Archive of Our Own

Sasha wasn't sure why she always had to deal with new members of the team. Part of her took it as a compliment, relished the thought that she was so likable she’d always be chosen to represent the research department. After all, that was the goal, right? All her hard work, all the masks that she wore every day - maybe it was all paying off. Then again, maybe she was just that good at her job. Not to brag or anything, but she could see that as a possibility. Maybe they thought that if the new starts spent some time with Sasha, they'd pick up good habits. 

Or maybe it was just a reflection on the others in the office. After all, who'd want to spend their first day at work under the wing of Jonathan Sims?

Nonetheless, it was draining - Sasha James was only a people person when it benefitted her, and she'd come home from every one of those rare shifts exhausted, swearing that next time she'd just tell them to have them shadow someone else. Academics were stuck-up at best, and downright intolerable at their worst - some were fresh-faced, straight out of a prestigious university and convinced they knew better than her, and others older, stuck in their ways and yes, still convinced they knew better than her. She hated the way the men side-eyed her as she showed them the ropes, disregarding her advice and insider information, or worse, mistaking her polite chatter as flirtation. The women weren't so bad - but then again, how often did the Magnus Institute hire women?

Yes, every time she'd tell herself that she'd leave the job to someone else - and every time, some higher up (usually Elias, the most involved manager she'd ever met) would march right up to her desk in the morning, some new start in tow, and she'd find herself bowing and scraping all over again. The things I do to get ahead in this industry, she'd think to herself, before readying herself for a long day of condescension and no privacy.

This time was no different. She'd seen it coming: a seasoned researcher had disappeared while looking into cult activities, and she'd kept a curious eye on the stream of a dozen or so possible replacements visiting the Institute ever since. The man who hovered by her desk, clearly trying not to hide behind Elias, wasn't exactly what she'd expected. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the room of bespectacled, often prematurely aging… well, nerds. She let out a soft snort of laughter, quiet enough to go unheard, at the man's obvious attempts to blend in. He wore a sensible shirt and nice trousers - brand new, she assumed, from the stiffness of the fabric. It was the hair that gave him away, a trendier cut than her colleagues could be bothered to get (or pay for), and the way he held himself: at once both too loose and much too stiff, straightening up when speaking to Elias, but he'd forget himself, hands in his pockets, swaying slightly when the attention was on someone else. 

“Ah, Sasha. I'd like you to meet our newest member of staff.” Elias turned to gesture to the man behind him, who gave a rehearsed, professional smile. “This is Timothy Stoker. He's going to be filling the rather… unfortunate opening in your team.”

“Tim’s fine,” He straightened up again, reaching over her desk with an outstretched hand. Reassuring, she thought, that at least the new guy wanted to shake hands. She'd had more than one man gloss over her entirely. “Timothy’s a bit much. I swear my parents were trying to get me bullied. It's nice to meet you.”

“Sasha James,” She stood up to meet his gaze. Firm handshake. This man had been in business before - or, at the very least, had connections. “I guess you'll need a hand getting to know the place?”

Elias smiled over at her, something which never failed to send shivers up her spine. Slimy bastard. “It's as if you read my mind. I was wondering if you could help Tim here get settled in. I'm sure he won't be too much of a bother.”

“You won't even know I'm here.” Tim’s tone was light, almost too comfortable for a place like this. “I’ll fit right in, by the looks of things.” He glanced around the room, the silence punctuated by the tapping of keyboards. He wasn't wrong - research was arguably the liveliest department, but she supposed it didn't mean much when the only competition was the library, artefact storage and the archives. Especially considering the archives only had one member of staff. 

“Excellent.” Elias breezed past them, already making his way back to his office. “I'll leave you two to it.” He paused by the door, looking back at Tim. “Good luck.”

Great. Sasha mentally prepared herself for a backlog of work and a hundred stupid questions. Maybe some casual sexism while she was at it. God, she hated this job sometimes.

Credit where credit's due, Tim Stoker wasn't too much trouble. He already knew where his desk was - Elias had shown him - and he'd been given a tour that morning, so he just needed some time to watch how the job actually worked. He was friendly, fairly polite, and quiet enough when observing her, though it often felt like he was holding back. Occasionally, there'd be a twinkle in his eye, and she'd see him open his mouth to speak, then he'd quickly shut it again, as though reminded of something. She just hoped he didn't keep going to say something controversial - she often came to expect that of younger, conventionally attractive men like himself. 

Most of his questions surrounded the job itself; apparently he'd never worked in research before, and was a little confused as to what his actual responsibilities were. Had Elias not explained it to him? She thought back to her own interview, back when she applied for Artefact Storage. He had been a little vague, she supposed, although after having taken the role she assumed that was just down to the nature of the job. If he'd been upfront from the beginning, surely no one would have accepted the role. Even a lifetime of fascination with the paranormal wouldn't have convinced her, anyway. In Research, you were safe in the comfort of your own desk, buried in papers, books and statements. Elias didn't need to hide anything from him. 

Still, it was strange how little he knew. She'd noticed, early into the job, almost everyone who walked through those doors had an explicit reason to be there, whether they shared it or not. Some came for answers, some came for the prestigious name, the history of the company, some came just because they enjoyed the industry and some, like herself, came out of pure interest - not necessarily belief - in the paranormal. It was something she always tried to tease out of the people she worked with. She'd let them spare the details, of course, if they needed to - but she needed answers. It was just one of the many things Sasha itched to know.

“So, why did you go for a research job?” She spun round in her chair to face him. She'd never been one to leave questions just stewing in her mind. She wanted to know, and well, he'd been sitting looking over her shoulder all day. She figured he at least owed her this one. “Seeing as you've never worked in academia, I mean.”

Tim looked up from where he'd been absent-mindedly picking at the arm of his chair, apparently not paying attention. “Hm?”

