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“It would be helpful,” Elias tells him, “If you could at least try to get on better with Jon. You are supposed to be his assistant, you know.”
“What was that, boss? You said ‘assistant’, but I think you meant ‘cannon fodder’.” Tim’s too tired for it to have the bite to it that he wants - anyway, what bite there is is undermined a great deal by the fact that he's kneeling with his cheek pillowed on Elias’ leg.
(his knees ache, and it's grounding, and if he has to stay in this place until he dies then at least this isn't the worst way to wait for the end)
“I won't deny that,” Elias says, and he has the decency or maybe the gall to sound regretful, and all that Tim can really think is that Elias could deny it. That maybe Tim would even let himself believe it for a while.
“The Eye deals in truths,” Elias answers the unspoken thought. “Even the unpleasant ones.”
Does that mean you really do regret it? Tim thinks. He doesn't expect an answer, and Elias doesn't give him one. Some truths are silent ones; some truths are dangerous ones in the face of the uncaring observer that owns this place.
They stay like that for a long while. Elias gets on with his work and Tim just kneels there with his head in Elias’ lap and closes his eyes. Loses himself in the sound of of papers moving above him and the sensation of fabric against his cheek and Elias’ presence above him. It's a better fit for him than filing, certainly.
“Tim,” Elias says above him eventually, with the hesitant, hushed tones of someone who suspects - or knows, most likely, in Elias’ case - that he’s perhaps crossing a line. “In as much as it's within my power, I’ll endeavor to make things quick. That’s as much as I can do for you - any of you - but I’ll do it, if I can.”
(he doesn't promise painless, but a quick and decisive end is better than nothing)