Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first couple hours are disorientating, to say the least. The solar eclipse March 20, 2015 ends just before noon, which is precisely when Jonathan Sims comes to awareness in the middle of the Research Department of the Magnus Institute, London, and just moments before he nearly loses it again. A feeling rushes through him, like he’s suddenly discovered he’s been made wrong, and it’s only Tim Stoker’s sudden grip on his arm that keeps him upright. Within his chest, Jon’s heart beats erratically, pounding arrhythmically then skipping beats altogether. It takes far too long to realize he’s staring at Tim and gripping him back too hard.

Words catch in his throat as he remembers he needs to breathe, so it’s no surprise Tim doesn’t believe him when Jon says he’s alright. Still, Tim agrees to tell whoever needs to know- Jon honestly can’t remember who that is- that Jon isn’t feeling well and will be leaving early, once Jon proves he can stand on his own, at least.

It would be for the best, even if his whole body didn’t feel like it had been pulled apart and put back together by someone who wasn’t sure where all the bits were meant to go. Thoughts are coming slow, and he doesn’t remember what he’s meant to be doing; nor is he particularly inclined to try.

At the top of the stairs to the basement, the Archives, he catches himself and has to consciously redirect out of the building. Jon stops on the pavement, steps from the road. For all the intensity of his stare, though, the street seems stubbornly disinclined to direct him home, and he stands there for an indeterminate amount of time until eventually someone touches his arm, cautious and placating. With gentle, meaningless words, Rosie leads him to the taxi she called and gives the driver his address. Jon absently agrees to get rest and see a doctor tomorrow, with no intention of following through. And then he’s stepping out of the vehicle and into the building he lives in for now. It feels so long since he was last in this flat, nothing is quite as familiar as it should be.

Easing himself onto a threadbare couch that he hasn’t seen in… a long time, Jon lays back, stares at the ceiling, and finally- finally- takes a moment to get his bearings. Until now, he still didn’t quite remember what had happened; how he got here; when he is. Now, inspecting the hairline crack in the paint overhead, he Knows. Knows what led to this; Knows the demand he made of his god, and of the first god to mark him; Knows the deal that was struck, and that this is what it gets him: another chance. A chance to make things right, as much as anyone can.

Right now, he Knows, Tim is back in Research, gossiping, and Sasha is out interviewing someone for an active case. Melanie is still with Ghost Hunt UK, though already starting to struggle; Basira and Daisy are both still with the police; Helen Richardson is showing a house and has never opened a yellow door. He Knows that Martin-

Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, Knows that he is in a flat that can barely be called his own, and that somewhere in the tunnels that stretch out below the Archives of the Magnus Institute and the city around it, Gertrude Robinson’s body has only just begun to cool.

Despite something- instinct or habit or something less or more internal- telling him to turn around and go straight back to the Archives- his Archives- he doesn’t. All that’s happened is taking its toll; he’s weak and tired and his body is still catching up to its newly inhuman status, adjusting to the few fresh wounds, old and new, that he’s brought with him. Instead, he steals a couple hours of sleep, and upon waking, notes that it’s Friday. He lets his pain convince him to take this one, final weekend to be as human as he can manage. To take in the flat he may visit again, but never for long. To eat some of the actual food sitting in his fridge and cupboards. To spend time on the internet, like a normal millennial, reacquainting himself with 2015, “surfing the web” and only stalking his friends’ social media a little.

Just a couple days to prepare himself, to hamper his rage, to mourn what he’s lost and left behind, as much as he’s capable of mourning yet. A couple days to rest and recuperate.

Near midnight, the tired hunger plaguing him grows too strong to ignore as one of his neighbors returns home and Jon feels a pull to the door. In the wake of everything else he’s been through, he manages to only hate himself a little when he goes.

Sunday, much as he’d rather not, Jon has an appointment to keep.

Monday morning, still sore and uncomfortable but ready to be busy, Jon goes directly to the Archives. There’s no point doing anything else; he’s forgotten what he would have normally done in this time- could remember if he wanted to, but he doesn’t really. The door to his- Gertrude’s- office isn’t locked. It isn’t even closed, hanging slightly ajar with the dangling remnants of police tape still stuck to the frame. He pulls them off and takes in the stark mess left behind. Someone had clearly attempted a cursory cleaning, but there’s still a dark, reddish stain across a desk he’s never seen before and little else besides. Random scraps of paper and office supplies in various states of utility strewn across the otherwise bare floor; filing cabinet drawers empty and pulled out, threatening to tip the whole thing over; chair tipped on its side; and a single tape recorder, sitting alone on an unsturdy-looking shelf. Possibly everything was taken by the police as evidence, though experience has given him the impression that the police would much rather not step foot in the Institute, much less be so thorough in removing “evidence.”

The other, perhaps more probable explanation is that Elias took it all to try to figure out what Gertrude knew and how she knew it, and to weed out anything he thought the new Head Archivist wouldn’t be ready for.

These are Jon’s Archives, but not fully, not quite yet. They will be. It won’t take much, perhaps a single statement read aloud to tie himself in. It scares him, how much he aches for it, but it’s too low on his list of fears to give much thought. Being the Archive has been one of the easiest things to accept, compared to so many others.

“Ex- excuse me? This area is off-” says someone from behind him, and Jon’s head jerks around a bit too fast. It doesn’t seem right to him that monsters can still get whiplash.

“Martin,” Jon says, breathes, voice tight as he rubs his neck, trying to ease the sharp pain.

“Um, yes? Can- Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m just fine… Hello.” The sight of Martin, the sound of his voice make Jon’s heart pound. Amongst all the other emotions running through him, he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed by his awkwardness.

“Right. Hello. You- you’re from Research, right? J-onathan? Did you need something from the archives?” Only four years between this Martin and the one Jon last saw, and still he looks so young Jon has to shake himself out of his contemplation to respond.

“Yes- No. I- I mean, yes, I was. In Research. And yes, I’m Jonathan Sims- Jon- I’ll be taking over for Gertrude.”

“Oh! Uh, okay… so soon, though? I mean, I thought- Elias didn’t say anything about-”

“It’s a- chaotic time,” Jon cuts him off before Martin can consider actually going to Elias about it. “It may be a bit of an adjustment, but I look forward to working with you.”

“Right. Right, well, you too, I suppose? Oh!” Martin seems to realize then that Jon is standing in the office doorway. “You don’t- There’s another office. I think it’s being used as storage right now, but we could-”

“It’s alright, Martin. This will need to be dealt with sooner or later. I might as well do it to my own satisfaction.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll, uh- my desk is over here-” He points vaguely over his shoulder with a thumb. “-if you need anything. Um, would you- would you like some tea?”

