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“Hey, boss?”
Jon is brought back to awareness by Tim’s voice. He looks up from the statement he’d been reading, and tries not to look too shaken. He resents the fact that these stupid ghost stories can elicit any emotions other than disdain, but he also resents the idea of showing those emotions. So, he tries to put on his most professional voice as he responds.
“Yes, Tim?”
“Have you seen a book around? A little red volume, this thick?” Tim pinches his thumb and forefinger together, so that they’re barely a few millimeters apart.
“Possibly. Why do you ask?” Jon rummages through a desk drawer, remembering the book he’d tucked away earlier. Where on earth had it gotten to?
“The statement you assigned Sasha yesterday, it mentions that the statement giver dropped off a book, as well, and since it’s not in artifact storage, apparently, I thought it was worth a shot asking you.”
“Hm.” Jon closes the drawer he was looking through, and opens another one. As he rummages through it, he says, “Do you have any more description of it?”
“Not that I can recall? It wasn’t my case to look into. It might’ve been orange?”
“Like this?” Jon holds out a slim, old-looking book with an orange spine and border. Taking up most of the cover is an illustration of a tabby cat. The title reads, The Life and Adventures of Tommy Tabby . “I found it in the depths of a filing cabinet.”
“I think that might be it!” Tim takes it, then opens the front cover. There’s a bookplate on it, slim and much newer than the book itself. “You didn’t read this, did you?”
“No,” Jon lies. “Why do you ask?”
“‘Cause the statement giver claims it made them part-cat, or something. There’s a photo in the back of the file, I can show you.”
“Oh. Well, unless there’s anything else you need.”
“Jon,” Tim says.
“What?”
“Jon, you didn’t read it, did you?”
“No, of course I didn’t!” Jon meets Tim’s amused look with a glare. “I only skimmed it a bit. Now get off my back about it, okay?”
“Jon, I don’t mean to... to mother you, it’s just that. Well, you’re a shit liar.”
“Tim, it’s fine, okay? Just... leave me alone.”
Tim stands in the doorway, fidgeting, but not leaving. “How about I fetch you that statement? Just so you we’re all on the same page, here.”
Jon doesn’t need or want Tim’s help. He can handle it on his own. He’s been handling things on his own all his life, so he’s got plenty of practice. Once Tim fetches the statement, he will leave Jon alone again.
“Okay,” Jon finally says.
“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Tim says, and he turns and leaves. He closes the office door behind him, and Jon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping that will rid him of his headache.
This headache is really starting to bother him. He hopes it’s just a mundane headache, and not from the possibly cursed book he accidentally read. He hadn’t even meant to read it, he was just going to flip through the pages to see if there were any illustrations, and then he was turning the last page of the book and putting it away.
He’s shaken from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. That was fast. (Or, at least, it seems fast. Jon’s not the best as gauging how much time has passed.) Tim opens the door, holding out a file.
“Here, boss.” Tim hesitate, then adds, “Anything else I can do to help?”
“Thank you, Tim. This is enough, thanks.” Jon takes the file, and sets it down on his desk. His headache gets worse the moment he looks down, and looking back up only alleviates it a little. Tim’s still here. Why is he still here?
“You okay, boss?”
Jon takes a moment to puzzle out what Tim said- and then he nods curtly. He expects Tim to leave, but Tim says something else. Jon can barely hear it over the headache. It’s so bright in here.
“You don’t look so hot, Jon. D’you want to lay down?”
Jon rubs his eyes, trying to make the headache go away. It still hurts, and he sighs. He can’t seem to keep him eyes open, which isn’t so bad. He rubs his eyes again, and sighs.
“Jon, buddy? You alright?” Tim sounds worried. He shouldn’t be worried, Jon isn’t his problem to deal with.
“M... m’fine...” Jon folds his arms, and lays his head on them like a pillow. “Just tired.”
“Here, why don’t you lay down on the couch? It’ll be much more comfortable than your desk.” Tim’s much closer now. Speaking softly. It’s nice.
“Mkay.” Jon picks his head up. It feels heavy. Tim is helping him stand, letting Jon lean heavily on him as they head to the break room. His eyes are closed, but the room still spins and sways. Jon is set down gently, and relaxes into the couch cushions. He couldn’t have stayed awake if he had wanted to.
“Martin!” Tim pokes his head around the corner, and repeats, “Martin!”
“What, Tim?” Martin sets aside the box of statements he was looking through.
