His youngest brother was going to get married. His youngest brother. Did he have any clue what sort of pressure that put on Zechariah?

His eyes slid to the guests. He pursed his lips.

“It is good to know what you want in life,” he said with a forced smile, eyes sliding self-consciously to the constable.

This conversation was not over. God. Maybe if he stockpiled his inquiries and dumped them all on Crane at once, he would forget Uriel existed.

But first, there was the summer ‘swimmer’. Zechariah’s eyes immediately shot to the puddle forming on the nice oak floor. At the confession, he closed his eyes and took a long breath through his nose. Captain who had a tallyboard of everyone who drowned, tosses a man overboard for the mere sin of talking back. It could be gossip and a bad day on the captain’s account, but since when did such brazen behavior happen in isolation?

“Challah,” he answered, and just as blandly: “is anyone else currently in danger of your captain?”

"I don't think anyone is in danger right now, except maybe my friends," Bill said. "Especially John - he's so skinny he'd sink like a rock. But who really knows."

He stuffed some more food into his mouth. 

Now that he'd thought of it, he was suddenly worried for his friends, and hoped he'd get to leave and check that they'd returned to shore safely. He started shaking his leg nervously, and the borrowed robe fell open. He let out an embarrassed grunt and drew the robe tight around himself.

Uriel took note of the way his brother reacted to the news and sat up a little straighter. Not awkward at all. Nope. The kid sort of wilted then and started to pick at his food, like somehow he could never truly gain any kind of happiness generated toward him from any one person in the family. He gave a slight nod toward the half drowned man after he repeated himself, and then pushed his hardly touched plate away slightly. Truth be told, whatever appetite he had was gone. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be outside with my pipe." His voice was somewhat firm and final, the way he did not look at his brother in that moment was telling. His feelings were hurt enough that his normal sense of humor was gone.

He did not storm out, he simply walked in as dignified a manner as his large frame would allow, and he was outside without another word and looking up at the sky as a mixture of anger and depression swirled around him. Why was it SO important for the approval of the brother he idolized? Or the rest of the family for that matter?

He lit a match and lit the already packed bowl up and inhaled a lung full, toeing at the ground with a scowl starting to form on his face.

Elijah thought the news the brother had said was good news. He wanted to congratulate him, but then he saw the glance from Zech. He rose a brow confused and then everything went downhill from there. The strange man flashed them and he started to choke on the small bit of food in his mouth. The other brother left while he tried to be very subtle in patting his chest. When it didn't work to dislodge it immediately, he beat his chest harder until he coughed and gasped alittle, his face red from embarrassment.

"I think.. I should go. " He was ready to stand and bolt. He hated attention on himself unless he was doing his job, and he felt like he was now really overstepping his professionalism with Zechariah. The man probably considered him a fool most of the time, he didn't need to make him more certain.

Of course the captain would be a danger. Well, it looked as though he had plans after dinner: pikuach nefesh demanded it.

Should he feel guilty about worrying whether or not the half-drowned man was staining his robe? Probably. Maybe later.

Then, his dramatic brother, plate still full, was leaving for a smoke in a way that almost made him look his age. Almost.

Next thing he knew it, Uriel was leaving, Crane was choking, and the soaked guy ruining Mr. Schwartz’s nice oak floor was the most normal-looking fellow in the whole room. Zechariah stood and pushed his chair in.

“On the contrary,” Zechariah said, full attention on Crane now, “I would rather not confront a potential serial killer on my own?”

He glanced toward the hall, made a face, then looked back to Crane. “A moment, if you will.”

Though he did not break out into a full sprint, he certainly walked faster than usual to catch up with Uriel. What did he say? That it was foolish? That his options at this age and point in his career would only bring shame? That Zechariah was already enough shanda for the both of them?

He looked to Uriel, pursed his lips, then ran a hand through his hair in uncertainty. Two candles burned in the window by them, and the curtain was drawn. Then, silently, he settled at arms’ length with his back against the house, clasping his hands and watching his brother from the corners of his eyes.

