Cold Water

This time when Knauss opens his eyes he’s wholly unsurprised to find that he can barely see straight. Again. The humans must have given him a higher dosage of sedatives because his mouth might as well be full of fluffy bread - just like it had felt earlier that night.

Yesterday night. Whatever.

Though it’s dry and hard to swallow, he ignores that to instead look around, trying to comprehend why the van wasn’t making noise like before. His brain feels sluggish. Slow like seaweed swaying in lazy currents. It takes a beat to realize that the van isn’t making noise because it isn’t even moving.

In fact, he realizes belatedly, he can smell crisp air through the open door in the back, humans are milling by his fin and touching the sling he’s been laying in. The van isn’t moving because he is.

Oh.

Turning his attention to the side, Knauss squints at the bright rays of a rosey orange sunrise. It’s vivid and bright and it glows across the limbs of the tall trees that line the sides of the road and gravel driveway they’re on. There’s some maneuvering from the humans and for the second time in as many days, he’s outside again.

Next to his head, to his left, is the human woman who had tended to Bain earlier. To his right is Jacob.

It feels different than it had before. Here the air is cold, but thick with the promise of rain in spite of the relatively sparse cloud coverage.

Looking up, Knauss blinks. The sky has always awed and terrified him in equal parts. Hanging up there, lofty, without the grounding weight that water provides.

Distantly he recognizes humans chattering and he’d be more concerned if he couldn’t also hear Bain’s abrasive tone cutting through the dewy morning. There’s another unfamiliar voice speaking, a woman, but he pays it no heed as suddenly he’s no longer outside but rather the group is shuffling him through a doorway. A spike of distant panic lances through his chest at the thought of going back inside. Has he been returned? Is he going back to a cage?

No. No, Bain is here. Bain wouldn’t allow that to happen.

He tries dazedly to focus in on the conversation, but there’s a clingy layer of film over the world. From the sling he can see hanging photographs but he can’t make out what the contents are; the world is too fuzzy. If it’s because he no longer has his glasses, or if it’s the drugs, he can’t be sure.

“Em listen, I owe you so fucking hard, I’ll -” Bain is saying, somewhere, but he’s taken into a room with a bed and through another door to a… bathroom? Knauss furrows his brow, looking at the water, uncomprehending until he’s lowered to the ground and the woman crouches next to him this time.

“Can I touch you?” She asks and he can only blink owlishly at her before nodding. She nods back and looks to the rest of the team, “On the count of three.”

“What is your name?” It’s out before he can really stop himself. The human, who had previously been reaching for him hesitated before getting a grip of herself. They’re mindful of his left side.

“Cara,” the woman replies.

Of course. He knew that. The big human, Bill, had said it last night. Knauss just nods again slowly as he’s lowered into the lukewarm bath. It’s incredibly hot against his scales, but it feels so good to be back in water that he hardly even cares. Blearily, he relaxes back against the porcelain lip, watching with detached interest as Jacob tucks his tail into the relatively large tub.

Even as he watches, the sensation of touch is distant. Like it’s only there because he expects it to be.

From there the humans begin to bundle the stretcher and file out. It’s only then that he realizes, belatedly, that it’s common courtesy to say -

“Thank you,” he rasps out, loud enough that the group looks back, a little surprised. He knows objectively - from what he can remember - that this was most likely not done from the goodness inherent in their human hearts, but he feels gratitude nonetheless.

There’s a beat of hesitation as the group exchanges a look and then Jacob smiles back at him, waving a short, awkward gesture, “Yeah, of course. Sorry we couldn’t do more.” And then they’re gone. With his hearing he can hear the murmurs through the door until they’ve retreated well into the hallway. Only then does he relax again.

It feels like he’s slept for days rather than hours, but he’s still so tired. Objectively, he realizes it’s his body’s need for time to heal, but with the world still a rippling haze of the sedatives in his system, it’s hard to be objective.

Deeper in the house he can hear the familiar tenor of Bain’s voice and it’s comforting enough that he sighs through his nose. Half-lidded eyes lazily track the way the early light spills in through a clear window. From this angle he can make out a dense wood of pine trees surrounding the back garden and fluffy clouds, full with the promise of rain.

*

The knock that rouses him from his half-sleep is familiar and Knauss sits up just in time to see Bain slip into the connected bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. The sun has been out for a few hours now if the position of the shadows are anything to go off of, softened as they are by cloud coverage.

There’s a beat where they just stare at each other, unsure how to proceed, before Bain purses his lips, reaches into his pocket, and steps into the bathroom.

