Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Martin wasn’t exactly sure when he stopped freaking out the moment he woke in an unfamiliar place. Not that it was a normal occurrence. He wouldn’t say he woke up every day in a different place, or even every week! Still, of the things that happened to him over the course of his employment—especially in the last few weeks—well, this really felt almost tame.

What was strange, however, were the restraints. He looked down blearily at his wrists, which were tied to the arms of an office chair. A familiar office chair. An office chair that he was almost positive belonged in the office of his Recently-Freed-From-Prison Boss, Elias Bouchard.

Martin had honestly been quite relieved that Elias had freed himself from prison and come back, forcing Peter Lukas to reveal his “grand plan” and attempting to force Martin into the Lonely. Honestly, Martin wasn’t sure if he would have been able to refuse the pull of the Lonely if it had gone much further. As it was, days after Jon emerged from the Coffin with Daisy, Elias had come back and—after their dramatic foray into the Lonely—everything had seemingly returned to… normal.

Well, not exactly normal. Jon had kissed Martin when he got out of the Lonely and they hadn’t talked about it. At all.

And also, of course, Martin was currently tied to the chair across from Elias’ desk. That was decidedly not normal. Not surprising, but not normal. What was worse though, was the cold metal cylinder that rested in his teeth, keeping it ajar, and making his mouth very, very dry. It was secured behind his head and was so tight he felt like the corners of his mouth might be splitting, just a little bit. He briefly considered how in-character it was for Elias to just have such a thing, because of course he would.

Martin was toying with the idea of trying to call out when he heard voices behind him. They were muffled—he was sure he was hearing them through the thick oak double doors to Elias’s office—but very familiar. He could hear the cool, measured voice of Elias and the even, yet anxious, tone Jon had been using in all of his interactions with their Monster Boss for the past week since his sudden reappearance.

“Well, Jon, as enlightening as catching up on the chaos Peter has caused in my absence was, I think it’s important we addressed the elephant in the room.” And with that, the door swung open behind Martin, a rush of cool air hitting the back of his neck. In the mirror above Elias’ desk (shaped like an eye, how tacky) he watched as Jon trailed behind their boss, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together in what Martin was pretty sure was a failed attempt to keep his features neutral.

“Elias—” Jon began but was cut off.

“Now I do know this seems a little over-the-top, but I promise you, I’m not going to hurt him. It’s just a little difficult to pin Mr. Blackwood down these days… since the Lonely. And now that things are back on track, I do believe it’s time for a bit of corrective action.”

Elias had let Jon go ahead of him, before taking him firmly by the shoulder and leading him to his own, much nicer (and was it also taller?) emerald green leather chair. He pressed his hand down into Jon’s shoulder, guiding him to sit. Jon looked warily up at Elias as he slowly sank into the chair, then turned his gaze on Martin. Now they were face to face. Martin searched Jon’s eyes for answers, trying to say something through the bit in his mouth, but Jon didn’t seem to have any.

“I’m not sure what you mean by corrective action, Elias. Martin was only acting under the instructions of Peter Lukas—a superior—” His voice trailed. He didn’t know how to play this game, but he knew he had to play.

Jon’s mind wandered to the first time he had truly gotten to speak with Elias since he returned. Jon had been all anger and bluster, ready to bite Elias’ head off for the absence and the sudden return. The two stood were stood in the doorway to the corridor outside of the executive suite, having just about ended their conversation when Elias said something that caught Jon’s attention.

“Jonathan.” He took a piece of paper from his old, yet pristine leather padfolio. “I’d like you to take a look at this.”

The paper was an employment contract. The same run of the mill paperwork Jon himself had signed on his first day at the infamous Magnus Institute. The name at the top read “Hannah Turner”, a name he recognized from his time in Research. Hannah also happened, at that moment, to be walking down the hall, arms full of papers and chattering away to another woman walking beside her.

Wordlessly, Elias crumpled up the paper in his fist. In the same instant, Hannah collapsed to the ground, papers scattering around her. She made an awful, pained noise and the woman beside her gasped, dropping to her knees to help her friend. Hannah held her swollen stomach, and Jon remembered she was expecting—she’d been so excited to announce it months ago.

In the chaos, as other employees rushed to try to help, Jon just stared at Elias, feeling the blood drain from his face in horror.

“I still control this place and everyone here, Jonathan.” Elias’ voice was cold, as he stood in the door frame, just out of view of the chaos. “You would do well to listen to me. I wouldn’t want your disobedience causing any further scenes… especially not to anyone… closer.”

Jon’s anger was quickly replaced with dread. They’d just escaped Lukas only to end up right back in the same place. Jon had grown so used to Elias as he had been before he left, that he had almost forgotten he was a monster.

Elias unclenched his fist from around the paper, neatly straightening it out and sliding it between the leaves of a manilla folder in the padfolio. Hannah’s breathing evened out, across the hall, and she carefully accepted her coworkers’ help back to her feet. She was shaky, but she laughed it off and walked with them towards research—papers left abandoned on the floor.

Jon felt two cold hands grip his shoulders tightly from behind. Elias now stood behind him, smiling at Martin.

“Nonsense. As my Archivist, Jon, you need to learn that sometimes subordinates need a firm hand. And… well…” Elias chuckled, the sound seeming to trickle down Jon’s spine like ice water, “If I’m being entirely honest, I’m finding myself quite upset with Mr. Blackwood. Perhaps you could call it petty, but I’m rather annoyed that I didn't See his little coupe ahead of time. As much as I appreciate surprises, jail was not what I had in mind for my accumulated vacation time.”

Jon swallowed hard. “Well, unpaid overtime might—” He felt a squeeze. Try again. “I’m sure Martin feels badly enough about all of this as it is… you did… save us, after all.”

Here, Jon shot a glance at Martin, as if to say ’look very sorry’. Message received. Martin, not feeling very sorry at all, actually, nodded vigorously and tried to put all the Catholic guilt he was raised on into his eyes. See, Elias? Very sorry. A thousand apologies. You didn’t deserve to go to jail for killing those people. They deserved it.

Elias traced the gaze from Jon to Martin. He frowned, slightly, a dignified and subtle downturn of the corners of his lips. His hand moved from Jon’s shoulder to the nape of his neck, twisting in the hair there and pulling backwards. Jon’s eye contact was abruptly broken and he was forced to stare at the ceiling, eyes watering.

Elias’ eyes narrowed on Martin, and he felt a shiver run up his spine. “I’m afraid this isn’t just for my own vindication. Mr. Blackwood needs to learn his place here at the Institute. In preparation for our little review, I went ahead and pulled some of his previous disciplinary forms you submitted, Jon. Shall we look them over…?”

Elias slipped his free hand under the desk, opening the center drawer. He pulled out a crisp manilla envelope emblazoned with the Magnus Institute’s letterhead and marked “M. K. Blackwood”.

“Let’s see,” Elias said, leafing through the papers, “You have complained that Martin is disruptive and becomes off task easily.” Here, he slipped an official employee reprimand out of the folder, “As well as complaints that he is underperforming and his work ethic is disappointing.” He added two more papers to the pile.

“Yes, well, that was some time ago—”

“You’ve also noted that he lacks initiative.” Here another, newer paper was added.

“Now, that is just one line in an overall good employee review—”

“And you consistently documented his overall unprofessionalism and his disingenuous nature, such as the fact that he misrepresented himself on his CV.” Here, Elias pulled out various pieces of notebook paper that Martin recognized from the various yellow legal pads Jon used at work.

“How did you—” Jon’s question was cut off by another sharp tug to his hair.

“Ah, ah, ah Jon. You know better than to try to compel me.” Elias said smoothly, letting an easy smile fall on his face.

“I wasn’t—”

“You really do need to get yourself under better control or I’ll be forced to review you next.” Elias looked like he was ready to make good on such a threat and Martin squirmed in his seat. After everything they’d been through, Jon was in danger again and by the man he’d tried so hard to set them all free from.

“But, that’s beside the point.” Elias continued, “What should we do…?” Elias’ tone sounded almost playful, like he was enjoying this too much. Jon was silent, unable to decide what Elias wanted to hear that would still leave Martin (relatively) unharmed.

Silence stretched for an uncomfortable minute, before Elias clapped his hands together. “I know just the thing! I recently read a fascinating article on ‘alternative discipline’, where the employee chooses their own consequence for their actions. It’s said to be very empowering and I must say, I do agree.”

Elias rested his hands back on Jon’s shoulders, higher than before his thumbs idly tracing the sensitive skin on his neck, “Mr. Blackwood, what do you think your punishment should be?”

Martin was not ready for this line of questioning. Martin Blackwood, not even thirty years old, watched in sick fascination as Elias’s thumb traced up and down Jon’s neck. He caught a glimpse in the mirror, how he looked tied to the chair, gagged with an obviously expensive piece of S&M equipment. It looked straight out of a poorly acted adult film that he had never watched ever in his life, of course not—you could go into his browser history right now and “Boss/Employee Gay” was certainly not the last thing in his search history. Martin tried desperately to empty his mind.

Elias’ lips curled into a sinister smile. “Mr. Blackwood!” He feigned surprise, voice tinged with a teasing reproof. “I do believe that is a little… extreme.” Jon panicked.

“No—no, whatever it is, Elias I—I am his superior, I should have kept better check on his behavior, this is my fault—” Martin shook his head, begging Jon in his mind not to say it, but he knew Jon and Jon was not looking at him. He was trying so hard not to look at him. “Whatever you have planned,” Jon had taken a moment to compose himself, trying to sound less frantic, “Do it to me.”

Elias’ eyes lit up and Martin’s stomach felt like it dropped beneath him, falling endlessly in the Vast. Unbidden, fog slowly crept up from the floor.

“Now, that’s enough of that, Mr. Blackwood.” Elias chided, fanning some of the fog away. “Jonathan, I don’t believe punishing you would be an effective disciplinary strategy. We would be doing Mr. Blackwood a great disservice. How will he learn?”

“Elias.” Jon couldn’t help the desperate tone that crept into his voice, “It is my responsibility as his boss to help him grow in his role—I was absent—I did poorly.”

Martin stared. All of this corporate jargon coming from Jon sounded like a joke. The Jon he knew had never been one for phrasing things delicately. This had to be some kind of fucked up dream.

Elias pretended to mull it over for a moment, humming a little, “Hm… well, actually, now that you mention it… it would perhaps be even more effective. Jonathan… are you sure you’d really like to take on that responsibility?”

Martin tried to protest through his gag, effectively making a noise that almost even sounded like a “No!”, but he was, of course, ignored.

Jon looked relieved as he responded, firm and resolute, “Positive.”

Without missing a beat, Elias hand grabbed Jon’s jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks. He titled his chin up to his own, forcing their lips together. Martin caught the moment of surprise in which Jon parted his lips as if to say something, but Elias did not wait for it, deepening the kiss. He saw tongue. He looked away, he could not watch this.

There was a sick, wet sound as Elias drew away from Jon. “Now, now Mr. Blackwood. It would hardly be a punishment if you could look away! After all, we must feed our god. So, for every second that you look away, this punishment will extend another minute.”

Jon looked dazed, more than anything else. He didn’t immediately react when Elias put a knee on the arm of the chair, tilting slightly more in his direction. He ran his tongue down Jon’s neck, nipping at the lobe of his ear. Jon reacted then, making a noise between surprise, confusion, and—pleasure? Martin wasn’t certain.

Elias drew back, unbuttoning Jon’s shirt as he spoke, “Now, this may not seem like much of a punishment to you, Jonathan, but we both know that Mr. Blackwood absolutely adores you. He knows he can never make you feel like this. Even your pathetic attempt at a kiss when you got out of the Lonely felt nothing like this. But I…. I Know you… and I Know all your little… shall we say ‘quirks’. For example—”

Martin was positive, this time as Elias nipped at Jon’s neck, that that was a sound of pleasure. Redness crept across the Archivist’s face as the realization seemed to be dawning on him. He didn’t fight at all as Elias’ hand trailed down his now bare chest. His hand slipped lower, tracing lightly on Jon’s belt.

“You do like this, don’t you, Jonathan?” Elias’ tone was cloying.

Jon sputtered out a response, not even seeming to look at Elias, but rather, beyond him, “Y-yes… I do—ah—” He flinched, as he noticed Elias’ palm against the crotch of his trousers. There was a comfortable pressure to it, not too hard, but just hard enough that Jon could tell exactly what he was planning now.

Martin squirmed in his own chair, feeling sick to his stomach and deeply guilty. Objectively, he knew, what was happening in front of him was bad, but the noises Jon was making…

Elias carefully moved his wrist, beginning to fondle Jon’s length beneath the all-too-thin fabric of his trousers. Martin could make out the shape as Jon became aroused. His boss was lightly panting, trying hard to look unbothered, but failing miserably. Elias increased the speed of his movements against the grey slacks.

“Please—” Jon begged breathily, “Stop.”

At that, Martin made a noise of protest against his gag, struggling against the restraints though he dared not look away. Elias narrowed his eyes and leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting across the shell of Jon’s ear in a way he could not resist.

“Now, Jonathan, I thought we had an understanding.” He murmured over the sounds of Martin trying to speak. He lifted his hand from Jon’s lap and moved it mere centimeters up, pulling open the drawer just a crack. Just enough for the Archivist to see a familiar employment form with the name “Martin Blackwood” scrawled messily on the bottom signature line.

“I-it feels so—” Jon tried to backtrack, burning with embarrassment at the next word that came out of his mouth, “—good.” Elias smiled at him in approval, locking their lips together in one long kiss as his hand came back to cup Jon through his slacks once more.

Martin continued to protest through the gag, and Elias turned his eyes on him, smiling magnanimously, “Oh, don’t worry Mr. Blackwood. My Archivist is just playing coy. Would you like to See how much he enjoys this?”

Without a further moment, Martin was Seeing the scene from the other side of Elias’s desk. He was feeling everything Jon felt in that moment, the breathless, intense pleasure—the burning embarrassment in his cheeks and chest. In that moment, Martin Knew Jon had never felt so good before in his entire life. His eyes were locked on Elias and he felt Seen down to his very core, no corner of his soul left unobserved.

Mere seconds later, Martin was back in his own body, gasping as the residual effects of Jon’s pleasure made themselves known in Martin’s now too-tight trousers. He could not look away, would not make this last any longer than it had to, but Martin could no longer seek out Jon’s eyes as his cheeks burned in shame. He wanted desperately to cover himself up, but his hands were tied fast to the arms of the chair.

Elias didn’t give Martin a second glance. His fingers moved deftly, as if the fabric were no hindrance at all before Jon’s breath hitched and he let out a small cry of pleasure. There was a long pause, the silence thick and uncomfortable. Elias chuckled softly, letting his hand fall away from the now damp crotch of Jon’s trousers. He strode over to Martin, resting his knee between his legs on the edge of the seat, as if teasing him, knowing what was there, yet blocking the Archivist’s view of the erection Martin now had. With too much ease, Elias undid the gag and knots, freeing Martin all at once. “Do you think you’ve learned from your mistakes, Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin nodded, suddenly mute now that he was free to speak. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he forced himself to look at Jon, forced himself to check to see if his friend was alright.

Jon wouldn’t look at him.

“You’re free to leave then, Mr. Blackwood.” Elias said smoothly, “Do take some time in the bathroom to… get yourself under control.”

Martin didn’t think he’d ever wanted to fall through the floor more than he did now. If the coffin was still in the Archives, he would be walking through it immediately.

“I’msosorry.” Martin breathed, hoping Jon understood, hoping he knew that Martin wasn’t abandoning him (was he?) as he fled the room.

After Martin was gone, Elias turned his attention back to Jon, who still sat, rigid and uncomfortable, in the lavish leather armchair.

“Oh Jonathan. You really ought to pull yourself together.” Elias said in a reproachful tone. “I think you brought up a fair point, earlier. I really ought to give you a little more guidance, as your superior… it wouldn’t do to have my Head Archivist so tense.”

Jon looked back up at Elias, his eyes focusing on the tall, angular man in front of him. “I’d like to meet weekly to continue our… professional development. I expect you to be here on time and to do as I say, or…” He walked over, opening the desk drawer once again, as he leaned over Jon, “... you know the consequences.”

“I understand, Elias.” Jon said, hearing his own voice as if a thousand miles away. Elias ran a hand sensually through Jon’s hair, tugging lightly in a way that sent sparks through his body.

“Excellent.”

Chapter Text

Daisy didn’t like feeling reliant on people around her. Sure, she was used to relying on Basira, on other members of the police force, in a professional capacity, but… since she’d gotten out of the coffin—since Jon had saved her from the coffin… things were different. She needed people.

That’s why she was sitting there, pretending she wasn’t watching her coworkers out of the corner of her eye as she sipped on some hot chocolate in the break room. (God, she used to deny her sweet tooth up and down, thought it took away from the persona she carefully constructed. Being in the Buried without food for over half a year had changed her perspective on a lot of things.)

She could have cut the tension with a knife. Martin and Jon were taking turns pretending not to notice the other one staring at them. They both seemed like they needed to say something, but neither of them would open their mouths.

Daisy let the warm, rich taste of the hot chocolate wash over her. Amazing, tasting things that weren’t dirt. She theatrically pulled out her headphones, unwinding them and plugging them into her phone. She turned on one of her backlogged episodes of The Archers and turned the volume down, just in case Jon needed help. She wasn’t worried. She just didn’t know what she would do if he shut her out, that was all.

Martin, who Daisy knew was more perceptive than she had assumed when they first met, thinking he was a bumbling intern or something, took the hint that Daisy wasn’t going anywhere.

“Jon, I—” Martin broke off, leaving Daisy with the theme song of The Archers, a cheery soundtrack to the fluorescent-bright breakroom. “I’m sorry. That you were put in that position.”

Another stretch of silence. Over the sounds of Jennifer and Lily Aldrige on her headphones, Daisy listened in on the conversation. It was because she was a detective, she wanted to know what was going on around her. It wasn’t because she cared about their drama. It wasn’t.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Martin.” Jon said, his voice more clipped and closed off than Daisy had heard in a long time, since before the Unknowing, since before she was hired. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

That’s the tone Basira uses when I fuck up. Daisy thought, remembering the talk they’d had when she almost killed Jon. Basira, who usually let her guard lower (but never fully down) around Daisy, had thrown up a wall of ice. Martin must have fucked up big time.

“Still,” Martin said, and Daisy swore she could see a fog curling at the linoleum tile, waiting to creep up and embrace him. “I wanted to… talk about it. I wanted to make sure we were… okay.”

Silence. In her earbuds, Adam was explaining to his mother that he was headed to the police station. Daisy tried to let the words wash over her brain, just in case Jon was listening into her thoughts. She could analyze the information later. This was a fact-finding stake out.

“We’re fine, Martin.” Jon said, his voice still cold until the next words came out, unsure, “Unless, of course, you feel… uncomfortable around me?”

“Around you? No. Elias…?” Martin snorted and that was interesting. Daisy tucked the information securely away and continued to hone in on the episode at hand, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

“I think being uncomfortable around Elias is perfectly normal, considering the circumstances.” Jon said.

Yeah, he’s a monster and he’s forcing us to work with him or else we die. Discomfort isn’t new. Daisy thought, before clearing her mind once more. Jon didn’t seem to react to the thought, he was focused on Martin. Good.

