Chapter Text
"D'you need anything else before I head off, Jon?"
"No Martin, I'll be fine." Jon spared a hand to wave at Martin without looking up from his computer. "Have a good night."
"Night," was the soft reply, and then he was gone. The door remained ajar. Jon knew it wasn't a mistake on Martin's part and forced himself not to roll his eyes. Instead, he reluctantly considered the clock. Maybe it would do to finish up for the night…
His thoughts were interrupted by a cry of "Finally!" from Tim. Jon could hear him and Sasha getting up from their desks, but instead of footsteps following Martin out the building, there came other noises.
Jon wrinkled his nose and peeked out of his door.
They were decorating. Christmas-themed nonsense was being strewn about the place with a wholly unexpected amount of efficiency. Little electric candles were placed on desks; tinsel was hastily secured onto parts of the walls and desks with hooks. Small Santa and reindeer plushies were speckled about in the open office area. Sasha put a snow globe on Martin's desk. Then Tim pulled a ladder from seemingly nowhere and Jon decided that was enough.
"What in the world are you doing?" he asked, trying to imbue some authority in his tone, but that never really worked with Tim. As predicted, the other man didn't pause or even look over at his boss. Instead he set the ladder at Martin's desk, right where the chair usually stayed, and began to climb.
"Just a bit of decorating boss!" Tim said from the top of the ladder. Jon watched him tape a sprig of something to the ceiling.
"Not like any sort of decorating I've ever seen," Jon replied. Granted, he wasn't familiar in any case; his grandmother hadn't been one for celebrating the holidays. "Why would you even put that up there?"
"So Martin won't notice it of course!"
"I thought the whole point of decorating was to notice it."
As Tim climbed down the ladder, Sasha gasped and turned to look at Jon. "Wait, that's right! Jon, this is your first year playing the game with us!"
Jon narrowed his eyes, suspicious dread growing in his chest. He dared to ask, "What game?"
Before Jon was Head Archivist, he was a researcher for the Institute, just like the others. However, he existed mostly in a separate realm of that division, dealing more heavily in historical records and organizing old information to coincide with newer information. So, while he did know Tim and Sasha and Martin at the time, he didn't work with them often, and was usually hidden away in a totally different part of the building.
The holidays were also the only time of year Jon would ever head home early (or on time — whatever.) This was to avoid decorations, holiday parties, and friendly offers to hang out after work. Jon always preferred his solitude and the ability to work efficiently; such was hardly ever easy to do when people were in the holiday spirit. Too many distractions. People got lazier, sloppier, more annoying.
So no, Jon didn't stick around much in December. So he'd never seen The Game in action.
"It's easy! All you have to do is catch Martin under the mistletoe six times,” Tim explained with bright enthusiasm. Jon could practically see him vibrating from his spot on the bottom rung of the ladder. “First one to kiss him on the lips wins!”
“Why six?”
“It’s sort of like each time you catch him, you get one point,” Sasha explained. “First he kisses you on your hand-”
“Like a true gentleman,” Tim interrupted.
Sasha gave him a little glare, then continued. “After that, it’s a kiss on one cheek, then the other. Then he gives you a kiss on the forehead, then nose, then finally a kiss on the mouth.”
“And that’s how you win Christmas,” Tim said with a nod.
Jon wrinkled his nose. “You can’t win Christmas.”
“Sure you can. I would know, because I’ve won Christmas the last two years in a row,” Tim boasted.
“I’m so going to destroy you this year, Stoker.”
Jon can only shake his head. “What a ridiculous game. How long have you been doing this?”
Tim tapped his chin. “I think the last… four years, maybe?”
“And Martin goes along with this?”
“Sure! He plays along, too, tries to make it harder for us to catch him.”
Jon can only frown. The idea of being constantly assailed by coworkers demanding kisses… that actually sounds like a proper nightmare. How did Martin put up with these people?
“I’ll leave the two of you to it then,” Jon said sternly. “You won’t catch me behaving so…” He waved his hand, hoping his disgust was well-conveyed.
Tim, having successfully laid his trap, hopped off the ladder and started collapsing it so he could move it back to storage. As he did so, he said to Jon, “Aw boss, good on you for bowing out gracefully. It must be hard, knowing you don’t stand a chance against champions like us.”
Against his better judgement, Jon asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That you’d lose, even if you did play!” Tim shrugged his shoulder as well as he could while holding a ladder.
As he left the room, Sasha waved a plastic bag at Jon. It was full of more plastic mistletoe sprigs. “Want to help me decorate the rest of the archives?”
