FAZER LOGINThe night before we left for Dorset, I couldn't sleep. The lights of London blurred in the rain outside my window as I lay awake, thinking about the two men I would be facing for the next two weeks, one I longed for but could never reach, the other who seemed to dislike me yet whom I had to work closely with.
At five in the morning, the department coach departed on time. The sky was still deep blue, with only a faint glow on the eastern horizon. I chose a window seat, put on my headphones, pretending to be absorbed in my own world while actually watching people board.
Linus was the last to get on. He wore a dark green waterproof jacket and carried a professional camera bag, completely different from his usual tailored look. He scanned the bus, his eyes pausing on me for half a second, then took a seat near the front.
Theo was the opposite. He greeted everyone loudly as he came aboard, helped students stow their equipment, his laughter filling the coach. But when his gaze reached me, his smile faltered, and he turned instead to Emma to ask whether she had packed her waterproofs.
I looked out of the window, a wave of bitterness rising inside me. Why? What had I done wrong?
The coach left London and entered the English countryside. Mist lay over the fields, distant hills barely visible. I closed my eyes, trying to rest, but Linus's calm voice and Theo's deliberately averted gaze kept replaying in my mind.
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The excavation camp was on private land in Dorset, beside the active site. When we arrived, the rain had stopped, but the sky remained leaden. The camp consisted of several large tents, two for sleeping, one for cooking and eating, one for equipment, and a small shelter for preliminary processing and recording of finds.
“Women in the eastern tents, men in the western ones,” Theo said, assigning accommodation. “Linus and I will be in the small tent next to the equipment. Drop your bags, and meet at the shelter in an hour to assign today's tasks.”
Emma, another student called Lucy, and I were placed in the same tent area. As we sorted out our sleeping bags, Lucy chatted excitedly about possible discoveries.
“I heard they found Roman jewellery here last year,” she said, eyes bright. “Including a ring engraved with Mithras.”
Emma was more practical. “I just hope it doesn't rain all day. Digging in mud isn't romantic.”
I organised my things quietly, my mind elsewhere. Through a gap in the tent fabric, I could see Linus and Theo standing at the edge of the site, discussing something. Linus gestured at a tablet in his hand, Theo pointed at an area on the ground. As they spoke, Theo made an exaggerated movement, Linus shook his head slightly, but there seemed to be the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
That tiny change in expression jolted me. I had never seen Linus smile at anyone, not even in such a subtle way.
“Hey, are you alright?” Emma nudged my shoulder. “You look miles away.”
“I'm fine,” I said quickly. “Just thinking about the work.”
An hour later, we gathered in the shelter. The site had been divided into five by five metre trenches, each numbered. Theo assigned tasks, some students cleared surface vegetation, others helped set up the total station and GPS base station. I was placed in Theo's group, responsible for recording.
“Our first step is to establish a precise coordinate system,” Linus explained, already pulling up topographic maps on his tablet. “Every find must be recorded in three dimensions, with an error margin of no more than one centimetre.”
Theo added, “Once we start digging, context is everything. The position of a potsherd can tell us when it was discarded, and by whom.”
All morning, I worked under Theo's guidance. He showed me how to use the field notebook, how to assign numbers to finds, how to record soil colour and texture. His instructions were clear and professional, but he kept his distance. He did not clap me on the shoulder or crack jokes as he did with other students. Any physical contact was strictly limited to what was necessary for demonstration, and withdrawn immediately.
By lunchtime, the rain had started again. We crowded into the dining tent, eating simple sandwiches and hot soup. Linus and Theo sat at the other end, discussing the afternoon's plans in low voices. I tried to catch their words, but only fragments reached me.
“The radar shows anomalies in the north east corner,” Linus said.
“Could be pits or storage features,” Theo replied. “But we'll need to test it.”
Emma nudged me. “Do you think they're friends? I can't imagine Professor Alder having friends.”
I looked at them. Theo was talking animatedly, his hands moving as he explained something, while Linus listened quietly, nodding from time to time. There was an ease between them, a mutual understanding that did not require many words.
“They're colleagues,” I said. “They've worked together for years.”
The afternoon work went deeper. I was assigned to assist with the ground penetrating radar. Linus operated the equipment himself, while I recorded scan paths and preliminary data.
“Look here,” Linus said, pointing to an arc shaped feature on the radar image. “This could be a wall foundation, but we'll need to compare it with magnetometry data to confirm.”
He stood close enough that I could smell the faint scent of his aftershave, mixed with rain and damp earth. As we leaned over the screen together, his arm brushed lightly against my shoulder.
“Do you think this is Iron Age or Roman?” I asked, trying to prolong the moment of closeness.
“From the curvature, it looks more like Roman construction,” he replied, his voice low. “But we need excavation to verify it. Science requires evidence, not guesses.”
His professionalism made me admire him even more, and feel even more frustrated. He was always so rational, so restrained.
The rain continued, and by evening the camp was thick with mud. We were soaked, cold and exhausted. After dinner in the dining tent, most students went straight back to their sleeping tents. I needed to organise the day's records, so I stayed behind in the shelter.
Only a single lantern lit the space, casting a soft glow. Rain drummed rhythmically on the canvas roof, creating a strange calm. I was concentrating on transcribing data when the flap was suddenly pulled aside and Theo stepped in.
He froze when he saw me. “Sorry, I didn't realise anyone was here. I need to grab some forms.”
“It's fine,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “I'm just sorting today's records.”
He nodded and walked to the storage cabinet. As he passed me, I noticed how awkward his movements were, he even nearly knocked over a chair. He found what he needed and turned to leave, but paused at the entrance.
“You did well today,” he said, without turning around. “Your records were very thorough.”
