Chapter Text
Jon stumbles out of the library like a skittish colt, all attempts to keep his cool abandoned as soon as he makes it out of the others’ sight. Mr. Lukas came to the institute and specifically requested to see him? The thought both thrills and terrifies him. People don’t just seek him out, Jon knows how he comes off. Hell, even Sasha, who he’s arguably the closest to, can only take him in small doses. He makes a mental note to apologize to her when he gets back. If he gets back.
Jon’s not sure why he just thought that.
He manages to make it to the lobby on trembling legs and hopes he hasn’t kept Peter waiting too long. The man’s leaning against the front desk where strangely no one is sat. He’s outfitted almost exactly as he was the last time Jon saw him, raggedy jacket and all. You’d think he’d be able to afford something nicer. “Jonathan!” he calls, an echo to his voice in the empty room. Usually there’s more people around at this hour, leaving or coming back from lunch. Jon supposes it’s lucky for him, as he has no witnesses to any embarrassing faux pas he might commit. “You’re looking well.”
Jon knows for a fact that’s not true. His hair is messy from running his hands through it one too many times and his clothes are wrinkled and baggy. By the looks of it, they’re both equally matched in terms of presentability. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too.” It comes out like more of a question and he winces at the delivery.
Peter laughs, as if in on a joke Jon’s not privy to, and he can feel his face warm in response. “It’s a lovely day,” Peter says, gesturing to the lobby window, where a light drizzle of rain had begun to hit the windows. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch?”
“L-Lunch?” People don’t take Jon to lunch. Well, that’s not exactly true. He’d had an introductory lunch with Elias after his first week, but that was more work-mandated than anything. None of the researchers ever took him out during his first days, like he’d seen them do for all the new researchers that joined after him. It still stings to think about it, so he tries to drive it from his mind.
But really, it doesn’t make any sense. What did a man of Peter’s standing want with him, a lowly researcher? Judging from the awkward end to their last meeting, Jon thought he wouldn’t be seeing him again. Perhaps this is Elias’s doing? Yes, that’s it, it’s some sort of test. It has to be. But that would make him important to Elias, somehow. It’s more plausible than Peter liking him, at any rate.
“You do eat, yes?” Peter raises an eyebrow and smiles. Jon tries to smile back. “Unless you’d rather not, in that case-”
“No!” Jon throws out a hand as if to physically stop him from leaving. Peter looks down at his outstretched hands with amused eyes. It’s embarrassing. Pull yourself together. “I’d...I’d like that. To go to lunch. Yes.”
And Peter immediately turns on his feet and begins to walk towards the door with nary a word to Jon. He hesitates, standing awkwardly in the foyer, until Peter looks back and cocks his head to the side as if to say 'What are you waiting for?'
Jon ducks his head and hurries behind him, wondering what exactly he’s getting himself into.
“Jon.”
Peter turns from the window, giving his companion a blank stare. “Hm?”
“Y-You can call me Jon. If you like.” He stutters when he’s nervous. Peter rather likes that.
The cab ride to his chosen restaurant- by the water, of course it’s by the water - was stilted and awkward, just as Peter preferred. Jon would open and close his mouth, eyes trained on the floor. There wasn’t much room between them in the tiny backseat, but Jon tried to stay as far from him as possible out of some sense of decorum. He appreciates that, though he couldn’t care the slightest about manners. What little Jon managed to utter, Peter answered with non-committal grunts and non-sequiturs. The boy looked like he wanted to weep. Best to keep him on his toes.
“Jon, then.” It sounds better, more natural on the tongue. No need to waste so many syllables.
It isn’t very crowded despite the usual lunch rush, and they’re situated at arguably the best table, right by a window with a view obscured by fog. The tables around them are empty. Peter’s a regular patron, when he deigns to stay in London. They know the drill.
