Chapter Text
Kyle’s voice echoed in the corner office. "How could you give him my case, Tolkien?"
Tolkien Black didn't flinch, being Kyle’s boss for going on 3 years now, he was used to this. He adjusted his glasses slowly. "The case was never yours to begin with, Kyle. It was a new filing."
"I filed the memo last week!" Kyle shot back, his hands clenching at his sides. He could feel that familiar "Jersey" blood coming out. "I laid out a whole strategy. A strategy Stan will butcher with his... shortcuts."
"Stan has a better track record with these high-stakes civil suits," Tolkien said, his tone flat sounding much more professional than Kyle’s. "He’s more pragmatic."
Kyle’s jaw tightened. Pragmatic. It was a word that drove him insane. It was a polite way of saying Stan Marsh was willing to forget every rule Kyle lived by. To Kyle, the law was a solid structure; to Stan, it was a suggestion you could ignore if you were tired enough. Tolkien was telling him that Stan’s laziness was somehow better than Kyle’s integrity.
Kyle took a deep breath, trying to remain professional. "Fine."
He turned on his heel and marched out, heading straight for Stan’s office. He didn’t knock. He stormed in. His eyes scanned the disaster zone Stan called a workspace. Stacks of files were lying everywhere, a half-eaten sandwich sat on a pile of legal briefs, and there was a coat of dust on the "Employee of the Month" plaque Stan had won two years ago and never looked at again.
"You got my case."
Stan, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk, didn't even bother to look up from his phone. "My case, technically. And I don't see your name on the file, dude."
"I filed the memo. You know it was my case."
"It was a memo, Kyle. Not Jesus himself coming down and saying you have the case." Stan said, finally looking up. He looked exhausted. His hair was a mess, his tie was tied loosely, and a look of amusement was shown in his blue eyes. "I'm sure you enjoyed the organization of it all, though. All your little color-coded bullet points."
Kyle ignored the jab, though his eye twitched. "I had a strategy. An approach that would have minimized risk for the client. You're going to go in and ruin it."
Stan let out a short, dry chuckle. "This isn't a debate club, Kyle. This is the real world. You can't just find the 'perfect' piece and make it fit. Sometimes you have to force a piece to fit where it doesn't belong, or the whole thing falls apart."
"That's called being a slacker, Stan." Kyle snapped, straightening his posture until he seemed to vibrate with indignation. "It's unethical. And it’s lazy. Give me the file back."
Stan lifted the folder, dangling it like bait. As Kyle stepped forward to grab it, Stan pulled it away at the last second, tossing it onto a pile of disorganized papers on the far side of his desk.
"Nope. Tolkien gave it to me. It's safe right here."
Kyle scoffed, his face flushing red. "Real mature, Stan. Truly."
"You know me," Stan called out as Kyle stormed out of the room.
Once he reached his own office, Kyle couldn't think. He sat and stared at his monitor, the blank screen staring right back at him. What was the point of being the "smart one" if the firm just rewarded Stan’s laziness?
He began to channel his energy elsewhere. He couldn't clean Stan’s life, but he could fix his own. He adjusted the pens in his cup. He organized his documents by date, then subject, then paper weight. When that didn't provide enough relief, he grabbed a fresh legal pad and started writing.
He wasn't drafting a brief. He was creating a list of every single professional rule Stan Marsh had ever bent, broken, or mocked in their three years at the firm. With every item, Kyle’s focus sharpened. He wrote about the time Stan showed up to a deposition with a coffee stain on his shirt; he wrote about how Stan would scribble over Kyle’s notes with a red pen, ruining them with "half-baked ideas."
After twenty minutes, the list was complete. Kyle took a shaky breath, feeling a sense of order return to his brain. He tried to focus on his other files, but they felt small. He felt the overwhelming urge to go alphabetize his bookshelf—to color-code every spine—just to feel a sense of control.
Then, his phone rang. Tolkien.
Kyle sighed as he listened to the voice on the line. "On my way." he said, his voice tight.
He walked back to Tolkien’s office, his annoyance coming out as a cold yet professional tone. He pushed open the door. "You called?"
Tolkien didn't look up from his laptop. "I know you’re mad about the case, Kyle. And I know you think Stan is reckless."
"He is reckless, Tolkien. He has no respect for the proper steps used to win correctly."
"Stan told me about your little chat this morning." Tolkien said, finally looking up at Kyle's eyes. "He said you were 'being a Kyle' about the whole thing."
"It was just a simple conversation."
Tolkien sighed, leaning back. "Look, I know how you two get. You want the case because you’ve already mapped out the next six months in your head. Stan wants the case because he knows he can win it with a shortcut. Neither of you is seeing the full picture."
Kyle opened his mouth to disagree, but Tolkien raised a hand.
"That’s why I’m making a change. You aren't getting the case back, Kyle. And it’s not just staying with Stan either. You’re doing it together. One file, two names. You’re going to share the workload, you’re going to share an office, and you’re going to find a way to make this work."
Kyle felt the air leave his lungs. "Share an office? You want me to move into that… that dump he calls a workspace?"
"Figure it out." Tolkien said, returning to his work. “And Kyle? Try not to kill him before the discovery phase.”