This morning is a little warmer than the others, and it may be because of that or because of how exhausted she is, for once, Uma doesn't wake up before the sun rises. Harry, however, hasn't been able to sleep since early morning. Nerea has also been restless, waking up at times, calming down when Harry pulls her against his chest so she can listen to his heartbeat. They wake Uma to breastfeeding, but after that it is just the two of them. Harry and his glittering treasure, infinitely more valuable than a chest of gold scattered over the sea.
So, when morning comes, he has spent almost half the night looking at Uma, cooing to Nerea, guiltily happy, in the captain's small cabin. The ship Harry grew up on was glorious at first, he remembers, when the villains were too arrogant to realize what being on the Isle entailed. Some bragged. Only the worst of the worst was brought to that life of ruin. Then the Jolly Roger fell into disrepair, with no seas to drink, no gold to breathe. His father's cabin used to have red velvet curtains and big goblets that he and mom drank wine out of, sometimes. Uma's cabin has a bed that can barely fit the three of them, a desk that holds maps that will never take them far, and a handmade cradle, but it's like a chest of corals and pearls, and to Harry, it's more home than any other place has been.
Nerea begins to whine and thrash in his arms, visibly uncomfortable, like a fish that has been held in the net too long. And as Harry gets out of bed to start the day, warm the water for a bath, find clean clothes and give Gil the first instructions, he wonders if Uma was like this when she was just a baby. Because even as an adult, stillness isn't exactly her strong suit.
Harry hums to Nerea. He likes to sing, and she likes his voice and the strange sound of his accent, so different from the rest of the sounds on the ship. He ties up the cloth, with his baby securely fastened, as he begins to prepare the tub.
The water always calls Nerea. Whether it's the tiny tub in the captain's cabin, or the grimy shoreline of the dock, she always stirs as if the turbulence of her sea heritage beckons her, and Harry and Uma always wonder how they're going to explain to her that she'll never, actually…
Nerea is condemned to be a sea without waves.
"Harry," he hears Uma, not soft-spoken, because even though she loves him, she has never had a soft voice for him. She can´t. The stripped goddesses speak as if with the cry of the sea. Harry loves Uma's voice more than any voice in the whole world.
She's awake, looking around the candlelit room (she's never going to wake up again with sunlight streaming through cabin window), looking for them.
"Here, captain. Nerea is taking her bath." And the baby is happy. She laughs when Harry lathers her up. Nerea is strong and secure as she feels her father's firm hands holding her.
He can almost see Uma holding her breath. Years ago, in one of their fights, Mal threatened Uma to always take what was most precious to her. Harry knows that since then, she sometimes has these nightmares where he has disappeared. While she was pregnant with Nerea, she had no fear, she knew that she could not be taken from her. However, when the baby was born, the nightmare began to include her as well.
Harry knows, pirates are greedy. Uma is territorial, she doesn't like to be messed with what is hers, not even in dreams.
Uma doesn't ask if he slept well, or how long he's been awake. She knows. She doesn't try to comfort him by saying that there will be better nights. There will be nights when she won't sleep, others when neither will. It's not even something new, it's a feeling as familiar as every old plank of wood on the ship.
However, she approaches silently, still a little sleepy. Only to Harry could she appear so vulnerable, an island devoid of foliage to hide, clear and open, in the midst of immensity. Harry doesn't think there are words, existing ways in the world, to name the way her face lights up when she sees Nerea.
Uma kisses her wet cheeks, her hands helping Harry to support her so he can bathe her better. Nerea can be perfectly calm here, her blue eyes watching them intently.
"Here, here, starfish, we're almost done," Uma whispers, her lips brushing their daughter's wet hair. She then looks at Harry. "The new clothes are in the chest. Give them to me".
From her voice, Harry can tell that Uma is still tense from the dream. He doesn't press, lets her voice as hard as cutlass steel reach him. It doesn't hurt him, it never does. He also knows that if there is something that can reassure her, is the baby. And he sees it in her eyes when he obeys, placing all of Nerea's weight in her hands. Uma's grip is always almost wild, instinctive, protective. Nerea splashes her feet in the tub, laughing, and Uma's shoulders relax.
