Rafe tore open his lobster's carapace and threw it into a scrap bowl that was set in the center of the table. He channeled his frustration into ripping the joints underneath, gaining access to the small bits of sweet meat inside.

Everyone was eating in silence. Sully had tried to introduce some conversation once by asking Rafe if he'd found something interesting to read. Rafe couldn't even remember what his book had been about, so he answered simply that it was better than talking to them all afternoon. The quiet returned after that.

The more he ate, though, the more Rafe's anger dissipated. His mind was distracted by the food, which both surprised him and made him suspicious. It was almost enough to make him forget the soreness in his rear end- or at least forget to pretend that he didn't feel it. He began to absentmindedly steal quick peeks at Sam, trying to fit the pieces together.

After several minutes of that had passed, Sam had had enough. He set his corn down and sat up straight, looking directly at Rafe. "If you keep glaring at me, you're going to eat outside."

Rafe wasn't fazed. "How?" he asked simply.

"How? I'll grab your chair and-"

"No," Rafe shook his head and waved the rest of Sam's answer away. "How do you know how to cook?"

Sam blinked and furrowed his brows. "Huh?"

Rafe gestured to his lobster and corn. "These. They're not mushy or undercooked. Most people are terrible at making these their first time. And with your background I doubt you had the opportunity to cook them much- no offense intended, but feel free to take some anyway. So, how?"

Sam leaned his elbow on the table. "You were just yelling at me for giving you a pillow, and now you're mad because I make good food?"

"I'm not mad, it just doesn't make any sense."

"Right." Sam shook his head. "I was never a professional thief full time, you know. People didn't come up to me, asking me to steal things for them, one right after the other, and there wasn't always an easy mark that'd pay off well. I still had to feed my brother and myself during the off months, especially before he could work on his own, so I took as many different jobs as I needed to. Once I was in a restaurant kitchen; probably the longest legal gig I ever held. Nate loved it, I was bringing home all kinds of food every night- more than just grilled cheese or canned soup."

"Ok, you could have just said that you worked in a restaurant," Rafe tossed a claw in the bowl, "I didn't need the life story. It still doesn't make sense that they'd let some untrained brat make the food, unless it wasn't a very good restaurant. And, if that was the case, you wouldn't have learned how to cook anyway."

"I didn't start with cooking, I started by washing dishes," Sam explained, ignoring the first few comments. "After a couple weeks they moved me to food prep, and I went up from there. That's how a lot of places do things. You'd know that if you ever had to work a minimum wage job."

Rafe gave him a polite smile. "Well, thankfully I was always on the management end of business. I didn't have to work with people like you."

"People like me?" Sam scoffed and cocked his head to the side. "Mhm. And by that you mean, what, people who weren't spoiled by their parents?"

Sully sensed another argument coming on. "Sam," he began saying, "Just let it-"

"No," Rafe interrupted. The anger sparked back in his stomach almost instantly. "Go on, Samuel. Keep talking."

"About what?" Sam leaned back. "How you never had to work for anything? Or about how your parents never asked for anything from y-"

In an instant, Rafe was on his feet and he flipped the scrap bowl onto Sam, spilling cobs and shells and innards right into his lap. "Don't talk about things you don't know," he warned, his voice dangerously low.

"Rafe," Sully spoke sternly, "You need to calm down."

Sam froze in shock. He was not expecting that. Then he slowly let out his breath and stood, brushing off his shirt and pants. "Right," he said calmly, looking down at Rafe. "Then I'll say something I do know. If your parents spent less time giving you everything you wanted and more time spanking you, we would have found that treasure fifteen years ago, and then none of us would be here right now."

A vein throbbed in Rafe's forehead. His judgement clouded, and all plans he had of compliance went out the window. His hand curled into a fist as his vision tunneled, lining up the perfect hit. He was livid.

Then there was a sharp pain between his eyes.

"Ow! Shit!" he rubbed at the spot and looked over at Sully, who was now standing. "Did you just flick me?!"

