Work Text:
The foundations of a strong company are, without a doubt, its employees. While assuring them financial stability, growth opportunities and a nice work environment, you're assuring good work pace and better outcomes for the whole organisation.
"Beilschmidt, I'll say this gently: This is rubbish."
Of course, that includes healthy work relationships between members of the staff. Respectful communication and straightforward feedback are the key elements to good teamwork, and while sometimes there can be disagreements, when your workers have the certainty they'll be listened there's no need to be rude.
"Right, that's the part that shows your progress and projections, if you turn the page you can see mine instead."
Especially when two different departments of the same company have to work together closely, there's no need to compete against each other if they share the same goal, right? People in charge should always serve as an example to the rest and keep interactions with their counterparts polite and amicable, remember: teamwork makes the dream work.
"Listen here, you piece of pressed paper-"
That doesn't mean they can't have a good, friendly relationship anyway! Humans are social creatures, and after spending a good portion of each day together it's only natural stronger bonds are created, inside jokes and a bit of humour are greatly encouraged.
"Must you always bring that up? It happened in 2016, for god's sake Kirkland-"
The most successful projects are, after all, the ones where everyone does their best and brings their co-workers to do the same in a healthy, respectful way.
"Shouldn't they put other people in charge of this project? So they don't need to scream at each other every time they meet?" Emma was the third intern to come to their floor that morning, but the first to openly address the scene in the meeting room at the far end of the corridor.
"Are you kidding? These two alone are, like, 40% of our whole annual sales," Alfred said, grinning still at the fighting pair. The glass doors muffled most of the screaming, but it was still amusing to see their frustrated faces every time the other opened his mouth.
And it was one of the most confusing things to explain to interns and new employees, how these two arguing men were, in fact, the most successful team their company had.
The pale one currently sitting, or almost falling from his seat, kept jabbing his finger at a spread of papers on the table and using his other hand to convey what could only be described as a "are you serious?" motion.
Gilbert Beilschmidt, head of the marketing department and terribly efficient for someone who seemed pretty laid back outside the office, was well known by most personnel of the company as the one who readily took any new recruits under his wing, if they were willing, and made sure to go through procedures and regulations with them so they could grasp the rhythm of their gig in no time.
Every last of those recruits agreed on something: Mr. Beilschmidt was terrifying if he sensed any kind of slacking, yet his teachings made fitting into their positions way, way easier.
Then there was the blond, pissed off looking guy standing at the other side of the table, waving a stash of papers and pointing them in the other's general direction, almost as if they were responsible for all his troubles in life.
Arthur Kirkland, chief editor of the fantasy and fiction publishing department. Well spoken and a charming gentleman to anyone who didn't step on his nerves. The youngest person to ever occupy the position and everyone could see why. The man was non stop, having a keen eye for whatever their authors needed and delivering hard truths in a sincere, no-nonsense way.
Always ready to give thorough feedback if asked, which earned him the title of sage among his colleagues and subordinates.
By all means, they were the perfect fit. Always looking forward, aiming for more, putting a 110% in everything they did... The only problem was that they fucking despised each other and no one really knew why. There were rumours, clearly, from how they had been rivals in high school football teams to how they were obviously dating and putting on a show to distract everyone from it.
Or it could simply be their competitive nature, the eternal tug-of-war between limited budgets and overly optimistic projections. Whatever it was, their work teams were used to it by now since neither of them were rude towards them, and bosses (as kind as they were) left them be as long as positive results came from their shouting matches and no one was hurt.
They were obligated, however, to see the same boring video Human Resources mandated every year about how to be polite and accessible to co-workers. And every year they matched side eye glares and huffed.
Soft knocking and the glass door opening cut them off their discussion, only because the person in front of them was the one in charge of everything related to their work division.
Elizabetha Héderváry was a force to be reckoned, ingraining respect in both sides of the organisational hierarchy alike. She was also very kind, and didn't really mind these two arguing because of their efficiency and hard work. Also, it was clear to her they were far from hating each other, if their combined bad karaoke skills at the company christmas and new years' parties were something to go by.
They both turned to her, but Arthur noted she was looking straight at him.
"Arthur, may I discuss something with you?" She smiled, motioning towards the corridor with the stack of papers in her hand. This meant going to her office, which meant something serious, which meant the annoying white-haired bastard sitting across from him was now grinning like an idiot because there was some new, big responsibility and it was Arthur's.
"Of course." But he didn't have another option, he calmly gathered his things, just as if he wasn't having a heated shouting match just five minutes ago, and followed his boss. He was proud to say he only glared a little at the small playful wave Beilschmidt gave.
