The charter guests round off the dock, and the crew deflates. Their all-whites, ironed to perfection, crinkle as they bend over, relaxing shoulders, lungs empty of air from their collective sigh. The sea is even and calm, lapping against the dock but it is nearly enough to cause their collapse. Even Shelly, who doesn't have a peg leg but might have a wooden spine.

"We'll do the tip meeting in an hour," she says before anyone can slip away. Not that any of them could realistically sneak off. Their bodies are too rigid for such fluid movements. Besides, on a fifty-two-metre yacht, there aren't many places to hide. "I want all of deck crew in the bridge in thirty."

Shelly doesn't give them the opportunity to argue. She walks off the deck, heading into the interior of the ship.

Like Shelly, the interior crew doesn't stick around. They've got work to do. The cabin sheets need to be washed again, though they just were run through the machines the previous evening. Make up will be caked through the sink again. There were no children on the cruise, but you might have imagined one was playing with her mother's palaette the way orange and blue were splattered in the porcelain sink.

The engineers also leave to do work, although Lina doesn't make a move to go. Of course, all of them have a list of tasks longer than they did this morning, but the deck crew stands outside. It's warm for the middle of May. People bustle on the dock, carrying heavy cargo and sweating through their clothes. None of them would run around in their all-whites. The heat may not blister, but it clings. Everyone else around the deckcrew moves and yet they linger.

Finn looks up at the ship, toward the bridge.

Joy pats a hand on his back. She rubs the spot between his shoulder blades, "you're fine. It was an honest mistake."

"Shelly likes being liked too much to fire you," Lina offers as well.

Finn puts a smile on his face. He laughs, then ruffles Joy's hair. She shoves him off, grinning ear to ear.

They're too optimistic. August is sure of that much. He sits down on the ground, crossing his legs. His curly hair is sticking to his head already. It's been six weeks since his last cut, six weeks since they arrived. Vic offered to cut it yesterday, and she didn't look surprised when August said no. The curls are getting in his eyes. Maybe if Finn isn't fired, they can find a barber nearby.

Shelly is the only one who speaks Greek, but enough people in Corfu know English that they can get by.

"Come on, Auggie," Finn bends over and grabs August by the arm, hauling him up. "They're not sending me packing yet."

He's not smiling with his eyes though. Finn hopes they can't all see it. Or if they can, maybe they'll mistake it for a squint in the sharp rays of the sun. It was a small error and Shelly won't send him home. Still, he's going to have to sit in front of her, and she's going to say she's disappointed in him. He'd rather be sliced apart by the heat.

"We've got twenty minutes," Joy looks down at the watch on her wrist. She's broken out in a rash twice from it, but as bosun she has to keep the time. It shouldn't have been her, but between August and Finn, well... it had to be someone. "Keep on your all-whites, but we should grab some snacks and go sit on the sundeck until it's time."

"In our all-whites?" Finn grimaces.

"Let's pretend to be serious, Finn," Lina says.

She looks to Joy, who nods as well.

They start to head down to their cabins. Joy takes up the rear to watch her crew slip down. She tries to think of saying it like she would say the word her family, not to denote possession but something thicker, harder to remove. Like the feeling of shame she'll get tomorrow when she thinks of all that went wrong.

~~~

"Why won't you listen to me?" Bellamy grumbles, just loud enough that Devon can hear him.

Even through their awkward avoidance, Bellamy knows Vic well enough as a coworker to avoid outright insubordination in her presence. When it can be avoided, anyway.

Vic wouldn't get it. Somehow, despite how she was in the marines. She walks behind him now, but with Bellamy's back to her, hopefully the comment didn't reach her. Bellamy can talk to Shelly how he likes no matter what Vic thinks, and Shelly's lapdog certainly isn't worth any more respect.

Ahead of Bellamy, Devon doesn't slow down. He hurries across the deck and then down toward the lazarette. The stairs are winding, slippery and steep and Devon is careful to move down them though he does so quickly. It shouldn't be this wet. The tide is obedient. The moon is eclipsed by the sun, which isn't possible, Devon knows, but Devon of all people has to know the tide. He knows it's chart more certainly than he knows his new European phone number. All in all, the lazarette should be dry.

"First officer, if we could just have a minute of your time," Vic calls out, her voice louder.

At the bottom, Devon nearly slips but catches himself. He recovers quickly, wiping his wet hands onto his khakis. He assumes its water, splashed onto the back of the boat. It's hard to tell if it's something else, some dark thing that will stain his clothes later. He's having enough trouble with the interior already, and infuriating the third stew isn't his idea of mending relationships.

"What is it?" Devon peers up at them.

Vic looks at Bellamy, waiting for him to talk.

"There is something wrong with the hull," he says.

Devon sighs and turns back to the storage. It is easier to say no to Bellamy than Vic, but right now it is difficult to say anything to either of them. He needs to meet at the bridge in ten minutes to report to Shelly.

Bellamy swears he sees Devon roll his eyes just slightly. Heat flashes in his face.

"Shelly-"

"It's Captain Shelly," Devon snaps, his back still to them. He ducks deeper into the lazarette and grabs one of the jet skis. "And I know she's already said no. Don't disrespect her by asking me. Ophelia's Violet doesn't have damage to the hull. Okay?"

Vic rubs her temple. Somehow, she thinks she prefers Bellamy when he is apathetic. She puts her hand on the railing and tries to squeeze the heart of the ship. Something is wrong with the hull, she agrees, but not something serious. There's no flooding anywhere in the boat. Even here, in the lazarette, she can barely hear any dripping, and this part of the boat is always the dampest. The temperature is uneven throughout the vessel, which is likely caused by the hull, but something else could be to blame.

Of course, the one time something doesn't matter, Bellamy insists on going fuming to the captain.

"We need time to assess," Bellamy says. "Devon, if Lina reported to me primarily-"

Devon's hands, still slick though mostly dry, fumble with the jet ski lid. It hits the ground.

Bellamy shoves his hands into the pockets of his khakis.

"We can't afford to lose anyone else on deckcrew right now," Devon brushes him off. "I'm busy, Bellamy, and so is the Captain."

