“I'm sorry, Mr. Holden, but the fact is your broadcast is, at the time, an unnecessary drain on Abel's already limited resources. I'm sure you understand the need to prioritize the essentials.”
Jack was pretty sure he should be impressed with how patient Major de Santa sounded; since the call had come in over the comms with the message, she'd had to repeat herself several times. He understood what she was saying on some level, but wasn't quite comprehending. The first part of the “conversation” had mostly been him repeating “what” in various tones ranging from incredulity to anger. Eugene, on his part, had just sat quietly, staring at the table and biting absently at his thumbnail.
“We will revisit the matter when – rather, if, do remember that – our fuel supply is plentiful enough to consider diverting a portion to non-essentials.”
“Like Radio Abel,” Jack muttered darkly. Not quietly enough, as it turned out.
“Yes, Mr. Holden. Like yourselves. This is not a negotiable matter, and is effective immediately.”
“Could we just...” Eugene started suddenly. His face was blank, giving away nothing, and his voice was even, colored by a tone he used that always made him sound completely collected and reasonable. “Would it be possible for one more broadcast? Just to let anyone who might be listening know what's going on?”
“Yes, Mr. Woods, I believe that would be fine. Try to be brief.”
“Thank you, Major. Keep us updated.”
“I will. And I am sorry.”
And, just like that, the connection was terminated. Eugene and Jack sat in the silence for a moment. Jack thought it was a stunned silence, processing what had just happened, a new rage building as real, brutal understanding filtered through. Eugene felt it was more of a quiet moment to recollect themselves. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose, held it for a moment, and opened his eyes as he released it. Collected, poised, resolute, he reached for his headphones. He turned to Jack, who was looking thunderous.
“Shall we?” Jack followed suit putting on his headphones, doing so with all the slow and deliberate movements of a bitter teenager following the orders of their parents, teetering on the verge of a tantrum despite their age. Eugene addressed the few (assuming even that) listeners. “Alright, everybody. We're back!”
“Just barely.”
“Easy, now!”
At Eugene's leap to defend “the Major” (Jack still felt Resident Dictator worked just as well, but, then, he was also running on anger), Jack felt the dam break. His words began to spill out and he let them, even as Eugene tried to talk over him, tried to tell him to stop talking, tried to physically silence him by putting his hand over his mouth or removing his headset.
“No, sorry, I don't care how little fuel we ("Stop it!") have! No, I'm serious!”
But, mid-word, Jack suddenly wasn't hearing his own voice in his ears anymore. Eugene had cut him off by starting a track. Jack reached to shut it off and continue his tirade, but Eugene had obviously planned for this and, while Jack had been distracted by his rant, unplugged the mic. He dangled the input jack in front of him. Jack leaned back into his chair.
“We have a few minutes, so if you have something to say, say it now,” Eugene snapped.
“A few minutes isn't nearly enough time for what I have to say,” Jack replied. Before Eugene could respond, however, he continued on. “I mean, come on! We've only just started this broadcast and she's already shutting us down? Alright, we get off-topic a bit, but we do good work! We help people! People out there who need to know where's not safe anymore and where is, and people here at Abel, they need a distraction sometimes. A little fun. We do good here, Gene.”
“She's not saying we don't.”
“We've done all that and we're just a few broadcasts in, not even fully off the ground, it's too early to write us off!”
“Jack, she's not saying we don't do good work, or that we're being shut down entirely. There are just things vital to the operation of Abel that need the fuel more. Established operations that keep Abel going. You just said yourself we're not even fully off the ground. It's ridiculous to expect something that's mostly entertainment and also still in its experimental stages to get priority on a limited resource.”
“Would appreciate it if you'd drop “I'm being reasonable and you're not” tone. 'S a bit condescending, I'm sure you've heard before. From me.”
“Jack, we really do not have time for this right now. Just, please, let me get through letting the listeners know what's going on. Help if you're going to be helpful, or just sit there and be quiet, just let me finish this. Please.”
Jack clenched his jaw and turned away. Eugene took a shaky breath and plugged the mic cord back in. They sat in tense silence until the song ended.
“Sorry about that. Slight...technical problem there.”
“For now, we'll leave you with a song. Until we're back, look after each other and stay safe.”
“Stay safe, everyone.”
Jack removed his headset and tossed it onto the table in front of him, then stood and made for the exit in angry strides. Eugene turned from where he had been powering down the mic equipment and preparing the rest to shut down when the song had ended.
“Where are you going?”
“Out. I need to breathe.”
“Jack, we need to talk about this.” Jack turned to look straight at Eugene and walked a few strides backward as he almost tauntingly replied: “You're free to come on after me, then.”
And with that, he turned back around and left the room, slamming the door on the way out.
He didn't get far before his actions caught up with him. With each long stride away from that room, the scene filtered in, clearer, harsher, down to the glimpse he'd gotten of Eugene's expression after the taunt, just before he'd turned his back. The anger he felt bled out of him, the tightness in his chest eased, the tension released and he slumped against the nearest structure.
