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Despite the plumes of dust that thicken the air at each movement of the antique rugs, and despite their probable impending doom, the once-beloved workshop of Alveros feels inviting and warm. A pleasant hum of magic winds through the air, red lines of heat warming Chip's fingers as he palms his gifted necklace in his hand. 

After the crazy day they've had, the respite is incredibly welcome. So welcome, in fact, that he can feel his eyelids begin to droop, even as the stone-stiffness of his legs refuses to let him get fully comfortable. His cheek smushes against the dusty rug as he tilts his head to look at Jay and Gillion, both of whom are still sitting cross-legged. In the light of the old hearth they'd set ablaze, he stares blearily at the way the fire dances on their faces, creating stark planes of shadow. 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Chip catches a glimpse of letters stricken across Gillion's wrist. He'd totally forgotten to ask Gill about it after attuning to their magical gifts from Aslana, and he sadly tries to haul himself up into a sitting position, eventually giving up after a few strained grunts. Why make an effort when his personal crutches are sitting right in front of him anyway?

He lifts hands out towards Jay and Gillion, squeezing them open and shut. 

"Jay. Gillion. Jay. Jaaaaaaay," he whines, hands still outstretched. 

Jay huffs, rolling her eyes, entirely unsympathetic to Chip's cause.

"Chip, I've been carrying you around all day." 

"Jay… Jay, come pick me up, c'moooonnn."

Chip pathetically flails around, pantomiming his untimely death from the tragic betrayal taking place. 

"Just go to bed, Chip, what could you possibly want," Jay protests, but still shuffles over to grab onto Chip's hands and practically yank his arms out of their sockets.

"OW!" Chip yelps, massaging his knuckles into his right shoulder. "What the hell, Jay, that hurt!"

"Oh no," Jay says flatly, not sounding very oh no at all, "how will you ever survive?"

Instead of retorting with a fittingly scathing remark, Chip topples his newly half-righted self over into Gillion's side, their arms pressed against each other as he shakes his head. 

"I mean, can you believe her?" he asks, pointing a thumb over at Jay. 

"What– I can hear you! I'm right here," she says, one eye roll away from both of them rolling right out of the sockets. 

"Yes, I do believe in her… Her heart is so true, so pure. She is the best of us!"

"Pure-hearted? Jay?" Chip repeats incredulously, right as Jay replies with a touched thanks. 

"Um, more than you," she shoots back.

"Well, anyway, I wanted to ask you something, Gill–"

"Ah! Yes, that is very convenient, as I also had something I needed to say to you!" Gillion says, looking strangely relieved. 

Taken slightly aback, Chip jerks his chin up at Gillion, the universal sign for you first. And then he remembers that Gillion knows exactly zero universal signs, so he says: 

"Alright, sure. Go ahead." 

"Okay! Well, then," Gillion says, far too loudly and proudly for the inherent blitheness of the words themselves. 

His other hand, the one without the tattoo Niklaus had left stamped on him, reaches for a book that Chip hadn't noticed before. With Gillion's fingers obscuring the lower half, Chip can only read the title: Rose-Colored Spectacles. 

Strange choice of literature, but Chip's not in charge of whatever Gillion gets up to in his free time.

"With all the honor of the Undersea that I hold myself to, the bonds of justice, and the respect I have for you as my fellow warrior in battle—"

Chip really doesn't know where this is going, but then again, this basically is how half of Gillion's sentences start.

"I, Gillion Tidestrider, sincerely and wholeheartedly apologize for kissing you for a display of love."

The temperature in the room shoots up about five degrees. Damn that empress for making Chip's legs stone and giving him no opportunity to run away from this terrible conversation, for making them go through the stupid trials of the tomb. Suddenly, he's acutely aware of Gillion's cool skin against his side, looping about his body, the horribly delicate webbing of a tail fin draped at his ankle. The casual physicality with which Chip approaches most people now snaps into a narrow focus that sends a new sort of heat crawling down his neck. A shoddily hidden giggle rings out from the other side of the room. 

"What?" His voice is an octave too high to be anywhere near normal. 

"Ah, you didn't hear me the first time," Gillion booms, so loud that the stone statues on the other side of the island can probably hear this awful conversation. "I, Gillion Tidestrider—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Chip squawks as he slaps a frantic hand over Gillion's mouth. 

Chip has to lean further into Gillion to do it, his reach horrifically hampered by the petrification. Their bodies crush into one another, and the thin fabric between them doesn't seem to dull any of the sensation of it; the refreshing coolness radiating into Chip's skin, the rumble of Gillion's voice as he keeps trying to blather on about whatever the hell, the long sweep of his eyelashes as he blinks guilelessly down at him. 

"It's fine! I forgive you, man, one hundred percent," Chip assures desperately, shooting Jay the stinkiest stink-eye he can as she doesn't even try to hide her laughter anymore. "All in the past! I mean, I can't even remember what, uh. What happened?" 

He's still saying everything at a strikingly high pitch, and he's really hoping Gillion doesn't care to notice, or at least doesn't mention it. 

"So! Whaddya say we never talk about this again," he hisses, hand still clasped tight over Gillion's mouth. 

Chip kind of forgets that he needs to take that hand away for him to actually understand Gillion's reply, but the concept of hearing whatever comes out of Gillion's mouth next is so deeply terrifying that he has to force himself to pry his fingers off one by one. 

"I am glad that I've won your forgiveness, Chip," Gillion says, stupidly sincere. Chip's going to kill him. Not before he throws Jay over the side of the Millenium Chipper when they finally have their beautiful ship back, but he's going right after her. "And if that is what you wish, then, well. That will most certainly be what we agree upon." 

"Good. Good man," Chip replies through a shake of incredulous laughter. He awkwardly pats Gillion on the shoulder, still out of his right mind, pushing his ten ton stone self away from him. 

The worst part of it all is that Chip himself can't shove the memory out of his mind. The salt shared between their lips, the strange, inexplicable tenderness of it. If he's being honest, a rarity in and of itself, he wishes that that could've been his first kiss. Maybe then there'd be a good reason why he couldn't get it out of his head. 

Chip wasn't introduced to the cliche love stories of a magical first kiss in childhood, and he never put much stock into firsts. It's always the aftermath that matters, what things go on to be, how it all ends. 

But he could've tried to really believe it this one time: that Gillion's arms felt so right wrapped around his body because it was a first kiss, that Gillion's hands cradled the back of his neck so gently because it was some magical first. That it was only the best kiss he ever had because he had nothing else to compare it to. 

But it wasn't. The memory of the first time he kissed someone blurs vaguely through his mind now, smudged and smoky with the fire of alcohol and dimness of a shitty, grimy alleyway. His arms braced back against a wall because he didn't know what the fuck to do with them, some girl's lips pressed firmly on his. It was nothing remarkable, and she seemed to agree, disappearing with a faint laugh into the crowd thrumming inside a warm tavern. He barely remembers her name now—no magic to be found there. 

What's his excuse now? Where's the easy lie that can smooth over the roughness of his heart as it strikes unsteady?

All it'll take is time, he reassures himself. Enough time and they'll be off this island and far away from whatever happened here. 

"What did you have to ask of me, Chip?" 

Gillion's question cuts through his trip down memory lane, and Chip looks up at him. 

"Oh, uh–" It takes a moment longer than it should for him to remember. "Your wrist, the– uh– the mark that Niklaus left. The shitty tattoo."

"I see," Gillion replies, shuffling his fingers from his book to said marking, rubbing over it absently. "And what about it?"

"Let me take another look at it, yeah?"

He begrudgingly shuffles closer, beckoning for Gillion to give him his wrist. Gillion complies easily, letting Chip take it in his hands. In their proximity, Chip can hear the slight jolt of Gillion's breath as he slides a finger over the curled borders of Niklaus' initials, the curve of the crescent moon. 

From up close, it looks more like a branding than it did before. It sits right where the curve of Gillion's dark veins run from his hands to the rest of him, choking off the thin lifelines with a possessive sort of placement. It really pisses Chip off for some reason, and he frowns down at the tattoo.

"Ugly font," he mutters, holding Gillion's wrist closer to the hearth to shine more light on it, as if that would change anything. "Give me the, uh– rundown again? Of what happened in there." 

"When I–"

"Yeah, when you made the deal," Chip clarifies. 

Gillion launches into the same winding explanation he did last time, and none of the details he mentions sticks out to Chip. Unfortunate, but not exactly unexpected, and not a problem for now. They'll be going against the empress tomorrow, but Chip's got a plan. The beginnings of one, at least, his mind turning with possibility. There's gotta be a way to keep the compass and get the people here free. Keep everyone happy, you know? Sure, Chip's used to running—if it were just him, he'd have tried to find his way off this island scot-free a long time ago. But he's got Gillion and his heroic audacity to contend with now, and, well… He'd like to help them. He'd like to help Aslana. 

Chip fiddles with the pendant hanging off his neck, thumbing over the crack in the seaglass. He'll get the best of both worlds. He'll keep the compass and he'll help her out. 

An annoying voice that sounds a lot like Jay bubbles up, pointing out that he might not be able to have both, and if it's one or the other…

That doubt is quickly submerged when real Jay, equally as annoying as fake Jay, suddenly pipes up, mentioning the discovery of Alveros' journal. And with that, Chip leaves behind all his troublesome worrying for another time and another day.

…

Aslana had completely forgotten how fun it was to sing without an iron fist wrapped around her throat. 

She spirals into a current, letting the rush of it speed her journey back to the shore of an island no longer choked by solemn stone. She sings of a freed home, a happy family, and of cute little fish that swim in schools, tickling against her hair. 

As she approaches the beach, she notices two blurry figures through the ripple of waves. The closer she gets, the clearer they become. Chip gesticulates outward with wide, sweeping motions, while Jay has her arms crossed, unimpressed by his antics. Before Aslana can wonder if she'd be interrupting anything, she splashes up the surface.

"Chip, Jay, hi!"

Despite the fact that they seemed to be arguing to some degree, their heads sharply turn to look at her at the exact same time, in the exact same way. Who knew the island's awesome heroes would be this entertaining!

Just as quickly as they turned in her direction, they look back at each other, and then all of a sudden, Chip clutches his stomach and falls to his knees.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaagh," he moans, face contorted in agony. One hand shoots up from his stomach to clutch at Jay's pants, tugging them with urgency, before reaching back down to cradle his midsection.

"Oh, it hurts so much!" he cries. 

Jay just stands there for a half a second, and then she sighs and reaches down to grab Chip's shoulders.

"Oh, Chip! How could this have happened to you!" she cries as she shakes Chip, his head jolting back and forth, warbling his continued screams.

What had happened? They both seemed perfectly fine and well when Aslana was below water, and even moments before, when she'd just come up! 

"Chip!" she shrieks, and pushes herself further out of the water, the grit of sand crunching beneath her tail. 

"Wait, what happened? Is he okay?" she asks, staring up at Jay, who seems to be alright, thank goodness!

"Noooooo," he cries, keeping one hand again on his stomach and then another reaching tremulously out to Aslana. "Oh, I'm dying. I'm dying, Aslana, you gotta–"

His pleas are cut short by a rattling, terrible cough, one that sends his whole body shaking.

"–help me!"

"Chip, this is–"

Whatever Jay was about to say gets cut off by Chip's leg flailing out and kicking her right in the shins as he flops fully onto the beach, cheek against the sand.

"Ow!" she yelps.

"OW!" Chip yelps louder, a little pointedly. 

