Work Text:
“Oh, good morning, Melanie!”
As usual, Martin’s incessant friendliness grated on Melanie like little else, but she managed a half-hearted grunt in reply as she moved into the breakroom. It was mid-morning, and she’d decided that for once she was going to make some tea.
Not for herself, of course. But she reasoned that if coffee wouldn’t fool their evil boss, perhaps tea would do the job.
Melanie pulled a mug from the cupboard above the sink and set it on the counter next to the one Martin had set aside for his little office crush (she found herself sneering slightly at the thought), and got to work. Peppermint tea with a little something extra- that ought to do the job.
A few minutes later, she was standing outside the door to Elias’s office, tea in one hand, the other raised to knock. Before she even got the chance, however, she heard the cold voice from inside beckoning her in. Scowling, she turned the handle and stepped into Elias’s office.
The man himself was sitting behind a dark wooden desk that was, at the moment, mostly obscured under a mountain of paperwork. Melanie tried not to let her smug satisfaction show. It was Wednesday, which meant Elias would be focusing on scheduling. Which meant there was, at least, a small chance he wouldn’t notice her second attempt to poison him.
She decided not to overdo the supposed friendliness, this time. She simply stepped up to the desk, held out the mug, and said, “Martin made tea,” trying not to feel guilty about bringing him into her little scheme.
Elias raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitched for just a second before his expression smoothed over. “Did he? He’s never made me tea before.”
“Yeah, well.” Melanie shrugged, trying to maintain defiant eye contact despite every nerve in her body screaming at her to run . “Guess he was feeling extra generous today. I dunno.”
“I see. Well,” Elias raised the mug to his lips, and Melanie tried very hard not to let her anticipation show, “You may tell him ‘thank you’ from me.” And he took a sip, breathing deeply of the steam that rose out of the mug.
Melaine allowed herself a small smile as she turned to leave. “Right. Well. Bye then. I’ve got… Work.”
“Of course.” Elias smiled as well, a sharp, predatory thing that didn’t quite meet his eyes.
————
Jon hit the stop button on the tape recorder, and almost immediately, a knock came from his office door.
“Come in,” he said, and looked up to see Martin presenting two cups of tea and a shy smile as he stepped inside. “Ah, Martin.” He swallowed, floundering for a moment for something to say. “Erm, how’s your research going?” He winced. It sounded rather more judgemental than he’d have liked, but it was too late now to change it.
“Oh! It’s, ah, it’s going well. I made some tea!” Martin hastily handed over said cup of tea, which Jon took gratefully. “I’ll get right back to work, though, so don’t worry.” He gave one last small smile to Jon, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Martin paused in the doorway and turned back to look at Jon as he swallowed again, suddenly nervous. “Um.” He took a steadying breath. “Thank you, Martin. I appreciate it, really.”
Martin smiled again, slightly more sincerely this time, and Jon watched him leave with a small smile of his own.
He took a sip of the peppermint tea and got back to work.
————
Melanie forced herself to wait a full twenty minutes before she made her way back to Elias’s office. Now was the moment of truth. She didn’t bother attempting to knock, deciding instead to simply open the door and-
“Yes, Melanie?”
She froze. He wasn’t… But she’d watched him drink the poisoned tea. He should be writhing on the ground right now, not… Sitting calmly in his office chair, hands clasped on the desk in front of him, a look of polite interest plastered over his face.
“Uh, I.” Melanie mentally kicked herself. She had to get it together, or she may never get another shot at this. Maybe the poison just hadn’t kicked in yet? “How… How was the tea?”
Elias gave her an amused smile. “It was wonderful. I must say, it’s been too long since I’ve had a good cinnamon tea.”
Melanie found herself nodding in agreement, although her mind was whirling. Hadn’t she made mint tea? She’d left the cinnamon tea alone, since that was…
Since that was the kind…
Since that was the kind Martin usually made for Jon.
Fuck.
