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The first time Jon had a cigarette he was fifteen years sold. It was an impulsive, irrational decision. But he saw the cartridge laying there on the pavement right outside the store, so he took it. He didn’t have a lighter, so he waited until he got back home and took one of the long matches his grandmother kept by the fireplace. He paused as he watched it light for just a moment before he raised it to his lips and took a deep breath. The burning smoke hit the back of his throat and his chest seized, wracking coughs through his whole body. How anyone could smoke those things, he didn’t understand. That was when he decided then that it was a waste of time and money. So he tossed them on his desk and went back out as he still had a few hours of daylight left to wander around the town. If he wasn’t home before sunset his grandmother would lock the door as she had given up on calling the police. She rarely went into his room but when he came back she was waiting by the door, her arms crossed in a way he knew only meant trouble.
Once someone got her going there was no way to stop her, so he had to sit through her entire lecture about health; a rather ironic one, but he chose self preservation over pointing out her own flaws when it came to the amount of alcohol she consumed. She always told him it was only due to the stress he caused her. She didn’t listen to his protest and claims of their disgusting nature. Instead she dragged him out into the backyard with a lighter and made him smoke every last one of them. His eyes welled with tears from the smoke and horrific, suffocating fits of coughing; but he stubbornly dared not to let them fall.
When he had finally snuffed out the last one, his grandmother gave him a small smile. Toanyone else it may have looked loving, but he knew what it was. A battle of wills between two people, neither of them who knew how to back down. It was clear she didn’t expect him to make it through them all.
“Did this teach you anything?” She asked, and he forced a nod. His voice was completely shot from the smoke, and he didn’t want to find out how horrible it sounded. She placed a hand on his shoulder as she pushed herself to her feet and patted him gently. The closest thing to affection that they both knew. “Clean up before you come inside.
An unorthodox way of curving a potential nicotine addiction, but unfortunately for Jon it seemed to have the exact opposite of the intended result. In the days that followed, he started to miss the numbness. A break from the chronic anxiety and paranoia as a child only worsened by his experience with Mr. Spider. And a sick part of him liked the burn. For the next few years he would get cigarettes when he could, which wasn’t often. But once he went to Uni, away from his Grandmother and actually of legal age, it got out of hand. It got to the point where he was going through money for cigarettes faster than he was for the meager amount of food he consumed.
It was only because of Georgie that he quit. He didn’t recognize that it had become a problem, an entire addiction, until she sat him down and explained it like it was clear as day. He supposed it was, to everyone else, if not to him.
That was his first experience with the hell of withdrawal, but even then he knew it likely wouldn’t be the last. Georgie was always very vocal about his nicotine use, and while that didn’t lead to their dramatic and complete rupture of their relationship, it didn’t help. Oddly enough, it was their breakup that made him quit for good. At least until the day that Martin burst into his office like a hurricane rambling about worms. He never got to smoke a cigarette, only managed to get a second of fresh air to try and organize his racing thoughts before he went back into the archives to discover Leitner's horrific fate at the hands of his own boss.
Georgie had a different look in her eyes when she, along with the others, held their intervention. The way that she looked at him made him want to vomit, there was fear as clear as day in her once comforting eyes. Like before, he felt like an idiot when they so clearly laid out for him what he had been too blind to see. No, what he didn’t want to see. He could handle the disgusting from Melanie, the heartbreaking fear from Georgie. But it was Martin who really broke him. Sweet, gentle, caring Martin who he had longed to see for so long. But not like this, never like this.
He didn’t go home until late that night. Although, it wasn’t really much of a home to start with. Just some cheap flat he found, bare of much furniture or belongings seeing as, between being on the run and his coma, most of his belongings had been lost. Georgie stopped by his office to let him know she was leaving. The others didn’t, Martin didn’t. They just left by themselves or in pairs. He could hear Melatnie chuckle through his door he stared at for hours until he could count each line in the wood. Then he made a plan.
He couldn’t go completely cold turkey, it was still his job as the Archivist to take, record, and analyze statements. But he could cut down on them as much as possible. And take none fresh. In order to make that work, he would have to only record those which were brought to his attention. Those were the truly important ones. In the meantime, he could do other necessary things he had been neglecting such as organization or research. Although, realistically thinking he knew he wouldn’t be much good for anything.
During nicotine withdrawals his notoriously dedicated attention span would practically go out the window. He’d become too agitated and distracted to get any work done. But he’d done it before, he could do it again.
The clock in the corner of his desk read 2:00am when he finally left the Institute and went straight to his apartment. He kept his eyes trained close on the ground; away from the group of drunk college students and the woman on the corner who he could practically feel the lonely rolling off of in waves. Statements just ready to be taken. He dug his chipped, fragile nails deep into the palm of his hand. The pain kept him distracted enough to cross the street away from them and he let out a shaky breath.
Once home, he didn’t waste a single second. He all but emptied his medicine cabinet into a bag along with some clothes and books. He didn’t have many things due to Martin not being able to get much from his old flat when he was more or less on the run, and later in a coma, so there wasn’t much for him to sort through.
Exhaustion tugged on his limbs but he forced himself through a shower and a comb through his knotted hair. His Gran used to help him with his curls when he was young. They didn’t have much in common, and he could tell by the way she looked at him that she was at a complete loss of what to do. But through hair they could connect. Back in research Sasha would tease him all the time about having such thick, beautiful hair but never taking care of it. She only offered to help him cut it once, his instant hostility made her never mention it again.
The mattress he had gotten from a charity shop caused his joints to ache where springs poked out from the padding, but he was asleep the second his still damp head hit the pillow.
Although he was utterly exhausted he was still the first to arrive in the Archives. He wasn’t grateful for the phantom worms that woke him in a cold sweat, but he was grateful that there was no one to question the bag and cane he lugged into the Archives and stashed away underneath his desk. His hand froze on the wood as he realized the last time he used it was in the aftermath of the Prentiss attack, and there was no one left from that time. Sasha and Tim were dead, Martin’s state unknown. He knew that he’d need it for when the worst kicked in, even if he didn’t know what that entailed. But he couldn’t dwell on that long, so instead he got to work.
