Stokes, Sanders and the Lost Tribe of Samartia

Previous part of Stokes, Sanders and the Lost Tribe of Samartia.
***
SEPARATION

When Greg awoke in the morning, he was first aware that his morning wood was getting a delicious friction from somewhere. He then also became aware that his limbs were entangled with Nick's, and they were twisted together in a blissfully comfortable half-naked mess. His cock was half-wedged between his thigh and one of Nick's legs, and what he thought was Nick's elbow bone turned out to be a bone of an entirely different kind. Greg's eyes widened. He was trapped. He couldn't wiggle out surreptitiously because the wall was at his back, the most he could attempt to do was try to scoot himself down the end of the bed without waking Nick up.

He would have preferred to stay there, and perhaps wake Nick up with slow nuzzles and soft kisses but he still couldn't figure the other man out. There had been moments before on their previous adventures, few and far between, but still there, where looks had been held longer than they normally would have been, or a slight flush would appear on Nick's face at Greg's unsubtle attempts at flirting. Never anger or any kind of reaction that might have been expected from a man who refused to entertain any such notion. Greg was starting to wonder if he was going crazy, that all this was some desperate attempt of his mind to justify that it was in any way possible that the interest Nick Stokes had in him was the kind he wanted. Yet here he was, lying in Nick's arms. Sure, the other man was asleep and unaware of what he was doing, but it could mean something, couldn't it?

Yet Greg also felt a need to protect the other man. He had dealt with Nick often enough to know that he was a very proud man, and he hated being slighted or embarrassed. If he wasn't intending to do this, or even if it was a subconscious desire playing out in his sleep, he might not be ready to face it, and Greg didn't want to force him into anything, which was why he was now trying to extricate himself.

He pulled away from Nick, and bit his tongue to stop from crying out as his painfully hard dick rubbed against Nick's leg. In the midst of it all, he couldn't resist doing it again, and deliberately this time. The blood in his dick was racing so fast he could feel the veins throb against Nick's skin. He was scared he was going to come in his drawers again, just from lying next to Nick Stokes. Okay, lying in the arms of Nick Stokes this time... okay, rubbing against him... but it was bordering on ridiculous.

By now he was face-to-groin with Nick, and his mouth fell open at the straining bulge in Nick's drawers. He wanted to cup it, feel its hardness against his palm, maybe even slip his hand under the material and feel the naked muscle itself. Hell, he wanted more than that. He wanted it in him, and then he wanted to return the favor and bury himself inside Nick, moaning, screaming, crying. He would even be willing to give up the Samartian Diadem for the pleasure.

What the hell was he thinking?

Greg quickly slid down the length of the bed, and landed on his ass on the grimy floor. He groaned inaudibly with distaste, then stood quickly and began searching for his clothes.

They were folded up neatly, and placed on the coffee table.

Greg stood in his drawers, feeling vulnerable and confused. He knew just how drunk he was last night; in fact his last memory was of entering the room, managing to kick off his shoes and then falling into a coma on the bed. He didn't remember removing his clothes. And he knew he wasn't in the frame of mind at the time to be so neat. When he was sober, he still wasn't that neat. That meant the other man sprawled in their bed - their, again! - was responsible.

Greg jammed his left foot into the applicable pant leg, trying to concentrate on anything other than his punishing fantasies.

When Nick came back to consciousness, his raging hard-on was the first thing on his mind. He almost sat up, but then remembered where he was and hoped that he wasn't tenting the blanket too obviously. He rolled over onto his stomach instead, causing his prick considerable pain as it ground into the hard mattress.

He could now see Greg, his back to him as he pulled his loose shirt out to the front so he could start buttoning it.

"Good morning," Nick mumbled.

Greg almost jumped, but turned to face him and was glad that his dick had calmed down considerably, not to mention was hidden from view.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Nick faux-yawned. "You been up long?"

"Nope. Just about to head up for breakfast. You coming?"

If it could have spoken, his dick would have replied "In a minute", but it couldn't, so Nick had to speak for it. Greg looked at him for a moment, then nodded and left the room.

Nick groaned, and rolled onto his back again. He was definitely tenting his drawers. He slid a hand down into them, and gave a tentative tug to his cock. It responded favorably to his touch, swelling even further under his hand, the tip already slick with pre-cum. Nick squeezed the tip to collect some, and then ran his hand down his shaft to lubricate it. The air was cool on his skin as he released his cock from his drawers and took it in hand more easily. As he began to stroke his mind wandered, and as it seemed to do at the moment, it immediately concentrated on Greg. He pretended his hand was Greg's, that the man was lying beside him, his hand playfully rubbing Nick's cock into submission. Nick wanted to take it slow, but the thought of Greg forgetting something, as he usually did, and bursting back in made him begin to pump himself quickly. His breathing grew short and fast, his hand blurred below his waist. He closed his eyes so that the image of Greg could grow stronger in his vision. The tightness at the back of his balls let him know he was close; his eyes sprang open as his cum shot through the length of his shaft and sought release. He felt as if he couldn't stop, as thick spurts of liquid spattered his stomach. Nick moaned as he pumped himself dry, his hand sticky while he patted his member as if congratulating it for doing a good job. As his cum cooled on his skin, Nick wondered if Greg would be a cuddler after sex, just like he was during sleep. Before he could start getting hard again, he stood and reached for his bag to start cleaning himself up.

When he was suitably refreshed and clothed, Nick made his way to the port side where the dining area was set up. Greg was at their table, and Nick shook his head at himself for thinking of it as â€˜their' place. The other man was drinking his customary cup of coffee and slicing a mango. Juice was glistening on his chin and he wiped it away as Nick approached.

"Take a seat?" he offered.

Nick nodded. "I'll just grab something first."

Greg smiled as Nick walked away, glad that the status quo was remaining constant and that whatever had transpired during the night and morning didn't seem to be affecting them in any adverse fashion.

He was still grinning goofily to himself and had to wipe the expression off his face hastily when Nick returned. Just as he was about to make small talk however, a shadow fell across their table. Both men looked up to find Hodges smiling greasily at them.

"Ah, you two are finally up," he said, his tone dripping with insinuation that both were finding uncomfortable and hoping that the other wouldn't guess as to the cause.

Strangely enough, it was Nick who tried to be amiable. "I think both of us had a little too much to drink last night."

"Well, you were obviously dead to the world when the boat stopped this morning," Hodges said.

"What?" Greg wiped at his mouth with a napkin. "Why did we stop?"

"One of the native guides decided he wanted to return to his village instead of continuing with us," Hodges explained with a slight sneer. "So we let him off at the closest possible point."

Greg frowned. "I wish you had told me beforehand."

"I didn't think it was that important," Hodges shrugged.

"Can we survive without him?"

"Well, we're down two men now."

"Two?" Nick asked. "I thought you said only one got off?"

Hodges sighed, as if he thought Nick was stupid, or should at least have the ability to read his mind so he wasn't obliged to explain this next bit. "His brother decided to go with him as well. You can't keep good help these days, no matter how well you pay them." He looked pointedly at Greg. "Of course, sir, I made sure they were only paid for the time they had worked with us, not for the whole journey."

Greg waved it off. "As long as it's not detrimental to the quest, it's fine."

Hodges nodded, and moved away.

"The quest?" Nick asked, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "What are we, characters in an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel?"

Greg grinned. "Maybe."

"Oh, before I forget," Hodges turned back. "Mr. Stokes, you'll be happy to know that due to this unforeseen event, a cabin has now been freed up. So you'll no longer have to share with Mr. Sanders." He folded his arms over his chest, as if to contain his barely-concealed glee. "I know that that was an imposition for you before?"

Nick and Greg both stared at the table, as if they couldn't look at each other or Hodges.

"It was..." Nick agreed, weakly. The last thing he wanted to do now was put distance between himself and Greg.

Greg felt the same way, but of course felt he couldn't say so to Hodges. Or Nick. "Look at it like this, you won't have me kicking you during the night now."

"Win-win all round!" Hodges smiled. "Would you like me to move your bags for you, sir?"

Greg glowered at him. "That won't be necessary, Hodges. I'm sure I can handle them."

"Very good, sir. Enjoy your breakfast."

He walked away, chuckling to himself. It had been worth paying off the natives to leave early, just to see their faces when he delivered the news. It had been a stroke of luck that he found out that the two natives lived on the river. It had worked out for them, as it meant that they had actually done very little work but had been paid for the whole journey. And although Hodges would end up out of pocket, he had overcharged Greg so much anyway that it wouldn't really matter in the end. It meant far more to Hodges to see the smug expressions wiped off the men's faces as it meant that whatever pathetic little love affair was beginning to blossom on this trip would now be crushed out.

Hodges began to whistle to himself as he skipped down the stairs to the deck below.

Back at the breakfast table, Nick and Greg were still trying to find their footing with one another again.

"So, no longer bunk buddies," Greg breathed, although it hurt to do so.

"I guess not," Nick said sullenly.

Annoyed that he couldn't get anything deeper out of the man, Greg felt his temper flare. "Well, this little holiday friendship had to end sooner or later, didn't it? We're here for one reason, and one reason only. The Samartian Diadem."

Nick finally looked at him, and his eyes burned brightly with repressed anger. "I guess you're right. It all starts here and now."

Greg wadded up his napkin and threw it onto his plate. "I better go and move my stuff to my new room."

Nick nodded, unable to say anything else. He picked up his coffee, trying not to acknowledge that his hand was shaking slightly as he watched Greg walk away.

NEW DIGS

"Fucking Hodges," Greg snarled as he walked into their - Nick's, now - room, and slammed the door shut behind him. "Goddamn piece of shit, sorry-ass excuse for a human being!"

