For a very long time, Tim doesn’t speak. Instead he sits back in his chair and studies Jon in a way that he would never willingly study anyone else. It’s not because he has any powers or anything else; it’s a just in case because he would never be able to live within himself if he did. At the very least it’s probably a good sign that he doesn’t cross his arms over his chest and glare. Instead he just holds up two fingers to the bartender to signal for another round of drinks for the both of them.
Tim is thinking in an obvious sort of way, at least. This decision and whatever comes from it isn’t one that’s going to be brought forth in anger. Well, at least not just in anger. Timothy Stoker doesn’t know how not to be angry anymore. He doesn’t know how not to have that little red ball of rage lodged between his heart and his Adam’s apple. Even before there had been the smallest bit of it after Danny, but it had been a grain of sand then. Every day under the watchful embrace of the fucking Eye, that sand had been coated in more venom and anger and fear and hate until it had become a bomb that had eaten almost everything else that he had been. That he ever could have been.
This fucking place and these fucking creatures had warped and changed them so much and it was still mutating them. It would never stop mutating them as far as Tim was concerned, given what had happened to Gertrude Robinson, and now Jon. The waitress comes and drops off the bottles and informs Tim that she’s gonna add it to his tab which just earns her a nod.
After she’s scurried off, Tim finally says what’s on his mind. “Don’t ask that of me, Jon, and I won’t make you promise that if you ever start feeding on innocent people like Elias did to Melanie you won’t ask Daisy to kill you.”
Ordinarily, Jon wouldn't let himself be examined for so long without comment. Attention has always felt critical in nature, has always seemed to find him lacking—at least with Tim he knows he's already been judged. There's a strange kind of comfort in it. The least he can do is let himself be seen for what he is and what he wants.
He wants his friend back. The one that used to call him boss and cracked jokes and wasn't eaten up completely by paranoia and loss and a need for revenge. The one that had risked his life to save him and Martin when they'd been under attack and had the scars to prove it. But deep down, Jon knows that Tim is gone. There is no going back for either of them.
Jon’s mouth tightens into an unhappy frown, but after a long moment, he nods—slow, reluctant, like the movement itself costs something. "I won't."
He's not sure if he's saying he won't make Tim promise or he won't feed on innocent people. He wants to believe both are true, but he also knows he won't make a promise to Tim he can't keep. He wants to keep pushing, keep begging, but he knows it won’t change anything. It won’t bring Tim back. And he’s already lost too much to lose this, too.
Tim knows–has know really–Jon for far too long to view his answer as any sort of committal in one way or another. That being said, he’s all too willing to engage in a mutual pact of asking no questions about that and then they won’t have to tell one another lies. God, Tim is so fucking tired of lies. Most days and nights, he assumes that there’s a bit of the Lie involved in all of the Fears because that was the one other thing they all had in common. They fucking lied. What choice did honest people have when playing with Eldritch horrors?
“Alright then, boss.” It’s a reflex to add the word, but it doesn’t have the sharp and bitter bite to it that it once did. There’s not an underlying harshness, but there’s also not that underlying ease either; maybe it’s a happy medium or a new normal but it’s something at least. Picking up his fresh cider, he twists the lid off before he raises it in a sort of toast that Tim doesn’t really have words to accompany when it comes down to it. There’s both too many words and not enough.
“So,” he starts at last after he’s taken a long sip. “Tell me what’s going on at work now that I actually give a damn about something other than shifting around boxes and trying to annoy Elias by counting to a million in my head.”
He winces at the nickname as much as he wants to lean into it. It's not the same, but it's not hostile. It's enough. He picks up his own bottle of cider and lifts it, finishing the warm liquid off before reaching for the new one set in front of him.
"Oh, you know, the usual," he says, keeping his voice flat. "Horrors, terrors, paperwork, etc." There's a hollowness in his chest that still somehow aches. "Though, Rosie did ask after you the other day."