"How do I– um–" 

In a panic, Aslana tries to summon her healing powers, laying a hand across Chip's warm face and sending waves of gentle arcane magic washing through him. Even though he leans into her touch, for whatever reason, her magic doesn't seem to have any effect on his symptoms as he continues to writhe around. 

"Jay, what do I do??" she asks, eyes welling up with tears. Oh, she really doesn't want Chip to die! That would be so sad, and right after he finished saving the island? But she has no idea what else to do, and her magic isn't helping at all!

"Uh, you have to, um– give us ten gold!"

With his close-to-final breath, Chip hisses up at her: "Fifty! "

"Fifty! Fifty gold, to cure my poor brother. My sick, dying brother!" 

Aslana had no idea that Jay was Chip's sister! That makes this all so much more tragic, and the tears that were threatening to fall really do spill down now, and she sniffles piteously.

"Oh, that's so sad, I– um–"

But she doesn't have any gold at all on her to give, though she happily would've. There was nothing she had to use it for on the island, since none of the stone statues were selling anything super interesting.

She cradles Chip's limp body, her tears falling into his mouth. He splutters and coughs, likely due to whatever terrible affliction had befallen him. 

"Let me go find Maria! She'll definitely have something!" 

As Aslana lays Chip back down on the shore to swim back into the sea and search for her sister, a previously feeble, drooping hand clutches securely onto her arm, tugging her back.

"Wait, Aslana– wait," Chip says, his voice now miraculously hale and hearty again despite being wracked with a terrible hacking moments prior. "No, you don't have to do that."

"What? But, you'll– you'll die?" she asks, now incredibly confused.

"Naaahhh, I'm not gonna die," Chip says, patting her arm. 

Besides them, Jay sighs, her face cradled in the palms of her hands. 

"Oh, if only," she mutters.

Chip glares up at her but immediately adopts an expression of good humor when looking back at Aslana. 

"Then what was… did my healing work?"

She scoots up closer to Chip, putting another hand to his forehead. He's really warm, but that seems to be typical of humans, so maybe there's nothing to it. But Aslana doesn't want to just send him off without being sure he's not going to die, so she sends another pulse of healing through him, just in case. He sighs contently against her touch, but after a few beats, waves her hand away.

"No, no, just um–" He looks over at Jay, who raises an eyebrow at him, like go on . "We were just practicing something for later, don't worry about it." 

"Oh! So you're not…"

"Nah, not at all," he reassures.

Chip grins a toothy smile up at Aslana, the edges of it crinkling handsomely at the sharp scar that curves up his jaw to his cheek. She wonders how he'd gotten it, if it had to do with their heroic deeds in the laughing town that he'd mentioned the last time they spoke. Aslana and her sisters hadn't had visitors to the island that she didn't feel guilty talking to in a long time, and everything about these three was so refreshing, so new. 

She used to make that mistake much more when she was younger, in the first months of the empress' rule. Aslana thought some kindness might soothen the blow of being captured and chained on an island meant to overflow with love, and when Maria and Satasha weren't looking, she'd approach their captives and ask for stories of the world beyond. It took a little more poking for some than others, and there were those that never wanted to talk to her at all. But the ones that humored her always spoke of grand seafaring adventures, lovers they had left on their home's stable shores, or hopes they had to be dashing heroes. Some were just beginning their journeys and felt they had no tales to speak of, and so they amused her with grandiose stories of fantastical princes and princesses. 

She hoped quite a bit for them, and always had those hopes dashed against the rocks. 

Sometimes, the empress would find out that she'd befriended some of her prey, so she left them unfrozen, throwing their beaten bodies down as scraps for she and her sisters. 

"You're hungry, aren't you? Eat," she'd say, sickly sweet and smooth, as mellifluous as she could get without turning her dogs into stone. Aslana thinks that while the empress was certainly the cruelest to Maria, she was most envious of Aslana and her voice. Of the songs she could still yet sing, despite how terribly the fates of the sailors drawn to it ended.

But that's all in the past, now! She breathes in a rush of salt-sharp air, looking happily down at a man she feels absolutely no desire to sink her teeth into. Aslana relishes in the feel of soft skin against hers that does not send her stomach grumbling or head spinning with a delirious need to consume.

"Ow. Ow. Ow ." 

Aslana quickly lets go of her tightening grip on Chip's arms, waving her hands about. 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to– um–" 

She hopes she wasn't holding on too strong! Surely he's hardy enough, right? 

"You're fine, Aslana," Chip says, flipping up to his feet in one smooth motion. "Don't beat yourself up over nothing."

He taps his knuckles against her shoulder in a charade of a punch. The high noon sun perches high in the sky, lighting up the thick, deep brown of his short hair, sparking up red undertones that she hadn't noticed before. She smiles back up at him, barely aware of the way her elbows grit into the ground, leaving little pockmarks against her skin.

"Chip, are we gonna-" Jay asks, waving vaguely towards the mainland. 

"Just gimme a sec," Chip replies, brushing the clinging grime off his pants. 

Again, he smiles at her, and it's so very bright in the sunlight. 

"See you around, yeah?" 

He begins to wheel back towards Jay, raking a hand through his sand-sodden hair, shaking out the mess clinging to it. For a moment, Aslana forgets to say goodbye or even raise a hand in farewell, but then she collects herself.

"Yes! Um, bye!" 

Their figures recede into the woods beyond, and not for the first time, she wishes she had wings like Maria so she could follow their path to town. Still, she supposes she has her lot in life, and they have theirs. Aslana takes a thin strand of lengthy green hair between her fingers and fiddles with it, squeezing the saltwater out, watching the rivulets run down her quickly drying skin. 

Then, with a single, swift flip of her tail, she plunges back into the cool waters of the sea. 

…

A day of plunder and ploys comes rolling to a halt as the sun begins its journey westwards. Chip flicks through his and Jay's meager spoils; apparently, being encased in stone for years and years leaves an island's citizens with not much in their pockets. Regardless, their dying sister and dying brother schemes yielded about a hundred silver, and after some teasing resistance, he and Jay divvy it evenly in two. 

Jay parts ways with him to go find Old Man Earl and Gillion and make sure they hadn't somehow found more evil to vanquish while their very logical, rational, and consistently correct voices of reason were absent. 

Chip continues down the winding path, which leads him back to the shore. Much like he'd done earlier, right after placing Malice's heart in the tomb, he shucks off his boots and finds a comfortable place to settle in and drink up the waning sunlight. 

As the sun falls, the sky burns pink and purple, painting the undersides of clouds with a fiery orange. He shoves the coins in his pocket, finds the compass instead, and thumbs over the grooves of the engraved initials, the same that trace Gillion's wrist. 

The tranquil moment is broken by an excited greeting and a sudden splash of water that cascades over his clothing.

"Chip!" 

Aslana beams up at him, and he releases the compass, letting his empty hand fall palm-down on the ground. 

"Aslana!" he throws back at her, along with an easy grin. "Is now later?"

She tilts her head—the motion kind of reminds him of Gillion, although he does it much more subtly, more like a twitch—and looks puzzled. 

"Um… I think now is now?" she asks instead of states, ending her sentence with a nervous giggle.

"No, that's not what I–" 

Ah, well. Maybe not getting his jokes is a mermaid, triton sort of thing. Something about breathing in saltwater all the time. 

"Nevermind, don't worry about it." 

She looks uncertain for a second, but seems to accept the dismissal, paddling closer towards him and settling down where the sea crashes up on the sand. 

"Okay, if you say so!" she chirps brightly. Chip honestly doesn't know how she stayed so enthusiastic after years on an island riddled with stone statues, under the control of a lady who was certified crazy. It's kind of– it's really impressive.

"Where'd Jay go?"

"Oh, she's long gone, somewhere that way," Chip says, vaguely gesturing in the direction she went. He isn't entirely sure where she is, but she's probably found Gillion and Old Man Earl at this point. "Why, you need her?"

"Nothing like that," Aslana assures, "I was just, well…" 

She pauses, her hands wringing together. 

"I guess I was just curious to hear what you'd been up to," she finishes. 

Aslana doesn't exactly sound sad, but her webbed ears droop a little bit, her teal eyes not quite as twinkling bright as they were before. She sounds… lonely. 

"You don't need Jay for that ," Chip says, waving a hand dramatically away, like he's warding off her very presence. "She's real boring, y'know? Doesn't know how to sell a story."

"Um, well," Aslana stammers. 

Chip leans over, bumping his shoulder into hers and keeping it there. His white shirt grows even damper against the water still clinging to her skin, but he pays it no mind.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Oh, really? You'd tell me?" Excitement pitches her voice up, her whole face lighting up like fireworks in the night sky. 

"Sure, why not?" he shrugs, shifting away from Aslana to face her. 

Chip's no stranger to storytelling, of making an adventure not only come to life, but become larger than it, filling a whole ship with laughter and cheer. Pirate legends and bellowed tales were a staple of life in Arlin's crew, and years later, during nights much colder and with much less companionship, he got a lot of practice telling himself stories. Nestled in ragged blankets and kept up by the faint scurry of rodents, he spun tales of the best pirate crew in all the land, a reclaimed legacy, a grand journey, and a safe sailing into home's strong arms at the end of it. All that practice paid off—he's pretty good at capturing a crowd's attention, spinning them a story they wouldn't soon forget. 

"Well, like I said—what do you wanna know?"

"Everything," Aslana replies immediately, surprising Chip with her sudden intensity. 

That doesn't give him an immediately obvious place to start, or really any place to start. He hums, tapping a finger on his chin as he looks back out over the sunset draped over the sea.

And then he begins with a chance encounter in a tavern, a quarrel between boy and barmaid, then stretches the tale out to the great sea beyond, where the real fun begins. He dives into a dramatic description of a lost soul drifting on the ocean crests— you know, I thought he was dead when I first saw him floating there, but if Jay tells you I screamed when he turned to look at us, she's lying—and an outstretched offer, a hand taken. 

She laughs boisterously when he tells her about his disastrous marriage and his failed attempts at faking his own death, looks horrified when he tells her exactly how long Clorten spent in the Blue Royale Casino, and listens quietly as he skims over the duel, then her siren call that brought them here. 

In fact, the only time after that when she pipes up is–

"He KISSED you?" she yelps, eyes wide, mouth agape. 

"Well, okay, it was– it was noble–" 

"But you kissed," she repeats, a laugh lining her voice. She grabs his hands, for no other apparent reason than to shake them back and forth. "Why didn't you tell me earlier! Oh, then it happened before I caught up with you guys at the top, didn't it?"

Aslana's eyes are positively sparkling, newly kindled by the sun's fading glow. The warm yellow-orange tinges her blue skin into teal. 

"Why would I have told you earlier?" Chip questions, desperately trying to move on. 

"Well, you certainly should've," she emphasizes with a high giggle, almost a squeal. Her excitement dims a little, and she asks: "Was it– no good?"

In his haste to fight off the phantom tickle of Gillion's long-gone touch, he doesn't immediately register her question, but as he sees her look at him expectantly, he blurts out:

"Fine. It was– fine." 

At this critical junction, his words sound flimsy, even to his own ears. Aslana quirks an eyebrow, apparently overcome by an uncharacteristic boldness.

"Really?" she asks, clearly not believing him. "But it seems so– so–" 

She sighs, a look of longing twisting down the broad curve of her lips. 

"So romantic," she exhales gustily. 

"It was– I mean– we had to. To save you! Or, the island. To save the island."

Chip rubs the back of his neck, trying to look anywhere other than directly at Aslana's expectant gaze. 

