#rip daniel

Max is curled around the eggs, carefully cradled between his side and his tail. Charles is out hunting, even though Max is perfectly capable— and slightly better at it— because there's a runt in this brood, and he's been stressing about it.

Once they know what species it'll be, Max will be sure to get the aquarium set up for it. Charles still doesn't know about the aquarium, but Max thinks some secret keeping in their relationship is fair, considering he hadn't known about... pretty much anything, getting into it.

There's an uncomfortable twist in his chest, and Max shifts, flexing his nails against the sand underneath him, gills flaring. Nobody's stupid enough to come near the den— Max has made the consequences of that very clear.

It feels almost like a sneeze, and he wrinkles his nose, unsure about the mechanics of sneezing underwater—

------

He's dry.

Max's heart immediately picks up, eyes darting around the room frantically. He's not even sure—

He's on land. In a bed. His limbs don't feel right, and his hair is brushing against his forehead. He lifts a hand to push it out of the way, and the tanned skin staring back at him, the inked rose—

He screams.

------

Daniel's pretty fucking confident he hadn't taken anything weird in the last day or so. Definitely not anything strong enough for him to be having the dream he's having.

He's a mermaid. There's a bunch of little white squishy orbs in the curl of his tail, although it's not scaly or sparkly at all, which feels kind of unfair, honestly. He read somewhere that once you're aware of a lucid dream you can change it, but no amount of wishing makes the tail any cooler.

It reminds him of sharkskin. There's small brown spots all along the tail, traveling up his sides and across his arms, but it's weird.

He's pale.

More pale than he's been in his entire life. There are small, sturdy fins along his forearms, and his nails—

Daniel gets distracted looking at them, long and sharp, slightly hooked at the end. It's a weird dream for sure, especially when he feels up at his neck, the gentle fluttering of skin where water rushes in and out.

He'd never thought about the finer details of a mermaid before, so he's got to give props to his sleeping brain for creativity, although he's not so sure about the squishy things.

His first thought is that they're eggs, based on the small, sandy cradle he's wrapped around, but that doesn't seem right.

Daniel has zero aspirations of mermaid parenthood, even in his subconscious. That much he's confident about.

He tries flicking the tail slightly, finding it intuitive but difficult. There's a soft burble near a hole in the wall, and then something comes in.

Daniel screams.

------

Max probably looks like a crazy man, running outside barefoot, hoping with everything in him that this somehow hasn't happened.

He's Daniel.

He'd checked in all the ways that mattered— bathroom mirror, tattoo tour, phone unlocked with face ID, and helmet collection.

The driveway is hot against his feet. Normally it would burn, cause him to hop around and swear, but Daniel's been doing it his whole life, and the soles of his feet are tougher than Max's are.

He's in Australia.

With legs.

It's not like Daniel can magically turn into a fish or anything either, and Max grips his hands in his hair.

He's trying not to panic, it's just—

If Max is Daniel...

Well.

------

Daniel throws an egg at the intruder. There's plenty of fish bones around, he realizes a moment later, but the egg was nearby. It doesn't throw very well either, drifting through the water until a fucking tentacle wraps around it, carefully tucking it close to a lean chest.

Daniel picks up another egg in one hand, fishbone in the other, eyes narrowed.

The thing uncurls, still holding the egg protectively, and Daniel reconsiders his drug theory as Charles chitters at him through the water.

It's definitely the other driver— the hair, the facial structure, the arms— but the waist down is what has Daniel tripping out, all coiling tentacles and a soft glow.

Charles chitters at him again, sounding annoyed. There's a huge fish wrapped in one of the tentacles, clearly dead.

Daniel isn't sure if his imagination is this vivid.

An irritated trill, and then tentacles are speeding towards him, snatching the egg, the fishbone, and Daniel.

The egg goes back in the clutch, the fishbone gets dropped in the sand, and Daniel gets pulled above water.

"What the fuck? Why did you try to throw an egg at me?"

Charles sounds pissed, and also extremely confused, which is really not helping Daniel's situation any.

"So it is an egg. Are you still a mermaid, if it's tentacles?"

His own voice startles him, low and raspy. There's no trace of his accent, tongue and lips wrapping around the words in a way Daniel doesn't recognize.

Scratch that. He recognizes it, just not on him.

He's staring at Charles, mouth open. The other man eyes him weirdly.

"What, is there blood on my face? Seriously Max, you are acting weird, why the fuck are you throwing the eggs?"

He swallows.

"...Charles?"

His voice is quieter. He's...

He's not so sure he's dreaming.

------

Max takes a private flight. It's 20 hours he'll never get back, but he's panicking. Charles, the eggs—

He sighs in relief that Daniel won't remember any of it once they get him out of the water. He's pretty sure.

