#ttsbye

You swim backwards in a panic, kicking your feet as hard as you can to propel yourself away from the massive predator that's approaching you. His scaled eyebrows lift, and he speeds up with very minimal effort.

A webbed hand wraps around your ankle and you flail, successfully kicking him in the face, right on his scarred nose. He flinches and lets go. You shoot towards the surface, aiming for the direction of the beach as much as you can diagonally. You need to get onto land, where you have the advantage.

Another pull on your fin, and you're flipped around, world disoriented in a swirl of water. Your lungs are screaming at you, and you try to kick out again, but the merman seems to have caught on to that trick given that he holds the other fin in place. He's strong, and you wriggle and writhe in his grasp, losing out on air quickly as you fight.

It's not enough, and eventually you slump, resigned to drowning a second time. At least you went out in a cool way, fighting against a merman and not…something more lame. You close your eyes as you wait for the inevitable response of breathing in water.

And you wait.

…and wait a little longer.

……you're pretty sure that it didn't take this long to drown last time.

Your eyes open to see that the merman's face is directly in front of yours now, and you let out a shout, leaning away. He just stays there, looking at you. And you stare right back at him.

That's when you realize that you're breathing. You're breathing under the water. The thought must be showing on your face because the merman appears to perk up, and he waves a large hand out beside himself, gesturing towards the open ocean. You register sounds coming from his mouth— it must be some kind of language, but all your human ears can pick up is a rumbling sound like the barking of a grouper.

He pauses and thinks, ears flicking back in what you think is a very catlike motion. It might have been funny, if not for the fact that you were still unsure if you were going to drown or not.

The merman starts signing in what you assume is ASL, but you don't know that language either and now he scowls. The red glare pierces into you and you feel faintly embarrassed that this is your first time talking to a sentient non-human and you can't even understand the human language he's trying to use.

You're fairly certain that he won't kill you at this point. There's been plenty of opportunity, and there's no more movement towards you. You sigh, then point towards the surface with as much of a questioning expression as you can manage, hoping to get your point across.

It appears to work as he nods, and the two of you swim upwards. Your head meets open air as you breach the top of the water and you gasp. A few moments later, a dark scaled head appears beside you.

Now that you're not actively panicking, you take in the little details. His head is much larger than the average human's, but that seems par for the course given how long his tail is. He could easily tower over you if he bothered to lift his torso out of the water. Gold jewelry glitters in the sunlight, and your eyes dart from the small scars littering his face to his mouth full of sharp teeth as he smiles.

His voice is deep and rumbling as he speaks, the sound vibrating in your chest through the water.

"I see that you lived."

For just a second you're struck dumb. But your mouth moves before your brain catches up and instead of an eloquent response, you reply with:

"Obviously."

You feel like a massive dick for not thinking before you speak.

Instead of an eyelid, a membrane blinks over his eyes. It's creepy. It's cool. It's so wild that you stare harder at him, if that were possible. Fortunately for you, he finds your response funny and begins a bellowing laugh. You chuckle along awkwardly, swimming backwards a bit to try and get out of grabbing range. Just in case.

The laughter dies down, and he says, "You're much funnier when you aren't trying to drown."

You puff up indignantly, and respond, "I was not trying to-" you cough, "You were the one trying to drown me!"

"No? I was trying to talk to you. You were the one running away."

"Well I can't help that you scared me, and besides— you didn't have to grab my fins."

His eyes narrow, "You didn't have to kick my face, but here we are."

You open your mouth and then close it, teeth clicking as you do. He had you there. Regret washes into you at his statement and seeing the small bruise that's popping up on the bridge of his nose. On the one hand, you did think you were going to die, but on the other maybe you could've thought this through a little more.

Taking in a deep breath, then exhaling it, you sigh. The merman doesn't move, watching you instead with mild interest despite his earlier statement.

Lifting a hand from the water, you stretch it out in front of you, "I'm sorry, I feel like I'm making a very bad first impression. It's nice to meet you." You tell him your name, and he repeats it back to you.

His pupils flick to your hand, then to your face. You're starting to sweat a little under the scrutiny when he rises above the surface, exposing broad shoulders and a scarred chest. His hand wraps around yours and you're surprised to find that his skin is much warmer than you thought it would be, instead of cold like a normal shark's would be.

He smiles at you again, and introduces himself, "My name is Vulkan. It's nice to meet you as well, human."

Something about the way he earnestly says it has blood shooting to your cheeks and ears, and you smile back. Then there comes the moment when normally humans would let go of the handshake, but you loosen your grip and his hand stays there.

You look down, and clear your throat, "Uh-"

He seems to realize what you're about to say, and lets go of your hand.

There's an awkward silence that follows as you drop your hand into the water, fingers suddenly feeling cold as they hit open air.

"So," you say, leaning back a little in the water, "how long have you been out here?"

He shrugs, "I pass through on the occasion. Although the last time was because I heard of a human freeing a flounder and then getting themselves stuck."

You cough, "I recall. I uh, wasn't sure if you were real or not."

Vulkan snorts, "As real as can be." He copies your movement and leans backward as well. The action results in more of his tail coming into view, and you're taken aback by just how many scars he has. You want to ask about them, but it might be rude, so you refrain.

"Well," you say, "Thank you for saving my life."

He shrugs, "It was no trouble at all. I wasn't entirely certain you would make it, but I had to try. It was a nice thing you did, saving that flounder. It only made sense to try and give a little good back."

Oh! Well then. Your heart feels like it might burst, and you tamp that down. Anybody would've stopped to help.

…

Well, that's not quite true, is it?

You shake your head to stop the incoming volley of thoughts. Now was not the time.

Vulkan looks a tad bit concerned about you, but doesn't voice his opinion on the matter. Your muscles are starting to protest treading water for so long, so you lean all the way back to float, staring up at the sky.

"Is it cool, down there?" You ask.

"The temperature?" there's humor laced into his words, but you scowl.

"No, the stuff that's on the bottom of the ocean. Shipwrecks and things," you've always imagined getting to go down into the depths of the sea, but alas, human bodies are only meant for so much pressure.

He hums, "I suppose it is. Although, I've lived here my entire life so I see those all the time. It's like asking if you think trees are cool simply because you're surrounded by a forest."

You do, in fact, think trees are very cool, but that's a moot point so you deign not to say anything.

"Oh. I see," is what you settle upon saying.

That's when you notice where the sun is in the sky, and realize that it is dipping particularly low in the sky. Not quite enough to create a sunset, but it will be there soon.

You turn upright in the water to face Vulkan, moving quickly. The action seems to jar him and he moves his tail, eyes glancing around.

"Sorry, sorry," you apologize, "I just realized what time it is— I have to get back to my house."

Something flickers through his gaze, and he frowns, "Is something wrong?"

Shaking your head you explain, "No, it's almost dinnertime and my roommate gets worried."

"I see," he tilts his head, "Will you be back?"

You blink, "Would you like me to come back?"

"I would, if only to make sure my human friend doesn't drown again," he flashes you a grin, and you realize this may become a running joke.

You roll your eyes, "I'll have you know most humans consider me a very strong swimmer."

A rumble of laughter, "I am only teasing. Would you like me to accompany you to the shore?"

That takes you aback. You know full well that he could simply just follow you— and if your hunch is right, it's been him that's been hanging around all week. But the fact that he actually asked soothes your nerves a bit, so you agree.

You make it to the beach with no incident beyond getting used to having a shark-man in your peripheral vision. No biggie, just ignore the massive shape with claws and teeth that's a little ways behind you. You wave goodbye to your new friend and watch as he disappears back into the depths. It was impressive how a creature so large could be unnoticeable only moments later.

Mercedes greets you when you come back to the house, and you try to push thoughts of your merman friend out of your mind. It's only later when you're lying in bed that it really sinks in.

Holy shit, you met an actual merman!

Does that mean there's a society? Are there cities? Are there mermen larger than him? Did he have anything to do with the sharks?

The roiling questions in your mind make it difficult to sleep, but eventually you allow it to take you.

In your dreams there are baby sharks that are flanked by the shadow of a much larger creature. You're not scared though, as you glide along the bottom of a reef, surveying the corals.

~~~

You wake up and decide that you're going right back to the cove, errands be damned.

Mercedes is lounging on the couch, watching TV when you come bouncing through. She mutes the channel and sits up, squinting at you.

"What's got you in such good spirits today?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

You dart into the kitchen, which is still visible from the living room. You're rifling around in the fridge, looking for something to eat for breakfast. Your food stock is getting pretty minimal, with lots of space in the fridge to look at. Groaning, you turn to call to Mercedes:

"Well, it doesn't matter now, we still need to go grocery shopping. How'd we go through so much food in a week?"

She rolls her eyes, plopping backwards into the plush couch, "We ate it. We have this conversation every week."

Ugh. Rude, but true. Good thing you've got money. You're a little peeved that errands have won out, but you grit your teeth. You're an adult, you can handle this.

"I want to go back to the cove this evening. What else do we need to do while in town?"

Mercedes pulls out her phone to pull up the list, and rattles off, "I need to stop at the post office to drop off some packages, but they're not open today so it can wait. I think there's some library books that need dropped off, and we need to grocery shop."

You sigh, "are you ready to go?"

"Are you? You're still in pajamas. Nice shirt, by the way." Mercedes gestures to the fish pun shirt you're sporting, along with shorts that have tuna plastered across them.

Brushing off your clothes, you grumble and head back to your room to change clothes. The two of you make sure to grab the library books (you're both pretty forgetful about it), and get into Mercedes' truck to head into town.

Admittedly, the drive isn't that far away, so it doesn't take long to get there. When you hit the library, you take pause before picking up a few books on sharks. It couldn't hurt to get a little more information, could it?

Grocery shopping is mostly the same, per usual. You are Mercedes bicker about which snacks are appropriate for the week while still fitting into your budget, and eventually you come out on top with smoked salmon dip and black pepper crackers. Could you make your own dip? Yes. Are you lazy? Yes.

You finally make it home, and you're absolutely itching to go hop into the water. Mercedes shoos you out the door, claiming that your restless energy is 'messing up her feng shui'. You laugh as you head off to get your bike.

The trip down to the cove is colorfully decorated with swears as you move the pedals even faster to get down there, causing your bike to nearly tip over multiple times from slamming into roots. You skitter down the path, hands and feet knowing the way as you make it to the beach.

Much to your dismay, there's no fin in the distance. Maybe you'd come too early? Maybe you had, in fact, made a terrible first impression. You sigh, and squat down, propping your cheek on your hand. Dammit, that probably was it, wasn't it?

Ugh, this sucked. You met a real life merman and managed to chase him away the second that you met him. There's some darker thoughts that swarm up at that realization, and you attempt to tamp them down. Maybe he was just busy? You had no idea what mermen do all day.

But you're not wasting a trip to the cove, so you shuck off your pants, leaving your rash-guard shirt on and slip into the water. You greet your fan-club with a smile as they swim up to you. They're so cute, weaving around you.

"Hello babies," you say, patting one on the head as it glides past you, "Have you seen a large shark man nearby, perhaps?"

Predictably, they don't respond. You shrug, and swim out a little further. The sunlight warms your bones as you go slicing through the waves. You didn't bring your fins this time since you didn't intend on looking for shells. You're beginning to regret that decision.

Sighing, you go to float, closing your eyes. It's peaceful out here, and you feel oddly safe despite the small sharks swarming around you.

When you open your eyes though, there's a massive head about three inches away from your face, and you yelp, splashing frantically as you go upright in a knee-jerk reaction.

"Jesus Christ!"

He tilts his head, "No, I'm Vulkan."

You glare at him, sputtering water out of your mouth. Having regained your sense of direction, you reply, "I know that."

"Then why did you say Jesus Christ?" there's a gleam in his eyes as he says it, and you get the impression that he might just be messing with you.

You're aggravated anyways though, and you suck on the inside of your mouth before retorting, "It's a human expression of surprise." Maybe explaining the intricacies of human religion wasn't in your wheelhouse.

He chortles, "I see. Any other expressions I should know?"

"How about a gesture?" you respond, before flashing him your middle finger.

This sends him into a spiral of laughter, and you have to dodge a tail coming out of the water, splashing the surface as it goes.

"You are feisty," he grins at you, showing off those sharp teeth again. He rustles with something under the water, and you're surprised to see that it's your shell bag, only decorated with intricately woven rope, and little shells hang off the sides of it. It creates the illusion of the bag being netted, despite the worn fabric that's inside.

You take it gingerly, carefully turning it over to examine it.

Vulkan clears his throat, "I wanted to give it back to you as an apology for scaring you yesterday."

Running a hand along the cord, tears prick your eyes.

"Thank you," you choke out, "It means a lot. This was a gift from a friend of mine. I… I thought I lost it."

Mercedes had given it to you not long after she had moved in, and you'd practically used the thing until there were holes worn in the sides. You turn it over to discover that those have been patched as well.

"Did you patch this?" you ask, thumb running over the golden thread.

Vulkan looks surprisingly sheepish at the question, "Sewing is… not my expertise— I had to acquire help for that. I did the braided ropes on the outside."

That would make sense, given how small the stitches are, and how large his hands were. You stare at the thread more, taking in the odd sheen it gives off.

"What's the thread made from?"

He hums, and does a lazy lap around you, before responding, "Byssal threads— clams make them. I know a source that harvests them to turn into thread."

You blink, "You do trading? With who?"

The membrane in his eye blinks, "Other merfolk."

You perk up at that, "There's more of you?"

He snorts, "Oh no, there's only one of me, but there are more folk out there, yes."

It's mind boggling to think about, and you choose to stare at the bag in your hands again.

"Did you learn to braid rope from others as well?"

He makes a so so motion, and your neck is starting to hurt from swiveling to watch him swim, so you kick back to try and match his speed. It's hard to keep up, given the size of your new friend, but you do your best. You notice he attempts to slow down for you, but there's only so much that he can do given that he's built for the sea and you're not.

You're wheezing a bit when you feel a hand grab the back of your shirt, and all of a sudden all you have to do is float along as he ferries you.

"Yes, I learned from other folk."

"That's fascinating," you say, finally relaxing into the current he creates.

Vulkan hums, and you feel the vibrations through the water. The circling is soothing, and your eyes start to slide closed despite the sun on your face. Your head lolls, and the cool water fills your ears as you speed along. You can feel which direction you're going, so you notice when the two of you move into a straight line. A wave slaps you in the face and you cough out liquid, eyes opening to look around. You're headed back towards the shore.

"Excuse me," you say, "but you're getting water in my face."

Vulkan doesn't seem to care all that much, "You can breath underwater."

"Yeah, well, it's still not great to get smacked in the face with waves," you grumble. A thought occurs to you, and you frown, "How am I able to do that anyways?"

There's a suspicious silence, then your mer-towboat finally responds with, "I had to bring you back."

Well that didn't clear up shit, now did it?

"Bring me back from what?"

Vulkan slows down, and his scaled brows knit together as he thinks, "I believe humans have a word for it… but it's the removal of water from your lungs by putting air in them."

You squint, brain attempting to process exactly what he meant. Oh, he did CPR! That makes more sense.

"What does that have to do with it?" you ask.

"Sometimes a mer-folk's kiss can cause… unusual side effects. Like breathing underwater."

Does it really count as a kiss if it was to bring you back to life? You decide that arguing semantics might not be the best thing to do when you're literally looking at a real life merman.

You finally land on a response: "Well that makes more sense then. Thanks for clearing that up."

You still wonder exactly how it works…obviously your lungs still work underwater, but there isn't a transitional period. You would need to do some research when you got back to the house.

The two of you continue on until you're able to stand up in the water. When you do, the baby sharks return to check out your legs. Vulkan chuckles while watching them.

"I see you've made some friends," he remarks, webbed hand floating out to greet them. The babies seem enthralled, and go to crowd him as well, wriggling all around while begging for attention.

You hum, petting a few that come back towards you, "I think they like you more."

Vulkan shrugs, "I doubt that— they see me all the time. It's unusual for them to take such an interest in a human."

Filing away that information for later, you look around. "Why'd you bring me back to shore?"

He stares at you, and for a moment you wonder if you've committed some form of faux pax. Then he questioningly states, "I assumed it would be time for you to leave?"

You frown, "Why would you think that?"

He lifts an arm to point at the horizon, and you turn to look. It's just the sun. You turn back to him, confused. He elaborates:

"Is it not time for you to go eat dinner?"

You look at your watch, and realize it is, in fact, about dinner time.

"I'm surprised you remember that," you mumble, dropping your hand back into the water.

Vulkan pats your shoulder, "Humans need nutrition more often than merfolk, as my memory serves. Of course I would remember."

There was no way that this guy didn't consume a boatload of calories everyday with his size, and you voice as much.

He flips over onto his stomach, claws digging into the sand and looks at you, "We eat a lot, yes. But enough to sustain multiple meals a day. I believe you lot are not on that sort of schedule."

You don't really want to leave, but you are getting hungry. Vulkan assures you that he'll be in the cove when you eventually return, and you warn him that it may be a few days before you can see him again. After all, unfortunately you do have a job. As much as you love your employment, it wasn't as interesting as speaking to a living legend.

Vulkan gives his understanding, and watches you as you gather your gear up and leave. You glance over your shoulder one last time at the top of the hill and give a goodbye wave. He returns it, and you speed off towards home.

~~~

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

When you come outside the next morning, armed with bathing suits, snacks and a new knife, your sandpiper friend has returned. He cocks his head, and you remark to him that you're going to the cove now. He takes off into the sky, heading that direction.

"You know, if he's going to be sticking around, maybe you should name him," your friend says, slinging her supplies into the cabin of the truck.

You nod, and think about it, "What if we just go with Piper?"

"You don't have anything better than that?"

"But he's so cute! And sandpiper. It's easy to remember."

