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"Did you enjoy the food, Captain Lassiter?"

The ambassador smiled at Frederic, indicating the empty plate in front of him. Frederic's stomach curled inward as a rush of saliva flooded his mouth, but he was quick enough to put down his fork and smile back.

"Please give my compliments to your cook," he replied.

It wasn't difficult to convince the ambassador of most of the demands from the Imperial Commission, but it was still three hours later that he and Ruth finally escaped the manor grounds. Frederic was so dizzy with hunger, he thought he might faint. It was why, for a moment, he thought that he'd imagined his first mate knocking on the carriage wall and demanding to be taken to Quick's Eating House.

"Are you hungry?" He blurted out, losing his manners in the face of his exhaustion. Ruth leveled a stare at him, her lips not even twitching in a smile.

"Famished," she said.

- - -

Ruth curled up in her bunk, cradling her aching belly and keeping her noises to a minimum. Below, Dane could not stop laughing. "You didn't have to match him plate for plate, Ruthie," he said.

"He won't eat," she burped again amid Dane's snickering. "Unless you're eating with him." His laugh became a yelp when she swung a pillow directly at his face.

- - -

The tavern was crowded, people yelling and laughing over the music that played in the corner. Frederic sipped his water and tried to blend in to the wall at his back, busy tracking the individual members of his crew and content with their smiling faces. That was until another server came up to the table and dropped off more plates of food and two fresh pints. He opened and closed his mouth uselessly as the server walked away, brow furrowed in consternation until Dane crashed into the seat next to him.

"Is this all for you?" Frederic asked. Dane toasted to him with a half finished beer in one hand and grinned.

"Of course not, Captain! This one's for you," he said, pushing one of the pints at him.

"I don't drink. Remember?"

"That's right!" Dane laughed, smacking his forehead with his free hand. He downed the rest of his beer before rescuing the pint in front of of his captain, eyes alight. "Guess you should help me with the food, then."

- - -

"I blame you for this," Dane slurred.

"Don't drag your feet," Ruth said.

"You going to drop me?"

Ruth rolled her eyes and said nothing. They walked in silence for a beat until Dane dragged his feet again.

"Thomson, drop him."

"Thomson, don't drop me."

The gunner patted the tattooed arm that was slung over his hunched shoulders. "I'm not going to drop you."

"Good," Dane exhaled, body going slack, and his feet fumbled to hold him. Ruth pinched the soft meat of his arm, eliciting a whine so pitiful she pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. A deep hum vibrated through Dane's chest. He smiled at her and added, "I still blame you."

"I can accept that," she answered.

Thomson chuckled, looked over Dane's head, and raised both eyebrows at her. "And how exactly is this your fault?"

Ruth resisted rolling her eyes and instead muttered curses in Creshe.

"Hey," Dane frowned, "Don't say- I mean, I'm not- say you love me."

There was a long moment of silence before she admitted softly, "You know I do," and Dane gave her another punchdrunk smile.

"But not as much as you love—ow, ay, stop!"

- - -

Thomson made the rounds inspecting everyone's weapons, so Frederic couldn't curb his surprise when he was handed back his rifle in one hand and given an apple in the other. "It's important to keep your energy up," the gunner said and moved on to the Barristers at the prow.

The captain swung his rifle over one shoulder and contemplated the fruit in his hand as he wandered over to his first mate's side. "Apple?" He offered, but Ruth held up an apple core and threw it over the side of the ship.

"Everyone else got one. Eat yours," she said. The captain shrugged, took a bite, and walked away, leaving behind a horrified Bonnie who was gaping openly at Ruth.

"Eww, you pulled that out of your pocket."

"So?" Ruth pressed, taking a step closer. The first mate had a tendency to look down at anyone who challenged her but Bonnie was the only one actually shorter than her, so the effect was doubled. The navigator rolled her eyes and held up her hands, palms out.

"So who cares, I didn't see nothing." She continued muttering under her breath after Ruth left, "Must be the latest Creshe craze. What's next, rotting steak hats? No skin off my nose."

- - -

"She could've just said," Bonnie huffed.

