The Rising Tide 5/5
J2 RPS AU
NC-17
Part 5 of 5
Master post
Art
They've been organized into groups for entertainment and social reasons, and to suggest and vote on the ongoing process of striking. They make up lists of demands, argue over them, rewrite, argue again. Jim organized patrols to walk the mill and make sure no one is sneaking in or out or letting cops in the back door. Jared has walked what feels like every inch of the place, talking to his fellow strikers, finding out what they want and need, listening to their complaints, reassuring them that this is the right thing to do. They just have to hold fast.
Victoria has organized the wives and girlfriends and mothers of the striking men, making arrangements for deliveries of food and clean shirts and letters. Osric put himself in charge of the collection of message-bearers and news-gatherers whose sole job is to report on all the other strikes in the city, and to carry news back to those strikers about what's happening in the mill. He admits to Jared and Misha that he's enjoying this more than his work in Jensen's theater, and promises to remind Jensen to write so Jared knows how he really feels about the whole thing.
But right now, Jared needs to find some chalk. There's a poker tournament going on and for some reason he's been put in charge of tracking who's playing who, who's winning, what they bet, and which rules they've been using. Aldis, who is not a great poker player because he has a bad poker face, found a chess set in someone's office and is currently teaching the game to a bunch of guys, probably because either they don't want to join the poker tournament or they've been knocked off the grid and need something to do.
“How's it going?” Jared asks them.
“This is about to be the shortest game in the history of chess,” Aldis says. “You sure you want to do that?” he asks Matt, who's sitting on the other side of the makeshift board. “You're leaving your queen open for checkmate.”
Matt moves his knight, presumably back to its previous square. He chews his lip and surveys the board. Aldis helpfully points out a better move. Matt takes it.
“Have any of you seen the chalk?” Jared asks. “Chad put me in charge of tracking the poker tournament and I have to add some winners to the board.”
“Tim always had a stash,” Matt volunteers. “Remember? He was always marking up his crates.”
“It disappeared when he couldn't come back,” Kurt says.
“Did you check all the offices?” Aldis asks, eyes still on the chessboard.
“Yes,” Jared says. “Twice.”
“You asked Chad?”
“Also twice.”
“Huh. There should be some charcoal somewhere. Use that.”
“The board's black, Aldis.”
“What a stupid thing to worry about,” Milo mutters. He reaches over Aldis's shoulder and gestures at the board. “Put your bishop there.” Aldis swats his arm away.
“Yeah, I know,” Jared says. “We've all got something. I'll find it. Y'all have fun with your game.”
He's surprised to discover a new, unopened box of chalk in one of the offices, in the back of a desk drawer. A thorough search of the other drawers returns nothing much of value except a random handful of pencils and a nearly-empty bottle of ink. Everyone has been through all the offices already, taking stuff out of boredom or spite, so he should probably consider himself lucky that he found anything at all. He thinks about trying to jimmy the locks on the filing cabinets against the wall, changes his mind, and leaves. He can always come back and rummage through those later.
Days pass. Soon it's a week since the strike, then two. The men in the mill learn that the steam tram operators finally made a deal and went back to work after five very tense days, during which people learned exactly how far they could walk, how long it would take them, how much they could carry doing it, and how many things the striking operators would use to fight back with, once the police brought out their billy clubs. People took to hitching rides on delivery trucks, not always with the drivers' knowledge. There are still fights breaking out on the docks and at the airship landing fields and the rail depot, between striking workers and strikebreakers and police. The workers at the buggy factory where Aldis's brother is employed, who struck with the rest of the city, evidently came to an agreement with the factory owner after two days and won some concessions for better wages and hours. Some of the hotel chambermaids went back to work, some were fired, some are still trying to make themselves heard. The garment workers are still demonstrating, still marching, still demanding better treatment. Even the ones who made deals with their factories' owners and went back to work are still stumping for better treatment. There are a lot of them, Jared learns, and they're incredibly unified. He knew, when he was first going around talking to people and trying to drum up interest in a city-wide strike, that they had already started organizing, but it's two weeks into the general strike when he fully realizes the kind of power and determination and straight-up anger he tapped into when he brought them his ideas.
There doesn't seem to be much police violence directed towards the striking chambermaids or the garment workers. A lot of aggression, apparently, but very little actual physical contact. Jared assumes it's because the cops don't want to hit girls, but Misha suggests that in the case of the garment workers, the cops just know they're outnumbered. What few fights they hear about all seem to be between striking workers and those people desperate or cowardly enough to cross a picket line and take a striker's job.
As far as the mill is concerned, the police chief has returned several times (to deliver more bluster, more threats), as has a representative for the owner (also bluster and threats), as has the occasional runner. Osric has gotten very good at sneaking in and out of the mill to deliver news, so good in fact that sometimes he can have the run of the place for twenty minutes before anyone sees him. He started bringing newspapers so the men inside can read about the temper of the city and learn what the overall opinion of the strikes is, outside the lower wards. Opinions vary widely, as do suggestions for ending the strike, although the general mood in the upper wards is unsurprisingly negative.
Victoria and the other wives have organized themselves to send in food and occasional changes of clothes. Misha suggests that the police chief (and by implication, the Council and the mill owner) is allowing that to happen. Every day he seems to have a new theory as to why. Sometimes Jim has a counter suggestion, and Misha likes to argue with him since Jim reads all the public Council records and seems to have a handle on how the Council thinks. Jared isn't listening to them any more. He has two jobs, as far as he's concerned - keep everyone productively occupied inside the mill, and represent their desires accurately to anyone from outside.
