"Hey."

The ocean pokes its head out of the water at her, regards her for a long while, then turns a pointed gaze toward the stars.

Moana huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she tells it fondly. "I'm supposed to be sleeping. I just...couldn't."

For a moment the water stirs nervously. Moana sits against the ledge, letting the pads of her feet skim the water. The ocean's great head rears up, out of the ocean, pulling eye-level with her. It burbles in concern.

"Not nightmares this time," she tells it, and wishes that could be good news. "I couldn't even drift off that far. I guess it's...I'm really worried about this whole convention thing and I'm pretty sure one of the Chiefs wants to kill me and I just don't want to leave Motunui, you know? Kinda want to bury my head in the sand," she chuckles quietly. "Sometimes I feel like that would make things easier."

The ocean bobs forward a little bit, wrapping around her legs in a gentle caress. Moana musters a smile for it, trying to make it as real as she can, and runs her fingers along the top. Idly she dips her fingers in, almost drumming against its head, until it pulls back. It looks at her for one long moment, and turns its head inquisitively.

Sometimes Moana wonders if the ocean knows her better than she does. "You're right, that's not all," she confesses. She pulls her legs out of the water and tucks them against her chest, setting her chin on her knees. "I...you know, that thing I keep...it's Maui," Moana admits quietly.

At least the ocean doesn't shiver with anger this time. The first few times Moana had come to the ocean after some nightmare, some night too long spent in the clutches of memory, the ocean had been furious with its demigod. And Moana had been conflicted because it was nice, knowing that there was someone who would defend her. But on the other hand, she wanted to leave it all in the past. What happened happened, and Moana can't change that - she just has to make her peace with it.

Because no one knows that Maui abandoned her. It was easy enough, during her first recountings, to skip over his betrayal. In her story she would move straight to Te Ka, telling them that in the first fight Maui held her off for long enough for Moana to restore the Heart. It was easy enough to forgive him.

Forgetting, Moana has learned, is harder.

"And I'm fine, I really am," she says, "but I just can't help but remember sometimes."

Even Moana's parents do not know. There was little she had wanted more, when Maui first swooped down to the shores of Motunui, than for her parents to accept him. So she just...didn't tell them the truth.

"And with this whole thing coming up, it makes me wonder if I'm really the right person to lead. Sometimes I just don't listen to people. They have good advice, but I tend to take my word over everyone else's. I'm afraid, I guess, of thinking I'm better than them. Of, y'know, seeing myself as more than they are. Of..." she trails off, buries her forehead in her knees. "Of disregarding my family."

Moana, of course, could not confide in Maui.

It would hurt him, to know that his words still haunt her sometimes. In her darkest moments, when she wonders if she is worthy to uphold the legacy of her ancestors, if she's really right to be Chief, if she is as good a friend as she thinks, when the doubts and anxieties and fears accumulate and keep her from sleep, she can hear him still. The ocean chose wrong.

She doesn't want to hurt him. So he does not know.

Besides, it would be utterly unproductive. What could he give? She knows he is regretful, and has made it clear he intends to stick around. Sure, maybe he leaves for a couple of months every once in a while, but Moana's fairly certain he's started to think of Motunui as home.

The ocean surges upward, trying to reach her again, and Moana uncurls a little bit to dip her hand into it. Pretends her knees aren't wet as she looks out toward the horizon again. Must be residual seawater. "I'm just worried Maui was right. I know it's dumb, but sometimes when I'm lying awake, you know, my mind starts to wander." Moana runs a hand tiredly through her hair. "One second I'm on Motunui and the next I'm out on our boat again. I look to my right and the sail is torn and Maui's hook is cracked, and he..."

The ocean swirls up and around her arm, brushing against her shoulder. Moana sweeps her hair out of the way, tilts her head a little bit to rest her cheek against the surface. It's only when the ocean brushes gently against her temples does Moana realize that there are still tear tracks on her face.

The night is still and silent. There is not a sound to be heard in the forests behind Moana, not the whisper of a bat nor the ruffle of a bird. Even her people are surely well-asleep by now, content with their families in their fales. The wind ruffles through the trees, stirring the branches, but other than that there is nothing of life except her and the ocean.

"He really thought he was going to die." Moana lifts her head from the surface of the water, pulls her knees to her chest once more. "'I'm not killing myself so you can prove you're something you're not,'" she recounts, those words burned into her mind. "He really did, he was convinced that if he turned around that Te Ka would kill him. So...I can't really blame him for leaving, I guess. I mean, if I spent a thousand years on some hunk of rock trying to get my hook back I'd probably leave too. I'm lucky he even came back."

Behind her, something splinters within the forest.

The ocean rears its head up and snaps at her, one sharp nod that splashes her chest with water. Ah, so the ocean is still a bit angry. "I mean, it makes sense. I was a bad friend," she argues back, voice cracking, and the guilt pangs through her stomach again. "I pushed him too hard."

Mist sprays off the ocean as it shakes its head vigorously at her, drawing closer to her face as if it can convince her through sheer physical proximity.

