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Having Dana back was pretty alright.
She's sitting beside Rachel like she used to, intensely focusing on the game they're testing. She has her glasses on, even though it wasn't past midnight. (She started wearing them every day now. Rachel doesn't comment.) They talk as if nothing happened, the whole Wyld_D fiasco swept under the rug like the embarrassment that it is.
It's good.
Scratch that—it's amazing.
She doesn't know what got into Dana but ever since they came back from quarantine, she's been a lot more touchy. Their hands would brush against each other, they're sitting so close that their shoulders are always touching. Rachel doesn't know if she's reading into it when she catches Dana staring at her. (She doesn't comment about this either. Maybe it's because she's scared it'll stop if she does.) And Rachel would be okay with just this, just the drumroll of a kiss, the push and pull, the yearning of it all because she'd rather do all that than risk ruining their perfectly good friendship.
And, as doe-eyed and rosy she gets, there's always that nagging voice in the back of her head, reminding her of her debt. It's annoying and intrusive and sounds a lot like the voice of Brad Bakshi.
It's no surprise she hates him—hell, she's pretty sure everyone in the office hates him. He's selfish, soulless and the only thing in his heart is the cold, cruel hands of capitalism. And that's a compliment because no one else thinks he has a heart.
So, yeah, she's uncomfortable owing him something (or, in his words, him owning her) and she's sure it's the worst position to be in, but then she looks at Dana, and maybe it isn't all that bad.
She's okay with just this. She wouldn't want it any other way.
(Maybe that's a lie.)
She and Dana made a new system when they came back.
Every Friday, they usually go out to an arcade or something to unwind. Then, they'll eat at a fast-food restaurant (usually it's the McDonalds across the old arcade, close to Dana's house). It makes them excited for the end of the week, no longer itching to fill their lonely weekends. They've been doing it for two months now, with Rachel sleeping in Dana's apartment when they still wanna hang out after dinner.
"Still on for tonight?" Rachel asks, eyes trained on the screen.
She hears Dana suck her teeth and her heart skips a beat. "Sorry, Rache. I got a date."
"Oh," she says, but her voice sounds too sad so she tries a smile, "I didn't know that was today." She doesn't know why she feels so queasy.
"Yeah," Dana says. She seems...excited? Rachel isn't really that sure. "It’s this girl I met at a con."
"Aw, man." Rachel says, but then backtracks, “I mean—have fun.”
"Thanks. You okay with me bailing on tonight?”
There's something in Dana’s voice that Rachel can't really put a finger on. It's the tiniest bit of hope, but she isn't sure what Dana is hoping for.
(She has an idea of what it is but won't let herself jump into conclusions. She's okay with just this.)
“Yeah, it’s just one day.”
That seems to be the wrong answer because Dana just nods and looks away. They don't say anything for a few minutes, letting MQ fill the silence. Rachel hopes what she's feeling in the air isn't tension
And then there's a knock on the door. Rachel would be relieved if it wasn't—
"Hello, ladies," says Brad with an empty smile as he enters.
"Oof, you’re starting to sound like David," Rachel says, simultaneously grateful and annoyed at his presence. "You're not this respectful and polite all the time."
"All the time?" She hears Dana say under her breath, "you two hang out often?"
"No, we don't," Brad says, chuckling at the thought like it's absurd then frowns. "She's annoying."
"Why are you here, Brad?" Rachel says, the relief washing away and being replaced by a bubbling feeling in her stomach she’s sure is called dread. Or irritation, whichever fits.
"Have you two seen a small, blue box? It has a tag that says 'To Brad'. It's usually in the drawer of my desk."
"Have you checked the drawer of your desk?" Rachel jokes.
Brad, unimpressed, remains stoic. However, Rachel hears Dana try and hide a giggle so she counts this as a win.
"Is this how you act when you're happy?" Brad says, giving a look of utter disgust. "It's making me queasy."
"We haven't seen it," Dana says dismissively and Rachel doesn't know why she has the urge to kiss her on the spot. “Sorry, Brad."