The first is going pretty well, although after two weeks a lot of men are complaining and getting impatient. They want to go home to their families. Jared understands. He knows from Osric that Jensen's theater was shut down, and sometimes he worries about how his boyfriend is coping. He tries to keep the workers' spirits up and remind them of their goals, but he also doesn't want the complaining to turn into sabotage, so he asks Jim to tell the patrols to keep a special eye out for anyone trying to let the cops into the mill to end the strike.
Jensen has taken to writing Jared letters. They both trust Osric to pass any news accurately, but sometimes a man wants some privacy for his worries and his thoughts.
They shut it down because of you, Jensen writes, in the first letter Jared gets after Osric tells him about the Augustus. Someone must have pegged you as the leader of the city strike, and found me and then the theater. Closing it down is a threat. Mr Morgan wants you to give up the strike and go back to work, so his theater can reopen. I don't. Do what you have to. Don't worry about me. The girls are taking care of me - Danny's hotel is still on strike but I think they're getting close to settling - and I think Mrs Morgan is on our side.
I don't know what kind of privacy you can find in your mill, but if you get the chance, go somewhere no one will find you and stroke yourself off and think of me. Know that I'm stroking myself off and thinking of you.
I love you. Don't give up.
It doesn't take long before everyone seems to know that Jared got an actual letter, and suddenly a lot of men want to write to their friends and families outside the mill. Osric has been passing messages back and forth, and Jared doesn't know why it never occurred to anyone else to send letters, but now suddenly men are ransacking the mill offices specifically for notepaper and pens and pencils. Jared assigns Matt the job of postmaster, to collect the letters and notes for the next runner and to distribute any that come back. It boosts the workers' spirits to be able to write to someone, although the letters that come back are not cheerful, and Jared hits on a theory as to why the police and the mill owner and the Council have been allowing food and other supplies inside.
“We're not working, right?” he tries to explain to Misha. “Because of the strike. So of course we're not getting paid. What's Victoria doing while you're in here? Jensen's theater was closed. It's a simple way to scare us, to make us worry about our families. But it's so easy for us to be here. We're getting food, we're getting changes of clothes, we've got mail coming and going. Osric's been sneaking in and out because he wants to, not because he has to.”
“It's a theory,” Misha concedes. “I don't know if it's a good one - “
“The cops could stop anyone trying to feed us. They could storm the place.”
“They've already tried,” Chad says. Jared hadn't realized he was listening. “We've got the doors blocked. They can't get in.”
“Let me get this straight,” Misha says, looking at Jared. “You're saying the police and the Council and the mill owner are actively working to prolong the strike?” He raises an eyebrow. “Think about that for a minute.”
“I am,” Jared tells him. “There's no hurry to get us out of here. In two weeks we've gotten exactly one attempt to answer our grievances, and that was just 'If you give up now you can keep your jobs'. They're not making it hard for us to stay. And the longer the strike goes on, the more our families are going to beg us to give up. I've already heard some complaints. Nobody wants to end up on the street.”
“No one's getting evicted after two weeks,” Chad says. “And the Council's not that smart. I think the owner's just figuring out the least he can get away with giving us, and as soon as he knows that, he'll make an offer.”
“I don't agree with you,” Misha says. “The Council is that smart. They want this over as badly as we do.”
“Then why hasn't anyone tried to talk to us?” Jared asks. “They have to know if they gave us what we want, we'd reopen the mill and get back to work. Why do you think they haven't done that?”
“They're still figuring out how to get us out without damaging the mill or the machinery.” Misha waves an arm, indicating the rows and rows of looms and the giant rollers that carry newly-woven canvas up to the the cutting machines with their massive razor-sharp blades. “All of this is worth more than we are. The owner is trying to determine how much more he can pay us before he has to raise the price of his canvas, and how much more he can charge before the airship builders go somewhere else. It's accounting, Jared, it's not conspiracy.”
“I didn't say it was a conspiracy.” Jared stands and stretches. “I just said they're making it easy for us to strike because the longer we don't get paid, the harder it is for the people we support. All that pressure's internal. The owner and the Council get us to stop the strike on our own. They don't have to give us anything.”
“Hey, Jared,” Jim calls, walking over. “We found someone skulking around the place. He says he knows you.”
“Hi,” Jensen says, grinning.
“What are you doing here?” Jared demands.
“I wanted to see you. Osric told me how to get in. Did you get my letter?”
“Yeah. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything's fine. Well, the theater's still shut down, Mr Morgan is pressuring me to pressure you to give up so we can reopen, Danny's hotel is going to make a deal so they can all go back to work, there's a lot of bitching in the wards about how long the strike is going on, but other than that.”
“We've got things to take care of,” Misha says. “Come on, Chad, we should go.” He grabs Chad's arm and practically drags him off. Jim follows, but not before giving Jensen and Jared a considering once-over.
“What was that?” Jensen asks, when he and Jared are alone.
“Jim's probably thinking 'So that's Jared's sexy boyfriend'.” Jared grins. “Let me show you around.”
He wants to show off what he and his fellow workers have done. He leads Jensen through the mill, introducing him to people, telling him how they've organized entertainment and cleaning rotations and classes and patrols and postal delivery, how they've set up procedures for submitting complaints and suggestions, how they're taking care of each other and making sure everyone has a say in anything that happens.
He tells Jensen about the way Victoria organized wives and girlfriends and mothers on the outside, so the men inside can still get food and fresh clothes. He says they're holding fast, ready to make a deal with the mill owner whenever he wants. He admits he was worried about spies, then he was worried about workers who might let the police into the mill to break the strike. He talks a lot, realizing only after they've been through most of the facility that he hasn't let Jensen say a thing.
