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'Jesus. Brad? Are you alright?'
Brad doesn't respond, making a horrible grating noise in his throat as he leans back over the toilet bowl to vomit.
David takes this to mean no.
He positions himself slightly to the side of the cubicle Brad has holed himself in, so he can look without trapping him entirely. Fingers stretch halfway between them, caught between the symathetic itch to rub his back, to offer some small comfort, and the consummate terror that Brad will rip him and the entirety of Mythic Quest to shreds if David sees him in this state, much less touches him.
He places a gentle hand on Brad's shoulder in experimental commiseration. Brad flinches – violently flinches – and shifts away from him to continue throwing up, even as David's hand rockets back.
David decides to take that to mean no too.
Brad wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and collapses his head against the cubicle wall with a soft groan. His eyes are closed.
'Jesus,' he repeats. He watches him uneasily. 'How sick do you feel? Should I be calling an ambulance?'
There's a beat of silence where Brad says nothing, and panic claws it's way up David's throat as he reaches for his phone.
'I'm fine,' Brad mutters. He doesn't open his eyes. David keeps his phone in one hand, but doesn't open it.
'Right. I—listen, maybe this is just me, but I'm not sure you are fine. I'm not sure "fine" people spend their time throwing up in the company's best toilets!'
Brad doesn't respond.
David's gaze softens. 'Brad, let me—let me drive you home or—or call you an Uber or something. I don't think you should be at work right now.'
He reaches his hand out to help Brad up. Brad finally looks up and stares at David with a hard glint in his eyes. He doesn't take it.
'I'm fine, David. I probably just ate something that went bad. Give me a second and I'll get back to work.'
'I—what is wrong with you, man—I—just take a sick day. As your superior, I promise you this' – he gestures to Brad's entirity – 'fulfills the sick day criteria. Okay?'
Brad closes his eyes again, and hauls himself to his feet. He flushes the toilet and walks composedly to the sink. Apart from the heavy flow of water, the bathroom is silent.
'Brad.'
'I have things to do,' Brad says calmly. His voice is astonishingly normal. David could be forgiven for thinking the last five minutes had been his imagination playing tricks. Brad leans down, splashes his face and the inside of his mouth, turns the faucet off, and merrily wipes his hands with a paper towel.
David stares at him, dumbfounded. Brad turns to leave.
'Well, don't come in my office!' David yelps after him. 'You strange, strange man! I don't want to catch whatever weird bug you've got! I don't know why you think it's just- just "no big deeeal," but where I'm from—'
The door clicked shut, and David was left standing in an empty bathroom in baffled disbelief.
===
'Brad!' David yells. 'BRAD!'
Brad strolls casually up to their joint office door, holding two cups of coffee and looking faintly bemused. He shoulders it open and places the mugs neatly on the desk.
'What.'
'There's a moth,' David says, frantically. 'A really big one. Like this big. I‐I'm not worried, obviously, but you understand it affects the health and safety of the entire company if we don't do something about it. Now. Immediately.'
Brad takes a long sip of coffee.
'Is it a venomous moth?'
'Oh god, probably,' David splutters. 'Brad, kill it or we're all going to die. Please.'
'Where is it?'
David points to a pair of ornate brown wings flickering on the wall next to the pinboard.
Brad creeps softly up to it, carefully keeping his shadow on the other side of the wall, and whistles.
'Oh yeah, this is extremely dangerous. It looks like a Floridian Venom Wing. Thank god you called me.'
'Brad, please, please get rid of it. I don't want to die.'
'It's okay.' He sounds overwhelmingly confident. 'I'm good with moths. Hand me your coffee. Trust me.'
David hands him his mug, too terrified to argue.
In one short series of astonishingly fluid motions, Brad dumps the entire contents of David's mug into the bin, wipes the edge with a tissue, and presses it deftly over the moths wings and onto the wall, trapping it inside.
'What the hell, Brad!?' yelps David.
'What?' says Brad, innocently. 'Give me some paper and I'll take it outside.'
'You can't take it outside, it's venomous!'
