2023-06-05 0:38:02 ¶ ●

Apologies for the delay! I had a bad case of writer’s block.

Also I need to start putting it on ao3 because tumblr is a nightmare to navigate sometimes, but that would require coming up with a title. So. Here we are!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

***

He tells himself it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, not really. A momentarily lapse of reason. No more than that.

Yet he can’t stop thinking about Elias, all the way through the rest of the weekend, on his way to work on Monday morning, through his lunch break. He supposes it’s better than reliving other people’s nightmares, but not by much.

Sasha knocks on his door around two p.m. She’s carrying a stack of papers – academic records of one of their latest statement givers, he can see as much.

“Do you have a minute?” she asks.

“Sure,” Jon says. “I’m going to assume it isn’t work-related?”

Sasha laughs in response. “What isn’t, these days?” she asks, with a degree of bitterness and resignation Jon knows all too well. “It looks like we’re stuck here for good, aren’t we?”

Jon feels the first tendrils of panic gripping his chest.

“Sasha. I meant what I said, I’ll try to get you out—”

“I don’t want to quit,” Sasha interrupts him. “Do you?”

She’s looking at him with that calm, measured, reasonable expression he’s always admired about her. It’s enough to calm Jon’s racing heart.

“No,” he says.

He waits for the wave of guilt and nausea that should follow the simple confession. It doesn’t come. Sasha won’t judge him for its absence; he can see the familiar sense of relief in her face, followed by fierce determination. And, all around them, he senses the Eye’s presence. It approves of their willing submission; it secures its hold on them both. He wonders if Sasha can feel it too.

“Tim and Martin won’t understand,” Sasha says. “So—perhaps—if we asked Elias…”

“Do you think he might let them go?”

“Do you?” Sasha raises an eyebrow. “You know him better than I do.”

“I don’t—” Jon begins, then stops. His face is flush with embarrassment, he knows as much. But what can he say, at this point, without digging himself in deeper? “I don’t know what he’s planning,” he says. “I doubt he’d ever tell me.”

“Do you trust him?”

“No,” Jon says. “Contrary to popular opinion, I am not that stupid. But I—” he bites his lip.

“You like him,” Sasha says. There’s pity in her voice; he supposes pity’s better than outright disgust.

“I—” Jon pauses. He doesn’t like Elias. He’s not some teenager with a crush; he’s an adult man, capable of recognizing that Elias is dangerous, unpredictable, cruel, selfish, manipulative… that he loves power most of all and that, whatever his agenda is, he’d sacrifice anyone and anything to achieve it.

So, no. Jon doesn’t like Elias. He just finds him endlessly fascinating, he enjoys being in his company, he wants to know everything there is to know about him; he could blame this fascination on the Beholding, but it doesn’t seem entirely fair. It’s most likely a product of Jon’s own deranged mind.

Sasha shakes her head sadly. “Well, I suppose I can’t judge you, since I’m willing to continue working for him.” She’s lost in thought, her gaze unfocused. “That’s just it, isn’t it? You spend so long searching for answers, it’d be a waste to back away the moment you start finding them.”

“I know,” Jon says. “Unfortunately, I think that’s how the Eye gets you.”

“In that case, neither of us ever stood a chance,” Sasha says.

Jon smiles. His mood sours quickly, however.

“This job should have been yours,” he says. “We all know that. I shouldn’t have accepted it.”

“This job isn’t what any of us thought it would be, so it’s pointless to frame it that way,” Sasha says firmly. He recognizes it for the peace offering she possibly meant it as, and breathes a sigh of relief.

“So how do you want to proceed, then?” he asks.

“We know there are several organizations serving the Entities,” Sasha says. “I’d quite like to know who they are, how they operate, and suchlike. We have enough background to begin investigating them.”

“They may not take too kindly to being scrutinized,” Jon says. “Elias may not approve, either. He is allied with a number of them, so if we do anything to jeopardize that alliance…”

“That’s on Elias for not telling us anything,” Sasha says firmly. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I do not know what I’m dealing with, and I hate not knowing. If Elias won’t tell us, we’ll have to find out for ourselves. How’s that sound?”

“Reckless and dangerous,” Jon says. “Where do we begin?”

***

It feels good to talk to Sasha. Partially because her little project takes Jon’s mind off Elias, but mostly because it’s just—nice. Jon never had many friends to begin with, and while he’s aware that he has no one to blame but himself, the solitude was starting to wear him down.

There is still a wall between himself and Tim though. Jon desperately wants to make things right, but Martin warns him to back off for the time being. And Jon complies, because he doesn’t think he could handle it if Martin hated him too.

On Friday, shortly before five, Sasha clears her throat.

“Right,” she says. “It’s been a long week. We’re going to a pub.”

They all pause – Martin, who is scribbling in a notebook, Tim, who seems to be chatting with someone on his phone, and Jon, who is unpacking the new shipment of office supplies. All pretence of doing meaningful work has been unceremoniously dropped after lunch and now they are counting the time until five o’clock.