Brad pouts, then says a small "okay," before leaving.
The way he backed down so easily was definitely a cause for concern, no one wanted another petty tantrum. But Rachel is too busy sighing from relief because a) he finally left and b) the tension was long forgotten. She’s sure he’s fine.
Both TV screens in the testers’ room have been turned off for a few minutes now, and all Rachel has been doing is staring at them with tired eyes. She still has her controller in her hands, the seat next to her has been empty for hours. When she removes her headphones all she hears is the soft sizzle of the overworked TV.
She doesn’t know exactly how long she’s been sitting in silence, but her legs are starting to fall asleep so she hauls herself up and grabs her bag, wondering why it’s taking her so long to leave the room.
(She doesn’t have to wonder. She knows why.)
When she peeks out to the empty office, she’s not surprised there are still lights open. She is, however, surprised that Brad’s office lights are still open.
Thing is, Brad never works overtime. He leaves as early as he can and probably dives right into the pile of money in his dream pit and bathes under the sunlight. Probably, Rachel isn’t sure. She thinks of him more as a vampire than a human but instead of sucking blood, he sucks the life out of everyone for a bit of cash and entertainment.
Rachel doesn’t really care why he’s here. Couldn’t care less, if she’s being honest. But for some reason, she finds herself knocking the door to the bottom-feeding leech’s office.
“Why are you still here?” She hears Brad say once she’s stepped into his space. She sucks in a breath and rolls her eyes.
“I have the same question for you, Bakshi.” She retorts.
He’s under his desk on all fours, obviously looking for something. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so bizarre. Before answering, he hits his head in an attempt to stand up and rubs the back of his head when it emerges out from under the desk. Then, Rachel laughs.
“Nothing,” he says, frowning. He’s not looking at her, just scanning the room as if it’s hiding something.
“Nothing my ass,” she replies, “you’re the only person in this office who never does overtime.”
“Well, I’m not working ,” he finally looks at her and squints his eyes the way he does when he’s annoyed. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Rachel says, because she doesn’t.
“Then leave.”
“I was about to,”
“Good.”
A beat.
“Wait, actually, come back,” Brad says surprisingly. Rachel doesn’t really know how to react. When she enters again, he has his hands on his face.
“You know how I own you?” He says, rubbing his face and then putting a hand on his forehead like he has a headache, the other resting on his hip.
“Yeah, I get your daily emails,” she says, gripping her bag strap. She doesn’t even know why he sends them. She makes a mental note to report that to HR.
“Yeah, well, pay it back tonight by helping me find that blue box I told you about.”
“Oh, you’re still on that?”
“Of course I am!” Brad’s voice is an octave too high, volume up too much to be considered uncaring. Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up. Brad hears the desperation too because he straightens his back and tries again.
“Of course I am.” He says in his trademark monotonous voice. Except it's still there, just underneath, tightly though poorly concealed. Rachel stands still and waits after a beat. This is not how Brad usually is.
He’s cool, calm, and manipulative. He can play mind games without a crack in his facade. Brad does not show genuine emotion, his expression is as calculated as his job. So, Rachel attempts to ignore the tears forming in Brad’s eyes for the sake of his dignity and, more importantly, her sanity.
“So,” she starts, “if I help you find it, my debt will be paid?”
Brad nods, eyes no longer glassy.
Okay, it's way better than building him a money pit.
13 minutes later.
It's been thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes and two offices. Thirteen minutes of awkward silence.
They’ve just been going through drawers and cabinets and leaving rooms disappointed. Brad told her to leave nothing unturned.
He’s very passionate in finding whatever he’s looking for, which is weird because ‘passionate’ is the last adjective Rachel would ever think to describe him. He’s never passionate about anything, only completes things when they need to be done, kinda like a computer or something. If something like a small box is enough to make him betray his code, you can't blame Rachel for being a little bit curious.
She’s gonna take a wild leap here and guess that the box meant something to him. She says this.