“You seem to be getting pretty comfortable with him.” Martin said, a hint of that bitterness that Daisy hadn’t heard from him pre-Buried lacing his voice. He seemed to catch himself though, waving his hand, “Not that I think you have a choice—!”

“Actually, I, uh. I do. And I’m choosing to go to him.” Jon said, sounding uncomfortable, but determined to get it out. “I want to spend that time with Elias. He’s been… enlightening.”

Martin was silent once more.

Daisy listened to Detective Thorpe interrogate Adam, but she wasn’t taking in any details. She would have to re-listen to this episode again. Damn, and Thorpe was her favorite character, too.

“Oh.” Martin said, and his voice sounded tight, “Okay. Okay. You’re your own person, you can make your own decisions. Just—just tell me you’re not putting yourself in danger.”

Daisy’s ears perked up at that. Jon was always putting himself in danger. What new danger could Elias pose?

“Of course not, Martin. He’s just… taking me under his wing, I guess. I’m finally getting some answers. I promise, I’m fine.” Jon’s tone became clipped again, “Don’t let Elias hear you asking about it, he will think I’m not disciplining my assistants.”

The blood drained from Martin’s face, “O-of course.”

The silence stretched, growing like a rift between the two men. After a while of not listening to her show at all, Daisy glanced at her phone and stood up, stretching.

“Alright, Jon. We’re headed back to your office.” She said, winding up her earbuds. The others had gotten used to them being attached at the hip recently, she didn’t like to let him out of her sight often. They’d been kind enough not to comment much.

Jon, who normally put on an irritated front when she bossed him around, looked slightly relieved. He glanced back at Martin, like he was afraid he’d never see him again. “Right.” He said, and his feet kicked up a trace of the fog as they walked out of the break room.

Martin surfaced through the hazy sea of unconsciousness, slowly seeping back into his body as the seconds passed by. He could remember dropping off something with Rosie, he could remember nervously chatting with her as he tried to make his excuses to leave (and if there was one thing Peter Lukas had taught him, it was how to make himself scarce), he remembered Elias’s office door opening, but then… a vast expanse of nothing.

No, not quite nothing. He remembered seeing Elias’s grin, he remembered watching as he balled up some paper, probably getting ready to throw it away, he remembered hearing “Mr. Blackwood, you certainly are a hard man to pin down,” and Rosie’s panicked voice, but after that… nothing.

Martin’s eyes shot open. He was once more in Elias’s tastefully decorated office of horrors. His heart raced as he realized he was tied to the chair. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening again.

Martin glanced at the mirror that hung behind the desk. He saw his own panicked breathing, how disheveled he already looked, and realized—he hadn’t been gagged.

“Hey!” He yelled, “Rosie! Rosie, can you hear me?”

Martin waited. There was no response. That was alright, Martin would just have to get closer to the door, get louder.

“HELLO?” He yelled, shuffling the heavy chair backwards—his legs had been tied to the chair legs too?—awkwardly and slowly, scraping the expensive hardwood floor when he finally crossed over the rug. “ROSIE? ANYONE?”

The air con kicked on. No one could hear him, so it seemed.

Martin continued to scrape his way backwards, determined to do something this time around, rather than sinking into himself like he had before. After a few more painful, ankle cramping inches, the door opened.

“Rosie, thank god—Jon?” Martin’s eyes fixed on Jon, but he didn’t look at him. Jon was preoccupied, arguing as he opened the door.

“—don’t think that’s necessary.” Jon was saying, his voice the prickly professional tone that Martin now knew Jon used when he was trying to keep himself together.

“Now, I’m hurt!” Elias said, walking into the room after him and closing the door quickly. “I had thought you wanted to do everything in your power to please me. Besides, Rosie is discreet when she wants to be.”

“What are you doing?” Martin demanded. In the mirror Martin could see what Jon had protested about—around his neck was a deep emerald green leather collar, which seemed to match Elias’ office perfectly. “Jon, what’s going on?”

Jon looked embarrassed as Elias led him to the front of his desk. Elias took a moment to grin, making direct eye contact with Martin.

“Jon—I’m sorry I—“ Martin struggled against the knots that kept him tied down to Elias’s chair. He shouldn’t be here, he should have seen this coming and dodged Elias—he didn’t want to do this again. Martin looked up, searching for a response but Jon seemed confused, looking at Elias’ pointed gaze to the chair. It felt like he was looking through him. He didn’t say anything.

Elias turned his attention back to Jon, leaning back against the front edge of his own desk, a palm behind him to keep himself steady as his other hand found the gold loop at the front of Jon’s collar and tugged. Jon lurched forward, trying to put his hands out to catch himself before falling into Elias’s chest, but it was at that moment Martin became aware of the matching leather cuffs, one on each of Jon’s wrists, linked with a short gold chair to either side of his collar.

“Fuck—Elias!” Jon sounded mildly venomous but Elias only chuckled in response. He didn’t mind if his pet was irritated, it would be more fun this way. He let Jon straighten out and remove his burning face from the center of his chest before speaking.

“Now that we’re alone… I thought we could pick up where we left off last review.” Elias’ hands moved to his belt, unlatching it without breaking eye contact with Jon.

“Fuck no! Elias what the hell—“ Martin blurted, resisting his restraints harder. Why wasn’t Jon reacting to anything he said or did—he wasn’t being particularly quiet about this. He planned to speak up this time, it was Elias’ fault for not gagging him. Elias removed his already stiffened member from his trousers, and Martin quickly looked away, Jesus Christ, he was hung!

“On your knees.” His cool voice commanded, “And I want you to Watch. Don’t look away.” Though he didn’t remove his gaze from Jon even once as he spoke, Martin knew the comment was directed at him. Fuck. Shit. Was he invisible or something? He swallowed hard, allowing himself to look back to the scene unfolding before him.

Elias, ever the gentleman, helped Jon down as he made direct eye contact with Elias, only seeming to break for a moment as glanced at the man’s member, also seemingly surprised by the sight before him. Quickly, Jon’s eyes darted back up.

“You know what to do, little Archivist.” Elias said, running his fingers through the dark tresses of Jon’s hair. “I know you haven’t done this sort of thing in an awfully long time, but I’m sure you still remember how. And afterwards… if you’re good, I think I’ll give you a little treat.”

Jon’s gaze looked deadly, “Fine.”

“This is sick, Elias!” Martin felt sweat beginning to gather at his brow. He tried his best to not sound as nervous as he felt. Jon was leaning forward, tongue visible and before he could think of anything else to say, Jon’s lips were wrapped around Elias’ cock. Christ… Jon did seem to know what to do, his head bobbing back and forth, steady, and interspersed with teasingly slow licks up Elias’s throbbing shaft. Watching his boss give his big boss a blow job was not on his monster attack bingo card. Elias hummed in approval, fingers curling around the locks of Jon’s hair.

“It’s a shame you’ve been keeping all this talent to yourself all these years.” Elias teased. Jon looked flustered. “You seem like quite the romantic but…” Jon made a sound of protest and Elias yanked his head forward to meet his bucking hips, “I like things a little faster, more rough.”

“Stop!” Martin shouted, trying to break through whatever weird paranormal spell thing Elias had over him. Jon’s eyes were prickling with unshed tears. Martin hoped it was only the shock of nearly choking, and not more. Elias didn’t relent, however, face fucking Jon until at last, after what felt like an eternity, Elias let out a deep, sultry moan, hand still gripping the back of Jon’s head, burying his length nearly to the hilt in his mouth. After a moment, Elias let go and Jon wrenched back, gagging and gasping for air.

“Jesus—Jesus Christ.” He panted, glowering up at his superior. Elias looked smug, taking a tissue off his desk and wiping himself before buttoning his slacks back up.

“I must say I’m quite impressed, Jonathan. I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. I think you deserve a reward.”

“Whatever it is, you can save it.” Jon said, trying to struggle back to his feet without the aid of his hands. Elias grabbed him beneath the upper arm, steadying Jon.

“I have to insist. I think you’ll really like it.” Elias said, guiding Jon by the small of his back against the desk where he’d just been leaning.

“He said no!” Martin barked, tightening his fists. He hated watching Elias just steamroll right over Jon like that—hated it whenever Elias did it, but most especially right now.

Elias’ green eyes looked lazily back at Martin for a moment, seeming to dare him to do something. Anything. But he couldn’t could he? Not tied up and invisible. Jon followed his gaze but just furrowed his brow.

“What?” Jon’s voice sounded unamused and flat.

“Hm? Oh, nothing. I thought I heard something.” Elias lied, resting his fingers on Jon’s belt buckle, before beginning to undo it. “You have my attention.” His eyes locked with Jon’s and the man seemed to squirm backwards, but the desk met with the back of his thighs.

“I promise, it is a reward, not a threat.” Elias teased, “I’m quite good… a lot of experience, you could say.” He unzipped Jon’s trousers. Martin tensed against the back of the chair.

“Oh god…” His stomach felt fluttery, his eyes felt unfocused. He was not about to see this.

“If only Martin could see this...” Elias trailed, fingers tugging down Jon’s slacks and pants, exposing him from the thighs up. A strangled squeak escaped Martin’s throat.

“There is nothing I want less than that.” Jon hissed as Elias touched him. Martin swallowed hard. He felt unclean. He wished he could just disappear, but he knew Elias wouldn’t allow it.

“Jon, Jon—I’m so sorry.” Martin almost whispered, knowing now that Jon couldn’t hear him, but needing him to know it.

Jon let out a soft breath, dropping his head a little, not looking Elias in the eyes any more. Elias didn’t force his head back up, making a sound of approval at another of Jon’s moans as Jon rested his head against Elias’ shoulder. His cheeks were on fire.

“Doesn’t it feel good?” Elias breathed against Jon’s ear. “I can tell you’re enjoying it, you’re already dripping.” His hand moved skillfully, up and down Jon’s shaft. “I know you don’t often take care of yourself… I can help with that, my little Archivist.”

Martin whined, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. God, this was such an invasion of Jon’s privacy—he knew it wasn’t his fault, but he knew that really didn’t matter. Elias didn’t need to make him Know for him to know how Jon felt. He made such cute sounds, they were so soft, like he was afraid someone would hear him. Martin hated that he noticed that, that his brain latched onto that information and stored it away. The only other person anywhere near Elias’ office would have been Rosie, and it sounded like she already had some idea of what was going on.

Jon bucked his hips slightly, seemingly unable to resist the draw of pleasure. Elias leaned down to kiss his captive, “You really are indecent Jonathan…”

“I—” Jon gasped softly, “Shut up.” His fists tightened, his arms still bound close to his chest. Martin saw the signs, Jon was going to come. Jon was going to come in Elias Bouchard’s hand.

Something burned deep in his chest. Surely it wasn’t jealousy. He didn’t want to be anything like Elias! But he couldn’t deny his desire to be where Elias stood right now, with Jon’s head against his breastbone, warm breath against him. To be able to pull him up into a passionate kiss and—

“Oh—oh fuck—” Jon’s voice raised a little as he came, practically collapsing into Elias with his full weight, which to be fair, was not that much. Elias “tsk”ed and held up his hand by Jon’s face, semen dripping from his finger.

“Jonathan, would you help me clean up a bit? You have made quite the mess.” Jon’s head blearily raised up, and Elias pressed his fingers against Jon’s lips, slipping them into his mouth with ease. Jon licked them, seeming to be too tired to protest. “Good boy.”

The next several days seemed to stretch into an eternity of discomfort and shame for Martin. He felt like he bumped into Jon— and Elias— constantly. Elias seemed to be filled with glee every chance he got to put his hand on the small of Jon’s back, rub his shoulder, or tuck his hair behind his ear, staring directly behind him at Martin.

“Uhg.” Melanie said, shocking Martin after he watched one such incident, “That’s so gross. How am I supposed to get close enough to kill him now that Jon’s draped over him all the time?”

“You could get Basira to shoot him.” Martin said, low enough that he was sure they couldn’t have heard with their human hearing. Elias’ head still tilted back towards him, as if conceding a point.

“Shoot who? Elias or Jon?” Melanie snorted, “The way it looks to me, Jon found himself a monster boyfriend. He’s a monster sugar baby. I’m sure Basira wants them both dead.”

“Maybe Basira could shoot me.” Martin said, hoping to have it come off as a joke and missing by a mile. Melanie looked at him with a humoring smirk and concern in her eyes.

“Come on, it’s not your fault you got a crush on an eye monster. It’s probably for the best that you didn’t get together, but it did cost me a fiver from my bet with Georgie.” Melanie said, slinging her arm across Martin’s shoulders. It was silly and Martin couldn’t help but laugh, Melanie was so much shorter than him that she was on her tiptoes to do it.

“You and Georgie are betting on Jon’s love life?” Martin laughed, and for a second he remembered a bet Tim and Sasha had had years ago, something similar but hard to remember now that his memories of Sasha were so fuzzy and his memories of Tim were so painful. His chest hurt, missing them, but not as much as it had a few months ago.

“Oh, of course. We’re headed for some drinks at about—” she checked her watch, “now. Come on, I’ll let you in on our bet for Daisy and Basira.”

“Melanie, it’s 2:30 on a Thursday. We leave at 5:00.”

“Exactly! I’m practically pulling overtime. I don’t think I’ve been here past 2:00 in a month.” Melanie said, and Martin let her drag him along.

Chapter Text

“You look like hell.” Jon was startled out of his concentration by the voice of Daisy, who was leaning in the doorway of his office. He had been trying to get back to doing some semblance of work, at work, but he just couldn’t concentrate. Especially not with Elias being so… affectionate? That wasn’t the right word, but it described how he tried to look, at least, when he and Jon were in front of others. He had so much more work to do and somehow so much less time to do it with now, between the actual meetings Elias had him sitting in on and the “reviews” they’d have afterwards. He clenched his teeth.

“Thank you, Daisy. I appreciate your honesty.”

He did, actually. Since leaving the Buried they’d felt closer. Like they understood each other a bit better. She also did seem to hover nearby Jon more often, but with Elias’ disruption to his routine, she didn’t always have the chance. She always looked uncomfortable when he left. Jon missed sitting with her, between the Buried and the Lonely, her presence in his office was something of a balm. Even if she did listen to the Archers.

But now, she stood before him, arms crossed, looking like she was about to say something important.

“We’re getting drinks.”

“Oh.” Jon said, glancing at the clock. It was past 5:00, he hadn’t even noticed the past few hours pass by. “Well, have fun.”

“With you, genius.” Daisy said, crossing the threshold into his office and picking up his battered canvas briefcase. Nikola had taken his nice leather one off of him when he’d been picked up by the Circus and he hadn’t gotten around to finding a better one to replace it.

“What?” He watched helplessly as she stuffed a couple of statements unceremoniously into the bag, throwing his phone charger and keys in the main pocket with them, where they would surely get lost. She took the yellow legal pad from under his hands and packed that in too. Jon could hear the statements crumpling in the bag.

“Drinks. They’re liquids but they’ve got alcohol in them.” Daisy said, snatching his coat as well, “Come on.”

Jon debated stubbornly sitting there, but she had his keys and his coat, and it was getting rather cold lately. Besides, after the last few weeks he’d had he wanted a drink more than he cared to admit. He sighed and got up.

The bar was somewhat empty, and much to Jon’s surprise, it was just the two of them. Daisy hadn’t even invited Basira along. She just said they’d catch up later. So there, Jon and Daisy sat in the dimly lit corner booth, Daisy tracing her finger absentmindedly around the rim of her glass.

“So.” She began, pausing, before taking a swig of her Bramble.

Jon smiled a little bit, taking a drink. Something about being away from the office and sitting in dive bar with his friend—they were friends now, weren’t they?—felt comfortable. More comfortable than anything had in weeks.

“Are you… doing okay?” Daisy didn’t seem comfortable with her own question, but continued anyways, “Because you've been acting even weirder than normal lately and I thought you and Martin—well, I thought you two uh… were getting together? Were together? I don’t know…”

Jon sighed. He did not want to talk about this. “We just aren’t… compatible.” He let his lips rest in a frown. “Daisy, you know what it’s like, not being fully human, I mean. I… Martin is good and I… don’t want to fuck that up.”

Daisy seemed a little surprised, but nodded. She did know. She was sure she’d already warped Basira and was a worse person for it. “Yeah. I get it. But what’s going on with you and Elias then? Because he is a monster. And I thought you hated him.”

Jon decided to gulp down the majority of his remaining gin and tonic, steeling himself. He couldn’t let Daisy think he was lying. “He is—he’s a monster and a right prick but… we have… a lot more in common because of it. I—” How could he describe Elias in a way that sounded like he didn’t loathe the man? “He saved Martin from Peter Lukas. He saved us from Peter Lukas.” Jon breathed. He hoped it was convincing. Nothing he said wasn’t technically true.

“Right.” Daisy nodded a little, seeming to be processing what Jon had said. “Be careful, Jon.”

The collar that Elias insisted he wear (and insisted that he allow Elias to put on him in front of Rosie) felt uncomfortable against Jon’s neck. It felt like he was choking, though he had plenty of room to breathe and swallow comfortably. He was reminded, slightly, of when Daisy had tried to kill him and he had to wear gauze around his neck in the same spot.

Jon knew that the collar blocked some of his power. Undoubtedly it was something that should have belonged in Artefact Storage. He hated to admit it, but when Elias placed it on him, his cold fingers brushing the back of his neck, the door in his mind that he worked so hard to keep closed seemed to… not disappear, but fade into the background. It was so peaceful.

And after all, Elias wasn’t making him wear those chains that connected the collar to the cuffs (yet, at least), so there wasn’t much to complain about in the grand scheme of things.

Elias was talking as he walked ahead of Jon into the office.

“I want to take things a little slower this time. I want to enjoy you. And, well, we don’t exactly have enough time to be going out on the town and getting drinks.” Elias said, rolling up his sleeves. He was beside his small bar, setting out various accoutrement. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jon moved to sit in one of the chairs across from Elias’—he didn’t think he would ever want to sit in that chair voluntarily again—but he froze when Elias tsked.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not there. I want to see you sitting on my desk.” His eyes raked down Jon’s body and, despite everything, he went red as Elias’ eyes lingered. “And I want to see… more of you.”

Jon didn’t need to Know to know what Elias meant. This was always easier when he played along. He wanted it to be easier, faster. He wanted to take the easy road out of this and, really, there was no one around that he had to be strong for.

He sighed, not willing to give up all of his dignity yet, and started to unbutton his shirt.

“For myself, I’ll just be having a glass of chilled Chablis. I do Know that you are more of a cocktail man, Jonathan.” Elias said, taking three bottles from his bar and a jigger to measure the drink. Jon didn’t bother to pretend to be surprised.

“Then you know my usual.” Jon said, getting to his final button and pulling his shirt off. He felt cold in his vest, but paused there. He folded his shirt and put it on the desk.

“Quite. However, I think I know a drink that you would much prefer.” He glanced up, as if checking on Jon’s progress, “don’t stop on my account. I want to see everything laid bare.”

Jon frowned, but pulled his vest up over his head. He allowed himself to lean against the desk with his arms wrapped around himself uncomfortably for a moment, before bending to untie his shoes.

“I’m making you a Chambery Cassis.” Elias continued, “It starts with three ounces of dry Chambery vermouth. It’s very important that the vermouth is from Chambery, France, otherwise the drink won’t have the brighter, fruitier profile. It would ruin the flavor.” He measured and poured three ounces slowly from an old, but dust-free, green bottle into a mixing glass filled with large ice cubes.