“I would, thank you.” Even toward the end, when the world had gone to hell, and especially in the wake of the Lonely, Martin tried to be an optimist. It was something Jon admired about him, and it suddenly strikes him just how much of Martin’s positivity had been lost. This Martin is so- so naturally trusting. A bit suspicious, sure, only an idiot wouldn’t find Jon’s manner suspect at best, but not nearly suspicious enough. He hopes, with everything that’s going to happen, that this Martin can hold onto some of that innocence. Jon really does need to encourage him to question things more, though. Extremely vague and suspect are kind descriptors for Jon in that conversation, and yet Martin just smiles and makes him tea. Or… no. Martin is asking Rosie what she knows about this. That’s something, Jon supposes, and better than him going to Elias before Jon’s gotten a statement in.

Speaking of. Jon takes another look around. The messy, hollowed-out, frankly disastrous state of the office, of the Archives, matches Jon a bit too well and it’s enough to make his head ache along with the rest of him. Of course, he hasn’t been here yet. All his hard work of the past couple years has been entirely undone- and then some. At least, knowing what he does now, he can attempt to apply some greater order than they had been managing before. Gertrude had her reasons for letting it fall into this state, but Jon has a different purpose. He sighs and steps inside to the click of a recorder.

-

It’s a startling transition, to say the least. One day Gertrude Robinson is doddering about the Archives of the Magnus Institute, the next she’s just… not, and Jonathan Sims, a somewhat antisocial researcher with zero qualifications for the Head Archivist position, is there instead. Not literally, but close enough most everyone seems comfortable using the word.

On Monday, March 16th, most of the Institute arrived to work to find police on site, and as expected in a place with fewer than fifty people regularly on site, news traveled fast that Gertrude, who had been at the Institute longer than anyone, had gone missing, her desk found covered in blood. By Wednesday, most have been able to return to work as normal. Martin Blackwood, recently transferred to the Archives, is not so lucky. For the remainder of the week, between interrogations by police who seem only perfunctorily interested in investigating, he returns to his previous position in the library; only to be told Friday that the reversion will be permanent until a “suitable replacement” for Gertrude can be found.

It’s only by chance, the following Monday, that Martin returns to the Archives for a couple personal items to find Jonathan Sims already there.

When Martin asks, Rosie doesn’t know anything about Jon’s transfer and/or promotion, and is especially confused as Jon had apparently left early last Friday and couldn’t have met with Elias then. Last anything had been said to her, Elias instructed that any major items for the Archives should be directed to his office until further notice. She’d thought Martin would be back in the library until a new Head Archivist was hired and is a little peeved that no one told her otherwise. Which is certainly something Martin can empathize with, since he was under the same impression. It’s unlike him, but Rosie supposes it could have slipped Elias’s mind, maybe, what with everything else going on. It doesn’t seem like she believes it, though.

Of course, Martin is in the Archives the next day when Elias first comes to talk to Jon about his new position, and can say with some certainty that Elias knows no more about what’s happening than any of the rest of them. Except, of course, for Jonathan Sims himself.

“Mister Sims,” Elias says to Jon, who is seated at Gertrude’s desk with an air of comfortable familiarity. “You seem to be settling in well.”

“It doesn’t take me long to get my bearings these days,” Jon says, eyes never leaving the file he’s been going through. “You can leave now, Elias.” Martin breathes in sharply and then attempts to look busy when it draws Elias’s disapproving attention. Still, the office door stays open.

“Jon- can I call you Jon? If you could explain precisely what it is you-” Jon looks up, face blank, and Elias just- stops.

“I am The Archivist.” He says it with a strange sort of emphasis, as though Jon is suggesting he’s the only archivist in the world, and for a moment, though he’s mostly turned away, Martin could swear he sees Elias look surprised. Then Jon’s voice goes disingenuously light in a way that brings to mind bared teeth. “Though, while I have you here, I need to requisition a new desk. The police seem to have taken a rather large chunk out of the center of this one for their investigation. And I can’t quite shake the smell of blood. Other than that, I believe I have what I need, Elias. I’ll be sure to inform you if that changes.”

“You-”

“Do you need Gertrude Robinson located first, Elias? Would you like me to go looking?” A weird, almost accusatory way to put it, in Martin’s opinion, and there’s something almost tangibly heavy in the question, like a sudden increase in air pressure.

“… No. That- will not be necessary… Right.” There’s a moment wherein they just stare- glare, really- at each other, and then Elias looks over at Martin, who would really rather not be pulled into this, thanks. “Well, Martin here is-”

“No longer any of your concern.” If Martin hadn’t been apprehensive about all this before, he definitely is now. This man just appoints himself to a position and, what, claims him? Martin hasn’t worked that many places other than the Institute, and it’s been many years since, but he’s sure that’s not normal. “I will also accept the assistance of Sasha James.”

“I see. May I suggest-”

“No. You may not. Martin is already part of the Archives, and I believe Sasha will do well enough here. No one else is needed.” Already part of the archives, like Martin had grown into them or something and not just transferred here barely a month ago. Like Martin is a statement himself.

“Traditionally-”

“If you wouldn’t mind, Elias, I have a lot of work to do. You allowed Gertrude to leave my Archives in quite a state.” My archives, he says. Martin is frankly surprised Elias hasn’t already told Jon he’s fired- more surprised still that it doesn’t seem like he has any intention of doing so. He stands as stiff as Martin’s ever seen him- and there are statues with more flexible spines- until Jon very deliberately turns his attention back to the file in his hands.

“I see.” Jon huffs a laugh, though what he finds funny about this Martin can’t begin to guess. Elias continues to glare. “I’ll ensure the proper paperwork is completed. I suppose congratulations are in order.” And then he walks away.

Once he’s gone, Jon puts his head in his hands and sighs, tension visibly draining from his shoulders. An act. Martin wouldn’t have guessed. When he looks back up, it’s directly at Martin, expression more open than it’s been since he first walked into the Archives. His eyes look so dark as to be black, and Martin feels seen- known- in a way that is very unsettling but also seems fond somehow: like Jon sees every flaw in his soul and likes him anyway. And sure, Martin’s known who Jon is for a while, but he’s pretty sure the opposite can’t be said, so it’s a bit too familiar for someone who’d only spoken to him for the first time yesterday. Jon holds out a file.

“Martin, see if you can find anything more on this, if you would.” And Martin takes it, and doesn’t ask any questions, despite having many, because apparently Jonathan Sims is his boss now, and maybe also Elias’s.

-

Halfway through his first day back in the Archives, Jon receives a call asking where he is, why he hadn’t called out or come in to work, if he’s still ill. He tells the truth, mostly, but it’s still nearing the end of the second day when Elias finally comes to investigate. Months and a significant amount of trauma lay between Jon and his last in-person encounter with Elias. With the weekend to gather himself, though, Jon at least has the control to not outright attack the man, even verbally.

So much has changed, since that last time. Once, Jon had felt like a specimen being examined every time Elias looked at him and he’d told himself he was being irrational. He knows better now, and his connection to the Eye is stronger than it’s ever been. It has him, knows him, completely and so there’s nothing Elias can look for in his mind that their god doesn’t already know, and all of it is obscured from him. Granted, this means Jon also can’t Know Jonah/Elias, but he can still allow himself some small vindication in imagining how frustrated the asshole must be.

