Chapter Text
Timothy Stoker had been sitting at his desk, sighing, for the past few minutes.
Jon tended to not be in the business of his coworkers (at least, before their little… situation, with a certain maggot hive), but he couldn’t help but feel as if this was odd. Even by Tim standards.
Tim was already somewhat suspicious on account of everyone being, as of now, suspicious, but the way that he had carried himself had at least been… familiar. Tim was perplexingly extroverted on any given day and often went about with a cheer that was remarkably out of place in the ever dimming lights of the Archives; that was to be expected.
He had off-color humor, often something raunchy on the forefront of his mind and tip of the tongue, and usually when Jon glanced in at him, he was either being incredibly useful to actual work or incredibly useful to the statistics of social media researchers everywhere. Usually it was the latter, if Jon caught him at his desk, since Tim tended toward jumping at fieldwork any chance he got- said something about how just sitting around made him antsy, once.
Jon could deal with that. Even if the devil-may-care attitude meant that Tim was adept in dodging and weaving through any subtle, prying questioning with careful put-upon ignorance or deflecting with carefree banter, it at least meant that Tim wasn’t aware enough of the investigation to change his tactics of misdirection. Or, if Jon was wrong in his suspicions- and… and, he wouldn’t have been lying, if he said he hoped that he was wrong- at the very least it meant that Tim was still plain old Tim.
But Tim, sitting at his desk, picking at one of the edges of the many stickers he’d slapped onto the company issue laptop while staring at the wood of the back of the desk in front of him, was… weird. Jon was certainly a little unnerved by it. He already had Sasha acting odd since the attack, and to have Tim starting to act off, too…
Jon carefully cleared his throat, crossing his arms loosely over his chest in what he assumed would look at least somewhat professional. Tim started, narrow shoulders pitching up in some mildly cartoonish expression of surprise as he spun around in his chair. He wasn’t expecting anyone, which made sense- Martin was currently off following up on Mr. Brown himself, and Sasha was God knows where. By all means, it should have just been Tim in this room, sighing.
“Hey!” Tim said, getting a hold of himself incredibly quickly and flashing a bright grin, “Boss, man, you scared the living daylights outta me- don’t tell me you’ve started embracing the whole spooky thing you got goin’ on?”
Jon frowned, primarily because in what world was he cultivating a… “spooky thing”? Then again, it could have just been Tim teasing him again. Or Tim deflecting after being caught. Most probably both. Jon didn’t address it, instead saying, “I should say not. I came to see if you finished double-checking the Montauk file?”
“Oh! Oh yeah, yeah, totally,” Tim said, opening up his laptop and lifting it up slightly, pulling several sheets from underneath the keyboard. “I actually went back to Julia’s- the daughter’s? When you were going through the whole thing with the skepticism and dry stuff like that, you mentioned that the lightbulb in Montauk’s cell had blown out? But you didn’t mention that the entire ward had been blacked out-”
“I’m aware,” Jon said drily, fingers twitching slightly. “And I’m sure that you are aware that the only reason we didn’t look as far into the specifics of the prison is that it didn’t initially appear to have relevance?”
“Well yeah, but in light of recent stuff, y’know,” Tim gestured with the sheets in one hand, twirling his wrist in a surprisingly elegant motion, “it’d be good to get that fix on record! There’s this guy down in research who’s got his eye on the Montauk case as a possible avenue for his thesis- real sweet guy-”
Jon, who was not at all keen to be on the subject of statement addendums, quickly changed the subject, “Yes, yes, I’m sure he’s yet another lovely person I will never care to meet. I mean, did you get anywhere with the subject of Peter Gordo?”
Tim actually frowned a little at that, shifting so that he was settled in his chair with his legs hanging partially off the side, instead of under the desk. Another odd detail. Tim didn’t usually sit in chairs like a normal person, even when he was working. “... Alrighty then- about that. I can’t actually find anything about the guy.”
Jon’s frown deepened. “Nothing at all?”
“I mean, yeah? Literally just said that,” Tim said, and the hint of tetchiness to his tone was enough to catch Jon by surprise. And also to make him suspicious. Not that Jon wasn’t already suspicious of a lot of what Tim was doing, with the threat of Gertrude’s killer still walking amongst the archival staff, but it was a touch of new suspicion that was notable enough to be commented on.