Ten hours later he bolts awake in the cabin, blanket stuck to him with sweat.

The memory loss is only because of the secretions, which only happens when—

------

Daniel wheezes, neck crushed by the tentacle wrapped around his throat. His limbs are pinned down in a way he's only seen once on a porn video he definitely hadn't meant to click on, and Charles looks like he wants to kill him.

His fingers twitch weakly as Charles hisses at him, small pointy teeth poking out when he curls his lip.

"How?"

Daniel has a small fear of dogs, and he is rapidly developing a very large fear of the ocean. Specifically squids.

The tentacle around his throat relaxes enough for him to speak, black dots dancing at the edge of his vision.

"Charles, it's me, Daniel."

Charles' eyes widen, and the death grip on Daniel relaxes slightly.

"Ricciardo?"

Daniel nods.

Charles' eyes narrow again, leaning in close to his face.

"Prove it."

He's wracking his brain, trying to figure out how he could possibly—

Oh.

"Vegas, at the Aria—"

The tentacle squeezes tighter again, and Charles' face goes pink.

"Right, yes, I believe you."

He lets go of Daniel, who immediately tries to scramble back a few feet, rubbing at his wrists to try and get blood flow back.

"So I'm... not dreaming."

Charles makes a face, thinking. He shrugs.

"Not necessarily. Some dreams are very vivid, yes?"

Daniel isn't sure that's how that works.

"But if I'm not dreaming— how—"

Charles moves lightning quick, a tentacle constricting around his throat and squeezing, leaving Daniel gasping, clawing for air.

"Shhhhh Daniel. Just a dream. A weird, terrible dream."

His vision is spotty, lungs burning.

The last thing he sees is Charles watching him with furrowed brows.

------

Max hadn't thought this far ahead. He's standing barefoot on the beach, in Daniel's body, and the den is completely inaccessible to a normal person.

Which Daniel is.

Charles is underwater with the eggs, so he doesn't have his phone.

Max winces, tapping at Daniel's phone screen and pulling up the keypad.

It rings once, twice.

"This is Arthur."

"Hey, it's Max. Verstappen. It's complicated. I need you to swim me back down to the den? Within regular people air time?"

"Max? You don't sound... okay, whatever. Are you at the beach?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there in five."

Arthur eyes him with extreme suspicion as he makes his way down into the private cove, hands in his pockets.

"Ricciardo."

Max sighs.

"Not Daniel. Me, Max. We are, uh. Body swapped, I assume."

Arthur's eyes widen.

"Seriously?"

Max holds his arms out in a shrug, lazily spinning in a circle.

"If I could shift gills and swim back down to the den myself, trust me, I would."

Arthur grins at him, canines slightly too sharp.

"Don't worry, I will be gentle. I hear there is a very broody shark that lives down there and likes to eat nosey neighbors."

There it is. Max groans, pulling off his shirt and tucking it under some rocks.

"It was one neighbor, and they were a little more than nosey—"

------

Max's lungs are burning by the time Arthur hauls him up into the air pocket of the den. Charles whips around, startled.

He's leaning over— oh, that's weird, Max doesn't like that— Max. Or Daniel. Daniel-as-Max. There's a shredded piece of fish in his hand.

Arthur blinks, slowly sinking back underwater.

"I will... leave you with that. Have fun."

He disappears with a quiet splash, and Max looks back over at Charles.

Daniel-as-Max is unconscious, dark bruises around his throat. Max makes a face.

"What the fuck?"

Charles winces.

"He thinks it is a dream! If I just keep him unconscious all the time, he will still think it's a dream!"

"So you strangled me? And now, what, you're force feeding him?"

Charles tosses his arms up, glaring.

"I don't see you with any better ideas. And you have left me alone with the eggs! I do not know how to brood, Max, that is the entire point of having you!"

Max rolls his eyes, kicking his feet idly in the water.

"Deadbeat."

"Excuse me—"

------

Daniel wakes up with a hangover that will be going in his personal hall of fame. His bed is rumpled, sheets halfway on the floor.

It smells like saltwater.

There's a phantom pain in his throat, but no bruising when he gingerly touches his fingers to his neck, and he's not in the outfit he remembers wearing the other night—

Mermaid. Charles.

He shudders, grabbing his phone. It's dead next to him, and the breeze is blowing in through his open window, curtains dancing lightly.

He makes a mental note to never take whatever the hell he did last night again.

His phone goes on the charger, and his clothes go in the hamper, and it's only when his screen lights back up that he sees missed messages asking why he'd been spotted barefoot in Monaco.

He wishes he had an answer. Having to chalk something up to a complete rager is something he's getting too old for, but—