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Chapter Text

“What the bloody hell was that, Junker?? You called Plateau ‘82 and then you mucked it up right good! I was shouting orders and you weren’t even listening! Where were you??” Even now, after the dust had entirely settled from their battle, Marya had a thousand yard stare in her eyes. It was unclear if she was taking in anything Van was saying. Her face gave absolutely nothing in return to the words Van spat. “Are you hearing me now, Junker? Are you there? Are you listening, Marya??”

The use of her name rather than their friendly ‘Junker’ snapped her into reality. Hearing her full name like a child being scolded, Junker came to and looked right at Van.

“Where was I? Where was I? Where were you Van ?? I told them I couldn’t do this. The skies have exiled me.” Junker looked away again, eyes sunken and lips twisted into a longing frown. She could feel a burning in her nose as her eyes began to water, but she wouldn’t cry. Not this time. She would be strong and she wouldn’t show her hand- not again.

“Oh bullshit, Junker. We’ve all left the skies and just because some bumbling beast knocked you down doesn’t mean you don’t get back up again. The Junker I knew would never drop the bloody ball like that, no sir. I can see you’ve gone frail but I didn’t think you’d gone soft.” Van scoffed. Junker winced and Van felt marginally bad, but she refused to let it show. It was true, Junker was different now. She still had a mischievous glint in her eyes but the light had dimmed severely. Haunted couldn’t begin to cover it…

 In all her days, Van had never known Junker to cower or seize up like this. They’d just nearly had their arses handed to them because Marya couldn’t follow her own damn play. Plateau ‘82 was straightforward and simple, and their group knew it like the back of their hands. Hell, even Olethra managed fine, so what in god’s name was Junker’s excuse? They’d all seen some shit, surely, but freezing in a scrap wasn’t an option. 

Van had been shouting at her trying to get her to respond, and Junker stood at the helm practically catatonic. She was bloody well lucky Van had come in when she had or else the entire zephyr would’ve gone up in smoke. Van replayed in her mind the moments of shouting to Marya from across the way with no response. Through blood and sweat, she fought her way to the helm and shoved Marya to the side, grabbing hold of the wheel and veering hard to starboard, narrowly avoiding a tower they were careening toward. When Van took the helm, Marya practically fell to the ground, sinking against the wall and throwing her head in her hands hiding behind her bony knees. 

 “Junker, where the hell were you? We needed you, and you needed saving…”

“Van- I… I can’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t--” She cut herself off. There wasn’t much of an excuse she could give. She did need saving. Van didn’t know it, but there had been many times Marya had needed saving… this was just the first time Van was there to do it. The toy store was fine, and she liked spending her days with Auntie Zuzu well enough, but did Van really think that’s where her heart longed to be? That if she’d had any say this is what she’d choose? Hell no. Running her toy store was a life she’d been reduced to because there are only so many times you can save yourself before realizing nobody else is going to come. You get tired after a while. You realize you’re in over your head, you pack up, and go the fuck home. Who the hell was Van to ask where she was? Marya’s been wondering the same for years- only, she knew.

She knew where Van was. Van had gone off and married some guy and she ran a fucking restaurant now. And that arm… God, it killed Marya that some other artificer made that arm. That was the lowest blow of all. Junker should have been her first call. She had memorized every goddamn inch of Van’s skin and was the best artificer north of the Vim Parallel. Her arm looked good for what it was, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious to take a closer look… but it should have been her. It should have been her and Van fucking knew that, Junker was sure of it. 

She felt her haze lifting, cleared by waves of anger. When Daisuke asked her to come on this mission she knew she’d need Van too, but she’d be a fool to think it’d be easy. Their reckoning was inevitable… So why wait? The anger that had been bubbling since they reunited was now just beneath the surface. For the first time in a long time, she took her pain and she felt it. She let it wash over her like a goddamn baptism. She turned directly to Van, who was still clearly waiting for any semblance of an answer and Marya began to shout. 

“WHERE WAS I? WHERE WAS I? So rich coming from you , Van. You’re the one who left . YOU LEFT THE SKIES WHEN THEY CALLED YOU AND YOU LEFT ME TOO… you left me when it mattered most and I lost it all… and you weren’t there.” She’d fought them off as long as she could, but a single tear spilled from Marya’s hollow eyes. Van took it all in slowly, her stare far off and away. Her tongue poked out, lightly grazing her lips pensively. She tasted blood, and decided she wasn’t sympathetic. She reached up with her good arm to see where the blood came from, betting it was her nose. Her nose had been broken so many times it didn’t even register anymore. Sure enough, her nose was tender as she poked at it slightly, but the blood seemed to be mostly dried. She let out a single breathy laugh as she began to speak.

“You think I sold out, eh? You think I chose to leave the bloody skies, Marya? Hmm?” Junker winces when Van says ‘Marya,’ wishing desperately she’d stop. Names hold such power, and in that moment hearing her own might just be her undoing. Van knows this, and continues anyway.

“Vanellope--”

“No. Don’t Vanellope me, Marya .” Her tongue curls around her great love’s name, allowing it to drip like poison in a wound. “You think you lost it all? Where were YOU when I lost it all? Where were you when I lost my bloody arm? Did you ever think to ask? Or hearing through the grapevine that I’d left the skies behind me was enough for you? After all we’d been through… Junker I expected more. Do you know how long I laid bleeding on the bloody ground before Bert found me? He may not be the love of my life but at least he was damn well there to pick up the pieces when you weren’t.” Junker cried freely now. Somehow it hurt worse when Van returned to Junker instead of Marya. Perhaps it didn’t matter what Van called her if it all hurt the same. Van’s heated breaths slowed and Junker swallowed a soft sob as best she could.

“I- I could have fixed it, Van. I could have built you an arm that would have healed you right down to your soul. I could have--”

“But you didn’t, did you? You weren’t there and now all these years later here I am, married to the man who did fix it.” She took a deep breath and it came out as a sigh. Tears threatened to leave her own eyes now too. She looked back to Marya and continued, “Marya Junkova I will always love you, until the day I die. You might think I was stolen from the skies but the truth is I was saved.” Van’s prosthesis clenched tightly. The phantom pain never truly subsided, but it hadn’t bothered her in years. Somehow now, looking at Marya, her arm ached again. She winced and tried to shake it off, but in all her years of trying she’d never truly been able to shake the pain of Marya Junkova. So why would this time be different?

“Van… Vanellope, I am sorry. I am sorry I wasn’t there.” For the first time since their reunion Marya saw Van truly and wholly. Van was mad, but anger was often a thinly veiled disguise for hurt, wasn’t it? Marya’s sleeve was dirty and tattered, but it wiped her tears and snot well enough, she noticed some blood streaked onto her arm as well but she wasn’t sure where from. She took a step closer to Van. She talked a big game, but Van knew better than most that deep down Marya was braver than everyone else because she was more scared than everyone else. Being brave isn’t the same as being fearless, and Marya Junkova is as brave as they come.

She summoned all the courage she could, and reached up to Van’s face. Neither of them let a breath fall in the intervening moment. Van looked down, almost allowing Junker a moment of privacy as she studied Van’s face intently. Her face was smeared with blood and dirt, probably some gunpowder and oil too. There were more lines of age that had appeared since the last time she’d gotten such a close look, but Van was as breathtaking as ever. Strong and resolved to the untrained eye, but Marya found softness and comfort hidden in her broad features. Van’s braid was always coming undone in some way or another, and like second nature Marya brushed some wild strands of hair out of her face and behind her ear, like she’d done a thousand times before. Van softened into the familiar gesture and looked up once more, finding Junker’s eyes burning into her own. “I am sorry I wasn’t there, but the skies call you, they always have and they always will... And so will I.”

Chapter Text

The door creaked open behind them, and quiet as it may have been, it was enough. Van came to and snapped out of the bliss. She remembered herself. She remembered Bert. She remembered all that Marya did or did not do in the last ten years. Marya’s hand that rested on her cheek stung like a thousand wasps and it made her sick to her bloody stomach. She pulled away from Marya’s small and dexterous hands, and all at once she looked at Marya with longing and disgust. So much changes in the briefest of moments, you know. One moment can mean life or death in some cases. A final breath escapes from the lips of a dying soul, and where there was life in one moment there is death in another. In this moment, where there was love and hope and longing… there is now anger and resentment, pent up agony and defences that four star generals could only dream of. 

“I can't do this with you, not now… not after everything. Get yourself right, Marya.”

Monty appeared in the now open doorway and Daisuke just a moment after, Van shoved past them both hurriedly. Her metal hand began to tighten to a clenched fist. Her palm opened and tried to shake out whatever bothered her, to no avail of course. Marya stood mouth slightly agape, watching as Van strode away. The two men silently exchanged a glance as if to delegate who deescalates with whom. Montgomery gave a small nod and headed after Van. She had just enough years on him that her step was a bit more spry as she barreled toward the galley with purpose, arriving there well ahead of him.

Wordlessly, Van enveloped Bert in a tight hug. Without hesitation, Bert instinctively wrapped his arms around her snugly and let his hands rub gently over her back.

“Bert, darling, is something burning?” Bert ran to the oven and pulled out a pan of homemade crisps just past edible.

“Sorry, love. I hate to interrupt… I was making some crisps to go with this aioli I whipped up- paprika lime, dear! Well, now. That’s all sorted. Tell me what’s all this then?” 

There was a comfort between them, being best friends for years now, but there are some things that are still hard to say. Bert could tell that this was one of those things.

“Today just… well it was rather hard my love. It was hard to fight near her to begin with, and then she went bloody catatonic… I was worried at first, then I was just mad. I’m always picking up the pieces, I always am. It’s just, nobody understands. They don’t understand what it’s like, walking around with this ache. I almost didn’t come, Bert. I didn’t know if I could do it. I’m still not sure. Between my arm and the way we left things so many years ago… I’m sorry to put this on you, Bert.”

“My darling- my heart beats for you and yours for her. It’s okay, I've always known that and it’s okay. I never wanted what you couldn’t give me, I take you as you are and I know you take me as I am.” Van wrapped her arms around him again and put her head to his chest, his heartbeat like a metronome keeping her in time. She sighed, and relaxed into him a little, letting the weight of the world fall from her shoulders.

“Its just hard. You weren't there before. I know I’ve told you the stories but it was so complicated then and even more so now, I couldn't expect you to understand- I barely do myself” 

“Healing takes time, dear. It’s been ages I know, but some wounds never really close now do they? Do the lads know about your arm dear? When you lost it? Some stories are louder than others, but none less important. Maybe start there, Vanellope. Talk with Daisuke or Montgomery.” 

“Yeah, Daisuke or Monty…” but the person who’d most understand was Marya, if only the Marya from ten years ago. She breathes in deeply, clinging to the familiar smell of his apron. She’s not one to get home sick often, but she does miss the Nut from time to time. She pulls back from Bert just a little lighter than before and rubs her temples slowly. 

“I ought to leave you to your cooking I suppose, dinner won’t be far off now. Thank you Bert, always.” Bert nods, knowing it’s not just the pep talk she refers to. They live a full life, the two of them, but it would be untruthful to say they were soulmates. There had been many times in their lives they acknowledged what they were together, and that was okay. It was fine, it was different from most folks but it didn’t matter to them. Above all else, they were a comfort to one another, and in this world sometimes that’s all you need isn’t it? Just the same warm body to come home to every day, knowing they’ll be there no matter what? Van let out a breath and straightened her waistcoat a little as she started toward the door. Just as she opened it she found Monty on the other side reaching for the handle at the same time. 

“Jesus Monty, announce yourself! You got me right good there.”
“Sorry, Van. I was just on my way to find you actually. Take a walk with me?” His outstretched arm looked warm and inviting, and she took it in her own cold metal one. 

People don’t think about it much, but they almost always extend their dominant hand to her, and she grabs it with her left to stay side by side. It’s always on the wrong side… It occurs to Van briefly that Marya is a lefty, and would hold her real hand. Even if she wasn’t, she’d probably train herself to reach with her left hand just for Van. Just so she would feel Junker’s pulse in her right hand… how it quickens when they stand so close together. So that Van could feel the warmth and comfort of human skin against her own. So she would know that sometimes when Marya gets nervous still her hands clam up just a little. So that Van would feel those nerves and know to give a small squeeze to reassure her like she used to… And so that she could feel when Marya gave a small squeeze back. Marya was good like that. Well. Marya was good like that. 

She’s different now, to be sure. Van tried to shake Junker’s hands from her mind and focused on holding Monty’s instead. If she thought hard enough she swore she could still feel through her prosthesis, but she knew it was imagined. Her arm had about a thousand gadgets and gizmos each more interesting than the last, but none of them involved feeling the warmth of a hand in hers. 

“I saw her once, you know. Marya, that is. I went to her, maybe six or seven years ago now?”

“Monty, I can’t hear about how she deserves my pity right now, I really can’t.”

“Van, in all my years of writing one thing has always been true: I don’t get to decide what the reader feels. They feel however they feel. I tell my story and they decide. Now, I’m going to tell you what happened, and if you feel pity then that’s your decision. But you won’t know what you feel until you’ve heard the story, understand? There are at least two sides to every story, Van. You don’t get to walk away from today ignoring that. And I think a part of you doesn’t want that anyway.”

“For fuck’s sake Monty, just tell me.” Monty shrugs and takes a seat in the crew mess. Van begins to pull a pint glass from the cabinet but decides instead on whisky. She holds up a second glass asking Monty if he’d like to partake.

“On the rocks, please.” She nods and begins to pour their drinks as he continues on. “I’m not going to say what you think I am, that’s all.”

“You never bloody well do, do you? Right then, out with it.” She sits in the booth kitty-corner to him and raises her glass to take a swig. The burn is familiar and much needed. She was proud to say she’d never found her way to the bottom of the bottle alone, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t come close a few times. The last ten years had been less than kind to her, if only someone fucking cared to ask. Monty took a sip of his own and closed his eyes, apparently reveling in the taste. 

“She should have had your back today.” Monty’s eyes opened and trained onto her. Van’s ears went back slightly, unable to hide her slight surprise. But the air that hung between them felt stale and deadly… something lurked in the silence that Van could only assume was a trap, but Monty only shrugged. “She should have.”

“But?”

“You assume there’s a but?”

“Monty, I’ve known you a long time, Mate. There’s always a but .”

“Then you tell me. But what?”

“Monty, I'm not here to play games.”

“And I’m not playing. You said but, not me.”

“Right then. She should have had my back today.”

“Right,” Monty confirmed.

“Right.”

“She should have had your back and she didn’t. You had hers.”

“Yeah.”

“Because teammates have each other’s backs. And you had hers, but she didn’t have yours… I was on the other side of the ship, so I didn’t see firsthand, but that’s what happened?” Van groaned. For a moment the silky lines of his web were disguised as a shining ribbon of victory, but now she couldn’t help but feel like a fly being slowly cocooned. Monty always fucking knew what to say and she hated it. He was always so bloody righteous and she couldn’t stand it. For once, just once could he sod off and let something slide? “Daisuke was kind of close to me, and I think I saw Olethra skulk toward the stern at some point, so she wasn’t near you either. Not sure where Maxwell went off to, but from the looks of it I don’t think he was in the area. Sounds like, and correct me if I’m wrong, none of us had your back either. But you aren’t mad at us, unless you are, then please- tell me, Van.”

“You know it isn’t the same, Monty.”

“No? Because she’s different from us now? Or because we were never her? Absences hurt the most when they stare us in the face, my dear. I’ve heard her side of it, and I know yours exists too, but from what I do know… you’ve both done a lot of hurting. There’s no room for error up here, the skies can be so unforgiving. There’s no room for you to be unforgiving too. Nothing happens in isolation, Van, nothing. There’s context, there’s always context. She froze today, I saw it, you saw it… hell the unfriendlies saw it too.”

“My point exactly, Monty.”

“Yes, but not mine. My point, Van, is that I know you know she’s different. I want to tell you my side of why. So. It was six or seven years ago, and someone had come to me in Bellenuit poking around for information about the Straka tale, as he referred to it. I hadn’t any idea of what he was talking about and told him so. He was mad, telling me I shouldn’t hide away my best stories. I truly had no idea. I offered to sign a book or to tell him a different story, but I had no idea about this Straka character. He was insistent, finally letting slip that this all involved Junker and MacLeod. Now, I had heard Junker was back in Scrapsylvania running that store, but MacLeod was anyone’s best guess, of course. I headed out for Marya the next day, with nothing but “straka” to go on. I didn’t know what I was in for. The man who approached me… he seemed possessed of something, something otherworldly even. 

“There was a lot of back and forth when I went to see her. I came in every day for almost a month I think, before she would even talk to me about anything other than toys. The first day I came into her store she took one damn look at me and said ‘We’re closed.’ Only trouble was Auntie Zuzu said at the same exact moment ‘Customer! Welcome in, welcome in!’ and in an instant her charade was given away. I remember, practically begging her to just hear me out. You know how stubborn she is though, it wasn’t going to happen that day, I could tell. She just said to me ‘You can buy or you can leave. I can’t do this. Not now.’”

“Sounds familiar,” Van said, scoffing and half rolling her eyes. Monty ignored the comment and continued on with his story. She could feel however she liked, but she should hear  it.

“So I said ‘If not now when?’ and she just repeated again. ‘Buy or leave, Monty. Buy or leave.’ So damn stubborn, but I love her for it. At one point she changed her tune to ‘Buy and leave’ and I tried not to laugh. Best to keep amusement to oneself during such times, you know? So I bought a trinket and I left. I went back the next day, and she seemed annoyed. We did the same charade for a bit, until I bought another trinket and I left. I did that every day for a week, Van. A whole week.

"I got brave and started asking her about those damn things. They look a little rough around the edges, but you know Junker. Nothing is ever quite as it seems. I got her to finally talk to me on that eighth day. I asked her about the toy I was eyeing- a little wagon pulled by a horse. It was gorgeous. Shiny coppers and aluminums, the most intricate detail you could imagine- just for some little toy. She called me foolish for buying a child’s toy as some ruse to speak with her, but in the end everything I bought, I now cherish. 

“The wagon top converts into stables, and when I asked her why, do you know what she said? She told me that there were no passengers, just the horse lugging his wagon all day and when he was tired he would need a place to rest. That struck me, Van, it really did. Why not just make a regular wagon? It’s intended for a child, the child doesn’t care if the horse has a place to rest or not. But Marya does. She always cares. She puts her heart in everything she does, you know it and I know it too. The only person who probably doesn’t know it is Junker herself, eh? Well anyway, that went on for some time. I’d pick something new every day, sometimes two things if I was feeling lucky and she seemed chatty.

“Finally, almost a month later I said ‘Junker, I know you don’t want to tell me your story, but I've heard part of it and it’s beautiful.’ I pulled out my notebook and started reading my notes to her, about each toy I’d asked her about. They all had a story, every last one of them. And so did she. She looked at me and, damn I’ll never forget it, she said ‘You. You’re good Monty, shame about those last few books.” This managed to get a chuckle out of Van finally, perhaps he was getting past her walls a little, or maybe the whisky was sinking in. Maybe both.

“I told her not to let its hold on her ruin her life. I told her I’d miss the chaos in her eyes too much…Seems like some of it’s already gone out, but the rest is in there somewhere, that sense of adventure and that will to be bold. Don’t quit on her now, Van, she hasn’t quit you.” 

“What happened, Monty? How bad was it?” 

“Bad is relative, but hear me when I say: this was horrendous. It isn’t my story to tell. I promised her that.”

Van’s eyes stayed fixed on her drink. The condensation occasionally dripped down to the table, pooling around the base of the glass. Without looking up, Van spoke.

“She did quit on me, you know. A long time ago, she quit on me.”

Chapter Text

She left. Van left. Walked out on her. Again. God, how could she have done this to herself? Gotten herself into a spot where she was watching the love of her life quit on her again like so many years before. She’d been so careful not to let herself fall again because she knew it could never be… But Marya knew the problem with that idea was that it was never a question of falling again if you’d never fallen out of love in the first place.

 Now she was left standing alone with a feeling all too familiar- an aching in her chest and a pit in her stomach. Not to mention the boulder caught in her throat threatening her with a tidal wave of tears once more. That was the first time in nearly ten years she’d held Van so close. She had pictured it so many times in the last ten years… holding her again. Tracing the creases by her eyes from squinting into the sun shouting orders on deck. Marya always told her that damn hat did nothing for the sun in her eyes but Van refused to part with it. God, Marya missed that face. It took everything in her to collect herself, but when Van left, so did all semblance of Marya’s composure.

Daisuke took a step into the room, taking in the energy and trying to understand what happened here. He watched as Marya fidgeted with the bullets strapped to her thigh- the ones labeled Straka. She was biting her lip slightly, trying to catch the ring in her teeth. Daisuke decided to tread carefully, a lot had changed since they’d all been together like this…  tensions were high, and the stakes seemed to be even higher.  

“Junker, you were brave today.. Frozen, but brave.” Marya closed her eyes and took in his words. She took a deep breath and a tear fell. She wiped it quickly, as if to pretend it never existed, and Daisuke kindly pretended with her. She stood a little straighter and looked toward the helm, the very spot she stood paralyzed before. The sight of it made her stomach flip. 

“I was not brave, or at least not brave enough, Pappy.”

“You know… sometimes Ghost Dog does a few circles ‘fore he can lay down to sleep. Comfrey always said it was his way of getting out all the bad juju, but I reckon he’s just getting comfortable. Don’t mean they aren’t both true.” 

“Pappy… I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

“Looks to me like you’re playing the part of Captain, darlin’. Though, today I’ll admit there were some hiccups.”

“Pappy, a captain… She goes down with her ship and she goes down fighting. Me? I am nothing more than a liability. I should have never come.”

“Well, being exiled from the skies, that’s serious business, Junker.” He sits on a barrel nearby, inviting her to speak as long as she needs. 

“Pappy. Today… it’s not the first time I… I wouldn't… that I needed to… and I just…” She shook her head looking for the words. Daisuke didn’t speak, this was something she needed to process, so instead he listened and he waited. She took a deep breath and pulled one of her Straka bullets from its holster. Her thumb ran over the words as she stared it down. Each letter weighed on her more heavily than the last.

 “Straka.” She shuddered. “That day… ruined me. I couldn’t let her go alone and I… It was-- well-- I don’t know how to be Captain anymore. I… I can’t even say. Pappy, I--”

The lump in her throat caught up with her. Her nose burned and her cheeks felt hot as tears began to fall without hesitation. Her eyes flashed with fear as she relived a day she had hoped never to discuss again. Her breathing quickened and her chest heaved a little with each word. Daisuke was solemn, he was patient as she stumbled over each word. This beast, whatever it was, had done a number on her.

“I see him in everything I do. I close my eyes and Straka is there. I open them, and sometimes he does not leave. I wish I could explain to you, but there are some stories we cannot tell no matter how much we want to. Pappy, I should not have come here, I am no captain. Not anymore.”

“If you say so, I guess.” His words challenged her in their acceptance, and she couldn’t refuse the bait.

“You don’t understand, Pappy. What I’ve been through… it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. It was just… I couldn’t- I… I should not have come.” There was quiet for a moment. She looked back to the helm and took her own words to heart. She let them have power over her and gave in to their effect. She believed it in her soul, that she should not have come. 

“Then why did you?” Marya looked stunned. Daisuke was often a man of few words, but rarely so direct. 

“Even in exile I cannot refuse the call. I will not.”

“You and I both know that ain’t it.”

“What are you getting at, Pappy?”

“C'mon, Junker. Why did you come?”

“I came… I came because you needed me, because I am a fool and when you call I answer. That’s the truth Pappy, it is.”

“Should I remind you that more than one thing can be true? You know there’s more. Yeah, we needed you and your moral code made you accept. Whatever. That’s not what I mean. Be honest. With me, and with yourself.” Her face started to twist into a half-snarl. Daisuke was poking a damn bear, and he knew it. Few are foolish enough to think they ought to pick a fight with Marya Junkova, and even fewer are wise enough to do it anyway.

“Daisuke, I will say this once: do not speak of things you do not know.” She had a hard exterior, stronger than titanium. But Daisuke had been around the block once or twice and he knew just what to say and when to say it. Where she was brave, he was fearless. She was nineteen when they met, he watched her come into her own and he knew when she was all bark and no bite.

“Deal. Now, tell me why the hell you’re on this zephyr.” His face remained stoic as he brazenly asserted that this fell into the category of things he knew. Marya tried to keep her gruffness about her, but she knew it was only a matter of time. Daisuke was too familiar with her tricks and you’d never guess it, but he was the only one of their crew that was more stubborn than she.

“Daisuke, I said--”

“I heard. Somethin’ else I want to hear now. That day ruined you? Ruined you so bad you could never be a captain again? Ruined you so bad you threw it all away and didn’t look back? I’m calling bull, Junker. You did stop answering the call and you damn well know it. Ten years since you answered the call, in fact, and longer since you picked up the damn phone. I sure as hell haven’t heard from you. But you answered this one, right? Marya, I’ll ask again: why the hell did you say yes this time?” Marya’s snarl dropped and her face was riddled with guilt. Daisuke hated to make her feel bad when she was already hurting, but she had to reckon with it. She had to face this feeling.

“Because I needed her! Because this was my shot, Pappy…This was my shot. I don’t have many regrets in this life, but those that I carry are heavier than I could have ever imagined. That last mission with Comfrey… it did ruin me. I was a shell of a woman, I am a shell of a woman. Look at me, Daisuke. I do not recognize who I have become. 

“How many times did I picture it… writing her a letter or just showing up at her door. But for what? What do I have left, Pappy? What can I offer her? I couldn't go to Van, not after that. But then… Young Olethra comes into my shop one day and you are with her, Maxwell too… I saw myself in Olethra. So young, so fresh… I remember her, as a baby. She was so happy and so at ease aboard the ship- born with a wind-riding legacy to inherit and the skies welcomed her with open arms. Then she asked me to come and I was there again- transported to that day, when Comfrey told us about the mission… with, well… Straka . 

“Olethra… she looks so much like Comfrey. They have the same laugh. I’m sure you noticed. Their spirits are woven of the same fibers- the epitome of wanderlust. Olethra has everything that I lost that day. It’s complicated and so so painful, but if I could change anything, I wish I never lost that part of me, dangerous as it was. I couldn’t let Olethra lose it too, and god forbid if she’d been foolish enough to go alone, I shudder to think. I had to go. And this mission… I couldn’t help but feel like Comfrey got herself stuck out there so we’d have no choice. Zood, Pappy. She found Zood. It’s the one thing that I knew could get her to come, that she couldn’t say no to. We could have this time. Just one more mission, one more adventure. Us together again… like it used to be.” However slight, her face fell, and Daisuke took note. 

“But it’s different now.”

“Yes. It’s different now.”

“She’s married now.”

“Yes, not to me.”

“No, not to you.” 

“But she’s the best there is. The Gotch retainers? Warm bodies, useless crew. We needed a boatswain, and if we’re headed to Zood it had to be her. Every time I see her there’s a stabbing in my gut, and when I see him? The dagger twists in deeper. I’ve been bleeding out since they stepped foot on this zephyr, and I thought I was strong enough despite it all… I just… I don’t know if I am, Pappy. She hates me now… but she doesn’t know how many times I almost went to her. She doesn’t know how many times I tried to pick myself up and dust myself off. But every time I did, I’d see myself in the mirror and wonder what the hell I had to offer anymore. I thought maybe, selfishly, this was our chance to at least fix how it ended. I was naive. Maybe I’ve always been naive, but there was a time I think she liked that about me… It doesn’t matter anymore. She has Bert now, and I just… I can’t do this again. I can’t lose her again. Look at me. Do I look like I can lose one more thing?”

