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When Gill emerges from the heart of the clam, small and shaky and missing the usual weight that always seems to hang from his shoulders, Jay isn't sure how to feel.
There's relief at his appearance, a loosening of the tense fear that said she had made the wrong decision again, a quieting of the voice that says she'd sent him to his death. There's a guilt, too, now that he's back and seemingly unhurt, that she hadn't completely trusted him to pass the trials by himself. There's a lingering anxiety, because Gill is trembling all over with swollen skin beneath his eyes, and maybe he needed her and she wasn't there, and maybe she's going to keep making the same mistake over and over and maybe one day Gill isn't going to come back alive. There's pride, because he is alive. Because he made it.
When Chip launches himself into Gillion's arms, Jay hangs back with Aurora. She assesses his condition from afar- takes note of the tear tracks slicing clean through the dust and dirt on his face, the odour of dried sweat, the way Gill's legs buckle for a moment beneath Chip's weight, and Gillion has always stood firm and steady, prepared to bear every burden flung at his bruised frame. It's only when Gillion reaches out with his one remaining hand that she allows herself to draw closer, lets him pull her into the embrace. It's clumsy, Jay's shoulder knocking against Aurora's as Gill tries to hook his arm around both of them at once, but it's safe. They're safe. Gill's safe.
He sighs. "I think I needed to do that alone. Thank you."
He's tired, subdued, but there's a kind of resolve in his voice. A closure.
Gill's head rests at Jay's collarbone. He tightens his hold, soaking in her warmth as they hold each other steady.
Gill is shuttering, in the way he does when his worldview collapses and he's too drained to feel anything about it. It's happened too many times in recent months. Jay is learning, gradually, how to deal with it- recognising when he needs time to process and when he needs to be dragged out of his hollow shell and back into reality.
Right now, Gillion is dealing with too much. He's still reeling from the Black Sea and the prophecy and Odelath, and there's been a distant look in his eye lately. Jay decides he's done enough processing alone for the time being, and joins Gill further down Ursus' back. She kneels next to him where he's curled into himself, immobile with his face buried into folded arms.
His position is awkward: one arm cuts off just below the elbow, and he holds the hand on his other side limp and delicate, still unaccustomed to the star-shaped hole ripped through the centre of his palm. Healing magic has pieced the shattered bones back together, mended the raw skin that was shredded by the hook, but it hasn't closed up the gap left behind and it hasn't fixed the constant discomfort of covering a co-captain's hand with his own and seeing their skin show through the other side. Jay inspects the injury, the stretched scar tissue and the way his hand curls in on itself a little, and thinks you could have stopped this.
"Hey, Gill." She rests her arm around his shoulders, light enough that he would be able to pull away. He doesn't. After a moment, he leans in a little closer, pressing his head against Jay's shoulder, saying nothing.
"You wanna talk about it?"
Gillion nods, but stays silent. Jay waits a full minute before he finds the right words. His voice is slow and stilted, like he's only just remembering how to form the shapes of each syllable.
"It was the right choice. Taking the trials alone. It was just… a lot."
Jay huffs a laugh which she hopes conveys empathy. "Yeah, that's- that's fair. What happened in there, Gill?"
He's told them about the pearl and the heart but there must be more to it. Even if his spine was crushed by the weight of every burden he's taken on, he'd still find a way to collect one more - extend his broken hand and clutch it like a prized possession to his chest. Gillion Tidestrider is honour-bound, and in his eyes, there is nothing more honourable than taking on more struggles than he can bear. Something must have happened to persuade him to give that up.
Gillion hesitates. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," Jay tacks on.
"I just… realised some things that I've been trying not to think about for a long time. About myself."
Jay pulls him further into the half-hug, allowing him to continue.
"Jay, who am I?"
"You're Gill." They've had this conversation before. "You're one of the most important people in my life. I know Chip would say the same. You're stubborn and dependable and so fucking brave. You're heroic and reckless and kind of stupid sometimes, and we love you."
