Work Text:
Irving has always liked the routine of Macrodata Refinement. He’s realised over the years that what it is they are doing doesn’t really matter to him, although he still likes to imagine they are removing curse words from movies. What matters is the reliable regularity of the routine.
Identify the numbers.
Identify the emotional response they invoke.
Identify and select the corresponding box to place them in.
And repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Irving likes it. He likes how it reflects the steadiness of Kier’s word. He enjoys the repetition, the structure, the rhythm of it all. It’s comforting. His work echoes the beating of his heart. That is how he thinks of it sometimes, when he allows himself a brief reprieve to ponder things. He believes it to be a fitting analogy. After all, he would not exist without the work, and the work needs him, in turn, to be completed. It is a comforting thought, and surely it is normal to be comforted by being needed. To know that he is upholding the spirit and constancy of Kier’s vision regardless of what the actual work entails. He does not ever say this out loud. Not to his colleagues and not to his superiors, who should be as comforting as the work is but aren’t. Instead, they are cold and intimidating and whatever they say always comes across as disapproving and distant even if the words are comforting or kind in any other context. Irving often tells himself that it is respect he feels towards Milchick and Cobel, and not fear, but the notion never fits right. He tries not to think about it.
There was a time once when Irving did think about it.
There was a time once when his body and mind were full of emotions he no longer seems to remember. Emotions that didn’t fit neatly in boxes. Emotions that filled the break room until they didn’t. That was a long time ago and there is no one else around who remembers it. He doesn’t want to remember it. He is tired now. Too tired to think of those times anymore. So he does not. But sometimes when a surreal substance threatens to overwhelm him, he cannot help but find that the rush of freezing fear and confusion feels sickeningly familiar. And it always worsens when he is confronted afterwards for slacking off. Often by Milchick. Always by his own guilt and disappointment. Irving knows the sleeping is a problem. He knows it delays his completion of cases. He also knows it doesn’t line up with what sleep is supposed to feel like, but maybe that’s just because he’s not supposed to know what sleep feels like. It’s not for him. He’s supposed to work. That’s his purpose. And his purpose is his priority, that’s what Kier teaches. It’s not for him to understand, at least, that’s what he constantly reminds himself. He has to trust in Kier.
When he feels overwhelmed, or scared, or confused, he has Kier’s word to fall back on. To help him make sense of his existence, and the fact that it is not for him to understand. It is comforting, in a way, to have that responsibility taken from him. He knows there is a reason he is not ever promoted to manager despite having worked in the department the longest. He is not meant for responsibility; he is meant for work. He has to trust in Kier.
Irving knows his colleagues do not trust in Kier the way he does. He knows about their blasphemous Perpetuity Wing Eagan bingo. He knows about the little teases and jokes they make at his expense and he knows that nothing he can say will make them feel the same way about Keir as he does. He knows but he always ends up trying to convince them anyway, almost as if the instinct is ingrained in him. He wants to show them the comfort Kier brings him but he knows they find their comfort in other places, in friendships and rewards. He tells himself he doesn’t need friendship, that he is not alone when he has the word of Kier. He tells himself the rewards aren’t important, that the real reward is the accomplishment of finishing a case in a satisfactory amount of time. That collecting rewards is prideful and pride is not one of Kier’s core tenets. He tells himself and he tells them too, sometimes, especially vocal with his disapproval of Dylan treating their work like a game. But sometimes, fleetingly and secretly, he envies Dylan for being free in his pride.
He knows what Dylan says about him. He knows that none of his co-workers really see him as friend material, that they see him as stuck up and boring, that they don’t understand his jokes. He doesn’t let it hurt him. Not even in the few moments of weakness he has where he likes to imagine they really are friends. Where they are family. Where he jokes “hey kids, what’s for dinner” and they joke back. Sometimes he thinks maybe they can get to that point. Sometimes he thinks he’s getting his hopes up. Mostly he thinks he needs to not think about it. Mostly he thinks he has to trust in Kier.
It's probably because Irving knows his colleagues do not trust in Kier in the same way as him that when he finds someone who does, something changes. In fact, Burt G changes everything.
Irving doesn’t really like change. He doesn’t like that change can disrupt his routine and he doesn’t like that change can disrupt his trust in Kier. That change can make him doubt Kier’s word. And that his doubt, in Kier’s word and in himself, opens up wounds so old he didn’t know they were there.
He doesn’t really like change but he forgets why every time Burt smiles at him.
Around Burt he finally feels understood. And it’s not just because Burt listens and smiles and laughs at all his jokes and jokes back. It’s because Burt understands what he feels and feels the same way. Kier, the Eagans and Lumon mean as much to Burt as they do to Irving and it is such a novel experience Irving can’t help but keep seeking it out. And with every encounter with Burt, he feels more understood and he understands more. He feels more everything. He has never felt as happy as he has when around Burt. He has never felt as alive as he has when around Burt. It is both easy and difficult to realise he has taken heart to Burt. Easy because it makes so much sense, the fear and elation he feels whenever their fingers brush, and the way talking to Burt makes everything comforting, not just the word of Kier. It is as if Burt has opened a door to a new world and Irving wants nothing more than to take it. And that is where the difficulties come in. Irving isn’t meant for another world. He is meant for work. And work certainly doesn’t allow taking heart to other workers.
When Burt shows Irving the painting ‘The Courtship of Kier and Imogene’, everything seems to click into place. If Kier and Imogene met as colleagues and took heart to each other as colleagues, surely it couldn’t be so wrong.
If Irving is meant to follow Kier’s word then surely he can follow him in action as well. He can trust in Kier and Burt both.
He can trust in Burt. He can trust in his sweet words and his soft smiles and even softer touches. And he allows himself to. He allows himself to revel in all the emotions his relationship with Burt, unnamed as it is, brings him. And all the new emotions Burt introduces him to seem to only emphasise the old until he realises he has had friends all along, in Petey and Mark and Dylan and even Helly. Regardless of whether he is supposed to know what it feels like to have a family, he does know, and it feels comforting.
As he comes into himself and his rediscovered emotions and friends, work begins to mean less and less to Irving. It is important of course, he doesn’t think it will ever not be important to him, whether he wants it to be or not. It just doesn’t feel quite as important as it used to. Especially when it seems to construct more walls between him and his family. Between him and Burt. It feels less important and less comforting. Even the words of Keir feel less and less comforting when they are used more and more like weapons by Cobel and Milchick. And then he finds out Burt is retiring. Leaving. Dying. Burt as Irving knows him, as all his colleagues know him, is dying and no-one is even trying to stop it. No-one but Irving. And it is then that he realises that Kier’s word means nothing if the man it led him to is lost to him forever.