The redhead shoots you a disbelieving look before climbing into her truck. The ride to the cove is smooth sailing despite the roots— you ride your bike as you follow the vehicle, watching the spanish moss sway in the breeze as you go. The two of you pull up and head down the trail. There's a few sticks you toss out of the way as you go. When you get to the bottom, you see a familiar bird standing on the shore, pecking in the sand.

"Hey Piper," you greet, walking up, "What is it that you've been wanting to show me?"

Piper shows no indication of caring about you anymore, and hops away to go search for bugs. Your feelings are slightly hurt, but you turn and look towards the ocean. It's different than it was the last time you were here— you shiver despite the warm temperature.

But the two of you are on a mission, and start searching for the net. You find it, not too far from the shore. The water is up to your waist. You turn around and call out to Mercedes: "Found it!"

She sloshes towards you, and you squat to start digging the net out of the sand. The saltwater licks at your face, the spray of it getting into your mouth. You spit it out and keep working. Your friend comes to join you, and soon the two of you are wheezing as you begin hauling the ropes in.

After about thirty minutes of struggling, your efforts have made it so the net is in the shallows. It's not going anywhere, so a water break is in order. You're sipping water as you inspect the net while sitting in the water. There's all sorts of things tangled in the net, but what catches your eye are the places with shells that have been caught up on the rope. Some spots have dozens of them hanging, and some look like a knife has cut off the shell, leaving a bald patch in the middle. Your fingers touch the rope, the scratchy fibers dragging across the skin.

"I think there's a shark out there," Mercedes' voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn to look out in the distance.

Sure enough, there's a fin out in the waves, poking up above the water.

You eye it, then turn back to her, "We're pretty shallow, I don't think it'll come much closer."

After the two of you are done with your rest time, the net is finally, finally hauled from the water, and you begin the much worse task of getting it into the truck. You brought another knife with you— a much sharper one— and you relish in the second attempt at getting to hack away at the thing that almost killed you. It brings a smile to your face, which is a little disconcerting given the large knife in your hand.

"You look like a psycho," Mercedes mumbles as she moves to portion out another bit of net from her section. She also wields a blade.

"Just letting off a little steam," you retort.

"Maybe steam a little less crazily then, please. You're freaking me out."

You snicker, but quit smiling. The joy is still in your chest though, until the two of you are faced with the cut ropes, and get to the job of actually hauling all the netting up the hill. It's not as hard of work now, given that you lightened the load, but it does make for many more trips up and down the hill, and by the end of everything your legs are killing you.

The sand digs into your toes as you kick off your shoes and drop onto your towel, huffing and puffing. Mercedes flops down close by, hands pawing for her water bottle. The two of you sit and catch your breath, and you see that the fin is still out in the distance, moving back and forth.

"I may go for a swim," you remark.

Mercedes raises an eyebrow, "Isn't the shark a problem?"

You shrug, "I mean, I'll keep an eye on it. Besides, if you're here you can give me a heads up."

There was a certain amount of confidence you now had with sharks, given the whole aquarium situation. Even if it got too close, between the two of you the risk would be minimal. You'd stick to the shallows.

Mercedes gives you a thumbs up and pulls out a book to read. You slip out of your cover clothes that you'd put on once you'd starting working on dragging the net up the hill. You wade into the shallows and turn on your back to float, taking extra care to look out for the fin out in the distance.

You stare up at the overhang, and the rocking of the ocean calms you. The water cradles you, and you hum and close your eyes, content. The ocean was always soothing, and you were glad that your previous experience hadn't truly tainted your love for the saltwater.

Something brushes by you, and you crack open one eye, but don't see anything, and the fin is at the end of the cove still. You settle back into your practically meditative state, only to feel the sensation again. What the hell?

You finally put your legs down and stand up in the shallow water, only to realize that there's a small school of blacktip shark babies hovering around your legs. Most people probably would've been a little scared, but they're so tiny that you can't help but coo at them. They're so cute!

Waving at Mercedes, you call out: "There's baby sharks over here!"

She pulls up her sunglasses and calls back, "What?"

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell with all your might, "THERE ARE BABY SHARKS OVER HERE!!"

Your friend snaps her book shut, and wanders over to where you're currently petting said sharks. Their skin is smooth and rubbery, and you laugh as they circle around your legs like cats wanting to be fed.

"Well I'll be," Mercedes says as she splashes closer, "There are baby sharks."

Snorting, you respond, "Don't ever doubt me again."

You instruct her on how to properly touch one. These guys are surprisingly docile for a wild species, taking their fanbase in stride. You spend the next half hour meandering around the shallows in the cove with a small shiver of babies following you. They don't do much other than frighten away the smaller fish that hang out towards the beach. When you go back to floating they disperse, hiding in the shadow your body casts on the ocean floor.

Mercedes has gone back to hanging out on the beach, and you check to see where the adult shark is. It's gone. Weird, you'd assumed that with the amount of babies that the parent might have shown up.

After a while you splash out of the waves and onto the shore, showering the sand with a spray of water that comes out of your bathing suit. Mercedes lifts up her book in mock disgust as it happens.

"Could you drip dry somewhere else?" She huffs, although her words contain no bite.

You decide to wring out your hair just outside of the edge of her towel. She lightly hits you with the novel that she's reading before standing up and stretching.

"You ready to head out? It's getting about dinnertime I think," you ask, staring out at the sun.

"I think so— I've finally gotten through the juicy part of my book."

You ask what it's about, and she explains the plot of her romance novel as the two of you pack up to go back to the house. As you reach the top of the trail, you turn to look back.

The shark fin has returned, slowly circling in the water.

Shaking off the odd feeling that creeps into your chest, you head back home. Dinner is spaghetti and garlic bread, and you go to sleep exhausted.

The next day you spend time taking the rope off to a local facility, and then go about the town to run various errands. Mercedes accompanies you, and the two of you terrorize only a few shops that are on the boardwalk. You smile while watching the seagulls fly around, and are delighted to see a familiar little sandpiper scurrying across the boards.

"Piper? Is that you?" You don't know whether this is the bird that's been following you, but when he runs up to drop a small stone at your feet, you're delighted.

You thank him and smile, and the avian puffs up a bit, ruffling his wings. You're just happy that you didn't lose your little friend after all.

The sun sets again as you head home, and your thoughts turn to your favorite swim spot as you drift off to sleep.

Your dreams are filling with sharks guiding you on a swim, the sun warming your bones as you go.

~~~

Waking up is less fun, but alas, there is money to be made. Technically speaking, your second job is also at the aquarium as a part time scuba diver. When you'd started your mermaid gig you didn't have the certification, but as time wore on there was a class offered for employees to get the right credentials, and you had hopped on the opportunity quickly.

Scuba diving didn't quite give you the same rush as free-diving did, but it offered other fun paths— you liked helping take care of the exhibits. It was like cleaning Betsy Ross' tank, only on a larger scale.

You're in the middle of making your lunch when Mercedes stumbles out of her room, hair sticking in every direction.

"You making sandwiches?" she asks, blinking blearily.

"Yeah," you respond, working on crafting the perfect bologna sandwich, "Diving today, so I'll be a little extra hungry when it's break time."

She snorts, "You'd think that you'd be hungrier after all the tricks you do in costume. Can I snatch some of your bread?"

You nod before responding, "I dunno, I think it's all the extra gear I lug around when we clean— it's not just me getting into the pool. It's pretty physically demanding."

Not that your mermaid gig wasn't demanding, it just used your muscles in a different way.

Mercedes nods, before you watch in horrified fascination as she spreads mustard onto the slices and slaps it together. Just mustard and bread. She catches your expression, and shrugs.

"What? It's good."

You have your doubts, but there's not much in the way of time to argue, so you stuff your lunch into your lunchbox and head out the door. Piper's on the porch when you pass, and you greet him. There's a lack of shells to be had, but you don't pay it any mind as you head to your job.

The building is quiet as you enter, and you greet the security guard (Michael) as you pass through the gates.

In the backrooms of the aquarium is the humming of equipment and pumps running, and you meet up with the dive team near the normal reef pool where you'd be if you were mer-performing.

You greet Stan, the head diver, and receive a grunted 'hello' in response. Stan was an older man, and had been diving at the aquarium for so long he practically came with the place. He was working on assigning you all to your zones, and you stand on your tiptoes to try and see over his shoulder at his clipboard.

Stan sighs, and moves it over, voice rumbling, "You'll see it when everyone else does."

You scowl comically, before batting your eyes, "I thought I was your favorite diver?"

"My favorite diver would be the one that's prepping their gear for the day instead of bothering me," seeing your expression wilt, he sighs, "You'll see it in ten minutes. Now shoo, I have safety checks to be doing."

Beaming, you scurry away to go collect your gear. Similar to your swimsuits, all the gear was treated at the aquarium. But since you were a regular, yours was specially tagged so you didn't have to do fittings every single time you showed up for a dive. It was lovely.

You go about doing your own standard safety checks as you go through your dive kit. Testing the air in your BCD goes smoothly, and you walk over to the weight storage to pick out what you think is the appropriate amount. It would vary slightly depending on which tank you were going into. Stan would verify with you before you headed out. You're almost done doing your checks when you hear him clap his hands loudly, signaling time for the safety briefing and assignment handout.

The other divers form a circle around him and you join, shouldering your way in between Dave and Buford— two guys who looked like football players but had actually never played a ball sport in their lives. They were marching band players with a love for fish. They fist bump you as you wait for Stan's instructions.

He clears his throat, and begins: "Alright people, we've got a big day ahead— can everyone hear me?"

There's a general murmur of assent among the group, and he nods before continuing on.

"We don't have any rookies in our ranks today, so I'm hoping this will be as smooth as possible. Nothing is out of the ordinary in terms of new decor, but as always please make sure to not hit any of the reefs. They may not be fully real, but there are some plants on there we need to look out for," he flips a page on his clipboard, reading off more notes, "Additionally, I was told to give a reminder to you all not to stir up the sand. Apparently it 'doesn't look good for social media.'"

He adds air quotes around the last bit, and your group chuckles appreciatively. Another page flip and a few more safety bits and bobs later, and he finally gives out assignments. You patiently wait for your name to be called, and when it is you step forward.

"Your partner will be Oliver. Oliver, they don't bite, please don't look so nervous," Stan says, gesturing to the guy in question. "You two will be cleaning the shark reef tank, along with Jill as your safety diver."

Oliver steps forward and you shake hands. You've only met him a few times but never had him as a buddy since he was newer. He seemed nice enough. He's a tall, lanky fellow who's about your age, and his face is dotted with freckles. He sports a haircut that might be good if it was styled differently.

You greet Jill with a high five— the two of have been paired many times, and know how to go with the flow. Jill is actually a marine biologist for the aquarium, so for a safety diver you've essentially hit a gold mine.

The meeting ends and you head back to grab everything you'll need, which is all stacked in a neat pile exactly where you left it. You double check the list and brace yourself before hoisting your tanks onto your back, carrying your fins, goggles and wetsuit in your arms. Underwater it's not all that much weight, but above water it was an easy sixty pounds that you plop onto your back.

You begin your confident waddling after Jill towards the shark tank. Oliver isn't far behind you, and you're focusing very hard on walking upright without the tanks dragging you backward when he speaks to you.

"Have you ever gone in this tank before?" He asks, speeding up a little to walk side by side with you.

You shake your head, "I haven't. You?"

He nods enthusiastically, "I have! This one is one of my favorites, especially since-"

Oliver catches you up to speed on the cool decor that's part of the shark aquarium, and informs you that his favorite bit are the decorative skeletons that are scattered on the bottom. Some of them have eyepatches, and the middle of the reef has what looks to be a shipwreck on it.

"It's a pain to clean," he informs you, "But it's so worth it."

Fortunately, his explanation distracted you from the walk for long enough that your group had arrived at your destination. You gently set your BCD and tanks on the ground, and begin to wriggle into your 5mm wetsuit. As much of a help as it is during dive time, it's such a pain to get on. Your compatriorts are in much of the same position.

After a bit of struggle, you pull the zipper on the back up and tuck the attached string into the back of your suit. Next thing on are your neoprene booties, and a final double checking of your gear. Then you and Oliver trade places and check, and do the same for Jill until everyone's kit has been double, triple, quadruple checked. The aquarium hasn't had an incident before, and you lot weren't keen on being the first.

You and Oliver are the first ones in, and after the entrance goes well, Jill follows. The long fins attached to your feet allow you to sail through the water with no problem, and you relish in the ability to do so. You so needed to bring your good fins out to the cove when you had the chance— feeling like a sea creature was an extraordinary thing indeed.

Oliver parks it on the bottom of the glass, slowly beginning to use his scraper to remove the diatoms and algae that had built up. Diving teams were sent in everyday with rotations of groups, but even then there was still some nastiness to be expected. You head over with a sponge to begin working on taking off any bits that might be easier than using a scraper, and using a net to catch any big chunks of debris floating in the water.

What you don't expect is the massive shark that appears between you and Oliver, and you backpedal immediately as the nurse shark pushes you away from the glass. It circles away towards the other side of the aquarium, and you look at Oliver. His expression is hard to make out, but he flashes the 'ok?' sign and you return it. The two of you turn back to work on the glass.

It happens again. The shark appears insistent upon separating you from your fellow diver. You frown, and signal to Jill. She comes down, and the creature swims away, only to reappear a moment later. The biologist redirects the nurse shark, but it appears to be dead set on the matter.

Jill pulls out her communication board and scrawls out: 'work on ship?". You nod, flash the ok sign and swim off. The nurse shark follows at a distance.

As you begin working on the mast, you're absolutely flummoxed by the behavior of the sharks. They're not aggressive, you simply just don't understand why all of a sudden they're flocking to you. Does it have something to do with the alleged merman that might've saved you? You snort at the thought, sending a burst of bubbles upward from your regulator. This seems to tickle the shark that's above you, as it wriggles a bit in the bubbles then continues gliding away.

In all honesty, you're a little frustrated about the situation, but you get through your task, and assist the others as you can. The sharks don't seem to mind Jill, but they do care about when you get close to Oliver.

Once everyone is at the surface, Oliver spits out his regulator and turns to you.

"Is that normal?" he asks.

You're just as confused, and say, "No, it's really not. I don't know what's going on but recently the sharks here have been super interested in me. It's freaking me out a bit."

Jill chimes in from where she's taking off her gear, "They could be sensing that you're the kind of person that loves ocean creatures. You know how sometimes cats like coming to people that aren't familiar, even if they usually hate strangers?"

You nod and she shrugs, adding on, "It could be something like that. Although I could test your blood and see if you're part shark."

That gets a laugh out of you, and you respond with a "no thank you" as you clamber out of the water. Jill gives you a hand as you make it onto the platform.

You all gather everything up and head back to the main area to hang out. There's a few other dives you do during the day, and you finally get to eat your sandwich. Somehow they also rope you into lugging buckets of sand around. You sigh, but go along with it.

At the end of the day you're a little bit sore, but overall very pleased with yourself. You crank your car and head back home. At your abode, Mercedes is working through trying to create a dress that gives off the impression that it's made of crystal, and you're terrified to ask how much it cost.

The rest of the week is much of the same in terms of performances and cleaning dives, and you find yourself looking forward to the weekend. You're ready to head back to the cove. Who knows what you'll find? With the storms that roll in and out throughout the week there's a higher chance of finding some really nice shells that have washed in from the deep ocean.

Saturday dawns, and you hum as you brush out your hair, gently working through the tangles that had appeared overnight. Gathering all your things and making sure your phone is fully charged, you make your way out into the main part of the house. Packing lunch is easy enough, and you head out to get your bike to ride to the cove.

You'd told Mercedes about your plan for the day already, and she'd asked that you at least give an update every few hours just to make sure you were alright. She was fairly swamped with work so she didn't have time to check on you barring an emergency. But a few choice words had you agreeing that yes, you'd make sure you did exactly that.

The water is warm as you get in, and you tug your fins on over your neoprene boots. These ones aren't as nice as the ones you use at work, but they go well enough with what you're trying to do. You wish you had your old seashell bag as you wade out even further, waddling along until you're waist deep so you can turn over and float.

You idly kick backwards, and chuckle as your fins simply slap the top of the water. Snickering, you adjust your waist so the equipment on your feet can actually propel you along. There's a brush against your fingertips, and you look over to see that your baby sharks have returned to keep you company. They all receive pets as you tread water.

Taking a deep breath, you sink under the water, blinking as your eyes adjust to being filled with saltwater. Your friends follow you as you swim towards the bottom, looking for good shells. There's nothing crazy on the bottom, much to your disappointment. You'd found a huge conch shell out here months ago after a big storm.

Eventually you take a break, fins coming off and you walk onto shore fully human, stretching. You text Mercedes and idly tap on the work groupchat that had gone off while you were out in the water. Something about a get together at a local restaurant on the pier? There was an ongoing war about details, so you simply give a thumbs up emoji to the person that initially suggested the idea, then put your phone back down.

You turn to wade back into the water and notice the big shark fin that's hovering around the edge of the cove again. Weird, but you're brave enough to wade back into the water that isn't above your head. After a little while of bobbing up and down through the shallows the fin is gone, and you're satisfied with heading back out into deeper waters.

You've almost made it to the first sandbar when one of the baby sharks swims in front of you. You laugh a little, and try to continue going, but it does the same thing as the nurse shark did and insist on making you swim backwards. It's less funny when you have a group of ten small sharks making you swim away from something. As soon as you get about ten feet away from the sandbar, the sharks disperse.

You surface, and turn in a circle, looking for anything that might have them acting strangely. As you do, you feel something tug at your fin, and you immediately yelp and splash your arms a bit as you attempt to go backwards. You dip your face into the water to try and see what's under you, but all you can see is sand and a few fish swimming along the bottom. You grunt in frustration, and try going back towards the sandbar, where you can see a massive seashell sitting.

But again, your apparent bodyguards swarm you, pushing you back to the cove. Coming back to the top of the water you give up, and tell them, "Fine, fine! I'll go back. I've gotten the message."

But as you go to swim back, something yanks on your fin, harder this time, and you almost choke on seawater as you shout in surprise. Something was fucking with you.

You do a small barrel roll in the water to adjust your position, and turn back to look for your shark entourage. To your dismay, they're gone— lingering in the distance. How odd. You look to your left and right, spotting a familiar looking knife on the ocean floor. It's half covered with sand, and after diving down you wave your hand over it to reveal the blade that you lost on the day you got caught in the net. How wonderful! You'd been missing the familiar weight.

The blade is smooth under your fingers, but the hilt has gained a new wrapping of sea kelp around it. There's small cowrie shells woven into the shorter strands that are tucked under the main bit of kelp. It's fascinating, and you're very very certain that this did not happen naturally. Which begs the question: who, or what, did it?

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, stirring the water around you and kicking up a cloud of sand.

But through that sand you can see red eyes, and the outline of something huge. Your spine prickles and your instincts scream that now would be a good time to run.

It's as you swim backwards that you finally make out the shape, and see the fins swimming toward you that your brain puts two and two together.

The shark that's been following you wasn't a shark at all— it was the merman from before.

And he's here to make sure you drown this time.

