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As ever, Jon’s timing was impeccable.
Impeccably awful.
Barely a month into his new “promotion” and already he could feel a toll. If he was completely honest with himself he hadn’t expected quite this level of work despite not being a stranger to long hours. To put it bluntly, the archives were a mess. Gertrude hadn’t left any clues as to how filing was done and it all seemed so haphazard he had to wonder if it wasn’t on purpose. He was up to his elbows in files he’d found in a water stained cardboard box when Tim sauntered up, looking down his nose at the papers in disgust. Jon wished he would help and didn’t know how to ask for it with their relationship as strained as it currently was. Tim had silently allied with Sasha when Elias made the announcement and they were all navigating the current situation gingerly. Jon didn’t blame him. She needed support. The statements and recordings and organization could wait until they were ready.
“Hey there, boss. Was wondering if you wanted to come out with us tonight.”
Oh, of course. It was Friday, wasn’t it.
Jon looked around his office, strewn with papers and post-its and worse off than it was this morning. Guilt welled up in him like blood from a wound. Tim was losing his already limited patience with him.
“Uh, yes, that would be nice. It has been a while.” He leaned back and wiped his dusty hands off on his trousers adding to the light streaks already there.
“Yeah, I’ll say. Too important to hang out with us now, ey Jon? Now that you’re a corporate bigwig?”
“I am not!” Tim held his hands up in supplication.
“Just kidding, yeah?” It didn’t sound like it was just anything; certainly not the jokes Tim used to tell. This just felt cruel, probably because Tim thought it was the truth. Jon could admit he was prickly and difficult and knew he never won over many. If he lost Tim and Sasha over this he didn’t know what he would do. “Usual place.”
That exchange happened hours ago and Jon didn’t feel well. He couldn’t go out like this, pulse pounding, head throbbing, vision swimming. He’d have to cancel. But he’d canceled at the last minute on them so many times before and he could tell their patience was wearing thin. How was he supposed to choose between his new job and his old friends? Why couldn’t he just be normal for once?
Why did Tim choose now to forget this sometimes happened?
Any moment they’d be by to collect him and Jon was so dizzy he wasn’t altogether sure if he could stand. He hadn’t felt like this since Uni when he and Georgie spent many a late night studying for exams. He’d crashed shortly after, struck down with some illness or another, and barely remembered more than a glimpse of her face staring down at him with concern. Surely they would understand?
“Ready, boss?” Casual with his jacket over one shoulder, Tim leaned into the office, scowling when he laid eyes on him, exasperated. “Really, Jon?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Tim scoffed. “S’sorry. I know it’s rude, I’m just. Tired.” That was a part of it anyway.
“You know, Jon, you say you still want to be friends and then never hang out with us.”
“I know, I’m--”
“You’ve cancelled so many times at this point I don’t know if it’s even worth inviting you.” Jon’s heart nearly stopped, a painful lurch that all but choked him.
“...Please.” Bare more than a whisper, Tim raised an eyebrow in question.
“What?”
“P’please keep inviting me.” If Jon wasn’t so sure he’d pass out upon standing he’d be springing to his feet. “I, I, I’m there. Next Friday, bells on, I swear.”
“And tonight?” Cold sweat slipped down his spine. But if he rested this weekend, took it easy next week, maybe asked them for a bit more help-- “Sure, boss.”
The weekend came and went and Jon tried every trick in the small volume of self-care tips he actually paid attention to. He wanted to show them what they meant to him, even Martin, new and bungling as he was. If they were to be a team, he needed to get to know him. And besides, Sash and Tim enjoyed his company. Had been inviting him out the whole while. Unfortunately, Jon was still exhausted from not sleeping well for bad dreams and restlessness, not eating enough because anxiety turned his stomach. But he’d made a promise and he vowed to make good on it.
Monday saw a fresh pile of work stacked neatly in the center of his desk blotter, old assignments shoved off to the side and a note in Elias’ neat scrawl informing him that this was the priority. Jon spent the next hour putting together the things he’d been in the process of collating and jotting down a list of instructions that even Martin could follow before dragging it out to where his assistants were working.
