bakerstreet | quote prompt;

You sent me out to the Unknowing and the Dark Sun to get stronger.

[The words were snapped, Jon's expression hardening as he clutched the folders closer to keep himself from shaking.]

Isn't that your usual strategy, Elias? Toss me out into the deep end and see if I manage to survive, force me to call to the Eye for help, bring it closer. Why change that now?

[The words were combative, but the Archivist still hadn't moved from his position behind the desk. His feet felt rooted to the spot, no matter how he told them to move, run, escape, he wanted to be here. God, he wanted so badly to be here, to have Elias take control again. He hadn't really been the worst boss at the start, had he? He'd been almost decent by most standards. He was polite, professional, concerned, but encouraging.

Thinking about those early conversations about the tunnels made Jon shiver a bit. He wanted that mask back. He wanted to accept that there might be some actual affection locked up inside that horrifying man. Only he knew that if there was it was some twisted thing.]

Tell me why you want me here, Elias. Honestly. Not because it's where I belong or whatever. Why you, specifically, want me here. Is it because I'm a threat outside your reach?

[That would be at least a little satisfying.]

That's the problem with us, isn't it? With the Ceaseless Watcher. You can look, but you can't touch. Not unless you have an agent doing it for you. That's why you needed Daisy, Gertrude. Why Peter Lukas was so surprised that you got your hands dirty with Leitner and Gertrude.

[He'd listened to all of the tapes. The ones with Peter and Martin, particularly.]

“Stronger”. “Marked”. I suppose they can be interchangeable.

[Hm, he probably shouldn’t have said that, but it was starting to break apart, wasn’t it? The lull of this room, the chance that Elias had to keep his pet Archivist at the foot of his metaphorical bed, it was slipping through his fingers.

Why did he have to pick stubborn Archivist, anyway? Did he secretly enjoy the challenge?

No.

No, they were the only ones that survived. Until…until they couldn’t be allowed to anymore.]

Why do you think that I wouldn’t want all of my pieces where I can protect them? In the safety of our home? [Which wasn’t exactly untrue; he did want to protect his investment. Protégé. His Archivist that he poured years into. After all, he had lost so much just to make this happen.

But…]

It is where you belong. Not the room, but the Institute. I am stronger with you here, and you can feel it, too.

[Don’t mention Peter to him, Jon. That was just…cruel.]

We do watch. We archive. We follow. [His tone shifted slightly, from the Person Who Brought the End to a boss. A manager. An instructor to go to when case questions needed to be bounced off of someone.]

What did I tell you before, Jon? ‘Record and study, not interfere or contain’. I meant every word.

[Elias kept couching it as a home. Their home, something together. But Elias had created him, Jon supposed. That was likely the only reason he felt that way. The Institute had been Basira and Martin's home for a time, as well. Angry as they were about that. Angry as Jon had been? But then... thinking back on it, he never had resented being trapped at the Institute quite as much as the others.

The disquieting revelation was clear on the Archivist's features.

He'd asked Martin to run away with him, to gouge out their eyes and escape together, but that had been... really? He'd wanted Martin to tell him 'no,' to give him that excuse he needed to be able to live with himself and what he really wanted. Which was to stay, but to have some level of interaction with the other man. To drag him kicking and screaming away from the Lonely and the apathy he'd fallen into with its effects.]

I think the apocalypse counts as a rather extreme level of interference.

[The words were muttered petulantly under his breath as Jon looked away.]

Maybe I don't want you to be stronger. Have you considered that, what with me hating you?

[He wanted to hate Elias, anyway. He was fairly certain he did with everything the man had put his staff--his friends--through, how could he not? But he was still standing here, chatting with him, instead of figuring out the best way to knife him and pluck out his eyes.]

Edited (i know how punctuation works) 2020-01-11 04:06 (UTC)

[Don’t think that he didn’t notice that, Jon. That there were a million times to attack him, to compel him on the important matters, to go for his eyes, and yet.

Yet, here he stood. Completely unharmed. While Jon clutched the statements with a deserpate need and a weakened security.]

I don’t think that you do, though. Hate me.

