Chapter Text
Elias was starting to realize that, perhaps, the suit he was wearing was an ill fit for the bustling streets of an 8 AM farmer’s market.
The weather was unseasonably warm for early May, the temperature hovering around the low 70s (farenheit), and it was only expected to get warmer as the day progressed. Elias quickly cast his Eyes out and was horrified to discover that this warm front was expected to continue for the next several days.
How annoying.
Elias was a man who existed in layers, both literal and metaphorical, and this warm weather was not bearing well for his more physical layers.
Sighing in defeat, Elias removed his hand from where it was holding onto his dear companion in order to strip off the offending suit jacket. He absolutely refused to do anything as undignified as tying it around his waist so he ended up throwing over one shoulder and sighing once again in irritation.
The man next to Elias snickered, “Regretting being a fancy bastard already?”
Jonathan Sims, his Archivist and more importantly the love of his life, was dressed far more practically than Elias was and, if the laughter and slight grin on his face was anything to go by, he was quite smug about it.
Unlike Elias in his suit, Jon fit in wonderfully at the farmer’s market. He had on a pair of olive green cargo pants, turtleneck off-white tanktop (the neckline hid the yellowing bruises that had been left the night before, which Elias thought was a shame but that was probably the point), and tiny golden eye-shaped earrings (another gift from Elias).
Elias thought he was the most lovely person he’d ever seen. Even if Jon was currently making fun of him.
Perhaps he was even lovelier because of the emotional intimacy between them that the casual banter implied.
“and then also some radishes...you’re not paying attention at all are you?”
Elias blinked rapidly, breaking his thought process, and refocused his gaze on Jon, who had crossed his arms and was glaring at Elias in irritation.
“Sorry angel, you’re just so lovely I got distracted,” he said lightly, giving that full-teeth smile that he knew won Jon over every time.
Jon gaped at him, still so shy when it came to the overt displays of affection that Elias was ever so fond of, and lightly swatted him on the arm,
“Ok ok shut up,” he grumbled, but his cheeks were flushed and a smile curled at the edge of his lips so Elias considered it a success.
“Now, do forgive me for my lack of attention and please go on. You were saying something about vegetables?” Elias slipped his hand back into Jon’s because if he was going to listen to the light of his life talk about produce and sustainable farming for the better part of the morning, which he refused to admit that he found hopeless endearing, then he was going to indulge himself in the pleasure of taking Jon’s hand in public.
The slight smile on Jon’s face bloomed even further as he stared down at their interlocking fingers and he moved his free hand up to his mouth so cover it slightly. Elias gave a deep sigh on contentment before squeezing Jon’s hand slightly to encourage him to continue on with his original statement.
“Oh, yeah right! Anyways so for the stir fry we should probably get some pink oyster mushrooms, peppers, and onions. Nova always sells the best mushrooms but they also tend to run out fast,” Jon told Elias, his demeanor now all business as he considered the best way to go about acquiring the ingredients needed for Elias to cook dinner tonight.
Elias, typically, did not do any form of cooking. It was a matter of principle, you see, and definitely not because Elias was a horrendous cook.
Regardless of his potentially non-existent cooking abilities, Elias had wanted to do something nice for Jon after a long week and his dear Archivist has gotten so excited, grinning and fluttering his hands as he chattered about dish options, that Elias was now determined to see it through.
Jon had paused, standing still on the sidewalk and no longer speaking. Elias looked over, faintly concerned, before he felt the tell-tale hum of the Beholding and saw the glassed-over look in Jon’s eyes.
Jon’s Eyes weren’t directed toward him, not this time, but Elias still felt the presence of the Beholding come over him, that overwhelming but oh so fulfilling feeling of being Seen and Known. He let out a deep exhale, ran his thumb over the ridge of Jon’s knuckles, and waited for his perfect, lovely, Archivist to come back to him.
It took only a couple seconds before Jon was blinking rapidly and all that built up pressure dissipated in an instant. He turned to Elias, triumph in his eyes, and smiled a grin that showed just a little too much teeth to be entirely comforting. Elias thought it was absolutely gorgeous.
“So, Nova is out of mushrooms tonight which is a shame . But Paige, I’ve told you about her she’s the one who tried to cut her hair with a knife, yes I know know but trust me she’s cool, is doing a deal with her mushroom and peppers so that’s probably where we’ll go first,” Jon chatted at Elias, struding towards the end of street and tugging at Elias’ hand whenever the other man wasn’t moving quickly enough to match Jon’s fast pace.
