Chapter Text
“Achoo!”
Kim holds a finger under her nose, hoping no one sees just how badly she needs a tissue. The force of the sneeze reawakens the thrum beating against her head, which she had hoped would lay dormant until her shift ended, at the very least. Looks like she’ll have no such luck—a day of sneezing, mouth-breathing, and a pounding in her skull will carry over from the weekend, with no signs of stopping for classes on Tuesday.
And to think she has Evidence tomorrow. Evidence.
“Oh, hey! Was that you?” a voice calls out from behind her. Footsteps round the breakroom table and the mailroom’s newest addition appears, tissue in hand. “I coulda sworn there was a puppy barking somewhere or something.” Jimmy holds the tissue out to her, arm outstretched from across the table. “Here.”
Kim hesitantly takes the proffered tissue. “You… thought my sneezes were a puppy?”
“No, I-I didn’t mean to compare you to a dog or anything, although you look sick as a dog—” Jimmy’s eyes widen. “No, wait, I meant—” A shake of his head. “It sounded cute, is all.”
Kim blinks.
“Sorry,” he says, dropping his head. “I’ll go march to HR. That’s what people do in these situations, right?”
“I’m not sure many people get into these situations.” Kim dabs at her nose with the tissue. “But hey, first time for everything.”
“I’m really blowing it, huh?” Jimmy sighs (and it’s a dramatic thing, he puts his full body into it somehow) as he plops down into a chair. “Chuck told me office life would be a big adjustment for someone like me.”
Truth be told, it’s actually been a big adjustment for herself, getting used to Mr. McGill’s first name coming out of a mailroom employee’s mouth (not that she’s been looking at it, much). But Jimmy’s not just any mailroom employee—he’s got Mr. McGill’s name too. And that name belonging to a mailroom employee has also taken some getting used to.
It’s a little hard to see the resemblance—with this McGill being a touch boyish (his soft hair, freshly cut, is clearly still in the process of being tamed, some tufts in disarray), and “Chuck” being so stately—but he’s her boss’s younger brother.
The boss’s “kid” brother, or “baby” brother, some even call him. Hardly ever just brother. It’s as if there needs to be a qualifier acknowledging the two are so far apart in age—Yep, that’s me, Jimmy had said to some gawkers when the subject came up, the last shakings of the bag, the scrapings of the pot, they’d say. The old cow’s calf, once, though I’d behoove you to tell that to Ma McGill—in stages, in social stature, in being.
That Kim can see all too well. She’s no stranger to being the sore thumb in a room of elegantly bejeweled fingers grasping at hors d'oeuvres she can hardly afford to look at. No, Kim’s been clawing her way up and can’t let one misstep bring her tumbling down. Or worse, tumbling north. Straight back to the flats.
She’s worked too hard.
It also doesn’t escape her that Howard is only a modicum older than Jimmy, yet no one feels the need to dub him with a moniker. The other boss’s kid… kid? No, it wouldn’t work, not when Hamlin—Howard’s—the other other boss. Why differentiate any further when they’re on the same level, practically interchangeable?
Kim thinks she heard “Hamlin the Younger” once, but she can’t be sure. She certainly doesn’t ever foresee “McGill the Younger” being used, can’t even entertain the thought. He’s just… Jimmy.
And not in a bad way.
He may not be on Chuck’s “level” right now, but should he get there, she’s sure he’ll still never need the differentiation, not like the Hamlins. Who else could be Jimmy but Jimmy?
And here he is.
“So what’s the prognosis? We gonna lose you? Because I know I just got here and all, but I’m pretty sure the place’ll fall apart without you.”
“Ugh, there's this bug going around the whole 2L class,” Kim gripes. She’s earned it, she decides.
“Two El?”
“Yeah, you know, second year.” Jimmy shrugs and Kim finds it a little novel that he’s not at all familiar. “I can't believe I caught it. The semester’s barely ramping up. We haven’t even gotten close to covering all the hearsay exceptions yet.” She almost shudders at the mere mention.
“I can,” Jimmy insists. “You've been working so hard, it's no wonder something broke through your fortifications.”
Kim’s struck by the fact that he's seemed to notice her working at all. “Fortifications?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking your immune system needs a moat of OJ. Maybe add some crocodiles to really get at the germs.”
“Ah, microscopic crocodiles. Could you happen to point me in the direction of some?”
“No…" he says with genuine disappointment. "But I can get you the OJ.”
Kim questions whether he actually could in a building full of caffeine-addicted attorneys. She smiles at the offer and its potential fruitlessness, picturing Jimmy running down the halls, searching to and fro. For a second, she thinks Jimmy’s gaze seems to linger before he politely smiles back, but attributes it to the veil of stuffiness clouding her brain.
