Chapter Text
The crew of the Lost Revenge found Uma brooding on the shoals of the Strait of Ursula. Plotting, Harry had said, shooing the rest of them away until it was only Gil and the two of them left.
Brooding.
Harry had filled his time, since then, repairing the ship, and the crew was more than happy to lend a hand. What is a pirate crew, after all, without a functioning ship, Bonny argued. Uma was quieter; still plotting, Gil supposed. She never went back to the chip shop, and her mother never called for her, so on the nights his father didn’t need him at Duels Without Rules he stayed too.
He heard the floorboards outside his room creak closer to dawn than dusk and curiosity won out. Uma was leaning on the railing of the deck when Gil found her. He was taught to hunt before he could speak, was quiet enough to sneak up on her if the little hitch in her shoulders was anything to go by.
“Gil,” she said on an exasperated breath.
“Aren’t you sleepy?”
“I came out here to think,” she leaned back from the railing to give him a pointed look, “not talk.”
Gil joined her, counting the space between his slow breaths and her uneven ones that matched the waves lapping against the side of the ship. He counted until, finally, she slouched into something familiar and relaxed.
“Did you really like him?” Gil rested his chin on his hand. Uma didn’t tense up, just cast an annoyed glance in his direction like she’d been expecting him to break their unspoken contract. “Ben?”
“Don’t be stupid.” She fingered the shell at the base of her neck. Eventually her other hand came to join it and she stared down, near cross-eyed. “I wish he were...as bad as I thought.”
“Yeah, he seemed like an all right guy.” Gil smiled and she, predictably, rolled her eyes.
“His dad killed your dad, you know,” Uma said, flatly, hands dropping back to the railing. “He might disagree.”
“Why? Ben didn’t kill him.” Gil shrugged a little at that. “Besides, my dad doesn’t really like anybody but himself so it’s a low bar.”
Uma’s lips twitched up for a brief flash, long enough for Gil to catch it in the moonlight. Then her expression pulled taut again. “I don’t know what I think about Ben, about all of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do next.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He nudged her, possibly a little too hard as she had to right herself with a grunt. “You’re Uma.”
“Yeah, I am,” she chuckled, leaning fully against the railing. “What about you? I've noticed a distinct lack of you putting your foot in your mouth lately.”
“What?”
“You've been quiet.”
“Oh...Harry kissed me.” He felt his own eyebrows draw inwards at having finally said as much out loud.
“Seriously?” Uma looked more annoyed than shocked.
“He was really happy about the Cotillion,” Gil said because he couldn’t say ‘your victory’ anymore.
“And he likes your muscles,” Uma added, almost flippant.
“I like my muscles.” Gil pulled back a sleeve to examine a toned bicep. “I don't go around kissing them.”
“Sure you do. All the time.” She wrapped her hands around the offered limb and used it to pull herself up and sit on the rail in a practiced swing. “Still, he was thoughtless. He needs to rein in that excitement.”
Excitement, Gil chewed on the word like a tangible thing. Excitement, that’s all it had been. In truth, Gil had been floored, and it was something he had avoided talking about with Harry himself. It had been done seemingly on a whim, and Harry had kissed plenty of people (or had claimed as much to Gil). They were friends, like Uma and he. And with the captain back now, and everyone relatively safe, Harry’s attention was largely on her.
“Gil?” Uma ribbed him, calling his name like it must not have been the first time. “Don’t let him push you around. That’s my job.”
“Uma, you tell him to push me around.”
She stared at him, bemused. “That’s what I said.”
The streets of the Isle were as filthy as always and cornered with sharp metal. Gil kicked up dust and the smell of trash with every step, avoided bumping the shoulder of a passing stranger in case they took what little pocket money he had. Still, he felt like the whole island had been scrubbed or at the very least hosed down.
The younger children were where it really showed. They weren't on their best behavior--who could be here--but the atmosphere was quietly obedient in a way it had never been under Maleficent. Be careful, boys and girls, King Ben is watching. If you're very good, he’ll whisk you off to Auradon. Magic and money and all the eggs in the world.
The doors to the chip shop swung open. Uma and Harry in the center, heads bent over a large piece of paper talking in whispers away from the rest of the crew. This place, at least, had not changed.
“You're late,” Harry sing-songed.
“What for?”
“New plan.” Uma tapped her hand against the table twice, face lit up with a toothy grin. The atmosphere that clung to her felt...more open, free. He hoped their conversation had contributed somewhat. “Auradon City’s the past,” she said when he drew close enough to stand beside her. “We’re looking forward.”
“There’s plenty of other places to take.” Harry dragged a thumb along the corner of the table, drawing his hand up to his face with a wicked grin.
Before them was a map, inked by Harry’s crude hand and labeled Neverland. The bottom half was familiar to Gil; it decorated a large swathe of Harry’s back and the three of them had pondered over it often enough. The rest was new to him, though he knew where they had retrieved it.
“How did you convince CJ and Harriet to give up their bits?”
“Give up?” Gil’s head shot up at the new voice. CJ lounged in the crow’s nest above them, grinning beneath her hat. “I’d hardly call working together for an equal share giving up!”
“My ship.” Uma did not look up and, in fact, leaned further over the map, her voice taking on an irritated edge that Gil seemed only to catch when it was aimed at others. “We agreed on twenty five percent for you.”
“And twenty five for Harriet.” CJ slid down the slight rope, dropping the rest of the way to the ground as she counted on her fingers. “Twenty five for Harry, of course. You wouldn’t have even known about this map if it weren't for him. Which leaves, I think, twenty five for you as well. See? All equal!”