Tim eventually continued, “Look, I thought that I had a lead with looking at records with the nearby Jobcentre, if he was looking for a job, or with trying to find an address, but there’s pretty much nothing. I can’t even find any close family of the man who might know where the hell he went? Man just dropped off the face of the earth.”
Jon sighed. “... Well. Guess there can be nothing for it,” He supposed that, perhaps, this might have been the cause of Tim’s odd behavior? Despite everything, the man was good at what he did. Jon could imagine the frustration of being handed a case that had no end in sight… Which is usually why he sent those over to Martin. (Though now, he didn’t give them to Martin due to perceived incompetence- Martin had more than proven himself. Now, he gave them because Martin was becoming a little too excessive with the tea breaks, seeming to find every reason to intrude when Jon wasn’t directly reading a statement to 'check' on him-)
“I mean, there’s still some stuff,” Tim said, leaning an arm over the back of his chair and leaning his head on it.
“I believe I may just leave that to Sasha, then, if that’s all the same to you,” Jon said, businesslike. He could press more about Tim’s odd behavior, but Tim had a penchant for avoiding anything direct. And Jon still had to be subtle. Very subtle. And if this was truly innocuous academic frustration, then all the better to free up Tim’s time for another case that could use his talents and connection. “If you’d like to take a lunch break, I may have another case in regards to-”
“Wait!” Tim interrupted, eyes snapping open wide and body jolting up straight. Jon blinked at Tim’s sudden lapse in composure before Tim, apparently recognizing that was a little too sudden, raised his hands in a placating little gesture as he smiled, hastily cheerful, “Wait a second now, Bossman, I didn’t even get to say what stuff needed doin’! ‘Sides, wouldn’t wanna trouble Sasha! Sasha’s got enough on her plate!”
“You said that you couldn’t find anything on Peter Gordo?” Jon reiterated, eyes narrowing. Now, this was certainly unlike Tim. Tim, for all his remarkably laid back attitude and sometimes lackluster work effort, never had an objection to changing duties. Perhaps a little quip or a joke, but never a serious objection that could lead him to- horror of horrors- take on more work. He tended to take everything in stride.
If he wanted to linger on this case, it meant that there was something in it for him.
Jon’s mind flashed back to the credentials of Timothy Stoker- the prestige, the pay, the respect earned. He was reminded of the simple question of, what lead Timothy Stoker to work at the Magnus Institute? This, he realized, could be an important breakthrough.
“I couldn’t, but,” Tim held his right hand up a little higher, tone pitching up the same way a used car salesman gave his pitch. Jon hated salespeople. “I have one more thing I want to try. See, there’s this guy I met in a bar last week- real swell guy, just had,” Tim’s eyes, alarmingly, took on an odd gleam to them, “the prettiest smile you ever saw. Turns out, he works with the General Register Office. We hit it off, y’know? I could probably siddle in, get cozy with him, and…”
Jon’s brows furrowed because, by all means, it was an absolutely ludicrous plan! “Tim, do you have any idea how many Peter Gordos could be scattered over England? It would take you ages to sort through it all- if you even could, then there’s the matter of the sheer amount of Peter Gordos who must have died-”
“Boss, bossman, listen,” Tim said quickly, “the way I figure it, it’d take maybe a few long nights, but! This guy, he’d be more than willing,”
“I don’t believe it will be necessary-” Jon started. After all, when all was said and done, Peter Gordo was more or less a footnote in a larger story. There was still the question of Maxwell Rayner, and where the Montauks might have fallen in with his defunct Church. Then, it hit him. “... You’re not using company time to seduce some poor bastard.”
Tim leaned back, placing a hand over his heart, which was a Tim mannerism meaning “I was absolutely going to do the thing you’ve just accused me of doing, and still will.” Tim said, “What? Little ol’ me? Seduce? Why, I’ve never seduced a soul- ‘sides, if any ‘seducing’ was done, it’s already pretty much over,” Tim shrugged. “All I’m doing is a little maintenance, you know? Do you really think that a single night of ‘relations’ is enough to keep my allies?” His eyebrows gave a jaunty wiggle, which Jon pointedly ignored.