The big responsibility turned out to be a BIG one, in uppercase. Apparently, since most of the fiction works their branch of the company published had excellent reviews (both from critics and the general public), they wanted him to take over an upcoming project overseas, and teach a thing or two to their editors.
Arthur was thrilled, it was a great opportunity to grow and even if he felt pretty content in his position right now, it was always good to show off his abilities to higher ups so when he asked for a well deserved raise it came with handy receipts.
The only problem, though, was that it overlapped with another project of his, the latest one which he was shouting over half an hour ago. It was tricky, the author was pretty new and there was some precaution taking. But he knew she was good, her work was incredible and after all those months working together with his team he was sure of the value of her work and wanted to make it big.
There the disagreements began. Beilschmidt and his team, on the other hand, based their judgment only on statistics and numbers, taking in consideration demographic data and making the pertinent projections, but they lacked the kind of feeling to it that had made Arthur's work so successful.
So there it was, they couldn't reach and agreement and now they'd have to discuss things 15,000km apart. Perfect.
Arthur was tired.
Between his ongoing projects and settling down in a new town in a new country for his latest one there was barely time to breathe. It was exciting, in a way, and he had hit it off pretty great with his temporal colleagues. It made him almost forget about the obnoxious prat he had to work with most of the time.
But once he had everything scheduled and planned, every little detail down in his calendar, he informed his team that he was ready to continue with their work, and they had informed Beilschmidt team, who had informed him.
That's when the emails started.
Before there was no need to, not often at least, since almost everything got discussed in person and every little detail they forgot to mention was delivered through obnoxiously coloured post-it notes. Their emails consisted of setting times and dates for meetings and that was that.
Now things were a bit different, what with Arthur at the other side of the world, and of the many forms their work dynamic had been affected, clear communication was the one that took its toll on them. First of all, the different time zones, (combined with their usual packed schedules), made long calls almost impossible, and everyone knew that "making it short" wasn't their thing.
Then there was the theme of technology.
Gilbert was pretty good with computers, he had a not-so-secret blog (that everyone knew about, but no one knew what it was about) which he apparently updated pretty often, but Arthur himself wasn't, which meant he preferred not getting involved with videocalls and such. He was very grateful those weren't mandatory.
So that left them to use the mailing system to go back and forth with negotiations and planning.
Their respective teams were a bit hopeful at the beginning, thinking that maybe without the heat of the moment and direct confrontation their rivalry would tone down a bit, but of course that didn't happen. Apparently, having the chance to read and re-read whatever it was the other had said not only increased the amount of points for a rebuttal, but gave them the opportunity to read between the lines for the most passive-aggressive insults, disguised behind a curt "as per my last email".
"Can you believe this guy? Not only he disregarded my approach on in-location focus, he complained about my "slow replies", what does he think I'm doing? I'm busy for fuck's sake!"
He didn't care to keep his voice down, it was roughly nine pm and the cosy little apartment the company had provided for his stay abroad was in a barely inhabited building, so his voice wouldn't reach his neighbours once he shut the door. Off went his shoes and tie as he spoke into the phone, carelessly hanging his coat on the back of a chair and leaving his messenger bag on the table.
"And what can I do if I get some of his emails at two in the morning? Doesn't he understand the concept of time zones?"
Francis at the other side snickered, the faint rumour of chattering and plates clinking in the background.
"Arthur, my dear friend, aren't you the one who ends his emails with "answer ASAP"?"
"Of- Of course! But that doesn't mean I'll read it the exact moment I receive it!"
"Then maybe he just can't wait to hear from you?" His voice was slightly mocking, obviously using that irritating suggestive tone.
He groaned, "Don't start with that again," and finally sitting at the couch he felt more irritation than tiredness this time. Why did everyone think about them that way? It was crystal clear they hated each other's guts!
What if sometimes they had lunch together? They both liked the same restaurant close to their work building. What if he gave Gilbert the occasional ride home? He had a car and the other hadn't, it was only polite! And if he was repaid with home-cooked meals? Well, it was just because his co-worker was good at it.
And yeah, maybe a time or two he had talked to higher ups about the great work the Beilschmidt twat did, but it was only professional truth, and it wasn't like the prat did the same for him. Right?
"Come on, cupcake, you've had this going on for years and still won't admit you like each other? I recognize it's not the healthiest of dynamics, but you're mean even to me and I'm your favourite person."
"Piss off, wanker."
"See? That's just the way you show your love!"
Arthur just hung up.
Gilbert was tired.
