Cold Water

Hoonah, Alaska is a relatively large town of around 750 year-round residents that boasts cultural tours and wildlife watching in the beautiful North Pacific. It’s a close enough flight or ferry from Glacier Bay National Park for the thrill-seeking hikers and eco-friendly rangers to come take a break or vacation in one of the most populated areas in the Hoonah-Agnoon area, and it’s also a destination for cruise-goers in the peak tourist seasons.

For the locals of Hoonah, though, it is just home. Mild winters and rainy summers, rich heritage meets fishing and tourism. You went out on the sea in the morning and came home to your family in the evening.

For Reggie Silla, this was exactly how life went. He would leave port early in the morning, waving hello to Gus and Ralph and wishing them well as he went about preparing his own vessel. It was nowhere near as large as some of the other boats docked at the marina but he didn’t need a deckhand every morning he wanted to go out. Freedom was worth a modest sized boat.

He bites back a smile at the thought, breath puffing out misty through his protective headgear, mind already filling in what his younger brother Jacob would have to say about that - it’s not the size of the boat, Reggie.

While there were still a few months left of frigid temperatures and miserable foggy mornings to come, he’s already looking forward to Jacob’s visit with his family towards the end of summer.

Scratching at his beard through heavy gloves, Reggie makes his way out of the marina onto the sea. It’s a fairly clear morning and after he’s settled at a decently protected cove he peeks out of the bulkhead to check the sea before he starts working.

What he sees on the water has his heart stopping cold.

Not even a full boat length the small body of what looks like a child is rolling in the waves. Except that’s no child. Even from this distance he can see the way it’s scales reflect the early morning light, sleek like the water itself.

They’re beautiful and he doesn’t dare move any closer to get a better look, even though it’s hard to resist. He’s never seen a real mermaid before.

The child turns into the waves as they come so he isn't jostled around, and big, alien eyes stared directly at Reggie. They’re such a pale blue that they almost look grey. His dark hair is plastered to his forehead. It’s quite long and the sea tugs at it, making inky ripples in the water, Reggie notes. He knows he should leave, a young mer with no mother in sight sounds like the beginning of a tale that ends in a watery grave and in the back of his mind all he can hear is Grandma Dika warning him of people in the water. He had always known they were more than just stories.

Swallowing thickly, Reggie waits. The young mer just stares with his wide eyes before pushing his plush lips together and whistling a series of chirps at him. Before he can think to respond he hears a splash off to the side and when he whips around to see the gleam of scales under dark water of a second mermaid.

When he whips back around to the child there is nothing there.

Shaking, he turns back to the bulkhead and closes his eyes before turning the key in the ignition and steering to a different cove. He goes home early that day and when he tells Alice she holds him tight. He doesn’t go back out on the water for a week.

It’s the first time humans had seen any signs of mer in the wild in a long time, so when Reggie calls Jacob up that evening with to tell him about it he doesn’t need to check the local paper to know that all the boats leaving the marina the next morning weren't hunting for king salmon. For months he feels a bit like he’s gotten away with something terrible.

He never goes back to that cove. It’s nearly fifteen years later, when Alice has finally been able to push him into retirement, that his phone call finally catches up to him. He hears of a foreign fishing vessel that had supposedly caught something beautiful in the harbor.

When he looks at the rolling sea out of the salt-spray stained glass of their cabin’s window panes all he can feel is cold.

*

Knauss is eating one evening and he realizes halfway through his salmon that he's shoved his thumb through the fish’s stomach which is now dripping its contents down his arm. It must have happened when he caught it, he'd been a bit overzealous.

He chuffs a quiet curse, glaring at the dark liquid trailing down his forearm debating on eating it or washing it off.

“When you click like that what does it mean?” Confused, Knauss looks up.

“Hm?” he hums. Bain twists in his seat to give Knauss a better look.

“You just make noises. It sounds weird, is that what mermaids sound like?” Bain clarifies, Knauss frowns, unsure if this would be okay to say.

“We communicate a lot of ways. My colony has a,” Knauss pauses, trying to remember how they had said it on TV, “it is not an accent, but like that.”

“You got an accent now. Your English is weird,” Bain scoffs.

“I am not made to speak for long. It is hard to move my mouth like you do,” Knauss inclines his head, the fish in his lap all but forgotten.

“Really? What do mermaids talk like?”

Knauss fidgets, suddenly unsure.

Bain frowns, “Don't be an asshole.”

“What would I say? I do not know the situation,” Knauss complains.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It is different when I am talking in our den or if we are out,” Knauss tries to explain, he doesn’t really know how to convey the different tones and body language between casual conversation and the sparse clicks and whistles used for hunting. And he had thought his English was so good. It’s just a lot easier to listen to it and understand than actually speaking it.

“Just say something,” Bain insists.

“You cannot understand, also it would require being underwater for it to sound correct,” Knauss watches curiously as Bain rolls onto his feet.