"I suppose…" she trails off. "But, well… you wouldn't say you liked it? Even a liiiittle bit?"

"Nope," Chip pops, sounding far surer this time. Nice. One win for Chip. 

"Alriiiiight," she acquiesces. "I wish something like that could've happened… I mean…" 

Her boldness quickly diminishes in the face of her usual unsurety, and a slight flush dusts her cheeks. 

"To me," she ends shortly.

Now Aslana is the one to look anywhere other than Chip, while he turns towards her, surprised. 

"Um. Yeah?" he prompts, not sure how exactly to respond. 

"When I was still cursed, I couldn't… get so close to somebody like that," she explains, looking equal parts wishful and embarrassed. "I'd get… too hungry."

That makes sense, actually. Sort of ruins the romantic atmosphere when one's either a stone statue or a prisoner, and the other's looking at them like they're a snack, literally.

"Well, uh– you've got plenty of options now." He hooks a thumb back in the direction of the newly freed town. "Anyone catch your eye?"

Aslana hums, but she doesn't really seem to be considering it. 

"No," she responds simply, flashing a small smile at Chip. "It'd be– oh, I don't know. The last time any of them saw me, I was a kid." 

"Ah," Chip says eloquently, nodding his head. The empress really fucked up all this girl's prospects in one go, huh? That sucks. 

"Well, except for–" Aslana looks at him out of the corner of her eye, then back out over the tides that lap up onto the shore, white foaming up. 

"Except for?"

There's a tense silence strung between them that Chip can't really parse out, Aslana resolutely avoiding his gaze as she stares over the sea. She takes a deep breath, purses her lips, and seems to steel herself to a decision as she turns back to him.

"You." 

Her gaze bores into Chip, and another silence reigns before it's broken by the genuine laughter rattling out of his chest. 

"Right, sure, and I'm the Chosen One, yeah?"

He's still grinning when he notices the tremor to her lip that she's obviously trying to quell, the way her chin begins to tuck down into her chest. 

"Oh, um, I– ha– right–" she stammers, hands coming up to the hair that frames her face but not knowing whether to sweep it furiously behind an ear or drag it further over her eyes. "I should– I think I have to go, actually, um–" 

Aslana begins to twist away from Chip, sharply turning towards the waves. He grabs her arm before she can swim away, too far for him to follow, and says:

"Wait! Wait, I–" 

Chip has no idea what to say in this moment, how to fix the situation that he handily fucked up. 

"I thought you were joking, I–" 

Her eyes begin to swell with tears. Fuck, he's so awful.

"What about Gillion? That's what I thought you would– you know, Gillion Tidestrider, the One, hero, triton guy?" 

Not Chip, who barely gave enough of a shit to help out the island and the sisters in the first place, who told Gill over and over and over that it wasn't their problem. The compass burns a hole in Chip's pocket, but he tries to shake off the guilt to focus on Aslana, who's still half-turned towards the water.  

"Hey," Chip says gently. It's probably a good thing that Aslana hasn't run away by now—it means he's on the right track. "I wasn't– trying to make fun of you, or something. Sorry, that was… I didn't mean that."

Finally, thankfully, Aslana turns back towards him, furiously wiping away a tear that had managed to cross over her cheek. 

"No, it's fine, I– I overreacted," she laughs awkwardly, fiddling with a stray strand of hair. 

"You didn't, you didn't, I wasn't– reading it right," Chip assures just as awkwardly, half-stumbling over every word. 

She chews on the inside of her lip, flicking her eyes at Chip, out to the ocean, then up to him again. 

"Why wouldn't I want to kiss you?" she asks sincerely. "You saved my island, my dad's legacy, my sisters, me. It's like– if anything, it makes… sense." 

"It makes sense?" he repeats dumbly, then curses himself for not thinking of literally anything better to say.

"It makes sense! I mean, you're the first person I've seen my age in forever, and you're handsome even with the really short hair–"

"Hey," Chip protests instinctively, but gets drowned out instantly. 

"–and it's like a story! You know, like the mermaid and human stories."

Chip knows full well the kind of romantic sap she's talking about, the lovelorn tales pirates love to spout on about. He'd never thought much of them before this very moment. 

"So… I mean, if you wanted…" she demurs, looking up at him through her lashes. 

Despite the stretches of water that surround them, Chip feels his throat go dry. 

"I…" 

The ebbing sunlight washes over her delicate features, adding a greener flush to her skin, a curve of shadow draping over her turned cheek. Her scales catch the final glints of light, now no longer creeping up atop her torso and shoulders, but shimmering like jewels nonetheless, slick with saltwater. 

His eyes flick down to her lips, a darker, deeper, sapphire blue, then back up to her eyes. 

"Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah, Asla–"

In one swift motion, she swallows up the last syllable of her name, fisting a hand into the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a furious kiss that steals away his breath, leaving him lightheaded against the chill of her skin against his. She doesn't seem to care at all that their noses bump into each other on the way, or that he doesn't remember to reciprocate in the beginning. One of his hands reaches down to support his weight against the sandy beach instead of wholly onto her body; the other brushes past the delicate skin of a finned ear and curls gently into the slick strands of hair at the base of her neck. 

Aslana tastes, unmistakably, like the sea. And though her hand is softer against his cheek, her lips fuller, and her stature slimmer—through the brine on his lips and the familiar feel of a kiss, he cannot help but think of Gillion Tidestrider. 

In her fierce enthusiasm, the still-sharp point of one of her incisors scrapes against Chip's lip—at the sear of salt on the fresh cut, he instinctively makes a muffled noise of pain and begins to pull back, but not before–

"Chip? Are you there?"

At that, he jolts back from Aslana too fast and too far, dunking himself half into the ocean. As he hoists himself back up, the sopping wet of his shirt clings uncomfortably to his body, and the cut on his lip continues to ache. The first sight that greets him when he looks up is Aslana's round eyes, happiness and excitement radiating off her so intensely that it's almost tangible, like the emanating heat of a bonfire. 

And then, as he peers over her shoulder to where the swell of sand meets forest ground, he sees Gillion in all his chest-puffed, wide-stanced, hands-on-hips glory. 

"Gill, what uh– what brings you out here," he says, so casually, swiping surreptitiously at the cut on his lip and hurriedly getting up to his feet. 

"I was– Well, I, Gillion Tidestrider, was tasked by Jay and Old Man Earl to come and find you," he says. 

Great. Of course, the one time Chip would've loved for Gillion to do one of his big stupid appearances, he somehow snuck up on him instead. No way Chip was that distracted—Gillion is basically incapable of creeping around. Why couldn't he have found evil on the way here and smited it with a stupid wave of heroic thunder?

"Sure, whatever, you found me," Chip replies. "Anything else, big guy?"

Gillion's stare flickers down from his eyes to his lips, and his already unforgivingly rigid stance goes even stiffer.

"Yes, Old Man Earl wanted you to try his new juice, and so I searched across the whole island, including the entire town and the forest and the tomb and the prison and–" 

As Gillion counts off the numerous spots he checked for Chip on his fingers, he flashes a look at Aslana. She waves merrily up at him with an oblivious smile. 

"—well, I suppose I found you after searching through every single one of those places," Gillion ends. 

Gillion is usually this intense, sure. But there's his own sort of humor to it most of the time, even if he doesn't understand any of Chip's. Now, there's a thread of tension in his voice, a low vibrance that strikes up whenever he suspects evil or whatever. It's pissing Chip off—but he tries not to raise his hackles, raise his guard. If Gill had a problem, he'd just come out and say it. That's the kind of guy he is. 

"If you have to go, Chip, that's fine! I'll see you later," Aslana practically sings, pushing herself back into the ocean tide. 

"Wait–" Chip says, but her head is already ducked underwater, and in the next second, she's gone. 

He sighs, again brushing the sand out of his short hair, and begins to shuffle on his boots. Guess he's going with Gill. 

"Chip," Gillion begins, thrumming with an energy that he'd presumably been keeping under wraps with Aslana around.

"If you've got a problem, just say what you're gonna say," Chip invites, his patience running thin.

"I do not know if you've already forgotten, but you have a beautiful wife back in Loffinlot–"

Chip laughs incredulously, stalking up the beach to come face to face with Gillion, a hot flush searing across his cheeks, down his neck. The slope of the sands makes him shorter than Gillion, even when he puffs up from his typical slouch.

"Gillion, we broke up –"

" –and it's incredibly dishonorable of you to kiss another woman on the next island we heroically save, betraying your wife in such a manner–"

"–well, I guess it's fine, because I don't have a wife–"

"–unless you plan to settle down on Desire Island?"

Chip shakes his head, a scowl twisting down his lips. 

"Buddy, what the fuck are you talking about. No! No, I'm not going to stay here!" 

Gillion's lips press together into a firm, sharp line, jaw tensing. His finned ears flick back against his head, his tail lashing once, twice, kicking up dirt. 

"Well, if you don't plan to stay with your wife or with– with Aslana, then my tradition would have me–"

"To hell with your traditions," Chip seethes, because he's had enough of Gillion's fucking principles, the customs that entirely condone murder, but not this.

The salt-laden wind picks up about them, whipping back Gillion's hair and making Chip's eyes water—he grits his teeth, refusing to back away from Gillion's stormy glare. 

"So not only do you dishonor and make a fool of yourself, you would once again spit on my own?" Gillion steps forward roughly, the proud, bristled stride of a soldier, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. "No, not only mine, but the dignity of my people? The entire Undersea?"

There's barely a fingertip's distance between the two of them now, a thin shield of air that doesn't prevent Chip from feeling the tense flexion of Gillion's muscles. 

If Chip were in his right mind, he'd run. But despite the abrupt chill that lashes at Chip's skin, the whisper-thin space between him and Gillion burns with a sweltering heat, consuming any modicum of sensibility he'd been clinging to. Instead, he laughs unsteadily, humorlessly, knowing Gillion can feel the way it rattles hollow in his chest, the same way Chip can do nothing but endure the sickening steel of Gillion's resolve.

"You're a massive fucking hypocrite, y'know? Because who was it that kissed me first?"

And with a single finger, he cuts through the gulf between them, stabbing it right into Gillion's chest.

"You," he spits, something crawling up his chest and into his throat, forcing him to squeeze out the last few words, "in case you've already forgotten."

Gillion blinks down at him, shocked somewhat out of the storm rumbling to life, mouth still open with a retort that never comes. It's the only bit of movement in his otherwise rigid form; if Chip didn't know any better, he'd think Malice had hit him with one of her petrifying spells. 

"And I'd apologized for how I– for what was done," Gillion says, suddenly far less unbendingly upright, his expression tilting towards something Chip can bear even less than the righteous fury, "And I thought we'd agreed to move past the experience, so I don't–"

"So, you should mind your own fucking business," Chip finishes, turning away from Gillion's stare to instead face the mainland woods, "and I'll find my own way back to camp."

And despite the darkening sky and the low rumble of thunder, despite the years of dirty scrambling for scraps and back alley beatings, there's one thing he's painfully sure of: Gillion would never strike when his back is turned. He ignores the protests chasing him up the slope, the hand that reaches close enough for Chip to feel but stops at the last second, the burning anger.

The sun hangs low in the sky, low enough that Chip's not entirely sure that it'll last him his full way back. But he's also sure that he doesn't care about getting lost, and so, with the final embers of fury in his gut ebbing away into something resembling a more pathetic hurt, he stalks off into the woods without a single glance back.

…

The sound Aslana makes into the muffle of an ocean current sounds entirely more like a shriek than a song, but seeing as how this is a very special situation, she's sure the ocean life around her will let it slide. 

