Chapter Text
Jonathan Sims did not like being touched. Everyone in the archives knew it. Every time someone would move too fast near him or would touch him, however light, he would flinch away. He always seemed slightly guilty after doing it, but no one ever called him out on it, so he never brought it up. But that was back then. When everything was fine. When he could get away with acting a little bit strange, because they all were. But now is now, and now? Tim is fucking sick of it.
He had walked into Jon’s office with his usual irritated slumping and dropped some papers on his desk. He noticed that there was a sticky note stuck to Jon’s hair and reached out to get it. He preferred to just interact silently than to have an actual conversation with the infuriating man. But then Jon flinched. And for the first time, Tim saw his face as he moved back. He looked… scared.
Did Jon think that he was going to hurt him? Tim let out a scoff, moving back and crossing his arms. “What the fuck, Jon? Did you seriously think I was going to hit you or some shit?” He asked incredulously, seeing Jon shrink back at the tone of voice. Sure, Tim hated the guy, but he wouldn’t hurt him.
Jon weakly moved back a little bit. “I… well, you’re not exactly happy with me,” he murmured in response, a hint of fear lingering on his face and in his eyes. Tim’s response was his eyes growing wider just for a second before they narrowed again. He really didn’t trust him at all. Sure, he knew that Jon was pretty suspicious of everyone. He knew that well. But really? To the point of thinking that Tim would hurt him?
“Wow. Wooow,” the taller man laughed bitterly, running his hands through his black hair. He looked at Jon who had begun to look guilty. “You don’t trust me at all, do you?” Jon’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth, as if to start speaking. Tim cut him off. He raised his hand with a finger pointed up, only for Jon to flinch back again. This drew an incredulous laugh from Tim as he stood back. “God damn it, Jon. With all the shit that’s happened, you’d think that you’d be less hung up on touching and more on the worms or the fact that Sasha is fucking dead.”
Jon looked heartbroken at that, shrinking into himself and moving back. His back hit the wall and for the first time since the Prentiss incident, instead of remorse or sadness, he saw fear. Pure as day. Jon was scared. Of Tim, of all people. “I… I…” the archivist tried to speak, only to cut himself off over and over again. It was obvious that he was scared. He also seemed guilty. And sad.
Tim let out a huff and walked back and forth in the small space of the office. He thought through it all. He had never asked Jon about his aversion to touch, nor had anyone else. No one ever thought to bring up his trauma. But the way things were going, Jon would be too scared to talk about it anyways. A small growl of anger came out of Tim’s mouth. “Fucking-- Jon. I don’t know, nor do I fucking care what happened. We all are fucked up here. No matter what we do or say, we’re never going to be the same. But we’re at least trying to get better,” he hissed, pacing and tugging at his hair in irritation. “But you just lock yourself in here all day and think we’ll all forgive you after a while. Well, I won’t. Martin might, but I won’t.”
Jon listened, silent, shaking and staring carefully at Tim’s movements. He knew that Tim wouldn’t hurt him. Or, at least, he’d like to think that he wouldn’t. But he seemed so angry and when he took a step forward, Jon let out an almost childish whimper. He was scared. And every step closer to him took away the reminder that Tim wouldn’t hurt him, that Tim was his friend.
“Fucking hell, I’m not going to hurt you, Jon!” Tim’s voice had gotten louder, reaching a yell. But Martin was out researching today. And Melanie wouldn’t fucking care. Jon was trapped in this room with an angry Tim. And Tim was blocking the exit. “Just,” he let out a sigh, that was more similar to an annoyed huff than anything. The taller man walked away from the desk, his shoulders slumped and his head straight up. “Not everyone’s out to fucking kill you. We all have to deal with this, so fucking deal with it.” And Tim left, slamming the door behind him. The abrupt, loud noise made Jon flinch again.
The archivist sat there, on his chair, shivering. There were no threats in the room, no one that could hurt him, and yet, he was still scared. He tugged his cardigan around himself tighter as he shook, curling his knees up to his chest. This is fine. He slowly uncurled himself over the course of about half an hour, slowing his breathing to a normal pace. Rolling his chair forward, he carefully picked up the now-cold tea on his desk, staring into the amber liquid like it would guide him.
Was Martin this angry with him too? He was always careful to avoid scaring Jon but did that irritate him? Having to walk on eggshells? At the thought, he winced and took a sip of the tea. And despite the amount of sugar he had put into it, it tasted bitter in his mouth.