Fic: How to Survive a Recession 1/5
Nov. 7th, 2009 04:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piecesof_reeses“Is it just me,” Brendon says, “or have things have gotten a little quiet around here?”
No one answers. The only replying sound is a sad little flutter a discarded newspaper makes in front of him, flapping against the gum-stained pavement. It’s open to the Classifieds page, and someone’s circled a few entries in red ink. In front of him, the row of abandoned storefronts stretches out endlessly, lining Brendon’s daily commute to his office.
Then there’s a squeak of a wheel behind him, and Brendon jumps to the side just in time for old homeless Annie to shove by him.
“Haven’t you heard, son?” she says, smacking her toothless gums together. “It’s 2009, and there’s a recession going on.”
Brendon blinks.
“I’m liquidating all my assets and getting out of this sinkhole of an economy,” Annie continues, jerking her head towards her overflowing shopping cart. Brendon wants to ask what assets, exactly, she has to liquidate, being a homeless person and all. But maybe Brendon’s just being insensitive, and before he can decide, she’s speaking again.
“If you had any brains, young man, you’d do the same.”
With that, she shuffles off once more, the wheels of the cart squeaking every three steps.
“Huh,” Brendon says, and doesn’t speak again until he reaches his office.
* * *
Brendon is pretty sure Ryan has officially gone around the bend. Okay, so maybe he’s made that call quite a few times in the past, like when Ryan got a bowl cut, or when he decided to communicate entirely by Mark Twain quotes for a day, or when he got high and fake married (and boy, wasn’t that a heart attack until they realized the marriage certificate was printed off the internet and had a watermark. Ryan had been ready to hurl his incurably-bachelor self off the nearest ledge). But, yeah, no. This time, Brendon really means it.
“Ryan Ross,” he hisses, “have you gone completely fucking insane?”
Ryan slowly swivels his stupid head to blink mellowly at Brendon. “No,” he draws out. “This’ll be great! Hilarious.”
“Right.” Brendon chews on his thumbnail, watching Ryan type with an impending sense of doom.
“Just keep watch, okay?” Ryan says bossily. A few minutes later, he makes a small noise of satisfaction. He clicks one final time, then stands back to admire his handiwork.
Brendon stares at the monitor, mouth hanging open. He can’t even—he’s speechless. Last time had been bad enough, when Ryan had changed Spencer’s desktop to a collage of glittery unicorns. But compared to this…It’s like escaping from lethal injection only to be executed by beheading. It’s like turning away wilted brussel sprouts only to get force-fed fried cockroach. It’s like turning down a butt-ugly middle-aged cougar only to get raped by a grunting biker. It’s like—
“What the hell is this?” Spencer asks very calmly from behind Brendon, interrupting his panicked train of thought.
Oh. “Shit,” Brendon says in a small voice. He darts his eyes to the right and then to the left. No sign of Ryan—that slippery little fucker.
“Shit?” Spencer says, raising an eyebrow. “I think you mean ‘fuck.’” Brendon eeps out a hysterical-sounding giggle.
Because, well—Spencer’s right. It’s all very punny. Brendon lets his eyes drift reluctantly back to the computer screen.
Two very naked, very shiny men are going at it like bunnies, their dicks excruciatingly visible between Spencer’s Internet Explorer icon and his recycling bin icon. Brendon squints a little bit. Huh. The shorter one has dark hair, and…bears a passing resemblance to him, while the other guy looks like a less attractive version of Spencer Smith.
Brendon is going to kill Ryan.
“I am so sorry,” Brendon blurts out, speaking at a speed he doesn’t think he’s achieved since coming out to his parents all those years ago. “I didn’t, I mean, well, you know!” He gestures kind of wildly to Spencer’s computer screen.
“Brendon,” Spencer says sighing, “Seriously? I don’t think I need to tell you that this kind of conduct is incredibly unprofessional. You probably think this is just fucking hilarious—“
Brendon shakes his head emphatically.
“—but it has got to stop.” Spencer fixes his blue eyes on Brendon seriously. “I do want to continue having a functional workplace relationship with you.”
And that line, Brendon is positive, came straight out of the employee interaction handbook they were all handed right out of orientation.
But he’s right. Workplace relationship, that’s the goal. Brendon blinks hard and tries to stop staring at Spencer’s soft, pink mouth. There’s the slightest indentation in his bottom lip, tucked in there adorably from hours of stressful work.
“Brendon?” Spencer prompts.
Brendon realizes he’s leaning in, and abruptly catches himself. “Yes, um, of course,” he stammers. “You are completely right.” He motions at the screen. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Spencer nods at him, lips quirking up and face softening slightly.
“Yeah.” Brendon swallows and smiles back. “Really, I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to touch Spencer’s shoulder, feeling the warm muscle underneath the black cotton shirt, firm and really, really tempting.
Spencer tenses under his hand, and Brendon can tell Spencer’s still a little annoyed, so he steps quickly back.
“I’ll see you later, then,” he tells Spencer.
“Yeah.”
* * *
So, yeah, okay, Brendon might be kind of embodying the cliché—geeky employee hung up over the hot receptionist. But, well. At least Spencer doesn’t wear a short skirt and high heels.
Although if he did, that would be…Brendon can feel his eyes glazing over, and quickly shakes his head to clear it.
So, Spencer is completely male, which is at least one strike against the stereotype, right? He’s male, and too often stressed out, and when he is stressed, he always snaps at Brendon in this really commanding, capable manner.
It’s really hot.
But also, more than that, Brendon’s not just thinking with his dick, even though sometimes he might get caught up thinking about Spencer’s eyes and his hair and his really broad shoulders.