Then he disappeared into the rain. I sat there, bewildered. It was the first time he had praised me directly, and yet it was delivered in such a strange, distant way.
Several hours later, when I finished my work and returned towards the sleeping tents, I saw something unexpected. At the edge of the camp, near the equipment tent, Linus and Theo stood with their backs to me, arguing intensely but in low voices.
“…this isn't professional, Theo,” Linus's voice carried through the rain, cold and sharp.
“I know! I know!” Theo replied, with a rare edge of irritation. “Do you think I don't know that?”
“Then you need to control yourself.”
“I am controlling myself! God knows I am!”
Their voices stopped abruptly, as if they had realised how loud they were. Theo turned and walked towards his tent. Linus stayed where he was, tilting his head back to look at the sky as rain struck his face.
I slipped quietly back to my own tent, full of questions. What were they arguing about?
That night, I lay awake in the sound of rain and confusion.
The international archaeology conference was held in Vienna, and the scale was impressive. Linus and I attended together. I was presenting a short paper on digital archaeology methods, while Linus was one of the chairs of the Digital Humanities and Archaeology panel. I expected a purely academic trip. Then, in the crowded lobby of the conference centre, I saw a figure that almost stopped my heartbeat.Theo.He had grown leaner. The polar wind had carved his face into sharper lines. His skin carried a healthy bronze tone, yet his eyes were calmer than I remembered, like a deep glacial lake. He wore a rough Greenland wool jumper and was speaking with several Scandinavian archaeologists. His laughter was open, touched by a kind of wild confidence I didn't recognise.He saw us too. His smile froze for a second, then shifted into a restrained nod. Linus returned the gesture and placed his arm naturally around my shoulder, a quiet declaration of possession.Throughout the conference, the th
For a while my thesis pressure was intense, my sleep was poor, and my moods shifted like London weather, bright one hour and grey the next. Linus had just finished a complex simulation, something involving settlement distribution modelling and predictive site location, and he seemed quietly pleased. We had a bit of wine. Slightly tipsy, we drifted closer without really thinking about it. At first, everything unfolded as usual, gentle, gradual, familiar.But whether it was exhaustion, stress, or some hidden corner of me still comparing without admitting it, my body would not fully relax. I could not let go. Linus was patient. He tried different rhythms, different ways of touching, attentive as ever. Yet I felt as if there were frosted glass between us. I could sense his warmth and his effort, but I could not reach that point where everything dissolves. In the end, we stopped in a dull, unfinished fatigue.In the dark, we lay side by side, listening to each other breathe. I could feel th
For the three days after that, the three of us were caught in a strange deadlock. No one suggested leaving Amman, and no one tried to mention that night. During the day, we behaved like ordinary colleagues. We went to the hospital for Theo's follow up checks, stood in silence at the edge of the site, and discussed minor archaeological finds that didn't matter. At night, we returned to our own rooms, the boundaries clear. Yet the shadow of that night was everywhere, so any normal conversation felt false and almost absurd.Theo grew more withdrawn with each passing day. The wound on his arm was healing, but something in his eyes had fractured. He no longer tried to approach me in private, and when he looked at me, there was a complicated pain in his gaze.On the third evening, we found ourselves sitting together on the hotel's bare rooftop. Below us, the old city of Amman lit up slowly in the dusk. Theo took a long drink of the local beer, foam resting on his upper lip, and did not both
The night air in Amman was dry and rough, carrying the scent of distant desert. By the time Linus found the cheap hotel on the basis of vague leads, it was already late. The receptionist was half asleep and responded to his unclear English by pointing upstairs.He climbed the narrow stairs, the old floorboards groaning underfoot. The corridor was dim, with only a faint light spilling from a door at the far end. The closer he got, the clearer the sounds became. Not voices, but a suppressed mixture of breath, whimpering, and the sounds of bodies colliding.All the blood rushed to his head in an instant, then froze into ice the next second. Linus stopped outside the door, his hand on the rough wooden surface, feeling the faint vibration from inside. Sylvia's face, London's rain, Cambridge's dusk, all his reason, principles, and painfully maintained discipline were crushed to dust by the raw images and sounds leaking through the crack.He did not shout. He did not rage. Cold and heat expl
A few days earlier, Linus had mentioned that there was an important interdisciplinary seminar at the department on Friday afternoon, and that he would be back late. I hadn't thought much of it. That Friday afternoon, I needed to use the computer in his study that was connected to the departmental server to look up some material. When I turned it on, an email notification popped up. The sender was “Sylvia”, the subject line read “Additional data and model adjustments following today's seminar”, and it had been sent an hour earlier.“Following today's seminar”. Had they attended the same seminar? Or had they made separate plans afterwards?Without thinking, I clicked on the email. It was long, full of technical language and attached figures, clearly serious academic discussion. But in the final paragraph, Sylvia wrote, “Thank you again for your support at the seminar today and for the in depth discussion afterwards. Your insights into dynamic visibility threshold models were incredibly
I was in Linus's study looking for an old file when I pulled out a thick volume called Integrated GIS Approaches in Mediterranean Archaeology. Inside was a sticky note with Linus's handwriting, listing a few questions and a website. That meant nothing. But on the back of the note was another line of writing, neat and careful, in German. “To Professor Alder, thank you for your guidance. This ocean of intellect has gained its lighthouse because of you. S.”S, Sylvia.The note was new, the ink clear. This was a book Linus had been consulting recently. That meant Sylvia's note was kept in a book he touched almost every day.I held that thin piece of paper and started shaking. It was more lethal than any flirtatious message. Because it lived in the very centre of Linus's inner world, the place that symbolised his reason and intellect. Sylvia's thanks were so refined, so perfectly aligned with his values. This was something I had never given him. What I brought him were emotional storms, ph