Jon didn’t dare roll his eyes, but he knew if they could they would roll to the back of his skull. Elias was so pretentious. He delighted in being better than everyone but he reveled in others Knowing he was better than them. John fumbled with his belt buckle, recalling how easily Elias had made work of it before.

“Of course, the ice cubes are important too. If you use ice cubes too small or from impure water sources, that would taint the flavor as well,” Elias continued, corking the bottle once more. He reached for another, a clear bottle with a deep red liquid inside. “Next, we add creme de cassis liqueur. It is made from blackcurrants and has a sweet, tart berry taste. On its own, it’s almost velvety and can be overpowering.”

Jon set his belt with his shirt, vest, and shoes in a neat pile. He rolled off his socks and watched as Elias poured half an ounce of the blood-red liquid into the mixing glass. His socks had ghosts on them. Georgie had given them to him.

“We add just a dash of Campari bitters. This is my own addition to the drink, I always found it a bit too sweet for my taste. The Campari has a, of course, bitter flavor and notes of citrus, herbs, and spices.”

Jon watched as he poured an orange-red liquid into the mixing glass from the bottle, just a splash. The door in his mind creaked open ever so slightly to allow a sliver of information through and Jon couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge.

“Isn’t Campari a digestive bitter? I had always assumed that you needed to add more than a few dashes into a drink.” Jon said, having never had an opinion on any type of bitters before this moment.

Elias smiled indulgently at Jon, as if he were a pupil answering a trick question correctly in class. Jon, despite himself, felt a swell of pride at that. He unbuttoned his trousers and removed them.

“You’re right, Jonathan, but in this drink a little goes a long way.” Elias deftly stirred the drink with a barspoon, the metal never hitting the edges of the glass despite how fast he stirred. “Stir for twenty-three seconds exactly.”

Jon folded his trousers, laying them neatly on the desk and arranging the rest of his clothes on top. He was left in his pants, but paused again, leaning on the desk to watch Elias work.

“Strain the cocktail from the mixing glass into a highball glass. I find that crystal improves the aesthetic presentation.” Elias said, straining the drink from one glass to the other. “The final ingredient is an ounce of club soda on top to make it less overpowering.” Elias said, pouring the carbonated liquid into the glass, “It’s very important that this step is last, or the carbonation could be lost when the drink is strained.”

He looked about to hand the glass over, but paused when he looked down to see Jon’s pants still in place.

Wordlessly, Jon removed them. This was worse, he decided, waiting to take them off until Elias’ full attention was on him. He felt like he needed to hide, but knew that would only make things worse.

Elias smiled again, handing over the drink, “There we are. A perfectly made Chambery Cassis a la Magnus.”

“I would have thought it would be ‘a la Bouchard.’” Jon said, taking the drink and sipping it. Damn him. It tasted delicious.

“Yes, but I do owe quite a lot to the Institute. Honoring the founder is the least I could do.” Elias said airily, taking a chilled white wine glass from the bar and pouring his glass of Chablis.

Jon felt silly, drinking a cocktail with about thirty steps too many while Elias poured himself a glass of wine. To spite him, Jon slammed the drink back. He used to drink more in college but he was far too out of practice. Still, Adam's apple bobbed and throat burned as he drank the entire glass.

Elias laughed, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “No, no… that won’t do. You have to savour it.” He sipped his wine before setting it down, repeating the process of crafting a drink, this time wordlessly and faster for it. “Sit down. Here.” Elias patted the arm of one of the two guest chairs, handing Jon his cocktail. Jon swallowed, sitting down on the leather surface, resting an arm against the cool wood of the arm rests. He felt exposed, but at least drinking might make this situation feel less… humiliating. Maybe the alcohol wasn’t that strong, but Jon hoped it was.

Elias leaned against his own desk for a moment, as if he were surveying Jon’s entire body while cooly sipping his wine. “You have so many Marks…” He took a step closer, tracing his fingers across the burns on Jon’s hand. “You really are quite a specimen. Beautiful.” Jon nearly choked.

“You—” Jon’s thoughts raced. No—they swam—he had drunk too fast, he was sure of it. His body felt too heavy but his head felt too light. “If you weren’t…a horrible monster… you’d be quite attractive.”

“Oh really?” Elias breathed, smiling behind his wine glass and raising an eyebrow. “How would I have been quite attractive?”

Jon looked away, huffing a little, as if his own opinions were a bother to him. “You’re quite tall, you’re fit… and all angles.” Jon didn’t remember finding that quality attractive before now. “And you're…”

“Hm?” Elias hummed.

“Well…” Jon paused, “I’ve never… I’ve never been with someone quite so… well endowed.”

Elias let out a laugh and Jon felt something in his chest. Was it attraction? Or regret?

“I never thought you would be a white wine drinker.” Jon hurriedly said, grasping onto his first fleeting, idiotic thought before it could swim away from him. Anything to stave off the inevitable.

“Oh really? Why is that?” Elias asked, the smile clear in his voice as the world began to gently spin.

“You—you’re like a….” Jon searched for the word, “a leech. No, a vampire! One of those hot ones on, you know, covers. Book covers.”

“I never thought you would be a romance novel fan.” Elias teased, reaching a hand out and stroking up and down Jon’s chest, agonizingly slow. “I don’t tend to drink red wine. It’s bad for your teeth and your figure.”

Jon couldn’t make his mouth say any kind of coherent response to that. Elias extended his hand with the wine glass and poured some down Jon’s chest where he had been stroking him.

“Besides,” Elias said, leaning closer, “red wine stains terribly.”

Jon had just grasped a word that he thought he might be able to force out his mouth, when Elias bent down and licked the trail of wine up Jon’s body. His thoughts were suddenly all gone, his brain solely focused on the sensation of the cold wine dripping down his body while Elias’ warm tongue trailed up it. He was kneeling now, between Jon’s legs—when did he part them? He took another nervous drink, his hand feeling too weak to hold the glass for much longer. As if out of concern, Elias removed the glass from his hand, setting it on the floor beside them.

“Jonathan.” He breathed, breath hot between his legs. “You’re mine.” Jon gripped the arm rests tightly, needing something to anchor him down, something to make sure he didn’t float away from himself. He moaned as Elias gave him an agonizingly slow lick. Then, instead of continuing, Elias licked his own fingers, other hand resting firmly against Jon’s inner thigh.

“Are you ready?” Elias asked as he began to teasingly trace his wet finger around Jon’s entrance. He’d shifted hips, falling back into the chair. His body felt like it was Jello. Still, his knuckles were white as he held onto the chair.

“You look ready.” Elias said as he pressed a finger into Jon, smiling widely as Jon gasped. “How does it feel? You’re so tight…” Elias moved his finger slightly, as if stroking Jon from the inside. The Archivist shuddered. “I think you could take two…”

“I—” Jon’s whole body felt like it was made of liquid but burning hot. He didn’t manage to complete a thought before Elias slid another saliva-coated finger in. Jon was sure this would be too much—he’d never done anything like this, so how could it feel so natural? It couldn’t, that didn’t make any sense.

“Do you think I should use three, before I—?” Elias’ voice lilted in his ear. Jon nodded, perhaps too hard, his head swimming. Three seemed much more reasonable than trying to rush things. Elias was far too well-endowed.

Martin was gagged again. He had the sneaking suspicion that Elias hadn’t liked hearing him as much as he thought he would. He was tied to that chair again—he was pretty sure the cushion was beginning to mold to his form, with how often he’d been sitting in it, lately. He thought last time would be the last time he’d be in this situation, but evidently Elias had other plans. Martin felt his chest ache as he watched Jon writhe at Elias’ every touch.

He’d never seen so much of Jon… so much flesh, so many scars… he wanted to kiss them and gather Jon into the safety of his arms so he’d never get hurt again. But what he wanted didn’t matter. The reality was that Jon was sitting beside him, legs spread wide, hard, as Elias Bouchard pushed his cock into him. The noise Jon made was unbearable. Surely he didn’t like it—surely this was all just a trick.

Jon let his head roll to the side, breathing labored. His breath was right against Martin’s cheek, hot and heavy. This was not okay, this was not okay on so many different levels.

Martin protested against his gag, not for the first time during this… encounter. Even if there hadn’t been plenty of evidence that Jon wasn’t into Elias (until a few weeks ago, at least), this was crossing so many lines. Ignore the eldritch horror stuff, ignore that Elias is their boss. Jon was clearly not in his right mind.

Elias hadn’t threatened Martin to watch this time, but he couldn’t look away. Jon had obviously drunk his drink too quickly, and Martin had never known he was such a lightweight (though it didn’t exactly surprise him). After those two drinks he was sloppy. He was barely responding to Elias other than to moan and make breathy little sounds as the older man thrust into him.

Martin watched as Jon tried to lift his hands a few times, to pull Elias close or to push him away?, but he seemed to forget what he was doing midway through the action, hands resting uselessly on Elias’s chest, head lolled so close to Martin’s that he could smell the cocktail on his breath.

“Tell me Jonathan, tell me how it feels.” Elias breathed, “Tell me how no one else could ever make you feel this way.” Jon missed Elias’s pointed gaze at Martin. “Tell me, Jonathan Sims. Tell me the truth.”

Jon whined, looking up at Elias as he felt his cold and delicate fingers lace through his own. The man was staring into his soul. How could something feel so cold and so hot at the same time? “Ah—” Jon tried to speak, his words felt difficult to gather, like they were floating past him and he needed to catch each one and arrange it before he could talk. “No one—no one has ever made me feel like this.” He was panting. Elias seemed satisfied, but slowed his pace momentarily.

“I want you to beg me for it.” Elias’ words rumbled in his ears, deep and low, chasing the other words away. Jon whined, he wanted this, but he didn’t want it drawn out. He couldn’t take any more of this, he felt weak.

“Please Elias,” Jon tried to focus his eyes on the form above him, “Please.” His voice was breathy.

“Please, what, Jonathan?” Elias asked, feigning innocence. “What do you want me to do?”

Even now, even addled as he was, Jon didn’t want to say such a thing out loud. “K-keep going—”

“Mhm,” Elias hummed, “But how? Use your words, Archivist. You have so many of them, after all.”

“Deeper.” Jon forced the word from his lips. It was only one word, but Elias grinned.

“You really are quite the whore, Jonathan. Look at you, splayed out here and begging for me, your boss—in such a lewd way.” Elias complied with Jon’s request, however, picking up his pace and thrusting deeper once more.

Jon gasped, a sound Elias must have taken for pleasure. The word “whore” seemed to float around his head, he could hear it ringing in his ears. Absurdly, he thought to Martin and felt a deep, terrible thankfulness that Elias had agreed to do this without him present.

That did make him a whore though, didn’t it? He was doing this to keep them safe and he was… enjoying it. All this time, all this rebuffed physical affection, and he turned out to be a whore in the end.

Martin was shaking in his seat, from anger or nerves or the trauma of it all, he wasn’t sure. When Jon had said that, had said “deeper”, he whispered it into Martin’s ear, facing away from Elias, like he couldn’t bear to look at him while he asked. Martin watched, horrified at himself for how everything in front of him was sending chills down his spine, how he caught himself thinking about what he would do if he was where Elias sat.

After what seemed like several lifetimes, Jon and Elias had both finished. Martin ached to reach out to Jon, to do something, to fix it. Elias glanced up at Martin and smirked.

Jon mumbled something, something neither of them seemed to catch, though they were all so close.

“Speak up, Jonathan.” Elias said, not unkindly, lifting Jon’s head from where it lolled to the side, making him look up at him and turn his face from Martin’s invisible form. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“Thank you.” Jon said. Martin’s stomach dropped. Elias looked as though he was going to draw it out, to ask Jon to explain what he was thanking him for, pull every lurid detail from him, but mercifully, Jon seemed to have fallen asleep.

Jon rested his forehead against the toilet bowl in the private bathroom of the executive suite. Walking past Rosie had been a nightmare. She’d giggled. As if she thought the two had been up to something scandalous, like his life was some sort of soap opera instead of a horror movie.

He retched again, his stomach feeling like it was filled with acid. His head was still swimming as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the immaculate, cold, black porcelain. He drank so much—why had he drank so much? He knew he didn’t have the stomach for it. Jon felt like he had sunk lower than he ever had before. This wasn’t a college party, this was his job and here he was, kneeling over his boss’ toilet, nauseous and dizzy. Jon gripped his head, there wasn’t anything left in his stomach now, he was sure. Slowly, he let himself sink down into the chill of the tile floor. He curled in on himself.

Jon’s body ached but something inside him still felt like it was buzzing. He still held the faintest memory of what it felt like in the moment. Fuck. He’d enjoyed it, hadn’t he? Had he? He groaned. He hadn’t felt like himself. He’d felt like someone else. He felt… like a monster. He really did have more in common with Elias than he thought.

Martin was getting used to seeing the aftercare display between Jon and Elias. This time, Elias had laid down Jon on the couch he had against the wall, tucked by a bookshelf. He’d wiped him down and dressed him, stroking his hair like he was something precious.

It made Martin’s blood boil. It made his stomach lurch.

When Jon awoke, Elias had sent him on his way. Then, finally, his attention turned to Martin.

“Mr. Blackwood, I’m sure this training session has been valuable?” Elias asked, reaching around his head and unclipping the bit. Martin thought about spitting the metallic taste out onto Elias’ floor. He was almost brave enough to do it.

“Why are you doing this?” Martin asked, and the question he had meant to sound like a demand came out more like a plea. “You’ve made your point. He wants you. Why do I need to watch?”

“Oh, Mr. Blackwood. I was in that jail for almost a year. Do you know how I’ve longed for this? To hurt you? To feed our god with your fear?” Elias asked. He released Martin’s legs, but stood over him while his wrists were still restrained, “Martin, this is all I’ve thought about. And you’ve given me all I could have hoped for and more.”

“What’s to stop me from telling Jon what you’re doing? He might be coming here of his own free will, but he sure as hell doesn’t want me here.” Martin shot back.

Elias’ eyes glinted.

For a second, an eternity, Martin was back in that horrible moment.

“If only Martin could see this...” Elias trailed, fingers tugging down Jon’s slacks and pants, exposing him from the thighs up. A strangled squeak escaped Martin’s throat.

“There is nothing I want less than that.” Jon hissed as Elias touched him. Martin swallowed hard. He felt unclean. He wished he could just disappear, but he knew Elias wouldn’t allow it.

Martin gasped, coming back to the present all at once. The guilt felt fresh, like a lead brick in his soul. He could never let Jon know about what he saw.

“Good.” Elias said, as wisps of fog danced around the baseboards. He released Martin’s wrists. “You may go.”

Chapter Text

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Sims.” Daisy said, walking into his office and throwing herself down on the chair she now considered ‘hers’. Jon had been nervous lately about people standing over him when he was sitting, but Daisy was working on her ‘people skills’ and ‘empathy’, so she didn’t lean on his desk like she wanted to.

He’d moved the chairs away from the desk too. Daisy was unsure if that was connected to anything, but she’d written it down in her notes that Basira judged her for taking. The notes were getting chaotic, she had a feeling she was going to have to bust out the red string sooner or later.

Jon reached into his desk and pulled out something smooth, curved, and off-white. “Have at it.”

Daisy looked at it. She looked back at Jon.

“Jon, whose rib is that?”

“Mine.”

“Yours as in ‘it’s in your possession and so it’s mine’ or yours as in ‘this came out of my literal body’?”

“As in my twelfth left rib.” Jon clarified, seeming to enjoy Daisy’s confused look as he poked the left side of his cardigan.

“Jon, why is your twelfth left rib on your desk?” Daisy asked, derailed for a moment.

“Jared Hopworth’s handy work.” Jon shrugged, “I asked him to remove it so I had an anchor for–” Jon frowned slightly, as if regretting bringing it up, “going into the Buried.”

Daisy looked back at the rib, reaching a hand out and poking it. He ripped out a rib? For me? After I tried to kill him? She thought, watching as it rocked back and forth on his desk. Why?

“You had a question?” Jon asked, bringing Daisy’s thoughts back to the matter at hand.

“Right.” Daisy said, crossing her arms and shoving those thoughts into the case file labeled ‘Jonathan Sims’ in her mind. “You haven’t been eating.”

“So I worked through lunch.” Jon looked back down, starting to page through a folder, “I had a granola bar for breakfast. What does it matter?”

“First off: it’s three in the afternoon. You should be eating more than a granola bar and tea. Second: I was trying to tactfully ask why you haven’t been reading statements.” Daisy ticked off on her fingers.

Jon looked back up at her, looking like a deer in headlights for a moment. Like he hadn’t guessed she would have noticed. He coughed and rearranged his expression, pointing to the pages in front of him, “I’m reading a statement right now.”

“Yeah, and you just keep reading that same one. You haven’t had another file on your desk all week.” Daisy pointed out, rolling her eyes.

Jon glanced around, as if checking that it was only the two of them before returning his attention to the conversation at hand. “I read a different one on Monday. I’ve just been distracted, that’s all.”

“It’s Thursday and I know you’re not that distracted, Martin hasn’t even been coming around lately, so you haven’t been swanning around, looking for his attention.” Daisy teased as Jon sputtered, “That’s why I brought us some early dinner.”

Daisy reached into her bag and pulled out two takeaway containers of curry, along with a neatly arranged, newly found statement. Basira had just found a box filled with statements that made Daisy’s blood sing—statements about the Hunt. And the dust on the box had been about an inch thick, so she knew Jon hadn’t read them. Hell, Gertrude probably hadn’t even read them.

Jon sighed, relaxing in his chair a little. Daisy knew she’d won this argument. “Fine.” She handed over the paper. Jon shook his head, “Curry first, if you please.”

“Alright, but you’re not getting out of reading.” Daisy said, “I’ve caught up on The Archers because you haven’t been giving me anything else to listen to.”

“I could recommend some podcasts.” Jon grumbled, unwrapping his plastic spork.

Daisy sighed. It was time to take out the big guns.

“Jon.” She said, and he looked up from his struggle with the plastic takeaway box, “I didn’t want to have to ask, but… they’re about the Hunt. I think… hearing about it will help. Me.”

Jon looked apologetic, “Of course.” A satisfying plastic crackle filled the silence as Jon finally managed to get the lid off of his curry. “I suppose I didn’t think it would help… but if it does, I will.”

Daisy gave him a grateful smile. Maybe ‘people skills’ were easier than she thought. Of course, she could read the statements about the Hunt herself, dull the gnawing hunger a little, but what Jon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“By the way, what is going on with Martin?” Daisy asked around a delicious mouthful of curry and rice. “I know about the Lonely, but I thought once you got out of it and kissed him in front of all of us it was a done deal. And now Elias? I mean, come on, Jon. I’ve tried to ignore it, but he’s all over you.”

“Things with Martin are… complicated.” Jon said, “You know how I feel. Everyone I get close to dies or becomes a monster, I can’t—with Martin, I can’t let that happen.”

“Fine, fine.” Daisy said, “But, Elias? Really? I knew you were doing some weird eye-monster-mentorship program with him, but he’s crossing over the line into HR violations. MR?”

“As in ‘Monster Relations’?”

“Exactly. He’s a walking MR violation.”

