It smelled of sweat and coal and oil, but neither man seemed to mind. Eighteen hour days underground, they'd forgotten easy things like sunlight and fresh air; when they did climb up from the boiler hole, it was only to spend their six hours sleeping in a bunk nailed to the wall--the kind that rattled when the building settled or the gears shuddered on. There were no sheets, so the mattress was springs and stains, darker for the single lightbulb that hung overhead and fizzled out thirty seconds after popping on. Once a week new pants were sent down along with any number of canned goods and a ration of fresh water; they separated each bundle silently, hardly looking the other in the eye, and sent up what was left of their rags and rations.

They worked without shirts, more for necessity than style, each a composition of slick shadows and tight, taught muscles that gleaned in firelight; neither noticed the other but for rough hands that met on chains and hips that clapped together after a particularly tough pull; once, when the gears slipped, they bumped chests and leaned against each other to steady the load, lips slack on heaving shoulders, but the moment passed without acknowledgement. It was too loud to talk, and their voices were nothing more than ash-seared rumbles. They hadn't much to say beyond grunts and sighs anyway.

The night the city went dark--when the coal stopped coming and the chains stilled--they waited out the rest of their shift in absolute darkness, each on their respective side of the water wheel. Neither seemed particularly affectd by the silence, and they climbed back to their bunks at the regular time purely out of habit. It was only when they woke several hours later that the quiet--the inactivity--became uneasy. One man--the taller one who wasn't as broad in the shoulders--reached for the light.

"S'out," said the other. He was stocky and strong--imposing. Only a hint of his eyes were visible in the blackness.

"Hnn," acknowledged the thinner one, tossing greasy hair out of his eyes. "Should we go down."

"Guess so."

They rattled the chains, kicked at the burners, adjusted the wheel--passed the time in relative darkness. A few times they stoked the emergency fires and watched as buckets and shivered in place. Twice, the thinner one rocked over the side and swung out over the chasm, just to check the mechanism.

"Gonna get yourself killed," barked the other, reaching out to grab the leather straps straining against the bucket.

"Wouldn't much regret that." The bucket swung back with force and caught the cautious one directly in the chest; he stumbled backwards but kept his stance, reaching out to steady his grip on the straps and the thin man. They both shook for a moment, sucking in air and clinging, until the smaller man eased away from the edge and the other man's hips. "Sorry."

"Watch yourself, is all. Can't do this alone, and I'm too old to learn with another."

"Yeah." It was only then that the age between the two was apparent; the thinner man must've been ten--maybe twelve years younger than his partner. It was hard to guess age in the Underground.

The shift passed, uneventful; the mechanism never moved. Each man retreated to his cot, awake and exhausted in unfamilair ways. Hours passed, counted and noticed for the first time in months. The silence was stifling. The younger man--agile, lithe--slipped out of the cot and paced once around the small room, smoothing his hands against the metal walls. He was certain the other man was asleep, so he knelt beside the mattress and pressed in close, unwillingly to wake him. It was a pride thing, this--it was necessary for what little conscience he had left.

"Thank you," he mumbled against the other man's side, courageous in the dark. "saved my life."