Jon, Elias noted as he watched his partner instead of any of the stalls that were flanking the street, was wearing chipped yellow nailpolish. It was a lovely look on him.
Elias was contemplating the merits of wearing nailpolish when Jon came to a sudden stop and Elias found himself abruptly acquainted with Jon’s back. Jon gave Elias an apologetic smile over his shoulder and unlinked their hands.
“Be right back,” Jon told him in that distracted tone that Elias knew meant that Jon had just discovered something interesting and was going to go investigate. Elias sighed fondly. How absolutely perfect for Beholding his love was. How absolutely perfect for him.
However this did mean that Elias was now left alone on the bustling street and he was, not for the first time today, regretting his decisions. The crowd and the mundanity of the farmer’s market were acceptable nuisances when he was with Jon, but now that his lover had flitted away, he found them down right deplorable. Hmmm.
When Jon got deeply engaged with something, he could spend hours focusing on it. It made him a wonderful Archivist, but it sometimes had its drawbacks in daily life. Once, Elias watched Jon not move a muscle for three hours straight after finding a particularly well maintained ancient occult book in the corner of Elias’ personal library. While Elias found it unlikely that Jon would disappear on him for significant periods of time while at the farmer’s market, he fully expected not to see his beloved for at least another half hour
(after which, Jon would return to him and tell him all about whatever it was that had fascinated him, and he would grab Elias’ arm and point and he would smile and the corners of his eyes would crinkle and he would gesture dramatically at nothing and Elias would not be able to take his eyes off him).
But until then, Elias had to occupy his own time. Elias was a man for whom time was always in short supply. His mental calendar reminded him that he really ought to be in the office now, and that since he was basically ignoring all of his duties as Head of the Institute to spend the weekend with Jon, the very least he could do was take these tiny moments where Jon was distracted to get some actual work done.
Elias considered this briefly, and then promptly decided to disregard all of it.
Instead of emailing Nathaniel Lukas or keeping an Eye on various institute employees, he looked around the street (with his own two eyes this time) for any wares that might catch his eye. He doesn’t care much for shopping, the material goods that he owned were either of a much higher caliber (and price point) than anything that was being sold at the market or they were antiques from his past lives, but he knew that Jon appreciated the...hmm, what had he called it? Oh yes, the ‘rustic charm’.
Ther first couple of stalls proved disinteresting, mostly different natural food items that he wouldn’t know what to do with. Why were there so many types of jam? And so much fruit! Elias wasn’t even aware that there was a fruit called muscadines. He made a mental note to ask Jon about them once he returned and moved on.
His attention was briefly drawn to a table advertising homemade candles, but a quick dip into the mind of the blonde woman working the booth revealed some deeply unkind thoughts directed towards him and Jon and their particular relationship from when they had passed by her earlier. Anger seethed deep within him and Elias felt his skin tighten around braced muscles. He made a note of the woman's name, address, and worse fear on his phone. ‘ How dare the thought of Jon’s name even pass through her venomous, pathetic, unworthy mind’ he thought sharply and he made the decision to do something deeply unpleasant to her in the future.
It took him 10 more minutes of aimless searching (a novelty, really) before he came across the perfect place. A tiny little booth with a banner that read ‘Astilbe’ in large curling letters and then, below in a smaller font ‘will’s floral shop’.
Sitting on display was a bouquet of sunflowers. Morning sunlight glinted off the saffron petals, staining the surrounding leaves with golden light.
A memory flickered through Elias’ brain, spring fresh and clear as the unclouded sky: Jonathan pulling at his hand with yellow painted nails. It was followed by another image, this time a figment of Elias’ imagination, though the focus was still the same. Jon, turning to grace him with that saint’s smile, aureate yellow petals tucked behind behind one ear ans the dark brown seeds at the center of the flower perfectly matching the deep speckles that dotted Jon’s skin.
Elias bought the flowers on the spot.
Flowers in hand, he opened his Eyes and looked for his Archivist. Within a moment, he found his dear, sweet Jon through the eyes of a nearby sparrow, talking to the knife wielding shop owner (Paige). Jon had been listening intently to her as she told him about her mushroom farming practice, but his eyes flicked up towards the sparrow when he sensed Elias’ gaze on him. Elias took a deep breath in satisfaction. His Archivist, so receptive to Eye. So perfect.