“Why did you want this job? It clearly isn't really your scene.” She tried not to get snippy with him. Sasha hated repeating herself, something she picked up in university, trying to justify her thoughts and reasoning in seminars with male lecturers who obviously didn't care what she had to say. Something she knew even then would never stop, at least for the rest of her career. 

“Oh, uh…” Tim blinked, hard, and sat up properly in his chair. Sasha watched him fiddle with the sleeves of his shirt, trying to formulate an answer. “I just… well, I haven't done any research since I wrote my dissertation, and apparently I felt like torturing myself again. Taking the old ADHD meds for a test run.”

Sasha giggled slightly, but kept watching Tim’s face. A non-answer, really, trying to deflect with humour. That, combined with the sudden unease, fiddling with his clothes and avoiding her gaze, and the dark circles she'd noticed under his eyes, told her everything she needed to know. She wouldn't make any assumptions just yet, though. One thing she learned fairly early on - everything was always more complicated than it seemed, and this place only cemented that knowledge.

“Missing being a student, then? Are you sure it's the work and not the parties? Nightclubs don't lock their doors after you turn thirty, you know.” She flashed him a grin, probably the first real, unrehearsed smile she'd given him all day. So the new guy was a bit of a joker. She could work with that. Sasha liked to keep on her colleague’s good sides - not necessarily friends, but she needed them to like her. Probably a side effect of childhood bullying, but she tried not to dig too deep into her own psyche.

Tim’s laugh came louder than she expected, bouncing around the nearly silent room. Out of the corner of her eye, Sasha saw Jon look up from his computer, slightly perturbed. “Oh, thank god! Luckily I'm not thirty yet, but I was so worried for when the day finally came. I was honestly thinking about just ending it. What would be the point in going on?” Ok, risky joke. Honestly, just the kind of thing she'd expected from the guy. Still avoiding the questions, though. “Don't worry, I'm not one of those guys who peaked in Uni.” He paused. “Or high school. Just missed being actually challenged. Publishing was fun, but so boring sometimes.”

Publishing? What a strange career progression. Sasha didn't come to work to make friends (she had plenty in everyday life), so she chose to leave the conversation there. Tim seemed to be a closed book, at least where it mattered to her.

Sasha watched the clock turn to 17:00 in the corner of her computer screen, and stood maybe slightly too abruptly from her chair. Exhausted from socialsocialisinging, with a long journey home from work ahead of her, she was more than ready to get out of there. Still, as she stuffed her things into her bag, she caught a glimpse of Tim from across the room. Still at his computer, he was frowning into the screen and typing frantically. He'd left her side around lunchtime, thanking her for her help and deciding to just wing it from there. Did he not realise what time it was? Five o'clock was late for Sasha, and she knew that most people tended to leave work slightly early on their first day. Something on his face told her she should just leave him to it, but it wouldn't hurt just to check in on her way out, right?

“Tim.” Tim didn't move, didn't break eye contact with the screen. She did her best not to pry at what he was reading, although it was probably just an article for work. An image of a red and white tent caught her eye on the screen, just for a second, before she pulled her focus back to her new colleague. “Tim?” He still didn't react, scrolling down the page and leaning forward slightly. It was then that she spotted the earphones. Sasha didn't tend to touch people without warning, especially those she didn't know well, but it seemed the only way to get his attention. She tapped his shoulder gently, and laughed as he immediately jumped. “Tim!”

“What?” The laid-back disposition she'd seen in him earlier had vanished, replaced by a look of frustration and genuine annoyance at being interrupted. Sasha took a step back - she wasn't afraid, just… cautious. Wary. “What do you want?” He asked - no, snapped. 

“Oh- I was just checking in? J-just thought I'd come see how your first day went?” Sasha could feel her face starting to burn. She had always blushed easily, the curse of having red hair. She watched the few other researchers left turn to watch them, and willed the ground to swallow her up. No, that was stupid. She didn't do anything wrong. “It's just… getting dark out. I was wondering when you were planning on leaving.”

Tim stared at her for a second, before sighing and closing the tab on his computer. His face quickly softened, but not back to the one she'd met earlier. This one was harder, his brown eyes rather dull and tired looking. He cleared his throat, and turned properly to face her. “Shit. Sorry, Sasha. I just got a little too deep into the research, that's all! You gave me a fright.” He laughed nervously, a high-strung sound, and looked down at his feet. “I guess, if all the days go by so quickly, it was a good choice to work here. Here, you can shout at me back if it helps.” Damage control. Sasha would have laughed if she wasn't so embarrassed, but instead she fiddled with the edge of her skirt and smiled sheepishly.

“Think I'll hold onto that offer until I need it.” She adjusted her bag and glanced towards the door. “Anyway… I’m going to head out, I think. You leaving soon?”

“Just need to stop by the library first. See you tomorrow, Sasha.”

Sasha made it a mission to talk to Tim less after that. Not that it should have been hard, she barely knew the guy, and he tended to keep to himself most of the time. That is, until he didn't. 

It was about a week into his working at the Magnus Institute that Sasha finally got to meet more of the real Tim Stoker. That Tuesday, he'd come in without the standard “work uniform” he'd been wearing since they met - he wore a brightly coloured, floral patterned Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans. Sasha knew from a little light internet stalking, as she did every new person she met, that this was how he looked in everyday life. He still wore that look of determination, still got sucked deep into his work every day, but he looked a little more comfortable in himself. Much later, he would admit to keeping stock of what the others were wearing, trying to work out if he'd be able to wear his own clothes to work or not. It took him about a week to realise that no one really cared. 

One day, not too long after that, Sasha looked up from her work to find Tim leaning against the edge of her desk, smiling down at her. “So, do people just not talk around here?”

Sasha frowned, pushing her glasses up to see him properly. “Define talk.”

