Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There are many more universes than we could ever understand. Perhaps one could imagine them, but never in any way they could fully comprehend. No, we leave this knowledge tucked into the spaces between stars and lining the edges of where realities meet.

We ignore how the strings connecting the cosmos sometimes fray and snap. Haven’t you done this before? No, it must just be deja vu. 

Sometimes the differences are small. In this universe you wore a green shirt today. In that one you wore blue. Other times it’s more significant. 

When Jonathan Sims leads Martin Blackwood out of the Lonely, many things have and have not happened. 

In most universes they leave uninhibited. They run until they reach Daisy’s safehouse and they enjoy the peace. From there they either find happiness or Jon is forced to end the world. They work it out.

In the universe we’re peering into, they’re interrupted. Instead of slinking off to plot from a safe distance, Jonah Magnus blocks their path in his Panopticon. Maybe it’s arrogance birthed from standing in a place of power that makes him believe this epicenter will protect him. Maybe it’s hubris sparked from a plan going as it was supposed to that pushes him to keep reaching. Maybe it’s because he’s the exact kind of prick that thrives on gloating about his own intelligence and he wants to see the world end from the front row.

A butterfly flaps its wings.

Let’s see how the dominoes fall, shall we? 

Martin doesn’t ever want to stop touching Jon. 

Jon had grabbed his hand to help guide him out of the Lonely and never let go. He was muttering something Martin didn’t try to understand. It was probably a plan for when they got out. At the moment, with the mist still clinging to the fibers of his jumper, he just focused on the warm weight of Jon’s skin against his. His breath wasn’t fogging up in front of his face anymore. He’d take the small victory.

Jon came for him. 

The thought lit a spark in his chest. It burned after months of icy detachment, but he relished the feeling of anything after the numbness. Here they were, trudging back to the real world. Jon hadn’t looked back at him, eyes almost glowing as they found the right path, but he squeezed Martin’s hand every minute or so to confirm his presence. WIth Jon’s self-sacrificing nature, Martin never expected to be Euridice. He squeezed Jon’s hand back. There was a poem in this situation, he’d have to write it when they had the time.

He blinked and the rugged walls of the Panopticon came into focus. 

“Martin,” Jon turned to face him. “Are you- what can I do to help?”

Martin swallowed, “Just.” His lips were still chapped and dry from the salty wind. “Stay close to me, please?”

“Of course.” Fullstop, no hesitation. “I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon.” He squeezed Martin’s hand between both of his own and Martin took a second to admire the difference in their skin tones. Jon’s hands looked almost comically small around his, he liked it.

“Isn’t that sweet?” 

“Elias.” Jon’s jaw clenched and he turned, making sure to keep himself between Martin and their former boss.

Elias- Jonah?- wore his favorite smug grin. “Please Jonathan, you know me well enough by now to call me Jonah.” He brushed some invisible dust from the cuffs of his immaculate suit. Of course he was still pristine after everything. “Now if you could do me the favor of reading this.” Jonah- Elias?- produced a document from a pocket, it looked like a statement. 

“Jonah, you’re going to step aside, let Martin and I go, and maybe if you leave us alone I won’t kill you.” Jon had a vice grip on Martin’s hand. There was static humming behind his voice.

“You can’t scare me Jon.” Elias took a step closer. “ I made you. ” The hair on the back of Martin’s neck stood up and goosebumps raced down his arms. He felt watched in a way only Elias had been able to inflict. 

“Statement of Jonah Magnus,” Martin heard dozens of tapes whirring, the recorders materializing as Jon spoke, “regarding his death.”

Elias laughed almost like he had an actual sense of humor. “Jon, no matter how powerful you think you are, you don’t want to do that.” There was a migraine pressing at Martin’s eye sockets. “The Beholding isn’t going to tell you what happens if I die. Now, you would probably survive fine but you wouldn’t want to risk your precious Martin.” 

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say. 

The static hit a fever-pitch. Jon’s eyes glowed a sickly unnatural shade of green. Elias looked almost like he knew what regret was.

Martin wasn’t sure what he saw next.

Jon seemed to stretch beyond himself. His hand was still clutching Martin’s, but it wasn’t the Jon he knew. He loomed at twice his normal height, covered in those glowing green eyes. Martin idly wondered if this was how he looked in the nightmares. 

“Then you’re going to tell me how I can change that.” Martin would have covered his ears if he could move. It was still Jon’s voice, layered and multiplied and drenched in static. “Statement Begins.”

Elias wasn’t smiling anymore.

Chapter Text

“Tea?”

“Thank you love,” Jon tugged the sleeves of his jumper to his elbows so he could safely hold the mug. Well, technically it was Martin’s jumper but boyfriend privileges and bad circulation meant the jumpers were more a shared collection. Martin pressed a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and settled down next to him with his own tea. 

The cottage’s couch was just big enough to allow them both to sit at a respectable distance, but “respectability” was thrown out the window in their first week. Jon had promised to stay close to Martin. He was keeping that promise. 

It’d been almost a month since they left London. They’d been keeping inconsistent contact with Basira after she’d told them about Daisy’s safehouse. She had sent some assorted statements after the first few weeks, but they were tucked away with Martin’s envelope of Lukas’s money. Apparently Peter and Jonah were enough to keep him strong for a while.

Jon placed his unfinished tea on the worn chest they used as a coffee table and tucked his face into Martin’s chest. Martin hummed pleasantly and pressed another kiss to his head. Jon smothered a smile, glad he could savor this moment.

An insistent buzz emanated from somewhere under Martin’s thigh. Jon grumbled as Martin set down his mug and tried to extricate himself from his hold. Martin managed to wrangle his phone out of his back pocket. His mouth twitched and Jon wanted to kiss away the furrow between his eyebrows.

“Who is it?” There wasn’t a touch of compulsion in the question and both men took a second to be proud of that.

“It’s Rosie.” One question answered, so many to be asked. “Do you mind if I,” Martin gestured to the door.

“Go ahead,” Jon nodded. “Stay close and bring a coat.”

Martin stood and smiled down at him, “She always has been chatty.” Jon snagged his free hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Rosie, hullo! It’s been a bit.”

Jon finished his tea,curled up in the warm spot Martin left, and let himself doze as he waited. There was a tugging feeling behind his eyes, an urge to Know and See, but he pushed it down. He would wait to hear what Martin told him.

“Jon, love?” Jon pushed his cheek into Martin’s broad palm, it was cool from the crisp air outside. 

Jon blinked up at Martin through his eyelashes and the shadows that had deepened since he fell asleep. “Was Rosie well?”

“Cheery as always. She says hi.” Martin chuckled and checked his watch.“It’s getting late, we should eat soon.” He pulled Jon to his feet.

“Tell me as we prep?”

It was a routine to make easy conversation while moving around each other in the small kitchen. Rosie was good. There was a massive collapse near the Institute. Elias’s body was found, dead of mysterious causes. No one has been able to contact Peter Lukas but that wasn’t anything new. Everyone was shaken up and Martin and Jon were lucky to be on vacation when it happened. They were pulling the Institute back into shape little by little.

They sat down to eat. Jon took in the tense set of Martin’s shoulders and grabbed a bottle of wine and Daisy’s whiskey glasses. He poured them both a generous glass and waited for Martin to work up to whatever was pressing on him.

They finished the meal, washed the dishes, and settled on the couch again. Martin finished his second glass and set his jaw. “She said they need a new Head for the Institute.”

“Since the last two obviously can’t fill the position.” Jon snickered and Martin allowed himself a snort. Due to Jon’s slight frame and Martin’s full figure, even matching drinks Jon was always farther gone. 

“They need a new Head, so they went to Rosie.”

Jon nodded solemnly. “Because Rosie knows everyone.”

“Exactly!” Martin smiled sweetly at him, “You remember Peter’s work ethic?”

“Send three emails a week and let his lovely assistant handle everything else.” Jon gave Martin his dopiest smile and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

“That’s actually closer than you’d think.” Martin let Jon lay against his front and started to stroke a hand through his hair. “But it turns out that while I’m still technically an assistant with a ridiculous salary I’m also the best person to fill the position.” 

Jon was reminded of his theater days, imagining this moment as the point where the script notes a “beat.”

“What did you say?”

Martin took a deep breath, Jon could feel his chest expand. “I asked if I could have some time to decide. She said that she understands how big this is, but needs an answer within a week.”

Jon nosed his way into the juncture between Martin’s neck and shoulder. He pressed a chaste kiss to the warm skin there and considered what to say. “Do you want to weigh the pros and cons?” 

Martin shook with a slightly strangled laugh. “I think that might just help.”

“Well, pro: you could get rid of all those horrid paintings.” Jon enjoyed that Martin laughed easier that time. “Con: you’d be the double boss and nobody really likes the double boss.” 

“That is true,” Martin doesn’t mention that Jon is quoting Tim. Jon doesn’t mention it either. “Uh, pro: the check, and con: I‘d probably get a lot of attention.”

Jon snorted, “Although, that much attention would probably do a number on the Lonely.”

“So I guess that’s both.” Martin hummed, “How would our relationship fit into that dynamic?”

“Seeing as said relationship,” Jon leaned back to press a kiss to Martin’s lips, “predates this supposed promotion, I’d say that we’re fine as long as all the paperwork is filled out.” Jon tucked a stray curl behind Martin’s ear. “Plus, there’s no actual rule against supervisors dating their employees if there aren’t any signs of favoritism and there’s no way you could favor the Archives anymore than Elias did.”

“Another pro: I could change that horrid dress code. Did you ever have to read that thing?”

“I think it had the word ‘appropriate’ five times in one paragraph.”

“Wait,” Martin sat up straighter and Jon had to readjust his own slumped position. “Why do you know what the dating protocols are?”

“I. uh,” Jon’s ears burned, “I might have been subject to one or two reminders of the policy during our early months in the Archives.”

“From who?”

“Tim mostly, but Sasha did have quite a thorough ‘Stop bullying Martin, get your shit together, and own up to your emotions’ presentation.”

“All that in one presentation? Sounds a touch long.”

“It was, but it meant she only had to do it once.” He smiled to himself. “She was efficient like that. Heaven only knows what she could have done as the Archivist.”

“Hey now, none of that.” Martin gave him a stern look.

“None of what?”

“That’s your self-deprecating eyebrow furrow.” Martin kissed said furrow, cupping Jon’s face and brushing his thumbs across Jon’s cheekbones. “I won’t tolerate you badmouthing my boyfriend like that.”

Jon scrunched his nose, “I thought we were discussing your possible promotion.”

“We were, dear.” Martin slouched forward to lay his head on Jon’s shoulder. “Do you really think I could make a difference?”

“I think you could do anything you wanted to.”

Martin’s breath hitched, “You’re certain?”

“Absolutely positive.” Jon wrapped his arms around Martin’s waist. “Do you have your answer yet?”

“I might just.”

Chapter Text

When they came back to London they went to Martin’s flat. Jon had been staying in the Archives since his coma left him no flat to return to. Although Martin had also been spending more time in the Institute than not, he had kept his payments steady as Peter’s assistant.

“I mean, it was just nice to have the option.” Martin had flushed when they entered the lifeless living room. “And nothing spooky ever happened to me here.” Jon had given his customary eye roll at his description of the supernatural but was glad that Martin took comfort in it.

“Well now you’ll have to deal with the spooky living in it.” Jon let himself smile as Martin giggled. He’d smiled more with Martin in the past month than he had in the past five years. Jon pulled Martin down to kiss his smile. They could make this flat a home.

The flat was quite spacious given its location. The couch was a touch musty and everything needed a good wipe down, but with a  weekend of work it looked like people could actually live there comfortably. 

After that the first step to preparing Martin for his new job would be clothes shopping. Martin had stuttered a few feeble protests. Jon respectfully disagreed.

“You said so yourself, you want to make a good first impression.”

“That doesn’t mean I need a whole new wardrobe!”

“Martin,” Jon extended his hands and Martin laced their fingers together, “I know we both agree that the dress code is terrible but until it’s changed that means you have to dress formally. There is no way I am letting you walk in there draped in Lukas’s colors like nothing has changed.” There was a pile of crumpled formal wear that would blend in on a misty day at sea stuffed into the back corner of the bottom drawer of the dresser in the bedroom. Neither had really wanted to confront the memories associated with them yet.

“I know Jon, but I don’t see why you’re so set on me getting a tailored suit.” Martin squeezed his hands with a small self-effacing smile. “It’s an unnecessary expense and it was bad enough getting fitted then.”

“Martin, love,” Jon separated one of his hands to pull Martin’s head forward. He rested their foreheads together and let the silence stay for a few seconds. “You may not agree with me but I will continue to enthusiastically know that you are gorgeous.” Martin’s blush almost hid his freckles. “I won’t push it if it really makes you uncomfortable, your comfort is my priority. I just think you’d feel more confident in something that actually fits you and matches what most people expect from the position.” Jon let himself smirk. “There’s also the added benefit that I get to see my stunning boyfriend is a suit.” He punctuated this thought with a kiss that derailed any further conversation for a while.

To say Jon was smug when they picked up the first suit, a day before their return to the Institute, was an understatement. Martin watched his smile widen as Martin stepped up to the mirror, standing at his full height to see the effect.

“That’s, hm,” Martin examined how smoothly the fabric moved with him as he shifted. “It’s different than I expected.”

“How does it feel?” Jon was getting better at controlling his compulsions but his voice was practically vibrating with excitement.

“It feels good.” Martin considered his reflection for a second. He’d never been overly fond of it, only ever looking as long as was needed before darting away. The Martin in the mirror had been many things. This one looked professional, like he had gone to university and was a successful businessman. He looked like someone who knew what he was doing.

He caught sight of Jon behind him, staring raptly at Martin. He tried not to let the attention go to his head. He loves you. The thought always seemed to startle him. Martin loved Jon and Jon loved Martin. He looked back at the Martin in the mirror, steady and strong.

“I like it.”

Jon beamed at him. “You look so handsome.” Martin felt his face heat and just had to smile back at him.

Maybe he wasn’t the most attractive or competent person. Maybe he’d been told his whole life that he was too much: too tall, too heavy, too emotional. Maybe he’d mess up at his job tomorrow.

But Jon believed in him and he trusted Jon with his whole heart. He could do this.

Chapter Text

Walking up to the Institute made every hair on the back of Jon’s neck stand up. That of course sent him wondering about when that had become a normal reaction. When working in Research, he couldn’t remember any creeping dread as he arrived. He couldn’t be sure of when he started in the Archives because of the omnipresent feeling of inadequacy from not being qualified for the job. In the past years, finding himself at the stairs leading to the looming front door brought an almost comforting consistent fear. Did the building itself emanate that terror or was it just an ingrained response? 

Martin had gone in early to gain as much time as he could to organize things with Rosie. Jon had woken up when he left the bed.

Martin had pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Love you,” Jon was only just coherent enough to mumble a “Have a nice day,” before dozing off again. 

While Martin was upholding the dress code Jon had dressed for comfort. He had to pull his long skirt up to ascend the stairs and roll up the sleeves of Martin’s jumper to get a decent grip on the doorknob. 

The Archives looked like no one had been there in a month. Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. A new stack of documents had been placed on the closest desk to the door. All the empty mugs had been collected and put away in the breakroom. No dust had the chance to collect with the cleaners stopping in every other week, although he saw a few cobwebs that he didn’t hesitate to take down.

Jon was loath to admit it, but he felt better in the Archives, almost like there was a weight that had been taken off his shoulders that he’d never noticed. He stood in the center of the Assistants’ bullpen and listened to the almost silence of the isolated department. His heartbeat thumped in his chest in a familiar rhythm. He closed his eyes and suddenly the heartbeat multiplied. There were currently 84 employees in the building. They moved through the rooms and hallways like blood cells rushing through veins and arteries. He could feel them. He could See them.

He could Know them.

Jon shook himself. No. He took Magnus’s title as the Heart of the Institute to help these people. He refused to take advantage of this connection to them. He forced himself on shaky legs to the breakroom.

His phone chimed.

Martin<3: 

Tea time! :mug emoji:

cuppa.jpeg

:Jon

Ah, thank you dear 

I was just about to myself a cup as well 

Jon let himself smile at the novelty mug Martin must have retrieved from the Archives. He remembered seeing Martin use the cat-eared mug in their first week working together. Martin really had been more observant than he had given him credit for. A matching mug had appeared for Jon to use by the next week.

Martin<3: 

How is it down there?

:Jon

Emptier than I’m used to seeing during the daylight hours 

I hate to say it 

But it feels a bit lifeless without any assistants around 

Martin<3:

I get that, it’s so weird to be in this office 

I mean, I was working from this office before

But it’s eerie

:Jon

To be fair a lot has changed since then

Martin<3:

Yeah it has 

I gtg, <3

:Jon

<3

Jon hummed a jaunty tune to himself as he fixed his tea. Martin had shown him how to make it but it still wasn’t the same when Jon made it himself. Armed with tea and some almost stale biscuits Jon propped his office door as wide as it would go and set to reorganizing the papers on his desk.

It was going to take a while to decide what to do with the Archives. For now he’d just try to make it presentable.

Martin had been emailing Rosie since they’d gotten back to London and he had access to his laptop again. Opening it to see his flooded inbox had almost given him a panic attack, but then Jon had snuggled into his side to promptly fall asleep. Since he wouldn’t be moving anytime soon the emails gave him something to do. 

When he got to the Institute and Rosie welcomed him with a smile he allowed himself to enjoy being able to smile back at her. They had tea together in his office, he snapped a quick photo to send to Jon and she pretended not to notice his dopey grin, and discussed how to proceed now that he was in the building. 

Rosie thought that it would be best to hold a meeting with the department heads to announce himself. Martin hated the thought of that many eyes on him, but couldn’t think of a better alternative. She must have seen it on his face.

“We can handle that when we get to it.” Rosie patted his hand. “First we’ll have to get your paperwork in order.” She pushed a manila folder across the desk.

“Thank you,” Martin flipped through the forms some were familiar from his previous changes in position. He froze on seeing the last form: Relationship Acknowledgement. 

Rosie gave a good-natured laugh, “Oh dear, your face!”

“Was it really that obvious?” Martin shifted in his chair.

She made a so-so gesture with one hand. “I’m sure anyone who’s been paying attention won’t be surprised. Personally, I was rooting for you two from the beginning.” She smiled at him. “When I saw that you two had just coincidentally taken a long vacation at the same time I was convinced.”

Martin had felt a little foolish when he had fabricated the “vacation” paperwork. At the time he had only known that Peter was about to pull something and had wanted to give himself and the Archives crew possible alibis if anything went sideways. He had never expected to return to the Institute, but the forethought had paid off in the end.

“You don’t think it’ll be a problem?”

Some of his anxiety must’ve shown because Rosie was to reassure him. “Not at all! As long as we have the proper paperwork detailing that you were already together before this, there shouldn’t be any issues.” Martin let himself relax. “This form needs signatures from the both you, so how about you do your bit now and then I can run this to Jon for him to finish so you can focus on,” she gestured at the amassed paperwork, “the rest of this.”

“You don’t have to do that, you’re already busy and I know it’s no fun to step and fetch.”

She shook her head, “Martin, you being here has already taken a load off my back.” He winced in sympathy and started to apologize. “No, none of that now dear. This is the least I can do after saddling you with all this. Plus,” Rosie handed him a blue pen, “if I deliver this to Jon I get to see how flustered he’ll get.”

Martin let out an undignified snort, “I see. Well, let me finish this so you can go. Tell me how red his face gets.” Despite his impatience, he made sure to read through every piece of the form. He didn’t really think Elias could sneak in anything untoward in a random HR form, but he refused to let it get by him.

Rosie left with a cheery wave and Martin rediscovered the bizarre peace that was doing paperwork in an empty office. 

His mug was empty for a while before he noticed it. Rosie had texted him a short summary of Jon’s reaction to the form (adorable) and then Jon himself had sent his reaction (even more adorable), but since then he’d lost himself in the steady stream of paperwork, emails, and spreadsheets. Degree or no, he’d worked enough desk jockey jobs to find confidence in the skill. 

His phone buzzed.

<3<3<3Jon<3<3<3: 

I’m running to the café down the street. What do you want for lunch?

:Martin

Gasp! 

Do my eyes deceive me or is *Jonathan Sims* leaving his desk of his own volition?

<3<3<3Jon<3<3<3: 

Haha, yes it’s hilarious

Now can I do something nice for my boyfriend or not?

:Martin

Grab me a sandwich please?

<3<3<3Jon<3<3<3: 

Will do

See you in a bit

<3

:Martin

See you! <3 

Martin let himself smile at the small exchange. It was amazing how a few choice things could make the difference between then and now. Just over a month before, he’d sat in this office breathing in more salty fog than clean air. Now he was waiting for his boyfriend to bring him lunch. 

He looked over the latest budget spreadsheet and cross-referenced it with the past month’s. Rosie had sent out the weekly “newsletter” email and announced that was officially the Head of the Institute and there’d be an introductory meeting with the department heads on Wednesday. 

Rosie had assured him that it’d be enough time to prepare. “It’s mostly a formality. You introduce yourself, although most of them should be familiar with you, you mention any plans you have for changes or the like, and then we open the floor to questions.”

“What if they don’t like my plans?”

“Well, we’d probably have to discuss it but I doubt that anything you’d come up with would be an issue. What were you thinking of?”

He pondered how to mention the binding clauses in the employment contracts. “Well there are some iffy lines in the contracts that prevent quitting that I’d like to revise a bit.” Rosie nodded and he continued, “I was going to almost completely overhaul the dress code as well.” 

“Oh god,” She groaned, “I don’t even want to think about that thing. Trust me Martin, no one’s going to against you on that.”

They had work-shopped a few proposals for the meeting and he almost felt prepared.

A knock sounded from the other side of the door. “It’s open.” He didn’t want to think about whatever dopey expression he wore as Jon entered the office. “Is that my jumper?”

“Yes, something Rosie was quick to notice.”

“It’s practically a dress on you, love, of course she noticed.” Jon’s ears turned a beautiful shade of red. “It’s not a bad thing, you look good in green.” 

They tucked into their lunches with the practiced comfort of people who enjoy existing together. Jon kept his cup of tea between his hands, gladly leeching its warmth. “I think the last time I was in here was when I found out how to quit.”

“When you asked me to run away with you.” Martin loved being able to tease Jon now.

Jon huffed, “Well, yes I did get a bit caught up in the moment.” Martin extended a hand and Jon eagerly laced their fingers together. “But we still did technically run away together.”

Martin rubbed circles on the back of Jon’s hand with his thumb. “And I’d do all again in a heartbeat.” Jon gave him a different smile than the one he’d relaxed into as a constant, this one was smaller and just for Martin. Christ, I love you so much, Martin had to press a kiss to Jon’s knuckles so he didn’t do something foolish like sweep Jon into his arms and keep him there forever. 

Jon flinched and turned to face the office door. Rosie’s signature two knocks announced her as she opened the door. “Terribly sorry to interrupt your lunch break, dears, but Connie here just wanted to confirm a few things about your forms and I figured it’d be best when you’re already here together.”

Martin Jon’s hand a squeeze before releasing it to straighten up his desk, luckily he’d already disposed of any wrappers. “It’s no problem at all.” He gave Connie a genial smile and nodded at the second chair for her to sit. “What can we do for you?”

Jon folded in on himself a bit. He’d fallen back into his neutral expression, but he wasn’t scowling like he used to. Martin guessed it was partly the inherent awkwardness of having to speak about your relationship with HR and partly the quick glances Connie kept sneaking.

