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1. Jeremy
Mere minutes before the broadcast starts, Megan storms over to Jeremy's dressing room, buoyed by righteous indignation. It's not until he opens the door that she realises she doesn't know what to say. Straight to the point, then.
"I didn't ask to be given your arts minister interview."
"Good afternoon to you too, Megan."
Like the man himself, the inside of Jeremy's dressing room is a sort of artful chaos. Papers askew, desk stained with coffee. His suit jacket is going to crease, the way it's thrown over the back of a chair. He'll get away with it, though. And if anyone notices they won't comment. Ugh.
Even thinking about the double standard makes her want a drink. They wouldn't be having this conversation if Megan was a man. Jeremy gets away with being antisocial and voicing contrary opinions in the meeting room on the daily!
But Megan is not a man. If she'd rather not get drinks with Tommy Harris, she's a frigid bitch. If she points out that a segment on cat football is a stupid idea, she's bossy. So instead she charms the higher ups and bites her tongue. Instead, she slowly makes herself irreplaceable.
Instead she's here, about to apologise for something she didn't even do.
"Look, Jeremy, I just wanted to..." Megan falters. Maybe she didn't come here to apologise.
You know what?
No.
She's not going to apologise for receiving a few undeserved advantages. No one would bat an eye if they were given to him.
"I just want you to know that whatever backroom deals are being made on my behalf, I earned my place here."
"Well, that is quite the contradiction. How can you be certain you would have made it without them?"
His gaze is piercing, as if he's examining all her insecurities and faults. She hates how he does that. Megan never asked for a good word to be put in, she didn't bribe anyone to hand her the best stories. She just didn't stop it. Is that as bad as if she had asked?
"I'm well aware that Boseman is grooming you as my replacement, if that's what you mean," Jeremy said with a wry smile.
"Don't think I'll make it easy for you though. You'll have to earn it."
And just like that Megan is relieved of a pressure she wasn't aware existed. Despite their traded barbs, she really likes Jeremy. Somehow, she knows he gets it.
"I wouldn't expect anything less."
2. Jenny
Megan Wolfe is a sharp, unshakeable reporter. She isn't affected by Billy Bob Jeanshort talking about his beautiful baby daughter. She does not cry in the studio bathroom after work.
"Megan? Are you-" Jenny quickly abandons that question. "You did well keeping it together."
Megan and Jenny aren't friends in any conventional sense of the word. They are both pointedly exceptional at their jobs, share a similar humour and work well together. There's a sort of kinship that comes with being the only women in the newsroom, apart from the makeup team.
Even so, Megan and Jenny aren't friends. Yet as Megan hastily wipes her eyes at the sink, there's nobody else she would rather see.
"Was it that obvious? Wait, no. Don't answer that."
This - whatever this was - felt delicate. Make or break. Stakes higher than a f-bomb dropped on air. Jenny shut the door behind her, and tried to proceed as lightly as possible.
"Alright then. How are you getting home tonight?"
Home. Kate would be expecting her soon. Megan doesn't want to worry her, but facing her wife seems like an insurmountable task right now. What time is it anyway? The porcelain of the sink is cold underneath her hands, her dress is so fucking tight. Not an inch of space in the studio goes unused and it's always felt small but never this suffocating. Megan's heart is in her throat, pounding heavy and sick.
Dread and fury still roiling- there's no way a third miscarriage was simply bad luck.
She's going to throw up, how ironic.
Jenny's hand is on hers. Resting on the knot of her interlaced fingers. Deftly easing Megan's white-knuckled grip into something less painful and overwhelming. It's funny how she always does that. Manages to be exactly where she's needed, offering easy comfort and playful ribbing in equal measure.
Megan shoves down an undignified sob at the simple comfort and loosens her hold on the sink. Breathes.
One, two.
In, out.
She brings her other hand to rest on top of Jenny's. Squeezes slightly. Hopes that the floor manager's acuity will let her pick up on everything Megan can't say.
Thank you. I'm alright now.
"C'mon, I'll give you a lift back."
3. David
David is one of the few people who knew Megan before the nation did. A scrappy kid wearing his hand-me-downs. An ambitious, promising undergrad at Queensview. With their parents frequently absent for long stretches, he practically raised her. Not that it amounted to much. Megan severed ties with their family as soon as she turned 18. But he always kept a foot in the door. Slowly, awkwardly, she let him in.
He was there for the obligatory high school boyfriend and the college flings. Even for the more considered relationships after, not that they lasted long. At first, it could pass as Megan not having time to date. Prioritising her career. Having too many standards. But none of the boys stuck. Looking back, he should have seen it coming. And by "it" he means Kate.
"David, there you are! Tell me you didn't bring wine again." the woman in question waves she buzzes him into the flat.
"Alright, I didn't bring wine again." he hefts the bottle in hand.
"You're going to turn her into an alcoholic."
They've never actually spoken about what Kate means to his little sister, or what they are to each other. But he's not stupid. Absent-minded, sure. But not stupid enough to miss the way Megan acts around her.
"Hey you," Megan wraps an arm around him. "How was your flight?"
She swipes the bottle of red and smoothly sidesteps his protesting shove.
"Not bad. But I'm mostly glad to be home again. Never thought I'd miss the weather here, but Malvalia is so bloody humid."
They lapse into comfortable conversation over takeout from the little restaurant down the street. It really is good to be back.
