Work Text:
The budget is fucked. Jon stares into the papers, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. It wouldn't help, anyway. The numbers will probably stay the same, no matter how many times he closes his eyes and wishes for them to be different.
"Mr. Sims?"
Jon looks up, a moment too late. "Yes?"
Sonja manages to radiate apologeticness by her very posture. "Um, I'm sorry to interrupt--"
"Yes, what is it?" He bites the inside of his cheek and tries again, this time in a less aggressive tone. "Can I help you?"
"It's just that I need form b41, and--"
"Sims!"
At least this time it's not him interrupting her. It's Craig, Jon's own boss. He strides into Jon's office like he owns it, which perhaps in fact he might.
"Can I help you?" Jon repeats.
To his surprise, rather than upset, Craig is beaming. "What's this I hear about you getting married?"
How is Jon meant to respond? "It's... going to happen."
Jon hasn't been particularly effusive about the news of the wedding. Not that he's not happy, of course he is. And it isn't that he doesn't want to share his joy. He just doesn't want to share it with his coworkers, who are... well, most of them have not given him first-degree burns. That's about as much as he can say for them.
"You sly devil, you." Craig keeps grinning. "I didn't even know you were dating anyone!" He claps Jon's shoulder.
Normally, Jon can handle this. He can take the casual physical contact some of his colleagues and superiors initiate. But he's had a bad day, and he's distracted, so he doesn't catch his flinch in time.
Even Craig, who normally has the social graces of an inebriated badger, notices. "What's this, Sims? Something wrong?"
"It's fine," Jon says, trying not to clench his jaw. It's not good for the joint. Craig's hand is still on him.
In fact, it's gripping him tighter. "What's this? A little jumpy, aren't we?" He shakes Jon for good measure, with a movement only Craig might think is gentle. "I say, you should try out some rugby. Knock that bad habit right out."
Just as Jon is seriously considering sinking his teeth into Craig's wrist, a throat-clearing sound comes from the door. And then, "Excuse me, Mr. Miller, but is this appropriate office behavior?"
Craig freezes. "Eh?"
"Only," Sonja says, still from her perch by the door, "if upper management saw this, we might get another round of workplace interpersonal relationships workshops." Her voice, normally soft, pierces through the air in the office. "I can't imagine anyone would want that."
"That's silly," Craig says, but he's taking his hand away. Jon can breathe. "We're just roughhousing."
"Are you?" Her tone somehow grows sharper. "I wonder, would it be roughhousing if you grabbed my shoulder, and then grabbed harder when I tried to move away?"
"That's different!" Craig protests. He's also taking a step away from Jon. "I'm not--" he takes a quick look at Jon. "It's not like that."
Sonja's eyes glint. "So if you were to, say, put a hand on my shoulder, would it be like that?"
Abruptly, without seeming to cross the distance, Craig is at the door to Jon's office. "Nonsense. I'm sure it's all fine. You're not upset, are you, Jon?"
"I'm fine," Jon lies.
Craig smiles again, a wan, cheerless expression. "I'd best be going. Cheers! Congratulations, Jon." He closes the door behind him with exaggerated care.
As soon as the door shuts, Sonja deflates, resuming her usual anxious posture. "I'm so sorry if I overstepped. Are you alright?"
It would be easy to snap at her. To tell her he didn't need her to fight his wars for him. But at the same time, not having Craig touch him is such an abject relief that he can't help being grateful. "I will be soon enough. Thank you."
"Oh! Of course." She fusses with her hair. "He actually did the hand-on-the-shoulder trick with me, too."
The frazzled, murky emotion inside Jon consolidates into rage. "Has he, now?"
"Oh!" Sonja blushes, seeming surprised. "I truly don't think he meant it sexually. He's just a prick who thinks he's being a fatherly authority figure."
"I'm not sure that's better," Jon says, strangled.
Sonja shrugs in acknowledgement. "Either way, if he shouldn't do that to me, it stands to reason he shouldn't do that to you, either. If you want to complain to HR, I could help."
Jon isn't going to do that. The idea of telling people that he was touched in ways he didn't want brings back all sorts of unwelcome memories. It seems backwards, anyway. "I will back you up if you need to complain about him to HR. Or anyone."
Sonja blinks. "I know you would."
"Oh." Jon's not expecting that, even that barest vote of confidence. It's - something.
"Now, if I could ask you about that form..."
It's a relief that she does. Bureaucracy is tedious, but it makes more sense than people's aimless pawing, and still more than unexpected kindness. Jon does not know how to handle that, how to make an adequate return. As he hunts through drawers for the form she asked for, he feels a need to act, to give something in exchange for these last ten minutes and everything they encompassed. "Do you want to come to my wedding?" He feels stupid as soon as the words emerge. "Of course, there's no obligation."
She smiles, a gentle, genuine expression. "I'd love that, Mr. Sims."
That, too, feels wrong. "Call me Jon. Please."
"Of course." Her smile widens.
Jon buries himself in the drawers. That's about as much of being a person as he can do today.