Hello everybody! It's me, back with another update. And it's on Sunday, just like I promised! (I'm so proud of myself ngl) I'm pretty pooped after having edited this chapter on my own, so there's not a lot I have to say...

So enjoy, alright?

-

"It's fascinating." Elias says, eyes roving over your face. He's got a hand pressed light against your throat, and you fear the moment that his grip turns bruising, "Who would have thought that a simple compulsion from the Archivist would have such... undue affects?"

It's a placid reminder to how your throat is still scraped raw, how it burns whenever you swallow. It's a glad thing your ability to speak is null and void most of the time, because you hope that it means your throat will heal that much faster.

"It's a shame that I can't test this myself. It must have been a jarring reminder, no? That you are nothing but a sacrifice to the Beholding?"

You didn't need the reminder, because you never forget. You can't forget, not when the Beholding keeps your words entirely to itself. Not when Elias reminds you every time, he calls you into his office for a little 'chat'.

"A suitable relic, you make. Things might have been more towards your favor had you not been the type to poke your nose into business that isn't yours but- well. Truly, a monument to your own suffering."

"So." Elias's hand reaches up to grab your chin, nails digging sharply into your skin, "Let's begin, shall we?"

-

"Somehow, you look even worse than the last time I saw you and that is not a compliment."

You glare tiredly at Tim from where you'd rested your head in your arms for only a second. You know you look like a mess, with how gaunt your face looks every time you've glanced in the mirror and how lethargy seems to live constantly in your bones. It's not exactly your fault it's just- it's hard to get any sleep these days will the constant reel of nightmares playing in your mind. You're only ever able to catch small snatches of sleep, most of the time with your head on your desk or curled up on the breakroom couch.

You don't know how long you'll be able to keep going, like this.

"Seriously though, are you okay?" Tim comes to lean against your desk and gives you a sidelong look, as if trying to compel the truth from you. You think it can't hurt to give him some sort of honesty.

Nightmares. And then, because you're very proud of having actually started putting in effort to learn BSL, even though most of the people you spend time with don't know sign language and have become used to you using your phone, you sign the word alongside.

Tim follows your hands curiously, and then does his best to replicate. It's- validating, somehow, to be able to talk like this. It's the next best thing after your actual words, after all. You want to be fluent in sign, one day.

"Must be some nightmares, huh."

Yeah.

"Ever thought of doing something about them? Because- like- while I love the whole sleeping on the job thing, getting the amount of sleep that you look like you do cannot be good for you."

It's not. Then, you add a little white lie to get him off your tail, because while Tim's concern is well meaning, there's nothing you can actually do about the nightmares. I've tried a few sleeping aids. None that have worked so far.

"I guess there's nothing to it than to keep trying, huh. Maybe you'll find something soon."

Yeah. Maybe. You don't have much hope for that happening though.

"Hey. Quick question." Tim's doing his very best not to look at you right now, which should tell you something, you suppose. "Have you been- do you record statements? Like Martin?"

No. You don't tell Tim why. You don't tell Tim that the last statement you recorded was Melanie's, and the statement you tried recording after left you having a panic attack so bad that Martin found you crouched behind your desk, shaking like a leaf. You don't tell Tim that you're effectively banned from recording statements, because there's really no escaping Martin when he's in mom-friend mode.

"Right. I don't really get why Martin does them, you know?" He's getting more animated, at this point, gesturing openly with his hands, "Like, what's the point? If it's what the spooky, voyeuristic Eye wants, shouldn't we- I don't know- do the opposite?"

Actually, now that you think about it, you don't think you recall why exactly Martin has been recording the statements. You don't think it was on his own volition, since first-hand experience tells you just how deeply unpleasant, they can be.

Why does Martin record them? I thought that was Jon's job.

Tim snorts, "Elias. I think it was some nonsense on us 'falling behind' or something like that."

Ah. Well. You can only be glad that Elias never gave you express instructions to record statements.

Speaking of which- the door smacks loudly against the wall as it opens. Both you and Tim flinch at the loud noise, turning to see Martin panting in the doorway, clutching desperately at the doorknob. "Sorry- sorry- just- Jon's here? And- and- um- he has the- uh- detectives, with him. Both of them. And Elias wants to see us in his office."

Oh God. It's already time.

You and Tim share a commiserating look as you move to follow after Martin.