“Underwater?” he asks, tone lofty. Knauss furrows his brow when he walks closer. Regardless, he nods. It would sound clearer if he was able to use the acoustics he was more familiar with to speak, he also didn’t know how to explain the difference between singing and speaking. While speaking was usually limited to chitter for brevity’s sake, it was entirely possible to get by with just humming. Mermaid song, however, was completely different at it’s core because it actually required the use of his vocal cords and -

Something hard pushes into his side and his eyes widen as he realizes Bain is pressed against him.

Blinking in surprise Knauss sits stock still until he finally gathers himself enough to send a look over his shoulder, staring as Bain strains against his back.

“What are you doing?” he asks hesitantly.

Bain pulls back and shoves into him again, it’s enough to scoot him towards the water marginally but he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why is Bain touching him so much now when he would hardly get near him on a good day. The full body contact is a little out of character and Knauss doesn’t know what to think about it.

“What the hell dude, how fucking heavy are you?” Bain grunts.

“...I am large for my colony?” Knauss admits unsurely, it was what made him such a good hunter, as well. He could always bring in the largest catches with the least help needed.

“Not what I fucking asked,” Bain grumbles, sitting back on his heels.

“I am more muscle. It is heavier than fat,” Knauss tries again, tone still hesitant. In the water he kicks his tail enough to stir a current. The salmon he had been eating is lying mostly finished on the deck, “What were you trying to do?”

“Well it didn’t fucking work anyway,” Bain huffs and Knauss’ eyebrows shoot up.

“Were you trying to push me in?” Knauss asks incredulously, realization dawning on him. Bain scoffs.

“You’re too fucking fat for me to - what the hell are you doing!?” Bain’s voice skyrockets to a screech so fast that it almost drowns out the sound of him hitting the water face first. Almost. It’s a very satisfying sound, though. Knauss is also delighted to find that humans are just as light above water as they are under it. They’re incredibly easy to just pick up and throw around. Bain surfaces sputtering and screaming, “Jesus Christ, dude!? What the fuck is wrong with you!?”

Knauss grins and it’s all teeth. In his opinion Bain looks better like this: flushed cheeks, soaking wet, and flailing his arms like a newborn seal flopping in the waves. A newborn before it’s mother takes pity on the thing and helps it swim, of course.

He lingers on the deck a moment to take off his glasses before sliding into the pool and swimming over. Then he pulls Bain to his chest and the human doesn’t so much as pout when he wraps an arm around his back, to keep him afloat. It’s a far cry from the last time he was in the water with him. What just a few weeks can do, Knauss can’t stop grinning.

“You look better like this.”

“God you’re such an asshole,” Bain shivers, reaching up to shove his wet hair off his forehead, “Are all mermaids such dickheads, or is it just you?”

“You wanted to hear me speak?” Knauss cocks an eyebrow and changes the subject. Bain immediately straightens.

“What, you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Well what the fuck is the hold up? It’s so fucking cold in here, I’m going to lose my goddamn toes,” Bain complains. Knauss chuffs a laugh.

“You will need to come under with me.” That gives Bain some pause, but Knauss doesn’t move until he nods.

“Whatever,” Bain’s tone is blase but he doesn’t move the same way he does whenever he gets scared. Knauss doesn’t know what humans consider comforting gestures and Bain would probably just get offended if he tried, so without preamble he takes them both under the surface.

Bain is staring at him with squinted eyes, for a moment he wonders what it’s like for humans to see underwater? He supposes the question can wait for later.

Instead he whistles a common greeting, chirping like he has just returned from a hunt and explaining like he would explain to a pod-mate. When he and Bain resurface Bain is already speaking as he rubs at his eyes.

“What did you say?” he demands, Knauss can’t stop smiling.

“Just hello,” he says.

“That was a lot for just a hello,” Bain squints at him with red eyes.

“It is a common greeting. When you return from a hunt,” Knauss concedes.

“Say it above water,” Bain says, he’s shivering hard now. Knauss leads them over to the side of the tank and pushes the blonde at the decking. Bain wordlessly obeys, hauling himself out of the water and standing in a trembling mess. At least he’s standing on the slatted part of the deck so the water can at least drip back into the tank.

Knauss repeats his greeting and Bain frowns.

“I can’t hear the difference,” he complains. Knauss’ smile falters a little, he leans on the deck.

“Oh?”

“Is that singing?”

“No I am just talking,” Knauss shakes his head. Bain purses his lips and shifts his weight, glancing from his chair, then down to his soaked clothes.

“What does singing sound like?” he asks hesitantly. Knauss offers a thin smile.

“Very different,” he says flatly before hauling himself back on the deck and reaching for his unfinished dinner, “Do you need to change your clothes?” He has needed to the past two times that Knauss got his clothes wet. Bain pauses before nodding, running a hand through his dripping hair.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”