“Hullo, Jon.” Bright and cheery, Martin chirped a greeting and Jon forced a small smile.
“Morning.” Tim and Sasha nodded back, expectant looks on their faces. “I, um. Well, Elias brought in some more documents for me to take a look at.”
“Promotion came with some extra obligations, did it?” Tim laughed, elbowing Sasha good naturedly.
“Yes, I suppose it, it did.” Jon shifted nervously, anticipating the answer even before he’d asked. “I was hoping you would be able to help me with these ones?” He lifted the stack and Tim made a show of whistling.
“Wow, I mean. I would, boss, but I’m in the middle of this other thing you gave me last week.”
“Oh. I was. Well I was rather hoping you’d have wrapped that up by now.” The room began to tunnel and Jon staggered just a step even though he was standing still. He hadn’t been able to use his cane and handle this veritable mountain.
“You and me both.”
“Jon?” Martin’s worry was more embarrassing than anything else and he forced himself to focus despite the trembling in his hands. “I can take some of them.” But the messy heap on the corner of his desk in danger of toppling hardly seemed smaller than it had the week before. It wouldn’t do to add even more to what the other man couldn’t seem to handle but...
“Th’thank you for the offer.” He selected a few slim folders and handed them off and somehow the work in his arms became heavier.
“No problem!” Martin was beaming so he must have done something right and it sparked a bit of warmth in him. “I’ll make an exchange for another, soon as I finish this up.”
Tuesday went much the same, though Jon’s insomnia and sore joints forced him out of bed and he decided to use the gift of time to come in early to get a bigger start on the old mess so he had more time for the new mess and while Martin was slow it helped to have someone else tackling it with him. He suspected that Tim and Sasha were making a statement in their being shiftless and Jon couldn’t find it in himself to address it instead hoping that once he proved himself they could move past it. Using the stairs proved foolish as Jon nearly took a header from vertigo and he thanked the stars he was early and alone so he could sit down and wait for the episode to pass. Lord, he hurt. Joints on fire, white-hot fire pokers of pressure needling his hips. He hung his head when tears of frustration began to fall.
Wednesday found Jon buried alive and struggling. He had to stay late in order to finish out the day and by the time he made it home he could barely stand, falling into bed and waking the next morning still dressed in his wingtips and work clothes. Marginally better for the rest, Jon used the boon to plow through the rest of Elias’ assignment, skipping lunch he knew he wouldn’t eat anyway to finish.
“Oh, Tim!” He called out his door as he passed, relieved that he wasn’t ignored. “When you have a moment could you take these up to Rosie?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Jon pushed away the disappointment when the end of day came, his assistants left, and the box still sat on the corner of his desk.
No bother, Tim probably forgot and Jon searched the stacks for the department’s hand truck with its one sticky wheel and found it loaded up with more of Gertrude’s chaos. He didn’t have much choice than to shove at it unceremoniously until it toppled over, papers fluttering out of their folders and under shelves. He’d just have to deal with it later. What’s one more thing? When he tugged, his shoulder very nearly came loose and his yelp of pain was swallowed up in the dark and the dust. Noone around to hear him anyway.
More tears.
He was a mess.
He went along more carefully, cursing the squeak of the blasted wheel, cursing Tim for his forgetfulness, cursing Elias for letting him even steal the job from Sasha to begin with. Cursing time itself because he wanted to go home and it was already an hour past.
“Rosie, I’m so glad I caught you.” She was just starting to collect her bag. “Can I leave this for Elias to collect when he gets in?”
“Of course, Jon!” She helped him lift it to her desk and disguised his taking a rest with interest in her writing a note of explanation.
“Thank you, you really are a lifesaver.” Jon chuffed a weak and humourless laugh. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Of course, dear. Just take that along with you so I don’t have to hear about it from the night staff.” The dolly. Yes. It would have to go back down with him wouldn’t it?