Harry stepped away from the table, encroaching CJ’s space the way he did everyone. He was gentler with his sisters, chin down and a hand on the shoulder, though they never seemed to need nor fall for the placation. Gil had occasionally wondered how different his own childhood would have been had he two twin sisters to wrestle instead.
“Uma’s the captain,” Harry said, thumbing back towards the girl in question. “My share’s her share.”
“Hm,” CJ looked up at her brother, unimpressed. “Harry, you really should captain your own ship. What would Father think?”
Harry’s lips pressed together, but he said nothing and allowed her to pull away and approach the map again.
“None of this means anything without the rest.” CJ motioned to a small spot left noticeably blank in the bottom corner of the map. “Everything between Dragon Point and Hook’s Bay is a total crap shoot. Which makes the actual location of the island a mystery if you’ve never sailed there,” she explained.
“Who’d your dad give that part of the map to?” Gil gazed between Uma and Harry, the latter of whom was glowering at his hook.
CJ leaned against the post of the crow’s nest, arms crossed. “Our mother.”
Gil tried to keep his mouth in a straight line. Considering the way CJ was glaring at him, he hadn’t been successful. Tinker Bell’s was one of the more...contentious cases in the Isle’s history. She had remained a questionable inhabitant since her arrival and, eventually, enough people on the council agreed with her. It took almost five years, but she bartered her way off with the ultimatum she stay on Neverland for good behavior. He wondered if anyone outside of the Isle talked about the three children she left behind.
“Harriet says if we can get the rest of the map, she’ll lend us her crew too,” CJ continued, straightening her hat and pushing away from the post. “But I’ll tell you now she doesn’t think we can find the place.”
“You leave that to us,” Uma directed, eyes following the girl as she wound a path to the front of the shop.
“Captain.” CJ flicked the brim of her hat, walking backwards through the swinging doors.
“Even I can't navigate blind over that much space,” Harry leaned back over the table as soon as she was gone.
“Who else did you say might have the map?”
Harry twisted his hook into the wood. “Pan.”
“Peter Pan?” Gil’s tone was enough to draw a few looks from the rest of the crew. “How do we get that?”
“Hush,” Uma slapped his stomach, almost playfully, unfolding a sheet of paper from her belt with the other hand. “I told you. I have a plan.”
Gil's eyes caught the large letters at the top: Underworld's Underdog Racing. He felt his stomach sink.
Gil headed straight for the salon while Uma’s plan circled lazy loops in his brain. He held his breath and passed between the painted curtains with a smile. “Hey, Dizzy!”
“Really?” Dizzy was less than pleased despite his winning entrance. “I leave for Auradon Prep tomorrow. Can’t you cut me some slack?”
“Sorry, no can do. Uma says it's time to pay up and you know the rules. I don't make ‘em.”
She grumbled but marched dutifully to the cash register and handed over what little was inside anyway. “At least it’s you this time. Harry’s such a bonehead about it.”
“I don't think they allow that kind of language at your new school,” he chastised, though he knew he'd heard Mal say far worse.
“Oh I hope I remember everything,” she said, mostly to herself.
“How's Auntie Dru taking it?”
“As awfully as she takes everything. But she hasn't said no. Grandma on the other hand…” She winced and Gil did the same in sympathy.
His father could be bossy and loud and greedy and violent and...Gil forced himself to stop there. His father wasn’t the point. The point was that his mother came with a family he had preferred to avoid while growing up. Sure the island claimed Maleficent was the most evil of them all, but he'd make a strong case for his Grandma Tremaine.
He finished counting, handing back half before pocketing the rest. Her face softened into a smile. “Thanks, Gil. You know, I can talk to Evie. I'm sure she'd be fine putting you on the list to come over too.”
“No thanks,” he laughed, shaking the money he had kept at her. “Big plans!”
"You know, whatever it is you're doing, you could probably afford it if you stopped stealing and started working!”
“I work! I’m an...enforcer!” He remembered the word Uma had used.
“You’re a bully, Gil,” she huffed. “And you’re not even a good one! I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“That's all right, D,” Gil darted forward to muss up her hair. “I'm sure they'll teach you the difference once you're off the Isle.”
Gil had never been down the winding staircase to the gates of the Underworld. He’d never had a reason. Now he trailed slightly behind Uma and Harry, taking in the ethereal light and the rush of water around them that sounded like crying. He wondered if they were as scared as he was.
Their trek ended at a ostentatious, barred door and a large desk with two colorful imps grinning from behind it.
“Heya, kiddies!” Pain spoke first, overly white lighting his face. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you this soon.”
“What can we,” Panic gave a little bow, “do for you?”
“Here to race,” Uma dropped a bag of coins on the table in front of them, smoke wafting up around it and dissipating towards the ceiling before Gil could name the color. “Is that enough to buy in?”
Panic leaned forward, weighing the bag in his hand. “That’s enough for one of the fun runs.”
“Fun runs?”
“Some of the kids from Auradon Prep think racing is the hot new sport.” Pain settled back into the chair. “Can’t have them going back home with too many scrapes.”
“A little birdie told me the Pan likes to race here sometimes,” Uma paced from one corner of the desk to the other, stopping when she was in front of them once more. “I’m assuming he doesn’t do the fun runs.”
“Maybe,” Pain said, as Panic chimed, “That’s con-fee-den-tial information, client privilege and all.”