Jon can’t afford to let his guard down, though. Not being able to see in his mind won’t stop Elias observing him through other means. And clearly even Elias isn’t immune to Jon’s questions at this stage, which means Jon may be susceptible to other power elsewhere. Here, though- The Archives are Jon as Jon is the Archive. He will always have the upper hand here.

Requesting Sasha’s help is probably a terrible idea, likely to bite him, as would be bringing in anyone who still has a chance away from the Institute. Jon’s thought about it thoroughly, though, which is more than can be said for a lot of other decisions he’s made, and he really does need a second assistant. The details of her may be hard to reach, but he hasn’t lost her first statement and the conversation that followed, when she told him she didn’t want to leave. That she, like him, was too damn curious. He’s going to need to count on that to see her through and hope he’s not just leading another person to their death. At least now he knows what to watch for.

Jon can feel Jonah’s Eye turned toward him the moment Elias’s are not, but it’s weaker when Elias isn’t physically there and Jon lets himself relax slightly. Martin’s been witness to the whole exchange, which is good, even if he doesn’t understand a fraction of what’s going on. They need to start somewhere, and it had been strange enough to make anyone question. He’ll get there eventually, and then Jon can explain. Then Jon will be able to talk to him again, as he hasn’t been able to since- well, since before the Lonely, before the Unknowing and his pseudo-death, even, when he’d taken it for granted. Back when it should have been so easy.

The file in his hands is an Eye statement with little danger to any of them. A good enough place to start. He passes it off to Martin, who takes it and doesn’t ask any questions, though he clearly has many. Just another thing for Jon to work on.

What you don’t know can still destroy your life forever.

-

Martin likes working with Sasha. Even on their creepiest statement, she somehow always manages to keep her composure. She’s friendly and funny and never looks down on Martin, even when he’s not sure how to approach an investigation. And probably the most important trait these days, she doesn’t let Jon’s ever increasing strangeness unnerve or discourage her. Not even when he stares or looks at her with that odd expression. It’s not like the fond-familiar one he gives Martin. Instead, it’s searching and a tad sad, like he’s trying to take in all of her and commit her to memory. Martin wonders sometimes if she might not remind Jon of someone, but it doesn’t seem his place to ask.

Saying that Jon is easy to puzzle out would be a blatant lie, but some of his habits and sensibilities are easy enough to catch onto if you pay attention. He almost always keeps his door open and has very good hearing, but he also doesn’t seem to care if Martin and Sasha chat, as long as they are also working. At the same time, he can’t seem to decide if gossip disgusts or just exasperates him, but either way, he definitely doesn’t like it. So the assistants learn early to save most of it, and especially anything about him, until he’s busy with a statement.

“So, do we think he did it?” Sasha asks Martin quietly one day, early on, while Jon is distracted taking a statement from a Mr. Carlos Vittery, whose panicked insistence on a dead spider stalking him had made Jon cringe and shudder, like he was trying to shake something from his chest.

“Do we think who did what?” Martin already knows who and what she means- it’s not like he hasn’t had the thought himself- but he’s not going to be the one to say it out loud.

“Jon. Do we think he killed Gertrude? It’s awful suspicious, don’t you think?” What Martin thinks is that there’s a bit too much amusement in her voice for what she’s saying. Also, he’s leaning toward putting money on Elias, but he’s not going to be the one to say that either. Still, it is suspicious.

“I… suppose. No. No, he didn’t kill her,” Martin declares as confidently as he can manage. “Why would he do that? If you’re going to kill someone, you don’t just waltz in and appoint yourself to their job after. You try to keep attention off yourself. Right?”

“Yeah, sure. If you’re normal. You have to admit, though, Jon’s… not.” Which is a valid point and a very kind way of saying it.

“I- maybe. That doesn’t mean he’s a murderer!” As far as Martin’s seen, Jon can’t even bring himself to kill a spider, let alone a person. Though that might be because he completely freezes up at the sight of a spider, rather than any kind of unwillingness to kill one. “Jon hasn’t killed anyone.”

“Of course,” Sasha agrees, in that way he’s finding often means he’s being baited into a trap. “We have nothing to worry about… I wouldn’t want to be Elias, though.”

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

Sasha smiles. “Well, it’s not like he wants our jobs.”

“What does- oh. That’s terrible. You’re terrible.” Sasha shrugs, still smiling and goes back to her work. After a minute of silence, though, Martin has to ask, “Do you think he killed her? Really?”

Before she can answer, things go quiet in Jon’s office and they both go back to their work before he can come out. Martin is sure she doesn’t, though. At least 80% sure.

Obviously they’re not the only ones considering it. There’s been plenty of speculation throughout the Institute, with most employees finding convenient reasons to leave the room- and his line of sight- on the rare occasions Jon leaves the Archives. But there’s also a fair amount of police suspicion. Certainly more than Martin had dealt with as Gertrude’s only assistant. A few officers come to talk to Jon over the first weeks, and every time they leave looking uncertain and mildly perturbed. All except for one who just seems like she’d really like to punch Jon in the face. Martin doesn’t bother offering that one tea. No need to give her incentive to stay any longer than necessary.

The thing is, murderer or not, working for Jon isn’t that bad. Martin hasn’t been working in the Archives very long, wasn’t even used to Gertrude as a boss yet, so there isn’t a whole lot to compare, but even if he did… Jon is exacting, critical, with high expectations. They’re not usually unreasonable expectations, though, and he does his best to give Martin and Sasha direction; places to look, notes on people to talk to. And while Martin would rather go to Sasha for help and not give his boss the impression he doesn’t know how to do his job, Jon very readily answers any questions Martin asks.

Of course, if Martin doesn’t ask any questions and comes back to Jon with unsatisfactory results, then he can expect anything from a disapproving look to a cutting comment to a ten minute lecture on due diligence, depending on Jon’s mood.

And yet, you’d think Martin and Sasha were transformed into school children, the way Jon goes on any time research takes them out of the Institute. If they don’t manage to sneak out, he’ll keep them there until he runs out of things to warn them about, to pay attention to, to avoid. Sometimes it seems like he’s going to break out a contract and have them sign it in blood, swearing they won’t intentionally put themselves in danger.

“Yes, yes. Phone in one hand, knife in the other and a blowtorch in my bag. You’re such a mother hen, Jon,” Sasha says once with a grin when leaving to check out a hospital that an A&E nurse gave a statement about. Jon smiles back, laughing at himself on the surface, but his eyes still look worried and sad.

When the first statement about Ex Altiora surfaces, Jon calls them both into his office and hands them a list of names. Jurgen Leitner is one, and Martin is about to say that yeah, of course they know to watch out for Leitner books, they’re not new, when he realizes that that’s not the only name from 07.2012.2013/06/28 on the list.

