#prukweek2017

Even after going through university to get a degree in engineering, Gilbert knew he wanted to be a policeman. He’d always wanted to be one, figuring that it was the closest thing to being a knight in shining armour. Of course, his father, the Oxford physics professor, talked him into striving for a ‘better’ career. But, when Gilbert graduated and his father told him he could do what he wanted, he had jumped at the chance to become a policeman.

Now a Constable on the beat, Gilbert was delighted to deal with a variety of situations. From something as simple as giving tourists directions to arresting drunks on a Saturday night to standing outside a crime scene to make sure the public didn’t get inside. He loved every minute of it: getting to chat with people on the street; arresting people who had committed crimes; keeping everyone safe. Even arresting drunks made him feel good, knowing he was putting them somewhere safe for the night and they weren’t going to walk into traffic.

The only part he hated was when there was some sort of protest which devolved into a riot. He hated having to scare or bully people, especially when they were protesting an important issue. Being sent to pick up his riot gear always sent a feeling of dread through him. Would he be in the middle of a bad one, with deaths on both sides? Would he be sitting in a van all day?

Usually it was the latter but on that particular day, they were deployed immediately.

Gilbert wasn’t even sure who was protesting and for what. When they got to the square where the protest was taking place, there were people dressed in hoodies or in nondescript clothes. Others, however, were dressed in black and ripped jeans and chains and piercings. People were yelling and screaming. Some were waving large flags or banners. Others – mostly those in black – were throwing heavy things like bricks or glass bottles. Several fights had broken out with the officers already on the scene trying to pull them apart to no avail.

“It’s a protest of a protest!” his Inspector told him. Inspector Héderváry glared at the mess in front of them, tugging harshly at her hair as she pinned her plait to her head. “We’ve to separate the drunk punks who crashed the party from the actual protesters and keep them from killing each other.”

“What are they protesting about, again?” Gilbert asked, curiously.

Héderváry’s expression turned dark. “Something stupid,” she answered. She turned to the rest of them. “Right, you lot! Out you get – you know what to do!”

They all jumped from the van, the sound of many pairs of boots landing on the tarmac as they rushed across the road, their riot shields up and ready. Gilbert found himself at the back of the pack, Hérderváry behind him and Constable Vargas beside him. Vargas was scowling, as usual, keeping his grip on his baton tight.

“This’ll be fun,” Gilbert grumbled.

Vargas rolled his eyes. “This is such a stupid waste of time,” he replied. “I want to be back at the station on my well-earned break.”

“You never do anything,” Gilbert protested.

That was all they could say to each other before they entered the fray, shunting their way forward as they cut a path between the punks and the protesters. Up close, the punks looked both kinds of pissed. Gilbert could only wonder at what had made them so angry. He didn’t like the look of the protesters either: they looked like the kind of people he arrested for being drunk or high and shouting hate at ethnic minorities.

Eventually, they had a wall between the two warring parties. That didn’t stop the punks from shouting abuse at the protesters and vice versa. Gilbert couldn’t hear the words properly with all the noise. When the punks started shouting at the police and throwing things, Gilbert was glad he had the shield up. His back was covered by his colleagues and he wondered how long they’d have to stay there.

Suddenly, his shield jolted, hit by a kick from one of the punks. His eyes widened as he looked up and down their wall and saw that all of the punks had decided to attack the police. Other officers were attempting to wade through the chaos, arresting one person at a time to drag them off to the waiting vans. They would be of no help to Gilbert and the others as the punks began to kick and punch and shove them backwards.

Before Gilbert knew it, the line was breaking and officers were hard pressed to defend themselves from the punks. Beside him, an officer fell to the ground and a man lifted his foot to stomp on him. Instinctively, Gilbert flicked out his baton and swung it at the leg he stood on. The man fell and the officer managed to scramble to his feet – just in time as another man came barrelling into his shield.

Unfortunately, Gilbert didn’t have time to help him for another person started hitting at his shield with a baseball bat. Where the guy had managed to find one was a mystery but he was relentless, forcing Gilbert backwards as he flinched with each hit. Trying to keep his shield steady, he reached around to hit him on the leg with his baton. But the bat was heavier and thicker and the baton wad not really designed to be used against another weapon: it flew from his hand and landed several feet away where it was immediately scooped up by another punk.