————
Jon let out a long breath and pressed his palms to his eyes in an attempt to quell the headache that was setting in. He’d tried to record another statement after Martin left, but found himself unable to summon the steady concentration he usually felt when recording, and had stopped after he found himself trailing off mid-sentence three times in a row. Without thinking, he raised his mug to his lips and went to take a sip of tea before realizing it was already gone. He frowned. He didn’t remember finishing it.
After a moment’s consideration, Jon stood and made his way to the door, empty mug in hand. If he couldn’t record a statement, at least he could be semi-productive and wash his mug. And it was beginning to feel a little stuffy in his office, anyway.
The breakroom was deserted when he arrived, which Jon was thankful for as it meant he didn’t have to face anyone else. He didn’t think he could handle Martin’s awkward conversations or Tim’s pointed glares at the moment; the headache was beginning to become overwhelming. The clock above the door showed 10:47; it was far too early for a headache like this. Jon sighed and washed his mug with shaky hands (when had his hands started shaking?), making his way back to the solitude of his office as quickly as possible.
He passed Martin in the hallway outside his office. Martin said something he didn’t quite hear, and Jon hoped the noncommittal grunt he gave in response was enough of a reply. He tried not to slam the door behind him.
Jon suddenly found his heart was beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t seem to control the gasping breaths that forced their way from his mouth. And then, finally, he realized what was wrong with him.
Of course.
It’s a bloody panic attack.
The thought, ironically, calmed him a little— this, at least, he knew how to deal with. It’s alright, he told himself, you just need to sit down for a bit and it’ll pass. Just… Need to…
A rush of nausea suddenly forced its way up his throat; he barely had time to grab the bin under his desk before he was retching into it, the tea from earlier burning his throat on its way back up.
Well. At least he’d decided to skip breakfast today, meaning there wasn’t much of a loss there.
————
Jonah didn’t try to stop Melanie as she hurriedly made her excuses and left his office. It was far more amusing to let her work herself into a panic, and watch it all unfold from the comfort of his office.
Jon would be fine. Obviously , he would be fine. He was far past human enough for a little poison to kill him. But Melanie didn’t need to know that just yet.
————
The minutes bled into each other, and Jon wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed before the nausea finally left him. He stood shakily (when had he ended up on the floor?) and was immediately presented with a new problem: a wave of vertigo which nearly sent him back down.
He put a hand on his desk to steady himself, but it didn’t seem to stop the room spinning around him. And finally, reluctantly, he was forced to admit that maybe this wasn’t just a panic attack.
The walls felt as though they were closing in on him. He tried to reach out, to open the door, but it was so far away…
His last thought as the room finally slipped entirely out of focus was that whatever was happening to him this time, it was just his luck, really. He didn’t feel himself hit the floor.
————
Melanie found herself flying down the stairs to the archives so fast she nearly bowled Martin over when she reached the bottom. “Martin!” she gasped, skidding to a stop at the foot of the stairs where he was standing, bewildered. “I’m sorry- I think- I think I messed up-”
“Woah, woah, calm down, Melanie.” Martin reached toward her with a placating gesture. “What’s wrong?”
Might as well be out with it. “I. I may have poisoned Jon.”
There was a second of silence wherein Melanie watched all the color drain from Martin’s face. “Y-you what?”
“It was an accident! But I think- I mean, I didn’t realize-”
Martin grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward Jon’s office at a brisk walk. “Melanie. What did you do?” His voice was unusually sharp and serious, and Melanie found herself wishing desperately that she didn’t have to be on the receiving end of it.
“I meant to get Elias, not Jon, okay? I mean, his whole story about us being tied to him, and if he dies, we die, it’s all bullsh-”
“Melanie!”
“Sorry. Basically I, um. I put cyanide in his tea. And I think they got… Swapped.”
They were nearly at Jon’s door, now, and Martin stopped walking so fast she nearly ran into him. He turned to Melanie with a look of white-hot fury she’d never before seen on his face (one she might’ve been impressed by in different circumstances), and opened his mouth to say something. But before he got the chance, they both heard a very distinct thump come from behind Jon’s office door.