Thursday Jon could barely lift his arms. The debacle from the day before had taken whatever they had left and he was scared that at any moment, his arm would drop from its socket. That happened sometimes. So far, no doctor had figured out why.
“Ready for tomorrow?” Tim jolted him out of staring at his pen cup and the surprise set his heart to racing. Jon didn’t know how many minutes he’d lost.
“Ah, uh.” Absently, he rubbed at his chest, willing the battering tempo to slow before it shook him apart.
“Boss.” It sounded too much like a warning and felt too much like his last chance to prove he had what it took to be their friend.
“I’m not backing out!” Quick to cover up his fumble. “Don’t forget to collect me.”
“Never!” Jon couldn’t help but hope he did.
It was a short walk to their usual pub and Jon pushed himself to keep up, breaking out in cold sweat as the nausea from his laboring heart rocked his stomach. He couldn’t wait to sit down. They were regulars enough that the first round appeared before them as if by magic. Jon sank into the conversation around him, sipping from his pint, wishing it was water, and interjecting when he felt up to it. Martin kept staring at him. Jon didn’t have the energy to pretend.
“Oh come on, boss! Our company can’t be that boring!” Tim was three drinks in and clapped Jon hard enough on the shoulder to rattle his bones. Jon bit his tongue so hard he tasted iron.
“Ah, no, just a long week.” His voice was papery as a wasp nest, thin and drawn. “Looking forward to a lie in.”
“Aren’t we all?” Tim drained his glass and Jon looked down at the worn scratched surface of the table to hide his irrational irritability with the statement. He didn’t corner the market on sleeping in. The others deserved a restful weekend just as much as he did.
“I’m surprised you managed to make it through Elias’ busy work.” Sasha murmured, selecting a chip and using it as a means for sauce delivery.
“Martin helped a great deal.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Jon, but we know who worked his way through the majority.” They exchanged a warm smile.
“Yes, well. Any you did, I didn’t have to. It was very much appreciated.” Martin was bright red and Jon’s cheeks were warm, from alcohol or otherwise, and Tim’s cawing laughter rang bright as a bell over the cacophony around them.
“You’ve broken him, Jon!” They caroused well into the evening until Martin mercifully faked a yawn and explained he had an early morning. Jon almost hugged him and if it weren’t for the state of his shoddy joints he may well have. Holding up a very drunk and very affectionate Tim, Sasha nodded to him.
“This was lovely.” Her grin beamed. “We’ll have to do this again.”
Jon dreaded it.
That month they dragged Jon out to the shops for lunch a few times each week. Catching dinner after work became a regular occurance. Sasha hosted a movie night one weekend. Friday nights at the pub continued.
Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the exhaustion or the steadily increasing pain, but it felt worth it when the frosty attitude began to thaw. They were still friends. That’s what counted even though the littlest tasks had become huge when faced with choosing which ones to do at the cost of himself. He knew better and still he was overspending, going into the red just to collect more and more debt with no way to catch up other than lose his friends. Something was going to break. Jon hoped it wouldn’t be him.
Groggy, slow, Jon came to with his cheek mashed into the statement he’d been skimming. Something was...wrong. His heart. Racing, pounding against his breastbone, trying to hammer its way to freedom or jump straight out his throat. He blinked hard, trying to bring anything into focus and failing. The first attempt to stand had him face down on the desk again, the next he took in steps.
Sit up. Let the room stop moving.
Breathe. In. Out. Count them.
Ignore the agonized beating. Ignore the fear that came with it.
Stand. Slow. Wait. Patient.
Let the world fall still.
Jon didn’t bother picking up his bag. His phone, wallet, keys, all in his trouser pockets.
“Sorry all. I. I think.” He paused, gulping for air, swallowing none. “Need to go, go home.” If what made it out of him were even close to words he’d consider himself lucky. His tongue was thick and clumsy in his mouth, tripping up the syllables fighting their way past the rabbit-quick hammering,
hammering,
hammering.