Gill shifts, leaning his full weight against Jay. "Who would I be without that? If I wasn't brave, or heroic, or-"
"Then you'd still be one of us, and we'd still love you. I promise. You'd still have so much energy and passion and you'd still do the right thing in any way you could. You'd still be an artist." Jay's voice wavers. "I can't imagine a Gillion who knows how to look after himself. I can't imagine a Gillion who wouldn't sacrifice everything to make a stranger's life a little bit easier. And I love those parts of you because I love everything about you, but I'd love to get to know that other Gillion, too. I wouldn't love him any less just because he wasn't hurting."
This is the breaking point. Gillion buries his face in Jay's neck and sobs.
"I'm a liability," he chokes between his tears. "I saw it. In Chip's thoughts. I keep on fucking up and I make problems more than I fix them and- how am I supposed to be worthy if I just- accept that?"
Jay swallows.
"No," Gillion says with the kind of certainty he rarely ever speaks with any more, "I can't be worthy if I don't even hate myself for leaving the world a worse place than the one I entered."
And there it is. It doesn't surprise Jay, exactly, but it brings a sick feeling to her throat regardless.
"Worthy of what?" she prompts, fighting to keep her voice steady.
Gillion pulls away, hunching further into himself. "Worthy of- of being saved."
Jay loves her co-captains. She loves every part of them. Loves Chip's brash insensitivity and dramatics and the mocking remarks they exchange. Loves Gillion's awkwardness and confusion and tendency to act without thinking. Jay wholeheartedly loves everything about Gillion, but possibly the best thing about him is his unbridled passion for life.
It's the way he cups Pretzel so gently between warrior's hands, hands built to kill. It's the way he gets caught up in thunderstorms, sharp and burning and crackling with energy. It's the way he sketches every new creature they come across in Undersea and Oversea alike, the little furrow in his brow as he pours all of his wonder out onto the waterproof parchment. It's the way he throws himself into his love, the way he lights up when he sees a friend for the first time in a month or a week or a day. It's the way he attaches himself to others so quickly, actions infused with the complete belief that everyone is worthy of a second chance, even Odelath. Even Jay. Everyone, apparently, except himself.
Gill isn't just captivated by life; he's the very embodiment of it. He's chaos and beauty and raw emotion and energy, shining, glowing, radiating warmth. He's everything that makes life worth living and he doesn't even believe he deserves to exist in the world he loves so much.
"You know, Gill," she murmurs, "you don't need to earn the right to be alive. You could contribute nothing to society and you'd still deserve to live."
"The world is going to end and it's going to be my fault," Gillion snaps, and despite all Jay's fear of upsetting those she loves, she doesn't flinch at his anger. She knows it's not directed at her, knows it never could be. Gillion has never been capable of hating anyone but himself. "We've killed people for less."
In this moment, all Jay wants to do is pull Gillion back into her arms. She doesn't. All she can do is offer her presence and let him seek out that comfort when he's ready.
"Jay?" he asks, small and hesistant.
"What's up, Gill?"
"Would you miss me?"
Jay blinks back tears. "Every fucking day," she promises. "For the rest of my life."
"Oh." Gill hides his head in his arms again. His shoulders shake.
"You were in an impossible situation," Jay presses. "I would have done the same- for Chip or for you."
"Why?"
"Because I love you." She'll say it over and over and over until he believes it. "Just like you love Chip. Because I'd end the world to see you happy."
It's only as she says the words that she registers their truth. Jay has known Gill for months. She's seen frenzied vigour and soft tranquility and fierce intensity and so much love. She's seen bared teeth molded into some vague approximation of a grin. But Jay doesn't know what his smile looks like when it isn't distorted by tears or spattered with his own cobalt blood.
She thinks of the Donjon, of the Luxbris Pearl, of Pelagus, of red lightning and gasping breaths, desperation and cold relief.
She thinks of R.A.F.T., of Kuba Kenta, of fangs buried into flesh, vicious glee and plummeting motion and bones crunching.
She thinks of the curse that followed, of infection and nightmares and dark oozing liquid interspersed with wet blood, of delirium, of Gillion, calm and still through his crew's terror.
She thinks of the B.L.O.C.K. Of her father. Of the arrow embedded in the centre of Gillion's chest. Of words coughed out from bloodied lips and wheezing breaths:
What do you really want? And just say it, so I can fight for it.
And Gillion went down with a smile.
It scares Jay to think that he only ever seems truly happy at the brink of death.
