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“Fuck off,” Elias spat venomously at the spider crawling on the wall of the staircase. His hands held the railing in a white knuckled grip, tight enough to hurt, still the shaking for a moment and help him keep it together for a while longer.
It should have come as no surprise that Gertrude wanted to torch the institute, but he was still caught off guard.
She was clever, blocking him out and distracting him nearly enough to miss it. Gertrude Robinson knew what she was doing, and although Elias prided himself on rarely misjudging character, he had to admit that he had grossly miscalculated in regards to her.
This was the closest he had come to losing the Magnus Institute yet — his life’s work. He had Seen it all go up in flames when his eyes met hers, could see the rising walls of fire even now when he shut them tightly. It made his heart stutter, a freezing shiver running through him and driving him to the very edge of maddening fear. Elias supposed now he knew the sway the Desolation had on people.
There was nothing else to do, truly, no other way out.
So he shot Gertrude in the chest. Twice. Once to stop her, once to soothe the burn her betrayal left on him. It did not feel as satisfying as he had hoped.
Elias shot his Archivist, and that realization hurt more than he felt comfortable admitting.
Gertrude was special. They shared a sort of bond, Elias liked to think, a similarity. They did what was necessary, no matter the cost. It was what he had admired most about her. In hindsight, Elias should have known she would turn against him eventually.
That thought did not comfort him now.
Amidst the unignited gasoline on the floor of his Institute, he saw Gertrude’s cold, blue eyes close for the last time, the contempt for him and sheer disappointment at not fulfilling her plan etched onto them forever.
It made Elias sick, and he gripped the railing harder still, forcing himself to take one step at a time upwards, upwards. All would be alright if he could just take a breath in the privacy of his office and collect his thoughts, get a grip on his volatile emotions and spiraling thoughts.
“Mr. Bouchard—” Rosie’s voice made him snap to attention, spine straightening to his usual posture of aloof arrogance. But he was unsteady, and he was sure even Rosie could see that, despite forgetting her glasses at home this morning.
Elias cut her off before she could continue. “Cancel everything for today,” he said in his usual calm tone, despite feeling anything but. He felt like he was vibrating, shaking apart at the seams.
He shot his Archivist. Twice.
Gertrude was laying in a puddle of her own blood beneath the Institute she had tried to fill with crawling flames. The very same woman who always offered him a light on their regular smoking breaks. The same one who’s favorite brand of cigarettes had a designated place in his cigarette case. She had tried to destroy him.
It was impossible for Rosie not to notice his shaking hands as he opened the door to his office, Elias was sure. Not that it mattered; he was confident in her discretion.
Then again, he had been confident about Gertrude once, too. Where did that get him?
Elias hissed, cursing softly as he made his way shakily behind his desk and into his office chair. It would all be fine, truly, he just needed to breathe a little and calm down, but the thoughts swirling in his head made it difficult to concentrate and he simply could not find the strength to slow the intakes of his heaving breaths.
She had been so close to burning it all down. He had come so close to losing it all.
The thought made an icy chill run down Elias’ spine and he gasped, shutting his eyes tightly to shake the sight and the smell of the room doused in gasoline. One of his hands clutched tightly at the lavish oak desk in front of him, the other flew to his tie to loosen it with shaky fingers. There was not enough air in his office. He could not breathe properly around the stench of the fuel for his destruction.
The trembling worsened and he was starting to feel faint. Elias tried to breathe deeply, but it was becoming harder and harder to achieve through the onslaught of memories of Gertrude—
Gertrude, shoveling statements in the archive. Gertrude, lighting Elias’ cigarette with a grunt. Gertrude, holding that same lighter into the air between them like a promise.
Would he ever be able to forget the way she held the igniter in a steady hand, looking him dead in the eyes? How could he ever stifle the panic of sheer desperation that had ignited in him at his Archivist’s determined gaze?
Gertrude, looking up at him unseeing but with so much hatred and contempt that it made his jaw clench.
Elias clutched at his chest with a strangled cry and shut his eyes tightly, willing this to be the last time he would feel so helplessly untethered and weak. The last time he would be caught off guard about something so important.
It was a fruitless manifestation. The next threat to Elias’ great plan came sooner than anyone could have predicted and made him realize all the more that he was working on borrowed time. His carefully constructed house of cards could crumble any moment, if he was careless enough.
And he had been neglectful for so long of Jurgen Leitner.
Wretched, pathetic, weak Jurgen Leitner. Bashing in his head with a pipe was just as satisfying as Elias always had imagined. Although, he had to admit, in his fantasies Letiner’s death had been more elegant, not the fruit of a split-second decision made through the lack of better options.