Brendon knows things (and wow, that sounds creepy even in his own head). But he really does know things, like the fact that Spencer keeps a Han Solo and a Yoda action figure in his top left drawer, and that sometimes, when he’s really bored, he uses them to act out some of Pete’s more infamous pep talks (like the one that went on about Care Bears and clouds and Patrick’s voice before somewhat abruptly resolving itself into something along the lines of, “go out and sell more electronics! Yeah!”)
And Brendon knows other things, too, like the fact that Spencer will only ever drink caramel macchiatos because he spent his high school career only ingesting black coffee in an effort to be cool, and apparently, his taste buds have never really recovered so he’s decided to just drown them in sugar for the rest of his life.
And the fact that Spencer can quote, line by line, not only everything from The Empire Strikes Back but also The Little Mermaid (because Brendon heard Spencer and Jon talking about that one day and maybe sort of decided to stay and lurk in their general vicinity).
So, yeah, Brendon knows lots of things about Spencer. The only problem is, Spencer doesn’t know all that much about him. And he doesn’t seem very interested in learning.
One would think that working with Spencer’s best friend might help Brendon in his pursuit, but yeah, no. Ryan Ross is completely useless when he isn’t giggling or framing Brendon for stupid pranks. Then he’s just a pain in the ass.
“I am so not a pain in the ass,” Ryan says, slurping on his non-fat vanilla latte.
Brendon scoffs loudly. “I can’t believe you keep doing this to me. Why did you just leave me there?” He scrubs a hand over his face, picking up momentum. “Why did you feel the need to change his desktop in the first place? And why the fuck did you change it to gay porn?” Brendon pulls at his hair, agitated. “It even looked a little bit like and me and Spencer! Oh my god, was that on purpose? Did you do that on purpose, Ryan Ross?”
Ryan looks shifty. Brendon gapes at him.
“Look,” Ryan says, “it’s not my fault if you suck at making a timely escape, okay?”
Brendon puts his head in his hands. “Ryan, why do you want to make me suffer?” he moans.
Awkwardly, Ryan pats him on the back.
“Who’s making you suffer, sweetie?” Greta asks, walking up from a couple cubicles over.
“The world,” Brendon says pitifully.
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Ryan says, which is rich, coming from him.
“Whatever.” Brendon stands up, glaring at Ryan. “I’m going to go give Spencer his caramel macchiato.”
“Of course you are,” Ryan says, amused. “You’d tackle anyone else who tried to do it.”
Brendon ignores him and stalks off. He wishes he had some sort of billowing cloak to enhance the effect. Or maybe not, because then that would cover up his ass. Brendon has a great ass. And he really can’t afford to cover up any of his positive attributes when it comes to Spencer Smith.
“Hey, Spencer,” Brendon says, coming to a stop in front of his desk. He smiles winningly.
“Hi, Brendon,” Spencer says without looking up. He’s typing rapidly, pausing every so often to consult a book lying to the side of the keyboard. His brow is furrowed, and he’s biting his lip again. A lock of shiny brown hair has fallen across his eyes, lying against his cheek.
Brendon smiles at the picture, staring for a moment before reaching out to gently brush the hair back.
Spencer raises an eyebrow at him.
Brendon quickly snatches his hand away, hiding it behind his back.
“Sorry,” he says, feeling his cheeks heat up.
“It’s, um, alright,” Spencer says, finally taking his fingers away from the keyboard and focusing his full attention on Brendon.
“I, uh. I went on a coffee run and got you some,” Brendon says. He shakes the coffee cup in his hand slightly.
“Oh! Thanks.” Spencer fumbles for something in his pocket. “What do I owe you?”
It’s largely a perfunctory gesture; Spencer offers to pay him every time, and every time, Brendon turns him down. It’s something he doesn’t do for any of the other employees—he’d go broke if he did—but there’s this little part of Brendon that worries if he makes Spencer pay, then one day, Spencer will tell him he doesn’t need coffee anymore because money’s tight, or something. And then Brendon won’t have any excuse for his daily dose of Spencer Smith, other than just lurking creepily, of course, but Brendon likes to think he’s beyond that. (Mostly.)
So he says easily, “Don’t worry about it.”
Spencer lifts a corner of his mouth in a small smile. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Brendon grins and, reaching out a second time, tucks some hair behind Spencer’s ear. Spencer flushes, but doesn’t do anything else.
“Well, thanks, then,” he says.
“Anytime,” Brendon says, trying not to smile too hugely. Ryan says it makes him look creepy. “I’ll see you around?”
“Okay.”
“Cool.”
They stare at each other for a moment, and then Brendon tilts his head and strolls off, hands in pockets. He whistles to himself whimsically, and swings a quick left to use the bathroom.
His smile still hasn’t left his face by the time he’s done, and he’s on the tail end of Under the Sea, whistling the high parts and then pitching his voice really low for Sebastian. It’s a hilarious contrast, and he wiggles his fingers happily to the rhythm of the tune.
It isn’t until he gets to his cubicle, though, that he realizes just how clearly the chorus of Under the Sea were echoing around the walls. The Marketing department’s been really quiet for ages, yeah, but now it’s completely silent, the only noise coming from his own, slowly fading voice.
There’s no one in any of the cubicles, and while empty cubicles aren’t exactly a rare occurrence (none of them have the greatest work ethic), there’s usually at least one person where they’re supposed to be, playing some spider solitaire (most of the time it’s Joe, because he’s too stoned to want to make the effort to move himself from his desk). But—no. Right now, everyone’s gone. It’s like the fucking Twilight Zone.