“Right then,” Connie settled into the chair and flipped through the papers in her hands. “You both actually did much better with these forms than most do, but we have to have a meeting for every relationship. It’s mostly a formality,” Martin had a feeling he’d be hearing that phrase a lot, “but it just makes sure that you both understand the ‘rules.’” She made air quotes with her free hand. “Some people can fill out the forms but don’t really internalize the information.”

“That makes sense,” Martin nodded. “I’m guessing it’ll be don’t show favoritism, don’t let it interfere with your work, and no pda?”

Connie tapped the side of her nose, “Got it in one, well, except for the pda.”

“Then what is the policy on pda?” Jon had a cute little confused frown on. Martin glanced at Connie and realised it probably came off more grouchy than perplexed. Jon seemed to realise this too and tried to smooth out his expression.

“Well obviously nothing that would count as public indecency is allowed, but the gist of it is nothing in front of ‘the public’ and to not make anyone uncomfortable so it’s pretty flexible depending on where you work.”

Martin was pleasantly surprised. “The public meaning any visitors?” 

“Visitors and donors, yes, and with the other bit most people don’t care as long as you aren’t blocking the way or doing anything possibly dangerous.”

Jon raised an eyebrow, “Artefact Storage must be an affection free zone.” 

Connie tittered, “Sonja does keep it pretty serious down there. Well, that’s really all I had to say. You two are an official company sanctioned couple.”

“There’s no concerns about the,” Martin paused to find the right words, “the power dynamic or anything?”

“If you’d gotten together after the promotion maybe, however that’s not the case.” Connie stood to leave, turning back to face Martin. “I don’t really know either of you that well, but from what I’ve heard there won’t be any problems. I know that you’ve been put in a strange situation. Nobody really understood why Mr. Lukas did things the way he did and now you’ve come to hopefully set things back to rights. I doubt that anyone suspects you for unfair treatment, we’re just hoping that we can clean this mess up. In fact, it’s humanizing to see that the new boss in a relationship.”

Jon flattened out some imperceptible wrinkles in his skirt when he rose. “Did that assuage some of your fears?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Good.” Jon smiled, he leaned over the desk and kissed Martin’s forehead. “See you later, dear.”

“See you,” Martin returned to his paperwork, warmed by the affection in his heart.

Chapter Text

“ Oh my god, ” Connie pressed a hand to her heart. “Rosie, they are so gone on each other. There is no way they just started dating a month ago!”

Rosie shook her head with a smirk, “Have you ever seen either of them do paperwork?”

“Just this, why?”

“They’re notoriously accurate. Jon does paperwork like it’s the final exam to get him his degree.”

“Sounds aggressive,” Connie winced.

“Oh it is, I’ve seen him snap a pen in the middle of a form before.”

“Seriously? Can we walk and talk? I don’t like leaving my desk empty for long.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard how Elias liked to give department heads a stack fifteen minutes before the day ended and expected it on his desk first thing in the morning?” Rosie rose to join her. “He did that to Jon at least every other week.”

“No wonder the poor man looked so wrung out.”

“And Martin’s been on our side of paperwork, so he’s very thorough about it.”

“Speaking of Martin, is he really as sweet as everyone says?”

“Oh, I forgot that you only got here after Peter took over.”

“What happened then?”

“The Martin you’ve heard of was from the before times. ” Rosie made dramatic jazz hands. “When Peter took Martin on as his personal assistant, Martin had to do almost everything around here.”

“Which is why he’s the new big boss.”

“He withdrew entirely. I think I worked closest with him and every time we talked he was barely there. Practically haunted that office.”

“Sounds a lot colder than what I just saw.”

“Fortunately, Martin seems to have gone back to how we all learned to love him.”

“Did he wear three-pieces then too?”

“You saw the jumper Jon was in?” Connie nodded. “That’s Martin’s, boy’s got the largest collection of them I’ve ever seen. I’d say the suit is just because of the dress code.”

“Can’t wait to see how he handles the introductory meeting. Welp,” Connie opened the door to her office, “this is me. Thank you for telling me all this, I was a little confused. I hope I didn’t draw you away from any important work.”

“Since Martin’s accepted the position I’m back to intense bursts between periods of rest, so I have the time to spare.” Rosie waved and continued walking, Sonja, you’ll love to hear this.

“Martin Blackwood?” Annie mused, “Like Lukas’s personal assistant until the bastard disappeared, Martin Blackwood?”

Nathan nodded, “The one and only.”

“But I thought Rosie was going to take over,”

“She didn’t want to.” Nathan shrugged, “No, I know that sounds fake Annie, but she just didn’t want to. We said: ‘Hey Rosie, with no one chosen to succeed Lukas you have seniority. You know this place like the back of your hand and could run it with your eyes closed. You should take the position.’ She looked over the work she had to do to cover until we found a solid replacement and went: ‘I’d rather just stay where I am, thanks.’”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. What’re we gonna do, go against Rosie? I’m happy to keep my good name and just write the checks to the right people.” Nathan readjusted a few more rows in his spreadsheet. “Plus, you remember how quick corrections were made when Martin took over the budgeting? If he only keeps half his momentum, we’ll only have to worry about timesheets.”

“I mean, I saw the work the same as you did, but I never really saw him after the Archives,” Annie made a wide gesture with the mug in her hand, “even less after Lukas. Christ, years ago he used to make me tea when I visited the library to speak with Diana. After that transfer, I only ever caught glimpses of him.”

“I think I saw him this morning when I came in.”

“How’d he look?”

“He was wearing a suit,” Nathan leaned back from his computer to think, “and I think it actually fit because I never realized how big he is before.”

“Ultimate cottage core cable knit jumper boy Martin Blackwood,” Annie scrunched up her nose, “in a suit.” She shook her head, “I’m not gonna say it’s a bad look, but I’d have to see it to believe it.”

“He looks good, I mean, he’s not my type but I bet he gives great hugs.”

“Well that’s just a given Nate. Man’s sunshine incarnate, of course he gives good hugs.”

Chapter Text

Fletcher was having the worst morning of his life. Okay, okay, maybe not the worst, but definitely the most stressful! First, he’d woken up half an hour before his alarm went off and couldn’t get back to sleep for the life of him. Then, he’d gotten a text from Ella that she was sick so he’d have to sit in on the introductory meeting for the new Head of the Institute. That meant he actually had to follow the dress code. It was raining, of course it had to rain today, and his umbrella was still broken so now he was soaked from his relatively short trip.

He stepped into the Institute, looking like a rather disgruntled cat that had fallen into a full bathtub. “Hello Rosie.”

“What’s got you all dressed up?  I haven’t seen you in a tie in months.”

“Ella’s sick today, she asked me to sit in on the meeting for her.” His hair wasn’t long enough to wring to water out of it. He shoved it back from his face. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“Only that she’d be sending someone in her place.” Rosie typed a quick email and sent it off. “At least you’ll have some time to dry off.” She anticipated his next question, “It’s at 10:30, he wanted to make sure everyone had time to do any urgent business they had.”

“I think that’s more thought than either Lukas or Bouchard ever gave us.” Rosie smiled, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “What’s his name again?”

“Martin Blackwood.”

“Well I can definitely say he sounds interesting, I’ll have to ask Ella if had any prepared questions.” He waved at Rosie, “I’ll be seeing you then?” She nodded and returned his wave.

Hopefully the day could be salvaged. 

Fletcher took one look at Martin Blackwood and immediately turned on his heel to flee. He found the closest bathroom and hid to text Ella. 

:Fletcher

YOU DIDN'T TELL ME HE WAS HOT

Ella Enchanted:

who?

Martin?

:Fletcher

yes

Ella Enchanted:

haha yea

Is that gonna be a problem?

:Fletcher

asldfnjshdfvjss

This is Not how I wanted to find out that I’m into big guys 

He looks like he could bench press me!?!

Ella Enchanted:

oh yea no, he definitely could if he wanted too

probably wouldn’t even break a sweat

:Fletcher

Not Helping!!!

Do you think I could get Phoebe to sit in for me?

Ella Enchanted:

nah man, Rosie emailed me earlier and I confirmed you as my replacement

:Fletcher

Damn

Ella Enchanted:

shouldn’t you be in there?

don’t forget my list of questions

:Fletcher

You Owe Me For This

Ella Enchanted:

I’ll buy you a drink some time

good luck o7

:Fletcher

Here goes nothing I guess

He shoved his phone into a pocket. Looks like he had no choice but to sit through a meeting led by the most attractive man he’s ever seen. Great.

The conference room on the third floor was only ever used for meetings with donors or the heads of departments. It was the nicest one in the building with comfortable chairs and a working projector. He noted who was sitting where. Nathan and Connie, from Payroll and HR respectively, chatted at one end of the table. Leo from Research, Sonja from Artefact Storage, and Diana from the Library had clustered at the other end. Rosie’s notepad sat at the place next to Sonja, but Rosie herself was standing with Martin. He wondered what they were talking about, oh no,  Martin was blushing. No no no, he’s cute too!

Fletcher shook himself and took one of the two free seats between the two groups. The analog wall clock proclaimed that he had three minutes until the meeting started. 

“Hey,” Nathan smiled at him, “I’m guessing Ella’s sick?”

“She better be! I could hear her coughing from down the hall.” Connie spotted Fletcher’s page of questions. “Did she write those?”

Fletcher nodded, “I’m just hoping he covers the answers without me having to actually speak.”

“Yeah, I hate speaking up at these things too,” Nathan winced in sympathy. His eyes widened almost comically, “ Holy hell. ” Fletcher looked over his shoulder.

Jonathan Sims stood in the doorway, absolutely drowning in a pale red cardigan. It hung almost to his knees and stood out against the floral yellow sundress that brushed against the tops of a pair of scuffed combat boots. Wire-rimmed glasses hung from a beaded chain around his neck that drew attention to the long scar across his throat. Pale circular scars were flecked across his face. Worms, Fletcher suppressed a shudder. Jon took the last free seat, next to Fletcher.

Now, Fletcher knew exactly where he worked and what the Institute researched. He didn’t really put much stock into the “paranormal,” but if there was any such thing Jon was definitely part of some spooky business. Fletcher gave Jon a small wave and a smile. He didn’t expect anything other than the scowl that permanently warped his face.

Jon’s lips quirked upward. Crooked and awkward and sincere, Jon was smiling at him. Huh. Fletcher turned back to his page of questions and saw Jon hoist his cardigan’s sleeves up to his elbows. A thick black ring sat on his left ring finger. Huh.

“Sorry for the wait everyone, we just had a few last minute points to review.” Rosie settled into her saved space. “We can start now.”

Martin already knew all their names and departments, even Fletcher’s and that he was filling in for Ella. He asked for their patience as he figured things out and asked them to please share any ideas they had for improvements. The first change he wanted their opinions on was the dress code. Oh hell, he’s gonna be a cool boss. All of his changes seemed specifically tailored to address common complaints. He opened the floor for questions.

Of course, the first topic was the dress code. However, when they’d hammered out a functional set of guidelines until a formal revision could be arranged they moved onto more serious topics. Fletcher took notes and gladly didn’t have to ask any questions himself. 

All in all, the meeting took just over an hour. Martin dismissed them at 11:40, “If you have anything you’d like to discuss with me personally feel free to stay or shoot me an email if you prefer, but I think that’s all we needed to go over here. Thank you for coming and I hope you all have lovely days.” Martin smiled like the sunrise. Fletcher had to leave now.

Maybe he could get some sympathy in the IT group chat.

:Fledgeling

I Have Survived

BossLady:

Did you get my answers?

:Fledgeling

yea

Martin wants to rewrite the dress code

he’s so pretty when he smiles

BossLady:

Hell yea!

Burn the dress code!!!

Phobia:

Martin?

haha gayy

:Fledgeling

Martin Blackwood

The new Big BossTM of the Institute

Excuse You!

have you seen him???

Phobia: 

Jumpers, tea, best hugs ever

:Fledgeling

I’ve heard all of that

But picture it:

Bespoke Three Piece, standing at his Full Height, and Fully In Charge

BossLady: 

Fletch pls

Phobia: 

ok fine

but I never want to hear that third thing from u ever again

:Fledgeling

Ugh Whatever

I’m going to lunch

Fletcher made a quick trip to the canteen and returned to his office. He didn’t make it a habit to eat at his desk. Most days he could tune out the unfortunate volume produced by a large number of people simply because it was a large number of people, but today had already frayed his nerves so he resigned himself to carefully rearranging his workplace to eat without risking it.

Of course, that meant he had to eat with Phoebe, who ate later in the day, five feet away.

“Simp!” Fletcher dodged a balled up sticky note. “What tier subscriber are you now?’

“Please, I beg you, never say that again.” 

Phoebe shrugged, “Yeah okay, that was even more cringe out loud.” 

“I doubt you’d be any better about it.” He cracked his water bottle and took a swig. “How have I never seen him before though?”

“How should I know man? You’ve both been here for years, you probably saw him in the halls or heard his name and just didn’t really pay any attention to him. If I remember correctly he’s pretty good at avoiding problems.”

She typed in short bursts as he finished eating. He and Phoebe were both “on call,” but most of the problems he had to deal with were simple fixes. Phoebe had several long conversations with people from Artefact Storage. Fletcher didn’t envy her, they had constant interference and weak spots with all the stuff in there. Well, at least it wasn’t the Archives. No one had been able to fix half of the problems down there.

“Hello?” Fletcher and Phoebe glanced up to see Jonathan Sims in the doorway. Deja vu.  

Phoebe shot Fletcher a confused look, desk phone still pressed to her ear. He sent off his email and turned to face Jon. “Hey Jon, how can I help you?”

Jon  twisted a bead on his glasses chain, “I need a new laptop.”

“Are you sure you need a new one?” He saw Jon’s mouth twitch, “I just mean, there might be a way we can fix the problem if you tell me what the problem is. Do you have the laptop with you?”

“No,” Fletcher was very practiced at keeping his expression neutral. Jon’s eyes flashed and he hurried to continue, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I left it in my office last month when everything went, “ here Jon made a complicated gesture with his hands that Fletcher took to mean fucking bonkers, “and it was not only knocked off my desk but also covered in blood, so it was disposed of as a biohazard by the cleaners.” 

“That’s rough.”

“And you didn’t need it until today?” Phoebe finished her phone call, apparently it hadn’t stopped her from listening.

“I, ah,” Jon’s ears darkened, “I’ve been out of the country for the last month or so. It’s not too urgent either, I’d just rather not have to answer emails from my phone.”

“Well it shouldn’t be too cumbersome to fix,” Fletcher clapped his hands together. “Luckily for you it probably won’t even come out of your equipment budget since a lot of things got messed up during the,” he mimicked Jon’s gesture for fucking bonkers, “incident.”

“We’ll probably be able to get you one by the end of the week. It’ll have all your software, but you might have to tweak the settings,” Phoebe was already typing on her computer. “First there’s a form, since you’re here you can just type it straight in on my computer.” She didn’t jump when she looked up to see Jon already over her shoulder, but it was a close thing. 

Jon finished the form quickly, it was designed to be quick. “Is there anything else I need to do?” He twisted a different bead on his glasses chain.

“Nope, we’ll handle everything from here,” Fletcher shook his head, “I can run it down to you as soon as it’s ready.” 

“Thank you, Fletcher.” Jon left as quick as he’d come. The beads on his glasses chain clicked as he walked. Fletcher wondered how he managed to sneak up on them despite that.

When Phoebe finished the steps to requisition a laptop for Jon, Fletcher was copied on the email to Ella, she pushed back from her desk and retrieved her lunch bag from beside her chair. She laid out her lunch in much the same way Fletcher had before, “So are we gonna talk about that or not?”

“What is there to talk about?” Fletcher asked, bristling. He didn’t really know Jon, but he knew where that question could lead.

“Ignoring how he somehow knew exactly what happened to his laptop when he wasn’t even here to see it,” Phoebe pointed at him with her fork,” he took an impromptu vacation out of the country, his cardigan was obviously borrowed, and he’s got a ring on the left ring finger.”

Well, that’s definitely one of the better places it could have gone. Office gossip was healthy. “What makes the cardigan obviously borrowed? People buy oversized clothes all the time.”

“You saw his outfit, everything else fit him properly, so if the cardigan doesn’t fit it’s probably not from his own closet.”

“That is insufficient evidence to draw such a conclusion, but it’s more interesting if you’re right,” Fletcher skimmed another email, “therefore I will concede to you a hard maybe.”

“I bet Ella would agree with me.”

Fletcher rolled his eyes, “ Of course Ella would agree with you.”

“The ring has to mean something, though.” She stabbed at a tomato in her salad.

Fletcher ignored that he had made a similar assumption earlier, playing contrarian to keep the conversation fun. “It could mean that he likes rings.”

“Fletcher I know you don’t like to mention people’s scars and that’s real polite of you, but you’ve seen his hand. Any ring he went through the trouble of putting on must have been very important to him.”

“Yeah okay, that tracks.” Fletcher tapped a pen against his desk. “Do you think it’s from an engagement or wedding?”

“I don’t know, either way I doubt you could get him to tell you about it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If he was the type, he’d have said that’s why he was out of the country, and you saw how he blushed. No way anyone less than a friend finds out from him.” She threw away her trash. Fletcher let himself get lost in emails, calls, and spreadsheets.

It was a salvageable day.

Chapter Text

Jon probably wasn’t supposed to have access to the employee contracts. Scratch that, he definitely wasn’t supposed to have access to the employees contracts. That’s why he hadn’t asked Martin to supply him with the copies he had. He had no doubt that Martin would gladly hand them over, but Martin had a lot on his plate right now so he had just slipped into the office when Martin was preparing for the introductory meeting. It meant he’d almost been late to said meeting, but that honestly wasn’t out of the norm for him considering his track record.

It seemed that the organization hadn’t changed since Elias left. Jon reasoned that Peter probably hadn’t opened any of the filing cabinets at all and Martin wouldn’t have changed anything since it wasn’t technically his office until this week. He had to smile at how particular Martin was with rules like that. This mug was this person and just this person.

He took another sip of his tea, careful to screw the thermos’s lid on tightly. That morning Jon had trudged into their flat’s kitchen after waking up in the warm spot Martin had left and found it sitting on the counter. A pale pink sticky note had read “Made you tea! I hope this keeps it warm for you.” Martin had signed his name and dotted the i with a little heart. It was a ridiculously sweet gesture and Jon didn’t question his choice to keep the note. The thermos had a pastoral landscape with highland cattle grazing.

The employee contracts unfortunately didn’t have a clause labeled “Sign here to tie your soul to the Institute” so Jon was currently combing through one of several copies he had. So far it seemed that all of them were identical, but he didn’t want to risk missing anything. 

Jon was considering taking home the copies but he doubted that Martin would approve, especially with his history of dragging Jon away from his desk. If the past week was any indication then the paradigm had shifted to be more of an equal exchange. No, Martin wouldn’t want him to fall back into the same patterns. Home was their place.

“Hello?” Jon calmly slipped the contracts into a manila folder and stood up from his desk. “Jon? It’s Fletcher from IT, I’ve got your new laptop.”

Jon stepped out of his office to find Fletcher at the bottom of the stairs down to the Archives. “Thank you.” 

“There you are! Geez, this place is a lot bigger than I expected.” Fletcher handed over the laptop. “Do you ever get lost sometimes?”

“It does feel a bit cavernous at times.” The bullpen had four desks and room for more, the doors for Jon’s office and the breakroom were propped open, and hallways trailed off to innumerable stacks of documents and statements and files. “After a while you kind of stop thinking about it.” You don’t stop noticing, you can’t stop noticing. 

“Well, it’s a bit awkward to ask, but could you go ahead and log on,” Fletcher nodded to the laptop, “so I can do a quick check that everything is set up right?”

“Of course,” Jon sat down at the closest desk, gently shifting a few papers with Tim’s hurried handwriting on them. The login was the same and Fletcher gave him a password that he could change when the check-up was over. All of his programs and backed up files were there, even though the settings had reverted to their defaults. The final thing he checked was his email, dear lord he’d have to sift through a lot.

“Looks fine to me,” Fletcher gave Jon a reassuring smile, “but if anything happens again please let us know.” Fletcher looked around the Archives again, “Jon can I ask a bit of an awkward question?”

“Sure,” Jon blinked up at him, “as long as I can reserve the right not to answer.”

“Of course you can,” Fletcher huffed a short laugh. “Just, uh, where are all of the assistants? This is a lot of Archive to handle by yourself.”

A wave crashed against the locked door at the back of Jon’s mind. He could Know. Jon swallowed and answered from what was already in his head. “I suppose it is a lot for one person. Well, of the latest batch one quit, one got transferred, and two haven’t shown up since,” Jon made an increasingly familiar gesture with his hands, “so for now it’s just me.”

Fletcher placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder and Jon froze to avoid flinching. “I’m sure that’ll change soon enough, once Martin’s settled you’ll get some company down here.” Jon knew that was meant to be comforting. In fact, Fletcher was being quite nice to him, although that might just be from how little they had interacted with each other. He couldn’t take comfort in the thought though.

“Thank you Fletcher.” Jon tried to return his smile. He had no idea how to gauge his success, but Fletcher hadn’t stopped smiling so he’d take it. He was trying to be a bit nicer to people, they weren’t his enemies. He already knew those.

He decided to stay at the desk while checking his email since he had no real reason to move. Most of it didn’t require any action from himself. Several of the weekly newsletter emails he skimmed, updates and heads up about reconstruction in the building long past, and the confirmation of his laptop replacement forwarded to him for record-keeping purposes.

One email stood out to him. A chain he’d been copied on between Rosie and- Jon reread the emails. Oh no. He reread it again. How did I not know about this?

Knowledge slid under the gap of the door. Apparently there was an open employee-exchange program between the Magnus Institute and its sister organizations. Of course employees had clearance between organizations to share resources, that had been how Jon had visited their Archives, but similar to a “study abroad” curriculum at a university employees could assume an equivalent position at another Institute. 

The Usher Foundation had a Records Attendant that wanted to spend some time at the Magnus Institute. As an Archival Assistant.

The original request had been presented to the Institute two weeks ago. Rosie had responded positively but warned that it was an unsteady time for the Institute and the Archives. Evidently that wasn’t enough to stop the Attendant. Rosie had warned that they would have to wait for Jon’s return. Now that Jon had come back to work, they would be arriving next month.

Jon took several measured breathes. He sent an email to Rosie, and retrieved the thermos from his office. He wrapped his hands around it and took a sip. Rosie responded. Sasha, Tim, Melanie, Daisy, Basira, Sasha, Tim, Melanie, Daisy, Basira Sasha, Tim, Melanie, Daisy, Basira. No. No.

He wasn’t going to panic about this. He wasn’t. He could do this.

Being an Archival Assistant wasn’t a death sentence. Melanie made her choice and he respected that. Daisy and Basira were … somewhere. Martin, his Martin, was upstairs doing paperwork. They weren’t really okay , but they were alive. And Jon. Jon knew, Knew, better.

He could do better.

Yes. Yes, he’d do it better this time. He could protect them, or he could at least prepare them. Maybe the Usher Foundation wasn’t like the Institute, but he could help them.

Well Mx. Groves, I hope you enjoy your time with us.

Chapter Text

Vicky got off the plane with absolutely no idea what time it was. That was partly an ongoing problem because she had never been able to establish a solid internal concept of time. However, she was pretty sure that a nine hour overnight flight and a five hour time difference would throw anyone off their rhythm. According to the airport clocks, she’d left Atlanta around 7:30 pm on a Friday night and arrived in London just after 9:30am on Saturday morning.

She was completely drained but she wouldn’t be letting herself sleep until at least seven that night. She would brute force her body into the new time zone. Maybe she’d fit this one better after so many late nights in the states. Vicky sent off a text to her mom announcing her safe arrival. She called an Uber and waited on the curb. It was cloudy and the wind smelled like rain.

