"Elias? You asked for me." I say, though the truth is, it was more of a demand than a request. Margaret had practically shouted into my corner of storage that Rosie had sent word for me to meet Elias, even though we didn't have anything scheduled yet. Preposterous.
He guides me into a chair by my shoulders, giving me little choice in the matter. "Wait here," he instructs before striding off, leaving me to ponder what this sudden summons could be about.
He yanks open a drawer with more force than necessary, unclipping a small box, and hefting a small roll of bandages. Oh. That. I split open my finger on one of the artefacts earlier. I figured it wasn't a big deal because I'd already written up the report on it.
"You could be more careful. These things are dangerous," Elias muses as he wipes my fresh wound with a small towelette, the antiseptic stinging on my skin. He wraps the wound on my finger with quick, efficient movements, his touch gentle yet firm.
"Yeah, I probably shoulda worn gloves. That one's my bad," I admit, feeling a pang of guilt settle in my stomach. He drops my hand suddenly, leaning in closer than I expected. Ohshit. What is he doing? Panic rises within me as his fingers brush against a soggy patch on my shirt.
"Elias!" I exclaim, taken aback by his sudden proximity.
"What happened?" he inquires, his tone sharp with concern.
"Oh, Martin was making us tea, and Jon accidentally spilled mine," I explain, trying to steady my racing heart.
"Are you alright?" I could almost believe there's concern in his words as his eyes search mine for any sign of distress.
"Yeah, I mean, it sucks. I kinda liked this shirt," I reply with a small excuse for a smile.
"Was it hot?" Elias presses.
"I guess."
"You..." Elias pauses, his expression softening, "Why are you so prone to injury?"
"It wasn't even my fault!" He always has me on my toes. I could defend myself to my death on a point that I didn't believe in if he argued it with me. I don't have to be right, but someone has to take him down a notch sometimes.
"Why are you worried about staining? What about your own health?" Why do you care? Worried about your shiny new toy getting scratches? I was broken long before I came into yours.
"I'm literally fine," I insist, trying to brush off his concern.
"You fell down the stairs after work yesterday," Elias reminds me, his arms folded tight over his chest. His fingers tap impatiently against his forearms. His disapproval stings. It presses through my skull, searching, nothing to find.
"I slipped," I retort, feeling a warm flush creeping up my neck. I've been making so many jokes lately that only I find funny. Okay, they're not jokes, they're just lies. It's a bit harder to lie to Elias, but I'm pretty sure he hates it, so…
"Over your own feet," Elias counters my pitiful response. I feel the need to push forward my additional defense before the courts! The stairs before the institute are my enemy. I have taken a tumble down them and up them yes, but on the occasion Elias saw, I was rushing because I hadn't wanted to keep him waiting. He was already in the car, and I had run back inside to grab my bag. Then, I felt really bad about making him wait because I am the kind of person that feels bad for breathing in the same space as another, sorry for taking up your time and space. If you could just forget, that would be great.
"I fail to see the..." I start, but my words trail off as I realize the validity of his concern. Perhaps I do need to be more careful, not just about stains on my shirt, but also about my own well-being. Nah. I'll go out however I go out. How far does Elias let me take things anyway? He claims I serve some greater purpose. "Maybe I was too busy falling for you, did you think about that?"
He stares at a point on the wall behind my head, his arms falling to his sides. "If you can make jokes, then you can leave."
Ouch. Not even a response. I am not sure why I thought to do that. I didn't expect anything of it at all, but I read a book the other day, and the love interest reminded me of him; it just slipped out, an impulsive remark sparked by a passing thought. But clearly, it was a misstep. "Can I touch you?"
"What? Uhm, sure." He takes a step back from me, watching me with a raised eyebrow. His eyes search mine for a response, and before I can chicken out, I throw myself at him. He lets out a dry cough as I wrap my arms around his back and press my face into his chest. "What are you doing?"
"I read it in a book once!" I mumble, pressing my ear against his chest. Sure enough, a heart pumps and sputters in there, good as new. It's sound is constant and presses back into me. It's nice. I wish I could be this close to someone forever. I don't really understand how you can be so fine. I mean you aren't, you are desperately scratching and tearing at the walls of this life–but so am I–and you seem to be dealing with it so much better.
His arms lay stiff at his side for a moment, then he raises an arm to encircle my shoulders. "Is it what you expected?" Wasn't sure you had a heart. How much leniency will you offer for me for the potential you say I have? Would you hold me like this again and again? Maybe one day it will feel right. You probably won't be so stiff then, or I'll be out of the picture entirely.
"You're kind of shitty at it." He huffs. "Thanks for checking in on me though." The ghost of his fingers gliding over my back, trying to offer some kind of comfort perhaps. He really is not as good at some of these things as I had expected him to be. It comforts me some to know.
