Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? (for John)

[jackrackham]

Jack arrives at the archive cautiously, early in the morning, for the first time hoping that Eliot won't be here. He's looking for Martin, because he needs advice and can't think of anyone else that might give a damn about modern social mores around giving gifts. Martin likes to be helpful, and he's ostensibly friendly with Eliot, so he's definitely the best option that he has today.

Only, as the little bell on the door announces his arrival, he realizes that no one is here. No Martin, no Eliot, no anyone. He steps in, and heads for Martin's office to make sure he's not there. He finds an empty desk, a stack of files arranged neatly on one side. He could just grab them and leave with some interesting reading, but that's not what he's here for.

He heads towards the back, thinking that maybe everyone is going through boxes, but he stops when he hears a voice through the other office door. He knocks gently. No answer, so he opens the door and finds John sitting behind his desk, reading aloud. He hasn't had much time to speak with the man, but he recognizes him, knows him as Martin's partner in this business venture...or whatever The Archive actually is.

"Oh, I was looking for-" He stops. John is still reading. He doesn't look up, so Jack takes another step towards the desk. "Hello?"

Comments

[statement_ends]

It isn't that unusual for John to arrive well before Martin does. His sleep schedule is still a nebulous, inconstant thing that rarely sees him actually sleeping during the small hours, and it generally follows that if he's going to be awake, he might as well be working, and if he's going to be working, he might as well do it at work. The short walk from his flat to The Archive isn't always pleasant — even with Riggs gone, there's something off about a city at three or four in the morning — but it has the virtue of being brief, and he always feels a bit better once he's seated in the safe familiarity of his office.

It's also an excellent time to record Statements. Not that there are many in need of the treatment, but he has one, and that's enough to stop him having to delve into the box of Statements from home that he's been thinking of as an insurance policy.

The real irony is that he presumes starting in on it around seven will mean finishing up well before Martin gets in, thereby avoiding any potential interruptions.

John is so absorbed that the knock barely registers, but it's impossible to miss the door opening in his periphery, and the figure silhouetted there is plainly not Martin. Christ. John's gaze flicks briefly up to the door, just long enough to recognize Jack, and then he goes back to reading, the words continuing in an unbroken stream. He isn't sure he could stop if he tried. He is nearing the end, though, and after a moment, he manages to lift one hand, his index finger extended in what he hopes is a universal gesture for 'wait, please.'