The Heart of a Man - SharkNoises (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Email from: [emailprotected]

To: [emailprotected], [emailprotected]

CC: “current staff and students list”

Subject: Welcome Dr. Riley to VMA!

Good morning everyone! I am pleased to announce that esteemed brackish conservationist Dr. Simon Riley will be joining us starting on Monday for a joint research venture on bull sharks. Please treat him with all the respect and kindness he deserves, he’s an old friend of mine and I’m delighted to have him in our lab for the next six months. For my students wanting to attend any of his lectures or lab hours, please respond to this email so I can adjust your internship hours around his schedule. All employees who regularly deal with chondrichthyans may also wish to attend.

While I have your attention: this is a reminder that the break room fridge is for HUMAN FOOD AND BEVERAGES ONLY. Not lab samples or chum and especially not live specimens, even if properly labeled. Repeat violators will be terminated on the spot, this is both a lab safety and a personal safety violation.

Dr. John Price, MB

Senior Laboratory Director

Phone Extension 141

Email from: [emailprotected]

To: reply all:“current staff and students list”

Subject: RE: Welcome Dr. Riley to VMA!

Seriously guys. If I go to grab my salad and touch mystery goop again I’m going to make you all take turns working the birthday party room. Quit f*cking around >:(

Kate Laswell

Sent from my iPhone

While Simon’s life was not a particularly glamorous one, it was more than he would have expected for himself as a young man. Even now, on a rainy Monday, in a cheap flat that mostly served as a private library with a bed in it, listening to the upstairs neighbors shouting in barely muffled Serbian, the honking of taxis on the street outside, and the slamming of doors down the hallway, it wasn’t all bad. His body ached as it always did, and the ceiling was leaking again, and there were already new unread emails to scowl at but he was awake and alive, and running just a little late for his new job.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed, kicked the empty pot back under the steady drip that the superintendent denied the existence of, and fell more than he walked into the small bathroom for a quick lukewarm shower. Whiskey, his gorgeous but highly opinionated cat, made it clear that she was close to death from starvation on the other side of the bathroom door, so breakfast was a can of tuna medley for her and chugged cuppa and a slice of dry toast for Simon, and then he was out the door just in time to not have to sprint to the bus stop or hail a cab.

Starting somewhere new was never easy, but knowing he’d be under Doctor-formerly-Captain John Price’s direct command for this brief stint made it a little easier for Simon to get out of bed that morning. It had been a little while since he’d seen the surly bastard and his metalhead Russian husband, and if pressed he’d admit that he’d missed them. Just a little bit, of course.

Simon, Price and Nikolai went way back, though little of it was positive until recent history. Nik had been a pilot and informant for the SAS when a young Simon Riley first enlisted, and after the fateful mission gone wrong in Mexico, he’d been the one to bring Simon home to the UK. They’d bonded on the flight, a terrified and lonely soldier looking for any sort of stability to cling to and a boisterously kind man who had a penchant for picking up strays.

Simon’s family tried their best when he returned home, but struggled to understand the severity of his injuries and the long-lasting effects on his body and psyche. The military had been the cornerstone of his identity, and to have it ripped away so soon after finally getting everything he wanted… It wasn’t something most people had any experience with, and even with counseling and Simon’s retirement benefits, they drifted apart over time. Nik, however, kept in touch, and was always there to listen. He’d been through it all with his husband already, an Army Captain forced to retire early with honors before Simon’s time for medical reasons. They’d met decades ago on a joint mission in Copenhagen and been inseparable ever since, and neither of them wanted to see Simon suffer alone.

When Price had been discharged he was lost, and decided to go back to school. He’d cycled through a few majors before finally settling on biology, and fell in love with phycology specifically– the study of seaweed, algae and other aquatic plants. And Nik had, correctly, hoped that Simon may be inspired by the story.

He was, and took to it immediately. He’d expected to be unimpressed or overwhelmed by the science aspect and find his own path in a different field, but realized he was smarter than he’d given himself credit for, and that the quick math he’d been trained to do in the field as a sniper translated pretty well to the statistics involved in research. And then there were the animals themselves. He’d developed a kinship with the so called “monsters” of the world, particularly those of the brackish and mangrove environments. With a passion born of mutual understanding, he became one of the leading experts in his field, with a bit of a reputation for taking on the more remote, potentially dangerous positions.

But that was how he’d ended up back in the UK of all places, somewhere he’d once swore he’d never come back to. He’d been in Cambodia for almost two years now, on a conservation mission studying the Mekong giant catfish, and before that he’d been in Guyana observing Arapaima spawning habits, and then Senegal to try to reintroduce sawfish into the Casamance estuary. But the grant money was starting to dry up and he was missing some of the comforts of the western world, so when Price reached out with a residence opportunity to work on a captive breeding project for bull sharks, he jumped without thinking much further.

But now that he was standing on the bus in a stiff white labcoat over a black turtleneck instead of a windbreaker with mosquito netting, he was starting to wonder if maybe he’d rushed into this. He hadn’t been in a formal lab setting in years, let alone given lectures or instructed students. He, blessedly, wouldn’t have to deal much with the public half of the aquarium, but there were still dozens more staff than he was used to; a variety of academics working on different overlapping subjects rather than a crew of locals and himself, maybe another scientist or two and a reporter if it was particularly important gig, or a translator if he hadn’t picked up the local language yet.

One of the benefits of working in rural, often war-torn places was a sense of bodily camaraderie he didn’t usually feel back home. It wasn’t unusual for the people he worked with to be missing limbs or have visible burns and scarring or other disabilities from political strife or poverty. His height and blonde hair turned more heads than the jagged keloids marring his face. As sad and frustrating as it was, seeing the effects of colonialism and harmful policies from the nation he’d once been so patriotic for that he’d put his own life on the line, there was a sick comfort in being accepted by communities that knew exactly what kind of pain he’d been through. It had pulled him out of a spiral more than once. If a ten year old girl who’d survived stepping on a forgotten land mine could bring him a bowl of rice and wait to hear him stumble through a joke in her native tongue in thanks, he could deal with his own nightmares and nerve damage.

Back in the UK, though, he rarely went out without covering as much of his skin as possible. Thankfully working in a lab setting meant he could get away with gloves and a mask, even if it did get him odd looks on the tube in the morning. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, but he hated the stares and the pity. He’d rather they stared at the mask than his bare face, if he got the option to choose.

The ride was brief though, not nearly enough time to brood thoroughly, and the Verdansk Memorial Aquarium was only a block from the stop he got off at. He had no idea who Verdansk was or why there was a sprawling complex of undersea biomes in their name in a tourist trap of a town, but whoever they were had certainly garnered something impressive. He’d been in the public areas before; Price had given him a tour when he’d first settled in Dover a little over two weeks ago now, and it had been incredible.

The entrance area was framed by massive, walk-around tower style tanks with brightly colored fish, and opened up to a grand sitting area under a glass dome ceiling with a cafe, a play area and a giftshop to congregate around. From there the building branched into two main areas, one for ocean and one for freshwater, with multiple rooms for each full of a wide variety of beautiful habitats and healthy specimens. Upstairs was the “children’s aquarium” with a focus on local species, touch tanks, professional diver shows, and educating the youth on the importance of conservation and respecting wildlife. And outdoors was a boardwalk featuring the complex’s other restaurant and scenic overlooks with educational signage about some of the animals that could be seen in the wild here, mostly seabirds and seals. There was also an arena for the dolphin show, and a 4D theater showing alternating films about prehistoric sealife, coral reefs, and whale migration.

But thankfully, Simon didn’t need to worry about that too much. He was there to work strictly in the labs or after the aquarium was closed to the public, and had been promised he wouldn’t be dealing with the regular patrons at all unless there was a scheduled “behind the scenes” tour, which he could simply nod politely at and then ignore. Behind the scenes was much more his style, and was just as impressive as the public-facing areas. Top of the line equipment, spacious offices, a shared digital database, world-renowned experts, and laboratories that focused on the safety and comfort of their test subjects were all at his disposal now, and it was a far cry from measuring barred mudskippers in The Marianas with a seamstress’s measuring tape and a kitchen scale.

Now, the employee access door’s RFID scanner was the only thing keeping him from that equipment, as well as the rest of the staff he’d be meeting today. Thankfully Price promised to handle the introductions so he didn’t have to talk to many people, just the other department heads he’d be coordinating with to divvy up lab supplies and interns to boss around, and a few of Price’s students that had a direct interest in his field of study. He wasn’t much of a teacher, but Simon could appreciate anyone who shared his passions enough to be polite, at least.

Before he could even get his new badge unclipped to scan, though, the door swung wide open, nearly hitting him in the face and revealing an equally startled middle aged blonde woman with a lighter in one hand. She wore jeans and a light sweater under a puffy vest with her hair in a sharp bun, reading glasses dangling from a chain around her neck, and a carabiner with more keys than Simon cared to count dangling from her belt loop.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. You must be Doctor Riley? Come on in, I’ll get everything set up for you.” Her accent was unexpected, distinctly American.

“Um, yes, sorry? You can go take your smoke break if you need it, I’m sure I can find my way around.”

“No, no it’s fine really! My wife wants me to quit anyways. Come on in, it’s a bit of a maze back here.” She leaned backwards, arms still braced on the door frame to yell, “John! Your friend is here!” With that she gestured for Simon to follow her, and he found himself completely unable to ignore the order even if he wanted to.

It was in fact quite a maze of cream colored walls and pipes and heavy doors, so he was grateful for the guide afterall. Price met them not far down the hall, big smile disappearing under the beard that had only gotten bushier since the last time Simon had seen him in person. He was dressed smartly in khakis and a dark green sweater vest over a cream button-up, but the outfit was completely ruined by a tacky fisherman’s cap complete with several bobbers hanging from it.

“There he is, Simon Riley! Good to see you son.” A firm pat on the shoulder and Simon was whisked down a different side corridor, being given a quick and dirty tour as they walked. Price pointed out important hallways faster than Simon could actually retain the information, and he found himself just clutching the strap of his messenger bag and being dragged along at the retired Captain’s mercy.

Finally, blessedly, they came to a stop in a classroom of sorts, with a long whiteboard and stadium seating for about fifty people, most of which was already occupied. Several more individuals filtered in behind them, murmuring greetings around coffee cups. Simon swallowed hard and forced himself to regulate his breathing, suddenly feeling a lot like a kid on the first day at a new school.

At five after the hour, Price whistled sharply around his pinkies and the room went dead silent.

“Thank you everyone. Kate, take it away.”

At that, the lights dimmed and the whiteboard lit up with a projected powerpoint, which Simon was mortified to see was about himself. It wasn’t terribly embarrassing, mostly just laying out his qualifications and past accomplishments, but he hadn’t expected to be so on display so soon. The main notes seemed to be his education (Bangor and then Newcastle upon Tyne), the languages he spoke (English, Spanish, French, Russian, Arabic, and Mandarin fluently, a few others passably, and scientifically relevant Latin.), his military accolades (The Victoria Cross being the main one anyone cared about), and some of the things he’d been published in (National Geographic and the MarineBio Conservation Society being the two he was most proud of). It also somehow included his favorite brand of tea, and he was surprised to see a few of the students taking notes on that. Until he remembered his own schooling and figuring out that his calculus professor was fond of chocolate covered almonds, and trying to lighten her mood on test days with a gift of them.

Smart kids, at least. He could work with that. He wasn’t above favoritism and bribery.

The lights faded back on gently at the end, and Simon was ready to bolt but Price seemed to sense it and wrapped a “friendly” arm around his shoulders to hold him still. “Does anyone have any questions for Dr. Riley before I cut you muppets loose for the day?”

Simon managed to contain his groan, just barely, when about fifteen hands shot straight up. With a huff, he asked his own follow-up. “If they’re about my mask you can put your hands down.”

Four hands went down. Which was, frankly, a little better than he expected.

Thankfully the remaining questions were pretty simple, mostly about specific projects in his resume, and a few about his plans during his tenure here. After that, everyone was released to go back to their actual work, most of them students and interns working directly for Price himself, but a small group at the front of the room stayed behind.

Price happily introduced Simon to his fellow project leads. Some he’d heard before, even if he’d never worked with them directly. One in particular, Dr. Karim, who Price only introduced as Farah, Simon recognized from some of the journals she’d been published in.

She had been a protege of Price’s until making a name for herself in coral conservation, and was working on selectively breeding fast-reproducing, hardy polyps to use in reef restoration projects around the world. Her work in Australia had earned her several accolades, including the highly coveted MBA award, and there were talks of her being up for an OSA after she was in the field longer. Simon had long respected her work, they just rarely were on overlapping projects since his specialization was primarily in mangrove forests and hers was in the open ocean.

Doctors Vargas and Parra he was unfamiliar with, but they were apparently on loan from a facility in Mexico to continue their research on deep-sea species. Alejandro was primarily interested in bioluminescent species and potential medical applications of their genes, while Rodolfo mainly worked with crustaceans and isopods, studying concurrent evolution and carcinisation. Rodolfo also led one of the educational tours twice a week. Since the two of them worked directly for the aquarium itself rather than Price, he might not see them as often, but it was nice to have names to go with faces.

Kate Laswell, the woman he’d met at the door, was the self-titled “tech wizard” of the entire complex as well as a communications specialist. She was in charge of all the computers and assorted equipment throughout the aquarium, both in the labs and in the public eye, and most days she could be found in the theater babysitting the projectors. She had a decent tech support team, but preferred to handle any big issues herself.

Price himself was currently working on some sort of complex gene splicing experiment to combat red tides with a super algae. He’d explained it to Simon months ago, but phycology really went over his head. He liked working with the animals themselves rather than the plants, things he could see without cramming his face against a microscope all day.

“There’s three more important people you’ll meet at some point today, but Gaz is in charge of my students when I’m not around, and Soap and Alex work on the public side of the wall, so they probably won’t be back here for a few hours. And of course the sharks, you can see them on your own time.”

After proper introductions, a less hasty tour was given. The main labs, the doors that led to the back side of the public exhibits he would probably want access to, the bathrooms, and the break room complete with lunch fridge and coffee bar. Every so often they’d come across a group of students or regular employees and everyone was perfectly polite.

And then Simon was led to his new office. It was surprisingly spacious and airy for a room that was technically underground, with well-stocked bookshelves including a few of his own titles and a comfortable desk chair. There was a mini fridge in the corner, all the beakers and test tubes a man could ask for, and a double monitor computer set-up. It was honestly one of the best spaces he’d ever had designated just for himself.

He was left alone for most of the day to settle in, getting everything set up the way he liked it and going through the dossiers for the research he’d be focusing on for the next few months. He’d be doing a mix of observation and traditional academic research on differences between true river sharks and bull sharks, and how their organs, appearance and habits compared. There was an increased scientific interest in the migration patterns and how the species had evolved to give birth in freshwater, and how that might apply to other species in increasingly polluted or overfished areas to improve their frys’ chance of survival. He’d done some work with the Ganges sharks while in Bangladesh just after graduation, but this would be the first time since college working with a species in captivity rather than their natural habitat.

Royce, Meat, Archer and Frost were a group of bull sharks the aquarium had acquired separately after they suffered injuries in the wild and were determined ineligible for release, and the goal was to get at least one pair of them to successfully breed in captivity to carefully monitor the progress and the development of the pups. His tenure was only set for six months at the moment, to the end of the fiscal year, but assuming he didn’t absolutely hate the job, in all likelihood he’d be asked to remain on to continue seeing the project through, considering bull shark gestation itself averaged just over 10 months, and it would be a shame to not get to see the pups he helped come into existence.

He was excited to get to know the four of them, as well as some of the other big fish on display. There was nothing stopping him from working on solo projects while he waited for his conscripted data to develop, and the aquarium boasted a rather impressive wing of brackish tanks as well as some habitats for a few of his favorite species, namely Arowana and gar. And the rest of the sharks, too. While the open ocean wasn’t his preferred area of study, he still loved the power and majesty of sharks, as well as the diversity of all the different species and their individual adaptations. While bull and saw sharks were the ones he had the most experience with in person, he couldn’t deny giddy excitement over seeing a shortfin mako in action, or a wave of cuteness aggression at a pajama shark curling up for a little nap in a sunny sandbar like an aquatic kitten.

After a relatively quiet lunch he got to meet Kyle, Price’s second in command who introduced himself with a brilliant smile and a firm handshake as “just call me Gaz, mate. Everyone else does.” He was studying medicinal applications of crustaceans, particularly horseshoe crabs and how to make the harvesting of their blood more efficient and humane, so he did a lot of work with both Price’s team as well as Dr. Parra’s. He explained that he was sort of the liaison between the students and the department heads, and if Simon needed anything done he could trust Gaz to put together the perfect team to make it happen. He also had “an in” with the girls who ran the cafe, and could proffer pastries as needed.

