Horrifically enough, I have a nasty feeling that this is going to be longer than I originally thought it would be. Guess that'll teach me not to prod my muses with idle challenges of soap operatic weirdness, huh?!? Originally written for ianmcduff's [Smart Boys In Glasses] Challenge. Follows on from...


Every part of JC’s body aches, throbs to the scudding beat of his pulse as he tries to sit at the long table beneath the marquee, surrounded by exultant archaeologists – supervisors and grunts alike – and allow the noise of their conversations to seep through him enough to make him forget the pain. His skin feels grimy from long hours of kneeling; resting his non-trowelling hand against the damp soil that Chris has shown him how to diligently, carefully, observantly remove, and his nails are cracked enough to make picking the spoon that Kelly sympathetically places before him, up almost too painful for him to comprehend. Blisters line the soft pads of skin beneath his fingers, twist and contort every time he unconsciously flexes his hand, and the nape of his neck is sunburnt and sore.

‘You need a hat.’ Chris says, sliding into the seat beside him, two tin plates of steaming boiled potatoes in his hands. He clatters one down beside JC, reaches for his fork and frowns thoughtfully as he holds JC’s stare. ‘What?’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be sitting with Joe, and the other supervisors?’ JC asks, hesitantly managing to lift an arm from the tabletop enough to gesture with it towards Chris’ colleagues.

They sit together at the end of the marquee closest to the ramshackle shed that contains Kelly’s primitive kitchen, paperwork spread across the table between plates of potatoes and sandwiches, mugs of coffee and bottles of alcohol for – JC assumes – after they have finished working through their meal.

‘Yeah, probably.’ Chris agrees easily, gestures with the sharp prongs of his fork at the plate before JC. ‘You should eat, man -,’ he says, chews on a mouthful of his own food. ‘Conserve your, y’know, energy levels for tomorrow.’

‘Okay.’ JC says, looks down at the plate and frowns. ‘Chris?’

‘Mm?’

‘What’re the little green bits all over the potatoes?’

Chris stops chewing, stares at JC from round eyes as he flickers his gaze down towards his own plate. ‘Green bits?’ He looks almost panicked for a moment, his cheeks bulging, torn between swallowing the mouthful he’s pushed into one cheek to enable him to talk, or spitting it back out on to the plate.

‘It’s okay, Doctor Kirkpatrick -,’ Britney says from JC’s other side. She leans forward, against him slightly as she peers round at Chris’ horrified face, a slow smile warming features that JC thinks might be pretty if there wasn’t a smear of dirt across her forehead.

‘Green bits!’ he chokes out. ‘They’re trying to poison us! Don’t eat it, JC! It’s Fatone! He’s convinced Kelly to… to….’

Giggling, Britney tucks her chin onto JC’s shoulder, and he freezes, sore muscles tightening even further than they already were at the gesture of unwelcome familiarity. ‘To leave the chives and mint in with the potatoes?’

‘Yeah.’ Chris says, shifting uncomfortably upon his seat. ‘That.’ He continues to stare suspiciously down at his plate, shooting occasional sideways glances towards JC’s. ‘You sure, Brit?’

‘She says it enhances the flavour.’ Britney says as JC reaches forwards, angles his body to lift a spoonful of soft potatoes to his mouth, decides that he’s too hungry not to trust her. ‘Apparently this season, she’s decided to pre-empt the complaints of blandness.’

‘Lord help our stomachs, then…’ Chris mutters, continuing to chew and then to swallow his mouthful. He jabs his fork tines towards JC once more. ‘Hat.’ He says, frowns. ‘D’you have one?’

‘Well, if you don’t, JC, then I know I have one you can borrow!’ Britney offers, smiling widely at him. She leans a little closer to him, lowers her voice, murmurs quietly; ‘Or maybe Justin has one…?’

Momentarily startled, JC chokes on a throat full of potatoes, is thumped squarely upon the back by Chris, splutters incoherently as his body complains vociferously about the sudden shock of a flat palm knocking hard against his spine. ‘Urgh…’ Wiping his mouth, blinking his eyes to clear them of the sudden flurry of moisture, he glances round at Britney. ‘Sorry… Justin?’

‘Well, I just thought -,’

‘That you might like to get all kissy-kissy with your boyfriend!’ Chris interjects from JC’s other side.

