Summary: Andy quits Dunder Mifflin. Dr. Horrible takes his job.
Set: Season 5
Notes: Thanks to londondrowning for the utterly genius prompt.
Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Sales Job
Dwight stood just inside the office kitchen, watching the new guy through the window blinds. He was skinny, which made him look tall, and had squinty little eyes and a shifty demeanor. Angela said he looked boyish and harmless, but Dwight knew better.
He'd celebrated Andy's departure as a triumphant alpha male should—with body paint, a bonfire, and the ritual roasting of beets—but his replacement was turning out to be an even greater challenge.
The new guy—Billy, as he claimed to be called—looked very familiar.
He was also evil. Dwight could sense it. The entire branch—the entire company—was at risk.
Billy looked up from his computer, and Dwight ducked behind the kitchen door, making use of his superior stealth skills. He counted to ten and slowly stood.
Billy was looking right at him.
Dwight dropped to the floor and swore, then low-crawled toward the break room. If he could get to the annex, he could reach the hallway and the emergency stairway—
The kitchen door opened.
Dwight froze, then launched himself into a set of frenzied push-ups. "One hundred ninety-seven, one hundred ninety-nine, two hundred." He stood, stretching, and turned, feigning surprise to see another person in the kitchen. "Oh! I'm sorry. I hope my display of masculine prowess didn't intimidate you."
Billy stood at the sink, casually filling a glass with water. "You skipped one hundred ninety-eight," he said.
Dwight blinked. "I always skip it. It's an unlucky number."
"Really?" Billy took a sip of water, watching Dwight over the rim of his glass. Direct eye contact. Very antagonistic. "I've never heard that."
"It's an old Amish tradition."
"Right." Another slow, mocking sip of water. "So you really did two hundred push-ups in the minute you were in here?"
"It's my preferred way to spend my breaks, to keep myself sharp. A purple belt is always in training."
"Purple. Nice. I bet that goes with everything."
Dwight narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "Yes, it does," he said, speaking slowly. "Like violence. And mayhem." He thought a moment. "And death."
Billy took a step back; the first of Dwight's many victories. "Right. Um, I'm gonna go do some work. Good luck with the…death."
As the gawkish evildoer turned to go, Dwight decided to press his advantage. "So…follow any good blogs on the internet? I've got some suggestions if you don't."
Billy turned, something decidedly un-boyish in his squinty, evil eyes. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"
Dwight reminded himself that he had the upper hand in this confrontation. "There's one I particularly enjoy, by this completely useless, inept super villain, Dr. Horrible. Heard of it?"
For 3.45 seconds, Billy stared at Dwight without responding. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. An evil smirk.
"Nope," Billy said brightly. "Never heard of it." He turned and left the kitchen.
After precisely two and a half minutes of consideration – all that remained of his break – Dwight declared the encounter a tie.
Billy sat at his desk, wondering if leaving his official ELE membership card in plain view the next time Dwight walked past his desk was too obvious.
He was supposed to ascertaining whether or not Ryan Howard was someone the ELE should consider recruiting for the new Evil Education Program, or EEP. After his meteoric rise and ingenious fraud scheme, the temp certainly had possibilities. Billy's job was to determine just how deep his evil streak ran.
Except this Dwight character was so fascinating – and distracting. Billy had never met someone so functionally delusional. He'd worried, at first, if Dwight recognizing him would threaten his cover, but soon realized no one took Dwight seriously – especially the police. After that, it just became fun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dwight easing toward the kitchen door. He fingered the membership card in his lap, the slid it back into his pocket. Maybe later.
Dwight exited the kitchen, hugging the conference room wall to put as much distance between himself and Billy as possible while he crab-stepped toward his desk. Billy watched him in an intimidating manner, a look he'd perfected since Dr. Horrible's stardom, and hummed the "Imperial March."
Phyllis and Stanley didn't look up. They hadn't seemed to notice any of Dwight's antics – years working here had probably taught them to tune him out, the way you tuned out a neighbor's music. The other salesman, though, Jim, watched the interactions between Dwight and Billy with more attention than Billy found strictly comfortable.