“Yeah,” he mutters, and there’s that bitterness once more, sharp as ever. “‘Course she would. Why wouldn’t she?” It’s much different than Tim has ever spoken about Rosie before. He’d been almost friends with her once, but it couldn’t last after everything that had happened. In the forever changed mind of Timothy Stoker, Rosie was one of two things. First, she either knew more than she let on and was working more firmly for Elias than she’d ever let on. Or, and just as bad, she was Elias’ favorite snack and Tim has absolutely no intention of ever going near Elias’ office again unless it was with a gas can and a lighter very firmly in hands. “It’s not as if I ever want to be found at work.” Which is a true and more universal statement. At least before tonight anyway.
“But that’s not what I meant, Jon. I mean what’s really going on. Why has Elias been sending you off everywhere and getting you kidnapped multiple times. I may be an idiot but I’m not blind. I know there’s something happening and if I’m trusting you, then I’m a part of it alright?”
Leaning in he adds softly, “recorders don’t come here. They never have. Don’t know why but they don’t. I always wondered if it had to do with some sort of horseshit to do with Smirke. He’s got things all over below the city that we know about. Imagine what we don’t.”
Jon stares down at the table. It's not shame, exactly, it's more like he's afraid of what Tim might see if he keeps looking him in the eye. "I don't know what his plan is, but I know that I'm a part of it. He wants me to find my own way to things. That's why he keeps sending me, testing me." He takes a shaky breath and looks up at Tim.
"You asked me, back at the beginning, how you were supposed to know I was really me." His mouth tightens into a thin line. "I am still me," he promises, but there's a long pause afterwards. "But I think I'm changing too..." He swallows thickly. "I think Elias is turning me into something, I don't know what. He won't tell me."
Tim isn’t even surprised in the slightest by Jon’s admission. How could he be when he’s had the most front row seat with the clearest vision for the longest? He’s been there as the Eye made Jon paranoid and crazy, as it drove him mental with the lack of trust, as it had been doing to all of them. There’s no accusation or criticism in the shrug that Tim makes; instead it’s just an acceptance of that fact. “Yeah. The bloody Archivist.”
But Tim doesn’t stop with the simple naming of that fact. Instead he adds to it. “But you don’t have to, you know. We know that you don’t have to. If you had to become whatever the fuck Elias wants, then he wouldn’t have needed to kill Gertrude in order to stop her. Somehow she managed it. You can manage it too.”
There’s a beat, and Tim leans forward, offering earnest eyes and something infinitely more precious: a glimmer of a memory that somehow had managed to stick around. “You know,” he starts and he swallows, fighting the urge to keep this one thing to himself because it’s all that Timothy Stoker feels like he has left of her. But he also knows that the Sasha he still believes in with all of his heart would want him to tell Jon, their friend. “Sasha.” Her name is so heavy in his throat that he needs a sip of cider to force it back to the ball of rage. “She suspected that the reasons the archives were a fucking mess were something Gertrude was doing on purpose. We didn’t know about the Eye and Elias and the whole damn building being evil then. But Sasha knew that there was more to Gertrude fucking Robinson than being a dotty old bat. And now we know, don’t we?”
Jon lets out a soft breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. He's still holding it together, but just barely. "You think Gertrude stayed who she was in the beginning?"
He doesn't mean it as a challenge, but it comes out bitter anyway. He runs a hand through his hair, exhausted, grasping for anything that might feel like truth. "She killed people, Tim. She burned statements and artifacts. She made sure none of us could do our job properly. Maybe that was resistance, but it feels a long way off of winning." He pauses, his expression softening the slightest bit. "But Sasha..." Just saying her name out loud makes him want to break. "She saw it for what it was. " She'd seen through Gertrude; maybe she would've seen through Elias eventually. Maybe that's why she'd been allowed to be taken. The thought ignites that same anger that had driven him to take an axe to the table what felt like an age ago. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't have to become what he wants. But I can't fight him alone." He shifts, reaching for the unopened cider and twists the lid off of it. "We need a plan."