“What’s wrong?” Sasha was at his elbow, Tim halfway out of his seat.
“Not feeling well.”
“You sure you can get home, boss?” Nodding absently Jon made his way carefully to the lift before Martin could offer to call him a cab or something equally ridiculous.
Muscle memory got him back to his flat and it wasn’t until he collapsed into bed that he remembered it was Friday and he’d again ducked out on drinks again. Tears collected on his lashes, slipping down his temples when his trembling got the better of them. They. This. All his hard work and he’d undone it. Before the encroaching black overtook him he fumbled with his phone, tapping out an apology to the group chat and barely managing to hit send.
He slipped in and out. Lucid one moment, hallucinating the next, burning away to nothing and ending up on the floor more than once after passing out attempting to, to…didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough in him to attempt it again, opting to lay flat on his back in the sweat soaked sheets trying not to move for the pain. For a wild, hysterical moment Jon was sure he would die here, alone, phone just out of reach, melting in wretched heat and so uncomfortably hot it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn’t.
Jon hurt.
Everything was darkness and agony. Each tremor an earthquake threatening to tear him apart. He was trapped in treacle, done up in bits of twine, strung together with razor wire and unable to move. It was a familiar voice that clawed its way down to him. Lifted him up, low and soft, a stone tumbling down a mountain and catching Jon up in the landslide. He thought he answered, made some attempt at a response, drawn out of him like water from a well. Hurting and disoriented Jon drifted. Consciousness slipping in and out through his fingers like the surf, breath like coals banked beneath his ribs. Jon’s body wouldn’t cooperate as it should and time seemed to skip from one moment to the next between long bouts of nothing.
A heavy palm, cool and comforting, came to rest over his forehead and Tim materialized out of nowhere, startling Jon enough that he keened when each joint shrieked and protested at his moving.
“Sh, sh, shh.” Tim. That’s right...he wasn’t sure it was true, but he was wiping down his over sensitive skin with a damp flannel to quell the coals for a handful of moments.
“Wha’s..?”
“When you didn’t come in yesterday or this morning, we figured we should check on you.” So many words. Too many to parse more than a few but the flood came anyway, streaking into his greasy hair because he’d been sure no one would come and Tim kept applying the cold compress; wrung, applied, repeated, and Jon sobbed with the simple relief of it, tears cool against the incandescence of his skin.
“Are you...l’leaving?” He winced at the raw scrape of his voice against his vocal cords. “Been. You’been s’so angry with m’me.” Tim’s face fell and Jon wanted to apologize. It was the illness, that’s all, lowering his defenses and simmering his many insecurities just below a fractured awareness that refused to keep them in where they belonged. Instead his breath hitched and he choked on a whimper of defeat. “Tri’tried so hard ‘nd still. M’sorry.”
“It’s alright.” So unbelievably soft. Jon thought he’d ruined this long ago and the tears came somehow faster. “I think we need to call an ambulance, bud.”
“No...nonono…” Jon didn’t want to be poked and prodded by strangers and stuck full of needles alone in a cold sterile room. Even in his ragged state Jon could see Tim was torn. “Pl’please.”
“Okay, okay,” he soothed, gentling him with a touch. “But if you can’t keep this down we have to go.” Medicine. Lucozade. Fed to him mouthful by mouthful in the intervals he was awake.
Quiet sounds he recognized, Martin. Sasha. Hushed. Martin tipped the next sip into him and Jon wasn’t aware of much, but he was aware enough to know he was disgusting after having slept and sweated in the same bedclothes for days. Martin wouldn’t hear of it and Jon didn’t know where to put all the feelings and he was so tired of crying and couldn’t seem to stop.
Sasha, they told him, has gone out for supplies and they asked if he’d like help getting out of his uncomfortable trousers and button down, now missing several buttons no doubt from his restlessness. Jon didn’t trust his voice, only nodded, trying and failing to sit up, losing consciousness entirely when one of them levered him up with an arm behind his shoulders. Tim was explaining it to Martin when he came around, peering up at them through fluttering lashes.