'Oh, I misjudged.' Brad smiles. 'It's actually a common-or-garden Carpenterworm. Easy mistake to make!'
Wordlessly, David hands Brad a flyer from his desk. Brad carefully slots it under the mug, and tips the mug so it's facing the right way up, with his hand covering the top. Brad steps towards the door.
'Sorry about your coffee.'
'I'm the head of this company, Bradley.' David sniffs. 'I'm very well respected. I'm sure somebody will make me another.'
===
Brad's brother is wonderful.
He's the exact opposite of Brad: stubby where Brad is gangly, round where Brad is sharp, smiley where Brad is sullen, generous where Brad is biting.
Brad, for all intents and purposes, seems keen to disagree.
He scuttles into their office and glares out into the cake-fuelled merriment through cracks in the blinds. His hands twist up and down in awkward knots before he stalks away. Brad has always been rude, weird, sneaky, but he's never not been steady. Now, he seems unbalanced. Off-kilter.
'Kate,' Zack tells him and ah that explains it.
David has never had a brother, but he's seen enough telenovelas to know how girls dig rifts between them. What a long time to hold a grudge, though! And to think that Brad was the type to brood after a girl enough to blow off a brother that would come to his work to throw him a birthday party!
Actually, David thinks, remembering Poppy and himself running across the parking lot, frantically praying for Brad to pick up his phone, he could absolutely believe Brad would be that petty.
It's nearing the end of the day when Brad marches right up to them in the testing room. Zack's talking to him about the next big MQ project; 'that must be so much weight on you! The prowess you must have to lead this big a team. I mean, wow.' David is about to explain more about executive producer functions when Zack looks up.
'I need a moment alone with my brother,' Brad says flatly.
David looks between them, and thinks of the reassuring heft of Zack's arm around his shoulders. 'We're all brothers here!'
Brad jerks his thumb backwards. 'Get the fuck out.' A dangerous edge sparks in the brown of his eyes.
David gets the fuck out.
Twenty five minutes later, Zack exchanges a pleasant goodbye, thanks him warmly for his help – he's so prickly, isn't he! – and promises to stay in touch.
He doesn't see Brad until a full hour after that, walking into his office to grab his things before heading home. He's sitting in his office chair, squeezing his grip toy up and down, up and down, up and down, staring dully at his laptop. His free hand skates over the keys, typing something David can't make out on a financial report.
'How was the talk with your brother?' David asks awkwardly. 'Everything alright?'
'Brotherly,' Brad mutters.
He doesn't elaborate.
'There's one last piece of cake,' David offers. 'If you wanted it?'
Brad laughs dryly. 'Did my brother say to say that?'
'Why would he tell me to tell you that?'
Brad shakes his head. 'You take it David.'
'Alright. Thanks.' David stares at him. The keyboard clacks steadily as Brad types. 'You heading out? It's pretty late.'
'After I finish this.'
'But it's your birthday!' David protests.
Brad just shrugs.
'Well.' David grabs his coat off his chair. 'I'm going home.'
'Cool. See you tomorrow, David.'
David nearly says 'happy birthday!' again, but he decides against it. Instead, he just says 'see you tomorrow, Brad,' and softly shuts the door.
-
It isn't until nearly two months later, when he's checking through staff ID cards for a corporate design overhaul that he realises.
Name: Brad Bakshi.
Staff Role: Head of Monetization and Internet Commerce.
Employee Serial No.: 5520492
Date of Birth:—
Date of birth?
Huh.
Someone somewhere must have written down a date wrong. He'll chase up on that later. For now, he puts it out of his mind.
===
Brad and Jo are being weird.
They're circling each other in the bullpen, almost nose to nose, mirroring each other's self-satisfied evil smirks. Tension between them has been brewing for few weeks, and now it has bubbled over into something.... something odd.
David is watching intently, but like... casually too. You know? With the majestic wolf's regal detachment and killer instincts. It would be a difficult edge to balance for a lesser man, but David isn't a man. He's a wolf. And he manages perfectly.
'Running away, huh?' scoffs Brad. 'Doesn't sound like a very shark move. You afraid to fight me?'
