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Leitner is dead. Fragments of his skull and brain are visible because his head has been bashed in and there is blood dripping onto Jon’s office floor.
“Oh Archivist,” says a voice in the doorway. Jon jumps, spinning around to see Elias standing there, wiping his hands on a damp towel. For a brief, half a second there is relief, until Jon looks at his hands. They're stained faintly pink. He’s not wearing his blazer, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows. “What on earth are we going to do now?” Jon whimpers, backing up against the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Elias flicks the towel over his shoulder, and takes a shuddering breath. Sweat makes his hair stick to his forehead. There’s blood on his sleeve.
“Y-You killed him,” Jon whispers.
Elias smiles, his lips thin and viscous. “I did. And now Jon, you have two options. Either you can run away, spend months on the run from the police when they find a dead man in your office... Or we can clear up all this horrible business right now and save ourselves the trouble.” Jon’s back scrapes against the cabinet handles.
“No - no Elias please- ”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous Jon,” Elias says like he’s scolding him for improperly filling out paperwork. “I mean clear up the body.” Jon’s chest is heaving. Somehow, that doesn’t make him feel much better. Elias surveys him up and down. Jon doesn’t move.
And then Elias turns on his heel, and leaves Jon alone in his office with a dead man.
He should get up. He should run away. He has no idea why he’s still alive right now. Elias killed Leitner - killed Gertrude Robinson . And Jon is still alive and Jurgen Leitner’s corpse is still dripping like a broken faucet and he can’t understand why this is happening.
There is a body bag in Elias’ hands when he returns. Jon doesn’t want to think about why he might have those on hand. How many more people has his boss killed? He watches numbly as Elias shoves Leitner’s body none too carefully into the bag, tsking when he looks down at the blood on his white shirt. Then, Elias is opening up the trapdoor to the tunnels and pushing the body down carelessly with a grunt. Jon flinches as he hears it collide with the steps over and over. When it stops, Elias closes the trapdoor and comes to kneel in front of Jon. Jon tries to push himself back further against the cabinet.
“Jon, I need you to give me the key to the trapdoor,” Elias says softly. Jon is staring at the floor, watching a rivulet of blood make its way along the floor towards him. He can feel the weight of Elias’ gaze on his face. “Jon.” Elias’ voice is sterner that time, and Jon reaches a shaky hand into his blazer’s inner pocket to fish out the key. When Elias takes it, their hands briefly touch and Jon whimpers.
The trapdoor locks with a dull click.
Next Elias mops and scrubs the floor until Jon’s whole office stinks of bleach. It lingers in the air until it makes Jon feel slightly dizzy. There aren’t any windows in the Archives after all and the ventilation system is a few decades outdated. There seems to be a dark patch left behind where Leitner's blood was. Perhaps it's just damp from the water and bleach Elias is cleaning with. Or perhaps it's going to stain. Elias props the door open to let the air through to ventilate the room, then excuses himself again.
Jon wonders if this is a test. Elias has literally left the door open for him to run away. He knows how easy it would be to walk through the archives, up the stairs, turn left and exit via the side entrance at the end of the hall. It was where he’d gone for his smoke break. He brings his knees up to his chin, and closes his eyes.
Martin and Tim are bickering to one another when they enter the archives. Jon is still staring at the floor, Leitner’s body superimposed on his eyelids every time he blinks. He hears Tim complain about the smell before they see him. Jon mechanically raises his head to look at him. They’re still for a moment, mouths both open, before Martin swings into action.
“Oh god, Jon, are you okay? What happened?” He’s crowding into Jon’s office much too fast and Jon’s throat constricts. He looks so genuine it hurts to look at him.
“Give him some room, Martin.” Elias’ voice echoes through from the archives’ entrance and brooks no argument. Jon takes a painful breath. Martin goes still, and then he’s apologising to Jon in such a soft tone that makes Jon wish that the floor would just open up and swallow him. It is a kindness he doesn’t deserve. Elias is turning to Tim and Martin, telling them that Jon’s been sick and that he’s going to drive him home. They both nod, even Tim seeming more understanding than Jon’s seen him in a while and Jon wants to scream.
He lets Elias wrap an arm around his waist and hoist Jon upright. Martin offers to help but Jon shakes his head. He doesn’t want either him or Tim to get any closer to Elias than they already are. Martin’s eyebrows furrow in an expression of hurt and it makes Jon hunch over further, letting Elias take most of his weight.
Elias’ hand grips his hip tight as he guides Jon up the stairs. He walks Jon through the main entrance to where his car is parked. When he bundles Jon into the passenger seat, he leaves the door unlocked whilst he excuses himself to jog back and grab his briefcase. Jon wishes Elias had just locked him in the car. This illusion of choice makes his stomach twist in knots. He wonders if Elias will kill him if he vomits on his upholstery.