Shocked, Gilbert momentarily forgot the attack and was caught off guard when the bat hit his shield once again. He stumbled backwards and his foot caught on something hard, toppling him. His back hit the ground with such force that his breath was knocked from him and his shield arm was flung out, leaving the shield lying uselessly on the ground. As he gasped and coughed, trying to force his body to move, the man with the bat stepped up to him, the weapon raised. Gilbert’s eyes widened, wondering if his protective gear would actually keep him from being killed.

He never found out. The man was suddenly spun around and, as he lowered his arms, he fell to the side, apparently unconscious. Behind him stood another man, hand clenched in a fist and dressed in tight, black jeans with holes at the knees and what appeared to be a black leather jacket. His blond hair was sandy in colour and badly ruffled. He had rather large, bushy eyebrows, one of which was pierced by what looked like a metal bar. A ring pierced his lip which his tongue nervously flicked out to spin. Their eyes met and Gilbert realised that his were green, dulled from alcohol by the looks of things. He gave Gilbert a nod and turned, rushing away into the crowd again.

Gilbert stared after him, stunned and unmoving. Time seemed to have stopped until someone tripped over his foot and he remembered where he was. Then he struggled to his feet and looked for the Inspector in order to regroup.

Later, once it was all over, Gilbert learnt that all the punks had been arrested – none had been allowed to leave the square. Quite a lot of protesters were arrested as well. They were all sent to different police stations to be processed, including Gilbert’s own.

When he walked into the station, eager to get his gear off and back to the streets for a more calming few hours of work, the sergeant on the desk stopped him. “Gil, Alfred’s called in sick,” said Matthew, apologetically. “Is there any chance you can help process all those people from the riot? Please?”

Having never been able to resist the puppy dog eyes, Gilbert reluctantly agreed and hurried off to get into his uniform. Once he had, he was soon going from cell to cell, bringing them to a desk and asking them some simple information. Some of the information he gleaned from them was not of consequence, of course, and were mainly insults. Gilbert had to refrain from writing 'Dickhead’ in the name slot several times.

Finally, there was only one more to do and he would be done for the day – other than his own report, at least. He strode down to the cell with another sergeant who unlocked the door for him. And, for the second time that day, Gilbert was stunned, staring at the man who had saved him from the bat. He seemed surprised as well. But he blinked those green eyes – now a little brighter and shining with intelligence – and was soon smirking.

“Good evening, Constable,” he said.

Frowning, Gilbert glanced at the sergeant who shrugged. Then he shook his head and gestured at the man. “Come on. I have to take down your details.”

“Can’t we do it in here?” he asked, his smirk growing and his eyes glinting.

A shiver ran down Gilbert’s spine which startled him. Narrowing his eyes, he explained, “I need to do it at a computer.”

“Ah, I see,” said the man. “A slave to technology like the rest of us.” He stood and paused, waiting for Gilbert to turn so he could follow.

The sergeant placed handcuffs on him as Gilbert held the next door open for them. Then he watched them on their way to the desk in case the prisoner had any ideas about making a break for freedom. Of course, whoever he was, the man merely sat down on the chair, shifting around until he was lounging in it, butt at the edge of the seat and an arm hooked over the back of it. He reminded Gilbert of himself when he was at high school or university.

“All right,” Gilbert said, opening a new file. “Name?”

“Arthur Bedivere Kirkland.”

Gilbert paused. “Bedivere?” he asked, merely to confirm. “As in… Knight of the Round Table?” When he realised how rude he had been, he hastened to add, “Just so I know the spelling.”

Grinning, Arthur nodded. “The. Very. Same,” he said slowly, his tongue flicking out over his lip ring. This time, Gilbert saw the glint of silver from within his mouth, as if he was chewing on a small star; evidently, Arthur had a tongue piercing.

“Right,” said Gilbert quickly, refusing to acknowledge the strange feelings he had upon his new discovery. He quickly typed it in. “Well, Mister Kirkland, date of birth?”

“Call me Arthur,” he insisted with a twitch of his lips in amusement. “It’s the twenty-third of April, Nineteen Ninety-Five.”

As he typed it in, Gilbert worked out his age. “Aren’t you a bit young for…?” He trailed off, eyeing the t-shirt he could see under the jacket. “Is that The Clash?”

“Yeah.” Arthur seemed amused, watching Gilbert. “You a fan?”