“New research project?” Sasha asks, flipping the paper over to see the list continues on the other side.

“Definitely not,” Jon says. “I’d like the both of you to memorize this list. Keep it at your desks if necessary. Come to me with any statements that mention any of these names. Research on them will always be a group effort, and we’ll need to be very careful looking into them outside these walls. If you run into any of them in person, don’t engage if you can help it. Keep your distance and call me immediately.”

“Okay, ignoring how weird and concerning that all is- it’s all well and good in theory, but you’ve got one here that just says ‘Michael’,” Sasha points out. “I think I know like five Michaels. Hell, there’s even another Michael on this list.”

“Tall, blond, disconcerting hands; you’ll know him if he laughs.” He says it so dryly, it’s hard to determine if he’s serious or not at first. The way he looks like he’s trying to burn the image into their brains through his stare makes Martin decide he is.

“That’s- not a lot to go on?” Martin says.

“It will be enough.”

Alright then.

-

Despite his connection to Beholding, most of Jon’s memories of Sasha James are still of not-Sasha, who may have taken over her life and her memories but was still quite a different being. So he can’t help but watch her sometimes, cataloguing every aspect of her and writing over his own memories to put her back in the places she belonged. And if it keeps him from staring at Martin too much… Whatever fondness Jon might have had for not-Sasha- prior to her trying to kill him- was definitely left over from his time with this one, he finds, and he can’t bring himself to regret bringing her in, even if it would have been better for her if he hadn’t. Not to mention, she’s extremely efficient and helps Martin without question and Jon can’t help but wonder if things would’ve gone smoother if she’d still been with them when- Well, this time he’ll be able to find out.

Of course, they all need to make it to that point first. Jon knows he’s been getting a bit- Paranoid isn’t the right word, not compared to how he once was, and considering the things he’s worried about really are out there. It doesn’t feel fair to say he’s overprotective either. He’s not trying to restrict them, knows he won’t be able to keep them completely safe. He just wants to make sure they’re prepared.

Sasha takes to poking him now and then, calling him “Mother” to let him know when he’s going overboard- when she’s not speculating over whether or not he’s a murderer, of course- but that’s fine. He’ll accept whatever teasing comes because he’s determined not to lose anyone. Not this time. Maybe it’s inevitable, but it won’t be through any oversight of his.

He hopes.

They’re not friends, though. No matter how much Jon cares, no matter how much he wishes- Someday, if things go right, maybe he’ll be able to go out for drinks with them, to chat casually. Someday, maybe, but not while he still has so many secrets, and not while his heart keeps trying to superimpose an older, wearier, harder Martin atop this one.

-

Obvious concern for their well-being and the occasional awkward attempt at conversation aside, Jon still doesn’t actually interact with Martin and Sasha much. He doesn’t interact much with anyone as far as they can tell; Martin tries not to find this sad because it’s Jon’s life and some people really are happier on their own. It would be easier to do if Jon ever actually seemed happy. Usually when Martin starts thinking about it, he finds himself bringing Jon tea. Maybe he’s being bothersome, but Jon always smiles- however small- and thanks him.

That dearth of interaction and unfortunate preoccupation might be why it takes nearly three months with Jon in the Archives before Martin starts realizing that, however strange Jon may seem at first glance, in reality he is so much stranger. And somehow that strangeness seems to extend to the archive itself. Wherever Jon goes, there is a tape recorder. Even when he’s not recording a statement. It’s like a compulsion or something, except Martin never actually sees Jon move the recorders. He doesn’t carry them around. It’s as though they just magically appear in each room Jon enters. Martin hadn’t even known they had this many recorders. Before Gertrude disappeared he would’ve sworn there were maybe two. Now there are easily a dozen. Which also doesn’t make sense because why do they have so many now? It’s not that Martin doesn’t like them- he actually snuck one home to record some of his poetry- it just seems excessive.

When he asks Sasha, she casually moves the one now in the center of her desk to the side, so it’s no longer on top of the papers she needs, and shrugs.

“Maybe Jon collects them?” she suggests reasonably, and Martin would like to believe that, and to believe that she believes that. He sees her glance at the recorder on her desk more and more, though, and knows that neither of them do.

There’s also a number of fire extinguishers in each room now. More than they could possibly need, but pretty much everything in the Archives is flammable, so Martin is willing to write that one off as a phobia or something. Between that and the new, more open floorplan and the thing with the spiders, it seems like Jon has quite a few phobias and maybe some PTSD. It’s impressive how well he gets through some of the statements if that’s actually true.

Then there’s the feeling of being watched. It becomes almost constant, even on the rare occasions when Jon’s office door is closed. There aren’t any cameras in the Archives- Elias had said so, but Martin has also double and triple checked- so it can’t be that. Sasha is the one to bring that one up, sitting in the breakroom and out of Jon’s hearing. Some days, she tells him, it doesn’t go away until she’s home, tucked away in her room.

All of that could be rationalized by someone determined to do so. Not so much with Jon’s apparent, preternatural intuition for which statements are real. He’ll shuffle through stacks of files, picking and choosing with hardly a glance. One day, he even pulls a full, dust-coated box from a shelf and deposits the entire thing on Martin’s desk without ever opening it.

“When you have time, Martin, please digitize these and file them as discredited.”

“But we haven’t researched any of those?” It’s not actually a question. Martin knows they haven’t touched that box, but his voice still lilts up at the end. He tries again, “They haven’t been discredited?” and fails.

“There’s no need. It would simply be a waste of time and resources.”

“I- we’re supposed to put a reason, though, when-” And Jon must be tired because he actually rolls his eyes.

“Discredited by Archivist, then. Trust me, the only thing these ‘statements’ might be good for is kindling and maybe a laugh.” At least he doesn’t actually use finger quotes, though his disdain clearly implies them. Martin doesn’t think he’s ready to try fitting something like that into his mental concept of Jon.

Martin chooses not to point out that there’s no possible way Jon can already know what any of the statements in this box say. He gets the impression he wouldn’t get anywhere with that. Instead, he nods and agrees and decides he’ll do his own cursory research while he digitizes them. He doesn’t tell Jon that, of course, just opens the box and asks off-hand if Jon would like some tea and doesn’t think about the way his heart beats harder when Jon smiles at him. It’s a nice smile.

All of the statements end up being bogus, just as Jon said, though a couple are very well written. When Martin works up to asking Jon how he knew, Jon looks confused and doesn’t even remember giving Martin the box until shown the stack of statements in question. He frowns a bit, stares at the papers a touch too intensely, and then says “I just did.” as he walks away, as if that’s some kind of answer.

It’s only when Sasha spends the better part of a week trying to dig up sources on one, apparently false, statement that Jon finally pinches the bridge of his nose and gives them some clue as to his reasoning.

“Oh for- Fine. Fine. From now on, if you can record a digital version of the statement, discard it. It’s useless. Yes, yes. Do some research for appearance’s sake, if you must, but never more than a few hours.”