“You know…how was your holiday? How’s the wife? How are you coping with the eldritch abomination living in your closet?” He laughed at his own joke, a habit of his she'd already picked up on. Tim was drumming his fingers against the desk when he talked, ever-fidgeting. She'd assumed he was joking about the ADHD medication, but now she wasn't so sure. “Who's gay? Who shagged at the Christmas party last year? Who's our money on for this year? I haven't heard anything . No one seems to want to just chat .”

Maybe it was the way you snapped at me that put people off , Sasha thought. But Tim wasn't wrong - most of the staff at the Institute didn't just hang out . Sure, some people were friends, and she'd had her fair share of small talk in the break room, but it was nothing compared to the other jobs she'd had. Maybe it was the ever-looming feeling of being watched, that something was listening , that stopped people from talking like… well, people. Everything was carefully structured, kept to surface level chatter about the weather and the traffic coming in, maybe a nightmare tube ride - people didn't gossip. They didn't talk about work, either. Not unless you want to get goosebumps, start seeing things out of the corner of your eyes. 

“It's not really that kind of job…” Sure, her coworkers spoke to her, but that's because Sasha made sure people liked her. She wasn't intrusive, didn't start conversations unless she needed to, but she knew that if they wanted to, they'd speak to her. “I think people did actually hook up at the Christmas party, now that you mention it, but they worked in the library. You probably don't know them.”

Tim frowned, seemingly dissatisfied with her answer. Sasha wasn't surprised. She didn't really know Tim, of course, she'd met him just this month - but she didn't need to know Tim to know him. Growing up, people had always remarked on her “uncanny” ability to read people, to analyze and understand what lies beneath the surface without being told or shown over time. She'd never really found it all that unusual. Just common sense, as far she was concerned. 

Tim was pretty easy to figure out. Not even a minute into their first interaction, he'd cracked a joke. Although she tried not to look at him (or any of her colleagues, for that matter) in that way, he was good-looking. Very good-looking, actually - but in the way that someone like Sasha would see in a bar, or on a dating app, and avoid for fear of humiliation. Traditionally handsome, fairly fit, and pretty friendly, as far as she could tell. His style choices were, perhaps, his only real stray from traditional male standards - but she supposed even that could be forgiven when her eye caught the logo on one of his button-ups, while they waited in line at the Institute café.

Did she mention Tim was rich? Or at least, she thought he might be. Piecing things together was never as solid as asking outright, but that took all the fun out of it. Tim's clothes cycled from basic to silly, but always looked high-quality, occasionally embroidered with some logo or other that would catch her off guard. It wasn't just in the clothes, of course. She knew some men simply excited at brand names, liked to dress above their status. No, that would never be enough to make assumptions from. It was in the way he talked about his home  - always “my house ”, never mentioning a flat. None of the other younger researchers could afford a house, especially not in London. It was the way he drove to work. The way his parents named him Timothy . Sasha’s parents were very working-class, and she couldn't imagine them ever naming a child that. Not with a straight face, anyway. 

The biggest tells, of course, came from her little round of internet stalking. Looked like Tim had been pretty careful with his social media - a lot of things were hidden away, unlocked only by a friend request - but what she could see had been pretty enlightening. Hundreds of friends, followers, whatever the platform called them. Someone was popular. She saw photos of Tim with friends, laughing. Tim with a taller, sterner-looking man, she presumed to be his father from their identical long, straight noses. A younger Tim, maybe nineteen years old, with badly bleached hair and a grin that stretched from ear to ear. She saw more birthday wishes than she could ever even imagine receiving. Unlike Sasha, Tim wasn't born in London, she learned, but had moved there after university - presumably to start his career in publishing. Perhaps, most interestingly, she learned that he'd graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge - which only further cemented the rich boy image she'd created in her head.

So no, Sasha didn't know Tim. That didn't mean she couldn't put every piece of the puzzle she did know together and make an educated guess. Tim was privileged and funny, charming and slightly materialistic, smarter than he let on and very, very popular. Sasha didn't need to have grown up alongside Tim to watch him disrupt class with some silly joke, to see him effortlessly blend in with the other kids or to watch his parents hand him the keys to his first car on his seventeenth birthday. She didn't need to go to university with him to know how he spent too much time drinking and not enough time studying, to watch him zombie-like, dragging himself into the lecture hall on two hours sleep, or witness his miraculous sailing through final exams. Sasha spent her whole childhood being teased by boys like Tim Stoker, and her entire student life being ignored (or worse, copied) by them. 

Of course it ate him alive that no one wanted to talk to him here - Tim had never not been liked. At least, not in a way that mattered. She'd never liked guys like him growing up, but she was never the attention they were going for. As long as he was liked by the majority, he'd be fine. She guessed he'd have to learn to deal with it, just like everyone else. 

For someone who'd been hounding her about the office Christmas party just two months ago, Tim didn't really seem all that game. Sasha’s jokes about convincing Gertrude to come along and do Jägerbombs with them failed to elicit more than a quiet laugh, so short it couldn't be anything but forced. 

She and Tim had formed a tentative alliance since he'd come to her complaining about the office culture. She'd tried not to, reminding herself of who she'd read him to be - but he was right, the others were so dull and the silence in the office sometimes nearly drove her insane. Tim had been relentless, showing up at her desk at least once most days, with an interesting fact he'd learned or a funny story from his weekend. It had been annoying at first, an unwelcome interruption in her work day, but eventually she'd come to almost look forward to it. It helped that he'd often appear after his breaks with a coffee for her - although she was always wary of accepting gifts from men, even if they did treat her like an equal. 

He'd been pulling back lately. He did this sometimes, she'd learned, went through phases of talking to her daily, still trying to get other colleagues involved, then ignoring everyone altogether. He'd taken a few sick days in the last week or so. Sasha had enough friends who struggled, had enough of her own, to know to worry about him. 