As Dwight threw himself into his chair and hunched over his keyboard, Billy caught Jim's eye. He looked quickly back at his computer, pretending to work.
Out here in po-dunk Scranton, he wasn't as well-known as he was back home, but every day he was here increased his risk of discovery. He wasn't too worried about being captured or exposing his alias. Dr. Horrible could blast his way out of any trouble, laughing evilly all the while. Billy always kept a miniaturized Destructo-Ray in his jacket pocket, disguised as a flashlight. And then there was the memory-erasing smoke bomb encased in a box of Tic-Tacs to protect his alias.
So he wasn't worried about being caught. He didn't want to be found out, because he didn't want to go home yet.
He was enjoying his vacation from evil doing. Being Bad was exhausting. Moist had urged him to volunteer for the reconnaissance trip, saying that just being Billy for a week or two might be good for him. Billy had resisted at first, but the idea had grown on him. The dreams weren't going away, and getting out of the city – where everything reminded him of her – might be good for him.
So he came. The ELE pulled some strings, and Billy became a paper salesman.
The Temp didn't seem too evil, but already Dwight was worth the trip in sheer entertainment value alone. Billy wondered if he could throw together a werewolf hologram overnight. Tomorrow was the full moon.
Billy jumped, both knees hitting the underside of his desk. "Oww…dy. Howdy. Hi. Jim, right?"
"Yeah." Jim stood next to his desk, eyeing him with something like admiration, and Billy started to feel uncomfortable. It reminded him of that time he'd wandered into a gay bar by mistake in grad school.
"Hey, can I talk to you?" Jim asked.
Billy nodded before he could stop himself. "Sure. Yeah, sure. About what?"
"Let's get a soda," Jim suggested, taking a couple steps toward the kitchen.
"I don't really drink soda…"
"But you haven't had your afternoon break yet, right? So let's go." Something in Jim's voice wouldn't be disobeyed.
"Yeah. Okay," Billy muttered, standing and following.
The break room door had barely shut behind them before Jim rounded on him.
"What's your secret?"
"What?" Billy yelped, backing into the door and making the blinds shake. "What secret? No secret!"
"You've been here two days," Jim said, "and already Dwight is convinced you're a super villain. I've worked with Dwight for years, and the most I've accomplished is convincing him I was turning into a vampire."
Billy relaxed and forced a smile through his heart rate. "A vampire? That's pretty good."
"There was a bat in the office. I had no choice."
Billy chuckled. "If he stumbles across me in the restroom or back here, he usually shouts something in German and runs."
"Amish curses." Jim dropped some coins into the vending machine.
Billy slid his hands into his pockets and moved a few steps into the room. "The Amish have curses?"
Jim snorted and snapped open his Dr. Pepper. "He tried to call the police on you yesterday, and this morning he tried to recruit me to be his sidekick. Which means he's desperate already." He took a sip, then grinned. "I want in."
"I could accept his offer, become his sidekick, then feed him information on you, convince him to set up elaborate traps."
"And then turn on him and join forces with me?"
Jim's grin widened. "Obviously. It could quite possibly provide our entertainment for the next two months."
Billy smiled back. "Just what I need."
"Awesome." Jim's smile turned wistful. "I wish Pam were here. She's pretty great at this stuff."
"Pam?" Billy leaned against a table.
Jim propped himself up against the vending machine. "My fiancée. She's in New York for an art internship."
"Cool," Billy said. "About the art. And that you have her. I…don't. I did, kind of. Well, not really, but she was so… But I don't now. Not anymore." He swallowed and made himself stop talking.
Things were quiet for a few seconds, and then Jim said, "Yeah, I – uh – kinda know what you mean."
He couldn't, of course, not really, but Billy could see he knew something, and maybe that was enough.
"Wanna get a beer tonight, discuss our strategy?" Jim asked.
Billy exhaled, feeling his body sag. "Yeah."
The rest of the day went by quickly. Jim convinced Dwight that Billy could read minds, and Dwight spent the rest of the afternoon with his head wrapped in aluminum foil.
Billy smiled as he drove to Poor Richard's. Scranton was going to be good for him.
Usual disclaimers apply: Not mine. Non-profit organization.