Thomson continued cleaning the shotgun that was laid out in neat pieces in front of him, sparing the redhead a smile. "Strictly speaking I'm still new to this ship, but tell me something. Did you really expect Ruth to say it? Like, out loud?" He laughed, ignoring the towel she threw as it sailed past his head.

- - -

He ate mechanically when he ate at all, but it was easier here among the chatter and comfort of his crew. The tavern fare was even good, whenever he slowed down enough to taste it. An uproar from the Barristers drew his eye for a moment and when Frederic looked back, there were suddenly two more carrots on his plate.

Swinging his attention from one side of the table to the other, no one met his gaze. Nothing seemed amiss, so Frederic shrugged and tucked in.

"Trying to fill that hollow leg of yours, Captain?" Cornelius asked, already smirking at his own joke.

"They're both hollow," he said with a small smile and took a smaller bite.

"Hence twice your effort?" Cornelius chortled, failing to notice the way that Frederic's fork slowed and stopped completely.

"Big man, big appetite," Bohman shrugged.

"He does put it away," Bassett said, head bowed towards his plate.

"Are they both really hollow?" Buck asked, and the other half of the table fell silent. All eyes were suddenly focused on the captain, and the food in his mouth turned to ash. The moment stretched and snapped back into focus when Julius dropped both hands on the table.

"That's actually a common misconception," he began, hands gesturing as he explained. The conversation swelled and eyes peeled away from him, though it was another minute before he could swallow. He set down his utensils, ready to push his plate away when he noticed there was another portion of steak. On his left, Bonnie bumped shoulders with him and clinked his water glass with her beer.

"Eat up, Captain," she said, still working through half of her meal. "And pass the bread, please."

She waited patiently, eyes slanted towards the table. When he held out the basket, she grabbed two rolls, placing one on his plate and biting into the other one, content with her own meal. Frederic exhaled softly and picked up his knife and fork. Unconsciously following Bonnie's pace, he started eating again.

Further down the table, Cornelius asked, "Skies, where'd my food go?"

Then later: "Where's my beer?"

- - -

"I knew this day would come."

"Nona, I've got a good reason!" Bonnie squealed, fallen to her knees, her wrist held high at an angle. Neonna, with Bonnie's wrist in her hand, appeared skeptical. "Please, please, I swear it wasn't really stealing."

"You come into my pantry, and you think-"

"But it's for the captain!"

"It's for who now?"

- - -

He didn't question Neonna's request for a meeting until he walked into the kitchen and smelled... nothing. There was nothing baking, nothing boiling, no hidden aroma of a meal waiting to be devoured. There was just Neonna sitting at the table, the stem of a wine glass pinched delicately between her fingers.

She patted the seat beside her. He grabbed the bench across from her and pulled, frowning when it resisted. Neonna, her ankle wrapped firmly around the bench leg, smiled. Frederic stepped back and reassessed the situation.

"What's going on, Nona?"

"Sit, Frederic."

He considered for a moment. "Am I your captain in this scenario or your friend?"

"Neither. Both. Though if you learn something, I will be your teacher."

Frederic stared. Neonna smiled.

"How empty is that bottle?"

"Sit," she said.

His heart beat loudly against his eardrums but he rounded the tables and sat down beside her. When she offered the remainder of her glass, he waved it off with old practice. They sat with their shoulders pressed together and Neonna finished her wine in silence. She set her glass down with her right hand, and he grabbed the bottle with his left to pour her another. The bottle emptied and Frederic gave her a look that Neonna returned coolly. Their pressed shoulders didn't move.

After a few minutes, Frederic licked his lips. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"I miss Uriah," she said, scrubbing the side of her face with one hand. A sigh pushed out of him before he could catch it, fingers twisting about the neck of the wine bottle. "I thought I'd be ready. I thought we'd said everything we needed to say. Instead I wake up and sometimes I forget he's not there." Neonna sighed and avoided his eyes, drinking the last of her wine instead. She set the glass down with a sharp noise and declared, "So I just stopped sleeping. Seemed easier."

Frederic felt the lump in his throat form instantly. "When was this?"

Her cheeks flushed, she grabbed his hand with her left and squeezed. "Sweet, stupid boy, do you even realize when you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That," she said and tapped his nose with one finger. Neonna sighed and fell into his side. Frederic took the weight easily, wrapping his other hand around hers.

