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Jon doesn’t come out of the Lonely.
Elias planned for him to go into it, of course, but also to come out, the way he came out of the coffin, and saw through the Dark, and survived the Unknowing and failed to be burnt up by the Desolation or devoured by the Vast. It doesn’t matter that Jon has only been in the empty world a day: he is well aware that if Jon were going to come out on his own, he would have done it by now.
Elias calls his lawyer, and five hours later he’s striding through the familiar halls of his seat of power, unerringly walking towards the absence in his office.
“This wasn’t the arrangement,” Elias tells Peter at once, not waiting for him to drop out of the fog. “You mark my Archivist, you don’t swallow him whole.”
Peter appears with a sigh, spreading his hands. “What can I do, Elias? He was barely past the threshold when he lost himself. And really, if he’s as lacking for anchors as that…”
“Jon is perfectly well-anchored,” Elias says coldly.
Peter smiles at him. “Is he aware of that?”
Peter is a longstanding ally, and Elias doesn’t have so many of those that he’s willing to risk that alliance lightly.
He is even less willing to risk Jon, not when they’re this close.
“I trust,” Elias says, “that when I attempt to retrieve him, I will meet no interference?”
“Not from me,” Peter says, managing to convey with a half-smile and a shrug of his shoulders that he thinks Elias is being foolishly sentimental, and he’s delighted by it. “If you can coax your wayward stray home, he’s all yours.”
“Thank you,” Elias says, and then he takes a deep breath and makes himself sit down and pour two fingers of scotch. He and Peter discuss the running of the Institute in his absence for two interminable hours, Elias focused on keeping his face impassive and his breathing even while Peter is perfectly aware of the way his heart is racing with love and fear and impatience. Still. Appearances count for something.
Two hours later, Elias rises from the desk, and Peter’s eyes glint with satisfaction as he says “I won’t keep you.”
Elias smiles at his shocked employees in the halls as he finally makes his way down to the archives. The assistants all start shouting when he walks in–even dear Basira, who should really know better–but Elias ignores them all, heading straight for Jon’s office door.
“It’s locked,” Martin says, looking tearstained and hopeless. Indeed, the door is visibly frozen shut, the lock rimed with frost. “I’ve gone in to look for him, but wherever I go I can’t find him–”
“Of course you can’t,” Elias says pityingly, and dismisses Martin with a wave of his hand. He reaches for the door handle, and Basira actually yanks him back by the shoulder.
“You can’t just walk in here like nothing’s happened,” she says fiercely, and Elias shrugs her off.
“I’m afraid you’ll find I can,” he says. “Feel free to punch me after I bring Jon back.”
“That won’t be all we’ll do,” Melanie growls, visibly shaking with rage, but Martin grabbed her arm as soon as Elias said ‘bring Jon back,’ predictable as ever.
“Please,” Martin says, red-faced and obvious. “It–-it can’t hurt to let him try.”
“Sure it can,” Daisy says darkly, but Elias isn’t actually waiting for permission.
He twists the frozen door knob in his hand, and at the same time he drops his mental shields.
All of them.
Everyone remotely connected to the Beholding within a ten mile radius makes some kind of sound at the same time, suddenly punched through with a deep awareness of Elias--his presence, his emotional state, the sharp edges of his thoughts, his implacable gaze. In the room with him, Jon’s assistants double over with it, clutching at furniture and each other for balance.
Elias barely notices, because in front of him the door has swung open, revealing a cold, white London, and Elias’s unguarded self is projecting into it like a beacon, like a snaking golden rope hooked between his chest and Jon’s, like a tendon connecting Eye and Archivist.
“Come on, Jon,” Elias murmurs, fond and only catching a little on the discomfort of it. “Whatever would I do without you?"
He can feel the instant Jon Sees him, Jon’s relief almost washed out by the sharpness of his hunger, his almost animal delight at realizing he can Know all of Elias’s secrets if he only pulls himself back along the tether.
Elias stays cut wide open, his naked self bare for anyone with eyes to see, and waits for Jon to drag himself out of the mist. He can do it. He just needs to know what his anchors really are.
As soon as Jon passes through the door, Elias yanks his shields back up. There’s an audible gasp from the assistants as they crumple like abandoned puppets, and Jon makes a starving, frustrated noise. He’s wild from the temptation and his time in the Lonely, narrowly focused on Elias. His hands actually reach out for Elias’s chest, as though it were that simple to get at the secrets he hides inside his ribcage, clawing at his shirt.
Elias takes advantage of Jon’s preoccupation, wrapping a steadying arm around Jon’s shoulders.
“Please,” Jon says hoarsely, shaking with how badly he needs a statement, needs Elias and everything he Knows, and Elias smiles with all his teeth.
“Not yet, Jon,” he tells him, soothing the blow with a touch to Jon’s hair. “Soon.”
Daisy and Melanie and Martin are each individually about to pull Jon away from him, and of course the detective is just watching, but Jon hasn’t even realized anyone else is in the room yet. “Swear,” Jon demands, his burned hand fisting in the cloth of Elias’s shirt.
Elias lets his hand drift up to Jon’s cheek, caressing his jaw lightly before Daisy succeeds in yanking Jon back.
“Promise,” Elias says, low and satisfied.
Jon leans into the touch.