Work Text:
Dust danced in the small slivers of sun that the blinds let peak into the musty archives. The quiet was defining as Jon's feeble hand ran over his dust covered desk.
6 months, he'd been gone 6 months...and so much had changed...so much was gone.
Memories of; laughter shared in the breakroom between 4 coworkers facing what felt like an impossible amount of work, fluttered into his mind, inducing a pang of loss and guilt.
Sasha was gone, not just her, but the memory of who she was...did she laugh like that? Shrill and joyuse or did she have a sweeter giggle? Was all of it fake or did parts of her remain..? He hated that he didnt know the answer, it felt like some sick joke.
Tim was...Tim had been gone long before he actually was. Him and Jon hadn't been on terms, nevermind good terms, since Sasha had... He'd been mentally checked out for monthes bwfore the unknowing... Jon thought he should feel guilty and distraught ,but he was just sort of numb. He did feel bad, but it was all hidden under the murkey depression clouding his mind.
2 down...2 to go, yet Jon was barely himself anymore...was he?...And Martin was no where to be found.
For some reason that hurt the most... He missed Tim, but by the end they were just strangers who hated eachother and there was a small part of Jon that knew this wnding was the best for Tim, any other would only hurt him more...
The wound Sasha left had settled to something manageable by now.
But Martin...Martin had always cared, looking back he seemed to be the only person who didnt blame Jon for it all. And in return Jon had only ever treated him anywhere from horribly to neutrally.
He takes a tired breath, eyes sore and sagging with fatigue.
He scans his desk and picks up the dirty mug on his desk....it said 'Best Boss'...Tim had gotten it for him as a birthday gift during their first year in the archives. Then it had made him laugh as Tim made a couple jokes that Jon couldn't remember....now he just wanted to throw the mug on the ground, it too felt like a crual joke.
The urge was there, running through his body like electricity as a thin layer of anger and sadness breifly surfaced before submerging back jnto the numb. His hand holdihg the mug above his head ready to break, falls limp to his side, still with a hold on the mug.
He just needed a drink before getting to work.
Not that any of it even mattered..
He takes another breath and heads to the breakroom. He stands at the sink, staring into the dirty mug, at the bottom of it lay a coating of grime and tea leaves....Martin used to make him tea everyday...it usually sat undrank on his desk until late when he needed the caffeine and drank it cold. Truely it wasn't perfect tea, Jon had been rude when Martin asked how he took it and it seemed Martin had been too scared to ask again because he'd just make it with a little milk and sugar....Jon can think of the 2 dozen jokes Tim would crack if he had told Martin how obscenely sweet he takes it...
Jon lets the sound of cold water hitting the metal sink, drown out his thoughts as he cleans the mug.
Then the loud broke kettle fills the silence.
And then its back to being deathly quiet as Jon stirs his tooth ache inducing cuppa.
As he took a sip of the imperfect perfect tea, he wished things could be like how they were...or that he at least appreciated how they were...