[The smile was confident as he leaned forward, a hand grabbing a random statement that hadn’t been hungrily snatched up. He held it, slowly backing away and opening it as he perused. Ah, yes, Dorothy St. Austine. December thirteenth, 1997. Hm. A Distortion if he recalled correctly. ]

You see, if you did hate me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation anymore. You would have either left or attacked me, and as clearly neither happened, I suppose it’s my turn to ask a question.

[He held the file, looking over it, eyes older than both of these physical forms locked on the Archivist.]

Why?

[Jon's gaze dropped immediately to the Statement, hackles going up. His arms were already full, and technically all of this belonged to Elias, but it was his, too. Jon set down his stack and finally found the will to walk around the desk. If he were inclined to think about it harder, he'd be able to connect that the sense of paralysis only seemed to grip him when he was trying to leave. Chasing after the other avatar to snatch a Statement back was perfectly acceptable.

Apparently.

Jon's grandmother had drilled enough manners into him that he managed to resist just grabbing the Statement and yanking it out of Elias' hands. But he went to stand in front of the man and glare pointedly up at him.]

I'm hardly Basira or Daisy. I hate Jude Perry, as well. I wouldn't go out of my way to kill her, either. [He was absolutely not addressing the 'you would have left' portion of that argument.] I'm just... I'm here because I- [He looked toward the door. Artefact Storage. Get out. Go there. Get the book.] I came to get the book and access to the tunnels. That's why I'm here. I told you that.

[The manners were admirable, truly.

Elias waited a moment for Jon to grab it and was pleasantly surprised when…he didn’t. Hm. Interesting. Of course the glare was in place, and that was bearable, if not deserved; Jon would not be the first or last person to look at him like that. After all, he recalled the detective’s punch rather well.

He listened to the response, but never offered the folder out to him. That – all of the Archive – was his, lest Jon forgot. And if he wasn’t willing to stay moderately on his own, Elias could attempt to hold the Archive hostage.

Or lock Jon in.

He hadn’t exactly decided yet. The latter would make it hard to maintain any sort of relationship, of course, but then hadn’t the apocalypse accomplished that for him?

Then again, apparently not.]

That wasn’t what I was asking.

[Though it was a fair answer.]

Why don’t you hate me?

[Confidence was never something that Elias was lacking.]

[Jon's frown deepened. Why didn't he? He did! He'd threatened to kill Elias in the Panopticon, might have risked it if Martin hadn't needed him. Right?

Elias had no compulsion powers like the Archivist. There was nothing that was forcing him to answer or even to tell the truth if he did. But the question still oiled itself around Jon's mind, leaving a messy trail of confusion in its wake.

Why?

Elias was the only one in this world like him. Not just a creature of the Eye but a man responsible for the apocalypse. However much the other avatar had led Jon toward the paths he wanted, Jon had chosen to walk them. There were a hundred different points that he could think of even now where he could have turned back, chosen differently. Christ, if he'd just had the actual will to gouge out his eyes with Melanie, he could have stopped everything. He'd told Martin he didn't want to do it alone and he'd just left her to it.

It occurred to him in a sudden, sickening rush that he was possibly the last person she'd ever laid eyes on. God, he hoped she'd Facetimed with Georgie, instead.]

I do hate you. [Jon insisted, balling his fists.] You ruined my life. You've manipulated me. You've made me doubt my own senses, my own sanity. You've tortured my staff. You've destroyed the world and turned me into a monster! How on Earth could I not hate you?

[How, indeed? Even one of those would be a legitimate reason. But as he reached up, it wasn't to take the Statement, it was to grasp Elias' sleeve, almost plantive and childlike.

Why didn't he hate Elias? Because he was the only person who could understand. The instincts, the bizarre rapture mixed with terror every time he looked up at the sky. Martin had assumed that had ended after Jon had stopped sobbing brokenly in the cottage. Jon had never gone out of his way to tell the man otherwise. Some things were better kept to oneself. Elias would understand it, though. He understood the draw to the Institute, the sense of rightness inherent in the place. He'd also given Jon powers that he'd dreamed all his life of having: the ability to make people tell him the truth and to Know things. Jon had always been the boy who wanted to know too much. It's why he'd seen the spider, why he went wandering to places he shouldn't, why he'd never had much in the way of friends. He'd always been off. Maybe that was the trauma, but the Institute, Elias, had given him the first real sense of purpose and place he'd ever known.]

Martin and Basira hate you.

