As James Potter turned his pickup truck off the highway, Sirius Black doubtfully beheld the town that would be their home for the next few months.
"Is this it?"
Spring Creek's main street boasted a post office, a convenience store, a gas station, two fast food restaurants, a greasy spoon diner, and a dive bar. Even in the April sunshine, it did not appear promising. As much as he enjoyed the freewheeling existence of an itinerant field archaeologist, Sirius could summon little enthusiasm for this new adventure. Eastern Washington was dry and dusty, with only a scattering of small towns amidst endless grasslands of the Columbia River Plateau.
"Home sweet home," said James.
"How many months are we stuck here?"
His best friend shrugged. "That depends on the project, doesn't it? Nice to have some steady work for a while, though, rather than a few weeks here, a few weeks there."
"Dunno if I can stand to stay in a dump like this for more than a few weeks," grumbled Sirius. "What is there even to do around here?"
"We'll find things to do," James assured him heartily. "We're not that far from Spokane. And you never know; there might be interesting people on the crew." James waggled his eyebrows.
"Yeah, sure," said Sirius sarcastically, "I bet there will be just tons of queer guys for me to hook up with."
"That's what I admire most about you: your optimism," said James. "What street is the motel on, again?"
"Colville. You'll have better chances of a crew hookup than I will, if you're not still moping over Tildy. You can do better than her biphobic ass."
"I'm not bi," said James automatically.
Sirius snorted. "Whatever you want to call it when you happily let your best friend practice sucking dick on you. It's not like we ever did it while you were with her."
James hunched his shoulders and became suddenly very focused on his driving. "Can we not talk about that?"
"I don't remember you complaining at the time," Sirius smirked. "In fact, it was usually your idea."
"I was drunk," mumbled James.
"Two beers. That's all it took for you to practically beg me to suck your dick. You can admit you liked it, you know. Enjoying getting head doesn't make you queer."
"OK, so maybe I didn't hate it," James scowled as he turned into a parking lot shared by a rundown two-story motel and a church. "Now, can we drop it?"
A short, middle-aged woman in a pink cardigan, with a pink plastic barrette in her permed hair, checked them into their room, rattling off the motel's few amenities in a falsely-bright voice.
"Are there any messages for us?" asked James.
The woman shuffled through some papers. "A-hem, yes. Mr. Moody left a note saying to come and see him when you got here. He's in room 105." She slid their key cards across the counter, and tapped her name tag. "My name is Dolores, and I am delighted to help you boys with anything you need. Enjoy your stay with us, and God bless!"
She gave them a simpering smile and a little fluttering wave.
"Well, she seemed friendly," said James as they unloaded the pickup truck.
"Sure," said Sirius, shouldering his duffle bag. "Hey, maybe I can ask her where to meet guys around here."
James laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure she would be delighted to help."
The furnishings in their shared room were shabby, but Sirius was relieved to see that at least they appeared clean. They dumped their belongings onto the two double beds, then went looking for the project manager.
The door to room 105 yanked open at their knock. An older man with wild gray hair, a stubbled chin, and eyes that did not quite point the same direction glared out at them suspiciously. Sirius took an involuntary step backward.
"What do you want?"
James recovered quickly, summoning up his usual bravado and good humor. "James Potter and Sirius Black, reporting for duty, sir."
The grizzled archaeologist looked them over from head to toe, scowling.
"Alastor Moody," he said at last, not offering a handshake.
He grudgingly stepped aside, inclining his head to indicate permission to enter. The room was more office than bedroom, with boxes of paper, file folders, and electronic equipment spread out over every surface and some of the floor. A battered laptop computer that looked at least ten years old sat on the desk.
"Potter and Black, eh?" said Moody, still fixing them with his unsettling glare. "Done much in the cultural resource management field before?"
"Most of the last year, since we graduated last June," Sirius informed him.
