Originally written for ianmcduff's [Smart Boys In Glasses] Challenge. Follows on from...


‘So how’d you sleep last night?’ Joe asks, walking alongside JC on their approach to the part of the site where they will spend ten hours a day for the next few weeks, weather depending. Laden down with buckets, shovels, pieces of sponge to mop up any excess moisture that has seeped into the trenches overnight, he clatters and clangs merrily, yet his voice radiates curious concern for the well-being of one of his team. ‘Was the caravan okay? I mean, you should have said something on the application form about having a…’ he hesitate. ‘What was it? A ”phobia about canvas sleeping accommodation”?’

JC smiles tiredly, thinks about how he wasn’t allowed to see the application forms that Justin insisted on filling in, suspects that had such an admission been made, he would not have been accepted for the excavation. ‘Was that how Britney put it?’

‘Yeah.’ Joe says, then; ‘So… knowing how Brit has a way with words when it suits her - is it a phobia, or…?’

‘It’s like one.’ JC says, then thins his lips and lowers his gaze back to the uneven ground of the hill beneath their feet.

‘How’d you sleep, then?’ Joe presses, seemingly reluctant to cease the conversation and wander away to join some of the others. ‘Okay?’

‘Mm.’

JC thinks briefly about the caravan that he had eventually been shuffled into, how it was little more than a metallic husk of something once serviceable. His new sleeping accommodation contains little more than a few boxes of its previous occupant’s clothes, a stained and musty mattress casually thrown onto a bare floor, boarded over windows that keep daylight out and allow draughts of cold air to whistle through, and a door that doesn’t latch properly shut. Within moments of being closeted within the shell, JC had understood why Wade had been so eagerly keen to bed down in Justin’s tent, to give over his allegedly privileged quarters to a stranger, and he cannot wholly say that he blames him. JC’s first night on site was spent shivering beneath the thin cover of his sleeping bag, listening to the sounds of the world turning beyond the caravan, loud and insecure against his ears.

He cannot help but wonder if he wouldn’t have gotten more rest beneath the thin fabric shelter of a tent.

‘Although I can’t imagine Wade’s caravan being much better than that tent your boyfriend brought along -,’ Joe says, sounding confused as he glances sideways at JC. ‘I mean… when Chris realised what he was up to, he deliberately gave him the worst caravan in the camp!’

Curiosity sparks alongside the tiredness in JC’s mind, and he cannot prevent the question from falling from sleep-deprivation slack lips. ‘Why?’

‘Because of Lance.’ Joe says, smiles enigmatically as they draw close to the site, the terrain of the hill that they’re climbing behind the other grunts faltering and stumbling into flat space.

‘Lance?’

‘Yeah,’ Joe chuckles warmly, ‘Chris has it in his head that Wade’s got a crush on Lance – and that it’s not entirely unreciprocated.’

‘And does he?’ JC asks, intrigued suddenly by the hint of something that might distract him from his tired confusion as to what is expected of him within the trench. ‘Is it?’

Joe grins, wide and warm as he drops his burden upon the ground, indicates that JC should do the same. They stand amidst the clutter of excavation materials, the rest of the team standing a little way ahead of them, peering down into the large hole in the hilltop that JC can only presume is the system of trenches where he will be expected to slave, and Joe laughs softly. ‘Not for me to say,’ he says lightly, then steps over a stray bucket and wanders across to join the others.

Pausing for a moment, JC looks at the cluster of people standing around Joe, feels obtusely out of his depth. He doesn’t know a thing about excavating, about the proper techniques that Joe has mentioned he might need to learn about, nor even how to wield the wooden handled metal trowel that Justin shoved awkwardly into his hand as they were leaving the campsite after breakfast. Thinking about Justin brings a scowl to JC’s face, and he hunches his shoulders, steps reluctantly towards Joe and the rest of the team, turning the trowel’s smooth handle around in the curve of his palm.

‘JC!’

Sighing, JC waits for Chris to catch up to him, wondering why it is that the deputy director permanently seems to be chasing after him – it can’t, he thinks, be a particularly good omen. ‘Yeah?’

‘Forgot to tell you something back down at the tents!’ Chris pants out, seems out of breath after his rush up the slope to the worksite. ‘Give you some last bits of advice with regard t losing your… y’know…’ His hands flail dramatically through the air and JC winces, steps back as the sharp metallic instrument in Chris’ hand glints in the sunlight. ‘Losing your… virginity!’

‘What?’ JC asks, one eyebrow arched, wondering when – if ever – the joke will grow old for Chris. He can feel the attentive eyes of some of the other grunts resting upon them, possibly listening to the conversation, and his cheeks heat with embarrassment at its subject matter.

