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Jon’s office is too small. The four walls seem to slowly be collapsing on him, moving steadily closer as he sits there, trying to get through his last mound of paperwork. His office hasn’t always been this small, mind. It’s a normal sized office, and even now he understands logically that the office hasn’t changed at all. But being stuck in the Buried, being… being squeezed on all sides, has left him a bit more claustrophobic than before, it seems. The fear is residual, stifling, cloying , and he wishes now more than ever that he had a window in his office.
But that thought comes with its own sense of dread; if there was a window, would he see the street outside, filled with laughing people, or would he see nothing but dirt towering above him, pressing in on all sides and blocking out the sun? A shiver crawls along his spine and he returns to his work; the words on the page are meaningless to him, and he can barely parse what they say as the steady drumbeat of his heart sounds louder and louder in his chest. He lets out a shuddering breath and hides his head in his arms, hoping that it will bring a sense of comfort that’s been foreign to him for too long now.
He should leave. He should get up, walk outside his office, reassure himself that he’s not trapped, that dirt and mud aren’t waiting for him to open that door so that they can bury him.
He can’t.
His leg is shaking, an uncontrollable nervous motion that’s he’s been doing more frequently ever since returning from the coffin with Daisy in tow. It’s a fear he’s tried not to entertain - maybe they didn’t make it out, maybe this is all a happy lie, maybe even now he’s still being buried by dirt and mud and fear and -
There’s a knock on his door and Jon sits upright, staring at it. It could be a trick. If the door opens, it could let the dirt in. But if the door opens and there’s no dirt, it could tell him he’s safe, he’s here .
“Jon? Can I come in?” he hears, and forces his dry, dry throat to let out a noise.
“Y - yes, Daisy, please.”
The door opens and Jon has to stop the flinch. No dirt pours in, a small miracle to his overtired and overwrought brain, and Daisy steps through, looking better than Jon feels at the moment.
She’s still got bruises and dark circles under her eyes, and she’s recently cropped her hair short, but she looks better than she had surrounded by dirt and -
Jon swallows, a lump in his throat as the familiar fear rears its ugly head again. Daisy doesn’t shut the door behind her, and Jon doesn’t know how to thank her, but he sees the same tension in her shoulders that he can feel in his own, and thinks maybe he isn’t the only one who hates enclosed spaces.
“You too?” Daisy asks, and it’s curt and vulnerable in a way Jon hasn’t heard since he found her in the coffin. “Can’t stop… can’t stop feeling like I’m there. Walls are too close.”
“Y - yeah,” Jon says, a relieved admission. “Has - has Basira…”
“She has,” Daisy says, and Jon isn’t really sure what he was going to ask, but Daisy has always taken things the way she wants them to, and he doesn’t begrudge her that. “It’s fine. She - it’s not something you can share. That feeling.”
“No, it’s. No.”
“You look exhausted,” Daisy eventually comments, and Jon shrugs, a little lost.
“I don’t think I know any other way to be,” he says, and she snorts.
“Bullshit. You can’t be running yourself ragged, not when all of this is about to come crashing down,” Daisy says, waving at the ceiling.
Jon can’t help the slight laugh that her comment evokes. “Bit of an on the nose metaphor, song you think? Considering…”
Daisy rolls her eyes, and Jon thinks he might see some fondness in there after all. He rather thinks he’s earned it, after diving head first into a coffin to rescue her.
“Think we’ve got to have a bit of levity here, otherwise we’ll all go spare,” Daisy mutters.
“Think you might be right,” Jon says, an echo of a laugh in his voice.
“Get some sleep Jon. And, if you ever need to talk about it…” Daisy says, leaving the offer there. It’s not - it’s not the offer Jon had been expecting, but it’s one that he appreciates nonetheless. Melanie still is barely speaking to him, but he can’t begrudge her that. Basira is colder, now, after the coma, and he doesn’t think she’s in the mood for a conversation about the things they’ve both lost. Martin…
Well. Doesn’t bear thinking about, at the moment. Maybe… maybe someday, Jon will be able to get through to him, will be able to… something.
The offer goes unanswered but not unacknowledged, and Daisy heads to leave with a nod of her head.
“You - you can stay,” Jon rushes to say, and Daisy turns back with one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. “I don’t - being alone is worse.”
It takes Daisy a moment to respond, but she nods again, this time slowly. “Yeah. I - yeah.” They stand there in silence for a moment until Daisy expels a long breath of air and goes over to sit on the small sofa crammed into the corner of Jon’s office. “I’m going to try to sleep. Maybe… dunno. Maybe the nightmares will stay away this time.”
“Maybe,” Jon echoes. He swallows. “I hope they do, Daisy.”
She gives him one last long look. “You should sleep too. Won’t help any of us if you die of exhaustion.”
Jon still isn’t sure he can, not anymore, but that… he’s been obsessing over that enough, he doesn’t need to any longer. It’s a problem that he knows is there, and he won’t be able to do anything about it, but Daisy is right. He’s not at his best, and he’ll need to be at his best if he wants to be of any help to his friends in the battles that are still to come.
Eventually, Jon joins Daisy in sitting on the sofa. He’s careful not to touch her; he doesn’t know how much human contact she’s okay with and, if he’s being honest, the thought isn’t that thrilling to him either. It’s more of the aftermath of being trapped in the coffin, more aversion to touch and being too close, a feeling that he’s sure will pass the farther away they get from the experience. He lets his head rest against the back of the sofa and closes his eyes, breathing steadily in and out. At some point, Daisy shifts toward him, and her head slips onto his shoulder.
It surprises him, almost, to find it as a comfort instead of another thing pressing down on him. But with Daisy there, the office isn’t as empty. Not as small.
Maybe… maybe Jon can actually get some rest, for once. Maybe he can sleep without waking up and feeling like he’s choking on silt.
Maybe Daisy can too. He hopes so. He breathes out once more, steady, even, and he feels Daisy’s hair tickling his chin before he finally slips into sleep.
The paperwork will keep. For now, they rest.