Daisuke eyed her up and down, noting the streaks of dirt and the rips in her flowing sleeves. The seam on her left shoulder had a hole in it and the threads were fraying. Her battle corset was scuffed and though it was dark in color some rusted stains of blood could still be seen. Her face was thin, and what was once tender muscle was now mostly sharp bone. The only things still shining on her person were her Straka bullets, everything else was dull and distressed. She’d lost so much, it was true, but there was something in her voice that still gave Daisuke hope. 

“Well. I’ll say this: by the looks of you, you either have nothing left to lose, or you’d better fight like hell and make sure you win.”

There was quiet between them. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes and biting her lip, thinking to herself if she should say what she wanted to or not. Daisuke waited, letting her decide. Eyes still closed, the smallest whisper came out, practically a breath…“Daisuke… it hurts.”

“What hurts, darlin’?”

“Existing,” she replied. “Existing without her.”

A cowbell rang out and Marya’s eyes opened, red rimmed and blurry with tears that threatened to spill. She looked to the door. Daisuke looked like he wanted to say something else, but she beat him to it.

“That’ll be dinner, Pappy. I’m going to wash my face… I’ll see you in the mess.” Her eyes didn’t meet his as she headed toward her quarters. Daisuke sighed, knowing that went about as well as it could have. Though dinner ought to be interesting, he supposed.

Chapter Text

“It’s just shit, Monty. You spent a month with her? Longer? Just holding her hand through it all? While you held hers I lost mine, Monty. It’s shit, it really is.” 

“Van you know I’m here for you always, but none of us knew. You and Marya were the last two, and when you split ways hers was the only headline that made it to me. Last I heard you had some big raid, went out with a bang, and retired to the quiet life like me.” 

“The quiet life? Are you daft? Vanellope Chapman? Of the long line of Chapman pirates? Choosing the quiet life? I went out with a bang and I went out one arm lighter.” She took a deep breath. It was easy to complain about nobody knowing your side of things, but it was a hell of a lot harder to tell it. She’d poured a tasteful amount of whisky into her glass, wishing now she’d been a little more heavy-handed.

 “MacLeod pushed me out. Wouldn’t tell me why, and Marya stayed on. I was hurt, but I was a big girl. Picked up the pieces and did some contract work for a bit… Lost my arm and couldn’t go back. Not to the skies and certainly not to her.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

“In this instance it doesn’t make a difference, mate.”

“It always makes a difference. I’d say the difference here is vulnerability in asking for help and fighting for something that’s worth it.” He paused and swirled his whisky just a little before taking a sip and letting the burn ignite his throat. 

“Well, one man’s treasure is another man’s trash.” In a perfect world she would have accompanied such a quip with a smirk, but instead her own words cut deep to her core. She was mad at Junker, of course, but she was honest earlier. She will always love Marya Junková. It kills her each and every day. Waking up and loving someone so fucking haunted by her own damn memories that she could never love Van the way Van needed… 

Like a dagger straight to her carotid, but the bloodstain was like a work of art that Van couldn’t seem to tear herself away from. Even now, years after they’d parted ways, Van could still feel Marya’s traces if she closed her eyes and tried. It had been excruciating earlier, to have just the smallest taste of Junker so close to her again but still so far away… To have Marya’s hand on her skin once more, to see and be seen… She could still smell the fumes of Marya’s tinkerer’s station with oil and scorched metal, but also the way it contrasted to her hair which smelled of lilac. It was almost always beneath her aviator goggles and cap… few knew what was under there, but Van had had the privilege on many a night to hold Marya’s head close to her own… She would inhale deeply, then exhale slowly. She’d plant soft gentle kisses on every scrape, scratch, and bruise from whatever their ventures cost them that day. She’d continue breathing until all was well. Falling asleep in one another’s arms, unstoppable and infinite. Until, she supposed, they weren’t. She took a bigger swig from her glass of whisky and basked in the subtle sting as it ran down her insides. She felt like utter shite, letting Marya have this hold over her. Something, or someone, had to give, but she’d be damned if it was going to be her.

“Look- I can’t say why Junker and MacLeod left you on the outs, but don’t blame them for throwing in the damn towel, Van. I’ve never known someone stronger and more steadfast than you. You aren’t someone who gives up and I’d imagine it’s why you’re here now.” 

“I’m here now because MacLeod needs us to bail her arse out. I have the Nut now, I have Bert… He isn’t her but in some ways that’s good, you see? Marya… Marya needed to fly, and Bert keeps us grounded”

“I’m glad you have Bert, I really am. He’s good for you, he’s good to you, and that matters… But I- well, I’ll just say it: you were always meant to be sky-bound. More than me, more than Pappy.. You and Marya, I’ve never seen two souls more at home in the clouds. You, Van… You’re the best damn boatswain on this planet and if being grounded is what you think you’re destined for… then you’ve forgotten that you once learned to soar, and you did it with her.” Van scoffs.

“Look where that got me.” 

“I’m looking, I know what I see. I know who Bert is to you, and I wouldn’t try to change that. But I won’t have you rewriting the past and pretending that you and Marya didn’t share something beautiful and potent. Don’t do that. Don’t do that to her.”

“He built my arm, you know. He's a chef, and not a tinkerer by any means, but for me… for what we went through… he figured it out. Things were never the same after that job, Monty. I was used to the fight by then, but Bert barely had his sky legs at that point and witnessed nothing short of a massacre. When you go through that with someone, you’re bonded.”

“He was there that day?” She nodded looking at her drink, replaying what was left in her mind of the trauma she’d buried deep in her psyche. “Van… do you- well, is it something you’d like to talk --”

“Not even a little.” She said definitively. Truthfully, even if she wanted to, a lot of it was fuzzy, some of it intentionally so. The bits she did recall… well they weren’t easily forgotten no matter how hard she tried. She didn’t want to talk about it at all, and certainly not with Monty who seemed so keen to make her forgive Marya. And for what? What did he understand of what she’d been through? He wasn’t there when they iced her out, he was long gone by then. Off in Bellenuit sipping sherry at book signings and rubbing elbows with politicians and philanthropists.

“I get it. I can only imagine what you’ve been through, Van, truly. I should have gone to see you. When I saw her, I should have known. I should have gone to see you too.”

“‘ Should have’ only goes so far, Monty. You don’t understand. You really don’t. What I have with Bert… We aren’t in love. We don’t pretend, but he’s my best friend and I'm his. Loving and being in love are different, but one doesn’t discount the other. He’s never faltered, he’s always been there. Always . More than she can say. She lives as a bloody ghost haunting her own damn self… we could never be what we were, not now.”

She took another sip of her whisky as her metal fist clenched just a little again. It was her worst tell, and she knew Monty had caught on. She was the peak of composure, but he was too good at reading people, and he wouldn’t be fooled into thinking her even tone and calm expression were anything more than a poker face. The addition of ‘not now’ to her statement sounded more disappointed than she wanted it to. She preferred to hold her cards close to her chest, and if Monty had any idea just how conflicted her heart was at that moment he’d never let up.

“Does she know he made your arm?” Too late , she thought. She doubled down.

“My arm’s not any of her business. She doesn’t get to send me off to lose it then rebuild it like all’s well. Her being here is reckless and dangerous, and her asking me to play adventurer again for some pipe dream is bloody naive.”

“There was a time when you liked her naivete.”

“There was a time when I had two arms, too.”

“Today…She didn’t have your back. Pride is a bitter pill to swallow, but if you leave now then you won’t have had our backs either.”

Before Van could retort, Bert’s head popped in.

“Sorry to interrupt-”

“We were just wrapping up, dear.” Van said quickly, consciously avoiding Monty’s gaze. 

“Right then, supper’s ready. One of you ring the bell?” Monty stood and made for the cowbell by the door. Bert retreated to the kitchen to get the food.

“This isn’t the end of our chat, Van. There’s more you need to hear, and I’d expect more you need to say.”

“Fine. But first I either need to sober up or get a hell of a lot more drunk.” Van said, looking at her nearly empty glass. Monty smirked ever so slightly, but Van caught it. “What?”

“You’re more similar than you know. She told me the same, once. Opted for the liquor.” Van rolled her eyes and lifted her glass to take the final gulp of her own drink. Monty continued, saying “She told me about the time she counted the freckles on your shoulder.”

She choked on the whisky, sputtering as a nearly imperceptible blush crept onto her cheeks. A simple statement, but profoundly intimate and it stirred something deep in Van’s core. Monty’s smirk grew and he turned to get the bell. She could be as angry as she liked but at the end of the day the heart will always want what it wants. All she could think was that somebody really ought to warn Maxwell and Olethra what they were walking into at dinner, but it was probably too late for that now…

Chapter Text

In the bathroom of her bunk, Marya stood with her hands braced against the counter and her head hung low. Emotions swelled inside her as she breathed in… As she exhaled she began to weep. Her wounds hurt from the fight, but that was child’s play compared to what lurked in her soul. It was her spirit that ached so profoundly. It replayed in her mind- the moment Van pulled away. It had been so perfect, so natural, to touch her again. She was so unsure of herself, but she tucked that strand behind Van’s ear and it felt like it used to for just a moment. For one solitary moment they existed in the same space again and she could feel impossible pains lifting. And then reality set in again for them both. Van pulled back and Marya was left behind, mouth agape like a goddamn fool. 

She lifted one hand to slam it down against the cold metal of the latrine counter. It bellowed in response and Marya opened her mouth into a near-silent wail. Her slight body was no match for the sturdy steel and she could feel a bruise forming almost immediately.  

“So stupid, Marya. So goddamn stupid .” She looked up at her reflection. “You are not a child anymore. You must stop this foolishness, Marya.”

Kočka came out at the sound of her voice, he looked a little out of sorts from hearing the frightening thwack of her fist, but he was quite intuitive and appeared to be trying to aid her now. He pulled a rag from the side of the counter and padded over to her hand, encouraging her to take it.

“My sweet. Thank you, Kočka.” She took the rag from him and ran it under cool water, then bringing it to the cut under her left eye. “I am sorry to startle you. You’ve had a hard day too. You fought well, my small hero. Me? Well. What else is new?”

Kočka stood alert, hanging on every word. Marya knew he would disagree if he could speak, but he couldn’t speak, so instead she continued her own narrative however toxic it may have been.

“Another day when Marya Junková plays the fool. The only thing I am good at these days. I cannot be captain, I cannot be her love, I cannot be myself. Look at me!”

She stared at her reflection and Kočka eyed her. She wondered if he saw what she saw… To Marya, she saw a stranger in the mirror. To Kočka, perhaps this is all he could recall, for she had been this way for some time now. Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks were hollow, and her upper body was more bone than it was muscle, skin, or anything else. She clung to the sound of her voice, which remained unchanged and was her only reminder of who she once was and who she hoped to someday be again. Everything else was different, and none of it had changed for the better.

“Kočka I have fucked it up again. I pushed too hard and I cared too much. I am not strong enough for this, my friend. And now I plague you with the aftermath, as if you deserve such a thing. You should run to supper, my love. Bert will have made you something too, Kočka. You shouldn’t have to stay here with me. I am cursed, and you shouldn’t let me drag you down with me…”

Kočka remained on the counter. He scampered to her hand that rested by the faucet and nuzzled into it slightly, asking to be held. He wasn’t often overly effusive, but lately Marya had required much more support from his heart than from his fighting prowess. She hoped he did not mind. She didn’t have it in her to tell him that it was all that kept her going at times, she just prayed he wouldn’t stop.

“You are too good for me, Kočka, you know that, yes? You are kind and brave and all the things that I have not been for some time, my friend. I thought… Today I thought maybe things could be different, but I was wrong. She still hates me and I still love her. I cannot blame her, Kočka. I am not what I used to be… I used to stand tall, I used to have spunk, and I had a fight in me that was unmatched by all but her. The skies used to lift my sails, and now they whisper around me, saying that I am a washed-up coward who should stick to trinkets and toys. It’s true, Kočka. The skies are always honest. I used to love that about them, when they used to love me, I suppose. But now we are at odds, and I thought… I was so stupid, Kočka. Worse than stupid, I was brazen. This is no adventure- this is a rescue mission. And you cannot be a rescuer if you need rescuing yourself… I am an embarrassment and I am sorry I cannot be who you deserve.”

She said all of this to him about the skies, and though he was just a rat, she felt that he knew what sat just below the surface of her words. She closed her eyes and let a few stray tears fall, then touched her forehead to Kočka’s. Something they began doing a few years back, to wordlessly say thank you for being here with me . She set him down on the counter again and wiped at the blood and dirt on her face in earnest. 

Her injuries were nothing that a good night’s rest wouldn’t solve, though for Marya that was often hard to come by. She hoped tonight would be gentle to her, but if not, it would likely be nothing she had not seen before. She took one last deep breath and tried to approximate a facial expression that would not concern her dining companions to the point of inquiry. She held out her hand and Kočka scurried up to her shoulder for a ride down to the crew mess.

From down the hall Marya could hear Maxwell laughing heartily and she reminded herself that to them it had just been another day. And maybe if she pretended hard enough, for her it could be the same. She breathed deep and walked into the mess taking a seat next to Olethra casually.

“Marya- hey! Bert made paprika lime aioli, chips, and a bean salad….” Olethra continued chatting for a moment. Marya zoned out slightly, admiring how Olethra could fit so many words in one small breath. She knew that Olethra had a little crush on her, but she couldn’t for the life of her understand why. She wished she could take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, but today she didn’t have the energy. Maybe tomorrow, but probably not. She resumed listening to what Olethra was saying, and it seemed she had not missed much. “I wasn’t sure about the chips after he apparently burnt the first batch of them but they’re actually pretty good. Sorry- I’m rambling. Can I get you anything?”

“So sweet, young Olethra, thank you.” She smiled wryly, which was forced by way of straining to smile at all, but in her heart it would have been natural under different circumstances. “I would love some, yes.”

There was hubbub at the table, enough for Marya to blend to her liking. Several conversations overlapped with the clinking of forks to plates and everything felt so normal . She could survive supper… she was sure of it. Olethra scooped a dollop of aioli onto a plate for Marya and added some crisps with the tongs. Maxwell was spooning some bean salad onto his own plate just as Olethra looked for the bowl to serve Marya. She piped up pleasantly, because at 20 you bounce back from battle fairly quickly.

“Max, can you pass the beans, please?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies- I didn’t mean to take seconds before Captain Junker got firsts. Glad to have you join us, Marya.” Wealwell didn’t look up from the bean he was chasing around his plate, but it did not stop him from making a threat.

“Say the word, brother, just say the word.”

“Monty, please.” Daisuke begged. “Over the beans? Over asking for the damn beans? Let me handle him. I want to handle him, God I want to handle him…”

“I’d love to see you try,” Wealwell retorted.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I’m dying for a good laugh.”

“Wealwell, Pappy, enough.” Said Monty, always so reasonable. “The terms were set. Pappy if the situation arises it’s fair game, otherwise you haven’t got my endorsement.”

Pappy let out a gruff harrumph, but continued eating all the same. Olethra snickered quietly and handed Marya a plate of food. Over the years Marya’s appetite had diminished significantly, but with all the activity on their voyage she did her best to eat well to keep up. Bert was a fine chef too, so it wasn’t too taxing to maintain a good enough diet. 

As she began to take some bites and conversations transpired around her, Marya couldn’t help but feel somehow all the way outside of herself. It was not uncommon for Marya to feel this way, especially as her curse had escalated when she returned to the skies. It bothered her at first, but now it was just another aspect of life that she tolerated. Chewing each bite slowly, Marya looked around the table at her lively companions. All but one, that was.

Van sat between Bert and Monty picking at her food with her right hand while her left subtly twitched and clenched. Marya would have given anything to take a look at that arm… whatever it was she was sure she could fix it. Maybe that would appease Straka, if she could just fix Van’s arm… but Van was clear. Marya knew it was not her place. If things got bad she hoped Van would tell her, and she would try to fix it. But for the moment, for once , she would mind her business. Right then, her business was dinner. One forkful after another, and breathing in between. Casually, and comfortably- or at least enough to convince the crew that they needn’t investigate further. She wished things were different, sure, but Marya knew she was a lost cause. Worrying the crew was no use. Today was a mistake, trying again with Van. She would do what she did best, instead. She would push it down deep and soldier on. It was the least she could do.

Without participating in a conversation herself, it was easy for Marya to hear Bert’s quiet offer to Van, even from across the table. She’d almost thought she misheard, but as Van’s eyes shot up to look directly at her own, she knew she heard right. She felt her heart rip in two and fall to the ground, shattering beyond recognition..

“ Shall I take a look at it later, Lovey? Maybe the jack-bolts are acting up again, I haven’t replaced those in a while. Maybe it would help .” It had been him… he had made her arm. Van stayed staring at Marya as she replied, with enough volume for everyone to hear.

“Yes, darling. If you wouldn’t mind I think that would be helpful. You know it best, after all.”

Embarrassed, sick to her stomach, and embracing cowardice once more, Marya stood without a word and hurried out of the crew mess. 

Chapter Text

Eyes shot to Van as the swinging door whooshed open and shut. All that could be heard was the gentle squeaking of the hinges as the heavy door stilled to rest. Van trained her eyes on the door, feeling instantly remorseful. But much too stubborn to say so, she instead said “She’s a big girl. She’d find out sooner or later.”

“Van… That was…” Daisuke started, but couldn’t find the words to finish.

“That’s not right, Van. That’s not right.” Monty finished for him. Van shrugged and tried to give an air of apathy to her actions, hoping it didn’t show through that all she wanted to do was rush after Marya and apologize a thousand times over.

Because all she really wanted was that, wasn’t it? To just run after her and even if Marya kept walking as Van called to her, then Van would reach out and grab her wrist, softly but firm and commanding. She’d stop her from walking away again. She’d say it was the whisky talking and her heart would tell a different story if it could. Marya wouldn’t look her in the eye, not after all the hurt she’d experienced and particularly not after all the hurt that Van had caused. But Van would ask her, no- beg her. Plead that she just look her in the eye, to see the honesty within them when she said she was sorry. She’d take two fingers and so gently tilt her true love’s head to her own. She’d take in every last peak and valley of her face and commit it to memory so that should she never get the opportunity to do this again, at least it would live in her mind. It would be cautious and slow, the way she brought her lips to Marya’s. Not audacious, not without hesitation. But when their lips met she would melt like a weary traveler by a warm hearth, and she would savor it as long as Marya would let her.

That’s all she wanted. In another world, that would be everything to Van. But in this world… in this world Van had been hurt too. In this world Van had hit and taken hits, and in this world she waited a moment too long to see her fantasy through. While she continued to pick at her plate with projected confidence, Olethra took the opportunity to stand and follow Marya out the door. Today Van couldn’t be the woman that Marya needed, but maybe Olethra could. Olethra was bright-eyed and kind, doing all that she could to keep up and help out. Van recognized a healthy amount of carefulness in her adventuring spirit- always wanting to be brave and leap, but never without looking first. Olethra would be what Van could not be today, and she felt grateful for that, but she refused to let it show.

She tried to read Bert’s expression in her peripheral vision, not wanting to remove her gaze from her plate of bean salad. From what she could gather, he looked somewhat composed, but she was acutely aware of the tension being held in his body and she felt it when he shifted just a millimeter away from her. If even Bert wasn’t on her side then perhaps she’d truly mucked it up this time, but it was done now. 

“You’re just going to keep eating?” Monty questioned.

“‘M Hungry.” Van said, shoving a forkful into her mouth nonchalantly.

“Right, well. I think I’m all set. That was low, Van.” Monty stood to clear his plate and headed to the kitchen with it. Daisuke eyed Van solemnly. He didn’t say anything, which in this moment was decidedly more potent than words.

Bert stood too, kissing the top of her head softly and whispering “You’re hurting, but hurting her won’t heal you.” And he headed off toward their quarters.

“Well, I thought it was fun, Van.” Wealwell chimed in.

“Wealwell, please! You forget yourself. You’re on dishes with Mr. LaMontgomery, I suggest you go help him before you’re left alone with Pappy here.” Wealwell shrugged and stood collecting everyone’s dishes from the table humming merrily as he did. “Van… I apologize for my brother. I am of course the family rowdy, but he is certainly scrappy at times.”

“S’fine. I’m going to bed.” She spoke as little as possible for fear any truth about her feelings might be revealed, but her tone wavered slightly. If Daisuke noticed he didn’t say, and she hoped Maxwell did not know her well enough to be able to tell. She stood and walked off in the same direction Bert had gone, knowing they had a chat ahead of them.

She took her time as she walked down the corridor of crew quarters, feeling no sense of urgency to find what awaited her. She let her good arm trail along the wall like a child in a school hallway. She felt each panel of metal and wood that comprised the familiar surface. She let each ridge and crack she traced serve as a reminder on her fingertips that she was there and she was alive and feeling. She listened to the creeks of her footsteps that echoed down the empty hall. She remembered having to step around some of them long ago when sneaking down to the captain’s quarters before the crew knew she and Marya were, well, her and Marya. 

Since those days a lot had changed… the creaking was louder, for one. She was older, as was Marya. It had been so long since she had any reason to sneak anywhere, let alone on the ship. The Nut wasn’t really the kind of gig that required her pirating or stealthing skills. Well, unless you count serving Three-legged Pete watered down booze after 10pm so he could walk home alright. But that was another thing entirely from her sneak-abouts down the long crew corridor. And it was different still from the traipsing she and Marya got up to together on occasion… That, yes that , was the real challenge. 

Alone, she could walk down the hall with laser focus and remember every last crooked board beneath her. But with Marya? God, with Marya it was a lost cause. It was fine because Van suspected that Pappy, Monty, and Comfrey knew about their escapades, but their “sneaking” was about as subtle as Marya’s blunderbuss. She smiled to herself as she fondly recalled many soft giggles and too loud shooshes as they remembered they were not to be heard or seen. There was one evening when Van had been on her way to Marya’s quarters and Marya came up from behind her to squeeze at her waist. 

That was the night that Van was certain everyone knew about them. It was awfully suspicious that nobody came out to check on her when she yelped out in the hall… Then at breakfast there had been a subtle smirk from Montgomery. The words eluded her as she stood in the very same hall so many years later, but she recalled vaguely that Monty threatened to put that yelp into one of his books and Marya had dropped the carton of milk she was pouring into her cereal. The mess was colossal, but at least it distracted from finishing any part of that conversation. Daisuke just tipped his hat to Marya and winked… she was so young then, the blush that crept to her cheeks was the most endearing thing Van had ever seen. The mental image Marya’s blush was a blessing for so long, but it later served as masochistic torture when Van could no longer see it for herself in person. It followed her to her loneliest moments and stayed steadfastly taunting her like a wicked dream. As she walked down the hall, Van could not decide which purpose it served at the moment, it remained to be seen, she supposed.

Her smile faded as she finally arrived at her quarters. Those nights were long gone, and the night ahead of her felt daunting at best. Like a dog who knew she’d stuck her nose in the trash, Van walked into the room smaller than she’d ever been before. Tail between her legs, shoulders hunched, and her head hung slightly. Bert was at the sink brushing his teeth. Though he did not pause or say anything, he looked at her through the mirror’s reflection and Van felt his stare hit her like a ton of bricks. 

She removed her hat and placed it on the hook that adorned the back of the door. His eyes didn’t leave her, but she couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. She realized that it was not just Marya that she had impacted with her remark, but probably Bert as well. She had weaponized his kindness for a petty quip and she very stubbornly did her utmost at the table to appear unapologetic in any way. Bert would have seen through that, of course. He knew her better than anyone, but it didn’t negate her actions and her subsequent inaction. Bert spat and wiped his face on a rag. He let a sigh escape his lips and he turned around to face his wife.

“Lovey… You can’t go on like this, dear.”

“I know--”

“No, Vanellope- please.” She sat at the foot of the bed and looked at her knees, unable to meet his eyes. This was long overdue, but that only made it harder to hear. “It’s just… you keep so much in darling. And you’re so stubborn, God love you, it serves you well usually… but sometimes you’re your own worst enemy. The way you were at dinner, Lovey, it was unkind. Simple as that. And you’re better than that, aren’t you, darling? Than to hurt the people you love? And before you sell me a line about old flames I don’t want to hear it Vanellope. You know as well as I that you never stopped loving her. You can be hurt, you can be mad… you can scream at the skies until you’re blue in the face, but it doesn’t mean the skies will shout back. I’ve seen you dust yourself off time and time again, but I’ve never seen you try not to fall in the muck. You’re allowed to go for a jaunt and stay upright the whole time, right then, Lovey? I suppose what I mean is… you loving her doesn’t mean you love me any less, but it doesn’t help a single soul for you to hate yourself over either.”

He sat at the foot of the bed next to her and she let her head fall to the side onto his shoulder. It was comfortable, what she had with Bert. It was never unpredictable, worrisome, or hard. Bert was so good to her, and he always kept her safe. He was there for her no matter what, and on her worst day he’d never so much as wavered.

But the thing is, what she had with him? It was never close what she had with her.

Chapter Text

Marya consciously reminded herself that breathing consists of in and out, but it didn’t help. She staggered to the rail at the edge of the deck and felt her chest heaving as she gasped for air. She looked around at the endless night sky and wondered where the hell the air was because it certainly wasn’t there. Stars twinkled on the horizon, mocking her. They whispered in her mind “This night is beautiful, but you will endure it alone, Captain.” She hadn’t even noticed the tears that stained her face, nor the tremor in her hands. She tried to brace her arms against the railing as her legs wobbled and could not rise to the occasion alone. The wind whipped in her face as if to remind her oxygen was all around her, and if she was unable to breathe it wasn’t for lack of air- it was her own ineptitude preventing her from doing so.

She felt ashamed as she summoned all of her strength to do what babies do within seconds of leaving the womb. How pathetic, to be so hurt over such trivial information. She knew that Van’s tongue was quick and spiteful, but she never would have imagined being on the other end of it. She had always been on Van’s side- always fighting with her, and never against her. She was physically gaunt, and emotionally hollow… she had nothing left in her soul to withstand this torture. It was hard enough to spend every moment seeing her from afar, wishing she could be just an inch closer. But there was no hope to get closer when Van pushed her so forcefully away.

It could have been different, she thought. This adventure, this time together- it could have been so different. If Marya hadn’t been so stupid so many years ago… if she’d just made different choices… But it was futile to think that way; a malicious pipe dream that would never be. She made the choices she made, and it was a pain she could not bear to consider the what ifs that could never be. There were countless ideas she could consider, each less devastating than her current reality. If things had been different enough maybe they would have had a fighting chance, she and Van… Or maybe Marya was playing the fool again, and was ignoring that she would go on choosing Bert each time anyway. She felt tears flowing freely, and she let them. Her breathing slowed, but she still hiccuped amidst the sobs.

That afternoon, just hours before… Van had saved her. She was shouting at Marya trying to get her attention and Marya was paralyzed with fear. All she could see was Straka. She could hear Van, and she desperately wanted to listen to her… to show her that she cared and that she could be strong like she was before, but maybe she could not. That was then, and this was now. Van had used her arm, his arm , to fight through their combatants to get to her and it was entirely necessary. Van had upgraded, and Marya was stalling out where she’d left off years ago. In fact, not even where she’d left off- she wished she could be as good as she was ten years ago. Van might have lost an arm, but at least it could be replaced with something useful. Marya… well there are no prosthetic souls, no artificial spirits. She was an artificer, and she had once prided herself that she could fix anything in the goddamn world… but not this. This was the one thing she could not repair.