He looks at her like she’s crazy. “No, the box doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“So, I’m guessing it’s the thing inside the box.”
He doesn’t answer. She wonders what's in it. She doesn't ask.
1 hour later.
“The kitchen.” She says as they arrive.
“The kitchen.” He replies, not much emotion in his voice. It's a surprising comfort, having something familiar, knowing someone's there. The office at 1 am is a liminal space.
“Have you searched here already?” She asks, knowing the answer.
At the same time, they both say, “Can't be too thorough,” as that has been Brad’s answer for the past 11 desks.
“Stop that,” he says, though Rachel can't help but notice a slight smile forming. It should be unsettling, but it isn't. Is this what they call Stockholm Syndrome?
They have a routine now, Brad on the drawers, Rachel on the cabinets. They get to work, falling into a rhythm. Rachel doesn't really mind, maybe an hour is too long but she can't really see herself care. It's not like she has plans anyways.
She hears Brad sigh. “Did you find it?” He ask, though his voice indicates he already knows the answer.
“Nope,” Rachel says, looking at the pantry. “But I did find these.”
She takes out two packs of instant noodles and shows them to Brad with a grin. He is not smiling.
“The fuck are those?”
“Instant noodles.”
He is still looking at her like he needed more explanations. What was there to explain?
1 hour and 12 minutes later.
Fact: Brad has never had instant noodles.
Rachel tried not to laugh when he confesses this in confidence but she couldn't help herself. He has a sad existence.
And so, she teaches him how to make instant noodles, because he's so rich that he's dumb and couldn't believe his eyes when they cooked after 5 minutes in just hot water.
They're eating it on the communal table, both of them sitting at the ends, legs propped up on the table. They found chopsticks in one drawer, with little whales at the tips of it. It was adorable.
“This is really good,” Brad breaks the silence, slurping his noodles like they're the best thing he's ever tasted.
“I can’t believe you’ve never tasted them,”
“I can’t believe I’ve never tasted them. They're incredible .”
“Right?”
A beat.
“Hey,” Rachel starts.
“I won't tell you what's in the box. Not until we find it, at least.”
“I wasn't gonna ask that.”
Brad looks over at her, not quite convinced. “Okay.”
“Why do you always dress like an English teacher?”
She expects Brad to brush her off or just ignore the question entirely. But he laughs and says, “Nothing, it's just my style.”
“Uh huh,”
“Don't ‘uh huh’ me. What about you? Why do you dress like that ?”
He says it so pointedly and with so much sarcasm, Rachel laughs out loud.
“Like what?” She feigns offense, but it's pretty incredible to have a normal conversation with Brad Bakshi at least once, without him brushing her off or telling her she's annoying. Not something she thought she’d be doing tonight.
It's nice.
1 hour and 20 minutes later.
“When are you telling Dana you love her?” Brad says unexpectedly as he scours through Poppy’s drawers with that fierce determination Rachel doesn't know where it came from.
The question catches her off guard. “What?”
“When are you telling—”
“I heard you the first time.”
“Okay then,”
“I don't ‘love’ Dana.” Rachel says, though even she can hear her uncertainty. “It's just a stupid crush. Nothing serious.”
Brad is nodding, but it doesn't really seem like he's listening. Maybe exhaustion is finally getting to him.
“Mhm. People don't ask me for help unless it's something serious.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Brad says as he strides across the office to a temp’s desk and starts riffling through it.
“Whatever,” Rachel says, “plus, you're crossing a whole lot of boundaries here. I’m just here because I need to pay a debt. It's not because I wanted to help you.”
“No you're not.”
“What?”
“You're not here to just pay a debt. You're here because your date bailed on you tonight and you have nowhere to go.”
Rachel scoffs but doesn't answer. She doesn't like lying, even to scumbags like Brad Bakshi. “She’s not my date.”
1 hour and 34 minutes later.