“Sorry, what?” Sasha asks incredulously.

“Some statements cannot be recorded on a computer. I know you’ve both noticed; neither of you is an idiot. There is a reason for that. Those are the ones we should give our attention to.”

“Why, though? And how do you know? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Observation and experience, I suppose. Because-” he continues before either of them can argue that he hasn’t been there any longer than them- “clearly I am from the future and have been doing this for years. As for why…” Jon pauses, stares into the middle distance for a long few seconds. “I- I don’t actually know. I don’t know why that happens. Hm. Something to think about, I suppose. Now please, mark that statement as discredited and move on to something more substantive.” And that’s the end of the discussion apparently, as he proceeds to walk away. Again.

-

Most of the first year is spent in a sort of calmness that Jon’s rarely experienced since he took the job the first time. They make decent progress in organizing the archives, with a far more useful filing system than Gertrude’s nonsense, the lack of a third assistant being made up for by Jon’s memory of statements he’s already read and his now-innate ability to tell the true statements from the false. The ache of his sudden inhumanity fades and only ever bothers him when he goes too long without a live statement. Abstaining is neither an option nor even a consideration at this point, but with what foreknowledge he has, he can sometimes be selective with the ones he takes. Those like Carlos Vittery and Lydia Halligan, who won’t live long past giving their statements, are the easiest on what remains of the conscience Jon had tried to cling to, back before the apocalypse.

Then there are those targeted by the Lonely. It’s harder to feel alone when you’re being watched, generally, and so there’s a chance that the mere fact of his presence in their dreams will negate some of the fear. Maybe it just replaces it with a different kind of fear, but it’s still a strike against Forsaken, so Jon is okay with that. Let the Lukases complain to Elias if they want. Jon’s perfectly willing to tell them all where they can shove it.

Months pass with no attack, no active ritual attempts other than Jonah’s. The two of them fall into a sort of holding pattern as they both figure out what suddenly having a fully realized Archivist means for Jonah’s plans. Elias asks probing questions to learn which entities Jon’s already encountered; Jon tries to find something that will tell him whether his mental scars still count as marks even though most of the physical evidence of them is gone. Would the memories and trauma be enough if the actual encounters haven’t happened anymore? He can’t be sure, just as Jonah can’t be sure how far along Jon actually is.

Worst case scenario, Jonah decides to risk the ritual not working, tricks Jon into performing it again, and it works. Second worst, he decides Jon is too much of a threat or liability and tries to kill him with some measure of success. So long as Jon doesn’t antagonize him too much, those cases are unlikely. The most probable outcome of this standoff is that Jonah will decide Jon’s too valuable a resource to discard, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, so the attacks by various avatars and monsters will be subtly encouraged once again. Until then, however, Elias is watching Jon too closely, so Jon continues with what should be business as usual. Reading and taking statements, filing them efficiently, keeping his assistants busy and safe; steering them as gently as he can toward the knowledge they need.

It’s almost… nice.

Which is why it makes Jon nervous. In his experience, Jon doesn’t get nice things. After a while, the level of monitoring he does on all his people probably rivals the paranoid stalking he did while not-Sasha was in the Archives; it’s just subtler, since he doesn’t need to physically follow them anymore. Each probing visit Elias makes is another opportunity to get them a bit more prepared without giving too much away. Fire extinguishers are placed about every room, along with torches- both battery powered and hand-cranked; shelves are reinforced and moved to open the area as much as possible; two well-stocked first aid kits are put in easy-to-access places and Jon keeps a corkscrew in his desk. And since Elias won’t pay to fix the broken humidity control, Jon Knows what he needs to fix it himself.

It used to be Jon kept his office door closed at almost all times, suspicion and antisocial tendencies keeping him distanced from everyone. He tells himself now that he leaves his door always partially open as a way of encouraging Martin and Sasha to listen and investigate and question, to prepare them. In truth, he can’t stand to be alone anymore. In the later days of the Lonely’s occupation of the Institute, he, Basira, and Daisy had taken to keeping close proximity. Often it was just Daisy sitting in his office while he recorded statements and Basira was off on some secretive mission or other, but sometimes it was the three of them- occasionally even with Melanie before she quit- sitting in the main archive area, talking just to fill the silence and know they were together. More than once, Jon fell asleep to the sound of Daisy’s slow breaths and Basira’s snores across the room. After, he and Martin were rarely apart. Until… Until.

Mostly now he just stops every so often and listens to the others move around and trade gossip and curse false leads and uncooperative sources, to remind himself where and when he is. At night, when he can’t keep working but also can’t sleep, he’ll lay on the cot in document storage or the couch in his flat or, on the worst days, sit in a 24 hour coffee shop and Know his people. That they’re safe. When the ache in his chest gets to be too much, he’ll stand just inside his office door and listen to Martin record a false statement, and considers taking up smoking again, or maybe developing a drinking habit. It’s not like it’s going to kill him.

Martin is, as ever, far too kind and concerned with Jon’s wellbeing. Usually, Jon can set aside the lingering loss and take it as a comforting familiarity that reminds him why he’s doing this. Usually. More often than not, as time goes on. A couple months in, though, Martin brings him the perfect cup of tea. Exactly the way Jon likes it. Exactly the way Martin would make it.

“You should take a break, Jon,” Martin suggests, nearly scolding but still too unsure of his position, as Jon takes a sip and closes his eyes, sighing in contentment. “Get lunch. Or a nap.”

“Mm,” Jon agrees absently, “I lo-” He stops, eyes flying open. If Martin knew- but Martin just looks at him curiously. “I- I will. Take that under advisement. I- Thank you. For the tea. It’s- it’s perfect. Could you- Would you please- close the door behind you?”

Martin looks a little put out, confused, but he closes the door behind him on the way out. The second the latch clicks into place, Jon has his face buried in his hands, covering his mouth to muffle the sound of his sobs.

-

The more Jon seems to fit with the Archives, unfortunately, the harder it gets to discount the idea that he may have had a hand in his position freeing up. Granted, Martin had only worked in the Archives for a month before Jon, but he still can’t remember seeing Jon anywhere near them before his self-appointment. Yet Jon never once has trouble finding his way around. And while he demonstratively understands Gertrude’s haphazard filing better than anyone, he wastes no opportunity to criticize it.

“I admire her determination and sometimes even her pragmatism,” Jon says once, under his breath, glaring at a mess of papers, files and tapes that all bear mismatched or non-standard case numbers, “but Gertrude Robinson had no business calling herself an archivist.”

“Sorry?” Martin asks, though he’s almost certain he wasn’t meant to hear. He glances at Sasha and receives a shrug. “I thought you didn’t know Gertrude.”