-

The whole encounter goes about the same as it probably did in canon, save for Melanie's absence, a fact you are still fiercely proud of. It's the entirety of the informally dubbed Archives crew, plus Basira and Daisy. Elias does his usual show of being a smugly knowing asshole as he lays out exactly why the lot of you shouldn't kill him, with the lives of everyone in the Institute hanging in the balance and all.

It's when he's saying this part that your eyes narrow distastefully, because you know that Elias doesn't know that for a fact. It's a bluff that never gets cleared up in canon, so even if you could tell the others, you would never be sure if Elias is wrong or not. Elias sees the struggle on your face of course, and you're not quite sure if you simple imagined the smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

He gets Basira to sign a contract, gets Daisy to agree to being his lap dog until she finds a way to kill him, and does it all with the shadows of a smile and a smug undercurrent.

"Now-" Elias takes Basira's employment form and files it away carefully, "-that's taken care of, if you'll give me a moment alone with Jon. I'm sure we have some things to discuss."

Martin goes to protest, "But-" only to be stopped when you put a hand on his shoulder and shake your head, at the same time Daisy shoulders past Martin with a muttered, "Come on."

Martin looks helplessly between you and Tim, who just shrugs and goes to follow the murder cop. When the rest of you, sans Jon, make it out in the corridor, Daisy has already vanished completely from view. Basira dawdled besides the three of you before she hitched a thumb after her partner, "Yeah, I'm just gonna..." and leaves.

You stare silently after the two departed cops. Leaving?

Martin translates for you, since Tim doesn't know this particular sign. "Leaving? The Institute?"

You shrug.

"If that's an invitation to cut this horrible workday, count me the fuck in."

You point at Tim while looking Martin right in the eye as if to say, yes, this man has the right idea.

-

Martin comes with you and Tim as far as the Institute steps before getting intimidated by Tim's continued insistence on going out for drinks.

It's okay. You tell Martin, you don't have to drink anything if you don't want to.

"Oh- no- it's fine. Really! I'd rather- um- I'd rather go home and- and take some time to myself..."

He looks exhausted already, which you empathize completely with. And hey, everyone has their own ways of dealing.

You nod and give him a stiff smile, waving goodbye as Martin starts in the direction of his tube home.

"So!" Tim claps his hands together in a morbid sort of, I-am-eager-start-drinking-and-forgetting cheer, "Drinks?"

-

You end up convincing yourself against drinking after all, with worries about getting home and not wanting to deal with a hangover tomorrow morning. That last one specifically, because if Jon has any sense, he'll talk to the rest of you tomorrow. If not- well. You'll make him.

Because the next step is the Unknowing, right? With Daisy and Basira here, the Archives crew starts on figuring out how to stop the Unknowing. Except you can't remember exactly how anyone got any comprehensive information on the Clown apocalypse to begin with, and you don't know how to share the information you have without seeming sus.

Like, you know, when you fucked up with the Web table.

Then again, Jon already knows you have more information than you let on, but you don't know what you can tell him and you don't fancy him asking...

You know, fuck Elias. Fuck Elias Bouchard for putting you through this mess, for not even letting you help properly. Fuck him.

Guess you'll just have to figure it out as you go, huh? One step at a time.

-

You end up spending the night at Tim's, more for his sake than yours. You didn't drink as heavily as he did, but you were definitely tipsy by the time you managed to convince him to head home.

It's in the early hours of the morning that you finally get a good look at Tim's apartment. The place itself is not bad, a heaven sent when it comes to London, especially when you consider that Tim is renting a two bedroom all on his own. He uses the other room as storage space, but the couch is a pull out and it's where you spent the night.

You're in the kitchen, savoring the quiet morning when Tim finally emerges from his own bedroom. He collapses into the chair opposite to you, face down and groaning long and loud. "I feel like shit."

You huff. You tried to tell him not to drink as much but did he listen? No.

Tim sits up after a few moments and blearily runs a hand through his hair, looking absentmindedly in the direction of the kitchen. "What food do I have in there? I needed something to eat like yesterday."

That would have been a good idea, if for nothing else but to soak up the alcohol. But, well, neither of you considered it so... You finish the cup of coffee in your hand and stand up, putting the mug in the sink as you open the fridge with one hand. You find half a carton of eggs and a stick of butter and, on some further investigation, half a loaf of bread. With a glance back at Tim to confirm he wouldn't mind you cooking, you pull all the ingredients out and start on some eggs and toast.