Jimmy opens his mouth, but the familiar wail of Burt cuts him off before anything even comes out.
“Jimmy! Where’s McGill Junior?”
Jimmy whips his head toward the doorway like a trained dog, then looks back to Kim. “Think that’s for me,” he says mournfully.
Kim raises her brows. “Think so?”
Jimmy throws his hands out to his sides in a full-body shrug. “See you in the war room,” he says, then jogs off.
The pounding lets up for a while—though Kim’s still in dire need of tissues every minute or so—but returns with a vengeance by the time the lunch hour rolls around.
Unable to stave it off, Kim resolves to assemble an exhibit packet before taking her hour. Or rather, desperately tries to, fearing that if she doesn’t complete it now, any pertinent information (like the usual order of, say, the alphabet) would slip away by the time she came back.
“You doing okay, Wexler?”
Jimmy, for some reason, hasn’t left for lunch yet either.
“Yeah,” Kim tells herself more than Jimmy. She discards another tissue before blowing into a fresh one. In spite of the conspicuously sky-high pile in the small bin, Kim’s convinced all the tissues are ending up wadded in her head, cottony and heavy. Unwilling to admit defeat, she knows the best method, as usual, is to power through, and she’ll need all the distractions she can get to do so.
Good thing there’s a major one seated right by her.
“How are things going on your end?” she asks the distraction.
“Uh…” Jimmy squints at a form in his hand. He’d been promoted from stamp licking, an activity no one had warned him was entirely voluntary. She wouldn’t necessarily say she neglected to show him the glue sticks in the second drawer; it was more of a group activity. “Didn’t I send this off yesterday?” He faces the paper toward Kim, holding it out like a wanted poster.
Kim takes a look at the heading. “The judge on that matter got papered.”
“Oh,” Jimmy says uncertainly.
“Peremptory challenge,” she starts to say, but drops it when she notes the tinge of helplessness in his expression.
They return to their respective stacks. “Did Mr.- Did Chuck ever get sick when he was a 2L?” Kim’s not sure why she asks—maybe to indulge in curiosity, maybe since she’s already strolling down the road of distraction. Maybe to see what piece of her could already be here.
It would be easier to know she didn’t have to carve something out completely from scratch.
The shuffling of papers quiets as only Kim’s left contributing. Jimmy stands in place, folder in hand.
“I don't… really remember. I was just a little kid when he was in law school. He didn’t go to school at home, anyway.”
Kim honestly feels a little embarrassed at not putting two and two together herself, knowing Jimmy was from around Chicago thereabouts and Chuck a GULC alumnus. She really isn’t firing on all cylinders today. Still, she nods in acknowledgment, appreciative of having something to help keep her focus channeled.
That would also explain his unfamiliarity with law school terms. Kim’s not sure what the specific gap between Jimmy and Chuck is, but it’s clearly colored their dynamic to some extent. She’s barely seen them in the same room, but from fleeting glimpses, she’s noticed Chuck almost makes Jimmy seem… younger than he is. Smaller.
Jimmy goes back to his filing. “Is that really something that just always happens?”
“Hm?”
“That 2L bug.”
“Oh man, you should see what happens when a single person in a 1L mod gets sick. Within a week, entire classes get wiped out.”
Jimmy’s brows knit together. “What’s a mod?”
“Ugh, nothing important. Forget about it.” Kim shakes her head, thinking it best to spare at least one soul in this building from law-school-speak. Unfortunately, shaking her head proves to be a terrible idea. She puts her papers down and pushes the bottom of her palm against her forehead.
Even the soft thud of a light folder dropping against the table pummels her head, she comes to learn, as Jimmy does just that.
“Whoa, you sure you’re okay?” he asks, and she can tell from the volume of his voice that Jimmy’s suddenly much closer than mere moments ago.
“I’m fine,” she tells the desk.
“Yeah, you’re the picture of perfect health,” she hears Jimmy say softly. “Kim, you should go home.”
“In the middle of a workday?” Kim removes her hand and looks up to see Jimmy hovering over shoulder. “You said it yourself: the place will fall apart without me.”
“Me and my big mouth, huh?” Jimmy runs a hand through his hair. “Trust me, Kim, we’ll manage. I’ve picked up a few things. You’re a great teacher.” Kim furrows her brows, and this time it’s not because of her headache. “And hey, if we don’t and the place caves in? More vacation days for you, right?”
“That’ll be the day. A sinkhole at work and school would definitely clear up the schedule.”
“Exactly!” Jimmy excitedly claps his hands together, and Kim flinches away from the noise. “Sorry,” he whispers immediately, a sympathetic look on his face.