‘Well, this -,’ Chris stares intently at JC as he holds up a metallically sharp instrument, ‘is a trowel…’

JC rolls his eyes, grimaces a smile in Chris’ direction, suspects that the only way he will be able to escape the archaeologists harassment is to throw himself off the nearest tall building.

‘And we use these… trowels… to scrape away at something that we call… soil…’

‘Yeah, ha-ha.’

‘Kirkpatrick -,’ Joe calls across, sounding wary.

JC turns his head to look at him, silently hopes that Joe will have the authority to send Chris away – knows enough to realise that if he gets too flustered, he’ll be unable to take in the lesson in excavation techniques that Joe’s promised to give him this morning, and he’ll be rendered useless.

‘What’re you doing up here? Did you lose your way to your own trench again?’ Joe grins as he briefly catches JC’s eye. ‘Did you want me to send for Christina to show you the way back?’

‘Ew!’ Chris makes retching sounds, over-exaggerated and vaguely comical. ‘Girl cooties! Ew!’

Despite himself, JC smiles, hides it behind the curve of a lifted hand.

‘Seriously, what’re you doing up here?’ Joe presses, the clatter of buckets and mumbling sounds of the other grunts clambering carefully down into the trench filling the air as he wanders across to join them. ‘Don’t you have a team of your own to organise?’

‘Theoretically,’ Chris says, ‘yes. I do. But…’

‘Oh, God – there’s always a ”but”…’ Joe grumbles good-naturedly.

‘But -,’ Chris pouts his mouth a little, glowers at Joe, the sparkle of his eyes spoiling the overall effect that JC thinks he’s trying for. ‘I thought it’d be nice to come show our little virgin here -,’ he indicates JC with a vague gesture of the trowel that he holds onto, ‘how we do things...’

‘Yeah.’ Joe’s voice is suddenly flat. ‘Except for the small fact that that’s my job, Chris.’

JC glances anxiously between them, not understanding Joe’s sudden lack of affability. He sees a hardness creep into the depths of Joe’s usually friendly eyes, and frowns, glances back to Chris, hopes that he is able to deflect the argument that JC can sense brewing around them.

‘Usually, yeah, it would be -,’ Chris says, slowly. He seems to choose his words with care, focuses entirely upon Joe as he does so. ‘But you know how important this next leg of work is going to be for this trench, Joe – that’s why Lance thought he’d keep all the virgin grunts out of your hair for a bit…’ He hesitates, pulls a contrite face. ‘We screwed up, Joe, by sticking you with ol’ Chasez here. Lance and I want to make amends for that, y’know…’

‘Christ, Chris -,’ Joe snaps loudly. ‘Can’t you just fuck off back to your own trench? Leave us to get on with our work?’

‘Normally, I would. You know that, Joe, under normal circumstances, I’d trek all the way up here just to rile your latest grunt to hell and back, and then mosey on back to my own miserable little corner of this hellish site -,’

Joe sighs, wearily, rubs a hand across his face. ‘Shit -,’

‘ - however, this is not a set of ”normal circumstances”, Joe, because today, Lance – our esteemed and slightly psychotic director -,’

‘Pot and kettle situation developing here, Kirkpatrick!’

JC frowns as he glances from one to the other, barely understanding why he’s more intrigued by their conversation than he is taking offence at some of the things that Chris is saying.

‘ – has decided that he’s going to usurp my position as supervisor in my own trench -,’

The sound of Joe grinding his teeth together fills the quiet morning air.

‘ – and send me up here to teach JC here -,’ Chris shoots a fleeting glance towards JC, smiles absently, before returning his full attention to Joe. ‘ – the techniques of excavation so that you can get on with what we pay you to do.’

Joe arches an eyebrow as he and JC both stare quizzically at Chris. ‘Lance has taken over your trench?’

‘Yeah -,’ Chris says and pouts his mouth out again in a gesture that manages, somehow, to look both thoughtful and put out. ‘He’s decided that he’s going to take a more proactive role this season. Says he’s bored with just staring at the artefacts and feature shots that we bring back for him to clutter up his caravan with…’

Joe sighs, heavily. ‘Man, I love Lance like a brother – but the last time he decided to get his hands dirty…’

‘We ended up with several new protégés to deal with.’ Chris finishes, darkly. ‘Such as the ever-delectable Wade, who just so happens to be…’

‘Working on your trench this week?’ Joe suggests, reaches out a hand to pat Chris consolingly upon the shoulder. ‘Tough luck, man.’

Shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably, Chris scowls briefly at the ground, then lifts a cold smile towards Joe and JC. ‘He’ll get over the excitement of seeing Wade sweating all over the place,’ he says, grins widely. ‘I know I did.’