She could do this.

Vicky met Mia through a friend of a friend of a friend, but since they’d connected a few weeks ago she was confident to call her a friend. Mia showed Vicky her new room, apologizing for mess and size and even the paint color. It was a perfectly normal room if maybe in need of some rearranging. Vicky just blinked at her and shared stories of college dorm rooms and summer camping trips. 

“Do you know how you take your tea?”

“Uh,” Vicky looked up from her open suitcase, considering her years of iced sweet tea with meals, “I’m gonna be safe and say that I almost definitely don’t.”

“Have you ever had Earl Grey before?”

“If I have it was probably doctored beyond recognition.” She saw Mia wince in her periphery and continued sifting through the clothing she’d packed.

“I’ll just make you a cup and you can test it out for yourself.”

“Hey Mia, you got any idea what clothes I should keep easily accessible?” Vicky opened her phone to check the weather forecast, what’s thirteen degrees celsius feel like?

“I don’t know what clothes you have, but it’s gonna be wet and cool.” Google said thirteen degrees celsius was just over fifty-five fahrenheit. Man, she would have to check the Institute’s dress code. Sweaters were respectable, right? She’d been lucky in Records at Usher since very few people actually came down there. Well, at worst she’d wear a hoodie and claim plausible deniability.

How different could the Archives be?

Vicky quickly discovered that she liked Earl Grey with milk and honey, but plain Peppermint tea was her favorite. London was complex and Mia was happy to show her around. When making plans to fly over, Vicky had assumed a weekend would’ve been enough to adjust to the time difference. Mia had convinced her to give herself a week for unpacking and learning the transit system, rightly so.

So with a week under her belt, she actually made it to the Institute with fifteen minutes to spare. She waved at the woman behind the reception desk.

“Hello dear, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Vicky Groves.”

“Oh! From the Usher Foundation?” Vicky smiled and the woman smiled. “My name is Rosie, and I’ll be showing you around today.” Rosie stood and they shook hands. “Now, first we’re going to take your ID photo.”

“Oh,” Vicky looked down at her long thick sweater and leggings, “I didn’t really check the dress code before I left this morning.”

“You’re perfect as is,” Vicky blushed, “and it’s best you didn’t check the dress code since we’re changing it under new management.”

“New management?” Vicky followed Rosie down a hall to an empty office.

Rosie turned on the lights and pointed Vicky at a chair in front of a gray wall. She took a seat as Rosie chattered on. “We recently experienced a few,” Vicky didn’t quite know how to interpret the gesture Rosie made with a camera in one of her hands, “complications in the past month or so. It led to a handle of staff changes including our Head of the Institute. Give us a smile, please?” Vicky thought of the dumb joke Mia told her over breakfast that morning. “That’s just perfect!”

The camera flashed and Vicky had to blink a few times to get rid of the afterimage. “Was that good?”

“Yes,” Rosie clicked a few things, “Vicky, is that v-i-c-k-y?” She confirmed. “And Groves, is g-r-o-v-e-s?” Another confirmation. “Alrighty, let’s hope this still works right.” A gray box that Vicky had assumed was a computer hard drive started making a clunking noise. After a few minutes it spit out a sheet of plastic. Rosie removed it and punched out an ID card for Vicky.

“Thank you, do I need to wear this on a lanyard or something?” It looked like the student IDs her high school made them carry. Back at Usher she just had a chipped card with the logo that she kept in her wallet.

“It’s best to keep it on you, but it doesn’t have to be visible and after people start to recognise you you won’t need it as much.” Rosie shut down the computer and led Vicky down another hallway, was it the same hallway? “Now it’s time for your initiation. ”

“My what?”

“It’s an old tradition for every new employee to meet the ‘Big Boss’” Rosie made air quotes, “before they officially start work. Usually it’s the final interview before you sign a contract, but since you’re technically a transfer it’ll just be a quick hello.”

“Is it really necessary?”

“It’s a formality that we’ve decided to keep. Don’t worry, it’ll be his first one too.” Rosie knocked on an office door twice. “This should be quick.”

“Come in.” Vicky was and wasn’t surprised by the man in the office, he smiled at her. “Please sit down.” Vicky sat, flipping her ID over in her hands. “Hello, my name is Martin Blackwood, he/him pronouns please. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh,” she’d never had a boss care about that before, “I’m Vicky Groves, she/her or they/them pronouns. It’s, uh, nice to meet you too.”

Martin was still glancing at his computer but Vicky didn’t feel like she was being ignored “I know I read it somewhere, but what department will you be joining?”

“The Archives, as an assistant I think.”

“Well, I have to warn you it’s a bit of a mess down there.” Martin had a really nice smile, “I remember when I first started down there, believe it or not we actually did make some progress.”

“You were an Archival Assistant?” At Usher, administration stayed in administration.

He nodded. “It’s been awhile, but yes.” Martin’s smile sharpened for a second and his eyes gleamed. “If Jon ever gives you any trouble, bring it to me.”

“Do you think I’ll have trouble?”

“Nah,” his smile relaxed, “Jon’s just prickly around new people and the Archives are,” Martin paused, “important to him.”

They had a pleasant chat about how Vicky was finding her new situation. He continued working on his computer. She knew it was only out of necessity. Martin liked her sweater and she complimented his mug which led to a tangent on tea. Martin knew a lot about tea. Vicky was happy to learn. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she liked  talking with Martin, he was sweet.

Rosie retrieved her after about half an hour, “I take it you had a nice talk.”

“I barely even noticed the time passing.” Rosie gave her a knowing smile. “Um, can you tell me anything about Jon?”

“Jonathan Sims?”

“If he’s the Head Archivist, then yeah.”

“Well, Jon tends to snap when he gets stressed. He regrets it immediately, but he’s usually too awkward to apologize so he tries to make up with it in actions.” They passed the reception desk. “He’s honestly very sweet when you get to know him.”

“Mr. Blackwood said to talk to him if Jon gave me trouble.” 

Rosie burst into laughter, “I’m sorry, give me a minute.” Vicky smiled at her unrestrained amusement. Rosie had guts.

“I take it that takes some more context to be funny.” Rosie nodded and held open a door for Vicky. “Thank you.”

“Jon?” Rosie called into the Archives. “Your new arrival is here!”

“Just a moment!” A deep voice rang from a distant room. “I’ll be right there.”

The Archives were big.  

The Records Department was overcrowded and orderly. The basement had been a climate-controlled grid that tended to blend together but you always knew there was an end somewhere. This place was sprawling shelves and swarming stacks of paperwork. She saw doorways and corridors that held even more overflowing shelves and file cabinets. Martin said they’d made progress. How had they started?

A figure emerged from the shelves with a stack braced against their chest. Vicky only really caught gray-streaked hair, a beaded glasses chain, and an enormous peach colored cardigan. The stack thunked down onto a desk.

“Hello,” Jon, presumably, shoved a few loose strands of hair back from his face and turned to face Vicky. “Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

“Hi,” she almost tried to shake his hand, but caught a pale burn scar, “Vicky Groves, she/her or they/them, Archival Assistant I guess.”

“Oh right, uh, he/him or they/them please,” Jon tugged at his cardigan, he had to have borrowed that, so it sat better on his shoulders. “Thank you Rosie.”

“You’ll be nice to her.” That was not a question.

Jon gave her a thin smile, “I’ll do my best Rosie.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask,” she turned back to the stairs, “Martin says hello, I assume you’d like me to return the sentiment?”

“Please.” Their voices were both fond. “Well,” he seemed at a loss for words, “would you like a cup  of tea?”

“I’d love one.”

Chapter Text

The story of the Archives went thusly: the main goal was reorganization and digitization of Statements and any follow-up materials. It was nice and simple and Vicky was fully in support of this! The time it would save them from fetching statements would be astronomical and the recordings would greatly improve accessibility for researchers!

Unfortunately, Jon’s predecessor had left the Archives in horrible disarray. Vicky had tried to make sense of a shelf and Jon had had to physically drag her away for a sit-down and a calming cup of tea.  And then! For the last year or so the Archives team had been given an alternate project and minimal progress had been made towards the original goal. Vicky would technically be the third Archival Assistant currently, but the other two were AWOL. 

“So it’s Jon and Vicky against the Archives?” She sipped her Earl Grey, Jon had left her to fix it as she wished, from a tall mug with a cartoon Tyrannosaur captioned “Tea-Rex.” She loved it. Kudos to whoever stocked these cupboards.

“You’re quite perceptive,” Jon smirked into his own mug and sipped “The Tears of My Employees.” She wondered if the black ring on his left hand, what the hell made that scar, meant what she thought it meant. “Just wait until you hear about the filing system.” 

“There’s a system?” Vicky shot the door to the bullpen a sideways glance, “I mean no offence when I say this but it’s a nightmare out there!”

“Yes, there is and yes, it is,” Jon twisted a bead on his glasses chain, “quite literally sometimes. Honestly there’s not much we can do except work through it a stack at a time. Do you have a work laptop?”

Vicky shook her head, “I had to leave mine in the states, something about individual company property and different tech requirements.”

“Then you’ll have to talk to IT,” Jon switched to another bead to twist. “Although, I have a feeling that Rosie’s already set you up to meet with someone.”

“I have officially gathered enough information to announce that Rosie is a saint.” Vicky took satisfaction in the laugh that earned her. 

“You wouldn’t be the only one of that opinion, I’ll email her to see if she’s got anything planned. I think we should have time for a tour today.”

“Of the Archives?”

“I was thinking more of the Institute,” Jon collected their mugs and rinsed them in the sink. “You’ll be spending enough time down here to get the hang of things but sometimes we have to visit other departments and I’d like to at least give you an idea of where it all is.”

“We could probably fit my IT visit into that.”

“Efficient,” Jon gave her a crooked grin. Vicky wondered if it was a common expression for him. “I have a feeling that you’ll get the hang of things rather fast.”

Rosie did, in fact, have a meeting with IT scheduled for Vicky. It was in the early afternoon so Jon suggested that they get lunch at the canteen and then he could show her around. 

Lunch was awkward but it seemed less so because Vicky was eating with her new “boss” and more that neither of them were completely comfortable in the loud and crowded room. Vicky watched Jon snap a picture of his lunch with his phone. He tapped at it a bit before setting it down, screen up, on that table.

“Are you cataloging your meals?”

Jon’s ears darkened and he tugged on the sleeves of his cardigan. “My boyfriend wanted proof that I was having lunch.” Vicky quirked an eyebrow at him. “I used to work through lunch a lot and now that he can’t remind me in person we send pictures.” Jon’s phone buzzed. He snatched it up and beamed at it while typing.

“Ugh,” Vicky pointed her fork at him, “stop being gross and in love when I’m trying to eat Jonathan.” She saw his eyes widen and made sure to give him her warmest smile.

“I’m your boss Victoria,” his shoulders relaxed, “I’ll be gross and in love whenever I want.” He was still smiling but this time he put his phone on the table screen down.

“Can I ask, or will I have to prepare a cork board?”

Jon squinted at her. Vicky continued eating, wondering if he’d shut down under the guise of “professionalism” or if she’d be sitting through a lovesick ramble. That second one would be far preferable but she could work with either.

“Five questions.”

She blinked at him, “Any five questions?”

“I will answer five questions. if you ask one I don’t want to answer then I’ll tell you to ask a different question.” Jon looked rather satisfied with this solution.

“Sounds good, but you have to actually answer me.”

“Deal,” Jon extended his right hand for her to shake.

Vicky gave him a firm shake, “Deal, so how’d you two meet?”

“Here actually, we transferred into the Archives at the same time.” Jon frowned to himself, “We had a terrible first impression and I was quite rude to him for a time but he somehow liked me anyway.”

“I’m guessing that you took a while to see him like that.”

“I was almost too late, looking back I wasn’t really in the right place to have a relationship even if I did know.” 

“How long have you been together?”

“A few months officially but we, well,” Jon cleared his throat, “one might argue that it was a long time coming.”

Vicky paused, what else is there to ask, “What’s your favorite thing about him?”

“Favorite, hmm,” Jon tilted his head side to side. “That’s hard to say.”

“Then how about just your favorite thing about him that you didn’t expect.”

Jon smiles like he’s remembering a joke. “He’s a lot snarkier than most people expect. It only seems to come out with people he’s comfortable around or anyone that really annoys him.”

Vicky sipped her water bottle. “Those are two very different contexts.”

“Well, it’s more joking with friends and such. It’s honestly a delight to see him let loose.”

“You’re getting gross and lovesick again.”

“You are literally asking me to be right now.” Jon huffed and readjusted his cardigan, “I’m allowed to gush when prompted, it’s your own fault for asking.”

“I know, I know, I just didn’t take you for a gusher to be honest.”

“You stipulated complete answers, I’m merely holding up my end of the deal.”

“Do you always steal his sweaters?”

“Not always but more often than not. I’ve got bad circulation and he’s got an abundance of jumpers. He tends to borrow my accessories a lot. Honestly we don’t even have separate sides of the closet because of how much we share.”

“Wow Jon, I hope you realize how painfully domestic that last sentence was.”

“I do.” Jon sighed with a sappy smile.

“Well, now that I know where you’re at now I wanna know how it started. Tell me what awful first impression he made. I want a full rundown.”

“ Dear Lord, Vicky it was awful.”

Chapter Text

A dog in the Archives. 

She’d cringed as hard as she’d laughed, which had gotten her and Jon a few looks from the tables around them. He told the story with equal frustration and fondness, adding in notes from both his and his boyfriends perspectives that just gave it a whole new layer of hilarity. She and Jon both agreed that while it was no reason to treat anyone rudely it was quite an striking first impression.

They visited the Library first. Jon pointed out the desks visitors used and where to ask for help if she needed it. It was a breath of organized fresh air after the Archives and the large windows definitely gave a less looming feel. They passed through Research and Artefact Storage quicker. Research was really just a lot of desks filled with people at varying degrees of tiredness pouring over books and websites. Jon told her the “fun bit” happened “in the field.” His air quotes were done with a smirk that implied he had personal experience. She wasn’t to go into Artefact Storage unless absolutely necessary and never alone. Jon said he’d happily accompany her but if he was unavailable then to ask someone there to stay with her. Vicky caught a glimpse of several signs proclaiming the values of the “buddy system” through the door as they passed, I guess that must be the weird shit room, makes sense.

IT and all of the Administrative Departments were on the same floor so he just pointed at doors or down hallways on their way to her IT meeting. He held the door open for her.

“Jon!” Vicky saw someone stand from their desk and wave. “You must be Vicky, right? From Usher?”

“Yes, hi. I think I’m here for a laptop.” She spotted a blue he/him pronoun pin on his shirt. “Am I going to need a new email?”

“We actually went ahead and made you one, it’ll already be in the directory if anyone has to reach you.” He talked with his hands, “I’m Fletcher and I’m just going to show you the basics and answer any questions you may have.”

“Thank you.”

The laptop had a case with a card slot that displayed her name and department. Fletcher had grinned and told her that personal decoration was not officially encouraged but unofficially everyone did it anyway. She would have to change the passwords on a few things but it was pretty similar to her other laptop.

“Jon have you had any troubles with yours?”

“No, it’s been working fine,” Jon twisted a bead on his glasses chain, “and I’ve been avoiding getting blood on this one so I should be good.”

“ Blood? ” Fletcher and Jon turned to look at Vicky’s wide eyes. 

Jon tried to explain first: “Some months ago there was an,” he made a complicated gesture with both of his hands, “incident that got violent.” Vicky glanced at Fletcher and he mouthed what she believed to be fucking bonkers.

“A lot of people left, we had to replace a lot of things, and then there was some cave-in nearby that caused more than a few renovations. Jon’s last computer was collateral damage.” Fletcher shrugged, “We’ve been getting back into the swing of things.”

“Why would anyone attack the Institute?”

Fletcher shrugged again. Jon looked uncomfortable, staring at his shoes and pulling his boyfriend’s cardigan tighter around him like he needed a hug. He knows something.

Vicky made the executive decision to let it go. 

They returned to the Archives and Jon immediately made tea. Something loosened in his posture when he sat down and cupped his mug between his hands. She thanked him for making her one too and waited to see if he’d break the silence on his own. 

“You’ll have to pick a desk.”

She finished stirring the honey into her tea before responding, “Which ones are Daisy and Basira’s?”

“What?”

“All the desks look like they’re in use and I don’t want to evict anyone, so,” Vicky sipped her tea, “which ones belong to Daisy and Basira, the other assistants.”

Jon laughs, a stark and brittle thing that wobbled a bit too much for her to think he was okay. “None of them actually. Daisy never actually used one and Basira didn’t need one for the most part. If she was in and needed one she’d just commandeer Melanie’s for a bit.”

“Melanie?”

“She quit before the,” Jon repeated his earlier gesture, “incident and Daisy and Basira haven’t been seen since it all went to hell.”

“Well then I guess we’ll leave Melanie’s desk for Basira. Who do the other desks belong to?”

“The one closest to the stairs is, it was Tim’s.” Jon tapped at his mug, now cat-eared, with his index finger. “Beside him was Sasha’s and Martin’s across from Tim.”

“Martin, like current Head of the Institute Martin?” Right, he mentioned working down here.

“Yep.” Jon pops the p, “The one and only Martin K. Blackwood.” He took a long drink of his tea, “I know he’s only a few floors above us but I miss him sometimes.”

“It’s natural to miss the people you’re attached to,” Vicky spoke her next words carefully, “especially when they’re your partner.”

Jon gave her a crooked grin that she was starting to use as a metric for his reactions, “I knew you’d pick it up.”

She shrugged, “What can I say Jon, you say his name like it’s your favorite word.”

“No questions about inappropriate favoritism?”

“Nah, I met him after I got my ID. I highly doubt he’d be the kind to play favorites in that position and you don’t seem like the kind of person who’d allow that anyway.”

“I should probably clean off all of them.”

“The desks?” Jon nodded. “Alright, we can work through them together and I’ll pick one when they’re all clear.”

They finished their tea. This time Vicky cleaned the mugs so Jon could pick which desk they started with. Something told her that Tim and Sasha didn’t leave the Archives like Melanie or Martin did. With how Jon caught on the tenses in his sentences it was probably still an open wound even if it might not have been a fresh one.

They started at Martin’s desk. Honestly it looked like it had already had a passing clean. Some Archives-specific paperwork was there but there weren’t any of the personal bits or bobs that she felt Martin would’ve kept on his desk. They found a baby blue polaroid camera in one of the bottom drawers. Vicky turned it over in her hands, trying to see if it still has any film in it. In her periphery she saw Jon digging out old pictures. 

When she verified that the camera was in working order she waved it at Jon, “Commemorative photo for our first day working together? I mean, he wouldn’t mind would he?”

Jon was staring at a collection of photos he lined up on the desk. Each seemed to be a candid shot of a person captioned with their names in what must have been Martin’s handwriting. Most had at least two photos but some had a small pile. Jon shook his head, “I never did give him enough credit back then.”

She waited to see if he would elaborate but he just told her he’d be back in a moment and vanished into his office. The door was open and she probably could have seen what he was doing but the polaroids interested her more. 

Jon had arranged them like a backwards timeline from newest to oldest, left to right. The first was of a woman that felt dangerous for some reason, she was smiling and it felt distinctly wolfish. Apparently this was Daisy but Vicky couldn’t imagine her working in the Archives. Next was a serious woman wearing a headscarf tucked into the collar of her shirt. Vicky thought it was hijab but she could’ve been wrong. She could picture Basira working at one of these desks, she was probably quite efficient at it too. Melanie definitely didn’t look like she worked in an Archive. Something told her that the bright dye streaks in her hair would not have been allowed by any academic dress code. At Usher she would’ve only been allowed “unnatural” hair color if there wasn’t a chance she interacted with the “public.” And, well, the butterfly knife she appeared to be flipping over her fingers felt like a red flag. After her was Tim. Tim had several pictures of varying ages. The older Tims were laughing or smiling while doing some variant finger guns. The newer Tims were a lot more severe and only one was smiling. He looked one part manic to two parts tired. It wasn’t a good smile. Almost buried by Tim’s pile was a single picture of Sasha. It was by far the most beat up, warped, creased, and hard to make out the smaller details of her face. Sasha had a warm smile and cat-eyed glasses. Vicky had a feeling that she also wore a glasses chain even though she couldn’t see one in the picture. There were two pictures of Martin’s Mum, although, from the look on her face Vicky could see that she disliked her picture being taken. 

She was and wasn’t surprised by the number of pictures of Jon. She kept looking between an old Jon and a new Jon. Something was different and she couldn’t quite place it. Jon came out of his office and placed a few cassette tapes and some more polaroids on the table before leaving again. Then it clicked.

The older pictures of Jon didn’t have any scars. 

She had expected the increase in gray streaks and hair length, but the scars had thrown her. Wait, if Martin and Jon had only met in the Archives and here was photographic evidence that he didn’t start as Head Archivist with the scars that meant he’d gotten them all in the past two or three years. What the hell had he been doing to get all of those scars?

Vicky was poking through a small stack of Martins, some selfies and some taken by another person, when Jon came back with a cork board awkwardly tucked under one arm and a box of colorful push pins. “We should definitely take your picture. May I?”

Vicky handed him the camera, “I’m ready whenever you are.” 

He flicked it on and adjusted the controls. “Smile if you want too,” Vicky gave him a grin and the shutter snapped. “I’m no expert, but I think that’ll be a good picture.”

“Care to add one to the Jon pile?”

“What?” 

“The Jon pile,” Vicky pointed at the photos she’d just been analyzing, “I think you and Tim must’ve been good subjects.”

Jon’s eyes flashed, “He had just as many of Sasha but they were lost a while back when-” Jon cut himself off with a shake of his head and a hand over his mouth. Vicky watched him take a few deep breaths, she could practically count the pattern she used to back down from panic attacks. “I wouldn’t stop you from taking a picture but I don’t think I know how to pose for one.”

Vicky retrieved her photo from the camera. Her goblin brain wanted to shake it until it developed but she knew it’d probably damage the picture more than it helped. She grabbed a sharpie from the small pile of working pens, markers, and pencils they’d collected while cleaning and wrote her name at the bottom of the polaroid. It was tradition.

Jon had the cork board laid across the desk and was scrawling something on some pastel colored flashcards. He pinned a card to the board and started on another. Vicky watched him collect a picture of Daisy and Basira. He pinned them under the second notecard. “What photo of myself should I use?”

“Which one do you think Martin would choose?” Jon had the softest smile as he looked down at the pictures. Vicky slowly lined up the camera to catch Jon’s expression. He startled a bit as the shutter snapped. “I think this one should be good.”

Jon rolled his eyes with a muttered “We'll see,” and grabbed her polaroid to pin beside Daisy and Basira. She tilted her head, the first card he’d pinned read “Head Archivist” and the second read “Archival Assistants.” Vicky used her sharpie to write Jon’s name at the bottom of his newest picture. He squinted at it before pinning it under the “Head Archivist” card.

“Grab some fairy lights and we’ll have a Pinterest-worthy cork board.” Vicky took one end and helped Jon hang it on the wall at the base of the stairs. 

“We actually just might have some.” He straightened the board, “I’d have to check the cabinets in Document Storage.” Jon took off down a hallway that must have led to Document Storage. He chose the first door on the right and flicked on the lights.

The room did not, in fact, store documents. There were filing cabinets shoved against the walls, sleeping bags loosely rolled up and stacked in the middle, and pillows and blankets were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Jon weaved through the mess with a practiced ease and opened one of the cabinets.

“Did y’all host Mia Thermopolis’s birthday party in here?” 

“I’m assuming that’s a pop culture reference that I don’t understand.” He switched drawers without looking up.