Edited (added a little more) 2020-01-11 15:22 (UTC)

Of course you do.

[There wasn’t anything there to hide the patronizing tone. He listened patiently at the list of reasons that Jon prattled off, things Elias had done and the path they had walked together. Voluntarily. After all, Gertrude had been strong enough not to wind up like this, standing in a room that called and tugged, craving a lone statement in Elias’ hand. She hadn’t ended the world or played her part.

But Jon? Jon had been perfect.]

I know they do; they have reminded me multiple times. [By burning statements. By nearly stabbing him. By having him arrested. By punching him on prison visitations. Small hints he might have accepted and did not care about.] But we aren’t talking about them, are we?

[They were non-factors. Or perhaps, only factors enough that they were pieces he could move when he needed to, no different than the statement in his hand. Motivators to get the Archivist to walk where he wanted.

There was a flicker of his eyes down to that grasped sleeve, before back at Jon.]

You blame me for your choices, and yes, some of them I orchestrated, I will take credit for those. But you could have stopped. You could have walked away, or held steadfast like your predecessor.

But you didn’t, did you?

[He didn’t pull his hand away; this, too, was a choice Jon was making. Not to punch him like Basira had, not to set fire to the Archives. Elias did nothing but offer a path; the steps were up to the one who walked it.]

You enjoy this, here, in the Institute. In the Archives. Watching and being Watched. And that is why you chose this. Because this is the only place that has ever truly, truly felt like home. Your time with Martin was a holiday, where they are short-lived and fun, but they are never, ever the feeling of home you will inevitably return to.

[There was a twitch of his lips as he smirked.]

You can be angry at me, Jon, and that is fine. I deserve some of it, I’m sure, however do not discount your role and your feelings in this place, either.

[Jon bristled at the tone, but he just tightened his grip on Elias' suit jacket instead of letting him go and aiming a solid punch at his jaw. That would certainly be deserved. But the Archivist had never been a particularly violent man. That was one of the ways he knew he was vastly different from his predecessor. The more he learned about Gertrude Robinson, the more he'd come to the conclusion that the woman was a sadist. What she'd done to that cultist, the relish she seemed to take in some of her explosive efforts. She was effective and ended her life as a person, but by god was she monstrous.]

I wanted to.

[But he hadn't. Because what he actually wanted was a tangled knot of confusion that he had no idea how to pull apart. It was too bound up with what he knew was right and what he knew he wanted deep down, which was wrong. Morality was a problem when it came to accepting unpalatable things about yourself.]

And Martin was more than a holiday. I- [Love him. But those words were not for Elias. This was a man who'd told him once that connections were a weakness, things to be used and discarded. There would be no friends at the end of things.]

How I feel about this place and being the Archivist doesn't have any bearing on how I feel about you. Maybe it does the Watcher, but you are not the Eye. You're a king, not a god. And if history has taught us anything, it's that kings always fall.

Even if I stay here. If-if you keep me here. [He didn't want to sound willing.] Martin and Basira are still out there. They're talented, brave, smart people. They'll find a way to stop you. To undo what we've done. Even if it means killing both of us in the process.

[In the end, Jon expected that's what it would come down to. Martin never would, but Basira was practical enough for it. If they needed to kill the Archivist to cut off the bridge, then she would do it, Martin fighting her or not.

Jon didn't think he would fight it. He'd put her through enough.]

I am sure they would try.

[And they would; he didn’t need the Knowing to understand that. They would come and they would try to kill Elias, and maybe, maybe Jon, but he imagined that Martin would be none-to-willing to participate in that little act. Basira would, and even moreso, Basira would enjoy it.

Still, the protest that Jon had about whether it had been a holiday… Well, wasn’t that interesting? The words he didn’t say, but Elias knew anyway. Right. Of course.

Jon, you could do so much better.]

Between the two of us, that rebellion could be stopped, probably without violence if you use your gifts wisely. And wouldn’t that be he favorable way? No shattered Martin, all alone again, no one to turn to.

How long until he gave himself over to the Lonely once you were gone? Especially knowing that he had a hand in it? A week? A day?

[Fine, Jon. How many people would be sacrificed to this? How many could be lost? How many was worth it to die at the end and change all of this?

Was Martin an acceptable cost? In something that was worse than death?]

