Work Text:
He’s been at this for 14 hours, sorting statements into the piles he’s made up. Obviously he’s can’t keep getting up and down so he has three boxes around him, not including the one he dumped the various statements in while picking them out of the archives. They are, one ‘give to the others for reviewing information’ two, ‘unconvincing’ and three ‘ghost stories’.
A handful in the second pike and the rest in the third, none worthy of giving to his coworkers. He wouldn’t want to waste their time, he’s their boss now, he needs to be as professional as possible.
The others tent to a takeout night every week for ‘morale’, Elias explained to John when he was moving his things into his office. He isn’t convinced, not hearing a word of it from his colleagues. Either he’s being played or he’s doing a bad job, well maybe people don’t invite their bosses to social gatherings..
He sits down to review yet another statement, he would have more in the boxes if they didn’t take so much out of him. Maybe it’s the ventilation? He has to take a hour break between them, he takes another two ibuprofen, pulling his glassinf back up from around his neck then being on a chain, balancing them on the tip of his nose. John sighs, his eyes ghosting over the first sentence when a he hears a soft knock rapping at his door.
”What is it?”
He snaps, shit. That could be Elias, what on earth is he thinking?
The door opens wordlessly and there’s Martin in the doorway, leaning against it with a cup of tea in hand. The mug is black with yellow cat eyes facing him. Martin is a tall man standing at 5’9, )well tall to Johns 5’3) he’s soft around his middle and thighs, his arm wrapping around himself, hand against his stomach. He’s wearing another one of that ghastly jumpers, this time it’s a field with fluffy sheep dotted along the grassy, he fiddles with the wool of one. Brown slacks, blue trainers. He’s pale, skin sprinkled in mikes and freckles not missing his face, where like John, glasses lay. His are gold frames, square. Hair short, messes up, ginger. A 5 o’clock shadow, that’s new.
John is 5’3, average build with a softer stomach, his skin is dark olive, littered in little scars up his arms and hands from scratching them. His hair is medium length, black, tied up with a green bobble, strands that have sprang loose hang over his forehead just under his eyes. He’s wearing a light green dress shirt, a black tie, black trousers and black dress shoes.
”Hey John, I’m uh- sorry if I’m.. disturbing you but I- we haven’t seen you all day, you haven’t even asked us to review any statements, are you okay? I know we don’t know eachother but we’re a team and-“
Martin looks the boxes on the floor and the one of the unread statements on Johns desk.
”Woah, how long have you been working? It takes me a day to get through one.”
John sighs.
”I’m Working, thank you for your concern Martin but I assure you I’m perfectly fine. I need to get this box finished, then I will leave.”
Martin puts the tea down on Johns desk, frowning down at him.
”I really don’t think this is healthy, I mean- your done, what.. 7? And there’s at least 30 left in that box-“
John cuts Martin off.
“I am fine. I’m perfectly fine, I can do my job I am capable you know- just because I’m- I am your boss you know.”
Martin claps.
”okay, so I’ll go tell Elias how long you’ll be working and he’ll say it’s okay will he? You know it’s literally illegal for you to work more than 5 hours without a break?”
“…For fucks sake.”
______________
Martin gently guides john out his office after scooping up the tea he left on the desk, into the living room, well they call it that. Elias is oddly nice to his workers, giving them a room dedicated to rest. Soft sofas with pillows and cushions, a tv with decent signal, even an old Xbox he picked up somewhere. It has weird stains on the white cover but it works fine.
John is livid, he could always fire Martin but.. that seems more of a trouble than it’s worth. It’s 8pm, he’ll surely fall asleep doing whatever he thinks he’s doing giving him the opportunity to sneak back to his ordering. He feels his skin tingling, not being able to handle a task nor being done. Once he starts something he has to finish it or die trying, no matter the seriousness.
”So what genre?”
John whips his head over to face Martin, who’s sitting on a grey sofa. Already having kicked his shoes off, curls up under a blanket. He’s leaning his elbow on the arm to hold his face, looking at John with a brow raised, tv remote in hand.
John is still in the doorway not over the threshold yet to this annoyingly unprofessional space.
”What was that?”
”What Genre? You seem the sort to not be able to sit still so, what do you want to watch?”
“Um, a documentary. Do they.. is there access to any?”
Martin goes on a streaming service, finding a documentary on some ocean creatures and pats the space next to him.
”Come on then, or I could go if you’re not comfortable of course. I put your tea on the other side.”
The cat mug is steaming up from his presumed area, its mocking him.
”I will Join you, shortly.”
he turns tail, making a escape to the bathroom next to his office. Immediately locking the door.
He groans loudly, using a hand towel to muffle it. When taking his face away he sees its white covered in little black eyes, he feels like he’s being watched. John checks the door is locked then drops his pants, sitting on the toilet. He reaches over to turn the tap on, worrying the sound of him peeing will somehow out him. Is cis men’s pee noises louder or quieter. Surely louder. He digs his elbows into his soft thighs, shoves his face into his hands feeling his binder dig into his sides with every deep breath he takes.
What would Martin say if he knew? Not that he cares about his opinion anyway, of course he doesn’t. Martin does subpar work, really, it’s a wonder how he’s even kept his Job this long. Sauntering around with tea and making pepper take ‘breaks’. He’s cutting down productivity if anything. He wipes, pulls up his pants buckling his belt, sticking his hands in the sink. Cold water from the tap splashes over his hands with the soap he rubs into them, cooling down his entire being. He wipes his face with some, then dries hands and face with the same towel from earlier. In the living room Martin has changed positions, from propping his chin up using the arm to putting pillows against the side curling up facing the TV. He’s scrolling on his phone, eyes fluttering open as they slowly close periodically.