"Felt like it, didn't it?" Sully responded evenly, and he gestured behind Rafe. "Go stand in the corner."

"What?!"

"Go stand in the corner," he repeated, "Until you're calm enough to talk. I really don't think you and I need to have another discussion right now."

Rafe's face flushed as he glared at Sully, contemplating hitting him now. But, the older man was right, he definitely didn't want to go through all of that twice in one day. Besides, he was pretty confident that this was a punishment that wasn't going to do anything unexpected. He slowly turned and walked to the indicated corner, crossing his arms. "Let me guess, stand here for five hours? Or is it until my legs give out?"

"If that's how long you need," Sully answered. "You decide when you're ready to come out, just be calm when you do. If you get worked up like that again then we will have that discussion."

Rafe nodded once. This was condescending, but it still wasn't as bad as it could have been. At least he didn't have to look at them anymore.

When Rafe's back was turned, Sully gave Sam a hard look.

"I'm going to go take a shower," Sam said. Another one. "I was done eating anyway." He gave his shirt one last brush and walked off in the direction of his room.

Sully sighed and sat back down at the table. Tonight definitely wasn't going very well. He was going to have to talk with Sam.

It was difficult because they'd never had the same kind of relationship that he had with Nate, or that he was imposing on Rafe. Sure, there had been a few times when the line blurred, but those had been more of Sam's decisions than his. He wouldn't enforce anything on the older Drake, but he would try to reason with him.

Then he had a thought, something that would make both Sam and Rafe balk when they heard it, and Sully couldn't help smirking a little. He'd unload that surprise on them tomorrow.

After a few moments there was a shuffle as Rafe turned around from the corner. His face was a mask of serenity. "Alright," he said casually, "I'm calm now, but I'm not hungry anymore. I'm just going to my room." He began walking for the hallway.

"No," Sully spoke up, watching him.

Rafe paused. "No?" A hint of the anger that he was trying hard to keep suppressed crept into his tone.

"No, first you're going to clean up your mess," Sully answered. "That garbage is all over the floor."

Rafe glanced down at it. "Samuel can clean it up."

"He's not the one who spilled it, you are," Sully said firmly.

Rafe rolled his eyes, the mask suddenly gone and replaced with extreme annoyance, and walked around the table without another word. This time he didn't bother using any cleaners. He just threw everything away and wiped the floor down with a napkin. "There, happy?"

"That'll do," Sully answered. He knew he wasn't going to get anything better from Rafe that night without a struggle, and it wasn't worth the headache. "You can go to your room now, if you want. Take your book so you don't get bored. And, kid? If you're just saying that you're not hungry to get out of here, take your salad with you, or bring it in case you get hungry later. You didn't eat much today."

Rafe narrowed his eyes, contemplating. He couldn't get a read on Sully. First he stopped him from punching Sam under the guise of saving him from more punishment and not for Sam's sake, and now this. He acted like he was actually worried for his well-being, which made no sense at all. This was like a fucked-up version of Good Cop-Bad Cop, with them trying to earn his trust. Good thing he wasn't fooled that easily.

Still, the old man's words did make sense; he'd need to eat to keep his strength up while living here, and with his door being locked at night he wouldn't be able to sneak out later for food. Slowly, as if it was his own idea, he picked up his salad and then walked to the living room for his book. Then he continued down the hallway to his room.

When he heard the door close, Sully stood and began to put the remaining food away. At least the kid was listening to him even when it wasn't a command, which had to be a good sign. He had a feeling that once he got Rafe's temper under control, he'd be much easier to live with. However, he also felt like getting it under control was going to take a lot of goddamn work.

He had nearly finished bussing when Sam returned, now clean, dressed simply in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt.

Sam glanced around the kitchen before his eyes settled on the older man. "Did Rafe go to his room?"

"He did," Sully answered, placing some dishes in the sink.

Sam walked over and turned the water on so he could start washing them. "Are you going to spank him?"