“S’al’...” Clumsy, the words wouldn’t come to him.
Together, they shift his limbs, passing him back and forth between, one moment resting against Martin’s chest, another tucked into the hollow where Tim’s shoulder and neck meet. He should be helping but he can barely stay with them, just concentrating on the pulse currently beneath his ear to ground him. Carefully, as though he is some precious object, they rid him of the awful, disagreeable stickiness and their low murmuring seems such an intimate thing. He isn’t worth it. This. And then soft, clean clothes, well worn and familiar and when Jon surfaces again he’s with Tim on the sofa, bundled up and more comfortable than he’d been in months.
Martin is changing his sheets.
“I’m sorry, Jon.” He didn’t know what for and shook his head, or tried anyway. “Made you think you had to push yourself like that. Ignored how exhausted you were and guilt tripped you into not telling us ‘no’.” Lord, so many words, Jon dizzied himself trying to catch them, hold them, decipher them. “You should be able to trust us, and I.” A suspicious sniff. “I’m sorry.” Jon relaxed into him with a hum he hoped conveyed something.
“I think I remembered which meds he tolerated best.” Sasha elbowed her way into the flat, face lighting up when she saw he was awake. Kind of. “Jon! Thank god. You were in such a bad way.” Whispery and rushed, the same feeling in it as with Tim. “Let's get you dosed up and back to bed, okay?”
It was late evening judging by the window. The reading lamp was on. Martin sat beside him with a book he couldn’t recognize by cover alone.
“Mah’in..?” So it hadn’t all been a hallucination after all.
“There you are.”
“Miss’d work.” He nodded, uncapping a bottle of sports drink and holding it to his chapped lips. Jon drank what he could.
“Not important right now, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Gave us a scare.” Easy, like it was nothing in the world to do it, Martin laid the back of his fingers against his neck, against his throat. “That’s a relief. Tim called us in a panic.” By way of explanation. “But I think you’re past the worst of it now.”
“Don’, don’ remember.”
“Probably for the best. We’ve decided, if you’re alright with the arrangement, that one of us should stay with you.” That sounded okay even if normally Jon would fight it tooth and nail. He did remember being alone and scared. “Tim and Sash are talking. I get the feeling we missed something very important.”
“Mm.” Jon tried to sit up and swooned, came around with a pillow behind his back.
“Dunno if I’ll get used to that any time soon though, I’ll be honest.”
“Happens sometimes. Th’that’s why…” Martin picked up the thread.
“You cancelled on us. I understand. And I hope, I hope you know you can always tell me, us, I hope, when you need to. There’s no shame in it. I’ll admit, I’m upset with Tim.” He fussed with the quilts, smoothing out imaginary creases. “He knew this was something to look out for and he didn’t tell me.”
“No, it’s--”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Martin spoke with conviction. “Ever. I don’t want you to, to push yourself like this for a blasted game night. We can do other things as a department. Things that don’t jeopardize your health like this again.”
“Martin’s right.” Sasha sat at his feet, draping a hand over his ankle, and Tim stood at the foot of the bed. He looked proper chastised, eyes rimmed in red and swollen from crying.
“I’m so sorry, Jon. So sorry. I should never--I was angry and frustrated and used it to. To hurt you. Make you think we’d stop being friends over a stupid night out. Not like I lifted a hand to help you! When I knew you wouldn’t ask a second time!”
“S’okay.”
“It’s not!” Tim was a staunch friend. The type who got to know you so well and sometimes aimed too precisely at your soft parts. He didn’t need another telling off. Exhaustion lapping at his limbs, Jon curled his fingers in poor imitation of a come hither gesture. Willingly, Tim allowed himself to be pulled along by it, slotting himself beside Jon on the mattress to hide his own tears in his chest. Graceless, Jon managed to tug a hand over the back of his head, tangling fingers in Tim's hair, surrounded by friends and not alone.
“Will be, then.”