“I’m new to London and all, but that’s definitely the poshest sentence I’ve ever heard.”

Jon snorted and hip checked the drawer closed. He had a bundle of fairy lights strung across his arms. “Will these do?”

“Oh my god, we’re actually doing this?”

“I don’t see any reason not to,” Vicky held the door open for him. ”We don’t often host the public down here, but we might as well make it a pleasant space.”

“Jon I’ve only known you for a day but you are my absolute favorite boss.” She followed him back to the bullpen. Either someone had actually put away the lights so they wouldn’t tangle or Jon was very good at detangling cords because he immediately started hanging it on the board. She grabbed the plug and scanned the walls for a socket. The lights had a warm peachy glow.

“Ah, we still have a few more desks to clean.”

“Give me a moment,” Vicky darted back to Martin’s desk and swiped the camera. She nudged Jon in front of the board, “I’d like a photo, how close are you comfortable with me being?” 

“I think it’d work best if you put an arm around my shoulders.”

“But are you actually okay with me doing that?”

He tilted his head at her curiously, “Yes Vicky, I’m okay with it. Thank you for checking.” 

“Say Archives!” Vicky slung an arm around him. Jon barked a laugh and she hoped she caught his grin as she took the picture.

Jon really did have a nice smile.

Chapter Text

Vicky and Jon somehow managed to clean the rest of the desks. Sasha and Tim’s desks were slower than Martin’s. It was partly that Vicky had to check all the paperwork against Jon before she could relocate or toss it and partly that every trinket and note seemed to displace Jon from the present. She couldn’t find it in herself to hold it against him.

The next day was Vicky wading through emails and paperwork from HR and Payroll. The rest of the week was Jon patiently teaching her the statement filing system.

“Do we have to keep it? We’re logical people, we could make a better system!”

Jon twirled a pen, “To do so we would have to have them all properly filed first.”

“You’re right and I hate it.”

“What’s the first three digits?”

Vicky tapped at her empty tea mug, “Okay, um, the first three digits is the last three digits of the year. Which is ridiculous! I understand why it can’t just be the last two, but at that point you might as well just use the whole year.”

Jon didn’t reply, she’d repeated herself enough that he knew it was just venting at this point. “The next two digits are?”

“The day of the month.”

“And the last two?”

“Last two digits are the month.”

“So a statement given on Christmas in 1989 would be?”

“That’d be,” Vicky tapped quicker on her mug, “9892512?”

“Yes it would!” Jon eased the mug out of her hands. “You’re getting it.”

“I’m keeping it on a post-it anyway.” Vicky rolled her neck. “Whether I need it or not, I’d rather have it on hand.”

“That’s fair.”

Jon spent every other day in his office although his door stayed open whenever he was in the Archives. It was nice. She’d spent enough time shouting across the Records stacks trying to find people to appreciate any shortcut to know where he was. 

They spent the next week going through all the statements on the desks. Some had follow-up materials and some didn’t. Some had been recorded and some hadn’t. For now she and Jon were just separating them before acting on them. 

The Archives had a lot of tape recorders. Jon was weird about the tape recorders. Vicky decided to leave them to him.

Mia was a fun roommate.

“What the hell are you listening to?” Vicky toed her shoes off as she entered the flat.

“The best band in the world!” Mia had her legs hooked over the back of the sofa. “How was work?”

“Archival as always, you mind turning that down a bit?” Vicky moved into the kitchenette and put the kettle on.

The music paused, “Make me a cup please?”

Vicky grabbed two chamomile tea bags and two mugs. “Only if you tell me what you were listening to.”

“Do you like concept albums?”

“Yeah, they’re like musicals but you aren’t missing anything if you don’t see the show.” She added milk to one mug and two teaspoons of sugar in the other.

“Yeah! Well, this is a concept band that does concept albums.”

“Like Gorillaz?”

“I mean, kinda, but Gorillaz just does songs for songs. The Mechanisms tell stories with their music.”

“The Mechanisms?” The kettle switched off and Vicky poured the water. “Are they good stories and songs?”

“They’re wicked!” Mia did some twisting maneuver with her legs and sat up properly. “It’s got everything! Space! Pirates! Space pirates Vicky!”

“Pull up the first album.” Vicky set Mia’s tea on the coffee table in front of her. 

“What?”

Vicky settled onto the sofa next to Mia. “If I’m listening to them then I’m doing it in order,” she sipped her tea, “so pull up the first album.”

“Hell yeah! Oh! Do you wanna just listen or should I pull up a live show?”

“Show?”

“There’s a ton of their performances on YouTube.” Mia propped her phone up on the table against her portable speaker. 

“Maybe later, I’d rather only have to pay attention to one thing right now.”

“You’re gonna love ths!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Vicky rolled her eyes, unable to hold back a smile. “Just start it already.”

The Mechanisms were weird. She loved it.

They listened to all of the main albums and the collections of side stories. Mia was smug. Vicky was just enjoying the ride.

“They have lore? ”

“There’s a whole website Vicks.”

“ Oh my god. ”

“Mia you are, and I’m saying this as affectionately as I can, a fangirl. Like, the scary kind of fangirl. I’m not saying fan-mail but I’m scared by how much information you know about these guys.”

“You say that like you haven’t been soaking up my knowledge like a parched sponge.”

“Oh yeah, we’re gonna be scary fangirls together. I’m just astounded by how you found out all of this.”

“It’s not exactly sneaky business when they wear pride pins big enough to see from the back row.”

“God, why does he need so many belts? What is he holding up?” 

“My heart, Vicks, and the soul of every other feral bastard that came to the shows.”

“Oh so you’re a feral bastard now? I thought we were still on bog witch.”

“I can be both!”

“How are they all so pretty Mia? It’s not fair. ”

“I have no idea, honestly, I’m just appreciating the view. Who’s your favorite?”

“I can’t just choose Mia! Not when Nastya and the Toy Soldier both exist.”

“Mine’s Jonny.”

“That’s valid, but also really? ”

“What? What’s wrong with Jonny?”

“He holds the mic like it’s an apple and he’s two seconds away from just straight up eating the damn thing.”

“But that’s how you’re supposed to hold that kind of microphone Vicks.”

“I don’t care, why’s he got that kind anyway? Everyone else has the stick mics.”

“Jonny can have a little cronch if he wants to, as a treat.”

“I’m disowning you.”

Four albums, several origins stories, a smattering of extra songs, many fictional interludes, an order of steampunk goggles, and one glorious finale later, Vicky considered herself an official Mechanisms super fan. Mia was infinitely excited to share her enthusiasm.

Mia liked to make fun of her attempts to copy their accents. Vicky maintained that Mia had the worst southern accent she’d heard in her life: I grew up in Georgia, I know what southern accents sound like! Vicky could only just barely reach the heights the Toy Soldier and Raphaella did when singing. Mia didn’t even try. Neither of them could copy Jonny’s incantations. It didn’t stop them from trying.

Chapter Text

Winter had a firm grip on London and festivity seemed to permeate the air. Rosie had fairy lights strung around the Receptions desk. Vicky caught glimpses of ugly holiday sweaters as she moved through the Institute. 

She’d never really gotten overly excited for the holidays. She grew up with Christmas every year and still tried to send gifts to her closer friends and family members. Maybe the change in scenery had opened her up to festivities. Recently she’d been wondering about what she might get Mia or Jon. 

“Hey! Vicky!” Vicky turned to find Fletcher speed walking towards her. She’d been returning some books to the library. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m good, Jon’s been helping me settle in.”

“Is it anything like Usher?”

“Not at all,” she shook her head, “back in Records I had to figure out everything on my own. Granted they had an easier filing system, but I got lost in the stacks a lot. ”

Fletcher nodded in sympathy, “Back in my first months I got lost all the time when I had to visit people in person.”

Vicky noticed a familiar pattern of white, blue, and pink stripes. “I like your sweater.” 

“Oh! Thanks!” Fletcher glanced down at his chest like he’d forgotten what he was wearing. “My, uh, my sister got it for me as a Christmas gift after I came out.” 

“That’s wicked. Do y’all still celebrate together?”

“Yeah, we have family dinner at my parents’ house.” Fletcher rubbed the hem of his sleeve between his thumb and his index finger. “Wait! I almost forgot what I was gonna ask you.” He tugged his sleeves over his hands. “Are you going to the holiday party?”

“I’m not sure, I think I saw an email about it this morning but I had to run out before I could get all the details.”

“It’ll be the 21st from seven to eleven and you can bring a friend!”

“Is there a dress code?”

Fletcher shrugged, “I don’t think so, if there is one I’ve never heard of it. I mean, some people take the chance to dress up but most people just go for comfort. Rosie usually wins the ugly jumper competition.”

“I’ll probably be able to make it. Do you think I could get Jon to go?”

“Actually I’m pretty sure the department heads are required to come for “morale” reasons. I dunno about how it’s gonna go this year but Elias used to make the holiday party into a donor thingy.”

“So they had to go so he could call on them to show off?”

“Got it in one.”

Vicky cringed, “Elias sounds like more and more of an asshole every time I hear about him.”

“Be glad you’re only seeing the aftermath. Man was ruthlessly efficient but made my skin crawl. Luckily, Martin seems like he’ll just leave the holiday party to employees.”

Vicky’s phone buzzed and she checked the screen. “I gotta go. It was nice to touch base with you Fletcher.”

“Tell Jon I said hi.” Vicky waved goodbye and headed back to the Archives. “And have a nice day!”

Jon’s office door was open but Vicky saw no sign of the man himself, “Jon?” Vicky peaked into the breakroom after glancing around the bullpen. “Jon?” She checked her desk, formerly Tim’s desk, to see if Jon had left her a note. She ventured towards Document Storage.

She found him in what she had dubbed the “Archivist’s Nest.” Apparently all-nighters were more frequent than not and this was the room they stayed in. Jon had protested that he’d used the room the least and it was inappropriate to name it after him. In response she’d told him to go sleep off his eyebags. At that, he’d squawked indignantly and she’d used her small height advantage to ruffle his hair. He’d groused about his hair but had smiled the rest of the day.

“Howdy,” Vicky always made sure to announce herself when she entered a room he was in. She’d accidentally snuck up on him in the first week and the haunted look in his eyes was enough for her to call a mandatory tea break.

Jon nodded at her but didn’t stop humming to himself. He tugged his earbuds out and started wrapping them around his fingers before tucking them into a pocket. “You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”

“Nope, just paused to catch up with Fletcher for a bit.” I know that song. How do I know that song? “He says hi, by the way.”

“Maybe we can have lunch with him today.” Jon flipped through the stack of papers in his lap and reordered a few documents.

“You got any plans for the holidays?”

“I’m not sure, maybe Martin-” Jon blinked and his eyes flashed. “Martin’s going to take me ice skating.”

Vicky rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things. His eyes are brown. Not green. His glasses probably just caught the light weird. “Sounds romantic. I’ll have to ask him where the rink is.”

“Actually, I’m not supposed to know that yet.” Jon tugged on a loose strand of hair.

“So mum’s the word.” She stepped over a few pillows, “I won’t rat you out to your hubby.”

“We’re not married.” Jon’s ears reddened. He undid his ponytail and started to finger comb the dark waves.

“Yet.” Vicky collected a hairbrush from the nearest cabinet, she waved it at Jon. “May I?”

“Could you braid it please?” 

She hummed an affirmation and settled behind him. “Does it matter what kind?”

“No bobby pins if you can avoid it.”

“Killjoy,” Vicky tugged a knot loose, “so your secret skating trp is the only thing you have planned?”

“I’m not sure what you want from me Ms. Groves.”

She tapped his forehead and he tilted back to let her work. Vicky tapped him again, just a touch firmer, “I know you’re holding out on me, Jonny-boy.”

Jon twitched. A full-bodied thing that she would have called a jerk if it hadn’t seemed so suppressed. Vicky parted his hair down the middle and started on a crown braid. She could manage it without pins if she did it tight enough. Braiding was soothing to her. It reminded her of her childhood, helping her mother with her hair when the arthritis got too harsh. She had always been fidgety, needed something to do with her hands, needed something to make her feel productive. Braiding let her think. Jon’s shoulders relaxed a little. He squared them like he was bracing himself for something.

“Really Vicky, you’ll have to be straightforward with me if you expect me to know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, so your clairvoyance only applies to ruining Martin’s surprises?” His early grays stood out like Mia’s neon pink streaks. Mia’s hair wasn’t long enough to braid. She wished she could braid Mia’s har. “Fletcher tells me there’s an Institute Holiday party. That all the department heads are required to attend. That you must know about, having worked here so long.” She tucked the end of one braid under the other. “That you haven’t mentioned at all.”

“Oh,” Jon’s shoulders went slack, “right. Well, I assume you’re attempting to ensure I attend. You don’t have to worry about that, it is required and I wouldn’t want to undermine Martin like that.”

“You’re gonna try to make it a date.” She double checked that his hair wouldn’t fall apart with a sudden shake of the head. Upon deeming it stable she patted his shoulder, “I won’t say it’s impossible but I can’t say it’ll be easy.” 

“I have my ways.” Vicky stood up and circled around Jon and he grinned up at her. “Satisfactory?”

“You need to teach me how to do eyeliner. Surgeons can’t wing it that well, Jonny.”

“I prefer Jon,” he shook his head. “Nobody’s called me Jonny in ages.”

“Noted.” Vicky helped him collect his papers. “Do I get to know about your party surprise?”

Jon checked his reflection in his phone screen. “Could you help me do my hair?”

“Only if you spill all the details.”

“Deal.” Jon held out his right hand in a fist. 

Vicky tapped their knuckles together with a smile. “Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Sims.”

Chapter Text

Martin stayed at the Institute to help set up for the holiday party. Jon had stopped by his office before heading home himself to change. Martin had teased him about dressing up when he’d never put any effort into mandated events before.

“You wouldn’t even wear a Christmas jumper.”

“Well maybe I’m taking the time to enjoy the novelties of an office party.” Jon rounded Martin’s desk to cup his face. Martin turned to him and his hands came to rest on Jon’s waist. “Or maybe I felt like looking nice for someone.”

“You know you don’t have to dress up for me Jon.”

“I know dear. I’m doing this because I want to.” Jon traced constellations between Martin’s freckles with his thumbs. Martin melted into his touch with a gentle sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Jon pressed a kiss to his forehead before resting his own forehead against his love’s. “May I kiss you?”

Martin met Jon’s eyes, studying the layers of color in his irides. “Please do.”

Jon tilted Martin’s head, guiding him into a kiss. Martin tasted of artificial cherry and bergamot and his hands were broad and warm as they drew Jon closer. Jon drew back just enough to see the flush on Martin’s cheeks before peppering kisses to every freckle he could find. Martin giggled breathlessly at his boyfriend and anchored his hands on Jon’s hips. Jon started nosing at Martin’s jaw.

“Jon, either you stop now or you’re not going to have time to change.”

Jon huffed, unhappy to have his path of rediscovery interrupted, “I’ll have plenty of time, I can get ready fast.”

“Yes, but I also know you planned to have excess time and you hate feeling rushed when you have an outfit planned.”

“Damn you for being sweet and observant and conscientious.” Jon dropped a kiss on Martin’s nose and kissed off the last of his chapstick. 

Martin cupped the back of his neck with a hand, pulled him down to kiss his cheek, and gave him a sunbeam smile. “Get out of my office before I get Rosie to escort you out.”

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to go to the nuclear option, I’m going.” Jon brushed a stray curl back from Martin’s forehead. “Is there anything you want me to bring you?”

“Thank you dear but no. I already grabbed an appropriately festive jumper.”

“Appropriately festive?” Jon quirked an eyebrow.

“Snowmen are non-denominational.” 

Jon snorted and waved a goodbye before he tried to spend his waning time in Martin’s lap. He had work to do.

He’d showered and dressed with a care he hadn’t taken in a while. Leaning over the bathroom sink to apply eyeliner reminded him of his uni days; the buzzing excitement of performing soothed by the methodical process of getting ready. Well, maybe he was a touch out practice blending his eyeshadow but the eyeliner would still be sharp. He grabbed the water-proof mascara and considered it. It’d help draw attention to his eyes like he wanted. However, he knew his eyelashes would brush his glasses lenses, an annoyance he would have to fight to ignore. His glasses were folded on the nightstand with their chain coiled beside them. 

He didn’t actually need them to see. He hadn’t needed them since he’d woken up from his coma, a glaring sign in hindsight, but he liked wearing them. They reminded him of his time in Research, fresh out of college and more human than ever. Tim had given him the chain as a jokey gift to match his “grandma librarian vibes.” Jon had immediately attached the chain to his glasses and rarely took it off.

Jon twisted off the mascara’s top. He’d go without the glasses tonight. Being with Martin was more than enough to remind him what humanity felt like.

The party started at seven so Vicky and Jon had agreed to meet in the Archives at 6:45. Apparently she’d already been planning to arrive early to show her roommate around. Jon descended into the Archives and heard voices in the distance.

He picked out Vicky’s first. “And this is obviously my favorite room down here.”

“When you called it a nest I thought you were exaggerating.” That must be the roommate. “Damn Vicks, and I thought my job was nice. What kind of degree do you need to work here?”

The door to the sleeping room was open, spilling warm light into the dark hallway. “That depends on which department you’re aiming for.”

“Actually,” Jon leaned against the doorframe, “you’d be surprised how far you could get with common sense and enough diligence.” Vicky and her roommate were settled into a bundle of blankets and pillows. “No degree required.”

The roommate, who had vibrant pink streaks in their choppy bob, elbowed Vicky. “You didn’t tell me he was hot too.”

“It’s not really worth mentioning.” Vicky untangled herself from the blankets and her roommate. “He usually can’t be arsed to dress in clothes that fit him and he’s completely besotted with his partner.” She grabbed a hairbrush from a cabinet and turned to Jon. “Did I use that right?”

“Arguably, expletives are not bound by the common laws of grammar, so if you said it and you meant it, you said it right.”

“Jon please,” Vicky stuck her tongue out at him, “Mia, this is my boss.”

Mia stood and brushed off the skirt of their dress. Jon idly wondered if either of them realized that Mia’s dress matched Vicky’s blouse. “Mia Jones, she/her pronouns only please.” She stuck a hand out to shake.

Jon gave her a firm shake, “Jonathan SIms, the Archivist. He/him or they/them.”

“I’m thinking a single braid down the back. If you’ve got any special accessories hand ‘em over now.”

Jon traded her a box for the hairbrush and sat down. He’d brushed his hair at home but the journey back to the Institute hadn’t done him any favors. Vicky took over quickly. “What’s your job, Mia?”

“Oh, I’m technically a music producer but these days I’m usually doing audio editing for content creators. I get to set my own schedule and stuff so that’s cool.”

Vicky chimed into their conversation occasionally but focused most of her attention on securing the golden eye pins in his developing braid. Mia was interesting. He could see how she and Vicky moved in sync, comfortable in each other’s company.

Vicky finished his braid with a tug. “You better keep this intact. I refuse to be held responsible if you lose any of these pins.”

“Thank you Vicky.”

“You might want to reapply your lip gloss, I’m grabbing the camera.” Vicky tugged Mia into the bullpen.

“What camera?” Mia raised her eyebrows at Jon.

Vicky nudged Mia in front of the cork board. “You’ll see. Say cheese!”

Mia stuck a pose, one hand on a cocked hip and a foot extended to show off her floral combat boots. Vicky snapped a few photos with the polaroid camera. Mia traded positions with her and Vicky smiled with her hands in the pockets of her slacks.

Vicky stepped away from the spot with a flourish, “Mr. Sims, please grant us a photo.”

“And how am I to pose, Ms. Groves?” He grinned at her. “My last professional photoshoot was of a very different nature.”

“Just stand there you big drama queen and do what I say.”

Jon let himself be directed by the two women into several poses as the camera clicked.

“Damn Jon, I wish I was this photogenic.” Mia was making arrays with the photos.

He looked over them and couldn’t help but think that Vicky and Mia’s poses fit together. He’d never been overly fond of seeing himself in pictures but photography had always fascinated him. He could see the aesthetic appeal, almost, of the Jon in the polaroids.

The smaller details weren’t as concrete. However, the crisp lines of his dark olive slacks and matching waistcoat were distinct. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his shirtsleeves at Vicky’s suggestion and there was a photo of him in the act, smirking at the camera. They’d gotten profile shots “to show off his makeup skills” and it displayed the braid well. He liked the contrast between right and left. His right side had a simple golden stud and the grey streaks were less prominent. His left side had a larger emerald earring that dangled on a golden chain and heavier grey streaks. It was remarkable how different two sides of the same face could be.

Vicky slid the photos of Jon into a neat stack, “Thank you for this Jon, these are perfect.”

“What exactly do you need pictures of me for?”

“Christmas gift for Martin.”

“Who’s Martin?” Mia collected the pictures of herself and Vicky, tucking them into a pocket on her jacket.

Vicky froze, Jon met her gaze and saw the question in her eyes. “My boyfriend.” Jon answered for her. 

“Please tell me he’s upstairs and I get to meet him.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find him at some point. Speaking of, it’s probably time we make our way upstairs.” Jon waved a hand at the ceiling. “The party awaits.”

Chapter Text

Parties were not Jon’s chosen pastime. Institute functions were not a choice but he’d begrudgingly enjoyed at least one in every three he’d been to. He hoped having Vicky at his side would tip the odds further in his favor as a friend always helped. Of course, he could stick with Martin but he’d planned to make “his rounds” to mingle with the different departments that tended to group together. Jon was self-aware enough to know he wouldn’t be able to spend too much time with Martin.

The library was decorated with wintery streamers and several bookshelves hosted fake snow. The desks and tables had been moved closer to the walls with blue and silver tablecloths and snowflake-themed centerpieces. It was pretty but Jon’s eyes were drawn to the far side of the room.

Martin was talking with a few people from the library, sleeves of his snowman jumper shoved up to his elbows and the collar of his shirt unbuttoned. He was flushed in a way that was absolutely adorable and suggested he’d had at least one overly spiked eggnog.

Jon followed Vicky as she forged a path to the food and drinks tables. Mia “ooh”ed and “ahh”ed at the decorations and towering bookshelves. Jon found an empty table and sat down with a request for cider to Vicky. 

Vicky grabbed the seat next to him and Mia sat on her other side. Vicky set drinks in front of each of them and Mia pushed a plate of cookies between the three of them. The cookies were in stacks by type. Jon grabbed a chocolate chip cookie to munch on while listening to them talk. It seemed that Mia was quizzing Vicky on all things “Magnus Institute.” Vicky was doing very well, only needing more esoteric details from Jon. It was a good chance to people-watch that he took, halfway humming to the muted sound of “holiday” music.

After a few minutes, Vicky started waving wildly. “Fletcher!”

Fletcher shot a grin to the person he was talking to and came to join them. “Good to see you, Vicky. And who are your hot dates?” 

Vicky snorted and gestured to Mia, “I have here on my left the fabulous Miss Mia Jones, roommate extraordinaire and music mixer for the stars.” Fletcher nodded his hello. “And on my right is our very own Head Archivist, Mister Jonathan Sims.”

Fletcher let out a teasing whistle. “Boy Jon, you clean up nice. Is there someone Vicky and I should nudge under the mistletoe?”

“There’s mistletoe?” Mia tilted her head, confusion obvious, “I can’t see how that would get past HR.”

Fletcher seesawed his hand in a “so-so” motion. “I don’t know the whole story, but usually it’s only one sprig and you can bail out if you want to. Plus,” Fletcher’s cheeks pinkened, “a kiss doesn’t have to be on the lips.”

“Spill.” Jon almost startled at the force in Vicky’s voice. “Fletcher you can’t just say that and not give me details, who was it?”