A blue hand, wreathed in flame, landed between the two and they dove underneath the desk, dropping the coin purse in a shower of sound. Gil and Harry took a step towards Uma, who hadn’t budged an inch.
“Iago’s got a big mouth.” Hades slid down into the large chair the demons had occupied, limbs loose and relaxed. “Pan plays sometimes, wins mostly. Keeps the books nice and tidy.”
“Which race?”
“That’d be the night run. Mano-a-mano, same price, with a little extra prize from your own collection given to the victor, should you lose.”
“What does he bet?”
Hades narrowed his eyes, the flames above his browline rising and falling unpredictably. “What’s your play here, little fish?”
“We need something from him,” Uma explained. “A map.”
“Straight shooter, I like it.”
“I’m not here to lie to you, I’m here to take from him. Whatever he’s betting, how badly do you think he’d want it back?”
“More than enough for what you need.”
“So…?”
“Hm,” Hades tapped a finger to his chin. It was exaggerated and frightening, like everything about him. “It’d be good to see the ageless annoyance knocked off his pedestal. Yeah, I think I can work something out.” He pulled the coin purse closer to him. “Now, what if you lose?”
Uma grinned, raising a shoulder. “That won’t happen.”
“Sure, kid,” Hades’ lips pulled upward into something resembling a smile, his teeth like jagged knives. “Indulge me anyway. The necklace,” he motioned to her neck and Uma clutched the shell, shielding it from view. “Do we have a deal?”
Racing chariots, they were told as they were given a tour of the grand, decomposing coliseum, would be provided. Magic wasn't allowed in the the Underworld, same as anywhere else on the Isle, but it turned out the souls on Mount Olympus still had to go somewhere when they kicked it, and Hades was still taking names.
It’s a living, he’d said with the gusto of a man who’d said so many times before and no longer appreciated the joke. Down here souls have as much power as I give them. So boom. Horses.
But each racer had a style. Something to give them a little umph. That was something they'd need to find on their own. Gil didn't think Harry or Uma had worried about style a day in their life. And Gil wasn’t worried about his own assignment either. Weapons of the physical sort were easy on the island. His dad had always encouraged him when he wanted fight someone. When Gaston found out it was for a competition he practically threw a pair of large crossbows at him.
Gil was the second to arrive back on the Lost Revenge with his prize. To his discomfort, Harry was the first. Gil recognized what he felt now as one of those untimely, absolutely useless crushes. Nothing that kept him awake at night, the way that Uma seemed to worry over her own direction since returning from Auradon, but enough to make him nervous. For the amount of time they spent together on the ship, Gil had done a good job at not being alone with Harry in the past few weeks. Harry was usually with Uma or among the crew and when he wasn't, it was easy to avoid him altogether.
There was a split second where Gil considered turning and heading back to the docks before Harry had a chance to see him, but a larger part of him (the part that had missed talking to his friend despite what inconvenient questions the rest of his brain continued asking) kept him walking a path up the gangplank.
"Harry," Gil placed the crossbows on a nearby crate, covering them with a piece of canvas. "Got more weapons for the race."
“Racing," Harry scoffed. Gil watched him piece together what must be something very important to the rigging of the ship if his concentration was anything to judge by. “Racing I can do. On the sea. I would have beaten her for this ship if it weren't for extenuating circumstances. But on land? Wheels?”
"Maybe Uma has a hidden talent," Gil suggested hopefully. Uma did have a spectacular way of picking things up...or was spectacular at cheating.
"Doesn't matter," Harry huffed. “We don't lose, remember?”
It was comforting to hear him express the same doubts Gil had been having since he’d seen the flyer. Comforting and unsettling.
“Where is she?”
Harry motioned to the spot next to him, eyes glued to the bit of wood in his hand. “Uma,” he drew out the name as Gil sat, “has gone to procure weighted fishing nets. She says I have something to apologize to you for. I find that hard to believe since you’ve hardly spoken to me in a week.”
“Sorry,” Gil said because he couldn’t really deny it. “So you get to meet the Peter Pan. Dream come true?”
“The dream is this hook,” Harry waved said object, “in his stomach. The meeting is, hm...details.”
“Have you told your dad?”
“I will when it’s done.”
Gil nodded in understanding. Harry’s dad wasn’t impressed by much. “Are you worried about running into your mom?”
The wood snapped in Harry’s hand with a muttered, whoops . He set it gingerly between his feet. “No.”
“...you sure?”
“Talk about something else, Gil.”
With his hat placed behind him and brows drawn down together in set concentration, Harry looked the picture of aloof harmony. Some days Gil was sure he would turn round and Harry would have seeped into the grain of the wood, the ropes, the sails.
The ship would become something beautiful. The poetic turn of his thoughts distressed him. Gil pulled his knees to his chest and crossed his ankles with a huff. He wasn't a poet, didn't think he could even name one, but he knew where to lay blame for this.
“I wish you hadn't kissed me.”
Harry stretched, back clicking, his face the picture of confusion. “When?”
“Cotillion,” Gil said. “Before Uma came back.”
“I don't remember doing that.”
Gil couldn't find it in him to feel angry. He had suspected as much. The part of him that was used to impressing people took a hard blow and he had the distinct sensation of a sinking stone in his gut that he usually associated with tripping in public or a job poorly done. An odd mix of disappointment and embarrassment. He did what he always did in such occasions; turned it to bluster.
“Exactly! you’re always like that, aren’t you? And I know that, but I’m still just,” Gil tapped a finger against his temple, hopping it got across how turned about he’d been, ever since. “So I really just wish you hadn't!”