Still, they weren't friends, weren't close enough for her to offer any kind of support - at least, not without making things weird - so she settled for just keeping an eye on him. At least that way, if things seemed to get worse, she'd see it coming. Maybe she could get a manager involved or something. She didn't think Tim would take too kindly to her concern.

She started by accepting his friend request on Facebook, something she'd been avoiding since he'd sent it a month into working together. Sasha didn't really use social media, so there had been no point in letting him in. Why would she bother adding people from work online? So they could wish her a happy birthday every September, and watch her mum comment hearts on her profile pictures? It just felt a little too… private. Allowing the people she worked with, idly chatted with in the line for the canteen, to access all the same information as her family, her closest friends and even people she'd once held close, but never gotten round to deleting: exes, long-forgotten childhood friends, past flatmates. They weren't two worlds she particularly wanted to collide.

Still, desperate times called for desperate measures. She probably wouldn't find anything - hell, there probably wasn't even anything to find - but she couldn't help but worry that she'd miss something important, some offhand comment or unusual behaviour that could be the difference between life and death. Not that it was probably that dire. Sasha had lost a few friends in her two-and-a-bit decades of life, and for the most part she'd handled it well. Sure, she'd spent her fair share of time cursing the world, wondering what she could have done differently, but she'd never let it get the better of her. Still, she knew from experience that people often cried for help online, so here she was. Tim seemed more like a Snapchat guy, if she was being honest - but asking for his account on there had a whole other implication that she wasn't about to invite.

There was a whole lot of nothing on Tim’s account. He hadn't been active since August, aside from a few shares here and there and updating his job status. She wasn't sure if it was a red flag or not - after all, she herself didn't use social media regularly, and she was just fine. Up until that point, however, he'd seemed fairly active. The hidden content on his page was about what she'd expected: memes he'd shared, pictures from nights out, posts where he was clearly trying to be funny, the occasional giveaway or local business he apparently cared about.

Even his profile photo was from that summer. Tim was beaming over at the viewer from across a table, the sun casting a warm, orange glow over his face. From the outdoor setting and the drink sweating in front of him, she guessed it was in a beer garden. His eyes were bright and full of mischief, complementing his vibrant choice of shirt perfectly (light blue, patterned with sunflowers). He looked stylishly unkempt - like a pair of brand new ripped jeans, all blemishes and imperfections perfectly planned and laid out. Like he'd gone to the barber and said, “Make me look like I'm not trying.”

He hadn't changed too much, but Sasha knew that wasn't the man she'd met in October, and it certainly wasn't the man she knew now. December-Tim was paler, as though he spent all his time indoors, although she could always put that down to the time of year. He seemed exhausted, yawning to himself at his desk, purple bags under his eyes like bruises. As far as she could tell, he hadn't had a haircut since starting with the institute, and had stopped shaving regularly. 

It wasn't until he came to work in that same sunflower shirt that she noticed he'd lost weight. When you see someone every day, you tend to miss things like that until they sort of slap you in the face. Tim was a broad guy, not skinny like Jon, but the shirt hung from him in ways it hadn't in that photo. Had she seen him eating recently? They'd sometimes go up to the canteen together, not to sit and eat as a pair, but just for some company in the queue. It was another benefit of their uneasy alliance, although it usually devolved into Sasha watching Tim flirt with staff from other departments (to which she would remind him not to shit where he ate). Come to think of it, they hadn't done that in a while. He would always wave her off, tell her he's swamped in his research… although she never really saw him producing much work. 

She assumed this sudden bout of depression was probably linked to the vague answer he'd given when she asked why he'd joined the Institute. Lots of people had seen something, experienced something, and let it drag them down into despair. Or, she supposed, it could just be seasonal - although she thought it was a little late in the year for that. 

It was thanks to her decision to add Tim on Facebook that she got something close to an answer. She had logged on quickly at work to find a friend’s post, scrolling an endless feed of engagement announcements, baby photos and borderline right-wing rants, when she spotted something that made her do a double take.

It was Tim. No, it wasn't - but the resemblance was striking. The man was younger-looking, with a slightly more reserved look on his face. He dressed comfortably, in a jumper and jeans, but he somehow pulled it off as if it were high fashion. He had the same soft brown hair as Tim, the same warm complexion she'd seen in his younger photos, and the same dark eyes. There were a few photos, and she clicked through curiously. This man and the man she'd assumed to be Tim’s father, smiling into the camera. An older woman - his mother? - with her arms wrapped around him. A school photo, a young boy with fair hair and a gap in his front teeth, with a bright red jumper and white polo shirt. Standard stuff. 

And a picture of this man and Tim, sat together in what looked like a restaurant. He was taller than Tim. Fitter, too - don't get her wrong, Tim wasn’t unfit, but in a way that screamed genetic luck. This guy clearly worked out. They grinned into the camera together, holding their drinks, and his smile was slightly less crooked, less wild. He was clean-shaven, in contrast to Tim’s casual stubble. Prettier, she thought. Almost the spitting image of each other, but this man was a slightly more… perfect version of her coworker. Higher cheekbones, a slimmer nose, sharper jawline. She knew Tim was attractive - she had eyes - but this guy looked like a model. Cleaner was the word that came to mind. Tim had his arm around the guy, holding onto his shoulders with a genuine look of pride. 

So he had a brother. He'd never mentioned that before, but she supposed she'd never brought up her sister, either. In her haste to work out who the man was, her itch to collect information, she hadn't read the text above. A birthday, she assumed. 

Tim had been tagged, that's how she'd seen it. A post made by a woman she presumed to be their mother. Daniel Stoker was also tagged - that must be the man in the photos. She clicked his account, already cursing herself for digging too far.