“Sorry,” he says, as they walk past an office door. “I'm doing all the talking. I'm just really proud of what we're doing and how we're keeping ourselves occupied. How's the company dealing with the theater being closed? How are the girls? You said Danny's hotel is making a deal - is it a good one?”
“I think so.” Jensen jiggles the door handle, pushing the door open without taking his eyes off Jared's face. “I came out here because I miss you. I worry about you, even though Osric keeps telling me not to, but mostly I just miss you.” He pulls Jared inside the office. Jared takes the hint and kicks the door closed behind them.
“I miss you too. I had a hard time finding a private place after I got your letter, but I managed.” He can't help the grin that pulls at his lips as he remembers locking himself in the coat closet in the owner's office so he could undo his pants and jerk himself off as he imagined Jensen's mouth and hands and ass and cock.
“Good.” Now Jensen's eyes are on Jared's mouth. “No one's going to come looking for you, are they?”
“I hope not.” He takes Jensen's face in his hands and kisses him.
Jared has been trying very hard the past couple of weeks to not think about Jensen too much, especially how it feels to be separated from someone he's so used to being around. He's been trying very hard to not miss sleeping next to the best boyfriend, or kissing the perfect mouth, or having access to the most enticing body. He's been trying very hard to not think about how long it might be before they can talk to each other, or sit next to each other on their sagging sofa, or squish into the same booth in the pub across the street.
He never would have asked Jensen to come see him, but he's not sorry Jensen came.
Their kiss is like a dam breaking, and in short order they're pulling at each other's clothes and devouring each other's mouths. Jared wants to control the kiss, then he wants Jensen to, then he needs to breathe, then he wants to get Jensen's pants off but doesn't want to pull away from Jensen's amazing mouth. He is acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea how much longer it will be before he can go home.
“Wait,” he says, breathless and half-undressed and consumed with desire. He pushes Jensen back about a foot, far enough away so he can think. Jensen gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing in a way that would be funny at any other time. “I could be here another week. Two. I don't... want to rush.” He steps away to lock the door. “There. Now no one can bother us.”
He wants Jensen desperately, and it's clear Jensen desperately wants him, but this may be the only chance they have to be together for weeks. So they peel each other's clothes off more slowly, take their time touching each other, and when Jared goes to his knees and takes Jensen's cock in his mouth, he tries very hard to tease without getting Jensen off.
“Saints above,” Jensen breathes over his head. “Your mouth.”
Your cock, Jared thinks, taking one last swipe with his tongue and sitting back on his heels. He looks up, grins, gets to his feet. “You came to see me,” he says, brushing his thumb across Jensen's lips. “Your choice. What do you want? I don't recommend the floor.”
Jensen huffs a laugh, says “I want you to fuck me. You can bend me over the desk.”
“If I'd known this was what you wanted, I'd have taken you to the owner's office. He has a sofa. It's very nice.”
“I'll come back another time so we can fuck on his furniture.” Jensen's face is very close. His tongue flicks out and licks at Jared's lips, and Jared lets himself get lost in the kiss for a while.
But his body wants more, so he maneuvers Jensen backwards until they hit the desk and pull away so Jensen can turn around. Jared presses up against him, rubbing against his ass, mouthing at his shoulders and the back of his neck.
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Jensen murmurs, and now it's Jared's turn to laugh.
Neither of them has any cream but they make do, and soon Jared is easing himself into Jensen's body, exhaling a long slow breath as he pushes himself in as deep as he can.
Jared has never cared what positions they arranged themselves into, how fast or how slow they moved, how deep he thrust or how deeply Jensen thrust into him. He has only ever cared that they were bound together, giving and receiving pleasure in equal degrees. He has only ever cared that he could turn Jensen on as much as Jensen could turn him on.
But this moment, with his hips pumping slowly, easily, his hands gripping Jensen's flesh, the sound of their breathing heavy in his ears - this moment is perfect. This moment is everything.
“Is this good?” Jared asks. “Is this - is this what you wanted?”
“Don't - hnn - yes, like that....”
“Dumb question?”
“So dumb.”
“Harder?” Jared leans down, drags his tongue up the ridge of Jensen's spine. “Fuck, I love your ass.” His hips pick up speed and Jensen moans in response.
Jared stays there for a little bit, thrusts fast and shallow, breath hot against Jensen's skin, before finally standing and flattening his hand at the base of Jensen's spine. He feels as if that gives him some leverage so he leans back slightly, hips pumping harder, faster. He bites his lip to stifle his groans, not wanting anyone to wander by, hear them, and try to investigate.
He doesn't want to come, but at the same time, he's ready, he's so very ready.
“Saints, Jared,” Jensen murmurs, voice breathless and heavy. He pushes back, burying Jared even deeper inside his body. “Finish me off.”
Jared leans forward again, just enough to reach down and close his fingers around Jensen's swollen cock. It jumps in his hand, hard and hot, and Jared strokes it with tight, fast twists of his wrist, trying to keep pace with the pumping of his hips. He doesn't think he can contain himself any longer, and then Jensen is biting back a cry and shooting over his hand.
That's just what Jared needs, and he's coming hard before Jensen is even finished.
“Saints and sinners,” he gasps, chest heaving. His head drops, forehead resting between Jensen's shoulderblades. “Fuck me.”
“Give me, uh, twenty minutes,” Jensen says, panting. Jared doesn't have breath to laugh.
“Is that what you had in mind?”
“Exactly.”
It might even hold them until the strike is over and Jared can go home.
Eventually he pulls out, stands back, pulls Jensen around, and kisses him lightly.
“We should get dressed,” Jensen says, so they do.
Jared shuts the office door behind them when they leave, and finishes his tour. Jensen wants to sneak back out the way he came in, apparently so he can tell Osric he did, and Jared lets him.