By the time Basira and Daisy arrived he had finally organized the mess of papers on his desk that made him have a tad more sympathy for his predecessor. He had planned to move the cot from the storage room into his office, but he only managed to try for a moment before he was forced to admit defeat. He could make out muffled voices through his door but no one knocked. It used to be silent, no voice could be heard even if they were right outside the door. Yet the door didn’t change, only he did. It was a few hours later when a knock finally sounded.
“Come in,” He called out and winced at the slight tremor in his voice. Daisy entered, a file in hand. A strong, overwhelming urge began to rise in his throat and before he knew it he had thrust out a hand to take it. He froze as the smooth paper touched his skin. It practically wreaked of lonely. By that time he would have had at least looked over two statements, but this was his first. Daisy studied him for a moment before he tore his eyes away from the statement and over to the pile of tape recorders on his desk.
“Daisy could you,” He paused as he took a single tape recorder out of the box. “Move these out for me? They’re unused and there should be a place to put them in the Archives.” Daisy frowned.
“Jon, what are you doing?”
“What makes you think I’m doing anything?”
“Because you get this look in your eyes whenever you’re about to do anything idiotic.” He held out the box for her to take but she simply stood there, a battle of wills and unfortunately for him one he was too tired to win.
“I want to wean off statements, at least as much as I can. Some are more important than others but those are the ones brought to my attention by others. Any statement that someone brings to me I’ll read, but until then,” he trailed off slightly and gave her a weak smile he knew didn;t match his eyes.
“Are you going to tell the others?”
“No!” Jon quickly burst out before he attempted to calm himself and started again. “I mean, no. They already have too much on their minds, I don’t need to add any more to that. Besides, I’ve done this alone before.” That and he refused to let them see how truly weak he was.
“Well you’re not doing this alone.” She said firmly as she crossed her arms. A powerful stance that set him slightly on edge. She looked every bit the hunter she once was.
“Daisy-”
“You can’t push me away from this Jon. Besides, do you even know how often someone brings you a statement?”
“Well I hadn’t really paid much attention.”
“It’s every few days, Jon. That’s too much to start with, especially since you have no idea how this will affect you.”
“I suppose you have a point.” He never did pay much attention to the amount of statements that were brought to his desk, rather than the ones he sought out himself. He found he usually didn’t need to when he had plenty to feed on. He waited in silence for a moment before she huffed slightly and turned away. But to his surprise rather than turn to the door she crossed the small room and pulled up a creaky chair that had collected dust in the corner, one usually only used when someone came to give a statement in person. How long has it been since someone willingly came to his office to do so? He wasn’t sure.
“So, what’s your plan?” She asked. Jon blinked at her.
“I just said, to wean off statements.”
“That’s an end goal. What's your plan”
“I hadn’t really gotten that far,” Action was Jon’s specialty. He never had much luck in trying to figure out all the details beforehand such as what to do after who axed the table in Artifact storage and instead had to deal with the sudden and unexpected consequences of that action. Daisy sighed once more as she took a seat and peered down at the bag underneath his desk.
“You’re planning on staying here?”
“Reduces the risk of…feeding off people. So to say.”
“How are you planning on getting food? And don’t try with any of that ‘I do not eat much to begin with’ nonsense.” She mocked in a poor imitation of him.
“First, I do not sound like that. And second, I really don’t I never have. But I could always order something in?”
“Nope, no one does deliveries here anymore after a pizza guy got horribly lost and ended up in Artifact storage.”
“The one day Rosie took off,” Jon recalled and Daisy nodded. It had been all the news around the Institute at the time but like most anomalous and disastrous things at the Institute it was quickly forgotten about. When everything is strange and memorable, nothing is.
“In the morning I can bring you breakfast and get enough food for lunch and dinner while I’m out for lunch?” She offered. Jon felt nauseated at the sound of all the food. One of the things he dealt with most during his nicotine withdrawals was a reduction in his already small appetite and he had no doubt this would do the same.
“Don’t get enough for all three meals, it’ll just go to waste.” Daisy looked at him for a long second before she reluctantly nodded.
“How many statements do you want to start with?” His fingers began to twitch and he curled them into a tight fist to keep himself from fidgeting. The file on the desk called to him and he yearned for nothing more than to pick it up and begin to read. Every part of his being wanted to call it off, to send her away. To change his mind. Because he knew once he told her that there was someone to hold him accountable, he had to go through with it. But as he met her eyes he could practically feel the heartwrenching look in Martin’s.
“One, to start.” He said through gritted teeth.
“I think that's reasonable. And you have to be in control of how many you do in a day, raising or lowering. I can’t do it for you.” He nodded stiffly. They sat in silence a moment longer before she stood, pushed the chair back into its place, and crossed back across the room to the door. “Anything you want for dinner?”
“No preference,” No food seems appetizing, even less so with the statement in front of him. It took all his control not to throw open the file that enclosed it and start with Daisy in the room. But that was his first task, to not appear as desperate as he truly was until finally the door shut behind her. Instantly he opened and heard the joyous click as the tape recorder started to run.
The rest of the day went as smoothly as it could in the Archives. He continued to organize his desk, the only distraction being when Daisy poked her head in later to tell him of the curry she had left in the breakroom refrigerator. The Archives cleared out around five pm, all eager to leave the location of their prison even though the real bars were embedded deep underneath their flesh and blood. Barisa didn’t fight Daisy when she said that she needed some more time to get things done, just as eager to leave as the others. To anyone else, it might have been easy but through his overall weakness and Daisy’s atrophy they both struggled through the herculean task of moving the spare cot. The same one Martin had once used, into his office but they made it work. Once they finished she bid him a quick goodnight and headed on her way.
He choked down the untouched curry from earlier, he hadn’t even thought about lunch, while he put on some documentary to try and drown out the oppressive silence. The Archives were never silent. Even when he was alone there had always been some kind of noise from papers being shuffled around or his own voice. But it was silent. It felt off to do mundane tasks there. He had stayed overnight before but it was always something short term, such as trying to finish something up or accidently falling asleep at his desk which he had done more times than he cared to admit. So to go through the motions of brushing his teeth and changing into night clothes just felt wrong.
