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Gladion has lived his whole life as a runaway pirate without knowing what despair is.
He has been running away from his family, from his problems, from his past, and never looked back. He jumped into a boat, got scooped by a group of pirates that were anything but normal, so anything akin to despair left his life as it was replaced by chaos and constant confusion. Nothing in his life had made sense until he met that crew of unkempt bandits and he pillaged a cave full of treasures on his own.
He's still a novice, and even as months have passed with them – his new family – on his side, things are confusing, they move too fast and it feels like every day of his life will be his last. It's chaotic– it still makes sense.
And then came the storm. And then came the terror, the screams, a neighboring ship attacking theirs as his beloved captain fought with all her being to keep things afloat– and then, he lost everything to the storm.
Things had gone blank.
Part of him had hoped that when the sea swallowed his body, he would also leave his life behind, that his problems would no longer exist and that nobody would cry for him.
So, when he wakes up to the sun beating on him and that he isn't dead like he had anticipated, dread settles in and makes itself at home. Being alive after everything feels wrong. The burning sand under his fingertips feels wrong. The silence, sans the waves rippling at the sole of his boots, feels wrong. The wilderness at his back feels wrong.
He feels amplitude all around him and he hasn't opened his eyes yet.
Gladion slowly opens his eyes to the cerulean sky. A seagull coos up the clouds, and his body feels numb. Sensation comes in sputters of electricity that make his limbs ache. He's certain something within him is bleeding, which he knows is bad.
When he gathers his consciousness and makes an effort to move, recollection comes at him in a whirlwind of headaches and grunts. He remembers falling off the ship, and then the color of amethyst as someone fell into his arms from overboard, how he caught her and how she screamed something at him, fighting him or the waves, he isn't sure, but–
He turns his head with a start, and when his eyes find what he's looking for, his breath catches in his throat and he sits up with a pained wince. He moves towards her. Her long shiny coat is long gone, there are droplets of red around her and her face is buried under her hair, but it's still her, it's–
Gladion weakly pulls the frisson of hair out of her face and finds her eyes to be closed. "Moon," he stutters her name.
Her, the Queen of the Eleven Alolan Seas.
Or, simply put, Moon.
In private when nobody is watching, she's his Moon.
Upon his call, Moon's eyes flutter open, but they're far from the blown wide curiosity and ruthless passion she had looked at him with in the past. "Where… where are we?"
Her voice is breathy, raspy, and broken. "I have no idea, but this– this is bad." Gladion clutches his side. It's throbbing. "Are you alright? Can you move?"
Much to his alarm, Moon doesn't answer, and simply closes her eyes and knits her eyebrow. He should have known she wouldn't admit to being hurt– they're the same, after all. He knows that stubbornness very well, but it still makes him angry she's not communicating as well as they had learned to lately.
"Moon–"
"I'm fine." But she sounds anything but fine. "Go grab some wood. Make a fire. I… I will get up, eventually." Her breathing is labored and muffled into her hair and the crisp sand. She sounds in pain no matter her pretenses. "I'll be fine."
"I'll help you," Gladion offers, panting as though each move of his arms broke a bone. "That shipwreck was bad. I need to see if you're hurt and tend to your wounds, I'm sure something of use was washed here too."
Moon doesn't answer, and he instead realizes that she's got one hand under her body and that there's a metallic aftersmell in the salty air of this island. Frowning, Gladion gathers her into his arms, much to her complaint and groaning. It's as if she's already given up on whatever fight she's enduring, which is absurd because Moon is fine, she's strong, she's his captain, and–
She uses her other hand to cover her stomach. "No, it's fine."
"Moon," he has never used that tone with her. Never her, "let me see."
"You don't have to–"
When he removes her hands from her front, his eyes suddenly zero on the big, darkening splash of blood making its way through the layers of her uniform, and how her trembling hand is clutching the fabric like it's her savior. Her palms are clammy with red residue and her eyes are faded as they struggle to keep open.
His heart stops altogether, and when he looks at her for an answer, she just sighs. "I… you should go."
Hesitant as to what to say, what to do, Gladion does a double-take. "What?"
"The first day we met, remember?" She's speaking slowly. Too slowly. She's always been about the confident laughter and the snickers, not… this. Moon was never a breathing corpse. "I told you the three rules of a pirate. Remember?"
Gladion nods. He gathers her tighter in his arms. Her words ring fear within him, a foreign kind. "Pirates always pay their debts. Pirates never drink a mate's booze. Pirates have to…"
A pregnant silence hangs in the air as her words sink in, root into his heart and his whole being goes cold despite the island heat.