She doesn't take the quickest path back home, even as the moon peeks out over the edge of a stray cloud that clears with a gust of wind. Instead, she tells every little guppy, every slow-crawling crab, and every inanimate piece of coral with no ears with which to hear that she, Aslana, had her very first kiss this evening, during the sunset. Could it get any more romantic than that?

Her giggles peter out into something resembling more of a song, a gleeful little hum that bubbles up through the inlet she slices through, towards the open cavern in which the sisters set up their sleeping quarters. It was hard to find a cove like this, one that accommodated for Satasha's land-bound snake tail, Maria's sky-borne wings, and especially Aslana's scales and fins. Their original bedroom within the palace in which the empress set up shop, while having been built for their needs, was far too close to her reach for their comfort and not close enough to the prison she forced them to guard. 

Despite their rocky first months, this little piece of the island they eventually scouted out did begin to feel somewhat like home—not because of the cold winds that cut through, not because of the scant decorations they tried to hoist up on the craggy walls, but because it was them, together. 

Here, on nights where the full moon would shine brightly through the cove's open top and the stars would twinkle bravely above, Aslana could really believe that the whole island would one day be her home again. 

"Mariiiiaaaa," she trills out before even breaching the water. "Sataaaashaaaa!"

She swims past her own bed and splashes up to the gentle rocky incline, finding the rug-covered patch of stone that they'd sorted out for her so that she wouldn't scrape herself up on the jags. 

"I'm baaaaack," she sings, her voice ringing off of the walls, bouncing about. 

"Mmmmmmm," Satasha's tell-tale rasp sounds out from a dark corner, her tail coiling tighter about her, the golden scales looking colder in the pale moonlight. 

From the other side of the cove, Maria stands up, a flickering lantern hung next to her makeshift desk illuminating the crease of her brow.

"Where have you been, Aslana?" 

She strides over, crouching down to offer Aslana a hand. She takes it, and Maria helps hoist her further up, only the fins of her tail rippling through the water below. 

"Maria, you won't believe what just happened," Aslana sighs, her smile almost beginning to hurt her cheeks. "It was so– so–"

"So what?" she asks, in that short way her voice always sounds when she's worried or preparing to scold but doesn't want to show it.

Aslana flops down on the rug, looking up at the stars and moon.

"So romantic!"

From the edges of her vision, she watches Maria go as still as a rock. Good thing the empress is gone, or she'd be really concerned about her. Satasha pokes her head out, her eyes flinting in the scant light. 

"What." 

Said by anyone else, it'd be a question. Through the deepening, ever-present scowl threatening to leave Maria's face prematurely wrinkled, it's a statement. 

"We were on the beach, like a lot of the stories, and it was sunset, so the sea looked super pretty–" 

"Who is we."

"–and then he put his hand on the back of my head, and we kiiiiiissed!"

Aslana squeezes her eyes shut to let out a laugh that comes close to being another scream, and when she opens her eyes, she really does scream a little bit because Maria is looming right in front of her face. Half her face is covered in shadow, which doesn't make her expression look any more inviting. In fact, if she were still under the empress' curse, the skin around her eyes would probably be cracking open with that sickening belladonna ooze, her veins jutting out throughout her neck.

"Aslana," she grits out, and Aslana squeaks, looking to Satasha for help, who is absolutely no help at all. "Who was this."

"Um– um– um–" 

Maria's scowl sharpens even more somehow, twisting against the rest of her face. 

"I forgot?" Aslana offers weakly, a trembling smile quivering at the corner of her lips. 

Maria leans in even closer, her hands twitching in some vague twisty, chokey motion that remains equally as terrifying even without the sharp claws. 

"Wait! Okay, wait, listen, it wasn't– I mean, I was the one who kissed Chip! So–"

"Chip!?" Maria hisses, seemingly halfway involuntarily, as if even the name itself without the context of the rest of their conversation would give her a migraine. 

There's a low chuckle from the other side of the cavern that is, again, not helping! Not helping at all!

"Please don't kill him!" Aslana pleads, begging for his life. She doesn't fully get what Maria thinks he's done, but she really doesn't want him to die! What if his sister, Jay, comes back to get revenge on them? Then they'd have to fight her too, and then also probably Gillion, and then she'd never get to play with Pretzel ever again and they'd all hate her or they'd be dead, which is also terrible!

Maria doesn't seem to know what to do or say, hands still flexing at her sides, wings flaring out, her face frozen in this rigor mortis of anger and shock and of steely resolve to do terrible, violent things. 

"Really, please don't kill him, I mean– I mean he just saved us! And he has a sister!"

Both of these things are very good points, in Aslana's opinion, and after a split second of hesitation, Maria lets out a very pointed exhale. 

"What happened." 

"Um– so– so okay, he was telling me about his adventures, right? And they were all so fun, you should ask him about it later–"

"No."

"Okay! Okay, um– and then he was saying how there were trials and like, other things in Daddy's– the– the tomb, right? And in one of those trials, there was a pond, and Jay and Chip were looking at it and then Jay fell in, but then Gillion swam out and was like oh, Chip, we need an act of love to save the whole island!"

Aslana pauses to gasp in a big, big breath. Maria looks minutely less murderous and a little bit more exasperated, which Aslana will take as a small success on her part!

"And then Chip was like, partway stone– oh, you know that bit. Um– anyways, he was stone, and then because they needed an act of love to save the island, they really bravely kissed!"

"What?" Maria asks, the rigidity of her face morphing to introduce a new, confused wrinkle to her forehead. 

"Gillion and Chip kissed, and it was apparently really noble and really good!" 

Aslana giggles, momentarily forgetting she's making a case for the validity of Chip's continued existence. 

"Isn't that soooo–"

"Aslana." 

"Right! Right, moving on, so I told him about– you know, how none of us could really get too too close to anyone for a while because of the whole–" 

Aslana bares her teeth and curls out her hands in a loose mimicry of the crueler effects of the hunger that constantly gnawed in the pits of their stomachs, the horrors that would befall the poor sailors that fell in their clutches when they were at their weakest points. She clacks her teeth together twice for added effect, which does seem to amuse Maria somewhat. 

"–and I told him that I'd wanted to try, at least, and that I just– well, I couldn't– and then I told him that maybe I'd want to try kissing him and so he said okay! And I could kiss him, and I didn't even want to eat him even a little bit!"

She thinks she'd nicked him a bit, caught her tooth on his lip, because in the middle of their kiss, the iron tang of blood smudged against her tongue. And though she'd happily apologize for it now, all she could feel then was relief. An overwhelming, giddy relief that swept through her whole body, didn't subside even as Gillion's voice rattled them apart, because not a bit of hunger stirred in her stomach at the taste. It was only a smudge of blood, as harmless as putting her mouth to a paper cut to staunch the bleed. 

As her lengthy explanation comes to an abrupt halt, she blinks piteously up at Maria, hoping that the full story would convince her away from ending Chip's life, although she isn't entirely sure how the whole situation came to that in the first place. 

And to her relief, Maria does look significantly less homicidal now! Aslana's gotten quite good at reading the wide range of expressions that have twisted her older sister's face over the years, from exasperation to fury to annoyance to—sometimes, on really good days, on the quietest, least eventful nights—a soothed contentment. If she's thinking about it on that scale, this really isn't all that bad. 

"Oh, Aslana," Maria sighs out as she kneads at her temples with a crooked finger, the coiled tension finally loosening from her shoulders, her wings drooping back into a neutral state. "Why him, of all people? He's so very…" 

Oh! Aslana knows this expression as well: that curl of her lips means disgust!

"Strange," she finishes. 

"He's interesting," Aslana resists, and not pouting—maybe frowning, just a smidge. 

"He's very strong! Free-spirited, because he's– an adventurer and all, a pirate like Daddy used to be!"

"None of which means you should have kissed him, Aslana, he's–" Maria breaks off with a huff, stalking back and forth from one ridge of rock to the next.

"You know he will leave," Maria finally says as she comes to a stop besides Aslana's perch, delivering the words like they're a blow that needs cushioning, a softer tone wrapped around to stop it from hurting. Which Aslana doesn't understand, because she's known this from the beginning, and, well… It's part of the intrigue, isn't it? Which sounds terribly cruel when worded like that, but there's a bit of dramatic charm to not knowing when or if she'd see him again after he departs.

"I know," Aslana chirps casually, "he told me! I said that he could stay on Desire Island if he wanted, you know, because no one wants to leave the island, but he said he couldn't, and then he asked if I wanted to come with him on his ship!" 

She giggles, expecting Maria to get the obvious joke. Instead, Maria's eyes narrow, flicking over to Satasha, then back at her.

"And?"

"And I told him that I couldn't because I don't have, you know, legs?" Aslana replies, waving down at her tail, stirring up the water. 

"I see." Maria doesn't look quite so worried anymore, which is a relief—for a moment, Aslana was sure things were heading in an awful direction!

"Just because I kissed him a little bit doesn't mean I'm going to leave," she says, slicking back the clumped hair sticking to her face. "Even if it was like a fairytale kiss!"

"Perhaps if the tale you speak of was the princess and the frog," Maria scoffs.

"Hey!" Aslana retorts as she smiles behind a strategically placed hand, no heat behind her protest at all.

"Why would you call me a frog… just because I live in the water…" Aslana mumbles, stifling a giggle to act adequately upset.

"Aslana, no, I meant that he would be the frog–"

"–and I'm a princess!" she cheers, cutting Maria off by reaching down and splashing up a tiny spray of water. 

"Aslana!" 

Maria brushes intently at the growing wet patches on her clothing, but her scowl trembles into something resembling a teensy little smile. 

"That's Princess Aslana to you," she crows, calling forth a stream of water to her palm and fashioning herself a makeshift tiara. "Her most royal highness, the princess of all the seas in Mana!"

There's a stifled snort that Aslana pretends not to hear, and Maria comes to sit beside her, feet now dangling over the ledge too. In all honesty, it's strange to see her legs instead of curved talons perching beside her, digging into the rock. Aslana wonders if Maria finds it unusual as well. If she's been having difficulty walking with her own legs again instead of the ones the empress cursed upon her. 

To her other side, Satasha finally relents her chase of slumber, slithering over to wrap lankily about the cove floor. 

"I think Princess Aslana," Maria says, splashing a hand through Aslana's little tiara to smooth down the stray bits of hair frizzing up after such a long time above water, "has had more than enough fun for today, and should soon go to bed."

And for a moment, Aslana thinks to argue that she won't be heading to bed, since she always takes the first guard of their prisoners. She only realizes the words about to fall off her lips don't mean a thing anymore once she's already opened her mouth. 

She swallows them back down unsteadily, her smile dimming.  

"I'm very glad I have you two," she murmurs, soft and pale compared to the bulk of her color-saturated speech, but no less genuine. 

She looks to Satasha first, who's always been harder to read, but her night-dark eyes flicker with a warmth nearly doused out by their captor. To her other side, a gentle shoulder leans into hers, a kiss pressed against the side of her head, a hand held against her back, saying all she needs to know. 

"I as well, Aslana," Maria soothes, gentle against her side. 

Her sister is so gentle, and no one has known for years and years. 

So much has been taken from them, the people that would have adored both her sisters. The newcomers brought willingly to their island would've learned to treasure the rare moments Satasha cuts in with a keen quip or observance that only her keen eyes can see. They would have respected and cherished the grace with which Maria conducts herself, the will that keeps not only her together, but everyone around her, her unmistakable love .

