They made the crossing without the drama of the night before, except for a very large frigate that got much closer than Sam wanted it to, though Jake didn't seem to alarmed for some reason. The sun was bright and warm and Sam probably only got a bit freaked out because the ship that came close was just close enough to notice him lying out on the deck naked, nursing a beer, eyes closed.
"By the way, Sam, you got an audience," offers Jake, laughing, and Sam scrambles to his feet, probably a poor idea if he didn't want the 'audience' to see everything he had to offer. The crew of the ship is gathered against the rail, some with binoculars, and he can hear them laughing and see them waving, with no good options he just shrugs and waves back. Hope they enjoy the show, he says, and then decides to get Jake back for not warning him by dragging him onto to the deck and kissing him on the lips. That plan backfired, though, because apparently Jake likes the attention and pushes Sam's mouth open, kissing him, and now the laughter is broken up by cheering.
"Should charge them admission," mutters Sam, sitting down with another wave to their audience which gets some of the men to raise a Dutch flag over the side. "Eesh. You're gonna get us killed, Jake."
Later Jake finds a fishing pole and surprisingly something is stupid enough to bite the hook, a very large something judging by the effort Jake is putting in to not looking as if he's fighting with it while Sam laughs, and when he finally drags it on board, whatever he's caught is not happy at all and has big teeth.
Sam throws a sneaker at its head, which stuns it long enough that he can wrestle it into the cooler. They're sipping beers naked on the deck and watching the cooler jump around like it's haunted.
"I think I know how to clean it," offers Sam. He usually hates fish, but is feeling so guilty now that they have to make it for dinner.
And they find the comfort of land again, though they're both getting use to the sea a bit. It's a deserted beach in what he guesses must be France, there's and old sign on top of the short cliffs above them which is crumbling but indicates a town a few kilometers away. Jake is trying to get a fire going, he's got all the sticks arranged except for two that he's trying to rub together furiously to make fire.
"Uhm, Jake," says Sam.
"Shaddup, I'm getting it," growls Jake.
After about five minutes of the struggle, Sam laughs and takes out his lighter, quickly starting a fire from the dry grass on the bottom while Jake glares at him.
"You can clean the fish, then, asshole," says Jake, pretending to sulk and handing Sam the big knife from the boat. It's not a pretty process, thankfully the smoke keeps anything from flying too close to the butchery he's performing, and the sixty pound fish ends up being a few small pieces they pierce onto sticks and cook a little. It tastes really good, actually, Sam's never liked fish and hated being dragged by dad for fish and chips and 'little conversations about life,' but this tastes nothing like that, and just sitting here on the beach with Jake naked and munching away is nice.
They sit by the campfire and finish off the last beers, thankfully Jake was aware enough earlier to put them into a bag in the ocean off the side of the boat so this time they're cold and refreshing.
"I like this," says Sam, and he does, he's never felt so relaxed in his life, and they pile on top of each other in the small cabin of the boat and talk about tomorrow, getting up with the sun and visiting the village for some supplies, listening to the crackle of the dying campfire they built, full from the good fish and each other's company, alone under the night stars with the soft hiss of spent surf evaporating on the sand.