Blinking, Gilbert shook his head and turned to the form again. “Place of residence?” he asked. Arthur only shrugged a shoulder in response. “You don’t know? Or are you homeless?”

Arthur shook his head. “I live in student halls. Or, I did. It’s the end of the year and I’ll be going home but, as soon as I can find a cheap flat, I’m out of there. Maybe before I find a flat.”

“I’ll have to put your parents’ address,” said Gilbert, trying to tamp down his curiosity. Why would Arthur want to leave home so quickly? Was he on bad terms with his parents? Was he being abused? Were the parents homophobic?

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand in order to stop himself from thinking about Arthur’s sexuality.

Once he’d put in the address, though, he realised those were the next questions. “I, uh, need a gender and sexuality, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Male, bi,” said Arthur, simply. “Though, today, I think I’m swinging more towards men.”

Gilbert couldn’t stop himself from looking up at that smirk. He cleared his throat and hit the enter button to see if Arthur had any priors. When nothing came up, he filled in the details of the crime and situation before he looked at him again. Arthur seemed to be bored by that point, slouching further and looking around the room. Gilbert took a moment to really look at him, noting the slight downturn of his lips, the furrow in his brow, how his eyes glistened. This wasn’t a criminal, he realised. In fact, he doubted Arthur had even wanted to be in the square, had probably been pressured into attending. Gilbert hoped he’d get off lightly.

“I need to take your statement,” he said, softer than he’d intended.

Looking up, Arthur nodded solemnly. Then he began his tale. Just as Gilbert had suspected, it looked as though Arthur had met up with some friends he’d met on his gap year when he was travelling. They’d been having fun on a pub crawl when they’d come across the protesters. Arthur had wanted to get to the next pub since he’d needed to pee but the others had decided to stay put and tell the protesters what they thought of them. After he’d excused himself and hurried off to the closest toilet, Arthur had returned to find the place in a mess. He’d tried to convince the ringleaders to leave it alone and go home but nobody listened to him. Then the fighting started and he’d tried to keep out of it as much as possible, only stepping in when someone seemed to be going too far. He’d been arrested and that was that.

Having dutifully typed in the last few words, Gilbert hit the print button and waited for the old, rickety printer to cough its way into life. “Thank you, by the way,” he said as they waited. “I think you might have saved my life.”

“Not really,” Arthur mumbled. “All I did was punch my friend who is, apparently, a tosser.”

Stifling a laugh, Gilbert told himself to focus. What else did he need to do? As he surveyed Arthur, he wondered when the last time he’d eaten had been. Did he even have enough money for food? Especially if he was buying alcohol, too… “Do you need anything? Water? Sandwich from the vending machine?”

Arthur blinked at him, clearly surprised. It took him a second to regain his composure but then he said, “A drink would be good… The water’s free right?”

“And, for you, the sandwich is, too. Hang on.” Gilbert looked up and around the room which was apparently empty now. Everyone else had probably gone for their breaks. However, the door suddenly opened and Matthew walked in. “Mattie!” he cried in delight. “Any chance you can bring me a drink and a sandwich?”

Matthew looked between them and, with a kind smile at Arthur, nodded. Then he left them alone with a silence which seemed heavy. Arthur was the one to break it. “Thanks,” he muttered, chin tucked into his chest.

“Not a problem, Arthur. You look like you need it.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell again.

“What are you doing at uni?” Gilbert asked as he stood to pick up the form he’d forgotten about. He returned to the desk and looked for a pen.

“English Literature and Creative Writing,” Arthur answered, accepting the pen to sign the statement. “It’s fun, so far.”

“'Creative Writing’, huh? What do you write about?”

“This and that,” Arthur answered. “I tried writing a murder mystery this semester but I gave up and went back to fantasy.”

“Why’d you give up?” asked Gilbert, chin in his hand, watching Arthur practically unfurl. He straightened in his chair a bit, dropped his arm and faced Gilbert fully.

For the first time since he’d met Arthur, Gilbert saw him blush. It was a dainty thing, a little pinking of the skin along his cheekbones. Gilbert felt it belonged more on a young woman than on what looked like a hardened punk. Most of all, though, it was beautiful and Gilbert struggled not to feel embarrassed as well.