A lone computer beeps and then settles into a low hum, going into standby.
Swallowing hard, Brendon quietly continues down the hall. He’d feel like an idiot for getting so spooked, but this is getting seriously creepy.
After a few steps, Brendon can hear a low murmur of voices, and he starts to relax. Something’s still off, though; no one’s laughing or talking loudly, and as Brendon gets closer, he can see that virtually the entire branch is huddled around Chris’s cubicle.
“What’s going on?” Brendon blurts out, his voice strangely piercing amidst all the whispers.
Patrick beckons him closer, and Brendon’s sense of unease only increases. What the hell is Patrick doing in Marketing? He hardly ever pokes his bespectacled head out of Design. But Brendon looks around, and he can see other people from design here, too, like Victoria, Gabe, Nate, Ryland, and Alex in one corner, and Frank, Bob, and Ray clustered around the Way brothers in another. Brendon chews on his lips. Are they all planning for another crazy interdepartmental barbecue? Except they’re going to need their manager if they’re putting on another party, and Pete is strangely absent.
And now that Brendon’s looking, he can see a familiar golden, curly head right in the middle of the crowd, next to Chris. It’s Greta, and she looks like she’s…tearing up.
“What the hell is going on?” Brendon whispers to Patrick urgently. “What’s wrong?”
“Chris got a pink slip,” Patrick says, voice hushed.
“A pink slip? Are you serious?” Brendon reels backward. There hasn’t been a lay-off since…Brendon can’t even remember. He shakes his head quickly. “But—what did he do wrong?”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Gabe says from behind Brendon. He looks grim for maybe the first time Brendon’s known him. “They’re cutting. Trimming the ranks.”
“In the Marketing Department?” Brendon asks, eyes wide. It’s suddenly a lot harder to breathe. He’s still paying off his car. And the rent on his apartment’s going up. If—no. Brendon can’t even think it.
“From what I hear, in every department.” Gabe’s mouth is pressed in one thin line, and his jaw’s clenched.
“Who told you that?” Brendon presses.
“I have my sources,” Gabe says unhelpfully. His fingers come up to rub the cobra pendant he always has around his neck.
“Well…shit.”
“No kidding,” Patrick says, hand checking his trucker cap in an uncomfortable gesture. “Brent just got laid off, too, and so did Otter, but I don’t think anyone really took notice until it was Chris.”
“Where are Ryan and Jon?” Brendon asks suddenly.
“I haven’t seen them,” Patrick tells him, shrugging.
Brendon walks off, thumb in his mouth as he gnaws on his nail. Without paying attention, his feet have led him back to the reception desk. And yeah, they’re all there.
“Oh, there you are,” Ryan says, looking up. “I was wondering.”
“Here I am,” Brendon echoes lamely. He walks over and leans on the counter by Spencer.
They’re silent for a while, everyone too wrapped up in their own thoughts to talk.
Finally, Brendon says, “Greta is really torn-up,” quietly.
“Yeah, I saw,” Jon says unhappily. He toes his flip-flops, sliding them on, then off, on, then off.
“I just—can’t believe this,” Brendon says, dragging a hand through his hair.
“It’s completely believable,” Spencer says, voice tight. “We’re in the middle of a fucking recession. People are losing their jobs in companies all around us. In fact, it’s a miracle they haven’t started laying people off until now.”
“It’s true,” Ryan says, sounding even more monotone than usual. “I caught a glimpse of the last-quarter’s earnings. We’re bleeding cash like a stuck pig.”
“Is it really that bad?” Jon looks pained. “I thought sales were picking up recently. I mean, the holiday season’s coming in a few months—“
“Not fast enough,” Spencer says with finality. “Island Electronics has always been tiny compared to the industry giants. Banks aren’t going to be able to give us the loans we need to survive as such a small, relatively new company. Plus, we manufacture luxury electronics. No one’s going to keep buying our shit in this economy. We might as well write off all our jobs right the fuck now.”
“Spencer,” Brendon says, placating, “I’m sure it’s not as—“
“This company is fucking done for,” Spencer interrupts. “We’re all done for.”
“But maybe things will get better,” Jon tries, rubbing his jaw. “I mean, it’s probably too early to decree a death sentence, right, Spence?” he says, trying to laugh and lighten the mood.
But Spencer’s face only tightens.
“Right,” Spencer snaps. “Of course. Sure. Let’s just stay here like a row of sitting ducks, blindly waiting until we wake up to find our asses on the streets and nowhere to go. Great plan.”
There’s a stunned silence, and Ryan reaches a hand out to Spencer before abruptly stopping the movement in midair.
“Sorry,” Spencer says shortly after a few moments. “I just. God, I can’t—“ He stands up abruptly, passing a hand over his face. And then he walks off, pulling open the door and striding into the street.
They stand there, frozen for a second. Brendon exchanges a confused, concerned glance with Jon.
“Is he…okay?” Brendon asks, directing the question towards Ryan. Because if anyone knows what’s going on with Spencer, it’s Ryan. Brendon quickly tamps down on the jealousy threatening to come up.
“It seems like he’s taking this even worse than Greta,” Jon says, furrowing his brow. “And Chris, even.”
“Yeah, um.” Ryan grimaces. “He just has a lot on his plate right now.”
Brendon stares at him. Ryan doesn’t move to elaborate. Sighing, Brendon looks back down and tries not to grind his teeth. It doesn’t work very well. Ryan’s always going to know things about Spencer that Brendon doesn’t. Brendon knows that. He just…doesn’t have to be very happy about it.
