A/N: Office jargon hurray. (I find it fun at least that's what matters, right?)

Enjoy~

As had become routine for the last six years, the words of his ever-doting mother rang like shrapnel in his ears: "You need a comfortable chair in your office, Kyle. Do you want back problems like your father?!"

He grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in the worn seat underneath him. He knew he had every right to request ordering a new one, but that just created conversation with his boss that he was not willing to deal with. Kyle sighed, slinking down in the slightest, eyes flickering dully over the glowing LED dual monitors in front of him. A part of him couldn't help but marvel at just how many documents Excel could plaster in front of him without setting the damn computer on fire.

Glancing down at his calender, he took note of his schedule for the fifth time in the last hour. Finish up the invoices from the week prior, get processing their notes from the shipping plant that fucked up their orders, meet up with the design team for a meeting at three, get the new employee's HR work completed, and payroll. Full day left to go and it was only eleven. Oh goodie.

He groaned, fingers limply grasping the fourth cup of pumpkin spice coffee brewed from the oh-so-wonderful Keurig machine Stan and Wendy had given him for his birthday. He took a long sip of the heavenly caffeinated bliss and sighed, glancing around the spacious room he was situated in. He smiled lazily from behind his cup, taking off his glasses for a moment to clear the steam coating the lenses and setting them atop his keyboard. Uncomfortable chair or not, having a 300 square foot office all to himself made up for the future lumbar problems.

Finding himself where he was at only 28 was certainly not a bad place to be. Ignoring the overwhelming files practically spewing from the cabinets bordering his walls, the safe next to his desk with the finicky keypad that required him to essentially do a jig to open, and who he'd found himself working for... A part of him was okay with it all for that nice little gold plating on his door reading 'Kyle Broflovski - Controller'.

He didn't see himself in this particular role when he'd thrown himself into accounting in college just because he didn't want to deal with his mother pressuring him for an academic path anymore. But he'd fallen in love with the world the more he got into it. This world was all about answers, about finding the absolute, something that someone with a long history of anxiety needed to be able to cope when nothing else seemed to fit into its proper place. Not only was it absolute, it was simplicity at its finest. Maybe to the untrained eye, the mountains of numbers and figures that surrounded him on a daily basis would be unnerving, but everyone in his field knew the secret, the one thing that professors told them 'if you remember nothing else, remember this'. It all came down to one equation: Assets equal liability plus equity.

For Kyle, that was life. Sure, the cost of working for a lifelong enemy was a fuckton of a liability in his case. But the respect he'd gained through his work, the pure advancement he'd made over the last year working in this air-conditioned space to call his own... That was a hell of a personal equity. His job was simply finding the balance, making sure that no one side was favored, something that his entire moral foundation was built upon and something that he felt was far more important than his boss' philosophy of always coming out on top.

Sure, the profit was needed, otherwise he certainly wouldn't have a cushy job and the petty cash to ask for that new chair. But taking that access profit and stowing it back for future use, making the company sail steady as through a still spring tide... There was something to be said about that.

He sighed again, brushing his hair back and putting the cup down once more. He snagged his glasses and set them back on his nose, glancing at the invoice statements scanned into the screen to his right, fingers automatically kicking into gear and copying down the figures into the spreadsheet on his left. He breathed heavily through his nose, twisting his lips and bouncing his foot atop the mat under his seat. He briefly considered plugging in his ipod as he often did before remembering that they had representatives coming in sometime later that day, not wanting to be caught off-guard and give off the air of unprofessionalism. He stole a quick glance down, making sure his tie was still on since he'd found he had a tendency to mindlessly loosen it or throw it off altogether and not even notice.

"Hey, Kyle!" a cheerful voice broke through his concentrated state.

He didn't take his eyes off his figures, fingers never stopping as he replied dully, "Hey, Butters."

The blonde's smile weakened a bit, knowing from the tone he'd caught Kyle on another busy day. "Can...can I come in?"

"Go for it," he shrugged, finishing up a line of credits before finally allowing himself to stop, highlighting his ending note on the invoice and turning to watch Butters coming in with a large file folder in his hands. He sighed, "God, what now?"

"'Nother charity," he grinned softly, watching as Kyle's entire demeanor shifted at the words.

He grabbed the folder from Butters' hands and opened it atop his calender, snagging the request sheet from the top and smacking his lips. "Another animal one? Jesus Christ, we have so many of those already," he chuckled tiredly. He glanced up to see Butters watching him expectantly. "You check out the site?"

He nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah! They're non-profit, non-euthanasia, and ran by a family," he informed him. Kyle nodded approvingly, looking at the thick stack of contracts under him. This was what Butters was great for as his assistant, the bitch work. As much as Kyle loved the charity involvements the company had been collaborating with, he simply didn't have the time to do the research on the establishments he would like to. So Butters served him some use other than running to McDonald's or filing paperwork and making copies, giving them both some form of relief along the way.