He was used to sleep late and rise early, too early in some people's opinion, but with how things where right now in the office, (with Arthur gone, that's it), he had a lot of new micro tasks to do and new arrangements to his schedule made. He also had to interact more with the publishing whole team and it was... exhausting, as he didn't have his usual discussion partner.
But better dead than admit that one out loud.
It wasn't bad, their new mailing system, or it could be worse he guessed. At least the man knew how to use gmail and attach documents. At first he was ready to complain about using Skype, since it'd be a faster and more efficient way of discussing specific points in a document, but he had seen Arthur try to do a videoconference once and it was painful to watch so he didn't insist, neither would do a good job if one of them felt constantly pressured by a webcam.
So he did it for his job, not out of kindness. Really.
And thanks to that, he now got to experience being called stupid in the most polite way written form allowed. He had to admit that making every sentence sound like and insult was an art in itself, and it wasn't like he didn't do something similar anyway.
"And wanna hear what he did? He dared correct my spelling! What is he? A pretentious high school teacher?" he huffed in the general direction of his phone while stirring the eggs in the pan. At the other side of the line Antonio laughed a bit, surely he was already busy cooking pastries for his bakery while Gilbert made breakfast. "He's so fucking stubborn!"
Antonio hummed, some clanking sound in the background.
"Hm... But you're always saying how much you like strong personalities."
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't-"
"And didn't you say last time that his confrontation with the printing team was awesome? The best roasting you had seen in years?"
"I mean, yes, but-"
"So maybe you reaaally like his stubbornness but are a bit frustrated over work things?"
"What? No! I'm not-!"
Something made a loud ding noise at the other side of the line.
"Oh! Sorry Gil, I have to go now, just try to take it easy, okay?" And then he hung up, all cheery and easy going. Gilbert was completely sure his Spaniard friend could picture his red face clearly.
Matthew hated them.
He really did, and no amount of pancakes at Gilbert's house or nice sweets brought by Arthur would made him hate them less. It was the third night in a row he was woken up in the middle of the night or at an ungodly early morning by either of them and he had had enough.
It wasn't his fault he was the one friend in common they had at the company, nor how phone calls at weird times where usual enough by now. Not his fault either that his own department had to document and manage every decision their teams made, so he kind of had to know about their interactions. Both morons didn't think of his well-being and he really, really hated them. He could cry.
The problem this time seemed to be that Gilbert had finally snapped, after years of petty quarrel and calling each other idiots without actually saying it, (not in a work environment at least), the marketing chief had sent an email some minutes ago, at three in the morning, which Arthur had read just before his lunch break.
The subject of said email was simply "Re: K. Honda is on sick leave", but his opening sentence was enough to make the editor's blood boil.
I hope this email finds you before I do.
He then proceeded to angrily remark how stupid Arthur's announcement was. How taking over his sick teammate work fully, while at the other side of the world, with two other big projects going on and small micro management jobs here and there was the most idiotic thing he had ever done and that he was DONE with his bullshit.
He called him irresponsible, pointing out how much work he already had, and dared to ask how many hours he was sleeping, as if he himself wasn't emailing him in the early, early morning. He even pointed to some names in their division that'd be a perfect fit for taking over the needed work.
Arthur was fuming, of course. Who the hell did he think he was?
Then he decided to ring Matthew and complain, going on about how he'd report his misbehaviour and unprofessional correspondence, or how Beilschmidt was the stupid one for underestimating how much work Arthur could manage at the same time.
Matthew only wanted to sleep.
"Arthur."
"-I'm perfectly capable of multi-managing, thank you very much! "Too much work?" Ha! As if-"
"Arthur."
"-and what does that mean anyway? Isn't he threatening-!"
"Arthur!"
The line went silent. He sighed.
"I know we're friends and I really appreciate you, but if you call me in the middle of the night to complain about your boyfriend's letters one more time I will never speak to you again."
There was still silence at the other end, so he sighed again and snuggled his head on the pillow a bit more.
"Look, if it troubles you so much I'll send you his mobile number so you can shout at him, just like the old times."
After a short moment he heard him mumble something.
"What was that?"
"...I said he's not my boyfriend."
"Goodnight, Arthur."
The number was there, displayed on his phone screen.
For all the years they've been working together it was the first time he saw it. They never called each other, and he realises there was no need. If they wanted to meet for work related things, going to each other's office could be done, or simply putting a post-it note on the water cooler addressed to the intended person was enough.
If they wanted to meet outside work, which they didn't, it was as easy as going downtown to Azúcar, the small bakery their mutual, married friends Francis and Antonio owned, and complain about the unwelcome coincidence.
Arthur hesitates.