He knew that Hodges had engineered this somehow, not that he would ever be able to prove it. It was just the way Hodges operated. And he had planned it all exactly, with the fake pleasantries to make it look as if it were all arranged to be beneficial for Nick and Greg. And there hadn't been a damn thing he could say to Nick without revealing himself then and there. So what had he done? Acted like the bully picking on the person they secretly loved instead of the one they despised, in an effort to conceal the way they truly felt. He had basically told Nick he didn't give a fuck about the headway they had made with each other. That all he cared about was the Samartian Diadem.

"You're a fuckwit, Sanders," he breathed. "You ruin everything."

He started to gather his belongings together ' it didn't take too long. He was used to living on the run, so he had packed very little, and what little there was, was essential. He was just zipping the bag up when there was a knock on the door. He hated the skip in his heart that heralded hope that it was Nick, but of course it had to be Hodges.

"All packed, Sanders?"

"Why are you doing this, Hodges?" Greg asked, exasperatedly.

Hodges tried to look as innocent as he could muster. "What? Mr. Stokes expressed displeasure at sharing a cabin, I thought he would be happy that one had become available."

"Whatever," Greg muttered, turning back to his bag.

"Oh, it's you who isn't happy," Hodges said, having known ages before that this was a fact. "What's the matter, Sanders? Did you think that if you got to share a room long enough with him you would turn him queer?"

Greg turned on him, his eyes flashing with anger. "Don't you use that fucking word on me!"

"Why not? It's what you are."

"I know what I am," Greg slung his bag over his shoulder. "I just hate having something in common with you."

"What is it about me?" Hodges asked, finally breaking. "What is it that makes me so undesirable to you?"

Greg looked at him coldly. "Because you're you. Is that answer enough?"

Hodges watched him go, his hands ineffectually balling into fists that would never be used. Hodges wasn't a man of violence, he always used more nefarious means to get his revenge. He walked out of the room that now belonged to Nick Stokes alone, and slammed the door behind him.

Nick barreled into him at the bottom of the stairs. "Whoo, watch where you're going, Hodges."

"Don't," Hodges spat, turned away, and suddenly back to thrust his finger in Nick's face, "Don't you ever tell me what to do, Stokes!"

"Sure thing, Hodges," Nick said mockingly, wondering what had gotten into the man now.

Not that he cared; he had an empty room to go back to now, thanks to David Hodges.

Hodges grimaced, and then stormed off without another word.

Nick shook his head and opened to the door to their - no, his - room and sat heavily on the bed, which now seemed gigantic without the possibility of Greg lying beside him through the night. He let himself sink onto the mattress, turning his head slightly to see if he could still smell the sandalwood and spice that seemed to define Greg's scent. He breathed in deeply, and let out a shuddering sigh. He felt ridiculous. He felt alone.

Greg's new room was spacious, although it probably wouldn't have felt that way if he had to share it. Although that depended entirely upon who the person sharing it would be. As in, anybody but Nick.

He was actually kind of surprised that Hodges hadn't tried to worm his way into trying to share the room. Greg had attempted gently rebuffing the man over the years, but he was getting worse. He didn't know why he seemed the be all and end all to the man, but it wasn't reciprocal. And even in his more desperate and lonely moments Greg wasn't cruel enough to take advantage of a warm body that wanted him even if he didn't want them back.

The room didn't smell like Nick, a scent he had gotten more than accustomed to over the past couple of days. It didn't even smell like himself, it was totally alien and it made him feel miserable. He threw his bag down by the bed, and lay down, hoping sleep would make the time pass by quicker.

The two archeologists were reunited at dinner, but there was now a frisson of discomfort between them. It was as if Hodges, in his scheming, had excavated something between them neither were ready to have exposed. Although they still sat together at the same table, Nick had folders filled with notes on the Samartians spread before him. He absentmindedly brushed away the crumbs that fell from the piece of bread he was eating, peering intently from behind the glasses that he had put on so he could read, completely unaware that they had such an effect on Greg he almost fell over the railing thanks to the fact he was rocking on the legs of his chair.

Nick was trying his best to ignore the other man. Everything Greg seemed to do at the moment was charged with sex, even though he was seemingly unaware of it; from the way he greedily licked his fingers free of grease, to the way he bit into the soft fruit provided for dessert, to the way he savored his final coffee for the evening. Even the way he lazily rocked on his chair, his eyes half-closed and his mouth slightly open as he hummed unconsciously to himself.

Nick made a hasty retreat back to his room, and laid out the reports on the bed and continued to read. He had to stop thinking of Greg, even if it did seem impossible to do so. He read the same page four times, each time realizing that he had to yank his attention back to his research and away from Greg.

In his own room, Greg's thoughts were filled with Nick as he listlessly jerked off. When he came, he should have felt relief; instead, he felt empty and pathetic. He wiped himself clean, then closed his eyes and tried to find comfort in sleep once more.

NIGHT TERRORS

When the explosion roared through the ship, Nick's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure if the sound had come from some remnant of a dream, but he slowly became aware that the engines were quiet. The silence was deathly in the middle of the Amazon River at night. He reached for his shirt and pants, and ran out into the passageway while still buttoning the former.

The Bloody Mary suddenly gave out a scream etched in steel, and the whole boat lurched to its side. There was nothing for him to grab on to, and Nick fell against the wall, hitting his head against one of the light brackets. He groaned and sank to his knees, rubbing the spot which was surely going to produce a bump. He stumbled to his feet, and had to run at an angle to keep upright. It was hard going, but he persevered. As he turned the corner he collided with one of the natives, who yelled at him in the local dialect, out of which he was only able to ascertain about one in every four words. The man kept running, heading to what he assumed would be safety on the upper decks.

Nick followed him up the stairs, onto the top deck. It was a hive of activity. Men were throwing supplies into the water, and Hodges was barking orders at them.

"Hodges! What happened?"

Hodges huffed as if he was far too busy to explain such unimportant details to the man who was part-providing his pay cheque. "There was an explosion in the engine room. It took out part of the hull. We're sinking."

"Was anybody injured?" Nick asked.

Hodges rolled his eyes. "Did you not just hear me, Stokes? We're sinking!"

Nick grabbed him by the collar. "Was anybody injured?"

Hodges tried to free himself, but couldn't as Nick's grip was too strong. "Two crew members killed!"

Nick shook his head, disbelievingly.

"Grow a pair, Stokes," Hodges spat. "There's nothing we can do for them now. We have to think of ourselves."

"I know there's nothing else you ever think of," Nick hissed.

"Oh, you're breaking my heart," Hodges snapped. "Now let me do my job."

Nick relaxed his grip, and surveyed the workers on the deck while Hodges started shouting at them again. Nick's brows furrowed when he realized Greg was nowhere to be found. He grabbed Hodges by the shoulder and turned him around again.

"Have you seen Sanders?"

"No. He's probably getting his shit together."

"Have you checked?"

"I'm not his babysitter."

Nick relished the thought of his fist connecting with that jaw once more, but restrained himself from actually following through with it. "No, but you're his employee, and I think part of your job description is to look out for him. So where is he?"

He couldn't help but think of how he had hit his head when the ship lurched. Suppose Greg had done the same, but had actually been knocked out?

Hodges threw up his hands exasperatedly. "Forget about him! It's every man for himself now, Stokes."

He regretted saying that as his feet left the ground. Nick had hoisted him up by the scruff of the neck and thrown him against a cabin wall, his knuckles digging painfully into Hodges' throat.

"I'll remember that if I see you thrashing about in the water, screaming for help," Nick growled. "Now, where the hell is his room?"

Hodges squirmed beneath him. "Two decks down, at the very end of the passageway."

Nick released him, and took off. Feeling braver now that Nick was out of striking distance, Hodges yelled after him, "This boat isn't going to last much longer! It might be quicker if you galloped to his rescue on your white horse, Stokes!"

Nick ignored him, knowing it wasn't worth it.

Greg wasn't the type of guy to be missing in this kind of situation. He would have been up on deck as well, salvaging goods and equipment, making sure every man was accounted for, and how they would reach the safety of shore. Before he disappeared below deck, Nick unhooked one of the lanterns from the wall and stretched it out into the darkness away from the boat as far as he could. He could vaguely make out the banks of the river in the distance, luckily they weren't too far away. There were places up the Amazon where the distance between banks was approximately seven miles, even in the dry season. At most he would estimate that they were seventy to eighty yards from the banks. Not much really, but eighty yards seemed pretty far when you were in the Amazon, a river notorious for its predators. Especially under cover of darkness.

He took the lantern with him. He knew the generators probably wouldn't last much longer, and there was no way he was going to get stuck plunging about in the bowels of a sinking ship without a light to guide his way back up. His job had at least taught him that much, although he had never been on a sinking ship before. Family legend had claimed that his grandfather had bought a ticket on the Titanic but missed the boat because of a heavy drinking session the night before, but if Nick had a dime for every time he had heard someone tell a variation of this story he could have retired by now. He also had great-aunt Lester trying to perpetuate the myth that she had been a nurse on the Britannic when it had been bombed... despite the fact that she had never left her home state of California, and nor had she ever trained as a nurse.

It amused Nick now to think that the child who had grown up listening to the tall tales of his relatives would be the one to actually experience what it felt like to be on a sinking ship. Even if The Bloody Mary was no Britannic or Titanic.

The smile on his face faded as thoughts of Greg came to him again, and he wondered just where the hell he was right now. As he passed the door of his room, he quickly grabbed his bag and put on his shoes. Experience had taught him to always have your bag at the ready in case of emergency, and to always pack for emergencies. Anybody who looked through the lightweight satchel would be surprised at the amount and variety of goods he managed to squirrel away in there. Slinging it around his shoulders, he made his way to the second set of stairs.