Fletcher slumped forward onto the table, “I’ve already been roasted by the rest of IT, Vicky. Won’t you be nice to me, just for the holidays?”

Vicky poked his arm. “Nope, I have to be awful always. Now tell me, you know I can keep secrets.”

Fletcher squinted at her and turned to examine Mia and Jon. “Can I trust that whatever I say stays between the people at this table and them alone?”

“I don’t even go here man,” Mia crossed her heart with an extended pinkie, “and it’s a dick move to betray the trust of somebody you just met.” 

Fletcher accepted this and side-eyed Jon. “Fletcher, have you ever known me to gossip?”

“Fine, okay, alright.” Fletcher shook his hands and sat up straight in his chair. “Well, Vicky already knows this, but I’ll give a recap for the sake of context.” He snagged a white chocolate and macadamia nut cookie from the plate. “So like, a month ago, give or take some days, I met this guy. And like, I’d seen him before but I’d never really met him before, just seen him in passing in the halls and such.”

“He works here?” Mia ran her thumb along the ridges of her plastic cup. “What’s his name?”

“He does, and I’m not saying. Vicky would be on him in an instant. Just, he’s tall” Fletcher scrubbed a hand down his face, “and he’s gorgeous and sweet and he’s got freckles!” Fletcher stared down at his cookie like this was a great tragedy, well Jon knew as well as anyone that freckles could be devastating. “But anyway, I’ve been pining from afar.”

“As is tradition for the lonesome gay.” Vicky nodded solemnly.

“Yes, I’ve been yearning from a distance for weeks and I’ve never seen him be anything less than wonderful. Is that enough background?”

Vicky motioned for him to continue. “I think they get the gist.” 

“I got here a little early to help set up. The library people usually stay after since it's their space and y’know Rosie stays because she helps plan it and the bigger departments like Research and Artefact Storage send people to help. It’s almost like a before-party or something. The HR people drew straws on who got to place the mistletoe and then made us all leave so it’d be a surprise.”

“Who’s Rosie?” Mia whispered, hesitant to interrupt Fletcher.

“A Saint,” Jon, Fletcher, and Vicky said in unison.

“So I get here a little less than an hour early and we’re moving chairs and tables and stuff. I’m helping, of course, but I’m not not exactly the fittest guy so I need help lifting desks.” Fletcher shoved the last bite of his cookie into his mouth, only speaking again after swallowing. “I’m taking a water break with a few other people and y’know how the human eye is drawn to motion? It’s him. He’s like, not even breaking a sweat even though he apparently stayed after and was working long before I got there, and he just, rolls up his sleeves and picks up the table and moves it. He sets it down like, right next to me. And when he catches me staring, because of course I’m staring, he smiles at me and asks if there are any more water bottles.”

“Please tell me you were at least able to give him the water.” Vicky and Mia were hanging off every word. Jon was listening but tracking Martin’s path with his eyes. Martin was much closer, just outside of earshot, and talking to a group of taller individuals. It was rare to see him have to look up at anyone, hmmm, that’s probably where Fletcher’s crush is.

“I gave him one and he smiles like the sunrise.” Fletcher pressed the heels of his hands to his eyelids. “But that’s not all.”

“Yeah, where’s the mistletoe?” Vicky broke a peanut butter cookie in half, jabbing one half at Fletcher like it could force him to speak.

“So it’s seven p.m. on the dot, and Rosie announces that the party has started. People are flooding in and the set crew is immediately reimbursed for our efforts with some very strong eggnog.”

“Are you trying to blame that for your blushing?” Mia and Vicky worked really well together. Jon had to quirk a smile at the matching gleam in their eyes.

Fletcher shook his head, “I drank half of mine and handed it off to Ella, who decided to use me as a prop and dragged me around for a bit. It’s not important. What is important is that when I tried to escape I tripped.”

“Ouch.” Vicky and Mia chorused.

“I tripped, and he caught me.”

“Gasp!” Vicky folded her hands over her heart.

“I just about choked on my own tongue but he just helped me upright and he definitely finished his eggnog because he was beautifully flushed.” Fletcher’s eyes got a little starry but he continued with a shake, “I almost didn’t hear Ella whooping. We were right under the mistletoe.”

Mia leaned forward and propped her head up with her hand. “This is the best drama I’ve heard in ages.”

Fletcher deflated with a long sigh, “I’m a deer in headlights and he looks up to see it hanging over us, the guillotine blade.”

“What’d he do next?” Vicky had grabbed Mia’s hand and they seemed to be having a squeezing contest.

“He laughed and looked back down at me. He put a hand on my shoulder and the other on my cheek,” Fletcher’s ears were bright red, “and he kissed my forehead.”

“ Nooooo! ” Mia and Vicky moaned in disappointment. Fletcher folded his arms on the table and buried his face in them. Jon was torn between laughing at Mia and Vicky or comforting Fletcher. He settled for patting Fletcher’s elbow sympathetically. 

Jon checked the drinks and pushed himself to stand, “I’m going say hi to a few people and maybe bring back drinks when I return.”

“Actually, I think that Fletcher and I should show Mia around a bit. Who knows, maybe we’ll meet in the middle.” Vicky smiled at him and offered her fist. Jon tapped his knuckles against hers.

Jon found Martin leaning against a bookshelves, not hiding but away from the crowd. Jon approached from the side. “I couldn’t help but notice your rounds skirted around my table.”

“Jon,” Martin turned to look at him with a blinding smile. He held out a hand that Jon took immediately. “You look gorgeous as always. If I had talked to you, I wouldn’t have been able to leave you.”

“Can I keep you for the rest of the night, then?” Jon squeezed Martin’s hand.

Martin ran a thumb over his knuckles leaning in to Jon until their foreheads almost touched, “I can’t promise you that dear.”

Jon moved infinitesimally closer to rest his forehead against Martin’s. “Then I guess I’ll just have to stick with you, even if I don’t get you all to myself.” No one was looking at them, Jon Knew it. He surged up onto his tiptoes and kissed Martin. Their noses bumped and their teeth clacked. It was perfect. Jon pulled back with a smile. “You always blush so prettily.”

“You’re a menace.” Martin was redder than he could blame on a drink. “I’m in love with a menace.”

“And I’m in love with a poet.” Jon quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t think either of us expected where we’ve ended up.”

“You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?” Martin rolled his eyes, unbearably fond.

“I know.” Jon squeezed his hand, unable to hold back a smile. “If you’re ready to jump back into the fray I think Vicky will want to introduce you to someone.”

“Lead the way.” Martin waved his free hand with a little flourish.

Jon reluctantly dropped his hand to make his way to where Vicky, Mia, and Fletcher were chatting with Rosie and Sonja. Rosie had an arm slung around Sonja’s shoulders and they were both flushed. Sonja waved and Vicky turned to see them approaching. Fletcher was still red around the ears. Mia tugged on Vicky’s sleeves and pointed up. Jon followed where she was pointing and stopped dead in his tracks. Vicky started laughing maniacally. 

“Well that’s just my luck,” Martin chuckled, “twice in one night.”

Jon didn’t know how to feel about the mistletoe hanging above them. He’d never been overly fond of the tradition but it wasn’t hard to avoid. At least he wasn’t with a stranger. Jon could feel his ears burning as more and more eyes turned to them.

“Hey, look at me,” Martin gently took his hand, “breathe for me.” Jon sucked in a desperate breath. There were so many people watching them. He forced his lungs to expand against the tight feeling in his chest. “That’s it, just focus on me,” Martin’s thumb rubbed circles into Jon’s palm. “How long did it take you to get ready?”

The question cut through the storm brewing behind his eyelids. It gave him something to think about, “Maybe an hour, perhaps an hour and a half. I wasn’t really watching the clock.”

“I bet the makeup took the most time.”

“Not any more time than it used to.” Jon felt himself surfacing. The rhythm of Martin’s gentle circles and the distance granted by the change of subject help. He took another deep breath and it was easy. His ears were still red and people were still watching but it didn’t seem as pressing as before. “Thank you.”

“Anytime Jon,” Martin lifted Jon’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “There, tradition honored, we can go talk to our friends now.”

Jon had reclaimed his mind enough to be astounded by Martin’s thoughtfulness. He saw Jon freeze and immediately went to help. He knew Jon well enough to pull him back from the brink with the same tender determination he applied to everything. With that kiss on the hand, Martin said “I love you” and “I’m here” and “you’re safe with me.”

And Jon just couldn’t not kiss him.

There was a moment in the safehouse, sometime after their first kiss but before they sat down and outlined their boundaries, when they were talking about kissing. Martin had told him that Jon could kiss him anytime. Jon still preferred to ask for permission before kissing him, if only for the tiny smile Martin got when he said yes, but sometimes he took that blanket permission.

Jon could feel Martin’s flush under his hands, could feel Martin’s eyelashes brush along his cheekbones, could feel Martin’s lips gasp against his lips. Every kiss with Martin felt perfect. Martin’s hands gravitated to Jon’s waist, keeping him steady as Jon leaned into him. A small part of Jon noted the whispers around them and the eyes trained on them but he felt removed from it. He could be anywhere and he’d feel safe in Martin’s arms.

The moment could have lasted minutes or milliseconds but when Jon pulled back he was breathless. Martin looked dazed with kiss-swollen lips and Jon felt a small spark of pride that he caused that. Jon reached up to straighten Martin’s hair that he’d just messed up. He must have made an amusing expression because Martin burst into laughter.

It was like a dam broke, sound flooding back to his consciousness. He picked out a wolf whistle or two and at least one “ damn, Sims” followed by a “didn’t know he had it in him.” Jon joined Martin in laughter, pressing their foreheads together. Martin lifted his hands to Jon’s wrists, holding them where Jon was still cupping his neck. 

“So much for discretion,” Martin drew back and smooched Jon on the cheek noisily. “Now that we’ve advertised our relationship status to all of our coworkers I think there was someone you mentioned I’m supposed to meet.”

“Yes, right.” Jon shook his head, forcing himself to remember where he was. Jon took Martin’s hand and turned to lead him to the group. The warm weight was a favorite of his. 

Yeah, he was enjoying this party.

Chapter Text

“He’s going to see his boyfriend isn’t he?” Mia waited until Jon was out of view until speaking. “Like, that wasn’t even subtle. He's been watching the crowd this whole time.”

“Yeah probably,” Vicky shrugged, “I mean, he’s eased up a lot but he used to be a real stickler for propriety and professionalism . If it weren’t for those last shreds of decorum I bet he’d have been hanging off of him this whole time.”

“Wow Vicky, your impression of him is getting really good.” Fletcher snickered, “Jon is gonna hate it.”

“Actually, last time I used it one him he just slipped into the most aggressive southwestern American accent I’ve ever heard.” That was a surreal experience.

Mia squinted at her, like they hadn’t discussed this before. “Is that not just a southern American accent?” 

“I’m sorry, but if you can’t tell that there’s a difference between Texas and Georgia then I just can’t help you.” Vicky poked Mia’s shoulder.

“What’d he sound like?”

“I’m not sure I can recreate it, but uh.” Vicky hummed as she tied to think of comparisons. “Oh!” She snapped her fingers as she found one, “Fletcher I don’t think you know this one, but he sounded just like Sheriff Stone in High Noon Over Camelot.”

“You’re right I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just like, not exactly bad if he was aiming for southwestern. Kinda like he got all his knowledge of the accent from spaghetti westerns. Very rough and tumble cowboy who smokes more than he should.” Vicky remembered watching black and white westerns that she couldn’t fully understand when staying with her grandfather. Every once in a while one in color would come on but that didn’t make much of a difference. “It was better than trying to claim Doc Holiday was from Georgia.”

“You lost us babe,” Mia shook her head. “Maybe I should know what you’re talking about but I just don’t.”

“Fine, I guess y’all just don’t know the classics. I’ll just see if we can get him to do it whenever he gets back.”

“Oh!” Do you think he’ll bring his boyfriend?” Mia tapped her fingertips on the table top.

“Wait, are we finally getting to meet the boyfriend? I can’t wait to see who it is.” Fletcher squinted at Vicky. “Neither of them have been willing to give me a name.”

“Fletch, you say that like we don’t know Phoebe ends up with any information you have,” Vicky countered. “If you knew, the whole Institute would know within thirty-six hours, less if Phoebe is feeling really energetic.” 

“Well HR already knows so it’s not like it’s classified information.”

“HR knows because even though Jon hates rules, he follows them to the letter and HR has to know.”

Mia looked between them. “Is this a common topic?”

“Not exactly,” Vicky shrugged, “but it’s been touched on once or twice. Honestly Fletcher, it’s up to them if they want it to be common knowledge. So far, I’ve kept quiet because I haven’t had permission to share.”

“Well, if the boyfriend is uncertain can I at least meet Saint Rosie of Magnus’s Instutite of the Paranormal?” 

Vicky thanked Mia’s ability to cut through awkward situations. “Yes! I want to see what sweater she’s in, I’m told it’ll be a winner.”

Rosie’s sweater was, it was, well, it was certainly something. The rest of her outfit was a perfectly neutral business casual but Rosie played to win. Sonja had pointed them to the whiteboard where votes were tallied. Vicky didn’t recognize most of the names but Rosie was leading by a wide margin. Fletcher took offense that Martin was on the board and Vicky agreed that it was probably unwarranted but also most likely to just be a joke on the new “Big Boss.”

This was probably the longest Vicky had been able to talk with Rosie since her first day. It was definitely the longest she had talked to Sonja. She’d been lucky enough to avoid Artefact Storage so she only recognized Sonja’s face from the canteen and that she often would chat with Rosie at the Reception desk. It was a fun conversation and she didn’t feel pressured to talk when she didn’t have anything to say. 

Vicky saw Sonja wave at someone and turned to see Jon with Martin trailing behind him. Martin’s snowman sweater definitely didn’t deserve to be on the contest whiteboard. She felt a tug on her sleeve, Mia was wide-eyed and pointing towards the ceiling. Fletcher gasped and Sonja shot Rosie a smirk. Oh boy. Vicky saw the exact moment Jon realized he was under the mistletoe and couldn’t hold back her laugh.

Jon turned to face Martin and Martin cradled one of Jon’s hands between both of his. Vicky couldn’t hear what was being said but she’d bet money it was disgustingly tender. Martin pressed a kiss to the back of Jon’s hand with a smile that was small but must have been brilliant because she could see it from there. God, they’re both absolute saps. Vicky blinked and suddenly Jon had pulled Martin down into a kiss that really couldn’t be passed off as platonic. She felt like an extra in a Rom-Com. In this particular Hallmark movie there’d probably be lens flare and the camera would spin around them like they were the only two that existed.

Vicky rolled their eyes and turned back to her conversation partners. Mia had an expression that Vicky interpreted as “ah, so that’s Martin, good for them.” Rosie and Sonja seemed to be having a silent debate that involved a lot of raised eyebrows and head tilts. Fletcher looked like he’d seen a ghost, paler than she’d ever seen him.

Vicky put a careful hand on Fletcher’s arm, “Hey man, are you okay?”

Fletcher opened and closed his mouth like he couldn’t find words. He managed to bite out, “But Jon? He, he said-”

Rosie won the debate, “I told you so.”

“Martin still kissed him first,” Sonja grumbled, “wasn’t that the bet?”

“I said that Jon would be the one to reveal that they’re dating if they got caught under the mistletoe. Martin could and would have done that for anyone. Jon? Only someone he’s head over heels for.” Rosie squeezed Sonja’s shoulder. “I win.”

“Fine, you win, I concede.” Sonja rolled her eyes fondly.

Mia piped up, “So do you know how long they’ve been together?”

“Since early October, so it’s been about three months. Honestly though, you wouldn’t believe how long we’ve been rooting for them.”

“They’re dating?” Fletcher’s voice sounded more wheezy than usual.

Vicky turned to see Jon and Martin almost to their group. She moved her hand up to Fletcher’s shoulder. “Hey, how about we get you some fresh air.” Vicky turned Fletcher to the entrance, “Fletch of course I’ll help you look for it, we’ll be back in a jiff!” She directed the last bit at the group while steering Fletcher out.

She got out of the library and paused to link arms with Fletcher, “Okay buddy, I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to point me to your office.”

“Hey! You two work here?”

Vicky’s head snapped to the voice. She squinted at what appeared to be a short and muscular Asian woman in a tank top and a leather jacket. “Yeah, we do, but we’re closed to the public right now.”

“I know.” She grinned, “I’m a little late to the party but I’m here to see someone.”

She wanted to question the woman further but felt Fletcher’s grip on her arm tighten. “Well, the party’s in there,” she jerked her head at the Library, “have fun.”

Vicky started toward where she thought the IT offices were and heard the woman mutter to herself, “Oh, I will."

Chapter Text

Fletcher couldn’t breathe . He sent up a silent thanks to whatever power motivated Vicky to drag him out of the party so quickly. He pointed feeble fingers to direct her and soon enough she placed him in his familiar chair and he could breathe again.

She scanned over his desk and the room until she found the pack of water bottles Ella kept for anyone who might need them. Vicky cracked one open and held it out to him. Fletcher took it and gulped most of it down.

“Thank,” he sucked in another deep breath, “you.” He finished the water bottle. “ Fuck, I feel like an idiot.”

“Can you tell me why?” Vicky commandeered Phoebe’s chair and sat down in front of Fletcher. 

“For freaking out like this, for not noticing, for being this hung up on a guy I knew I didn’t have a chance with.”

“Hey man, you can’t control your feelings. Honestly, this isn’t the worst freak-out I’ve seen by far. But uh” Vicky tilted her head, “why exactly are you freaking out?”

“The guy I’ve got a crush on,” Fletcher pressed the heels of his hands to the backs of his eyelids, “is Martin.”

“Oh, oh no. I’m so sorry Fletcher.” Vicky put a tentative hand on his knee. “Shit, if I had told you from the beginning this wouldn’t have happened.”

“No, you were just respecting their privacy, you did nothing wrong.” Fletcher shook his head, “If I told you from the beginning or you told me doesn’t matter right now. I knew from the start that nothing would come from it, I shouldn’t have let myself fall so far.”

“Like I said, feelings aren’t something you control, so how about we forget about the what-ifs and just conclude that this sucks?”

He barked out a hoarse laugh, “I’ll drink to that!”

She slumped back in the chair and studied the room. “So uh, you got any cool things we could bring back as our excuse to be here?” Vicky gave him a slanted grin.

Fletcher thought it over, well, there was something. “I was going to wait until new years since I don’t know what holidays you all celebrate but the circumstances have changed.” He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a small gift bag, and sang his best rendition of the chest opening ditty while holding up the bag in both hands. “We have our excuse!”

“You’re such a dork sometimes.” She shoved Phoebe’s chair back where it belonged. He could hear her eyes rolling. Vicky returned to his side, “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

“I’m glad we’re friends too.” Fletcher slung an arm across her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. “Even if your opinions on Zelda are wrong.”

“Breath of the Wild is the best!”

“Nothing is ever gonna beat Ocarina.”

She gently elbowed him in the side. “He says as if he hasn’t put literal weeks into Breath.”

“Nope!” Fletcher slid the bag onto his wrist so he could gesture freely. “I refuse! You can’t use my completionist streak against me. I’ve gotten 100% on all games. I don’t care how much time it takes, I do it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she nodded to the door, “is Mister OCD ready to rejoin society?”

“Sure, I think,” Fletcher took in a breath big enough to make his lungs ache. “Maybe, just let me make sure I’ve got all of this straight.” 

Vicky snorted, “Well now, Fletch, I’m not sure that’s entirely possible considering the company you keep.”

“Can it, Groves, you know what I meant.”

“Of course, of course, please continue.”

“Alright, let’s start with what I know best:” he flicked out his thumb to start the count, “I’ve got a huge crush on Martin.”

“Which no one will hold against you.” Vicky noticed his quick glance at Phoebe's desk. “Okay teasing is one thing but nobody is saying you’re wrong to crush on a guy that you didn’t know was in a relationship.” Fletcher must have been making a face because she kept barreling onward. “Plus, Martin is super likable. Like, I’ve spent at most a few hours with the guy and I’d die for him. I mean, he’s not even my type but the figure he cuts in a suit and the way those lighter streaks in his hair catch sunlight? Yeah man, I totally get it.”

“Can we stop dwelling on how attractive my impossible crush is, I’m trying to move on.”

“You could totally get a guy like Martin, just y’know-”

“I’m not saying I can’t get a guy. I know I can get a guy,” Fletcher ignored the rising heat in his cheeks, “but I’m not gonna try and wreck Jon and Matin’s relationship! That’s a dick move and I respect them both far too much to undermine their choices like that.” “ Secondly, ” he jabbed his now extended index finger at her, “the boyfriend Jon has been mooning over is Martin. They’re dating.”

“Yep, since like, October I think. Honestly though, they had to be half in love already when they got together because they are advanced sappy and besotted.”

“Alright,” Fletcher considered his third finger, “as far as I know Martin doesn’t know that about my crush.”

“I don’t know enough to confirm or deny that for ya, bud. I feel like if he knew, he’d have told you or something but he doesn’t exactly see you everyday and it’d be so awkward to call you to his office about that.”

“That makes sense. Let’s just assume he doesn’t unless he says something about it. I’ll back off on my verbal pining and we can- wait.” Fletcher looked down at his fourth finger. “Does Jon know my crush is on Martin?”

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think about that.” 

“Would he say anything about it? I mean, he won’t get weird will he? Oh god, what if he thinks I’m super creepy because I’ve been going on and on about Martin?”

Vicky took him by the shoulders, “Breathe Fletcher, breathe.” She waited for him to suck in a few deep breaths before continuing. “Okay first off, if Jon knew that Martin was your crush then he would definitely have told you. It would be awkward and terrible and you’d both probably die of embarrassment and I’d roast you both for it mercilessly. He can’t know yet.”

“Okay, alright, okay.” Fletcher sucked in another lungful of air and tried to shake his anxiety out through his hands. “Fine, so neither of them know. Alright, I can work with that.”

“Are we sticking with keeping quiet and hoping everything turns out right?”

“Please tell me you aren’t about to preach about secrets and communication.”

“No, I’m not. It’s not my choice to make. Just,” she squeezed his shoulders, “remember that we’re your friends and we’re here for you. Unfortunate crushes or not.”

“Right, I know that. I’m just- I need some time to wrap my head around this before I’m ready to share with the group.” He smiled at her. “Thank you though, for helping me with this. I honestly would’ve just combusted if you hadn’t pulled me out of there.”

“Anytime my guy, are you ready to resurface?” Vicky gestured in the vague direction of the library. “There’s only so much time two grown adults can waste looking for one little gift bag.”

“Yeah, let’s head back.” He offered her his elbow and they started back to the party. “I’m excited to see how well my gifts do.”

“Hey, Fletch,” he hummed in acknowledgement, “did you recognize that woman we ran into on our way here?”

“No, why?”

“It’s just, I know I’m new here but there’s only a hundred or so people who work here and I’ve seen most of ‘em. She was new.”

“Well, she could be a plus one.”

“That’s true.” Vicky tapped her fingers on his arm, “I know this’ll probably sound crazy but I’ve got a bad feeling about her.”

“A random person showing up late to a holiday party?”

She refused to look at his teasing expression. “Ugh, I know. Call me paranoid but I’m gonna be thinking about it all night now.”

“Really, Vicky, after everything that’s already happened tonight.” Fletcher swung his free arm in a wide flourish that made the gift bag rustle. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Chapter Text

As roommates went, Mia thought she lucked out with Vicky. Seriously, when you hear that your friend has a friend who has a friend who has a friend who is moving from the states and needs a room in London, confidence isn’t exactly your first thought. However, after her last roommate had been gone for a month she quite literally couldn’t afford to be picky for long.