He skimmed along the paperwork, noting the feminine handwriting of a letter tucked away for CartAd Agencies, neatly scripted with a dark blue pen obviously on its last legs of life. Same format as all the others, just a simple plea for their company to help with promotions. Kyle sighed to himself, taking another sip of his coffee as he listlessly read through the letter.

When Eric Cartman had gone straight from high school to a start-up company, Kyle, along with everyone else, just laughed, taking bets on when it was going to fall apart and he'd be begging them for some food. But as the years waned on and they were tearing their hair out from term papers and final exams, Cartman was sitting pretty on a booming business. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, Kyle knew that the brunette couldn't have picked a better market for himself. Advertising had always been his game. He could promote anyone and anything with a manipulative slur of honeyed words that would make any die-hard proclaimer of a certain item switch brands on a dime.

And, being the kind of man he was, of course the laziness had to seep into it. Being the middleman company proved to be a busy job... For anyone who wasn't the owner of the business at least. Most executive work fell onto Kyle and all else scattered between his separate teams. He did little more than sign paperwork and shake hands, the rest was left up to the grunts. Not like it was different from any other company on Earth, but Kyle had to justify being roped into this business somehow, and reminding himself that Cartman was still nothing more than his lazy self was the only way he'd found to restore some of his self esteem of working underneath him.

But being 26 with a small home and being fucked over by his previous job had led him to where he thought Cartman would be years prior: Needing help from anyone he could get it from. A job at a tax firm had led him to being ganged up on by the older accountants, being beyond angry at him staying behind to put in extra hours and making their own numbers look so small in comparison. They'd successfully managed to convince a handful of clients that he was laundering money from them, resulting in a small trial that'd cost him not only his pride and his job but a few thousand dollars from refusing to let his dad defend him for free.

In a small town, accounting jobs filled fast and he was on his last stash of money for his mortgage payment before Cartman came pulling into his driveway in that shiny little Jaguar that was far too small for his massive frame and plastered on that smug grin. Kyle adamantly refused until the man had shoved his way into the house, grabbing a final notice bill from Kyle's desk and waving it in his face.

"You're almost as poor as Kinny, Kahhlll," he'd drawled. Kyle remembered vividly standing there in unkempt clothes, face unshaven and entire body as tired and empty as his damn bank account. Then his rival walks in promising him a 90K salary and an automatic $5,000 sign-on bonus. Cartman had given him five hours to decide, the redhead taking the opportunity to sit down and talk out the situation with Stan and Kenny, both of them adamantly insisting that he could find work elsewhere, that he was waltzing right into a nonstop barrage of anti-Semitism and misery. Kyle had told them he knew that, but unless they could pull $5,000 out of their asses to hand him then and there, he was going to lose his house.

Two hours and a shower later, he was signing off an I-9 and being given a tour of CartAd Agencies.

Given, he didn't know then just how much trust Cartman was giving him over his finances, especially considering his lifelong tirade of 'never letting a goddamn Jew touch a goddamn penny of mah money'. But he'd handed Kyle his paperwork, told him he'd figure out how to fix his finances better than 'the last bitch he had in this office' had done and left him to his own devices. The shame was still there, and Cartman loved to rub it in his face just where he stood, but there was a mutual pseudo-respect they'd gained for each other over the past year. So long as they stayed out of each other's business outside of necessary interaction, all was smooth sailing.

"So you think we can help 'em?" Butters' voice broke back through and Kyle whipped his head around.

"Huh?"

He chuckled, gesturing to the papers, "The animals. Think we can help 'em?"

He glanced down at the estimated cost and sighed, quickly pulling up his budget account for the year and tonguing over his lips, nodding softly. "Yeah, I think so. The contract with that heart disease foundation expires in a week, we can transfer the profits from that back into this one," he waved the paper in his hand for emphasis.

"Can't do both, Jew?" a domineering voice echoed in the room. They both looked over to see Cartman smirking, entering the room in a clean pressed, stark white shirt. He walked to the chair in front of Kyle's desk and sat down, crossing his legs and clasping his hands on his knee. "Not enough?"

He blinked, looking between the forms and shrugging, "I mean, yeah, we have plenty to do both. But shouldn't we let the contract expire and try to get a new charity in the wings?"

"How many do we have so far?" he asked, snagging a sugar-free peppermint from the bowl on the edge of Kyle's desk and popping it into his mouth.

Kyle grimaced, digging through his folders to find yet another form to pull up. He popped his lips a bit as his eyes scanned through, the numbers dancing off the lenses of his glasses. "Looks like we're at... wow, forty-three. Forty-four once I get these guys in," he pointed to the folders. "We're taking in a lot this year..." he glanced to Cartman smiling brightly and cocked his brow. "You're approving way more than you did last year, Fatass."

He shrugged, "We made enough money to get some wiggle room in there. Didn't think you'd be a Jew over charity, Kahl," he drawled.