“Yeah, well.” Jon sighed and opened a drawer in his desk, pulling out a small flask. He poured a bit in his empty tea cup and passed it to Daisy. She sniffed it, alcohol for sure. “It’s not exactly an ‘MR’ violation if I’m attracted to him.”

Daisy’s jaw dropped, rice falling from her lips back into the takeaway container. “Jonathan Sims. Into Elias Bouchard? And drinking on the job? I’m learning all sorts of things about you today.”

She grinned and took a swig from the flask, vodka burning her tongue. This, she was used to. Drinking on the job is easy when you’re the authority.

“Yeah, yeah.” Jon said, cheeks burning, “I’m a rebel, what can I say?”

Elias hummed idly as he stood over his bar, mixing that same stupid cocktail he had made Jon the last time. His eyes looked back to Martin, glinting. He was a sick bastard. Martin stared right back at him, knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the chair, just trying to dig his nails into the lacquered wood. He hoped it pissed Elias off. He seemed to care an awful lot about that sort of thing.

Jon was taking his clothes off. Martin was trying to look away from him, knowing he’d seen too much for the privacy to be of any consequence, but hoping all the same that it would help in some way. Jon hadn’t had a say in Martin’s… participation in all of this. Martin wanted to let him have any space or privacy he could offer.

Jon stopped when he was down to the emerald green collar, holding his arms self consciously across himself. Martin noticed that the matching cuffs for his wrists were back, as well as some ankle cuffs.

“Beautiful.” Elias said, putting the final touches on the drink. Jon looked longingly in his direction, but Martin could almost swear his eyes were fixed on the glass in Elias’ hand rather than on the man himself. “I wanted to try something new today.”

“New?” Jon asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Yes, new.” Elias began to walk over to Jon, cocktail in hand, but as he reached out to take it, Elias withdrew it with a “tsk.” Jon furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Turn around.” Elias instructed, and Jon followed, turning his back to the man. “Good.” He could hear the hum of satisfaction in Elias’ voice. The drink was set down on the desk as Elias took Jon’s wrists, bringing them behind his back and linking the two cuffs together. Jon’s shoulders visibly tensed.

“Elias…?” Jon began a question, but he wasn’t sure what to ask when he felt a the tap of a hard toed shoe against one of his ankles.

“Spread them out.”

“What?” Jon blinked, the instruction not fully registering. “Already?”

“Jonathan, I won’t ask twice.” Elias tapped again, more insistent this time. Jon took a wider stance, swallowing hard. He tried to glance in the mirror to his side, but Elias had knelt down out of its view. From below, he heard two metallic clicks, as if something had been clasped to the cuffs around his ankles. When he looked down, a gold metal rod was connected between them, keeping his legs further apart than was comfortable.

“Very good, Jonathan.” Elias all but purred, walking around the desk to face him. He lifted the glass to Jon’s lips and tipped it slowly. Jon drank quickly, afraid that if he didn’t the drink would spill. He didn’t want to be covered in sticky, sugary alcohol (and he needed the boost from the drink anyways).

The drink was gone too fast, the taste of the bitters less harsh than the last time. The drink seemed to hit him less hard too, but maybe it was too soon to tell.

Elias was soon on the other side of the room, putting the glass carefully back beside the small sink. Then he was behind Jon once more, running his hands up and down his bare sides. Elias angled him a little more, fixing his stance so that he was perfectly centered in the mirror behind Elias’s desk, as if he were the pupil of the eye-shaped glass.

“There we go.” He took Jon’s chin in his hand, tilting it so that he was looking at his own reflection. “Today–” he began, gently goading Jon closer to the desk before placing a hand in the middle of his back, guiding Jon’s torso to the cool mahogany, “—I want you to Watch yourself.”

Jon felt as if with the slightest shift he’d fall forward and hit his face on the wood, but Elias stood behind him, holding his waist now, steadying him. “You want me to Watch… myself? Why?”

“I want you to See exactly what you look like when I’m fucking you, my little Archivist.” Elias said huskily into his ear, lowering his head slightly to bite Jon’s earlobe viciously. Jon shuddered. He didn’t look at the mirror.

“Ah, ah.” Elias said, reaching around him and forcing his chin up to gaze upon himself in the mirror. “I said Watch.”

Martin frowned. Well, he tried to through the bit in his mouth. He could tell that Jon didn’t want to do this. Jon didn’t seem like the type of person who liked being perceived. He’d always been surprised when people noticed him for his looks. We’re alike that way, I guess.

The cocktail he’d been made to drink so quickly seemed to be affecting Jon more now, Martin could see him swaying just a bit as Elias whispered more vile things into his ear. Elias’ hands were the only thing keeping him from resting down on the desk and Martin could see how his muscles strained with the effort of keeping himself upright.

Elias kissed Jon’s neck, shoulders, and slowly trailed down his spine, all the while, cold green eyes staring ahead in the mirror to make sure Jon was Watching. It was a power play and Martin knew it. Elias could easily Know if Jon wasn’t Watching but having to meet his eyes… Martin knew what that cold gaze felt like.

Elias reached his hand around to Jon’s mouth, presenting two fingers, “You’ll want to get them nice and wet.” He said, seeming to revel as Jon tried his hardest to use their reflection as a guide for where to lick. He managed though, taking the fingers in his mouth and sucking them. When Elias was satisfied he withdrew the fingers and Jon's flush face was visible in the mirror.

“Excellent.” Elias’ voice was smooth and sultry. His fingers prodded Jon’s entrance and the man gasped. Jon tensed as he saw himself, trying hard to keep looking, trying not to make any expression at all when a moan escaped his throat as Elias’ fingers slipped inside.

“Please,” He sputtered as the man’s fingers made a scissoring motion inside of him, trying to stretch him. He didn’t know if he’d had enough to drink yet, enough to loosen up… “Don’t make me Watch.” Jon’s pleaded. For a moment he thought he saw Elias’ expression change, as if he was surprised Jon would be bold enough to ask such a thing. The change was only momentary though.

“We must feed our god,” Elias whispered. Jon watched as the looming figure behind him unbuckled his belt, and moved to unbutton his trousers.

“Please, Elias.” Jon whispered. “I don’t—I don’t want to See.”

Elias ignored him, sliding inside in one burning, stretching thrust. Jon let out a strangled cry that felt caught in the back of his throat. Elias’ hand was on his jaw once more, forcing his face towards the mirror even as Jon desperately longed to sink down onto the desk, to hide from this. He watched as Elias continued to move, not giving him enough time to adjust.

“Elias, wait—” Jon gasped, “Just—just a second.”

“I’ve never been good at, ah, self-denial.” Elias panted, picking up the pace a little, “I’ve played nice, but I wanted you for so long, my Archivist.”

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, wincing from the pain.

“I told you to Watch.” Elias said, and Jon shuddered as the feeling of compulsion ran through him. His neck stilled at an awkward angle, holding his head level with the mirror. His eyes would not shut.

Martin watched in horror as tears streamed down Jon’s face. He seemed frozen, and Martin could feel the compulsion heavy in the air, though it hadn’t been directed at him. He stared back at the mirror, trying to catch Jon’s gaze even though he knew it was hopeless.

“Tell me, don’t you feel how good your body feels? I know you are craving this as much as I am. Tell me.” Elias commanded.

“Y-yes—” Jon stuttered out, before catching a glimpse of something behind them in the mirror. The world narrowed in on two hazel eyes. Two familiar hazel eyes. “M-Martin??”

Martin nearly jumped out of his seat, restraints be damned. Elias seemed similarly shocked, his grip on Jon wavering enough that Jon’s face nearly hit the desk.

“Elias–someone–” Jon panted, seeming to have broken free from the compulsion momentarily as he jerked his body, eyes searching the mirror again for what he’d seen. It wasn’t there. What he knew he’d Seen.

Elias’ grip tightened on his hips, nails digging in a little as he regained his cool composure, leaning over Jon to whisper in his ear. “Ah, don’t worry about that. It’s just the ketamine, dear.”

Jon’s gaze snapped back to Elias, glowering at him through the haze in his mind. “The what?”

Elias chuckled, “Oh, nothing, nothing.” He nipped at Jon’s neck, bringing him back into the moment. “I thought you might enjoy how… difficult it is to Know, to See when you’re in an altered state. It allows for some delicious surprises. And you do like it.”

His voice was barely a breath, quiet enough that Jon almost had trouble distinguishing it from his own thoughts. His breath started to come in gasps. His head was spinning. Elias kept thrusting, seeming to disregard Jon’s shaking body in favor of his own pleasure.

“Elias–” Jon’s voice was weak, words spilling out. “Stop–Elias, stop it, now–I can’t breathe–” Jon wanted to clutch his chest, but his fists tightened behind him, as he shook his shoulders, trying to wrench free from his captor. He felt something click under his chest as he pressed into the desk before he was returned to his position. Elias held Jon tighter, then, ignoring his pleas.

For the first time since he’d awoken in this room, Martin started to struggle against his restraints. He was yelling through the bit in his mouth, though even he wasn’t sure of the words that would have come out. Elias’ eyes flashed to him in the mirror, furious. Martin rocked in his chair harder, yelled louder, anything to keep the man’s—the monster’s attention off Jon.

A decisive knock rang out against the door. Everyone froze. The door opened, the tiniest crack. Not enough to see, just enough for sound to reach.

“Uhm, Mr. Bouchard?” Rosie’s voice asked, sounding extremely uncomfortable, “I, uh, are you alright? I thought—well, I thought I heard you on the intercom.”

All eyes trained on the intercom on Elias’ desk. The light was red. Jon must have bumped it in his struggle. He felt like ice water was running in his veins.

“Ah, Nosey Rosie.” Elias said, his voice filled with a pleasantness, a tone that made it sound like this was some kind of inside joke between the two, like a teasing jibe become fond nickname. “I’m just fine. Mr. Sims and I were doing some—light scenario roleplay. For when he speaks to his assistants.”

“Oh. Oh!” Rosie said, and Martin could almost hear the blush in her voice, “Oh, I see. Alright then, please forget all about my intrusion.”

“Already forgotten.” Elias said soothingly. The door closed once more. Elias clicked the glowing red button on the intercom, turning it off. He then unplugged it.

Ha, thought he could See everything, huh? Martin thought with wry victory, before the thought vanished in the face of Jon’s situation.

Tears were still wet on Jon’s cheeks. He was shaking and his breath was coming in horrible, shallow gasps. Martin was pretty sure the man still hadn’t blinked.

“Well, I feel like the mood has been dampened quite a bit.” Elias said with no emotion in his voice. He pulled out of Jon and buttoned up his trousers. He carelessly unbuckled Jon from the spreader bar and the restraint holding his arms back in silence.

“Clean yourself up.” He said, setting some pre-prepared washcloths and a basin on the desk, near where Jon sank to the floor. “And do try to keep yourself together on your way out. Wouldn’t want Rosie to hear you being sick again, would you?”

With that, Elias left the room.

Jon sat at his desk, palms down on the smooth linoleum surface as he stared past the stacks of papers piling up.

“Jon?” A voice seemed to come through the fog, “Hello, Jon, are you listening? Are you feeling alright?” Jon’s eyes slowly moved up to identify the source of the noise. Basira was standing beside his desk, arms crossed.

“What’s up with you? Are you coming down with something?” She looked somewhat disgusted at the thought of catching a cold. “Do monsters even get ill?”

“Well!” Martin’s cheerful, yet forced intrusion made them both nearly jump out of their skin. “If you are getting sick, this should help.” He said as he set a steaming mug of tea on the desk, standing somewhat in front of Basira. “Peppermint tea. It always makes me feel better.”

Martin’s soft smile would have threatened to melt Jon’s heart if he hadn’t felt so… far away. “Thank you, Martin.”

“Uh– of course!” Martin stammered. “Actually, do you have a moment?” Jon stared at the cup of tea, not catching Martin’s emphasized look at Basira, trying to tell her they needed a minute alone.

Basira raised an eyebrow, but left the room after staring Martin down. Martin waited to hear her shoes click down the hall. If he had to talk about this with Jon, he didn’t want to add any unnecessary embarrassment.

Jon continued to stare at his tea. Martin continued to stare at Jon.

After what felt like a thousand eternities, Martin awkwardly cleared his throat. “So…”

Jon said nothing, but he looked up from his tea. Progress. His gaze was vacant. Less progress.

“Jon, I, uh. I wanted to talk to you about—about your, um, ‘situationship,’” Here Martin used actual finger quotes, “with, uh, with Elias.”

Jon’s eyes cleared fractionally. “My what?”

“God, I’m fucking this up.” Martin said, more to himself really than to Jon. “Okay, your…whatever is going on between you and Elias.”

Jon let out the most tired sounding sigh Martin had heard in a long time. He could relate. “Martin, I thought we’d already discussed this.”

“Yeah, well. You’ve been spending a lot of time upstairs, is all.” Martin said, rubbing the back of his neck self consciously, “And Elias has been paying you a lot of attention.”

“Well, I appreciate the concern, but I’d kindly ask you, and all of the archives staff to stay out of my personal affairs.” Jon said, letting the cold seep into his voice.

“Your ‘personal affairs’ are affecting everyone, you know.” Martin said, instantly regretting it, “Wait, that came out—”

“What I get up to in my own time is none of your—”

“Jon, if you would just—”

“I would kindly ask you to let it be—”

“Well, I would kindly appreciate if Elias would stop—”

“And Elias said you were jealous.” Jon said, his eyes flashing.

“I’m not jealous, Jon, I’m worried!”

“Oh, you’re worried, that makes it so much better—”

“Jon, he’s making me watch!”

Jon fell absolutely silent, his mouth still open for his next argument.

Oh no. This is not how Martin had wanted to break the news to him. He’d thought he’d be tactful, delicately bringing Jon around to his point of view. But he could just be so frustrating.

There was a beat of silence before Martin frantically tried to fill it.

“I, uh. I’m so sorry. He had you in, um. In some kind of trance?” Martin asked, and he saw Jon’s face start to go pale. “I think it has to do with the collar. It, uh. I think it blocks me from you. Or something. I-I know you didn’t want me to see, that’s why I never—I’m just, I’m so sorry, Jon.”

Jon was still silent. Not great.

“I just… what he did to you today…” Martin trailed off, searching for words, “Jon, nothing about this is normal, but that? That was not okay—”

Jon cut him off with a laugh so cold Martin felt his blood freeze.

“Martin, nothing about this job is ‘normal.’” Jon said, the terrible coldness in his voice only becoming icier by the second, “And I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business.”

Martin was now the frozen one. He could feel fog curling around his legs once more, but even it seemed afraid to enter Jon’s line of sight.

Jon continued, “Elias is probably just letting you watch because he knows what you want. Let me be perfectly clear, Martin.” Jon took a breath, emphasizing every word with a pause like a nail in a coffin. “I. Don’t. Want. That. From. You.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Martin told himself, feeling the edges of his lips turning down against his will, Jon’s stony façade swimming before him in unshed tears.

“Right,” He said thickly, fighting to keep some measure of composure. Jon didn’t need to see him cry after all this, too. He swallowed hard. “Right. Okay then. I’m just going to… go.”

Martin turned on his heel and walked out of Jon’s office as fast as he could without physically running away. He was about to break the UK championship for “Fastest Office Speedwalk” when he ran headlong into Melanie.

“Woah, woah. Martin, what the hell?” She asked, glaring up at him sharply before catching his expression, “Oh, are you okay?”

“Uh,” Martin sniffled pathetically. Tears were flooding down his cheeks now that he had gotten away from Jon. “Not really?”

“Right, stupid question.” Melanie muttered. “Is it… something to do with the Lonely?”

“What? No, I don’t think so.” Martin said.

“You’re, uh…” Melanie pointed at the floor. Fog was still curling around his legs. Martin tried to fan it away.

“Nope, no Lonely feelings at all. I am feeling. Very loved. And wanted. And respected.” Martin said, like a liar who lies.

“Did Jon—” Melanie tried, but Martin was already pushing past her.

“I’ve just got—a very important—” And he ran away.

Jon Watched from his office as Martin sank to the floor of the single occupancy bathroom. Martin clicked the lock and held his breath for a moment, as if worried someone was going to try to chase after him. When no one did, he started crying in earnest.

“God, what is wrong with me?” Martin asked himself between heaving breaths, and Jon’s heart ached. Nothing was wrong with Martin. Jon was the one who was fucked up.

As Martin sobbed into his hands, the fog of the Lonely swirled around him, almost obscuring him from Jon’s view. A traitorous part of Jon wished he was there, wished he could take back what he had said and that he could comfort Martin. He stayed in his office.

Jon Watched for the long minutes it took for Martin to let it all out. The fog began to dissipate and Martin started to slowly make the process of composing himself. Martin got so far as to look in the mirror before breaking down again, when Jon realized he was crying too.

It’s for the best. He told himself, Now Martin doesn’t have to worry about me. Now he won’t try to help and I can keep him safe.

The next day at tea time, when Martin had knocked, come in, and dropped off Jon’s tea like nothing had happened, Jon was too shocked to say anything.

And then it happened three more times. Jon had crossed over from “too shocked to speak” to “feeling extremely awkward” and then to “it’s been too long now and I guess I’ll just live in silence.”

Martin had been trying out different teas every day. Jon Knew for a fact that they had Office Supply Company tea delivered to them monthly, and he Knew that these new flavors were not from it. This strange, mundane little mystery was literally all that was keeping Jon going these days.

Daisy had been spending a little less time in Jon’s office. Enough time had passed so that they didn’t have panic attacks when the other was out of sight for too long, and she needed to move around according to her physical therapist. Besides, she probably had better things to do than watch Jon mope. She was there on this day though, silently taking some kind of notes on something while Jon searched fruitlessly on his computer for follow up information on a statement.

It was tea time. Martin dropped off his tea. Jon, absorbed in his work, absent-mindedly picked it up before Martin left the room and took a sip. The taste washed over him in a wave of nostalgia and he felt his shoulders physically un-tense. He hummed before he could catch himself.

“That good, huh?” Martin, who Jon had not noticed was still there, asked with a smile in his voice. (A smile in his voice!)

“Yes, well.” Jon said, his throat closing up around his words awkwardly. Martin looked ready to turn away and Jon’s mouth began to speak without consulting his brain. “I, um. I used to get this when I was in college. I’d only get it during finals week, when I really needed to destress. I tried to buy some once, but I couldn’t make it right—I think I oversteeped it? The barista at the coffee shop that I went to said she made it ‘special’ for me and I wasn’t sure what she added. Oh, God, I think she had a crush on me now that I’m saying this all out loud.”

Martin laughed at him. (He laughed!) “Wow, okay. Well, I’m glad you like it. The secret is—”

“No wait, don’t tell me.” Jon said, interrupting him, “Could you just… make it again? Tomorrow?”

“Oh!” Martin had gone a little pink, “Sure! No problem!”

“Thank you, Martin.” Jon said. He held the cup closer to his chest, feeling a small smile on his lips.

“Sure, sure.” Martin said, “See you later, then.”

After Martin left, Jon Watched him in the hallway for a moment. Not long, just long enough to see Martin silently fist pump into the air.

Jon smiled a little wider as he came back to himself. He glanced over at Daisy, who was pointedly looking at her notes and writing on the same line she’d been writing for the last three minutes.

“You shut up.” Jon said.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!” Daisy protested. “And you promised not to look in my head!”

“I wasn’t Looking in your head, I was Looking at your notes and you wrote ‘Jon-heart-Martin’ and circled it five times.”

