The more he pushed, the more they pushed back? Ohhh, that reminded him of someone. But, Zechariah chewed his words before speaking.

“Those kids looked like little jerks, Uriel. Rotten little jerks, the whole lot of them.”

Was there fondness in his voice? Maybe.

“And there is a place for rotten little jerks.” Law, for example. “As there are places better suited for gentler souls.”

He hoped to God Uriel did not venture to ask where those were. He had yet to find them.

Zechariah’s eyes cut suspiciously to Uriel at the offer of food. A brow quirked at the assurance, but the reluctance eased some.

“Yes, thank you. It is so damned hard to find a rabbi in these parts,” Zechariah sighed. “Half the reason I keep going back to London is the kosher brisket.”

He was stalling.

… He was probably going to keep stalling.

He finished getting the tea on the table and serving it, and then moved with more grace than Zech might have seen him. There was a certain ease he had in the kitchen, like the prep of food calmed him. "Some of them are. I don't ever remember our childhood being as rowdy as all that." He snorted as he sliced into some leftover chicken. "I don't have any brisket right now, sadly, just a chicken from my own flock." He chuckled and sliced some breast, some cheese, and some bread.

He moved to put the sandwiches on the table with a few plates. He sat and then noticed the bottle of wine. It had been a while since he'd imbibed. He stared for a moment and then murmured, "What vintage is it?"

“Have you ever met a peaceable Brit?” Zechariah laughed. “Bastards, every one of them.”

Ugh. The rough ones made him swoon, too.

He looked at the carcass. Butchering was a noble trade, he supposed. Would his money dry up? Would he have to kill his own meat, too? Did that butcher ever get his, er, ‘her’ raunchy reply? Hopefully not.

“I can pick you some up next time I go to York,” Zechariah said. “Same rabbi who married you gave his blessing to the butcher down there.”

At Uriel’s question, Zechariah’s brows hiked up.

“This is a ‘94 Chardonnay. Belgian,” he added optimistically.

After a pause, he smiled and wrinkled his nose.

“Kosher.”

Translation: boiled.

He thanked Uriel for the sandwich, though seemed still lost in thought when he picked one half up.

“So, how has life been on the … outskirts, for you?”

Uriel sat down with his own sandwich and ate a bite. After a long chew and swallow, he replied to his brother, "It's been well for the most part. Abraham has been a joy to me since his birth, Katherine is doing well, and things are looking up for now." He took another bite of sandwich. He wasn't going to tell Zech that he wasn't one to imbibe anymore after becoming addicted to the drink.

Was it in bad taste that he hoped Uriel had some regrets about his gun-toting wife? Certainly. Horrible taste. Tasted like Simon.

But Uriel had stuck by his decision, and that was more than Zechariah could say about his own … woman-based struggles.

Uriel was one of the saner men of the Meijer tree. Uriel had normal problems, like tripping into love over a series of romantic outings in which one (just one!) night may have taken experimenting with the future bliss of matrimony too far and too imprudently. Uriel was not prone to drink dictating his life.

Had Zechariah known where drink had taken Uriel in the last year alone … well.

“Here, let me get the bottle opener.”

Had he known that, he would not have commenced rifling through the drawers for a bottle opener.

“That is … excellent news,” Zechariah said.

It felt foreign on his tongue, but he was trying.

“Your … pragmatism is something to be admired.”

Ugh. It would be easier to talk about once the wine started rolling.

There was no corkscrew in any of the neatly organized drawers. Uriel bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that Zech would forget about opening the wine, but if he knew his brother at all, and he hoped he knew enough... Zech had a way of figuring things out. He was a clever and mostly shrewd guy. He decided to change the subject, "I will be throwing a small dinner party soon, to celebrate this home."

Zechariah’s rummaging began at a leisurely, sure pace. Then, he went over the silverware draw once more with a quizzical look. He was rifling through the cabinets by the time he thought to ask.

“Excellent, excellent,” he said, single-mindedly focused on getting that damned wine bottle open. “What on-…” he started with consternation, but caught his tone and switched to a more companionable, "what do you use to open your bottles these days?”

Maybe it was a new fad. There was a specialized spoon for everything these days.

"I am sure it is in there somewhere," he said, rather enjoying the show of Zech trying to find something that was no longer in his house. He bit the inside of his cheek and then changed the subject. "Zecheriah, why don't you set the wine down for now, we can get to it later?" He almost giggled, but he wasn't about to make his brother squirm no matter how much he deserved it. Not over a corkscrew anyhow.

In that moment, Zechariah completely, utterly believed Uriel.

But he believed in himself more.

He turned and shook his head, staring the wine bottle down like it had personally challenged him. Then, he looked to Uriel with a faux-serious expression.

“Nonsense. Let me show you what my degree has taught me.”

He fished out a steak knife and grabbed the bottle by the base of the neck. Then … he gingerly tried to carve the cork out.

It was not looking good.

Uriel blinked and said, "Alright, alright, I... don't drink anymore. I had a problem with spirits and wine and... and I just had to stop it before I destroyed myself. Please, put the knife down before you end up hurting yourself. I got rid of the corkscrew months ago." There was only truth in the gentle giant's eyes. He'd gone down a road that could have destroyed everything he ever worked for. "I turned to the bottle too much instead of my faith... I was starting down a road I ought not have turned onto." He lost his appetite and pushed his sandwich away.

"There is so much I have to be thankful for and I could have pushed it all away if I'd had one more drink."