Work Text:
Jon chewed on the back of his pencil as he stared incomprehensibly at the newspaper on the microfiche display. His eyes scanned the words, and some of them were making it into his head. But it was hot. Far too hot in the institute to be able to think. In his few trips specifically to America, he’d learned to curse the lack of aircon in British buildings. Staring at the slightly smudged ink of a newspaper long since transferred to microfiche made his head spin slightly, and frankly, he was sick of it.
With a huff, he turned off the display and removed his glasses. To hell with it. The statement was from the 1930s; how desperately could Gertrude need a follow-up on it, really? Sasha was already looking into similar reports of the same time. Certainly, she was capable enough that he could spare five minutes resting his eyes.
“Jon! Look at this!"
Never mind.
Jon replaced his glasses and turned to look at Tim, who was grinning widely. “Yes?”
“Alright, well, you know how we don’t get to look at much of the stuff in artifact storage, right?” Tim’s smile grew with giddy excitement-- excitement that Jon knew could easily lead to unpredictable outcomes.
“Yes...”
“Well,” he drew out as he leaned forward ever so slightly. “I got one.”
Jon frowned. “Got what?”
In rhythm, Tim’s face fell comedically. “A real, haunted object!” With a flourish, he produced an archival-grade plastic bag, flicking it down to reveal a wooden stick inside of it.
“That’s a stick.”
“Nooo, Jon. Don’t do this to me.” The devilish grin was back and stronger than ever. Tim hummed, “You know what this is.”
The frown creased Jon’s face further. “A wand.”
“Yes! Ding, ding, ding, Jonathan Sims! A wand.” Tim closed the distance between the two of them and set the wand on the table in front of Jon. Upon further inspection, it was exactly like he’d said in the first place. It was a dark, wooden stick in an archive-grade vacuum-sealed bag inside of a larger archive-grade ziplock plastic bag.
Jon looked up with a bit of amusement starting to twinge at his lips. “It does really look like a stick.”
“Oh, shut up!” Tim’s laugh rang brightly throughout the research area, and he continued, “I bet Sasha would agree with me. Sasha?! Saaaasha!”
There was a small thunk the room over and a bit of shuffling before Sasha’s face peeked through the doorway looking playfully amused. “Yes, Tim?”
He snatched up the “wand” again and thrust his hand towards her. “Is this a wand or a...” His face contorted with disgust. “Stick?”
Sasha shrugged. “Looks a bit like something a first-day woodworking student would make.”
“Oh, you all hate me!” Tim cried, falling to the floor in a theatrical heap. “I can’t believe my closest friends would do this to me!”
“Tim, stop being melodramatic on the floor of the institute. It’ll put the research department in a bad light if everyone hears your moaning and wailing,” Jon requested as seriously as he could, but a laugh was really testing his deadpan abilities.
“All you care about is workplace status! Not your friend, Tim Stoker...”
There was a moment of silence as the three of them looked at each other before bursting out laughing. Sure, it may have been hot and sticky in the institute itself, but there was always something so refreshing about the lightened mood Sasha and Tim brought about together. Jon was glad for that.