Sometimes, we don't know what we need
Apparently, the only things that I post here are now going to be Tim angst... Not that I am complaining, they are really fun to write! So here we go! ------------------ Tim didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Jonathan Sims. Now, that was what he would tell them if anyone were to ask. Nobody did, of course. Martin spent too much time worrying about the man himself, Elias didn’t care one second what Tim thought about anything, Basira hadn’t spoken much to him, he didn’t care about what Daisy thought and… well, that was everyone that could have asked about his thought on the archivist. He didn’t know if he should feel annoyed at that. For a man who held such power over his life, he was surprisingly powerless in other circumstances.
Now, the idea that Tim didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Jonathan Sims was a lot of bullshit. Even Melanie could have told him that, with her sneer in her voice and her eyes rolling so far back that he could almost see them.
Because they both knew this was a lie; Tim spent a lot of time thinking about Jon. He thought about him whenever he walked in front of the slightly open door to his office, a reminder that he wasn’t there.
He thought about him whenever Martin would get up to make tea, a bright yellow mug that he knew was Sasha’s- not-Sasha’s favourite and the dainty green one that Jon liked both missing from his hands.
He thought about him whenever he thoughtlessly open his mouth to make an inappropriate comment, almost forgetting that Jon wasn’t there to glare at him, his mouth almost twitching in an amused smile.
He thought about him whenever he woke up from a cold swear after dreaming of the thing that had worn his brother’s skin, wondering if it would have been worse if Jon would have invaded his dreams as he had done to others or if the presence would have made him feel less lonely.
He thought about him whenever he saw someone with long hair. He thought about him whenever he smelled the cold scent of cigarettes. He thought about him whenever he read a statement that sounded too outrageous, too unreal in a way that was almost funny. He thought about him whenever he saw the empty space at the desk in front of him where his best friend should have sat.
He thought about him… well, he thought about him a lot. But even with all of this, he hadn’t seen him in weeks. Hell, no one in the office seemed to have seen him.
So when Jon came back one day, eyes glossy and his skin seemingly surprisingly soft and cared for, he couldn’t help but sneer.
He wasn’t feeling particularly angry at him. Sure, he was annoyed at the fact that the man would disappear for long periods of time and come back when it pleased him, but this was a general annoyance that he felt all the time, not a moment of pure hatred and rage that came with that sort of expression on his face. Still, he sneered, pulling the expression on his face like an armour, like a mask, like the skin of someone else- like something that he did because he didn’t know what else to do.
But as he opened his mouth to say something mildly insulting, Jon turned around and looked at him for a second or two before crossing the room and barrelling in his arms.
He… he didn’t exactly know what to say. Even before the archive, when they worked together in research, they hadn’t been that close. They might have been colleagues at worst, close friends at best, but Jon had never been… touchy. But as the man sobbed into his arms, gripping at his shirt as if it was the only thing that kept him from drowning at sea, well… even Tim wasn’t that cruel to kick down at a broken man.
So, with a slow, tentative gesture, Tim wrapped his arms around Jon, holding him in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He hummed a bit, trying to get him to calm down and stop soaking his shirt with tears.
He didn’t know what had caused this outburst, didn’t know what had pushed Jon so far that he simply needed the comfort to the point of getting over his apparent distaste for openly looking for comfort. He didn’t know. All that he knew was that Jon was sobbing in his arms and babbling nonsensical words:
“They… they got me… they wouldn’t let me go… Micheal he… Helen…! Oh god, she… she… Tim… oh god Tim.”
He simply hummed in response, continuing to hold him close. He didn’t exactly want to shush him as he would do for a pet, but he didn’t also have the best wisdom in the world that would allow him to comfort someone in such a state. That was Martin’s job. He was the one who would hold someone’s hands and whisper to them empty promises about how “everything was going to be okay” and how they “didn’t need to be scared anymore”.
It wasn’t ever going to be okay and they did need to be scared if they wanted to survive, but what did Tim know? His own vicious words hadn’t saved his brother or his best friend.
Even as he continued holding him closer, Jon continued on, his voice raspy, as if he hadn’t spoken for days… or as if he had been screaming for days. Tim didn’t know which was worse.
“There was… the blood… so much blood oh god Tim, so much blood…”
“Okay…”
Jon sniffled between his sobs before continuing:
“They… the circus…”
That caught Tim’s attention. Jon had information about the circus? The thing that had killed his brother before parading with his skin in a sad mockery of the man? He wanted to grasp his shoulders and shake him for all the information that he had, but as he was starting to lose himself in a downward spiral, Jon’s voice manage to get his attention again.
“Please… please, I’ll tell you… tell it all… all of it… but please… please don’t leave me… I… I want you with me… I need you…”
And this… this touched a familiar chord in Tim.
He knew he had sobbed similar words as he had left the Royal Opera House, wanting his brother back, not imaging how he could live after seeing what he had seen. He knew he had felt the same desperation when he had known about Sasha’s fate, when he had known that he hadn’t been able to protect her, to hold her in his mind.
And now, as he held Jon close in his arms, he knew that he would feel the same way if he were to lose him one day. That even if he still felt a clear wave of anger at the way that he had been behaving towards him, at the way that he didn’t even have the decency to tell him what he had learned about Sasha… he knew that he wouldn’t be able to survive if he were to lose Jon too. And that even if Jon hadn’t been as close to Sasha as Tim had been… well, he had lost her too. And if Jon was still somehow human, underneath those gleaming eyes of his… he probably felt just as broken inside as Tim did.
So as Tim held on closer, he simply answered in a trembling voice:
“Okay. Okay, I promise I’ll stay… I promise.”
Jon didn’t stop sobbing for another half an hour, didn’t stop holding on to him as if he was his lifeline and he sure as hell didn’t stop soaking Tim’s shirt in tears. But what he did was stop speaking of mannequins and blood-soaked rooms. He simply started thanking him over and over again.
And for a moment, a simple moment in time…
Tim didn’t feel angry anymore.