‘Took you long enough, though!’ Joe says, turning away to head back to his trench. ‘Seven weeks, wasn’t it, Chris?’

Silently, Chris rolls his eyes at JC, grins again.

‘Seven weeks of crying all over my girlfriend’s shoulder about how unfair being old was and how she should shoot me before I reach your grand old age of… what was it? Thirty?’

‘Eighteen months is a long time, Joe,’ Chris intones imperiously, then shrugs his shoulders again, points with his trowel as an indication that he and JC ought to follow. ‘And Kelly can be a saint, when she wants to be!’

‘Mm.’ Joe says, smiles oddly as he twists to step down from the baulk into the trench. ‘I’m a lucky man.’

‘Yeah, you are, Joe -,’ Chris says, fixing him with a steely glare. ‘And don’t you fuckin’ forget that!’

There is a long moment of silence whilst Chris and Joe stare at one another: one three foot below ground level, looking up against the glare of sunlight, the other looking down, a twist so peculiar to his mouth that JC cannot decide whether it’s a frown, or a smile. He hesitates, wonders whether to speak and disrupt whatever it is that silently passes between them, the obvious communication of old friends, or if he ought to maintain his silence and wait for them to remember their observer.

The moment passes, the tense silence between Joe and Chris ends, and JC feels the atmosphere shift, change into one of relaxed camaraderie. He watches, takes a nervous step backwards as Chris swings his gaze around, back towards him, a quirked smile twitching about his lips as he eyes him up and down.

‘Well.’ He drawls, the smile sliding smoothly into a smirk, then a leer. ‘Looks like it’ll be me who ends your days as a virgin, then, JC…’

‘Great.’ JC says, unenthusiastically. He glances nervously down at Joe, is perturbed by the way in which he’s laughing silently up at them, twirling his own trowel in one hand as the other grunts work around him. ‘Couldn’t you just swap me onto a team with some other…’ His voice catches slightly, before he can go on. ‘With some other virgins in it? Justin, maybe?’

‘Nope -,’ Joe says, shrugs his shoulders, splutters out another laugh. ‘Teams are set in stone as far as this site is concerned, JC. Sorry, man. Lance takes his lists very seriously – doesn’t he, Chris?’

Chris’ voice is solemn. ‘Like the Ten Commandments, dude.’

‘Besides which -,’ Joe’s laughter fades. ‘We also have a rule whereby no couple is allowed to excavate together.’

JC frowns, bemused by the fact that they all seem so unwilling to accept that when he says Justin is his friend, that’s all he means him to be. ‘How come?’

‘Safety, mainly.’ Chris explains. He jabs his trowel through the air towards Joe, grins nefariously. ‘When that lump down there first started shagging the beautiful Kelly -,’

‘Shut the fuck up, Kirkpatrick!’ Joe growls, but JC can hear the amusement behind it, doesn’t tense the way he did whilst they were growling seriously at one another.

‘- they were excavating in the same trench… and Joe, there, managed to not only slice his finger up pretty badly with the edge of his trowel -,’

JC winces as Joe dutifully holds up a hand and points with the tip of his trowel to the side of his forefinger. ‘Ow!’

‘Yeah, but that wasn’t the great calamity that made Lance put an end to couples digging together.’ Chris tells him, sighing in mock-exasperation as Joe shakes his head, turns away, crouches down beside a cluster of the other grunts and starts to devote his attention to them, to his trench again.

‘It wasn’t?’ JC asks, incredulously. He frowns. ‘Did he stab Kelly, too?’

Wide eyes stare at him, until their owner shakes his head and rolls them instead. ‘Hell, no!’ Chris sounds affronted. ‘He broke a fuckin’ pot, man! Fifteenth century local glazed ware – and that freakin’ fuckwit down there shattered it into even more pieces than it was already in!’

‘Oh…’

‘Yeah, and he bled all over it too, which really pissed Lance an’ me off.’

JC makes a mental note to avoid going anywhere near the sharp end of his own trowel if he can, at all, avoid having to do so.

‘But I was fine!’ Joe calls across to them, laughter making his expression soft.

‘Pity the pot wasn’t, though, ‘eh, Joe?’ Chris calls down to him, then grins, laughs a little as he turns back to JC. ‘Jesus, man, don’t look so fuckin’ scared!’ His laughter fades, and his eyes darken into a glance that JC thinks almost manages to resemble sympathy and understanding. ‘We’ll go easy on you,’ he says, ‘I promise. Okay? No more gags until you feel comfortable in that there trench!’

‘Might take a while…’ JC says softly, his face twisting with apprehension.

Ducking his head, Chris leans thoughtfully nearer, eyes narrow as he peers directly into JC’s. ‘Level with me here -,’ he says. ‘How much do you actually know about excavating?’