Harry’s face morphed to amusement as he struck and arm out and leaned in close. “Why? Was I bad?”
Gil could count the lines along Harry’s bottom lip. He shoved Harry’s shoulder, setting the other boy to laughing.
“Don’t think so hard,” Harry settled with a snort. Something on Gil’s face must have given away his irritation because Harry’s eyebrows drew up and he pushed forward to say, “I'll ask permission next time, monsieur.”
Gil shoved him again, harder, because the thought of Harry asking to kiss him was somehow worse than simply being kissed. He’d already been among the forgotten once. He’d love nothing more than to take Harry’s advice, think as little as he often did about his troubles. Still he couldn’t help but wonder, had he been so bad?
“Spoilsport,” Harry righted himself with a lopsided grin. “Is that why you were giving me the cold shoulder?” Gil gave him a helpless look. Harry twisted a finger in his ear, lazy and seemingly composed. “I thought you were going to Auradon.”
“What? Why?”
“Isn’t everyone?” Harry examined the dirt on the end of his pinky, rubbing it on his pant leg.
“No.”
“If you were smart you’d write to King Ben and make a request at least.”
Gil looked at Harry, noting the possessive edge to his tone. Harry was clingy when it came to what he regarded as ‘his’. His hook, Uma, his sisters. Gil was surprised to find himself counted among them.
“I’m not smart.” Gil let his legs stretch out until their knees bumped together. “And all my friends are here.”
Harry ducked his head, his knee bumping back with equal force. “I’ll remember that.”
The night of the race saw Gil, Harry, and Uma putting the finishing touches on their chariot, a dark wood covered in barnacles and still soaked through as though Hades had just dragged it from the sea. Maybe he had. The horses, by contrast, were pure flame, and Gil stayed far away as he loaded the various trappings they had collected.
“Dad stopped selling cocking rope but I used one of my old belts to make you one.” Gil secured the knots on each end before he handed it, and the crossbows, over to Uma. “Remember how to use one of these?”
She lifted one of the bows with a grunt and narrowed her eyes down the scope. “I remember it almost taking your hand off, once.”
Gil winced; he remembered that too. He pressed a hand against the barrel, applying just enough pressure for Uma to lower it and open both eyes with a solid blink. The first time he had tried to teach her, they were barely thirteen and she had sweep kicked him after too many poorly notched arrows. At seventeen, she was no more fond of criticism, but far more receptive to adaptation. He stood behind her to kick her legs apart into a proper stance and she took the hit, planting her feet and lowering her chin.
“Glad you and him worked things out.” She notched an arrow into place, tilting her head in the direction of the chariot, where Harry was struggling to attach the large hook to its undercarriage without having the entire thing topple over.
“He thought I was going to go to Auradon,” Gil chuckled, keeping his voice low.
“You left before.” She played with the sights. He wondered what she was staring at in the distance, ignoring the little shock that went through him at her words. “When you got bored and other people got more interesting. When all those muscles and that nice hair started making interesting people interested in you.”
“That’s not why I left…,” Gil let the sentence hang. At the time, he hadn’t even realised he’d ‘left’ the small trio, or what that would mean. Obviously it meant more than he had been told.
“Doesn’t matter,” Uma loosed the arrow. In the distance, Gil watched a chunk of wood splinter off of the left pole directing towards the stables. She looked up with a brilliant smile. “You’re back now. Don’t leave again, Captain’s orders.”
“Yes, Captain,” Gil found himself smiling back on instinct, and smiling wider when he’d processed her words. “Great shot, by the way.”
“Of course it was.” Uma dropped the bow to her side with a twist of her hips.
“Uma,” Harry slid out from underneath the chariot, calling through clenched teeth. “Could use some assistance.”
“We’ve got this. Go scout the crowd.” Uma nodded towards the stables and the noise beyond it. “And...I’ll work on this, too.” She lifted the crossbow.
Gil gave a smart salute and set off as quickly as he could. With Uma and Harry busy, that left him with the horses. His father had instilled a love of the creatures early on, but soulless, unbreathing ones? Gil was sure they could feel his unease by the way they kept staring him down.
The crowd was enough to fill a quarter of the coliseum; a mix of children from Auradon and the Isle, as well as a smattering of adults who looked only vaguely interested in the proceedings. A large amount of people by Gil’s estimation, though his numbers were drawn from events that took place on the Isle, which housed not many to begin with. Regardless, it was intimidating.
“Hey there, pirate,” the unfamiliar voice of a boy said from behind him and, a moment later, a red-haired child stood by his side. He was a foot shorter than Gil and dressed in green leather. Racing clothes, something at the back of Gil’s mind itched, but the other’s voice drew him back like an enchantment, holding his attention over even his most pervasive thoughts. “You don’t look familiar.”
“How’d you know I was a pirate?”
“Dry, salt water hair, that fishy smell,” he listed off on his fingers, using the other hand to tap the belt at Gil’s waist. “But the sword’s always a dead giveaway, you know?”
“I’m Gil Legume,” Gil stuck out a hand. The boy had a cheerful laugh. Maybe he was an Auradon Prep student participating in the days Fun Runs, he thought with very little hope. “Son of Gaston.”
“Hm, never met the guy." The boy took Gil’s hand with both of his and gave it a vigorous shake. “Peter Pan, put ‘er there!”