Elias glowered at nothing. He was sitting at his desk. Having been ahead of schedule for the day, he’d taken a peek at his Archivist. And what did he see? He was making doe eyes at Martin. After all Elias had done to drive them apart, he was still hung up on that overly-optimistic idiot.

Hm, that’s strange, Elias thought to himself, Am I feeling… jealous?

Well, of course he would be protective of his Archivist—he’d put so much work into him and Jon had come such a long way. And Peter always did tell him he’d had a possessive streak, but this…

Elias didn’t want to share Jon at all. He no longer wanted Martin to see them together. He wanted to own him. He wanted Jon to Know who he belonged to. And he wanted him to Stop Looking at Martin Blackwood.

Chapter Text

When Elias called him up on Wednesday afternoon, Jon knew without Knowing what the man had in mind. It had been just long enough without a “performance review” that Elias must be getting… impatient.

He was surprised, however, when instead of meeting him in the hall (and putting a collar on him in front of Rosie—humiliating him) Elias called him directly into his office.

“Ah, Jonathan.” Elias said, setting down some papers and smiling at him from his desk, “Did you miss me?”

“You called me up here.” Jon said, crossing his arms uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Elias said, standing and gesturing to a chair for Jon to sit in.

Jon patted the air by the chair, feeling ridiculous, but wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to sit down on Martin or something. Elias laughed at the gesture.

“Ah, so I see Mr. Blackwood has keyed you into our little arrangement. Not to worry, we don’t have an… audience today.”

Jon relaxed slightly. There was a clinking sound as Elias tinkered around making drinks at his bar. He was back faster than usual, slipping Jon a glass of wine.

Jon looked at it suspiciously, “Is there anything, uh. Added to this?” He asked, swirling it around like he knew anything about wines—buying himself some time.

Elias sighed, “I see you’re still thinking about last time.” He said, and took the glass from Jon so that he could take a large sip, before returning it. “See? Perfectly ordinary cabernet sauvignon. Well, maybe not perfectly ordinary, it is a rather old vintage.”

Jon took a small, appeasing sip. It did taste better than the wine he usually bought himself, but he supposed that was probably a low bar. “I thought you said you didn’t like red wine.”

“Yes, but you do.” Elias said, pouring himself a glass of white wine—Chablis, if Jon remembered correctly. “I think last time was… revealing to me, in some ways.”

“Oh?” Jon asked, taking another sip for something to do with his hands. Elias was still standing, leaning against his desk, in Jon’s space. He put a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Yes. I realized that I might be going about this in the wrong way. You are precious to me.” And here, Elias curled a lock of Jon’s hair in his fingers, “I’ve waited so long for a treasure like you to find his way to my archives. I’m not going to let you slip through my fingers.”

“Oh.” Jon said, his face hot enough that Elias had to feel the warmth radiating off it from how close he was. “I. I see.”

Elias smiled, with something that Jon could have mistaken for fondness if he hadn’t known the man better. “Besides, I know that you prefer your men a little… softer.” Jon looked pointedly into his glass as he took another drink, “Ah, not to worry. I can be gentle too.”

“So. The ketamine? That you put in my drinks?” Jon asked, looking directly to the left of Elias’ eyes so that he wouldn’t have to maintain eye contact.

“You’re so new to Knowing.” Elias sighed, “You’ve asked me before for help with it. When I gave that to you, it relaxed you, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“And it ‘closed the door’ in your mind, correct?”

“It did—”

“And it also has the added benefit that I cannot read your thoughts as clearly. I do Know how you love your privacy, and I enjoy surprises on occasion. I don’t see any downsides.” Elias finished, hooking a finger under Jon’s chin and gently guiding him to look into his eyes.

It had felt good, how he could close that door in his mind, how he didn’t have to think about everything going on…

Elias grinned, like he saw the thoughts in Jon’s head (he did), “Well, if it would make you more comfortable—”

“No! No. I’d rather, uh. Have a clear head.” Jon said, setting down the wine glass as if to prove his point. His eyes lingered on the glass for a moment longer than he meant to. Elias raised a knowing eyebrow.

“You’re sure, darling?”

“Yes. Sure. Very sure.” Jon said, his face burning up. He let Elias lace his fingers through his own, pulling him to stand. Elias’ other hand tenderly reached around Jon’s waist. He locked their lips in a kiss.

Overall, in the grand scheme of things, Jon generally enjoyed kissing. It wasn’t exactly his favorite passtime, but he knew what he liked and he could get really into it from time to time. Elias seemed to Know exactly how he liked it, how he enjoyed the warmth of someone’s breath on the nape of his neck–the soft kisses and light nips trailing down slowly. For a moment, Jon could imagine the presence above him could have been someone else–no. He shook the thought from his head. Elias reached his hand to the back of Jon’s neck, tugging at the short hair there with just the right amount of pressure…

“Why don’t we take this to the sofa?” Elias purred into his ear, and Jon felt a jolt of electricity down his spine.

Soon Jon was sitting back against the cushions, Elias on his knees, between his legs. The look he was giving him… Jon wasn’t a religious man, but it looked very much like worship.

“You’re my Archivist.” Elias breathed, unbuckling Jon’s belt. He was more careful, slower, more methodical in his approach.

Despite this, Jon still didn’t exactly want to be in the situation. He didn’t like that he was enjoying this, and he was sure that their god was enjoying his discomfort just as much as anything else.

This was the least awful of any experience as of yet, though, and Jon wanted to make sure it stayed that way. But when he looked down at Elias, he could feel the arousal draining as he thought of all the things Elias had done to him. He tried valiantly to keep it together and his eyes lighted on a stain on his now-untucked shirt.

Martin had run into him, once, with a mug full of cold tea. Jon had been furious about it, had been mad every time he saw the shirt after the stain refused to come out, but now… Now it just reminded him of when things had been a little less horrible.

Elias was taking Jon’s pants down. He began to stroke him. It felt good. But, when he looked at Elias, Jon only felt a tinge of fear and anger. He was regretting not drinking his drink. He was regretting not telling Martin he’d been called up here.

Jon cast his mind to Martin. He felt his thoughts drift away and saw, as if from above, Martin at his desk, worriedly stirring his tea. Martin’s shoulders were tense, and he kept glancing at the novelty solar-powered hula girl clock—it had been a Christmas gift from Tim, Jon suddenly Knew, he’d gotten it at one of the parties Jon refused to go to.

Jon wasn’t sure why the sight of Martin calmed his nerves the way it did, especially when the man himself was so wound up about something. Someone walked into the bullpen and Martin sat up straighter.

“Still nothing?” Daisy, of all people, asked.

Jon never got a chance to hear the response. His consciousness was thrown back into his own body, gasping in pain. He was so disoriented that he wasn’t sure where it was coming from, at first.

It was his wrists. He hadn’t moved from his reclined position on the sofa, but his wrists were bound tightly by coarse rope. He could already see the redness forming around the tan material. Elias was in front of him—towering now, rather than his previous position of adoration. He was glaring down at him, but his mouth ticked up in a smile when Jon met his eyes.

“I see you’re back with me, Jonathan.” Elias said, his voice cool and even.

“Elias–what are you–” Jon realized his mistake too late. A sharp crack filled the room, the sound reaching his ears before the pain hit. Jon’s back hit the cushions of the sofa hard. Elias had backhanded him.

“F-fuck.” Jon winced, trying to blink away the spots in his vision, but before he was able to reorient himself, he was being yanked up by his tied forearms. His hip hit the edge of the desk as Elias swung him around—his discarded wine glass fell at the impact, leaving a puddle of red on the desktop. Jon grabbed the side of it to steady himself, trying to remain on his feet.

“I try to be nice and this is the thanks I get?” Elias hissed. He closed in on Jon, pushing the frail man back against the hard wooden surface. “You fantasize about another man while I’m trying so hard to please you?” The man above him looked disheveled, his rage seeming to overtake his normally cold facade.

“Elias, I’m sorry–” Jon knew he had to beg, he realized how grave an error this had been. How had he fucked it up so quickly? He was an idiot–a fool.

“Oh, you’re sorry? I don’t think you really know what sorry means, Jonathan.” Elias spat, “If you were sorry you wouldn’t have done it. If you were sorry you wouldn’t be wasting all your time on Martin Blackwood.”

“Elias—” Jon wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but Elias saved him the trouble by grabbing his throat, shoving him all the way back onto the desk. The spilled wine splashed up, a drop hitting Elias’ face and dripping down like blood. Jon’s shirt was soaked. He gasped, but Elias’ hand left his neck quickly, grabbing his bound hands and slamming them down above Jon’s head, pinning him there.

“You’ve said quite enough.” Elias said, his voice dangerous and low, “I don’t give my attention to just anyone, Archivist. You should be grateful that I am trying to help you. It’s a wonder I don’t pull out those contracts and rip them apart, one by one.”

Jon shook his head furiously, gasping out a “no!” before Elias dug his nails into Jon’s wrists, hitting the tender, red skin where the rope had already rubbed them raw.

“Oh, you must not have understood me, Jonathan. I decide when you speak. You belong to me.” Jon stilled beneath him, panic welling up in his chest. He tried to stay calm. Whatever Elias wanted to do to him, at least it would keep his friends safe. At least it would keep Martin safe.

Elias narrowed his eyes, all but tearing Jon’s pants off his body. Jon shifted against the cold, wet desktop, his body not wanting to sit still and take it, even as his mind tried to force him to stay in place.

“I don’t think so.” Elias growled, forcing Jon’s hips to the edge of the desk. He clawed his nails into Jon’s hip bones and Jon could feel the stinging, wet sensation of blood welling up in the marks Elias left behind.

Elias’ hand left Jon’s hands momentarily, though Jon didn’t dare to move them. He unzipped his own trousers and lined himself up, ready to thrust into him.

“W-wait—” Jon gasped, horrified. He wasn’t ready, Elias hadn’t prepared him. The man didn’t even have any lube.

Jon’s vision flashed white as as the force sent a spiking pain through his body. Everything tensed, and Elias moaned, as if enjoying it. The more Jon tried to wrench himself from Elias’ grasp, the harder the man pulled him back to himself. He couldn’t think straight, pain sending his thoughts fleeing each time he tried to gather them. He felt like Elias was tearing his body in half.

“You need to know who you belong to.” Elias growled, his pace never slowing. “You’re mine, Jonathan Sims. Say it.”

Jon gasped, the compulsion wrapping around his tongue, but his mind too clouded by agony to form the words.

“Say you belong to me.”

“I’m y–yours.” Jon sobbed, his breath catching as he tripped over his words in his speed to get them out of his mouth. “I belong—I belong to you.”

Elias’ lips twisted into a cruel smile, before his cold hands found their way around Jon’s neck, squeezing. Jon’s eyes widened as he tried to bring his arms down, to get the pressure away.

“I–” He choked, “I can’t–” He couldn’t breathe. He really couldn’t breathe. “Eli–” Jon coughed. Elias wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t stop. He was going to die. Black splotches were rapidly overtaking his vision, but he tried to lock eyes with Elias, to beg for his life.

“How cute.” Elias’ voice sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel, before everything fell away around him. The world was mercifully empty and black.

Jon woke up alone in Elias’ office.

The first thing he was aware of was the all-consuming pain. He couldn’t pinpoint the location—the locations—right away, just wincing into himself in an attempt to protect himself, to get it to stop.

His breathing picked up and he forced down his panic. He had to get up, get out of here. He had to go somewhere Elias couldn’t see. Jon sat up, groaning as a fresh wave of pain hit. The groan set off another shockwave of pain through his throat and Jon considered theoretically if it might not be better if he just laid down and died.

But no, the panic was too strong. Jon clawed himself into an upright position, panting and catching his breath, then got to his feet.

He swayed for a moment, then steadied himself on the desk, his hand hitting the tacky half-dried wine on the surface. He looked up at the mirror Elias had hung behind his desk.

Even without his glasses, he Knew that he truly looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot. His cheek was oozing blood from where his glasses had bitten into his skin when Elias had slapped him. The skin around his throat was quickly turning a dark purple. His eyes trailed down his own half-naked form, afraid of what he might see, but not wanting to look away.

It seemed that Elias had never done away with his shirt, and it hung open, ripped and stained with blood and wine. His pants and trousers were gone. His hips were a mess, the deep gouges left by Elias’ fingernails dripping blood down his legs, bruise-shaped handprints marring what skin wasn’t broken.

Jon could feel something else dripping down his legs, whether it was blood or semen, he didn’t know (he did Know, it was both, it was both.) and he was too afraid to check. His wrists were rubbed raw and red, though they had mostly stopped bleeding, it appeared.

He caught a glimpse of something shiny on the desk. His glasses. Jon picked them up, winced at the crack in the lens, at the bent frame, and put them on. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

He looked around the room again. His trousers and shoes were missing from where he remembered them being last. His pants were ripped and discarded by the desk. When he tried to cover himself with his shirt, he realized that his hands were too shaky to button the few buttons that remained on it.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself, wincing as it came out. I can’t leave like this. Jon glanced around the room, hopelessly, for anything else that might suffice. There was nothing. Nothing at all, the room looked neat and tidy aside from the signs of struggle on the desk. Elias’ office was impersonal, like he never had to keep a duffle bag of spare clothes under his desk in case there were too many worms outside the office to allow him to go home.

Jon’s eyes alighted on the coat tree. He’d dismissed it, thinking the only thing there was an umbrella, but he Knew that behind the umbrella stand there was a forgotten scarf. He limped over to it, pulling it out of its hiding place. It was soft, one of those scarves that ladies could wear as a shawl if they unfurled it.

It’s Picket London. It was seventy percent cashmere and thirty percent silk. This scarf retails for £145. Jon wished that this Knowing would give him some more useful information, like how to sneak past Rosie to the bathroom, where he might be able to hide out until everyone had gone home.

Jon wrapped the cream colored scarf around his waist, wincing as it stuck to the bloodied wounds on his hips. Crimson soaked through the scarf in small patches.

“Knock, knock!” Jon whipped around, facing the yellow door that hadn’t been on the wall a moment ago and the woman within. “Archivist! How good to see you. You’re looking dreadful.”

“—’elen.” Jon rasped, unable to force her name past the pain in his throat. “—‘ere t’ gloa’—?”

She grinned at him, her smile twisting in ways that made his head spin more than usual. “Gloat? No, Archivist. I’m here to help you! You seem like you need a door.”

Jon’s eyes burned into her, deciding whether or not Helen’s help was worth it. He didn’t have much of a choice, though. “W–why?” He said, as softly as he could, trying to avoid irritating his swollen vocal cords further.

“Oh, because Elias is a big meanie.” Helen said, but her eyes glinted when she looked at him, as he saw her tracking his injuries, “And I do love to help my friends.”

“Hm.” Jon said, wanting to argue the “friends” statement, but unsure it would be wise. He shuffled towards her door.

At very least Elias can’t find me in there. Jon thought, traipsing behind Helen into the dizzying, neverending corridors.

They only made about three turns. Jon tripped once, and Helen did not try to help stabilize him. She just kept walking. She doesn’t want to hurt me, Jon realized, looking at her sharp fingers.

She opened a door far sooner than Jon expected, though traveling through the Distortion had taken a lot out of him. His breaths were coming in ragged gasps and he could barely keep himself upright.

Melanie was on the other side of the door. Jon didn’t think he’d ever been quite so relieved to see her in his life.

“Jon?!” She asked, and he did want to say something, confirm that yes, he was Jon, but as his foot stepped over the threshold from the Distortion into whatever little hiding place Melanie had created in the tunnels, his knees gave out.

Jon remembered falling face-forward, landing on something softer than ground (though not by much) and then nothing else.

“What do you mean, ‘Helen dropped him off’?” Daisy was yelling into her phone as she ran through the tunnels. The reception was god-awful, but she hadn’t had the time to become familiar with the tunnels.

“I me—- she LIT—rally drop— him on—-!” Melanie was yelling right back. Daisy turned a corner, following the Hunt instinct that she tried so often to quell within her.

Daisy paused, then took a hard left and found Melanie’s self-proclaimed “Base Camp”. Jon was laying on a sleeping bag and he looked like a mess. There was blood everywhere. Daisy rushed to his side, setting down the first aid kit she’d been tasked with bringing. It hit the ground with a hollow clang.

“Thank fuck,” Melanie said, letting out a sigh of relief as she hung up the call. “I don’t know what the hell happened—Helen just said something about a “professional development meeting” with Elias and…” Melanie crossed her arms, uncomfortably. Jon was hurt and as much as she professed to hate him, even she couldn’t leave him like this. “He just passed out.” She frowned.

“Have you done anything yet? Is he responsive?” Daisy asked, rummaging through the kit and pulling on gloves. She took out a flashlight, the lighting in the tunnels left a lot to be desired.

“I, uh, secured the scene and checked for responsiveness.” Melanie said, reciting what she’d learned in her Red Cross training years back. “He’s breathing and he’s not bleeding out. He is bleeding though and I—”

“Where is he bleeding the most?” Daisy asked, tilting Jon’s head side to side to look at the marks on his neck. They didn’t seem to be bleeding, really, though they were nasty. She flipped up one of his eyelids, waving the flashlight over his eye. His pupil contracted normally, but she swore for a second that his eyes were green in the dim light.

“His, uh. His hips.” Melanie said, sounding awkward. “He came down with this wrapped around him.” Melanie gestured to the scarf that was draped over Jon’s waist. “He doesn’t have any trousers or pants, far as I can tell.”

Daisy nodded, moving her inspection down. The fabric was practically glued to his skin, the congealing blood to him. Daisy started to peel it up, when Jon sat up, practically headbutting her.

“Oh shit!” Melanie yelped. Daisy ducked as Jon flailed wildly, scooting himself up to the tunnel wall and hunching over.

“Jon! Jon, can you hear me?” Daisy asked, tentatively reaching a hand out towards him. When Jon flinched away, pressing himself further against the wall, she withdrew it. “Jon.” She spoke softly, “What do you see?”

Jon’s eyes darted around wildly. “Tunnels.” He said. His voice sounded wrecked and he winced, like it pained him.

“Yes. Good, we’re in the tunnels below the institute.”

“You. Melanie. First aid kit.” Jon listed.

“My, he’s sounding better than he had been.” Came a voice from behind them. Daisy turned to see Helen (and her doorway) had appeared, and she was leaning on the doorframe.

“What—?” Melanie began, but Daisy turned her attention back to Jon, who was still practically hyperventilating.

“Good, good. What do you hear?” Daisy asked.

“You.” Jon rasped. “Helen. She won’t shut up.”

“Rude.” Helen called.

“Good. What do you feel?” Daisy pressed on. It seemed to be working, Jon’s breathing was reaching a more normal rate.

“Pain.” Daisy nodded. She saw that one coming. “The floor. The wall.”

Jon didn’t seem fully better, but talking never really helped anyone anyways. Daisy decided that he was probably ready to have some first aid performed on him.

“Alright, Jon. Now, I want to help you, but I’m going to need you to help me by not hitting me.” Daisy said, “We want to get you patched up. Where should we be starting?”

“Wrists.” Jon said, holding them out. They seemed to be raw and red, but not bleeding much. Daisy frowned.

“Jon, I can see you’re bleeding through that.” Daisy deadpanned, pointing to the scarf. “I’d like to take care of the injuries that are the most severe first.”

