Hating Game

An Office Fanfic

By Saitou Miharu

Day 1

"Has anyone seen this?" Phyllis asked, loud enough for the entire room to hear. She was sitting at her desk, staring at her computer monitor with wide eyes. "The new bulletin from Corporate."

Everyone curiously logged into their email. Many gasps and quiet curses ensued. "Again!" Oscar exclaimed, exasperated. The others grimaced and released long, airy sighs, while Stanley pumped his fist through the air happily. To him, the message from Corporate was almost as exciting as Pretzel Day. Hard work, sure, but exciting.

"What's happening?" Michael asked, poking his head out of his office.

"It's Corporate," Pam said, not terribly worried about the bulletin. She and Jim didn't really mind these sort of things. "They're having another weight loss contest—two months long."

Michael smiled at the camera and looked at the dreary faces of his staff. Andy stared down at his desk, remembering what he'd been so eager for during the last competition—a hot body to impress Angela after they were married—and frowned. "Come on, guys," Michael chirped nicely, "Let's get ready for our less-food, more-exercise routine again!" He turned to where Dwight, Jim, and Pam were sitting. "Dwight, take all the food out of the vending machines!"

Dwight held up his gym bag, packed to the brim with bags of chips, boxes of cookies, and dozens of candy bars and sodas. "Already accomplished."

"I came in thirty minutes early to dust my collectibles," he told the cameras later. "I happened to check my email first and discovered the bulletin. You can guess what I spent those thirty minutes doing." He reached down below his chair, picked up a can of soda, opened it with a pop, and took a long, cool sip. Then his lip curled and he stared at the camera lens, nodding.

Michael clapped his hands together. "Weight loss, people. Angela, we need a last meal party. No, Phyllis. No, make that Jim. Jim, we need a last meal party. I want cake, and pizza, and fried chicken, and anything else these good people want."

"And M&Ms!" Kevin called from his desk.

"Got it. M&M, chicken, and cake pizza." Jim diligently scribbled it down. "I'll definitely see what I can do about that."

Oscar stepped forward, followed closely by Angela. "We're not doing this, Michael."

"I agree," Angela said. "Last time was just ridiculous."

"Kelly almost killed herself!" Andy added, eager to get out of it—too many bad memories. "It destroyed all morale!"

But Michael shook his head. "Guys, we have to. What kind of quitters would we look like if we didn't even try this time around? Huh?"

"I think Michael should do it by himself," Phyllis suggested. Her voice was met with several cries of agreement. It seemed like a pretty good idea to almost everyone in the office. "He can lose the weight." Then, before Michael could object: "Win the contest and get us those extra vacation days, Michael. Then we'll talk."

Suddenly, the door in the back opened and Toby came in. "Hey, guys, what's going on?"

The H.R. rep was met with silence for a moment before Michael exclaimed, "Toby wasn't here for this last year! If I have to do it, he has to do it!"

"What are you talking about, Michael?"

"The weight loss competition Corporate had last year," Jim explained, ready for the drama to be over and done with. "You were gone, Holly was H.R., and we all nearly died trying to win a few more vacation days. So now Phyllis wants Michael to do it by himself, and Michael wants you to do it with him." He inhaled and turned back to his computer, clicking the pen in his hand.

Erin looked around. "Weight loss contest?"

"That settles it!" Michael announced. "The anti-Christ and I are going to win more vacation days for Scranton!"

Toby sort of nodded, not really knowing what he was getting into. "Alright. Sounds okay to me." He approached Michael and held out his hand, gesturing for Michael to shake it. The branch manager turned as if offended and reentered his office, only realizing once seated at his desk that he probably could've gotten Stanley to do it by himself.

"I think I have this covered," Toby said. "I've been meaning to start exercising again anyway. Maybe this could be my chance to become friends with Michael." He looked up at the snickering cameraman and asked softly, "What?" The cameraman was laughing too hard at the notion of Michael changing his mind about Toby to answer him.

Day 6

Toby was sitting alone in the breakroom, eating a sandwich, when Michael came over and snatched it out of his hand. "What is in this sandwich?" he demanded, taking the top piece of bread off and examining it carefully. "Is there mayonnaise in here? Because if there is, you need to make a new one." Before Toby could answer, the manager replaced the slice of bread and tossed it in the trash. "Go get some fruit, Toby. Don't ruin it for everyone."

"There wasn't any mayonnaise on that, Michael." Toby sighed and picked up his water bottle, then exited the breakroom.