“I thought you might be.” Gil squeezed Peter’s fingers a little tighter before pulling his hand away. He felt his shoulder ache from the abuse. “We’re racing you tonight.”
“You?” Peter took in his appearance with a bit more interest now.
“Well, my captain, yeah.” Gil took a moment to imagine himself steering the soulless steeds around the track and visibly shuddered. “Hey, what are you betting on the race?”
Peter let out a short, airy chuckle. “Anyone ever tell you you're kind of like...a big kid? Very honest.” He leaned forward, chin held between thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger, observant. “How would you like to never grow up?”
“Gil, what are you doing? Uma’s ready to...,” Harry rounded the corner and trailed off, graze dragging unsteadily between the two of them.
“As I live and breathe, a Hook!” Peter darted forward with a manic glee that reminded Gil, strangely, of Harry. Peter’s eyes were glued to Harry’s hand, the one cloaked by curved silver. “I hope, I hope, I do hope you bet that.”
Harry’s smile twitched. Gil could see the threat behind it. A shark’s smile. “I’m not racing, but I’d be happy to give you a demonstration later.”
Peter looked, if anything, more delighted by the menace in Harry’s tone. “Is that a promise?”
Harry’s smile widened and seemed to freeze there. Gil could see the pink of his gums, the tips of his very sharp teeth. He used his uncovered hand to motion to Gil and Gil, obediently, moved to his side.
“Think about what I said, Gilliflower!” Peter tapped the side of his nose and winked as he practically danced back towards the stables. Gil felt distinctly uncomfortable though he couldn’t say it was the nickname or the gesture that did it.
“I swear I’m going to…,” Harry took a deep breath and laughed with not a hint of humour behind it. “Let’s go. Uma’s waiting.”
Harry swung an arm over Gil’s shoulders and gave him a shake, small and solid as though testing the halyards. It was grounding after a conversation that left him so strangely uprooted.
“What did he say?” Harry asked after a few steps in the opposite direction.
“He said I acted like a kid,” Gil let himself be pulled along, not sure why this, of everything had cycled back to the forefront of his mind. “He asked if I never wanted to grow up.”
“And you said no, of course.” Harry’s lip curled in distaste. “If you wouldn’t go to Auradon, surely you wouldn’t go with him.”
Confronted so bluntly with Harry's concerns, Gil didn't know how to reassure him. Luckily, Harry wasn’t going to let him.
“You’re already grown up!” Harry’s hand tightened around his shoulder. “Seventeen, nearly eighteen. You're not a kid!”
“I know that.” Gil ducked out from Harry’s arm. “I wasn’t going to say yes.”
The set of Harry’s shoulders eased. He stared over one of them before turning entirely. “And he’s one to talk. How old must he be now?”
“Older than us. Older than our parents, maybe.” Gil guessed.
“It’s a stupid question anyway. No one wants to grow up. Honestly, you've known me since I was this big,” he held a hand a small ways from the ground. “If you’d asked me at any age before now if I wanted to stay forever young I probably would have leapt at the chance! But Mal had to get herself engaged to a King, and Uma has some very inconvenient feelings, so now here we are. Growing up.”
Put that way it sounded ridiculous, but a larger part of Gil was considering all the times Harry and Uma went after what they wanted. Uma had not hurt Ben and Harry had kissed him and those seemed like very adult things, in a vague way. It made him feel the sort of stupid he'd been trying to keep a leash on as much it made him feel like he had some growing up yet to do.
“I didn't come back because of Mal and the barrier or anything as mature as that,” Gil admitted, adjusting his bandana until a few loose curls escaped. “I came back because I wanted to be a pirate. I came back because I missed my friends.”
Harry’s mouth twisted in a fond smile, but his tone was exasperated. “But you came back.”
Doesn’t matter, Uma’s words circled Harry’s like a shark. You came back. Gil wondered if they’d talked about this.
“You stuck by us when it really mattered. Sounds like a mature adult to me.” Harry certainly sounded more adult than Gil had heard him in their years together. The image was almost immediately destroyed as he tapped his hook against the bottom of his chin in a gesture that was surely uncomfortable and distinctly adolescent. “Not too much growth, mind you. We do still have a race to win.”
They walked the rest of the way to the track in companionable silence, past the stands and straight to Uma’s carriage, where her focus was set squarely across the yard. Peter was being helped into a small, green jacket, loaded down with something Gil couldn't make out. Between the racers and the audience there was a raised platform, from which Harry and Gil would be able to see the entire track. They didn’t need to be on it, it turned out, as Hades had two large televisions broadcasting the event in glorious if occasionally static color.
“Good to know our money is going to something other than his cigars,” Uma raised a sardonic brow, stepping into the chariot. Harry dipped his head forward to kiss the place where her knuckles wrapped around the edge of the wooden frame.
“For luck,” he winked, tipping his hat.
“I'm not going to war, Harry,” Uma rolled her eyes, but she seemed fondly amused despite herself.
Harry gave the chariot a final shake, as though afraid it might fall apart. It might, Gil thought with mild trepidation, and gave it a kick of his own. Uma gave them a reproachful look and they moved to stand behind her.
“Welcome, welcome,” Hades walked out to the sound of cheers, stopping between the two racers and giving the closest horse a light stroke down its long face. “Yes, hello everyone! It’s late and I have three of these tonight. Let’s not draw this out, hm? Racers, place your bets!”
“My shell,” Uma’s arm shot up, necklace held aloft. Peter squinted at the object, intrigued.
“Pan?”