And what was worse, she thought, was that while she rotted away in Scrapsylvania… Van was picking up the pieces of her own life and moving on with someone else who could fill Marya’s shoes ten-fold. All the while Marya sat, and she tinkered. Hoping one day she could make something powerful enough to kill the goddamn beast that made her this way. The beast that ruined her and now haunted her, but refused to show its face. When he came back she would be ready. Her Straka bullets weighed heavily on her body and soul, but it was all she could do to keep going. If she could not fix her life that crumbled around her then she would at least kill the beast that was responsible. 

She looked up, finally breathing normally again. She was so fucking furious. At herself, at Van, at Bert, even at Comfrey… but especially at Straka. She was so sick of being scared and of being haunted. She deserved more. She was more. She could be more again, she thought. But she just couldn’t move forward… not while Straka lived. Her lungs filled with air and she felt a surge of strength, letting the rage fuel her.

“YOU ARE A COWARD!” Through snot and tears, she coarsely shouted to the skies. “You have left me CURSED and you dare not show your face again because you are a GODDAMN COWARD. You try to tear me down and some days it works. Some days you win, Straka… but when you finally return to finish what you started I will be waiting for you. There is NOTHING you could do to me that is harder or more woefully devastating than rising each day in the face of my worst regret. Straka you are a COWARD and I will not forget when I see you again what you have put me through.”

“...Captain Junker?” A small voice pulled her back to the ship, and she noticed how tightly her bony fingers gripped the railing, how her knees were buckled slightly, how her feet ached in her boots. She hung her head and let the tears fall. She didn’t know how much Olethra had heard but it was much too late to pretend she wasn’t crying. Based on the creaking of the deck, Olethra seemed to be a few paces behind her still and was deciding if she should approach or give Marya space. Marya did not move, and resigned herself to whatever fate young Olethra landed on. The indecisive feet behind her finally padded just a little bit closer and Marya felt a slender, but strong hand apprehensively rest on the middle of her back, still questioning if what she was doing was okay. Marya bit her lip and tried to catch the ring on it, as she always did when she got nervous. The tears continued to fall and Marya let out a shaky breath as the hand began to rub gentle circles on her back.

“Captain-”

“I am no captain. Not anymore.” She did her best to project an unwavering tone, but it was unconvincing at best. She stood a little straighter and she noticed Olethra holding a handkerchief out to her. She took it graciously and cleaned herself up a little. It was embarrassing enough to run out of dinner like a child having a tantrum, but it was too much entirely to hold a conversation with Olethra of all people looking like this.

“You’re my captain.”

“You’re sweet, young Olethra, but-”

“I’m not that young. And you are my captain.”

“Olethra… It is complicated, what is going on.”

“I know that. Look, I’m not just some kid from the block who wanted something more… I was practically born in the skies, this is in my blood. And I don’t know what’s going on with you and Van entirely, but it’s not like either of you have been super subtle about anything.”

“Yes. Unfortunately subtlety has never been our strong suit… It is clear where we stand, I suppose.”

“Cap-- or, uh, Junker… I don’t want to overstep, but I don’t feel like you see what I see. I just… I know she’s hurtful at times, and I haven’t known her half as long as you, well even a fraction of that I guess, but I see she’s brash and loud… but it’s just… sometimes she’s louder with you.”

“It is the hatred, Olethra, I see it in her.”

“No… it’s not. I don’t think that’s it at all, Junker. I know you think I’m young and I don’t know what I’m on about but sometimes when people shout…” Olethra’s eyebrows twisted and she wouldn’t meet Marya’s gaze.

“Olethra, please.”

“She cares, Marya. She shouts because she cares.”

“I--” Marya considered disputing it with her, but she didn’t have it in her. Not tonight. “I understand. Thank you, Olethra, but I think I must go to bed now. I will see you in the morning.”

She nodded her head and left no room for Olethra to stop her. She began walking toward her quarters and letting Olethra’s words sink in. It was dangerous to have hope, but Marya had always toed a fine line with safety precautions. She wished more than anything there was truth to Olethra’s words, but she could only assume that it would end in bitter disappointment once again. She did not dawdle on her way back to her bunk, and she got ready for bed. She climbed into her bunk and prayed that sleep might come quickly, if this day could just be over then she could start anew.

She laid awake for what felt like hours… throwing the blanket off, then putting it back on. She rolled left, and tossed right… nothing worked. Just my fucking luck, she thought… She was no stranger to wishing a day would just end, but to be stuck in this day felt personal. Olethra’s words echoed in her mind… it was foolish to believe them, but Marya had been a fool for lesser things. 

She rose from her bunk and decided she needed to feel the sky on her skin. At this hour she was sure nobody would be awake, and she could have just a moment to herself with the stars and the moon. She treaded carefully down the corridor, trying to remember which boards would whine if she stepped on them and which would keep her secrets. Van was always better at remembering those things, but tonight Marya wished she knew too. 

She managed to get through most of the hall almost silently, but she kicked herself as she stepped on one board in particular that betrayed her profoundly. She stepped on a board that let out a horrendously loud moan as her foot landed with foolish confidence. She froze at an instant, panicking that she would have woken someone, but there was no sign of someone stirring. She continued onward, but as she lifted her foot to move the floorboard groaned again as it returned to its natural position. She mouthed a curse to the empty hall and did her utmost to not misstep again. At long last she made it past all the doors and exited to the deck. 

She was drawn to the stern, which once held a hammock that she laid in with some frequency. Perhaps it was masochistic of her, but it was a particularly special spot for her and Van. She wondered if it was still there, the hammock, that was. She rounded the curve of the deck and saw amidst crates and heaps of netting was their hammock.  Worn, dirty, and a little tired, but still good. Yes, still good.

“My sweet! I had hoped I would find you here. I am sorry I did not come for you sooner… I see you are not what you were, but neither am I. You are still good, and I am trying to be… We can be good together, you and I, yes?”

She tied the ends to the anchors she and Van had installed over a decade ago and gave a trying tug. It felt secure enough, so she carefully crawled onto the familiar ropes and pulled her knees close to her chest. Suddenly, like a tidal wave of emotion… memories came flooding back. Of this spot, of her time with Van, of this ship… of all of it.

She remembered the day that she sat with Van all afternoon until the sun went down. That was her favorite day, she decided. They were in between missions and just flying port to port doing some casual maintenance runs. They had nothing to do and nowhere to be, so they chose to be here, together. The skies were mostly clear and the sun kept them warm like a soft and gentle hug. Marya laid in back and Van laid in her lap resting between her legs with her head on Marya’s chest. It was funny, whenever Van rested on Marya. Even when she was much more robust, she was never quite as broadly built as Van. Her slender frame welcomed the weight of her sturdy lover as a calming pressure that melted all of her cares away.

Van dozed and watched the few clouds go by, and Marya kept busy planting tiny little kisses on the top of Van’s head whenever she felt like it. Now that she would never have them again she was glad she snuck as many as she could at the time. She spent that afternoon tracing circles on Van’s strong arms and she remembered counting every last freckle that adorned her left shoulder. Fifty-three, she would not soon forget. 

She felt something cold and wet hit her hand, and she realized it was a teardrop. She didn’t notice that she had started crying, but it felt different this time. There was less self-loathing in this cry, and much more grief and nostalgia. She longed for a day when she could be so carefree and happy again. It wouldn’t be today, and it probably wouldn’t be soon, but someday she would get there again. She let her tears fall, unashamed this time. With just the stars and the moon to bear witness, she let herself give in to the pain and release the anger. It was okay to have hope for something, or someone, who might never be yours. It was okay, she decided. 

Wrapped up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear as footsteps approached behind her. She didn’t hear as a sharp inhale of breath transpired. She did not hear as the breath was let out, wavering and uncertain. All at once, there was a gentle swaying of the hammock and a hand was steadying Marya’s slight body as another body settled behind her, and she finally heard the voice she longed for the most:

“Not a word, Junker. Not a word.”

Chapter Text

Vanellope Chapman had never had a more restless night before in her life. She struggled to fall asleep, which was deeply unlike her. Even when she’d lost her arm she slept like a champ… the nightmares came for her but she endured them, as she always did. But tonight? Tonight her mind refused to let up. Thoughts raced in her head like cheetahs on bloody uppers. She tried deep breaths, she tried some stupid meditation Monty always swore by, she tried counting sheep, she even tried counting the goddamn cheetahs… but sleep would not take her. 

She resigned herself to the overwhelming thought spirals, hoping if she gave in maybe they would take pity on her and ease up. She couldn’t shake the image of Marya running from the table… She was so bloody stubborn that even now, alone with her thoughts, she wanted to think something mean or cruel. She wished she could convince herself that Marya had been the fool, and that she should have sucked it up and put on a brave face. But Van knew that wasn’t true. Van knew that she had been in the wrong, deeply and undeniably so. Tinkering… it was everything to Marya. The only thing that rivaled her love of tinkering was probably her love of Van, or at least it used to. Van wasn’t sure where they stood now.

They had shared moments today that made Van take pause, but she would be a fool to come to a halt completely. There was no world in which Van could have gone to Marya when she needed her prosthesis built, it just couldn’t have been done. Their split had been so fresh when Van lost her arm, and Van was in no state to go back to Marya and grovel. She supposed it probably wouldn’t have been groveling… Maybe if she’d been less stubborn and just gone to see her it would have fixed everything. Marya would have seen her arm and anything that stood between them would have dissipated and they would have been fine . Marya would have seen the pain, of body and of soul, and she would have taken Van back into her arms and reassured her. And maybe if Van had been less stubborn, she would have let her.

But what ifs were deadly, Van knew that. What counted was the reality at hand. Van was a rational, logical woman. Brash and hot-headed at times, but decidedly logical at her core. As a boatswain there was often no room for anything but the absolute truth- the nitty gritty numbers of it all… So what were the facts then? Marya was a shell of a woman, riddled with trauma obviously. But she also was so soft with Van today. She had needed saving, and she needed Van. When all was said and done she had been brave. Maybe not in battle, or at least not as much as would have been optimal, but when she took a step to Van and caressed her so gently… Hell if Van’d had the courage to do that.

Being honest with just herself in this one small moment, it was Van who was scared. Marya said she was ruined by Straka? Well, Van was ruined by Marya. She had been so close to giving in, to feeling those sweet lips press softly to her own. And then Monty opened the door, and she remembered she was scared. It was easier to walk away than it was to tell her she shouted during that battle because she couldn’t bear to lose her again. If Van hadn’t stepped in and taken the helm the entire zephyr would have been as good as gone. And what if Van had saved the ship but not the tortured soul who had signed on to fly it? What then? The pit in her stomach spoke volumes… Bert was right, as he so often was. She couldn’t go on like this. Hurting Marya wasn’t making her feel any better, and standing at an arm's length away was killing her slowly.

Van heard a creaking from the hall and dreamed it was Junker sneaking to find her again like she did all those years ago. She wished that Junker would come to the door and tap oh so lightly, so as not to wake Bert in the adjacent bunk, and Van would come into the hall and put a finger to her lips to beg Marya to remain silent. She would take Marya by the hand and lead her to the deck, to their special spot they used to lie so many years ago in that hammock by the stern. God, fuck Monty for bringing up that story Marya told him… she couldn’t get the image out of her mind and it was occupying her every thought. The floor whined again and Van sighed, these old floorboards would be the death of her.

Though she knew a good night’s rest would be much needed for her wellbeing, the hammock beckoned her. The skies were calling and she’d never quite known how to say no. Slipping out of her bunk quiet as a mouse, Van padded to the door and opened it slowly to avoid the unwelcome chorus of the hinges. She forewent her shoes, deciding she needed to feel the wood of the deck on her bare feet that night.

It was strange, all that a person could feel at once. Van was in some ways saddened by the day she’d had. She’d been cruel to Marya, she’d been told off (however gently) by Bert, and the only one who was in favor of her quips was Wealwell. And apart from the guilt that accompanied her actions, there was the profound longing she felt deeply in her core. The unyielding desire to have her once more, in whatever way she could. There was also a jolt of adrenaline as she tip-toed down the corridor, it had been some time since she’d done this. The exhilaration ebbed with her sadness, as her journey down the hall only reminded her she was doing it alone this time.

She arrived at the deck silently, and she took a deep breath in. There was something so fresh and rejuvenating about the air up there. It was decidedly different from the air she breathed on the ground. This air held opportunity and the promise of adventure. There was an uncertainty in this air that she did not find daunting as most people would… Instead she felt at ease. Like the entire horizon was her back garden and she could go anywhere the winds would take her. And for much of her wind-riding days, that had been true. Then she lost her arm and felt so limited, suddenly. But now… with the wind-riders together again and Olethra and Maxwell too… it was different, but maybe it could still be similar. Maybe it could still be what she craved.

She quietly strode along the deck, taking in the quietude and letting each breath calm her restless spirit. She paused, hearing something around the corner where she was heading. Was it…? No… Of all the bloody nights, of course she was here too. But as she listened… she softened. It broke her heart, and she remembered they were both hurt. 

“... I see you are not what you were, but neither am I. You are still good, and I am trying to be… We can be good together, you and I, yes?” Van considered letting her have this time with the hammock and coming back another night, but then she heard the soft sniffling and gasps of a woman that wept without comfort. Before she could change her mind Van walked over. Marya did not see her, and if she heard her she did not make it known. She sat balanced on the hammock with her knees pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. Her arms hugged her legs close like she was worried they would leave her too if she let go. 

Cautiously Van proceeded. In one fluid motion, she put a hand on Marya’s back to steady her as she eased herself onto the hammock behind Marya. She said “Not a word, Junker. Not a word” and pulled the small woman into her, and Marya did not fight it. Sitting as they sat so many years ago, but with Marya lying between Van’s legs instead, Van shushed her softly and stroked her hair. Junker rolled to her side to nuzzle her face into Van’s warm chest, weeping softly as she accepted the comfort that Van offered. Van rubbed circles on her shoulder with her thumb and gave broad pats to her petite back. As Marya wept, Van frowned, but there was a certain contentment to that moment. Van took a deep breath, lilac , she thought.

“Vanellope--”

“Shhh… It’s alright, Junker. It’s alright…”

“I’m sorry Van… I’m so sorry… Van, I’m sorry…” She repeated her murmuring and Van pulled her closer. For the first time in nearly ten years Van’s lips grazed Marya’s head ever so slightly, as though testing if she would burst into flame on contact. 

“I know you are, darling. I know.” But the murmuring did not cease. This time with more confidence, Van pressed her lips to the source of that sweet lilac smell, breathing it in like the drug it was.

“Not broken… still good… Not broken, Van… I’m still good” Van nearly wept herself, but she vowed to be strong tonight. If Marya needed saving, then she would do it. Tonight… she would do it.

“Yes, Junker. Still good.” She hummed softly to the tune of an old sky shanty she and Marya used to sing on deck when the clouds were calm. She continued to rub small circles on Marya’s shoulder and let her lips linger across Marya’s hair. Tonight she would do it for as long as Marya needed. They stayed like that until Marya’s breathing slowed and the tears ceased to fall. Van might have thought Junker fell asleep, if not for the occasional hiccup that naturally followed such a forceful cry. Still humming and calming Marya softly, Van realized for all the time they spent on this hammock she’d never counted Marya’s freckles like Marya had once counted hers. It was cold on the deck without the sun to warm them, but Marya was in her camisole, shoulder exposed and inviting. Without stopping her tune, Van counted the freckles that adorned the bony arm in front of her. Their complexions were quite different and Van had decidedly more freckles (than most folks, in fact) but Marya was not without marks. “Nineteen. You’ve got nineteen freckles on your shoulder.”

Marya tilted her head to look up at Van. Her eyes were red-rimmed and blurry with tears, but Van saw them for what they were and she saw them for what Marya would never see them as… they were strong , emotional eyes. They made her even more beautiful still. They showed a resilience that most folks could only dream of. Those eyes saw everything and everyone so truly and wholly, they saw everyone but Marya herself. In almost a whisper, Junker responded. “You had fifty-three.”

Had . Past-tense. Van braced, expecting a wave of phantom pain where her freckled arm once connected to her body… but it never came. As she felt a strange sense of freedom, Van took her thumb and gently wiped away the few stray teardrops that had overstayed their welcome on Marya's cheeks. Marya’s eyes followed her every move. She let out a breath Van did not realize she was holding as Van ran her thumb along Junker’s bottom lip. She let it glide over the cool metal of the ring that adorned it. Marya’s eyes traveled from Van’s thumb, to Van’s mouth, to Van’s eyes. Needing no further convincing, Van leaned her head down and kissed her haunted paramour firmly and sincerely. 

How she had dreamed of this moment… She had pictured it a thousand times in her mind, but nothing she imagined could have rivaled the real thing. It was home. It was safety. It was comfort. Marya’s lips moved in sync with her own, desperately clinging to one another for fear that should they ever let go they may never collide again.

Van knew in her heart that tomorrow was not promised. Their love was powerful, but their souls were often fickle and volatile… Van’s especially. When the sun rose, everything could be different. Illumination could well show a different picture than the safety of the night. So tonight, with Junker in her arms, she would savor every last moment. Every last inhale of that intoxicating lilac she could take. Every last freckle that she could count. Every last kiss they could share.

Chapter Text

It could not have been real… a terrible trick of the mind perhaps. She was delirious from a lack of sleep surely. It seemed next to impossible that she would live to see the day when Vanellope Chapman held her so close once more. She felt embarrassed at first, to be found in such a state. To be caught weeping like a child in need of their mother, with tears running down her face and reason nowhere to be found… it was not how she wished to be perceived. But it did not bother Van. In fact… something about it had drawn Van closer to her. It lured her in like a magnetic pull. Van soothed her. She rubbed her back. She wiped her tears. Hell, she counted Marya’s fucking freckles. What kind of a sick joke had it been? And to end it with a kiss? A kiss that meant more to Marya that it could ever possibly mean to Van? A soft, sweet, perfect kiss… it was not fair. To dangle all that Marya longed for right in her reach, only to yank it away when she felt stable and secure. She would rather a thousand insults and verbal abuses than this… this pity would ruin her totally and completely. 

Perhaps it was masochistic, or maybe a foolish naivete, but Marya figured that the hurt would be the same if she felt it now or if she stayed just a little longer. The way Van’s body fit with her own was too irresistible to leave just yet. Van had relaxed entirely beneath her and Marya could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off to sleep. Marya played with the hem of Van’s vest idly and wished it was the same for Van as it was for her. It ached, the longing in her chest… a heart filled with unrequited love- breaking again and again every time she so much as looked at Van. For all her piloting experience, she had knowingly flown much too close to the sun. She melted her wax wings and dove head first into a free fall, no parachute in sight. Exhausted, Marya closed her eyes too, but not without deep worry of what was to come.

As she slumbered, she dreamed of the day she had met Van. Her nickname had been The Kid , but upon meeting Van she was insistent they call her something else. She was no child. She was the pilot of a goddamn airship. She was as sky-eyed as they came. In fact, the only thing that ever rivaled the way she looked at the clouds was the way she looked at her boatswain. She took one look at Van’s strong arms and the aura of wanderlust that enveloped her entire being, and Marya knew she had to have her. Back then, Marya had a spunk about her that was practically magnetic. She was feisty, she was bold, and she was trigger-happy. She stepped onto that ship and she gladly left her childhood behind. 

Van had been hauling rope when she first saw her. She was boldly shouting orders to some crewmates as Marya took it all in, unable to stop her jaw from hanging slightly. Marya knew most of the codes, but some were specific shorthand that she would have to learn as she went. Maybe Van could help her get more familiar with the terms if she had some free time. The pilot and the boatswain needed to be on good terms, after all. Their roles were so intertwined it was honestly just practical- the study sessions with Van, it was for the good of the ship…

Sound asleep, Marya’s face twisted into a soft smile. It was the first good dream she’d had in quite some time… she should have known it was too good to last. The smile faded as dark shadows loomed over the deck. The cursed flapping of mechanical wings whooshed nearby as Marya heard a shrill caw . She tried to shout to Van but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. She stood frozen to her spot, like a goddamn idiot. Straka . He would always come for her. He would always win. Her vow of bravery was just words, as was her implication that Straka was a coward. Even in her dream, where she was in charge of her fate and her prowess, she still knew she was no match. 

Straka landed on the far side of the deck with a loud crash, breaking crates beneath him and tearing through thick lines of rope like they were insignificant strands of twine. There was a horrific glare off of his metallic body but Marya could swear his mechanical feathers were the same shade of green that Van sported nearly every day. The heat that emanated from Straka was enough to cause the ropes nearest to his hulking body to catch on fire… Scorching ropes led to smouldering floorboards which led to a smokey battlefield, but through all of it she did not lose sight of Van. Unlike Marya, Van did now cower. She did not falter. She stood tall. She stood with purpose. As Straka allowed his massive feathers to plume out in a fearsome show, Van stepped back. Not for lack of bravery, but to let Straka through. She had lost hope in Marya and was allowing nature to take its course. Marya would have cried out and begged her for another chance, but if her mind was made up there was not much to be done.

The skies heated around her and she watched as Straka lashed out with an impossibly sharp talon and she fell to the ground with a harsh thud . He did not pierce her skin, instead he used it to pin her flowing sleeve to the deck beneath her. If he wanted her dead, she would have been long gone, so her immobilization was certainly intentional. She succumbed to it weakly and looked up at the beast that towered above her. Another shrill caw escaped his terrible mechanical beak, and Marya heard it echo as words in her mind. 

“You are weak, child, and I am strong. You play the part, but your spirit hasn’t moved on. Heed my warning or pay the price. She is fire, and you are ice. Pity, not comfort, is what she gives. Walk away, before only one of you lives.”

She woke with a start. She opened her eyes but did not move. Van still rested comfortably beneath her. Her forehead was sticky with sweat and her entire body ached with paranoia, a state not uncommon after a dream visit from Straka. She knew Straka was right. Straka was always right.

She looked up. The sun was rising and the others would be up soon… Embarrassed by her foolishness once again, Marya untangled herself from Van slowly and silently and thanked the skies that Van still slept like the dead. Without a word, Marya took one last look at what could never be, and padded away softly.

She returned to her quarters and closed the door softly so as not to wake Monty or Maxwell in either of the neighboring rooms. As soon as she heard the soft click of the latch she let her back slump against the door and a sigh escaped her lips like a spirit leaving a corpse. Kočka emerged from his miniature burrow he’d made in the porthole windowsill. He seemed to have layered a rag or two with some strange odds and ends he’d deemed appropriate. It was similar in nature to Marya’s bunk, which had strange items that one would not normally find in a bed, but to a Scrapsylvanian it would be stranger to go without. Kočka stood expectantly in his sill, and even from across the small room Marya could feel his hefty attitude.

“Kočka, please. Not now.” The rat remained unmoved. “I am a grown woman. Mind your business, my friend.”

Still, Kočka did not move. He tilted his head down just slightly and looked up at Marya as if to say “I don’t buy it” and Marya wondered who had taught him such things, Wealwell probably.

“Kočka, I don’t need to hear it from you. I have made a mistake yet again, I have been a fool yet again… And I will pay the price yet again. I was with her, you know I was with her. But I left. In the new day I couldn’t face the disappointment, so I left. That’s what you wanted to know? You are such a busybody, Kočka. Such a big attitude in such a small friend. I know I should not have let myself indulge in such precarious endeavors, but what’s done is done, Kočka. I can’t take it back.”

Kočka crossed his arms.

“Kočka please . I can’t do this with you now. I can’t. We… we fell asleep, and Straka came to me.” Kočka’s arms loosened and his tiny features softened slightly. “Don’t you think I’ve heard all I needed to from the beast himself? Enough from you, please. I beg you, my sweet. Not now.”

She trudged to the sink and splashed a little water on her face. She had come so close to spending a night at peace that her nightmare’s impact was worse than usual. That short time when she pictured a beautiful scene on the deck had spoiled her, and her ability to endure the torture of a little nightmare was all but lost. Pathetic , she thought. Absolutely pathetic. No wonder she pities you . She let the cool water pour over her and she scrubbed away last night. She took a rag and wiped under her eyes where her tears had fallen and she dabbed along her hairline where the sweat was stickiest. She paused, looking at her lips. The last thing they touched were Van’s. She reached one careful fingertip up to her mouth, as if trying not to scare away the memory. She let it glide over the piercing as Van’s thumb had done hours earlier. She longed so desperately for those lips again… Stop it, Marya. Get it together. Stop this foolishness and grow up . 

With newfound resolve, she picked up the rag once more and scrubbed at her lip vigorously. Every swipe of the cloth hurt- it hurt deeply in her soul. But when she was done there was no trace of last night. There was no trace of her.

She climbed into her bunk despite the rising sun streaming in through the porthole. Breakfast would be soon and she’d have to face the day. She’d have to face the consequences of her actions. But for now the covers could shield her for twenty, or maybe even thirty more minutes. She pulled the scratchy wool over her head and felt the comforting lumps of trinkets under her firm pillow- a toy soldier with only one leg, a child’s train car with no wheels, a yo-yo with no string. Together they laid in her bed, broken, but still good. She submerged herself in the embarrassment of last night and forced herself to confront it head on. She pushed shame to the front of her mind and vowed to be strong today. She would take twenty more minutes to be a piece-of-shit coward, and then she would rise anew. She would be strong and she would be so on her own. She could no longer be a fucking liability- a laughable excuse of a captain. She could no longer be the recipient of Van’s goddamn pity. Today she would be Captain Marya Junková, come hell or high water.

Chapter Text

A cool breeze crept up on Van and she shivered slightly. She stirred awake, a little disoriented. She opened her eyes and saw the horizon, not her familiar bunk wall. It came flooding back to her, the tip-toeing, the cuddles, the kisses… the girl. Van was alone, but still felt a surge of embarrassment as tears welled in her eyes.

Of course. Of course she bloody well left. She always leaves, Van thought. When was Van going to get it through her thick skull that Marya Junkova was only going to break her fucking heart? Thick skull, thin skin. Marya knew that. It had taken everything in Van… all of her courage, all of her strength… she set aside her own goddamn pain because Marya was sobbing in their fucking hammock. Just because Van couldn’t sleep, just because she found Marya there all doe-eyed and devastated… Van was sick of it. She had held her so close, she had soothed her and rubbed her goddamn back. God, she kissed her. She was so fucking stupid. Did she know? Did Marya know when Van came along that she was going to leave?

Have a fucking heart , Van thought. Sure, Marya had been the one in tears, but she’d have to be all kinds of daft to think that Van wasn’t dying inside too. But it didn’t matter. That selfish twat woke up, took one look at Van, and bolted. What was so bad about Van? Was she so self-absorbed that she couldn’t suck it up for one bloody evening? Lying would have been better. She didn’t need a fucking speech or anything, but leaving without a single word was low- really low. To leave Van alone in that goddamn hammock of all places? That was as cruel as it got. Forget all that Van had said to her and all the snide remarks… because words are words, but actions will kill you. 

It hurt worse than Van could have imagined. The smell of lilac lingered on her chest where Marya laid last night. The absence of Marya with the constant reminder literally sitting on her chest… a sick fucking joke , Van mused. It sat on her chest like a ton of bricks. The wind whipped in her face, mocking her. The air felt cool around her cheeks where tears had shamefully spilled. If Marya was unbothered then she would be too. If Marya wanted to pretend like nothing had fucking happened, then so be it. A fresh wound over an old scar was nothing new for a sailor like her. She’d breathe through the pain and she’d keep her eyes forward. The mission didn’t stop because Van needed a moment. Time was a luxury afforded to so few, least of all to a wind-rider. When the clouds came, a wind-rider was ready, so Van would be too. She took one more deep breath in private, and she strode off to the galley to see what Bert was making for breakfast today.

When she arrived he was whisking eggs with a steady hand. His apron was crisp as always, but she noticed a pile up of dishes in the sink from his prep work. He gave her a small smile but did not pause what he was doing.