"Yeah, I'm trying my best," Toby explained. "And I have to admit, although it's pretty annoying, Michael throwing everything away before I finish it is really helping. I haven't eaten more than half a cup of soup since this started, and I try not to eat anything at home." He shifted in the chair and exhaled. "When this is over, I'm going to eat a chocolate-chip cookie. Either that or some french fries."

Michael sat at his desk, his feet on its smooth surface. "Mmm-hmm. I'm doing pretty good so far this week. I think it's in the bag, as long as Toby holds up his end of the deal." He removed his heels from the desk and leaned forward, hands together. "You know, I really want a Mountain Dew. I've never been a big fan of it before, but... I dunno... I guess I am now."

Day 11

"Give me that!" Michael grabbed the juicy red apple from Toby's hand before he could take a bite, throwing it into the trashcan in the corner. "Come on, Toby! Think healthy!" Then he disappeared, around the corner and back into his office. The door slammed loud and hard. Toby ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Phyllis was in the breakroom, too. "You know, Toby, you're doing a really good job," she complimented him. "Ignore Michael; he's just moody."

Toby wondered about this and eventually followed Michael into his office, knocking and opening the door a crack. "Can I come in?" Michael picked up one of the toys from his desk and tossed it at the H.R. rep, missing him by a foot. Toby swung the door open the rest of the way and closed it behind him, standing in front of Michael's desk. The manager stared up at him.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to know why you're being so... abrasive."

Here Michael snapped. He stood and slammed his hands on the table, shouting, "Abrasive? Abrasive? I'm not being abrasive! I think your vocabulary needs touching up!" Toby looked about to say something, but Michael cut him off. "No! No! No, not listening! La la la la!" He covered his ears with his hands. "La la la! La la—"

"Michael," Toby said slowly, "Are you alright?"

"No! No, I'm not alright!" Michael paused and focused his eyes on his shoes, his expression struck with pain and disbelief. He looked back up at Toby, then toward the door, and then threw himself in his desk chair and wept into his jacket sleeve quietly. Toby watched on, surprised, and awkwardly pulled a chair toward the desk, taking a seat and hesitantly putting a hand on Michael's back. When Michael only reacted by heaving a large sob, Toby smoothed his hand along his back and glanced up at the camera, smiling at the progress he'd made.

"So today I learned that Michael drinks a milkshake every morning," Toby told the cameras. "And when he doesn't have a milkshake, he gets... emotional. He hasn't had a milkshake in over ten days, so I guess it just sort of... got to him." He paused before adding, "I think he started the milkshake thing after he gave up crackling George Foreman bacon."

"Michael's been really depressed for three or four days." Andy looked around, his eyes widening. "I don't know what's really going on, but I saw Toby in his office groping him." He was quiet a second before he laughed. "Just kidding. Gotcha, didn't I? But seriously, I did see him touching Michael and looking unusually... pleased. Especially for how sad he usually looks."

"I've heard the rumors about Toby and Michael becoming 'best friends'," Dwight said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I've heard a lot of things. I even saw myself that Toby was stroking him. I also saw that little smile of pleasure on his face." He looked directly into the camera lens. "Mark my words, Flenderson, I won't criticize Michael's choices, but touching him like that is crossing the line. Come on, you're H.R., at least know how to file an employee relationship form. Amateur."

"Yes, I heard about Michael and Toby," Kelly replied to the interviewers. "No, I don't think they deserve each other."

"Are Michael and Toby gay?" Oscar paused and contemplated this. "Toby... no. Michael..." He looked straight ahead and didn't answer.

Day 13

"People keep staring at me," Michael informed the camera and the interviewers. "I think maybe it's my awesome new body. I've lost a little over five pounds..." He stared and nodded slowly, eyes blinking open and shut. "Pretty good... but I want a milkshake."

"I don't think Michael's aware at all that there's a rumor about him being involved with Toby," Jim said. "If he was, he would probably have already made a speech on it, and probably would have publicly slapped Toby in the face." He blinked. "Publicly."

Day 14

On this day, since it was the two-week mark, everyone got on the scale again, including Toby and Michael. Both were exhausted from very little sleep; it's hard to sleep when you're hungry, and it's hard to eat when you're tired, and so it seems to become a never-ending cycle. Many employees noted tinges of purple in their faces. Toby's eyes were redder and sadder than usual, but he smiled as if very happy. And in a way he was; he was doing very well and had already lost almost eight pounds.