“No thank you,” Jon told her, and hurried back into his office.
The next day, as soon as Martin said hello and sat down at his chair, Tim rolled over to him. Jon, who’d been in the middle of giving Tim an assignment, glared after his subordinate.
“Morning, Martin,” Tim sang brightly, leaning one elbow against the desk.
Martin quirked a brow at him. “Um, hello Tim?”
“Noticed anything different?”
“Hmm… Well, you’re bothering me instead of doing any work, so not really.”
“Don’t be so mean! Tisn't the season for that, now is it Sasha?”
“I don’t believe it is,” Sasha agreed, though she didn’t look away from her computer.
“That’s right! Tis the season of kindness and generosity, especially if you’re being kind and generous to me in particular,” Tim proclaimed. Then he pointed and said, “Tis also the season for looking up at the ceiling.”
Martin glanced up. Upon seeing the mistletoe, he immediately burst out into laughter. “God, Tim.”
Tim only stared, grinning, until Martin got over his giggle fit. Then, very properly, he held out one hand and demurred. “Well, Martin? Don’t leave me hanging.”
Jon strode past the desk and very flatly said, “Boo.”
It was enough to set Martin off again, snickering into the sleeve of his jumper. But just before Jon closed the door to his office, he saw at a glance the way Martin took Tim’s proffered hand and, with a smile, gave it a single kiss.
Later in the day, Jon found himself retreating from the bowels of the basement towards the breakroom. His appetite was making an unwelcome appearance, so he figured it was about time to give in and grab a snack. If he was lucky, there would still be leftover sugar cookies. Sasha had brought them in the other day, and neither Martin nor Tim seemed particularly fond of them. Jon liked the frosting, and they were moderately filling if he had at least two. He could just grab a couple and bring them back to his desk on a napkin.
Jon turned into the doorway, only to be stopped by a warm body.
“Oh! Sorry, Jon!”
“It’s fine, Martin.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“Yes, well.” Jon smoothed down his tie, adjusted his collar. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Martin apologized, then shuffled to the side so Jon could pass him. But before he could move, Martin made a little sound — a laugh or a cough, Jon wasn’t sure. He stared, suspicious. “I- no, sorry, just-” This time Martin did laugh, a nervous little chuckle, and his cheeks grew red. He pointed up a finger. Jon followed until he saw the mistletoe hanging above and between them.
Oh dear. Jon could feel his own face heating up. He wasn’t- Surely Martin didn’t expect him to-
“Are you playing the game?”
Jon paused, caught off guard. “What? Pardon me?”
“The- the kissing game,” Martin said with another nervous laugh. “I’m assuming Tim mentioned it. He gets… very excited about it every year. He and Sasha have already gotten me once each today. I, um, I wasn’t sure if you were playing too.”
That’s right, they were playing that ridiculous game. Jon felt a bit like scoffing, but didn’t. No, instead he considered Martin’s words, and the choices available to him. If Jon did accept the kiss… well, it would just be for that little game. The others were doing it, too, so it wouldn’t be weird, right? And it was only a kiss on the hand, he could deal with that. At this point, it might be more awkward if he said no, though he was sure Martin would be gracious about accepting his boundaries over it. He could say no; he probably should say no.
So why hadn’t he already?
Jon realized there was something repeating in his head, something Tim said yesterday: he’d implied Jon had no chance in ‘winning’ the game. What was that supposed to mean, anyway? All one had to do was stand around under some fake plants. Tim might have more experience in wasting his time with frivolities and idly hanging around looking pretty than Jon did, but that didn’t mean Jon was- well, he could accept a kiss just as graciously as anyone else.
And so he decided he would.
Still, the words were caught in his throat. Jon glanced away, and for a moment it seemed like Martin might take that as a silent answer. But just as Jon could hear him start to shuffle away, he turned back slightly and, without a word, held up one hand.
Martin looked surprised, which made Jon scowl. Then Martin chuckled and gently took Jon’s hand in his own. The kiss was quick — there was no lingering, just a simple peck on the back of Jon’s hand before Martin let him go. Jon quickly pulled his hand back against his chest, like he’d been burned, but managed to offer Martin a tight little smile before making a beeline for the cookies.
Jon hadn’t really intended to actively participate in the game. It was stupid, childish, and honestly a waste of time. Tim would spend the entire last hour of his day collecting mistletoe and rearranging them in the archives to new spots, so Martin wouldn’t know where they were hidden. If Jon had thought for a second that any of them would take him seriously, he might have ordered the game outright canceled.
