Hey look, it’s another instalment of that Jon/Elias fic I never planned to write, because I want them to be soft and they just keep fighting.

Part 1 | Part 2

***

Jon cannot rest.

On his way home, he glances upwards, only to see the familiar grey eyes in the face of the woman opposite him. The train lurches; the woman blinks. Jon must have imagined it, because her eyes are dark, almost as dark as his own. And she notices him staring, because she stands up and moves further down the car, very blatantly avoiding Jon.

He cannot blame her.

Back in his flat, he drops his briefcase and collapses onto his own (much less comfortable) couch. He fixes himself a cup of tea that isn’t nearly as nice as the tea Martin makes for him. He stands up, and paces, and then sits back down again, only to bury his face in his hands.

There is a pile of old magazines on his coffee table. He breathes in, sharply, because the man on the cover is watching him—

He isn’t, of course. Jon rolls up the magazine just in case, and then stuffs it in the bin.

There aren’t many pictures in his flat, thankfully. Not even of his grandmother, which he feels vaguely guilty about. But not as guilty as he does now, as he retrieves duct tape from his cupboard and carefully, deliberately tapes it over every eye he can see. CDs. DVDs. A paint-by-numbers painting of owls, which was supposed to help with his anxiety. Even the little ghost magnet on his fridge that Georgie gave him at some point.

It’s stupid. It’s really, really stupid. But it makes him feel better, lessens the prickling sensation on the back of his neck.

He goes to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and then looks up, startled to see his own reflection. Is there grey in his eyes, to match the grey in his hair? Can Elias even do that? Spy on Jon through Jon’s very eyes, without alerting him to his presence?

There must be limits to his abilities, and it’s maddening that Jon doesn’t know them. If he understood more, he could protect himself better. Protect Tim and Martin and Sasha, too.

Tim shoved him away as soon as they left Elias’s office. Whatever it was that Elias forced him to see, Jon couldn’t even begin to guess. But he shouldn’t have let Tim go, either. He offered to walk him home, at the very least, but it only brought back unpleasant memories of when he used to stalk Tim; an unforgivable breech of privacy. Tim angrily rebuffed his offer.

Jon would have to face him tomorrow. Find some way to apologize. Even though he was running out of excuses for his own inadequacy. There’s only so many times a man can apologize, after all, before it all rings hollow.

He takes the mirror off the wall. Just in case.

***

Next week, Elias is busy. Something about the board of directors, Rosie says apologetically; meetings to have, reports to give, budgets to submit for acceptance. It’s mundane to the point of grotesque.

Jon requests a meeting anyway, and isn’t granted one until next Wednesday. His heart is in his throat, the way it tends to be when he enters Elias’s office lately. It’s thankfully late in the day, the Institute being almost deserted. He wonders if Elias scheduled it that way on purpose, so that they can be alone.

If so, he is almost glad.

“Elias,” he says. And then, because nothing in his life makes sense anymore, he follows up with: “I hope everything went well with the board meetings.”

“Quite so,” Elias says. “Even if we had the exact same bloody conversation hundreds of thousands of times. You’d think Peter would get bored of it by now.”

He runs a hand through his hair, messing up its neat, stylish lines. It’s strange to see Elias in any state of disarray; he looks disconcertingly human right now. He seems to almost forget about Jon’s presence, before he looks up.

“Come on in, Archivist. Lock the door.”

Jon does so. There is something final about the click of the lock; he almost shudders at the sound.

“Any particular reason?” he asks, belatedly.

“It’s been a long week. I don’t want any of your annoying assistants pestering me today.”

“They wouldn’t do that if you hadn’t—”

“What? Assaulted your precious virtue?”

Jon is blushing. He must be, because he feels the warmth in his cheeks. But he refuses to back down. Not with Elias smirking at him the way he is right now, leaning back in his fancy chair. Jon takes the opposite seat and folds his hands in his lap; his mind helpfully brings back the memories of his job interview; the day he signed the contract and unknowingly pledged himself to the Institute and the Beholding for the rest of his life; the day Elias offered him the promotion.

Knowing what he knows now, he wishes he could have refused at any of these occasions. He could have told Elias “No” at any point. But—in truth, he isn’t sure he could have. He might have walked away, but he’d spend the rest of his life wondering.

“You were listening, then,” he says.

“Yes,” Elias says simply.

“Is this why you hurt Tim?”

Elias’s sharp laugh cuts through the silence. Jon fidgets in his seat.

“No. But he annoyed me.”

“You can’t do this sort of thing just because someone annoys you, Elias!” Jon snaps.

Tim still isn’t quite all right. He pretends to be, but Jon’s been watching him too carefully, and too long, to miss the obvious signs. And he knows that his watchful concern is driving Tim insane, but he still can’t bring himself to stop.

“Why not?” Elias asks, with an infuriating little smile.

Jon struggles for an appropriate response, but all he can come up with is: “It isn’t right.”

“And who is to decide what is or isn’t “right”, Jon? You? Me? An impartial and uncaring God? Because I can assure you, the Eye loved that particular display. Or could you not feel it?”

“Whatever it is your God wants from you—”

“Our God, Archivist. Do not ever forget that.”

Jon bites back a sharp retort. He has little to gain by challenging Elias’s delusions—

“Do you need any further proofs?” Elias asks calmly. “Because I can provide them. In abundance.”