As he lay on the stiff pillow the same thoughts repeated through his head, was this what it was like for Martin? But he knew the answer. Martin hadn’t done anything wrong. His only crime was trying to prove himself to Jon. Jon who insulted him any chance he could. Who pushed at his obvious self deprecating tendencies. Who didn’t bother to check when the only communication they had in days was a few texts saying he was sick. Martin was nothing like him. Martin’s confinement was for his own protection, Jon’s was protection from himself.
Sleep was like a dream he just couldn’t quite remember, at the corner of his mind taunting him. He replaced the documentary with a random white noise podcast but it only did so much. And no matter how long he closed his eyes, sleep refused to come.
At that moment, as he opened his eyes for what must have been the fiftieth time, he saw him. Martin stood just a few steps away. Jon quickly scrambled to his feet as a smile split across his face and reached out for him. The second he did, his heart stopped. Martin’s eyes flashed with fear as he stumbled back into the wall with a thud. He shook violently as he cowered in the corner, seeming to make himself as small as possible.
“Martin,” He began, before he was swiftly cut off.
“Please stop, I can’t take it anymore.” Tears poured down his face as he uttered seven words that shattered his heart. “I didn’t want to tell you that.” He broke off into a gut wrenching sob. “I didn’t want to tell you that! Why did you make me tell you that!”
Then it hit him. The cold, empty feeling he felt when he had fallen asleep that started a few hours after he had read the final statement had vanished. Instead replaced with a sickening sense of satisfaction. His feet were rooted in place as blood began to rush in his ears. Martin’s sobs punched off the walls and ricocheted into his mind over and over and they grew louder and louder. Hands raised to calm over his ears, fingernails dug until his scalp that sent a shock of pain down his spine.
Suddenly he jolted up. Something was tied around him, and held his arms pinned by his side. He began to thrash violently before the surface disappeared underneath him for a second and he slammed down to the wooden panels below. Frantically, he stumbled to his feet and looked over to the corner barely visible in the dim room, only to see there was no one there. His blankets lay strewn around the cot, sheets pulled out from where they had been neatly tucked, and his ribs ached from the fall. He slumped back to the bed and fumbled for his phone that still blared out the static noise. The bright light blinded him for a moment as it flashed out the time, three am. He had gotten maybe four hours of sleep, but he couldn’t go back. Not when he could still feel Martins’ fear burning lesions into his flesh.
He pulled his discarded cardigan around him as he walked through the drafty space to the breakroom, only the light of the mandatory emergency lights to illuminate his way. He set the tea kettle on to boil as he opened the cabinet for a mug. Without thinking he grabbed the closest one to him, but as he turned it over in his palm, he froze.
It was a joke from Tim when he first got the job as the Head Archivist. Their friendship had been strained as they both knew that Sasha was much more qualified for the position, and it was Jon who got the job. The words “Number One Boss” stood out against the white porcelain. He hated it at first but as the tension settled it quickly became his favorite; not that he ever let Tim know that. He hadn’t touched it since the Prentiss attack. It just didn’t seem right. He had to do this. Not just for Martin, but for all those he had hurt and all those he lost
By the time Daisy came in, much earlier than she usually would, Jon’s breakfast in hand, he had been up for hours working. It wasn’t just the credible statements Gertrude had left in a disaster, but practically everything had been neglected in his absence.
“Jon?” She asked hesitantly as she stood in the doorway of his office and took in the sight. All around his office were statements piled haphazardly together with multiple half filled boxes.
“Good morning,” He greeted as he cleared his throat. He held up one of the boxes. “Don’t worry I haven’t read any of them, and it wouldn’t matter anyways none of these are credible.” They were supposed to separate the statements based off of which were credible and which weren’t, something that became much easier when they realized that the credible ones could not be recorded digitally. But they kept all of the paper files regardless. Those were the ones typically given under some sort of paranoia, psychotic, or drug induced experience. They had been thrown randomly into boxes with no regard to the name tags clearly stating where and how they should have been organized by year and alphabetized. They would be about as filling as a bland cracker. And while that might mean everything to a starving man, he was still far from that point. It helped that he didn’t have to actually open them but rather work with the outside of the file.
“Can you take those?” he asked, gesturing to the stack piled high atop a shelf.
“Are those…” She trailed off and he nodded. Those were the ones he had to be cautious about. The ones he was drawn to like a moth to fire, a light so alluring it would burn him alive. She reached up to pull them down as she placed a small takeout bag he hadn’t noticed down onto his desk. The scent of food wafted up to his nose and he felt his stomach churn.
“Do you want one of these for today?” She asked awkwardly as she thumbed through the statements. Jon took a deep breath and against every fiber of his being he spoke.
“Actually I decided to go back to the first plan. To only read those given to me.” Daisy looked up at him, her eyebrows slightly scrunched together and he became aware of his disheveled state still in his night clothes, something he would have to fix before facing the others lest they think he had somehow grown more insane.
“Are you sure that's a good idea?” He could see Martin again, the sight seared into his eyelids. He refused to see that look of terror and pain in his eyes ever again. And if that meant a hellish few days to keep him safe, to keep everyone safe, then so be it.
“I have to do what's right,” Even if it kills me, he didn’t add.
“Jon-”
“You said that you wouldn’t be the one who controls this,” he interrupted and she let out a quiet sigh.
“Well… know that this might be one of the more idiotic things you've done.”
“Thank you for your input. Now, I have work to do.” Their eyes locked together in a tense silence, both daring the other to back down first before finally Daisy rolled her eyes.
“I’ll go on record saying this is a bad idea but hey, it’s your life.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t know how much longer he could argue for before giving in.
“I’ll let you know when I get your lunch.” And with that she closed the door behind her and he quickly pulled the bag out from underneath his desk. The sheer mortification of being seen in such a state finally set in. And as he pulled the shirt over his head he couldn’t help but hear the voices that came from outside his door. There was a sick feeling in his gut when he realized he knew exactly who was there before they even spoke.
“Hey Melanie, can you take these statements into the stacks?”
“What? Sim’s too lazy to do it himself?”
“Please?”
“Fine.” There was a rustle of papers before her footsteps stomped off down the halls, likely the big boots platforms that were far from at place in an archive and more at some local show, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Once he would have. But if they were all stuck there they could at least be stuck while maintaining some part of themself. He wasn’t sure if there was enough of him left to even matter. But this would change things, this had to change things.