~~~

Author's note: 14k in and MC finally gets to talk to the merman lmaoooo

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

Chapter 1: What do you mean mermaid are real?

It was hotter than hell outside, you were fairly certain. Not that you'd ever actually been to hell, but if you had you'd summat that this was very close. If not worse. The sun beat down on you from high in the sky, and the humidity had swelled from a rainstorm that had occurred earlier during the day.

You were sitting on your porch, idly rocking your chair back and forth while sipping your favorite drink from a glass that was dripping with condensation. You grimaced as the ice cold drops of water hit your thigh where your shorts had ridden up— it wasn't a bad temperature change, just a bit shocking.

It was a heat wave indeed, and you stare off into the distance while considering going to take a swim. There was a cove that wasn't too far off from where your house was— perhaps you'd go take a visit and dip. It wasn't like you were doing much else, and the day wasn't getting any colder any time soon.

Glass drained, you make your way back inside, and change into a swimsuit before pulling on suitable shorts to cover your legs for the bike ride to the cove. It wasn't a far walk, but you didn't feel like making the trek on foot today. It was flat enough ground anyways, so a ride wasn't anything to worry about.

You yell over your shoulder to your friend that you're heading out and get a vague answer in response— you don't hear exactly what she said, but it sounded like acknowledgement enough. A sandwich, water and snacks are shoved into your backpack as you head out. The screen door slams behind you, the wooden frame nipping at your heels as it shuts.

You click the helmet into place and climb onto the bike. You don't ride as much as you used to. Your friend Mercedes had moved in after your shitty ex-boyfriend had moved (read: been kicked out) from your place to elsewhere. You didn't know where, and didn't really care either. The sand churned up onto your ankles as you start to move the bike pedals, and you take off down the well worn path to the cove.

You hum a bit as you start getting into the old rhythm of the ride, bumping over the gnarled roots of the trees that twisted and formed a canopy over the trail.

It had been only yours, once. The cove. Your favorite spot to go to and relax, away from everyone else. As far as you could tell, the only path down was split from your house alone, with little access from any other direction unless you knew where to look.

Then you'd shown your boyfriend where it was and he had begun bringing friends down to it. They'd trashed it, and once you'd broken up with him it had been one of the first projects you'd undertaken to get your mind off the issue. You'd picked up broken bits of bottles and scraped bits of old food off the rocks while barely holding it together, listening to the quiet crash of the waves on the shore and trying not to fall asleep despite the bags under your eyes saying otherwise. Mercedes had been very kind and come out to help you lug the trash back to where you could properly dump it out. And given that the access was on your property, it was easy enough to keep people away from it. Besides— all the friends he'd brought with him were his friends. Never yours.

But at any rate, you'd succeeded, and now the shore was as clear as it had been the day you'd first found it. Crystal clear waters, sand with small pebbles that dotted the beach. It was beautiful. And the overhang of rocks and trees provided the perfect amount of shade to go swimming.

The salty breeze from your biking lapped at your face, bringing you to the present once more. You parked your bike behind a tree, and raced down to the cove, sending little rocks scattering as you did so.

You sling off the backpack as you get to the bottom, and unfold the towel that you'd kept tucked away to lay on the sand. Abandoning your shorts, but keeping your shoes on (they were water shoes with thick soles), you slid into the water, relishing in the coolness of it as it washed over your skin.

You'd gone to the pool in town a few times (Mercedes preferred it to swimming in the ocean water), but you'd found it too crowded in comparison to your little slice of paradise. Mercedes had always claimed that at least she knew what was in the pool, but you'd retorted that at least nobody had to clear out the ocean because someone threw up in it. She didn't appreciate that much— although you chalked it up to her college life-guarding summer job flashbacks.

And besides, what was wrong with not being able to see the bottom? The weightless feeling of looking down into the deep blue that you got when you swam out a little too far. You couldn't help it! Besides, there was a sandbar not too far out that you could reach when the tides got low enough. It wasn't like you were going to be swept out to sea. You were a strong swimmer— which was how you and Mercedes had met. You'd both been attending lifeguard classes. Although you had attended simply for want of something to do. But it had come in handy when you'd needed to swim to the bottom to get things.

The lifeguard training had paired with a long string of free-diving classes, where you'd learned how to hold your breath for long periods of time, and the proper technique to stay down on the bottom with little to no weights on your belt to counter act the buoyancy. That part wasn't something you had used frequently, but it was useful to learn for your mermaid gigs.

You chuckle while thinking about it as you swim backwards, staring at the blue sky overhead. The sun felt a little less like a death ray while you were in the calm, shaded waters of the cove.

You'd picked up being a mermaid as a side job after your free-diving instructor had mentioned it to you. There was a large aquarium in a nearby city that allowed you to come in and dress as a mermaid to entertain the guests from a large tank filled with all sorts of fish and ocean wildlife. You had a blast doing it, and interacting with the children and adults that came through.

You kick your feet, amused as you wonder what it would be like to only had fins, and not be able to take off the tail and walk around. Mercedes had always joked that you were part fish. You do a practice barrel roll as you glide through the water, finally crossing out of the shade and into the sunny waters.

You squint as the light reflects off the rippling waves, and paddle back into the safety of the overhang. You idly check your watch and realize it's been longer than you thought— it was easy to get lost in the waves, but upon noticing it was after lunch, your stomach gave a grumble.

You make your way back to the shore, easily cutting through the current, and come up to eat your sandwich. You take off your shoes for a minute and sit down onto the towel, intent upon chowing down on your lunch. It's slightly soggy where your hands touch it, despite the fact that you wiped them on the towel as best as you could. You dig your feet into the sand while you watch some birds in the distance, curling your toes to feel the bits of shells that are scattered among the pebbles and sand.

There might be some good seashells out near the sandbar, you think as you pop some pineapple into your mouth. The sweetness of the fruit contrasts with the way it makes your mouth tingle. You're pretty sure you might be a little bit allergic to it, but it just adds to the flavor, in your opinion. It's a very minor allergy, if any at all.

The current is solid and the tide is beginning to go out, so you slide your shoes back on and make your way over to your backpack to pull out your seashell collecting kit. You don't always find anything good, but sometimes the shells you find can be repurposed into jewelry. You enjoy wearing a seashell necklace, especially if it's made from shells you collected yourself. The kids at the aquarium seem to enjoy them too— along with the occasional adult who shyly asks if they can have one.

Alongside your normal net seashell bag is a large knife that you strap to your hip. Sometimes you find trash and lines that need to be cut, and you'd rather have a knife with you to try and cut through it than leave it. You have a compartment in your shell bag for small bits of trash. Anything major and you'll have to collect it all up and drag it to shore as best as you can.

Fishermen don't come out to the cove much anymore— none of the good sporting fish hang out around your cove. There are, however, several dozen different smaller species that come to greet you as you begin your underwater swim. You hope that you see the puffer fish that had been swimming around the outer rocky crevices the last time you'd swam through.

You breach the surface as you near the starting spot for your search, and take in a deep breath, before plunging beneath the surface. You swim to the bottom (which is, admittedly, not that far away), and begin to look for seashells. Ones that are discarded, obviously. You'd learned a lesson when you'd pulled up an entire conch only to find that the inhabitant was not only quite alive, but very angry at you as well. You'd gently put them back, surmising that you'd be angry too if someone simply picked up your house with you inside of it.

There's a few good shells you see as you go along— you're trying not to kick up too much sand as you search. A fish or two nibble at your exposed legs, earning a giggle and a small kick as you move away. They're harmless, really, but it tickles and laughter uses up air.

You hit the sandbar in no time at all, and you surface to take a breath again. Your toes skim just the bare top of the sand, obscuring whatever is underneath it. The only thing about the cove was that the sandbar was what blocked out the rest of the ocean from coming in too close. Although if anyone were to ask you about it, you'd say that Mother Nature was trying to prevent the fishermen from getting any closer to the safe haven that the trees and small caves provided. But no one asked you, so that opinion had to stay to yourself.

At any rate, the other side of the sandbar was daunting. Even you tried to not go past it. The water of the inner cove had a much different vibe than the waters on the other side. The waves rolled bigger, and the color was darker. Light didn't pierce as far down. You had to agree with Mercedes there— who knew what was down there?

You continue along, collecting bits and bobs of shells that you find. You also spend a good few minutes following a horseshoe crab that was slowly walking along the bottom. Fascinating creatures.

You flip over onto your back again and eyeball the sun. It wasn't much lower, but it wasn't attempting to suck all the life out of your veins anymore either. A glance at your watch shows late afternoon. You decide that you're going to do just one more sweep and then call it a day before your friend decides to call the authorities to help rescue you. Again.

You take another long breath, and dive down again. But this time as you do, you spot a small bit of movement out of the corner of your eye. Further inspection shows you a ghost net that's stuck to the bottom of the ocean floor, tangled with debris and swaying in the current. It's on the other side of the sandbar, but you carefully maneuver yourself down towards it. Your bag won't be able to hold all of the netting, but you can certainly grab as much as you can and bring it back towards the shore. A quick pass around it shows that smaller fish should be able to get through just fine, but larger ones might have an issue.

That observation is quickly proven correct when you spot a flounder doing its best to writhe free of the netting, the ropes tangling around its body. Flounder were particularly susceptible to getting caught since they were bottom dwellers, but to see a net so far out here…

You frown, then pop up to the surface, devising a plan, then heading back down to help out. The fish has done an excellent job of wrapping itself up in the net, although really that couldn't be helped. You scowl even more, and begin searching for the best spot to begin cutting to get your new friend free.

It proves more difficult than you initially thought— the net is old, but instead of the ropes fraying and breaking with ease, the coating on the lines has created a more solid shell for you to saw through. It results in you cursing out every single man, god and other being in existence that you can think of as you hack away at the line while trying not to cut the frantic fish just two knots down.

You surface again, take another breath, then go back.

The rope is fraying now, just a tad, and your hands are becoming sore from the amount of pulling you've been doing to help keep tension and cut the rope. You might have one hell of a blister tomorrow, but at least you've got a story to tell. The rope finally breaks in that one knot, and you could cry with joy from the victory.

It's short lived though as you bob upwards and breath, blinking the stinging water out of your eyes, and then dive again.

There's so much rope. You work and work and work, surfacing again and again, until there's only a few knots remaining between you and the flounder. The fish is still breathing, but seems to have realized what you're trying to do, and is holding much more still. It helps, just a tad.

You're busy trying to figure out the last bit of rope when you feel it— the current shifting. This might not have been a normal cause for concern, if you were closer to the shore. But out behind the sandbar, it was going to become a problem shortly. Especially since you didn't have your swimming fins with you to provide any sort of advantage for fighting a current. You begin to work faster, knife going until finally, finally, the rope breaks and the flounder swims free. It shoots out past you, rocketing into the depths below and disappearing from sight.

You smile with relief, and then give a strong kick towards the light above you. Only to be stopped as something tugs at your leg. For a moment you don't think much of it and try again, only for that movement to snap you deeper into the water. You twist, and are horrified to find that part of the netting has now ensnare your leg.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You try to remain calm— what was it your instructor had always said? Slow your heart rate, and try to tamp down any panic.

Which is great advice, in theory. Less so in practice, when you're snared to the bottom of the ocean and there's no one that knows you're down this deep so rescue probably won't be coming. Scratch that. There is no rescue. So either you free yourself, or you're royally fucked. And dead. One of those is worse than the other.

You look up at the surface, and you see the shining blue above you, the light shafts coming into the water as the sun shines on overhead, oblivious to your plight. Stupid sun. Wouldn't it be better for it to be cloudy while you're maybe about to die?

You tug at the rope around your leg, hoping that perhaps you can simply wriggle out of it. The rope doesn't budge, so you grimace, and begin to move around so you can try and use your knife. The cold steel feels odd against your leg and the stray thought crosses your might that you might cut yourself. But in all honesty, you'd rather have a cut on the leg than drown.

The air is seeping out of your lungs faster with the exertion of using the knife. With the flounder you'd been able to get more gulps of air, but with your own leg it's much more difficult to focus.

The edges of your vision are blurring slightly as you fight on, willing your hand to keep going. There's more than one line attached to your leg, but as you keep dutifully sawing, more of the net moves, and you're frightened to realize that it's coming for you, and there's nothing to be done.

You think you spot something then— in your peripheral— but nothing is there when you turn to look so you spin to watch the horror show unfolding in front of you. The current is slow moving, yet the net is moving too fast for your liking. You shout as it tangles around you more, realizing much too late what you've done as the saltwater rushes into your lungs, seeping in and blocking your airways.

You cough and sputter and struggle in vain against the ropes, the knife slipping out of your hand. You only manage to get yourself twisted tighter against the net. You stare up at the rippling waves above you as you get dragged deeper down. The sand bumps against your knees as you hit the bottom. Your lungs burn, but trying to purge the water has done nothing.

You're beginning to go limp when you see the movement again. A massive fin swims by you, and faintly you recognize it as a shark tail. Well, at least you may be a decent snack. The humor is morbid, but at least no one can say you aren't funny, even in death.

That's when something touches your leg deliberately, and if you had the air, you might've shrieked again. But instead, with the dwindling consciousness you have, you focus on whatever is touching you.

It tugs at the ropes, and you have the faint idea that maybe a diver has come to rescue you. A diver. From a boat. A boat that you definitely would've seen out in the open ocean. Fuck, it's not a diver, is it? An angel, maybe?

With what little energy you have left, you turn your head, and catch sight of the massive shark tail that's behind you. It's a dark tail with scars littered down the back— if you had any presence of mind, perhaps you could identify the species, but as is you were fighting for your life. Your head bobs back to its original position, and a giant arm has appeared beside you, with clawed hand that are carefully cutting at ropes.

Maybe it is a diver after all?

Your vision is blacking out around the edges, but you feel a yank as you're pulled free from part of the rope, and are spun to be face to face with what you're pretty sure would be a merman. Cool. Mermen are real. They're real and you're getting to see one. Or maybe heaven is underwater? At least you got to go out in a cool way.

You watch him work while you bob in the water, vision blurring in and out of focus. He was huge, but the thing your brain decided to focus on where the bits of golden jewelry that glinted in the sun's rays. Neat. Very pretty.

Red eyes shift to you, and you're certain that maybe you tried to speak the words. You doubt they were intelligible at all given the circumstances, but maybe he understood you anyway.

The last of it is untangled from around your legs, and off you go to the surface. Your head breaches the water and you can feel the air on your face. But your lungs are still full of water and your head sags— almost back into the water before your rescuer rights you. Everything goes black as you start to move again.

You wake up to the sensation that you need to vomit, and you're already on your side as you begin to violently cough up lungful after lungful of saltwater. It tastes horrible, and you shiver as your body does its best to purge everything out of your system.

The next time you wake up, the sun is on the opposite side of the cove, and you come to the realization that you spent the night on your little beach. There's sand stuck on your cheek and in your hair, and your hair texture has dried with the salt water to be slightly crunchy. You try to get up, only to flop back onto the sand in exhaustion, muscles drained of energy. Maybe a little more sleep couldn't hurt.

Your eyes flutter open again to hear panicked shouting coming from the top of the cove. Mercedes rushes down the path, and she almost falls flat on her face from the speed of which she does it. You feel a sting of relief upon seeing her.

"What have you been doing?" She shrieks, flinging herself at you to pull you into a hug. You're reminded of your nausea as she shakes you. "You've been gone all night!"

"I uh…" did you almost drown? Was that real? You shake your head, "Sorry I… fell asleep. I think. I freed a flounder from a net though." Mermen were not real, and you must've dreamed the whole thing. Yes. Yes! That's what happened. You nod, sounding a little more convinced as you continue on speaking, "Should have some good shells, I—" you pat around at your hip, only to realize that the shell bag is gone, and so is your knife.

Mercedes frowns at you, before pulling you up. You stumble slightly as she does it, but your friend is already plowing on into a (well deserved one, mind you) lecture. "You're lucky I didn't call the guard in again— seriously, just what were you thinking falling asleep on the beach? I'm never letting you out of my sight again I swear—"

Chapter Two: Try not to drown. Again.

Mercedes helps you up the hill and into her truck. It's a 1998 Ford F-150 that has been loved so severely that the white looks more like a grey, and the orange stripe on the bottom of the door has practically come off. You trace your hand over the dent on the passenger side fender as you pass by it— a leftover from a fight you'd had with a tree branch while driving the truck.

You stare out the window as Mercedes loads your bicycle into the back. Your fingers idly trace the worn leather of the seat you're sitting in, feeling the grooves and ridges of time-torn fabric.

Mercedes clambers into the front seat and starts the truck. It cranks with a low rumble, and the two of you head off towards the house. It's silence from the both of you, until you break it.

"Listen, I-"

"Save it," she hisses, fingers tightening on the wheel, knuckles turning white, "I'm not done being mad at you."

