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His assistants aren’t as sneaky as they think they are.
Or maybe they would be, if Jon couldn’t feel their excitement from all the way in his office, only growing as the morning progressed. It’s a steady hum in his chest, light and electric like sparklers. He can’t help but bounce his leg under his desk, trying to shake out the excess energy, to no avail.
Now that he thinks about it, he remembers feeling touches of mischief from them all over the past week, the occasional light tickle under his arms. It was impish but with no real malice behind it, so he chose to let it be. In retrospect, it was certainly scheming, all evidently concentrated on today.
And of course it’s today. His birthday.
They had already given him a bottle of wine, gaudy bow and all, and he had assumed that would be the end of it. However, it seems that they won’t be going back to a normal work day after all.
Jon had tried to intervene a few times only to be intercepted by Sasha, Tim, and even Martin, distracted and deviated back into his office or document storage with some excuse or another. Lying isn’t an emotion, exactly, but it’s simple for Jon to tell when someone is hiding something. Their words won’t match their emotions, like Tim and Sasha’s determination when they’re trying to seem nonchalant. Martin’s more jittery about the whole thing, something twisty and anxious curling in Jon’s stomach when they talk, but he’s playing along all the same.
He wants to be irritated by all this fuss, but it’s difficult. Not only because of his assistants pushing their way under his skin with a united front of enthusiasm—though that’s certainly a hindrance to getting any work done—but Jon thinks he’s a little flattered. He… can’t remember the last time he had a birthday party, let alone a surprise one. Not that he likes parties, but perhaps if it’s just the four of them it will be manageable...
Although, really, they could have waited until after work.
Finally, he receives a text from Sasha about a problem in the break room that he needs to check out, right now please. Instead of the panic and worry he might have felt, Jon heads down the hall as calmly as he can while anticipation that’s only partly his own coils in his gut, ready to spring.
Just because he’s expecting it doesn’t mean he doesn’t jump half a foot in the air when the three leap out with shouts of “Surprise!” At least he manages not to shriek, even with Sasha blowing a party horn directly in his ear.
“Happy birthday, boss!” Tim crows, grinning from ear to ear, his happiness fizzy like a shaken-up soda.
“Happy birthday!” Sasha echoes, just as bubbling.
“H-happy birthday, Jon.” Martin’s more subdued, but even he is pleased.
“Hope we didn’t scare you too bad,” Sasha adds with a wry smile.
Jon laughs a bit, too overwhelmed by their combined joy not to. “No, I’m quite alright, thank you. This is…” He takes in their party hats, streamers taped along the ceiling, Happy Birthday! banner strung across the cabinets, balloons scattered on the floor, and their pride soft and warm like sunlight on his skin. “Very nice. If elaborate.”
“Only the best for the boss man!” Tim declares.
“Is that why you didn’t do all this for Martin’s birthday?” Jon asks, gesturing a bit helplessly at the barrage of colors.
Tim shakes his head, his amusement bubbling like a laugh in his chest such that Jon has to fight to keep a smile off his own face. “One, Martin is way too jumpy as it is for a surprise party—”
Martin makes a noise of indignation, something a little shy but defensive prickling in Jon. Like a hedgehog, Jon thinks inanely.
“Two, we wanted to do something to lighten the mood, you know?”
That penetrates the ebullient haze enough for Jon to feel his own discomfort. “Yes, I-I know this has been stressful for everyone.” He fiddles with his shirt cuffs, no longer looking at them and their combined brightness.
His assistants have been working diligently, but Jon has felt their frustration simmering as they’ve dug their way through this mess of an archive. He’s unsure how much of it is directed at him, but it probably isn’t an insignificant amount. After all, Jon is the one in charge, even though he doesn’t know what he’s doing any more than they do.
Sometimes, Jon wishes he hadn’t dragged Tim and Sasha down here. Most times, he can’t imagine doing it with anyone else. Their emotions are a vital familiarity in this onslaught of change.