“No.” The word is single and decisive. “I don’t think she stayed the same as in the beginning. I don’t think that anyone who ever has walked through the door of The Magnus Institute has come out the same person they were when they went in.” Tim means it; it’s one of the more solid truths in his foundation at this point. That’s one door you will always be buggered if you go into it.
“But she stopped them. Gertrude Robinson stopped them. She hurt them. Doing our jobs properly,” the bitterness comes through with the implied finger quotes his tone places around Jon’s words, “is what that bastard wants. But you’re right. We do need a plan. You, me, Martin and Melanie for sure. Though Melanie is probably going to want to kill him along with everyone else.”
It’s clear that killing Elias will kill everyone else, because that’s the most nightmare situation that Tim can imagine. When in doubt, always expect the worst option and while he’ll be glad to wipe the Circus off the map, he doesn’t want to murder the people here who were innocent like they once had been. “How much do you trust Basira? Is it enough to trust her and Daisy on this?”
Melanie is a loose cannon, even more so than Tim. She doesn't believe Elias's threat about all of them dying if he does. Jon isn't so sure he's bluffing, no matter how much he wants him to be. At least Tim is content to limit his destruction to himself, Melanie wouldn't hesitate to take down anyone standing in her way. "I can try to speak with Melanie," he sighs. "But it might be better if Martin tries first. I don't think she likes me very much." Georgie had said she'd called him a dick. He supposes, that's fair.
"I trust Basira," he says without hesitation. He turns the bottle between his fingers, taking a moment longer to think over the second part of Tim's question. "I trust Daisy to do whatever it takes to free Basira of her contract, but after that, she's likely to kill anyone she thinks is a threat to the public." Unfortuantely, that includes Jon himself. Which, may not be the worst thing, but is definitely something he wants to avoid until he's sure there's no coming back from this.
“Yeah. Her thinking that we’re assholes is our fault too. Mine and Martin. She thinks that we didn’t do enough to warn her and Melanie is probably right. We didn’t. But then again we couldn’t really, not with Elias there and waiting to pounce on yet another fucked up person for the archives to eat off of.” While Tim’s words have no shortness of bitterness; it’s the sort that comes from one’s own regrets and not a malice that he’s placing at Jon’s feet. There’s enough blame to go around here, and Tim knows that he’s willing to take the lion’s share of that one.
“Good.” Tim says it to both things, but he’s not intending for it to be something that goes against Jon. Rather he’s thinking about Daisy versus Elias; even if she can’t kill the head of the Institute than at least she could hurt him. Of course the theatre and that fucking clown were always going to come first on the list of monsters he wants to take out, but at this point Elias Bouchard is a very very close third.
“There’s got to be somewhere that we can plan that he can’t hear us, yeah? I mean I can be a distraction but eventually he’s going to stop finding it amusing to come and poke my scabs about things.”
"It's not entirely your fault, Elias saw an easy mark." He'd needed more cannon fodder if Jon was going to go through assistants the way Gertrude had. Not that Jon would ever make the same calls that she had for his team. Even Melanie, who openly disliked him. If that was a reason for someone to deserve to die, he's pretty sure he'd be the cause of death for every person he'd ever met.
"I'm not sure how far his power extends," Jon said, taking a sip of his cider. "However, if the tape recorders do not show up here, it might indicate that this place is beyond his reach somehow. Is there anywhere else where they don't show up?" Sometimes, Jon wonders if he is the reason for their activation, although he has listened to enough tapes to understand that he is not their only target. He lowers the bottle slowly, fixing Tim with a somber look. "Does he know about your brother?"
Some of the air deflates from Tim as Jon’s question forces him to think of both his beloved brother and their bastard boss at the same time. He sounds exhausted. “I don’t know if Elias knows why I came to the Institute. I thought I had covered my tracks pretty well because I was worried that it might have disqualified me from working here. And that had made me laugh before, let me tell ya, mate. Sometimes I think I should have come right out and said it to his face just to see what he’d do. But that would have just been me giving a statement and not signing my soul away.”