Martin stopped, snapped his mouth shut, and wrenched open the door.
————
Jonah sighed. He really was enjoying the show. The fear now curdling in the minds of his employees was a very specific brand of delicious . But now that Martin was involved… Well. The pest would be more likely to call 999 than anything. And that would be unacceptable. Jonah had enough to deal with already without a swarm of authorities on his front step.
It was time to put a stop to this.
————
Somebody was touching his face.
Why was somebody touching his face? Didn’t they know he hated being touched? Jon tried to open his eyes, to see who was touching his face and tell them to go away, but found he didn’t have the strength.
More concerning than that, however, was the fact that he didn’t actually mind the touch as much as he thought he would. It was soft, gentle; warm hands cradling his head and stroking his hair comfortingly. It was… Actually, kind of nice.
There was a voice echoing from far away, high and concerned. Jon couldn’t parse the words, but the voice was soothing. He found himself drifting off again to the sound of it in his ears.
————
“Oh God.”
Martin didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget the fear that coursed through him at the sight that awaited him within Jon’s office. He’d always been a bit intimidated by the man, always thought he’d seemed larger than life; but to see him now, sprawled facedown on his office floor, unmoving and alone, Martin realized suddenly just how small he was.
A surge of emotion rushed through him following the realization: namely, a streak of protectiveness and care that Jon would likely never approve of. All thoughts seemed to leave his head except I’ve got to help him, he needs me , and he quickly dropped to his knees beside him.
“Jon? J-Jon, can you hear me?”
Predictably, there was no response from Jon. Martin gingerly turned him over and gasped; his face was flushed and his breaths were shallow and quick, like he wasn’t getting enough air. Not good. Not good at all. “Melanie!” He snapped without looking up. “Call 999. Now.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Martin looked up at the crisp, all-too-familiar voice of Elias Bouchard. The man himself was standing in the hall just behind Melanie, wearing a smug sneer and looking unsurprised at the events unfolding within his institute.
“Elias, what- why the hell would we not call for an ambulance?! Just- look at Jon!” Martin cradled Jon closer as if to protect him, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice even. “He needs-”
“Some rest, and a few statements, and he’ll be fine.” Elias dismissed Martin’s panic with a wave of his hand. “Come now, Martin. Do you really think I would let my Archivist die? He’ll. Be. Fine.”
Martin just stared at him, momentarily stunned. Thankfully, Melanie maintained enough righteous fury to pick up where he’d left off. “Why are you so dead-set against us getting help, hm? Maybe, maybe you really are trying to get him killed, just like you killed Gertrude-”
“That is enough , Melanie.” Elias turned his gaze from Martin to her. “As for why you really shouldn’t call an ambulance, well… I think we all know Jon isn’t quite human anymore. And it would be a shame, wouldn’t it, for that fact to be recognized by the outside world. After all, there are more monster hunters in the world than our Daisy. And I’m sure they would be very interested in him. So. If that’s something you want to risk…”
“Well, none of that matters if he dies!” Melanie pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m making the call. I don’t care.”
But she hesitated before pressing the call button. At that moment, Tim appeared from behind Elias, looking curious, then shocked, then hiding it all behind a careful mask of neutrality. “What’s going on here?”
“Melanie poisoned Jon-”
It was an accident-!”
“He’ll be fine , honestly, I keep saying-”
“Woah, woah, woah.” Tim raised his hands and at once the arguing died down. “Um. I may not exactly like Jon right now, but… Shouldn’t you all stop arguing and, I dunno, get some help? Rather than just standing here?”
“Yes, well.” Melanie was shaking with anger at this point. “ Elias seems to think that would be a bad idea. Something about monster hunters and ‘he’ll be fine, he’s the Archivist.’ Bullshit.”
“Ah.” A pause. “So… Bossman isn’t human enough to die anymore, is he?”