Go back to your desk and read, Jon. There are a lot of statements to get through.

[But then, where would Elias' plans be if Jon had aspired to anyone 'better' than Martin? So much of the last mark had hinged on the Archivist being willing to cast himself into the Lonely, knowing he might well not come out again. All for the sake of Martin Blackwood. Some of that initial longing had lost its shine over the while they'd left the Lonely, but Jon was still incredibly fond. Would likely always be. Even if Martin wasn't quite the image Jon had painted in his mind, he was still a good man, one of the best Jon had ever known.

Whereas Elias Bouchard... Or Jonah Magnus... Whoever the hell he was. It was difficult looking at that face without thinking of the man who'd employed him for almost eight years. He was a monster, barely even a person anymore, even if he pretended at it far better than most of the avatars Jon knew.

Feeling any sort of kinship to the man, any longing for him and what he provided was objectively wrong.]

I won't help you stop them. But... but let me send a message to them. I can tell them to leave me here.

[He could warn them what would happen if they came here, how Elias would likely kill them or destroy their minds. They needed to get to Hilltop Road. He'd play the distraction this time. Let Elias torture him, instead. Except, what torture was Elias even promising? The fiend offered safety, Statements, real food, as well, probably even warm water. God, what Jon wouldn't give to be able to have a hot shower, clean clothes. He'd gone for days at a time without, but this was weeks at this point. A shave wouldn't go amiss, maybe he could even cut some of his hair off. There were scissors on the desk and a mirror that didn't contain something lurking apart from the Eye could be trusted.]

There doesn't have to be a fight here, at all.

[This was a deal with the devil and it wasn't going to end well, but he was struggling to come up with anything else that would work when he felt so compelled to stay here and just... obey.]

I would prefer no fight at all.

[Because what was the point? A battle that they couldn’t win, an upset Jon, and Elias having to worry about what exactly they were getting into? There was no victory in this, nothing that would set things in any other direction other than Annoyance, and no one wanted an annoyed king, did they?

Besides, the shelter he offered, the quiet peace of the pages…wasn’t that better than a freedom that would kill you?

Elias finally relented. No tunnels. No Panopticon. The Archivist here, doing what he was created to do like a good boy. The idea that they were free was…vaguely worrisome – he much would have rather had them here – but this was what negotiations yielded.

And he could always simply spy on them, here and there.]

Fine. I agree to your terms. On one condition.

[And it wasn’t a condition he needed to ask about; he was going to do it anyway, with or without permission.]

I see your correspondence to and from them.

[Jon couldn't help bristling.]

You do realize it was illegal in this country to read another person's mail before you destroyed the concept of countries. [He knew Elias could do it anyway, but it seemed important to resist, to force him to exercise his powers if he wanted that. It would be a minor distraction in the grand scheme of things, but it could be a distraction. And small chances were the only ones they were likely to get in this brave new world of eldritch making.]

Why do you even care? It could be a love letter. You can't tell me you're the slightest bit interested in that.

[As he spoke, Jon finally let go and moved to sit at his desk once more. He pulled open his desk and found pen and paper. It was like he'd never even left. His gaze strayed to the drawer where he'd kept his rib and Jane's ashes, wondering if those were still there, as well.]

'My Dearest, Darlingest, Sweetest Martin.' [He narrated obnoxiously as he wrote a relatively short message.

'Basira,

Keep moving. Keep Martin with you. With Elias for a distraction. Make the most use of it while you can. HTR still the goal. Be careful around the entrances to the Underground. Do not go underground. Buried and Dark sharing real estate. Avoid Preston Avenue. Flesh encounters likely.

Jon']

'How I've longed to see you since this morning. You were looking particularly lovely beneath the rays of the eyeballs in the sky. That curry place we talked about going to is probably covered in Flesh at the moment. Probably won't make it there.'

Would you like me to keep dictating for you?

[Yes, all of those things were still in the desk, left until their owner returned and claimed them once more. A man’s desk was private, after all, and Elias did not want to tread there.

Well, not unless it benefited him. Which, in this case, it did not.]

You do realize that we serve a being that doesn’t believe in personal privacy, yes?

