Long Haul
There was noise behind him.
Watt froze, fingers tightening around the straps of his pack.
His heart raced, and the crisp morning air wasn’t so cold anymore.
It was still dark out, and everyone was usually asleep at this hour.
There was another sound, ground cracking beneath a careful foot.
One of those jaguars, perhaps. He wasn't far off from camp, but far enough to be easy pickings for any big predators.
Watt reached for the revolver tucked into his waistband, slowly turning around to search for the source of the noise.
Cornelius came up behind him, and Watt’s hand fell to his side.
He was fully dressed with his gear upon his back, sweat dampening his brow already.
He gripped his cane in one hand, the other was fisted at his side.
He raised his hand and opened it, palm up, to reveal the piece of quartz Watt had left behind for him.
He glared at Watt who stared back at him, unsure what to say.
Cornelius' stubborn frown was illuminated by the fading moonlight, and Watt wanted to reach out and smooth it into a smile.
“I’m coming with you,” Cornelius whispered, barely there but firm all the same. His hand fell to his side, and his furious eyes beheld all sorts of accusations.
“You don’t have to,” Watt said, and tried very hard to mean it.
He kept hearing Andrea's words over and over again, followed by Severino’s distant plea from weeks ago.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop either time, but last night had been the final nail in Watt’s heart.
“They’re doing good work here, real work.
I can go on alone. This isn't—I won't drag you into madness, Cornelius.”
Cornelius closed the small distance between them, slow enough to give Watt time to back away. He did not.
Cornelius gazed up at Watt, their chests inches apart. His steely eyes seemed to glitter in the dark, like Lake Michigan under full moonlight. “I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
“Aventurier,” Watt whispered, overcome with an intense desire to bend down, and kiss Cornelius.
He—he wanted to kiss Cornelius.
He wanted Cornelius.
Cornelius' eyes flared and he lifted his chin a fraction of an inch, lips parting.
Oh, and he was wanted in return. He was wanted by, and wanted, a man.
Not just any man, but his—his Cornelius.
He wanted to. It could've been easy, should've been easy. But no matter how much he wanted to, Watt could not break through that wall. It would shatter everything, demolishing the foundations of everything they had built in the last few months. And he couldn’t—he wasn’t—
Cornelius’ lips curled into a small, sad smile. Like he knew. And he probably did, because who else knew Watt better than this man? His best friend. Because yes, that was what Cornelius was to him, now and always.
Hoarsely, Watt said, “Cornelius, I …”
Cornelius waited, and when it was clear Watt had no more words to explain himself, he took a step back and half turned away. He firmly, but not unkindly, said, “Come on, we better get going.”
If Cornelius was disappointed, he did a fine job of not showing it. Meanwhile, Watt felt every one of his emotions was written on his face. Shame, disappointment, anger and frustration. If he could not accept himself, lose himself in the most wild of places, how would he ever?
Their course was due northwest, into territory that was only a vague area on their map, the edges of which and specific landmarks unknown.
It had been unknown when Fawcett tried to go this way, breaking through dense jungle on his round about way back to the coast. Watt had left a letter addressed to Severino and Joaquim on his cot, which he was sure that Cornelius had seen, filled with his intentions and projected route, leaving them with the same sentiment that Fawcett had given to his last point of contact.
'If I don’t come back, don’t come looking.'
He'd left Cornelius a note too, right by his bedside. It had been short, messy, and apologetic. 'I have to find out what happened to him. You deserve to be safe, and happy. Please forgive me. Yours, Watt.'
He'd been so sure the man was asleep, but now Watt wondered.
Maybe he'd been awake, wondering if Watt was really going to leave him behind again.
It wasn't because he'd wanted to, and he was selfishly so grateful that Cornelius had followed after him.
Watt loved Maggie, but her company could only go so far to keep him sane.
The way was relatively clear for a short while, sparse trees and generous mounds and ditches continued for about a mile.
Cornelius set the pace, not slow but not rushing either.
Watt followed him while Maggie scouted the area ahead of both of them.
For a while he didn’t mind, he could still see her at this distance.
But as they went on, the ground smoothed out and the vegetation thickened, the trees growing larger and ferns closer together.
