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Jon doesn't want to be doing this.
It's not that this is a particularly difficult thing to be doing, really- it's just, being in a car alone with Tim for an extended period of time is not how Jon prefers to spend his time.
It's not like this is something that didn't need to be done, though, and it's not like anybody else could have done it. They need to investigate the House of Wax in Yarmouth, just to canvas it out before they can actually think about how they'll be able to go about disrupting the Unknowing, so Jon's presence isn't optional. Out of everybody else who could've gone, Martin has no car and no drivers' license, so he's out; Basira, while in possession of a license and the ability to drive, is not in possession of a car; and Melanie had some other engagement that she refused to elaborate on, so Tim was quite literally the only option.
There was also Daisy, technically, but at that point Jon would much rather be in an isolated and enclosed space with Tim a thousand times over.
There are no train routes there, either, at least none that wouldn't be roughly twice the time it would take to drive both ways- and, considering it's an overnight trip as it is, is a bit more than Jon is willing to put himself or any of his assistants through. It's... if he's being honest with himself, with the state of things as they are, it's a bit more forced proximity to him than he's willing to put anyone through.
They've all got to put up with his constant presence eight hours a day, five days a week, as Tim so helpfully likes to remind him. He doesn't need to inflict himself on them any further than that.
So, Jon tries to make himself as unobtrusive and un-bothersome as he can. If that means sitting in the passenger seat of Tim's car in stony silence, if that means just dealing with his stiff and cramping leg instead of asking to pull over just for the sake of that, then fine. That's all fine. He can deal with it, he can just listen to the radio and actively concentrate on not starting another row, and they'll get to the hotel and go to sleep in their separate beds and not exchange a damn word until tomorrow when they're at the wax museum.
The silence is... it doesn't make the ride go any faster, but it doesn't make the time crawl, either. Jon looks at his phone, for most of it, cycling between the same three apps as if any of them have anything new to offer in the ten seconds since he last closed it, and Tim drives along without stopping half as much as is technically recommended- though, Jon's sure that that's just a symptom of wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.
Soon enough, Tim pulls into a parking spot in front of the hotel, and obviously bites his tongue when Jon takes his time getting out of the car. His leg is stiffer and more uncooperative than he thought it would be, leading Jon to lean heavily against the hood of the car because he put his cane with his bag in the boot, unreachable from the front without taking a few steps to go and grab it.
Jon's got his head down, breathing steadily as he stretches his leg out, so he doesn't notice it at first when the boot is opened and then slammed shut again. He only realizes it when he sees his cane being held out towards him, handle first, ready to be grabbed and leaned on. Jon looks up to see Tim holding it by the middle, not maintaining any eye contact with Jon- in fact, he's actively looking away.
"Thanks." Jon says, voice a little rough from disuse, as he grabs his cane and leans on it instead of the car. It still takes a moment before he's up for walking, and he goes, gait stiff, while Tim remains silent for a long few steps. They don't move very far- Jon, though he's moving now, isn't exactly moving fast- but there's still a good bit of time when they're walking next to each other.
"You could've asked me to pull over, you know. I'm not going to force you to be in pain. I'm not- I might not like you, and I might not forgive you for everything, but I don't hate you like that." Tim says, sullenly, hands in his pockets and eyes towards the ground. He kicks at a loose bit of gravel, likely mostly to take up time since his strides are steadier and longer than Jon's are, and is visibly biting the inside of his cheek.
"... Sorry." Jon says, and he's not sure what else to say. "I didn't want to be even more of an inconvenience." He tacks on, finally, feeling like it's not the right thing to say but it is the best way he can phrase it to be closest to the truth. Tim, for his part, just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, like he's warding off an incoming headache.
"It's not- " Tim sighs again, this time with a more guttural tone to it, and cuts himself off. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, never saying anything, but clearly trying to work his thoughts into a sentence that- if Jon's being honest with himself- are all probably only being reworked because of a similar 'don't start another row' sentiment that drove Jon to silence through the car ride in the first place.
Eventually, Tim seems to decide he doesn't want to say anything to that, and they walk the rest of the way to the hotel in more silence.
Once they go to the check-in counter- the reservation is under Jon's name, and using the company card, so Jon can't just wander off and keep trying to beat his leg into submission a little more- Jon is at least assured that they'll be able to check in, throw their things into the room, and walk somewhere nearby for dinner. The hotel isn't in a particularly crowded area, so there aren't any major roadways that would make it so it's more advisable to drive somewhere nearby (he remembers how America was, thank you), so he'll be able to stretch his leg out then.
Everything seems to be going fine at check-in- nobody's lost their reservation, Jon doesn't accidentally grab his own card instead of the Institute one, et cetera ad infinitum- until the receptionist begins scrolling through the computer, and starts apologizing.