"Nona, I'm," he swallowed back the word. "Are you not sleeping? Should we talk to Carissa? We can, we'll go together, if you want."

"That, that," her voice was muffled against his jacket, her finger poking him in the ribs. "Do that, but for you."

"What?" Frederic looked down after a beat, shook his arm but the woman just settled comfortably. "What do you mean? Nona?" Another minute ticked by until he realized her soft breaths had become snores and he was trapped. He tried to remain the comfortable pillar Neonna had fallen asleep on, but his muscles were already tensing in anticipation.

Frederic sat in silence, and he felt the seconds crawl past.

Just as Frederic was really seriously considering moving, Otha stepped in and froze in the doorway. The tableau of his six foot transhuman captain sitting stiffly on a bench with a five foot five aging cook cuddled on his arm made his eyebrows jump and his jaw drop in a sudden smile. Cornelius collided with Otha from behind.

"Mister Rains, sincerely, you could have—oh, Captain," he looked from Frederic to Neonna then shrugged. "Right, then. You can help Otha with the transport. I don't want to chance my back today."

Otha approached, badly concealing his grin. "You could have been weaving garlic braids into her hair, she wouldn't have noticed."

"Just get her head," Frederic sighed.

Between the two of them, Neonna was easily carried to her bed. Frederic took off her sandals and placed them at the foot of the bed, nodding at Otha's thanks. The boatswain took a seat beside her and removed her jewelry with care and obvious practice. Frederic stepped back and joined Cornelius who had both arms crossed over his chest.

"What did you do?" The quartermaster demanded.

For all that he was certain of his innocence, Frederic still felt a blush crawl up his neck.

"Nothing," he cleared his throat. "She was already drinking when I came in."

Cornelius clicked his tongue and shrugged, "Ah, well."

"Did you know?" Frederic spoke low, "That she wasn't sleeping?"

"Well aware, Captain, and of her so-called solution," Culton snorted. He looked up, rolled his eyes at the wrinkle in the captain's forehead, and nodded toward the bed. "You're looking at it. One bottle later, she goes out like a light. Somehow rises with the dawn, Marlea bless her." They both watched Otha fluff her pillows and pull the blankets over her shoulder, eyes sliding away when he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Cornelius swiped the light pattern off and shooed them out, closing the door behind everyone.

With a wave of his fingers, Otha disappeared down the hallway while Frederic lingered, eyeing Cornelius who hadn't turned away quite yet. "It was worse in the beginning," he confessed to the doorframe. His wrinkled hand patted the door twice, and when he faced the captain again, his smile was brief. "But we've helped her through it. She'll get there, Captain, just give it time."

"Understood, Master Culton."

"You won't... say anything."

Frederic felt that lump in his throat again, pushed it away after a moment. "Of course not," he answered.

Cornelius sighed, caught his thumb in one of his suspenders, and nodded. "Good, good. Then," he made a half-hearted salute. "Good night, Captain."

- - -

"Otha is no longer allowed to share at game night," Bohman broke the silence. "All in favor?"

Most hands rose in quick succession, including Otha's, echoed by varying degrees of laughter. The oldest Barrister shoved Otha on the shoulder and the boatswain gave in to the motion, falling into Buck's side.

"I like Otha's stories," Buck wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders and smacked a kiss to his temple. "How else are we to discover our captain's sensitive side?"

"That man has two tempers," Bohman rolled his eyes. "And they both don't like me."

"Can we get back to cards, please?" Bassett grumbled, eyes narrowed at the bulk of his chips that sat in Thomson's pile. The gunner shuffled the deck and smirked in his direction.

"That's not what Bonnie says," Thomson said, smirk widening at the sound of Bassett's frustration.

"Spill!" Buck grinned, leaning forward. "I want details."

"Cause the Ceoli's such a source of honesty," Bohman jabbed, and the table burst out laughing again except for Bassett.

"Deal already," he groaned. "Gossip later."

He made grabbing motions at Thomson who relented and began passing out cards.

- - -

"We can find you. Say the word, and we're there."

Ruth's voice crackled through the farspeaker box, testament to how far away she truly was. Frederic allowed himself a moment to run his fingers over the receiver, a moment to wish things were different. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

"You've got your orders. If we don't make it back in time for the rendezvous, you fly without us."