Remembering

Daniel Stoker (Danny)

Sasha shot back from her computer screen, looking around the office. No one was behind her. Tim was still staring blankly at his computer, one hand resting on his cheek, elbow propped against the desk. Everyone else still seemed to be hard at work. Good, no one had caught her snooping. Most importantly, Tim hadn't seen. She clicked back immediately, hurrying to the post and cursing just how wrong she'd been.

Actually, she hadn't been entirely wrong. It was Danny’s birthday - from the looks of his mother’s Facebook post, the first since he'd passed around five months ago. The post was long and miserable, extensively liked, with comments already building up. Danny Stoker, whoever he’d been, was clearly deeply loved and missed. No wonder Tim had been so down lately. Still, if it was just a matter of grief, of first birthdays and Christmases after a loss… maybe she didn't need to be so on edge about it. 

He'd need some company, though. Someone to take his mind off of it - and it was coming up to lunch time.

The Magnus Institute’s annual Christmas party was always an… interesting affair. Sasha hadn't worked there too long, only two years or so, but those that she had attended had been unlike any office party she'd ever experienced. Quieter than most, at least before everyone got drunk enough to let themselves go - but once they did, people couldn't help but talk about their work. A researcher would get jumpy and if asked about it, would start telling you about murders he'd been researching, how he couldn't help but feel like he was being… chased. Another would deep dive into spontaneous combustion at the drop of a hat, apparently a more common phenomenon than science would have you believe. Apparently the Artefact Storage staff were the worst of all, but Sasha wouldn't know. She stayed as far away from them as possible - and besides, she already knew all about it.

She'd heard that one year, before she started working there, one of the Institute's chief investors had attended the party, and it had ended within an hour. No one remembered leaving, only that the bar had been quiet and uncomfortable one second, and they'd suddenly arrived at their front doors the next. Sasha wasn't sure how much she believed that, but since hearing the story vowed to always attend, just in case.

It had taken some convincing to get Tim to show up, especially without letting on what she knew, but it was the promise of weird stories from the other staff that had finally perked him up. That, and the promise of alcohol - although she wasn't sure if he should really be drinking in his emotional state. She thought it would be good for him, though, to get out and socialise a bit. 

The plan had been to finish the workday early, get ready in the Institute’s toilets, and join the other researchers to get a cab to the bar, where they'd booked some tables for Christmas dinner. Sasha didn't have too high hopes for her meal - it was a nice pub, yes, but how good could their vegetarian option be? - but it was all part of the fun. She wasn't going to miss out on any second of it. 

She dressed quickly in the toilets, nothing too different from what she'd already been wearing. A nicer dress, instead of the blouse and skirt she'd come in wearing, still roughly knee length, and she kept the cardigan she'd been wearing that morning over the top, assuming it would be cold that night. She applied her makeup in the mirror - mostly just a touch up, but maybe making the eyes a little fancier, just to look like she was putting in some effort. 

Half expecting Tim to have taken off while she was in the toilet, she was pleasantly surprised to see him waiting next to her desk when she returned. No, not next to her desk - he'd perched himself on the edge, careful to not wrinkle any papers on her (admittedly untidy) workspace. He'd changed too, not as drastically as her or any of the other female staff (beauty standards and all that), into a white shirt, decorated with reindeer and sleighs. Upon seeing her, he grinned and held up a pair of antlers. “Too much?” 

“Did you buy those just for tonight?” Sasha laughed, rolling her eyes. It was nice to see him in good spirits, but she suspected he underestimated just how serious a lot of the Institute's staff were. Still, one of the reasons she wanted him to come was to see if he could liven things up a little. “I think any more reindeer stuff and you'll start turning into one.”

“Yeah, and I'd hate for you to have to bother Gertrude with that statement!” Tim slid himself off the wooden desk and walked towards her, looking her up and down in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable. He wore that mischief in his eyes she'd seen in that photo from months ago. “Statement of Sasha James, regarding her coworker Tim turning into a surprisingly hot reindeer and accidentally goring everyone with his horns.” Sasha tutted, looking away from him. “Well then, I think for everyone's safety, you'll have to keep them instead!” Before she could react, she felt him slide the headband into her hair, no doubt messing up her fringe. “There. The fate of the institute is in your hands.”

Sasha bristled at the unexpected touch, immediately shaking the antlers from her head. Was he flirting with her, or just trying to be funny? That was her main problem with Tim at the moment, she could never tell. Still, getting him to agree to come to the party had been a feat in itself, and she knew he'd paid for a train ticket this morning instead of driving - so she wasn't going to upset him now by getting annoyed at him. When they came back after Christmas, though, he was going to get an earful about touching women without consent. If she remembered by then. “No, you hold onto them,” she thrust the headband back towards him, smiling. Tim's face fell slightly - was she right? Did this work on all the other girls? “If I can sic you on Elias, then I’ll survive giving a statement about my delusional coworker turned very average-looking reindeer.”

He staggered back in mock pain, clutching his chest as though he'd been shot, and let out a laugh that echoed through the office. “Alright, I'll ignore the shot at my ego. When the antlers start becoming real, point me in his direction.” He paused for a second, head tilted to one side, as if in thought. “Does Elias really come to these things? At my last job, the big boss never even came near us plebeians.” 

She nodded, giggling to herself. Tim Stoker using the word plebeian had a hint of irony, although she could see it was lost on him. “What can I say? He likes to know everything that goes on around this place. He'd hate to miss out on any of the gossip.”

Tim had sat next to Sasha in the cab, with Jon on her other side - they'd both been surprised to see Jonathan Sims joining them at all. He'd never been to one before, as far as she could remember, and he wasn't the most talkative of people, although she liked him just fine. There was something uncomfortable, however, about being sandwiched between the two men, Tim joking around every opportunity he got and Jon clearly becoming rather irritated, which Tim clearly saw as a win. That, and Jon was rather small and she and Tim… were not. She felt herself trying to shrink down, give him more space - but that just meant she was pressing against Tim instead. Much to her relief, he shifted slightly when their legs touched, clearly also aware how much space they took up. Compared to the old book and soap smell on her left, he even smelled expensive, although she didn't know enough about men’s fragrances to confirm her suspicions.