The librarian had been in the process of spelling it all out to Jon, and Elias simply could not have that. It had taken too much time and effort to choose him, sculpt him into what his Archivist needed to be, to have damned Jurgen Leitner destroy his hard work.
No, Elias could not have that, hence the pipe. Hence the murder. Hence the blood clinging to his hands like a disease and staining his usually pristine waistcoat and suit irreparably red. He hated the color.
His favorite tie was ruined, too, and Elias could not stop shaking, could not take breaths deep enough and pull himself together sufficiently to unclench his muscles and center himself.
At first, Elias had wanted to retreat to his office and clean up, restore his presentability for the havoc that was sure to be unleashed once someone stumbled across the battered body in the archives, but a sudden tightness in his chest made it impossible to breathe once he let the pipe fall to the floor with a final, metallic ‘clink.’ He could not calm down in a manner that allowed him to address anyone, should the need arise to answer questions.
This was like Gertrude all over again. Funny, Elias supposed, considering the two of them were scheming together before he put an end to it.
It was twice now that Gertrude nearly bested him, and she had been many years dead the second time around.
And for the first time in his very, very long life, Elias felt suffocated by his institute. He had come so close to losing it once, now it had only been sheer luck that stopped his elaborate plan from tumbling down around him. It could all have gone to hell again today. He nearly lost it all again, just because wretched Leitner — and whatever remained of Gertrude in this world — was a few steps ahead of him. Again.
If Elias concentrated enough, he could feel his patron in the very air he breathed, especially within the walls of the Magnus Institute. It had taken lifetimes to concentrate the Eye’s power enough to make it nearly tangible for him inside his building, and normally Elias loved it.
The more the Eye gained strength, the more Elias gained confidence in his infallibility. He had nearly failed today, and the realization was too much to bear in his place of power — it seemed more vulnerable today, as if it was nothing more than feeble bricks and piled words with a looming spectator every way he turned. He could not stand it today.
Elias opened the door to his apartment with a handkerchief, keeping the doorknob clean of the red staining his shaking hands. This should not be affecting him in such a way! He had seen worse, done atrocities that outweighed Leitner’s murder by far — but he had never stood to lose quite as much as today.
“Elias?” the deep voice of Peter made Elias’ breath hitch. He had forgotten they were supposed to meet this evening, had lost sight of his schedule amidst the revealed secrets and staining red. “Why are you covered in blood?”
Employment cost, Elias wanted to snap sarcastically, settling into the easy banter between him and Peter, finally returning to familiar waters and conversations he knew he could handle, but all that escaped him was a pathetic, wheezing breath. There was not enough air around him, and although it lacked the distinct presence of Beholding, it still felt suffocating.
Peter frowned, rising from his seat on the couch to approach Elias carefully. “Elias?” he asked with a softness Elias was so unused to receiving, it made his head spin. Or perhaps that was the rising lack of oxygen. “Breathe, Elias,” Peter commanded, keeping the gentleness in his tone and reaching out a careful hand to rest it slowly on Elias’ blood stained shoulder.
Fighting the instinct to brush his husband’s hand off of him — mostly because it did help grounding Elias to reality and he had to admit fleetingly to himself that Peter’s touch felt rather nice — Elias took a deep breath. The first true one since killing Leitner. How he made the way from the institute to his apartment was beyond him.
Wretched Jurgen Leitner! Who did he think he was, hiding in the tunnels below his institute, slipping out to reveal all the secrets of the universe to Jon when he wasn’t ready yet. Making an appearance again to finish what Elias’ former Archivist started — Gertrude, two shots to the chest — and tear apart all his ambitions with Jon—
“Stay with me, ‘lias,” Peter’s voice guided him back to the present, the hand on Elias’ shoulder starting to massage small circles into his skin. “Deep breaths, that’s it.”
The ball of tension in his chest started to recede, and Elias heard a sigh of relief escape him. Peter was looking at him intently, as if trying to determine whether or not the panic attack was over and he could start putting the familiar distance between them once more.
Before Peter could remove his hand from his shoulder and draw back, retreat into the loneliness he insisted on keeping around him at all times, Elias leaned forward, craning his neck slightly to capture his husband’s lips with his own.
Peter hummed in surprise, but melted into the kiss immediately. Thank you, Elias tried to convey, because neither of them said those things aloud.
When they broke apart and Peter’s lips twitched upwards minimally, Elias could not help but wish his husband had been there to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of Gertrude’s murder. It was so much easier with Peter around.