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One last hurrah before everything changes. At least, that’s how Tim phrased it.
He’d seen how anxious Jon was as he walked back from Bouchard’s office, Tim was almost afraid he’d gotten fired. Jon had never been anything but a diligent worker, burying himself in investigations and doggedly following leads to the point of exhaustion. He was one of the best researchers they had. But then Jon started to speak and Tim watched as Sasha visibly tensed.
Jon was the new Head Archivist.
It wasn’t a complete surprise; they all knew the vacancy needed to be filled and plenty of people had been vying for it, Sasha and Jon included. Tim had been the one to encourage Jon to apply, he’d seen him stare for a moment too long as Sasha completed her own application. “Worse they can say is no!” he’d said with a cheery smile. He hadn’t expected either of them to get it; they lacked the usual qualifications and there were other, more senior staff applying. Of the two, however, he expected it to be Sasha. She had a few years on Jon, and more experience to boot, but academia was still an old boys club. She dismissed it when he brought it up; the previous archivist was a woman, after all. Still, it didn’t sit right with him.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t happy for Jon, though. He saw the hint of pride in his anxious smile, in the stutter of his words when he asked them to join him in the Archives. Tim’s not a fan of working in the basement, but it comes with a nice raise, and he’d like to help Jon in any way he can. He was more surprised that Sasha accepted, but he supposes it's one step up the ladder, albeit a small one. Still, she’s grown a bit colder towards Jon, and she needs time to recover from it. Tim understands, though he doesn’t like how it upsets their dynamic.
So when they go out to celebrate on Friday, new contracts signed and ready, it’s just the two of them.
“Sasha couldn’t make it?” Jon asks, disappointment and hurt flickering in his eyes. The man’s always been an open book, something Jon detests and Tim finds very endearing. But he also knows Jon’s well aware of the reasons behind her absence. Still, he gives Jon the lie.
“She’s got a thing tonight, had to leave work early. Looks like it’s just you and me.” He throws an arm around Jon’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze. Jon averts his eyes. “Hey, she’ll come around, promise. If anything, it’s Douchard she’s mad at-”
“Tim!”
“What? It’s not like he can hear us,” Tim snickers, pulling them both inside the dimly lit, muggy bar. It’s not the nicest of places, but they aren’t planning on staying long. A few drinks to celebrate, then off to bed. Jon likes to leave before it gets too rowdy.
They find an out-of-the-way booth, order a round and some chips. Tim remembers the last time they drank on no food, and it ended with Jon puking in some back alley while Tim held his hair back. A fond, if disgusting, memory that he does not plan on revisiting.
“Cheers, mate.” He raises his glass and Jon rolls his eyes, reluctantly clinking his own against it. “Seriously, congrats. This is a great career move.” Jon takes a substantial sip of his drink, almost choking on the large gulp. Uh oh. It’s gonna be one of those nights. Tim watches sympathetically as he gets his hacking under control, wiping his mouth on a napkin and staring sullenly at the table.
“Are you nervous?” Tim ventures, though he knows the answer.
“Of course I’m nervous!” he snaps, slamming his elbows down on the table, a move that surely hurt, and narrowing his eyes. “I’ve got no idea what an archivist does, none of the research I’ve done seems to be helpful, and whatever Gertrude was doing certainly wasn’t that-”
“Hey, stop that,” Tim says, taking the hand Jon had fisted in his hair and lowering it to the table. “I mean sure, the place is a mess, but you’ve got me and Sasha to help. And you know how I like organizing. I’ll make a new file system just for you. How does that sound?” Jon gives him a weak smile and Tim returns it. In actuality, he’s not sure if any of them will be much help, but they’ve got time to figure things out. “Besides, Elias certainly seems to believe in you, if he’s given you the promotion.”
“I’ve no idea why he chose me,” Jon grumbles, biting into a chip like it had done something to offend. “There were loads of people vying for it, people who’ve been here for years-”
“Maybe he likes you,” Tim teases to Jon’s blank stare. Ah, right. “Likes you, likes you.” He deserves the ketchup covered chip that hits his arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous- I can’t- He would never-”
“I kid, I kid!” Tim laughs at Jon’s fluster, wiping the ketchup-y remnants from his sleeve. It’ll be a bitch to get out later, but he certainly brought this on himself. Behind Jon’s scowl, Tim can see the panic and he softens his face in response. Tonight’s a night for reassurance and kind words, not prodding and teasing. Jon will be an absolute mess if he goes into this doubting himself, and Tim will at least do what he can to ease that doubt.
“Look, you’re a great researcher,” he begins sincerely and Jon, not unexpectedly, rolls his eyes and looks away. “Stop, it’s true! You give every project your all, you’re ace at follow-up, and you’re one of the most dedicated workers in this goddamn place. Yeah, it’s a mess and it’s going to be hard, sure, but I know you can do this.” He reaches across the table, offering his hand. Jon’s finicky about touches even when he’s not anxious, so he doesn’t want to force the issue. And though Jon avoids his gaze, he slowly reaches out to grab it. There you go.
“And you’ll have me and Sash,” he enthuses, giving the small hand in his a squeeze. “Her hacking skills and general disregard for boundaries teamed with my wits and charm? We’ll be unstoppable! We could really leave our mark on this place, yeah?”
Jon grumbles, but he sees the beginnings of a smile on his face as he looks up at him from under his lashes, a move that always sends Tim’s heart racing. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit!” Tim cheers, entirely too loudly, motioning to the server as he raises both of their hands (though Jon immediately withdraws his own at the action). “And I think that calls for another round.”
