Work Text:
Being the mailroom manager for a law firm isn't the most glamorous job in the world, but at least it pays the bills.
Sure, it can be stressful - out of all the mailrooms Greg has stepped foot in over the past twenty years, HHM's basement office is definitely the most hectic. It's one thing if you're under the thumb of a megacorporation that is driven solely by profits - they might act like not getting a sample delivered by a deadline is the end of the world, but it isn't. The gears keep on turning, and the money keeps on rolling in. But at a local law firm? Something as simple as posting an envelope a minute late or misprinting a document could be all it takes to lose a client or a case. There have been more than a few times where Greg was on the receiving end of a rant from a red-faced attorney with papers scrunched in his fist and smoke coming out of his ears.
But the tense environment is outweighed by the generous pay, and the fact that the men with their names on the building are fairly nice guys. Well, the Hamlins were, at least. Howard and George regularly made the journey into their subterranean base of operations to check in with everyone and make sure all their needs were met. They knew every clerk by name, invited the team to their annual Christmas parties, and listened when Greg told them if their expectations were unrealistic. It was rare for higher-ups to have any understanding of logistics, but they took care of them. Chuck McGill, on the other hand, was a rare and aloof visitor, only ever venturing into their neck of the woods to ask Kim how law school was coming. He could be stilted and dismissive, and no matter what he said he always sounded slightly condescending, but he was like that with everyone, even the other lawyers, so nobody took it too personally.
But he shouldn't be thinking about work right now. It's Friday evening, and he has the house to himself while his wife is out of town for a conference. He's going to plant his ass on the couch, pop open the tab on a cold beer, and watch TV in his underwear. But he hasn't even settled on a channel, his beer barely sipped, when the phone rings. He thinks about letting it go to voicemail, but he knows he had better pick up in case it was his wife, who would never let him hear the end of it if he ignored her (because she knew him damn well enough to know he was just lounging on the couch and nursing a beer). So, with a world-suffering groan he got to his feet and picked the call up, not even bothering to check caller ID. "Hello?"
"Hi, Greg? I'm glad I could catch you. This is Chuck McGill."
He's so stunned that he forgets to answer. The mere concept of Chuck willingly initiating a conversation with him, let alone over the phone, let alone after hours, seems unthinkable. Not even Howard nor his father would call him after he had left for the day; the post office would already be closed, after all, so nothing would be moving until the following morning. To make matters even stranger, Chuck hadn’t even been in the office today. It was all the paralegals would talk about, because Chuck never took time off; the man was married to his desk. Rumor had it that he had flown back home to Chicago for some type of family emergency.
So, what in the world was he doing calling him?
"Greg? Can you hear me?"
"Yeah, sorry Mr. McGill, I'm right here. Uh, what can I do for you?"
Chuck cuts right to the chase. "Are you still hiring a new clerk?"
"Yessir, I have three interviews scheduled for Tuesday, and two more on-"
"Cancel them. I found a candidate who can start Monday morning."
Greg's mouth goes dry. Of everything he expected to come out of his mouth, this was at the bottom of the list. Leave it to Chuck to offer someone a job while he was supposedly visiting a sick relative in the hospital. If it was either of the Hamlins on the line, he'd resist and ask for more details, keep the interviews on the schedule until he could formally meet with the candidate or at least look over their resume. Who knew if this person was even qualified? To outsiders it may have been deemed a simple or even demeaning job, but there was a deceptive amount of skill required. But he knew that this wasn't a polite request. There was no refusing him. "Uh, sure, I'll get them cancelled right away, sir."
"Great! He'll be there first thing Monday morning. Now, enjoy the rest of your night, I'm sorry for-"
"Wait, Mr. McGill, can you at least give me his name?"
The line is silent except for the background buzz, and Greg worries that Chuck hasn't heard him, that he's dangling the phone over the hook, about to hang up. But there's a rustling sound, a whoosh of air whether it's from a sigh or a huff, and he at last speaks. "His name is Jimmy McGill. My brother."