"Okay, let's see..." Darryl murmured, roped into weighing everyone again, "for tradition." He narrowed his eyes and peered at the screen. "You've lost twenty-one pounds."

Everyone actually cheered, impressed that Toby and Michael had evidently made it so far on their own. But the two men glanced at each other, and as soon as they were alone Michael asked, "How much did you lose? I only lost six."

"I lost eight," Toby said, his voice thoughtful. "Someone besides us must be losing weight without telling anyone."

Michael shrugged. "Doesn't hurt, I guess."

Stanley merely nodded, a big grin on his face.

"I'm, like, sooooo glad we don't have to worry about losing weight this time," Kelly breathed. "Last time, I almost died. Like, seriously almost died. I just really wanted to fit into these bikinis, so I guess I got kind of carried away. I mean, what greater opportunity, right? I thought, carpe diem, or whatever, and then—"

Day 20

After this Toby started to lose a lot of weight. He almost stopped eating altogether and tried only drinking fruit smoothies for a few days, finding that he'd lost sixteen from his original weight. He didn't bring lunch to work anymore and kept himself from drinking coffee; he figured it probably had too much sugar, or Splenda, or 2% milk. Michael, too, gradually got over what he was used to eating and didn't cry over milkshakes anymore.

On day twenty Toby was working at his desk when he felt sick. It passed quickly, however, and he didn't think much of it. He diligently worked as hard as he could without much sleep or food to drive him; he also tried not to think about Pam.

"I'm not sure what I think about the Toby/Michael rumor," Pam said. "Which one would be dominant in a relationship? Hmm, I guess there's always the dominant gay guy and the womanized gay guy..." She appeared startled and looked at the interviewer. "Was that too politically incorrect?"

"Dominant?" Dwight repeated. "Well, I think of it this way: which one would have the other's baby? In this case, I'd have to say Toby. And this is simply because Michael is too manly to have another man's gaybaby. Toby." His eyes went out of focus somewhat as he stared ahead and retrieved mental pictures. Finally, he looked back at the camera. "I can see that happening."

"Toby, pregnant." Angela shook her head in disgust. "I simply refuse to think about that."

"The H.R. guy's pregnant?" Creed asked. "That doesn't surprise me. Those H.R. representatives, they're usually all over the place, breaking all their own rules. I wouldn't be surprised if he had three or four kids before he learned his lesson."

"Toby's pregnant?" Meredith echoed. "Huh. Better him than me."

Day 26

One day Michael found a card slipped under the door of his office. He opened it up. "Congratulations" was printed in curvy scrawl at the top, and the text under it read: "I wasn't sure if it's a boy or a girl, but I thought I'd give you this anyway. Nice. When's the baby shower? From Kevin."

"Yeah, I decided to give Michael the card early. I didn't get Toby one, since I don't know him all that well. It'd just be kind of awkward."

Michael didn't think much of Kevin's odd gesture and threw it in his desk drawer.

Day 39

Days went by without a hitch for a while. Toby, however, was feeling increasingly tired and was always hungry. One morning, having not eaten for at least two days, he was sitting at his desk and suddenly felt a painful twinge in his stomach. He rose sharply and stumbled into the men's restroom, closing the stall door as swiftly as possible. Fortunately there was no one else in the restroom as he proceeded to dry heave, his throat burning. At last the gag reflex quieted itself, but Toby still felt awful, and so sat just outside the men's room, letting his head lean again the cool wall.

Phyllis came by presently. "Stomach hurt?"

He realized his hand was on his belly but firmly decided he didn't care and kept it there. "Yeah," he grunted, face contorted in pain.

She offered him medicine, but he said he could make it, so she took a pudding cup from the fridge and went back to her desk. He remained where he was, gently breathing in and out, waiting for the sensation in his stomach to calm itself. It reminded him of when he saw Meredith's "wardrobe malfunction." Gradually the pain went away and he returned to his desk.

"It did seem a little weird that Toby would come to work sick," Phyllis mused. "Maybe he really is pregnant. All anyone does around here is have babies." A Pause. "Pam."

"Just to clear things up, I do not think Toby is pregnant or ever will be pregnant," Jim said, responding to the interviewer adamantly. "But—in my opinion—if Michael or Toby had to get knocked up, it'd probably be Michael."

Day 41

Toby went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He thought he was doing well but needed to push it a bit farther to win those vacation days for everyone; he intended to push himself to the point of injury to do this. His only goal was to get Michael to like him, even a little bit, and if he had to skip more than a few meals to do it, he would do just that.