There was a beat of silence where Frederic imagined they were both holding back words.

"Be there," the box hissed.

"Yes, ma'am."

There was no response, but Frederic hadn't expected one. He closed the box, watched the sigils darken one by one, before he sighed and slipped it back into its case. Getting to his feet was another matter entirely but Frederic breathed through the pain and ignored the pinch in his knees. The walk back down the hill made sure to remind him of that every step of the way.

When he was near the echo of the Barristers' conversation, he shouted, "Get ready to move out. I want us packed and moving in double time. It's a long march to the rendezvous point, so we need... to go." He trailed off, staring down at the campsite. Buck, holding two skewered rabbits in either hand, smiled widely.

"Let me paint you a different scenario, Captain. How about we cook up these country rats and then have us a nap afterward?"

"What the actual hell," Frederic muttered.

"We'll even take first watch so you can eat and then knock out flat."

"No, we're leaving now," he bit out. "If we don't reach that bridge, the Daruna has orders to go on without us, do you understand?”

Just beyond the fire pit, Bohman cleaned his knives. "Hear the kid out, Captain," he called out. Bassett tended the fire spell that sparked to life beneath the logs, watching the conversation with bags under his eyes.

"I scouted ahead," Buck said, pushing the skewers to hang over the fire. He did it smiling, like his two hundred pound machinist captain wasn't flexing his fists and glaring at him. "Found a fisherman's hut, and a fisherman who'd sail us down the river come moonrise. That's six hours from now, and the hut only an hour out. Turns our fearsome trek into a long walk and a short boat ride, well in time to rendezvous with the Daruna. You feel me?"

"Bassett needs a break too," Bohman said, in a low enough tone it was clear he wasn't expecting a response. The middle brother simply nodded, overdrawn on his magical reserves.

Frederic shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he considered. After a long moment, he exhaled loudly and shook his head. He lurched towards his bedroll and groaned when he laid out. "Wake me when my rabbit's ready," he said.

"There's my practical, no-nonsense captain," Buck chuckled. "Though I did wonder when it looked like you wanted to visit violence on me."

"I did think about it," Frederic muttered, turned on his side and away from the fire's glow.

- - -

"I can't talk to Julius about this," Buck struck a match to light his cigarette. "No offense, but he'll want to talk talk about it and I can't with him, not again. So you have to do it for me. When he stops for breath, just drop your pants or something.”

"That's my boyfriend now," Myka frowned at him.

"Then he should pay more attention to your lips without flapping his."

Myka clapped a hand over his face, hiding his grin as he groaned. "Why are you like this? Why are we friends again?"

"Because I share," Buck held out the cigarette. Peeking through his fingers at him, Myka chuckled and reached out for it. The sky passed above them, stars wheeling overhead while they passed it back and forth. Buck exhaled, turning his eyes down to the ocean below. "And because," he held out the herb to Myka and when he plucked it away, Buck made a fist with his pinky and thumb raised and motioned between them. "You understand. A little of it, anyway."

Myka smiled softly, before looking away and shoving Buck on the shoulder. "Orphan solidarity, who knew."

"You're still a moneyed lubbock, don't think I don't hold that against you," Buck laughed, bumping his shoulder right back into him. Unbalanced, Myka pitched forward and dropped the cigarette over the railing. They both made wild grabs for it, only to catch a glimpse of cherry red disappear into the black waters below.

- - -

Just the sight of her was enough to smooth the wrinkle from his brow and the storm from his eyes. Frederic saw the Daruna and instantly felt at home. That was, until Ruth came down the gangplank and stopped in front of him, hands akimbo.

"I just want you to know, we all talked about it," she said, without a trace of the humor that he searched for in her face. "We wanted to do it together, as a crew."

"Freddie!" Julius called from the railing, waving his welder's mask at him. "Come see, I've just installed it!"

"Ruth," he started but her hand touched his arm and his protest fell away. Gently taking his machinist hand, Ruth walked him to where the crew was gathered at the helm. They parted to let him through as Julius gestured grandly to a new wheel, shining with a fresh polish. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, made of wood and brass in equal parts and intertwined with artistic flair. Julius should have been beaming proudly over such a creation, but when Frederic looked, his smile wobbled and his eyes shined.