Yiddish:

Shanda = Shame

Bill looked at the owner of the house incredulously. Confront? Potential serial killer? It sounded like he was trying to convince the constable to actually investigate the case... which meant that Bill would have his first arrest, because everyone on the boat surely knew the real reason why he'd been thrown overboard.

Then the owner's brother ran outside, and the owner went after him, and Bill was stuck alone in the dining room with the constable. He was getting full by this point, but he took another piece of meat and concentrated hard on cutting it up into little pieces, not looking up from his plate.

His mother always told him that his big mouth would be the death of him. He hated admitting that she was right about anything, but here he was. He'd survived an attempted drowning and now he might as well be in jail.

His scowl only darkened a little when his brother joined him. He took several drawn out puffs in slow succession, quiet for several minutes as if deep in thought. "I know what I want and I am working my ass off to achieve it, but because it's not what all of you think I should do, doesn't mean any of you have the say to tell me what I have to do." He didn't yell it like he would have before he found someone who brought out the best in him, someone who made him feel like he had a backbone. "I thought out of everyone, at least you would get it and maybe be happy for me that I have a direction and I am not floundering. But I shouldn't give two shits about getting approval anymore. It wouldn't happen even if I tried my damndest to get it."

He tapped the pipe to loosen the contents a little and then took another puff. "The reality of it all, Zecheriah, is I'm a putz to you all, mother and father included. I know when my own mother doesn't want me around. That is the biggest reason I chose this place. I guess we are both of like mind on this one to pick the same place without knowing it." He gave a shrug.

Then he started to talk slightly firmer, "I love her. I may be a putz to you all, but I have never loved another human being the way that I love her. I love the life we created together, even as scary as it is... And I refuse to feel guilt for it. I know now because of her that I live, doesn't that count for something at all? Is that not a reason to be joyous?"

He had expected more yelling. He had found the most comfortable way to lean against the wall for a long session of senseless plus loud. He was used to that.

He was not certain whether fear of the unknown or dread of the usual weighed heavier.

“Language, Uriel,” he chastised out of habit, then glanced away with a guilty look.

Had he contributed to this pipedream? Pushed Uriel so far with his expectations that he fled afar to retreat into some fictional bosom? Was he seeing ladies of the night? Oh God. Did he fall in love with some strumpet like Zechariah had at his age? Was this a family curse their father neglected to tell them about?

God.

When Uriel mentioned being of like mind, Zechariah drew a breath through his nose … then coughed and cleared his throat, waving smoke from his face. The time to say something was now. The time to keep his brother from making the same mistakes was now, and he just needed to find the right words that did not implicate too much –

and with that thought, Uriel launched into a tale of love.

“Uriel,” he said, turning to him with a pained look. “I have no doubt she is a lovely woman. A woman who makes you feel alive – as if there might be something more to life than smog and work and disappointment. And there is! I wish I had not been so blind to not see it before. But listen to me, Uriel.” 

He beckoned him to listen, and then the words caught in his throat. He held up his hand to try and halt him long enough to grit it out.

“There are other men.” Never had he looked so bitter to speak – not even when their nasty grandmother harped on how much they resembled their ‘goyish’ father. “There are always other men.”

"Serial killer!? Wait!" But he was gone. Elijah frowned and folded his arms in thought. Taking a moment to try to consider what he said , he focused on the only other one in the room.

He immediately looked away and rubbed his face. "Is there anything you wish to say? "

Uriel rolled his eyes, emptied the pipe of ashes and cherry, and just held it there. "No, Zech, it's not even like that... Not by a long shot. She chose me, Zech, and she has done more for me in a few short months than anyone has... You know, helping with my studies even if she can't read very well... And she goes out of her way to make me feel good about myself and I'm happy... The kind of happy that makes me sing..." He had a good singing voice but it was rare the others heard it, for it was something he did when he was genuinely happy. "She never tells me I am stupid when I have dreams and does little things to make my day brighter."