”I’m back.”
He states, taking his spot. Not slipping off his shoes, he sits down manspreading, There’s plenty of space. He takes the mug into his hands watching the steam coil then float upward.
”Oh, hey! Shall I start it now then?”
Martin’s eyebrows knit together, why does John look so.. He’s stiff as anything, sitting next to him. Could it be that Martin is making him uncomfortable? He is a large, tall man. He could be coming off as intimidating without realising it, John doesn’t seem the sort to be intimated though based on stature. Just status.
John’s eyes dart to the mug, the cat eyes stare back into his own. He sips it, camomile tea.
”Yeah, that’d be okay.”
________
About 20 minutes in, Martin is still in his original position. John has changed his the same number of minutes they’ve been sitting here, currently having a throw pillow against his chest watching a school of fish swim across the screen. The narrator spouting some dribble about migration patterns, it’s clear he was Choosen because of his calming voice, not actual knowledge. Irritating, both that and the fact Martin is wide awake. He shifts again pulling the pillow along with him, he lies on the sofa, feet over the arm, pillow in his chest.
“John, do I make you uncomfortable?”
Martin’s voice cuts through the ‘calming’ narration like a heated knife gliding through butter, what? What a ridiculous notion. Martin, the happy golden retriever of the archives managing to make anyone uncomfortable.
”Why do you ask? And no.”
”Because you’ve been moving around so much! It’s like it’s uncomfortable by just being near me- it is okay if you want to be left alone you know I get it we’re practically strangers and I’ve dragged you out your office-“
”It isn’t that.”
He glares at the man across him in that hideous jumper.
”When I start a task, I need to finish it. No matter what, no matter what the task is. Cleaning, to cooking, to filing. I admit I probably was over presumptuous with the amount I.. decide to task myself with.”
He feels his cheeks heat up with the admission.
Here his is, the Archivist opening admitting he is over his head, incompetent, Martin will run to Elias the first opportunity he gets then he’ll be back at square one Archival assistant. He anxiously fiddles with his shirt, unbuttoning and buttoning the top of his collar. A nervous habit he’s been trying to brush off for a long while.
He hears a sigh from next to him, he braces himself for the ‘you’re over your head’ or ‘you should ask for help’. It feels like a failure being able to succeed professionally independently.
”Pace yourself, I get like that sometimes- not with everything like you’re saying but with work.”
He laughs. Martin continues.
”I mean I’d draft up reports for cases and if I didn’t hit over a certain word count, 345, I’d beat myself up over it. No clue why, never had anyone in my ear nagging me about it..”
Huh.
”Well you should focus on the innards of your research not a stupid blood word count.”
John and Martin sit there for a moment in silence, until the latter starts laughing and the former joins. Both exhausted in their own right it seems. Martins then echos his own thoughts.
”I’m tired. I’m not moving, I’m going to watch these fish until I fall asleep. I need a damn break.”
He pulls off his Jumper, underneath Martin is wearing a plain light blue t shirt. His arms are strong, forearms dusted in ginger hair. He hangs it on the back of the sofa grunting as he moves, he rubs his lower back afterwards, promptly curling back up. John is freezing, he refuses to use any of the blankets, feeling like that would be following the footsteps of the previous Archivist Gertrude Robinson. It’s ridiculous but he feels like any step he takes in her footsteps, however small will result in him following them all the way to her own fate.
”Weird question, can I borrow your.. jumper? The, the blankets aren’t the- yeah. Do you mind?”
His colleagues eyes that were half lidded, flick open. He faces John.
”who are you and what have you done with The Archivist? Also yes, that’s fine. Just be careful with the tea.”
John pulls it on, the sheep field now crumpled against his smaller torso. The sleeves over his hands, he rolls the up but the material is too soft. They fall back down.
______
Martin has fallen asleep, it’s 10pm. Perfect. He slips off his shoes carefully putting them beside his own arm of the sofa, sockfooted, he sneaks across the living room, making his way to the hallway, past the bathroom, to the front door of his office. He slips in, John relaxes once inside. He sighs in relief, then he hears the office door slam behind him. Shit.
He doesn’t hear Martin getting up, or the tv pausing. He must of gotten away with it, he puts his glasses back on his face. Sitting at his desk, knees to his chest. Everything hurts, everything is sore. He needs to ask Elias for a new chair, or buy a cheap Ikea one and slip it in the Archives somehow. He rummages through the unsorted box on his desk taking out a statement from one Alice Newman, 1945, a strange occurrence with a kettle. Must be Martins distant relative.
”What the f- heck John?”
He cringes, grimacing he tries to read on. Until some soft but firm hands take it from his loose grasp, placing it back in the box.
”No. We had- of course you’re this stubborn, you’ve never listened to any of us regarding a case and I don’t suppose you’d do so with your health. Why am I even surprised?!”
John look down, feeling scolded. Still in Martins jumper, his face flushes embarrassment.
”If I want to use my time working, I am bloody well inclined to do so- the Archives are a mess! Somebody has to be doing their job!”
Another angry flush from a different owner.
”You think we aren’t working as hard as you are? We Woukd if you gave us the opportunity to help, we can’t all- pop up randomly knowing what you want like Elias does!”
”Im sorry Martin, that isn’t fair. I suppose I haven’t been..”
”Nice?”
”Ive been a dick, I am sorry.”
He ushers himself out the room and to the sofa, when Martin joins him he looks at his bosses face. Knees to his chest glaring like an angry cat, speaking of, his socks have cats all over. He closes the living room door, curling back up in his space. Then throws his blanket back over himself, John cuddles the throw pillow with a halfhearted huff and closes his eyes.