And stopped short.

It was currently only ankle deep, but there was water sloshing on the next level.

He really didn't want to go down there, but he had to find Greg. The ship groaned once more, and the generators must have died because the lights were finally beaten into submission. Nick would have been in total darkness if it weren't for the lantern he had grabbed before.

Sweat pierced his brow, and he could hear his slightly panicked breathing echo around the passageway as the dark threatened to close in on him. He thought once more of Greg, steeled himself, and made his way down the stairs.

Into the dark. Into the water.

A RESCUER WITHOUT A HORSE

Greg slowly came to with a pounding headache, and the distinct feeling that he had pissed himself.

Really pissed himself. Enough to splash about in.

Hang on, there was no way that could be right.

Greg forced his eyes open under great duress, as his temples were screaming at him to not let any light in. But he had to.

He opened his eyes to darkness.

Oh sweet holy fuck, I've gone blind!

He thrashed about in the water, and sat up. The water lapped around his thighs, and Greg began to regain his senses when he made out the faint blue moonlight straining to enter through the dingy porthole above his head.

The room was submerged ankle-deep in water. And Greg could now feel the listing of the ship.

We're sinking!

He thanked himself for stating the obvious, and then Nick's tale of the candiru came into his head. He jumped up, so that his dick wouldn't become home to the flesh-eating fish, and groped around for his clothes. Of course, they were wet. If he had been sharing with Nick still, they would have been folded for him and put up on higher ground (that is, not the floor). Yet another reason to curse Hodges.

At least he had had enough sense to stow his bag on the shelf near the porthole. As he reached up to get it, dizziness suddenly struck him, and he fell on his ass heavily, thankfully upon the bed. He winced, and touched his hand to his head as if that could make the pain disappear. His fingers found a sticky and viscous fluid that automatically registered to him as blood. Groggily, he got to his feet again, and fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him, he grabbed his bag, and was just on his way to the door when it flew open, and Nick Stokes stood before him.

"Greg!" He sounded concerned, and he thrust a lantern into Greg's face. "Shit, what happened to you?"

Greg reached out and grabbed Nick's arm to steady himself. "I don't know. I woke up in the water. Am I bleeding?"

Nick touched the scalp gingerly. "Yeah, it's a head wound. It doesn't look too bad, but you know how they bleed out. I think you'll survive." He tried to deliver the last line with an ounce of humor to belie the situation they were in.

"Why is there water in my room?" Greg asked in bewilderment. "Did we hit an iceberg? Knowing Hodges' sense of direction, I wouldn't be surprised."

Nick gave a short laugh, and started leading Greg out of the room. "There was an explosion in the engine room. We're going down. It's time for us to get off."

"Stop flirting with me, Stokes." If he weren't feeling so surreal, Greg wouldn't have been so forthright.

Under the circumstances, neither would Nick. "Time for that later."

"Promise?"

Nick pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped at the blood on Greg's face. "Yeah, promise."

"Then, let's get out of here."

They made their way down the tilting passage back to the stairs. The water was now up to their knees, but they were clear of it once they started climbing. Greg still felt dizzy, but felt much better with Nick at his side. It then struck him that Nick hadn't known where he was, and had obviously come looking for him. While the ship was sinking around him. Knowing now that the man had suffered from claustrophobia since his burial in the tomb, Greg was both humbled and further in awe of Nick Stokes.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asked as they made their way past their old room.

"When I made it up on deck I couldn't see you, and I thought you might have been injured. I made Hodges tell me."

"I bet he was really concerned."

"Rats are always the first to desert a sinking ship," Nick said bitterly.

"Don't insult the poor rats by comparing Hodges to them," Greg pointed out. "He's not even worth the fleas on rats. Or the dust on the fleas on rats."

Nick laughed. "I get the picture."

"You would have thought he would have wanted to save his cash cow," Greg murmured. "Moo."

"He's not worth worrying about."

"Still," Greg said thoughtfully. "At least you came for me."

"I wasn't going to let you drown, Greg."

"First time," Greg murmured.

"What?"

"Tonight's the first time you ever called me anything but Sanders."

"Well, you do have a first name," Nick said, hesitantly.

"Yeah, but-"

Greg got no further as the boat lurched further into the water without warning. Nick fell heavily against him, and even though his head was screaming Greg managed to support him and help him regain his balance.

"Come on, she's starting to slip faster. We've got to get out of here."

Greg nodded, and as they started to climb the last few stairs they heard the sound of water gushing below them. They peered through the stairs and saw that the river had totally submerged the deck that Greg's room had been on. Greg paled at the thought that he could have still been down there. Nick started pulling him up along with him.

"Don't start thinking about that!" he ordered. "You were already conscious when I found you."

"But I was out of it. I could have still been sitting there..."

"But you aren't!"

"Yes, because of you!"

Nick was relieved that they were finally back out on the top decks. "Greg, you're here now. Nothing else matters but that, does it?"

Before Greg could respond, Nick tilted his head slightly. "Do you hear that?"

Now that the adrenaline was slowing in his system, and the sound of blood rushing through his ears was no longer the loudest in a cacophony of panic, Greg could hear it too.

Anguished screams coming from the port side.

Without speaking, both men made their way down the angled decks, gravity assisting them this time around rather than working against them as it had on their way up the stairs. They rounded the corner, to find the fantail where their breakfast table had been entirely submerged. Men were in the water, some trying to claw their way back onto the deck, others slowly swimming to the shoreline.

Greg was just about to slide further down the deck and start helping them when he noticed the reason for the screaming.

Caimans. A flotilla of them in the water, having been alerted to the fact that there was prey in abundance around the boat. Greg froze, taken back to the time when he had watched someone die before him in exactly the same fashion. It was happening again. Had he been rescued from drowning just so he could be eaten alive by one of the most ferocious predators of the Amazon? The water below him thrashed with dying men and fierce beasts. The river surely would have been red with blood had it not been midnight.

"Making the green one red", he whispered.

"Think of the comedies," Nick instructed him.

The boat lurched again. Greg's bare feet slipped out from under him; he landed on his ass and began sliding down into the water. He scrabbled frantically, trying to find something to grab onto, his vision filled with a man before him who was reaching out for help, when something dark and torpedo-shaped surfaced near him. The man screamed as he was jerked below the surface, disappearing in a wake of ripples acting as a target which Greg was about to hit.
***
SCREAMS IN THE NIGHT

"Greg!"

Nick immediately grabbed for the railing when the boat moved beneath them again. Nick stared open-mouthed at water shooting out of the stairwell as if it were a geyser, turning back in time to see Greg, his face set but his eyes betraying his horror, scrabbling for any kind of hold on the deck but failing miserably. He slid inexorably down toward the water, where the caimans awaited below.

Panicked, Nick threw himself after the other man, and was rewarded when he managed to hook the back of Greg's belt, breaking his momentum. Nick's feet kicked wildly, trying to gain some friction to slow them both down. Thankfully, his rubber soled hiking boots gave them a few more seconds to find something solid to grab onto. Greg twisted beneath him, and he flung out a hand to catch onto the railing.

They shuddered to a halt, inches above the waterline, muscles and tendons straining as they hung onto each other desperately. The Bloody Mary was now turning onto its side, trapping some of the men who had sought safety by jumping from off the boat, only to find greater danger from the powerful jaws of the caimans surrounding them in the roiling waters.

Nick and Greg clung to the railing, knowing they had to move before one of the caimans got too frisky and started snapping at them in order to drag them down into their world. Nick scooted closer to the side, and used the angled railing as a ladder to escape from the river. He reached down and helped Greg over the first few rungs, and they started climbing together up towards the dormant funnels, now lying uselessly in the water like strange bridges. Their bags weighed them down, but they had no choice but to keep them. They knew the few supplies they carried were essential to their survival until they made it to a village. If they made it to a village. First they had to make it to shore in one piece.

They rested briefly on one of the funnels.

"This boat isn't going to stay afloat much longer," Nick said.

"We can't go in the water," Greg said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Nick rested his hands on his hips and a tiny tip of his tongue emerged between his lips as he tried to come up with a brilliant place of escape from their perilous situation. "I know."

"Thanks for saving me. Again."

Nick waved his thanks away, concentrating.

Greg jumped when a dark shape drifted past them in the water, but he realized it was only a wooden box, half submerged and ready to sink. It was marked â€˜weaponry'.

He leant out over the surface of the water. Nick cried out in alarm, but Greg ignored him. He pulled the box toward them, and Nick helped him haul it up onto the funnel.

"Good call," Nick said, although he could also have willingly killed him for such an act of foolhardiness.

Greg nodded silently.

"But that was reckless of you. What's the use of me trying to save your ass if you're going to keep throwing yourself into danger?"

"We have to help those men, Nick!" Greg protested, and that was the end of their argument.

Nick nodded, and Greg tore the lid off, pleased by the arsenal of guns and ammunition that lay within. He tossed Nick a rifle and chose one for himself, loading it with ammunition. Greg immediately stood, and searched by moonlight for the surviving men.

There was one crewman splashing madly, trying to make it to the bank, unaware of the dark shape of a caiman heading towards him. Greg's eyes narrowed as he peered through the sight, and began firing. The man squealed in fright as the bullets started splashing into the water behind him.

"Aim for the eyes or the mouth if you can," he instructed Nick. "Their hide is too tough for the bullets to make much of an impression."