"Unfortunately, all of our two-bed rooms have been booked up for tonight." She says, wincing. "We've only got one room left, and there's only the one bed. We'll issue a partial refund, given the price difference, but... there's not much else we can do." She looks pained just to be telling them this, and Jon feels roughly as pained hearing it.
He glances over at Tim, whose hands are back in his pockets and his eyes are locked on the ceiling. There's a muscle around his temple, working and tensing as he clenches his jaw, clearly out of sorts with the news that they've just received. The receptionist shrinks back a little more.
Finally, after a long while of Tim not saying anything, Jon sighs. There's not a lot to be done, indeed; there are no other hotels in the vicinity, and the only other options are sleeping in Tim's car or driving all the way back to London to scope out the House of Wax on another day, neither of which are pleasant options. Jon can, at least, sleep on the floor or in the chair for one night, and go back to his own bed tomorrow.
"It's fine. We'll take the room." Jon says, and his displeasure with this turn of events must be plain, as well, given the way the receptionist bites the inside of her cheek at it. Tim twitches, at Jon's words, but he doesn't dispute him; guess he must've gone through the same thought process Jon did, and come to the same conclusion.
"I'll get the partial refund processed, then. It'll be- " The receptionist starts, but Jon interrupts.
"It's- it's fine, just leave it. It's the company card anyway." Jon says, and the receptionist nods, and seems to back out of whatever she was typing out on her computer.
"Understood. Your room is... " She says their room number, and hands Jon the small envelope that contains two hotel keys. He digs into it and pulls out one of the keys for Tim, and slips the other into his own pocket.
Both of them walk over to the elevator, despite the fact that they really should go and get their bags first; considering that there's apparently some hashing out to do about the room, it seems like a bigger priority at the moment. Tim doesn't say a word until they're in the elevator.
"Surprised you got double boss charged full price, considering how far up his ass you always seem to be." Tim mutters when the elevator doors close, staring dead ahead at the buttons. It seems that his restraint for not picking fights has worn out entirely, though Jon at least has his wits about him enough to bite his tongue on a sharp retort.
"He can afford it. He can also afford to tell us what he actually knows about this whole thing, but evidently, the Beholding's filled his head with nothing but egotism and tumbleweeds." Jon replies, instead of any sharp insults or smart remarks in his own defense, or insulting Tim. He's rewarded with a small snort, and no further insults, so Jon supposes he did well enough.
The elevator doors open, and they walk out in the same sort of silence as before, if only marginally less tense. Tim keeps pace with Jon, which must at least be out of some consideration, since Tim's a good bit taller and has two perfectly-functional legs, so at least there's that small mercy that Tim doesn't entirely want to leave him behind for the next ten seconds while they walk to their room.
Tim does unlock the door, though, and the low groan that he emits upon looking inside tells Jon enough about the state of things. He'd already assumed, based on the price difference, that it wasn't going to be a comfortable only-one-bed situation, and he's proven right when, upon further entry, he sees the lone queen-sized bed near the window.
The expected chair, at least, turns out to be a couch, which seems like it'll suit better and do less to aggravate his horribly uncooperative joints and leg.
Jon moves to sit down on the couch, which he has now claimed as his for the night, and props his cane against the armrest. Tim walks further in, as well, and crosses his arms in front of him as he paces back and forth by the few steps of space are available in the room.
"I want a refund." Tim mutters, darkly, and Jon can't help but agree. The room is cramped, clearly only meant for use by one person, and altogether not something that'll be friendly to Jon's mental health- if he tries to share the bed with Tim, that is- or his physical health- if he continues with his silent plan to sleep on the couch.
"Go beat it out of Elias. I'm of half a mind to join you on that crusade." Jon mutters in return, and Tim acknowledges it with a quick upturn of his lips. Then, he walks over to where Jon's sitting, and kicks the couch near his legs.
"Move. You're in my spot." Tim says, and Jon stares up at him blankly. They keep eye contact for a long, awkward moment, before Jon blinks and breaks it.
"You're taking the bed." Jon says, dumbly, because he'd been sure that was the plan all along. Tim scoffs and rolls his eyes, though, so Jon must've been wrong.
"I'm not making the disabled guy sleep on the couch." Tim levels him with a flat look, and Jon ducks his head in mild shame.
"I did kind of force you to be here," Jon argues, "You should at least take the bed." He looks back up, to see Tim pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut in obvious annoyance.
"Why don't we both take the bed?" Tim grits out, clearly not happy with the option he's presenting but also not happy with the entire situation. "Will that satisfy your need to be the least comfortable person in the room?"
Jon hesitates, sighs, and wishes Tim didn't know him so well.
"... Yes." He finally answers, sullenly, feeling a bit like a scolded and petulant child. Tim, for his part, backs away and goes back over to the door.