[There was a wave of his hand towards the ceiling, waving at an eye so far above them. The petulance from Jon made Elias bitterly laugh; some days, he missed the fights against Gertrude, all wit and sharp, thinly veiled threats. Battling with Jon was so different. ]

Only half of the curry restaurants are covered in Flesh; I do still enjoy the taste myself on occasion.

[Two could play at sarcastic responses.

He made his way to the door; it didn’t matter what Jon wrote, Elias would watch him. Would know. As long as they stayed away from his body and the place on Hilltop Road, then everything would be fine. And what a wonderful relationship they could have down here back in the Archives.

Like Jon had never left.]

Please let me know if you would like more statements, Jon; I have some delightful ones in my office that you might have a taste for.

I don't actually care if the Ceaseless Watcher sees. It's all about you.

[He needed to keep making that distinction, try to keep his feelings about it all from tangling up. Jon was well aware he'd grown to despise the Eye... less since his initial understanding of it had come into focus. It was a malevolent eldritch eyeball creature, but it was... at least it wasn't the worst of them. Not by a long chalk. And Elias was not the Eye. He needed to hold onto the anger and the resentment and the fear because it would be far too easy to grow complacent with him, as well. Return to old routines, look to him for guidance. Elias had won, so he really had little incentive to actually hurt the Archivist provided he was here, working away. It was safe and safety was something Jon had so little of these days.

Stockholm Syndrome. He wasn't going to let that happen.

He watched Elias go before adding a post script to his note:

'P.S. We're not going to let him win forever. I'll try to pump him for details and send along for you to avoid trouble. He's reading anything that comes in. Do what you can to stay out of Sight. Maybe Helen will help? Try finding her door.'

Elias would have to be aware he'd be doing this, anyway. It wasn't like there was anything in this letter that would be surprising. It was folded and stuck into an envelope before Jon headed upstairs. Uncertain what to do, he looked around until he spotted someone rising from a corner and heading over to him. He vaguely recognized the woman. One of the librarians, maybe?]

Mr. Bouchard said you'd have a letter to deliver. I-I know where to go.

[Jon's brows furrowed looking at her.]

You don't have to go out there if you don't want to. It's all right, Samantha. You've been through so much, haven't you? [The name came to his lips without any effort and he saw her flinch visibly, the terror in her gaze becoming more pronounced as she was forced to relay her own initial experience with the apocalypse. The color drained from Jon's face for a moment before... well, before his horror-stricken guilt shifted to insatiable curiosity. When it was finally done, he thanked her handing over the letter before she fled. It had been several weeks since he'd accidentally compelled someone like that and it felt... god, it felt far too good. He needed to not speak to people apart from Elias.

Days passed and Jon found himself falling into familiar patterns. He took full advantage of the shower and laundry facilities near Artefact Storage to get himself clean, if not cleaned up. His hair was still lanky and his beard a patchy mess. He could use one of the razors sitting out, but it felt... wrong compared to just borrowing shampoo or conditioner for his hair. More of a violation. It was obvious others were living out of Institute with the toiletries scattered about, not to mention the fridge in the break room that stayed modestly stocked. None of the others approached him. It wasn't like when Peter was in charge. It wasn't cold and empty. The Watcher's gaze was ever present, enveloping. But not quite enough to stave off the sense of something missing.

Jon lasted four days before breaking and heading up to Elias' office. He was less grimy as he knocked and let himself in, but looking only a little less like an apocalypse refugee. He didn't meet the other man's eye as he spoke, voice a disheartened grumble.]

I came for more Statements.

[And just basic human interaction. There was that, as well.]

They had better be worth it.

Edited (typos) 2020-01-15 16:47 (UTC)

[Elias had been mildly curious on how many days it would take Jon to finally come to take him up on his offer. He had thought two at the very most; his Archivist had become accustomed to his friends, trying to regain whatever tenuous grip on humanity he had. Socializing had to have something to do with it.

The fact that it took four was…impressive. But then again, he was stubborn, wasn’t he?

Elias had Watched as much as he could: Jon in some moments, his employees in others, and Martin in the ones that weren’t occupied. He wasn’t worried; they weren’t going to find what was necessary there, even if the Detective was helping. Martin was…wilier than he thought, but hardly a threat.

But Basira… Hm. That was the one to watch for.

The door opened when he was spying, and he held up a finger in the universal One moment please. He sat there, unmoving, looking through Jon for a minute, two, just enough break into discomfort before he blinked and smiled.]

