Chapter Text
Kyle Garrick fucking hates his boss.
To be fair, he makes it far too easy to hate him.
He’s going back to the coffee machine for his third coffee of the day when his best friend stops him on the way. “Another one?” he says, his thick Scottish brogue ringing loud in Kyle’s ears. “Yer gonna go crazy, Garrick.”
Kyle sighs, wishing he really didn’t have John as a distraction. “I know, Tav, but I’ve got no choice. Price has me working on this document that needs to be returned to him by tonight. I’ve got to edit the terms and type up a whole new summary. I’ve also got to call the accountant at the other office to write up the total financial statement for the quarter, and balance our own checkbooks considering we just had a new shipment of supplies come in.” He runs a hand down his face, rubbing his bleary eyes in the process. “All by the end of today.”
John gives him a sympathetic look, patting him supportively on the shoulder. “You do too damn much for this company.”
Kyle snorts a laugh, because John is totally correct. He just can’t help it. Price had assigned him one simple accounting job early on during his time at the company, and boom. Those responsibilities kept piling on, because he had ‘proved he was competent.’ It’s a classic case of accidentally becoming too important at work. It makes Kyle wonder what the head accountant even did for his job, because a lot of Kyle’s new responsibilities should have been his. He didn’t know much about the guy, but his name according to the “People You Should Call” list is Philip Graves, and anyone named Philip seems like a prick in Kyle’s book.
All Kyle can do is endure.
Endure and work his ass off for barely above what he was making at his last job.
“Well maybe if someone would help me instead of slipping out of his responsibilities,” Kyle jokes, nudging John in the side with his elbow. He only means it half heartedly – John is always someone who made sure to do his job, but he never did anything beyond that. Kyle calls it lazy, whereas John calls it smart.
Kyle is starting to think he’s right about that assessment.
“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” John replies with a sly grin, and Kyle chuckles at his response. Crafty, cheeky bastard.
“Yeah, alright Soap,” Kyle says, putting cheeky emphasis on the nickname. He grabs his cup from the area below the coffee maker, bringing it up to his nose to smell the pure, concentrated caffeine. Maybe if he injected it into his veins he’d become more productive.
Maybe if he sacrificed his coffee to the office workers gods, Price would get off his ass and stop giving him work constantly.
“Ye know,” John offers, and Kyle shifts his gaze from his prized coffee to John’s scheming face, “ye could always complain to Simon.”
“What, The Ghost?” Kyle scoffs. “He’s barely around the office. There’s no way he has any leverage over the boss.”
John shrugs, pushing his lips out into a slight pout. “Ye never know. He does more work than we give him credit for. Who do ye think keeps the coffee nice and stocked?”
Kyle directs his gaze to the coffee machine, furrowing his eyebrows at John’s statement. He hadn’t even realized in his haste to make his coffee and return to his desk that lo and behold, a wide variety of coffee grounds and creamers adorn the back of the table. Kyle sees French Vanilla, Caramel Macchiato, even Peppermint Mocha, which is his personal creamer of choice. Hell, there’s even a station for tea. Kyle considers himself more of a tea drinker, but he needs the higher concentration of caffeine from the coffee to clear his brain fog. From what Kyle can see, there are packets of each and every flavor under the sun, with a surprising surplus of Earl Grey tea. Maybe on a different day, Kyle would make himself a nice tea, but not today.
“He’s a big softie, ye just don’t see it!” Soap crows in a singsong-y voice, and it takes all of Kyle’s self-control not to elbow him again but with more force. As much as he loves Soap’s presence – he could lighten up a room in an instant with a joke or a smile – sometimes his bravado proves to be too much for Kyle.
Besides, he has work to do.
“Appreciate the advice, Soap,” he grits, turning his back to both the table and his colleague. “See you around.”
He can feel Soap’s eyes on him as he walks back to his desk, and he feels like he’s dragging his feet the whole way there. He passes the receptionist’s desk, giving Keller a quick greeting before finally retreating to his own desk, where he’s immediately bombarded by just how much he has to do.
He sighs, laying his head down on the desk, closing his eyes and letting the blissful darkness encompass him for just one moment.