“Regardless, it would be a fruitless endeavor,” Jon said, although he was more than a little unnerved by Tim’s insistence on mentioning his… relations. Sure, it was indeed an asset, but Jon was uncomfortable with exploiting them- and was even more uncomfortable with the idea of… maintenance.
“I mean, maybe this time,” Tim admitted, “but what if we need it in the future?”
“Then you can perform ‘maintenance’ then, I assure you.” Jon sniffed.
“It’s-! I don’t think so,” Tim’s hands slowly fluttered down, worrying over the back cushion of the chair. “‘Cause- cause, you know. He seems to… be connected to Gordo.”
Jon’s mind started whirring a mile a minute at the new information, and at the implication of Tim only bringing this up now. Was it a lie, to get Jon to allow him to work with this stranger? Why was he only mentioning it now? Did he not say anything because he was defending this mystery man from the bar?
In any case. This was something that couldn’t be allowed to sit there. “... I see. Tell me- who is this man of yours?”
“He’s not my-” Tim quickly cut himself off, which was just another nail in the coffin of ‘Behavior That Tim Should Not Be Exhibiting And Yet, For Some Reason, Is’. He usually wasn’t shy about his relations with others, being the… free love, sort. “Okay, so, his name is Joe.”
“... Go on,” Jon prompted.
“Apparently, he and Gordo dated for a bit before he disappeared-”
“No, I mean.” Jon interrupted, holding his arms in a tighter cross over his chest. This was getting to be an uncomfortable position, actually. “Full name, please.”
Tim hesitated. “... Yeahhh, I don’t, uh. You’re not gonna believe me?”
Jon said, “I assure you, there isn’t much that would make me believe your reasoning to be rational already.”
Tim’s lips pursed as he ran a hand through his hair, already tousled with hair gel. “His name’s Joseph.”
“Last name?” Jon pressed.
“... Spooky.”
Jon stared. “... Joseph Spooky.”
Tim weakly said, “Joe Spooky, for short,”
Jon considered asking Tim what in the actual hell he wanted from the General Register Office, of all things. Why did Tim have such a sudden interest, and if all he wanted was with the GRO, why go through the trouble of joining the Magnus Institute first? Was there something here that having ‘relations’ wouldn’t give him access to?
Jon, recognizing that dumping all of this on Tim would come out in a highly paranoid stream, just said, “I’m assigning you to look into the Doe Simmons case.” Tim deflated, hunching over in his seat.
“... Alright. Got it.”
“I’ll grab the file.”
Walking through the branching halls towards his office, Jon was just left with more questions. If Tim was truly some sort of mastermind attempting to infiltrate the Institute for some unspecified goal or another, Jon would have at least thought he would have been able to come up with a name that was actually believable for his imaginary ally. Or, if this ally was real, why hide his name? Just what was Tim’s game here?
Jon slipped his tape recorder from his back pocket, preparing to record a supplemental when from around the corner Martin just had to slam into him and knock the recorder out of his hands. “Dammit,” Jon muttered, crouching down to gather the device from where it lay amongst the shameful amount of paper that Martin had dropped in the confusion. Fantastic work, just throwing all those case-sensitive files around!
“Ah- s-sorry, sorry,” Martin profusely apologized, the tips of his ears flushing red from where they poked out through his black hair, slowly growing shaggy and curling at the edges. The man needed a damn trim. “Jesus Jon, you need to not scare me like that-”
“Perhaps if you weren’t running through the halls with sensitive material,” Jon replied, somewhat peevishly as he huffed out a breath and started to help Martin gather up the loose papers. Couldn’t let them languish on the ground while Martin was fumbling about.
“H-how did you- actually, just,” Martin let out a breath, a sheepish expression crossing his rounded face, “just, we’ll talk, later, about the- the spooky, ah, walking thing,”
“I’m not doing anything spooky,” Jon muttered, slightly cross as he stood and looked up at Martin. How Jon ended up the head of a team of god damn goliaths, he would never know.
