part of a series of archive polycule oneshots
(minor cws and mentions in the tags - ask if you would like anything added. these cws are explained in more detail in the ANs on A03)
“Would you hurry up?” Jon hisses at him, his eyes scattering skittishly to dart and interrogate every night-echoed noise. His expression is bow-strung and embroiled in a hundred outcomes where they get caught, and he furiously shakes his head when Tim indicates through rough and basic mime the next stage of this impeccably-organised plan. There is a flurry of disagreement about who gets to take the starring role in the next part, performed entirely through gestures and whispers before Jon, snapping a ‘fine, fine’, takes the leg-up Tim’s offering. There’s a medley of ‘shit’ and ‘woahwoahwoah’ as both of them adjust to balance and Jon clings to the wall for a moment, psyching himself up prior to shimmying his lanky body worm-like through the open letterbox-shaped window.
There is a clattering, a worrying thump. Tim winces, and cautiously calls out “Boss?” as loud as he dares.
He gets a seething cats-hiss of “Keep it down!” so he presumes Jon’s not too badly damaged.
A minute or so later, Jon is opening the lock from the inside to let Tim into the building. His jumper is rumpled, his hair and face caked with dust like a talc bottle’s gone off in his face.
“Bit grubby there,” Tim grins. Jon gives him a look that promises untold violence and an unmarked grave if he doesn’t behave himself. Tim mimes zipping his lips shut before passing Jon the spare torch.
Despite Jon’s protestations, this outing was his idea. The security tapes and records are in here somewhere, the owner was cagey enough that it’s practically a given, and if they can use them to prove a case of a possible active entity, well, a little sneaking around can’t hurt. Jon had avoided calling it exactly what it was (‘It’s just some looking around’ / ‘It’s trespassing, boss’ / ‘It’s harmless, we’ll be in and out, we’re not really stealing anything valuable’ / ‘It’s breaking and entering and trespassing on private property’) so much so that Tim had laughed, declared it a case of Schrödinger’s illegal and told Jon he’d buy them both some gloves for their night-time ‘looking around’.
Moving further into the property, the flashlights they’ve brought arc with echoes of illumination a split second slow, like the dragging light of a Bonfire sparkler, eventually casting over to a metallic-walled office tucked off to the side. This place looks like a pre-fab, out on an industrial estate somewhere, and from contents inside, has spent the last few years being a motorcycle showroom. Gleaming structures are displayed proudly and buffed to shining in lines, the large open-plan room interspersed with load-bearing pillars. Off near the end, there’s the accessories part of the space, with metal shelving and stands and racks where helmets and gloves and leathers are clustered.
The office is locked. Jon wordlessly pushes the torch over to Tim, who holds both it and his own pointed at the lock, and pulls out a black rectangular carry case. Kneeling down, he unzips it with a quiet tug, revealing its contents as an honest-to-god lockpicking kit.
“Are you serious?” Tim expels in a high breath, his mouth curved high in delight.
“Childhood hobby,” is the only thing Jon will say, and any further questions are refuted with a ‘I am trying to concentrate’ or a stone-wall silence. Tim files all a hundred and one of his follow-up questions for a later time. He’s half tempted to snap a photo for Sasha, but then remembers with a guilty jolt that that would probably be a bad idea if anyone catches them.
The office is no better than their archives, and Jon is visibly disappointed at the lack of an easy job. Stowing away his kit back into his pockets, they settle into a routine after a few muttered back-and-forth suggestions. Tim takes the paper-drowned desk, the stuffed layers of the in-tray and the desk drawers, while Jon braves the rattling filing cabinets taller than he is.
For the most part, they work in silence, which means it’s a surprise when, after a few moments rifling, Jon says in a painfully faux-casual way:
“So. You and um. You and Martin.”
“Hmm?” Tim replies. His eyes flick over several receipts, a few carbon-copies of CBT papers and full licenses. He tries to separate some, only to find that they’ve started to stick together, and he sighs with irritation.
Jon remains quiet. Tim turns to look at him, and he’s still got his hands in the stomach of the highest and dustiest filing cabinet, obviously no longer looking with the entirety of his attention but still trying to keep up the charade.
“Was there a point you wanted to make, or…?”
Jon pulls his hands out and swings his face around, and Tim can’t read his expression.
“At the… At the Institute party. You seemed… close.”