Have you enjoyed it?
Yeah. Yeah, even the worst parts. Maybe more than I should've.
Gillion shifts beside her. Lays his head back down on her shoulder. "I'm tired," he says in a thin, cracked voice.
"I know," Jay whispers. "I'm sorry."
"I'm so tired of being a fuckup."
There are so many things Jay wants to tell him- that it isn't his fault, that he was set up to fail, that he's done so much good despite it all, that she's so proud of him for being here, for persisting even though he's so scared and so guilty and so fucking exhausted. She saves those promises for another day; Gill is frail and trembling and she doesn't know if he could take it.
"It's going to get better," she says instead.
Gillion blinks, slow and tired. "I really wish I could believe you."
"That's a start."
"I love you, Jay."
"Love you too, Gill."
The corner of Gill's mouth creases, and that's what his smile is supposed to look like. Small and soft and real. He slumps, full weight pressed up against Jay's arm, awake but weary with pupils dilated like a cat's. Jay slides him onto the soft leathery skin of Ursus' back. On the rare occasions when Gillion would sleep on dry land, he always used to cover himself with his cape, thick enough to function as a blanket. Now, he's laid out bare-armed at her side and he doesn't need the additional warmth but Chip has his coat draped over his lap just a short distance away and it doesn't take long for her to retrieve it, snatching it away and ruffling his hair for good measure. Chip pretends to grab it back, but relents quickly. His eyes dart over to the small curled-up shape of Gill's body.
Gill's almost asleep when Jay returns, but he smiles again when Jay covers him with the heavy fabric of Chip's coat. It's oversized even on Chip and it engulfs Gillion completely. He nestles further into it, then blinks his eyes open again and reaches out for Jay. She lets him pull her down to his eye level.
He's beautiful like this: eyes wide and tired; fins flattened; one small, sharp fang poking over his lip; broken coral emitting a soft orange glow under the darkness of the coat. This close, the light illuminates each pale scar. Jay can see the stretched skin Gill regrew after the stronghold, scar tissue melting into flesh. His ear fins are ripped at the edges. There's a nick in his bottom lip, matching Jay's own.
Jay feels his arms wrap around her waist as he latches onto her. He goes limp, finally allowing himself to relax, and the sight is unfamiliar - Gillion's never been one to sleep out in the open, a habit worsened by Felipe and then by Kuba Kenta. He's never known how to let his vulnerability show. Jay holds him steady, anchors him in place.
The rise and fall of Gill's chest is slow and rhythmic against Jay's stomach. Chip and Aurora are perched at Ursus' head, immersed in conversation but each keeping one alert eye on Gill and Jay. The sea is growing lighter as they draw closer to the surface, fading from blue-black to a shade closer to teal. Jay runs a hand through Gill's hair and allows herself to drift into sleep.
The problem with suppressing emotions, Jay is finding, is that once she's struck by the reminder of her reality, it becomes very difficult to contain the festering river one droplet away from bursting its banks.
That is to say: Jay is having a panic attack.
It's been a long time coming. Everything has been happening too fast to process and the only thing Jay knows how to do is to stop - to detach herself from reality and let everything pass by without emotion. Chip is the Champion of Death and he's hiding something from her. Her family have been spying on her for the entire time she's been on her crew. The Navy is killing minor gods and draining their power to create a beast of their own, one more powerful than any of the immense creatures Jay's crew has laid to rest, more powerful than creatures which host entire dimensions and hold the fabric of reality together. She hasn't adjusted to the loss of her leg, and she's slow and unbalanced on the makeshift prosthetic she's been putting together and it hurts constantly. The world is going to end and it's going to end because Gill sacrificed everything just to see Chip happy and whole and alive, and she doesn't disagree with his decision but she's petrified at the thought of it. Gill believes that he deserves to die and the worst part is that Jay gets it. Jay had walked into that ocean with absolutely no certainty that she'd actually survive and her last thought before reawakening was that she probably deserved to die anyway. She doesn't know how to tell Gill that he deserves to live no matter how many times he fails because she cannot apply the same logic to herself.
Everything is uncomfortably, terrifyingly real and Jay doesn't know what to do with it.
