Chapter Text
Jon sat at his desk with his head in his hands, trying desperately to force his exhausted brain to come up with possible solutions. The picture Tim’s captors left with Martin sat like an accusation in front of the Archivist. If he had been better able to prepare his assistants, if he had gathered more knowledge, if he had taken a stand against Elias; none of this would have happened.
A moan from the documents room pulled Jon from his self loathing and he got up to investigate. Martin had refused Jon’s offer to take him to a hospital but did eventually agree to bed down on the cot there until he was more fully recovered. Peeking through the cracked door he could see Martin, folded in on himself and twitching occasionally. A small whimper escaped his lips as his face contorted in fear.
Guilt tugged in Jon’s chest at the sight of him. He never should have let Elias strong arm him in to sending them. Careful not to make too much noise for fear of startling him awake, Jon crossed the room and crouched down next to the bed. Martin’s eyes darted frantically back and forth behind closed eyelids, lost in whatever nightmare had taken him.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe now.” Jon hesitated briefly before reaching out to gently brush away the wayward ginger hair that had fallen into Martin’s face. “You’re safe, everything is going to be alright. I’ll fix this.” At his touch Martin’s face relaxed some and his breathing began to even out.
“Jon?” Martin pleaded softly, “don’t go.”
Jon thought he might have woken Martin but his eyes remained closed. Talking in his sleep perhaps? Either way, his assistant seemed so vulnerable and lonely as he lay hugging himself on the cot, to deny his request seemed cruel. Jon wasn’t getting anything done in his office, he could afford to watch over Martin for a while as he tried to think through the problems at hand.
“Alright Martin, I’ll stay.”
He found the extra blankets tucked away on a shelf and draped one over Martin. The additional weight relaxed him enough to unwind partially from the tight ball he had curled himself into. Jon wrapped another around himself and settled in the chair.
Martin’s small voice spoke again from under the blankets. “Hold my hand?”
Now Jon was sure Martin was talking in his sleep. He would be mortified to have made such a request out loud despite clearly needing the comfort. It would actually be sweet if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.
Abandoning the chair, he sat himself on the floor next to the fold out bed with his back against the wall. He rested his arm on the cot it was a bit awkward but Jon managed. Martin’s still too cold fingers wrapped around his own warm hand and held tight.
“Goodnight, Martin.” Jon whispered. He watched the creases fade from Martin’s face as he relaxed into a more peaceful sleep. A contented murmur was his only reply as the rhythmic rise and fall of Martin’s breathing lulled Jon into his own rest.
A pained twinge in his shoulder pulled Jon from his light dose, reminding him he was too old to sleep sitting up on the floor without consequence. According to his watch he’d been asleep for a little over an hour. He felt bad for having wasted time sleeping when Tim was out there going through god knows what. Clearly he’d needed it though, and so had Martin.
Martin didn’t stir when Jon carefully slipped his hand free of Martin’s now loosened grip. He snored softly, his face untroubled by the worries that settled around his natural optimism whenever he was awake. Jon eased himself from the floor and quietly crept from the room so as not to disturb his sleeping colleague. No, his sleeping friend.
Jon left Martin in the documents room and headed back to his office. There had to be something he can do to help Tim. He poured over the memories of the visions he had. Each successive vision was more vivid but frustratingly lacking in detail; vague impressions that gave him no real clue as to Tim’s location.
Leaning back to stare at the ceiling, Jon felt Gerard’s burner phone dig into his hip. He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Gerard had been at this much longer than Jon, he had knowledge and possibly resources that might be able to help. He pulled it out and flipped it open. The screen informed him there were no new notifications.
“Shit,” Jon breathed. As per instructions, Jon had deleted all of the messages before he left the pub. It hadn’t occurred to him to memorize the number Gerard had sent his texts from. Opening up the contacts, he found that to be empty as well. So much for that plan.
“ Shit.” He closed the phone and replaced it in his pocket, shaking his head at his own stupidity.
His eyes landed on the Polaroid still sitting on his desk. There had to be some reason they left it. Some sort of clue. Tim’s expression didn’t give much away, apparently he’d been hit hard by whatever drug Martin was still sleeping off. Judging from the swelling around his left eye and the blood along his scalp, he had put up more of a fight and had paid for it. The only thing reflected in Tim’s eyes was the camera flash, so no help there. The grimy, calloused fingers held him in place had no rings or tattoos to track down.
