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"I think Jon and that officer that keeps showing up here are hooking up."
Sasha tore her gaze from the blue error screen on her computer, blinking incredulously. "What?"
"Oh, you know, Sash, they're being all.. clandestine and secretive about it, and Jon-"
"You think the Jonathan Sims is fucking a cop?" Martin laughs, as if that was the strangest sentence anyone could have possibly said. It probably was. "Isn't that your job?"
Tim scoffs, "right, that was one time-"
"Twice," Martin taunts.
"Fine. Twice."
Tim looks down, seemingly in thought for a few moments, "but like... what do you reckon they're actually doing?"
"Probably something about the Prentiss case," Martin shrugs, feigning an air of nonchalance as if his skin didn't burn with the memory of that afternoon, eternally marred by some... freak. "Jon's just not that type of guy."
"You mean you hope he's not that type of guy."
"Tim!"
"Sorry," Tim mumbles, though he's nable to hide his smile as Martin leaves, chuntering irritatedly to himself even as his face burned a tropical red. Typical. He turns back to Sasha. "You've been quiet recently. Talk to me."
"What?" Sasha frowns again, repeatedly clicking a button on the keyboard over and over again to get it to work somehow. It was unsuccessful.
Tim blinks, his eyes narrowing.
"Just... not much to say these days, is there?"
"I feel like there's plenty to say, actually," Tim retorts. A heavy silence hung over them, and Tim could never decide if it was nice that he could no longer here the constant writhing of a million, tiny, silver worms, or if the room felt empty. "Are you seeing anyone?"
"Pardon?"
"Like... a therapist."
"They wouldn't understand."
"Sash, it was like.. a big thing, it was in the news, I'm sure they would-"
"I said they wouldn't understand, okay?" Sasha stands, her anger almost... distant, as if it it wasn't really there. The chair she was once sat on rolled back, hitting the door that had hinges so loud not even B&Q's yearly supply of WD40 could silence. The perks of working in what was basically a historical landmark, Tim supposed.
Naturally, Tim didn't say anything in response. By nature, he was a pacifist, even if he had to remind himself of that on a more than frequent occasion. He silently watches Sasha leave the room, her gait nigh on unnatural, lacking the certainty he was positive a woman like Sasha James would walk with. Maybe he needed a therapist. He sighed, turning his attention back to his computer.
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"I need you to find something on this man."
Gods, he was starting to hate this man. Did he actually even do anything? To Tim, Jon just sat in his dingy little room all the way at the bottom of the institute, reading fairy tales and grumbling about anything that held his attention long enough. Maybe it was myopic to think that way, but as his boss's monotone voice stirred a migrane that he was certain having someone stab an icepick through his eye would be more pleasurable than, Tim couldn't find it in himself to care. He looked down to the slip.
"Pete... Gordo... right, you got it, boss."
Just as he was about to turn back to his computer, Jon begins speaking again.
"Tim, you don't... happen to know about this... Tom character, do you?"
Tom. He had heard about Tom. A lot about Tom. Too much for his liking.
"What's it to you?" Why he was defending Sashas stupid.. weird... boyfriend, he didn't know, but he was doing it anyway. He was more so defending Sasha, he convinced himself.
"Well, I-"
Tim raises a brow.
Sighing, Jon concedes, "fine. Have it your way." And with that, he was gone.
Tim didn't like to think himself a jealous man. He was never jealous, never had been jealous, and he wasn't going to start now. No, not of Danny, or his slightly wealthier childhood friends, and certainly not... Tom. He would not catch himself being jealous of a man that worked in a wax museum, not even over his pallid, rotting corpse. He was above that. Despite this, though, Tim couldn't ignore Sasha's behaviour. Her strange, skittish nature, her growing unwillingness to listen to him as he clumsily read her passages from that stupid history book he could never quite put down, or strange fun facts that wouldn't even be useful on a pub trivia night, or even verses from his favourite Shelley collection, and, most strikingly, her refusal to let him listen to her.
Tim sighs again, telling himself he probably was jealous, despite his best efforts. He felt guilty, too; they had all been through a hell of a lot, of course Sasha was going to be... changed. He'd just hoped not this much.
He missed her, that was all. Missed them. Hell, even sometimes he missed himself. Fuck. Maybe reasearching this.. Gordo guy would pass the time, anyway.