"Nope," Sully replied and leaned against the counter, letting Sam take over. Everything else was put away already, and Sam liked to do the dishes himself. Some of his cooking ware had to be cleaned a specific way, and he felt better when he knew for sure it was done correctly.

"No," Sam repeated with a nod. "Uh-huh. Why not?" He glanced over, wondering if Victor had lost his resolve for all of this already.

"Because he doesn't deserve it," Sully said simply.

"He doesn't- Victor, he threw lobster guts at me."

"Yeah, after you provoked him," Sully said evenly.

"No, no I did not-"

"You did. He was getting upset and you kept going." Sully kept his voice level. He was stating facts, not starting another argument.

"Only after he flipped the bowl on me." Sam tossed his dishrag into the sink. "Come on, we both know he hates me, and he's overreacting to everything just to get back at me."

"Exactly," Sully shook his head and lowered his voice. "He does hate you. I don't think you realize that he also thinks you hate him too. Anything you do or say, even if it doesn't involve him, that's the context he'll take it in. I'm not saying you shouldn't try, just don't be so…" He tried thinking of a polite way to put it, "… So goddamn blunt. Be subtle. If you're going to give him a pillow, tell him you don't want his jean rivets scratching the wood, not that it's for his bottom. He'll react better to that." He paused and reached in his shirt pocket for a cigar. "It's probably a good idea to steer clear of mentioning his parents for now, too."

Sam exhaled and picked up the dishrag again to resume cleaning. "I'm not going to play games with him."

"I know you don't like it, that was never your thing," Sully said simply. "You'd rather just talk. But that's not how people in his business work. We've both dealt with them before and I know you can smooth-talk when you really want to. But if not, then I hope you're ready for a year's worth of punches and arguments, because I'm not going to stop him if you're just going to start him off again. It's not fair to either of us."

Sam was quiet for a few minutes, scrubbing fastidiously at a pot. Finally he sighed. "Fine, I'll be a little more 'delicate' with him, I don't need to be down on his level anyway. But don't expect me to be too diplomatic; if I need to speak my mind, I will. I won't hide behind a bunch of words."

Sully gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you. Now, I don't think he's coming out again tonight. I'm going to get myself a beer. Do you want one?"

"You kidding? I've been wanting one since I woke up."

There was a sharp rap on Rafe's door, and Sully's muffled voice came through. "You up, kid? Breakfast is ready, it's time to come out."

Rafe groaned and slowly opened his eyes, finding his alarm clock. It was past eight.

He didn't even remember going to sleep.

"I'll be there'n a couple minutes," he answered, his voice groggy. He must have been completely out of it. So far his plans to stay up all night were not working well. He took a deep breath and braced himself, then gingerly pushed himself up to sit on his bed. Aside from some slight tenderness directly where he sat, the pain was mostly gone, much to his relief. He'd be able to eat with dignity again.

He got to his feet and walked to his dresser to get some clothes. He wasn't sure why Sully was worried about him coming out to eat now, his food didn't have to be prepared. He could eat it any time of the day and it'd be the same. They were just forcing him to interact with them more, which was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Still, since he had a night's rest, and now that he didn't have to devote so much energy ignoring the pain, it'd be easier to pretend to get along with them. Sam wouldn't be able to provoke him a second time.

He picked up his now-empty salad bowl and stepped out into the hallway. When he made it to the kitchen, Sam and Sully were already sitting down. He smiled politely at both of them and set the bowl in the sink, then took his seat. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Sully smiled back and gave his shoulder a pat as he settled in. "How are you feeling today? Better?"

Rafe shrugged his hand away. "I'm fine," he answered. Breakfast was served up a little better today than yesterday; there were two boiled eggs, already shelled, some nuts, and a bowl of sliced fruit. It wasn't anything he couldn't have made himself, but at least he didn't have to do any work.

Sam pushed his chair back and stood. "What do you want to drink?"

Rafe eyed him. "I can get it myself."

"I know. What do you want to drink?" Sam repeated.

Rafe shrugged and took a bite of one of the eggs. "Coffee. Black."