Breakfast is a quiet affair, Tim being miserably hungover but grateful for not having to cook and you who cannot for the life of you be bothered to get your phone to 'talk'. Its only when Tim has polished his plate and looks a little better with sustenance in his stomach, that he sits up and says, "What do you think 's going to happen now?"

You blink, the sudden rupture of silence a gentle push out of your own thoughts. When your mind catches up with Tim, you look at his vacant gaze and shrug.

"Honestly I-" Tim runs a hand through his hair, his eyebrows furrowing slightly with some unknowable emotion, "I didn't expect him to just come back, you know? I mean- it's not that easy to return to your life after you've been framed for murder, is it?"

You perse your lips. Tim's chair scrapes back as he gets up and heads back into the house for a second, returning with a notepad and pen but also, his phone. He passes all three things to you, the phone already unlocked, and you ignore the writing utensils in favor of typing.

Maybe sometimes it is that easy to come back.

"But it shouldn't be. And what about the rest of us, huh? Are we just supposed to pretend that everything is still sunshine and fucking rainbows?"

No. A split second of hesitation, before you continue, you don't have to talk to him at all.

Tim gives you a dry look, "He's my boss."

You shrug. Still. It's not like this is a normal job.

Tim huffs in concession. "That's true." His hands wander over to his half empty coffee cup, the drink already long cold by now, but he continues sipping from it anyways. Tim's elbow comes up to prop itself on the table and he presses a hand against his forehead. "God, I wish I could just fucking quit."

Oh, don't you whole heartedly understand that sentiment.

"What's even the point of the rest of us sticking around when everything spooky seems so terribly interested in Jon, of all bastards. It's like- he's your favorite, we get it Elias!"

You laugh silently into the palm of your hand, catching Tim's eye as a smile hitches on his face. "It's not like any of us know what's going on, and who knows what the boss has been up to on the run."

Well. You know what he's been up to. Your heart skips a beat at the sudden thought, eyes flickering from the phone in front of you to Tim, who's staring off to the side in thought. You should tell him. Could you tell him? What if you said too much? What if Elias decided you blabbed and 'punished' you for it?

"I just-" he speaks quietly, hurt shading his words, "I used to think I could find something here, you know? Something that would- I don't know- make some sort of sense. But it's just been- one crises after another since we joined the Archives and then I lost Sasha and nobody noticed-" by the time Tim stops his breathing is significantly heavier. You don't have the words to comfort him, even if you could say them. You reach towards him, putting your hand palm up in an invitation. His eyes flicker to your hand and back at you, before a warm grip envelope your own.

You squeeze his hand.

"I miss Sasha. I miss- God, I miss thinking this was just a normal job. I wish we could just get out of here."

Yeah. You too.

Tim barks out a forceful laugh and wipes furiously at his eyes, where you pretend not to see the tears. "I- I don't think I've ever told anyone but- with everything's that's happening..." he squeezes your hand again. You watch as his gaze remains settled on a point above your shoulder and you think he might be scared. "You know I- I used to have a little brother?"

Oh.

Tim doesn't wait for you to fumble with a response. "He- well- you could say he's the reason I joined the Institute in the first place. Thought I could find something, maybe, something to explain how he died. Something to- to take revenge against. I don't know how long I looked before I got- complacent, I think.

"And that was fine. It- if anyone told me Danny wouldn't want me wasting my life away trying to- to avenge him, I would have clocked them straight in the face- but it's true. He wouldn't want me throwing my life away because of his death.

"And it was fine for a while, you know? I hadn't known I'd find Sasha working at the Institute after losing touch with her after school and back in those days when we all used to work in Research, once you got to know him Jon wasn't half bad either. But then..."

Tim goes quiet after that, and you don't know what to say. You don't know if it's your place to ask about Danny, even if you do know what happened to him. What matters is if Tim wants to tell you or not, and the more time that passes sitting silently in the early hours of morning, you think he's starting to convince himself that this was a mistake. When he pulls away, you reach for the phone and ask anyways.

What happened to him?

Tim stares quietly at the question. "I used to think I has hallucinated the whole thing. But with the whole Jane Prentiss thing, S-Sasha and- and Michael I- It sounds crazy until you know better, I guess. But I watched a clown skin my brother." 

-

Welp, that's another chapter right there for you lovely folks. See you next time, yeah?

Signed

Your Captain, Lynda