Martin… is another problem. It’d be easier to adjust if his primary emotions weren’t nervous and stressed, a cloud of twisted knots in his head and anxious tapping in his fingertips. Jon knows, rationally, that Martin didn’t ask for this any more than he did, but the compounded anxiety between them is slowly driving Jon up the wall.
But here Martin is with the others, trying to bring some levity to this wreck. He can see why they feel this is necessary.
To his surprise, bemusement colors his assistants, wisps of pale blue. “Well, yeah, it hasn’t been easy,” Sasha says, “but you’ve been more worked up than all of us. We thought you could use a chance to unwind.”
Jon wants to retort to that, but there’s no easy way to explain that it’s because he’s harboring all their agitation at once and that he’s not uniquely deserving of a break. But… this is helping, he thinks. Jon doesn’t think the archives have ever felt this light and jovial. So if they want to do this in his name, so be it.
Jon clears his throat and offers them the weak substitute of a smile— even Martin. “I… suppose it couldn’t h—”
Something pierces the back of Jon’s head, sharp interest and intrigue like needles in his skin, and he doesn’t quite suppress a flinch. He instinctively looks over his shoulder into the dim hallway, his heart beating quicker before he remembers when he had felt this before, this prickling all over his skin like lying on a nail bed. (Although now, there is the curious addition of hunger yawning low in his stomach.)
The head of the institute smiles at Jon as he steps into the doorway. “Knock knock,” Elias says with accompanying raps on the door.
His assistants experience a flash of surprise— not a planned guest, then— but Tim recovers quickly. “Double boss!”
Sasha smiles tentatively. “Elias?”
All three of his assistants are tense as bow strings, rigid where moments ago they were relaxed. The intrusion is making all of them uncomfortable, grating against Jon like steel wool, and before he knows what he’s doing Jon’s stepping between them and Elias.
Meeting Elias’ eye is like staring at snow on a sunny day, bright white reflecting back and scorching his retinas. Jon’s never met a man quite as intense and intrusive with his emotions as Elias Bouchard, and it throws him off every time he’s so much as in the same room as the man. This is no different, his questioning look burrowing under Jon’s skin.
The softer curiosity of the others at his back is, for once, a welcome intrusion. Focusing on them helps Jon push on and blink the ache from his eyes.
“Elias. We, er, weren’t expecting you today.” Jon feels a bit stupid stating the obvious, though he doesn’t know what else he would have said.
Elias makes a show of looking past Jon and raking his eyes over the display his assistants had put together. “Clearly,” he says. His smile is amused but there’s something filmy about it that clings to Jon’s skin, like he’s holding them in contempt in some way, and it makes him want to shrink back. But then Elias adds, “I’m not too late for cake, am I?”
Jon’s thrown enough to look over his shoulder at his assistants. “There’s cake?” They really did go all-out. And if Elias just came down here for cake, well. That explains the hunger.
Surprise colors his assistants again, an increasingly familiar shade of light yellow. “How did y— Martin!” Tim sputters, a sting of betrayal in Jon’s sternum as he turns on Martin. “That was a secret!”
Martin immediately holds his hands up. “I didn’t say anything!” Panic instead of guilt corroborates his words, and then Elias confirms it for everyone else.
“He didn’t have to. Nothing escapes my notice, and I like to keep an eye out for this sort of thing.” Self-satisfied amusement curls in Jon’s chest, as if Elias is laughing at a private joke. Jon can’t even begin to guess at what it could be.
“Well— it’s— good to see you,” Tim says with an effort.
The party mood has dimmed considerably, and something childish in Jon balks at letting Elias stay and ruin what his assistants worked so hard for. But Elias outranks them all, and there’s nothing for it but to be polite.
“Come— come in, Elias.” There’s a half-second pause before Jon realizes he’s still blocking the way and sidesteps sheepishly, in his haste almost bumping into Sasha.
“So, how old is the birthday boy?” Elias asks as he steps in properly.
Jon panics a bit. The truth feels… undermining. “Uh— thirty-eight.”
Sasha scoffs and flicks him on the shoulder. “Liar.”