Tim’s face filled most of the frame but in the background, Jon could just about make out something by his ear. Tilting the picture to catch more light he looked closer. It appeared to be the torso of the man holding Tim. On his chest, Jon could just about discern the outline of overalls.
Jon dropped the picture back on his desk in disgust. “Breekon and fucking Hope, of course they would be involved.”
He checked the picture again for any clues. He even held it under a lamp to see if there was some kind of message written in invisible ink that might appear but found nothing. Why did they leave it with Martin if there was nothing on it indicating what they want? Was it just to taunt him? Was that all this is? To tell him “We have someone you care about and there’s nothing you can do about it”?
Anger burned alongside his growing sense of helplessness. He fought the urge to crumple the Polaroid and instead placed it in his desk drawer for safekeeping.
“I hope you’re not planning on doing anything rash.” Elias’s voice nearly startled Jon out of his chair. “You can’t afford to let your emotions get the better of you.
“Fuck you.” Jon shot up from his chair, nearly knocking it over
Elias looked disappointed. “Now Jon, is that kind of language really necessary?
Jon met his gaze as he strode across the office toward his boss. Elias’s face never wavered as Jon pulled his arm back to punch the older man across the face.
The blow never landed. Elias moved faster than he would have thought possible, trapping his arm and wrenching it up hard behind his back. A strangled cry escaped him as the muscles in his shoulder protested the treatment.
“That was uncalled for, Jonathan,” he said evenly. “I would much rather discuss things as adults but do not think for a moment that I will not defend myself.”
The bastard wasn’t even breathing hard. Elias’s complete lack of emotional response fed back into his own anger. He managed to twist his arm free and spin away from Elias, putting some distance between the two of them.
His own breathing was rapid and the blood pounded in his ears. “He’s alive and they want something. I’m going to get him back.”
“You don’t know that. Jon--”
“I’m not abandoning him. Breekon and Hope are involved somehow. If we can track their delivery van back--”
“Jon, calm down and think this through. If we could track them don’t you think we would have by now?”
“But the CCTV? We can at least get an idea of where they went after they dropped off Martin.”
“It’s not that simple. With these things, it never is.”
“Well then I’ll go look for him myself!”
“I really didn’t want it to have to come to this.” Elias seemed almost sad. “I cannot allow you to take this course of action. You are much too valuable to the Institute to risk over something of so little value.”
Jon fought down the urge to swing at his boss again. “Little value!? Tim is a person not a thing. I do not consider him to be of ‘little value’.”
Elias quirked an eyebrow. “Really? I was under the impression that the two of you hadn’t been getting on of late. Has that changed?” The ghost of a smile played across his lips.
Jon was caught off guard by Elias’s tone and sputtered before responding. “T-that doesn’t mean I want him to be killed or turned into some kind of parody of himself if they use his skin to--”
Everything was spinning, the whole world in motion. He couldn’t focus on any one thing. Any time his eyes settled on something it was pulled away in a flash. His feet moved in time with far off music, weaving a pattern with his partner.
Partner?
A hand gripped his shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh. Another pressed on the small of his back, guiding him through the steps, urging him in whatever direction was required.
There was no face, no body he could discern. He felt the stiff hands that forced him through the dance but saw nothing but light and color spinning, whizzing past. It moved so fast he should be nauseous but there was no growing sickness in him.
He tried to stop, to pull away but the hands tightened their grip. His screams were met with laughter and applause.
Jon was on his knees with Elias’s hands on his shoulders, softly calling his name. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it but it only made the room spin. If not for Elias’s steadying hands, Jon would have fallen. As soon as he was able, Jon shrugged away from the contact. Elias’s touch felt wrong , a parody of caring. Perhaps a few weeks ago Jon would have been fooled, touch starved as he was-- still is. Now that he had something to compare it to he saw it for the hollow imitation of human intimacy it really was.
“What did you see, Archivist?” Elias crouched down and placed his hands back on Jon’s shoulders.