"But I was," Moana argues and pretends she's not crying again. "I knew he wasn't prepared to face Te Ka, not really. And I - and then when we were facing Te Ka," she sniffs, "you know, the first time, I could've turned around and I just didn't listen. I didn't listen to him. What kind of friends don't listen to each other?"

The ocean kinda shakes for a bit, like it's casting around furiously for words and coming up with none.

Moana takes three deep breaths, measuring each one with her heartbeat. She's okay. It's in the past, it's all forgiven, and she's okay.

"It's fine," she tells the ocean ruefully, shaking her head at herself. "I think if I go lay down for a bit longer I'll be able to sleep. Can't keep reliving it over and over again, can I?"

Moana gets doused again as the ocean kinda trembles sadly at her. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine," she says, then steps closer. She scrubs at her cheeks for a couple of seconds before dipping her fingers in its water. As she looks at her own hands the image is distorted a bit, shifted a couple of finger-lengths to the side, and she cracks a watery smile at the sight. "Thanks for listening," she tells it quietly.

Even now, she can hear him. Moana turns from the water, waits for it to plop down into inanimacy once more. Once she's reassured that her friend is gone, Moana smiles to herself. It's not a happy grin.

"You chose wrong," she says to herself, words small as she looks out over the horizon, and sighs.

She lied. Moana knows this routine, she knows that sleep will not come. Her next few hours will be filled with tossing and turning and trying to think of something, anything, other than the waters of Te Ka.

With his words still ringing in her ears, Moana turns toward the trees behind which her fale lies.

And nearly runs smack into Maui.

"Oh!" she gasps, stumbles backward a few paces. She's caught, he's gonna want to know why she's here. Moana needs an excuse fast. In an instant, she flicks her smile back on. It's odd, like she's looking at normal-Moana from an outside point of view, trying to quickly catalogue that Moana's normal traits and assemble her around the Moana of right now, the one who just kind of wants to curl up in her fale and cry. "Maui! Hi, um, I hope I didn't wake you, I was just...uh, I was just talking with the ocean! Y'know, gotta make sure we get to Hehena on time."

Maui looks...off. He's staring at her with eyes wide, like he's never seen her before. Concerned, Moana steps a bit closer. "Um, Maui? Are you...are you doing okay?"

"What do you mean, am I doing okay?" he breathes.

"I mean, you look kinda..."

"How can you ask that, Moana?" he says, and in the silence his words sound almost like a yell. Moana can't help but recoil because he sounds angry. Furious, actually. He hasn't sounded this mad since - since -

Moana blinks, and when she opens her eyes again there is several steps' worth of space between herself and Maui. He's mad, definitely, and she knows rationally that he's not mad at her because he doesn't look mad at her but she's confused and still kind of seeing that old Maui from Te Fiti, he's blurring and overlaying with this one and Moana catches a flash of orange out of the corner of her eye that makes her want to tear up again. "Maui?" she asks, voice trembling, eyes wide.

Just like that, all of his rage deflates, replaced by horror. He takes a step toward her and she stumbles backward before she can still her legs.

"I - oh Gods, Moana, I didn't mean to -" he stutters, actually tripping over his own words, and Moana peers more closely at him, willing her racing heartbeat to calm.

"You weren't talking about Hehena," he says quietly, and Moana's stomach falls out of her chest.

"W-what?"

"With the ocean," he says, and he sounds tired. He gestures slowly toward the ocean like every movement of his wrist ages him another three years. "You weren't talking about our trip tomorrow."

Oh no. Oh no, how much had he heard? Moana should never have come out here, she should have stayed in her stupid fale and just talked to - just talked to herself or something, maybe the stars, not somewhere where Maui could find her.

She has no idea what to say. That seems to be confirmation enough. His face falls like she's physically hit him, and this time it's his turn to take several steps backward.

"Moana," Maui says, and his voice is broken, torn into tiny little pieces. "How long has this been happening for?"

Moana swears internally, resisting the urge to kick up a load of sand. In the four years since Te Fiti Moana has seen Maui like this once, and that was when the old widow Mareana had started shouting at Maui. She'd lost her husband to the sea and blamed Maui for it and Moana will never be able to forget just how Maui looked when she called him scum.

"A little while," she admits, praying that he won't ask for specifics. "But it's okay, really -"

"Moana," he breathes, and there's a tiny little smile curving up his face even as his eyebrows scrunch together like he's been stabbed, "how long?"

"Four years," she admits, and if she'd thought he looked heartbroken before that's nothing on him now. "Maui I mean it, I'm all right, it's only when I'm stressed, it's only when I'm stressed -"

"No, it's not!" he shouts, and she understands some of the horror that had creased his features earlier. "I had no idea!" he says, like the words are tearing their way from his lungs. "I had no idea that - Gods, Moana, you're losing sleep over this, you're coming out to the ocean," his hands are clenching at his sides and he's staring at her like he's never seen her before, like he's lost, "you're coming out to the ocean because you're dreaming about what I said? It's still bothering you, the stupid things I said because I was scared and angry and it's still hurting you, and you're coming out here to the ocean to - Moana, please tell me you've told someone about this!"

"About you leaving? No! I wouldn't do that!"