"No! There's no way I'm leaving you here to rot!"
"Don't be an idiot," Moon winces, face shrunken as she tries to move out of his embrace. "I'm only a fucking dead weight at this point, and one of us has to leave to find the others. You have to go, Gladion. There's no way you will get out of here with me on your back."
It's unlike Moon to sound… defeated. Done. It sounds like she's completely lost all faith she used to boast so highly about int he early days. Moon has always had this strong façade made of titanium and steel, and while he always perceived a fickle of fragility whenever they were alone, he had never expected her to give up. Like this. In his arms. Like she's nobody anymore.
"Are you fucking serious? No! You must be way out of it to think I'm going to let you die like this." Moon hisses as he presses her head on his chest, and as much as he wants to cover the gushing wound for her, his hands won't stop trembling and if he touches blood now, he will lose it. "There has to be a way I can nurse you back to health–"
"Gladion."
"Maybe I can use a palm tree leaf or something. Hau told me he used to bandage his cuts with small leaves when he was a kid, so maybe that will work," he tells himself, looking around and no longer noticing Moon's burning stare. "I'm sure there's a bag somewhere. Books always say bags are washed up by the sea, right?"
"Gladion."
"I'll try to make a shelter, too. They say nights at islands are very dangerous, so–"
"Gladion!" Her call brings his attention back to her, and when he looks at her angry expression, he detects a certain weakness and vulnerability that hadn't been there before; it's what holds him back from snapping. "Stop trying. You have to leave me here."
"No, I'm not going to leave you here!"
"You have to! You're a pirate, and that's how pirates work, god damn it!"
He ignores the fact that she had admitted to him being an actual pirate, that she had finally accepted him as a true one of her kind, in favor of being angry and frowning at her with impatience. "I don't care about being a pirate, I care about you!" Her eyes widen an inch. "Do you think that Hau and Guzma aren't going to try to find you? You're so dense sometimes, Moon."
"They won't," she says peacefully, oddly so.
"Why wouldn't they? They're a part of your crew, Moon– they're your family!"
"Because I ordered them not to."
At this, Gladion's speech halts to a full stop and he blinks at her as though she's grown a second head. "You what? Why would you even do that? You are their captain! Stop being so disregarding of your own damn life and–"
"I'm dying, Gladion."
He stops talking.
His brain refuses to admit that she's saying what he thinks she's saying and regards her with the same skepticism he had all along. "No, you're just hurt and– and it looks gross, but I will get you out of this, okay? You can count on me, Moon. I'm going to–"
"No, Gladion." Her voice is a hundred degrees softer and he finds her to be gazing at him with a mix of pity and resignation amidst the pain and the hurt. "I'm sick. I've been sick all my life, and my crew has one rule," her hand shakes as she tries to hold one finger up, and it soon slackens and falls on her chest. "Leave the weak ones behind to allow the strong ones in."
It's the lack of Moon, the lack of confidence and the lack of life in her voice that scares him the most, because when he had joined her crew, he had seen a captain so full of life, light, and passion that it had been inevitable to escape her.
It's now that he realizes she's trying to slip away from him, too, and she's looking at him like she will take her last breath anytime soon and the thought alone terrifies him. He has lived with Moon for so long that he no longer knows what life would be without her by his side. Without standing by her side, him, her and the crew against the world and lapping waves.
And now the Queen of the Eleven Seas is in his arms, and he can hear death scraping at her throat as she tries to breathe.
Something stings at his eyes as emotions, words, and feelings catch up with him at lightning speed. Before long, something salty rolls down his sand-stained cheeks and Moon is looking at him in wonder.
He feels her stir in his arms, and he realizes she's reaching for something on her hip– her sword.
Moon is giving him her sword. A pirate's most valuable item. A treasure.
"Take this," Moon pauses to recollect her thoughts. The gleam of the unpolished metal and the golden trims shines under the uncharacteristic bright day, "and end my misery here, Gladion."
His heart stops. Where words should have been, there's only stuttered syllables that never turn into full words. When a pirate gives somebody their weapon of choice, it means they have let go of their heart: their confidence, their honor, their life. Moon is handing him her sword.
Moon is handing him her life, placing the sword between her body and his hand, weakly trying to curl his fingers around the handle. "Hey, hey– don't cry, don't be like this now," he only realizes he's crying, silent as a breeze, when Moon places a weak hand on his jaw. "I was gonna die young anyway… and hey, it won't be so bad if you're the one by my side. I bet the others will be happy."