“Martin, you have got to see this.” Without explaining himself further, Tim turns, takes a few steps, and then turns to face Martin again when he doesn’t immediately follow. “C’mon!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Martin says, slowly getting to his feet. He follows Tim to the break room, where Jon is lying on the couch, fast asleep. He looks more relaxed than Martin’s ever seen him. One arm is dangling off the couch, and the littlest throw pillow is laying on the floor, like a stuffed animal that fell off the bed.
Martin glances from Jon’s sleeping form, to Tim’s big, stupid grin. Martin isn’t quite sure how to feel- Jon is... cute, objectively speaking, but he’s also Martin’s asshole boss. Kind of hard appreciate a cute face when just yesterday it was scowling at you for daring to exist too close to it.
“Okay, that is pretty cute. How’d you manage to get him to rest, though? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jon take a proper break outside of lunchtime.”
“Oh, just some of the good old Stoker charm,” Tim says, “and there maybe was also a cursed book involved.”
Martin gave Tim the most disbelieving look possible.
“Okay, I know how that sounds,” Tim adds, “but I didn’t use a cursed book on him to get him to sleep, he- I-“
“Tim,” Martin says.
“Look, he read a Leitner by accident, and then lied about it- you know Jon, he’s a shit liar- and he suddenly started getting very sleepy, so I just though, well, better to pass out on the couch than at his desk. And here we are.” As Tim speaks, Jon stirs in his sleep. Martin thinks Tim’s words over for a minute.
“Where’s the book, then?”
“Oh, it’s over on my desk. There’s a statement with it, too- I should probably let you take a look at it, so you know what we’re dealing with. It’s...” Tim trails off, heading over to his desk. Martin follows, and he pulls up a chair so he and Tim can sit and discuss it.
Tim holds up a slim orange book. To Martin, it just looks like a kid’s book you’d find in a secondhand bookstore. He knows better, but there’s no evil aura, or ominous look to it. It’s really just a book.
“The statement giver describes some... interesting changes. To her body. She grows cat ears and a tail, as well as fangs, retractable claws, and some changes in diet and sleeping habits.” Tim reads the changes off of a list, written in Sasha’s short, distinctive handwriting on a sticky note.
“And Jon read this?”
“Yep.”
“Well then.”
“The kicker is that the statement giver never figures out a way to reverse it. She went into hiding... five or six years ago, and only emerged to give this statement. Follow up has been impossible.”
“So we’re stuck with a cat for a boss, then?”
Tim sighs. “Yeah, pretty much.” For a moment, all is quiet, then an evil grin splits Tim’s face. “Hey, Martin.”
“Tim,” Martin says, in the same time one might use on a small child about to stick something they found in the ground in their mouth.
“This... could be a blessing in disguise, y’know?”
“I don’t think I do know, Tim. Enlighten me.”
“I mean, we could hit the shops, get some catnip, some treats, a clicker...”
Martin makes a confused face.
“And Pavlov him into being nicer to us. Think about it! Every time he gives us praise, reduces our workload, gives us raises,” Tim counts these off on his fingers, grinning all the while, “We give him a... reward.”
“No! Tim, what the hell?”
“It’s brilliant, trust me!”
“What’s brilliant?” Sasha says, her entrance having gone unnoticed due to her having worn trainers instead of clicky heels.
“Oh, Sasha, you’re back! How was the library?”
“Hasn’t burnt down. Somehow. Now, tell me what’s so brilliant?”
“Tim was just suggesting we- we dog-train Jon! Like some kind of animal!”
“Okay, okay, you’re not telling the whole story,” Tim says, waving his hands in a calm-down gesture.
“Oh, as if context makes it any better!”
“Look, Sasha, the whole story,” Tim aims a look at Martin, “is that Jon found your missing Leitner. And read it, completely by accident. I was just suggesting that we take advantage of this... otherwise pretty shit predicament, and get some catnip, and treats, and Pavlov Jon into being nicer to us.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Sasha says, “Your friend has been turned into an anime catboy, and your first thought is, well, let’s clicker-train him!”
“Hm. Yeah, actually, that does sound kind shitty,” Tim admits. “It’s just, either think about that, or about how distressed Jon is going to be when he wakes up with a whole new set of ears, and a tail to boot.”
“We should probably go check on him, shouldn’t we?” Martin stands, the question clearly rhetorical.
“Yeah,” Tim says, standing as well. The three archival assistants head over to the break room, where Jon is still fast asleep. Martin putters over to the fridge, because it’s only a half-hour till lunch, and sticks his Tupperware of leftover spaghetti in the microwave.
Jon’s sleeping soundly, as far as Tim can tell, but there is already evidence of the book’s effects on him. His ears have shrunken in on themselves, like a flower wilting, and the pads of his fingers are growing calluses. His nails are sinking into their beds in a way that looks painful, and Tim is suddenly very glad that Jon is asleep for this.