Fair enough. And you knew when to back down once the red head was mad at you anyways, so you wisely shut up for the rest of the ride. She pulls into the driveway of the house and stares at you when you go to get the bike.

"I'll get it. You go inside."

With that, you went into the house, and contemplated what to say to her. How were you meant to explain how you drowned but didn't drown?

You weren't even sure how it had happened.

You're standing in the kitchen when you hear the screen door open. Mercedes disappears into her room, and you hear the metal music start up, leaving you by yourself. In that case, a shower was probably in order. You were incredibly sticky from the salt water, and you were afraid of the amount of sand you might have just tracked in.

Heading into the bathroom, you stand for a long time and stare at the shower. It shouldn't be that difficult to turn on a shower head, but as you sway while standing there, it's the hardest thing in the world. You're incredibly tired, but getting onto your bed while covered in sand might be worse than just…sleeping in the bathroom

But you eventually pull enough energy together, and turn it on. You make it a quick shower, and flop down onto your bed, not even bothering with the blankets as your heavy eyelids slide shut and you're yanked into sleep.

~~~

You wake up, and you're back at the cove, standing knee deep in water. You're not in your swimsuit this time— you're in the outfit you'd been in the last time you went missing in the cove. A pair of jeans are rolled up to your knees, soaked up to your crotch with seawater, and a faded t-shirt with the image of a manatee on it. You'd gotten it from a state park visit.

You want to see the manatees again.

The waves are choppy in your dream, not calm and smooth like they should've been. The water is dark, and the stars are reflected above you. You try to step back and find that you can't— only forwards. Directly into the sea in front of you. Wonderful.

You trudge forwards a little, the water sloshing up your jeans, darkening the fabric further. You keep going on until you're up to your neck, head tilted back to keep it above the waves. It's cold.

Then you feel something grab your ankle, and you're dragged under the water, deep deep down until you can't see anything anymore.

~~~

You wake up outside on the front porch, blinking in confusion as you finally register your surroundings. The sounds of junebugs and frogs are sounding out around you, but otherwise the night is still and quiet.

You stare in the direction of the cove, then head back inside. You want nothing to do with that mess right now. Sleeping is hard after that, but you finally manage to drift off.

The next morning you find Mercedes on the couch, sipping coffee. She glances up from her book and clears her throat, setting it down. You wring your hands at the same time, intent upon speaking to her.

"Hey, listen I-"

"I just wanted to say-"

The two of you speak at the same time, and both get a little chuckle from it. Mercedes gestures to you for you to go first.

You start, "Thanks for coming to get me yesterday, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I was out all night, but I promise it was from swimming and I lost track of time. You're my best friend and I shouldn't have left you in the dark."

The promise rings hollow to you, but your friend seems to take it in stride, nodding. You've elected not to mention your incident.

She clears her throat, "Listen I…" her voice trails while she glances around the room, before settling on the ornate vase that sits on the living room mantle. "I'm sorry for yelling at you so much yesterday. I was pretty harsh."

She shifts on the couch nervously, tugging at her pearl necklace, "I just- I couldn't find you and all I could picture was the last time you went missing after you went down there and it really freaked me out."

Your heart sinks, and you creep closer to the couch.

"I promised I wouldn't do something like that again," you say in a hushed tone. "I'm not leaving again. I pinky swore." You hold out the finger in question, and a small smile graces Mercedes' freckled face as she returns the gesture, hooking the two fingers together.

She pauses, then asks, "You're still taking the meds, right?"

You snort, "Yes."

"And going to all your therapy sessions?"

"Yes, Mom," you respond with some levity now that the twinkle of mirth has returned to your friend's eyes.

She tuts and wags a finger from her other hand, "Careful who you're calling Mom, or I'll ground you for real."

You give a bark of laughter, then open your arms, "Awkward friendship makeup hug?"

Mercedes returns the gesture with a big bear hug, her taller frame engulfing you.

You go get yourself a hot beverage and sit beside her, before turning on the weather channel. Looked like it was going to storm. Wonderful weather for a Sunday.

"Any big plans?" You ask your companion.

"Probably watch the rain. Maybe cross stitch. You?"

You make a so so motion with your hand, then snort, "Hot date?"

She snickers, "You? As if."

A chuckle comes from your chest, then you respond with some seriousness, "I probably need to change Betsy Ross' water."

Mercedes nods, "I think she's getting fat."

You gasp, putting a hand to your chest in indignation. "No she is not. Do not speak of my beloved betta fish in such a manner."

The two of you banter on for a bit, before you move to actually do the chore. You grumble as your knees creak when you stand up.

Betsy Ross resides in a long forty gallon tank that sits in the living room on the most stable bit of flooring in the house. She received her moniker from her red, white and blue scales that had you and Mercedes cracking jokes during last year's July. You hadn't meant to get a patriotic fish while your friend had been working on Revolutionary War reenactment costumes, but that was how it had turned out.

Cleaning the tank is easy enough, but the biggest pain is taking care of the plants. You rustle around under the tank to find your aquascaping scissors.

You hum as you set about trimming vallisneria leaves. You had to give the plant credit— once it was settled in it left only a miniature jungle in its wake. You uproot a few of the runners and throw them in the 'FISH BUCKET', the acclaimed item labeled in large sharpie letters.

You make a mental note to ask the local group if anyone wants any extra trimmings before heading to go get the water siphon.

As you drain water, your thoughts turn to the flounder that you'd seen yesterday as you begin to drain water from the tank. Was it alright? Did it get caught again? You hadn't had the chance to actually remove the net from the sand. And besides that, had you really seen a merman? You frown as you siphon up mulm that had collected on the bottom of the tank.

What were the actual chances of seeing a mythical creature? And beyond that— one saving your life? But also… there weren't many other options. If a good samaritan had rescued you, why didn't they stick around? Shouldn't they have at least made sure you were alright before they left? Or called paramedics?

Your eye twitched while you thought about it. Maybe you just imagined the whole thing and actually the current nabbed you and slung you back. Yes. Yes! Obviously you lost consciousness and then your brain filled in the gaps with a hero to save the day while Mother Nature just so happened to deliver you back to shore in one piece. Obviously. And to add on to that, you shouldn't just immediately jump on the idea of there being mermen in your cove. Nope! Just because you were a part time mermaid yourself didn't mean there were any real ones.

You nod. Yes! That's perfect.

Yup. No mermen around here.

…

…

You were so going back to the cove to investigate. After a while, anyway. You were still a little freaked out by the events of the night before. You needed a plan if you were going to maybe catch the world's first merman. Wait no- catch sounded bad. You don't want to catch him, just talk! Say thanks for saving your life.

There's a nip on your fingers and you jump a little, looking down. Betsy Ross has emerged from her coconut cave to come visit you.

"Hey friend," you coo, wiggling your fingers at her, "I don't suppose you know any mermen, do you?"

Betsy Ross is thoroughly unimpressed, and swims away to go hide in a bundle of cambomba carolina. Ugh, you need to trim that too, but it could wait until another time.

You refill Betsy Ross' tank and head off to do more chores. You glance out the window as you do so, noting the thick layer of storm clouds that ring the sky above you.

"Do you need me to bring in any of your plants?" You call out to Mercedes, "I think they were right about that storm, but those clouds look pretty bad."

There's the creak of a chair as (you presume) she leans away to look through a window. Then her head is visible from around the doorframe and she replies back: "Yeah, can you grab my fern? She's a little delicate after the last drought— just leave her on the porch though. She should be fine with no direct downpour."

You nod and head outside, intent on bringing in the pot. You've just managed to scoop up the clay pot when you hear the rustle of wings behind you. You whip around, only to get a face full of fern. You spit and sputter as you try to get the fronds out of your mouth. Maybe the bird could wait just a second…

You set the pot down on its little dish, and hear the thunder rumble off in the distance. The cool breeze sweeps by you, and you shiver a little.

There's an indignant squawk from behind you, and you remember your new acquaintance. You spin around a see a sandpiper staring at you. How odd to see one directly in your yard, much less one that directly approached you.

It flaps its wings to get your attention again, and you lean down to see what's in the beak of the bird. It's rough and round, and to your immense surprise, the sandpiper simply trots up to you and drops the object in your hand. It steps back to stare at you, almost like its gauging your response.

"Oh, well thank you," you say, feeling rather silly that you're talking to a bird, "What have you brought me?"

You turn it over in your palm, and to your delight it's a seashell! A baby's ear seashell— small and white with swirls of gray along the lines of the shell.

The sandpiper apparently had enough of the interaction, as it turns around and flies away. You watch it fly off, feeling the shell in your fingers. Something scratchy hits your palm on the opposite side, and you look down to turn the seashell back over again. There, tucked away in the hole of the shell, is a piece of rope that's become calcified inside of the object. A rope that looks awfully familiar. Your heart beat skips frantically, and you look around for the bird.

But it's too late, the bird is gone. You head back in.

Mercedes finds the shell interesting, but she decides that it could just be a coincidence. You don't believe in coincidence like that, but you're willing to take the idea with grace. You put the shell on your dresser for the time being.

You do more odd and end things around the house and then settle in for the night, sheets soft against your skin. You drift off to sleep while listening to the pounding of the rain against the windowsill.

~~~

You're drowning again. The water is filling your lungs and you struggle against it but all you can do is choke and claw for air.

Nothing but darkness. No light, no air.

You're alone.

~~~

A flash of lightning wakes you up as a thunderclap hits at the same time, rattling the frame of your house. You stagger backwards, letting go of the doorknob that you'd been holding. Your head whips around and you hit the floor, your shadow cast on the door looking almost as perturbed as you feel.

You hear your name, and out comes your roommate, flicking on the light.

"Dude," Mercedes says, "It's two in the morning."

You feel a little offended now, because it's pretty obvious that she hadn't been asleep. "I'm not the only one awake."

She snickers and rolls her eyes, "God forbid a girl play her game into the wee hours of the morning." She sobers up slightly, "What're you doing?"

Well, time to bite the bullet on that one. "I think I may be sleepwalking? I woke up with my hand on the doorknob."

Her eyebrows bob up and she looks back at you, "I didn't know you did sleepwalking."

You shrug, "I didn't either until just now."

She gnaws at her lip in thought, "What if we put a heavy chair in front of the door? Maybe that would work? I don't think you should be sleepwalking outside." There's a tone in there that gives you the impression that she might know about the other incident, but given that she's not elected to bring it up, you leave that hook exactly where it is.

"Good thinking. You think the recliner is good enough?"

Between the two of you, you push the chair to the door, and you wind up falling asleep again to the sounds of Mercedes shouting at the TV from a room over.

~~~

Luckily, you don't dream anymore. The sound of your alarm brings you to the present, and you groan as you stick out your hand to feel for it. The groaning turns into cursing as you accidentally knock the stupid thing off into the floor, where it continues to wail, just from a more annoying angle. You stagger out of bed in order to shut it off, and decide that you may as well go ahead and get ready. Normally your alarms are set a little earlier than necessary, but with how antsy you're feeling, some extra laps around the pool would do you some good.

Mercedes is, rather predictably, asleep still. She works as a full time artist though, so while her schedule is packed, it does give her leeway to go to sleep when she feels like. You envy her slightly for it, then remember how much work it is to be free lance. Not for you, really.

You make a toasted cheese sandwich for breakfast and step out into the cool morning air to stretch. There's branches and leaves scattered all around, but it looks like everything remained intact overall— which is great, given the last bad storm you'd had wound up knocking out the power for days.

There's the fluttering of wings again as you lock the door behind you. You turn around and to your delight, it's your sandpiper friend from the day before!

"Hello!" you greet with a slightly childish amount of giddiness, "I'm so happy you made it through the storm alright! I was worried about you."

The bird tilts its head, then drops a seashell on the ground for you. This time it's an angel wing shell, although it's mostly yellow with bands of orange. You thank the bird, and head to your car while tucking the shell into your pocket, before turning around and thanking the bird. It feels a little stupid but hey! Letting your gratitude be known is never a bad thing.

It's as you're driving to the aquarium that it hits you. What are the odds of a bird doing that two days in a row? Your eye twitches again and you decide to compartmentalize that one for later as you pull in to the parking lot.

The aquarium that you work at is a decent sized facility for the location. The city receives a good amount of tourist flow through it, which had led to the invention of the mermaid program. You were hopeful that you'd be the next full timer to get added to the roster.

You swipe your badge card to be let into the security area. Bill waves at you from the office, and you step through the doors.

"Early morning for you, isn't it?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Bit earlier for you, I think," you respond, jovially walking over to give him a fist bump, "What're you doing here at the crack of dawn?"

He groans, running a hand through his balding hair, "Chris called out again, which means I'm working a twelve again."

You shake your head, "Seriously? When are they going to get rid of him?"

Bill shrugs, his jacket rustling with the movement, "Beats me. I scanned you through already, you should be good to go."

You nod, and head off to the pool area. It wasn't truly a pool, but instead a shallow part above one of the main tanks that had been designed for easy diver and performer access. It allowed for someone to get in and get ready, then had about a hundred or so feet to cross over before you could access the main part of the tank. The thought was that this would keep at least most of the fish out. And it did— there were only the occasional sea turtle or stingray that would join you up top.

You throw your stuff into your locker, and nab the bathing suit that you use for warm ups. These particular suits stay at the aquarium, and are treated and washed there along with your mermaid gear. The makeup and props you use are specially looked at and approved before you can wear them into the tank. Luckily, you've got your routine down pat at this point.

Head to the shower and decontaminate, check.

Swimsuit on, check.

Pre-do makeup for the show…check. You'll just need to touch it up later.

Get in the pool… check. Sort of.

The mer-performers are allowed to warm up in the shallow area, but there's always someone watching to ensure safety. You haven't slid into the pool because you're waiting on Brandy to make her way out to where the lifeguard is supposed to be. Your feet dangle into the water as you stare out into the tank. You have to remember to unclench your jaw. You're not out in the open ocean, you're in a safe environment.

Bleach blonde hair finally pokes out of the locker room, and Brandy beams at you as she walks towards the pool, bouncing in her steps.

"Oh em gee, hi!!" she greets you enthusiastically, "How was your weekend? That storm was crazy, right?"

You nod, idly swirling your feet in the water, "Yeah, it wasn't too bad at my place though."

"Really? Because the power totally got knocked all the way out at mine."

"Yikes, how long was it out for? Did you check the freezer?"

She shrugs, "I'll have to check it when I get home— didn't have time to check before I came here. I hope it didn't thaw though, I've got some steaks from the local farmer's market that are going to be killer whenever I get my dad to fire up the grill for them."

"Please send pictures when you make it," you respond, chuckling.

She beams and flashes you a thumbs up, "You ready to warm up?"

You stretch your arms out above your head, pulling a bit at your shoulder blade muscles, "Ready as ever."

"You think the others will show up soon?"

A non committal shrug in response. Everyone knows how much time they do and don't need to get ready. You were here before show call anyway.

You slide into the water, tamping down panic. You've done this a hundred times before, and turn onto your back to float, feeling the warmth seep into your bones. You roll over after a few moments, and begin going through the motions of warming up your swim style. After a bit, you grab your monofin, and begin to do the same thing again, making sure that you were prepared.

Eventually you were joined by your coworkers Rob and Diana. There were a few more personalities in the mer-squad, but there was only room for so many mer-people in one tank.

You slide into your tail, wriggling into the silicone cover. It was always a little tight to get on, but once you had it pulled up, the tail was a masterpiece. Long, flowing fins with a dorsal fin and pectorals fins to match. You felt like a betta fish every time you swam with it. Betsy Ross would be proud.

You roll onto your back in the water and give an experimental tail flick. Now was the time to make sure everything was good. Diana handed you an extra starfish pin, which you thanked her for and slid into your own hair, securing it with extra bobby pins to ensure that it was going nowhere.

It's showtime, and you start to slip under the surface. But the second the water fully covers your head, you immediately pop back up to the open air and gasp, clinging to the side. Brandy is there in an instant, hands gently grabbing onto you, securing you in place as you sputter.

"You okay? Everything good— what's wrong? Do I need to pull you out?" Brandy trusted you enough to know that if you couldn't respond in a few seconds that you were getting yanked out of the pool entirely.

You tap her arm twice, signaling that you're alright, and you take deep gulps of air as you formulate your words. Diana and Rob have resurfaced as well, looking at you with concern. You get your heart rate to slow down just a bit, and you finally tell them that everything is fine.

"I think I just got spooked. I almost got caught in some rope the other day while swimming— it twisted around my ankle but I was under water for a little bit too long." An embellished lie, but it worked.

Diana nods, "That sounds frightening, but I'm glad you're alright. Take a breath, and do what you always do, and remember that we've got help if you need it, alright? You're already a mermaid master— don't let that incident keep you from going down there."

Rob jumps in too, "Don't be afraid to get more air than usual. Feel free to tap me when you're headed to get it so we're all checking in." He pauses, "Let's all just check in with each other more than usual today. I don't think I'm the only one nervous about being down there with all the cameras."

With a pact in place, you finally make it underwater. As you descend, you can almost feel at peace again. There's a calm that takes over once you're so far down, where the noises are blocked out and all you hear are is the slight movements of water. It's quiet. You close your eyes for a moment and let it soothe your nerves. Everything was going to be alright.

And it was, for the first little bit.

Then you spot one of the black tip sharks swimming towards you. Not an issue, you're all trained to deal with the sharks. They don't mean any harm— they're just nosy. You redirect it, and go to swim the opposite way, only to realize that it's turned around to swim with you again. It doesn't appear to be aggressive, just swimming beside you. You glance through the aquarium glass, and you see one of the employees flash the 'okay?' sign with a frown. You shrug, and give the 'okay' signal back to them. The shark isn't… doing anything weird, just swimming alongside you.

It becomes extremely odd though, when you go to get air from the hose that they keep for the mer-performers to use, and the shark follows. It hovers in the corner of your vision, doing passes as you take slow breaths from the provided air.

You and your new friend head over to where the children are camped out in front of the glass, and you amuse them by doing back flips and blowing bubbles. Sometimes the bubble rings get big enough for your shark to swim through, and the children cheer and clap. You find the whole situation odd, but decide that maybe underwater isn't the best time to figure it out.

Once everyone heads back up, you realize that the shark has followed you all the way to the top. It hovers at the edge of the platform though, not daring to go into the more humanized part of the tank. Despite being a little spooked, you wave goodbye, and turn to go breach the surface of the water.

"Dude," Rob says, squinting hard at you as you wipe wet hair out of your face, "What the hell was that?"

You shrug and swim forwards a little bit. You respond, "No idea. I was trying so hard no to freak out. Does he normally do that?"

He shakes his head, "I don't think so— I've never seen it, anyway. Doesn't mean it hasn't happened. Maybe he was just extra bored today? I know sometimes they follow the cleaning divers around."

That seems reasonable enough.

After some extra post show chatter and promises of going out to eat sometime, everyone heads out.

When you get home, there's a sandpiper with a seashell that greets you. Okay! Three times makes this officially weird. You are weirded out. You still thank the bird, and go inside, staring at the shell as you close and lock the deadbolt. Birds can't open doors, but it helps with your peace of mind.

Mercedes glances up from the table, where she's taping together a pattern of so many shapes and sizes that you couldn't even begin to guess what sort of garment she was meant to be making.

"How was work?" she asks, going back to looking at her project.

You move to get closer, throwing your bag into the floor as you do so. "Wet. A shark followed me around today."

"Really?" Mercedes' eyebrows raise, "Do they normally do that?"

"Not that I've noticed, no."

"That's…weird then."

You shrug, "I mean he didn't seem aggressive? But it definitely freaked me out a little."

She nods, and frowns at a piece of paper that is refusing to line up correctly. She says, "You're the expert here, not me. I'll take your word on it— still weird though."

There's a comfortable silence between you two as she continues to work on what she's doing. You hand her little bits of tape as she moves around the pattern. She starts to shoo you away when it comes time to cut it out though, and you complain:

"You know I can help with the cutout part!"

Mercedes snorts, "Oh I don't think so— you couldn't cut a straight line if your life depended on it."

Your mouth hangs open, absolutely flabbergasted. You sputter for a response, "That is not true!"

She shoots you an unimpressed look, and remarks, "Remember the apron?"

Ah yes, you do in fact remember that. You'd managed to mess up not just the pattern, but the sewing as well. It had turned out less of an apron and more of an isosceles triangle. So you had to give that one to her.

"Alright fine, but before I go— I was thinking about going down to the cove, maybe this weekend?"

You trail off as she makes eye contact with you, eyes glittering with the start of a lecture. You put your hands up in defense, "I was just thinking that maybe you could…come with me? I just want to check it out after the storm— maybe the net moved in and we can get it out of the water."

That seems to appease her a bit, and she nods before grimacing, "Sorry, I didn't mean to get…" She takes a deep breath and exhales, "You're an adult and I can't stop you from doing anything. I just get worried— I don't mean it to be rude though. Yeah, I'll go with you this weekend. Now go… unmermaid yourself or whatever it is you do."

The last part of her sentence is laced with humor and you chuckle, heading to go shower and scrub off the last of your makeup.

The rest of the week passes with minimal incidents. The shark still hovers near you, but you chalk it up to the tail, maybe? Everyone thinks it's odd, but given the lack of other aggressive behaviors, it was decided to just keep an eye out, but other than that your new bestie was left alone. It did make it a little harder for you to play games with the other fish, but it was nice having constant company. If you humanized the shark a little, it was almost like he was babysitting you. But sharks don't do that, so you keep moving on.

The sleepwalking…well it keeps happening. But the recliner in front of the door seems to have solved the issue for the time being. You're unsure if this sort of behavior warrants a doctor visit or not. It's not like you're hurting yourself or others, you suppose. Besides, how were you meant to explain that to your insurance company? So you let it slide for now.

Your bird friend is still coming to visit, always with a present. You start leaving out some birdseed for it, which it seems to appreciate.

Then on Friday evening, you and Mercedes are out on the front porch in the rockers. Mercedes is working on an embroidery project, and you're making your way through a sudoku puzzle. It's pissing you off slightly, actually— but maybe that was your fault for going to the section with the hardest puzzles first, instead of warming up with an easier one. You grumble and flip to the front of the book and make your way through one of those.

The two of you look up when the arrival of the sandpiper happens. You get up, abandoning your book on the table next to you, and make your way down to it. You squat down and reach out your hand, a routine built during the week. But this time, the bird hops backwards, shell still in hand. You frown, and stand back up.

You turn and look at Mercedes, who looks just as confused as you do. You approach again, and the same thing happens. You stand up, hands on your hips and in befuddlement, ask:

"I don't understand what you're wanting from me."

At this, your bird hops to the side and turns to look at the cove. You don't move, and it flaps its wings and does the gesture again.

Mercedes' voice appears beside you and she says, "What the fuck."

What the fuck, indeed. You appreciate the sentiment.

The bird appears to give up on you, and soars away in the same direction. You glance and your friend and give a shaky smile.

You remark, "I guess we know what we're doing tomorrow."

