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It had been a long month.
Technically Tim was supposed to have stayed away longer. Medically he was fine, hale and hearty as he ever was now that his scars were healing up nicely, despite the scratching he couldn't help occasionally. Mentally his assigned psychologist said he has 'acute PTSD and appeared to be actively avoiding confronting the situation' but it wasn't enough reason to not go back into the office. Elias had made a point to assure him he could take as long as he wanted to recover, but Tim still felt like more would be pushing it, and despite the entire worm disaster he did actually enjoy his job; or at least the company.
Martin was surprised to see him, actually, but Tim could see on his face that no matter how much he was berating him, the solid man was still pleased to see him again, and he let himself enjoy the dumb little thrill of letting Martin open doors for him (which was probably a good thing, actually, seeing as how not moving for the better part of a month had left him panting heavily just from the walk from the Tube entrance to the Institute itself, and he hadn't been keen on testing the giant doors when his hands were still covered in half-open sores.
Which Martin also reprimanded him about, as the pair of them walked into the poorly-sectioned off bullpen of three desks in a neat little square with the wastepaper basket still sitting neatly in the middle. Three empty desks, which was odd. They were early, sure, but Sasha was usually here first even then. But then, the office door was shut and Tim could hear the dulcet tones of their sweet baby boss intoning some bullshit or another - it didn't sound spooky, at least, because the muffled words were vaguely irate.
That he was half keeping an eye on any worms that might have been left behind by the cleaners makes him miss half of what Martin says, and it's only when the sweatered hulk goes deliberately still that Tim notices, and looks up.
"...sorry, could you repeat that?" he has to ask, as he flops heavily into his chair. The squeaky wheel protests loudly, making Martin wince, but it only lasts for a moment before the same ghost of worry flits back across his features.
"Oh, it-" Martin just closes his eyes for a moment, then turns away. "It was nothing."
Tim makes a doubtful face, and steadfastly ignores the sensation of his wounds pulling as he does.
"Come off it, Martin. I know what you're thinking, and I'm fine, honestly!"
Martin makes a face too. "If you'd been listening, I did actually say that."
"...oh."
"Yeah." That makes him smile, a bit more genuinely. "I'm just. Glad to see you're alright, I suppose. I missed you."
Tim arches his eyebrows, making something sting. "You suppose? Am I just chopped liver to you now, Martin?" He makes a show out of rolling his eyes, putting his hands behind his head and spinning away in his chair. "I suppose that's better than worm chow--"
Ah. He hears Martin wince, and a sliver of guilt roils in his stomach. Or maybe it's anxiety, at the thought of how close they got. Or just a belated sense of horror, from that scream...
A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and when he looks sharply back at Martin the hand's already gone from Martin flinching in surprise as well.
"I-I'll just-- make us some tea then, yeah?"
Martin's smile is a little forced, and Tim replies in kind, trying to make his own a bit softer than he feels.
"Oh-" Tim's little exclamation makes Martin pause as he goes to turn away. "Sasha isn't in yet?"
"Yeah, she said she'll be a little late."
Tim blinks, but before he can comment Martin's already walking away.
...huh.
He leans back in his chair, plucking idly at a loose seam of plastic on the arm of his chair in lieu of picking at his scars. He can count on one hand the time that Sasha had been late in their entire time working together, and he'd teased her relentlessly every single time.
Maybe... maybe she'd just not realised he was coming in today. He'd texted her, asked her if she'd wanted a coffee on his way in, but he hadn't gotten a reply (which was also weird - not even an emoji or a 'k', which would at least tell him she was in a good mood) and therefore also not gotten a coffee. Maybe she was more tired than she'd let on after the worms and it was finally catching up to her, too? He hadn't exactly seen her after coming out of quarantine, Jon said she'd gone home immediately after her statement, and his own throat had been so ratchet for most of the month that he'd gone almost solely by text with her. Had he said something to upset her?
He pulls his phone out, and right as he does he hears two doors open almost simultaneously: the distant creak of the ancient door into the archives that always echoed down the hallways, and the more gentle creak of Jon's office door, as the Head Archivist steps out of his den, and when Tim glances up he sees the average-height-he's-only-short-compared-to-you-giants-honestly man blinking in surprise at him.
"Ah-- good morning, Tim." The smile he offers is fleeting and slightly strangled.
Tim gives a good-natured huff. "Morning, boss. How're you holding up?"
Because his boss still has bandages under his sleeves, Tim can see them through the so-second-hand-it's-sheer fabric, peeking out under the cuffs so as not to obstruct his hands, which are themselves mummified by Bandaids, and flexing in and out in an obvious show of anxiety.
"I, uh--" The frantic clacking of heels interrupts him, and he looks up sharply. "Oh, Sasha- morning."
"Morning, Jon."