“What?” Sasha puts her hands on her hips and glares at them. “You can’t weasel your way out of this one, boys. And don’t pretend you have plans, I know for a fact none of us have a life outside of the Institute.”

“I resent that,” Tim says.

“Need I remind you what happened the last time we went out, Sasha?” Jon asks drily.

“Exactly,” Sasha says. “We need to put it behind us. Right, Martin?”

“Um,” Martin says.

“See? Martin agrees.”

“Sasha,” Jon says. “Be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable,” Sasha says. “We’re supposed to be working together, aren’t we?”

“That’s the whole fucking point,” Tim says. “We already spend way too much time with one another.”

He’s looking at Jon as he says this. Jon stares right back.

“I am inclined to agree with Tim,” he says.

“One round,” Sasha says. “That’s all I ask. Then we can go back to sulking in peace.”

“What are the odds of you dropping this idea?” Tim asks.

“Zero.”

“Okay. Fine. One round.” He glares at Jon. “But if he tries anything—”

“You punched him, Tim,” Martin says. “I really don’t think you have the moral high ground here.”

“I suggest we prepare a list of conversation topics to avoid,” Jon says. “In the interest of keeping things pleasant.”

“All right,” Sasha says brightly. “Come on, then.”

***

Despite Sasha and Martin’s heroic efforts, the first round of drinks passes by in near-silence. Tim ditches them afterwards to flirt with someone at the bar, and Jon tries, unsuccessfully, to conceal his relief.

Wordlessly, Martin fetches them another round. He is toying with his glass, eyes darting between the surface of the table and Tim’s back.

“So, uh,” he asks after a while. “Did you ever hear him talk about his brother?”

Jon feels like he’s going to be sick. “Don’t bring this up, please. Tim clearly doesn’t want to discuss him.”

“I know,” Martin hurries to say. “But—it sounded pretty bad. I’m worried.”

Sasha bites her lip, her expression sombre.

“He told me bits and pieces,” she says. “Nothing substantial. But it’s the reason he first started working at the Institute, I think.”

“So whatever happened was paranormal in nature,” Jon says quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Sasha said. “But it’d explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

Is there a file, somewhere in the depth of the Archives, that deals with Tim’s past? If not, then there ought to be; Jon should collect it. He can feel the Eye now, its hunger, its searching gaze. It needs to know, and Jon can feed it that knowledge. All he has to do is ask. All he ever had to do was ask—

His mouth is buzzing with static now. He takes a sip of his drink, but it doesn’t taste like anything, washing blandly down his throat. It offers no relief.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says. He longs for the safety of his Archives.

“Why?” Martin asks.

“I—” Jon swallows. “Tim has a statement, doesn’t he? I—I’m going to force it out of him, aren’t I?”

“What are you talking about? Why would you do that?”

They both stare at him, uncomprehending. Do they not understand? Do they not feel the Eye’s presence? It seems almost laughable. It’s everywhere, all around them, the ever-present gaze of the Watcher. And it’s a dreadful thing when it chooses to focus on a specific human. When it uses Jon to acquire what it wants. How weak Jon can be when resisting it.

“Jon?”

“Sorry,” he says. “The stress of the job is getting to me, isn’t it? More than it already has.” He laughs, awkwardly. “Please stop me if I start asking any invasive questions, okay?”

“Okay,” Sasha says carefully. “But you can control it, right? This—compulsion?”

“For the most part,” Jon says. She tenses, and Martin shifts in his seat, uneasy; Jon can almost taste their fear, infinitely more flavourful than the drink in front of him… “Yes,” he adds, more firmly. “I wasn’t aware of it before, until I used it on Tim. But I know how it feels now, and I can stop it from happening.”

He takes another sip, just to give himself something to do. They have more questions, always more questions. But every answer brings them further into the service of the Eye, and Jon refuses to be responsible for that.

“Stop what from happening?” Tim asks.

They all jump. Tim is back from the bar, looking none the worse for wear; smiling, his hair artistically tousled, first few buttons of his shirt undone. More than one person checks him out as he stands there.

His smile fades, however, as they all look away; an obvious admission of guilt.

“Not this again,” Tim snarls. “Jon, I told you—”

“Jon didn’t bring it up,” Martin says quickly. “I did. Sorry.”

“Always so happy to defend him, aren’t you?”

“Tim,” Sasha says. “Sit down? Please?”

Tim sags into the seat beside her and buries his face in his hands.

“You’re not going to drop it, are you,” he groans. “Nosey bastards.”

“We didn’t mean to pry—”

“Yes, you did! It’s what you do!” Tim hesitates. “What we do, that is. I’m not much better.”

“You don’t have to share anything you don’t feel like sharing,” Jon says.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Tim snarls.

“I mean that. I’m trying—”

Jon pauses. There it always is, the persistent feeling of being watched; but now there is a different quality to it, something less encompassing, more human. More familiar.

He looks around for the tell-tale flash of grey in someone’s eyes, but the bar is too dimly-lit for that. He wishes, suddenly, that they had chosen a more secluded booth.

“Jon?”

“You really should sleep more,” Sasha says, disapproving. “You spaced out again.”

“Sorry,” Jon says. “I think Elias is watching us.”

