#wttk

She’s sleeping, finally.

Moon feels the slow, steady breaths of his minnow, his human, where she lies across his chest, the two of them drifting slowly along the surface of the black water of the cove. The waves hush against the nearby shore, the rhythmic rocking mixing with the low drone of his lullaby to coax his human from fitful rest into a true sleep, after hours of struggle. He smoothes a large, careful hand down over her hair, along her back, to cradle the gentle swell of her stomach- safe, here beneath his claws and under his watchful eyes.

In the last month of so- well into her pregnancy but still far from the end of it- she’s found it harder and harder to find rest outside of the water. Moon imagines it must be a foreign feeling, for a land creature to feel unsteady on solid ground. He’s not surprised. Surely, he and his brother have had as much an effect on her as she has had on their physiology, and the mer child she’s carrying will have its own needs, drawn to the sea even before it takes its first breath.

Still, the knowing does little to ease his stormy mind when his minnow tosses in turns in sleepless fits of nausea. His song and the sea are a balm, but she can’t stay in the water forever- not like he can. Her body has adapted to tolerate the cold of the water longer than is typical of her kind, but she is still human. It is a race against time to lull her to sleep before the cold is too much, and she must return to the warmth of the boat and its bed and pile of blankets.

Mike sits on the edge of the boat now, eyes following Moon’s bioluminescence. There’s a prickle of aggression along the mer’s spine- a protective, territorial impulse for his mate in the presence of a male that is neither himself nor his brother- but Mike is a trusted ally. He’s has been on the water with Moon’s minnow everyday since her pregnancy was discovered, watching over and taking care of her where he and Sun cannot.

It chafes, to be unable to fully provide. Moon’s teeth clench, but he swallows the growl that wants to rattle his throat, for fear it might wake his human. He doesn’t have long now before he must pass her over to Mike and entrust him to get her to bed. He must be sure she won’t wake when he does, so he pushes aside his frustrations and sings.

His siren song is gentle suggestion and sweet enticement- not the outright command some other mers employ, but an effective lure. Her body is already exhausted, and it give in to his lullaby with relief. She is pliant and warm against him, still and quiet. It brings him a kind of peace he had never imagined for himself, far from the fraught nights of singing Sun to sleep, praying that they survived another day, week, month. Praying for something to change.

Moon’s own bioluminescence is the only light besides the stars tonight, and it traces the soft edge of her cheek, the fan of her eyelashes that flutter slightly in dreaming. She sighs against his chest, and turns her face to nuzzle a little closer to him, his warmth.

He needs to let her go soon, he knows. He needs to hand her over so she can rest, so she can sleep. He knows, he knows. But…