She never broke. Even when Aslana surely did—the awful moments she can remember, and the worse moments that she can't—when all she can recall is waking up from a starvation so intense and mind-numbing that she couldn't even wipe the blood from her mouth or hands as she ripped into real people , her belly finally full, their flesh still stuck in her too-sharp teeth.

The pluming trail of guilt and horror as the ocean turned red behind her fleeing figure, the sea incarnadine. 

It was only her all-encompassing love that held Aslana up, that told her she wasn't a monster. And somewhere along the way, Maria could not bear hoping, and so Aslana hoped enough for all three of them—they could do nothing but just that—to bear each other and to be borne. 

And now, shoulder to shoulder, they are free. 

Aslana really believes it for the first time.

The best of their lives are yet to come. She wraps an arm around her sisters, holding them tight, pulling them even closer now that there is no calamitous need hanging over their heads. Finally, beneath the smiling stars, they are free. 

…

In an odd, blessed twist of fate, Chip makes it to camp long before Gillion. 

In fact, Chip doesn't stay waiting about the fire long enough to find out if he even does make it back. He tosses a brusque greeting to Jay and Earl, then storms into one of the makeshift tents they'd set up on the borders of town. 

Despite there being a sort of tavern in the main settlement, for obvious reasons, it's long been abandoned. While he wouldn't mind curling up in the workshop again, none of them wanted to make the trek back up the mountain just for a place to sleep. So, they settled in here—hopefully only for a night or two, depending on how long it took Marshall John to navigate his way to the island.

Chip sighs, scraping a knuckle against the rawness of his lip, feeling the pain spark back up at the rough touch. 

Even when he's not doing shit, he's somehow pissing Gillion off. Go along with his heroic bravado, Chip still messes up on the way. Help fight an insane lady and free an entire island of people, the guy gets halfway to calling another fucking duel just because he kissed someone. 

If he's so perfect, if he's the Chosen One , the hell does he need a crew for? A crew that's not chosen, nor—by the very nature of the word—the one. 

Either way, it doesn't matter. If Gillion isn't going to come in here and confront Chip about whatever the hell he wants to fight about, then Chip's not going to be the asshole bringing the fight to their crew. 

Again, Chip lets out a big exhale, closing his eyes and turning over in the sheets they'd laid out. Might as well let all his problems wait until morning. But the second his restlessness finally subsides into something that could actually lead to sleep, he's jolted back up by a very loud, very familiar, very annoying voice.

"Chip, why're you in here sulking by yourself?"

A figure walks straight into the tent, backs up, walks again right into the tent–

"Jay, what the hell," Chip yelps, reaching up to support the makeshift poles they'd strapped together with one hand and rubbing at his eyes with the other. 

–and then finally realizes that they have to stoop down a little bit to crawl in.

Jay arches an eyebrow at him, a glass tilting unsteadily in her hand, colorful liquid sloshing over the side and onto the blankets. 

And despite himself, Chip laughs. 

"No way," he says, and with one swift motion, nabs the glass out of Jay's hand. Like taking candy from a baby. Chip sniffs the open top and even though it looked sugar sweet, the smell is so intense that he lets out a low whistle. 

"Hey," Jay protests, messily shuffling over and swiping at the stem. Chip holds it aloft, managing to sweep it away from her grasp while simultaneously not spilling a single drop. 

"How much have you had?" he asks incredulously. All the bleariness is gone from his vision now, his chances at starting a good night's rest fully gone. "Well, whatever– caring's sharing, right?"

And with that, he tilts the rest of her drink down his throat, shaking down the final few drops, barely letting the burn register. It tastes oddly fruity, but not reminiscent of any kind of fruit that he recognizes.

"You fuckin' got it backwards, dumbass," Jay argues, rolling her eyes. "And I'm not that drunk! Not a lightweight like you ."

"Woah, woah, woah, what? You take that back!"

Him? A lightweight? After they'd partied the whole night away in Loffinlot, Jay has the audacity to accuse him of being a lightweight?

"And where'd you even get this anyway?" he asks, and then realizes he doesn't really care for its origin. "Actually, scratch that– where can I get more of it?"

This is the kind of night that deserves a cocktail or two or more, and he's got a sneaking suspicion at where the juice came from.

"Earl's experiments with the–" she waves a hand around vaguely, flopping it back and forth, "freaky trees, or whatever." 

"Damn, even the trees get freaky on this island?" Chip asks.

"You're so gross, Chip," Jay grimaces, scrunching up her face.

"Hey, keep that up and you're gonna be stinky and wrinkly."

Jay doesn't even deign to give that one a response, instead bodily shoving him over and back onto his side. At least the blankets cushion his fall, although he's sure Jay doesn't give a fuck about his poor aching joints. 

"Ow!"

It didn't hurt at all, but Chip has to make a point here. 

"Says you! You smell like if someone ate horse shit and then shit the shit back out."

"Ew, Jay! And you call me gross?"

"'Cause you are–"

They go back and forth on who exactly is the grossest of the two of them, and come to no clear winner. In fact, this goes on so long that Chip gets kind of restless, to which Jay reveals that she'd been hiding a perfectly good, a little less than half-full bottle of liquor in her pocket. The betrayals never cease—how long does it have to go on before Chip can officially call mutiny?

As he snatches the bottle and takes a hell of a swig, one that threatens to become a chug before Jay swipes it away again, the fire stoked warm in his belly quells any mutiny-related considerations. He and Jay pass it back and forth in between bouts of banter, clearing a good portion of booze. He's not sure why she wanted to get blasted tonight of all nights, but in all honesty, he's glad for it. Jay's a good drinking partner, able to keep up and not fall into too much of an alcohol-ridden haze. 

They shoot the shit, talking about everything and nothing at all. Even the alcohol can't burn away the night chill, and they end up huddling closer to stay warm, even as Jay grouses about how Chip's still a little soggy from his impromptu spill in the ocean—

"You're all fuckin' damp–"

"Yeah, well, you're the one with germs–"

"Germs?? Are you three?"

"No, you're a three, I'm a ten outta te–" 

At which point Chip gets cut off by Jay's hand slapping at the back of his head, jolting him sloppily forward. 

"Hmmmmghrm," she grumbles, shuffling around as Chip rubs at his poor, aching skull and whines about potential concussions. "Where's Gill?"

"What?" Some of Chip's good humor dims at the mention of his name, and he squints over at Jay, trying to parse out her face. The campfire that had burned light through the opaque canvas has long gone out, leaving them drenched in darkness. 

"Gill-yon. Gill–ee–yon," she repeats, stretching out his name like that's the part Chip isn't getting. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know his name, Jay," he grumbles, "why do you care? He's prob'ly off– beating the shit outta other awful people, or whatever."

"Why don't you care?" Jay snaps back, alcohol not taking away her ever present ability to snipe at Chip. "I sent him to go find you, and then you came back, so where'd he go?"

"I dunno," he mutters, staring blankly forwards. "He got pissed 'cause he saw me kissin' Aslana–"

"You what!?" Jay shrieks, her face suddenly way too close to his face.

"Get away," Chip yells back, pushing her back.

"You're such a bastard, Chip," she groans, putting her face into her hands, then pushing her tangled hair back, fingers catching on the knots. 

"Wha– how am I a bastard??" he sputters incredulously. 

Seriously, her too? What's so fucking bad about him and Aslana kissing? It's not even like he asked in the first place!

"Well, why'd you– y'know– make out with her?"

"Because she asked , Jay!" What else is he supposed to say? Of all the things he's done, why is this the decision he has to defend the most? "Y'know, she can make her own choices, she's not– like– I mean, she's–"

He gesticulates outward, not really able to put into words what he's trying to say. 

"Okay, sure– well, her choices suck if she's choosin' you," Jay scoffs.

"Fine, whatever," Chip says dully. He should throw his hands up in dramatic anger, or push Jay halfway over with his shoulder, but he's feeling none of the night's earlier fun now.

There's a brief moment of silence that hangs between them, and even though there's no physical distance between them, it's easy enough to ignore her presence if he closes his eyes. And then Jay shuffles a little closer, not exactly dropping her head on his shoulder, but pressing up against his arm, her head crooked down.

"Didn't mean that," she drawls out, quieter. 

"It's whatever," Chip repeats, but this time, he unfurls an arm to wrap around Jay, something uncoiling in his chest along with it. He tugs at one of those errant knots on her head, and without turning to look, she swats his hand sharply away from her hair. With a hiss, Chip shakes his hand out—Jay's slaps sting.

"How'd he find out, then?"

Chip grimaces, thinking of the way he'd literally fallen into the ocean when Gillion had somehow snuck up on him.

"Saw us on the beach," he says. 

"On the beach, huh?" she snorts, "Under the sunset too?"

Chip opens his mouth, then closes it with a soft clatter.

"No… really? " Jay asks, voice trembling with a delighted mirth.

"Shut up," he retorts. 

"And what'd he say?" she nudges, despite obviously wanting to laugh right in his face. "C'monn."

"Told me off about my wife ," he says, doing air quotation marks at the final word, jostling Jay. "And then I told him he was a huge fuckin' hypocrite n' came back to camp." 

Her barely-there resolve finally breaks and she cackles, her entire body shaking against Chip's with a full chested laugh. 

"It's not funny," he hisses, swatting at the back of Jay's head while she's down there laughing it up over nothing. 

"That's so– so–" She doesn't manage to get out anything else before bursting back into giggles that become snorts midway through. 

"You sound like a pig."

"Well, you look like one," she says, grabbing at his face with her fingers, feeling out his very much not pig-like features. He tries to bite at one and she hits him over the fucking eyes . 

"Then I guess we make one full pig together," he says, "'cause you also eat like one–"

"Shut up!" Jay shouts this time, far too close to his ear. "You're dodging th' point." 

"The hell's the point?"

"Gill!" she exclaims, and now she's back to laughter. Great. He gears up to throw out some beautifully distracting insult, but she grabs his face in her weirdly sticky hands before he can. 

"Chip," she says, looking way too serious than she should at this late in the night with this much alcohol in their systems. "He was soooooooo jealous."

"Of me?" he laughs incredulously, rolling his eyes. Somehow, Jay seems to sense that he's rolling his eyes despite there definitely not being enough light in the tent for her to see it, and she squishes his cheeks in his hands. 

"I'm gonna kill you," she sighs, almost fondly. "No, Aslana." 

"You're gonna kill Aslana??"

Jay wrenches his face backwards, letting go with a strangled scream and burying her own face in her hands. 

"So he kissed you," she starts, half-muffled in her palms. 

"Wha-" Chip splutters. What the fuck? "Well, no– it wasn't like–"

She reaches up and shoves Chip's gaping jaw up, forcibly knocking his teeth together. 

"Ow," he protests.

"And then after that, you kissed Aslana," she continues, putting together a timeline of events that really don't need to go next to each other.

"Jay, I know, I was there," he says.

"And so , he's prob'ly in his fuckin' head," Jay jabs a finger into the side of her own temple, helpfully demonstrating where her own head is. Thanks, Jay. "About the whole thing." 

"I mean, yeah, he's obviously being a hypocrite, but what–" he cuts himself off, laughing dryly. "Jay, he was pissed, not upset, there's like– there's a difference."

"Well, he doesn't say anything about the way he feels about things unless the way he feels is about, like, destiny, right? Or about the Undersea. Or about anything that's not about him ," Jay replies. 

Chip doesn't reply for a moment, thinking back to the fierce lash of Gillion's tail behind him, the stiff way his crossed arms curled inwards. 

"Sure, but he says what he means," Chip finally says, turning to look at Jay despite not really being able to see her. 