Nick nodded silently, and chose his own target not that far from where they stood on the half-submerged funnel. The sound of gunfire joined the screams in the surreal scene taking place on the surface of the Amazon, adding to the general mayhem.

Greg smiled in relief when he saw the man throw himself onto shore and glance back towards where Greg stood, giving him a brief wave of thanks before taking off into the cover of the jungle.

More men began reaching the shore as Nick and Greg helped fend off the assault of the caiman by firing bullets at them. As Greg had said, the bullets wouldn't do much damage to their thick skin, but they were distracting enough to give the men some chance of making it to safety.

The night was quiet once more. Greg put his gun down by his feet and unzipped his bag. He started stuffing extra guns and ammunition into it, far more than Nick thought was necessary. "Planning to start your own army?"

"You don't know how much we'll need for defense out there," Greg said, by way of explanation.

"Ammunition, yes. But we probably don't need more than the guns we already have," Nick pointed out.

Greg considered that, then nodded. "Just take one or two spares in case something happens to them." He began to pull out some of the weapons he had already packed, realizing the amount he had put in there was verging on the ridiculous for only two men.

The Bloody Mary gave one final wheeze of agony, and the water around them began to churn as the last pressure pockets of air within the doomed vessel were forced out. Greg picked up his bag again, and both men staggered as they tried to maintain their balance.

"This is it!" Greg shouted. He looked around desperately, knowing that there was nobody left who would to try to keep the caimans off them once they went into the water. It would only be mere moments before the water would be lapping around their feet, and they were easy prey for the beasts lurking in the water just waiting for the right moment.

Nick didn't say anything, trying to remain calm, and scoping out their immediate vicinity for anything they could use to get them out of this mess. This was not how he planned on going out.

Water filled his boots as the funnel began to slip further into the river, taking the two men with it.

SWINGERS

Nick would almost have gone over the side if Greg hadn't thrown out a hand to steady him. He clutched it gratefully, and they stared at each other, watching the waters soak their pant legs.

"I guess we're going to just have to go for it, and hope for the best," Greg said.

Nick nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't rescue you as much as I intended to."

Greg gave a mirthless laugh. "Heck, I'm sorry I didn't rescue you even a little bit. I guess when it comes down to it, it's every man for himself in the end."

Nick was reminded of Hodges' words to him earlier. "I don't believe that, and I don't think you do either, or else you would have been off the boat long ago, instead of shooting caimans off those men's backs."

Greg shrugged, feeling this wasn't the time for a monologue about morality. "Let's go."

As they both turned to face the shoreline, they were amazed to find one of the men had returned. He was standing on the bank shouting, although he hadn't been able to make himself heard over the death sounds of the sinking boat. He held a vine in each hand, both of which hung from a high branch jutting over the water. Relieved that he finally had their attention, he jumped excitedly, and mimed throwing the vines over.

Nick punched Greg in the shoulder jubilantly. "I guess it's not every man for himself, after all!"

Greg smiled back. "I'm glad."

The first vine skimmed over the water gracefully, and Nick caught it without trouble. He immediately handed it to Greg.

"No," Greg protested. "You go first."

"Don't argue with me, Greg," Nick warned.

The second vine now flew across, and Nick snatched that one as well, wrapping it around one hand.

"I know you'll hate to hear this, Greg, but you have a head wound, and you're bleeding. The caimans will go for you first."

Greg paled, as the thought occurred to him of what Nick might be suggesting. "You can't stay behind!"

"Only until you get across. I'll watch your back. Try to make it to the bank and don't fall in the water. But if you do, I'll be here. If you fall in, just swim to the shore as quick as you can. Don't waste time looking back, if you hear something behind you, run in a zig-zag pattern. They can outrun you if you try to run straight."

"But what about you?"

Nick reached the limit of his patience. "The longer you argue with me, the less chance I'll have. Now go, fuck you!"

Nick's anger snapped Greg out of his worry, especially as he realized the other man's words were true. He nodded, wrapped his hands around the vine, prayed quickly that it would support his weight, and he jumped off the funnel, his legs held up before him so they wouldn't hit the water. As soon as he had launched himself, Nick had his gun at the ready, searching for anything that might have Greg in its sights.

To Greg, the feeling of flight was exhilarating, even despite the circumstances. He couldn't help but let out a whoop of delight; which made Nick, standing guard behind him on the funnel, smile. Greg made it easily to the bank, and fell heavily to his knees as he tried to hit the ground running. Nick felt a bead of sweat skirt his left eye as he strained to watch the dark water for anything that might burst out and lunge for him. Greg was helped to his feet by the crewman, and they both ran to a safer distance, turning to gesture Nick to join them.

So now it was his turn. He slung the rifle over his bag, and shoved both of them over his back. He took the vine in both hands, gripping it tightly, and launched himself off the funnel just in time as the ship gave one last shudder before disappearing beneath the surface. Nick held up his legs as Greg had, but his hands kept slipping, allowing his feet to smack along the surface. He groaned, as he knew the splashing would only alert the caimans to his presence.

And then the vine snapped, and Nick fell into the river below!

He didn't even have time to register what had happened before he felt the pressure in his ears as he kicked for the surface. He didn't think he could be that far from the bank, and he didn't even dare think about the caimans. Or the anacondas. Or the piranhas. Or even the fucking candiru. He broke through the surface of the water and took in a huge breath of fresh air, and instantly swam for shore, weighed down by the waterlogged bag and rifle. He could hear noises in the water behind him, but he couldn't be sure whether it was the ship settling on the riverbed, or something more sinister. And there was no time to ponder as he finally clawed his way up the bank, and began running.

"ZIG ZAG! ZIG ZAG!" he heard Greg yell.

He didn't dare look back; he trusted Greg's warning and immediately began to run in a zig-zag formation. Bullets rained over his head, but all he could really hear was the blood pounding in his temples and through his ears. He didn't even know where Greg was, but it had to be him firing. Nick saw a large tree directly ahead of him, and he threw himself up its trunk, scrabbling like a strange monkey to reach the safety of its upper branches.

He still couldn't look back. He lay across a branch, and rested his cheek against the cool bark, trying to gain his breath again.

He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned around clumsily as he tried not to fall off. Greg was supporting himself with one arm, his long limbs making him look even more like a monkey than Nick had previously. His rifle was slung by his side.

"You can look back now," Greg said solemnly.

Wet, exhausted, scared and sweaty, Nick looked down between the sprays of leaves to see the corpse of a caiman bigger than himself lying not that far from the tree. If Greg hadn't been there...

"Thanks," Nick breathed.

Greg shrugged, his nonchalance entirely a faÃ§ade. "We rescue each other. It's more fair that way."

They both began to laugh, edging on hysteria. Overcome, Nick reached up, and grabbed Greg in a bear hug. Greg hugged him back just as fiercely.

WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?

They stood like that, slightly swaying in the branches, for quite a while. They rested their heads in the crook of each other's shoulder, taking comfort in the fact that they had survived and it was all thanks to the other. The dampness of Nick's clothes and skin began to seep through Greg's, but he wouldn't let him go. When he had seen Nick drop into the water, from his vantage point in the tree, he had feared the worst. He had started to swing down from his branch, but realized the best thing he could do was cover Nick with the rifle. He had started shooting as soon as Nick had emerged from the river, hoping to scare away any caimans, only to realize that there was one tough son-of-a-bitch that wouldn't be deterred.

"Is this weird?" Nick finally asked, thinking that it wasn't.

Greg hesitated before answering; wondering whether he should give the answer he thought Nick wanted to hear, or the answer he should hear. "No, not at all."

Daring to press further, Nick asked, "Why isn't it?"

Greg laughed, his breath warm against Nick's skin. "Because it's not."

"Most men don't hug like this," Nick said.

"We're not most men," Greg replied, then realizing he could be treading on thin ice there, changed tack. "At least, I'm not."

Nick pulled back. "What are you saying?"

Pissed that he had destroyed the level of ease and camaraderie that had been slowly building between them in only a few seconds, Greg spat, "Because I'm as queer as a three dollar bill, that's why, Stokes! Is that what you wanted to hear?"

He realized how ludicrous this little scene was, two men balancing on a tree branch in the Amazonian jungle, discussing sexual politics. But where else could something so surreal seem almost normal in these circumstances?

He was scared to look up and meet Nick's eyes again, but he steeled himself to do so. Of course, he also couldn't help noticing that Nick's white shirt had become see-through, and each tell-tale erect nipple made a dark spot against the fabric. He dragged his stare from the sharply-defined torso, and finally looked the man in the face. Nick wore a strange expression, but he didn't back off.

"You're queer?"

"I believe I already confirmed that, yeah."

"But, Hodges'"

Greg's eyes narrowed. "What about Hodges?"

"He told me that you were straight, that you had a girl in every port!" Nick protested.

"I told you never to trust a word that guy said!" Greg groaned. It then occurred to him what was implied within Nick's question. "Wait a minute, you asked Hodges if I was straight?"

Nick began to look flustered. "I didn't ask him... he volunteered that information."

"Oh, I bet he did," Greg fumed. "How could you let yourself be suckered in by him?"

"Hang on a moment..."

"Are you queer, Nick?"

The question was blunt, to the point and it was one Nick had never had put to him in such a fashion. Usually there was a subtle decorum to it, but the jungle didn't seem to be a place for the usual social niceties.

He took a deep breath. "Yes. I don't like that particular term, though."

Greg felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his chest. So, one thing had been confirmed at least. But the big question remained. Just because two like-minded men met one another, it didn't guarantee any feelings of reciprocity; just as there was no guarantee of instant sparks between a man and a woman when they were introduced. And this was a harder question than the previous one.