“Don’t touch me.” Jon tried to pull away again but Elias tightened his grip. He stared into Jon. The gaze made him feel naked, vulnerable, laid bare before the older man. Jon shifted again, this time turning his head away only to have Elias’s hand on his jaw bringing it back around to force eye contact.
He was more frantic to get away now, squirming in his grip. Elias grabbed the back of Jon’s skull with his other hand in response, threading fingers through Jon’s hair and digging them into the nape of his neck. Jon wanted to close his eyes but something in him wouldn’t allow the action. Jon could feel layers of… something (himself maybe?) being peeled away under Elias’s gaze. The grip on Jon’s head was a steel vise that he could not break despite his struggles. He felt a tear roll down his face, then another.
Jon’s vision flashed white then black as pressure built up behind his eyes. Sharp pain lanced through his skull but was gone before he truly registered its severity. The pressure in his head released in a sudden burst of color and sensation, too fast to comprehend. Glimpses from his previous visions assaulted him, but mixed in among them were flashes of Tim. Tim waggling his eyebrows at Jon. Kissing Tim at a takeaway. Tim, obliviously covered in marks from Gerard’s lipstick-
“Ah, I see.” Elias said at last, suddenly releasing his grip on Jon. “Well that certainly… complicates matters.”
Jon, collapsed backward onto the floor, gasping for breath as Elias stood and crossed to his desk. Whatever fight they’d just had, Jon had lost and lost badly. Hands shaking and breath ragged, Jon collected himself the best he could, wiping the tears from his face. There were far more than he remembered shedding, how long had that gone on? It couldn't have been more than a few seconds but...
Elias punched a button on the phone on the desk and began speaking in a low voice into the receiver. A short time later he dimly heard someone approach his office from the Archives. Indistinct voices discussed something over his head, metaphorically and literally. He was utterly exhausted, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Jon thought he heard his name but it wasn’t directed to him, only about him.
Strong arms hooked under his and pulled him to his feet. They didn’t belong to Elias, but were thinner, sharper, and meaner. This felt wrong, something was very wrong. He had to focus, to pull the shattered pieces of himself together and fight back.
Daisy. It was Daisy who still had him under the arms. A distant part of him marveled that Elias was able to call her in so quickly at such a late hour. Jon managed to get his feet under him but Daisy was still supporting most of his weight. Standing more fully on his own he shifted away and she let him. Mostly. There was still a hand on one arm, leading him out of the office.
He was vaguely aware that Elias was talking. “--needs to be contained, he cannot be allowed to leave the Institute until the situation has been dealt with properly.”
That cut through the cloud of confusion fogging his brain. He managed to wrench free of Daisy and took a step away. He saw the gleam in her eye, when he held a hand up in defense. She seemed excited at the prospect of violence.
“Elias, please,” he nearly wept.
“Jon, I’m afraid I really must insist.”
His eyes cast frantically about the room, to Elias, Daisy, the door, and back to Elias. Taking a step back, he contemplated the odds of getting through the office door past the Archives and escaping. Not good, Daisy was directly between him and the door. Even if he made it past her she was quick enough that it wouldn’t take more than a step or two for her to catch up to him in the Archives.
Fuck it, might as well go down fighting.
Jon bolted for the door. Even in peak physical condition, he never would have made it. Daisy threw out an arm, catching him across the throat. He tried to stop or swerve from the clothesline but his inertia carried him into her forearm. He bounced off, coughing.
She laughed.
Of course Daisy would laugh.
Jon eyed the door again as he shifted himself into something like a fighting stance. Daisy’s eyebrows raised and she slowly shook her head as she watched Jon try to put up a fight.
“You’re going to break your thumb if you try to throw a punch like that, Sims,” she scoffed.
In the moment it took Jon to contemplate fists and how to turn his hand into one, Daisy had moved. She batted away Jon’s attack and slipped behind him. Wrapping her arm around his neck Daisy braced her other arm against it. She held him there, applying pressure to the sides of his neck squeezing his arteries in a sleeper hold. Jon could hear the pulse pounding in his ears as his vision faded at the edges. He clawed at her arms, but she did not relinquish her hold. She lowered him to the floor as he knees gave way beneath him. The last thing he heard before blacking out was her harsh laugh in his ear.