“My shadow,” Peter threw a thumb over his shoulder, voice nearly drowned by the sound of hoots and hollers. The two boys flanking Peter were, without a doubt, the loudest.
“His shadow,” Uma half-turned to hiss, grin wide and feral. “We get that, we won't need a map! We can take Neverland itself!”
Harry laughed low and menacing, whatever earlier doubts he had felt gone or, for the moment, forgotten. Gil tried to catch either of their eyes with his own, worried glance, but once those two stood behind an idea, fighting it did as much good as pushing back the tide. He wanted to point out the practiced air about Peter. The fans he had in the crowd. Just how much had they underestimated their competition?
“You know the rules,” Hades clapped loudly, but spoke quietly enough for the few of them. “One weapon per circuit, too many injuries and you switch drivers. Death is disqualification. But, on the plus side, you’ve died in the right place! All right, folks, let’s get this show on the road!”
“Uma! Bow! Aim for the--oh, come on!”
Greatly, Gil thought. They had greatly underestimated Peter Pan.
The first circuit had gone surprisingly well. Peter had tuned a flute that, by the commentator’s explanation, was catered to the ears of certain younger individuals. Luckily, Uma had either aged out of what he had prepared for or, more likely, so much time among sea creatures had immunized her. For her part, Uma had deployed the nets,
The second circuit was...exhausting. For Harry and Gil, anyway. The crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely as Uma zigged and zagged through the dirt, dodging a spill of marbles in her path. Harry paced in a tight circle while Gil watched the screen, the lines on Uma’s face shifting from surprise to fury as she reached to her foot for one of the bows.
“Yes, yes!” Harry stopped suddenly and leaned forward over the railing of the platform, as though she’d be able to hear him over the din of cheers and hoof beats. “Aim for the yoke!”
A bell sounded as Peter rounded the track. Circuit three, Gil tightened his hands into fists. On the screen Uma narrowed her eyes and fired. The horse on the left side of Peter’s chariot bucked and turned inward before a futile attempt to tear away.
Uma lifted another bow and fired again.
This time the horse shot off towards the middle of the coliseum, disappearing into a cloud of blue-grey smoke when it hit a pillar.
Uma’s brackish chariot passed Peter’s, her eyes alight with mirth. Gil dropped his head to his chest and let out a breath as she made it past the first checkpoint, the second, third…
“No…,” he heard Harry moan beside him and, with encroaching dread, turned his attention back to the race.
Looks like Pan’s pulled out one of his old favorites, Pixie Dust! We haven't seen this one in a while, folks. Uma’s gonna be a real contender!
The dust, shiny and visible from across the coliseum, settled over the remaining horse. And, like that, Peter was airborne.
Uma’s not giving up yet! Gil heard Pain or Panic say, it was hard to tell over the loudspeaker. Third circuit and she still hasn't used her last weapon.
What is that, Pain?
Panic it’s a, well, seems like...it's a grappling hook! I can't believe it! What a stroke of luck for the young sea witch! And it looks like Peter is back on solid ground.
Oof, bad luck for Pan fans, you know they love to see him soar across that finish line.
“No more weapons, and he’s down a horse!” Gil grabbed Harry's shoulder, giving it a small shake.
“It’s over,” Harry stared up at the screen, jaw tight. Gil followed his gaze.
The horse and off-white chariot carrying Peter had hobbled across mere moments before Uma’s...but beat her it had.
Peter Pan continues his winning streak! Can anyone beat this titan?
Harry jumped over the railing of the platform as they announced the next racers. Gil followed, meeting the others at the finish line. It was tense and uncomfortable, despite the merrymaking of Peter and his friends.
“Oh, right, my prize!” Peter pulled away from one of the boys and held out a hand, smile so large his eyes crinkled. Gil had long since gotten the impression that Pan, while a hero, was not a very good person.
Uma dragged her necklace off and stared down at it with what must be practiced calm. They had worked hard to get it. After studying it for long moments, she held the shell above Peter’s hand, eyebrows drawn together tight. “You'll be delivering this to the king of course?”
A dead, flinty look settled in Peter’s eyes, his smile turned sharp. “Of course. I'm a good boy after all.”
She dropped the shell. “That's what I thought.”
“Uma…,” Harry looked ready to attack Peter’s retreating back, gentling at the hand she placed to his chest.
“If I can't have it,” she said, voice low. “I'll make sure he can’t.”
“What now? Follow him?”
“He’s just gonna fly,” Uma waved away the idea, clearly frustrated. “Kidnap the friend?”
“Hm,” Harry considered this. “I like it. Which one?”
Gil listened to them and watched Peter pocket Uma’s shell from a distance. It wasn't going to work, he thought. Likely the first fully seditious thought he’d had since joining Uma’s crew, though he considered it one born out of concern, not distrust. His father knew how to strategize, and make people listen to him and Gil inherited none of these traits, but he could recognize a bad plan when he heard one, whether he said something or not. This time he had to.
He took a step towards Peter, then another, and more quickly another. Behind him he heard his friends call to him. After a moment of indecision, he heard their footfalls too. But he was there before they could stop him.
“Oh, hello again," Peter's greeting was chummy, like they were already old friends. "Are you lost?”
“No.”
“Would you like to be?” Peter raised his brows twice in quick succession. “Offer still stands.”
“Have it take a seat before it gets tired,” Harry placed a hand on Gil’s shoulder and leaned forward head first, like a snake.
“I'm all right growing up--”
“You say that now!” Peter chimed in before Gil could finish the thought. He started speaking again, more slowly this time.