"Maybe what he wants to mean isn't what he actually wants."

"Jay, that makes no sense," Chip replies, tucking the blankets closer in around himself. Jay snatches back her portion of the blanket immediately, pulling it back over her own shoulders. 

"It makes sense, you're just dumb," she sighs, flopping down on her back and taking the warm sheets with her. 

"Says you ," Chip replies, but crashes next to her, once again picking at the cut on his lip with a bitten nail. 

"You sh'ld talk to him later," Jay yawns, shifting around and eventually turning her back to him, flipping her nasty curls directly into his face. He spits out the strands in his mouth, pawing at his tongue to get rid of any stray hair. 

"Yeah, yeah," Chip mutters, just to get her off his ass. "Sure."

Jay doesn't reply—she did have a little more to drink than him, so it's not entirely impossible that she's already fallen asleep. He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and closing his eyes. Maybe she kind of had a point. Even if she was totally wrong about the whole jealousy bullshit, he should talk to Gillion before getting back on their ship. They can't have another duel situation, right? Better to clear the air before getting off the island. 

And right before Chip finally falls asleep, a final thought crosses his barely conscious mind: through the swirl of unidentified fruit juice and despite the burning alcohol, all Chip can taste is the salt still on his lips.

…

The morning sun burns bright over the ocean tide. By now, Aslana's dived too deep to see the surface shining in the dawn, but the swirling world of sea life makes it feel just as bright and warm as it must be up top. Suddenly, her world goes dark—a spongy texture wraps about her eyes. Aslana turns her head, but the hold doesn't break.

"Now, who could this be?" she wonders, performatively perching her hands upon her hips. 

The sound of a bubbling frogtopus giggle echoes off, and she struggles not to laugh along with it. 

"Hmmm," Aslana muses, whipping her body around in little half-circles. "Is this… Peter the gray squid?" 

She's met with a resounding no and a nudge to try again.

"No? Oh, well, then it definitely has to be Polly the quiet lobster!"

Again, a delighted no, and then another little poke to guess just one more time.

"What? Hmmmm, then I don't know," she says, tapping her chin. "Oh! Oh, I've really got it this time!"

The presence against the back of her head thumps down a tentacle in anticipation, telling her to get on with it.

"If it's not Peter, and if it's not Polly…" she starts, dragging out her final guess. "Well, then it most definitely, most certainly has to be Pretzel !"

And with that, the little frogtopus on her head swims right in front of her, bouncing two tentacles together in congratulations. Aslana mimics Pretzel and claps her hands, then reaches over to hold her as she settles delightedly into the gentle grasp. 

"Good morning to you," she says, tapping Pretzel with her thumbs, then cranes her head from one side to the other in search of the triton that's always somewhere near his dear frogtopus. "Hmm, where's Gillion?"

For some reason, Pretzel goes a bit more gooey and limp in her hands and points a tentacle to her right. 

"Aw, what's wrong?" Aslana asks worriedly. Pretzel doesn't seem to be hurt or harried, which probably means there's no immediate harm. And yet, she's not entirely her usual playful self. 

Pretzel begins to swim off in Gillion's presumed direction, and Aslana takes the hint to follow along. 

It doesn't take long before Aslana feels strange ripples coursing through the water, and before she can ask Pretzel once more if there's anything to be concerned about, she sees Gillion going practicing a sword set of some kind. Aslana can understand why exactly he believed so strongly that he was, indeed, the One ; there's no doubt in his blows, just a steely purpose. 

And then, on a sweeping downswing, his footing doesn't land quite right, and he stumbles a bit, the strike going wide. Aslana watches as his practice comes to a screeching halt; Gillion stays in that position, chest heaving, longsword still outstretched in the water. Aslana can't see his expression because his head is bowed, but his shoulders are awfully tense. 

But as he finally looks up, he notices Aslana hovering, and it's like the little mistake never happened. He waves, his mouth forming words that get swallowed by the distance between them, as Pretzel swims back over to him. After a beat, Aslana follows. 

"Good morning," she chirps, sitting upon a flat rock jutting out from the flat patch of sand. 

"A very good morning to you as well, Aslana," Gillion says, sheathing his sword and giving her a tight lipped smile. "And Pretzel! Did she happen to find you? I didn't ask her to do so, necessarily, but I'm glad she sought you out."

"Yeah! Must've been– y'know, destiny!" Aslana laughs awkwardly. 

"Destiny indeed," Gillion agrees.

He's smiling broadly, but there's something about his tone this morning that isn't as bright and bold as Aslana remembers it. 

Then again, thinking back to the last time she saw him… She'd been so exhilarated after the kiss that she hadn't fully processed Gillion's sudden appearance, but he didn't look exactly thrilled to see them on the shore.

When she was not bound to a specific whim of the empress and was free to roam about the island, if only for a moment, she'd often gaze upon two statues, ones that had just so happened to freeze right by the bank—their stone hands twined, fingers interlocking gently. Their faces held a whisper away from each other, the frozen echoes of a kiss, love so delicately written in the permanent upturn of their lips. She wonders if she could find them wandering about the town now, newly freed, their hands still held tightly together. 

And while it was nice, in many respects, to hold someone on that beach, for that someone to be the boy who saved her sisters and the island, she doesn't think that an expression like that graced either of their faces. 

She wonders if Chip and Gillion would have better resembled those two frozen lovers.

After all, though Chip stammered through a half-baked explanation on the virtue of the action, she could tell he obviously felt some way about it from the fluster on his cheeks, the lasting flicker of a fiery memory.

"Well, I should get back to practice, Aslana," Gillion says. His hand had never left the hilt of his sword. "Evil waits for no man! And I, Gillion Tidestrider, am always preparing for evil. To vanquish it, specifically, of course never to do it, that would be– you know, evil."

"Oh! Um, yes, that makes sense!" Aslana replies. Gillion was already quite proficient in swordplay from what she could tell, but it would follow that such a talent came from practiced diligence. "Well, should I– would you mind if I watched?"

"No, not at all, here," Gillion says, sweeping his hands forth in a grand motion. Fractals of ice shoot from his fingertips, and a throne made of ice sculpts on the fringes of the cleared seabed. 

Aslana gasps, springing up to go drape herself over the seat. It's not exactly the most comfortable surface that she's been on—the cold cuts into her skin, and there's not any cushioning—but Gillion had so kindly created the entire thing that she feels it would be rude to decline.

As she settles in, Gillion begins the whirlwind of leaping slashes and seamless jabs. Aslana cheers whenever he gets a particularly good hit in on– well, on water, but the sentiment is there. In response, he goes grander with his movements, creating structures of ice mid-movement to redirect his momentum. 

By the end of his form, she and Pretzel have cheered for maybe five minutes straight.

"That was excellent!" Aslana exclaims, swimming up from the cold ice (thank goodness, because she was starting to get a little numb) right to Gillion. 

"Well, I am the One," Gillion says, smiling, "Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep, the One, lead singer on the record breaking hit single Hole in Your Heart from Gillion and the Tidestriders, and– well, hold on–"

He starts muttering to himself, checking back through all the titles he's already mentioned, then looks back up at Aslana with a broad smile. 

"Actually, no, got it all. I am all that," he finishes. 

Aslana giggles, amused by his over-the-top gallantry.

"Well, you know what they say to do once you've trained to exhaustion?" 

"Um– take a break?" Aslana says, her natural upturn in tone making it sound more like a question.

"What?" Gillion laughs, shaking his head. "Who ever said that? I don't think anyone's ever said that. You keep going!"

"Uh– I don't really think– um–" 

"Step aside, Aslana, it's time for another go," Gillion proclaims, already drawing his blade halfway out. 

Aslana squeaks, hurriedly making her way back to her extremely cold ice throne before she accidentally loses a fin. 

And Gillion does exactly as he said he would, sweeping back through the motions. His movements are much more sluggish this time, weighed down by exhaustion. Eventually, he finishes this round by ending smoothly back at his starting position. 

Again, Aslana cheers for Gillion, but he doesn't take it to heart. 

"Hmm," he mutters, swirling up a bit of the seafloor sand with an experimental swipe of the foot. "Don't move, Aslana, that was just a practice round! Well, technically I suppose these are all practice rounds since I'm hitting water and not– not evil water, but you know what I mean!"

"Yes! Definitely, so–"

"So this next time will one hundred percent be my best," Gillion promises, clutching a hand over his chest and then drawing out his sword again .

"No!" Aslana yelps, getting up from her ice chair for what will be the last time!

"No, like… Sorry, what?"

"Sorry! Sorry, um–" Aslana stutters, flailing her hands about in a helplessly apologetic fashion. "Not no like I thought the rest wasn't good, you were very– super heroic! And so cool, wow! Just no, like maybe no, I thought all the other ones you did were already good?"

"Ah, I understand. It could certainly seem that way to the untrained eye, but I, Gillion Tidestrider, know better!" he says, swinging his sword outwards.

"Oh, okay, I guess I haven't seen anyone else do– this, so I'm not super sure, but– what about your friends? Where are they? Do you want to swim to them together?" 

This has gone too far. Aslana really thinks if she sits on that chair for one second longer her tail will freeze right off, and then she won't have any way to travel around at all, not on land or in water! And she likes her tail—she's had it for as long as she can remember. 

"Ah, Jay and Chip," Gillion says. His smile falters slightly when he says Chip's name. 

While she thought the sword practice already quelled that strange unease he first met her with, it returns in full force, pressing his finned ears sharply back. 

"Yes, um–" Aslana fiddles with her hair again, tucking it behind her ears. "Do you– are you–"

She doesn't want to ask him anything outright, but she's not sure how to work around this weirdness between them, and she doesn't want to let him go on holding any distaste for her. 

"Yes, absolutely!" he replies, then reconsiders once he realizes he doesn't know what she was going to ask. "Actually, perhaps no. What were you saying?"

"Are you upset? At me? Or in general, I guess?" she blurts out, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can lose the nerve to ask at all. 

"I've got– well, no reason to be upset at you, to my knowledge." His brow furrows, and seemingly without him realizing it, his tail strikes out behind him, splashing up sand. "Unless there's something specific that you're speaking of?"

"That's– I just thought that– I thought maybe you seemed a little bit, possibly not happy about… you know, when Chip and I… kissed…" She trails off weakly near the end, losing all her initial momentum.

Gillion opens his mouth, but offers no immediate reply. His hand wraps lightly around his pommel, but doesn't grip tight enough to draw it forth—almost as if he wouldn't know where to rest it if not there.

"It's not any of your fault, Aslana, I'm not angry, really, at you. Truly, I am not," he says again, "But I am… concerned about Chip's– well, he has a wife, you see–"

"Amanda?" she lets slip, and he blinks in surprise. 

"Ah, yes, the fair Amanda Rinn, how did you know?"

"Well, Chip told me," she replies, giggling nervously, "that he got drunk and then married in the laughing town, and that he tried to die– well, not die die, but had Jay push like– a hollow block of stone on him? When they were building the Millenium Chipper–" 

"It's the Albatross–" 

"And that they broke up when he left."

Pretzel floats over from Aslana to Gillion, landing again on one of his stiff shoulders.

"I wasn't aware that you knew of his wife, when you two had… I suppose I wasn't aware at all," he admits, his gaze shifting past her and landing somewhere distant over her left shoulder. 

"No, he told me all about it! About your adventures and what life on the sea was like," she remarks wistfully, a smile returning to her face as she remembers all the stories he'd told her. Of freedom and a vast, beautiful future unfurling before the three of them. Aslana had found the concept of it all so dream-like, the free-wheeling life of a pirate.