Attached to his hip was Alex, who was a stark contrast to Gaz’s put-together neat haircut, designer sweater and slacks. Alex was another American, and at first Simon had wondered if a tourist had accidentally gotten lost looking for the loo and wandered back where he shouldn't, but the lanyard around his neck and the actual f*cking albino alligator pup draped over his shoulder were proof enough that wasn’t the case. Said alligator pup was being fed cooked shrimp by hand, looking as cozy as could be, and every few shrimp Alex would toss one into his own mouth.

He had on a tight navy blue polo shirt with the Aquarium’s logo embroidered on the breast pocket and startlingly short khaki shorts, exposing a metal blade-style prosthetic leg. His other three limbs were covered completely in tattoos, which much like Simon’s own were a mix of military symbolism, aquatic critters, and random bits of art. His mustache was almost impressive enough that Simon wondered if his mother and Price had ever been in the same place at the same time. But appearance and odd companion, Darwin he would later learn the gator pup was named, aside, Alex was incredibly well-spoken. He was also passionate about estuaries and inlets, which immediately made him Simon’s favorite employee. He was the main keeper and guide for the aquarium’s “Swamps and Grasslands” exhibit, as well as the event coordinator for large parties.

Simon barely resisted the urge to ask if his missing leg was from military service or something related to his area of expertise, but he figured if he didn’t like being asked about his mask, Alex wouldn’t want to be bothered about his leg.

And that just left one last person to meet before the end of the day: John “Soap” MacTavish. He had questioned that nickname, and gotten a giggly retelling of a series of “slippery when wet” jokes about the man’s propensity to forget to change into non-slip shoes when exiting the touch tanks and increasingly comical falling episodes that might have been mostly on purpose to entertain the kids.

He was the resident shark expert, despite not having a formal education in biology. The lack of degree didn’t bother Simon at all, though, as actual experience and passion was what really mattered to him in a research partner. Soap had apparently worked at the aquarium for nearly a decade now, almost exclusively in the shark and ray exhibits, and was a powerhouse of knowledge as well as a great public liaison. According to Alex, Soap loved teaching kids about sharks to demystify them and help destigmatize them, and Simon was excited to meet the man.

The opportunity to meet came about an hour before the official end of day, in the break room. Simon had just finished one last mug of tea to power through his last round of memorizing the map and employee dossiers he’d found, lab coat still off but mask back in place when a muscular, mohawked man sauntered in wearing an absolutely sinful wetsuit– navy blue with white and teal accents down the side that accentuated his trim waist and powerful thighs. His hair was slicked back with salt water and his face was lightly indented with the outline of diving goggles as he laughed and yelled the punchline of a joke at someone in the hallway.

He turned towards Simon as he grabbed a mug of lukewarm black coffee for himself, nodding once in politeness and raising his mug in greeting. “Hey Keegs, like the new hair.” His crooked smile and bright blue eyes were blinding and had Simon flustered enough he didn’t even get a reply out before the other man, whom he could only assume was Soap, was gone.

“Huh,” was all Simon managed to say, alone in the break room with his empty mug. It wasn’t often he was the victim of mistaken identity considering most people didn’t ever get to see his face, but damn if this wasn’t a funny way to meet the person you’d be working closely with for the next four-to-six months.

***

***

Mondays were usually pretty exciting days for Soap, and this week was no exception. It was technically the middle of his work week since his off days were Wednesday and Thursday so he’d be there for the weekend crowds, and pretty frequently a field trip day, which was always a treat. He loved watching the kids fall in love with his little buddies, and how even the shyest or most stand-offish scamps would pay rapt attention to, even volunteer to help with all the different shows they put on for them. Without fail he could get just about anyone to have a great time when he was in charge.

And, okay, maybe that was just a teensy bit because of Siren magic. But hey! What they didn’t know didn’t hurt them, and the teachers and parents and scout leaders all seemed grateful that he had such a way with kids. It wasn’t only magic, anyways, he was just a delight and a good teacher.

The animals he worked with certainly helped, too. It was easy to get the grubby tomboys and scabbed-kneed future footie pros excited about the bite force and pack hunting tactics of sharks, and the curious little ones with bright eyes and gentle hands always giggled at getting splashed by a stingray.

The touch tank was large enough for a significant group to gather in front and everyone still have a pretty clear view, a massive kidney shaped enclosure about a meter deep at the edges with a gentle slope to two meters in the center, with an artificial island for him to stand on. Hanging speakers and lights as well as video monitors to give a topside view fill the upper half of the space, and one side has a raised platform for little kids or folks in wheelchairs to get up to the edge of the glass and reach in safely without dangling. A wall of rocks and plants covered the intense, powerful filtration system that keeps the water crystal clear as well as the semi-hidden door for him to get in and out of the tank via.

Not connected internally but sharing a wall with the space were the other touch-friendly exhibits, artificial tide pools with starfish and urchins and crabs, currently being worked by one of Dr. Price’s students he couldn’t remember the name of. She was showing a group of little old ladies how the urchins would put on tiny hats, and Soap mourned the fact that he didn’t get to put tiny hats on his own animals.

Today he was running a little ragged, normally there was another employee or two specifically to guide the larger groups and keep them on a tour schedule, but he was managing fine. The kids were older and asking questions he actually had to think about the answer to, and respecting the two-finger-touch rule pretty well. Pancake, his spoiled princess of a cownose ray, had already made her displeasure known to the only one who had tried to grab at her with a firm reprimand in the form of absolutely drenching him and possibly ruining his phone, and none of the others had repeated his mistake.

“Why don’t the sharks eat the fish in the tank?”

“Well, we keep them pretty well fed, and most of them have been with us since they were babies so they never learned how to hunt on their own.” Of course, the sharks did sometimes go after the few tropical fish mixed in, but the kids didn’t need to know that, or the fact that those fish were ‘acceptable losses’ as they’d already been kicked out of their previous homes for poor behavior.

“Why don’t the stingrays sting you?”

“They actually have their barbs removed to keep everyone safe– don’t worry it doesn’t hurt them to do it, but also because they trust me and know I’m the guy with the treats in his pockets.” Which of course always leads to a demo of how stingrays eat, to the equal awe and horror of the crowd.

“Wouldn’t it be better for the animals to be in the wild?”

“A lot of them will go back to the wild someday! Some are here to be studied or receive vet treatment and will go back, some were born in captivity or are too sick or hurt to survive on their own.” Also, y’know, the fact that they have a perfectly built habitat with no predators or competition or pollution, plenty of food and healthy breeding partners.

“How do you know the animals are happy?” He resisted the urge to snicker as he parroted the human-friendly answer he had memorized long ago.

“Well, if they weren’t happy, they’d stop eating and start showing restless behavior. We have a pretty close bond with our animals, so I can tell when they’re not acting like themselves. Molly here,” he gestured to the nurse shark laying across his feet, “is very cuddly as you can see, and is very food motivated. So if she was hiding or ignoring snacks, I’d know something was wrong. We’d have one of our highly trained vets look her over, and if they determined the issue was that she was stressed or depressed, we’d probably move her out of the public tanks for further observation, and the biologists would determine what to do from there.”

The rest of the questioning went much the same, good-faith if not pointed questions that the kids seemed to appreciate the answers to, and while Soap was always happy to educate people on both the animals themselves as well as their facilities, he was still worn out by the time the group moved on to the next part of their tour. He flipped the “keeper returning in fifteen minutes” sign over and climbed up to his little passageway that led to a closet-like space for him to dry off and change shoes in before getting to the main employee area, sort of like a space ship’s airlock, but for him to not drip saltwater all over anything important instead of depressurizing in atmosphere.

He made a beeline for the break room’s ever-present source of caffeine, joking around with one of the lab techs he ran into on the way, and was delighted to find a mostly full, not completely cold pot waiting for him. The room was mostly empty minus one other person, and it would be rude to ignore them, so he nodded in greeting, then realized who it was after a brief moment of confusion.

He was used to the security team mostly blending into the background in their uniform of all black with a face mask, but he wasn’t used to seeing any of them back here. They had their own break area by the loading dock, and Keegan especially usually just hung out with his fellow American friends who worked in the youth area upstairs when he wasn’t on the job. But who knows, maybe their coffee maker was broken or he was hoping to bum a cigarette from someone, or maybe he was just trying to dodge Logan and Roach’s pranks for a few minutes. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was suddenly sporting a blonde buzz cut rather than the short, dark curls Soap was used to seeing. Either way, he did still have to rush back before the next tour group showed up, so he couldn’t stick around to find out.

Sufficiently caffeinated, he had a much easier time with the rest of the day. There were just two more scheduled tours, both smaller groups, and then the regular patrons that started to peter out as the day went on. It was mostly just reminding kids of the two-finger-touch rule a couple times, warning people that Pancake was a menace, and getting his knee slammed into by a juvenile dogfish darting around like a lunatic.

By the time he was dry and back in his street clothes, Alex, Roach and Gaz were waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning against the back wall of the building and chatting. They all lived within a few blocks of each other and would take the bus together on days their schedules overlapped, with Gaz and Alex being flatmates.

“Hey Tav! Was starting to worry you’d gotten eaten,” Gaz laughed and waved from across the few empty parking spaces separating them.

Soap laughed and shook his hair out again, the salt trying to flatten his mohawk down still. “Nah chums, got caught up talking sh*t with one of the janitors.” They had started to walk together, assorted bags slung over shoulders and in various states of uniform removal, when Soap remembered the odd earlier interaction. “Oh, hey, Roach! What’d you guys do to scare Keegan off today?”

Roach– Gary, but nobody called him that, was a lanky ginger with a distinctive burn scar peeking out from the collar and sleeve of his shirt, with vividly green eyes, an easy smile and unruly curls that sometimes stuck up like little antennae. He was also one of the main guest liaisons, and ran the “magical grotto” that Soap hated on principle. It was an impressive dive show, he just despised the image of flouncy, pretty, mostly human mermaids that blew bubble kisses and handed out sunken pirate treasure. But obviously he couldn’t tell anyone that when he shifted he looked more like a shark and a vampire had an unholy bastard lovechild, that his tail didn’t fold over that way, that his sisters didn’t have magically appearing seashell bras and long, flowing hair. Unless he wanted to end up in either a psych ward or a government lab, where the scientists would undoubtedly be much less gentle than his friends here.

He was broken from his stormy little rumination by Roach’s face scrunching up in confusion. “What are you talking about?” He spoke and signed in tandem out of habit, voice a little raspy from the fire damage he’d survived years ago.

“It had to have been something for him to be in our break room instead! And he was blonde ! Did you pour bleach in his shampoo or something?”

“He was off today.” ‘And I’ve never been to his house!’ There was a blush and a defensive pout on his face when he signed the second part that Soap would absolutely dig into later, but for now he had to focus on the first part.

“Uh, no way, I definitely saw him. Big beefy dude in all black and a face mask staring at a mug like it held the answers to the universe?”

Gaz snorted right as Alex laughed out, “Oh no, Soap you didn’t!” that overlapped with Roach’s confused hum as he signed ‘Keegan has his own thermos for iced coffee.’

“What? What didn’t I do?”

“Did you seriously call Doctor f*cking Riley, Price’s close personal friend and newly hired resident award-winning biologist in your department, by the wrong name and then walk away?” Gaz broke off with a wheeze, leaning heavily on Alex.

“Ah, f*ck. I think I did.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Look at my beautiful boys' ID badges! Done by the incredibly talented @saragapen

Email from: [emailprotected]

To: [emailprotected]

BCC: [emailprotected], [emailprotected]

Subject: Board Presentations

Good afternoon lab directors. A very friendly reminder that our company-wide charity gala is Sunday. It is black tie and attendance is mandatory for you. The flier is on the announcements board in the break room if you’ve forgotten the details. Be prepared to schmooze for grant money.

Each research team will be expected to give a 3-5 minute presentation on their current project. Nothing fancy, just talk about what you’re spending money on and what you could use more of. Convince these old rich f*cks that your fish are special and deserve their tax-deductible donations. If you need help putting together a powerpoint, feel free to borrow my muppets, they all spend too much time on their computers anyway.

Remember. Sunday. BLACK TIE. Powerpoint. Free Booze.

Dr. John Price, MB

Senior Laboratory Director

Phone Extension 141

Soap was in hell. Actual, physical, Catholic Dante-and-Virgil Hell™. He had to be. There was no other possible explanation for how quickly his life had fallen apart. The sea gods his family prayed to couldn’t possibly be this cruel, it had to be one of the human gods’ doing.

One week he was doing his job perfectly normally, competent and sure of himself and generally happy. He had a nice apartment with an ocean view and a big bathtub. He had weekly chats with his family and a great network of friends. He got paid to work with animals he knew since he came out of the womb, and had one of the largest tanks in the country to free dive in after-hours so long as he remembered to cut the camera feeds and no students were flitting around desperate to finish their essays. Everything was great.

And then the next, Doctor f*cking Riley showed up and ruin everything.

He didn’t even actually do anything wrong! If anything, Soap was the one who made it awkward in the beginning. But the very first time they actually made eye contact, a Tuesday afternoon in Dr. Riley’s office, Soap knew.

The species of shark Soap’s family most closely resembled were shortfin makos. In addition to physical appearance, they shared the speed, intelligence, and drive of their fishy counterparts. But one of the most notable features in common was polyandry– females would take multiple mates to ensure genetic diversity in her pups. His mum had three including his father, and his sisters who were old enough to have mates each had two. For the males though, they typically only had one “true” mate, though the individual couple may be alright with the human concept of “swinging”.

And apparently, Dr. Riley was Soap’s.

He wasn’t even sure how that would work. As far as he knew, it was completely unheard of for one’s mate to be both completely human and the same sex. He’d always been pretty fluid in his sexual attraction, not picky with hookups by any means in regards to gender or humanity, but soul mates? That was an entirely separate deal. It just didn’t work the same for his species.

On top of the biological mystery banging around in his mind, his body was very much trying to respond to his mate’s presence. Normally, his shifts were just that: an easy, natural shift as his body stretched and warped as it was designed to. He didn’t consciously make any of it happen beyond the decision to shift, and it rarely hurt other than some minor discomfort if it had been a while, or he had to stop part-way through.

But now, though, he was sore and irritable from constantly forcing the change to stop. His body yearned to show its preferred form off to his mate, to show his strength and speed and virility in a dazzling display of hunting and sprinting. To show off how pretty his blue dentricles were, and how impressive his claspers and teeth were. It left him fidgety and nervous, worried that if he got lost in thought his body would simply ignore the fact that he was on dry land and rip him into the change, leaving him flopping and gasping on the floor until somebody inevitably killed and dissected him for science. His odd behavior was very clearly irritating Dr. Riley, and his friends had started making comments about it too, but it was either act like a kid on a sugar rush or risk real danger.

At least Pancake was supportive.

Well, she mostly just wanted the sardines in his pocket, but she at least listened to him whine while trying to figure out the zipper mechanism.

He sighed and ran a hand along her slick back, violating his own two finger touch rule on the grounds of ‘she’s my friend, shut up’. He wished he could talk about this with his human friends, but even then they wouldn’t be able to get the whole story. Without telling them about the magic cosmic bullsh*t, he just sounded like a petulant kid with a ‘hot for teacher’ complex. Dr. Riley was technically his boss, even if they were billed as partners. He knew how it worked in academic circles. He knew the sharks feeding schedules and how to tell them apart by their scars and slight facial differences, but Dr. Riley was the one who knew all the important stuff about gonad density and pheromone values and how to measure for R, whatever the f*ck that was.

And he knew exactly how that conversation would go depending on who he tried to have it with. Gaz and Alex would say something like “can’t help you mate, Farah just kind of pointed at us and called dibs. Just don’t do anything that’d get the ethics board involved.” And she had, to the point Soap had almost accidentally revealed his secret assuming she was like him. But she was woefully human, the three of them just worked best as a unit of three. Roach would tell him to just go for it and then completely ignore his own advice and continue to pine over his favorite security guard. Alejandro would wax poetry about the night he knew Rudy was the one for him, get smacked in the head, and still offer to play guitar while Soap confessed his undying love. Price would tell him to never talk to him about relationship sh*t again and to get back to work.

So, whining to Pancake while scrubbing algae off of the glass it was going to have to be.

He almost escaped the rest of the evening unphased until he caught the sight of Dr. Riley wandering around with an exhibit map in hand. He looked dashing, the same neatly tailored black slacks and dark top he always wore (a dark red button-up today, done all the way up, no tie) under his stark white labcoat. He looked a bit out of place amongst all the tourists in jeans and shorts, even without taking his mask into account.