They drive in silence, right up until Jon realises where Elias is taking him. Elias’ house is at the end of a row of tall, white houses with iron gates around the front of the property. Jon had been here a few months ago, when he had been investigating suspects of Gertrude’s murder. He should have run, earlier, or at least tried to. Maybe he could have overpowered Elias if Martin and Tim had helped. If they would have even believed him.
"No. Absolutely not," Jon says, but his voice sounds weak even to him. Elias glances at him but doesn't even dignify him with a response. Jon considers opening the door and jumping out. He should be putting up more of a fight but he just… Can’t. He can’t shake the feeling that he has to see this through.
Elias parks the car, and walks around to open the door for Jon. When Jon doesn’t move, Elias gives him that look that he does when Jon’s being unreasonable. Jon shakes his head, and Elias sighs.
“You don’t have your wallet or phone, Jon. And you’re hardly in a state to walk back to your flat from here. Do you expect me to believe you’re going to jump the tube barrier? Now would you please get out of the car? I’d rather not start a scene.” Jon considers the merits of staying put. He doubts Elias will drag him out screaming into the streets of Kensington of all places. Elias’ stern expression softens. He holds out an arm for Jon, and ever so gently he says, “If I had any intention of killing you, Jon, I would have done it by now. If nothing else, trust in that fact.”
It shouldn’t be enough. It isn’t enough. Gertrude had been head archivist for decades before Elias had killed her and Jon’s only had the role for two. Elias has tried to slick his hair back like usual but it’s still slightly mussed from the exertion of slamming a metal pipe through a man’s head repeatedly. Jon doesn’t take Elias’ hand, but he does climb out the car.
The inside of Elias’ house is much like his office at the institute - high white ceilings and well-polished hardwood floors. Expensive and impersonal. Elias uses a shoehorn to remove his oxfords, and stacks them on the shoe rack by the door. Standing up, he pulls his coat off and puts it on the wooden coat rack that’s been varnished the same rich brown as the floor.
Jon toes his shoes off. After a moment's hesitation, he puts them next to Elias’ on the rack. Elias gently ushers Jon to one side with a hand, and Jon shrinks back to paste himself against the wall. He watches as Elias locks the front door. His heart starts beating faster again, but then Elias turns back to him and holds the key out. Jon stares at it.
“Take the key, archivist. I’m not holding you prisoner.”
“I could go to the police.” It is probably not the sort of thing you’re meant to say in these situations.
“And explain to them why the dead body was hidden under your office? That you watched me hide it?” Jon remembers what Leitner had said about Elias changing the CCTV footage. Simple mechanical eyes .
Jon takes the key.
When Jon had run away as a child and got lost, he had realised pretty early on that when the authorities or a kindly neighbour picked him up, it was easiest just to sit quietly, and do what he was told. Nod or shake his head at the right times. The more things change, the more they seem to stay the same. He sits on a stool of Elias’ breakfast bar and watches Elias flit about the kitchen in his socks. It feels absurd.
“Even murderers have to eat, Jon,” Elias says and the blood drains from Jon’s face. So he can read minds. Good to know. “In my defence you do have a tendency to think very loudly,” Elias calls from where he’s currently got his head stuck in the fridge.
He emerges with a packet of ham, a block of cheese and a bag of mixed salad leaves and places them on the counter.
It feels absurd. Perhaps the hysteria is kicking in because Jon doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A few hours ago his boss was hiding the evidence of a murder in the temple to some evil entity. Now he’s getting bread out of a stainless steel bread bin to make Jon a fucking sandwich. There’s just no way for him to reconcile those facts.
Elias places a plate in front of Jon, and then sits beside him with his own. He didn’t put any ham in Jon’s, ever so considerate of his dietary requirements. Jon can’t stop staring at Elias as he eats. It seems like killing a man must have taken a lot out of him. When Jon finally brings his own sandwich to his mouth, he only mangages two bites. It tastes like nothing in his mouth. The room is utterly silent except for the occasional passing car. Elias doesn’t try to talk to him, doesn’t threaten him, and certainly doesn’t apologise.
“Would you like to join me in the living room for a drink? You look like you need one,” Elias asks as he clears their plates away. Jon eyes him warily. “Or you could always go straight to bed. The guest room’s on the first floor, second door on the left.”
“I’ll go up,” he says. It has none of his usual firmness. He doesn’t have the energy. Elias shrugs nonchalantly, as if this is all mundane to him.
The guest room has an en suite. Jon just makes it in time before he vomits his dinner up down the toilet. Then he sits on the floor for a while. He’s seen dead bodies before, but not often enough not to care and never with the skull caved in like that. He thinks he might have been able to see the - Lietner’s - brain. He feels his eyes burning but he won’t let himself cry, he doesn’t get to do that when it’s his fault -
Elias opens the door. In his rush, Jon must have forgotten to lock it. He looks very tall from where Jon is curled on the floor. Jon lets himself be pulled up and placed on the toilet lid. He distantly hears the sound of water through the faucet as Elias wets a flannel under the sink.