No closer than usual, Tim had thought. Martin’s efforts hadn’t been enough to completely vanish his anxieties over the socialisation. He’d stuck close to the other three all night, tugging at his new jacket at intervals, running his fingers over the fabric to settle himself. He’d avoided the alcohol entirely, and had picked at the snack foods. Tim had been as free with his affections with Sasha as usual, casual touches to her hip, the small of her back, calling her ‘babe’ and ‘love’. Sasha had pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek and dragged him over by the hand to their merry band when he’d arrived later than the rest of them. Tim and Martin hadn’t touched because Martin had confessed earlier that he’d prefer if they didn’t, not in this setting, not where other people could see or comment or judge, and so Tim respected that and kept his distance. Apart from once, when they were sat off to the side on plastic-backed chairs pulled out of some store cupboard somewhere, unnoticed by anyone else. Sasha had been drawn into conversation with Rosie about something political, and Jon had been extricating himself from talking to Elias after being summoned over to meet a few of their investors, and Martin had nudged Tim’s hand with the back of his own and murmured ‘Thanks. For, um, convincing me to come’ and then he’d glanced around before leaning in and kissing him demurely before moving back, his cheeks clawed with pink. Tim had felt a bit like a firecracker going off.
“You’re a bit late for any juicy office gossip,” Tim replies slowly, uncertain of where this conversation is going. “I mean, it’s not a new development.”
Perhaps Jon had seen him and Martin, although it wasn’t a crime, what they did, wasn’t inappropriate for work. He’d assumed Sasha would have told him, on the nights when Jon stayed at hers. Martin doesn’t tell anyone about them, but Martin doesn’t tell anyone about a lot of things, and they’ve spoken about his insecurities and fears both unfounded and painfully historical. Tim doesn’t mind Martin’s reticence, doesn’t mind the slow-building thing between them. Martin pretends not to smile at his jokes and beats him at Mario Kart every time and oversalts his chips and undercooks his eggs and finishes Tim’s onion bhajis when he’s ordered too much and scolds him for forgetting about the bins again and has started to kiss him for the first time like this isn’t something he’s going to lose. Martin hasn’t said he loves him, and that’s alright. Tim’s pretty sure he’s been gone for Martin for months now.
“Does he know?”
Jon’s follow-up is flint-strike, whiplash-corded. He’s set his jaw and his mouth in a tight line that looks like a wound in the unsettled torchlight.
“What do you mean?” Tim asks nonplussed, and if anything, Jon winches his body tighter and says, almost impatiently.
“Does Martin know about Sasha?”
“What about her?”
“About you and Sasha?”
“I mean… yes?”
“And does Sasha know about you and Martin?”
“Have you talked to her about this?”
“Well, no. I wanted to ask you first.”
Comprehension rocks him tidal with a sudden drenching wave.
“Christ, Jon!” Tim hisses out, and Jon gestures him to be quieter and it’s only with real effort that he manages: “Of course she knows. They both know about each other – I’m not a complete bastard!”
“I didn’t say that!” Jon counters defensive. A coil of embarrassment has begun to wind its way through his tone.
“Is that what you think? That I’ve, what, started seeing Martin on the side and just… what, haven’t told Sasha about it? That you’ve uncovered some sort of sordid little office scandal? The fuck, Jon!”
“Keep your voice down!”
“You’re the one who wanted to have this conversation right now,” Tim snaps back.
“I – ” Jon huffs, irritated with himself. The torchlight makes his expression stretch, take on more weight. “That wasn’t what I meant, and I didn’t intend it to come across that way.”
“What way did you intend it to come across then?”
“It – it doesn’t matter.”
“Well, it sounded a lot like you were a second away from accusing me of cheating on either one or both of them, so no, actually, I do want you to give me an explanation. Like, right now…. Is this some jealousy thing, with Sasha?”
“What? No! No, Sasha can, Sasha can date who she likes. It doesn’t bother me that you two are together as well.”
“So, what, Jon? What’s the problem?”
“I…” Jon makes an aggrieved noise. “I’m not explaining myself well.”
“You can say that again.”
Jon breathes hard. He fiddles with his fingers and Tim waits, making Jon be the one to speak first. Because for all Jon’s protesting that he didn’t mean it like that, Tim’s hurt, slighted by the idea that Jon might think that of him, might read callousness or deception into his actions so easily.
“I don’t think that of you,” Jon says eventually. “I know – you wouldn’t hurt Sasha and you wouldn’t hurt Martin. I didn’t think you were cheating. I just… I didn’t know that you and Martin… I thought that you and Sasha, not that you were exclusive, but that … and then I saw you with Martin and I wanted to make sure, because I don’t… so, I get that Sasha, she likes you and she likes me and that’s – I get that. But I don’t understand how you – what, you were with Sasha, and then you just… what, started dating Martin? How does that work? How are you with one person, and then you meet another and then you want to be with them as well?”