Gladion was never known for having mercy on his enemies, and Moon, as his long sworn rival and secret heartthrob, had been no exception. He has loved her as passionately as he has wanted to corner her against a wall with his sword, but it's not a luxury she seems to see in the foreseeable future anymore.
He can't let her give up.
Not like this.
Moon's eyes flutter close, but Gladion grabs her attention for one last time, frantic. "Don't give up now! I will find a way to cure your wounds, okay? And then–" Arceus, Gladion isn't known for dealing well with stress and fear but Arceus forbid him he's going to try his best for her. "And then we'll figure something out, but you can't die on me like this! This isn't my captain!"
"Your captain is a burden on your shoulders. I wouldn't lie to you about this, you idiot," she remarks, snide in her words but weak in how she's stopped moving. Her breathing is shallow, the stain is growing bigger and his legs won't move. "If you make it out of here, the rest will take you in. But you won't make it with me. This will take days to heal."
"I'll wait months if that's what it takes to take you back to the ship." Gladion points at the empty horizon, his aim shaky. "I'm going to take you back with me even if I have to tie you to my back."
Her jaw squares in a wobbly plea, fingers curling to a fist. "Didn't you hear me? Take my sword and run, for fuck's sake!"
"And I said I won't!" Gladion heaves forward, then scoops her into his arms as she tries to bark a remark to put her down, but he refuses. "Remember when I was a lost kid and you took me in? You saved me that time. I'm going to save you now."
"You're being dumb! I'm only a burden at this point, I won't make it through the night!" Gladion fights the urge to listen to her, because deep down, he knows she's partly right and that she will only hinder his way to freedom. "You don't have to do this! I just want you to get out alive!"
And then, words he never thought he'd say escape his mouth.
"What's the worth of making it back to the crew if you're not with us, you colossal dumbass?" Moon's frame slackens the slightest bit in his hold, and when he looks back at her, he finds her hold to have softened and that her eyes are growing small, weak. "Just hold on, please. Do it for me. If you care the slightest bit for me, please, hold on for me."
"Gladion, I just–"
"You've been trying to keep everyone safe while you were sick, let me take care of you for once already," he grunts, making his way into the wilderness. He soon finds a small spot under some palm trees where she will be comfortable and he sits her down, beginning to tear at a leaf of a small tree to wrap it around her torso. A makeshift bandage.
When he notices her head is lolling to a side, he curses and cups her cheek to make her look at him. "Wait for me, okay? I'm going to find something to treat your wounds with. Hold on for a little more. Can you do that for me?"
Moon's eyes narrow a little more, but with one last sigh, she nods, or at least moves her head in affirmation and that's all he needs to let her be and rush to the coast in search of something to treat their wounds.
Unbeknownst to him, Moon falls to the ground a minute later, and a few seconds after that, it starts to rain.
When the night rolls over the island, Gladion has long set camp at the foot of the wild rainforest of the island. Luckily for him, he has found a long blanket to use as a cover for their tent, a few sticks to set it over them and an old, dirty duvet to use as a makeshift mattress, covering the whole space of their small canopy. A small lamp hangs from the post of the shelter, he's got a book in his hands and Moon is sleeping behind him.
He spares a small glance in her direction. She hasn't moved an inch since he found her again, unconscious, but she's breathing. To say he's worried is an understatement, but pirates never break their promises and Moon is still a pirate no matter the time she had asked him for mercy.
Gladion has placed her sword back on her hip and he will act like that never happened, even if the thought of her asking him to kill her makes him feel cold.
It's good to know that she would hand him all of her without hesitation, just like he knows he would, but he has long decided to discard that memory for his own sake.
Gladion looks back at his small diary, tapping the head of the pen on his lower lip. There's a tiny map he has drawn on the sheet. "If this is the Melemele region and there's this much forest, we can't be that far away from the Nihilego Archipielago," he mutters, scribbling notes on the doodles. "Maybe we're near the volcanic zone, but there's none of that here…"
"We're in Pheromosa Island, I think."
Gladion's body goes stiff as he hears her talk. It's not much more than a groan, but it still alarms and relieves him to see her awake. When he looks back, she's incorporating herself, looking at him while propped on her elbows.
She's wearing his shirt, he remembers. It looks weirdly good on her. He looks away. "You might be right," he writes two sentences, then writes small circles on the paper to busy himself as Moon draws closer to him. "Yeah, it makes sense that–"
Her forehead touches his back and her arms come around his torso. It's a gesture so affectionate and so unlike her, unlike them, that Gladion feels like he's been completely thrown to a pool of cold water.