If Soap had been struggling to control his shift before, it was ten times harder now that he was actively in the water. His skin hummed with electricity, crackling and burning inside his wetsuit in anticipation. He could feel his second eyelid trying to slot into place. It somehow got even worse when Dr. Riley looked up and met his eyes again, his dark amber irises practically glowing under the bright exhibit lights.

“There you are. Please tell me you’re going to be at the stupid charity thing this weekend.” He looked out of breath, broad chest expanding and straining the jasper buttons of his shirt.

“Uh… I wasn’t planning on it?” Soap laughed it off, having absolutely no desire to attend. Those sort of events were for rich blowhards and Price’s lackeys.

“f*ck. I need you there.” He looked desperate, and Soap should have been ashamed at the way it made his co*cks twitch, but he wasn’t.

“Why?”

“Price is making each research team give a speech. You’re… good. At talking. And crowds.”

“Doctor Riley, are you asking me to be your plus-one so you can hide from giving a presentation?” Soap purred and leaned over the glass a bit, as seductive as one could be while standing hip deep in an artificial pond with a squirt bottle in one hand and a filthy rag in the other

The big blonde huffed and leveled a deadly stare at Soap. “Yes. Five minute speech with visuals about why our work is important in exchange for free dinner and booze.”

“You’ve got yourself a date.”

f*ck.

Auditory Transcript of Field Note Entry #167:

Temperature and salinity of the exhibit were increased to summer levels over nine days, and the sharks are responding as expected. Specimen known as Royce has been especially responsive, with a notable increase in territory based aggression. Specimen Frost has been much more interested in both him and Specimen Archer, but Specimen Meat seems more focused on food still. This may be because Meat is freshly sexually mature and this is her first mating season in captivity, or she may just not be impressed by our boys yet. Neither Royce or Archer has initiated any sort of courtship towards the females, but have become notably more aggressive towards each other.

Internal cleaning of the tank by divers has been suspended for the time being and will be maintained via pole scraper and a colony of cleaner shrimp. Exhibit is still open to the public for now, but that will change if it becomes visibly dirty or the sharks become aggressive towards the other reef inhabitants.

I’d love to get in there myself and get some more detailed readings of their internal temps and heart rates, but Price will skin me alive for asking [laughter].

[glass shatters]

f*cking hell, Soap, careful with those beakers! [muffled speaking, incomprehensible] Just get the broom, thank God they only had water samples in them. Note to self: re-structure spreadsheet data in report to include every other day’s data to cover the loss of day four. Are you bleeding? Christ, go wrap that before you irritate the sharks.

[radio static, shuffling, door closing]

[Recording ends.]

Other than a few minor hiccups, the start of Simon’s tenure was going, pun intended, swimmingly. By the end of his third week, he’d developed a comfortable routine that seemed to work for everybody. In the mornings he’d stick to reading textbooks in his office so the students and interns could find him if needed, then he’d take his lunch out on the patio to watch the seagulls terrorize guests.

After lunch, he’d spend a few hours observing the group of sharks he’d been assigned, taking detailed notes and field sketches, and then the last hour of his day would be spent flitting around being equal parts nosy and helpful, seeing what his fellow researchers were up to. On Wednesdays he’d give a lecture just before lunch on a hastily chosen topic, and on Fridays the first hour of the day was usually spent in the wetlands exhibit before it got too crowded or anyone could miss him.

In the evening, he’d get home and drop his bag and keys by the door. He’d finish up any emails he missed on his phone, and then watch something mindless while Whiskey reclaimed him as her person with a veritable cloud of pristine white fur all over his black slacks. A nice jog around the neighborhood if the weather allowed, something simple for dinner, one more round of emails, switch which houseplant was situated under the leaky spot in the ceiling as needed, and then off to a drug-assisted dreamless sleep. It was comfortable, and Simon was beginning to appreciate the concept of comfort as he got older.

Outside of a healthy routine and meaningful work, Simon had developed three favorite things about the Verdansk Memorial Aquarium.

First: Practicing his language skills. While he’d always been a polyglot, he didn’t get to flex those muscles as much as he’d like now that he was back in the UK indefinitely. As a child he’d taught himself conversational language skills as part of grand plans to run away to some far away place someday. In the military he’d done work as a translator for different task forces. And now as a biologist he was able to travel to work with rare species simply because he could speak to the locals to find their habitats in dense, untouched forests or vast deserts.

But the aquarium had employees from all over the world, especially foreign exchange students and visiting biologists. The facility prided itself in being accessible to everyone , so employees who were multilingual were highly valued. He had new smoking buddies in the parking lot attendants to learn Korean and regional German from, was brushing up on both his BSL and ASL with some of the youth aquarium employees, was re-learning the difference between Mexican and Castilian Spanish via Rudy and Alejandro, had Farah to speak Arabic with, and got to stumble through Russian whenever Nikolai came by to visit. He’d also heard Japanese, Swahili, and Greek around, but hadn’t quite developed a friendship with those individuals yet.

Second: “Riley One”, and his own designation as “Riley Two” or “Human Riley”. One of the professional mermaids for the diving show, Logan, had a beautiful German Shepherd as his service animal, and while he was in the tank, she had freedom to roam around a bit. She usually stuck nearby, but if she needed to go for a walk, it wasn’t unusual to have her scratch at your office door and throw those big brown eyes your way. Simon found it greatly amusing to clip his ID badge onto her harness, but Price did not.

While Simon was historically a cat person, he had developed a love of working dogs during his time in the armed services, and Riley was a dead ringer for some of the dogs he’d gotten to know back then. He also had a great time getting to know her handler, as well as the individuals Logan usually hung out with on his side of the aquarium. Simon and Roach became quick friends, with a similar sense of humor and work ethics, and that led to him also getting “adopted” by the security team, who were mostly retired military themselves, several Americans and a few Brits, whose uniform was reminiscent of his own wardrobe of choice.

It might seem like overkill for an aquarium to have black-clad guards in tactical gear rather than your average rent-a-cops, but with a history of misguided anti-captivity protests, several incredibly rare and fragile species in publicly accessible exhibits, and large amounts of cash flow daily, it was more efficient to have a small team of dedicated, skilled experts than dozens of people just there to collect a paycheck.

Keegan, the man Simon had been mistaken for on his first day, was an absolute delight. He was quiet, but when he talked it was poignant if not atrociously accented, and it was painfully obvious he was sweet on the resident sign language interpreter. Simon had a great time watching their “will they won’t they” routine when he had time, sometimes shoulder to shoulder with a still-costumed Logan hanging over the ledge of the mermaid tank.

“You think those two will ever actually get it together?”

‘Dude, gross, Keegan is my brother’s best friend. I don’t want to think about him getting laid.’ Which was followed by a resounding, low “boof” from Riley, where she was curled up on top of Logan’s pants.

But the third and most exciting thing about working at the aquarium: Simon had developed a reputation. And not because of his experience or his intelligence or his appearance. No no. Even better. It even came with a nickname, though he was more partial to “Riley Two.”

The interns and students had started calling him Ghost. It was the kind of nickname he’d been desperate for as a young, freshly recruited adult wanting a cool call sign, something about his stealth and deadly nature. It was much funnier at this point of his life.

He’d always walked quietly, a consequence of growing up in a home where making too much noise and reminding his father of his existence was dangerous. So the amount of times he’d accidentally scared the absolute hell out of someone was downright hilarious. “Nobody that big should be that quiet” and “oughta put a bell on you” had been said more times than he could count, especially in rooms where massive sump pumps drowned out all other noise. It also didn’t help that he did occasionally wear a skull-print mask for Casual Friday if he hadn’t gotten around to washing his plain black ones, preferring the reusable cloth over disposables.

So, everything was going great! His sharks were happy and healthy, his research was satisfying, his friend group was growing, his cat had stopped hissing at the people on the sidewalk below her favorite window ledge, his boss was delighted by his quick progress, and his bank account was much more comfortable than it had been in a while.

Everything, except his research partner.

Simon loved making lists and categorizing things. So if he had a list of his three favorite things about his new job, he also had his three least favorite things. And all three of them revolved entirely around Soap.

First, there was the stumbling around their awkward first encounter. Soap had apologized profusely and properly introduced himself, and frankly Simon thought the entire thing was hysterical, but it had started them off on uneven footing. It also didn’t help that they didn’t spend much actual time together to really get past that. They worked different overlapping days and hours, and most of Soap’s time was spent on the public side. He was an absolute fountain of knowledge in regards to the specific animals in the aquarium’s care, but he wasn’t as versed in true technical information, so there was only so much they could really help each other with when they were in the lab or Simon’s office together. It was a lot of just reading academic texts around each other until Soap needed to get back to the touch tanks or shark tunnel.

Secondly, when they did talk, Soap’s voice drove him absolutely insane. His Scottish accent wasn’t terribly thick, but he punctuated his speech frequently with absolute nonsense slang and filler words that rolled through his raspy brogue like stormclouds. He was also loud, completely incapable of living in silence for longer than a few minutes at a time. If he wasn’t talking he was humming or patting his hands in his lap or doing some other annoying, fidgety thing like clicking a pen or jingling his lanyard. He wasn’t even necessarily hyper or impatient, it just seemed like if he ever stopped moving he would instantly drop dead, like the sharks he loved so much. While Simon had become the ghost of the aquarium, quietly fading into the background, Soap took up space to the point he was impossible to ignore.

And that was the absolute worst part. Simon didn’t want to ignore him.

Every time he caught those downright electric blue eyes, something just yanked itself around in his chest. It was almost supernatural, the way he felt drawn to them. Sure, Soap was a relatively handsome guy. He had a nice face, a toned body, and was friendly and intelligent and great with kids. All desirable qualities in a partner, yeah. His hair was nice when it wasn’t gelled down from salt, if you ignored the style, and he dressed well when he wasn’t in a wetsuit. And maybe the fact that he held full conversations with fish like they could actually understand him was just a little bit adorable.

But Simon was nearly forty. He didn’t have time for office crushes, especially not on coworkers a decade his junior with crooked, toothy smiles and sea-glass eyes. Which meant he was trapped in perpetual, sexually frustrated hell. He didn’t even know if Soap was into men! And if he was, there was no way he’d be attracted to Simon specifically, with graying hair and distinctive scars, and no sense of social etiquette, and the fact that his dick was stored in a box in the nightstand. He was too old to play the dating game, or deal with anyone who might be insensitive to his particular needs.

It was simply easier and more comfortable to be alone, with his cat and his houseplants and his books, and he’d maintained that opinion for a very long time. One bubbly twenty-something with the bluest f*cking eyes he’d ever seen wasn’t going to change that in a matter of a few weeks.

He tried to convince himself of that, anyway.

Standing on the steps to the fancy hotel where the company charity gala was being held, frantically smoking to calm his nerves and watching the crowd for one specific stupid haircut, it was a little easier. He had a fountain of impatient disappointment ready to spill over the second it was one hundred percent certain that Soap had bailed on him in his hour of need.

If Soap flaked, he did have a hastily thrown together presentation on a flashdrive burning a hole in his pocket, but odds were he’d bolt instead of actually getting up on the stage and subjecting himself to dozens of curious socialites. If Price fired him over it, he could probably be on a plane to somewhere else by the end of the week. All of Whiskey’s vet records were still up to date and he had a decently padded savings account again, it shouldn’t be too hard.

Dinner was supposed to be served soon and Soap still hadn’t shown. Farah had come out to check on him, looking absolutely resplendent in an olive green, silky gown and a faux-fur shrug over her shoulders, long hair styled to perfection and waterfalling down her back like a fantasy novel heroine. She threw him a pitying smile and offered to “sacrifice one of her boys'' if he needed it, but the thought of forcing either Gaz or Alex to give an impromptu speech based on his chicken scratch notecard and half-assed powerpoint just seemed like an abuse of power.

Besides, he’d contracted Soap to do this. They were partners in this experiment, so Soap was just as qualified as he was, if not more so for his general sociability. And bailing at the last minute would be a pretty definitive judge of his character. And that should be all it was, irritation at a coworker for flaking. But the fact that Soap had called it a date was making him all the more flustered about it. There was no way the Scot knew about his embarrassing little crush, he was good at hiding his emotions, but it felt like a jab straight to the heart every minute that ticked by without an appearance.

Five minutes to dinner and opening remarks from Price, Simon stubbed out his third cigarette and dusted himself off. He looked nice, at least. He’d gone for a black turtleneck under a black suit with stainless steel cufflinks that looked like little megalodon teeth, and adorned a few silver rings to complete the look. If he was going to have to be stared at, he’d at least give the crowd something nice to look at. And hopefully the look was enough to flirt his way into a double, maybe a triple, shot of bourbon for some courage before Price dragged him kicking and screaming onto the stage. He’d already had two shots of it, but they hadn’t quite managed to settle his nerves.

He was just about to step back inside when a car door slammed. He whipped around on instinct to find the threat and reached for the knife hidden under his suit jacket, a little tick he’d never been able to get rid of after his discharge.

But there was no threat, just a very flustered Soap frantically straightening out his own jacket and slicking back his hair. They met eyes and Soap’s smile alone melted half the tension in Simon’s body. They held each other's gaze as he sprinted up the stairs and grabbed the door handle, rushing out an apology for running late as he gestured for Simon to go ahead.

He looked downright stunning. Black slacks, shiny shoes and matching belt, an almost-white pastel pink button-up, black tie and a velvety, maroon sportcoat. His mohawk was gelled back with the ends falling in neat little curls. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, showing off a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his chin, and a fashionable gold watch rested heavily on his wrist. He cleaned up surprisingly well.

“I’m so sorry Dr. Riley, I missed my bus and had to wait for someone with a car to text me back, and I didn’t realize until I was already late that I don’t actually have your phone number.”

He almost wanted to say ‘you can call me Simon when we’re off work’, but he was still a little angry at the tardiness. Soap did look absolutely distraught, though, so Simon cut him just the tiniest little bit of slack. “It’s fine, Soap. Just glad you’re here.” There was a strong urge to make a jab about half-expecting him to show up in a kilt, but he wasn’t sure if he should be pushing it when Soap was technically doing him a favor.

“Aye, sir, wouldn’t dream of standing you up on our first date.” His cheeky grin was back, and Simon couldn’t help but smile behind his mask too. Soap should always be smiling, he decided. Worry didn’t suit his pretty, tan face.

Simon dropped off their tickets and barely resisted the urge to rest a hand on Soap’s lower back as they navigated the hotel ballroom to find their table for dinner. It wasn’t too difficult with most people already seated or mingling near their own assigned groups, and Simon was relieved to find his seat faced away from the majority of the room, and that his table was occupied entirely by people he was comfortable with. It was the two of them, Alejandro and Rudy, Farah and “her boys”, and three of Price’s students that Simon had gotten to know decently well.

Price, Nikolai, Laswell and her wife Phoebe were at the next table over with some of the other aquarium executives, and their other neighboring table was occupied by some of the engineers and ecologists that worked around the biology department but had their own labs for most things. There were a few other employees milling about that he recognized the faces of, but as expected most of the guests in attendance were mildly important millionaires using a weekend in Dover to flaunt their wealth and “dedication to humanitarian causes” because “we only get one planet” and all the other corporate swill they regurgitated while the rest of them danced for donations.

A fashionable five minutes after advertised, Price took his place on the stage, flanked by Laswell and a bald, heavier-set man Simon had never seen before, but was introduced as the aquarium’s executive board leader. His welcome speech was perfunctory and polite, dotted with milquetoast humor to make the crowd giggle softly. Simon was so used to seeing him in either sweater vests and awful hats or a dive suit that seeing him in a proper tuxedo was jarring. Nikolai had somehow gotten away with wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, and Simon wondered what that argument had sounded like.

Dinner was a mildly fancy, multiple-course affair. Boring mixed green salads with an “artisanal vinaigrette” and ciabatta croutons brought out with ice waters, followed by scallop escabeche and a vintage white with an aftertaste that made Simon grimace. Each course had a wine pairing, which would have been wonderful to know before he’d downed his earlier bourbon shots. Pancetta and chive topped crab cakes paired with a less heinous Chardonnay. Stuffed trout in a tangy green sauce with quinoa as the main, with a passable Cabernet. And some sort of fancy bread pudding with a Malbec that was either actually good, or he was no longer sober enough to have wine opinions.

The entire dinner, he kept his eyes down and on his plate. He could feel the occasional glance his way, and chose to ignore them until it was polite to put his mask back on. The scar from his temple down his forehead was thin and most people got used to it quickly, but he knew the lower half of his face was much more… distinctive. The bridge of his nose, upper lip, cheek and jaw all had gouges of their own, and inspired people to look closer and start noticing things like the fact that the upper cartilage of his right ear was gone, or that the pinkie on his left hand was missing its tip. Most people were too focused on their own meals to really pay him any attention beyond the initial novelty of finally getting to see “the face of the Ghost”, but he was acutely aware of the fact that Soap kept glancing his way in his periphery.