‘Doctor Kirkpatrick!’ Britney giggles and JC has to fight against the urge to roll his eyes.

Gritting his teeth, JC risks a glance further down the table to where Justin sits with Wade and a few of the other young male excavators, laughing uproariously at something, his face almost shining with happiness. A sigh heaves itself past his teeth and he turns his gaze squarely to Britney’s. ‘Justin’s not my boyfriend,’ he says. ‘He’s just a friend. Okay?’

‘You’re ending your relationship with him because he forgot to tell you about the tents?’ Britney asks, her eyes wide and mystified. ‘JC, that’s -,’

‘No, I’m -,’ JC cuts in quickly, then hesitates, frowns. ‘He forgot to tell me?’

‘Well, yes, that’s what he told me when I was asking Wade to swap his caravan for the tent you were supposed to share with Justin…’

‘Wonder if he’s getting all kissy-kissy with Justin.’ Chris mutters, his voice almost that of an undertone. ‘In your absence, an’ all…’

Striving to ignore Chris for a while, JC forces himself to smile at Britney, to keep his gaze trained upon her face as opposed to allowing it to drift across the tent towards Justin. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he promises, is relieved when she smiles and turns away from him once more.

Lifting another slow spoonful of potatoes to his mouth, JC chews thoughtfully, considers whether he wishes to ask Chris the question that is dancing merrily at the forefront of his mind. All day, he’s used the quizzical curiosity of his mind to keep the tremble of insecurity at bay – to distract himself from the fact that nothing in his life is as it should be, that he is covered in dirt, that it’s engraining itself into his skin and beneath his nails, and that he isn’t entirely certain what is going to happen at any given moment of his day. Chris has told him that the whole excitement of archaeology is the fact that no one knows what they will uncover, what treasures will be found lurking in the soil – and there is a part of JC that can, does appreciate such knowledge. Yet it frightens him, unnerves the solidity upon which he has based the past twenty-two years of his life…

And he isn’t certain if he wishes to disrupt that further, or play it safe and leave personal stones unturned.

Finally, his belly full and the soft tang of mint lingering comfortably upon his tongue, JC leans back in his rickety seat, smiles contentedly and looks around him, seeks Justin at the far end of the table. He hasn’t seen him to speak to all day – caught only a fleeting glance of a remorseful grimace at breakfast as they were individually rushed off to their assigned positions within the site – and he thinks that he ought to tell Justin that he’s no longer as pissed off with him as he has been. At the end of the day, JC knows that Justin means well. He knows that he may blunder along to his own beat, forget that JC has a say in matters, too… but Justin always means well.

He doesn’t see why this time should be any different.

Smiling softly, JC pushes back his chair, tries to convince his muscles to cooperate and move, grunts quietly as strained thighs complain by cramping viciously.

‘Okay, man?’

He looks at Chris, a vague scowl hovering about his mouth as he meets bemused eyes. ‘No.’ he grumbles. ‘I think my left leg wants me dead as punishment for the abuse of today!’

‘Really?’ Chris places his fork neatly upon his plate, reclines until he is sitting level with JC, flicks his eyes up and down what little of JC isn’t restricted from public vision, and smirks. ‘I’d have thought you’d be used to spending vast quantities of time on your knees,’ he drawls quietly. ‘Or isn’t Justin as much of a top as Joe and I think he might be?’

The scowl becomes a startled stare. ‘You discussed something like that with Joe?’

‘Something like your sex life?’ Chris asks, smiles easily at him. ‘Yeah.’ He says. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘With Joe?’

‘Well, who else would you rather I discuss it with?’

‘Um… no one!’

‘Look, JC, I did tell you that we take our entertainment wherever the fuck we can find it, right? I mean – you do remember me saying that to you when you first got here…?’

JC thinks, sighs heavily, wearily as he remembers Chris and Joe warning him that they teased most of the new grunts just to amuse themselves. ‘Yeah…’

‘So,’ Chris drawls, grinning happily beneath laughing eyes. ‘What’s the problem, dude?’

Narrowing his eyes, JC leans forwards, encroaches angrily upon Chris’ space. ‘The problem is, dude, that Justin and I aren’t…’ His anger falters, dissipates even as he tilts himself away once more. ‘Look -,’ he sighs, ‘we’re not… y’know…’

‘Ah. But you’d like to be!’

‘What?’