It's almost 2 am when Rachel finds the box in the back of a file cabinet near reception. It was clearly hidden, probably out of spite and she can't say she blames them. She can't believe she actually found it, a part of her thinking Brad was just trying to piss her off. She's about to tell him until—
“What would you do if Dana doesn't like you back?”
She hides the box in her back pocket in a panic, processing the question. “I’m sorry, what?”
“What would you do if Dana doesn't like you back?”
She stares at him as he digs through the receptionist’s desk. “Are you serious right now? Why do you care about my personal life, dude?”
Brad shrugs his shoulder, “Curiosity, blackmail material,” he pauses. “Advice.”
Advice?
Oh.
“Oh my god,” Rachel’s eyes go big. “Who?”
Brad pretends to be stupid and asks, “who what?”
She sighs and drops her shoulders. A few hours ago, she wouldn't have given two shits about who Brad likes or disliskes (she makes the latter list, you don't have to be a genius to solve that one.) but after a few normal conversations, he actually seems alright .
It's a strange thought. It's an even stranger thought that he's asking advice on how to handle rejection, something, like instant noodles, he's probably never actually tasted. She remembers him telling her that he's never even had an actual relationship—hell, he told her all he cares about is owning people . And instead of fearing for the person Brad likes, which would've been how she’d react before this whole thing, she started to empathize with him.
Because, holy shit, does uncertainty feel awful.
“Is it someone in the office?” She asks.
Brad chuckles but doesn't deny it. She gets the box from her pocket and looks at the tag.
It's a little worn, the paper already starting to yellow. There are folds on the corners and the box itself is already crinkled. The tag says ‘To Brad.’ It was written in big, blocky letters so the ‘Happy 31st Birthday!’ fills 3/4ths of the space.
Rachel looks at Brad, who’s 34.
At the back, it says, ‘From David.’
And it clicks.
“ David ? Really?” She doesn't mean for it to sound so shocked, but it just escapes her in that tone. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t expect that. I didn't even know you were gay.”
Brad glances at her and angrily grabs the box out of her hands. Okay, maybe angrily isn't the adverb. How do you describe the pressuring relief of finding something (or someone) you've been looking for so long?
It didn't take much effort and he was so riled up she wouldn't pick a fight with him anyway. The box is smaller in his hands, but he holds it like it was fragile. His fingers trace the worn edges and opens the box slowly, carefully.
He’s smiling, genuinely smiling. It’s a weird sight, no doubt, but it’s the one she’s seeing.
“So, what’s in it?” Rachel asks, curiosity chewing her.
Brad says nothing and just takes out a figurine of Scrooge McDuck no more than $10 from the box. He puts his back to the wall and slides down until his knees are touching his chest and he holds the figurine close to his heart, face not stoic enough to hide deep seated wistful longing. Rachel knows that look, she sees it everytime she looks at a mirror.
“I don't know.” She says, sliding down next to him, exhausted but awake.
He gives her a confused look, coupled along with a mumbled, “Huh?”
“You asked me what I’ll do if Dana doesn't like me back—I wouldn't know what to do, honestly. But I know, in my heart, that I’ll still tell her.”
“But she bailed on you,” Brad frowns, “for another girl. That just increases the chances of her not feeling the same way. Statistically speaking—"
"Statistically speaking, I don't really care. I mean, I'll feel sad about it," Rachel pauses, “but she deserves to know. And I have to give myself that chance.”
He leans forward, putting the Scrooge McDuck on the floor in front of his shoes. It doesn't even stand on its own and just falls back on the carpet.
“When do you plan on telling him you love him?” Rachel asks, bumping their shoulders together. This wouldn't fly with him on a usual day (he usually makes people distance themselves from him for at least three steps) but Rachel’s pretty sure this is the most vulnerable he’s allowing himself to be in front of a person, so she tests the waters, sees if she gets eaten and if he retreats back to his capitalist shell.
Softly, he says, “I don’t love him. It's not that serious.”
Rachel smiles, “People don't ask me for help unless it's something serious.”