“Got a staring problem?” He mumbled between sips of the dessert wine, and Soap quickly corrected himself, but a little flutter of something remained. There was no way he actually cared if Soap found him attractive, right? Sure, he’d heard it before, that some people were into scars, but that was typically reserved for ones that came with stories of heroism or exciting hobbies. None of his were particularly interesting beyond initial shock value.

After plates were cleared Price took the stage again, alone this time, to explain that a representative from each research branch would be giving a brief presentation of their current work’s significance and how it would impact the world. Simon mostly tuned them out, already being intimately familiar with the projects happening around him. The patrons all “ooh”ed and “aww”ed appropriately and the little donation meter in the corner of the screen on stage grew steadily, and Simon mostly just made snarky comments with Rudy and clapped when everyone else did.

Soap’s presentation was surprisingly good, hitting the key points of their research with succinct amounts of information and the potential applications. He did a nice job of humanizing their subjects, which Simon knew from experience to be a struggle with species like bull sharks who were categorized as biologically aggressive. They received a few sizable contributions at the end of his time on stage, to which Price raised his glass in their direction as congratulations.

Bolstered by the wine, Simon pulled Soap aside as he stepped off the raised platform and thanked him genuinely. A faint blush that might have been from Soap’s own alcohol intake softened his face at the praise, matching his blazer perfectly in a way that made Simon’s heart skip a beat. He retreated tactically after that, not in the right headspace to further examine the feeling.

The rest of the night was spent doing his version of mingling, which looked a lot more like routine surveillance to the trained eye. Price gave him a concerned eyebrow furrow at one point, but Simon shrugged it off. He was fine , just tired of being in uncomfortable Italian loafers and a little buzzed.

He stumbled into a conversation at just the right moment to catch what might have been the best exchange of the night, taking a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray to hold for something to do with his hands and sidling up next to Gaz right as a short, elderly man in a well-tailored tux hobbled up to Alex, who had presented on behalf of Farah’s research team, purely for the opportunity to roll up the leg of his suit, revealing his prosthetic leg. His joke that donations were vital so they could afford to feed the alligators better was a crowd-killer, and they’d gotten the donation meter up nearly an entire notch from that.

The three of them really did make a striking group. Farah was resplendent in her slinky evening gown and gold accessories, Alex had worn a dark gray suit over a cream button-up, and Gaz looked fresh from Milan Fashion week in a light khaki suit over an Army green shirt, opting for a patterned silk scarf instead of a tie. Both men had cleaned up their facial hair, and Gaz had small gold hoops in his earlobes. If Simon didn’t regularly see them in rubber boots and scrub tops, he would never assume they didn’t belong amongst the high society f*cks he was dodging semi-successfully. Until Alex opened his mouth, of course.

“Ah! You must be the Dr. Karim we’ve been hearing so much about. An absolute pleasure to meet you, sir.” Everything about the man screamed “old money”. Even his thin, wire-framed glasses looked expensive.

Alex’s eyes lit up with pure mischief, and both Gaz and Farah stared in horror. He straightened his shiny green tie, seeming to draw attention to the fact that it complimented Farah’s dress perfectly, before grabbing the man’s outstretched hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “No sir, I’m just the guy she pegs.”

Gaz sputtered, trying not to choke on an unfortunately timed sip of his fancy co*cktail while Farah made a noise that could only be described as a squawk as she shoved Alex out of the way and took the benefactor’s hand herself. “Ah! So sorry, please ignore Mr. Keller. He means I, ah… peg him with busy work and manual labor in the lab! As in pawn it off on him! Farah Karim, a pleasure to meet you sir. These are my associates, Kyle and Alex.”

Simon escaped in the chaos, snickering behind his mask, and clung to the walls as he made his way around to talk with the few people he did actually care about, offering polite “thank you for your donations”s as necessary and getting maybe a little more intoxicated than he should for a work event.By the time it was acceptable to leave, Simon was pleasantly warm and hated the crowd just a bit less than usual. He had lost Soap at some point and felt a little bad leaving without a proper goodbye, but his bed and comfortable pants were calling his name.

He grabbed the first person he recognized on the way out the door, Alejandro in a dark suit juggling two almost-overflowing martinis, and said, “let Johnny know I had to head out, but I appreciate everything he did tonight. Thanks Ale.” And he was too inebriated and tunnel-visioned on the comforts of home to register the nicknames.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Email from: [emailprotected]

To: [emailprotected], jemactavish@verdanskaqu

CC: “company wide”

Subject: FOLLOW UP EDIT Family Appreciation Day

Hey everyone! Disregard the times in my previous email: The correct event hours are 2pm-9pm. All other information is correct. Family members of all ages are welcome to attend, please just let me know by Friday how many people you’re bringing so we can get catering taken care of. You can get your wristbands from my office any time next week. Your guests will have to have them on to get free admittance and be allowed to stay after hours. You just need your ID badge.

Kate Laswell

Sent from my iPhone

Simon woke up to one of the worst possible sounds you can hear on a Saturday morning: the unexpected buzzing of his front door. With a groan, he fumbled for the mask on his dresser without opening his eyes and forced himself to sit up. Hopefully it was just someone dropping off a package he forgot was coming and they’d go away before he made it to the door.

Another round of shrill, rapid-fire buzzes destroyed that hope rather succinctly.

“Alright! I’m coming! Hold your f*cking horses, Christ.” He wiggled into the sweatpants he’d discarded late last night and narrowly avoided tripping over Whiskey as she weaved through his legs, making her displeasure at both the noise and the state of her food dish known.

Not even bothering to look through the peep-hole first, he threw the door open as far as the chain would allow, ready to yell at whoever was disturbing the sanctity of his Saturday morning laze about. But before he could growl at some solicitor, excited yelling froze him in place.

Overlapping cries of “Uncle Simon!” and “Jesus son put a shirt on!” and “I told you he wouldn’t be happy to see us” echoed around the dim, peeling hallway. And all Simon could really do was blink owlishly for a concerning amount of time.

His mother’s stern voice snapped him out of it eventually. “Well, are you going to invite us in?”

“Right. Uh, yeah. Just a second, sorry Mum.” He pushed the door shut again and debated just putting the deadbolt back on and hiding in his room for the rest of eternity, but if anyone could out-stubborn him it was his sister in law, and he really didn’t want to incur her wrath with how pregnant she currently was. Instead, he grabbed a mostly clean t-shirt to cover his chest, did a cursory sweep for anything not suitable for children, and lamented the fact that he would absolutely be scolded for the takeaway containers stacked on the counter before opening the door fully for his family.

His mum, brother, sister in law, nephew and niece were all crowded in his narrow doorway with assorted luggage. Delilah, the youngest at four, immediately spotted Whiskey and darted after her with a delighted cry of “Kitty!” Joseph, who was about to be ten, didn’t look up from his video game while he walked in and made himself comfortable in the overstuffed recliner. Thomas, Simon’s younger brother by three years, wrangled the suitcases into the little nook off to the side of the doorway to be out of the way while their mother, Allison, helped Beth inside and to a suitable spot on the couch.

Simon’s flat wasn’t large, just an open concept living space and kitchen with an eat-at counter, a bedroom that doubled as a home office, and a decently sized bathroom with an attached utility closet. The main attractions had been in-unit laundry, the bay window for Whiskey, and the proximity to the bus depot. Everything else was manageable, especially considering the majority of his furniture and wardrobe came from second-hand shops and he had very little art or knick-knacks after living nomadic for so long. The newest things in the entire flat were the cat tree in the bedroom and the work-provided laptop on his desk. It was cozy enough for him and his cat.

Now, with five additional people occupying the space, it felt stifling. He glanced at the suitcases nervously and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “Uh, can I get anyone a drink? And also why are you here?”

Thomas snorted and broke into a cackle, the same laugh Simon had when he actually let loose. “Relax big brother, we’re not staying here. We just can’t check into the hotel until four.

Delilah popped out from behind the kitchen counter, not quite understanding that Whiskey was in fact running for her life and not initiating a game of hide-and-seek. “Grandpa Nik told us to come see the fishies!”

Simon barely restrained the ire from his voice, not wanting to frighten the little girl with his tone. “Grandpa Nik, huh?”

“Uh huh! He called mummy and nana because he knew you wouldn’t tell us about Family Presheashun Day. Does kitty have toys? I wanna play with her!”

The bluntness of children never ceased to amaze Simon. Neither did their lack of attention spans. “Kitty’s toys are over there, but she might hide for a while. She’s a little shy.” Shy, of course, being code for “not used to noises louder than the television on medium volume, or people grabbing at her.”

Delilah groaned in disappointment, but skipped over to the basket under Whiskey’s perch anyways and incorporated the cat toys into her own game, where there seemed to be some sort of arranged marriage happening between a naked Barbie doll and a tiny stuffed salmon filled with catnip and jingle bells.

With the living room seating occupied entirely by his family, Simon stood awkwardly in the in-between space that wasn’t quite the living room but was beyond the boundary of the kitchen tile, feeling a bit like an outcast in his own home. But that was hardly a new sensation, it had just been a while since he’d experienced it. Familiar bile settled in his stomach at the thought.

“I didn’t know you and the Prices talked regularly.” He wasn’t entirely sure why that felt like a betrayal of some kind, why it made his teeth grind and his jaw clench.

Allison smiled fondly and showed the text to Nikolai she had just sent announcing their arrival. “Oh all the time! It’s been so nice, especially for the kids.”

That only made Simon’s budding stomach ache grow as guilt layered on top. He couldn’t be angry at anything that benefited Jo and Delilah. He and Thomas had grown up poor and frightened of their father’s alcohol induced anger. And while their mother had done her best, she had been a victim with her own problems as well. Beth had her own history too. She and Thomas had met in rehab and gotten sober together. They were all silently dedicated to making sure that the kids never knew a life even remotely similar to how theirs had been.

Simon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before shaking his shoulders loose, forcing his body to let go of the tension it had built. This was a visit with his family who loved him, not a hostage negotiation. He’d be fine. He’d have a nice afternoon with them and then rest after they left for their hotel.

“So, are you seeing anyone yet? You know my friend Mary Anne’s son lives not too far from here…”

On second thought, maybe he’d just walk into traffic.

***

***

Soap was awake before his alarm, absolutely vibrating out of his own skin with excitement. His flat was uncharacteristically spotless, the fridge overflowing with snacks and drinks, brand new throw blankets draped elegantly across his patchy couch, gaming controllers charged and ready to go. The entire MacTavish clan would be there soon, and he’d been looking forward to it for weeks. It was difficult to get everyone together in one place with how large of a group even just the immediate family was, but Family Appreciation Day was one of Soap’s favorite events the aquarium put on, and the whole family always tried to make it. His flat was vastly too small for everyone to stay in, but his two youngest siblings would be crashing with him, while his parents and older siblings with mates and kids of their own had adjoining hotel rooms nearby. They had plans to go see the famous White Cliffs and get dinner at an award winning seafood restaurant that evening, and then the next day would be spent entirely at the aquarium.

The first few years had been a little awkward, people not quite sure how to handle what looked like a polygamous cult with matching bite mark scars getting way too excited about the shark tunnel, but by now it was simply part of the routine. “Those are the MacTavishes, yeah, there’s a lot of them. Anyways, over here we have our state of the art filtration system–”

There were his parents, or rather his mother, Jacquelyn, and her three partners Patrick, Elliot, and Mark. Soap knew who his biological father was, he was a carbon copy of him and his middle name was in his honor, but all four adults raised him and he saw them all as his parents equally, as did the rest of his siblings. His oldest sister, Megan, had her two mates Paul and Martin, and their rascals Laney, Gavin, Alistair and Siobhan. Then there was Natalie, her mates Liam and Ewan and their kids: the twins Parker and Lilly, and little Danny. The kids ranged in age between two and thirteen. Soap was the middle child, then the youngest girl, Ellie. She had a rather sweet human boyfriend named Clark that things were getting serious with, but they hadn’t quite done the “bonding our souls for eternity” thing yet. And then the baby of the siblings, Anthony, who had just finished university and was more focused on his photography career than settling down any time soon. His grandparents weren’t able to attend this year, but had apparently sent their love and a tin of secret recipe shortbread cookies in their absence.

Soap sped through his morning routine as much as he could. A quick shower and lazily combing his hair back he could skimp on, brushing both rows of teeth and eating a calorie-dense breakfast he could not. His metabolism ran significantly faster than a human’s would, and to avoid looking absolutely insane to his coworkers he did most of his bulk eating at home.

He had just enough time to make up his bed, double check for anything not kid-friendly sticking out of drawers, and toss his breakfast dishes in the sink before the first knock at the door came.

The family arrived over the course of a few hours, colonizing his apartment complex’s visitor parking section with their cars and stuffing his flat to the brim with excited chatter and familial love. That was one of the biggest differences between the mako sharks his family resembled and the Sirens themselves. While makos were solitary creatures, Sirens loved community both on land and in the water. Soap never slept better than when he was squished between his sisters and Anthony, sharing a few zipped-together sleeping bags on family beach camping trips as a boy, surrounded by the snores of his siblings and the crashing of waves.

It was great getting to catch up and hear about how everyone was doing. Anthony had graduated with top marks and had been picking up gigs as a wedding photographer. Laney had the lead role in her school play next month. Ewan had just gotten a promotion at work that came with a significant pay raise. Ellie and Clark had recently moved to a beautiful little cottage. Natalie was pregnant again and had a feeling it was another set of twins. So much cause for celebration had everyone warm and fuzzy, and nobody scoffed at passing around a bottle of wine to toast early in the day.

It was later, when everyone was outside watching the kids terrorize the local playground, that Soap’s mother pulled him aside.

“You’re worried about something.” It wasn’t a question, but she said it kindly. Emotional manipulation was something all Sirens were capable of, both influencing and sensing the feelings and intentions around them to certain degrees. Jackie MacTavish was a veritable master of it, especially when it came to her children.

“Aye, yeah, I am.” Soap sighed and leaned his head on his mother’s shoulder, inhaling her perfume and the way the salty air of the Scottish coast never truly left her skin. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue on his own, but did run a soothingly cool hand across the nape of his neck. “I think I met my mate.”

“You think ? It’s not a sensation that can really be mistaken. Either she is, or she isnae.”

“That’s the problem. And on top of that, I’m pretty sure he’s completely human.”

It was very hard to ruffle the scales of a woman who raised five children, especially when those children teethed endlessly and could screech loud enough to shatter window panes. She seemed sufficiently ruffled at that, though, audibly inhaling a bit in surprise and tightening her grip on her son.

“I see. And have you told him about anything yet?”

“No. We work together, but we’ve only known each other for about two months. I don’t want to just spring it on him. We’ve… flirted? A little bit. But I can’t tell if it’s just office banter to him. And, well, he’s a biologist. I love how smart he is and how much he cares about the environment, but then I watch him dissect a specimen or annotate something and I worry that he’s just going to see me as something new to study.”

She hummed in consideration, and Soap felt a wave of calming influence creeping along his brainstem. He sank into it gratefully, never too old to let his mother dote on him.

“But you’re sure he’s the one?”

“I really do. I felt it. My whole body lights up when he’s in the room. It’s like I can feel both halves of myself at once.”

“Well then, I look forward to meeting him tomorrow. Even if he doesnae know he’s one of my sons yet. Oh, your sisters will be disappointed, they were looking forward to another girl. They’ll just have to hold out for your brother to meet someone I suppose.”

Soap sat up and whipped his head to the side to read his mother’s expression. “You don’t care that he’s a man? Or a human?”

“My wee John. I didnae care when Elizabeth brought home a human man, why would I care when you do?”

“I just… haven’t heard of anyone else having a mate like that before.”

“Aye, well, I cannae say I’ve met any others, but you’re my son, and that means I’ll love anyone who’s meant to love you too. The sea is never wrong, so if this man is your mate, then it’ll all work out.” At that she pulled him back into her bosom, and he didn’t fight the hold at all. Tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto melted away even without her influence, and he hid a few stray tears in the dark knit of her jumper.

The rest of the evening went beautifully, and saw a much lighter, brighter Soap. The family had an excellent time playing tourist and enjoying a meal together, and even though it wasn’t quite as good as swimming together, running around the park and playing Mario Kart sprawled across the living room smoothed most of Soap’s rough edged worries. By the time everyone who wasn’t sleeping at his flat had cleared out, he was pleasantly exhausted with a sore face from laughing so much.