Everyone laughs, their amusement tickling his ribs, and Jon struggles not to squirm. “How would you know?”
“What, does someone need to change their password again?” Tim’s teasing could be directed at Jon or Sasha, but that’s not nearly as important as the implications.
“I— what?” Jon sputters over Tim’s laughter. “Sasha, have you been going through my computer—”
Sasha quickly shakes her head. “Definitely not, no idea what he’s talking about.” Jon doesn’t need his ability to know she’s lying, but he feels like he should be concerned that there’s not even a drop of guilt.
“‘Course not,” Tim agrees with an exaggerated wink. There’s something warm between him and Sasha, a sort of reddish-orange that’s familiar and deeply fond. Not for the first time, Jon wishes they didn’t use their camaraderie for antics.
“That’s really not appropriate,” Jon protests even as their laughter overrides him.
To his surprise, Martin comes to his defense. “Oh, come on, guys!” Jon thinks it’s more of an admonishment for the teasing than the breach of privacy, and it rankles Jon a bit that Martin thinks he needs defending.
“Anyways,” Elias smoothly cuts in, “Somebody mentioned cake.” That someone was him, but none of them point that out.
They manage to get around to the cake, eventually, a store-bought sheet cake covered in frosting and a generous handful of candles. Sasha helpfully lays out paper plates and plastic cutlery, with their usual mismatched mugs alongside them on the table. Jon steadfastly endures their off-key singing and Tim having the gall to light the candles, though their amusement at his embarrassment continues to itch.
“So, blow them out, then,” Sasha interrupts Jon’s protest.
“Oh. Right, yeah—”
“And make a wish,” Elias adds.
Jon considers the people around him, a dizzying mix of colors but overall… happy, like each of them is their own candle warming his chest. It’s hard to stay mad at them in the face of that— even Tim and his matches.
“I suppose it’s a bit too late to wish for a normal work day?” Jon asks, only half-joking.
“We all know one day of work isn’t going to make a dent in this,” Tim says— not derisive, just resigned.
“U-uh, T-Tim—”
Tim casts a questioning glance at Martin, who’s making an unsubtle nod toward Elias, and quickly plasters on a smile. “Oh. Uh, we’re happy to put in the work, of course! But it’s a special occasion and all. I mean, Jonny boy only turns—”
“Don’t call me that,” Jon snaps. “Just— here—” He hurriedly blows out the candles, to cheers all around. It’s not hard to come up with a wish; it’s the same every year.
“So, what did you wish for?” Tim asks, all niggling curiosity.
Jon crosses his arms. “I can’t tell you.”
“He wished for a little time to himself,” Elias answers.
Jon sighs. He’s sure everyone recognizes that he’s not good with people, but— “Was it that obvious?” After all, it’s not until all the tenants in the flats surrounding him go to sleep that Jon can be sure the emotions sitting in his chest are his own. And by then exhaustion usually takes over. It feels like there’s so little time to be himself.
“You can go back to being a recluse in your office after the party,” Tim declares, having no way of knowing how little that helps. Then, brandishing the bottle Jon had left here in the breakroom, asks, “Wine, anyone?”
Jon can’t help making a face. Alcohol and his ability don’t mix well. “Tim, it’s eleven in the morning.”
Heedless, Tim pops the cork anyway. “Pfft, yeah, at your birthday party.” He starts pouring, still talking. “Look, I know you’re a horrible lightweight and get drunk off, like, half a beer—”
“What, really?” Sasha grins.
Jon regrets letting Tim convince him to go out for drinks that one night. He had made the greatly mistaken assumption that he had gotten better control since college, only to get second-hand drunk off the emotions of the entire bar. Tim’s warm fondness as he offered to carry Jon home on his back almost made up for it. Almost.
“It’s— it’s a medical condition,” Jon stammers.
“I-I know what you mean,” Martin says with a strained smile. “I get headaches from t-tannis, so I— I probably shouldn’t either—”
Sasha gives them both a look, suspicion sliding off her like oil. “Boys.”