“I, erm,” said Arthur, hesitantly. “I wanted the main character to be a, well, a policeman. Not a detective, I mean,” he added, hastily. “Just… a constable… whose friend is murdered but no-one believes him because the time of the death is wrong and it looks like a suicide. But I wasn’t too sure on the correct police procedure…”

“I could help you out,” said Gilbert without thinking.

“What?” Arthur’s eyes widened and he perked up so much that he was no longer slouching. “What do you mean?”

“Er.” Gilbert didn’t really know himself. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had such a strong urge to help the student. Maybe he reminded Gilbert of himself at university. Maybe it was something more. But he had to think of something to save face… “I could meet you in Il Suo Pasto – it’s an Italian restaurant a few streets away. After you get out, of course. If you’d like.”

Slowly, a smirk formed on Arthur’s face. Gilbert could feel himself starting to blush, his face definitely on fire. “Mm,” said Arthur, eyes lowering so that he was looking up at Gilbert from under his eyelashes. “Sounds like you’re asking me on a date. Got a pen and paper?”

“Um,” said Gilbert, intelligently. He looked around for a spare sheet before remembering his notebook and pulling it from his shirt pocket. As he handed it over, he heard the door behind him open and he jumped in surprise, turning to see Matthew returning with a cup of water and a sandwich laid out on a plate. “Ah,” he said. “Thanks, Mattie.”

“No problem,” said Matthew, handing the items over to Gilbert. “I’m going on my break now, okay?”

“Right.”

Once he was gone, Gilbert turned back to Arthur to find him handing back the pad and pen. “It’s in the back,” he said by way of explanation.

“What is?” Gilbert asked, handing over the meagre meal.

Arthur only grinned. “You’ll find out,” he said, at the exact moment the far door opened and the sergeant in charge of the cells came looking for his misplaced prisoner. As he led Arthur away, reluctantly letting him keep his food, Gilbert gave in to his curiosity and flipped open his notebook. There, in neat handwriting and a note to 'call me’, was Arthur’s number.

They have a lovely ‘date’ where they flirt but don’t acknowledge it and Arthur essentially interrogates Gilbert on the intricacies of the justice system.

I was gonna add a bonus bit where it’s a few months later and, though they’re not dating and they don’t really start for a while afterwards, they have their first kiss and Gilbert likes it. ;) But then it was getting a bit long and I decided it was best just to end it here. It was also going to involve Arthur wearing glasses and changing his lip ring to a green coloured one which would draw the eye - or Gilbert’s eyes at least - from Arthur’s eyes to his lips.

Arthur's family lived very close to what they called the Valley of the Dead. No dead merfolk were actually there, of course; instead, it was what they called the place where broken boats from above settled after sinking. Some of the human bodies, trapped within the rooms of the ships as they went down, would bob in the valley, shifting with the currents, trapped in tangled seaweed. It was a rather eerie place and while most merfolk feared it, Arthur loved it.

Because, when he had first been dared to go into the valley, he had entered a ship to prove himself and found treasure.

Most of the ships had fading flags with skulls and bones on them and those usually held the more sparkly things. Some of the items were tarnished from the sea water but Arthur kept them, hoarding them away in a small cave as far from his family as he was willing to go. Every time Arthur entered the valley, something new and exciting glinted at him, summoning him down to wrest it free from the mud or a box or where it lay on the roof of a ship. He found elegant swords and heavier swords and tiny little swords which seemed to pair with miniature four-pronged tridents and bowls-on-sticks. There were shimmering cloths which he could wrap around himself. Once he'd found a large hat and had paraded in front of his family with it on, delighting in the feeling of being important. Goblets and plates with strange jewels set in them instead of shells fascinated Arthur and he often dropped some as he tried to carry home as many as he could. The more he explored, the more he found and his cave was soon full to the brim. His brothers often told him he'd never fit anything else in there but he always made room.

One day, Arthur decided to go to the valley again, keen to explore one of the older ships. He'd need to be careful, of course, since it was closer to shark territory and in danger of falling to pieces. So he slid his knife into the scabbard on his hunting belt, made sure the pouch was securely attached and swam off, bidding his family a cheerful farewell.

