It is, for a moment, so surprising that Crozier frankly doesn't know what to say. The sort of behavior that would have him (whilst in a fair mood) calmly permanently dismiss a sailor, or (whilst in a poor mood) send someone to be immediately evaluated for physical punishment. And it's that thought that takes him back around — quite abruptly — to the memory of how Jopson sounded (how he looked, how he felt against him) when he confessed he'd imagined it was Crozier the whole time he was being flogged.

Cheeky.

Relentless, too. In his way. As ever. A swan so graceful on the surface, even while being a prick; Crozier wonders how fast his feet are paddling beneath the water. If he's nervous, or just excited. He thinks of their talk of trust, and how much this must be leaning on it, to believe Crozier won't simply send him away. Somehow that's as arousing as the prospect of taking him in hand for this display of disrespect.

"You are a capable steward," he says, pointedly calm. "You are well equipped to do all the work set out for you, and more. If you've come to the point of strain, then by necessity I've come to the point of suspicion."

Crozier pushes himself to his feet. He does not accept the tea towel.

"Clean it up and then show me your mending. I'm not sure I believe you're doing it correctly, in your state."