“Get out of my head,” Jon seethes.

“Learn to stop me,” Elias says. “Make it difficult, at the very least.”

“Tell me how.”

“Why would I give you answers it took more than one lifetime to procure?” Elias asks. “You have to work for these things, Jon. Otherwise they have no meaning.”

Jon forces himself to breathe evenly. He didn’t ask for this; he doesn’t need to know. He can ignore the gnawing hunger that’s consuming him; that has already consumed Elias. The Eye demands a hefty price for its gifts, and Jon isn’t willing to pay it. He must remember that.

“Let them go,” he says, as calm as he can manage. “Tim and Martin and Sasha. They shouldn’t be here.”

“They are bound by the same contract as you are,” Elias says.

“They didn’t know. None of us knew.”

“Yes, it is frustrating, isn’t it?” Elias smiles. “Ignorance. Uncertainty. Doubt. Wouldn’t you rather be rid of them, Jon?”

He doesn’t bother denying. What would be the point? Elias can see right through him already. But there are lines Jon cannot cross. And there’s some comfort in knowing his own limits; he wonders if Elias has any such compunctions. Knowing that about him would be an immensely valuable asset.

It is hard to imagine. Harder to imagine still that he might come to know Elias so intimately, and what that knowledge might do to him. How well can you know another person, Jon wonders, before it changes something irrevocably and fundamentally about your own self?

“Elias,” he tries again, in a softer voice. “Please. Let them go. I don’t want to see them hurt.”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Elias says. “So what is it you can offer me in exchange, Archivist?”

And Jon laughs. He can’t help it. His shoulders tremble with the effort of holding it back, before he gives up entirely, and dissolves into giggles, wiping more than one tear from his eyes. His thoughts are such a complete and utter mess that not even Elias can read them right now, if his puzzled frown is any indication.

“Something funny?”

“I was just thinking about what Tim had said,” Jon says.

Elias isn’t pleased, he can tell as much from the frown on his face. Jon is half-heartedly expecting him to take out his anger on Jon himself – he tries to prepare himself for a barrage of horrifying images that Elias might want to push into his mind. What shape would they take? It is unsettling to consider, but some detached part of himself can’t help but wonder what Elias thinks Jon’s worst nightmare is. If that’s even how it works, of course.

“I’m not going to do that, Jon,” Elias says.

“Why not?” Jon asks. Yet again Elias is picking through his thoughts as if it was his right to do so. Yet again he shows absolutely no regard for other people’s privacy. It’s maddening, and Jon wants very badly to stop him, but since he doesn’t know how, he just thinks the word: Bastard as clearly as he can, and hopes it makes its way through their mental link.

“There is no reason to,” Elias says. “It’s just that, you see… considering how well-suited you are for your role, and how quickly you are adapting to it, I find the idea that my interest in you is purely sexual to be unacceptable and downright insulting.”

That—Jon doesn’t quite know what to make of that. What does one make of that?

“You think I’m good at my job?” he asks. Clarity, he needs clarity.

“Yes, Jon. I knew you would be. This is why I picked you.”

“Oh.”

Jon looks at the floor. Elias isn’t looking at him, either, his gaze focused somewhere on the ceiling.

“But—” No, he can’t bring himself to ask. You do want to have sex with me? Hangs at the tip of his tongue, caught in a limbo of shame and mortification. People don’t ask questions like that. Do they? For them this is just—perfectly natural. They don’t need to be told these things.

He should have dated more. He should have tried, actually tried, to get the experience he is so utterly lacking. Maybe then he might have a frame of reference for how to talk to Elias, or how to act in this situation. What is he even going to do?

Tim should be here. Or Sasha, or Martin. He still wants to keep them as far away from the supernatural as possible, still needs to keep them safe – and he can do it, really, he can do his own research, it will only take more time without Sasha’s technical skills or Tim’s charisma, without their combined dedication and efforts. He can—he must learn to handle it all alone. There’s no other way to proceed, it’s too dangerous otherwise. But – in this particular situation, with this particular subject, Jon could really use some bloody assistance right about now…

“Jon. You’re spiralling.”

“Hm?”

He looks down at his hands, twisted in his lap. He unclenches them carefully, and tries to wipe the sweat on his trousers without making it too obvious that this is what he’s doing.

Elias is smiling at him, that inexplicable, infuriating little smile that spells out that Elias knows he is the smartest person in the room, and is very much enjoying it. And oh, how Jon aches to wipe it off; to finally, finally see Elias Bouchard trip on his own ego and admit he isn’t as perfect as he likes to pretend.

After a long silence, Elias finally decides to take pity on him, and Jon hates him for it.

“Yes. I would rather like to have sex with you. But I am aware this isn’t something you would be interested in, it is irrelevant to the greater work we are trying to accomplish, and forcing you into it might negatively impact your ability to follow my orders. So I decided not to pursue the matter.”

“Negatively impact—? Oh, fuck you!”

Elias shrugs. “You wanted a clear answer.”

“I’m—you’re unbelievable.”

“It’s not my fault that the truth isn’t what you wanted it to be, Archivist.”

Elias is enjoying himself, still. And Jon wants to punch him. It would solve nothing, and create more trouble than it’s worth, but oh, he really, really wants to do it.