So nice of you to join me, Jon. I assume you’re fitting back into your routine smoothly?

[What… is your care routine? Sure, he was cleaner, but…hm.Shave.]

Statements, right. [Elias leaned over, opening a drawer before pulling out three manila folders. One had blood in the corner.]

I have one for the Web, one for the Desolation, and this decorated one… [His gaze flickered to Jon.] This one is the Hunt. Recent, too. A poor employee here saw…something emerging from the tunnels into the Institute before leaving. I wonder who that sounds like.

[This was a gift, Jon. Do not squander it.]

Pick one.

Who were you Watching? [His fingers twitched to go for the Hunt one. Daisy! But Jon tried for at least the appearance of nonchalance as he shut the door and slunk over to sit down in the chair across from Elias. He hadn't been invited, this was an indication the conversation would likely stretch a bit. Jon needed it to. He needed a voice inside his head that wasn't his own. And as Elias' was the only one available that wasn't likely to trigger him dragging a Statement out, it would have to be him.

Jon looked over the folders, doing his best to bluff and failing miserably as his eyes kept darting to the bloodstains.]

You really shouldn't let that sort of thing happen. [A point toward the bloodstains.] You realize that impacts preservation? Give it here, I'll make a new folder for it.

[Clearly, that was the only reason he was going for that one, Elias' failure at appropriate preservation procedure.]

You know who I was Watching, Jon.

[Was there anyone else? Anyone as equally as important as the one group that they both knew? Don’t play the games when you already know the answer.

Even if Elias was doing the same while watching those eyes drag themselves to the blood. To the file. To the words over a friend the Archivist was so keen to worry about, like a fool.

Elias was a hypocrite in that regard: we he would play the games only if he knew the answer. Peter was a prime example of it.

Everyone was so very, very predictable, weren’t they?]

Yes, well, it seems that the apocalypse does include blood sometimes. Allow me.

[He reached into the drawer, grabbing a new folder and began to switch the statement out. There was a second where the words were visible (“violent”, “fast”, “she”) but then it was gone, neatly tucked behind the cardstock.

Elias smiled at him as if he was asking him what flavor tea he preferred.]

Which statement are you hungry for?

Have they- did they ever return my message? [He hadn't received anything back, and he hadn't seen Samantha again. She might have died delivering it. Or maybe Basira hadn't told Martin about it and just dragged him along without an explanation. No, no. She'd know the man would be useless if he thought Jon were dead. So, she told him and they could have just gone on without contact. The better not to give anything away to Elias.

Still, there was a part of him that felt the tiniest bit hurt. At least Martin have written something encouraging? Best not to think too hard about it, but if there was any chance Elias was just holding the communication hostage, it was worth asking.]

I want- [He broke off. They weren't going to play this game.] Just give me the one about Daisy. [The Web one would likely be more strategic, but that was also the least appealing of the three.]

No. There have been no messages brought to the Institute from them. [Which could mean so many, may things, but that wasn’t what Jon asked, was it? Were they even alive? Did they care? Were they working on this man’s destruction?

Perhaps using them as tools and discarding them wasn’t so bad.

Elias slid the desired statement over across the smooth, dark desk, waiting for it to be snatched up. The others were neatly stacked and placed within in a drawer. Out of sight, but never out of mind, hm?

Hands folded on the desk as he leaned back in his chair. Jon, seemed hungry for so much: companionship. Hope. Familiarity. Knowledge. And almost all of those, Elias could provide.]

Is there anything I can do make your accommodations better? Perhaps a…razor?

[It was, indeed, snatched up, just as soon as it was moved into range. Jon sat forward eagerly and pulled it into his lap, forcing himself to keep it there and not try to have a look while he's talking to Elias. They both knew Jon was over-eager to know what was in the Statement, but he could at least pretend like he had some level of restraint.]

I want to send them another one, then. When I'm finished with this. You can read it as long as it gets delivered to them.

[Basira will want to know about Daisy, too. For better or worse, they were partners and had a duty to one another. Maybe it would... detour their efforts for a little bit from Hilltop Road, but Daisy was important, too. Jon needed them to get there, but what if Daisy was already stalking them? Best to deal with that problem first. At least it would make him feel like he was being any sort of useful.]