No one else was around, since everyone had just went back to their desks after eating lunch, so Toby quickly removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. He slid his tie from over his head, sliding it along his hair and making it messier than usual. Then he snapped the shirt off and looked at himself.

He'd done this for several days, and nothing was visibly different from the day before, but he was thinner than he was forty-one days ago. He examined his ribs, now jutting out, and the way his stomach curved gently in, and grinned. He couldn't help himself. The Scranton branch would win, and then Michael would treat him as part of the Dunder-Mifflin family.

Pam crossed his mind while he stood half-naked in the men's room.

Suddenly, the door opened and Andy came in, shouting, "Woah!" and quickly looking away. Then he grinned and looked back up. "Just joking, man. Was that—wait, what the—"

"Toby is closer to washboard abs than me," he said seriously, mouth open and expression incredulous. "First I wanted them to impress Angela, and then I wanted them to impress Erin, and now I don't really have anyone to impress." He glanced around uncertainly. "So there, Toby."

"There's a Toby-is-pregnant rumor?" Erin asked. She stared for a second before her lips curved into a tight, happy smile. "That's so great. I think every couple should have kids. So is he transgender, like Thomas Beatie?"

"What if Toby Flenderson was the next Thomas Beatie?" Kelly gushed. "It'd be, like, a celebrity, right here in our own office. And what if—"

Day 52

The H.R. rep hadn't felt comfortable in days and hadn't felt 100% in weeks. His eyes were red and he'd stopped feeling the pain in his stomach. His hair seemed thinner than usual and he was constantly cold. Eventually Kelly told him to keep her thick winter coat after he'd asked for it four times in as many days. He just couldn't seem to remember anything beyond getting up and taking Sasha to school before going to work.

It wasn't long, fortunately, before it all came to an end. On day fifty-two, the second-to-last week of the contest, he felt faint while sitting at his desk and passed out. Apparently he lay there, forehead resting on the binder he'd been reading, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, for at least five minutes before Kelly noticed anything and told the others.

Toby woke up in the conference room three hours later. He was on the floor in a futon, wearing—to his great surprise—someone's soft pajamas. He glanced down at the stitching on the pocket—MGS. Michael Gary Scott.

"I see you're awake." It was Dwight. "I brought you some stew."

Toby blinked, unsure, but took the bowl and spoon anyway, sitting up and eating the stew slowly. It was good; hot and well-seasoned.

Dwight stayed and watched. It was awkward but not completely unwelcome. It was kind of nice to know that someone cared. Then again, it was probably on Michael's orders. Ah, well.

Eventually Dwight took the silverware and bowl and left without a word. Toby felt better already, but was still tired. He wished he had something to wear besides Michael's pajamas, which were two short in the legs, arms, and crotch.

"Toby Flenderson!" came Michael's voice presently from just outside. Toby rose and tiredly pulled the door open, somehow expecting a slap in the face.

His eyes widened. His hands shook.

Outside, everyone gathered around him as Michael threw his arms around the H.R. rep in a huge bear hug. "Toby," the manager breathed into his shoulder, "We thought you were gonna die, or at least need serious medical attention!" Toby felt strange as he put his hands on Michael's back gingerly. When the men drew away, Michael looked teary-eyed.

"Michael," Toby said. He was truly touched. He'd finally done it.

Through days and nights of suffering, his never-ending nightmare—daymare—Toby had begun to think that nothing could get him through to Michael. Nothing could break that hard shell. But he'd done it. Toby Flenderson had really done it.

"Michael, I—"

"Not another word!" Michael scolded him, jabbing him in the ribs with his hand. "We have doughnuts, and we have cookies, and we have ice cream and Pam's delicious lasagna—"

"You had me at doughnuts," Kevin said.

"You had me at cookies," Toby admitted. Michael laughed heartily, his arm still slung over Toby's shoulder, then coughed awkwardly and removed it. Toby blinked and smiled. He'd done it. He'd really, truly won.

Day 67

The Scranton branch won five extra vacation days that year, thanks in part to Michael and Toby, but moreso to Stanley, Kevin, Oscar, and Jim, who'd secretly eaten nothing but fruit and water for two months. Scranton didn't win by much—about six pounds—but this only made the victory sweeter. And the early victory party on day fifty-two didn't give them enough extra weight to lose, either.

"I ground up weight loss pills and put the powder in the water cooler every morning," Dwight declared proudly. "You're welcome, Scranton."