Martin breaks quickly in the face of that. “W- uh– yeah, sure, maybe, just uh, a drop. Heh.” He takes the mug Tim’s poured him, cradling it like he would a hot cup of tea.
Over the din of the others, it’s hard to get much from Martin beside his usual nerves, but part of his statement bothers Jon. “You know that there’s a lot of tannin in tea as well?”
Martin blinks at him, his alarm spiking in Jon’s gut. “What?”
Jon opens his mouth to reply, but his eye catches on the tape recorder sticking innocently out of Tim’s pocket. It takes a minute to get that sorted out and turned off, Tim making a show of removing the tape and sliding it away to do who knows what with it before the party resumes. Jon has worryingly little sway over his assistants, and his own boss is joining them besides. Goes to show that birthday privileges only get you so far.
He’s only able to retreat after having a party hat forced on him so he can match the others (though Elias is notably exempt), posing for a group picture, and a single sip of wine to assuage Tim. He takes a slice of cake (marble chocolate and vanilla, with the least amount of frosting he could manage) and sits on the break room couch, just outside the immediate storm of revelry.
Sasha and Tim get into some sort of light-spirited debate that almost balances out the continued looming presence of Elias. The pair’s banter feels reminiscent of what he had with Georgie once, playful and all too familiar, and Jon shoves a forkful of cake in his mouth to give his mind something sweeter to focus on.
Between the two forces in the room, Jon doesn’t notice Martin pulling up a chair by him until he’s clearing his throat.
“S-so. Do you- do you like your party?” he asks with a tentative smile. His emotions are already a bit fuzzy in the way Jon associates with alcohol consumption, mostly a happy pink, and his usual nerves dulled.
Jon swallows his cake and tries to put thought into his answer, but Martin isn’t the only one in the room who’s getting fuzzy. “As I said, it’s very nice,” he repeats. “And at least the wine is going to use.” Jon really doesn’t know what Tim was thinking, getting him that. Perhaps that it would last Jon a long while.
Martin chuckles, but it’s forced. “Ye-yeah. So, it’s… true, then? What Tim said about—”
“Let’s just say that I’d much rather be drinking tea,” Jon interrupts. He’s not keen on retelling the incident, though Tim probably will if asked.
“Oh! Well, I can, I can make you a cup real quick—”
“No, don’t bother,” Jon says quickly, trying to quash Martin’s dandelion-yellow eagerness. Then he adds, just as a test, “Besides, I’m sure there’s enough tannin in the wine.”
Martin flushes and his embarrassment burns in Jon’s own ears. Caught, then. “Uh, yeah, I don’t— I didn’t mean—”
Jon shifts uncomfortably. “Martin. It’s fine. I can understand a reluctance to drink at eleven on a workday. It’s something I expect from sensible people,” he says with a look at his other assistants. Somehow Tim has managed to get frosting on not only his nose but also just over his eyebrow. Sasha is surreptitiously trying to take a picture on her phone. Elias is… Elias, and getting seconds from the cake.
Something heavy and warm curls in Jon’s chest and it takes his slowly addling brain a moment to place it. Martin is— pleased. He belatedly recognizes the indirect compliment he unwittingly gave.
Well. He can’t exactly take it back. Martin isn’t insensible, after all. Just needs better direction. He’s good at people at least, something Jon is chronically incapable of.
Martin gives him an odd look, but his smile is soft and there’s something like fondness warming his chest. “Th-thanks, I think.”
Wait. Did Jon say all that out loud?
Oh good lord, the wine is really getting to him.
He stands up, only a touch unsteady on his feet. “I’m going back to my office. You all can enjoy the party.”
“W-what? But it’s your party!” Martin protests, but Jon’s already heading to the trash to dump his barely-touched slice of cake.
Sasha catches him by the arm just after he puts his mug in the sink. “Jooooon,” she sing-songs, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I-I was in the middle of something before you lured me here,” he points out. He finds himself leaning into her anyway, Sasha’s tipsy affection slipping into his system.