The redhead frowned, "I'm not, I'm just making a damn comment..." he sighed and scratched through his hair. "I'll get these guys in by tomorrow. Butters, call the heart people, set up a meeting for me sometime next week that isn't on Thursday or Friday," he waved him out.

"Yessir!" he piped up excitedly. "I'm gettin' lunch from that sub shop after, you two want anythin'?"

"Usual for me," Kyle said, smiling softly. "Thanks, Butters."

"Eric? You?" he urged.

He shrugged, "You know what I eat, just pick something."

"Yeah, everything," Kyle grumbled under his breath.

"AY!" Cartman snapped, Kyle giving an innocent grin as Butters hurried out of the room to his small office next to Kyle's. The two of them stared at each other before Cartman rolled his eyes and sighed. "So, how is it in Number Land?"

"Fine," he relayed casually. "Things are looking good, profits are going up. We already broke even with the new employee adding on that grocery store's campaign."

He nodded curtly, "Good. Nothing seems off?"

"Not that I've caught no," he shrugged. "I mean I'll know next week when I do month end, but as of now looks like things are adjusted just fine."

"Good, can you do me a favor?"

He rolled his eyes, "Because my schedule isn't full enough, Fatboy. Can Butters do it?"

"No, the meeting with Design is moved up to ten minutes from now," he jerked his thumb to the clock on Kyle's wall. He pulled a stack of folded bills from the back pocket of his dress slacks and slapped them on Kyle's desk. "Give these to Craig, will ya?"

He sighed and nodded, "Yeah. Fine. Tell Butters to put my lunch in his damn fridge," he muttered, getting up and organizing his disarrayed folders into stacks and grabbing his coffee cup with his meeting portfolio as he followed Cartman out the door. He closed it behind him, listening for the auto-lock and nodding satisfactorily, jolting a bit to see his boss staring at him with a cocked brow.

"What now?" he demanded impatiently.

He smirked, pointing to his coffee cup, pale sea green with 'It's accrual world' plastered on the side. "Where'd you get that lame piece of shit?"

He rolled his eyes, "Kenny gave it to me for Chanukah. He didn't get it but he said someone he asked at the store said it was funny."

"He would give someone something like that," he scoffed.

He sighed tiredly, "Look, it was either this or he almost bought me a 'I'm gonna spread your sheets' one, okay? I lucked out with his tact actually functioning for once," he said dryly, turning on his heel and heading down the hall.

"Make me money, Jew!" Cartman called after him.

Kyle sighed and shook his head, hearing the heavyweight turn to head his own direction. He pivoted and headed down the steps to the first floor of the building, making a beeline over to Processing's office and poking his head in. "Hey, Judy?"

A woman of nearly fifty looked up at him, graying dishwater hair falling listlessly into her eyes. "Yesss?" she drawled in annoyance, tearing away from her monitor.

He bit his cheek to keep his cool and cleared his throat, "I'll have that faulty shipping order to you by about one."

She smirked and shrugged listlessly, "Can't have that much to keep you busy, Kyle. Not like you're calling home," she said smartly. He glared, walking into the shared office, neither of them paying attention to Paul at his desk on the opposite side of the room trying to cower into his computer from one of their all-too-common snapping matches.

Kyle crossed his arms around his binder, glancing down at her family picture of herself, her husband, and the four devil spawns that she'd somehow brought onto this Earth. "So... How's Danny's rehab going?" he asked casually, taking another sip of his coffee and smacking his lips, looking down at her primly.

She furrowed her brow, "It's not rehab, it's-"

"A Life-Improvement Seminar, yes, you've said," he mocked. "What is he now? Seventeen?"

"Yes," she huffed.

"Just how many times does a seventeen year old need to have life improvement lessons?" he feigned a concerned pout. "This is, what? His third trip?"

She let an angry smile settle on her face, "Don't make me talk to Human Resources, Mr. Broflovski," she warned through her teeth.

He leaned down towards her and smirked. "I am Human Resources," he said sharply before jerking back up and heading out of the office, hearing her launching into a tirade of complaining to poor innocent Paul once again. He grinned to himself, taking another sip of coffee and sighing satisfactorily. He knew Cartman wouldn't let him get fired, not with the way he'd saved the company from a monetary downfall fixing the prior controller's copious mistakes. He huffed to himself amusedly as he made way through the corridors towards Conference Room C. He may not have had someone to call back home, but he at least had security here, where he spent the majority of his time.

He made his way into the room, setting himself up his seat and papers, tapping his pen against his notepad as he waited for the team to arrive. For now, this security was plenty enough for him.

A/N: Judy is the true villain of this story. Fuck you, Judy.

Also this made me really sad that I decided against pursuing accounting like I'd planned and opting for Medical Coding instead like man. Fanfics always ruinin' lives n' givin' existential crisis' n' shit.

Thanks for R&Ring!