“Ugh, fine.” Ryan purses his lips exasperatedly. “Come closer.” He waves at Brendon and Jon impatiently.
They inch forward, and Ryan wraps his spidery arms around them both, leaning in.
“You guys can’t tell anyone else this, okay?” Ryan says, an edge to his normal monotone.
“Of course we won’t!” Brendon says indignantly, and he would say more, but Jon puts a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, Ryan. We know,” Jon says.
“Okay.” Ryan swallows. “Ginger’s gotten…” He licks his lips. Brendon tries not to tap his foot. “She’s gotten sick. And she doesn’t have any medical insurance and Spencer’s sisters are still in the university, so right now, Spencer’s trying desperately to fund everything. It’s getting harder and harder to get loans, so most of his paycheck’s going towards the bill, which means his savings are really depleted. It’s just…a shitty situation.”
“Ginger? You mean his mom?” Jon says.
“Yeah.”
Brendon blinks. “His mom’s…sick? I should—“ He takes a few steps towards the door, to do what, exactly, he doesn’t know, but Ryan quickly grabs him by the arm. The skinny fucker has a surprisingly strong grip.
“Don’t. Spencer didn’t want me telling anyone. And I’m pretty sure he needs to be left alone right now,” Ryan says.
Brendon grimaces. He can feel his face flushing with embarrassment, and irritation, but mostly, a whole fuckton of envy. “Sure,” he says curtly. “Fine. I’m just going to…” He turns on his heels and leaves, with some half-formed idea of going to comfort Greta.
Resolutely, he ignores the sympathetic look Ryan gives him.
* * *
Spencer is back at his desk the following morning, dark bags under his eyes. But he does look a little more cheerful.
“Hey,” Brendon says quietly, pausing for a moment. “You doing okay?”
“Oh, yeah,” Spencer says. He rubs the back of his neck embarrassedly. “Sorry about my…freakout, yesterday.”
“It’s fine!” Brendon hastens to reassure him. “It’s, you know. It’s a really stressful situation. I mean…” He lays a hand on Spencer’s arm cautiously. “If you need any help, you know you can just ask, right?”
“Yeah?” Spencer says, looking slightly surprised.
“Of course.”
Spencer narrows his eyes for a moment, and then says, haltingly, “Look. I know we aren’t exactly best friends, and I appreciate that you’re trying to help out a friend of Ryan’s, but—“
“Dude. I’ve worked with you for, like, two years,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes. “I do kind of care about you not sliding into some black hole of worry about your job.” He makes spirit fingers with his left hand when he says ‘black hole,’ grinning with satisfaction when he sees Spencer roll his eyes in a practiced motion.
“Well.” Spencer says, looking considering, and then sheepish. “Thanks.”
“And you’ll tell me if you need any helping out?” Brendon prompts. He absentmindedly rubs soothing circles into Spencer’s bicep with his thumb, trying to relieve some of the tension there.
“Yeah, sure,” Spencer says, reluctantly smiling back. “Now get out of here; I have to work.”
Brendon salutes him and walks away backwards, not wanting to be the one to break eye-contact. That decision’s taken out of his hands, though, when he collides with someone behind him.
“Shit!” Brendon says, stumbling slightly. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all good, dude,” Cash says, smirking at him. “Enjoying the view?” He inclines his head towards the reception desk, where Spencer is bent over his computer again.
“You shut the fuck up,” Brendon mutters. When did his life get to the point where spotty little interns were mocking him regularly? Clearly, Brendon needs to make some changes. He looks backwards for a moment, and Spencer looks up at the same time. He smiles brilliantly, and Brendon blinks. Maybe those changes can wait until later.
Cash elbows him to get his attention again. “You fuckers are, like, middle school sweethearts, or something. All the blushing and stuttering with none of the alleviation of blue balls.” Cash leers.
“Oh my god, why are you still talking?” Brendon says. He really needs a Red Bull.
“Whatever, man. You know you appreciate my profound insights,” Cash says.
“Did DeLeon teach you those words?” Brendon asks bitchily.
Cash elbows him again, harder. “Man, I’m just gonna give you a free pass for that because of your blue balls. Did you hear about what happened with Chris? Most exciting thing that’s happened in months.”
Brendon eyes him. “Dude, Chris got laid off. He’s totally screwed in this economic climate!”
Cash gives him a shit-eating grin. “And everyone’s looking over their shoulders now. Man, am I happy to be an intern without a salary.”
“You’re a douche,” Brendon says, rolling his eyes but smiling in spite of himself.
“Born and bred,” Cash says proudly. “So, who do you think is gonna be next? I’m totally putting my money one of the Way brothers. They never do anything except stand around and look creepy and shit. Also, I’m pretty positive none of them have ever taken a shower in their entire lives. Tarnishes the company image!”
“There’s a pool going now?” Brendon asks in disbelief.
“Eh. Kind of. Only between me, Ian, and the other interns, though. I asked other people to join, but they didn’t seem too happy about the idea. Greta even slapped me, for some reason.”
“No way,” Brendon says flatly.
“I know, right? Marshall is putting money on the Frank character. The dude’s got a bit of a temper problem, if you know what I mean. Didn’t he punch Pete’s lights out a couple months ago?”
“He did it for Gerard,” Brendon says absently, sitting down at his desk and pulling up Photoshop to at least look productive. “Because of what happened between Mikey and Pete.”
“Oh, right.” Cash snickers. “This is the gayest office ever.”
“Didn’t you kiss DeLeon at the last office party?” Brendon asks, smirking.
Cash whips his head from the left and then to the right, comically. “Dude! How’d you hear about that? I mean! Nothing happened!”