As the sun rose, the bugs multiplied exponentially, and so did the opportunities for predators to be waiting in the brush.
Watt called Maggie back to his side, and Cornelius looked over his shoulder at him.
“Alright?” Cornelius asked.
Watt nodded. “Just want her to stay close.”
Cornelius studied him a moment, then tilted his head and shrugged. “I’ll admit, I’m about due for a breather.”
Watt agreed and they took a break to drink, assaulted by those damn black flies the entire time.
Had they been this bad back at camp? Before taking a sip for himself, Watt withdrew the small metal bowl from his pack and poured some water into it.
Maggie drank gratefully, and Watt did the same from his canteen.
When Watt lowered it from his lips, he found Cornelius was giving Maggie some of his own water.
Watt’s hand twitched, and he quickly secured the top back onto his canteen. “You don’t have to do that, she’s my responsibility,” Watt said, then winced at his short tone.
Cornelius lifted a brow, putting away his own canteen now. He took his cane in hand, withdrawing it from where it’d been tucked between his arm and side. “I know,” he said, mildly bemused. He reached down, stroking a hand between Maggie’s ears.
Watt opened his mouth to … well, not protest, but something. Cornelius turned away, and Maggie turned her gaze to Watt, panting heavily. Watt sighed, shaking his head. “He will be the death of me,” he muttered, taking care of Maggie’s bowl before following after Cornelius.
The day unfurled much better than Watt had anticipated laying in his cot late last night, when he’d imagined doing this alone.
A low level tension and awkwardness had overshadowed their morning, and threatened to bloom over lunch time.
Watt had packed enough supplies for both of them, out of habit, and neither of them commented on it, besides for Cornelius ordering Watt to share the weight between them.
As they ate, Cornelius sparked conversation.
At first it was little and relative things, like the birds that flew overhead and the sound of rushing water just barely tickling the ears.
They complained about the bugs, which they both agreed hadn’t been as bad back at camp.
“I wonder what Ant?nio is doing,” Cornelius murmured, staring off into the trees.
“I miss him already.” Watt admitted, fidgeting with the sweaty cuffs of his sleeves.
He felt like he should say something about Cornelius’ missed opportunity, but he didn’t know what.
Guilt twisted his gut, and he thought about confessing to eavesdropping last night.
He hadn’t meant to, but it felt wrong to intrude on Cornelius and Andrea’s conversation.
And sure, he could have walked away. But Watt couldn’t have even if he wanted to.
Cornelius had sounded distressed, and Watt wanted to be ready if he needed him.
After lunch they descended further into the tightening jungle, and Watt took the lead this time with a machete at hand.
He followed Maggie and moved slowly, careful of everything he touched.
After Watt looked over his shoulder for the fifth time in ten minutes, Cornelius wryly said, “I’m not going anywhere. ”
Watt exhaled, his soul finally settling.
And so they went. Deeper into Brazil.
July 2nd, 1930
That first night had seemed so hopeful, so full of possibility. So much in fact, that it had Cornelius acting incredibly stupid. Or rather, more stupid than he’d already been.
When twilight came the next day, they settled in a copse of trees alongside the edge of a small expanse of grassland, utilizing the illusion of safety and a place to hang their hammocks.
While there had been no sign of indigenous peoples yet, they weren’t far from Kalapalo and Nafaqua territory.
Each had blamed the other for Fawcett’s death, and the repercussions of the whole affair had left a lasting impact on the area.
Great distrust festered, especially in the hearts of the Kalapalos.
Cornelius ate his beans, studying Watt as he did the same. He wasn’t even really looking at Watt, more so seeing through him as his mind worked. Watt caught him staring and paused, spoon lowering. “What?”
Cornelius pulled forth the first thing that came to his mind. “Why do you think everyone’s gone the opposite way that Galv?o told them to?”
Watt considered him. “Pride, I always thought. Or maybe distrust.”
Cornelius hummed in vague agreement. He thought for another moment, then slowly asked, “Do you think we were ever in real danger from him?”
“Why?” Watt asked, looking at him curiously.
Cornelius lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. Just thinking about it.”