At least it’s Friday, he thinks to himself, and for a moment, he wonders if the concept of Friday and the smell of the coffee are the only things that could keep him grounded in this moment. He just has to get through the day.
At least it’s Friday, whispered like a prayer in his mind.
He knows he probably looks insane with his head on the desk, so he lifts his head, opening his blurry eyes, nearly jumping six feet into the air when he’s met with the scene of Simon staring at him from the other side of his desk.
“Bloody fucking christ,” Kyle breathes, blinking his eyes and taking in a large breath to calm his racing heart. Damn, the caffeine is already having a tangible effect on him. “Hi, Simon.”
Simon blinks at him, and Kyle shifts uncomfortably in his chair, feeling awfully like he’s being scrutinized under a microscope. The large man just… stands there, his eyes quietly roving over Kyle’s sitting form and his scarred lips unperturbed and still.
Until finally, he speaks. “You alright there, Garrick?”
Kyle shakes his head. “Doing just fine, Simon, thank you,” he mutters, feeling terribly foolish that his goliath of a supervisor just scared the absolute shit out of him by catching him slacking on the job. Oh, yeah. Simon had just caught him lying his head down on the desk, very clearly not doing his work. “I was just, uh… resting my eyes,” Kyle reassures him, giving him a tight smile before turning his attention back to his work.
Simon hums noncommittally, and Kyle feels his face blush darker in embarrassment. It’s not his fault that he’s exhausted – Price has clearly piled responsibilities on his plate far beyond his capabilities. But there’s no way in hell he’s telling The Ghos– ah, Simon that. Simon is practically Price’s lapdog. Word in the office (well, the only real word was from Farah, but she’s a terrible gossip) is that Simon and Price go way back and had some bond beyond brotherhood due to their pasts. Kyle doesn’t want to inquire, but he’s definitely curious to find out the truth.
Kyle narrows his eyes to try to block out the feeling of Simon’s probing gaze on him, when a hand is slammed on his desk, scaring him again for the second time in a few seconds. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, closing his eyes again and sitting up ramrod straight in his chair. God, the caffeine was affecting him with much more ferocity than he originally realized.
“Jumpy, eh, Garrick?” Simon says amusedly, and Kyle nearly mutters for him to piss off under his breath, but he realizes that he’s speaking to his superior just before the utterance, so his words just dissolve into incomprehensible mutters. Simon isn’t wrong, though – Kyle is wired beyond belief. He can feel the electricity coursing through his veins, the caffeine stimulating every micromovement of his body. His fingers are starting to twitch, and his heart feels like it is beating double time in his chest. Of course, that could easily be caused by the two scares he had just experienced from his spooky, massive superior.
Simon shrugs his massive shoulders, turning from Kyle’s desk and shoving his hands in his pocket. “If you need anything, Kyle,” Simon says quietly, and Kyle can barely hear him due to how softly he’s speaking, “don’t hesitate to find me.”
Kyle nods his head slowly. “Sure thing, Simon.” And with that, Simon shoves off to inevitably bother someone else with his quiet, unsettling demeanor.
Kyle sighs tiredly, putting his head in his hands whilst resting his elbows on his desk. Curse Soap and his big, fat mouth. Chances are he slipped to Simon just how much Kyle had to do, and was taking it upon himself to help his subordinate with the workload. Maybe Soap is right that Ghost is anything but unsettling – maybe underneath that large, scarred, and terrifying presence is something softer and considerate.
But Kyle doesn’t need nor does he want pity. He’s capable and driven – he can do this. He just needs to focus for a few seconds without distractions from his coworkers.
And maybe he needs his fingers to stop shaking and his heart to stop racing. That would help too.
He sighs, picking up a pen from his supply holder and takes another sip of his bitter coffee.
The work isn’t going to get done itself.
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All in all, as the day wraps up and the clock ticks towards 5 PM, Kyle isn’t too worried about the workload he’d been given.