Tim pauses and takes a drink. “After everything Elias did to Melanie and likely Daisy too,” he can still remember Martin’s voice as he insisted that the murder cop had looked like she’d seen a ghost when she’d torn out of trying to interview Elias. He also knows that no one would have told him if they’d found out after that just given his response to the everything of it all. Tim wouldn’t blame them for that and he doesn’t. “He probably does, or at least he could find it out easily enough. I guess I just haven’t made myself inconvenient enough yet.”
If the two of them weren’t coming up with this plan to stop Elias, Tim probably would have used that thought in order to provoke the bastard, but he files that thought away for later. For now they have other things to worry about. “Wait,” he says after a moment. “When Prentiss attacked, you needed to grab the recorder before we went into the tunnels, yeah? And I had to grab one to go in the tunnels after ya with Martin. The tape recorders work, but do they show up there?”
Jon knows that Elias has used his knowledge about the others to hurt them. Melanie's run-in with him had been particularly cruel, and the thought of it makes his teeth grind. He doesn't want him to be able to hurt Tim in the same way, even if he's positive it would only make Tim angrier. "Let's not give him a reason to use it against you," he says after a moment.
Jon thinks back to the Prentiss attack and the mindless need that had driven him to grab the recorder. He now recognises that his actions were driven by something outside of himself, although he didn't realise it at the time. "No," he says slowly. "I don't think they do."
"He hadn't known about Leitner down there, either," Jon says after a moment. "Otherwise, he would've removed him as a threat sooner." He looks back at Tim. "We should test it to be sure."
Despite the amount that Timothy Stoker had put away before Jon had gotten there, and the drinks they’ve had together, Tim feels very sober, and he latches onto the idea of going to check. Checking now seems imperative if only because he doesn’t want Elias to end up figuring out that the two of them were on the same side before they’ve actually some sort of workable plan; the bastard already knows far too many things that he’s not supposed to know.
Pulling a wad of notes out of his pocket, Tim doesn’t bother to count it out before he pulls out his phone. Despite it being late, he sends out another text message. The response isn’t instant, but it is quick and it does cause Tim to grin. “According to Rosie,” because clearly Tim checks in with her fairly often about this. “Elias is at a fundraising event in Glasgow. He’s not going to be back until Sunday.”
Does Tim know he doesn’t need to actually be at the Institute to use his bullshit bastard abilities? Of course he does. But it’s a lot harder to stop them from where he is if Elias knew what Tim and Jon were actually up too. Pulling on his coat, Tim asks. “Got a better time to try and see, boss?”
Jon watches as Tim pulls out his money and his phone. He has an inkling of where his mind is going, and so he hastily takes a long pull from his drink before following Tim's lead and getting to his feet. He hadn't even bothered taking off his coat when he'd sat down.
There's a small rush of hope at the fact that Tim wants to be within five feet of him without tearing his head off. He tries to tamp it down, knowing that even if they're on the same side, it doesn't mean he's forgiven for the part he's played in all of this. Still, he gives Tim a rare smile and shakes his head. "No. Let's go."
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For a very long time, Tim doesn’t speak. Instead he sits back in his chair and studies Jon in a way that he would never willingly study anyone else. It’s not because he has any powers or anything else; it’s a just in case because he would never be able to live within himself if he did. At the very least it’s probably a good sign that he doesn’t cross his arms over his chest and glare. Instead he just holds up two fingers to the bartender to signal for another round of drinks for the both of them.
Tim is thinking in an obvious sort of way, at least. This decision and whatever comes from it isn’t one that’s going to be brought forth in anger. Well, at least not just in anger. Timothy Stoker doesn’t know how not to be angry anymore. He doesn’t know how not to have that little red ball of rage lodged between his heart and his Adam’s apple. Even before there had been the smallest bit of it after Danny, but it had been a grain of sand then. Every day under the watchful embrace of the fucking Eye, that sand had been coated in more venom and anger and fear and hate until it had become a bomb that had eaten almost everything else that he had been. That he ever could have been.