“Morning, Lovey.”

“G’morning, Darling. Need a hand? Behind, dear.” Her tone was casual as she stepped behind him in the narrow galley way to get to the dishes. She began scrubbing feverishly at a pan that had been soaking, there was a bit of burnt something or other crisped onto it and Van had made it her duty to clean it. “Eggs, Bert?”

“Frittata.” He replied. He was awfully casual too, perhaps too much so. Despite their tight bond, it was still sometimes impossible to read him. His emotions were never on display and his cards were impossibly close to his chest at all times. He would tell Van anything and everything if she asked, but sometimes, as though not to bother her, he would not share unprompted. He surprised her as he continued speaking. “You were out early this morning. Deck chores?”

“Erm-” The truth was uncomfortable, but a lie would be unkind. It was only Bert, after all. “Not exactly.”

“You smell of her.”

“Bert…”

“It’s alright, Lovey. I told you it was alright, didn’t I? But the question is- if you smell of her, why aren’t you with her now?”

“It’s complicated, Bert. More so than I thought it would be. I was cruel yesterday, I know, but I don’t think she’s been any kinder.” Bert pulled her into a warm embrace and rubbed her back slowly. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she couldn’t help but wince slightly. She wished it was her. But today was a new day, and Van reminded herself that she had chosen to no longer care. “S’arlight, Bert. I’m fine. Moving on, I am.”

“Right, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Not on my account?”

“No. But I could never leave you anyway. Who’d make me aiolis and crisps, dear?”

“Vanellope Chapman it does not matter how far you run or with whom, I will always make you aiolis and crisps.” She smiled genuinely. He wasn’t her, but she repeated in her mind that was a good thing. He wasn’t her, and that was okay. They continued on with their banter, which she welcomed as a much needed distraction. Before long, breakfast was ready and they brought it to the crew mess. They rang the cowbell and sat down to eat. Everyone rolled in eventually, serving themselves and picking at breakfast. The conversation was light but trepidatious. Nobody wanted to restart last night’s quarrel, so the shapes of the clouds and seasoning of the frittata was of much note instead. Neither Marya nor Van said a single word.

As they finished breakfast they all headed off to various stations for travel, Marya and Van both headed for the helm. It was fine, Van decided. They were both adults, and if nothing even happened last night then working together would be as it was with anyone. It would be the same with Maxwell, or Pappy. Colleagues. Crewmates. Wind-riders… She would not think about Marya in any other capacity. Not today, not after last night. If Marya wanted to hurt Van then the knife had been bloody twisted and left in her spine, no doubt about it. So today she would be the peak of professionalism and she wouldn’t--

“GET DOWN! EVERYONE HIT THE DECK! TAKE COVER! BATTLE STATIONS, LOOK ALIVE PEOPLE!” Marya shouted. The entire ship rocked and Van watched a huge explosion erupt port-side, then another on starboard. Stunned, Van dropped to the ground immediately and army-crawled behind the helm beside Marya. “An ambush. Get to a gunner station, Chapman. All hands on deck.”

They didn’t have eyes on the rest of the crew, but god willing they would be at their stations and they’d hold their own. From the looks of it, it was a few wasps that had targeted them. Pirates, maybe. Not likely to be anything too serious, but they could certainly do damage if not dealt with. Underestimating an opponent was a mistake Van was not likely to make again any time soon. She looked to Marya, remembering how she’d felt badly about being so cruel to her yesterday only to see her decidedly fine today, and Van was the one broken inside. So no, underestimating an opponent was not on Van’s to do list today.

“Yes, sir.” Van replied. She tried hard to focus, but she could still smell the lilac on her chest and it weighed heavily on her mind that Marya was, as she suspected, unbothered by last night. First and foremost Van was a sailor- a boatswain no less. She didn’t have time to fucking daydream about what was going on inside of the hellscape that was Marya’s mind. It was time to act. Well, it would have been time to act, if not for the twitching limb that was whirring and strangely with small sparks coming out of the gears. A problem for later, she decided. With one arm she stood cautiously and began inspecting the battlefield with the scope. 

“Van- your arm?” For fuck’s sake. Of course she noticed. Yesterday she’d been bloody catatonic and today every last detail was on her goddamn radar? 

“S’fine. Keep piloting.” She continued to load the gun and shot off a few rounds at the wasps that had flown up to attack. Her left arm hung uselessly to her side and she cursed under her breath. It had ached before but in this moment the pain was monumental. Like it was being sliced clean off again for the first time, searing pain radiated up and down her entire left side. She would not abandon her station, she would push through the pain and she would do what needed to be done. Marya continued piloting while also shooting off rounds with her blunderbuss- a complete and total 180 from yesterday’s performance. 

Something had changed in her, and Van knew she was no longer a part of the equation. Some people just liked to fuck with you until they knew they could have you, but Van had never pegged Marya as the type. The surprise of it all only added to the tremendous pain that had taken hold over Van… she continued to shoot off rounds but she was unable to hide how the malfunctioning prosthesis was bothering her.

“Van- let me help!” Marya shouted from across the way. She shot off one more round at a wasp and hurried over to Van’s battle station. The gun had a little cover, but it was certainly risky to try and fix Van’s arm in the middle of battle.

“Get back to the helm, Junker. I don’t need your help. Bert will fix it later.” She loaded another round one-handed again, and winced. Even without moving the limb itself, the pain had escalated enough to bother her anyway. “I- argh- I can do it with one hand.”

“You can’t. You can’t and you know you can’t. Let me see.” Marya tried to get to the arm but Van dodged her grasp and shoved her off. Marya stumbled back slightly, but without hesitation she stepped forward and stood up a little straighter. Van couldn’t help but notice her mouth from her peripheral vision… it had been frowning a moment ago, but as Van peeked again it was a harsh scowl. She looked at Marya more head on and saw that where there was concern in Junker’s eyes there was now anger. Her brows were furrowed and her shoulders broad and tense. Her fists were clenched and she said through gritted teeth: “Vanellope Chapman, so help me god- let me help. That’s an order.”

Van could think of maybe one or two other times Marya had pulled rank. It was a nuclear option, to be sure. Sometimes it came to that, and Van knew that. Van was a woman of code, and at the end of the day she respected when a commanding officer pulled rank, Marya knew that. She stepped back from the gun and looked at Marya with pure contempt.

“Aye-aye, Captain. Be my guest.” 

Chapter Text

Childish, stubborn, antagonistic, and proud, but at least she still respected authority. Marya had her face pinched tight, returning Van’s contempt ten-fold. Aye-aye, Captain, the words echoed in her mind as she took Van’s hand in her own and began inspecting it. Be my guest, so churlish, so fucking passive-aggressive. Marya had never run a particularly formal ship, but she did run a tight ship, and this toed a line. She shook her head and ground her teeth together as she twisted and turned Van’s prosthesis, ignoring the winces from Van. She could say she was being rough because they were pressed for time- sitting ducks as Marya investigated intricate mechanics mid-scrap- but the truth was she just didn’t fucking care.

She’d seen them that morning, Van and Bert. Laughing and giggling while they cooked, like last night had never fucking happened. She felt satisfied with her choice to leave while the dawn was still breaking, clearly it hadn’t bothered Van in the slightest. Maybe it was stupid to think something about her actions would have sat with Van, but she had expected something to be different today. And yet, the sun still rose, Van was still happily married to Bert, and Marya was still the goddamn fool holding out hope. No more. She was strong today, she reminded herself. They were just words she repeated, until of course she saw them in the galley. Then suddenly the ire in her soul pushed through to her aching feet and her bony hands and she found it in herself to be the woman that Van would regret for the rest of her life.

She ran her fingers over the gears and valves of the prosthesis, covertly admiring the work. Just another thing to be jealous of, she supposed. The arm had seen a fair bit of use and the wear and tear was obvious, but clearly something was malfunctioning for Van to be in this much pain. Van was trying to hide her discomfort as Marya poked and prodded, but Marya saw right through it. She had a newfound sense of clarity today, nothing clouded her senses and she could read Van like a fucking book.

“Sometime today, Captain. We’re still under siege, you know.” Marya ignored it and kept looking for the source of the issue. She lowered her artificer’s lens over her left eye and closed her right. She saw it- a loosened bolt that was corroding copper conductors that fed directly into flesh. It was small and could easily be overlooked, especially with someone as stubborn as Van who insisted that she was fine. So reckless, really. Her pride had consequences and she loved to fucking pretend it didn’t, but maybe this time she’d learn a goddamn lesson. Though she’d never had a prosthesis herself, Marya had done enough tinkering to know this would cause excruciating, searing pain when these muscles were exerted. She pulled pliers and a micro-wrench from her belt and began fixing the arm. She used the pliers to carefully push the copper to the side and then went in with the micro-wrench to tighten the miniscule bolt. Van jerked her arm as Marya touched the copper lines but Marya held the arm firm, lest Van had forgotten that her frail arms were stronger than they appeared. “Oi! Watch it, Junker.”

“Captain.”

“Captain,” she snarled through gritted teeth. Marya tightened the bolt as much as she could with the tools she had on hand and pushed the copper back where it was meant to be. “Oi now, Captain what’re you--” She paused mid-sentence.

“It’s better this way, but not a long term fix. See me after we’re done here. Get back to work, Van.” Van looked back at Marya dumbfounded, but Marya put on her most convincing poker-face and gave nothing in return. She knew it was better. It was a simple fix if only Van had let her take a look sooner, or even Bert for that matter. But Van was always fucking right and never needed anyone else’s help. So instead, she’d spent who knows how long in goddamn agony… God forbid Vanellope Chapman ever tell another soul what’s going on. Marya returned to the helm and didn’t look back. She kept her eyes straight ahead and shot off a round on her blunderbuss at the port-side wasp. She held the ship steady with her back holding the wheel in place as she lined up a shot once more. She let the notches of the wheel dig into her spine and she planted her feet firmly to the deck. Eying through her scope she could see the wasp was nearly finished, one last shot would do it, surely… You can do this, Marya. She’s watching and she needs to see you do this.

So she did it. She shot off a round that landed directly where the fuel tank met the thrusters and the wasp exploded like fireworks raining down in celebration. But Marya didn’t celebrate, not on the outside. Internally, she took her win, but there was still much to be done. It took everything in her, but she did not turn to see Van’s reaction. She wanted more than anything to turn around with a smug smirk plastered on her face and see how Van felt about the new Captain at the helm. Or rather, the old Captain? No, new. The old Captain had far too much romanticism in her eyes… This Captain was fierce and strong, capable and confident. This Captain was unflappable and unbothered.

She turned back to the helm and gripped the wheel forcefully, every muscle rising from her unsuspecting forearms as she turned hard, evading the debris from the wasp. It had apparently lined up a shot for Van, because she heard a loud bang from behind her and then another explosion of a wasp. She scanned the radar and her field of vision for any other enemies still operational, but those had been the last two.

“ALL CLEAR?” She shouted.

“CLEAR AT THE BOW.” Van confirmed.

“ALL CLEAR STERN” Pappy returned.

“STARBOARD CLEAR,” rang out from Maxwell.

And “PORT CLEAR,” from Monty.

Marya exhaled with relief but did not remove her gaze from the helm and their path ahead. Wherever they’d docked was apparently not as secure as they thought and they ought to continue onward somewhere safer. The familiar creak of the door sounded from behind Marya and she turned to see Van exiting the helm. Who was the fucking coward now? 

Finally alone at the helm, Marya collected herself. It was worth noting, she thought, that she did not cry. She felt the familiar burn in her nose as if the tears were en route, but they never arrived. So fuck Van. Fuck her for cursing her out yesterday. Fuck her for making Marya feel like she was the liability when that arm was a goddamn ticking time bomb. Fuck her for giving up on Marya when there was so much left for Marya to give. Fuck her for letting Marya sob like a little bitch in her arms only to return to Bert in the morning. Fuck her for going to Bert in the first place. Fuck her for ever walking away from Marya. Marya Junková was  not someone you get to walk away from and keep the upper hand. She had been knocked down before, but she was done feeling sorry for herself. Straka had taken all that he could from her and there was nothing left but pure unmitigated rage. Fuck her pity, fuck her pride, and fuck her for every other goddamn thing. 

Everything was painted in shades of bright crimson and scarlet, and Marya admired it like it belonged in a fucking museum. She would let the anger consume her whole if it wanted to. This vast, beautiful fury… No more pain, no more hurt, just resilience and strength. That’s who she would be now. Her reputation preceded her, and she was dead-set on finally living up to it.

Amidst her rage, she hadn’t noticed some Gotch retainers come in to check on the helm after the dust had settled. She instructed one of them to take her place and keep the ship steady. They were en route for a new port, one that would hopefully be less hostile, and all he needed to do was stay the course. She was getting tired of incompetence, but surely the young man could handle this. He nodded, and she walked off toward the galley. She was high on adrenaline and absolutely nothing Van could say would tear her down right now.

Her steps were lighter than they had been in years, but somehow more forceful too. They hit the deck with purpose and intention, not a trace of uncertainty to be found. Without giving herself a chance to back out she swung open the galley door and walked in, practically strutting. She was there, of course, with him. Her back was to Marya, but Bert faced her. Their eyes met and his flashed something somewhat inscrutable, but somehow ever so slightly disarming. A warning? But gentle, and kind. She felt the sharpness of her own expression soften mildly and he gave an almost imperceptible nod in return. Perhaps Bert was not her adversary after all; it occurred to Marya that he had never asked for this. 

“Bert.” She gave a nod, airing on the friendly side of neutral, if such a thing could exist.

“Captain.” He returned it. Van still did not face her.

“Might I have a minute with my boatswain, Bert?” She surprised herself with her own possessive words, but she stood tall as she said it and did not falter.

“Of course. I’ll just get some air then, Lovey. I’ll be on the deck if you need me.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and walked toward the door. As he passed Marya he hesitated for the briefest of moments and then placed a hand firmly on her shoulder. He whispered almost inaudibly, “I did my best.”

Almost too ambiguous to be of comfort, Marya let it sink in and searched for relief within his words. She felt his hand leave her shoulder and heard the door softly whoosh closed behind him. Indecipherable but with undeniable intent of reassurance, a strange line to walk and even stranger to walk it with him. 

“Vanellope I would like to take a closer look at your arm.” She didn’t turn around. Marya gave her a minute then firmly repeated herself. They didn’t have to be what they were, but this new version of Marya refused to tolerate such treatment. “Vanellope- your captain is speaking to you. An ounce of respect, perhaps. I would like to take a closer look at your arm.”

Marya watched as Van’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath that was shakily released. She turned around slowly, arms crossed and leaning her body casually against the counter. There was no hiding the redness of her eyes or the streaks down her face, however composed Van tried to appear.

“An ounce of respect? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Chapter Text

An ounce of respect? Who the hell did she think she was? After last night what the hell kind of respect did she think she was owed? Van subtly took in her appearance. Her battle corset was tied snugly around her waist and she’d put on a fresh blouse beneath it. This one was similar to yesterday’s but Van noted that it did not share the same scuffs or rips. The blue of this one was slightly more faded than the blue of the other, but she wore it well regardless. She wore the same pants, Van recognized the bloodstain on the upper left thigh. Marya’s tools were neatly in each of their holsters, just next to her Straka bullets. She did look the part today, Van would give her that. But looks could be deceiving, and Van wouldn’t be fooled again. 

“Respect is earned, Marya.” Van chose her words carefully, leaving much unsaid but heard loud and clear. If Marya wanted to pull rank then she could, but until Van heard that’s an order again, she was uninspired to do jack-shit for the woman who stood in front of her.

“So is a title. I’d remind you that today yours is boatswain, and mine is Captain.”

“Yes, I can see that today . And what was your title yesterday, darling?” The pet name slipped out and Van hoped Marya either didn’t notice or took it as a dagger to the gut. Old habits die hard, and the memories of soft kisses linger for a long while. Perhaps it could be heard as condescending- yes, Van could lean into that angle. There was no room in this conversation for niceties, so Van tried to tread carefully. She was in the right this time, anyway. Whatever Marya said to excuse her actions would be just that- excuses. “You had no right to pull rank out there.”

“No right?? And what right did you have to give a half-ass performance in battle? To load your gun one-handed like it wasn’t killing you every moment? How long could that have been sustained? I saw your arm- don’t forget. There was no way you could have maintained that station for the fight. I did what I had to do.”

“You want to talk about half-ass performances? I don’t think so, Love. Not an argument you’ll win, I’m afraid.” Her voice was thick with arrogance and dripping with scorn. She was sick of this shit. She was sick of the back and forth, sick of Marya being helpless then turning around talking like she owns the place. She didn’t- this zephyr belonged to the Gotch family and if Comfrey had been here then she would be captain. Like a wolf in a sheep’s hide, she loved to pretend she was such a bloody damsel in distress, and then she got Van right where she wanted her and she fucking pounced.  

“Vanellope--”

“Don’t. Don’t lecture me about what I did or didn’t do today. You’ve had your look at my arm, we made it out unscathed. No harm, no foul, right then?”

“I don’t care for your tone, Van.”

“I don’t care for yours.” Van mirrored.

“Then we agree on something.” Marya quipped back.

“Finally!” Van gave a toothy grin, feigning enthusiasm over their common ground.

“Fine then. Now let me see your arm.”

“No.” Van was firm.

“What do you mean no ?”

“I mean no . No, you cannot look at my arm.”

“Stop being so fucking stubborn and let me see it, Vanellope.”

“I said no. Don’t fucking touch me.”

“It helped, did it not? What I did earlier? It’s not a long term fix, there’s more that must be done. You’re so goddamn insufferable, just let me fix it .” 

Vanellope stared daggers at Marya, letting it be known exactly how she felt. She clenched her fist and unclenched it, pain free. What Junker had done did help, but like hell would Van let Marya lay a hand on her again. She might be able to fix the arm, but she’d break Van’s heart a thousand times over with just one touch. “You want me to let you fix it? Then bloody make me. ”

It was bold, and it probably crossed a line, but what lines were even left between them? The very sight of Marya made Van sick to her stomach. She felt it now- doing flips at every word that Marya spoke. She had been rejected once again after laying it all on the line for her, and now she wanted to come poking and prodding, pulling rank like it never happened? Like it didn’t matter? Hell no. She watched as Marya stood straighter and crossed her arms, reflecting Van’s position back to her. A game of chicken with absolutely no winners, and Van didn’t care. She wasn’t playing to win, she did it for the love of the game.

“Where do you get off--”

“No, Marya. Where do you get off? You want to act all self-righteous, so holier-than-thou, save it for Monty who actually puts his money where his mouth is. From you it’s all just bullshit, Junker, innit?”

“Van--”

“No. Send me to the brig or whatever the fuck you have to do now that you’re a Captain all of the sudden, but I’m sick of being pushed around by you. Since we stepped foot on this ship we’ve all been tip-toeing around you while you’re afraid of your own damn shadow. You’re a bloody ghost of yourself! You almost cost us everything yesterday. Cost me everything. And today you show up… as a captain? Fine. That’s great, Junker. I’m so happy for you really. But it’s bullshit to walk around acting like you’ve been a captain this whole time. It’s bullshit and I’m all set, thanks very much. Had my fill of bullshit last night, didn’t I?”

Van was seething. She wondered if she foamed at the mouth, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if she did. Because really, where did Marya get off saying all of that shit? Absolutely un-fucking-believable. 

“Last night? So rich, coming from you about last night.”
“Are you fucking with me, Marya? You leave without so much as a single bloody word and you think I should feel bad about last night? In what fucking world, Junker?”

“I left because I knew you’d act like this.”

“Oh, I forgot about your crystal ball! Absolute gobshite, you are.”

“Make fun if you’d like but it seems like the prophecy has been fulfilled, no?”

“Right. And it’s got nothing to do with you leaving, certainly. If you’d stayed I’d have been just as mad because I’m Vanellope Chapman: Monster at Large!” Her tone was mocking and her arms flew up to illustrate just how exasperating this was. 

“If I’d stayed… you’d have been…” Van watched Marya hear her words, maybe for the first time in this entire argument. She might have felt like Van was stubborn but that just made her the kettle to Van’s pot. Marya looked caught off-guard, like this had struck her somehow. But the act was getting old- she couldn’t possibly be this thick. 

“For fuck’s sake, Marya. Need me to spell it out? Didn’t think your brain had leaked out with all the muscle mass but clearly I was mistaken. Next time a lass holds you all night long a goodbye might be appropriate. You had to know that was fucking low.”

“I didn’t need your pity.” Their anger was so loud it was hard to hear undertones of anything else, but Van could hear a tiny waver in Marya’s voice. The air between them was ice cold. But it was the kind of cold that would burn you if you held on too long… or maybe the air between them was just scalding hot, Van was too fucking exhausted to tell. 

“My what?”

“Your pity , Vanellope. I don’t need it. You saw my fortitude today. I’m sorry you happened upon me in such a state last night, but it--” Van dropped her arms and stood tall, pushing off of the counter she leaned on a moment before.

“I happened upon you? Don’t fucking pretend you weren’t in our fucking spot, Marya. You were sobbing . You wouldn’t bloody shut up about being broken… What the fuck was I supposed to do?” Marya mirrored Van’s movement, and threw her arms to her side in tight fists. She rolled on the balls of her feet swaying just a few inches closer to Van. 

“I didn’t ask you to climb into the fucking hammock with me!” Van leaned closer too. She couldn’t help but notice how her lips curled around each word. How her accent formed each sound. How her eyes stared into her own but traveled to Van’s lips for just a moment. Van saw it all.

“ You didn’t fucking have to .”

And then it happened. Like toxic little magnets that couldn’t refuse the push and pull of one another, their lips collided. Van wasn’t sure if she’d made the move or if it was Marya- the action was certainly mutual. Van’s hands ran up and down Marya’s sides feverishly. She was furious with herself, but her body was on autopilot and she couldn’t stop it now. Marya’s hands found Van’s hips and pulled her closer. Hands traveled up and down backs and clawed at waists. Both of them were clamoring for closeness and begging for more- Van prayed that this time it would last. God please , let it last.

Breaths were heavy but their lips did not dare to detach from one another. Their mouths moved in sync so fluidly and with a carefree nature that they hadn’t shared in so fucking long. Marya let her arms wrap around Van’s waist, holding tightly as if to ensure there could be no evasion. Van pulled Marya’s pilot's cap off of her head and pulled out the loose bun at the base of her skull. She let her fingers drag through Junker’s soft, short locks and she felt a gentle hum from Marya as she tugged slightly on her hair. Ten years apart but Van still knew all her favorite things, and she hoped so desperately that Marya might still know hers. She breathed in deeply. Lilac . That goddamn lilac would be the death of her. 

But if it killed her? What a fucking way to go.

Chapter Text

Fingers tangled in Junker’s hair and lips molded to her own like they were handcrafted to fit together. She couldn’t be sure which felt better- that or the very thought that Van wanted this. Van wanted this like Marya wanted this. With Van’s strong hands that traveled along her body, running up her sides and cradling her neck on their way to her scalp… it was long awaited and greatly missed. Van moved her left arm with some uncertainty, and Marya worried at first that it might have been causing her pain, but the way she moved the rest of her body did not imply any sort of discomfort. Marya took her own hand and reached for the prosthesis. The soft clink of hardware from Marya’s fingerless gloves against the metal of Van’s arm caused Van to flinch. Marya persisted and Van reluctantly gave in to Marya’s pull. She guided the metallic limb to her waist, then let it linger a little lower, casually inviting Van to explore her body as she wished . Van was tough and had a hard exterior, but today, unclouded and clear, Marya could see the self-consciousness that riddled her spirit.

The invitation was all Van needed to push forward. Sturdy arms wrapped around her and groped wherever they desired… ecstasy didn’t begin to cover it. The small galley was positively feverish between their own escapades, the tight quarters, and the heat of the various appliances. As they kissed like love drunk teenagers, the dishwasher whirred methodically in time with their every move. It was rhythmic, like a dance. Nobody taught them the steps and they did not need musical accompaniment, but Marya couldn’t deny the artistry of what transpired. Junker’s body was held firmly by Van, kept upright as she was guided a couple paces backward. Calloused fingers cradled her neck and large mechanical ones gripped tightly where her waist met the small of her back. It pinched slightly in conjunction with her tight leather corset, but it was a welcome sensation- like an old friend returning home once again.

Marya felt her back press against the cool metal of the refrigerator door; it was as if Van was daring Marya to even attempt to leave this time. But she wouldn’t, not knowing that Van wanted this too. There was a conversation they needed to have, but one more minute… one more minute of this and maybe she would be whole again. She reminded herself again that today she was strong and she was brave . She wouldn’t back down, not this time. She let her head rest against the fridge door as Van moved against her with an undying ferocity. They were not perfect as a pair, but they surely never lacked passion.

There was much to consider about what was happening- the pleasure was simple but the context rivaled rocket science in its complexity. It had been so long since Marya allowed herself to feel the embrace of another, or even since she desired such a thing. Who could have compared to Van? The familiarity of her skin, rough from her deck chores and years on the open sky, was a texture she could not live without. The starchy cotton button down tucked beneath a sturdy wool vest found Marya on lonely nights. The smell of ropes and gunpowder danced under her nose like a goddamn hallucination whenever she tried to entertain the thought of loving another… No, Marya Junková could never love a soul who was not Van.

They would pale in comparison, and it would not be fair. This… Yes, this was worth waiting for. She had not forgotten the electricity they shared, even after all this time, but feeling it once again was as monumental as the first time. It always was. In a perfect world she’d never need to come up for air, but she was not such a spring chicken anymore, and she was out of practice. She pulled back gently and she swore she heard the slightest whimper from Van. Marya breathed heavily but Van was far from finished with her. She trailed her kisses up Marya’s jaw and over to her neck. Tiny, soft, and sweet little kisses were planted one after another until her mouth hovered just to the side of Junker’s collarbone. She hesitated, but Marya closed her eyes, relaxing into Van, and it was all the encouragement Van needed. Her lips attached to Marya’s skin, sucking and biting gently. So much for Marya catching her breath.

“Vanellope… Van--”

“Hmmm?” She hummed into the soft, supple skin but did not stop. Junker could hardly get the words out, but she still tried.

“Van… it will leave a mark…” Van paused briefly and blew cool air on the sensitive spot, and Junker shivered.

“Let it.” Marya couldn’t stop it, a moan escaped. Van smirked and continued exploring her vast canvas.

“Vanellope-- V-- Van we should--” Van grazed her neck with her teeth and Marya gasped. “Sh-should finish our conversation.”

“Not enjoying yourself, Darling? You always were a little masochistic I suppose.” Van continued kissing back up Marya’s neck until she made it home again to Marya’s lips. Marya gave in with no further convincing. Their lips collided and Marya was immediately lost in the kiss. Van pulled back this time and looked at Marya’s disheveled state, smirking coyly and gave a cheeky wink. “S’what I thought.”

Still between Van and the refrigerator door, Marya tried to regain any semblance of composure. It was rather difficult, given that Van still eyed her like a tiger starved with want. She reached hands up to her face to hide away for a moment, and shook her head in disbelief. Still breathless, she let her hands move to the sides of her face like a curtain to peek out of.

“Vanellope…”

“Yes, Captain?” God she was smug, and it took everything in Marya to remember what it was they needed to discuss.

“Van-- this… this is great but--”

“But what, Love?” Marya looked around, her eyes darted from the chef’s knives on the counter, to the half consumed mug of coffee by the sink, to the fresh aprons hanging on the wall.

“But everything. We’re in his galley, Van.”

“Bert? Always so naive, Junker.”

“Van, it’s not fair to him.”

