Something New
The tents were the grandest thing Watt had seen in weeks.
A small commune of field tents were set up on the rear of the site, where the ground was relatively flat and free from any potential ruins.
They were all built in a similar manner, enormous cotton canvas stretched over tall poles driven into the ground, with pallets for a floor.
Two of them were much larger than the rest, and centrally located between the smaller ones.
The equivalent of a societal hall for eating and gathering, and the main tent for working.
He hadn't been inside either yet, but Severino had pointed them out before dumping Cornelius and Watt off at their tent.
Watt could smell grilled meat wafting from one of them, and he tried to imagine all the equipment and artifacts that could be in the other.
Water sloshed in the deep basin he’d been given by Joaquim for washing, and he tried to steady his pace.
The closest water source was half a day's trip, and all stored water was used sparingly.
Work and food was all well and good, but the moment Watt had laid eyes on an empty cot his heart shuddered with relief.
There were two, and since each one was pushed up against a wall of canvas, Watt hadn't felt bad picking one first. He'd chosen the cot closest to the flap, and Cornelius had wordlessly slung his pack onto the other one.
A solid crate with a removable lid was situated beside each cot, offering a storage space and table all in one.
Watt set down the basin of water he’d been given onto the crate, then dug out the bar of soap he’d tucked into his pocket and put it beside the basin.
An unlit lamp hung between the crates from a metal stake, which was driven into the ground via a crack between two pallets.
Watt frowned at the crack, imagining Cornelius’ cane sinking into it and snapping at the tip.
It was well made, but all things had a breaking point.
“What’s wrong?” Cornelius asked, sitting down beside his pack on the cot. His fingers trembled in his lap, and when Watt nodded towards them he gripped the edges of his cot. “I'm beat. That's all.”
Watt sat down, moving his pack to the floor at his feet. He nodded at the crack. “I don’t like the looks of that. Your cane could get caught.”
Cornelius huffed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “If that’s the least of our problems here, I think we’ll be okay.”
“Is it?”
“What?”
“The least of our problems. You and Andrea seemed …” Watt trailed off, threatened by the storm building in Cornelius’ eyes.
“What?”
Watt inhaled, long and deep. Quietly, he said, “I’m on your side, you know. No matter the reason. Just say the word, and I’ll lay ‘em out.”
Cornelius blinked, startled. Then he grinned. “Lay ‘em out? What are you, my personal bodyguard?”
Watt flushed. “All I’m saying is, we’re a team, right? And teams work best when everyone is on the same page.”
Cornelius’ smile disappeared. He turned away, fidgeting with his bag. “I hear you, and thank you. But I—I’ve got it handled. Andrea won’t be a problem.” He glanced back up at Watt. “Besides, I wouldn't want to turn you against such a good friend.”
Watt immediately shook his head. “We’re acquaintances at most. I haven’t seen him since Egypt.”
“A travesty, to be sure,” Cornelius said. Watt opened his mouth, but Cornelius added, “We should get ready for dinner. I, for one, am starving.”
Watt closed his mouth, trapping all his questions and protestations between his teeth. It was clear Cornelius was hiding something, and Watt thought they were past all of that now. It stung, and Watt told himself it was only the aches and pains of the long journey that had Cornelius all clammed up.
He dug out a relatively fresh change of clothes, his second pair of boots, and a comb. He glanced at the flap, then over his shoulder at Cornelius, who had his back to Watt.
He cleared his throat and said, “Do you mind if I go first?” Cornelius visibly stiffened as if struck by lightning. Watt hurriedly added, “I can go—”
“No,” Cornelius said, his voice high. He coughed, and a bit more casually said, “No, it’s fine. We’ve shared a room before, nothing new there. Just let me know when you’re done.”
True, they had shared a room before, and changed clothes in the same space. But Watt felt …
“Okay. I'll try to be quick.”
Cornelius chuckled lightly, but said nothing else.