Jon’s gaze focused on Daisy for a moment, before he looked away again, “I’d rather not.” He swallowed, “I… I’ll be fine.” He seemed to be trying to will the thought into existence with his words.

“Like hell you will.” Melanie said, but Daisy held up a hand behind her, not even looking back.

“Melanie and Helen can turn around.” Daisy offered, earning an offended sound from Helen. “And I won’t ask any questions. I just don’t want you to get an infection.”

Tentatively, Jon nodded. Daisy glanced behind her to see Melanie and Helen already turning around. Good. She brought her attention back to Jon, who was still looking at the ground.

Daisy reached forward and pulled down the fabric on one side of Jon’s waist. He flinched when it stuck to him, but didn’t try to stop her or move away. She pulled it down just enough to uncover a row of deep, gouging scratches.

Daisy treated them quickly, keeping her word. She repeated the same process on the other side, noting that the scratches were mirror images on both sides. It was like a wild animal attacked him. Once she’d taped down the last piece of gauze, she helped him pull the bottom of the sleeping bag up onto his lap, to give him a measure of dignity.

“Alright, that’s done.” She said, “Now let’s see your wrists.”

Daisy called over her shoulder for Helen or Melanie to go and grab Jon some clothes (which he kept in a duffel bag under his desk for some reason) and something to help him clean up. She heard footsteps, so it must have been Melanie who went.

Daisy focused on her task and had bandaged everything that was bleeding in short order. Melanie returned as she was pressing the last bandage to Jon’s cheek. She had the duffle bag and a packet of wet wipes.

“I’ll just leave these right here.” Melanie said, still keeping her head turned to not look at Jon, “And I’ll walk over to where Helen is.”

“I am still here and I’ve only peeked a little!” Helen called. “I’m sure Detective Tonner is welcome over here if you need any extra privacy.”

Daisy got up to go. Jon still was looking at the floor. That patch of packed-down earth must have been very enlightening. He grabbed her hand, holding it like he had in the coffin, tight and hard.

“Could you just… look away?” Jon asked.

Daisy nodded.

After Jon was decent, Melanie came in with the questions.

“So, uh, what the hell?” She asked, “You come falling out of Helen, into my arms, have a panic attack, and almost knock out Daisy? What is going on?”

“I did what?” Jon asked. His voice was clearer than it had been, though still raspy and painful sounding.

“And you’re talking!” Helen interjected, “I’m hurt, Archivist. You couldn’t even say my name when I found you, but here you are giving them full sentences?”

Daisy and Melanie locked eyes. Definitely a creepy eye god thing.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t be a good Archivist if I couldn’t read statements.” Jon said, rubbing his throat, “I wish that healing applied to the rest of me.”

“Healing from what, exactly?” Melanie asked, “Were you kidnapped again?”

“No. And I’d like to drop it.”

“Yeah? Tough.” Daisy said, joining the interrogation at last, “If there’s a threat to any of us, you included, we need to be prepared.”

“This is on a need to know basis.” Jon tried.

“We do need to know this, idiot.” Melanie cut in, before taking a breath, “Look, we’re not asking for specifics—”

“Ooh, I am!” Helen added.

“—but we need to know who did this to you. I can’t use your spooky compelling powers to force it out of you, but I know damn well that that’s what you would do if it were one of us.”

“Well, lucky it’s not one of you, then.” Jon said, curt. He turned sharply, “Why did you help me, Helen?” Jon asked, accusingly.

Helen shuddered a little, but pretended to be unbothered. “Oh, you know. I saw a very confused, half-naked, spiraling avatar of the Eye on Elias Bouchard’s floor! What else was I supposed to do? Besides, I’m trying to show you that we’re friends.” Helen made a face like she had a bad taste in her mouth, “Really, it’s just rude when you try to compel the embodiment of lies and deception to tell the truth. And if you don’t want to hear any more of the truth, I’d suggest you use your little trick on someone else.”

Jon glowered. He felt everyone’s eyes on him. Knowing eyes. His skin crawled.

“Half-naked on Elias’s floor…” Melanie repeated, fists clenching. “What did Elias—”

“Nothing.” Jon lied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing. It looks like Elias might need to die.” Melanie said, and Jon could feel the echoes of the Slaughter in her voice.

“No.”

“Jon—”

“Leave Elias alone.”

“Leave Elias alone? Since when do—”

“Melanie…” Daisy warned, reaching out a hand.

“Well, since when do you care what Elias does to monsters?” Jon shouted, compulsion lacing his tone.

“Since it gave me a chance to kill him!” Melanie yelled back, the truth sounding harsh and ugly in the air outside of her mind.

Melanie had a moment of regret, before the feeling turned to anger. She made one, aborted, furious step towards Jon. Daisy blocked her.

“Fine, if you want to let him do… whatever to you, see if I care!” She yelled, turning on her heel and stomping off.

Jon sank further down as he watched her walk away, trying to convince himself that this was a good thing. The further away from him they were, the less likely they would get hurt. He was getting quite good at lying to himself.

Chapter Text

It had been over a week since the incident and Jon had managed to stay far away from Martin, and far away from the others as well. He’d even shut out Daisy for a time, though he’d relented after an agonizingly long weekend without any contact. He still needed someone and she knew what it was like to be…well, a monster, so it was safe. He wouldn’t be putting anyone else in danger if he let her get close, right?

They fell into a tentative routine: Daisy would sit in silence in his office, he would sit in silence in his office, Daisy would take his tea from Martin without letting Martin in, and they might talk a little by the end of the day. It was awful, but it was working out for now.

It was Thursday morning. Daisy sat across from him as he opened the bottom file drawer in his desk, pushing back folders to reveal a tall clear and red bottle. Daisy raised a brow.

“It’s nine in the morning.” She didn’t sound accusatory though, as much as taken aback. This was a break from their routine.

“Five o’clock somewhere.” Jon muttered, trying to lighten the mood as he poured the gin into his mug. He could tell his statement hadn’t made much of an impact though, as Daisy remained silent. A few beats passed.

“Fuck it.” Daisy offered her mug up to Jon as well, and he poured. “It has been a shit week.”

The limp had persisted but the scratches and bruises were finally beginning to lighten, now mostly greenish yellow, rather than varying shades of blue and purple or bloody. Jon knew that he was healing faster than anyone else would have, but it all itched terribly. He knew the logical explanation was due to all the histamines and inflammatory responses from the body to trauma, but it felt like an extra jab at his already fragile mental state. Every time he moved to itch one of his wrists, he could feel eyes drawn to him. It was like someone was always watching.

Jon took a long drink, pouring a little more into his mug to top it off, before depositing the liquor back behind the hanging files, closing the desk drawer.

“So… you good on an empty stomach?” Daisy asked after a few sips. Jon’s shoulders hunched up.

“You watched me eat a muffin this morning.” Jon pointed out, not looking at her as he did whatever it was he did on his computer.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Jon said nothing, taking another sip from his mug. Daisy stared at the words on the mug: “Positivi-tea. The state of being empowered by tea.” She would have bet her whole paycheck that Martin brought it in.

“Listen, Jon,” Daisy sighed, “I’m not going to push you. God knows, I’m trying to resist the Hunt, but… I don’t think you can just give up cold turkey like this. You’re not doing well.”

“I know.” Jon said, “I am aware that I’ve been a little… dazed. I don’t want this… bad habit that I’ve been developing to affect the quality of my work. And I can’t stop this,” and here he raised up his glass, “because it’s the only way I know of that… Well, Elias said it was harder to read my thoughts when my mind is… altered.”

“Right.” Daisy said, filing that information away in her Jonathan Sims file (which was getting rather full). “Right. Well, anything that keeps that bastard out of your head is probably a good thing. But Jon, if you don’t have a statement you’re going to snap and you’re going to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I don’t want to be doing any of this.” Jon said into his cup. He took another long sip. “I just don’t want to think about it.”

Daisy’s mind flashed to the gouges on Jon’s hips, where she’d bandaged him. She suspected what was going on, but she didn’t want to push too hard. She was afraid that if she did, like she always seemed to, Jon would cut himself off again.

She took another large gulp from her cup and set it on the desk with a slight clatter. Jon looked up in surprise.

“Alright then. Fill me up, boss.”

Jon gave her a shaky smile.

Daisy had been running interference between Jon and Martin for the past few days, so Martin wasn’t exactly surprised when he saw her standing outside of Jon’s office. He sighed and was about to hand her Jon’s mug of tea, but she put a hand on his shoulder.

“Martin.” Daisy said, “You’re soft.”

“Uh…?” Martin replied, an image of teeth ripping through him flashing across his mind before he could stop it.

“Softer than me, anyway.” Daisy looked back over her shoulder. Her movements seemed a little slower, like she was wading through water. Was she…? Martin’s nose crinkled as the scent of gin hit his nostrils.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked, voice shooting up about three octaves.

“Shhh. He’ll hear you.” Daisy whispered, “Jon needs… someone soft.”

With that earth shattering revelation, Daisy clapped Martin on the shoulder far too hard, and walked in a curve towards Basira’s desk.

“What even…?” Martin asked himself, looking back at Jon’s door. Wait, Jon was there? And Martin could see him?

Martin knocked once, then opened the door while he still had the nerve.

“Tea’s up!” He said, cheerily, aiming for normalcy and missing by a mile.

Jon was sat in his rolling desk chair, arms draped over the sides of it, head leaned all the way back. His feet were on the desk.

Martin could almost feel the ghost of Tim, laughing at their boss from beyond the grave. Jonathan Sims, drunk at work!

“Hm?” Jon asked, blearily looking up at him. His eyes widened comically and he scrambled to get into a more professional position, but ended up falling out of his chair instead. “Shit.”

Martin set the tea down on Jon’s desk before crouching down beside him, “Uhm. Do you need a hand?”

“No!” Jon said, trying to right himself and overbalancing the other direction. “Maybe.”

Martin couldn’t help but smile, trying his best not to chuckle at Jon’s uncharacteristically goofy behavior. “Here.” He reached out a hand, offering it to Jon. Jon rested his bony fingers on Martin’s hand, gripping it after a moment. Together, and with the aid of the unmoving desk, Jon was once again back on his feet.

“Have you been drinking? With Daisy?” Martin laughed a little, “She seemed a little, well…” Martin tried to keep the conversation light before looking back to Jon, who still hadn’t said another word.

“I h’ve a meeting.” Jon said, resolutely, leaning towards the door, still gripping his desk for support. A light breeze could have knocked him over.

“Like hell you do.” Martin said, gently tapping Jon’s chest to hopefully topple him into his chair. The man sat down heavily, spinning a bit. “You’re not going anywhere like that, are you mad? Think of the professional integrity of the archives!”

“Fucck profess’nal integrity.” Jon all but groaned, putting a hand up to steady his head. He must have been dizzy. “I—” He began, clearly carefully thinking through what he was about to say next, “—am over it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m with you there.” Martin said, pushing the tea back towards Jon’s hands. “Do you want me to walk you home?”

“Oh, b’cause I need help getting to th’ cot.” Jon said, rolling his eyes.

Martin took that information in for a second.

“Jon,” he said slowly, “have you not been going home?”

“Got kidnapped.” Jon said, waving a hand dismissively, “Didn’t sign a lease. Then I was dead.”

Martin put his head in his hands. He supposed that was true, it would have been hard to hold down a flat, but had he been so wrapped up with Peter Lukas and the Elias situation that he hadn’t realized Jon wasn’t going home?

“Oh. Right then. Well, if you wanted to sleep it off at my place—”

“No!” Jon almost shouted, “Abs’lutly not.”

“Ouch. Okay. Well, is there anything I can do? You’re not feeling sick, are you?” Martin asked, reaching out to feel Jon’s forehead. It was stupid, he was drunk, not feverish, but Jon leaned into the touch all the same.

“No.” Jon sighed, “M’fine, Martin.”

“Now that’s just untrue.” Martin said, and he was going to tease him some more, but Jon’s hair shifted and Martin saw a deep green-yellow mark on his neck. It looked like a healing bruise. The edge of it dipped down below Jon’s collar.

Jon reached for his tea, and Martin’s eyes tracked the movement. When his sleeve shifted, Martin could see more, similar marks on his wrist.

“Jon, what happened?” He asked. Jon looked up at him, confused.

“I, uh. I got drunk at work?”

“Not that! Your neck and your wrists!” Martin gestured towards the offending areas and Jon immediately tried to cover them, badly. Martin, unthinking, reached out a hand to take Jon’s hand, to keep the evidence out so that he could see.

Jon flinched away harshly. Martin held up his hands, taking a step away from the desk.

“What happened?” Martin breathed.

Jon shook his head, “It’s nothing–It’s nothing at all.” He curled in on himself. The loose, relaxed posture Jon had had when Martin came in quickly faded, replaced by tension.

“Those aren’t nothing Jon, please just–” Martin was desperate, he needed to know. Jon seemed to be growing distant. His eyes seemed far away.

“Jon, did Elias do this to you?” Martin whispered. If Elias had done this, he knew he could be Watching them now.

“I deserved this.” Jon said, his voice even softer than Martin’s had been, “I made an agreement and I didn’t… keep it.”

“What does that even mean?” Martin pressed, “Jon, he’s hurting you.”

“You can’t hurt monsters. Think of it as… another perk from the Eye.”

“Jon, you know that’s bullshit. And even if you were a monster, you wouldn’t deserve that.”

“I need you to leave.” Jon said, at last looking Martin in the eyes, “I—I can’t talk about this. Not here.”

Martin opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. He’s drunk, he’s been hurt, he’s obviously in a bad headspace. And he makes a good point about not talking here.

“Fine.” Martin said, “But I will get some answers. Meet me after work. You know where.”

Jon looked like he wanted to argue as well, but he hung his head instead. “Fine.”

Martin walked towards the door. His hand was on the handle before he looked back. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Sure, sure.” Jon said, and Martin figured that was the best he was going to get.

“Basira, I need to talk to you.” Jon said, having crept out of the office once he Saw Martin leave for lunch.

“Is it about why Daisy was drunk at my desk all morning?” Basira asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

“No, it’s unrelated.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Hm.”

“Can we, uh… talk in the tunnels?” Jon asked.

“This better be good, Jon.” Basira said with a sigh, putting down her lunch. Jon hadn’t realized he was interrupting her.

“It’s urgent. Sorry.” Jon looked at her lunch, apologetically.

“Mhm.” Basira said, and she followed him to the tunnel entrance.

They walked a few yards in, just enough so that Elias could no longer see them, when Jon stopped.

“Basira, do you, uh. Do you remember how you said you would… ‘put me down’ if I were too far gone?” Jon asked.

“Sure.” Basira said, nodding.

“I think it’s time.” Jon said, raising his arms as if he expected her to do it then and there.

“Woah.” Basira said, raising her hands, “I was upset you interrupted my lunch, but not that mad.”

“I’m serious, Basira.” Jon said, “If you don’t take care of me, I’ll be a danger to you all. I’ll hurt innocent people.”

“Hm.” Basira said, “Jon—”

“Elias is trying to make me more powerful,” Jon lied, “If I have another meeting with him and I don’t take a live statement, I will crack.”

There was a beat of silence as Basira considered.

“When’s your next meeting with him?” She asked at length.

“About 4:00.” Jon lied. That would give Basira enough time to…clean up before Martin had to see anything.

“Right. Meet me here at 4:00, then.” Basira said. Her expression was unreadable.

“Thank you.” Jon breathed, before turning his back and heading out of the tunnels.

“So, why are we all in the tunnels?” Daisy asked. Basira had emailed her, Melanie, and Martin to meet up. She thought she even heard Helen’s laugh echo through the halls, but sometimes the tunnels made weird noises. She’d made sure Jon was alright before heading down (he was, he was writing furiously on his laptop and barely acknowledged her).

Martin had an idea of why they were assembled, but he wasn’t entirely sure either. He crossed his arms, looking to Basira. She made an aborted motion, like she was going to fidget with something, but stopped. Martin hadn’t ever seen her this rattled, though she kept a good mask over it.

“Jon asked me to kill him.” Basira said, letting out a breath. “He said he was ‘too far gone’ and ‘going to snap’. Something’s off though, ‘cause he’s not. Too far gone, yet, I mean.”

If Martin had been drinking tea, this would have been the moment in which he choked, spitting it everywhere. Luckily, he hadn’t been able to find his travel mug this morning, so his hands were empty. “I’m sorry, he what?”

“That bastard!” Melanie hissed. Martin looked over to her—her fists were clenched, she was almost vibrating with rage. Daisy, on the other hand, was still leaning against the wall, looking remarkably unsurprised.

“Yeah, well. He’s been trying for a while, hasn’t he?” She asked, “He’s starving himself.”

“He’s what?” Martin repeated, feeling unfairly out of the loop. Daisy kicked at an invisible rock on the ground, not looking up yet.

“He won’t read statements anymore. I was trying to have him read Hunt ones for me, but… he won’t even do that. He just gives me tapes of old statements. I don’t think he’s read one for over a week now, since—” She cut herself off, looking significantly at Melanie.

“Since what?” Martin all but yelled, taking a step towards Daisy, as if she wasn’t the scariest woman he knew.

Basira took a deep breath, raising her hands and drawing attention to herself. “Alright, we need to calm down and look at this objectively. We all have different information and we need to lay it out so that we can find out what’s going on. I know emotions are running high,” And here she didn’t look at Martin, for which he was extremely grateful, “but we are working on a limited time crunch. Jon wanted to meet me down here tonight at 4:00.”

“But we’re meeting at 5:00!” Martin declared, voice cracking. “Does he want to die rather than have a real conversation?!”

Daisy looked at him significantly. Of course he would rather die than have a real conversation.

“So, that tells us that something Martin knows is what triggered this exact episode.” Basira said, taking a note. Martin’s stomach dropped to his feet.

Melanie let out an exasperated sigh but put a hand on Martin’s arm, “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, Martin.” Her expression was softer than before. Was he really that easy to read?

“Right. We can talk about that in a moment, I think we may want some other details first,” Basira said, and Martin thought she was maybe trying to spare him from talking for a moment.

I don’t want to tell them about any of this, Martin thought, Jon would have an aneurism if he knew we were even talking about him like this.

Basira turned, all business. “Daisy, Melanie, you said something happened last week.”

“Well, I was just minding my business,” Melanie started, sounding extremely put out, “talking to Helen, when she said ‘hang on’, fucked off, and came back with Jon, half naked, and bleeding everywhere! Then she dropped him on me!”

Martin’s jaw was agape. Nobody had told him any of this…

“Yeah, that’s when Melanie called me.” Daisy said, nodding, “I brought down the first aid kit. Jon had a panic attack. I promised him I wouldn’t ask any questions and he let me patch him up. Then Helen and Melanie asked him questions and he used his spooky compelling powers on them.”

“Rudely, I might add!” Helen’s voice echoed to them. Martin shivered.

“Yeah, he thought he could get out of answering by pissing me off, and he was right.” Melanie said, looking even angrier at the thought, “The bastard.”

“So. You said he had injuries you couldn’t ask about and you asked questions.” Basira said, still taking notes, “What were the injuries?”

Daisy, to Martin’s surprise, pulled out an honest to god file. She began reading:

“Jon showed signs of sustained assault—manual strangulation which was evidenced by deep contusions in a handprint pattern around the neck, and his wrists were lacerated from prolonged restraint. There were deep, claw-like gouges along both hip bones and extensive bruising throughout. He was walking with a limp, likely due to lower body trauma. He also had a small facial laceration from his glasses due to some sort of impact; his lenses were cracked.”