Ever since the 20 Week War and the New Future, simple moments like these are a lot more precious. Especially after seeing the burning wreckage that used to be Konislava, not even a day after he left the city. Swirling ash piled up on the windscreen. Nothing but the car radio and the endlessly burning horizon. He shudders to think of it.
"Many of you may be surprised to learn that I have a brother... He's a researcher, and he's currently travelling the continent for work. And I don't-"
He'll never forget watching Megan's Liberation Night broadcast the day after the bombs went off. The video was grainy and distorted, but he could see the white-knuckled tension in her hands that always betrayed her distress.
"I don't know where he is right now."
He had been driving for hours at that point, but the all-encompassing fires made the roads bright as day. His heart was pounding out of his chest, so loud he couldn't hear the words coming out of her mouth. He was in the middle of a warzone at the border of the newly christened Territory Seven and all he could see was the panic in his little sister's eyes.
He knew it was mirrored in his own. The last time they talked had been stilted and tense, both of them stupidly preoccupied with work. He can't bear to imagine a world in which that was the last time they talked.
Thank God he will never have to. Because tonight there is laughter and drinking, and Megan's hugs are still bone-crushingly tight.
4. Kate
Kate knew Megan years before they actually met. Her face hovered in the corner of Kate's eye, her voice was practically ingrained in the car radio. But there was nothing beyond faint recognition. So faint that Kate didn't initially recognise the gorgeous brunette offering her a drink. Megan the concept was a blank, white wall.
Megan the person was something else entirely, a pretty bombshell of colour. She laughed at terrible jokes, and swore when Kate pressed kisses down her jaw. Little by little, the armour came off. And Kate? Kate was falling just like that.
Megan Wolfe was many things. She was a little bitchy, and a lot talented. Perhaps more than anything else, she was ambitious. She sunk her teeth into Channel One and began ascending with a fury.
She becomes a reporter, culture correspondent, co-anchor, primary anchor, clown.
"Craft corner! I'm going to fucking lose it." Megan's voice cracks. Outrage and humiliation thrum in her veins. Words cannot express how deep these slights - and the hundreds like it - cut.
"Craft. Fucking. Corner." Hysterical laughter bubbles out.
"I wanted to hate Jeremy for snapping and leaving me to the wolves. But I get it now. I am this close to grabbing Sarah's gun and blowing someone's brains out. Preferably mine."
This was becoming an increasingly frequent occurrence. Megan returning home frustrated and humiliated, Kate doing her best to soothe the sting. All the while, the government advances and peace seems increasingly fragile. Something is nearing a breaking point.
"I know, love. But you have to hang in there, alright? If you leave, they'll just put some puppet in your place."
"They might already," Megan frowns. "Boseman has been unhappy with my omissions to the autocue."
Her own job security aside, puppet is an accurate descriptor these days. Megan tries with the wiggle room she has, but her strings are pulled taut. All it amounts to is veiled dissent behind closed doors and the occasional deviation from script.
"This is exactly why they need you there," Kate insists.
They've had this debate time and time again, but nothing changes. Nothing can change, when Advance has a complete hold on them. The country. The territories. Kate can only watch as her wife crumples in their grip.
"With you at the helm, there's hope yet. We may even be at the break of a new dawn."
"Don't you use my own words against me." she manages through a shaky laugh, clutching Kate's hand like a lifeline.
"Just reminding you why you keep doing this. Little acts of defiance can go a long way."
5. Stacey
In the three years that Stacey has lived in the Wolfe household, she's grown up a lot. The restoration of a free press under Accord definitely helped, by bringing Advance's atrocities to light. Megan also makes a point of teaching Stacey the many shades of grey and facets of truth that can co-exist.
However most of the credit has to go to Kate. A stable home and a mother to unconditionally lean on had done wonders for Stacey. So they don't argue about politics, or the morals of nuclear warfare. They argue about leaving cups all over the house and doing washing on time.
"For the last time, you cannot put your jackets in with my work clothes! If you had just done your laundry yesterday like I asked you to-"
"Ugh it literally does not matter, Mum. You're being a control freak."
"I am not-! Ugh, I can't wear this, I look like I fought a squid. And lost."
"You don't even like that dress."
"That's not the point, Stacey. I need it for work."
"It's always about work with you, isn't it?" Stacey almost winces at the whine in her voice.
She sounds like a kid scared of abandonment, scared of being alone. She isn't! People like Megan had fucked her over countless times. Thrown her around when it suited them. Left as soon as she wasn't convenient. Why would this time be any different? It was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. She was just waiting for Megan and Kate to realise she wasn't worth the effort.
"You're always willing to drop everything for work. Always stay late, always wearing pretee-ass dresses, always attend events you don't even want to be at-"
"That's just how life is sometimes," Megan snaps, frustration bubbling. "You have to do things you don't want to, you have to bend a little to get what you want. Compromise, you know?"
And that's the ugly heart of it. Stacey refuses to compromise on her integrity. Megan does nothing but compromise. Every fight they have returns to this, in one way or another.
"Use whatever excuses you want," Stacey sneers. "but you're still putting your work before everything else."
"This isn't about the dress, is it?" Stacey hates the way Megan softens immediately, looking at her like a kicked puppy. Or some other pathetic, small creature.
"You know I would never... one stupid fight about clothes, or even a hundred- it won't change anything. I wouldn't ever compromise on you."