"I'm going to grab our bags, and then we're going to figure out where the hell we're eating. Elias is paying for dinner." Tim says, and his tone brokers no arguments. Jon, at least, agrees with him wholeheartedly.
"He's paying for tomorrow's breakfast, lunch, and your petrol." Jon calls out as Tim's leaving, and receives a thumbs-up in acknowledgement as Tim is halfway out the door.
A few hours later, after dinner has been eaten and bags have been partially unpacked and excuses for staying away from the bed have all run themselves dry, Tim and Jon are both lying on their sides, facing opposite sides of the room. Every time Tim so much as accidentally brushes against Jon, he flinches away like he's been burned, which has led to Jon slowly inching away until he's nearly falling off the side.
Physically, Jon is tired from all the traveling and the work and planning of the day. Mentally, he's wide awake- insomnia has affected all of them, he thinks, given the amount of dark circles he's seen around the Archives. It only makes sense that it would hit when he's uncomfortable, and when sleeping is the best solution possible for making this all go by that much faster.
He at least knows that Tim doesn't have it much better, given the aforementioned jumping away. They don't say anything to each other, though, instead simply lying in the dark in a continuation of the heavy silence that has plagued the entire day.
Eventually, at some point, Tim must fall asleep while Jon remains awake, because Jon can hear a slow, quiet snoring coming from behind him. It's not very loud, not loud enough to be genuinely disruptive, but enough to let Jon know that it's probably safe to start creeping backwards, just enough to where he's in a more comfortable spot.
Once he's fairly sure he won't fall off the side of the bed if he sneezes hard enough, Jon actually starts dedicating himself to trying to fall asleep. He's nearly there, in a state of half-dreaming, when the sudden absence of Tim's snores startles him slightly. Not enough to scare him, just enough to wake him back up, and Jon twists his head over to look at Tim and see what's happened.
He's not... crying, exactly, but at first glance the motions appear almost similar. Tim's shoulders are trembling, and his whole body seems tight and tense, but when Tim shifts so that he's on his back his eyes are very evidently closed. There's a furrow in his brow, though, a deep sort of concentration or distress or both marring his face.
Jon hesitates, asking himself if he should reach out and wake Tim up from whatever dream he's having- he's unsure if it's a nightmare, but certain enough that it's unpleasant- and decides against it. Tim has had enough of his privacy being invaded. He doesn't need to know that Jon's aware he's having bad dreams.
With that, he turns back around, and continues trying to sleep.
When he wakes up early the next morning, he finds that he's facing the same wall as he was last night. He's a bit further back on the bed than he was when he fell asleep, and his leg isn't bothering him particularly badly, which is nice considering how uncooperative it was being for the latter half of yesterday.
He blames the fact that he's only half-awake for the way he was entirely oblivious to what may be a more important observation than all three of those other things: Tim's arms are wrapped around him, and his back is nearly pressed up against Tim's chest. He hasn't the faintest idea of how, exactly, they managed that without either of them waking, but given that Tim is still snoring in his ear, they must've achieved it somehow.
He feels a bit like he's walking in a minefield, despite the fact he's lying perfectly still. If he moves too quickly, he'll wake Tim; if he moves too slowly, he risks Tim waking up on his own and finding out about this predicament for himself. Neither of these are optimal results, in Jon's personal opinion, so he slowly begins the task of extricating himself from Tim's grip without causing any kind of issues this early in the morning.
It proves more difficult than Jon was anticipating; as soon as he starts shifting around, Tim's unconscious mind seems to decide that he needs to hold tighter, instead of letting Jon make an easy escape. Any further movement seems to encourage more clinging, instead of doing anything helpful, and after a few minutes it becomes clear that Jon is just going to have to either bite the bullet and wake Tim up, or else let him wake up on his own and witness this whole thing for himself.
The decision is made for him, in the middle of his hesitation, when Tim yawns and semi-consciously mashes his face right in between Jon's shoulder blades.
Things proceed quickly from there.
Tim flings himself backward, wide-awake, and Jon jolts from the sudden contact. Jon sits upright, and Tim manages to fling himself backwards off the bed with his legs still somewhat on the mattress by virtue of being hopelessly tangled in the blankets.
Jon blinks owlishly down at Tim, who seems to have lost the abrupt panic that spurred him into flinging himself shoulder-first off the bed, and is now glaring up at Jon in a way that somehow seems less hostile than usual.
Tim, after a few seconds of apparent buffering, squints and points at Jon, and in his first words of the day, bites out, "Never mention this to anyone."
Jon, for his part, merely nods solemnly and intones, "No one would ever believe me." Tim snorts, covers his eyes with one hand, and starts pulling his legs off of the mattress.