“What?!”

“Where is he?”

Both Tim and Martin rise to their feet, poised to fight. Jon shakes his head.

“He’s not physically here,” Jon says. “…probably.”

“Then how do you know he’s watching?” Sasha cocks her head.

“I don’t know,” Jon answers honestly. “Just a feeling, I suppose. I could be wrong.”

It takes time for Tim and Martin to drop their guard and return to their seats. They are still scanning the room, as if half-expecting Elias to pop out from under a table. The rest of the time, they are staring at Jon. There’s fear and distrust in that stare, but Jon is so used to it he barely even notices anymore. He checks his phone, just in case, and then, finding it blank, texts Elias himself.

Can I help you?

The reply arrives quickly: You never leave work on time. I was concerned you got yourself kidnapped again.

Ah. So they aren’t even pretending that Elias wasn’t spying, that Jon didn’t notice, that Elias didn’t notice Jon noticing. It allows them to skip several steps in the conversation.

And if I have? Jon texts. You told me yourself you wouldn’t have rescued me.

Well, no, but I’d still rather know where you were being kept, Elias writes back. Do give your assistants my regards, Archivist.

“Elias says hi,” Jon says.

“What the fuck is even going on with you two?” Tim asks. “No, you know what? Don’t tell me. I’m probably happier that way.”

Jon says nothing as he pockets his phone. Not like he can offer them an answer they’d accept. Not like he himself knows the answer. Instead he excuses himself, to procure another round of drinks for everybody. That gives his assistants ample time to discuss him, if they so wish.

They barely even look at him once he sets the glasses down on the table. Jon slides into his seat and silently chides himself for ever saying anything.

“Is he still watching?” Sasha asks, sipping on her gin and tonic.

Jon takes a moment to think about it, and then settles on: “If he does, I can’t tell.”

“Lovely,” Sasha says grimly.

“Yeah. Fucking great,” Tim jabs at the clinking ice-cubes in his glass with a soggy paper straw. “Just what I signed up for. One boss is a telepathic murderer, and the other—” he glares at Jon, clearly struggling to verbalise his feelings on the subject.

“What did you sign up for, then?” Jon asks, before he can bite his tongue. Then he amends, hastily: “You don’t have to answer, I only meant—”

“Oh, shut up,” Tim sighs. “Might as well tell you. But I am not giving you a fucking statement, Jon, and if you try to record me—”

“I won’t,” Jon says, icily.

“Fine.” Tim is quiet for several minutes. No one dares to interrupt the silence; not until he steels himself, and starts speaking in a low monotone, “I had a brother, Danny. He was murdered by—by an evil fucking clown, of all things. Right before my eyes…” He takes another moment to compose himself, act like he isn’t on the verge of tears. “It wasn’t a normal clown and a normal circus. It couldn’t have been. So I did some digging around, and eventually joined the Institute to find out more about it. And that’s pretty much it.”

“Tim…” Martin reaches out, hesitantly. He doesn’t touch Tim, but his hand is there, on the table, next to Tim’s; an offer of comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

Jon is once again grateful that Martin is here, because he himself has no idea how to act. A quick glance at Sasha confirms that she feels the same, awkward and out-of-place, aching to help but not knowing how.

“Thanks,” Tim mumbles. He takes Martin’s hand and squeezes it quickly, before withdrawing back into his seat and clearing his throat. “Well. There you have it. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” His tone is biting, the jab obviously aimed at Jon.

“The circus – was it the Other Circus, by any chance? The Circus of the Other?” Jon asks.

“Probably,” Tim says. “I guess. What of it?”

“We could find them,” Sasha says, exchanging a quick glance with Jon. “We have enough data to go by, we know where to ask around…”

Jon nods. He’s already going over the relevant statements, aching to get his hands on the catalogue, and the files deep within the Archives.

“What for?” Martin asks, alarmed.

Jon blinks at him. “I figured Tim might want a sense of closure. Or vengeance, perhaps.”

“Are you—are you actually insane?” Martin asks. “You want to attack them? They’re dangerous!”

“Unlike most people, we wouldn’t be going in blind,” Jon points out.

“And it’s better than Tim doing it by himself,” Sasha adds. “If that’s what he was planning, that is.”

Tim is stunned. He looks between Sasha and Jon, with wide eyes and slack jaw.

“I—I thought about it, but—why do you want to help?”

“We’re your friends, aren’t we?” Sasha asks.

It’s a bit of a stretch – Jon wouldn’t describe himself as Tim’s friend, exactly, but he is his direct supervisor, and would be remiss if he let Tim and Sasha run off into danger unprepared. There has been quite enough of that already.

“So you’re just… just going to help Tim murder someone? Because of friendship?” Martin asks, incredulous.

“It’s way too early to make concrete plans, isn’t it?” Jon asks in lieu of an actual answer. “We have some preliminary research to get through before we can even begin to decide how to proceed.”

“Jesus,” Tim says. And then he starts laughing, a touch hysterically. “Yeah, sure. Yeah. Let’s do that. It’s a great idea. What could possibly go wrong?”