Chapter Text
Elias is not where he’s supposed to be.
Things had seemed alright this morning. He'd worked quietly at his desk for a few hours, took too long of a coffee break that Jon had secretly already allotted for, and then he'd taken a car out to inspect a church the Institute had received multiple reports of concerning activity from. Why it required the head of the institute's personal attention, Jon didn't know. But it wasn't his job to know, it was his job to put it on the schedule, call the car, and hold the umbrella over Elias' head as he stared wistfully at a broken down shack of a building in the rain for thirty minutes. That was normal. Well, normal for Elias Bouchard. And Jon was more than used to it.
But when they'd arrived back, Elias had asked Jon to go wait in his office. Told him he'd be right back. Pulled off his perfectly dry overcoat and pushed it into Jon's arms and told him to hang it up for Elias' return. And then he'd walked down towards the archives even though it was a Wednesday. Wednesday is for scheduling. Every day for three years Jon and Elias have laid out the schedule for the next week at this time, in his office, on the dot.
Jon paces back and forth in front of Elias' desk, checking and double checking his planner. There were no surprise appointments. He hadn't received any calls. Three years Jon has been Mr. Bouchard's personal assistant. He's been an exemplary boss. Well. He's been an admirable boss. Jon respected him. Jon would even go so far as to say he liked him. He’s charismatic, well-dressed and well spoken, and Jon prides himself on the level of trust he's managed to build up between them. Elias is a hardworking man, and he isn't a saint, but Jon knows him. He doesn't do things without purpose.
The door to Elias' office swings open and Jon turns sharply to face it. Elias walks in, and closes it behind him. He looks just as pulled together as always, not a hair out of place. Except a thin sheen of sweat just below his hairline. Jon narrows his eyes.
"May I inquire after where you were, sir?" Jon asks, the question itself an accusation that Elias clearly hears. He spreads his hands magnanimously.
"I was overseeing a change of personnel," he says, and Jon hates the smirk in his voice with every fiber of his being.
"You don't think that's important information for your assistant to know?"
"I think I get to decide exactly what information I share with my employees." Elias slips his hands into his pockets. Jon's eyes flick down him, catching more irregularities. The odd way his jacket lays, the stain on his lapel, the dust coating the hems of his pants.
"I'm giving you one more chance to tell me, sir, what you were actually doing. Before things have to escalate."
"Making threats are we?" Elias leans forward a bit. "Someone's confident."
Jon resists the urge to take a step backwards and squares his chest. "I see your browser history, sir. I file your taxes and check your billing histories. I help you get ready in the morning and I drive with you to work. I find it frankly a little bit insulting that you think I wouldn't know about the gun."
"You think I was trying to keep it a secret?"
Jon reaches up and resettles his glasses on his nose. "Trying being the operative word here. You're not very good at secrets, I suggest you give up."
"Very impressive, Jonathan." Elias steps forward and pulls a hand out of his pocket. There’s blood on his sleeve. Jon feels a little dizzy with it. Hypotheses are one thing, seeing it is another.
"I..." Jon falters a bit, his eyes flicking again to the blood before he steadies himself and glares Elias in the eyes. "I know you went down to the archives. I know you've been talking about solutions for your archivist. The only thing I don't know is why. Why did you murder Gertrude Robinson."
"Murder is a quick conclusion to jump to. Perhaps I merely injured her, as a demonstration of consequences."
Jon narrows his eyes and folds his arms, gripping his hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking. "You don't do things by halves, sir."
Elias' smile widens until it grows vicious and wild at the corners. This is not the Elias Jon knows. This is an Elias beneath that one, sharp edged and experienced.
"I always knew I saw something special in you, Jonathan," Elias is saying, taking another step forward until Jon has to tilt his head back a bit to look up at him. "But you've made a fatal error. If you know my schedule so well, you'd know I had no time to stash the gun anywhere. Confronting a murderer alone is sheer hubris."
"You won't kill me," Jon says, flatly. "If you kill me you'll have to teach someone else your mess of a filing system."
Silence falls for a moment before Elias cracks into laughter, stumbling back a few steps and wrapping an arm around his stomach trying to hold it in. "You know me so well."
"I know everything about you," Jon agrees. "Except why you found it necessary to kill Ms. Robinson."
"She was a loose cannon. Threatened to burn down the institute."
"You could have fired her. You had more than enough cause."
"Things are complicated, Jonathan. It's over your head. I promise there won't be a messy investigation to complicate your work. Just go on ignoring it."
"Not good enough. Give me a reason why I shouldn't phone the police right now." Jon tries not to let the desperation show through his voice. He doesn't say, please give me a reason. He doesn't say, I want to trust you again.
"Because I have enough pull in the police department that it won't end up mattering and then I'd be forced to fire you for the inconvenience. And you know how I handle my firings." Elias circles around Jon, heading for his desk as if he's grown tired of this interrogation. Jon reaches out and grabs his sleeve, halting his movement.