This fucking place and these fucking creatures had warped and changed them so much and it was still mutating them. It would never stop mutating them as far as Tim was concerned, given what had happened to Gertrude Robinson, and now Jon. The waitress comes and drops off the bottles and informs Tim that she’s gonna add it to his tab which just earns her a nod.
After she’s scurried off, Tim finally says what’s on his mind. “Don’t ask that of me, Jon, and I won’t make you promise that if you ever start feeding on innocent people like Elias did to Melanie you won’t ask Daisy to kill you.”
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He wants his friend back. The one that used to call him boss and cracked jokes and wasn't eaten up completely by paranoia and loss and a need for revenge. The one that had risked his life to save him and Martin when they'd been under attack and had the scars to prove it. But deep down, Jon knows that Tim is gone. There is no going back for either of them.
Jon’s mouth tightens into an unhappy frown, but after a long moment, he nods—slow, reluctant, like the movement itself costs something. "I won't."
He's not sure if he's saying he won't make Tim promise or he won't feed on innocent people. He wants to believe both are true, but he also knows he won't make a promise to Tim he can't keep. He wants to keep pushing, keep begging, but he knows it won’t change anything. It won’t bring Tim back. And he’s already lost too much to lose this, too.
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Tim knows–has know really–Jon for far too long to view his answer as any sort of committal in one way or another. That being said, he’s all too willing to engage in a mutual pact of asking no questions about that and then they won’t have to tell one another lies. God, Tim is so fucking tired of lies. Most days and nights, he assumes that there’s a bit of the Lie involved in all of the Fears because that was the one other thing they all had in common. They fucking lied. What choice did honest people have when playing with Eldritch horrors?
“Alright then, boss.” It’s a reflex to add the word, but it doesn’t have the sharp and bitter bite to it that it once did. There’s not an underlying harshness, but there’s also not that underlying ease either; maybe it’s a happy medium or a new normal but it’s something at least. Picking up his fresh cider, he twists the lid off before he raises it in a sort of toast that Tim doesn’t really have words to accompany when it comes down to it. There’s both too many words and not enough.
“So,” he starts at last after he’s taken a long sip. “Tell me what’s going on at work now that I actually give a damn about something other than shifting around boxes and trying to annoy Elias by counting to a million in my head.”
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"Oh, you know, the usual," he says, keeping his voice flat. "Horrors, terrors, paperwork, etc." There's a hollowness in his chest that still somehow aches. "Though, Rosie did ask after you the other day."
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“Yeah,” he mutters, and there’s that bitterness once more, sharp as ever. “‘Course she would. Why wouldn’t she?” It’s much different than Tim has ever spoken about Rosie before. He’d been almost friends with her once, but it couldn’t last after everything that had happened. In the forever changed mind of Timothy Stoker, Rosie was one of two things. First, she either knew more than she let on and was working more firmly for Elias than she’d ever let on. Or, and just as bad, she was Elias’ favorite snack and Tim has absolutely no intention of ever going near Elias’ office again unless it was with a gas can and a lighter very firmly in hands. “It’s not as if I ever want to be found at work.” Which is a true and more universal statement. At least before tonight anyway.
“But that’s not what I meant, Jon. I mean what’s really going on. Why has Elias been sending you off everywhere and getting you kidnapped multiple times. I may be an idiot but I’m not blind. I know there’s something happening and if I’m trusting you, then I’m a part of it alright?”
Leaning in he adds softly, “recorders don’t come here. They never have. Don’t know why but they don’t. I always wondered if it had to do with some sort of horseshit to do with Smirke. He’s got things all over below the city that we know about. Imagine what we don’t.”