As he swam into the valley, he dodged the numerous bodies he had seen before, darting between them. He was so intent on avoiding contact with the humans that he almost didn't spot odd movement ahead. But a flicker out of the corner of his eye finally caught his attention and he stopped among a throng of four bodies, tangled in nets of some sort. Shocked, Arthur watched another merperson swimming into the valley from beyond the limits of his town. That meant that the merperson was from a different town, one who could be hostile to his own neighbours and family. Frowning, he watched the merperson head further into the valley, heading in the same direction as Arthur had been going. Quickly, he rolled his way past the immediate obstacles and raced after the merperson, eyes narrowed.

Just as he suspected his luck would be, the merperson was headed straight for the same ship as him. Whoever it was halted several tail-lengths from the ship, merely looking at it. Arthur swam up behind him, keeping his movements to a minimum. As he got closer, he noticed that the merperson's scales were grey and, on his back, stopped at the waist except for a smattering of scales which came down from his shoulders.

Deciding not to let this merperson get away with any of his treasure, Arthur said, "Hey!" Startled, the merperson turned and swam backwards, letting out a high-pitched shriek. It was an instinctual thing and should have called any merperson in the area to his aid but the wood of the ship and the deep walls of the valley deadened it. While the merperson calmed themselves with a hand to their chest, Arthur looked them up and down, hands on his hips.

The merperson was a merman. He had white hair long enough to float around his head in a silvery halo which looked soft. In contrast, his eyes were the red of a particular type of coral Arthur had growing outside his house and seemed piercing, as if he was particularly perceptive. From his hips, his scales grew up in a 'v' shape till they reached his shoulders and disappeared over them. As well as having the lean muscles most mermen had due to their swimming, he also had strong arms and may have been one of the professional hunters of his village.

"Who are you?" Arthur demanded, brow furrowing further.

"Uh..." The merman stared at Arthur, particularly at his chest. Arthur didn't need to glance down to know that he was staring at his own green scales and the way they had grown in a thin line up to his heart until they had bloomed like some sort of underwater flower. Then the merman shook his head, took a breath and said, "I'm Gilbert. Who're you?"

"I'm Arthur and that's my ship," he declared.

Gilbert snorted. "Really? Because, ah, I thought that humans owned ships."

Scowling, Arthur swam closer, jabbing a finger at him. "I decided to explore this ship days ago. You are not going to spoil this for me."

"I can do what I want," Gilbert retorted. "You can't make me leave – unless you want to duel for it?"

Duelling to the death, a worldwide merfolk tradition, didn't sound appealing. But this merman was going to steal his treasure! Arthur gave it some thought, glowering at Gilbert who smirked back at him. Now that he'd stopped to consider it, he supposed that there might not be anything worthy of collecting from the wreck: without that certainty, he wasn't going to duel. However, there was no way of being sure that Gilbert wouldn't snatch a jewel or shiny necklace from his hands if he did find something.

He pointed at the ship, making a slashing motion. "We'll each take half of the ship. You stay to the front and I'll go to the back. Agreed?"

For a moment, Gilbert pouted, head tilted to the side in thought, hands on hips. "Okay," he finally said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Eventually, slowly, cautiously, they turned to the ship and began to swim towards it. Arthur kept an eye on Gilbert but the merman kept sticking his tongue out at him whenever he looked over so he soon stopped.

As they drew closer, Arthur looked over the ship and noted several holes dotted across its surface, on top and on its side and probably below as well. Its bouyant material was clearly rotten, like the bodies still trapped there. Cloth drooped from large, felled sticks upon the roof and the largest had sunk into the roof, splitting the ship roughly in half.

"That bit there is the middle," Arthur told Gilbert, pointing it out. "Don't go past it. And be careful – I don't want you bringing the thing down on top of me."

"Don't worry about me," Gilbert replied, pointedly. He winked at Arthur who sent him a disgusted look. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned from Arthur and began to swim towards a large hole at the pointed bit of the ship. "Whatever. See you later, Seaweed."

"'Seaweed'?!" growled Arthur, starting after him. When he heard Gilbert's laughter, however, he spun gracefully around and towards a smaller hole in the side of the ship, just large enough for him to swim through.

On the other side, Arthur found himself in a room full of what his mother had once told him were cannons. Large, dull balls lay in odd places across the room and Arthur darted around them, careful not to touch anything. Just as he reached a door to another part of the ship, he heard a dull thud which reverberated around him. Startled, he turned to see if he'd knocked anything over. Upon realising that he hadn't, he sighed Evidently, Gilbert had been the one to knock something over.

