Ah ha ha ha fire drills at five in the morning kill me now.
"I don' see what yer problem is, Boots!" Sully flopped down into his hammock, somehow simultaneously knocking back a good fifth of the bottle of rum in his grimy hand. "Everythin' seems ta be going well ta me."
"He's changing, Sully." Bill sat down on his own hammock in a less flamboyant way, tugging off his salt-stained boots. "He's been spending far too much time with that Barbossa fellow. You know, Wilton's old first mate? They're getting far too friendly for my tastes."
"Oh, so ye'd rather 'ave 'im getting friendly with ye, then, eh Boots?" The other man cackled wickedly, ignoring his friend's mortified expression and the flying shoe aimed rather precisely at his cranium.
"Of course not! Jack's twelve, for God's sake! What would make you think such a wretched thing?!" Despite his blatant refusal, the man still flushed a rather guilty shade of red.
"I've seen the way ye look at 'im, Bill. Most everyone has, includin' 'im." Sully paused, causally examining his filthy fingernails. "In fact, everyone seems ta know how ye feel 'cept ye."
"I'm not like that." Bill whispered, pulling his legs up to his scrawny chest and somehow managing to maintain an upright position in the rocking sling. "I could never hurt him like that."
Sully gave him a long, disbelieving look. He carefully set the bottle of rum upon the damp deck and situated himself in a more serious, and yet still wonderfully ridiculous, position.
"In case ye hadn't noticed, the boy's got his own eye on ye. He has got ever since ye saved him from that slack-jawed son of a squid. Again. I don't think yer interest would hurt him any."
"I'm the only father he's ever known." Bill collapsed backwards into the coarse netting, pressing the back of his arm into his forehead. "I have a son of my own, you know. William."
"Of course I know, Bill. He's all ye'd ever talk about." Sully watched him closely, a strange, calculating look on his normally friendly face. "At least, till little Jack came into yer life."
"I'm not like that, all right, Sullivan?" Bill snapped, glaring at him with his deep, chocolate eyes burning. "He reminds me of William, all right? That's all."
"All right, all right!" Sully held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Yer nothin' like that at all! I'm sorry fer even bringin' it up."
Bill scoffed at him and turned over, leaving his friend with nothing but his back. Sully sighed and followed suit, resigning himself to a night of uncomfortable silence.
A long while later, just when Sully was treading the cloudy edge of sleep, he heard his friend whisper something in the dark.
"Dieu m'aident, il est vrai. Je l'aime."
Random Babelfish French "God help me, it's true. I love him."