“It was in front of the entire branch, man,” Brendon says. “And we would have gotten the best porn since Gabe accidentally used the wrong flashdrive for that one presentation, but Marshall shoved both of you into the supply closet. And then you ran out screaming a few seconds later!”
“DeLeon stapled me! In my…” Cash trails off, looking haunted.
“He was falling down drunk, man!” Brendon’s full-out laughing now, leaning against the wall. “I’m surprised he didn’t pass out while your tongue was still in his mouth.”
“Whatever,” Cash says, looking sulky. “Just watch. That’ll be you and Spencer next party.”
“I wish,” Brendon mutters. “And, yeah. Who says there’s going to be a next party? With the way things are going…” Brendon doesn’t let himself finish. Well, shit. That killed any laughter Brendon had.
“Yeah,” Cash says, looking uncomfortable for the first time. “Look. I mean, you know that…” Cash grimaces and starts over. “You know that even though I talk a lot of shit, I’m sorry, right? And, like, I hope it isn’t you who’s laid off next and shit.”
“Wow,” Brendon says, brightening. “Was there actually a decent sentiment under all that?”
“Fuck off, asshole,” Cash says. He pauses, then says, “Hey, I heard we were having some kind of interdepartmental meeting this morning. The entire branch is supposed to be there.”
“Shit,” Brendon says, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “You think it’s about…”
“Probably,” Cash says.
Brendon quickly clicks into his email. There’s a new office memo, confirming what Cash said. Brendon exchanges a glance with him.
Time to face the music. Or Pete, as the case may be. And then it really has nothing to do with music, because, while Brendon isn’t exactly one to judge, he knows from the last time they did office karoake that Pete can’t carry a tune to save his life. He sure tries, though.
* * *
They’re all crowded into the largest meeting room they have, but most people are still standing up and being squished into all four corners. Brendon’s one of the last to get there, and he squeezes into a spot by Ryan and Jon. The fact that he sucks in his breath and makes himself as two-dimensional as possible to wedge himself onto the other side of Ryan has nothing to do with Spencer standing right there. His arm and leg are pressed warmly against Brendon. It’s…nice.
Brendon thinks that he probably shouldn’t be perving on his coworker during an office meeting. Maybe.
“Do you know what we’re here for?” he whispers loudly.
Ryan shushes him, annoyed. “Pete’s about to speak.”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Oh no, the great Pete Wentz is going to impart great wisdom upon us all,” he says in a nasally tone, but then Ryan elbows him, and that dude’s elbows are really fucking sharp.
“Hi guys,” Pete says, looking subdued. There are dark circles under his eyes, and more wrinkles than Brendon can remember seeing marring the sides of his mouth. “So, I’m sure you all have heard already, but we’ve had to let some people go because of financial reasons, including Otter, Chris, Brent, Matt, Katie, the other Chris…”
Brendon lets himself zone out a little while Pete continues listing off names, most of them belonging to people he’s only ever said two sentences to, at most.
Pete pauses, after maybe ten or so more names, and Brendon can hear a low murmur of discontented voices. “The company’s not doing so well right now,” he continues, “and we’re not sure when things are going to make a turnaround, so we’re going to have to make some changes around here.”
Changes? Brendon exchanges an alarmed look with Jon.
Pete clears his throat, looking immensely uncomfortable. “To help make things more, uh, efficient, the higher ups have decided to bring on efficiency consultants. You know. To help us pick up some slack, things like that.”
There’s an immediate burst of voices, people clamoring to ask questions, offer opinions, and, if you’re Frank Frank, to swear loudly and inventively.
Pete puts up a hand. “Hold up, everyone. I know what you’re thinking. Bringing an outsider in to tell us how to run our company? What the fuck, right? I mean, we’re the ones who have been working our asses off these past few years to get this company where it is today!”
Pete swallows, and opens his mouth as if to say more, but beside him, his assistant Ashlee is putting a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back. She whispers a few words into his ear and tucks some notecards into his hand.
Pete blinks, slowly, and he nods, and for a moment, he looks horribly, horribly old, and tired, and defeated.
“Right. Um, anyway. I got some, um, things here that the higher ups want me to tell you all,” he says, jaw clenching. He waves the notecards in his hand in an explanatory fashion.
Then he puts his head down, focuses very intently on the notecards, and starts reading. He doesn’t look up to see their faces even once, which Brendon knows must be deliberate, because Pete’s great at reading from script. But this time, Pete just recites the words in a monotone rivaling Ryan’s own, desperately avoiding everyone’s eyes.
“These efficiency consultants are a great opportunity to bring a fresh, outside perspective to the inner workings of this great company,” he says woodenly. “Hopefully, they’ll be able to streamline and improve functionality, which is in everyone’s best interest. If you have any questions, please harass Pete Wentz at 544-3—Wait.” Pete breaks off and his lip curls slightly, a reassuring tick hearkening back to the old Pete. “Um, no. Go harass the fucking Island execs.”
“That’s it?”
Brendon twists his head to look for the source of the quiet voice, and weirdly, it’s Mikey Way.
“We don’t get any say in this? They’re just gonna bring in the efficiency consultants, or whatever?” Mikey asks, his mouth twisting.
Pete opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Um. No. I’m—I’m sorry. They’ll be here on Monday, guys.”
It’s a dismissal, so slowly, they start filing out of the room, everyone’s eyes on the floor. Brendon wonders if he’s the only one who notices how Pete’s shoulders slump, and the way he leans on Patrick, and the way Patrick just lets him, instead of blushing and stuttering and shoving Pete away like he usually does.