"I understand," he says haltingly, still incredibly tense, "But that doesn't change the fact that he still… he has a wife, and to break such a bond is absolutely unforgivable in the Undersea." 

Aslana frowns, her hair floating back into the water unhindered as she crosses her arms. 

"The Undersea?"

Despite being waterbound, she's never been that far deep; her whole life has basically been this island. But she's heard rumors of their customs, the harsh rules by which they abide—the stiffness with which they conduct themselves emanates from every high-strung muscle in Gillion's posture. 

"Indeed, in my culture, such adultery is punishable by certain death. And since I'm—as I've said, you know, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep—it is my responsibility to ensure justice is upheld and important values are respected," he explains, his nails scratching into the handle of his sword. "To protect honor."

And though he says it all with that firm conviction and solemn strength, curls his mouth around the word honor like he's holding tight onto something much greater and grander, Aslana can't help but wonder—

"But you'd kissed him before?" she asks, a little wrinkle of confusion crossing her forehead. "Chip said it was really noble, and to pass a trial and to save us, but didn't you still– well, kiss him?"

His mouth flattens out into a rigid line, and his gaze tilts down along the uninteresting ocean floor before it consciously snaps back to her. 

"Be that as it may, my intention was not to– to profess love, really, it was more to complete the trial. Bravely . To honorably complete the trial," he finishes, and Aslana isn't sure who exactly he's trying to convince: her or himself. 

"And it worked, didn't it?" Aslana pushes, swimming just the slightest bit closer. She can see the faint flare of his gills as she asks. "I mean– yes, the trial was why it happened, but it worked. Doesn't that mean something? Anything at all?"

His mouth opens, but he says nothing for a moment. Then he swallows, shaking his head. 

"There are different measures of affection, after all, because I do care for him as a friend and fellow warrior. I believe that he could continue on a better path than he might have followed before. And I would be there at his side to guide him on his hero's journey." 

There's a part of Aslana that wants to press further, but she keeps quiet. After all, she'd hate for this nerve-wracking conversation to turn into an argument, and the kiss is clearly a touchy subject for Chip and Gillion both. 

A silence passes, and then he asks: "If you are aware of what happened, then I suppose he must have told you? I wouldn't have thought that Chip would bring it up himself, since he'd seemed against thinking about the situation entirely."

For all she can tell from the way he asks, it's a question born of genuine confusion. 

"He did, and I thought it was… romantic, and I told him exactly that, and one thing led to another," Aslana explains. "I'd never been able to kiss anyone before with the empress around, and all his stories were so delightful, and so I asked him to do it, and– well–"

She really can't bear this strangeness between her and Gillion, who she'd grown awfully fond of in such a short time, and she comes right up close to him, taking the hand that still sits upon the handle of his blade and holding it tight between the two of them. 

"I know there's the thing with his wife, and the honor, and so much I don't know about the Undersea's traditions, and I hate to ask you for a favor when I've barely even repaid the first, but–" Aslana shakes her head, her bottom lip quivering. She bites the inside of it to hide the tremble. 

"Please, don't be angry at Chip? It really was only because I'd wanted to, you know, he suggested that I ask you actually, before I insisted, and it was really all just– not so big, compared to everything else."

Chip had also told her about the duel between himself and Gillion, the awful tension that hung like a swinging blade over the crew's fraying ties. More than anything, Aslana doesn't want to be the reason for a discord like that, not to people that had done so much for her. She doesn't want them to sail away with their last memories of the island soured.

She can't really read Gillion's expression for a moment—it's not inscrutable, in any sense of the word, but she's not familiar with the feelings it flashes through too quickly for her to parse out. But his shoulders untense, just a bit, and he grips her hand right back. 

"There's nothing to repay," Gillion replies, "we simply did what any chosen hero of any foretold prophecy issued by any powerful god would've done! Just another day in the life. And, if I understand you correctly, you're attempting to tell me that Chip's intentions were honorable?"

"Yes!" Aslana cries out, relief flooding through her like a cool tide sliding over the shore. "Yes, exactly right. He was just… helping! Nobly! Very, very noble."

"In that case, this was an error on my part, and I must apologize to you. I hadn't meant to cause you distress in any way," Gillion says sincerely.

"Oh, no, I'm totally fine! I'm fine now that you're fine with everything, I was just– maybe a little worried that you'd leave and still be mad," Aslana rambles, letting go of Gillion's hand to mess with the hem of her shirt. 

"I was never upset at you, Aslana, I consider you a good friend to me and to Pretzel," he says, stroking the top of Pretzel's head, who looks infinitely happier now that Gillion's also happier. "Despite whatever misunderstandings I had, that never changed." 

"That's–" Aslana sniffles, overcome with a fierce happiness that chokes her up. "That's so nice! I'm so glad I got to know you! And Pretzel!"

"Yes, it truly was our destiny," Gillion proclaims in that impossibly certain way he does, puffing out his chest. He tilts his head up to look at the surface and squints up at the light that trickles down. 

"I should go find Chip," he declares, a surge of purpose swelling over him, "and Jay, of course, since I didn't return to camp with them last night. I wonder if Old Man Earl still has that juice he was working on left—Aslana, obviously you can have some—although he did say it'd be special, whatever that means." 

"I'd love to try it!" Aslana chirps, spiraling upwards with one swift flick of her tail. "Are you going back up, then?"

Gillion thrusts off the seafloor, slicing cleanly through the water with every powerful kick of his legs.

"Yes, I should go talk to Chip, as we left last night on not-so good terms," Gillion says resolutely. 

"Okay! That sounds really, really good," Aslana says, smiling merrily at Gillion, who returns her good humor. 

As they swim swiftly back to shore, Aslana relishes the feel of cutting across ocean currents and making light chatter to whatever marine life crosses their way. Never before has she been able to have a friend like this, one who knows the sea just as well as she, someone who can also hear the hungry grumble of the sweet little crab clacking away, someone who can share this beautiful world with her.

Despite the looming inevitability of his departure, Aslana ignores the creeping thought—the ocean is so wide and full of life, and she has a friend beside her. Right now, that's all that matters. 

…

The sun burns bright and early through the thick canvas of his tent, and Chip feels like his eyes are going to melt right out of his pounding head. He tosses and turns, yanking up the covers over his head to shield himself from the awful start to an awful morning. 

The blankets get yanked right back off his head by the monster behind him, and he slaps a clumsy hand at the horrible, horrible person responsible. 

"Sh't up," Jay's drowsy, grumpy voice says, muffled and yet still somehow too loud. 

"Didn't say anything," Chip groans. Always on his ass over literally nothing. 

Even as he tries to drift back off into the embrace of sleep, he can't manage to get comfortable enough, shifting around restlessly. After a long enough while of trying to squeeze his eyes tight enough to block out the sun, Chip gives up, heavily hoisting himself into a hunched sitting position, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands, smacking at the nasty taste lingering after last night.

"Stop moving," Jay complains, her head buried tightly into her side of the sheets. 

"If I hafta wake up, so do you," Chip replies, yanking away her comfy blankets and bunching them up for himself. 

She lets a rasping cry of pure anger. 

"You're gonna die," Jay seethes, lurching up to glare at him. 

Her hair is all mussed up and tangled, and the dark circles under her eyes give her a real panda-like glow. While they'd split the bottle she'd kept in her bottle about fifty-fifty, she'd already had more to drink before waltzing in unannounced, so he guesses that the morning after is hitting her harder. Either way, it's safe to say that hangovers are not a good look on her. 

"Bite me," Chip replies, sticking out his tongue. 

"Should I?" Her hands twitch towards him in a deeply threatening motion. 

"No, you weirdo," he says, throwing the blankets back in her face and stumbling up to his feet, having to crane his neck in their makeshift tent. 

"God, my head hurts," Jay complains, stretching out the craziest series of pops and crackles Chip has ever heard. 

"You should see a doctor about that," he tells her, very seriously. 

"You should see a doctor about what I'm going to do to you." 

"What does that even mean, Jay?" Chip asks incredulously, finally rubbing out the blear in his eyes.

"Guess you'll find out," she replies. Jay staggers to her feet as well, stretches again, and shuffles unhappily out of the tent, unironically hissing at the sunlight like a vampire.

Since Chip really doesn't want to find out, he doesn't make any passing remarks about how her hair's more knotted than the hitches on their beautiful boat. Instead, he follows her out and stamps down the urge to crawl right back inside when the sun beats him over the head with its shitty morning rays. 

Outside, Old Man Earl is prone on the ground, glass still half clutched in his hand. He's vaguely propped up against a log, but otherwise completely out in the open and somehow fast asleep.

Thankfully, Chip doesn't feel all too ill, considering the events of last night. He sneaks a peek over at Jay, who definitely can't say the same thing, and looks down at Earl—again, asleep. After a long while of holding Jay's hair back as she retches into a nearby bush, he reluctantly gets started on whipping up some half-baked breakfast. Jay tries to help, but despite the fact that they first met in her mother's tavern, she can't cook to save her life. Halfway through their best efforts, Earl stirs awake with a harrumph and manages to do better than both of them while still being mostly asleep. 

They're all so hungry that they're nearly done filling their bellies before Jay thinks to ask:

"So, did Gillion never come back, or?"

Chip looks to his left. He looks to his right. No fish in sight.

"Guess not," he shrugs. He'd be more concerned if it weren't Gillion they were talking about. Maybe he got so restless that he swam all the way to the next island over just to do his chosen one hero bullshit. It's not entirely unreasonable, considering… him. 

"I mean, we should go find him, right?" Jay says, in much better spirits now that she's not actively throwing up or about to. 

"Never came back to try my juice! I say let him go," Earl huffs, shaking forward his empty glass in Chip's face.

"Well, that's just wrong. It was some good juice, Earl," Chip agrees, pointing at that glass. 

"It was great juice!"

"Okay, yeah, sure, he's probably fine, but maybe you should go find and talk to him?" Jay replies pointedly, eyes boring into Chip's, shooting him the kind of insane look she uses on her next targets in battle. 

"Let a guy eat breakfast first, goddamn," he grumbles, shoving a way-too-big bite of food into his mouth so he doesn't have to talk to her anymore. 

"But after?"

He chews his food more thoroughly than he's ever chewed his food before finally responding: "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

However noncommittal his reply is, it's apparently enough to appease Jay for the next hour as they finish their food and pack up all the important equipment they'd brought with them, just in case that night on the island was their last. Ultimately, they end up trekking through town towards the shore together.

As they crest to the top of the slope, Chip's stomach drops as he sees two very familiar figures chatting with one another at the tide.

"Gillion!" Jay calls, waving out her hands. As Gillion turns to face them, Chip resists the urge to duck behind a nearby shrub. Despite the fact that he never came back to properly rest up, his smile shines brightly in the sun, the soft fall of his hair unfairly gentle against his strong nose and keen eyes. It makes Chip want to hurl into the same shrub he'd considered hiding against. 

"Jay! Chip! Old Man Earl!" Gillion cries out, waving just as furiously back. 

He begins to jog to them and gets halfway there before seemingly realizing he's left Aslana bobbing in the tide, and then runs back towards her, then hesitates, runs a little towards them, then back to Aslana. And by the time he's done with that, Jay's already dragged Chip unwillingly down the shore to meet both Gillion and Aslana, who greets them cheerily. 

"Ah, another busy morning full of training to your maximum potential, I see?" Gillion asks, gaze sweeping over their weary forms. "I've been doing so as well, since before the break of dawn! Really gets the day started, y'know?"