Aside from the uncomfortable drive, dinner was mostly uneventful. She'd tried to split from Tim, giving herself a break from his endless chatter and him an opportunity to socialise, but when some rather notorious creep who worked in the library moved to take the seat next to her, Tim seemed like the better option. She'd never seen him move faster, one second she'd locked eyes with the librarian, the next a worn leather jacket slid over the back of the chair, followed by her co-worker. He'd been over at the bar already, and she saw a few wet spots on his shirt. He must have spilled his drink in his haste to get to the table. “Sorry Sash,” he turned to face her, a bottle of cider in hand. The familiarity made her wince. “I know you wanted rid of me but, well… better me than grope-y guy, eh?” 

Most of the Institute was there, basically having booked out the whole bar. Sasha saw Elias near the head of a table (thankfully not theirs), dressed in a smart shirt and emerald green tie. No sign of any investors this year, she thought, but couldn't decide if that was disappointing. Would have been nice to have a fun story. Rosie sat near Elias - a shame, even out of work she couldn't seem to escape her boss. At the other end of the same table, she was surprised to see Gertrude. Did she usually come? Sasha couldn't remember. There the old woman was, anyway, joined by a man she'd never seen before. He had long, black hair, black clothes and a leather trench coat. Certainly not the type of person the Institute usually hired, and she'd never seen him around. Sasha was good with faces, and she'd certainly have remembered this one. Gertrude seemed to have most of her attention focused on the man, anyway, not talking much but listening to what he had to say with a quiet curiosity. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a whisper beside her. “Think we can get old Gertrude hammered?” For God's sake, could he not stay quiet for five seconds? Or better yet, talk to someone else? There was a perfectly nice woman from Artefact Storage sitting across from them, much to Sasha’s dismay, and plenty of researchers around them who Tim already knew .

Sasha busied herself with the drinks menu, staring down at the wine list as though it mattered, as though she knew anything about wine other than it looked classy and it got you drunk. She was always rather careful at work events, not wanting to make a fool of herself in front of people who she hoped respected her. “ You try getting her attention, then we'll see how drunk we can get her.” She mused, not looking up at him. “She's… intense. I'd rather stay away if I can help it.” 

Tim snorted at that. “But aren't you Gertrude’s favourite? You're always down there, digging through people’s trauma with the old bag.” His use of the word trauma intrigued her - most wrote off the statements as a load of rubbish, temporary madness or the babblings of attention seekers. Still, she was done unpacking him, she’d decided. He paused, as if suddenly realising he'd been quite rude. “Sorry Gertrude. I'm just saying, if anyone can pull it off…”

They did not, in fact, end up getting Gertrude drunk. She left at the end of the dinner, having a brief, but tense-looking exchange with Elias on her way out.

After dinner, Tim disappeared suddenly, making a beeline for a group of other researchers Sasha wasn't sure he knew all too well. Still, she was glad to be rid of him for a while - the guy was good fun and all, but she didn't want to be seen as a pair by the others. They weren't friends or anything. She was just doing a coworker a favour during a difficult time. His departure gave her time to think about the man Gertrude had been with. She hadn't seen him before, she was certain of that. Come to think of it, though, she might have seen his coat. It had been hanging on the back of a chair at one of the empty desks in the archives, when she'd gone down to ask Gertrude her opinion on something. At the time, she'd wondered if the Archivist had decided to take on assistants again. Probably a good idea, considering Gertrude’s age and the state of the place. Still, she'd been a little put out at not having been offered the job. 

She'd been half wondering about hypothetical job openings in the archives, half talking to Rosie (who seemed to have finally escaped Elias) about the monstera plant she'd just bought for her flat, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Hello Tim, she thought, exasperatedly, and turned to face the intruder. He smiled loosely over at her, jacket on and a half empty glass in his hand - beer, by the looks of things. He jerked his head towards the exit, and for a disappointing second Sasha thought he was leaving early. 

“A bunch of us were thinking about moving on.” She raised an eyebrow at him. So he'd been socialising, that was good. Who were “us”? Sasha almost wished she'd been keeping an eye on him, even if just to see who he'd befriended. “Elias finally buggered off, so we thought we might go somewhere a little more exciting. You coming?” 

It was weird to be invited. Well, not weird. Unusual, maybe. It was one thing to be liked by her colleagues, she was used to that, but to be included? That was less familiar, though granted, a byproduct of her own tendency to keep those around her at arm's length. Normally she'd have had to play it by ear, follow the biggest group as they left and hope she blended in enough so it didn't look desperate - but this time  someone had sought her out, wanted her there. At least she assumed so. Tim didn't seem like the kind of guy to put up with ‘dead weight’ for the sake of being nice. She couldn't help but smile thinking about it. 

“More exciting than this?” She gestured around the well-decorated room, noting the dull buzz of conversation. The Magnus Institute sure knew how to party.

Tim laughed - a bright, welcoming sound. Today was probably the most cheerful she'd seen him since they met, she thought. “Cheaper, maybe.” 

Sasha grabbed her purse. “I'm sold.” 

He paused for a second, and looked down, as if suddenly remembering his drink. As she watched him, staring quizzically at the half-empty glass in his hand, Sasha wondered just how much he'd had to drink since she'd last seen him. He seemed sober enough, though he was definitely a lot… looser than she was used to. Tim held up a hand, before raising the glass to his lips and chugging the rest of his drink. “Right. Get your coat then.”