He was ready to call, to let the bastard hear a piece of his mind... But something stopped him. He's now kind of imagining Gilbert sleeping, and some part of him, the part that doesn't think twice about sharing his opinion openly, would be very glad to wake him up. He deserves it after all, and if he had woken up poor Matt over that wretched email, why not this moron who was the cause of it?
His mind then wanders and imagines his sleeping face, relaxed, not frowning nor smirking mockingly. It's something he tries not to think about, because for some reason he's now feeling his face hot.
Or he could be awake still, and he frowns. That isn't healthy, what are they going to do if he gets sick? The bloody bastard had the nerve to call him out on how to take care of himself and he's probably hunched over his desk and staring at colour coded spreadsheets. How many hours of sleep is he even-? ...Oh.
He doesn't call.
That report could always be filled later.
One of the things Gilbert considered to be a useful strength of his was that he could pinpoint and actually admit when he was wrong. And letting himself get angry at someone's lack of self preservation, calling them stupid to their face and blatantly threaten them over email, corporate email, was his most idiotic mistake up to date.
That's why he got a bit lost when, come morning, his inbox showed a recent email from Arthur with the subject "Cover requirements. Printing's response attached." With a bunch of signed papers, measurement sheets and a curt, swift update of their progress.
Arthur still sounded angry, like in any of his other emails, but this was more... distant. So it was a bigger fuck up than he had imagined. He had overstepped the imaginary line of their back and forth rivalry and the very much real one of their professional relationship, and now he wasn't sure if he should address it and apologise or just put it aside, as the other seemed to want.
He'd have to talk to Matthew first, to know if that one particular email was being archived along the more... professional ones. And then, if it was, it didn't matter if Arthur just wanted to ignore it, he'd have to go and talk to Braginsky of Human Resources and fill a formal apology.
If Arthur had filled a complaint against him already, that only meant a bigger headache.
"Why was I so upset anyway?" He murmured to himself in the comfort of his lone office, hand on his face and Arthur's email still on his computer's screen.
He felt dumb making that question out loud just because he already knew the answer, and he had been trying to avoid it for the last few years. Arthur mattered to him, more than a co-worker or even a friend, and reading how the blond was so ready to throw away his own health for work's sake wasn't the best for his already tired mind, less so when the blond was thousands of kilometres away and he couldn't force him to go home and rest. But that he'd rather not admit right now.
What was it that he feared so much? Rejection? Ruining the best work partnership he had had his whole life? Losing his job due a company policy on employees' relationships that he knew didn't exist?
He sighed heavily, straightening himself and shaking all those feelings aside to start working. Whatever the reason, he had been excessively rude (even for their standards) and needed to apologise, didn't matter if it wasn't mandatory.
For the last week of their joint work he tried. Simply saying sorry wasn't enough for him, and doing it over an email didn't seem like the best way to do so, since written words rarely expressed the full sentiment of the writer, so first he tried to make Arthur agree to a videocall. It proved to be impossible, the editor simply dismissed his suggestion claiming that they had worked wonders over email alone and it wasn't necessary.
Then he had asked Matthew for his number, which earned him a hum and something along the lines of "so he didn't dare, hah?" that he didn't understand. He got it though, and after two late nights wondering if Arthur would be at least a bit happy to hear his voice first thing in the morning, which in turn made him think about the blonde's smile and vibrant green eyes, he decided that calling was just going to ruin him.
Soon, the project was finished, the book was published and there was a small celebratory outing for everyone involved. It was a nice stress relief for all their hard work, and Gilbert smiled at the cheery faces of his teammates: finally a night of deprived sleep by choice and not duty.
He wasn't particularly thrilled to go, though. Even if the promise of a cold beer and tasty meat tempted him, he was exhausted and would rather go straight home and sleep soundly for the next three days. That, and one particular absence among the working team which, without him having to admit, was the sole reason he had been feeling down lately.
In the end, it was Matthew who confronted him about it, just as he was about to leave for the day after turning down his co-workers' invitation with a sheepish smile and a promise to go out with them another day.
"Did you two get in a fight?"
He didn't need to specify who he was referring to, and Gilbert was too tired to feign ignorance this time.
"We fight all the time."
"No, I mean a real fight."
That hit too close to home and he flinched. Hearing someone else say it so straightforwardly made him feel dumb. Just a look into worried violet-blue eyes was what it took and he was heading home with his friend, ready to finally talk about a lot of things out loud.
He had stopped trying to bring up the email subject with Arthur, since the other clearly refused to talk to him more than necessary nowadays. It was bad enough being guilty of insulting a co-worker, he didn't need to add harassment to that, so the only thing left for him was wait for his return and speak face to face with him.
