Thanks for sticking with me. Pay periods are supposed to be 80 hours; I've worked 120 in my most recent. Show me some love; I'm about to give you all a chapter dump.
And yes, it's the resolution to the cliffie. You're welcome. For now.
(Also, for the record, let me say that I'm *shocked* nobody gave me any crap about Randy's little honesty-moment in the last chapter.)
"What time did we wake up?" Meg groaned as she stretched, thighs aching, reaching for her phone for the second time that morning.
"The first time?" Joe stretched, but refused to lift his arm from her. "Three in the morning. So it's what, five-thirty now?"
"And the meeting's downstairs at – oh, fuck it. Let's just shower." Meg giggled as Joe scooped her up, threw her over his shoulder as he sat up, and sauntered toward the bathroom. "I'll grab a towel, but only one. And I'm not sharing!" Meg poked his ribs cheekily, earning a gentle slap on the ass before Joe sat her down on the counter and busied himself setting the shower temperature.
"Any chance I can convince you to give it up?"
"Give what up?" The wink she shot at Joe was toe-curling.
Joe smirked and chuckled, then smiled and laughed, nudging the bathroom door closed, letting Meg pull him between her legs on the counter before he lifted her into the shower with him.
Their wet hair and tandem soap-scent was a giveaway as to where they had been and what they had been up to, but Meg had at least swept her hair up into a bun with only a few loose tendrils framing her face. Joe had given up on even as much as working an elastic through his, opting to scruff a towel through it and run downstairs, where Randy had been kind enough to save him a seat – though he did punch Joe in the arm before allowing him access to it. Meg made sure to walk into the meeting after Joe and hang toward the back, opting to stand along the wall by Dave, near the other interns, roadies, techs, and support staff, trying desperately not to call any more attention to herself and Joe than had already happened by their walking in around the same time. She helped herself to an informational packet from the table nearest the entrance, flipped to the leader page, and waited for the banker-esque speaker at the podium to begin. 'Here we go, Mr. Banker. Start the bleeding.'
"Good morning. It's early, you're all very busy, and I don't want to take up any more time than is necessary. As I go through each department, you may leave afterward unless you have any further questions."
'Well, that's direct. Which means it's going to be bad.'
Mr. Banker aimed a small remote at a projector, which displayed a few header slides before finally spitting up a bar graph that sank lower and lower as it cycled through several repetitions of "Q1" through "Q4". He cleared his throat loudly.
"As you can see, until we have access to a significant portion of the European market, specifically the United Kingdom, we cannot expect financial gains to offset our expenditures. Therefore, your employer will unfortunately experience downsizing across several departments."
Meg felt herself melt halfway into the wall. Joe's head snapped back towards her; Randy had to slam his elbow into Joe's side to get him to turn back around.
"Not now, Joe, and NOT here. Let the guy finish, and do NOT lose your shit in here," Randy's voice was a low growl, directly into Joe's ear. "You two are discreet, and you need to keep it that way. You don't even know what's gonna happen, so fucking relax." For Meg's part, she refused to make eye contact with Joe, knowing she wouldn't be able to choke down the howl she had pinned in her throat. She forced herself to tune back in to the presentation, keeping her eyes straight ahead.
"...in any event, we will now go department by department. Performers and/or independent contractors first. If you are currently under contract with more than five years of service or under a contract for more than $250,000, you will experience no changes."
Several people got up to leave. 'Well, bippy for you. It'd be nice if you stayed to support your coworkers, you know.' Meg gritted her teeth. Randy and Joe sat still, even though both could have left. Dave passed his cup of coffee from one hand to the other.
"...If you are currently under contract with less than five years of service or under a contract for less than $250,000, your contract terms are all now renegotiable, but no contracts will be canceled. You may be reassigned to any division currently under ownership by the parent company. Your contracts may experience what is referred to as "shrink" but you will not be downsized – er, fired. Further explanations are available in the printed materials on the tables at the exits. Next, lighting and sound..."
'Get to the part where you fire me. Go on. I need to go pack.' Meg started to work at the edges of her fingernails, not daring to look up at Joe and Randy, if they were even still there. They were, Randy's posture relaxed despite mentally picturing bludgeoning Mr. Banker to death with the projector if he fired Meg; Joe physically shaking though he was thinking now was the time – he would simply walk up to Meg, tell her he loved her, and she was to pack her things and come home to him.
"Joe, c'mon." Randy whispered, loud enough to break Joe from his stupor, but not loud enough to be noticeable by anyone else. "C'mon. We're almost the only pros left. We have to go now or it looks too obvious. We can get a coffee and wait in the lobby. I'll text Dave."
Mr. Banker carried on, the Shakespearean drama playing out in front of him clearly unnoticed. "Finally, we have all stipend-funded programs, internships, and grant-based pay programs. We'll address these individually, so bear with me." Dave squeezed Meg's hand gently; he had heard some ten-odd minutes ago that the direct medical program would continue fully funded due to concerns with concussions and an interest in the prevention of serious injury within the company. He would be fine. Now, it was up to fate to see if he would be keeping Meg.