Tim does not have time to teach Jon Polyamory 101, considering they’re in the middle of something that, pretty euphemisms aside, is definitely a crime. If Jon was better at communicating, this was something he might have been able to broach with Sasha, or with Tim at literally any time other than right now.
Jon’s intensity is misplaced. He’s always been good at that, reflecting the inward out to something he feels he can tackle. Tim privately thinks that Jon’s had these little boxes in his head of what he understands poly to be, and that Martin’s involvement has jostled them out of alignment. That Jon might not be as monogamous as he’s previously considered himself to be and is having to work through all the baggage which comes with personal growth.
Tim’s seen the way Jon looks at Martin when he thinks no-one is looking.
“Jon,” he says, and he does well to strip the irritation from his voice. “Me and Sasha, we talked about it, early on when we first started seeing each other. About the whole exclusive thing. And like adults, we came to the agreement that we were happy for the other person to be in a different relationship if they felt drawn to be so, as long as all parties were informed and consented to the arrangements. And then, this thing with Martin came along… and I told Sasha about it, and she suggested I try seeing if he’d be interested. And luckily, you know, he was, and the three of us have talked about the logistics of it all, and it’s working out. I’m not sure what you’re finding difficult to understand.”
“So… Sasha and Martin are together too?”
“Nah. They’re, um – how did they put it… ‘incompatible in a few key areas’. But they love each other in their own way, and they’re happy, and that’s all there is to it.”
Jon ruminates on this for a bit before he seems to mentally prepare himself for another question.
“And how did you feel, when Sasha started seeing me?”
“Er. Fine. Questioned her taste in men a bit, but…” Jon’s face is a picture at that moment. “I’m joking! I was fine about it. Is… is that was this is about?”
“It’s… not exactly…” Jon looks at the dust on his shoes, rubs at a grubby spot on his face that he’d missed with his sleeve. “When she told you that she wanted to see me, it didn’t… it didn’t make you feel, I don’t know, hurt? That you weren’t enough for her?”
Tim loves Jon dearly but god, he can be an idiot.
“It doesn’t work like - Look. You’re not – it’s not about one person being ‘enough’, yeah? It’s not a finite resource, kay, people can love their friends and pets and family and partners and it’s not… it’s not going to run out or anything daft like that. When Sasha started seeing you, and going to pub quizzes with you, or when she’d be at mine one night and then she’d leave in the morning to go on one of your museum jaunts or whatever…. You being there didn’t reduce how she felt about me, or make our relationship any less meaningful. And when you’re with Sasha, you don’t feel she cares about you less because I’m in the picture, right?”
“No.”
“Exactly. She loves you differently, not less. And the same when me and Martin got together.”
“I… I understand,” Jon says slowly.
“Then, what about this is bothering you exactly?” Tim says, and his voice has quietened now.
“Sasha wouldn’t feel… hurt. If I wanted to, um, hypothetically see someone else. She wouldn’t think that I – I wasn’t happy, or that I wanted more than what we had together, or that she wasn’t… enough for me. And if I did see someone else, they wouldn’t feel like I was, I dunno, messing them around?”
“Jon,” Tim says. “I think this is a conversation you should really be having with our girlfriend, yeah? But… personally, I wouldn’t worry. Wanting to date another person isn’t bad. You just need to be honest and communicate.”
There is a long pause.
“Thanks, Tim.” Jon looks tired, mulling over things, but his face is plastered over with something like relief compared to his earlier tension. “I do – er. I do appreciate you. Talking to me about… about all this.”
“Don’t get soft on me, boss,” Tim says, and he gives Jon a wink. A deliberate gesture that says ‘it’s alright’. “I know I’m a delight to be around.”
Jon relaxes and his expression flint-sparks into a small smirk.
“Whatever Sasha and Martin have been telling you, you’re absolutely not that charming.”
“Please. I’m a catch. Irresistible.”
“I seem to be immune.”
“You sure about that?” Tim teases and Jon rolls his eyes and gives him a put-on look-over.
“You aren’t my type.”
“It’d be different then, if I was, say, a winsome-looking redhead?” Tim says. “If I looked like I’d fallen backwards into a tragically retro clothes shop. Would that, perhaps, be a little bit more your type, boss?”
It’s too dark to see if Jon’s complexion has flared with embarrassment.