As Daisy rattled off the list of injuries, Martin felt his heart sink down to sit with his stomach below the floor. How had he not noticed?

“Jesus Christ, Daisy.” Melanie breathed, “Do you have one of those on all of us?”

“Maybe.” Daisy said, before succumbing to Basira’s raised eyebrow, “Alright, I wanted to have a report ready in case anything else happened. Police reports are familiar. It helps me process.”

“Right.” Basira said, “And he didn’t say how he sustained the injuries?”

“No, but Helen said he was with Elias at the time.” Melanie added. “She also said that when she found him he could hardly speak, but he got his voice back really quickly. That’s got to be something supernatural.”

Basira nodded, writing it down, “He did walk away from a six-month coma with no adverse effects. The healing might be something we can set aside.”

“He didn’t heal as quickly from the other injuries though,” Daisy mused, “Well, he healed faster than a human, but…”

“Noted.” Basira said, “Alright, and I’m assuming the questions he wouldn’t answer were about how he had gotten injured?”

“He didn’t want to tell me where his injuries were until Melanie and Helen were looking away.” Daisy said. “Melanie asked him a bunch of questions that amounted to ‘what happened?’ and he refused to answer them all. He did imply that Elias did it.”

“He said ‘since when do you care what Elias does to monsters?’” Melanie muttered, like she hadn’t been rotating the phrase around her mind all week.

“Jesus Christ…” Martin mumbled, sniffling a little. Daisy, of all people, patted his back.

“And after that he wouldn’t talk to me for a few days.” Daisy said, “I didn’t want to push him, so I didn’t ask anything else.”

“Alright. So he was injured last week, likely by Elias.” Basira said, “Is that what you were going to talk to him about, Martin?”

“Well—yes, but…” But there was more. Guilt clawed at his conscience. If he had said something sooner or done more, maybe this would never have happened. “Yes, but there was also… other stuff… that happened before.”

Daisy’s eyes were on him, “I heard you talking about something a few weeks ago. Jon was cagey.”

Martin swallowed. He wasn’t going to cry, this wasn’t his trauma to cry about. “Elias has been… forcing himself on Jon for weeks.”

Melanie sucked in a huge breath of air. Martin spoke again before anyone could stop him, though, if he didn’t get this out all at once, he might never say it.

“He’d been telling me it was… consensual, I guess?” He said, not able to find the right words, “Like, it was something they both wanted, and Elias was… upset… about the whole ‘being sent to jail’ thing and thought it was all my idea. So. He wanted to… flaunt his relationship with Jon? Or something? He’s got this artefact that made it so Jon didn’t know I was there.” Martin looked around at their stunned faces, “And… and Jon didn’t know until about two weeks ago. He’d told Elias that he really didn’t want me to ever see that, and I didn’t want to, uh… upset him?”

“So this has happened more than once?” Basira asked, the first to recover. “And you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

“Yeah, he told me he was into it!” Martin said, “Do you think Jon would have liked anyone going around the office talking about his sex life? And until the last time, he did seem… kind of into it. Well, except for the whole part where I was sitting there.”

Melanie made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “Yeah, and Elias has been hanging off him lately.” She said, as if to corroborate Martin’s story.

“And Jon said that Elias was attractive.” Daisy said, nodding along. “He was drinking at the time though, so I’m not sure what weight to put on the statement.”

Martin was relieved that they believed him, but hearing that Jon had called Elias attractive stung more than it probably should have, considering the circumstances. He tried to box those thoughts up and shove them down to where his heart and stomach were, below the floor.

“Yeah, well. He convinced me, mostly. Until that last time.” Martin said. Daisy turned on him.

“Were you there last week?” Daisy asked, her voice a dead calm.

“No! The last time I knew anything happened was two weeks ago. He, uh. He had a panic attack and Elias didn’t stop, but Jon hit the intercom button and Rosie kind of… interrupted.” Martin said, “She didn’t come in or anything! She just… cracked the door to ask if everything was alright.”

“Right. And then you talked to him about it?” Basira asked.

“Yeah. He made it pretty clear he didn’t want to discuss it with me.” Martin said.

A long moment of silence stretched in the empty tunnels before Melanie finally spoke, “So… we’re going to kill Elias, right?” She sounded angry, but her tone was cold.

“We have to do something.” Basira agreed, “But first we’re going to need a plan.” She sighed, “And before that, we need to talk to Jon.” She glanced down at her watch. It was nearly 4:00.

“Or we could kill Elias first?” Melanie asked, but she didn’t sound very convinced of her own suggestion. “Alright. First we talk. Why don’t we all stay here for it, it’ll be just like the intervention last time.”

“Yeah, that went so well.” Martin muttered.

“Hey, we did the best we could!” Melanie protested, “You were just too busy with Peter Lukas to help!”

“Ouch. Okay, fine. We’ll all wait here and ambush Jon. I’m sure nothing will go wrong.” Martin said, sitting down regardless.

The next several minutes passed in silence.

Jon was rushing through the tunnels. He was running late—something he strived to never do, but he had needed to deliver letters to everyone’s desks. They all deserved an explanation, and after tonight he wouldn’t be around to give one to them.

He turned a corner and slowed, taking a deep breath and continuing on at a walk. He didn’t want Basira to think he was nervous, didn’t want to give her any reason to not go through with this.

While he had made this decision when he was… bolstered by some liquid courage, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. This way, he’d never have to look at Elias again. This way, he wouldn’t have to see Martin’s reaction. This way, Daisy could stop worrying about him. It was for the best, really.

He turned two more corners, deep in thought, and saw Basira. He was so focused on her, on his final fate, that he almost didn’t notice everyone behind her.

“Oh no.” He said, stopping and contemplating running. He took a tentative step back, and Basira took one forward. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Basira agreed, “Jon, you’re not getting out of this.” Jon wanted to come up with a witty response, but his head was still foggy from hunger. His thoughts had been so focused since he spoke to Basira, a single-minded train of damage control, and now it had been derailed.

“Jon, we want to help.” Martin’s voice piped up. Jon’s stomach churned. “You have to let us–”

“No. No. No.” Jon took in a deep breath, “Really, that’s not necessary and I should really be going–” He took another step back, slower, hoping Basira didn’t notice. Maybe he really could run.

“Jon, you’re trying to kill yourself. There’s cries for help and then there’s whatever that was.” Melanie said, edging towards the left, like she might try to cut him off.

“I’m a monster Melanie, it’d be doing the world some good.” Jon tried to reason with Melanie, but he knew he wouldn’t win an argument with her.

“If you’re a monster, what does that make me? Should I ask Basira to put me down too?” Daisy asked, edging to the right, ready to chase him if he ran.

“I could hurt someone. You’re… better now?” Jon knew that wasn’t true, and knew saying such a thing out loud was laughable.

“Ha, yeah. All better.” Daisy said, humorlessly. “We’re really trying to help here, we just want to talk.”

Jon glanced behind his shoulder. There was no way he’d make it all the way back to the archives. “What if I don’t want to talk?”

“Too bad.” Martin said, “You told me you’d meet me to talk, then I find out you’re trying to get Basira to kill you?”

“Martin, I–” Jon’s shoulders sagged, there would be no running, “I don’t want anyone to get hurt on my account. I’ve been trying so hard to keep you all safe, and… and I can’t do it anymore. I’m not even doing a good job of it.”

“Jon.” Daisy spoke, and Jon hadn’t expected the softness in her voice. “Basira and I have dealt with this sort of thing before… we’ve been on assault cases. I know one when I see one.”

Jon hunched into his shoulders, angry that they had figured it out because of his own stupid mistakes. “Yeah, well. I didn’t think Section 31 had an SVU.”

Melanie let out a small, offended gasp, as if that had been the last thing she’d been expecting. Daisy’s expression was soft, and even Basira looked like she was doing her best to be a comforting presence. And Martin… Jon wouldn’t even look at Martin.

“So you’re saying… you know?” Basira asked, “You know that what he’s been doing to you is tantamount to a crime?”

“I mean, yes. Of course I know.” Jon said, suddenly feeling a chill run down his back. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep in the warmth and trying to ignore how much he felt watched. But I deserve it. “Elias is a monster too. What’s so shocking about him doing something illegal? He’s murdered at least two people.”

“If you knew, then why did you tell me you wanted it?” Martin asked, his voice small. “I would have done something. You know I would have.”

“That’s exactly what I was afraid of, Martin.” Jon raised his voice a little. “I told you, I’m trying to protect you. I made a deal with Elias.”

“And we are trying to protect you, Jon!” Martin sounded exasperated. “Just let us help!”

“Why would you make a deal with that slimy prick anyways?” Melanie asked, “We could just kill him. I think we should kill him.”

“I agree.” Daisy said, and her teeth looked just a bit sharper, “Elias needs to die.”

“Hate to agree with the murdercop,” Martin said, “but yeah. Murder is sounding like a great solution.”

Jon felt a wave of fear wash over him, if they tried that Elias would surely kill them all–if he knew anything about it he’d rip their contracts to pieces before they even called the lift. He trembled, “You can’t do that.”

“Well, obviously we need to figure out how,” Basira said, “But I’m with them. I think if we go for his eyes—”

“No, you don’t understand—” Jon tried.

“Oh, I would love to go for his eyes—” Melanie said, a wicked grin creeping across her lips.

Jon felt like the world was falling away around him, like no one was listening. If he was the victim they thought he was then why wouldn’t they listen?

“Please!” Jon cried, “He–he has all of your contracts and–” Jon’s mind flashed back to watching Hannah hit the ground in front of him. He sank to his knees, “If he even so much as suspects you’re planning something, he’d burn them–shred them–he’d kill you all and you wouldn’t even need to be near him.” Jon gripped his head. It felt like everything was spinning.

“What do you mean, our contracts—?” Melanie was saying, but then Martin was kneeling in front of him and blocking her out, blocking everyone out.

“Jon. Take a breath, just—” Martin said, and his voice sounded almost… watery? But Jon couldn’t look at his face, couldn’t bring himself to look away from his own shaking hands.

“I’ve been trying—” Jon gasped, “I’ve been trying so hard—” He shuddered, his eyes filling with tears. Not now, they’ll never listen if I’m all emotional.

“I know.” Martin said, and suddenly Martin was holding his hands, keeping them steady, “But we’re trying too now, okay? You don’t have to hold all of this up on your own. We can take some of it.”

Jon sobbed, leaning forward, “I can’t do it anymore–I just can’t–” He hadn’t remembered crying like this since he was a child, not while he was sober and physically unharmed at least. Warmth surrounded him and Jon pressed himself against Martin’s chest, his body shuddering with each sob.

“You don’t have to.” Martin said firmly, squeezing him for emphasis, “You never have to do that again.”

Chapter Text

Martin was holding Jon, keeping him together while he sobbed. He’d promised that Jon would never have to go to Elias again, and he intended to keep it.

They stayed like that for a moment, Martin saying vaguely comforting things while Jon tried to get a grip on himself. Basira walked over and placed a hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We need to plan. Daisy, Melanie, and I are going to start coming up with something, but we won’t do anything until we’ve all talked.” She said, “Why don’t you take him to Melanie’s ‘Base Camp’?”

“I’ve got a new sleeping bag and if you ruin it you’re buying me a new one, Jon!” Melanie called over. Jon was pretty sure she was trying to lighten the mood. He tried to laugh, but the noise that came out was another, more ragged, broken sob.

“She doesn’t mean that.” Martin said, misinterpreting his reaction and beginning to lift Jon up, cradling the thin man in his arms. “You need to get some rest.”

“I’ll bring some new statements down,” Daisy said, “Help him get settled before we start our war council or whatever.”

Martin said something in response, but Jon wasn’t really paying attention. The walk to Melanie’s Base Camp was short and they made it in silence.

Martin set Jon down on top of the brand new, non-blood-stained sleeping bag. He sat down next to Jon on it, their legs touching.

“Do you want to, maybe… Talk about it?” Martin asked at length.

Jon shook his head violently.

“Alright.” Martin said, and struggled to think of anything else to say. They sat in increasingly awkward silence for a few moments.

“I’m sorry.” Jon said at last, hunching in on himself a little more.

“Jon. Elias was literally assaulting you. You don’t have anything to apologize for there.” Martin said, reaching a hand out and taking one of Jon’s before he could think better of it. Jon squeezed it hard, so he was pretty sure he’d done the right thing.

“No, for—for not trusting you. I thought I’d learned my lesson, but I still didn’t tell anyone. And now it all feels so much worse.”

“Yeah, well. I will accept your apology for that, I guess. Very offended that you wanted to die instead of having a face to face conversation.” Martin said, keeping his voice a little light, hoping to tease him.

Jon nodded a little, giving Martin’s hand another squeeze, “It just felt like if I said it, it’d all fall apart.” He swallowed a little, “I know you wouldn’t have let me keep… doing that.”

Martin squeezed his hand, unsure of what to say. Jon took a steadying breath.

“And… if I had told you all, it would have been real, you know?” He let out a shaky laugh, “I wanted to believe that it was my choice more than something out of my control. I still think that, really, about everything except… the last time.”

“Jon, it’s okay to not be in control sometimes.” Martin sighed, “I know I was telling myself the same thing when I was with Peter… that it was my choice, my job to keep you safe…” He shook his head, “But I was really just being daft.” Martin smiled at Jon, “And you came for me. And I let you help me.”

“I suppose I must be being daft too—” Jon murmured.

“You are.”

“Martin.”

“Right, right. You were saying?”

“I just. The contracts, he crumpled up Hannah’s in front of me and she looked like she was going to die. And that was just from balling up a piece of paper. I had no idea he had that kind of power over us.”

“Maybe he does, but with Melanie’s lockpicking skills, I know we could get them back.” Martin tried to sound optimistic. “We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Daisy came around then, laden with a box of statements, a few boxes of Chinese takeaway, and some envelopes.

“I found these on our desks, thought you might want them back.” She said, handing off the envelopes to Jon, who flushed immediately. Martin glanced at them. They were just standard envelopes with each of the assistants’ names on them.

“Thank you.” Jon said, folding them horribly and stuffing them into his pocket.

“Wait. Jon, did you write us all… goodbye letters?”

“Absolutely not. I was going to remain a mystery and none of you would ever hear from me again.” Jon said quickly.

“Sure, you were.” Daisy said, turning to leave, “Oh, by the way, Basira read them all already. Didn’t want to ‘overlook anything’.”

“God dammit.” Jon groaned, burying his face in his knees, looking mortified.

“There, there.” Martin said, patting his shoulder as Daisy laughed and left. “Could be worse. Could have been Melanie.”

“Thank you for that. I don’t even want to think about that.” Jon mumbled. He seemed to be in better spirits than before, despite the circumstances.

“No, I don’t think I should hear this.” Jon said. The archival team had assembled, having come up with a plan. It had taken the better part of the night, and Jon knew it was technically morning at this point. Well into the morning, actually.

Jon, for his part, felt better than he had in days. The combination of food, a statement, and falling asleep for a few hours while Martin pet his hair and scrolled through his phone had gone a long way to clearing the fuzzy, paranoid part of his mind.

The rest of his employees, however, looked awful. Jon hoped that step one of the plan involved them all going home for a well-earned rest. Not that he wanted to know the plan.

“And why shouldn’t we tell you the plan?” Melanie asked, most of the bite missing from her question. She just sounded tired.

“If I end up having to leave the tunnels, if I come anywhere near Elias, he will be able to read my mind. I don’t think he suspects all of you yet, but he’s been keeping a close eye on me.” He smiled humorlessly, “He’s probably already wondering where I’ve gone, out of his view.”

“He won’t think of the tunnels?” Basira asked.

“Well, he might.” Jon admitted, “But I doubt he’d go down here. He probably imagines that I’m throwing some sort of fit.”

“Right.” Basira said, “This makes things more difficult. You were our most reliable source of information on the Institute, and I’m not sure Martin—no offence—knows about the things we need.”

“None taken.” Martin said, in a tone that Jon knew meant a little bit of offence was taken. “Maybe if we’re vague enough?”

“Sure.” Basira said, “Do you know of any artefacts in Artefact Storage that might be helpful?”

“I’m sure there’s plenty that will be useful, but nothing comes to mind.” Jon said, “I do know about an artefact that he keeps around his office though, and I might be able to get it for you.”

“Oh?” Basira asked, uncrossing her arms and digging her notebook out of her bag, “Let’s hear it.”

“It’s this… collar. Elias made me wear it when, well. He’d have me put it on in the hallway, then he’d have control over what I could see. He could block out entire people, movements, noise, reflections, everything he didn’t want me to see.”

“He used that to block out me.” Martin said. It wasn’t a question. Jon nodded anyways. “Right, well. Blocking senses won’t help with his spooky eye powers.”

“No, but it blocked me off from the Eye. Well, mostly.” Jon said, “Honestly, the first time he put it on me, I thought it was a mercy.”

“What? Why?” Daisy asked. Jon Knew that being cut off from the Hunt was the opposite of a mercy for her, Knew that the thought of surrendering to something like that raised her hackles.

“I didn’t have this… flood of information in my brain. It hurts, all the time, like a headache and an invasion of privacy and those thoughts that keep you up at night. It was… it was nice to pretend to be human again.” Jon said, “Not that the trade off was worth it.”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. Melanie awkwardly patted Jon’s shoulder.

“Anyways.” Jon said, clearing his throat, “If it blocked me off from the Eye, it probably would block him too. He’d be much easier to deal with if he were incapacitated like that.”

“Yeah, well. That is in Elias’ desk and I’m betting some of our contracts are there as well, so there won’t be much of a point trying to break into his office twice.” Martin said, with more force than Jon thought strictly necessary.

“So if we see it, we grab it. Otherwise I don’t think it’s worth the risk.” Basira said, nodding in agreement. “Right. Well, Daisy, you take Melanie to get some lockpicks. I know Elias confiscated Melanie’s set, but there’s some in our flat—you know where. Martin, you’re with me.”

“But who’s going to watch Jon?” Martin asked.

“I’m right here, you know.” Jon grumbled.

“Oh, Helen can!” Melanie said, and started calling her name down the tunnels.

“Yeah, leave him in the hands of a monster who tried to kill him!” Martin said, shaking his head, “I’m sure that won’t go poorly.”

“Come on, that wasn’t Helen.” Melanie protested, “I’m sure Jon can look after himself with one big bad monster.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin muttered and Daisy had the nerve to laugh.

“You called?” Helen asked, her voice that awful, distorted echo.

“You’re on Jon-watching duty. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” Melanie said.

“Hmm… ah well, what are friends for?” Helen mused as they walked away, “I’ll watch him!”

Jon paced around the tunnels. He thought of all the ways this could go wrong. He never should have told them anything, now they were risking their lives to save him, and he was pretty sure two of them didn’t even like him.

“Oooh, that’s an interesting development.” Helen said, emerging from her door. She’d taken a lax view on Jon-watching, and after the first hour she’d largely stayed inside her domain. Jon was grateful.

“What is?” Jon asked, not bothering to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“Oh, just that Elias is here. So early in the morning. And on Fridays he never comes in before 10! I’m sure I heard Basira mention it in her plan… but you didn’t want to hear about that.” Helen said, covering her mouth with her razor-sharp fingers. “Oopsie.”