Her hands press on his bare chest. "You didn't listen to me."
Gladion sighs. He taps the notebook with his pencil. "Did you really expect me to listen?
"Considering I'm your captain, I had expected you to consider it, at least." She makes a fair point, even if it's completely ridiculous. Her cheek is pressed on his back now. She feels warm, unlike before, and so much more open than ever before. "I meant it, you know."
That's the scariest part: he knows she had.
"I know you did," he sighs, placing one hand over hers. "And I don't think you, um, elaborated on that part about being ill. Do the people in your crew know about this?"
"Arceus, you couldn't just let me die, you also have to drag me through the mud, huh."
Gladion wordlessly pats the seat by him to encourage her to talk, and much to his surprise, she crawls to his side, burying her feet in the sand beyond the duvet. Had they been in a different situation and maybe this would have been a fantastic idea for a holiday. They could be alone, sleeping under the stars and falling asleep in each other's arms like he had dreamed of so many nights in the past.
He wonders if this is a sign of fate, if this is just a product of chance or if Arceus has thrown them to this island so they rot to the island's mercy. Gladion knows they will make it out of this place alive, but he still wants to know why Moon had thought differently.
She presses her chin on her knees. She doesn't look like the woman who, upon meeting him and beating his ass, had called him out because of his clothes while he was tied to a small, dinky chair.
"What are you wearin', blondie?" She had tugged at the bottom of his shirt with the point of her blade, the one she had nearly given up on a few hours ago. "You don't look like one of my men sneakin' into my cellar to grab some booze. You look like some lost brat looking for his mama."
"And you look like a hooligan straight out of a 60's carnival."
Moon had whistled and gave her sword a threatening spin with her hand, chuckling. "You got a backbone, I see. Not bad. You're still in the wrong place if you want some shelter, so get out of here before I cut you into teensy pieces with my sword, lil' boy. I spared you earlier, don't make me think about it twice."
"I already said I'm not looking for shelter– I want to join your company!"
Surprised whistles, nearly belittling, rung after that and Moon turned to him with aghast blinks of her wide, black eyes. She slammed her boot on the edge of the chair he was tied to, and the edge of her sword had brushed his pulse as she leaned a little too close, eyes vicious and vitriolic.
"How am I supposed to believe you and not think you're Queen Lusamine's spy, eh? You two look like two drops of liquor. You smell rich, blondie. Brats don't fit in here. You'll get your clothes dirty."
"I'm not that! I want–" What had he wanted back then other than to run away from an unloving, heartless family, other than getting an heirloom back that now has no meaning at all? Would she have understood, back then, the way she does now? "I don't owe you any stories, I just want to join your company!"
"Do ya' think blondies like you can just come here like they own the place? Pirates ain't gonna be bought by your looks, your rank, and all that stuff. We don't care about that."
Exactly. That's what he had wanted.
"I'll prove myself to you again if I have to." Moon's eyes had widened, he still remembers loving the shade of her eyes upon meeting her for the first time. "I need to get away from here. I will do anything to join."
Her eyes had turned hard for one second, scrutinizing him as she stared, stared, and bore deep into his soul where not even he could ever dare approach. Then, all of a sudden, the warmth of her presence had drawn back and she had slammed her sword into the scabbard of her hip, and flashed three fingers at him.
"You owe me one, blondie, and pirates have three rules: they got no debts left to pay, they don't drink a mate's booze and, very importantly," eyes sharp, brow knit and colors turning cold, she points a finger at the window, "the weaklings go out the window for the sharks to eat, got it? I won't have a single dead weight on my ship."
He wonders if Moon ever regretted taking him into her ship and if she ever thought that their growing proximity would make this inevitable talk harder. Judging by the way she's looking at him, a little lost, a little scared, it might as well be the case.
Moon's eyes drift to the clear night sky. "I have a lung disease, the whole crew knows about this, but it's nothing I will suddenly die for. I just won't live to get saggy and cranky– which is fine for me anyway, I don't wanna see myself growing wrinkles." That steals a rare chuckle out of him. Moon smiles to herself. "I don't wanna die tied to a bed, lonely and sad. I thought it… would make more sense for me to die here."
"Even if it was with me watching and me holding the sword?"
His words are pained and worried, yet she smiles at him full of teeth and tease. "You're the only person I would allow to take my life." It sounds like she's talking to herself and not him for a second. "I wouldn't have had it any other way."