“Junker, take a look around. Does Bert seem dull to you? I came back this morning smelling of you.” Marya’s eyes went wide with panic. She hadn’t even considered it was too late, that he would have known already.

“I- I should go apologize. God, I’m so stupid. Van I have to-” Her strong arms kept Marya in place. She brushed hair out of Marya’s face delicately and clicked her tongue to playfully scold Junker.

“Uh-uh, not just yet, Love. You haven’t stolen his bird or anything like that, can’t steal what isn’t truly his. With Bert… he’s my rock, my ride or die, but… well, it’s not exactly a love match.”

“What do you mean? He’s not-- you two aren’t--”

“‘Fraid not, Dear. Dare I say, he might be rooting for us too.” Her heart jumped at the news, but it was weighted with guilt still. Her treatment of Bert was unfair and unkind, she probably did owe him an apology still.

“The arm… it’s good. It’s good work.” It was the most she could manage just yet. It was all so much to take in, but it was good work and she didn’t know how to say anything else remotely complimentary after she’d spent so long envying all that Bert had. He had been there when Marya wasn’t and there wasn’t anything she could do to change that. He had never iced out Van before, he had never left her in the lurch… he had simply been there for her when Marya wasn’t and she was grateful for that, but there was such intense shame that came with it that she couldn’t bear to face head on. Not yet, at least.

“You could tell him.”

“I couldn’t.” Van was trying hard to read what sat beneath the surface of Marya’s words, but Marya would not fold.

“He likes you, you know. I know it’s complicated, but he knows about the wind-riders and whether it was my editorializing or not, he certainly has a soft spot for you.”

“I am surprised your editorializing didn’t cloud his judgement of me. I would have deserved it.”

“Yes, you would have.” Marya’s face fell a little, but Van kissed her nose and continued quickly. “No amount of slander could ever overshadow the blatant longing I have for you in my heart… I… I should have called you. When it happened, I should have called you.”

“Van-”

“No, Marya I should have. I was proud, and I was embarrassed, and I had it in my head that you’d moved on.”

“I never moved on.” She looked up, meeting Van’s eyes. She was practically offended at the notion. Who the hell could move on from Vanellope Chapman?

“I know. Whatever Comfrey was up to got to me, and then I lost my arm and I had no idea how to come to you as half the woman I was. I was in no state, maybe I’m still not--”

“Don’t say that. I would take you as you are, in any way that may be. I would take any version of you. Any version that would take me too.” Marya tried to hide the guilt rising in her chest. She knew it was only a matter of time before she’d have to come clean. The truth will out, as they say. But this time together… this tenderness, it was reforming parts of her soul that she didn’t know could ever be mended. If they broke apart again she feared there would be no remedy for the fall out, she would never recover. Marya’s arms were draped lazily over Van’s shoulders, but her hands moved to fiddle with Van’s collar. Playing with the seams and the scorch marks from their recent scraps. She didn’t want to meet Van’s eye, so she let her gaze fall upon anything else.

“I was hurt, and I was wrong, and maybe you were hurt and wrong too. But there is no version of you I would not take. I know that now. The time we spent apart… I know I’m stubborn as hell, Junker. You are too. It’s part of what makes us so strong, I think. But it’s also come back to bite us in the arse a few times, yeah? I… I’m too bloody old to do it again. I’m in if you’re in. I’m all in, Marya.”

“I want to be. I want to be all in, and I know you think you want to be too, but there’s so much you don’t know… that if you knew… Straka plagues me and--”

“Screw Straka. I’ll kill ‘im myself. Just say you’re all in and we’ll figure the rest out. We can, Marya. I can’t lose you again. It hurt so much, and it hurt worse without you there. Between my arm and the goddamn heartache, do you know how many nights I spent crying over you? I was ready to walk away, but something about you… I just can’t quit. You drive me absolutely up a bloody wall sometimes, but being without you… it’s worse. And then I woke up this morning alone and I was so fucking embarrassed, Marya. Because it’s shameful, the way I feel like I can’t fucking breathe without you. The way I let myself get pulled back in so bloody easily? You have this way about you…”

“Last night- I just, well, I didn’t-- I’m sorry.” Marya searched for the words but none felt good enough. None would convey that she was, from the bottom of her heart, sorry, but that Van should probably run for the hills while she still could. How could she find it in herself to be selfless enough to tell her the truth when it would only hurt them both? Marya leaned her head forward and their foreheads met gently. She closed her eyes and tried to find courage in her soul, but it was well hidden. Forehead to forehead, Van’s voice echoed just above a whisper.

“It’s alright. Well, that is to say, I understand why you left last night. But I need to know if you’re in like I’m in, because my spirit won’t survive this again if it ends in tragedy, it just won’t. Say you’re in, Junker… please .” Her tone went from pleading to desperate in a single breath.

Marya dropped her hands from Van’s collar and let her hands find one another, playing with her own fingers instead. Van’s arms dropped from Marya’s waist and tried to grasp at Marya’s fingers, but they were rather intentionally otherwise occupied and rebuffed her. She could not in good conscience be all in without Van knowing. It wasn’t fair. She removed her head from Van’s and looked down. Her well-worn shoes were far less nauseating than the sight of her true love’s expression as Marya ruined everything.  

“Van--”

“Marya Junková, I swear to God.” Van took a step back and shook her head. Whatever explosion came, Marya reminded herself she deserved it.

“I didn’t want to lose you… I didn’t want to lose you and so I made a bad call.”

Chapter Text

How many times was Vanellope Chapman going to let Marya Junková waltz into her life with a fucking sledgehammer? Moments earlier she was begging this woman to go all in with her, to say she wanted the same damn thing as Van. And just before that Van had had her hands all over her goddamn body and her tongue down her bloody throat. She’d left a hickey like a fucking teenager. And that absolute twat let her.  

“Right then, let’s hear it. What’ve you done?” In utter disbelief Van began pacing back and forth in the tight galley. Tall as she was, her stride allowed her two paces in either direction before she hit the door to the crew mess or the utility sink opposite it. Her mouth, still buzzing with lust, was pressed into a thin line.

“You have to understand--”
“I haven’t got to do anything. What bloody call did you make?” Van did not look at Marya, and Marya did not look at Van. Marya was frozen in her spot against the fridge and Van paced relentlessly. They both stared at the floor like it was an equal participant in this entire exchange. Van felt her arm clenching and unclenching again, she didn’t fucking care. 

“When we were the last two with MacLeod… She- she kept talking about Zood. She wanted to find it… She came to me for help with the math, but she was crazed. It wasn’t sky-eyed, Van, it was more. It was worse. Van--”

“Don’t. I don’t want to hear a single word out of your mouth if it isn’t a direct explanation of why the hell I’m in this goddamn position again.” Marya sniffled, though Van didn’t look she knew tears fell from her eyes. It was not Van’s problem at present, and she did not address it.

“Right. Sorry, I mean-- Well, MacLeod she had this desperation about her, a madness. She wasn’t close enough to Zood, she didn’t have the pieces then that we have now. She was running out of money… She started taking jobs that were… dangerous. Cash grabs. Not from the Gotches--” Marya stopped herself and Van looked at her impatiently. 

“Yes, your special little romps with Comfrey. I was kept off of those.”

“It was me.”

“What was you?”

“I- I kept you off of those missions. But it--” 

“ YOU? ”

“Van-”

“ NO .” Firmer than she’d ever been before, Van shut Marya down. Was it still dead air if the air in question had been brutally murdered? “When I came home to our bunk at the end of each day, lamenting how MacLeod was phasing me out and you kept whispering sweet fucking nothings to me about how you wished you could do something-- the emphasis in sweet nothings was on nothing wasn’t it? In what fucking world do you get to make that call, Marya?” Van’s entire body throbbed with rage. She had never been so shit-pissed in her entire life. There was a calm about her for a moment, an uncertainty that lingered in the air. Which made it that much more dramatic when she picked up the mug of old coffee from the counter and threw it in the far corner as hard as she could. She watched it shatter as the remaining coffee sprayed the floor. Marya flinched, but it did not phase Van in the slightest. Through gritted teeth, as she stared at the mess on the floor, she said “ Go on.”

“The missions-- they were so dangerous, Van. I didn’t want-- I couldn’t lose you. I see the irony in that, but I was trying to protect--”

“The irony? You’re shitting me, Marya. Protection? What fucking rom-com did you pull that line from? Do I look like I need protection? Being iced out was the only goddamn reason I took floater jobs in the first place- which makes you responsible for this .” Van held up her arm, which now throbbed in agony where the metal met her flesh, but Van refused to let it show. “Didn’t have a crew I trusted that day, did I? Didn’t have a captain looking out for me. Just a boatswain for hire, in need of a few quid and a bunk.”

“Straka is my punishment, he has come to me and--”

“Some bloody fairytale is your punishment? Like I give a rat’s fucking arse?? I don’t think so, Marya. Come join us in reality and take some fucking responsibility.” Marya sobbed openly now, so much for the strong captain facade.

“Van the missions… I couldn’t let Comfrey go alone but I couldn’t let you come either. It was an impossible decision-”

“So you decided to throw me on my arse? Didn’t think I could hold my own out there? There was another choice, Marya. There’s always another fucking choice.”

“What choice, Van?” She spat as she spoke, choking on sobs with every word.

“You could have bloody talked to me, Marya. You went to her when I was right here. I’ve always been here, haven’t I? Never left, hmm? While you were off playing pilot I was taking any goddamn job that came my way- hell of a lot more dangerous than whatever Comfrey was up to I’m sure. God- I spent so long being angry at her. Wondering what the hell I did that pissed her off so much… But it was you. Your so-called protection lost me my arm. I didn’t need your protection, Marya, I only ever fucking needed you. You asked if Bert was the man who stole me from the skies? Any future I had in the bloody skies was stolen by you.”

Van’s voice was hoarse from shouting and her head ached profoundly. Marya was too busy crying to notice that Van had stopped pacing and was standing unusually still. Any movement felt like it would kill her… the pain that radiated from her prosthesis was unbearable, but there was absolutely no way in hell she’d let Marya have the satisfaction. She’d have to let Marya see it eventually, but it would be on her own damn terms. She wasn’t sure that Bert’d be able to fix her arm, not like Marya did. In all their years of marriage he had never made it as seamless as Marya did in thirty seconds- under siege no less. He was a chef, and she was a tinkerer. Later, she decided. Right now Van thought she might be sick. 

Not five minutes ago her arm had felt like new and she’d been on cloud nine. She’d found it in herself to understand Marya’s actions if not entirely forgive them because the pull from her soul to Van’s was so powerful she didn’t see another way. But this? God, this was unforgivable. Van shook her head, incredulous and dizzy from whiplash. She turned to leave, pushing through the pain of her arm, and ignoring the crushing weight of heartache.

“I’m out, Marya. I’m out.” As she walked away she could hear Marya sobbing and shouting after her, but it was muffled by Van’s intense dissociation.

“Don’t leave, Van, please. I thought you were all in, Van, that there was no version of me you would not take. Van-- VAN!” But she kept walking. Every step was labored, every breath was suffocated. The solid oak floors were probably beneath her feet still, and the walls of the corridor were presumably still there, but as she walked she was numb to everything but the anguish that riddled her entire being.

All this time… She’d spent so long cursing Marya’s name over the heartache of her absence… she’d never known it was intentional. That she’d chosen to be without Van, hell she probably insisted if Van knew her. Looking back, it was the only explanation. What reason did Comfrey have to ice her out? As far as boatswains went she’d be hardpressed to find someone better than Vanellope fucking Chapman. She came to the end of the impossibly long hall, and shouldered the door open. Wind cradled her like a mother’s arms to her babe and she let it take her wherever it desired.

Van was stronger than most, funnier than some, and harder worker than all. She held her own on deck always, but still worked well on a team. She saw everything that needed to be done and knew exactly what order to do it in. Split second decisions came naturally to her where others would falter and fumble. She looked down at the ropes affixed to the railing nearest to her. They were tied well, wouldn’t budge for the strongest squall. The end of the rope was piled in a heaping circle, shoved to the side for foot traffic. Ropes were simple… the hardest thing about them was if they got tangled, and even that was just a puzzle to sort wasn’t it? Then all that was left was the knotting, which Van had been doing since childhood. She didn’t discount her proclivities, she knew that deck chores were not for the faint of heart. She was a good man in a storm. She had honor and dignity, and she was loyal as hell to folks who’d earned it. 

Van followed the railing down a ways, letting her fingers glide along the top. It was metal at its core, but it had been painted over several times and drips that dried over drips formed small bumps for her hand to play with mindlessly as she walked. The air in the sky was thinner, but plentiful. She breathed it in slowly, letting it sit in her chest for a moment before exhaling. Her steps weren’t aimless, but they weren’t mapped out either. She let body decide her destination, her soul was simply too weary to do so.

She found herself at the stern, looking at that stupid fucking hammock. Broken but still good? Right then, Van’ll believe it when she sees it. She ran her hand along the rope, replaying the night before. Van could muster empathy for someone who was hurting, but Marya was hurt over her own damn guilt. The ire was eating Van alive… maybe if she could just wipe away any trace of this mess then the pain would let up. Completely on autopilot, Van’s prosthesis grabbed hold of the anchor bolt where the hammock met the wall and she yanked as hard as she could. It was well secured, but no match for Van’s mechanical prowess. With a few yanks it began to loosen slightly and then finally wood splintered around it as it was freed from its spot. She did the same to the other bolt and she all but ensured the hammock could not be used again. There was only one thing more absolute that she could do… Maybe if she had been less numb she would have taken pause, but she continued on without a second thought. She collected the knotted ropes together and hoisted them to the ship’s guard rail. With a hefty shove, she watched as they rippled wildly back and forth in the wind, free-falling to God knows where.

She looked around. She saw crates, she saw rope, she saw rusted bolts, and she saw near-rotten wood in a scrap heap. Monty always said that visual anchors could calm a spiraling mind, but it did not work. Instead she closed her eyes. Pain still consumed her, but she pushed it down as far as she could to feel the sky cleanse her soul. Tears fell as she silently begged for relief, from whom or from what she did not know, but it did not come. She dropped to her knees, arms still gripped to the railing, letting her shoulders strain as she sobbed. 

At some point the tears dried up, she did not know when. It did not stop her from letting her mouth hang open in case more sobs needed to escape. She rested her head on the metal pole of the middle rail, letting its coolness meet her skin. Her chest heaved and her breathing was erratic- sometimes steady, sometimes heavy as she remembered where she was and why. She replayed the day of her accident in her mind over and over again and she compared it to this one. Both hurt so profoundly she was not sure which had been worse. Everything hurt, and it might have been the arm, or it might have just been Captain Marya Junková. The same could be said about both of those fateful days. 

The sun began to set and golden hour was practically blinding, but the glow of the sun felt fresh on her skin. She breathed deeply and tried to ignore the absence of lilac. She let the air fill her lungs, and she stood shakily. She did not want to go to dinner, she was not hungry and there was nothing waiting for her there but scrutiny.

Instead her feet carried her to the corridor of crew quarters. It was a surprise to Van as her feet stopped at Marya’s door instead of her own. It was more surprising still as her arm twisted the handle and pushed the door open. She walked in, and sat on the edge of Marya’s bunk. She’d spent so many goddamn nights here, some asleep and some not. 

Tonight, she decided, she would sit here and she would wait for Marya to come back. She would make Marya fix her arm and she would make her do so without a single word of explanation. She would make Marya sit with the hurt she’d caused, and maybe sitting with it would begin to rival the pain Van experienced. She would tell her what befell their beloved hammock. She would tell her that like any hope of their reconciliation, it was now lost to the skies.

She felt the scratchy wool blanket beneath her and she wondered if it was the same one they’d used so many years ago. She saw the tiny carving on the post of the bunk where they’d drawn their initials like children once upon a time. Next to it there was something else now, another inscription- a poem? It looked fresh, and Van was far too curious to leave it be, so she read it.

Ghostly girl in a ghastly world, haunted forever by her. Regret it as you might you will not win this fight. Repent or indulge, it won’t change the fates- Straka’s bloodlust never sates. 

Again with Straka, Jesus fucking Christ… She was always going off about Straka, carried around those goddamn bullets like they were a wubby. It was enough. Van rolled her eyes and looked around. She noticed dozens of etchings scattered around the bunk. They were not as faded as their initials, but they certainly weren’t fresh. She noticed one phrase that repeated in several places, with lines deeply carved as if she’d gone over it again and again… All the things you throw away that still have life in them yet, but you do not indulge come back to haunt you.

If it was real, all she could think was that Marya shouldn’t have fucking thrown away Van.

Chapter Text

“--VAN!” She screamed desperately. Her voice broke and tears blurred her vision. Van did not stop, and all Marya could do was stand there frozen once again. Van did not want to be chased, and Marya did not have it in her to try. She let her head fall back against the fridge door with a soft thunk , and sunk down to the floor in a heap. A discordant wail escaped her lips as she fought through tears and snot to breathe. One knee was bent to her chest and the other had fallen slightly to an angle. It was not comfortable, but Marya did not deserve comfort. Her whole body shook with each sob. She balled her hand into a tight fist slammed it to the ground.

Her jaw flew open and she produced a strained, unintelligible groan as her fist landed on a shard of shattered pottery. Pieces of the broken mug laid across the entire floor- no corner of the room was untouched by Van’s rage. Marya’s hand bled slightly, but it was nothing she had not seen before. It was also nothing compared to the wounded spirit that ached in her chest. That , Marya decided, was the real problem at hand. A bandage could be wrapped around her palm easily, but a wounded spirit is not so easily healed. She picked up the ceramic piece that had sliced her hand and looked it over thoughtfully.

Sage green, now with streaks of red staining the side. She knew which mug it was in an instant… One of Monty’s favorites. She couldn’t let it lay broken on the floor, not this mug. She shifted heavily onto her hands and knees and began crawling around the galley floor, collecting every last miniscule piece she could find. It felt personal, the degree to which Van had tried to break it. It could not be glued, but surely it could be repurposed. It was not broken, few things ever truly were.

Monty always said this mug was the perfect size for a midnight pick-me-up. Perfect for the nights when his art possessed him and would not let him rest. When he would sit in the crew mess with a small oil lantern, his journal, his lucky pen, and a cup of coffee. Marya would sit with him sometimes, she loved to watch him work. She’d bring some scrap metal and a few tinkerer’s tools to the large wooden table. She’d sit cross-legged  in the booth, letting the red vinyl bench squish beneath her comfortably. He’d always outlast her, sitting there until two, sometimes three in the morning still writing as her eyelids betrayed her stubborn will and shut without permission. He would chuckle at her and tell her to go climb into bed, but she knew she’d wake Van trying to climb into the twin bunk at such an hour. So she would lay her head on the table, and wake with a terrible crick in her neck. The price of aging, Monty always said. But Marya was willing to pay it if it meant watching an artist at work. 

They didn’t understand. They all poked fun at her, but happiness and contentment were never promised. In Scrapsylvania joy had to be created, it could not just be found lying around. To dispose of something with life left in it was to dispose of a precious opportunity for that sweet feeling they all chased so fervently. It was the only way she knew how- she herself was broken in so many ways that tinkering wasn’t just a hobby- it was a goddamn survival skill. 

Her ears were stuffed from the crying and her mind was largely elsewhere, but Marya could hear the gentle creak of the hinges as slender hands hesitantly pushed it open, as if asking for permission to enter. Marya did not give permission, but she didn’t deny it either, so Olethra cautiously walked in. Olethra did not speak, but she knelt on the dirty galley floor in front of Marya and laid her soft hands on top of Marya’s bony ones that still tried to collect the shards of pottery. Marya tried to remove her hands from the girl’s touch, assuming that Olethra would let up easily, but she was wrong. Olethra’s hands followed Marya’s and pressed more firmly on top of Marya’s. Too stubborn for her own good, Marya tried again more forcefully to extricate her hands and continue picking up the shards from the floor, but Olethra moved to take a strong grip and would not release her.
“Let me go,” she whined. Pathetic as always. She could attempt to have some semblance of authority here, but it would be an unconvincing act at present.

“No.”

“Olethra-”

“No.” Marya tried one last time to withdraw her hands, throwing the shards she clutched to the ground. It surprised Olethra just enough for Marya to pull her hands away, but like a domesticated animal in the wild, Marya did not know what to do now that she’d escaped. Olethra seized Marya’s entire upper body in her moment of hesitation, snugly wrapping arms around her, providing an even pressure as Marya thrashed in protest. “ Just let me hold you .”

Though she did not wrap her arms around Olethra in return, she gradually stopped thrashing and let her tears fall once more. Olethra’s firm grip eased slightly as Marya relaxed into her persistent arms. Her head fell forward onto Olethra and she sobbed into the soft corduroy of the teal blazer. In another world she’d have felt bad for dirtying such a pretty shoulder, but she was in no state. 

An uncertain hand found its way to the back of Marya’s head, cradling it as she wept like an infant. Soft pats ran down her head as if to say it was okay to be this way and that she was safe in Olethra’s arms. Marya tried to inhale but largely hiccupped instead, Olethra shushed her quietly. It was strange to feel so mothered by someone she once knew as an infant, but comforting all the same. In the end, they were all souls in need of love and care regardless.

“People make mistakes. You made a mistake.” Olethra whispered softly into her ear, as if not to spook her into thrashing again. Little did Olethra know that Marya had absolutely no fight left in her tired bones. She did not pick up her head from Olethra’s shoulder, she let it stay there and she pretended it was Van’s hand that soothed her.

“How much did you hear, my sweet?”

“Enough.”

“I should be embarrassed.” She raised her hand to wipe at her eyes and Olethra loosened her grip to allow for the movement. With the freedom to move, she sat up independently, but did not meet Olethra’s eyes.

“For the blow out? Passion is never something to hide, my grandma used to say that.”

“Comfrey is a wise woman.” Marya found it in herself to finally look up at Olethra. She looked so much like Comfrey… even as a baby they shared features, but the young girl- young woman, really, had grown into herself so profoundly. It was the eyes, Marya decided. Both sky-eyed, but it was more than that. There was a softness in them despite the wanderlust… a kindness.

“Marya… There's something I wanted to ask you. And I might be wrong-”

“You are probably right, my child. You are a clever girl.” Olethra blushed. It was nice to see that her words could still do that to someone, even if Van wanted no part of her.

“When we came to your toy store and asked you to come with us… you said if we wanted you we needed to get Van. And I know it’s complicated, clearly, but my grandma told me once about Straka. The prophecy, or um, the curse… You have it because of her?”

“Like I said: you are a clever girl.”

“And she has it because of you?” Marya froze with fear in her eyes. “You didn’t know…”

“Her arm… Oh God, I’m so stupid… so goddamn selfish- I always am. So fucking self-absorbed that I couldn’t see, that I wouldn’t see--”

“Hey- hey stop--” but Marya continued.

“The timing- it all makes sense. He plagued me when I distanced myself from her but she lost her arm when she gave up on me too… I was so wrapped up in my own woes, my own curse that I did not stop to see even for one moment that she--”

“Marya Junková, STOP.” Olethra raised her voice. Marya did not know that Olethra had such a volume, nor such a tone, in her arsenal. She stopped immediately.

“Yes Ma’am.” She said, it felt appropriate somehow. Though she looked unsure of how to proceed having just given her captain a direct order, Olethra did her best. She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter.

“You’ve had your cry, nothing wrong with that, but let’s get to fixing it, Captain.”

“There’s no fixing Straka. Why do you think I’ve dedicated my life to the toy shop? Day in and day out I repent- I take all the things that everyone has cast aside and said were no good anymore and I make them shiny and new. I find life where people say there is none. But Straka still haunts me, he refuses to let me have a night of peace… I have tried . He is an inevitability.”

“I don’t believe that, and my grandma wouldn’t either.” She stood and held out her hand to Junker, who reluctantly reached up to take her hand. Olethra gasped as Marya reached up with a bloodied hand; Marya had forgotten she’d cut it on the mug. “Huh… let’s start with this I guess…”

She couldn’t find the strength to smile, but the statement did amuse her. Comfrey was always good at finding humor amidst the chaos too. When she and Van bickered years ago all it took was one quip from MacLeod and all was well. Marya let Olethra guide her to the sink and run the cut under cool water. Marya winced as the water ran over the open wound, but the pain was eased by Olethra’s hands holding her softly as she wiped around the cut carefully with a clean cloth.

“You have grown into such a capable young woman, Olethra.” A subtle blush crept onto her round cheeks. “I know you admire me, but you are the real prize, my dear. There is not much these old bones have left to offer in the way of tutelage.”

“Stop doing that, Marya. You fix, and you fix, and you fix- nothing’s ever broken in your world except for you. But you aren’t broken. You aren’t useless. You proved that this morning. You woke up and you did the damn thing. I’m sure it was hard, but you have to keep doing it. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it doesn’t even have to be good, you just have to do the damn thing. I’m sure Straka loves to hear you shit on yourself, but it’s not helping you to shake him. ”

“This morning… I had it within myself to be strong, I think because Van and I had forgiven parts of one another. I think I have ruined that now.”

“So what then? You’re giving up? Cursed by Straka always? Isn’t that what he wants?”

“Olethra, he comes to me looking like her. He tells me all sorts of things about what will happen if I pursue her… he has made it clear that we should never be together again.”

“So whose hickey is on your neck then?”

“I-- it’s-- I--”

“Exactly. Look. Straka is going to tell you all sorts of shit right? He’s a curse Marya, stop wallowing and break the stupid thing.” She looked surprised at her candor for a moment, and quickly added: “Respectfully, Captain.”

Olethra wrapped a dry rag around Marya’s hand and pulled a first aid kit off of the wall. There wasn’t much left inside of it, but there was enough gauze and medical tape for Marya’s cut. She applied gentle pressure and secured it with nimble fingers. Marya was quiet. She’d been beat, but her stubbornness wouldn’t let her say so.

“I’m not saying I have all the answers, but from where I stand it’s pretty clear… you have to fix things with her if either of you are ever going to get rid of Straka.”

“Yes, but how is another question entirely.” She sighed deeply. She looked at the fragments of mug that still adorned the floor.

“I can clean that up, go find her.”

“I--” She stopped, maybe it was stupid to ask.

“I won’t throw it away. I promise.” Marya nodded, relieved. She began to push the door open and turned back to the young girl.

“Thank you.” Olethra nodded and Marya left. She didn’t know where Van had gone, but she knew where Van would be eventually. She made her way to the corridor of crew quarters, and walked down the long hallway filled with nerves she pushed deep down. Her hand hovered over Van’s door, considering if she should knock or not. For fear that someone might answer and ask her to leave, she decided to let herself in without announcing her presence.

She was not without hesitation, and she opened the door slowly. She poked her head in before entering completely, and saw she was alone in the small room. She felt a wave of relief wash over her, then a niggling feeling of panic that she would have to sit with her thoughts as she waited. Be strong, Marya. Be strong and do the damn thing. She repeated Olethra’s words in her mind like a mantra as she sat at the edge of Van’s bunk. The memories were haunting, but Marya had become quite comfortable with ghosts in her life.

Marya sat for quite some time, thumbing her straka bullets and staring at the wall. It was only mid-afternoon, but she was weary from that morning’s events. Perhaps she should not have, but Van’s bunk called to her like a siren to a sailor. So many nights she laid in this bed… it was half hers anyway. She climbed in and decided it would be okay to close her eyes for a few minutes. As her head touched the pillow that smelled deeply of Van, her mind found true rest for the first time in years.

Hours later, she did not hear it as the door opened. She did not see it as the blinds of the porthole were drawn closed. And she did not feel it as Bert covered her with a blanket and tucked her in. Van’s bedding embraced her in a way that Van currently could not, and she slept soundly through the night.