It’s a weird thing, but it leaves Brendon shaken, Pete and Patrick falling out of their usual pattern. It’s like when the animals start acting abnormally, when huge flocks of birds start flying away and toads hop haphazardly along the roads, all right before a gigantic earthquake hits. Brendon worries his bottom lip and tries to make himself stop thinking.
The thought doesn’t let go of him, though, just nags at the back of his mind.
* * *
Later that day, when Brendon’s getting ready to leave, he sees Spencer still hunched over his desk. Brendon is already one of the last to go home, so he lingers a bit, trying not to be too obvious about it. He slowly helps the janitorial staff shut off most of the main lights, one by one, until the only beacon of brightness is Spencer’s Ikea desk lamp and his computer monitor.
After fifteen minutes, Spencer shows no signs of leaving. Brendon pauses for a moment, watching him, before biting his lip and slipping outside.
The door closes soundlessly behind him.
* * *
By the end of the next day, Brendon has progressed from being panicked, to anxious, to impatient, and then to just incredibly fucking bored. He really, more than anything, just wants the whole thing to be over and done with.
“So who d’you think they’ll bring in?” Brendon asks, chewing on his lip.
“I dunno,” Jon says, shrugging. Brendon really likes Jon. Jon’s just a great person. Jon never tells him to shut up and go away, even when he asks the same question five times in a row. Of course, Jon is also usually stoned out of his mind, so that might have something to do it. Whatever. Ross is just unusually impatient.
Being in Tech Support means that Jon often has a lot of free time on his hands. He’s good at his job, too; Jon’s got that sort of mellow personality which means that he never gets fed up with any customer, even when (in Brendon’s opinion) the customer was really asking for it. Like the one who kept prank calling.
“Oh, hold on, Bren, someone’s calling in,” Jon says, before punching a button. “Hello, you’ve reached Island Electronics Customer Support; your agent today is Jon and my number is 56781. How may I help you today?” he rattles off.
He waits, swiveling around in his chair and nodding along. “Mmhm,” he says. “Yeah, I understand.”
Brendon pokes at Jon’s knee. Then he uses his finger to draw a flower on it, a happy one, because of course fucking flowers are happy; they don’t have to worry about lay-offs and efficiency consultants and hot receptionists who won’t even look at them twice.
“Right, of course,” Jon is saying. “The screen’s just completely black, you said, right? And you’ve tried shaking it, plugging it in, everything, but it just won’t start up? Hm. Have you tried pressing the power button, by any chance?”
Jon pauses for a moment.
“The power button’s red,” he says kindly. “It has a picture of a kind of circle? With a vertical line going through the top. You see it? Great! Now just press it—no, no, only once! No, you don’t have to hold it down. Yeah, don’t worry about it. I get these questions all the time; you’re not the first. Can I just ask, though, how you managed to plug it in? I don’t recall it coming with any sort of cord…Ah. That was the antenna.”
Brendon giggles a little at that. It’s always the crazies who call Tech Support. On the other side, Joe is looking oddly anxious, his afro quivering. Joe never looks anxious, though. He’s even mellower than Jon is.
“Please, sir,” Joe is saying, “I really don’t think taking your laptop into the shower is a good idea. No, not even with saran wrap on it. Why do you need it there, anyway?” Someone babbles on the other end of the line. Joe’s face blanches. “Oh. I see,” he says woodenly.
In the last few seconds, Jon’s picked up another call, and he’s busy talking again. Sighing to himself, Brendon picks himself up and wanders around, looking for someone else to bother.
The interns are playing cards in the break room like usual; it looks like Scum this time. Brendon keeps walking. He’s learned never to play cards with the Alexes after the office Christmas party. DeLeon cries whenever he loses a substantial amount of money, Cash cheats without any sort of shame, and Ian always wins anyway. It’s something to do with that big, crazy hair, Brendon thinks. It’s hiding lots of secrets. Or cards. Either way.
He passes the Way brothers on one side of the hall, Mikey listening to his iPod morosely and Gerard sketching even more feverishly than usual. He looks on edge, eyes sunk deep in his face and hair sticking up at weird angles. Brendon can feel his lips tighten. They’re all on edge, these days.
Spencer’s sitting behind his desk, typing away. Brendon sidles over sneakily, with a little shuffle step that ensures the least amount of noise made. He perfected it during his second week of work, when Bert McCracken had still been employed and latched onto anything that made noise.
“Hey, Spencer,” Brendon says quietly when Spencer takes a break to print something off.
Spencer jumps at least two inches into the air, his ass coming back down with a whoosh on his chair. “Shit, Brendon, make some noise, would you?”
“Sorry,” Brendon says, abashed.
“No, it’s fine. I’m just kind of…” Spencer waves his hand in the air.
“Frazzled?” Brendon offers helpfully.
Spencer snorts. “Yeah. Frazzled.”
“Whatcha doing, anyway?” Brendon asks.
“Some filing. Nothing really important,” Spencer says, shrugging. “Just busywork.”
Brendon looks down, twisting his fingers together. “You want some help?”
“I’m okay. It’s just alphabetizing,” Spencer says.
“I’m great at alphabetizing! A true master. I learned the alphabet when I was two,” Brendon wheedles. “And it’s not like I have anything else to be doing. I’d much rather be here with you than with the interns, or Tech Support, or Ryan when he’s in one of his moods.” Brendon doesn’t add that he’d much rather be with Spencer at any time of the day, in any place, and during any of Ryan’s moods. Because Brendon’s still got some dignity left. (Some. Not a lot. But some.)