First off they traded contact info in the longest distance game of telephone she’d ever played. Vicky seemed pretty cool. When they skyped for the first time Vicky had been tuning a ukulele painted to match Steven Universe’s while sitting in front of a bi pride flag. Quite honestly, it was probably the best first impression she’d had of anyone in years, perhaps ever.

Okay, so maybe she had a crush. Maybe! It was a squish at the very least. So what if she had a weakness for sweethearts who sang well. Either way, it encouraged Mia to reveal her own pan and trans flags. 

It was Mia’s quickest friendship.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t been that nervous when Vicky first visited. Mia had already detailed the flat to Vicky during their calls, but she expected to be anxious when seeing her in person. Really the only thing she could think of when she saw Vicky in her flat, in their flat, with an oversized flannel hanging down around her knees was how adorable she was. Showing her around was like seeing London for the first time again. Mia had never enjoyed navigating the Tube before, but that little determined frown Vicky got when she really concentrated on something was worth every extra stop.

She was a great roommate too! When Mia was mixing and she couldn’t bear having her headphones on anymore, Vicky didn’t care if she played it out loud! When Mia had a bad day and completely hated her body, Vicky would pull up a Ghibli film and they’d set up like they were at a sleepover and hang out. When Mia danced around the flat because she just couldn’t keep her energy contained, Vicky sang along and danced with her. She was so pretty when she smiled.

Okay, so she maybe definitely had a crush. Maybe? Definitely? Maybe. She was going to stick with maybe.

Wait, where was she going with this?

Right, Vicky was a great roommate and she was an even better friend. And she had the best stories! She literally worked in London’s premium stash of spooky stories and before that she worked in the American equivalent. Apparently there was an entire cluster of shelves with encounters that boiled down to “I saw a ghost so I punched it” with varying levels of success. Vicky’s boss had the most basic name she’d ever heard but acted like an overtired university librarian that was weirder than the students.

Of course she’d jump on the chance to meet him. Honestly, she was just happy to be invited. Working as she did removed most standard “office job” experiences. Even if it sucked, Mia was going to enjoy it as well as she could. Plus, bad nights made good stories and this would be one for Vicky and Mia to share. It was a win no matter what, so she grabbed her favorite boots, a dress that may or may not have matched the blouse she’d seen Vicky lay out that morning, and tried to mentally prepare herself for whatever could happen. Mostly she just wondered if she’d be able to withstand seeing Vicky geek out in her own domain.

The Magnus Institute was creepy. Like, she wasn’t a stranger to old buildings and the strange energy they gave off just by virtue of their age but this was some advanced old building creepy. Whatever it was it didn’t matter because Vicky grabbed her hand and led her down into the Archives. It was certifiably cavernous. Jon was just as fun as Vicky reported him to be. Fletcher was amazingly easy to care about, poor thing. Rosie and Sonja were quite the dynamic pair. The conversation was easy, but maybe that was just because everything felt a bit easier next to Vicky.

Sonja spotted the pair first. Mia turned at the same time Vicky did. However, where Vicky found Jon followed by someone else in the crowd, Mia spotted the mistletoe first. She tugged on Vicky’s sleeve, a now familiar method they used to get each other’s attention, and pointed wordless. What could she even say?

What happened next felt like a private moment, a silent soliloquy shared between two people on a swarming stage. She turned away. That must be Martin, well, I can see the appeal. Rosie won her bet, much to Sonja’s teasing complaints. Fletcher looked about two seconds from collapsing. Mia watched Vicky steer Fletcher away with an excuse that was probably more for Jon and Martin than the rest of the group.

And Jon asked where they were, of course he did. She should’ve expected it after all she’d heard from Vicky. Mia did her best to shrug it off, “Fletcher had to get something from his desk and Vicks offered to help him find it.”

“So she just left you to fend for yourself?” Jon’s expression spoke of an introvert that had been dragged to many parties by their more extroverted friends. Well, from his awkwardness maybe make that just friend.

“Not entirely by myself,” Mia waved at Rosie, “I’m under the watchful protection of a Saint.”

“A Saint?” Sonja choked out a laugh while she struggled to swallow her drink. When she continued, her voice was scratchy and awfully fond. “Are we talking about a different Rosie or did the Pope finally give in to our demands?”

Rosie rolled her eyes with a sigh as Sonja tried to clear her throat. “What have you been telling her Sims?”

“I have literally only known her for less than an hour, blame Ms. Groves for anything she says about the Institute.” 

“I can confirm that most of my info stems from Vicky.” Mia sipped her cider, and maybe a few forum threads, late night Googles, and a few rants from Melanie King. “As knowledgeable as Jonny here certainly is, he hasn’t had much time to impart that wisdom.”

“Exactly!” Jon huffed with a small yet overly dramatic frown. “Really, does no one trust my word anymore?” Mia had the idea that he’d have a good stage presence, he certainly had the voice for it.

“It is a good point. However,” Martin looped an arm over Jon’s shoulders that Jon leaned into immediately, “Jon, where do you think Vicky got her information?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and then closed it again. Wow, that scowl was fierce. She could definitely imagine him on a stage playing some tragic Shakespearean hero approaching their inevitable downfall or maybe one of the more clever villains talking other people into doing their bidding. Well, judging from the laughter of their group, he could probably play one of the more deadpan comedic characters too. Martin pressed a kiss to Jon’s temple and that seemed to be enough of an apology. 

Mia was good at people. She may not like people, but she was good with them. People called it weird. Her parents called it astute. An ex had called it manipulative. Her therapist called it analytical. She didn’t really call it anything, just watched and waited and maybe nudged things in one direction or another. The push and pull of interaction had a flow and she could follow it. Although sometimes, when she was at her most active, it seemed that the flow followed her. 

She liked to sit back and observe. It was more fun with larger groups but people were always fascinating. It was kind of like looking at an optical illusion and trying to switch between one shape and another. If you unfocused your eyes and tilted your head just right and let your mind quiet for a bit, then the pieces would slot into place and everything was clear. When looking into conversations, Mia could almost see the connections people made. The thin strands of a casual conversation, the complex braids of close friends, the thick tethers that anchored partners together. They all laced together in an intricate web, stronger than spider’s silk.

Her therapist had called it a daydream, but it felt real to her.

Sometimes it was a bit too much. She couldn’t always control her focus on the people in her immediate vicinity. It was easier to just stay away from crowds but this party had more upsides than downsides and she was enjoying it. Being the newest person was enough of an excuse to take a more passive role in the conversation and she was enjoying seeing the people around her weave a few more strings into their existing bonds. She glanced down and found, to her delight, the beginnings of a good bond stretching from her chest to the people around her. Good on her! She was making friends already, no supervision required.

She felt a twang at her fingertips, something plucking at a taut string and letting it vibrate. Mia looked to the entrance of the library, following the tug of an invisible thread. The library was filled with shimmery and silvery bonds but there was something wrong. She could see them snapping, like something was forcing its way through instead of integrating itself into the web. The strings hung limp from the people they connected and she could have sworn they looked singed. The crowd parted, strands contracting as people moved. 

In the widening gap, Mia could see a person approaching their group. They were stout, wearing a dark leather jacket and emanated a simmering power. Every thread they touched blackened and curled in on itself.

Mia blinked back into focus with the real world. She had no idea what the subject of conversation was anymore. Martin and Rosie seemed to be carrying the discussion. Jon was leaning into Martin, almost resting his entire weight against his boyfriend. Her fingers twitched, feeling that twang again. Jon stood up straight.

His eyes flashed and he turned to face the person approaching them. That scowl returned in force. Martin must have noticed how tense Jon was because he followed where Jon was looking.  Only later would she remember hearing a faint click, but at the moment there were other things to focus on.

“Archivist.” The person stopped about a meter away from Jon and smiled a nasty smile. “I see you’re still kicking about.”

Chapter Text

“Jude.” Jon pulled himself up to his full height, although it didn’t give him much over Jude. “What are you doing here?”

“Just checking the place out. How’s the hand?” Jon flexed the hand with the glossy burn scar and Jude’s grin widened. “It feels different these days, I wouldn’t suppose you have anything to do with that?”

“Ms. Perry, is there anything you actually plan to do here?” Martin stepped forward to be level with Jon facing Jude. His full height was much more intimidating. 

“Aww, that’s cute Archivist. I didn’t know you’d gotten a pet.”

“Answer the question or get out.” Jon snapped at her.

“I’m just here to enjoy the party, I could grab an eggnog if you want?” She reminded Mia of the more snobby people she’d had the misfortune to encounter. “Tell me, Archivist, where’s Elias?”

Elias? Mia knew she’d heard the name before, from Vicky. Isn’t Elias dead now?  

“I hope you didn’t have anything planned with him. He’s no longer with us.” Jon really could be prickly when he wanted to be.

“So what, this place is yours now?”

Jon squinted at her. “It is what it is.” 

Mia was thoroughly confused by whatever the hell was going on between Jon and Jude. Obviously there was some shared history between them that she hadn’t witnessed. Like, it wasn’t cool to make fun of anyone’s scars. 

“So if I just torched the place, would it affect you in any way?”

Mia did not like Jude. Her fingers felt tingly, like there was something she was supposed to be doing with her hands. Something tugged her left hand down. There was a cassette tape recorder on the floor. Mia blinked but it was still there. She watched the little wheels turn for a few seconds before she realized what it meant. It was recording. She really hoped she wasn’t interrupting anyone but she had to ask, “Did anyone drop a tape recorder?”

Well, that definitely paused the conversation. Rosie and Sonja were surprised and just a touch perplexed by the small machine. Jude very much did not enjoy the idea of being recorded. Jon and Martin barely gave it a glance. Mia did what she always did when faced with an unsettling yet nonthreatening object. She picked it up. 

The whirring grew louder as it grew closer to her ears. The vibration was oddly soothing. The solid weight in her hands was heavier than she expected it to be. It was a basic recorder, the kind she hadn’t seen in ages. Something told her to look at it the same way she looked at conversations. 

Objects had connections too. Anything that someone interacted with regularly would develop a connection to them. This recorder had more connections than she’d ever seen from one source. That was only the first odd thing she noticed. Unlike the bonds she saw delicately develop these strings felt heavier. Even the thinnest strand was thicker than most idle connections she’d seen. Instead of a translucent silvery color, these were a solid stone grey. The thickest was tied to Jon, which wasn’t surprising because Vicky said he used recorders all the time, but that too was different. The bonds she was familiar with always stemmed from the people they connected, latching on and looking as natural as if they had grown there originally. 

She blinked at the rope looped around Jon’s neck and tried desperately not to think of a noose. She was failing.

Martin’s wrists were knotted with halves of one long braid that split before reaching him. Jude had several braids wrapping around her torso and the remnants of many more that were charred black sticking out of her skin, like candle wicks. Rosie and Sonja had anklets just thinner than a violin’s strings. Dozens of other strands connected to the people around their group. 

Mia pressed down the on/off button with her thumb. It had more resistance than she expected. It clicked off. It clicked on. Huh, well, fiddly buttons weren’t a new thing to her. It clicked off. It clicked on. It clicked off. It clicked on. The next time the button didn’t even move.

What the fuck.

She turned over the machine in her hands, thinking. The battery compartment didn’t have any screws. She brought a hand up to tuck her hair back and almost dropped the tape recorder. Around each fingertip of her left hand was a tiny bow, reminding her of how her mom would tie strings on her fingers to remember things. In a blink, the knots grew thicker, strands winding around the existing threads until it no longer looked like she could snap them.

Jude spoke again but Mia couldn’t parse her words. Connections took time . But she watched more strings try to latch onto Jude. Some laced themselves into the existing braids while others shot off to random places where they burned off.

What. The. Fuck.

She wanted to drop the tape recorder. She wanted to chuck it at Jude and see what happened. She wanted to snap every string on her hand and smash the tape recorder with a sledge hammer.

She held onto the tape recorder. It was clutched in her fingers so tight. She hadn’t even noticed it was resting completely in her left hand. Whatever this thing was it was wrong and she didn’t like it. Whatever Jude was it wasn’t right either. Why did Jon know her?

Jon, with that slate grey rope around his neck, with that brilliant plait connecting his heart to Martin’s, with infinitely small threads linking him to dozens of other people. His left hand, the burned one, was linked to Jude’s. It looked burnt and it shimmered oddly, heat waves from a fire. 

Mia felt a hand on her shoulder. Rosie gave her a concerned look. “Are you alright, dear? You kinda checked out once you picked that thing up.”

“Yeah,” she shook herself, “I’m fine. Just got a little lost iin my thoughts for a while, did I miss anything?”

“Sonja and I have been brainstorming a reason to remove Ms. Perry from the premises.”

Sonja shot a sideways look at Martin, “I think he’s about three seconds from dragging her from the building. Lord knows he could.”

“ No, ” Mia’s heart seized, “I don’t think it’s safe for anyone to touch her. Who knows what provoking her could do.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Rosie tilted her head as she thought. “Do you think she’d actually leave if we told her she had to?”

Sonja shook her head with a shrug, “I won’t say it’s impossible but I have serious doubts about that. There’s not much we can really do.”

Mia’s left hand jerked towards the library’s entrance. In the mess of wiry connections, two hefty braids seemed to gleam. She shook her right hand, hoping it would dissipate the sudden itchiness under her fingernails. It felt better with the recorder pressed between her hands, the corners digging into the meat of her palms. Those two braids were almost under her fingers. 

She could touch them.

No she couldn’t. She’d never been able to touch the strings. It was partially how she knew it wasn’t real and why her therapist hadn’t worried about it. Why was she suddenly so certain she could?

Her fingers twitched with an increasingly familiar twang. Her index finger was so close to it. Rosie’s elbow nudged her arm and Mia jerked. She nodded off Rosie’s apology and looked back to her hands.

Her index finger was resting on a strand. It felt stronger than a steel cable even though it reminded her of loosely twined guitar strings. She pressed on it and something flashed behind her eyes. Hunger, need, tearing at her stomach and thrumming in her throat, running, chasing, clawing. Hunting. Mia couldn’t pull away fast enough. And yet, she couldn’t pull away far. Her palms were glued to the recorder and her fingers could only bend so far. 

She watched her index finger land back on the offending strand. She saw it curl and start to pull. She followed it as it drew back and back. Her hand unstuck itself from the recorder. It became tauter and tauter. The strand cut into the crook of her finger and Mia could feel it, but it was distant. 

And then it was released. The resulting, resonating twang vibrated down to Mia’s bones. 

Jon’s head snapped to her. Mia finally was able to drop the recorder, clutching her hands to her chest now that she finally had full control of them again. She met Jon’s gaze and his eyes were the brightest green she’d ever seen. The tape recorder clattered to the ground, muffled on the carpeted floor. 

She took a step towards Jon. On the second step, her knees gave out. Martin, turning his attention away from Jude for the first times since she’d shown up, caught Mia before she could hit the floor. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, which was damper than she’d thought. 

“Mia, I think you might have a temperature.” Martin hummed with a slight frown, “How are you feeling?”

Jon blinked and his eyes were dark, normal, again. “Was that the recorder?” 

“I think that needs to be added to your spooky shit room.” Mia’s voice sounded as shaky as she felt. “Because that was wack. ”

Chapter Text

Mia looked so pale. 

Martin immediately took over, experience evident as he did a quick check on her health.

“Was that the recorder?” Jon had never seen someone affected by the recorders like that. Granted, no one had really held onto one for an extended amount of time for a while. He remembered clutching one in a death-grip during the Prentiss attack. That didn’t exactly give him any more data though.

“I think that needs to be added to your spooky shit room.” Mia shuddered and flexed her fingers. “Because that was wack. ”

Jude snorted, “Really Archivist, one might mistake you for Cane with how many you draw in.” She leered at Mia. “Good luck with your spiderling. I think she might need a stronger constitution if she’s to last around you.”

“ Good Lord, Jude!” Jon spat static at her, “For someone who hates to answer any questions you really never do shut up! ”

Jude’s mouth snapped shut on whatever retort she had. Oh dear, that came out as a compulsion. Jude was the kind to play with her “food” and that was what she seemed to be doing up until that point. Her face closed as her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw set. He, somewhat hysterically, noted that actual steam started to billow out from her ears.

This was going to get ugly.

“Rosie, please inform everyone that the party is over due to unforeseen complications.” Martin spoke gently behind him, “I hate to cut it short and rush anyone home but speed is of the essence at the moment.”

Jude seemed to be locked in his gaze as long as he kept staring at her. He dared not blink, lest Jude took the opportunity to hurt someone. With his eyes focused on her, he pushed beyond his sight and into his Sight. He didn’t know how Rosie did it but people were definitely making their way out. Jude continued sizzling in her place.

When he could feel most of the employees fading from his reach, he blinked back to reality. Martin was just over his shoulder, at his side as always. Mia had latched onto Martin and it seemed that he was taking most of her weight. Well, he’d rather no one here that Jude could hurt, but it was much better than the full party. 

He’d faced her before. He could do this.

The static scratched in his throat, “ You can speak now. ”

“ Fuck off! I don’t need your damn permission! ” Jude spat and her face moved oddly as she spoke, or more that it moved less as the wax started to lose its perfect shaping. She hadn’t exactly started dripping but she was on her way to melting. 

“Jude, if you leave now then this doesn’t have to be anything.”

“Oh, right, like you have any power to stop me.” She spat out the words and droplets of wax hit the ground. Jon idly wondered if that would melt the fibers of the carpet. “What’re you gonna do, see me to death?”

Jon leveled a considering stare at her. Then cocked his head to one side. Static crackled under his skin. He let it rise until he was certain his entire form was flickering. Green spotlights, quite literally, blinked into existence. Most focused on Jude but no corner of the room was unseen to him. His shadow stretched and jittered.

Jude’s melting face was washed with green light. She squinted up at him. He saw her throat work, her pupils contract, her shoulders tense. She probably thought herself good at hiding her fear. Maybe to anyone else she was, but not to a Watcher.

“Perhaps,” The Archivist’s voice echoed off the shelves, layered and multiplied and drenched in static, “I will.”

Mia flinched with her whole body but she wasn’t reacting to The Archivist. She’d turned to the library’s doors, eyes wide and unfocused. She was waiting for something. Martin had his attention divided between concern for Mia and keeping an eye on Jude. Well, The Archivist had that covered. However, he knew Martin wouldn’t leave him even if it would’ve been safer. 

The doors burst open.

No account of anything is perfect.

No human witness was infallible. Memory is fickle and swayed by emotions. There isn’t a single person that has been, is, or will be absolutely objective. This is, in part, because the world is not fitted for absolutes. It just isn’t. One might say, funnily enough, that the universe’s only absolute is that there are no absolutes. 

Does the universe contradict itself? Very well, it contradicts itself. It is large, it contains multitudes.

Another prevalent reason is that it is impossible to have every perspective. You can catch glimpses of others’ in your own but you will not know them. Perfection requires completeness. Completeness implies finality. Do you think the universe will be “done” anytime soon?

Not even precious technology can be a truly accurate account. Ignoring the possibility of tampering, it can only capture one side of the story. No matter how many angles you look from, there’s no way to have a complete recording. 

A person will remember the emotions.

A camera will remember the actions.

And everything else will be lost to us in due time.

It’s cute. How people try to hold onto their recollections as perfect little pictures. I think it’s sweet how hard they try. And most days I would leave them to it. Who am I to tell them they’re wrong? I am nothing to them, therefore I have no power over them. 

Humans can be quite temperamental like that. 

They’re all so adorable. Anyhow, there are more urgent matters to deal with. My apologies for the distraction.

Right, where were we?

The doors burst open. Several unnaturally green eyes swiveled to observe the disturbance. The simplest way to describe the creature that entered the library is that it was a predator. 

The thing about predators is that there is no one visual cue for them. So a predator could have claws or fangs or venom or the ability to crush its prey to death. This was the kind of predator that hunts in nightmares. It is never just one thing, it is somehow always all. There is no limit to speed or stamina. Just the puffing of too wet breath against the back of your neck and the rumbling kind of growl that starts in one throat and ends buried in another.

In the space between breaths, that no one power actually needed, the three beings were at a deadlock. There was instinct and calculation and rage.

The predator, let’s call her The Detective, lunged for the Candle. The Candle stood her ground, one hand ready to burn the creature. The Archivist waited, he wasn’t needed just yet.

Now, the Candle was powerful but she was not unique. There were many Candles but they did not gather as they used to. Which was a real shame; because one could take down an inert forest or a fledgling Avatar on their own, but a fully formed Hunter and a Watcher in its own place of power? The poor thing needed to start thinking these things through. 

Not that she’d have much longer for that. 

The Detective pinned the Candle to the floor, which would almost definitely need new carpeting after this. The Detective tried to rip the Candle’s throat out but only got a mouthful of melted wax. The Candle tried to burn The Detective enough to push her off but only got a very mad growl.

The Archivist stepped forward, observing the scene with an increasing sense of vindication. “You, who have burned and taken and destroyed. You, who have used every excuse to do harm. You, who  have thought yourself invincible.”

Jude Perry, finally admitting to herself that this might not have been the best idea, flinched. “Look! Okay, I went a bit far! I was just trying to find out why things felt different over here!”

The Archivist continued, unperturbed, “ Feel what you have done. Feel the pain and the misery and the terror you have inflicted.”

“This, this is revenge, isn’t it?” Jude gasped, “You want to hurt me because I hurt you, I get it!” Her chest seized, feeling pain she hadn’t in decades. “I can, I can help you. ”

“Just die already!” Martin snapped at her.

“You’re not, better, ” Jude hacked out a cough, “than me!”

The static hit a fever pitch before silence rang through the library. Yes, that carpet would not be salvageable. The Detective heaved herself up and turned to The Archivist. 

“Daisy, is that you?” Martin’s voice was somewhere between relief and apprehension.

The Archivist let the static recede back into himself. Jon felt shaky. Not in a weak or tired way, but in a way that came with excess energy and no place to use it. Yes, this was Daisy in front of him. It was good to know she was still alive, even if she looked less than ideal.

“Daisy, it’s good to see you.”

She pounced. In all honesty, Jon wasn’t surprised that she attacked. Of course, he wasn’t happy about it, but it was better than if she’d gone for Martin. Her teeth sank into his leg and he wasn’t ashamed to say that he yelped. Who wouldn’t?

“Daisy!” A gun clicked from the doorway. “Put him down!”

The Detective turned to the voice, that was her name- was that her name? Jon hissed as he was dragged along the floor. 

Basira had her gun at the ready, “Daisy, you know me. You know him. It’s okay, you can let go of him.”

Daisy’s chest heaved. Everything was so loud in her head. The blood pounding in her ears was screaming at her. She was so hungry and she needed to keep moving. Where was she? How long had she been there? Everything was red, red, red.

Basira stalked forward, looking every bit the hunter that her former partner was. “Daisy, it’s me. Come back to me, I’m here for you. I’ve got your back, remember that? We’ve got each other’s backs.”

“Basira?” Daisy blinked and there she was. Her partner. 

“That’s right, it’s me. Can you put him down now, please?”

Daisy’s jaw was so tense, she relaxed it and something thumped to the ground. Basira took another step closer and held out a hand to Daisy. Daisy felt so strange, like her body was doing things without her say so. Basira placed her hand on Daisy’s forehead and Daisy could feel all the tension in her body leave. “Basira, partner.”

“That’s right.” Basira clicked the safety of her gun back on, “I’ve got you.”

Daisy blinked her eyes open and things had proper color again. She was in a library? Yes, the library at the Magnus Institute, where Basira would find endless books to keep herself occupied. Martin was there! Jon had gotten him back! 