Chapter Text

As the hours ticked by, Van wondered if it was stupid to wait in Marya’s quarters. There was nothing quite like an abundance of time to squelch one’s self-confidence…but her decision was made and Van was not one to change her mind once she’d chosen a path. She could see through the small round porthole on the wall that the sun had nearly set. Perhaps Marya was finishing her supper now and would arrive soon. Her idle hands ran over the carvings on the bunk posts, trying but largely failing to be patient. Her fingers always seemed to find their way back to that stupid carving of their initials. They’d been so young then… Marya especially. But they’d felt so certain, so invincible together. Van scoffed to no one but herself; if only she’d known then the world of hurt that Marya Junková toted along with her wherever she went- with enough to go around for all.

The door opened and Van jolted upright like a soldier at attention, bumping her forehead on the top of the bunk. Only after she saw it was Bert did her hand reach for the tender spot on her head. The confusion on her face was certainly apparent, but stubborn as ever she held her cards close to her chest and did not offer an explanation of her whereabouts unprompted. Instead, Bert spoke first.

“‘Ello, Darling. Y’arright then?”

“Fine. Why do you ask?”

“Because I know you. But frankly, Dear, you’d have to be blind or just plain daft to believe you’re fine . Did you want to tell me what’s all this then? Or shall I start?” Van stayed quiet. Her hands played with the scratchy wool blanket she sat on and her eyes fell anywhere but Bert. He waited a moment, but he recognized her refusal and continued. “Right then. You weren’t at dinner, Lovey.”

“Wasn’t hungry.” 

“She wasn’t at dinner either.” Van would have employed a poker-face if her expression had been at all decipherable, but the profound mix of feelings hid her true reaction adequately. Triumph, because Marya had not dared to show her face either. Disappointment, because she’d secretly wished that Marya had had to explain her bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks to the others. Guilty pride, because Van knew she was the cause. Annoyance, because Van had been waiting here for hours. Worry, because Marya should not be alone right now.

“Where is she then?” Van’s tone was even and hopefully convincing. Bert was impossibly perceptive and likely saw through it, but it wouldn’t stop Van from trying.

“She’s asleep.” A portion of the truth was clearly withheld in his statement, but Van did not want to play games.

“Well I’m in her bunk aren’t I? So where is she? ” Bert’s body stood tall and shifted slightly, though Van couldn’t tell why.

“In yours.” Van’s blood boiled so hot it might as well have evaporated on the spot. She moved to stand but Bert put his arm out to stop her. She noticed now he had shifted to block the exit. Like a caged lion her face twisted into a snarl and she spoke angrily to the soft man who stood before her.

“Let me out, Bert. So help me… Let me out.”

“Vanellope Chapman: you will stay right here.” Bert’s tone matched her own. She’d never known him to be so firm, let alone with her.

“You can’t be serious Bert.”

“As a heart attack.”

“I’ve been sat here for bloody ages while she takes a fucking nap? In my damn bunk?”

“Let her rest, Van.”

“Thought you were on my side, Bert.”

“I am.” Bert sat on the bunk across from her, their knees almost touching in the small room. Part of her wished that he’d sat next to her, but the other part of her felt like if he’d sat on Marya’s bed with her, then it would trigger immeasurable pain. Marya made her so bloody mad sometimes, but this bed was a safe haven never intended for anyone but the two of them. A wave of guilt flooded through her mind as she remembered the hammock, she knew she was a little too impulsive for her own good, but what was done was done. “I need to tell you a story, I think.”

“Like hell you do. Bert--”

“Vanellope- I will not take no for an answer. It’s my turn to be the stubborn one. You can quit it now, or I can make you.” Van’s mouth hung open slightly like she wanted to object but she closed it. His smile wasn’t malicious, but it was certainly satisfied. It faded as he began to speak. His brow furrowed and he looked to be searching for something, but whether it was the words or the confidence Van couldn’t be sure. “Though the captain was not at dinner, Olethra was. It seems that there are some things you need to hear, Dear. I’ve given you a fair bit of space on the topic but it’s time, Lovey. You ought to know what happened that day… the day you lost your arm.”

“Bert--”

“Please, Darling. Let me. There’s so much you don’t know, so much I’ve never said… there’s so much you need to hear.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened them and looked Van in the eye, more solemn than she’d ever seen him. “That day was a massacre.”

Tears pooled in Van’s eyes, she’d avoided this story since the day it happened. She’d always felt lucky that she’d passed out early enough in the fight to not remember much of it. It was so haunting even without the memories… she’d never wanted to know. But she realized, watching Bert speak, her unwillingness to confront that day…it was killing him. Bert was her ride or die, but she’d failed in this way to be his. For once in her life she vowed not to interrupt and to be there for him in a way he’d always been there for her. 

“Nobody ever told me what runs we were going on, because what does the chef need to know other than how many rations to stock? But this one… they should have told us. We should have had an out. It was a smuggler’s run- not sure if you ever knew that. I don’t know what they were moving, but it was worth an awful lot to some fairly powerful folks, I reckon. I hid out in the galley for most of it… Wouldn’t have survived it if I’d shown my face, I’m sure. It’s not cowardice if it’s for your own survival dear- remember that. With yourself, and with her. You’re so brave, but it’s okay to be scared. I was scared. I was petrified, wasn’t I? We were in port then, seedy port I’d never been to before, never since either…

When the explosions started I took my cleaver and my chef’s knife and I tucked myself in the back corner of the hold below deck- where the pantry reserves were kept. I shut the door and I waited. I heard every round of bullets fired, I heard every curse word, and I heard every scream. I heard as feet paced right above my head over the door to the hold and I prayed to anyone who would listen that they wouldn’t find me. I still hear them sometimes.

“I waited until the noises died off, and I left the hold quietly. The galley had been torn apart, utensils and cookware littered the floor and the lunch I’d been prepping had seemingly been hurled at the wall. For what reason other than to invoke terror, I couldn’t say. I felt faint, but the adrenaline kept me upright. Still clutching the knives, I left the galley. You have to understand- Van we were the only two who made it out. That’s not a hypothesis, that’s a certainty. Didn’t you ever notice that when you woke from a nightmare I was awake and comforting you? You never had to wake me… I was already awake. Their faces haunt me, Lovey. Every last one of them. Each more terrorizing than the last… the least I can do now is be there for the one they didn’t manage to finish.

“I was walking along the deck trying to find my way out, and you coughed. You weren’t quite conscious, but you were alive. I practically ran to you, dropping my knife and trying to help you. Your arm… it was badly mangled. There was nothing to save it, but I was set on saving you, Dear. I tied a tourniquet, heaved you over my shoulder, I did, and set off. Didn’t have any contacts in that port but it was seedy enough I didn’t need ‘em. Nobody asked me a single question when they saw the state we were in. Didn’t have any marks, but I traded me dad’s golden pocket watch for passage home…”

Tears streamed freely from Berts eyes, Van had dropped all pretenses that she was fine. She silently wept as he spoke. So much of this had lived in him for so many years… She was nothing short of a monster, she decided, for making him keep this to himself. She moved to speak, but he held up a finger, begging her to wait.

“There’s one other thing you need to know, Lovey. That day… the gunshots, the explosions… there was something else too. I didn’t understand it then, but it’s come to my attention that your accident bears some similarity to the woes that befell Captain Junková. There was this noise… like wings, Darling. Then a hideous, piercing caw . I feel rather confident, Vanellope- Straka was there that day.”

Van thought she was going to be sick. She felt so impossibly overwhelmed by all of this. How could she begin to process any of it? 

“Straka? The bird… came for us?”

“Came for you, Love. I’ve spoken with Olethra, and it seems Straka was there for you.” Now Van really thought she was going to be sick. “So while you blame her for your woes, I could just as well do the same to you… hear me when I say: I do not blame you. Vengeance is a nasty, unsatisfying vendetta, Vanellope. I can’t change what happened that day any more than you can or she can. I can spend my time taking care of you and I can make sure that you don’t make it worse… Vanellope… hurting her won’t bring your arm back, but it will strengthen Straka’s resolve.”

Van, for the first time in her life, was speechless. Her head spun and her mind raced endlessly. Even if she’d had proof to dispute his claim, she was much too tired to do so at present.

“Vanellope…” Bert started softly. He reached out and held her right hand gently, rubbing back and forth with his thumb. “I’m going to stay in the spare bunk of Monty’s quarters tonight. When you’re ready, I’m here for you, Darling, always. Please… let Marya rest, Dear. You could use some sleep too, Lovey. In the morning things will be clearer, they always are.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, imparting all the comfort and reassurance that such a gesture could offer, and he left. Without any fight remaining in her, she laid down in the bunk. Lilac assaulted her senses and she began to weep once more. Tears streaked down the sides of her face, pooling in her ears uncomfortably as she stared at the ceiling of the bunk. The pillow was uneven, and Van knew there was almost certainly a stash of items beneath it, as there usually was under Marya’s pillow. She rolled to her side, and moved the pillow to see what treasure awaited.

A toy soldier with only one leg, a child’s train car with no wheels, a yo-yo with no string. She moved the items from their spot and clutched them to her chest. They could all be fixed, and maybe, she thought… maybe she could be too.

Chapter Text

In a dark room that was both familiar and altogether a distant memory, something was wrong. A thick wool blanket enveloped Marya’s body in a bed that was not hers, or at the very least wasn’t anymore. Her mind was fuzzy and clouded… something was missing. She opened her eyes and took stock of her body, she accounted for all ten fingers and with a cautious wiggle in her socks she accounted for all ten toes. She rose from the bunk and stretched out her limbs carefully, examining them for cuts or perhaps a sign of poisoning, but she found nothing of note. Her movement was wobbly, almost as if intoxicated, as she trod over to the mirror and inspected her face, and decided perhaps something was different, but not as she’d expected. 

She appeared, in a way she had appeared not in years, well-rested. Looking at her reflection she noted far fewer bags under her eyes and her cheeks were markedly less hollow. She realized she’d not been visited last night, not by Straka at least. Something had shifted, and she wasn’t sure what. She had been under the impression that her curse was unbreakable while she and Van were still at odds, but curses were sometimes fickle and perhaps she ought to just count her blessings.

She let her eyes wander around the room, feeling grateful for its embrace the night before. For whatever reason, Van’s cot had kept her safe from Straka. It occurred to Marya that as therapeutic as those quarters had been, they were not hers and it was time to vacate. She wondered where Van and Bert had stayed while she monopolized their room. She would have felt marginally guilty if not for the abundance of spare bunks on the ship, though still she’d overstayed her welcome and decided to retreat to her own little nest. She tidied after herself, making the bed and fluffing the pillow slightly, and she exited the room quietly. She walked down the hall to her own quarters, still drunk from her slumber.

She opened her door and froze upon seeing the messy braid and broad shoulders that poked out from her bedding. All at once surges of joy and embarrassment swelled in her heart. It certainly felt right to see Van in her bed once again, but she was aware that it was the burrow of a mad-woman, more so than the last time Van had slept there. But to her surprise, she noticed Van clutching Marya’s trinkets to her chest as she slept rather peacefully. Perhaps the carvings had not bothered her… perhaps the trinkets brought her comfort and reminded her of Marya. She was caught off guard to hold such hope, realizing that even yesterday, as they kissed so intimately, she had lacked such optimism. Something had certainly shifted, but it remained to be seen what exactly the effect would be.

She heard an intake of breath and instinctively took a step back from the bunk, refusing to let air escape her own lungs as Van rolled over and opened her eyes slightly. In her half asleep state, an inconspicuous grin teased upon her face, though it quickly fled as Van took in her surroundings with more consciousness. She scrambled to drop the trinkets she held, and sat up quickly as she straightened her vest and hair a little. She cleared her throat but words remained lost. Shaky, but somehow still sure of herself, Marya spoke instead.

“You spent the night here.” A statement, neutral enough, merely an observation. 

“Yes, well my bed was occupied, wasn’t it--” A snark, but she stopped herself like she was trying to quit a bad habit. Softly, she uttered “--sorry.”

Marya nodded, quickly brushing off the faux-pas. The new day didn’t feel like the time for fighting, not in the slightest. There was no more anger, no more ire… and a lot less hurting. She resigned herself to meet Van wherever she was. It was her fault they blew up yesterday after all. Van gestured to the spare bunk across from Marya’s, inviting her to sit. She didn’t question it, though she shifted slightly, unsure how to feel about the calmness between them. Any good captain knows not to trust a calm sky, it’s always deceptively serene as it summons a lethal squall to hurl at unsuspecting voyagers… But Van said something she never thought she’d hear- something she’d fantasized about hearing for ten years now.

“I’m ready to listen to your story.” 

“Are you sure? It isn’t pretty.”

“Neither is mine, so I’ve learned. Just… I think I need to hear it if you’re ready to tell it.”

“For a long time I wasn’t, but I… I don’t know. I think I am now.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees up to sit cross-legged on the bunk. Her fingers fidgeted with a hole in the calf of her pants where threads were fraying, nervous but not impeded. There was a strength within her spirit that entirely eclipsed the curse that supposedly haunted her. “I cannot promise a happy ending, or a beginning or middle for that matter.”

“S’alright. Is what it is, Junker.”

“The day that he came to me… I was the captain of a small crew then, not with MacLeod. Thought I’d go back to her crew someday, but, well… things change, I suppose. It was a chartered airship, spearheaded by some academic types. We were exploring quite far North. On the record, we had some botanists on board looking for endangered plants that had some medicinal properties… off the record, we knew the big man footing the bill wanted a private island. Private from his wife, too.” Marya rolled her eyes. It wasn’t often she thought about the more mundane aspects of that trip, but even those were somewhat nauseating.

“I know it was my fault… when you weren’t invited on trips with MacLeod, I know it was my fault. But when you stopped asking to come, something shifted. I don’t know if it was in my head, or maybe in my heart, or if it was real… but the missions with MacLeod that were dangerous before, started to seem altogether deadly. I had bowed out of a few of them, even I had limits. I remember the guilt… I didn’t want her to be doing those missions alone, but any one of them could have been a one way ticket to certain death. And you were gone, I just… I didn’t have it in myself to be brave for her. Straka plagued me already, but I didn’t understand it then.

“I did some small runs for some nobodies, even pulled a stint on a tourist ship, but apparently my ‘vibe’ was ‘too much of a bummer’ and that didn’t last. Dr. Franz Wilheimer approached me one day, said he’d gotten my name from this girl… In your absence I… well not in any romantic capacity, not like us, but I took on a protégé. She had promise. She wasn’t you, but Van I swear she could have been.”

“A boatswain?” Van asked. Marya was too wrapt in her own feelings to decipher her tone.

“Anything. She served as boatswain for me, but she could do it all, she wanted to do it all. She did tinkering, she hauled rope, she flew the ship when I slept, she was a gunner, she even helped in the galley on a few occasions. She was the swiss army knife of wind-riders…” Tears welled in Marya’s eyes. Was was the operative word here. “You never forget the ones you couldn’t save. That day, when Straka descended… He took everything from me. He took my spirit, he took my ship, and he took her soul as collateral. I’d always hoped somehow Zood would be a place of those lost to curses like Straka, but if that’s true then I’ve yet to find her.

“Where we were it should have been cold, that was my first clue. It was a non-combat mission, so we’d mostly swapped tactical gear for thermal wear. A mistake you must only make once… I remember looking at her and thinking it odd, the way sweat pooled on her forehead, but then I felt it too. It was slow at first, then the temperature felt like it rose exponentially as the seconds passed. I shrugged off my parka and checked every radar and gauge that damn ship had, but nothing could explain what was happening.

“Then I heard it. It is unmistakable and it is unforgettable. The terrible flapping of huge, metal wings. Feathers of iron scraping against one another creating sparks with every single movement… I did not think him real until he came for me. In front of my own two eyes, Straka descended on the main deck and let out an ear-piercing, blood-boiling, spine-snapping caw , and unleashed a massive ball of fire from his unsightly beak.

“I wanted it to be a mistake, and I searched his figure for a pilot. I desperately hoped it was some cruel man, hoping to invoke terror in my heart, playing Straka for fun. But there was no pilot. The beast was real. Whether organic or not, he was real. His fiery breaths, his talons the size of canoes, his insatiable bloodlust… they were all real.

“We did everything we could. Fire was everywhere and spreading quickly, he seemed unphased by the bullets we showered him with. They ricocheted and became shrapnel that hurled back at us… I swear he laughed. Our plight was his greatest joy. Every death only invigorated him more. I watched as every last crew mate fell before my eyes, one after another… Until it was only me and her. He looked right at me, as if he knew. He knew what he was taking, and he wanted me to know that he knew. A razor sharp talon plunged directly into her gut, and she fell to the ground next to me, sputtering and gasping. The beast flew away, content with the utter decimation of my life. I was left on the deck, a shell of a woman, holding a young girl in my arms as she slowly bled out.

She begged and pleaded for the suffering to end. She called for her mother, her father, to any God who would listen. He was calculating and precise, he had punctured just enough to draw out her death but prevent any means of saving her. Just enough to make me hold her as life faded from her eyes and all of her could-have-beens became a list of never-will-be. A captain goes down with her ship. A captain fights and does not waver. A captain does not watch as her entire crew is lost to a beast of legend, scared and helpless… It was because I iced you out, I know it. I threw you away, I discounted your abilities… It was all my fault. Everything comes back to that choice, when I begged Comfrey to leave you out of it. It was all my fault.

“Second only to you, she is my biggest regret. Ludmilla , the one I could not save.”

Van was quiet, Marya was crying softly. They were not sobs, but rather a natural consequence of releasing secrets held so tightly for so many years. Whether it was the act of telling the story or Van’s reception of it, she could not be sure, but she felt it in her bones: She was free now, she was weightless and unafraid.

Van’s face was inscrutable. Marya decided to let her process and she refrained from pressuring Van to respond before ready. She observed Van’s every move. The way her hands fidgeted with one another, before running her right hand through her hair and rubbing her neck. She noted the thin line that her mouth had pressed into, and the deep ridges plastered on her forehead. She did not appear angry, though she’d have every right if she wanted to be. Her mouth opened to speak, and shut again quickly. Then again, and a third time. Finally, the fourth time took. Only one word came out, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

It was a relief, though it did feel like something of a trap. Nothing about her story had been okay, but Marya recognized that there was a numb acceptance that could have been appropriate here. Perhaps that’s what was happening, at least she hoped it was.

 “Van… have you forgiven me?” Her tone was even, but a twinge of doubt tainted the hope in her heart. It was the only explanation she could surmise. The peaceful sleep, the power to tell the tale of Straka, her desire to push on… perhaps she had succeeded in breaking the curse. Had it been that simple?

“I’m not sure. Have you?”

“Forgiven myself or forgiven you?” To some the distinction was trivial, but not to Marya. Few things were trivial to Marya.

“Both, I s’pose.”

“I’m not sure either.”

“Reckon we could be unsure together then.” Like a crumb to a starving man, Van’s words were more powerful than she could possibly know. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was just as good if not better. It was a promise of rebuilding something so profoundly broken.

“I would like that.” 

Though the quiet between them felt comfortable, Van wouldn’t meet Marya’s eye. She looked uneasy, but Marya couldn’t determine the source within her hardened features.

“Bert told me Straka’s the reason I lost my arm, not you.” Pride, or the swallowing of, Marya realized. Not a natural skill for either of them, unfortunately.

“I know.” Marya replied. Van had been bracing for her response, but it was unnecessary. She looked at Marya, relieved if not slightly confused. 

“You knew?” 

“Well, I didn’t know before, but Olethra is a clever girl.” 

“That she is. She fancies you, you know.”

“I know.” Marya wanted to keep the aura of playful intimacy between them, and she wondered if it would be too soon to wink at Van. She thought better of it, for now at least. 

“She can’t have you.”

“No?”

“No, that much I am sure of.” As if Van had read her mind, she gave Marya a cheeky wink and a matching smile… Two things Marya had missed profoundly from her beloved. Two things that made Marya want to worship Van like her very existence was a damn religion. Van laid down in the small cot and shuffled over a little, making room for Marya. Needing no further convincing, Marya climbed in and nestled into Van’s solid frame. Strong arms wrapped around Marya securely, preventing her from tumbling out, and coincidentally preventing her from escaping too. It felt like it used to, like she’d sobbed to Pappy about just a couple of days prior. She never pictured it could be real… She considered pinching herself, but the feeling of Van’s chest rising and falling under her head was so divine she didn’t even care if it was fake. If that reality could be hers for however long, then she would take it without question.

Lips pressed softly to the top of her head and a thumb rubbed gentle circles along her waist… their discussion was far from over, but what they had between them did not feel volatile like it did before. This was stable, this was at the very least functional. Straka himself would have to tear them apart with his own damn talons if that’s what he wanted, but she wouldn’t go quietly. If the contented sighs and less-than-subtle inhales of Marya’s scent were any indication, she suspected Van wouldn’t either.

Chapter Text

“I am sorry for the carvings.” Marya whispers. “They are off-putting, I know.”

She doesn’t move her head from Van’s chest, so she does not see it when Van frowns. She kisses Marya’s hair and does not stop the gentle rubbing of her fingers along Marya’s waist. Something has gone terribly wrong indeed if there is a world where Marya feels embarrassed of anything with Van. There was a time that there were no corners of their hearts they would not share, but she had apologized for something that was clearly a result of deep pain and worry.

“I’m sorry I walked away. Yesterday, and before too. I do take you as you are, every version, Junker.”

“This version is not one I feel entirely proud of.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t part of you, Love. You don’t have to be proud, but you can’t ignore it. I reckon that’s how the beast gets you.”

“Van… is this… I mean, do you… Just, I know that your arm…” She struggled to find words to ask what she sought to know.

“You want to know how Straka haunts me?” Blunt was sometimes best, Van felt.

“Yes,” Marya confessed in a tiny voice that dripped with loneliness.

“He does, I know now he does. But it’s hard to say how. ‘Til Bert told me yesterday I didn’t know he’d ever come for me. But now… looking back, it’s always been him, hasn’t it?”

“You didn’t see him?”

“Passed out. Some fighter I am, eh? Never saw the likes of him, and I… well, stubborn as always, I never wanted Bert to tell me about that day. I already have a permanent reminder attached to my bloody body. But I s’pose Bert does too, I was just too selfish to notice it. I lost my arm, but he lost a great deal that day too I reckon.”

“Vanellope, if you are ready to tell it, then I am ready to hear your story too.”

Van stiffened a little, but reminded herself this was healing and this was important. Since hearing Marya’s story, her arm hadn’t so much as twinged in the slightest. It was strange, but she recognized now this wound was well beyond logic and reason. 

“I’ve never told anyone. Not even Bert. He was there, and he knows his side of course, but I’ve never told mine.”

“If you aren’t ready--”

“I have to be. I think it might be the only way.”

“I understand.” She moved to sit up but Van’s arms held her in place firmly.

“Stay. Please… I can tell it, but just… stay here with me while I do.” Not a desire, but a necessity. An embarrassing, stupid necessity. But Van knew she wouldn’t get through the story if Marya looked at her with those big brown eyes filled with empathy and sadness. She wouldn’t get through it without the feeling of Marya as close to her physical being as humanly possible, she just wouldn’t.

“Whatever you need, Van.” Not an offer, a promise.

“I, erm, I’d started taking some floater jobs after, well after MacLeod didn’t work out.” Further blame would only exacerbate the issue, but it was a part of her story. “I know you had a hand in that… but I’d done some stupid things too. I needed a bunk and some cash, but I was taking on jobs that were of, erm, questionable nature. Felt like MacLeod didn’t trust me, or maybe she was losing faith. Wanted to show her that I wasn’t getting too old for the tough stuff… I took jobs that nobody in their right mind should have said yes to. Figured I was a Chapman, born and bred for danger, wasn’t I? But it was hubris. I knew it was hubris, didn’t stop me. Every successful run was like a high that I couldn’t stop chasing, and the stakes just kept getting more and more intense with every job. But eventually you look around and you realize you’ve climbed so high you can’t even see the ground, and then you convince yourself it’s alright because you could probably fly if you wanted to… I was drunk on adrenaline, every trip making it harder and harder to walk away.

“Then that day… I don’t remember all of it. Bert told me a fair bit yesterday, like something out of a proper nightmare. I was hauling crates on deck, working up a sweat. Didn’t notice how hot it’d gotten… There was this blinding, searing pain, and then nothing. Then there was nothing. It’s all a bit fuzzy after that, innit. My senses sort of waned, vision coming and going with my consciousness. I remember seeing Bert, with his chef’s knife in one hand and cleaver in another, God love him, and I remember him taking me away from there. Next I knew I was in a bed that was not my own, with water in someone’s kitchenware I’d never seen before. Bert’s, I know now. Told me yesterday he’d traded his old man’s pocket watch for passage home. I never knew that. Never knew what he’d given for me.”
Van’s voice wavered, the story affecting her even more so today as she retold it to Marya than when Bert had made her confront it the night before. Her nose burned and her eyes threatened tears. She realized Marya wouldn’t be able to see her cry with how they laid, but she’d surely hear the lump in her throat, and that was too much for Van just then. Marya’s hands idly played with Van’s lapel, tracing the edges of it with her delicate fingers. The weight of Junker’s head on Van’s chest was a soothing embrace to her nervous system. Van felt every inhale and every exhale of Marya’s body as it was pressed so closely to her own… It reminded her to breathe as well.

 “I was a right git to Bert after all was said and done.”

“You? Never.” Marya tried to lighten the mood some, a kind gesture if nothing else.

“Watch it, Junker.” She teased back. “Though just this once, I’ll admit: I was a menace. He was so good to me. I was in a pretty bad spot then. Spent most my time crying really. Slept all day and wept all night, didn’t I? Probably for the best because when I was awake I was a proper terror… He’d come in and offer tea or food, and I’d throw a bloody glass at the wall. It.. it was a tough time, and not one I’m markedly proud of. But Bert was so patient, a saint, truly, and I count my lucky stars for him. He persisted through it all. Through every last fit I threw he was there. He made sure I ate, and he made sure I drank something other than the good stuff… Didn’t realize he’d struggled through it all. That day haunts him too, in more ways than I ever knew.

“Anyway, we fell into a rhythm, he and I. Once I was done drowning in self-pity and spirals of shame, I climbed out of the hole and he was there waiting for me. They say food heals, but none so much as Bert’s… Anything I wanted, he made. Sometimes he knew what I was hankering for before I did. ‘At’s love, innit? Never fell in love, but we love each other about as much as two souls can. Got married for the hell of it, I reckon. Just made sense for our situation, I suppose. We wanted to take over my mum’s old place, renamed it and fixed it up a bit. He cooked, I served. He sang, I bartended. He charmed, I laid down the bottom line. We made a good pair, truth be told. And then one day I looked up and our faces showed lines of age, our joints creaked, and our backs ached. 

“I thought of you every night, you know. Fantasized of just hopping on a ship to Scrapsylvania and never looking back… but I was hurting, and what I had with Bert was so easy. Every night, I’d see the stars shine and I’d chart a course in my mind, and there would always be this echo in my mind telling me I wasn’t strong enough. I’d like to say it was Straka, but it was probably just me. I knew that we were due for a reckoning and I just didn’t have it in me to see you if it wasn’t going to be like… well, like this. The two of us, cuddled close, hushed tones, soft touches, gentle kisses… I was too bloody stubborn, too damn afraid. Then you came to the Nut, you came and I was there with Bert and all I could think was how I’d been a goddamn idiot, and yet there’d been no other path, see? I had missed the skies so much it hurt, missed you too. This golden opportunity waltzes into my restaurant and I can’t say no, can I? 