She'd just about had the composure to find a semi-concealed corner before her emotional barrier shattered. She's curled up on Ursus' fin with her back pressed against his side, gasping half-formed breaths as sweat sticks clumps of hair to her forehead. All she can hear is the panting and the pounding of her heart, and she's somewhat lightheaded from oxygen deprivation and her limbs are numb and prickling and her head aches so violently that it hurts to think but she can't stop herself.
Something squeezes at her wrist and she looks down to find Pretzel wrapped around her arm, applying pressure like she does to Gill's shoulder in the moments when he breaks down. It's strangely comforting; the cool, moist feeling of tiny limbs squished against skin shocks her back into feeling her arms again, and although Pretzel can't reach far enough to fully encircle Jay's wrist, the pressure feels like it's pulling her back together, like it's pressing her floating body back into one piece.
Jay can't bring herself to speak yet, and she knows she needs to slow her breathing but she can barely remember how and she's not sure she even wants this to stop. She's been suppressing everything for so long and if she blocks it out again she doesn't know when she'll next get the chance to release this bubbling panic.
Pretzel clambers up Jay's arm and rests on her sternum. The weight is nothing - she can barely feel the tiny frogtopus, bobbing up and down with each sharp jolt of her lungs. Jay lifts her hand to rest against Pretzel's back. It's softer than she'd expected- she forgets Pretzel is an invertebrate- and a bit slimy, but it's something to focus on.
"Jay? Have you seen Pretzel?" Gill's voice breaks through the frantic rhythm of Jay's heartbeat as he pokes his head over Ursus' side. "Oh."
Gill slides down onto the fin and takes a seat. He's witnessed this enough times that he knows Jay won't be receptive to touch. He'd tried, once, which resulted in nothing but a punch to his stomach and a dark bruise that didn't fade for weeks despite Jay's whispered apologies. Instead, he waits.
Jay doesn't know how much time passes before her heart begins to settle. It's not over- there's adrenaline still pulsing through her veins, and her breath catches in her throat whenever she remembers her predicament. Mostly, she's just tired.
She breathes out, slower, steadier, but still faltering. "Gods," she manages eventually, "everything's gone to shit."
"Fucking tell me about it." Gill stretches his legs out in front of him, and Jay knocks her foot against his. It's a silent invitation to move closer, a hint Gill's learning to recognise. He accepts it and shuffles closer until he's at her side. Slowly, giving her time to react, he moves his hand to rest against her shoulder, and that's a message of its own- you are allowed space and you are allowed to accept help. You are safe.
"Seriously," Gill presses, "I mean it. Do you want to?"
"Want to do what?"
"Tell me about it." The twitch of his mouth, barely perceptible, is Jay's reminder that Gill has changed. His literal interpretations of sayings might have been unintentional when they first met, but Gillion has grown into the Oversea, learned to slot himself into the narrow space that is the Undersea and the Oversea and neither and both. There's an odd, self-aware humour to his comment, and it helps, just a little.
"Okay," she says. "You sure?"
Gill nods, wide-eyed and earnest. Jay hesitates.
"No, it's- you've got enough going on," she says, running a hand through her hair. "You know you don't have to… carry my burdens."
He's only just started learning he doesn't need to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. Jay can't add to that load.
"It's fine, really."
Gill squints. "You don't look fine."
Jay shrugs uncomfortably.
"Jay," Gill murmurs. "I'm not going to take this burden from you. I'm not even going to try. I trust you with it. But you shouldn't have to carry it alone."
"Yeah. Yeah, okay." She's not completely convinced, but she's getting there. "I, uh- I guess I didn't really have time to explain everything that went down with my grandma."
She's scared, for a moment, that Gillion will berate her for keeping the truth from him. He just nods, with a quiet "Yeah?" that prompts her to continue in her own time.
"I… broke the pin. I disowned her. She didn't take it well." She touches her hand to the healing claw marks along her neck, and sees Gill's ear fins tilt in her peripheral vision as he strings pieces of context together.
"Oh."
"And I just think- she thinks family is the most important thing in the world. She loves her family, and she tried to kill me." Her voice cracks. "Am I so completely unloveable that she couldn't spare her own granddaughter?"