--
With two Hamlins, HHM was no stranger to nepotism, even if Howard was a great lawyer on his own merits. It would make sense to eventually tack another M on the sign, too. But Howard didn't start out in the dungeon, surrounded by mail carts and printers. He started on the ladder a couple rungs above the lowly mail clerk, running errands on the higher floors, reviewing documents and observing his future peers. Maybe Chuck really wanted to make it look like his brother had to rise through the ranks to get to where he would one day be so no one would accuse him of having it easy. Unlike Howard, Chuck came from a family with very little money, and he was the first of his lineage to earn any sort of degree. While Greg doubted he had ever had a blue-collar job, it was clear that he worked hard to get to where he is today; it would make sense that he wouldn't want to give his sibling too easy a ride.
When Greg walks into the office on Monday morning, he already has a fully formed picture of Jimmy in his head. He's a couple of inches shorter and a few pounds lighter than his brother, with the same blue eyes and faded brown hair, and is dressed far more formally than required. His face bears fewer wrinkles, his voice is pitched just a hair deeper, and his tone is much friendlier and warmer. He would be sitting at the breakroom table, his hands folded patiently in front of him, a polite smile already tugging at the corners of his lips.
The sight that actually greets him as he steps into the mailroom is so jarring that his first thought is that he's being pranked.
For starters, the age gap between the two men is so vast that Jimmy could pass as Chuck's son. Instead of a cumulus cloud of dirty blonde hair, he has a messy mullet that looks like it was cut in someone's basement. His dress shirt is wrinkled and clearly secondhand, and his slacks are slightly too short for him, revealing colorful, mismatched socks. His tie is garish and knotted poorly; it was probably his first time ever wearing one. Hell, it looks like it’s his first time wearing anything that isn’t casual clothes; he looks so out of place and uncomfortable. But perhaps the most astonishing detail is that he is most definitely not waiting patiently. Instead, he’s leaning back precariously in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, one foot on the floor and the other resting on the table. He’s wobbling back and forth, as though testing how far back he could balance before he inevitably toppled over and cracked his head on the floor.
He hasn’t noticed Greg enter, what with his attention clearly occupied elsewhere, so he just stares for a long moment, half-hoping that Chuck would pop around the corner and yell "Gotcha!" But he doesn't, so he clears his throat. "Mr. McGill?"
Startled, the man slams all four chair legs and his own feet on the ground with a loud thunk. He looks sheepish, if only for a moment, before rising to awkwardly offer him his hand. "Hi, I'm Jimmy."
Greg shakes his hand, meeting his eyes; at least his irises were the same ones from his imagination. "It's nice to meet you, Jimmy. I'm Greg. I'm the manager here." He hopes he's able to keep the bewilderment out of his voice. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long. We don't usually start until eight."
Jimmy shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. "That's alright. The bus only comes once an hour, but I don't mind getting here early. I already made a pot of coffee, I hope that's okay."
Greg frowns, ignoring his coffee remark. "You took the bus?"
"Yeah, I don't have a car yet. I've only been here a couple of days." Misreading Greg's concern, he quickly adds, "You won't have to worry about me being late. And it's short-term only. I'll be getting a car once I'm settled in more."
He shakes his head, confused. "No, that's fine, I just assumed that you'd carpool with your brother."
"Nah," Jimmy shrugs. "My hotel is in the opposite direction from his place, I wouldn't ask him to drive all that way."
This shocks him even more than the previous information. "A hotel?"
"Yeah, I mean, I don't have an apartment just yet. I'm looking after work, though."
"But-" Greg snaps his mouth shut as Jimmy gives no sign of thinking that this whole situation is anything but normal. As though it makes perfect sense for his brother - who lives in a beautiful house with a vast yard and two cars - to fly him across state lines to a city he's never set foot in before, drop him off at a hotel, and leave him to find his own way to work. Hell, Greg's relationship with his own brother is strained to say the least, but if he washed up in town, he'd still let him crash on his couch before forcing him to stay at a hotel. What the hell was going on here?
Before he could politely inquire further, familiar footsteps clack down the hall and Kim Wexler rounds the corner, a bag full of heavy textbooks slung over her shoulder. She pauses as she notices their unexpected visitor, brow furrowing just slightly. None of the clerks knew they had a new team member, and Jimmy certainly didn't look like a new hire.