“Where are you going with this, Tim?”
“Nowhere!” Tim sing-songs and turns his attention back to the desk. One of the drawers is stuck and he yanks at it before it opens with a complaining screech. “Nowhere at all.”
Jon doesn’t respond. For a few moments, they sink back into their search.
“He’s seemed happier recently,” Jon says after five minutes or so. “You’re good for him.”
“You could be too,” Tim says.
“Well. Ahem.” Jon has definitely gone a different colour at that thought.
And then his face hardens. He clicks off the torch sharply, and he's yanking Tim forwards by the arm, tugged him next to him into the cramped space next to one of the filing cabinets. Tim would have yelped, but Jon gives a sharp 'shhh', and grabs at Tim's torch to press it off as he pulls them both down crouching. For a moment, there's nothing but breathing, Tim trying to ask Jon what's wrong with his limited movement and Jon equally communicating that he needs to shut up immediately.
Then Tim hears the noises outside.
He thought they'd have more time. The doors to the office and the main building aren't locked, and they won't be able to get out now, not without facing whatever is out there that the statement giver warned them about.
"What'll we do, boss?" he whispers to Jon, the words threaded onto one breath.
"Plan B?" Jon suggests. He passes his torch to Tim, and goes for the inside of his bag again, bringing out the items Tim had argued repeatedly for bringing and Jon had repeatedly shot down.
Tim grins despite himself.
"Plan B," he affirms, and helps Jon light the firework.
Tim and Sasha are mean to Jon and Martin doesn’t appriciate it. I hope someone enjoys reading this because I enjoyed writing it.
“Jon?” Martin called out, stepping carefully around boxes of statements littered around Jon's office.
The worst of it on Jon’s desk, as the man peeked over them, his chin just narrowly above the box. “Yes.” He croaked, his voice thick with exhaustion.
Martin swallowed down the anxiety bubbling up his throat, “Uhm, I finished the work you assigned,” He said, holding it up to show him,” I was wondering if you had anything else you needed me to do?”
Jon let out a long-suffering sigh, pressing his face into his hands, “Martin, that’s really unnecessary…”
“It really isn’t,” Martin said, a bit too blunt for his own liking,” What I mean i-is...I’m your assistant, so...let me assist.”
Jon looked him over with his sharp brown eyes, before gesturing with his hand, “Take your pick.” He relented, surprising Martin.
“Oh, okay!” Martin exclaimed, skimming the files littering his boss's work area, picking carefully until he had a sizable stack. “I’ll just get started on these.” He said, turning to leave.
“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You’re welcome, Jon.” Martin told him before leaving the room, practically beaming.
~
Martin made his way back to his desk, plopping the stack of files on his desk, before taking a seat, sighing heavily.
He knew he’d probably have to put in some overtime this week, but it was worth it to see Jon’s shoulder relax just a little.
“Tsk.” Tim said, catching Martin’s attention, “Typical Jon can’t get his work done, so he’s going to dump it on someone else.”
Martin’s brows furrowed because that didn’t sound right. If anything, Jon was taking on too much by himself, and they weren’t doing enough.
“I think he’s trying to make it easier…” Martin hesitated, “it’s been a difficult transition for all of us, moving down here.”
“You’re too nice for your good, Martin,” Sasha said, with a tired smile, “but you haven’t known him as long as we have.”
Sasha’s words left a sour taste in Martin’s mouth...that didn’t sound right either.
Martin may not have known Jon back then, but he’d seen him plenty of times working in the library, sometimes long after hours. Jon didn’t seem like the type of person to slack off and leave the work to someone else.
“I still think you’re too hard on him,” Martin protested, trying not to lose his patience, “this archive is a daunting task for anyone.”
“Jon shouldn’t have taken the job he couldn’t handle,” Sasha snapped, back irritated, “now he’s got the job, and he isn’t even doing anything with it!”
The room was quiet aside from the swish of papers hitting the ground and the sound of clumsy footsteps—someone trying to leave the room quickly...unnoticed and failing.
Jon…
Sasha looked mortified, not knowing how long he was standing there or how much he had actually heard, but he had heard enough.
Martin took a deep breath in through his mouth and out through the nose,” Yeah, well, at least Jon’s trying,” He said, standing up from his desk, “instead of sitting around doing nothing and being bitter.”
With that, he left to make some tea, a weak excuse to check on Jon.
He would leave them to stew in their well-deserved guilt.
What if Jon gave a statement about Mr.Spider as a child? Like maybe his gran was at her wits end and brought him to the institute as a last attempt to give him a piece of mind and Jon...makes a statement.