“If it makes you feel better,” Elias answered, clearly relishing the poorly disguised fear on Tim’s face, “he would probably have died, had Melanie properly done her research and added the right amount of the poison she used. Honestly, how you make that same mistake twice…” Shaking his head and smiling infuriatingly, Elias turned and left, leaving them all to glare after him.
“So…” Melanie’s voice finally cut through the silence. “Should I…?”
Martin looked down to where Jon’s head was resting in his arms, to the ugly scar that crossed his throat. A reminder of what happened when outsiders found out about him. “Wait,” he heard himself say, “Melanie. Don’t.”
She hesitated. “Martin…”
He sighed. “Elias is… Probably right. I don’t see why he would lie to us about this. I mean, it’s in his best interest for Jon to live, right?”
“… Fine then. No hospital. Whatever. I guess I’ll just…” Melanie backed away uncertainly and left him alone with Tim and Jon.
“My coworkers are all insane.” Tim muttered faintly. “This almost makes him stalking us seem normal.”
“Shut. Up.” Martin looked away and stubbornly ignored him until he heard his footsteps retreating down the corridor.
And then he was alone, holding Jon, trying not to think about what would happen if he was wrong about this, if Elias was lying to them.
And he let himself cry.
————
Jon didn’t want to dream. But when had he ever had a say in what happened to him?
For once, though, his dreams were entirely his own.
He dreamt of a forest on fire, of the flames licking at his limbs and melting him like wax. He dreamt of circuses, of Nikola Orsinov, of plastic hands running down his body. He dreamt of worms. Of eyes. Of light, and then darkness, and then light again.
Slowly, he became aware of himself. He was lying somewhere soft. His blood felt heavy in his veins; he tried to sit up but was met with the disconcerting sensation of all his nerves reawakening at once, firing in unison and it hurt .
He retreated to a place deeper within himself, where everything didn’t hurt quite so much. Distantly, he wondered if he was dead; if this was Hell.
————
The clock above the door ticked away defiantly, counting the hours since Melanie had… Done it. (3:12. Over four hours since… Since.) She didn’t want to think about it. But she couldn’t seem to stop. And so she sat on the couch in the breakroom, staring at the far wall and trying desperately not to cry.
They were supposed to be on the same side. It wasn’t like she’d ever been close with Jon, but she hadn’t meant to… It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
If Jon woke up ( when, she told herself desperately, not if ), he’d never trust her again. Not that he’d seemed to really trust anyone before. But still.
A soft knock on the door dragged her out of her thoughts as Martin entered the room. “Hey,” he said quietly, and Melanie nodded in response, not trusting herself to speak.
Martin was silent for so long Melanie thought he must have left, but when she looked up again, he was still there, leaning against the doorframe and staring at her with an unreadable expression.
Melanie stared back uncomfortably. Finally, Martin spoke.
“What were you thinking ?”
And this, at least, Melanie could deal with. Anger, she could understand. So she responded in kind, and almost didn’t feel any guilt when she spat, “he deserves to die.”
“Wh- Jon ?!”
“No, that’s not-” she took a breath. “You know that’s not what I meant. Elias. He’s evil , Martin. And I can’t just sit around doing nothing like the rest of you while we wait for him to- to kill someone else-”
“That’s not what this is.” Martin’s jaw was set, arms crossed, and he looked like he was trying very hard to keep his voice even. “You think we want Elias to get his way? Of course I want him gone, Melanie. We all do. But there are ways to do it which don’t involve putting your friends in danger. I mean, Christ, Melanie, you nearly killed Jon!”
His tone was pleading with her to listen to reason, but she wasn’t ready to back down just yet. “Oh, that’s right,” she said, voice dripping with venom. “I forgot your little office crush is more important than a literally evil boss with paranormal powers who’s probably going to kill us all if we don’t do something about it!”
“That’s. Not fair.”
And Melanie wanted to keep arguing, but something in the fragility of his voice made her pause and drop her gaze. “No,” she said instead. “It’s not. I’m… Sorry.”