He picked at breakfast long enough for it to turn into lunch, only grabbing a bite when he remembered to. There was a hunger deep inside him, but not one that could be quenched by food. In fact, that part of him felt nothing at all. How inhuman of him. The day passed quickly with the routine task of organizing file after file lull him into a sort of trance. One only broken by the sharp tap at his door.
“Come in!” He called, his voice was rough and parched. How long had it been since he had water? He couldn’t remember. Daisy opened the door and frowned slightly at the mostly uneaten food from before as she traded it out for his dinner. She looked down at the piles that seemed to have not made much progress as any time he might have made a step forward there was another overflowing box to push him back.
“Any real ones?” She asked as she crossed her arms in a clearly uncomfortable stance. He began to gesture up to the shelf again before she cut him off. “No, I’m not bringing those out for you. You can do that yourself, and get some tea or water while you’re at it.” He shot her a glare but she didn’t relent, matching his eyes with her own that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. After a moment of silence he let out a small sigh and pushed himself up to his feet. Suddenly the world around him began to swim. Dark spots danced across his vision as his head began to spin. He reached a hand out and stumbled into his desk, gripping tightly as he closed his eyes for a second. His hands shook slightly, a small tremor that ran through his body. When he opened them once more Daisy was a step closer, her hand slightly reaching out like she wanted to help but simply didn’t know how.
“I’m ok,” He said and let go of the desk to wave her away. “Just a little light headed is all.”
“Are you sur-” She began before he grabbed the pile and stepped past her to the door. Instantly the room froze. The conversation Melanie and Georgie had clearly been in the middle halted for a moment as all eyes were drawn to him. The last time they saw him had been their intervention, he realized. Something now felt so far away past the turmoil that had been the past twenty-four hours. But he didn’t linger. It was clear his presence made them uncomfortable, like they were ready for him to snap at them. Which, in their defense, he had been prone to. Instead he simply ducked his head past them, and continued deeper into the archives.
Ever since Jon was a child, he had always cared for where things belonged. Everything had a place. His grandmother hated it. She called his room a chaotic mess and often scoffed at the idea of him being able to find anything. But to him it all made sense. He knew where everything was because everything had a place, even if it didn’t make sense to others. His desk in research was the same, much unlike his desk now. The archives were beyond a mess, he might even go as far as to call them a disaster. And he tried his hardest to make some sort of order out of it. But the second he stepped foot in there, the hunger that had sat low in his chest lurched back to the forefront of his mind as he stared down hundreds of statements. His hands moved without thought as he began to open the file at the top of the pile in his arms. It had to either be the stranger or the spiral, he just knew it.
“Statement of-” The words left his lips before he even knew what he was doing. There was a soft whirring noise and he looked down at his empty hand, or at least he thought it was empty. Because there in his palm, his finger over the button, was a tape recorder. His breath caught in his throat as he stared in horror, a deep pit in his chest. Before he could even think he shoved the partially open file into a random shelf and pulled back his arm before he hurled the tape recorder as hard as he could down the hallway. It crashed to the floor with an echowing bang as the metal parts exploded all across the hall on impact. Footsteps pounded towards him as he caught his breath that heaved in his chest.
“Sims?”
“Jon?” Voices spoke at the same time and he turned to see Melanie and Georgie behind him, slightly out of breath from their mad sprint across the archives. They stared at him for a moment as he tried to come up with any possible excuse.
“I saw a mouse,” He said laimly, his cheeks reddened from embarrassment.
“Of course you did,” Melanie scoffed and quickly turned away, but Georgie stood there for a moment longer. They both remembered the time a mouse somehow became stuck in her flat, the decision that led to her getting the Admiral. Together they worked to trap it underneath the telly, both with containers to catch it when it ran out. Georgie wasn’t afraid, she never was, and he didn’t want to tell her about his fear of them so he stayed. A fear that started to go away once they caught the little mouse and held it up for them to see and turned slowly to dislike each time the Admiral, ever the ferocious hunter, caught one to play with. But even before he would never have gone so far to break something over it.
“Are you…ok?” She asked hesitantly.
“I was just going to put some statements away and get some tea.” A blatant and pathetic excuse for a deflection of her question. They stood there for a moment, like he was daring her to question it. She simply nodded.
“I think that would be good.” They stood there for a moment longer before he turned away. He wasn’t actually planning on getting the tea Daisy suggested, even left the mug in his office. But now with Georgie also watching he thought it best to go through with it. Boiling water splashed over the side of the mug as he attempted to steady his hands but to no avail, and he quickly put the kettle down to avoid harming himself. He wiped it up quickly and stared down at the tea that he could have filled up at least another inch, but didn’t want to risk spilling on his way back to his office. It’s what made Martin’s so special. While he would haphazardly stir in a random amount of tea and a splash of milk, sometimes not even going through the effort to do so, Martin always carefully measured it out. It was the care he put into it, something Jon could never do for himself.
The fluorescent lights began to sear into his skull and he quickly returned to his office. He flipped the switch on the small lamp by his desk and turned off the overhead lights; although it did little to ease the sharp, throbbing pain in his skull. It was like someone jabbed a javelin right through his skull. Or a pipe, hard enough for the blood to splatter all across the floor.
Quicky he scrambled for his phone, desperate for anything to take his mind off of that very dangerous rabbit hole he teetered on the precipice of. The last thing he needed was to dwell on the horrific sight that happened right where he stood. He put on some random podcast he only half listened to, something about a volcanic eruption somewhere in the states, careful to plug headphones in with only one ear so he could still stay aware of his surroundings while also not draw any suspicion to himself. He’d never played something in his office before, and he couldn’t have them asking any more questions.
The pounding in his head only worsened as the day went on despite the number of over the counter generic brand painkillers he took and eventually he was reduced to laying on the cot, all lights turned off but the small one on his desk, and eyes shut.
“Daisy,” He mumbled as she went to close the door before she left for the night.
“Yes Jon?”
“Look in the desk drawer, on the right.”
“What am I looking for?” She asked as she opened the drawer.
“A key.”
“Jon,” She warned as she lifted something that glinted in the light that came in through the hallway.