“Tim, the bill-”
“Is being taken care of. By me.” Jon opens his mouth to protest but Tim cuts it off. “I insist! We’re going to be swimming in that big archive money next week, and I for one will be taking advantage. I might start getting takeaway twice a week. The luxury!” For the first time that night, Jon laughs, and Tim feels not a little bit of pride. He did that.
An hour later and Tim’s managed to keep their spirits high.
“Y’know what the biggest insult in all of this is?” Tim leans back in his seat, kicking lightly at Jon’s feet, which Jon returns much more viciously. “I’m going to be working for someone who’s younger than me. The indignity!”
Jon grins and lets out what can only be described as a giggle. “Tim, you’re only thirty. It’s not that much of a difference.”
“And spiritually, you’re sixty two. So I suppose it evens out.” Jon doesn’t lose his smile, and Tim lets out a low and appreciative whistle. “Head Archivist at twenty eight. Really climbing the ol’ ladder. You’ll have to tell me your secrets.”
“Very little sleep,” Jon returns, taking a demure sip of something entirely too sweet that he forced the two of them to order. Tim’s glass is still mostly full, and Jon’s is almost drained. “And a willingness to read the dustiest of books.”
“I’m still going to check your work for grammar and spelling,” Tim says, wagging a finger in Jon’s face. ‘The editor in me can’t stand your overuse of the em dash.”
“I know,” Jon’s smile goes soppy, as it always tends to do after a few drinks. No one’s ever accused him of being able to hold his liquor. “Tim, I appreciate it. Really. Thank you for...everything.” There’s a strange finality to the words, as if Jon’s saying goodbye in some way. It makes something in his chest twinge; Tim’s never been good with loss. And Jon’s right in front of him. He isn’t going anywhere.
“With the help of your trusty sidekicks, you’ll be the best Archivist there is!” Tim crows instead, much to Jon’s embarrassment. “Changing the world, one statement at a time!”
“Enough, enough!” Jon tries for a scowl that looks more like a smile as he bats down Tim’s wildly waving hands. “I get it. No need to make a scene.”
“Speaking of scenes, wanna dance?” There’s a few people up, dancing in a drunken haze to some old eighties tune and he’s in a good enough mood to give it a go. The response is, of course, a resounding no.
But Jon still hasn’t let go of his hand.
“Let’s go home.”
Home is always Tim’s flat.
Not that Jon’s isn’t nice, but it’s a bit...sparse. Lonely. Like the man moved in with just a suitcase and is liable to pick up and run again. Sure, there’s scattered books and mis-matched furniture, but there’s nothing Jon-like to it.
But there’s Jon at Tim’s home.
Jon in the pile of books he keeps on his shelf, always changing as is Jon’s taste. His favorite tea’s in the cupboard, his clothes in the dresser. They’re not in a...relationship, per say, but they’re in something. A little beyond friendship, but nothing ready to be defined. Tim always thought one day they’d get around to it.
But the promotion’s put a bit of a wrench in his plans. Jon’s going to be focused on the job, not on him. He hasn’t explicitly said anything, but Jon’s all about decorum, and a boss dating his employee isn’t going to go over well. He can imagine their first day: Jon acting distant and remote, coming out only to give instructions and never for lunch or a chat. Tim hopes it won’t happen, but his heart doubts. No, Jon wouldn’t. We’re friends. We’re...something.
So he can’t help but flick the switch on his alarm clock until it lands on a somewhat clear station- it’s an old tune, jazzy and slow, the singer warbling something mournful that Tim can’t make out. It’s perfect.
Jon’s slumped over on the couch, eyes starting to close when they focus in on Tim’s outstretched hand.
“Dance with me?” He puts as much sincerity in the words that he can muster, and eyes him hopefully. Jon lets out a weary sigh, but takes his hand all the same.
Tim pulls him to his feet as gently as he can manage and Jon immediately winds an arm around his waist, burying his smile in the fabric of Tim’s shirt and tucking his head under Tim’s chin. They’ve done this before, always under the influence, but it feels different as Tim guides him around the room, slow and stumbling. Jon’s grip around his waist is a bit too tight and Tim’s hand shakes in his. What they’re doing can hardly be called dancing, and yet the intimacy of it is almost too much to bear.
“I’m scared.”
The words are muffled, said as they are into Tim’s chest. But he hears them, aching and vulnerable, fragile like the man in his arms and Tim doesn’t know why but he’s scared too; scared for their future, scared of what this means for them. Scared of what this move will do.
But it’s silly to be scared. It’s just a promotion. Just another tedious job to figure out, but he’ll have his friends at his side while doing it. It’ll be an adventure. Tim’s always played it safe, Danny used to tell him he needed to take a chance on something, anything. Maybe this is his.
“Don’t be,” he whispers back, clutching Jon closer to his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.” And Tim promises he won’t; whatever happens, even if he and Jon don’t work out, if they grow apart, he’s going to protect this man and do whatever he can to help him. He can’t let someone else down, not again. And the stakes are different, and yet somehow feel just as high.
The song winds to an end and they stand still, the static of the radio turning to murmured, unintelligible voices. Jon’s almost limp against him, Tim’s arm the only thing keeping him steady. They can do this. Sasha will come around, everything will go back to normal, they’ll tackle this as a team. He and Jon will work things out. Maybe it’ll take months, years even. Maybe they’ll be old and gray before they pull themselves together.
They’ve got nothing but time. And that’s something Tim can hold on to.