"You have to, Moana -"

"No!" she shouts back fiercely, righteous anger lending power to her voice. "I will not, Maui!"

"Why not?"

"Because they'd be angry!"

"No they wouldn't, they'd be glad that you told them! You can't hide things like this, Moana, these sorts of things build up and eat at you from the inside. Trust me, I know." Maui balls a fist against the bridge of his nose, like crushing the cartilage will make him feel better. "You - even if...Gods, Moana..."

For a few seconds Moana tries to figure out what he's saying until she realizes. "I don't mean mad at me," she explains. Her gaze falls to the side, away from Maui and his hunched shoulders and his clenched fists. "I meant you. I didn't tell anyone because...it wasn't fair to you. For years you'd just been trying to win love, and you tried so hard and...I wasn't about to let one mistake turn people against you."

It still nags at her, sometimes, the way that humanity was so quick to turn on him. Hearing his story from his perspective opened her eyes in a way that she does not like to think about, sometimes - because those hateful words had come from people she loved, tearing down the demigod who saved her life. Even her grandmother had spoken of Maui with rage and ill-concealed disdain.

"I definitely couldn't tell my parents," she huffs a small laugh, "and the kids, not them either, and that meant...well, that left no one. Except the ocean.

"And I mean I'm mostly over it, I really am. It's just sometimes," she shrugs helplessly toward the horizon, "when things get bad I...guess I start remembering stuff."

It's a long, long time before Moana looks at Maui again. And when she does, there are unshed tears glistening in his eyes, the small sliver of moonlight bouncing off the sea reflected in them. Though she's young Moana knows this feeling, the way that grief makes her curl in on herself, makes her want to stand still in the sand and never move again. That's the way Maui looks, locked muscles and a face made of stone.

Then he speaks, words almost inaudible in the still night air. "Four years you've been dealing with this, Moana," he breathes. "I understand why you didn't tell your parents, I guess, but...why didn't you tell me?"

That, above all, is the question Moana did not want to answer. An inadvertent grimace flits across Moana's face. "I didn't want you to know," she tells him quietly, stepping toward him and is relieved to see, at least, that he does not step back. "It would've hurt you."

"It would've hurt me?" Maui looks at her, then, all wild anger and confusion and hurt. "My - what I did reduces you to tears on a regular basis, because I was upset and afraid and wanted to hurt you and you're worried about me?"

For that, Moana has no reply. She shrugs, awkwardly, because the answer is not no and Maui knows that just as well as she does.

"Don't worry about me, Moana. I'm fine, I've been around for years and - Moana, I...I want you to be able to talk to me," he pleads, and Moana thinks that's definitely desperation in his voice. This time he's the one to step closer, close enough that if she leaned forward she could rest her forehead just against his shoulder. "I don't want you to hide things from me because you're afraid they'll hurt me. You're more important than that, Moana, I - I would much rather you be able to talk to me."

For a long, long moment, Moana weighs her options. It's hurting him, this is hurting him already. It would be so much easier to just say yes and keep doing what she's doing. Because Moana doesn't need to tell him every time she wakes up from a dream where he flaps off once more over the ocean, right? Not every time she wakes up in tears, in a panic, because she thinks her best friend is gone again? It's much more simple to just...let him sleep.

But he's looking at her like he's in actual pain, like the mere thought of her hiding these things from him is agony, and this is precisely what Moana did not want.

"I'm sorry," he says, just then into the silence, jolting Moana out of her thoughts entirely. His head is bowed, staring at the ground. "I'm so sorry, Moana."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," he says. "It's..."

He struggles with words for a long second, obviously rummaging around for the right way to say whatever it is he's looking for. And she expected something stumbling, something ineloquent, maybe even just more silence.

But then he says "Ohana," and the word hits Moana like a punch to the gut. He smiles, a quick pained little thing, at her flinch. "I didn't know what that word meant until you found me. It means trust. And I want you to be able to trust me." He takes a little step forward, like he's afraid, watching her carefully.

"Gods, Moana, I would rather that a hundred times over than for you to keep suffering in silence. Please, Moana. Let me help."

Moana closes her eyes, pained at his words. It's not that she didn't trust him, it's just that she didn't want to hurt him. And there's a difference, right? She just wanted to protect him, because...because she hadn't trusted him to be able to deal with it.

He's right. Moana opens her eyes, looks at Maui. He's got his eyes screwed shut, his whole body tense, hunched a bit forward like something is pressing down on his back, forcing his face downward.

It will not be easy for him. In fact, it won't be easy for her - these topics are sly secretive things, not meant for the light of day, more comfortably spoken when darkness blankets the sky and prying ears are well-asleep. They are heavy and laden with meaning and as hard to hear as they are to speak.

But Moana starts to think that maybe if she cannot forget then it will be good to be reminded, on these nights, that Maui will not leave again.

For dozens of heartbeats, neither of them move. Then, with a small smile stealing its way over her lips, Moana leans forward that small space to press her forehead against his own.

"Okay," she agrees into the silence. "I will."

"'Let me help.' A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over 'I love you.'" - Captain James T. Kirk (the U.S.S. Enterprise)