For the second time in as many hours pain in his shoulder woke him on the floor of the documents room. This time he wasn’t propped up against the cot next to Martin but in a heap just inside the door. He he sat up with a groan and rubbed his aching shoulder. Daisy must have dropped him on the hard floor when she moved him in here. It’s a small mercy that he didn’t crack his skull in the process, though the inside of his head is pounding as if she did. He runs an experimental hand over his throat and swallows. Nothing seems to be damaged or overly tender, the former detective knew what she was doing when she knocked him cold.
On the cot, Martin was lightly snoring, sleeping deeply enough to be blissfully unaware of Jon. It was probably a good think he slept through the altercation. Jon didn’t want to think about what could have happened to Martin if he had tried to go up against Daisy in his current state.
Jon adjusted his glasses and heaved himself to his feet. He swayed momentarily before steadying himself and walking to the door.
Locked.
Of course it was locked. The Archivist sighed and peered through the window. He could just about make out Daisy on the other side. He couldn’t hear her, the soundproofing saw the that. She looked like she was talking to someone, probably Elias if he had to guess. He tried the handle again and pounded on the door. If she heard him she gave no indication.
“Damn.” Jon rested his pounding head on the cool glass and waited.
It wasn’t long before they finished their conversation and Elias passed by the window. He didn’t even look at Jon as he left the Archives.
“Elias!” Jon yelled, hammering on the door, “Let me out of here! Get back here goddammit! Elias!”
“Jon?”
“Oh! Martin,” Jon startled and spun around to face him, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
“Wha’s going on?” Martin slurred. He shifted like he was mustering the energy to sit up.
Jon rushed over and gently pressed him back down to the bed, tucking the blankets around him. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” He placed a comforting hand on Martin’s shoulder and shot him a smile full of calm he did not feel
“If you say so…” His eyes slipped closed and he relaxed back on to the cot.
A soft knock on the glass pulled Jon’s attention from Martin’s sleeping form. He turned around to see Daisy staring at him with sharp eyes. The Archivist had the distinct impression of being prey.
“You,” she mouthed through the glass, “stay there.” He nodded in acknowledgement and waited for her to make her move. The lock clicked and the door opened a few inches.
“I need you to let me out of here.” Jon pleaded “Tim is--”
“Don’t care,” she cut him off, stepping into the doorway. “I have my orders. Elias says you stay put so you stay put.”
“ Please--”
“You didn’t hear me.” Daisy said with deliberate care like she was speaking down to a child. “I said I don’t care.”
He looked behind her, desperate for a way to get past. She caught his eye and held up her finger silencing him before he started to speak again. “I’ve got some bottles of water and a bucket for you and that one there.” She tilted her head to indicate Martin. “Talk back to me again and I keep the bucket. Understand?”
Jon balled his hands into fists but bit back his frustration and nodded.
“Good. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow. If you’ve calmed down then you and Elias can work out whatever spat the two of you are having. I suggest you get some sleep, you look like hell.” She turned to go.
“Detect--”
Daisy tossed the bucket of water bottles into the room and slammed the door, locking it behind her. The noise startled Martin awake who sat up in bed with a yelp of surprise. His eyes shot around the room taking stock of the situation.
“Okay seriously, what is going on?” Martin demanded, now fully awake.
Jon sighed. “I had a fight with Elias. It didn’t go well and he had Daisy lock us in here so we can’t go after Tim.”
“Oh,” Martin considered his hands as he fidgeted with the hem of a blanket. “That’s… not good.”
“No, it’s not. And I didn’t even manage to land a punch on the smug bastard.” Jon lamented.
“Wait, you threw a punch? At Elias!?”
Jon nodded sheepishly. “For all the good it did me.” He sat down heavily in the chair and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Everything has gone to hell. Tim has been kidnapped and instead of going after him we’re both locked down in the Archive. I suppose we could try and break through the wall to the tunnels but I think Elias had it reinforced when it was rebuilt after the attack. I’m just... I’m just so tired.”
“Well it is half past three in the morning. No one sane is awake at this hour on purpose.