The document had only taken a couple of hours, especially with the caffeine and Kyle’s focus kicking in. He’d rewritten the terms along the guidelines that Price had given him, which had been in agreement with the vendor they were in negotiations with. By the time Kyle is done with the write up, he’s sick of staring at the damn thing, so he decides to move on to his next task for the time being. To be honest, Kyle considers himself lucky that he was able to deal with the document on his own. The last thing he wants is Price leaning over his shoulder, his thin and sinful hips level with Kyle’s eyes, his woody and irresistible cologne floating around his work station…
Kyle blinks. Where the hell did that thought come from?
Okay, admittedly, Price isn’t bad looking. His figure is something to die for – a large set of muscles complete with hips that look so grabbable. His pale, blue eyes roam over the office, and dusty brown hair decorates his face, completed by his mustache and beard that makes him look simultaneously soft and stern. Kyle has caught himself staring at Price in the off chance Price was wandering through the office, but had immediately brushed it off as awe or perhaps fear of getting reprimanded for not paying attention to his work. A healthy dose of respect for authority never hurt anyone.
But Price’s looks only got him so far. The man always looked like someone had offended him and rarely smiled. His eyes – which up close looked alluring and sparkling – look beady and distrusting from afar. From what Kyle knew, the CEO held him in the palm of his hand, which meant he was basically just a marionette for the higher ups, and Corporate Office Job 101 states that the higher ups were never truly friends of their workers. On top of that, Price has apparently taken it as his personal mission to torture Kyle to no end, giving him mountains worth of work on top of the work actually outlined in the job contract he signed.
On most days, Kyle could handle it. He enjoys a challenge, and beyond that, the work isn’t terribly difficult. If anything, it’s tedious.
Speaking of tedious, he had managed to get the head accountant on the phone to work through the financial statement specific to their office, and he knew immediately from the southern drawl on the other end of the phone that it wouldn’t be a fun conversation.
It wasn’t. Graves somehow knew both too much and nothing helpful at all. Kyle’s assessment was that Graves just really liked hearing himself talk.
And talk he did.
It took a while, but they finally wrapped up the statement, to which Kyle dropped on Simon’s desk with an unceremonious ‘you’re welcome’ before slouching back to his workstation to put the finishing touches on the document he had worked on all morning.
At that point it’s only an hour until closing time, so Kyle quickly wraps up the document, attaches it to an email, and sends it off to Simon whilst CCing Price. Price would likely go over it himself one more time before sending it to the vendor as a way to check Kyle’s work.
In a way, Kyle is honored that Price trusts him to work on a document such as this. He knows for a fact that he’s one of the only ones in the office with the opportunity to work on actual offers. It creates more hours of work for Kyle, but it’s an experience that he appreciates.
Ups and downs. At least it's Friday.
About thirty minutes before it’s time to go home, Soap saddles his way up to Kyle’s desk, leaning his hip on it with a sly grin on his face. “So, Kyle,” he says, and he’s practically wiggling his eyebrows as he speaks. “What do ye say about goin’ out tonight?”
Kyle tilts his head at the proposal. After the terrible day – hell, terrible week – he’s endured, he surely deserves a night out. A night with Soap is always a night to remember. “I could be convinced,” Kyle says sneakily, a smile growing on his face as he speaks. “I really could use a drink or two.”
“I know you could,” Soap says fondly, and he straightens the tie he’s wearing as he looks around the office. He leans down, covering his mouth as he speaks quietly into Kyle’s ear. “I even got Simon to come with us.”
Kyle’s jaw drops in surprise. “How in the bloody hell did you get The Ghost to go to a pub?” he asks in a hushed tone. Kyle didn’t think Simon ever hung out with anyone given his cold exterior, let alone his subordinates at work.
Soap shrugs, his chest puffed out with pride. “Call it the Scottish charm,” he boasts, and Kyle shakes his head with a laugh. Kyle knows that Soap can be a convincing bastard when he wants to be, and he supposes that The Ghost has fallen under the Scot’s spell.
Kyle looks at his computer screen. Ah, twenty minutes until they’re released from this corporate hell. “I’ll probably go home to shower and change. Which pub?” he asks Soap, to which Soap gives him an indescribable look.