"Aye, captain".
He walks away from them for only a moment, searching through Uma's chest. It's a mess because none of them are exactly fond of order, so Harry has to pull out large pieces of cloth and other things before he finally finds the clothes that Uma sewed for the baby just a couple of days before. And there, just under another pile of clothes, Harry sees something that makes him stop for a few seconds.
From his childhood, Harry doesn't remember having any other toy than his father's wooden sword and hook. As soon as Uma was able to walk, she was forced to wash the dishes in her mother's shop day after day. There was never much time for games until she met him, and Harry took her to the ship and at least for a little while they could pretend they were sailing the sea to the greatest treasure in the world. When they found out that Uma was pregnant, things had changed so much. They were in Auradon. They were free. And they had decided that their daughter would not lack for anything.
Even with all the options, Uma had wanted to make some handmade toys for Nerea. A set of different types of shells, all made of fabric. It was never her intention that those shells were the only ones Nerea would know. But now, as trapped as they are, this set seems like the only way her daughter will know what the real sea is like.
They had a cradle, proper clothing...things they had been forced to leave behind in Auradon when they were brought back to the Isle. Auradon is never satisfied with just locking them up, the children of villains and the villains themselves are doomed to be dispossessed over and over again of everything that gives them, even if it is, a little dignity.
"Harry," Uma calls him. "You have it?"
He nods as he pulls the clothes and toys out of the chest. Uma is already drying Nerea on the bed, kissing her face as she laughs. Nerea is happy this morning, and Harry wonders how long it will be before the laughter fades into the gloom of the island.
"Look at this, captain," he tells her, handing her both things. Uma frowns, opening the cloth bag to see the contents. And Nerea lets out a scream, accompanied by a frown and demanding movements. She loves the attention from Uma and Harry, so he tickles her gently, very gently, until she laughs again.
"I didn't remember this," says Uma. "I should have thought that this had stayed in Auradon along with everything else".
Along with the freedom, the full breeze, and all the dreams they had allowed themselves to have.
Nerea is called by the sea and the shape of the shells that her mother holds in her hands. She looks at Harry, she commands him with a look to let her touch the stuffed shells, and he is lost. Completely at the mercy of his captains. And Harry has never, ever wanted it any other way.
Uma sighs, more like an angry exhalation.
"Here, baby. This is yours".
At least Nerea has things of her own. No need to be stolen, no need to be trophies of fights won. Almost everything in Uma's cabin is, though.
For a moment, on this warm morning, Harry and Uma lie in bed just a little while longer, with Nerea between them, watching her sleep in silence, lulled by the caress of her father's fingers through the short, fine locks of her hair. She is bigger now, even though she is still so small. Uma and Harry never tire of looking at their treasure.
Almost everything is the same in Auradon and Mal is so relieved to be back home that she could just scream, dance or laugh for hours. The first morning they spend back at the castle, she slips away while Ben prepares for a meeting with the Royal Council.
The feel of her wings, the scaly skin of her dragon form, fills her with pure ecstasy. Something hot, that makes her want to set fire to something, anything, just to know this is real. So, she flies not far from the castle, to the shore that she knows will be deserted, being careful that no one sees her, and she allows herself to cast fire on the white sand.
When she feels that she is able to return to her human form and face the day, she transforms. The waves wash away the trail of molten sand, almost glass, and hide any evidence that she was here.
The wind off the beach is wild, furious, blowing in her face like eddies of sand. Mal doesn't like the sea too much. Her mother didn't like it either. Water quenches fire and any kind of fairy magic loses its power when drowned. So, once the waves have washed away all traces of her, she finally returns to the castle on foot.
"Mal?" Ben asks once she closes the bedroom door on her return. "Where did you go? I went to look for you in the kitchen, but you were not there".
He is finishing tying his tie, and he makes an adorable face. He seems uncomfortable back in this skin, in this person, a stranger he no longer recognizes. Mal knows that he's just nervous. The Royal Council has always questioned how impulsive his decisions are.