"Ah, perfect timing. Kim, this is Jimmy McGill. He's our latest hire. Jimmy, Kim here is going to train you."
Kim shoots him a look that he knows all too well, because it was the one on his face just moments earlier - Really? This guy is a McGill? But she recovers quickly, giving Jimmy a smile while placing her bag in her locker. "Nice to meet you, Jimmy. Have you ever worked in a mailroom before?"
--
Mondays are always busy and today is no exception. Thankfully, even with the challenge of onboarding a new employee, they're able to keep up with everything thrown their way. It helps that Jimmy did have experience with their high-end printers and scanners - even if he was cagey about how he had acquired that knowledge - and the things he was unfamiliar with he picked up quickly. He was a fast learner and thought on his feet, and the team seemed to like him well enough. Despite his first impression and the gravely unmet expectations his surname granted him, Jimmy was already proving himself to be a hard worker, even if he may not have been the most dignified. The first time Kim handed him envelopes to seal he licked them closed with his tongue, completely oblivious to everyone staring at him. He managed to make it halfway through the stack before Kim - whom he had never heard so much as giggle in the year she's been with them - couldn't contain herself anymore and burst out laughing, gently pushing a sponge into his hands.
All in all, while he doubted he'd have hired him over someone with a more impressive resume and a tidier appearance, he was confident that Jimmy would earn his keep.
Chuck McGill, however, did not share in that belief.
While he should have expected him to drop by at some point to speak with his brother, it was still a surprise when he approached him as the afternoon was drawing to a close. "Ah, Greg, has he given you any trouble?"
"No, sir, none at all. He's doing well. I've got Kim training him, so he'll be learning from the best."
Chuck's grin almost looks genuine, but he can spot the pain lurking in it. "Good, I like Kim. Hopefully she'll rub off on him, not the other way around."
Greg had begun to suspect that landing Jimmy a job was not a classic example of nepotism and instead something much more complicated, and this only confirmed that. It almost seemed like Chuck didn't want Jimmy here at all. But if that was the case, why secure him the position in the first place? Who welcomed their brother to their workplace, but didn't want him stepping foot in their home?
Exactly what in the world had happened in Illinois?
He checks the time on his watch, the hour hand slowly sneaking its way towards four. "If you'd like to see him, he should be back any minute now, Kim and Burt are just showing him the rounds on the second floor."
"No, there's no need, but thank you," Chuck answers, waving his hand dismissively. Apparently, he didn't even want to speak to his brother. "I have to get back upstairs to finish a few things. Can you do me a small favor, though?"
Greg shifts his weight uneasily, not sure what this would entail, but knowing that as always, he can't refuse. "Of course, Mr. McGill."
He speaks quieter than before, as if afraid of any of the clerks overhearing. "Keep a close eye on Jimmy. If he gives you any problems - any at all - you let me know, and I'll take care of it."
"And, uh, what kind of problems are you anticipating?" He asks back, his voice equally as low.
Chuck gives him a tight smile lacking in mirth. "Nothing in particular - let's just say Jimmy is rather creative. I'd hate to pigeonhole him." Then he's gone, turning on his heel and striding towards the elevator bank to return to his office in the sky. As soon as he leaves, another elevator opens, carrying Jimmy, Kim and Burt, the three of them chatting as though they'd known each other for much longer than eight hours.
None of this made sense. He doesn't even know what type of behavior he had to be on the lookout for, but it was clear from Chuck's words that Jimmy had a history of getting caught being up to no good. Yet all he sees is a down-on-his-luck young man who probably mouthed off to authority and smoked pot, surely neither of which would warrant this much ire. It certainly couldn't have been something violent, because he has a hard time believing that Chuck would let someone with a history of assault step foot in his law firm.
Oh well. At the end of the day, it's none of his business. As long as everything's delivered and printed on time, he could care less what Jimmy's done, or what Chuck's deal with him is. Maybe this is just what brothers are like if they're raised in Chicago.