He made up the pull-out couch for Ellie and Clark, but knew in all likelihood she would abandon her boyfriend to squish between her brothers in the middle of the night and looked forward to it. While his family had never been completely aquatic like some Siren clans, he still had fond memories of napping with entwined tails on longer outings when he was a little pup. Megan and Natalie were a good bit older than the three of them, so it had always felt like two separate groups of kids. Their “cool older sisters” and the three wee scamps, especially with how much of a tomboy Ellie had always been.

The next morning was a repeat of the previous day, just with three additional bodies to work around. This time his shower was quick to save hot water to avoid his sister’s wrath, and he cracked the same amount of eggs to split amongst the four of them that he had scarfed down the day before. With the crowd, professional catering being passed around, and the length of time they’d be out, it was easier to disguise their unusual eating habits, especially with Natalie potentially eating for three. Nobody would dare question her grabbing another plate of chicken skewers.

The four of them took Clark’s car to the aquarium in the afternoon to arrive right as the event started, and used the extensive family group chat to coordinate everyone else so Soap could hand out the veritable trove of admittance wristbands he had collected in the parking lot. Laswell had laughed when he gave her the final count but handed them over with no fuss, especially since his family usually made rather significant donations to the aquarium while they were visiting to make up for the free admission they all received.

The kids made a beeline for the escalator to the youth section of the complex and their parents let them go without any fuss. They were all familiar with the rules of both the aquarium and their family, and Laney and Gavin at least were old enough to babysit their younger siblings and cousins. Danny stayed in his little sling on Ewan’s side in case he needed to feed, not quite fully weaned off his mother yet, but all the other kids were at least 5 and could be trusted to find one of their populous adults when they needed a snack.

Soap, as he did every year, gave his family proper introductions to any new animals in his care, and had them say hello to his favorites. Pancake especially was excited by all the commotion and eagerly accepted treats and pets from the Sirens, recognizing more oceanic kin. All the animals had a tendency to subtly gravitate towards them, but it was especially strong with sharks, rays and skates. They couldn’t quite talk to them Aqua-man style, but their emotional awareness extended to their sea brethren to a certain degree.

Whenever they ran into one of Soap’s human friends, he delighted in the annual event of watching people try to figure out how they were all related. None of the siblings really looked like each other, except Natalie and Anthony had their biological father’s auburn hair and pronounced freckles, and all five had their mother’s electric blue eyes. Margaret was the tallest of the siblings by a decent amount, with deep olive toned skin and her hair fell in tight ringlets. Ellie was waifish, all elegant and thin and had wispy blonde hair. All three girls had a few inches on their brothers and partners, and Jackie was a good bit taller and broader than all of her mates as well, though not as tall as her eldest. And of course, none of the mates looked anything like anyone else either, so trying to remember who all was a MacTavish by blood and who was a bonus child was a challenge for most people.

Gaz got the closest, remembering all of the girls correctly but mistaking Liam for Anthony. Roach only got Margaret based on her also having black hair like Soap. Alex didn’t even try. But it was always nice watching Farah, Alex and Gaz see the way multiple-partner families were so easily accepted and how the children didn’t mind their bonus parents at all, and seeing the blushing hope on their faces.

In turn, Soap enjoyed getting to see everyone else’s family he’d come to know over the years as well. Gaz’s grandmother was an angel with a purse full of hard candies. Alex’s moms were always so excited to see any new exhibits, and talked so fondly of the wildlife back home in Louisiana. Farah’s brother Hadir was a quiet man, but the love he had for his sister and how much he respected her work was undeniable. Laswell’s wife and Price’s husband bickered like they were the old married couple, and it was never anything short of hilarious. Logan’s brother Hesh was always a blast to talk to, and it was fun watching Riley bound between the Walkers and Keegan in a loop, checking in on her favorite people. The MacTavishes were all well-versed in sign language for underwater communication, so Logan and Roach both enjoyed having new people to conversate with.

It was when Soap was introducing Anthony, Ellie and Clark to the bull sharks and explaining the work they were currently doing with them that he turned a little too quickly and slammed face first into a firm, broad chest.

He was steadied by a set of strong, pale arms, attached to a broad, pale man with dirty blonde hair and bright hazel eyes who immediately set him back right and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. He was significantly taller than Soap, and not someone he immediately recognized, though he did look almost familiar.

“You alright, mate?”

“Aye, sorry! Wasn’t looking where I was going, ta for not being a prick about it.”

“Ah no worries, I lost my wife and was looking for her more than I was watching where I was walking. You haven’t happened to see a pregnant blonde woman in a pink dress, have you?”

“Sorry, no, but odds are she’s at the cafe. Softest chairs in the building and close to the bathroom.” He hazarded a guess based on the fact that that was exactly where Natalie had parked herself not too long ago with a plate full of cheese and grapes.

“Ah, you’re a saint Mr… uh, sorry. I’m Tommy, pleasure to meet ya.”

“Everyone calls me Soap. Good luck in your valiant quest!”

“Thanks, Soap!” Tommy called over his shoulder as he raced off to find his missing wife.

Soap shook himself and fixed his shirt where it had become rumpled and turned back to his siblings to continue his personal guided tour, only to be met with devilish grins, just the slightest hint of the sharper, secondary teeth behind the human ones.

“What?”

“He was cute , and you’re blushing.” Ellie’s voice was dangerously high, lilting in a way that served as a premonition to endless teasing if he didn’t nip it in the bud now.

“I ran into a man! Of course I’m flustered. Not blushing because he’s cute. Embarrassed for almost tripping and eating sh*t.”

“You’re not denying he’s cute, though,” Anthony chimed in.

“Aye, sure, he was braw. But actively searching for his pregnant wife, and most humans are painfully straight and monogamous, so I’m not sure what you’re all getting at.”

Clark, the betrayer, shrugged and bumped hips with his girlfriend. “Not all of us, though.”

Soap groaned and started walking away, knowing he’d be followed.

***

***

Simon was going insane.

He had tried to skip the event entirely, perfectly content to let his family attend without his presence, but Price made it abundantly clear that trying to do that would result in his name being permanently added to the birthday party room volunteer list without mercy. Then he tried hiding out in his office, but he was shooed away by the janitorial staff who were using the event going on as an opportunity to focus on the backstage areas that didn’t always get as much attention.

He wound up in the deep sea exhibit where it was darker and quieter with fewer people milling about, as most guests in attendance preferred the bright and colorful main exhibits in the open-ocean room, or were upstairs with their children. Alejandro and Rudy’s families hadn’t been able to travel to attend, so the three of them hid together, sharing a plate of crackers and assorted dips and sh*t-talking the misbehaving children of some of their co-workers in Spanish in case anyone could hear them.

Alejandro’s rant about “that bitch dolphin trainer who keeps stealing my parking space” was interrupted by Simon’s phone ringing. He pulled it out to silence it, but frowned when he saw his brother’s contact lighting up the screen.

“Everything okay Ghost?” Alejandro asked, noticing the way Simon’s brow furrowed.

“Not sure, sorry, be right back.” He stepped away to not be rude before answering. “What’s wrong?”

Thomas was out of breath, panting hard into the receiver and making Simon’s skin crawl. “Can’t– f*ck, why are there so many stairs here, I can’t find Beth and she’s not answering her phone.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Probably but she said she was just going to the toilets and it's been over an hour. She fainted a lot with Delilah so I’m worried.”

“f*ckin’ hell, alright, I’ll come help you find her. Where’s mum?”

“With the kids upstairs. I’m gonna go check by the bathr– oof ! You alright mate?” The call ended after it sounded like Thomas ran into someone, and Simon rolled his eyes before pocketing his cell and waving to Alejandro and Rudy to signal his departure. They threw back mocking salutes and went back to their own conversation.

Unsurprisingly, searching for a single person in a crowd of hundreds of people, many of whom wanted to stop you to say hello and introduce you to their assorted loved ones, was a task easier said than done. It also didn’t help that Thomas apparently stopped looking at his phone after their brief call, as any texts Simon sent went completely unopened.

Finally, Simon spotted the soft pink dress Beth was wearing through the crowd and made a beeline towards her. The people in his way parted like the Red Sea as soon as they noticed the wall of black-clad former-Lieutenant coming their way, and he made it to her in record time.

As expected, she was perfectly fine, sharing a side table and a pile of snacks with another pregnant woman, a tall brunette with sharp features, and a scruffy ginger man standing sentinel behind her with a dark-haired toddler on his hip.

“Beth!” His voice cut through like a gunshot, silencing everyone in the little sitting area.

And his sister in law, forever unphased by his gruff nature, simply flopped her head back over her shoulder to smile at him. “Simon!”

He jogged up to her side. “Your husband is about to call in Scotland Yard to find you. Please check your phone.”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him before pulling out her phone, to see a litany of missed calls and texts from Thomas, Simon and their mother. “Oh, whoopsie, must have turned the ringer off.” She giggled to herself and fired off a text to the family groupchat that she was fine and had made a friend, and a few seconds later Simon felt his own phone buzz against his hip as the text came through and everyone else reacted to it.

“Oh! Natalie this is my brother in law Simon, Simon this is my new friend Natalie and her partner Ewan and their son Danny. They’re here all the way from Scotland! Isn’t that exciting?”

Simon nodded in the other family’s direction. “Pleasure.”

Beth rolled her eyes and apologized on his behalf, then lit up in excitement when a sweaty Thomas appeared around the corner. Taking the distraction as a gift from the universe, Simon made like his namesake and disappeared back into the shadows, off to find a new spot to sulk in until he was allowed to leave.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

As much as Soap adored his family, he could only take being teased nonstop in front of people he respected for so long. He excused himself from the group, trusting everyone to survive without him for a little while, to find somewhere for a brief, solitary reprieve. He knew the labs were off limits, but there was the small lecture hall near the big theater nobody ever went into unless someone was actively holding a class. It was getting to be towards the end of the event, so he should be able to sneak back without bothering anybody, and then after a little quiet respite go gather his family so they could head home.

The hallways leading to the door were blessedly clear of anyone, no guests or staff, and he slipped inside quietly. Maybe a little dramatically, he slumped against the door and exhaled, long and low, deep enough it ached in the hidden gill slits along his ribs. It was quiet and cold in the oversized classroom, only half the overhead lights turned on and all the computers and projectors were off and silent.

The only noise in the room aside from Soap’s own breathing was the low drum of the overpowered air conditioning unit.

And… clicking?

It was barely audible and irregular enough Soap almost thought he had imagined the sound, but no, it was definitely there. There shouldn’t have been anyone else in the room, and Soap felt his body react to an unseen threat. Even without a full transformation, his rear teeth tilted more upwards, his vision sharpened, and his center of gravity shifted.

He pinpointed the noise as coming from the front corner of the room, behind the podium people stood at to present. As stealthily as he could, he crept along the wall, determined to catch whoever was in here doing whatever it was they were doing. Maybe planting some sort of bug, or trying to hack files off a forgotten laptop?

Just before he could see the intruder he stopped, took a deep breath, and then launched himself forward, ready to grab and hold and make a fuss until someone with more authority came running in to help. His angle of approach was a little off, but he managed to grab a handful of fabric and yank as he tumbled to the ground himself. Both he and the intruder yelled, and Soap rolled back up ready to tackle again, a snarl on the tip of his tongue.

But he stopped completely when frightened, wide brown eyes brimming with tears met his own.

It was a young boy, no more than eleven, with curly sandy blonde hair and a Roman nose, absolutely drowning in a black hooded sweatshirt far too big for him, headphones, and thick-framed glasses.

“I’m sorry!” The poor kid was absolutely about to start crying, face already splotchy and curling in on himself. “I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t touch anything! It’s just too crowded out there and I needed a break.” He sniffled hard and clutched his gaming system to his chest, and Soap’s entire body deflated as he immediately pivoted to damage control.

“Och, you’re okay wee yin. You shouldn’t be back here, but it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you, or get you in trouble okay? Please don’t cry.” He flooded his words with honest intention, letting his innate magic charge his speech. The boy relaxed just a bit, wiping his eyes on an oversized sleeve, and Soap smiled encouragingly. He sat down and crossed his legs and held a hand out for introduction, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. “I was looking for somewhere to hide too, so it’s all okay. I’m Soap. What game are you playing?”

With another brave sniffle, the boy showed his Switch’s screen, but didn’t return the handshake. “I’m Joseph, and it’s Animal Crossing.”

Sure enough, a little cartoon version of Joseph, same shaggy mop of hair, glasses and a skull print t-shirt, was standing in a virtual aquarium, directly in front of a familiar massive black and red fish. Soap couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Needed a break from the real aquarium so you went to a virtual one, eh?”

“I like the music in the museum, it calms me down. This is my uncle’s favorite fish, I want to show him I caught one but I haven’t seen him since we got here.”

“Your uncle likes to hide from crowds too, huh?”

“Yeah. Well, everybody really.”

Soap huffed a laugh and rocked back up onto his heels. “I know some people like that. Hey, did you know you can see the exhibits from back here too? How about I show you a real arapaima, and when we find your uncle we can tell him all about how cool it was?”

“And you won’t tell anybody I snuck back here?”

“Cross my heart, won’t tell a soul. It’ll be our little secret.” He let the words charge with intent a second time, binding himself to the assurance. It wasn’t like some sort of unbreakable fae pact, but it was enough to assure anyone that a promise would be kept. Soap typically didn’t like charming anyone twice in a row, not wanting to actually manipulate anyone in a way that would be violating, but with how nervous the poor kid seemed, he figured a little extra dose of magic wouldn’t hurt.

Joseph seemed content with the promise and powered down his game, tucking the Switch into his hoodie’s front pocket and finally taking Soap’s extended hand to stand up. He was taller than Soap expected, a lanky little thing, oversized jacket even more comical now that he could see how long it was on the boy.

Soap led the way out of the classroom, flicking off the lights behind them, and down the twisting beige corridors to the backside of the freshwater exhibits. Joseph was enraptured immediately, pointing out fish he recognized from his game. He went from frightened and sad to excited and confident like the flick of a switch, flashing a gap-toothed smile as a massive plecostomus swam up and suctioned onto the glass right in front of him.

The hallway opened to a massive room of pipes and sump tanks and a quarantine area for any fish that had to be pulled from the exhibit, with one wall occupied entirely by the back side of the tank. It was just as good a view as the front side as far as fish went, you just only saw the boring back half of any decorations in the tank from over here. And if you looked closely enough, you could even see the people on the other side, though they were distorted and blue-tinted from the thousands of gallons of water and nearly a foot of glass separating you.

“Dutchess should be out and about still, she ate not too long ago. Look up towards the top, she can breathe air from the surface instead of from her gills if she wants to.”

Joseph climbed up a bit onto the narrow ledge at the bottom of the exposed glass, cheek to the glass as he searched beyond the viewing window into the expansive tank, and Soap put a supporting arm around his narrow waist so he didn’t slip and bust his skull on the wet concrete floor. This was one of their biggest exhibits, featuring several freshwater giants and a wide variety of aquatic plants and snails too, done to resemble a South American river basin. The viewing glass on the public side was a lot longer, but with the right angle you could still see most of the tank from back here. If it wasn’t getting so close to closing time, Soap would have offered to take Joseph up onto the feeding ledge, but he didn’t want to lose complete track of time and get the boy in trouble, or himself for that matter. While he was a senior aquarist, this tank wasn’t one of the ones he worked on.

They watched the tank in peaceful silence for a while until suddenly Joseph gasped and pressed further into the glass. “Oh! There she is! Woah… she’s so pretty.”

Sure enough, there she was. Dutchess was a real crowd pleaser, a mass of black and red scales and a graceful swim pattern, nearly three meters long and thick around the middle. She slowly glided across their view, drifting on the tank’s artificial current lazily and content from her recent meal of herring and berries.

“Can see why your uncle likes them so much, she’s a real beauty.”

“Which fish is your favorite Mr. Soap?”

“Hm…” he pretended to think hard about it. “Well, my favorite fish here is my best pal, Pancake the stingray. But my favorite type of fish is mako sharks.”

“Oh! I know about them! They’re the fastest type of shark!” Soap melted a bit, debating the ethics of keeping a child that didn’t belong to him. Joseph looked kind of like Ellie and Mark and liked sharks, he’d fit right in.

“You’re a bright lad, aren’t you! They are, aye, smartest too. Got big brains for fish. You sure you’re not one in disguise?”

Joseph beamed at the praise, the adorable space between his front teeth blindingly evident in the tank’s glow as he giggled in that way only children are capable of. “I know lots about fish,” he said, talking directly against the glass. “Do you like being a biologist Mr. Soap?”

Soap was about to explain the difference between being an aquarist and a biologist, that he was the one who did the cleaning and feeding rather than the book reading, but still loved his job all the same, when a door slammed down the hall, startling them both and nearly sending Joseph to the ground had Soap not been there to catch him.