'I'm not scared of you, Brad.'
David huffs slightly to himself in agreement. David the Wolf is scared of nobody.
'I know about the pig.'
'What? Pig? There's no pig on the wheel!' Carol exclaims.
She sounds very tired. The old David might have been sympathic. Wolf David is above such worldy matters. He only cares for the hunt.
'Kate,' hisses Jo. 'The 4-H pig. When it came time to slaughter her, Brad got soft.'
'A flickering moment of weakness.'
The 4-H pig?
David is lost. Now, he thinks about it, Zack never actually said Kate was a girl. But still; a pig? Unless (which seems more likely) Brad and Jo are still talking in metaphor. Are they still talking in metaphor? David can't keep up.
'I'm not so sure about that. Even during your time at MQ, you've shown your true nature. You got David a date, and now he's so deluded he thinks he's a wolf.'
Deluded. Pfft.
'Hey, test only told us what we were already thinking,' asserts David smoothly.
'I did get David a date, and he is deluded. Was that weak? Or, was it strategic? Think of how malleable he'll be when it all falls apart. Which it will.'
It will? Oh, God. Wolves don't have heart palpitations, so David doesn't either. She loves him. She loves him. And Brad— Brad... well, of course he hadn't been helping him out of the goodness of his heart. It's Brad. David imagines he was born holding a corporate strategy ladder.
You'd have to try much harder than that to hurt a wolf's feelings.
'Uh, no way. She already took down three photo collages of her late husband. This wolf is in the den to stay.'
'You got Dana her job back after she shit the bed a streamer.'
'Yeah, as a favour to the baboon, and now I own her.'
'But you never used her,' Jo sneers. 'You helped out of the goodness of your heart. You really are a mouse.'
'Did you really save my job, Brad?' pipes up Dana.
'No, you stupid otter.'
Brad had saved Dana's job for Rachel? When had that happened? Was that why he had set up the new position in sales for the old tester? This, the date and the pig. God, Brad Bakshi was a confusing man.
David the Wolf doesn't care. He doesn't have time for such menial things. Dana has starting protesting her assignment to angle for his Wolf crown, and he must defend his title.
-
It's a few months later, when Jo rushes into his office.
He stands up immediately. Jo doesn't rush anywhere. She saunters as a rule. If Jo is rushing, something is very, very wrong.
He grabs her by her cardigan covered shoulders. 'What? What's happening?
Jo's eyes are shining wide and her bottom lip is out and David wonders if, this time, she's actually committed murder, and he's going to have to bail her out of jail.
'David, if anything happens,' Jo says, too quickly. 'I just wanted to say thank you for this opportunity. I've really liked working here.'
'What—are you leaving?'
'No! Just say "you're welcome!" And stop touching me!'
David removes his hands. 'You're welcome? Jo, what's—why—'
'I'm taking my lunch break.' She sniffs. 'And then I'm going outside to see how many pigeons I can kill with a slingshot. God, today sucks.'
'What are you—'
Jo is already gone.
The next day, he sees Brad strolling towards the elevator, bracketed by two official looking gentleman David has never seen before.
'Traitor,' David thinks furiously when he finds out. 'Traitor.'
Then, Brad is gone too.
===
Brad is back.
Brad Bakshi is back.
His hair is perhaps a little curlier; but the tilt of his grin, his cross-legged posture, his ridiculous, untucked collar is all sickeningly, unmistakably Brad.
He's perched smugly in the armchair in the corner – a Mythic Quest armchair – and Carol is smiling at him. For the umpteenth time, David sincerely wonders if he isn't the only person at this company who isn't absolutely batshit insane, and tries not to scream.
In a wily flash of inspiration, he sends Jo to snoop after him. He has absolute faith in her snooping abilities, but less faith in her conspiring, so he looks sharply at her and says, 'don't be evil, Jo,' before she leaves.
Nailed it.
She returns with an expensive air freshener and various tidbits of trivia. But they unearth no red string pinboards with company members' eyes crossed out, no incriminating receipts or texts, no dirty little plans.
