Chapter Text
It’s not that Jon is unfamiliar with hunger. No, he understands the stomach cramps and core deep aches that come from forgetting meals throughout the day. But this is different. It is a constant gnawing thing. And there is an understanding that no amount of balanced fats, fibers and proteins will satisfy. The closest thing he can equate it to is the brief time during puberty when he’d had a growth spurt. It had been an annoying thing then. A distraction that he had rather pushed through than attended to. He can recall sitting in the doctor’s office with his grandmother, being only fourteen at the time and still needing her to shuttle him to and from such things. There had been a conversation about being underweight and proper diets, but ended in an easy lie of: “Yes, yes of course we’ll take care to do that.” But Jon never thought much of his own well being and his grandmother was content to keep things the same as they always were.
But this was different.
This hunger was more than distracting. At times, it was all he could think of. Hungry, hungry, hungry. His mind and body would chant as he made some pathetic attempt to sift through his work. And so he'd read a statement, then another statement. Then another and another like a ravenous teenager reaching for snacks. Daisy was there, sitting in his office, listening to something or other on her phone as Jon fought with himself to get work done. She didn’t watch him, not like the others did, regarding him with careful wary eyes. Daisy simply stayed, like a cat showing affection through passive proximity. Jon was grateful for that. He had grown so accustomed to the ugly feeling of being watched. He supposes, she’s also there as his keeper, making sure he doesn’t roam the streets hunting for a live meal. Even weakened by the Buried, she could at least keep him restrained. It doesn’t take much to keep him physically in line these days.
It had been two days since Martin’s ‘intervention’ and sticking to strictly paper statements had been less than ideal, but not terrible. Not much worse than he had been doing since waking up from six months of a dream stalking coma. Melanie and Basira came into his office without knocking. That used to never be a problem, but lately it seemed most people found it unimportant to uphold the archivists' boundaries. Jon set down his work and mentally prepared for whatever conversation this is going to be. From the tension between the four of them, it was obvious that this is not something simple as what they should order for a group lunch.
“I’d like to propose an experiment.” Basira says, watching Jon’s reaction carefully. And before she even began, he knew what it was going to be about. Whether it was due to the Eye or his own thoughts he didn’t know, still doesn’t. It’s never been easy to differentiate.
“An experiment?” From her expression, it seemed as though Daisy knew what this was about as well. They must have had the conversation before, in the small amount of time they had left Jon on his own. Jon shifted his gaze from her back to Basira.
“We should see if you can be weaned off of Statements.” She proposes. “Daisy has been able to deny the Hunt after being away from it for so long, so it stands to reason that keeping you away from Statements and the Eye should eventually allow you to deny it. At least a little bit.”
“Okay.” Jon replies dully. It feels thick and dry on his tongue.
“Of course, we won’t do it all at once. Doubt cold turkey will work for something like this.” Basira interrupts his thoughts, as if knowing exactly what he was imagining. “You’ll remain here at the institute so we can keep an eye on you and we’ll start off with one statement in the morning and one at night. Then after a few days we’ll do one statement, then see what we can do from there.”
“Right.” Jon says, not realizing how breathless and weary it would sound. They cleared their throat and tried again. “Right, so we start um… tomorrow?”
“Or now. No Statements until 5, then we’ll have dinner together and close out for the night.”
“You really had this all planned out.” He rubs a thumb to his brow. Of course, she’s being reasonable. Basira always is. It’s not like they’re suddenly cutting him off, leaving him to starve alone. But still, there is a sinking feeling of dread, picturing himself shivering and ill in some room, far from the Archives, sicker than he was in America and even more starved.
“Yeah, been thinking it through over the past couple of days.” Basira has always one for organization and plans. It’s why she’s a better leader for the archives than he had ever been.
“And you didn’t want to include me in any of your conversations..” It stings, but to a degree he understands.
“Wasn’t sure how much you’d want to go along with it.” Melanie shrugs, not willing to look Jon in the eye. She didn’t often these days. Even if removing the bullet from her had mellowed her own, Melanie still hated him. There was a great deal of hatred in her and it needed to go somewhere. “Seeing as you seem pretty content to be hunting traumatized people for snacks up until you got caught.”