“Steamin’ f*ck who the hell–”

“Joseph! Jo?” A familiar, booming voice rattled off the bare walls and glass, echoing around the space, coming from down the hallway a bit.

“Oh no.” Joseph whispered, then sighed and hopped down, jogging over to the door and yelling back “I’m over here Uncle Simon!”

Soap felt his blood run cold, and looked down at his watch to find that it was ten minutes to nine. They’d lost track of time chatting about fish and watching Dutchess, and Joseph's family was sure to be worried about their missing kid. So of course that had to include Dr. Riley, because Soap’s luck was impeccably awful. Dr. Riley, who had definitely said that under absolutely no circ*mstances would he be at Family Appreciation Day, because he hadn’t told his family about it happening and “had more important things to do than play tour guide”.

He hadn’t so much been avoiding the man since the charity event, but he’d definitely been more careful about the time spent together. It was getting harder and harder to not just fawn over him the way Soap’s animal instincts demanded, and he’d gotten off an embarrassing number of times thinking about the sight of his research partner’s warm amber eyes. He’d gotten to see the bare skin of his hands and mouth for the first time, and it had seared into his brain like a brand. All those scars, his knobby knuckles and slender fingers, his plush lips, the faint blonde five-o-clock shadow dusting his marred cheeks, the way he carried himself with so much control and grace in a formal setting. He’d lost many an hour imagining how those fingers might feel on him, in him. If his deep voice and calculating demeanor carried over into the bedroom, or if that was the one place he could give up control and let himself just be ravished, how the contrast would shift as all that pale skin was laid bare for him to bite and mark… sh*t, right. Focus. Don’t pop a boner in front of a ten year old and his scary uncle.

Scary Uncle in question barreled around the corner and sprinted down the corridor to where Joseph was standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself defensively and staring down at his shoes. Soap could take a second to appreciate the fact that both of Dr. Riley’s forearms were on display with his gray button-up cuffed at the elbows, exposing sleeve tattoos that he was previously unaware of. He had one of his skull print masks on and black jeans, the most casual Soap had ever seen the man. But just a second, because suddenly Joseph was being yelled at by a man three times his size, and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Oi! Lay off him, Ghost. It’s my fault he was back here. Yell at me if you want, but don’t scare the lad.” He rarely addressed Dr. Riley as anything but that, but it seemed more fitting in the moment.

And it seemed to work. The biologist shifted his cold, dark gaze over to Soap, then back down to the boy, and seemed to realize how frightened he was. Soap wanted to feel smug about it, but suddenly it felt like all the air rushed out of the room. Of everyone in the world, his fated mate was the person whose emotions he was most in tune with, and utter devastation crackled through the air like lightning, somehow cold and burning at the same time, lancing straight through Soap’s chest. He couldn’t breathe until the other man did, the weight of some old, deep hurt that didn’t belong to him crushing his lungs and making him feel very small and alone.

Dr. Riley dropped to one knee to meet Joseph’s gaze, gently placing an oversized hand on his shoulder, and the fear and sadness ebbed away to a more tolerable amount. “I am so sorry, Jo. We were just scared because we couldn’t find you. You’re not in trouble, and I’m not mad, okay?” He had never sounded more genuine in the entire time Soap had known him.

Joseph nodded and let himself be pulled into a tight hug, Dr. Riley’s powerful arms enveloping him completely in a protective, apologetic hold. Soap almost felt like he was intruding, but he was grateful to see the softer side of his mate, even if it came after an outburst.

More footsteps came barreling down the corridor and the rest of what he assumed was the Riley family appeared in various states of panic and relief. An exhausted middle aged woman, significantly taller than most human women but still frail in a way, holding a teary-eyed young girl with bouncy pigtails, a younger, heavily pregnant woman with the same nose as Joseph, and, oh! A familiar face. And now that Soap really thought about it, he could see the resemblance. Tommy, the man he ran into earlier, had very similar features to the brief glimpses of Dr. Riley’s profile he’d gotten at the charity event, and it made sense that the giant of a man was related to his towering research partner.

Several things clicked together all at once. Joseph’s little character’s skull shirt, his love of fish, shy demeanor, apparent tendency to wander off, and big cow-like eyes. Soap felt a little dumb for missing it before when it was so obvious.

“Oh! Tommy, I see you found your wife.”

Tommy looked up from his son, who had left his uncle’s arms to latch to his father’s leg instead, and his face went through several complicated emotions rapid-fire. “Hey! Yeah! She was right where you said she’d be. Beth, this is the guy I mentioned earlier. Soap, this is my wife, Beth, my daughter Delilah and my mum. And I suppose you’ve met Jo. Hell, you found my wife and my son, I feel like I owe you a bottle of something expensive.” He laughed, but it was wet around the edges, nerves still bleeding out of him as his adrenaline over losing his child cycled out of his system.

Beth ruffled her son’s hair and squinted at Soap for a second. “You’re Scottish? Is Natalie your sister?”

“Oh, aye, ran into her in the cafe, yeah? She’s a gem, that one.”

“And you know our Simon?”

Surprisingly, Dr. Riley answered before Soap could, staring at him with an odd sense of reverence that made Soap’s stomach flip. “He’s my partner on this current project.” Something about the way he said ‘partner’ settled in Soap’s chest heavily, like a key sliding into a lock perfectly, making itself home. He could feel himself staring but couldn’t make himself blink or look away.

The spell was broken when Dr. Riley cleared his throat and announced that they really needed to get going before security had to clear them out, and Soap let the family leave a good long moment before he followed behind, giving them a bit of privacy to reconnect and calm down, and taking some for himself to have his own little internal freakout before he had to face his own family, who was undoubtedly equally frantic.

An overwhelming urge to shift hit him as he made his own way outside, staring wistfully at the tanks he passed. It was rare he went swimming while shifted anywhere but the aquarium. It was easier to memorize janitorial and maintenance schedules and leave a change of clothes and a towel on a chair in the corner of the room than try to risk getting caught either shifted or naked on a public beach. But after the emotional whiplash he’d just experienced, Soap wanted some time in the water with his family.

When he did reunite with everyone, the whole clan holding court in the parking lot waiting for his arrival, he collapsed with a dramatic sigh against Megan, going completely deadweight against her solid frame and flashing his best puppy eyes up at her. She rolled hers in response and scoffed, but pulled him into a hug nonetheless. As if sensing what he needed, his eldest sister ruffled his mohawk, ruining the effort he’d put into styling it that morning, and promised to absolutely destroy him in an underwater race that night.

Simon was silent on the walk to the bus stop. It wasn’t unusual for him to be quiet, but this time it was noticeably different. His mother kept shooting him nervous little looks in between listening to Delilah’s recap of all her favorite things about the aquarium. He met her gaze each time, tried to make some sort of gesture that he’d be fine, but her sharp eyes saw through him anyways.

Joseph seemed to be okay now, digging into a bag of fish shaped gummy candy from the gift shop and kicking a stone with the focus of a pro division footballer, but Simon couldn’t shake the image of him, frightened and guilty when he’d done nothing wrong, all because Simon had lost control of his temper.

It was dredging up feelings he wasn’t particularly keen on analyzing.

Because on one hand, it was, to a degree, understandable that he’d been so frustrated that it all boiled over at the end of the day. His family was apparently incapable of staying together as a group or answering their goddamn phones, and it had always, always been his job to keep the family together, whether he wanted it to be or not. He had been thrust into a situation he was historically uncomfortable with, forced to combine facets of his life he preferred to keep separate. Torn between his professional demeanor and not being a jackass in front of his family.

On the other, he had yelled at his nephew, and in public. Even his own father had always kept the violence to the confines of home. Richard Riley had not been a good man, but he had been private about it. He enjoyed frightening his wife and sons, and when he drank himself into an early grave nobody attended the viewing except for some of his old band mates and bar pals. The house was quiet and clean for the first time since Simon was born, and it all felt like a lie, like a trap. And he, and Thomas, and their mother, had all vowed that any Riley children down the line would never know that sensation.

They’d gone about keeping that promise in different ways, of course. Thomas and Beth stayed dedicated to their sobriety and gentle parenting, always encouraging their children to explore and create to their heart’s content.

Simon, in comparison, got a complete hysterectomy four weeks after turning eighteen, timed perfectly to be healed before he shipped off to basic training. It was a combination of things that hastened his need for it, the dysphoria and the fear of repeating his father’s mistakes in equal doses, but he was equally opposed to any sort of adoption or surrogacy as he was carrying his own offspring.

He was still a little mad at Thomas for surprising him by naming their firstborn after Simon, borrowing his chosen middle name. It was an absolute honor, but it also forced him to contend with the fact that a sweet, perfect little boy had already been tainted by his influence.

And today just cemented it in his mind. He wasn’t meant for a family. Wasn’t meant for the soft, beautiful parts of relationships. Or relationships in general. That drive to love and protect he saw in others didn’t sound like something aspirational to him. He’d watched Thomas tear himself apart twice in less than four hours, losing track of his wife and son. And they’d been perfectly fine! He couldn’t imagine how it would feel if they hadn’t been. How it would have crushed him. All of them. He still had pain-killer blurred memories of how his mother sobbed in his hospital room when he woke up from the first round of post-Mexico reconstructive surgeries, petting his overgrown hair and whispering sweet things about her “darling soldier boy”, and it took no effort at all to substitute in Beth and Jo.

And that was what it really boiled down to. Simon was good at imagining worst case scenarios. It was what he did for a living. As a military officer, planning and contingencies was a major part of his job, and now as a conservationist he had to look at hard data and determine species risk factors. But he wasn’t good at dealing with the emotions those plans could dredge up.

Hell, he’d been catastrophizing about everything for so long it was his natural state of being. Assume the worst is going to happen, and anything better is a pleasant surprise. He’d done it when he agreed to take the job at Verdansk, when he’d signed a lease at his shoddy flat, when he’d first thought about trying to bring Whiskey home, when Soap had been late to the gala…

f*cking… Soap. Soap was a whole new layer of bullsh*t to contend with on top of everything else. Because Simon f*cking liked the guy. Beyond just begrudgingly finding him handsome and intelligent, he actually was growing to enjoy Soap’s company. Johnny’s company. He still hadn’t stopped thinking about that little slip these past few weeks, and every time he had to address the other man it was right there on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out. He wasn’t even entirely sure where it came from, nobody called the man John enough for Simon to associate the name with him and not Price, but it was there. Something all his, something special, like his brain and heart had fundamentally decided to no longer be in agreement on the whole “we’re not built for love” thing.

Simon could feel his teeth grinding as they boarded the bus, thoughts still spiraling, made worse now by the memory of the heat in Soap’s stupidly blue eyes. How powerful and assertive he’d looked, defending Jo. How sweet and paternal it was that he would find a lost kid and show him secret back passageways to the best exhibits. How easily he seemed to be entwining himself into every facet of Simon’s life, whether he wanted him to or not, like some supernatural force was trying to shove them together.

He shook his head to clear the thought and forced himself to relax, tension leaving his body like flakes of rust, forced off and into the air by sheer will alone. It was late, the kids were tired, he was tired. But he owed them a proper apology, more than just words. Not just for snapping at Joseph, but for being a bad host and an ungrateful son.

“Before you leave town, I’d like to see you all again. Maybe get together with the Prices for dinner or something.”

Allison Riley had once been a dull, skittish woman. In the past decade, she had flourished in her role as grandmother, putting her past behind her and focusing on all the little joys in the world she had forgotten about trapped in a gray little cottage in Manchester.But Simon didn’t think he could remember her ever lighting up like she was just then. Maybe at Beth’s baby shower. Definitely not when he got his enlistment paperwork. If anything, it reminded him more of the smile he’d gotten the first time he cut his hair, two weeks after his father’s funeral, dainty curls falling into the bowl of the sink and revealing himself, while she cried tears of joy for her eldest child, still not quite in the habit of saying son yet but getting there with practice.

A soft, gooey, wet smile full of motherly hope and pride. It was a little bit “I told you so, stubborn bastard” and a lot “I love you too”.

Thomas promised to text him in the morning and they could figure out plans then, and assured him that they had all had a wonderful time, even if things got a little stressful at the end. Simon wasn’t entirely sure he deserved the placation, but took it nonetheless. He was well beyond his limits for the day and was ready to strip and faceplant into his pillow. He could be self-flagellating and overly introspective in the morning after he had his tea.

He still wasn’t keen on the crushing goodbye hugs as his family got off the bus two stops before his for their hotel, but accepted the contact with just the tiniest bit of grumbling, and lamented the fact that he felt cold when he was alone after their exit. Deep down, he knew that was one of the main reasons he kept his family at a distance. Everything else aside, it never got easier to have them, and then readjust to the empty void left in their absence.

They would probably never be close, he wasn’t built for matching pajama Christmas cards and school play audiences. He was rarely in the same country for more than a year at a time, and had no idea how to actually interact with kids for longer than a few minutes at a time. Surprise visits like this one still made his skin crawl and his stomach ache.

But the tiniest part of him, way deep down, could quietly admit that maybe, just maybe, brunch with his family wouldn’t be awful.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Email from: [emailprotected]

To: [emailprotected], [emailprotected]

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: wetland memes for brackish fiends

Somebody dare me to print this and put it in Price’s office

Alexander Keller

Senior Aquarist & Conservation Specialist

The next week was surprisingly gentle on Simon. It was as if the universe had suddenly decided he’d had enough and deserved a little reprieve. He didn’t want to jinx it, but things were actually nice.

Before leaving back to London, his family took him out for a nice afternoon of playing tourist. They had street food, saw the cliffs and castle, and hit up a used bookstore Simon had been eyeing on his regular evening runs. It was much more subdued than the main event of the weekend, and it felt good to just get to exist together. Joseph even showed Simon his favorite video game, and beamed with pride when he told his uncle all about how he had completed the freshwater room of the museum first. Whiskey deigned to allow herself to be petted very carefully by an awe-struck Delilah, and Simon’s mum corrected the arrangement of some of his plants to get them a more optimal level of sunlight. Price and Nikolai joined them for dinner on the last night of their visit, and some lingering old hurt in the back of Simon’s brain faded just a tiny bit.

Work was going well, too. Promising observations with the bull sharks were popping up more and more frequently, and Simon was confident they’d see proper courtship behavior soon. He found plenty of relevant data in some new books and threw himself into reading all about previous experiments that lined up with theirs. And he found he was actually starting to look forward to his Wednesday lectures. The students hung onto his every word like it was law, and he was genuinely proud of them when they answered his questions correctly or expressed interest in a niche path of study he could actually help them with.

The weather was steady, summer past its crux and bleeding into the earliest stages of fall now. Less humid, more comfortable for his sensitive skin and dark wardrobe.

And things with Johnny were feeling more stable. And it was Johnny now. He’d slipped up once, asking for a pipette, and Johnny had handed one over with the most dazzling smile, and he hadn’t been able to bottle it back up after that. It made him absolutely insufferable, but in an impish, playful way that Simon honestly didn’t hate. He also didn’t hate that “Dr. Riley” turned into “Ghost” more often than not in return. And while a significant portion of the staff called him that, it felt different coming from Johnny, like it carried real weight.

He still had an embarrassing little crush on the man, and the new nicknames didn’t help in the slightest, but it was like giving himself that one little bit of leeway had calmed him down. He still felt magnetically drawn to the Scot, caught himself watching him stretch and bend in his wetsuit, and felt weirdly possessive whenever Aquarium guests tried to get a little too chummy with him. But he wasn’t panicking about it anymore. He wasn’t exactly shoving those feelings down into a box anymore either, but he knew the job came first, always. Even if saying that didn’t quell any of the jitters.

The weeks after went much the same, easy and comfortable and rewarding. Before he knew it, Simon was halfway through his initial tenure, twelve weeks of research behind him with significant collected data to show for it. Price was ecstatic that the grant money was actually going to good use, as it was a good way to guarantee more would follow. And what had started as such a fleeting, intentionally temporary thing had really grown on Simon. He found he genuinely enjoyed working for Price. He could call his coworkers friends. He knew his animals were properly cared for. His home life was comfortable. People laughed at his awful jokes. And he and Johnny were growing ever closer. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment they became “Soap and Ghost”, sold together as a box set, but he wasn’t complaining.

He was , however, complaining today specifically. Loudly and frequently. With a slightly nasally tone, and his fingers dug into his temples. Because he was, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, coming down with a bout of hay fever.

Nothing serious, but incredibly annoying in the fact that it was his body rejecting the air around him rather than anything he could do something meaningful about with antibiotics. He just had to wait until his allergy medication kicked in, which could take up to three days, and it left him groggy and whiny.

On somewhere around his eleventh earth-shattering, headache-inducing sneeze, Price barged into his office without knocking and leveled him with a stern look that was slightly dampened by the fishing bobbers hanging off his hat. “Simon. You’re sick, son. Go the hell home.”