Watt made quick work of it, dunking a scratchy washcloth into the water and scrubbing his face with it before soaping up and moving onto key areas.
The cool water more than made up for the texture, and he sighed.
He washed and dried his upper half first, then slid his shirt on before moving onto the bottom half.
His cheeks flamed the entire time, and he forced himself not to look over his shoulder.
He couldn’t feel Cornelius stealing glances at him, and if he was, well …
there was no harm in looking at the human form.
Watt finished washing without further delay.
He pulled on his socks, boxers, and trousers in a rush.
He laced up his boots, then hurried out of the tent with stammering promises to bring back fresh water for Cornelius.
When he returned, the man’s shirt was off.
Watt walked right into one of the center support poles, damn near spilling water all over and taking the tent out in one go. “Shit!”
Slightly alarmed, Cornelius glanced over his shoulder at him, brows raised. “Alright there?”
Watt blinked, stricken by the flush in Cornelius’ cheeks. “I—uh—yes. Water. I have water. Fresh water.”
“Just set it down there. Thank you.” Cornelius nodded to the crate beside his cot.
His shoulders were rigid with tension, and his arms were crossed tight over his chest. A thick band of red surrounded his ribs, where a brasserie might have once been.
Watt had never seen a brasserie in use, but he didn’t think they were supposed to be worn so tight.
“Watt?”
Watt blinked, then forced himself into motion.
He set the basin down where Cornelius had instructed, then retreated to his side of the tent.
He busied himself with unpacking, withdrawing everyday items he’d want later.
His notebook, sketchbook, the rocks he'd collected yesterday, and his pipe to name a few. This last one he loosely stuffed with tobacco, doing his best to ignore the sounds Cornelius was making. Clips coming undone with a fine snap. Fabric rustling to the floor, or perhaps sweeping over Cornelius’ skin.
He closed his eyes, trying to banish the image of Cornelius’ body into the darkness of his mind.
But there was no forgetting the soft rolls around Cornelius’ middle, the flesh spilling pleasantly over his waistband.
The breadth of his wide and well endowed shoulders, which were far more muscular than Watt had anticipated.
The small mole neighboring his spine, which matched the one alongside his ear near perfectly.
Watt had a sudden desire to press his thumb over it.
To feel if it was smooth, or an artifact to be caressed over again and again.
“I’m done,” Cornelius said, sounding a little breathless.
“I’m going for a walk,” Watt said in a rush, unable to turn around. “Lay of the land. Getting the lay. Of the land, I mean. I’ll be back.”
He fled the tent, embarking on a very long walk.
June 12th, 1930
Cornelius had made a mistake.
He did his best to smile, even if he wanted to cry. Eat, even if he couldn’t taste the food. Talk, even if he wanted to scream.
What had he been thinking?
Well, he knew the answer to that. He’d thought there had been a moment between them, perfect for revealing naked truths.
Not that he’d have shown Watt anything else but his back, but still.
It had been a truth that he offered to few other people.
And what had Watt done with it? Run away as soon as possible, refusing to look Cornelius in the eye.
Even now, seated directly across from Cornelius at a table with over a dozen other people, Watt would not, or could not, bring himself to look at Cornelius. It was—
It was fine.
Cornelius had forgotten the line between them, and Watt had firmly twanged upon it, reminding Cornelius of its heavy existence.
They were colleagues. Partners in their expedition, and friends of a sort, but nothing more.
The trip had brought them closer, but in the end Cornelius was who he was, and Watt was who he was.
They were never destined to be partners.
There would never be a future for them, in Brazil or outside of it.
Not that Cornelius had been searching for a future between them, thinking beyond today and into tomorrow.
Of what could be, if they stuck together after this was all said and done. If there was an after, anyways.
Truly, Cornelius should've been thanking Watt, he'd sorely needed that reality check.