"Right." Sam grabbed a mug from the cupboard and began to pour.

Sully picked up his fork. His plate was full of the same greasy eggs, bacon, and sausage they'd had yesterday. Just looking at it made Rafe want to gag.

"Let me tell you about today's plans," Sully said, oblivious. "Shoreline's coming with the supplies I asked for yesterday. It's a lot, so they won't be here until around two. I need to go meet them on the docks, but you can stay here if you want. Sam'll stay behind with you. I warn you, though, I might be gone a couple hours. Is that alright?"

Rafe frowned and concentrated on his egg, wiping off tiny bits of shell that were overlooked. He doubted it would make any difference if he answered 'no'. "Why can't Sam meet them and you stay behind?" he asked.

Sully hid a smirk at that. "Because I'm the mediator, remember? I do all communication with Nadine and Shoreline. Come on, you think Sam could handle that and not accidentally start another war with them?"

"I'll try not to get offended," Sam said wryly as he set Rafe's mug in front of him, then took a seat.

"No, Samuel, he has a good point," Rafe replied with mock sincerity, then turned his attention back to Victor. "Yeah, I'll be fine, Sully. I'd rather be stuck here with him than have to be out there with them, anyway."

"That's the spirit," Sully chuckled. "Besides, you'll have other things to do. You won't even notice I'm gone."

"Oh, I doubt that," Rafe said slowly, guarding his tone. "I suppose you're talking about my chores?"

"Only one chore," Sully answered, "For now."

"Let me guess, I'll be getting more if I don't behave myself."

"No, you'll get more once you've adjusted." Sully watched him for a reaction, but wasn't surprised when he didn't get one. Rafe was very good at keeping things internal, he was finding out. "I told you at the beginning, this is just to keep things fair. There are three people living here, one or two people shouldn't have to do everything."

"Of course," Rafe agreed. "We couldn't have that, could we? So, what's my one chore for the day? Scrub the floor with a toothbrush?"

"Quit being so dramatic, Annie," Sully shook his head. "It's an easy chore, it'll only take you half an hour with procrastinating." He took a sip of his coffee, letting the thought hang in the air. "You'll be washing the dishes."

There was a clatter as a fork hit the floor. Sam cleared his throat and picked it up. "Victor," he said, "I do the dishes."

Rafe scrunched his nose. "You know, I thought it'd take more torture for me to come to this, but I agree with him. That's his job." He didn't want his hands anywhere near their phlegm and spit.

Sully held a placating finger up. "Sam, you can keep washing the ones that need to be soaked in the tears of angels and massaged with oils from Eden or whatever goddamn complicated process you have for them." And the knives, which he hoped was obvious without him having to say it. "Rafe can get the rest when you're done, that's all."

Sam crossed his arms and gave Sully a long look. He really wished he would have talked with him about this instead of just announcing his decision to both of them. They were supposed to be working together. Then he took a deep breath and looked to Rafe. "Just take the dinnerware today. I'll take the rest."

Rafe scowled at him, but he couldn't protest- for now. "Fine," he said simply, focusing his attention back on his food.

Sully nodded. "Good. Now, it's probably best for you to clean those right after we finish eating, but that's your decision. Just have them done before Sam starts cooking the next meal so he can use the sink.

Rafe nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

"You're also in charge of your own laundry. I don't think anyone here wants to wash anyone else's underwear," Sully smirked. "I can show you where the machines are later."

Rafe nearly gagged and he pushed his plate away. "Thanks for that visual," he glared at Sully, crossing his arms. "You can show me now, I'm done eating."

Sully chuckled. "Let me finish my coffee."

They had to go outside to get to the laundry machines. It was the first time Rafe had ventured out since getting there. Now that he actually took in his surroundings, he decided that he'd been on better islands. This one didn't have the nice view, and the locals were terrible.

It was just a short walk to a concrete shed, and Sully pushed the door open. Inside were a washing machine and dryer, which looked old as shit and able to withstand a nuclear explosion.

"You ever use one of these machines before?" Sully asked him.