“I’m not sick . I wear a bloody mask every day anyways. It’s jus’ allergies.” He realized that he sounded completely petulant and nasally with how stuffy his nose was, but tried to at least look put together. He knew his nose was comically red under the mask, but wasn’t going to volunteer that information.

“It wasn’t a suggestion. Take your laptop and work from home for the rest of the day and tomorrow. Take a long weekend. Rest up, come back Monday when you don’t sound like the world’s most pathetic train horn.”

And, well, that wasn’t something he could really argue with. He did sound like some sad, honking thing more than a respectable conservationist. And it would be lovely to make himself a steaming hot mug of tea with honey for his scratchy, aching throat. Fine. Price could win this one. It was Thursday, so Johnny was off anyways. Not that that was a deciding factor, of course. He was perfectly fine doing his job on days his partner wasn’t there. He just liked the company while he was feeding the sharks, that’s all.

That’s what he told himself as he lamented having to break down his lab station so soon after setting it up, a waste of gloves and sterile equipment to be opened and then disposed of without really getting used, but with how watery his eyes were becoming, it’s not like he trusted himself with a scalpel anyhow.

He scooped up a few textbooks and his laptop to cram into his messenger bag and stumbled back outside, cursing the pollen floating in the air and having an intense debate with himself on whether or not it was worth it to stop in the corner shop for some comfort snacks on the way back. A few more hard sneezes and the beginning throbs of a true migraine had him choosing to head straight home instead.

***

***

New Message from: Dr. Price (work)

>> I have a special assignment for you tomorrow

[delivered 11:29am]

Happy to help, sir! What’s up?<<

[sent 11:34am]

New Message from: Dr. Price (work)

>> I’m sending you a file with Simon’s address and a scan of the company credit card. Go check on him and make sure he’s been taking care of himself. Take him some food for me. Maybe pick up something for his cat, he treats that furball better than most people treat their spouses.

>> When he fights you, tell him I said boneyard.

>> You’ll get paid overtime and travel for this. Don’t tell Kate I’m using you as my errand boy.

[delivered 11:41am]

🫡 <<

[read 11:43am]

To anyone who happened to look over, they would see a relatively calm brunette man trying to decide between two brands of tea, holding a basket of assorted treats for both humans and cats sat by his feet.

To anyone with the powers of mindreading, they would hear non-stop, panicked screeching and the word “f*ck” on an endless loop.

Soap was adamantly a coffee drinker. He liked it black, maybe a little sugar. Tea wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t something he purchased for himself, and the only thing he really did know about it was that for people who were tea people, brand loyalty ran deep. He was holding two boxes and trying to will the universe to offer clarity. One he recognized as the orange and yellow box that was kept in the breakroom. He’d seen Ghost drinking it without complaint almost daily. So it was a safe bet. But the other box was pretty, and claimed to have health benefits and a “hint of lavender and honey”. He didn’t even know lavender was edible, just knew his mother liked to grow it for the bees. But honey tea sounded like it would be good for a sore throat, if Ghost was still sick like Price had implied.

It was Sunday morning, so the shops were pretty empty, most people still at church or brunch, so no helpful passersby who he could solicit an opinion from. Google reviews were mixed, and nobody on Reddit had asked “which of these two brands is best to buy for the man your non-human magical core is convinced is destined to be your one true love and you’re not necessarily trying to court him by picking the best tea at Tescos, but you’re also not not trying to court him by picking the best tea at Tescos” yet.

f*ck it. He threw both boxes in the basket. It was Price’s name on the company card anyway.

In addition to the tea, he’d picked up two different flavors of soft food and a toy for Ghost’s cat that looked like a shark with a slinky for a body, a few of the bags of prawn flavored crisps he’d seen Ghost scarfing down in his office like it was a dirty secret, a handful of clementines, and bag of extremely sour candies. The man had the absolute weirdest taste in snacks, and frequently lamented missing flavor combinations Soap would have never dreamed up that he’d gotten in his travels to places like the Phillipines and Lithuania. He looked for the shaker bottle full of a red spice he’d seen Alejandro and Ghost coat a bag of peach rings in, but couldn’t remember the label well enough to hazard a guess.

Ghost’s flat wasn’t too far from the store, and it was unseasonably nice out, so Soap enjoyed the walk. The breeze smelled like the ocean and the sun was warm on his scalp, and he was following his phone’s instructions to Ghost’s home. He was practically giddy over it. Something about seeing Ghost outside of work or a work related event for the first time had him feeling like a kid in a candy shop. It did feel weird to not be at work on a Sunday, but Price had essentially given him a paid day off with this task, and tourist season was starting to wind down so he trusted his coworkers to handle everything without him there for the afternoon.

He dressed nice for the occasion, but was careful not to look like he was trying too hard. Nice, clean jeans with no holes, and a light blue t-shirt he knew showed off his arms and chest nicely and brought out his eyes. He cleaned up his beard and mohawk and showered right before leaving so he’d be clean and presentable. And if the eyes the cashier had flashed his way were to be believed, it had paid off.

The building Ghost lived in didn’t have a buzzer at the main door, but a very intimidating looking old woman knitted in a rocker in the corner of the entrance and visibly frisked him with a milky, hard stare before nodding to herself and going back to the blanket coming to life in her lap. Soap had to repress a shudder, almost afraid she had seen straight through his human veneer and into the Siren part of his soul.

It was a walk-up, and Ghost lived on the third floor, so it was decent cardio to get to his door, especially with his heart still racing from the terrifying central European grandma shakedown. He was surprised that the esteemed Dr. Riley lived in a place as run-down as this. Surely he belonged in one of those nice airy beachfront condos, or on something more ridiculous like a houseboat, rather than somewhere with whirring fluorescent sconces and peeling green wallpaper in the corridors.

He knew the number of the flat, but even if he hadn’t, a cracked nameplate with “Dr. Riley” and a crude drawing of a skull was next to the mail slot, and Soap rolled his eyes fondly at it as he hit the buzzer.

On the other side of the thin door, he heard something crash and a familiar “Bloody f*ckin’ hell,” followed by a slew of curses that could absolutely not be English. And Ghost got onto him about cursing in Scots! He absolutely had new ammo in their office spats n–

Oh.

Oh.

Any thoughts in Soap’s mind flew out his ears and scattered to the winds as the door was flung open wide, revealing something that had to be a conjuring of his wettest dreams and not reality. Ghost’s irate expression quickly melted to one of cautious confusion, but it wasn’t his masked face that Soap was looking at. He should have been embarrassed for the way he very clearly roved his eyes over the other man, but nothing short of death could have stopped him just then. Ghost was in nothing but one of his skull print masks, baggy black shorts, and a pair of black socks with little ghosts printed all over them. It should have been funny, he should have made a joke about Halloween still being several weeks away.

But Soap feared that if he opened his mouth, he’d start drooling.

Ghost’s torso was on full display, and gods was it everything he’d ever dreamed of. Defined shoulders, deep set collar bones, firm pecs with a dusting of fine blonde hair and a few scattered beauty marks, a shockingly narrow waist, a soft stomach with thicker patch of blonde hair trailing down to where it disappeared under the waistband of his shorts, which hung dangerously low on perfectly grabbable hips. He had several notable scars that crossed his body in different directions, some clearly surgical and some not, and the full tattoo sleeves he had on both arms continued up and met across his chest.

His right arm was a mix of art of various aquatic animals and plants, turning his body into a living field journal. His left was a mess of faded military and skull motifs, a testament to his past service. The two sides met in the middle of his chest where a compass sat over his heart, surrounded by what looked like an old timey mariner’s map, complete with sea monsters and tiny ships, blending the two separate murals. A revolver curved along the line of his hip, the barrel pointing down towards his crotch and the handle fitting his body perfectly to rest over the high point of his pelvis. Soap could see more ink on his powerful legs at the edges of his periphery, but was very intentionally keeping his gaze above the beltline, trying to scrounge whatever little scraps of politeness he could.

Ghost seemed equally as frozen to see Soap there, deadly quiet as he stared at him, honey brown eyes aflame in the warm light of the hallway. When he finally found his voice, his tone was odd. Almost nervous under the put-on venom. “What the f*ck are you doing here, MacTavish?”

And that made Soap frown. He hadn’t been anything but Johnny in weeks now, and it made him warm. Even before that, he’d been Soap. Getting “last named” now felt like he was in trouble, when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Um. Dr. Price asked me to come by and check on you, make sure you were feeling alright before you come back tomorrow.”

Ghost scoffed and crossed his arms, which just made his biceps and pecs bulge deliciously. He clocked Soap follow the motion, made a noise under his breath, and shifted his upper body to collapse in on himself a bit.

“Price asked you to come bother me on the weekend? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Oi, don’t get bitchy with me just because you didn’t put a shirt on before opening the door. And yes, he did. He told me to make sure you were taking care of yourself, and to say ‘boneyard’, whatever the f*ck that means.”

Ghost flinched, eyes going almost comically wide, before slumping a bit and dragging a hand up his face and through his tightly cropped hair with a groan. “Of f*cking course he did. Well as you can see I’m fine, it was just allergies, like I told him. You can run along now, go tell the boss I don’t need to be babysat and that codeword is supposed to be for real emergencies, not housecalls.”

Soap wasn’t exactly pouting about the frosty welcome, but it was a near-thing. Why the f*ck was Ghost being so weird? He could sense a mix of complex emotions, fear and embarrassment tainting a tiny little thread of sweetness that Soap tried to hone in on. “Is there a particular reason you’re being so rude to the man who brought you your stupid weird crisps?”

“You… what?” Hah. Got him.

“Your prawn crisps. And those weird sour crunchy things you make the interns eat when they ask stupid questions. And some lovely tuna pate for your cat.”

“You got something for Whiskey? Wait, how the f*ck did you even know I had a cat?”

“Dr. Price was very specific in his instructions. Now can I come in or are we going to keep yelling at each other in this gross ass hallway while you’ve got your tit* out?”

Ghost flinched and frowned but ultimately acquiesced.“Yeah, sure. Come on in. Take your shoes off.” He stepped back to allow Soap in and closed the door behind him before grabbing a faded, dark purple t-shirt off a pile of clean laundry on the coffee table where he had apparently been folding clothes earlier and yanked it on.

Soap kicked his trainers off and sat the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter before hopping up onto one of the barstools and gesturing to the water fountain and ceramic bowl that were definitely for a cat. “So Whiskey, huh?”

Ghost blushed a bit and rubbed his neck, radiating bashful pride. “Ah, yeah, found her behind a bar in Botswana while I was there doing population samples on tigerfish and it was the only name that stuck. She was a tiny little thing, climbed right up my pant leg and made herself at home on my shoulder.” He looked around the flat before spotting her under the coffee table, watching them both intently. “Spent half the next day hunting for strong enough wifi to research how to bring her back to England with me. Now I think she’s seen more countries than most people, I don’t really have anyone to leave her with when I travel so she just comes along.”

Soap chose to glaze right over the admission that he didn’t have anyone he could trust with his cat and pivoted to a different, lighter topic instead. “You like Scotch, then?”

“Not really, no. Bourbon man myself.”

“Like a good ole boy?” Soap couldn’t help but tease

Ghost sputtered and choked on a breath, cheeks bright red above the fabric of his mask. “I love Kentucky.”

Whiskey mewed at him with a distinct air of judgment in her raspy tone, and Soap cackled in tandem with her. Historically, he didn’t have a great history with cats, as if they could sense his inhuman nature. But this one seemed alright, so long as she continued to stay across the room.

They kept up a bit of banter while Ghost brewed himself a cup of tea, and Soap quietly beamed with pride when he took a bag from the box of lavender and honey brew. But something was still bothering Ghost, and it irritated Soap like a splinter in his palm. He tried to ignore it and just enjoy the company of the other man, but the longer he stayed put, the more it started to irritate him that there was a problem with his mate he wasn’t actively solving.

Lacking any better idea, he went for boldness.

“So what’s bothering you?”

With a slightly patronizing mix of incredulity and exasperation, Ghost motioned vaguely at his chest. When Soap still wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to get at, Ghost rolled his eyes again and pulled his shirt up, then gestured specifically at two faded scars running under his pecs. They weren’t incredibly noticeable with the bulk of his upper body, but there was a stark color contrast between the pink, surgical marks and his creamy white skin.

Soap just blinked at him, not entirely sure what the point was. Ghost was covered in scars, he knew that just from the glimpses of his skin that he’d seen. It’s not like Soap would be bothered by the fact that he had them. Scars just meant he had survived something. He had a fair share of his own too.

“Christ on the f*cking cross, Johnny I’m trans. I prefer to tell people on my own terms than have them find out because I keep forgetting to check the damn peephole before opening the door.”

Soap felt himself blanche, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. That sort of explained the chosen mate thing, if Ghost’s gender and sex weren’t in alignment. But was that offensive to point out? He didn’t particularly care, Ghost was still a man to him regardless, and clearly fate didn’t either, but he couldn’t exactly express his new understanding without sounding insane or bigoted. If anything he was sorry that Ghost felt like he had been forcibly outed, but also irritated because in his mind, if it was such a big deal, he probably shouldn’t have opened the door shirtless in the first place.

An ineloquent “Oh!” was all he managed to say in response.

Amazingly, Ghost just started laughing as he pulled his shirt back down. Not his usual soft huff, but a real, genuine, deep belly laugh that shook his shoulders and made him squint his eyes shut as his head tipped back. Even with his mask on, Soap could see the way it pulled his cheeks and jaw in a wide smile, and suddenly months of careful restraint snapped like a rubber band.

Using a handful of the shirt he had just put on as a handle, Soap yanked Ghost in close and kissed him. The mask was in the way but he didn’t care. Frankly, it worked in his favor, as it kept Ghost from discovering his second row of teeth.

And Ghost, beautiful f*cking Ghost, kissed him back. After just the briefest of moments where he went completely still, Ghost relaxed into it with a quiet hum of a moan, and rested one of his big, warm hands on Soap’s jaw. The fabric in between them quickly grew damp, but neither of them made any attempts to pull apart to remove it.

Soap used his seated position to his advantage and hooked an ankle around one of Ghost’s thighs, yanking him in closer until he was standing right between Soap’s spread legs. His other hand found a home on the sharp ridge of Ghost’s hipbone, digging into the plush skin with possessive, eager fingers.

They kissed until they were both breathless and whining. Soap’s lips tingled from the friction of Ghost’s mask, and his eyes stung from the intensity of the kitchen light when he reopened them with how dilated his pupils had become. He had to blink rapidly to not accidentally let his nictitating membrane slide while they were so close to each other.

f*ck, he really should tell Ghost something before this went any further, if he wanted it to. Clothed and with his mouth shut, Soap looked perfectly human, yes. Some things were easy to explain away, like the lack of body hair below his waist and how flexible he was. But there were some things that never truly went away that were distinctly otherworldly. Namely, the seals of his gills along his ribs, which weren’t very visible but did have a tangible ridge, his second row of needle-like teeth, oh, and the fact that he had two dicks. That felt like something that needed a “hey, by the way”.

Ghost bit his lip behind the mask, a little nervous buzz coming off his skin like tv static, pulling Soap from his thoughts. He could feel both of their arousals in the air, swirling together and feeding off each other, and an intoxicating plume of relief and excitement, but also a twinge of fear, and that simply wouldn’t do.

He kissed up the side of Ghost’s neck, digging his nails into his palm to resist the urge to bite down and feel the delicious pull of tendons and sinew and the sharp, metallic tang of blood blooming over his tongue. “What’s wrong sweetheart?” He purred, using just the faintest wisp of magic to implore Ghost to tell him honestly, and rubbed his thumb in little circles where he still had Ghost’s hip in a deathgrip.

Ghost shuddered and took a long, slow, deep breath, then did something unexpected. Soap always assumed the mask was to hide his expressions, like a localized security blanket. But Ghost unhooked it from the ear Soap wasn’t hovering over, letting it dangle between them.

His face was perfect. Marred, yes, but no less handsome for it. Rugged and mature, with deep-set eyes and a long, sharp jaw. But from this angle there was a softness to it, too. His high cheekbones and plush lips, the flare of his nose, how doe-like his eyes were when they weren’t the only things you could see.

His voice was soft, just above a whisper, and he was looking everywhere but Soap’s eyes. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“But you want to.” He didn’t pose it as a question because it wasn’t one. He could feel it, plain as day, how badly Ghost wanted this.

“Promise me this isn’t some sort of fetish for you. You’re not just interested now that you know?”