“Please lock my office.”
“This-”
“This is not up for negotiation,” He said firmly before he sighed. “Please?”
There was a moment of silence before there was a moment of silence before she let out a deep sigh and left the room. He heard the lock click into place as she lingered outside the door for a moment more before she finally left. It was the right thing to do, and after today it was clear he could have access to any of the real statements. It was what was best.
The second the taste of the rice Daisy had just left for him met his mouth his stomach began to churn. Quickly, he stumbled to his feet and out his office door, thanking his luck that no one had arrived yet. He was able to get to the bathroom before the nausea became too much for him to handle and the little contents of his stomach burned up through his throat. The door creaked open as he spat a glob of pure stomach bile out and rested his head on his arm.
“Here,” he looked over his left shoulder as Daisy handed a glass of water and he took it with a grateful if not shaky hand. They sat there in silence for a while before he finally took a deep breath and attempted to blink out the black dots that filled his vision with a faint buzzing in his ears as he leaned on the bathroom stall. Daisy offered his arm but he shook his head, taking note of the way her knees nearly buckled underneath her as she strained up. She had enough to worry about without his added weight. He didn’t know how long it had been since he left his office, but when he finally did leave Melanie was seated at his desk and pointedly ignored him. When Daisy popped in later with some medication, water, and a large bowl she had gotten somewhere he managed to give her a weak smile. His knuckles cracked loudly as he settled in for another agonizing day with a headache that only worsened throughout the day no matter the amount of painkillers he took.
Daisy seemed to be limping more when she brought his breakfast. He didn’t need to Know that her joints were bothering her more than usual as it was so plain to see. He felt bad as he accepted the take away bag with shaky hands, knowing he would eat none of it. Only an hour had passed before his door swung open.
“Tell her to stop,” Basira didn't bother to know, she simply threw the door open and closed it behind her before she crossed her arms. Blocking his only viable escape, he noted. If it came to it, Basira could take him even if he wasn’t in his pathetic state. A slight tremor wracked through him, shaking the sweat damp sweater he wore to protect him from the chill that seemed to seep into his bones.
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know what you're doing but you’ve dragged Daisy into it and now she refuses to take care of herself, and leaves because she says she has to be there for you.” She spat the word with a vigor he hadn’t seen from her in a while, a fierce force that only seemed to come out for the other woman. He contemplated telling her for only a second before he decided against it. She didn't need any more reasons to see him as a threat, and he really didn't want to see if a bullet would kill him like they did Maxwell Rayner’s cultists at their failed ritual. Although, he had a theory that he tried to not dwell on for long.
“Tell her to go,” She waited for a moment for elaboration but once it was clear she wouldn’t receive any she simply sighed and turned to leave.
“Don’t do anything stupid Sims.” The slam of the door felt oddly final. He didn't need Daisy, he would be fine. He couldn’t stomach any of the breakfast anyways so it would only be a waste of food for her to get lunch or dinner. He could do this. He was fine.
It was around afternoon when he had a box filled to the brim with statements from 1962 to 1963, before the Institute had its notorious reputation and recreational drugs were not as heavily monitored. He shoved himself to his feet and instantly stumbled into his desk as black dots swarmed his vision. His chest heaved for air as his creaky, sore body threatened to give out underneath him. He almost regretted secretly disposing of the food Daisy had brought him that morning and an hour ago for lunch but the mear scent of it was nauseating and made him threaten to vomit the little amount of liquids he could bring himself to consume. Finally he slowly crouched down and lifted the box into his shaky arms with an almost embarrassing amount of struggle.
The door creaked open slowly and he could feel his eyes drawing over to where the stacks of statements, real statements not the fake ones that did nothing, were. All he had to do was walk, drag his body along with him and all would finally be ok.
“Can I help you?” His trance was broken as Melanie spoke. He looked over at her and was met with nothing but pure disdain and annoyance in her eyes.
“Yes, could you bring this box to the stacks?” His voice was rough from dehydration and the burning stomach acid.
“You know what Jon” Melanie slammed her hands down onto her desk and shot up to her feet. Her eyes burned with a hatred he hadn’t seen from her since the bullet was removed. “No.”
“No?”
“No. There are so many more important things that you could have been doing for the past few days like trying to, I don’t know, be an Archivist! But all you’ve done is sit on your ass and sort old statements. Are any of those not fucking useless?” She stormed over to him, a hand raised as she moved to slap the file and tape recorder from his hand.
A hand brushed against his and the whole world screeched to a halt. He let out a small gasp as a cold, smooth, plastic mockery of skin sent a shock through him. The mannequin that wore Melania's face leered at him as it took another step. He glanced around the Archives but the only escape that he could easily make, the stairs, were directly behind her. With no other choice he quickly pushed his arms out and shoved himself against the wall by the door. Desperate to put as much space between them as possible. There was a crash as it stumbled back into its desk and a cup of pens were sent to the ground.
“Did you see that?” It cried out as its head snapped from side to side at the rest of the stunned people in the room. There were only two options, either none of them knew she had been replaced or all of them did. He didn’t dare turn his back to it, even for a second, and kept his eyes trained on it as he stepped back into his office and slammed the door behind with a shaky, hysterical breath.
In the Archives he had many things to worry about, from a murderous boss, to worms, and even statements themselves. He was in danger from the spiral with its doors and corridors, but not the stranger. Not Nikola and her horrific mannequins. Now that form of safety had been shattered. The thing that was not Melanie shrieked pure vitriol outside the flimsy piece of wood that separated them.
Quickly, he shoved his desk hair over to the door and jammed it in place along with clicking the lock into place. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. If it came down to it he could use the tunnels but he hadn’t been down there since… and it didn’t matter anyways, then he would just be lost and hunted like before. But he would be damned if he went down without a fight. With a lighter to burn that cursed plastic and a small pocket knife he kept hidden in a desk drawer he crawled under his desk, knees pulled up to his chest like a child.
He didn’t know how long he sat like that. He sat until the yelling stopped, his muscles ached, and he heard voices leave one by one. Though he heard its voice leave with who he hoped was still Georgie, it could still be there, lying in wait.
Thump, thump, thump.