“I think we may have spoken once? Barely more than introductions, I’m sure,” Jon says- more than he’s ever said on the topic before, at least to them. His attention is still focused on the papers in his hand. “I certainly had no idea the sort of person she was then. No doubt she’d have something to say about all this, but it doesn’t matter now. I’ve long accepted we wouldn’t have gotten on- heh, if she didn’t just kill me, of course. I can’t say I regret that, but I do wonder sometimes if I shouldn’t emulate her more.” If she didn’t just kill him. What the hell?

“Oookay. What- what does that mean?” The question seems to jar Jon out of his pensive state.

“It means Gertrude Robinson had many interests and goals that she pursued with a singular focus and determination, but being a proper archivist was not among them, and I have a lot of work ahead of me. As do you. If you find any other statements with unusual case numbers, please inform me.”

“Right. Of course,” Martin mumbles- Jon’s attention clearly lost again as he walks away. Martin tries to avoid Sasha’s eyes, knowing she’s smirking at him as she puts another check on the Yes side of her “Is my boss a murderer?” chart.

Whether it’s actual interest or just a way to tease Martin, she doesn’t let it go.

Tim Stoker is well known around the Institute. Martin doesn’t know him well, but he and Sasha have apparently been friends for years. Jon has some kind of problem with him. Whenever Tim comes down to bring them files to be archived or to try to reference something- still usually an exercise in futility but occasionally possible since Jon took over- he always stays to chat with Sasha, and Jon always makes himself scarce. Almost always. Tim hangs around nearly an hour once, which is apparently overstaying his welcome in Jon’s opinion. Jon stands in his doorway, all but chasing Tim off with that piercing stare of his.

On one occasion, Tim invites Martin and Sasha out to lunch with him. He asks very suggestively, but Martin is pretty sure he only means it in a friendly way… probably.

“Alright,” Tim says once they’re seated in the pub, “now that I have you away from Mr. Glares-a-lot, what is Sims’s problem with me?”

“Honestly, I was going to ask you,” Sasha tells him. “I was already surprised he picked me for the Archives and not you. Last I knew, the two of you used to work together fairly often.”

“We did, sort of, sometimes… Wait, Jon asked for you to transfer to the Archives? Not Elias?”

“Well, Elias is the one who offered it to me, but Martin says Jon requested me specifically.” Martin nods when Tim looks to him for confirmation.

“That’s… No offense, Sasha, but I wasn’t expecting that. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but he definitely didn’t have this issue with me before. Honestly, we were probably as close to friends as Jon got with anyone there. Then one day he gets sick and the next week he doesn’t show up or answer my texts. Just when I start thinking he might be dead, someone tells me he’s an archivist now.”

“The Archivist,” Sasha and Martin correct almost automatically, rote and perfectly in sync. Tim leans away.

“Alright, that was creepy. Kindly refrain from doing that again. What does that mean anyway? Aren’t you, what, assistant archivists or something?”

“Archival Assistants, technically,” Sasha says. “It’s kind of a thing with Jon. I’m not sure he even knows he’s doing it? Except with Elias. Jon is very- intentional with his words around Elias. You think he doesn’t like you… Anyway, I think technically his title is Head Archivist, but I’ve never heard him use it. Whenever he records statements or even introduces himself, it’s always-”

“Jonathan Sims, The Archivist,” Sasha and Martin finish in unison again.

“Yeah, not any less creepy the second time.”

“Really, though. Jon’s a good boss, but-”

“Sorry, he’s a what now?” Tim interjects and Sasha rolls her eyes.

“I know he’s a bit…”

“Grouchy? Rude? Churlish? Curmudgeonly?” Sasha swats Tim’s arm with the back of her hand.

“Unsociable. And his standards can be exacting, but he does try to be reasonable, and he actually cares a lot about our wellbeing.”

“You’re joking,” Tim asserts. “This is the same Jon Sims we’re talking about, right? Bit scrawny? Prematurely greying? Used to put in earplugs every time Trish talked about her kid because “if he wanted to hear someone squak about their offspring, he’d go talk to the parrots at the zoo”? I’d honestly sooner believe he really did kill Gertrude.”

“I did have another thought about that,” Sasha says excitedly, less to Tim than Martin, who groans but doesn’t stop her. Every so often she’ll come up with some new motive, usually absurdly far-fetched. Sometimes Martin wishes she’d let it go, since he’s pretty sure she doesn’t actually think Jon killed anyone, but it’s usually good for a laugh. “Obviously he wouldn’t have done it because he really wanted the job. It seems like he’s sort of- withering, sometimes. But, imagine Jon as a researcher, going down to the archives to try to reference something, only to encounter Gertrude’s filing system.”

“… Oh,” Martin says dejectedly.

“Right?” Sasha says eagerly. Tim next to her is nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, that-” Martin sighs. “Yeah.”

-

The tea incident, as Jon thinks of it, isn’t the last time he forgets himself and almost talks to Martin as if he were his Martin. More than once he lets slip something, some comment or memory, without thinking, expecting Martin to agree or scold or snark, only to receive bafflement. This Martin, he reminds himself again and again, isn’t his friend- isn’t the man who came out of the fog knowing Jon better and more deeply than anyone ever had. This Martin is only his employee, and that’s for the best.

It’s worse, probably, since Martin still isn’t positive Jon didn’t murder Gertrude Robinson for her job. Neither of his assistants have asked, though, and volunteering the fact that he didn’t kill her, unprompted, would probably not help his case.

Still, the others eventually seem to lump these slips in with all the other things that are odd about Jon. And it does get easier with the growing distance of time and his increasing, if tentative, familiarity with this younger, less traumatized Martin. Jon had been such an asshole the first time around that he’s still closer to Martin and Sasha now than he was at this point then, just by expressing any care for them at all. They can’t appreciate the change, but he can. The first time Martin mentions his mother to Jon, it feels like a victory. Sasha’s siblings he’d heard about before ever entering the Archives, but the smile she gives him when he comments on her new glasses is blinding.

In August, Jon lets himself close enough to buy a joint birthday present for Martin with Sasha. They don’t need to know his ulterior motives for suggesting a polaroid camera; it’s just the sort of retro thing that Martin finds charming. By the end of the week, there are enough pictures of all of them floating about the Archives to let Jon breathe a bit easier. If Martin knows the leather-bound journal is also from him, nothing is said about it, and if it all results in Martin being a bit more confident in himself around Jon- a little more willing to speak openly or push back- Jon can’t regret it.

-

After a few months, they settle into- not really a routine, and certainly not normalcy, but their own sort of normal. They sort, they research, Jon says odd things that only invite more questions. He never accepts Sasha’s invitations to go out with them after work, but now and then they’ll order delivery and all eat together. Turns out Jon’s actually kind of funny. He may also be something of an insomniac. Given how tired he always looks, Martin thinks he couldn’t possibly have killed someone for this. For a position that seems to be draining Jon slowly. Whatever the cause, Martin makes a mental note to not bring him any caffeinated tea after noon.

There are definitely things Jon knows that he isn’t telling them. A lot of things, probably. And there are definitely some weird things going on. Not all related to Jon. When it comes down to it, though, that’s kind of their job, isn’t it? They look for answers about weird things.