“Did you give him the tour?” Chad asks later. “Your boyfriend.”
“I showed him everything,” Jared says. He doesn't intend for that to sound like innuendo, although Chad clearly takes it that way, to judge from the snickering.
Two things happen in the next week. The first is that Jared's worry turns to fact when one of the patrols discovers a couple of guys trying to let some cops in through the loading dock. There's a scuffle, the cops are pushed out, and Jared summarily expels the two workers from the mill.
“Go home and admit to your wives you were weak,” he tells them, and if they get a little bruised and bloody when they leave, well, that's what happens when you betray the strike.
He lets it get around the mill that two men tried to break the strike, were caught, and were beaten up and kicked out. Chad responds to that bit of news by coming down from the roof where he's been watching the police still surrounding the place so he can report that they seem to be gearing up for something. The cops have already tried (and failed) three times to retake the mill, and Chad isn't sure what makes them think attempt number four will be successful. Jared tells the millworkers to be prepared anyway.
But then the second thing happens - a representative for the mill owner comes back with an actual offer, and Jared and Misha meet with him just outside the front doors. The offer doesn't address most of their grievances, and Jared sends the man off without bothering to consult with anyone. He's in charge and he can make unilateral decisions if he thinks they're warranted.
But the next day the man comes back, this time with the owner himself, offering a new contract with slightly fewer hours and a slightly higher wage for those hours, if everyone will just go back to work. Jared insists on a fair process for men who are injured on the job to seek some kind of compensation for lost time, and if the owner won't do that, he needs to fix up the machinery and maintain it better.
“This is the best we're going to do,” Misha whispers. “We accomplished something in three weeks. We need to take this.”
“You'll maintain the machinery to a higher standard,” Jared repeats to the owner. “A lot of the looms are in shit shape, and when they break, we get hurt and you lose hours. The place is a sweatbox in the summer and an icebox in the winter. We can't work like that. If we don't get a better facility we don't go back to work.”
“Fine,” the owner snaps. He holds out a sheet of paper, and his representative offers a pen. Jared skims the paper - it sets out the new hours and wages - takes the pen, and gestures for Misha to turn around. He slaps the paper against Misha's back and scribbles an addendum about facility maintenance.
“Now go back to work,” the police chief says. He's been standing off to the side, watching the dealmaking with anticipation. Jared knows he's just waiting for someone to put a foot wrong so he can bust some heads.
“Add that and bring a new contract,” Jared tells the owner. “We'll get back to work after we sign it.”
The representative whispers something in the owner's ear. The police chief fingers his airgun. Jared tries not to fidget.
The owner turns and sweeps off, followed by the representative and the police chief, who starts yelling at the cops still standing around that it's all over.
“Did we do it?” Jared asks Misha, not quite sure he believes it.
“We did it.” Misha's eyes are bright. He grins fit to split his face, grabs Jared in a bear hug, and gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
Saints and sinners, Jared thinks. We fucking did it. We held the owner accountable and got something for ourselves.
But the strikers can't leave, not yet. They'll sit one last night in the mill to guard it and their futures. Tomorrow they'll go back to work, and tomorrow night they'll go home.
The Great Mendeley Strike, as it becomes known, is somewhat of a success, if not an entirely unqualified one. Legislation is passed to ease some of the pains of labor - a limit is put on the number of hours a person can be made to work in a week, and the legal age of employment is raised from thirteen to fifteen. Many of the striking workers earn a slight wage increase in return for going back to their jobs. Steam trams resume their routes, factories and mills reopen, chambermaids pick up their brooms and brushes, men working the docks and the train depot and the airship fields go back to hauling crates and luggage and the many, many things that are delivered into and out of the city, the many, many things those factories and mills are once again producing.
There are few concessions made to improve working conditions, and there is still little recourse for men and women who are hurt on the job. There are no attempts to equalize wages between men and women, and few resources for immigrants to prevent them from being taken advantage of.
Jared loses his job, as do Misha and Chad and a not-insignificant number of millworkers. Jensen is pissed, but Jared is more sanguine.
“I knew it might happen,” he tells Jensen. “It was a risk I was willing to take. I mean, you're still managing the theater, I'll find something, we won't starve.”
The Augustus was allowed to reopen the day after the millworkers ended their strike, and even though the closure was indirectly Jensen's fault, Mr Morgan let him keep his job. The fact that Jared lost his might not have hurt.
Jared has already heard rumors that the ringleaders of the strike are on a list and he might have a near-impossible time finding someone willing to employ him. He knew that was a risk too, but he has faith in his ability to make people like him, listen to him, and help him get what he wants.
Isn't that how the strike was accomplished?
The millworkers are making slightly better money and working slightly less punishing hours, and still agitating for better conditions and more recourse against their inevitable mistreatment. The girls in the garment factories are now a formidable bloc, putting all the pressure they can on the factory owners and even the Council to try and improve their lives. Working men and women all over the city can look back at the strike and know what they can accomplish if they organize. They know what kind of power they have, and Jared feels confident in his assumption that they'll keep using it.
And if they need a push? Well, he's available. He did it once, he can do it again.
He's still unemployed and probably unemployable, and he's no longer sure if he wants a Council seat, but he accomplished this one thing. He convinced people to put down their tools, to shut off their machines, and to walk out on their jobs with the end goal of getting something more for themselves. He helped bring the city to a screeching, if short-lived, halt - he got the working class to speak up, and he made the upper class listen.
And as far as he's concerned, that end result, and the probability that it isn't actually the end, makes losing his job worth it. He got the tide to rise, and everyone who matters to him to rise up with it.
Author's note!