~~~

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

You stagger back into your house around midnight. Mercedes pokes her head out of her room to see what you're doing, and upon seeing your haunted expression she abandons her game to come hug you.

Hesitantly, you return the gesture. Her hold on you isn't as firm as Vulkan's had been, and you slip away to go to your room after a few minutes. She doesn't pry further, giving you space. You're in the house, after all. Not at sea.

Your door closes with a dull click, and you try your hardest to go to sleep, forgoing a shower at all. Figures haunt your mind, and you continue jolting awake as your brain attempts to go to sleep. Even a locked door doesn't give you peace, and you spend most of the night slumped against it, feeling the wood on your back. The cold floor of your bedroom bites at your heels, and you shiver, but you watch the sun rise through the curtains on your window.

The alarm on your bedside stand goes off, and you sway slightly as you stand to silence it. You need to go to work, and warm up for your mermaid time. The world feels unsteady as you make your way to shower, actually getting the grime off of you.

Mercedes is on the couch when you come into the main area, and she asks if you're alright. You manage a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes and tell her that 'Yeah, you're all good. Just a rough day.'

You curse halfway to work upon realizing that you forgot your lunch entirely. At least there's a cafe nearby that you could hit if you wanted to.

The parking lot to the aquarium is guarded by a locked gate, and you check your watch when you pull your car to a stop, cutting off the engine. You've got some time before you technically need to go inside. You rest your heavy head against the steering wheel, and close your eyes. This time, sleep welcomes you with open arms.

There's a knock on your car window, and you jolt to life as you hear it. Blinking wearily, you see Rob at the door— his eyebrows are drawn together in an expression of concern. He's holding his gear bag, and there's already highlighter spread across his cheekbones. You fumble for the door latch, and he opens the door while you slump a little.

"Hey, Brandy's been looking for you," he says, frown deepening as you push yourself out of the car, "Are you alright? You're normally not out here when I show up." His tone turns slightly humorous, "You know I like to be the fashionably late one."

You stare at him for a moment through tired eyes, before you wave him off, "Yeah I just…didn't sleep well last night. Once I'm warmed up I should be good to go."

He watches you get your own bag out of the car, before he murmurs, "Right. C'mon, I'm not beating you in to the pool."

Checking your phone as you make your way inside, you see a barrage of messages from Brandy, who seems to be working herself into a frenzy of worry via the phone. There's a few missed calls too, and you think that maybe you had been more tired than you thought if you missed your ringtone.

The two of you make your way to the back, and the girl in question rushes to come see you.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry to spam your phone, but I saw your car out there and you didn't respond? I—" she follows you into the locker room, and you're really not listening to everything else she says.

You're getting equipment out of your bag as she continues on, and she frowns.

"Are you listening to me?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course I am," you respond, although you definitely have not been.

She says your name, and you look up to see that same concerned expression that everyone's been having all day. You're getting very, very sick of seeing it.

"Are you okay?" Brandy says, eyebrows furrowing again.

You set your makeup bag down a little more forcefully than you intend, and you snap at her, "I'm fine, Brandy. And you know what— it's really annoying having everyone ask me all the time if 'you're okay'. I'm great," you cackle, eye twitching, voice increasing in volume, "I've never been better. Stop asking."

There's a long, long moment as she stares at you in the mirror, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. You turn partially, and apologetically begin, "I…" The words fade away as your throat closes in shame, choking the words down.

She takes a deep breath, and then exhales, and her eyes dart away. When she looks back at you, her gaze is full of pure steel.

Brandy snaps, "You can't try to help other people and then push them away when they try to help you. It's not fair."

Then she's gone, pushing her way out of the room and slamming the door behind her. You're left standing with the buzzing lights and a halfway put together mermaid outfit. Doing your makeup is tricky, and your hands are shaking as you attempt to do your eyeliner. You know you need to apologize— but there's a gaping cavity in your chest and it's hard to muster up the energy to go do so.

Your reflection distorts as you look yourself in the eyes longer, and the cavity in your chest floods with guilt. When you make it out to the pool again, Brandy is talking to Stan, and that guilt gives way to a bit of anger. You're fine, you don't understand why everyone is acting this way. The only reason Stan would be here would be to…

The older man looks over Brandy's shoulder, and he motions for you to come over. You do, and he tells the lifeguard to leave you two alone for a second. Your heart is slamming in your chest as your duo goes into the hallway. It's empty, and Stan waits a minute to make sure no one comes to the door to listen to your conversation.

"Alright kid, what's up?" he says, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms.

You scoff, "Nothing's up. I don't know why everyone is acting the way they are."

His eyebrows bob upwards, and he nods, before prodding, "Are you done trying to lie to yourself?"

Bristling, you snap, "What are you talking about?"

He motions towards the pool, "Brandy told me what you said. Rob told me that you were sleeping in your car. That's not like you. So, one more time. What's up?"

Your intestines feel like they're twisting into knots as you look at him. Stan is unmoving, unflinching, and you relent.

"I- nothing's wrong, really. I had a scare the other day and it's been weighing on me a bit, that's all. I can do the performance just fine." There! Not the full truth, but not a lie either. A nice medium.

The older diver frowns, looking at you. "It's not that asshole again, is it?"

You stiffen, and his eyes immediately narrow at picking up the reaction. Stan knew more than the others when it came to Dawson— after all, he was the one you had needed to tell about taking time off for the court case. He'd never pried too hard about it, but the details weren't difficult to fill in once the partial truth had come out.

Stan coughs, "He's not.. back, is he?"

You shake your head aggressively, "No, he's not. Just… something came up that reminded me about it, that's all." Your tone turns pleading, "I can do this, really. I'm fine."

He looks back at the pool where Rob and Diana are wriggling into their tails. Stan takes a deep breath, and then sighs. He asks, "Can I be honest with you?"

After a pause, you nod.

"You look like shit."

You blink, and say nothing.

Stan continues, "Look kid, I know you can do this. I've seen you do a performance under worse conditions. However," he lifts a finger to stop you from interrupting, "That doesn't mean you should. And quite frankly, as your diving supervisor, I'm telling you that your current state is not fit for being under the water today."

"Stan-" you start.

"No," he rumbles, cutting you off, "No if's, and's or but's about it. You're not going in that water today. You have bags larger than my wife's Burkin under your eyes and I cannot in good faith let you out there. I'm not risking your life, or anyone else's. Go home."

"But-"

He says your name sternly, and with finality, "Do not make me write you up. Go home. Get some rest. Come back when you're feeling better. Don't come in tomorrow either."

With that, you're thoroughly offended, "I don't— I can't miss two days!"

Stan scowls, "Your attendance will not be docked— go home."

"I-"

"Get your things. Go home."

The two of you have a stare down, and you break eye contact first, going to get your things and heading for the door. Rob and Diana wish you well, but Brandy is strangely quiet. You detour to walk over, and murmur an apology.

She turns to look at you, "I'm still mad at you. Just…" her face scrunches, before relaxing to reveal a tired expression, "go get some sleep. We can talk about it next time."

Nodding, you depart. You almost run into Oliver as you make your way to the outside, and he says something to you that you don't process, and you mumble a hello as you stagger on.

You throw your stuff back into your car and sink into the driver's seat. The next thing you do is scream as loud as you can inside your locked vehicle, the sound ripping through your vocal chords and running them ragged. Your yell drops off into a coughing fit that activates your tear ducts, and once the salty water begins to run down your face, you begin to sob.

They're large, heaving sobs that rattle your entire frame, and you feel awfully lonely as you sit by yourself in your seat and cry. You run a hand through your hair, whispering that everything will be fine, but the tears still come. Your nose is dripping snot, and you blindly fumble in the backseat for a tissue.

Eventually you manage to calm down enough to begin driving, but about halfway home you're hit with that twisting pang in your chest again and the cycle begins anew while you're screaming and crying and driving. You probably look insane to anyone outside of your car, but it doesn't really matter to you.

Pulling into your driveway, you pull your bag out of your car and limp inside. You feel like a soldier that's come back from a battle they lost, and not even the sight of Piper cheers you up. He just reminds you that you have a friend waiting in the cove, and you tear up all over again.

"Damn it," you mumble, wiping at your eyes.

Inside, Mercedes is working on another costume project, and you're quite certain you're a sight to see when you walk in, because she drops what she's doing to rush over.

"What happened?" she asks, gingerly taking you by the shoulders, "Do I need to beat someone up?"

You give a watery chuckle, "No, I'm good."

She guides you over to the couch, and disappears into the kitchen, only to come back a minute later with a root beer and a sandwich. The two of you sit in silence while you look at it, before looking up at her.

"I know you didn't eat before you left this morning," she informs you, "I already had lunch, but I'll go get a snack if that helps."

It really wouldn't, but you pick up the soda to sip at it. The guilt from the day is settling in a pit in your stomach, and suddenly nausea overrides any appetite you might have, so you set the drink back down.

Your friend watches you, a question in her eyes, but she doesn't say anything. You already know the question, and while you weren't willing to share with your coworkers— this was Mercedes, and she'd seen you through your best and your worst.

You take a deep breath, and begin: "There was a man on the boardwalk yesterday…"

With that, the entire story (minus the merman part) comes out, and Mercedes wrinkles her nose as you tell her about the weird behavior.

"Ugh," she says, "Why do men have to ruin everything?"

You laugh a little.

Mercedes continues, "I'm so serious! You're minding your own business and he got in your space like that? So rude." She offers you a smile, "Thank you for telling me. You want to go back to Bunker Protocol?"

Your eyes dart to the floor, then back to her, "I don't know yet. I'll think about it."

She nods, then leans forwards with a pinky finger extended, "You know if you want it, I'm here. Promise you'll tell me, right?"

The infamous pinky shake is shared, and the tangles in your stomach have lessened enough that you can choke down about half of your sandwich. You still need to apologize properly to Brandy, but she was right— that could wait for the next time you saw her.

You stare off into space, then say: "I may go down to the cove. Maybe try and take a nap there or something."

Mercedes eyes you suspiciously, "You sure have been going down there a lot lately. More so than I ever remember. Anything interesting?"

Shrugging, you push off the couch, "I just like to see the sharks."

Your body feels a little bit like lead as you pedal down to the water, and you've never been more grateful that the path there is mostly flat. Your helmet lands with a messy throw as the normal walk down the trail turns into a scramble. You're in plain clothes still, no backpack and no fins or equipment. There's a slight breeze that ruffles your hair as you slump onto the beach.

The sand digs into the side of your face as you lie there, staring out into the waves. It's not long before you spot the telltale fin poking out of the water, and there's something like a wash of relief as it gets closer. Vulkan's massive head surfaces about the water of the shallows, and he frowns as he sees you motionless on the shore.

You stir when he says your name, rising up to a sitting position. Sand falls off of you as you do, and you lean forward again, propping yourself on your knees.

Vulkan's gaze practically pierces your soul as you sit there, struggling to stay upright.

"Did you sleep?" he asks, and honestly you're a little caught off guard by the lack of greeting.

You blink slowly, "What happened to 'hi? how are you'?"

Your laugh tapers into a dry chuckle. The merman doesn't appear to be amused by your idea of a joke, and simply waits for you to quit.

His tail swishes in what you assume to be irritation, before he responds, "Hello. Did you sleep?"

Well, if you have to ask.

"I know how I look, Vulkan. You don't have to dance around it."

His left ears twitches, and he scowls, "You're simply… here earlier than usual."

You scoff, "Well, they sent me home early today. Something about 'I look tired', which, by the way, isn't my fault since someone's brother scared the shit outta me yesterday."

Which you know isn't an entirely fair statement, but you feel like shit and that energy needs to go somewhere.

His eyes narrow, and with a heave of his arms, Vulkan vanishes into the water. His action snaps you out of your stupor, and you lurch to your feet. Panic surges in your chest. You hadn't meant to-

"Damn it," you say for the umpteenth time today.

Your shoes get wet as you splash into the water, and your head is swinging from side to side as you try and spot your merman's fin among the waves. No, no, no- you'd done it again. The urge to sob hits you again, and you trip over a rock and stumble into the shallows, scraping your knee as you go.

The saltwater stings your eyes as you land, and you flail, hissing at the pain. Your clothes are thoroughly soaked, and the waves drag the fabric as they wash up, not caring about how you feel.

You clear your throat and fight through, calling out: "Vulkan? Vulkan I'm sorry. It's not your fault, you told me that yesterday."

Only the faint sound of birds reaches your ears over the gentle sloshing of the water, and you continue on your ramble, "I didn't sleep well last night. I was really freaked out about this whole thing and I thought coming here would help but maybe I made everything worse."

Rubbing sand on your knee doesn't improve the situation, but at least you aren't bleeding.

"You are not very good at apologizing," rumbles a deep voice, and you look up to see your merman only a few feet away. You realize that you're in the water now, and he can reach you.

You narrow your eyes. Was this whole thing a ploy to get you in the water? He doesn't seem particularly angry.