Conversation flowed around him in the canteen, niceties were exchanged and tidbits of gossip shared in hushed tones.
Cornelius and Ant?nio sat opposite Watt and Andrea on handmade picnic benches, and Joaquim's crew sat around them. Severino and Joaquim had taken dinner to Joaquim's tent, a fact that no one seemed to think much about since Joaquim apparently always ate in his tent. The curious side of Cornelius desperately wanted to know if his suspicions were correct, but it wasn't his business. Terezinna asked Watt about their trip while the rest of the interns listened, enthralled by Watt’s quiet and frankly boring answers. Yes, the trip went well. No, they hadn’t encountered any trouble. Yes, it had been long. No, Watt hadn’t been to South America before.
No one engaged with Cornelius, no doubt due to the frown he couldn’t get rid of, which only deepened his foul mood.
He watched as Watt deftly offered Ant?nio control of the discussion, which had shifted to Bacairy Post. Watt seemed lost in all the attention given to him, and was glad to be rid of it if only for a moment.
For a brief moment their eyes met, and Watt’s expression wasn’t unlike that of a spooked owl.
Ant?nio began to come out of his shell and explain the shift away from fishing and into agriculture when Andrea opened his mouth, stealing the spotlight away from him.
Andrea threw an arm around Watt’s shoulder and said, “You know, we were in The Valley of the Kings together, Walter and I. The excavation was enormous, and it took us years to find anything. And then along came Walt—”
“Watt,” Cornelius said. Andrea’s brows pinched in confusion, and Cornelius added, “His name’s Watt.”
Andrea laughed awkwardly, glancing sideways at the tense Watt who had discreetly shrugged off his arm.
“Much changes over the years, names and nicknames included. But I don’t need to tell you that, do I?
” Andrea said this last bit in a low, conspiratorial tone that mocked a whisper, clearly heard by everyone gathered.
He might as well have slapped Cornelius.
It was a clear statement as any. Andrea was going to do the same thing here as he did in Ur.
It was Charles Rowland who diverted the conversation into safer waters. The Irishmen set his fork down and said, “Let’s hear something new, Andrea, we’ve heard all your stories before. Cornelius, Thomas here tells me you’ve worked with Mason. Tell me, is it true he’s a hound for plants?”
Cornelius exhaled slowly and nodded, plastering a genial smile on. “Yes, we worked together in Ur, and in Colombia as well. I regret to inform you the rumors are true, he’s got the greenest thumb I’ve ever seen.”
Charles smiled, and lines crinkled his eyes. “And do you?”
“Oh, not at all, but he still tries to convince me otherwise. Although there is a fern that has survived my incompetence so far.”
“Is that so? And who is tending to her for you?”
And just like that, Cornelius was the heart of conversation. Everyone listened as he talked about Esther, from her origins in archaeology as a mere intern to her current position as Curator.
“She sounds fantastic,” Ana remarked, and a dreamy expression softened her dark and rugged features.
She was the tallest woman in the group, although she constantly hunched her shoulders in an effort to be anything else.
Her black hair was shaved close to her head, a surprise to Cornelius but not to anyone else, it seemed.
The cut contrasted with her feminine style, she seemed to prefer dresses to Terezinna and Nair's trousers.
Those two had fairly long hair, but dressed the same as Francesca did.
In trousers and men's shirts. Cornelius was hit with a sense of Parisan déjà vu.
The big round lenses of Ana's glasses were smudged, and Cornelius wanted to wipe them clean. Instead, he fidgeted with the stone Watt had given him. He wasn't sure when it had made it out of his pocket and into his fingers, but he was glad for the distraction.
“She is,” Watt said, then cleared his throat. “We met briefly a few months ago, when Cornelius and I became acquainted. I was very impressed.”
If buttering up Cornelius was Watt’s idea of making things right, he had another coming. Because nothing was wrong. He was the one being awkward and dodgy. Not Cornelius. Everything was fine.