‘Well -,’ JC twitches a shoulder into a nervous shrug. ‘Actually… actually I know…’ He sighs heavily. ‘Nothing.’ He admits. ‘I know nothing whatsoever about it. Justin said it was a teaching excavation – that there’d be someone here to teach us the basics at the very least.’

‘Okay, in part, that’s true.’ Chris concedes, frowning as he tilts his gaze back towards the trench. He watches Joe and the other grunts for a moment, his mouth working silently in a thinned line so that JC – who watches his profile with avid wariness – wonders if he’s silently speaking to himself behind the shuttered lips. ‘See -,’

JC jumps a little, startled by the sudden sound of Chris’ voice after the brief lapse of conversation.

‘See, we’re looking to achieve so much upon this site – to obtain so many objectives within it, that we took to splitting the seasoned grunts up from the virgins.’ Chris says, huffs out a soft sigh. ‘Joe gets the seasoned ones up here, because this is his trench and, really, as much as I’m loathe to admit it, the fucker does actually know what he’s doing down there…’

‘That’s good to know…’

‘Yeah. Just so long as we can keep his mind focused on the archaeology as opposed to whichever pert behind he’s decided is going to be the object of his latest weekly crush, that is!’ Chris mutters, and JC isn’t entirely certain that he was meant to overhear the comment. He bites down on his lower lip, waits for Chris to continue, is obtusely relieved when he does. ‘So Lance and I thought that – with you being around our own ages an’ all – you were a seasoned digger. We thought you’d probably fit right on in up here.’

Shuffling his feet a little, JC feels compelled to apologise for his lack of expertise, opens his mouth to do so, but is silenced by the sound of Chris’ voice once more.

‘So whilst your… friend -,’ his mouth curls into a devilish, amused little smirk that fades as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Whilst he’s off learning with the other grunts – most of whom, I’ll admit, have a season’s experience already under their trowels – in a group situation, you get one-on-one tuition, you lucky person, you!’

Uncertain what to say, how to respond, JC settles for simply staring, wide-eyed and out of his depth.

Chris eyes him expectantly for a moment, then sighs, twitches a shoulder up a little. ‘Shall we begin?’

‘Um,’ JC says, then attempts to sound slightly more coherent. ‘Okay…’

‘Right then!’ Chris pivots the trowel in his hand almost gleefully. ‘The first thing you need to remember about losing your archaeological virginity, JC, is that it’s pretty much the same as losing your actual virginity…’ he pauses, looks sideways at JC for a moment. ‘You have already done that, I take it?’

‘Chris!’ Joe’s voice drifts warningly up from the trench before them.

‘What?’ JC stares at him, feels mildly affronted. ‘Of course I have!’

‘There’s no ”of course” about it, my friend -,’ Chris insists. He shrugs. ‘Some people have, some people haven’t, I don’t set out to offend…’

‘Much!’ Joe catcalls, draws a tight glare from Chris for his effort.

‘It’s just, we’ve found in the past, that if a grunt is a virgin in all meanings of the world -,’ Chris waves the trowel expansively through the air, his fingers curled about the metal blade portion of the tool so that only the blunt, well-worn and smooth wooden handle is moving in vaguely lethargic circles. ‘Well, sometimes not only does my patented speech offend their delicate sensibilities, but they also find my analogy a little hard to grasp…’

‘Your analogy, huh?’ Joe grins up at them once more, the innuendo in his voice causing several sniggers to erupt from the trench around him. ‘Is that what we’re calling it these days, Kirkpatrick, huh?’

‘Rather that, than what you call yours, Fatone!’ Chris throws back, then turns pointedly towards the bemused, smiling JC. ‘So… offended, affronted, unable to understand my analogy!’ He tosses a glare down towards Joe, nods his head a little when he sees that the other archaeologist has, shoulders shaking with mirth, returned his attention to the soil surface before him. ‘My point is -,’

‘You mean there’s a genuine point to all of this?’ JC asks before he can stop himself.

Chris grins, slowly, his eyes reflecting glints of sunlight as he looks JC appreciatively up and down for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he says, ‘there is a point to this little speech of mine – and it’s pretty much that losing your archaeological virginity is just like losing your actual virginity. It’s messy, it hurts like a bitch, and you’ll be sore for days after.’

‘Okay -,’ JC says slowly, fighting down the tremble of his stomach at the words ”messy” and ”sore”. He thinks of the primitive set-up on the campsite for washing, of the buckets and the cold water through a hosepipe, shivers with dread as he does so.

‘And now you know that -,’ Chris beams at him, ‘you need to know that the first rule of archaeology is… there are no rules in archaeology…’