Moody grunted. "I don't know what sort of shenanigans they let you get up to on the other projects you've worked on, but at Ministeria Environmental Sciences, we run a tight ship. The crew meets at 6:00 AM sharp in the lobby. If you're late, we won't wait around for you. The project is field survey for a natural gas pipeline. I expect my crew to work without petty complaints. You'll work ten eight-hour days in a row, and then have four days off. The company pays for your motel, including off days, if you choose to stay here. The first and last days of each work session are half days, to allow for travel. If you're not traveling, you'll be expected to help out with paperwork, equipment maintenance, or any other tasks that need doing. You'll be paid promptly on the fifth and twentieth of each month. Per diem is paid up front in cash at the start of each work session."
He paused to rummage through the many pockets of a jacket that had seen better days. James and Sirius exchanged a glance, eyebrows raised. Moody seemed much stricter than the other project managers and field supervisors they had worked with in the last year. Finally locating the right pocket, he handed them each a wad of cash, clipped to a business card with a binder clip.
"Count it. It's $60 per day. That should cover your meals, and any other incidental expenses. My cell number is on the card, if you should need to get in touch with me outside of work hours. That means a phone call. I don't text." He glowered at them, as if assessing their worthiness as members of his crew, and finding them lacking. "What you do on your own time is none of my business. I don't care if you show up to work hung over, or still drunk from the night before, as long as you show up on time, prepared to work. What I won't tolerate are any complaints from the motel staff about excessive mess, or any illegal or disruptive behavior. And above all else, you do not talk to anyone about this project. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," said James quickly, Sirius echoing him.
"Good." Moody picked up two folders from the desk and handed them over. "This is your new hire paperwork. Have it filled out by crew meetup time tomorrow morning. Now, if you don't have any questions, you can be about your business."
They thanked him hurriedly and left.
"He's a regular ray of sunshine, isn't he?" James chuckled.
"Yeah," said Sirius. "I can hardly wait to get out into the field with him. Did it look like he had a glass eye to you?"
"Maybe," said James, "but I doubt the other one misses much."
"Probably not," Sirius agreed. "Let's unpack, and then find out if there's any place to eat in this town."
Morning came far too early for Sirius. He and James had not stayed up very late the night before, but Sirius was not a morning person at the best of times, and before 6:00 AM was definitely not one of those times. He stumbled around the room with his eyes half open, pulling on his field clothes, filling his water bottle, shoving some pre-packaged foods from the convenience store into his lunch bag, and nearly colliding with James on his way into the bathroom.
They went down to the lobby together, Sirius yawning and shuffling along behind James, field pack slung over a shoulder, his boot laces still untied. Ten other archaeologists were waiting there, in various states of wakefulness, several of them lined up at the coffee maker beside the concierge desk.
"Oh shit," muttered James as he and Sirius joined the line.
"Hmm?" said Sirius, still not fully conscious.
"Petra Pettigrew," James whispered.
That got Sirius's attention. His head whipped around. Sure enough, a small, plump, and dimpled blonde girl sat perched on one of the lobby chairs. When she caught Sirius's eye, she smiled brightly and waved.
Sirius elbowed James, grinning. "I guess you will be having that crew hook-up, after all."
"God, no," groaned James, running a hand through his black curls. "I am not going there again."
"Oh, c'mon," said Sirius. "She's all right. We were friends almost all the way through college. All those late-night study sessions ..."
"I know." James busied himself with the coffee maker, filling two paper cups. "But sleeping with her was a mistake. One I do not intend to repeat."
"You might feel differently after a couple of beers," teased Sirius. "Stranger things have happened."
James reddened. "Don't start."
"I will guard your virtue with my very life, if it comes to that," Sirius vowed with a laugh, pressing a hand over his heart. "The wench shall not have her wicked way with you on my watch."
The concierge behind the desk appeared to be listening to their conversation with interest. Sirius flashed him a grin. The man looked down quickly, ears reddening, and shuffled some papers with great intensity. He was a few inches shorter than Sirius, close to his own age, with brown hair and a soft-looking mouth. His name tag said Remus.
Cute, thought Sirius. But probably straight.
James tugged at his sleeve, drawing Sirius's attention back to the problem at hand. "C'mon. If I have to talk to her, you have to come with me."
Sirius shouldered his field pack, took a swig of coffee, and followed James across the lobby to face the music.