He forgets what it's like to dine with people, particularly strangers. Elias generally fills the silence to hear the sound of his own voice, and his family, in the few times they’ve gotten together, prefer to eat alone. But Jon fidgets and looks up at him nervously as if awaiting orders. He doesn’t know why he’s here. Curious little thing he is, and he hasn’t asked a single question. A change from the snarky man he’d met outside. Malleable. Not quite a blank slate, but obedient when it matters. It’s a particular type of young person, Peter finds, that’s very susceptible to his deity. Insecure, no planned direction for life to take. Easily manipulated with praise or the promise of advancement. Peter can take advantage of that, give him steady ground and then rip it away. He wonders how Jon will wear that disappointment.
Well, if his nervous twitching is anything to go by, Peter will be pleased by the end result.
“I’m sorry.” Jon’s hands are trembling around a menu he certainly hasn’t looked at as Peter takes stock of him. Jon could be apologizing for any number of things- their meeting, his awkward company, how he tripped on the way up the stairs. He’s a man who uses apologies to fill the silence when he has nothing more to offer. At least it’s not small talk. A man after my own cold heart.
“About what I said...the, uh.” Peter chooses to remain silent, watching as Jon’s face starts to redden and taking in his embarrassment with a muted glee. “You don’t smell bad. I didn’t mean it like that.” He talks like a child when he’s nervous.
“I should hope not.” He keeps his voice perfectly light and airy, though pointed. It’s designed to unnerve.
Jon twitches, looking back down at the menu with uncomprehending eyes. It takes him a full minute before he speaks again. “You...it just reminded me of home, to be honest.”
Whatever Peter had been expecting, that certainly wasn’t it.
Jon’s looking at him with earnest caution and that makes the words even more uncomfortable. He wasn’t expecting such...open vulnerability, if that’s what this is. He’s only had the boy in his sights for about a half hour, and he’s not sure what to do with him, now. Peter hasn’t had a conversation that wasn’t designed to antagonize or annoy in ages (rambling researchers aside).
And now here’s some kid apologizing to him, telling Peter he smells like home. It’s off-putting. It’s disgusting. There’s something in his chest - indigestion, probably - that makes him want to hack or vomit and he hasn’t even eaten. He doesn’t know what home is- nameless faces he can’t quite recall, a family, surely- and he certainly doesn’t want to remind anyone of it.
“I’m from Bournemouth. Mostly tourist-infested, of course, but there were spots that weren’t so bad.” There’s a melancholy to his words, an aching nostalgia that cuts through the intimacy. That’s something he can work with. “I lived with my nan. I, er, wasn’t the easiest to deal with. Always running off.” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh.
Jon’s an orphan, just as he thought. Point for me. And Elias, I suppose. No loose ends if this all goes bad.
“Occasionally the men at the pier would let me on their boats, show me how things worked. A-And you said you worked with sailors, right?”
Peter doesn’t answer. He can, unfortunately, very clearly see this boy’s childhood. It’s not so dissimilar from his own. But common ground isn’t something he’s seeking.
“S-So what I mean to say is- it wasn’t bad. Just familiar.” He goes back to awkward silence, fidgeting with his menu.
Jon’s trying to relate to him. God. That won’t do.
“It’s fine,” he says after a beat, gesturing to a waiter who scurries back to the kitchen at the sight. “You’ve got the right of it. I’m a captain, it’s hard to get the stink off me.”
“Captain?” Jon’s eyes brighten, the word said like a proper title. Not derisive like Elias. “You have your own ship!” His eyes dim as he becomes aware of the waiter at his side, pouring wine in his glass. He squirms in his seat and lowers his voice. “I’m sorry, of course you do-”
“The Tundra.” He supplies and Jon's eyes light up again, the enthusiasm back. It’s amusing how little self control Jon has, energy coming and going in little bursts. “A shipping vessel, nothing too special.”
“Still,” Jon says, leaning forward in his seat. “You must have a lot of stories, I suppose.”
Peter leans back in his seat, gives a blase wave of the hand. “One or two.”
Jon wants a story. He’ll give him one. Abridged, of course. No need to scare him off just yet.