Jon had joined them on the walk to the next pub - he wasn't staying, far too stiff and awkward to make a night of it, but apparently he lived in that direction. Sasha wondered if he'd just been looking for an excuse to leave, and teased him a little over it, the few glasses of wine she'd had apparently loosening her up. He'd gotten flustered at that, stammering something about having an appointment in the morning, and how the night out had been ‘just fine’. She dropped it there, hoping he'd relax before Tim caught on to his awkwardness and started hounding him - he meant well, or she thought so, but she'd learned pretty quickly the man didn't really know when to stop. A side effect of not being bullied growing up, she imagined, as Sasha was almost hyper-vigilant with her banter, checking in every few seconds to make sure no feelings were hurt. Except with Tim. She figured he could take it.

Despite her constant snooping - a bad habit of hers that creeped into every relationship she had - Sasha hadn't noticed that Tim smoked, only realising when he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket while he walked. He'd pulled back slightly from the group as if to shield them, but when Sasha caught his eye he winked, holding the pack out towards her. “Not drunk enough.” She laughed. “Check back in a couple more drinks?”

“Roger that.” He'd caught Jon’s attention though, apparently. The smaller man hovered back slightly, watching the smoke clouds billowing in the cold December air. His hands fidgeted by his side and he frowned as if deep in thought, as if weighing up the pros and cons of asking to join his coworker. He opened his mouth to speak, as though having made up his mind - but was interrupted by an explosive laugh from the back of the group. Apparently Tim had been watching just as curiously as her, and he waved Jon over. “Come on, you know you want to! Not like one’s gonna kill you.” 

A look of embarrassment fell over Jon’s face, but he joined Tim at the back anyway. 

For the most part, the rest of the night went smoothly. They arrived at the next pub more or less in one piece, having left Jon behind at the door. Sasha got herself a gin and tonic, and continued talking to some of the other researchers, a little surprised at how chatty everyone was when the Institute's presence was removed. Not that work didn't come up - she'd had an interesting conversation about someone's research into an apparent mass hallucination of doors, and a good old fashioned bitch about Elias. It was all much less formal, and Sasha - or at least the Sasha who had a few drinks in her - was surprised to find herself enjoying it, vowing to try and last until the end of the night for once. 

It was in this first bar that Tim had started… well, being Tim. He'd created a reputation for himself pretty quickly as the ‘office flirt’, based mostly on his constant flattery and innuendo towards the staff around him, and cemented by the stories he'd regale Sasha (and whoever else was listening) with from his weekends. The guy got around, apparently - it didn't really surprise her, based on her initial assessment of him, but there was something in just how brazen about it he was that shocked her slightly. He was so casual with it, and bounced back almost immediately from rejections Sasha imagined would practically take her out. There was a confidence in his sexuality, too, that she could only imagine having. Tim seemed to find it easy to approach other men, unafraid of their reaction to his advances - whereas she'd always struggled with talking to women, so afraid to come off predatory that she preferred to let them come to her.

It didn't come as a surprise that he'd turn his attention to her after a few drinks, she'd seen it coming from that overly familiar moment at her desk, but that didn't make it any less weird. He'd swept over to her side at the bar as she ordered, handing a tenner to the bartender while she fumbled for her purse. Sasha felt her cheeks grow hot with embarrassment, but decided not to argue. Sure, he could buy her drinks. It didn't mean she owed him anything. He flashed that stupid wonky grin at her, clearly pleased with himself, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Lighten up, Sash, it's Christmas!” That nickname again, said so casually it was as if she'd asked him to call her it. That was what her dad called her, she thought, and it sounded weird coming from Tim’s mouth, the accent all wrong and the voice too high. She winced slightly, but he didn't seem to notice. His gaze softened as he looked at her. “Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight? I was gonna say earlier, when you had the antlers on, but you seemed like you were annoyed.”

Sasha cursed the bartender for not making her drink quicker - sure, it was the last Friday before Christmas and he was busy serving other drunk office workers, but she was stuck here at his mercy. The few minutes it took to put together a gin and tonic could be the difference between her having to find a new job or not. The best strategy she could come up with was to avoid eye contact, looking around for any of her acquaintances. Of course, they were nowhere to be found. She decided to tackle the situation head on, defuse things before he took them any further. “Not gonna work on me, sunshine.” Sasha kept her tone bright but firm, and she watched him frown as she spoke. “I've seen all your tricks already! Besides, don't shit where you eat and all that.”

Tim laughed that same laugh she'd become so familiar with, a welcome sound in what could have been a sour moment, and he turned to face the bar. At that moment, the bartender appeared with her drink, and a shot glass for Tim, full of clear liquid - tequila? “Oh well. Worth a try!” He winked at her again, something he seemed to do a lot, and slammed back the shot, placing the plastic glass less than carefully back on the bar, before moving closer to her. “For what it's worth, I meant what I said. You look lovely, Sash.” And then he was gone, heading back into the crowd of drunken civil servants. 

It was in the third pub - or the fourth, if you counted the venue for dinner - that the night got the better of Tim. She'd been avoiding him since their awkward moment at the bar, hoping to make it through the rest of the night without any more uncomfortable advances. Sure, she'd been in the same group as him, followed him to this last place where apparently knew the bartender - she just tried to talk to literally anyone else. In fact, she didn't really see him again until around one in the morning, when bumped into him coming out of the toilets.

Tim was pale, with puffy eyes and a solemn look on his face - a far cry from his earlier cheerful demeanour. From this, and the way he'd stumbled through the door, unsteady on his feet, Sasha wondered if he'd been sick. Maybe he had, she didn't ask, instead politely apologising and making her way to the ladies’. When she came back, wiping her still-damp hands on her dress, she could see him hovering by the front door, completely alone. Even drunk - drunker than she'd planned to get, even - Sasha still itched for answers. She had to know what was bothering him. Besides, he was clearly upset. It would be heartless not to check on him. 