Of course, things only get weirder from there.

Jon just knows things sometimes. Not just which statements are worth anything or the occasional extremely random fact. Things he shouldn’t know. Things he shouldn’t be able to know. Things that people swear they never told him. Things that- One night Jon offhandedly tells Martin he should leave early. His usual route home will be blocked so he’ll need to take the longer route. This is bordering on prophetic and absurd, but while Martin is finally at a point where he’s comfortable sometimes arguing with Jon, he’s also at a point where he knows it’s better to just accept the strange things he says.

When the notification confirming the foretold delay comes through, Martin is already halfway home. The real proof comes weeks later, when Jon stops in the middle of a statement and grabs his phone.

“Turn right,” Martin hears him say through the half-open doorway in a tone that could almost be called panicked. “Trust me, Sasha. Down the stairs. Third door on your left, lock it behind you. The second window from the right has a couple bars missing, you can squeeze through.” There’s about a minute of only Jon’s heavy breathing, and Martin can feel his own heart rate rise in response. He goes to the doorway and watches anxiously as Jon jitters and Sasha apparently runs from something terrible.

“Good, pick a direction and run… Okay- okay, turn left at the next intersection, get in the taxi. He’s not in service, but his name is Calvin Nesbitt. He lives in Swindon. Convince him to bring you here.” Relief in his face, Jon nods to Martin and, as far as Martin can tell, stays on the phone until he’s sure Sasha is on her way back to the Institute, after which he tells her they’ll talk when she gets home.

Of course, when she does arrive, Jon meets them at the entrance- looking rather like he’s the one coming off an adrenaline high from running for his life- and instead of paying Mr. Nesbitt and sending him on his way, leads the man down to the Archives to give a statement.

“Are you… okay?” Martin asks, handing Sasha a cup of tea while they wait.

“Not really? I’m- I’m not like you. I don’t put myself in danger for the sake of research-”

“I don’t-” Sasha gives him a look.

“You went down an active Underground tunnel last week.”

“Okay, not my smartest move, granted. But I did find-”

“Martin, I’m like 90% sure you’re the reason Jon’s so grey. Worry for you is making him old before his time.”

“Weren’t we talking about you?”

Sasha sighs. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m just- Shaken, I guess. It was supposed to be an empty building, but there was this- this thing. I think- it might have been the same thing as in the statement. Its skin- And I just- How did he know? How? Do you think he’d tell us? If we asked? I- I’m going to- I’m going to give a statement. After Jon’s done interrogating my driver.” The teacup trembles just slightly in her hands, and Martin’s not sure that’s such a good idea.

“Are you sure-”

“Yes. And then I’m going to ask him what the hell is going on.”

Except when the driver leaves, looking slightly dazed, and Sasha goes to do just that, Jon shuts her down. Sort of vehemently. Possibly more vehemently than he had meant to, given the surprise on his own face. He reaches out and puts a hand on Sasha’s arm, which is the most physical affection they’ve seen him give anyone.

“No, I’m sorry, Sasha. You should go home, rest. You can write a statement in the morning.”

“But I’m here now. Why don’t I just tell you?”

“It’s- I don’t- Mr. Nesbitt was my second statement today,” he decides on, obviously scrambling for an excuse. There’s a touch of desperation in his voice. “I don’t think I have another in me. Please, Sasha, we can take care of it tomorrow.”

With the sagging of his shoulders and the dark circles around his eyes, he really does look sort of pathetically exhausted. He looks her over, like he’s going to find her bleeding out.

“Are you… you’re okay.” It’s said like a statement but it has the tone of a question.

“I will be, I think,” Sasha concedes. “Okay, Jon. Tomorrow. You should go home too. Get some sleep.” He nods but doesn’t say he will, and as Martin and Sasha pack up their things for the day, Jon seems to settle back in at his desk.

Before they leave, Sasha stops in Jon’s door again.

“I mean it. About the sleep,” she says. “And… I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

In the morning, Sasha’s written statement is filed, and every time it looks like she’s going to ask, she changes her mind. Instead, she’s abnormally quiet and stares at Jon curiously every time he emerges from his office.

“Do you- D’you ever notice how Jon never asks us any questions?” Sasha asks a couple days later.

“What? Of course he does. He-”

“He doesn’t, though. He’ll ask us to do things. Will you look into this, can you file that, would you, could you. Sometimes he’ll sort of ask, in a roundabout way. ‘I don’t suppose you have any ideas.’ Or ‘I hope your day is going well.’ But never a direct question. Never ‘Do you have any ideas?’ Never ‘How is your day?’ This is going to sound crazy, but- I don’t think people can not answer Jon’s questions.”

“You’re right, that sounds crazy.” Which is true, and yet, Martin makes a mental note to pay more attention to Jon’s phrasing in the future. Sounding crazy seems more and more like a point in favor of it being true.

When Martin leads Naomi Herne into the Archives to take her statement, Jon is there waiting. It’s obvious that Jon knows her somehow, and something about her makes him nervous. When she sees him, Naomi freezes.

“You- I- I know you. You-” Her voice is taut, trembling slightly. She shakes her head. “No, I- I’m sorry. You couldn’t possibly, it’s just-”

“I’m Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, and I am exactly who you think I am, Ms. Herne. I’m very sorry for what you have been through. If you would-”

Naomi sneers, straightening up and stepping toward Jon, almost threatening. “You’re sorry? You sure as hell don’t look sorry when you- What the hell are you?” Jon flinches but doesn’t waver.

“Something akin to and wholly unlike your fiance’s family. If you want to leave, no one will stop you and you will never hear from the Institute again. If you want to understand what happened to you, though- what is still happening to you- I will explain everything in my office. I promise no additional harm will come to you there.” What the hell does any of that even mean? Would Jon explain everything to Martin if he asked that question?

It’s hard to tell whether Naomi Herne is more angry or afraid; Martin’s not sure even she knows. Eventually she takes a few jerky steps forward and follows Jon into the office, where Jon leaves the door open just a crack, as he usually does. It’s part of what made Martin put claustrophobia on the list of fears Jon might have.

Despite the rather strange conversation that just occurred, Martin is determined not to eavesdrop. He respects Jon too much, and if there’s something Jon thinks he should know, then Jon would tell him, as he does whenever they go into the field. It’s just- he’s just so damn curious. After a year- a year, Jon just keeps becoming more and more of a mystery, and Martin wants to know Jon. Wants to understand. This isn’t just Jon’s privacy he’d be invading though.

He’s just decided to go back to his own desk, to let it go, when he spots a spider headed straight for the crack in Jon’s door. Martin may suspect Jon of having many phobias, but he knows Jon’s afraid of spiders.

He catches the spider as it’s crawling up the door jamb. And then just… stays.