But instead of asking that, you say, "Yeah. I'm working on it."

Scooting further into the water, you take note that Vulkan moves away from you, and you're a little hurt. You understand, given that you basically blamed him for your sleepless state, but you're hurt nonetheless. It must show on your face, because he stops moving.

Then he states, "For the record, my brother did not intend to scare you."

That surprises you, and you stare at him, confused.

Vulkan elaborates, "I spoke to him. Apparently he was meaning to mess with you, but not scare you."

You're attempting to comprehend this, "You…spoke to him?"

It's the merman's turn to look confused now, as he shoots you a look and says, "I told you that I would, did I not?"

Fumbling, you say, "Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd actually do it, or so quickly."

He shrugs, "I am a creature of my word, I can promise you that."

You nod, and scoot further into the water to the point that it comes up over your shoulders. There's the rhythmic rocking of the waves as you sit, and Vulkan watches you.

"I used to not be able to sleep, as well," he says, breaking you out of your stupor.

You turn your head to look at him, "Really?"

Vulkan nods, before leaning backwards as well, his tail swishing with the motion. He continues, "I used to hunt these drakes— massive underwater monsters that are near my city." Your brain picks up on that, but he clears his throat, "They are large sea serpents, and to kill one is an enormous accomplishment. To become a true warrior, one must hunt and present the head of a drake to the council."

He does a lazy loop, and your eyes follow him as he goes.

"I found the largest drake that had been recorded in our history. It gave quite the fight too— and left me with a permanent reminder of our fight." He gestures to one of the largest scars on his tail— a long, wide thing that wraps up to his back.

You're really not sure what that has to do with your current predicament, but he informs you, "I had trouble sleeping for a long time after— the drake ambushed me while I had stopped to take a rest. Even in areas that I knew was well fortified, resting became a difficult task."

"What did you do to fix it?" you ask. Maybe if you were more awake, you'd be asking questions about the direct confirmation of more than just mer-folk trading.

"A friend of mine stood guard while I slept," Vulkan says.

Small waves tickle the bottom of your ears as he slices through the water. You stare at the sky for a minute, then tentatively broach, "Are you…offering to watch me sleep?"

"If you'd like."

It's a very, very tempting offer. And beyond that, you'd already cried all over him the night before anyways. Your brain separates from your physical being for a second as you mull it over. It would help with your worry that something might happen— and you trust that Vulkan's an apex predator. If you're in the water and he's nearby, nothing is going to happen to you.

You make your decision. "Alright. If you don't mind?"

He nods, "You sleep— I'll keep watch."

You're not sure how to go about the sleeping situation, but it turns out that you didn't need to worry about that at all. Vulkan's hands make light work of the sand in the shallows, and soon enough he's dug an indentation that he can fit into without beaching himself. It's a brilliant idea, and you watch him in fascination.

He turns back to you, then digs a second, smaller hole in the sand right next to his area— you'd liken it to a sand nest.

Beaming, your merman gestures towards the smaller hole, "You can rest in this one. I can block most of the water as it comes in."

He demonstrates, wriggling into place. And he's right— very little of the waves make it past his enormous build.

Your eyes are heavy, and you crawl in, curling up in the sand. Initially you face away, but you wind up rolling over so you can see your protector watching.

"Thanks, Vulkan," you murmur, "it means a lot."

He smiles, a hint of his teeth showing, "It's no trouble at all. Rest— I will be here when you wake."

Laying there in the warm sand, listening to the gentle sloshing of the waves, with your friend guarding you proves to be just what you'd needed— you fall asleep with no trouble at all. You do not dream.

~~~

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

Getting up to go to work is much harder when your muscles are trying to take you out. You grimace as you stagger out of bed, legs screaming at you as you shuffle to the bathroom. Apparently trying to keep up with Vulkan did more damage than you originally thought.

Getting into your clothes ought to be classified as another Herculean challenge, but you manage. Mercedes is still asleep and you once again envy her as you make your way to your car at the ass-crack of dawn. Piper's in the front yard, and you greet him as you go by— albeit with less enthusiasm than usual. You ponder about going and buying bugs for him as you head to the aquarium, but he looks pretty fat so you probably won't bother.

You get into the pool area easily enough. Michael stops you to ask about some of the sharks that you'd been diving with, leading to some idle chatter for a few minutes before you excuse yourself.

The hum of the machinery around you is in your ears as you start your warmups. Today you've brought your yoga mat, and you're wincing as you begin to stretch out sore muscles. Note to self: when swimming with a merman, don't try so hard. You hiss through your teeth as you go into a lunge, feeling the ligaments in your legs move.

You're counting down from ten when you hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Eyes popping open, you spot Brandy walking towards you. Much to your surprise, Oliver is close behind her. The younger girl's face is neutral, but her eyebrows are drawn together as she enters the pool area. She gives you a wave and goes into the locker room, disappearing around the corner.

You frown, eyes following her movement before Oliver moves into your field of vision to block your view.

"Hello," he says, beaming down at you.

Coming out of the lunge is only slightly less painful, and you let out a deep breath as you lessen the pressure on your muscles. Standing completely up, you respond with a hello back.

Oliver tilts his head, "I didn't think you would be here so early. What're you doing?"

You put your arm across your chest and begin to gently pull on your shoulder muscles. You reply, "I always get here pretty early when it's time for mermaid performances— I like to have the pool to myself for a bit." You tilt your head, "Well, minus Brandy, but she's here to make sure I don't drown."

Not that you can drown currently, but he doesn't need to know that.

He nods, "What stretches do you normally do? I've been looking to add some to my workout routine— I've been working on my swim skills recently and my legs are killing me."

It's not the first time someone has asked you about this particular routine, so you acquiesce and begin explaining your stretching methods. Swimming uses more muscles than most people would think, which leads to beginners often having to learn the hard way that their form is wrong. Oliver nods, and dutifully takes notes on his phone.

In the spirit of properly showing someone how they should be stretching (a lesson learned from your summers of coaching teens during swim lessons), you offer to guide him through a few poses. You tend to combine some yoga poses along with the regular warm ups just to make sure you're getting as many muscle groups as possible.

Oliver accepts, and seems to realize his mistake about two minutes in when he makes a face while holding most of his body off the ground.

"You can relax now," you say casually, putting your own limbs back on the ground.

His face is red from the exertion, and he flops down onto the cold floor. He groans, then states, "How do you do that? You make it look so easy."

You shrug, then get up off the floor to go fetch your water bottle, "It gets easier with time, and it helps that I wear a tail half the time while swimming."

Oliver rises off the floor as well, "I see—you're stronger than you look."

Scowling, you ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sputters in response, trying to make a recovery.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, you ask, "Do you not have somewhere you need to be?"

He blinks, and you watch as his ears turn a bright red, "Well, yes, but I-"

You realize that your statement might have came off as rude and you rush to correct yourself, "Not that I mind you being here, it just seems odd that you're here during our warm up time?"

Oliver relaxes a bit at that and says, "I just wanted to see what it looks like when you guys are back here— I usually only see it before we do cleaning dives." He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, "I'll uh, get out of your hair though. Good luck down there."

You wish him well, and he leaves, gently closing the door behind himself. After a few moments, Brandy pokes her head out from the locker room and sighs upon seeing that Oliver was gone. She exits and pads over to the lifeguard station. Your eyebrow bob up in surprise.

"Everything good?" you ask, walking over to lean on the stand.

She grimaces, before she mumbles, "I don't know." Louder, she says, "Oliver just wanted to talk to me. It's not that I don't like him, it's just that I think his vibe is a little weird, you know?"

The interaction you'd just had was odd, to be sure, but it wasn't terribly weird. Although perhaps your definition of 'weird' is a bit skewed from what most people might think.

You frown, "Do I need to beat him up?"

That gets a chuckle out of her, and she shakes her head, "No. I mean, he hasn't done or said anything creepy. It's just… I dunno… a feeling?" She waves a hand dismissively, "Ugh, I'm probably just overreacting. You ready for warmup?"

Placing a hand on her shoulder, you gently say, "Listen, if you need to talk or have someone help you, I'm with you one hundred percent— if something happens, let me know."

She gives a wobbly smile to you, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

You nod, before flexing your arm muscles, "I'll beat his ass for free— I can jump him in the parking lot."

That one gets a bark of laughter (more genuine this time), and Brandy climbs to her position while you slide into the pool. You're properly warmed up now so it's no trouble at all to go into your routine, passing back and forth along the surface. By the time you're practicing breath holds, Rob and Diana join you at the bottom of the shallows.

Your hair feels odd as you sit under the water, creating an odd tingling sensation to your scalp. You idly scratch your head, but don't think too much of it. Then it occurs to you that that might be the signal that you can breath underwater and you wonder how exactly you're going to pass this off to other people.

…maybe you're just really, really good at breath holds. The record is what, ten minutes? You make a face and surface, mind swirling with thoughts.

Other than that though, your performance goes smoothly as always. Your shark friend is still hanging around, and you find yourself wondering about timing of going to take breaths. Has it been too long? Not long enough? You wind up compromising by swimming up to the hose, but not actually breathing from it.

You're still mega sore by the time you make it home, so you stumble into the shower and barely manage to make it to bed before you pass out into sleep. No one said being a mermaid was easy work.

After a couple days, your soreness has worn off. You're absolutely itching to get back into the water. You want to be able to explore underwater now that you're getting used to the whole…breathing thing. It's a Thursday, so not your typical day to get back to the cove, but you can't help the excitement that grows as you close in on the area.

This time you've remembered to bring your fins, and the shell bag is slung across your body, with the knife situated on your waist. The weight of it is familiar, soothing, and you can't help but run your fingers over the handle as you stride into the ocean waves.

You laugh as your fan-club take turns bumping into you, little noses bouncing off your skin. This time you've forgone the rash-guard and are in a two piece bathing suit that has no ties on it. Booties and fins on your feet, you sink in, and begin to belly crawl across the sand like a shark. The tingling begins and you suck in a breath.

Ugh, this is so cool. If only you didn't have to almost die to get the ability. You continue along the bottom, checking on plants and noting the fish that are darting around. There's a group of chubs that seem uninterested in you, but you swim up to see what they're looking at anyways, and find a crab staring at you. How delightful!

You're busy checking out the rocky enclave that lines the cove, hoping to spot some puffer fish, when you feel the current direction shift. You turn to see Vulkan a little ways away, tail moving side to side as he cuts through the water in your direction.

You wave at him, and gesture for him to come look with you. With two of you searching, it's not long before you find a puffer. It's hanging back in a rocky crevice, but comes out to see what the two of you are up to. It seemingly decides that neither of you are worth the time, and goes back into the hiding hole it was in.

Vulkan points toward the surface, and you nod, making your way upwards. The merman is waiting for you at the top, and you flip wet hair out of your face.

"Hello!" you greet, beaming at him, "Beautiful weather we're having, isn't it?"

He looks up at the sky, which is dotted with fluffy clouds, before looking back at you. "Indeed."

"How'd you know I was out here?" you ask, spinning in a small circle.

Vulkan hums, "The fish told me."

You eye him, "Can you actually talk to the fish or are you messing with me?"

He shrugs, "I can speak with them. Their language is more limited than say, you and I's."

This peaks your interest, "What about what you said when we met the other day? The sounds underwater, I mean."

"That would be a merfolk specific language. The overall impact of a folk's kiss is… largely undocumented. I was unsure if you would be able to understand."

An entire underwater language! Of course they'd have something— words with the vocal chords couldn't register properly through liquid.

Your eyes practically sparkle as you get closer, "Could you teach me a few?"

Vulkan thinks about it, a webbed hand reaching up to scratch his face, "I can try— I am unsure of which words you may be able to form."

Nodding enthusiastically, you agree, "That's fine! I'll learn whatever you're wiling to teach me."

The two of you spend the next while bobbing in and out of the water while you learn the pronunciations for a few words. Phrases are out of the question, but 'hello' and 'up' are what you manage to figure out. Vulkan chuckles at your pronunciations, and the words stick in your throat a few times, because for the most part the sounds are supposed to come from your chest.

You're 95% sure that you're not doing well with it, but Vulkan assures you that it's very good for a beginner, and to just give it time and practice.

The two of you hit the ocean floor after that, looking around to see what you can find. There's a large funnel of fish swimming around, and you laugh as you swim through it and they simply scatter to form an even larger funnel. Vulkan lurks on the outside edge of it, chuckling at your antics.

You notice that he swims slower than what you assume is his normal pace to let you keep up. The fins help a good bit, but your propulsion simply can't match his speed.

"How fast can you swim?" you wind up asking him once you've gotten to the top of the water.

Vulkan's ears twitch as he thinks, before he shrugs, "I can't say I've ever measured. Would you like to see?"

Boy would you!! You nod, and he allows you to cling onto his neck. It's a little difficult, given the size difference, but you manage to climb on. He's very solid underneath you, and while your initial concern had been bumping his dorsal fin, that winds up not being an issue at all. Your feet don't reach that far.

"You ready?" Vulkan asks, and you give a confirming pat on his shoulder while verbally agreeing.

Going underwater is much smoother than you anticipated— although in hindsight it made sense, given that he was built for the oceans. You can feel his muscles tense, and then suddenly you're shooting through the water.

It's like the wind on your face when you quickly ride your bike, only you can make out the blur of everything around you. The beach comes into view way faster than you expect, and Vulkan slows down. When he breaches the surface you laugh giddily.

"That was so cool! I had no idea anyone could swim that fast."

He grins at you, all teeth, "I can. Few can match my speed."

You smile right back at him, "I would pay to see that race."

Vulkan gives a long, deep laugh, and says, "Maybe one day."

Wobbling back to dry land, you thank your friend and bid him goodbye. It's the same routine as last time, where you glance back and wave as you depart. He returns it.

~~~

Your weekend brings much of the same. The pair of you find many shells around, and you leave some of the larger ones while your bag gets full from all the little ones. You'll package them up for some of the beach cabanas later— it's a lucrative living to be selling seashells, but some of them accept shells as payment in a pinch. Usually for a Gatorade and chips, but it was better than nothing!

Apparently, your newfound merman friend has an astonishing knowledge of human games. This includes chess, which you'd brought up while telling a story about a club you'd been in while in college. When you'd gotten to explaining the game, Vulkan had waved a hand.

"I know about chess," he had said.

You had blinked in surprise, before responding, "Really? Where did you learn about it?"

The merman's eye membrane had blinked, and he mused, "I am much older than you. I have learned many games."

"Can you play?" you asked.

"I am very good at chess," Vulkan had told you, "I believe I could beat you."

Offended, you told him to just wait until you got your hands on a board, so you two could see who the real champion was.

Which lead you to your current destination— the paddle board shop on the boardwalk. You'd found a magnetized version of chess, but needed something flat to work as a table to play the game. You're staring at the entrance of the store when the clouds open up and begin to dump rain on your head. You sprint inside, and stand at the door while wringing out your hair. For such a short amount of time, the storm sure could soak you to the skin.

Good thing you'd had your suit on under your clothes, but you still weren't a fan of getting cold rainwater on you. Or the feeling of being damp while in the air conditioned store. As luck would have it though, their floors are wooden and made to withstand the wet footsteps of customers coming through.

You move forwards, ogling at the surf memorabilia that lines the walls, along with the many different kinds of boards available. The bell to the shop rings and you pay it no mind. Until you turn slightly, and have to do a double take at the man that now stands at the register.

He has to be a model, and the fact that his shirt is unbuttoned all the way is not helping matters. Hair so blonde it's practically white is pulled back into a ponytail, and you try very, very hard not to stare at the abs that the shirt reveals when it pulls back as he leans on the counter. You need to focus on your task.

So you go back to browsing the paddle boards, and try really, really hard not to stare at the handsome stranger.

It's going really well until you hear, an "excuse me," from behind you. You hope and pray that it's not who you think it is. You turn around and it's the man from the counter. Your ears burn as you fight not to stare directly at the pecs that are in your face.

"Are you looking to buy or to rent?" he asks.

"I- what?" you say, a little confused.

Patiently, he responds with, "Each board is special in its own way. Some are more solid, and some will sink while you're in the water." He pushes past you, and points out an inflatable board that's decorated with a shark. "I think this one would suit you well."

You'd already looked at that one, mostly for the irony of owning a shark board while playing a game with one. Vulkan would find it amusing, you think.

"Uh… thanks," you respond, gingerly taking the board from the wall it's neatly stacked into. You make a mental note of the gear you'll need to grab to help fill out your kit— it's been a while since you've owned one of these, but you remember the gist of it all.

He begins to walk away, before he stops and turns back to you. "By the way," he confides, "I like to give these to all the pretty people I see."

He takes something out of his pocket and you're almost scared until he unfurls his hand and oh! It's a lovely seashell. It's an almost perfect spiral with a pearly white exterior. The only flaw is a small chip off the underside that you can see. Your hand reaches out to take it before your eyes flick back up to look at that man and you swear it looks like he has fangs. Vulkan's teeth flit through your mind and you go to pull your hand back, only for the man to press the shell into your palm and curl your fingers around it. His hands are strangely clammy in comparison to Vulkan's, and his smile stretches a touch wider than it should.

"Keep it."

And with that, he strides out into the rain, leaving you standing in the middle of the shop with a (maybe) magical seashell in your hand, and a paddle board in the other.

Shaken, but not deterred, you pay for your things and leave. Your head is on a swivel when you walk out the door, but the man that spoke to you is nowhere around. You keep glancing behind you though, even as you get into your car and drive home.

You scowl into the rearview mirror as you go. You hate that someone is making you feel this way. This sort of dread hasn't settled in your belly since the final days of your relationship with Dawson. The feeling of looking over your shoulder constantly wasn't a new sensation, but it was an unwelcome one.

You sit in the house a lot longer than intended, irritated. You pace around, debating on going down to the water. The shell weighs like a rock in your pocket. You'd fully intended upon it earlier, but now? Vulkan had told you there were other merpeople, but he hadn't mentioned they could go on land. Could they? Could he?