They stood there in silence, the faint sounds of the jungle surrounding them. Funny how even that could sustain an awkward silence.

"Aah, fuck it," Greg murmured.

He didn't get any further, because Nick's mouth was suddenly against his. Strong, unyielding, possessive. This only served to make Greg fight back against him as passionately, as if he wanted to devour him whole. Which he did. Nick's wet hand against the back of his neck brought him in for a deeper kiss. They both thrilled as their tongues finally met and they got to taste each other, despite the fact that neither one's breath was spectacular by this stage of the morning, especially with Nick's special dunking in the river; all senses were over-riding the less-than-perfect elements of this kiss that had been such a long time coming. Gaping for air, they broke apart only when their position on the branch unbalanced and threatened to topple them to the ground below, on top of the corpse of the barely-dead caiman.

They awkwardly grappled with branches, and with each other, for support until they were fully balanced again.

"So..." Nick whistled.

"Yeah, so," Greg agreed dumbly.

"Uh, you didn't mind that I did that? Did you?"

Greg wanted to laugh, but this needed delicacy rather than the typically blundering Greg Sanders approach. "Hell, no."

"I... I don't do with that just anybody."

"Really? That's not what Hodges told me."

Nick opened his mouth to protest, but the mirth in Greg's eyes stopped him.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Greg wheezed.

"I just wouldn't put anything past that man," Nick glowered.

"I'm sick of hearing about Hodges, especially at this juncture," Greg breathed, going in for the kill once more. Nick found himself with an armful of Greg pressed up against him, and he thrilled to it. He had been denying to himself how much he had wanted this, how much he had wanted Greg... how long had he wanted Greg? He had to admit there had always been a chemistry between them, even as self-declared enemies in the field of treasure-hunting. Had Greg's cockiness and attention-seeking been nothing more than a peacock preening itself for a potential mate?

No, there was far more to Greg than that. He was an equal in every way, as desperate to win as Nick himself. He was a formidable opponent, yet, here in his arms it felt like the most natural place for him to be.

Suddenly Greg drew away and stared at him. "You're thinking too hard."

"Sorry."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Just everything that's gotten us to this point."

"That's pretty heavy."

Nick grinned at the damp patches scattered over Greg's clothing from where the soaked Nick had pressed against him. "I've gotten you wet."

Greg winked at him. "You have no idea."

Nick smiled, almost blushing at the double entendre, and brushed hair away from Greg's eyes. He winced at the sight of the bloodied wound again, once more becoming aware of the level of affection he was feeling for Greg. It was too much to have happened this quickly, it had to be something that had been brewing between them for a long time.

"Greg," he started to say, when the tree began to shake violently as something began climbing below them.

"Always a fucking interruption," Greg hissed.

Without speaking, they shouldered their rifles and aimed below as the branches began to shake under the weight of some new intruder. They released the safeties off their weapons, and their fingers trembled slightly above the trigger. Greg gave Nick a look, and he nodded.

They began firing.

ONE NARROW ESCAPE

The human scream from below them drowned out the sound of the bullets. There was a heavy thump as someone fell to the ground.

"Holy fuck," Greg said, paling instantly. "Let's hope that was Hodges," he joked weakly.

Nick couldn't speak, he just began scrambling down the tree.

Greg swallowed heavily, and followed him.

Nick was crouched on the jungle floor, checking for a pulse on the man who lay sprawled amongst the large roots of the tree that had been their sanctuary, and which the man had obviously been hoping would provide the same for him. Both Nick and Greg immediately realized that it was the same crewman who had come back at risk of his own life to throw them the vines.

"Is he dead?" Greg asked.

Nick was about to reply that he had found a pulse when the man's eyes snapped open and he began screaming, his hands roaming over his body as he looked for bullet holes. "Eu fui tiro! Eu fui tiro!"

Nick grasped for his rudimentary Portuguese. "NÃ£o, nÃ£o."

"Sim, vocÃª homem louco! VocÃª disparou em me!"

That went over Nick's head, although he got the gist of it. In as soothing a voice as he could manage, he said, "NÃ£o, nÃ³s faltamo-lo. Olhar!"

The crewman patted himself down again, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Greg gave Nick a look of admiration. "Very impressive."

"No, I'm pretty sure it was terribly simple," Nick frowned. "My Portuguese is basically limited to ordering coffee and pleading for my life."

Greg laughed, and then remembered they were all sitting by the dead caiman. He shivered, expecting it to move at any second. "We better get back in the tree, that corpse is going to start attracting predators."

Nick nodded, and spoke to the crewman again. He ascertained that his name was Vaasquez, and convinced him that they all had to retreat back up the tree so they would be safe. Vaasquez understood that concept all too readily; after all, it had been what he was trying to do when the two crazy gringos had begun shooting at him.

Nick and Greg watched him shimmy up the tree, and turned to look at each other.

"We could have killed him," Nick said.

"But we didn't," Greg said, reasonably.

"But..."

"It was a highly stressful situation. How could we have known that there were any men left out there? And seeing you almost end up as giant fish bait, I think we shouldn't beat ourselves up over the fact that another man is safe and well tonight."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Were you always this smart?"

Greg smirked at him. "Yes, you were probably too busy checking out my ass to ever notice."

With that he jumped up, grabbed a branch and treated Nick to a front-row-seat performance of his ass shimmying as he disappeared into the canopy of overhanging branches.

Nick took one last look around him at the dark jungle, feeling it press in around him. He shivered, feeling a sense of foreboding now that he was alone and exposed. The corpse of the caiman that had almost killed him didn't help matters, either.

Greg's face appeared through the darkness above, as if he was the Cheshire Cat. "Come on." He reached down, and Nick gratefully took his hand, using it to help hoist himself up into their tiny and insignificant â€˜sanctuary'. But they all still felt a hell of a lot safer up there.

Nick observed that Vaasquez was already settling in comfortably for the night. He had found a natural crook amongst the branches shaped like an ancient deck chair. He practically looked like a tourist on board a trans-Atlantic vessel, waiting for the dinner bell to be sounded.

Greg investigated the contents of his bag, and made a happy noise when he pulled out his boots and a pair of thick socks. He tried to scrape the mud off his bare feet as best he could, before pulling them on. He instantly felt warmer, and sighed with relief.

Vaasquez closed his eyes, oblivious to the two other men.

Nick and Greg watched Vaasquez fall asleep, and then looked at each other.

"So," Greg said lazily, swinging one of his long legs. "Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

He was amused by Nick having a coughing fit. "Greg!"

"What?" Greg asked innocently. "He seems asleep. And it's not like he can understand us."

Nick began to splutter; Greg couldn't keep it in anymore and started to laugh.

Nick blushed at being caught out so easily. "Funny, Sanders."

"Oh, I think there's nothing funny about it at all," Greg said, continuing his nonchalant charade. "I can't wait to kiss you again."

Nick smiled at him, his dimples deepening.

"Now, you return the compliment," Greg prodded him.

Deciding to see if he could shock the seemingly unflappable Greg Sanders, Nick growled, "Believe me, I want more than that."

The dip in his tone made his Southern accent become a honeyed drawl, and Greg's toes curled within his boots. "That's some trick, Stokes," he muttered.

Vaasquez's lips parted in his sleep, and he began to snore loudly.

"Shit," Greg scowled. "We should be flirting with each other over martinis and Gershwin, not these strangled melodies."

Nick yawned. "Sometimes I don't think the surroundings matter. It's the person."

"You are sweet, aren't you?" Greg said half-mockingly, although now his curled toes were being joined by the uncurling of his cock.

"You'll see," Nick teased, his eyes half-lidded.

"I hope so," Greg whispered.

He reached over and poked the man, and Nick jerked back to semi-alert mode. "Wha?"

"We shouldn't all sleep," Greg said, swinging back into leadership mode. "One of us should stay on guard at all times, just in case of climbing predators. Or one of us falling out of the tree asleep, although the hard landing would tend to wake one." He gave a slight smile at that thought.

"I'll take first shift," Nick immediately volunteered.

Greg shook his head. "You're already falling asleep. I'm fine, I'll take the first stint."

Nick began to protest, but Greg pointed to the open wound on his head. "Slight concussion, remember? It's probably best I stay awake for a little while longer anyway."

He had a point, but Nick still felt guilty even though his eyes were beginning to close again. "You sure?"

"Positive."

Nick curled himself up against a wall of branches as best he could, and drew his knees up to his chest to try and conserve heat. Greg watched him fall asleep quickly, smiling at how this unexpected turn of events and near-tragedy seem to have brought them together finally. He never would have thought it possible this morning, especially after Hodges' machinations to keep them apart.

Hodges.

With a heavy heart, Greg thought about the man for the first time since the sinking of The Bloody Mary. He had no way of knowing if Hodges had survived, even though the man had a strong sense of self-preservation and would have been voted the one most likely to get out alive. But between the sinking, and the caimans... well, it was lucky that the three of them up here in this tree were alive to tell the tale once they returned to civilization.

If they reached civilization. There was surely no way they could go on in search of the Samartian Diadem now. They had no guides, no supplies, it would be all they could do to find a friendly village or wait for another boat to pass by and pick them up at their mercy.

But there was no use thinking about that now. He would discuss it later with Nick. Nick, who he could still taste upon his tongue if he closed his eyes and concentrated on regaining the sensation. Nick, who for some strange reason, seemed to reciprocate some kind of affection for him. Greg wasn't going to question why the universe had allowed such a thing to occur, but just revel in it for the time being.

He laughed at himself for thinking in such purple prose. But when you looked at Nick Stokes, how could you not?

Sitting there, in his wet clothes, shivering in his sleep...

