Work Text:
Jon had very mixed feelings upon their return to the institute. On one hand, the abject horror of the Institute’s actions was something that he, albeit hypocritically, frowned upon. On the other, as plainly malevolent as the place was, it was still a… relatively necessary evil, at least in the context of preparing for The Unknowing.
Oddly enough, what Jon found themself missing the most was the domesticality of his life on the run. It is true that they were far from normal, but it felt oddly plain and soothing to just… exist for a while.
His hand drifted to their still-healing throat, debating whether or not to record a statement. In the end, he decided against it; while they did possess faster healing, it still felt like a better idea to let his throat rest at least a bit more before picking up as many statements as they had recorded before. Instead, he decided on getting up and making themself a cup of tea – some caffeinated blend with extra sugar, he decided upon almost collapsing as they stood. And maybe some soup.
Jon opened his phone, with the full intention of doomscrolling, though paused upon seeing a message from Georgie.
georgie
hey
did u use the enzyme cleaner last?
Jon stopped their journey and looked at his phone, somewhat confused.
Jon
yes, i believe so. from when i got that random nosebleed & had to scrub it off of the sheets.
how come?
georgie
whered u put it?
Jon
under the kitchen sink, i think? what happened?
georgie
the Admiral took a piss on the carpet again
Jon snorted to themself, continuing his journey to the breakroom. Martin, Melanie, and Basira were all in there already, talking with each other. The conversation faltered slightly as he entered the room, though Martin was quick to greet them.
“Hey, Jon,” he said, his tone friendly enough. He was leaning against the counter next to the stove, with a kettle of water boiling and three mugs behind him; he was clearly making tea for himself, as well as for Melanie and Basira, both of whom were sitting at the table. “I was just making us all a cuppa. Shall I make you one, as well?” he asked, already reaching for another mug. Jon nodded and smiled, making his way over to the break room fridge to see if they still had leftover chicken noodle soup from takeout the other night. To both his surprise and delight, the soup was there and intact. They made their way over to the microwave, throwing in the entire container instead of caring to throw it into a bowl.
“Remind me, your preferred blend is… jasmine tea, right? No sugar, splash of milk?” Martin voiced, moreso stating then asking; he knew that that was what Jon always asked for.
“Could I ask you for a bit of sugar in it this time? That is my usual request, and you do make it perfectly, I just–” Jon began, stumbling slightly over his words in a desperate but unnecessary attempt to not seem rude.
“ ‘f course. Two spoons sound reasonable? If I’m being honest, you look like you could use it.” Martin replied, quipping over the other person’s social ineptitude.
Jon opened their mouth to protest, but closed it; he had been thinking the same. Instead, they nodded, and muttered a quick but sincere thank you under his breath.
As they retrieved his soup from the microwave – which they regret not having poured into a bowl – he felt their phone buzz. Setting the food down onto the counter and unwrapping the crappy fork that had come with, they opened his phone to see another text from Georgie.
georgie
here’s the culprit, in all his glory
istg he looks proud of himself
thanks btw
Jon smiled, a half-snort-half-breath escaping through their nose. He saved the cat’s picture, feeling that it could serve as a beauteous reaction picture.
“What has you smiling?” Basira asked, her hands now warming themselves on a cup of tea. Martin then walked over and delivered Jon’s cup, before returning to his original perch to drink his own.
“The Admiral is being smugly mischievous for attention again;” they said, stirring his tea gently before tasting a small sip. “He has taken a piss on the carpet.”
Basira’s mouth dropped and brows furrowed in what looked like a mix of concern and shock as Martin and Melanie simultaneously coughed up a mouthful of tea. Jon tilted their head, confused at the room’s reaction. “What?” he queried.
“Who the hell is The Admiral?” Martin asked.
“Who the hell took a piss on the carpet?” Melanie adlibbed.
“What the hell kind of person are you talking about?” Basira added.
Jon’s face dropped. They set down his soup and shook their head.
“Christ, no–! I swear – The Admiral is a cat! He’s my friend Georgie’s cat!” He said, panickedly pulling up the picture they had just saved on his phone. “I– he isn’t– The Admiral isn’t some.. weird monster-thingy-whatever. Just… an annoying cat.” They clarified, laughing lightly and handing his phone over to the others for their viewing pleasure. Martin, being the closest, grabbed the device from their hand, bringing it over and showing the other two the image.
“God, he’s so smug. He looks like he’s proud of himself.” Melanie said upon seeing the image, breathing hard through her nose in laughter.
“That’s exactly what Georgie said!” Jon commented, smiling. His phone was handed back to them, and he continued eating their soup and drinking his tea – which had been made perfectly – as they listened to the chatter of his coworkers.