David doesn't like it. Not finding anything on Brad doesn't reassure him that Brad's on the straight and narrow. On the contrary, David is now more convinced than ever that Brad is pulling something truly devious, something so utterly conniving and clever that he won't see it until the entire company collapses around him.
'Some people can't change,' he tells Jo solemnly. 'I'm sorry, I know that's "unkind" and "anti-reform" and all what-have-you, but it's true. Brad Bakshi is a selfish, evil... plotter, and if we let him, he will bring this company – and everyone involved – down with him! Some folks are only looking out for themselves.'
There's an unfamiliar expression on Jo's face that David can't quite discern. Her brilliant green eyes are overly focused; her eyebrows furrowed. It's a very un Jo-like expression and it unnerves him.
Oh! Right.
'Not you, of course! You're good—I mean, bad—I mean, perfectly capable of- of reforming into... the right amount... of evil!'
'Aw, thanks David,' Jo replies sweetly. She grabs a sword of the wall and skips merrily out the door.
'Where the hell are you going? We've got a meeting in 3 minutes!'
'I'm going to the ladies!' she hollers back down the corridor. She throws the sword out a nearby open window as she walks, and it lands – thankfully – with a loud clatter on an opposing roof.
'You'd better get that back, or I'm taking it out of your salary!' David yells, but the last hairs of her ponytail have already disappeared around the corner.
===
It's past eight when Brad sidles into his office. David is leaning forward over his desk, one hand cupping his chin, staring at the underlined print-out title: "Q1 Projects: Proposals and Integration Plans." Pages blur and shift before him in neatly formatted black and white smudges. He resolutely picks up a pen and clicks the nib out. Neat white letters along the pen's side spell out 'Keep Smiling!' with a cartoonish smiley face.
'Long night, huh?' He looks at Brad, and almost double takes.
Brad looks wrong.
Ever since Brad and he had had their little heart-to-heart at the end of Carol's HR meeting, there's been an uneasy truce between the two of them. David doesn't openly spy on Brad or accuse him of trying to destroy the company from the inside-out. Brad, for his part, remains civil – even friendly – to David, and does his best to avoid suspicious behaviour.
It's an amicable arrangement.
Brad doesn't look suspicious now. The skin around his cheeks is unsettlingly pale, and his keen eyes are clouded and unfocused.
'Can I take your trash out, David?' mutters Brad. His voice is too low; gravelly and grating.
'I—uh—yes?' David shifts uncomfortably as Brad monotonously upends his waste paper basket into his cart. 'Brad, are you—uh. Alright?'
'I'm fine.'
Brad looks decisively not fine. David is reminded of a year and a half ago, when he had found Brad throwing up in the company bathroom. Everything feels so extraordinarily different, from Brad's beige coveralls to the conspicuous lack of ice-cream sandwich wrappers eclipsing the desk. Suddenly, David feels enormously tired.
Brad has replaced the trashcan and is staring blankly at something on the wall. David follows his gaze, but the wall remains the same glazed yellow it has always been and David can't make out whatever caught his eye.
'Take a picture. It'll last longer.'
With great delay, Brad opens his mouth, turns to him, then closes it again. He looks confused.
'Look, Brad, can I help you with something?'
'I don't—' Brad mumbles. He closes his eyes and flexes his fingers. Miraculously, he looks paler yet still.
Brad crumples onto the office floor.
Ah.
Fuck.
David stares at his unconscious body in rampant disbelief. He's at a funny angle; long legs ever so slightly bent, his left arm curved over his head and his right hand next to his face. Apart from the faint movement of his chest, he's entirely still.
If it wasn't for the thin green carpet stretching around him, he could be asleep.
Carefully, David kneels down and puts two fingers against Brad's wrist.
There's a pulse. A healthy, live pulse.
David exhales slowly.
'Oh, thank Christ.'
Brad stirs slightly. He quickly retracts his hand.
Brad rolls on to his back, blinks slowly and stares up at him.
They look at each other for a second.
'I passed out?' Brad says, pointlessly.
'You sure did.'
'How long was I out?'