NC-17
Part 5 of 5
Master post
Art
They've been organized into groups for entertainment and social reasons, and to suggest and vote on the ongoing process of striking. They make up lists of demands, argue over them, rewrite, argue again. Jim organized patrols to walk the mill and make sure no one is sneaking in or out or letting cops in the back door. Jared has walked what feels like every inch of the place, talking to his fellow strikers, finding out what they want and need, listening to their complaints, reassuring them that this is the right thing to do. They just have to hold fast.
Victoria has organized the wives and girlfriends and mothers of the striking men, making arrangements for deliveries of food and clean shirts and letters. Osric put himself in charge of the collection of message-bearers and news-gatherers whose sole job is to report on all the other strikes in the city, and to carry news back to those strikers about what's happening in the mill. He admits to Jared and Misha that he's enjoying this more than his work in Jensen's theater, and promises to remind Jensen to write so Jared knows how he really feels about the whole thing.
But right now, Jared needs to find some chalk. There's a poker tournament going on and for some reason he's been put in charge of tracking who's playing who, who's winning, what they bet, and which rules they've been using. Aldis, who is not a great poker player because he has a bad poker face, found a chess set in someone's office and is currently teaching the game to a bunch of guys, probably because either they don't want to join the poker tournament or they've been knocked off the grid and need something to do.
“How's it going?” Jared asks them.
“This is about to be the shortest game in the history of chess,” Aldis says. “You sure you want to do that?” he asks Matt, who's sitting on the other side of the makeshift board. “You're leaving your queen open for checkmate.”
Matt moves his knight, presumably back to its previous square. He chews his lip and surveys the board. Aldis helpfully points out a better move. Matt takes it.
“Have any of you seen the chalk?” Jared asks. “Chad put me in charge of tracking the poker tournament and I have to add some winners to the board.”
“Tim always had a stash,” Matt volunteers. “Remember? He was always marking up his crates.”
“It disappeared when he couldn't come back,” Kurt says.
“Did you check all the offices?” Aldis asks, eyes still on the chessboard.
“Yes,” Jared says. “Twice.”
“You asked Chad?”
“Also twice.”
“Huh. There should be some charcoal somewhere. Use that.”
“The board's black, Aldis.”
“What a stupid thing to worry about,” Milo mutters. He reaches over Aldis's shoulder and gestures at the board. “Put your bishop there.” Aldis swats his arm away.
“Yeah, I know,” Jared says. “We've all got something. I'll find it. Y'all have fun with your game.”
He's surprised to discover a new, unopened box of chalk in one of the offices, in the back of a desk drawer. A thorough search of the other drawers returns nothing much of value except a random handful of pencils and a nearly-empty bottle of ink. Everyone has been through all the offices already, taking stuff out of boredom or spite, so he should probably consider himself lucky that he found anything at all. He thinks about trying to jimmy the locks on the filing cabinets against the wall, changes his mind, and leaves. He can always come back and rummage through those later.
Days pass. Soon it's a week since the strike, then two. The men in the mill learn that the steam tram operators finally made a deal and went back to work after five very tense days, during which people learned exactly how far they could walk, how long it would take them, how much they could carry doing it, and how many things the striking operators would use to fight back with, once the police brought out their billy clubs. People took to hitching rides on delivery trucks, not always with the drivers' knowledge. There are still fights breaking out on the docks and at the airship landing fields and the rail depot, between striking workers and strikebreakers and police. The workers at the buggy factory where Aldis's brother is employed, who struck with the rest of the city, evidently came to an agreement with the factory owner after two days and won some concessions for better wages and hours. Some of the hotel chambermaids went back to work, some were fired, some are still trying to make themselves heard. The garment workers are still demonstrating, still marching, still demanding better treatment. Even the ones who made deals with their factories' owners and went back to work are still stumping for better treatment. There are a lot of them, Jared learns, and they're incredibly unified. He knew, when he was first going around talking to people and trying to drum up interest in a city-wide strike, that they had already started organizing, but it's two weeks into the general strike when he fully realizes the kind of power and determination and straight-up anger he tapped into when he brought them his ideas.
There doesn't seem to be much police violence directed towards the striking chambermaids or the garment workers. A lot of aggression, apparently, but very little actual physical contact. Jared assumes it's because the cops don't want to hit girls, but Misha suggests that in the case of the garment workers, the cops just know they're outnumbered. What few fights they hear about all seem to be between striking workers and those people desperate or cowardly enough to cross a picket line and take a striker's job.
As far as the mill is concerned, the police chief has returned several times (to deliver more bluster, more threats), as has a representative for the owner (also bluster and threats), as has the occasional runner. Osric has gotten very good at sneaking in and out of the mill to deliver news, so good in fact that sometimes he can have the run of the place for twenty minutes before anyone sees him. He started bringing newspapers so the men inside can read about the temper of the city and learn what the overall opinion of the strikes is, outside the lower wards. Opinions vary widely, as do suggestions for ending the strike, although the general mood in the upper wards is unsurprisingly negative.
Victoria and the other wives have organized themselves to send in food and occasional changes of clothes. Misha suggests that the police chief (and by implication, the Council and the mill owner) is allowing that to happen. Every day he seems to have a new theory as to why. Sometimes Jim has a counter suggestion, and Misha likes to argue with him since Jim reads all the public Council records and seems to have a handle on how the Council thinks. Jared isn't listening to them any more. He has two jobs, as far as he's concerned - keep everyone productively occupied inside the mill, and represent their desires accurately to anyone from outside.