“Your fiance’s family deals in isolation. Here at the Institute, we deal in knowledge and experiences. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I explained, but I have heard your story before, and this is why you’ve seen me,” Jon is saying, though makes no comment on where she’s seen him or how he knows what happened to her.

“That’s not possible.”

“Neither is what happened to you. I do know what you’ve gone through, Ms. Herne, but if you still wish to make a statement, to get it off your chest, so to speak, we can do that now. I promise, you will not leave worse than you came in.”

“M- maybe. I just… Tell me straight. You believe me? You believe what I say happened.”

“Yes. I do. I know it did.”

“And you can explain it?”

“I will try.”

“Okay… Okay.”

Nothing is clearer- it’s actually more confusing if anything- but as Martin listens to the woman talk about her fiance’s funeral and the fog and the cemetery and hearing a dead man’s voice, it feels like he’s teetering on the edge of some kind of understanding.

“I don’t- I don’t know how much of an explanation I actually want, to be honest,” Naomi says at last, sounding tired, drained. “Part of me just wants to put it behind me. And knowing that someone, anyone, believes me. I think that might be enough.”

“Ms. Herne, Naomi, I’d like you to take this.”

“Your- card?”

“If you ever find yourself in such a situation again, it’s best to think about those you love. In absence of that, if you’re still able to, please consider calling me. Especially if you encounter any of your fiance’s family. I’ll help you if I can.”

“… Why?”

“I have my own… grievances with the Lukas family. And I regret the distress I may cause you. Unfortunately, that is not something I can control.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced.

“Before you go, would you tell me if my presence there makes it worse?” His presence where? Martin grows ever closer to just grabbing Jon and shaking him, demanding answers.

“Yeah, I- I don’t know. I’m afraid, always, but- I can see I’m not alone at least. So it’s a different fear. I’m not actually sure how I recognized you, without all the eyes. Maybe- Maybe it will be different now.”

“I will always only ever be a witness. I cannot help you there, even if I wanted to.”

“No, but at least I know what you are now. That you don’t want to hurt me. You’re… terrifying. But I’m not alone, I suppose.” Strange, off-putting, unnerving, all words Martin himself has used to talk about Jon, but terrifying? Sometimes he’s afraid a stiff breeze will knock Jon over. Terrifying he is not.

“That’s- that’s good, I guess. Can I ask what you’ll do now?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking of finding some roommates, maybe calling a couple of Evan’s- our- old friends. I just- don’t want to be alone.”

“Yes, I- I know the feeling.” Jon laughs that adorable, awkward laugh of his. “I recommend getting a cat.”

“What, can it scare away the evil supernatural loneliness?”

“No, but they’re very good company when you don’t want to be around other people. And they will miss you if you’re gone.”

Martin returns to his desk before Naomi can get to the door, and leads her back to the Institute entrance when she does. It’s only when he starts back toward the Archives that he realizes he’d lost track of the spider during his eavesdropping. Hopefully it didn’t go in Jon’s office.

-

The dreams came with him. Some of them at least. As far as Jon can surmise, can remember upon waking, it’s only those that have already occurred. Those that had been out of his reach before, due to death or the Eye’s protection, still seem distant but not entirely gone. He doesn’t know if the others will return once they happen again, and he doesn’t know for certain that any of the statement-givers themselves experience the dreams. Not until the day Naomi Herne walks into the Institute and freezes at the sight of him.

The horror she feels upon seeing him- the part of him that is made of eyes does… whatever the equivalent of purring is when you’re a monstrous avatar of a voyeuristic eldritch god made of eyes. Encouraging it would be unproductive, though, and- if she already has the dreams without even the small catharsis of making a statement- unfair. She certainly didn’t deserve how he treated her the first time around, and despite his general “fuck you” approach to the Lukases, he really doesn’t need her going to Elias again.

Also, he is sorry. She deserves some kind of explanation, and if it reveals a bit more to Martin- standing beside Naomi, clearly taken aback by her ire and her words- more’s the better.

“What the hell are you?” she demands.

A monster, he thinks.

“Something akin to and wholly unlike your fiance’s family,” he says. “If you want to leave, no one will stop you and you will never hear from the Institute again. If you want to understand what happened to you, though- what is still happening to you- I will explain everything in my office. I promise no additional harm will come to you there.”

Naomi Herne enters his office and gives him her statement of her own volition. He does not compel her. The relief she shows, after he says he believes her… Jon can understand that, if not the dissipation of her curiosity. After Jon left the Lonely, he’d had Martin. They were together almost constantly. Naomi isn’t close to her mother and has lost touch with any friends she may have had. The risk of her falling right back in is high. He thinks of his own time, before becoming the Archivist, and how very similar he had been to her. He thinks of falling out with Georgie, and how willing she’d been to open her home to him once he finally made the effort to reach out. It was still hard, navigating their new relationship when she was home, but the comfort of-

“I recommend getting a cat,” he tells her, not really intending to say it but not sorry he does.

She leaves with his card. He doesn’t expect she’ll ever use it, doesn’t know what he’ll do if she does, but if he can keep even one victim from the Lukases he’s willing to make the effort. It helps to have his hopes supported, that the Lonely statement-givers may suffer slightly less from their dreams than others, merely from the fact of his presence.

Also, Martin had been listening in, so overall he thinks this went well.

-

“I think you’re right.”

“Of course I am. I’m always right,” Sasha declares. “So what am I right about this time?”

“About Jon not asking direct questions,” Martin says, though it’s the least of the things rattling around in his head after what he’s heard.

“See! What made you change your mind?”

“When Jon was taking a statement from Naomi Herne, he barely asked any questions. Every time, though, he started the question with “Can I ask-” or something like that. Not “What will you do?”, but “Can I ask what you’ll do?””

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed him doing it with anyone other than us. But I guess Jon doesn’t really talk to anyone but us, does he? Does he have any friends, do you know?” She did this the night Jon led her back, too. Changing the subject when the topic gets too heavy. He’s never known her to shy away from a mystery, so he assumes it’s her way of giving herself time to think. Which he can’t fault her for. “Old mates from uni? It may have been a while ago, but-”

“Not that long,” Martin says without thinking, and Sasha perks up.

“Oooh, Martin! Do you have gossip? It’s been so long!”

“No! It’s just- We were talking the other day, and I think Jon might actually be the same age as me?” While his file says he’s thirty-two, Sasha and Jon had presented him with a camera and a card that said “Happy 28th Birthday!” a few months ago; so however Jon had found out, she knows what he means.

“No way.”

“Give or take a year, yeah.” It had seemed too intrusive to ask, not that Jon seems to have the same compunctions.

“Oh, I’m going to tease him so much now!”

“What, no! Don’t do that.”

“I’m going to. You can’t stop me.”

“Sasha!” She’s doing it to tease him, he reminds himself.

“I won’t say who told me! Promise.”

“I don’t know-”

“Well, unless he asks, I guess,” Sasha laughs and skips away to her desk. Martin resolves to hide the coffee in the breakroom.