'Like 15 seconds. Maybe 20.'
'Oh.' He scooches backwards to the edge of the room, and sits up with his back against the wall. 'I'm really sorry, David, this is—this is fucking embarrassing. I'm not trying to be a hassle.'
'You're not a hassle.' David echoes, confused. 'I'm not sure fainting can be qualified as a "hassle" thing.'
Brad wrinkles his nose. 'Shit. Don't—don't pity me. I'm fine. Just coming down with something. I'll get out of your hair.'
'No, no, god, no. Don't stand up.' David says, panicking. 'If you faint twice, it'll make both of us unhappy. Just take a minute. That'll be you not being a hassle.'
'Hassle doesn't even sound like a word anymore.' Brad leans his head back and closes his eyes.
A few minutes pass in comfortable silence, apart from the faint scratching of David's pen.
'Hey, can I ask you something?' David ventures eventually.
Brad cracks an eye open. 'Depends what it is.'
'Why did your brother lie about your birthday?'
Brad's eyes snap right open at that. 'Why do you ask?'
'I was checking over your staff ID card. When we were going to have them all redesigned, remember? The date of birth didn't line up with when Zack came in, and I-I thought it was a mistake, but the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed.'
Brad stares at him with a strange expression; his eyes round as dinner plates, and mouth slightly ajar. David might as well have just confessed to murder.
'And,' David continues determinedly, because if he doesn't ask now, he'll never know. 'There was what Jo said to you in the personality profile signing. About Kate being a pig you had to kill. Was that a metaphor? Who's Kate really?'
'I—' Brad begins. His hand is clenching in and out furiously, thumb dancing fanatically between his fingers. 'I—uh. Can we talk about this later, David? I'm not really in the mood.'
'Are we going to talk about it later? Tell me what's going on.'
Brad says nothing.
'What's going on between you and Jo then?'
'Nothing is going on between me and Jo,' Brad snaps. 'I swear on my life she hasn't been plotting or anything with me, alright? I've gone straight, and as far as I know, so has she. I barely see her these days.'
'That's not what I meant. She looks at you like she—like she owes you something. You're both so weird around each other.'
'I went to prison,' Brad says tiredly. 'That might be it.'
'Oh my god. Are you in love with Jo?'
'No! Fucking—she's more than 15 years younger than me, David! She used to be my assistant! What the fuck is wrong with you!?'
'Right,' David says, suitably affronted. 'Why did your brother lie about your birthday, then?'
'Because he's a lying creep, and he wanted to steal and sell your fucking company, David. Obviously.'
'Zack? No! But he was such a lovely guy! No, I don't believe that.'
'Believe whatever the hell you like,' mutters Brad. 'I already told you it wasn't my birthday.'
'You think he wanted to steal Mythic Quest,' David recites, slowly. 'And—and he killed Kate?'
'I don't want to talk about this.' Brad hauls himself to his feet, but he's leaning too heavily on the desk to be convincing. His fingers don't still. 'I'm going to go. See you tomorrow, David.'
'No, no, I didn't mean—' David reaches forward. Brad jerks sharply away. 'Okay. Right. No touching. Listen, Brad, I'm sorry. It's none of my business. We don't have to talk about it.'
Brad stays half-frozen, facing the door. He hugs his forearm tightly with his opposite hand.
'You don't understand what it's like,' he whispers. 'You have no idea.'
'I don't have a brother, but I had pretty shit parents,' David admits. 'Wait here. Please. We won't talk about it if you don't want to. Let me at least call you an Uber.'
Brad doesn't turn around for a good few seconds, then—
'Okay,' he agrees quietly, and sits down in a chair in the corner.
'I miss our old office sometimes.'
'Me too.'
Brad looks David up and down.
'If you ever tell anybody about any of this, they won't find your body.'
'Okay, Brad, I promise.'
David pulls out his phone and calls an Uber. The office is quiet. Peaceful. It feels like old times. They talk together about nothing in particular whilst they wait.
David thinks to himself that more often not, Floridian Venom Wings turn out to be harmless Carpenterworms.