The first is going pretty well, although after two weeks a lot of men are complaining and getting impatient. They want to go home to their families. Jared understands. He knows from Osric that Jensen's theater was shut down, and sometimes he worries about how his boyfriend is coping. He tries to keep the workers' spirits up and remind them of their goals, but he also doesn't want the complaining to turn into sabotage, so he asks Jim to tell the patrols to keep a special eye out for anyone trying to let the cops into the mill to end the strike.
Jensen has taken to writing Jared letters. They both trust Osric to pass any news accurately, but sometimes a man wants some privacy for his worries and his thoughts.
They shut it down because of you, Jensen writes, in the first letter Jared gets after Osric tells him about the Augustus. Someone must have pegged you as the leader of the city strike, and found me and then the theater. Closing it down is a threat. Mr Morgan wants you to give up the strike and go back to work, so his theater can reopen. I don't. Do what you have to. Don't worry about me. The girls are taking care of me - Danny's hotel is still on strike but I think they're getting close to settling - and I think Mrs Morgan is on our side.
I don't know what kind of privacy you can find in your mill, but if you get the chance, go somewhere no one will find you and stroke yourself off and think of me. Know that I'm stroking myself off and thinking of you.
I love you. Don't give up.
It doesn't take long before everyone seems to know that Jared got an actual letter, and suddenly a lot of men want to write to their friends and families outside the mill. Osric has been passing messages back and forth, and Jared doesn't know why it never occurred to anyone else to send letters, but now suddenly men are ransacking the mill offices specifically for notepaper and pens and pencils. Jared assigns Matt the job of postmaster, to collect the letters and notes for the next runner and to distribute any that come back. It boosts the workers' spirits to be able to write to someone, although the letters that come back are not cheerful, and Jared hits on a theory as to why the police and the mill owner and the Council have been allowing food and other supplies inside.
“We're not working, right?” he tries to explain to Misha. “Because of the strike. So of course we're not getting paid. What's Victoria doing while you're in here? Jensen's theater was closed. It's a simple way to scare us, to make us worry about our families. But it's so easy for us to be here. We're getting food, we're getting changes of clothes, we've got mail coming and going. Osric's been sneaking in and out because he wants to, not because he has to.”
“It's a theory,” Misha concedes. “I don't know if it's a good one - “
“The cops could stop anyone trying to feed us. They could storm the place.”
“They've already tried,” Chad says. Jared hadn't realized he was listening. “We've got the doors blocked. They can't get in.”
“Let me get this straight,” Misha says, looking at Jared. “You're saying the police and the Council and the mill owner are actively working to prolong the strike?” He raises an eyebrow. “Think about that for a minute.”
“I am,” Jared tells him. “There's no hurry to get us out of here. In two weeks we've gotten exactly one attempt to answer our grievances, and that was just 'If you give up now you can keep your jobs'. They're not making it hard for us to stay. And the longer the strike goes on, the more our families are going to beg us to give up. I've already heard some complaints. Nobody wants to end up on the street.”
“No one's getting evicted after two weeks,” Chad says. “And the Council's not that smart. I think the owner's just figuring out the least he can get away with giving us, and as soon as he knows that, he'll make an offer.”
“I don't agree with you,” Misha says. “The Council is that smart. They want this over as badly as we do.”
“Then why hasn't anyone tried to talk to us?” Jared asks. “They have to know if they gave us what we want, we'd reopen the mill and get back to work. Why do you think they haven't done that?”
“They're still figuring out how to get us out without damaging the mill or the machinery.” Misha waves an arm, indicating the rows and rows of looms and the giant rollers that carry newly-woven canvas up to the the cutting machines with their massive razor-sharp blades. “All of this is worth more than we are. The owner is trying to determine how much more he can pay us before he has to raise the price of his canvas, and how much more he can charge before the airship builders go somewhere else. It's accounting, Jared, it's not conspiracy.”
“I didn't say it was a conspiracy.” Jared stands and stretches. “I just said they're making it easy for us to strike because the longer we don't get paid, the harder it is for the people we support. All that pressure's internal. The owner and the Council get us to stop the strike on our own. They don't have to give us anything.”
“Hey, Jared,” Jim calls, walking over. “We found someone skulking around the place. He says he knows you.”
“Hi,” Jensen says, grinning.
“What are you doing here?” Jared demands.
“I wanted to see you. Osric told me how to get in. Did you get my letter?”
“Yeah. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything's fine. Well, the theater's still shut down, Mr Morgan is pressuring me to pressure you to give up so we can reopen, Danny's hotel is going to make a deal so they can all go back to work, there's a lot of bitching in the wards about how long the strike is going on, but other than that.”
“We've got things to take care of,” Misha says. “Come on, Chad, we should go.” He grabs Chad's arm and practically drags him off. Jim follows, but not before giving Jensen and Jared a considering once-over.
“What was that?” Jensen asks, when he and Jared are alone.
“Jim's probably thinking 'So that's Jared's sexy boyfriend'.” Jared grins. “Let me show you around.”
He wants to show off what he and his fellow workers have done. He leads Jensen through the mill, introducing him to people, telling him how they've organized entertainment and cleaning rotations and classes and patrols and postal delivery, how they've set up procedures for submitting complaints and suggestions, how they're taking care of each other and making sure everyone has a say in anything that happens.
He tells Jensen about the way Victoria organized wives and girlfriends and mothers on the outside, so the men inside can still get food and fresh clothes. He says they're holding fast, ready to make a deal with the mill owner whenever he wants. He admits he was worried about spies, then he was worried about workers who might let the police into the mill to break the strike. He talks a lot, realizing only after they've been through most of the facility that he hasn't let Jensen say a thing.
“Sorry,” he says, as they walk past an office door. “I'm doing all the talking. I'm just really proud of what we're doing and how we're keeping ourselves occupied. How's the company dealing with the theater being closed? How are the girls? You said Danny's hotel is making a deal - is it a good one?”