Mercedes isn't home, so you have no one to vent to other than yourself as you walk around. Eventually though, you decide that maybe getting some answers will help calm you down. Locking the door and shooting a text to Mercedes along with leaving a paper note, you shoot off to the cove.

You put your feet into the water and wait. Soon enough, Vulkan's head pops up out of the waves, and he smiles at you. The tension in your chest worsens when you see his sharp teeth, and it takes a moment to realize that you're shaking.

He appears to notice as he gets closer, and he questions, "Are you alright?"

Gritting your jaw, you spit out, "Why are you fucking with me?"

Red pupils dart to the side, then back to you, "What?"

You snarl, "Why are you fucking with me? I thought we were friends, but then this-" you fumble for words, "this man follows me to a store I'm in and he's got teeth like yours and he gives me a- a shell? With some kind of creepy message I think and I just-"

You take a deep, stuttering breath and step out of the water, sand digging into your toes. Tears sting at the edges of your eyes, but you try to fight them off.

"I don't like to be played with," you end up snapping.

Vulkan can only go so far to reach you without beaching himself, but his eyebrows have drawn together and he says your name very softly in concern. It's the same kind of tone that one might use to call to a scared cat, and it stings something deep in your soul.

You yank the shell out of your pocket and hold it out in front of you like it's a dead mouse, and not a seashell.

"Then what is this?" You hiss, "I know something's wrong with it."

Vulkan's eyes flick down to your hand, then back to your face. He's obviously concentrating on you, but as his gaze goes back to the shell, his pupils shrink to slits, and he growls.

This takes you aback, and you take a step away from him. He seems to realize that you're scared of the sound, and takes a deep breath, before holding out his clawed hand.

"May I take a closer look?"

There's silence between the two of you as your brain battles between retreat, and getting closer to the merman that hasn't shown you any cause for harm so far. (But just because someone's nice now doesn't mean they will be down the road, does it? A voice whispers in your head.) Vulkan's arm droops slightly, and he looks about ready to disappear back into the sea, when you inch forwards a bit, dropping the shell into his palm.

He smiles at you, taking great pains not to show his teeth, and says, "Thank you."

Vulkan lifts the object, and it strikes you just how small it is in comparison to him. He scowls at it, and crushes it in a quick motion.

"It's a shell one of my brothers left with you," he quietly states, staring at the sand, "Harmless. If I had to guess, it's to leave a message for me."

You sniff, "What kind of message?"

"The kind that they can reach you," he laments, running a hand down his face. It's a very human gesture, and you relax just a bit.

"So you… didn't send someone after me?"

Vulkan delicately responds with, "No, I did not." He straightens up, and splays out his webbed fingers over where his heart should be, "I swear on my life that I did not send someone to follow you. But I will find out who it was and give them a piece of my mind."

You lick your lips to try and stave off the dryness of your mouth, "You will?"

He nods, and you take another cautious step forwards. He adds, "You will not come to harm in my waters, I promise."

The earnestness of his words seem to finally shatter whatever was holding back the dam of tears, and they finally begin to stream down your face.

You try to choke down a wail that tries to surge out your throat, but it comes out as a pitiful whimper instead. Vulkan's still stuck in the shallows, but he looks genuinely distressed to watch you sob on the beach.

"I'm sorry," you blubber, "You know, I usually don't cry this fast."

His hands twitch, and he asks gently, "Is there anything I can do?"

What you need is reassurance, and you voice as much to him. He pauses and thinks, before asking, "Would a hug work?"

You think about it for a second, before you stagger forwards, falling into his arms. The warmth of Vulkan's skin seeps into your still damp clothes, and it's like hugging a solid wall of muscle. It takes a few minutes of you crying before you're able to tear yourself away.

"God, I'm sorry," you say, wiping your nose on your shirt. "I got snot all over your chest."

Vulkan pats your shoulder, "It will wash off."

You give a watery chuckle, but the concern is still clear in his eyes.

There's a long pause, then he very carefully asks, "Are you often followed? Not that… this situation isn't upsetting, I simply wish to get a clearer view."

Your muscles stiffen when he asks, and Vulkan immediately backpedals, "You don't have to tell me-"

You interrupt, "No, no it's fine. It's just hard to put into words." You clear your throat, before glancing up at him, "I don't have to talk about it?"

His eyebrows knit together, before he responds, "I would… prefer to know, yes— if only to prevent any other situations of this nature. However, you are entitled to your history and should not feel like you have to share it with me. I have things from my past I have not shared— I would not expect the same from you."

It's a well balanced and easy answer, and it soothes your anxiety. Talking about your previous relationship was never an easy thing for you to do.

You sigh, "I think… I think I won't say anything for now. But maybe in the future?"

Vulkan's ears twitch, and he nods, "Whatever you would like."