"I went to get some fresh air in the garden," she lies, and feels the prickle of guilt for a second in her chest, like thorns wedging between her lungs. It bothers Ben that she lies to him, but she can't tell the truth. She knows that he is so worried about the people of the Isle, and she knows that he will say that Mal better not turn into a dragon, at least until things settle down a bit. It could send the wrong message.
It's not really important though, it's just to keep him calm and don´t make him worry about it. So, she calms down.
"The meeting starts in twenty minutes," Ben sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. Mal walks over to him, crouches down beside him and kisses his chin, the place that always tickles him, to ease his unease.
The expected effect happens. Ben laughs, crystal clear, and it's such a beautiful sound. He holds her hand, kisses the knuckles of her fingers, on the hand where Mal has the wedding ring. He looks at her with eyes full of purity.
"I'm glad you're here with me," he whispers.
She laughs.
"Always".
The day is heavy and slow, slipping away like an endless hourglass, and the crew takes turns guarding the Lost Revenge and serving customers at the fish and chip shop. And over the course of that day, memories hit Uma more often than usual, when she cleans the tables, when she fills the buckets with water from the shore to wash the dishes, when she sees Harry waiting, almost between the shadows, always making sure that no customer wants to fool them.
Uma never forgot where she came from, she never denied the thirteen-year-old girl secretly crying in her room above the store, or the fifteen-year-old girl thinking plan after plan to get out of here, to escape.
But being here again, spending her hours and days serving the same old clients, as forgotten and lost as everyone on the Isle, feels like being dry, without water or wind to move anything.
However, for Nerea, for Harry and for Gil and the crew, Uma does not hesitate to growl and threaten, proud despite the apron, and the hard sensation of the skin of her hands that have never forgotten the ardor of washing the dishes.
Even after years, people still go to the fish store because it's cheap. Uma does not cook badly at all, despite the poor quality of the food they get. And some people go to the tavern as a sign of respect for the queen of the dock.
No one says a single word of ridicule or complaint when she stops everything, the kitchen, the orders, to breastfeed her daughter.
However, there is a derisive laughter that cuts through the chatter of the crowd as Uma sends her husband and baby to the Lost Revenge, asking them to bring here some spices she needs. The sound stops, and Uma narrows her eyes and looks out at the crowd of customers looking the one who has even dared to look at her.
An old sailor hides behind an old, leaky hat, lets out another laugh, causing his companions to look at him apprehensively.
"What?" Uma snaps, direct and fierce. She doesn't even have to say anything else.
"Ah, how the people of this island have changed!" laughs the man. "Well, not all. Only the weak who went to Auradon. It made you soft, so disgustingly loving. Like you, daughter of Ursula. Shrimpy".
There are murmurs and Uma takes two steps forward, sensing Harry behind her, tense as a shark, ready to do anything. He puts Nerea in Gonzo's arms to protect her, whatever happens next.
Uma examines the man, his companions. She knows that there are people who have never been to Auradon, especially the older ones. People who believed that Beast had done the right thing in sending them to the Isle, because only then would they be able to escape the contamination of goodness.
The man trembles a little as she watches him. Imperceptibly. But Uma notices, it is not the first time that a bully tries to make fun of her believing that, since she is a mother now, she will not have enough courage to act. But she is impassive. Unstoppable. Powerful like the sea.
"Harry," she calls out to him, holding out her hand to him, little finger ready to grab the hook already in his hand. The time they are hooked is barely seconds, but Harry's larimar gaze has a crazed, expectant reflection. "You already know what to do".
He smiles, takes her hand to kiss it. There's not a bit of shame in the way he worships her skin, even so quickly.
"Yes, captain".
The people return to their conversations, hoping to drown out the sound of what will happen outside once Harry gets the man out of there.
Uma takes Nerea in her arms, lulling her to sleep and carrying her to the kitchen.
Everything at the fish and chip shop remains exactly the same. But Uma, at least, now has in her arms the reason why she would do anything, even if it means her hands will be red and sore at the end of the day.