Kim sighs. “It’s a nice idea, but I don’t even want to think about driving right now,” she says, and it’s the truth. Keeping her eyes open and her mind focused while sitting at a table shuffling papers is one thing, but on the road for an entire stretch of commute? Out of the question. She puts a hand to her head, returning to the momentary relief of darkness.
“Well, I can drive you,” Jimmy’s voice pipes up gently.
The darkness really is momentary, as Kim snaps her head up, completely caught off-guard. Someone else driving her wasn’t even a possibility on her radar. And this someone else is, objectively, practically a stranger. It hasn’t even been a month knowing someone else. And someone else wants to drive her. Not someone she’s known for years, someone else in the mailroom.
He’s… something else.
“No, Jimmy, that’s okay. I’ll manage. You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” Jimmy says in a hushed tone. “But I want to.”
Kim studies Jimmy, and his face is almost pleading, as if he’s the one desperately trying to claw out of their skin and wanting nothing more than to lay in bed. Before Kim can even think of anything to say, she interrupts herself, sneezing forcefully into the crook of her elbow.
“Although someone really should have to. Oh, and gesundheit.”
Kim realigns herself. “So, what, you drive me and then I come pick my car up tomorrow? It might be a little more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Actually, I was thinking we take your car. Then it can be at your place instead of on its lonesome in the garage.”
She maps out his plan, but still feels lost. “Then what about your car?
“I, uh…” Kim spots the tell-tale signs of flush spread across Jimmy’s face as he rubs the back of his neck. “I take the bus.”
Oh, right. She thinks she knew this, but must have forgotten, or perhaps chalked it up to a more temporary arrangement. “Quite the trek back.”
“I’ll manage.”
Kim exhales (and the moments of mouth breathing are getting old fast), entertaining the thought. She can see herself lying down: not an overhead light in sight, no cacophony of printers and copiers spitting out papers with text that’s just oh-so-small today, no stamps being pressed seemingly onto her forehead, no hole punchers snapping, no sorting while her own thoughts lie in disarray. She can’t believe she’s even considering this, but…
Her head really is killing her.
And the pile of tissues surrounding her is getting a little embarrassing.
“You’re sure?” Kim asks, though she’s not entirely sure to whom.
Jimmy nods. “I’ve got the whole hour.”
Kim walks Jimmy to her car and instinctively stops at the driver’s side. She takes her car keys off their ring and tosses them to Jimmy, hopefully seeming purposeful about the misstep, then goes around to the passenger door. Before pulling it open, she stops, handle in hand, and looks across the roof at him.
“You have a license, right?”
“Kim,” he whines. “Gimme some credit here.”
“Just doing my due diligence.”
Don’t make me regret this had been at the forefront of Kim’s mind the whole walk over, but the second the car pulls out of the garage and sunlight washes over her, so does relief. As if exiting the premises tells her body, more than words ever could, that she doesn’t have to endure at least another five hours of this in the depths of the mailroom.
She rolls down the window to enjoy the fresh air of freedom.
“Achoo!”
She rolls up the window. Luxuries are short-lived, and grass season is eternal.
Kim catches the glint of Jimmy’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. He turns up the A/C. “You’ve still got it pretty bad, huh? Hope you’ve got Kleenex.”
“Yeah, the tissues are…” Kim groans as realization hits her. “Underneath your seat.”
Jimmy’s reflection winces in sympathy. “Next red light, I promise.”
It’s strange enough being a passenger in her own car, but the box now out of her reach emphasizes just how much the layout is designed around her alone. No other occupants.
No distractions.
Sure enough, Jimmy reaches underneath the seat at the next red light and produces a box of tissues, which he hands to Kim.
“Thanks.”
He bats his hands against the steering wheel. “Don’t be afraid to really go to town on that.”
“Ugh, Jimmy.” She was about to, but still.
“I’m just saying, wouldn’t wanna stifle your recovery time.”
“Keep at it and you might need recovery time.”
Jimmy quickly puts his hands back on 10 and 2.
When the light turns green, he laughs. It’s one laugh, a short burst really, but so… genuine.
Kim turns toward him. “What is it?”
“I think this is the most you’ve ever talked to me,” he beams, his eyes crinkling.
Actually, this might be the most she’s ever talked to anyone on a workday.
The drive continues in relative silence for a decent stretch of road, until Kim’s sneezes reemerge. She sees Jimmy’s eyes dart up again in the rear-view mirror, stealing a glance.
“You don’t have class tomorrow, do you?”
“Sure do,” Kim answers in between tissues.
“But you’re definitely not going, right,” he states more than asks.
“Of course I am.”
Kim watches Jimmy’s reflection become confused. “What do you mean, ‘of course?’”
She quickly looks over to confirm the real Jimmy is also confused, his face all scrunched.