“...but I would like to go to Neverland.”
“Is that what all this was about?” His face fell into a disappointed frown. “Aw, but getting to Neverland’s easy! Second star to the right and keep heading straight.”
Gil couldn’t remember the last time he's seen a star without squinting. He’d seen pictures, and sometimes they got lucky during the winter evenings. “It’s that simple?”
“When you're traveling by air, sure.”
“And by ship?”
“Why travel by sea when you can fly with me?”
“I'm going with my friends,” Gil said with some force.
“Oh right. These guys.” Peter looked to his left and right as though he'd just remembered the others were still there. His gaze lingered on Harry. “You know, I worked pretty hard to get Tink off that stinking island, but I thought if she was going to go off and make herself all boring by having you that she would have at least taught you how to fly. No? Not even a speck of dust in there?”
Gil didn't remember throwing a punch, but he did remember his face hitting the dirt, a pair of feet on his lower back with barely any weight behind them at all. He turned his head to spit out granules of dust collecting between tongue and teeth and caught a glimpse of Harry and Uma lunging for the boy perched on his back. Gil felt him fly into the air once more and he righted himself as quickly as he could. The two others who had stayed back until now, met them with fists raised, stopped only by Peter’s outstretched hand above them.
"Easy, rough boys! And,” he nodded to Uma, “Captain. I'll tell you kiddos, no need for a dust up.” Harry helped Gil stand as Peter set his feet back on solid ground. “All you have to do is give me the hook.”
Uma placed a hand on her scabbard. “We already gave you the shell, you--”
“That's not mine, remember?” Peter pouted. “Property of King Ben and his precious magical museum. No, no, I want something distinctly unmagical and, well, just for me!”
Harry was clutching the hook with decidedly less calm than Uma had displayed. Gil couldn't explain the attachment. They hadn't gone on a quest for it, he’d not really done anything to deserve it. Likely the reason why Uma found his fascination with it mildly irritating, and did nothing further now.
He locked eyes with Uma for the space of a few breaths before she lowered her hand and jerked her head at Pan.
“...fine,” Harry ground out, lowering his own arms and still clutching the sharp piece of silver. “First the map.”
One of the boys pulled a flyer from the nearest pillar, flipping it to its back and handing it to Peter. He stared at it. “Am I supposed to magic it on the paper?”
“Sorry,” he jogged off, leaving the rest of them in a stilted, awkward silence until he returned with a writing utensil. Peter snatched it from the boy with a swipe of his hand and began to draw. Gil made out a wreath of currents in tight, waved patterns, and a small circle of an island above the eastern shore of Neverland that hadn’t been there before.
“That'll get you there. After that you're on your own.” Peter held out the paper with a wave and a jolly little smile that Gil didn’t trust one bit. “And you know when you get there? I'll be waiting.”
Uma tore the map from Peter’s hand. As soon as her fingertips touched the paper, Harry dropped his hook, kicking it hard and scattering the other group of three. “I hope that's a promise.”
CJ met them at the gates as morning stole over the Isle. She stopped picking at a hole in her leggings to look them over, one after the other, her expression sinking further with each.
“Betting in the Underworld? What an exceptionally stupid plan, I could have told you it wasn’t going to work.” She reached out to lift her brother's hand, absent it's customary accoutrement. He snatched it away as though burned.
“And what were you doing while we were out here making an effort?” Uma crossed an arm over her stomach, more at ease now that they were above ground.
“I finished fixing your ship,” CJ turned on a heel to face the other girl. “You’re welcome. Please tell me we at least got something out of this.”
With a little more flair than necessary, Uma held up the map.
Harry disappeared to his cabin as soon as they reached the Lost Revenge. This wasn’t too unusual, except Uma had veered off in the opposite direction with CJ to check the map against the landscape of their own. Gil didn’t know anything about geography, but he knew a little bit about Harry, so he followed the former below deck.
“Enter,”
Harry was sitting against the head of his bed, tracing scratches in the wall that spelled out his name and had clearly been carved out by his hook. Gil folded himself into a cross-legged position at the foot of the bed, Harry’s knees going akimbo to accommodate him.
“Sorry about...that,” Gil motioned to the wall. The hook was a ridiculous, clunky thing that was always getting in the way, but Harry seemed to have a fondness for it so he figured the sentiment was in line at least.
“And they call my dad the villain?”
“Harry, your dad made you eat outside for a week because you forgot to call him Captain.”
“He was teaching a lesson about respect.”
“You didn't learn it,” Gil snorted, thinking about how rarely he called Uma as such, and he respected her as much as his dad, for sure.
Harry made a clicking noise with his tongue and smiled, rather devilishly. “Probably not.”
“That thing Peter said about your mom teaching you to fly...think it’s true?”
“Why do you always want to talk about her?” Harry tossed a pillow at him. Gil took it square in the face and let it fall to his lap. Harry was smiling still, but Gil could hear the real irritation in his tone. “I don't know her, you certainly don't know her. You barely know your own mother so stop digging after mine.”
Gil took a silent moment, still absorbing the fact that he'd been snapped at and going through a rolodex of responses until he landed on the perfect one. He opened his mouth to fire back and, in a moment directly opposed to the staircase wit in which Gil was used to accompanying, found himself interrupted by the beginnings of an apology.
“Sorry,” Harry ran his hands back through his hair, letting them fall loosely to his knees. “This isn’t on you. CJ was right, this was a stupid plan. I knew it and I didn’t say anything.”