The voice makes Tim freeze, for a moment, frown, before he sits up straight in his chair and spins around sharply. He doesn't know that voice.
And he doesn't know that <I>woman</i>, as she gives Jon a faint, even smile. She's pale, White, with a dark fringe that comes down to her eyebrows and long straight hair tied loosely at the ends and slung over one shoulder. Her hazel eyes flick from Jon to Tim, and for a second he's sure he sees a flash of recognition in them, before they flick off him to her desk. She shrugs off a dark green cardigan, and adjusts how her silky blouse is tucked into a high-waisted A-line skirt. It's a very stylish outfit, admittedly, it suits her. And she is very pretty, with sharp features and a jawline that could cut glass, and when she finishes setting up her laptop and logs in Tim still hasn't stopped staring at her; it's the quiet click of Jon's office door closing that makes him snap out of it, and he sits up straight from where he's leaned on one arm to stare at her even harder.
For her part, the mysterious new Sasha seems amused, more than anything else. He swears she's laughing at him, but only with her eyes - and with the sudden upturn of deep magenta lips to reveal teeth like a military graveyard.
(Why is that the analogy his brain settles on? Thanks, morbid sense of humour for infecting his inner monologue.)
"Well," Tim says, turning on his patented Stoker Charm as he kicks his legs out to roll around the corner of his desk, completely misses grabbing the leg of it with his foot because his three-sixty spin went the wrong way, and rolls a good two feet farther away than he intends to and has to scoot himself back with his heels. "I wouldn't have fancied we'd get someone new already. Should we be calling you New Sasha, or does such a lovely face come with an equally lovely nickname? 'Sash' is already taken, I'm afraid."
That does make her laugh; it's more of a purr, almost, quick and eager and Tim's smile slips slightly because it comes with the distinct sensation she's not laughing with him.
"What are you two gossiping about?"
Martin's voice makes Tim start - bloody hell, he forgot how quiet the giant can be when he wants to - and he spins in his chair so fast it does another full revolution, which makes New Sasha grin again. She holds out her hands for her tea, and Tim can smell the amount of sugar Martin's put in it as she takes it and puts it on her desk. "Oh, nothing. Tim thinks I'll go out with him just because he's back."
"Hey, hang on, I never asked you out-" Tim retorts, putting a hand on his chest in mock offense as Martin puts his tea on the well-worn coffee rings, but his friend's little snicker just makes him grin.
"Right, but you were going to, weren't you? I thought you two weren't a thing?" Martin looks at New Sasha, and Tim frowns.
"Oi, hang on--"
New Sasha grins, and it seems nice enough, but she makes eye contact with Tim and then it feels mean. "Despite how hard he keeps trying to make it happen," she adds slyly, taking a sip of the mug - only holding it with one hand, three fingers laced through the handle as her pinkie cradles the bottom, "We're not a thing. Never have been, never will be."
Tim feels his face heat, and he frowns. "Hold on-- you're a bit quick to cut me off when you just started here. At least give me a chance."
It's Martin's turn to frown, and he looks back at Tim. "What d'you mean, 'just started'?"
"Yeah, Tim." New Sasha puts the mug down, but rests her hand over the top of it so she can lean in to look at him. "What do you mean?"
He looks between them - Martin looking sincere and confused, New Sasha almost smug - and leans back in his chair.
"...what, did we get her in from another department?" He looks at New Sasha. "I didn't try and ask you out before, did I? Because I am terribly sorry, let me make it up to you. Dinner at seven?"
The flirt is only half-hearted, though, because there's an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach and he doesn't know why.
But apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because when he glances up Martin's smile is a bit concerned now.
"Tim, are you sure you should've come in today?" He's stepped in before Tim even realises, and the back of a hand presses against his head - he flinches sharply away and bats Martin off, making him flinch again. "Sorry-- I-I mean, are you sure you're alright?"
Tim just scowls. "Why wouldn't I be? I mean, I'd rather have liked to know Sasha's gone before I made the bloody trip in, that might've made my day a bit easier!"
"What?"
That's three voices, then, and Tim turns quickly to see Jon's back out of his office and almost directly behind him. Maybe he was summoned by the lack of tea in his office, because he looks at the mug remaining in Martin's hands first, before he looks up at Martin, then New Sasha, then Tim and frowns. "What are you yelling about, Tim? Sasha's not gone."
"Well, where is she?" Tim throws his arms out wide, regretting the motion immediately when several wounds sting sharply. "Because I damn well don't see her."
"Tim, what are you talking about?!" He spins back around to look at Martin, who looks-- oh, actually kind of offended. What? "She's literally sitting right in front of you!" And Martin even gestures with his free hand at Sasha, who has a frown on her face like she doesn't know what to make of this.
But something about it doesn't reach her eyes.
"I..." Tim feels his face crinkling in confusion, but that weird twist in his stomach is only worse, and he doesn't know why. He looks back at New Sasha, and waves a hand at her. "That's not Sasha."