“God...” He tilted his head back, until it hit against the corrugated iron that still made up many of the smaller structures around the Township. He dropped his head away, tilted it back, repeated this movement, hitting his head against the metal several times before resting against it. After a moment, he pushed himself away from it and noted that the structure was the comms shack. He followed the wall around the corner until he came to the door and walked right in, without the courtesy of a knock or explanation as he crossed the room and let himself fall into a chair. Sam watched this happen in surprise, having been cut off mid-sentence, then shook himself out of it and smiled.
“Sorry, 17, seems we have a guest,” Sam said into his headset. Apparently this caused some distress from the Runner; he quickly followed up with a reassuring, “No, no! On my end, not yours! Your way's clear.” Jack sat quietly through a brief status report that followed the confirmation.
“So, Jack, something I can help you with? Ah, 17 says hello, by the way.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Runner 17. Might know her better as Stephanie.” Jack nodded once. “...o-kay, then. Not that I'm not happy to see you, but shouldn't you be doing your radio thing?”
“Weren't listening in this morning, I take it?” Jack said. Sam tried to gesture to his headset and monitors at the same time, nearly knocking over a mostly full tin of sliced carrots and nearly falling over in his move to catch and steady it.
“You didn't see that, alright? Janine's already plotting my demise for the Marmite incident. Don't ask.” Jack didn't. “So, something happened this morning with the show?”
“If you count Dear Leader shutting us down for our frivolous use of petrol as something happening with the show, then, yes, something happened this morning with the show.”
“Ah, yeah,” Sam replied with a wince. “Fuel shortage is hitting everyone, I think. Sorry. But – again, not that I don't want you to be – why are you here? Alone?” Jack looked indignant and opened his mouth, but Sam held up his hands in a “stop” gesture and cut him off. “Look, I'm not saying that you two are actually always together – though there actually could be an argument for that, let's be honest, here – or that you should be. The station getting canceled, though, that seems like a 'leaning on each other' time for you two.”
“Yeah, well, Eugene seems to have missed that memo. Didn't seem too torn up about it.”
“What?”
“I dunno, he kind of just sat there and took it. Even after, we got one last broadcast in, to explain, right? And he just sort of...was brushing it off like nothing.” He shrugged like “what can you do”, but he'd never had the best poker face. Sam sat silently for a moment, looking thoughtful. Jack wasn't sure if he was thinking about the radio situation or listening to a report from the other end of his signal.
“Look,” he finally said, “obviously I don't spend as much time with him as you do, but it wasn't just you trying to get the station set up. He was excited about it, too. If he didn't seem affected by it, well-” Sam averted his eyes and adjusted his mic absently. “-we all have our ways of coping with things. Just go talk to him.”
“I'm not sure that's the greatest idea right now,” Jack admitted, shifting guiltily. Sam tilted his head in confusion and Jack proceeded to tell him the entire series of events, including his storm-out and parting words. Sam rubbed his temples.
“Yeah, I'll tell him,” he said. He looked Jack right in the eye. “Runner 17 wants me to tell you you're a pillock.” Jack made a face directed at the mic. “Look, man, I don't know. Same advice, I guess. Go back, apologize, talk. I don't know what else to tell you.”
“Wasn't looking for you to tell me anything,” Jack sulked. Sam stared him down until he began to shift uncomfortably. “Alright, alright, I'm going.”
He didn't go. How could he? They were both stubborn and bad at this talking about feelings thing and no one wants to admit they were wrong, right? So he wandered around the Township for as long as possible, talking to people and accepting condolences about the station, agreeing with those who wished him luck in getting it back when the fuel supply was up. He visited Dr. Myers, hearing the same advice from her as from Sam. Apparently the story had made its way down the surprising active Runner rumor mill, as he was stopped more than a few times by Runners asking if he'd apologized yet. He even went to Janine, whom he felt he shared a special camaraderie with after he had electrocuted himself and she'd done little more in reaction beyond telling him off for his stupidity. He found himself with a case of deja vu when she found out about the morning's events.
A few times he did consider just heading back to the room and facing the music. Or lack of it, rather. He had even worked up the guts to do it a bit after noon and was heading back when he'd realized he was hungry. It stood to reason that Eugene might be as well – Jack generally picked up the rations for both of them, if they were going to be doing little walking around for the day – and things might go over better if they talked things over while they ate, so he had stopped at food storage, where the rations were being distributed. The young woman checking off names as food was collected had smiled at him and handed a small portion to him.
“Eugene Woods as well,” he'd said. Her smile faltered.
“I'm sorry, Jack. Eugene's already come by and collected all of his meals for the day.”
Jack hadn't completed the journey back to the room.
It was starting to get dark out, however, and curfew was looming. Sam's comment about the lack of fuel hitting more than just them became more evident as fewer lights flickered on than was usual, and “usual” wasn't very many to begin with. Where there were usually lights spaced enough to to not be wasteful while also providing a path to certain areas, now those buildings had only a light at their entrances to mark their locations in the dark. Jack made his way to the housing area, found the door to his and Eugene's small piece of Abel, took a deep breath, and opened it.