“He is?” Jon asked, his tone laden with anxiety, “Why?”

“I’m not part of the Eye.” Helen sing-songed, “I have no idea. I just saw him walking into that tacky, green office of his. That Rosie girl looked positively shocked!”

“This isn’t good.” Jon muttered, more to himself than to Helen, really, “He must have noticed I’m gone. He must know something’s going on.”

“Hm, I would imagine so.” Helen said, not putting his nerves at ease at all. “He’s probably laying in wait for your friends. Too bad there’s nothing we can do.”

Jon let silence fall around them for a moment. Then he made up his mind.

“Helen.” Jon said. His tone was commanding, more sure of himself than he had sounded all night. Helen tilted her head, too far to the side, nearly looking at him upside down.

“Yes, dear archivist?” Her smile was too wide, it hardly fit on her face.

“I need your help.” Jon knew what he had to do.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask!” Helen said, “Step right this way, mind the gap.”

Helen swung her door open wide. The inside of her corridors still made Jon’s skin crawl.

Jon clenched his fists, striding forward as much as one could with a limp. “I need to get to the executive suite’s lobby.”

“Ooh, don’t want him to know you’ve made friends with another monster?” Helen asked, “I’d be hurt if this wasn’t so delightful. And Elias is the jealous type, I’d hate to see what he’d do to little old me if you lost.”

“Thank you, Helen.”

Jon threw open the door to the top floor lobby, ignoring Rosie’s look of confusion and her attempts to stop him as he got closer to Elias’ door.

“Mr. Bouchard is taking a very important call–” She tried to stand in front of him, but he was too quick, making it to the door before she was around her desk.

“Thank you, Rosie.” Jon said, opening the door and walking in. He’d mapped out his plan of attack while he was with Helen—he just needed to keep Elias from Knowing it.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Bouchard!” Rosie apologized, unsure if she should enter his office without permission. She stood in the doorway, not wanting to cross the threshold, wringing her hands. Her eyes flicked between Jon and Elias.

Jon went first to the bar, picking up the bottle of “bitters” that Elias had been spiking his drinks with. He Knew now that it was a cover for the ketamine. He wrenched off the top with his teeth and took a huge mouthful, swallowing half of it down before he could lose his nerve. The other half remained in his mouth, and he tried to hide it as he sped towards Elias’ desk.

At very least, if this all went south he might not be able to remember or feel it happening. That comforted him more than was probably healthy.

Elias looked furious, but also a touch of curiosity tinged his gaze. Good.

Jon walked to his desk, lifted his hand dramatically, and pressed his finger to the hook switch of Elias’ desk phone, ending his call.

“Jon—” Elias began, his voice chilling. Jon cut him off, grabbing his stupid green tie and pulling him in for a kiss. It was a messy, openmouthed kiss, and Jon poured the ketamine laced bitters from his mouth into Elias’.

He heard Rosie gasp behind him and the click of the door closing. Good. As they kissed and as Elias relaxed, Jon hoisted his knee onto the chair beside Elias’ leg. He could practically hear his joints crack as he straddled Elias, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s shoulders to keep himself steady.

The phone rang and Elias drew himself away from Jon. His perfect hair was mussed, just a little, and his lips were a dark, bitten pink. He picked up the phone, and Jon leaned down to kiss Elias’ neck while he took the call.

“Ah, Mrs. Lukas. Yes, Rosie will be able to help you with your inquiries.” Elias said, and his voice was steady as stone, but he was Watching Jon with ravenous eyes. Jon could hear her protests as Elias hung up the phone.

Elias pressed a button on the intercom. Jon dipped his hand under Elias’ shirt. He could feel the effects of the drug already, feel it dulling his thoughts.

“Yes, Rosie? Mrs. Lukas will be calling soon. Please handle her as best you can. I’ll be cancelling all of my appointments for the day.” Elias said. He didn’t wait for a response, physically unplugging the intercom before she could reply.

This was going far better than Jon had hoped. Everything was going according to plan. He reached a hand behind himself, trying to keep his mind far away from what it was doing while he kissed Elias once more.

“Plan?” Elias asked, breaking away. His voice was husky, filled with desire. Jon had to focus on it, focus on how much Elias wanted him and not what he was doing.

Jon’s hand found what it was looking for, and he brought it around too fast for Elias to react. “This plan,” he said, clipping the collar Elias had used so many times on him around Elias’ own neck.

Elias’ features contorted with rage, but Jon leaned in and kissed him again, practically able to taste his surprise.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jon said in a hushed tone as he drew their lips apart for a moment, “It’s your turn to relax.” He breathed against Elias’ neck, feeling the man melt beneath him as he shifted in his lap, grinding down on him lightly.

“Really?” Elias purred, “I’d thought, well… with the way I left things last time. You might not feel appreciated.”

“That’s what really changed my mind.” Jon said, almost panting in Elias’ ear, “I’ve made my decision. You’re right, I could never be with Martin. He could never Know me like you do, never make me feel the way you do. I belong to you, Elias, Jonah. And I want to repay you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Jon Knew the words had hit their mark as they left his mouth, but the “Jonah” surprised him as well. Well. That’s a fun little fact to Know.

“Ah, it’s so good to hear that name again.” Elias all but moaned, “You’re progressing nicely. The Eye never even told Gertrude that tidbit.”

“Well, maybe the Eye likes me better than it did her.” Jon said, running a hand through Elias’ hair.

“I can see why.” Elias hummed appreciatively. Jon kissed his jaw. He heard the door open.

“No, you really can’t go in there—!” Rosie was squeaking as Jon’s assistants pushed past her into the room.

Jon glanced up at the mirror behind Elias’ desk, seeing the shock on all their faces. Elias pulled Jon down into another messy kiss.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m gonna be sick—” Melanie said, and Daisy made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like she agreed. But Jon was only looking at Martin. Martin, whose eyes looked angry, but who nodded at Jon anyways and just… vanished into a fog.

“He can do that?” Basira hissed, “He never said he could do that.”

“Did you hear something?” Elias asked, craning his neck to try and see around Jon. Jon focused on thinking about a silent, empty, closed door. It must have worked, because Elias was still seated.

The fog curled steadily towards them, as if blown in by a morning breeze. It settled behind Elias. Jon could see Martin’s hands—one claw-like knife affiliated with the Slaughter in one hand, the tip of a poker that was affiliated with the Dark in the other—slowly emerging from the fog behind Elias’ back.

Jon laughed like it was the funniest thing, like a joke between old lovers, “It’s probably just the ketamine, darling.”

Martin’s hands stuttered, and his eyes widened, but he pressed on. The weapons were right next to Elias’ eyes. Jon looked up at him and nodded, bringing his hands down on Elias’ wrists to keep him from fighting back, pressing his whole weight down to pin him.

Jon thought that Martin did a pretty good job of stabbing someone’s eyes out without facing them. It was very messy and he kind of missed at first, but he got the job done.

Elias screamed and gore splattered on Jon’s face as Elias bucked underneath him, trying to dislodge him and get to his attacker. Jon tried to keep his grip, but Elias ripped Jon off of him, throwing the man in the direction of the ground. Jon heard Elias howl some sort of threat, but he didn’t fully register it as his head hit the edge of the hard, antique desk and he tumbled to the ground. He fell in a heap on the ground, the cold wood of the floor being the first sensation to register in his brain.

Jon’s head was swimming. The ketamine had definitely kicked in. He felt like his bones were made of gelatine. Not good. Elias was shouting loud enough that Jon could hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“What did you do to me?! You’re all going to die!” He roared, and Jon saw his hand was going to the drawer where he kept their contracts, where he specifically kept Martin’s contract.

Jon wasn’t going to let that happen. He got to unsteady knees, turned his gaze on Elias, and put the well of compulsion that he had been denying himself into his voice.

“Why did you do this to me?” He asked, his voice dissonant, like a tape recording and microphone feedback all at once. He saw his assistants cover their ears.

And, to his surprise, Elias told him everything.

Chapter Text

Elias had talked for a long, long while. Jon sincerely hoped someone else was recording or taking notes, because after the first few moments he couldn’t catch onto the words, make them form anything meaningful in his mind.

Elias—Jonah—seemed to have had some very elaborate plan. It sounded like the plan had been working too, and Jon was playing straight into it. He would be mad about that later, though, when the world stopped moving around quite so much.

Jon still was on the ground, holding his head as the others stood above him, Elias had been tied up and gagged by a vindictive Daisy and Melanie. Rosie was sitting on the sofa in some sort of shock.

The floor felt like one of those carnival rides, where the ground moves over artificial hills and the seats spin on their own gravity. Jon resolutely looked at his shoes, and willed them back to place every time they swam away from him.

“So, can we kill him?” Daisy asked, arms crossed, looking to Jon for an answer.

Jon shrugged. He thought for a second. He nodded. They could kill Elias. Technically.f

“I mean, can we kill him or would that kill you too?” Daisy clarified.

“I don’t Know.” Jon said, looking at the blood still on his hands. Actually, the blood everywhere. Most of that was Elias’ wasn’t it? “I don’t… think so?”

He had a feeling the real answer was yes, if they killed Elias, it may well be the end of him. Elias never seemed to be bluffing about that, but at the same time, a world without Elias would be a much better world. Jon was willing to give it a try. The worst that could happen would be two less monsters.

“Maybe we should—” Martin said, but Basira cut him off.

“Do you want us to kill him?” Basira asked, and Jon looked through the tunnels that were his eyes, caught his gaze on the fire in her eyes and tried to let it ground him.

Jon nodded. He thought he nodded. The world shook up and down in the formation of a nod.

Basira nodded back. Probably. Then her arm shot out, lightning quick yet as though it was a film in slow motion. Jon watched Elias. It seemed one moment he was upright, the next a waterfall of red was already down his shirt, and he was dropping forward.

Jon felt his heart start to race. Was it relief? Or something? He Knew his organs were beginning to kick into overdrive and that if they kept up the current rate of work, he would go into organ failure. His chest was painful, his breaths coming in gasps. Oh, fuck.

Through the deep, deep lake that was his consciousness, Jon thought he heard Martin yelling something. But then, the world was dark and quiet.

The bed that Jon was laying on was slowly rocking him in a weird, rhythmic motion. The bed was also mad. It was muttering something. Maybe the cot had escaped Artefact Storage. Maybe it was playing the long game.

Whatever it was, the rocking was not helpful at this moment. Jon didn’t want to be sick on a sentient cot, even if it was evil. He didn’t want to be sick at all, really, but that was looking like a foregone conclusion at that point.

Jon tried to struggle vaguely upwards. The movement and muttering stopped. He attempted to open an eye, but the light was too blinding, hitting him right through his headache and making his stomach lurch violently.

“Jon?” A voice asked. Jon leaned towards where he thought the ground probably was. Whatever was holding him didn’t really feel like a cot, especially because it gripped him unsteadily as he rolled. Oh, those were hands, weren’t they? Hands grip things.

Jon threw up. The arms that were holding him suddenly started to help him aim towards the floor.

“Jesus Christ.” Jon heard, and the voice was familiar. With the contents of his stomach now violently outside of his stomach, Jon felt marginally better. Better enough to brave opening his eyes again.

Martin was holding him. It was a weird angle, but Jon was pretty sure he hadn’t thrown up on him. He was glad, he wasn’t sure how he would have lived that down. Martin looked upset, which wasn’t exactly ideal. Jon tried to reach out a hand to pat him, but ended up sort of slapping his cheek.

“What the hell, Jon?” Martin yelped, though he didn’t drop Jon into the puddle of vomit beneath them. That was thoughtful of him. Jon hazarded a look towards it. It was mostly blood. And red dye. From the ketamine bitters. Oh right, that was a significant amount of ketamine.

“S’rry.” Jon slurred. Martin sighed, and started walking again. That had been the rocking motion he had felt. It was kind of soothing once you didn’t need to throw up. They were in the archives. That was good. The archives were safe.

They stopped eventually and Jon realized they were in the break room. Martin was putting him down on the ratty, old sofa. There was a blanket spread out underneath him. Which was weird, because he’d seen people spill plenty of things on that couch before and not care about it.

Martin drew back, and Jon blamed it on the immense amount of drugs coursing through his system, but he reached out and grabbed Martin’s hand, stopping him.

“Jon?”

“Don’ go.” Jon said, his throat on fire from the bile, his voice almost cracking. Martin shouldn’t have to deal with him like this, but he’d already proven that he would, so maybe a few more minutes wouldn’t be too much to ask.

“I’m not, I promise.” Martin said, squeezing his hand, “I’m grabbing you some water and a rag. I’ll be right back.”

Jon nodded weakly. He supposed that would be nice. He slowly let go of Martin’s hand. Jon buried his face into the arm rest of the sofa. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but in this moment, it was soft and inviting. He felt so tired.

He must have dozed for a moment, because when he opened his eyes, Martin was sitting on the floor beside him, running his hand through Jon’s hair as he held a cup of warm tea in the other.

“I saw you fall asleep, so I thought tea might be better.” Martin said, and he helped Jon sit up so that he could drink it. After a few sips, Jon cleared his throat.

“What happened?” Jon’s head felt clearer, though there was a sharp and throbbing pain near his temple now—Ah, yes, the desk. He hit his head. —and he felt incredibly weak. Still, this was an improvement from the last time he was awake.

“Oh, you know. You did a bunch of drugs and went all femme fatale on our boss. And then you told Basira that killing him probably wouldn’t kill you. And then she listened to the idiot man on drugs.” Martin ticked off each point on his fingers, getting more heated, “Oh yeah, and then you nearly DIED.”

Jon winced. That tracked with what he remembered. “Nearly died?”

“Yeah, nearly. Because we saw you almost actually die and then Daisy, the murder cop did some life saving first aid on Elias. So that you wouldn’t die.” Martin ranted, “Now Elias is in the tunnels and Melanie is so mad that she had to do chest compressions on him for Daisy.”

Jon barked out half a laugh at that. Martin’s mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh too or keep yelling.

“Well. Thank you for not letting me die.” Jon said at length, patting his arm soothingly.

Martin let out a relieved sigh, “I really thought you’d be mad I didn’t let you die. I’m glad though.” He smiled up at Jon, looking tired, but happier than Jon had seen him in ages.

“You are?” Jon asked.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re still not all like, ‘woe is me, let me sacrifice myself for the greater good.’” Martin chided, but his smile was still there. “Thank god for that.”

“I never said ‘woe is me’.”

Martin snorted, “You didn’t have to.”

Jon sighed dramatically before taking another sip of tea. “I suppose.”

Martin hummed and they sat in companionable silence for a moment. Jon broke the silence again.

“For the record,” he said, not quite meeting Martin’s eyes, “I’m not sorry for going in there. Helen told me he had come back early and you were all in danger.”

“Yeah, well.” Martin sighed, “It’s hard to be mad at you about that, since you were right. But I am still a little mad.”

“Understandable.” Jon said, fidgeting with his cup. “What are we going to do with Elias?”

“Well, Artefact Storage had this Leitner that Sasha told me about years ago,” Martin said, “At least, I thought she told me about it. Anyways, it’s a Leitner copy of a Robert Smirke book, so it’s basically a portal to a room with no windows or doors that sometimes turns into a maze or something. It’s probably some kind of Buried-slash-Lonely book, but we didn’t care too much. Once we figure out how to get him to read it without eyes, we’ll be able to lock him down there.”

“Maybe we can emboss the words or something.” Jon mused.

“Sure.”

“And he still has the collar on?” Jon asked.

“Oh yeah,” Martin said, “Plus several other restraints.”

Jon nodded thoughtfully. “What about Rosie?”

“You know, after she heard Elias talk about the contracts she was surprisingly willing to hear us out.” Martin said with a bitter laugh, “She’s running things for the moment, just until we can figure out what all the plans are.”

For some reason, thinking back to Rosie’s face, remembering her unwavering loyalty to Elias, remembering how she’d laughed when she saw him… it was really too much. He didn’t notice when he had started shaking, but suddenly tears were streaming down his face. He hurriedly tried to wipe them, but that only brought Martin’s attention.

“Jon, it’s alright to not be okay. Dealing with this sort of thing… It takes time. And I’ll be here as much as you’ll let me be.” He reached out and took the empty mug from Jon’s hand, then took hold of Jon’s hand.

“Why are you doing this?” Jon asked, and he wished he could bite the words back. He felt the compulsion on his tongue, felt sick when the words rang staticy in the air.

“Because I love you, you idiot.” Martin said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. He was blushing, but he squeezed Jon’s hand, “And I’d have told you that even without the spooky powers.”

“Why?” Jon asked, his voice choked as he desperately tried to keep any compulsion out of his voice. “How could you still love me? After the things I let Elias do to me? After I went to him willingly? He was a monster and I enjoyed it.”

Martin took a deep breath, then let it out. “Okay. So, ‘let’ is certainly a choice word there. I would say ‘coerced’ or ‘blackmailed,’ but that’s just me. And enjoyment is… subjective. I’m not, like, an expert, but I think you get a pass for your body’s reaction when you’re on drugs.” Martin said, stroking his thumb across the backs of Jon’s fingers. “And besides, you’re easy to love.”

“I beg to differ.” Jon said, “I was cruel to you. I lied to you.”

“Yeah, well, considering the circumstances…” Martin trailed off with a shrug, “I forgive you.”

“As easy as that?”

“Yeah. I was cruel to you when I was working for Peter and you forgave me. You were mean when I started working here and I forgave you. We learn.” Martin said, and he started to take his hand away, like he was going to put distance between them again, but Jon gripped it even tighter.

“I…” Jon stopped, his heart beating fast in his chest. He wanted to tell Martin the truth, though, and Martin didn’t have the ability to compel it out of him. “I love you too.”

“W-what?” Martin asked, shock written all over his features. It was clear that this was not how he thought the conversation would go.

“I love you.” Jon repeated, “I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to say it sooner, I was just… scared.”

“Jon…” Martin trailed off, his eyes bright with tears, “I thought… I thought you didn’t want to be with me. You said you didn’t want to be with me. And I’m the reason Elias—”

“No.” Jon said sternly, almost sounding like his old self again, “No, nothing Elias did was your fault. And when I said that, about not wanting to be with you…” Jon trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t want Elias to hurt you. And I was talking about specifics. I don’t want to be with you the way that I was with Elias. He assaulted me. I don’t think you’d want that either.”

“Well yeah, obviously I don’t want to be a rapist.” Martin sputtered. Jon laughed.

A beat of silence followed.

“I don’t even know if I ever want to do anything sexual again.” Jon admitted.

“Yeah, I’d figured you were ace.” Martin said, like it wasn’t even remotely a dealbreaker.

“I’m not really sure what I am.” Jon said, “And I don't think I’ll be figuring it out anytime soon, but. I was wondering if, sometime, maybe you’d like to go out and get coffee? As a date?”

Martin looked at Jon appraisingly. For a mad second, Jon was sure he was about to be turned down.

“Ask me again in the morning,” Martin said finally, “When I know you’re not concussed and the drugs are out of your system.”

Jon nodded. That was… reasonable.

“Will you… will you stay with me? For a while?” Jon asked, and after everything that had happened he was feeling so very tired. His eyes were heavy and it was a fight to keep them open.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Martin said, and before he drifted off, Jon swore he could feel the lightest of touches on his forehead, almost like a kiss.