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"You asked me, back at the beginning, how you were supposed to know I was really me." His mouth tightens into a thin line. "I am still me," he promises, but there's a long pause afterwards. "But I think I'm changing too..." He swallows thickly. "I think Elias is turning me into something, I don't know what. He won't tell me."
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Tim isn’t even surprised in the slightest by Jon’s admission. How could he be when he’s had the most front row seat with the clearest vision for the longest? He’s been there as the Eye made Jon paranoid and crazy, as it drove him mental with the lack of trust, as it had been doing to all of them. There’s no accusation or criticism in the shrug that Tim makes; instead it’s just an acceptance of that fact. “Yeah. The bloody Archivist.”
But Tim doesn’t stop with the simple naming of that fact. Instead he adds to it. “But you don’t have to, you know. We know that you don’t have to. If you had to become whatever the fuck Elias wants, then he wouldn’t have needed to kill Gertrude in order to stop her. Somehow she managed it. You can manage it too.”
There’s a beat, and Tim leans forward, offering earnest eyes and something infinitely more precious: a glimmer of a memory that somehow had managed to stick around. “You know,” he starts and he swallows, fighting the urge to keep this one thing to himself because it’s all that Timothy Stoker feels like he has left of her. But he also knows that the Sasha he still believes in with all of his heart would want him to tell Jon, their friend. “Sasha.” Her name is so heavy in his throat that he needs a sip of cider to force it back to the ball of rage. “She suspected that the reasons the archives were a fucking mess were something Gertrude was doing on purpose. We didn’t know about the Eye and Elias and the whole damn building being evil then. But Sasha knew that there was more to Gertrude fucking Robinson than being a dotty old bat. And now we know, don’t we?”
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He doesn't mean it as a challenge, but it comes out bitter anyway. He runs a hand through his hair, exhausted, grasping for anything that might feel like truth. "She killed people, Tim. She burned statements and artifacts. She made sure none of us could do our job properly. Maybe that was resistance, but it feels a long way off of winning." He pauses, his expression softening the slightest bit. "But Sasha..." Just saying her name out loud makes him want to break. "She saw it for what it was. " She'd seen through Gertrude; maybe she would've seen through Elias eventually. Maybe that's why she'd been allowed to be taken. The thought ignites that same anger that had driven him to take an axe to the table what felt like an age ago. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I don't have to become what he wants. But I can't fight him alone." He shifts, reaching for the unopened cider and twists the lid off of it. "We need a plan."
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“No.” The word is single and decisive. “I don’t think she stayed the same as in the beginning. I don’t think that anyone who ever has walked through the door of The Magnus Institute has come out the same person they were when they went in.” Tim means it; it’s one of the more solid truths in his foundation at this point. That’s one door you will always be buggered if you go into it.
“But she stopped them. Gertrude Robinson stopped them. She hurt them. Doing our jobs properly,” the bitterness comes through with the implied finger quotes his tone places around Jon’s words, “is what that bastard wants. But you’re right. We do need a plan. You, me, Martin and Melanie for sure. Though Melanie is probably going to want to kill him along with everyone else.”
It’s clear that killing Elias will kill everyone else, because that’s the most nightmare situation that Tim can imagine. When in doubt, always expect the worst option and while he’ll be glad to wipe the Circus off the map, he doesn’t want to murder the people here who were innocent like they once had been. “How much do you trust Basira? Is it enough to trust her and Daisy on this?”
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"I trust Basira," he says without hesitation. He turns the bottle between his fingers, taking a moment longer to think over the second part of Tim's question. "I trust Daisy to do whatever it takes to free Basira of her contract, but after that, she's likely to kill anyone she thinks is a threat to the public." Unfortuantely, that includes Jon himself. Which, may not be the worst thing, but is definitely something he wants to avoid until he's sure there's no coming back from this.
