Martin's eyebrow twitches ever so slightly, a tiny, nearly imperceptible concession to the indignation he would be feeling under any other circumstance. Which one, he wants to ask, but thinks better of it; that feels too much like talking back. "Right," he says instead, bowing his head in implicit apology as he takes the file back. "Of course."
He turns and nearly forgets the door again, half-tripping over himself to close it as an afterthought, then stares around the quiet Archive.
John's always been good at pushing him, and this is no exception, despite the fact that they've really only just begun. He can't possibly begrudge this tactic for sort of dragging it out, not when it's still bloody working, but he does feel a bit lost for how to proceed now.
Two options, really: pick one of the several Joneses they have on hand, either at random or by whatever metric might seem remotely meaningful, and risk being sent in this circle up to three more times. Or fetch all of them at once, and risk... whatever that entails.
Not much of a risk either way, really. He's not afraid of this growing tiresome; if anything, he's afraid of becoming impatient for escalation and slipping out of character, or of running out of interesting ways to answer John's progression. It's distantly embarrassing to realize how the chief difficulty here isn't John's behavior, but his own; he hadn't expected being good to require such effort, especially considering the context they've dropped themselves into.
But he has every intention of sticking with it, and the concern of failing is a little ridiculous, he thinks. This isn't scripted and it's not like there are lines he's failing to recall; they're improvising, both playing off each other. Keeping up won't be easy, but it's not meant to be. And as for any concerns about impatience... if John's proven anything over the years, it's that he has a tremendously good sense of timing.
So he draws a breath and fetches the nearest Jones, scarcely even noting which it is; that really doesn't matter. He returns, knocking again, and upon being curtly invited in, he offers the file once more, this time without a word. He keeps his eyes fixed vaguely on the desk, slightly unfocused, as though to make eye contact would be to grossly overstep.
no subject
He turns and nearly forgets the door again, half-tripping over himself to close it as an afterthought, then stares around the quiet Archive.
John's always been good at pushing him, and this is no exception, despite the fact that they've really only just begun. He can't possibly begrudge this tactic for sort of dragging it out, not when it's still bloody working, but he does feel a bit lost for how to proceed now.
Two options, really: pick one of the several Joneses they have on hand, either at random or by whatever metric might seem remotely meaningful, and risk being sent in this circle up to three more times. Or fetch all of them at once, and risk... whatever that entails.
Not much of a risk either way, really. He's not afraid of this growing tiresome; if anything, he's afraid of becoming impatient for escalation and slipping out of character, or of running out of interesting ways to answer John's progression. It's distantly embarrassing to realize how the chief difficulty here isn't John's behavior, but his own; he hadn't expected being good to require such effort, especially considering the context they've dropped themselves into.
But he has every intention of sticking with it, and the concern of failing is a little ridiculous, he thinks. This isn't scripted and it's not like there are lines he's failing to recall; they're improvising, both playing off each other. Keeping up won't be easy, but it's not meant to be. And as for any concerns about impatience... if John's proven anything over the years, it's that he has a tremendously good sense of timing.
So he draws a breath and fetches the nearest Jones, scarcely even noting which it is; that really doesn't matter. He returns, knocking again, and upon being curtly invited in, he offers the file once more, this time without a word. He keeps his eyes fixed vaguely on the desk, slightly unfocused, as though to make eye contact would be to grossly overstep.