That I’d be bored and stir crazy.
Go mad like the old sailors used to on voyages that lasted much longer than they could’ve ever fathomed.
And yet…I love it.
It’s notquiteas comforting as putting my toes in the wet sand after hard day, but it’s similar.
The way that feels like home is the waytheyfeel like home.
I like falling asleep sandwiched between them.
I like Garcia making us dinner and Zero hang drying my bikinis and being the one to guarantee everyone’s getting enough daily dose of vitamin whatever to ward off colds and ancient spirits that may have followed me back from the dive.
I like that I have a shore to call home.
I…actually…loveit.
Them.
Which I’ve said.
I just don’t say that shitoften.
That’s not my shit.
That’s Zero’s shit.
He says it all the time, every day, and it’s adorable.
He’s adorable.
And the little fucker knows it.
It’s how he gets his way so often.
“Can I have more crabcakes?”questions my shaggy haired boyfriend, completely unaware of the sauce on the corner of his mouth.“Or is there a limit?”
“Doyouhave a limit?”Garcia chortles on a shake of the head.“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you put back this much seafood.”
“It’sfree.”
“And we’re not exactly starving,” he effortlessly argues in return.
“Yeah, but we don’t have to do the dishes here.”
Once more, Garcia lightly laughs and shakes his head.
“It’s afairpoint, Counselor,” I tauntingly support.“No one has to do the oarfish worth of dishes your cooking creates.”
“You love my cooking.”
“I don’t love the fucking dishes we have to do,” is thrown back on anther sassy beam.
Zero begins licking his fingers clean.“You know they call oarfish doomsday fish?”
“Did you know oarfish are also called messengers from the sea god’s palace?”an unexpected voice interjects during their approach from behind.
Denial over the voice hits immediately; however, it becomes impossible to continue the second the man comes into view.