Greg frowned. That wasn't good at all. And there was no way they could build a fire up here.

The next best thing was good old body heat. And Greg wasn't going to volunteer Vaasquez for the job.

He scooted over on his backside to join Nick on the branch opposite from his own. He leaned into him, his back against Nick's chest as if Nick were a loveseat. Hopefully now with his back protected by the trunk of the tree, and his front covered by Greg, and a warm Greg at that, he would have no problems.

Greg felt comforted, and strangely safe, lying there with Nick's chest rising and falling against his shoulder blades. Emboldened, he laid his arm across Nick's thigh and leg. Nick smacked his lips in his sleep, and Greg's eyes widened as an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him in closer.

Vaasquez was certainly going to get an eyeful if he awoke. But Greg knew where there was a river full of caimans that would take care of him. Grinning at the sense of the macabre overtaking him, a survival mechanism that helped him through all hard times, Greg settled deeper into Nick and kept a vigilant eye upon their surroundings.

SWITCHING

Nick awoke of his own volition, feeling a body pressed against his. Surprised, he almost toppled out of the tree, taking the warm body with him.

Greg shot out an arm and steadied them. "Morning."

Nick blinked rapidly a few times, trying to take in his surroundings. It definitely wasn't morning, it was still as black as tar around them. "Aah, Greg, not that this isn't nice, but what are you doing?"

Greg decided not to go with the usual wisecrack. "You were shivering during the night. So like a good boy scout, I decided to use the age-old body warmth technique."

"You weren't a boy scout, if I recall."

Greg turned so he could look at him properly. "Ah, but you were, so it was entirely applicable."

He stared at his hands, and Nick was touched by his thoughtfulness. He reached over and closed his hand over Greg's. "Thank you."

"No problem," Greg said, still looking down.

"What time is it?"

Greg had been watching the hours slip by at an interminable pace, according to his watch-face. "It's about four in the morning."

"The sun will be up soon." Nick glanced over to where Vaasquez was still snoring away in his branch. "I see our friend has no trouble sleeping the night through."

Greg gave a small laugh. "He must be a pretty easy sleeper; he hasn't even stirred once."

Nick tried to stretch as much as he could in the confined space. "Speaking of which, you should get some sleep, Greg."

Greg gingerly touched his forehead, which was still throbbing. And now it was starting to sport a pretty spectacular bruise and bump combination. "You think it'll be okay?"

Nick said softly, "I'll be here."

Greg pulled his hand away, and stood so he could maneuver behind Nick and take his spot against the trunk. He closed his eyes as he settled down, and Nick was once again struck by the extremity of the emotion he was feeling when Greg dropped his mask and the wounded, vulnerable expression returned, highlighted by the dried blood and bruising on his forehead.

"Hey," Nick said softly.

Greg's eyes fluttered open, and Nick found himself captivated by how delicate and beautiful his eyelashes were. Greg would probably have been mortified to have such adjectives assigned to him, so Nick resolved never to let those slip out at any point in conversation.

"Yeah?" Greg asked.

"You look pretty cold, there."

Greg grinned involuntarily. "I am, a little bit."

"You know, what you need is a boy scout with some good, practical knowledge on warming techniques."

"Too bad there aren't any around," Greg said, playing along. He snapped his fingers exaggeratedly. "Oh, wait!" He let his legs swing over the edge of his branch, as if he was riding a horse, and Nick slipped in to lie against him.

Reversing their positions was just as nice, Greg mused, now feeling Nick's warmth against him. He put an arm around Nick's waist, and was rewarded with Nick's arm covering his. He smiled contentedly, and sleep came quickly.
***
THERE'S GOT TO BE A MORNING AFTER

During his watch, Nick couldn't help but absentmindedly stroke Greg's hand beneath his as if it were a sleeping kitten. He traced the edge of the furrows in each knuckle until he had them memorized; and marveled at how long and slender, yet strong, each of the fingers were. And he found out something about Greg he hadn't known before, he was definitely a nervous nail-biter, most of them were bitten down to the quick. He found it endearing; Nick's nails weren't much better but at least they were clipped with scissors. Nailbiters were more prone to infections as they chewed into flesh and exposed it to bacteria. That wasn't so good when you did a lot of traveling abroad and needed to take care of yourself as much as possible. Maybe he should have a word about it with him later on.

Nick had to bite his lip to stop himself from bursting into laughter, imagining Greg's reaction when being told to stop biting his nails because of a possible infection... when on their first journey together they had already had to flee a sinking ship and fight off man-eating caimans.

Yeah, infected nails were the worst of their problems.

And, first journey? What was wrong with him, that he was already anticipating further adventures together?

Not that it would be such a bad thing... but there was still so much left unsaid between them. Two mad, passionate kisses and Nick was practically picking out furnishings for the two of them.

Nobody could anticipate what was around the corner. And Greg played his cards pretty close to his chest, it was ludicrous to try and second-guess him.

But he couldn't help brushing the back of Greg's hand with his thumb, and thinking to himself â€˜He could be mine.'

Slowly but surely thin streaks of light began to pierce the darkness above them. Nick greeted the dawn with silent but heartfelt thanks. As if an internal alarm clock went off within him, Vaasquez began to stir on the next branch over from them.

Nick sat up, and tried to pull Greg's arm off him. Greg moaned petulantly, and his arm swung back up and tightened around his waist again.

"Fine time to get affectionate, Sanders," Nick muttered, beginning to edge himself along the branch on his butt. He finally managed to extricate himself, and looked up again to find Vaasquez wide awake and staring at him.

"Estranho?" he asked.

Nick had no idea what he asked, but he could probably guess. He struggled to find the most basic words he could remember, and said haltingly, "Amigos."

"Sim, amigos estranhos," Vaasquez said with a smirk.

That word again. Nick didn't know it, but it was weighted with meaning. He also didn't like the accompanying smirk, but there wasn't much he could do about it. They all needed each other to get out of this situation, the man was hardly likely to flee just because he saw one man's arm around another's waist. And the smirk didn't seem threatening, just knowing.

The arm in question withdrew as Greg yawned, sat up, and began rubbing sleepily at his eyes. "Oh, wow," he said, looking through the branches above them to peer at the lightening sky. "Daybreak."

He became aware that both Nick and Vaasquez were staring at him. "What?"

Neither of them answered, and Greg huffed to himself. "Definitely not morning people."

Vaasquez deftly swung his legs over the edge of his branch, and dropped to the ground. Nick stumbled to peer over, yelling, "Hey, wait!"

Vaasquez looked back at him, and began to babble excitedly. The words were an incomprehensible jumble to Nick, and he decided that the best course of action would be to join him.

Now it was Greg's turn to cry, "Hey!"

Greg scrambled down the trunk, to stand beside the other two men, who were staring at the scattered remains of the caiman. Other predators had obviously come through the night and found a veritable feast. Greg didn't like to think about the buffet that had been devoured below them, but gave thanks that the other animals were unaware of the feast that had been sleeping above them.

"I would kill for a coffee," he murmured, giving voice to the only sane thing he could say at that moment.

Nick tried for levity. "You wanna get back in the water? There's likely to be some on the riverbed."

Greg crossed his arms. "One thing you'll learn about me, Stokes, never toy with me about my coffee."

"I'll keep it in mind," Nick said solemnly.

"You better," Greg grinned.

"Maybe you could just try drinking the riverwater. It would be like it's brewed itself overnight."

While they were distracted by each other, Vaasquez was examining their surroundings. He sighted a large, easily climbable tree at the edge of a small clearing, and made his way for it.

"So, what do we do now?" asked Nick.

"What do you mean?"

"Do we continue the quest? Or do we try to find our way back to a major trading route and get back to Manaus?"

Greg frowned. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it yet," he paused. "What do you want to do?"

Nick sighed. "Have a look around us, Greg. We don't even know where we are. We've lost our guides. We don't even have Hodges, and I hate to say this, but we needed him. I have never been a quitter in my life, but I think in this circumstance it's the best thing to do."

"Uh huh." Greg didn't sound too convinced.

"You think we should go on?"

Greg kicked at their bags, which they had both dropped at the base of the tree before jumping down after Vaasquez. "We've both got emergency rations, right? It's kind of the first rule of any adventurer. Or ex-boy scout. We have enough to last us until we find a village and can stock up on supplies again."

"But what about a guide?"

"We have Vaasquez." After saying this, Greg looked around them and noticed the man was nowhere to be seen. "Umm, we had Vaasquez, where is he?"

Nick threw his hands up. "Oh, great!"

They both began yelling for the man, and were relieved when they heard his voice reply faintly in the distance. They picked up their bags and their guns again and headed in that direction.

It wasn't that long before they could see Vaasquez standing in the crown of a large tree, balancing precariously in the fork of two branches that were bending beneath his weight.

"Eu v minha vila!" he called out to them.

Greg looked at Nick for translation.

"I think he said he can see his house from here," Nick said, not exactly sure.

"Lucky him," grumbled Greg. "Do you think they have coffee?"

"Look on the bright side, Sanders," Nick shrugged. "If there's a village, we're not entirely lost."

Greg had to agree that he was right. But it still didn't bring them any closer to the Samartian Diadem; although if he had to admit it, despite his earlier bravado, the crown was becoming less and less important to him.

He just wondered if Nick was still feeling the same way.

A VILLAGE VISIT

Nick managed to haltingly confirm with Vaasquez that it was okay for them to travel with him to his village, take shelter for at least one night and stock up on some supplies.

Vaasquez then began to lead them through the jungle, singing happily to himself as home started to become more of a reality to him with each passing hour.