After listening for a moment, Arthur decided that, since he couldn't hear Gilbert calling out for help, it was safe to continue on his search.

Oddly, Arthur expected to see Gilbert when he left the ship that day, leaving his search half-done as he'd both found more than he could fit into his pouch and had realised that it was getting late. Even as he left the ship, he could feel the currents shift, signalling that night was drawing in. He was still trying to close his pouch (some sort of ornamental thing with a clasp at the back was poking out) when he stopped and looked back at the ship. There was no sign of Gilbert.

He's probably gone home, Arthur told himself, and he hurried to the cave he kept his treasures in.

Now that he knew that there were necklaces and coins in various shiny colours strewn across a room in the ship, he excused himself from his family the very next day and returned to the it. When he got there, he knew it was around the same time he'd gotten there the day before. Was Gilbert coming back? Maybe he had the whole ship to himself and could take a look in the other half of the ship. He was also curious as to what Gilbert had knocked over the day before: it had sounded rather big. Without making a conscious decision, he began to drift to the larger hole. With a last furtive look around, he decided there would be no harm in going in – after all, Gilbert wasn't his town's elder so Arthur could do as he liked.

So down he went, making a graceful loop up and over before diving straight down. He almost crashed head-first into a cannon and stopped himself at the last moment. Looking around, he realised that he seemed to be in a continuation of the room from the day before. Instead of a door, though, there was a jagged hole, obstructed by one of the cannons. Arthur grimaced at the thought of having to move it and wondered why Gilbert had pushed it back when he left.

However, he was soon proved wrong in his assumptions as he swam closer and noticed a dark form lying on the ground. Frowning, he moved closer. His eyes widened as he reached the cannon, gasping as he picked up speed.

Lying quite still, tail fin trapped by one of the cannon's wheels, was Gilbert. Since he hadn't reacted to Arthur's presence, Arthur presumed that he was unconscious. He flitted between Gilbert's head and the cannon, wondering what he should do. Help him? Leave him there and get help? Would his townspeople want to help him? Sometimes, the different towns of merfolk had wars and Gilbert was likely from one they'd fought before. If he rolled the cannon away but lost control of it, would they both be trapped?

Finally, his constant movement made Gilbert stir. He stilled, staring at him, watching him wake. Slowly, Gilbert blinked open those red eyes, hazy from pain and disorientation. Arthur watched confusion cross his face before he pushed himself up. In that instant, he pulled on his tail – and yelled in pain. Quickly moving forward, Arthur grabbed Gilbert by the shoulders and pushed him back down.

"Shush, shush," he said, hurriedly. "You're stuck, you idiot. I told you to be careful!"

Clearly, the pain had been too much because Gilbert blinked at him and then smiled. Arthur froze, staring at such a happy, beautiful expression – and it was directed at him. "Artie," Gilbert murmured.

"It's Arthur," he corrected him. "And you're clearly delusional with pain. Can you hear what I'm saying?"

But Gilbert was clearly more out of it than Arthur had thought. Perhaps he had been waking, moving and causing himself pain over and over for an entire day. Perhaps the tail had been seriously damaged. Whatever the reason, Arthur could only stare as Gilbert lifted a hand to the scales on his chest and trail his fingers over the pattern there. "So pretty," Gilbert muttered – and promptly fainted, floating down to lie on the floor.

Arthur stared at the other merman for a moment before looking down at himself. He couldn't understand what Gilbert had meant. Had he been seeing something else? Did he truly think Arthur's scales were beautiful? Was it just the scales or was he talking about the whole of Arthur?

Quickly shaking his head to push those thoughts from his mind, Arthur turned his attention to the problem at hand. He needed to move the cannon off Gilbert and get him somewhere to recuperate. But, if he rolled the cannon away, he could be trapped as well. He swam down to inspect the cannon more closely and realised that Gilbert's tail was actually under the wheel closest to the hole: it looked as though Gilbert had moved it and, just as he had moved to swim through, it had rolled back and trapped him. If Arthur could roll it away from the hole, he could get the cannon off of him. He would have to be quick...