He pushes me off him with some hesitation, his fingers lingering on my shoulders again. He readjusts and smoothes out my collar. "Use cold water and…actually, just give me your shirt later, and I'll clean it for you if you're so worried." Quite the generous offer. I wonder what the cost is of knowing you, Elias.
I should go. I think I have some notes I ought to bring over to Jon he was asking for answers on. Off to work or something like that. I nod a bye to Elias, and I am a foot out the door when he calls out to me again. "I'll be waiting for you after work. You don't have to rush or anything. You don't inconvenience me, Helen."
My hands tremble all the way back to storage, and I am not quick to find my notes. I feel lightheaded, a sense of anticipation pounds at my skull. I am terrified that Jon is going to ask me something that I will have to answer one day. I need to get out ahead of him.
I make my way to the archives, my mind racing. I know I can do this. I can. He's literally not scary. I'm scary! People are afraid of me. I've done…things. I can handle one silly archivist. I really hope he doesn't ask too many questions. I try to push aside my apprehension to focus on the task at hand. I knock twice, announcing my presence, and step inside.
"Hey, Jon, I have my notes on Ex Altiora. Did you still want these?" He didn't ask for these at all actually. I decided that I am going to be difficult today!
"No, not really. I asked for the ones on the Boneturner's Tale." I…what? What is he doing? That's just not true; he asked to talk with me about the Umbra Permanet, but I haven't gotten to it yet. You're not allowed to beat me at my own game, you bitch!
"Oh, I'm sorry. That's my fault. I brought the wrong ones," as if you could even read my handwriting, "but I can talk about it with you now and answer your questions if you need."
"I see…take a seat I guess," Jon says, his tone unreadable. If I had to describe it, I might say it's a bit sharp, like he's about to reprimand me, but he usually speaks to me like that.
I look over the notes he has scattered over his desk, and it reminds me a bit of my own situation, which he has criticized me on in the past. Hypocrite. Our organization systems appear to be equally flawed!
"So Grifter's Bone, what can you tell me about them?" Jon asks, his gaze dull but focused. He is up to something, and I don't know what. I don't like it. I don't like not knowing.
"I'm sorry, what?" I stammer, caught off guard by the conversation shift. He's sending me in circles right now. That's what I do. Does he know? Fuck, this could fuck things up. My heart pumps and sputters, and I feel it working harder than I want it to, my blood rushes beneath my skin. No. No. Please, not in front of Jon. I squeeze my eyes shut so tight everything feels dark for a moment, but it doesn't help. It only betrays me.
"You heard what I said…" his words slink to the back of my mind, and a headache is stirring. What? I force myself to take a deep breath, and my hand balls into a fist, my fingernails digging into my palm with a pinch. Focus on something, anything else. The pressure beneath my skin pulses and shudders.
"Why do you care? Jon, why are you giving me the runaround? I'm just trying to-"
"And do you have to ask so many questions? It's annoying," Jon interrupts me.
His abruptness and bluntness seems so much more prominent today. I guess I don't really have to. Right. I, uhm. I'll try to–
"It seems to me like you aren't very organized nor are you particularly great with time management. If you were one of my assistants, you'd be dragging the team down," Jon remarks.
Oh. Right. That hits deeper than I would like. My words die in my throat, and tears rise to my eyes. I wish I could go on, but fuck, I don't think I can. It's not that I don't have anything to say, the words fail to come together. I mumble a quiet string of gibberish, and he glares at me with those eyes. Jon is dangerous. He is a different kind of danger from Elias altogether. With Elias, his gaze is one I can predict, and his sharpness is one I have grown accustomed to. With Jon, however, his eyes do not search or pierce, but they still have great weight. I drop my eyes from his, my own gaze searching in desperation for anything.
Jon has bony fingers that are long and thin. I might even say that he has fingers like a spider.
A shaky silence falls over us. As a hot tear fights its way out of the corner of my eye, I spin on my heel and run out of the room. Is there a bathroom nearby? I just need a moment to breathe, then I will be fine. It's going to be okay.
Is it? A sob sends a tremor through my shoulders, and I press a hand over my mouth. He's right. I am annoying. I don't know what I am doing. Why am I even here? I don't belong here. I don't belong anywhere.
The hallways tightens in, closing in on me, suffocating. I press myself against the tile of the bathroom wall, trying to steady my breathing, but the panic that rises within me threatens to engulf me entirely. I sink to the floor, tears running hot down my cheeks, the overwhelming inadequacy a shadow that drowns me. I'm so sorry, Elias. I'll do better. Please. I'll do it better next time. The weight of my own insecurity is crushing, leaving me feeling so small and insignificant and lonely.
I clutch at my chest, trying to will the panic away, but the ache only spreads.