Gill lifts out a hand, and she lets him take it. He twines their fingers together. "No," he says. His speech carries a low, simmering anger that Jay's been too scared to let herself feel. "No. Jay, you're so fucking easy to love. She doesn't know what she's missing out on."
When the tears start dripping down her face, she doesn't bother to conceal them. She sniffles. "Gods, Gill," she mumbles, "she wiretapped me. This whole time, she knew everything."
Gill inhales. "Yeah. That's rough."
"I would have told her eventually. I didn't want to keep lying forever. I just wish I could have done it on my own terms. But, well… you know, I've chosen my family."
Pretzel takes this moment to remind Jay and Gill of her presence, emitting a sound somewhere between a purr and a gurgle. She knocks her soft head against Jay's cheek before sliding down into her lap, nodding at Jay matter-of-factly. It's funny, seeing how much conviction can fit inside such a miniscule creature. It's also kind of disturbing to remember the sheer level of intelligence this frogtopus hides. Jay's supposed to be the smartest member of the Riptide Pirate crew, but secretly, she's pretty sure it's actually Pretzel. Maybe they should promote her to co-captain, Jay muses. She could replace Chip.
Jay scoops her up and deposits her on Gillion's knee. Gill visibly softens as Pretzel scrambles along his arm and resumes her usual position on his shoulder.
Jay wonders if the next comment that comes to mind is too insensitive to make, then decides she doesn't care. "Hey. At least we get to be suicidal fuckups together."
Gill chuckles, and extends his hand for a fist bump. "Suicidal fuckups."
There's a furrow in Gillion's brow that lingers for a few long seconds before he blurts, "Jay, I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"We've all been so caught up in my shit and the Elders and the Leviathans that we've barely checked in on you. There's just been so much going on and I should have made sure you were alright, and-"
"It's okay, Gill." She cuts him off. "Like you said, we've- we've all been dealing with a lot recently. I get it."
She pauses. "But, uh… I appreciate the apology. And I forgive you."
"Thank you." Gill smiles. "We're always here if you need."
"Actually," Jay starts. If it was anyone else she'd be embarrassed to ask, but Gill's never been one to judge. "Can I have a hug?"
Gill responds by lifting Jay to her feet and wrapping his arms around her torso. The prosthetic leg isn't balanced quite right, and Jay sways for a second before Gill pulls her in closer, stabilising her. He's a good hugger, and she fits neatly into his hold despite the six inch height difference. His grip is firm but not suffocating, and the cool, clammy quality of his skin is a balm to counteract the fire that itches beneath Jay's own.
It strikes Jay just how many parallels she can identify between her life and Gill's. They're very similar people in very similar situations, and they should be on opposites sides of the endless conflict between sea and land but they've found one another anyway, the ex-Champion of Lunadeyis and the heir of Aster's blessing. They've chosen one another.
Gill knows what it's like to fail. He knows what it's like to be set up for greatness and to find yourself falling short. He knows, too, how it feels to make the wrong choice. To plunge the world into a preventable turmoil. Gill knows what it's like to drown in guilt, in doubt, in self-hatred, to sink deeper and deeper and to want it to claim your life. He knows what it's like to wish for death almost as much as you fear it, if only to make the world a slightly better place, if only to prevent whatever tragedies you will inevitably inflict on the people around you - good people - if you choose to continue living. Gill knows what it's like to lose a sister, in one way or another, to lose the one good thing that held steady throughout your childhood. Gill knows, even, what it's like to lose a limb. He knows the same deep ache of bones severed roughly, amateurly, unceremoniously. He knows the phantom sensations, the disorientation, the imbalance, the illogical shame of needing assistance in tasks that used to be easy.
Gods, they really should have come to each other sooner.
Eventually, Gill peels himself away, keeping one hand around Jay's waist as he guides her back to the floor. "We'll figure this out," he promises.
"Yeah," Jay affirms. "We always do."
Neither of them believe it, but it's nice to pretend. If they're all going to die, they might as well go out with some false semblance of hope, just so they can say that they tried. Just so that they can occupy their final days with something other than fear and grief.
Apparently deciding this is enough intimacy for the day, Gill stretches out. "Man," he declares, "emotions suck. We should kill them."
Jay laughs. "That'd be nice, Gill. That'd be really nice."
"You got any ideas?"
"We'll work on it."