“Right. Well, it’ll still be there later.” She tugs him and Jon follows, stumbling, back to the table. “Come on, we’re playing cards.”
“I really need to—”
“What you need is to relax and enjoy your own damn party,” Tim interrupts. Sure enough, he’s shuffling a deck of cards, and doing a decent job of it. “Now, come on, do you know poker? Don’t give me that look, we’re betting pens and paper clips.”
Sasha manhandles Jon into a seat, then heads off to presumably give Martin the same treatment. Jon sighs and rests his elbow on the table and chin in his hand. “Yes, Tim, I know poker.” He doesn’t mention being banned from poker nights due to his invariable ability to call a bluff. Might as well let him learn that the hard way.
“Ah-ha! Another hint to your mysterious backstory.”
Jon laughs under his breath, though he thinks he should be irritated. With everything fuzzy and wine-warmed, it’s more difficult than ever to keep everyone out. Martin drags his chair back over to the empty space next to Jon, Sasha close behind.
“Adding gambling to the mix? My, this is a wild party,” Elias says, abruptly reminding them of his presence. He’s holding what Jon suspects is his third slice of cake. He doesn’t know what to do with the information that his boss has a sweet tooth.
“I can deal you in, if you like,” Tim offers.
“I believe I have time for a game or two.” The confidence rolls off him in waves— a stark contrast to Martin’s returned anxiety.
Tim deals them all in, and for the first round, Jon takes it easy on them. Elias and, surprisingly, Martin quickly emerge as the most formidable players, though Elias ultimately wins the first pot. It’s part curiosity and part desire to get out of this quickly that makes Jon stop pulling his punches in the next round.
Jon wins. Tim cheers for him and it makes Jon feel all bright inside, but Elias’ irritation is loud and sharp.
“Impressive,” Elias says, his smile at odds with his red-hot annoyance.
Jon shrugs uncomfortably. “Luck of the draw, I-I guess.”
Tim and Sasha end up giving up in favor of watching Jon, Martin, and Elias go head-to-head for five more rounds. Martin wins once, and both Elias and Jon win twice, making Jon the ultimate winner with a grand total of three.
“You know we’re all going to be bugging you now to borrow pens, right?” Tim asks as Jon rakes in the pot on the last round, but he’s grinning widely and apparently thrilled with this development.
“‘Borrow’ — as if you’ll give any of them back,” Jon snorts, though in truth he’s feeling a bit nauseous. Tim’s glee is clear, but Sasha is looser in a way she rarely is around Jon, Martin seems a tad impressed but is still mostly uncomfortable, and something like intrigue underlain with annoyance that must be Elias. Between all that and the way they’ve been finishing off the bottle, it’s making for a massive headache.
“Hey, redistribution of wealth and all that.” Tim shrugs.
“Woah there, Marx,” Sasha laughs. “No starting a revolution in the archives.”
“Quite,” Jon says. “Now. May I be excused?”
“Ah, fine,” Tim sighs. “Go back to your hovel and leave us with the mess.”
He’s not serious, Jon knows, so he feels safe enough saying, “You made the mess, you clean it up.”
“Alright, dad.” Then Tim giggles to himself and whispers “Dadchivist”, earning himself a punch in the arm from Sasha.
As Jon stands, so does Elias, offering him a hand. “Good game, Archivist.”
Jon straightens and does his best to not look as buzzed as he feels. He’s pretty sure he fails. “Ah, yes. You too, Elias.” Jon shakes his hand and tries to assure himself that he hasn’t somehow ticked his boss off over a trivial game of cards, despite the muddled irritation still coming off the man, hidden behind an impassive expression.
Shutting himself in his office is like stepping out into cool night air; it allows him space to breathe and helps to sober him up. But he can still feel the warm happiness of the party through the walls, and he’s just relaxed enough to allow it to stay— for the meantime. There is still work to do. But the least he can do is let his assistants enjoy the fruits of their labors for an hour or two. He takes off the obnoxious hat and spends a few minutes putting away his new bounty of office supplies before turning back to the work he had left.