Matthew informed him that that particular email hadn't been mailed to the company archive, so he hadn't read it, and it seemed tired-Gilbert-of-the-past had been sensible enough to just forward it to Arthur's inbox. For some reason, that didn't make him feel any better.
He never believed in that "you don't know what you have until you lose it" thing, he sincerely thought he enjoyed and treasured everything and everyone in his life on a daily basis. But, as Arthur's silence had proven, he was mistaken.
Arthur spends another two weeks abroad to finish his own project. They don't talk even once.
The flight had been awfully long. At least the food aboard had been somewhat decent and he had had some sleep, but after spending 22 hours sitting in a cramped space his legs felt numb and he had a headache.
Francis had volunteered to drive him home, but he had declined the invitation swiftly. He knew their bakery would be covering a big event's desserts table the day of his arrival and both he and Antonio would have their hands full. It was the perfect excuse, though, because he had also declined his other friends' offerings of a ride home, saying how he didn't want to cause trouble and would just take a taxi.
Truth be told, he was just avoiding any possible scenario where he had to open up to someone about his current situation, he wasn't sure what could come out of him mouth.
It wasn't that he was offended. Sure, the bloody idiot better apologise at some point for what he did, but it'd be a problem to reach that point if Arthur couldn't face him without thinking of the reason. As time passed and he reflected on more and more things, it was hard to keep living in denial and now the thought of the bright red eyes of his co-worker slash rival made him nervous, just because he now could read between the lines for the thin veiled compliments thrown as complaints in their daily interactions.
Gilbert cared for him in the same way he did for the other, and it had taken years for him to admit it. Everything was a complete disaster. As lost in thought as he was, by the time he recognized a head full of white hair in the crowd it was too late, he froze in place and tightened his grip on his suitcase. Their eyes met.
There they stood, three metres apart in the middle of a crowed airport hall and being a nuisance to every other person who had to walk through it.
Finally, after what seemed ages, Gilbert opened his mouth and spoke loudly, with a conviction that didn't quite fit the look of mild panic on his face.
"I'm sorry."
And Arthur, whose mind was working miles per hour but whose body was apparently on autopilot could only answer in a similar manner.
"You should be."
His eyes opened a fraction more, realising this was the first thing they had said to each other in weeks, and thanks to him it'd only evolve into another meaningless fight. What he didn't expect, though, was to hear the loud, hissing kind of laughter of his workmate. He had a disbelieving look on his face and was lightly pulling his hair in one hand, the same body language as ever in response to Arthur's input on things, but this time a big bright smile was on his lips, making his eyes crinkle, and Arthur's heart stuttered in his chest.
"That's it? I've been losing sleep over this and that's all you have to say? Of course I should be! I'm telling you I am!"
He felt a bit embarrassed, but couldn't quite control his own expression. Gilbert's goofy smile was not only endearing, but pretty contagious.
"And what else did you expect!? A pat on the back!?"
More stifled laughter, from both of them this time. People around looked at them as if they were crazy, and maybe it was fair, since neither of them had moved yet and were practically screaming and laughing at each other in the distance.
"No! Just-! Just add something else!"
"What else am I supposed to say!"
"I don't know! Whatever comes to your mind!"
He bit his lip trying to erase his smile, but it proved to be impossible. A couple of thoughts came to him then, probably not the best suited for the situation, but before he could think twice he was already speaking, still loudly and still grinning, even if he could feel his heart in his ears.
"I said I don't like your ugly ties but they look good on you!"
That seemed to make the other falter, getting frozen in place for a moment before his face turned a furious shade of red. His smile widened, if only for a moment before Gilbert spoke again.
"I complain about the way you mumble things to yourself but I find it endearing!"
"And I always criticise the dumb bird stickers all over your laptop but I think they're cute!"
It was only a couple of minutes later, when they had made a competition out of this, that a security guard from the airport politely asked them to leave. They were already red in the face and laughing like madmen, so they go without complaining. Francis' borrowed car is waiting outside, and Arthur realises he knew about Gilbert coming and didn't say a thing. When Gilbert's hand brushes his own under the poor excuse of helping him with his luggage, Arthur decides he can't complain.
The next Monday when they arrive at the company building together, arguing about something or another, everyone notices how close they're walking to each other, how both of them are wearing hideous matching yellow ties, and how Gilbert has bread crumbs on the corner of his mouth but is Arthur who's holding a half-eaten doughnut.
Their co-workers start a bet to see who can catch them being a disgusting couple first.
Matthew only argues that he's the one already receiving a copy of their embarrassing flirting emails and wins.