Elias kneels down in front of him, and gently wipes Jon’s face clean, his other hand coming up to cup the back of Jon's skull. It’s been the better part of three decades since someone has done this. His skin feels warm and damp, and then Elias is gently patting him dry with a towel.
“Why?” Jon asks. Elias pauses. Their eyes meet and Jon feels unable to look away. There’s a slight furrow to Elias’ brow like he’s still working out what to do with Jon.
“Because I don’t want vomit on my bed linens.” There’s a lilt of dry humour to his voice. Jon had found it attractive once, when he was still just a researcher and Elias was just his regular boss.
Elias drapes the towel back over the rack, then stands to pull something out of the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror. It’s a bottle of mouthwash. He pours some into the cap, and hands it to Jon. He takes it and dutifully rinses his mouth out. He stands, and spits into the sink. Elias watches him, standing close enough in the small space that Jon can feel his body warmth.
“That isn’t what I meant.” He catches Elias’ eye in the mirror, and there’s the faintest hint of fondness in it that makes Jon’s skin crawl.
“ That is a question I’m afraid you’ll have to ask some other time. Now come on, let’s get you settled.” Elias pushes open the door to the bedroom, and gestures Jon through.
Jon sits on the edge of the bed. There’s a pair of pyjamas on the end of it that Elias must have brought through with him. They look like they’re made out of silk, and it occurs to him that they’re probably a pair of Elias’ own. Elias is still standing at the edge of the bed watching. Beholding , Leitner had called the thing that Elias belonged to- that he belonged to.
They stay like that for a while, Elias staring and Jon trying not to twitch nervously.
Until abruptly, Elias turns to leave.
“Jon?” He drums his fingers on the doorframe. Elias has his back to him, watching Jon out of the corner of his eye. The hallway light catches on the grey in his hair. “Don’t blame yourself for my actions. It’s a waste of time and frankly does both of us a disservice.” And then he’s gone, closing the door behind him.
Jon sleeps for short bursts, and when he does it's restless. Which probably isn’t unexpected given the circumstances. The fact that he’s dragged Elias’ expensive linen sheets through to sleep on the bathroom floor probably doesn’t help much either. At least this way he can have at least one locked door between himself and a murderer.
When it’s close to dawn, he pulls himself up and makes his way painstakingly slowly down the flight of stairs that seemed to creak so much louder at this hour. The house is empty and silent and Jon prays that Elias is still asleep. When he makes it to the front door he wants to cry with relief when he sees the key’s still in the hook where Elias had left it. He slips on his shoes, lets himself out and locks the door behind him.
It takes him at least an hour to walk to the institute. He can't really tell without his phone or a watch. The birds are chirping as he walks along the side of Kensington Gardens towards Chelsea. It would be a lovely morning, if Jon were in any state to appreciate it. He sees the trickle of commuter traffic grow steadily as the sun rises.
He has to sit on the Institute steps for someone to come and unlock the door. The first person to show up is Diana, the head librarian. She raises an eyebrow and asks him if he forgot his keys, clearly unimpressed with the state he’s in. The two of them have had a few heated conversations regarding the archive team's library access, so she seems slightly taken aback when he just nods quietly. Once the doors are open he hurries inside, hating the way he can feel her watching him.
The main room of the Archives looks exactly the same as usual. Jon’s half expecting a police officer or worse, Elias, to be waiting when he flicks on the lightswitch. But it’s just as empty as any other morning when Jon’s come in early. The only tell of what had happened the day before is the lingering smell of bleach in the air. He can't even bring himself to look in his office, so he just lets himself into document storage and crashes on the cot there.
When he wakes, it's to the sight of Elias staring down at him. Jon bolts upright, scrambles back in his cot.
"I've booked you sick leave for the next two days. We'd hate for Tim and Martin to get suspicious about our little... obfuscation, hm?" Elias reaches over and passes Jon the phone and wallet he’d left in his office. Jon glances at the phone screen. No new messages. "Oh, and I'd like my house key back if you please." Jon blinks owlishly, then starts fishing around in his trouser pocket. The keys are warm from being pressed against his skin. Elias takes them from him, and tucks them away in his suit jacket. It's identical to the one he'd worn yesterday, except with a new waistcoat. Jon swallows. Elias’ gaze flickers to Jon’s throat, watching the movement.
Jon waits until Elias' footsteps have long since faded up the stairs before he scrambles to his feet and out of the Institute. And if he feels like Elias is watching him go, then it doesn’t really change a thing.