“What would you have said?”
Harry remained silent, running his thumb along the tips of his fingernails in a nervous drumbeat. Likely his thoughts were at the same place Gil’s were. What could anyone say to Uma to change her mind?
“Should have mentioned,” he eventually settled with a sigh. He motioned to Gil with a loose wave of his wrist. “Glad we didn’t all lose something, at least.”
“Don’t have anything I’m too protective of,” said Gil, not feeling too ashamed. He was a treasure seeker, not an owner. “Well, you and Uma, of course.”
Harry stared for a weighted, mute second before he responded. “Me and Uma. Of course.”
“What?” Gil laughed nervously, after a long moment where Harry said nothing else and continued to stare.
“May I have my pillow back?”
Gil glanced down at his lap where the atrociously orange thing had settled, and thought briefly about throwing it at Harry’s face, but the aggravated moment from earlier had passed. He held it out instead.
Harry’s arm struck out to take it, fingers wrapping around Gil’s wrist quick as a bow string, light as the fletching of an arrow. Gil tried desperately not to topple forward as his heartbeat leapt, speeding to the singular point where their skin touched.
Like a slow motion picture show Gil watched Harry lean closer and closer, until he registered Harry’s lips mere inches from his hand. Gil could feel himself freeze, and Harry did the same, mouth paused perilously above Gil’s open palm.
“May I kiss you?” he asked, with the ghost of a smile. “I did say I'd ask.”
“I said that was worse,” Gil managed, counting the pulse beats at his wrist just to keep focused.
Harry tilted his head in a considering way and hummed around the center of Gil’s hand, breath flicking over old calluses and deep-cut lines. “No you didn't.”
No perhaps he hadn't, but he distinctly remembered thinking as much very loudly.
“Okay but…,” Gil took a hardwon breath, shoulders drawn in tight. “Don't you dare make fun of me.”
“Why would I?” Harry raised one brow, then the other to meet it, and dropped Gil’s hand. “What do you think this is?”
Gil shrugged. He didn’t know the answer. He didn’t think himself as adult as Uma and Harry claimed, but he wasn’t so much a child that he couldn’t recognize what loving someone felt like. A dangerous feeling on the Isle, that rooted you in place and let the other person take advantage of you if you weren’t careful. Harry and Uma had always been together, no matter who they chased. They were safe to slowly fall in and out of love with, because Gil knew he wouldn’t be stupid enough to actually try anything with one of them.
Then Harry had kissed him. And Uma wanted him to stay.
“I know you told me not to think about it but…,” Gil winced. Harry had asked him not to give the matter any thought and, in truth, that’s all he’d been doing. “What do you think this is?”
Harry looked at him as though he’d started speaking in a foreign language. “I just wanted to kiss you again. Seemed like a good time for it. Does it have to be so complicated?”
Gil considered deflecting. Even more briefly considered kissing Harry while his guard was down, making sure he’d remember this time. Instead he opted for the truth. “It feels complicated.”
“Hm.” Harry settled back against the headboard, expression curious. “We’re going to be on this ship a while, huh?”
“Probably,” Gil said, slowly.
“Once we set sail, I'm going to be pretty busy,” Harry began tracing the patterns on the wall once more. “First Mate’s business and what have you. You ever feel less complicated and want to…,” he drummed his fingers, eyes narrowing in thought. “Give this another shot? I'll let you do the asking. Deal?”
Gil stared at Harry’s outstretched hand. He remembered the feeling that had gathered in his wrist, that made his head wooly. Now all he felt was a strange, weightless relief he hadn't known he’d been dragging behind him until Harry held out his hand and said--
“Deal?” Harry wiggled his fingers impatiently and Gil slowly, surely took it.
This time, when Uma and Gil met on the deck of the Lost Revenge, she found him. The sky had dimmed just enough for the stars to shine, though Gil could hardly see them for the smog.
“Well, well,” she said, sauntering from midship to stern. “You look debauched.”
“Dewhat?”
“Huh, thought your dad would have taught you that word at least. Abused,” she leaned up on tiptoe to peck him on the corner of his lips. Gil felt himself go hot across the bridge of his nose. “In a very pleasurable way.”
He straightened his rumpled clothes, and ran a hand down his face. Teasing, she could only be teasing. His thoughts couldn't make him look in any way different.
He caught sight of a folded paper in her hand as she moved past him to the railing. She whistled, loud and sharp, and produced a few odd-sounding clicks from the back of her mouth. A sleek, grey fish bobbed to the top of the water, and Uma slipped the paper between its surprisingly sharp teeth.
“For your mother?”
“But then who’d read it?” She coughed, nearly choking at her own joke. “No, it’s for Ben. A little bit of insurance in case Pan goes back on his word.”
Gil bobbed his head in what he hoped looked like support. “You did really great with the bows."
"Huh?" Uma tracked his movement as he walked to join her by the side of the ship. "Thanks. We still lost."
"Hey," he looped an arm around her shoulder, ignoring the disgruntled look she shot him. "We don't lose, remember?"
"I don't know, Gil," she crossed her arms, expression slacking into resignation. "Sure feels like it this time."
Gil turned his face upwards once more. "Which second star do you think he meant?”
Uma growled. “I think Pan is a liar and a cheat.”
“I thought that was your favorite type of person.”
“True," she conceded. "That’s how I know we can’t trust a word he says.”
“Can we trust the map?”
“CJ thinks so,” Uma readjusted her hat with a grin. “One way to find out.”