“But every time you looked at me it tore me in two. Every time you spoke to me and you didn’t say ‘I missed you too’ it broke me like some lovesick teenager. I’m quick to shout, always have been… it’s easier to spew orders than it is to whisper vulnerable truths. The other day… when you froze… I couldn’t take it anymore. I was so fucking worried, Marya. I wasn’t strong enough, but you sure as hell didn’t seem to be either. So I yelled. And you yelled back, and I thought I’d mucked it up, really did. Then you stood so damn close to me and all I wanted to do was sweep you off your feet and run away, but it wasn’t that simple. It’s never been that simple, or I would’ve shown up in Scrapsylvania ages ago. Not a lick of it made sense… I was so mad at you, wished you’d never let MacLeod ice me out, wished you’d been there to tell me not to take those jobs, wished you’d been there when I needed my arm built… wished you’d been there every moment before, since, and in between. 

“I have nightmares. I imagine you do too. In mine… they’re always of you. Didn’t stop me from loving you, which scared the hell out of me if I’m being honest. But every terror that found my sleep… it always turned into you somehow. When I saw you again… reality and fiction blurred together and I wanted to hold you close but every warning bell went off.”

“Straka.” Marya spoke softly and without explanation.

“Hmm?”

“Straka told you those things. He told me the same.” Marya shifted a little, reaching her arm up to trace a carving on the bunk. One of the more recent ones, it seemed. “From the other night on the hammock. He came to me, he told me that us being together would kill one of us. I believed him. It’s why I left, Olethra called me foolish for it.” 

“He wants us apart?” Van’s ears burned, remembering she’d have to confess about the hammock soon. One thing at a time, she decided.

“He wants us alone , Vanellope. We are stronger together. Have you noticed the last few days the weight of it all wavering? I have.”

“I… I suppose I have. Our curses… they’re tied to us ?”

“We threw one another away without cause. Straka feeds on such things. He is relentless, and from what I understand he will do what he can to force us back into his clutches.”

“The dreams. The blowout fights…”

“Yes. But the more we overcome it, the easier it feels. Do not be deceived, he will come for us again, and we must be ready.”

“Junker--”

“I need you to trust me on this.” Marya craned her neck to show Van the desperation in her eyes. “I need you to do this with me. I’m not strong enough without you…”

“Darling, casting aside other things that are good and useful… would that worsen the situation?”

“Van…”

“I was mad. I was so mad, Junker. I can fix it though! Or I can make a new one… Yesterday after our fight… well, the hammock--”

“The hammock? Our hammock?” The way her eyes fell knocked the air right out of Van’s lungs.

“I was stupid, I was--”

“You were impulsive.” Marya interrupted. “You are quick to act, and you lead with your heart. It’s a good thing, usually. But letting in the anger now will only strengthen him, I fear. It hurts, but it is nothing compared to his wrath.”

“I’ll fix it. I’ll make it right, Love.”

“Not just yet, though. Don’t leave yet. Every time you leave… I don’t know when you’ll come back. I’m not ready yet.”

“I’ll always come back to you, Darling. He wants us apart? I’d like to see him bloody well try.”

Marya smiled into Van’s chest. There was a confidence in her heart, dangerous as it was, that nothing could stop them. Like when they were young- passionate, resolute, and invincible. Marya shimmied up Van’s broad torso and kissed her delicately. Hands roamed around Van’s body with a lustful curiosity that Van would never discourage. She deepened their kiss and let her own hands explore Marya’s small frame too. Her strong arms guided her partner to sit atop her waist. She watched as Marya ducked her head slightly, not forgetting the particular restrictions of doing this in a bunk… The passion between them was fiery and bold.

So much so, Van almost didn’t notice as beads of sweat formed on their tangled limbs. Almost .

Chapter Text

Not again, not now. Marya wasn’t ready, she needed more time. She couldn’t fight Straka, she couldn’t lose Van… she couldn’t do it. Straddling Van’s waist, she looked up with panicked eyes. Van was trying to be strong, but Marya could tell that her brave lover was secretly worried too. A moment ago her eyes had been half-lidded, dripping with want and desire… but now they were open wide scanning the room, and scanning Marya too. Marya could practically see the gears turning in her brain, ever the one to take action and problem-solve. Marya’s chest was heaving, and not from the gorgeous woman who laid beneath her. Sturdy arms pulled her down to Van’s chest and wrapped around her torso.

“Junker…” Marya felt tears pricking her eyes, she let them fall. Van’s hand held the back of her head softly into the crook of her neck, stroking her hair gently. “Junker, I need you to be brave. Can you be brave?”

“Van…” She croaked. “It’s too much. Too much and too soon!”

“I know, Darling, I know. Not sure we’ve got a choice though.” Marya lifted her head hovering over Van’s. She couldn’t help the angry pout that crept upon her face. “You’ve every right to be upset, Love. But I need you to channel that at him, yeah? This is it. We do this and we’re free. ”

Van’s thumb reached for Marya’s face, wiping a tear with the utmost sincerity. Marya closed her eyes and leaned her face into the hand that now cupped her cheek. In addition to the tears, she was now sweating a great deal. The air in the room was heavy and unnaturally hot. She sighed. The time for cowardice had passed, it was now time to rally against the beast. “I do not know if it will work- but take this.”

“One of your Straka bullets? You’ve earned the right to these, Junker, I couldn’t.”

“I insist. They’re altered. Regular bullets… they’re comically ineffective against him. These… well I haven’t the time to explain in depth, but they’re designed to chemically react with iron and titanium, combust upon impact and shoot smaller pellets off after the exterior’s been damaged. If anything can penetrate his feathers I believe it is this. I can’t send you out there unarmed, Van. I won’t. I don’t have many of these, but I need you to have one. I need you to make it out of this.”

“Right then. Reckon we’ve got a beast to kill, Junker.” Junker nodded and dismounted Van. She stood tall, shoulders back, head held high. She put her pilot’s cap on, tightened the straps of her fingerless gloves, and took the regular ammunition out of her blunderbuss. She had five remaining Straka bullets. Five chances to shoot the beast when it counted most. Five chances to be free. Van stretched out her mechanical arm and let each finger curl and extend, warming the gears for action. She rolled her biological shoulder, donned her bowler hat, and cracked her neck. If they weren’t facing imminent death… Marya would’ve loved to jump her bones right there. Despite her most primal desires, she focused up and put on her most convincing Captain’s tone.

“It won’t be long until he descends, we need to get to the helm. We need to warn the crew. And get to our stations.”

“I’ve got your six, Love. Lead the way.”

It was burning hot now, and they stayed low trying to cling to the normal air that still lingered around them. Judging by the early hour, Marya determined many of their comrades were probably still asleep or getting ready for the day. Her fist pounded gruffly on every door they passed. Without shouting too loudly, she sternly ordered through doors: “ Battle stations immediately, proceed with extreme caution. Captain’s orders. ”

“Still got it, Junker. Knew you did.” Marya turned with a smirk and caught Van eyeing her hungrily. She tucked that in her mind for later, right now there was business to tend to. Through the sweat that streamed down her forehead, she strafed down the hall and out to the deck. Van followed every step of the way, not leaving her side just as she’d promised. The crew corridor wasn’t far from the helm, but they weren’t adjacent to one another either. Time was of the essence. Temperatures were rising exponentially and it wouldn't be long now. They exited the interior to the open deck, needing only to make it to the bow now. But she heard it. Like nails on a goddamn chalkboard, like the screams of a thousand devils… the flapping of those terrible mechanical wings. Van’s jaw hung agape slightly as she took in the monstrosity’s form for the first time. “Good God…”

“Zood have mercy,” was all Marya could respond. “There’s no time to waste now, Vanellope. Get to a gunner station and give him hell. The bullets won’t hurt him… they’ll fire back at you- so watch your angles. I need you to distract him. We can do this?”

“We can do this.” Van nodded. “Together.”

Marya made for the helm quiet as a mouse trying to go unnoticed by Straka. She heard a terrible caw that pierced her mind, threatening paralysis despite her drive to go on. Again, like something out of a twisted fairytale, the caw repeated in her mind as words of her mother-tongue. Bone-chilling and deeply unsettling, a sing-song whisper found her brain “ Come out, come out, wherever you are, my child! Come meet the warm embrace of your dear friend, Straka!”  

The hiss of the ‘s’ and the spitting of the ‘k’ made Marya nauseous. Today she was a captain, she remembered. Van asked her to be brave. She couldn’t let her down, not again. Marya swallowed hard and wiped sweat from her brow. If he was searching for her then at least she could presume he had not found her yet. With her back pressed flat against a wall, she flinched as she heard the snapping of wood followed by screams in the aft. The sound of a nightmare come to life… She saw Monty and Daisuke cautiously emerge from the crew corridor, eyes wide. She held a single finger to her lips, commanding their silence. They nodded. She used her hands to signal she would go around to the bow and they should take cover and approach the aft. She mouthed to them Sassafrax ‘78 . Monty cocked his gun and held it carefully at the ready, Daisuke kept one finger on Biscuit’s trigger. She wanted to warn them about the ricochet effect, but she couldn’t risk giving away her position. They were smart, they were resourceful, they would do their best.

She prayed in her mind to any greater being that might hear her. She pleaded for her crew to survive this. If nothing else, please , let their story be different from Ludmilla’s. That would be enough. There was no telling what would come of this day. She was older now, and wiser too. She had her beloved wind-riders by her side helping her… she had Van’s forgiveness. Perhaps not entirely, but enough to anger Straka. A beast like him does not rise for an empty threat, so God willing, maybe something about their circumstances were powerful enough to be more than a threat- a promise even. Only time would tell. 

Familiar shots sounded off from Van’s favorite station and she knew it was now or never. She hoped more than anything Olethra would stay safe… So young and full of life. Her story couldn’t end today, Marya would not let it. And Maxwell… he was a little overzealous at times, but he was also too young to befall this fate. Between Olethra’s mech and Maxwell’s rowdiness, she prayed it would be enough. She pulled down her mirrored artificer’s lens on her goggles to peer around the corner. Seeing a clear path, she made a break for it. Adrenaline propelled her across the deck and she swore her feet barely touched the floorboards. She made it to the helm, taking in the sight of four extremely sweaty, extremely pale Gotch retainers. 

“C-captain--”

“ SHH-” She whispered to them, “ Stand tall. The beast smells fear, he preys on weakness. Make every shot count, he likes to see us waste ourselves. To your battle stations, that’s an order. Distract him, play his games- do not let your guard down.”

They nodded and scurried off. It was out of her hands now, but the helm would not be secure for long and this was no place for the retainer crew. She steeled her nerves and took the helm with white knuckles. She mentally begged the skies for their forgiveness, but they did not answer her. She stood as tall as she could, with her shoulders back and shouted. 

“YOU WANT ME? COME AND GET ME.”

A shrill caw, followed by that unforgiving voice. “ Foolish, child. So insolent, so brazen. You will die today, and so will she. I am an inevitability…” There was an unmistakable crushing of crates that Marya heard in the aft but slowly getting louder as the source got closer. Temperatures rose along with her fear, as did her resolve to not back down. She saw in her peripheral vision a blast of fire shooting past her port-side field of vision. The heat shattered the glass around the helm, and Marya braced herself. He was coming, but she was ready. 

She moved to hold the wheel steady with her shoulder blades as she’d done so many times before. This time, she was numb to the way it dug into her back, letting her body do what it felt made to do. She was Marya Junková, she was the goddamn captain of this ship. Today would be different. She held her blunderbuss in front of her steadily, at the ready with her altered ammunition. The door to the helm swung open, but Marya did not move her eyes from where they were fixed. She would not miss her fucking shot.

“You’re bloody mad, Junker! He’s a right terror and you’ve given him a bloody formal invitation??? ” Her vision stayed trained on the port-side window, or well, where the windows had been before they’d shattered. “And without backup no less, Jesus, Marya.”

Van walked to the forward most gunner station the helm offered, taking her position and readying herself. Out of the corner of her eye, Marya could see that Van was littered with scorch marks and she had a cut on her forehead that would need tending to later. This was war, and they would be taking no prisoners today.

“Vanellope, where is Bert?”

“Where’s B-- Junker, Straka is here. Did you need a bloody sandwich?”

“ Where is Bert?” She repeated. “Straka haunts him too. You and I… we’re built for this. If he is alone right now…”

“The galley. God… he’s in the galley. He’ll be panicked now won’t he?”

“Yes. Van, I need you there, not here.”

“But-”

“No. I need you there, and Bert needs you there. Go to him. Send one of the others here. That’s an order.” Her tone was firm, but it was decidedly different from the command she gave Van yesterday. There was no selfishness about this order. This was a command for the good of the ship from a genuine place of care in her heart. She hoped Van could hear it, she hoped Van would not hate her for it. The crushing of wood was getting louder and Straka approached. “ Now, Van. Before it’s too late.”

“Don’t die. That’s an order, too.” She would have smiled, if not for her laser-sharp focus that occupied her every brain cell at present. She heard the door whoosh shut behind Van, and she prayed she would make it to Bert. But Van’s command replayed like a mantra in her mind. An order was an order… she would do everything in her power to obey. 

Chapter Text

She understood now. She’d never consciously encountered Straka before, but seeing him now… a great beast unlike any other. The heat was ungodly, the caws were paralyzing, the terror was otherworldly. Where the titanium of her prosthesis met her skin she felt like she was being baked alive. Her skin fried and sizzled as the metal heated beyond its reasonable limitations. It was excruciating, but she’d done worse. She had to get to Bert, Captain’s orders. 

Secretly she was grateful for the order, perhaps Junker knew that. Her heart had been tugged in two completely different directions- unable to leave Marya without backup but worrying what would become of Bert if he faced this alone. She could hear the eerie scraping of talons on the deck, occasionally hitting the iron railings and making every last hair stand on end with the noise. It wasn’t that big of a ship, so it stood to reason that Straka took his time on purpose. He seemed to enjoy the forced anticipation, the squirming of his prey… she vowed to be the hunter today.

Despite sweat dripping down her face and her arm heating to an objectively unbearable temperature, she kept in a ready position, able to attack should she need. She stayed low and took careful steps toward the door of the crew mess, staying vigilant at every turn. A burning 2x4 crackled above her and fell onto her shoulder, leaving a sizable burn across her neck as well as a splinter lodged in the back of her shoulder blade. Her eyes opened wide and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. She drew blood, but all that could be heard was the rapid breaths escaping from her nose as she tried to overcome the pain. The burning wood fell to the ground at her feet and she quickly removed her vest to smother it. Looking around at the destruction Straka had caused in a matter of minutes, smoldering ash and splintered wood abound… She knew putting out one tiny fire was a bandaid for a bullet hole, but it was all she could do.

She made it to the crew mess avoiding further injury and slipped inside. She hoped the galley was more insulated, because within the mess she could still hear every last shot being fired. This was a war zone, and Bert was just a chef. She took a deep breath and pushed the galley door open slowly so as not to startle him. A pot had boiled over on the stove, burner still on. A carton of eggs sat  idly on the counter, and a bowl of flour was shattered on the floor. He had clearly been here, but the question was where was he now?

“Bert, love?” She called softly to him. “Bert, are you in here?”

There was no response. She calmed her own breathing to listen more carefully for his. It was muffled, but she sighed with relief when she heard the faintest whimper coming from the hold. She urgently moved to the hatch and opened it, finding Bert’s frame folded up tightly. His knees were pulled to his chest and he hid his face behind his scrawny legs. There was a gentle rocking motion Van noticed, though it was less concerning than the crying or the heaving of his chest.

“Darling? Darling, it’s me. It’s Vanellope. Can you hear me, Bert?” He did not respond verbally, and he made no move to acknowledge her words physically. “Bert, Darling, I’m going to get you out of the hold, ar’right?”

Her arms reached to get a hold of him but he suddenly cried out in pure anguish. Her arm. Good god, her goddamn arm-- she let go immediately and took a step back. On his upper arm where she’d touched him, his skin already blistered and peeled. She’d been sent to comfort him, not bloody maim him. She was kicking herself, wishing she’d thought through a single fucking thing in her life. Her impulses had consequences, and where Bert was now undoubtedly scarred, she felt a twinge of pain herself. He wailed and tried to reach for his arm, but realized it would hurt more to touch it than to leave it. His mouth hung open and his eyes shot to her, bloodshot and tear-laden.

“V-Vanellope… Vanellope he’s here.”

“Yes, Bert. Take my good arm, Love. I need to get you out of there.” He visibly shook at the notion.

“C-can’t. D-don’t make me leave here. GAH ! My arm… Van what’s happened to my arm?” Tears continued streaming down his face but he tried to still himself, every movement appeared to be painful to his burn.

“I--My arm… The heat from Straka--”

“ DON’T!” Bert cut her off, eyes wild with paranoia. “Don’t say his name, Vanellope. He’ll come for us.”

“I-I’m sorry. Bert I don’t know if you should stay here.” He wept, and she looked around her, searching for any spark of inspiration. She loved him with all her heart but she realized in that moment she had absolutely no idea how to help him. He was so deeply panicked, everything overwhelmed him… The only thing she knew how to do was to hold him, and that was not currently an option, clearly. He wasn’t broken in a way she knew how to fix… he needed help and she honestly wasn’t sure it could come from her. This was her one order from Marya. To be here with him, but what could she do? She was as useful here as an umbrella would be in a typhoon. He continued wailing. He cried like a child who’d lost his mum at the fair, inconsolable and illogical… Van had never been great with kids.

“Bert? Bert, can you walk, my love?” He did not acknowledge her. His panic had overtaken him once more and if he could hear her, he made no move to show it. Panic felt like it was coming to claim Van too, she was utterly helpless. Worse than helpless, she was useless. All she’d done was bloody burn the poor lad, and then retraumatize him with the name of that stupid beast… She was Vanellope fucking Chapman. Legendary boatswain with a reputation that preceded her. She came from a long line of the Chapmans, each one braver and stronger than the last. So what the fuck was wrong with her?

The galley door swung open and Van whipped around, deeply afraid, holding her prosthesis out to launch if necessary. But it was no devil who’d entered, not at all. It was her knight in shining armor- Olethra. Sweet, kind Olethra. She would fix this. She would fix everything… “Olethra, thank God. Bert-- he’s, well…” 

Van moved her broad shoulders to the side so that Bert could be seen, huddled in the hold rocking himself. She reckoned her face said it all, and if it didn’t her lack of an explanation spoke volumes too. It was embarrassing… to not be able to comfort one’s own spouse, but Van knew too that they were not normal spouses. Although, Bert would be there for her in this regard without a second thought. He would know exactly what she needed without asking. He wouldn’t offer… he would just do it. He was too good for her. She knew that, she’d always known that. But life threw them together and it seemed like it worked… but it lingered in the back of her mind like a vicious rumor- he would always care for her better than she’d ever be able to care for him. He’d said he was fine with that… but now, when it counted most, she wondered if that would ever change. 

“I can stay with him. It’s okay.”

“I--” She wanted to argue, but in reality, she’d prayed for someone to come relieve her of this duty. Everyone has a role, and this wasn’t hers. “His shoulder… It needs tending. My arm…” Olethra nodded, able to see waves of heat rising from Van’s metal limb. She understood, and did not appear to pass judgement. She traded places with Olethra, and watched as the young girl took a rag from the counter, wetting it slightly, and then climbed into the hold with him. Meeting him where he was instead of asking him to come out. So simple, and yet revolutionary in Van’s mind. This wasn’t the place for her. She stood tall and decided that if she couldn’t help here she would goddamn help somewhere else. Somewhere, lurking on this ship, was a hellion that needed to be obliterated. She had one bullet. She would do what she could, and she would fucking make it count.

Out in the open again, Van kept low and stayed close to walls. She made for the aft, hoping to lure Straka back to where he’d began. As the captain, Marya always lingered by the helm, but there was a great deal more space in the aft. There were more barrels to hide behind, more supports to climb… she wanted to get the perfect shot. With one bullet, hell, she needed to get the perfect shot. She walked along the starboard perimeter, hoping Straka maintained his position on the port side. The path she walked was largely unmarred, he had not yet been here. The floorboards were scratched and dull and some bits of the railing showed rust, but only from age and use- not because of some hulking mechanical monster.

She could hear him as she walked, but she couldn’t tell where it came from. The scraping of iron against iron as his wings moved was disorienting- it came from nowhere in particular and could be heard all around. She listened for footsteps or cracking of wood but she could hear none. There was no shrill caw to trace, nor any sign visually to track him… He wasn’t gone. She could still feel him in her soul. His presence loomed, but he was stealthier than Van expected him to be. She came upon the corner of a structure she’d been following, the mechanical storage room she determined. She approached the corner cautiously, still unsure of where the great beast laid in wait. With every step the temperature decidedly rose. She could not be sure what she would find in the main aft, but she prepared herself for the worst.

As she turned the corner there was a blinding flash of pain and her entire arm seized up. She fell to her knees, crying out in agony. There was no preparation she could have employed to withstand such a searing, shooting pain. It radiated through her entire left side, boiling her blood and suffocating her breath. Her chest heaved searching desperately for air, but none could be found. Unable to breathe, unable to scream, unable to do anything but look up and see him .

In all his glory, the terrible furnace crow stood proudly in front of her. Fire burned in his eyes, hunger dripped from his maw. He had no physical ability to do so, but if he could, Van was certain he’d be sneering down at her, basking in the joy of her anguish. Leisurely, he took in her helpless state and strode toward her. Not a single other crew member was in sight… It was Van and Straka- “Alone at last, ” she heard echo in her mind. One terrible talon raised slowly, gleaming with the morning sun…

One shot. One bullet… she thought. She still gasped for air, possessed by the pain of her arm that Straka seemed to control so gleefully. But she had to try. She had to do it… She summoned a final burst of strength to grab her gun that was loaded with the Straka bullet and shoot it right at the belly of the beast. As the bullet struck him, doing exactly as Marya had intended it too, he cried out and let his talons come down hard in Van’s vicinity. One pierced her prosthesis, another nicked her leg, and the last went straight through her good hand. Van was pinned to the deck, Straka hanging over her. The pain in her prosthesis let up just enough to finally choke some air into her aching lungs, but she felt herself fading regardless. She fought to hang on, but her consciousness betrayed her, and before long, everything went black.

Chapter Text

She’d given Van her marching orders, and she’d received one in return: don’t die . She stood with her blunderbuss at the ready, bracing for the worst as she waited for the beast to find her. The booming of her heartbeat was deafening. She could feel her pulse throb throughout her entire body, and it was practically all she could hear in her mind. A haze of smoke filled the air and covered his scent expertly, she wondered if by design. It was so potent that her sinuses burned and even her saliva tasted of ash at this point…

Her finger rubbed gently on her trigger, itching to shoot. She was starved , and only Straka would satiate her. She listened closely for the thuds of Straka’s heavy steps, which had been growing nearer and nearer at a tantalizing pace. Her senses were clouding her ability to perceive the hulking crow and she struggled to determine where he was now. She’d been tracking his every step so intently, but now she felt trapped in her own body without so much as a window to the outside world.

Was he still en route to the helm? Why couldn’t she hear him anymore? The irony of being in the open sky and only seeing thick plumes of smoke was a terror she did not want to confront. She was torn- not knowing if she should abandon the helm and seek out the beast or if that was a trap to lure her elsewhere. Though maybe the trap was to make her think it was a trap, to make her think she’d have the upper hand if she stayed and avoided his surface level decoy… The real trap might be to keep her here in the helm so he could strike her like a sitting duck… Her mind spiraled through the possibilities, succumbing quickly to paranoia. 

She felt it, the very moment her mind began to break. It was him. This was the real trap. Her mind was her greatest asset. She could not let him have it. He overtook her senses and he clawed his way into her mind to plant seeds of doubt and fear… but she would not sow them. She stood taller again, shoulders locked and arms steady. She would make the call, not him. There was only one way out of this and that was through it. She remembered something Van always used to tell her- being brave wasn’t the same as being fearless… Today Marya would be brave. She would rise to the occasion and she would not let Straka win. He’d taken too much from her already and he could not have this.

Not removing her gaze entirely from her surroundings, she turned to the controls at the helm. She had been worried that to stop their flight would make them vulnerable to other attackers, but she had no choice now. If she ran into a Gotch retainer she’d send them to the helm to take the wheel, but for now she would effectively let it idle in the sky. She prayed Straka’s destruction would be warning enough to other parties that their ship was not worth the hassle at present, but it was a risk she had to take.

She put on her goggles to protect from the thick smoke outside, and as quietly as possible, she exited the helm. She could hear him now… the scraping of iron against iron. She could hear the shouts of her crew from somewhere on the ship. Something about the helm, it had been a trap. Or at least a prison, she decided. Intended to suffocate her slowly. Let her be her own undoing while Straka destroys everything and everyone she’s ever loved. Not today. She could smell him… he smelled of death itself. Notes of rust and soot played harmoniously with the scent of pure decay. It was nauseating, but not unfamiliar and not insurmountable. It was not entirely discernable where exactly he was, but she would travel along the starboard rail and hope she could catch him somewhere along the way. 

She kept vigilant and sharp, taking in every creak and crack she heard. She scanned around her with every step. The smoke was not as thick as it seemed from her vantage point within the helm, but she noted that nearly everything around her was actively on fire, had been on fire previously, or was at least smoldering slightly. Then she saw it… Van’s vest, lying scorched in a pile of goddamn rubble. Her stomach dropped and her chest felt tight. She tried to take a deep breath but the smog around her burned her lungs. If anything- anything - had fucking happened to her… That fucking beast would pay.

She approached the vest cautiously, eyeing her surroundings before poking her foot at it to investigate. The world did not fall around her upon doing so, so she leaned down to touch the burnt wool. She pulled her hand away and rubbed the soot between two fingers and her thumb, wondering if there was anything she could discern from it. Though it was true that nobody knew Straka like she did, she wished she had the tracking abilities of Monty. She knew Straka was here somewhere, and he was too small to truly hide himself, but clearly the monster had several tricks of concealment up his sleeve. His mind games were intense and she hoped she’d realized before it was too late. Apart from the vest, there was no sign that Van was in distress. Perhaps this was another trick from Straka, in fact. He wanted her to succumb to the paranoia, to act irrationally… she’d made the mistake of underestimating Van before. She was fine, she had to be . 

She shook the image of Van laying somewhere helpless from her mind and continued onward. She strode carefully down the deck, scanning around her as she did. Her senses were clearer than they were at the helm, but there was still a general haze that lingered around the Zephyr making it difficult to pinpoint where any one stimulus was coming from. It was hard too, she decided, to prioritize one sound or smell over another. Everything was either destroyed or being destroyed, there was no reason to assume any one snap of wood was more pressing than another. But her heart fell to her stomach as she heard a whisper of what she’d feared most. It was quiet, it was ambiguous in location, but it was the sound of Van choking. There were no words, but the desperate guttural noises were unmistakable. Marya knew Van inside and out- and this was her. Was it a trick of Straka? Van was meant to be in the goddamn galley. If it was a trap of Straka’s she vowed to play directly into it. She couldn’t risk letting Van lay helpless without her there again . It was bad enough Marya had sent her off to meet Straka alone ten some odd years ago, she wouldn’t let it happen a second time. She couldn’t.

Her feet moved quicker toward the aft. She tried to remain alert of her surroundings, but as she drew nearer there was one solitary goal in mind: find Vanellope Chapman. She stepped carefully around debris that littered the deck, but she stopped for nothing. Every gasp of air whispered in her mind shot a wave of pain directly to her heart. There was no time to waste- she stayed low and tried to move with stealth, but her gait was just shy of a jog. Just as she reached the edge of the aft, she heard it… that horrifying caw . The very one that plagued her every nightmare. Reckless but determined, she did not bother clearing the field before running to the noise. She turned the corner just in time to see Van on her knees facing the great beast. 