Jon smiled at him and mouthed the words ‘just a sec’ at Elias’ feathery sentinel before turning his attention back to Paige and her mushroom.
Elias didn’t particularly feel like waiting around for his love to finish up, but recently he found that he was more than willing to indulge any notions that his Archivist may have regarding almost anything. Which was, potentially, worrying.
Elias’ determination had always been one of his most prominent traits; after all, it took an ironclad will to prevent the corrosion of personality identity after decades of discarding names and faces as easy as a snake periodically sheds its scaly exterior. He had cultivated his will carefully, always keeping a hard, unyielding dam on any emotions or desires that might bring about...unnecessary complications. Any display of emotion that was not meticulously planned out and carefully executed for the sake of provoking a desired reaction from his opponent (and, really, everyone was an opponent in this game of life where the stakes were oh so high) was a liability and one that he could not afford. Any vulnerability that he dare show would be ruthlessly seized and ripped out of him. Mordechai Lukas proved that point to him many years ago.
But with Jon…with Jon it was different. In the beginning, Elias has assumed it was because Jon was the Archivist ( his Archivist) and it was part of his supernatural skill-set to pierce through Elias’ machinations and precisely chosen misdirections.
But, Elias had never been one for self-deception, and eventually he had to admit to himself that Jon was different from his past Archivists. Jonathan was special . He was the best Archivist that Elias had ever had by far. He had the drive and will of Gertrude Robinson, but with a devotion to their god that made Elias’ soul ache in adoration.
He wanted to be seen and known by Jon, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. His entire being thrummed with the desire to open the floodgates and imbue Jon with everything that he was. For decades, he had been Elias Bouchard. For centuries, he had been The Head of The Magnus Institute. But now, for Jon, he simply wanted to be Jonah Magnus again.
If it were anyone else, if it had been anyone but Jonah himself that had lived through the events that led him to this exact moment in time, Jonah would have called them foolish and unbearably sentimental.
Sometimes still he found himself staring at himself in the mirror, at those forever unchanging green eyes, and he wondered exactly what it was that he was doing in this situation. Living with Jon, holding Jon in his arms, kissing Jon softly. Pledging himself irrevocably to his Archivist.
An Archivist who was supposed to be his only in the manner that a child may call a favorite toy ‘his’ or perhaps that an artist who had just finished a new painting would sign his name on the edge of it to claim it as ‘his’.
Jonathan was not ever meant to be ‘his’ in the way that Jonah (not The Watcher, not Elias Bouchard; just Jonah) referred to him.
Jonah was never meant to whisper ‘mine’ into his Archivist’s hair as he wrapped an arm around his ever-tense shoulders just to feel him relax into his embrace.
Jonah was never meant to hear how his Archivist’s laughter sounded when it was softened by sleep and sweetened by proximity to Jonah’s arms (it was even lovelier than notes put out by the world’s finest flutist by virtue of being Jon’s).
He was never meant to know, but he did now. It was not the Ceaseless Watcher nor The Web (thought he was sure that they had some hand in it; the Web would get into every and all things that it possibly could) who had done this: woven the strings that were the lives of Jonah Magnus and Jonathan Sims so tightly together that to even determine which part of Them belonged to Jonah and which to Jon was a near impossible task.
Jonah knew that he should resent the position that this put him in, hate the dependency and the vulnerability that he had so often chased away with bared teeth and sharpened glares in his many lives before. He didn’t. Not this time. There was no bitter anger or flash of thinly veiled hostility. Nothing but contentment and a feeling of rightness.
There was, however, fear. A fear of a only vaguely tangible, incomprehensible quality that had scraped out holes in the deepest part of him and settled in to nest. Jonah could not generally be considered a man who enjoyed being afraid, but he found himself strangely accepting of this fear. It was, in fact, a fear that he was intimately familiar with.
The fear of being completely and utterly known.
Watching Jon subconsciously twist his earrings as he returned to stand in front of him, his sweet smile turning positively saccharine when he saw the flowers, staring up at him with that deep, deep gaze that never failed to completely enrapture him and leave him unable to look at anything else, Jonah decided (decided, as if it were ever even a question) that he would offer up his fear to his Archivist joyfully for as long as he lived if it meant that this absolute angel in front of him continued to turn his gaze upon him.