“Y’know,” he starts, and Kyle can just feel like something crafty is going to come from his mouth. “We don’t have to go to a pub.”
“Where else would we go?” Kyle inquires, his face scrunched in confusion. Where else could they go to relieve the stress that wore on them day in and day out?
Soap’s smile is mischievous and bright, but right as he opens his mouth, Kyle hears someone clear their throat behind him.
Kyle feels his heart sink in his chest.
He turns around to face none other than Price.
God fucking damn it, he thinks to himself before he gives Price the biggest smile he can muster. “Hello, Mr. Price. Is there something I can help you with?”
Soap smartly decides to fuck off in that moment, leaving Kyle to face down Price’s wrath alone. Kyle inwardly curses that Price caught him before he could escape out the front door of the office building. Secretly, Kyle hopes that whatever Price requests from him can wait until Monday – he can practically feel the sensation of a cold drink in his hand, or maybe the aggressive burn of something stronger in his throat.
He just wants relief from the hell that this week has been, but it appears Price has other plans.
“I’d like to talk about the file you sent over to me today, the proposal document.” Price’s eyes are glued to Kyle. Why does that make a shiver go down Kyle’s spine? “Do you have time?”
Considerate of him to ask if Kyle has time, but decidedly, he doesn’t. He can already feel the wind in his hair as he speeds down the highway home, and the promise of something strong in his system to forget the stress of the week.
But this is Price, the boss. He can’t say no. He grits his teeth and pleasantly smiles. “Of course I’ve got time. What would you like to discuss?”
“Perfect,” Price says, and he reveals a paper copy of what Kyle had written hours previously, laying it down on the desk in front of Kyle. “On points three and six, I had a few questions.”
Pinned down by not only Price’s gaze but also his body, Kyle has no choice but to endure his endless questions. It seems that what Kyle deemed as his best work was utter shit to Price, as he found ways for the vendor to exploit the terms and conditions Kyle had laid out for them. Everywhere Price poked and prodded, Kyle’s defenses fell through, collapsing in on themselves.
Kyle watches helplessly from his desk as the rest of his colleagues slowly filter out of the office. He even makes eye contact with Alex Keller on his way out the door, but the receptionist gives him a weak shrug and a sympathetic look.
The Ghost is nowhere to be found. Kyle thinks he went out of the back door, the sneaky bastard. Surely he could get Price off his back.
But alas, there’s no one to come to his aid.
At some point, Price pulls him into his office, demanding that he sit with him as they fix the proposal. Kyle begrudgingly sits next to Price, feeling downright dejected and annoyed. He just wants to go the fuck home – at this point, his mood is completely spoiled, he doesn’t even want to go to the pub anymore. That is, if he could even get out of work in time to get there before a reasonable hour.
But as the sun sets lower and lower in the sky, broadcasting less and less light through the window to Price’s office, Kyle’s hope wanes and eventually extinguishes. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket – likely Soap asking if he’s available to show up – but he can’t respond due to Price’s overbearing presence.
It’s dark out when Price finally calls it a night, clapping Kyle on the shoulder and congratulating him on work well done. At this point, Kyle is all sorts of pissed off – he’s completely exhausted, entirely too irritated, and angry to the point of possibly inciting violence against his boss who dared keep him here this late after hours on a fucking Friday.
Who is he kidding? Price would put him in the fucking dirt.
They’re halfway down the elevator, and Kyle is sick of smelling the sandalwood cologne from Price’s body that is entirely too strong. He can feel his fingers twitching, not out of caffeine overload, but out of overwhelming annoyance. Price is standing tall, looking far too pleased with himself as they descend the floors of the office and set out towards the parking lot.
He’s free. He’s fucking free. Granted, he’s free a few hours after when he originally wanted to be free, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Price still isn’t done with him, and he stops Kyle as they exit the doors of the office, pinning him down with a stare. Not for the first time tonight, Kyle wonders if punching his boss results in an immediate termination of employment.
“I appreciate your hard work, Garrick,” Price says warmly, clapping Kyle gently on the shoulder as the door swings shut behind them. “I hope it was a good experience for you.”