He was leaning against a wall when she finally weaved her way through the crowds to meet him, smoking with unsteady hands and looking out into the busy street, watching the other partygoers. The look on Tim’s face was strange, intense, and she struggled to place it exactly. Was it longing? Envy? There was a bitterness, too, a hardness in his gaze that unnerved her. What was there to want? It wasn't as though he was any different, she thought, just another face in a sea of drunk Englishmen celebrating the end of another year. 

She nudged him gently, putting on as reassuring a voice as she could. “You okay?”

He nodded, not really acknowledging her, and flicked the ash from his cigarette. The fresh air suddenly reminded her how much she'd had to drink, and she swayed slightly as she stood. Maybe she'd stop now. Better yet, maybe she'd leave soon.

Tim finished his cigarette, stubbing it out on the pavement. Sasha took a seat on the step behind her, yawning quietly. Neither said a word - the two occupying perhaps the only quiet corner in London that night would see. Eventually, he joined her, fumbling his way onto the ground beside her, still staring into the street, expression never changing.

After what felt like an eternity, just as Sasha was considering cutting her losses and starting her long commute home, he spoke. 

“Sorry, Sasha. I wanted to be more fun tonight.” His voice was quiet, hoarse both from smoking and whatever he'd been doing in the toilets, she imagined. She could hear the alcohol in his voice as he slurred out the ‘s’ sounds in her name, but he spoke slowly, deliberately, as though intent on getting the words out properly. Unsure whether to respond, she smiled encouragingly. “It's just… hard, y’know? Those people out there, they don't know what we know. They've got nothing to worry about.”

She shifted slightly closer to him, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her torso. So this was about work. That made sense, the sort of things they researched would get to anyone in their right mind, sometimes. “I'm happy for them,” She answered, after another long pause. “The things I saw before I moved to research… It's nice that most people don't have to pretend it doesn't exist. I bet they find small talk easy. Must be nice to talk about your job without defending it.” Tim exhaled softly, the ghost of a laugh, but stayed ever-silent, still gazing over at the street. “If it helps, most of it’s a load of crap. Just people filling in the gaps science hasn't got to yet.”

Tim shook his head. Sasha could hear an ABBA song starting in the bar behind her, muffled and distorted through the walls. The open door cast a warm glow over the two of them as they sat together, her fidgeting with the hem of her skirt and Tim picking absentmindedly at the skin on his arm. 

“My brother’s dead.” He broke the silence forcefully, as though the words got stuck in his throat. She tried to squeak out some sympathetic bullshit, anything to try and lighten the mood, but everything that came to mind felt too cliché. She definitely didn't need to say anything to know he'd heard it all already, that nothing would make it any easier. “He died this summer, and it's Christmas already. I haven't seen my parents since the funeral, and I have to go home tomorrow… have to eat turkey like nothing happened.”

Sasha said nothing, but took his hand in hers. He gave it a squeeze, encouraged, and spoke again. “And they're gonna look at me, you know?” She didn't. “Like it's my fault, ‘cause it happened in London. ‘Cause it was my job to protect him, and now he's dead.” He swallowed hard, as though fighting back tears.

“There are all these pictures on the wall. Danny on his first day of school, Danny playing football, Danny’s graduation - and his room’s still up there, and he won't be in it. No one’s gonna get Mum drunk with me, or make fun of Dad for being a Tory. Not this time. We'll just eat sprouts and pretend he's not staring at us from the walls.” Sasha felt a lump forming in her throat. She couldn't help it, even with the drink making everything fuzzy and far-away, Tim's pain was still palpable. People didn't usually open up like this to her - at least, no one who wasn't a close friend. “I don't know if they're going to say it this time. I wish they would.”

“Say what?” Finally, something she could respond to. She'd been beginning to feel like a spare part.

“That it should have been me. I should have died, not Danny!” For some reason he seemed to find this hilarious, choking out a laugh that made Sasha jump. It seemed genuine enough, a real roar of amusement - but she could hear the edge of hurt behind it, see the single tear that finally rolled down his cheek. Not sure what to do, she moved to grab his other hand, to tell him not to talk like that about himself, but he waved her off. “S’okay. I get it! I wish it was me too - don't look at me like that, I don't wish I was dead. Just wish he wasn't. I think Mum and Dad would have coped better if it was me.”

There was another long pause. Tonight seemed to be full of them, the two of them struggling for words as they watched their breath dancing in front of them. “I'm really sorry, Tim,” was all Sasha could think to say. “I didn't know your family, but I’m sure Danny loved you. I bet he wouldn't want your parents putting it all on you - or for you to beat yourself up over it.”

He sighed, before resting his head gently on her shoulder. His short, dark hair tickled her face, but his body heat was welcome, and she let him stay. “Sorry about this, Sash.” He'd really seemed to fixate on this nickname, but it bothered her less this time - it was as though she'd finally met the real Tim, and it seemed better coming from him. She shook her head. “You're a good friend. I'm glad Elias had you teach me to research.”

It was such a stupid sentence that Sasha couldn't help but laugh - which set Tim off, too. The two of them sat there, perched on the edge of a step, muffled pop music behind them, laughing until their sides hurt. If their coworkers were anywhere to be seen, they hadn't noticed. At that moment, it was as though they were the only two people in the world. She'd been taken aback by his use of the word ‘friend’, just for a second, but if this was what being friends with Tim Stoker was like… well, maybe Sasha could live with that.

“You want to go home?” He'd asked her, once they'd regained their composure - at least as much as two drunk people could. She yawned as if on cue, surprising both of them, and they only just managed to contain their laughter again. “Not hitting on you, I don't mean with me - I’d have to kick you out early anyway, and that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me. But I can get us an Uber, if you want. Don't worry about paying me back.”

Paying for an Uber to two different parts of the city? At this time of night, on this specific day, in this part of the country? Sasha grinned. Just as she'd suspected. Tim was rich.