Biting his lip, Arthur swam towards the hole and turned himself so that he was facing the ceiling. Then he let himself sink down until he could feel his tail against the remaining wall and his shoulders were braced against the cannon. After giving himself a count of three, Arthur pushed against the wall, flexing his tail as if he was dodging an enemy with a powerful stroke. His shoulders dug into the cannon and he felt it shift. A pained groan came from the unconscious Gilbert and Arthur grimaced, hoping he wasn't doing him any more damage. Slowly but surely, the cannon moved until, suddenly, it slid across the room, rolling off Gilbert. Arthur was spun around by the suddenness of it but he was able to see that Gilbert was free, unmoving, and the cannon was beginning to half-roll, half-slide towards him. With a quick flick of his tail, he turned upright, darted forward and grabbed Gilbert by his armpits to drag him out of the way, swimming upwards with a single-mindedness he usually had with the treasure he collected.

They had just cleared the hole when there was a loud crashing sound, similar to the noises heard when a ship crashed into the rocks above or when a downed one settled at the bottom of the valley. Arthur twirled around, forgetting he had Gilbert weighting him down: he sunk a little and spun too far so he had to turn in the opposite direction. Beneath them, the larger stick had shifted, probably moved from the impact of the cannon on that wall. The entire ship was in the process of shifting, tipping onto its side. Arthur grimaced and backed off.

"Wha-What's happenin'?" croaked a voice from below him and Arthur started in surprise. Heart beating rapidly, he looked down to see Gilbert twisting his head up and around to look at him. Then he dropped his head to look at the ship and tried to wave at it.

"I just saved your life," said Arthur, shortly. "And I'm going to drop you if you keep moving. Can you swim?"

"Mm? What happened to the treasure?"

"Honestly," murmured Arthur, shaking his head and hauling Gilbert away from the ship. "Forget about the treasure. Is your tail all right?"

"Hurts..." said Gilbert – and he suddenly drooped. He had clearly fainted again.

Arthur clicked his tongue and wondered what to do. There was no way for him to find out where Gilbert lived without him being awake and alert enough to answer him. He wasn't sure he wanted to let his family and neighbours see Gilbert in case they reacted with hostility. Biting his lip, he realised that there was only one place he could take him.

"This is all your fault!" Arthur snapped at the heavy weight in his arms. Regardless, he lifted Gilbert up, pushing him above Arthur so he could turn and pull Gilbert's arm over his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around Gilbert's waist, Arthur shifted him until he could easily swim with Gilbert at his side. Then he turned and headed to the one place he really didn't want to take the other merman.

When Arthur returned to where he'd left Gilbert with ointment for his tail (which he'd had to pilfer from his mother's cupboard), some bandages and a fresh fish tied tightly in seaweed to keep it fresh, he found the other merman awake and holding a ring up to the light. It was mostly still tarnished but the red jewel practically glowed in the light which filtered down from the holes above.

"What do you think you're doing?" Arthur demanded, darting forward and dropping his supplies onto a shiny plate he'd placed on top of some sort of very tall goblet. He snatched the ring from Gilbert's hand and cradled it to his chest. "It's mine."

"I was only looking," Gilbert retorted but he sounded weary and his voice was a little strained. He was likely still in pain and Arthur turned away to keep him from seeing his guilty flush.

"Well, look; don't touch."

"Fine."

Ignoring his tone, Arthur picked up the little pot and brought it to Gilbert. "This is to stop the swelling. Hopefully, if you don't swim around too much, your tail will heal."

"How long will that take?" Gilbert asked, taking the pot from him. When he pulled his tail towards himself, however, Gilbert hissed in pain and visibly grimaced.

Arthur sighed. "Let me do it, you moron," he said, grabbing the pot. Once Gilbert had straightened out, he scooped some of the ointment onto his fingers. It smelled of whale blubber and he wrinkled his nose at it. Then, carefully, he reached out, one hand on the bulk of Gilbert's tail to steady them both, the other brushing against the tip of the grey limb.

Gilbert yelled when he touched him and tried to dart away. The treasure hemmed him in and all he managed to do was knock over some sort of clear pot Arthur had found several moons ago. Annoyed, Arthur growled and wrapped his free hand around the top of Gilbert's tail, keeping him hugged to his chest. Once Gilbert couldn't move away from him, he quickly spread the ointment over the injury. Gilbert cried out again but he soon quietened as the medicine began its work. Finally, he relaxed and Arthur let him go free, backing away to pick up the bandages. Once he'd finished wrapping the tail, Arthur retreated and Gilbert sighed in relief.

