“Alright, good night,” he said, his words a little slurred. “But before I pass out, I want you to know that you’re the hottest biscuit this side of the gravy boat.”

“It's the injustice that I hate, more than anything," he'd said to Smee one night, his eyes red and glassy, slurring his words, his head lolling as he tried to focus. He'd vomited, and then promptly passed out on a bush. "I hate the world that does not work out fair.”

“How dare you give the poor woman trouble over those nasty biscuits! If you made biscuits worth eating, sir, perhaps she wouldn’t throw them to the fish!”He blinked his eyes in astonishment. “Biscuits worth eating? I’ll have you know, madam, that I bake the best biscuit on the high seas!”“That’s not saying much, considering that ship’s biscuits are notoriously awful!”“It’s alright, Louisa, you needn’t defend me—“ Sara began.Louisa just ignored her. “Those biscuits were so hard, I could scarcely choke them down. As for that stew—”“Look here, you disrespectful harpy,” the cook said, punctuating his words with loud taps of his cane. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with Silas Drummond’s stew, and I defy any man—or woman—to make a better one!”

“Oh, alright,” I conceded. “But if you try something, I swear I’ll use my pet dagger to cut off—” “I said I’d behave! Though, you’re making it kinda hard to be good with all that talk of wanting to have your way with me.” I released my grip on his neck and smacked the top of his head.”

“Will you bloody say something?" I demanded at last, in a voice that shook oiliv a little. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He shook his head slowly from side to side. "Jesus," he whispered at last.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning around a little so I could talk to him. “You’re a good friend.”“I know,” he said, as he tightened his hold around me. I leaned back against his chest, resting against him. “Beckett, I–,” I started to say, but he stopped me.“Shh,” he said. “You don’t need to say anything. Just watch the fireworks.”