“I think so.” Jensen jiggles the door handle, pushing the door open without taking his eyes off Jared's face. “I came out here because I miss you. I worry about you, even though Osric keeps telling me not to, but mostly I just miss you.” He pulls Jared inside the office. Jared takes the hint and kicks the door closed behind them.
“I miss you too. I had a hard time finding a private place after I got your letter, but I managed.” He can't help the grin that pulls at his lips as he remembers locking himself in the coat closet in the owner's office so he could undo his pants and jerk himself off as he imagined Jensen's mouth and hands and ass and cock.
“Good.” Now Jensen's eyes are on Jared's mouth. “No one's going to come looking for you, are they?”
“I hope not.” He takes Jensen's face in his hands and kisses him.
Jared has been trying very hard the past couple of weeks to not think about Jensen too much, especially how it feels to be separated from someone he's so used to being around. He's been trying very hard to not miss sleeping next to the best boyfriend, or kissing the perfect mouth, or having access to the most enticing body. He's been trying very hard to not think about how long it might be before they can talk to each other, or sit next to each other on their sagging sofa, or squish into the same booth in the pub across the street.
He never would have asked Jensen to come see him, but he's not sorry Jensen came.
Their kiss is like a dam breaking, and in short order they're pulling at each other's clothes and devouring each other's mouths. Jared wants to control the kiss, then he wants Jensen to, then he needs to breathe, then he wants to get Jensen's pants off but doesn't want to pull away from Jensen's amazing mouth. He is acutely aware of the fact that he has no idea how much longer it will be before he can go home.
“Wait,” he says, breathless and half-undressed and consumed with desire. He pushes Jensen back about a foot, far enough away so he can think. Jensen gapes like a fish, mouth opening and closing in a way that would be funny at any other time. “I could be here another week. Two. I don't... want to rush.” He steps away to lock the door. “There. Now no one can bother us.”
He wants Jensen desperately, and it's clear Jensen desperately wants him, but this may be the only chance they have to be together for weeks. So they peel each other's clothes off more slowly, take their time touching each other, and when Jared goes to his knees and takes Jensen's cock in his mouth, he tries very hard to tease without getting Jensen off.
“Saints above,” Jensen breathes over his head. “Your mouth.”
Your cock, Jared thinks, taking one last swipe with his tongue and sitting back on his heels. He looks up, grins, gets to his feet. “You came to see me,” he says, brushing his thumb across Jensen's lips. “Your choice. What do you want? I don't recommend the floor.”
Jensen huffs a laugh, says “I want you to fuck me. You can bend me over the desk.”
“If I'd known this was what you wanted, I'd have taken you to the owner's office. He has a sofa. It's very nice.”
“I'll come back another time so we can fuck on his furniture.” Jensen's face is very close. His tongue flicks out and licks at Jared's lips, and Jared lets himself get lost in the kiss for a while.
But his body wants more, so he maneuvers Jensen backwards until they hit the desk and pull away so Jensen can turn around. Jared presses up against him, rubbing against his ass, mouthing at his shoulders and the back of his neck.
“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Jensen murmurs, and now it's Jared's turn to laugh.
Neither of them has any cream but they make do, and soon Jared is easing himself into Jensen's body, exhaling a long slow breath as he pushes himself in as deep as he can.
Jared has never cared what positions they arranged themselves into, how fast or how slow they moved, how deep he thrust or how deeply Jensen thrust into him. He has only ever cared that they were bound together, giving and receiving pleasure in equal degrees. He has only ever cared that he could turn Jensen on as much as Jensen could turn him on.
But this moment, with his hips pumping slowly, easily, his hands gripping Jensen's flesh, the sound of their breathing heavy in his ears - this moment is perfect. This moment is everything.
“Is this good?” Jared asks. “Is this - is this what you wanted?”
“Don't - hnn - yes, like that....”
“Dumb question?”
“So dumb.”
“Harder?” Jared leans down, drags his tongue up the ridge of Jensen's spine. “Fuck, I love your ass.” His hips pick up speed and Jensen moans in response.
Jared stays there for a little bit, thrusts fast and shallow, breath hot against Jensen's skin, before finally standing and flattening his hand at the base of Jensen's spine. He feels as if that gives him some leverage so he leans back slightly, hips pumping harder, faster. He bites his lip to stifle his groans, not wanting anyone to wander by, hear them, and try to investigate.
He doesn't want to come, but at the same time, he's ready, he's so very ready.
“Saints, Jared,” Jensen murmurs, voice breathless and heavy. He pushes back, burying Jared even deeper inside his body. “Finish me off.”
Jared leans forward again, just enough to reach down and close his fingers around Jensen's swollen cock. It jumps in his hand, hard and hot, and Jared strokes it with tight, fast twists of his wrist, trying to keep pace with the pumping of his hips. He doesn't think he can contain himself any longer, and then Jensen is biting back a cry and shooting over his hand.
That's just what Jared needs, and he's coming hard before Jensen is even finished.
“Saints and sinners,” he gasps, chest heaving. His head drops, forehead resting between Jensen's shoulderblades. “Fuck me.”
“Give me, uh, twenty minutes,” Jensen says, panting. Jared doesn't have breath to laugh.
“Is that what you had in mind?”
“Exactly.”
It might even hold them until the strike is over and Jared can go home.
Eventually he pulls out, stands back, pulls Jensen around, and kisses him lightly.
“We should get dressed,” Jensen says, so they do.
Jared shuts the office door behind them when they leave, and finishes his tour. Jensen wants to sneak back out the way he came in, apparently so he can tell Osric he did, and Jared lets him.