He watched Gilbert sink onto the makeshift sleeping area Arthur had formed. Gilbert's hair still floated about his head, making him seem almost ethereal. His tail was now partially covered with the brown strips of kelp Arthur had bandaged him with. But Arthur found himself focussing on Gilbert's face, scrunched up and eyes screwed shut. It was an expression of pain and a stark difference to the peaceful visage from when Gilbert was sleeping.

Which, Arthur was loathe to admit, he had stared at for some time, admiring the beauty of it amongst his treasures.

After a while, Gilbert was lounging against Arthur's treasures as though he belonged there, obviously numb to the pain. "Thank you," he said, surprising Arthur and jolting him from his thoughts.

"Here," he said, grabbing the fish from the plate and moving closer to hand it to him.

"Huh," said Gilbert, looking from Arthur's face to the fish. "You're feeding me..."

"You don't need to eat it if you don't want to," Arthur snapped, drawing his hand back.

Before he could turn away, Gilbert grabbed Arthur's free wrist and drew him closer. "No, I want it. Just wondering if I'm to be your pet since I'm stuck here."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur shoved the fish at Gilbert's chest and jerked his arm free. "I'll take you back to your home so you can heal the-"

"No," said Gilbert, quickly. "That wouldn't be a good idea."

Frowning, Arthur settled onto an old box which contained a variety of jewels, most of them clear. "Why not?"

Gilbert smiled fondly: Arthur wasn't sure if he was smiling at Arthur or if he was remembering something. "Because my people wouldn't like you."

"Why not?" Arthur repeated.

"Because you're beautiful, Artie. So pretty – I'd like to have you as part of my collection," he added, winking, "like you seem to have made me a part of yours-"

"That's not it!" Arthur protested, turning red and rising from his box. "I thought this was the safest place for you!"

"In case your family wanted to kill me?" Gilbert suggested.

Arthur sank back onto his box. "Maybe," he answered, petulantly. "They can be... argumentative about territory."

"My people," Gilbert began to explain as he finally unwrapped his fish, "hate the beautiful merfolk. We're all the same colour, this dull grey. I mean, look at me – do you think I'm beautiful?"

Opening his mouth, Arthur stopped himself before he could say, Of course I do! He quickly averted his gaze. "I, um... I suppose you're... nice enough."

"See? Everyone thinks that. So my town doesn't exactly like the brightly coloured merfolk. And you, my friend, practically glitter."

"Glitter?"

"Yeah, like... Have you ever been to the surface?"

"You mean above the ocean?" Arthur asked, doubtfully. "I've been up to watch ships sinking in storms before..."

"Have you ever gone up when it's calm and the sun is shining and reflecting on the water?" Gilbert asked. Arthur shook his head. Gilbert sighed, wistfully. "You really should. It's beautiful. You remind me of it."

Arthur's blush from before had faded but now it came back in force. He turned his back on Gilbert. "Sh-Shut up," he murmured. Nobody in his town said he was beautiful, not unless they were being sarcastic. All his neighbours and families had numerous patterns looping across their torso whereas Arthur's was tiny. He had always thought of himself as unattractive – and here was Gilbert, staring at him like that. "I have to go," he lied, suddenly keen to get away from Gilbert and calm himself down.

"What, already?!" Gilbert exclaimed. "Are you just gonna leave me here?!"

"Yes," Arthur replied. "You'll be safe here and I have to get home." Picking up the pot of ointment, Arthur rose and started off for the cave mouth.

"You'll come back soon, right?" Gilbert called after him.

Pausing, Arthur glanced over his shoulder and found Gilbert's wide eyes focussed on him with an intensity he'd never seen before. "Yes," he said. He didn't know why but Arthur wanted to see Gilbert again. When he saw Gilbert beginning to smile, however, he became flustered and hastened to dispel the notion that he was eager to return to him. "I go treasure hunting almost every day," he said without thinking. Then, before Gilbert could say anything about being a treasure again, he turned and swam off as quickly as he could.

And so begins a long getting to know you period and they fall in love. But their families start a war while they’re not paying attention cause Gilbert’s think he’s been kidnapped or killed and Arthur’s accuse them of lying and it gets out of hand.

But there’s probably a happy ending.