“Later- there’s, ah, the case? With Montauk,” Martin tried to fumble into saying something useful, which was… honestly, appreciated. After all, even if he couldn’t allow Tim to continue on the case due to suspected personal interest, Martin, at least, could continue. And last Martin had said, there had been a possible lead.
“Right- you said you got in touch with the former Mrs. Brown?” Jon said, bleeding back into his more professional persona as he quietly slipped the recorder into his back pocket. He just hoped Martin was too distracted to notice- last thing he needed were more possible interruptions.
“I did! She was, a really lovely woman,” Martin smiled fondly, holding the pile of papers to his chest as if to shield them from further collisions. “And we had a little spot of tea and a chat. Poor thing, though, she really had a rough time of it- though, um, that, that would be something I would only want to relay in, in private, due to the ah, sensitive nature of-”
“We’ll skip over that piece for now- is there anything in regards to the whereabouts of Brown?” Jon asked, a mite impatient.
“There was a letter he sent her,” Martin said, thankfully taking the subject change in stride, “postmarked from Ireland. Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear as though we have, ah, any contacts there that could help…”
“I see… a shame, then.” Jon decided that it was probably about time to end this case. “Come with me back to my office for your next assignment, then- I’ll be putting you on fact-checking a miss Doe Simmons’ statement, along with Tim.” He paused for a moment, before saying, “And… if you wouldn’t mind… I do have a favor to ask,”
“Yes?” Martin said immediately, ever eager to curry favor. Although it was still suspicious, it did have its uses- and Jon knew that if he worded it right, Martin wouldn’t suspect a thing.
“Would you mind keeping an eye on Tim for me?” Jon asked, delicately choosing his words. “He was acting… a little… put off.”
“Put off?” Martin blinked, head tilting just the slightest bit to the side. But there was also a glimmer in his eyes- something a little too close to wariness. “... in what way?”
“Well, for one, he wasn’t working,” Jon said peevishly, to which Martin gave a little huff of incredulity, “and not in the normal way. His laptop was closed- wasn’t even on twitter, when he opened it up. He was just sitting there and… sighing.”
“... Sighing.” Martin said carefully.
“Sighing, and acting very un-Tim like when I told him he’d done enough work for the Brown case and could move on. He wanted to pull… long nights.” Jon said this with disdain, as though he himself didn’t constantly pull long nights. Of course, with himself it was different- he’d always been a bit of a workaholic. Tim was Tim- ready to run out the door the second the day had ended.
“Alright, that,” Martin said, eyebrows furrowing a little, “is a little odd. Though… are you sure it would be- be our place to keep an eye on him?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Jon asked, before remembering that talking to he’d gotten from Elias. Even Martin was beginning to catch on, he feared… “I- I’m worried, is all.” And suspicious. Actually, it was just the suspicion with maybe a touch of the worry. He almost wanted to tell Martin about all the other odd bits- about Tim going on about someone from a bar and giving him the dumbest alias imaginable if he were even real in the first place. But then that would look suspicious, wouldn’t it?
Sure, Jon felt bad for using Martin like this- but it was a necessary precaution, not to say a word. And he was sure he wouldn’t feel so bad later on if it ended up being true that one of his assistants had killed Gertrude.
Martin’s eyes, soft blue, studied Jon for a moment. Jon wasn’t used to it, being really studied- and it set off an uncomfortable tingle in the base of his skull, a warmth curling up under his ribs, to see Martin examine him so intently. Whatever Martin was looking for, he’d apparently found it, because his gaze softened. “Alright. I’ll see if I can get Tim to tell me if anything’s the matter- so, no need to worry, alright?”
“That’s not exactly something under my control,” Jon said flatly, to which the corners of Martin’s lips curled up in a warm little smile.
“I suppose so- now, um,” Martin finally glanced away, gaze catching on a totally uninteresting patch of wall, “about Simmons?”
“Right,” Jon said, beginning to walk. Even as he launched into an explanation of a woman claiming to have gone to a casino with a vending machine that caused a life or death stock market-esque game, Jon couldn’t shake the feeling that there was just something odd happening with Tim...