"Decent?" Nat echoed. "What, your camp gruel is better?"

Tavington shrugged indifferently, hiding a simper behind a well-timed bite of food.

"It is filling."

"Sure…"

The two continued to eat silently, the colonel picking at his food in an almost obsessive manner, while Nat studied his movements with lacking subtlety. He refused to leave a single bit of pasta hanging from his fork, and chewed purposefully, evenly between each side of his mouth. Were it not for his silence, she wouldn't have tolerated William's unease. The man didn't even spare time to relax for a meal!

"Don't even…" William growled, stiffening as Mo, who had come to pad up behind his chair, shrank back into a sulky sit.

Nat raised an eyebrow.

"How'd you know he was there?"

"You don't hear him?" William asked between a bite of food and sip of wine.

"No…"

"Of course," the corners of his mouth twitched upward in disapproval.

"Maybe he was just being sneaky because it's you he's dealing with…"

Tavington chortled.

"So he sees no reason to bother with you, then?"

"I-" Nat gaped, "I…"

Col. Tavington shrugged and returned to his food while the woman watched with ever-mounting chagrin.

"Is everything win or bust with you?" she blabbed, spraying a stray noodle just inches from his plate; William chanced a brief but pointed glare.

"I'm sorry?" he intoned lightly.

"You just have to be right… even your chewing is perfect!" she accused.

"Is it wrong, then?" he asked.

"Yes––"

"The manner in which I choose to eat is offensive?"

"Yes but that wasn't just it," Nat cried desperately.

Tavington sighed and put down his fork and knife, tilting his head to one side as he looked back at her.

"I don't understand; what have I done to upset you…this time?"

"You always have to have the last word." Nat said with a breath.

"Always?" William echoed, mindlessly turning his pasta with his fork.

"See? Right there!" Nat pointed out. "It's always your say. Your idea."

"I wouldn't have to have the last word if you weren't so bloody stubborn." Tavington turned his attention back to his food and readied another bite.

"If I wasn't then you'd push me right over." Nat argued, slapping the table with her hand for emphasis.

"Is that really my personal concern?" The colonel asked, chiding her with subtle firmness.

"It should be." Nat huffed.

William chuckled darkly.

"Oh, my dear…I do love a good fight." His lips curled with sinister mockery.

"But this isn't a war!" Nat answered in exasperation.

"No?... Well of course not. You'd be a poor slouch of a soldier." The colonel chastised. "But do step up the antics, will you? Do something…"

"Do what?" Nat hissed. "I fed you, I clothed you, I showed you the bathroom… what else?"

"I'm not a fool, Nat. I enjoy a round of verbal roulette, certainly, but dear god, challenge me. You don't want me to grow bored of you."

"I'm not a fucking whore whom you can just tire of!" Nat raised her voice sharply.

"You're not?" William asked, an amused glint creeping into his eyes. "Prove it then; stop boring me with senseless arguing and have a genuine conversation. Then, perhaps, we might discuss your new station."