“Well. Alright.” Spencer blinks. “Just—here,” he passes over a pile of papers. “Alphabetize by client, then by project, then by date, okay?”
“Sounds good!” Brendon says. He slides some papers over, then makes a seat on the edge of Spencer’s desk. Their legs are touching. Brendon suppresses an entirely embarrassing urge to giggle and play footsie.
A few minutes later, Brendon asks, “So, who do you think they’re going to bring in as efficiency consultants?” He immediately wants to bang his head against the wall. The most inane question ever, and he has to ask Spencer it. Brendon makes a little sound of disgust. No wonder Spencer thinks he’s an airhead.
“I don’t know,” Spencer says, sliding some papers behind a clip.
“Yeah, no one seems to have any idea,” Brendon says. He pokes his tongue out, trying to wrestle the paper clip open.
“Although, I have heard…” Spencer pauses. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, okay?”
“Okay,” Brendon says breathlessly. He leans down so that they’re face to face. Brendon looks at him very solemnly, broadcasting his best vibes of trustworthiness.
“I’ve heard they’re bringing in a duo named William and Michael?” Spencer says.
“William and Michael?” Brendon asks. The names sound familiar, for some reason.
“Yeah. They’ve already been through HP,” Spencer says, shuddering. “Rumor has it that, because of them, half the ranks were trimmed, and practically all the employee benefits were cut. Even the ones that were left alive at HP are like zombies. They don’t get anything for them at work anymore. The Solitaire games were removed—“
Brendon gasps in horror.
“—and talking was prohibited except in memos. And…“ Spencer stops again, licking his lips. Brendon stares at them for a moment, transfixed—they’re really pink, and soft, and oh, Spencer’s talking again. “…personal email privileges were revoked,” Spencer is saying.
“That’s awful!” Brendon says.
“I know.”
“It’s—it’s inhumane!”
Spencer shrugs, looking resigned. “It’s not like we can do anything about it. They’ve been hired. And they’ll be here on Monday.”
“Well. Fuck,” Brendon says.
“Shit,” Spencer agrees. His blue eyes look really tired all of a sudden, and he slumps down in his chair.
“Thanks for, um. Thanks for telling me,” Brendon says. He puts a timid hand on Spencer’s shoulder and squeezes it reassuringly. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Not even Ryan and Jon.”
Spencer looks up. “Oh, don’t worry about that. They already know.”
“…Oh.” Brendon tries desperately to keep his lips from turning down. “That’s…good. Um. Here are the papers. I’m done sorting them.”
“Thanks,” Spencer says, but Brendon’s already off his desk and walking away.
Stupid. He’s stupid. Of course they know. Of course Spencer would tell Ryan before he even thought about telling Brendon. It’s just…the way things are.
Brendon swallows, and tugs restlessly at a lock of his hair. He just…liked the feeling of sharing some kind of secret with Spencer, just them two. Like Spencer actually trusted him. Well, whatever. It’s fine.
Shaking it off, Brendon walks back to his cubicle.
* * *
Brendon shoulders his way through the front doors, hands full of steaming cups of life. It’s true. No one in Marketing can actually focus their eyes until they get their first shot of espresso.
Everyone’s standing in small groups, chattering. Brendon quickly walks over to where Ryan and Jon and Spencer are standing.
“Hey,” he says, handing over coffees. “What’s up?”
“The efficiency consultants are in the building,” Ryan says darkly.
“We’re set to report to the meeting room in five minutes,” Spencer adds.
Jon says, “It had better be worth it. I even put on real shoes for this.”
Brendon looks down immediately, and sucks in a breath at seeing Jon’s feet encased in hard, brown leather.
“Jon!” he says in horror. “Your toes!”
“I know,” Jon says miserably. “They want to be free.”
“I’ll give you a foot massage later,” Brendon promises. He catches the tail-end of a dark glance from Spencer, and wonders at it. Huh.
People are starting to migrate towards the meeting room, slow and ponderous as water buffalo.
Brendon holds his breath nervously. He’s starting to feel really apprehensive about the whole thing. Beside him, Spencer looks even more worried, face drawn into severe lines. The expression is horribly out of place on him, and unthinkingly, Brendon touches his lower back.
“It’ll be alright,” he whispers.
Spencer flashes him a quick meaningless smile, and Brendon tries to content himself with it.
In the meeting room, Pete’s already waiting, looking serious like he always is these days. Two guys are next to him. One’s tall and willowy, brown hair left long and brushing his sharp, sharp cheekbones. The other is shorter and more built. He’s got longer, stringier hair and an evil look in his eyes. They’re dark and bottomless—soulless, even. Brendon shivers.
Both men are dressed in snappy-looking suits, black with skinny black ties. Brendon feels absurdly underdressed in his ratty hoodie and tight jeans.
A few minutes later when everyone’s filed into the room, Pete starts to speak.
“Hi, everyone,” he says. “I’m very happy—“ he looks like he’s choking on the words “—to introduce our two efficiency consultants, William Beckett and Michael Carden. These two fine men—“ Pete’s gritting his teeth “—are well-versed in office politics and have many years of experience in their field of study. I have no doubts that they are a valuable and welcome addition to our company. Everyone, please welcome Mister Beckett and Mister Carden.”
He starts clapping, a slow, monotonous thudding that only highlights the scowl on his face. No one joins in the applause. Pete looks as though he couldn’t care less.
“Right!” The taller one says, clapping his hands together sharply. “Great. So, as Peter over there said—“
“It’s Mr. Wentz,” Pete corrects immediately, lips thinning.