“The ABA mandates you attend a certain number of hours of class,” she explains to Mirror Jimmy. “Once you miss more than a few classes, you start dropping entire letter grades. Miss enough, and legally you can’t even get the credits.” She doesn’t add that every 1L immediately had this imprinted in their brain by week two.
“Harsh. How many have you missed so far?”
“What?”
“How many—” Jimmy exhales. “You haven’t missed a single class, have you?”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well, Kim Wexler, looks like tomorrow’s your lucky day. First time for everything, right?”
Kim makes a face at the very notion but doesn’t find herself actively disagreeing. She could call in sick today, which would give her a little more leeway than an unexcused absence the day of. And though her usual initial instinct would be to decide she’ll attend class tomorrow no matter what (especially now that it’s been suggested otherwise), thank you very much, Jimmy might actually have a point. How much information could she really retain when all her senses are busy being overwhelmed by the world’s most asinine illness?
As the drive carries on, Kim realizes it's almost better that her underlying senses are overridden by a barrage of headaches and clogged sinuses. Because then she would be able to feel how their elbows are inches away from touching, would notice how his forearms are close enough that she sees the hairs are swaying ever so slightly from the A/C, and so are his bangs, not at all neatly trimmed but endearingly so, remnants of the shagginess of his short-lived mullet, she supposes. She’d be able to make out Jimmy’s face from under the glint of sun shining through the windshield, and she’d look at his lips, talking and talking, and be able to hear that the voice coming out is kind of cute and a touch gravelly, but not at all piercing through her headache, not at all. In fact, it's almost reassuring, like white noise, like static permeating through her when laid in front of the television—both keeping her up and lulling her to sleep in fits throughout the night, a transitory state fixed to the confines of the couch, floating but bound, not wanting to leave its comfort but knowing the restlessness that would result—which sounds contradictory, but-
But she definitely isn’t noticing these things, doesn’t. She can’t. She won’t. She shouldn’t.
And if she did… if she does…
She must really be sick.
After Kim points out the last few directions, they finally pull up to her apartment building, and it’s been the longest traffic-free commute of Kim’s life.
“Is here good?” Jimmy asks in a small voice.
“Yeah, it’s—oh, yeah, this is where I usually park.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
A cough escapes her throat.
Jimmy clambers out first while Kim grabs her bag. When she reaches for the door, her hand only grasps at air—Jimmy’s opening it from the outside.
Kim doesn’t remember disclosing that she lives on the second floor, but Jimmy insists on walking her right up to her apartment. “Better to be careful with stairs,” he says. “Fall hazard.” Kim leans in slightly as he gently leads her by the elbow. He clearly wants to make sure she's balanced, though her illness is of the "filled with snot" variety, so there's actually no dizziness involved.
But Kim doesn't see the need to tell him that. Besides, who is she to say? She's not a doctor. Not even a juris doctor, yet.
When they actually reach the stairs and begin their ascent, Jimmy’s other hand hovers near her side, hesitant to make contact but ready should the need arise. It’s almost enough to make her feel embarrassed, but not quite.
“Wait,” Kim tells him when they reach her door. Jimmy has her car keys, but she realizes she left the keys to her apartment in the car, forgotten with the break in routine. It feels a little ridiculous to go fetch them when Jimmy’s already pointlessly climbed up the stairs.
Instead, she reluctantly knocks on the door. Soon enough, Kim hears the faint patter of footsteps, and it occurs to her that having someone answer the door requires that someone actually answering the door. On second thought, fetching the keys might be a welcome alternative.
The door creaks open, revealing her roommate in a large red T-shirt emblazoned with a snarling gray wolf’s head in profile.
“Go… Wolves?” Jimmy tries.
“Lobos,” her roommate says flatly.
“Right. Those.”
Her attention turns to Kim. “You’re never here early on Mondays. What gives?”
Kim hesitates to answer, not because she’s above laying things out for her roommate, but because she hasn’t yet admitted it to herself. “Sick day,” she finally declares.
“Oh.” Her roommate shifts her gaze back to Jimmy. “And you’re…?”
“From work,” Jimmy says at the same time that Kim answers “Jimmy.” He’s just Jimmy.
“Okay then,” her roommate mumbles while retreating back into the apartment, clearly already bored.
“Uh, here’s your car keys.” Jimmy looks as if he’s about to place them into Kim’s hand but ends up dangling them between his fingers uncertainly.
“Thanks.”
The door is open, her keys in hand, and still she’s standing there. They both are.
She can still feel where his hand grazed her elbow, the echo of his touch.
She wants to invite him in.
She wants him to come inside.
But there are lines she doesn’t cross.
Not when she’s so close.