Chapter 40, everybody! In which we test conversion gel and celebrate St. Patrick's Day—eat more corned beef. :D

Don't Starve © 2013 Klei Entertainment

Portal © 2007 Valve

It had been a few years since they had been hired to do KVAS' recordings.

And Charlie noted that there were becoming more downs than ups.

It wasn't anything immediately noticeable, but Max's personality was beginning to become subtly affected by that place and their people. She worked hard to keep them both upbeat, but that was beginning to take its toll.

Why, why did that nice Cave Johnson guy have to go back to his own lab?

But on the positive side, a new battery of tests came through from the Aperture branch, meaning they had some nice high-paying gigs for a bit. On the negative side, that took them away from the magic business, and while Max worked hard at it and thought he wasn't any good (he was, as she repeatedly told him), being a magician was his bliss.

This, what had started as a necessary job to make a fast sixty bucks, was beginning to become the sort of job that eclipsed them both, and leeched what positive personality they had in lieu of cold science.

And she hated that.

"So, what are we testing today, Max?" she asked, forcing herself to be chipper and hoping it didn't sound forced on the tape.

Max scowled slightly as he looked at the notes—she hated that expression on him.

"Conversion gel."

Willow bounced on her heels at that. Repulsion gel and propulsion gel had been fun—here was hoping these people were three for three. It had certainly been that hope that had prompted her to throw that third switch on her way through.

Except…there was something different about them.

She frowned—maybe the tapes were a few years apart; there were some testing tracks that had fallen into complete ruin…maybe those were lost years. Recordings of these people, forever lost.

Again, that pang of sadness for people she had never known.

The sound of paper rustling. "Ah, here we go," Max said. "Why do they bury these….Normal pre-testing safety precautions—do not get covered in the conversion gel."

"That sounds familiar," Charlie observed dryly.

"No kidding. It says here that the conversion gel is made from…moon…rocks…."

Willow pictured them exchanging confused glances and shrugging. "And that ground-up moon rocks are deadly…poison. Neil Armstrong's in for a rude awakening," Max observed.

"I don't think Neil Armstrong played with ground-up moon rocks," Charlie countered.

"Uh-huh. Well, don't play with moon rocks, don't get covered in gel, don't look into the operational end of the portal device, don't get the device wet, and don't sleep in the subway. Did I miss anything?"

"Watch your landings."

"Oh right. Yes, don't land and break your legs—that makes for extra paperwork."

Willow felt her eyebrows furrow at that. Again, the feeling that Max was somehow familiar….

Forget it, she chided. Just focus on getting through these things.

Just keep moving forward.

They had had an argument that night.

"What, what am I supposed to do, say no?" Max had stormed. "I signed a contract! That's easy money! You can't tell me we don't need the money!"

"We don't. Need. The money," Charlie said evenly, standing in the little kitchenette. "Max, look at you! You're not the same guy I married!"

"I personally think that's a good thing," Max countered, putting a hand on his chest. "I couldn't string two words together, and now look—I'm perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation—"

"Yes, you can talk, but can you listen?" Charlie interrupted. "That place is dragging you down—it's taking all the energy from you and it's making you this—this grumpy, irritating, mean person!"

"I am not grumpy, I'm not irritating, and I most certainly am not mean."

"Uh-huh. And the way you sped through important stuff, like safety precautions—that was for the laugh, right? You know they don't rerecord those things! Why would you just blur right through them?"

"Because I say them every time! It gets old!"

"Not for the people testing! We're talking about people who—who break bones and fly off cliffs and fall in-in acid! Why would they put acid in a test?"

"Something about reflexes—"

"Something about being sadistic jerks," Charlie hissed. "I'm not going back there—I quit. I quit right now."

"You can't quit," Max protested. "I need you."

"Yes, you do. But you don't need that job. I mean it, Max."

"I'm not quitting."

"Max—"

"I'm not!"

They both blinked at that—it was the first time Charlie could remember him actually snapping at her. And acting like he was going to—

"Get out, Max," she said evenly.

"What?" he asked.

"I said get out—and don't come back until you've left that job."

"Charlie—"

"I mean it Max—get out."

He sort of staggered to the door in a daze, opened it, turned his back on her—

"I'm not quitting," he said. "We can't afford for me to quit."

And he left.

Charlie sagged to the ground, sobbing and occasionally hiccupping "Max, come back"—

How could he have guessed? She had just found out herself yesterday, she hadn't told him—

Can't afford to quit and go back to a magician's salary? Maybe not—not with their going to be another mouth to feed.

But what was more important? Providing money for things?

Or providing love for family?