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“Yeah. Her thinking that we’re assholes is our fault too. Mine and Martin. She thinks that we didn’t do enough to warn her and Melanie is probably right. We didn’t. But then again we couldn’t really, not with Elias there and waiting to pounce on yet another fucked up person for the archives to eat off of.” While Tim’s words have no shortness of bitterness; it’s the sort that comes from one’s own regrets and not a malice that he’s placing at Jon’s feet. There’s enough blame to go around here, and Tim knows that he’s willing to take the lion’s share of that one.
“Good.” Tim says it to both things, but he’s not intending for it to be something that goes against Jon. Rather he’s thinking about Daisy versus Elias; even if she can’t kill the head of the Institute than at least she could hurt him. Of course the theatre and that fucking clown were always going to come first on the list of monsters he wants to take out, but at this point Elias Bouchard is a very very close third.
“There’s got to be somewhere that we can plan that he can’t hear us, yeah? I mean I can be a distraction but eventually he’s going to stop finding it amusing to come and poke my scabs about things.”
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"I'm not sure how far his power extends," Jon said, taking a sip of his cider. "However, if the tape recorders do not show up here, it might indicate that this place is beyond his reach somehow. Is there anywhere else where they don't show up?" Sometimes, Jon wonders if he is the reason for their activation, although he has listened to enough tapes to understand that he is not their only target. He lowers the bottle slowly, fixing Tim with a somber look. "Does he know about your brother?"
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Some of the air deflates from Tim as Jon’s question forces him to think of both his beloved brother and their bastard boss at the same time. He sounds exhausted. “I don’t know if Elias knows why I came to the Institute. I thought I had covered my tracks pretty well because I was worried that it might have disqualified me from working here. And that had made me laugh before, let me tell ya, mate. Sometimes I think I should have come right out and said it to his face just to see what he’d do. But that would have just been me giving a statement and not signing my soul away.”
Tim pauses and takes a drink. “After everything Elias did to Melanie and likely Daisy too,” he can still remember Martin’s voice as he insisted that the murder cop had looked like she’d seen a ghost when she’d torn out of trying to interview Elias. He also knows that no one would have told him if they’d found out after that just given his response to the everything of it all. Tim wouldn’t blame them for that and he doesn’t. “He probably does, or at least he could find it out easily enough. I guess I just haven’t made myself inconvenient enough yet.”
If the two of them weren’t coming up with this plan to stop Elias, Tim probably would have used that thought in order to provoke the bastard, but he files that thought away for later. For now they have other things to worry about. “Wait,” he says after a moment. “When Prentiss attacked, you needed to grab the recorder before we went into the tunnels, yeah? And I had to grab one to go in the tunnels after ya with Martin. The tape recorders work, but do they show up there?”
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Jon thinks back to the Prentiss attack and the mindless need that had driven him to grab the recorder. He now recognises that his actions were driven by something outside of himself, although he didn't realise it at the time. "No," he says slowly. "I don't think they do."
"He hadn't known about Leitner down there, either," Jon says after a moment. "Otherwise, he would've removed him as a threat sooner." He looks back at Tim. "We should test it to be sure."
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Pulling a wad of notes out of his pocket, Tim doesn’t bother to count it out before he pulls out his phone. Despite it being late, he sends out another text message. The response isn’t instant, but it is quick and it does cause Tim to grin. “According to Rosie,” because clearly Tim checks in with her fairly often about this. “Elias is at a fundraising event in Glasgow. He’s not going to be back until Sunday.”
Does Tim know he doesn’t need to actually be at the Institute to use his bullshit bastard abilities? Of course he does. But it’s a lot harder to stop them from where he is if Elias knew what Tim and Jon were actually up too. Pulling on his coat, Tim asks. “Got a better time to try and see, boss?”
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There's a small rush of hope at the fact that Tim wants to be within five feet of him without tearing his head off. He tries to tamp it down, knowing that even if they're on the same side, it doesn't mean he's forgiven for the part he's played in all of this. Still, he gives Tim a rare smile and shakes his head. "No. Let's go."