He’s in the middle of trying to decipher a statement’s nearly illegible handwriting when he registers a familiar presence approaching. Still mostly happy, but there’s something else that Jon’s suddenly fuzzy brain can’t quite pinpoint…
The door cracks open and Tim pokes his head in. “Heya, boss!”
“Tim.” Jon lowers the papers and offers a slight smile. “Everything alright with the party?”
“Fine, fine… Big boss left, and now Martin and Sash are cleaning up.”
Apologetic. That’s the word he was looking for. Cool and a little… hesitant. Like a receding tide.
“Oh. Well, good. Tim, is there something—”
Tim steps into his office and Jon can finally see that he’s holding a plate in his hand with a fork and a generous slice of cake. “I saved you the last piece, since you didn’t really finish your first.”
A tight warmth squeezes Jon’s chest that he thinks might be his own. “Ah. Well… thank you. You can place it, erm…” Jon looks around and hastily rearranges some folders to clear a corner of the desk, leaving room for Tim to set the plate down.
“Right.” He does, then hovers for a moment by Jon’s chair. Cool apology continues to slosh in Jon’s chest, along with a light pinprick of guilt at the back of his neck, which is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Jon forces himself to be patient despite his own growing worry.
As he expected, it doesn’t take long for Tim’s silence to break. “Listen, I’m sorry if the party was too much. I know you don’t like crowds, but I thought if it was just us, then—”
“No, no,” Jon cuts him off quickly. Really, is that what this is about? Jon knows he acted more than a bit… strange, but he must have seemed truly uncomfortable for Tim to think he’s misstepped.
Short of finding a way to project his gratitude directly to Tim, the most he can do is offer a little honesty. “It was very thoughtful of you. I really did enjoy it, despite myself.” Alcohol and fire hazards aside, that is. “I just… find it hard to turn off, at work.”
“Or ever,” Tim snorts. The tide of apology slowly fades, leaving room for warmth to curl in Jon’s chest. It still catches Jon off-guard, at times, that someone could truly enjoy doing something nice for him. He wishes he knew how to do the same for Tim.
“So… all good?” Tim checks.
“All good,” Jon confirms. He offers a small smile, and the last of the tension finally unwinds in Tim. Jon unconsciously lets out his own small sigh of relief. Then he does his best to pull his mind back into focus, despite the close proximity of Tim’s ongoing light buzz. “Now, do let me know when you all are ready to get some actual work done. I trust that with this distraction out of the way, the archives will once more have your full attention.”
As usual, Tim lets Jon’s stiff words roll off his back, understanding the plea for space for what it is. “Sure thing, boss,” he says with an eye-roll. “But next time I come in, you better have cleaned your plate.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want the grocer’s hard work to go to waste,” Jon says dryly.
Tim grins. “Exactly. So glad you understand.” He makes for the door, only to stop just short of the hall. He looks back over his shoulder, his smile more subdued than usual, but genuine. “Happy birthday, Jon.”
“... Thank you, Tim.”
With a small wave and a wink, Tim leaves him to it.
They all do get back to work, eventually. And maybe his assistants had a point; the mood in the archives is the most relaxed it’s ever been, even after the alcohol works its way out of their systems. It’s a small relief in the grand scheme of things, but one Jon realizes he sorely needed. Not having everyone’s frustrations itch at him for the entire day very nearly puts him in a good mood. The statements today are easy reads, even if many are obviously exaggerated or outright falsified. Somehow, Jon can’t find it in himself to be too annoyed.
He really should be staying late to make up for the lost hours that morning. But when his assistants bid him a good evening and one last ‘happy birthday', Jon finds himself packing up and leaving with them, for once. They’re all surprised, but pleased, and their candle-warmth carries him through the evening even after they split off on their respective routes home.
Tim was right; in the long run, those few hours wouldn’t make a difference in what’s going to be years of difficult, thankless work. But it made a difference to them, even just for a day—and for now, that’s enough.