The Office fic
Title: This is how it works
Characters: Michael/Holly, Dwight
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1017
Summary: Michael misses Holly and Dwight comes by to offer a little (tech) support.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to someone else. Obviously. Title from Regina Spektor
AN: This was maybe going to be a series, but I’m lucky I managed to write anything at all, so I’m not making myself any promises.
Holly doesn’t call the whole week after he drops her off in Nashua. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t called her. Or…he seems to remember saying something like “I’ll call you when you’re ready to stop crying.” She might have been a little annoyed by that. Especially since he’d been the one crying.
Anyway. She doesn’t call. He has Dwight test his phone line, just in case it’s broken and she wants to hear his voice only he can never figure out where the on/off switch is. They knocked it off the bedside table a few times when…well, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. (When they were having sex. It fell on the floor when they were having sex. Almost a dozen times. Not that he would share that incredibly private information.)
Dwight’s house call takes his mind off things at least. Michael makes an exotic ethnic dish called “hummus” (he can’t possibly eat another liter of guacamole this week). Dwight sniffs the lumpy bowl of beige suspiciously, asks if there will be any of the green Mexican stuff Michael usually makes, then opens his giant tool box.
“What are you doing, Dwight?”
“You asked me to test your phone line.”
“I meant call and see if it rings.”
“You said you would never give me your home number, not in a million years.” Dwight straightens. “Michael, are you saying that you would like me to have your Home Number?” He breathes the last two words, accentuating the capital letters to lend the moment the importance it deserves.
“No… that’s not…What if I dial it for you while you’re not looking?”
“Nope, I have call history.” Dwight holds up his cell and Michael sees the word “Monkey” four times in a row.
“You call a monkey? Dwight, your personal life is so disturbing. Please don’t show me that again. Just call my phone and go.”
Dwight quickly hides his cell and begins unpacking a hunting knife and an electric drill. “Oh no, Michael. That is the worst way to make sure your line is working. There could be some kind of device…”
“A device? Like for listening?”
“Or stealing your credit card information and personal secrets.” Dwight lowers his voice to a whisper. “They probably know your favorite kind of pizza or what names you like to be called during phone sex.”
“Gross. I cannot believe you just said that.” Without warning, Dwight easily kicks a hole in the wall next to the phone jack. “Wow, I had hoped this condo was better made than that.”
“Please, this condo is practically a deck of cards. Even Pam could punch through this drywall with her tiny hands and she’s a helpless female. Physically. Mentally she could probably rule the world if she applied herself.” Dwight pauses, as if imagining the possible outcome of that situation. “I can’t worry about that now. Have you heard any strange clicks on the line?” Dwight yanks a few yards of cable out of the hole. “Do you suspect that strangers on the street are watching you?”
“You know what, Dwight? I think you should just eat your hummus and go.” He doesn’t mention the homeless guy that always seems to know what kind of sandwich he’s going to buy at the deli down the street. It’s creepy. Even creepier than the idea of Dwight having his home number.
“But I haven’t found the problem. Also, I don’t eat food from countries that support terrorism.”
“I’m not racist, Dwight. I support all nations, even if their dips use a canned food I had never heard of until the internet told me it was a good thing.”
“Why do you even want Holly to call? I thought we hated her with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. Your words.” Dwight reaches back into the wall, arm disappearing up to the shoulder.
“Don’t…she’s not like that.”
“Well, you’re better off without her. Is there a phone upstairs? I would like to examine that wall as well.” He extracts his arm and dusts himself off.
“Dwight? Get out!”
“Okay, Michael. Good luck with Holly. I hope she doesn’t turn out to be as crazy as Jan.”
After Dwight is gone, Michael spoons the hummus into his garborator (which cost extra, by the way) and turns on the hot water, eyes on the giant hole in the wall of his living room. Jan would have gotten on his case for it and he decides that he will leave it, even when she eventually moves back in. It will be a tribute to Holly and how she was worth having Dwight in his condo and how he would rather have white dust on his carpet than forget her.
He picks up the phone and his thumb hovers over the speed dial he set in case he stopped being an idiot. Her words. A little more pressure and Holly’s voice is saying “Hello?”
He hangs up on her.
He dials her number.
“Michael?” She asks. Her voice is rougher than he remembers.
He pretends to be strong. “How are you?”
“I’m…” she stops without answering. “Are you okay?”
It’s only then that he notices that he’s making little choking noises. “No one gets me like you do and Dwight kicked a hole in my wall today.”
“You let Dwight in with his shoes on? Isn’t that, like, your third rule?”
“I know, I know. It was stupid. But I really wanted to talk to you.”
“You should have just called.” She gets quiet for a bit, like maybe she’s crying, only he doesn’t ask about it because there’s a lump in his throat. “We’re pretty pathetic,” she finally says. “Promise me you’ll call? Even if you’re lost in the woods at the halfway point on the wrong day and you think I didn’t show up?”
He laughs and misses her more than he ever thought he would. More than when his mom moved away and told him it would be better if their relationship was long distance. More than when Jan left the first and eighteenth time.
“I’ll call.”