"No," Joe whispered, harshly, "No fucking way am I walking out on her."
"Joe, we have to go now. Staying here doesn't make any sense. You're going to be answering too many questions if they do let her go. Do you want to make it harder for her than it needs to be?"
"Randy, I don't care!" Joe's voice came out far louder than he intended, and he ducked down in his chair to try to hide from his own sound. 'Joe, you are a complete fucking idiot. Get up. Go. Now.' He dropped his head down quickly, rubbed his hands over his face, and stalked out the doors with Randy a single step behind him. Meg's face registered absolute shock as they bolted from the room, and the start of a keening wail began to erupt from her. Dave grabbed her arm and turned her to face him, waving his phone in her face.
Randy's number was up on the screen, a short text displayed in a bubble. 'Had to get him out. In lobby. Not leaving.' Meg knew she should have felt better, but all she felt was roiling nausea.
Meg's breathing remained on the brink of hysterics. She would always have Dave, whether or not she had a job. He always protected her, dragged her out from under whatever pile of garbage she'd buried herself in – but this was more. She lived through this, or she lost Joe, which felt like losing the only blood she'd ever had in her body. Meg didn't have the words to keep it, either. She could sweat it, contort it into a thousand positions, sing his name like the word would keep her alive, watch her fingers seek out his skin as though they were programmed, parasitic, desperate – but she couldn't ask him. Couldn't tell him. And now, couldn't control a fucking thing about it.
"Medical. Programs to be continued as currently funded. Pyrotechnical. Programs to be continued as curently funded. Aestheticians: Programs to be downsized by one position. Audio-visual. Programs to be downsized by two positions. Creative writing. All current positions to be terminated, department to be restaffed. Food service..."
Meg froze, took a step forward, looked at Dave – who simply pointed to the door – and Meg flew. Out of the room, down the hall, she could smell coffee and caramel, and hoped Joe picked out something sweet for her. She skidded around the corner into the main lobby, scanned the expansive seating area, and forced herself to slow down. 'Calm down! Calm the fuck down. Make it look like an emergency, because everyone is looking at you like you're a goddamn idiot.' Meg fumbled for her triage phone and tried to look immensely busy, followed by completely relieved. Slowly, she walked toward Randy and Joe, carefully looking left and right to be sure she was no longer the focus of her own spastic actions.
Joe, for his part, was rapidly bouncing both legs up and down on his toes under the table, poking at everything and nothing on his phone, spinning a waxy coffee cup in circles, drumming his thumbs on the rim.
"Meg, for fuck's sake, say something that's going to make him stop before I pour the fucking coffee on his head." Randy was still imagining Mr. Banker in all sorts of torturous positions; he needed to hear Meg's words as much as Joe did but did a much better job of hiding it.
Gently, Meg trapped both of Joe's hands under hers, on top of the coffee cup. "I'm still yours."
"Meg, that was never in question." Joe refused to meet her eyes.
"Joe, look at me." Meg's voice was firm. "Look up."
Reluctantly, afraid if he met her eyes he would lose the little control he had left, Joe leaned his head back just enough to see her face.
"I'm staying. Employed. Here. With you."
Randy was the first one to lean over the table and drag Meg into a rib-crushing hug. "I knew it," he whispered, "I knew it would be fine. You two go talk, okay? He needs...just go talk. I'll see you later. Hope you like your coffee." Randy grabbed his phone from the table and headed toward the checkout desk and their collective pile of luggage, letting them have their moment together.
Joe continued to look at her as she stood over him, look almost through her, feeling searing heat on his palms from the trapped coffee steam, searing cold on the backs of his hands from her perpetually frozen skin. The dual sensations sent a full-body shiver through him that shook him out of his stupor, and he blinked, hard.
"Joe...is that okay? That I'm staying?" Meg scooted around the corner of the table and perched on the edge of Randy's chair, her anxiety ratcheting up several notches with each passing second of silence.
Joe exhaled, slowly lifted his hands from the lid of the coffee cup, and rolled them under hers, capturing them tightly. "I'm sorry. Meg...Meg, come here." He pulled her across her chair, their knees bumping under the table. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what's right or wrong, I know I'm fucking up left and right, I know I felt like I was dying the longer I sat there with no answers." He pulled her fingers up to his lips and refused to let go. 'Fuck it. Fuck whoever sees us, and fuck whoever says anything.' He smiled against her hands.
"So yes," Joe murmured, "It's more than 'okay' that you're staying. It's the only answer that was going to work. It's the only answer that was going to keep me there, too. It's...Meg, I don't know what I'm saying. I know what I'm saying, but I don't know how to -"
"I was terrified, Joe, and I love you too." Meg leaned in, over their hands, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, eliciting some coos from nearby tables. "And apparently, we're not as subtle as we thought we were." She smiled, and slid one hand out from under his, toward the coffee cup. "And," she continued, "Thank you for ruining a cup for coffee for me. Mocha caramel extra-whip is not a manly beverage order." She never saw Joe shake his head at her coffee, then smile at Randy and mouth a thank-you.