Rafe looked at Sully and raised a brow.

"Right. I figured not, you're too rich. I didn't really know how to use them either," Sully admitted, "Always had a girl that did that for me. Sam's the expert, he can show you when you're ready."

Rafe scoffed and walked in, getting a closer look. There was no way he'd let Samuel teach him how to do anything. "I'm sure I can figure it out. How hard can it be?"

Sully shrugged. "It's up to you." At those words, he got assorted visions of soap sud rivulets spouting out of the machine, overfilled and off balance machines slamming into each other, and the dryer spontaneously catching fire. "But, uh, if you do have questions and you don't want to ask Sam, I can always ask them for you. That'd be no problem."

"Fine." Rafe looked around the rest of the room. There was a sink, a cabinet above the sink, and a shelf. It was a small shed. "Is this all you were going to show me?"

"That's about the size of it," Sully nodded.

"Then I'm going to take a shower now." Rafe walked past him out of the shed.

"No, wash this one again."

Rafe grit his teeth and looked at the plate Sam had taken from the dish-drain. "It looks fine to me." Apparently, he didn't do a good enough job with the breakfast dishes and Sam had to re-wash a lot of them, so now he had taken it upon himself to hover over his shoulder and give instructions for the lunch dishes. Sully was at the docks, a good fifteen minute walk away, and if there had been a sharp knife in the sink Rafe would happily committed murder with the way Sam was acting. All he had to do was swipe a sponge over the surface, how could he mess that up as much as Sam seemed to think he did?

Instead of arguing, Sam reached down and grabbed one of Rafe's hands, then pressed it against the plate. "There, feel that?"

Rafe pulled his hand away immediately. "These plates are cheap, Samuel, they're going to have surface defects."

"Cute. That's grease." Sam couldn't comprehend how someone made it to thirty without washing a single dish in his life, and he suspected Rafe was just lying and exaggerating to get out of doing it. "Wash it until it doesn't feel like that anymore, for all of them, and then I'll start leaving you alone."

Rafe's response was to glare at him until Sam looked away. "Just get it over with and we can both do something we actually want to do," the older Drake said, his free hand instinctively reaching for his cigarette pack before he remembered that Rafe was there. He had no problem smoking inside, but so far, as a courtesy, he wasn't doing it when the other man was present.

Rafe snatched the plate from him and began to wash it again. Maybe Sam shouldn't make everything with a layer of grease if he didn't want his plates turning out like that. It seemed like common sense.

His mind began turning. With Sully out of the house for a while, he was very tempted to try to get back at Sam for what he did last night and what he was doing now. Nothing drastic, because that had to wait for his Revenge on them all, but a punch or two would be very satisfying. Unfortunately, he didn't think he was currently in shape to take Sam down on his own, and he was sure the other man would be on alert the entire afternoon so he wouldn't catch him off-guard. He didn't want another embarrassing incident happening.

Then he had an idea. If he couldn't get back at Sam physically, he had to think along other roads. There were more subtle ways to get to him, or make other people attack Sam for him.

He didn't say another word throughout the dish-washing, and when he was done he silently returned to his room, slamming the door behind him.

He waited by his door for half an hour, listening. He heard Sam go to the living room, and then no sounds for over ten minutes. If he was going to do it, now was as good a time as ever.

Rafe slowly twisted his door handle and pulled the door open an inch, making no noise. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating. With his free hand, he pinched his thigh hard. When the pain was enough to distract his mind and override all of his instincts for self-preservation, Rafe pulled the handle towards him with as much force as he could.

There was a loud slam, and a crack of pain across his face, and he grunted in response. Shit. He had been expecting it to hurt, but that was more than even he believed he could force his body to do to itself.

There was a noise as Sam stirred in the living room. "Rafe? What was that? Are you ok?"

Rafe quickly slammed the door shut again. "I'm fine, Sam. Go away."

He heard Sam huff in annoyance, and return to whatever he had been doing. Good. Now all he had to do was sit and wait for Sully to get back.