Jon froze as footsteps pounded along with the blood that rushed in his ears as someone, or something, walked down the stairs to the Archives. His grip tightened on the knife and lighter as they came to a stop in front of his door. With a shaky breath he closed his eyes and tried to Know whatever stood outside his door. But before he could, he heard it.
A fist sounded at the door. A knock, knock, knock like the one that haunted his dream for years. He felt like a child again when he ran all the way home. His Gran found him tucked underneath his bed, scolded him for forcing her to look for him like it was a game. She never did understand when he tried to explain.
“Jon?” Everything stopped. It was a voice he knew so well. One that went from an irritation to one he longed to hear so much, Martin.
“Jon? Are you there?” He didn’t move. Not after Nikola, not after Melanie.
“How,” with a deep breath he cleared his throat and attempted to rid himself to the quiver in his voice to no avail. “How do I know this is really you?” Martin, or the thing that used his voice, paused for a tense moment.
“When I first started working in the Archives I didn’t know about your thing with spiders so I trapped this giant wolf spider underneath a cup with a report I wrote for you. You left your office to ask for something, saw it, and shouted louder than I had ever heard from you to kill it. By the look in your eyes when I tried to turn in the report I thought you were about to either murder or fire me.” Frantically Jon scrambled out from under the desk and shoved the door out of the way before he threw open the door.
“Martin,” He exclaimed breathlessly as he held onto the wall for support as his legs shook violently.
“Jon?” Martin scanned him up and down as his brows furrowed further. In his hand the statement that had laid in disarray on the floor. He could feel it, its draw, his longing. It wreaked of lonely, of true and utter horror. It took all of will power to drag his eyes away and to meet Martin’s gray ones.
“They got her,” He wet his dried and chapped lights that had split into painful gouges into the once soft flesh.
“They got who?” Jon stepped back into his office and collapsed on the chair.
“Melanie, she’s plastic,” he whispered. Martin frowned as he followed Jon. He reached out to feel his forehead, but stopped only centimeters away.
“No she’s not. She stopped me on her way out. I felt her skin Jon, it was real.”
Oh. He was finally losing it. That's what it has to be. Now Martin could see it too, and he would tell everyone about how weak their Archivist was. Maybe they would decide he was too much of a danger after all.
“Can you give me the knife?” Jon looked down at the blade he had forgotten was in his head before he slowly and reluctantly handed it over. Their fingers brushed ever so slightly and Martin quickly retracted his hand. Jon instantly missed their connection. His fingers were cold but not the smooth, moisturized hands of Melanie or the hard plastic hands of the maquins.
“Are you…sleeping here?” Martin glances around the room and over to the cot in the corner.
“I-” Jon began before there was a soft buzzing noise. Martin looked down at his phone and what little color reminded in hsi face instantly drained.
“I’m sorry Jon, I’ve got to go,” And without another word he swiftly turned around and left. He didn’t even look back. Jon stared at the door. It was like Martin was never there. He tried to picture him and as he did it slowly dawned on him. The Martin who visited him lacked the soft lavender scent that lingered on his clothing due to his laundry detergent he never changed. And his soft brown eyes seemed to almost be glazed over with gray. His mind must have been so desperate that it conjured up something, a ghost of a memory. He wasn’t real.
He tried to run his hands over his arms, to trace the raised pink scars from where the worms had burrowed into his flesh, but he felt so cold, so numb. Like the world seemed to fade away. Suddenly, a sharp twinge of pain dragged him back to his office. Nail marks had been dug into the soft flesh of his inner arms. He dug them deeper, but hit a limit as his nails had been gnawed and picked down to the numbs. The second he stopped, the fog of his mind slowly started to creep back. His head snapped around the room before his eyes landed on it. He scrambled across the room where at some point unknown to him the lighter had fallen to the ground. His hands shook with a violent tremor as he flipped up the lid of the zippo lighter and pushed up his sleeves. It took three times before he was able to spark a flame to life and, without hesitation, pressed it against his forearm.
The second the hungry flames lapped at his skin his arm a sharp agony rushed through him and he quickly yanked his arm away. He instinctively grabbed his arm which only caused the agony to burn hotter. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he opened them and took in the damage. The reddened skin radiated heat as a few small blisters began bubbling up from within filled with a sticky oozing liquid.
He didn’t know how many times he repeated the section, as many as it took for his entire arm to feel alight with pain. Eventually, he was able to tear his attention away from his arm and to the room when it hit him. He had locked the door, not Daisy. He was free with no one around. Before he knew it he was at the door, his hand rested atop the cool handle. As he twisted it the skin on his arm shifted and moved nearly bringing a tear to his eye. The quick pain shocked him out of his daze and before he could think again he took the key from where it sat on the floor, clicked the lock into place and slid it out underneath the door.
Jonathan Sims couldn’t take it anymore. His head throbbed in a pulsing agony, unable to drink any water or take any medication as he couldn’t stomach it and the bowl Daisy left was filled with water that came up just as fast as it went down and he quickly ran out. He knew what could stop this. He knew what he craved, what he needed. With all the strength he could muster he sat up, ignoring the aches that seemed to fill his entire body, and took a deep breath. His mouth tasted weird, almost metallic in a sense and for a second he could have sworn it had to be blood. Hesitantly he raised a shaky hand up to his face when he felt it. A weird sort of tingling that spread across the right half of his face and down his body along with a sharp ringing in his ears. Then, nothing.
Jon pulled his eyelids apart with great effort. The floor was hard and cold beneath him. Wasn’t he just on his bed only a moment before? Had he fallen? His head pulsed in pain and he forced his eyes to stay open. He had been on the bed and then all of a sudden he was on the floor. It took him a while, sitting in a heap on the floor, before he remembered his original goal.
The paper clips were pulled apart and jammed into the lock before he could even think. No, he didn’t need to think because he Knew exactly what he needed to do. The door swung open and he nearly pitched forward out into the hallway catching himself last second by his hands. He sat there for a second more, blinded by the lights that shown overhead. What time was it? His mouth felt that weird, bitter taste again. Water, that's what he needed. He couldn’t read a statement if his voice was shot and if his ragged, heavy breaths were anything to go by then it was more than needed.