He gives him a tale from a year or so ago- a seaman they picked up in Valencia, a delivery gone wrong. He leaves out the more unsavory characters- names that Jon would surely pick up on, and of course leaves the inevitable disappearance as ambiguous as possible. Even with his self-censoring, Jon’s eyes still narrow, fixated on the words coming out of Peter’s mouth. He’s a good listener, to the point of ignoring everything else around him. He doesn’t realize the food being set before them, the wine bottle left and the glasses refilled, his eyes never leaving Peter’s. It’s unnerving to be under this level of intimate scrutiny, but he’s got to make him comfortable, win his trust. It makes yanking it away all the sweeter.
It is also, unfortunately, strangely cathartic. He can see why Elias is so partial to his statements.
By the time they leave, it’s been a solid two hours. Entirely too much conversation for his liking, or so he tells himself. Peter's starting to regret how much effort and discussion this little bet is going to cost him. Best to put Jon in a cab and be on his way.
As Jon opens the car door and Peter turns to move away, he hears a hesitant voice speak. “Thank you. For the lunch. And, uh, accepting my apology.”
Peter turns back to him and offers the slightest of smiles. “I enjoyed the company.” It's a sentence he doesn't say often and when he does, he rarely means it.
This time, however, it sounds a bit too sincere.
It went better than Elias could have hoped.
Peter, of course, loves a good game. But he's not as skilled on the follow through - particularly when it involves the prolonged company of others and god forbid, intimacy. It goes against his nature, after all.
Elias expected Jon to open up, it’s amazing how quickly he’ll do that when someone will listen. The Bournemouth anecdote was a bit personal even for his tastes, but it did the job- Peter, dumbfounded, would do anything to change the subject.
Including giving his new project a story. Almost a statement.
And Jon leaned closer, drank it all in with thirsty eyes and a hunger that surprised even Elias. Barely touched his food. Beautiful to watch. And like any good researcher, Elias will be thorough on the follow-up. Best to set an example.
He makes himself available, timing his entrance into the lobby with Jon’s departure from the cab, and smiles indulgently as Jon walks through the door. His feelings are a mess of happiness and confusion and it shows so plainly on his face despite his best efforts. So overwhelmed by the slightest bit of attention. One doesn't need to be a mind reader to know what Jonathan Sims is thinking.
“Looks like you’ve had an eventful lunch.” Jon jumps at his voice, a hand going to his chest. But he relaxes as soon as he sees that it's only Elias and not one of his co-workers. Strange how that works. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Jon smiles weakly. “It's alright, I'm sorry-”
“It’s not every day a donor whisks one of our own away for a few hours.” Elias gives him a placid, unreadable smile. Jon doesn’t question why he knows this and just fidgets, looking nervously to the side. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”
“I-um. Yes, it was...fine.”
“Good. Do you have a moment?” He places a well-meaning hand on his shoulder; Jon instantly tenses and yet leans into the touch. The dichotomy of it is fascinating and endearing.
He leads them over to an unoccupied corner of the room, knowing his attempt at discretion will in actuality garner more looks. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs, the words designed to do the opposite. “But I thought I'd check in. Some of our donors like to, ah, make sure their money’s being put to good use.”
Jon looks at him blankly. Oh. How innocent. “Okay.”
He leans in, the very picture of concern (or impropriety, depending on your vantage point.) “I just want to make sure he isn’t...taking advantage, as it were.”
It takes Jon a few more seconds to get his meaning. The moment he does, though, it makes for quite the pretty picture; eyes wide, lips parted. “Oh! No, I don't think- he um, he just wanted to talk? It was odd, but nice.” Jon winces. “I’m sorry, that was rude-”
A squeeze to Jon’s shoulder. Elias is only looking out for him, after all. “If he were to bother you-”
“He wasn’t, honestly.” The boy’s mind is going into overdrive- a simultaneous feeling of shame, anxiety, and a need to impress. A very heady cocktail for one to drink in. He wants to reassure Elias, wants to make him proud. Doesn’t want him to worry. He still thinks this is some sort of test, as if Elias has set up an elaborate plot to see how he'll behave in front of troublesome donors, if he'll represent the Institute well. He supposes, in a way, he sort of has. Which makes the next words out of Jon's mouth all the more sweeter.
“I won’t let you or the Institute down.” Elias smiles, lets his hand drop from Jon’s shoulder.
“I know you won’t, Jon.”