And I-I want to know the... courier made it back alive. [He pursed his lips.] If you can do that, I'll shave my beard.

[It was a weak bargaining chip, but if Elias wanted him looking more professional, Jon would wring out whatever he could. Dryly:]

Send them some food and toiletries with the message, and I'll think about cutting my hair, as well.

[Oh, someone was feel brazen, weren’t they?

Elias stared at him politely, listening to all of Jon’s demands, before he laughed. Significantly laughed. Can read. A beard shaved. A haircut. And for what? Nothing?

He wasn’t a fool. A king, yes, but not a fool.]

Jon, you can write Martin as many love letters as you want, but have you thought that he does not want to respond to them? Or that in the time you were here, he was slowly losing his mind? There are so many things out there in the wild, aren’t there? And if I recall from earlier statements, you did call him a “useless ass” before.

[Not that he was as much now, but needling was hardly fun if they only used the positive aspects.]

And need I remind you that we need those supplies, too. Unless you were prefer that the poor souls trapped here suffer without basic needs as well? I suppose they don’t mind as much considering you don’t know their names and send them out to suffer as your personal mailman.

[His smile was soft.] I think she might have another statement for you, after all that she saw.

[Elias will see the precise moment when the reality of the situation drops atop Jon's head like a building collapse. His eyes went wide, brows furrowing as his lips part.

The food. The supplies. Everything here, it was... well, where did he think it was coming from? It wasn't just magically appearing. People weren't taking the company car out to the local Tescos to pick up a few extra teabags. It just hadn't occurred. Weeks fighting just to survive with only the most basic needs and the moment he was back in the Institute, he'd just... forgot how hard it was. He'd been safe in his little cocoon in the Archives, the fridge and cupboards and toiletries stayed stocked enough. How could he have just not thought about it.]

I didn't mean to... is she okay?

[Jon looked down at the Statement in his hands. Was this from her?

He didn't even want to contemplate the situation with Martin. One emotional crisis at a time.]

I-I can deliver the letter. I'll come back.

[No, Jon, these things did not just appear. He was a king, not a god, and a king had so many perks…but material creations out of the immaterial was not one of them. So he sent his employees on runs, but no, not to Tescos; they ran to abandoned buildings. To empty apartments. To stores that hadn’t been completely gutted and looted and burned.

And Elias had the foresight to at least start stocking a year ago. Nonperishables. Batteries. Toiletries. Water. Tea. Soap. First aid. The obvious and the not. There were rooms and closets filled with things that could save them, prolong them, and survive in the world.

Do not forget who was arranging for that, either.]

As well as she can be considering what she has been through. The world is dangerous, but then again, it always has been. People just didn’t see it before.

But we did.

[We. Both of them, who watched and did nothing. Of course Jon tried to stop a ritual or two, but that had been nothing compared to the daily random occurrences that popped up everywhere. Where every day people suffered and died, a hint to something bigger but mostly an unfortunate casualty.

And now he wanted to run into that danger, didn’t he?]

Do you really think that’s wise? I would prefer you didn’t go on a suicide mission all to deliver a letter to people who would prefer it if you didn’t return to your archive.

Well, you could guide me. Or I could... I could just Know the way.

[Like he'd done in the Lonely. He hasn't opened his mind quite that much to the Watcher since, but it's an option. Something that would let him know the safest route to where he needed to go. Maybe not the safe path because none of those existed anymore, but safe enough. He could make it by. Maybe. Possibly.

Basira and Martin were helpful in dealing with his bouts of panic and just... inability to look away from things. He hadn't had to survive alone out in the world, yet, and there was a massive eyeball in the sky that enjoyed randomly shoving massive amounts of information into his head at odd intervals. It was all tempered here in the Institute. He'd felt blissfully stable the past four days, not on the verge of a nervous breakdown.]

And this place is evil, Elias. You can hardly blame them for not wanting me to come back. I don't want to be here.

[He didn't want to want to be here, which wasn't quite the same thing. Something else occurred to him from the rest of what Elias was saying:]

Is Martin all right? He's sane, right? He and Basira. They're okay? I know you've Seen. You said you were just watching them. Tell me. [After a moment, he tempered his tone to something a little more imploring from demanding.] Please?

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