‘You and Justin… two virgins together…’

‘He’s not -,’ JC begins, then stills the words in his throat as he catches Chris’ smirk, realises that he’s damning himself with every word that he says. He sighs, shakes his head a little at his own foolish stupidity, and shuffles painfully back on his seat. ‘Forget it -,’ he says, then; ‘I have to go talk to him…’

‘Ooh!’ Chris grins. ‘Lovers tiff, already?’

‘What?’

‘Day one of the dig and already you’re fallin’ out an’ makin’ up…’

‘Okay -,’ JC can’t stop the slight smile from curving the very corners of his mouth up. Chris, he decides, is just too ridiculous for words. ‘Two things. The first – and, seriously, Chris, I want you to pay attention to this, okay? Justin? Is not my boyfriend!’

Peering at him closely, Chris reaches for his mug of tepid water, downs a large swallow as he seems to consider JC’s words, the time that he is being allowed to digest them. ‘Really?’ he asks, after a moment has passed. ‘He’s really not?’

‘We’re just friends.’

‘With benefits?’ Chris asks, and there’s an odd hint of hope colouring his words.

‘No.’

‘Fuck…’

Despite his curiosity as to the defeat that he hears within Chris’ voice, JC opens his mouth to tell him what the second thing is, almost manages to push the first word out past his tongue, when the loud clatter of Lance’s hand striking the clipboard that he and Joe have been peering at interrupts the general chatter of the marquee.

‘Okay, people -,’ Lance’s voice rings out across the muting sound of conversations, and JC finds himself staring across the aisle at him. ‘Before I let y’all go and drink yourselves into oblivion, whilst your brains are regenerating their energy levels, there’s something that we in charge here -,’

Chris sighs, sounds tired.

‘ – like to call, an exchange of ideas. Wade?’

‘Schmade.’ Chris mumbles and JC shoots him a quick glance, sees the glimmer of defeat settling about his profile before he blinks, and it’s gone.

The screech of metallic chair legs being pushed back against grating stone interrupts JC’s silent contemplation and he turns his head to watch as Wade rises to his feet, cheeks flushed pink with nervous excitement as he throws a grinning glance down towards Justin.

Beside JC, Chris makes a lewd sucking noise.

‘Professor Bass…’ Wade grins wider, acknowledges Lance with deft practice before he turns to encompass them all once more. ‘Until about fifty years ago, culturally we knew next to nothing about how most people lived their lives during the Middle Ages. Medieval history focused upon the documents – the written history – of the feudal lords and masters, and the bulk of the population, such as the people who lived here, in Wittletock, were thought of as beneath consideration…’

‘Jesus -,’ Chris murmurs as JC settles more squarely upon his seat. His voice is barely loud enough to be heard, and JC isn’t certain whether he’s meant to comment, or not.

‘… the village of Wittletock, itself,’ Wade goes on, his voice firm and sure of itself, ‘is steeped in history, and although there are few physical signs that suggest this upon first glance -,’

JC looks puzzled, glances at Chris in his confusion. Looking vaguely amused, Chris leans sideways to murmur an explanation directly into his ear.

‘He means buildings that’re still standing,’ he whispers, ‘like the local ‘pub.’

‘Oh!’

‘- the area’s occupation can be traced back to the days before Christ.’ Wade sits back in his seat, looking inordinately pleased with himself, JC thinks, as he watches him look across the marquee to Lance, grinning hopefully.

Looking bored, Lance clears his throat, glances away seeks Joe’s eyes before he nods his head slightly. If he sees Wade’s grin freeze upon his face before rapidly vanishing, replaced by a perturbed, disappointed frown, then he gives no sign.

‘Issues, man -,’ Chris whispers when he seems to realise that JC is watching them intently. ‘Lance has… issues.’

‘Okay, so what Wade didn’t tell you,’ Joe’s voice is calm, jovial, instantly captures everyone’s attention, ‘is that, historically speaking, we didn’t know very much about the site’s history until after the Second World War. Y’see, much of it was destroyed by bombs and, when clear up began, the local amateur archaeologists took advantage of the situation. It’s because of their efforts that we now know that the land upon which the village once stood used to be nothing more than a boggy wasteland – but, over time, the area was cleared for settlement with land being cultivated for crops…’

At the feel of Chris’ thigh pressing against his own beneath the table, JC stops listening…