It took all his strength to make it to the break room without stumbling over his feet or bumping into something, but finally he made it. His hands gripped the counter as he attempted to catch his racing breath and his vision started to blur at the edges. After a second he reached up to the cabinet above and retrieved a small glass. This time, as he let go and took a step back, he felt his knees buckle beneath him.
His back hit the ground with a thud as something shattered. His head exploded with pain as he let out a loud, sharp cry of agony. Something warm and wet met his ears and he barely felt the pounding of footsteps as someone ran towards him. He couldn’t even curl in to protect himself from the threat.
As the shoes entered the room and paused in the doorway that odd tingling sensation came once more. Voices felt muddles as if in a dream. Was he dreaming? He couldn’t tell, but it was all he could do but hope he would finally wake.
It had been a long time since Martin ran as fast as he did, following Melanie down the halls of the Institute to the archives. He had been going through what had ended up being a rather mundane day. Peter had him read another statement about the extinction, but he seemed to tell that Martin was still distracted from the night before.
‘Visiting your Archivist?’ Was all the text read. Martin could practically hear the man's sigh through the phone. How he knew was beyond him, so Martin didn’t bother asking. He knew what was expected of him but when he went down to return the statement he saw the files scattered around outside of Jons door and his heart lurched with fear. And against his better judgment, he knocked. He left as soon as he got the text but paused to finish what he had come down there to begin with. He saw the way Jon looked at the statement and filed it along with the other just in case.
Martin had seen Jon in some of the worst moments of his life, but he had never seen him like that. As he ran down the stairs he cursed Peter, cursed himself, for leaving when Jon’s appearance was practically a cry for help.
There was a small commotion and as he turned the corner into the breakroom, he saw him. A sharp gasp slipped through his lips as he looked down in horror. On the floor, head rested atop something that looked like Daisys jacket was Jon. His limbs spazamed and twitched violently as he convulsed on the floor. Spit dripped down from his lips as they hung apart. His bony wrists slammed into the ground again and again each with a painful dull thud. Daisy stood across the room, her missing jacket confirmed his beliefs. In her hands her phone displayed a timer that read two minutes, thirty seconds and counting.
“What happened?”
“We just got here. He was really disoriented, stumbled out of his office and then collapsed.” Melanie said as she wrung her hands together. Daisy sighed and both heads snapped over to her.
“He stopped reading statements,” They stood in a tense, stunned silence. “Went completely cold turkey.”
“How many days?”
“Five, I think.”
“That idiot,” Melanie said, but without her usual bite. It almost sounded like regret but he couldn’t guess why. Quickly she turned on her heel and ran out of the room, only to return a moment later with a stack of something in her arms. He barely had a moment to process before she thrust something, a file, from the top of the stack into his hands. He threw open the file and without hesitation began to read as a tape recorder somewhere began to run.
“Will this even work?” Melanie asked quietly but he paid her no mind.
“Statement of Laura Goodman regarding her grandmother's locket…” Martin could barely focus on the text in front of him, and he desperately hoped that wouldn’t ruin his last ditch attempt to save the man in front of him. By the time he had reached a third of the way through the statement Jon had stopped seizing. He handed the statement over to Daisy to continue as he knelt down by Jon. Carefully, he tipped him over onto his side, feeling each rib through the thin shirt, and praised the health class he was forced to take in school. He extended Jons arm to rest his head atop and his fingers easily wrapped around it far too easily. Jon had never been a particularly large person, always on the border of appearing frail, and it was clear he had lost the little weight he already couldn’t afford to lose.
He moved his limp libs into place. A lock of hair fell in front of his eyes, and without a second thought he carefully tucked it away behind his ear. A hand hesitantly tapped him on the shoulder, and he looked up to see Georgie standing above him. When had she arrived? He glanced over her shoulder and saw the rest of the Archival staff lingering awkwardly in the hallway. He took the damp cloth she handed him and began to wipe away the crusted blood around his forehead, but there wasn’t much he could do without moving him. How long was he supposed to wait? Luckily he didn’t have to wait long before Jon let out a small groan as his eyes twitched.
“-tin?” He mumbled, near unintelligibly.
“Jon? Jon, can you hear me?” Daisy paused her background reading as they stared down at him but his eyes slid shut once more and Martin figured that had to be good enough. Ever so carefully and cautiously he slipped his arm underneath his knees and shoulders before he tipped him back into his arms. Martin was never a strong man, but as his mother got older and sicker, before she demanded to be put into a home, she had more and more bad days. And on those bad days it was too much to hold herself up, much less move around. Compared to her, Jon weighed nothing. He first went to the break room where the cot had been but much to his shock, it was gone.
“It’s in his office,” he turned back around to Daisy who trailed behind and paused her reading once more. “He’s been sleeping there.”
“He’s been sleeping here?” he heard Melanie ask but he paid her no mind. The door to his office was wide open with something lodged in the lock. He didn’t know what was more confusing, that Jon knew how to pick a lock which he hadn’t only a year ago when the cleaning crew had accidentally locked the door to the Archives, or that he had been locked in. The cot was there, pushed up against the far side of the room out of sight from the outside. Gently he laid him down atop the hard, creaky mattress before he turned back to the group who lingered uncomfortably in the hallway.
“Daisy, explain,” Without a word, Georgie took the statement from her to start reading and she took a deep breath.
“After the..intervention he decided that the best course of action would be to stop reading statements. Not to wean himself off but to go cold turkey. And for some reason he got it through his thick head that he had to do it alone. I had to force myself into it so he could at least have a bit of help.”
“The locked door?”
“His idea, didn’t trust himself at night. The key is in my desk. I’ve been bringing him food every day. I,” She paused for a second as she ran a hand through her short hair. “I didn’t know it was this bad.”
“He’s good at that,” Martin sighed as he looked down at Jon, his usually well-kept hair in disarray and matted from blood. There wasn’t much he could do without a bath or shower, but he couldn’t let Jon wake up like this.
“I need a first aid kit, bowl of water, and a towel.” he didn’t look back at Daisy but he heard footsteps leave the room. Carefully, he lifted Jon’s head and fanned his hair out around him, gently picking through to find the source of the bleeding. There along his hairline was a patch of broken skin. It almost looked like he hit his head on the counter when he fell. He couldn’t test for a concussion while he was unconscious, but he would be surprised if he didn’t have one. Luckily the cut itself didn’t seem to be too bad, head wounds always bleed more than they should. He took a small clump of hair that was devoid of too much blood and began to work through the knots with his fingers moving strand by strand until it had finally become undone.