They walked for the most part of the day. At a few points when Vaasquez was sufficiently distracted by his own voice and the passion of the tale he was singing, Nick and Greg would allow their hands to brush against each other's, the digits of their fingers briefly entwining as they stumbled along the uneven trail. Their touches were fleeting, they both felt they couldn't get away with anything more than that; still, neither of them could help grinning like fools at each other every now and again, thrilled at their brazenness. Sure, it mightn't have been the crowded streets of New York City here in the jungle, but any kind of public affection between two men held an inherent danger no matter what your surroundings.

"Just a Sunday stroll in the park," Greg mused aloud at one point, which made Nick roar with laughter and Vaasquez turn to them with a confused expression.

They stopped briefly for a rest period beside a small stream of fresh water. Nick and Greg pooled the contents of their bags together and came up with some meager rations, dividing the cracker biscuits and potted meat between the three of them. Nick used the tins they came in to boil some water and make tea. He also used some of the sterilized water to tenderly bathe the dried blood from the gash on Greg's forehead, noting that the younger man winced slightly at his touch.

While they refilled their canteens, Vaasquez disappeared for five minutes, and came back with ripe fruit which they devoured eagerly.

"All in all, not too bad," Greg said happily, his stomach somewhat satiated.

"Nao mau," agreed Vaasquez, tearing the fleshy fruit apart and downing the pieces as if they were liquor shots.

"I think that means he likes it," Greg told Nick.

"Let's just hope that his village doesn't mind selling us some food so we don't starve as we go on," Nick reminded him.

"If not, we could always live on the fruit," Greg shrugged.

Nick laughed softly. "I wouldn't trust us to pick it out. We need someone who is used to them. We would probably end up with dysentery."

"Great," Greg whistled. "Shitting myself to death. How I always imagined I would go."

And on that disturbing image, they packed up and started off again, Vaasquez at the lead once more.

It was nightfall by the time they made it to his village. Torches stuck in the ground illuminated it in the darkness, giving it a homey aura.

"Look," Nick said, pointing out one hut to Greg. "Missionaries must have been through here at some stage."

Greg marveled at the anachronistic stone cross hammered to the roof. "You just can't escape them, can you? They're always knocking at my door at ten o'clock on a Saturday morning."

"Why don't you just open the door while naked?" Nick asked.

"Are you kidding?" Greg asked, astounded. "It would only make them come back!"

Nick snorted, but couldn't trade any further barbs as villagers began to pour excitedly out of their huts, the news of the travelers spreading fast. Vaasquez was greeted warmly by practically everybody who met in the center of the village.

"All hail the conquering hero," Greg mused.

"There must be somebody here who speaks English," Nick said. "I mean, missionaries always teach English when they set up in villages because they can't be bothered to learn â€˜pagan' languages."

"Nick, where are the missionaries?" Greg asked. "They usually like to stick around unless they are driven out, or..."

Nick groaned. "Don't say it."

"Eaten."

"Way to go to perpetuate stereotypes there, Sanders."

"Hey, I read some of Grosvenor's articles in The National Geographic Magazine. Cannibalism exists!"

"Grosvenor loves to spin a tale to sell a magazine. Not every tribe you stumble across is going to want to eat you, Sanders! If Vaasquez wanted to, he could have killed us back on the trail and brought us back as dinner to go!"

"Then he would have had to carry us," Greg pointed out. "It's much smarter to let your dinner bring themselves directly to the pot on their own two legs!"

"You boys always like this?"

The heavily accented, broken English made them whirl around on the spot. An older woman shuffled forwards, her hands on her hips, regarding the two men with amusement.

"You speak English?" Greg asked, stupidly.

"No," replied the woman in perfect English. When Greg's brow furrowed in consternation, she barked with laughter.

Nick bowed to her, unsure whether this was the best way to establish first contact. "Hello, I'm Nick Stokes."

"Nickstokes," she nodded solemnly. "I am Morela. And who is this skinny man?"

"Hey!" Greg protested.

"Very skinny!" Morela poked him in the gut with her finger.

"Ow!" Greg cried, rubbing his tummy gingerly, and looking to Nick for support.

Nick was biting his lip and trying not to laugh.

"Too skinny to eat!" Morela laughed.

"I'm Greg Sanders. And what about him?" Greg pointed a finger at Nick. "He's not exactly chunky."

"Chunnkee?" Morela asked, confused.

"Gordo," Nick translated for her.

"Gordo?" Morela screwed up her face. "Nao, nao, gordo!" She rubbed her right hand over Nick's stomach lasciviously. "He's good. Good, good."

"Hey!" Greg protested once more, although this time he was more offended by Nick's being manhandled. It was his right to manhandle Nick, dammit, no one else's!

Morela was still preening over Nick, who politely remained rooted to the spot while praying that her hand didn't go any further south of the border. He could see Greg straining at the leash, wanting to stop her. Before he could do anything stupid, Nick decided distraction was in order.

"So, what did happen to the missionaries?" he asked.

Morela paused, to translate for the villagers, and they all burst into laughter. She turned back to the men, and waved her hand dismissively. "They always preach, preach, preach. You're no good, no good! You must repent! We have nothing to repent."

Nick found himself liking this woman more and more, especially with the fact that the villagers had had enough sense to reject the alien faith that was being foisted upon them.

Morela cackled. "So I let them teach me English, so I can use with traders. Then we drive them out of village! Not take much! Just wait for boat to come along, then yell at them and chase them down river! They get rescued, we left alone!"

This time even Greg began to laugh at the image of the poor missionaries running screaming for the river, thinking the natives had gone wild, all the time not knowing they were being played.

Morela smiled appreciatively at their finding humor in her tale. "Vaasquez say you not make us repent."

"Believe me," Nick said. "Repenting is not our job."

"Then you are guests," Morela announced grandly. "Tonight we feast, you stay, then you decide where you go."

Nick accepted as graciously as he could in her native tongue, as a sign of respect. Morela laughed, and gave Greg another poke in the stomach.

"No chunnkee!" A bit more gently, she brushed his hair off his forehead. "You got bump. We fix." She turned away, shouting directions at the villagers.

Greg's mouth dropped open. Nick stepped in closer to him, and whispered, "I think you're pretty damn sexy."

Greg colored, but composed himself. "As long as you think so, I guess that's what matters."

"Come on, Slim." Nick tipped his hat back on his head.

"That is not becoming my nickname," Greg mumbled as they began to follow the crowd.

A NIGHT OF A THOUSAND DANCES, AND A WARNING

Morela's village certainly believed in rolling out the welcome wagon. A feast was declared, and drums rang out through the night. The village seemed ablaze with the vast quantity of torches and bonfires that were lit, and the villagers themselves worked up an appetite by dancing themselves into a frenzy.

Greg, of course, was courted by men and women alike to dance. He did so enthusiastically, trying his best to copy their natural movements but looking nothing like them. Even though his dancing skills were lacking, his smile was free, easy and contagious; Nick couldn't help but watch him, everything else blurred around Greg until it seemed he was the center of everything. It was dangerous to think that way, but it seemed that he wasn't the only victim of the Sanders charm if the actions of the villagers were anything to go by.

Alcohol was in generous supply as well, made from fermented fruits found in the region. It worked quickly upon them, as it was so strong. Nick mused on the fact that bootleggers would have been salivating at the thought of the fortune they could make if they could somehow ship this back home to where Prohibition was still a dirty word.

Nick sat with Morela by the largest and most central fire. The anthropologist in him couldn't help but keep asking her questions about the village, and she was pleased by his interest once she had ascertained once again that he wasn't a missionary.

"Why do you still keep the cross?" he asked, referring to the ornament that still adorned what would have been the missionary church.

Morela shrugged. "It's pretty."

Nick smiled. Maybe it was, stripped of all its baggage. Such a simple symbol, and yet burdened with so much pain. He only had to think of his upbringing to realize how much it could be used against you, and how far removed it had become from its original meaning. He wondered what Greg's take on it all was, and realized they had a lot to learn about each other. And sitting here in this village, with new friends when their situation had seemed so desperate only hours before, it seemed to Nick that their future wasn't that bleak after all.

Greg shimmied towards them. "Hey, stick in the mud," he greeted Nick.

Nick rolled his eyes in response.

"I've danced with just about everyone in this village-"

"So I've noticed."

"There's only one I really want to dance with, but has he gotten off his lazy ass?"

"I'm not a good dancer," Nick protested.

"It's not about how good you are." Greg proved his point by doing some rather un-coordinated moves. "It's just about how you feel while doing it."

"Dance with the boy," Morela instructed Nick grandly. "He is desperate for your attention."

Greg thanked her, although he didn't quite approve of the use of the word desperate, but he crooked his finger at Nick to follow him as he started dancing backwards into the crowd.

Nick stood reluctantly, and walked over to him. "So, how much have you had to drink?"

Greg laughed, and grabbed his lean hips. "About twice as much as you have, and you should catch up. Now get those hips moving."

When Nick was slow to respond, Greg's hands started moving his hips for him. He could hear Morela barking with laughter from where she sat, and flushed as Greg brought him in closer and started wiggling his own hips in unison.

"Feel the rhythm, Nicky," Greg murmured. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Too good. Nick wanted to jerk loose, but Greg held him firmly. Looking around him, Nick was amazed at the dancers; there were groups, there were men with men, women with women, and the more traditional couples. Nobody seemed perturbed by any of this; it seemed that Nick and Greg were now truly in another world. Nick then ran his hands up Greg's arms, making the other man shiver, and held him by the back of them as they moved together with the beat of the drums.

The rhythm slowed, the drums became the pulsing of two hearts beating as one, and Nick and Greg slowed their movements and leant their foreheads together, the rest of the village fading around them as they spent this moment of communion together.