But then… well. Tim also kept gloating.
“Got another one on his way out,” he’d said, winking at Jon and Sasha as they were putting on their coats.
“How’d you manage that?” Sasha had asked.
“Taped one to the top of the lift , obviously!”
Jon hadn’t spoken, had only crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, following the two of them out. Watched Tim reach up to pluck the mistletoe off the lift’s ceiling, tucking it into his coat pocket. He bid them both goodbye before parting ways out on the sidewalk, tugging his scarf closer in an attempt to ward off the cold.
But in Jon’s head, he was planning.
Thus, the game was afoot. Jon always got in before everyone else, and he spent part of this morning doing a quick round about the archive, locating as many sprigs of mistletoe as he could. There were, in essence, only so many places Tim could hang them up; however, there were also certain random spots where he’d simply taped them against the wall at what he must have deemed an acceptable height. Jon even found one sticking out of a book in the stacks, like a bookmark. Reluctantly charmed, he’d left that one alone.
There were perhaps eight sprigs of mistletoe in total, not including the one Tim took home with him that evening before. Jon relocated five of them.
Then he waited to make his move. The morning was spent as usual, with Jon sticking dutifully to his work; he felt slightly guilty about spending part of his morning on something so silly. But neither Tim nor the others seemed to suspect anything, acting perfectly normal.
It wasn’t until later that Jon acted. When Martin brought him his afternoon cup of tea, Jon asked him to search for a couple of files in the stacks, pointing out exactly which section he should try checking. Martin nodded, accepting the small, written list Jon handed him, and said he’d go look once he was finished with a follow-up call. Jon then asked, as casually as he could manage, for Martin to leave the door cracked on his way out. “It just feels a bit stuffy in here,” he said, and Martin hadn’t batted an eyelash. In fact, he seemed in some way pleased by Jon’s words, and happily left the door mostly open.
When Jon heard Martin finish his call and roll away from his desk, he took a sip of tea and glanced at the clock. After five minutes had passed, he grabbed a second note and left his office.
Martin was exactly where Jon planned to find him, knelt down over a box with a frustrated look on his face. Jon made sure to be quiet in his approach, only clearing his throat when he was a few feet away. Martin jumped slightly. “Hey! Sorry, I’m just, um, having a bit of trouble-”
“It’s no problem, Martin. I think I actually made a mistake: I gave you the wrong list of documents.”
“Oh!”
Martin stood, taking the offered scrap of paper from Jon. “These are what you should be looking for. If not in this section exactly, they’ll be nearby.”
“Alright, thanks.”
Jon nodded, then pretended to adjust his hair. As he did so, he rolled his neck and glanced upward. He made a show of squinting, then rolling his eyes. “Ah, it looks like Tim’s been about.”
“What do you- oh, hah.” Martin looked at the mistletoe propped in a book just a head or so above them. “Looks like you’ve got me again, Jon.”
“It would seem so.”
Despite knowing this would happen — planning on it happening — Jon felt his cheeks heat up again. He couldn’t help but stutter when he asked, “Where- ah, where exactly- I mean, for the second… where does it go?”
Martin seemed somewhat flustered as well, which somehow made Jon feel slightly better. Martin lightly tapped his own cheek before asking, “Would that be okay?”
“...Yes. Just- go ahead.”
Jon tilted his head, closed his eyes. A second later, he felt Martin’s lips against his skin. The kiss was dry and not long, necessarily, but Jon noted it wasn’t as quick as the kiss on his hand had been. For just a moment, he thought he could feel more of Martin’s body heat, or maybe the ghost of a touch on his elbow.
Just as quick, though, it was all gone. Jon opened his eyes to Martin’s shy smile. “Two points: Sims.”
Jon felt himself smile before he could help it, then quickly made vague gestures with his hands towards the box and said, “Yes, yes, well, let’s get back to it.”
By the third day, it seemed that Tim had caught on.
“You gunnin’ for my crown, boss?” he asked, slumped against Jon’s doorway, giving the man a look of pure incredulity.
Jon, feeling unexpectedly pleased with himself, had to fight to keep his expression neutral. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Tim.”
“Rumor has it you’ve already gotten three kisses from Mister Blackwood himself!”
“All random coincidences,” Jon said, shrugging and fondly recalling the happy accident from earlier; he’d been leading Martin to a filing cabinet to show him how to re-organize them, only noticing the mistletoe lodged in the top drawer a second after Martin did.
Tim’s grin had an edge of danger to it. “If you think you’re going to win, boss, you’re going to be very disappointed.”
Jon smiled. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”