That gets three sharp reactions: Martin gasps, a loud and genuinely offended "What?!"; Jon seems to stop breathing for a moment, just all angles all of a sudden as he bristles; and New Sasha looks hurt.
"Tim." It's Jon that gets the first real word in, and Tim turns automatically at the sharp tone. "I don't know what sort of prank you think you're playing, but this isn't funny."
"What, you think I'm having a bloody laugh, Jon? She's not!"
"Tim, what the hell?!" Jon and Tim both start, turning to Martin in surprise at the sudden volume in his voice, and the man turns red under his mop of curls but he doesn't back down. "You-you can't just say things like that, it's-- i-it's horrible!"
Tim's frown deepens, and he starts to rise from his chair just so he doesn't feel as trapped - by the accusations, or the literal crowding, or the sudden feeling he's out of the loop that's tightening around his neck like a noose. "What does it matter if it's horrible, it's true! That's not our Sasha!"
"Oh my god, are you serious?" Sasha's voice is cool, a cutting edge through the tension (no, more like a knife twisting) as she stands up as well. "What, do you want proof?" Her hands rifle through her pockets, pulling out a tacky Hogwarts wallet and practically throwing it at Tim, and he fumbles to catch it. The clunky school crest stabs into a wormhole and makes him curse as she snaps at him, "Go on, get my license out."
"I don't want proof, I want to know what the hell happened to Sasha James!" Tim snaps back, and is startled again by Martin stepping into his space and taking the wallet himself.
"Honestly, Tim, look." He flips the wallet open and pulls the whole card out, holding it out for Tim, and he's so surprised by it that he just takes it.
That's her - the woman, New Sasha: Sasha James, the right date of birth, the right address. Tim flips it over, like he can find some evidence of it being fake, but it's peeling at the edges from a few years of wear and visibly faded from the pressure of the wallet.
"...no." He flicks the license back at Martin, making him nearly drop the wallet to catch it. "That's bullshit. That's not Sasha!"
"Tim." There's a hand on his shoulder and Tim immediately flinches back, and Jon recoils sharply, tucking his hand against his chest like he was burned by the rejection, and his eyes are sharp and wide but his face is just sharp. "Perhaps... perhaps you need some more time off. This whole-- this incident has clearly had an affect on you--"
"Oh, and what about you lot?!" He's buzzing now, that anxiety is leaking out and making his wounds tingle unpleasantly, makes him want to scratch. "I'm gone for a month, you replace Sasha and you act like it's always been this-- this complete fucking stranger!"
He looks sharply back at Sasha, but Jon and Martin are still staring at him - maybe that's why they miss the knowing grin on her face, like someone that just saw a prank victim catch on. He knows, she knows he knows, and she couldn't be more delighted.
And that anxiety flips.
Tim lunges for New Sasha - Not Sasha - and manages to grab her shirt in both hands and her grin shifts to what looks like genuine alarm, but before he can do more than yank her towards him there are thick hands on his wrists, squeezing, and he almost screams as he's dragged off of Sasha and half-thrown back into his chair, doubling over from the pain and ignoring Martin's strangled apologies.
When he can look up again, Martin is directly in front of him, blocking him into the chair with his bulk, but in the gap between his arm and waist Tim can see Jon rushing towards Sasha, not touching her but hovering anxiously as she straightens herself, murmuring to each other for a moment before Jon looks back - and makes eye contact with him, utterly venomous.
"Tim." Martin looks back sharply, and immediately steps out of the way as Jon approaches Tim in his chair and menaces, standing up dead straight and glaring down his nose at Tim. "You need to go home. Immediately."
But he just stares up at Jon, emotions broiling in the nauseating cauldron that was once his stomach. That fury is simmering back into anxiety, into fear, riding on waves of confusion and thin vents of panic that bubble to the surface as his own hands grip his sleeves tightly. Doesn't realise how he's dragging his nails through damp spots on his shirt.
"Now. We'll throw you into an Uber if we have to," Jon says, and Tim knows him well enough that he is being completely serious right now. Tim's crossed one of Jon's lines - he'd almost be impressed, if it didn't mean Jon was both completely beside himself with fury at Tim, and defending that fucking random stranger. "Go home."
There's silence, for a long moment. It feels like forever.
Then, eventually, Tim pushes himself to his feet. Martin almost moves in to grab him when he sways - that sudden burst of energy was demanding its payment now, apparently - but Tim slaps his hand away without a word.
Apparently none of them want to listen to him.
"...fine."
Tim turns, and the only sound as he leaves is the faint tap of his shoes on the concrete floors.
He doesn't look back when the door shuts behind him. He doesn't want to see the smug, knowing smile pointed at him again. Like she's won some shitting game Tim didn't know he was playing.
That he's somehow lost.