Caution be damned, Soap responded by kissing him again, pouring his intentions and feelings into both the press of their mouths and the air around him. He pulled back before Ghost could match the intensity and try to deepen the kiss, playing coy and nipping very, very carefully at his lower lip.Soap dropped his voice as low as he could get it without actually growling, but cut any influencing magic from his words, wanting it to be entirely, irrevocably Ghost’s decision. “Take me to your bedroom, and I’ll show you exactly how interested I’ve been since the moment we met.”

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Soap has always believed that his Siren magic doesn’t belong in the bedroom unless explicitly asked for. Unlike the reputation that certain fishermans’ myths have given them, most Sirens don’t actually want to completely ruin a person’s brain and turn them into a sex puppet or snack.

He did, however, see some of the appeal, when he had Ghost shirtless again, laughing about how dumb it was that he even put the garment on in the first place if they were just going to end up like this, hands resting above him on buttery soft, dove gray sheets. If Ghost wanted to, he could easily break the hold, but he seemed perfectly content to let Soap explore while he stayed exactly where he was told.

Soap had pulled off his shirt at Ghost’s rather enthusiastic request, and so to keep him from grabbing Soap’s gills by accident, he had very gently psychically pinned Ghost’s hands in place.

In Soap’s head, this was going to have to go a very specific way: he was going to absolutely ravish Ghost with his hands and mouth, and then go home rock hard and desperate to get himself off in the shower to the memory of his mate falling apart for him. And that cab ride was going to suck , but it would be worth it, if the noises Ghost was already making were anything to go by.

He spared half a neuron to be amused about the fact that he was technically on the clock, directly out of Dr. Price’s contracting budget rather than his usual hourly wage from the aquarium. But then he went right back to complete, rapt focus on the feel and smell and taste of Ghost’s skin as he kissed and nipped down his sternum, both hands clamped onto the narrow curve of his waist.

Ghost rolled up into the touch, letting out heartbreakingly soft gasps and whines. He had goosebumps down his arms and a bright pink blush all down his chest and it made Soap both angry that it had clearly been a while since anyone touched him like this, but also possessively delighted to be the one to break that streak.

There was just the slightest moment of tension when Soap made it down to the waistband of Ghost’s shorts, nervous energy vibrating down his spine. f*ck, Ghost’s emotions were so vibrant, so potent like this. Soap could feel them, almost see them in the air, like plumes of mist. A Siren’s magical intuition was an evolutionary tactic, like how sharks hunt by tracking electrical pulses in the water, but he’d never felt it this intensely. Any doubt that Ghost was his fated love was completely obliterated by the way Soap could feel his mind and heart realigning to care about absolutely nothing but Ghost’s pleasure and comfort.

“You okay? Need me to stop?” His voice was already wrecked, breathy and low like he’d been the one being teased. He was, a little bit. He could smell and feel Ghost’s arousal and wanted to taste him so f*cking bad. But he could wait for permission. He might have thrown puppy dog eyes up from where he was crouched over Ghost’s lap, but couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about begging.

Something shifted in Ghost’s expression, a bit of clarity coming into his eyes as he sat up a bit to look down at Soap properly.

“Don’t you f*cking dare.”

It was all Soap needed. Moving a little quicker than he should in this form, he had Ghost free of the rest of his clothes, including those incredibly endearing novelty socks. He began kissing and nipping his way back up Ghost’s long, pale body at the ankle, pouring devotion and worship into every careful press of lips and teeth.

He was so warm, and smelled like all of Soap’s favorite things. Saltwater and clean linens and old books, bright and clear and entirely Ghost. He could live here forever, he thought, at the junction of Ghost’s thigh and hip, worrying the fragile skin between his flat frontal teeth and kneading the firm muscle below.

Soap wondered if Ghost was going to keep being sweet and docile for him, soaking up the affection like a sponge and allowing himself to be repositioned as needed. Wondered, that is, until he tried to kiss back up his stomach and was stopped by a firm hand suddenly holding him in place by the hair. Ghost’s other arm still rested behind his head on the pillow, and his voice dipped low and commanding, but Soap could feel his radiating need and see the rapidly darkening blush on his cheeks and the glazed over look in his eyes.

***

***

“Get on with it already.”

It was all Simon could do to keep himself from shuddering as he spoke, trying to retain some scrap of control. He shook Johnny’s head a bit by the hair before lightening his grip enough to let him actually move. He was done with the teasing, as much as it felt good to have Johnny’s mouth on him anywhere at all.

If he was being honest with himself, he was a little overwhelmed and tired of feeling on-display. But more than anything, he was also just soaking wet and impatient. He somehow felt detached from his body, but also hyper aware of every cell down to the marrow in his bones. His arms were heavy, and his mind was already muddled and hazy, like he had gotten high before they started.

It had to be something special about Johnny. Simon had never felt this good before from such little contact. Something about those eclipsed eyes and the quick way he obeyed, letting out a laugh that reverberated against Simon’s sensitive skin as he spread the blonde’s legs wider. No part of Simon was small by any means, and to be so easily manhandled had him breathless.

f*ck, this was better than he had ever imagined. How many stupid p*rnos had he seen now where someone opened the door to the handsome brunette plumber or delivery boy and gotten ravished? Probably an embarrassing number. He really didn’t want to try to do statistics based equations to figure it out right now, not when he could instead be focusing on the way Johnny’s wide tongue felt lapping bold, greedy stripes from Simon’s ass to dick with absolutely no hesitation.

Simon avoided romantic entanglements, but that didn’t make him a prude. He’d gotten good head plenty of times before. That wasn’t what this was. This was something more. He was being devoured, worshiped even.

Johnny dug in deep and performed with the same level of confidence he handled hungry sharks with on a daily basis, like it was impossible for him to fail. He could practically feel the other man’s determination, could definitely hear it in the way he moaned and whined under his breath as he worked, like the taste of Simon was mythical ambrosia to him. He barely pulled off to breathe, as if he had grown gills and was sustaining himself solely on the wetness coating Simon’s inner thighs. And he was so unfairly pretty like this, eyelids fluttering and his big, cold, tan hands denting the meat of Simon’s hips, looking like a predator savoring its kill. He’d hissed at the temperature at first, but now that he’d adjusted it was almost comforting, grounding in a way to have Johnny’s pervasively cool skin against his overheated body.

A particularly hard suck on Simon’s swollen co*ck paired with a devious little tongue trick had him crying out and digging a heel into the small of Johnny’s muscular back. Familiar heat was already building in his gut from the devastating combination of not having gotten laid in a while, and the first person in however long being this in tune with his body. It was like Johnny was inside his mind, rooting around the filing cabinet for tips on how to pleasure him. Perfect pressure, just enough stimulation without being too much, absolutely no hesitation to lick and suck and carefully bite everywhere he could get to. He moved around a lot, leaving a dark hickey on Simon’s inner thigh before pivoting attention over to his clenching hole, diving in with his tongue and letting Simon grind his dick against the ridge of his nose.

“f*ck, just like that, how the hell are you so good at this?” Simon’s voice broke in the middle of the question, normally steady tone cracking into a gasping mess.

Johnny chuckled darkly, letting the vibrations from his voice tease and tingle before repeating the devilish flick of his tongue along the underside of Simon’s co*ck in response. Simon let his head fall back as he arched up into the contact, not shy about the wanton moans he let out in the slightest.

Simon lost control of his mouth the closer he got to his peak, sucking in hiccuping breaths between strings of profanity and demands for “more, less, harder, gentle, a little to the left, right there right there right there f*ck –”

He came with a garbled shout of Johnny’s name, crushing the man between his thighs as his body locked up with the intensity of it, nearly ripping the sheets with how tight of a grip he pulled at them with. And Johnny, perfect f*cking thing he was, didn’t stop. At some point he had slipped two fingers into Simon to give him something to clench down on, and was still sliding his tongue against Simon’s co*ck in slow, gentle pulls as he worked him through his org*sm.

“Johnny, f*ck, Johnny, please…”

For the briefest moment, Simon regretted speaking when Johnny pulled off to ask him, “Please what, sweetheart? Tell me what you need.” The pet name ached, everything Simon wanted but knew wasn’t meant for him clanging around in his chest. The affection wouldn’t last, but he could hold onto it for now.

But a particularly well-aimed thrust of fingers had Simon crying out, pushing those thoughts back into the distance for now. He’d deal with them later, but for now he wanted to focus on the present, where everything felt good and warm and cloudy.

“More, need more,” he panted out, head tossed to the side and legs still tight around Johnny’s broad shoulders.

“You can have as many as you want, darlin’, just keep makin’ those pretty sounds for me, aye?”

Simon shivered before nodding, vaguely aware of the fact that he was drooling a bit as Johnny got back to it, thrusting his fingers in tandem with each reverent movement of his tongue. Everything about it was overwhelming but in the best of ways, full-body sensations rolling through him in waves.

‘As many as you want’ turned out to be three more, before oversensitivity started to kick in and turned Simon into a panting, squirmy mess. With one hand still behind his head and the other gripping the back of Johnny’s neck as he bucked his hips against the painful pleasure, he felt like a rodeo rider and would have made a joke about it if he had been capable of anything but whimpering at that point.

When he finally got Johnny to detach himself with a comment about him being worse than a limpet and a harsh tug on his mohawk, Simon collapsed into the bed completely. Every inch of his body was exhausted and damp from either slick or sweat, but he felt lighter than he had in months. Maybe since coming back to the UK entirely. Like there was something fundamentally correct in the universe now that he had let John MacTavish bully him through four rapid-fire org*sms without even hinting at wanting anything in return.

The thought brought Simon back into himself just a bit. He didn’t want to seem completely ungrateful, and sat up onto his elbows, finally bringing his other arm down from where it had been stuck behind him. Why the hell had he kept his arm there the whole time? He could have been grabbing and exploring all the tan, lovely skin that was… oh. Already hidden under a shirt again.

“Can I return the favor?”

Johnny flushed beet red and rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “I ah…” he trailed off and pointedly looked down, to where a very visible dark spot spread across the front of his jeans.

Simon didn’t mean to laugh, but he was still high on endorphins and Johnny’s cologne, and couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. It was another one of his rare, deep cackles that shook his entire frame and made his eyes water. The fact that Johnny had gotten it out of him twice in one day was frankly more impressive than his talented tongue. A hunk of silicone could get Simon off, but almost nothing made him laugh like that.

“Christ Johnny, just from sucking my dick? You are a slag, aren’t you?” It was a little cruel, but he made it very clear he was just teasing with a wide smile and soft eyes. “There’s clean bottoms in the basket, go borrow a pair of my sweats or something. Not kicking you out looking like you pissed yourself.”

He disappeared to the living room, leaving Simon with a few minutes to collect himself. Well, completely freak out, and then collect himself after that. All the usual “why the f*ck did I do that, we work together, I’m no good at relationships but he deserves more than a f*ckbuddy, where the hell are my shorts” thoughts came rushing in with post-org*sm clarity. He took a moment to be dramatic, rolling over to groan directly into his pillow, debating the merit of just laying like that until he eventually died.

A loud hiss and yelp from the living room spared him from his melodrama.

Simon chose to ignore the way his hip cracked as he rolled off the bed instead of muttering about how aging was stupid, but it was a near miss. He found his boxers and t-shirt on his way to the door, and had just finished redressing when the source of the commotion came into view.

Up on the counter was Johnny, crouched like he was ready to spring across the room and out the window, clutching a plate with two peeled clementines to his chest and visibly trembling.

On the floor a few feet away was Whiskey, puffed up as big as she could get herself, tail swishing slowly, green eyes aflame, and a surprisingly menacing growl coming from her fluffy chest.

“What the f*ck did you do to my cat?”

“I didn’t do sh*te!”

“You must have done something, I’ve literally never seen her do that.” That was a lie, Whiskey hated everyone but him and whether she showed her displeasure by hiding or hissing was merely the luck of the draw, but it was very funny to see a muscle-bound grown man acting like a nine pound cat was a harbinger of destruction.

“I swear! I changed clothes, came to grab a snack, and she charged me like one of those Spanish fighting bulls!”

Simon snorted and rolled his eyes before walking over and scooping her up like a baby. She instantly ragdolled and started purring up a storm, rubbing herself all over his chest and neck to reassert her claim. Johnny looked on, incredulous, at the sudden change of behavior.

“Get down before you hurt yourself and come say hello.”

“Aye the wee beastie would like that! I come over there and she bites my face off.” He glared at her, and she stared back, looking quite pleased with herself.

“How the hell are you afraid of cats? You literally stand in a tank full of sharks for a living.”

“Oi! I’m not afraid of cats, I’m afraid of getting attacked mercilessly. My sharks like me, your little demon creature very clearly does not.”

“First of all, don’t call my child a demon creature. Second, I swear if you just come pet her she’ll calm down.”

With a skeptical look that belonged on the face of someone who just heard that mermaids were real rather than someone being told a cat wouldn’t eat their face off, Johnny carefully slid off the counter. He walked closer with one hand held out like he was taming a wild animal, very clearly telegraphing his movements and looking up at Simon for reassurance.

Nervously biting his lip, Johnny shook himself loose and then reached for her, palm up and slow just like he should. For a moment, everything was calm, both humans and cat just breathing together in the early afternoon sunlight coming through the big bay window.

The next heartbeat, all hell broke loose. Whiskey damn near threw herself out of Simon’s arms and straight at Johnny, claws out and yowling threateningly. She slashed across his eyebrow before launching off of his chest with her other three paws, then sprinted off to one of her hiding places.

Johnny, understandably, yelled in surprise and pain as his face started gushing blood. Simon, understandably, also yelled, betrayed by his cat making a liar out of him and startled by the sudden chaos. They both ended up yelling at each other too, half-assed argument keeping up at high volume as Simon disappeared into the bathroom to get his first aid kit to the point the neighbors in the next flat over joined in the yelling, telling them to shut the hell up.

Simon got Johnny situated on the couch to clean and butterfly bandage the cut, which thankfully wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, and apologized profusely on behalf of his cat who had still yet to reappear from where she shot under the bed. His apologies and assurance that “she isn’t normally like that” did very little to calm the other man down, but Simon couldn’t really blame him. Afterwards, Simon collapsed onto the couch next to him, taking one of the clementines that had somehow both survived the mayhem and propping his feet up on the coffee table next to the laundry basket.

They sat together in silence for a long time, sharing their snack and staring at nothing, until they both tried to break it at the same time, overlapping “So, can I ask you some– oh, no you g–, no you…” to the point they both just started laughing again, the noise once more upsetting the neighbor.

“You go first, seriously. Least I can do after Whiskey tried to maul you is answer a question.”

Johnny scoffed and rubbed at the bandage over his left eye before setting his plate down and turning a bit to face Simon more directly. “Not that I’m complaining with how it ended up, but why the hell did you open the door shirtless anyways, if it was such a big deal?”

Simon sighed and sunk further into the cushions, running a hand over his hair. It was getting too long again. “It’s not usually a big deal. I get most of my groceries delivered and assumed the guy was just here earlier than usual, didn’t bother to check the peephole.”

“Then why the hell did you get so worked up about it, if it doesn’t matter?”

“I don’t care who sees when they’re total strangers I’ll probably never see again. It’s different when it’s somebody whose opinion I actually care about.” Johnny blushed at that, and Simon scoffed and shoved his shoulder. “Don’t get a big head about it. Just didn’t want to deal with a bigot in my lab.”

“Afraid you’ll have to deal with an incorrigible Scot instead, now that you’ve let me see that you aren’t a hardass all the time I’m going to be all over you.”

Simon flinched and shot a sad smile over Johnny’s way, pulling his legs back up onto the couch and curling in on himself a little to rest his chin on his knee. f*ck, this was going to suck.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about, actually. What exactly are you expecting to come from this? I don’t do relationships, and professionalism is very important to me. This was fun, but I want to make sure we’re on the same page here.” He looked forward at the peeling wall above the television, finding a particularly interesting shape in the water damage, not strong enough to look Johnny in the eyes while he admitted to being an unlovable coward.

Johnny made a sad sound, a little hum, and shifted on his half of the couch. The empty cushion in between them felt more like a canyon in that moment. His voice was soft when he spoke again.

“I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.” There was a long, quiet moment, before he stood up and confirmed Simon’s fears that he had wanted more than he could give. “I should get going, I’m sure you’ve got plans for the rest of your day off. Thanks for the change of clothes, I’ll wash them and get them back to you at work. See you around, Simon.”

All the warmth left with him when he got up.

This was for the best, Simon knew. Hurt them both a little now to avoid a bigger heartbreak down the line when Johnny eventually realized that Simon was too hard to love, too jaded and broken and prone to disappearing to uncharted rainforests for eight months with no notice. Johnny was like the sun, bright and beautiful and a little dangerous. He deserved something stable, something that offered him a future with a picket fence and a family.

Knowing and accepting were two very different things, though.