Then just as quickly it all reverted back to normal as someone danced past them and shoved another jug of alcohol into their hands. Greg took it eagerly, and swigged it down before passing it to Nick.

Nick wasted no time in trying to catch up to Greg's level of inebriation. The more he drank, the easier it was to dance. Later he remembered the face of his partner changing many times during the night, but it always came back to Greg; the two men constantly finding each other in the crowd, swaying together against the surge of primal tribal music.

Greg awoke in the morning with a pounding headache, and the desire to vomit. He slowly became aware that he was practically lying on top of Nick. They were both fully dressed, and swaying.

Wait, why are we swaying?

Greg cracked open his eyes further and realized they were in a hammock. Sitting up suddenly, he set their balance off, upsetting them both and sending them tumbling to the ground.

Nick woke to the sensation of falling, and knew it wasn't a dream when he landed face-first on a dirt floor.

"Huh?" was the only comment that came to mind.

"Nick!" Greg asked, trying to feign concern but failing miserably as his own head throbbed too much. "Are you okay?"

"My head hurts," Nick moaned.

"Did you hit it?"

"No, I think it hurt before I hit the ground."

"That alcohol was pretty potent," Greg murmured as he crawled away to support himself against the wall.

Nick followed him, and then collapsed with his head in Greg's lap.

"Why, hello there," Greg said quietly, having learned it was far less painful.

"I think I'm going to vomit," Nick groaned.

"Then please do it somewhere else."

"You're comfy," Nick told him.

Greg smiled and laid his hand on top of Nick's head. The surprisingly soft hair against his palm instantly made him thread his fingers through it gently. Nick buried his head deeper, and Greg began to count to ten in order to stop himself from getting hard and perhaps poking Nick in the eye. That would kind of ruin the moment.

He was rescued by Morela entering the hut with two attendants. Both men scrambled to their feet out of politeness, moaning as the hut began to spin.

"Sit, sit," Morela instructed. "You white men can't handle the bebidas. I have cure."

An attendant each hovered over Nick and Greg as they collapsed back onto the ground, holding a bowl out to them. They took it and stared dubiously at the grayish, smelly contents that looked somewhat like lumpy gruel.

"What is this?" Greg asked, unhappy at the thought of having to swallow it.

"Best you not know," Morela shrugged, as her attendants made their way to stand back behind her.

Reasoning that anything had to be better than the way they were currently feeling and knowing that they couldn't go on in their current condition, both men began to shovel the disgusting paste down their throats, trying to suppress the gag reflex that automatically made them want to vomit it straight back up. It tasted worse than it looked, like sand mixed with dishsoap and limburger cheese.

"Good, eat, eat," Morela said soothingly.

Amazingly, once it hit their stomachs, the revolting mixture seemed to work. Although they still felt slightly nauseous, they no longer needed to vomit, and their heads seemed somewhat clearer.

"That's amazing," Greg said in wonder, as he washed down the remnants with the water which had also been supplied. "You should market that! You would make a fortune!"

"White men," Morela said disapprovingly. "Always money, money, money. What do we need for fortune?" Her attendants nodded at her words.

Greg felt suitably chastened. "It's a fault of ours."

Morela smiled at him, and patted him on the head. "Good you know that. There's hope for you."

"Thank you, Morela," Nick said, setting Greg's empty bowl within his. An attendant rushed forward to take it from him. "That really helped."

"Now you can think," Morela nodded. "Now you must make decision. Vaasquez says you are looking for Samartians. Big mistake."

"Mistake?" Greg asked.

"Why?" Nick felt his pulse begin to race at the intimation that the treasure they sought was near.

"Very dangerous."

The words sank in.

"Wait a minute..." Greg breathed. "You're saying... they're still alive!"

Morela laughed sharply. "Still alive? They are more dangerous than the panther, the anaconda, and the caiman combined! You must never cross the path of the She. Never."

Nick and Greg exchanged looks. Their quest had now taken on a whole new dimension; could it be that what they had thought was a simple race to find a crown of an extinct tribe had turned out to be a living symbol of royalty with a long and rich ancestry behind it? Could Morela be correct in believing the dangerous tribe to still live hidden behind the green curtain of the jungle? This adventure was certainly turning out differently from when they had first made their plans back in Connecticut. And they were a long way from there!

DECISION TIME

Morela left them to think over what they had just learned.

"I don't like cryptic warnings," Greg admitted. "They make me nervous. The She? More dangerous than caimans?"

"They're alive," Nick said, a look of unmistakable joy on his face. "Don't you realize how amazing that is, Sanders? An extinct tribe, come back to life! Having survived throughout the centuries!"

"Yeah, great," Greg grumbled. "It's made our quest much more difficult. I doubt we can just wander into their own stomping ground now and say, Oh hey, you don't mind if we take that priceless crown you've held onto for a millennia, do you? Oh, can we just take it off your queen's head in return for a can of Spam? Thanks!"

"Granted, it may..." Nick trailed off.

"What?" Greg asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing."

"Some bulb came on," Greg prodded him.

"I was just thinking," Nick began to color. "That I hadn't kissed you since yesterday."

This was a definite diversion from the topic at hand, but it was one Greg welcomed. "We might have kissed during the night, it's just that neither of us remember it," he pointed out.

"That's true," Nick conceded, "but then that doesn't count for much, does it?"

"Not really, I guess. So why aren't you kissing me now, then?"

"I'm waiting for you to shut up for two seconds," Nick teased.

"You could always shut me up," Greg dared him.

"I don't think anybody could do that."

"I think you could if you really-"

Greg got his wish when he was interrupted by Nick's mouth closing on his, and a warm hand cupping his jaw. He continued to try to talk, but all that came out was muffled noises. Nick's other hand came up so that his fingers could flick Greg across the temple. Greg giggled into his open mouth, and Nick had to break away to laugh.

"You're fucking impossible," Nick said, trying to catch his breath.

"You might be saying that a lot." Greg considered that Nick had had more than enough time to catch his breath again, and began to kiss him again. But he had other things on his mind as well. He ran a hand down Nick's side and brought it around to cup his groin. Nick moaned, and Greg was happy at the hardness swelling there. He let his fingers travel up to the waist of his pants to find the zipper pull. The sound of the metal teeth rasping open was disconcertingly loud in the small hut.

Greg's hand slipped inside the fabric and felt the coarse hair tickling his fingers. Nick moaned Greg's name, and Greg liked the sound of it. He was just about to get his first touch of Nick's hard flesh when there was movement in the doorway of the hut.

"You're still thinking about what you're doing, yes?" Morela's voice sounded.

The two men jumped apart, and Greg shielded Nick's obvious disarray from the woman's curious and bawdy gaze.

"Just trying to reach a decision," Greg nodded, his face flushed and sweaty.

"You debate well," Morela smiled.

"We like to involve each other in every way," Greg said with a straight face.

Nick wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

Morela called behind her, and her attendants appeared with their arms laden with food. "For your journey."

Nick began to haltingly discuss reparations with her in her native tongue, but she wouldn't accept any. This was her gift to them. He thanked her wholeheartedly as the attendants began to lay the food down before Greg. He thanked them, wishing he had asked Nick the night before for a few words so he could at least appear to be trying to integrate.

Morela nodded towards Greg, while addressing Nick. "Ã‰ seu homem?"

Nick felt like the flush on his face was becoming permanent. He couldn't lie to Morela, after all she had done for them, but he wasn't sure how to answer her question of whether Greg was â€˜his man'. "Eu penso assim."

She scoffed at his â€˜I think so'. "Pare de pensar."

Ever since he was a kid, Nick Stokes was told he thought too much, dwelled too much on what was already perfectly obvious, and here was a tribal woman from a foreign country already coming to that same conclusion after only knowing him for one night. "Sim," he said with a sudden certainty. "Sim, Ã© meu homem."

She smiled at his new-found honesty. "Olhe apÃ³s se. VocÃª nÃ£o Ã© mau para os homens brancos."

Nick was disconcerted by her need to tell them to look after each other, reminding him of her warning of the dangerous She earlier, but was also amused by her liking of them despite their foreigner status.

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head.

Greg mirrored this action, even though he had no idea what had just been said between the two of them.

Morela bowed back, and left with her attendants.

"What was all that about?" Greg asked.

For some reason he couldn't fathom, Nick couldn't tell him everything. "She was just telling us to be careful."

Greg shivered slightly. "Part of me wants to stay here. Is that cowardly?"

Nick shook his head. "Not at all."

"Do you think we're doing the right thing, going on?"

"We both have a job to do," Nick reminded him. "I don't think Grissom or your bosses would be impressed if we didn't at least try but instead came back home and said, oh some villagers told us it was too dangerous, so we got drunk for a few nights and then came home. Didn't think you'd mind."

"Yeah," Greg agreed dejectedly. "Considering we built our reps on the brave and intrepid way we face danger and..." he trailed off as Nick rolled his eyes at his hyperbole.

Truth be told, Greg didn't like the thought of Ecklie's reaction at all. He wasn't the least bit like Grissom. Going back empty-handed could seriously hinder him being selected for another job job after a failure like that. Ecklie already was pissed enough about the number of times that Nick Stokes had managed to wrest away potential treasure from their collections. He didn't even know about Greg's deal to split travel costs with the other man. He would never have allowed it, but Greg always worked by the axiom that what Ecklie didn't know couldn't hurt him. He just hoped that it wouldn't come back to bite him on the ass.

"Okay," Greg nodded. "Let's pack up, and say our goodbyes."
***
Next part of Stokes, Sanders and the Lost Tribe of Samartia.

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