Daisy had returned with a first aid kit and began to read a random statement from the stack. He dipped the cloth in the water and began to scrub at the blood around the cut before he carefully placed a few plasters over it. He then dipped the cloth back in the water and moved on to the blood and saliva on his face, carefully to not hurt his skin at the stubborn dried sections.
Time was impossible to keep track of so he had no idea how long it took for Jon to stir. Martin froze as a deep exhale came from his lips as his head pushed further into Martin’s open hand buried in his hair.
“Jon?” He asked quietly. “Can you hear me?” Slowly Jon fluttered open his eyes before he shut them tightly, wincing from the light.
“Dais-” He went to ask but she was already up and turned off the fluorescent overhead light in favor of a small lamp that cast a warm light throughout the room.
“You can look now, it’s ok.” This time when he opened them his green eyes locked onto Martins and he let out a small sigh of relief.
“Martin,” He said with a small smile before he looked over at Daisy and it instantly fell. “What, what are you?” He began before he looked back at Martin. “What is she doing?”
“Reading statements.”
“No, no, no she can’t! Martin, she can’t!”
“Yes, she can and she will.” He tried to keep his voice down, keep the irritation out but he knew he failed. “Your little experiment is over. Do you remember what happened?”
“I was in my office trying to sleep,” He said slowly, “But it was too much. I…I wasn’t strong enough. I tried to get to the door but I fell. It was locked so somehow it became not locked. I was so thirsty so I tried to go to the break room to get some water. And then I fell again.”
“You had a seizure, Jon. You fell and hit your head pretty bad. Melanie and Daisy walked in to see you barely conscious before you started seizing. That’s when Melanie went and found me.” They were silent for a moment before Martin ran a shaky hand through his hair. “What were you thinking, Jon?”
“I thought,” He began before he paused, his eyes anywhere but Martin’s. “I thought that if I could go without any statements then maybe I could sever that connection to the Eye. I was getting too dangerous.”
“Then why didn’t you ask for help? We could have helped you?”
“I didn’t want to give any more reasons.”
“Reasons to believe I’m a monster.” The room went silent. Martin's breath hitched in his throat. Of course that’s what Jon thought. Martin was foolish to think that Jon would have taken that intervention any other way than to make him see what he was doing was wrong, not a threat. Although it didn’t help that Martin didn’t exactly stick around to elaborate. And Jon had already faced enough threats for that. It took a long time before Martin was able to look in Daisy’s direction without feeling pure anger. But that wasn’t what Jon needed.
“Jon, look at me,” He said softly, and when Jon’s head stayed low he gently placed two fingers underneath his chin and raised it to meet his eyes. “While yes this was dumb, it was also one of the most Jonathan Sims things to do. Only you would take on some massive problem by yourself because you thought it would be best. Only you would put yourself in stupidly dangerous situations without so much as a word. But you don’t have to do that. What would have happened if this happened over the weekend? What would have happened if you didn’t leave your office? What then Jon?” Tears pricked in his eyes as he pictures him seizing on the floor in a growing puddle of his own blood, all alone with no one to help.
“I don’t know if I can die anymore,” Jon admitted softly.
“And I don’t want to take that chance.” Martin hesitated before he spoke again. Peter wouldn’t be pleased with him and for the first time in months he finally did not feel the oppressive, suffocing fog of loneliness. But he couldn’t leave Jon here. “Rest up for a bit and then we’re going.”
“Going where?” Jon looked up at him confused.
“My flat. You can’t exactly stay in the Archives anymore and I doubt your place is well furnished or anything. You need somewhere to recuperate, then you can go back to work.”
“Go back to work? There is so much that needs to get done, so much I’ve been putting off for days!”
“The others can take care of that, and besides you’re not in any state to work. Just a few days of rest, please?” They locked eyes for a second more before Jon finally let out a slow exhale, relenting.
“Fine.”
“And to keep your strength up,” Martin held a hand out and Georgie quickly passed him the statement which he held out for Jon to take. There was an odd look in Jon’s eyes, one of pure hunger, of desire. But Martin would take that any day over them shut. The others filed out of the room quickly once it was clear they weren’t needed, and while he could hear them talking in hushed tones out in the hallway, he really couldn’t bring himself to try and listen in. He had bigger things to worry about, and those things were right in front of him holding a statement about some college students' roommates. It was a tad concerning to see the color flush back to his face as he regained strength simply from the statements, but he could push that aside.
After another statement, Jon had enough energy to stand and Daisy brought in a small cup of soup someone had run out and gotten for him. He gave her a small nod in thanks as Jon began to slowly sip down the broth. Martin had finally cleared away most of the blood, and Jon seemed to be at least acceptable to be out in public. His new flat was decently close to the Institute, but was still a walk and the last thing he wanted to do was be stopped by the police or concerned citizens. He also didn’t mind the way Jon pushed his head gently into Martin's hand, so slightly in fact that he wasn’t sure if the other man was even aware he was doing it.
Once he was certain that Jon had enough strength to actually support himself all the way to Martin’s flat, he quickly went back up the stairs, through the Institute to his new office. Well, it wasn’t really an office and more a small room that connected to Peter’s. As he rifled through his desk trying to figure out what was important enough for him to take home, as well as grab at least two cardigans because Jon looked miserable in his sweat soaked shirt, when he felt a chill run down his spine.
“Peter,” He greeted, but didn’t turn to face the other man until he had properly organized his things and turned to go, bracing himself for the worst. But Peter just stood there, an amused expression on his face. He didn’t seem to be particularly angry or disappointed in him. Instead, and much to Martin’s own surprise, he turned and gestured for Martin to go.
“We can’t have our Archivist killing himself now, can we?”
Martin didn’t know what to say to that. Only nodded mutely and quickly pushed past him and rushed back down into the Archives. He let out a small sigh as he knocked at Jon’s office door and saw his head snap up with a small smile on his face.
“You ready to go?”