“Did you give him the tour?” Chad asks later. “Your boyfriend.”
“I showed him everything,” Jared says. He doesn't intend for that to sound like innuendo, although Chad clearly takes it that way, to judge from the snickering.
Two things happen in the next week. The first is that Jared's worry turns to fact when one of the patrols discovers a couple of guys trying to let some cops in through the loading dock. There's a scuffle, the cops are pushed out, and Jared summarily expels the two workers from the mill.
“Go home and admit to your wives you were weak,” he tells them, and if they get a little bruised and bloody when they leave, well, that's what happens when you betray the strike.
He lets it get around the mill that two men tried to break the strike, were caught, and were beaten up and kicked out. Chad responds to that bit of news by coming down from the roof where he's been watching the police still surrounding the place so he can report that they seem to be gearing up for something. The cops have already tried (and failed) three times to retake the mill, and Chad isn't sure what makes them think attempt number four will be successful. Jared tells the millworkers to be prepared anyway.
But then the second thing happens - a representative for the mill owner comes back with an actual offer, and Jared and Misha meet with him just outside the front doors. The offer doesn't address most of their grievances, and Jared sends the man off without bothering to consult with anyone. He's in charge and he can make unilateral decisions if he thinks they're warranted.
But the next day the man comes back, this time with the owner himself, offering a new contract with slightly fewer hours and a slightly higher wage for those hours, if everyone will just go back to work. Jared insists on a fair process for men who are injured on the job to seek some kind of compensation for lost time, and if the owner won't do that, he needs to fix up the machinery and maintain it better.
“This is the best we're going to do,” Misha whispers. “We accomplished something in three weeks. We need to take this.”
“You'll maintain the machinery to a higher standard,” Jared repeats to the owner. “A lot of the looms are in shit shape, and when they break, we get hurt and you lose hours. The place is a sweatbox in the summer and an icebox in the winter. We can't work like that. If we don't get a better facility we don't go back to work.”
“Fine,” the owner snaps. He holds out a sheet of paper, and his representative offers a pen. Jared skims the paper - it sets out the new hours and wages - takes the pen, and gestures for Misha to turn around. He slaps the paper against Misha's back and scribbles an addendum about facility maintenance.
“Now go back to work,” the police chief says. He's been standing off to the side, watching the dealmaking with anticipation. Jared knows he's just waiting for someone to put a foot wrong so he can bust some heads.
“Add that and bring a new contract,” Jared tells the owner. “We'll get back to work after we sign it.”
The representative whispers something in the owner's ear. The police chief fingers his airgun. Jared tries not to fidget.
The owner turns and sweeps off, followed by the representative and the police chief, who starts yelling at the cops still standing around that it's all over.
“Did we do it?” Jared asks Misha, not quite sure he believes it.
“We did it.” Misha's eyes are bright. He grins fit to split his face, grabs Jared in a bear hug, and gives him a smacking kiss on the cheek.
Saints and sinners, Jared thinks. We fucking did it. We held the owner accountable and got something for ourselves.
But the strikers can't leave, not yet. They'll sit one last night in the mill to guard it and their futures. Tomorrow they'll go back to work, and tomorrow night they'll go home.
The Great Mendeley Strike, as it becomes known, is somewhat of a success, if not an entirely unqualified one. Legislation is passed to ease some of the pains of labor - a limit is put on the number of hours a person can be made to work in a week, and the legal age of employment is raised from thirteen to fifteen. Many of the striking workers earn a slight wage increase in return for going back to their jobs. Steam trams resume their routes, factories and mills reopen, chambermaids pick up their brooms and brushes, men working the docks and the train depot and the airship fields go back to hauling crates and luggage and the many, many things that are delivered into and out of the city, the many, many things those factories and mills are once again producing.
There are few concessions made to improve working conditions, and there is still little recourse for men and women who are hurt on the job. There are no attempts to equalize wages between men and women, and few resources for immigrants to prevent them from being taken advantage of.
Jared loses his job, as do Misha and Chad and a not-insignificant number of millworkers. Jensen is pissed, but Jared is more sanguine.
“I knew it might happen,” he tells Jensen. “It was a risk I was willing to take. I mean, you're still managing the theater, I'll find something, we won't starve.”
The Augustus was allowed to reopen the day after the millworkers ended their strike, and even though the closure was indirectly Jensen's fault, Mr Morgan let him keep his job. The fact that Jared lost his might not have hurt.
Jared has already heard rumors that the ringleaders of the strike are on a list and he might have a near-impossible time finding someone willing to employ him. He knew that was a risk too, but he has faith in his ability to make people like him, listen to him, and help him get what he wants.
Isn't that how the strike was accomplished?
The millworkers are making slightly better money and working slightly less punishing hours, and still agitating for better conditions and more recourse against their inevitable mistreatment. The girls in the garment factories are now a formidable bloc, putting all the pressure they can on the factory owners and even the Council to try and improve their lives. Working men and women all over the city can look back at the strike and know what they can accomplish if they organize. They know what kind of power they have, and Jared feels confident in his assumption that they'll keep using it.
And if they need a push? Well, he's available. He did it once, he can do it again.
He's still unemployed and probably unemployable, and he's no longer sure if he wants a Council seat, but he accomplished this one thing. He convinced people to put down their tools, to shut off their machines, and to walk out on their jobs with the end goal of getting something more for themselves. He helped bring the city to a screeching, if short-lived, halt - he got the working class to speak up, and he made the upper class listen.
And as far as he's concerned, that end result, and the probability that it isn't actually the end, makes losing his job worth it. He got the tide to rise, and everyone who matters to him to rise up with it.
Author's note!