"I've seen your blackmail drawer," Jon snaps. "I can work around it."
"Well then maybe don’t call them because you have gunpowder on your fingers now." Elias gestures to Jon's hand on his sleeve. "Somebody's complicit."
"Fine." Jon pulls Elias back to face him, not letting go. "Then tell me why we killed her. You're not a violent man, sir. You wouldn't do this without cause. Just tell me what it is. I need to know."
Elias' face grows softer, thoughtful, and Jon looks into the eyes of the man he has worked beside every day. He knows them better than anyone. He’s sure of it.
"Just tell me why so that I can help you."
"I couldn't fire her," Elias relents, finally. Jon lets the sleeve slip free from his grasp as Elias turns away and walks behind his desk. He sits down heavily in his chair and breaths out a sigh as Jon leans forward over it, towards him.
"What kind of messed up contract did you give her?"
"A supernatural one."
Jon scowls. "Can we be serious while talking about a murder. Please."
"Come now, you can't say you haven't noticed. I thought you were sharp." Elias juts his chin towards Jon's desk where his notebook sits. It's true, Jon has noticed a few…irregularities within the meetings Elias has with some of his donors. There'd been feelings, and discussions that seemed to have second meanings below the surface.
"Go on," Elias smiles, warm and encouraging. "Let me see what you've come up with so far. I know you've been accumulating theories."
"We're not done talking about you," Jon warns him with a sharply pointed finger, and Elias raises his hands in acquiescence. Jon glares at him a moment longer before stepping over to his own desk and grabbing his notebook. He flips through the pages and skims his eyes down his notes.
"Monsters are real," Jon begins, tracing a finger down the page. "I'd estimate a solid ten percent of reports that come into the institute are given from genuine experience. But the follow up rarely finds anything except on concrete objects like our artifacts or Leitners." Jon's voice twists hatefully around the word. "There seem to be certain types of monsters, or certain types of encounters, and the amount you or Gertrude focus on a specific type of statement seems to come and go in waves, even though the amount of walk-in appointments remains steady."
Jon snaps his notebook shut. "Also I was once literally watching when your friend Mr. Lukas vanished into thin air. So I imagine you're not as unfamiliar with these monsters as your position in research suggests, are you, sir."
"Oh I'd hesitate to call Peter a monster." Elias picks a bit of black powder off his sleeve. "He barely ranks as a supernatural inconvenience."
"Are you a monster then, sir?"
"Well. I did just murder someone."
Jon tucks his notebook neatly under his arm. "Not what I was asking."
"How about you sit down, Jon. There's a lot to cover." Elias leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his lap.
"I would like a yes or no as to whether or not my boss is a monster, if you don't mind."
Elias' eyes sharpen as he smiles. "How about you listen, and then at the end you can judge for yourself."
Elias had been telling the truth about one thing, at least. It’s a lot. Gods of fear. Rituals. Avatars. The Eye and the Institute itself. Jon tried to ask after himself, as to whether he was bound to his job and the Ceaseless Watcher, or if personal assistant was distant enough to be safe, but Elias just laughed and said he didn't know. Asked if Jon felt like quitting. And in spite of it all, Jon doesn't. He's been riding on the edge of this world for years and now that it's finally opened up for him, he doesn't want to handle it alone. If Elias is anything, he’s stable. Trustworthy, in his own way. Jon doesn't want to leave his side.
By the time Jon thinks to glance at his watch again, it’s already late. Long past closing. He orders them dinner from Elias' favorite Chinese place, and while they wait for their food he goes to their private bathroom and fetches a washcloth.
"You're the enemy of enough horrifying eldritch monstrosities," Jon says as he leans in and runs the washcloth down the side of Elias' face, scrubbing lightly at the tiny specks of blood that had dried on his skin. "Let's try not to get you arrested by the mundane police on top of that."
"Actually they have a special division they'd send to deal with me," Elias answers with dry humor in his voice. "That's cold, Jonathan, can't you heat the water up first?"
"You keep your assistant in the loop, you get warm water." Jon scrubs too hard into Elias' cheek until he is satisfied. "Take off your coat. We're burning it."
"Oh, come now, this is a silk blend."
"Well, maybe that's something the person who plans your outfits could have avoided. If he'd been informed we were planning a murder today."
"Point taken," Elias concedes, and shrugs off his jacket. Jon can't help his instinct to fold it neatly before he places it on the ground. He takes Elias' wrist in his hand and ignores the proximity of Elias staring at him as he begins to diligently work the washcloth up and down Elias' hands and in between each of his fingers.
"I appreciate your dedication," Elias murmurs, so quietly that Jon wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't standing so close.
"I just take my position very seriously, sir," Jon answers, and wonders if these magical knowledge powers of Elias' can see that he’s lying.