wants to laugh again, or scream, or maybe even cry, because of the ridiculousness of it all. But he is still their fucking boss, and he promised to be nicer.

“Look,” he says, choosing his words very, very carefully. “I appreciate your concerns. I really do. But what you’re suggesting here is beyond ridiculous. Especially compared to everything else that’s happened. So, please. Let’s all go back to our actual jobs and never, ever mention it again, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for their response. They’ve already said too much.