Oh, oh no. Martin was kneeling over Jon who had a nasty wound from the left calf down. Basira wrapped an arm around Daisy’s shoulders, the perfect weight to be grounding without making her feel trapped. Daisy swallowed the lump in her throat, “Did I do that?”

“Yeah,” Basira was always straight with Daisy, “did you mean to?”

“I,” Daisy took in a few deep breaths, “I did, but I didn’t know it was him. He was just, he was-”

“More prey?”

“More danger.” she looked down at the strange shiny burns on her upper arms and shuddered. “I took out the volatile one, but he felt different than he used to. I just,” she felt awful for laughing, “I was scared  of him, Basira, so I attacked.” She leaned into Basira, starting to feel the months of running she’d been doing.

She’d be okay. Basira had her back.

Chapter Text

Jon honestly wished Daisy had just broken the leg. Muscle injuries took a lot longer to heal properly and weren’t as simple as a cast.

However, it seemed that speed of recovery was less of an issue than expected. While Martin had peeled off the torn  fabric of his trousers, Jon could see the wound perfectly. He had a flash of the Prentiss attack. Martin with concern etched into the lines of his face as he examined Jon’s injuries. This time, however, he wasn’t armed with a corkscrew and poised for worm removal. 

The last time Jon had seen one of his own bones it was outside of his body. He wasn’t sure which was more disturbing but both were perfectly whole. Well, he’s pretty sure they were both perfectly whole, was that a divot? He was so glad Vicky hadn’t found the rib in his desk. How was he supposed to explain that? 

He decided that seeing the bone while still in his body was more disturbing. The rib had been part of a plan. Granted, a flawed and failed plan, but it had ultimately been his choice to have it removed.  This was something else entirely. Watching the muscle fibers reform themselves was surreal at best and nauseating at worst. Really, it was a mix of both.

Jon and Martin both watched the skin close up until it scabbed over, 

Martin’s eyebrows furrowed as he ghosted his fingertips over the edges of the jagged puncture marks. “I didn’t even get the chance to disinfect it.” 

Jon’s shoulders started shaking, his breath hitched, and he bit his lip. He snorted. He couldn’t hold back the laughter that overtook him. Jon collapsed back onto the floor.

“Jon!” Martin surged forward to place a hand under Jon’s head before it hit the floor. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s possible after that.”

“Jon, that’s no reason to be reckless. We’re going to have someone look at this, even if you think it’s nothing.”

“Of course, dear.” Jon smiled up at Martin. The lights caught Martin’s flyaways and turned them into a halo around his face. “You’re gorgeous.”

Adorably rosy was one of Martin’s best looks in Jon’s opinion. “You are absolutely impossible sometimes.” Martin gently eased Jon up to sit, one hand cupping the back of his neck and the other going to his waist for stability. “I honestly cannot believe you.” 

Jon pressed his forehead to Martin’s, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Martin pecked Jon’s forehead.

“You two are disgustingly domestic.” Jon snorted and turned to see who had spoken. Basira had concealed the gun somewhere on her person and Daisy was all but hanging off her partner’s shoulders. Mia was sitting slouched over with her legs splayed out in front of her. 

“What the actual fuck just happened?” Vicky made a beeline for Mia. Mia nudged the tape recorder with the toe of her boot. Vicky’s eyes darted between Mia, Jon and Martin, and Daisy and Basira. “That, that was some statement shit!”

“Please tell me I hit my head sometime in the past hour and none of what just happened actually happened.” Fletcher swayed where he stood looking fairly sick.

“How much of that did you actually see?” There was an urge to Compel him, to Compel them both. He ignored it, whatever had happened to Jude was already singing in his veins. No, it was just a normal question. Exceptionally normal considering the circumstances.

“Well, I uh, hid for most of it really.” Fletcher gestured a shaky hand to Daisy, “I didn’t see anything after she burst in.”

“I saw all of it,” Vicky squinted at the recorder and then Jon, “and I would like to reiterate: what the fuck? To all of you, because this shit is wack and none of you look even the least bit surprised. Jon? Since when can you go eye monster?”

Basira looked over Mia, Vicky, and Fletcher in turn. She seemed to be planning what to say, probably unaware if they were “in the know” about what the Institute actually was and how much she could say with such uncertainty. Daisy, however, had no such qualms, “Spooky shit happens. Jon,” she waved at him, “you explain it Mr. All-Seeing-Eye.”

Martin snorted. Jon rolled his eyes, “I resent that. I truly resent that.”

Basira nudged Daisy’s arm with her elbow, “I’m pretty sure that title is reserved for Magnus.”

“Speaking of, where is the bastard? I wouldn’t mind ripping into him, no claws necessary.”

“I’m afraid we have some good bad news for you.” Martin stood and pulled Jon up to join him.

“Don’t tell me he got away.”

“No, more that he got in the way.” Jon brushed off his waistcoat. The trousers were obviously ruined but it seemed that everything else was saveable. “He’s gone for good, has been for a few months now.”

“And you did it?” Basira sounded hesitant but impressed.

“My knight of shining eldritch eyes,” Martin laced his fingers through Jon’s and gave his hand a quick squeeze, “and then we rode off into the sunset.”

Mia choked out a laugh. “This is absolutely insane. Your boyfriend just turned into a literal shadow figure who melted a woman and that’s just, what, a subpar Friday night?”

“I’m not a shadow figure, however I may appear when,” Jon didn’t really know the word for it. It wasn’t that he suddenly became The Archivist. He was always The Archivist, but he was also more. Whatever, the specific wording didn’t really matter at the moment, “I do that, I am diametrically opposed to any real shadow figure.”

“There are real shadow figures?” Mia blanched and hugged her arms around her chest. Vicky immediately wrapped her own arms around Mia as well.

Fletcher looked at Daisy again. He bit his lip, tugged on a small gift bag that hung from one wrist, and then spoke as if he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. “I saw you, during the attack. You were going after the other two.”

“The attack? Is that the ‘incident’” Vicky put air quotes around incident, “that everyone knows but nobody talks about?”

Fletcher nodded with a sway. “ Fucking bonkers. ”

Chapter Text

Fletcher was not freaking out. Nope, he was cool, he was chill. Yep. Absolutely fine.

He sucked in a deep breath.

He was fine.

He worked at the damn Magnus Institute. He could handle spooky, he worked at fucking spook-central. Like, he hadn’t really put much thought into it, but he’d seen things damnit. He’d stomped on his share of worms when they made it into the IT offices and Phoebe froze in her chair with that glassy, blank look that had him cracking bad jokes until she snapped at him to shut up. He’d walked Ella home and made sure everyone sounded off when they got home safe after they found a body in the building. He’d buckled down and suffered through the power change after Elias got arrested when the standard operating procedure got turned upside down. He refused to let his coworkers drift away from right in front of him and dragged them out of the building during the attack.

He could handle this. Absolutely.

Vicky kept an arm around Mia as soon as she got to her feet. Fletcher stayed on Mia’s other side and kept an eye on Daisy, well, an eye on Daisy’s shoulders. He wasn’t really feeling up to eye contact. He’d stick to shoulders, foreheads if they wanted his “full attention.”

He double checked that his gift bag was secure around his wrist and laced his fingers together in front of him. He held his breath for three seconds to make sure that he could and squeezed his fingers. He was good.

The outside air helped. The cold felt sharp in his throat and it made him feel awake. Fletcher was real.

Daisy stayed close to Basira. When Martin locked the Institute behind them, Daisy watched keenly as Basira readjusted her headscarf and stood closer than most people would allow. It was Jon’s idea to leave. Daisy suggested going to a pub.

A pub meant noise, but he desperately wanted to be somewhere else and he wouldn’t be inviting strangers to his flat. He had a feeling that Serious TalkTM was about to happen and he’d prefer the option of escape. Fletcher could deal with a pub. He'd have to.

While walking Daisy stayed beside Basira. Their hands brushed. Daisy squared her shoulders and grabbed Basira’s hand. Basira shot Daisy a look he couldn’t see but their hands started swinging between them, still connected. Huh, good for them I guess.

Mia probably didn’t need Vicky to support her but neither seemed particularly inclined to let go of each other. He suspected that Vicky had a crush. She got a little mushy when talking about her roommate. Fletcher figured that Mia had a fifty/fifty chance for reciprocation but he didn’t know her well enough to get a solid read on her.

Martin was pretty much carrying Jon. Jon was simultaneously resisting for the sake of refusing to allow himself to be coddled and melting into his boyfriend’s touch. Fletcher couldn’t blame him. Martin said something about finding Jon a cane again. Jon mentioned that there was probably one still in the Archives. Apparently he hadn’t needed it since “the coma” and doubted he’d need it now.

The pub they entered had a name that started with “the” and was followed by an adjective and a noun. It was the standard name formula and he couldn’t bring himself to actually remember it. 

Oh, it had karaoke. Well, at least he’d have something to look at if he zoned out. He hoped that people would at least space it out if they wanted to sing “All I Want for Christmas.” It seemed they were catching the tail end of the latest performance. 

Jon led them to a far corner with a sort of wrap-around booth deal. Daisy nodded in approval and pulled Basira to the bar. One by one, they shuffled into the booth. It ended up that from one end to the other they sat: Jon, Martin, Fletcher, Vicky, and Mia. Daisy and Basira came bearing pint glasses of beer and water. Basira sat next to Jon and Daisy took the outermost spot. 

The water was crisp and it felt better in his throat than the air outside. Fletcher cupped his hands around the glass the best he could. It was a decent substitute for holding his hands and this way he could sip as he pleased. He was good. He could deal.

“So are we just starting with an explanation and then supplementary questioning or will you be answering according to what questions are asked?”

“I think it’d work best if I did my best to explain things first.” Jon pulled his braid over one shoulder and swirled the tip against his fingertips. “You know how it is when I get started.”

Vicky nodded, drumming a marching beat on the tabletop. “Gotcha, I’ll try to keep interruptions to a minimum as long as you promise to stay on topic.” 

Daisy snorted into her drink. “You’ll have to keep him to water then. He tends towards debates when he’s a few drinks down.”

“That or he’ll be spouting Shakespeare.” Basira leaned into Daisy. “We used to have it down to a science, oh, what was it?”

Daisy flicked up a finger, “One drink is Tipsy Jon, he’s usually very chill but his focus is very hard to guarantee.” 

“He’s also very cuddly.” Martin laid his arm around Jon, who had his I want to argue but you’re technically right face on. Jon crossed his arms but tucked himself into Martin’s side immediately.

Basira pulled up a second finger from Daisy. “Two drinks Jon is Scholar Jon. Scholar Jon knows many things and he has opinions on all them. Opinions he will gladly share and fight for if he feels the need.”

“Three drinks Jon is Theater Jon. A thespian through and through,” a third finger raised, “his preferred material is Shakespeare but he’s also known to draw from Greek tragedies or musicals.”

“Musicals?” Mia perked up.

“From Disney to Sondheim,” Daisy nodded, “and he may or may not like to switch out names in the ballads.”

“ Daisy. ” Jon’s voice held the utmost pain of betrayal.

“It depends on how mopey he’s feeling but we’re edging into four drinks Jon territory now.” She smirked at him and ticked up another finger, “Four drinks Jon is Singer Jon. He may not look like it, but he’s got a good pair of lungs and a nice set of pipes in that scrawny little chest of his.”

“He used to be a choir boy,” Basira supplied solemnly. 

Martin chuckled, “He can hit every note in Take On Me.”

Daisy her five raised fingers. “Five drinks Jon is Dancer Jon.”

“I didn’t come here to get doxed by people I thought I trusted.” Jon huffed into Martin’s chest. “We can discuss the effects of drinking after the explanation, thank you very much.”

“Well, get on with it then. Either we stop at one or push on to four so speed is of the essence.” Jon turned to glare at Daisy and was met with a smirk.

“Just start the story, love, we’ll worry about time later.” Martin smoothed a hand down Jon’s side.

Jon took a deep breath. Then he started to speak.

Chapter Text

Fletcher pressed his almost numb palms to his face. He slotted the heels of his hands against his eyelids and let his fingertips scratch at his scalp. Deep breaths.

Fletcher didn’t really have a solid grasp on time. Hiding behind bookshelves while his imagination wildly tried to explain the noises he was hearing had felt like hours even though it only could’ve been a few minutes at the most. The explanation felt much shorter than it was. Vicky had gladly interrogated the spooky half of the table. Fletcher had blurted out his own questions occasionally. Mia had very few but did ask. It looked like they’d all lost their momentum.

He couldn’t quite focus his eyes enough to read his watch but he guesstimated that it was past ten. Daisy was outwardly unperturbed; although, he had seen her face twist into a grimace at certain parts in Jon’s story. Basira stayed neutral, if appearing a little bored, with some jokes Fletcher almost felt bad for laughing at and a healthy disdain for Elias Bouchard. Jonah Magnus? Martin mostly did his best to comfort Jon. Fletcher wanted to comfort Jon too, man had been through fourteen flavors of hell and back.

Jon, for his part, had answered every question he could and now seemed to be speedrunning his way through the Jon Drunkenness levels. Vicky and Mia had split a pint and were slumped against each other. 

Mia sat up and side eyed the small stage that the karaoke machine sat upon. “Vicks, we’re gonna sing a song.”

“Why do I have to go with you?”

“Because I refuse to embarrass myself alone,” Mia stood up and tugged Vicky with her, “and I’m pretty sure this is the place I was telling you about so you won’t want to miss this.”

Fletcher propped his chin up on one hand and watched them tap at the machine’s song selection screen. Mia swiped through screens, mouthing song titles as she sped through them. Vicky hooked her chin over Mia’s shoulder and blinked down at the screen slowly. Mia did a little victorious wiggle and Vicky beamed.

Well, this would be fun. 

The stage was big enough to comfortably host a four-piece band. The karaoke machine was at one of its front corners with microphones attached and a small monitor to display lyrics. Mia and Vicky chose their mics. Mia flipped it into weird positions between her fingers, smirking at Vicky and they traded banter.

“It’s a shame there’s only sticks, isn’t Vicks?” 

Vicky stuck her tongue out at her roommate. “Just be thankful I like to sing the higher parts in this one. Next time around I get to be Jonny.”

“Aye aye, captain,” Mia gave her a jaunty little salute.

“First mate.” Fletcher turned to see Jon, about halfway through his drink, suddenly sit up ramrod straight with a green gleam in his eyes. “Oh dear.”

The song started with some stringed instrument that Fletcher couldn’t identify. His friends swayed on the stage to the mournful tune until they started singing. Their verses were staggered and overlapped in a round. Neither of them even glanced at the lyrics screen, caught up in the performance. Then the tone changed. Mia’s deep voice bit into her syllables and Vicky's sweet melody sharpened. Mia retrieved something from a pocket on her dress and brought it to her mouth. Vicky took the instrumental section to muffle her giggles as Mia played her harmonica alongside the recording. At the song’s end they drifted back to their original sorrow before taking a bow.

Maybe it wasn’t appropriate to clap. Fletcher did it anyway. In fact, their whole table did. Vicky made it back to the booth first and Mia pretty much fell into her lap as they both tried to sit down. 

Martin smiled at Jon and then turned to the girls as they sorted themselves out seating-wise. “That was really great you guys! I haven’t heard that song in ages.”

“You listen to the Mechs?” Mia took a swallow of her water. “Absolutely wicked, I knew I liked you Martin. Jon,” Jon turned to Mia with red ears, “you have excellent taste in men.”

“Well, I already knew that. ” Jon readjusted his position with Martin’s arm around him. He seemed to be attempting to hide his face in his boyfriend’s jumper.

“How many drinks did you down while we were up there?” Vicky shoved her hair off her forehead and took the water glass from Mia. 

Jon said some number into Martin’s chest that Fletcher couldn’t really parse. He tried to count the glasses but Daisy had made at least two more trips to swap out glasses and he’d lost track. Basira had ordered an orange juice. Martin was sticking to water, as was Fletcher. 

Fletcher was trying to keep as much of his wits about him as possible. He felt cold. Honestly, he knew that he hadn’t fully processed all of the information yet. He’d probably wake up some time around 3 am and have a panic attack about it. Yeah, that sounded like him. Maybe he’d give his sister a call. Blair tended towards late nights. Then again, she normally was working during the nights because of how she’d skewed her schedule. No, he couldn’t interrupt her then. He’d deal with it. He could deal with it by himself. He’d have to. 

“Wait!” Vicky snapped him out of his thoughts. “Melanie from the Archives is Melanie King? ” 

“Yes,” Jon surfaced from Martin’s jumper and snagged his unfinished drink. “She was staying with Georgie last time I checked.”

“So your ex Georgie is Georgie Barker? ”

“Yes, with the podcast.”

“I don’t know any other way to say this Jon, but I’ve been bingeing your ex’s podcast for the last month or so.” Mia blurted out. “Like, it doesn’t really change anything but now I know, like, a lot about random spooky happenings.”

“I doubt many of them are truly supernatural. You saw how Melanie’s attempt to look into the real deal went.” 

“I don’t know, I think it would go over better in the podcast format. You have to play things up a lot more for video especially if you want to actually get in a scare. Audio can be a lot more subtle. Since Georgie doesn’t try to claim everything is absolutely supernatural she’d probably be able to manage peeking into the big stuff.” Mia kind of flopped back onto Vicky’s chest. Vicky ran her fingers through her roommate’s hair, mixing pink and brown strands. Mia pushed her skull back into Vicky’s hands, both of them smiling gently. Vicky separated off a decent chunk of hair and started to braid it. 

“She’d have to be careful with her sources.” Jon swallowed the last of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Statements don’t record on digital.”

“Wait,” Vicky squinted at Jon, “I’ve been going through the digital Statements though. I even recorded some from the stack you gave me.”

Jon shifted in his spot and decidedly did not meet Vicky’s gaze.

“You’ve been giving me the fakes?”

“The real ones can be dangerous.”

“That’s not your choice to make, Jon.”

“We’re up to our elbows in fakes Vicky, they need to be organized somehow.”

“And you couldn’t have worked on it?”

“I’ve been working on it. On it, and the contracts, and on the real ones, and whatever power is going to be attempting a ritual next.” Jon dragged a hand down his face. “I would think that after hearing all of this ,” he thrust his scarred hand at her, “after knowing that these things can do real damage that you wouldn’t want to dive headfirst into it.”

“Jon, I am here to actually make a difference in these situations. I cannot do that if you sideline me.” Vicky flexed her fingers, eyebrows set and voice low.

“I didn’t know how much you knew.”

“You never asked.”

“What was I supposed to say? Oh, hey, did you ever wonder if your job was secretly tied to an eldritch entity based on the fear of Knowing?” 

“This is a sucky situation, isn’t it?” Mia cut in. “It seems to me that there’s not much wiggle room in this.”

Fletcher cleared his throat, “I don’t think there’s a correct answer to this argument.”

“Vicky,” Martin spoke, gently imploring her to listen. “Jon wanted to protect you if you didn’t know. A lot of people have gotten hurt because of those Statements. You would want to protect your friends too, right?”

“Jon,” Mia continued, “Vicky should get to decide what she does. I know that this is difficult without all of the information. You know that as well. She’s got even less information than you do. Please do her the favor of choosing from now on.”

“Of course.” Vicky and Jon spoke together.

“I apologize, Vicky. I know what it’s like to have your choices made for you.”

“I’m sorry, Jon. This isn’t simple and I can’t expect you to be on the same page with me.”

“Have we made up now? Kissed and made up?” Mia reached behind her to poke Vicky’s cheek. “We kissin’ the homies to make sure there’s no hard feelings?” 

Vicky snorted and buried her face in Mia’s hair. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes.”

“Babe, that’s what I do. We gotta break the tension. Gotta smooch the homies to make sure everyone’s happy, bro.” Mia beamed at her success.

“Bro, I can’t just go smooching every homie I see though. I don’t have enough chapstick.” Vicky shifted to rest her chin on Mia’s shoulder and looped her arms around Mia’s front. 

“Then you just gotta pick a homie and stick to kissing them, I guess.” Mia pressed herself into Vicky’s hold.

“Bro,” Vicky pulled back a bit to cradle Mia’s jaw in one hand, “will you be my homie?”

“Bro,” Mia placed a hand over Vicky’s, “only if you’ll be mine.”

“Y’all are like, actually gay. Do we have to yes homo it too?” Fletcher smirked as they both flinched minutely but still were only a centimeter away from kissing.

“Well, with that settled I would like to be excused.” Daisy and Basira shifted to get up, but Jon wasn’t sitting at the table any more. Fletcher saw him straighten up and dust himself off on the other side of the table.

Martin sighed, “Does he do that often?”

“He gets impatient,” Daisy shrugged, “wouldn’t you know?”

“We haven’t exactly been doing group activities after,” Martin did his own rendition of the fucking bonkers gesture. “With all the old friends gone and me being the boss of most of the new friends, pub crawls don’t really hold the same appeal.”

“How many was he on?” Basira sipped her juice.

“Four.” Martin and Daisy answered at the same time.

“Well,” Basira gestured at the karaoke machine, “then this should be interesting.”

Chapter Text

Jon pushed some loose strands of hair back from his face and tried to tuck them back into his braid. He was two years of regurgitated trauma, four drinks, and one uncomfortable conversation into his head but he was going to enjoy this damnit. The buzzy energy he’d felt after Jude’s . . . death? Was that a death? Was she even really alive? Whatever, his energy was drained after healing and explaining his experiences. 

It all sounded so simple like that.

He got promoted to a job he didn’t deserve and wasn’t even qualified for. At said job he scrambled under a ridiculous workload, micromanaging boss, and the feeling of eyes boring into the back of his neck. Then he got smacked in the face with the reality of the supernatural and it really only went downhill from there. 

Approximately two years of his life spent neck deep in Statements and tape recorders and six months of that he wasn’t even conscious. Great. Lovely. Just downright peachy.

No. Stop it, Sims. You’re supposed to be enjoying this.

He raked a hand through his hair again, most likely disrupting what little order he’d been able to restore, and continued tapping at the karaoke machine. The first thing he had done when getting to the machine was to use the search function to browse anything it brought up for “The Mechanisms.” He found a smattering of songs from across their discography. Never a full album but enough of a variety that most probably wouldn’t be disappointed by their choices. Jon considered picking one to sing. They were good songs. He even would listen back to the albums from time to time; he’d gotten over the sound of his own voice a long time ago. However, most songs didn’t work nearly as well sung alone and, well, he was already certain he’d be recognised so why retread the past? He exited the search function and tried to find something else to sing.

He didn’t quite understand the listing, as it seemed to be alphabetical by title until he hit a patch that appeared to be chronological but then switched to alphabetical by artist instead. He huffed and hit the search feature again. He’d been trying to avoid that since he wasn’t sure who or what he wanted to sing.

He picked up a microphone to have something to do with his hands. It looked like a standard stick-shaped vocal mic, not professional quality of course but it didn’t have to be. As long as it didn’t squeal horribly then it worked well enough. He never really had gotten into the hang of handling the stick mics. After getting his hands on the antique vocal mic he’d used for band performances, well, it fit the aesthetic and there wasn’t any reason for him to use any other kind. 

Jon let his eyes wander for a few seconds. Daisy and Basira were still slumped against each other looking more relaxed than he’d seen them in a long while. Fletcher seemed to be occupying himself with rifling through the gift bag he still had looped over one wrist. Mia and Vicky were entangled. Vicky was busy braiding and unbraiding sections of Mia’s hair like she sometimes did with his. He saw her attempt a full braid but it fell apart with how short Mia’s hair was. Vicky returned to the smaller scale. Mia was engaging Martin in a conversation that involved frequent large gestures and a multitude of facial expressions. Martin was smiling and making much smaller gestures but was laughing all the same.