He doesn’t remember doing this until years later when he’s working at the Magnus Institute and a recording of his statement is unearthed by one of his assistants.
Ex:
Tim: *playing a tape to find out whats recorded on it. Visibly uncomfortable but trying to cover it up with humor* Hey I didn’t know this place let kids give statements, talk about nightmare fuel.
Jon: *visibly disturbed as he recognizes the voice on the tape...and then the child says their name...Jonathan Sims*
Warnings: CW panic attack CW childhood trauma
Tim flipped the tape over in his hand, groaning a little when he realized it was unlabeled.
He’d have to listen to it so he'd know where to file it, which unfortunately meant borrowing a tape recorder from Jon. The other man had been holed up in an office all day, so there was no telling what kind of mood he was in.
But it was unavoidable. It would put the boss man in an even pissier mood if he found out Tim had just left the improperly filed.
So he sauntered to Jon’s office, taking up as much time as possible, but he could only postpone things for so long before he found himself standing outside of Jon’s office.
Tim listened for a few moments, and when he was sure Jon wasn’t recording a statement, he knocked, not waiting for a reply, pushing the door open.
“Hey bossman!” He called cheerfully, when he wasn’t immediately torn apart he took it as a small victory.
“Tim…”Jon sighed, shooting Tim a tired glare that really had no head behind it, “Did you need something?” He asked sharply.
“Found an unlabeled tape,” He told Jon, holding up the tape in question, “figured I’d borrow the tape recorder, and take a listen.”
“Care to join me I can pop some popcorn?” Tim teased with a cheeky grin.
Jon rolled his eyes,” With what we’ve found on these statements so far, I can imagine it would be unappetizing.”
“Was that a joke?” Tim snorted,” Are you feeling alright boss?”
Jon picked up the tape recorder, “Let’s find out what’s on that tape.” He said, quickly changing the subject.
Tim was sure he only did that because he knew it got on his nerves, the cheeky bastard. At least he’d managed to catch Jon in a good mood.
They took the tape into the break room, popping it into the recorder, hitting play.
It started out as any normal statement, recorded by the previous archivist before the statement giver spoke.
The voice that came out was chilling…
There wasn’t anything particularly special about it, but there was something haunting about a child’s retelling of the horror they experienced.
Tim swallowed hard, trying to hide his discomfort behind a thin veil of humor, “ Talk about nightmare fuel eh, Jon.” He said, looking at Jon, “I didn’t know the Magnus Institute took children's statements.”
He regretted the words as they left his mouth, seeing the look on Jon’s face.
The other man looked like he was going to be sick. “Jon…?” Tim called out, just as the boy on the tape said his name.
Jonathan Sims…
~
Jon scrambled to his feet, his stomach rolling as he left the room, panic building in his chest.
He was sure he was going to be sick…
Not paying attention to where he was going Jon ran into a wall…a firm warm wall that wasn’t really a wall but Martin…
“Jon!” Martin squeaked, face flushing a dark shade of red. ”I’m sorry I didn’t see...are you alright?” He asked, seeing the tight uncomfortable expression on Jon’s face.
Jon mumbled a non-answer, something about being fine before slipping past Martin, disappearing into the bathroom.
Nothing about this sat right with Martin, so he followed Jon.
Martin found Jon sitting on the ground, his trembling legs unable to hold him up any longer. His breathing short desperate gasps, as if someone were squeezing his chest.
He approached with caution, not wanting to startle Jon, as he clearly wasn’t in a good place right now.
Moving slowly Martin slid down until he was on the ground, at Jon’s eye level.
He cleared his throat softly to get Jon’s attention, the other man's eyes darting to meet Martin’s, “H-hey Jon...is there anything I can get you?” He asked.
Jon hesitated, shaking his head a soft jerky motion that Martin wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been paying attention.
Martin chewed his lip nervously before asking his next question,” Is it...is it alright if I touch you?” He asked.
The words hung in the air for what felt like ages, before Jon nodded.
Martin carefully wrapped his arm around Jon, asking once more if this was still okay, receiving another jerky nod in response.
“Do you think you could breathe with me?” Martin asked, another nod. He started taking long deep easy breaths, that Jon could follow along with when he felt ready.
It took a couple achingly long moments but eventually Jon was able to copy Martin’s breathing.
He stayed there, holding Jon for as long as it took for him to calm down. Even longer when he looked down to find that the other man had fallen asleep,
Martin sat there, listening to Jon’s soft even breaths