Silently, he reaches out to hand him something and Knauss squints down at the object before his brain catches up. It’s familiar and instantly his chest feels so full it might burst. Like the swell of a wave, it crests and sweeps over him with emotions that are too big to contain.

It’s his glasses.

Inhaling softly through his nose, Knauss slips them on and looks back up at the human currently shifting his weight awkwardly. Without speaking, he reaches out again to take his hand, squeezing to try and convey his feelings because for some reason he can’t make words work.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t be such a girl about it,” Bain murmurs and the tips of his ears are red.

“I am a boy,” Knauss replies, earning a scoff and it’s like a dam breaking. Hand still in his, Bain all but collapses on the closed lid of the toilet. He sits down like the world is suddenly too heavy to bear.

“God, Knauss. Fuck, dude, I-” Bain cuts himself off, leaning back to tilt his head towards the ceiling before he repeats, emphatically, “Fuck.”

He lets the note linger in the air, considering, before he speaks up, “I believe we need to talk.”

Bain makes a quiet noise.

”Fuck. I really don’t want to talk about this.” Well that’s unhelpful, because Knauss can think of about sixteen questions he has right now.

Pain radiates from his shoulder in a dull throb and his stomach hasn’t felt this bad since he was nearly eaten in his youth. Since the sedatives wore off an hour or so ago, he’s found that moving his left arm is sluggish, but doable. His tail is more concerning. Though if he focuses it will twitch.

“We should,” Knauss replies frankly. Bain stares at the ceiling a moment longer before sighing deeply. They’re still holding hands.

Eventually he nods, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, but not right now, okay? Later?” Knauss nods back reluctantly, later is better than not ever. Bain still isn’t looking at him, “I came to tell you Em is gonna take a look at you. Emily, I mean, she’s my - uh. Family, I guess? She’s a vet. I don’t know if there’s much she can do more than what that doctor chick already did, but…” He trails off a little awkwardly.

He’s nervous, Knauss realizes. Nervous and - in the most roundabout way - asking his permission to invite another human to see him. It’s possible that he’s getting better at understanding people, but more likely he’s getting better at understanding Bain.

While the idea of yet more humans coming to poke at him is unappealing, it’s not as difficult when it’s on his terms. It also helps that Bain is asking, though he doesn’t necessarily need to know that. The guy’s head is big enough as it is.

“Okay,” Knauss agrees easily, realizing belatedly that Bain isn’t just avoiding his eyes - he’s also staring at their joined hands. He looks down too, noting loftily that his is big enough to engulf the human’s almost entirely. His nails are also longer, though nowhere near as deadly as they were before. It will take time to build calcium back up to the density necessary to crack hard shells, but they would suffice in a pinch.

He squeezes a little, just to bring the conversation back on track. Instead, Bain pulls his hand away, his dark eyes darting up to meet his briefly before he looks off to the side. Out the window a light drizzle dapples the glass.

“Okay,” Bain echoes. There’s an edge to his voice that Knauss doesn’t recognize, but when Bain turns back to him his shoulders are squared, “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

He stands and is out of the room before Knauss can react, the bedroom door closing with a quiet click behind him.

It’s only then that he lets his attention drift out the window. Lush green is smudged only slightly by the downpour, the sound of water draining off the roof and puddling in the grass soothes the aches in his body and the bathwater has finally chilled to something tepid enough for him to tolerate.

Turning away from the scenery, he reviews the vials and concoctions lining a shelf nearby, basking in the crisp lines of a world that’s slid back in focus. With his glasses it’s easier to make out the words written on the labels, though he still can’t understand them. Even after learning no less than 19 different words of the day. Disappointing.

He never thought he’d miss learning human culture, even if it was from colorful puppets that sang too often.

His mind drifts further until a knock brings him back. When Bain slips back into the room he’s followed by a woman. She is average height with long, wavy tresses of brunette hair, and Knauss recognizes that her features are objectively very attractive.

Regardless of the warning, he still narrows his eyes at her, pupils thin, weary slits.

The woman - Emily - looks him over with an analytical eye and he bristles until she turns to Bain and asks, “Bain, why does your mermaid look like a lumberjack?”

Knauss blinks at the non sequitur as Bain sputters indignantly on his behalf.

“What?! No he doesn’t! He’s… I mean… Actually,” Bain turns to him now, brow furrowed inquisitively.

“I’m right,” Emily says, “If he had a flannel and some maple syrup, he’d be good to go.”

“You know now that you mention it, I actually think he’s from Canada,” Bain concedes and Knauss doesn’t really know how to handle the way this situation is starting to shake out.