Kyle can feel himself going crazy inside, but he grits his teeth and gives Price a small smile. “Thank you, Price. It was definitely helpful. Just wish it didn’t take so long.”
Price shrugs, pulling a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He lights the cigarette and takes a deep inhalation, and he has the decency to aim his exhalation in the direction opposite of Gaz. “Wouldn’t have taken so long if you did it right the first time,” he huffs, and with that, he wanders off into the parking lot to find his car.
Kyle is stunned. For a few moments, he stands there in awe. He watches Price’s figure disappear from view, melting into the inky darkness as the streetlights grow few and far between towards the back of the parking lot.
Wouldn’t have taken so long if you did it right the first time.
What. The. Fuck.
Kyle is going to fucking lose it.
He stomps to his car, slamming the door behind him and smashes his forehead into the steering wheel. He doesn’t even care that it hurts, that it’s likely to bloom into a small bruise, nor does he care that his car siren wails into the night, torturing the empty parking lot with the obnoxiously loud noise. His face is twisted into a snarl until he gets home, and he immediately goes to his bedroom and screams as loud as he can into a pillow.
Price’s condescending words ring in his head. Wouldn’t have taken so long if you did it right the first time.
Yeah. That cements things.
Kyle Garrick fucking hates boss.
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On Monday, the first person Kyle sees when he walks into the office is Price. When Alex confronts him about it later, he denies that his anger as if it clearly wasn’t plastered all over his face. Alex eyes him wearily. “Dude, you looked like you were going to commit murder,” he says, and Kyle doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he just might.
On Tuesday, the coffee machine breaks, and Ghost isn’t around to fix it. That only makes Kyle’s eye twitch slightly – the coffee machine had been his lifeline during the past week, and to deprive him of his coffee is something akin to torture. Graves, the way-too-southern finance guy, calls and gives him flack on the subpar job he did on his financial report. Kyle takes it with a straight face, too tired to tell Graves that he was the one who helped him with it and therefore it was partly his fault.
On Wednesday, Price assigns him another contract. As soon as Kyle opens the email, he feels his eyebrows furrow in anger. Wouldn’t have taken so long if you did it right the first time. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he has the overwhelming urge to throw a pencil through the door to Price’s office. If he’s lucky, maybe the pencil will land in Price’s eye, and the office will worship what they come to call “The Pencil Deity” from saving them from their overlord’s torture.
On Thursday, someone steals his lunch from the break room refrigerator. Granted, it’s only a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some carrot sticks, but hell, Kyle was looking forward to devouring his well-deserved meal. Soap offers him a half of his ham and cheese sandwich, but it’s not the same as the sandwich Kyle had painstakingly crafted with his own two hands. When they talk in hushed tones about potential suspects, Simon walks by and takes interest in their conversation. He claims Graves was in the office earlier doing a routine finance audit, and he mentioned in passing about how he ‘found lunch’ in the refrigerator. Even though he’s long gone according to Simon’s witness statement, Kyle wonders if it’s possible for a thumbtack to magically appear on Graves’ seat the next time he sits down in his cushy office.
On Friday, Kyle is about ready to explode. He swears he’s bitten through the same scab on his lip twenty times in the past week from the stress. He’s read through this stupid contract only a hundred times, and his eyes are bloodshot from staring at the damn computer screen. Farah has started avoiding him because of his recent standoffish behavior, and Soap even offered to give him the number of his therapist. Ghost silently slid him the number of human resources on a sticky note halfway through the day, telling him to ask for a woman named Kate Laswell should he decide to call. Kyle angrily ripped it to shreds when he was gone, which only made himself feel slightly better. When the clock hits 4:30 PM, Kyle declares himself mentally done. He sends the contract in an email to Price and flees the office before Price can catch him off guard. He sits in his car for the remaining thirty minutes of his shift, contemplating whether this job is worth the cost of his sanity.
When the clock hits 5 PM, he messages Soap.
That night, he finds himself in the passenger seat of Soap’s car, heading to who knows where to do who knows what.
He doesn’t care.
Soap promised him a break, and he’s going to fucking get one.
He’s going to forget that Mr. Price was ever his fucking boss in the first place.