"The names of our fallen crew," his foster brother said, pointing at the circle of names engraved on the inside of the wheel. "May they always be watching over us."

"Magdzetln waak ons," Dane said softly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"By the three," Carissa kissed her necklace and tucked it back under her dress collar.

Frederic couldn't look away from the names. He grasped the helm and turned it slowly, reading each one of them: Aron Lummel, Bruce Longstroth, Marc Padgett, Sheila Pugh, Uriah Ward, and... Nimallah Marks.

He remembered her face, her voice when she said, Please call me Nimsy. They were far nicer memories to dwell on than the last one, the look on her face as she fell away from him, the scream that snapped him awake from his nightmares. Then he cocked his head and turned the wheel to see one more name: Orene Tullos.

"I added Gran's name, Captain," Bonnie said, reddening under his gaze. "I know she died sleeping in her own bed back in Halla, but I like thinking she's looking out for us too."

"She loved this ship," he said, smiling faintly.

"Orene would've loved Nimsy," Neonna said, gaining everyone's attention. Her smile widened even as Frederic's faltered. "Thank the Spirits they never met. They would've been so much trouble together." It surprised a laugh out of the captain, nodding even as he felt his eyes prickling. Half the crew laughed with him while Buck elbowed Otha beside him.

"Was Bonnie's gran really that bad?"

"Worse," the boatswain said.

"Don't get me started," Cornelius said, clearing his throat before starting.

With the old crew looking on fondly and the newer members listening curiously, Frederic stepped aside and pulled Julius into a one-armed hug. He tucked his chin over his head as Julius wrapped both arms around him and squeezed.

"I miss her too," Julius admitted. "Nothing turned out the way it should have."

"No, it didn't." Frederic patted his shoulder and stepped back, sniffing. "Thank you," he said, "It's perfect. I don't know why you didn't think of it before."

"Not me," Julius shrugged, and nodded at Ruth.

She was a length away from the circle, listening to the storytelling with her arms crossed. He walked over to her side, standing quietly as voices rose and fell, laughing when memories differed and smiling when they aligned. Ruth's expression never changed. "She was one of us. And we lost her, all of us," she spoke without looking at him. "If you wouldn't punish one of us for her loss, don't punish yourself."

Frederic felt his throat burn, tears spilling out in quick succession. He remembered her face, her scream.

"I let her go."

"She saved your life," Ruth said, snapping her eyes to his. "And I would be lost without you."

"Ruth," he stared.

"Shut up." She whistled sharply enough to cut the conversation into silence, “Lunchtime, crew! Hop to, we're starving." Neonna stepped away from the group, long enough to approach Frederic and press a kiss to his cheek.

"What's a funeral without a feast?" Neonna smiled at him and joined the procession down to the kitchen. Ruth followed, and Frederic brought up the rear.

"You'll have to tell the story of Nimsy on the burning boat, Captain!" Carissa shouted.

"I tell it way better," Julius answered.

"You weren't actually there." Myka said.

Thomson called back, "I prefer Dane's version, actually."

"But, he wasn't there either?"

They filed into the kitchen, chairs pulled out for each other, plates and cutlery being passed from hand to hand, different conversations going above and below others. Frederic sat down in the middle, smiled when Carissa handed him a plate heaped with food on his left and Bonnie slipped him his knife and fork on his right. Julius asked for the bread but before he handed him the basket, he grabbed a roll for himself.

"Tell the story, Captain," Otha called.

"Later," Frederic replied, brandishing his cutlery and indicating his plate.

"I'll tell it!" Julius jumped up to his feet, grinning amid cheers and derision. "Our intrepid captain finds himself a stowaway on a rebel airship, without hope of rescue—"

The crew immediately drowned him out in boos and jeers. Beside him, Myka pulled him down into his seat and cried, "First, a toast!"

"A toast!"

Eleven cups and one wineglass rose into the air and Frederic rocked back in the sudden wake of silence that fell. He thought of a list of names engraved in wood and brass and felt a sharp surge of gratitude that it was not longer.

"To the Daruna," he said, raising his water. "And to her crew."

"To her captain," Ruth said, and the crew repeated it loudly.