Nerea sleeps in the new crib that Harry made for her, and Uma can't stop looking at her. Night is falling, which she knows not because sunset lights up the island's contours with coppery warmth, but because the sea always changes when the moon rises. It fidgets, it shakes, spills, wounded, against the barrier of the island, urging to flee, in a way that makes the Lost Revenge move with more force, from one side to another, and that movement is what makes the baby sleep, placid, lulled by the desperate and dying water.
The night is warm today, so Uma does not feel cold despite having wet hair and wearing only one of Harry's old perforated shirts as clothes, there is even a light layer of sweat on her skin, so salty it seems that the water in her body also wants to flee and join the sea as a prisoner.
Nerea is so calm, comfortable in the new clothes that Uma sewed for her during the afternoon, and she has something else, a small seahorse stuffed animal because Uma had some fabric left over and she thought it would be a good idea to do it. And although Harry ended up exhausted from making the crib, which is not perfect, but it is his, and although the clothes will probably stop fitting in a week or less, and the sea horse's sewn-on shell eyes are visible, all of a sudden, Uma feels as peaceful as a caged sea can feel.
It has been a hectic day, full of unforeseen events and worries, but right now, Uma doesn't want to think about it. She doesn't want to think about the excruciating relief she felt seeing Harry and Gil return to the ship, or her anger covering her every time Desiree let out a pained groan as she healed her leg. Or in the doubt that is installed in her heart, the uncertainty of knowing that someone out there attacked her pirates.
She must ambush Ginny Gothel at the slightest opportunity. Only she could know that Desiree and the others would go on to collect debts today. And when it comes to her family, her close people, in truth, Uma is never ready to forgive.
Her thoughts are cut off because Nerea moves to accommodate herself better, so that she ends up on her back, with her mouth ajar, opening and closing her hand in search of something, or someone. Uma knows that the crib is the best for her, but she can't bear to have her so far away, so she pulls her out of her crib and leans her against her chest. Still sleepy, Nerea looks for her breast, so Uma adjusts the shirt, and the baby and her connect in an instant, so precise and perfect. It wasn't like that at first, but now it's as easy as breathing.
In truth, she never imagined that she was going to hold her in her arms. When she was younger, she didn't even believe that she could kiss Harry in public, or call him her husband; calling him her first mate was allowed (and it just makes her heart burn, the way she calls him hers and Harry surrends to his captain) and still raised suspicions.
Nerea feeds, Uma's breast feels damp from the spilled milk, and the heat of the night makes everything feel, somehow, calm. The wood is illuminated by the yellowish glow of the candles as Harry enters the cabin, to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, the baby in her arms. She's sated and too sleepy to go on, so Uma pats her on the back and then puts her back in her crib, which Harry is checking again, just to make sure everything is in its place.
The door is closed now, and although outside the ship there are the usual sounds of the dock at night (laughter, the impatient crack of the sea, bottles, the wind crashing against the masts, like a wounded animal struggling to get out of the barrier), Harry also seems relaxed. Uma doesn't adjust her shirt, so when he reaches for her, voracious and exhausted, he licks the rest of the milk from her breast.
Suddenly, Harry's mouth against her skin becomes indispensable so that Uma can live another second, so that she can reach the next moment, and the other, and the next, and drag herself through time like an endless wave. She imprisons Harry with strong arms and legs, insistent, pushing him towards herself. When Harry looks at her, satisfied for the moment, he seems to be looking at the brightest lighthouse in the ocean.
"Hi, dear," he whispers, letting his accent slide more easily. He's tired, Uma realizes. The last nights he has been the one who gets up every time Nerea needs something. She runs the tips of her fingers over the skin of his exposed neck, also slightly sweaty. Harry stretches completely, like a cat getting comfortable, docile and at the same time impetuous under her touch.
"You need to sleep, Harry."
Harry is strong, but Uma is strong too. Perhaps the ease with which she moves until he is almost immobilized under her body has only to do with the fact that Harry has always been willing to give her every last drop of his blood; Uma likes to feel his strong body and acquaintance under her. It's inexplicable. It is like feeling the water of the sea between her fingers, changing but certain, and known but unpredictable. Harry has always been a dual something. He gestures with his lips, a pleading grimace that reaches into his blue eyes.
"Does she really have to sleep in the crib?"
"That's what you made it for, Hook".
"But we could start using it next week. We have not yet verified that it is safe".
"Harry!" Although she scolds him, Uma can't blame him for this strange feeling between the two of them trying to sleep, for the first time, without Nerea between them. It has been only four and a half months since the baby was born, but it feels as if she has always been there, as an indisputable, extensive part of both of them. Something without which they cannot breathe, navigate, or live.
He laughs, a bit of makeup around his eyes still, but stays still when Uma flicks him with her thumbs to wipe it off.
"How is Desiree now?"
"It will take a long time to heal," Uma replies. If she thinks about how little access they have to medicine and medical care, her throat threatens never to allow air into her lungs again. Anger is something that Uma knows so intimately that she can tell the exact shape of the edges of it, that it smells like wood burned in the sea, and that it is, in her heart, a living torch that has never been extinguished. "It can't be a coincidence, Harry".
"Mal?"
The first, and perhaps only, person in Auradon that Uma ever trusted was Ben. And she still doing it. There's something inside her that knows that whatever Mal is doing right now, it has nothing to do with Ben. So seriously, this time, she doesn't want to have to fight. If things between Mal and Uma go back to the way they were before, she's not sure he can bear it.
Ben is her friend, and Harry's too, even though, for Uma, the word friend is a hard name to earn. But if she has to choose, she always, undoubtedly, will choose the ship, Harry and her family. And she can't let Mal believe that she can get away with it, that Uma won't respond with equal ferocity.
"Yes," she answers. "I need you and Gil to pay Ginny a visit tomorrow".
"As you wish, Captain," says Harry.
She looks at Nerea in the crib. She sleeps with the sea horse, her moscovado skin illuminated by candlelight, oblivious to all disturbance. Uma has learned that Nerea feels them, she knows when she is loved by Harry, when she is protected by Uma. She is forever linked to them. The Lost Revenge never sails because it is stranded in the uncertainty of this isle, haunting in Uma's heart, so she gets out of bed, takes her daughter from her crib, and leaves her in Harry's arms.
Harry never tires of kissing her hair with a tenderness unknown to pirates, nor of entangling his fingers in the tiny shape of her feet. Uma never runs out of seeing her, not even between sleep and the exhaustion of the dark night.
She blows out the candles. Her longing guides her to Harry again, in bed, and at some point they fall asleep with her in their arms. At some point in the night, Nerea is hungry and Harry and Uma wake up, although exhaustion does not let them remember how many times it happens. The night is still warm, Uma is sleepy, with the baby on her breast, and Harry is the first pirate in the history of piracy who never hides his treasure, but instead holds her little hand when she falls asleep clinging to her mother.