The first thing he noticed when he walked into the room was exactly how dark it was. Sure, they had no windows, so it was always dark in the room, but, since Radio Abel had been happening, there had always been some kind of light, even the smallest little blink that meant the equipment was hibernating. Jack gave his eyes a moment to adjust. When they did, he could just make out the cots that had been shoved together on one side of the room, forming one large bed. Eugene was lying on top of it, back to the door, rapped up in the thin sheets and positioned across it at a diagonal, leaving nowhere for Jack. There was a moment of silence in which neither of them moved.
“If you're waiting for me to move over,” Eugene finally said, his voice muffled, “you might want to start considering which of the chairs is more comfortable instead. Friendly advice."
“No!” Jack rushed to insist. “No, I wasn't- I was just trying to think what to say.”
“So you're wanting to talk now? Don't need to go out for some more air?”
Jack winced and grabbed one of the chairs from the table. He dragged it over to the cots, set it next to the foot of the makeshift bed, and sat down.
“I shouldn't have done that,” he said tentatively. “I shouldn't have left and I shouldn't have said what I did. I was just...so angry...”
“No, I got that. Really appreciated getting it taken out on me.” The reasonable tone from earlier was completely gone. It had been replaced by sarcasm, obviously.
“You didn't, but... I guess- Look, I wasn't just angry with the Major, Gene.” While he didn't turn completely, Eugene did shift slightly at the confession. Jack sensed the curiosity creeping into Eugene's attempts to remain a stone against Jack's words, so he powered on. “We had just gotten the permission, you know? Neither of us felt we were pulling our weight for Abel and we got the show together and we worked so hard getting it approved and up and running. It was something I wanted to do because it was fun and I was being helpful...get to talk about things, whatever came to mind, and you got to feel like you were doing more while you still got used to the... used to everything. And we were doing well. We were only a few broadcasts into this thing we worked hard for and then it's being taken away, just like that, and we're back to trying to make sorting unlabeled tins feel like we're being useful to anyone. And I got so angry, Eugene. But you... You just sat there, calm as you are, and let her take it all away. I cared so much, but you didn't seem to at all, and I just... I got angry, alright? I was upset and angry and hurt, and you weren't at all, and I wanted you to feel like I was feeling, and I said something stupid. And it wasn't right and you didn't deserve it.”
Jack's definition of “powering on” had involved letting all of his words spill out in a single breath. This had allowed him to get them out without interruptions from Eugene, but had left him a gasping mess in the silence that followed.
“Finished?” came Eugene's reply. Jack would have held his breath on the hope that there was amusement in the question, but the air was greatly needed. He nodded, then remembered that Eugene probably couldn't see that. It didn't seem to matter though – or they were just that in tune with each other by now – because he rolled over so he could make out the outline of Jack. “You're an idiot.” Jack huffed out a laugh. “It sucks, it does, but we have to be okay with this right now. That includes not referring to the woman who's going to decide whether or not we go back on air as a dictator. I'm just saying.”
“Yeah, I might need to do some, erm, damage control on that front tomorrow,” Jack said.
“We also have to be okay with doing other things in the meantime. We can like doing the broadcasts more all we want, but the truth is, we don't know how many people are listening. For all we know, it could just be people here at Abel, and they don't really need to know about the new green zones miles away, but sorting cans keeps us from botulism poisoning pretty frequently. Just because we greatly prefer something that may or may not help in some way doesn't mean the small tasks aren't important, too. Okay?”
Jack just nodded glumly. He was sure that if Eugene couldn't see him, he could feel the movement in the shift of the sheets. In the same way, he was sure that he could actually feel Eugene turning something over and over in his head while the silence dragged on. Finally, there was a shift of the sheets and suddenly Eugene was taking up one side of the bed.
“Don't say I never did anything for you,” he said, and that was all it took for Jack to push himself out of the chair and onto the empty cot. After some shifting, they lied still in the darkness. The smaller space between them made the quiet seem much bigger.
“I'm so sorry,” Jack said as softly as he could, as if he was actually afraid that anything too loud would break the silence in a physical way, bringing it and the darkness crashing down on them like an avalanche.
“So, tomorrow,” Eugene said instead of any acknowledgment to the apology, “we go back to doing the little tasks we hate, tell ourselves that we're pulling our weight. We sort cans, we check off names during ration distribution. Maybe you can see Janine about teaching you how to actually check for a live wire, and anything else she's willing to teach. We badger the Runners every chance we get, remind them every time we see them to look for fuel. We brown-bag their rations and slip Mom notes in them about it. We suck up to the Major and Janine and when our Runner efforts have paid off, we get first dibs on the excess. Sound good?”
“Mm.”
“Good. Go to sleep, I know how much sulking all day takes out of you.”
It wasn't good, really, and Jack was sure they hadn't actually finished talking about anything, nor that everything was going to go as smoothly as Eugene had detailed it. Eugene, however, had always been able to sound reasonable, and the confidence that came with that put people at ease. It wasn't often something Jack considered as a positive attribute of Eugene's, but, lying in the dark with him after a day spent worrying and stewing in his own stubbornness, that ease of mind was exactly what he needed. He closed his eyes and shifted a little closer to the other body taking up the small space. The day may not have been the best, but that was then, this was tonight, and “tomorrow”, well, that wasn't until later.