“I am not,” he denies, trying to remember what he knows of Canada based solely off nature documentaries and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Bain shoots him an arch look but the set of his shoulders is loosening the more they talk and, in spite of himself, Knauss can feel his hackles lowering too.

“You don’t know that,” Bain shoots back, like he does. Knauss doesn’t dignify that with an answer because suddenly Emily squats next to the bathtub so they’re eye to eye.

Instinctively, the spines on his forearms flex with tension and the proximity. He doesn’t lean away, but he doesn’t blink either, cold eyes watching the way she rocks a little to keep her balance.

“I’m Emily,” she introduces herself like he doesn’t already know.

Knauss doesn’t return the gesture, but he does incline his head in acknowledgement.

“Can I look at your shoulder?” She nods towards the gauze that’s only a little damp, wrapped snug around his left arm. He doesn’t break eye contact, silently weighing the benefits before she sighs and sits back on her heels to give him room. Hm. He must have taken too long, “Howabout we just start with some questions? I’m going to assume it’s fine because you aren’t dead, but I wanted to confirm; can you survive in freshwater?”

Knauss exhales silently through his nose when he’s given the space to.

“Yes.” It’s not the same, less dense to the point that it feels like it’s whistling through his gills, but it’s not painful. Not really.

“For how long?”

“I can survive in freshwater,” Knauss confirms, earning a nod.

“Okay, cool. I don’t know what Bain has told you, but you’re at my house in Port Angeles. In my bathroom, actually. I was told you were shot twice and had to be taken to a doctor,” she hesitates, nose wrinkling before she continues frankly, “Honestly, I have no idea how you’re alive right now. Based off what I was told, you were shot through some important stuff. It’s nothing short of a miracle that you’re lucid and speaking with me right now.”

Knauss doesn’t really know how to interpret that. His gaze doesn’t waver, but from the corner of his eye he can see that Bain’s shoulders are tight. High strung like he was back in the van.

Something must show because Emily also glances towards him reassuringly before returning her full attention to Knauss.

“I do not remember much,” Knauss admits. The last day or so has been a complete mess of colors and streetlamps. She nods.

“That’s okay. I want to talk to you seriously. I’m not a doctor, I’m a vet. Veterinarian, that is. It means I work with animals, not people, so I don’t know if there’s much more I can do to help you, but I would like to try,” she pauses, not nervous in the slightest, but rather calculative. Like she’s determining the best course of action. “I want you to know all of this so you don’t get your hopes up. There’s a high probability that you’ll be paralyzed from the waist down, but I have no idea how things work for mermaids. Bain has told me you can feel both your left arm and your tail, which is… promising. I’m not going to sugarcoat things and say you’ll be fine, but I’m optimistic that you’ve made it past the first 12 hours.”

Despite his misgivings, Knauss finds himself warming to the slow cadence of her voice. It’s steady and it makes picking out the words very easy. Especially when she’s obviously choosing straightforward words for his benefit.

Knauss chances an actual look at Bain, still wary but no longer outright suspicious.

“I understand.” He tries to think of a way to explain the way things work for him, mostly for Bain’s benefit, but decides against it. They will have time later to discuss something as trivial as the potential loss of a limb.

As long as the wounds are physical, there is very little that could kill a mer.

Emily clears her throat quietly, bringing him back to the present gently. They look at one another, analyzing, not quite sure what to make of each other until Emily speaks, quietly.

“Listen. I get that you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I do know Bain. He didn’t get out of the game when we could have nearly ten years ago, so if he’s running now, I know there’s a damn good reason. Cal is… something else. I’ve had to change my social security number twice, and Emily is not my first name. I know you can’t understand what this means, but there are dangerous people in the world and I want you to realize the gravity of what my brother has done for you. Despite this, I want you to know that I would like to help you. Not because Bain’s family and I owe it to him, but also because you’re a person that needs help right now.”

Knauss tries to internalize what all of this means, but when he opens his mouth he says, “You are not related.”

Emily blinks at him, surprised, before she laughs and the smile lights up her features beautifully, “You’re right. You could say I, ah, accidentally joined the family. I don’t regret what it gave me; two beautiful daughters and a brother that I love dearly - even though he’s an idiot sometimes.”

Ah. Knauss looks between the lines that crease the corners of her eyes and the nearly invisible streaks of grey in her hair and sees that, despite her youthful appearance, she must be nearly Cal’s age.

“I see,” he hums.

“I’m glad. I’m telling you all this not because it’s easy, but you should know that you don’t have to be alone out there. Now I’d like to ask again, can I please look at your shoulder?”

This time when she asks, Knauss glances up towards Bain for a split second. When their eyes meet Bain smiles and it’s wobbly and perfect.

“Yes.”