Gracious, he’s gorgeous. Jon probably had some horrendously sappy expression on his face because Martin turned to look at him. Martin always had a knack for catching him in the act. Martin blushed ever so slightly with a smile just big enough to crinkle his eyes at the corners and Jon felt his own ears heat. 

That was a favorite expression of Jon’s. There was a moment, back at the safehouse, when the tension had finally started to diffuse. Martin hadn’t quite found his voice yet so Jon had been filling the silence the best he could. When he had nothing to say that meant he started to run through his musical repertoire. Martin had been sitting at the table with a mug of tea cupped between his hands and Jon was fussing with the dishes in the sink. He’d started humming to himself and, well, he got a little carried away. His humming became singing became dancing. He’d finished off with a significant flourish and turned to find Martin laughing into his tea. 

It was the first time Jon had gotten Martin to fully laugh since they’d gotten there. Martin had looked up, eyes sparkling and shoulders shaking, and Jon was more certain than anything that he was in love with the man in front of him. 

Jon smiled to himself and typed the song name into the machine. Oh, good, they had it.

Jon knew Martin would recognize the song but he was unsure about the others. He honestly didn’t know if Daisy or Basira would remember it because he Knew that he’d sung it in front of them before but, well, he’d sung many songs around them. Mia, Vicky, and Fletcher were all wild cards.

The song started and he could feel eyes turning towards him. He took a deep breath, yeah, he could do this.

Well, here goes nothing.

He didn’t look at the screen; he didn’t need to. He knew it perfectly and, hell, if it really came to it he was pretty sure he could just Know it. It was a fun song, at least, it was a ride to sing. One part elegant to two parts unhinged set to an upbeat tempo and tongue twisting lyrics for almost six minutes. When he hit the abrupt shift to something more languid he overshot the higher notes a bit. Maybe Jon was showing off. Just a smidge. Then when it kicked up again he threw himself into the frantic rhythm. On the last chorus he dug into the gravelly growl he used primarily back in the band.

Jon surfaced at the end a fair bit breathless and unable to stop smiling. The applause actually did startle him a little. Jon cocked a hip, quirked his smile into something sharper, and bowed with a grand flourish. He replaced the microphone in it’s slot and made his way back to the table with a swagger he hadn’t used in public in years . 

Daisy slung an arm around Basira’s shoulders, both looking smug and expectant. Fletcher’s hands were limp on the table with his gift bag tucked into the space between his elbows. His face was as slack as his arms. Vicky sat frozen halfway through braiding Mia’s hair and Jon could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Mia opened her mouth, closed it, opened it, and then closed it again. Martin’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter and Jon couldn’t help but take pride in how bright his eyes were. 

Jon ducked under the table and slid back into his rightful place against Martin’s side. “Hello again darling,” he snuggled into Martin’s warmth with a pleased sigh and smiled up at his boyfriend, “how’d I do?”

“Magnificent as always dearest.” Martin pressed a couple kisses to Jon’s upturned face. “You know,” Martin tucked Jon under his chin and Jon hummed to assure his attention, “Mia was just telling me about how she got into music production.”

Martin’s prompting pushed Mia to speak, “I was inspired after seeing my favorite band perform live. The sound design fascinated me and it kinda just spiraled from there.” She blinked and squinted at Jon. “How do  you hit those notes?”

“I was in choir-”

“ That was not choir singing.” Vicky flexed her fingers in Mia’s hair.

“I wasn’t finished. I was in choir and ” Jon sighed and settled in Martin’s arms to brace himself, “a band back in university.”

Mia returned to her silent shock but started vibrating with what Jon hoped was excitement. 

“Jon.” Vicky smoothed her hands down Mia’s arms and laced their fingers together. “I need you to just be straight with me.” Basira snorted and Vicky threw up a hand, still holding Mia’s. “No jokes! Jonathan Sims, are you or are you not also Jonny D’Ville, lead singer of the Mechanisms?”

“Yes.”

“ You, mister borrowed cardigans and ‘professionalism’” she put air quotes around professionalism while doing her best imitation of Jon’s accent, “and highland cow tea thermos were a murderous, cannibalistic, and feral space pirate in an neo-folk band of storytelling musical cabaret?”

“Yes.”

Fletcher reached into his gift bag and silently slid a button across the table to Jon. Jon flipped it over to find the NASA logo in asexual pride colors that read “SPACE ACE” and he snorted.

Mia bit her lip, “Why so many belts?”

Chapter Text

Fletcher woke up on a couch that was not his. A colorful patchwork blanket had been tucked around his shoulders and his shoes were on the floor beside the couch. His jumper sat on the coffee table folded neatly next to his gift bag and watch. He sat up and rolled his shoulders, glad that he’d remembered to take off his binder before falling asleep. His black jeans were wrinkled but he could probably get away with wearing them in public. Hell, he’d looked worse by choice before. He readjusted his t-shirt, straightening out the twenty-sided die design, and reached into his jumper to retrieve his binder. 

When Fletcher stepped out of the bathroom after his best attempt at a refresh, he found Vicky moving around in the kitchenette. He put his watch back on and went to help her.

 Vicky had three mugs out and a box of teabags. “How do you take your tea?”

“Do you have any honey?”

“Of course, dear,” she flicked open a cupboard to retrieve a squeeze bottle of honey, “almost as sweet as you!” Vicky bopped Fletcher’s nose with the tip of her finger.

Fletcher snapped at her finger, teeth clicking as she darted away, and smiled at her antics. “Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Dude, we all got our worlds turned upside down last night. No way we were leaving you alone after that.” She filled the electric kettle. “How do eggs sound?”

“Depends on how you make them.”

“I can do scrambled, over hard, over medium, over easy, and hole in the walls.” Vicky pointed him towards the bread as she grabbed eggs. “I could soft or hard boil them but you’d have to wait a while, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“What, no sunny side up?” She fixed him with a flat look. Fletcher threw his hands up in surrender, “I jest, Vicky, I jest. I can cook my own eggs.”

“I mean, if you really can’t let anyone else do it for you then go ahead,” Vicky positioned a pan on the stovetop and clicked on the heat, ”but I’m happy to do it instead.” She melted some margarin and grabbed an egg. “You have to tell me how you prefer it though.”

“Over medium.” The kettle went off and Vicky nodded at Fletcher to pour it. He checked the time before emptying and putting the kettle away to let the tea steep.

A series of thumps came from the hall and a fuzzy headed Mia slid into view. She windmilled her arms to balance her wobbly stop before beaming at Fletcher. “Wassup my dude? Any funky dreams last night?”

“I don’t remember,” Fletcher blinked. “Oh god, now I’m gonna worry about that every time I talk to Jon now. Why would you ask me that? ” He dragged his hands down his face.

“I’m pretty sure that you and I are immune to it because of the whole evil job contract deal. Like, I’m less certain about me because mine isn’t technically from the Magnus Institute and all, but I’m reasonably convinced.” Vicky shrugged, “At least, that’s what I’m saying until I see evidence otherwise.”

The three went about fixing breakfast, although Mia mostly sat there and commentated like it was the game of the century. Following that, Vicky and Mia took it upon themselves to inform Fletcher of all things connected to the Mechanisms. After several impromptu concerts, bad accent imitations, and attempts to reconcile Jonny D’Ville with Jonathan Sims, The Archivist Fletcher headed back to his own flat. 

It was empty and dark like usual, but it didn’t feel as cold that night. He had songs stuck in his head and a friendship bracelet Vicky had made him on his wrist. He felt warm. Fletcher’s breath still puffed around him as he walked home but it didn’t feel like it was about to swallow him whole anymore. He slept well that night.

Martin sent out an official email stating that the Magnus Institute would stay closed until December 31rst and wished everyone a safe and happy week off. He was definitely the nicest boss the Institute had ever seen.

Fletcher spent the holidays with his parents. Blair extracted the tale of his unfortunate crush and thoroughly eviscerated him for it. Honestly, taking a step back, it was kind of funny. Yes, fine, Blair, it was ridiculous and absolutely did not need to be talked about anymore, thank you very much.

Mia invited Vicky to her own family’s seasonal festivities. Vicky was much more sympathetic to Jon and Martin’s plight after getting caught under the mistletoe herself. 

Jon and Martin spent the holidays at home for the most part, bundled away in their flat. Neither of them were any good at ice skating. They were, apparently, both very good at picking rings. Simultaneously, they were quite awful at sticking to scripts when it came to big questions.

Who’d’ve thought?

Chapter Text

Vicky made it into the Archives pretty early. She juggled her box of nail polish and folders as she opened the door to descend. Her baggage basically collapsed onto her desk the second she reached it. She hummed “Cinder’s Song” to herself as she shuffled through the folders on her desk.

“So you’re actually an Archival Assistant?”

Vicky jumped and whirled around to face the breakroom. Basira stood leaning against the door with a mug of tea in her hands. “How long have you been there?”

“Few minutes.” Basira sipped her tea.

“Right, okay.” Vicky shook her hands out, trying to release the sudden adrenaline surge. “Well, I guess so? I mean, I’m technically a transfer, but I’ve been doing the job and everything.”

“So what went bump in the night for you?”

“What?”

“No one makes it into the Archives without a monster under their bed.”

“I,” Vicky paused. She knew what she saw that night, she saw it on the worst days when it seemed imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. The many legs clicking and crawling and getting closer. Ready to burrow, to feed, to infect. “I think it was Corruption.”

“What happened?” Basira leaned forward. Something gleamed in her eyes, something that made her feel like she was being examined under a microscope. It reminded her of how snakes would watch their prey right before they strike. Static itched at the back of her throat. Distantly, she thought she heard a click and the spooling of a cassette tape. Vicky opened her mouth to speak.

“Who wants tea?” Jon was making his way down the staircase with a cane.

“I’d like some.” Vicky’s voice sounded so small in her own ears. 

“Excellent, I’ll put the kettle on.” Jon smiled at Vicky as he passed. When he made it to Basira, he offered a similar smile. She considered him with a flat expression. There was tension between them at that moment, but it broke when Basira let Jon through.

“I brought all my polishes.” Vicky smacked the plastic box. “I’ve even got the little jewel things to stick on if we wanna feel extra fancy.”

“Wonderful.” Jon set her tea down on the coaster she had specifically for tea. He was still smiling brightly, cane in one hand and mug in the other, as he turned to go to his office. “Oh, and you’ll be happy to hear that the dress code is coherent now.”

Basira snorted, “Like anyone in the Archives ever followed it anyway.”

“Martin’s plan went through?” Vicky sipped her tea, savoring the warmth against her cold palms.

“It did indeed! He’s even dressed to honor it.”

Basira and Vicky shared a look, Vicky spoke first, “If he’s making it less complicated then shouldn’t he not have to dress up?”

“Exactly,” Jon nodded, “he’s been all formal until now. Today he’s just wearing a casual outfit.”

“So we’re back to jumpers?” Basira confirmed.

“More or less,” Jon hummed to himself as he sat down at his desk. Vicky would swear it was “Blood and Whiskey.”

Jon disappeared upstairs to have lunch with Martin. Basira disappeared to . . . do something that Vicky was a little scared to ask about. She quite honestly did not want to know. Mia, Fletcher, and Vicky went out to a small café and debated what would compose a suitable Mechanisms cosplay. The main points of contention were the amount of eyeliner and the number of unnecessary belts and/or buckles.

Eventually, they concluded that a purely conceptual discussion could not properly demonstrate the overall effect. They’d simply have to spend the weekend experimenting. How sad that they’d have to cancel their plans, seriously Fletcher, it was a travesty. 

Surprisingly, it was Jon’s idea to celebrate New Year’s together, although the idea to spend it at his and Martin’s flat was all Martin’s. 

The plan went thusly: Martin, Fletcher, Basira, and Daisy (if she showed up at all) would leave for the flat at the end of the workday to stop by the shops and pick up any last touches for food on the way. They’d make it back and Martin would start cooking while the others set to decorating. Jon, Vicky, and Mia were tasked with procuring party games and any alcohol for the night. (Mia was enthused to be on the “Fun Squad.”) When they made it to the flat, Jon (and Vicky, if it came to it,) would join Martin in the kitchen and the order of games would be decided.

“So Martin really made you get a cane?” Mia said out of nowhere while Jon squinted at the bottles in the wine aisle.

Vicky facepalmed but Jon just chuckled and tucked the cane under one arm to stretch for a bottle. He nestled it into the cart so that it wouldn’t move before answering. “I already had one, but yes this is new.”

“So you and Martin are just like,” Mia grabbed a bottle of champagne, “two old men in love?”

Jon squinted at her, “I am not even a full decade older than you.”

Vicky rolled her eyes. “Face it Jon, you’ve been an eighty-year-old man since birth.”

Jon would never do something as juvenile as sticking his tongue out at her (in public), but it was a damn close thing if the look on his face had anything to say. When they made it to the checkout counter, Jon and Vicky had a quick staredown over who would pay. Mia took the initiative and simply had Jon promise she’d get anything left after the party.

“There won’t be any left.” Jon protested.

“Then I’m getting my money’s worth!” Mia clapped him on the shoulder with a brilliant smile. Vicky’s heart did not flutter. It did not.

They made it back all in one piece, although Jon had swerved them through some backalleys without any explanation other than a dark look in his eyes. Jon hooked his cane on a  hook mostly intended for coats and toed his shoes off. Mia and Vicky followed his lead before whistling at the flat.

“No, nope, no way!”

Martin’s head popped out from the kitchen to respond to Mia’s outburst. “Is anything wrong?”

“There is no way that you can afford this flat, even if you are the Head of the Institute. It’s impossible.” She gestured at everything and nothing. “What black magic did you perform to get this?”

“Well,” Martin flushed a little, “I suppose if you count what Peter did as ‘black magic’” he made air quotes “then it’s that plus a little shuffling of ownership.”

“I am terrified.” Mia blinked at him, “What does that mean?”

“He stole from Petey boy and then he kicked the bucket before he could call him out on it.” Vicky answered as Martin got progressively redder. She tugged Mia’s jacket off her shoulders and hung it. Mia whistled behind her.

Oh, Martin had fully left the kitchen, that’s what Jon meant by dressing for the new dress code. Martin’s striped A-line dress and blush colored cardigan were quite far from his pristine suits. Vicky was quick to compliment his taste.

“Seriously, where’d you find it? I’ve been looking for a nice new dress for weeks .” Martin pulled his phone out of his pocket. “ It has pockets? ”

Martin smiled and returned his phone to its pocket, “Yes, it does.”

Jon made a gesture that Vicky often referred to as his “grabby hands” and Martin laced their fingers together with a metal clink. They both leaned in for a kiss, but Vicky’s attention was zeroed in on their hands. Jon’s chunky black ring had been moved to his right middle finger. The ring had knocked against a delicate silvery band striped with something black and shimmery on Martin’s left ring finger. Vicky looked to Jon’s left hand. A similar band that was instead striped white sat there. She blinked.

“Jon.” Vicky was certain her eyes must have been twice their usual size. “Is that what I think it is? Are y’all wearing what I think you are?”

“That depends on what you think we’re wearing.” Jon sipped his drink with a gleam in his eye.

“Don’t fuck with me on this Jon.” Vicky heard the noise from the living area stop.

Martin pressed a smile to the top of Jon’s head, “You might as well tell her love.”

Jon heaved out a sigh like he was the most put-upon person in the entirety of existence, but immediately broke character by smiling the widest Vicky had ever seen from him. “Yes, fine, we got engaged.”

Everyone, to put it simply, lost their shit.

Chapter Text

Jon refused to say anything more on the matter of their engagement. He allowed a toast at dinner but insisted that the night’s focus wasn’t just supposed to be about him and Martin. Martin stage-whispered to Vicky that after a full drink he bet Jon would crack. Jon retaliated by shutting Martin’s mouth. WIth his mouth. Vicky beat a strategic retreat before she saw something she couldn’t unsee.

The clock had just ticked past nine when a knock came at the door. Jon flinched from his seat in Martin’s lap and tried to get up to answer it. Mia waved him off and rose to wobble, cursing her numb leg and Vicky immediately missed her fingers in Mia’s hair.

Mia opened the door, “Hello!”

“Um, I’m not sure if I have the right flat, but I’m here to see Jonathan Sims?” Vicky would have sworn she knew that voice.

“Oh! Yeah, he’s here. You’ve got the right place.” Mia stepped back and gestured towards Jon still in Martin’s lap. “Jonny, were you expecting anyone?”

Two women stepped in, one in overalls and the other in jeans and a What The Ghost? hoodie with dark glasses and a white cane.

“Georgie! Melanie!” His socked feet slipped a little on the hardwood as he walked to greet them. Jon stopped in front of them with a wide smile aided by the glass of wine he’d been working on but nevertheless genuine. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come. I, well, first I wanted to apologize for what happened,” Jon did a rendition of the fucking bonkers gesture, “the last time we spoke. That wasn’t right of me and I hope you’re both doing well.”

“You got him, didn’t you?” Melanie, Vicky surmised by the cane, didn’t quite smile but she didn’t appear upset.

“Yeah,” Jon let out a huge sigh. “Yeah I did.”

“Then I suppose it all turned out alright in the end.” Her mouth turned up into something that closer resembled a smile. “And you can complete your apology with some of those drinks you promised.”

Jon barked out a startled laugh. “Right, yes, ah, Georgie?”

Georgie had been studying Jon with an intensity in her eyes. “You’re not running head first into spooky shit now, are you?”

“No, I’ve, well I’ve mostly been trying to figure out a way to get people out of the no quitting scenario at the Institute.”

“And you’re safe?”

Jon rubbed a thumb around the rim of one of his worm scars. “As safe as I can be.”

“Good, because I refuse to watch you destroy yourself for this.” Georgie seized Jon into a hug that Jon melted into almost immediately. 

“It’s good to have you back.” He said, slightly muffled by her shoulder.

“Maybe not all the way, but yeah.” She squeezed him tighter before letting go. “So you said you were actually throwing a New Year’s party?”

“Surprising, I know, but yes. And we’ve even got some new faces.”

“What’s this?” Melanie screwed her face up into the picture of absolute shock. “Jonathan ‘Leave me alone so I can finish my recordings’ Sims made friends?”

“Yes, we brute force love and affectioned him into friendship.” Vicky found herself saying.

“He didn’t have a choice!” Mia crowed, slumping down between Vicky’s legs on the floor.

“Yes, let’s see if we can find you a drink and a seat and we can do introductions all around.” Jon squinted at the group as if doing intricate calculations in his head.

After some shuffling, they ended up with Georgie, Melanie, Martin, and Jon (in Martin’s lap) on the couch next to the coffee table. Daisy and Basira had squeezed themselves hip to hip into the single plush armchair. Fletcher, Vicky, and Mia were on the floor on the other side of the coffee table with the pillows they’d evicted from the couch.  

“So are we doing this AA style, or do we wanna try and make this fun?” Mia hung off of Vicky’s shoulder.

“What do you mean by fun?” Vicky slung an arm around Mia.

“I dunno, I mean we gotta have the basics of name and pronouns and stuff but maybe like, your favorite movie and what fucked up shit got you into spooks? No, wait, what Entity you’re unfortunately aligned with and which kind can just fuck right!”

Melanie snorted, “All of them can fuck off.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right.”

Georgie turned to Jon, “They know.”

“Unfortunately,” Jon laid his head on Martin’s chest. “I tried to keep them away from it.”

“Let’s just do names, pronouns, and a fact.” Martin ran a hand through Jon’s hair.

Mia nodded, “A spooky fact.”

“Babe, please. Why are you so hung up on spooky stuff tonight?” Vicky shoved at her lightly. Mia blew a raspberry at her. “Who starts?”

“Jon.” 

Jon huffed at the unanimous decision. “Fine then, my name is Jonathan Sims. I go by Jon and use he/him or sometimes they/them pronouns. I, uh, I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Cursed.” Mia scrunched her nose up. “Is that an Eye thing?”

“No, he did that before too.” Georgie sipped her drink.

“I’m Martin Blackwood, he/him, and I used to box.”

Vicky’s hands paused in Mia’s hair. “Wait, like fighting boxing?”

“Yep, I was a big kid and I guess they thought it’d be a good way to get energy out. I stopped when I had to get a job, but I was pretty good at it.”

“Cool.”

“Daisy Tonner, she/her, I used to work at a Ren Faire.”

“Oh same!” Martin shared a quick high-five with Daisy.

“I’m Basira Hussain, she/her, I play bass guitar.”

“And she’s good.” Daisy shot Basira a sharp smile.

“My name is Georgie Barker, she/her and sometimes they/them. I used to want to be a voice actor and I’ve actually done it for a few friends.”

“Melanie King, she/her, and I used to do archery in school.”

“Fletcher Sterling. I use he/him pronouns and I paint in my free time.”

“ Gasp! ” Vicky and Mia turned to him.

“Well now you gotta show us!” Vicky beamed at Fletcher. “We could do it together!”

“I’m Mia Jones, she/her, and I collect rubber ducks.”

“I thought you said a spooky fact?”

Mia blew a raspberry at Vicky again, spluttering when Vicky poked her tongue with a quick finger. 

“My name’s Vicky, well, it’s Victoria, but I go by Vicky Groves. I use she/her and they/them pronouns. Uhh, for my fact I’ll go with I play violin, guitar, and ukulele.”

The conversation was loud. It split into sub-conversations that overlapped and sometimes smashed together. Vicky let it wash over her in waves as she and Mia leaned into each other. Martin was trying to hold Jon’s hands still to paint his fingernails while Jon had a very enthusiastic conversation with Melanie and Georgie. If you took the words out of context they’d probably sound like an argument but all of them were beaming. While Martin pinned his fiancé’s fingers he and Daisy discussed the Ren Faires they had worked at, occasionally tossing a comment of two into other conversations. Basira and Melanie were talking about live versus digital sound balances with Fletcher often asking them to explain what a certain word or phrase meant. 

When Vicky had signed up to work at the Magnus Institute she hadn’t expected this. She’d hoped to be friends with her roommate and to have a boss that didn’t treat her horribly. Needless to say, she’d gotten a whole lot more. It wasn’t perfect by any means. Learning that the things that went bump in the night were not only real, but also that she’d tied herself to one without even knowing was hard to process. 

Life had gotten a lot bigger and a lot scarier in the last few months. She wasn’t completely sure what to do about it. Realistically, there probably wasn’t anything she could do about it. 

Vicky watched Jon examine his nails after Martin had pronounced them finished. 

Georgie quietly described the colors to Melanie, but got caught on the engagement ring. “Jonathan Sims! When were you going to tell me about this! I demand to be the best woman!”

“Well, Sims, that’s one way to keep him close.” Melanie laughed as Georgie slapped Jon on the shoulder several times in quick succession.

“My sister does that too.” Fletcher snorted. 

“Oh! Can I be the flower girl?” Mia flapped her hands excitedly. “I wanna wear a flowy princess dress!”

“No way! If either of us is gonna be the flower girl then it’s gonna be me!” Vicky lightly shoved Mia. “You literally only know them because of me!”

“If anyone is going to drop flower petals it’ll probably be the Admiral.” Georgie had Jon held in a tight hug that had him halfway between her lap and Martin’s.

Fletcher blinked at her. “Who’s the Admiral?” 

“The best cat in the world.” Jon said with as much of a solemn tone he could manage as a man being squeezed to death while his fiancé smothered laughter into his palms. He backed this up with photographic evidence from Georgie’s phone before launching into a spirited ramble about cats and their advantages as a species. He got so into it that when they hit ten seconds to midnight Martin had to distract him with an early kiss.

Vicky downed the last of her drink and pulled Mia into a quick kiss as the new year officially began. She hadn’t expected to be here, but damn was she glad she was. She couldn’t wait to see what the new year held.

A butterfly flaps its wings. 

And the dominoes just keep falling.