The two of you spend a long time on the beach, watching the sun set.

~~~

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Chapter 7: beam me up, biscotti

Your eyelids are slightly sticky with salt as you open them again. It's warm in your little nest, and you decide to close your eyes again. You wriggle in the sand to get comfortable again, until your back hits against a very solid wall. You pause, taking in the temperature change, and realize that the wall is, in fact, breathing.

Your eyes shoot open, and you crane your head backwards to see that Vulkan has partially entered into your nest. You're curled up against his chest in the sand. He's not looking at you, instead he's watching your surroundings, and relief washes over you. Along with a rising blush, because why are you tucked against his chest.

He finally looks down, and in a tone you can only describe as tender, he quietly asks, "How did you sleep?"

Rubbing your eyes, you move to sit up a little. You feel incredibly well rested, despite the fact that you just took a nap in a sandy hole.

"I slept well, thank you," you say, before your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, "Not that I'm complaining, but how did you end up in here?"

Vulkan's eye membrane blinks, and he responds, "You were shivering. I promised to watch over you, and that includes being cold. It seemed the most efficient method."

Oh! Well that is…very kind. Your brain is currently blue screening while you process that information. Obviously, you decide, Vulkan doesn't understand the implications of you waking up against him. It was a lovely feeling though— you felt very cared for.

You dip your head, and smile, "Well, thank you. I feel a little better now."

Vulkan smiles, and his tail swishes in the water. You stare at the sky, and realize that you've been sleeping for a much longer time than you'd thought. Then your hear the distinct sound of a truck pulling in at the top of the cove. Vulkan's head moves quickly to scan around as you scramble up, sending sand fly.

You whip around and hurriedly explain, "I think my friend Mercedes is looking for me. I'm going to go before she spots you— thank you again, I'll come back tomorrow!"

Your mer-friend nods, and you begin brushing the debris off your clothes as you walk away from the shoreline. Mercedes' red hair is easily spotted as she rounds the edge of the trail and sees you. Her ponytail bounces as she strides down to meet you. You suppose, given the lack of reaction, that Vulkan has hidden. You wave at her, and she smiles back.

"Hey," you greet, "You good?"

She looks you up and down, then snorts, "Apparently not as good as you— what did you do, roll around on the beach?"

You shrug, "Yeah, pretty much."

Her eyes soften, "You feeling better? I saw you left your phone back at the house and I wanted to come check on you."

You hum, then respond, "Yeah— loads. I got a good nap in."

Mercedes reaches over to tug at a lock of your hair, which causes sand to dump all over your shirt. Snickering, she says, "I can see that— I think you're more sand than person right now."

"I feel more sand than person," you retort.

She slings an arm over your shoulder, "Alright then Sandman, what do you say to showering and then we go out to eat? A regular night out on the town."

"Hell yeah," you shoot back, returning her gesture by slinging a sandy arm over her as well, "Where are you thinking?"

She sighs at the dirt on her clothes, "I was thinking that new place on the boardwalk— Captain Clark's?"

You raise an eyebrow, "The burger joint?"

"Yeah! Supposedly they have some killer seafood too— those fried oysters are calling my name."

The two of you make it back up to the top of the path, and you glance back. All you see is a familiar fin going in lazy circles in the water. Smiling, you face forward and climb into your friend's truck as the two of you discuss your evening plans.

You shower, and laugh to yourself about the amount of sand that comes out of your clothes and undergarments and gets on the floor. You'll have to vaccum that up later. You scrub your skin clean, and feel light as your step out of your steam-filled shower. It's like the weight that was on you had drained away with the water. You pick an outfit that's a little nicer than what you might normally wear. Not date nice, but better than a tshirt. It's a cute sundress with seashell print on it. You don shell jewelry just to stick with the theme.

Mercedes finds your ensemble incredibly funny as you emerge from your room. She attempts to hide it by covering her face, but you can see her shoulders bouncing.

"What?" you ask, looking for something on your outfit.

"I thought you were leaving the mermaid getup at your job?" She comments.

You toss your hair and wink, "Being a mermaid is a full time gig. I could never leave it behind."

The drive to the restaurant is uneventful, the two of you sitting in casual silence as the radio plays a local station. Captain Clark's restaurant winds up being a busier place than you'd expected. There's so many people milling about in there that you shoot a longing glance towards the mostly empty pier before Mercedes drags you inside.

Inside, it's a lovely affair. There's big windows to one side that show off the ocean, while the massive bar that has bottles that glisten in the low lighting. Somehow they've managed to balance upscale and casual, and you can't help but stare at the coral themed chandelier that hangs directly in the center of the main dining room. Whoever opened this place must have some money to back it, because as you're seated you see custom carved chairs and dinnerware.

The menu is extensive, but not (as you'd previously assumed) expensive. The two of you get drinks. Mercedes goes with a cocktail, while you wind up with a mystery mocktail that tastes slightly fruity with a bubbly texture. You play with the umbrella that came in it while looking around the room. The wallpaper is gorgeous, but your eyes land on the massive aquarium on the far wall.

All the fish in it are staring at you.

You stare back, face wrinkling in confusion. Mercedes stops mid sip, and turns around to see what you're looking at.

"Uh," she starts, "Do fish normally do that?"

You blink, "No. Not that I'm aware of."

"Are they… looking this way?"

Fiddling with the umbrella, you mutter, "Yeah, I think so."

The two of you quit looking when your server arrives, and you place your entree order.

Sliding your chair a bit, you go to stand, saying, "I'm going to investigate."

Your friend shakes her head and you pause.

"What?" you ask.

She sighs, and stirs her drink idly, "Have you ever noticed that you have a bad habit of checking out weird stuff?"

"I wouldn't call a fish tank weird," you sniff, still halfway between standing and sitting, "And I don't do that!"

Mercedes fixes you with a hard, unimpressed stare, "Yes you do."

You start, "Name one time-"

Apparently it's been on her mind, as Mercedes cuts you off and begins counting on her fingers as she rattles off events, "The sandpiper, the sharks, the netting with dragged up. The fishtank. And that's just the recent stuff— not to mention the entire vibe of that cove you go to. It's so weird."

Well, maybe she has a point. Unfortunately for everyone involved in this conversation, you're in the business of doubling down.

"It's not weird," you snap, half because the cove is your space, and half because you feel the need to speak up on Vulkan's behalf.

Her eyebrows lift, "Dude. You cannot tell me that place isn't creepy. It gives me the heeby jeebies every time I go down there. I have no idea how you slept there today."

"It's not-"

"I feel like something is watching me whenever I go there," she hisses.

Squaring your jaw, and becoming uncharacteristically serious, you state, "Mercedes, if there's something you'd like to say, I would prefer you just say it, instead of me having to guess."

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forwards, fingers lacing together as she props on the table.

"Alright," she deadpans. Then Mercedes drops a metaphorical grenade right in front of you.

"I know you almost drowned two weeks ago."

What. What. What.

You stare at her, mouth agape like the fish in the aquarium. Actually, you'd been so focused on the merman aspect of that day that you'd completely missed that part of your story. You have a rapidfire flasho f thoughts that range from telling the entire truth to trying to gaslight her.

What does come out of your mouth is a strangled "…How?"

You sit all the way down in the chair as she pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, before looking back at you.

"I was a lifeguard, remember? I've seen what people look like when they almost drown."

Ah, shit. How'd you miss that? You're gripping your chair arms so tightly that they might crumble.

You try to speak, but it fades as the words get stuck in your throat, "I don't…"

Mercedes grimaces, then says, "Listen, I haven't brought it up because you'd been going through a lot recently and I don't want to make things worse and pry. But I'm concerned. Sorry that the timing is bad, but I need you to know that."

You perk up a little, and finally seize an opportunity to add to the conversation, "You're right to be concerned, but you don't need to be. The ocean and I are friends."

Also the giant merman that you're friends with, but she doesn't need to know that part.

She looks at you, eyes sad, and says your name softly, "I've almost lost you twice to the ocean— I'm worried you won't be so lucky a third time."

You reach out a hand a touch hers, meeting her gaze again, "I understand. You know I won't stop going though, right?"

"I know," she says, giving your hands a squeeze back, "Just be safe, okay? You've got people rooting for you on land."

You nod, and the two of you sit in silence for a few moments. Then she retracts her hand and makes a shooing motion.

"Alright, I'm done being serious. Go look at your fish now," she grumbles, looking faintly embarrassed.

Flashing her a grin, you stand and head over. The fish are waiting for you as you get there, and you wiggle your fingers and coo at them. You step to the side to allow a little girl to come up and see, and the fish follow your movement in a swarm.

The girl looks at you with big brown eyes and frowns. You move again to the side, and they follow again.

Pointing a finger at them, you sternly say, "Let her see you too!"

She beams as they part into two groups, allowing her to investigate.

You lean over when she whispers to you, "Can you talk to fish?"

The image of Vulkan leaning on the sand flashes through your mind, and you have to tamp down your amusement as you whisper back, "Yes."

Her eyes practically sparkle as she asks, "Are you a mermaid?"

One of your favorite questions, especially from kids. You wink, "Of course! I come on land to visit my friends from time to time. It's not always fair for them to come to me, is it?"

The little girl vibrates with excitement, then runs off to who you assume are her guardians. She points in your direction, and the adults with her look at you. You wave, at they return the gesture.

You go back to your table and wait somewhat awkwardly with Mercedes. Your food is fantastic, and Mercedes shares her oysters with you. You trade part of your meal, and create a surf and turf experience. You know that the conversation you had will probably come up again, but she seems willing to let it slide, so you do as well.

The fish follow your movement as you go to leave, so you give them a wave and disappear around the corner. You and Mercedes decide to hit the ice cream parlor a little further down. You like it because they give out massive scoops of ice cream. It's a little tourist trap-y but it's so worth it.

You get three massive scoops of your favorite flavor in a cup and head outside to eat it. Mercedes gets through hers first, and goes into a crystal store that inhabits part of the boardwalk.

The pier calls for you though, so you separate from her to enjoy your sweet treat at the end of it. You hum as you lean on the banister, listening to the soothing sounds of the waves below you. There's a few other people dotted around, a few fishing off the side of the pier. It's peaceful.

It begins to drizzle a bit, but nobody pays too much mind to the weather change. You don't either— resolving to finish your dessert and head inside to meet with Mercedes. You've just about eaten it all, and are casually sipping from a water you'd gotten from the same shop when someone comes up beside you. You glance in their direction, but don't take in too much detail until they clear their throat and begin to speak to you.

"Hello there," a very, very familiar voice says.

You whip around to see the white haired man standing beside you. You stumble backwards, and in a panic you throw the water bottle at him. He catches it with ease, and doesn't seem to care that it spills all down his shirt.

He flashes sharp teeth at you, "Nice try, but-"

The speech is cut off by the abrupt entrance of your ice cream cup hitting him directly in the face. Now that you've had time to process, and you know that Vulkan has your back, you're pissed.

"What the hell are you doing here, you son of a bitch?" you hiss, the muscles in your jaw clenching.

That gets a reaction, and the man looks less than pleased as he wipes melted ice cream off his chin.

"That was unnecessary," he snarls, and gooseflesh ripples up your arms.

There's still a confidence you have though, with people around you. You snap, "You scared the shit out of me the other day— I don't know who you think you are with that seashell and your stupid spiel, but you should learn how to mind your own business."

Not that you know precisely what his business is, but the point remains.

He clicks his tongue, and sighs dramatically, "I was unaware that you were…acquainted with my brother, so to speak. It isn't often that one finds humans that have merfolk magic on them. My mistake."

You blink, then scowl, "I see. Why are you here then?"

He grumbles, "I was told I 'needed to apologize'."

You snicker a little at what you assume to be his Vulkan impression. His voice doesn't have the necessary baritone in it to create the proper effect.

"So," he continues, "I apologize."

That appears to be the best you're going to get, given that it looks like someone could be pulling his teeth out. You're not sure you want to accept it.

"Now I have apologized," the man says, holding out a hand with long, almost claw like nails, "Nice to meet you, human. My name is Fulgrim."

You stare at his hand like it might turn into a snake and bite you.

Fulgrim sniffs, then snidely remarks, "It's rude not to introduce yourself, you know."

You raise an eyebrow, "I think you know who I am."

Teeth flash at you again, then the nails dig slightly into your arm as he forces a handshake. His pupils shrink to slits that remind you that he isn't fully human.

"Don't piss me off," he scolds, although he seems very calm, "I'm not gentle like my brother."

Your lip curls, "I can see that."

His eyes narrow, and you roll yours. You say your name, and he lets go of you.

Fulgrim repeats your name, and then shakes his head, "I would have thought my brother would have picked a more impressive human, but alas."

He leaves absolutely no room for you to respond to that statement, striding away. You chase him all the way down to the end of the pier before you lose him. Damn him and his long as legs. Mercedes is waiting for you, having seen you try and run down the guy. You come over, grumbling about the situation. You'd like to rip out some of his hair. The nerve to comment like that!

Your friend looks at you, flabbergasted, "Who was that?"

You groan, "Some guy— his name's Fulgrim."

She whistles, "He's hot."

Sputtering, you reply, "That's the man from the other day."

Her face immediately scrunches in disgust, and she spits out, "Now why didn't you lead with that? I rescind my statement, he is not hot. In fact, he's downright atrocious to look at. Like a house on fire personified."

You jostle her shoulder and laugh at her reaction, "Mer, it's okay. He apologized for scaring me. I think."

Mercedes doesn't look thrilled, "Eugh, I guess.""

Deciding to change topics, you ask how her store was. She launches into an explanation on what she got as you head towards the parking lot. You're extremely tired by the end of the evening, and take a quick shower and go to bed. You stare at the curtained window, mind drifting towards Vulkan. Your eyes slide shut, but you can picture him still guarding you while you fall asleep.

Your dreams are peaceful.

A/N: Hi guys!! Sorry it's been a minute, my job's being wacky right now, and then I went on a camping trip with no service for a few days. On the bright side, I have most of chapter 8 done and a bit of lore and outlining done!! Most of this chapter was written with a pen and paper. Thank you to all the sweet comments, love you guys <3 stay hydrated

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!):

Chapter 8: The Fuck Off Anklet

You wake up the next morning feeling clean, well rested and optimistic. You even feel good enough to actually make breakfast. The eggs sizzle in the pan as you rifle around in the cabinets for a plate. The toast you put on gets done at the same time, and you pop some cheese onto it to melt. The smell makes your mouth water as you go to sit down at the dining room table with your fried egg sandwich. Mercedes emerges from her room as you begin eating.

She wipes sleep out of her eyes and comments, "Oh, you're here today too?"

You pause mid-bite, ketchup dripping out of the sandwich and onto your hands. You swallow and say, "Yeah, Stan told me to take today off too."

She nods, and leans on the back of a chair, "Any big plans?"

Shrugging, you respond, "Probably sea shelling."

Mercedes frowns slightly, "In the cove again?"

"Yeah? It's close to here."

The two of you are locked in a staring contest, which Mercedes breaks first. She sighs and says, "Just be careful, okay?"

You give her a thumbs up and keep on eating. Yolks run and join the ketchup and your friend shudders.

"How you eat that, I'll never know."

Through a mouthful, you ask, "What do you mean?"

She grimaces, "It's so… drippy."

You snicker, but don't say anything else and finish your breakfast.

Grabbing your gear (and your phone), you sling your backpack on and head out on your bike. The long fins you pick out are sticking out of your bag like antennae. They're an ugly shade of fluorescent orange— you'd gottten them when they were on sale at the dive shop.

The brakes on your bike squeal as you pull up to the cove, and you kick the stand out to lean the bike up. Leaving your helmet on the handlebars, you head down the trail. It's still decently early in the morning, so the water is a little chilly as you slide in.

The nests from yesterday are still intact, so you paddle over to them to check out the scene. Vulkan's area is huge, and you chuckle as you attempt to lay your entire body out in it. You can just barely touch the sides of the divot when you stretch your arms out, fingertips brushing the sand. You flip over to look down and realize that there's a small collection of rocks on the bottom.

You pick one up and discover that it's round, and smooth to the touch. You run your fingers over it in curiosity. How had these gotten here?

Surfacing, you see Vulkan's dorsal fin cutting through the water in your direction. You clamber out of the water and take the opportunity to drink some (fresh) water from your bottle. You can hear him as he banks on his dugout, the sound of scraping sand as his body hits land. Turning around, you give him a wave and bound over. You wind up situating yourself at the edge of your little nesting area, so you're at eye level.

"You look much better today," Vulkan appraises, his red eyes glancing over your figure.

You hum, then respond, "Thanks to you, mostly. That nap was just what I needed."

His ears flick a little, and his eyes move away from you. You get the impression that he might be a little flustered. He waves a webbed hand absentmindedly.

"I did not do anything, really. I just sat watch," he says, ending with a chuckle.

You smile at him, "I think you know it meant more than that. I slept better here than I have in a long time."

Vulkan's eye membrane blinks, and you feel the air tense like there's an unanswered question between you. You're also fairly certain you know what it is.

You brace yourself, then remark, "You can ask, you know?"

His fingers tap in the sand, leaving claw marks as they go, "I am… unsure of where to start."

"Maybe I can just begin the story?" You respond, fiddling with the edge of your shit. Water wrings out of the fabric as you twist it.

Your merman nods, and you haltingly begin your tale. You intend to just hit the highlights. That's what most people want to hear anyways, and getting into the details is hard.

Attempting to be very casual about it, you say, "I used to date this guy who would stalk me."

Vulkan's pupils immediately shrink to slits, and he moves up a little more as his muscles tense, but he doesn't say anything.

You cough, then continue, "He would uh, follow me to work and just… around town and watch me. Honestly I didn't even notice that he was doing it until too many coincidences started happening."

You'd been in denial a long time about it, brushing it off as just normal relationship things. You'd caught him watching you while at the house, but that was something normal couples did, right? Gaze at each other in domestic situations?

Your friend gently prods, "I assume you confronted him about it?"

You did, and to say it went poorly was an understatement.

Giving a light chuckle, you say, "Yeah— he uh, tried to put my head through the drywall."

That was a moment that had really tested yours and Mercedes' friendship. She was the one who had found you on the floor, bruised and sobbing after he'd stormed out and you could barely manage to call anyone for help. Betsy Ross' fish tank covers the patch in the wall. Vulkan doesn't need to know that Dawson had succeeded at his task.

The merman in question is attempting to stare into your soul. You sweat a little under his gaze.

Finally, he speaks— his voice dropped even lower in anger, "Is your former mate… still here?"

You note the usage of the word mate instead of boyfriend as something to ask about later, then move to answer.

"Yeah, uh— Dawson's not here anymore. He's alive though, if that's what you mean. Last I heard, he moved states."

Quite frankly, you don't care where he went as long as he didn't violate the restraining order again. You weren't going to miss your shot a third time.

"Good," Vulkan says, relaxing a little, "I understand why my brother scared you so much. I apologize again for his actions."

You wave a hand, "Ah it's… fine. It wasn't intentional I guess, just made me think of that other guy. By the way, I saw him yesterday, and he 'apologized'?"

The last bit includes air quotes, and Vulkan sighs heavily from his nose.

"Was it terrible?"

"Eh, not the worst I've ever received."

Your friend nods, "It was closer to genuine then— most of my brethren are notoriously terrible at admitting when they've done something wrong."

Your eyebrows scrunch, "How many brothers do you have?"

He thinks for a second. You're expecting a normal answer, like two, or maybe at maximum five. Not at all what he says, which is:

"Seventeen. Sixteen more, if we subtract Fulgrim since you've already met him."

Your jaw falls open.

"SEVEN-TEEN?!!!" you shriek, "Holy shit that's so many. Seventeen. Seventeen. That's so many birthday gifts— what were your parents thinking?"

Vulkan very patiently waits for your rant to be done, doing nothing but laughing at your response.

You pause and think about it, "But you and Fulgrim don't look alike?"

He nods, "Different mothers. Our father created us as the framework for the merfolk Empire."

The WHAT.

You hold up a finger, "Not that I don't want to know precisely what the hell you're talking about, but I feel like that's more information than I can process right now."

Your brain is still reeling from the sheer amount of siblings he has. You try to imagine working out gifts at the holidays for that many people and grimace. Sounds dreadful.

Your attention shifts as Vulkan goes to rifle through the bag that's slung across his body. You hadn't initially noticed it, but it appears to be made in the same style as your newly decorated shell bag.

He presses something into your hand, and you hold it up to get a good look at it. It's a small bracelet with little abalone seashells strung across it.

"What's this?" you ask, inspecting the cream and gold streaked shells.

Your merman bumps your shoulder as he goes to explain, and you can feel his warmth sinking in through your shirt.

"The shells are imbued with a bit of my magic," he explains, lightly picking it up with a claw, "The purpose is to warn off other merfolk when they get close— to let them know you're protected. It should work with normal ocean predators as well."

Beaming, you gush, "Aw, that's very sweet, thank you." You ask, "May I give you a hug?"

Vulkan smiles, teeth gleaming and accepts. You wrap your arms around his midsection and squeeze gently. He returns the gesture, and you relax into the warmth of his skin and the solidity of the muscles that hold you in place. When the two of you separate, you gingerly slide your present onto your ankle, and make sure to knot it well.

"There! It shouldn't come off now," You show him excitedly, lifting your foot for inspection.

"I should hope not," he comments.

You stretch, and lay on the sand. Vulkan's face pokes out above yours, blocking the sun. You chuckle.

"So, what're we doing today?" you ask, "I was going to go shelling again, unless you have a better idea?"

He thinks, then asks, "How confident are you in deeper waters?"

You shrug, "Depends on how deep. But confident."

"There's a shipwreck out that way," he points out past the sandbars, "I would call it interesting— although it's closer to my brother's territory than mine."

"Which brother?" you tease.

Vulkan snorts, and begins to slide back into the water, "There's a large family of puffers that live there."

Oh you're so in! You haven't been past the sandbars since the incident with the net, but you trust Vulkan. You head over to your phone and shoot Mercedes a text, then nab your gear and make a beeline for the water.

Strapping on your knife and fins, you inquire, "How far is it from here?"

It's Vulkan's turn to shrug, "I could tell you, but I would not imagine my measurements are particularly helpful to you."

You snort, "Try me."

"About three hundred tail lengths," he deadpans, lifting an eyebrow.

Pursing your lips, you concede that maybe he had a point. You deign to get in the water instead of actually answering him.

You float for a bit, allowing your fins to do all the work to propel your frame through the shallows. Vulkan follows, tail allowing him to not try terribly hard to keep up with you. You complain a little about it.

"Maybe I should bring my monofin out here sometime," you muse.

"A what?" your friend asks.

You point towards your feet, "Instead of two fins, it's one. I wear one for my mermaid performances."

It then hits you like a freight train that you have not, in fact, told Vulkan about that particular aspect of your life. Looking over at him confirms that, as he looks completely flabbergasted.

In a voice much higher than normal, he asks, "Your what?"

You pause your swimming, and repeat, "My… mermaid…performances…?"

"Can you fully transform?" Vulkan asks, eyeing your legs.

"What? No," you shake your head, "I just said it's a fin I put on. I wear a silicone tail over it— it's all just for show." Stumbling over your words a bit, you say, "I hope that's not like… appropriating merfolk or something like that."

He frowns, "Are there merfolk there?"

You let out a little breath, "Not that I'm aware of." Fiddling with your shell bag, you continue, "I haven't seen anything weird with my coworkers— as far as I know, they're all human. Unless more of you can grow legs."

Vulkan looks relieved, then clarifies, "No, no. Transforming is something only Elder Merfolk can do."

You squint, "Are you… Elder Merfolk?"

He gives you a side eye, before he responds, "Yes."

"I see," you say, beginning to swim again, "How old are we talking?"

He rolls his eyes, "Older than you, for certain."

"Older than dirt?"

Vulkan's ears flick in annoyance, and he grumbles, "Not that old."

Your laugh quickly turns into sputtering as he dunks you under. Spitting out the saltwater, you glare at him. What ensues is you attempting to wrestle him under the surface. Even with your entire body weight twisted up on his upper half, you can't best him. But you sure do try, writhing and moving around as you try and tip the scales in your favor.

Vulkan finally relents and gives you a mercy victory, plunging the two of you into the water. You're on his back on the surface, but as your grip loosens in the water he turns over. That's when you realize just how close you are to his face. A stray thought flits through your mind that he has a nice face, which immediately makes your ears burn and you jerk backwards out of his personal space.

He blinks, looking momentarily confused, then points outwards into the depths. You hear him say something, but all you pick up is the word 'there'. You oblige, and the two of you take off in that direction.

Surprisingly, the depth doesn't bother you much. Your ears pop like normal, but the pressure of the water simply isn't bad. Besides a little compression, you mostly feel the same way you did at the surface.

Apparently, Vulkan is taking you the scenic route, as you part kelp that's growing off the floor in spades. You almost lose the merman in it, until you come out on the other side of the forest to see the shipwreck. It's impressive, a half rotted old ship that sits still and lifeless on the ocean floor.

You dart over to investigate, and spend a good bit of time squeezing yourself through various crevices in the wreck. There's an old galley, and you examine barrels that have sunk into the sand. It's fascinating to stare at the various flora that's taken over as well. You run face first into the puffers as you exit through a porthole.

Glancing over at the forest, you see that Vulkan's busy messing with something. You look away and continue playing with the puffers. They're so cute!

There's about thirty of the little guys swarming around you, and you swim back and forth while they follow you. Darting through what would've been the stern of the ship, you come out to find that your posse has paused in their pursuit. You frown, and move closer to the hole you'd come out of. They only scatter in different directions. Your heart rate hammers in your chest as your adrenaline spikes, and you whip around as you sense a presence behind you.

There's a merfolk behind you. And it's not Vulkan.

The two of you stare at each other. You… think that the folk is a he. He's big, but only in comparison to you. Vulkan would dwarf him. But the merman is a few feet tall than you, and you look to find that instead of a tail, he has tendrils sprouting from his lower half. There's a main, solid clump of them that wriggle, but what really catches your eyes are the floating, feather like tendrils that fall like a cape around his hips. They float and bob in the current.

He has short golden hair, but what gives you a bit of unease are his eyes. They're less human than Vulkan's, with a lack of eyelids that just seems wrong. The eyes bug out slightly as well, adding to the eeriness of it all, along with the lack of a nose. His face simply has two slits in it where nostrils would be.

He circles you once, and again your attention is caught by the trailing vestiges. They're hypnotic.

The merman notices your anklet and points to it, speaking to you in a different language than the one you hear Vulkan speaking. The sounds are less rumbling, and more on the end of sounding like a 'whoop', but at varying frequencies and intervals. If you had to guess, you would chalk it up to a regional accent, maybe? But as your new acquaintance goes to actually tap your ankle, a large hand shoots out and halts the action.

Vulkan gently pushes you backwards, and gets in between you and the merman, blocking your view. While you can't see anything, you do hear the rumbling sounds as you presume Vulkan tells the smaller folk to leave you alone. The theory seems sound as the merman backs away from the shark, and shoots off into the kelp, leaving the two of you alone.

Your merman turns, and seemingly inspects you for any damage, before gently tugging on your hand to lead you over to where he'd been. There's crabs on the ocean floor scuttling about, and you delight in following them. The puffer fish have returned as well, gathering in your hair and brushing your skin.

Vulkan says something out into the open waters— it sounds like a call of some form. But it's the sudden movement from Vulkan catches your eye as he disappears from your sight.

You turn, and find yourself staring at a much larger version of the merman you'd just seen at the ship.

Except this mer-person must be the blueprint for all the smaller ones, because he's much more human. He has a nose, and long, golden hair that swirls around him as he comes to a stop near you. His tendrils float angelically in the ocean water, gleaming as they catch in the shafts of light.

He is, quite frankly, beautiful.

And you assume that this is another brother, given the way that Vulkan seems to know him. Congratulations! You've collected another. Only fifteen more to go.

Vulkan and the other mer converse for a few moments, before Vulkan turns to you, and you hear 'up', with his questioning expression. You nod, and begin kicking your feet, propelling yourself upwards. You're a little sad about leaving your fish friends behind.

The mermen patiently wait for you at the surface. You marvel at the lack of impact from changing depths, and gasp air in as your head breaches the water. Even with the ability to breath underwater, it's a little jarring to go from one to the other.

The golden haired merman raises out of the water as you do, lifting his upper body further instead of keeping his mouth at the water level. Now that he's out of the water, and you're really looking at his face— he seems oddly familiar? You just can't quite place where you've seen him before.

A red, webbed hand is offered to you, and you glance from it, to his face, to Vulkan. Instinctively you're closer to the merman you know, hiding a bit in the shadow of his frame.

The shark merman chuffs, and sweeps a hand out, "This is my brother."

You raise an eyebrow and shoot him an unimpressed look— you'd already figured that out.

"My name is Sanguinius," offers the brother.

Deciding that this is the most normal interaction you'll have today, you choose to shake his hand. His skin is slicker than Vulkan's is, and certainly colder. You introduce yourself.

Sanguinius nods, and flashes fangs at you as he smiles, "I've certainly heard of you, but it's another thing to meet the infamous human."

You blink, then squint before asking, "Have all of you heard of me?"

The red merman makes a face like he's bitten into a lemon, and you feel like Vulkan might be glaring at him from behind you, but when you turn, his face is completely neutral. Weird. Whatever.

"No," Sanguinius comments, "But word travels fast through fish, and I've heard from the flounders how you'd cut loose one of their number. A very brave deed."

Blood rushes to your ears, and you laugh a little, embarrassed, "It wasn't anything all that special— I was just doing what anyone would."

Sanguinius shrugs, "The flounder would disagree with you, I believe."

You flounder for a response (hah!), and luckily your friend helps you out— you feel a tap on your shoulder, and you look to see Vulkan gazing at the sky. Ah, it's about time for you to leave.

Saying goodbye to the red merman, your usual duo make your way back to the cove. The beach is peaceful as you wade back onto it, water dripping off of you and onto the sand. You turn back to Vulkan as you begin putting your gear away.

"Thanks for showing me the shipwreck," you say, "And for chasing off that mer— I was unsure if he was friendly or not."

Vulkan tilts his head and responds, "Many Folk are, but I would recommend you stay away from them as much as possible— if only out of caution for the dangerous ones. I would not want to see you harmed."

You chuckle, "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, I suppose."

He grins now, flashing his sharp teeth, "Indeed."

You stand up and bid farewell to your friend, before biking back to the house. Mercedes is tucked away in her room already, working through a video game. You groan as you remember you have work tomorrow. You enjoy your job, but exploring the ocean with a merman is so much more fun. Ah, well.

There's always next time at the cove.

A/N: Y'all crack me up with all the Mercedes love-- I was not expecting her to be such a fan favorite! She's my fave but that's because she's my OC LMFAO. I'm going to try and finish the next update as soon as I can but there's some bonkers events for the fourth of july at my work and it's impeding my writing. Booooooo. Love you guys stay cool stay hydrated <3

BTW the anklet is real and I own it not to brag or anything.

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