Marya froze- taking in the sight in front of her. She was momentarily paralyzed with fear, unable to act. She hated herself for it, and urged her body to react the way her mind begged it to, but her feet wouldn’t budge. The only movement her body would allow was her finger on the trigger of her blunderbuss. She could not pull the trigger, it could only shake with terror. She had not seen this beast in person in nearly ten years, and he was more catastrophic than all of her nightmares combined. His maw was sharp and slightly rusted, but it somehow conveyed a deep sense of joy and amusement. His eyes burned like a blacksmith’s forge and his talons were long and impossibly sharp. Van’s back was to Marya but it was clear that her body writhed in anguish and her shoulders moved in such a way that Marya knew her chest heaved. Straka moved slowly toward Van, and Marya could only stand and watch. MOVE, YOU FUCKING COWARD. But her body would not comply.

She watched as Van, in a final surge of energy, pulled the trigger of her pistol and collapsed onto the deck. Marya saw one of her very own Straka bullets fire into the chest of the hulking crow, and to her relief- it seemed to work. But then, to her horror … It seemed to work. The bullet penetrated the thick metal of Straka’s chest, then shot off bits of shrapnel directly into Straka’s core. Undeniably, he felt it. The crow cried out- the worst, and most shrill caw Marya had heard yet- and let his foot slam down directly where Van laid.

For all that Marya was nostalgic and thoughtful, fixing what others deemed broken and dedicating her life to adventures, she was not sentimental. She was never trite, she hated cliches… and yet, she could not deny that watching her true love get impaled by the demon that haunted them both was enough to break her from paralysis. There was nothing so powerful as Marya’s drive to protect those she loved. She could not save Ludmilla, she’d failed to save Van the first time around, and she’d never even tried to save herself. But she was here, she had her finger on the trigger, and she would not miss her shot.

It was now or never, the beast was preoccupied and already hurting. There was a gaping pit in his chest that was affecting him but not altogether stopping him. This was the opportunity… she had to strike now. She had five bullets. She prayed to whoever listened that they would be enough. She did not let herself look at Van, laying pinned on the ground. She knew Van was there, mourning a loss that was not yet final was a waste of time. Grief was a process that needed to be experienced leisurely, vengeance had to happen first. She steadied her arms and let one small breath escape her lips before pulling her lip ring between her teeth, closing one eye and squinting with the other to line up her shot as precisely as possible, and she let her finger squeeze gently on the trigger.

The bullet fired off, and Straka cried out again. Marya watched as his talons dug into Van’s body slightly and Marya winced- taking on the pain herself. She shook the thought from her mind that she was responsible for this- that was what Straka wanted her to believe. There was no time at present to let those thoughts in. Doubt could come later, action needed to be taken. Straka’s head turned up to the sky and unleashed a deafening roar from deep within his being. Marya felt wobbly from its power, but refused to falter. Straka returned his gaze to the aft searching for the source of his second wound. She did not hide, she would not cower. His eyes met hers and narrowed with spite.

“Fuck you, Straka.” She cocked her gun and shot off a second bullet, landing a third hit directly into his chest. The hole was getting bigger, disintegrating the integrity of his body. The micro-bullets that shot off after seemed to pain him, but it wasn’t clear what internal structure there was to damage. As the hole increased in size and Marya could see into his chest, it seemed that all his body contained was a raging fire. There were no visible gears and no guts or organs either. This beast was otherworldly to be sure, but Marya was relentless in her attack. Just as the third bullet hit him she had cocked her gun and shot off another. There wasn’t time to waste, and she could not let him regain composure for fear he’d reclaim the upper hand. 

The fourth bullet sunk into his belly this time, widening the hole further still. The great hulking monster fell to the deck with a crash that produced powerful shocks along the floor. She stumbled into a crate, but did not lose her footing. Straka tried to move to standing again, but Marya did not let him. She planted her feet firmly and steadied herself. She had two bullets left, she could do this… Straka’s beak hung open- mid cry, and she confidently shot off a bullet directly into his mouth. The metal began to disintegrate and the gaping wounds of his face and his chest slowly connected. Straka was not yet defeated, but it would not be long now. The flames within him swung wildly between a fire that seemed to die out, and one that unnaturally surged and burned white hot.

One shot left- this was it. One more and it would be done… She lined up her shot, and aimed for where his heart would be- if such a cruel being, otherworldly as he was, would ever have a heart. Straka did not cry out. He did not lift his head, he laid still on the deck, in a heaping pile of disintegrating metal. It was anticlimactic and dissatisfying… concerning even. But there was much to be done still… Van laid punctured by his talons and Marya moved to extricate the strong woman from this terrible beast. The heat was unbearable as she approached, but it had to be done. Her fingers sizzled as they touched the metal of Straka’s talon. She cried out in pain and let go quickly. She hadn’t noticed the tears streaming from her eyes, but she watched one fall onto Van’s prosthesis and evaporate upon contact. 

“ NO, NO, NO, NO!” She shouted. She wasn’t strong enough. The love of her life, thankfully still breathing, was pinned by this horror and she was too fucking weak to even touch the metal. She wiped snot from her nose and tried again, screaming in agony at the burning sensation that could be felt even through her gloves. She used every ounce of strength she had left in her tired bones, but it was no use. The talon was too hot and too heavy. “ STUPID FUCKING CROW, GIVE ME MY HEART!”

Then she noticed it. The dissatisfying end to Straka had been merely an appetizer. There was a whispering simmer that came from the open pit in Straka’s body… Fear enveloped her mind, realizing at an instant she was on the clock. She had maybe a few minutes, if she was lucky, before Straka blew entirely. 

Chapter Text

Dark. Unfamiliar. Empty. The room Van found herself in was large. Wall to wall concrete flooring, and thick concrete walls to match. There was no door, there was no window. There was a small lightbulb in the corner opposite where Van stood. There was no lamp, no switch, no cord… but a lightbulb, floating illuminated regardless. Seeing nothing else around her, Van took cautious steps toward the bulb.

Her legs felt wobbly, but they held her still. As she moved, she noticed her arms were both strangely intact. It had been years since she’d seen her left arm at all, and it looked… well it looked normal. It didn’t even have the scars that Van had amassed before she’d lost it. Something otherworldly was undoubtedly at work here, but Van could not help but marvel at her limb. As much as she’d grown accustomed to the prosthesis, she would give anything to have her arm back. 

“Anything?” A bodiless voice echoed in the room.

“Hello?” Van called. “Right, s’not funny. You can come out now.”

“ Come out implies I am somehow in,” the voice hissed. “ In hiding? I dare think not. Or I wouldn’t speak. In the room? No, it wouldn’t appear so… so I cannot come out, Vanellope. But we can chat if you’d like.”

“What do you want? Who are you?” Van posed questions, but kept a healthy dose of skepticism as she listened for the answers.

“My identity isn’t important. I can help you. I can give you what you want. If it’s your arm… I can do that. Do you want your arm back?”

“How could you give it back? What’s the bloody catch?”

“ I have ways, the world is not without magic you know. The catch… Now that is an interesting question. Certainly something would be owed for such a service, but I wouldn’t ask for anything unreasonable.”

“Out with it.”

“ Well, if it’s your arm you’d like perhaps we should take a look at your life if you’d never lost it. Hmm… Interesting, yes quite interesting. With your arm you don’t quit adventuring, that sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I’m waiting for the catch, mate.”

“ I don’t know, I’m not seeing many negatives here. I see you going on to be one of the best- no wait! THE BEST boatswain Gath has ever seen. You’re getting hired for jobs left and right, you want for nothing.”

“For nothing?” Van scoffed. If this devil wanted to make a deal he should be less obvious about hiding negatives. “Nobody wants for nothing. The richest man in the world still longs for a friend. So tell me- what does this version of me want for?”

“Interesting that you should mention friends. I suppose I’d clarify you have no material wants. Your ‘friends’ are living their own lives, fairly successful too… but I suppose that the best boatswain of Gath doesn’t get too close to any one person. You lack deep companionship in this version of yourself, but you have adventure abound and you--”

“No deal.”

“My, my. So quick to decline.”

“I’ve given up a lot in my life, you’ll notice my friends are never on that list.”

“Yet, for years, you were apart from the best friends you ever had? You held on to anger for some of them, and you let shame keep you from the rest?”

“I’m not ashamed. I- my arm… it did change me, but I’m okay with that. It isn’t perfect, and I wish I had the real thing, but my prosthesis is a part of me. I didn’t know how to reach out to them when they didn’t reach out to me…But I’m not ashamed.” She looked down and her arm had reconstituted into its usual metal form. 

“Clever indeed, and brave too. So you’ll take the arm then, and the trauma too. But I’d warn you, even once free of Straka’s curse, his memory will still haunt you from time to time.”

“I’ve been haunted by worse, ‘m no stranger to ghosts.”

“ Oh?” Van felt a shift, she was in her back garden outside her childhood home. She held sticks and weeds in her hands, and looked in front of her. Just as she had done when she was small, there was a little fairy home sat in front of her. It looked as though she’d been just in the middle of tying some grass together to make a little thatched roof, so she naturally carried on. Not a thought in her mind except the task at hand, she happily began to play. She noticed her hands as they worked, they were smaller than her real hands… Her legs and her feet, she noticed, were also small. She was a child… And if she was a child… then somewhere, her mother lingered. 

She dropped her building materials and ran for her door. The wind rippled through her wild tangled mane, refusing to brush it ever. Her feet were bare and the grass padded her every step, softly encouraging her feet to carry on. Just as she reached the patio the door swung open and she gasped, tears falling immediately. Her mother stood before her, as beautiful as she remembered.

“Darling! Y’a’right, Poppet? Has something happened?” Van launched herself at her mother, wrapping arms around her waist, and her mother’s arms wrapping around her snugly in return. Van sobbed into her mother’s dress and did not let go. “Have you fallen? Where does it hurt, Love??”

“‘M not hurt, Mum. I’ve just missed you.” She looked down and saw the faded green of her favorite jumper. She remembered that green vividly, thinking about how it stopped fitting just before her Mum passed. She felt the snugness of the sleeves wrapped around her elbows… That summer was their last summer together. “Mum--”

“Ah-ah-ah!” The scene faded and the voice echoed in her mind again.

“Give her back! That’s not fair!”

“No, it isn’t, is it? Tell me, what would you trade to have your mother back? Because it would cost the same as your arm. More even. You’d grow up, she’d need an extra hand in her pub, you’d help. You’d take on more and more as she got older, and you’d never make it out of that town would you? You’d never set foot on a ship let alone become a boatswain. You’d run the Nut, but you wouldn’t do it with Bert. You wouldn’t be a wind-rider… Dare I say, you’d have your arm and your mum too, but everything else… Now, I can’t say the same for everything else.”

“You’re a bloody monster, you know that? What the hell’s the point of showing me this? If I can’t have it?”

“But you can. You can have it. But everything comes at a cost, Van. You tell me… Is it worth the price? To change your fate? Or will you accept what your life has become? Will you rise above it all?”

“It’s an impossible choice--”

“It isn’t.”

“Yes it--”

“ No. You’d love for it to be an impossible decision but you know your answer. Don’t forget, Vanellope, I’m in your mind. I know…”

“Give her back… give my Mum back for just one more minute- please,” she begged. She looked to every corner of the empty concrete room with glassy eyes, hoping this devil might take pity for even just a moment.

“Admit what we know is true, and I will allow a brief goodbye.”

“Fine. I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything. The life I have is complicated but it’s beautiful, and I can’t trade anything I have for anything I’ve already made my peace with losing.”
“Very well. Thank you for your honesty.”

The room faded once more, and she saw her legs folded in front of her on her childhood quilt. Her back was pressed to something soft. She inhaled… lavender and rosemary. She’d forgotten, how could she have forgotten? Lavender from the garden, rosemary from the kitchen. “Mum…” She sighed.

“I love you very much, Vanellope.”

“I love you too, Mum. There’s so much I wish you knew.”

“I do know. Mums know everything, Poppet.” Van smiled.

“Not like that.”

“S’alright, Darling. I know. I know why we’re here and it’s alright.” Van sat up and looked at her mother’s face, searching for her meaning. Her big brown eyes and freckled face showed earnestness and bittersweet grief. Her mother was savoring this moment in the exact way Van was. “I’ve been keeping watch. I’m infinitely proud of you, Love. Be kind to yourself, yeah?”

“Mum…”

“You’ve been brave, Darling. It’s time to go back now.”

“Back?”

“Yes, my sweet. They’ll need you now. You’ve freed yourself from his hold and so has she. You let go of all that anger and resentment, and I’m so proud. You were always so stubborn, Darling… but forgiveness is a part of life. And she… Well, she has found her fire, hasn’t she? She’s found it in herself to lean on others, to trust and be trusted. She’s found her courage, and you’ve found yours… He has fallen, but it isn’t done yet. They need you.”

“But you won’t be there.” She looked up at her mum, tears welling in her young eyes. It was a statement, not a question.

“I’m afraid not, Poppet. I miss you every moment we’re apart… but there’s no place for me there anymore. And you don’t need me, over there you’re big and grown- an adventurer Vanellope! Just like you always dreamed! Your nan would be proud, all the Chapman pirates would be. Right then, Lovey? It’s time, Darling. They need you. She needs you…”

She wished desperately for one more moment, one more question, one more embrace… but reality took hold swiftly. The feeling of her mother’s arms wrapped around her was replaced with a vice-like grip attached to her limbs, dragging her somewhere. Everything hurt. Every single muscle was in excruciating pain. She wanted to protest but she felt weak and her heart ached, longing to be held softly like in her dream. She stirred and let her eyes begin to open, seeing the terrible sight before her.

“Van?” Pappy rasped.

“She’s up. Van- Van, we need you to hustle. Can you walk? Time’s running out.” Monty spoke with urgency, but Van couldn’t respond.

“Van, you’re bein’ hauled by two men in their eighties. If you can walk, you’d better.” Pappy reiterated, groaning throughout his plea. She began to move her legs slightly wincing, but rising above the pain. Her eyes scanned the battlefield frantically. She could see the hulking beast laying uselessly on the ground, but she couldn’t see her . She could see the waves of heat rising from the metal, she heard the threatening hiss… she knew the end game here. She knew the final trick Straka had up his fucking sleeve… “Van, hop to we gotta move, Darlin’.”

“Where is she?” Her voice was hoarse, remembering now how Straka had choked her earlier. She spoke with the intonation of a statement, but it was technically a question.

“There’s no time Van--” Monty started.

“ Where is she?” Through gritted teeth, her words were soaked with acid. Her question would be answered and she would do as she saw fit.

“She’s trying to buy us time. Now don’t let it--”

“ NO. He’s taken enough from me, he won’t bloody take her too.” But as she spoke the hissing grew louder. She heard Marya cry out.

“HIT THE DECK- HE’S GOING TO BLOW!” She still could not see the Captain’s frame, but the sound came from behind the beast. Monty and Pappy both tugged at her trying to get her to move, but her feet were planted firmly. Suddenly, a ball of fire engulfed the heap of metal, as it erupted into sparks and exploded into the air. Monty and Pappy dropped to the deck and shielded their heads best they could. Van dropped to the ground too, but not by choice. Van fell to her knees screaming in absolute horror, watching as Marya was hit full-force by the blast. The woman she lived and breathed for was propelled into the air and thrown back ten feet. She watched as the flailing body of Captain Marya Junková fell just over the side of the goddamn railing, plummeting into a free fall.

Chapter Text

Thick smoke. Ringing ears. Deep panic. Time stood frozen, but the seconds still passed. Van felt blood drip from her nose. She wiped it with her hand, also evidently bloodied, with a large gash in the middle of it. It would scar, but it didn’t phase her in the slightest. She stood, coughing, deafened from the blast and choking on the fallout. Through the sputtering gasps for air, she shouted into the smog.

“MARYA!” It came out as a croak that she could feel in her throat, but it was profoundly muffled. She opened her jaw and rubbed at it, trying to ease the pressure in her ears, but the ringing was incessant. She started to walk toward the rail where Marya fell, but a hand grabbed her shoulder and turned her upper body. Monty. He was saying something, looked like he was shouting. Van couldn’t hear. Van couldn’t care either. His expression was passionate, his brow was sweaty, and he was pointing to the very spot she wanted to travel to. If it was a cautionary warning, it would be useless anyway. She shrugged his grip off her shoulder and continued walking. She shouted again. “JUNKER- ARE YOU OUT THERE?”

Stupid, she thought. To shout for Marya when she couldn’t even hear a response. She’d seen Marya fall off the edge, that’s not something you come back from. She felt anger rising in her chest, bubbling slowly at first then coming to a complete rolling boil. She knew. She knew what she was fucking risking and she did it anyway. And Van laid on the ground passed out at Straka’s hands again. Her mum had whispered to her, telling her she’d been so brave… but didn’t the hero get the girl? Where was her goddamn happy ending? She was so fucking mad. At Straka, for causing this. At Marya, for sacrificing herself. At Monty and Pappy, for not letting Van die with her. At Olethra and Max for inviting her on this adventure in the first place. Fat lot of good it’d done her so far.

She was mad at herself, too. She’d let herself fall again. This loss would sting much less if her morning hadn’t started with Marya straddling her hips and kissing her softly. This grief would be surmountable if she hadn’t let her heart forgive. Marya’s battle to break Straka’s curse was to find her strength and courage, but ironically those were the two things Van felt she greatly lacked at present. How the fuck could she carry on now? Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all? Bullshit. Whoever said that hadn’t taken the same rollercoaster ride as Van, clearly . Van was good at closed-off! It was comfortable! She and Bert had a good thing, even if it wasn’t perfect, right? But Marya waltzed in that day and said she needed Van and what the fuck was Van supposed to say? No? Like she’d ever been able to say no to Marya. That’s why she was in this fucking mess in the first place.

She kicked a pile of burned metal and broken wood that sat at her feet. The metal shifted in the pile and nicked her calf, which was exposed given the tattered state of her pant leg. On another day it probably would have hurt. Today, she was numb to it. She braced herself on the railing she watched Marya tumble over just a minute before. Her arms felt shaky, her stomach did flips, and her lovesick chest was tighter than it had ever been before. She looked at the horizon, seeing past the smoke that now cleared slightly. The clouds were beautiful amidst the morning sun. They had no idea that anything was wrong, did they? The clouds just float through the air and wander the wide open sky without a single bloody care. The sun always rises, the sun always shines. That made her mad too. She wished the sky was also in mourning, but it didn’t even know what it had lost.

Her shoulders tensed and her hands gripped the rail with white knuckles. She loud out a wailing roar- screaming at the skies and wishing they would share in her anguish. They did not acknowledge her outburst in the slightest, though Van did notice that her ears had begun to clear. Though it may have been a matter of timing, she decided the roar had a cathartic quality to it and let out another, letting spit fly from her mouth and tears pour from her eyes. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs for one more roar before falling into a sob. Not a squall in sight, the skies were unmoved.

Though her sobs were loud and embarrassing, she heard as steps trod carefully behind her. A gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, giving one small squeeze. Eyes blurry with tears, but she recognized the gesture without needing to look. She let herself fall into Monty’s embrace as she wept. He wrapped his arms around her and she slowly began to hear his shushing. He held her and did not let go. Pappy stood adjacent to them, giving physical space but sitting in the emotions with them all the same. After a minute he spoke.

“She killed that thing. You both did. You did it.” Van continued to weep, she briefly thought of Bert, panicked in the galley, but Olethra was with him. She was still in no state to help him, and he was likely not in a state to help her. What about her could even be helped, really? “Van… there was nothing--”

“Pappy, there is always something. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“Maybe not, but seems like it has.”

“ NO! ” Van shouted. “That’s not good enough- I’m not… I can’t accept it. She can’t be gone. She’s Marya fucking Junková. A captain goes down with the ship but our ship is still fucking standing, so she should be too. She’s dead? Show me a body. Show me a FUCKING BODY, PAPPY!”

“Van--” Monty started, but Van cut him off harshly. 

“SHH- Stop. Did you hear that?”

“Van… I mean I want her--”

“SHH.” Monty threw his hands up, giving in. She knew what she heard. She didn’t know how… but that was her. It wasn’t in her mind, she’d heard her groan. “MARYA! JUNKER CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

“Van… we all saw--” She whipped around angrily, shouting back at Pappy.

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAW.” She turned back to the horizon, trying now to lean over the edge to see. “MARYA ARE YOU THERE?”

Then she saw it… the gleaming of her blunderbuss, tangled up in something, glittering in the morning sun. She craned her neck, remembering the splinter lodged in her shoulder as she did so. She couldn’t see from where she stood- she couldn’t fucking see. 

“Lower me down.”

“Van--”

“LOWER ME DOWN. THAT’S A FUCKING ORDER.” They scrambled at her words. Van loved pulling rank, but always in good fun. This was different, and they knew. “I see her goddamn gun, now lower. Me. Down.”

They hauled some rope and they knotted it around Van’s waist securely, looping it into a makeshift harness. She’d done worse, but never with the stakes so high. Her hands trembled as she looped the rope through an anchor point on the railing. She gave it a tug and confirmed it would hold her, then she swung a leg quickly over the rail, beginning her descent. The side of the ship was scratched to hell and back, Straka’s doing no doubt. Though she’d have to spend some serious time on repairs, the deep gashes made for decent foot and handholds. It was a strange angle, and her body was so deeply wounded in so many ways, but she managed it.

As she lowered herself almost to the belly of the ship, maybe 30 or 40 feet from the railing, she could finally see. She wouldn’t have believed it if she had not seen it with her own two eyes… Marya Junkova was caught in their fucking hammock . Her limbs were twisted in terrible angles, and she was unable to move, but the very hammock that Van had tossed overboard had saved her fucking life. It looked like it had caught on a part of their anchoring hardware.

She couldn’t help it. She laughed . They were so fucking stubborn even their hammock wouldn’t be thrown overboard. That damn thing clung for dear life, as did Marya, and Van was eternally grateful. Marya looked up with her eyes, unable to move her head but still spotting Van.

“Took you long enough, Chapman. Have a nice nap?”

“Fuck you, Junker.” She rolled her eyes. “Are you in a position to antagonize, Lovey? I’ve half a mind to leave you here. Maybe if you’re stuck here you’ll stay out of danger at least.”

“You couldn’t leave me even if you wanted to. That fucking beast is dead, means you forgave me.” She taunted. It felt good to banter, despite their surroundings. “Vanellope, you disobeyed orders. You’re meant to be in the galley right now.”

“Yeah well, least you followed mine, I suppose. Aren’t you lucky the hammock caught you?”

“Is that what this is? Like I said- couldn’t leave me if you tried. Even when you threw this overboard the fates knew, they always know.”

“God you’re insufferable. Maybe I’ll tell Monty I was wrong and you weren’t down here after all.”

“Admit an error? Now that , I know you couldn’t do.” Marya continued her haranguing and Van smiled. 

“Right well, should we get out of here then?”

“Always so flirtatious, Chapman. To your superior, no less.”

“Superior my arse, Junker. Not taking another order from you ever again. Least not out here.” She winked, noticing the blush Marya surely wished she could hide. Van leaned her head up to the deck and shouted, “OI! MONTY! SEND A LIFEBOAT DOWN, SHE’S HERE!”

In a few minutes, a lifeboat circled down to where Marya and Van hung. Pappy drove and Monty cut Marya loose. Van unhooked herself from her makeshift harness and got in the small dinghy too, sitting next to Marya. That woman would have to try very hard to ever leave Van’s line of sight for the foreseeable future. Marya insisted they take the hammock back up with them, and the three of them knew better than to argue. “It can be fixed!” She insisted, and they just smiled. They pulled the dinghy back to its spot along the side of the Zephyr and found their way back to the deck. 

“I need to go find Bert.” Van said softly. “I left him to go to the aft. Olethra was there, but I left him.”

“It will be okay, Vanellope. It’s Bert.” Marya kissed her cheek and Pappy helped her hobble toward the crew quarters. 

Van was nervous upon entering the crew mess, and she felt her heartbeat grow louder as she approached the galley. She pushed the door open cautiously and held her breath. She walked in, and much to her surprise, Bert looked okay… He and Olethra sat on the floor of the galley, each with a cuppa. Bert’s face was tear-stained, but he looked… okay?

“Bert? Y’a’right?”

“Vanellope! Lovey! Oh I was so worried! Are you alright, Darling?”

“ Me? I’m alright, yeah. But you- Bert I left you… you needed me and I left.”

“No, Darling. I needed someone . You left me with someone. You needed to defeat the beast… and you did?” In her absence, it seemed Olethra was able to talk him down from his panic entirely and help him ride out the remainder of the battle. Though she wished she could have known how to help him, he was right… her skills were better on the battlefield.

“Yes, Darling, I did. We did. Marya mostly, but I reckon we couldn’t have done it without the wind-riders holding the rest of the ship. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”

“You needed to be with Straka-”

“No. I mean, always…” She trailed off. Olethra nodded to her and Bert, excusing herself quietly. “You’re so good to me, and I’m never half as good as you.”

“Van… Darling, we’ve discussed this, Lovey. I know who you are. I don’t need you to change, Dear. I could do without the burn,” he nodded to his arm and Van winced on his behalf.

“Sorry about that, Bert. I- Well, I was trying to help.”
“I know that. I’ve only ever asked you to try. I’m not disappointed in our life together, and I wouldn’t be upset if it changed to include her… I’ve tried to be clear on that, I know what it is you share. I consider myself lucky to have even a tiny sliver of that… it’s okay, Vanellope.”

“Bert… I honestly don’t know what things will look like. You’ll always be a part of me- you’re my husband, my best friend, my rock. But I think… I think there’s room in my heart for both of you.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Lovey. Help me up?” She gave Bert a hand, and they walked arm in arm to their quarters. How she, Vanellope Chapman: stubbornness extraordinaire, had managed to land him, Bert Chapman: most easy-going man on Gath, remained a mystery to her. She decided not to question life’s little miracles. He was shaken, but largely unwounded. She got him to bed to rest up. Despite the early hour, everybody could benefit from a little lie-down.

Van turned out the light and exited the room quietly. Her heart raced, unsure of her own expectations let alone Marya’s… but she knew one thing for certain, she would never willingly sleep in a bunk without Marya Junková ever again. She didn’t care about the creaky boards as she walked down the corridor, it didn’t matter. There was no sneaking left to be done. Now was the time to love out loud, and to unapologetically prioritize themselves. They were free of that goddamn monster, and Van wasn’t going to waste a moment of it. 

Not bothering to knock, Van entered Marya’s quarters and saw her tired lover already in bed. She decided it was not presumptuous in the least to climb in beside her, getting under the scratchy wool blanket and wrapping her arms around Marya’s waist. The pillow was lumpy, and she couldn’t help but smile as she saw a scrap of hammock rope poking out from under it. She heard Marya sigh and Van kissed the spot just under her ear. She breathed in deeply, letting the soft smell of lilac heal her more than any night’s rest ever could.

It’s different now, and it’s not perfect. They fight all the time, but there’s an understanding about them. They know that the only way to heal is to heal together. In time, they add a B to their initials carved into Marya’s bunk. Even if it’s platonic, Bert will always be an integral part of their story. He and Marya grow to love one another, and Van learns to accept her little family, strange as it is. Monty and Pappy feature regularly too, and Olethra and Max are never strangers either. They split their time between the Rusted Nut and Marya’s toy store, neither establishment truly needing them, but neither ready to be let go by the trio either. They make it work one way or another. Second chances don’t come around often… Marya insisted they not waste it, and Van could not help but agree.

-end-

Chapter Text

Drawn with procreate, sorry if you thought this might be a bonus chapter!!!