~~~

"It's all fucking Greek to me," Ethan smiles his white teeth. "Not even French is helping me."

"Goddamn it," Edwin slams his hand against the island the countertop.

He flips back the laptop toward him, scanning through the ingredients on the screen. This wouldn't be a problem if they were leaving for Albania sooner, since English is easier to come by. This website has an English translation somewhere, but Edwin can't manage to click on whatever pops it up.

"Are you sure it's not the Union Jack in the top left?" Audrey Wilson leans over the table.

She's undone the top two buttons on her all-whites. The galley is warm even with the walk-in fridge and freezer off it. Of course, Audrey Wilson undid her shirt when she put on her all-whites to bid farewell to the guests. It provides something for Edwin to focus on, should his eyes wander. That way, he might not notice outline of the note in the pocket of her pencil skirt.

"We tried that," Ethan leans back, crossing his arms. "It's not the Union Jack."

"It turns the whole thing Irish," Edwin backs away to avoid slamming the laptop shut. "And you'd think that's fine, that I should just ask Finn since he'll know what it says, and I'll say sure. But you're doing it, Auds, since I'm not going to be the one that says the Union Jack turns everything Irish. I like having all my fingers. Not that I need them. I'd cook circles around everyone here with just a thumb and nothing else."

Ethan takes the laptop and continues fiddling. Mostly, he moves his finger around the trackpad, occasionally clicking but to no avail, "maybe you could use a different website."

"Are you insane?" Edwin stares at Ethan. "No, I trust this guy."

Ethan relinquishes the laptop. His fingers are cold, even though his face is hot. Yesterday, the galley was frigid, for no apparent reason. Today, they swelter, except for his fingers. He glances out the windows. Just past the deck, the sea calls to him.

"Just place the order over the phone."

The three of them glance into the doorway, where Audenzia stands. She leans against the wooden frame, a mug of coffee steaming in her hand. Most wouldn't dare risk a stain to their uniform. Certainly not Audrey Wilson, who does all of the crew's laundry. Audenzia is no exception, now wearing a deep green wrap dress instead of their uniform.

"You're not wearing your all-whites?" Ethan swallows.

"Fuck it," Edwin rips off his apron and tosses it on the ground. He storms out of the room, heading toward his cabin. If she isn't wearing her stiff clothes, he'll be damned if he wears his.

"Shelly isn't upset with me," she says. "Interior was excellent."

Audrey Wilson leans up from her bent position. Her hands are still tinted orange. Of course, Audenzia's aren't. Her perfect French-tipped nails are as white as Ethan's teeth. She hides them behind her back, pressing the palm of her hand against the pocket containing the numbers.

"Exterior is wearing their all-whites still," Ethan says. "Joy mentioned that they aren't changing until after the tip meeting."

Audenzia isn't surprised. Of course Joy wouldn't mind wearing white all day. Perhaps she'd prefer something neon. Or worse, cheetah print.

Footsteps emerge from the bowels of the ship. Ethan clicks once more and English pops up. He's about to share the news with Edwin, but it isn't Edwin who joins them.

Shelly looks at him and him alone, "Ethan, can you join us in fifteen minutes? I'm about to meet with the deckhands."

She doesn't wait for his response before leaving.

Audrey Wilson walks out of the room to go to her cabin and change as well. Ethan doesn't make a move to leave, but he is distracted while he clicks through the Greek website.

Leaning against the walk-in fridge, Audenzia swears she hears something buzzing. Something that isn't the fridge.

~~~~~

I just updated this and now it's a bit longer, and I'm actually happy with the length. Sorry if all the relationships aren't perfect; I've been working on it a while and I know not every relationship was updated when I wrote this. I'm actually really happy that I get to share it with you all. So, please enjoy it!

Also, any predictions about what comes next, or even what happened that got us here?