It suits Moon to die like that if he has to admit. The image of somebody as strong as her dying in a bed sounds too quiet and peaceful to be her, even if he knows that would be the best for her. In Moon's head, trapped in how her people see her and how she sees herself, she probably would prefer to die young, tortured by the enemy as a hero, and not die silently as an old woman.
"I would never take your life even if you asked me to," Gladion murmurs, looking at the moonlight washing over the tranquil waves. It's slightly chilly, and he looks at Moon. Her legs are curled under his shirt, which looks ridiculously big on her. "Are you cold?"
She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine. I'm a little tired, but it barely hurts anymore." She pokes her stomach for proof. "I suppose you found painkillers at the shore?"
He shakes his head. "My sister is a pharmacist. She knows how to make these sorts of things. I wish she had taught me how to make more stuff. Maybe I would, um, help you with your issue,"
Moon laughs easily, as though the matter doesn't hurt her. She must have been living with the illness for so long she's mentally immune to it, he thinks. He has seen her cough and bend to gather herself increasingly often, and no matter how bent over she was by exhaustion, she was and still is radiant in her own ways.
"Pharmacists can't cure these sorts of things. I doubt it has a cure anyway, so I've already assumed I'll just die young. You don't need to worry about me, I'm cool with it."
At least she knows he's worried just as he knows she's not 100% fine with it, no matter the confidence she says it with. Gladion persists. "We'll find a way out of it. You should know I'm not going to give up until we get something– but we can talk about that tomorrow."
Arceus, he's so tired. He should be sleeping already, but his body is somehow restless.
Moon blinks at him with wide yet tired eyes. "Do you regret leaving?"
"Leaving?"
"Yeah. Leaving your hometown."
Gladion remains silent for a few seconds. He glances at the stars in the sky. He could never watch the stars this well from the balcony of his state at Akala, much less with this clarity and definition. He couldn't bathe in the moonlight either, or watch and listen to the murmur of the water rolling in and out of the beach. It's all so much sharper now, so much clearer, and he has gone through so much with everyone in Moon's ship that he can't name a day he has regretted his decision.
Maybe the first days he was scared, but the only thing he's scared of now is of losing his crew, his friends.
Gladion looks at Moon again and finds her to be gazing at him softly.
"I don't," he says softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't imagine my life without you anymore."
Gladion initially lets it slip as though you means the crew when, in reality, he knows he's talking about her exclusively. Moon seems to catch the drift, lips parting and cheeks splashed with dull pink.
Before she can stutter a witty remark that will reduce his confidence to dust, he cups her cheek and brings her a little closer until their bodies are brushing and his lips are hovering a little less than what platonic rivals should be. Her eyes are wide, yet there's this intent and focus in the cold blue freckles in her eyes that tells him that maybe, just maybe, she wants him too.
His lips brush against hers, and then Moon leans up and they meet halfway, no more words exchanged. Gladion had daydreamed about what kissing his fierce captain would be like, more as a fantasy than a dream, and it had always been about blazing fire and passion that is much more than subdued in reality. Granted, her fingers wake fire on his skin as she spreads them over his heart, and sure, she's making small noises that are anything but soft. His stomach flutters with each glide of their lips, leisured and mild, yet passionate and wanting.
Her lips are soft, though, and so very pleasant under his. He cups her neck to deepen the kiss. Moon releases a throaty sound that makes him shudder, and his hand unconsciously seeks her hand on top of the duvet to lace his fingers with hers.
His tongue brushes with her lower lip and she grants him instant access with a small, blissful sigh. They dance intimately with soft touches until the softness turns into something scorching, longing, waiting, and he finds his body growing hotter and his touch seeks to brand her.
They break the kiss with a small nip of hers on his bottom lip that makes him groan, and as he sinks to push the oversized sleeve of his shirt off her shoulder, he peppers kisses on the exposed skin and slowly leans her down on the duvet, pushing their interlocked hands by her head as he sucks a mark on her throat.
Moon inhales air and lets out a half-hearted moan. Her body arches to meet his, trying to get as warm as possible just by his sheer body heat. His name is a small plea in her lips that melts his heart and sets something aflame at the pit of his stomach.
One hand sinks into his hair, tugging at it softly. "Somebody's been waiting for this."
"Oh, don't tell me you haven't," Gladion teases against her throat, leaving a small bite at the wake of his words as he rises to her ear. "Let me take care of you this time."
"I don't think this is what taking care of someone means either, you know."
Gladion gives her a mischievous smirk. "Let me show you, then, and maybe you'll understand better."
And he knows Moon to be his for the night, and whatever the future holds will be for them to overtake; together, be it in hell, be it in bliss.