"Uhhh," Jay says as she hurriedly strings her fingers through her knotted hair. "Totally?" 

"Excellent! We should begin training together, Jay, I could spot you and you could spot me! Wouldn't that be great?" Gillion cheers, because he's insane. 

This isn't as bad as Chip thought it'd be—for all he knew, Gillion could've kept away from camp because he was busy building another ice arena. But for whatever reason, he's a lot less pissed than Chip expected. It's kind of suspicious, actually, and he squints at Gillion as Jay tries to get him to understand that there was no way in hell that she could ever help spot the weights he'd be working with. Obviously something happened, but what?

He's zoned way out of their conversation when all of a sudden, Gillion's intense gaze lands right on him, boring through his soul. 

"Surely you agree, Chip? After all, any person with even the smallest, teensiest, tiniest bit of honor would certainly think so."

"Um," Chip replies, skirting around the resounding yes Gillion wants from him. If it was anyone other than him talking, Chip would probably be more than a little annoyed. But with the weird way Gillion's looking at him, all big-eyed and blinking, he doesn't feel compelled to snipe back. "Yeah, for sure." 

"Alright," Gillion laughs, clapping him way too hard on the back. Chip chokes on his own spit.

"Well, um," Jay pipes up, shooting a look at Aslana. "So, actually, I think Aslana and I are going to go talk like–"

She points off towards an unremarkable shoal. 

"Over there," she says.

"Yes! Yes, we are," Aslana adds, already starting to scoot away from them. "We're going to talk about… things."

"I can talk about things, things are great," Chip says, trying to shuffle along with Aslana, "yeah, so maybe I should–"

"Nope," Jay says, "you're not invited. Woman things."

"Ah, yes," Gillion replies, nodding sagely despite definitely not knowing what the hell woman things are. "How completely understandable! Then I suppose Chip and Old Man Earl and I will talk about– hmm–"

"No, Earl's invited," Jay interrupts. "Come on, Earl."

"Are you kidding me? The word man is literally in his name–"

"Shut up, Chip," Jay scowls over at him. The three of them begin to wander off, leaving Gillion and Chip horribly alone and with zero helpful distractions. 

"So–"

"So!" Gillion says. 

Chip pauses to let Gillion talk, but then he also stops for Chip.

"Nice weather–"

"Speaking of honor–" 

They both come to another halt, staring at each other. 

"Speaking of honor?" Chip nudges hesitantly. If the word 'duel' pops up in the next sentence that leaves Gillion's mouth, he's running. 

"Yes! I had meant to bring this up as soon as I saw you, but– that is, about honor…"

Gillion steps out of the tide. Despite the fact that only his feet were submerged, as he draws closer, Chip can see the beads of saltwater that still sit atop his arms, pebbling on his shoulders. He comes way too close to Chip for his liking, but he resists the urge to take a few steps back. In fact, he stays stock-still as Gillion places a hand on his shoulder, the nail of his thumb accidentally scritching lightly across the skin left uncovered by his shirt, to which Chip has no reaction at all. 

"I, Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep, the One, singer-songwriter of the hit single Hole in Your Heart by Gillion and the Tidestriders," Gillion begins, which seems entirely unpromising. Chip would gear up to run, but that'd mean acknowledging that there's a hand on his shoulder preventing him from doing exactly that, and he's not ready for that yet. 

"Formally apologize to you for misunderstanding your brave and honorable intentions in kissing Aslana yesterday," he finishes grandly, his other hand clutched over his heart. 

"Uh, what?" Chip asks, which he feels is rather appropriate for the situation at hand. 

"And though I will admit that, due to my own errors, I'd thought your actions as disloyal and dishonest and considered challenging you to another duel in another ice arena–"

"Okay, I knew it!" Chip exclaims, throwing up his hands. 

"But after talking to Aslana this morning, I've realized that I am the one who did you wrong, Chip," Gillion says, his voice settling down into a quieter solemnity.

Chip squints at Gillion, trying to figure out what exactly he means by that. Nothing really happened between the two of them, they'd just argued a bit, and then Gillion spent the night doing whatever he was doing, and Chip got drunk on bad rum with Jay. 

"I mean, are you still trying to duel me, or?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. 

"Not that I've better understood the situation, no," Gillion replies, which circles Chip back to the original what the fuck of the whole conversation—what exactly did Aslana tell him to suddenly convince Gillion of Chip's heroism?

"How're you, uh, doing me wrong, then?" Chip says, putting Gillion's words in air quotes. Throughout all of Chip's gesturing, Gillion's hand stays on his shoulder, steady yet soft, unignorably cool despite the layer of fabric between his skin and Chip's. Stubborn asshole. 

"I shouldn't have assumed the worst of you." His eyes are wide and stupidly sincere, swelling seas, and Chip lets his gaze wander over to the line of trees straggling along the rocky ground. 

"That's– cool," Chip laughs more weakly and less causally than he'd like, and he winces at the sudden scratch in his throat. 

"It was unfair," Gillion insists, and now he's holding both of Chip's shoulders like an anchor settled on the seafloor, drawing even closer to emphasize the last word. The gesture works—Chip instinctively flicks his gaze back to Gill's eyes and finds himself stuck there, pinned against his intensity. "Because we're crew, correct? And I know you've put real effort into not sullying my honor with tricks or lies, even if I've not always said it aloud when I see it. And I trust that you'd continue to make an effort." 

And though it goes unsaid, two words hang between them: for me. 

Chip swallows against the dryness of his throat, desperately trying to come up with something substantial enough, something quippy and worth saying. 

"Yeah, man," he finally replies, not able to entirely stifle the sappy lift to his lips. Knocking his knuckles lightly against Gillion's chest, he chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeah, we're a fuckin' crew." 

As Gillion opens his mouth to say something else, Chip cuts him off.

"And, uh– I'm– y'know," he coughs, clearing his throat a couple times. Gillion just looks at him with those stupid big eyes, waiting expectantly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shit on your customs and stuff, I was just…" 

He struggles for a bit, trying to find a less embarrassing way to word the fact that it wasn't just the wind that stung at Chip's eyes or anger that closed his throat. 

"...pissed off, I guess."

And at Chip's apology, Gillion smiles brighter than a lightning strike, as if Chip's halting ramble really meant something to him, as if he took the words that left malformed and middling from Chip's mouth and tucked them deep into his thrumming heart.

"Thank you, Chip," Gillion replies, fingers curling tighter against his shoulders, yet still so pointedly keeping his sharp nails away from biting into Chip's skin. 

And as Chip's hands unconsciously rise, as he sways ever so slightly into Gillion's touch, as he opens his mouth to say something, though he really isn't sure what—

A booming voice soars over the waves:

"GILLION?" 

With a gasp, Gillion wheels around, his hands finally leaving Chip's arms. 

"JOHN?" he shouts back just as happily, beginning to run up towards the slowly beaching ship. 

Chip watches his back retreating, still wearing a soppy grin, but it's quickly replaced by a hasty scowl that can't entirely sweep the flush off his face as Jay approaches with the most I-told-you-so expression anyone's ever had. 

"I told you so," she croons predictably. 

"Nuh-uh," Chip retorts, purely for the principle of it. 

"Um, yuh— huh–" she yelps, eyebrows flying off her face. 

This time, it's Chip's turn to spin around, and to his delight, he sees their beautiful ship rocking swiftly over the waves. And then, to his utter horror, he realizes that it's rocketing straight for a craggy face of unforgiving rock.

"MY SHIP ," he screeches, and before another conscious thought crosses his mind, he's already running towards Gillion. 

"Gillion!" Chip waves his hands desperately out, sprinting like there's a fire lit at his feet. Momentarily distracted from his joyful reunion with Marshal John, Chip can see Gillion beginning to ask questions, which they do not have time for. 

"Gill, gimme a boost!" he screams. 

Then, without warning, he lunges forward to clamber on top of Gillion, the full force of his momentum entirely entrusted to him—and sparing no time for even a split second of doubt, Gillion plunges down to catch Chip's boot and pushes him forward, throwing his body through the air and towards their soon-to-crash ship. 

As he swings down to the helm, Chip quickly reunites with Ollie, saves their ship from as much damage as he can, and comes to a less-than-steady docking. After his quick deal with the kid, he peers over the railing of the boat, watching Aslana moved to tears by a simple bracelet wrapped around her wrist. Even from his vantage point, Chip can see the warmth of Gillion's expression as he says his goodbyes, his relentless kindness—he thinks the memory of it will go on pestering Chip until his dying days. 

Maria seems to have swooped in while Chip was preoccupied with making sure their ship didn't go capsizing to the bottom of the ocean, and they share a slightly awkward goodbye as she tentatively reciprocates his hug.

As he steps back, a hand taps on his shoulder, and Aslana tilts a wavering smile up at him.

"I guess this is goodbye, for now," she sniffles, twisting the bracelet about her wrist. 

"Yeah, but only for now," Chip assures. Now that he thinks about it, this is the first time they've actually talked since their kiss, even though it feels like forever ago. 

"Thank you again for, you know, everything," she says, waving out her hand.

"Hey, you've got nothing to thank me for, Aslana." Chip rubs the back of his head, looking back to the deck of the ship where Ollie waits, a compass in his pocket. "I mean, really."

If it weren't for Gillion, they wouldn't be here now. Him and his crew would be long gone, and the sisters would still be stuck under the control of someone who didn't give a single shit about them.

"I do," she insists, "I mean, no matter what happened before, and how it happened– I'm glad you all came here. And I'm really glad I got to be friends with you!"

She grabs one of his hands, holding it between the two of them, and Chip can't help but ease into a grin that matches hers.

"Ah, fuck, c'mere," Chip says, before dragging her into a fierce hug, not caring whether the tide splashes up on him. She wraps her arms around him tight, settling her face against his shoulder. 

"Have even better adventures on the sea, okay? And remember them all so you can tell me about it someday!" she says, muffled against his chest.

"'Course I will," Chip replies, giving her one last squeeze before letting go. "Promise I won't miss a single thing."

To his right, Jay's already starting to climb up to the deck of the ship, and Gillion's giving his final goodbyes. 

"And you know what? You make some good stories of your own, Aslana. Tell me all about 'em when we see each other again."

Somehow, her smile gets even wider, and a resolve pierces through her wide eyes. 

"I will," she laughs, a clear chime that sings over the creaking of the boat. "When I see you again!" 

And with that, Chip finally makes his way to the deck of the boat, making sure everything's in order to sail before Earl takes the wheel. 

As he stands at the prow, Gillion comes to stand beside him, straight-backed and even waving with good posture. 

They've been in this exact position before, and Chip feels that same inevitable affection course through him, warm and heavy in the center of his chest. And just like back then, Chip knows—he really can't stay mad at Gill. No matter how hard he tries, he'll always be right here, staring helplessly at the sun dappled over the dew of his skin, sailing along the wide, unabashed expressions that flow across his face. With one smooth motion, he closes the gap between them and slings an arm around Gill's stiff shoulders, waving out to the sisters with his other hand. 

For a moment, Gillion doesn't move, but then he leans into the gesture, shoulders melting into an ease that sweeps over Chip. 

Jay presses up against Chip's other side, squeezing into the space left at the back of their ship to join in on their clamorous final greetings to the Island of Desire. 

And as the three of them wave goodbye to the sisters, as the sun glitters cleanly over the sea, Chip relishes the warmth of his crew's weight against his. The world stretches out in front of them, willing and waiting for them to take hold of it together.