“Well, I’m agreeing to it now.” Jon sighs, knowing he’ll regret it.
“You sure about this, Jon?” It was odd to see Daisy as the voice of opposition here. She was always so loyal to Basira, but then again she was never the type to mindlessly obey to any kind of authority.
“Not my first time grappling with addiction unfortunately.” He tells them sharply, though, he knew in his mind this was more akin to starvation than quitting cigarettes. Did they know that?
“Right, well, no more statements ‘till we bring one in.” There’s a finality to her words, like handcuffs clicking over his wrists. He certainly feels like a prisoner, set to be watched and regulated at all times.
“I can stay here, if you want.” Daisy offers, as if it were any consolation. As if she were truly his friend and not his watch guard.
“You had plans to be elsewhere?” He snaps, though he’s too tired for there to really be any fire behind it.
“We’re going to move the statements out of your office and onto some of the extra desks.” The ones that once belonged to Martin and Tim, Melanie doesn’t say.
“Because you don’t trust me.”
“No, Jon.” This time Melanie did look him in the eye. It was a sharp cutting look. “We don’t. And that’s your fault, not anyone else’s.”
“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He feels cold, hungry and tired. Now isn’t the moment to fight them one this, even though inside he wants to scream that this can’t all be his fault, there has to be someone else, something else he can blame. The three women methodically remove all statements from the room. No one asks him to help and he doesn’t offer. He merely sits at his desk, swimming in the shame and anger that battle in his head. “Christ, I’m hungry.” He mutters under his breath as they remove the last of the boxes.
“We could order in.” Daisy says, apparently hearing. “Could do with some curry. Something properly spicy.”
“Sure.” He says, unable to fake any amount of enthusiasm.
His mostly full container of vegetable kofta ends up shoved into the fridge, destined to be forgotten.
The first few days are difficult. Work aside from recording Statements is a lot like it was back in his days in research, but it lacks any of the fulfillment he felt then. There are no discoveries to be made, no breakthroughs. He merely spends his days searching for any hints on what the next ritual could be, but without any statements, he doesn’t have much to go on. Aside from all of that he’s starving. His mind constantly drifts to it, pulling his focus away from whatever tasks are at hand and his thoughts chant ‘eat, eat, eat’ over and over again. But the kofta from days prior remains still hardly touched. He’s tried to stomach a few bites of rice or plain toast, but it always sits unpleasantly in their stomach, feeling like it will never digest.
“Hey.” Daisy enters quietly, a manila folder in her hand. This one is Spiral, they can almost taste it, the way it twists and warps and lies. “How you feeling?”
“You’ve been here.” Jon answers flatly, but from the look on her face, it doesn’t seem to be a good enough answer. “I’m tired. Exhausted really, but I supposed that’s my default setting these days. Otherwise, I'm distracted, a little achy. Hungry.”
“But, not terrible?”
“No.” They shake their head and immediately regret it. It feels like their brain is loose; rattling, thick and wet. “Not terrible.”
“So, you think we can move down to one Statement? A day?”
Ah. That’s why Basira sent her in with the Statement this time. She thought he might have a better reaction if it was her. Someone who understood. Another ‘almost monster’, starving out their gods and pretending they were better for it.
“Is it a choice?” There’s a ghost of a laugh behind his words.
“It’s always a choice, Jon.” She says seriously coming over to lean against his desk.
“So everyone keeps telling me.” The Statement in her hand calls to him. He tries not to stare like a drooling dog.
“Then…?” If he agrees, will she let things be? It’s not like she’s been sneaking off to feed the hunt. If Daisy can do it, he can at least try.
“Yeah, let’s… let’s do one a day.”
“If that seems–” Finally, she hands him the Statement. “If it's not helping, then we’ll go back to two a–”
“I’ll be fine.” He cuts her off, taking the folder from her just a little too quickly. “I can do this. I-I want to.”
“Yeah, I know you do.” Daisy knows his focus is gone now, mind narrowed in on the story that waits. “I just–”
“Daisy. I’ll be fine.” The woman leaves and the tape recorder clicks on.