The corner of Jon’s lip twitched in a brief smile. “I suppose not. I’m not keen on sleeping here knowing Elias will be waiting for me when I wake up. We need to get out of here,” he groaned.
“I might be able to help with that.” Martin offered.
“What?”
“Melanie’s lock picks, they’re still in my coat pocket. Unless Daisy took them?”
“I don’t think she would have gone through your things. Elias was pretty focused on keeping me from leaving the Institute. It’s just bad luck you happened to be here.”
Martin grabbed his coat and rummaged through the pockets. “Well, in this case my bad luck is your good luck.” He produced a set of lock picks with a grin. “Looks like we’re getting out of here after all.”
Jon got up and looked out the window. “We should probably wait a bit, just in case Daisy is still hanging around. I’m not really feeling up for a round two.” He glanced to Martin. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better actually. I’m pretty sure the drugs have worn off and what’s left over is just normal levels of tired for being woken up at this ungodly hour.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t you it was
her.
Besides, if I hadn’t woken up you wouldn’t have thought of picking the lock.”
“True.”
Martin toyed with the picks for a moment before settling on a snake pick. He fit the tension wrench into the keyhole and set to work. The lock was old and it was slow going. Several times Martin thought he had it before the last pin finally clicked into place and the lock turned.
“Yes!” Martin hissed under his breath.
“Well done!” Jon clapped a celebratory hand on Martin’s back causing him to blush and duck his head.
Easing the door open, Jon peeked his head out. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary and he waved to Martin. “I think she’s gone. Let’s go.”
They crept through the Archives out of the Institute without incident. Jon led them away from the building, occasionally taking random turns. He wasn’t sure it would help, but it made him feel a bit better. The night had turned bitter cold but at least the rain had stopped. The two weary men leaned on each other for warmth and support as the fled the Magnus Institute.
Jon jumped in surprise when his pocket started buzzing. He jostled Martin slightly to dig in his pocket.
“Who’s calling you at this hour?” Exhaustion threaded through Martin’s voice as he came down from the adrenaline high of their escape.
“A friend, someone who can help.” He read the message on the screen and smiled. “He’s coming to pick us up and take us somewhere safe.” Jon glanced up at the street sign and punched in an address on the keypad.
“Thank Christ,” Marin groaned, “because I’ve only got about another two blocks left in me. I feel like I’m about to collapse in the gutter.”
Jon tucked the phone away and wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist as Martin started to sink tiredly against him. Martin jumped a bit before relaxing and letting Jon support some of his weight. “That’s understandable, you’ve had quite the day.”
“So have you,” Martin mumbled. He blinked slowly and let his head fall on Jon’s shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. Almost as soon as he’d done it his eyes shot wide and he jerked himself upright, pulling from Jon’s grasp. “Sorry! I-I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean--”
“It-- It’s fine,” Jon soothed, approaching Martin like a wounded animal.
“I know you’re not-- um, not the touchy feely type. I didn’t mean to…”
“Calm down, Martin. I said it was alright.”
“But--”
“I’ve been making an effort to be less closed off from people. I’ve been told by a reliable source that isolation isn’t good for me,” he paused, “isn’t good for any of us really.” Jon held out an arm and Martin took a hesitant step toward him.
“If you’re sure?” Martin’s face flickered, wary of some kind of trap but desperately craving the affection.
“Yes, I’m sure.” He extended his arm further. “Now get over here, it’s cold."
After a beat of consideration, Martin finally took the invitation. He buried his face in Jon’s chest, clutching him like a man afraid of drowning.
“ Oof! Okay, I do need to breathe occasionally though.” Jon clapped his hand on Martin’s back twice and rested his arm around his shoulders.
“Oh! Sorry!” Martin relaxed his hug and would have stepped away but for Jon’s hand on his shoulder, maintaining the embrace. They stood awkwardly in a sort of half hug for a while, neither quite knowing what to say.
A nondescript silver sedan broke the tension by pulling smoothly to the curb and parking in front of the two men. “That’ll be Our Gerard.” Jon said brightly, feeling actual hope for the first time since this mess began.
“Gerard?” Martin asked incredulously. “As in Gerard Keay?”
“The very same.”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“You know,” Jon said, opening the door to the back seat. “I never actually thought to ask.”