As if the thought alone jinxed it, Jon stirs in his sleep. At first, it’s just a furrowing of his brow, and a curling of his fists, and then Jon’s eyes snap open. He gasps, then groans.
“Hey, Jon, how’re you feeling?” Tim reaches a hand out, the hesitates, unsure whether the touch would ge welcome or not. He pulls away.
“Hurts,” Jon says, and then he winces. Tim gasps softly at Jon’s mouth- the gums are swollen, like they’re trying to push his teeth out, and his tongue looks dry and rough. Jon groans wordlessly, and Tim understands why.
“Alright, I hear you. Sasha, can you get him some water?”
Sasha nods, and then marches over to the sink. They only have coffee mugs in the cabinet, so she pulls out Jon’s favorite one, an apparently custom-made mug with a photo of a fat white-on-black spotted cat. She fills it part of the way, and then waits until Tim has gotten Jon in a somewhat upright position before passing the mug.
Jon is limp, rag-dolling in Tim’s grip, but he manages to get the poor guy in a sitting position nonetheless. When the mug is pressed to his lips, Jon gulps down the water like he hasn’t drank in days. He relaxes slowly as his thirst is sated, and looks ready to pass out again by the time the mug is empty.
“We should probably get him home,” Martin says.
“I can take him to my place, so I can keep an eye on him.” Tim turns to Jon. “Hey, buddy, you wanna go home?”
Jon blinks so sluggishly that for a moment, Tim thinks he’s fallen asleep again. “Yeah,” he finally says. His voice sounds wrecked.
“Alright, I’ll take you back to my place, okay? I’m gonna keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay, alright?”
Jon just nods, clearly too far gone for coherent thought. Tim scoops him up, and then gestures towards the archive’s back exit.
“Sasha, can you get the door for me? And also hail a cab or something?”
“Sure thing,” she says.
“Should I come along, too? Or, maybe I should stay, hold down the fort here,” Martin says.
“I might need the help, Martin, you should probably come.”
“Alright,” Martin says, and they head out to Tim’s place. The cab ride is a bit stressful, between Jon’s clear discomfort and what the cabbie must think of them, but they make it to their destination. Sasha insists on paying, and Tim lets her, but only because his hands are full.
Tim lays Jon on the couch, and fetches some painkillers and a glass of water for him. Martin hovers nervously, and then mumbles something about making tea before heading to the kitchen. Sasha reappears with a blanket from Tim’s bed, and drapes it over Jon. She fiddles with the blanket, straightening it out, then stops. She sighs.
“I ought to go back to the Archives, hold down the fort for you guys,” she says.
“Okay,” Tim says. “We’ll keep you updated, in case anything comes up.”
“Alright, I’ll be back as soon as possible. Keep Jon alive while I’m gone!” Sasha makes her way to the door.
“That’s the plan,” Tim calls after her. “Bye!”
“Bye,” Sasha says. She closes the door behind her. Martin returns from the kitchen, with two mugs in his hands. He passes one to Tim, holding the other up to his face, blowing on it.
They sit in relative silence for a while, listening to the ambient sounds of cars and the air conditioning and the occasional thump from the flat above Tim’s. Eventually, Tim puts on a peaceful baking show, just to fill the silence. He turns the volume way down (the captions are already on) for fear of waking Jon. He lets Martin take the armchair, and settles in on the floor.
They get through a few episodes of the show before Jon begins to stir, and even then, it takes him some time to wake up enough to open his eyes. He mumbles something unintelligible, and then reaches for the glass of water on the coffee table.
Tim helps him sit up enough to drink without choking, and then gets two Advil out of the bottle for him.
“How’re you feeling?” Tim asks softly.
Jon mumbles some more, sounding rather unhappy. “Not great,” he manages to say.
“Anything I can do to help?” Tim says.
Jon shakes his head, settling back down onto the couch. He scoots over, so there’s enough room for Tim to sit. When Tim does sit down, Jon scoots back up, so his head is in Tim’s lap.
Tim chuckles, but doesn’t say anything. He scratches Jon gently behind his newly-grown ears, and Jon goes floppy as his whole body suddenly relaxes. Martin makes an amused sort of noise at that, and Tim smiles fondly.
Jon dozes on and off for a while, seeming content to lay there all day. Tim would sit with him all day, too, but someone has to make dinner, and Martin is a guest . So, he quietly tells Martin to take his place, and heads to the kitchen.
He glances back to see Martin, trying desperately not to smile, looking down at his lapful of Jon. He turns to the pantry, getting out boxes of pasta, and hears a sound suspiciously like purring.