“Yes, of course,” the man says flippantly. “I am William Beckett, and my esteemed colleague is Michael Carden. Michael, do wipe that frown off your face,” he says grandly.
Brendon thinks this guy might be a little off his rocker. Looking to his side, he can tell that Ryan’s having the same misgivings. Spencer’s face is frozen in an expression of disbelief.
“We are so pleased to be here, and we can tell you are all just as excited!” William smiles benevolently. He pauses.
Someone coughs.
“Well,” William continues briskly, “I’ll just fill you in on what we’re going to be doing for the next couple of weeks! First will be a period of observation, you know, where we study your behavior and your relationships. This can take anywhere from two days to a week depending on…” he descends into a murmur. “We will specifically be looking for instances of unrest and inefficiency based on communication issues and personal…” his voice dies down into a murmur again.
Jon nudges Brendon, looking bewildered. Brendon shrugs back at him.
“Then we will submit a long, long list of recommendations that Michael and I will have slaved over for many nights to Peter over there—“
“Mr. Wentz,” Pete repeats.
“Yes, yes. Afterwards, we will conduct a survey with each and every one of you.” William smiles, showing a long row of white teeth. “We ask for the greatest degree of honesty in these. These surveys will be the final measure influencing our recommendations as to personnel retention. Some factors we will ask about will include problems in office interactions, the unsaturated…” He finishes the sentence in an incomprehensible mumble.
“Um,” Joe says, looking uncertain and vaguely confused. “Can you repeat that?”
“Of course.” William beams at him. “We’ll ask about factors such as issues in office interactions, and the…” He mumbles the rest again.
“Great,” Pete says, looking more mystified than angry now. “That sounds…great. Anyone have any questions before we finish up?”
Gabe stands up smoothly, unfolding his tall frame until he towers over the rest of the room—everyone except for William. He fixes his dark eyes on him.
“Can I ask about your credentials, Mr. Beckett?” Gabe asks, rudely emphasizing the mister. “No doctorate degree, I’m taking it?”
“Mr…” William trails off, raising an eyebrow.
“Saporta,” Gabe provides. “Gabriel Saporta.”
William’s thin lips quirk up at that. “Mr. Saporta. Both Mr. Carden and myself have dual degrees from Columbia University in Business Consulting and Public Relations. We have led many companies back from the brink of bankruptcy through our ingenuity in pioneering new ways of doing business. Rest assured that we are the best in our field.”
“Can you give any examples of your vaunted ingenuity?” Gabe asks, borderline hostile. But Pete doesn’t move to do anything, instead leaning back with a smirk on his face.
“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see, Mr. Saporta.” William smiles insincerely at him, and Gabe smiles back. Their eyes bore into each other.
“Okay,” Pete says, interrupting the intense stare. “That’s all, then? No more questions?”
No one responds.
“Great. See you all later. Go work,” Pete says shortly.
William leans against the wall, catlike, eyeing everyone as they walked out the door. Brendon shivers when he walks past, uncomfortable.
“Fantastic,” Brendon mutters as they walk back. “So they’re going to observe us? What does that mean?”
“Means we’re going to have to do a lot more pretending to work around here,” Ryan says dryly.
Jon laughs at them. “Dude, I actually do work. You guys are the ones with nothing to do all day.”
“Whatever,” Brendon says. “Marketing is a delicate field. I’m not surprised you don’t recognize the intricacies of the creative process involved.” He sniffs.
Spencer snorts, smiling slightly. Brendon beams back at him, pleased, and ignores Ryan rolling his eyes.
* * *
The next few days drag by. William and Michael have taken to skulking around, popping out randomly at times where they can scare the most people. Brendon’s pretty sure they planned it like that, too; there was a bad incident in the men’s bathroom that left Joe unable to pee—“I just can’t! Like, I’m too tense!”—and Gerard Way screaming like a little girl (“I’m just trying to pee! I’ll go straight back to work, I swear! No dawdling! Oh my god”). Brendon isn’t proud to say that he joined in the shrieks. It’s just that Carden, like, slinked around the bathroom stalls with no warning! And his eyes are quite possibly the scariest things Brendon has seen since he saw uncaffeinated Way brothers one morning.
So, really. Screaming is a perfectly natural reaction around the two efficiency consultants.
Greta screamed and then punched William when he peered over her shoulder at her monitor. (It was a really great punch. Darren caught it on camera, and the video’s made the rounds quite a few times.) Nate shrieked when Michael tapped him on the shoulder. Patrick let out a battle yell when William accidentally brushed past his cap while attempting to sneak up on Victoria. (Pete shouted, too, after he heard about what happened. Patrick’s hat is serious business.)
Brendon’s just hoping for the observation period to be over, but it’s a sick kind of hope, in that he really doesn’t want to know what they’re putting on their list of recommendations, either. Gabe seems like the only one who hasn’t bowed to the pressure. He’s actually giving as good as he gets, skulking around William and foiling quite a few of his schemes to scare the piss out of Island Electronics employees. Brendon’s impressed.
For himself, Brendon’s kept to his cubicle as much as he can. He can’t remember the last time he had to hurriedly x-out of a window whenever heavy footsteps sound nearby. Actually, yes, he can. It was twelve years ago, when he was thirteen and discovering porn for the first time. This…this is much, much worse.
Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-10 03:30 am (UTC)P.s. This, among MANY other line cracked me up...
"Patrick let out a battle yell when William accidentally brushed past his cap while attempting to sneak up on Victoria. (Pete shouted, too, after he heard about what happened. Patrick’s hat is serious business.) "
Okay! I'm on to the next chapter!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-11-11 05:19 pm (UTC)