A sigh. “It’s okay.”
She laughed incredulously. “It’s not.”
“No. But… We’re doing the best we can, right? Considering.”
“Yeah.”
“Melanie?”
She looked up again to meet his gaze. “Yeah?”
“We’ll get Elias. One way or another. But we have to work together, okay? No more rogue assassination attempts. Alright?”
Melanie had a feeling she would regret agreeing, but she didn’t have the heart to argue with Martin anymore. “Alright.”
————
When Jon finally found the strength to open his eyes, he was surprised to find himself staring at the familiar ceiling of the closet at the back of document storage. It was the room where he’d kept a fold-out cot for ages, where he’d spent far too many late nights researching statements until his eyelids dropped shut of their own accord. His memories of the previous day were disjointed, shadowy. Had he worked late, decided to spend the night here? But that didn’t explain why his memory was so foggy. And why his hand felt so warm…
He looked over, and with a start, realized he wasn’t alone in the room. Martin was sitting across from him in the old overstuffed armchair Jon had never had the heart to get rid of, and he appeared to have been holding Jon’s hand while he slept. Martin himself appeared to have fallen asleep as well, and his head was drooping to one side in what must have been an uncomfortable position. Jon’s face suddenly felt very warm.
He tried to extract himself gently from Martin’s grip, but as he pulled his hand back, Martin stirred and blinked blearily. “Mmm, oh, hey Jon.” He sounded like he was still half-asleep, and Jon would’ve been content to leave it at that, but a second later Martin bolted upright in his chair. “Oh my God, Jon! You’re- How- Are you alright?”
“Um.” Jon winced at the scratchiness in his voice. He tried to think past the fog in his memories of the previous day as he sat up and squinted at Martin. “I think so? What… What happened?”
A flash of anger crossed Martin’s face. “There was… A bit of a, uh. A mix-up. Melanie tried to poison Elias. Using tea, of all things. And I must’ve, I dunno, grabbed the wrong mug when I gave you your tea. I’m so sorry, Jon, if I’d only been paying more attention-”
“Hey, it’s alright.” Jon felt distinctly unprepared to comfort Martin, but he tried anyway. “I’m fine now. I think. So no harm done, right?”
“Still. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
Martin just shrugged noncommittally. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the clock ticking on the wall above them.
Then Jon found himself laughing.
“Wh- Jon? What’s…”
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Jon gasped for breath, feeling a bit hysterical. “Can you imagine? If I’d died to fucking tea? After all the supernatural bullshit we deal with? God.” He grinned crookedly at Martin, who didn’t seem to be sharing in his amusement. “Oh, come on. You have to admit it would be ironic.”
“Jon! This is serious. You could’ve- you could’ve died !” But his lips twitched a little as he said it.
The next few minutes were spent in quiet companionship. Eventually, Martin yawned (and Jon tried very hard not to think about how cute that was). “It’s three AM, Jon. You should probably go back to sleep.”
“Can’t sleep now. I’m too…” Jon tried, and failed, to summon the words to describe how he felt. He gave up. “I need to record some statements, I think. Or do something productive, at least.”
“All right.” Martin helped Jon to his feet (despite Jon’s insistence that he was fine ), and walked with him back to his office. “I’ll just, um. Leave you to it, then.”
“Right.” Jon hesitated in the doorway. “Martin?”
“Yeah?”
“I… Thank you. For- for staying with me. It means… Rather a lot.”
Martin smiled at that, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and showed off the dimple in this cheek. “Y-you’re welcome. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
The moment lasted a little longer, until suddenly Jon became very aware that he was staring and Martin seemed to realize the same thing. Jon cleared his throat. “Right, well.”
“I-I’ll just let you, um…”
“I should… Yeah.”
“Right. Bye.”
“Yes. Goodbye, Martin.”
And Jon was sure, as he watched Martin walk away, that the reason he felt suddenly breathless was simply the aftereffects of an unfortunately poisoned cup of tea.